#((that moment came to mind because it's SO FUCKING COLD HERE))

[endereies]

FREEDOM OF SPEECH

No Nut November - Day 10

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ When Matt sees you with someone else, he couldn't help but admit how he feels

It was obvious that tensions were high. Anyone could see that. After being friends with the triplets for so long, you felt like things couldn’t change, yet you found yourselves proving that wrong. You saw the way he looked at you, only because you were looking at him too. 

Everything, down to the way you acted and dressed revolved around him. You just couldn’t help it. You wanted, no, needed him to notice you, to see you.  

Yet after what felt like years, his behaviour didn’t seem to change. You tried to convince yourself that he was just excellent at hiding his feelings towards you but if anything, they were on show. 

“Yeah, this is y/n! She’s my best friend, the one I told you about.” A shudder crept up your spine as he introduced you. It shouldn’t have bothered you, but you just couldn’t help it. That’s all you were to him, a best friend. You tried to be grateful, after all you were friends with the fucking Sturniolo triplets. And here you were, pitying yourself because you wanted more with one of them.  

You just couldn’t get over it, over him. How was it fair that he had total control over your mind. The little moments you used to fawn over just turned into self-deprecation. Any other girl you knew that had caught Matt’s eye wasn’t like you. They were prettier and had mastered the art of make-up. Their hair was styled and flawless even after the hours of a party. It was just something you couldn’t do. 

Yet, his hand would still drop over your shoulder, rubbing your skin as you watching a film. He’d insist you borrow his jacket when it got cold, goose bumps rising to your skin. A few of them ended up in your persona collection after he denied the return saying, ‘keep it, they look better on you.’ There had to be something, right? 

Months of trying felt pointless, flirting fell flat and as far as you were concerned? Matt still thought of you the same. You weren’t going to sit around anymore just pining over someone who obviously didn’t feel the same.  

So, when another guy stood in front of you, a hand stretched out as an invitation for a dance, how could you say no. Gawking at Matt wasn’t going anywhere, and you didn’t want to never endlessly pray that he’ll pull you close. Why get your hopes up when an attractive man is stood in front of you now? 

Although, when you placed your hand into his, Matt’s eyes were on you. He liked you, hell that man loved you. He didn’t miss anything you handed out to him. His anxiety just stepped in front whenever he wanted to act upon it. No amount of talks with his brothers fixed that. 

He wasn’t dumb, he saw it burn in the man’s eyes. Lust. He only wanted a quick fuck, he wasn’t a newcomer. Unbeknownst to him, you had spent your time staring at Matt rather than scanning the crowd.  

He tried to ignore it, he really did. But as much as he shared the feeling, he hears your laugh through the group of people. He heard everything. The flaunting, the flirting, and the way you let yourself giggle at any small thing he did. 

After about ten minutes of his eyes tracing where his hands met her body, he’d had enough. He couldn’t believe it took him until you were in the arms of someone else to make him see just how much be didn’t want you to be with anyone else. 

Before either of you knew it, his hand was wrapped around your wrist, dragging you away from the man.  

“Hey! Matt?! What’s your problem” He didn’t listen, he only waited until you both were secluded. 

“don’t go and dance around him, he’s just in it for a fuck.” 

“Maybe I wanted that.” You crossed your arms, pouting like a small child. 

“As if, you aren’t that type of person.” As much as you wanted to admit it, it felt wrong. You were leaning into another part of yourself. It hurt both of you. 

“Oh really? As if you care about what I do.” Every sour thing came up your throat before you could stop it  

“Excuse me? “His tone changed significantly as he etched closer, his hands now crossed over his chest. 

“You haven’t batted an eye at me in months.” 

“I have.” The more he spoke, the more be admitted things he wasn’t proud of. 

“Hm. When then, name one time.” You wanted to believe him, but if you did. Could you bring yourself to trust him. 

“Literally every night since I realised, I love you.” 

Shit. Now he HAD fucked up. 

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03

© ENDEREIES 2024

[rhiannonsknife]

heyyy first of all, i just needed to say that your writing is soooo fucking good like i was genuinely impressed when you said that english isn't your first language because I can't imagine how this could get any better. Also, it isn’t only about the way you write but also the way you just get each character perfectly. That's just... woah, just woah. So yeah, I hope you keep on writing for a long time for the sake of everyone's happiness lol

And lastly, you remembered us about how you also write for the rest of the yellowjackets, not that I don't enjoy the whole "let's give love to all ella purnell's characters" thing going on here buuuut i remembered one scenario has been in my mind for a while and I'd love if you wrote about it.

Shauna, after losing so much to the wilderness, carries this relentless, overwhelming anger that keeps most of the other girls at a distance. Even those who aren't outright scared of her still know better than to get too close. She obviously needs love and comfort, but god help anyone who tries to say that to her. And then r decides to take a shot, carefully inching closer without setting her off. Slowly but surely, r makes progress. First, just being allowed in Shauna's space, then a hand on her shoulder, brushing her hand, maybe even touching her hair. When Shauna finally lets her guard down, r sees just how touch-starved she really is, how deeply she needs someone to just be there, to be her person.

Shauna and r start disappearing for hours, slipping off to somewhere, maybe the airplane, where r can pepper her face with kisses, making her feel safe. And Shauna just lets herself melt in those moments, holding r close.

my mind just goes ogdofgkditwukymg w her

── ౿🪵 NO ONE COULD SAVE ME BUT YOU

— summary: shauna shipman needs a hug. that’s it. that’s the summary.

— warnings: hurt/comfort. canon typical dark themes. implied cannibalism (duh). child loss. etc. so: angst. some fluff. did not beta-read this. + i had no clue how to start or end this fic.

— a/n: woah thank you so so much!! i genuinely appreciate that <3 i’m not planning on stopping any time soon! anyway, i hope you like how this turned out!!

out here, she’s lost everything. you all know it, though none of you dares to actually talk about it. it doesn’t come as much of a surprise that she’s beginning to lose herself too. it’s concerning all the same.

shauna still gets her chores done, so it is not like you don’t have her support in this poorly built system, this attempt to keep things under control when -really- all last restraints of control were lost the morning you’d found jackie’s body, buried in the snow, and with all that came after that. the things no one ever speaks about.

perhaps that is why none of the girls have approached her yet: as long as she does what she’s supposed to do, why would anyone try and cross her, or potentially upset her? after what she’s done to lottie, it’s no surprise. sometimes, in moments during which you find yourself staring at her hands for reasons beyond you, you can see the flash of a scar, standing out against the thin skin of her knuckles.

maybe they’re scared of her. or scared of what she’s become, out here. it doesn’t make a difference. maybe you should all be scared of what you’ve become.

either way, it’s not fair. you obviously know that she needs the same comfort some of the other girls have found in each other, whether shauna wants to admit it or not.

so you -with nothing better to do for the most part- make it your mission to be this comfort for her.

at first, shauna gives you short, cold responses when you try to make small talk, but you keep at it. there’s nowhere to go anyway, nowhere she could flee to get away from your slightly awkward attempts to just talk. it’s a first step.

gradually, you notice her replies get a little longer, her posture softens, just slightly, and she doesn’t seem so quick to brush you off. a small sign, but it means you’re beginning to earn her trust. you don’t talk, not always. sometimes, you’ll just linger nearby and watch her prepare the last remaining pieces of meat or sit in the same room as she scribbles in the journal she’s brought from home.

sitting with shauna in silence becomes its own form of closeness; she doesn’t say much, but she lets you be near her. you can’t remember, now that you think about it, when she was last hugged. when she last felt the touch of another person. your heart aches at this realization. could it have been jackie? it already feels like a whole lifetime ago, that she'd been among the group.

over time, she actually starts letting you sit close enough that your legs touch. you hope it’s her way of saying that maybe she doesn’t mind your presence as much as she lets on.

one day, after a particularly hard night, you take a chance and rest a hand on shauna’s shoulder. you’ve noticed, even from a distance, that she doesn’t sleep well. truthfully, no one out here does. but, with your makeshift mattress closest to the spot she’s preoccupied in the farthest corner of the room, you often notice the way she flinches in her sleep, or shoots up in the middle of the night, panting heavily.

when you notice it that night, you slip out of the more or less comfortable ‘warmth’ of your blankets and make your way over to her.

she tenses, but for a moment, she doesn’t pull away. her silence feels like a monumental moment, a sign that she’s slowly starting to let her walls down. you sit like this, hidden by the darkness of the cabin and with none of the others awake, for a long moment. neither of you moves, neither of you even dares to breathe, afraid it’ll pass by as fast as it has come. then, she shrugs away from your grip and mutters: “i’m fine”. she’s not, obviously. but you take it as a small victory. you’ve felt the way she relaxed under your hold, the way she didn’t immediately push you away.

as weeks pass, you notice shauna becoming less and less guarded in your presence. she’s still wary, still sharp, but you can sense the small shifts, a quiet murmur here, a shared look there, that suggest she’s warming up to having you close.

maybe that night is what’s to blame, or maybe she’s genuinely beginning to realize how much she craves the warmth of another person. your warmth.

it’s one of these days where she’s angrily scribbling down words into her journal when shauna reaches a first ‘breaking point’. she’s sitting beside you in silence, the weight of the wilderness and the day pressing down on both of you. the only noise is the angry scrape of her pencil against paper. in a rare moment of boldness, you reach out, brushing a strand of her hair back from her face.

you’re not sure why you do it. but shauna seems so far away from everything, so detached from the reality you live in, that you just want to offer her something grounding.

her first reaction is to freeze, her eyes widening with a flicker of surprise, and you nearly pull your hand away, wondering if you’ve overstepped. but instead, shauna lets out a breath and holds still, allowing you to tuck the strand behind her ear. as your fingers brush her cheek, you can feel her breath catch, her defenses lowering just a little. it’s a brief, fragile moment, but one that feels much bigger to you: an unspoken acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, she’ll allow more of this.

that’s when things begin to change: shauna starts looking for you after difficult moments, lingering by your side in ways that tell you she needs someone, even if she won’t say it; too stubborn to ever admit it out loud. she lets you take her hand quietly, her thumb rubbing yours a wordless promise that, just for a while, she’ll let you be her safe place.

it becomes routine for you and shauna to disappear to some quiet spot when the cabin feels too heavy. no one has figured you out yet, although you’re sure that they can put two and two together by now: tai has caught your eye, the last time you sneaked off together and lottie has long claimed that the wilderness has its fucked up ways of communicating with her. whether any of it is true or not, something about the glances she shoots in your direction tells you that she knows. that she might even appreciate it, though that could just be because she won’t be the outlet for shauna’s anger anymore.

after a particularly tense exchange with the others, she brushes past you, muttering, “let’s go.” you follow her immediately, of course, and the two of you wind through the forest until you reach the plane’s wreckage. inside, it’s silent and dim, a place that’s somehow managed to become a safe haven. the last reminder of civilization, somewhere far far away from you.

shauna lets herself lean back against the metal frame, shoulders dropping in relief, her usual guarded expression softening as you sit close beside her.

she doesn’t say anything, but her hand finds yours, squeezing it tightly, as if she’s grounding herself in your presence. then, in a rare show of vulnerability, she leans her head on your shoulder, her eyes closing as she lets out a shaky sigh. you wrap an arm around her, pull her closer, and let her melt into you, feeling her tension slowly give way as she buries her face in the crook of your neck.

together, you stay like that for hours, just holding each other. shauna curls into your arms, letting herself fully relax in the quiet. you actually dare to cradle her head and press gentle kisses to her forehead, feeling her melt into your embrace, and trusting you in a way she hasn’t trusted anyone else in a long, long time.

“you’re…you’re way too soft for this place, you know that?” you hear her whispering. she doesn’t stop you, though.

when it’s time to return, shauna doesn’t say a word but gives you a look that says it all: gratitude, trust, and something almost like relief.

even when you’re not together, shauna’s glances toward you become longer, her eyes lingering with something that remains unspoken, as if she’s trying to understand this newfound feeling.

around the others, she is still hesitant to be openly affectionate. in the cabin, it is only late at night, when it’s just the two of you, that she lets herself fall into your arms. It’s the only time she allows herself to be unguarded, clinging to you silently as if afraid you’ll vanish too if she lets go.

that same night, you catch a quiet confession under her ragged breath. she’s facing the other way, letting you spoon her from behind. only this way, does she dare to open up about how everything seems to slip away from her. she’s scared but hides it behind anger and frustration. you’re the first person allowed to see her tears.

you can’t even begin to imagine what she’s going through. all the things she’s been robbed of: girlhood, like all of you. even if you’re ever rescued (which seems less likely with every day that passes) how are you supposed to move on? how are you supposed to live, like none of this ever happened? her best friend, who no one dares to talk about anymore, afraid it’ll bring back the things you’ve done. it’s like she was never here at all which, you think, must be even worse. motherhood, too, though she never even wanted it. no one seems to acknowledge that, out of everyone out here, she might just be the one to have lost everything to the wilderness.

in an attempt to comfort her, you trace mindless shapes against the back of her hand, slowly soothing her back to sleep. the letters of her name, a loopy S, gliding across her scarred knuckles with a tenderness so contrary to everything these hands have done. your own name, next. you hear a gentle chuckle coming from shauna. she knows what you’re doing, of course. you don’t stop.

the outline of wiskayok, as you remember from the map. she doesn’t seem to recognize this one, a little crease between her brows. “home” you tell her quietly and the crease vanishes.

it feels surreal that, somewhere out there, home is still a place. that wiskayok still exists to the people, to your families, your classmates, and everyone else back there. that it’s more than just a fading memory.

“you suck at drawing” she finally manages. it’s the first time you can hear the glimpse of amusement in her voice.

“what? you think you’re any better?” you whisper quietly, wanting it to last.

shauna shifts beside you, and takes your hand with a gentleness you didn’t think she possessed still.

now it’s your turn to lay back and feel. she starts with words. “yellowjackets” she spells out. a small smile flashes over your features as shauna studies your face attentively. then, though it’s harder to make out, she traces the word: “champions”. your heart feels heavy with everything that could’ve been.

shapes are next: a tiny heart, resembling the shape of jackie's necklace, then a simple circle.

"that's a soccer ball" she whispers expertly. for the first time, you laugh. it only lasts a short moment before you remember where you are, and that the others are trying to sleep just a couple of meters from you.

you fall asleep with her hand in your own, as both of your eyes grow too tired and you drift off together.

other nights, when she’s fast asleep and -for once- doesn’t seem haunted by nightmares, you find yourself watching over her. it’s the only time you get to see her the way she’d once been: when her features aren’t tense or pained, but relaxed. when she’s the girl you met at the very first soccer practice years ago, who hasn’t known any of the things that’ll happen to her in this lifetime. you stay up all night, only realizing how much time has passed when light starts spilling into the cabin and she stirs up.

you know shauna hates being pitied. so while you do feel for her, instead of asking if she’s okay, you just stay close, offering your warmth and presence. when shauna’s frustration bubbles over, she lets herself scream or cry in your arms, knowing you won’t turn her away. you hold her tightly all through the waves of emotions, murmuring quiet reassurances, and she clings to you, even as she struggles to accept that someone genuinely cares.

