#reply for your life! reply for the hills!
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Shooting the Messenger (Part Two)
Reverend Mother Jessica x Fem! Harkonnen Reader NSFW 18+
Summary: As you struggle adjust to both your life under Jessica's steel grip and the casual assault of the Fremen spice on your palate, something has to give. But it isn't Jessica's humiliation that cracks you, rather the poorly timed dosage of spice on the both of you.
Warnings: Jessica is a menace (GASLIGHT, GATEKEEP, girlboss?), smut- oral giving (R), sex under the influence of spice melange, more spitting/water sharing (because it's Jessica, COME ON).
A/N: Finals week or my final week? Neither! Just one more takeaway essay. :(
Word Count: 3.3k
Jessica was true to her word. Mostly. The weeks following her initial ‘custodial arrangement’, as she often referred to it, felt like being imprisoned in a mostly hostile, occasionally uneventful prison. The Fremen didn’t like you. That much was obvious. But how could you blame them? Your unnatural complexion was a testament to just how other you were. They avoided you, mostly. And when the Fremen slipped enough spice into your food to make you literally see things, you didn’t tell a soul. And so the extreme doses of spice stopped. Jessica’s chambermaids came to respect you, in the barest sense. Sure they didn’t like you, and you didn’t like them, but you had an understanding. Don’t mess with me, I won’t mess with you. No further tests with spice were administered. But Jessica had her own tests.
“You’re late.” she growled, watching as you slipped into her chambers.
“I came as soon as you requested me.” you replied, voice meek.
“I shouldn’t *have* to request you, it should always be you coming to my chambers as you do every night.”
Arguing with her was the equivalent of Sisyphus pushing a boulder up the hill. No matter how much ground you gained, she always took it from you just as you were about to reach the highest point.
“I’m sorry, Reverend Mother.”
“Always sorry, always screwing up.”
You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat. She was unhappy. The war on Arrakis wasn’t going well, more people were dying, not just on Arrakis but across the galaxy. By now you understood your job wasn’t to aid Paul, it was to aid Jessica. She needed someone to care for, and the warrior child Alia almost never requested her mother’s presence unless it was for matters of war. Paul and Chani were glued at the hip, all while Princess Irulan withered away in her sandy palace. Jessica had no one, and the Fremen needed a force that would rouse them. She’d given much of her duties to Stilgar, but as the days wore on, she became more moody, quiet and stern.
“You miss Caladan today.”
Jessica stiffened. As much as she was constantly pushing you towards sensing her needs, the moments where you succeeded caught her off guard.
“... I do.”
A seat beside her brought the woman much comfort. Her arms darted out for your frame, burying her face in the fabric of your veil. Your hair was starting to smell like sand. She hated it.
“I need something from you.” Jessica whispered, voice hoarse.
You reached up, cupping her face with your hands, the way she had instructed you to some nights past. Her spice blue eyes softened.
“Your eyes are starting to turn blue.” Jessica fretted, her eyes clouding over. “I’ve asked the Fremen to stop giving you spice in your food. If you taste it, you don’t eat it.” she whispered. “I won’t let this desert change you too. You must stay the same for me, okay?”
Her words were sensitive and frightened. It was a hidden battle within herself, clinging to the things that reminded her of home whilst still trying to reconcile with her changed life on Arrakis. It was heartbreaking to watch her suffer. That was when you managed the little empathy you could allot her.
“I like the spice in my food.”
Jessica’s face took on a pained expression, and she gripped you tighter.
“And I will not let your eyes go blue. If you want something for taste I will have them use pepper and sage. Not melange.”
Today was not one of those days where you felt empathy for her. It was a day where you had woken up sweaty and stinking of the sietch. It was a day where you couldn’t bear the taste of the Fremen food, and thus hardly ate. It was a day where you were thirsting endlessly for a glass of cool water, of water recycled by the earth and dug from the one ‘clean’ well spot on Giedi Prime. Not this water that had been carried in bodies so long that it had stopped tasting as water should. You missed the taste of chlorine in your water, oddly enough.
“Fine.” you assented.
Jessica dug her fingers into the hair on your scalp, tugging at it with a degree of force that was really unnecessary.
“It is not just ‘fine’ that you should be saying, it is ‘yes, of course’.” Jessica snarled, her blue eyes blazing with fire.
You were both out of compassion and patience, it seemed.
“You are alive because of me, you ungrateful brat.”
“And sometimes I wonder if the merciful thing would have been letting me die instead of staying in this shithole!”
Jessica crowed with laughter, amused by your words.
“Oh, is the taste of real food making you upset? Do you miss your soulless sun and your grey walls and the sounds of debauchery wherever you went?”
Debauchery? How quaint.
“Do you think I am ignorant to the melange orgies? Do you think I am not aware of the way that men have trained themselves to fuck without spurting semen? The Fremen here are just as debauched as you are, lady mother. As we are, Harkonnen blood of my own.”
Jessica was speechless. After all these weeks of breaking you down and bending you into the perfect obedient shape, you still had fight in you.
"Kneel.”
The command hit you straight in the chest, pushing you from your lap and contorting to your knees in front of her.
“You will remain kneeling until this chat is over, understand?”
“I understand.”
Assenting of your own volition was always better than the metallic taste of your words if they were forced with the Voice. It almost felt like blood was in your mouth when your tongue was compelled to speak, that thick substance slipping over your tongue as your mouth moved in shapes clumsy and uncoordinated. You never sounded like yourself when your speech was compelled, you sounded like you were eight, with a lisp peeking out, a lisp you’d buried after years of practice.
“Why do you fight?” Jessica sighed, as if this conversation was nothing short of tedious, (which it most certainly was).
“I don’t like you.”
Jessica laughed, eyes flickering with menacing humour. The idea was novel to her.
“Oh, how precious. You still allow yourself to be ruled by your feelings. I’d forgotten that individuals had that capacity towards blind emotion.”
Jessica wrapped her legs around your shoulders, using her hand to force your head to look up at her. It was a position that should have forced your face into her pelvis, but she manipulated your body just enough so that your head was pulled the opposite way. It added tension on your neck, highlighting the unnatural position of your head up instead of down; planted between her thighs. Another mind-fuck.
“You don’t get to let your emotions rule your decisions, that is not merely childish but also stupid. Everything about you is under my whim, what you feel I tell you to feel and you feel nothing else.”
She dropped her grasp from your scalp suddenly, nearly causing you to face plant into her pubic bone. It was embarrassing, and thrilling. For many weeks she had been planting seeds inside your mind meant to excite desire for her. All of these seeds were laced with humility, such as the time she’d had you scrub her underwear clean of stains. It had been a lesson in how the Fremen sanitised clothes, mainly with the help of the sun, but also with the use of smell. You didn’t know a garment was clean until you smelled it. Sniffing her underthings to ensure they were clean had been sickening, creating an image of you doing it merely out of pleasure instead of necessity.
“I hate this.” you whispered under your breath.
Jessica paused, only for a moment. Her thighs wrapped around your neck, shoving your face into her pubic region.
“I can always make you hate it more.”
Tears sprung to your eyes. Wasteful tears, tears Jessica would hiss over, glaring you down until you stopped.
“Why do I have to hate it? Why is it always a humilatory act?” you lamented, lips catching on the fabric of her dress as you spoke.
You heard Jessica’s sardonic chuckle.
“Would you obey if I was sweet to you? If I mothered you and coddled you and let you need me?”
“Yes.” you whispered.
Her legs loosened, and she pulled you up, wrapping her arms around you and cooing softly over your misty eyes.
“Why didn’t you just say so, hmm? Don’t you know that I’d rather be spoiling you than fighting with you?”
Her hands brushed over your face and head, soothing all the little worries away. She was manipulating you, this was textbook gaslighting. You knew it and you opened your mouth to fight it.
“Ah ah ah…” Jessica tutted. “Don’t think, I’ll tell you what to think. Just be here, present with me, hmm?”
She smiled, brushing her lips over your ear.
“Just be present.”
<-->
The move to her bed was neither surprising nor eventful. Your chores stopped. The humiliating acts stopped. There was only sweet Jessica. Her arms curled around you while you both slept, the feeling of her lips brushing your ear as she whispered between you two, it was uneventful, almost maternal. But the abatement of her lust was destroyed after a particular melange engorgement.
“Where is she?” Jessica rasped to a Fremen chambermaid.
“Inside your rooms, I believe. She’s studying.” the Fremen woman lied.
You could hear Jessica’s wheezing breaths from outside the door.
“You’re not partaking in the festivities? Go back, enjoy the moment-”
“No, open the door.” Jessica snapped.
“Reverend Mother…”
The two descended into a heated debate in Chakobsa, words spoken at such a rapid and hurried pace that you could hardly keep up. You’d been studying the language, and could practise it conversationally, but their words were too fast to keep up with. But it wasn’t just their rapid pace that made it difficult, it was the swirling shapes above your head that distracted you. Your food had been laced with spice, again. The argument between the women outside escalated, and you heard a slap. Your stomach lurched as you heard the sharp tone in Jessica’s voice, a visceral, unforgiving wielding of the Voice. The door cracked open, and Jessica came in, hand on her abdomen, taking shaky breaths. Her hands were shaking, and you could barely make out the desperate expression on your face as you lay supine on the bed.
“Lady mother…” you hummed, eyes half-lidded and glazed over from the spice.
Jessica groaned, stumbling forward and slumping on the bed beside you.
“My beautiful girl, not you too? Oh you poor thing…” Jessica cooed, lips pressing sloppy kisses on your jaw.
Jessica’s breath stank of melange. How much had she used?
“Shapes and colours…” you gave her a goofy smile.
Jessica groaned and whimpered again, touching your fevered skin beneath your tunic.
“How much spice did they give you?” Jessica whispered.
“Dunno. The food was very spicy.” you giggled. “I’m not too high. Just happy high.” you clarified.
Jessica nodded, letting out a breathy exhale. Her hands cupped above her womb. Was she having some kind of reaction to the spice? She looked like she was in pain.
“Help me undress, I’m too warm.” Jessica panted. “Undress us both, actually.”
You didn’t argue with the woman. She was obviously reacting poorly to the melange she’d consumed, and so you stripped her of her tunic and her pants. Your movements were a bit sloppy, as you were intoxicated with melange, but you managed. She was covered in sweat, and the humid air of the sietch didn’t help cool her skin much, it just trapped the moisture. There was moisture clinging to her panties too. You assumed it was sweat.
“These as well?”
“Yes.” Jessica panted. “Bare as the day I was born.”
You pulled them off, dropping the sweaty garments on the floor. Her hands pulled at your tunic, you were at risk of overheating. The fabric came off, and Jessica skipped no steps in ensuring you were entirely bare.
“I can’t believe they would do this to you, I told them to stop putting spice in your food, especially for celebrations…” Jessica whispered, pulling you towards her.
Her skin felt clammy against your own, and you shifted in discomfort, causing your nipples to brush over hers.
“Hu- Oh, no, don’t move honey.” Jessica whined. “I can’t let you move.”
You nuzzled into her neck.
“Lover, no, no. I’m too tense, I can’t have you snuggling with me.”
“Why?” you rasped.
“Because I’ll lose my composure. I’ll use the Voice to make you do things that would defy moral behaviour.”
You giggled, tickled by the idea of Jessica trying to cling to whatever skewed moral compass she had.
“You don’t want to fuck me high, is that it?” you whispered, kissing her cheek. “Okay. I’ll just leave then.”
You were significantly less encumbered by the spice than Jessica, namely because you hadn’t been given more than a few pinches. It was easy to slip out of her arms, leaving the woman to whine and whimper as you left.
“No! No!” Jessica whimpered. “Don’t leave, please.”
You glanced over your shoulder at the woman. Her hands were fisted in the bedsheets, and she appeared to almost be in pain.
“Oh come on, you can’t take care of it yourself?” you smirked.
“Please.” Jessica whispered. “I came because I wanted it to be you.”
The idea was novel.
“Oh, and who else would it have been?”
Jessica let out another whine.
“I don’t do orgies. I don’t like them, and I am depraved, but not in that way. My beautiful girl, I want it to be you.”
She was high. And you were high. The spice melange dulled inhibitions, it made you more susceptible to her manipulation, more susceptible to her games, but this wasn’t a game. She was being truthful, and you knew she was being truthful because she was so weak. Jessica never gave you an inch, she never dropped her guard. This wasn’t a game where she was teasing your strings and spinning you into a position of subservience for her own gain, this was her begging for you.
“Good girl, oh precious thing…” Jessica rasped, happily wrapping her arms around you as you dropped back onto the bed.
Her dark hair clung to her back in tangled, sweaty clumps. You didn’t want to think about the state your hair was in. She pulled you in deeper, cupping the back of your head until her lips crashed on yours in a messy, hurried kiss.
“I always wondered what Harkonnen women had that made men desire them so.” Jessica rasped. “I think it’s your smell. I hate that you’re losing your smell…”
Her hands drew circles up and down your back.
“I want to enjoy you, I really do, but lover, it hurts so bad.” Jessica husked, biting her lower lip.
“Give me more kisses.” you shut her down, lips hungrily seeking hers.
Jessica huffed, continuing to makeout with you on her mattress. Her tongue was bitter and laced with the taste of melange, and her tongue was dry. You reached for the water collector in the room, finding the straw and sipping from it. You held her mouth open, releasing the water into her mouth so she could drink. She was weak, dehydrated and in need of intimacy.
“Mmm… More.” Jessica sighed, the water quelling her slightly.
You drank a few sips for yourself, then you leaned down, delivering more water into her mouth. Jessica giggled, kissing you sloppily. She was happy, this was happy.
“Lay on your back for me now.” Jessica rasped, hands digging into your back.
You rolled over, allowing Jessica to lie over you.
“Can I trust you to tell me if you can’t breathe?”
“Yes, lady mother.”
Jessica sighed, moving to straddle your face.
“No, not like that. You sit on the edge of the bed, I’m too hot for that.”
The woman laughed, relinquishing the orientation to you. It was easier, kneeling on the floor. You liked it a lot, a simple cushion under your knees and your skin free for air flow. Jessica was quick to hike her thighs over your shoulders, letting out a needy whimper.
“Yes, yes, just like that.”
Her hands laced themselves in your hair. Your hands busied themselves with supporting her. Your thumbs spread her dripping labia, revealing a milky, inflamed entrance.
“How long were you-”
“Don’t make me use the Voice. Get to work.”
The thought was amusing, and you chuckled a bit, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her entrance, getting your first good smell and taste of her. Being that the desert gave limited opportunities to clean, her smell was concentrated, and the influence of spice was not lost on this particular part of her body either. A slow stripe up from her entrance to her clit was intoxicating, she was so different.
“I said, don’t make me use the Voice.” Jessica whined, hands shoving your face into her more earnestly.
It didn’t matter what she was threatening, you were in your own little world, the spice melange providing an immersive experience to the act. You were more present than you had ever been in similar situations. Slow licks provided the best coverage, the flat of your tongue working over her in gentle, steady motions.
“Lover, please…” Jessica sighed, heels digging into your back.
You looked up at her with half-lidded, relaxed eyes, your mouth glued to her clit.
“Roll your tongue, suck.” Jessica directed.
You shut your eyes, focusing on the sensation of her nub on your tongue as you rolled circles around it, sucking it in your mouth greedily.
“Mmmhmm… Yes… Just like that lover.”
Developing a rhythm became second nature, slow licks from entrance to clit to catch her slick, more pointed rolls of your tongue over her clit to elicit a few gasps and moans. But her opening got more attention.
“(Reader), you are such a tease… At least fuck me with your tongue.” Jessica panted.
You obliged, sticking your tongue past the ring of her vagina. You moaned into her, pistoning your tongue in and out. As to not neglect her pleasure entirely, your thumb found her clit, rubbing gentle circles over the nerve cluster as you busied yourself with slurping and licking at her entrance.
“Oh… Maker… Don’t you dare stop, yes!” Jessica groaned, pushing your face down.
You sped up your motions of your thumb, rewarding you with more soft whines and grunts as Jessica neared her peak. You felt it before you heard Jessica’s cry of affirmation, the muscles of her entrance contracting and quivering around your tongue. The woman slumped back into the bed, leaving you to quietly draw slow licks from entrance to clit, cleaning her up. Jessica drank greedily from her water bag, tugging you upwards by your chin. She flipped you onto your back, opening your mouth so she could deliver a beam of water on your tongue. You swallowed, and Jessica grinned, greedily licking her arousal off of your lower mouth.
“Such a generous lover… You’ve worn me out spectacularly.”
Jessica giggled, pulling you into her arms, pressing your still sweaty forms against each other to rest. The night was filled with zero interruptions, and as your skin and clothes dried, the moisture collector filled itself. Jessica was quick to take a sip or two, always stirring you awake to pour a mouthful of water into your mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before you drifted off again. Come morning, your skin was dry, the humidity in the air gone and your mouths no longer sticky from mucus.
“Lover?” Jessica whispered.
“Yes?” you mumbled, head in her breasts.
“Can I spoil you now?”
You giggled, playfully biting the underside of her boob.
“Okay, feisty. Don’t make me-”
“Use the Voice? Empty threats.” you smirked.
Jessica laughed again, kissing you tenderly. A wicked look in her eyes remained.
”Desire.”
#lady jessica x reader#lady jessica x you#reverend mother jessica x reader#reverend mother x you#lady jessica#reverend mother jessica#dune#dune part two#rebecca ferguson x reader#rebecca ferguson x you#lesbian#wlw
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Stares off into the distance. Garp believes in Luffy so much. Believe isn't even the right word, he knows. He knew Roger. He knows if there's anyone who's going to do it, it's Luffy. He knew it early on and it terrified him. Just as he knew Roger's sotry, he knows how this story ends. He's terrified. He loves his grandson. He knows who he works for. He knows the powers in charge. But Luffy kept proving the world wrong again and again and again and even he couldn't deny anymore that if there's anyone who can make it and survive, it's Luffy. He's so damn proud, he always has been. Luffy's going to be the one and he knows it to be a fact as given as the sea.
#{ ooc } ✗ 「 wenp reporter 」#[ logs on for the first time in a while#[ immedietly sees lala's reply to the bingo#[ has a real normal one for a moment#[ RAGH. garp going im proud of him @ sengoku garp saying you haven't seen anything yet at the levely#[ garp constantly being shown of being proud and happy for luffy when he's not. around luffy. raaghhhhhhhh#[ he is so messed up#[ i will die on the hill that when shirahoshi referred to him by 'luffy's grandfather' instead of 'vice-admiral garp' 'garp the fist/hero'-#[ -etc. was one of the best days in his life. this man is a living legend and he'll go down in history as luffy's grandfather and he'd be#[ so damn happy ab it#[ gh! fucked up old man learn how to show how much you love your family to your family instead of your coworkers Now!!!#[ gh. okay normal moment is over <- sorray guys im dying a thousand deaths and havent rp'd in so long :(#[ every know in then i will think ab my fucked up old man from the trenches (gh. get me out of here) and i will be so os normal about it#[ Sighs. once again apologizes for absences and hopes everyone taking care
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Katsuki gets caught being sweet to you.
You started to finally catch your breath being at the top of the hiking trail Katsuki had dragged you out too.
