#<- kind of sort of not really hes just gross.

[paperlifted]

Actually, the other turtle age-related hill I will die on is that I like that the 2k3 brothers seem a bit 'old' for 15/16yos.

Like there are still flaws in the portrayal. I get it. They were voiced by adult men (one of whom is very gravelly and yet, alas, perfect) and came out of an era where the writing of teenagers could undeniably get a bit Hello Fellow Kids at times. I'm not defending every choice that was made.

But overall I really like the vibe, and I think it makes sense for their situation! 2k3 commits to the fact that they are mutants who have been in hiding for most of their lives - no other family, no network of close friends, no society or government to fall back on. There weren't babysitters available when Splinter had to leave the kids alone to go foraging; they had to be responsible for one another from a young age, and as soon as they were able to contribute to the household then he had them out there completing them with him, because those chores needed to happen if they were all to survive. If ever he was ill or injured, they had to find a way to manage. Their playground was a spacious sewer with all sorts of hazards littered through it, and if something went wrong without Splinter in earshot - and we know it did! - then they simply had to step up and deal.

On top of that, they haven't had any peers to shape their interests and behaviours - they obviously model themselves here and there off what they've seen on TV, or read in a book, or witnessed on the streets, but their primary human contact prior to April seems to have been the homeless community. The internet was a different beast back then; they didn't have the same convenient exposure to all quarters of the world through an easily-obtained handheld device. They weren't hanging out with long-distance friends and learning to be normal teens on Tumblr.

Of course they seem more like college-aged young adults than high school sophomores! They're still kids, but their youth mostly shows through in the ways they're each still figuring out their own self-identities: sorting through personal biases, learning how to deal with emotional peaks and troughs, exploring where they stand in the context of the wider world they've been denied for so long.

And, yeah, in the ways they're sometimes just kind of short-sighted or gross or fascinated by something totally age appropriate. They're mature for their age, but they don't escape every trap of immaturity by any means. Which is a good thing!

Expecting them to be teens like any other teen rings more unrealistically to me. The MNT part is just as big a part of who they are as the first T.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

BLOOD FEUDS, ANCIENT AND MODERN | RYOMEN SUKUNA.

✮ tags ; no curses au, blood incest, use of honorifics (oji-san) abuse (mostly verbal / emotional), classism, grooming / generally predatory behavior, large age gaps (20+ yrs), blood feuds, imbalanced power dynamics, white collar crime, afab + fem!niece!reader, uncle sukuna, the word rape used in text, non/dubcon (not noncon necessarily), fingering, petnames (little one, kid, little lamb), thigh-fucking, and other things, very horrible and gross sukuna behavior 18+

this is very dark and it deals BRIEFLY with sukuna being very predatory to reader when she's UNDERAGE / young. nothing explicit happens WHILE she is underage, but sukuna does leer at reader and it is mentioned. please proceed with caution !!!

PLEASE HEED THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED!!!

✮ wc ; 10.3k (???????????)

✮ a/n ; thank you vic @saintshigaraki for always indulging my nonsense and also tomfoolery. kissing you.

i'll be honest lads this one got away from me BAD jksdfhjs. i think its interesting at least.I KNOW THE TAGS ARE WICKED but i promise its like. kind of sexy at least.

also yes the title is from the rdr2 soundtrack shhh

✮ synopsis ; blood is thicker than water. resentment, you think, is thicker than both.

Bastard.

An intimately familiar title, lacking tooth and effect. It's meaning eroded with time and usage - and a moniker you've wielded proudly for as long as you can remember. You don't recall much of your life before it became part of you.

The daughter born of wedlock. Bastard daughter. The only remaining stain to your family's reputation aside from your late father.

Your mother often tells you that you were her hardest child to birth. When you were littler it was a story relayed to you with affection, and but now it's with such bitter hatred you can feel it lodged in your throat.

The most important element is the predestination in it. You came into the world kicking and screaming, throat hoarse and violent. From birth, you knew you were half-forged with bad blood and came into the world trying to be absolved of it. It's shaped your life, your relationships, everything about you.

The other half of your DNA, the good half, is from your father. Before you were a bastard, you were your parents' only child. Your father was a good man. The best you know. An average, humble man. From a generation of other working class men with a tough job in construction. Your best memories come from when he was still alive.

A quiet life, untainted by the residual bitterness of your mothers heritage. You lived away from it, outside of it. The mother in your memories from back then seem like a dream now, some mirage from long ago - disinterested in anything but you and your father. Your mama and papa. Your father took good care of you both, and your mother loved him madly.

You lived as a normal family in a small apartment just outside of Gifu for the first seven years of your life. You attended a small local school and had friends with crooked teeth and messy hair.

Your childhood was mostly happy if you break it up into pieces like that. Blissfully uneventful.

There's a concise break of change of what your life was versus what became of it. Your fathers death the splinter in the wood, separating the two halves.

The worst of your childhood, of course, came in your fathers passing. Not just because of the loss, but what it made of your life. His funeral welcomed people of all walks of life with the most notable absence of your elusive mothers side of the family.

Another old memory you have with your mother is looking at her face during your fathers wake. The deep darkness of her eyes, sunken in and hollow. The first time you ever found her terrifying instead of comforting. While the world mourned your father, your mother—you think—mourned her life.

Forced into single motherhood with no prospects and no career, your mother decided it was best for the both of you to return home.

You think the worst of your life started there.

Your mother's side of the family has never welcomed you with open arms. You wouldn't come to know why until much later. You were a child then. There's no way you could've known about feuds that deep.

The only thing you knew was that you were hated vehemently, and nothing could change that.

Your grandmother's estate was always frightening to you in your childhood. You've yet to grow out of that feeling despite living there for the last fifteen years. It's remained unchanged since you moved in and the lights in the hall never seems bright enough. Jade green painted walls and white tile floors. Some rooms have classically Japanese flooring and heirloom paintings from the Heian era. Others modernized with sterile whites and grays and house plants that add no life to it at all. Stretched wide with tens of rooms, and easy for a child to get lost in.

A sinking abyss. A terrible place. A dark labyrinth. Anxiety inducing to even think about now. No place for a child your size or your age.

The best way to describe your childhood after your father died was cold. Removed from your life in the suburbs and placed among other rich kids, you became overtly self-conscious of the differences between you and them. Them being anyone who grew up wealthy and your other extended family. You were constantly reminded of your place as the bastard child. Later learning how your mother left her fiance many years ago for your father, your poor and worthless father.

(You theorize any warmth that your mother had for you was buried in your dead dads casket. Living there, among them, made sure she'd never find it again.)

Your mother is the most complicated part of your life. You don't have a time for when she gave up on raising you. There was a year when she tried, you think. For the most part, you lived in that house utterly alone. 

At first that abandonment was miserable (as it would be to any child, certainly) but a time came where you were glad you saw so little of her.

Your mother, who you had once loved and thought highly of, became a pitiful prey animal in the four walls of your grandmother's house. Small and anxious and utterly hateful. A bunny born with some cosmic knowledge and horrific understanding that its destiny is to become food for a wolf. Viciousness between her siblings, no doubt fostered by your grandparents and their establishment, tore apart the aspects of her your father mended and ruined her. You were too little to stop it. 

Blood feuds that ran bone-chillingly deep plagued most of the interactions with your extended family for as long as you've been a part of them. Your mother has exactly four siblings. Two sisters between her with her as the middle daughter, and two brothers. One of which is estranged so completely you don't know his name.

And the other being your Uncle Sukuna.

Your hatred for your aunts and their children came to you rather naturally. For every gala and ball and charity fund your worthless bloodline ever raised, came catty arguments and verbal abuse from the shallow mouths of your beloved cousins. You had nothing to prove to anyone in that house. You were detested since your birth and your grandparents made no small effort to show you through as much neglect and verbal lashing as they could get away with.

Rotten girl. Cursed daughter. You're the reason your mother is like this. You're the reason she is miserable. You should've been buried with your father.

Compared to the experience of your grandfather ripping into you at age ten for simply being alive, your cousin's commentary on you was remarkably uninteresting. You resented them for being nuisances, though, with the exception of maybe one who bucked it out of that place as soon as they could. Just like you planned too.

For a long time, Sukuna wasn't around enough to have a real presence in your consciousness. You tried not to think of your extended family more than you had too. You got used to not knowing about your relatives living there, but there was no one so elusive as him.

It was as if, increasingly, you heard whispers of his name at everything you were forced to attend.

The first time you ever meet your Uncle, you're freshly sixteen. It's the birthday party your mother throws for you each year in an effort to show how close the two of you are to the rest of your relatives.

The first time you see Sukuna in person, the only thing on your mind is how much he stands out from the rest of your relatives. He's a head taller than the tallest person there, and he's...bigger. He's not clean or neat, scruff lining his chin. Old, dark eyes. Visible tattoos that reek of disgraced son and hardly of prodigy.

At sixteen, you understood intimately what your family considered to be gold standard. Your uncle was antithetical to it. His very existence a paradox to the ideas you've had been hammered into you for years. Dyed hair, piercings, tattoos - his suit jacket undone to expose his chest. Lacking respect and formality and dignity. 

He was a lot like you. You got that impression, somehow.

When your eyes met with your uncles for the first time, you had your second fully formed thought about him.

Dangerous. Like an alarm. Like a ringing bell, throbbing through your skull and pulsing through your teeth. Some part of you just knew that he was a very dangerous man. Not just a wealthy one.

The first conversation you ever had with your uncle proves to be the most significant. Brief, yet - tonal in all ways. The gold standard for how he viewed you. How he would view you.

How he would treat you.

("So you're the new brat,"

Your uncle is an imposing man. You are sixteen and slightly tipsy, which is the least horrible thing you could be since your other cousin is coked out in the bathroom upstairs. You sway, staring at him. You think that's disrespectful.

He's the kind of man who might kill you for that. Might hit you. But you don't find it in yourself to challenge your defiance when you're far from sober and even father form happy. You lean your weight to one side and hum.

"New bastard," You correct him, and take another sip of the flute of champagne in your hand. "My worthless fathers, worthless daughter."

Sukuna pauses, his eyes widening before his lips break out into a grin. You wonder if it's because you're drunk. You think he's staring at you. Your eyes are too blurry to tell but you think he's gazing down the low dip of your top. At the curve of your chest. Leering at the body you've yet to even grow into.

"Tenacious," Your uncle says, and takes a long drink of his sake. You stare at the edge of his glass, carmine eyes gazing so deeply at you - you think you'll throw up. "You're your mothers daughter. Through and through.")

The night of your sixteenth birthday, your uncle announced he'd be opening a business venture in Tokyo. All this time he'd been doing work overseas, but seeing family helped finalized his decision. You remember the look on his face when he announced it. Remembered his eyes searching on you through the crowd as he held the mic up to his lips. How he named you the main reason, one conversation and he grew so fond of his little niece. That you were a clever girl, and that even though he hadn't known you long - he was sure you'd go so far.

Happy Birthday to you, little lamb.

You remember best the feeling afterwards. How the crowd went nearly silent. Hundreds of eyes darting your way in seas of strangers. All the attention people hadn’t paid suddenly mattering, all the congratulations. You remember how they crowded you and how your uncle came to your rescue with a cheeky grin and air of nonchalance.

You remember feeling sick. You remember the chill creeping up your spine, bile in your throat - all wet eyes and nausea.

Your uncle is a dangerous man. And you, the uninteresting bastard daughter, had caught his full attention.

The next four years of your life would pass so slowly, you often wondered during them, if you died that night and you'd live through these days as punishment for the crime of existing.

A little after your birthday, your uncle moved back to Japan permanently - in a residence not far from your grandmother's estate. He became a permanent fixture in your life. Many things came with that reality, none of them being especially pleasant.

You learn three things in the four years you spend with your uncle in your life.

The first is that your uncle is more powerful than you can really understand.

Through conversations at your kitchen table about his escapades abroad, you learn nothing of the work he actually does. Only what it involves, who it involves - foreign governments and people much more powerful than your family. Your uncle has ties to the Gojo family, and the Zenins'. Your time here teaches you that they make up two halves of private militarized arms and they work domestically and internationally. The only thing you need to know about them is they are filthy rich, richer than your own family and twice as corrupt.

And Sukuna works with them. Knows them rather intimately, from the pictures you've seen of Sukuna and Gojo Satoru drinking together - two prodigal sons with silver spoons and unsettling demeanors.

The second thing you learn is that your uncle's power and influence extend past all borders and include your grandparents and relatives. In the years he'd been away from home, he's garnered a formidable reputation. You never cared to notice it before, but it's all you can see now. Every arrogant, vapid relative you have the displeasure of calling family sees your uncle as some sort of king. The golden ticket to grandparents approval. A wishing well for all their hopes and dreams - so long as they appease him.

They fawn over him. Sukuna knows it. But they're all so busy trying to get on his good side they never catch his subtleties. Never seem to notice the cold sarcasm and biting edge to his questions. They pander and peacock to him constantly, but not one of them has sense enough to understand him a little deeper. Except you, incidentally. That's part of your problem

The third thing you learn about your uncle is that he takes pleasure in your cleverness no one in your life has since.... who knows? Since your father died, you think.

And you are clever. A head smarter than the rest of your family and a try-hard in all aspects. You graduated highschool top of your class and got scholarships into better schools. It was never about proving your worth of course, but about survival. You wanted away from this place, and the only way to cut your ties completely is to carve a life for yourself. Academia, education, using your name to make connections - you've been working silently on it since you were in middle school.

The only person who'd ever noticed your accomplishments was Sukuna. In between his work, he'd visit you in your room. You grew close in one sense of the word. It was a secret kept between you - but Sukuna often reminded you of it. That he saw you for who you were when no one else did. That his interest in you exceeds your own understanding, and it'd be in your best interest to remember that.

Some half-way between threats and affection, for four years - your uncle remained at your side. Uneasy as you were, he'd never try to advance on you while you were still in highschool. Some part of you knew he wasn't above it. Rather his interest hinged on getting to know you.

Your uncle is above all things manipulative.

Rather he preferred to keep you on your toes during the duration of your time together. To get close but not too close. To get to know each other openly. Your uncle made sure everyone in your family knew of his fondness for you. He'd keep you close to his side or follow you around, always in public places with a million eyes. He'd whisper to you, laughed and asked questions.

You hated being the center of attention, so Sukuna turned it on you any chance he got. It made it hard for you to refuse him, but mostly it made it hard to go under the radar without his protection. It made it hard for your relatives to insult and berate you.

You hated it. You hated accepting his kindness, because you know your uncle well enough to know that everything in the world came with a cost. And that this protection is little more than luxury, promised to you as long as you played nice.

And you always did play nice. But you were cautious. Never alone too long in the same room. Never somewhere too late. Never drunk, never high. Always within distance of a door. Sukuna was a dangerous man, and you may be a bastard but you're no fool.

It'd work for years. You evaded any real alone time with him for years. Years.

Until earlier this year where your mother had made arrangements for you to spend the summer with your dear old Uncle - in his villa, far from the safety of Japan's main island.

In the years of your uncle's favoritism towards you, no one has been more pleased than your mother. You've come to hate her for it. Your relationship hasn't been good in years and for her to suddenly attempt to be your mother again felt like a mockery.

(It mostly felt like a betrayal. You didn't think she could betray you a second time after she all but abandoned you the minute she stepped foot in that house.

Like something possessing the corpse of the mama in your dreams, your seething hatred towards her started then you think.)

You'd spent years indifferent to her, but it was this change that made you hate her down to your bones. You were furious about the decision. Furious she didn't bother asking, furious about all of it.

About everything.

An entire summer alone with the man you know to be most dangerous to you. You wouldn't put it past Sukuna, to plan this around you - but it didn't make it any less frustrating.

("You'll be going with your uncle," Your mother says, hardly listening to you. There's a baby on her hip, your half-brother and a vacant look in her eyes. You feel your jaw tighten. "We've already made plans. Your stepfather,"

"Your husband." You correct. Your mother gives you a tight-lipped smile.

"We are going on a family vacation. Your grandparents wouldn't tolerate you here alone , so you're going and that's final."

"I don't need to live with you," You seethe, fighting the urge to grab her and punch her. You've never been violent. Your mother makes you homicidal. "I can find my own fucking place, I'm twenty I don't need-"

She slams something. Your half-brother makes watery eyes. She stares at you distantly, righteously angry. Whether she's earned that anger or not, it makes your mood worse. .

"This is the least you could for me. For us." She hisses, turning around. You think of killing her. "For all the shit you put me through."

"What I put you through? Fuck you," You admit, your throat burning like a star falling through the atmosphere. Then, through a shaky breath"There's something off about him, mom. Do you understand what I'm fucking saying? Where you're sending me?

Three expressions pass over her face. The ghost of grief, some kind of solace and then more vacancy. She swallows, turns around to keep folding baby clothes. Her voice trembles. She knows she's sending you to your doom. Knows what waits for you as soon as you go.

"You're going. We need this." She says, and still doesn't turn to look at you. Her voice is so frigid it doesn't sound like hers anymore. "That's final."

You shouldn't be shocked by it anymore, but it doesn't make it easier.

You slam the door on your wait out. You hope their plane crashes on the way there.)

You tried your best to worm your way out of the situation before the semester closed out. But Sukuna, three steps ahead of you at all times, made sure that wasn't possible. Your uncle owned a villa out on an island, private - and the bags had already been packed. You'll like it there, he assured you so many times, it's comfortable. There's a good view and the kids in the place will remind you of the kids you grew up with.

(It's hard not to notice the ways in which Sukuna tempts you into wanting to go. Though there's nothing, truly, that could make the experience a pleasant one - it's posed to appeal to you. A place to remind you of your childhood. You try not to think about it.)

Despite your protests, despite your vehement frustration - there was nothing you could do but go. If you didn't go with Sukuna, it'd be enduring 3 months alone with your grandparents. You could try to crash with friends but the friends you've made so far wouldn't dream of being so polite and you dare not think of burdening your childhood friends with your family problems. They deal with enough as is.

The last option was running away. You're desperate enough to entertain it. You do, several times - considering what the worst outcome could be. All scenarios end with Sukuna coming to find you, because he's crazy and connected like that. Even if he's deliberate in not displaying those parts of himself, you know his apathy to be a facade.

You know him well. He knows you well. It feels like a competition to see who can outsmart the other that you were forced into with no say.

So, come the end of your third year of college - a driver picks you up right as your finals are finished to take you to the airport. A private jet, a nauseating display of wealth just for your uncle to torment you with you're sure.

On the plane ride to a small island on the coast of Japan, you think to yourself that all gods in the world must've abandoned you before you were ever born.

__

The first few weeks of your stay in the island of Nii-jima prove to be uneventful.

For a small island, it's still governed through something related to Tokyo. It's not the city or even the country, some quiet and relaxing in between. There are people here who've lived for generations and others who are only touring. Your uncle's villa though, is far from all life - and a few miles out from a beach.

You can hardly understand what a single man needs such a big house for. There's staff there too, though less than at your grandparents place which you're grateful for. You've met six of eight, two of them people who take care of the yards and garden.

Sato-san is the woman you see most often. The one cook Sukuna has and the woman who's been working longest. She is kindhearted and sturdy, often bringing her grandchildren with her. She's quiet and motherly - and so warm you're unsure of how to behave around her. Your uncle is seemingly fond of her which is saying a lot. She speaks highly of him. 

It's been so long since you've experienced something like maternal warmth, you're awkward around her. You try to not be too attached, try not to be fond of anything in this house because you know something horrible and dormant lies within it and you do not want to stay. Don't even want to entertain the idea of staying.

But Sato-san is good to you, with wrinkles and sunspots and a bright laugh. Her grandchildren are so well-behaved you wonder about how they were raised. A girl about seven and a boy about four, always quiet and inattentive. You've grown fond of them too, despite how bad you normally are with children. They're easy to be around.

You're frustrated mainly because you don't hate being here. The people are kind and welcoming and everyone locally is pleasant and good. You've been in the city too long, with insane people too long, and everything feels refreshing. The bus here is free and you can be at the beach whenever you like. You've made friends here - organically, with no strings attached. .

For the first time in your twenty years of living, you even have a guy you think is cute. It seems small, but back home everyone knows who you are. You've never had a relationship work out for one reason or another, but here? Here no one knows you, and the boy you meet at the beach with his friends is just a boy.

You don't want to like being here, but you do - and you don't want Sukuna to come back and he will. Nothing ever works out for you.

The worst of your luck you think builds on the edge of that thought.

You come home tonight doing a lot of things you would not normally. 

For one, you've gotten yourself drunk. The reason being the cute boy aforementioned invited you down to the beach with his friend. You justified going thinking if you were going to be miserable all summer - a single good memory wouldn't kill you.

You had fun. Your swimsuit is underneath your short skimpy clothes, and you sat in his lap and made-out with him all evening. Got to pretend you were a normal girl and you got to kiss for the first time. You still reek of alcohol and his cheap cologne. Blissfully uneventful. 

When you stumble into the foyer of the house with blurry vision and hear the T.V. playing, you know it instinctively that peace is going to be short-lived. You know that your uncle is home, and that he was waiting for you.

All the hairs on your neck raise. A shift in the atmosphere makes it hard to think clearly. Your lungs barely get enough oxygen in them to keep you upright. You think of leaving. You think of running up marble stairs to your room in hopes he won't catch you.

"Brat," Is yelled from the living room. Right, as if you'd ever get so lucky. You jump in your skin. "You home?"

Your stomach churns. You feel sick.

"Come to the living room."

You go obediently when Sukuna calls you, trying not to stumble over your two feet.You don’t think there’s more options than fearful compliance. 

Your uncle is watching Scarface on the big flatscreen on the TV. The subtitles are on in Japanese though you don't think he needs them. He only barely turns his head to look at you, his interest piqued when he sees what you're wearing.

You feel sixteen again, self-conscious of your body and womanhood. He hides it even less than he did the first time - the leering. He notices your skimpy shorts and top, the bottom of your bikini. And he grins, and stares but doesn't say anything.

"Oh?" He says, calm and casual, glancing back at the T.V. "Finally went and had some fun did you? Thought all that studying turned you into a bookish little shut-in permanently."

You don't say anything, arm clutching your other self-consciously.

"Did you need something?"

He snickers, low and predatory. "Come on. You're here to spend time with me so let's spend time together."

You don’t bother asking where he’s been for the last few weeks.  Your gut churns, feet heavy as they drag you to the far end of the couch. Sukuna stares as you sit hesitantly. You have no doubt he's going to make you move, but he's kind enough to leave you alone for now.

"Have fun on your..." He gives you another knowing look then laughs. "Outing?"

You aren't sure how to respond. "Just drank with some friends."

"Friends," He mimics, feeling the words out in his mouth. "The kind of friends that smudge the lipstick off your mouth, huh brat?"

You flush suddenly, embarrassed - and Sukuna barks a laugh. You don't know what he's expecting you to say there so you opt for nothing.

"Sorry," Is the only thing you can manage. Placating. He lets out a puff of air through his nose and relaxes further. There's an air to him, of nonchalance, that unsettles you more than if he was angry or unpleasant. Your throat bobs.