“everyone else… they don’t understand. they couldn’t. but you-“ she murmurs softly. “you’re the only one who sees me. the only one who wants to.”

shauna begins to show subtle signs of protectiveness over you, too: always looking out for you and offering the little comforts she can manage. even though her gestures are often quieter than yours, and less obvious, she's found her own way of showing she’s come to care for you, and that she’s willing to fight for you as much as you’re willing to be there for her out there!! <3

[kangshxrtie]

51 . yn protection squad

prev . main

you were just minding your own business, sitting outside the classroom, waiting for nien, kaede, and chaeyeon to finish up. your phone was keeping you company, scrolling through whatever came up on your feed, when you suddenly heard footsteps slow down beside you. instinctively, you kept your eyes on your phone, hoping it wasn’t who you thought it was.

but, of course, life never worked out that easily.

“yn,” nakyoung’s voice came from above you, soft but filled with an annoying persistence. “we need to talk.”

"hey," she repeated as she approached, her voice slightly breathless as if she had rushed over the moment she saw you. you didn't bother looking up, pretending to be deeply engrossed in whatever was on your screen.

you sighed but didn’t look up. maybe if you just kept scrolling, she’d take the hint and leave. it wasn’t like she could force you into a conversation, right?

"yn, can we talk for a second?" she pressed, standing right in front of you now.

you sighed, locking your phone and finally glancing up at her. "what do you want, nakyoung?"

she gave you that familiar look, the one that had always made you weak before, but now it only reminded you of how much she'd hurt you. "i just... i wanted to talk. you haven’t been responding to my texts."

"there’s nothing to talk about," you muttered, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. you couldn’t let her get to you again. not when you were finally in a good place with xinyu. things had started to feel real, and the last thing you needed was nakyoung trying to mess it all up.

nakyoung shifted her stance, crossing her arms in frustration. "you can’t just ignore me forever, yn. we need to talk about us."

you sighed, "there is no us, nakyoung. i keep telling you, i won't break up with xinyu."

she rolled her eyes as if you hadn’t just said you were in a relationship. "come on, yn. we both know that you’re just doing that to make me jealous. you don’t actually like her."

your patience was running thin. "no, nakyoung. i'm dating xinyu because i want to be with her. i'm not doing this for you."

nakyoung frowned, clearly not liking your response. "i know you, yn. this thing with xinyu is not right, especially because you told me you hated her and would never speak to her again. it's not too late for us to go back to how things were."

you stood up, putting your phone in your pocket. "nakyoung, you need to stop. i’m not going back to you. ever. you hurt me, and i’m happy with xinyu. so please, just leave me alone."

her expression faltered for a second, but she quickly recovered, taking a step closer. "you don’t mean that. you’re just mad at me."

you tried to keep your voice steady. "no, nakyoung, i mean every word. i don’t plan on leaving xinyu anytime soon, so just… move on... again."

before nakyoung could respond, the door to the lecture hall swung open, and nien, kaede, and chaeyeon emerged from their class. the three of them spotted you instantly, and it didn’t take long for them to notice nakyoung standing uncomfortably close to you.

"yn!" nien called out, her voice immediately cutting through the tension. her eyes narrowed as she took in the scene.

kaede’s face darkened when she saw nakyoung. "fuck are you doing here?" she asked, already walking over to stand next to you.

chaeyeon seemed unsure at first but quickly made her way over as well. "valid question, cause i sure as hell didn't invite her."

nakyoung crossed her arms defensively. "i was just talking to yn."

"about what?" nien asked, her tone cold.

"none of your business," nakyoung shot back, her voice sharper now.

kaede scoffed, stepping in front of you like a human shield. "it actually is our business. especially when you’re basically harassing yn."

nakyoung’s jaw tightened. "i’m not harassing her. i just wanted to talk."

"well, she doesn’t want to talk to you," nien interjected, crossing her arms. "she’s made that pretty clear, hasn’t she?"

nakyoung turned to chaeyeon, hoping for some backup. "chaeyeon, come on. you know yn and i were good together. can’t you talk some sense into them?"

chaeyeon frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. "nakyoung… i think it’s time to let this go."

nakyoung’s face dropped as if she hadn’t expected chaeyeon to take your side. she opened her mouth to argue, but kaede cut her off.

"seriously, nakyoung," kaede said, her voice firm. "we used to be friends so i know you understand the concept of leaving somebody alone."

"exactly," nien added. "we’re not letting you ruin things for her again."

nakyoung looked at you one last time, her expression torn between anger and frustration. "fine," she muttered under her breath before turning on her heel and walking away without another word.

you exhaled, feeling the tension finally leave your body as she disappeared down the hallway.

"are you okay?" nien asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"yeah," you replied, though your voice was still a bit shaky. "thanks for stepping in. she just… doesn't get that i don't want her anymore."

kaede rolled her eyes. "she’s delusional if she thinks you’re going back to her after everything she put you through."

chaeyeon gave you a sympathetic smile. "i’m sorry it had to go down like that, yn. i didn’t think nakyoung would push it this far."

"it’s not your fault," you said quickly. "i just… i’m glad you guys showed up when you did."

"we’re always gonna have your back," nien said with a grin. "yn protection squad for life."

you laughed, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "real ones. i just hope she'll stop after this."

"she better," kaede muttered, glancing down the hall where nakyoung had disappeared. "otherwise, next time, i’m actually gonna have to start biting bitches."

main . nxt

taglist ༒ @gtfoiydlyj @inybits @baewonlove @yeetaberry127 @sananapotter @happyjuhyun @nicstumblur @museujin @urmom2314 @yunalvrrr @jeindall777 @saysirhc @idleyuri @yerimbrit @sixflame438 @artrizzler19 @peranoo

[timebranded]

“One time in Trainer’s School, my teacher opened a class by saying, ‘Today is a good day to be a bowl of soup. Not to have a bowl of soup, but to be a bowl of soup,’ and then she just went on with the class like she didn’t just say the most random thing ever.”

“That moment lives in my head rent-free, especially on a day like today.”

[vatelixx]

On the concept of ‘want’, (part 1):

Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader (written with early-ish seasons Spencer in mind)

part two here.

SMUT!! (and fluff, and aftercare because im not a total hedonist), allusions to both Spencer and Reader being switches (but he’s mostly just down bad), autistic Spencer (the way it should be), mean reader (to everyone but him), reader has a very very high IQ when it comes to everything but a pretty genius— Spencer just wants that cookie so fucking bad.

Warnings: sub spencer (but also not entirely; he talks about human anatomy as he destroys her), maaaaaybe slight corruption kink (what? who wrote that there???), mentions of prior bullying and insecurity, first time (for Spencer, yess devirgin that hot nerd!!— do you think the BAU will get him a cake after?), brief mentions of past hypersexuality for reader, kinda rlly domestic. Some undertones of degradation but predominantly praise. Begging, crying (pussy so good he cried), etc etc

w.c: 5k (I feed)

a/n: Spencer’s first time getting fucked, my first time writing smut (we’re both going through it here). I’ve been watching too much Criminal Minds recently, so i’ve reverted back to my tumblr roots (im home i’m home). This is a new acc so like…. hi!!!

────────────

Right person, right time. It’s a concept that Spencer Reid is more than aware of. Define luck, at surface level, it’s a made-up hypothesis, idealistic, fantastical. Conjured up to aid the desperate (or the delusional). It’s something he refused to humour, obstinate to the notion, well, that was until you came spitballing into his life, sharp features, sharper tongue. You could cut with your words alone, a weapon to the BAU, jagged and fast-thinking, and so entirely unattainable. Rorschach tests, and an endless sea of profilers, it doesn’t matter— he’s not sure anyone is ever capable of truly pinpointing you.

Rocky start— after you became a permanent member to the team, it took months to coerce you into dropping your guard. A year and 14 days, to be exact.

But, it was possible. Hardened words and blunt comments shifted into something more with time. A gravitational pull, perhaps, that led to evolution— you, softer with him, more tender than you’ve ever showcased before.

Maybe it was that night when he told you about highschool, about what they did to him, boys like him, who were too intellectual for their own good. Different, in every sense of the word. Bullying at such a young, impressionable age can have prominent effects, chronic stress inflicted on an underdeveloped brain, they tied him to goal posts, stripped him naked, endless torment that he still carries with him now. Maybe that’s why you lowered your defenses. Put down the sword.

And sure, he never expected anything, nor asked for anything. He was definite that he wouldn’t get to experience cliche-dating. Longing glances and anticipated moments. It’s not like he was ever the most appealing candidate, too nervous, too neurodivergent. It’s hard to grow out of the mentality that no, everyone isn’t making fun of you, not when it consumed the entirety of his adolescence. That you can walk into a room, and not be seen, targeted, as an outcast. He’s just different. But he’s also human, and the chemicals in his brain do make him want.

You apparently. Because, you looked at him softly once, and he was done. Ruined. Gone for good. Or, in Morgan’s personal opinion, whipped.

And illogically, you wanted him too. That wasn’t ever part of the equation.

But theres a pattern now— dates every weekend. Movies, cafes, museums, an endless onslaught of you. Because somehow, thanks to luck, you reciprocated. He’ll never understand why, you’re too beautiful (it’s a hazard), but he tries. He tries.

──────────────────

December. A haze of christmas markets and blanketing coldness. You kiss him outside and he thinks he might be dying. You make him burn cold. He’s a logical person, so obviously he’s aware that he’s only freezing because your hands are shoved in his pockets, a desperate bid to seek warmth, but regardless, it’s more than he ever expected.

He laughs against your lips, fingers gripping the front of your coat as he draws you backwards so that you’re resting against a wall. “Mm..” he hums, “You should kiss me more often.”

Everyone knows. The entire team is aware of this, an unspoken agreement that your lingering moments and aimless touching are not platonic in the slightest. You work with profilers, secrets are never quite effective. Everyone knows, but it’s taboo, something that needs to be left undisturbed. Do they expect you to break him? Does he? Maybe, maybe it would be worth it— to hurt for you, because it’s always been you. He’ll take anything, he’s not greedy. He’ll live off scraps if he has to, anything to satiate this want that burns solely for you.

“Actually.. you should just always be kissing me,” he suggests, tone soft, “Every day of the week. All the time. And—“ he laughs, “You should also stop stealing body warmth. It’s rude. Hypothermia usually occurs when body temperature dips to around 95F, oh oh but there are so many factors to consider—“

“Is this you trying to imply you’re cold?” you ask.

“Perhaps. Or maybe i’m implying you should be working harder to warm me up.”

You’ve grown soft, he thinks. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this level of affection. But its okay, you justify, mostly because it’s him. Spencer, and his pretty smile, and strange habits (sitting cross legged on tables, drinking coffee with excessive sugar, endless facts and a plethora of soft yearning glances at you when you’re interrogating— as if you’re not tearing an unsub to pieces). It’s terrifying, constant eggshells, because you can’t hurt him. Not like the others, distant fragments of your past.

You laugh in response to his comment, admiring the sight of him: flushed, with swollen lips and dilated eyes. He deserves to be like this, so thoroughly assured that despite all odds, you’re invested. All cards on the table. “You have a lot of requests, boy genius.”

He smiles boyishly. You’re hard lines, sure, a blade that can draw blood, but somehow, somehow, he’s always left unscathed. “Alright,” he answers, “You want requests? Here’s one, stay the night. Come over, stay over, i’ll cook breakfast and try not to burn it— and, and you can have the good side of the bed.”

“Spence,” you mutter, because of course there’s an underlying intention to ‘staying over’ and you're trying to be good here. To not let this fall into your past mistakes of sex and inevitable self-inflicted disgust. A cyclical cycle that clings to your skin. Everything is so new to him, the intimacy, the affection, and it’s nice being able to witness it— to see his reactions to innocuous touches, always disbelieving that he’s capable of this.

Fresh-eyes, so untainted to the sharpness of modern ‘love’.

You cup his face, god, under the dim shadows of the streetlight he’s beautiful. It’s a little alarming to be honest. More so disheartening really, because despite how much you remind him, he never believes you— obstinately refusing your compliments, as if you’d ever mock him. No, he’s different. He’s tender and disarming, and sometimes it feels unholy to touch him with calloused hands.

But, to Spencer, there is nothing unholy to this; the second you touch him, the entire universe crashes down into a singular moment.

“Just stay the night,” he reaffirms. It’s taken him over a month to get to this point, to be able to voice his wants, to comprehend his wants. Now, his thumb traces its way down the side of your face, tangible, real. “And tomorrow morning, there’ll be coffee and pancakes and—“ he laughs, “And there won’t be any regrets. I promise.”

You’re looking at him, wide-eyed and slightly disbelieving (because he’s somehow stumbled through the minefield of you without any consequences). He leans forward, his forehead resting against yours. “Don’t make me beg. I will beg.”

──────────────────

To confirm, he makes you incautious, irrational, willing to blatantly disregard any sort of control. Of course you end up at his apartment; the moment he mentioned begging, you were already half-way down the street.

Spencer’s place is… well, it’s everything you’d expect of him. Scattered novels adorning the floor, a mess of untidy thoughts, neglected papers on science, endless open textbooks left half-abandoned for other pursuits. It’s so him, clean but discombobulated.

He wants to apologize, make excuses for the lack of order, he probably should. He doesn’t do that though. He only crosses the room, stopping when he’s standing right in front of you, just gazing down. He has no idea what’s to come— for once, there are no patterns, no statistics he can reference.

So, he reaches for you, fingers tugging at the edges of your jacket. “Arms. Up,” he instructs and god, it’s a stupid order, but you follow it without any protest. He folds it over the couch, abandoned. Putting it back on alludes to leaving, and he’s hopeless enough to never want you to leave.

His hands then gravitate back to you and he starts to tug aimlessly at the material of your shirt. It’s been raining, and the fabric is soaked. “Hm,” he hums, “Off. Take it off.”

You laugh at that. Straight to the point. You don’t follow his orders, because one was certainly enough, and you’ve never been the type to obey blindly. Instead, you grip his waist, drive him back towards the nearest surface. An end table, some books go clattering, light damage, they’ll survive. His response is a gasp, a hitch of the breath.

“I was promised the good side of the bed, breakfast, pancakes. But sex? Hm, did you invite me over just to get in my pants? I’m wounded, Reid.” you mutter, pressing a series of soft kisses along the curvature of his jaw.

“No! No,” he retorts, breathless, “I was going to get you some comfortable clothes to change into. Damp clothes breed bacteria. You made this dirty,” Adding, “And not in the way I was concerned about.” under his breath.

You roll your eyes, “Oh, here we go—“ sure, you have the experience he lacks, but you’ve been on your best behavior. Dirty? That’s an insult to the exhausting self-restraint you’ve upheld recently.

“Yes— i’m the dirty one here, clearly.” you scoff, “Just casually corrupting you,” You tug him away from the end-table because you don’t want him bruised in any way, shape or form (it’s actually distressing; when you’re working, you seem hellbent on making sure no one even thinks about laying a hand on him. Unsubs be damned.)

Ego-centric, completely independent, individualistic until he came along.

You push him back against the couch, watching as he stumbles, as he falls. For a minute he just lies there, looking up at you with hazy eyes— pupils dilated and lips parted on a half-pained gasp.