"Alright there, it's just us up here so tell me already. What the hell has been going on?"
"That's why you brought me out here?" You asked.
"Just tell me already, stop being so damn stubborn." He pried you impatiently.
"I told you I'm fine Bakugo, just busy like everyone else." You replied.
"Don't give me that shit. Do you think I'm stupid? The other extras are too dense to notice but I can see how exhausted you've been this whole week. So just tell me- what's going on," He said.
"You didn't need to drag me out here on a hike in freezing weather to do this, you know," You said, slightly irritated at Katsuki continuing to push you.
"Ugh- will you stop stalling and talk already," He yelled, causing you to let out an annoyed sigh. Katsuki put his hands in his pockets and looked out at the view, his demeanor softening slightly. "You can talk to me, you know," he added, his voice lower and kinder than before.
You stayed looking at the view for a few more moments trying to figure out how to unpack everything that had been stressing you out. It wasn't like some big thing, but a summation of a bunch of little things that were beginning to become too challenging to manage.
A cold breeze blew by causing you to shiver. You wondered why Katsuki had insisted on bringing you up this mountain to talk to you. He could have pestered you in your dorm where it was warm.
Katsuki stole glances at you occasionally then focused back on the view not wanting to intimidate you too much from his glare. Hiking always helped him to clear his mind and gather his thoughts when they seemed too loud. He thought maybe it would help you too, and being away from all your classmates might make it easier for you to talk to him. At the very least it made it easier for Katsuki to be more vulnerable with you. He found it too daunting to express himself fully with all the attention of his classmates around. It was much easier being only in your company.
You took a deep breath, "I guess- it's just been hard to balance everything recently," You finally spoke, breaking the silence. Katsuki made it easy to open up to, as he had no problem sitting in silence for long extended periods. Others in your life felt the need to fill that silence with useless chatter which always prevented you from sitting in your emotions and being able to formulate them into words.
You took in another breath feeling a lump in your throat form. You hadn't wanted to talk to anyone about what was going on for fear of opening up the flood of emotions and not being able to stop. Now here it was. You didn't want to cry on this fucking hill.
Katsuki patiently waited while you gathered your thoughts.
"It's just been so much and I've been barely keeping up. It's- been getting to me recently. I've been forgetting things I shouldn't. Being unusually upset at things that aren't that big of a deal- and I just- it's dumb." You cut yourself off afraid to say anymore.
"It's not dumb. Don't hold that shit in, it's not healthy," He said encouraging you to keep talking.
You sighed, "I just... know that it could be way worse, and I've been through way worse so- I feel so irritated at myself. What I'm going through now isn't something I can't handle. I know that. So why do I feel so fucking exhausted with everything," You replied wiping a stray tear from your cheek.
"Hmm," Katsuki grunted, processing what you said. "You know, it's ok to be tired, and- to not be perfect. You can't just deny yourself from feeling overwhelmed because it could be worse. If you're exhausted now then those feelings are real- and it's ok to have them," He spoke.
You looked down at the view watching the distant cars pass, "Thanks," You managed to say taking another deep breath.
"You shouldn't wait to handle them until they explode either. Trust me, I know what that's like," He said, causing you to let out a small giggle. "You're too damn hard on yourself you know that?"
You let out a full laugh, "Oh that's pretty good coming from you. You're the pro at having too high expectations for yourself," you laughed.
You and Katsuki were wrapped up in your conversation causing you not to notice approaching classmates in the distance. Mina and Eijiro had also decided to come up the hill after class and spotted both of you in the distance.
"That looks like we shouldn't interrupt," Eijiro said.
"Yeah," Mina agreed. "But maybe... we could get a little closer to make sure everything is ok?" She said, pulling Eijiro into the bushes to spy on you and Katsuki. Eijiro was highly against the plan but was unable to protest for fear of you two hearing.
"Yeah I know I have high expectations for myself... that's why I know what it fucking looks like when you're being too hard on yourself. So- tonight I'm coming to your dorm and, I'm making sure you get to bed at a reasonable fucking time."
Mina's eyes widened as she looked at Eijiro, "Coming to their dorm?!" She whispered, and Eijrio covered her mouth, silencing her.
"You mean Grandpa time at 9 p.m.?"
"Shut up! 9 p.m. is late as hell! You damn idiots just don't know how to have a good sleep schedule! Look I'm making sure you get some sleep and tomorrow I'm taking you out. So- figure out where you want to eat, I don't care where. And I'm not letting you say no you need a break," Katsuki replied.
"You don't have to do that Bakugo."
"Of course, I don't have to but, I want to. So just shut up and let me take care of you ok. You better not be afraid to order enough food this time either! I'm buying so- just get whatever you want, alright?"
"Ok ok," You laughed, feeling your mood brighten.
"Next time, just tell me when you're having a bad day or something. Stop making me drag it out of you. I- worry about you, you know? Now let's go back to the dorms. I see you shivering," He said, beginning to walk back down the hill.
Mina squirmed again under Eijiro's hand, keeping her silent. Her eyes said it all. She was in disbelief at Katsuki's words.
"Here," Katsuki said, holding his hand out and offering it to you. "I'll warm your hand with my quirk," he said.
You grabbed his hand interlacing your fingers with his.
"Don't dare say anything about how sweaty my hands are!" He barked.
You giggled, "How many times do I have to tell you I don't care Bakugo. It's part of your quirk, and your quirk is amazing you shouldn't be self-conscious about it. Besides, I'm always happy to hold your hand," You said as you two walked down the mountain.
"Tch whatever," Katsuki grumbled looking away from you as a small tint grew on his cheeks.
Finally, when you and Katsuki were far enough down the hill, Eijiro released Mina.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!?" Mina exclaimed.
"Shh shhh," Eijiro pleaded.
"WHAT- He wants to take care of them?!? OH MY GOD! They are totally dating right?! That's what he said he's taking them out to eat! And he's sneaking into their dorm! Wait wait- when they held hands it sounded like that had before! AND AND BAKUGO WAS TOTALLY BLUSHING! NO WAY!" Mina said looking like she might pass out from all this information.
"Ashido relax, we shouldn't have heard any of that!" Eijiro replied.
"Yeah but but-" Mina exclaimed, her head spinning. "Who knew Baklugo could actually be so sweet! I can't wait to tell Jiro-" She said, pulling out her phone.
"NO!" Eijiro said, grabbing her phone from her. "Uh- sorry, I didn't mean to be so harsh but- you can't tell anyone what we heard ok?" Eijiro said.
"WHAT?! I just heard Bakugo being the sweetest boyfriend ever and you expect me not to say anything about that?!"
"YES!" Eijiro yelled. "Look they both like their privacy and there is a reason they were all the way up here talking, Ashido. I think we should keep this a secret and let them do things at their own pace ok?" He said, handing Mina back her phone.
"UGH-" She exclaimed letting out a big sigh. "I guess you're right... but wow who would have thought Bakugo could be a decent person much less a good boyfriend." She said.
Eijiro just shrugged at her words, "I don't know he's not a bad guy like you all make him out to be you know."
"Wait! You totally already knew didn't you!" Mina said, slapping Eijiro's shoulder.
"Hey! I mean- Bakugo is my best friend you know, so yeah I did..." He answered truthfully.
"You suck! Keeping secrets like that from me!" Mina said playfully, waving a finger at him.
"I'm sorry, but it's their business you know?" He said.
"Yeah I understand, guess we should go back to the dorms too now," Mina suggested.
"Yeah it is pretty cold up here, let's go." He agreed as they both started to walk down the hill. "I don't have Bakugo's quirk or anything but- if you're cold you can hold my hand too if you want," Eijiro suggested.
Mina's face tinted a darker pink as she reached out and grabbed Eijiro's hand.
Tags: @unofficialmuilover @maddietries
Picture taken from @everypanelofkatsuki, thank you for all your hard work! Go check them out if you haven’t!
#katsuki fanfic#katsuki x reader#katsuki fluff#katsuki bakugo x reader#katsuki x y/n#katsuki x you#bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo#mha bakugo x reader#bakugo x self insert#bakugo x you#bakugo x y/n#bakugo x gender neutral reader#bakugou x reader#mha bakugou#bakugou x you#bakugo katuski#mha x y/n#mha x you#mha x reader#mha x gender neutral reader#bnha x y/n#bnha x self insert#bnha x gender neutral reader#bnha x you#bnha x reader
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i still hear you. (prologue)
PAIRING: post tlou2!ellie williams x reader
SUMMARY: ellie stumbles upon your self-run town after her life is destroyed, except there's more to this town then what meets the eye. and it seems like there is more to you too.
WARNINGS: 18+ mentions of death, grief, related subjects; cursing, mentions of drinking/drugs, mentions of s*x
A/N: i've been working on this one for a while... i hope you enjoy! please send asks, reblog, and reply to this post <;3
WORD COUNT: 3k
"i still hear you laughing, but only for a minute"
Spring couldn’t come fast enough for Ellie.
The cold still nipped at the exposed skin on her hands, ghosting the phantom limbs of the two fingers she was now missing. Everything was cold. The tip of her nose, her ears, and most importantly her heart. As she wandered aimlessly, unsure of where to go, she knew there was one place she couldn’t go: home.
Jackson was no longer a place for her. Joel was gone, Tommy thought she was weak, and Dina…Well, Dina wanted nothing to do with her. Dina had a lot she could blame Ellie for before Ellie left, but she never did. She stayed. And now, on top of all of that, Ellie had left one of the few people in her life who cared enough about her to stay. Spring could come tomorrow but it would forever be winter inside her.
She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she was going west. She couldn’t handle the harsh winters of the East Coast, and Wyoming stopped feeling like home before she left for Seattle. She thought about staying on the farm and living out whatever short life she was going to have there, but staying in that home painted with memories of “what ifs” would drive her crazy.
So she packed enough supplies to last her a few months if she hunted her food and headed to the West Coast. The first few days were silent, she only encountered a few infected and found shelter in abandoned buildings. She lived off of expired food she found in vending machines in old universities and occasionally sang herself to sleep.
On her tenth day, she found a car that lasted her about 2 days. Once it broke down, she just kept walking. Over abandoned highways and thick forests, she just kept walking. On day 17, she reached California and stumbled upon an eerily similar set of walls. It looked just like the gates at Jackson, except these were concrete and better built. They were much higher, and the gates almost looked… automatic.
Ellie was hesitant. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she definitely wasn’t looking for another hometown to destroy. She approached the large walls cautiously, with her hands up and slowly. As she walked closer she was screaming, “I come in peace,” over and over again. She was almost 50 feet near the gate when she heard a girl's voice shout, “Don’t come any closer.”
She stopped in her tracks as the automatic gates began to open. Ellie expected an army of people with guns blazing, just how it was when she first arrived at Jackson, but when the gates opened there just stood you, grounded in all your glory, and a gun aimed right at her face. She wanted to laugh, but that just seemed sexist.
Instead, you pressed forward, unwavering, with your gun aimed right at her. She didn’t step backward, or even breathe, she just stood there until you were close enough to her to make out all the freckles on her face and the slit in her eyebrow.
“Who are you?” you spat at her.
“Ellie,” she breathed out, her hands faltering a bit.
With your hand firmly wrapped around the cold metal of the gun, you inched forward again, pulling back the slide, a metallic click echoing in the silence. The gun was loaded, and you were letting Ellie know that you weren’t afraid to shoot. Her hands stiffened again.
“What are you doing here?” Your tone was tough and the look on your face was enough to send Ellie running for the hills, but it also made her want to crack a smile. Your nose scrunched up as you spoke, and your lips were somehow not chapped in this weather. But Ellie didn’t smile, she was sure if she did you would put one right between her eyes. That much she was sure of.
“I-” Ellie hadn’t thought this far. What was she doing here? “I’m just looking for a place to stay.”
Your eyebrows creased as you gave her a once over, looking for any sign she was trouble. It was in your nature to search for danger, but she wasn’t raising any red flags. Except the fact that she made it here alone and unscathed, and was missing two fingers.
“What happened to your hand?” you asked, tipping the gun slightly to her hand. A pained expression crossed her face, it was almost like she forgot that two of her fingers were quite literally bitten off, but that fight was somewhere shoved deep inside her mind. It wasn’t something she wanted to remember.
“Lost them in a fight,” she replied simply, there was no point in telling the full story. It’s not like you had the time.
“You can’t stay here if you’re going to be trouble,” finally you put the gun down, resting your hands on your hips, giving her a firm look. Ellie would hand it to you, you were absolutely scary. In her mind, she knew she could take you, but she also wasn’t so sure of that.
“I’m,” she sighed, lowering her hands slowly, “I’m done with that. I won’t be trouble,” and for the first time in Ellie’s life, she meant that. She was ready to start over. She knew the fighter in her would always be there, itching to come out but she had been fighting her whole life. It was time to give up. She had already lost everything. Or so she thought.
Your face softened slightly before firming up again, your empathy peeking through like it always did. You looked her over again, sighing, as you signaled for someone at the gate to come. A man with short blonde hair trotted over, a leash in his hand. He looked kind as he offered a smile to Ellie.
“Old girl here is just gonna check to make sure you’re not infected,” he smiled, dropping the leash. Ellie’s heart rate picked up again as she watched the German Shepherd approach her slowly, sniffing around her as it circled her. You stood behind the blonde guy with your arms crossed across your chest. The dog found nothing and returned to the man, sitting down next to him, “Looks like you’re all clear!”
“Welcome to Mono City,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes as you turned back towards the gate, walking in that direction. You were halfway there when you realized Ellie wasn’t moving. Turning on your heel again you stared at her, hand on your hip again. You had an attitude, Ellie thought, cute. “You coming or what?”
The small town sat on a large lake, glistening as the sun's rays bounced off the surface. Buildings were built close together, trees without leaves scattered on the walkway, and about a hundred people out on the street as she trailed behind you, earning dirty looks from half of them. Ellie scowled back. Ellie smiled when you introduced yourself to her, telling her your name and a few key details about yourself. She learned you served as some sort of mayor here, keeping everything in order, and that you were the person that people came to. She would be lying if she said that didn’t intimidate her. But all Ellie did was give you her name again and tell you that she was from Jackson, anything else she said would fall short.
“How are you with your hands?” you asked, voice flat and simple. Ellie choked on her words, stuttering a response.
“I’m, well,” she coughed, “I’m just okay with them now, since,” she shrugged gesturing to what she now called her ‘bad hand’, “you know.”
A wave of guilt crossed your face as you composed yourself, somehow already forgetting your previous interaction. You shook your head solemnly, cursing quietly under your breath as you stopped.
“Shit,” you turned to her, eyes squeezed shut, “sorry, I’m so used to asking the same questions, I didn’t even think.”
“It’s fine don’t worry about it,” she gave a tight-lipped smile. Now, with the illumination of the buildings, she could see your whole face. You were pretty, that she was sure of, but it was a more down-to-earth pretty. A type of pretty that you had to take in. You had scars around your face, and a pretty big scar down the side of your neck. It almost looked like the one Ellie had on her arm. But still, scars and all, you were just nice to look at.
“Well, just for that reason we probably won’t have you be on guard duty,” you stated, eyes flicking around her face, “do you have any other strengths?”
“Uhm,” Ellie had to think for a minute. She had never really been asked anything like this before. What were her strengths? Did she have any at all? She used to be good at guitar, but now she couldn’t play, and that probably wouldn’t be useful at all to anyone here. She was good at art still, something she couldn’t take for granted anymore. It was all she had. The scratched-out drawings of Dina, JJ, Jesse, and Joel were stuffed deep into her bag.
“I’m good at art,” she shrugged, “and writing, maybe.”
“Okay,” you smiled, showing off your teeth, making her warm a bit, “that we can work with. Maybe you can teach at the school.”
“You have a school here?” Ellie gawked. Jackson had a school but it was small and had maybe two or three teachers.
“Yeah,” you turned to keep walking, making Ellie stumble behind you to keep up, “we have three. An elementary, middle, and high school.”
“Wow,” Ellie was in awe, “It’s not like a military school or anything?”
“No,” you answered quickly, your voice tight, “It’s not like any of that shit. We don’t fuck with FEDRA here.”
Ellie would be lying if she said that wasn’t music to her ears.
“It’s just like a normal school except we teach a lot more practical things. Things we can use like, cooking, science, and English. Like reading or writing. Since you’re new you will probably start with the elementary school. We also have little extracurriculars and we’ve wanted to introduce art but haven’t been able to find anyone yet.”
“Oh, cool,” was all Ellie said as you both stumbled on what looked like a residential street. There were rows of houses, all that looked the same. There was a road, with cars parked on them and driveways with gates. Most of the houses looked about two stories tall, some had toys lying in the front yards and a few animals were roaming about, small cats and dogs. The porches had furniture on them, little couches and chairs, and as she walked she noticed some people outside with mugs in their hands as if they were drinking their morning coffee. The town looked like something she saw out of a movie, only something she could dream about. Her eyes were wide in awe as you rambled on about something but Ellie was honestly too entranced in everything. Here, in the middle of nowhere was a whole town of people living their lives, as if nothing had ever happened to them.
“Ellie?” you stopped in your tracks, crossing your arms over your chest. There was your attitude again, “are you even listening?”
“Y-yeah, I am. It’s just-”
“A lot, I know,” you sighed, “but you gotta listen, there are a lot of rules here. Rules that make this place function and if you don’t follow them, you could easily be kicked out.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, genuinely meaning it, “I’m listening, promise.”
“It’s fine,” you gave her a fake smile, turning to push open a gate to a nice house, “This will be your place.”
“Uhm,” Ellie stopped, not entering the front yard, “what do you mean ‘my place’? This is far too big for me.”
“This is the only size our houses come in,” you replied matter-of-factly, “you can just say thank you.”
Ellie blinked as she looked up at the blue house, that looked like it was built yesterday. It had a wrap-around porch and two white columns right by the entrance. The door was a giant white door with a gold handle. This was nicer than any house she’s ever been in, and way too big for one girl.
“Thank you,” Ellie replied, still awe-struck, “this is just so nice.”
“You’re welcome,” you smiled, fishing around in your bag for something. You pulled out a pair of keys, and handed them to her, “Here’s your house keys. You don’t get a car quite yet, that’s something you have to work your way up to, but there is a bike in the garage. Spring is around the corner so it will get warmer and you should have your car by next winter so don’t worry too much. My house is right across the block, but I’m usually in the City Center if you need me.”
She wrapped her right hand around the keys, tightening them in her palm. She watched as you searched through your bag again and pulled out a little device.
“This is your walkie,” you took a deep breath, “Try to find me before using it. It’s usually only used for emergencies so just be mindful of that. I’ll be by tomorrow to take you to work, so you have time to get settled in today. Okay?”
“Okay,” Ellie smiled, her voice sounding a little bit breathless.
That night Ellie settled into her new home. Well, she tried to settle into her new home but kept shifting around in every seat and couch, like she couldn’t find something to get comfortable on. She examined every part of the house, picking the smallest room for herself and shoving her backpack in the closet. She took a bath for the first time in months, washing all the dirt and grime off of her. Left in the shower was a bar of soap that looked like it had been handmade and unused. It smelled so good she almost took a bite, but instead chose to use it how it was meant to be used.