"You're a big girl now," He comments - sleazy and indignant. His indecency towards you, about you glints like a star. A sharp canine and piercing red eyes examine you from his peripherals. "Now that you're showing off it's only natural boys flock to you, hm?"

You can't explain the way this comment makes you feel. So much said with so little. The gap between is and has always been miles wide except sometimes it's not. Your uncle is unusual. Cold-blooded, manipulative, ruthless. There's no warmth in him in a comfortable, loving way. 

There's even less of a normal relationship between you.

But you both exist in this space with... similar awareness. Of the world. Of yourselves. There's a conscious intelligence to him that's reflected in you - that you are both fractured parts of your grandparents bloodline in two separate bodies. That self-awareness affords him a presence. In your mind. In your fear.

You are undoubtedly related. Sukuna revels in that.

It’s rare to see that kind of awareness in your family. You’ve never felt threatened by people dumber than you, even if they had more power or money. Vapid and shallow and useless - there’d never been anything that could win you on. It might sound cocky, but it’s true. It’s been true. 

It’s why Sukuna frightens you. He has everything, but above all - he’s smart. And hard for you to read. 

You swallow, shakily - your eyes looking down at your hands. In a profoundly long beat of silence, the movie plays. A fair bit of gunshots echo through the loud speaker and they startle you.

"You scared? Come sit closer, then." He tells you, less than asks you.

You stand and sit next to him, still a distance away. Sukuna remains unmoving. You don't know what to do with yourself.The silence seems to stretch for miles and minutes. Sukuna just watches the T.V. and stares at his phone - occasionally answering messages. You stay like that for a long time. 

"Need a smoke," He says, and it's not really directed at you. "Maybe later. Wouldn't wanna make you sick."

"People smoke around me all the time."

"Do you smoke?"

You shake your head, too tipsy to lie. He laughs at that. "Not even weed?"

You don't bother mentioning legality, you both know it doesn't matter between your lineage.

"Don't like the taste."

"How interesting. What a straight-edge kid. Most I've seen you get is drunk and this is the drunkest I've ever seen you. Still sober enough to talk clearly though."

"I just drink socially,"

"Ohh," He says, and then grins a little sharper. "A little shot of courage to fuck that little college boy then?"

This makes you jolt. "We didn't fuck—"

"No?" He looks genuinely surprised at this, though it's mild. "Poor kid must've wanted too if you came around him wearing that. Unless he came in his pants soon as you sat on him. Boys that age do stuff like that,"

The comment about his age reminds you of how old your uncle really is, and something in your chest flares hot.

"It wasn't that either—I've never-"

He cuts you off. "You're a virgin?"

You flush, stopping yourself from answering and he laughs.

"Ohhh, that's good. Very good," He grins, so genuinely pleased it makes you shiver. "I like virgins. Easy to please."

"That's—It wasn't for you."

For the first time in your relationship, Sukuna bridges the gap between you. He sits up and forward, his hand finding the bare skin of your knee. He rests it there, his thumb circling the flesh.

"Don't touch me," You hiss. Sukuna tightens his grip, but not threateningly. He turns to look at you that time, and you can't help but look back.

There's something in his degeneracy that horrifies you. It's fondness, you think. Genuine fondness.

"You sure?" He licks his teeth in a way that reminds you of a wolf. But not one that's starving. There's no desperation in his actions, but a self-assurance. Wolves don't often survive alone, but Sukuna has. And he hungers with the confidence of a predator who has killed all that stand before him. That's never been told no to what he wants to eat.

Your heart stops. Your voice a low whisper. "Stop,"

"You say that but you came in the house looking all desperate for sex and approval. You always look like that. Have for a little longer than what's normal for a girl your age,"

"I don't look like that!"

"You would've fucked that little college twerp if you stayed wouldn't you? Nothing wrong with honesty, brat."

Before you have a chance to understand what goes on around you, Sukuna changes position. You've never gotten a chance to feel and experience how strong he is - not like the way he's manhandling you now. You gasp at the arm around your waist and back. He pins you to the couch in a swift motion, not sure how he's done it, the alcohol making you dizzy.

Sukuna has never crossed the boundary with you like this before. Your heart is thumping loud, beating against your ribs. The source of it eludes you. If it's fear or discomfort or some other thing entirely causing such noice. 

There's a certain blase in his attitude that makes you forget momentarily about the taboo and gives way just to the tension between you. You feel it for the first time with his body pressed against you, all hot and heavy. He smells of cologne, but it lacks the acidity cheap ones tend to have. There’s strong hints of cigarettes and aftershave accompanying it. Appearance wise, he has lines in his face like a man in his forties. 

You don't know what's wrong with you. With a relationship so fucked up from the start, you thought crossing this line would feel different. You think you want to throw up, but you're completely calm. 

You want to be disgusted. You want to thrash and kick and scream and fight. You squirm away from him, the threads of what's left of your moral conscience urging you to do so. Like a last ditch effort to keep you sane. 

But there's just. Something. Something so inevitable about it that your heart doesn't beat at all. The panic itself feels hollow in nature. You are a rotted log and Sukuna has ripped the soft wood out of you with relative ease. But you’ve been that way for a long time, and nothing hurts. Not really.  

It's relieving in the worst way. 

"Get away from me,” You whisper again with noticeably less fight. Sukuna looks at you bright-eyed.

"You're a good kid," He says. The genuine praise knocks the air out of your lungs. That disgusts you more than anything else happening between you so far. "Interesting. A lot brighter than the other kids in our family."

Our family. You wince. .

"Stop, this is—" You don't know what word to use. He's your uncle and you're his niece and he's been gazing at you like this for god knows how fucking long. "Stop."

"You've got something going on behind your eyes at least, even if you're still just a wet-nosed and angry little housecat," He says, staring down at you. He's so imposing. His facial hair and his various tattoos. Everything about him, down to his bones. "But I can't tear my eyes away from you at the same time. You know that?."

You do know that. You cast your gaze away.

"I applaud how cautious you've been. But it didn't make a difference in the end. You know that too, right?"

You don't say anything.

"Clever little lamb you are, indeed. I like that about you." He hums, leaning down closer to you. His face is inches from yours. "You should be smart enough to know how this ends. But you know, you've been so entertaining to me this whole time I feel like I should at least be a little nice. So I'll offer you something. A deal of sorts, we can even write it on paper."

This catches your interest and he knows it does. He knows. You’re cut from the same cloth. And this place has made you lose your character, just like it always does. So if it means your survival and sanity or your morals, one comes before the other.

He grins at you.

"Come stay with me. Here in Nii-jima and back at my estate at home. I'll take care of your expenses and whatever else. I have better connections than the old hag," He says, leaning down even closer to you. You can smell him. He's intoxicating "You can be away from everything. I'll even let you have boyfriends and girlfriends over. You can throw sleepovers. I don't care. You can do whatever you want."

"What's in it for you?"

You can feel his knee press up against your cunt through your shorts and you gasp, hand going up to his shoulder. "This. Been thinking about this tight little cunt for a while now. You'd have to be at my beck and call. We'd be the closest uncle and niece in all of Japan," He snickers.

You wince at the reminder. You hate yourself for considering it. "Why me? There are plenty of women who are dying to fuck you."

He scoffs a little. 

"Once we get you a little farther from the trenches kid, you might start to understand me. Wealth, fortune, fame - all of it's fucking boring. I came back to Japan prepared to leave again but you made me stay. Not much more to it than that."

"You're fucking your blood-niece out of curiosity? Your sister's daughter?"

"My sister never did anything good with her life except marrying your father and making you." Sukuna says, and laughs lightly. You hate how validated it makes you feel. Your skin crawls. "I'll have to thank her for it. She'll be pleased.

You make a face at him, uncertainty. Apprehension. Fear. Frustration. Everything you’ve been compartmentalizing comes bubbling to the surface and making your head feel weighted with lead. You want to kill everyone and everything including him. You want to run away from this place. You want to go home, though you don’t know where that would be anymore. They demolished your old apartment years ago. 

You think spending a few years getting fucked and used might be less miserable than the suffocation of living with your mother and your baby brother and your grandparents. How much abuse you’ve endured already vs. what awaits you when their true heir starts to walk and talk horrifies you. 

You look at him. 

“You’re horrible.” 

“Tell me something new.” 

“I hate you. I don’t…want this. Any of this. I want to go home.” 

You’re just venting. Really. You’ve made the choice already. 

“Has there ever been a time where it’s been about what you want? I doubt it. But if you stay with me, appease my wishes for a while, well,” He laughs confidently. “You’ll get something, at least. Better than what you have.” 

“The contract. Are you serious about that?” 

He laughs at you. “Sure. If it makes you feel better, you can draft it and I’ll just have my lawyer sign. Bring your defenses. Whatever. Don’t really care as long as I get what I want.” 

“And that’s me?” 

“Seems like it,” 

You purse your lips. It seems like a rash decision to make in the moment, but truthfully your heads never felt so clear. Even with the alcohol. 

“...Fine.” 

Sukuna hums when you agree. It feels anti-climatic somehow. Not that he’s not expecting your yes but that you’ve come to accept it so easily. It’s not like this takes away from the coercion, from the awful feeling of being violated. Sukuna was going to rape you whether you liked it or not. This way, at least, you get something out of it. This way it’s something you choose. Something tangible results from your inevitable doom - the fate your mother damned you to. 

It affords you some plausible deniability too. In truth, you’re afraid for yourself. You’re afraid of what will happen when he finally does cross the line completely. You’re afraid you’re going to accept it, that it’s going to feel pleasurable, that years of repressing yourself will come back to make sure you never return to normalcy. 

What will become of you when Sukuna has his way with you? Will you become a more apathetic version of yourself? Is it possible? Will you sober and feel like scrubbing your skin clean in the shower? 

The worst outcome, you think, is nothing so horrible happening. The worst outcome is knowing you’ve fallen far enough for none of it matters at all. 

Sukuna grins down at you. “What a well-behaved niece I have. Good girl. You’ll do well living with me.” 

You make a displeased face at him, but your breath catches in your lungs soon after. Your uncle leans in to kiss you and you close your eyes trying to get away from it. But it’s true that your body has been burning up from the inside since you came back home - a dull throbbing between your legs turning you all kinds of stupid. 

When Sukuna kisses you - your first thought is that he’s unexpectedly gentle. 

You didn’t think he’d care about kissing to begin with. In your head you thought he’d tug off your shorts brutishly and fuck you without any prep. You were readying yourself for tears and pain, for screaming and crying - the sharp sobs of your own voice piercing your ears. 

A gentle press of lips startles you from your drunk haze. You can feel the scruff of Sukuna’s face on your own, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. The taste of cigarettes and something else mildly smokey fill your mouth and make you dizzy. Sukuna tastes like kissing a man - or what you might’ve imagined that to be like. Not a boy, but a man. You feel his strength, your hands splaying at the base of his neck and feeling the faded undercut of his neck, the texture of his dyed hair. His weight shadows you, his strength making you feel fluttery. 

He doesn’t tease you all during the kiss like you’re expecting. Nothing goes the way you expect. He kisses you in slow, short pecks and escalates to his tongue dipping against your lips - a little added element to his deep kisses. He kisses like he’s been doing it for longer than you have, with experience and finesse. You’re all but too conscious of everything little thing. About the sounds you make, about knowing when to breathe, about trying not to get wrapped up in the pleasant euphoria. 

All you can think about is how good he is at it. Effortlessly good. You think part of you latches onto it to avoid thinking about what’s happening. Denial feels pleasurable at least. 

You kiss like that for so long, your lips have swollen - sticky with spit and saliva. Sukuna has a self-satisfied smirk on his face when he pulls away from you, laughing at the flush in your expression. 

You hit him lightly, looking away from his face. 

“It’s a wonder you’ve kept your virginity,” He says, chuckling. “A kiss and a dirty old man like me could’ve taken it from you.” 

“Shut up,” Your reply is weak. He laughs against your mouth, and you can’t get over the intimacy of it. You hope you’re deluding yourself but then he kisses the corner of your mouth. Hot, warm air tickles against your jaw and neck when he presses his lips there too and suddenly it occurs to you how real it is. 

You don’t think your uncle is capable of warmth or love or anything that doesn’t come from coercion. But fondness. Maybe fondness. 

He spends more time doing that than what’s comfortable. Relishes the feeling of you in his arms, his bulge grinding against your clothed cunt but not forcefully. Just with enough pressure to make you gasp once in a while when you don’t have a mind to fight it. 

“I won’t take your virginity tonight,” He says declaratively. It surprises you. “You’ve got three months with me. It’d be boring. I’ll give you something else.” He looks at you then, then grins impishly. “What do you want?” 

Your eyes widen, suddenly unsure of yourself. You push away, brought back to reality by the questions. 

“How would I know?” 

He blinks at you. “I know you said you were a virgin, but did you really mean in everything?” 

You pout at him all of a sudden. “So what. I didn’t have that kind of time.” 

Sukuna barks a laugh. 

“Huh. I thought you were a goody two-shoes out of necessity but you really don’t do a damn thing in that house. Not even a boyfriend to do hand stuff with?” 

“Ugh. No, alright? I don’t have time for that kind of thing like I just said.” 

He laughs a little breathless, sitting up for a minute. You’re wondering what it means for you. Sukuna pulls you up along with him. He sits down again with his legs spread before looking at you. He pulls you into his lap with relative ease, until you’re half-way pressed into him with your legs over his thighs. You stare at him, feeling more exposed in this position. You get a closer view of his neck tattoo, realizing how far down his back it must go. You go to ask him what he’s doing - but he’s undressing you before you can. 

Confident, large hands trapeze down your back as he finds the end of your overwear and pulls it off - leaving you in the microkini you wore to the beach. It barely covers your nipples. You made the choice to wear it, yet seeing Sukuna examine it so closely leaves you wallowing and regretful. Still, he’s silent as he does something similar with your jean-shorts. A hand lifting your legs up enough to roll the cheap, denim shorts and discard them right on the marble floors. 

You’re still half-way over his lap - sitting on his thighs but you’re naked now.

You feel yourself growing self-conscious. Never mind that it’s the first time anyone’s seen you this naked, who exactly you’re showing it to makes you want to throw up. He stares for so long you wonder what he’s thinking, a lazy grin splitting his face. A hand nudges your thighs apart, moving your leg to give Sukuna more access to you. With an arm around your waist, his hand cups your cunt, rubbing it softly. You shift nervously. His thumb moves then, rests at the hood of your clit, pulling up to look closer at it. You hold back any noise as he examines you, bent pointer of the opposite hand brushing over the hair on your skin with a laugh. 

“Unexpectedly, it’s pretty,” He says and your eyes shoot wide open. “Good job brat.” 

“What are you,” You pant, your breath hitching as you close your eyes.”staring so much for it?” 

“It’s mine to stare at.”

You don’t think of your uncle as particularly possessive. It’s more like he believes in that so much, so unshakingly nothing else could be true. You wonder if there’s more to it. He didn’t seem angry even after you told him about seeing a boy. 

But comparing the two, Sukuna outclasses him in all ways that it should matter. He must be confident about that. 

He spreads your thighs a little further. You’re half tucked into his side now - an arm around the back of his neck and shoulders. Sukuna ducks down a little, nudging his nose against your neck and scraping his teeth lightly against your throat. He doesn’t do much other than… touch you. Not directly. His other hand, the one not secured around your waist, rubs at your pussy but not in an attempt to pleasure you. It’s exploratory and intimate. He’s just touching you in a way that’s making you restless. And the angle he’s bent down, the proximity gives you a better view of him. From the side where you sit in his lap, you can see the tattoo again. 

You shudder then, pussy suddenly clenching in a way that leaves you ashamed. Your uncle notices, though he doesn’t look up. 

“Thought of something, brat?” 

“No.” You deny, vehemently. He spanks your pussy but not hard. You jolt in reply, a shock traveling up your spine. 

“C’mon now,” He hums, predatory. “Don’t lie. That’s not fun.” 

“Y-your tattoo,” You say, suddenly feeling the influence of alcohol in a way you hadn’t all evening. “It’s…big.”

“Into bad boys or something, kid?” 

You frown. “You look like a yakuza.” 

This makes him laugh, more genuinely than you’ve ever seen him laugh. “Getting warmer, I guess.” 

You don’t say anything to that. Instead spurred by the sudden confidence. “Why aren’t you…touching me?” 

He looks at you surprised then tilts his head. “Is that what you want? 

“I don’t want any of this but it,” You squirm again. “Feels weird.”

“Sounds like you want something, at least. Go on, tell your oji-san what you want.” 

You scrunch your nose up at him, a familiar feeling of disgusting flitting through you. It fades as quickly as it comes.

“I’ve never put a-anything inside,” You admit, suddenly feeling self-conscious. 

“That so,” He hums. His middle finger slides down the wet seam of your cunt as you tell him this. You nod but you don’t think he’s really listening. His hand is warm, and big - and his fingers are thicker than yours. One of yours may as well make two of his, no end to how imposing he is. You don’t protest as he starts to touch you. You simply take a deep breath, holding onto him a little tighter. 

With your head turned towards him, Sukuna leans in again to kiss you. It’s deep from the beginning this time, and a little rougher. He bites lightly on your lower lips as his middle finger dips down towards your sex. Your insides are throbbing, hot and wet as you feel some friction. It’s the first time anyone else has ever held you in your life, every touched you directly like this. Against your will, your body is sensitive to the stimulus. Everywhere he touches you goes alight, and the kiss makes your tummy flutter. A tender feeling of want spreads you open, tears you apart right in front of him. 

With parted lips and a heavy head, you kiss him as his middle finger dips down low enough to penetrate you. A soft gasp pulls from your throat. 

It doesn’t feel unpleasant.

“I thought it was going to hurt more.” You admit, feeling him inside of you. It’s a new sensation but it’s not bad. 

“It shouldn’t hurt if you’re aroused enough. And wet enough. You seem to be both.” 

You frown at him, face pinching. It’s washed away quickly by the sensation of him pushing deeper. It’s hard to describe it as anything other than feeling something inside of you. Deep in a place you didn’t think it could go. You shake a little, trying to get adjusted. Sukuna does it carefully, slowly - thrusting in even strokes and keeping you focused on kissing so you’re not too conscious of it. 

He’s not thoughtful, not really - but you can tell that he’s going slower for your sake and that makes your heart stammer uncomfortably. The last word you’d ever use for him is kind but he’s not being horrible and it’s unsettling you. 

Once one finger goes in and out smoothly, your uncle starts to add another. You feel it that time, the stretch of it - gasping hard at the sudden sensation. Your breath catches in your lungs, hand clutching at his shoulder for purchase. He pulls away from your mouth, his breath near your ear. 

“Easy, little one. Give it a minute.” 

“It feels different. It’s,” You can’t form the words as two fingers penetrate you in full, slowly being eased inside of you until Sukuna is knuckle deep. Your breath hitches. “Not like it hurts.” 

“It’ll feel good in a second.” He says assuredly, voice smooth and raspy against your ear. You feel combative at his confidence, but then a minute passes of him rubbing along your insides and something strikes against you like lightning. You pause, blinking confused as Sukuna laughs. “There it is,” 

“There what is?” 

“C’mon kid, I know you’re too busy with school but you don’t know something so basic about your own body?” 

“What is it, oh.” 

His other hand toys with your clit, rubbing it in slow circular motions as he gauges your reaction to the touch. You jolt from the sudden pleasure, getting used to it slowly. You didn’t realize how badly it was throbbing to be touched until he does it in full. Your mouth dries up immediately. Little shocks of electricity spark up through you as his hands go full in on your body. The combined pleasure starts to uptick, something building slowly but surely. It goes from not feeling like much to feeling like something. Feeling physical. 

Your mouth drops open in sudden shock, eyes lidded as you moan unabashedly - unable to keep the sound at bay. You own a vibrator, use to cum quick and hard just to curb the feeling. You’ve had orgasms on your own but nothing has ever felt like this before. It’s undeniably satiating, mimics the feeling of eating something and nearly making yourself sick on it. You go slack-jawed, your nerves on fire. 

Two fingers curled against your silken walls and another two toying at the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs leaves little room in your brain to think. The only thing your body seems to remember is how to moan and whine - make these pathetic little noises you’ve never heard in your life. You didn’t even know you could make. Oddly enough, Sukuna is quiet through it. He makes grunts and little affirmatives but he’s mostly silent. You mostly hear the sound of your own voice. 

The sound of your own wetness. You can feel the sticky sensation of your arousal but you can hear it even better. It’s lewd to listen too, wet smacks mixing with the pathetic bleats of your voice make you feel hot all over. Skin prickling with heat and sensation. 

“I knew you were sensitive but haah. If I would’ve fucked you today, you would have cried.” 

The thought drifts idly by about his cock and your whole lower half reacts to it by going weak. It aches just thinking about anything bigger or longer entering you than his fingers. 

“Figure an insolent little kid like you isn’t much of a crybaby. I’m sure I can make you one.” 

You don’t even think about asking what he means. 

“Feels,” You make a gasping noise, body suddenly going tense. “Hngh, fuck. Feels so good, holy fuck.” 

He groans a little. “I’m being too nice to you. I really should be balls deep in your cunt already and I’m not. You gonna cum for me, huh brat?” 

You nod your head dumbly, unable to retort. To think of anything but the sensation washing over you.”Go on. Do it. Cum for your perverted oji-san.”  

Something about the depravity of it sets your mind numb. Your body goes tight, every nerve firing off at once as you grip onto his shoulder and let the feeling of euphoria wash over you. Your whole body is so stimulated it’s numbing. The feeling of pleasure crashes into you, leaves your spine arching - mouth dropped open and nearly screaming. Your sanity melts, fades off completely and your brain feels like it’s gone empty. You close your eyes so hard little splashes of white show up in your vision, like you’re seeing T.V. static. 

You think you scream. You don’t know. You just know that you’re cumming, hard, just from his hands and you’re terrified of what else he’s good at. You don’t think it boils down to sensitivity as the waves of your first orgasm ripple through your body. 

You lay in his arms, sweaty and limp. Your vision is blurry with tears as you open them to look at him. Sukuna is rubbing your side, taking his fingers into his mouth. You look at him surprised as he does. He grins. 

“Tastes good, kid.”

You flush. “Shut up.” 

“Don’t think I’m done with you quite yet.”

Sukuna guides your hand to his pants, over his bulge. You gasp a little at it. His size through clothes is astounding to you. 

“I’m not so generous to leave with nothing, you know.” He pats your thigh, moving you from his lap. “I’ve got a better idea than trying to teach you anything today, so try to hold still.” 

You don’t know what he’s talking about until he guides you on the floor. You’re confused until you feel him position you  - facing towards the couch with your knees spread on the floor. In doggy, you realize a little too late, your upper-half supported by the couch cushion. You feel more confused than you felt a moment ago. 

Sukuna positions himself behind you. You can’t see him, but you can hear the soft rustle of his clothes moving as he stands on his knees behind you. More than that, you can feel his cock resting on your bare ass. You gasp, feeling the weight and size slide against your curves. Sukuna does a breathy little laugh at your reaction. He’s huge. 

