#its called waiting for forever and its on ao3
Note
I love the troupe of finding Astarions parents. Can I ask for a request of Tiriel and Alethaine running into an elven woman at a market who looks suspiciously similar to Astarion please? If not that’s totally cool!
Past Grief
Synopsis: There were years when Sylenn Ancunin was happy, but ever since her only son died her life as been all mysery and sorrows. And now she meets a young elf who reminds her of what she lost.
Tags: hurt\comfort, dadstarion, astarion's mother
The fic is set a few months prior The Dhampirs of the Sword Coast
Alethaine's age - 24-years-old
Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading! Thank you for being the fastest reader in the wild west!
Read on AO3
Masterlist
Headcanons
There were years when Sylenn Ancunin was a warrior.
She was a fighter, one of the many protectors of Evereska.
There were years when she was a scholar, diving deep into the secrets of elven history.
There were years when she was a mother and a wife – but those decades disappeared into oblivion, a true curse of elven existence.
It’s all gone.
Her first child – a girl – died when orcs ambushed one of the elven towns. Sylenn was still young and the very idea she could overlive her own children sounded unreal. They were elves, not humans! Their children didn’t die unless mortal danger came for them.
But orcs smashed Sylenn Ancunin’s baby daughter against the wall and the elf would forever remember how she held a lifeless body whose every bone had been broken into tiny pieces.
She got pregnant again – sixty years later. Her husband and Thiramin assured Sylenn everything would be fine. Everything… But three human mages killed him, and her sorrow caused Sylenn to miscarriage. Another rare thing for Tel'Quessir. Still weak and bleeding, she put her heavy armor on and avenged them both, slaughtering the cursed wizards like livestock.
Then, she buried her Thiramin and returned to Evereska, to her home, where at last she was among her own kind.
A century passed, slow and peaceful. She married again – never did she love Caeldrim as much as she did her Thiramin. But he was a good friend and partner, and Sylenn was happy by his side.
The only thing she truly wanted back then was to conceive a child. She wanted to become a mother, she wanted this gift she had been deprived of twice.
Sylenn prayed to all of the elven gods. Corellon, Hanali, Sehanine, Naralis…Each of them.
Until one day, instead of a reverie, she had a dream. A silhouette weaved of light placed a small star in her hands.
The gods gave her a child.
… Now, centuries later, Sylenn fears and waits for those memories when she reveries. The moment the healer placed a newborn boy in her hands.
Astarion. Her little star.
He was born with curled silver hair and when he was a child he resembled a dandelion. Sylenn remembers Astarion was a crybaby, always demanding her attention. He wanted his mother to hold him, to carry him around their house. And, should he have a nightmare or some ghostly shadows of his past lives haunted him, he came straight to her, eyes puffy, lips quivering. Sylenn would lull him back to sleep but rarely carried him back to bed.
The boy had the temper of a human, and Caeldrim joked that some of their ancestors must have bedded a N Tel'Quessir. Sylenn’s son was smart and brave, and if she couldn’t find him anywhere, it meant he was in a library – learning new things, new languages, new facts.
Or he could have been in the hills, if the sun shone brightly. Caeldrim’s mother called her grandson Sunflower – for he sometimes would spend hours just standing in the sun enjoying its warmth.
Sylenn taught Astarion to fight. A longsword. Daggers. All possible weapons. She often took him outside Evereska to show him the world behind the elven realm.
It fascinated him.
Sylenn knew Astarion would leave to see the world soon enough. When she would see him again, he would be an adult – and she wished his childhood would last just a little longer.
It didn’t.
Her baby boy grew up. A beautiful elf whose eyes were green like the hills of Evereska and whose hair was the color of moonlight.
There is another memory Sylenn is afraid to re-live.
The last time she saw Astarion.
He was twenty-four. Fully-grown. Handsome and beautiful, taller than other elves, with hands almost as strong as a human’s.
Astarion was standing in front of her in his traveling armor and Sylenn couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“I will be fine, o’si,” he told her. “Besides, you taught me so well, I could put up with a devil in a fight!”
“Don’t be stupid, Astarion” she tiptoed and kissed his forehead. “Pity, I didn’t finish the circlet I wanted to give you.” She pointed at the unfinished twisted rope-like headwear adorned with a little star.
“You can finish it by the time I get my adult name.” Astarion kissed her cheek.
And he left. Sometimes in her reverie, Sylenn wants to cry and beg her only son to stay. Besides, not all adult elves leave their homes! Some stay where they were born.
Her Astarion disappeared. That wretched city he went to study murdered him and no one could even tell her how it happened.
After eighty years of receiving no message from him, Sylenn left Evereska one last time and traveled to the West.
To find her son’s grave.
They even buried him like a human – and Sylenn wanted to dig the grave with her bare hands. Her son didn’t deserve to rot in the ground but all strength left Sylenn and she spent a day curling in the graveyard until a guardian came to check on her and took her to the inn.
With the years, Sylenn accepted what happened. Besides, there are fates much worse than death.
Her son could have been cursed. Or turned into an undead. At least she knows he sleeps peacefully in his grave and maybe if the gods allow she will meet him in their afterlife.
Sylenn Ancunin never returned to Evereska. She came to Neverwinter, found her youth friend, a gnome paladin, and asked him to give her a place in his adventuring guild.
At least dying in battle is better than rotting in her own misery.
**
A reeking scent of death lingers over the cave and Sylenn curses. This part of the dungeon disgusts her, and if it wasn’t for her mission she would have already returned to the surface.
“Well, they told us ‘dead or alive’,” the Dragonborn by her side chuckles and points at a dead human prince whose body is torn in two.
“We need to find the map,” Sylenn sits on a boulder. “I am too old to wear armor.”
“You are not old,” the Dragonborn laughs. “You are what, only a millenia?”
Sylenn cringes. Well, is there any difference between being five hundred years old and a millenia?
“Almost,” Sylenn says. The warrior looks at her with awe – and she knows how she looks in his eyes.
A forever young woman with long silver hair and a pair of emerald green eyes. Delicate and thin but in the full set of heavy armor. Other races in Faerun don’t care how old elves are.
“Let’s set up a camp somewhere it doesn’t stink. And where the fuck is Irbis?”
Sylenn decides she isn’t going to take off her armor. Who knows what killed the prince? And they need the map that leads to the secret dungeons of the Dark Elves. The lord of Gauntlgrym won’t be happy if the party comes back empty-handed – and with his dead son’s body.
“He must have found a whore to spend the night with and forgot about us,” Selynn says. She has never liked Irbis – the human man cares only about ale and gold and would sell all of his companions for a good pact with a devil.
“You have a dirty mouth for an elf,” the Dragonborn notices.
“I’ve been through such shit within my lifetime I have every right to swear like a drunken dwarf.”
Whatever the Dragonborn wants to say next is interrupted by loud steps.
“And who am I supposed to talk to?” A young woman demands and her voice echoes through the cave.
“This one” Irbis answers, letting a stranger approach the corpse.
Sylenn turns her head.
She sees a young woman in a black traveling armor. Her long silver hair, so common for Moon elves, is braided.
“This is Alethaine,” Irbis announces. “She is going to talk to that… body. So good I’ve met a necromancer in these lands!”
Alethaine yawns.
“Good morning.”
“It’s almost sunset,” Sylenn says.
“It’s morning when I wake up,” Alethaine bites her lower lip. “Alae, etriel,” she adds in Elven.
Sylenn meets the necromancer’s eyes and feels a wave of uneasiness.
The girl looks like an elf. Pointy ears, slim and delicate body. But there is something off about her, as if she pretended very hard to look like Tel’Quessira.
But wasn't one.
“Oh, and they say all dragonborns look alike!” the Dragonborn laughs. “Look, Sylenn, you could have been sisters!”
“She looks nothing like me!” Sylenn whispers as quietly as she can. Alethaine’s ear twitches and Sylenn realizes the necromancer can perfectly hear her. “Besides, there is something… strange about her!”
“My mother is half human,” Alethaine says looking at the mutilated corpse. “Maybe, this is what bothers you?”
As if there were such a thing as a pure-blooded elf, Sylenn thinks. No, it’s something else about her that makes the old elf shiver.
“We are so lucky to find someone who can talk to the dead!” Irbis announces. “I entered the tavern, no hope to help the cause and that… that young woman was beating a cleric of Lathander with a book.”
“My dad taught me to beat the shit out of perverts who eye me out,” Alethaine casually says. ‘Hope the bastard has a concussion.”
“I think you broke his spine.”
“Even better!” Alethaine sits beside the corpse looking at the body with such tenderness as if it was a child or a cute animal. “Who is going to ask the questions?”
The Dragonborn pushes Sylenn forward and the warrior approaches. No, the body doesn’t disgust her.
It’s the young elf who scares her.
“Only five questions,” Alethaine says, puts her arm to the dead man’s chest, and mutters a spell. The corpse stirs and its eyes glow green.
Sylenn has witnessed death. But necromancy is so unnatural and disgusting that she hates the very idea of the prince's body being violated this way.
“Where is the map?” Sylenn asks.
The corpse is silent.
“You asked it the wrong way,” Alethaine says.
“Where is the map to the Dark Elves’ lair?”
“They burned it.”
“Fuck. Who?”
“The one who killed us,” the corpse says.
“Who killed you? And where is the lair?!”
“I don’t know.”
Alethaine grabs Sylenn’s hand. “You have one question left!”
“Who killed you?!”
“Shadows.”
And the corpse goes silent.
“Very informative,” Ibris mutters.
“You still have to pay me!” Alethaine says. “Ask better questions next time!”
Sylenn pulls away. Everything is lost. They better run to the town and warn than the Dark Elves will probably try to attack them soon enough…
“Watch out!” Ibris yells.
A shadow detaches itself from the walls and pierces the human with its claws. Blood spills on the stones
Sylenn grabs her sword. The whole place bursts with movement. Shadows, screeching and wailing, surround them. The Dragonborn falls and Sylenn knows he is already dead.
“Oh fuck…” Sylenn mutters.
Alethaine jumps on her feet.
“Do something!” Sylenn yells but the shadows surround Alethaine threatening to destroy the young necromancer with necrotic damage.
But instead…The claws don’t hurt her, as if she was an undead. Alethaine looks pissed and angry as if someone spilled her ale in the tavern. She pushes Sylenn away from the shadows and despite all the heavy armor, the elf feels herself thrown away like a kitten.
“OBEY” Alethaine orders. “BEGONE!”
The shadows curl around her. Sylenn thinks the creatures don’t understand why they can’t hurt the weird woman.
Her eyes glow green.
“I SAID, BEGONE!”
The last thing Sylenn remembers is the shadows running right through her.
**
Sylenn wakes up her head upside down. She notices a narrow pathway below her and also the fact someone is carrying her on their shoulders.
In a full heavy armor set.
“Easy money, easy money,” Alethaine mutters. “You, guys, didn’t even have loot I could scavenge! It seems like these are bad times for adventuring finances, am I right?”
Alethaine carries Sylenn as if she were a child. More than that, her sword and bow were still on her and it seemed like the necromancer couldn’t care less about the weight.
The sun still shines in the skies and Sylenn suppresses the irrational fear the girl is a vampire.
“Since you woke up, etriel, where to go next?”
“I’m Sylenn. Don’t call me etriel, I am not a noble.”
“All right, even better! So, where?”
… Alethaine finds Sylenn’s house when it’s already dark. She opens the door with her leg and the loud slam echoes through the empty streets.
Then, the necromancer gently places the wounded fighter on the bed and stretches like a lazy cat.
“You are wounded,” Alethaine says. “Do you have bandages?”
Sylenn tries to get rid of her armor but can’t. All her body aches and she realizes she has a burning wound on her stomach.
“Stay still,” the necromancer orders and starts to unlace the straps.
“Do you know how to do it?” Sylenn wonders. “Or you only tend the dead?”
“My mother is just like you. Constantly comes home in her armor and it’s just meat and blood under it. I’ve learned to tend wounds at a very early age. Well, she doesn’t wear heavy armor - says it restrains her in a fight”
“So your mother is a berserker?”
“She prefers ‘barbarian’ but yes.”
Sylenn relaxes and allows Alethaine to bandage the wounds. Another wave of fear passes through the elf when she notices how the necromancers lick her lips at the sight of blood”
“What are you?” Sylenn asks.
“What do you mean?”
“You are not an elf but you look like one. Try to act like one. But you can’t lie to the elves, we know you are not one of us. So, I ask you again, Alethaine, what are you?”
Alethaine sits in the armchair looking straight into Sylenn’s eyes. The girl is so fucking pale she could have been a ghost.
Then she opens her mouth.
“What the…” Sylenn elbows. “Are you a vampire?!”
“I am a dhampir. This is much worse! I once bit my dad’s wrists and the flesh wouldn’t regenerate for a month!” Alethaine smiles. “And it’s a little bit offensive considering I saved you.”
Sylenn lies back on the bed. Dhampirs… Half-dead children of vampires. Sylenn thought they were legends.
But one of them sits in front of her.
“I can leave,” Alethaine says.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Stay. You’ve saved me. Be… my guest.”
**
It’s nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who doesn’t see a five-century-old elven warrior in her. Alethaine speaks in perfect elven and curses like a sailor. Her eyes burn as Sylenn tells her about her own adventures and about elven history. As she concentrates on the stories, her eyes glow red and she bites her right thumb.
By the morning Sylenn finally manages to get into reverie – and this one is bitter again.
Her leg is broken in two and she limps returning home. Hunting has gone wrong and she fell from the hill, snapping her delicate bones.
She mutters curses all the way back and then collapses in the armchair.
Then she realizes she isn’t alone.
Astarion, her Little Star, stands in the center of the room, arms wide open. His eyes are closed and a smile lingers on his pretty face. He is only fourteen and he still retains many of his child features, but Sylenn can already see the adult he is becoming.
He is in the reverie, deep in his own memories – or, maybe, shadows of his past lives. Or ghosts of his future, should he inherit the prophetic gift.
The sun showers his face in its warmth and Sylenn forgets about pain.
Her boy, the gift from the gods.
She just keeps looking at him.
Until the memory fades away.
Sylenn gets up – her wounds are more or less healed. The elf feels dizzy as she goes downstairs.
And sees Alethaine cleaning the set of armor.
“Good morning, Sylenn,” Alethaine bares her fangs. “You’ve slept like a human.”
“You shouldn’t have…”
“No worries, I don’t want to go outside. That dick of a Lathander priest is looking for me anyway. It’s not like I can't run away from a halfling but if I can keep a low profile, I should. Oh…” She looks at Sylenn. “Are you all right?”
Sylenn blinks and realizes she’s been crying. “I… am. Bad memories. And good ones.”
“I can listen if you want,” Alethaine implores.
“How old are you?” Sylenn suddenly asks. “You look rather young for an elf to be on her own.”
“I am twenty-four. I just look… smaller. Because I am a dhampir, you know.”
“Oh, I see… But we rarely let our children go when they are younger than twenty-five. Though, I let mine.”
“I was raised in a human village, and my mother is half a human…And my dad… well, that's a story for another time.”
Sylenn sits down. She rarely talks about her son but for some reason, she feels like she will die if she doesn’t tell her sorrows to that stranger.
“I had a son. Many years ago. He was your age when I let him go and he died fifteen years later. He was my only one. I still see him when I reverie.”
“Oh,” Alethaine says. “I am sorry.”
Both elves are silent. Alethaine looks out the window.
“You know… I sometimes think that if I die, my parents will never know what happened to me. Or they will decades or centuries later.”
Sylenn bitterly smiles. “We elves think we are invincible. But we are not. Death is a rare guest among us, but there is nothing scarier than an elf burying their child. I lost my daughter when she was four, had a miscarriage – and then my son was just killed. Some clerics even thought I was cursed. Though, almost every human has been through the same shit. That corpse you were talking to is the only son of a local ruler. And he will have to bury him.”
Alethaine is silent. Her face resembles a mask and it’s difficult to decipher her emotions.
Then the dhampir stands up and hugs Sylenn burying her face in her chest.
“I am sorry, Sylenn. I am sorry for what has happened to you,” she says and her words are sincere. Sylenn allows tears to flow down her cheeks as she strokes Alethaine’s back.
What are her parents like, Sylenn wonders. Since she is a dhampir, one of them is a vampire. She mentioned her mother, a warrior like Sylenn. But about her father? Do vampires raise their children? Anyway, whoever was responsible for Alethaine’s upbringing did a good job. A necromancer and a dhampir, she saved Sylenn, tended her wounds, and listened to her.
Sylenn makes a mental note to mention Alethaine in her prayers next time. May her parents never have to go through what Sylenn did.
“Well, I suppose I need to flee the town,” Alethaine smiles. “I think I should go to Waterdeep. I can easily mingle with the local weirdos!”
“Thank you, Alethaine,” Sylenn smiles. “I am sorry for being rude”.
“I got used to elves staring at me as if I were a doppelganger.”
“I-I don’t have money to pay you,” Sylenn gets up. “But I want to.”
Sylenn goes to the basement. Turns off the protecting sigils and takes a small chest out of its hiding place.
“I want to give you something,” Sylenn returns to the room. She places the chest on the table and opens it. “When my son said he would leave me with the first snow, I decided to make him a parting gift” Sylenn takes out a circlet. “But I was no artisan and I didn’t finish it. I was supposed to give it to him when he would return to receive his adult name…”
“But he never did,” Alethaine finishes.
“I finished the circlet anyway but I had no one to give it to. I don’t have children, I will never have grandsons and granddaughters. And this thing just lies here reminding me of what I’ve lost.”
Sylenn takes the precious circlet and crowns Alethaine’s head. The circlet fits her perfectly and suits her hair. The small star is placed in the center of her forehead.
“You can’t give it to me,” Alethaine mutters.
“I can. Take it. It’s yours. Things are made to be used. You are a beautiful young woman, wear it. Besides, I don’t think you’ve had a lot of elven adornments.”
Alethaine looks at the mirror and smiles baring her fangs. Sylenn chuckles: maybe this one is half-dead and a necromancer, but a girl is a girl.
“Thank you, Sylenn.”
“But don’t you dare sell it. If you do, I will find you,” Sylenn threatens.
“I wouldn't even think about it!”
Sylenn hugs Alethaine again. “Uluvathae, Alethaine.”
“Uluvathae, Sylenn.”
Alethaine goes outside and soon disappears in the dark.
Sylenn is alone again. Suddenly, she feels like pieces of her sadness have gone, as if Alethaine somehow took them away. Well, Sylenn isn’t old – she has centuries of life ahead.
Maybe it’s too early to bury herself.
She is going back to Evereska. Her husband, Caeldrim must have died already, he was much older than her – so she needs to pay respects to him. And then… Then she will decide what to do next.
**
Sylenn has the next reverie on the road to the east. She hopes it will be something neutral, something that won’t harm her soul but the memories are merciless to the elf.
Sylenn enters the library. Her mind is preoccupied with the news about Yuan-ti’s attacks on the elven settlements. Fucking serpents need to learn Tel'Quessir had been here before them and will stay when the snake become ashes.
“Thinking of the snakes again, o’si?” Astarion asks.
He is nineteen, still an adolescent, not an adult. He reads a book on human laws and customs and bites his right thumb as it helps him to concentrate.
“Is there something about them in these books of yours?”
“No. Did you know that humans have so many laws about inheritance and burial?” Astarion flips the page. “Listen!”
Sylenn tries not to show that those things sound boring to her. History, that’s where her interests lie. But Astarion is so enchanted with all these articles and small details and many differences between the tribes and cities of humans that she listens.
At least, she can reverie to hear his voice again.
Sylenn wakes up crying again. She looks at the starry sky and sniffs.
Weird, she later thinks that the necromancer, Alethaine, was biting her right thumb the same way Astarion did centuries ago.
--
Tag list
@tugoslovenka
@herstxrgirl
@herdarkestnightelegance
@vixstarria
@not-so-lost-after-all
@marcynomercy
@theearthsfinalconfession
@starlight-ipomoea
@micropoe10
@astarion-imagine-archive
@veillsar
@elora-the-slutty-songstress
@fayeriess
@lumienyx
@tallymonster
@caitlincat-95
@tragedybunny
@valeprati
@lynnlovesthestars
@marina-and-the-memes
@waking-eyes
@ayselluna
@connorsui
@asterordinary
@darkarchangel96
@locallegume
@brainfullofhotsauce
@coffeeanddonutscafe
@my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen
@queenofthespacesquids
@ednaaa-04
@dajeong
@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate
#astarion#baldur's gate 3#bg3 astarion#bg3#astarion romance#astarion bg3#baldurs gate 3#astarion x tav#alethaine ancunin#astarion being a dad#dadstarion#astarion fluff#spacebarbarian fics#astarion ancunin#astarion baldurs gate#astarion brainrot#astarion fanfic#tiriel of the sunset mountains#tiriel the barbarian#astarion x tiriel#oc tav: tiriel#dhampirs of the sword's coast#snippet of the future#elves#astarion's mother#astarion's parents#astarion's family#astarion past life
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
to forever always
description. LUKE CASTELLAN has never had any interest in relationships. but when he sees that look in your eyes, the same one he keeps buried deep down inside of himself, there's nothing more he wants than for you to be with him. except, maybe for you to be like him.
includes. SMUT MDNI 18+ , heavy petting, grinding, making out, dark!luke, loser!luke, dark!reader, implications to maiming, luke is a professional at longing, reader has hair long enough to be pinned back, they play simon says, typical young adult awkwardness, drinking.
wc: 5.5k+
a/n: title from forever always by the driver era. ao3 link. art creds to yazed aljohani
You’ve been at camp for nearly three months when Luke sees it in your eyes.
You’ve been unremarkable at best before then. A late arrival without a capturing story carried along with you, no captivating backstory to draw attention. You stuck to yourself mostly, only coming out of your shell when conversing during training sessions with Luke. He went out of his way to set them up, fueled by the fact that you were older than most, closest to his age, and he didn’t want you to feel left behind when some thirteen year old could easily disarm you in five minutes flat.
Truth be told, he pitied you.
As a result, he trained you four times a week, pushing your body to its limits and sharing anecdotes during your break periods to provide some sort of solace for you. Because at the end of the day, Camp Half Blood was your home. At least, that’s how it was supposed to be presented.
During his share of anecdotes, practically each story starting on that fateful day when he was fourteen, Luke left out his true feelings about the area surrounding you both. He preferred to keep you blinded with things happy enough to make you laugh, with only enough hints of the truth to make you start asking the right questions.
His attentive training has hardened you around the edges. He’s made you a little rougher, or perhaps he’s chiseled away at the stone encasing your true nature, and the person he stood next to was who you really were.
A warrior.
An animal.
Teeth bared, sword raised over the kid lying helplessly at your feet, your chest heaving with effort and a dark look in your eyes. Darker than Luke has ever seen before. It’s victorious, with a hint of a challenge in there. As if you’re daring this kid to stand up, gather his sword, and attempt to best you once more.
Surely, with the way Luke has trained you, if the kid did make an attempt he would end up in the same position in no time.
The sight is exhilarating. It makes the blood rush to Luke’s ears and his fingertips start to buzz with the fuel he’d never been able to use. But he’s in control here. And he has an image to uphold.
He calls your name, firm and demanding. The tone of a leader.
He rests a hand on the shoulder pad of your armor, pushing you back from the kid with enough force to distance you two. He fills the space created, his back to the others and his eyes cutting down at you. It takes you a second to lift your eyes to him, and when you do, when you look up at Luke—at your leader—you’re seething.
Luke really tries to hold his smile in and he’s glad that right now, you’re the only one who can see him.
“At ease. You got ‘em.”
You watch him pointedly, nostrils flared, and Luke lifts an eyebrow with a controlled movement, questioning you, daring you to challenge him.
You take a step back and rid the tension in your shoulders as you adjust your helmet.
You don’t say anything, instead sheathing your sword into its scabbard and watching Luke once more, waiting for orders.
He has trained you well.
The energy around the campfire is palpable. It washes over the bodies of the campers surrounding the bonfire, settling over their skin and providing a glow. Even some of the Ares kids appear to be beaming, although they were clearly sour about another loss.
You, like everyone else, seem to be in good spirits too. A pleasant smile on your face as you watch the scene around you.
The fire burns a mesmerizing gold and Luke finds you watching it reach up toward the sky, your curious eyes taking in as much of it as you could. Your head is already tilted up, so you don’t adjust your position at all whenever Luke steps into perspective.
He stares down at you for a moment, searching for that look in your eyes. The same one he saw during capture the flag a few weeks ago.
Ever since then, Luke has developed a new fixation, one multiplied whenever he got a hit just a few days ago during training.
He’d had you on your knees then. Your chest heaving with exhaustion as you were staring up at Luke with a look so threatening that he wondered what exactly you were capable of. You were definitely at your wits end by that point, but that wasn’t when he saw it. Deep within your eyes was sincerity, maybe a bit of worry, and Luke knew that if he drew his sword down to give you a critical hit, a final blow even, you would defend yourself.
But that’s all.
He hadn’t felt the need to prepare for an opposing attack. He knew you would defend yourself, but not go for the attack. You wouldn’t hurt him. And that wouldn’t do.
So Luke laughed. He threw his head back and let out an exaggerated guffaw as he exclaimed that you looked perfect on your knees. As he insinuated that that was where you belonged. Beneath him. Beneath anyone.
His teasing did the trick. And he has a healing scar on the outside of his forearm to prove it.
Now, standing above you at the campfire, a setting so casual that it was almost sickening, Luke didn’t see any resemblance of anything challenging in your gaze.
Instead, you appear back to usual, sitting alongside a few of the Athena kids yet not actively engaging in conversation, holding a burnt marshmallow on a stick with two hands, your elbows resting on your knees as you look up at Luke with that same pleasant smile.
“This seat taken?”
He’s already sitting down as he asks it and if someone were to return, he knows they wouldn’t have attempted to reclaim their spot.
You stare over at him with amusement written all over your face.
“What if I said it was?”
Luke shrugs. He reaches over, sliding your stick out of your hand and sticking the marshmallow back into the fire. He lets it ignite, turning it over to do the same to the other side, and after a second he removes the sweet treat, extinguishes the flames, and takes a bite out of it.
You’re watching him, waiting for a response, and when you realize that he’d already given his response, you turn back to watch the fire instead.
He lets you sit in silence, slowly chewing through the sticky food as he watches the side of your face.
You look pretty like this. The amber glow of the fire illuminates your face, casting visually stunning shadows across your skin, highlighting places Luke has noticed but never appreciated until now.
He has always known you’re pretty. He’s known it since you walked into camp, confused and stunned as demigods clustered around you.
Luke remembers looking around at his fellow campers, noticing how judgmental they seemed. Because, in all honesty, you weren’t like the other people that came to Camp Half Blood. Not terrified, young, and lost in the world.
Not only were you older, but you had a certain stance to you that told Luke you weren’t confused, just curious. Your head was lifted, your shoulders pressed back as you held up the thick straps of your stuffed book bag. You were faking to be unbothered, but as you eventually confirmed Luke’s prior assumptions, you were worried.
Worried about the sea of young faces you saw. Worried that coming to Camp Half Blood at your age was a mistake.
Until your eyes met Luke’s. His dark eyes were watching you, analyzing your form for potential. Trying to find areas that could be molded into a fighter, and aspects that didn’t have to be changed one bit.
According to you, seeing Luke made you feel comfortable. Seeing Luke made you feel like coming to camp wasn’t a mistake at all.
He is glad that you arrived as well. Because before you, Luke felt alone.
He was looked up to, admired, respected, but rarely seen as just a peer.
And even further, before you got here, he hadn’t seen himself being romantic with anyone.
But now, sitting here with the gold of the fire affecting his mood in the same way he affects it, he has the sudden urge to intertwine your fingers with his or throw his arm over your shoulder. Maybe pull you into his side and plant his lips on yours, effectively claiming you as his and letting you claim him as yours.
Instead, he knocks his shoulder against yours.
“What’s got you looking so sad over there? We won today. You should be celebrating.”
You laugh a little, but it’s not one of the big and genuine ones you give him when he cracks an impressive joke.
“Give me something stronger than s'mores and maybe I’ll celebrate.”
Luke faces back towards the fire as he tells you, “that can be arranged”.
He notices you watching him from the corner of his eye. He can’t tell if you’re smiling, and if you are, if it’s one of genuine interest or one of amusement derived from misunderstanding his tone for a joke.
Either way, you hum. “Don’t tease me like that.”
He tilts his head a little. “Bold of you to assume that I’m teasing.”
He stares at you and a moment of understanding passes by.
Then, “but only if you tell me why you look so sad.”
Luke knows he’s a brave person. Hell, he took on a dragon at just seventeen and lived with nothing but a scar as a reminder. (And the plaguing nightmares but what the others didn’t know won’t hurt them)
But he feels a different form of bravery find him as he reaches a hand out, plants his thumb at the corner of your lips, and tugs upwards.
“You know what they say about turning that smile…” He lets the end of his sentence taper off, raising his eyebrows as if he expects you to finish the overdone phrase for him. It doesn’t surprise him when you swat his hand away instead.
He thinks he sees you hiding a smile when you turn away from him for a second but when you return with another marshmallow, sticking it on the end of the stick in between Luke’s hands, your face is neutral.
He thrusts the white into the burning gold as you begin to speak.
“Do you remember the first capture the flag win? When I was on defense with you?”
One side of the marshmallow ignites and Luke turns it around so the other can do the same.
“When you were taking down the others? Of course I do.”
(Luke resists the urge to add a mention of how attractive you looked then. He doesn’t know how you would take the comment in general, much less when you seem to be going through some sort of moral battle)
“Yeah.” You take a moment.
Luke takes the marshmallow out and blows on it. He lets it cool.
“I didn’t feel like myself then,” you eventually admit.
“What d’you mean?”
You shrug. “I dunno. I felt … meaner. Like–”
“Like you wanted to hurt someone?”
When you nod, you’re staring down at the ground, refusing to look up at Luke.
He doesn’t know why he does it, but he lies.
“That’s normal for demigods.”
That gets your attention. You look over at Luke with hope in your eyes, the pair shining in the light as they flicker back and forth between Luke’s own gaze.
“Really?”
Not allowed to back down now, Luke nods.
“Yeah. That rage you have within you. The need to beat someone, to be better than someone. I feel it all the time.” And that, that right there, is the stone cold truth.
He’s never admitted it to anyone else before, but with you, things feel different. He figures that this feeling he has around you is what some religious people feel in their faith. Maybe what some of the other believers at camp feel in regards to their parents.
Luke pops the marshmallow into his mouth whole.
You look relieved as you speak. He hadn’t noticed the tension in your body until it’s gone.
“So I’m not messed up?” Your voice is small, weak, insecure, almost.
Luke almost feels bad about lying to you.
Almost.
“Not any more than the rest of us.”
What he doesn’t say is: not any more than me.
As soon as his marshmallow is swallowed, he asks you to meet him later that night.
Luke feels like he’s been waiting ages for you.
He’s paced a path in the dirt, twirled the small dagger he kept on him until his fingers could no longer grip the handle comfortably, and he’s started to gnaw on his bottom lip in anticipation that at this point he worries that they aren’t kissable anymore. Because no matter how much he tries to lie to himself, he invited you out to the clearing that you train in with one intention in mind.
He digs into the pocket of his cargos, searching for a second before his fingers wrap around the small tube of chapstick he got from one of his sisters. Cherry flavored, artificially so, but it still smells pleasant enough. Whenever he’d received it from her it was fresh, the seal unbroken, but since then he has used at least a quarter of its contents.
The balm glides over the broken pieces of skin, smoothing them out as best as possible, and then Luke recaps the tube and stuffs it back into his pocket.
It’s no sooner that the lip balm has found a home again that he hears the thud of a shoe against the soft ground behind him.
He doesn’t turn around, not yet. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. Instead, he twirls his knife again, a little slower this time to prevent it from slipping and falling onto the ground embarrassingly.
“Didn’t think I should’ve brought a weapon.”
Just the sound of your voice makes Luke’s insides flutter. He feels stupid, silly even, to have such a crush like this. He feels juvenile.
A smile briefly blooms across his face before he snips it off, turning around to look at you as neutrally as he can manage.
“You should always keep a weapon on you. Don’t you remember rule number one?”
Luke watches you reach behind your back for only a second before you brandish the dagger he’d given you for him to see, a triumphant smile on your lips.
“I’m a good listener. Don’t you remember?”
Proud, Luke tucks his dagger back into its holster and you do the same.
He takes a step closer to you as he proposes his next question, a hand reaching up to flick off an imaginary lash from your cheek. He doesn’t know why, but as of today he’s found himself touching you more. Searching for any reason to justify feeling your skin against his.
“How good of a listener are you?”
Your head tilts a bit, eyes squinting, and he realizes that it’s an action he does often. The implications of you picking up things from him makes his chest bloom with something. Pride, maybe?
“Try me.”
You step back, giving Luke a full view of your body.
He lets his eyes scan your frame once. Taking in your messy hair, pinned up for the night. Your sweatshirt with some school on it. Luke, not knowing much about the outside world, doesn’t know if it’s college or high school, much less its location. But it’s well worn in, clearly loved by you. You’ve paired it with a loose pair of pants, and Luke has suspicions that if he were looking at you from behind, the flowy material would perfectly outline your ass.
He clears his throat and meets your eyes again.
“Okay…” he thinks for a second. “Simon says: touch your nose.”
You snort, rolling your eyes, but then you lift your right hand, single out your pointer finger, and press it against the tip of your nose.
“Simon says: touch your toes.”
Luke watches, seeing if he’ll catch you, but you keep one hand situated on your nose and use the other to reach down to press your hand against the beat up end of your sneakers.
“Hm, okay,” Luke nods as if he’s impressed. Like you would struggle at a kids game.
“Simon says you can stop.”
You stand back up straight.
“Simon says: spin around twice.”
You spin around twice.
Instantly, without giving you a second to rest, “spin around a third time.”
You jerk for a second, but stay still in the end. Luke points, smiling a bit as if saying I almost had you.
You don’t respond but your lips curl up into a little embarrassed smile.
Luke continues giving you orders for a few moments, letting you get comfortable with the preface of “Simon says” just before he gives the final blow.
“Kiss me.”
There’s no order from Simon before it. Just Luke. He gauges your reaction. And when he sees you stay put, he tries to move on.
“Simon says–”
But then you’re walking towards him, and you’re reaching up to rest your hands on his shoulders, and you’re pulling him down to reach you better, and then you press your lips to his. It’s light, a barely there touch, and then you’re pulling away, walking back to your spot, and standing straight, waiting for your next order.
“I didn’t say Simon says.”
Proudly, you tell him, “I know.”
There’s a moment where the only noise is that of nature. Of the harmony of the world existing around this possibly unharmonious moment. The brief balance could easily be thrown off by your reaction to the next bit. If Luke were being dramatic, he would claim that your reaction determines the fate of the world, and maybe even of his mission.
He takes a breath, and then takes the plunge.
“Simon says: kiss me again.”
This time, your kiss is firmer. You’re standing on your toes a bit, overcompensating for Luke who still stands tall with his shoulders back and his head up.
Eventually, he dips his head down at the same time that he finally gets to touch you.
It’s small, nothing but a hand on your hip, but the context of it changes everything for him. He’s touched you before, brief presses of his fingers against a part of your body to emphasize a point, or correct your posture, and then earlier when he reached out for the delicate skin on your face.
Those things were friendly, that of a mentorship even.
Nothing to this degree.
You tilt your head and deepen the kiss, opening your mouth wider as you start to take control. And Luke hands it to you.
He grips the loose fabric of your pants, takes the tiniest step forward, and presses himself against you. In return, you nudge closer to him, holding the sides of his head and keeping him steady to allow yourself to explore his mouth.
He’s a little lost, he’s never gotten to this base with anyone before. Besides the time he kissed one of the Aphrodite kids as part of truth or dare years ago. But that kiss was nothing compared to this, not even on the same scale.
In this field, he’s inexperienced.
For fear of making a complete fool of himself, he simply mirrors in the form of reciprocation.
When you press your tongue into his mouth, he does the same, meeting you not quite in the middle and simply doing what you do.
There’s a moment there where you leave Luke’s lips, and he’s preparing himself to be upset when you pull away, but then your lips pucker and you suck his upper lip for just a split second, and you return to kissing him like his knees didn’t just get a little weak.
Fortunately, the slight lapse presses his crotch against yours again, and you suck in a breath when Luke accidentally grinds his boner into you.
Sensing that it’s something good, and satisfied that he’s not the only one as aroused as he is, he does it again. This time intentionally.
He frees his grip on your pants to move his palms around, pressing into the top of your ass and the end of your back, pulling you closer to bump your crotches.
This time, you do peel away from his lips completely, but it’s to let out the prettiest sound Luke has ever heard.
Your eyebrows are pinched together a bit, your lips shining in the torch light and parted.
You’ve only been apart for a couple of seconds, but Luke is on you again.
He sacrifices the grip he has on your lower half to stretch his hand along the connection of the back of your skull and neck, fingers spreading as far as the tip of your spine to an inch into your scalp.
He lets go of the insecurities he has in his lack of experience and just kisses you. His immediate intention isn’t to take control from you. Rather, it’s just to have you as close to him as possible.
You respond eagerly. Arching into him, slinking your arms over his shoulders, pressing your hands into the muscles along his back. At one point, you lift your leg and nudge your knee against Luke’s side by way of getting even closer to him. The position change allows the first real touch of your centers together and your head falls back, exposing the pretty sight of your jugular to him.
There’s a moment there where Luke has the urge to wrap his hand around it. But he fears what your reaction would be so he flexes his hand, and lets the thought evaporate into the stiff night air.