As the sun began to set she stepped outside, watching the activity on the block and smiling to herself. Everything just seemed so normal, but with the state of this world this town was certainly abnormal. From her window she could see you in your front yard, feeding a pack of cats that slipped through your white picket fence. She smiled to herself as she watched one rub against your leg, and your gentle hand coming down to pet it. She continued to watch as kids passed your house, waving to you and running back to their homes.
The next few days were uneventful. Ellie found herself getting used to teaching young kids, always laughing when they asked about her missing fingers. It was out of her comfort zone, but she was around JJ enough to know what kids liked. Her voice always got so high-pitched when she spoke to them, and they liked being chased around the room. On her fifth day of working, a kid ran in screaming, “Miss Ellie! Miss Ellie!” with a chicken scratch drawing of his family. He was so proud that all Ellie could say was “Good job, bud!” and ruffle his hair. He left with the biggest smile on his face.
But now, Ellie found herself at the city’s most popular bar, with the other teachers who wanted to congratulate her on her first week. Della, who invited Ellie out in the first place, made a toast to her, clinking her glass with Ellie’s and taking a long swig of her drink. Ellie took a sip of hers too and fuck, this shit was strong.
She felt human again, laughing with people her age in a bar and old music playing. She was almost having a good time until a song came on that reminded her of Joel. It was like her whole demeanor changed and everyone could tell. She excused herself from the group finding a small corner to sit on and finish the rest of her drink, hoping maybe it would make her forget everything. But then, the bell at the front door rang making Ellie look up to see who had entered.
There you were in all your glory, tight shirt on and hair completely loose. It almost looked as if you were wearing makeup. Ellie must’ve been staring too long because she blinked and you were standing in front of her.
“See you got yourself a drink,” you laughed, voice making Ellie’s cheeks turn pink. She was… really drunk.
“Yeah, I could get you one too,” she slurred a bit, goofy smile spread across her face. She watched as something odd crossed your face and now she was worried she said something wrong, “I just mean, like.. you know… I mean like as a thank you.”
“Right,” you sighed.
“For my mansion, you know,” she shrugged and you giggled. You giggled and it went straight to her head. What was she doing?
“You haven’t been paid yet,” you smiled back at her, now moving to sit down, “and it’s okay, I don’t drink unless it’s a special occasion.”
“What? Meeting me is not special enough,” she teased, knocking her shoulder with yours. Her eyes scanned your face, your smile reaching your eyes as you giggled again. Her stomach sank again. She wasn’t so sure if this was just the alcohol anymore, she felt like she was 12 and crushing on Riley again.
“No, it’s special,” you reassured, “Maybe, I’ll drink when you decide to stay.”
“Who said I’m not staying?” she questioned sitting up.
“Some people don’t,” you shrugged, smile fading. Ellie’s brain wanted to make it better, make you laugh again, or shit do anything to put the smile back on your face.
“Well, I’m gonna,” she said gently, so only you could hear her, “I need to get my paycheck.”
You laughed and Ellie breathed a sigh of relief, laughing with you.
“I’ll get that to you,” you smiled, “and we don’t use paychecks.”
“What’re you gonna pay me with?” she smirked, “I know some other ways you can pay me.” Then the same look from earlier crossed your face and she cursed quietly to herself, muttering an apology.
“No, no,” you said, like you were about to let her down gently, “I just try not to get… involved with anyone since…” your voice trailed off.
“Since?” Ellie questioned, but as you opened your mouth to speak the group from earlier made their way over, noticing your arrival and screaming your name. She watched as you got up, hugged everyone and started chatting with them, leaving her with her drink and too many questions.
There was one thing that scared her though. She knew you needed someone who could stay, and the only thing she was good at was leaving.
#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams smut#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams x reader smut#ellie williams the last of us#ellie williams tlou2#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams fan fic#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams imagine#ellie williams oneshot#modern!ellie williams#college!ellie williams#ellie williams one shot
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Spies and Secrets
Summary: Natasha has never met her handler, she couldn’t give you their name or identify their face because she doesn’t know it. When she rants about this to you, her wife, you have to laugh... because you are her handler.
Word Count: 2048
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader
Warnings: Swearing, lying in the relationship (not in a bad way, just in a spy way), but otherwise it’s just fluff!
A/N: I went back and wrote this idea since it seemed semi-popular. Hope you enjoy :)
»»————- ★ ————-««
"Will you finally tell me who they are?"
"This again, Romanoff?"
"Just a first name?"
Fury sighs to make his vexation clear, but that's not enough to dissuade Natasha; she remains determined as ever in her mission and smirks boldly in the face of her exasperated boss.
"Just an initial will get me off your back," the spy continues through his silence.
Fury scoffs and Natasha knows she needs a different approach.
"If it's you, you can just say, Sir."
"Me? You must be losing your touch if you think I have the time for that, Romanoff. Should Hill be taking your next mission?"
Natasha stops and stares with faux hurt while Fury continues on, grinning to his own amusement. He wasn't going to let her keep the upper hand for long.
"If you want to know, ask them yourself!" Fury calls over his shoulder, "Mission debrief. C12-2. 10 minutes. They won't tell you though; above your clearance!"
Natasha groans. As much as she hadn't expected a substantial answer from Fury – she'd been asking him the same question for years – she thought she might be getting somewhere, but no matter which trick she tries, Fury doesn't budge.
On top of that, he'd reminded her that it wasn't home time yet, her mission isn't over until she's briefed her mysterious handler. So Natasha sighs and makes her way to the conference room, still wondering why only her handler chose to shroud themself in mystery. All the other agents meet theirs directly, while Natasha sits in a room alone, waiting for a shadowy silhouette to call in.
The first few years went by without a comment – it wasn't her place to ask – but as she rose the ranks and found her role, her handler, too, remained just above her clearance. Even now, as one of the highest ranking agents, her handler was higher still. Curiosity built like a dripping tap; manageable and menial to start, only to provoke greater displeasure the longer it went on.
"Hi Agent!" the disembodied voice crackles through the speakers. That's the other thing driving Natasha towards irritation, her handler's tone. It's nothing like Fury's commanding orations. No, her handler speaks with an eagerness and informality reminiscent of a junior agent meeting their hero, rather than the commanding officer that they are, and have been, since Natasha first joined SHIELD almost a decade ago.
"Officer." Natasha replies. She had never been told her handler's surname, or even a title she could use to address them. Any attempts she made to learn had been properly shut down, forcing her to stick with the appellation of Case Officer.
"Always so formal," her handler laughs. "As far as I'm aware, the mission was successful, so what's got you so grumpy today?" they continue, noticing an uncharacteristic clarity to Natasha's mood that day.
"If you told me your name, I wouldn't have to be so formal, would I?" the spy snaps back. "And I'm not grumpy."
"Natasha, we've worked together for nearly 10 years now. I know when you're grumpy, and I can throw in an educated guess that my identity is the cause?"
"I've spent my life working in secret," Natasha shrugs, then pauses in search of the right words. "I'm well accustomed to dubious legalities and taking orders from the shadows. I'm also well aware that I would be a risk to security from the moment I joined until I gained the trust of this organisation, so I understood your secrecy."
Natasha stops again, noticing the silhouette begin to fidget; whether out of boredom or discomfort, the assassin can tell the time is right to make her final argument.
"We've worked together on hundreds of missions over this past decade, enough for you to know every detail of my life and mind, while I still know nothing about you. Have you thought about how that might hurt, officer? because it does! to believe I still haven't gained your trust after all this time. That hurts."
The room stills to a silence as fragile as Natasha felt. Her handler's reaction would dictate the situation; any information given could redefine the relationship between the two spies, just as another brush off would leave Natasha spiralling further into this curiosity.
A sigh finally echoes through the speakers; its long pause circling the sole inhabitant of the room. "It's above your clearance," the voice admits. Natasha slumps; she should have known better. "But-" The speed at which Natasha perks up draws out a small chuckle from her handler, before they continue with an audible smile, "I'll talk to Fury. See what I can reveal."
Natasha settles in her seat, unable to keep the broad smile from her face. "I do trust you, Romanoff, I hope you know that… I just don't think I'll be who you expect."
As a trained spy, Natasha wouldn't let that last line slide, immediately thinking of its hidden meaning. But before she can ask further questions, her handler clears their throat. "I think it's time we actually start the mission debrief."
»»————- ★ ————-««
Natasha can't wait for the meeting to end. She understands the need – giving her side of the story, answering questions, sharing the intelligence she'd gained – but it drags on without incident and without any further comments on her handler's identity, so she'd much rather be at home.
What reason was there for her not to do this from home? Her handler calls in from wherever they are, so realistically, Natasha could also pick up from wherever she is. Ideally at home, after a relaxing shower and a little time with her wife. Natasha supposes that's where the issue may lie: you, her wife, who has been led to believe Natasha is a security guard and nothing more. If you overheard a debrief, not only would SHIELD's confidentiality be compromised, but you might never forgive her lies. Natasha's home office was soundproofed though and, because of that, the assassin would take the risk if it means extra time with you.
Throughout Natasha's homeward journey and all through the mission debrief, you are the only thing to occupy her mind. Her mission finished in late afternoon, so she had planned how she would surprise you and spend the evening together upon her return, but then the debrief cropped up, and by the time her key is in the door, the sun has long since set, leaving her to wonder if you're even still awake.
You are. Just about. Your pyjama clad figure appears in Natasha's sight and you rush down the stairs to meet her by the door.
"You're home!" You beam as you wrap your arms over her shoulders and take her cue for a kiss.
"I am."
"How was your mission?" you tease. You know how seriously she takes each assignment, always doing prep work in her office ahead of the trips; she treated them akin to a secret mission and you never missed your chance to rag her for it.
One of your favourite methods of teasing is to liken her to James Bond, which only gets more realistic when you catch her mouthing along to the movie lines.
"Top secret. Can't tell you," your wife jokes back, her smile threatening to burst off her face.
"No injuries this time?"
"None at all."
"Good girl." She preens. "Have you had dinner?"
"Not yet, I came home as soon as I was done. Couldn't wait to see you."
"Sweet talker," you laugh and kiss her again, then take her by the hand, "I put some leftovers in the fridge, you clean up, then you can eat and share your 'top secret' thoughts."
The evening's plan formed just like that; you reheat the noodle dish while Natasha takes a shower, before the two of you come back together to sit at the dinner table.
"So, how was it really?" you ask her.
"The job itself was alright, no problem." Natasha replies, but by the way she's stabbing the noodles with her fork, you can tell something else is coming. "But my bosses…they just won't tell me all the information. Say it's 'above my clearance'."
"The cheek of them."
"Don't mock me."
"I'm not, I'm not! I promise, love," you say, though you can't hide your barely contained laughter thanks to the prominent pout on your wife's face. You school your face back into an expression of neutrality before you talk again, "that sounds annoying. Do you need this information?"
"No," she sighs, "it's just a matter of trust."
"Well, you must be working with idiots for them not to trust you after all this time."
"Mm, you reckon I should tell that to them?"
"You definitely should."
The smile comes back to Natasha's face as she shakes her head, "you're going to get me fired, sweetheart."
"You're too good for them to do that. Just keep it up, you're going to be leading them one day, I'm sure of it. Then all the secrets are yours."
»»————- ★ ————-««
Another week, another mission. And with another mission comes another mission debrief. Natasha asked for her handler's identity three weeks ago and still knows nothing more. With how poorly her recent mission went, she doesn't even feel like asking the question again.
"What went wrong, Romanoff?" that same anonymous figure asks her, and Natasha can only groan: what didn't go wrong?
"We were ambushed to start with; whoever gave us the heads up got their information wrong, or someone sold us out. Either way, the plan went to shit the moment we arrived and the team went to shit by throwing mole accusations around. Splitting up only made it worse; nobody trusted their teammates to do their parts and it resulted in a mad scramble. My orders were ignored, but my team members were injured and I take full responsibility."
"That won't be necessary, Agent," the voice hums, "as leader, the responsibility falls on you, yes, but it is each agent's responsibility to trust in you and follow your plan, and you will not be faulted for working with idiots who don't trust you."
Natasha starts to defend her team, before the familiarity of the phrase has her searching through her mind for a recollection. What she does remember is a long shot, but she'll lose nothing by asking.
"Do you have a wife, Officer?"
"I do," they reply.
"Is she a redhead?"
"She is."
"Works for SHIELD?"
"Why, it's almost like you know her," the handler goades. If one had an illustrated list of all of SHIELD's employees, they would know that the short game of 'guess who' still left a couple dozen potential employees in the running, but the teasing and testing tone is the final clue Natasha needs to make her assumption.
"Y/N/N?"
"Hey love," you reply, with as much adoration as you can muster, glad to finally be rid of the voice modulator while you talked to your wife.
In front of Natasha, the screen flickers before the silhouette that had become so familiar to her is replaced by another familiar sight in another familiar location: the smiling face of her wife…in her office.
Natasha's face falls at once, striking you with panic that this wouldn't be the gleeful revelation that you'd expected; that is, until the assassin speaks again. "Is that my desk?"
"It's your whole office, my love. I'm not taking these calls from our bedroom."
"Is that why it's sound proofed?"
"I gave the approval for that, if you remember, and it's certainly not because you're taking SHIELD calls at home; you haven't even had one while we've lived together!"
"That's because you organise it straight after the mission so I don't have time to go home!"
"Because that's where I am! you'd be suspicious otherwise."
Natasha falls silent for a moment. You know her well enough to leave her to her thoughts, only twiddling your thumbs as you watch her through the screen.
"So can I do debriefs at home now?"
"I don't see why not," you shrug, "remember I still have to take notes though, so I get the desk and no cuddling until after."
"No chance of that."
"Come back now, Romanoff, and we can put it to the test," you challenge.
She accepts. "I'll be there in 30."
"I know."
»»————- ★ ————-««
Tagging: @supercorpdanbeau (since you mentioned you’d like to read it on the original post!)
#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x y/n#natasha romanoff x you#black widow#black widow x reader#black widow x y/n#black widow x you#marvel#mcu#fanfiction#ikan writes
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I Want My Kids to Have Your Eyes
Levi x Reader (fluff, sfw)
what a bold thing to say to your captain.
Moonlight hung over the hill like a comforting blanket as you both reclined an arm’s length apart on the soft grass beneath, bodies sinking into the earth. The day had been relentless, a gruelling mission that tested every ounce of strength. Now, in the quiet aftermath, you two found solace gazing upward at the summit’s view, shimmering like scattered diamonds against the canvas of the night sky.
The shared stillness remained comfortable, before you posed a soft interruption to the quietude, "Captain, do you ever think about your future?"
Levi's eyes briefly left the constellations above, attention shifting to you. "Yes, it usually ranges from the next second to the next few months. Which area of land outside the walls to explore, how defensive operations should alter for the next month, which day certain intelligen-”
“Captain-” You interrupted, then hesitated, the vulnerability of the topic making your heart race. "I meant a peaceful future, like having a family, kids?"
Levi's brow furrowed slightly. The thought of it was unfamiliar, impossible. "In this war? That’s far-fetched," he remarked, gaze returning to the stars.
A subtle smile grew on your lips as scenarios played at the back of your mind. "I know, of course, but don’t you ever imagine it? A life after the war, a future where Titans are just stories we tell our children." Levi's expression softened, a fleeting hint of wistfulness in his eyes.
"Like sometimes I think if I had children, I’d take them to play by the oceans, make adorable lunch sets," you continued, "how beautiful they would look if they had your eyes…" Embarrassment started flushing up as you realised you rambled on way too far.
His eyes widened imperceptibly, caught completely off guard by your comment.
"WAIT, that didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean having them with YOU, of course... definitely not…" You trailed off, a splash of pink painfully obvious on your cheeks. Get yourself together y/n, what on earth are you saying to your captain?
“Ouch.” A flicker of disappointment crossed his features. Levi cleared his throat, seemingly caught in the unexpected turn of the conversation. "Well aren’t you very in objection to that idea." he snickered, hiding a trace of sorrow beneath his face.
“Nevermind, I’m sorry, please forget what I said." You apologised in the tense atmosphere.
But Levi didn't dismiss it. Instead, his mind seemingly remained lost in contemplation. "How will your children have my eyes, if they don't have my genetics?" Determined to disprove your faulty reasoning.
You chuckled nervously, "I just mean I hope they’ll be a pretty colour, and delicate shape, like yours."
Levi displayed a rare vulnerability in his expression. He had never given thought to the aesthetic of his eyes; they were simply a part of him, a feature he never considered noteworthy. This was the first time he had received a compliment about them, and it left him momentarily speechless.
"At this rate, my most optimistic guesstimate is that I’ll be slaying titans till I’m 60." You broke the awkwardness joking, "in that case I might not be able to have kids, doubt any man would still take my crinkled self on a date anyway."
"Why not?" Levi replied seriously, his voice a soft echo in the tranquil night. "I won't be even a tiny bit surprised if you're still this beautiful at 85."
A blood-bathed blush adorned your complexion, stomach filling with butterflies and warmth, brain connections zapping around - wondering if he really thought that way, or,
“you’re just saying that.”
Levi sighed, “in all your years of knowing me, when have I ever felt obliged to tell a white lie, Comrade?”
"Right…” You muttered, with all sorts of thoughts doing laps beneath your skull, trying to continue the conversation as level-headed as possible. “Perhaps I'll meet my first love at 99,” a giggle escaping your breath as you joked.
Unexpectedly, Levi's response carried a weight that belied the casual banter. "Well. I think people can be in love without being in a formal relationship. You could easily have your first love now."
Your gaze laid upon his side profile, slightly puzzled by his logic, "but how can you be in love with someone without holding hands, saying mushy things, and all that?"
His head turned towards you, a moment of silence filling the air with eyes drilling into yours, revealing a sincerity that tugged at your heart. "I definitely can."
#aot#aot fanfiction#aot x reader#attack on titan#captain levi#levi ackerman#levi aot#levi attack on titan#levi heichou#levi x reader#levi x y/n#levi fluff#levi angst#levi#snk levi#levi x you#snk x reader#snk fanfiction#snk#snk fanart#snk anime#levi smut#levi edit#levi fic#snk smut#snk final season#aot smut#aot fanart#anime fanfic#anime fanfiction
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FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 2/4
König x F!Reader
Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 here.
Word count: 5.1 k
Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant.
A/N: Part two! I don't usually rec music for my fics but if this fic was a song, it would be Dead can Dance’s In Power we Entrust the Love Advocated.
You wake up with a giant plastered on your back.
His bed is far more comfortable than your own, soft and cushy, and there must be flowers somewhere in the hay because there is a surprisingly pleasant odour lingering in the air as you come to. The mattress overall doesn’t reek of too much sweat: some poor slave must change the fillings often enough for König’s stench not to settle on the bed. Actually, you’ve slept quite nicely, despite being embraced by an ogre the whole night.
König has slept like a stone, too, but stirs when you start to shift. You turn on your back and find his drowsy stare on you: it’s generous and warm as he pulls you closer to him. You could roll your eyes when you notice he’s hard down there again – he’s probably hard all the time, whether in bed with a woman or raging on the battlefield, sticking his swords into some poor man’s gut.
“Gut geschlafen?” He asks, and you reckon he’s trying to ask if you’ve slept well – in his domain, in his embrace, after he just slaughtered half of your village.