And it’s a sight to see, the brilliant prodigy, the young genius, his normally-composed features now twisted into something stricken. His hands tighten around the material of the couch and he lets out a sound that’s a cross between a whine and a groan.

“Oh—“ that’s just a clear-cut moan, “You can definitely definitely keep corrupting me, in fact I endorse it. Completely.”

“3 PHDS, 2 B.A’s and you’re currently asking me to corrupt you? I don’t know, Doctor Reid, that’s certainly very forward,” you say, moving to sit on his lap, aware that you really should entertain this spot more often, even if you’re at severe risk of deflating.

Deflating. God. When did it come to this?

He laughs, “You’re the only person in this entire world that makes me act without a single coherent thought,” IQ abolished. “So yeah,” he murmurs, fingers tracing mindless patterns across the exposed strip of skin above your waistline. “Defini-definitively corrupt me.”

It’s taken so much to get to this point. So much to unpack, to understand, from Spencer’s perspective. There’s a lifetime of bullying that he has to dismantle, and sometimes he still anticipates the punchline when you kiss him— the biting laughs, not entirely dissimilar to school, when someone would belittle him, fake being his friend just for entertainment value.

So, when you stumble into the bedroom, when you remove his shirt, he knows this is improvement. He’s fighting this internal battle, unsure on how he should act: coy or defiant. Both, really. He wants to cover himself up, to pretend like you don’t disarm him, to fight and fight until you make him bleed. Anything, he’ll take anything from you.

“You are so so pretty,” you mutter when he’s sprawled out across the bed. You’ve never been someone to resort to praise; sex had always been cold and clinical, something to relieve stress, to undermine the burden of work, and the endless weight of sanguinary. But now? If he is the eye of the storm, then you’ll happily commit to the chaos of this.

“Careful, you’ll make me inherit a disorder here.” he mutters. Narcism— he’s the least likely to ever develop such symptoms. “Or cry. I could cry, it’s a potential. Maybe break-down?”

“Or,” he adds, his hands tracing up towards your shoulder blades. “All of the above. The trifecta of issues. It’s very likely.”

He rolls over on top, you’re down to just your lingerie now, pretty lace contrasting against your skin. Removing your clothes had been a whole ordeal, he’s fairly certain he almost died; you’re the epitome of beautiful, and he’s not sure how he ended up with everything when he was so resolute, silently accepting, he would always obtain nothing.

“I want to kiss you, but I don’t know, I feel like my body has lost the ability to function at the moment.” he breathes out.

“You should definitely kiss me,” you confirm, posing it as a choice, one that he has any say over— when in reality, youre already tugging him closer. Lips meeting lips. It’s not sane how the world fades into a nebulous haze the moment your mouths connect; time remains constant, logistically, nothing has changed. But it’s just so much that for a moment you doubt the concept of existence, doubt everything but him.

Genius falling for genius. Only you could laugh when he traces molecules into your skin. Spelling out words with elements: Livermorium, Uranium. LV U, it might not be an exact replica of the three worded phrase, but it certainly gets the point across.

“Spence—“ you bite into his lip, tugging the soft tissue between your teeth.

He groans, whimpers, pulls you closer, eliminating every infinitesimal distance between, slotting his hips against yours. He draws away from your mouth, lips leaving a trail of kisses down your neck as he reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours and pinning it against the bed. His free one is now wandering, slipping beneath your panties to touch.

“Do you know how much I studied about human anatomy after you first kissed me?”

“Weeks.” he answers when you respond with a muffled groan. Your hands are on his back now, tracing the journey of his spine. He’s in over his head, but there’s so much want, so much he wants to do but never thought he would be capable of. And oh, when he begins to draw circles against your clit, slow experimental halos, those soft touches of yours evolve into grasping, gripping. By the time he’s got a finger slotted inside, he’s fairly certain he’s being scratched. Nail indents and faint white lines, souvenirs.

“I know about every erogenous zone the human body possesses, every single one.” He says, because whilst he might lack in physical experience, he has enough intellect to memorize placement, biology. Plus, he’s a fast learner. His finger bends, and both of you moan.

“Spence— fuck, feels good.” you gasp, tangled hands clutching tighter, tighter again until your knuckles are white and you’re trembling.

The human body is something of a fascination to him; the way it reacts, how each nerve and ligament can respond to even the most tentative of touches. But you aren’t every human, you are you, and he has an insatiable desire to discover and catalog every single response your body gives.

He adds another finger, slowly, eyes fixed on your face, gauging the reaction. When he curls both digits, a sharp exhale is your response. “I’m convinced I’ve discovered new anatomy facts in the last few months, just because of you.”

Maybe it’s not fair that he’s so good. First times are supposed to be fumbling and awkward, a mess of hormones and inexperience. To say you haven’t been touched like this before is a severe understatement. The meaningless sex, the onslaught of bodies doesn’t measure up to him, the way he’s so focused on how you respond, on what your body enjoys— it would be endearing (and it is!), but you're currently too preoccupied to voice such a notion.

“Doing so good, holy shit—“ you mutter, blissed out beyond comprehension. You're making art on his back, only vaguely aware of the pain. Though when you realize you’ve scarred his skin, you're drawing away, moving to tangle your hand in his hair instead. But Spencer doesn’t even care, doesn’t even register the inflictions; he likes the physical marks you leave behind, a tangible remnant of all you do to him.

And sure, he’d laugh, usually, at your responses. But it’s hard to laugh, when his own ability to form any coherent sound has been completely destroyed. He’s a mess, his breathing shaky, and his brain is a constant buzz of fragmented musings consisting of you, you, you.

He draws his fingers out, earning a discernible groan, maybe a fuck you (which he does intend to do). But right now, he’s already slotting his face between your thighs, removing those soaked, ruined, panties of yours. He doesn’t have a single thing to compare it to. But he already knows this is his favorite place to be, and he’s fairly certain he’ll be spending most nights between your thighs, learning and memorizing every reaction and noise, each movement, and the ways to repeat them.

He runs his tongue along your clit, savoring just how wet you are, a mess that he can bury his face into. You’re looking down at him with something akin to shock now, and he can only laugh, blow air against your clit, then drag his tongue back over the sensitive bud, drawing it into his mouth to suck.

His movements are tentative at first, unpractised, but soon gaining confidence. He doesnt need to do this, you're aware— you could take him now. And yet, hes here, between your thighs for no reason other than want. Your reaction is visceral, because it’s always been about efficiency in the past, quick touches to get you there before the other person can derive their own pleasure from the act.

He’s not like that. God, hes not like that at all.

“Oh,” is all you can say, gripping his hair down to the root, instructing each movement until he gains incentive, finding repeat patterns that your body reacts to. Then, you can only arch and moan, noises filtered out into the air. He’s back to opening you up now, two deft fingers pressed inside, working diligently to tear you apart.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say to me? Oh?” he retorts.

“Shut up,” you huff, “Put that mouth of yours to work.”

“Mhm— I plan to. God, you’re so perfect.” he mutters, voice distorted, muffled. “That’s it—“ he fights the urge to explain exactly what’s occurring in your body every time his fingers abuse that spot. Instead, he keeps his mouth busy.

He’s certain he’s memorized most areas of your body from years of pining, and that’s what brings him an unrepentant sense of satisfaction. Because he was memorizing your body, you, long before he even got the chance to touch or taste you.

“Wanna stay here,” he says, and he’s being petulant now, because there’s something so good about being reduced to movements. To follow the pattern, to take care of your body, mindless to anything else but you. Pussy-drunk, to put it less eloquently.

“Shit,” you buck up against his mouth, watching as he buries his face entirely into you, as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, nose bumping bumping your clit, consuming his senses entirely.

“Use my face, yeah. ‘M all yours anyway.”

“Fuck, fuck fuck— Spence. Gonna cum—“

When you fall apart, inevitable, he doesn’t stop— not until you’re boneless and spent beneath him. Back arching, stars burning through closed eyes. Pretty constellations that have you blissed out beyond belief. The pleasure is white-hot, feverish in intensity.

And then he’s moving, shifting his body back over you. He’s all soft touches and languid kisses against your mouth, not bothering to break contact as he settles himself fully over you, the weight of his hips pressing into yours. He’s hard, dick pushing up against his boxers, his sexual libido had always been low until you came into his life. Now, his wants seem to fight for release constantly.

“My turn, I believe.” he grins, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Not that you have to, of course. It’s not an obligation, uh— more so a beg?”

“Of course it’s an obligation,” he goes to protest, to say you don’t owe him anything, so you sigh. “A thankyou, maybe?”

Fumbling hands, still shaky from pleasure, undo buttons. Unclasping his belt, removing loose fabric until he's bare before you. There’s something nervous to his gaze, something unspoken, lingering in the air. “Hey, hey. I’ve got you, yeah? You’re okay,” you promise, before your eyes shamelessly look down. He’s straining, pre-cum lingering at his tip, dick pressed up against his stomach now. “Fuck, okay— yeah. Good. Great even.” first time you've ever stumbled over a sentence in your life.

There’s so much to be concerned about. The fact he’s naked, that you could destroy everything with a few serrated words, years and years of rebuilding, reconstructing. But you don’t— and he can’t help but laugh nervously. “Glad to be up to your standards. I’d uh, hate to disappoint.”

“Always the over-achiever,” you respond, shifting away from him— there’s amusement to your expression when he groans, pitifully, when he rolls onto his back, draping an arm over his face.

Predictable. Condoms in his bedside table. At least he's prepared. You open the wrapper with your teeth, discarding it somewhere amongst the tangle of limbs and sheets, too hellbent on finding him again.

Oh, in this position, you have full, unrestricted view of his body. Endless planes of skin, begging to be marked, sentenced indefinitely to your touch. By the time you straddle his hips, hes a flushed mess beneath you. “I— um, you look really really pretty right now.” he stumbles, idiot.

His dilated eyes take you in. Every contour and curve, the way your hair hangs over your face, eyes up eyes up eyes up. He fails when you run your hand across his dick, thumb brushing against the tip. By the time you’ve slipped the condom over him, hes gone. Bucking and moaning, and so so much better than his hand could ever be.

He wants to be inside of you, but it’s hard to think right now, let alone vocalize the words. I want, he thinks, I want everything, with you.

Your name is on his tongue, muttered and repeated, a reverent prayer of sorts. He needs to gain back his control here, to return to equal footing.

“Yeah—“ he breathes out, “So much of an overachiever, considering I had you making all of those noises—“ his words falter, die out, when you sink down. When you take him. Wrapped around, tight. Warm heat that sets alight every nerve in his overstimulated body. He has half the mind to apologize for his comment because you’re about to ruin him, he knows.

“I thought you wanted me to corrupt you, hm?” you retort. The pace is slow, mostly for his own sanity. Though, the feel of him, the way he slots into you, warm skin pressed against warm skin is intoxicating, and it’s a battle to keep your composure. To not just fall apart under the weight of him.

“What’s that, pretty boy? Struggling? Because you were so egotistical a few seconds ago? Where’s all that ego gone? Straight between your legs, I think.”

A whimper. It’s a whimper, a pained thing ripped straight from his throat. He’s making indiscernible noises now, messy sounds pooling from his swollen lips. The praise, the strained undertones of degradation? It’s too much. But god does he love you for it, because that’s you through and through. Sharp, and brittle to everyone but him, he wants to look, he does, albeit he has to turn his head to the side, bury half of his face in a pillow because he’s gone. At this point, he can only take it.

“I— um, mhm. Yeah,” he slurs. He’s almost incoherent at this point; he’s been reduced to nothing, just a mass of skin, bone, and flesh at your disposal, to own and use and he can’t find it in himself to feel humiliated about it, not when it’s you.

“Can’t— um, I was wrong, you’re— oh god,” the sounds of your body hitting his, back arching as your pace picks up. “Oh, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry —baby, can’t, can’t take it. That’s…”

It’s a lot for his first time, that’s for certain.

“Yes, you you can. I know you can, Spence.” you mutter, interlocking your fingers, letting them hang near your hips. “You feel so good— so so fucking good. Look at you, so brain dead for me. Taking it all so well, love.”

Love?— oh he wants to be buried with that one. He’s a mindless disaster, impenetrably devoted to you alone.

He doesn’t even know how he’s saying words at this point, it’s as if his brain-to-mouth connection has been severed by your very presence itself. It’s not possible to form a coherent thought when you’re riding him like this, taking him so deep that he’s seeing stars. There’s tears pooling in his eyes, he looks pretty when he cries. Especially when it’s derived from pleasure, when he can let go of the burdens, everything he’s endured, when it’s just sensation. Nothing more, no more thoughts.

There’s safety here, an element of home, home home bliss, that has him keening. He wants to stay buried here forever, where nothing can ever hurt him again. When it’s just you, and your pretty words, and your exploitative power to destroy him. You never do, anyway. Even when you could, you restrain.

“Can’t, ’m gonna…, Please, please, don’t stop.” he whines, “Pleasepleaseplease— oh, can’t— I can’t.”

He grips you tight, rolls you over, mostly so he can feel you closer. The sight of you riding him was excruciating, but this is worse because now there’s no gap separating you. Now, he can bury his face into the crook of your neck, burn himself in the warmth of your touch.

“Spence..” you mutter.

“I know. I know—“ hes ruined, sloppy thrusts, whimpers catching against the stifling air. “Feels s’good.”

He doesn’t know what to do, how to breathe, so he just runs his thumb over your clit, watching your prominent reaction, watching as you gasp, moan— oh, and then you’re clenching around him, tightening the pleasure, and yesyesyes.

You’re too gone, moving still, and he can only cant his hips forwards, buck and squirm until he’s sobbing under the weight of your ministrations, releasing so hard that he can barely remember his name, no cognitive function, in the haze of his orgasm.

“There’s my boy— so pretty for me.” he can vaguely hear you saying, and if you’re talking him through it, he can only hear snippets of praise now anyway.

“Mhm— mhm. Yours, yeah.” he mumbles, body sinking against the sheets, a few little whimpers escaping his lips as you milk the rest of his pleasure from him.

Tangled limbs and sweat-stained skin. “You okay?” you ask in the aftermath.

“So okay,” he agrees, shifting closer, back pressed against your torso— sue him for being little spoon.

──────────────────

The next morning, you wake to an absence of Spencer. It’s unsettling, to say the least. So, you're quick to fumble over the buttons of one of his shirts, fabric creased, matching the tousled nature of your hair, disheveled, remnants of the ruination of last night.

For a moment, you consider that he might’ve left — but there he is, in the kitchen, attempting to make breakfast.

“Hey,” you mutter, leaning against the counter to watch.

Scratches adorn his back, indent marks from your nails, crescent reminders, stain his waist, and he’s content to wear them. If anything, he can’t wait to add to the budding collection.

Pancakes. The good side of the bed. Coffee. All of his promises from last night are being thoroughly met, even if he’s burning the food, and shit, he didn’t realize the coffee would be finished so soon. For all his calculations, he’s fairly off-center today.

And then, you come padding across his kitchen, embellished in only his shirt, unbuttoned near the top to expose your collarbone, and he’s fairly certain the last remainders of his IQ disappear.

“Hi! Hi,” he says, wide-eyed, “Um, making.. breakfast. You look, wow yeah.”

Breakfast lays forgotten.