“Don’t cry kid. I told you I wasn’t gonna put it in tonight and I meant that,” He hums. His hands come to your hips, all of a sudden pushing them together. “Push your thighs together as tight as you can.” 

You listen to him. You can do it with some effort despite how weak your body feels. You lean forward on the couch for support, bringing your knees together and pressing your thighs. You don’t understand what it’s for until something hard pressing along your spine moves down the curve of your ass. You gasp aloud as his thick cock pushes between your thighs, tip catching against your swollen clit. Your whole body is covered in goosebumps. Sukuna moans low in his throat, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“Fuck, that’s it.” He hums, sounding pleased. “Keep them tight for me, alright girl? Try to at least.” 

Sukuna is wordless as he grips your hips, your flesh dimpling under his bruising grip. You're silent, your voice threatening to spill again as you try your best to listen to him. You keep yourself tight and firm, your hands gripping the couch cushions as Sukuna pushes his cock between the fat of your thighs and starts a pace.

The angle makes you gasp, body feeling weak at the way it touches your clit with each bump. Sukuna doesn’t hold back at all. You’re not being penetrated but the weight behind each of his thrusts makes you feel like you’re being fucked. The bruising sensation of skin against skin - the hard muscles of his own legs smacking against the softness of your thighs. 

Most embarrassing is the way the position makes you conscious of your uncle's cock. You knew he was huge before, but the way he’s thrusting. Where it reaches when he does thrust makes your throat feel nearly tight. You can’t stop thinking about the fact it’ll be inside you. You can’t imagine taking it in your hands - the girth and length of it fucking impossible. And he wants to fuck you with it? Take your virginity? 

He’ll stretch you so open if he does. You can barely think of it fitting in you. When you do, your whole body shudders in a horrible and pathetic way - a new wave of arousal striking a strange chord. As he bumps and ruts against your clit and your mind fills with such lewd images, a new wave of lust starts to pour through you. 

It’s unhelped by the feeling of Sukuna’s cock - getting so close. The throbbing with each thrust and the low, throaty groans he keeps vocalizing against your ear. All of it proves to be too much for you. It shocks you when you feel yourself grow hot all over again. Not even being touched directly and so soon after your first - a mere few minutes. 

And you find yourself with all your muscles tight, your hand reaching back for Sukuna as you plant your face against the cushions and let him fuck hard between your thighs. You feel incoherent, stupid and so fucking horny. You’ve never experienced it. You can’t think of what to moan, so you choose his name. 

This makes him laugh as he bends over you, his teeth biting your shoulder blades. 

“Gonna cum again from this brat? Aren’t you fucking easy? Come on, cum with me. Just like that, take it. Fuck, that’s it. Good. Good girl.” 

It’s the last bit of tension that pushes you over the edge, whether you care to admit it. Your voice breaks as a second orgasm washes through you - more intense but much shorter than the first and you nearly fall limp. You only barely manage to hold yourself up as your uncle keeps thrusting relentlessly. 

You can feel him twitch hard between your thighs when his orgasm finally hits. You shake as you feel him squish the tip between your thighs - hot ropes of cum spurting against the swollen mound of your cunt and dripping down your thighs as he finishes. He smacks your ass as he finishes, making you yelp. Your whole body is rife with exhaustion, finally coming down from high-highs and low-lows. 

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun together for the next few months kid,” He says, almost affection in his words. You’re too exhausted to reply, looking at him over your shoulder. “Let’s get along and do our best.” 

“You’re a sick-fuck, oji-san.” 

“And you’re a whole lot like me, aren’t you kid?.” 

[yourlocalxenomorph3]

boo has a scary lump :(

[kilojulietsierra]

"Oh Sweet Irony "- Dr Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: You hate doctors, and will do just about anything to avoid seeing one even if you're sick. A fact that your boyfriend Dr. Jack Abbot sometimes finds very annoying. This time though, you're miserable and you cave to his request, "Let me take care of you."

TW: most of my content is considered 18+ content, sick fic, comfort fic, medical inaccuracies, fluff, inappropriate workplace behavior but the PG kind, I wrote this sick and I think Dr. Abbot would def make me feel better just saying...

(Special thank you to the gif creator for the above because DAMN)

~~~~~~

Jack maneuvered his way through the packed waiting room and had to fight to hear you over the phone, "Well, hon, if you feel as bad as you sound you need more than NyQuil." He sidestepped a stoller, "No, it's not helping. I can tell." He made the corner and hugged the wall on his way to the doors, "Just come in and we can get you something that will actually do some good." He waved to the girls behind the glass and mouthed a thanks as he heard the security doors buzz and the lock disengage, "I know… I know… No, I'm not going to let you sit in the waiting room." He gives Bridget and exapserated look as he approaches the hub, "Hon, please, just come down. I'll tell the girls up front you're coming and they'll let you right in." He dropped his bag in his chair and swiped his badge to clock in, "Ok, well… it's either that or stay home tomorrow and I'll come over when I get off work." He nods, "That's what I thought. I'll see you when you get here. Love you."

~~~~

You felt like shit. All week you had been fighting off some sort of bug, the worst of it Monday after you got home from work. You thought that would be the end of it. The stuffy nose, cough, sore throat was really no big deal. NyQuil and DayQuil became your best friends. A week later and that cough just wouldn't quit, your stomach hurt from the constant coughing and chest spasms, you could hardly breathe, barely sleep more than a couple hours now without waking up to a coughing fit so violent you thought you might throw up.

Jack had been busy all week, his schedule and yours just couldn't line up and he'd been stuck late most mornings. You had told him, vaguely, that you didn't feel great but didn't want him to worry. Then he had called you on his way home, and you had not been able to hold back the coughing fit.

So, he had told you to call him after work and let him know how you were feeling, because he knew you wouldn't skip work. Now, here you were sneaking your away around the edge or the PTMC Emergency waiting room fighting back your anxiety and another coughing fit.

You hesitated a little the closer you got to the doors but one of the women at the admissions desk behind the glass saw you and waved. You chewed your lip and stepped a little closer with a careful smile. She waved you on through and you heard the buzz and clunk of the security doors. You can feel the burn of the glares and the muttering behind you as you pulled the heavy door open and stepped through.

Bridget saw you almost immediately and meets you halfway for a hug, "Hey sweetie."

You gave her a smile and a half step back, "Oh, don't hug me, I'm gross."

"Oh please, come here." She gave you a hug and then looked you over, "We just got a call for a code coming in, so he might be a minute okay."

"You guys are busy, I should just go."

"Not a chance." She tugged you towards the hub, "You just sit right here and I'll get you some water."

You sit in one of the office chairs and slouch back into it trying to take up as little space as possible. Bridget came backi a moment later with a bottle of water and a North Face jacket you recognized as one of Jacks. The ED was always chilly and you were grateful for the warmth and familiar scent as you shrugged into the slightly too big jacket.

Outside you hear the sirens as the ambulance arrives and Jack appears out of nowhere in full work mode.

You hated doctors, but this one you think, this one you certainly didn't mind.

From your chair behind the counter you watched as he quick stepped down the hall and as terrible as felt and as much as you didn't want to be here, it was kind of fun to see that side of him. The confident, collected and in charge Dr. Jack Abbot was the exception.

Jack sees you on his way by and even in the midst of chaos while calling our orders he takes half a second to catch your eye and give you just a hint of a smile without missing a beat.

~~~~~~

"Hey sweetheart," Jack says softly as he approaches and squats down in front of you, "C'mere." He pulls the chair closer so he can take a good look at you. He hasn't seen you all week and he feels like shit because you look miserable. He gives your leg a squeeze as he stands, ignoring the way his knees catch and pop, "Bridget, can you get a,"

"Six is all set up for you."

Jack gives her smile and a nod as he takes your elbow to help you stand up. While one hand never leaves your elbow he grabs a tablet with the other and guides you into the room.

"Don't forget to leave that door open Dr. Abbot!" Bridget teases from behin.

You turn to give her a look and then Jack, "Is there an HR complaint or something I should know about?"

Bridget snorts behind you as Jack just gives you both a side eye. He pinches your side and nudges you to keep walking, "Policy. No male doctors alone in rooms with female patients."

"Lame, next you're going to tell me we're not allowed to sneak off to have a quickie int the on call room like on Greys Anatomy."

Bridget laughs louder behind you and Jack just gives you a look.

You give him a wink and a little smile but the urge to laugh triggers another coughing fit and reminds you that you're not just here to say hi.

~~~~~~

In the exam room he helps you out of your jacket and up to sit on the bed. "I didn't check in or anything."

Abbot leaned against the counter, "Had Bridget sign you in." He gave you a soft smile as he watched you try not to fidget. He pulled up your patient file and had to bite the inside of his cheek because there was something about putting his own name in as your emergency contact that still got him. More and more he also found himself thinking about seeing his last name there instead of yours. He also couldn't wait to get you on his TRICARE because your employers health insurance fucking sucks. "You okay if I do everything myself?"

When you nod he can see that you're still anxious.

He puts in your info. He knows your personal information, height and weight, your medical history, he knows your anxiety meds dosage and all. "Your period started last Sunday right?" He smirks at you when you still blush but nod. He checks the box next to sexually active, he entertained the thought of asking you just to see you blush a little more, then types in 'partner vasectomy' in the line by birth control method.

Once everything was filled in he set the tablet down and washes his hands in the sink. He forgoes the gloves because it's you. Part of him wants to be able to feel you, part of him knows his touch will feel better for you than the latex.

He feels a little weird taking your temperature and bp because holy shit it has been a long time since he hasn't had a nurse to do the initial work up. Jack rests the back of his fingers against your forehead while he waits for a temp. "Little high." He says softly, long before the thermometer gave him a read out and showed he was correct. Your temperature is a little high. "Okay so far?" He asks as he puts the machine away and catches your eye. His fingers stroking up and down your forearm.

You nod, "You'd make a good nurse." You tease and then cover your mouth as another chest racking cough takes over.

The quip makes him crack a grin as he rubs your back through the coughing fit. "I'm going to listen to your lungs okay?" He waits for your nod before he pulls his stethoscope down and catches the way your eyes track the routine action and the way his forearms flex with the movement. "Ok, sit up straight for me and take a couple deep breaths." He goes through the motions, front and back, listening to your lungs and frowing. He rubs your back while he's still standing close and whispers, "Good girl." He drapes his stethoscope around his neck again as you cough and fight through a shuddery breath. "You take anything in the last few hours?"

"No," You shake your head, "Had a feeling you were going to make me come in."

"I won't make you do anything hon, you know that."

"You know what I mean." You're so tired that the urge to lean into him.

He sees it and nods, give you another smile, "I'm going to take a look at your throat okay?" When he grabs the scope and a tongue depressor he steps up in front of you and pauses. The two of you lock eyes for a second and he shakes his head, "Don't make me say it."

You bite your lip and try not to laugh because you know it'll just make you cough. "Make you say what Dr. Abbot?" You know Jack is unflappable, often stoic wilth a killer poker face, and your dislike for doctors aside, you enjoy that you can make this one blush just that little bit.

Jack never does say it, but the look he gives you says plenty. So does the way he smooths the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip when he's done. He sets the tools down on the tray, "Head up for me, just going to feel right here." The way he holds your neck, feels for swelling, is so clinical and second nature that he wouldn't think anything of it if he hadn't seen the way your eyes flickered. So, sue him if his touch lingered a little, or if he traced the line of your throat with his thumb just to see those pretty eyes flutter one more time.

He know he shouldn't be standing between your legs like he is, and he sure as hell shouldn't set his hand on your thigh when he says, "I'm going to call for a chest x-ray."

"What? Why?" Your panic rises, the anxiety back in full force.

The hand on your leg squeezes and then he slowly begins to stroke his knuckles over the top of your thigh in a soothing, repetitive motion. "You're okay, just want to be safe. Your lungs sound like trash and I just want to rule out pneumonia." He appreciates the ability to be straighforward and say things more bluntly than normal. He also appreciates that you trust him enough to calm down quickly. "I'll set you up with a nebulizer while you wait, going to help you breathe a little easier. I'm going to pull some labs too." He reiterates, "Just to be safe."

You try not to fidget while he preps the needle and the blood tubes.

"You're okay hon, it's just one poke. I'm good at this promise." He gives you and wink. "You want me to hold your hand?"

You scoff which turns into a cough, "Don't you need both hands?"

Jack shrugs, looks you in the eye, "I can do it with one."

"Please don't."

With another wink he sets your arm where he needs it, "Quick and easy I promise." Each touch is long and slow, smooth and lingering. He uses every ounce of practice and skill he possesses to make it as painless as possible for you. "There you go." He strokes the sting of the needle away with his thumb until you finally look his way again.

Brdget knocks and pokes her head in, "Respiratory is here."

Jack nods and looks back to you, "Big, deep breaths on that until radiology comes down with the portable, okay?" He tips your chin up for a kiss, but you hesitated.

"I'm gross."

"Don't give a shit." He gives you a quick kiss and strokes his thumb over your brow. "I'll be back to check on you soon as I can." One more kiss, to your forehead this time and then he's on his way out of the room. As he passes he gives Bridget a look.

"What?" She plays along, tries not to smirk, "I didn't see anything."

Once Jack is out of the room Bridget helped you get comfy on the bed with a blanket fresh out of the warmer.

"You know, I don't understand why the patient satisfaction is so low around here."

"Sweetie, the only satisfaction that man gives two shits about, is yours."

After a beat you both break into a laugh which triggers another coughing fit. Taking that as their cue RT came in to set you up on the nebulizer. Then all you could do was wait.

~~

After that Jack got busy again and you tried to tamp down the anxiety as the minutes dragged on,as you finished the nebulizer treatment, as radiology came and went. There was little worse in your opinion than laying alone in a hospital bed, but Jack had been right the nebulizer had helped your breathing and you were coughing less.

The longer you were in there the more you actually began to wonder about those terrible patient satisfaction scores everyone was always complaining about because every single person you had come into contact with that night had seemed to go above and beyond. The rad tech, the respiratory tech, every single nurse that stopped in to check on you. You were beginning to wonder if there wasn't some sort of big, red alert by your name that said; "ABBOT"S GIRLFRIEND DON'T FUCK IT UP".

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your thoughts and you sit up a little more as Jack comes in.

"How ya feelin'?"

"Ready to go home."

"I know hon." He props a him on the edge of your bed and rubs your leg through the blanket, "Rads and your bloodwork came back. Bronchitis. Just a little infection in your bronchial tubes, right here," He gestures to the general area on his own chest, "Usually takes care of itself if you take it easy."

You nod, "Which… I did not do."

He gives your calf a squeeze and his lips tick up in a smirk, "No, you did not. Which is why I'm sending you home with a goodie bag full of meds which you will take until they're gone. And, when I say home, I mean my house. Ellis is writing you up a doctors order right now to send to your boss."

"Jack…"

Completely unphased he continues, "While you're at my place for the next few days you will do as little as possible. Am I clear?"

You looked up at him, "Is this the part where I'm supposed to say yes sir and salute?"

Jack relaxes as soon as the words are out of your mouth. He shakes his head slightly and smooths his hand over your leg again, "Sorry." He meets your gaze and softens his expression, "Just promise me you'll take it easy. Let me take care of you."

With a slight cough you reached out for his hand, and smiled as he took it, stroked his thumb over the back of your knuckles. "I'm willing to bet you're not the greatest patient either, so you can't give me that much shit."

That gets him to smile, "Ready to go home?"

"Yes please."

Jack helps you sit up and slide out of the hospital bed, then helps you back into his jacket. "Ok, go home, my place," he emphasizes, "Take a good hot shower, take your meds and go to bed." He goes to guide you out of the room, but you tug him to a stop. "What's wrong?"

You bit your lip, "Thank you." Your voice was soft and a little apologetic.

For just a minute there was no hint of Dr. Abbot, he was just your boyfriend Jack. "C'mere." He pulled you in close and wrapped you in a hug, pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He chuckled, pressed another kiss to your temple and whispered, "See, coming to the doctor isn't so bad is it?"

You smile besides yourself and lean into him, "Depends on the doctor."

He walked you out to the hub and one of the nurses caught him right away, "We have a shooting victim eight minutes out."

Just like that Dr Abbot was back. "Ok set up trauma one, someone call OR give them a heads up." He turned back to you and softened, "I'll see you at home." Even in the middle of his ED, trauma en route, Jack gave you a smile and a quick kiss. "Go get some rest."