Luke knows that he feels as he does because of the hormones swirling throughout his body, but he has the feeling that he can trust you. Really trust you. Enough to tell you everything he’s ever wanted to tell anybody.
“Do you trust me?” He says it to you, his hand pulling your head back towards his, your lips mere centimeters a part.
You nod, the tip of your nose nudging against his with each movement.
Luke kisses you once, then tells you, “the gods, they–”.
He doesn’t have a spiel planned, but his need to tell you everything has him covered. He knows that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. Not until you understand your parents as he does.
You put an unexpected dent into Luke’s poorly conceived plan when you shake your head.
“Don’t wanna hear about the gods right now, Luke. Just wanna kiss you.”
And the way you say it, like it’s something you need rather than just want, makes Luke abide completely.
His free hand slips under your shirt, pressing his palm flat against your torso, and giving himself the first real press of skin on skin. He sighs, pulling away from your lips to knock his forehead against yours.
He slides his hand up until he finds where your bra would sit. But he doesn’t run into any more material. Instead, he reaches a hill, one he nudges his thumb against, reaching up until he finds the beginning of your areola. Then, as if he’s realizing that he’s going further than he should be, he pulls his head away and looks at you.
“Is this…?” The question makes him feel vulnerable. If he finishes it, he bares his wants out to you. And he knows that you have done the same for him already, but he doesn’t feel ready to invite the possibility of rejection.
So instead, he raises his eyebrows and waits for you to catch on.
You nod, biting down onto your lower lip. Your hands begin to search, too, leaving behind the sides of Luke’s face to tickle through the grown out hairs at the back of his head.
What follows is the most carnal display of want that Luke has ever been part of.
He starts by tweaking your nipples, applying light pressure and then smoothing it out when you moan. He watches your reactions to try and figure out what to do next, but luckily you end up pulling his hand away yourself, leading it to the elastic waistband of your pants. You look at him pleadingly, not needing to say what you want for Luke to take initiative.
Luckily, the favor is returned.
You unbutton his jeans, pull them down just enough, and reach a hand into the fabric, touching along the gingham pattern of his briefs.
There’s not much coordination to it at all, but it doesn’t seem to bother either of you. From how Luke sees it, you’re equal amounts of eager, pressing against each other in multiple areas as if you’re both attempting to fuse your bodies together.
In the excitement of it all, Luke accidentally bumps the heel of his palm against your center. He assumes that it would have hurt you, so he’s close to apologizing.
Until you moan.
That’s all it takes for Luke to push away the rest of his pride and insecurities. He takes a breath.
“Will you … can you show me what to do? How to make you feel good?”
Your reply is instant. “Two fingers.”
He singles out his pointer and middle finger.
“And then go...” You wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling his touch up to find something that his fingers catch on, a bundle of nerves that apparently feels good for you. You nod, sighing out a small “right there”.
He feels a little dumb when he asks, “What do I do now?”
“Rub. Circles are best, but side to side works too.”
So that’s what he does.
He starts slow at first, the circles a little wide, but they feel good for you. You’re nodding, eyes fluttering shut a bit. You return your hand to Luke, pressing over his dick, and then sliding a little further down until you reach his balls.
He tries to hide his sound, but a hitch of his breath comes out anyway.
There’s a tree stump just behind you, a product of an accident Luke has yet to tell you about, but you direct him towards it, standing over him for a second when he falls back to sit on it. The two of you have sat on the stump a few times before, but never in this capacity.
Luke watches you climb over him, straddling his hips, and pushing your crotches together.
Then, you grind.
One of Luke’s hands finds your ass, the other reaches back to connect with what’s left of the tree, reclining his position just enough to provide more room. He lets you do the rest, spurring you on with little nods and small breaths.
It’s not like you can see him, not when your eyes are pinched shut.
Luke wants to join you. His eyes threaten to close and submerge him in a void that would enhance every single feeling. But closing his eyes means getting rid of this sight. And he never wants to forget what you look like right now.
There’s sweat beading along your hairline and running down the side of your face. Your face is one of relaxation, save for the tiniest crease of concentration between your eyebrows. Luke can tell that you’re warm, and not just by the perspiration. But clearly his training has been paying off because your body doesn’t show fatigue. Your muscles are still taunt, your movements are still languid. You don’t show any plans of stopping anytime soon.
And at first, that’s what Luke wants.
There’s a few moments where he’s lost in oblivion. Where he pictures the worst thing in the world happening, and it’s you getting off of him. The feeling is so delicious, your centers grinding together, bumping clumsily yet still working in both of your favors.
He doesn’t want it ever to end.
And then he cums.
Again, he tries to hide the sounds he makes. But a groan rips through his throat, jumping out of his mouth and falling directly onto the fabric of your shirt when he rests his forehead against your chest.
He uses you as an anchor, his big hands gripping any part of you that he can find. He grips your clothes as he attempts to tether himself to the here and now.
He’s huffing, spent even though he did none of the work. Eventually, he lifts his head to search for your lips, but then he winces when you keep going.
He’s speaking in fragments. He’s trying to communicate his sensitivity. But you only shake your head, speeding your hips up a bit more.
“Sorry, ‘m sorry. I’m almost there. Swear, Luke. I swear…” and it’s just then that Luke is presented with the prettiest image he’s ever seen.
When his lips are numb and there’s a wet patch pressing against his sensitive cock in his briefs, Luke remembers the alcohol he has stashed within a bush.
He presents it, feeling that same sense of pride spread through his chest whenever you seem delighted at the options, even though it’s just a box of hard seltzer one of his brothers snuck in at the beginning of the summer. When you ask him what it took to secure it, Luke brushes it off, not wanting to remember the poop scooping he’d doomed himself to.
But the sight of you grinning before bringing the first sip of a cracked open can to your lips makes it all worth it.
When you pull it away a bead of clear liquid snags on the corner of your lips. Luke’s eyes watch it glide down your chin, and before he can stop himself he reaches a hand out, once again feeling that bravery, and swipes his thumb at the liquid.
He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean, surprisingly pleased at the flavor.
You both make your way through multiple cans, and it’s only when there’s a slight slur to your words and a sway to your frame that you ask Luke about your parents. And not about the stories you’ve been told throughout school, or the glorious recounts about how they’ve helped their kids. But the truth. About how Luke feels.
And he turns to you, smiling gently, and begins to tell you, becoming more and more pleased as you begin to express the same outrage as him.
He doesn't have to question if you'll be a valuable ally. He doesn't have to feed you carefully worded lines to twist your mind into siding with him.
With you, it's natural. The same as it is with him.
It’s exactly a week later. Another capture the flag day created a certain buzz that flowed throughout camp.
Earlier this morning, Luke was concerned about winning. That was before he found himself in a similar position as he did weeks ago.
Standing next to you in a clearing, no other campers around to witness something that will certainly be a sight to behold.
Just like before, you’re standing over a camper with your sword raised over his frightened frame. He’s pleading, but his words are useless. They fall to deaf ears.
“No maiming!” He exclaims. “It’s the rules, remember?” His words are spoken with a stutter, the tremor in his voice extremely obvious.
Briefly, Luke looks over to you only to find you already looking at him.
You’re waiting, body tense, ready to attack. All you need is the command.
“Do it.”
There’s a rip and a scream, and Luke’s eyes don’t leave your frame.
He watches the splatter of blood meet your cheek and for once, Luke doesn’t reach over to wipe it away. He leaves it there, leaving the evidence behind as he cups your face delicately, spreading his fingers to miss the crimson, and then using his hold to pull you close and press his lips to yours.
Easily, quickly, you submit to him.
You two haven’t shared things in the most intimate form, not yet at least, but he doesn’t need that with you. Looking in your eyes, seeing that same look that he sees in himself, Luke knows that having your legs spread around his hips with euphoria isn’t the most necessary thing in the world. He would love for it to happen, and he will revel in it when it does happen, but he knows that fucking you isn’t needed to guarantee your loyalty to him.
As you submit to him, smelling of musk derived from hard work, the evidence of your effort on your face, Luke knows that he’s already secured it.
He has your loyalty.
And he can’t shake the excitement he feels towards your potential. Because he knows that the fire blazing deep inside of you can’t be contained for much longer.
He just hopes your internal fire continues to work in his favor and never against it.
#lukesworld!#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan x you#dark!luke#celeste writes pjo#luke castellan smut
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
caught your fever I'll be feeling it forever ❅ (a.s)
PART TWO
❅ pairing: Anakin Skywalker x fem!reader
❅ summary: You and Anakin have always been the best of friends; who just happen to be in love and are refusing to do anything about it. OR You go on a ski trip with several of your friends and have to share a bed with your best friend, whom you’ve been harbouring feelings for years.
❅ genre: fluff + smut (18+ mdni) modern!au
❅ word count: 12,1k (uhm. sorry.)
❅ warnings/tags: friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers kinda, one bed trope + forced proximity trope, idiots in love, mutual pining, assumed unrequited love, reader is described as shorter than anakin, inexperienced/virgin!reader, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom anakin, ok… just kinda a softer anakin, sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, size kink, praise kink, lots of pet names. this is not beta read sorry!
❅ a/n: GUESS WHAT!!! user healmydesires is back with another self indulgent fic about their blorbo! this one is so hot and dear to me likeeee always wanted to write these tropes. so here you go <3 also ngl.. majority is just smut 😭
AO3 • masterlist
❅⋆* ☾ ⋆* ❅･ﾟ:⋆* ❅･ﾟ
As you open the door to your bedroom, you drop your bag and flick on the light. The space is cosy with pine furniture and a fireplace to light when the room gets cold. The balcony allows for a picture perfect view of the distant forest and snowy landscape. The room is beautiful in its simplicity. Overall, cute and warm.
You hear Anakin swearing quietly behind you as you take in the room.
There’s one thing though.
There’s only one bed.
And it is quite tiny, looks smaller than a double, slightly bigger than a single bed, and various pillows stacked on top of each other.
A few months ago your mutual friends begged you to come along to this ski trip to the Alps. Honestly, you didn’t want to come to this trip in the first place but when Padmé, one of your closest friends told you that Anakin would come along you just couldn’t resist.
You feel your stomach coiling into knots and your body heats up as you realise you’ll have to share this bed this whole trip with your best friend. The man you’ve been hopelessly in love with for as long as you can remember.
All the stupid fluttery feelings in your stomach every time his eyes catch yours, or the way your heart beats fast whenever you are in close proximity to him. But, of course, you try to bury those feelings down deep, reminding yourself that Anakin could never feel the same way about you as you feel about him.
So far, you’ve lived twenty-four years, and throughout a huge majority of it Anakin Skywalker has been your anchor, your only constant. Being his best friend is easy, just as natural as breathing. Falling in love with him was bound to happen anyway. It’s inevitable.
“Fucking, Snips.” He grumbles under his breath.
Ahsoka had promised you that the both of you would be sharing a room together but at the last minute, she picked a bedroom for herself. The only other bedroom left. She’d give you a silent apology with the most innocent smile you had ever seen as she ran up to her room.
Every single one of your friends have already been paired up or have their own rooms and you have a feeling that they did this on purpose.
Slowly, you spin around, looking at Anakin who looks extremely flushed. He looks adorable even if he looks a little overwhelmed right now. If it weren’t for the fact that you feel just as overwhelmed as him, you would probably tease him for his pink cheeks.
“Uhm—”
“Look, I can always just take the couch downstairs.” Anakin interrupts as he grimaces, scrubbing a hand over his face before he turns around to head out the room.
You swallow nervously, steadying your breathing the best way you can before you speak.
“Ani, wait.” You call out, cringing internally at how desperate you sound. “The bed is clearly big enough for the both of us.”
He sighs as he turns around, facing you.
“Besides, the couch is much smaller than the bed,” you huff out a nervous laugh as you try to avoid his eye contact. You pick up your bag and then toss it on the bed. “And it’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before.” You smile shyly up at him as you push some hair back behind your ear.
“Right.” Anakin smiles back, just as nervous as you. “Are you sure?” He tries, the idea of sharing a bed with you overwhelming him. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Ani,” you look up at him, as you frown. You’re sure you’re pouting but you don’t care. It feels as if sharing a bed with you terrifies Anakin. “Do you mind sleeping in the same bed? Am I that awful to share a bed with—”
“No!” He cuts you off with wide eyes, a bit too quickly. He clears his throat awkwardly, “I mean, no, of course not. I just, I truly don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Your heart warms up at his words. “I won’t, I promise.” You reassure him with a small but genuine smile. “As long as you’re fine with it too?”
Anakin reciprocates your smile and nods, “of course, sweetheart.”
⋆｡ﾟ❆ ☁︎ ﹡｡⋆｡❅ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ﹡❅ ༶
You can’t stop shivering.
Even hours after you’ve come back from skiing, you’re trembling. The cold not leaving your body, as you can’t seem to warm up. The warm water of the shower from earlier didn’t help either. Your hands are freezing cold, your fingers feeling like ice cubes.
You don’t like skiing, it’s one of the reasons why you were so reluctant to come along on this trip. Not because you hate the sport, but you’re just awful at it.
You’ve been trying all day to ski the right way, only for you to fall on your face in the snow every single time you thought you were getting the hang of it.
You’re certain that multiple of your friends' camera rolls, especially Ahsoka’s and even Ben’s, are now full of pictures and videos of you going down the baby slopes with all the little kids laughing at you as you kept falling down.
The worst of it all is that this wasn’t your first time skiing. You used to go skiing a lot as a kid but it’s been at least fifteen years ago that you put skis on, let alone went skiing. Even with the help of Anakin, you would continue to make a fool out of yourself. After countless times of him catching you, you finally gave up.
You truly wished you stayed at the chalet with hot chocolate and a good book.
Especially after hours of being back in the chalet, you still can’t seem to get warm. Not only are you extremely cold, your body is sore as well.
After you’ve had dinner with the whole group, you go straight to take another shower. You couldn’t wait to engulf your body in warmth again.
As you emerge from the adjacent bathroom in your pyjamas with a hoodie on top of it, after taking your second shower of the evening, you can’t help but stop and stare at the sight before you. Anakin is sitting shirtless against the headboard with some pillows propped against it to make him feel more comfortable, while he’s holding one of his sketchbooks. He’s covered in blankets and you can’t help but find him adorable as you admire him.
The change of temperature in the room is the next thing you notice, before you hear some crackling of fire. Anakin must have started the fire, to bring some warmth to the room. The fireplace illuminates the room in a beautiful warm glow, and you have to pull your eyes away as the orange lightning makes Anakin look even prettier.
Unfortunately, after your shower you still feel extremely cold. The shivering doesn’t stop.
“I lit the fireplace.” He says with a smile as he looks up from his sketches.
Despite how cold you feel, a sense of warmth spreads through your chest by his words. “Thank you, Ani. That’s very sweet.” You whisper before making your way to your side of the bed, instantly getting under the covers and blankets.
Once you are settled underneath your covers he turns his attention back to his sketchbook, resuming his drawings or doodles.
As he concentrates on his drawings, your gaze flicks over to him every one in a while, his face lit up by the orange glow of the fireplace. He’s always been pretty, that’s a fact, but you can see it now more than ever. You can’t help but admire how beautiful he looks, it nearly takes your breath away.
It’s hard to look away.
Minutes have passed and you’re still freezing, teeth chattering and body trembling as chills run up and down your arms and legs. You desperately rub your hands over your arms as you try to warm up but eventually you settle your hands underneath your arms.
The rustling of the sheets has probably caught his attention because soon Anakin calls out your name.
“Did the shower not help this time around?”
You look up as you catch him staring at you. Despite the fact that you continue to shiver underneath the covers you feel yourself get flustered as he looks at you intensely. His blue eyes shine so beautifully in the sunset glow of the room. You almost forget the question that left his lips as you quickly snap out of your daze.
You don’t trust yourself to speak. So instead, you close your eyes for a second and just simply shake your head as another huge shiver runs down your spine.
Anakin seems to contemplate with himself as he lies still after you answered. He sighs after the beat of silence, then puts his book and pencil aside.
“Come here,” he says softly as he beckons you to come to him.
A flash of heat washes over your face as you look at him. As you continue to look at him with wide eyes he rolls his eyes playfully at you. “Come on sweetheart,”
You’re used to cuddling your best friend sometimes but never in this position, and certainly not in the same bed. But you can’t help but feel your whole body crave for his touch.
You nibble on your bottom lip before you finally decide to move closer to him.
As you come closer he slowly wraps his arms around you, giving you time to pull away in case he is overstepping boundaries. Seeing that you don’t pull away, he fully wraps his arms around you; engulfing you in his embrace.
Once you settle in his touch, you’re immersed in warmth. You aren’t sure if it is the body heat your best friend radiates or if it is the blood that runs to your cheeks. Soon you realise you aren’t exactly cuddling him back. So then you wrap your arms around his body, your hands settling on his back.
The touch of your fingers grazing his bare back pulls a shiver and a gasp out of your best friend.
“Shit, angel,” he curses under his breath, pulling back from your embrace to take one of your hands in his. Then he grabs the other one and clasps them together. “Your fingers are literally frozen!”
He holds your hands between his own warm palms as he looks at you. He holds your gaze as you continue to shiver in front of him. Anakin then lowers his head. His lips hover barely an inch over your skin, then opens his mouth to release a few hot breaths directly onto your fingers.
“Sweetheart, you’re freezing.” He whispers, almost as if more to himself. He is rubbing your hands as he looks back at you.
Then he holds your eye contact as he lowers his lips to your skin again. But this time, he presses soft kisses against your knuckles.
He continues to place kisses all over your fingers and occasionally blows some warm air onto your skin. It brings a flutter to your stomach while you stumble for something to say to him. You feel yourself melt and turn putty in his touch. As he continues to shower you in his affection you can’t help but notice how soft his touch is.
“I-I—” you choke as a whirling feeling shoots through your body. Warmth rises to your face once again and all over your body as he continues to stare into your eyes.
The last time you held hands was when you were both children, when his mom took you two to get some of your fave ice cream from the ice cream truck in the park during a hot summer afternoon.
You realise that your body is still extremely close to his, as he continues to hold your hands in his. By now most of the cold has left your body. You’re not exactly sure what made it go away but you are pretty sure Anakin is somehow the reason for it. You’re convinced he is some sort of magician because how could his touch bring warmth this fast back to you.
“Are you still cold?” He asks as he holds your gaze while he plays with your fingertips.
“Yes.” You half lie, as you bite your lip.
Being so close in this bed with him makes your cheeks turn hotter. You hope Anakin can’t sense that you’re lying, because you truly don’t want his touch to leave you.
“Oh, no,” he tuts before a smile grows on his face, “we can’t have that now.” His eyes twinkle in the dim light as he looks into yours. As he releases your hands you have to hold back a whine at the loss of his touch.
But soon he wraps his arms around you again, pulling you close against him, your chest pressed against his. He sighs softly as you settle into his embrace, and you melt into him as he holds you.
You adjust your head on the pillow. Your body relaxes instantly as he lets you bury your head in the crook of his neck. You’re both incredibly close together, you can feel his heartbeat drum at the same nervous rhythm as yours.
“Feeling better?” He questions as he leans his head on the top of your head.
He chuckles as you hum in response and continue to nuzzle your face against his skin.
“A bit,” you pull at your bottom lip as you look up at him.
His hands are warm as they wander all over your back, over the soft fabric of your pyjamas. Your eyes flutter close as you enjoy his attention. You feel yourself get lightheaded by his affection and by the close proximity of your bodies.
You feel weak around him. But in the best way.
“You’re so warm, Ani.” You blissfully sigh as you melt into him, nuzzling into his shoulder with your eyes still closed.
You hear your best friend’s breath hitch as your hands start to wander all over his back. You're feeling the soft skin of Anakin’s hips mindlessly, sending shivers up his spine as you graze your fingers slowly against his skin.
You shift your head up just slightly, his chin on your forehead as your nose touches the underside of his jaw. Across your head you can feel Anakin’s breathing, each inhale and exhale starting to deepen as your lips slowly ghost over his chin.
His head then moves away from you just slightly, and regards you for a while, as if he’s trying to determine your comfort level. As you’re both maintaining eye contact, your gaze intensifies as you’re studying Anakin’s face, including his features. You can see the little freckles, moles, his scar and the slight stubble on the lower parts of his face. Your eyes move from his eyes down the slope of his nose and soon your attention is irresistibly drawn to his lips.
The beautiful lips you’ve been dreaming about so many times.
His lips look so inviting, so soft and warm. Now that you’re thinking about kissing him, you can’t help but focus on his lips. You’ve always wondered how his lips would feel or how much you’ve always wanted them on your own. How would he kiss? Would he take his time? Or would he devour you?
There’s a moment of silence as Anakin’s face moves closer and closer to your own, both unable to verbalise just how desperate either of you feel for each other.
“Ani, I—,” you start. What are you trying to say? Your heart is beating so fast, it feels almost impossible to think of anything as you look at the man in front of you. You want to tell him everything—that you want more of his affection, that you are hopelessly in love with him, and that you want to be his and his forever.
Anakin doesn’t say anything. Instead, his hands slide down to your waist, tugging you closer just a bit closer. Your eyes widen while his become more drowsy, your breath quickening as his warm breath gently fans across your face. He smells like mint, and you feel yourself lightheaded and almost intoxicated as it washes over you, making you crave him even more.
You’re feeling hot all over, a feverish feeling overwhelming your senses, your heart can’t seem to find peace and quiet, nor can your trembling limbs. It’s not the sick type of feverish, just heat. Tingling, like anticipation but threaded into your nerves, and warmth.
Then one of his hands moves to hold one of your cheeks, allowing for his face to lean even closer to yours, his eyes sliding shut. Your own follows suit as you feel yourself get lost in the feeling of him pressed gently against your body. Both of your noses then brush ever-so slightly as he tilts his head to the side, and it feels as if in that moment the world starts moving in slow-motion.
And then it happens. The two of you are kissing, so suddenly and overwhelmingly it steals the air from your lungs.
One moment you are both staring at each other’s mouths, the next he is wrapping his arms around you, pulling your body fully against him as his soft lips claim yours.
You take a split second to register it, but instinctively you press against his lips with desperation and wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.
He groans softly, a deep rumble in his chest, as you trail your tongue out to seek purchase in his mouth, and he opens for you without hesitation. Anakin swirls his tongue with yours so wonderfully it makes your toes curl and warmth spreads all over your body. His hands grips at your waist and brings your body flush against his.
As you kiss him, you give yourself to Anakin completely. He tastes like a mix of cocoa and mint, the hot chocolate he drank earlier tonight and the other flavour is probably from when he brushed his teeth, and you never wanted anything else. Just Anakin, forever.
You want him to consume your very being.
The same hand as earlier comes up to your cheek again, holding your face sweetly as he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. Your heart feels like it is about to burst out from your chest. Anakin is kissing you. He wants to kiss you. You can’t seem to wrap your head around the fact that he is literally kissing you right this moment. He kisses you like you are all he needs and that there’s nothing he’d rather do than kiss you right now, so you hold onto him, knotting one hand in his hair, letting him know without words that you don’t want this to stop.
It feels like the world around you stops and the only thing that matters is Anakin, his mouth, his touch and his body against your own. And you can’t help but want more, more.
He sighs in your mouth as one of your hands comes to trace the bottom of his scar underneath his eye. He tilts your head back, giving him access to delve in your mouth deeper, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip.
Kissing him is like breathing. He brings you so much relief, a relief so instant and intense you can’t help the soft noises bubbling in your throat. You feel truly so alive. He feels like a hot cocoa on a cold winter day, like a hearth fire, like a tender embrace in the middle of the night. He feels like home.
His soft lips move yours and control the kiss, and you can’t help but melt in his arms, letting him do anything he wants. He is so good at kissing, you want to do this and stay in this moment forever.
He pulls away after what feels like hours to breathe, his warm pants fan across your heated face. He is still holding your face with one hand, and his thumb on your cheek moves a little, stroking your skin with so much tenderness. He murmurs against your lips, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. You have no idea how much I feel for you.” before delving back in for more.
You can’t do anything but fall into Anakin, the scent of chocolate and mint flooding your senses and intoxicating you better than any alcohol ever could. Your hands rove all over him, clutching and grabbing and pulling, anything to keep him exactly where he is, so close to you, right where he is supposed to be.
The long, frantic kisses become more sweet, loving pecks. You then pull away from him to look him in the eyes. Your hands rest on his chest as he smiles down at you, nothing but genuine care and adoration in his soft blue eyes. This is real. He must feel the same things as you do. It is almost too much for you to handle, a sweeter variety of tears falling down your face now as a wide, dizzy grin stretches across your face almost painfully.
“I… I’ve always dreamed of this, I… I-I love y-you, Anakin. So much more than you’ll ever know.” You stutter out before closing your eyes as you enjoy the feel of him being so close to you.
He stills, and you open your eyes. A thousand questions pop up all at once inside your brain as you look at him. Have you done something wrong? Was this too early? Did you not read the situation right?
Anakin pulls his head back, looks down at you. His lips are swollen and wet from all the kisses you two shared, his eyes wide and lips parting as he processes what you just confessed to him. Then, he brings his hand back to your cheek, cupping it gently.
He breathes out your name as his eyes dart all over your face.
His thumb runs along your lower lip, tracing it slowly, his eyes lost in wonder. You watch him for a moment, the look in his eyes as he stares at his thumb moving on your lip. He’s looking at you like you’re the most extraordinary thing in the world, touching you so tenderly and with such gentleness, and you never want him to stop.
Anakin leans in then, slowly, watching you with intensity while he moves his other hand to come and cup your face. He leans in until his forehead touches yours, and you sigh softly as you enjoy the closeness again. The tip of his nose nuzzles yours, his warm breath kissing your lips, less than a few millimetres away now, and you move your thumb on his cheek, stroking his skin and making his eyes fall close as he lets out a relieved sigh.
Then a gentle smile lights up his face that makes your heart swell and skip a beat. Soon his eyes open slowly before he stares deeply into your eyes.
“You are everything I desire,” he whispers, making you still your thumb on his skin as you look at him. His forehead is still pressed against yours. You take in a deep breath, feeling Anakin moving his hands on your face slowly, his fingers spreading out to touch more of you. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you or dream of you. There is no one that is as mesmerising and enchanting as you. You consume my very being.” He pauses before breathing out your name. “You’re the love of my life, I love you.”
“You… y-you’re in love with me?” You stammer, unsure if you heard him correctly. You’re blinking repeatedly as you try to make the tears disappear that are forming in your eyes.
“Yeah sweetheart,” he whispers as his smile widens, his thumb stroking on your cheek again. His fingers move to wipe the tears away as they slip down your cheeks. “I’ve been in love with you since we were thirteen,” he says as his smile turns more bashful. “Probably even longer, I am sure I was too oblivious to work it out before then.”
As you look into his eyes, all you can see is pure adoration and love written in them. For all those years, this whole time, you were so scared to tell him how you feel about him… only for him to feel the same way. You were always his, ever since you first laid eyes on him.
“I’ve been in love with you since the first time we met,” you told him, voice soft and quiet. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything for anyone else besides you, ever.”
His grin is contagious, warmer than the fire that’s crackling in the fireplace, brighter than the sun on a warm summer day and you swear that in that moment you feel as if it’s just the two of you in this universe.
You lean your face closer to his to then graze your nose against Anakin’s.
“Yeah?” He smiles, blinding and it only widens when you nod shyly. His nose then moves down to press against your cheek, lips just brushing yours.
“Yeah.” You whisper as you bite your bottom lip timidly.
Slowly he brushes his lips against yours before pulling away just slightly. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, and you have to hold back a moan at the delicious, inviting sight. “Baby,” he breathes, sending shivers down your spine, as his gaze shifts from your lips to your eyes repeatedly. “Can I…?”
You nod immediately, not trusting your words, and then he surges towards you to press his lips against yours. You sigh into it, your eyes sliding shut as you bury your fingers in his hair. Anakin groans low in his throat as your fingernails rake against his scalp. His hands then move to wander all over your body as the kiss deepens.
You whimper as he gives your bottom lip a little nip, swiping his tongue against it afterwards to soothe the sting. You gasp, and Anakin takes the opportunity to access the inside of your mouth with his tongue. You moan, feeling lightheaded and dizzy as the kiss turns more heated.
You always knew that he’d be an amazing kisser, but this is something else. His hands grip you and crushes your body to his with fervour as he licks and sucks at your tongue. All you can do is melt into him, your arms hanging loosely around his shoulders. You let out more moans and sighs into his lips as he continues to massage the inside of your mouth with his tongue just right.
Anakin devours you, pouring all his love into you and claiming your mouth and kissing you with so much passion, your body shudders with want, from the need for him. He moves his lips with yours and swirls his tongue with your own. His hand then moves to tangle in your hair as he presses his body to yours completely.
Your hands move to bury in his hair as well. This time, when you pull his hair it is a bit rougher than you intended to and it tips his head all the way back and he lets out a loud, wanton moan that makes your whole body flush with arousal. You whimper as he finally pulls away, leaving your body flush and panting and craving so much more.
“Oh fuck, baby, that’s perfect.” His voice rumbles low in his throat as his adam’s apple bobs, completely exposed. You have to fight the urge to lean down and nip at it, even more heat washes through you at his words.
“I love you Ani,” you whisper breathlessly, as he leans his head back up and kisses you hard on the mouth, his blunt nails digging into your plush hips. “I love you so much.”
“Please, will you say it again baby? I need to hear you say it once more.” He pleads as his eyes flutter.
“I love you.” You whimper as his mouth connects with yours again.
He groans into you, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, and you open your mouth for him when you feel his tongue tracing your lower lip and licking into your mouth. His hand raises to cup your cheek, the other wrapping tighter around you as he keeps your body pressed to his.
His mouth then moves from your lips to your cheeks as he whispers his love for you again and again. He starts to trail long, hot kisses down your jaw and neck. You whimper pitifully as he suckles lightly on the side of your neck, tilting your head back instinctively to bare more of your soft skin to him.
As he continues to move lower down your skin, Anakin’s tongue pokes out every now and then to lavish your skin with it. Lapping, kissing and sucking at your body. His kisses become longer, hotter and more fervent as he continues on. You whine, squeezing your eyes shut as you pull him closer against you.
Anakin groans and bites down gently on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You cry out, impulsively grinding your hips against his in a desperate search for some much-needed friction against your aching clit.
You gasp, your eyes flying open at the hard bulge you feel against your pussy. You whine as your core starts clenching around nothing, begging for attention, his attention.
Instinctively you start moving your hips against his making him groan against your skin. The feel of his desire pressed against your heated skin is heavenly, and you roll your hips up into his to feel some friction against your core.
“Need you so bad baby,” he groans against your skin. You shudder against him and feel the sensation pool down low between your thighs. You’re certain that your underwear is ruined by now.
A high pitched whimper slips past your lips as he starts to move along with you, grinding against your clothed cunt.
Anakin pulls away to look at you. His blue eyes stare into yours as his hands move underneath your night dress, his fingers trailing up your thigh. You feel yourself grow nervous at his touch. Despite how much you want it, anxiety bubbles up inside the pit of your stomach.
“Wait,” you whisper and his movements halt immediately.
“You okay, sweetheart?” He asks worriedly.
“Y-yeah,” you stutter before exhaling deeply. “You are my best friend, so you know everything about me right?”
“Yes, of course.” He frowns.
You take a shuddering breath, mentally preparing yourself for what you are about to say. “Then that also means that I should tell you that I’ve never been intimate with anyone in my life yet.”
You nibble at your bottom lip as his eyes widen in realisation. He knows what you’re insinuating. That you’re a virgin.
You want Anakin so bad, you’ve been dreaming about this for so long but you’d be lying if this doesn’t make you nervous.
It wasn’t like you haven’t dated before. You have been on plenty of dates all your life, too many actually, you’ve even been in a short relationship, but unfortunately, nobody had really charmed their way into your heart like Anakin did. You’ve tried to get over your feelings for him for a long while but it’s impossible. And the thought of being intimate with anyone else but your best friend just never felt right.
A part of you always hoped that maybe, one day he’d feel the same.
“Oh sweet girl,” he says softly as he looks at you with so much tenderness it has you melting against him all over again. “Please don’t you worry about that,” he smiles warmly as he leans down to nudge his nose against yours. “I will take good care of you.”
“I need and want you so bad, but I’m scared that I might let you down.” You whisper as you continue to nibble anxiously at your bottom lip. “That I’ll disappoint you…”
“Baby,” Anakin speaks softly before he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your temple while he holds you close. Your body relaxes instantly at his affectionate touch. “I am certain you could never disappoint me with this. It doesn’t matter whether you’re experienced or not, you’ll always be the best lover I could ever ask. Because you’re perfect for me.”
He looks at you with so much adoration and love it has you melting against him all over again. “I trust you Ani,” you nod timidly and soon he leans down to envelop your lips in a slow but deep kiss.
Warmth spreads all over your body as his hands start to wander. You whimper against his mouth as his hands slowly caress both of your thighs. Your head is clouded with so much lust, you feel so much love for him. Your brain instantly turns into mush as you continue to kiss each other passionately.
Slowly his hands reach under your night dress moving towards your lower back and trace the soft skin there. You then start to move your hips desperately against his as you moan into his mouth, hoping that Anakin will get the hint soon enough.
The kiss then increases with an intensity that has you gasping for breath. You roll your hips into his, rubbing your throbbing clit against him for some friction against your core. You moan into his mouth as you rub against him. The front of his pyjama pants strains as he grinds along with you again.
Suddenly everything becomes overwhelming, the temperature in the room is rising quickly, the feel of his touch as it wanders all over your skin and the fact that you’re going into a foreign but intimate territory with your best friend has you feeling hot all over.
He groans as you continue to grind up against him, grasping your hips into his hands to halt your movements. You whine as he then rolls you both over, hovering over you as he pins your arms gently against the mattress.
You’re so desperate to feel him again.
“So impatient,” he chuckles with a devious smile after he pulls back momentarily to inhale some air. “Such a needy kitten, begging for my touch.”
“Please,” you whine desperately as you wiggle underneath him.
Moments later his lips press against yours again. The kiss gets more heated the more you kiss each other. His hands move down your body again while yours wander to the back of his head and you pull at some strands softly making him moan into your mouth. One of his hands trails slowly up your stomach as the other holds onto your hip. You’re feeling weak at his touch and warmth pools between your thighs as you continue to kiss each other while your hands wander all over each other.
His fingers brush delicately over the sides of your ribs, moving up and down your skin repeatedly, his fingertips mapping out every dip and curve as they wander all over your skin.
“You’re so soft,” he whispers against your mouth. Moments later he pulls his hands away only for his hands to settle on the hem of your hoodie. “Can I take this off, baby?”
You bite your lip and then nod frantically, unable to use your voice at that moment. He smiles as his hands brush under your hoodie for a second before he hooks his fingers in the fabric and draws it upwards.
You raise your arms to help him remove it. As Anakin is pulling away your first garment, the night gown automatically moves along with it. Soon his hands move down to the fabric underneath, pulling it up along with the hoodie. You feel heat rising on your skin the way his eyes roam all over you, taking in every little detail.
The way Anakin is looking at you, eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration, has you feeling so alive.
You don’t know what to do with your hands. They’re trembling so much, and your core is, too, as he discards both of the pieces of clothing to the side and begins mouthing along your collarbone with affection.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers as his mouth travels all over your exposed skin.
Your bare chests are touching, your skin on fire. You look at him with wide eyes, as he continues to kiss your skin, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.
His large hands move to the curve of your waist where it meets your hips and clutches it, holding you tight as he litters damp kisses and nips to your shoulders and any skin along the way down to your breasts. You whimper as he traces the tip of his nose over the swell of your breast.
He leans down, pressing the softest kiss to the side of your breast before he looks up. “Are you okay?” His forearms rests on either side of your body, and when you nod, he brings a single hand up to stroke your left cheek. “If we’re gonna go any further, I need you to talk to me, angel. I need verbal communication. Think you can do that?”
You stare at him for a moment before you nod again. He gives you a knowing look and warmth rises up in your body again. “Sorry,” you whisper. “Y-yes, Ani. Yes, I think I can do that.”
“Good girl,” he praises with a gentle smile. “And if you want me to stop,” he continues, his lips returning to your fiery skin, trailing barely there kisses down the valley of your breasts. Your eyes flutter shut, hands grasping at the sheets. “You tell me right away. Okay?” He mutters in a raw tone, strained.
“Y-yes, I understand Ani.” You whimper.
“Good.”
He breathes in through his nose as he inhales your scent and you shiver when he exhales warmly through his mouth and onto your nipple. “Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful.”
Then, he wraps his lips around one nipple, teeth just skimming your skin as he sucks and licks with passion.
“Ani,” you mewl as you try to grind your hips against something, your cunt seeking friction.
“Good?” he quips back, peering up at you as his mouth curls into a Cheshire Cat smile. You feel your skin flush with heat as you just stare down at him. Lust is written all over your face and he has no trouble reading your expression. So he resumes licking, long, lavishing licks with the flat of his tongue over your pebbled nipple as a hand goes up to squeeze your other breast.
You take it upon yourself to bring the hand that’s squeezing your breast, guiding it down to your heat. As his fingers slip underneath the band of your underwear, down to where you need him the most, his mouth falls open to unleash a loud groan onto your nipple as his fingers slip between your wet lips.
He traces your pussy softly for a while before he pulls himself completely away from you. He sits up as he removes his pants, you whine as you close your eyes, desperate to feel his touch, wanting him on you again.
Once he removes all of his clothes, you feel him move back up to you. He leans down, roving his lips down to your neck, licking and sucking, as his hands cup your sensitive breasts, massaging them in his hands. Heat overwhelms you as Anakin litters soft kisses down your shoulders to your chest. Your hands find his head, running your fingers through his hair as his mouth continues to wander all over your naked skin.