[venmondiese]

The needs of a prince are the work of a whore.

slight spoiler for season 2 episode 3 of house of the dragon

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ A03

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader ✧Rating: +18 mdni explicit ✧word count: 3.3k

-ˋˏsummary: after aegon's mockery at the brothel, he pushes Aemond into having another whore. Anything royalty asks for, it is the brothel's duty to provide. ✧Warnings: MDNI 18+, p in v sex, most of aemond's kinks lol, oral sex (m receiving), tiddy suckin, reader works in the brothel, tw: aegon in ep3, behaviour that reflects trauma. ✧ note: i had to write about this scene lol. i looooved to hint at aemond's response to trauma and how his mind works bc #psychology

“Brother!” The slurred voice came from behind him, and Aemond could practically smell his pestilence. He ignored his eldest brother, walking between the debauchery in the brothel. He never stayed longer to presence how whores were getting fucked and groped, as he didn’t enjoy staying longer than needed. 

The cold stone on his feet feel like a hold onto reality, as he tries not to stumble across drunkwards and their whores, as to where Aegon behind simply collides and curses them out, following Aemond.

“Your King commands you to stop walking” Aegon says loudly, a voice that he hears, but the rest of the brothel seems not to care. Aemond sighs, he breathes in, tired of Aegon. He doesn’t have any weapon, but he will strangle him to death in this very brothel, not caring if they are going to kill him the moment he touches Aegon. 

Aegon might humiliate him, but he is the most powerful attack and defence they have. Without Aemond, without Vhagar, they are nothing. They can stand a chance because of him. Because of Vhagar. Because he was brave enough to claim her, to the cost of his eye. 

He turns around, his face expressionless as he looks at his brother, naked as the day he was born. 

“Don’t be such a twat” Aegon says, his voice still dripping that mockness and cruelty Aemond was so used to.

It’s like Aegon tries to walk without staggering, but a young couple collides with him, almost making him fall.

“You imb-” The other drunkard insults him as he falls, and Aegon turns to see him. “My King-” the man stutters, as he tries to do the most pathetic curtsy Aemond has ever seen. And he has been used to seeing people bow to him all his life. “I didn’t mean to, forgive me” 

Aemond looks away, sighing as the man clings to Aegon’s feet, begging for forgiveness for cursing the King, and Aegon rolls his eyes, almost shaking his foot to get rid of him. Aemond rolls his eye as he starts walking away.

“Stop.” Aegon says as he sees Aemond walking away. “Brother, you will– It’s my duty, as king and elder, to finally initiate you, to make sure you are–” He rambles and Aemond sighs. If it's very hard taking his brother seriously before, now it is impossible with a man clinging to his feet and kissing his boots for forgiveness. “With… her”

Aemond turns his gaze to the young lass, standing dutifully behind the man clinging at Aegon’s feet, her hands clasped together as she looks at the ground, pretending not to exist. Doesn’t seem interested in getting in the mess that the royals have been in.

“Yeah, you” Aegon says, smirking as if he got a brilliant idea. “Quite new, aren’t ya?”

You hesitate, looking at Aemond and then Aegon, nodding. “Yes, my King” 

“Look” he says in a mocking tone, still slurred, as he steps closer to Aemond, finally having his feet free from the man. He places a hand on his shoulder, and gives him encouraging slaps. “A pretty young maiden for you.”

You look at the prince. If you were as young and a maiden as he presented you, you probably would not be here, he knows. 

“If it pleases my prince…” it’s your soft voice. 

Aemond clenches his jaw. You were pretty. The type of pretty that highborn ladies should be, and the eyes of a seductress. Not the type Aegon fancied, the ones who were lewd, and probably would crawl to Aegon and start grinding to get off. You see the type of woman that he fancies.

He is not used to it. Fuck a stranger. It’s… odd. He knew the madame, and she knew him. The comfort she gave him was different from fucking a whore amongst the rest. 

“Your King commands you to” Aegon says smugly, turning to see Aemond. “Time to get it wet”

Aemond has to breathe, considering murder. He closes his one eye, teeth gritting as he is so done with his brother. And to think that he has the power to tease him with no repercussions. 

“Find a room for his royal highness to use you” Aegon says to her, passing her a sack of golden coins, not having the decency of counting the money he was spending. You just grab it in your hand, as Aegon tries to push Aemond towards you, which he doesn’t grant him the right to. “Go on. Have fun, after all, one whore is as good as another”

As Aegon walks away, Aemond inhales sharply and looks at you. He already paid you, and he knows that with that amount, you’ll probably cling to his back and follow him until he dismisses your service.

You are shy to grab his hand, and guide him to one of the free rooms. The hour is late, so it’s busy. You have expected to get fucked in a corner, not in one of the fancy rooms with the prince. 

It’s relatively easy to get a room when Aemond is behind you, naked and with an unpleasant expression. Even if his face isn’t as familiar as the King’s, the sapphire is enough to recognise the Kinslayer. 

You accommodate the bed a bit, and you sit in the middle of it, looking at him with big eyes. He noticed you were good with your eyes, inspecting things about him, as if you were one of the ladies that sat in the dirty streets and offered to read palms. You just did it quietly, as you sat in the bed.

“What things do you fancy, my prince?” You ask softly. “I know many things”

He scoffs at the question, sitting on the edge of the bed. He knows you mean diverse acts of debauchery, from a lap dance to using your mouth for his pleasure. What would you know of things he liked?

“Shall I fetch you some wine?” You add softly.

“Fine” 

You move rather quietly, taking some wine and a cup for him. He is as good as inspecting as you; he watches your nervousness that you hide behind a calm facade. As you extend the cup to him, he makes his mind, standing up as he sips the wine, scanning at you, his only eye is as intense as it is intimidating. Yet you look back at him, sitting on your heels, in the middle of the bed. 

“Undress” 

As you unlace your dress, his eye lingers over you, watching your soft body be unveiled before his gaze, making him inhale again. You noticed that he did that quite often, as if to reorientate his thoughts. 

What he thinks is a mystery, because he is not expressive. He seems calculating, and you are not sure of what he actually wants. But you see his eye, lingering a moment on your body; your breasts. 

You might not know his thoughts, but you know the look of lust in a man’s eye. 

You crawl closer to the edge of the round mattress, looking at him as he has stayed standing there, inspecting you. It is clear that he doesn’t trust you, not as much as he did with madame Sylvi.

Perhaps it was the mockery of his brother, the cruelty that you witnessed, but you know that Aemond sees something in you that arouses him, and for you, that’s enough to keep going. It’s not like you don’t want him, he was not only a prince, but he was completely divine. His physique, and the way he was pure muscle, delighted you in the best ways possible. It was the body of a Targaryen prince, often said to be closer to god than men. 

“Allow me, my prince” you say, looking up to him. 

He looks down at you, and as he considers his options, you take the chance to look at his hardening manhood, sighing a bit, longing to feel the prince’s cock on your mouth. 

“Go on” he murmurs, his voice raspy as he looks down at you. 

You wish you knew better what he likes, but you’ll improvise a bit. You press a soft kiss on the lower part of his abdomen, slowly moving the kisses lower and lower, feeling his hard abdomen under your lips and moving to his crotch. You look up to him a last time, which he has not taken his eye out of your face. 

You take his hardening and growing cock on your hand, moving it slightly to the side to keep on pressing kisses on it. You feel the desire growing on your belly, and you accommodate your legs to lean forward a bit more, still moving your kisses down, fondling his balls in your hand as you keep on kissing him. More sloppy, wet kisses, kissing him almost tenderly, almost at the edge of pure lust. A primal need to keep on worshipping his cock this way. 

Lazy eyes turn up to see him once again, as he has his mouth open, panting as one of his hands moves to your hair, moving it out of your face as he licks his lower lip, before moving your face, just to slip his cock in your mouth softly. 

The mere fact that you are pleasing a prince, makes you shiver with pleasure. And not any prince, but Aemond. It was more like a privilege, in which you had no interest in wasting it. 

His cock invades your mouth, as he slowly moves your head for your throat to engulf him, but you are greedy; bobbing your head, looking up at him as he throws his head back, his silver hair spills over his shoulders as he savours the feeling. 

The way his hips rock rocks and push his cock past her lips, made her eyes roll back ever so slightly, as her tongue moved along the length. He pushes your face further into his groin, as he fucks her mouth with slow and deliberate strokes, his balls hitting her chin repeatedly, as he chases the arousing sensation of having his cock deep in your throat. 

“Brother!”

You don’t take your mouth off because you are not asked to. The King is rather drunk, and you see that prince Aemond is not in the mood for his antics.

“See?” Aegon asks in a mocking tone, as he steps in the room. “A good whore would get you-”

“We are busy here” Aemond says between gritted teeth. The humiliation tinted his cheeks pink, as his hand holding your hair hesitates on its grip. 

Aegon looks at you, and you gaze at him for a moment. An error, you realise as he speaks to you now.

“Do you enjoy him, girl? Or is he still a crybaby?”

You don’t miss the way Aemond’s fist clenches around your hair, and pulls you out from his cock. You look at him, as if asking for advice on what to answer. 

“Answer the King” Aemond murmurs, gritting teeth as he looks away.

“He’s the best I’ve ever had, my King”

“His royal highness has finally accomplished something on his own, I could probably enjoy you after he-”

“Though you might enjoy a-” Your voice interrupts him, and both men turn their gazes to you. “You might enjoy a new Lyseni girl here, your grace. Pure blood Valyrian”

Perhaps it’s the drunkenness of His Grace’s senses, but he doesn’t decide to have your tongue for interrupting him. Instead he claps, amused and happy. “Oh, finally some good advice around here” He says, patting Aemond’s back. “Good cunts around here”

Once he leaves, you turn to see Aemond. His jaw clenched, and biting his lower lip. You are a bit shy to keep kissing his body, as his hand leaves your hair. He seems to immerse himself in his thoughts.

You accommodate, looking up to him as you leave a shy kiss on his breastbone. 

“Do you wanna carry on, my prince?”

He blinks, slowly. You can see how the sapphire is brighter with the candle lights, and you hesitate if he wants to keep going. 

“Get on fours” he murmurs, not in the mood for more. You notice, a bit taken aback. But who are you to disobey? You are a whore, paid to do whatever your master wants. 

The position is rather familiar to you, as your knees touch the mattress and you slide your body forward to lean on your elbows, and you feel the weight of his body as he moves in the mattress, behind you.

You breathe in for a moment. King Aegon had partially killed the mood, but it didn’ stop your arousal for Aemond Targaryen. He was divine, and so was pleasuring him. You would follow him around, like a dog, always available when he needs you to pleasure him. And however he wants, you’d agree.

You feel his hands on your thighs, and his thumbs moving your folds as if trying to know your body by his hands. 

Sighing softly, your back is arching, relaxing more and more as you feel his heavy gaze on your body. You gasp a bit when you feel the tip of his cock passing through your wet folds, as if gaining the arousal back from it. You hear his groan, delighted as he pushes his hips quietly, passing his cock through your wetness like this. 

He doesn’t waste much time slipping his cock in, and your choked cries as he forces his way in, makes him know that perhaps you were not as experienced as other whores. He looks at you for a moment, cunt fluttering around his cock. 

“Oh gods…” you moan as you feel his hands on your hips, as his cock starts thrusting in and out of you.

Whimpers and moans fall from your mouth, as he fucks you. The genuine sound of your pleasure delights him further, fueling his desire for you as he fucks you deeply. The wetter you get, the rougher he gets. 

“Fucking- whore” he says through gritted teeth, and you feel your head blushing red with humiliation and arousal as he crudely say those words. 

“Y-Yes, my prince, u-use me…” your soft voice came as weak, breathlessly as your body bounces with each hard thrust he gives on you. 

It’s a delight to feel him like this, as you feel him slapping you ass. You bite your lower lip to stifle a moan, and grip on the bedsheets a bit more.

“Greedy whore” he murmurs, looking at you “You are drooling like a maiden would” 

Her body burns with shame at being called a greedy whore, but it only serves to make her want him even more.

Prince Aemond turns you on your back, as if something… feral woken up inside him. Animalistic and primal. You couldn’t know what, but it happened and the gods knew you were enjoying it. 

“Please… don’t stop” were weird words to come out of your mouth. To truthfully beg someone to keep going.

Aemond’s big hands came to slap your tits, and it stings, but more than hurting is making you feel only desire, heat and need. 

Seeing your body bounce as he fucked you, his cock slamming deeper eachtime, did something to him. You could see it, as he had his gaze firm on your breasts, from time to time taking a break to look at your face or your cunt, taking in his cock.

Another slaps on your tits, his hair falls down from his shoulders as his hips keep pounding into you. You see his chest, pure muscle as his abdomen tightens. And as you watched him, he watched you, before leaning in and moving his head to take one of your breasts on his mouth. 

Perhaps it is mere instinct as one of your hands comes to hold his head against your breast, a bad idea when it comes to a prince, but it only serves to fuel his arousal, and his cock is leaking more and more, as his greedy mouth keeps on sucking. 

Slight tears prick her eyes as his cock hits that delightful spot inside her, which many men often miss. But his cock hits it repeatedly, time after time, just to make your cunt clench around his more and more.

“I am going to cum, my prince” your voice comes as whiny, fine tears of arousal streaming on her cheeks, as you look at him, moaning around your breasts, before separating. 

He feels every detail of your orgasm, as the lewd sounds coming out from your mouth,vhow your body slightly trembles and your cunt clenching his cock, trying to pull him into an orgasm as well. He doesn’t miss the way you roll your eyes and bite your lower lip, and how your hips moved around his cock. 

Doesn’t take him much to cum either, as he feels his balls tighten up, as she pushes her hips slowly to meet his last lazy thrusts. He cums inside her, feeling her pussy milking him greedily. 

“Fuck” he groans, breathlessly, as one of his hand is next to your body as he leans, fucking the remains of his orgasm into you.

As the work is done, he pulls out and you take some minutes to gain your breath, looking up at the ceiling and trying to regain your thoughts after being blank from the pleasure.

But he doesn’t leave.

You move your head up, a bit curiously as you don’t feel the mattress lighten up due to the missing of his weight. He is still here, leaning back on the pillows as he pants a bit.

So he isn’t the type that disappears after fucking. 

You reincorporate, sitting up on the bed, in front of him as he has one eye closed. You suppose his missing eye, and the damage on it prevents him from closing his eye around the sapphire, and you find it a delightful detail of him. 

“You can stay as long as you want” you murmur. Perhaps he doesn’t want to go back to the castle, to the cruelty of the king. You are not one to know, but you saw how crude the King was. 

“Hm” his hum is the only sound he emits. 

“And… you can still request more things, if you desire so” you add, sitting by his side. “Anything, my prince” 

He knows of your lower status, because it is obvious. Calling him ‘my prince’ or Aegon ‘my King’ as the lowborns do. He looks at you, curiously.

“Very well then” he murmurs, laying back on the pillows, with you at his side. He is afraid of asking for comfort, of seeing Aegon walk in again and mock him more. 

He is different, you sense. In a way, he isn’t like the king, groping whores at his own delight, fucking them as if nothing, just to go on to the next one. 

Prince Aemond might fake it otherwise, but he is not like that. 