You nodded and watched as he turned to get back to work. Then with a smile of your own you turned to Bridget, "So, when do I get to fill out that patient satisfaction survey?"

~~~~

[finelinevogue]

kisses will make it better

summary - you think you’ve made aaron upset so decide not to tell him when you’ve been in a car accident

pairing - aaron hotchner x gf!reader

word count - 3k

Today was shit.

Like really terrible.

It was one of those days where nothing had gone right and you felt like the universe was caving in on you. From missing a meeting due to traffic to getting harassed by your boss again, there was nothing that had technically gone right.

Which is why you were calling Aaron on your drive home, because you knew he would make it better.

It was dangerous to rely on someone to make you feel better, but he was your person and there was no one you would rather speak to than him.

“Hotchner.”

You smiled as he always answered the phone the same way.

He said that people wasted time by looking at the caller ID rather than just answering the phone, so you were used to him never answering the phone any other way.

“Hi love.”

“Y/N?” He questioned and you had to chuckle.

“Who else would be calling you ‘love’?” You laughed.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Um,” You looked at the clock on your car dashboard, “Nearly 11PM.”

“Yeah, it is. Look, you know we’ve got a really busy case right now?” He sounded pissed off and it made your heart drop.

“Yeah, I just thought…” You gulped to swallow back the oncoming threat of tears.

You didn’t want to cry over something so trivial as making your boyfriend upset, but when you had had a day as bad as yours anything was a possible trigger. Especially when Aaron was supposed to be the person to listen and comfort you.

“So I need to sleep and I need this phone line to be open for the police detectives.”

You could hear what he wasn’t saying; ‘Don’t call me’.

“Okay.”

“Alright, bye.” And he hung up.

It felt kind of pathetic to cry, but the tears kept falling.

You sniffled as you let out a few shaky breaths. Your eyes tried concentrating on the roads but your tears were sort of blinding your sight.

Your bad day had just gotten even worse.

The one person you knew would have cheered you up had to go and let you down. It wasn’t really his fault. He did have a really big case at the moment that was really stressful, so any sleep he could get was important, but it would’ve been nice to just speak to him for a few minutes.

You pulled down the sleeve of your jumper over your hand so you could wipe away the tears from your eyes.

You were thankful to be stopped at a red light.

Leaning over into your glove compartment you picked out a packet of tissues and took one out so you could blow your nose. Crying always led to a runny nose.

Maybe you’d done something really terrible and that was why the world was taking it out on you. But what had you done?

Except for this morning, you were always on time for work. You put up with endless sexist and gross comments from your boss. You worked really long nights and early mornings just to get the work done. Working as an assistant for a CEO wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded, but it paid the bills.

So why did you deserve to have such a shit day?

That’s what you were hoping Aaron could have answered.

Now you had only gone and upset him too.

The light turned green and you gripped onto the tissue as you took a hold of the steering wheel to turn left.

There were bright lights.

A car horn sounded.

Your feet slammed hard on the breaks.

There was an almighty crash.

And then it all went black.

<.><.><.>

“Miss. Miss, can you hear me?”

Your head felt so heavy and your chest felt tight.

Your eyes were slow to open, but when they finally did they felt so heavy - as if they were being weighed down.

Then you noticed the blue and red flashing lights against the pitch black of night and the paramedic that was leaning into your car to talk to you.

She had a stethoscope pressed against your chest and kept calling out to you for a response.

Slowly it was all coming back to you.

“Miss, answer if you can hear me.”

You nodded your head slowly.

“Okay good.” She said, “You were in a car accident. Do you remember what happened?”

Instead of responding you let the tears fall. Now you were coming back around and things were coming into focus you started to feel how much pain you were in. The seat belt must have stopped you from flying through the front window, but it had definitely bruised your entire chest and rib area in the process. That’s why it was probably painful to breathe.

The lady ducked back out of the car then.

“She’s pretty shaken.”

“We need to get her to a hospital. She could have internal bleeding.”

“Okay let’s cut her out and slowly transport her to an ambulance.”

“Have you asked who we should call?”

Their voices were all a blur as your eyes grew heavier again. The tears in your eyes were making your focus blurry again. It hurt to even cry.

Aaron was going to be so mad.

He was on such a busy case and the last thing he needed was to hear his girlfriend had been in a car accident - a bad one at that. You promised yourself then that you would tell the emergency response people that you didn’t have any emergency contacts. You didn’t need Aaron coming down here.

Not that you didn’t want him, because God you did, but more that you didn’t want to add any extra stress for him.

He had a hard enough job as it was without looking after you too.

He needed his rest, so you would do this alone.

<.><.><.>

Garcia was hurried as she approached Hotch’s office.

“Baby girl, what’s wrong?” Morgan asked from his desk as he watched his friend rush past.

“It’s Y/N.” She said and that’s when Morgan noticed the tears in her eyes.

Morgan shot up from his desk, as did Emily and Reid who had overheard the conversation. They didn’t ask questions, but did follow Garcia to Hotch’s office to listen in. It was clearly serious if Garcia was upset.

Garcia didn’t even knock before entering.

Hotch looked up from his desk, clearly unimpressed with the lack of knocking until he saw the looks on his team’s faces - especially Garcia’s.

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch asked, clicking the lid on his pen.

“Sir, you know how you asked me to set up that system where if any immediate family relatives of ours were admitted to hospital then they’d flag on my system so we’d know?” She asked.

Hotch stood up immediately.

“Is Jack okay?” His heart sank.

“Yes, Sir, he is.” Garcia looked distressed still, “But Y/N was in a major car accident last night. Drunk driver hit her side of the car. Caused her car to be sent spinning across the road where it was then hit at the rear by a lorry.”

Hotch went pale. He felt like his heart had stopped beating.

“When?” Hotch picked up his phone.

No new messages.

Why had no one contacted him about this?

He was your emergency contact. He should have been notified about this.

“Accident happened last night at about 11:15. I only got the notification when I came in this morning, Sir.”

“She’s been in the hospital since 11:15 last night?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Where is she now?”

“I had a look and… seems like she’s been in surgery for most of the night.”

Hotch had heard enough. He was ready to go now.

“Prentiss and Morgan. Go to the police station and find out what you can about the accident. I want that drunk driver ID’d.” Hotch ordered and they both left the room immediately.

“Call us if anything changes, Hotch.” Morgan added and Hotch nodded.

Reid…” Hotch said.

“I’m coming to the hospital with you.” Reid said for his boss.

“I need you here to work the case with Dave.”

“Hotch, this will probably be the only time I say this… but no. I’m coming with you and no doubt Rossi will too. Y/N is our friend too.” Reid argued back and Hotch didn’t have to say anything else for everyone to know that he was grateful for it.

Hotch needed the support and he knew you would need it to.

Screw this case.

Family was more important.

“Garcia…”

“I have my computers scanning security footage as we speak, Sir.”

“Good.”

“Go get our girl, Sir.” Garcia said and Hotch wasted no more time before exiting his office.

<.><.><.>

“You can’t blame yourself, Aaron.” Dave said as he drove the car to the hospital.

Aaron had wanted to drive but Dave had disagreed. It would’ve been dangerous for him to drive at a time like this.

“I spoke to her 15 minutes before the accident, Dave.” Aaron said, his composure slowly breaking.

Dave didn’t add anything to the conversation because he knew this was Aaron’s way of opening up as to why he felt so guilty.

“I told her not to call because my phone needed to be open for the police detectives to call me.”

“You were sleep deprived Aaron.” Dave argued.

“That’s not an excuse.”

“Maybe not, but it was the truth.”

Aaron kept his gaze on the road in front of them.

This car journey had felt like the longest twenty minutes of his life. Then he thought about how long you must have been alone in your crumpled car until someone arrived - how long that must have felt. How scary that must have been.

“I can’t lose her too.” Aaron said.

“You won’t. She’s got a strength in her that not everyone does.”

Aaron wanted to smile at that because he knew it was true, but it was hard to smile when he didn’t have a clue what state he was about to find you in.

<.><.><.>

Aaron stormed into the ER.

He did a quick sweep of the room and walked to the front desk. His hands gripped the front desk like it was the only thing keeping him standing up.

“Y/N L/N.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?” The nurse questioned.

“I’m here to see Y/N L/N. She was brought in late last night from a car accident.” Hotch explained.

“Let me see.” The nurse typed away on her computer.

Rossi and Reid came up behind Aaron as they also waited to hear what the nurse had to say.

Aaron’s team was like a family to him, which meant they were also a family to you. The team had taken a liking to you ever since they had seen how much you had positively impacted Aaron’s life. They had never seen him smile so much as when he was around you. You brought out the best in him and the thought of losing you meant losing their boss too.

“Are you Aaron Hotchner, Sir?” The nurse questioned.

“Yes.”

The nurse smiled sympathetically, “Miss L/N specifically told the doctors last night that we weren’t to contact you.”

“W-what?” Aaron furrowed his brows in confusion. “I’m her emergency contact.”

“We’re aware, Mr Hotchner.”

“S-so what?” Aaron tried to calm himself down because he knew it wasn’t the nurses fault, “That’s it?...”

“Miss L/N told us not to contact you, Mr Hotchner, so we didn’t. However, now you are here I don’t see any reason to hold you back any further. Just sign this ‘sign in’ sheet, please.”

“Thank you.” Aaron said honestly, feeling both a wave of relief and anxiety.

Why had you told them not to call him?

Well, he knew why…

It was starting to feel like this was his fault. Doubts creeping into his mind as to whether he was the right person for you. It felt like no matter what he did, no matter how happy he became, he would always be tested in some way.

<.><.><.>

Reid and Rossi had gone to buy you flowers, leaving Aaron in the room alone with you.

It had been a shock to see you at first.

He hadn’t really prepared himself for how you might look, but he definitely hadn’t expected this.

You were bandaged like a mummy. Your head had a thick bandage wrapped around. Your hands were littered with plasters and gauze from where tiny bits of shattered glass had cut into your skin. He couldn’t see your chest but he had no doubts that the entire area would be black and bruised.

It made Aaron feel sick seeing you like this.

<.><.><.>

When you finally came around you felt lighter than you had before.

There was no seat belt cutting into your skin and you could breathe a little easier too. The bed you were laid in was really comfortable and someone had clearly dimmed the lights in preparation for you waking up.

Your eyes opened to find yourself in a hospital room.

The small window to the right told you it was a new day because it had been nighttime the last time you had seen the sky. Whether it was the next day or a couple of days was difficult to guess.

You looked down from the window to the small table.

There were six bunches of flowers of all different varieties. All of them had cards underneath them and you were eager to know who they were from.

The one that had a mathematical joke on had to be from Reid. The one that was covered in pink glitter was definitely from Garcia. The one that was clearly handmade had to be the work of Jack Hotchner. That one made you smile.

Your eyes went to the other side of the room where there was a chair facing your bed.

It was empty.

You knew who had been there, though, thanks to the blazer and red tie draped over the back of it.

Just as you started thinking about Aaron, you could hear your two favourite boys approaching.

“But I want to give the giraffe to her now, dad.”

“Ssh, ssh. We have to be quiet now bud, okay? Y/Ns sleeping.”

“But she’s been sleeping all day.”

“That’s because she’s poorly.”

“Oh, okay.”

Aaron and Jack entered the room a moment later, leaving the door open.

“Y/N!” Jack screamed in excitement when he saw that you were awake. He shuffled himself out of his dad’s hold until he was on the floor and running over to your bedside.

Aaron was ready to tell Jack off until he saw that you were in fact awake.

“Jack, careful.” Aaron said when his son started climbing on the bed.

“He’s okay.” You assured them both.

“Dad said you’re poorly.” Jack said.

“I guess I am.” You smiled at him.

“Does this hurt?” He pointed to the bandage on your forehead.

“A little.”

“Dad can kiss it better.” Jack explained like he was the certified doctor working in this hospital. It made you and Aaron laugh, which was probably the best form of medicine anyways. “Won’t you dad?”

Instead of giving a yes or a no response, Aaron came over to you and placed a kiss on top of the bandage. You couldn’t feel his lips, but his presence was enough to make you a little bit emotional.

He smelt like home and his closeness was so warm that you felt comforted.

Aaron kept his face close to yours as pulled away. He looked at you and noticed your teary eyes. His thumb reached your cheek to softly pad over the skin there - no doubt to check that you were really here and okay.

“Hey Jack, why don’t we go and get a chocolate bar for Y/N, hmm?” You heard Rossi’s voice behind Aaron.

Neither you or Aaron made a move from each other to check. Rossi must have taken Jack from the room because it went so quiet then.

Aaron kept his gaze on your eyes and you could see the sadness lost within them.

You hated to see him so sad. It was your weakness.

“I’m…”

“If you say you’re sorry I’m going to be really upset.” Aaron said quickly to cut you off.

You nodded, crying a bit more now.

“Thank you for coming.” You said instead.

“Don’t need to thank me, sweetheart. I’ll always be here.” Aaron moved to perch on the bed beside you, careful not to bump into any sore part of you.

“How did you even know?”

“Garcia.”

“Of course” You smiled. Aaron smiled because you smiled.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry for being an asshole last night.”

“Aaron, love, I can see that you’re beating yourself up over this but it wasn’t your fault. Yes, you were kind of an asshole. I did need you last night, but you definitely didn’t cause this and I know you know that.”

“You’re too lovely.” He responded.

“I just won’t have you blame yourself for something you had no control over.”

Aaron nodded, “I’ll never not answer the phone again.”

“Okay.”

“But you have to promise to never block me as an emergency contact again. You hear me?” He said sternly.

“I do. It was kind of stupid of me.” You rolled your eyes thinking back now.

“Yeah it was.” Aaron gave you a small smirk, glad to hear you were okay enough to make a joke or two.

“I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“Honey. I’m going to worry whether or not you are actually okay.”

“When I told the nurse to not call you she asked whether you were a crazy ex of mine.” You chuckled.

“You’re an absolute menace.”

“A menace that’s going to need lots of kisses to nurse me back to health.”

“Oh yeah?”

“That’s what Dr Jack said.” You shrugged.

“I better get started then.”

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[s1lly-c0r3]

Mouthwashing Headcanons !!

Cuddling - Curly, Jimmy, Daisuke, Anya, and Swansea (No assigned Gender for reader!!) `` This is for entertainment purposes only, reminder to be kind and feel free to request !! ``

CURLY ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Big on being big spoon, likes the feel of your head on his chest. Most likely wouldn't mind trying little spoon, but he's always gotta have his arms wrapped around you somehow.

Doesn't like any sound playing in the background, prefers to listen to you yap or the sound of you breathing. It comforts him to know you're safe.

Loves your hands in his hair.

Pampers you, but not in an obsession kind of way. He'll coat your face in kisses then chuckle at your reaction

Usually likes to cuddle in bed, PDA is not for him. He won't mind the couch, but he likes a lot of room.

Purrs, isn't aware of it and completely denies when you mention it at all.

Prefers to not touch you much when he's stressed, he's a sweet guy but he's scared he'll hurt you or vent to much. A kiss here and there won't hurt, but the second he calms down he's all over you again.

Titties

Cuddles a pillow when you're not around, not in a weird, gross kind of way, he just likes having his arms wrapped around something (and that something is you)

JIMMY ┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Isn't aware when he's little or big spoon but prefers to have his face shoved into your neck and his arms wrapped around you. Weather that's a big or little spoon; it's up to you.

His hands are always cold, they're usually up your shirt tracing your back or stomach. If not, then he's running them through your hair.

Boney as hell, not the most comfortable to lay on and he knows it.

Usually just falls asleep without changing, shoes and everything. But he sometimes tries to take at least one clothing item off.

Likes his scars or bones being traced but doesn't admit it.

He smiles a LOT while cuddling, usually he's already hiding his face in your neck and pampering you to hide the fact, but you've clearly noticed.

Goes for the bed, always. If you two manage to fall asleep on the couch, you'll wake up in the bed anyways

Wandering hands

A lot of teasing knows exactly how to make you react in the way he wants, and he'll use it to the best he can.

Falls asleep first.

DAISUKE · · ──꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ── · ·

Little AND big spoon likes having you comfortable either that be your head on his chest or his head on yours.

Can't handle too much teasing, but does like to blabber compliments while grinning stupidly

LOVES when you play with his hair, it keeps him calm.

Sleeper build Daisuke !!

Likes laying on your stomach, he always claims it's just too comfortable for him to resist but it's actually just because he likes waking up and seeing your face.

Will probably lick you, just for the bit

Loves cuddling ANYWHERE, cuddle on the couch, bed, bath, the car. Anywhere he can have skin on skin contact he's running towards it.

Always finds a way to hold your hand

Hates waking up every morning and having to leave you, complains the whole time. If he has to be up at 6 in the morning, you have to be up at 6 in the morning.

Comments on little things you do he finds cute to tease, but always ends up feeling bad or getting too flustered.

ANYA •☽──✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧──☾•

Preferably little spoon wouldn't mind letting you be it for the night but really prefers to just let you hold her.

Giggles a little too much, sometimes has to turn her head away if you compliment her to often or if she's being pampered.

Loves pampering you back though, your face is like a canvas for her lips.

Has a whole routine she does before cuddling, forces you to do it with her.

Loves the bed, hates the couch and refuses to ever sleep there.

Plays some sort of soft music in the background, she's mainly listening to your heartbeat, especially if you talk, the music is just there as a background noise.

Always falls asleep

Huge stress reliver for her, if she's got herself worked up over something she'll just toss herself into your arms and complain about it till she falls asleep for the night.

She'll most likely kick your ass if your hands start to wander, but she allows it most the time. Just be a bit careful.

Loves your chest, doesn't matter if your boney or not. Her face is always smashed into it.

SWANSEA ⊹˚₊‧──────‧₊˚⊹

Always big spoon: likes you laying on him or having his chest pressed against your back.

Holds your hand most the time, presses little kisses on your knuckles as well.

Huge gentlemen, if he sees any sign of discomfort, he's not going to do it anymore.

Probably dances with you, I just feel like he's the kind of guy to do that.

Do NOT tease this man, he gets really flustered about it. Sure, he'll drop his voice low and tease the hell out of you but if you match the energy, he's covering your mouth and turning his head away.

His hands are EVERYWHERE.

Likes the smell of you, always commenting on a perfume or your natural scent.

(cmon, its swansea, its like cuddling a huge bear)

AAAAGUHHHHHH I finished it !!! Please enjoy <33 If you have any requests for me feel free to ask and don't be shy!! I do NOT shame anyone at all!! We listen, we don't judge. Have a wonderful day/night loves!!

[goldennika]

damn, i guess he really is a narcissist wtf

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Still You Want Me

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pregnancy, a little angst if you squint, pre-established relationship.

Summary/Warnings: Dean's fought the worst evil in the world, but only one thing has really managed to scare him. His pregnant wife.

Author's Note: Request from an anon!! I got emotional with it, and I'm very sorry about that but I couldn't help myself. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.9k

“We got three hours left.” Dean returned to the parked Impala, sorting through the bags in his hands. “But we can make it back in two if I-“

Sam shook his head, taking his bag of bird feed—trail mix, but the pointless kind without any M&Ms—from Dean with a frown. “Two’s a bit stretch, don’t you think? I mean even for you, Dean, and it’s not like we’re in a rush-“

“You’re not in a rush, Sammy.” Dean muttered, dumping the rest of the snacks in the backseat. “I got a pregnant wife who’s left me three voicemails about how she’s either gonna castrate me or give me head, and-“

“Gross, dude.” Sam walked around the car, making a scrunched bitch-face of disgusting. “All you needed to say was that’s she’s got mood swings-“

“Don’t call them mood swings.” Dean dropped behind Baby’s wheel, saying Her name with a sigh. “She hates that. And you can’t charm your way out of like I can.”

“I think I could.” Sam shrugged. “She likes me more.”

“She’s my freakin’ wife-“

“She loves you.” Sam grabbed his phone as they pulled out of the lot. “She likes me. I’ve never been threatened with castration-“

“Yet.” Dean muttered. “Cas thought he was safe until he got a shade of yellow that was too red for the nursery. I mean, yellow is yellow, Sammy, but she threatened to cut off his wings-“

Sam frowned. “I don’t think she could do that-“

“Trust me, man.” Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “She’d find a way.”

Sam just nodded, because they both knew Dean was right. He was pretty goddamn sure that, if She wanted—or if Dean pissed Her off enough—She’d figure out how to send him somewhere worse than the Empty, bring him back, then start sobbing and apologizing on Her knees all within a ten-minute span. Then She’d probably give him a blowjob, he’d saying the exact wrong dirty talk, and she’d bite off Little Dean. Shit, he’d only been gone four days for the hunt, but half that time had been spent on the phone, reassuring Her he was being safe, the hunt wasn’t a part of any world-ending scheme from a new big bad, and he’d be home soon. The time that Dean wasn’t on the phone, Sam was, promising he wouldn’t let anything happen, that Dean was sleeping well and looking at the baby names list She’d sent, and that he’d called Eileen so she wouldn’t worry either.

Annoyingly, Sam had been keeping his promises to Her. Dean read the baby names list because Sam wouldn’t let him leave the table until he did, Eileen had gotten two calls, and Dean was being safer than he’d ever been in his freaking life. At this point, he was pretty sure the pregnancy was just one long scam to make him take care of himself. He was drinking and hunting less after Her breakdown that she’d lose him, driving a little slower—just a little, he wasn’t a blind old lady—after the ice incident got him the silent treatment for three days, and he’d even tried some of Sam’s rabbit food. He’d spat it out, but he’d tried it. For Her, for the baby, and because he was terrified for his life.

Dean loved Her more than every pie in the freaking universe, but She was freaking terrifying right now. She might be the only thing he’d ever really been afraid of. Planes he could avoid. Ghosts and monster he could kill. Hell, even Lucifer had been better. At least the son of a bitch hadn’t begged to give Dean a hand job, then started sobbing because Dean tried to move it to sex and they didn’t feel pretty enough for sex. And if Lucifer had done that, Dean wouldn’t have cared. He didn’t give a shit about Lucifer. 

But he gave a shit about Her. Every time She cried it felt like someone was stabbing him, but he had less and less of a damn clue for how to help her the more pregnant She got. She’d said she felt ugly, he’d told Her she was beautiful, and that her tits looked better than ever, and She’d started accusing him of not loving her tits before. He’d missed one phone call and She’d sent Cas to teleport him home. He’d gotten the wrong candy bar and She’d had a breakdown about him not loving her enough to get the right one.

That last one was why the gas station had taken so long. Dean had triple checked every single snack he’d bought, and added a few extras just in case she changed Her mind. He’d even had Cas text him a second list after She’d told him all her requests over the phone, out of fear that he’d missed even a single one. Even now, on the road, he was running through everything one last time, because he’d gotten five different Gatorade colors, but maybe She’d want a sixth, or two of the same color, or only one color and he’d get yelled at because She didn’t even like orange-

“Hey!” Sam pulled Dean out of his thoughts with a shout. “Phone!”

“Wha-“

Sam said Her name, holding Dean’s phone in front of his face. “She’s calling you-“

“I got that.” Dean snatched the phone, shooting Sam a glare. “And that’s not safe, Sammy. Gonna get us fuckin’ killed-“

“Yeah, sure, Dean.” Sam just shrugged—even though Dean was right, that was dangerous—and nodded to the phone. “I’d pick up if I were you-“

“Shut up.” Dean muttered, ignoring Sam’s laugh as he answered the call. “Hey, baby, we’re-“

“Dean!” Her voice was a half-shriek through the phone, and Dean winced. “Holy shit, you’re alive, that’s good-“

“Course I’m alive, I promised I would be-“

“But it’s not up to you!” She was pacing. Her voice had grown frantic and high, so She was pacing. “Monsters don’t ask before they kill you, and they’d defiantly want to kill you, and Sam told me he’d take that bullet but I don’t want him to die either, and you’re both amazing hunters but if you die now, you can’t come back, and I’d miss you, I miss you now, why aren’t you home, you dick, I fucking hate you-“

Dean swallowed, saying Her name slowly as Sam snickered at his side. Asshole. “Take a breath-“

“Don’t tell me how to breathe, Winchester, I’ve been breathing my whole fucking life-“

“I know, sweetheart, I have too-“

“You’ve never had to breathe while pregnant-“

“And I’m not planning to, ever, but- just listen-“

“We should get you pregnant, it’s only fair-“

Sam started to cackle, Her voice loud enough he could obviously hear every word. It wasn’t really helpful. 

“That’s not gonna happen,” Dean muttered, giving Sam a death glare that just made him laugh more. “Sweetheart, we’ll be there soon. I promise.“

“Okay, but don’t go too fast, if you’re far, because you promised me you’d drive carefully, and you need to be safer. I don’t want to lose you.” She started to sniffle. Shit. “I can’t lose you, De, I need you, the baby needs you, and Sam and Cas are cool but they’re not you and I want you and the baby wants you. It wants you more, it hates when your gone, it just keeps kicking me and if you die I’ll be a terrible mother with a baby who hates me-“