Anakin’s lips move slowly down your body, kissing every little place he can find on your skin while his hands trace along.
He then leans forward, breathing in your core and running his nose along the patch of dampness. You pull at his hair as he inhales your scent. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he hums as he looks up at you with a smile, his hands leave your skin to curl his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “You smell so good. Can’t wait to taste you.”
A shuddering breath leaves your lips as you lift your hips instinctively allowing him to take off your underwear. Once he pushes your legs wide for him, you whimper as the air hits your wet slit. He takes a moment as his eyes take over you, your glistening centre clenching around nothing as he continues to stare at your wet hole.
He licks his lips before leaning down, lips lingering on your thighs, licking and sucking some kisses on your soft skin, Anakin’s lips are so close to where you need him the most yet he feels so far away.
“So pretty,” he murmurs as he guides your legs over either of his shoulders.
You’re about to beg as his lips detach from your thigh, only for moments later to feel him nuzzling against your pussy, smearing your juices across his lips and opening you up to his skilled tongue.
You gasp and squirm at the contact of his wet tongue.
He pulls away again only for his fingers to move to spread your outer lips for him, Anakin smirks as he slides a finger inside of you, watching the way your body squirms at the sensation or the way your wet hole swallows the digit, and you moan against the pillow next to you trying to muffle yourself.
The whine that comes out of you only drives Anakin to seek out more of those heavenly sounds.
“Fuck, such tight pussy.” He moans, as your cunt clenches repeatedly around his digit. “Need to prepare you for my cock.”
Your whines become louder as you feel the pleasure overwhelm you. His fingers are so much bigger than yours, one of his fingers is more pleasurable than any of your fingers.
You whine as your core continues clenching around his finger, begging for more. He pumps his finger in and out of you at a leisurely pace. Instinctively you begin moving your hips, grinding against his hand, as he moans. He looks at you intensely as he continues to fuck you with his finger. His eyes can’t seem to stay in one place as he admires how beautiful you are underneath him.
You are panting heavily, barely able to think straight as he slowly slips two more fingers inside you. Anakin moves them slowly at first as your tight pussy tries to adjust to the addition. The stretch is overwhelming but so satisfying. Little whimpers leave your lips as he fucks you with his fingers. He moves his face back to meet yours, engulfing you in a passionate kiss, swallowing all your little mewls.
Your hands are tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands as your body moves along with the pace of his fingers, feeling him curl them and spread them.
You gasp, his tongue slipping inside your mouth, kissing you with everything that he has. "That feels good doesn't it, baby girl? You like it when I touch you like this?" Anakin groans and his thumb makes contact with your clit. You buck your hips and nod quietly. "Use your words angel," he taunts.
“Yes, please please Ani, feels… so good.” You moan loudly.
Soon his lips travel all the way down your body making you whine and whimper and beg silently for more — all while he’s still finger fucking you.
Anakin inhales your scent as soon as he leans forward, but doesn’t let you wait in anticipation much longer. He wets his lips before his head dips between your legs, warm tongue licking a slow stripe across your outer lips, all the way up to your button.
“Fuck, Aniiii!” You shriek, as your hips buck off the mattress.
Squeaky, senseless noises bubble up from your throat wantonly. Your hips stutter against him and he just sighs like there’s nothing in the world he'd rather be doing than this right now, eating you out on this bed.
You’re a mess of his name, chanted and stuttering over and over again like a prayer. Your eyes squeeze shut to the point of tears, his mouth licks up your clit, he continues to finger you while one of his other hands is holding your hip, pinning you to the soft sheets as you buck into him, trying to urge him to do more.
The way he works up your arousal by pumping his fingers in and out of you, curling up ever so slightly to find the spongy spot inside of you. The familiar coil in your belly continues to build up as Anakin suckles on your sensitive bud. Your abdomen tightens as he starts to quicken his pace again, his fingers hitting into that sweet spot with precision, has your toes curling and clenching your thighs to squeeze around his head.
“Aah, too much!” you squeak, strangled and desperate and extremely close to the edge, “t-too too much, I-I–fuck.”
“Easy, angel,” he whispers before he places a soft kiss on one of your thighs, his fingers stilling inside you.
“Aniiii baby,” you mumble as you borrow your head in the pillow.
“It’s okay baby, I know, I’ve got you” he coos again, his smile all teasing. “It’s a lot. Will you let me continue?”
“Y-yeah, just uh wait a second” you whine.
“Anything for you.”
But after a moment, waiting feels too much. It feels like hours are passing by. You’re already tired of waiting and he is, too. Anakin leans down to dip his tongue between your folds to lick upwards to your clit.
You sigh at the same time he does, except yours is very high-pitched and his sounds so dreamy. Anakin is lapping at you with determination, moving his fingers slowly in and out of you, taking care not to be too rough this time and push you over the edge when you’re not ready for it.
“Oh, my god,” you whimper, trembling digits sinking half into his brown hair and the other against your teeth, trying to silence yourself. “Fuck, ahhh Ani, f-fuck…”
He moans against you as his lips seal around your clit and you buck your hips at the action. “Fucking- you taste good. You feel so good. You’re everything.”
“Fuck, Ani baby, oh my fucking— god,” you cry out loud. You’re sure your friends in the other rooms have heard you by now. He sucks lazily at your clit while he curls his fingers into you. Anakin eventually sucks harder on your clit, still occasionally swirling his tongue around your little bud while moving his fingers inside you a bit faster. You keep chanting his name between moans as you now hold onto his hair with both of your hands.
You gasp loudly as your whole body trembles even more, the hot feeling continues to spread all over your body, your body tingling, your hips moving at their own accord against Anakin’s hand and face. Then your body tenses as you come against his mouth. Your whole mind feels like exploding and all you can see is stars. You feel so overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and emotions you are experiencing. Your body is still trembling as you feel yourself come down from your high.
“You’re doing so well for me baby,” he says proudly as his fingers slow down, slipping out of you to rub your slit softly, while he continues to lick your clit, still helping you ride out your orgasm.
You are a sputtering mess while he teeters you towards overstimulation.
As you come back to your senses, you feel his fingers slip away from your heat. Your pussy clenches repeatedly around nothing, you feel like a hot storm and you’re sopping wet from the waist down and dripping down the poor sheets, as you whimper helplessly.
You need him so bad. Your pussy continues to pulse, begging to be filled all over again. Begging for his cock.
Your eyes are still closed as you feel your legs being spread further apart with his strong hands. A loud broken moan leaves your lips as Anakin dives between your legs again, licking a stripe up through your folds and teasingly dipping his tongue into your needy hole before he travels up to your clit, spreading your lips with his wet muscle and sucking your button into his mouth.
You practically scream at his actions, arching your back slightly off the bed. Your body trembles terribly. You need more. You try to grind your wetness slowly against his lips as your body continues to shake.
Strong arms are suddenly locked around your thighs, securing your hips with his biceps, holding you still despite your attempts to grind your pussy against his lips.
“Taste so good kitten, could eat this pussy all day.”
The man you love the most in this whole universe is between your legs as he keeps sliding his tongue up and down your sensitive slit. Your little mewls and other noises spur him on, to move his lips back up to your clit. He then sucks the nub softly between his lips.
Eventually he leans down, slipping his tongue into your entrance, he curls the muscle upward to brush your walls, the sight of your fingers bunching the fabric of the sheets in a tight grip encouraging him to do it again.
You’re a mess, a whimpering needy mess. Your hips try to move against his face as you continue to moan breathlessly underneath him. Writhing below him, you feel him lick up and press against a sensitive spot inside that has you seeing stars, while your hips buck against his face uncontrollably. Thighs clamp around his head as you feel another orgasm nearing. Defiance and greed consumes your thoughts, your fingers once again gripping onto his brown hair rather harshly and hips pushing against his face to shove his tongue deeper into your hole.
“Ahhh Anakiiiin—” you drag out. You are so close, you just need one more little push.
You’re moving your hips against his face, fucking yourself onto his tongue as he applies pressure on your sensitive spot inside you with his tongue, you can feel his thumb circling your clit, making you see stars.
“Be a good girl and come for me,” Anakin moans against your pussy before plunging his tongue back inside. With a bit more pressure on your clit and the sound of his deep voice you come with a loud whine, your vision turning white and your ears ringing as you feel your movements against his face getting sloppier.
Your hips are stuttering until the final waves of aftershock pass. Gently, he laps at your release until the overstimulation is getting too much.
“You did so well angel, you’re so good to me. So beautiful. You taste so good and sweet.” He says, his voice deep, as he kisses the skin of your inner thigh.
You whimper at his words, gently pulling your hips away from his mouth. He grins, holding eye contact as he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth.
You giggle as he licks his fingers clean, feeling slightly embarrassed by the action. You bring your hands up lazily to cover your heated cheeks, but Anakin is having none of it. He places soft kisses all over your hands and then drags them down gently, then leans down to pepper kisses to your nose, your forehead, your cheeks, until his mouth lands on your lips with a smile, joining in on the soft laughter between each kiss.
He pulls away with a satisfied sigh, he smiles as he reaches to touch the side of your neck, tracing his fingertips up and down.
You sigh as you melt at the feel of his touch and kiss his thumb as it comes to trace across your lips. You wrap your still shaky legs around his hips as you stare into his eyes.
“I think I’m ready.”
“Sure?” He asks softly.
“Yes,” you nod as you then snake your hand between the both of you, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek.
“We can stop at any time if it’s becoming too much for you,” he reminds you, and you know the serious look in his eyes comes from nowhere else but concern.
You pout up at him as you trace your fingers over the scar of his right eye. “I know I’m nervous but I don’t want to stop.”
“Sweetheart,” he coos. “I just want you to be comfortable and I want you to know that it’s okay if you change your mind. I wouldn’t adore you any less if we stop here tonight.”
Tears well up in your eyes as you try to fight them from rolling down your cheeks. His words truly touch you. There’s no one in this world that you adore more than him. You were certain you wanted to continue with him but after his reassurance, you want him even more. You love this man so much. He’s your everything.
You take a deep breath, swallowing back the lump in your throat and bringing your other hand up to cradle both of his cheeks. He looks you in the eyes with intensity. “I want to experience this with you,” you say softly. “I trust and love you with everything that I am.”
He looks at you with so much adoration, tenderness and like you’re a goddess. As if you’re meant to be worshipped and held with the utmost reverence. It has your cheeks heat up, but it also warms your heart, making you feel a lot less nervous.
He then leans down to enwrap your mouth with his, kissing you deeply as he cups your face. Your legs tighten around his hips, pushing him closer against your body. You can feel his hard cock against your core as it strains against the confines of his underwear, sending another hot flash of arousal through you.
Taking a leap of faith, you trail your hands from his cheeks all the way down his torso until your fingers meet his abdomen, slipping momentarily underneath the waistband of his boxers. Then your hands move to the band, as you tug at it.
Anakin watches you as all he can do is focus on your touch, and when he feels the still of your hands, he takes it upon himself to slowly peel back, shuffling a bit to rid himself of the last remaining clothing off of him. He tosses it aside, fully exposing himself to your hungry eyes.
Your breath hitches, your eyes wide. Fuck, he was massive. Long and thick in all the right ways. A spark of heat shoots down to your clenching core as you imagine how he will fit or fill you. But it is also accompanied by a twinge of nerves.
Anakin chuckles as he moves back closer to you, as his lips chase your own, as he envelops you into another sweet but deep kiss. “What is this beautiful head of yours thinking?”
“H-how?” You say quietly as you stare at him.
Anakin laughs softly and you can’t help but pout up at him as you hear his soft laughter. “I promise, it will fit.” He reassures you quickly as his hand cups your cheek gently. “Don’t you worry my sweet girl.”
He guides himself into position, his tip poking slightly at your entrance and causing another surge of heat to course through your veins. He rests his forehead against yours, looking deeply into your eyes.
You smile and bite your lip as you roll your hips against his to feel his cock. It turns slick as you keep grinding yourself against him, he glides his hips along with yours as he rubs against you.
“I love you,” you whisper as you nuzzle your nose against his, reaching up to place a soft kiss to his lips.
His eyes glow in the orange light with a soft, loving warmth. “I love you too.” He presses another sweet kiss to your lips.
The two of you kiss languidly for a moment, treasuring the heat of each other's bodies as your lips slot together with ease, but soon enough the kisses become deeper, and hands start to grip tighter and legs tangling together.
He holds his length in his hands as he keeps rubbing the head of his cock from your entrance, up to your clit, circling until you squirm underneath him, and back down. Anakin loves the sounds you make as he spreads his precum around your slit, where you are still dripping for him.
The thought of him finally entering you with his cock makes you wetter and turns you even more on. Anakin swallows your whines with his lips against yours, his hips rolling with yours. He kisses you full with fervour, his grip on you intensifying heatedly.
You’re trembling against him, full of anticipation. His body covers your whole body with his. You writhe against him, wishing he was just in you already and filling you up and making you see white.
“I’ll try to go slow, okay, angel?” He says before leaning back down to kiss your lips again, he reaches down and grasps himself to line up between your lips and slide. He is rubbing the tip firmly over your slit and your mind is all over the place.
“P-please, Anakin,” you stutter, your body trembling even more underneath him. “P-put it in, please?”
He rubs himself up and down your slit for a while longer before he moves his dick teasingly around your core. You arch your back slightly and whine loudly out of frustration.
“Relax baby girl,” he whispers against your mouth.
You whimper in anticipation as his forehead touches yours. He nudges the tip of him against your hole, still slick with arousal. Your legs tremble underneath him, a mix of nerves and excitement. Once he notches himself inside of you, a gasp elicits from the both of you.
You know it was just the tip of him, but you can’t help but feel the stretch already. Anakin slides in so slowly it’s agonising. He’s careful, like he’s afraid you might break. You let out a long broken whine as he gradually pushes more of him inside you. He’s so big.
You tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly as you whine underneath him. He pants along with you, his warm breath fanning over your face while he keeps his forehead pressed against yours. The stretch stings, but his pace keeps it bearable. He guides himself a centimetre further, then another, another, until you are digging your nails into his scalp, a gasp spilling from your lips.
His hips still instantly once he hears the pained noises falling from your lips. Tears begin to prickle at your waterline, a combination of discomfort and the overwhelming feelings coursing through you.
“Doing so good for me baby,” he praises as he peppers your face with soft kisses. “You’re doing amazing.”
“Please,” you whimper as your eyes flutter close.
He continues to move almost painfully slow, letting you adjust to every centimetre of him. After a couple of seconds you’re able to relax more into it. You whimper, clutching his shoulders at the stretch, the heat in your abdomen growing as your walls flutter around him, pleasure beginning to bloom in your stomach.
“Such a good girl,” he grunts softly. You think there isn’t a possibility to get more wet but as he utters those words you feel your heat get even more wet.
Once he bottoms out, a soft gasp slips past your lips as his tip kisses your cervix. The tears that lingered at your eyes are now falling freely down your cheeks. You feel so full and relieved as he stills against you. Your walls involuntarily flutter around him, getting used to his size. Anakin’s soft lips are on your forehead, leaving soft kisses and whispering sweet nothings and words of encouragement.
You take your time, your eyes slowly opening once you’re ready. As you open your eyes unhurriedly, Anakin is already staring down at you with an intense concern. “I’m fine,” you promise with a pant, nodding as you look at him. “It’s just, a lot.”
As you feel yourself adjust to his size, you realise how full you feel. So full, as if he is made for you, and only you. The feeling of him filling you up so completely has you seeing stars.
You need more.
He groans as you clench around him, and you note the twitch of restraint in his focused brow. “Ani, you can move,” you whisper, bringing a shaky hand up to push the curls that fell before his eyes and off his forehead.
He looks at you with a tender look, before he moans after you squeeze around his girth and tilt your hips to invite him to move. He wets his lips before he moves slow and deep. His thrusts start as gentle rocks of his hips, never pulling too far in or out, just enough to feel every movement. The sting hurts for a moment, but it easily morphs into a more pleasurable feeling as he continues to move against you.
Slowly, you are getting used to his girth, anticipating it every time he pulls out of you before moving forward. Your legs are splayed open on either side of his hips as he grinds his cock into you. The angle is so good, gradually he picks up his pace, leaving you a whimpering mess underneath him. As he fucks into you in languid strokes, the sound of slick skin is being heard in the room.
Every time he thrusts into you, his pelvic bone drags along your throbbing clit, making you cry out his name in pure ecstasy.
“You’re taking me so well, sweet girl. Doing so so, good for me.” He whispers against your skin as he moves to nuzzle his face against your neck.
Soft grunts fall from Anakin’s lips whenever he hits a specific deep spot inside you. You whimper as his lips move back up to your lips, enveloping them in a heated kiss. He snakes one of his hands down between your conjoined bodies finding your clit as he rubs two fingers over the sensitive nub.
At a certain point you feel him slide into a pressure point in your core and coupled with the way his fingers circle your clit, it has you clenching like a vise around his dick. Your eyes roll to the back of your head from the pleasure he is providing you. The whimpers that fall off your lips become higher pitched as he picks up his pace.
“Feeling good baby?” He moans, as his lips curl into a soft smile while he can’t help but admire the way your face contorts in pure pleasure. Too overwhelmed by the new experience. Filth and praise continues to come out of his mouth as he fucks you. “This pussy was made for me.”
His mouth covers your own instead as he swallows all your little noises of pleasure, you can feel the tightness return in your belly, the tight coil that pulls tighter with every movement and every touch.
Your whimpers, gasps of pleasure and pants increase as ecstasy and warmth overwhelm your senses.
His hands can’t get enough of you, sliding around your hips and lower back, wanting to feel all of you, touch you everywhere. You whimper at the feeling of his speed, feeling another orgasm coming so close, eyes tightly shut and legs locked bruisingly around Anakin’s hips. He can feel it too, in the way you clench and squeeze at his length, and he starts to drive even harder into your heat as he tilts his hips gently, searching for the one place that he hopes will blow your mind.
Your arms tremble as they wrap around him, your nails digging in his back making him groan on top of you. The feeling of the coil tightening in your belly, is tingling down to your legs, ready to snap at any moment.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, cursing under his breath when you purposefully tighten your walls around him. “Bet you’d look even prettier with my cum inside your pussy. All full and messy.”
“Please…” you moan as you think about him filling you up. “Please Ani, baby, fill this pussy up.”
He grunts as he buries his face into your neck as he fucks into you, making the whole bed rattle at his force.
“You want to cum sweetheart?”
You nod frantically at his words while your eyes flutter close as you bite your lip harshly. You're bucking up beneath him, nails digging into his skin even more as his hand moves back to your clit as another comes to intertwine your hands together, pinning them to the bed. He rubs your clit with enough pressure to ensure you’ll cum around him.
“Cum for me, kitten.” Anakin demands softly.
And when he finally nudges against that spot inside you coupled with his deep voice– you're exploding, shattering, and detonating all at once, crying out his name. Blood is rushing so wildly in your ears that you can't possibly hear the way you wail and sob as he crashes his lips onto yours, swallowing all your noises. Your head lolls back, your back arching violently as you twist and contort in pleasure under him.
Anakin groans in your ear as your walls spasm and pulse around his cock, begging him to cum inside, desperate for him to fill you up the way he promised.
“Fuck,“ he moans, pushing himself up as he thrusts deeper into you, the head of his cock hitting your cervix repeatedly. “You want me to fill this pussy up? Make it all messy?”
You’re still in a daze but you’re still able to understand him so you nod vigorously at his words, whining even more at the sensitivity. Your pussy squeezes around his cock in anticipation. “Please…”
He moves his hips sloppily before he groans loudly, as he finally cums inside you. The warmth of his seed fills you up and spreads within your walls. You whimper at the feel of his cum dripping out of you once he pulls out.
It's a blurry haze when you come back to your senses, your whole body is aching whilst simultaneously feeling the most relaxed you've ever been, equally as exhausted as it is energised, and you don't bother trying to question why. Just pure contentment.
Once both of you caught your breaths, Anakin leans his forehead against yours before kissing you tenderly.
“That was…” He breathes, smiling tiredly at the complete dopey mess he's made of you; hair all over the place and eyes lidded heavily, heated skin glowing and your lips looking swollen from all the kisses you’ve both shared.
“Oh yeah, that was amazing.” Your voice comes out hoarse, still recovering from the height and volume it had gone, and you clear your throat gently before you smile up at him.
Your skin is sweaty and sticky but he doesn't seem to care, pulling you closer and running his hands over any piece of skin he can find, still in awe at how amazing you looked coming apart beneath him— all because of him.
You’re overwhelmed with so much love and adoration as you look at him. Both of your hands come up to cup his cheeks before you pull him down again for another sweet and slow kiss.
Suddenly his body shakes above yours as he chuckles. You pull away from his lips as you look at him with a confused grin. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m thankful everyone made sure that we would be sharing a room together.” He says before laughing as you look at him with a surprised expression on your face.
“Oh my god. You think they set us up?” Your eyes widen and you gasp as realisation hits you.
“I don’t just think so, I’m very certain of this.” He continues between chuckles. “In fact, I’m pretty sure some of them even bet on us.”
“They did not!” You gasp dramatically before you giggle along with him.
“They sure did,” he smirks as you continue to laugh softly underneath him. He leans down to press a soft kiss against your forehead, “we have to clean you up.” Anakin mumbles as his fingers trace down your sides causing you to shiver and close your eyes.
“Later, I’m tired,” you murmur back whiningly.
With a low laugh he picks you up, making you yelp in surprise. “Up you go.” You’re about to complain that you can walk perfectly to the bathroom on your own, when you feel sore and your legs feel numb.
He reaches the bathroom, he then sits you down on the edge of the bathtub all while running the water and surprising you by adding in your favourite bath bomb, to make a bubble bath. You can’t believe he brought your fave bath bomb along on this trip. It brings a smile to your face. Once the bath is warm and semi filled, he picks you up again and helps you in the tub and you close your eyes, feeling your muscles relax quickly, basking in the warmth and comfort of the bath.
“Ani?” You question, hoping that he’s still in the room.
“Yes, my princess?” He says softly.
Your eyes flutter open and you see him sitting next to the end of the tub. “Can you please, join me?” You whisper timidly.
“Of course, angel.” Anakin smiles before he stands up.
You look up at him as you scoot towards the middle of the tub, leaving him some space to slip behind you. Anakin slips one foot in as you scoot further away to allow him to comfortably move himself into the bath.
His arms wrap around your middle as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. You sigh happily as you lean your body against his.
“I love you,” he whispers against your ear as he presses soft kisses down your neck. You smile as you melt in his embrace.
“I love you too.”
For a while, you stay like this, enjoying each other’s warmth and company.
Until,
“You think they heard us?”
“Ani!” You hit his arm playfully. “I was enjoying the calm and our moment together.”
He chuckles as he shrugs against you. “I am serious.”
“Yeah sure,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Was that sarcasm? Because I can be serious.” He laughs as he pinches your side teasingly. “Very serious.”
You squeak at the pinch, soon morphing into giggles as he tickles you. “No!” you gasp as you try to wriggle out of his grasp.
You continue to giggle as you feel his fingers trace against your sides, knowing that is where you’re ticklish.
“No! Stop! This isn’t fair,” you say as you try to gasp for air while still laughing, “you know that I’m sensitive here.”
“You know what’s not fair? Making fun of your boyfriend who is trying to be very serious.”
You gasp dramatically, “that’s not true and you know it!”
“I’ll stop when you promise to stop laughing.” Anakin says, as he grabs your waist.
“Okay, okay! I’ll stop. But I can’t stop laughing when you keep touching me like this.” You close your eyes and giggle as he’s still tracing the sides of your body.
Anakin hums as he stops his movements, his arms wrapping around your waist instead, pulling you flush against him again.
You sigh relieved when you’re not feeling ticklish anymore.
He brings one of his hands up to your cheeks, moving your face right up to level with his lips a mere breath away. “Even when you’re laughing at me, you’re still the sexiest and most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
His lips then envelop yours in a soft and gentle kiss.
“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.
Shuffling closer into him in the water, you press your naked body against his. Easily, your legs tangle together, and closing your eyes, you let his words and the comfort of his presence wash over you.
“I love you too.”
And that’s how the rest of the night goes, tender kisses and soft touches shared between you two as you enjoy each other's company. Feeling so loved and at home as you melt in his embrace.
#anakin skywalker#anakin skywalker smut#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin skywalker fanfiction#anakin smut#anakin skywalker x reader smut#modern!anakin#anakin skywalker imagine#anakin skywalker x you#star wars anakin#anakin x reader#anakin skywalker x female reader#anakin skywalker x y/n#star wars x reader#star wars fanfiction#star wars smut#star wars x you#anakin skywalker fluff#star wars x y/n#star wars#my writing
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Happy Hunting
Simon Riley masterlist
Simon Riley/female reader
4.1k words - AO3
Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Consensual non consent. Explicit sex, creampie. Predator/prey, hunter/hunted. Use of restraints, a gag. Blood, violence. Dirty talk, size kink, praise kink. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Horror-ish. Horror media references/influenced. Tags are for your health, not mine.
“Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good. It is about endurance." - Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves
It was the porch light, that cost you everything.
The porch light that flickered through the brush with strokes of silver moonlight, the porch light that cast a wan, yellowed haze out from its warped wooden and stone host. The porch light, that shone like a lighthouse, calling you home, calling you to safety, security. To sanctuary.
You spotted it from a distance the first day, once you had already changed course that morning, tromping across a stream and shimmying through a nasty spool of barbed wire. You hunkered down next to an outcropping of rock, peering through the morning fog, searching for your hunter, watching for the tell tale signs of his presence, a wide path cut through the forest by his broad body, punctuated by trampled underbrush, damaged petals and leaves. The house stood on the hill in the distance, rising just above the tree line, the shimmer of the little yellow light drawing you in, making you curious, filling you with an urge to look closer, as the hair on the back of your neck rose in warning.
The rocks were a perfect natural shelter, a good place to take a nap, if you wanted, if you could. It would be easy to bed down in the soft dead-fall of the leaves, sink into the earth, into the heavy mist that had lingered past dawn, but you couldn’t risk closing your eyes. Not even for a second. Not when you knew he was so close, when you could hear his breath, feel the pads of his fingers on your skin, reaching, stretching, desperate to snatch you away forever. If you held your body still, you swore you could feel the vibration of his feet in the forest, rustling against the brush, covertly honing in on your location, stalking closer and closer to his target. His victory.
Even if you never saw him, you knew he was out there, watching patiently. Waiting for you to make a mistake, for you to miscalculate.
You told yourself the house was not an option. Even when you got a good look at it on that first day, something about it stuck low in your belly, an off feeling, a warning. You opted to circumvent the entire thing, giving the long overgrown driveway, endlessly black windows and snarled thicket that grew thick at its foundation a wide berth.
Old stone mansions left abandoned, remnants of old families, old money left to rot, were not unheard of in this area. You had spent your youth crawling around in them and knew them well, knew their warning signs, understood what it felt like when they might give way on you. You knew how to unlock their secrets, knew how to read the gothic stories that had settled into the crumbling, peeling wallpaper. They spoke their own languages, histories spiraling out from their nooks and crannies, trauma and laughter etched into the joists and support beams, sagging with the weight of their own age. They could be easy to read, easy to listen to, if you knew which doors to pry open, and which to leave locked shut.
Still, it was too convenient. Too much of a risk. Too much confinement. There was a zero chance of you besting him in a physical fight, and you had to depend on your speed for survival, your aptitude, your skill to ensure your success. Pigeonholing yourself in a mansion with god knows what inside did not allow you to excel at the things you were good at.
You felt confident in your decision to avoid the house. You felt good about it.
The storm rolled in with tenacity. The rain was frigid, wind howling through to your bones, chilling the blood that pumped in your heart. It's strength pulled at your resolved, ready to tear you to pieces, to force you to your knees. It pushed you off course, away from the rushing water of the creek, and up the hill of water soaked leaves.
You lost your bearings for a moment, and that’s all it took for you to slip up, all that was needed for you to catch the sight of his grim shadow from the corner of your eye, the crack of a branch breaking beneath his boot shattering across your brain like a gunshot.
You tore through the woods, gait bogged down by the water logged earth, by the thick of the mud, chased by the sound of his voice, calling for you through the forest over the raging fury of the storm.
"Happy hunting, little dove."
You narrowly escaped, but the skull mask watched. He waited. He tracked.
He hunted.
It’s too dark.
Too dark to see anything, too dark to see your hands that are spread out in front of your body, hands that desperately try to act as your eyes, feeling, touching, scraping across surfaces to keep you from bumping into things. Doors. Walls. Whatever could be lying in wait here.
The weight of your wet clothing irks you. It hangs heavily on your body, and you wish you had chosen better layers, shivers working up and down your spine, goosebumps rising against the soaked chill of your shirt. It could be pneumonia that gets you in the end, if he doesn't catch you first, you muse bitterly, wringing yourself out as well as you can, water droplets pattering against what you believe sounds like a wooden floor.
The lack of light is unnerving. You'd expected it, knew the chances of there being anything working in here slim, but you still hoped that maybe the lone flickering porch light meant there was something still left inside these old bones, a spark, a connection feeding a light switch or a lamp somewhere. The dark of the house is endless, and your mind works quickly to imagine the worst case scenarios, the potential that this tenebrous pitch may drag you below forever settling heavily in the back of your mind. It's deep, the darkness of the house, like you could fall into it and drown, never resurfacing, never to see the sun again. You move slowly, hands in front of your face, body and feet making contact with as much of the wall as you can, trying to paint a picture with touch. The dark, combined with the new and unfamiliar territory, is enough to unsettle your usual steady demeanor.
The combination is a lethal one. It’s one that leaves you hesitant. Unsure. It’s one that keeps you off balance, spine ram rod straight, nerves alight with fear.
It wasn’t so bad, in the woods. The silver glow of the moon illuminated the lay of the forest, sprawling swaths of brush and low growing thistle, tall trunks that stretched to the sky, stout shrubs with thorns that scratched at your clothes. That was easier, than this.
Easier than this maze called a house. Easier than these hallways that morphed into a labyrinth that stretched for miles and miles, twisting together into a Fibonacci sequence of pitch-dark terror.
No. You swallow. You’re not afraid. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine. You're going to win.
But even as you repeat it to yourself, even as you coach your reserve, you can hear his voice. Can hear the grit and gravel of the Manchester accent, can smell his skin against yours, lips rough on your mouth before your cheeks were pinched between a thumb and forefinger.
“Want to play a game?”
You work forward in a half crouch, staying pressed to the wall, form as tight as you can manage, unobtrusive. Your hand stays projected in front of your body, the other along the wall, waiting to feel an angle, an edge, a door, a window… anything.
You shouldn’t have come in here. You walked right into a trap, you're sure of it now, fairly positive after feeling the way the corridor twists and turns away from the front. Walked right into a confined space and now you’re lost, stuck, like a fly in a web. Waiting to be devoured. Waiting for your end to be delivered by a spider who lurks just out of sight.
But you did it for a reason, didn’t you?
You’re so, so close to the finish line. So close you can taste it, the trepidation beading into sweat that drips down your back, cold and unwelcome against the damp of your shirt. It’s already been two days. The morning of the third day is just on the horizon, sun due to come up, you think, within a few hours. Your mouth salivates at the thought of it, the idea of sinking your teeth into sweet, sweet victory. Of winning. Of beating him.
You take a moment to stop and reassess, swiping your palms along the wall and floor, working on controlling your breathing. It’s becoming jagged, anxiety spilling out through your lungs with each step you take, fear moving through you like ice freezing in your veins, creeks and streams being lost to the winter’s chill, a disease slowly spreading towards your heart.
You use it to focus. You cannot see, but that doesn’t mean you've lost, and it doesn't make you weak. It makes all your senses stronger, your hearing, your ability to smell, your translation of touch into sight. The wall turns here, the floor dips there, does that feel like a ledge? You crawl in your crouch, lips sealed tight against soft whimpers that threaten to expose you over the little pieces of wood that get lodged in your palms.
Splinters. Unfinished lumber.
It confirms your theory. The mansion itself is old, stuck up on this plot land, nestled in the thick of the forest, abandoned, nearly completely forgotten about by all… save for one. One, who’s been building inside of it, one who’s been creating in its guts. Hollowing it out and remaking it into something new, a hellscape of hallways, a complicated vision executed by someone who’s running from the same demons, the same nightmares that you are.
Your heart sinks past your stomach, down into your knees. Continuing to run this rat race is foolish. He built it. He knows it. He pushed you here, urged you over the hill, across the stream, beneath the barbed wire. He dictated your path, forcing you into the light of the porch, herding you closer and closer because he knew. He knew you wouldn't be able to resist it, in the end. He knew you.
Find a different part of the house. Escape. Hide, until sunrise.
You keep going, carefully, creeping along the walls, navigating lefts and rights and forks in the labyrinth until your fingers tap silently across an empty door frame, nothing on the other side except the continuous black void of darkness.
Your feet slide forward, boots sliding until the floor disappears. A drop off? There’s more, a flush piece, a curved groove.
Stairs.
You blink, even though it will do you no good, it won’t clear your vision or make the lights in this decrepit place suddenly flicker on. Your hands are your sight, and you run your fingers along the curve of the top step, until you feel the next, and the next.
You take them half on your belly, half on your knees. It’s slow, achingly so, and puts you in a vulnerable position, but the fall, if there were to be one, would be much, much worse if you risked attempting them fully standing. It takes forever to get to the bottom, and you feel a small tug of relief when your palms rub across a cold concrete floor.
There’s a noise. It’s a banging, of sorts. Like a door swinging, and you jolt, reaction fueled by adrenaline, barreling forward into the dark, slamming into the wall with your hip. It stings, the slap of concrete zinging across your skin and you hiss instinctively, before clapping a hand over your face to muffle the sound.
You curse yourself. That was too loud.
A floorboard creaks above your head. The acid in your stomach rises.
You hold yourself as still as you can, palm still pressed over your mouth, body bent low. You keep contact with the wall as much as possible, shoulder, thigh, part of your back. Stay low. Stay small. It’s an advantage you have, your size versus his. Even if you aren’t particularly petite, you’re nimble, graceful and quick. Something you’ve been using for the past two days to stay one step ahead, something you used earlier to orchestrate your narrow escape in the woods. You use it now, to find a corner, a little nook of rough cement, and squeeze your body inside.
Heavy feet take the stairs slowly, step by step until you see the bright white beam of a flashlight sweeping across the floor methodically, back and forth, back and forth. It moves across the room, around the stairs, opposite of the corner you think you’ve tucked yourself into.
Just hold your breath. Stay quiet. You can still win. You can still make it.
The flashlight flicks off with a dramatic click. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip so hard it draws blood.
Maybe he didn’t see you. Maybe he doesn’t know you’re even here.
Seconds drag into minutes, and you think you hear heavy footfalls upstairs. Or possibly on the stairs. You can’t be too sure. It’s too dark, and the pitch is disorientating. It’s hard to tell right side up, up from down.
This could be heaven. It could be hell.
You stay burrowed in that corner against the cinderblock for what you believe must be at least fifteen minutes, if not longer. Your body aches from being pushed in on itself, and you blink in the dark, breathing slower than a corpse, listening. Waiting.
Your boot slides across the concrete. Seeking. Touching… bumping into solid mass. You realize it a second too late. Time freezes, and you with it, heart encased in ice. Your eyes slam shut, and a whimper builds in the back of your throat.
A hand wraps around your ankle, and you screech, curling forward with your fingers bent like talons, flying towards what you hope is his face, desperate to sink your nails into his skin and tear, rip him open so you can get away. He grabs your arm, stabilizing your contact, the strength in his grip that of more than two men, at least, and drags you across the floor, iron bar of his ulna holding you still and steady.
A piece of metal scratches against wood. A flick, a flicker, and then-
A wash of orange-yellow light. You’ve been in the dark for hours at this point, and your sight struggles to refract, pulling back behind half shut lids even though the light itself is not that bright.
You tilt your head back and look up.
String lights. He’s hung string lights up down here, little bulbs on black wire stapled to the rafters like you’re in some romantic comedy. Like there should be a two top table here with a pile of spaghetti and meatballs, carafe of wine and checkered tablecloth.
“Hung these just for you, dove. Knew you’d like ‘em.” His breath is burning hot against your face, and you twist, swinging your entire skull into his chest and trying to dig your heels into the ground for leverage. You catch a glimpse of his face, maskless, the twice-healed broken nose, cheek scar and sharp edged jaw unmistakable, even with your fogged vision.
“Get OFF me you FUCKING FREAK, I-“ His thigh presses against your knee and then you’re swooping, thrown off balance in a second thought with a scream, free hand ripping across into his hair and yanking with everything you have.
It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t flinch, wrestling you to the ground with ease. You don’t have much fight left in you, after two days of hiding, running, trying to be smarter, be faster, and you’re spent on all ends, this last little spat the end of everything you had. He knows it.
Still, when he fish hooks his thumb into between your lips, you bite down with all your might, sinking your incisors into his skin in hopes of drawing blood.
He laughs, and your mouth fills with the mineral-metallic liquid, his thumb swirling inside your teeth and across your gums.
You know you’re well and truly fucked.
The knife makes quick work of your shirt. Your tac pants, the good pair, go next, along with your boots. He lurks above for you a long moment before he cuts your bra away, your nipples tightening in reaction to the temperature, to everything that’s happening in this moment, in this basement.