You give him another pout, which is starting to become your signature expression now. He replies to your grumpiness with a smile, his own trademark move, the one that threatens to strip you from all your arms. He squeezes you fondly against his chest, and then his hand starts to wander: he plays with your tits again, then slinks further down to brush your navel. When he crosses the border and heads straight toward your womanhood, you seize his arm.
He whines softly at your refusal, but to your surprise, he actually stops. You let him go as he moves back up and stay immobile under his touch, amidst the flowery scent and the faint stench of dirt and man sweat, sighing as he cups your breast again. He doesn’t seem to get enough of them, and they’re beginning to feel sore: he gave them so much attention last night already and is now at them again.
You pull his hand away, but this time, he doesn’t respect your wishes but resists you. Trying to hinder a man who’s as strong as a bull is futile, but you have an attempt at it anyway. It turns into a play fight: you wrench his hand down, he drags it back up. Up and down and up and down, as if your breast is a hill he needs to conquer at all costs. But he’s the only one who finds any amusement in your silly game: eyes narrowing again with a smile, a few soft chuckles under that hood telling you he enjoys it when you fight him a little.
It all ends when you finally slap him.
It’s neither a good nor a hard slap, and his mask muffles whatever sound was supposed to give you at least some measure of satisfaction.
But he stops... And laughs.
“Ja, ich weiß. Ich habe deine Leute getötet. Ich verdiene eine Ohrfeige.”
His language is harsh and throaty, abrupt, and you tell him that, safe with the knowledge that he can’t understand a word you say either.
“You talk ugly,” you complain and watch him up and down, searching for a clue that would tell you that he somehow understands your insult. König simply thunders with another mirthful laugh at your morning crank.
“Es ist schön, mit dir zu reden. Aber jetzt muss ich weg.”
He looks down at you like he’s the Sun God now, thoroughly life-giving and kind. Then he dares to bend forward and press a kiss on your forehead.
“Go away,” you try to push him back with your hands - the hood prevents you from feeling his skin and breath and lips, but the… intimacy is still too much.
“Brute,” you want to spit the word out but end up sounding like a child attempting to quarrel instead. And he’s laughing at you again, both with his eyes and his mouth, covered by that darned hood. You don’t know why on earth you would think that such a charming laugh must come from an equally charming mouth.
He finally retreats and rises from the bed, stretching out his arms. The broad muscles on his back are exposed to the frigid air and his cock is jutting out, long and veined, completely unaffected by the cold. This beast is ripe and ready for another day, and you swallow when you see him in his full glory again, tall and wide and strong, looking like he’s about to eat an entire boar and fuck ten women in the process.
“Schön,” he comments as he turns to look down at you, lying naked and sweet there in his bed. He looks at you like you are the most lovely, adorable, difficult little thing. He even gives his horse cock a few good strokes while taking your sleepy little pouts in.
“Ugly,” you slur back, and he winks at you.
Gods… You’re too hot and riled to even speak.
You choose to vehemently stay in bed as König starts his day: eats some fruit from the table - still naked - pours himself some wine and washes his mouth with it, tears a handful of bread from a loaf and starts to eat with his mouth open, munching loudly under that hood, walking around without bothering to cover himself and that ungodly erection that is bouncing in the air without a care in the world.
You, on the other hand, escape back under the warm covers of the furs, but your eyes never leave König. He draws the draping flap of his tent aside - still naked - giving his soldiers a good view of his morning wood, a lovely chance to get a look at their champion. Perhaps it’s his way of saying good morning, you think bitterly. Then he leaves, probably to take a piss, and you’re more and more convinced that this man is the worst beast that has ever walked this earth.
You’re still under the furs when he returns and finally gives you the grace of clothing himself. It’s stupid that you mourn losing the sight of those shoulders and feel a bit disappointed when his cock disappears under the red tunic. His manhood doesn’t look any less intimidating even when growing soft; it’s still long and veiny and thick, and you find yourself… curious. Just curious.
He doesn’t put his armour on this time, chooses to wear only his tunic and sandals and a pair of hard-boiled leather cuffs to protect the vital veins on the wrists. He does take one Gladius with him, though - a sign of distrust in his own men or a Roman custom, you can’t tell.
He’s already at the mouth of the tent when he turns and points at you, now with a good amount of sternness in his voice.
“Du. Bleibst.”
…
He’s away the whole day. Probably drawing plans at some field war council, eating and drinking and bouncing some poor girl on his knee.
Even the thought makes your nose wrinkle and your stomach churn. Of course there are other trophies, and of course men want to show them off, pass them around, give their commanders a chance to give each woman a good squeeze. König has probably stuck that cock into a few women by now. Moaning, screaming women.
Or then he just settles for annoying their poor senses out of them…
You can’t deny that you’re relieved he hasn’t thrown you to the wolves yet, not even after you denied him. Wondering why on earth he would even want to listen to your wishes gives you an awful headache, and the image of him laughing at - or with - some other shy captive girl is making you uncomfortable. So uncomfortable that you throw the skins away after noon, and decide you’re not going to just succumb to your fate, least of all give in to sadness and apathy.
You eat this and that from his table like you’re not a slave girl but an honoured guest, a queen. You eat his figs and his bread and some smoked meat; you even drink some of his wine, as sour as it is. You’re a bit tipsy when you go through all his belongings, which are not as abundant or exciting as you thought they would be.
You thought you’d find tiny chests filled with gold coins and rings. You thought you’d come by dried body parts taken as trophies, perhaps the crown of some long-forgotten Hibernian king. But there are only a few trinkets under his bed, a huge bow and some arrows, his armour and the second Gladius, perfectly stored above the ground so that rust and mould wouldn’t bite them. There are jugs of wine and some firewood and oil for the braziers, there’s water and benches and the table and lots and lots of candles in different shapes and sizes… But that’s it. There’s no hoard, no treasure, nothing to prove to you that this brute is just another Roman soldier trying to gather a fortune by raping and pillaging so that he can go and retire early from all the bloodshed.
And it makes you shiver. Does he do this just for the sake of it, only because he enjoys killing so much? What is his reason to fight?
The only item that sends an odd sting in your heart is a small wooden statue. You feel like a thief when you rummage through a small satchel you find next to his breastplate, the only place you didn’t feel like peeking into because it looked so… personal.
Proving to yourself that you don’t care about his privacy or feelings, you end up pushing your fingers inside it anyway, meeting this peculiar carved piece of wood. There is nothing else there in the satchel, just the statue, and you feel yourself swallow a lump in your throat as you see it depicts a lush, buxom woman. Her breasts are nearly the size of her belly, larger than her head, and you realize that it is clearly the statue of the Great Mother this brute carries with him.
You put it back quickly, feeling a tingling in your fingers and a rapid flutter in your heart, as if you had just poked into something quite sacred. And it is sacred, the Mother. You wonder why, for the love of all the gods, this man would keep such a divine and fertile amulet near him. The statue is supposed to be a vessel for wishes and fortune; it is an idol of worship. König seems like the last man on earth to take up worshipping women.
You just want to get out of this place but can’t. There’s no one to go back to: your chief is dead, the people have fled, the rest of the warriors are scattered across the land. You have no idea where your brother might even be.
You have no wish to escape this tent; you have no desire whatsoever to step a foot outside and show yourself to his hungry men.
König comes back after nightfall and is not surprised at all to find you haven’t escaped. He’s not surprised that you have eaten some of his food either; he doesn’t even scold you. But then the eternal groping starts again as he gets undressed and lays himself down next to you.
You don’t even know why you allow him to touch you. Perhaps it’s because you know it’s better to just let him caress you if he wants; it’s better to suffer the weight of his hands on you if it means he won’t rape you with that cock. If you don’t complain, perhaps he will settle for squeezing and petting and stroking you.
But your body is a traitor: it’s hungry for him, for some ungodly reason, and always craves for more. You say to yourself that you only allow this to happen because it’s a condition, a compromise, a meeting in the middle. You never acknowledge the way your nether lips puff up like a fat flower every time he fondles your breasts. You pay no attention to how wet you get when he caresses your face, your waist, even your thighs, every part of you except the place between your legs, the place you kind of want him to touch... If only he would be gentle and didn’t get too excited, you’d let him touch you there, too, as sick and accursed as it is.
And it’s all good until he starts to hum.
It may be some song from his homeland, the land of ugly brutes, but it’s not a crude giant song… In fact, it’s a rather beautiful, melancholy tune. Your body is relaxed and your pussy is wet; your nipples are tight and pleased as he pets you slowly, lovingly - but that song is too much. You don’t want him to see you cry, not even a single tear, and now there’s an entire flood about to occur.
“Don’t touch me,” you whisper, trying not to choke on your sorrow. He doesn’t stop - of course he doesn’t. He gets bolder by the day, and he can see that you’re enjoying yourself. In a way.
"Magst du es gestreichelt zu werden?" He asks, soft and tender, so incredibly gentle that the tears are about to burst forth at any given moment now.
“Ich glaube das tust du,” he rumbles when you don’t answer him. His hand is heavy and broad on your hip as he finally stops caressing you. You squeeze your eyes shut, and it causes the glimmer in your eyes to fall. Tears roll down your cheeks and into your hair, as you lie there next to a titan, about to shatter into a million pieces.
“Wurdest du schon einmal berührt…?”
You want to shout at him to shut up already, to stop talking so gently, asking you questions you don’t understand, to stop trying to find a way to communicate with you through song and hum and touch. The hand on your hip moves, slowly, with devastating cunning towards your core. He’s about to touch you there, to try and feel if you’re wet... If you’d like it that he pounded you a little. You wonder if he would do that gently too, and almost laugh through your tears. It will be your undoing if he finds out that you’re soaked all the way to your thighs, aching to feel him inside you, even a finger, just something…
“No… Nein,” you rule out sternly, opening a new way of communication. You don’t know if the word is correct, but he catches it immediately and stops.
“Nein?”
He sounds both happy and sad; happy that you try to use his language, sad that you use it to give him such a disappointing command.
“No touching,” you repeat and open your eyes, finding his hazy figure hovering above you. You barely discern the gulf of sadness in his eyes, but it is there: undisguised, trying to reach out and join with yours. Gods… How strangely appropriate it is that you are both so very alive, wanting to be devoured by each other’s hunger and lust, only to find yourselves on the brink of tears and hollow loss.
“No... No touching…”
“Verstanden.”
He takes his hand away from you and turns, not even joining you under the fur tonight.
…
The next morning, you wake up attached to him.
Somehow you’ve managed to wriggle under his furs and, on top of that, crawled to hug his side like this. You blame the spring cold for it, of course. Your heart bangs against your ribs as you notice how tightly you’re squeezing him, breasts pressed flush against his hard middle, belly fluttering against his hip. You’ve even draped your leg across his so that your poor, lonely cunt is resting right there over his thigh.
You swear in your mind with all the words and terms you know and can think of.
How the hell are you supposed to detach from a giant without waking him up? His arm is around you, holding you loosely in a warm, pleasing shackle. He feels so, so good - blazing, big and safe, so incredibly nice. You never knew sleeping next to a man could feel so nice. You’re half asleep still, mainly because his body and scent make you feel like you’ve had too much wine again.
You allow yourself a few more moments before you rip yourself off him. Or at least, try to: the arm snares you the instant you attempt to move. It prevents you from leaving him, and you end up hovering awkwardly there, almost on top of him, tits pointing straight at his face, panicked, doe-eyed stare guided to his unwavering blue eyes, open, and regarding you with warm love.
And the damned man smirks again.
“No touching?” He inquires with silly, completely feigned shyness.
“Shut up,” you breathe and try to get off of him, but his other hand comes to brush your cheek next, and you freeze.
“Schön… Pretty,” he tries, and you nearly whimper at the sound of your native tongue in his mouth.
Pretty… Is that what the word means, the odd ugly word he has repeated ever since he stole you?
His eyes are warm and his hand is gentle as he caresses your cheek, and the snare around your waist tightens. Softly… Invitingly.
“Stop it,” you whisper, on the brink of tears again, because this time, your shields and armour and weapons are gone. You just woke up to a feeling of odd contentment, fulfilment, even joy.
And it’s not right.
He has no right to be this gentle with you.
You sniffle and sigh, and cast your eyes down to the chest that belongs to a giant. But you can’t deny that there must be a heart under there. A human heart under your palm. Your hand is right there over the strong beat because you’ve tried to push yourself away, and he won’t let you go. Another tear falls somewhere in the hair of his chest, and he rumbles with such compassion that you want to slap him again, hit his chest with your tiny little fists and bawl.
What you do instead is break down and let the ocean take you. You cry and sob and wail, right there in front of him, until he turns you on your stomach and comes to rest halfway on top of you. Through your tears, you understand that he’s trying to soothe you with his weight. It’s pure insanity how well it works. It releases a whole well of grief, and you start to shake with the cries; your whole body shudders with the sorrow as you retch it all out while König continues to caress you like a pet. He strokes your hair, pets your back, he even pats your ass as if you’re just a baby.
You cry long and hard, so long that he eventually lets out a long, deep sigh. When you’ve calmed down a bit and remain still, sniffling occasionally while squeezing the furs in your fist, trying to remember what it is to be an animal with feelings other than just sorrow, he leaves you.
He simply rises, and gets dressed, and leaves.
That is very much what you don’t need right now, much to your surprise. He was good at consoling you, as odd as it sounds.
Cold starts to creep in when there is no warm body next to you, and your skin misses the calloused gentleness of his palms. You wouldn’t mind if he wanted to hum that song to you now. But the darned bastard had to leave just when you were about to turn and cup his hooded face in return...
König comes back after a short while, but he’s not alone. You gather the furs against your chest, horrified and angry when you notice he returns to the tent with a short old man, vigorous and busy, but so tiny in stature that you doubt he was ever a warrior. You wonder if this is another foreigner or if you have the dubious pleasure of meeting your first genuine Roman.
They both stare at you, quite nonchalantly, while you sit there on the bed and try to cover your nakedness with animal skins while having red eyes and a pair of uninviting, quivering, puffed-up lips.
The short fellow looks you up and down, then turns to talk to König in what appears to be this giant’s mother tongue. It’s a curt suggestion, muttered under his breath, and you realize König must’ve fetched a translator for you.
Oh, good Mother... Great Mother.
You watch these two men before you in a state of stunned shock, as König looks at you, then back at the old man, and nods. The Roman looks slightly vexed as if he just got up too. Then he starts to speak.
“Excuse our manners... We are men at war. If you wish to get dressed, we will wait outside.”
You blink at your own language being spoken to you, perfectly discernable but accompanied by a thick accent. You nod, and the men leave, returning only after you’ve dressed and cleared your throat in the tent.
“He asks if he killed your husband,” the translator starts immediately while König goes to sit on his favourite Roman bench. You’re wide awake now, and the nauseating feeling of being suddenly in the middle of an interrogation rises to your throat with a clot.
“He… What? No,” your eyes dart to König, who is looking at you with his undying ardour. For a man with so much sadness in his soul, he’s surprisingly carefree when he wants to.
“Do you have a husband?”
You gulp at the questions levelled at you. König keeps watching you intently, and you choose to look at the old translator instead, shaking your head slowly. The men exchange a few words, and the Roman turns to scold you with his stare.
“Master reminds you that it is wrong to lie,” he says, putting a lot more weight on his words this time. Roman or not, he calls this giant master, which means that he is just another slave in this camp. You swallow again and try to think, think, think; all the while König’s stare strips you of all your pretences, garments and words.
He thinks you’re trying to hide some imaginary husband, you understand and consider whether you should say that you have a husband: if there is any benefit you could gain from such a lie. König would only probably try to hunt him down… But what if he found out you were telling him tales? Would he feed you to his horny war dogs then?
“I’m not lying,” you say through slightly gritted teeth.
There is another exchange of words before the translator turns to you again.
“Are you untouched?”
“What…?”
“Master asks if you are a virgin.”
The translator is utterly unfazed, and mainly looks like he has better things to do than get to the bottom of whether there has been a cock inside you yet.
“That’s none of his business,” you hiss. The old man turns and starts to translate your words with a dull look.
“Wait—don’t tell him that,” you take a panicked step forward.
Oh good Father in the Sky… Strike these men down so that I may be freed from them.
They pay you no attention; a few sentences pass from mouth to mouth, and the old man nods.
“Master says you are clearly a maiden,” he declares. You peek a glance at König, who is looking at you with hunger, and not the kind of hunger people look at their breakfasts with. Your breathing is getting out of hand, and when he opens his legs wider, clearly making more room for a rising cock, you decide to throw caution in the wind.
“You know what? Your master can go fuck himself with a stick for all I care…!”
The old man turns. He doesn’t even care to sigh; he merely opens his mouth to give your words to König.
“Don’t you dare translate that!”
Finally, the old man sighs. He looks at the ceiling as if begging his gods to take him away from this tent. König’s stare flashes between you two, and he is evidently curious. Clearly, this is the most exciting conversation he’s ever had.
“Was sagt sie?”
“Tell him that I want to be freed,” you hurry to say before the translator can tell your insults to König. After a brief conversation, König leans forward in his chair to see the effect his words have on you.
“He says he can’t do that,” the Roman informs. “His soldiers will find you and take you.”
You close your mouth and try to even your breaths. No one says, You don’t want that. Everybody in this tent knows you don’t want that.
“He asks if he killed your brother or your father.”
You sniffle, quite involuntarily.
“No. He didn’t.”
“Then why are you angry and sad?”
There is a hint of genuine interest in the man’s voice. Both of these men are confused as to why you would bawl your eyes out after the massacre of your people.
"Because… Because he…"
“He says it is a man’s duty to die in battle. You should be proud of your fallen ones, not cry and feel sorry for them.”
“Tell him that he can go fuck himself,” you shout, not giving a single shit anymore about whether he translates the words or not.
To no one’s surprise, he does.
“He says he’d rather fuck you,” he returns to you with König’s message.
You can’t bear to look your captor’s way, and still, that’s exactly what you do. You look at the giant as he stares at you, keen and hard and patient. But you know his patience has its limits. It’s almost like a promise, the way he leans forward in that chair and looks at you from under the hood, shameless and challenging.
“Never,” you guide your words to König now. It’s a brave little whisper, but you know that it’s a lie. Even the Great Mother knows you’re lying. You almost hear the cackle of the old woman rising from the earthen ground, from the chthonic depths, to mock you and your vows.
You hear the old man’s words from somewhere far away, from underwater, as König’s stare wrestles you down and takes away your little knife. He subdues you even when he’s sitting, and shares a string of words: a harsh promise. You hold your breath as his cock gives a pulse under that tunic, and your eyes fall, fall, fall onto it, because there’s no escape…
“He says he can make you feel good,” the voice says, and you can’t even hear who speaks. Your mouth is full of water, but you swallow it down, then shoot your way up to the surface, up, up, up into the sunlight, until you can breathe again.
You rip your eyes from König and look at the Roman translator with loathing and contempt.
“You can leave now. This conversation is over.”
Then you turn, trying not to pay any attention to the hushed conversation that proceeds behind your back. The man leaves the tent: you can hear it, and you can also hear how König rises from the chair and walks right behind you.