“Was it good?” It’s his voice. “I don’t have time for lies, girl. So don’t waste my time”

You turn your head to look at him. He seems tense still, his hands are on his knees as he is sitting, and you say the truth.

“It was the best I’ve ever had, my prince”

If it is a clear truth or a dirty lie, he doesn’t share his appreciation. He cuddles after some time next to you, and you open your arm to him. 

The needs of a prince are the work of a whore.

[sanguineterrain]

in the buff | jason todd

Summary: The one where you learn firsthand that Jason Todd sleeps in the nude.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings/tags: best friend jason, awkwardness, nudity, reader hardcore thirsting over jaytodd, love confessions, humor (attempts at it, anyway), silliness. inspired by this post!

the divider

There's been a huge (blessed) development in the drug ring case that you and Jason are working on. You can hardly sleep now.

Normally, you'd call or text Jason, even though he's usually already in the know. It's possible that you just like having an excuse to call him, but who can confirm such a thing?

But it's late, probably too late to call, considering Jason doesn't answer his phone unless it's pinged directly to his helmet after a certain time, courtesy of his family being "a buncha jackasses" (his words, obviously).

But maybe it's not too late for a visit. After all, Jason patrols late, and has insane insomnia. He very well could be awake at this late hour. And he's never minded you dropping by before.

In truth, you haven't seen Jason in a few days and you feel restless now when you go longer than a day without seeing each other. You're not quite sure why that is.

So here you are, disabling the window alarm on Jason's apartment. Partly for a case, partly for your own benefit.

It takes a few minutes but you manage to open the window without anyone calling the police or whacking you with a broom. You slide open the window mostly soundlessly. Then you wait. The room remains dark and quiet.

You're pretty proud of yourself actually. It's not that you're green when it comes to spycraft, but you're certainly no Batman.

Still, you've managed to sneak into Jason's apartment without waking him. The Red Hood. You peek in to check if he's really asleep.

And he is, dark hair stark against the white pillow. It sticks out in messy tufts. You can't see past Jason's neck and his freckled arms, illuminated by the orange streetlight outside. You put your laptop bag on the floor.

He's sleeping on his stomach, facing away from you, but you're very endeared by how he's curled up under his sheet, hands tucked under his pillow. If you went really close to his face, you could count his eyelashes. Jason has such pretty eyelashes.

That's a perfectly normal thought to have about your best friend, right? Boys have pretty eyelashes. You're just making an observation.

You're bewildered by how cold the room is, surprised that Jason can withstand such a temperature. Maybe it's a Pit thing.

You watch him for a moment longer. Guilt pools in your gut. Are you really going to wake him when he's probably just gone to bed in the last hour? It takes Jason so long to fall asleep, you know that.

...

No, you should let him sleep. You can work on the case in the morning.

You bend down to get your laptop bag. In that time, the light flicks on.

You flinch, turn around, and find yourself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Said gun is held by an extremely naked Jason Todd.

"Oh my God!" you say at the same time Jason realizes his mistake.

"What the fuck!" he shouts, grabbing a pillow to cover himself.

But not before you get an eyeful of your best friend's, er, weaponry.

"Why are you naked?" you shout, gaze darting everywhere. Good Lord, it's seared into your retinas. You're never getting the image of Jason's dick out of your brain.

"Why are you in my apartment?" Jason snaps back.

"No, my question is way more urgent," you say.

"No the hell it's not! You broke in! I'm allowed to be naked in my apartment!"

"Okay. Alright. I came because there's been a development in our case. I thought we could work on it together but when I realized you were asleep for real, I decided to leave."

Jason rolls his eyes. "You know I'm a light sleeper. I just went to bed. I was up late.”

Realization strikes you. Could it be...?

"Oh my God. Do you have someone here?" you ask, voice sinking to a whisper.

"I have you here," Jason says irritably.

"No, like—" You make a hole with one hand and stick a finger into it. "Y'know..."

"Jesus, no!" Jason's face twists in disgust. "C'mon!"

"Okay, chill out, Jay-Jay. It'd be fine if you did. I can keep a secret," you say, shrugging. People have sex. You know that. You've never thought about Jason having sex, but you suppose it's possible. Why not? Just because you've never had sex and you always hoped that Jason would be your first doesn't mean that he would. If he's moved on in his life, then you should too.

Jason scoffs. "Yeah, okay. You think anybody would get into bed with a headcase like me?"

Hope rekindles. You're not behind. Jason's right there with you, virginity firmly intact.

He puts the safety back on the gun, squishing the pillow against himself with his elbow. You watch in fascination at his multitasking. Jason starts to turn around to put the gun behind the headboard before clearly thinking twice about mooning you.

"So... why are you naked?" you ask, respectfully keeping your eyes north of the equator.

"If you must know, I sleep in the nude. Now turn around."

You don't turn around. "In the nude?"

Jason's eye twitches. "Yes, nude. It's better for your body and it's more comfortable and I don't—"

You pull a face. "Who says in the nude? How old are you, a hundred?"

"That's what you're harping on?" Jason asks. "You broke into my apartment!"

You hold up a finger. "I didn't break in, I disarmed the alarm like you taught me."

"Yeah, which was only for emergencies. This isn't an emergency. Now turn around!"

So you turn around. You hear the pillow fall and the image returns. You recite the alphabet backwards. When that doesn't work, you think about the time you helped Jason on a mission in the sewers and couldn't get the smell out of your suit for a week.

Yeah, that'll do it. You shudder.

"Can't believe you just broke in," he mumbles. "Raised in a fuckin' barn, swear to God."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm truly, honestly sorry, Jaybee. From the bottom of my heart. Can I look now?"

"If you dare."

"Are you decent?" you ask.

"Too easy of a joke," he says. "Yeah, the jewels are covered."

You turn slowly. Jason's got red (ha) boxers on, so you turn all the way.

Huh. Well.

You've never really thought much about what Jason's got going on underneath his armor. Certainly, you've assumed that he's got a good physique and a lot of stamina, considering what he does. You've always assumed that. But Jason's Jason. Your best friend, Jason. Your best friend, Jason, who came back really tall, yeah, and with a deep voice and a super pretty face...

Well, anyway. He's Jason. That's all.

But now? Now you get to look in depth, and... whoa.

Jason's broad, stocky, heavily muscled with a soft layer of fat on top. His arms are huge, hands proportionally big. His pecs are full with pink nipples the same shade as his lips. That's a fact you're never forgetting. Your belly flutters.

Okay, what the fuck! No. This is peak creepy behavior, leering at your best friend like this, even if he does have shoulders you could sink your teeth into and thighs you'd happily get crushed between. No! Bad.

...You look some more. He's covered in scars. This is the first time you've seen his autopsy scar in person. It's white, noticeable but healed, like most of his scars. There's a dusting of dark hair from his chest to his belly button. It thickens as it dips beneath his—

Mm, nope. Not thinking about that again.

"Hello-o."

Your eyes dart back to his face.

"Are you listening to me?" he asks, forehead crinkled.

"What? Yes. Sorry. Yes." Your cheeks burn.

Something crosses Jason's face, too quick for you to read. But then his expression stones over. He glances at the dresser across from the bed.

"If you gimme a sec, I'll put a shirt on so y'won't have to look at all this," he says, gesturing roughly to his body.

You blink, lost in Jasonland. "Huh?"

"I know the scars are pretty gnarly. Lemme find a shirt."

Jason goes to the dresser and digs through the top drawer. His wide back is strung tight with tension, you can tell. You hurry to him, blocking the drawer with your arm. Jason looks at you, brows rising.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

"Um."

Words. You remember words, don't you?

"You..."

You haven't been physically close to Jason in a long time. He smells like soap and detergent and is all-encompassing. Your brain feels like slush. Don't stare at his pecs.

"I didn't—I'm not grossed out by your scars, Jason," you finally manage to say.

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Sure. You're just grossed out by everything else about me." He sighs wearily, like he's practiced this speech every night in the mirror. "Look, it's fine. I know I'm really—"

"No, it's not fine! I can't bear having you think I'm repulsed by your body, Jason. That's just not true," you say.

"Well, you were starin' pretty hard, so—"

"But it wasn't—I wasn't staring in disgust, I was—I..."

Jason crosses his arms. His pecs are pushed up as he does so. His stomach looks so soft. But you know he's strong. Way stronger than you. Strong enough to wield his strength against you, if you wanted him to. Strong enough to be gentle with you, too.

You wonder if he's still ticklish.

"You're doin' it again!" Jason says, and this time he really does look hurt. Fuck. Fuck! You're a shitty best friend.

"No!" You lock eyes with him. "No, no! I mean, yes, I was looking at you. But I wasn't looking in a bad, judgy way. I was, uh, taking in your physique. Because you have a... a very nice body. I've never seen you without clothes so I was looking at you. Sorry."

Yeah, you'll just go die in a hole after this.

Jason squints at you for a long moment. You start to shift in place. Sweat beads on your forehead. You lick your lips, hoping Jason can hear your honesty.

"Are you messin' with me?"

"Huh?" You shake your head. "No, why would I—"

"You're really telling me that you find this," Jason gestures to his body, "Good looking?"

This is worse than any physical torture. You'd prefer Batman beating you up on a roof to being here.

You rub your temple, cheeks aflame. "Oh my God. Yes, Jason, you're a good looking guy. Can we move on?"

"No, 'cause I think you're lyin', and I don't like it. You're always honest with me."

"I am being honest," you say, suddenly more annoyed than anything. Because what the fuck? "Are you kidding me? There's a whole forum dedicated to the Red Hood and how much people want you to step on them. And that's without seeing your face! I have eyes, Jason, of course I find you attractive."

And that should be the end of it. Jason's already slack-jawed like a dead fish. But no, you keep going.

"You make me nervous and I thought I had a lid on it because we knew each other as kids but it's becoming clear that I very much don't, and that probably has to do with the fact that you're the only guy I've been close to, and I never got over you. And now I'm gonna go drown myself in the Hudson. Good night."

You go to slip out the window. Maybe it'll shut on your head and knock you out. That would be a divine gift.

It doesn't, though. The universe isn't so kind. Instead, Jason catches your arm and keeps you rooted to your spot. His hand is cold. You wonder if the rest of him is warm.

"Wait, wait. Just hang on."

You groan. "Dude, I'm fucking mortified over the last five minutes. Please let me keep some of my dignity," you say without looking at him.

"Now when have I ever done that?" You can hear the smile in his voice.

And suddenly, the miserable reality of never being more than friends with Jason Todd comes crashing down. It's too late. You've always been too late.

You sag in his grip.

"We can just forget this ever happened," you say quietly. "Chalk it up to idiocy."

"Mm, yeah, we could. 'Cept I don't think you're an idiot. And I want you to hear what I have t'say first. Will ya look at me?"

Mopily, you look at him. His hand drops.

"I—"

"You've never slept naked," you say before he can get a word out. "That's new. Otherwise, I would've known, and then I would've used the door."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Can I speak?"

You cross your arms. "Yeah, okay."

"First of all, I don't think it's necessary for me to disclose that I sleep in the nude." You open your mouth to argue. "But I know it was a mistake. I'm not mad about that. Okay?"

You nod. "Okay."

"I won't lie and say I'm not surprised at your... reaction. I don't really... I've never... I'm not Dick or Bruce, y'know? I wasn't told my whole life what a handsome boy I am. And dying and returning didn't really help with that stuff either."

"I think you're handsome, Jason," you say quietly. "Honest."

He coughs and looks away, a tiny blush on his cheeks. "Yeah, uh, think you've made that pretty clear. For the record, I think you're really beautiful. Always thought so."

Your eyes widen. "Really?"

"Well, yeah. I mean... yeah."

"You're just saying that 'cause I saw your vein cane," you say, grinning.

"Don't call it that."

"How about—"

"No."

You're both quiet.

"How 'bout pork swor—"

"No!"

You smile, eyes squinty. Jason glares.

"Don't nickname my thing," he says.

You nod solemnly. "You're right. It's your thing. You should choose its name."

He shakes his head. "Sucha weirdo."

"Hey, I've never been with a guy. I don't know the rules of thing-naming."

Jason tilts his head. "Never?"

"Never."

"Why?"

You shrug. "Never found anyone I liked enough, I guess. I've pretty much had my heart set on you, Jason."

His face softens. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, uh, me too," he says. "You're it for me, honey. I just never... I mean, really, I never thought it would actually happen with you. Not then, not now."

"Huh. You really should've flashed me earlier. We could've sped things up exponentially."

"Yeah, why didn't I think of that," Jason says dryly.

"Dunno! We all know you're more than a pretty face."

His face reddens. You grin.

"Are you shy?" you ask, dancing on your toes.

"No. Shut up."

"You're shy! I make Jason Todd shy! Oh, this is wonderful. I should break into your apartment regularly."

"It's just new for me!" he says. "Lea' me alone."

You cozy up to him, confidence renewed by the mutual confession. You wrap your arms around his neck. Jason looks at you, hands slowly coming to rest on your waist. The rest of him is warm.

"Just teasing you, Jaybee," you say.

"Hmm." He slowly nudges your cheek with his nose. "Like y'always do?"

"Like I always do," you say sweetly. "But for the record, if we ever share a bed in the future, you're gonna have to keep the soldier in his tent."

Jason lets go of you, exasperated. "Oh, for—y'know what? Your visitation privileges are revoked. Get outta my apartment."

You put on the saddest face you can muster. "You're kicking me out? Into the cold?"

"It's eighty degrees."

You sigh loudly. "Okay, fine. Date tomorrow?"

"Seriously?" Jason asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Seriously! Why wouldn't I be serious?"

"You really wanna date me?"

"Never been more sure of anything in my life."

Jason's relief is palpable and bittersweet. You'll spend the rest of your days letting him know just how spectacular he and his pectorals are.

"Okay," he says, shy again. You don't tease him this time.

"Great!" You close the distance between you and peck him on the cheek. His blinks in surprise.

"I'll give you a proper kiss on our date," you say, winking. "Bye, Jasey-Daisy."

"Bye, honey. Don't break into anyone else's apartment on your way home."

"Never," you say, climbing out the window. "You're the only one for me, Toddy!"

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡Ｇｏｏｄ Ｆｏｒｍ♡

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!yunho x chubby!fem!reader x best friend!mingi

♡ Genre: smut/a lil dash of fluff

♡ Summary: When you decide to have some late night fun with your boyfriend in the kitchen, the furthest thing from your mind is that your best friend might walk in and see you but when he does you're both more than happy to have him there.

♡ Word Count: 3k-ish

♡ Warnings: Yunho gives dom vibes. Mingi's a bit shy at first. Threesome (the boys don't touch each other though). They have a real thing for your chubby body. They're overall obsessed w/ you truly. Unprotected sex. Creampie. Oral sex (f & m receiving/heavy on the f receiving). Fingering. Multiple orgasms. Nipple play. Tit sucking. Hair pulling. Nibbling. Ass slapping. Overstimulation. Cum swallowing. Cum swapping. Squirting. A lil edging. Clit slapping. I use the word "pussy" cause I'm not a "cunt" gal. Lots of bodily fluids. Pet names (baby, angel)

♡ A/N: I've been writing a lot of really thoughtful, emotional pieces lately and this...is totally not one of them. It has it's moments but really it's 3k words of filth. I'm for sure gonna do a part 2 because I feel like I can do more with this but for now enjoy your hot girl moment, babes. You deserve it.