Dean snapped Her name, pressing the Impala’s pedal to the floor. He needed to be home soon. “Listen to me. I’m not gonna do anything stupid like die, and you’re never gonna lose me. Plus, our baby won’t hate you. It’s half me. It can’t.”

There was a slightly static hum from the other side, and Dean sighed.

“I know you miss me, baby, and we can get you whatever you’re craving, but-“

“I do miss you, De.” Her voice was soft and pleading through the phone. 

But it wasn’t Her crying voice. That was her-

“I miss your cock, too. I miss touching you, and why is your bed so stupid and big-“

Dean chuckled, shaking off the whiplash. “Because I’m stupid and big-“

He could hear Her pout through the phone. “Don’t say that. You’re not stupid, and our baby’s gonna be a genius-“

“Because they’ll get their brains from you, pretty girl.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean leaned slightly forward, checking a highway sign. “Hour and a half, okay? Then I’ll be home.”

“Fine.” She mumbled. “I love you. Be careful.”

“I love you too, baby. And I’m always safe.” Dean waited for Her sigh, letting her hang up first. He’d learned to do that the hard way. “Not a word, Sammy, or I’ll shoot you.”

Sam raised his hands, palms up. “I didn’t even open my- got it.”

Dean turned his scowl back to the road, and he could be safe and get home in an hour. Both could be possible, and She’d never have to know that he’d been going 15 over the speed limit. And if She started to catch on, Dean could distract Her with his hands and dick and mouth, because—as hot as she was when she was pissed—Sam said stress wasn’t good for the baby.

They made it forty-five minutes of mostly safe driving—Dean’s hands gripping the wheel and listening to the music at a deafening volume, Sam texting Eileen and pretending he wasn’t bothered by the deafening music—before another incident.

Cas appeared in the back seat, said Her name instead of hello, Dean—already a bad sign—and looked almost genuinely scared. Dean had never seen his face do that before—red and sheepish like a child being scolded by a dinosaur—and it was a little off-putting.

He was used to Cas doing this enough to not swerve off the road, but he was still pissed. “Fucking hell, Cas, a warning would be nice-“

Cas frowned, then leaned forward, turning down the music. “Did you not hear what I said.”

“No, the music was on, I know you said-“

Cas said Her name again with Dean. “It was her message. I would, ah, prefer not to repeat it.”

Sam blinked, turning in his seat. “Why, is she-“

“She is well.” Cas’ eyes stayed on Dean in the rearview mirror. “She is feeling some very… confusing emotions. Towards Dean.”

Sam frowned. “Confusing? How-“

“She told me to relay to Dean that she hates him, and she hates hunting, and if he’s not home in forty-five minutes she’ll leave him, but she can’t leave him because she loves him more than life and she cannot live without him. Specifically his smile, voice, hands, stupid flirting that did this in the first place, and,” Cas swallowed, his voice dropping slightly as his face grew red. “Big cock.”

Dean smirked slightly—she was a menace, but damn it if he didn’t love his girl—as Sam paled next to him.

“By this,” Cas mumbled. “I assume she was referring to the baby. Which is in good health. I checked this morning.”

“Good. Thanks, Cas, but,” Dean sighed. “This could’ve been a phone call-“

“I was instructed to deliver it in person. To make sure you were safe, and driving carefully.” Cas leaned forward with a frown. “The speed limit on this highway is meant to be-“

“I know what the speed limit is.” Dean grumbled, refusing to ease his foot off the gas. “I’m tryin’ to get home, Cas.”

“I believe she would prefer you get home slower, rather than sacrificing your safety.” Cas let out a long sigh. “Although, I will admit I’d prefer you return quickly. I am not equipped to handle a pregnant woman alone, despite reading all of the books on the subject I could find. And, uh,” Cas said Her name with a red face. “Is frightening in this state.” 

Dean sighed. “Thirty minutes, dude, can you hold down the fort-“

“He could take you now?” Sam cut in with a small frown. “Cas could zap you back to the bunker, and I could drive Baby home.”

“Sammy-“

Cas nodded. “I agree with Sam’s plan. If you could pull over, Dean-“

“I’m not gonna pull over!” Dean snapped. “I can get back just fine myself!”

“But I could-“

“You won’t always be there, Cas.” Dean grunted through his teeth. “I gotta be able to take care of my family by myself. Shit, I’m doing all the safety bullcrap for it, and I’m hunting less.” He said Her name, his grip on the wheel painful. “She’s gotta know I can take care of her, and the baby. I said I’d drive home, so-“

Sam cut Dean off a sigh. “Dude, she’s gonna care way more that you’re home with her.”

“Sam is correct.” Cas said, and Dean could feel his gaze through the mirror. “I attempted to make her breakfast this morning, and she started crying. When asked, she told me that you make it better.” Cas frowned. “It was cereal.”

“C’mon, man. Let Cas take you home.”

Dean glanced over to find Sam giving him puppy eyes—the bitch—and groaned. “Fine. But if I see one scratch on Baby-“

“You’ll kill me, yeah, I know.” Sam unbuckled as Dean pulled over, not sounding nearly threatened enough. “Let’s move.”

It took a minute for Dean to get all the snacks, but the moment the last bag was in his arms Cas grabbed him by the shoulder, the world because a spinning rush, and he was home.”

“Dean!” 

He was barely on steady legs when She slammed into him, sending him stumbling slightly back as his arms wrapped around her, careful not to push too far into the baby bump.

“Hey, Sweetheart. I heard you missed me-“

“Of course I missed you, you asshole!” She pushed off of him, shoving his chest slightly. “Do you have any idea how many pies are just rotting in the fridge for you! You said the hunt would be fast, Dean, but I was stuck alone for four fucking days-“

Dean frowned. “Wasn’t Cas-“

“Cas doesn’t count!” She screamed, and over her shoulder, Cas didn’t look that offended. He’d probably gotten this outburst—and the following, tearful apology—at least twice already. “Cas isn’t you! He didn’t knock me up and then leave me-“

Dean thought about pointing out that he had not left Her, but thought better of it and let her keep shouting. She usually calmed herself down. 

Usually.

“And Cas is an angel, and he’s been okay, and I feel so bad because I was such a bitch to him, but he deserved it! He wasn’t you! And I missed you and I hate you, Dean, I fucking hate you, why weren’t you home-“

Dean caught Her hands in his, pressing a gentle kiss to Her knuckles. “I’m home now, baby-“

“I know.” She whispered, crumbling in half a second into Dean, clinging to him like a koala. “And I missed you so much, De. I can’t do the laundry with this stupid bump, I can’t do anything, I’m useless and I’m a bitch and I think made Cas cry-“

“I’d pay to see you make Cas cry,” Dean muttered Her name, running a slow hand through her hair. “And you’re not useless. You’re growing a person, that freaking awesome and insane-“

She tilted her head back, pretty eyes glossy and wide on Dean’s. “But what if I mess it up? What if I fuck the baby up and you leave me-“

“I’m never gonna leave you.”

“But I’ve been mean-“

“You’re always mean, baby.” Dean grinned at her, letting his affection show in his voice. “And it’s always pretty freakin’ hot. And you aren’t gonna fuck up the baby, and I’m not gonna leave you, but,” he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “If you wanna make Sammy cry a little more, I think he’ll deserve it.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “I’m not making Sam cry-“

“He said you had mood swings.”

She gasped, hitting Dean’s chest.  “You’re a snitch-“

“Gotta spread the love somehow.” Dean shrugged, squeezing his hands on Her as he dropped his voice down. “But I can think of a few other ways, just you and me, to spread some better love.”

She flushed—already putty in Dean’s arms—and almost dragged him back to their room. 

And this made it worth it. All the screaming and flying objects and threats, all the living in cautious fear in his own damn home, was more than worth it for this. Not just the awesome sex—sex was always awesome, sex with Her was better than almost anything, and sex with pregnant Her was what Dean imagined crack was like—but the way that, in the end, She smiled at him no matter what. She smiled and giggled and moaned, proving to Dean in a million ways both between the sheets and after that she didn’t really hate him, and he got to rest his head on her stomach and feel a small kick near his brow. Her fingers combed through his hair peacefully, all her noises made of content, and everything was more than worth it.

Worth pushing through the worst of the screaming and moods—just like She’d pushed through all of his world-saving bullshit—to see Her peaceful face as she slept by his side. Worth letting Sam drive the Impala just once, so Dean could get home faster.

Worth the family he was finally getting to have, and being here with them. 

End Note: Sam Winchester once again being a true trooper in my stories.

Title from Next to Me by Imagine Dragons

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@Youdontknowwe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

[innerfare]

His Favorite Place 

Summary: his favorite place to fuck you

Characters: Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // penetrative sex, oral sex, outdoor sex, exhibitionism, quickies

——— 

Zoro:

The crow’s nest is by far Zoro’s favorite place to fuck you. He actually prefers it to your bed. When he finishes his workout, he likes to sit back and have you ride him before he takes his afternoon nap, working the tension out of his muscles. It’s gross and sticky, and you both end up in the shower together afterwards. Whether the shower leads to a round two depends on how sore he is from his workout because he’ll basically only have shower sex if he’s holding you up against the wall. 

Sanji:

Everyone would assume his favorite place to fuck you is the kitchen. I mean, you and food are his two favorite things. But his absolute favorite is actually shower sex. The best time you two had sex, in his opinion, was the time you were alone in a steamy bathhouse. With no windows, the two of you lost track of time and were in there for hours before Robin came to fetch you, giggling when she found you tangled together. 

Ace:

Ace lives to fuck you outside. He’ll push you up against a tree, pin you underneath him on a beach, go down on you in a cave, he doesn’t give a fuck. Having sex outdoors makes him feel wild and free. His absolute favorite is to have you on your hands and knees under the hot sun, fucking you from behind like some sort of animal. You’ve both ended up with all manner of scrapes and bruises from these outdoor trysts, and he always kisses your little injuries after, promising to go easier on you next time. 

Sabo:

Sabo really loves a good quickie. He loves how you try to scold him when he drags you around the corner, he loves the thrill of people walking by a supply closet while the two of you are fucking, he loves the fact that he can get you off in under five minutes. And his favorite place for a quickie is any place he’s not supposed to have one, bonus points if there’s a counter of some kind to bend you over. The type to get frisky in a church. 

Law:

Law really is partial to fucking you in bed. He has a sealskin blanket from back home in the North Blue, and he loves having you sprawled naked across it while the Polar Tang is deep under water. But on the rare occasions he doesn’t just lock you in his cabin and have his way with you, he wants you somewhere quiet and private. He’ll bend you over his desk with his hand clamped over your mouth and fuck you hard and fast, and then he’ll pretend like nothing happened, sending you on your way with his cum dripping out of you. 

Kid:

By far, his favorite place to fuck you is the deck of the Victoria Punk. Whether the crew are out drinking or they’re asleep below deck, the knowledge that they could catch you in such a compromising position has him fucking you against the mast, eating you out on the stairs to the upper deck, pushing your head between his legs while he leans against a canon, etc. He’s also bent you over the front railing before and eaten you out while you clutched the wheel. It’s not just about the thrill of getting caught, though. Fucking you on his ship makes him feel like the most powerful captain sailing the seas. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[shariasweet]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ 𝐁oo𝓚𝐦a𝓡ke𝓭

𝓦c ::: 3.k 𐙚 𝓢harinote ::: i've never written something so gross and honestly... I kind of love how extreme it feels (to me) 𐙚 warnin𝓰.ᐟ ::: super super gross, dirty, filthy... call it what you will · dubcon (??? he never asks but she goes along with it... still, there's that grey area! I'm sorrysorrysorry) · lots of degrading (enemies to ???) · jungwon is a bully :( · possessive (?) · voice kink · facial · orgasm denial · unprotected sex (wrap it up guys) · good girl... things like that · spit · f.ᐟreader

“do these stupid little pornos really get you off?” he scoffs. jungwon’s lips curl to form a twisted smirk… something in between disgust and amusement as he dangles the book in front of your face as though it’s something extremely filthy. 

which, arguably, it is… but that’s beside the point.

your breath hitches—catching sharply in your throat. the room feels like it’s closing in on you… is it hot in here? “I…” you trail off, searching for an excuse. “i-it’s not a porno…” you mutter beneath your breath, voice barely audible. mentally, you facepalm… some excuse that was. 

your eyes remain trained on the office's scuffed floor—the cracked door behind him… truthfully, anywhere but him… you’re 99% sure jungwon still had that smug expression painted across his face. 

he snorts. 

it’s a short, humorless laugh. “you know, reading your porn doesn’t make it any less raunchy. if anything, it just makes you look even more pathetic.”

…

yang jungwon… student council president—your number one critic since highschool… maybe even before then.                                                                                        you’re sure somewhere stored in your head is a memory of him pushing you off of a swing in grade school. 

if you told anyone on campus about the things he’s said to you—what he’s done to you—they’d probably laugh in your face. 

to them, jungwon is their perfect golden boy:

star student, co-captain of the soccer team, the ‘super cute volunteer’ who spends his weekends cleaning up after abandoned puppies at the animal shelter… the blonde guy who smiles oh so sweetly at the ladies in the canteen… always making it a point to say please and thank you.

they’d never believe that he has you cornered—backed up against the old, dusty filing cabinets of your forgotten office hidden behind the shelves of your university’s library where you worked.

it’s sort of ironic—working here was supposed to be your break from his torment.

jungwon himself never came here… he was too important, too busy. 

he was always sending his secretary or vp for any sort of books and, or copies needed by the student-council. 

however, it seemed as though you’d gotten too comfortable… forgetting that everywhere was jungwon’s turf—meaning not even your safe haven of the campus library was any exception. 

the day was supposed to be quiet. 

there were no weekend-classes, no school events, study groups, or sports-meetings… the rain had run most students off campus… burrowing in the cozy environment of their apartments and dorms. you were supposed to have this place to yourself… to breathe, to disappear for a little while in the pages of the smutty romance novel you’d shoved into your tote this morning before heading out. 

who’d seriously come to the library in all this rain… on a weekend at that?

he would, of course.

jungwon, like usual, is good at ruining things… particularly things involving your happiness or peace of mind. he’s made a hobby out of it—especially when it comes to you.

one second, you were nose-deep in a particularly dirty scene of your book—the next, his shadow was looming over you, voice laced with some sort of sick amusement.

“what’s this?”

and by the time you looked up, it was too late. 

he’d already pried the book from your hands. “give it back,” you snapped.

you shot up, scrambling to take the book back, completely ignoring the flush coloring your cheeks… but his arms were longer—he was faster. 

jungwon was more than satisfied, with every page he flipped through the sly grin on his face only grew wider and wider. you’d never live this down… this couldn’t get any worse.

Is what you thought… before he started reading.

aloud.

“his eyes were clouded with something much darker than lust as he kissed her hard… his hands hurriedly unbuttoning her blouse as she melted into his touch.’” he grinned wide, eyes darting to meet your own as your stomach sank. 

you stopped jumping, reaching for the copy… what was the use when you’d already been caught? 

“wow, y/n… this is nasty. even for you.” jungwon’s tongue flicked out, swiping across his bottom lip.

you can feel the walls closing in, heat flooding your cheeks, embarrassment pounding in your chest against your ribcage. 

“don’t tell me… do these get you off?” he leans closer, walking towards you as his voice drops incredibly low—the space between you was nearly non-existent now. “are you wet?”

“w-what? you… you can’t be serious, jungwon.” 

he asks you as if it means nothing, like it’s the most casual thing to ask in the world... though to him, it was safe to assume that it didn’t.

“c’mon, y/n.” he was coaxing, almost… definitely mocking. 

he was even closer now—you could feel the heat of his body radiating on to your skin as his hand slipped onto the small of your back, his fingers splayed wide as he pressed his chest against your own. 

you barely had time to gasp before you hit the edge of the desk, papers crinkling beneath you as you tripped, falling back.

“how long have we known each other now?”

he threw the book carelessly onto the floor—the same one he’d humiliated you over—was left on the ground, pages churning aimlessly as it landed on its cover.

“f-forever?” you stammered, recalling your childhood with the boy… he was pushy as ever. your lip trembled as you chewed it raw.

“that’s right.”

his tone was sharp—any hint of playfulness or amusement was long gone. 

jungwon’s other hand caught your jaw in a bruising grip, forcing your face up to meet his… thumb brushing gently against your bottom lip, ripping it from beneath your teeth, feeling how shaky your breath had become under his touch. 

“Is this serious enough for you..? i’m so fucking serious.”

his knee wedged it’s way between your thighs, grinding against your clothed cunt.. firm and demanding… 

and your body, your body was a traitorous thing—a small whimper came bubbling past your lips before you could even help it. your hips bucked forward, chasing the delicious friction of his jeans against your crotch.

“show me,” he murmured, lips inches away from brushing yours. “you are, aren’t you?”

you were. “I mean you’re shaking… chasing to hump my knee like a fucking’ slut, angel.” 

you were soaked—sinfully wet. jungwon was right. 

you were… unbelievably wet—arousal pooled into the fabric of your panties, the cotton sticking uncomfortably to your slick-glazed folds. an aching heat radiated from between your legs, shame sinking in your gut as you dared to look up to meet him once more… slowly nodding your head. 

“what’s that?” he teased. “use your words.”

your throat tightened.

you could feel it—every humiliating bit of it… the mess you’d made of yourself… wet, warm, sticky, slick to the point of no return at his demeaning words.

and from the smug grin curling against your cheek, jungwon knew it too. 

“I’m…” you hesitated.

“your?” he let his finger trace along your jaw—softly, a cruel contrast to how rough he’d been moments prior. he was waiting…  dragging it out.

“I’m wet.” you forced the words to roll off of your tongue and his eyes lit up. “oh, i know that much.” he laughed, pulling away from you as his eyes darkened. “I said show me.” he said, voice thick and dripping with entertainment at your pliable state. 

he leans back, against the office door—not far from the desk, but a reasonable distance, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“well?” he drawls, the space between you thick with heat and a pressuring tension. “don’t make me ask again.” he stands up, walking towards you until he's right back in front of you—knee presuming it’s original spot against your pussy, pressing harder, grinding into you like aother silent demand. 

your hands tremble as they drift down, fingers softly curling around the hem of your skirt. his eyes narrow, not buying it… whatever it may be. “don’t act shy now. it’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” he’s right… so you do it—slowly, shamefully, you hike the fabric up inch by inch until your skirt sits bunched over your hips… your ruined panties are fully on display for the man before you. 

his breath catches, just slightly as he keeps his unfazed composure. 

“look at you,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “fuck. you’re dripping through them.” you could hardly speak, let alone even look away. “happy now?” you whisper harshly, voice still slightly shaking. his hand returns to your face, fingers cradling your chin almost tenderly. “no,” he says simply. “not yet. but we’re getting there.” 

“i should’ve known,” he speaks up again. “you’ve probably been soaking through your panties all semester… and i bet no one else even noticed.”

he leans in, mouth brushing your ear as his teeth nip at your earlobe.

“but i did… you were just ‘gonna sit in here all alone, reading your filthy little book, getting off like some desperate pervert while you’re on the clock?”

you nod… just barely, still embarrassed and flushed with heat. “filthy..” he scoffs. 

you collapse forward, body trembling, chest pressed to his as your knees threaten to fall with you. but jungwon doesn’t let you—not completely. 

he holds you steady with one arm around your waist, the other slipping lower… fingers dragging lazily through the mess between your thighs. his hand absentmindedly plays with the hem of your panties, fingers tracing the outline of your clit before scrunching the fabric aside. 

then—without any warning—two of his fingers dip inside.

you cry out, voice breaking weakly as you call out his name. “j-jungwon!”

your arms immediately clasp around his shoulders, clutching onto him for balance, for something, support—anything to anchor yourself with. your breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut as you gasp, hips stuttering against his hand.

he hums, low and pleased with his fingers curling inside you, just once… just enough to make you jolt.

“louder,” he says. “say my name again, angel.”

you do. even if you hate him, you can’t help it. “jungwon—!” you cry.

he clicks his tongue… condescending as always.

“mm, still not good enough…” he withdraws his fingers just slightly, dragging them along your gummy walls until only the tips of his fingers remain. “you like getting finger-fucked, don’t you?” he murmurs. “but i bet you like being told to be a good little whore even more… just like in your little porno book.” he pushes his fingers back into you halfheartedly. “go on, angel… moan like this is all it takes to get you off… so easy aren't you?”

your skin burns and your throat tightens for what feels like the umpteenth time this evening. he leans back just enough to reach behind you—grabbing the book he’d thrown to the floor just minutes ago. 

“since you’re so into words…” he flips it open, scanning until he finds the passage that started all of this earlier. “here.”

he hands it to you, one hand still between your thighs, his fingers completely slipping back inside of you with a slow, wet push.

“read it.”

you freeze.

he tuts softly, teasing your clit with the pad of his thumb as he picks up his pace… fingers plunging into you with a scissoring motion.

“go on,” he says. “you wanted to get off to it, right? let’s see how it sounds when you say it out loud.”

your fingers shake as you hold the book, eyes blurring as you search for the line—the one he read earlier.

“his… his eyes were clouded with something darker than lust,” you begin, voice trembling. “as he kissed her hard… his hands unbuttoning her blouse—”

his fingers curl.

you choke on your words, moaning into the crook of his neck.

“keep going,” jungwon breathes, his voice hot against your ear, egging you on. “i’ll stop if you don’t.”

“she… she melted into his touch,” you push it out, jaw clenched as your hips roll into his palm. “he—he—”

you can’t finish. you just, can’t.

not when he’s fucking his fingers into you, so deep and precise, curling them just right. the slender girth of his middle and ring finger is just too brain-numbing.

not when your body is betraying you entirely—not when you’re squirming, dripping, and unraveling around him.

“look at you,” he murmurs. “can’t even read your own dirty book without creaming all over my fingers.”

you can barely even hold the book anymore.

“keep reading,” jungwon murmurs, teeth grazing your ear.

you try.

you try so, so, so hard—eyes skimming the page, lips parting, but the words blur and they melt into nothing.

“i—I can’t—” you whisper, your voice is horace and raw.

he pulls his fingers out without a second thought.

your mewl is sharp, pained… it’s damn near a sob choked out from between your teeth as you instinctively roll your hips forward, chasing your high via his fingers.

“that’s not what i asked for,” he says calmly. “try again.”

your head drops against his shoulder. your pride is splintering, dignity dissolving with every second he leaves you empty.

“please,” you whisper. “please what?” his sticky thumb drags along your inner thigh, just barely brushing the edge of your soaked, stretched panties. 

it’s cruel. it’s calculated. you bite your lip. hard… swallowing any of your remaining pride. 

“please let me cum.”

“mm,” he hums, pretending to consider it. “and what do you think you’ve done to deserve that?”

your throat bobs, trying to swallow the lump forming. you can’t answer.

you don’t deserve it—not with the way he’s playing this, not when you can’t even do the one thing he told you to.

“start from the top of the paragraph,” he instructs, fingers hovering just over your pussy again. “and if you stop this time… i won’t touch you or your desperate little cunt for the rest of the evening, yeah?”

you shiver.

your eyes find the words, though they smear behind the haze of lust clouding your vision.

“his eyes… were clouded with something darker than lust,” you begin, voice cracking. “as he kissed her hard… h-his hands unbuttoning—”

he pushes his fingers back in, all at once. three this time. and it makes for a delicious stretch. 

you choke, moaning into the page. you grip the book so tightly that the spine creaks.

“don’t stop,” he growls. “you want to cum? earn it.”

you force yourself to keep reading—stumbling over every word, moaning and gasping through the lines, body twitching as his fingers fuck you slow and deep. your slick squelches around his fingers, cream lathering around the dexterous muscles with every thrust of his fingers.

“she melted into his touch,” you gasp, blinking tears from your lashes. “n-needed him like— like she needed air—”

“like you need me,” he corrects, thumb circling your clit again.

you cry out.

your legs start to shake. your stomach tightens, your pleasure rises fast, the waves of an orgasm threatening to crash. 

you’re so close it hurts — everything inside you begging to let go.

but he stops.

again.

“n-no!” your voice cracks, a guttural whine ripped from somewhere deep within your chest. “jungwon, please—!”

“then beg,” he demands, his tone is flat and merciless. 

“for real this time. i want to hear just how filthy you can get… i’ll even help you.”

his fingers slip out of you, leaving you aching, empty. he takes not of the adorable pout plastered on your face, glazed over eyes and bruised lips.

without another word, he fiddles with his belt, yanking his jeans and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free. 

he places his hand in front of your face, his eyes burning holes into your own.

“spit.”

you hesitate for a heartbeat, then obeying—a thick glob of saliva landing in his palm. he takes it without hesitation, dragging his hand down the length of his shaft.