“No… afraid,” his hands come to rest on your shoulders, but you don’t even flinch. You knew he was going to touch you again. Perhaps you were even looking forward to it.
“I’m not afraid of you,” you start to argue, but he doesn’t take the bait.
“You like trees?”
He speaks your words, not good, but he speaks them. You wonder if he has known parts of your tongue all along and has simply concealed it. Has he understood what you’ve said to him…? All the slurs and stupid things? Mother, grant mercy…
“Why would I like—What kind of question is that?”
“Climbed a tree,” he explains cheerfully behind you. You turn and look up, yet again rendered weak. Giants are supposed to be stupid. They’re not supposed to know the language of faeries…
“Nosy,” he brushes your cheek with a smile in his eyes.
“Nosy?”
You huff - as if you wanted to be there and witness him.
As if you had a choice after the seer pushed you on this insane, cruel path.
“Wanted to see me so bad?” König tilts his head playfully.
Gods… You can only look at him with brows curling with helpless frustration, lip trembling from how he seems to know your every little secret. He nods when you don’t say yes or no. He’s perfectly happy to read all the answers from your eyes.
“Ich wusste, dass es so war,” he changes into his own language, and you don’t need to understand the words he says.
You know he knows. He knows you, he knows you to your core, and it doesn’t really matter in which circumstances you two met. He knows far more than you, something about souls and how they’re supposed to meet, how little squirrels and giants belong together, as crazy as it is. That there is no chance in life: no, it was meant that you two meet. To him, it was no coincidence that you practically dropped into his lap from that tree.
“Did you like what you see?”
He holds your shoulders gently as you quiver and shake inside.
“No,” you peep.
“I like what I see,” he declares; a benevolent god.
…
A/N:. Thank you so much for your love and interest in this fic! As you may have noticed the fic now has 4 parts, which is because the 3rd chapter got too chunky and I had to split it 😇 Next part might take a while because I'm moving soon, but let me tell you... These guys will be put into *situations*. Oh, and a reminder that I don't have a taglist for this so please check any future updates from my pinned masterlist post 🩷
Translations:
Gut geschlafen? - Sleep well?
Ja, ich weiß. Ich habe deine Leute getötet. Ich verdiene eine Ohrfeige. - Yes, I know. I killed your people. I deserve a slap.
Es ist schön, mit dir zu reden. Aber jetzt muss ich weg. - It is lovely to talk to you. But now I have to go.
Du. Bleibst. - You. Stay.
Magst du es gestreichelt zu werden? - Do you like being petted?
Ich glaube das tust du. - I think you do.
Wurdest du schon einmal berührt…? - Have you ever been touched…?
Verstanden. - Understood.
Was sagt sie? - What does she say?
Ich wusste dass es so war - I knew it was so.
#könig fanfiction#könig x reader#könig x you#konig x reader#konig x you#könig x fem reader#könig x female reader#könig cod#cod x reader#könig fluff#könig smut#historical au#Roman soldier!König
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꧁༺ 𝒞𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓃𝑒 ༻꧂
Astarion loses sight of you in a fight, he fears the worse has happened to you. He finds you and manages to bring you back to shadowheart for healing, only to discover he has more to protect than just you…
Angst - Hurt - Comfort - Pregnancy
(Click For Part Two)
You were fearless. He watched as you swung your dagger effortlessly, piercing into the necks of their enemies.
He wondered how you still managed to look elegant even when covered in the blood of fallen warriors.
His gaze never left you for too long, making sure you were safe, while he stealthed around the makeshift arena, racking up his own share of kills. How glorious this was! There was so much blood splattering all around them and with his love at his side it truly couldn’t get any better.
Astarion’s eyes couldn’t be everywhere though, and at some point, he lost sight of you. The last person to recognize him for what he’s worth, the one person he truly couldn’t afford to lose.
His head darted across the battlefield, desperately trying to find you. His panic plunged into sheer dread as fear overcame him. It was happening all over again, he’d seen this before… Alone.. No, please, he couldn’t let this be his fate.
He hadn’t felt fear this whole day; why should he? He was free of Cazador, had you- A subtle manic laugh drew from his throat, he’d never be free of fear, instead of fearing for himself or what his old master would do to him he now feared what would happen to you when in danger.
His red eyes turned a dark shade of black. The expression of a crazy man etched onto Astarion’s face. No, he wouldn’t let fear consume him, no more! He’d finally be the protector! Overcome with fury he went on a rampage. Cutting through the battlefield, slaughtering anyone and everyone in his way, determined to find you. He raced over to where he last saw you, faster than a blue dragon's lightning splits through the air in a storm.
Was he truly going to be the reason you passed on to the next life. Was his fate to destroy everything he held near and dear to his heart? He nearly killed you before with his own fangs and now, no! He wasn’t the cause of that, was he? He hadn’t ever tasted human blood before, but if he was stronger it wouldn’t have happened! If he would’ve ascended he would’ve been able to stop this, however he’s still just a spawn… How could you have fought for his love, a fool who couldn’t even protect you. A fool who was going to be the reason you die.
“FIND HER” He roared at the top of his lungs. “FIND TAV!”
The group of companions didn’t dare hesitate and instantly started searching the grounds, Gale being the second most worried.
Astarion was about to collapse to his knees before hearing Gale's voice, “I’ve found her!” in the distance. It filled him with more apprehension. All he could think is, ’what if she’s dead’.
Staggering up the hill where Gale’s voice had come from, Astarion can see a figure laying in the dirt next to the wizard, “No! You can’t die dammit! Get up!!” he rushed out his words, dismay evident in his tone as he knelt next to you.
“She is unconscious, but alive. There’s hope.” Gale replied.
Astarion let out a shaky breath of relief.
“We must get her back to camp,” Astarion demanded. “She needs Shadowheart, she’s the only one who can fix this!” His voice cracked despite his efforts to mask it.
“I agree.” Gale, mere inches from grabbing you to lift you in his arms until the pale elf stopped him, “Don’t touch her!- I- I will carry her.” Trying to compose himself he lifted you bridal style.
Astarion never left your side during Shadowhearts attempts to heal you. Time never bothered him, not after his 200 years of torment, he waited as “patiently” as he could.
“Honestly, how long does it take! You could at least give me some good news!”
Shadowheart continued to focus on you best she could, everyone including the gods were used to Astarions fits at this point. Gale on the other hand not so much, he could hear Astarion all the way in his own tent which caused the wizard to scrunch his nose. Eventually, leading him to where you were being treated, “Astarion, why don’t you join me in some wine. I’ve got quite the choices, besides… It might be best if we give her some space.”
Astarion scowled, “You expect me to leave her side to join you in some cheap wine? Really? I didn’t think you could get anymore annoying, Gale.”
“It’s done. She’ll be fine after some more rest.” Shadowheart stood from your side and wipes the blood off her hands. She’s been traveling with you and these two men for far too long, toning out their bickering was a skill of hers at this point.
Turning to face you, if his heart could beat he knows it would’ve dropped in his chest this very moment… “Leave us-“ kneeling down next to your bedroll, his eyes fixed on your bandaged wound, “please.”
“I was able to save her,” -Shadowheart bent down towards Astarion- “and the child, but it took most of my energy and resources… Don’t ask for me again for a while. Keep them both safe.”
He was quiet, his eyes wide after the news he was just told.
“Ahhh,” Shadowheart’s voice was surprised, “she didn’t tell you yet? Hmm or perhaps she hadn’t known yet? Curious.”
Astarion could only stare at his love, “A-are you for certain?”
Gale interjected, “I doubt her magic would deceive her, congratulations.”
Dark bruises and cuts decorated your once perfect skin. A deep purple shade surrounded your right puffy eye. His eyes traveled further down your body, stopping at your stomach.
He caressed your still flat stomach, causing you to wince and awake. Retreating his hand, he awaited for your eyes to open and look up at him.
A-Astarion?” You spoke with a small smile carved on your lips.
“Yes, my love. It’s me.” He struggled out, trying his best not to crumble.
You were both silent, hands entwined with one another thankful that you both can spend another day alive in the presence of another.
He was the first to break the silence, “thank you.”
You were so weak, but you wanted to know why he was thanking you out of the blue, “For what?” Your voice barely heard.
“For this,” his hand stretching out to rest on your abdomen, “for giving me purpose again.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, not knowing what he was talking about until it finally hit you. Your arm wavered as you lifted it to place your hand atop of his on your belly. A gentle smile forming on your lips as you stared into his vermilion eyes.
When your breath became labored indicating you had fallen asleep again, Astarion’s attention was back at your torso where the bandage was slowly being stained by your blood. This moment of relief turned to anger again as he lashed out, slapping a metal canister of water out the tent with force. The absolute intrigued him at first, more power meant being stronger to protect you, but now… He was beyond ever considering it again. The cultist not only almost killed you, but the child growing from within you!
“How dare they…” He seethed, “How dare they harm her and my child!”
Astarion was pacing around angrily, how could he have allowed this to happen? He started to blame himself.
“Astarion-“ You spoke up, attempting to calm him down.
“I’ll show them, my love-“ he cut you off, “that nobody is allowed to touch what is mine.” He growled.
His eyes darkened again: “I’ll make them pay.”
#bg3#baldurs gate#baldurs gate 3#astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#bg3 x reader#tav#Gale#astarion x you
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summary: a 2am confession between you and your childhood best friend, gojo satoru
a.n.: cursing, a slightly steamy/suggestive kiss scene, little angsty but mostly fluff. This idea randomly popped into my head last night so I hope you enjoy :)
~
“Do you think we’ll work out?” he asked softly, tentatively. Completely uncharacteristic for the confident, forthright person people knew Satoru Gojo to be.
Your best friend had always been larger than life, so focused on becoming the incredibly powerful sorcerer he is today that he never nurtured any of the lingering hope you kept around that he’d return your feelings. But Gojo was your sun, your moon, your stars - you were content to share the same sky as him.
But something was changing between the two of you. You saw it in the goodbye hugs that started to last a second longer than they should’ve. You noticed it in sharpness of his eyes anytime anyone else so much as looked in your direction. Felt it in the softness of a smile he only showed to you.
Tonight, that small spark of hope you’d been keeping alight was growing dangerously. You tried your best to smother it, telling yourself you’d been friends for years and he never saw you that way, so why would that suddenly change?
But do people who are just friends slip out at 2am to go stargazing at the top of a hill? Do they lay beside each other on an old blanket, close enough to feel the heat of each other’s skin, but barely far enough that they aren’t touching?
Do they look at each other the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the real wonder to be beheld when just above you, the moon and stars are shining brilliantly?
“We always have. Why would that change?” you replied, turning your head back up to the constellations. Your heartbeat was sickening in your own ears, amplified by the silence left untouched as neither of you spoke.
The blanket shuffled as he sat up, his face barely out of your periphery. You copied his movements, propping yourself up on your elbows as you struggled to understand the look on his face.
“Because I’m in love with you. I’m tired of being friends,” he said calmly, though you the way his hands fisted betrayed his uncertainty.
You froze for a second, wondering if this entire night had been a dream. Gojo Satoru, your best friend and unrequited love for years, liked you - no, loved you? You had to be dreaming.
A poke against your cheek broke you away from your thoughts.
“Please say something, or I’m gonna freak out,” your best friend said, looking more flustered than you’d ever seen him. His porcelain skin was dusted with pink, his gorgeous eyes frantically searching yours.
You burst into laughter. The kind that had you gasping for air and wiping tears away.
“What the hell is so funny?” he asked, and your laughter continued to bubble out of you at the adorable furrow between his brows.
You sat up to face him, wiping away a tear as your laughter died off.
“Sorry, it’s just hard for me to believe this is happening right now. Especially because I’ve been desperately in love with you since we were kids,” you admitted, indulging yourself in the way his lips parted in shock, the way he looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.
“You…you’ve been in love with me this whole time?” he said, so quietly it hurt your heart.
“Yup. Pretty much everyone knew too, I thought it was common knowledge?” you joked, leaning your head against your knee as you watched Gojo go through the 8 stages of grief.
“The hell it wasn’t. Why hasn’t anyone said anything to me? Why haven’t you ever said anything to me?” he said, pupils wide as he searched your face.
You leaned back down, crossing your arms behind your head.
“We all assumed you would’ve made a move ages ago if you liked me back. I was content to just be in your life at all - plus, no offense, but I’m like the only solid friend you have in your life. I promised you I always would be, I couldn’t let my own feelings change that.” you said, feeling the weight fly off your chest as you finally told him.
You felt a whoosh of cool air as Gojo leaned down beside you once more, mirroring your position as you laid on your back and looked up at the sky.
“I…I’m sorry, I’m a fucking idiot,” he said. You let out a laugh in disbelief.
“You really didn’t know, not even the thought crossed your mind?”
“Nope,” he replied, almost sounding anguished.
You turned to your side, propping up your head with the heel of your palm.
“What changed?” you asked genuinely, feeling your nerves traverse throughout your entire body as he mirrored your position, your faces barely a few inches apart.
“I realized it when we had to be apart for a while because of that mission. I was miserable, because I was accustomed to seeing your smile everyday. Hearing the random overdetailed recounting of your day. Your laughter. Fuck, I was even searching perfume stores to see if any of them came close to the way you smell,” he admitted, eliciting a furious blush from your cheeks.
You reached up to brush some of the hair out of his eyes, admiring how his pearlescent locks seemed to glow under the moonlight.
“You have it that bad, huh?” you teased, watching his face relax ever so slightly as he rolled his eyes.
It was so fast you barely registered what happened, the way Gojo flipped you on top of him so you had no choice but to lay flush against him. You were stunned to silence as he wrapped his arms around your waist, catching you off guard with that brilliant, victorious smile of his.
“Oh, I absolutely do. But look who’s talking eh? You are sooo into me,” he said, smiling happily to himself.
You buried your face into his chest to hide both your embarrassment and your painfully-wide smile.
“Okay, okay, I am,” you admitted, feeling simultaneously shy and elated as Gojo tugged you even closer to him, burying his face in your hair.
“So, what now?” you asked.
You gasped as Gojo flipped you once more so you were pinned under him.
“Hm, well if I’m in love with you, and you’re in love with me, I think we should kiss,” he said, his smile evident in his words. You’d been around him long enough to hear the tease in his voice, and you knew he was messing with you.
“Just kidding. We can take it sl-”
His words came to a halt as you lifted up to press your lips against his ever so slightly, pulling back to rest your forehead against his.
“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids. Fuck taking it slow, kiss me right now,” you all but demanded. You admired his grin for a split second before his lips were moving against yours, full and soft and sweet.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” he said breathlessly.
“Not longer than me,” you said between kisses.
His deep laugh resonated throughout your body, distracting you from the way his slender fingers were digging into your hips.
“You’re right. Let me make it up to you,” he said, pulling back long enough for you to look at him. His eyes were dark with desire, contrasting the flush that somehow made him look hotter.
He sat up, and his absence left you feeling chilled. It didn’t last long though, because he grabbed your hips once more and lifted you on top of him so you were straddled in his lap.
You smiled coyly as he positioned your arms around his neck, tugging you flush against him as he grinned at you proudly.
“You really like throwing me around huh?” you teased, though it came out more soft and gaspy than you intended as he began trailing kisses along your jaw.
“You have no idea,” he said, and you felt him smile against your skin as you tipped your head back to give him more access.
“Forget about sleeping tonight.”
#gojo fanfic#gojo fluff#gojo satoru#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojou satoru x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk fluff#jjk imagines#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk drabbles#satoru gojo#jjk satoru#satorugojo#gojo x reader#jjk gojo#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu kaisen#gojo imagine#gojo headcanons
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silence is how simon riley falls in love with you.
you’re a talker most of the time, cracking jokes and making small quips. talking about the mission ahead or giving orders to young recruits. you talk on the phone with your family back home, your low murmurs traveling under your door and through your walls. but silence is how he falls in love.
when the base gets its first snow all season, a cold december day, he watches your face grin towards the sky in the pure silence that comes when snow blankets everything. you stick out your tongue with glee, and he falls in love for the first time.
it’s a lonely january night, and you insisted on playing “fire crackling” youtube videos in the common room. something about it feeling like home, some insistent need within you that you play off as a joke. you fall asleep to the sounds of logs crackling and simon’s breathing, your cheek making contact with his shoulder. he takes in the silence, and falls in love again.
fast forward to valentine’s day, and somehow gaz and soap decorated the hallway while everyone was asleep. they slid valentines from secret admirers under doors, purely to stir up things around base. simon watches you step out of your room and bend down to read the valentine, all tired eyes and ruffled pajamas. he takes in the growing blush on your face and the silent pursing of your lips, as if you’re trying to hide a smile. he catches his own name in soap’s handwriting on the card, and now he knows he’s fallen hard.
it’s a sunny march day when he finally tells you. unseasonably warm, even for where you’re stationed. you convinced him to go on a morning run outside, taking in the birds chirping and the sounds of creatures stirring. you watch the sun rise together in silence, sitting at the top of a nearby hill. he takes your hand in his to get your attention, silent shock written on your face. slowly, so slowly it kills him and brings him back to life in a single breath, he raises it to his gloved mouth. he gives you all the time in the world to stop it, begging you to put him out of his misery. instead, you watch him give your palm a gloved kiss, feeling his warm breath in the roots of your body. you reply with a hesitant peck to his gloved lips, still not sure if you read his silence right. but you did - you always do. and that’s why simon riley loves you.
—
if any of the military logistics were incorrect pls ignore thank u! this writer has no clue how anything works, she’s just in love with ghost😗
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#cod 141#fluff#ghost call of duty#tornadothoughts
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Can you do a story where the reader has low iron or something of that genre and she passes out and chris comforts her? 💗
･:*:｡𝐈’𝐦 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞ೃ࿔*:･
Chris Sturniolo x Fem!reader
Genre - Fluff
Synopsis- reader has low iron and passes out but Chris is there to comfort her :)
I’ve been hanging out with the triplets all day. We have been watching movies and we even filmed one of their Wednesday videos and pre filmed a Friday car video. Which all took a lot of time and energy. I’m guessing that explains the reason to why I feel so tired. I just feel like my bones are giving out. Like I have no strength. Not to mention every time I stand up I feel the need to grab on to something because everything is spinning. I keep getting dizzy and my vision is starting to blur and then come back. But I really just think I need a nap and I’ll be fine.
“Hey you in there??” Chris snaps me out of my thoughts.
“Hm? What’d you say?” I question him.
“I asked if you wanted to to go out to eat with us, we’re gonna go to the diner downtown” Chris said smiling.
“Yea sure I’ll go” I answered.
I stood up and immediately felt dizzy. The room was spinning in endless circles and my vision kept blurring out. I felt two arms grab me to keep me from falling.
“Woah you ok?” Chris asked with a worried expression as he kept his hands on my arms making sure I wouldn’t fall.
“Uh yea yea just felt dizzy but I’m fine” I replied trying to ignore what just happened to avoid any more questions.
As Matt drove us all to the diner I stared out the windowing thinking to myself. Could this all have something to do with my anemia? I’ve had low iron my whole life and just recently I had gotten diagnosed with anemia but I really don’t think much of it. I usually forget I even have it because nothing ever happens.
“We’re here” Matt said already getting out of the car.