“Gave me the slip in the woods earlier, little dove. Very clever.” He praises you, bending your arms behind your back and then working a rope around your wrists, knotting it securely, but not too tight. “Almost made it. Think you might’ve, if you hadn’t come in ‘ere.” Your underwear rips away without pretense, without hesitation and you swallow, mouth gaping wide, teeth trying to cut over the gag. “But I know why you did. I know you wanted to get caught.” You shake your heard furiously, and he clucks his tongue in mock sympathy, soothing a warm hand up and down the outside of your thigh. “Come on dove, let me see.” He pries your legs apart, baring you wide, where you drip for him, slick with arousal, with heat. He hums something to himself; two blunt fingers stroking down your seam and then back up around your swollen clit. You buzz with his touch, muscles reacting on their own, spine curving just a little, hips twitching. He stays there, on his knees between your thighs, an immovable force, keeping you from closing up around him or blocking his touch, and his thumb rubs your clit in a circle. “What a good girl. Gettin’ all wet for me.” You shake your head, and he tips his head back and laughs. “Don’t lie. Pretty little cunt here loved bein’ hunted, eh? Look at how soaked she is. Practically dripping.” He presses a finger inside, the depth of his reach enough to punch your lungs out, body seizing up around him as he strokes upwards, thumb slicking across your clit until you're writing underneath him. You’re going to cum, you’re going to cum on this dirty fucking floor like a- “Ah, ah. You know the rules.” He rasps next to your ear. “What do you need to do?”
“Nnrgh!” you spit through the cloth, and he sighs long and loud, like he’s emptying himself of all his breath with exasperation, fingers smearing your own fluids over your face as he pulls it free. “Please.” You gasp. It’s barely a plea, something more venomous, more spiteful, but it’s enough for him, and he nods, placing the fabric back into your mouth with a pop of his wrist. You don’t want to, you don’t want to give in, let him win, let him have this, make it so easy but he's playing your body so well, expertly, making you sing for him from behind the gag, and you cannot stop the tidal wave that swims over you, your orgasm breaking you apart, smug grin scrawled across his face with pleasure.
When he takes his cock out, dragging his briefs and pants beneath his hips, all while keeping a single hand pressed to your belly, your eyes widen. He’s huge, thick with a fat red tip, dribbles of pre cum leaking above where he’s got you splayed open. He’s going to tear your apart.
“You put up such a good fight, dove. Made me wait so long, hid so well.” The heat of his cock sears against your thigh, and you grunt, brows furrowed, mouth dry behind the gag. Your tongue pushes against it helplessly, fingers fisted tight in the binding beneath your lower back. It’s not particularly comfortable, but the position bares your breasts to him, and keeps you off balance enough that he can manipulate you as he sees fit. “But you still lost.” The gleam in his eye is wild, wicked enough to make your toes curl, hair on the back of your neck standing straight up. Is this a man? Or a monster? Or both?
He presses inside and you see stars, you see the whites of your own eyes, see the currents of electricity in the air. It hurts, a gnawing bite that spreads to your cervix, magma spilling forward and scorching along your walls. He doesn’t slow either, doesn’t stop, just thrusts all the way through, deeper and deeper, splitting you open on his cock just how he likes.
“Ffuumph-“ You moan, and a plate sized palm pats your face soothingly, your knees pinned back towards your ears, his chest against yours. He knows it hurts. Knows it stings, his hips stuttering with his strokes, tongue hot against your neck, mopping up the tears that leak from the corner of your eyes.
“I know, I know. Be good." He licks your cheek before taking it between his teeth, and you keen, clenching around him the heat of his cock without a thought. It’s wild, and violent, like you’re being ripped open raw, torn apart by the weight of the end of it all, the consequences of your loss, of getting caught. “Is this is what you needed? What you begged me for-“ You sputter a refusal, a wail of nonsense but there’s no denial of your body’s reaction, the way you tighten around him, the way your body goes gooey for him, cunt glossy with it.
He thumbs your clit, and you moan, half agonized, half delirious, stuffed full, neurons firing across your brain, cunt spasming in time with his thrusts. "So proud of you. Did so good, dove." Your back arches involuntarily, legs trying to snap closed, burn in your belly growing and growing to a precipice, a reckless edge that you know you’re going to be thrown over in a matter of seconds. He reads it, reads you, and plucks the gag free, swooping low to replace it with his mouth, holding your jaw steady, the kiss long and lingering. He gives you more and more, spearing you with his cock, dragging in and out of your pulsing cunt, cooing in your ear over the sound of your moans. "That's it, that's my girl. There you go, come- come on." Your muscles tense and you explode with an orgasm, body melting with a shudder. You turn to liquid, practically putty, all soft and malleable in his arms and he fucks you deep, frantically, chasing after his own release, dragging his nose into your hair with a groan of something unintelligible. You're still clenching around him, wired tight, little explosions of fireworks reverberating through your cunt as he takes his victory, notching himself to the very depth of your body and flooding you with come.
“Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist it. The house.” His arms cradle your limp body, nose skimming up your jaw.
“It was a nice touch.” The words come out as a yawn, stretched out and spent, like your body. Like your mind. Just how you like it.
“You lost, dove.” He murmurs and you nod pathetically. “Want to try again?” He works his touch in the wet mess between your legs, flicking through his own come, your slick and you mewl in his palm.
“Yes."
“I think I should get more of a head start this time.” Simon raises an eyebrow, a shadow of greed, of hunger arcing across his irises before his arm is curling around your back and pulling you into his chest.
“Don’t I usually give you enough of a head start, love?”
“You do, but… Si. Come on. It’s hardly fair.”
“You’re faster than me.” Lips press tenderly against your temple. “Beat me every time in a foot race. Besides, I have something… for you. A gift.” Your head spins when you think about that word, gift. It frightens you. It electrifies you.
“I know but… I want to build it up a little more.” Still, you have to protest a little. You want a longer chase. Need it. Crave it.
“Alright.” He concedes, head tilting to the side, eyes half lidded. “And the prep-“
“Not too much.” You tip back your glass of wine, drop of red leaking from the corner of your lips, tannins blooming across your tongue as he laps it up. “I want it to hurt.” You murmur it into his mouth, rolling the rich liquid from behind your teeth until he’s working you open and it spills forward, drowning the two of you in red cherry and oak until you’re falling to the floor, and he’s kissing your breastbone with a whisper.
“Okay, dove. Not too much.”
#tw dark and twisty#tw dark themes#peaches writes#dove x simon#I really like these two#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#cod ghost#cod x reader#mw2#ghost cod
745 notes
·
View notes
Text
Why does this have "- Freeform" at the end? and other questions about AO3 tag suffixes
Have you ever tagged something only for it to get a suffix like Character, Relationship or Freeform stuck on the end when you hit save? Do you think it's ugly and want it to go away, but don't know how? You probably can't, unfortunately, but there are a few situations where you can.
A tag suffix is a hyphen followed by the name of a tag category. Tags are either Fandom, Character, Relationship or Freeform tags. The reason that a suffix gets put on a tag is that the wrangulator (the part of AO3's backend that deals with tags) can't have tags with the same name, even if they're in different categories. As a solution, it puts the category at the end of tags that have first been tagged in some other category. For example: let's say that someone tags Evil Mark Donk in the characters field because that's where they want it to appear on their work (which is a perfectly valid choice to make!). Then someone else comes along and tries to tag Evil Mark Donk in the additional tags/freeforms field. (That field is shown as "additional tags" on the posting form, but the wrangulator and tag wranglers call it the "freeforms" because that's what it was originally called.) When the second person hits save, it will appear as Evil Mark Donk - Freeform on their fic. This will also happen if someone tags Evil Mark Donk in the relationships field, but there it would appear as Evil Mark Donk - Relationship. It's ugly and it's annoying, but the wrangulator is trying its best.
So how do you get rid of it? Sometimes it turns up because you've accidentally put your tags in the wrong field. Maybe you wrote a fic where you tagged Evil Mark Donk in the additional tags field, and no one else had tagged for it before you, which means it doesn't have a suffix and everything's right! But then you write a second fic, forgot to select the "additional tags" field when posting and now suddenly you've got Evil Mark Donk - Character on your fic. If that's the case, all you have to do is move it. But what if the first person to tag it wasn't you, and they put it in the character field, so you're stuck with Evil Mark Donk - Freeform? You can choose a different phrasing for the tag that wasn't initially tagged in a different field, e.g. Evil!Mark Donk or Mark Donk is Evil.
You may also have the problem that on the first use of a particular tag, you accidentally put it in a field you don't want it to be in, and now even when you put it in the right one, it still comes up as Evil Mark Donk - Freeform! The wrangulator has betrayed you, and you will be stuck with the ugly suffix forever! Not so, my friend. The problem is that even though you deleted the character tag Evil Mark Donk, it's still floating around in the wrangulator, which hasn't noticed that you deleted it. What you have to do is wait for 24 hours (give it a few for leeway) and a part of the wrangulator called "the rake" will delete it. After it's been raked, you can go forth and post it in the additional tags field, and no suffix will appear!
Unfortunately, most of the time it's going to be that someone else tagged it in a category you don't want to tag it first, and you can't change it without changing the phrasing of your tag. Sorry!
Sometimes, taggers will add their own suffixes, and tag wranglers are extremely curious about why. If you've done this, or something similar like put (freeform) in brackets after a tag, please let us know why! What does freeform mean to you? You are of course free to put suffixes on manually if you want -- it's a valid way to tag! We are just fascinated by this practice and don't really understand it. Please enlighten us!
For more information about tags, I've written some other explanations about how tags work, such as how to tell what type of tag something is and tag capitalisation.
#ao3#ao3 tags#tag wrangling#how to ao3#ao3 tips#the effort it took to write 'additional tags' instead of 'freeforms' everywhere in this post#this is so confusing and hard to explain so please please ask questions!#tag wrangling is so hard to explain to people who can't see what's going on [sob]
892 notes
·
View notes
Text
Helping Friends - Yuji
Kinktober Masterlist
Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, yuji is the cutest thing ugh
A/n: This was fun! Day 7: Stuck in wall. But I'm tired so I will be taking a break! Kinktober is hard phew! Excuse the horrible title its 11pm and I'm seeing double asasdf
Word count: 1.4k
Read on ao3
“I need your help.”
“Hm?” Yuji blinked. “Sure thing. What for?”
“Just … Just come over.”
“But ―”
“You’ll see when you get here,” You said through gritted teeth, and of course you were frustrated, but it almost seemed like you were struggling against something.
“Okay, be over in a sec!”
You hung up. Yuji stared at the black square of his screen. Now, he was curious.
Yuji muffled a snicker.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not!”
“You are!” You wiggled your ass at him. “I can hear you! I’m stuck, I’m not deaf!”
Yuji sobered. It really wasn’t funny if you took a second to consider the repercussions of it all. “It’s lucky I have a key.”
You sighed. “D’you think you can get me out?”
Yuji saluted. “I’m on it!”
He maneuvered around you, careful to avoid your ass sticking out of the wall. He swallowed; of all the days to wear a skirt. He gripped your hips and pulled ―
“Ow, ow!” You wagged your legs.
Yuji stopped immediately. “Sorry!”
You sighed. “God, I’m gonna be stuck here forever.”
“Don’t think like that!” Yuji said. “How’d this even happen?”
“Remember the hole in the wall I said I’d fix?” You said. “Well …”
Yuji brainstormed. “Maybe I need to loosen you up.”
“Well, obviously ―”
“No, I mean, with something …”
“I have some lube in the drawer of my nightstand?”
Yuji blushed, figured he better not ask, even though now his unhelpful images of you lubing up with your pretty pussy made his mouth water.
“O ― Okay.”
He strode to your bedroom and fished into the drawer, finding the lube without issue. Kneeling on the floor of the wall, he spilled lube into a puddle in his palm before fixing it around the outline of your body.
“Ugh,” You said. “This better work.”
He pulled, gently, using increasingly more powerful thrusts to exert you out of your self made hole. Still, you wouldn’t budge.
“Ah, damn, I can’t …” Yuji kept pulling, careful to not injure you, but continued to face resistance. “I’d end up taking this whole wall down.”
You whined. “What’s wrong now?”
Yuji reddened as he toyed with the elastic of your panties. “I think these need to come off,” he murmured.
He waited for your rage, for you to call him a pervert ― he’d deserve it anyway, he had to go and say it after all ― but instead you simply sighed.
“Do it.”
Yuji’s eyes widened. “What ―?”
“We have to get rid of as much friction as possible and I don’t wanna be stuck here forever!” You said.
Yuji fought the urge to eye the way your panties hugged your cunt and failed.
“But …”
“It’s okay, Yuji.”
With trembling hands, he hooked a finger under the elastic and pulled. They stuck on the fat of your thighs. Yuji bit into his cheek. Your cunt was right there. Perfect and plump and ― and did he detect a bit of wetness there, between the plush of your outer folds?
No, he was twilight-zoning. That’s all it was.
“What’s going back there?” Your voice took Yuji out of his reverie.
“N ― Nothing!” Yuji adjusted on his knees, desperate to avoid the raging erection making it hard to move much anywhere in any direction. “Okay, let’s try this again.”
Yuji hooked hands around your now-naked hips, tried a few jerky pulls. Your lower half budged if only by an inch.
“I think it’s working!”
“Good! Keep pulling!”
Yuji maneuvered behind you. Bad move. His gaze flickered to your perfect ass, and he could only imagine him in this position in a different context. His hips thrusting into you, your ass rippling with the power of his … Shit. Focus. Focus.
Yuji concentrated and tugged you toward one more time ―
Your lower half jerked, your ass colliding with his crotch.
“Ah!”
Yuji drew in a sharp breath, kneeled over his hardon. “Sorry …” His voice was so weak.
“Is that … Is that you?”
Yuji froze. “Wha ― What do you mean?”
“I mean …” Your sock-covered foot brushed against his leg. “Is that you, that I feel?”
Yuji hung his head in shame. “Ye ― Yeah …” He tried for a laugh, but it came out as nervous as he was. “I’m really sorry, I just ―”
“Maybe …” You trailed, rubbing your thighs together. “ … we can make the most of this situation.”
Yuji braved a hand against your thigh, caressing the skin. “You mean …?”
“I think we should fuck while I’m like this,” You said. Yuji had tunnel vision for your pussy and it was almost like it was talking to him, egging him on. Daring him to … “I mean, my panties are already down, aren’t they? You’d just have to …”
Your voice waned, most likely because you could hear his zipper coming down.
“You’d really let me, (Y/n)?” Yuji said, already freeing his aching cock to stroke. “You’re okay with this after all?”
“Yeah.” You sounded so breathless.
Fuck.
Yuji aligned his cock with your sweet, puffy lips. His eyes fluttered closed; his head slid against and between your outer folds, lathering his head with your translucent juices. Already, you felt so good.
“Mmm, Yuji …” His cock twitched to hear his voice on your tongue. “You feel good ― I bet you’re big.”
Yuji’s cheeks warmed as he eyed the way your folds rippled against his aching member. “I think so.”
You wagged your ass in his face. “Prove it.”
Fuuuck.
He slid into you with ease. His mind reeled as your walls hugged him, inch by inch. He settled a hand on one of your ass cheeks. “Feel so good …” he breathed out. He fixed a hand at one of your slippery hips to bring himself inside fully, his pubic hairs brushing against the plump of your ass.
“Ahhh …!” Your voice was heavenly. “Yuji ―!”
With one hand on your slippery hip and another on the crest of your crack, Yuji rocked into you. The wall hole wobbled and knocked in time with his thrusts. His breath lay trapped in his lungs at the tight hug of your cunt.
“Yu ― Yuji …!” You stammered, voice choked by surprise as he quickened his pace.
Yuji licked his lips. He hoped you were impressed with him. His eyes fell lidded as he slipped into a trance, single-minded and sidetracked by nothing but the feel of you around him. Yuji’s breath escaped at last in a gasp as you rocked back to fuck him, too.
Yuji lurched forward, chest against your back as he sped up, hips spanking into your ass. His sloppy hand spurred forward, past the curve of your abdomen to fox out your clit.
“Mmmm!” You fucked onto him messily, but it was impossible for you to keep up with Yuji’s pace.
He bent down to kiss the little bit of exposed skin from your ridden-up tank top, unsure whether or not you even felt it, would even know he’d done it. What you would feel is his fingers flicking at your clit ― and he was rewarded with a louder moan coupled with your legs quivering underneath him, and it was better than any praise you could’ve given him.
“Fuck!” Yuji heard a tap on the other side that must’ve been you slapping a hand to the floor. “I’m ― I’m close!”
Yuji left an even softer kiss to your ass cheek and straightened up again to adjust his pace. He nearly doubled over again at the clench of your pussy and knew instinctively you weren’t the only one.
Yuji crashed hips into you as you cried out. He grunted, holding your trembling lower half steady as you came around him, a jolt of inspiration spurring him to press a thumb into your gaping asshole.
“Yuji!”
He whined, spilling into you at the sound of his name. You milked him while he mindlessly thumbed you, lost in what he’d always wanted to experience: being inside you.
He gave a few more thrusts, falling over you again from the frantic stimuli ―
The hole around the two of you gave. Yuji face-planted on your back as you yelped. In an instant, he shielded you, sure the rest of the wall would give in and bury the two of you.
It didn’t.
Quiet.
“Well ― um …” Yuji slid out of you because it seemed the least he could do. “That worked!”
You faced the floor, your shoulders bouncing with mirth. “I can’t believe this.”
He joined you. The laughter didn’t stop as he helped you dress and shave the wall chippings clinging to your body. He was ready to offer you his jacket when you stopped him ―
“Yuji, I’m fine!” You assured him, stopping him. “Really!”
“Hmm.” He scanned you. “Okay.”
You giggled. “And thanks for coming ― stop,” You added as Yuji started laughing again. “Thanks for your help.”
Yuji grinned. “You can always count on me.”
725 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Antics of the Newly Ascended:” ✨🩸What it must have been like right after the Rite for… everyone…
Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4.4K of “Ascension Puberty” and Smut
Summary: “I can’t yet speak its language…” Astarion doesn’t know all his powers, despite the title of Vampire Ascendant, despite having a Bride at his side. Suppose these manifest themselves surprisingly, even awkwardly… a bit of comedy and smut.
CW: awkward campmates, Vampires stuck on the ceiling, peacock-preening Ascendant Lords, Bride/Spawn Tav also learning what it means to be a vampire, and the hot smut that always delivers (oral sex, hand job, anal fingering, blood kink, dom and sub!Astarion)
Ao3 Link | Astarion fic Masterlist
The First Day…
🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇
A/N: Mostly, I consider this Astarion’s Ascension puberty, that awkward time he’s getting to know his “changing” body… and how it might surprise him sometimes. In my own play-thru, it strikes me that after the Rite, it’s just life as usual for everyone. I like to think there are some lingering feelings and learning curves… so here is some comedy and smut (a gift to @marimosalad because the double stimulation towards the end was her amazing idea 😘)
Not quite “The Rogue You Were” maybe a prequel
🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇
You had heard he had demanded his own room now at the Elfsong. Wyll had told you, his one good eye rolling in its socket with ire. “His Lordship demanded a separate chamber for him and his.. consort,” he had spat the word out with disgust in your direction, “one that befits his new status and power of Vampire Ascendant.” Wyll sneered, put out, jilted. That forever part of him that was a monster hunter and hero still unable to wrap his mind around what you did for love. “You best not keep him waiting, Consort.”
Someday, the Blade of Frontiers might understand. But not today, not one day into Astarion’s reign as Ascendant and your new immortal life at his side.
Now you creep outside his door, just one room over. The same he had stolen you away to last night… when you became his, when you died to be reborn his consort. He had pointedly refused to really call you spawn. And while the memories of that night were hazy, aside from the most glorious sex of your existence, you knew whatever was done was done.
You waited, your hearing even sharper now, heightened as vampire. From behind the door you hear groaning, grunts of effort, and sighs of exertion.
And you frown. Could he really be… taking care of himself… after everything you had done with him last night? Even now this evening, with you merely a wall away? Like you wouldn’t come running for pleasure if he called for you, with or without compelling?
You knock on the door. Hard. Furious. If your heart still beat, it would be racing in rage.
“Leave me,” he barks back.
“Astarion,” you hiss. And then you knock harder. “Let me in.”
Inside, you hear scrambling, boots scraping on wood. A messy hurry of activity punctuated by curses.
If you hadn’t been there yesterday, hadn’t felt the lives of so many flow into your beloved, hadn’t been spattered by Cazador’s blood yourself as the same Infernal ruins were carved in his flesh… you would scoff at the suggestion Astarion was at all changed.
You finally hear the door handle unlock, and riding the swell of your self-righteous anger, you burst in.
“After all I have done for you… all I did to get you that Ascension, all the times I spread my legs, you insist on…”
You freeze. The door behind you shuts by magic. And looking up beside you, you see why. “Astarion,” you begin, much quieter, trying to stifle a laugh, if only from the pure irritation that seethes on his sharp face, “why are you on the ceiling?”
He hangs upside down, that mess of silver curls near standing on their ends. His face is flushing, that newly reborn heart letting all that magnificent, ascendant blood rush to his head. He folds his arms and spreads his legs. As if he could be intimidating while being inverted.
“I told you this morning, my treasure, it will take some time to become acquainted with my new self.”
You scan the room, skin tingling at the memories of pleasure not one day ago. And yet, here he was being more ridiculous than ever before. “So… the private room isn’t just for mind-blowing sex now that you and I are joined for eternity…” you fight the smirk on your lips as his upside down glower deepens. “It’s so you have some privacy as you… practice.”
“Don’t you dare… tell the others,” he growls, pure irritation and annoyance seething in his voice.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love,” you chuckle, extending your arm above your head as you walk beneath him. “Need a hand, my beloved vampiric master?”
He pouts, grumbling, but reluctantly reaches to grab you. His fingers wrap into yours, that warm touch of his still shocking and foreign. You pull with all your might, feeling his body release from the ceiling, floating as you tug him down until his feet rest beside yours.
He’s fuming, chest rising and falling beneath that elegantly embroidered tunic he has taken to wearing.
You grin, reaching to stroke his cheek as his parlor resumes that pale luster you know and love. Cleaning your throat, you purr, “And this is where you say…”
“Take off your clothes, my beloved consort,” he smirks and sneers at once, jutting his face into yours until you feel his warm breath on your lips.
“Not until you say…” you pause, arching your brows.
You wait. His lips fluttering, eyes boring into yours with almost glowing red intensity.
“….thank you,” he finally grumbles. Barely audible.
You turn your head, cocking your ear in his direction. “I’m sorry, what was that, my lord?”
“Thank you,” he replies louder through gritted teeth.
You can’t help but have another giggle tickle your throat. “I have no doubts you’ll master your powers in time, and until then, I’ll be here for you, my love, to lend you a hand.”
He gives an annoyed sigh. “By the hells, if the others find out…” he hisses, mad at himself rather than you.
“I think I can keep my mouth shut around them, and busy doing other things around you…” you close the distance between you, small as it might be, raising on your toes to press your lips against his, despite the disdainful pout.
“Hmmm tempting, but I do find myself rather famished…” he pats you on the cheek.
You grin, tilting your neck and sweeping your hair, an offering to sate him as you always have. You hold your breath, his lips hovering over that favorite vein of his. But he merely plants a small pecking kiss. “Delicious as you are, I think I’m in need of something more… filling.”
“Food?” you balk, jaw dropping as he catches your hand and opens the door.
“All of man’s appetites and desires are mine again, and after two-hundred years of food like ash and wine like vinegar, it’s time I started tasting all life has to offer.”
He turns, his face grins in power, but there is something in his eyes. Giddy, almost childish in excitement, like waking to presents on your birthday. It lasts a flickering second before he turns his head. You follow, hand held in his warm grip, led back into the common rooms. The scent of roast pork and vegetables fills the air. He lets your hand drop, making quick strides to the serving table before carving himself a huge hunk of meat off the carcass and ladling a pile of potatoes on the side of his dish.
“Well,” Wyll comments as the vampire settles down in a seat, “never thought I’d see the day when a vampire joins the feast with more than a goblet of blood.”
“First time for everything Wyll,” he croons in reply, taking a hearty bite just for emphasis. He doesn’t even wait to swallow completely before he continues. “First time a vampire ascendant has feasted, or existed, at all, don’t you forget.”
“I doubt you’ll let us,” Karlach teases before taking a sip of ale as ripples of laughter break out.
A bit nervously.
You look at the food, your stomach more than hungry, but… You recall as you lick your lips and catch your new fang on your tongue by accident, it’s not just food you crave.
You hear your name from the group, Karlach again breaking the chatter, “Hurry up, dish yourself a plate and get moving soldier. It’s not the same without you!”
You pick up the knife and begin to carve, but nagging thoughts won’t shut up. Can you even eat this? Can you ever feel full again? Can it ever be the same again, now that you’ve binded yourself to immortality?
A hand rests on yours, Astarion moving your hand in his to finish cutting a slice of pork for your dish, spooning out a helping on the side of the rest. “Eat, my treasure,” he orders softly with that sly smile. “Things won’t be all that different for you now.” You look into his eyes. Sincerity, pride, a flicker of concern. “Things will be different for you than when I was a spawn. You are mine, your veins hold my blood, ascendant blood. And besides, if this doesn’t fill you to bursting, my dearest pet, I suppose I’ll just have to offer you something else in the privacy of our room later.”
You arch a brow, stomach growling at the promise. “I hope you mean more than your cock, Astarion.”
He just grins wider. Feral and sly. Then he places a hand at your back and brings you to the rest of your party. You can sense the relief among everyone else once you sit down on the little couch, Astarion settling so close beside you, your arms rub with every movement. But that is nothing new.
Everyone falls right back into that perfected camaraderie, the only thing missing in the inn is a campfire. The banter and the toasting and the storytelling of the day's events to those who remained behind.
Tonight was no different… and yet, everything was.
Your ears seem to hear every word in the room, more sensitive, more overwhelming. Your stomach gnaws on itself, the plate of food on your lap untouched yet. And then, there is the utterly unfamiliar sound beside you, the gnashing of Astarion’s teeth as he bites into his food with abandon. You watch from the corner of your eye. He can’t seem to shovel it in fast enough… like a man who hasn’t had a morsel to eat in two-hundred years. It’s so… strange. Watching his jaw work furiously, watching the juice of his meal trickle from the corner of his mouth.
Not unlike when he has fed on you, you laugh inwardly. You reach your thumb to clean it for him, and it makes him turn, cheeks full of food, eyes smiling. He takes your thumb in his hand, pressing the juice to your own lips. A silent command to suck. You close your eyes, savoring the brush of his warm touch, hiding your sight from having to observe the others watching you.
You part your lips and suck… stomach rolling in hunger, appetite thoroughly whet with just that drop on your tongue.
You feel his face press against your ear to whisper, “Different for you than it was for me, my treasure…”
You shake him off, too hungry for sensuality, digging into your meal and joining the banter slowly.
Astarion remains mostly silent, laughing to himself here and there. Other than him eating and drinking, he is right however, it isn’t all that different now, you observe. Not yet anyway.
Not until he has you alone in your rooms once more. Hands gripped hard into your hair, cock thrusting down your throat as you kneel before him. You gag and sputter, sucking greedily. Indulging him. Letting him feel that power he’s gained in his life for once. His wild smile as he watches you taking him in so well makes you practically drip on the floor from between your legs. He pants relentlessly, growling praises over you, his little love, his good girl, his greedy consort.
New words, new titles, same obsession.
Same fingers caressing your jaw as it works eagerly, same touch clawing into the back of your head.
Only now his cock pulses with his heart, his skin flushed, his cum warm when it inevitably trickles down the back of your throat.
You swallow, pursing your lips around his cock so he feels every little ripple of your cheeks, your throat. Astarion pants above you, and you can count every one of his heart beats through his shaft in your mouth. “Glorious little love,” he manages to speak, swallowing to wet his throat. “Claiming a kingdom is nothing compared to the sight of claiming you on your knees, darling…”
Two fingers slip under your chin, pressing firmly to release his cock from the wet of your mouth. “On your feet, my love,” he smirks. “Time to give your master all his tribute.”
“You are enjoying this far too much, Astarion,” you purse your lips, smiling faintly and tauntingly as you do stand. “I think you should allow me to choose how you receive your… what did you call it?” You plant your hands on the expanse of his shoulders, feeling the muscles moving under your touch as he reaches to grip into the swell of your ass.
“Tribute,” he purrs, squeezing that fullness commandingly in his palms.
“Oh yes, that,” you tease, devious twists to your lips as you give him a firm shove. But he holds tight, sending you both backwards into the bed. His chuckle rumbles in his chest beneath you. “Why doesn’t my lord make himself… comfortable,” you whisper into his pointed ear, watching it twitch as you run your tongue up its long edge.
“What do you have in mind to please me, my treasure?”
You press him down, clambering on his sprawled, flawless body beneath you, your hands closing around his wrists. His smile says it all as he lets you pin him, arms bent around his mess of silver locks. “You’re so… hot,” you moan, sliding yourself over his erection, feeling it jolting as your body slathers it in arousal.
“I know,” he tilts his head, flashing his fangs and grinding into your folds.
“No, I mean…” His eyes narrow, a flicker of suspicion. “Yes,” you correct with a giggle. “You are heartbreakingly handsome, devastatingly beautiful, ruinous…”
“Better,” he preens with a feral grin. “But you meant my body, my skin, my newly beating heart…”
“It is… different,” you hum, nuzzling into his neck, caressing those two little circular scars that made him what he is. His pulse beats against you, a steady drumming that still startles you.
“Almost as different as the way you make me even harder, darling, now that the mere sight of you demands instant arousal…” His hips buck through your folds again, just to demonstrate. “Now… about your adulation and homage that’s long overdue to your lord and master…”
“Shh,” you press a finger to his thick, wicked, smirking lips. Slinking down, a toss of your hair over one shoulder, and you meet his crimson eyes, dilated wide and glazed with his lust. Gently, you sweep both your hands over the sinews of his thighs, bending his knees for him.
Or, at least he lets you…
He nestles into the bed, languorous, luxuriating atop the thick covers. You let him. You can feel the difference in his being—not the power, the beat of his heart or the tingle of untamed magic that dances erratically in his touch from time to time.
He’s free. Not a care in the world. No fear, no anxiety, not even a trace of suspicion that he might be caught and forced back into hell under Cazador. He has everything now. Even you. Especially you.
You hover there, arms propped up over his hips, the tip of his cock wavering against your breasts as you just observe him. His lips twitch into a smile. “It’s rude to keep your lover waiting, you know…” he purrs. You chuckle. That veneer of power, that rasp and roll in his voice, a performance to sway you.
Not that you need it.
But it will be fun cracking that veneer all the same. You let your hands roam his body, massaging and caressing the powerful muscles of his legs. Their every definition you know by heart now, the glide of his skin on yours a nightly comfort and pleasure for you both.
Your new eyes can count every beat of his heart in his veins, your ears can almost hear that rush of blood pumping, making him achingly hard for you. And it makes you lick your lips. You lap inside his left thigh, bringing a giggle to his throat. “Don’t think I’ll leave you hungry, my pet, but pleasure first.”
“Say please,” you taunt, grazing your new fangs over his skin. As he has done to you a thousand times before.
“What?” he drolls, raising his head a little, your hand flying to the hard planes of his belly to hold him down.
“Say… please… my lord,” you smirk into his thigh, laughing to yourself as you mix submission into your demand.
“Eager to test your new powers as well? Can’t say I’m surprised…” he feigns a dramatic huff. “Alright pet, just this once. Give me my pleasure first…” he places a hand at the back of your neck, drawing you back between his legs, “…please.”
“Good boy,” you rasp before running your tongue up his shaft. You dip your lips over that seeping head of his, his groan of pleasure reverberating in his chest. Your hand, your mouth take him in deeply again, resuming a more delicate pressure, a gentler pace than he demanded of you before. It relaxes him, slowing his pleasure as you feel his skin heating all the more.
And you take full advantage of his ease.
You press a thumb over the tight little pursing of his ass. Instantly making him shake and groan. Both your hands play in tandem, drawing louder and louder hisses from his slack mouth as you beat his cock and circle that hole.
He squirms at the unexpected contact. A pant of need sounds from his mouth. You run your hand through your folds, covering your hand in your own slick, and he laughs knowing full well what you’re doing.
But that laughter melts once you sneak a finger and then two inside him, the delicious sound of his whimpers replacing any giggles. “Gods,” he mewls, “don’t you dare stop.” He manages to speak between the grunts you pull from his throat. Thrusting your fingers deeper inside him crooking and thrusting to make him catch his breath in pleasure. You feel his cock leaking seed down your fingers already, a whine escaping his clamped lips as you find that spot inside him. Cock jolting in your touch as you thrust into him again and again.
You lose no focus on that pulsing cock as well, your hand around his shaft sliding through the lingering spit and slick you’ve left dripping on his cock. His whole body shakes, and you can’t take your eyes off the way he’s coming undone. You’ve given up sucking him, your lips sore at any rate.
Instead, your hands work a magic on him, sweat beading on brow, fangs biting his own lips until they bleed. He clutches the bedding in his fists, and you watch as every vein in his arms strain to the surface with the exertion.
Hips buck in time with your fist around his cock, ass sinking back down on your fingers as he plummets back down each time. “More. I’d like more,” he groans hard, head wagging back and forth. You feel his muscles clenching around your fingers, and you slink another one inside, a louder whimper of approval is your praise. Words have failed him as he can do nothing now but ride the growing wave of pleasure you have sent washing over his oh-so-mighty and ascended form.
His balls tighten, cock shuddering in your fist as he struggles for breath. Every muscle, inside and out, goes rigid and spasms, your fingers covered as spurt after spurt of his cum erupts everywhere.
A hand flies to his face, palm over his mouth to hide the little pants he’s making as you squeeze out the last of his seed and slide your fingers out from inside.
“Is my lord… so… very… pleased?” you taunt, crawling to watch as he tries to regain composure, to salvage that dominating veneer of power.
Handsome face twitching, he can barely put two words together. “Obviously,” he manages to eke the word out. “That was…” he pauses to pant, body still shaking beneath you with the last tremors of his climax, “…amazing.” His arm comes to pull you into his chest, to press your supple, if cold to the touch, body into his embrace.
You hear it, the racing of his heart as you rest your head on his chest beside it. A slice of envy, of uncertainty, slices into your heart and twists your gut. And from the way his hand paws through your hair and down your back, you’re sure he’s readying himself for another round.
You swallow, hesitant, your thighs clenching as his hand begins to snake between them. He senses it, your unwitting reluctance. That familiar yet unfamiliar warm touch ghosting higher on your leg. “Darling,” he purrs into the top of your head, “something the matter?”
You shake your head even as your words scramble their own way out. “Last night,” you whisper almost inaudibly, “you said you would miss my warm flesh…”
“And…?” He lets the question hang in the air. Lets you speak the rest of it on your own tongue.
“Do you?” you mutter, unable to look into his face, bracing yourself for the worst.
“Not if it means I can plunder you for all your riches for all eternity, my treasure,” he croons, slowly rolling you on your back. Crushing you with his wiry frame until you wriggle against his every inch. “But, if you’re truly worried about how delicious you’ll feel…” he holds his wrist up to your mouth, “why don’t you break in those virgin fangs, my pet?”
“You mean?” you finally look up, the hunger in his eyes, the pride to see you licking your own new-formed sharpened teeth.
“I do indeed, my dark consort,” he smirks so wickedly, your own hunger for his blood and his body flames to life. It blinds you as you look into his eyes. “You’ll only need a taste,” he grins with a rakish tilt of his head, “I swear it.”
He presses the inside of his wrist to your lips, that warm skin brushing you with its softness. You can hear it, even in that small span of his wrist. Thump… thump… it makes your stomach flare, an empty pit, hungrier than you ever were for food.
And just for him.
You press your fangs into his skin. Hesitant.
A firm grip snakes behind the back of your neck, his laughter in your ear as he shoves you into his flesh harder.
Hard enough to pierce him, to let his blood flow on your tongue and tingle your mouth with its power. Rich and delicious, sweet and tanged with just the same flavor as his scent. You suck, greedily, a vague feeling you’ve tasted it before.
His other hand rubs up the back of your head, lacing his commanding touch through your hair, cradling you, keeping you feeding. His eyes flicker shut, tongue licking his lips before his mouth goes slack in his own pleasure.
He likes the way it feels, having you feast on him, drinking down his ascendant blood to pool in your belly.
“Can you feel it?” he murmurs, “my power flowing in your veins… my heart beating in your breast.” His hand ghosts down over your shoulder to cup firmly around that breast. “Your skin is flushing, your folds will swell even fuller the more you take me inside you…”
You release your mouth, a moan slithering from your sticky throat as his fingers pluck and play with your nipple.
“There is no one more worthy of this than you, my little love,” he slides his wrist from your lapping tongue, fingers clawing loosely around your throat to lift you against his own hungering lips. “You need not fear anything, I told you, not even the worry that your immortal flesh would ever repel me, my darling.”
You curl into his arms, letting his warmth seep through you, inside and out. His kiss dances slowly with your lips, his tongue licking all his blood from your fangs and lips. A hum of satisfaction rumbling in his throat, “Mmm… You taste… divine…”
“You mean… you taste divine, my love,” you laugh into his kiss. You place your hand against his neck, softly pushing him off of you.
“I do indeed,” he purrs, his knee shoving your thigh to the side, spreading you wider. “As do you, if I may?” His silver brow arches, wry and mischievous. You tilt your head, your neck already sore from last night, from where he sucked you dry. You hiss, delicious pain slicing through you, his fangs in your neck burying the same moment his cock sheaths into your folds.
Hip undulating slowly, he drinks noisily behind your ear. And you do feel on fire, burning as hot as him, the friction of his thrusts, the trickle of your blood down your neck… they scald you.