You'll never grow tired of this sound...

Yunho slurping down your juices, his soft lips pursed around your clit. Every decadent, unpredictable stroke of his tongue makes your thighs tremble. Three long, dexterous fingers pump in and out of your core drowning you in pleasure.

Yunho had sincerely wandered into the kitchen for a midnight snack when he stumbled upon you here. Bent over in the fridge with your deliciously plush ass peeking from the bottom of your red lace panties, you instantly became the only thing his taste buds craved.

You had your hand on an ice cold bottle of water when you felt two strong hands spreading your thighs apart. “Up a little late aren’t you?” he teased, stroking your slit through the barely there material. Your breath hitched, the cool air from the refrigerator the only thing to ease the heat consuming your body. “I couldn’t sleep and I—mmm—I just wanted—ah.”

Yunho tucked your panties to the side, sinking his middle finger into you. You were already so needy and wet, so easily turned on at the slightest bit of attention from him, that he could've never stopped there. “Just wanted what, baby?” he whispered, dropping to his knees, “Tell me what you want.” It tickled when you felt his lips brush against your skin, leading a trail of kisses around the curve of your ass and down your thighs.

“Yunie, I can’t—fuck, I can’t think” you moaned, holding onto one of the shelves to keep your legs from giving out. “Aww, baby” he smiled, slapping your ass hard enough to make it jiggle, “You don’t have to.”

Yunho knows where your sweet spot is. How to rotate his wrist and curl his finger at the perfect angle to make your body surrender to him. He had you wrapped around his finger—clenching—literally. You were dripping by the time he slipped your panties down to drink from you like the sweetest fountain. He made sure you came twice before he lifted you onto the counter and spread your aching legs open to taste you more.

Backed into a corner, one foot up on each side of the counter, you’re completely at his mercy and this is exactly where you want to be. Nibbling at your bottom lip, you stare down at him with those beautifully glossy eyes of yours.

Yunho tilts his head up to meet your gaze, fluffy dark brown hair framing his face, and it’s obvious he’s as blissed out as you are. He suckles at your clit as he pulls back just enough for you to see your sensitive bud twitching in response to him. Without warning he buries his face between your legs, humming with pleasure as he completely devours you.

You throw your head back, stars illuminating your vision. “Yunie, please don’t stop” you beg, fingers tangling in his hair as he wrecks you in the best way. Just when the pressure inside of you reaches its peak, your pussy ready to turn into a waterfall, you notice a figure standing in the doorway.

Mingi? Fuck. You’ve been so swept up in the moment, blinded by lust, that you completely forgot Mingi was staying over tonight.

It’s coming up on 4 years since you met Yunho and Mingi in a cramped club your friend’s band was playing at. The crowd that night was completely out of control. A swirling pit of drunks in desperate need of therapy. Just trying to get to the bathroom was a death wish. Yunho and Mingi didn’t have to step in to protect you but they did and they have ever since.

It never occurred to you to ask why they helped you. You saw it in the way they watched you at the restaurant after, like you were some shiny new toy they had acquired. Only Mingi treated you like a collector’s item, too delicate to take off of the shelf. He thought it better to admire you, imagine what it’d be like to play with you, but could never get the courage to do it.

Yunho, on the other hand, wasted no time taking you out of the box. Everything about you was too alluring for him to deny. His hunger for you then was as intense as it is now and he needed to indulge or he’d regret it for the rest of his life. Mingi hides it well, at least he thinks he does, but he regrets it. He wishes you knew how badly he wants you to be his in every sense of the word. Could you even fathom the things he’d do to trade places with his best friend right now?

Mingi knows that he should turn around—go back to the guest room, pretend nothing ever happened—but he’s too hypnotized by you to do it. “Hi, Mmm-Mingi” you giggle, noticing the thick bulge in his sweatpants. Mingi follows your gaze down to a cock hard enough to split you in two. You smile at him like you’d love to see him try it. You would. “Yunie,” you coo, tapping him on the back of the neck, “We have company.”

Yunho doesn’t register it at first, too intoxicated by your pussy to process anything that comes out of your mouth as coherent language. Mingi’s eyes widen and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head. He’s scared out of his mind and insanely horny, a combination of things he’s never felt before and has no clue what to do with. Yunho’s motions slow as he deprives you of his tongue. His fingers slide out of you, soaked in your arousal.

“Company?” he asks, rising to his feet, lips dripping wet.

You nod, pointing to Mingi, “I think we woke him up.”

Yunho lets out a low, playful chuckle, turning only halfway to greet his best friend. “Fuck,” Mingi mumbles, frantically scanning the kitchen for something else to look at. “I wasn’t looking! I swear! I came to grab my…” Spotting the spice rack beside him, he blindly grabs the first thing he sees. “Chili pepper flakes? Yeah, they’re so good for a late night snack, you know?”

Unconvinced but amused by his attempt, Yunho turns back to face you. He lures you into a kiss, sharing with you the delightfulness of your taste. He rests the back of his hand against your core, knuckles grazing your clit just enough to keep you on edge. “Can I share?” he asks between the feverish clashing of your tongues. “Mmmhmm” you gasp, your back arching at the return of his touch. Yunho shakes his head, hands riding your curves up to where your nipples poke through your shirt.

He takes your supple breast into his hand, massaging it as he rolls your nipple between his fingertips. “Baby, that won’t do. I need to hear you say it this time. Tell me what you want.” You tilt your head to the side, taking in the tall, handsome blonde watching you. “You can share me, Yunie” you whisper, breath tickling the side of his neck, “I want it.” He pinches your nipple, locking his other arm around your waist, “Aah, good girl. That wasn’t so hard was it? Now hold onto me.”

You do as you’re told and cling to him in time to be lifted from the smooth marble counter. Yunho kisses you once more as he spins you around. A dizzying transition that ends in you draped across the kitchen table. “Are you joining or are you just gonna watch?” Yunho asks Mingi, too distracted with the cute squishy belly poking from the bottom your shirt to actually face him.

Mingi can hear his heart thumping its way out of his chest. He has to be hearing things. “Oh, I—you can’t be—are you s…” he stutters, squeezing the life out of that poor bottle of chili pepper flakes. Yunho nibbles at your exposed belly before turning to confront the confusion on Mingi’s face, “Serious? Yes. I’m serious. I know you’ve always wanted her so…come get her.”

Mingi hesitates, still unsure if it’s a trick or not. The chance that Yunho will murder him if he actually tries seems higher than this not being a fever dream. Shifting to get more comfortable on the table, you hold your hand out to Mingi, your body calling to him like a siren beckons sailors to their doom. It’s enough to make him drop everything, to abandon all these years of pretending.

Mingi carefully makes his way over to you, taking your hand in his. You’re beautiful at any angle but there’s something about this one—you staring up at him from the filthiest position with the most innocent eyes—that really gets him.

It’s the perfect angle for you too, one your boyfriend knows you’ve fantasized about. These two broad shouldered angels looming over you, bathing you in their admiration. “Kiss me” you whisper, palming Mingi’s cock through his thick sweatpants. Mingi grunts at the euphoric release of tension as his lips latch onto yours, his kiss ravenous and sloppy. His platinum hair falls into your face, immersing you in the crisp floral scent of his shampoo.

Yunho watches as Mingi snatches your shirt up, taking his time to enjoy how your tits bounce when they pop free. Pushing your legs back, Yunho drags his fingers between your lips to pull back the hood of your clit. He flicks his thumb up and down, smiling as you arch and wiggle beneath him. Mingi sneaks a glimpse down at Yunho, breaking the kiss to hear your moans. For the first time he doesn’t have to listen through the walls, you’re making all those sinful noises right before his eyes and it’s glorious to behold.

“You’re so cute” Mingi says, cupping your fluffy cheeks. “You—ah—think so?” you ask, tucking a finger into the waist of his sweatpants. You slip your hand inside, taking as much of him into your hand as you can. Mingi pulls them down for you and you audibly gasp at the gorgeous cock that springs free. You glide up and down, circling the head with your thumb. Mingi cups one of your breasts, kneading the plush flesh as drags his tongue down to your nipple. “Mmhmm” he hums, stuffing his mouth full of you, “So fucking cute.” 

You lay there breathless—trying to talk your trembling body down from your next orgasm—when you feel the throbbing head of Yunho’s cock rub up and down your entrance. “You ready for me, baby?” he asks, raising your legs up to balance your ankles on his shoulders. When he does it presses him into you a little bit further and you cry out, raising your hips for more. “Mmm—ready for you Yunie.” Yunho snaps his hips, bottoming out in one thrust that sends electricity dancing through your body.

A soft tug brings Mingi in close enough that you can turn and lick the precum leaking from the tip of his cock. “Fuck, that feels so good” he moans, rising to push deeper into your throat. Your tongue curls on the underside of his cock, the textured roof of your mouth dragging along it as he fucks your throat.

This is what they’ve wanted since the night you met. What you’ve wanted too. It’s so satisfying, like scratching an itch you never could quite reach, to let them take you together. Their hands glide across your velvet smooth skin, exploring every inch of you. They’re so careful with you, matching paces to keep you comfortable. All you have to do is lay here and let them take care of you—let them worship you.

Yunho caresses your legs, fingers digging into your hips, “I feel you clenching, baby. You close?” You know he expects an answer even if you’re currently drooling around Mingi’s cock. You give him a muffled, “Yes.” But that’s not nearly enough for either of them. Mingi grabs you by the hair, pulling out to leave your mouth painfully empty. “Your voice is too pretty not to hear” he says, stroking your lips, “You ready to come for us, baby? Gonna let me see how good you look coming on your boyfriend’s cock?”

“Yes, Mingi. I’m gonna c—oh my—ah…” you whimper only for Mingi to shove himself back inside of you before you can finish speaking. Not that you’re complaining. The men exchange a brief glance, returning their attention to you with something new in mind. They move faster and harsher, struggling as much as you do to keep it together. They could both come right now from the way you pulsate your walls around Yunho or the way your throat muscles flutter around Mingi. But there’s no question that it has to be you first. 

Your eyelids grow heavy, the pressure bursting inside of you, and suddenly gravity doesn’t exist anymore. Mingi holds your hand and Yunho rubs your belly as you squirt down his length. Yunho licks his lips at the mess you've made of his pants, the wet spot growing the more you bounce down onto him. “That’s it, baby. Use my fucking cock, angel.” He lays his hand flat on your clit and slaps it just enough for you to feel the sharpness of the contact.

It makes you clench even tighter—the tightest he’s ever felt you—and he can’t take it anymore. He spills into you, filling you so far beyond your limit that your pussy’s gushing it back out at him before he’s even empty. Mingi plays with your nipples, pinching one and then the other, switching every time you get too used to the feeling.

Your mouth falls open, your overstimulated body beginning to go limp. You keep it open, tongue hanging out to welcome the thick ropes of come Mingi empties into your mouth. It collects in the back of your throat making your moans sound like tiny gurgles. What’s left leaks from the corners of your mouth and Mingi kisses you quickly, swapping the warm, salty liquid back and forth between the two of you until it’s nothing.

You stay entangled with them for an amount of time you can’t really grasp, coming down together. The room slips into silence. The only sound you hear is the symphony of heavy, uneven breaths. You look around at each other, the reality of what you’ve just done setting in. No one regrets it, you’d all be up for it again if one of you had it in you to ask, but it’s hard to know what to say.

You love each other more than anything. What you share is so special that you’ve all done everything to keep from fucking it up. To think that this might be what does. That the next thing to come out of your mouth could destroy it all. It’s terrifying.

Yunho clears his throat, stretching your legs for you so you don’t cramp up. “Can I get you anything? A snack?” You poke your bottom lip out, contemplating your snack options, “Uh, nah. I’m okay.” Noticing your throat sounds a little dry, Mingi grabs a bottle of water from the fridge—the very one you had your hand on earlier—and brings it to you. He twists the cap off and raises it to your lips, “You need to hydrate. I’m not asking.”

“Ooh, when’d you get so bossy?” you ask, taking a sip of water, “I like it.” Mingi takes a sip for himself before passing it to Yunho who chugs down the rest. “Shower?” Yunho says, swishing some water around in his cheeks. To you and Mingi it sounds like “swishwer”. Mingi squints his eyes at him, “Swishwer?” “I think he means ‘shower’” you whisper, trying to channel enough energy to sit yourself up. Yunho nods, swallowing the last few drops. “Yes! That! Shower. I’ll go run the water and you…” He points to Mingi and then to you, “Grab her and be careful. She’s expensive.”

Yunho walks off to the bathroom, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen. You finally manage to sit up and swing around to face Mingi. He puts his arms around you, kissing the bridge of your nose, “Don’t worry about holding on but just…don’t scream.”

“Don’t scream? Wh—”

Mingi throws you over his shoulder and you do in fact scream. “What are you doing to my girlfriend?” Yunho shouts from the bathroom, flipping the shower on. Mingi carries you down the hall, your feet kicking as you giggle. “She’s fiiiine” he sighs, rolling his eyes, “It’s not like I’m gonna drop her.” Stepping into the bathroom Mingi pretends to trip for the fun of it.

“Put me down you psycho!” you whine, your life flashing before your eyes.

Mingi pouts, nuzzling his cheek up to your side, “I wasn’t really gonna drop you. So mean.” He lowers you down, letting you hold onto his arm while you gain your footing. You go to take your shirt off, it’s barely on, but the room still feels like it’s spinning.

“I got it, baby. Come here.” Yunho pulls you over to him and helps you out of your shirt. In return you help him out of his pants, tossing them off to the side. Yunho hops into the shower and you’re back at Mingi’s side, pushing his shirt up over his head. You never break eye contact once, committing every detail of each other’s naked bodies to memory.

You lead him into the shower and find yourself happily positioned between the two of them beneath the warm running water. Yunho cuddles you from the front and Mingi holds you from behind. The three of you fit together perfectly, like you were always meant to be like this.

Eventually you’ll have to say something. You’ll have to have an honest conversation about where things go from here. But for tonight you’ll stay in this moment together, letting your hearts revel in feelings your lips may never speak of again.

[luvjunie]

heyyy, idk if your request or open atm but could you write about miles (e-42) sneaking into the readers house at night, to hangout 🤗 nothing nasty LMFAOOO but like a cute lil moment

— 2:00 AM

pairing: e-42!miles x fem!reader

contains: fluff, miles being a big baby because yes

summary: miles has a hard time falling asleep when you’re not next to him. wc: 1,205

a/n: i loveee soft 42!miles omfg 😭 also i realized i changed up the plot a little after i’d already written it and came back to find the request, so i hope you still like it <3

Tossing and turning instead of getting a full night’s rest seemed to be the norm for Miles as of late.

He laid on his back with an irked sigh, hands scrubbing down his face as he lightly groaned into them. There was no need for him to check the time, he already had a pretty accurate guess seeing as he’d been checking his phone every twenty minutes when his eyes would spring back open after another failed attempt to fall asleep.

He missed you. That he couldn’t deny. He’d made the mistake of falling asleep with you one night, and he’s found himself suffering through the same old routine ever since. He’d never slept as peacefully as he did than when he was next to you, and his mind craved your presence more than it craved sleep apparently. The both of you could’ve slept on concrete and he still would‘ve sworn it was more comfortable than his own bed.