Focused on unbuckling myself and grabbing my phone I didn’t realize Chris had opened the door for me. I thanked him before getting out of the car. And there it is. That feeling again where I feel like my knees are giving up and my visions is fading. I grab onto Chris’s arm to try and stable myself. He grabs my hips helping me stay still. My body feels weak and I lean on Chris for support. He wraps his arms around me helping me gain stability.
“You sure you’re feeling ok ma? You keep losing your balance when you stand up, something wrong?” He asked frowning. His eyes searching my face for any uncomfortable expression that could possibly give him answers.
“I just keep feeling dizzy when I stand up but I’m good” I smile at him. Though deep down I know somethings wrong I just don’t wanna burden anyone with my problems.
“You guys coming or what!” Nick suddenly yells snapping us out of our conversation.
We all ordered and ate our food and we were just waiting on the check. Nick and Matt were having they’re own convo about some video ideas they were both laughing about. Suddenly I felt a tap on my thigh and looked up.
“Ok what’s wrong? You look tired, you haven’t said a word, and you keep getting all dizzy y/n” Chris asked really starting to worry now.
“You won’t tell anyone?” I shyly asked looking down.
“Not a single soul baby” He chuckled, the nickname making me blush.
“I’ve been feeling off lately and I think it all has to do with my anemia” I said embarrassed. Chris noticing it.
“Why’s that embarrassing? It’s pretty common y’know?” He said rubbing my arm soothingly.
“I just don’t wanna burden you with my issues” I admit.
“Y/n are you insane? You’re not burdening anyone with anything. If anything I’m here to help you ok?” Chris said with a big smile on his face.
“Thank you Chris”
“Alright you guys ready to go?” Matt asked as he left a tip for the waiter on the table.
“Yep let’s go”
That’s when things started to go down hill. The car ride felt like hell. I was sweating like crazy but I felt cold. Then my hands were shaking and my teeth were chattering but I felt like I was boiling. My breathing started to become unsteady. I felt nauseous too. Every possible feeling you could have I was experiencing it. As soon as we arrived I opened the door to get out, and my knees locked. My vision started going black. Like everything was being painted black. I held onto the car trying to get support but it was no use.
“Oh fuck” I heard Chris say before everything went dark.
Chris Pov:
“Oh my god oh my god what do we do? Is she dead? Do I call 911?” Nick panicked like always.
“No it’s fine it’s just her anemia it’s happened before we just have to bring her inside and lay her down. Matt go open the door” I said as I grabbed her and carried her bridal style inside the house.
I knew something was wrong. Since the second we finished filming those videos I could tell she wasn’t feeling well. I just wish she would’ve told me instead of feeling like a burden.
I laid her down on the couch and put a blanket over her. I felt her forehead and it was really cold so I went and wet a towel with warm water and placed it on her head carefully. I gently held her cheek in my hand rubbing it softly with my thumb.
“Oh poor thing” I said quietly.
I got the towel off her head and sat next to her waiting for her to wake up. Its been around 5 minutes and I’m starting to think maybe I should call 911.
“Chris?” I quiet and fragile voice said.
“Oh my god y/n you’re awake” I said, careful not to startle her.
“Are you ok baby? Does anything hurt?” I asked holding her face in hands as she sat up. She sniffled and tears started to slowly fall down her delicate skin.
“Oh ma c’mere. It’s ok I’m right here. I got you, you’re ok pretty girl” I softly talked to her, rubbing her back soothing as I cradled her in my arms.
“I hate when that happens” She managed to get out between cries.
“I know I know I do too” I agreed with her and wiped tears off her face.
“Take deep breathes ma, can you do that for me?” I moved her body so she was now sitting on my lap comfortably.
“Yes” Y/n mumbled snuggling her head into the crook of my neck making me smile.
“Good girl” I praised her.
Soon enough the tears stopped and her breathing was back to normal.
“Thank you Chris” She said as she planted a soft kiss on my jawline.
“I told you I’m always here”
Was this too long? Ty for the request by the way I hope what I wrote is somewhat what you meant 😭 Also Tysm for all the support on my last post it means the world to me. Pls keep requesting it rlly helps 🫶🏻🫶🏻
#chris sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nicolas sturniolo#matt sturniolo#anakin skywalker#anakin x reader#star wars#anakin skywalker x you#the skywalker saga#y/n#ani skywalker#anakin x you
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Taunts and Tension
Based on this request!
Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader
Summary: Reader and Azriel go on a spy mission and come back a little more touchy than usual?
Warnings: Sexual tension | Briefest mention of a threesome | innuendo of oral (m receiving)
2.8k words
“You have got to be kidding me,” The Shadow Singer grumbled as the High Lord told him we’ve been partnered for his next mission.
“Unfortunately, he’s not,” I huff to the tall male, just as annoyed as him. “Rhys with all due respect, I work alone,” Azriel contended and I scoff. “Does that apply to your love life too?” I quip but they both ignore me. “I know Az, but Eris likes her, he’s more likely to play by our rules if we use her as bait,” Rhys says. “It’s just a meeting, the both of you only have to get along for a few hours,” He hums and I roll my eyes, I couldn’t refuse the offer, he was paying me double for this. “Fine,” Azriel uttered, the fool agreed for free.
“Good, you leave at sunset,” The half-fae instructs then quickly dismisses the both of us when his mate comes into his office, a babbling Nyx in her arms. “Hi sweetie,” I coo at the two-year-old as I pass Feyre on the way out. “Auntie!” He exclaims with a bright smile. The High Lady waved at me and I returned it. “Be careful on your mission tonight,” She advises and I brush her off. “It’s just a meeting, nothing to be worried about.” I smile. “Oh, I wasn’t referring to your assignment,” Her eyes flick to Azriel and my lips form an ‘o’ shape in realization. She chuckled then gave me a wink as the Shadow Singer passed by me, muttering a curse under his breath. I return her smile then nod in a farewell and go the opposite direction down the hall.
The Spring Court was a lot duller than I had expected. Sure the flowers were in bloom and the sun still seeped through the trees but, there was no vibrancy to the colors. “Feyre really did a number on this place,” I hum, looking out at the deserted Court. It still held some beauty, the crystal clear lakes with lily pads floating heedlessly, the rolling hills, and flower fields.
“I kind of feel bad for him,” I mutter, bending down and plucking a daisy from a patch sprouting out the trunk of a maple tree. “Don’t,” Azriel huffed. We were on the border between Spring and Autumn so there was a weird merging between wildlife, the magnolia trees slowly shifting into maples, bunnies sectioned from foxes, and lush forests morphing into rustic woods.
“Are we early or is he just trying to make an entrance?” I sigh, already bored. “Early,” He replies and my shoulders sag. “Can you only respond with one-word answers?” I narrow my eyes on the Shadow Singer. He smirks. “No,” He says and I grit my teeth, looking down at the daisy in my hands.
We go silent for a moment. I stare out at the dusky sky, the last of the sun slipping below the hills. He seems content to continue staring at me, much to my dismay. I didn’t know what for, it’s not like he had to keep an eye on me, and there was nothing I could do that his shadows wouldn’t report back to him, they were often all over me, seemingly out of his control when I was around.
“What?” I snap my head back to him after only a minute, his stare becoming too physical, like I could feel the way his eyes traced my features. “Why are you dressed like that?” He tilts his head. I look down at my gown with creased brows. It was a silk slip, a rich mocha color. I look at what he’s wearing, his usual leathers. “It’s a meeting Azriel, we’re not battling warriors,” I remark. “Is it because we’re meeting with Eris?” He tilts his head. I cross my arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I bite back. “That you’re trying to impress him,” He surmises.
“Nuh-uh!”
“Nuh uh?” He mocks. “That’s your defense?” The brunette scoffs and my frown deepens, leaning against the tree at my back. “I wore the dress ‘cause I didn’t wanna change, okay?” I explain with narrowed brows. “And it’s not my fault he admires me,” I add. “Not that you know the feeling,” I murmur under my breath but of course, he heard it.
He takes a menacing step forward, shadows turning sporadic around him and I roll my eyes on the dramatics of it— anyone else would’ve been begging for forgiveness just by looking into the darkness of his eyes. “What was that?” His hand comes to my chin, forcing my head toward him. I jerk out of his hold with a grimace.
“I said you don’t know what it’s like to be admired, or do you need a reminder that you’ve been chasing the same girl for five hundred years?” This time I was the one to take a step forward, my chest nearly pressed to his. “Because newsflash Az, she doesn’t want you—” I start but his hands come to my wrists and pull them up above my head, pinning me to the tree, his other hand on my hip so I can’t thrash.
His nostrils flared, eyes ablaze and I nearly laughed. “You’re constantly teetering on that edge huh? Can’t ever keep your temper in check?” I arch a brow up at him, my smirk only widens as I watch him grit his teeth. He knew what I meant. Knew that he pounced on anyone who damaged his fragile ego, and talked down on his precious family, gods forbid I mention Morrigan. His hold moves from my waist to my neck, wrapping his large hand entirely around my throat, softly squeezing.
“You’re choking me,” I whisper out and the sadistic fuck has a smile on his face. “You seem like the type to be into that,” He presumes and he wouldn’t be far off if this was a different situation. I flush pink at the idea, it’d be a lie if I said I hadn’t imagined the Spymaster on top of me more than once. My cheeks were burning hot, I was beyond embarrassed, and slightly turned on.
“Not so talkative now, are we?” He was so close, so close his body was pressed to my own, our breath shared as his face hovered above mine, cauldron damn his height.
“Let me go,” I pull at my wrists but his grip is iron, and maybe my attempts were halfhearted because, in all honesty, I didn’t want to leave this position one bit. “You learn your lesson yet? Or are you gonna keep being a brat?” He hums and arousal pools in my panties. I quickly glamour the scent, praying he didn’t recognize it before I got the chance. “Fuck you,” I seethe, continuing my futile attempts to escape. “Such a filthy mouth, you wanna put it to better use?” He asks and if I wasn’t red before I definitely was now. “In your dreams,” I hiss. “Oh love, it is,” He smirks, and my brain stutters. What’d he just say?
My pointed ears perk before I can reply, noticing an unfamiliar pair of footsteps. Not Eris.
“Someone’s coming, kiss me,” I say with a rushed tone. “What?” His hand loosened around my neck. “Just—” I don’t finish and interrupt myself by lifting onto my toes and crashing my lips against his.
He seems taken aback for a moment then to my surprise, leans into it. I melt at the feeling. He was tentative at first but once I showed him this was what I asked for he seemed almost, hungry. His hand slips from my throat and cups my jaw instead, calloused thumb pulling at my bottom lip and forcing them open. I can’t help but obey his silent command, parting my lips wider so he can capture me fully. His mouth seals over mine yet again and my stomach ties into knots, the thrumming sensation in my ribcage making me realize this was a point of no return.
His tongue explored my mouth like it was his and his alone, he was devouring me and I savored every moment. An energy buzzed between us, my wrists still pinned up by his hold, but I wasn’t any less greedy with my lips. I wanted him to taste me, to memorize me, and never forget the feel of his lips on mine, I wanted it to hurt when he had to pull away. Languid movements with his tongue turn into messy, impatient strokes, needing all of me right then and there— and I would’ve given it to him if not for that pair of footsteps returning, so much closer this time.
“What’s going on here?” A gruff voice demands answers and Azriel hesitantly detaches, like he was unwilling.
It takes me a moment to even open my eyes, gods if he’s got me this paralyzed over just a kiss who knows how much more I could take? Azriel lets go of my wrists and I regain consciousness.
“I’m sorry Officer,” I put on my most innocent smile. The male in front of me was Autumn Court patrol, lower in rank based on the patches on his arms. “What’s an Illyrian doing so far from home?” He snarled the word like it was a curse. “We’re traveling sir,” I say, intertwining my hand with Azriel’s. He stiffens at the action as if I didn’t just have his lips on mine. “Travelin’?” The officer scoffs. “Out here?” He hums. “Yes sir, it’s our honeymoon,” I grin wildly, trying to capture the excitement of newlyweds as I hold our linked hands up.
The officer raises his brows a fraction, he was buying it. He was visibly older, you had to be ancient as a fae to start having wrinkles and this guy had plenty. “You know, I feel like I recognize you,” He hums and I swallow thickly. It was more likely for Azriel to get recognized out of the two of us, so the Shadow Singer didn’t take his chances and stuffed his face into my neck, lining kisses from my shoulder to my jaw. My hand goes into his hair, weaving my fingers into his soft, dark locks as I continue carrying on the conversation.
“Really? What from?” I tilt my head, resting my luck. “Not quite sure…” He thinks for a moment. “Ah, forget it probably just confusing you with my granddaughter, she’s lovely like you,” He says and I giggle light-heartedly. “That’s sweet to hear,” I smile. “Alright you kids be safe, perhaps find an inn somewhere,” He starts his trek once more. “Thank you, officer!” I call to him and he gives me a wave.
I nearly cackle as Azriel pulls away from my neck, my lipgloss smeared along his lips. I reach up and wipe it away with a teasing smile. “Not much of a spymaster if I’m the one saving you, hm?” I say, hands cupping his cheeks. “You were the one distracting me in the first place,” He defended, crossing his arms and I snicker. “Awh, poor Illyrian baby is pouting 'cause I’m better at his job,” I taunt, his gaze on my lips as I talk.
“Well, that was quite the show,” A familiar, smooth voice intones from a short distance away and I whip my head towards the figure, leaning against a tree with an unmistakable foxlike smirk on his face. “How long have you been standing there?” Azriel questions and it seems like the Heir might laugh. “It’s truly a wonder how your shadows didn’t find me, though I suppose they’re preoccupied at the moment,” He gestures to the ground beneath me where they were pooling at my feet, flicking up and twining at my ankle every now and again, completely forgetting what their job was in my presence.
The meeting went smoothly, Azriel was a bit on edge with the lack of his Shadows but other than that Eris complied easily, he seemed to have something up his sleeve but we’d worry about that at a later date, we were only ensuring his loyalty was still with us.
He updated us on some information including his father, the two males briefing over a plan to take down Beron, and as I stood there I realized I was just for show, a shiny jewel for Eris to look at, keep his attention before he got the idea that he could survive on his own. Not that I minded being looked at by the Heir, he was quite pretty— hel, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t dreamed about both the males in front of me, at once, more than once.
Azriel shadow-walked us back to the House of Wind when we were finished, or rather when he was finished. I probably could’ve stayed a few more minutes just to admire Eris in the pale moonlight, but my plans just had to be foiled by the Shadow Singer.
Az flew me the rest of the way into the house bridal style— since you couldn’t winnow straight in due to the wards. His hold on me felt more familiar than usual, and when he put me down he didn’t step away so neither did I.
“Hey,” Cassian said from the dining table, a mouthful of food muffling his voice. We both swivel towards the male, sat next to Nesta who couldn’t be bothered to look up from her book to greet us. “How’d the mission go?” The brunette at the table said once he swallowed his food. We both stiffen, the memory of that kiss has been replaying in my head over and over since it ended and yet it felt odd for anyone else to bring it up.
“Uh, went nice…” I shrug. Nesta looks up from her page, eyes piercing as they read me like the chapters in her book. “Really?” She intervenes and I nod. “Yup, just, so normal,” Azriel blurts out, and for a Spymaster, he was awfully bad at lying. Cassian creased his brows, clearly concerned for his brother. “Why are you acting so weird, then?” Nesta interrogates and the male and I share a look. “I don’t think he’s acting weird,” I scoff. “Do you think you’re acting weird?” My words are fast like I only have one breath to finish my sentence. “Pshh, never,” He shakes his head, looking down at his feet then back up to Lady Death.
“Right, well, man am I exhausted,” I stretch, feigning a yawn. “Yeah, the mission really wore me out,” He sighs, rolling his shoulders like there’s a weight off of them, following me up the stairs towards the bedrooms.
Nesta looks to her mate, a small smirk on her lips. “What?” The lord of bloodshed says cluelessly. “They’re totally going to fuck,” She hums, sinking into her chair a little and picking her book back up.
Azriel and I split off into our respective bedrooms, just across the hall from each other.
I paced beside my closed door, wondering what the fuck was I thinking when I let him kiss me. Sure I’ve always thought he was pretty but that was always a stupid fantasy, not something I would ever pursue… until now. Fuck, I am so finished. I repeatedly hit my palm against my forehead as I racked my head for any thought that didn’t immediately trace back to him. I couldn’t even look at my own hands without thinking about his hands, how they held my jaw— no. I wasn’t going to let myself romanticize this, it was just a mission. Nothing more. Just a kiss. A yearning, passion-filled kiss that fed all my cravings and somehow created new ones.
I groaned, deciding that this was the finest form of torture. I now stand still in front of my door, hoping that if I stare hard enough at it, he’ll come knocking and kiss me again because, fuck, I do want him.
I can’t sit here and wait for him to come rescue me from my own torment so I do it myself, hand coming to the doorknob and before I can psych myself out, I fling the door open.
To my shock, I’m immediately met with Azriel’s figure, his hand up like he was just about to knock.
“You couldn’t even let me make an entrance?” He tilts his head and I roll my eyes. “Shut up and kiss me already,” I grab him by the collar of his leathers and pull him in, the door closing behind him as his lips crash onto mine yet again.
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#suriels tea#acotar#fanfic#a court of thorns and roses#sarah j maas#x reader#azriel#request#acomaf#bat boys#azriel x you#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#shadowsinger x reader#azriel spymaster#fanfiction#x you#my fic#reader insert#x you fluff#azriel fluff#acotar fluff#x reader fluff#fluff#x reader acotar#acotar fanfiction#sjm#they’re so cute#i need him
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guilty conscience (+18)
chapter i
pairing: rafe cameron x female!reader
summary: when ward cameron, a renowned business man and millionaire specifically requested your services through an escort agency, you assumed it would be just another job—brief and straightforward. however, your entire world shifted when ward disclosed his true intentions and rafe cameron stumbled into your life. there were rules, and rules were meant to be followed.
was money worth breaking someone’s heart?
When your agency informed you that Ward Cameron was interested in hiring you for the entire summer, you weren’t the least bit fazed.
A millionaire spending money on escorts? Groundbreaking.
But you were pleased to be the one getting paid.
The prospect of being hired for the entire summer by a millionaire was more than appealing, especially since it meant a steady stream of income without having to worry about searching for new clients.
You hoped that he wouldn't turn out to be a creep, like a few of the clients you had encountered in the past. While most of them were respectful, aware of the rules, and simply seeking companionship, there were always a few who made the experience an absolute nightmare.
But you remained optimistic. Ward Cameron's reputation preceded him as a successful and influential man. Nonetheless, it was wise to keep your guard up.
“Ward Cameron? As in the millionaire?!" Serena's surprise was palpable even through the phone. You called her the moment you got the email, your brain barely functioning.
"Yeah, that's the one," You confirmed, "You think I should take it? It’s just... it's a whole summer commitment. What if he's, like, super weird or something?”
“Do I think you should take it? Do I think—, duh, yes! Worst-case scenario, you bail after a week and come crash at my place.”
Serena's response came through with all the enthusiasm you expected from her. She was always the one to push you out of your comfort zone, in the best possible way.
"Pretty girl, you gotta seize the opportunity!" She continued, her excitement contagious even over the phone. "A millionaire summer gig? That's like winning the lottery, but, you know, better!"