your mouth waters at the sight, drool gathering at the corners of your lips, your throat suddenly dry.

“stop ogling and read,” he deadpans. 

his free hand grabs your face, squishing your cheeks together teasingly with an unforgiving strength.

you flinch but comply, your eyes treading the page, stuttering as you pick up where you left off.

“o-okay…” you whimper, trying to steady yourself. “t-tell me you want me…” you stutter, the words falling out of you with unsteady breath.

and before you can finish, jungwon thrusts into you without warning, the sudden invasion knocking he air out of your lungs. “h-he says—”

“ah! fuck…” you gasp as he shoves himself all the way in, his hands tightening their grip on you.

“keep. fucking. reading,” he orders, each word punctuated with a brutal thrust, hard and fast into your sopping cunt. “now.” 

tears prick your eyes as you push through… the overwhelming waves of pleasure, your ruined orgasms clouding your thoughts, drowning you as jungwon pounds into you relentlessly. 

his hips snap against yours, each careless thrust sending sparks through your body, his cock sinking deeper and deeper with each punishing thrust.

he bites down on your neck, sucking at the tender skin, marking you as his. “tell m-me…” he groans, voice rough and needy, pushing you further, “tell me how badly you want it...” you choke out the last line. “he brings h-her hand t-to cup his…ohmygod!”

“shit, jungwon, please!” you sob, your chest tightening as it rises up and down… overwhelmed with desperation… the tears finally break free, streaming down your face, streaking your flushed cheeks as you beg him for release.

you can feel him everywhere—deep inside you, his cock pressing relentlessly up into your g-spot, each thrust sends a wave of tender pain and pleasure through you. the bulge of his cock digs into your stomach, and every time he drills in, the tip of his cock kisses your cervix, slamming into it with hard force. 

“fuck,” he swears, pulling away from the nape of your neck, only to catch sight of the wrecked expression on your face—eyes glassy, lips parted, flushed and trembling beneath him… something he could get used to. “y-you’re lucky you’re so damn…” he groans, breath hitching as he feels your cunt clench tight around him.

“agh—fuck.” he shudders, hips stuttering for a moment as his orgasm looms closer. “that’s it… you’re close already?” he laughs, breathless, even as he keeps driving into you without missing a beat.

you sob into his shoulder, voice cracking. “close…”

the knot in your stomach coils impossibly tight, tension burning through your entire body. 

every thrust sends you spiraling closer, the pressure is unbearable and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“oh my god—fuck!” you yelp, voice breaking as your orgasm collides into you, thighs shaking violently as you clamp around him.

jungwon grins—proud, far more than satisfied as he lets you ride out his high. somehow managing to hold himself back, fucking you through said high without letting go of his own.

“on your knees.”

you try to move, limbs trembling, breath still caught in your throat. you stagger, legs giving out beneath yo —dropping in front of him, dazed, as he stands tall above you, fist pumping around his shaft.

“fuck… keep looking at me. just like that,” he growls, his voice thick and cracked as he jerks himself standing over you.

then with a single strained moan, he cums—thick ropes of milky-white semen painting your face. it drips down your cheeks, your lips, your chin… warm and messy and impossible to ignore (much like before).

you can feel yourself leaking all over again at the feeling. thighs sticky, arousal flooding your spent cunt at the feeling of his release splattered across your skin, his angry-red tip twitching as he smears the last of it over your cheek.

you barely manage to blink the haze from your eyes before he’s kneeling too—hands gently cradling your face as he leans in and licks at your lips, tasting himself and kissing you deep. your tongues swirl around each other, the taste of salty cum infused against your tongues.

you melt into it, mouths molded against each other’s flesh, the taste of him lingering.

after a long, dizzying moment that feels like forever, he pulls away with a soft chuckle.

“you’re insane.”

your reply comes out rough, almost hoarse. “you’re one to talk.”

you’re still catching your breath, lips swollen from the kiss, cum cooling on your cheeks, when jungwon finally leans back on his heels and surveys the mess he’s made of you with a lazy, smug grin… wiping your face with an old rag he’d found.

“so,” he says, brushing his thumb along your jaw like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “do those stupid little pornos really get you off?”

you blink at him, shocked. “they’re novels, asshole.”

he laughs—full-on, that boyish lilt breaking through. “right, right. real literature, i’m sure… forgive me.” he plucks the abandoned book from the floor, flips it open to a crumpled page, and clears his throat with exaggerated drama.

“‘his eyes were clouded with something much darker than lust…’” he reads aloud in a mocking tone, eyes flicking to yours, playful and dangerous all at once. 

you groan, hiding your face in your hands, but he just laughs again and leans in to nuzzle against your temple.

“no need to be shy,” he murmurs. “next time, just ask me to… and we can act it out.”

[mediumgayitalian]

"What was that for?"

He is warm, and soft, and he smells good.

And when Nico catches him by surprise, he touches the tips of his fingers to the swell of his lips, eyes wide, freckles blinking like stars.

Nico hides a smile, rocking back on his heels.

"No reason."

"Not that I am complaining," Will hastens to explain, "uh, I loved it, actually, I just -- I am kind of gross? I was gonna go run to take a shower before I woke you and --"

Nico leans over and kisses him again. From this angle he can -- the sand pit for volleyball is just slightly lower than the bleachers, and if Nico stands on the second step, he can just...lean over. Will's lips are right there, even if it is more a press of mouths than a kiss with Will's rambling.

It stops, though, when Nico kisses him. He clams up and kisses back like he's afraid Nico is going to stop.

"Was that one just 'cause, too?" he says, when Nico lets up. Nico pulls away and notices that he is breathless. That could be the game he just played.

It could also be the little tinge of red around his cheekbones -- barely, really, anything -- and the way he darts his eyes between Nico's mouth and his eyes. Experimentally, Nico leans slightly forward. Immediately, Will closes his mouth, then his eyes, waiting.

Nico waits, too, grinning. When Will cracks one confused eye open he cannot help but laugh, and Will shoves him, scowling.

"You're teasing me," he accuses.

Nico quiets his mirth in his hands.

"A little."

"You're mean."

"Mhm. A little."

He leans forward, again, past the threshold of middle ground between them. This time Will waits, evaluating, pout on his bitten-red lips. He narrows his Carolina-blue eyes and Nico takes the time to watch them, to memorize them. He thinks of brilliant butterfly wings and fire. He thinks of afternoon skies. He thinks of shallow, splashing lakes, of robin eggs and icebergs. Of scorpions and scales and flower petals. He thinks long enough for Will to believe him, again, to fall for it; he thinks he could get away with making him wait, again, but finds he doesn't want to.

"You taste like strawberry," Will mumbles, and presses himself closer, "the candy kind."

Nico smiles against his mouth. A bribe, of sorts. Will's tongue licks along the seem of his lips, determined to taste more. Nico allows it and slides his hands up his belly in his distraction, resting on his chest. He swears he can feel when his skin gives way to dark ink, long-healed as it is. There is less of a buzz.

Will pulls away, slightly, although there isn't much to go.

"I'm supposed to -- get ready."

"Mhm." Nico kisses him again. He resists, or he tries to. Nico hovers, for a moment, candy breath and all, and he cracks in second. "What was it you had to do, again?"

"I --" Nico swipes his thumb along the line of his ribs, featherlight, and he twitches, trembles; "I --"

He is so easy. It is like he has buttons red and tantalizing for Nico to press, and his impulse control has never been good. Nico memorized them ages ago, and uses them at his leisure; Twizzlers, before a game, dipping his hands in ice water so they're cooler than usual. A fingernail against his ribcage, a flat palm on the heart of his tattoo. A little bit of height, and the promise of a kiss, of the end of one.

Like a detonator.

"Don't stop," Will sighs, forgetting. Nico can almost see the list of responsibilities float from his brain, wrapping around Nico's head like laurels. He curls his fists to avoid the crow of victory bubbling in his throat, wrapping his hands in strands of Will's hair -- another button.

He tugs.

Will whimpers.

Easy.

"Won't," Nico promises, and kisses him again.

[baniisharur0tte]

Thin Walls ☆

p2 here

you and Suguru Geto are roommates!!! but long nights lead to wandering eyes... ;)

word count: 4.1k <3

content: SMUT!!!! 18+!!!! Creep!Geto perving on u, mention of: hair pulling, P->V, oral (F!Receiving). mild breath play (M!Self-Inflicted)

authors note: i've been working on a longer fic for geto but i couldn't allow him to continue being neglected on my blog!!!! i love my baby girl cult leader <3333

(inspired by this song)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

you and geto have been roommates for a few months now. you both moved to the other side of the city around the same time, and your mutual friend suggested you to each other when they heard about your respective roommate hunts.

it was nice, you were both tidy quiet people. you cooked for each other, helped each other with chores, you both left the bathroom neat after showers, and you each had a cat that got along well.

but the walls were thin.

a little over a month after you moved in together, the last of your respective unpacking completed, suguru was in the living room quietly watching tv before bed. his long frame sprawled out across the couch, a soft black long sleeve and grey sweatpants hanging off his lean muscular body. you called it an early night after your shower, a loose tee shirt and fuzzy shorts on as you stepped out of the bathroom.

"i'm headed in for the night, i'll see you tomorrow! would you be able to feed the cats dinner?"

"of course, yeah. sleep well!" he replied smiling slightly, shifting in his seat giving you a quick glance up and down.

not long after you shut the door behind you, he quickly put together why you were in such a hurry to get under the covers.

through the thin walls of your apartment, he heard your small hushed whimpers and moans as you pleasured yourself.

his spine stiffened as he sat up, unsure if he was hearing correctly.

she's not....

his cock hardening in his pants at the sound, he searched around the couch for the remote to turn down the volume.

a curiosity he had nurtured was raring it's head, and he was too weak to ignore it.

the first day here he noticed how thin the walls were, you had been in your bedroom on the phone, sitting amongst the clutter, trash bags scrawled with clothes and winter blankets on the front, brown cardboard boxes stacked in all corners of the room.

sorting through some nick nacks, you spoke to your friend about the moving process.

'"...and one of the movers chipped the corner off my dresser. it's brand new! i only got it a few months ago. ugh. but it's fine, everything is in one piece.... geto? yeah he's really nice, we got coffee and breakfast a few times before we signed the lease, he's great.... i mean, he just looks like a guy. you can meet him when you come over after the house is settled, but he's got long black hair and he's tall.... oh my god why would you ask me that???..... i never thought about it.. no!!!... i mean, i guess.... okay fine, yes, he's very hot. is that what you wanted to hear???... no you cannot sleep with my roommate, gross!!!! i have to go, i have to make lunch soon and unpack enough to sleep here tonight.... yeah, i'll talk to you tomorrow. bye!"

with a huff you tossed your phone over your shoulder and onto your bed, muttering to yourself ..is he hot... god, what kind of question is that?..

from the kitchen, suguru was unpacking his cookware and dishes and neatly organizing them in the cupboards. hearing your conversation, he smiled to himself and laughed.

you aren't alone in that.

his friends had been asking him about you, curious about his new roommate. "what's her name?" "what does she look like?" "is she hot?" "does she have hot friends?"

as annoying as it was, he couldn't pretend he wasn't attracted to you. when you first met at the diner to discuss potential living arrangements, the first thing he notices was your smile. bright and warm, you were inviting off the bat.

next was your eyes. the way you looked up at him as he stood over you approaching the table to greet you, they widened as you drank in his height. he found it endearing if not enticing to see your shock at his build.

the curve of your neck, the dip of your collarbones, the way your hair fell around your face.

you were gorgeous.

and it got so much worse as the weeks passed, the happenstance of intimacy you develop as you live with someone only continued to unfurl your beauty to him.

wet hair as you leave the bathroom after a shower, baggy pajamas ghosting around your frame in the morning, the passing interactions as you left the house to go out with your friends, tight shirts and sparkly earrings catching his eye as you put on your shoes and cheerfully say goodbye before leaving.

and the walls were so painfully thin.

considering the rent price, he found it particularly annoying. unsure if you had noticed, he was very careful to keep himself quiet as he touched himself, hiding in the bathroom with the shower running or waiting until you turned on your tv to fall asleep at night. the drone of a comforting show drowning out whatever huffs and soft groans escaped his lips as he pumped his cock, closing himself away in his room.

thoughts of you often crossed his mind as he pleasured himself, curiosity getting the better of him every time.

a mix between guilt and indignation swirled inside him every now and then. it was incredibly inappropriate to indulge in such lewd fantasies given the nature of your relationship, but he's allowed to think whatever he wants. the mind is a safe haven to explore all possibilities, why should he feel bad for having an interest in you?

at least that's what he told himself to wave away the sharp sting of guilt as he slowly tipped off the edge into an unsightly indulgence.

a night like any other would play to the tune of that aching lust in his chest.

on any night under your shared roof, he would find himself relaxing on the couch beside you, watching Your Show together. the gentle swish of your legs as you reposition on the couch, or the wind of you plopping yourself down next to him after getting up for a snack, wafting your perfume around him.

utterly intoxicating, stirring his stomach.

when you would scurry off to bed, he would follow your lead shortly after. tying up his hair in the mirror, an innocuous flush on his face, almost imperceptible to anyone but himself as he stares back into the mirror. as he pulls his hair up, his hands run excessively over his neck and shoulders, pulling his hair a bit too hard as he puts it up. a silent scream tearing inside him, subconsciously circling the thought of you running your hands along his skin. your hands gathering his hair, pulling it hard as he pleases you, painting artwork with his tongue. every blink brings forth a flashing image of your flushed sweaty face under him, scratching his back, snaking your hands into his hair and pulling tight, a tangled mess of limbs and heartbeats.

his low eyes stare back at him, his pulse hot in his neck. splashing cold water on himself, washing his face trying to chase away the tension he feels.

leaning into the counter brushing his teeth, the air soft and minty around him, a sparkling rainbow of bubbles.

padding into his room, he would strip of his clothes to change into loose pajama pants. the act of undressing would dance around his chest, the haunt of your fingers hooking under his shirt to strip him bare and take him hungrily. like a ravenous animal, gouging chunks out of a rich cake and licking the frosting off your fingers.

his cock stiff and begging for attention as he stood naked in the looming darkness of his room, a palpable solitude in the air.

across from him a mirror stood, he turned without thinking to meet his own gaze. his taut, towering frame in the glow of the moonlight spilling over him through the gaps in the curtains, he wondered to himself.

how would you look pressed against me in my mirror?

is there anything inside you begging to feel my skin?

can you hear what i'm thinking? would you like it if you could?

sighing and slipping into his pajama pants, he crawls into bed. already groping himself feverishly, he palmed his cock around through his pants.

rolling your name around in his mind, curious how it would taste saying it in the heat and throws of pleasure.

as if you were a spectre passing through the walls, he was flooded with broken bits and pieces of fantasies of you spurred on by the casual passings of every day life.

watching you stand at the kitchen counter cutting fruit, curious about what a fistful of your hair would feel like in his hand as he bent you over the cold granite, hunching down with you pressing his chest to your back and his cock to your ass as he whispered filthy things in your ear. i want to fucking tear you apart.

the words i'm gonna go take a shower, do you need the bathroom? were more than enough for him at times. conjuring thoughts about you lathering your body in suds, your face tipped up to the water, the gentle curve of your neck exposed, curious about what it would feel like to have the hot water hit his back as he pinned you to the wall, dropping to his knees to eat your pussy, your slick wet skin under his fingers as he dug his nails into the plush of your thighs and the fat of your ass.

once, he even caught sight of you quickly scurrying from the bathroom to your bedroom, clearly having forgotten a towel. he pretended not to notice as to not embarrass you, appearing deeply enthralled in the book he was reading on the couch, a cool air around him as he lounged effortlessly on the arm of the couch. careful not to tip his head up as his eyes followed you to your room, your arm clutching your breasts as you hurried quickly just across the hall to hide in your room to dry off and change clothes.

but for how cool his demeanor remained, the hot buzz of lust ran down the back of his neck. though it was only for a moment, he learned so much about the curve of your waist, the heave of your chest, the valley your spine leaves down your back. such curiosity he has for you, the deep yearn to learn more about you crashed into him hard as laid in his bed stroking himself though his clothes. he hooked his cock over the edge of his pants, spitting into his hand and coating himself in his own slick.

dragging long strokes over his twitching cock, his hand flies up to his face to quiet himself. dragging his palm from his forehead down the side of his face to bite his knuckle, the weight of his own heavy hands spurred him on. to be touched even by himself was enough to warrant a hitched groan tripping in his throat, muffled by his hand.

his long fingers made to be wielded by an artist wrapped tight around himself as he wracked with pleasure, that curiosity lighting a brutal fever under his skin.

your wet pussy dripping down his chin, soft lips on his neck as your tongue drags stripes up and down his skin, biting his ear and moaning his name. how would i sound in your mouth?

his name spilling from your lips as if it were a crying plea to a god he's never known, he would give you everything his body could offer to bring you pleasure. anything you asked for, anything you could need he would do to make you cum. questions and answers, movement and understanding, reacting in tandem with each other.

information, information.

he needed it, he craved it.

anything he could get from you to learn about what would make you cry tears of pleasure for him, he would dedicate himself to it.

his pace quickening, careful to keep his shuddering breaths low and shallow as to not arouse suspicion through the ever-exposing framework of your shared home.

the thought of watching his cock disappear inside you, your pussy swelling around him, accommodating his length so generously sent a chill down his spine, his back clinging to the silky sheets as sweat condenses on his skin.

your body swallowing him so greedily, milking his cock for cum like a feral animal desperate to take all of him. he would give you everything he had until he was drained and spent, pumping you deeply with his cum just as he hoped you would beg him for.

hissing and panting, his legs tensing and shaking as he approached his orgasm, the vile fantasy of him fucking you into his mattress pouring into his mind. the roll of his hips hitting everything you need, your body sucking him in as you clench around him, cumming down the length of his cock leaving a creamy ring of your cum at his base, matting down his dark happy trail.

he choked back a deep guttural groan as he came onto his stomach, holding his breath to ensure his silence as he offered up his pleasure in your name.

his head swimming from the lack of oxygen and the crushing wave of dense ecstasy washing over him, he laid still for a few minutes, his chest heaving as he came down from his high.

but all the stolen glances and hushed stimulation didn't alleviate his tension.

on a night like tonight, when his curiosity couldn't be helped, searching for the tv remote in the couch to get a better ear for the sound of your secluded pleasure, he was quickly worked into a frenzy inside. finding the remote and quickly turning the tv down to near-mute, he slowly approached the hallway hosting your bedrooms.

the door shut tight, something uncommon for you. that should've been his first clue.

your cat liked to wander in and out throughout the night, a shut door like this would warrant incessant yowling and indignant complaints from her until you dragged yourself out of bed to let her in.

leaning against the corner, your door just over his shoulder, the sound grew clearer.

the muffled moans and panting coming from behind the flimsy, feeble door poured into his ears. his cock pressing angrily against the fabric of his pants, he tipped his head back against the wall and shut his eyes. drinking in the utter music you made.

it was better than he even imagined.

he thought about all the ways you could be pleasing yourself. on your back, on your stomach, riding your pillow, a vibrator perhaps, or maybe just your fingers or your palm. maybe you were plunging a thick dildo into your aching pussy, fucking yourself imagining it was his cock pushing a bulge out in your stomach.

how he craved to know what you looked like pleasuring yourself.

the fresh idea of you being completely unaware as he watched you through a crack in your door was exhilarating. it was better than if you were willing to do it in front of him. maybe it was the corrupt and vile nature of perversely spying on his friend as she made herself cum for him over and over again.

or perhaps it was because there was no audience for you to perform for, no need to make sure you looked pretty as you brought yourself up to your high. the rawness and vulnerability of an act under no one's gaze was the most authentic pleasure you could receive.

imagine all i could learn about her if i could only see..

he squeezed his cock though his pants, weighing the risk of touching himself now or holding onto the memory of your voice dripping from the doorframe.

with a small 'aah!' falling from your lips, he made his choice.

there's no way i can wait.

he quickly and quietly unbuckled his belt and shuffled his pants down slightly, his hard cock springing free nearly hitting him in the stomach.

he spit into his hand and began quietly and furiously fucking his fist around his cock, holding his breath and quietly and shallowly releasing it as to absolutely ensure he was silent.

he slowly crept around the corner, the side of his face pressed into the doorframe, mere inches from your door as he pleasured himself with you.

what we're doing in there?

will you show me?

would you leave your door open for me someday?

he was quickly approaching his orgasm, the rush of adrenaline from doing something so disgusting and hearing your siren's voice were guaranteeing he wouldn't last long. his pace quickened and so did his breath, shallow quiet pants escaped him between staggered bouts of holding his breath. his head swimming and fuzzy, he heard you quietly call out his name.

"hmm... suguru~" you mewled quietly to yourself, your moaning and panting becoming faster, obvious you were close yourself.

his eyes widened and his other hand flew up from the doorframe to his mouth, clamping it shut as he growled quietly to himself.

there is no fucking way she just said my name.

overwhelmed by the notion that you were touching yourself to the thought of him, he was about to cum as he heard you quietly call out for him again, breathy cries indicating you were cumming all alone in the heat of your bed.

he came in his hand, trying desperately to catch it all before any spilled onto the ground, his knees slightly buckling and heaving shaky quiet pants into his palm as he experienced your cries for him, an utter exorcism ripping him apart.

he quickly backed away from your door, running to the bathroom to clean up the mess you made of him.

that night, as he laid in bed tossing and turning- ruminating over everything he heard from you, he decided he was going to force your hand. if you wanted him so badly, he was going to make it impossible to deny yourself indulging in him.

for the next few weeks, he essentially stopped wearing shirts altogether. the only time you saw him fully dressed was around the evening, often wearing a loose sweater or a baggy tee shirt- but the mornings were no longer safe for someone with such wandering eyes like yourself. shirtless with no underwear and loose pants hanging low on his pointed hips, his hair cascading over his shoulders, casually walking out of the bathroom in a towel loosely hanging from his hips, stopping in the entry of the living room to make an insignificant comment about how we are running out of hand soap, can you remind me tomorrow at the store? an obvious excuse on his end for you to run your eyes up and down his body, his hair dripping water down his chest and taut stomach, shiny soft skin and rippling muscles in his arms. the veins on the back of his slender hands drawing your eye down to wear he loosely held his towel, a tuft of black just barely peaking over the top, his long cock gently leaving an impression against the plush fabric.

he left very little to your imagination, torturing you for weeks.

watching your wide eyes pour over him that first morning as you stepped out into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes and yawning as you were met with the sight of his toned back as he cooked you both breakfast was much more satisfying than the meal you shared that morning.

his long lean frame towering over the stove, music softly playing from radio in the living room as he shuffled scrambled eggs around in the pan in front of him, his long glossy hair curtaining down his back, his slender waist and loose pants flowing around him.

you were immediately just as flushed and hot in the face now as you were when you touched yourself last night before bed.

"good morning. sleep well last night?" he said coolly, looking over his shoulder at you smiling. his eyes were low and hid a darkness behind them.

you stammer out a feeble "yeah, i did. you?" still reeling from the sight you found in the kitchen.

"i did, yes. although i admit not as well as i would've liked. i should've gone to bed early like you, i had trouble falling asleep for a bit. you want tea? i'm making some in a minute."

heat waves over your face as he acknowledges how early you scurried off to bed. he always noticed the little things about you, making you a bit self-conscious in moments like this.

you sat and ate breakfast together on the couch as he continued to neglect putting on anything even resembling a shirt.

for those few weeks, he spent his time at the house preying on your helpless inability to tear your eyes off him. standing just a little too close sometimes, his cologne would waft around you as you were enthralled in his presence.