They make you feel alive in his arms, alive with him fucking between your thighs.
It’s enough to shatter you in a matter of moments, his lips barely off your bleeding neck before you clench and spam around his pulsing cock. Your voice tears from your throat in a scream. So much fuller and hotter than ever he felt inside your walls. Thicker. Heating you from within. The pressure drives you wild, your climax more intense than ever as you writhe beneath him, as stars cover your vision and pleasure steals your breath.
He laughs again, that tickled giggle to watch you panting to catch your breath, barely able to make a sound more than a whimper yourself. “That’s right, my pet, let them all hear you through these flimsy walls….”
You laugh, breathy and quick, wrapping your thighs tightly around his waist. “So quick to forget what I managed to reduce you to?” You steal a hand back to his clenching ass, returning your touch to that tight little hole.
He gasps, biting his lips as if to keep himself from crying out again. “Don’t you ever tell them,” he growls, smiling with that predacious gleam in the crimson of his eyes.
“I don’t need to,” you can’t help but laugh, letting the words already in your mind already make you smile. Even if they are his own… even if he just might make you pay deliciously for them for the rest of the night, “given the noise you made, I’m sure they already know…”
#astarion fanfic#astarion x reader#astarion x female reader#“Ascension puberty#what it must have been like to actually learn his new powers#humbled vampiric masteh#astarion x f!reader#bg3 astarion#astarion bg3#bg3 spoilers#bg3#baldur’s gate spoilers#astarion spoilers#ascended astarion#astarion baldurs gate#baldur’s gate astarion#baldur's gate 3 astarion#baldurs gate astarion#astarion#bride spawn Tav#spawn tav#baldur’s gate iii#baldur's gate 3 spoilers#baldurs gate smut#astarion smut#baldur’s gate 3#baldur's gate#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate#baldur‘s gate
406 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rigor Mortis (part 7)
College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader
(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,
Part 6, Part 8
summary: You spend some time with Miguel.
warnings: smut. f receiving oral, fingering, grinding, switchy behaviour from both sides, angst. 18+ Minors DNI
a/n: this chapter beat my ass icl
Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3
Join my taglists here
wc: 6.3k
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
all-consuming grief,
It’s going to be a warm night. It's ushered in by the kind of dawn that bleeds red and gold, tawny and autumnal in the waning light. Like the washy colours of a Renoir, and he doesn’t even notice that he’s doing the thing he swore black-and-blue he wouldn’t. Reminiscing and romanticising; for the first time in a while, Miguel is able to see the sun set, legs splayed on the brick of his front steps.
Sitting by worn metal railing, he’s still in his work clothes. He chucked his rucksack on the step above, leaning long legs onto the ones below. They don’t ache as much as they used to, well-trained by a couple months of running and spending more time in the gym. There’s a shake in the fridge, labelled ‘Tuesday, PM’ that he’ll gulp down before bed, and one labelled ‘Wednesday, AM’ that he’ll take before setting off in the morning. In the morning, with cloudy skies and street cars to keep him company. There’s too much pollution, light or otherwise, for him to see some stars. He hasn’t seen stars in a while, now.
Long days seem to have turned into just days somewhere along the way. He can’t quite pinpoint when, and doesn’t really care to, but he thinks his brother would call it “progress”. There’s a grimace on his face as he thinks about it; a word that tastes like mud and feels like swirling cement in his mouth. It’s all bullshit, really. Gabi’s paltry attempt at therapising him, one which he would usually nip in the bud - taking metaphorical shears to slash at weeds and dense conversation. Catch-up calls about how he feels, how he’s doing – when he’s fine, he always is – as if Gabi is waiting for a shoe to drop.
He’s waiting for Miguel to have an epiphany, a breakdown the size of a collapsing star. It’s not coming, he keeps telling his brother, and the sooner the younger O’Hara realises – without the wide eyes and the pity – the better for the both of them. After all, Gabriel is his baby brother, and he’s spent his whole life worrying on his behalf: playing hide-and-seek in little closets and putting back together broken toys. Trying to drown out the sound of shouting and broken plates. They’re too old for all that, the worrying and gulping back tears, walking its well-travelled paths – and it doesn’t feel right that Gabi should do the same for him.
He sighs, deep and heavy and rolling down that quiet street. After what feels like forever, he’s tempted to lie down, to rest his head on the stone, close his eyes and think of something else. Of someone else - lots of someones, at this point in the day. He’s not the weepy type, but he is tired; shaking off the wear and tear, and fighting off sleep.
Then he sees it; a figure walking towards him, all sandals and khaki shorts and smiles. Mr Estevez, donned in his year-round attire of a polo shirt, a little tight around the middle, and cargos cut off below the knee – finally appropriate, considering the weather. He’s strolling closer like he’s got all the time in the world. If Miguel wasn’t so exhausted; the bone-deep kind, the kind that seeps into skin and lines a casket; he would’ve been annoyed. Instead, he hisses, furrows quickly deepening.
“Buenas, Miguelito!” Mr Estevez beams, scratching at scraggly facial hair.
Miguel frowns, but greets him nonetheless: that politeness drilled into him during childhood rearing its head.
“Buenas tardes, tío.” He grits his teeth as he gets up from his seat, creaky joints and all.
His landlord, the building’s handyman, owner of half a dozen shops all over the city, and Miguel’s uncle-that’s-not-really-his-uncle; Mr Estevez wears many hats, staying bright and informal regardless. He’s known the older man since he was 6, so he can’t be too disappointed; his tío has been late for weddings, funerals, and his little boy’s birth – it’s not much of a surprise that he’d be late now, too. Miguel stretches out a rough palm, and the man stops just shy of his hand, completely ignoring it. Before he knows it, Miguelito is engulfed in a great big bear hug, with wet kisses pressed to the apples of his cheeks. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, as usual, so they hang limply; arms flailing to his sides like a t-rex.
They separate, and he coughs at the great big hand that slaps his back. Grumbling, he walks up to the door, bag over his back, and stands expectantly. Mr Estevez doesn’t follow, instead dusting himself down to sit on the steps.
“I just need to get into the building.” Miguel starts. “Forgot my keys, and I've been here for hours. M’tired, and I–”
“Let’s sit, Miguel.” He scoots over, making space. “Look at the stars.”
It’s clear the older man isn’t moving. Begrudgingly, he obliges. “We’re in the middle of the city. You only see “stars” in the river – beer bottles and tinned crap reflecting the lights.”
“Language.” He gets a sharp nudge to his ribs.
“Discúlpame, tío.”
They stew for a moment, bathing in the silence that follows. The man besides him is the first to speak.
“I spoke to your mother.”
He’s scoffing and moving to get up, before feeling a firm hand on his shoulder.
“She’s worried, Miguel. Says you haven’t called in a while.”
“She hasn’t called me either."
“She’s stubborn.” The man besides him chuckles, bringing gentle eyes to meet his own. "Pig-headed. Remind you of someone?"
Miguel rolls his eyes, he just can't help it.
"She’s also the one that moved back home, so either way–”
"You know it's all been hard on her."
" –on her? It's been hard for her, surrounded by family, after she abandoned me? A-After…" His voice gets dangerously hoarse, threatening to crack under the weight of those words.
He can't stand the pitiful look sent his way: brows drawn, lips pressed into a thin line.
"Sorry. It's… It's nothing. I'm fine. Just fine."
"I didn't ask if you were fine, Miguel."
–even though you're definitely not okay. That part is left unsaid, spat onto the pavement like bitter backwash.
Mr Estévez sighs, ruffling a hand through Miguel's hair. It makes him hiss and dart away from the hand, pouting like he's a little kid again. He doesn't like it; the way he feels like all this life he's lived has been for naught. Trials and tribulations, and yet he doesn't feel that ache of growth; still stuck in the shoes of an awkward teenager.
"You think too much, Miguelito. Always have." He smiles, the kind that deepens the wrinkles around his mouth. It twists Miguel into knots, mouth dry as he tries to untangle himself from that feeling. "I'm worried about you, kid."
He sniffs, eyes trained towards the pavement. There it is again, worry; complicating and unravelling what was meant to be just another day.
"It's today, isn't it?"
All Miguel does is nod, shakily. It's been 2 years since his heart was ripped out of his chest. It heaves now, an erratic rise and fall he’s doing his best to control. Breathe, deeply and calmly; try not to think about his little girl in that hospital bed, and those blank eyes staring back.
“M’fine.” It comes out more desperate than he intends it, and he curses under his breath. If Mr Estevez hears the crude language, he doesn’t react.
Miguel is tense, hunched over the bag on his lap and curled into himself like prey – spitting and prickly and clearly uncomfortable. He’s never been the weepy kind, but the older man can’t help but think it’s a shame; so much love, and nowhere to keep it but inside. Miguel's bottled it up; the memories of precious Gabriella, all that warmth she brought out in her father; and he's turned them to poison pills to keep himself sick.
Miguel would never admit it, of course. He’s too stubborn. Pig-headed.
His tío sighs, moving to get up. He groans, in that dramatic sort of way he knows Miguel can’t stand, but still, there's a rush to help him up. Producing the door keys with a flourish, he pulls from the depths of cargo pockets, and unlocks the main door. Ushering in the younger man, who has grown so tall he needs to duck as he climbs the narrow stairs, there’s a finger prodded into the back of that cotton button-up.
“Miguel?” He starts, revving up a conversation he’s been meaning to have for a while now.
“Hmm?”
They both wait by the entrance of the apartment. The keys jingle in Mr Estevez’s hand.
“If I open the door, will I find out that you’ve driven away another one of my tenants?”
Conveniently, there seems to be a rather interesting spot in the hardwood that Miguel pokes with a dress shoe.
“...depends on your definition of 'driven out', tío.”
“That’s the third one this year! Not even 2 months– I knew there was something up. Not a single one of those little smiley faces to my messages, and–"
“I’ll make up for his side of the rent, you know I will.”
“I don’t like it. You should be saving up, to go get a house and settle down somewhere."
“I like living here, and I’ve said multiple times I’d pay the extra to live alone–”
“And then what? You rot in your room for the rest of your life?”
“I don’t– rot feels a little–”
“Nonsense. You’re lonely, Miguelito. If you don’t like it, you move out.”
They both know he won’t. It’s not really an option; the apartment is affordable and he likes living so close to his old neighbourhood, his old haunts. It’s like he’s tethered to that place with a bungee cord wrapped under his ribs, always snapping back.
“No promises, tío.”
“Doesn’t matter, Miguelito.” He sighs, scratching at stubble. “It’s been hard to find other tenants, with half the neighbourhood drying up. But as soon as I do–”
He points an accusatory finger at Miguel, and the sentence is finished for him.
“...best behaviour, I know.”
“Best behaviour.” Mr Estevez repeats, and starts to fumble with the keys. He throws a little comment over his shoulder. “I liked your lady friend, ages ago… the scary one, with the blue hair. She was–”
“Xina’s not scary, when you get to know her.”
“She was funny. Very pretty. Always paid rent on time, gave me food when I came to fix the heating…”
“It's out again, by the way.” Miguel chews his lip, with a strange expression. “And yeah, she was.”
The door swings open. Mr Estevez doesn’t let him off the hook, though, engulfing him in a warm hug. This time, in the doorway of his apartment, eyes screwed shut; he doesn’t try to wriggle out of it, melting into his tío’s arms. It feels different now that he’s not a kid: angry and hurting with a different sort of ache, but he leans into it, all the same.
~~~
There's a pressure released from the apartment, lately. Miguel feels… well, first of all, he feels ; thinks with his heart and not his head, sometimes. It's lighter, coming home with that weight on his shoulders and with someone there to distract him from it. Living life, he thinks, for the first time in a while. Vivid and vibrant and awake ; relishing the autumnal weather. It's always been his favourite season, despite how childish he thinks having a favourite season is; something you had asked him on a whim one morning.
Normally, he wouldn't entertain it, and with all the shit Pete spews, sometimes, he's had plenty of practice ignoring it. A well-timed dirty look, and then he'd get his head down and work; occupy himself with something less frivolous. But when you say it, with half a piece of toast sticking out of your mouth, it doesn't feel like a chore to answer. It doesn't feel like a stupid question, and he finds his face growing warm at the thought of you caring about these little things – wanting to know him , however that comes.
And so, his answer is Autumn. It's a little stilted; but catching him off guard after a run will do that to him. It's purely practical , he says, eyes tracing the slopes of your body in that shirt and shorts that stops at your thighs; high enough that he feels like a perv for looking. Autumn has temperate, even weather. Perfect for sweaters and hoodies. Warm enough that you don't need a jacket. Just right. You snort, nudging him. Bullshit, Mig. You flutter your eyelashes mockingly, your tone light. You just think it's the prettiest.
And he hums, catching you off guard. You're both drawn towards that little window over the sink, the one that overlooks a fire escape and the street. He's had that view for three years, now. Sleeves always rolled to his elbows as he does his washing up, but never quite looking. The street just below is framed in its windowpane, quite the pretty picture. Crisp leaves scattered on the sidewalk, carpeted in red and honeyed amber. And he can feel it from the other side of the glass; smell it, touch it, taste it. Autumn: hot chocolate and giggles, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and cupping tiny palms to warm them up. Sunsets seen for the first time, watched through bus windows on the way back from school – he misses those the most.
"You don't think it's beautiful?" You say, leaning your head towards the half-open window.
You don't notice, but he looks over to you, swallowing roughly. He says it with a small voice.
"I…I do."
You're darting to the bathroom not too long after, breaking the spell. Frustrated, he resists the urge to curl up into a ball and scream into his palms. He's got what he wanted; a good fuck, a pretty face, a warm smile. Friends, at the most, who happen to get the other off after a long day. A welcome distraction, at the least. He's got what his body has been telling him he needs for the past few months. It makes him feel weird, so oddly settled; but, all things considered…
Miguel is doing okay.
“...and I wouldn’t normally ask, but I swear , I left him…o-on read and he won’t stop texting me.”
Really, actually; he’s doing fine.
“It feels weird– mmffuck– but I can’t ignore him any longer.”
Maybe even… good. Better than okay.
“I still have a bunch of my stuff over there. At least half of it is clothes and books, a-and I’ve put it off for as long as I can…”
He hums in response, pulling quiet curses from you, above. Pressing the flat of his tongue onto your clit, your hips jump up and he purrs ; rearing up to dive even deeper into your pussy. Too quick for him, you catch on, hand in his hair to pull him up.
Sitting up on your haunches, he rests his head on your bare thigh – licking the taste of you off of his lips.
You tilt your head, looking at him with those eyes he can’t help but marvel at. A beat passes.
“...so?” You start, expectantly. “Will you help me or not?”
His response comes in the form of teeth nipping at pillowy skin. You yelp, and swat him away whilst he chuckles.
“I’m serious , Mig. It’s too much to pick up by myself. And you’re the only person I know with a car…”
“ Ouch, hermosa. ” He frowns as you peter off. “Is that the only reason you’re fucking me? For my car?”
“If I say it’s because of your sparkling personality, will you help me?”
For a moment, it seems like he’s got his brows pressed together like he’s seriously considering it, but it ends up being just smoke and mirrors. He’s pretending , biding his time to hook a hand under your legs and force you to lie down onto the bed. Your head hits the covers with a gentle thump as he hikes up the lip of that big tee even further; squeezing your thighs around his head like earmuffs.
It’s when he makes eye-contact, tongue circling your hole, that you realised you’re fucked. Up until now, he’s been toying with you – playing with his food, so to speak – lazily swirling his tongue around your clit and pressing buttons to see exactly where to push. And you'd welcomed it, a hand in his hair as you talked about your day – which he'd asked for, of course.
Now, he's insatiable, eating you out like a man starved; all tongue and wet kisses to your swollen bud. You're slightly raised up on his shoulders, clamping around his tongue as he fucks into you fervently. Big palms spread you wider, and he hums into it, content.
"So pretty ," He sets you down, pupils blown as he studies the way your back arches and the way your legs shudder in the sheets. He slides upwards, sitting next to you, tracing a hand across the gentle curve of stomach that peeks out from your big t-shirt.
Still coming down from your high, you're only just able to register it: he looks mesmerised, a dopey smile plastered on his face.
"What?" You scoff when a moment passes, and his hand inches closer towards your lower lips.
"M'just looking." He shrugs, with a little smile on his face. "I'm not allowed to look?"
You scoff, but you're still shaky so it comes out a little more pathetic than you intend. Nevertheless, you start to sit up but he stops you with a gentle hand at your chest.
"Call him." He says, pressing two fingers to your clit and then down to your gushing slit.
Maybe it's the way he hunches over you, eyes flicking towards your lips, or the way he slips those fingers in; but your eyes go wide, and you're choking on your next words.
"Call… Call who?" Playing dumb, dancing on a razor's edge, and Miguel only quirks up an eyebrow at the stupid question.
"You know who." He says it low, smooth and dulcet as he curls his fingers at that sweet spot, experimenting. "I'll help you, fine. But I want you to call your ex, too. Let him know when to expect us. Is that okay, sweetheart ?"
That last word comes with a twang, the lilting tone of what sounds like mockery. He twists the knife, nudging the flat of his palm onto your clit – still tender and throbbing from your last orgasm.
Before you change your mind, you pick up the phone laid face down on the bedside table, pressing shaky fingers to its screen. You don't dare to look up, knowing Miguel is watching; dark eyes studying your every move.
Flicking his wrist this way and that, he swallows roughly as your fingers stutter on the screen. Not completely satisfied, he still has the time to look smug, settling into a comfortable pace. Finally, your phone rings with a tell-tale dial tone. It rings once. It rings twice, and–
"Hello? " The voice is muffled as it says your name. Put it on speaker, Miguel mouths and you oblige.
"Hey, J-Jamie." The phone is shaky in your hands, so you lay it out next to you on the bed.
"It's late, baby." You don't have time to be annoyed at his tone – or the unwarranted pet name – because Miguel speeds up, pumping in and out of you with a little more force.
"I… I know. S-Sorry." You clamp down the moans that threaten to erupt, rocking your hips in time with the thrusts.
Head lolling back into the sheets, you spend a good ten seconds in oblivious bliss, until Jamie breaks the silence.
"You've been ignoring me for ages, baby… and then you call out of the blue. What is it?" He's tired, it sounds like. Irritated for sure.
"Just w-wanted to–" Miguel presses his thumb to your clit and you jump. Once back down to earth he has to prompt you to answer. "-my stuff! Fuck , I just want to pick up my stuff."
"...now?"
Tomorrow. Miguel mouths.
"Tomorrow. " You repeat, wrapping a hand around his forearm to slow him down. It's too much, too fast; and he has the audacity to add another finger, scissoring out to stretch your cunt.
"O-kay. " He clicks his tongue, with some things rustling in the background. "Okay. You're acting weird, but..."
You're conflicted. His tone makes you melt, reaching for your phone to answer when Miguel snakes a hand under your shirt, palming your tits. To your surprise, he presses shaky kisses to the skin, rolling around your nipple with the flat of his tongue. You keen, clamping a hand around your mouth to stop the noises that spill out.
"...we still need to talk about what happened. About how we left things."
Anger flares up at your chest; hot at the sheer gall. He wants to talk? Now, when you had been met with a brick wall of silence; begging and begging for even a simple explanation?
What made it sting even more was that even after the breakup, everything happened on Jamie's terms. He broke up with you, providing little warning. He completely ghosted you, refusing to answer countless calls and messages. And now, he wants to talk; to make himself feel better and wank off his own ego, no doubt. It's not bitterness that makes you press Miguel closer, to revel in the pleasure that he gives you, you convince yourself. It's for you ; finally, unabashedly, just for you.
You don't bother to answer, hanging up the call with a click. Tugging at his hair, you pull him off with a wet pop; slick-soaked fingers slipping out of your cunt.
He cradles your chin, angling you upwards.
"You okay? Too much?" It barely registers; you're too focused on the tangle of curls framing his face, and the rosy pout of messy lips.
You shake your head, writhing against the sheets.
"More." You move his hand over to rest between your legs. "Please, Miguel."
His eyes flutter, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“Eyes on me, baby.”
He says it with sobering clarity, bolstered by just how precisely he slots against your bare pussy. You can feel it, the full length of his cock; pressed up against you as he slips it out of his sweats. Head spinning, it slaps onto your stomach. Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Oh fuck. He's big.
"Just like that." He coos, spitting into his palm and pumping his cock. “Wanna see how pretty you look when I make you cum.”
~~~
When tomorrow comes, you’re still sore from the litany of bruises and hickeys littered. It’s a Saturday, and you’re up bright and early. Well, Miguel is up bright and early, clattering around in the kitchen as you wake up.
He seems energised, mug of coffee in hand whilst you rub the sleep from your eyes. You waltz into the kitchen through the open doorway, morning breath and all.
"Morning," You say, soft and giggly at the way he jumps ten feet in the air, too wrapped up in himself to notice at first.
"Morning." He breathes, melting when he sees you in the shirt he had picked out for you last night. He shakes himself out of it. "Hungry? I can make something."
"No, no. M'good." You sidle up to the counter, head clocked at the fancy machine on the heavy slab. There's a question on the tip of your tongue, one you roll between your teeth. "Could I have some coffee? I mean… could you show me how?"
Where you expect laughter, mockery, or surprise that you've lived here for months and can't figure out the coffee machine; he nods, patient and calm. You ask him more questions; curious with every flick of a switch, and the way he lights up when talking about it. To your surprise, you want to know more – anyway that comes.
He's talking about expensive beans, and his favourite roasts – and a place across town that sells the exact kind he likes, but it's too fucking gentrified for him to go there more than two or three times a year. That makes you giggle: his little pout, the press of brow; and he looks up in surprise before joining you in light laughter.
You finish, pouring cream into his special mug with a flourish, and he steals a sip before you can. You elbow him away, angling for that stolen taste. When you do, it is deep and rich; sweet in a way that reminds you of Miguel, grounded and balanced and silky. In short, it's the perfect cup of coffee. More than content, you hum.
"Is it good?" He asks because he's already making mental notes, planning to greet you with a hot flask of the stuff in the mornings – if it means he gets that smile, of course.
"Very." Fervently you nod, lips curved to the ceramic as you blow; and Miguel is trying really hard not to stare. Maybe it's the fact that he's seen you in a way not everyone gets to; pretty and vulnerable and writhing on the tip of his cock; but it has him fending off vivid daydreams. Your lips wrapped around his length, his hand pressing you further down, feeling that warmth as you choke on his–
He blinks and you're gone, padding off to your room with that mug of coffee. You return not too long after, phone in hand and tapping away at the screen. Miguel ignores the way it makes him feel, having your attention and then losing it just as quickly. Like a kicked puppy, he resists the urge to beg for more – of your time, of your attention – turning away to clean up instead.
"I spoke to Jamie," You start, leaning with your back to the counter as he rolls up the sleeves of a comfy sweater. "He said he'll be around later in the evening, after his shift. Around 10. Is that okay?"
He shrugs, not caring either way. You're a friend, and he's helping you because that's what friends do. He can still taste you on his lips, but it doesn't mean anything. Not in a way you'd want, anyways.
"Sure." He doesn't turn around, stealing glances at the open window whilst he clatters around. "I've got a session later on anyways."
He catches a flash of something on your face, and you're pushing it away; prickly and uncomfortable. In his defence, he's stopped bringing people over for faux chemistry tutoring and there's less banging coming from across the wall. Less , but not completely gone, because you've learnt he has a penchant for dropping shit and cursing like someone's Dad.
But you can't help but think about Sarah , and Jia …. and how close he would get to Sita on the dining table. Fuck .
You're sighing now, tracing the curve of his jaw as he settles in front of the window: jaw set, arms crossed, and distant. He does that sometimes, goes off somewhere else – all teeth and claws. Tense, brows drawn up in a way that makes you want to smooth them out.
You put your phone down and mug away, sliding across linoleum to gently nudge his shoulder with your own.
"Are we…" He starts, and you track his line of sight to a quiet street below. He hums, without looking away. "Are we good?"
It makes you turn. You blink, as if out of all the nonsense you bicker about daily, that was the most ridiculous. Good? Good? Of course we are, of course we always will be. How could we be anything else? You shut it down before it spills out of your mouth, overzealous and desperate.
He clarifies with a nervous cough. "Last night. Was it… good?"
His frown deepens, and you wonder if it's just you that hears it in his tone. His real question, the one that makes you splinter and creak like a felled oak tree: Was I good? Am I good enough?
"Yeah. " You say it like the most obvious thing in the world – and to you, it is. For all his flaws; assholery and its trimmings aside; Miguel has never been a bad lay. You don't even think he has it in him; he couldn't half-ass it if he tried.
"It was–" Fucking amazing . The kind of thing you'll fuck yourself to for the foreseeable future. Cathartic and breath-taking and hot . All of the above.
Miguel finishes your sentence with something a little less… horny. "It was a lot, wasn't it? I wasn't really thinking, how uncomfortable it could be for you, and–"
Gently, you laugh and cut him off. "I've been having mediocre sex for basically the whole of my adult life, Mig. This is… exciting and new. I like it, I really do."
Exciting and new. It brings him crashing back down to earth. You're enjoying the way he makes you feel, the thrill . Not… him. Not really, anyways. That pang of disappointment feels different, for some reason. He's never liked the song and dance of flirting, but he cherishes its rewards: of being wanted, and someone wanting him . So that fiery flame of need; deep and heady; is unfamiliar under his skin.
"We can slow down, if you'd like." You bring a hand to his arm, warm and gentle. "I don't mind. We can go back to just messing around on the couch…."
You've got a cheeky smile when you say it; a vague memory of a different time, when you had gotten a little too comfortable on the sofa, leading to hands stuffed in trousers and pressed up against one another. Quick and desperate, you had wanted to see him fall apart; like he did your first night together, and the next, and the next.
He gets closer, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. With a gentle hand, he strokes your hip, bunching up the fabric to get a peek of thigh.
“What do you like?” He’s deadly serious, red-brown eyes searching your face for something he can’t quite place. And just like that, the air is thick with tension. All you can manage is a limp shrug.
“I don’t know, really.” It comes out as a croak , as you’re much too occupied with the shrinking gap between you both. “I haven’t done the things you’ve done.”
You’re making assumptions, of course. Filling in the gaps of what you’ve learnt in the past few months; of alleged threesomes and a laundry list of women at his feet. He’s an asshole; pretty and gruff and sarcastic; but God , he knows how to touch you just right.
“I could show you.” He slots a knee between your thighs and your head spins. “Make you feel good. ”
Before you can think, you’re nodding; chewing at your lip to bite back moans when he rucks up your shirt. He nudges your legs apart, both hands on your waist as he slots himself between them. You can feel it; quickly hardening, loose underneath sweats. Miguel slides wide palms to your ass, kneading its globes. With one hand, he picks up your leg by the thigh, and snakes the other to your pussy. Bare, because you’re trying to kill him, of course, and he groans at the feeling of his hand at your cunt; already wet and pliant for him.
After a few wet taps to your hole, obscene, he slips himself out and you heave; pussy fluttering at just the thought of him inside you. Gathering up your slick on his palm, Miguel pumps his weeping cock, pressing its tip to your hole.
"Still sore, Miguel." You hiss, looking down at where you both meet with the prettiest pout he thinks he's ever seen.
It has you clawing at his back for purchase as he finally sinks in, stretching you out in that wonderful way he did last night. Except this time, he's slow and careful; steeling himself with shaky breaths.
"Oh, fuck. " He settles in about halfway, stopping to hike up your leg just a bit higher. "Want me to make you feel better?"
He says it breathless and crooning, forehead comes to rest on yours. With that other hand flat on the counter, you're lifted up to only toes on the floor, and he angles himself to buck up; filling you deep, and cock sliding past that sweet spot inside. He sets a pace, grinding into you, rather than fucking. If last night was dirty ; taboo, quick and primal; then this morning feels different. Intimate and reverent, he rolls his hips perfectly ; sending flashes of that first night down your spine.
With the moans that spill out of your mouth, it takes all of Miguel's willpower not to swallow them in a kiss. Impossibly close, he traces up your thigh with a large palm; eventually pressing into the small of your back. Arching into him, your lips barely brush together, and you're both panting into open mouths; drunk on pleasure.
"Miguel." There's a warning somewhere in your tone; underneath the layers of lust, you remind him of your previous agreement.
"I… I know. " He swallows, nose pressed to yours, eyes screwed shut. He thinks if he opens them, he might spill into you right then and there.
He's trying, he really is, tracing your cheek with his nose and mouthing at your neck – light kisses against the skin. He smells like coffee, bittersweet and heady, and you groan, rocking into him in a way that rubs up against your clit – before finding an ounce of restraint and putting a hand to his neck.
You apply a little pressure, intending to push him away, but he likes it: eyes fluttering open, and mouth curved into a little O. It's a pretty sight that has you drooling, tits pressed against him as he practically purrs . And so, you pull him closer; nails dancing underneath his shirt, whispering filth into the shell of his ear. You're close, grinding into him like the push and pull of waves, merely waiting for the crescendo of orgasm to take you out to sea.
"I'm close, Miguel." All he can do is hum, pulling you closer. "Fuck, I feel so good. You make me feel so good."
"Yeah? " He asks, needy in a way you haven't quite seen before.
"M'gonna cum," You nod. "...because of you, baby. You did good. So good. Shit, ohh –g-god–"
You clamp down on him, gushing around him with shaky legs. And Miguel is good; patient as he watches you fuck yourself through the aftermath. When it finally slows, he slips out with an obscene squelch clamping a hand to the base of his cock and leaning heavily on the counter.
"It's okay," As if on cue, you kneel in front of him as best you can, tugging down your shirt to expose collarbone and the swell of tits.
Miguel growls, grunting as he splatters thick cum across your chest, pumping his poor cock through it.
He wouldn't have lasted a second longer, not with that smile across your face; smug as you swipe fingers across your chest and lick up the mess he's made.
He's sighing, tucking himself back into gray sweats and pulling you up with a hand in yours; grumbling as you absentmindedly follow him to the sofa.
You're leaning back onto the arm of the tattered material, and he settles to sit so your legs lay in his lap. He's frowning, again, and it makes you giggle, still licking up what's left on your fingers.
He rolls his eyes, tapping a spot on your chin. A fat glob of his cum, dripping from your jaw to your neck. You miss it on the first swipe, and he gets impatient on the second, grabbing your hands and clambering over you. He drags the flat of his tongue to your skin, licking it up for you – and your eyes go wide. That… that felt good.
You giggle at the sensation, so attuned to your roommate that you can hear it: his eyes clattering into the back of his skull, as he rolls his eyes a second time.
"Is that okay?" He says it into the skin, pausing over a particularly tender spot. "Not too far?"
"Feels nice, Mig." You sigh, content. Sun streams in on a lazy morning, and you're sore in the kind of way that feels good; fucked out and blissful.
You lean into it, and then he sucks , teeth clashing onto the skin as he gives you a hickey and the juncture of your jaw. You wriggle, and he pins you down with one big hand holding down your arm, nipping and kissing and soothing it with a flash of tongue. This time he smiles, wrapping around your middle, tugging down your shirt to decorate your chest with hickeys. You play with his hair, wrapping soft curls between your fingers.
You spend a little too long like that; curved into him, spines moulded to the shape of each other. It feels nicer than either of you would care to admit; the pretense of sex wrapped around you both like a thin veil. Before he leaves, Miguel indulges himself just this once; head on your chest and sinking into those arms wrapped around him. You smell like coffee and sweat and Autumn, somehow. He presses kisses wherever he can reach, for a bit longer.
Miguel is okay. He's doing just fine.
_
_
-
Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs
@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote
#miguel o'hara x reader#across the spiderverse#rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara#miguel o hara x reader#kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099#miguel o'hara smut#spiderman 2099 x reader
907 notes
·
View notes
Note
Shai! Shai! I've thought of another scenario for Leon😊 Altho being a new fan I've come to the conclusion that Leon is the type to believe he's not good enough for his partner, he believes they could do better then him. So imagine a Leon who has finally accepted he has feelings for you and works up the courage to confess only for you to turn the tables on him and say you dont feel good enough for him. I imagine he would be in disbelief? How would he react to his crush telling him "You're too good for me Leon."?
too good for me | leon kennedy x reader
pairing: leon kennedy x reader (unspecified gender)
genre: fluff, miscommunication, the "endeared badass x normal person scared shitless of the endeared badass" trope. no spice, unfortunately. only good vibes and leon being head over heels smitten. enjoy!
word count: 2.7K? It's short!
notes: hi sarah! i am SO SORRY this has taken forever. you requested this one month ago! its been so hectic lately, i've been having health problems that required regular hospital visits and tests upon tests, but now that my surgery (yeah i know... yikes) is authorized i'm only waiting for them to call me for the date and have all the time in the world to get my rest and write. i'm also working on your other (wink wink) request! thank you so much for being patient with me. hope this is what you had in mind! i also added my touch and ideas to it lmao. happy reading!!
🌀 read on ao3!
“You’re too good for me,” is the hesitant, small answer you give him while avoiding eye contact and playing with your fingers in front of your office’s shared coffee maker Leon had made countless paperwork excuses to be able to simply stop by — to his question, that is, about why you wouldn’t go on a simple date with him.
You puff out an awkward laugh to smooth things over as humorous but it’s forced and not at all sincere.
It’s taken Leon a whole inner journey (Spain. Mostly the simultaneous trauma and catharsis of Spain) to get over himself to recognize what his heart truly wanted but was too pussy to look at before, yet here you two are. The lone angel in his life telling the failure Leon is that he’s too good? For you?
He simply stares, dumbly standing there, piping hot coffee that’s actually incompatible with his taste buds he insists he must do a detour to get from here simply because you often do, stiff and awkward in his hold, thinking he heard you wrong because he hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest — rest, not sleep — in forever since he came back from Spain.
He’s been forcing himself to come to work just for a glimpse of you and your pretty face to recharge his battery, heal his soul a bit, let you be all that occupies his mind despite being laid off after that outrageous mission that resulted in the president’s unwanted favor and nightmares upon nightmares with only anxious yet soothing thoughts of you as the best bad out of the worst he’s had to face— and what is it that you said again?
“You’re joking right?” Leon says, pride not knowing if it should be broken or not because he’s not sure to take this as a rejection, and it isn’t his intention for it to sound that harsh. He’s not some asshole who can’t take no for an answer, it’s your reasoning that has him downright jamming like a gun.
Leon has to remind himself to switch off work mode because now you look mousey as if he has a paw on your tail, shoulders pulled into yourself. “Sorry!” He feels so bad, heart expanding within his ribcage and it aches, fuck, he just wanted to ask you out and all he’s doing is scaring you. “I’m sorry, you were kidding. I didn’t get it— I’m kinda slow and you sound flat sometimes, of course you weren’t serious, I’m—”
“No, I was serious.” His eyebrows furrow at yet another self-degradation from you. “It’s you who has to be kidding. What do you mean too good for you?”
You are at a loss of words, mouth opening but nothing coming out, and finally look him in the eye and all Leon wants to do is lean down and capture your mouth, he’s heavily distracted by you licking your lips and swallowing, the sighting of the tip of your pink tongue makes his shirt suddenly suffocating and tight.
“I mean,” you begin tentatively, unaware of what’s going on in his head, vaguely gesturing to Leon. “Well… You’re you, I mean… And I’m. Me. Look at you and look at me. Why would you even…?”
“Hey,” Leon sets his mug on the counter, closing his eyes and pinching the insides with his thumb and pointer. The implications alone sent a zapping headache through his skull that he knows he has to rest to be able to unpack, especially when he’s finally decided on seriously pursuing you in spite of himself. Leon can’t let this remain unaddressed, for your sake and his sanity. “How about I wait for you after work today and we talk about this somewhere else?” He’s squinting. “In detail.”
“We don’t really need to—”
“We do.” Leon wants you to see he’s serious about this — about you. “Because I see something here that I want to pursue and we can’t have any misunderstandings. Would appreciate it if you at least give me the chance to clear the air.”
“P-pursue?” You swallow and Leon’s mind wanders again. “Clear the air you say…”
He breathes in. “Can you give me your phone?”
You slap it into his palm almost immediately, the speed with which you obey him without asking him any questions surprises him. He wants to scold if you’re willing to hand over your mobile to any guy who asks, but supposes it’s not his place — is frustrated this is what it takes to get him annoyed, as well. He isn’t some young adult. Weirdly, you make him feel like one.
He’s punching his own number in, despite the conflicting feelings, finally feeling like this is getting somewhere and he’s doing it when you start talking again, nervous. “You can uh, clear the air… right here… without taking me to a secondary location…”
His eyes flick up to yours in confusion and you look to the right immediately, and back to him. To the right. Back to him. It’s somehow comedic, because why do you look like you’re cornered by some bad guy?
You really look like you want to be anywhere else than here, Leon’s fucking this up and he doesn’t even know what he’s doing wrong. Was he going too fast? Should he have told you his number and let you save it instead?
You’re mumbling, nervousness clear as day for reasons he can’t fathom, he hears you, but he doesn’t really understand.
“What? What's wrong?" Leon asks, his voice laced with genuine concern. He takes a step closer, wanting to bridge the gap between you and alleviate whatever discomfort you were experiencing. "You seem... uneasy. Did I do something wrong?"
Your eyes meet his briefly, then quickly shift away again, as if you are struggling to find the right words.
Leon's heart sinks. His intention wasn’t to make you feel nervous or pressured, especially when he is genuinely trying to connect with you — then, in a brilliant moment of heart-stopping realization, the fact that you might just not be interested slaps him in the face and he’s…
Well. Wouldn’t that be the reality?