It was a stupid idea, and had he not been desperate for a solution he would’ve realized that. But there was no one to talk him out of it as he got up from his bed and fished around in his dimly lit room for his jacket and a pair of nike slides, so it looked like he’d be going through with it anyway.

He scribbled a quick note for his mom onto a post-it note, stuck it to the fridge for her to find after her shift and left their apartment without another thought, making sure to lock the door behind him.

Night walks through Brooklyn didn’t scare him, in fact they calmed him. Everything was quieter at this time, slower— and he knew these streets like the back of his hand. And even if he didn’t, he was pretty good with the switchblade he kept in his pocket at all times. Your place was only a few blocks away, and even through the slight haze casted over him from his lack of rest, he was still vigilant as ever.

He climbed the fire escape just three stories up until he got to your window, using both his hands to hoist him over the steel railing, his feet landing on the old metal as quiet as he could make them.

He hoped that you still kept it unlocked for him, that your offer stood firm when you told him he was welcome anytime. He whispered a plea before he curled his fingers under the edge, sighing in relief when the window lifted open, though the unpleasant squealing due to the age of the pane made him wince.

The last thing he wanted to do was wake you, so he only lifted it halfway, ducking down and stepping into your room and out of the cold. He glanced over to see your cheek still smushed against your pillow, your legs probably tucked into the fetal position with the way your blankets were swaddled around you.

He managed to close the window without making a sound, but on his way over to your bed he accidentally bumped into your dresser, causing a bottle of perfume to clatter into the other objects you had up there.

“Fuck—“ he hissed quietly, twin braids following the act of his head whipping in your direction when you stirred.

You weren’t the lightest sleeper, but the noise had been enough to startle you awake. Lifting your head from the pillow, you sat up quickly, eyes adjusting to make out who the hunched figure was. The two of you had said goodnight just a few hours ago, and now here he was, in your room.

”Miles?” There was a slight rasp to your voice.

“Hey, ma…” he responded, hands nervously hovering over the mess he’d unintentionally created. He fixed it to the best of his ability, but it definitely wasn’t the way you had it before.

You reached over and turned your clock towards you, the bright white numbers making you screw an eye shut.

“Miles, baby, it’s two am in the morning,” you grumbled sleepily, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands and yawning. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

Blinking the sleep from your sight, you took in his slightly slouched disposition. He looked exhausted, annoyance from his sleepless night evident in the way he sighed.

”Nah, nah,” he shifted from foot to foot, hand hesitantly raising to scratch his head. His idea seemed sensible at first. He was willing to do anything to get some shut eye, and to see you again, but now he just felt silly for waking you up for no good reason.

“Nothing happened, but I—I couldn’t sleep for shit. So I just thought—“ he rubbed his brow and gave a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know, it’s stupid. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight and I just wanna be laid up with you. I really didn’t mean to wake you up and I can leave if—“

“It’s okay! It’s okay,” you cut his rambling short and opened up your blankets, scooting over to make room for him. “Come on.” Even in your drowsy state you could tell he was getting flustered trying to explain himself.

“Oh thank God,” he said beneath a breath as he shuffled his jacket and shoes off, eagerly slipping into your bed beside you.

You shifted back onto your side like you were before and pulled the blankets over the both of you, his arm instantly slinking around your waist to pull your body into his, your back against his chest.

“I love you so much.” he sighed tiredly.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath in through his nose just as your hand came up behind you to caress the top of his head. His behavior made it seem as if he hadn’t seen you in weeks; like he was trying to refresh his mind of every aspect of you.

“I love you too… Miles, are you sure you’re alright?” you asked, not yet all the way convinced.

“Mhm. Just needed to be with you.” he hummed, his words muffled as he pulled you closer.

“What about your mom? I don’t want her to be worried.”

He grunted at that, his response slurred and barely audible. “She know where I’m at.”

His fingers slipped under the waistband of your cotton sleep-shorts, hand traveling to the round of your lower stomach and resting over it. Why guys were so obsessed with the extra weight girls held there was still an anomaly to you. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it, but he always threw a fit if you didn’t let him hold you like that so you allowed it.

“Goodnight, Miles.” You murmured into the stillness of your room.

Your eyes opened after receiving no response from him, and you were barely able to turn your head to look over your shoulder since his own was occupying the space there.

“Miles?” you questioned gently.

Your answer came in the form of faint snores and slowed breathing from the boy who was knocked out behind you, a smile inching onto your lips at how quickly he dozed off. You let your eyes flutter to a close, ready to fall asleep again, but this time in the arms of your favorite person.

[bluejutdae]

• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Minho x you

Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin

genre: friends to lovers

warnings: asshole date, nothing happens but reader thinks her date might follow her home

This night has been terrible so far. Your friend convinced you to go out with one of her colleagues to get over your crush for Minho, and you knew it was pointless, but she insisted so much you have lost the will to fight. So you wore a nice dress and a minute before you left the apartment, the guy texted you saying there was a change of plans and to meet two hours later and at a different location. Is the dating scene like this for everybody? You haven’t dated anyone for a long time, a bit because of how things ended with your last boyfriend but mostly because of the raging (unreciprocated) crush for Minho.

Minho’s now one of your closest friends, but you never actually gave up on your feelings for him. It’s almost comfortable, safe in a way, to love someone knowing things won’t change but won’t end either.

But for the sake of shutting up your friend, you are now in a very shitty situation. The guy is pretty, you’re mature enough to admit that, but he’s a major asshole. Even ignoring the last minute change of plans, the fact that he arrived 25 minutes later and apparently the new location is a nightclub. His hands have been on you the moment he introduced himself and the more you try to put some distance between you two, the more he’s all over you. You could just leave, that’s true. It’s also true that this guy is very set on never leaving your side and he’s so pushy you’re certain he wouldn’t hesitate to follow you home.

You wonder when Minho is going to be here so you can at least leave the club and have him keep you company, when you feel a hand grabbing your wrist. You turn to find the hand holding you belongs to Minho himself and he’s looking at you with a surly expression, teeth clenched and a frown between his eyebrows. “We’re going home.”

His voice is cold and firm, you’ve never heard him speak to you like that. Your date notices the scene and turns to Minho. “Woah dude, she’s mine tonight.”

Minho’s cold stare rests on the guy and at the same time your friend makes a step to place himself between you and your date. “She’ll never be yours, not tonight, not never. She belongs to me. Dude.” The last word was spat through Minho’s teeth, mocking and a bit cruel.

Words die on the guy’s tongue when Minho gets into his face and says something too quiet for you to hear.

A moment later he’s gently pushing you away and through the crowd, towards the exit.

“Well, that was intense,” you joke when you’re safe on the sidewalk.

“Don’t you ever put yourself into a situation like this. Ever again.” He’s on your face, almost screaming the words at you, anger contorting his face.

You can understand he was worried, but you don’t like the way he’s talking to you.

“Ya, Minho! Do you think I wanted that?” You raise your eyebrows. “I didn’t call you so you could scold me! I called you because I trusted you to help me, I know I was in a shitty situation!”

“And yet you still got into this situation!” He rebuts, and in this moment you hate him a little.

Why is he judging you like this? Why is he blaming you? Sure, you were a bit too naive but it’s not like you consciously decided to put yourself in a potentially dangerous situation.

“This clearly wasn’t what I expected.”

“No? You’re the one who decided to go to a club with a man you didn’t know. And you came alone! Was bringing a friend too easy?”

“Fuck you, Minho!”

You stalk away, towards the direction of the bus stop. Why is he mad at you now? He’s never been mean or cruel to you, despite what lots of people say about him, he’s a caring friend.

You can hear his footsteps getting close and you almost laugh at the thought that comes to your mind: you are always so focused on him, you can now recognize his footsteps.

“I parked in the other direction.”

“Then go the other direction. I don’t need you here. Sorry I bothered you. I won’t be your problem anymore.”

“You are my problem.”

“Oh, so I really am a problem to you.” You can believe him. All this because he had to come get you? You didn’t think it’d be such a hassle.

“Yes. You’ve been my problem since I met you.”

“You’re being so fucking cruel tonight, Minho.”

“I am not- can you stop walking?” He asks, sounding exasperated. You stop and face him, one hand on your hip and your lips pursed in disapproval. “So you can tell me more about how I’m a problem?”

“I didn’t say a problem.”

“You said exac-“

“I said MY problem! Emphasis on my. Because you’re not other people’s problem. And I don’t want you to belong to other guys, don’t want them to call you theirs! I want you to be mine.”

You stare at him for half a minute, silent and still. Putting aside the fact that he’s repeating the fact that you’re a problem, you try to read between the lines.

“Is this a fucked up way to tell me you have feeling for me?”

“Yes.”

This is ridiculous. Really ridiculous. Your crush has feelings for you. And the most backwards way of confessing. Well, considering he is Minho, it’s pretty in character for him. Still ridiculous, though.

“I didn’t know you decided to go on dates.” He says it like a second thought.

“I didn’t.”

“You were on a date.”

“Doesn’t mean I decided to go on dates.”

“Means exactly that.”

“Jesus, Minho. Can you ever drop something?”

“Not when it’s about you.”

This asshole. How can you find his otherwise annoying answers amusing?

“My friend insisted so much that she wore me down, so I accepted this date with her colleague. So, as I said, I haven’t decided to go on dates.”

“Good.”

“You can never be normal, uh? Always with a weird answer.”

“You like weird.”

“I do.”

“You’re normal. I like normal.”

He likes normal, and he likes you. And he tells you so in a Minho way at least another ten times in the following minutes, during your way home.

You say goodbye and you’re about to get out of the car, when he puts his hand on your arm, an hesitant expression on his face. “No more other guys, right?”

You smile softly at him. “No more other guys. There hasn’t really been another guy since I met you.”

His smile is all you need.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Damian is the type to casually invite you to the batfamily annual movie night.

A night that was strictly for family only but that rule was bended a couple of times when the likes of Roy Harper and Jon Kent were invited to the supposed ‘batfamily only’ movie night; So no one really batted an eye when you walked into the cinema room and made yourself comfortable in the space next to Damian as Titus joined you both.

And Damian knew that his family didn’t mind you joining them for family night.

In fact it was something that was heavily encouraged and Damian took advantage of that.

Damian couldn’t give less of a fuck about socialising with others unless it was necessary or just unavoidable.

He only comes down for family movie night as long as he didn’t have to within close proximity of everyone else. He even once reserved the space next to him for Titus but when you came into the frame, the space once reserved for the Great Dane was now reserved for you whenever you come over for the weekend; He even once dropkicked Dick and Jason on two separate occasions for almost taking your spot.

Whenever you asked anyone why this was, everyone would share a look and feign ignorance and move on, leaving you more confused then you were before.

Jason reserves a section of his book collection just for you called ‘y/n’s recommendations to read later.’

Jason’s main books were works from Jane Austen but with you introducing him to books such as ‘before the coffee gets cold’ by Toshikazu Kawaguchi and A little life by Hanya Yanagihara, Jason had steadily began to grow a small collection of books that you recommended or reminded Jason of you whenever he reads the blurb.

He loves literature and he loves to talk about it with you but loves it even more when it’s regarding a book you’re both reading at the same time. It’s honestly his favourite thing to do in his pass time as not only does it grant his wish to spend more time with you, it also grants him a moment of calm, a moment of peace and quiet.

Something that Gotham sorely lacked.

He acts personally offended when he hears that you were one and a half chapter ahead of him because hey, you’re meant to read it with him! Not read ahead of him! He’ll pout and say you’ve betrayed his trust but he could never truly be angry at you throughly enjoying a book, he finds it unbearably cute and attractive at the same time.

He loves your little book club that you’ve formed and wouldn’t change it for anything as it was something only the two of you shared.

Dick would love rooftop dates.

They’re his favourite type of dates to take you on mainly because so he could pretended to fall off when you playfully shove him for saying some stupid shit, only to come back up per his athletic background.

‘Dick you…Dick!’ You exclaim, smacking his bicep. ‘You scared me!’

‘Sorry sweetie.’ He’d apologise but the smile on his face would remain as he drew you into his arms, making sure to keep you close to his chest as he pressed kisses into your head.

‘Fucking asshole.’ You murmur against his chest, fists clenching at the back of his shirt, reassuring yourself that he was here with you.

‘Yes I am an asshole for making my baby worry about me.’ Dick would say as he rubs your back comfortingly as a way to remind you that he was really here. He did feel like a…well a dick for scaring you but he loves the opportunity where he gets to hold you, yeah he could’ve asked you like a normal person, but Dick wasn’t exactly a normal person but that didn’t stop you from loving him with everything that you had.

‘You’re making it up to me by making my favourite as compensation.’ You said and Dick could only chuckle at your demand and press his lips to your temple. ‘As you wish cutie.’

[dontopenfairies]

“So, you want a diaper again tonight?” she asks, rising from her chair and gathering their plates off the table. She’d managed to convince him to wear for the last three nights, lying with her legs wrapped around him on the couch while they watched cartoons on the TV.

“It’s not like I *want* to wear it,” he says. She can’t see him from her position at the sink but she can imagine his expression, that little frown and pouty lip he gets when he’s indignant. “I’m just doing it because you wanted me to.”

“And because it’s snuggly and warm and nice,” she says, rubbing their plates down with the soapy sponge. She leaves the forks at the bottom of the sink. He can deal with those tomorrow.

“I don’t really think that. I just said that…like…in the moment…”

“Uh-huhhh…and after we fucked later that night and you came it didn’t seem that way anymore?” She turns on the tap and rinses the dishes.

“Well, yeah, that’s what I told you that morning…”

“Uh-huh. So it was a coincidence you were so incredibly horny when I took your diaper off?”

“I mean…I mean, um, you just looked really pretty that night!”

“That sounds like a silly excuse. I’m pretty every day.” She slides the plates into the dish rack and comes back over to the table. “And you wanted one again the next night, soo…”

“I never said I wanted one!! You just put me in it! You didn’t even ask!”

“I didn’t need to ask. You didn’t protest at all. In fact, you helped me get your pants down. Do you remember that? Do you remember sliding your fingers into the waistband of your jeans and helping me pull them down?” She reaches around behind him and slips her fingers under his shirt, running them across his skin just under his belt. Her hands are cold. He shivers. “Hmm, that’s getting you excited, huh?”

He raises his hands, ready to grab hers and push them away, but then he hesitates.

“I’m going to go change, okay, baby?” She leans in close to his ear. “I’ll bring a diaper for you to the couch again. If you want it, be sitting nicely on the couch when I get back. If you don’t, you can stay in here or go play games in our room. It’s up to you.” She plants a kiss on his ear and gives his sides a final rub before removing her hands from under his shirt.

Now he sits at the table, anxious thoughts overlapping in his mind. If he goes and sits on the couch, is she going to put a diaper on him automatically again? Or is she going to make him tell her he wants it? He doesn’t want it, of course, he’s just playing along with her…It only felt good because he was really tired. It wasn’t the kind of thought he’d have wide awake. Of course not.

He listens for a moment and he can hear her opening the drawer to the dresser. He’s starting to have to pee a little bit. Does he have time to make it to the bathroom before she’s done?