You couldn't help but laugh, "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Serena."
"You know me, always the supportive friend," she a quipped back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You've got a point," you chuckled, shaking your head. "But seriously, what do you think?"
Serena's tone softened. "Honestly, it sounds like a sweet deal. A whole summer with a rich man? Sign me up. I mean, come on," she insisted. "Think of all the fancy parties, luxurious fits, and who knows what else! Plus, hello? Ka-ching!" She added, and you knew she was making a money gesture with her hand even though you couldn’t see her.
You couldn't help but grin at her enthusiasm. "Yeah, the paycheck isn't too shabby either."
"Just be sure to keep your pepper spray handy. You never know with these rich fuckers."
"Got it," you replied, rolling your eyes. "But hey, if he's anything like his reputation, it could be smooth sailing."
"Here's to hoping," Serena said, sounding genuinely hopeful. "Just promise me you'll spill all the juicy details when you get back."
"You know I will," you replied, already picturing the gossip-filled catch-up session you'd have with her at the end of the summer. "Thanks for telling me off the ledge."
"Anytime, babe," she said, her voice warm with affection. "Now go get 'em”.
The evening to meet him eventually arrived, and you found yourself seated at a luxurious table in a fancy restaurant nestled in the heart of Beverly Hills, with soft lighting casting a warm glow over the sophisticated decor. You were clad in a backless gold Dior gown that shimmered under the soft lighting. Your first big splurge years ago.
The dress hugged your curves in all the right places, its sleek silhouette exuding elegance. The plunging neckline revealed a hint of décolletage, adding a touch of allure to the ensemble.
It was a statement piece, designed to turn heads and command attention. You knew what you were doing, how to play the game.
There was no rookie move on your part, ever. You’d chosen it carefully, wanting to make a lasting impression on Ward without overshadowing the refined ambiance of your surroundings.
No matter how many times you did it, how confident you became in your craft, you still felt your heart pounding as you waited for him. He was certainly the most influential man you had ever encountered, and that kind of power freaked you the fuck out.
Moments later, he sauntered into the restaurant, every inch the epitome of sophistication. His suit was impeccably tailored to fit his frame. Each stitch seemed to scream, "I have money to burn."
Which he did.
You couldn't help but wonder just how much that suit cost.
Hundreds? Thousands? It was probably more money than you made in a month, maybe even two. Yet, there he was, wearing it like it was no big deal.
As he approached your table, a subtle smile played at the corners of his lips.
"Good evening, Mr. Cameron," you greeted him, rising to your feet with a polite smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."
"Ward, please," he replied smoothly, extending his hand for a handshake. "The pleasure is all mine. You look even more stunning than your photos."
You accepted his handshake, "Thank you, Ward. Shall we?" You gestured toward our table, and he nodded in agreement.
You found yourself scrutinizing his every move, trying to break down his intentions behind that charming facade.
“So tell me, what drove you into this…industry?”
The way he said it rubbed you the wrong way. His tone seemed condescending, which didn’t surprise you at all. It seemed like there was more behind his question than just casual curiosity. Was he testing you?
It felt as though he was probing, searching for something beyond the surface level. His demeanor carried a hint of arrogance that grated against your nerves.
And honestly, you had punched men for lesser.
Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you maintained your polite smile.
"Well, Ward, it's a combination of factors, really," You began, choosing your words carefully. "I've always been intrigued by the dynamics of human connection and the opportunity to create meaningful experiences for others."
Bullshit.
You almost wanted to laugh at how easily the lie came out of your lips.
You did this because it was easy money. After all, men were stupid enough to pay for you to sit next to them at events, they were pawns, a means to an end, always.
You watched his expression closely, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor. It was as though your response had piqued his interest, just like you planned. But you couldn’t underestimate a man of his caliber, surely, he wasn’t as easy to manipulate as the guy next door.
Ward nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.
"Interesting," he mused, his tone neutral. "It's rare to find someone who approaches this line of work with such... philosophical perspective."
You resisted the urge to bristle at his comment, choosing instead to deflect.
"Well, I've always been a romantic at heart," you replied, injecting a hint of playfulness into your tone. "I suppose it's just part of my charm."
Again, bullshit. But he seems more interested in your shiny pink lipgloss than the words coming out of them.
Men.
To your relief, Ward chuckles softly, the tension in the air dissipating slightly.
"Indeed," he conceded, a hint of warmth softening his features. "Charm certainly seems to be one of your many qualities."
The dinner went smoothly. You let him show off and order for the both of you, complimenting his choice of wine even though it tasted like absolute shit, and you would have rather drown a beer than drink that ever again. But alas, there was a façade to maintain.
Ward regaled you with stories of his business ventures, his travels, and his philanthropic endeavors. You listened attentively, nodding and smiling at all the right moments, even if you would rather shoot yourself in the foot than listen to another white savior tale of his.
“If you don’t mind, Ward, I’d like to discuss our arrangement.”
His eyebrows rose in curiosity as he set down his wine glass, turning his attention fully to you. "Of course, my dear. Straight down to business, I like that.”
Ew.
You leaned back in your chair, “I’m sure you’ve been informed about the agency’s policy. I’d just like to know what events you’d like me to attend.”
Ward's only stared at you for a moment before he leaned foward, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "Ah, yes, the agency's policy. Quite straightforward, isn't it?" He mused, swirling the wine in his glass absently.
You nodded, keeping your expression neutral, though inside, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension. What have you gotten yourself into?
“Indeed.” you replied evenly, your voice betraying none of your inner turmoil.
“I’m afraid this job is going to be a little different from what you’re used to, honey.”
Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. What the hell was that supposed to mean? You had encountered your fair share of peculiar clients in the past, but something about Ward's demeanor sent a shiver down your spine.
Suppressing the urge to bolt from your seat, you forced a polite smile and nodded, trying to maintain an air of professionalism, “I see. Different in what way?"
He sighed, running a hand through his greyish hair, “Truth is, I didn’t hire you for myself.”
You blinked, trying to process Ward's words as your mind tried not to jump into the worst possible case scenario. What did he mean he didn't hire you for himself?
“I don’t understand?”
Ward studied you with a calculating gaze. "I apologize for any confusion," he began, his tone measured. "You see, I didn't hire you to be my companion for the summer."
A cold knot of dread formed in the pit of your stomach. You hated people who can’t just jump straight to the point, circling the subject like a stupid party trick.
"Then who did you hire me for?" you asked.
Ward's lips curled into a knowing smile, and for a moment, you felt a surge of panic coursing through you.
"I hired you for my son."
Okay, what the fuck.
You were positive your face probably gave away your exact thoughts, because he was speaking again before you could spit out the words.
Ward continued, his tone taking on a note of urgency. "You see, my son has been going through a difficult time lately.”
You only hoped you were not about to get roped into spending the entire summer with a man-child.
“Define difficult.”
“Two years ago he recovered from a drug addiction.”
You didn’t want to sound like an insensitive bitch, but drug addiction problems were more than common among the rich kids.
“Okay. And?”
“And he’s better now. He’s great, actually—“
“But?” You interrupted with a tilt of you head, “What’s the catch?”
“Recently, he’s been spending time with a girl, who I do not approve of.”
Roping you into a situation like this felt incredibly manipulative, not to mention unfair to both you and his son. You were not born to put up with other people family drama.
“Why don’t you approve of her?”
Ward snorts, wiping his lips with the napkin, “She’s not good enough for him. Hangs around with the kind of people that ruined his life.”
"And you think hiring me to spend time with your son will somehow fix…this?" you asked, skepticism lacing your tone.
“You’re not just spending time with him, honey.”
“Excuse me?”
He brought his hands to his face, rubbing, “I need you to date him.”
He must be out of his fucking mind.
You couldn't help but burst into laughter. The absurdity of the situation struck you harder, “Date him?" you repeated between cracks, shaking your head in disbelief.
The man was clearly going through a mid-life crisis because there was no fucking way he was being serious.
Ward's expression darkened, his brows furrowing in irritation as your laughter filled the restaurant.
"Is something amusing?" his voice cut through the air like a blade.
You struggled to stifle your laughter, the weight of his serious tone finally sinking in.
"I'm sorry," you managed to say between chuckles, though the amusement still lingered in your voice. "I thought you weren’t serious.”
Ward's jaw clenched, “You think I’d be here if I wasn’t serious?” he snapped, his tone stern. "My time is money.”
"Well, forgive me for finding the situation...unexpected," you reply, exaggeratedly flicking your gaze upward. "But hiring someone to date your son? That's not exactly normal.”
Ward's eyes narrowed slightly, his irritation palpable. "It's necessary," he retorted, his tone sharp. "My son's well-being is at stake here.”
Fucking dramatic. Rich people would never fail to amuse you with their hobbies.
Paying someone to date his son? It sounded like something straight out of a soap opera. But you knew better than to let your mouth get the best of you, especially when there was money on the line.
You held his gaze, unflinching. "And you think that hiring me to date him is the solution?"
“Yes.”
Ward's answer was curt, leaving no room for further discussion.
Dating his son was definitely not what you had signed up for, but the allure of the paycheck had you second-guessing your morals.
Realistically, Ward's son would probably never like you, you’d date for a few weeks, keep him away from the girl of his dreams, get paid and ta-dah.
"Alright. I'll hear you out, what exactly do you expect from me in this...arrangement?"
"You’ll be staying in the Outer Banks. I’ll pay for your tickets and accommodations. You’ll be paid weekly, extras will be included.”
“Extras?”
The word lingered in the air. It sent alarm bells ringing in your mind.
“Listen, your agency’s has a policy, I don’t care if you break it or not, you do whatever you gotta do.”
You snap, tired of biting your tongue, "I'm not a prostitute."
Ward's brows shot up, his expression momentarily taken aback by your bluntness. "Pardon me?"
You could feel the weight of his stare, analyzing your every move, every expression. But you refused to back down. You had principles, lines you wouldn't cross, no matter the paycheck.
"I said, I'm not a prostitute," you reiterated, "I don't engage in any activities that cross the line of professional companionship.”
Ward's jaw clenched as he assessed you, as though trying to decipher whether you were bluffing or not.
Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with thinly veiled frustration. "Fine," he relented, his tone icy. "But do remember you're replaceable."
Of course, he would resort to threats when he didn't get his way.
Typical.
"I'm well aware of that," you replied coolly, refusing to let him see any sign of weakness. "But if you want me to do this, it's going to be on my terms. Take it or leave it."
Ward's lips tightened into a thin line, "As you wish," he bit out, his tone dripping with irritation. "But don't expect any special treatment."
You gave him a tight-lipped smile, hiding the satisfaction bubbling inside you. "Wouldn't dream of it."
What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron au#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe fic#rafe x reader#rafe cameron angst#rafe angst#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe rec#rafe imagine#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#outerbanks rafe
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This request is really out of the blue but, i need I CRAVE i require a fic where tav and astarion finally find a cure for his vampirism (in dnd5 it can actually happen yay!) and he manages to see his reflection again and finally have his natural eye color again (blue bc he's prob a moon elf but I don't mind other colors too). The fangs can stay or not, idc, i just want my boy happy, in love, and cared for. Bonus points if there's cuddles too
OK first of all, thanks for this prompt!! Second, I had to break this up into two parts because I'm afraid of how unwieldy it would get otherwise. So see part 1 below. I'm actively writing part 2 and should have that posted within the next few days. Hope you enjoy!
UPDATE: Chapter 2 available here!
I Promised You (Chapter 1)
Rating: G
Pairing: Astarion x GN!reader
Word Count: 3.1K
Warnings/Tags: mentions of unconsciousness, cheeky banter, domestic life, post-events of BG3, potentially problematic levels of self-sacrifice by reader.
***
“All right. I think you’re ready,” Gale affirmed as he peered over your shoulder, analyzing your hand movements as you practiced the incantation.
“You think? Shouldn’t we wait until you’re sure?” you replied, heavy skepticism coloring your tone.
“I can’t give you my complete assurance because you haven’t actually cast the spell,” the wizard sighed.
The two of you had had this argument many times over the past several months as you studied and practiced. And studied and practiced some more. The conclusion was always the same, but your anxiety always managed to convince you that a different outcome would be had if you just asked him again.
Conjuration magic was one of the most difficult forms to master. Yes, you had specialized in it during your formative years, under the tutelage of several learned wizards across Faerûn, but this spell was perhaps the pinnacle of feats in conjuration. Only a handful of wizards could perform it. Thankfully Gale was among that number, which is why you had come to him for help.
“As I’ve said, this isn’t a spell you can just cast for practice runs,” he continued. “You have one chance. And if it works, the sheer power of it is undoubtedly going to knock you unconscious.”
“I know, I know,” you grumbled. “I just… I need to be absolutely perfect. I have to do this. For him.”
“Have you told him what you’re planning yet?” Gale prodded.
“No. Not yet. I didn’t want to get his hopes up. Or have him tell me how unlikely success will be. Not until I was absolutely sure I could do this.”
“I see,” the wizard returned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, tonight is as good a time to tell him as any. There’s nothing more I can teach you to prepare for this. You know the incantation by heart. You perform the gestures almost through muscle memory now. You’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” you repeated, as if saying the words would will it to be so.
“Send me a missive if he wants to go through with this. I’ll come to the cottage and oversee the spell’s casting.”
“All right,” you nodded.
“It’s going to work. You have to believe it’s going to work,” Gale encouraged, meeting your eyes with a serious, stern sort of expression.
“It’s going to work,” you agreed. “It’s going to work.”
***
It was dusk by the time you returned to the cottage. It was a modest home you shared with Astarion, situated just outside the city walls. It had a lovely view of the rolling hills that surrounded Baldur’s Gate, and proximity to the Chionthar River gave the air a refreshing, misty feel. Pastoral communities dotted the countryside with sheep and cattle grazing freely during the day, though they had returned to their stables long before your return.
Astarion was no fan of the bucolic lifestyle, as he was wont to remind you. But you both agreed that this living situation afforded him better meal prospects than the rats, cats and errant stray dogs that dwelled within the city limits. At least this way, he had more fulfilling options for food, since the livestock attracted their fair share of large predators. A mild, perpetual confusion charm that you cast kept the neighbors from questioning why – unlike their peers in neighboring villages and towns – their animals were never plagued by roving bears and panthers.
Astarion was lounging listlessly in the bay window of the den when you entered your home, one leg dangling off the ledge of his reading nook while he carelessly flipped through a book. Probably one he had pilfered from Gale’s stockpile a few weeks ago, you surmised. There had been an uptick in the wizard’s grumbling about discrepancies in his library catalog of late.
“Anything interesting?” you asked as you shrugged out of your traveler’s cloak and hung it on the coat rack by the door.
“Ugh, hardly,” Astarion grouched. “Nothing but debunked theories and philosophies from bloated scholars who died a hundred years ago.”
“You’re going to have to return Gale’s books to him eventually, you know. He’s beginning to realize how many from his library are missing.”
“Haven’t the slightest clue what you’re referring to, darling,” he replied breezily.
“Of course, love,” you chuckled, planting a kiss on his forehead as you passed him by to make your way into the kitchen.
“Care for a glass of wine?” you called.
“Mm, yes,” Astarion returned. “Red, please, dear.”
Uncorking the bottle and pouring the glasses gave you a brief moment to collect your thoughts. To steel your nerves for the conversation looming before you. Drawing a deep breath in and exhaling it slowly, you made your way back into the den and braced for the inevitable.
“Darling, do you have a moment?” you asked as you offered Astarion his glass before taking a seat next to him. “I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“Gods, it must be serious,” he teased, straightening from his reclined pose to take the proffered glass and make room for you. “You like you’re about to be ill. Go on then, love, before you faint and spill this vintage all over the floor.”
“It is rather serious, in fact,” you began, clearing your throat that had suddenly become tight with nerves. “I’ve waited to tell you until now, but I’ve been researching some more difficult conjuration magic with Gale the past few months…”
“Oh?” Astarion prompted as you paused. “For what purpose, darling? I thought you had already mastered the school of conjuration.”
“I have. But this is a more specialized form. More… niche, I guess one might say. And, well…” you trailed off again, hesitant.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
“I’ve-been-researching-a-spell-that-cures-vampirism-and-I-think-I’ve-found-a-way,” you spat out all at once, the words tumbling into each other like a wagon train gone wild.
Astarion met your eyes with a blank stare, seemingly forgetting that his one hand had been in the process of lifting the wine glass to his lips.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked hoarsely.
You coughed to clear your throat. “What I mean to say is: I’ve been working with Gale for months now to learn a spell that can cure your vampirism. He and I believe I’m ready to perform it. If you would allow me to try, that is.”
“If this is your idea of a joke,” he murmured, a slight quiver in his voice. “Then I have to tell you, it’s absolutely not funny at all.”
“It’s not a joke!” you assured. “I swear to you, Astarion. It’s not a joke,” you continued, squeezing one of his hands in yours.
He nodded absently, his gaze trained on your thumb as it soothed over the knuckles of his fingers.
“H-how?” he whispered finally. “How can you cure it? I’ve read every tome I could get my hands on for over two hundred years. Nothing, nothing, I’ve read has ever offered a solution.”
“Because this is a highly guarded spell. It’s only passed down through oral tradition among wizards who specialize in conjuration magic. Which is why I’ve needed Gale’s help,” you explained. “I broached the topic with him some time ago, told him how we were going to look for some way to cure your vampirism. Being a master of magicks himself, I thought he would be a good source of information for me to begin my research. I wasn’t even aware of the spell until he shared it with me. He’s been teaching me the mechanics of it since then. It’s been a difficult spell to master but–”
“What’s the cost?” Astarion interjected suddenly, meeting your gaze with a new intensity.
“It will cost you nothing, obviously,” you retorted, disliking where the conversation was heading.
Astarion huffed through his nose. A caustic, frustrated sort of sound. “Don’t play cute with me, darling. You know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t,” you hedged.
“What will the spell cost you,” he bit out through a clenched jaw.
You bit your lip, hesitant to reply. Astarion’s gaze never wavered.
Finally you sighed. Better to reveal the consequences of it all than attempt to hide the downsides from him. Even though they were negligible in your eyes, compared to the wonder that would be returning his elfhood to him, you knew he would resent being told only partial truths. You couldn’t fault him for it. You would feel the same, were the roles reversed.
“It will permanently weaken me. There’s a small, very small, chance it could kill me if I perform it wrong,” you confessed.
“No,” Astarion responded bluntly, without a hint of hesitation. He rose from the bench and made to leave the room. As if the matter had been settled and it was time to crack on.
“Wait! What do you mean, ‘no’?” you blurted. Jumping to your feet, you snatched at the sleeve of his nightshirt.
He turned to peer at you with a haughty gaze, one eyebrow arched delicately. “Exactly that. No. You’re not risking your life on the off chance of this working.”
“But it’s not an off chance. It will work! And the likelihood of me dying is incredibly slim!” you protested.
“But the likelihood of you being ‘permanently weakened’ is essentially certain, yes?”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as it sounds. And besides, I don’t mind. I want to do this, Astarion.”
He scoffed. “Have you gone absolutely mad? ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds.’ Do you even know what will actually happen to you afterwards?” he shot back angrily.