Leon is… He isn’t exactly the ideal man. Not with what he does, and how his life is. He’s aware of that. Have been running from forming connections because of what he knows will end up happening because of that. He can’t get attached and keep losing people — can’t keep getting hurt in the vicious cycle to prevent everyone from getting hurt. It’s been the bane of his existence ever since STRATCOM plucked him off straight from Raccoon City. Even if you work in the same field as him, just different offices, who is to say it will work out anyway?
He’s getting ahead of himself. You might not like him at all in the first place. Jesus.
Maybe you see him for what he is. Maybe you think he’s not —- the effort’s not worth it, and you wouldn’t exactly be wrong in thinking so. You could be wanting something else in life that he only has the desire to give you, and not the promise. He wouldn’t blame you, hell, who would blame someone for being their own person with their thoughts, wishes, wants and goals in life?
You’re too good for me, really, is his line. It has been right from the beginning, his excuse in running away from his undeniable, frightening attraction to you.
"No, it's not you," you finally managed to articulate, prompting Leon to release the breath he was holding, your voice shaky, playing with your fingers. "I just... I feel a bit overwhelmed. This is all happening so fast, and I never expected..."
Leon nods, his expression softening as he realizes the weight of the situation. He hasn’t fully considered how his sudden confession and determination to pursue you might have caught you off guard. He has been so focused on his own feelings that he hasn’t taken into account your own thoughts and emotions.
"I understand," he replies, voice gentle and reassuring. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I just... I couldn't keep my feelings to myself anymore. But please know that I don't expect an immediate answer or any commitment from you. I just… Well. I just wanted to tell you. See where this goes. Or, maybe, if that’s not the case… Get rejected for good so I can move on, you know?"
You laugh a little and it’s genuine — you have no idea how it turns Leon’s heart into putty right where it hangs between two lungs. “Do you really mean all of that?”
“Of course,” he says, offended the tiniest bit. “Why do you think I would joke about something like this?”
“It’s not about you joking, really…” You’re uncomfortable again, hesitating to tell him something.
“Hey, you can tell me.”
“Can you promise you won’t get mad?”
“What am I, your father?” He snorts. “Come on, tell me.”
You brace yourself for it and he doesn’t understand why until you say it. “You, um… You’re kinda scary.”
He blinks. “Sorry?”
“Sorry!” You raise your hands up in panic. “I don’t really mean it like that, not to insult you or anything, it’s actually admirable, I’m just saying! Discipline, work ethic, unmatched field performance! You’re very… Very, uh… Intimidating, yeah, that’s the word…? I mean, like… You, uh, you’re famous, you know, we all know your work, you’re very hard working, working hard, very hard work — uh, um… So it’s…”
“I scare you?” Leon swears he felt his eyes get bigger the faster you kept on vomiting words. “You think I would hurt you?”
“No!” You reject strongly, waving a nervous hand at him. Silence befalls later, which you follow awkwardly with a silent, guilty. “Maybe,” after clearing your throat.
He had always strived to be a protector, but he hadn't realized that his image and reputation — what it had become after Spain — could have such an effect on someone he cares about.
"I never meant to scare you," he says softly, his voice filled with genuine remorse, he puts the coffee mug on the counter and leans his hip on it, shoulders sagging a bit as he crosses his arms. The thought of you only feeling intimidation about him leaves a bitter taste worse than the coffee does. "I guess... I've always been so focused on work, on the dangers just around the corner — I’m aware how it might affect my relationships in the long run so I never attempted to form any at all, but I never realized how it might affect how people see me in the first place. I never wanted to make you, of all people, feel this way. I could never hurt you. Never."
“I didn’t want to imply you’re a guy who’d intentionally hurt someone—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he sighs, ruffling his hair to get rid of the awkwardness. “So I’ve just been bugging you this whole time, huh? Jesus. I’m so sorry.”
“No! No, don’t say that, you’re amazing! You’re like a hero around here…”
“Around here doesn’t mean shit,” he replies curtly, and regrets cursing like that in front of you immediately. It’s unbecoming of him — and doesn’t help his image in your eyes at all. He’s getting frustrated. His tone lowers into a softer, more disappointed, heartfelt one. “I only care about how you think of me.”
“Well, you’re amazing,” you say again, bashfully this time, and it prompts him to look at you. There’s something shy about you now that has him standing taller in anticipation, wondering if it’s him reading this wrong or not. “It’s pretty well-known if you didn’t know.”
“I don’t know,” he prods, idiot heart fluttering at the way you’re flustered. “What do you think? Besides intimidating, I mean. Not reporting on the local gossip this time, if you don’t mind.”
“You seem like a nice guy,” you settle. The middle ground. “I’ve seen you with the president’s daughter.”
Leon's expression softens at your words, a mixture of relief and gratitude washing over him. He takes a deep breath, trying to let go of the tension that had built up within him. The mention brings a slight smile to his face, memories of Ashley flooding his mind, a fondness evident in his eyes. "Ah, Ashley. Yeah, that was quite the adventure. Though what can you be other than a nice guy when your mission is the president’s daughter?"
“I know a couple people who’d treat her like a package to be delivered. You prioritized her wellbeing more than anything.”
“What else was I supposed to prioritize?”
“You know what I mean. Emotional wellbeing. I’ve read your initial report and her statement. You cared about her.” A smile tugs at your lips, he can tell you’re a bit more comfortable now. "Especially during what you’ve been through. It's impressive how you handle yourself in those situations."
He shrugs modestly, a hint of pride shining in his eyes. You respect him. "I guess you could say it comes with the job. But it's not all action and danger, you know. There's more to me than just being a government agent."
Your curiosity piques, and you tilt your head, prompting him to continue. "Tell me more. What's Leon Kennedy like outside of work and missions?"
It catches him off guard that you want to know more and take the first step. You could have just rejected him. His heart picks up, chest expanding in excitement, he’s glad for the opportunity to share a glimpse of his life beyond the chaos of his work — he’s normally not eager to share pieces of his life like this, but… He’d give it to you on a silver platter, whether it'd lure you in or not. That’s how Leon knows he wants this with you so bad. “I wanna lie to woo you but… Would it be too unattractive to tell I really don’t have a life outside of work? I’m still trying to find some balance in my life. The upper echelon guys are pretty ruthless and demanding. I guess it means I can say I’m into traveling?”
“Is this the cool guy way of saying you’re an introvert these days?”
The unexpectedness of it is what gets him to throw his head back to laugh, and he catches you staring, scrambling to rub his face to get rid of it and regain some composure. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Pretty much.”
“Well,” you gesture at him, there’s a vague pink hue dusting your cheeks. “What are you into, then?”
God, he can’t stop, “Other than you?” from escaping his dumb mouth. He shouldn’t have said it. It’s too corny. So uncalled for. Your mouth hangs open and he wishes he could rewind the tape to take it back and choose some other option. “Say… What about we continue this discussion after work? I know a good coffee place. Let me make it up to you for invading your lunch time. I’ll tell you all about me, what do you say?”
You look at the clock on the wall, he knows you didn’t get to have anything because he decided to turn up and serenade you with unwanted attention, it’s two birds with one stone for him if you decide to accept — he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t see a perfect moment to seize the chance.
“Coffee sounds perfect,” you nod, with no pressure from him, and it lifts a great weight off his shoulders. “Would it be okay if I eat something too?”
Why are you so adorable? You don’t know that you own the power to get Leon to have your superiors let you go for the day, but he can’t get too excited right now. “Say the word and it becomes a dinner date.”
It gets you flustered again, you don’t know where to put your hands, and he’s so happy about it. “It’s a weekday… That’d be a bit exhausting…”
“Okay. Coffee date it is.”
He’s noticing you like the cheeky confidence, and it makes sense, considering the intensity had you intimidated. “Thank you,” you say. “I’d like that.”
“Believe me,” Leon can’t stop the grin from overtaking his expression. “My pleasure. You’re honestly too good for me.”
There’s the sudden urge to kiss you when vulnerability and shyness lights up your whole face, but he’ll take it slow. He has to take it slow. For himself.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s. kennedy x reader#leon kennedy#leon kennedy imagine#leon kennedy fanfic#leon kennedy fluff
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Tokens of Appreciation
Astarion likes to bring you little gifts and presenting them to you in his overly dramatic way and little bit of playful banter (that he totally didn't make all up on his way home to you).
MASTERLIST | AO3
Author's Note: Written for the "Gifts" prompt of the BG3 Winter Holiday challenge. I like the idea of just showering a loved one with random gifts and being like "this made me think of you" - and also I imagine Astarion could be pretty cute and loving in a genuine relationship with doing stuff like this (albeit insufferably sassy, lol)
Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You)
Warnings: none
Wordcount: 1,1k
~~~
Throughout winter time Astarion brought you presents. Little trinkets or a sweet treats (accompanied by him saying “a treat for my sweet” and a wink while you act like you’re going to have to throw up from his cheesiness), a single blossom of a flower besting the ice and the snow or maybe a bottle of wine the two of you could share together. It almost had the musings of a cat bringing its owner “gifts” - but you were happy that yours were much more delightful than what a feline predator would have brought in. He didn’t tell you where he would get these small tokens of appreciation - and you didn’t ask. That was part of the magic of this little game. Though, you had the distinct feeling that many of these weren’t acquired under explicitly lawfully good circumstances. But to the hells with that, you were a former thief and he a rogue, what else was new?
It had become a habit for him that whenever he went into the city to run some errands that he would grab a little something for you as well. You had dared to become accustomed to the sweet little gestures and were excited anytime you knew he’d return with a little surprise for you.
The vampire meanwhile had found he enjoyed this way of showing you a bit of admiration: a sign of thinking of you, making the time to grab something and show you some love - all without him having to give anything of himself up. Rather, it even gave him something as well: whenever he saw how your face started to beam with love and admiration, your eyes lighting up, he felt how his own chest felt lighter, warmer and a telltale smile stole onto his lips.
A naive fool might’ve called that love. Astarion counted himself among such fools when it came to you - if exclusively so.
And then he made a show of it each time too. Like when he brought you a flower that was magically frozen in a sphere of ice.
Astarion came into the kitchen where you had been preparing some dinner for yourself still fully clothed from going out. The way he’d sauntered into the room had already told you that he had a little something planned and was infinitely proud of himself - he was terribly predictable sometimes.
When he cleared his throat to get your attention you had obediently put down the vegetables you’d been currently cutting and turned around to him, leaning casually against the counter. The vampire had been waiting with a smug grin, his arms still by his sides so the cloak was fully covering his form.
“My sweet darling, I have something for you,” he said and leaned a little closer in a playful sort of way.
You immediately joined his little back and forth that you already were well accustomed to. Placing your hand on your chest as if asking ‘for me?’ you made a delighted “Oh?” and smiled at him.
With a swift movement the vampire sent one side of his cloak flying, revealing his hand under it which held a shiny sphere. Dexterously, he let the perfect, transparent sphere roll over his wrist and down his arm. And just before the ball fell to the ground he let it smoothly wander onto his other arm. With a quick shrug of his shoulder he made the shiny thing roll up and with a flick of his wrist he elegantly caught it and then offered it to you with a little bow.
“May I present to you, my love, a magically frozen blossom. The height of its existence forever caught in magically eternal ice. Beautiful if ice cold - almost like you, my dear,” he presented the gift to you, still in his little bow before you. You could see the twitch of his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth. Must’ve taken him the whole way home to come up with all of this.
You took the shiny sphere from him - immediately intrigued by its beauty and shininess. It was almost as if your history as a thief had permanently altered your brain to be drawn to shiny, glittery things; as if you had become a little magpie.
The sphere was merely cool in your hands, the ice encasing a wonderfully bright red blossom that immediately made you think of summertime. You turned the beautiful trinket in your hands admiring its beauty when, finally, Astarion’s words registered with you.
You pursed your lips and crossed your arms over your chest, still holding onto the icy sphere. The vampire grinned smugly at you - he’d been waiting for this moment.
“Astarion, dear, I did not just hear you call me frigid, did I?,” you had asked indignantly. The vampire grinned broader in response, putting even his fangs on display.
“Maybe I just called you cool, love,” he replied, sauntering over to where you were still leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Or - maybe,” you countered as Astarion leaned to you, placing one of his arms on the counter, “you just called me chilly.”
The vampire clicked his tongue and pouted: “My heart, you think so negatively of me. I would never dare to call you cold to your face.” He tried to stay serious but a smug grin crept onto his lips, making one corner of his mouth twitch. Meanwhile he leaned in a little closer. Seemingly he was convinced he’d soon be the winner of your little banter and would receive a kiss for all his efforts.
You though weren’t done playing.
“I’d hope so, Astarion. I really hope so. Because that would be so rich coming from a walking and talking corpse whose body heat can’t rise above room temperature”, you replied tongue in cheek as you stayed unimpressed by Astarion craning his neck to reach for you for a kiss.
When the vampire took in your words, he was taken aback. He stopped moving in, his eyes widened while his mouth had fallen open. Then his expression immediately changed into an amused and proud grin.
“My gods, dear,” Astarion said with a little chuckle, still grinning proudly at you.
“Alright,” he then said after staring at you for a bit longer, “I guess this burn has just proven that you’re anything but cold.”
You lifted your chin up and grinned triumphantly at him and Astarion quickly stole a little peck on your lips before he went back to the hallway to take off his cloak.
“Good! But if you’re still not convinced I can show you some heat later on”, you shouted after your vampire and were gifted with a genuine laugh.
Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon
#astarion#baldur's gate 3#astarion ancunin#fanfiction#astarion x tav#bg3 spoilers#baldur's gate iii#baldurs gate#astarion x mc#astarion x oc#bg3holidayfluffle23#astarion x you#astarion x reader#bg3
331 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Cassandra Complex : Chapter XII : Venus
Series Masterlist : Moodboard
(Din Djarin x F!Reader)
A/N: I realized shortly after posting chapter 11 that I’d made a small mistake in the timeline I’m intending this to follow. I included a line from Din saying Paz had already tried to take the Darksaber from him and failed, but where we’re at now, chapter 5 of The Book of Boba Fett hasn’t happened just yet. So I’ve gone back and deleted that small detail from the previous chapter, and why am I even telling you this, idk, but if you guy could do me a solid and pretend to forget my fuck up, I’d love you forever for it.
Writing Star Wars is hard
Also, the indomitable @dirtysouvenir has rendered the most gorgeous artwork imaginable of Din and Sithy, and I still can’t quite believe my eyes every time I look at it. Everyone please go show Jonis all the love and praise she deserves.
Anyways… like always, forgive me for the wait. I love you all for being so patient with me. And shout out to chapter four of Someone’s Wife in the Boat of Someone’s Husband which served as inspiration for this. You will always be famous to me!
Rating: Explicit 18+
Word Count: 8.1K
Read on AO3
Tip Jar
CHAPTER XII : VENUS
What are we doing here, and why are our hearts invisible?
Anne Carson, Kinds of Water
“Just like that, yes. Good girl–keep doing what you’re doing.” His hand slides to circle your wrist, leather and the thick weave of your tunic, the slight shake of your nerves caught between. “Grip it firmly, but squeeze it gently. Yes– yes, good. You’re doing so well.”
You suck in a trembling breath, too hyper aware of the feel of his chest plate brushing against your back, the cap of his left knee gently bumping the back of your own, his arms wrapped in a loose and careful cage around your frame where he’s helping you direct the blaster at the target he’d set up several meters away for practicing. He’s got one of your wrists wrapped in the leather of his fist, the other cupping the underside of your elbow to keep your shaking arms steady.
“I don’t know why I’ve never been very good at this,” you whisper over the sound of the burning desert winds lashing you in the brow. “It’s just never come very easy.”
“That’s alright. That’s why we’re practicing again.” The hand cupping your elbow moves slowly to your waist, all his handling of you these past few days has been so intentional, cautious and patient and aware of himself and you and your reactions. Your heart beats, thumps and thumps hard enough to make you a little dizzy, a little sick. “Keep your right arm firm, but fluid. Try not to lock your elbow, let the recoil move through you steadily.”
He’d covered your hair and face in soft white linen wraps to keep you from being scorched by the sun and sand, and his voice is so deep, head pitched low so that the modulator is vibrating right at the level of your ear, the sounds of him sluicing through the linen to curl around your ear. You shiver again, squeezing your fist too tight around the butt of the blaster. You’d asked him if he’d help you practice just before you’d made planet fall a few hours ago, and now here the two of you are. A few clicks outside of Mos Eisley, he’d found a cluster of sandstacks to land the Crest amidst for a couple hours of target practice—near an area he’d told you is called Beggar’s Canyon.
You’re not sure if it’s just an excuse to have him touch you, but here you are now, in the circle of his arms, shivering with nerves and heat and want. The sun burns, but the places where he grips you burn worse, and your heart rings in your skull.
“Focus your gaze between the eyeline, eventually, it’ll come naturally, your aim, but for now, use the field the blaster sets. Squeeze gentle–” He grips your now healed elbow firmly, anchoring your arm, the hand holding your wrist moves to your waist, securing you in his hold so that when you pull the trigger, the zing of the blaster bolt leaving its chamber moves through your limb, into your chest cavity, electrifying your heart, and his hold is steadying all the way through. He’s there to keep you up, keep you strong, and so it’s almost thoughtless when you do it, a gut instinct or some muscle inside your brain desperate to flex and stretch or come awake because faster than you can blink or think, you take hold of that bolt of plasma with your mind, freezing it midway between where the two of you stand and the target he’d set.
You feel his hands flex around you, but he keeps still and silent, watching, waiting for what you’ll do next. And your heart beats faster and faster, the bright of the sun gleaming and nauseating, refracting off the sand, the plasma, your eyes. The bolt screeches and writhes and defies the laws of nature by your hand, and it does not feel good, but it does feel right.
The first time you’ve really wielded the Force since the night you escaped.
There’s something painful and uncomfortable and familiar about it coming back to you. Your breath goes fast within your chest, the taste of the desert on your tongue and the grit of sand sneaking beneath your clothes, sweaty line of anxiety down your spine, and his steady, calm breaths up against your back every other moment, this power inside of you that’s always been the cause of everything bad and only some things good. It vibrates in everything, moves through all living things, the Force, within you, within him.
“Let it go, cyare. It’s okay if you miss.” You shut your eyes and let it fall away and now it’s not the Force or you or anything else, it’s only him keeping you up against the rest of everything.
The two of you, like grief and the mountain.
-
“How did you meet this woman again?” You ask for about the third time, seemingly unable to keep your mouth shut and your nerves to yourself.
“She’s been keeping up maintenance on the Crest for a while now. And she helped out with the kid, watched him for me a couple times—I trust her.”
“Peli,” you repeat the name contemplatively, taking in the sight of him as he checks the pre-landing codes, flipping switches and punching toggles a little too roughly. He’s agitated, covered and swathed in it. You know he’s worried about you, the way you’ll feel being around someone else, scared you’re still feeling fragile or tired or weak. And you’re accepting it for now because you are. You are tired and you do feel fragile and you do need taking care of. If only for the time being, if only for a little bit longer. A sort of end feels very near, and you’re still working out what that such end is going to be.
“Peli,” he sighs, hitting the last button and finally swiveling in his chair to face you, and you eye him suspiciously, you know that sigh and head tilt. “How do you feel?”
“Fine.”
“Not tired?”
“No.”
“Your shoulder?”
Hurts. “Fine.”
“Cyar’ika.”
“Din.” Another sigh. Another shake of his head. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes at you beneath that stupid lug of metal he wears on his fat head. But you hope that he’s smiling too, and you give him a soft, small one of your own, twisting your fingers together tightly in your lap. You want to reach out for him, to go to him and sit with him and kiss him again like the other day. But you don’t feel ready again. Again, fragile, tired, a weakness of heart within you that you can’t understand the source of, or you can, but you don’t want to accept it, you want to be able to move on, to get over it, to be like you once were. But that you also know he’ll let you feel for as long as you need to.
“I promise I feel okay, and that I’ll tell you if I don’t.” The target practice had left you tired and awake, and there is something moving inside of you—a recognition of sorts you can’t pinpoint exactly, but which you know is going to show or tell you something about yourself soon, the Force, the things you’d done or the things you’d do. And there’s patience too, a waiting, a readiness to receive whatever this would be without pressure or urgency. You feel entirely strung tight, a knot about to be set loose, entirely at ease, as well. Something strange about the anxiety you carry within yourself, like it doesn’t really matter much anymore and is only waiting for the right moment to be expelled.
He gives a soft grunt and turns back to face the control panel. The rolling golden sands of Tatooine like an ocean before you, and then there in the distance, the littered smattering of sand blighted little buildings that make up the spaceport of Mos Eisley. He directs the Razor Crest towards Hangar three-five, the ship jostling with the lowering of the landing gear.
“What if she doesn’t like me?” You ask nervously, following him down the ladder once he’s eased the ship into the landing bay, fretting over this ordeal of having to meet someone else from his life, a friend, which wasn’t even something you were aware he knew how to have. You hear the heavy thud of his boots against the durasteel, and then his hands are circling your waist and pulling you down the rest of the way, paying no mind to your indignant squawking.
He’d been strange with his touch, as well. As if he couldn’t help himself some moments, overcome by habit and familiarity, and then afraid and cautious in others. And you can’t understand how you feel about this either. Grateful, a sort of soft that makes your eyes smart and your cheeks bleed with heat. He’s so aware of you, so aware of what you might want or need, but then overcome, as well, needing you, wanting you. And you feel so afraid you won’t be able to give him those things—the ones he wants or needs, that you won't be able to find your way back to the way things had been between the two of you before.
“You’ll be fine,” he says, little compassion to be found for your fretting. You stick your tongue out at the back of his head, rolling your eyes and steeling yourself as he lowers the hatch, and a chirpy little voice calls, Mando!
The plank lowers, and lowers, and lowers, and finally, a mess of springy dark curls come into view. The small woman, Peli, claps her hands excitedly and spreads her arms in wide welcome of him, and something in your heart throbs.
A friend, indeed.
“Peli,” he greets her, heavy, swaying gate stomping down the gangplank, voice serious and not all matching her enthusiasm. You roll your eyes at him again as the reverberations of his steps tickle your feet through the soles of your boots.
“Hey, look everyone! It’s Mando,” she says to the chittering droids whirring around her. You follow him slowly, slinking directly behind him so that the breadth of his shoulders conceals you for a second longer before, “And who do we have here? Another unlikely companion?”
He pivots, letting you step into full view and brave shyness, a hand coming up to hover around your waist, urging you forward, but not actually touching you. The sound of your name rings in tune to the thump of your heart through the modulator. Careful, so careful, and it makes you hurt at your own self. Wanting to touch you one moment, unable to stop himself from ripping you into his arms; another, afraid, feeling like he can’t even put a gently motioning hand on your body, and how will you ever fix this? How are you going to ever be able to get the two of you back to where you were?
You take a hurt little step away from him, swallowing the heat in your throat several times before you can force a smile onto your face.
His body shifts and sways towards your retreating one.
But the small woman steps towards you, pit droids spinning and skittering frantically around her, and she claps a work hewn hand on your shoulder. “Let Peli take a good look at you.” Her gaze is cheerful, full of a youthfulness that belies her age and an even more cheerful, gap toothed smile. “Pretty girlfriend, Mando.” She waggles her bushy brows up at him. “Brought me another set of bright eyes, didn’t’cha?”
“It’s nice to meet you, Peli.” Your throat feels humiliatingly tight when she takes your hand in her smaller one, giving it a swift shake, no gentleness about the way she handles you, and there’s something comforting about the forsaking of the kid gloves. Your fracture isn’t obvious for the whole world to see, there’s still normalcy to be found for you.
She looks up at Din as you avoid his burning gaze, laughing scowl on her sunny face. “Who woulda thought you had it in, ya, huh?” She thumps a fist on his chest plate, shaking her head and moves to take a look at the Crest. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Chasing down some elusive bounty? Carbon scoring’s worse than last time.'' She chatters a million miles a minute, pulling out some sort of electric scanner, assessing the old gunship.
“We had a long trip,” he sighs, hands fisted on his hips as he watches her impatiently, turning his gaze back to your face every few moments. You want to bare your teeth at him in a snarl and tell him to stop fucking worrying. You want him to take you into his arms or hold your hand.
“Long trip, sure. That’s what he always says,” she tells you over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Turns out it’s usually a gun fight or something just as idiotic.”
You snicker, enjoying the easy way she handles your Mandalorian’s surliness, grateful for the cheerful buffer she provides between your own internal angst and his overzealous worrying. “It was a long trip this time, I swear. We’re coming from the Core,” he grumbles, and the two of you follow her while she inspects the damage on the ship, and in a moment of bravery or desperation for normalcy or closeness or just him, you reach up to grip two of his thick fingers in your fist. His hand immediately adjusts and curves to wrap around yours, intertwining your fingers and taking you securely in his grip. You feel him turn to look down at you questioningly, but you refuse to look back. This is normal, this is how it should be, this is what feels right even if you need the barrier of his gloves to feel like you can breathe.
“The Core! Long way’s.” Hmm, she muses as she goes. “Got a fuel leak.” Again. He huffs. “Taking a vacation now?” She turns back with another smarmy smirk.
“Something like that.”
“Nice little honeymoon?” She teases. “I could use one of those myself.” She scans something else, and the pit droids chatter and chirp around her, almost full her height, she’s so small.
“Peli–” he grumbles. Your grumpy, shy boy; you wonder if he ever blushes under that thing, squeezing his hand in yours as tight as you can.
“Yeah, yeah. No droids, I know. When are you gonna get over that nonsense, huh Mando? It’s about time, you know!” She bends to inspect something closer near the landing gear, covered in carbon scoring here too, examines her scanner again, then clips it back to her utility belt. “Alright, here’s the deal–” But he cuts her off, pivoting while pulling his blaster in one fluid motion to shoot at a poor little droid that's gotten too close. “Hey! Hey! What’ve I said before? You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it!” She shouts.
“Din–” you scold, gripping the thick of his arm to pull the weapon down.
“What’ve I told you?” He barks.
“No droids. No droids. Blah, blah. You have got to get over that! I’m tryn’a make a deal with you here, ya womp rat.”
He jerks aggressively towards another little droid that wanders too close, sending it skittering away in terror, and you pinch his arm beneath the thick duraweave, frowning up at him, be nice, when he looks down at you, giving him a jut of your eyebrow and thrusting your chin at Peli. He groans, cursing low and grumpy in Mando’a. “Fine. What’s the deal?”
“If you let them work on the Crest–” She jerks her chin at the little pit droids quivering behind the crates strewn about the hangar in abject terror of the mean Mandalorian.
“No,” he cuts her off, stubbornness in every line of his frame.
“Din!” You scold again, bumping your hip into his.
“Come on, Mando! I’ll charge you half price–”
“Deal,” he cuts her off again immediately, the cheapskate.
“Ha!” She hoots and claps loudly. “Droids! Get to work on this lovely man’s ship. Lemme see the cash.” She holds out a grubby palm, wiggling her fingers. “He’s pretty easy, you ever notice that?” She says to you conspiratorially.
“Constantly,” you can’t help the laugh in your voice. Your first laugh in what seems like years.
“Loose knickered is what they used to call it back in my day.” And you have to turn your face into his arm to muffle your cackling, listening to him start up another string of curses beneath the helmet.
“I’ve literally never heard anyone say that before, ever,” he mutters sullenly.
“Well, you’re young.”
“Not that young,” you provide helpfully, big cheesy smile that feels slightly unnatural and rusted spreading across your face.
“Whoopee, Mando! I like this one! You really do know how to pick ‘em.” She claps him roughly on the shoulder, her little paw slapping loudly against his pauldron. “Anyway, I’ve got somewhere to be for the next couple of days, you see. I’m dating that Jawa again—the one I’d told you about,” she announces, proud as anything, big smile across her leathery face.
“A Jawa?” You repeat, making sure you heard right.
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, bright eyes. They’re quite furry… very furry, but…” She clicks her teeth together, “You know…” Grins.
You look up at Din, squeezing his arm in your grip. “Guess I gotta try it.” You’re pretty sure you hear him grumble something to the effect of over my dead body, before he’s agreeing to Peli’s deal with a clap and a shake, and the promise of two hundred and fifty Imperial credits and absolutely no harm done to her droids while she’s gone and they work on the Crest.
“Treadwell, get in there!” She shouts, and the little pit droid chirps fretfully, trembling behind an R5 unit. “You can’t say no, you’re a droid. Oh, he’s not going to shoot you. Stop being a coward! What is this, a democracy all of a sudden?” Losing the fight, the droid wheels forward to get to work. “Yeah, thought so.” She turns back to you and Din. “You two can stay here, look after the shop while I’m gone? It’ll only be a few days.”
“We have some resupplying to do, but we’ll stay until you’re back,” he promises.
“And you’re not going to shoot my droids?”
“And I’m not going to shoot your droids,” he agrees, but later, you catch the too rough nudge he gives one of the little droids with his boot when he thinks no one’s watching. This man and his droid complex, you roll your eyes.
“How’s the N-1 keeping up?” He asks as she’s packing up to go.
“Just how you left her. That honey’s faster than a fathier. You should take her out while you’re here, give that baby a spin. Oh! And I added that turbonic venturi power assimilator I’d mentioned before. Remember? S’how I reconnected with my Jawa,” she nudges you with a wink. “You’re gonna be the fastest ship on the Outer Rim.”
“You got a new ship?” You ask curiously.
“Just a side project we took up while I had some spare time.” But the way he says it is a little strange, making you pause to look up and try to read the blank face of his helmet. Ah, and he smooths that same hovering hand from before along the line of your spine, an attempt to soothe or quell your curiosity without actually giving you the gift of his touch.
Peli leaves a few hours later, and she really does have a Jawa lover. The little critter comes to collect her right before the suns set, off to catch the sandcrawler before it journeys off into the desert, leaving you alone with only Din and the little pit droids for company.
And suddenly, that shyness from earlier is back for some reason. The distraction of travel and the buzz of hyperspace lost to the calm silence of the quiet spaceport as the suns set over the horizon and night settles in, cool winds coming in on the sand gusts from deep in the desert. After hours of work, Din posing as the menacing overlord barking orders and complaints, intruding on their work when it isn’t up to his ridiculous standards, the droids finish up for the night, and Din engages the hangar security system, and then the ship’s, locking the two of you in safely for the night.
“Dinner?” He asks as he moves slowly around the hull, pulling the cloak from his shoulders, a river of sand sluicing in a rain sheet onto the steel floor. The sound of it has a shiver moving through you as you lower yourself to the floor, crossing your legs beneath you at the edge of your makeshift bed. You desperately want to crawl between the covers without a shower and find the peace of evasion through sleep, secure in the knowledge that he won’t follow you into bed. He’d refused since you’d reunited, even though you’d invited him several times to share the much more comfortable pile of blankets than what you know his pilot’s chair or bunk provide. He’d not taken you up on the offer yet, and right now, fluttering heart and hot eyes and sweating nape, you’re glad for it.
You don’t know what’s wrong with you—or you do. You’re overwhelmed with want and fear, of him, of his touch, of having lost what the two of you had before. And as you watch him start to pull his armor from his body, first one pauldron, then a vambrace, then a thigh guard, no sense of congruity to the pattern with which he divests himself of his Creed, it’s suddenly like he’s standing right in front of you, and yet you miss him anyway. Miss him in a way that makes you sick and devastated.
You must make some sort of sound, a funny look on your face or a change in your breathing because he turns suddenly, a too worried, “What’s wrong?” on his tongue.
“Nothing.” You look up at him from your spot on the ground, head falling back on your neck, and you can feel the wet of your eyes, trying to force yourself not to blink so that they won’t fall—the tears. “Nothing’s wrong.”
He comes to a slow crouch before you, long legs folding down, down. “What is it? Tell me.” Half missing his armor as he poses now, it’s like he’s half him, half yours, half only-man, half Mandalorian. A little bit like what you feel yourself; half, half, half.
Pulling one glove from his hand, he lifts it, palm spread towards you, showing you his intention before he carefully cups the side of your face; thumb at your pulse, pointer and middle fingers giving your temple a soft pressure, pinky poised at the bridge of your nose. Your lashes brush against his index every time you blink, and his skin is smooth and rough at the same time, and warm—sun-hearted man.
You press your face harder into his palm, letting him support the weight of your head, nuzzling against the rough of his calluses, blaster blister scratchy against your carotid, and heat pulses all through you from the crown of your head, sliding down the length of your, still yet, too long hair, the back of your neck, your chest, pooling to settle deep in the pit of your belly.
And yet there’s something missing or different or off, like you feel empty but too full of trepidation to conjure up that old desire you’d always had, that need for him to fill, fill, fill you. Like the heat is there, but it’s remembered, not necessarily present. It all makes you want to cry and scream and go to sleep.
The truth, and plainly: you’re terrified of anything that might hurt, can’t fathom the idea of it.
Your heart beats in your throat, you taste it on your tongue, and it mixes with the sad when you say: “Do you remember when we were on Kashyyyk—when we sparred?”
“I remember,” he says, voice deep and low—through the modulator. You hate his helmet. You wish you could get beneath. You wish you were brave enough. The feeling of it coming on sudden and unexpected, thought, bitter and foul and not something you’d necessarily felt before, certainly not so viciously. It’s just that you hate that all this has happened—you want to feel the press of his lips at the crown of your head and the wash of his breath like heat moving through your hair—that you are not in the same place you once were, that you’re too afraid to move forward.
“When we switched weapons—”
He hums: “Yes.”
“It was so green there.” You turn your face further into him so that you’re speaking into his palm now, words pooling there in the cup of it like a well of truths and fears.
“It was.” The pointer and index stroke your temple, press once, twice, thrice—harder on the latter. It feels good, it feels real and reminding. He lets a heavy silence pass for a moment, he’s thinking of something, contemplating a push. “Do you remember—” He passes a swallow you can hear the thickness of, “Do you remember how I had you in the dirt—like a fucking animal? How you let me do whatever I wanted, however I wanted.” He gives the hardest press he’s given yet, at your temple, you think you feel the press against your brain, and you open your mouth to let the edge of your teeth dig hard into the meat of his palm. He growls a rough sound, a hungry sound, a sound like one he’d have made when he had you in the dirt like a fucking animal.
You drag your teeth along the hill of his palm, closing your mouth at the end. You don’t give him the wet of your tongue, you don’t feel ready to taste his skin like that just yet—an assimilation of violence.
“Yes,” you finally say, realizing that he understands what you were thinking without having to say it, or knowing how to, that you’re full of memories of past desires and how badly you want them back and how out of reach that all feels, but also, that suddenly now, in a single blink, the heat in your belly isn’t remembered, but present, alive, awake. That you’re cunt clenches once, twice, thrice around nothing—harder, hungrier on the latter. That you’re wet for him. “I remember.”
“Good. I remember every single thing we’ve ever done.” You roll your face in his palm so that you can look up at him now, feeling something like brave. “Every word, every breath, I remember all of it. Alright?”
“Alright,” you say quietly.
“And if you need me to help you remember too, then I will.”
“Alright.” And then: “What if I can’t, though?... What if we can’t ever have that again? What if I can’t remember? What if I can never give you that again?” A tear slides over the bridge of your nose, and now it’s not only truths and fears cupped in the palm of his hand but the saltwater of grief too.
“Then we’ll find something new. A new way, a different way. We’ll do it however you want now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, cyar’ika.” It’s very much a promise, a new Creed being established here.
“Okay.”
He nods, “Okay.”
-
The water is warm verging on hot verging on scalding. It feels incredible slithering over your tired and sore muscles, the ligatures in your arms still trembling from the blaster practice earlier today, from your overwhelm of emotions.
You hate that you’re not good at it, that the only weapon that seems to become you is a lightsaber.
The suds of his earthy smelling soap slide through your hair, slipping down your spine, over your ass and along your legs to pool around your feet and disappear down the drain. You shiver once, as though letting something fall away as you slide your hand down, over the swell of your belly, to cup the palmful of your cunt, wedging your hand between your thighs. You pet slowly at the wet curls there, realizing some of it is also the sticky slick of your desire. You were right, you’re wet for him and your clit pulses, slightly swollen and wanting. Your body is awake and hungry for him for the first time in what feels like eons.
You explore slowly, your cunt slightly trembling at the feeling of being prodded and touched for the first time in you can’t remember how long. Moaning softly, you pull your fingers from between your legs, hands sliding up now to cup the weights of your breasts in each palm and squeeze tightly. Oh, you want him, you want him, you’re afraid. Your head falls back on a thump against the fresher wall, loud enough that you hear his lurking voice through the door, you okay in there? And instead of being annoyed at his overbearing caution, his hovering, you shiver again, something coming back to you now.
Your desire.
You shut the water off, grabbing one of the soft linens he’d slung over the warm pipe for you to wrap yourself in. He knocks a knuckle against the wobbly little door, “Cyar’ika?”
Looking at yourself in front of the steamy mirror, too long, naiad hair, bright, strange eyes, you want him, you want him, you want to feel alive, awake, anything. You can’t deny your shortcomings, fears, whatever they might be called, but there is yet still a soft place inside of you that they’d not snuffed out, that wants Din still.
You turn to slide the fresher door open just as he’s readying to knock again.
He’d showered before you, after he’d fed you your soup and your disgusting fake bread he’d promised he’d find a real substitution for soon enough, and you’d needed a moment alone to sit in your grime and silence, digest your feelings. He’s clad now in one of his soft, dark undershirts, his flight pants and the helmet, opposite your towel and water dewed skin, steaming from the hot fresher.
You watch a swallow pass through his throat, words caught, slow and heavy. He clears it once, twice, tilts his head down to take in the state of you, before he says, “You alright?”
You nod, wide eyed awake. He’s standing right in front of you and you miss him and you want to shock him wide eyed awake too. “The water was too hot. I got dizzy,” you lie, swaying towards him a little, letting your lashes flutter dramatically.