and then he'd step away as if it was nothing. he would take note of the small movement you made almost as if to follow him, stopping yourself.

his hand would linger on yours for just a moment too long as you passed him clean cups to put away, doing the dishes together.

and then his touch would leave you as if he didn't notice. he would take note of how your breath would hitch in your throat as his fingers brushed yours.

he began undressing on his way to the bathroom to shower rather than behind the privacy of a closed door. hooking his fingers under the hem of his shirt, stretching his long arms carefully up over his head to relish in the feeling of your eyes on him as he walked down the hall to the bathroom. every now and then, he would glance over his shoulder to soak in your reaction. a visible hum around you as you stared like a deer in headlights. once, he tossed a cool smile at you as if he were an aloof cat, unaware of what he was doing. as soon as the door shut, you ran flustered and red to your room to pleasure yourself for the entire duration you heard the shower running.

but unaware he was not, and these calculated efforts were paying off in tenfold for him.

your early bedtime became a routine in the household, with the added side effect of the cats now begging him exclusively for dinner.

shortly after you would hurriedly shut the door behind you, he would abandon his book or his movie and slink around the corner to drink in the noises you made as you touched yourself to the thought of him. unable to be as quiet as you once were, a feverish infection of the mind possessing you forcing you to cry out with wavering control. he would go from presenting the affectation of boredom or as if he was ill-attentive to your habits- to a ravenous creep lurking around your bedroom door at the click of the latch.

as if he were a vampire stalking his prey in a frenzied bloodlust, he would lean his face on the same spot on the doorframe every night learning the way you sounded when you pleased yourself. some nights he would milk his cock in time with you, others he would stand still, silently drinking in every noise you made. he quickly picked up on your cues, understanding what pleasure meant to you. he would relish in fantasies fueled by his depraved habit- bending you over the couch as he worked his length into your eager, drooling pussy. digging his fingers into your thighs pushing them into his face as you shook and clenched around his tongue. resting his hand over your stomach as he rolled his hips, feeling his cock bulge against the wall of your stomach. fucking you slow and deep, watching your eyes intently. endless possibilities, so many ways he could make you cum for him in the secret of night, behind the locked doors of your home. his nasty habit of nightstalking devolved into an anxiously anticipated ritual he would wait for from the moment he woke up every day. like clockwork he could time when you would cum based on how you sounded, how much you said his name, the pitch and lilt in your breathy voice reaching out to him from under the door.

until one night, the door was cracked.

your was voice ringing out to him clearer than ever before, a curious discovery. a newfound feeling of nerves stirred in his stomach. he slowly rounded the corner to find he could see a sliver of your figure writhing in your bed, your chest heaving and the blankets carelessly discarded in a heap on the floor beside the bed.

running your hand through your hair, down your body, over your chest and thighs as the other drew quick circles over your clit. he watched you in awe, utterly entranced.

wide eyes and a cold chill running its blade down his back, he was practically shaking with anticipation. already pumping his cock in his hand, his eyebrows knitted together and his jaw slack as he silently watched you whisper his name to yourself.

your voice growing louder with every pant, you cried out for him again. he was breaking down under the weight of your lust for him, a burden he wished more than anything to relieve you of. consumed with desire to get closer, he was frenzied trying to come up with anything that could get him inside. you called out for him once more, a desperate 'suguru, please~' making his eyes roll back and a small grunt to get stuck in his chest.

his mind whirring, he came up with something particularly perverse.

if she's calling for me, why wouldnt i come running?

he rounded back down the hall into the looming darkness of the living room, hiking his pants back up and painfully shoving his hard cock into them. smoothing his shirt down, his heart pounding, he turned back towards your door.

he slowly pushed it open with the tips of his fingers, unfurling the sight of your flushed face and heaving chest for him to admire- your eyes shut tightly as you rolled your nipple between your fingers. your body rocking against your hand, the steady roll of your hips hypnotizing him. the thick tension and heavy heat in the room was reaching the point of snapping at any moment.

with the creak of your door, his voice poured into the room in a low sultry purr, "you called for me, you need some help?"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

(authors note#2- if heaven exists it's in a dark room behind a locked door with suguru geto. when i die, take me to him.)

p2 here <3

[ladyfocalors]

Trappola's Guide To Winning (Your Heart)

summary: Ace overhears that you have a crush on someone, and for whatever reason, it bothers him. His solution? Offering to "help" you impress your crush, all while acting like he doesn’t care. His advice is half-serious and half-sabotage, but as time goes on, you notice his mood shifting.

pairing: ace trappola x gn!reader

warnings: miscommunication(?).

word count: 2.3k

ace trappola time! he is such a lying liar and a big denier. writing him was a bit tricky so i went a bit with my gut here. i will just have keep writing/reading about him until i get it! also thank you so much for the love on the riddle fic. i promise i read all your replies and reblogs! they make my day <3

Ace Trappola wasn’t the type to get so hung up on things (that was debatable). So when he overheard you telling Deuce and Grim that you had a crush on someone, he should’ve just let it go.

But he didn't.

"You have a crush?" he had repeated, standing behind you with his arms crossed.

"Were you eavesdropping?" You had turned around, startled.

"Not my fault you were talking so loud," he had shot back, avoiding the question. "Who is it?"

You had pressed your lips together, glancing at Deuce and Grim for help. Grim just cackled and said, "Why do you care? You jealous or somethin', Ace?"

Great question. Why does he care? And no, he was not jealous. Imagine being jealous of an idiot you liked! (He actually didn't know why he cared. Maybe because he was curious. Yeah. That was it.)

"I don't," Ace lied immediately. "I'm just shocked, that's all. I mean, really, Prefect? I thought you had better taste."

You narrowed your eyes. "You don't even know who it is."

"Exactly!" Ace threw up his hands. "I'm already questioning your judgment. What’s so great about this mystery person anyway?"

A small smile tugged at your lips. "I don't know. They’re just… fun to be around, I guess. They always know how to make me laugh."

"Sounds like an idiot." Ace scoffed.

"I like idiots."

Ace scoffed but found himself momentarily stunned into silence. That was the kind of thing people said when they were absolutely down bad, wasn’t it? His stomach twisted uncomfortably. Gross.

"Prefect, you should just ignore him," Deuce advised, probably sensing trouble. "He's just messing with you."

Ace was messing with you, sure. But also, not really. Kind of. His stomach was twisting in an unfamiliar way, a strange discomfort settling into his chest. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit.

Why did you have to go have a crush? Most importantly, why did he feel like he was losing to someone?

But he was Ace Trappola, and Ace Trappola didn’t lose. Not even to some mystery crush of yours. So he grinned, masking whatever this weird feeling he didn't want to feel was, and said, "Well, whoever it is, you’re in luck. Because, out of the kindness of my heart, I’m willing to help you win them over."

You gave him a questioning look. "Kindness? You sound like the Headmage with that talk."

"That hurts, Prefect. Comparing me to Crowley of all people?" Ace looked very offended.

"Well, forgive me for not trusting your kindness."

"Wow. No faith in me at all, huh?"

"Yeah, ‘cause you're totally not up to something shady." Grim snickered.

Ace shot Grim a withering look before turning to you. "Listen, I'm a romantic genius. Who better to help than me?"

You gave him a flat look. "I can think of a hundred people off the top of my head."

"Wrong," Ace said, leaning in with a grin. "You won't find better advice anywhere else."

"Okay, fine. I will take your so-called advice." You said with a defeated sigh.

Ace had won. Well, sort of.

Winning would be getting you to drop this whole crush thing entirely—something he was starting to want more and more as each minute passed. But for now, he’d settle for the next best thing: being the one you turned to for help.

That meant he had the advantage. That meant he could steer this however he wanted.

(And definitely not in the direction of some other loser getting your attention.)

"Alright, first things first: you gotta get their attention." Ace said, laying on your couch as you busied yourself with assignments, while Deuce peeked at your notes and Grim laid flat on the bed. "Make them notice you. You know, stand out."

You frowned at his words. "I feel like I already stand out. I'm the only magicless student in the whole school."

Ace waved that off. "Yeah, but that’s not the right kind of standing out. Make them curious about you. And you make them jealous."

"What?"

"You heard me." Ace said, tilting his head smugly. "Nothing gets people to realize their feelings faster than a little jealousy. Trust me, works every time."

Deuce looked dubious. "That sounds kind of–"

"–like bad advice?" you finished.

Ace scoffed, sitting up on the couch now. "C’mon, it’s basic psychology. If they see you getting cosy with someone else, they’ll start thinking, ‘Oh no, I’m gonna lose them!’ and boom, feelings unlocked."

"And how’s the Prefect s’posed to do that, huh?" Grim asked.

Ace shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe flirt with someone cool and charming." His grin widened. "Like me, for example."

You felt uneasy. It was stupid. You knew it was stupid. Ace didn’t know he was your crush, which meant you had no right to be upset. Still, hearing him offer you advice even if it sounded terrible and also offer himself so casually made your stomach sink.

You forced a laugh. "How noble of you to volunteer."

"What can I say?" Ace grinned. "I’m a giver."

Deuce frowned. "I don’t think lying is the best way to-"

"Okay, okay, plan B then," Ace cut in. "You should act a little harder to get."

"Harder to get?" you repeated.

"Yeah. Make them work for it." Ace leaned forward with an amused glint in his eye. "I mean, you’re not easy, right?"

Grim made a noise of disgust, and Deuce turned pink. "Ace, that sounds–!"

"I mean personality-wise, you weirdos," Ace huffed, cutting Deuce off for the umpteenth time. "Jeez, get your mind out of the gutter."

Ace ignored him and then turned to you. "But yeah, you should be a little distant. Y’know, act like you don’t care too much."

Act like you don't care too much. The words echoed in your mind. If he liked you, he would be jealous and wouldn't try to help you. Right?

It was fine. You would just take his advice and use it on him. After all, he was your crush. And if he really didn’t feel the same way, then at least you’d have your answer.

For the next few days, you followed Ace’s advice to the dot.

And Ace didn’t catch on. At first.

You made sure to get his attention, like he had said. Not in an over-the-top way, which would be very weird for you, but just enough to throw him off. Like sitting next to Deuce more often during lunch. Smiling a little too enthusiastically at other people. Being just out of reach whenever Ace tried to tug you into whatever ridiculous scheme he had cooking up that day. When he complained, you shrugged and told him, "I’m busy, Ace."

"Oh, busy now, huh?" Ace had scoffed, but he didn’t seem too bothered. Not yet.

The jealousy part took a little more effort, mostly because you weren’t great at flirting and Grim had outright refused to help you with any ideas, calling the whole thing "a pathetic excuse for a love scheme." But you had to be committed to the bit, so you pushed on, casually dropping compliments around Ace—never to him but always near him.

"Deuce, your hair looks nice."

"Jack is really strong, don't you think?"

"Isn't Silver so pretty? He looks like a prince."

Ace didn’t think much of it at first.

Well, he thought about it, but not in the way that meant anything. It was just weird, that’s all. A little annoying. Maybe a tiny bit irritating. But not because it bothered him. No, he wasn’t one of those weirdos who got all jealous just because their best friend was paying attention to other people. That would be ridiculous.

It was just that… who even complimented Deuce’s hair? Deuce had the most normal hair. And Jack? Sure, the guy was strong, but you sounded way too impressed about it. And Silver? Pretty? Like a prince? Okay, maybe, but why did you have to say it out loud?

And why were you so out of reach?

It wasn’t a huge difference, not really. Just enough that made him confused. He’d reach for your sleeve to drag you somewhere, and you’d slip away with some excuse. He’d call your name, and sometimes you’d brush him off.

It didn't matter, he told himself. (He told himself a lot of things lately.)

Things didn't change until Deuce had to smack him (not physically) out of the denial phase.

"You’re so obvious."

Ace blinked out of his daydreams. "What?"

Deuce stared at him like he was the dumbest person alive, which Ace took immediate offense to. He was not dumb. He just… hadn’t figured out whatever Deuce was talking about yet. Which wasn’t his fault, obviously.

"You like them," Deuce said, as if that explained anything.

Ace scoffed. "Duh, I like them. The Prefect is my friend."

"How do you know I was talking about the Prefect?"

Oh… crap. When did Deuce get so smart?

"Because who else would you be talking about?" He tried to play it off, but the heat rising to his face betrayed him. "You’re making weird assumptions, Deuce."

"You like them," Deuce repeated.

Ace let out a sharp laugh, crossing his arms. "You're insane. I don't, I helped them. With their crush. You think I'd do that if I actually liked them?"

Deuce gave him a long, exasperated look, then exhaled through his nose. "Okay. Let’s say you don't like them. Then explain why you have been sulking so much and acting so bothered?"

"I am not!"

"You nearly bit my head off when they complimented my hair."

"Well, maybe I don’t like lying," Ace shot back. "Your hair is just hair, Deuce."

Deuce’s eye twitched.

"And anyway," Ace went on, louder, "you’re ignoring the important part here. The Prefect has a crush. Not on me. So whatever you’re implying is wrong."

"No."

"What do you mean no?" Ace burst out. "What happened to backing up your friends?"

"You’ve been helping them impress their crush, right?" Deuce asked. "Then why does all your advice sound like sabotage?"

"That’s not–" Ace began, then stopped. The words stuck to the roof of his mouth, unwilling to come out, because… well.

He liked you.

Ace felt the world shift uncomfortably. That gross twisting in his stomach he had been ignoring for days? The irrational irritation every time you looked at someone else for too long? The fact that he had been so convinced that you having a crush was some sort of personal loss?

Everything made sense now.

"This is bad." he stuffed his hand into his pocket, turned on his heel and left his dorm, setting off on a long, aimless walk. Maybe fresh air would clear his head. Maybe it would make this realization feel less like a punch.

You didn't like him. You never told him who you liked and he was so caught up in denial that he didn't even bothered you to ask.

No, no. That wasn't fair. He liked you and made you follow his terrible advice (you didn't have to but you did). He already came so far and he didn't want to pretend he didn't like you.

The least he could do was be honest with you.

And, Ace Trappola wasn't a coward.

(Okay, maybe he was. A little. But not about this. Not about you.)

So after what was possibly the longest walk of his life, he turned back toward Ramshackle, his heart thudding against his ribs.

Ace had already spent enough time being an idiot. He wasn’t going to waste another second.

You had just finished dealing with Grim’s latest round of whining about dinner when a knock at the door made you pause.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Grim was still sulking about his empty stomach, so with a sigh, you moved to open the door, only to be met with the last person you expected.

"Uh," you started. "Are you in trouble with Riddle–"

"I like you." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He looked vaguely horrified, like he hadn’t planned on saying it so fast. But now that it was out there, he couldn’t take it back. "Like, really like you."

You froze at the admission.

Ace sighed but continued. "Look, I get it, okay? You like someone else, and I already dug my own grave, but I had to tell you. Because, because if I didn’t, I’d be lying, and it sucks, and–"

"Ace–"

"–I mean, I probably made things worse by trying to help you and made you follow bad advice, which is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, and–"

"ACE!"

He finally shut up.

You exhaled, heartbeat loud in your ears. "You are my crush. I used your advice on you, idiot."

He stared at you, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Huh?" he said, very eloquently.

You rolled your eyes but smiled. You moved ahead to pull him in a hug. He immediately froze, standing stiff as a board. It took a few seconds for his brain to finally catch up to him and he returned your hug with a laugh.

"So all of that–"

"–was me following your advice." you finished his sentence, pulling back enough to look at his face. "You sabotaged yourself without realising it."

Ace groaned dramatically, letting his hands drop to his sides. "I played myself. I actually played myself!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "But at least now you know I like you back?"

Ace looked at you, then his usual cocky grin came back to his face. His hands settled awkwardly on your arms. "Yeah… yeah! Of course you like me. Who wouldn't fall me?"

You smacked his arms away. "Don't get too smug about it. Just be grateful I like idiots."

He could only smile at you, happy to have you back again.

He felt lighter, his heart fluttering with joy.

© ladyfocalors

[atlabeth]

(please) spare me indignity

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you and spencer spend more time together. it's bad, then it's good, then it's something else altogether.

a/n: continuing the gideon!reader series! a whole lot of this is arguing because they love each other fr. sorry this took so long, for some reason i had a really hard time finding my footing here but i hope you enjoy!! reader is a victim of the sassy man apocalypse bc this may be s1/2 spencer but he is not going to not be standing up for himself!! have this new banner that i made to try and help with my inspiration. title is from nothing new by rio romero

wc: 5k

warning(s): r and spence argue some more. angst, hurt w/o comfort, then hurt with comfort! idk theyre kinda sweet

You and Spencer spend the next six and a half hours watching movies. 

You make it through Goodfellas and you only tell him to be quiet twelve times. You take a break to get water and make popcorn, which was so generously provided in your grocery supply, and while you’re doing it, Spencer insists on picking the next one. You end up watching Psycho, and you don’t think he lets a single scene go by without explaining the meaning behind it. 

You choose Notting Hill after, and he knows just as much. He picks Halloween—it doesn’t really help your stalker anxieties, and Spencer apologizes profusely when you bring it up, but you still end up finishing it. Next you go for Pointe Grosse Blank, then Spencer picks Kolya, a Russian film that he specifically put into the box. 

There are subtitles, but he spends half the time translating for you anyway—apparently there are nuances to the script that an English translation doesn’t get compared to the original Russian, and that would be a tragedy. 

He’s in the middle of his third rant going on seven minutes when you finally break. 

“Okay,” you say as you reach for the remote, “I can’t do this anymore.”

You do a double take when your hand meets another instead of hard plastic, and you see Spencer beat you to it. You pull your hand away as soon as possible, feeling your face heat from annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he echoes. “The movie’s not over yet.”

“I can’t take any more of your rambling,” you say. “I’m cutting you off.”

He frowns. “We have to finish the movie first.” 

“What are you, a broken record?”

“I couldn’t be a broken record because I said two different things,” he protests. “Besides, what else are you going to do?” 

“Unpack my things? Read a book? Sit in silence staring at the wall in my room?” You shrug as you stand up and walk over to the kitchen. “I’ve got a lot of options.” 

“Gideon told me not to let you out of my sight,” Spencer says, standing up as well. 

“You can see me pretty well from there,” you say. “You don’t have to invade every bit of my privacy.” 

“I— I kind of do,” he says. “The whole point of a safe house is to keep you safe. If you’re off doing your own thing, it’s not really safe.”

“It’s not like I’m leaving!” You throw up your hands in exasperation. “What, are you going to sleep with me too? Make sure I don’t go anywhere in the middle of the night?” 

It’s almost funny how fast his face flushes bright red. You’ve got a feeling he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. 

“That’s what I thought,” you say. “Keep watching your movie if you want. Just leave me alone.” 

You feel his eyes on your back as you storm off to your room. The childish part of you wants to slam the door, but you decide to throw Spencer the smallest bone and leave it open. 

It’s not his fault that you hate him, and that just makes you hate him even more. He gets to come out of this the bigger person, a saint for putting up with your various deficiencies while keeping you safe from a stalker. You’re just the difficult, ungrateful, estranged bastard daughter of the most deified man in the Behavioral Analysis Unit who can’t set her personal grudges aside for her own good. 

You shove your duffel bag into the bed with a little too much force. You unzip it, deciding to try and occupy yourself with unpacking. You’re here for the indefinite future, so you might as well make yourself at home. 

You can’t help the dry laugh that comes at the thought. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt at home anywhere. 

This might be the worst thing about this whole situation. You’ve got a stalker out there, and it’s making you do all this bullshit introspection against your will. It’s got you thinking about your dad and your relationship with him, and thinking about Spencer Reid and how he’s replaced you in your father’s life without even really knowing about it because he didn’t know about you until he walked into your dad’s office a month ago.

Ten minutes pass in a blur before you’re knocked out of it by a rapping on your door. You turn to see Spencer standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.

“What?” you ask.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “I’m just checking in.”

“I’m still alive,” you say. “Nothing exciting happened in the five seconds I was gone.”

“It was ten minutes and thirty two seconds, actually,” he says. “But— but good.”

Again, more silence passes between you. You look up at him from your pile of clothes after thirty seconds. 

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“I— I don’t know what else to do,” he stammers.

“Didn’t you say you did something like this before?” you ask. “Guarded some girl from her stalker?”

Spencer nods. “She was a lot easier to get along with.”

You roll your eyes. “Somebody out there wants to kill me to get back at my dad. Sorry that I’m not the pinnacle of happiness.” You make a point to avoid his gaze. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’ve done this all before. You should have some kind of idea of what to do besides bothering me.”

“How am I bothering you?” Spencer asks in exasperation. “I’ve said three sentences to you!”

“Everything you do bothers me, boy genius,” you say. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.” 

“I—” He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he just clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head before he walks away. 

You stare down at your pile of clothes, largely unfolded and scattered around the bed. The silence doesn’t give you the satisfaction you thought it would. 

It only lasts for all of thirty seconds though, and you don’t have time to linger in the discomfort—you hear footsteps, heavier ones this time, and you look up to see Spencer round the corner once again. 

“What is your problem with me?” he blurts out. 

You frown. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” Spencer nods. “You hate your dad, fine— but he’s not here for you to fight with, so you’re taking it out on me. It’s classic displacement, and you don’t get to take it out on me.”

“Why not?” you ask. 

“Because it— it’s not fair!” he sputters. “I didn’t do anything to you— I didn’t even know you existed until a month ago!” 

“Well, gosh, boy genius,” you say, “I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out yourself.”

“Stop calling me boy genius!” he exclaims. “We’re the same age!”

“Then stop acting like one,” you retort. “I know you’ve got a psychology degree, but you don’t need to use them on me whenever you can.” 

He frowns, his mouth opening for a second before he closes it. 

“Were you going to ask how I knew that before you realized the obvious answer?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Yes, you were.” You continue folding your clothes. “You went to Caltech, MIT, and Yale, even though it was your safety school. You’ve got three PhDs, two BAs, and you’re working on a philosophy degree, but you’re not done with it yet.” You shrug. “A little difficult to make it to classes with all the FBI stuff.” 

“…Does he really talk about me that much?” Spencer’s voice is quieter than it was before. 

“Oh, yeah,” you say. You set a finished pair of jeans to the side then look at him. “I graduated from college too. Granted, it was a couple years ago, not when I was 17, but I think it still warrants a little support.”

“You went to George Mason,” Spencer says. 

Your movements stutter. You weren’t expecting him to actually know.

“Yeah,” you say. Your heart skips a beat. “How do you know?”

Has he talked about you to the team before? Sure, they didn’t know you existed before you showed up out of the blue, but maybe he showed them a picture after it happened. Your mom carries one of you in your cap and gown in her wallet—maybe he got a hold of one and Spencer caught a glimpse of that. Maybe you just missed it and he does have a picture of you on his desk. Maybe—

“You have a sweatshirt for it,” he says with a gesture. You look where his finger is pointing, and sure enough, your GMU sweatshirt is tangled up with a couple of other crewnecks.

“…Of course,” you say. You don’t know why you even dared to hope. “Because it’s more likely that you’d notice something like that than it is for my dad to talk about me.”

Spencer says your name, and you hate the sympathy in it. 

“No.” You cut him off before he can get any further. “Don’t try to defend him. You know,” you huff a cold, humorless laugh, “he missed my graduation, too. Two separate dates for commencement and my actual school’s ceremony, one 45 minute car ride, and he couldn’t make it to either one.”

“You don’t know how busy we are,” Spencer tries again. “We work weekends and holidays and around the clock— sometimes we get called in at 3am to stay in some random town for weeks at a time, and there’s nothing we can do about it! I— I mean, we’ve had three days off in the past 47 days and—”