“No,” you admitted, a bit quieter.
He deliberately widened his eyes at your response, crossing his arms across his chest as if to say See? My point proven.
“But I know I can handle it! And I love you enough to try!” you retorted.
That appeared to be the wrong choice of words. You realized it immediately as his expression morphed from outright anger to something darker, icier.
“Well then, it seems we’re at an impasse, darling,” he growled. “Because I love you enough not to have you go through with this.”
You opened your mouth to object once more, but he continued, ignoring you.
“AND, since it is my body and my life we’re discussing, it means I have the final say on the matter. My answer is no.”
You had anticipated this conversation going many different ways. You thought you had prepared for the most likely scenarios. But, in all your pondering, you hadn’t seriously considered the possibility that Astarion would reject this opportunity outright.
Your eyes welled with tears. Hot, angry, disconsolate tears.
“Astarion,” you murmured, desperate. Angry though you both were, you couldn’t resist the urge to curl into his embrace. Gently, you pulled at his arms in an attempt to un-cross them. With a soft sigh, he allowed you to manipulate him so that you were pressed chest to chest. Your arms banded around his waist, locking him against you. Slowly, he raised his arms to mimic your stance, peering down at you.
“Astarion, my darling, this is your chance. It’s the only chance we’ve found in over two years of searching. I know I can do it. And you can win it all back. I can help you. Let me do this,” you pleaded.
“Darling, how could I ever ‘win it all back’ when there’s a possibility I could lose you forever? Or that you could be seriously harmed in the process?” he lifted a hand to cup your cheek, smiling sadly. “I would never forgive myself if you were harmed in an attempt to cure me.”
You closed your eyes, tears slipping freely down your cheeks. “Please. I know I can do this. Please let me do this. I want to do this for you.”
“Come, pup, no more tears. I’ve given you my answer,” he murmured, swiping a thumb across your cheekbones to catch each tear.
You opened your eyes to glare at him. “If the roles were reversed, would you want to try this for me?”
“Of course,” Astarion huffed. “But that’s obviously different, I –”
“WHY? Why is it different?” you cried, clutching him.
“Because you’re worth it!” he implored, arms vibrating as though he were resisting the urge to shake sense into you. “Your soul is worth a thousand of mine! It’s not marred by death and torture and sacrilege. Can’t you see that? Don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t,” you argued obstinately. “Because you are worth it to me. Your soul is priceless to me. I love you. You’re the love of my life.”
Astarion said nothing, just stared at you with sad eyes. You couldn’t tell if his silence meant you were persuading him, but you couldn’t relent without giving at least one more desperate plea.
“I promised you. Remember? After everything that happened, I promised you we would find a way for you to walk in the sun once more. I didn’t make that promise lightly. I want to do this for you.”
“Darling…” he murmured sadly, shaking his head.
“Astarion, please,” you beseeched, shifting to clutch his face between both of your palms. “I’m literally begging you to let me try. Gale and I have been practicing for almost a year now. He wouldn’t tell me I was ready unless he was certain. I know I can do this. Please. Let me try.”
“Don’t you have any regard for your own life?” he whispered. “How is it that I’m more concerned for your well being than you are?”
“Darling, all of us have the slightest potential of dying every single day we continue to breathe. Anything poses some risk to our lives. I’m telling you, the risk of me dying from this is the same as the risk I take casting any other magic.”
“But there’s still a permanent cost to doing this. Have you even asked Gale to elaborate on what that entails?”
“No,” you admitted a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t really think about it.”
Astarion rolled his eyes but planted a kiss against your forehead. “You’re ridiculous, you know.”
“I’m sorry that I was so ecstatic about finding a cure that I leapt straight into studying it!” you said defensively, although your tone lacked teeth.
He chuckled and wrapped you in a tighter embrace, resting his cheek on the top of your head. The two of you stood like that for some time, arms wrapped around each other, lost in thought.
After a while, Astarion cleared his throat. “I want us to speak to Gale. I want to know the full details, the consequences of a spell like this.”
You jerked your head up in surprise, staring at him with wide, elated eyes.
“I’m not saying yes,” he clarified, attempting to tamp down your burgeoning excitement. “But I’m willing to hear more about this… possibility.”
A delighted squeal rocketed up your throat. Quick as a flash, you jumped to wrap your legs around his waist. Long used to your ebullient antics, Astarion caught you with a practiced ease. His arms banded under your thighs and across your lower back, squeezing gently.
“I love you, you daft, feral thing,” he chuckled, nuzzling your cheek.
***
“I would have gone over this months ago, had you afforded me the opportunity,” Gale had groused upon arriving at the cottage the following evening. The three of you shared a bottle of barrel-aged Callidyren while Astarion peppered the wizard with umpteen questions about the spell’s mechanics. To his credit, Gale managed to assuage Astarion’s concerns. At least for the most part.
The permanent effects of casting the spell, you both learned, would diminish your inner well of magic, rendering you unable to cast as many spells as you currently could before resting for a longer period of time. Almost as though the cost of performing the spell would revert you back to the strength you had had as an apprentice so many years ago. You would still be powerful, capable of wielding even the most intricate of spells. But your endurance would be shorter, more concentrated. It was a price you were more than willing to pay. Even more so now that you had actually allowed Gale to describe the effects in detail.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t press for more details,” Astarion grumbled.
“It didn’t seem important at the time,” you sniffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Still doesn’t, in my opinion.”
“You know, in some schools of thought,” Astarion countered dryly, “people believe the difference between bravery and complete idiocy is so fine a line that it frequently gets crossed.”
“So I’ve heard,” you crooned. “But, alas, I’m nothing if not an incredibly adept fool in love.”
Gale observed the two of you warily, as if uncertain whether this exchange constituted harmless domestic banter or an undercurrent of severe agitation.
“Yes, well,” he interrupted awkwardly, “as I said before, you’re as ready as you will ever be to perform this magic. I’ll be here to supervise and intervene, if necessary, though I don’t think it will be.”
“Bully for us. Is there anything else we should be prepared for, if we’re to go through with this?” Astarion snapped. “Sudden onset sliminess? Gills? Frothing at the mouth?”
You winced. He was always his most discourteous self when he was afraid. Gale might not realize it, but you knew him well enough to tell when his rudeness was obfuscation.
“Ahem,” Gale coughed, clearly affronted by the impertinent question. “No, nothing of that sort. But this spell is incredibly demanding on one’s body. It’s very likely they’ll fall unconscious once it’s been cast. The effect shouldn’t last for more than a few hours. Enough time for a proper rest.”
“You failed to mention that yesterday,” Astarion said peevishly, glaring at you from across the dining table.
“Because it’s the equivalent to me needing a good sleep after a tiring day,” you quipped.
Gale winced. “It’s a bit more serious than that, I’d argue.”
“Thank you,” Astarion intoned.
“Tsk. An inconvenience at worst. Nothing unmanageable,” you retorted. “So, what say you, darling? Are you willing to give this a try?”
Astarion’s glare shifted between you and Gale, studying you both.
“And you both swear to me that all information is now disclosed, yes? No partial truths, no hidden side effects?”
“I swear,” the two of you responded in unison. You reached for Astarion’s hand across the table.
“My darling, this will work. I’m going to be fine. And you’re going to be cured,” you smiled gently. “Please, trust me.”
He squeezed your hand, crimson eyes boring into your own.
Finally, after a moment, he gave you a terse nod.
“All right. Let’s try,” he agreed.
#dancingbirdiewrites#astarion#astarion x reader#bg3 astarion#astarion x tav#astarion bg3#astarion x mc#astarion ancunin#bg3 astarion fic#baldurs gate astarion#baldur’s gate astarion#astarion x f!reader#tav x astarion#astarion x you#astarion x gn reader#bg3 fanfiction#bg3 fic#astarion fluff#astarion fanfic#astarion fic
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gossip girl · pt. xi
based on the tv series gossip girl
max verstappen / charles leclerc x socialité!reader
fc: elsa hosk (y/n) · taylor hill (léa) · barbara palvin (jolie)
a/n: hi! sorry this took long! my personal life has been a roller-coaster these past days, but here's a new part for you, i hope you enjoy it! 🤍
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gossip girl here, your one and only source into the scandalous lives of monaco's elite.
f1drivers
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f1drivers max verstappen and charles leclerc arrive to the paddock for fp1-2 #lasvegasgp
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username ah yes the y/n lover duo
username i call them the edward and jacob of f1
username and y/n?
f1drivers apparently she came with max, but she used a private entrance
username i really need to know what's happening between them and y/n @/gossipgirl
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the city lights of las vegas' nightlife shined brightly and illuminated the whole town. the temperature had quickly dropped after the moon had risen, so you stood inside the red bull garage, with your hands in the pockets of the leather jacket you wore, waiting for max now the stewards had announced the fp1 session would not be resumed.
it had been a disaster. not even 10 minutes in, a loose drain cover had hit carlos' ferrari. max was right, this is a shitshow. luckily nobody had gotten hurt, but your blood ran cold at the thought of what could have happened.
"is carlos okay?". you heard max ask as soon as he got out of the vehicle.
"yes, he's fine".
max looked at you as he skillfully removed his helmet. it fascinated you: how the way the man who was always kind and tender turned into a hungry lion whenever he was in a racing suit and how his ocean blue eyes somehow turned a shade darker.
"seems like the start of fp2 will be delayed. they have informed us that they are checking all the drain covers now".
"great, fucking great". max said sarcastically.
"go rest, it seems like this will take long".
"yeah, yeah, i will".
max had waited until you were in his drivers' room, out of the public eye, to give you a chaste kiss. he had removed the top part of his elivs' inspired racing suit, that now was tied on his hips, and sat down on the sofa next to you.
"i have texted charles to ask him how carlos was". you told his as you intertwined your fingers with his. "and he told me everything is okay, but apparently he couldn't feel his legs for a few seconds".
"it doesn't make sense". he stated. "all that show for this? he could've got seriously injured".
"i know". you said. "it's scary to know they spent millions on this, but didn't even bother to check the drain covers twice".
"yeah". he tightened his embrace on your body. "aren't you tired? you didn't sleep well yesterday".
"kind of". you replied. "but it's okay, i'll drink another coffee later".
"and what are we going to do if you can't sleep later?".
"i'll wake you up because i will blame it on you".
"i'm sure i'll find a way to keep you entertained".
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yourusername has posted a story
caption: might have some trouble sleeping later
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max's fingers played with the buttons of your pink pajama shirt while yours caressed his damp hair. the smell of vanilla gel from the shower you had shared lingered on your bodies. now you laid on the hotel bed you shared, with your legs intertwined with his and feeling the beat of his heart against yours.
"you haven't had enough?".
"of you?". he said as he leaned in for a quick kiss. "never".
your hands moved to touch his face, feeling his stubble on your fingertips, you traced with your fingers the side of his jaw.
"i have to tell you something". you stated and his blue eyes starred into yours to look for a clue. "but promise me you won't get angry".
"that doesn't sound good".
"i know". you replied. "but nothing has happened, so don't worry".
"okay, i'm listening".
"yesterday charles confessed he still had feelings for me". you said. "when we were on our way back to the hotel, we were talking about léa and he told me he had realized that he didn't feel about her the same way he felt with me".
"he did?". he said and you nodded. "and how do you feel about it?".
"i love charles the way you love an old friend, i have many memories with him that are so dear to me". you explained. "but i know that what i once felt is not what i feel now and i'm sure that it's you the one who i want in my life".
"good". he said. "because i'm not letting you go anytime soon".
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#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 instagram au#f1 fandom#f1 smau#instagram au#social media au#formula 1#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 scenario#formula one#f1 one shot#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic
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Naughty Thoughts (Venom One-Shot)
Venom x Eddie Brock x Fem!Reader 18+ ONLY / Requests are open
Summary: Venom discovers your dirty thoughts about him and his tongue.
Fic type: smut
VENOM: @0alk0msan @romeosix1 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)
___ ___ ___ ___ ___
When Eddie had first told you about Venom, he’d been unsure how you’d take it. Would you run for the hills? Would you beat him up with your backpack? Would you scream at him? Would you call him names? All valid questions, really. Eddie was an anxious person at the best of times anyway, so all of that was pretty on-brand for him.
You had done none of those things, although you had contemplated running for the hills briefly but once you met Venom, and found out how sweet he really was under the macho exterior, well, you didn’t take long to get close to him.
At first, Venom had kept quiet during your sex life with Eddie, having had the whole privacy thing repeated into his head so much that he finally listened just to make Eddie stop. Your sex life with Eddie was good- he was a good lay, and you loved him, too. So it was just a win-win all around but as you grew more comfortable with Venom being around all the time, you began to wonder- did he have a sex drive, too?
So, of course, the first time Venom hitched a ride with you, it had been the first intrusive thought that popped into your head. And, of course, Venom heard it.
“NAUGHTY THOUGHTS FOR A NAUGHTY LADY,” Venom breathed from the back of your brain. It was weird to hear his voice so crystal clear from within yourself. It was a little disconcerting if you were completely honest.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” you replied, flushing profusely. Eddie sat opposite you, having just transferred the little goop alien from his body to yours. His head cocked to the side in question.
“What’s he saying?” Eddie asked, leaning forward.
“Nothing,” you replied at the same time as Venom, whose head appeared over your shoulder to answer his usual ride, saying-
“Our little minx wants to know about our sex drive, Eddie-”
You groaned, slapping a hand over your face in pure embarrassment. God, this could not get worse. You risked a glance at Eddie, sure that you would find horror there. You were wrong. On Eddie’s face was a mix of quiet interest and something much darker and lustful. You bit your lip, your brain immediately conjuring an image that was just absolutely filthy.
Oh shit, wait-
“Eddie,” Venom said, tongue licking a little stripe up the length of your jaw. “She’s filthy-”
Eddie arched a brow, eyes boring holes into you. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain as he tried to figure out what was going on between the both of you. You couldn’t deny how the humiliation of having Venom out you like this turned you on- not that you’d ever admit it to yourself.
“Tell him what you’re thinking, Pet- or should we?”
You chewed on your lip, unable to make the words come out. Venom chuckled in your ear.
“She wants us to eat her while you watch, Eddie,” Venom all but growled. You jolted as you felt tendrils of his waxy form curl around your arms and legs, slowly wrapping around like a python with its dinner. The thought of being Venom’s prey had you squeezing your thighs together.
“Does she?” Eddie replied, a visible tent growing in his jeans. You averted your gaze only for one of Venom’s soft tendrils to cup your chin and bring you to face him. He looked hungry.
“Can we?” Was all Venom asked, the milk-white of his eyes darkening just a little. His tendrils curled around on your limbs a little tighter with excitement and you felt the tendrils on your legs inch closer and closer to your cunt.
You nodded, cheeks pinking.
“Y-yes,” you breathed out, “please, V.”
That was all the encouragement Venom needed, suddenly using his tendrils to undo your skirt and rip your panties from your body. He would have ripped up the skirt too if you hadn’t given him a warning glare internally.
The tendrils forced your legs apart as far as they could go, and you sucked in a breath when you heard the groan that escaped both Eddie and Venom at the sight of your cunt clenching around nothing.
You were very slick, you could tell. Partly due to your own imagination, but you were also pretty sure Venom was using his influence on your body to excite you even further now he’d gotten permission.
The tip of a tendril poked at your folds, experimentally pushing just past the entrance. You squirmed with desire- wondering just what it would take to have him tendril-blast you to orgasm.
“All you need to do is ask, Pet,” Venom answered verbally, and then the tendril was swelling in size and pushing further inside you. You keened as he started to move, slow at first but rubbing on all the right spots to shoot pleasure right up your spine.
“Venom-” you gasped out, straining against the tendrils keeping you spread open for him. “Please, I- your tongue-”
Venom chuckled but obliged. He brought his head down to settle between your legs and flicked his tongue out against your clit. You jolted at the directness and tried not to grind against him- not that you could move much anyway with the way you were restrained for him.
The tendril inside you jolted and wriggled as Venom finally started to lick at your clit. You squirmed under his ministrations and moaned with the way the tendril fucked your insides. Venom was whispering in your mind all the filthy things he wanted to do to you- what you tasted like, how Eddie was getting off on watching you fuck him.
Then, the tendril retreated, and you whimpered with discontent. You’d gone from feeling so full to so empty and you didn’t like it. You didn’t have to wait long, though, of course, as Venom’s tongue slid down your slit, over your bundle of nerves and into your hole. His writhing, wet tongue pushed inside you, licking at your walls and rubbing against that one spot he knew drove you insane.
You cried out, fighting against the restraints but unable to do anything but take it.
You saw a flash of teeth as Venom pushed his tongue further inside you, fucking you with it like you were nothing more than a sex toy for him. The thought had you picturing him fucking you with his tendrils in all your holes, using you- and you heard Venom’s sound of interest in your brain.
“OH, YES- NEXT TIME, PET,” you heard his voice internally and you clenched your cunt around his tongue as he flooded your brain with images of what he was promising to do to you.
You shook against him as his tongue started to writhe properly now, laving and fucking in and out of you to wring every single ounce of pleasure out of you. You’d never had something so deep inside you before- never mind someone so hungry to eat you from the inside out.
You felt that coil beginning to tighten, tighter and tighter as Venom forced you towards orgasm whether you were ready for it or not.
“CUM FOR US,” Venom growled from the back of your mind. “PAINT OUR TONGUE WITH YOUR RELEASE.”
You were so close to being pushed over that edge that all it took was Venom brushing your clit once more with one of his tendrils to make you cum, jerking and roiling against your restraints as Venom hungrily licked up all of your release. You wailed as the overstimulation started to set in, and you heard Eddie finish behind Venom.
The sound of his pleasured grunting had you clenching feebly around Venom’s tongue once more before he finally withdrew. You panted and twitched as the aftershocks of such a powerful orgasm wracked through you, and Venom slowly unwound his tendrils from you so he could nestle back inside your body.
You looked over to Eddie and encouraged him to come and lay with you.
Internally, you could feel Venom rubbing up against you much like a cat did when they were incredibly happy.
“WE LIKE TO MAKE YOU CUM FOR US, PET,” he practically purred. You chuckled tiredly and clenched your thighs together, clit still pulsing with leftover pleasure.
“Maybe later, V,” you replied, feeling sleep start to pull at your senses. “You have a promise to keep, remember?”
You brought back the images that Venom had put into your mind and felt him practically vibrate with excitement.
“WE LOOK FORWARD TO IT.”
Eddie had his arm wrapped around you and had been watching this (from his perspective) one-sided conversation rather quietly.
“What’s this?” He asked, nosing against your neck. You sighed contentedly and replied-
“The encore.”
#eddie brock x reader#eddie brock imagine#eddie brock scenario#eddie brock oneshot#eddie brock one-shot#eddie brock one shot#eddie brock headcanon#eddie brock headcanons#eddie brock hc#eddie brock hcs#eddie brock fanfiction#eddie brock fanfic#eddie brock fic#eddie brock x you#eddie brock x y/n#eddie brock blurb#eddie brock drabble#eddie brock dialogue#venom x reader#venom x you#venom x y/n#venom fanfiction#venom oneshot#venom imagine#venom drabble#venom blurb#veddie x reader#veddie#tom hardy#tom hardy fanfic
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