Not all the way, but enough, just a little, as much as you can bear, that’s what you want from him right now.
His hands come up to grip the sides of your arms immediately, his bare hands, soaking up the wet of your skin. He pulls you into himself, pressing you carefully against his chest, and you shiver and shake against him, teeth rattling with a sound entirely lacking temperance. Your blood feels like it’s boiling, there’s desire alive and writhing in your tummy, and you squeeze your thighs together tightly, shifting from one foot to another while you drip a puddle onto the cold floor.
“Come here, sit down,” he murmurs, gently moving you to your bed, easing you down onto it slowly. “You need to take it easy,” he clucks over you, gripping your elbow to let you down carefully, keeping his hands on your bare skin until the last moment. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re still tired, you’re still recovering. And you never listen. You have to listen to me when I’m trying to take care of you. You don’t eat enough, and I know your shoulder still hurts, little liar. Your elbow is barely better, and I saw you making strange faces when you were walking up the plank the other day. Your hip hurts doesn't it? Or your knee, something. No, don’t answer. I know you’ll just say no.” He talks and talks and talks, and you love him and you think that—
There’s a name for this…
He’d told you he loved you and he’d not said it again, neither had you, it felt too huge a thing to talk about again just yet while there was still so much left to discuss and bridge, but what does it matter if your body sings or screams in pain when you have the love of this beskar titan? What could you care for all the rest of everything?
Yes, Din. Yes, Din. Whatever you say, Din, as he huffs and puffs and arranges you, brings another pillow and blanket from the bunk, his only one in there, not that he cares, lovely man.
And it’s not only that you feel like you need to give him the things he wants or needs, because of course you do. You love him, you need to be able to give him things, everything, you want to be able to give him the whole galaxy. But it’s also that you want to. That to give him what he desires is to feed yourself, to live together, to be together, to give each other the things you need to stay alive.
You let yourself fall back onto the soft blankets slowly, this nest where you’ve always felt so safe and so protected and so loved, even when neither of you knew it was love that was holding you here. And you watch him for a few anxious moments as he pulls the covers this way and that, tucking them here and there, trying to avoid looking at the bare expanse of your dew damp legs. But then, taking hold of his hand, you still his nervous movements, and he finally looks up at your face, letting go of his fretting, taking hold of the bravery in the palm of your hand.
Shy—but brave. Brave—and wanting.
“We’ll take care of each other, won’t we?” You want to tell him you love him again, but there’s something slightly terrifying, gloriously intimate and fragile about the words.
“Always.”
“And we’ll keep each other alive?” Maker, I hope we keep each other alive.
“Yes.”
You take hold of the edge of the linen covering you, revealing your naked body to him slowly, exposing your soft underbelly. You hear his breath hitch, exhale on a groan that sounds like dying. His grip on your hand goes tight to the point of bone crushing pain for one brief, brief moment before he remembers himself and gentles again. You shiver at the pain, belly swooping and quivering with fear and nausea and lust.
You wish you could see his eyes, his face, his want.
“You—” he stutters, swallows, “You don’t have to, my love.” My love. He doesn’t need to say it out loud again now with teeth and tongue, he says it in all the things he does.
“You have to know that I want you so much. That I want you more than anything, Din.”
“I do know,” he says immediately. “I’ve never doubted that.”
“I want to show you.”
“You don’t have to. I know—” His other hand comes up to grip yours with both of his, caging your limb within the strength of his fists—to keep himself from touching you anywhere else, you think. But you can feel the intensity of his gaze along your skin, over your bare breasts, quivering with your hitching breaths, water droplets translating the frantic beat of your heart in their trembling on the surface of your skin. The line of your belly, the slope downward to the soft place between your thighs.
He’d seen the scarring on your hand, it was inevitable as much as you’d wished you could hide the deformity they’d left. As much as you wish you could’ve kept it from him, held an illusion for the rest of your lives together to spare him from the reminder of the things that’d been done, happened, chosen. But now… now he is to be subjected to the whole truth of it. Scars like cobwebs, strangely shimmering in silver lights beneath the surface of your skin—they’d been clever and ingenious in their torture—covering the whole circumference of your left hand up to your elbow. But also, from the lowest point of your last rib, over your right hip, traversing lower down the contours of your skin to wrap around the uppermost swell of your thigh.
They’d left their mark like they’d intended, and it wasn't something you could ever hide from him, the reality of what’d been done, what you’d chosen. It was obvious in everything, etched into your skin, a chasm in the still present distance between the two of you.
You feel like a bruise; tender, vulnerable, incongruously desperate to press on it harder and feel that dull throb, dark and ugly and on display.
His hands go tight around yours again for a moment, before he’s snatching them back to grip his bent knee, white knuckled, silent anger on display when his eyes reach the scarring.
“It’s okay,” you whisper, smoothing a hand over your hip down to your thigh to grip yourself there, digging your fingertips lightly into the plush softness. Your skin vibrates. “It doesn't hurt now.”
“What did they do?” His voice is like gravel, restrained fire-full fury.
“They wanted to see what it’d take to leave a mark. They figured it out.” The helmet turns away sharply, a short, brutal curse spit from his mouth. The tongue of his mother, beautiful despite his violence.
“It’s okay, Din.” You take hold of your thigh, pulling it up and apart, spreading yourself for him. Brave, wanting heart, be brave. He turns back immediately. “I want you to see how much I want you,” you whisper. “How much I still need you.”
You let your fingertips flutter lightly over your swollen, needy sex, and you can hear the obscene, sucking sound of your wet lips spreading apart when you part your legs wide enough for your sex to bloom. Cunt hungry and weeping for him.
Fuck, he spits, leaning closer, and his hand snaps forward to grip your ankle all the way around, pulling your foot up onto the uncompromising muscle of his thigh—your only point of contact.
“Show me, cyar’ika. Show me how much that pretty cunt missed me,” he growls.
You start slow, wide eyes fixed on the dark tee of his vizor, fingertips swirling around your clit slowly, it pulses and throbs and beats to the rhythm you can feel his own heart beating at within his own chest. But you pet it slowly, teasing both of you, and then feel lower down to the clenching mouth of your cunt—fuck, he spits again—slicking your fingers in your sticky wet. You start to rock your hips against the flat of your hand, the sound of your cunt, loud in the quiet hull, nothing to interrupt but the too desperate sound of your mutual panting. His fingers around your ankle are so tight they’ll leave a sore spot, and you can't think of the later hurt now, afraid it'll scare you out of this, all you can focus on is the beat of your cunt, the way it cries for him.
You swirl your fingertips at your opening, again, again, “Put them inside. Let me see you fuck yourself.” And it’s a demand.
You start with one, slow and tentative, a little, shocked gasp as you probe shallowly within the tight, little hole. Then further, wiggling inside until you’re impaling yourself with your own small finger, the first thing inside of you in so long, and suddenly, you wish it was him. Your eyes fill with tears at the thought, spilling over at the wish that he could’ve been the first thing inside of you after all this time, but the reality that you’re just not ready for it yet. The salted proof of your inevitable shortcomings slide back along your cheeks to drip into your ears.
“Another,” he demands. “Oh, it sounds so pretty, little one. Give it another.” You pull your single finger out, sucking, wet-cunt sound that he groans in tune with, to press another one in, mewling at the pinch and stretch of it, the slick slide. Yes, just like that. You’re doing so well, he says, a mirror of his earlier words to you today during target practice. “Roll your hips, ride your hand.” You hitch another sob, “Don’t fucking cry,” he grits, pressing your heel hard into the meat of his thigh. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re going to come for me, you’re going to let me see it.” He spreads his thighs wider in his kneeling crouch, pushing his hips forward into nothing, drawing your gaze to the heavy bulge behind the plaquette of his flight pants. He’s so hard.
You crook your fingers inside yourself, hill of your palm against the swell of your engorged clit, fingertips against the spongey ridge at the front of your cunt, rolling your hips faster, chasing the orgasm you need to give him. Your foot feels numb in his grip, your cunt, on fire, so tight it hurts. Your belly hitches and heaves, open mouth gasping and you cry his name, moaning and writhing wantonly, your stomach slick and glistening again with sweat now instead of water. One of your palms reaches up to take hold of your breast, nipple caught between your fingers, squeezing tight, tight, tight. And suddenly he’s surging forward, letting go of your ankle to lean over you and rip his pants open, freeing his furious erection. The tip is red-purple and swollen fat, drooling a thick string of sloppy, white precum, and he wraps one massive fist around the angry thing. Din, Din, Din. He beats at his cock furiously, the sound of your name, the slick thwack, thwack, thwack of it sends you spilling into your orgasm, belly pulling tight, cunt twisting even tighter.
“Fuck, fucking come—fucking come,” he snarls as he twists his fist cruelly around the head and the thick white viscosity of his semen starts to spill from the fat head, bubbling up and over his fist and between his fingers, splattering heavy and hot onto your spasming cunt, coating your fingers so that you’re pushing the thick of his come into yourself, slicking you further. “Yes, yes, yes, like that. Let me fucking see it…Look at what you do to me.” And there's so much furious want in his voice, and he’s so big, long and thick, and you know it’s going to hurt when he puts it inside of you for the first time again—you remember how it hurt before, how you loved it—and you’re afraid you’re not going to be able to handle any sort of pain ever again, not even the sort you’d been so hungry for before.
But your womb pulls tight, pulses and throbs, and suddenly your two skinny fingers arent enough, you want the thick heft of his cock fucking hard and fast and deep inside of you, punching at the deepest spot within you.
His orgasm ends on a fierce groan, panting, thick chest heaving, his head hangs low between his shoulders. You pull your shaking fingers from your clenching hole, and he gives a few last lazy strokes, squeezing the last drops of come from the slick tip to splatter against your pussy. “I fucking missed this—your cunt covered in me.” His dripping cock bobs so close, and you have the sudden insane thought of him just shoving it in, holding you down prone and fucking all of his spend into your sloppy cunt, forcing you to take it and be his again. “I can’t wait to eat it. I can’t wait to fill it with my come again and eat it out of you.” There’s a part of you that might want it, that might wish for it.
“Maker, Din…” you moan, rubbing the thick semen into your overstimulated clit, your mound, up the curve of your belly, slicking yourself in him.
If you can’t have his touch, this is enough, and you bring your sticky, soaking fingers up to your mouth, sucking the come from them. He groans, not fair, sitting back on his knees, spent cock hanging obscenely from his open pants, wet and glistening. He reaches behind his head to tug his shirt up and off, leaving his sweaty chest bare and gleaming. Your eyes flutter shut, cupping your cunt in the palm of your hand, covering the slick curve of it, and you arch your back, spreading your thighs further, putting yourself on display for him.
“Gorgeous, cyar’ika,” he says between pants. “So pretty, my love.” He reaches down to squeeze his half hard cock once more. “I can be patient for you, I promise. You’re so worth it.”
-
He lays beside you in the dark, stretched out long and entirely clothed, but here with you, forced and convinced to share your bed with a line of pillows as a protective moat between the two of you at his own insistence.
You’re on your side, hands folded beneath your smushed cheek, wide eyes searching fruitlessly for the shape of him in the pitch dark. You want to say something else. You want to tell him you love him again, to hear the words fall from your tongue.
“What are you thinking?” He asks.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” You hum a barely breathed laugh. And then, “I know you’re scared or regretful or worried that we’ll not get back to where we were,” he reads you.
“Yes.”
There’s a name for this…
He sighs long, goes quiet for longer, and then finally: “What’s happened’s happened, which is an expression of faith in the mechanics of the galaxy.”
“Fate?” You muse, a little unbelieving.
Dark red—
“Call it what you want. We met, we separated…you were—gone. We waited. Now we’re here again. It’s meaningful, isn’t it?”
“Yes. You believe in this—fate?” I didn’t think I believed in anything anymore. But I believe in you.
“Call it what you want, but yes.”
—String.
There’s something about this that you need to consider, chew on. The fact that you’d felt, all your life, cursed to know how a thing would happen, be, end, always. Something like fate, perhaps, the whisper of it making a home for itself within the shell of your ear, and now the truth that he too believes in this thing you’ve always lived with. Destiny, what have you—you believe in the same things, you believe in each other.
“Will you hold my hand?”
He turns over, reaching to twine his fingers through yours; large, rough palm against small, soft palm. You want to tell him you love him again, you want to hear the words for him, but they feel trapped, tender, timid.
You’d always thought your destiny fixed, poised, on the tip of your tongue. A thing was what it was birthed unto the galaxy in perpetuity, and no amount of desire could absolve you of its sunken teeth. But this—this desire is like the creation of myth, that dark red thread that goes by the name of fate being pulled taught, humming in accord with a frequency heard only by the two of you.
Now: “Will you kiss me?” A beat of silence, his fingers around yours going tight, tight.
“Come here,” his voice blends with the darkness, and tugging you into himself, protective border between your bodies and his hand around your jaw, he slips a kiss onto your tongue. His mouth holds the hot recollection of being alive; the drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, the taste, your fingers weaving through his hair, your names sounding together, a pair because they belong on the same breath.
You pull back, and it’s only a small brevity, but it’s enough, and that confusion from earlier, that shiver of letting something go or taking it back into yourself, settles.
You’re afraid or regretful or both, yes, sure. You also find yourself to be, suddenly, forgiving, full of empathy. You won’t be able to have him unless you take possession of yourself first, and on the tail end of a comet breaking across the sky: I love him, but I must also love myself. He deserves someone who loves themself, but more than that, I deserve it too. To be able to give him the things he wants and needs: I deserve to be in love with myself.
You let the Tartarian memory become nothing.
Love manifests itself primarily in forgiveness.
Netherfeildren's Masterlist
Updates Blog
#TCC fic#din djarin#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin smut#the mandalorian fanfiction#din djarin x female reader#din djarin x reader
189 notes
·
View notes
Text
bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader)
tags: slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT, mentions of oral sex (fem and male receiving), mentions of fingering, piv sex, dom!obi?, i really don't know what to write here it is just filth and it is gonna get filthier
a/n: HII! so i became haunted by historical!obi au's and spent six months writing a short series... this is the first chapter out of three, so i hope you stay tuned for the upcoming one (it is FILTHIER than this and about 19k words)
likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.
enjoy!!!
word count: 5.4K
chapter one: see you tonight?
“…Fuck, just like that-“
That voice. Yes, that’s how you ended up here, you think, as you roll your hips, feeling the exquisite contours of Obi Wan’s cock stretching your walls and pulling pleasure out of every cell in your body, and possibly from your soul too.
Ehem. Lord Kenobi.
And truth be told, that’s not exactly how things led here. Of course, his rich voice and the manner in which he used it were notable factors. The way he camouflaged his remarks under sweet quips never failed to make you giggle into the next day, and regardless of the topic (ashamedly, it was mostly about the other people in the room, and their rather obscene behaviors), the comments he made always reflected the intelligence behind it. He played the serious bit perfectly too, even though his reverent sentences carried some poetry, never pompous, yet deep enough to convey its origin and the realness of his sincerity… That’s why you started spending hours with him at balls in the first place. Ten minutes alone with him, undoing all the prejudice you had against the man. All the rumors about him were proven wrong, or at least, half true. And you liked that remaining part of the truth.
Only after that, came the subject of his charms. Not quite surprising, considering that there was no lack of handsome faces around, but a lack of brains in them. Or a true heart. You hated the hypocrisy of it all, and it was a blessing to find someone who shared that sentiment. Not to mention the benefit of him deflecting any unwanted company.
Likewise, he must've thought the same about you, thus your current position. It was obvious that both of you two had similar standards, even in these lewd matters. People didn’t call him a heartbreaker because he pursued a lot of women, but when he did and it came to an inevitable end, they were the shell of whom they used to be, like a person could be mummified by the absence of the joy he charmed people with it. And you, you weren’t the type to have somebody just because you could. No, you looked for a special connection, a click, and when you got lucky and found one among the countless candidates, you treasured it. Now, even the word click sounded wanting, there were sparks present between the two of you, a considerable, good dynamic you two had built, and that made everything just better.
You were almost sad thinking this was a one-time event, already knowing this is a moment you'll remember your entire life. (You weren't gonna push your luck on getting caught.) If there were such deals, two of you keeping it to each other forever in this aspect of life, you’d have signed that contract in a blink.
“Thought you said you were tired.” He breathes out, clearly an effort, yet the smug grin on his face leaves no room for doubt or pity.
“I’ve been sitting all day.” That’s how travel works in carriages, after all. “I think stretching my legs, is what I need.” You emphasize by raising yourself higher and slowly sink back down a few times, a motion that pulls moans from both of your mouths.
Travel. It took you half a day to reach your aunt’s estate, and you were fairly certain you wouldn’t attend the ball that is currently taking place. Then, you realized there was no way your gracious hostesses would see you tonight, you were forced to enter the saloon. It would be a quick in and out, maybe greeting a few more people, no dance, with the very valid excuse of I’ve been on the road all day and I am quite exhausted ready on your lips at any interaction. This was why you didn’t even bother to put much effort into your looks, opting for a change of dress, and nothing more. No jewelry, no retouches to your hair. After all, it would just add to your part if you seemed slightly off.
Somehow, it turned out to be a regrettable decision, when numerous eyes turned to you as you took a step into the room, and even longer after that. Maybe not every head turned or the music came to an abrupt stop, the sprouting silence broken by collective whispers, but it happened, subtle yet enough to make itself known. You were given the same treatment for years at this point, but there was no getting used to it. Color that had been settling in your cheeks seemed to be permanent, at least for the night, not leaving your side as you took your place among your relatives. The expensive fan you were gifted by- God knows who, you were in no mood to remember it now, did nothing to relieve your suffering.
And, countless other greetings don't help either. You fastened the movement of your hand, curling your lips into a forced smile. You could truly get tired from all these repeated words and gestures.
"I'm afraid I forgot to bring my dance card." You said again, to the third man who came with the same offer, Duke Caldo, all true except the part "forgot". You left it, willingly, just in front of your vanity mirror. The mirror which you desperately wanted to see yourself in right now, away from the ball.
"A great pity." The exclamation didn't come from him, though.
Your fan dropped from your hand and closed itself when it hit your wrist, dangling from the loop around your forearm as you heard that voice, no introduction ever needed. Perhaps, not even his voice was required, for there was always that unexplainable change in the quality of air in the rooms he occupied, like he was casting a spell on those around him, trickling magic dust with every step, a rare perfume. You wouldn’t use such metaphors if it wasn’t for the simple fact that your body always figured out his presence before your mind, catching a sense of that hypnotic essence. You often realized all the hairs on your arm standing up, or a tingling sensation in the back of your neck, breathing getting a bit harder, only to quickly locate him in your eyesight.
"Lord Kenobi." It is said in a contemptful respect, a greeting and a goodbye. “Goodnight, my Lady.”
You didn’t even bother to mutter a proper response, and frankly, the Duke didn’t wait for one either. So, all your focus can be reserved on the man in front of you.
You raised your arm as if intending to extend it so he could complete his small tradition of placing a kiss on the back of your hand, like he has done every time your paths crossed, even multiple times a day (that’s exactly how you noticed it was more than a simple salutation), (honestly, you liked it, his daring movement revealing a lot about his nature), only to flick it to reopen your fan. The gentlest gust of it licking your skin was more than enough now, making it all too pleasing to watch him save himself with a deep bow of his head, the annoyance quickly turning into a satisfied grin, like he didn’t expect anything less from you.
“That looks even more beautiful in your hand.” He pointed at it, but his eyes wandered all over your body. You did the same, though there was little notice, his usual beige suit far too familiar. Your focus was always on the fact that he looked so good in it, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, or his defined arms exquisitely pronounced over the fabric.
Right. So it was his gift. Why did you ever entertain other possibilities?
You weren’t going to disappoint him by mentioning it is only here because your panicked maid accidentally packed the first item she saw, for you never took anonymous gifts. You didn’t need the attention they brought.
"And I couldn't thank you enough for it. I can practically name it my savior tonight." You answered, making a show of lavishing yourself in the stream it creates.
"My only source of pride is the fact that it perfectly blends with the rest of your attire. Now, I can proudly say I know your taste."
Classic Obi Wan. Even his compliments, far from usual, borderline scandalous. He's been peppering you with them ever since the start of your friendship and you were never immune to them. You outright enjoyed them. Especially now, they didn’t help the simmering tingles forming at the depths of your belly, amplified by weeks of solitude. “Only a part of it I’m afraid, but you’ll learn the rest in no time, don’t worry.”
“Can’t wait.” He grinned and scanned the room for prying eyes. Finding none, he made himself more comfortable by your side, hoping to spend the rest of his night with you.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” You admitted, somehow managing not to sound like you’re overly joyous of that not happening.
“I could say the same about you.” Was that excitement, or disappointment in his voice? Was he planning of politely ravishing other women, when you were not present to entertain him? Something told you those were not among his intentions, the smile on his face too honest, his twinkling gaze focused solely on you.
You tilted your head and curled your lips. Touché. “It is nice to attend the ball your acquaintances are throwing, even if you arrive late. But for you, sir, I'm afraid people will actually think you're looking for a wife."
He rolled his eyes. There was a hint of offense in them just at the mentioning of the subject, but the playful type, not the exasperated type he uses for others.
"Curious. The diamond of the season is also here. Isn't it strange that she still hasn't found someone, it's nearly the end of the season?" You inhaled sharply, dramatizing further. "Do you have something to do with it, Lord Kenobi?"
He scoffed, the impossibility of it reflected in his voice. "The diamond of the season?-"
"I thought you deserve nothing less." You explained, but he interjected.
"I'm only interested in one diamond." He said, initiating intense eye contact.
It was your turn to scoff, and run away from his gaze. "I was never the diamond."
"Only because you saw how better you were than the rest, and fled just before the start of the season." His eyebrows were raised, begging for a denial.
"I had planned that trip months ago." You simply stated. "And I came back halfway through summer, didn't I?"
"Just like now."
"Do I need to remind you who you have been spending time with since June?"
"And where were you coming from tonight, ending your visit of- how long was it?"
"I am fond of traveling. Balls and banquets can entertain someone so far. " You shrugged, "Lord Kenobi, are you trying to say that you missed me?"
"I could never claim otherwise."
That was true from your perspective as well. All these years of constant traveling, and this year was the first time you missed what you left behind at home, even during the buzzing, pretense-filled months. None of it seemed that intolerable, and somewhat fun, if you dare to admit. You knew this impression was his doing, and now after your while spent apart, the feeling came back tenfold, almost making you squirm over such loose confessions.
That was it. That was the turning point of the night.
“Truth be told, the night is going much better than I dreamed of, and I almost regret forgetting my dance card.” You raised your chin, and sent him a look. “Would you be so kind to help me find it?”
You could basically see the gears turning, a fire behind his eyes, fueling the desire growing in the depths of your belly. His gaze was piercing, even after he’d long decided, the truth known to both of you. Your heartbeats must’ve been visible, you imagined, and felt it skip a beat as he licked his lip. “Lead the way.”
Now that’s, how you ended up here.
However, as you look down at his face, the story gets blurry, perhaps outright loses its importance, abandoning your mind. His hair is tousled, a rebel strand in front of his eyes, and moves with every bounce. Your hands are too busy to hold onto his sweaty chest, slightly tugging on the auburn fuzz. You wanted to do that ever since he took his shirt off.
(Then again, you’re not sorry for the amount of time you couldn’t, drowning in him. The moment you felt his expert lips on yours, all your will to protest anything had died. Later, as his fingers joined the show, you quickly realized you were fine with what he gave, but he, ever the gentleman, let you prevail.)
It is a sight. And the moans that fall from his lips surpass the delicate melody the musicians are playing downstairs in every way, which can still faintly be heard. (You never thought an orchestra would accompany you during this, but here you were. It is a detail you’ll remember with a smile while looking back at it, but now, you couldn’t care any less.)
“You’re taking me so well.” He starts to thrust his hips up slightly, meeting your rhythm, but never overtaking it.
“I know.” You giggle, but the reaction he’s taken notice of is your fingertips digging in further, and your walls fluttering around his cock.
When you start to falter a bit, perhaps due to the fatigue settling on your muscles embarrassingly not long after his words, or his mere presence clouding your brain, his fingers that have been resting on your thighs slowly ascend to your hips. The fingers drenched in your juices, another element that has the coil in your belly tighter. The next few strokes, with his guiding hand, touch something deep inside you, and your jaw hangs open.
“Fuck…” is the only word you can mutter, and he chuckles at it.
“Is that so?” He mocks, but brushes your loose ringlets with a single hand, and caresses your nipple on its way down. The latter shows his true disposition, and that drives you to be more vocal, if you weren’t already.
“You feel… so… good.” You can hardly say, as your puffy clit drag against his skin all so deliciously like this.
He twitches inside you at the compliment, and you throw your head back with a whine. Despite the fact that he would kill to see your face, he doesn’t push, enjoying the state he’s putting you in with his voice. Every praise that falls from his lips earns him a melodic moan, along with the feeling of you tensing and relaxing, always responding to his call in one way or another.
You’re one step away from being a doll at his bend, though you couldn’t care any less, not when you are this close.
He likes it, very very much. Yet, not enough to silence his wishes of how to ruin you, in the best way.
In a blink, you find yourself on your back, and him on top of you. That’s not the first thing you see, though. It is his hand, lifted from wherever it fell, catching your chin to turn your head to him. Sounds of panting are all there is, no movement, no words, not even your rapid heartbeats drumming in your ears seconds ago as if the world stopped for a second.
His thumb caresses your lower lip, and you let it slip in. God, you can still taste yourself. The revelation has your objections at the change dead, your face twisting, yet he tsks thrice, capturing your attention.
“Let me see those eyes.” Obi Wan commands, and you have no choice but to oblige. “You look so good beneath me.”
Somehow, his words have you flushing and squirming as if that was the most inappropriate thing happening in this room. Funny, how he breaks your will, and you let it. Against all the talk of your friendship, until an hour ago, you’d have lashed out at an equivalent demeanor, even said in affectionate terms. (Any other way is simply impossible, anyway.) But, that hour proved itself to be much precious, and now with that glossy gaze, snatched right from the brink of climax, you focus on the doting aspect, how he cannot get enough of the image of you.
You start to writhe, the new emptiness inside you unbearable. “Touch me, Obi Wan…”
He's not proud of the way your begging has his cock leaking, though that hardly stops him. He lives for mutual pleasure, even just yours at the moment, yet you look so pretty like this, grasping the sheets.
"Like this?" He slides his thumb further into your mouth, relishing the feeling of your tongue swirling around it immediately. Or course he wasn't expecting you to suck him off if you didn't want to, nor would he ever ask for it, he can't help but imagine the feeling, his hips rolling in seek of stimulation.
You shake your head, and his finger is freed with a pop. You frown as the sole contact you have with him is lost. It is a warning sign for him, the fragility of your dream-like state, a reminder of how he has to do better, if he wants to take control. As a gentleman, he wanted to give you everything you desired, but since it was your first time together, a terra incognita, he had to be sure of your limits, so he followed your wishes gladly. The wishes which were masterfully balanced versions of both of your needs. The same problem troubled you too of course, but you were a quick learner, a connoisseur of his taste in no time. The fact that it was very similar to yours was an exciting discovery, certainly a pleasant one, and was a great help, so great that it almost felt like cheating. While he took no issue with your tricks; the urge to take you on his terms, the compulsion to show you how he wants to cherish you couldn’t be suppressed any longer. He had to let you know.
He leans in closer, his arms bend as yours find his shoulders like a habit, “Like this?” He murmurs, right before brushing his lips against yours, effectively swallowing your whine. Though it was a sound of protest, all complementary sentiments die when he nips at your lower lip, and you open your mouth, lost in the sensation of his tongue licking yours, and his sweet essence. In contrast to his other needs taken good care of, he hadn’t taken enough of the feeling of our mouths joining. God, he spent hours imagining your mouth, curling into every shape as smart words spilled from it, enhancing his fascination with you. It fires the flames of haze further, even if he’s not actually properly touching you. Your hand roams his neck, then etches itself into his silky hair. You’ve done that a few times now (and found his response most addicting), but it is hardly satisfactory compared to the amounts you dreamed of doing during these last couple of months. You saw him prim and proper mostly, not a strand out of place, making you marvel at its excellence, and the itch to mess it up growing stronger each instance, a stark contrast to your surroundings. Also, there were times the infamous piece fell in front of his eyes, and sometimes even more disheveled than that, riding a horse, enjoying sports with his friends, and once after a bath, when your family visit started a little earlier than planned. You were always admiring the way it reflected light, creating almost a halo around his head, especially in sunlight. It is the first thing your eye is drawn to whenever you’re in the same place, a beacon of sorts. You never thought you’d be this amazed by hair, yet the moans he produces when you tug on it, add to your astonishment, and you’re not sure if you can look at it again, without being reminded of this moment.
He breaks the kiss as for you to catch your breath, for he has long kept you away from it. Still, he continues to pepper you with tons of them, scattered all across your jaw and neck, in search of that sweet spot that has you cursing. It is not a serious journey, in fact, he does more than press his lips against your skin properly, tease you with his open mouth, drag his tongue along the taut muscle, nip and outright bite, once.
“No marks-“ You protest. Futile. You should’ve warned before he started to nibble, way before he sank his teeth, but it has happened after all, and you can already feel blood settling on the sites of his attack. “What I am going to tell my maid now?”
“The truth.” He retorts. “Of how you led Lord Kenobi into our bed, and did dirty, unspeakable things with him.”
That earns him a harsh pull at his scalp, and a pat on his shoulder. He meets with your glaring gaze, and cheeks redder than a minute ago. So, he’s still on your good side. Barely.
“Apologies, my dear.” He takes the hand that smacked him, and places a peck onto your palm before placing it back. You can’t break the eye contact as he does so, something about his appearance, perhaps his position, or the charming contours of his face, or the way he deals with your anger keeps you from kicking him out. Caressing your open legs, he massages them ‘til they relax afresh, squeezing at the soft flesh. You hiss when his movement nears your inner thighs, thanks to his beard, and the climax it brought you. The gesture hints, still, there’s the matter of fire burning in your belly. “Couldn’t resist, you know me. Let me make it up to you.”
He wastes one more second to carve this image inside his head, then fulfills his promise. He likes the way you tremble while you wait, a whimper leaving your mouth at him taking his cock into his hand and stroking it a few times. God, how you wish that was your hand. Damn your stubbornness, and demand for compensation. You put extreme effort into staying still, releasing a shaky breath when he places the tip at your entrance.
Remember when he said “ruin”?
He doesn’t push it in, instead letting it slide up your slick folds, and tap against your clit. You nearly jolt at the touch, yet again tasting bliss, even if it is in mere drops. He repeats the action, and you sob, digging your nails into his shoulders. Maybe you’re the one leaving marks now, but you don’t care. Eye for an eye you can say, in retrospect.
“You’re so wet.” He can’t stop looking into your glistening core. He also can hear it, the squelching sounds echoing at his every movement. He knows you can too, that it calms your nerves, though they act up for different reasons. “All this for me?”
Unfortunately, you are late to realize he doesn’t take your moans for an answer. You can’t help it, you are unable to form words. Even if you gather the strength, they die out at your throat, especially under his piercing look. Fuck, he loves how cockdumb you’ve become for him.
He takes pity on you then, dropping his cock to briefly rest on your opening, and forces his fat tip in.
Your back arches, a throaty sound filling the room. He shushes right next to your ear, in an effort to calm you down as he slips the rest in. It is as if you’re taking him the first time, like you weren’t riding him moments ago.
“Fuck-“ That’s the only reaction, the only answer he needs. You fall back into the sheets, the first time he rolls his hips, and sets a new rhythm, a slow one to kindle the flame once more. Your hair probably getting tangled from the way it’s rubbing against the sheets, and your legs are split wide open. You feel every vein and ridge moving against your walls, the slight resistance disappearing in no time. His chest brushes against yours, and combined with the warmth of his breath, so close to yours, it’s easy to let go of your worries.
This is why you ended up here.
“Faster!” While he already feels great, it’s not the exact pattern to provide that sweet release, not in the timeframe you hoped.
“I want this to last, dear.”
Your eyes roll to the back of your head. A part of it due to irritation. Being subjected to that response before, he snickers to see you’re still you, even when you’re literally fucked out of your mind. As he does so, his lips skim yours. You take it, greedily, one hand first on his neck to ensure he stays, then to his unruly tress, aspiring to compel him into the middle ground. That earns you a few groans, yes, but his will doesn’t seem to falter even a little bit.
Perseverance, is a mutual quality, as you already know.
You slowly release the grip you have on his head, emphasis on slowly. It goes unnoticed, thanks to your timely bite, the same assault he once carried out. You don’t waste the access to his tongue, sucking on it. You’re not sure if his moans are increased in number, or if it feels more because you swallow every single one of them, but the fact that his beard starts to prick your cheeks harder gives you an idea.
Your free hand falls into sheets and slithers across the length of your body. Just a little more- you’re almost about to touch your –
His fingers wrap around your wrist instantly, dragging it up, a little further away from your face. You twist your neck, a wail coming out as you reject his kiss.
Only to be met by the sight of that said fingers running up your palm, and interlock themselves among yours.
Your breath hitches, for reasons unknown to you.
“Ah- ah -ah.” He tuts, though there’s not a hint of disappointment in his voice. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you do all the work?”
You can’t believe one physical contact, and his words, are enough to carry you to that previous peak. Your pussy contracts around him, beyond your control, an indication of your closeness, nothing compared to before.
“Ngh- that’s it.” He encourages, “Just relax and take it.” That’s more sincerity than you’ve ever heard from him.
It goes on and on for a while, him doing exactly what he promised to do, and fulfilling his wishes in the process. He already knows this could go on ‘til morning, and he still wouldn’t be completely satisfied, longing for your presence the second he leaves the bed. Still, he continues, pushing himself to his limit, and that’s getting quite harder when you clamp on him that hard. He feels his cock leaking, begging for that sweet end.
When his arm that’s not supporting his weight travels down, caressing your hip before pressing his thumb to your clit, finally, you reward it with a whisper of his name, a sound he won’t dare to forget. Your back arches impossibly higher, and he has to lean back, abandoning his other hold.
Your limb stays in the spot he left it.
He curses at the realization, perhaps its effect mirroring yours when he first initiated the contact. Fuck, how are you so perfect? He snaps his hips harder, and circles his thumb, feeling it throb.
“Obi Wan-I’m c-“
He loves how your words are cut with the need to scream that you gulp down, only resigned to breathing as your face contorts with pleasure. “Cum for me, love.”
Your moans blend into each other, as he cannot stay still at the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight. He holds your trembling thigh, fondling the soft flesh, adoring the way it spills from his grip. He doesn’t stop ‘til they settle again once more, and even a little longer than that, pulling out in the last minute to cover your belly with his spend.
That act keeps you from turning to your side, and feeds the desire to hug the sheets, a soft but firm ground for your senses to return. You're not complainant of it anyways, you have a far better view in front of you, defined muscles undulating with each heavy breath, glistening due to the light coat of sweat covering them, lips puffy and slightly flushed with blood, as well as his cheeks. You always thought he was devilishly handsome, but this, this is something else. The world should consider itself lucky, or it would bend to his will just from his looks. Or unlucky, for the honor is bestowed upon a handful of people.
He believes he's blessed with the sight upon him, too. Still holding onto your thigh, he delights in spontaneous tremors that possess it. If he looks closely, he's sure he can see the faint mark he left. Your hair is sprawled around, much in contrast to the delicate up-dos you and every noblewoman fashioned, its most natural form, and the intimacy of it definitely causes a small breakdown. You belong in a painting, depicting goddesses and nymphs, a grace outside the limits of time and culture. Your droopy lids and tired pull at the corners of your mouth fill his chest with pride and more adoration, like after his every successful attempt to elicit a reaction from you. It happens often, thanks to the understanding that grows between the two of you, but every example is still treasured in in his mind.
“Well, I don’t know any better way to spend the night.”
You giggle. “I agree.”
“We should’ve done this before.”
Your lifted brows are the perfect answer. Like it’s that easy.
But he has a point, too.
In the comfortable silence, he gets up from bed, a sigh at the roar coming from downstairs, drowning the music. That’s still going, huh? You watch as he wets the nearest towel, and returns, cleaning the mess with unexpected gentleness that it almost tickles. There’s no aim to steal one more touch at his movements, no personal gain except an easy conscience, and even that is a stretch because it’s most natural to him, his understanding of tenderness.
“Well, thank you, sir.” You sit up, with a yawn, and scooch backward to your pillows as he retreats to give himself the same treatment. “And my nightgown, please.” You point to it, and amusingly follow his subtle headshake, and efforts to hand it over. He hesitates for a second at the last minute, considering rebellion, a last joke. You see it, and snatch the fabric from his grip before he can tighten it. He can feel it sliding over his skin, the light material flying. You slip it on, aware of his voyeur. with a victorious smile cut too short as exhaustion creeps into your bones. You’re no different, in any case, settling into the fluffy pillows, curiously examining each piece of clothing he puts on from afar, the unwritten rule of his habits, his hidden glances at your mirror in a feeble pursuit to tame his messy hair. You’re willing to be charged guilty for that.
He stalls, though, you can feel it after a while, around the time sleep clouds your vision. How could anyone blame him for not wanting to leave, carve your picture to his mind, and calm his yet again straining cock at it?
“You should be going. Servants are going to be wandering these corridors for orders, soon.” Your heart winces at the warning, because he's not the type to need it, or disregard you to put you at any risk. But your cognation runs thin, and he needs to know the dangers he might face.
"True. Right. You're correct." Is that a stutter? "Good night, my lady."