“That’s why I have a problem with you!” you cry out, throwing the shirt in your hand onto your bed as you turn to face him. “Because I’m twenty-four years old, and I’ve lived an hour away from my dad for the past six years, but his team that he spends all his time with didn’t even know I existed until I showed up at your office.” You take a step forward, anger resurging inside of you. “Because I threw away a chance at an Ivy to get to see him more, just to deal with the same bullshit as usual. Because I worry about him dying every single day he’s in the field, and he can’t even give me a phone call at the end of it all—” another step forward— “and even in the middle of this shitshow, you think you have a right to defend him— to- to tell me how to feel about him!”

You move even closer, close enough to see his wrinkled button-up is partially untucked, his lips are slightly parted, and his stupid doe eyes—that haven’t left yours—with his stupid dilated pupils, and you jab your finger in his chest. 

“Because all I ever wanted is my father’s affection,” your voice breaks, and you hate the way it makes you feel, “and he’d rather build an entirely new life with an entirely new kid than give it to me.” 

You push your way past him, making sure to shoulder-check him on your way out. You don’t look back as you forge your way to the bathroom (that you unfortunately have to share), even though his gaze burns into your back. 

You close and lock the door. It’s childish, you know, but you need to be alone right now. You can’t stand to be around him.

Spencer just— he irritates you in a way that no one else ever has. He’s your age and more accomplished than you could ever dream to be, with almost six times the degrees and a much better job, and probably a family that loves him. Who wouldn’t love him with everything he’s done?

You, apparently.  

You plant your hands on the countertop as you stare into the mirror. Your usual dark circles have become more pronounced over the past month, and you can’t help a wry laugh at the thought. All that trouble sleeping and it was for the wrong damn reason. 

If you knew someone was watching you, you would have moved out of Virginia months ago. But maybe this bastard would have found you anyway. If Spencer’s profiling is right and he’s going after you because of your dad, you don’t think much could really dissuade him. 

Tears pool at your waterline, and you wipe them away with a rough hand before they can manifest into something more. You slump back against the opposing wall as you continue to stare at yourself. 

You’re pathetic and you can’t even find it in yourself to care. 

You hear the sound of footsteps once more and you wrap your arms around your midsection. This chill won’t go away. 

“…Are you still alive?” a hesitant voice calls. 

You bite back a remark. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” 

“No.” You don’t know what makes you answer honestly. 

A beat of silence passes. You really do feel like a kid. You’re talking to him through the door because you just yelled at him and Spencer is still being the bigger person. 

“Can I help at all?”

This answer comes a little quicker. “No.”

Again, more silence.

“Okay.” Spencer pauses, and the footsteps start again. His voice is a little closer the next time he speaks. “Just… let me know when you’re turning in. So I know you’re still alive.”

You huff. He can’t even stick to his guns and hate you like you hate him for ten minutes. “I don’t think I’ll be dying anytime soon.”

“You never know,” he says. “Spontaneous human combustion might not be proven beyond pseudoscientific concepts, but there’s a first time for everything.”

The laugh that comes out of you is unexpected, both in its lightness and occurrence at all. “Keep an ear out for the smoke alarm, then.”

“If you smell anything burning, stop, drop and roll,” he says. “Make sure you don’t run. All it’ll do is add to the oxygen and feed the fire.”

“Okay,” you say. “…I still don’t like you.”

You swear you can hear the smile in his words. “I know.” 

-

You wake up when the smoke alarm goes off. 

It’s a very rude awakening. It jolts you out of your very uneasy sleep to unfamiliar surroundings—in your disoriented state, you almost forget where you are. 

Right. You’re in a safe house in the middle of nowhere because someone is stalking you. How could you possibly forget?

You stumble out of bed, rubbing your eyes to try and assuage some of your exhaustion as you leave your room. 

“Is the place on fire?” you ask through a yawn. 

“No!” Spencer exclaims, sounding more panicked than usual. That straightens your back and speeds your pace. “No, everything’s fine—” 

You smell smoke, and as you come around the corner, you see him waving his hands overtop the toaster trying to dispel said smoke. You can’t help but laugh, and you actually smile when he gives you the most helpless look. 

“I’m so good at so many other things.”

“What are you trying to do?” you ask wryly. “Burn this house down to try and get a better one?” 

“This wouldn’t have started a fire,” Spencer says. “Toaster fires usually spread because they’re below wooden cupboards, which catch easily and spread everywhere else.” He gestures at the toaster, which he has plugged in to an outlet on the side of the island. “No cupboards, no house fire.”

“You started this because you were making toast?” you ask. 

He flushes. “I’m used to the toaster I have at home. I have the settings worked out perfectly there. This one is all wrong.” 

You sigh and shake your head. “Just… hit the reset button, and open the door. It’ll be fine.” 

“I can’t open the door,” he says. “It goes against the safety thing.”

“Then open a window.”

“Making it easier to get in here in any way goes against the safety thing,” he says. 

“So we have to just deal with the smoke?” you ask in exasperation. 

Spencer hits the vent button on the microwave, and the fan whirs into action. “No?”

You shake your head in disbelief as he then reaches up to hit the button on the smoke alarm. His t-shirt lifts with the movement—your eyes drift to the bare strip of skin, and you immediately look away when you realize. 

“Where’s the coffee in here?” you ask, clearing your throat as you start sifting through drawers. “I’ll be even worse to deal with if I don’t have caffeine.” 

“I already brewed a fresh pot,” Spencer says, gesturing with his head. “Half and half is in the fridge, and sugar is in the cabinet.” 

“Oh,” you say. You stop what you’re doing, your hands lingering above the drawer handle. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

You see him shrug out of your peripherals. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I was a total asshole to you last night, you want to say. Because I’ve been awful to you since I met you and you refuse to fight back and give me a better reason to hate you. 

“Because you didn’t need to,” you finally say. Good one. 

“I did. So you’re going to have to deal with it.” Spencer takes the burnt toast out and throws them in the trash can, talking while he does it. “You know, it’s actually a rumor that burnt toast contains carcinogens and can increase the chance of cancer. Acrylamide forms when you burn food, but researchers haven’t found a link between starchy foods with high amounts of acrylamide and cancer.” 

You hum in some form of acknowledgement as you take a mug out of the cabinet and fill it from the pot. You take a sip and grimace—it’s not the best, but it’s caffeinated. After three years of shitty gas station coffee throughout college, you can deal with it. 

“How did you sleep?” Spencer asks. 

“Fine,” you say. 

He frowns. “Really?” 

“Yes,” you say, a little rougher. “The dark circles come with the model.” 

“There are a lot of causes other than sleep deprivation,” Spencer says. “Contact dermatitis, hyperpigmentation, dehydration, alcoholism, stress—” 

“Got plenty of that,” you interrupt. 

“Even genetics can play a part in it,” he says. 

You huff. “I think this is one thing I can’t blame my dad for. I haven’t slept since the nineties.”

“Well, you should try,” Spencer says. “The blood vessels around your eyes don’t constrict like they should when you’re sleep deprived, which means your blood vessels dilate, which increases blood in the area, and that gives you dark circles.”

“Wow,” you say wryly. “I really look that bad with them?” 

“I— that—” Spencer’s face flushes red as he stutters, and you hide the slightest smile with your mug— “that’s not what I mean! I’m just trying to give advice to help—” 

“I know.” You set your mug back down, not able to fully bite back your amusement. “I was joking, Spencer.” 

“Oh,” he says. “That’s… new.” 

“Am I not allowed to joke?” 

“It just doesn’t seem like you,” Spencer says. “Especially after last night.” 

“I’m too tired to fight with you right now,” you sigh. “Enjoy your break.” 

He clears his throat as he takes two fresh pieces of bread out, then looks at your mug. “You drink it black?” 

“It’s not coffee if you don’t,” you say. “It— it’s a sugary mess.” 

“It is not!” he exclaims. “It still has the same amount of caffeine, and it’s still coffee—” 

“No it isn’t!” you laugh, and you nod at his mug. “How much sugar did you put in there?” 

“A couple spoonfuls but—” 

“Spoonfuls?”

“But it’s how I like it!” Spencer defends. 

“Don’t you have some facts about how harmful excessive sugar consumption is?” you ask. 

“Of course I do,” he says. “I also have some about the benefits of black coffee, but I’m not going to tell you now.”

“Wow,” you say. “I’m so hurt.” 

He shakes his head as he slots two more pieces of bread into the toaster. “And to think, I was trying to make breakfast for you.” 

Again, that gives you pause. Why does he keep trying to do nice things for you?” 

“Don’t bother.” You pick up your mug and go into the living room. “I don’t really eat breakfast anyways.” 

“That’s not healthy,” he calls after you. 

“Most things I do aren’t,” you respond. “What’s on the agenda today?” 

“Skipping breakfast puts you at a higher chance of heart disease,” he says. 

“Then I guess we won’t have to worry about the spontaneous combustion, will we?” You look back at him. “What’s on the agenda?” 

Spencer sighs. He’s given up momentarily, it seems. “Gideon’s going to call me in thirty-two minutes for an update. The whole team has been focusing solely on your case.” 

You perk up. The coffee warms your hands through the mug but it doesn’t fully assuage the chill down your spine. 

“Do they have any leads?” 

“I don’t know,” Spencer says. “Gideon hasn’t called me yet.” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you think they have any leads?” 

“Maybe.” The toaster pops and he pulls the bread out, then starts buttering it—or trying to. His brow knots in annoyance at the stick of butter, still hard, and he pushes his glasses up with his free hand. You have to look away. “Like I said, Gideon helped start the BAU. He’s solved more cases than anyone else, and,” you feel his eyes on you, “it’s personal this time. He’s probably working around the clock.” 

“Just have to hope they get somewhere,” you murmur. Your coffee tastes even more bitter than  usual, but you drink it anyway. 

“They will,” Spencer says. “I promise.” 

“Y’know, people keep making promises they can’t keep,” you say. “I’m getting real tired of it.” 

“Well, I’m not leaving your side until they do,” he says. “And I’m going to keep you safe. So consider that promise kept.” 

“Great,” you say. “I’m stuck with you until I die or this is solved.” 

“You’re not going to die.” 

“You don’t have to take everything I say so seriously.” 

“Then don’t say everything so seriously.” 

You huff a laugh and shake your head. Spencer comes over with his plate of messily buttered toast—not very easy with fully solid sticks of butter—and sits down across from you. He holds the plate out. 

“Want one?” 

“I told you, I don’t eat breakfast.” 

“You should.” 

“Because one piece of toast will make so much of a difference,” you mock. 

“It will,” he says. “Maybe it’ll even make you happier.” 

You roll your eyes and drink more of your coffee. “Are you going to bother me all day like this?” 

Spencer took a bite of toast then shrugged. “If you’re this blase about everything relating to your health, then yes.” 

You groan as you stand up. “It’s too early to deal with you. See you in a few hours.” 

“And good morning to you too,” Spencer says wryly. You make a parting gesture with your hand in response. 

It’s been a day and a half, and not only have you argued with him twice, but he still refuses to give you anything to work with, still insists on trying to be there for you. It’s as infuriating as it is gratingly admirable. Anyone else probably would have tried to kill you by now. 

Well, you’ve already got a stalker trying to do that. 

You sigh and down half your coffee. You’ve got a long day ahead of you. 

-

Spencer doesn’t know why you not liking him bothers him so much. 

It’s illogical, but it makes sense for you. Your dad spends more time with him than he does with you, and you’re projecting your hatred for Gideon onto Spencer. Whatever. 

But it’s not just whatever, and that irks him. 

This is an assignment, simple as that. Gideon trusted him enough to put you under his protection, even if it’s for your mental health more so than your physical. It should be a point of pride, being chosen for something like this by someone like Gideon.

Spencer presses his fingers against his temple. You’re a lot, there’s no way around it. But you also claim to hate him, and he knows that’s not true. 

Yes, you argue with him. Yes, you’re short with him. Yes, he lost his temper momentarily because not even Spencer is capable of endless grace. 

But he also sees your moments of lightness throughout it all. Your brief smiles, the quips that lean towards jokes more than insults—and he notices your eyes, and the brightness that breaks through on occasion. 

He always notices your eyes.

Spencer’s phone rings in his pocket, jolting him out of whatever reverie he found himself in. He pulls it out and flips it open, then presses it to his ear. “Gideon?” 

“Reid,” he greets. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he says. “You’re calling twenty-four minutes early.”

“We just finished a briefing,” Gideon says. “I wanted to get word to you as soon as possible.” 

Spencer sits up. “What is it?” 

“Morgan, Hotch, and Garcia have been working together to comb through my past cases and see what they’re up to now. They finally found a potential unsub,” he says. “Someone I put away a decade ago was released last year, and recent records indicate he’s back in the area.” 

“Who is it?” he asks. 

“Adam Hernandez. Also known as—” 

“The Stafford Strangler,” Spencer finishes. “He killed three people in two weeks in the 90s—classic spree killer. You caught him with David Rossi’s help.” 

“Released on good behavior, despite the victims’ families campaigning against it,” Gideon says. “You know it?” 

“Obviously,” he says. “I’ve read all of your old case files.”

Gideon chuckles, and he can almost imagine him shaking his head. “Of course you have.”

“Do you think Hernandez is your guy?” Spencer asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” Gideon says. “We applied for a warrant—as soon as we get it, Morgan and Elle are heading his way to ask a few questions.” 

“You think he’d do something like this?” Spencer shifts his position as he frowns. “Hernandez got fired, lost his house, then went off the deep end. He killed because he didn’t see any other solution. The guy going after your daughter is a lot more emotional about all this, and—” his throat feels dry all of a sudden— “and it’s like he’s got some kind of attraction to her.” 

“You don’t need to remind me,” Gideon says roughly. “We’re going for leads where we can, and we’re still working every other angle. It doesn’t end with Hernandez.”

“...Good,” Spencer says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help from here.” 

“You’re already doing everything I need you to do.” Gideon pauses, and he hears the creak of the chair in his office as he adjusts how he’s sitting. “How is my daughter doing?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Her mood changes with the wind. One second she’s trying to start a fight with me, the next she’s trying to joke around with me. It— it’s a lot, I won’t lie.” 

“But how is she handling all of this?” he asks. “Staying in the safe house, dealing with a stalker, feeling like a sitting duck.”

“Very cynically,” Spencer says. “She keeps talking about dying or getting killed.”

Gideon sighs. “That sounds like her.” 

“She’s… she’s mad at you, mostly.” Spencer picks at a hangnail, ignoring the sharp, temporary pain. “Every time I bring you up, it lights a fuse. You’re the one thing she hates to talk about.” 

There’s nothing but silence on the other end. 

“Gideon?” he asks. “Did I lose—” 

“I’m here,” he interrupts. “Just… thinking.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Spencer says. “She’s—” 

“It is my fault,” Gideon interrupts again. “Has she told you much about her younger life?” 

“...Some,” Spencer says. 

“Like?” 

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t want to just tell Gideon that you’ve told him he’s been an awful dad. That it’s really all you’ve told him. 

“You can say it, Reid,” Gideon says. “I won’t get mad.” 

“...She says you’ve missed out on her whole life,” Spencer finally says, notably quieter. “Her high school graduation, her college graduation— most of the stuff that happened in college, actually.” 

Gideon lets out a rough sigh. “I’ll always regret it.” 

“So it’s true?” Spencer asks. He’s surprised at the sharpness of his voice.  

“I don’t get to control when cases come in,” he says. 

“We’re a whole team of qualified agents,” Spencer says. “We— we always have been. Especially when you and Rossi were together. It was like the golden age of profilers.” 

“Spencer—” 

“You made it to my graduation!” he interrupts. “You were there for my chemistry PhD, and you said you would be there when I get my philosophy degree, but you couldn’t make it for your only child’s high school and college graduations?” 

“I already told you I regret it,” Gideon says. His voice is as calm as ever, and for some reason, that irks Spencer even more. “What more can I say? It’s in the past now. I can’t change what I did.”

Spencer stares at the wall. He doesn’t know why this is such a damning thing to him. 

His own dad has missed all of his graduations. He’s missed almost every part of his life. But his dad walked out—he wanted nothing to do with Spencer or his mom. 

Your dad is right here. Gideon is still around, working every day to save lives and change the world and take down monsters—but he’s still not there for you. 

He’s so close and yet he always steps out of your reach. 

“Spencer.” Gideon’s voice is tinny through the speaker, and he presses his phone back against his ear. 

“Call me back the second you get another lead,” Spencer mutters. 

He hangs up without another word. 

[sceletaflores]

woo, my baby's got me all mixed up!

feat: logan howlett & wade wilson

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, swearing, a bastard doomed polycule, more of 'why have just one bf when you can two bf's and why have just two bf's when you can have two bf's that are also each other’s bf's???', p in v, double penetration, one (1) single use of daddy, creampie(s), fingering...kind of (fem!receiving), oral sex, face sitting, face fucking, straight up nasty porn w/ zero plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this is a shorter one-shot but i can't not format it like a full fic i have to or i'll get hives. this is also just pure freak nasty gross actually probably the filthiest thing i've ever written that i thought up off too much nyquil pm last night. kisses!

wade gets to whiskin’ (and logan's there too)…

"You're killing me babe," Wade groans lowly, cheek pressed to the slick skin of your inner thigh. "If my balls didn't feel like they just got the shit beat out of them in a back alley I'd be as hard as David Hasselhoff watching David Hasselhoff movies."

His hand is at work between your thighs, thick index finger slipped into your sensitive, puffy pussy.

It should gross you out that he loves doing this so much. It should make your stomach twist with all the unpleasant feelings a normal person might get.

It should, but it doesn't.

The familiar stretch is lost from taking Logan and Wade at the same time, a rare thing in your sex life because of how big they both are. But you were in a mood tonight.

Your pussy still clenches around him, trying in vain to tighten up, not used to feeling so empty.

The subtle pressure of Wade’s finger toes the line between pleasure and the sharp burn of 'almost too much' as it swirls along the sensitive walls of your pussy.

The first time he did it you were too fucked out of your mind to do anything other than ask what the hell he was doing.

"Gotta mix it up babe," was his reply, as easy as anything. "Don't want the baby batter to curdle, if you know what I mean."

Your heart stopped, flames lapping their way up your body as Wade scooped the thin line of come trickling from your abused hole to fuck it back in, back where it belonged.

It was so filthy, so depraved that it made you go liquid between your legs.

Your eyes almost immediately slid over to Logan, ready to see him shaking his head in irritation like he usually did whenever Wade ran his mouth in bed. You found nothing, no deep grimace or raised brow in sight.

There was an unmistakable heat in his gaze that matched your own, the inky black of his pupils blown so wide you could hardly see the hazel of his irises.

The casual raise of his right shoulder when he met your eye was undermined by the way his cock started to harden where it laid against his thigh, effectively tattling on him.

It told you all you needed to know about how he really felt watching Wade between your spread legs. That alone was enough to get you ready to go all over again.

It sort of became a thing after that.

"I'm not even doing anything..." you mumble breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't have to baby," Logan purrs from behind you, lips pressed to the top of your head. His hand skimming down the side of your body is enough to make goosebumps pebble along your skin, "Look perfect just like this."

It's been hours now, but they're still going. You're convinced that the two of them are the world's biggest horndogs, just once is never enough.

You lost track of tonight's rounds sometime after number five, not counting mouth and hand stuff of course. And it's starting to catch up to you, you’re tired, spent.

Wade curls his finger just right, brushing against the spot inside you that has a broken whine passing through your grit teeth. Your thighs start to tremble as a smug grin spreads across his face.

"Yeah, there it is," he teases, his voice low. He keeps the tip of his finger snug against that spot, rubbing firm circles over the sensitive nerves. "That's that spot ain't it, gorgeous."

"Wade," you mewl, hands fisting the sheets as you fight to keep still. You're worried too much squirming will make their come start dripping out around Wade's wrist, and you can't have that.

There’s a sudden silence to your right, the heaviness of it pulling at your attention. You shift slightly, catching the faintest rustle of movement from Logan.

His breath is warm against the crown of your skill, his strong chest still plastered to your back—but he's too quiet, too still. You tilt your head just enough to peek at him out of the corner of your eye, and the sight alone is almost enough to make you come on the spot.

Logan is leaning against the headboard lazily, arm that isn't circled around your waist snaking down his own with the hard length of his cock in his hand.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him, red and leaking pre-come all over his knuckles each time he twists his fist over the thick head. Your hips grind down unconsciously, a needy moan falling from your parted lips. The wet sound of it has your cheeks burning, eyes fixed on the way his heavy balls bounce with each rough tug, still so full.

"Fuck, that's it," Wade murmurs, slipping a second finger inside you while he presses a shit-eating grin to the soft skin of your lower stomach. "You like it when daddy jerks off while I'm knuckle deep in you?"

"Watch it," Logan mutters warningly, tone gone low and dark as spilled ink. His hand doesn't slow, the loose grip of his fist slipping up and down his dripping cock in time with the slick squelch of your pussy.

Your hips buck up against Wade’s hand, a loud whine tearing from your chest at the dirtiness of this whole thing. The familiar heat starts to stir in your belly, your pussy drooling more mess over his wrist the longer he plays with you.

Wade barely muffles his chuckle against your hip, dropping a quick kiss there before pulling his soaked fingers from your velvety warmth. You whine at the loss, but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

You’ll both get what you want soon enough.

"Alright, we should all know the drill by now people," he announces to you and Logan with a loud clap, pulling away from between your thighs to roll flat onto his back.

“Time to hop on the saddle, John Wayne,” he finishes, giving your ass a loving tap.

Logan snorts into your hair, dropping his cock to grab your hips and gently manhandle you until you’re situated directly over Wade’s face while Logan kneels in front of you. The jut of his cock bobbing inches away from your mouth.

Wade’s greedy fingers pry your swollen lips apart to watch the way his and Logan’s come starts to seep out from you, falling to drip onto his bare chest. He blows over the wet length of you, the cool air from his mouth has your hips twitching down in search of any friction you can get.

“Not so fast,” he scolds lightly, grinding his knuckle against the wet seam of you. Your nails dig crescent moons into his scarred shoulders, threatening to break the skin.

“You’ve gotta savor this moment, hot stuff,” he says slowly, leaning up to press a kiss directly over your throbbing clit. “You got the best seat in the house, don’t take it for granted–”

"Enough," Logan grunts, heavy hands falling on your shoulders to push you down on Wade's face, fully closing the gap. "Quit runnin' your damn mouth and make our girl feel good, red."

Wade's hands tighten their hold on your thighs, his hips bucking up off the mattress like he can't help it. His surprised moan rumbles against your clit, loud and shameless.

You cry out at the first drag of his tongue over your aching pussy, hot and wet as it slides through your dripping slit. You pitch forward, too caught up in pleasure to think clearly as you take Logan’s cock into your mouth. You take him all the way down to the root in one swift move, burying your nose in the dark hair surrounding the base. 

"Fuck," Logan bites out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He takes your hair in his fist gently, just holding it as you swallow around him. 

Your hands move to rest on his thick thighs, nails scratching over the hair scattered along his skin. His breath shutters in his chest, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly, chasing the tight heat of your mouth.

The mix of your tongue tracing along the sensitive vein on the underside of his cock and the low, wet sounds of Wade devouring you has him pulsing in your mouth.

Your thighs shake on either side of Wade's head, the steady grip of his hands the only thing that keeps you from collapsing into a boneless heap on the mattress.

Your hips twitch the tiniest bit, rocking forward enough to grind your clit over the slope of his nose. He groans under you, squeezing the meat of your thighs in encouragement as he swirls his tongue through the mess dripping from your hole.

“That’s a good girl,” Logan praises gruffly, his hips speeding up. “Shut him up, baby. Make him fuckin’ eat it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, dragging your pussy along Wade’s mouth faster. You moan desperately around your mouthful, brain going hazy around the edges.

The frantic pace you set only makes their come leak from you faster, dripping down Wade’s face faster than he can keep up, and there's just so much.

A steady, thick stream of it that feels almost never ending thanks to Logan coming like he busted a pipe and absolutely flooding your insides every single time.

Wade doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest though, swirling his tongue along you with a new sense of urgency. His hands grip your hips tighter, his blunt nails digging into your skin deliciously as he slurps and sucks with unbridled enthusiasm, chasing every drop of come.

He’s sloppy with it, come sliding down his cheeks and chin in thin rivers of white.

Logan’s rough breath hitches above you, his fingers tightening in your hair as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks just the way he likes. His growl sends a thrill down your spine.

"C'mon, Wilson," Logan grunts, his hips speeding up. When you peer up at him, you can see the goading smile that just barely tugs the corner of his mouth up.

“Spitters are quitters, you know that."

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