"Good night, Lord Kenobi.
"Glad to be of help in stretching your legs."
The cushion falls short to exactly hit him, but the sentiment is clear.
In the morning, you uncover the reasons behind his diversion.
Bastard signed every slot in your dance card.
#obi wan kenobi x reader#obi-wan kenobi x reader#obi wan x reader#obi wan smut#star wars fanfiction#my pen#smut#fluff#fanfiction#fics#obi wan kenobi imagine#star wars imagine#obi-wan x reader#obi-wan smut
191 notes
·
View notes
Text
All I want to do is satisfy you ➳❥ Yoriichi Tsugikuni x Reader
Content warnings ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Oral Sex, Fem reader, Breeding kink, Yoriichi is lowkey out of character, not proofread.
(A/N) this is another one of my ao3 fics that I'm moving on to here. Enjoyyyy loves.
"Yoriichi-" You squeak out as he sucks your swollen and throbbing clit that was practically calling him. His hands were placed on your thigh.
"Stay still baby I want you to feel good." He says as the vibration from his words sends shivers down your spine. You're trying to keep quiet but he's practically pulling the noises out of you. As his tongue explores your wet folds, his lips leave small kisses. You felt almost overwhelmed by the sensation. His touch was almost too much to bare you didn't know how much long you could last.
"Yoriichi..slow down." You let out in choked sobs.
In response he squeezed your plush thighs tightly you could feel his nails penetrate your skin causing a small burning sensation. His tongue still exploring, and he moves one of his hands off your thigh you can see the marks from his nails.
"Baby, do you feel good?" He asks as he plants small gentle kisses on your slick folds.
"Mmm.." you could barely speak as you try to catch your breath.
Before you could even reply you feel him slowly put his ring and middle finger in your hole that had been begging him to enter it. He latches back on to your clit quickly and pumps his fingers slowly at first. You put your hand on his head gripping his hair. You watch as his hair falls out of the ribbon that was tying it up so delicately. Your choked sobs and whines only encouraged him to go faster. His finger pumping faster. You are practically sobbing as you feel his calloused and warm finger penetrate you repeatedly.
"Y-Yoriichi I'm gonna cum" You choke out.
He looks up at you with love-struck eyes. "Cum for me please baby...I wanna taste you" he slurred too drunk off of the feeling of your body the taste of your body to speak properly. His fingers going a bit faster, and his kisses and tongue getting more aggressive as if he was craving you as if he had been starved and your body was the only thing that could nurture and cure his hunger.
Your back arched as you came yoriichi still stayed at his pace as you came down from your high. You pant as you feel his finger leave you. You watch as he licks his fingers to get a taste of the 'treat' you left him
"So pretty.." he purred as you look at his face that was covered in your warm fluids. You bring him down wiping his face. He plants a kiss on your lips and then leaves kisses on your jawline.
You watch as he moves back and undresses. You see his toned body and his dick. He was big..huge even. You've taken him many times before but no matter how many times you do. You could never get used to it. You stare knowing the feeling of him stretching you out would be something to die for. The pain and the pleasure mixing would be amazing.
Yoriichi grabs your legs gently placing the tip of his cock that was slick and dripping with precum not yet going inside. "Baby...I wanna make you cum again. I wanna make you feel good again." He slurred.
You feel his throbbing length starts to make its way into your body. You feel him stretching you out. You whine from the pain and the pleasure mixing. Your eyes well up with tears.
"I know...I'm sorry love.." he purred getting close to you as he pushed into you. He left small kisses and marks on your neck and chest. Finally, after what seemed like forever he was fully inside you.
You whined quietly. "You took me so well baby.." He says between kisses. He waits for you to adjust then moves slowly.
You could hear his grunts and feel his shallow breath on your neck. You whine quietly feeling his cock slide into you as you push himself back in with some strength behind it.
He gradually speeds up as you let out noises of pleasure you can hear him cussing and spewing out praises "Baby you're taking me so well." And "You're so tight I wish I could stay like this forever."
You could barely focus on what he was saying from the overwhelming feeling of him stretching you out.
"Baby you're so pretty...I wanna get you pregnant." He purred "I wanna fill that pretty tummy." He places his hand on your stomach where he could see the bulge from his cock. He continued pounding into you.
"Ah- Yorii- It's too much.." you sobbed "I know I'm sorry darling." Yoriichi grabs your hand and places it on your stomach with his on top of yours "You feel that baby? That's me." He lets out a small chuckle. He loved knowing he could please you. He loved knowing he's deep within you. "You love me right? No one can satisfy you like this right baby?" A grin spread across his face. He never spoke like this around others. He never spoke with such pride, but the feeling of your tight walls clenching out his cock so sweetly makes him a completely different person.
You simply continue to choke out sobs from the pleasure. Every time he pushes back into you. Your body felt a jolt, and a shiver ran up your spine. His touch was intoxicating right
now his mouth was firmly pressed around your hard bud while his other hand massaged your other boob his hands relishing in the moment and the feeling of your supple and soft skin. Yoriichi's pace remained the same. The sound of your choked sobs and whines was almost too much for him. If he didn't control himself he would've come a while ago.
" 'm gonna come Yori-" You manage to squeak out as you felt him pound into you. You could hear nothing but the sound of his and your sweat-drenched bodies making contact every time he pushed himself deep within you and your wails and whines. You felt the knot in your stomach you were about to cum. You felt his pace get sloppy he want about to cum too. A few more thrusts and you felt your entire body jolt and your back arch.
He continued pounding into you at a sloppy past as you came down from your high. And then he came.
You felt his warmth spread within and you look to see a ring of his and your fluids around the base of his cock.
He pulls out of you slowly and gently and watches as his seed flowed out of your body slowly. He leaned down laying on your chest listening to your heart as you caught your breath "Y/N you felt good right?" He asked. He loved you saying it. He loved hearing it.
"Mmm I felt good.." you rasped out, your throat dry from the screams you just previously let out. You look down to see him staring at you. Your eyes fluttered as your body warn you that you were about to fall asleep.
"Go to sleep I'll clean up." He smiled kissing your nose.
You drift off to sleep unable to keep your eyes open any longer. You don't know how long it took you to wake up but when you did you and him were both fully clothed. You were on top of him with his hands wrapped around your waist tightly and his breath steady indicating he was asleep. You look at him then lay back down and listen to his heartbeat until you drift back to sleep. You knew you were gonna feel sore in the morning.
☆Masterlist ☆
#loveforeren#demon slayer x you#demon slayer x y/n#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer smut#demon slayer#demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer x female reader#kimestu no yaiba x reader#kimestu no yaiba#kny yoriichi#demon slayer yoriichi#kimetsu yoriichi#yoriichi tsugikuni#yoriichi x reader#yoriichi x you
449 notes
·
View notes
Text
red currant
Read on AO3 here.
No one can outrun grief, not even Morpheus, formerly Dream of the Endless. Grief is patient, and it will wait, even in the aisles of a grocery store, to take him into its arms and hold him tight.
contents: Dreamling, human Morpheus, post-Kindly Ones, mild gore, brief discussion of food-related issues, grief
At first, Morpheus was too busy dealing with a body that needed things. It was often too cold, its joints ached terribly, and it took him longer than he cared to admit to recognize what hunger and thirst actually felt like. The latter came with their own host of indignities, not least of which was the seeming inability to properly digest dairy, and a strong aversion to certain textures, no matter how appealing the food in question might be in theory.
Hob both understood, and didn’t. He was always warm, something Morpheus deeply envied, even if he wouldn’t admit to it aloud. He too struggled, sometimes, with food, albeit in a much different way; the cupboards were often overfull before being carefully culled for in-date products to donate away, and he ate to uncomfortable excess on occasion, as if he forgot that there would be more for the foreseeable future.
There was also the question of fashioning a life out of nothing. Morpheus was dragged to a tiny shop in an out of the way street and photographed for a passport purchased in cash, along with all other relevant cards and certificates that made someone human. He was, with great effort, persuaded to allow the doctor with kind eyes who still made house calls to examine him, who pronounced him to be in fair health and left him with a number of pamphlets on proper nutrition. He came to know how to use a phone in practice, instead of merely in theory.
But Hob couldn’t stay with Morpheus in the flat forever, and Morpheus threw himself into the process of becoming human. He spent long hours reading, books he once would have known simply by touching their spine, learned instead page by page and word by word. He slept more often than he thought an adult human might need, and he spent time submerged in the bathtub, topping up the hot water the second it began to grow tepid. He played music on Hob’s speakers, any album that Hob owned, and didn’t stop to think why he couldn’t bear to sit still without distraction.
Because Morpheus was fine. He had been trapped in a human body in a glass cage for a century; being suddenly and irrevocably shoved into the same form, pieced back together lovingly by hands he could not bear to contemplate, was almost a familiar feeling. He had not felt hunger or thirst or pain in that prison, but to discover them for himself was not mind-breaking. He endured, and he allowed Hob to care for him, and he did not let himself be otherwise.
But all things, as he came to know, must change.
He was alone in the shop around the corner from Hob’s flat. In exactly seventy-four minutes, Hob would be home for tea, and they were, inexplicably, entirely out of jam, which meant that he could not have jam on toast for tea, and that was entirely unacceptable.
To Hob’s unending surprise, Morpheus liked the shop, just as he liked the park at noon when all manner of people were milling about, and the pub of an evening when it was full and loud and bright. He did not want to speak with people, but he wanted to be within them, surrounded by them, the rise and fall of their voices, and Hob hadn’t asked him why. He had, instead, shown him a website dedicated to ambient noise, and told him that he could have the coffee shop in the flat all day if he wanted, if that was what he liked.
Morpheus was standing in front of the shelves dedicated to all manner of spreads, contemplating the relative merits of strawberry (a known quantity, which he liked very much) or red currant (unknown, untested, but also free of any bits, which he disliked very much, and red, which was a promising color when it came to foods), when he reached for a jar to peer at it up close, and instead met the hand of the shopper beside him, who had crept up without his awareness and reached for the exact same jar at the exact same moment.
He withdrew his hand, out of courtesy, and began to offer an apology as the woman beside him did the same, and neither of them kept hold of the jar, which fell, end over end, until it landed with a very final sounding smash at their feet. The woman stepped back with a small cry of alarm, and Morpheus stood, as if rooted to the very ground itself, and contemplated the slightly wobbling red mess in front of him. Vaguely, he was aware of the woman stepping to the end of the aisle to catch the attention of a shop worker, who would undoubtedly gather cleaning supplies and in fifteen minutes, it would be as if it had never happened at all.
There was a scent, a cloying sweetness that rose from the shattered remains of the jam jar, a scent that Morpheus was unsure anyone else had noticed, or that was perhaps unique to him as he stood, still and unmoving, a buzzing in his ears, like the whine of a particularly persistent fly, and he moved his hand as if to shoo it away and clean up the mess besides only to blink and see—
Viscera, deep and red as rubies; he was walking through a field of carnage, each step staining him further, gore working its way over his feet to his ankles—why had they bled? they were never flesh and blood (but that was a lie, a lie he told himself again and again and again—they had been flesh and blood to him) and he was walking towards the end of all things, or maybe just the end of himself, and it was quiet, so quiet, an unearthly silence so vast that it nearly swallowed him whole and he felt it, a physical thing, the shattering of all that he was, all that he was ever meant to be, but it hurt less than he thought it might, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought it was over, the power gone, until—he had never felt so hollow, and he tried to reach out, to feel the warm familiarity of uncountable minds of his creation and those entirely independent of himself, human and creature alike, and found only an unending void, he had thought it quiet before but this, this was true nothingness, an abyss in which there was only him, and him alone and he was nothing, nothing, nothing at all—
“—all right, duck? Just a bit of jam on your boots and trousers, nothing that won’t wipe right off, I’m sure, and no staining to worry about, not with that very sensible black, hides a world of sin, doesn’t it?”
The woman was standing near him, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from her, and once, he would have known her name. She was not touching him, only hovering a hand quite near him, as she continued, voice even more gentle.
“Let’s just step to the side, and we can get out of everyone’s way while they clean up.”
For one horrible, painful moment, he thought she might say more, might even offer to call someone for him, the look in her eyes well-meaning, but horribly perceptive. He could not bear to be seen. It was enough to jolt him into motion, and he nodded, somewhat stiffly, and moved away from the puddle of jam. The arrival of the shop worker, complete with cleaning supplies, distracted the woman long enough for Morpheus to enact his escape, abandoning any thoughts of tea or toast as he made his way, with single minded determination, back to the flat.
It was too quiet on his walk back, and it was too quiet inside the flat, the soft tick of the clock on the mantle and the gentle hum of the refrigerator not enough, never enough. Hob would be home in fifty-three minutes, and it was not enough.
He burnt the paper in the sink, watching it crumble in on itself and smolder into ash, not knowing if it would even work, being as he was. Morpheus waited, hands gripping the cold porcelain of the sink, his knuckles nearly white enough to match. She would understand, his sister. She would know what it was like. She could tell him what to do, how to live, now, that he was apart from the only piece of himself that he had ever cared for, no matter how imperfectly he had done so. He could not abide being so terribly, horribly alone, with only the sound of his own voice in his head to keep him company. There was no consciousness within him, save for his own.
Morpheus did not hear her enter the flat. She had always been so good at silence, slipping into spaces like smoke. Her hand, when she laid it over his own, was slightly clammy, and so painfully familiar that it made his chest ache.
“Brother,” she said, and he tried to speak, to greet her in return, but found that he could not force the words past his lips. She would know, he thought, she would understand.
She led him to the couch, pulling him to sit beside her, and Despair enfolded Morpheus in her arms.
91 notes
·
View notes
Text
@steddiemas Day 26: Second Chances and/or Fake Dating
Tags: Past Steddie, Second Chances, Christmas Angst, Happy Ending Guaranteed, Hurt/Comfort, Christmas Presents
wc: 2361 | Rating: G
Read on ao3 | ao3 collection
It’s mocking him.
The stupid watch in its stupid box is mocking him.
He just had to open the drawer in search of a new guitar pick and stumble upon the stupid gift.
It should have stayed there forever.
Shoved into a dark corner and pushed out of his mind.
Just like Steve did to him a few months ago.
But no, there it is.
Mocking him.
Eddie’s not even sure why he bought the thing in the first place. It’s not like Steve’s lacking in the watch department. The guy regularly wears a Hamilton and he swears he spotted a Rolex tucked away in his nightstand one night a few months back. There’s no way Steve would even consider swapping one of his watches out for the cheap thing sitting in the box on Eddie’s nightstand.
At least, that’s what Eddie is going to keep telling himself until the gnawing feeling in his gut pisses off.
Honestly, he wants to kick past Eddie in the balls for the splurge. Three whole paychecks went into this damn watch and now it's going to sit in a box and haunt his drawer for the rest of his life because it was a final sale item.
“You know,” Max says, startling him from his reprove. “You could just give him the watch instead of trying to blow it up with your eyes.”
She’s leaning against the door frame of his bedroom. Arms crossed tight across her chest, pigtail braids thrown behind her. Her eyes gleam with disinterest that Eddie knows is just part of her act. He appreciates her commitment to the bit, even when she’s willingly over at his house for the guitar lessons she asked for.
Eddie feels like he’s been caught red-handed because he has been. It’s no secret that he and Steve called it quits a few months ago, but they’ve both kept the kids mostly out of it. Sure, they ask a million and one questions when they get the chance, but Eddie hasn’t caved and from the amount of nagging still going on, neither has Steve.
At least they’re on the same page about that.
Still, Max is a perceptive kid, maybe even worse than Dustin and that’s saying a lot.
Besides it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who a semi-expansive watch would be for.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Red.”
“Yeah, okay,” she snorts.
Pushing off from the door frame, she saunters into the room and straight for the box. She’s faster than Eddie is, snatching it before he has time to process that she’s even after it. There’s no use in trying to pry it out of her hands, a fact she is firmly aware of since she plops down next to him on the mattress without even bothering to keep the box out of reach.
It takes a bit of shimmying for her to get the lid off but when she does she lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Eddie. This is gorgeous.”
“I guess,” he shrugs, pulling a strand of hair to his lips. “But what do we know about watches? It could be shit!”
“Maybe I’m a watch connoisseur. You don’t know me.”
“I think a watch connoisseur would own at least one working watch and judging by how late you’re always running despite that thing on your wrist I don’t think you do.”
“You know Steve’s been running late a lot lately?”
Christ this kid needs to work on making her transition more subtle, he thinks. There’s no way he can let her turn into another Dustin. Erica already has that title on lock and Eddie can’t put up with three of them. He just can’t.
“Nice try, Red. Steve has never been late a day in his life now that he’s a certified babysitter extraordinaire.”
“He has! Dustin, Lucas, and I were waiting outside Palace Arcade for ten minutes last week and yesterday we were stuck at the Wheelers for an entire hour before he finally showed up.”
“I’m sure he was just working. Picking up holiday hours.”
“Yeah that’s what I thought, but Robin said he’s been late picking her up too.”
“Well that— that just doesn’t sound like Steve.”
“Yeah, well, it’s like you said. It’s hard to be on time without a working watch and Steve hasn’t been wearing his for weeks now.”
Eddie didn’t become the best DM Hellfire has ever seen without knowing how to craft a good trap or two and this smells entirely too fishy for his liking. Steve just so happens to be watch-less the minute Max spots the watch box on his nightstand? No way. Not a chance in hell.
The alarm bells are blaring in his head and he’s not going to fall for it.
Absolutely not.
Besides, if Steve did lose or break his watch, Eddie knows he has an entire drawer of them to choose from. And even if they all happened to be stolen in some brazen home robbery (which would have been all over the Hawkins Post and local news so he knows that hasn’t happened), Steve could stroll into any store that sells watches and get a replacement without batting an eye.
So, no.
Eddie is not going to hand deliver the watch to Steve like some rejected knight in shining armor.
He’d rather stare at the stupid box for the rest of his life than have to stare into those stupid hazel eyes and pretend he’s still not in love with him, even though he tore his heart out and crushed it into a million pieces.
⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚
Eddie wakes up on Christmas morning to the quiet pitter-patter of rain hitting the roof and Wayne’s horrendous snoring. There’s a chill in the air and he rolls over to yank the extra blanket he keeps thrown over one of his amps in the winter when his eyes land on the offending white watch box.
The same stupid box that refuses to get shoved back in the drawer it came out if two weeks ago.
Jesus H. Christ.
He can’t keep living like this. Waking up every morning to that stupid box takes him back to the first few days of their break up. When Eddie would stir awake hoping it was all a bad dream only to open his eyes to an empty, cold, bed and an ache deep in his chest not even his best-rolled joint could soothe.
Waking up to Steve’s absence was one thing, but waking up to a constant reminder of it in the shape of a stupid Christmas present Eddie bought specifically for him is a whole new level of hell.
One he refuses to spend another minute suffering in.
Jesus, fuck if only the thing didn’t cost so damn much he’d throw it in the garbage. But he can’t in good conscience through a $75 watch in the dumpster so he hastily gets dressed instead.
He leaves Wayne a note, promising he’ll be back soon, and yanks his keys from their spot in their junk bowl. Tossing the box onto the passenger seat, he shifts the van into gear and heads in a direction he hasn’t visited in over a month.
⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚ ⌚
“This is stupid. This is stupid. So, fucking stupid,” he mutters to himself as he stomps his way up the Harrington’s puddle-ridden driveway. If he catches pneumonia because of this little stunt he’s going to be so pissed.
He has two options once he finally reaches the front door. He can knock, face Steve and hand him the gift himself and maybe, if he’s lucky, make Steve feel as shitty as he made Eddie feel when he unexpectedly called it quits. Or, he could leave the watch on his doorstep and hope that Steve stumbles upon it before it gets stolen by a potential Christmas thief.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to decide because the red door opens revealing a disheveled Steve.
He looks like complete shit. Eyes bloodshot and puffy, skin pale and lacking that gorgeous sun-kissed look Eddie fell in love with. His hair is flat where it should be swoopy and there are a handful of strands sticking straight up at the crown of his head.
Clearly still in his pajamas judging by the ratty Hawkins High shirt and the oversized gray sweatpants, Eddie lets his eyes drift to Steve’s left wrist. He expects to find the same Hamilton perched there like always. Proof that Max was pulling his leg two weeks ago with her little scheme.
His wrist is empty though, aside from the strap of a gift bag that dangles from it.
“Oh,” Steve says. “S’you.”
“Yeah, it’s uh, me.”
His breath is rancid, too. So much worse than the morning breath Eddie is intimately familiar with since they made a habit of fooling around the minute they woke up. It smells like stale air, Peach schnapps, and eggnog. A fucking tragic combination as far as Eddie’s concerned. Judging by Steve’s greening face, he’d agree too.
“If you’re going to hurl please do it in the push and not on me,” he grimaces, watching as Steve whips his body to the side to do just that. “Christ.”
“M’sorry,” Steve says, resurfacing a moment later with pink flooding his pale face. “I, uh, made some bad choices last night.”
“You could say that again,” Eddie mumbles. His right hand twitches in the air desperately wanting to reach out and run down the length of Steve’s back like he knows he likes when he’s hungover. But the weight in his left hand is the reminder he needs to keep away.
He’s not here to offer him comfort.
He’s here to offer a final parting gift and that’s it.
“M’glad you’re here.”
“You are?” Eddie asks, already cursing himself as his heart skips a beat.
Steve nods. “Was coming to see you actually. To give you this.” Fidgeting with the string of the bag, Steve finally gets it off his wrist and into his hand before extending it out for Eddie to take.
“Oh,” Eddie says, hesitantly reaching for the bag before raising the box in his own hand. “I, uh, sorry it’s not wrapped, but I got you something too.”
“Really?”
Eddie shouldn’t look, but he’s never been one for listening to rules. Even his own. So he steals a glance and feels all the air leave his body. Gone is the dissolved man from moments ago. In his wake is the Steve he fell in love with. Soft smile and shining eyes. Sunlight cast a halo around his head. Those full lips are pulled apart and rounded in that stupid confused look of his that always manages to destroy Eddie in the best way.
Even in this state, he’s beautiful.
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t expect you to buy me something after what happened.”
“Yeah, well, lucky for you I did my Christmas shopping in October before you broke up with me so…”
“Eddie,” Steve sighs, reaching a tentative hand out. “I—“
“Don’t,” Eddie says, pulling away. “Whatever you’re going to say, just don’t, okay? It’s hard enough being here right now. Can we please just open our gifts and go on our way.”
“Is that what you want?” Steve asks, voice bitter.
“Don’t put this on me,” Eddie scoffs. “This is what you wanted.”
“No!” Steve shouts. “It’s not. I didn’t want any of this. I just—“
“I have to go,” Eddie snaps before racing to his van.
He can’t do this. Not on Christmas when Wayne is waiting for him and not ever. Steve’s never going to love him the way Eddie needs to be loved and he is tired of compromising what he needs for others.
But there’s something keeping here. Something beyond his shaking hands from inserting the key into the ignition and driving away for good. Something that looks an awful lot like Steve Harrington running after him, an open box discarded behind him, and the watched help closely to his chest.
Dammit.
“Eddie! Eddie wait!” He yells, loud enough that he’s going to wake the whole goddamn neighborhood if Eddie doesn’t shut him up.
Despite all the alarm bells in his head, he swings the car door open and hops out of the van.
“Steve. I really don’t have time to—“
“I love it,” Steve shouts before colliding into Eddie’s chest, sending them both stumbling backward. “S’perfect.”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” Eddie mumbles, trying his best to free himself from Steve’s embrace. “I know it’s not as fancy as your other watches. S’just trash like me.”
“It’s not trash and neither are you,” he says, holding him firmly. “I owe you an apology. A massive apology.
“I let my past relationship drama convince me that you were going to wake up one day and realize you were wasting your time with me and I knew I wouldn’t be able to survive you walking out on me so I did it first.
“And it was wrong of me. So fucking wrong. I regret it every second of every day. And I understand if you really want this to be the end of us, I do. But if you’d give me another chance I promise to spend every second of every day making it up to you.”
Eddie doesn’t believe in Christmas miracles, but if he did, he’s pretty sure the universe is granting him one right now. That or he’s dreaming. A quick pinch to his thigh confirms the latter isn’t happening though which can only mean one thing… Steve wants him back. He wants him back and he regrets leaving him in the first place.
“Every second of every day?” Eddie asks eventually breaking the unbearable silence.
“Every second of every day,” Steve breathes. “And I’ll never forget because I’ll have this watch to remind me.”
Eddie groans shaking his head. “You just had to make it cheesy, didn’t you?”
“You know you missed it.”
“I did, Stevie. I really did.”
#steddiemas#steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steddie angst#steddie fluff#steve harrington#steve harrington fic#steve harrington ficlet#eddie munson#eddie munson fic#eddie munson ficlet#stranger thing#stranger things fic#dani writes
115 notes
·
View notes
Text
Symphonies - Chapter 2
(AO3 Link in Title)
Chapter 1: Tumblr | AO3
Word Count: 2,855
Summary: You and Larissa have a… confusing dinner together.
Notes: Thank you all SO. MUCH. for liking/reblogging my little fic, it means the world to me! And again, thank you to @weemssapphic for being the best beta!!
Tag List: @barbarasstar, @readingtheentrails
—————————————————————————————
You arrived at Koto twenty minutes early, your anxiety about being late and making Larissa wait for you not allowing you to be any later. You waited in your car, mindlessly scrolling on your phone, when out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of white-blonde hair as Larissa rose from her vehicle. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized her hair was not in its usual pinned up twist, but falling in loose curls over her shoulders. She had swapped that delicious tan dress for an emerald green velvet suit, perfectly tailored to fit her body in all the right places. You looked down at yourself, the cream colored satin top and black pencil leg trousers suddenly feeling entirely inappropriate for this meeting. When you looked back in Larissa’s direction she was gone, and you briefly thought she’d changed her mind about meeting you before you realized she was halfway to the entrance of the restaurant, her mile-long legs making short work of the distance. You quickly removed your keys from the ignition and shoved them into your small purse, followed shortly by a failed attempt at stuffing your phone into the purse as well before you gave up and slipped it into the pocket of your trousers. As you opened the door to step out of your car, you felt the telltale dampness in the air of impending rain and huffed out a sigh; you had left your umbrella hanging on the doorknob of your closet at home.
Great, you thought, can’t wait to get absolutely drenched on the way to my car later.
You raised your left arm, the smart watch on your wrist automatically lighting up to show you the time: 6:52pm. Perfect. You closed the car door and bent down to check your makeup and hair in the side mirror before heading into the restaurant.
The lighting inside Koto was dim, small lights over individual tables provided a warm glow throughout the room. The walls are painted a deep navy blue, tasteful artwork in rich golden frames peppered throughout the perimeter. Your eyes scanned the room for Larissa, and your heart skipped a beat when you located her near the back corner of the dining room. The host walked up then and smiled at you.
“Party of one, ma’am?”
“Actually, I am meeting someone.” You said. “Tall blonde woman in a velvet suit?”
“Ah, yes!” He chuckled and stepped away from the host stand. “Larissa is right this way.” He gestured for you to follow him and weaved his way through the tables to the two person booth Larissa now sat at.
“Miss Weems, your companion for the evening has arrived.” He smiled politely at you both and bowed before he excused himself and walked back toward the front of the restaurant. You nervously tucked your hair behind your ears and waved shyly.
“Hi.” You all but squeaked out. Larissa looked up at you and a grin spread across her face. She held a pale hand out across the table in invitation.
“Please, Lillian, sit.” You did as you were told and tried not to focus on how the image of Larissa looking up at you would likely be imprinted on your brain forever, or how that action made your core throb.
“Good evening, Principal Weems. How did the rest of your afternoon go?” You placed your purse on the seat next to you and reached for the menu despite the fact that you already knew what you’d be ordering.
“Oh please, darling, call me Larissa,” the deep laugh she let out sounded like music to your ears, “I’m not your principal after hours.”
“Larissa.” You said, still a bit nervous despite the smile you forced to your face.
“My afternoon went quite quickly, if I’m being honest. I tend to get rather caught up in my work, and before I know it the sun has disappeared and I haven’t left my desk in hours.” Larissa reached for her glass of red wine and took a small sip.
“Oh my gosh, me too! Well, not at my desk, obviously, but when I’m practicing my cello.” Larissa smiled, her red lips parting slightly, the sight of which spurred you on. “I find it almost meditative, repeating passages until I make fewer and fewer mistakes. I don’t believe it’s possible to ever play a piece perfectly, there are as many interpretations of the ink on the paper as there are people in the world. There’s no way anyone can say that my interpretation or Jacqueline du Pre’s interpretation or even a young student’s interpretation of any given piece is incorrect; they’re just different. Hell, even my interpretation of The Swan by Saint-Saens has evolved from the first time I played it at 14 to what it is now. I’ve changed as a person, I’ve experienced more life, and the way I perform the piece has grown with me.” Somewhere in your monologue, Larissa had set her wine glass down and perched her chin on the palm of her hand, her fingers playing with her dangly earrings. Her eyes never left your face and when she didn’t speak after you were done you grew self conscious and leaned back into the booth.
“Sorry, I… I got carried away and took over the entire conversation.” You tucked an errant piece of hair behind your ear and crossed your arms over your chest.
“No, darling, nonsense.” She reached across the table and gestured for you to give her your hand, which of course you did. She pulled you away from where you’d shrunken back into your seat so that your face was back in the light. “I could listen to you talk about music for hours. The way your face lights up and you come to life is bea—“ She stopped abruptly and her eyes widened a bit as she quickly pulled her hand back to her lap and looked away, her cheeks turning pink. You opened your mouth to say something before getting cut off by the waiter returning to your table.
“Good evening, ladies, what can I get started for you in the kitchen?” He looked to you first, his pen and paper poised ready to write down your order.
“Good evening! I’ll take an order of salmon sashimi and the sirloin steak, medium rare, please. Larissa?” You looked over at the woman and smiled, only to notice she had the menu open and covering her face.
“I’ll just have the house salad with shrimp, and two orders of salmon sushi, please.” She closed the menu and handed it to the waiter and you did the same. Once he finished writing down Larissa’s order, he bowed quickly and left the table. You turned your attention back to Larissa, who had already stood up and placed her napkin on the table.
“Excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.” She said shortly and walked away before you could even process what just happened.
—
Larissa closed the bathroom door behind and locked it. She took a deep breath and placed her hand on her stomach, right underneath her diaphragm so she could focus on breathing. She had almost called you, her newly hired employee, beautiful, and it was sending her into a panic. Not because she didn’t think it was true, no. The exact opposite, in fact. From the moment she’d stepped into her office and laid eyes on your face as you whirled around to greet her, she’d thought you were the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Unfortunately, you were also the best candidate for this job she had ever seen, and she would rather do what’s best for her Nevermore family than take the risk of allowing feelings to develop.
She’d never had much luck with feelings. The first time she’d experienced anything akin to love, her heart was shattered and she was left picking up the pieces as her roommate went on to live a disgustingly blissful life with a dolt of a man. The second time she’d let someone in, they had taken advantage of her, subtly having her shift things about her appearance until Larissa looked in the mirror one day and realized she wasn’t even Larissa anymore. It had taken her two years to get back to herself, and even now when she looked in the mirror she still wasn’t sure what was wrong with her to begin with. The third time… the third time Larissa developed feelings for someone, she was manipulated, assaulted, and damn near killed. So no, Larissa did not have a good track record with feelings. She refused to call it love because she honestly didn’t know what love felt like, what it looked like, what it could be like.
Larissa took another deep breath and shook her head slightly, as if her brain was an etch-a-sketch and a simple jostle could clear away her mistakes. She walked over to the sink and turned the cold tap on, then reached for the paper towel dispenser to pull one out. She held it under the tap briefly to get it wet, then folded it into a small square and squeezed the excess water out. She used it to gently dab at her face, the cool touch of a paper towel helped her ground herself and stop the panic attack. She grabbed another paper towel to dry her face and hands, then threw both of them in the trash. She looked in the mirror and straightened her blazer and shirt collar and turned on her heel to leave the bathroom.
—
“So sorry, darling, there was a line.” Larissa said and you looked up from what you had been reading on your phone. You shoved the phone back into your pocket and smiled up at her.
“No worries!” You replied. Your eyes followed Larissa as she slid into the booth and you licked your lips subconsciously. She reached for her wine glass and used her other hand to toss her hair over her shoulder, then took a sip of her wine. As the glass left her lips, a drop began to slide down the outside edge and her tongue darted out almost instantly to catch it. Your eyes locked in on the way the tip of her tongue flattened against the glass, then the way it curled as she pulled it and the drop of errant wine back into her mouth.
Okay, maybe a few worries, you thought to yourself, suddenly feeling very warm in this booth.
“What do you like to do in your free time, Lillian?” She said as she sat the glass back down on the table, like your brain hadn’t just short-circuited.
“I uh… uhm…” Your mouth opened and closed a few times and you were only too aware that you looked a bit like a fish trying to breathe out of water. You cleared your throat and willed your brain to come up with something, literally anything, so you don't look like a fool in front of Larissa. “I book. Read. I read books.”
‘I book.’ What the fuck was that, idiot??? It took everything in your power not to roll your eyes at yourself, lest Larissa think you’re bored of her.
“Oh? I love reading as well. My personal library is rather extensive, and the Nevermore library is quite large as well. I’m sure you and I will run into each other there on occasion. What kind of books do you read?”
Don’t tell her you read fairy porn, don’t tell her you read fairy porn.
“Fai-“ Shit. “Fantasy mostly, with the occasional romance thrown into the mix. I also enjoy nonfiction every now and then, usually about music or the industry. There’s this great book called Playing for Their Lives that details how El Sistema helps children and young adults in Venezuela escape the gang violence by giving them a place to go and commune with others as part of a youth orchestra. That book is a big part of why I want to devote my life to teaching: I want to give kids a safe place to come to when they don’t know where else to go, and an outlet to express those difficult emotions that even adults struggle with.” You looked up from where you’d been fidgeting with your hands and found Larissa’s eyes wet with tears.
“Oh my god, Larissa I’m so sorry, was it something I said?” You scrambled to unroll your silverware napkin and reached across the table, catching the tears under her eye as they spilled over.
“No, darling, no. It’s just… the way you speak about music and how much you clearly love it is… refreshing.” She grabbed her own napkin from her lap and let out a watery chuckle as she wiped at her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as passionate about their work as I am with mine. People often look at the hours I spend in my office, the time I dedicate to my students as being silly. ‘It’s just a school, Larissa, get a life.’ What they don’t understand is that Nevermore is my life.” She placed her napkin back in her lap and picked at invisible lint on her suit, avoiding your gaze as much as she could.
You reached across the table then, holding your hand out for her to take. She hesitated briefly before placing her hand gingerly on your own. Her hand was warm and soft, the tips of her oxblood painted nails that grazed over your palm sent shivers down your spine. Your eyes were locked onto hers as the restaurant around you seemed to fall away and you leaned forward almost imperceptibly. Before you could do anything stupid, though, the waiter walked up to your table with a tray laden with food balanced on his arm.
“Dinner is served, ladies, enjoy!” He carefully removed each plate from the tray and set them down in front of you and Larissa, then bowed and left your table. The rest of dinner passed without anything too dramatic happening, and soon it was time for you and Larissa to part ways.
“Lillian, I’m so glad you were able to join me this evening. I feel like I’ve really gotten to know who you are as a person in a way that wouldn’t have been possible in a formal interview.” You both stood in the mud room of the restaurant, Larissa poised to race to her car with an umbrella grasped in her hand. You stood there empty-handed, the torrential rain outside filling your bones with dread. “Do you have an umbrella, darling?”
“I uh, I sure don’t.” You laughed awkwardly and gestured to where your car was parked. “It’s not a big deal, though, I can make a run for it. And, as my granny used to always tell me, I’m not made of sugar so I’m not going to melt.” Larissa scoffed out a laugh before she reached over and pulled you into her side.
“Nonsense, dear, my umbrella is big enough for the both of us and I’m happy to escort you to your car.” Your nose filled with the warm vanilla scent of the tall woman next to you and your eyes fluttered closed as you felt the warmth of her body begin to seep into your own. If Larissa noticed this, she had the decency to not bring attention to it and before you knew it she was pulling you out into the rain, her umbrella opening up just in time to keep you from both getting absolutely drenched.
Well, from the rain anyway, you thought as she navigated the two of you through the parking lot to your vehicle. Larissa kept her hand on the small of your back for the entire length of the parking lot, and the second she pulled away it instantly felt too cold. You unlocked the doors of your car and turned around to find Larissa impossibly close to you. Her breath grazed across the top of your face as she leaned in to open the door for you. She held the umbrella over the gap to allow you to sit without getting wet.
“Drive safe, darling. I shall see you at Nevermore on Monday, yes?” She straightened and smoothed over the front of her suit jacket.
“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t miss it.” You smiled up at her and stuck your arm out to grab the handle of the door. As it closed you watched Larissa take a few steps back before she waved and turned to head for her own vehicle. Her hips swayed gently with each step, and as much as you loved to watch her go, your heart longed for her to come back. You put the keys on the ignition and turned the car on. After you turned the windshield wipers on high and adjusted the temperature of the car, you shifted into drive and pulled away from Koto, the events of the evening looping in your mind the whole way home.
#Larissa Weems#Larissa Weems x Reader#Larissa Weems Fanfic#Gwendoline Christie#Wednesday#Wednesday Netflix#LarissasChristies
77 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
menmuscles
Bodybuilders & Muscle Men
sugarplumsandmoonpies
victoria
scarletfern
I do love it when you explain things.
poetrymotherfckr
Poetry, motherfucker
amp-memories-and-experiences
AMP Memories And Experiences