He hears the dresser drawer close and he knows he has very limited time. He stands up and slowly pushing his chair in. He hesitates again, about to sit firmly back down and stay there and finish his tea and ignore her until bedtime…but then something mechanical in his legs takes over and he’s walking to the couch, eyes ahead, looking at nothing.

He sits down and folds his knees up to his chest.

“There you are,” she says from behind him. She’s wearing red and white checkered pajamas and holding the diaper and a pair of his pajama pants behind her back. As she sits down, her shirt rides up a little and he sees a white waistband sticking out. So she’s wearing, too.

“How come…um…you have one on again?”

She sighs. “You’re trying to be nice, now, huh?”

“Um…I don’t know what you mean.” He chews on his fingernail. He definitely knows what she means.

“I know I was acting like it wasn’t a big deal,” she says, looking at the ground, “but when you were calling me disgusting it kind of hurt my feelings. I didn’t want to wear in front of you for a couple days. I’m sorry, I know that’s stupid.”

“No, no, I—I’m sorry! I’m really sorry. I won’t call you that again.” He pushes himself up on his hands and gets closer to her.

“Thank you. It was honestly really hypocritical…considering what you’re about to let me do to you!” She moves suddenly, turning and pushing him down onto the couch with a thump. He lets out an involuntary giggle at the sudden movement.

“Oh, you like this, huh?” she says, smoothing the front of his pants with the heel of her hand. He tries to keep his mouth shut but a weird whimper-squeak comes out anyway and he can feel his body trembling as she unzips his fly and slowly eases his pants down.

“Aww, lifting up your hips all by yourself, without me even prompting you.” She slides the diaper under him and gently pushes his pelvis down, strong hand on his hip. The material of the diaper is so soft. He tries not to shift his hips to feel it rubbing against his bottom. Stay still. Stay still.

She pulls the diaper through his legs and tapes him up. He has one hand up by his mouth, rubbing his fingers against his lips and teeth. She silently pulls his pants to his ankles and over his feet, and then rolls up the legs of his pajama pants and eases them on. “Help me out again, baby, and lift up your diapered ass. I know you’re distracted by how good it feels, but just do that for me.”

Once he’s all changed, she pulls him up off the couch and reaches for the remote. He falls onto her, leaning against her side with his head on her shoulder. “Do you want to finish the episode from last night? I paused it when you fell asleep.”

“Okay,” he says in a whisper.

Halfway through the remainder of the episode, she rubs her feet together. “I’ve gotta pee, bad,” she says, turning to smirk at him. “I’m just going to go, is that okay with you?”

“Um, what? I—I guess—”

She puts a finger on his lips. “I don’t know why I asked you. You don’t have a choice.” She slouches back against the couch and he can hear the familiar hiss of pee coming from her diaper. Then the sound stops.

“Do you want to feel it coming out?” she asks. He doesn’t answer. She reaches for his hand and guides it down under the elastic waistband of her pants. She briefly presses on his middle finger, dragging it over the crotch of her diaper, the way she helps him finger her, before letting it rest, cupping her right between her legs. The hissing starts up again, slowly at first and then faster. “Can you feel it getting warm? Is your diaper getting tighter?”

He’s mad because it is. And all of this is reminding him of the building pressure in his own bladder.

“Are you going to go, too, tonight, do you think?”

“I—I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” he mutters.

“Not ready yet, huh? So that means it is gonna happen someday.” She pulls his hand back out of her pants and he whines, wanting to touch her just a little longer, even if the diaper is in the way.

She pushes him back against the couch again, and kisses him slowly. Then she rests her head next to his, in the crook of his shoulder. Her weight is pressing on his belly, and he can really feel it on his bladder…

“Okay,” he says quietly, voice shaking. “You win. I’ll admit it. I want to…um…you know. I want to use it.”

She kisses his neck.

“Will you…um…will you show me how?”

“There isn’t just one way, silly,” she says, rising and pulling him up. “Here, sit like this, like me. Okay, now focus. Imagine you’re sitting over the toilet. You reallyyy have to pee. Close your eyes and picture it.”

He obliges, trying to imagine the cold, hard seat under him. To his surprise, he feels a tiny bead of warm liquid forming at the end of his penis. Oh my god, it’s going to be difficult to pull it back in. A small spurt escapes him.

“Are you going yet?” she asks.

He nods. It’s becoming a stream now, and he can feel the diaper getting warm and heavy, pee spreading out across the padding. It’s a new feeling, and it feels really wrong. The pee should be going somewhere, it shouldn’t stop right away like this. He’s actually *wetting a diaper* at his big age. Oh my god, that’s so dirty…he hears the little whimper-squeak again from somewhere far away.

“Hold it,” she says. “I really want you to go on my lap. And you’re going so much, I don’t want to miss it.” She grabs him by the hips and pulls him onto her, legs out towards the arm of the couch, perpendicular to hers. “Good. Keep going.”

The end credits of the cartoon are playing and he is peeing in his girlfriend’s lap. He already has a nagging feeling that he is going to really regret this tomorrow, but right now he just feels sleepy and warm and comfortable. She crosses her arms over him and pulls him closer. He feels his eyes closing.

“Let’s see how far we can go with this…” she says softly. Or was that the very beginning of his dream?

[after-witch]

Hazbin Hotel yandere Alastor imagine

note: discussions of sexual abuse, physical abuse, afab reader, misogny

Oh, to be in Hell and working for Valentino, who uses and abuses you, who goes from hot to cold depending on his moods, whims, and whatever might be pissing him off or propping him up at the moment.

It's not the living you wanted to be making. It's not the life--or afterlife--that you envisioned for yourself. But you owe him so much money (he fed you, and clothed you, and kept a roof over your ungrateful head, didn't he?) and you don't know how else you could pay him back.

But one day you happen to catch someone whispering about this new Hotel where you might be able to get better? Where life might be able to get better? Where you might get, and the word refuses to even catch on your tongue despite it dancing in your ears, redeemed?

You want that. All of it. Even it means risking getting the (after) life beaten out of you.

And on a rare free morning you sneak out and make your way to the front door and a tiny (cute, but, horrifying) little maid answers but before she can get a word in edgewise, a blonde woman--the literal princess of Hell, you realize--jumps into the doorway and grabs your hand to shake it vigorously and welcome you in with the biggest smile you've ever seen that isn't (for once) tinged with something awful behind it.

You practically trip inside as she excitedly pulls you into the foyer where a gaggle of people are sitting on a velvet couch and oh, shit, you know one of them.

Angel. You knew he was here--Val would not stop bitching about it--but it's different hearing about him being involved in this little project and actually seeing him out of the studio.

When Angel sees you, he freezes, his eyebrows shoot practically to the sky. And you're about to beg him not to tell Val, please-please-please, Angel might get away with being here but you don't have that kind of sway, when someone slides in front of you.

Red hair, pointy teeth, a fantastically red coat.

Alastor, of course.

You're not supposed to talk to him. Val and Vox made it clear to everyone in the studio. The Radio Demon is an "old timey fuck" who needs to fuck off and any one caught fraternizing with him might as well be fucking dead (or they'd wish they were) so stay away.

And his reputation wasn't any better with what you'd heard on the street.

But... he doesn't seem all that bad. And you were already taking a Big Fucking Risk by coming here, it's not like Val would go easier on you if you pleaded that sure, you snuck out, sure you came here when you knew you shouldn't, but you clamped your mouth shut and didn't talk to Alastor, you swear!

"Greetings," he says, and you want to smile a little. Because he really does sound like a radio, the kind your mom used to listen to when you were young, even though they were going out of style. Sometimes you missed that, sitting around the table while the radio played, tinny voices and music playing.

"Hi," you manage, voice quiet. "I mean, greetings," you say, stupidly, really.

But he doesn't call you a moron (like Val might) or ignore you (like Vox might)--instead he dips and picks up your wrist gently and he actually kisses your hand, a perfunctory gentlemanly peck of a greeting, instead of licking a slimy trail up your arm like Val is prone to do.

Can you help the little "oh!" that escapes your lips? No. Can you help the heated flush that creeps up your chest? No.

And if he, to everyone's surprise, winds up taking you under his wing--can you complain? No.

He doesn't tell you, like Val did, that you'll pay him back every red cent when he conjures up a closet full of clothes to replace your scant wardrobe. The clothes are modest and lovely and again, your mom springs to mind. The stuff she'd pull out of her closet and hold to her chest sometimes, because they no longer fit.

You wish you'd worn those clothes, when you got old enough to fit into them. But they were moth eaten and out of style and you'd look at her aghast when she asked if you wanted them when you were moving out.

So you didn't. But now... well, they don't fit so bad, do they? You even look nice in them. Alastor says "you're a vision of loveliness, dear," when you wear one of the outfits he's picked out. And you're not sure if it's a pun on his name or a genuine compliment, but you thank him all the same.

Charlie agrees to set up a room for you and Alastor helps with that, too. Although his help mostly involved changing out the standard linens for something nicer, stocking your closet and dresser with old fashioned clothes, and removing the TV.

You almost protested, but he reminded you that "your old friend Vox just might pop in and see you" and ah, it all made sense.

Alastor was looking out for you. Like he did with the clothes. Like he does with the way he helps you navigate the vague, ever-changing lessons that Charlie tries to teach.

Everyone here is nice, all things considered, for Hell.

It's not perfect.

Sometimes you would like to wear something more flashy and stylish, but what outfits Charlie manages to procure never seem to make it into your wardrobe.

Angel always looks like he's going to vomit when Val calls because at this point you are considered "missing" and Val does not like it when his "whores try to ghost him," as you'd once heard him screeching on Angel's phone.

Angel always denies that you're here, denies that he's seen you, and for once, you're glad he can act well when it really matters.

And if Alastor gets a little too clingy... if he gets a little too controlling? If sometimes he reminds you of Val, pushing and pulling you in the directions he wants, you just remind yourself that he's not as bad.

He doesn't ever, ever hit you. He doesn't yell at you or even raise his voice, really!

He corrects, that's all.

Steers you to the right outfits, reminds you how to act like a lady (something he never seems to do with anyone else, to your embarrassment); gently grabs your wrist and brings you along with him around the Hotel, into the shadows of the streets where you won't be seen when he thinks you need some good old fashioned exercised or fresh air. (If the air in hell could be considered "fresh" is another thing entirely.)

So yes.

He might be a little controlling. You can admit that. Even if he has your best interest in mind.

But every time that little thought creeps into your head, you just remind yourself. He's not as bad as Val.

And when you're in Hell, "he's not as bad" might as well mean that he's good.

[talaok]

i loved the hickey fic🥵

can i request a role reversal fic?

reader marks up joel and is unashamed about it

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

a/n: thank you love, hope you'll like this although its been so long you probably forgot about this. and if you're interested, this is the fic they were referring to

It was just you and Ellie in the kitchen this morning. You were laughing about another funny dream she had last night, this one involving Joel trying to tame a gigantic sheep so he could ride it or something, she didn't quite remember the purpose, not that it mattered.

But as you both quite literally felt on the verge of tears from the image the dream was painting in your minds, the main character of said dream, appeared in the doorway, throwing you both a dirty look as if watching two of the three people he loved the most in this entire world didn't fill his old heart with pure joy.

"It's too early to be this chipper" he grumbled, walking to you to leave a quick kiss on your cheek as he reached for the coffee pot behind you.

A gasp sounded from the other sound of the counter

"oh my god what happened to your neck?!" 

And it was then, that Joel Miller, the unafraid, stone-cold killer of a man that he was, turned red from hairline to neck.

"O-Oh fuck I-" His eyes widened, his hand going to cover your work on his neck, but it was all useless, because the second Ellie's eyes landed on the smirk plastered on your face, she knew.

"oh my god ew" she groaned, rolling her eyes, her focus going back to the eggs on her plate.

"You remember Janine, that woman I told you about?" you explained, talking to her

She laughed at that, remembering your conversation about that woman who's always flirting with Joel.

"you filled Joel's neck with hickeys because of her?"

Joel wasn't even red anymore, he was turning purple, his eyes were wider than a deer's caught in the headlights, and you suspected he hadn't taken a breath since he first entered the kitchen.

"this..." you smiled, trailing your fingers on Joel's neck "is my own little way of telling her to keep her hands off my man"

Joel choked, he literally choked on his own saliva and just then, just when he was about to have a heart attack, Tommy entered the house, his eyes immediately going to the image before him with more than a little amusement.

"What have I walked into?" he grinned, walking over to the kitchen "And why does my brother look a breath away from exploding?" he laughed, his hands gesturing to Joel.

"y/n here was giving me way too much information that I certainly didn't want to know" Ellie explained, looking at you pointedly for the last part of her sentence, making you chuckle.

"About what?" Tommy asked

"About the work of art I left on your brother's neck"

"wha-Ohhh" he breathed, smiling like a smug bastard as he understood what you were talking about "Janine tried something again I presume?" 

"You presume right" you smiled, giving Joel a little kiss on the cheek and stifling a smile at how terrified he seemed "for the last time"

"You ok baby?" you asked, stroking his cheek

His gaze was on Ellie, his mouth parted in shock.

"You still with us man?" she asked, giggling softly, making him shake his head to try and get his mind to start working again.

And then, then the words came tumbling off his tongue, filled with what sounded like pure panic

"S-since when do you know what a hickey is!?"

Everyone in the room except him laughed, but when the shock on his features persisted, and Ellie regained her composure, she answered.

"I'm not a kid Joel, I know what sex is"

Another pang to his poor heart, 

he felt all the organs inside him twist into a knot

what the fuck was happening?

Did she just say-

"sex!?" he cried, looking a second away from having a mental breakdown "I-I never said sex- H-how do you even know- I- You- You're too young- I-I"

"ok ok ok" you tried your best not to chuckle, intervening before his heart really decided to stop "How 'bout we go outside for a moment huh? Take a few deep breaths? How about that?" you murmured, soothingly drawing circles on his back 

He looked at you then, looking every bit as disheveled as he sounded 

"y-yeah" he swallowed thickly, "I-I think that's a good idea"

He looked back at Ellie for a moment to make sure this wasn't a nightmare and he didn't just make that up, before you both left the room.

And as if on cue, the second you did, Tommy and Ellie started laughing like maniacs.

"I don't think I've ever seen him so scared" Ellie laughed, as Tommy sat next to her, patting her back

"Neither have I" he chuckled, none of them saying anything before an idea came to his mind.

a hell of a funny one

"ten bucks if you tell him you know what porn is"

[tenisperfection]

Paper trails (Bucktommy, post S7)

Read on ao3

Buck learns to let himself stay.

The first few times, Buck's careful never to leave behind a paper trail.

He's not sure when it developed into a habit. He thinks it began somewhere after Ali, where he lets people settle in and make themselves at home, but he doesn't allow himself the same. With Taylor, it was easy. Before she'd moved in, she came to him more than he ever slept over at her place; so the few times he did, he packed a bag with his toothbrush and his socks and a change of clothes, even when Taylor left him that first morning with a kiss and a bright red toothbrush still in its thin plastic wrapping.

Buck left the toothbrush in the drawer Taylor pulled it out off, and because Taylor is Taylor, she'd not said anything. She also stopped offering him a shelf in her closet or more toothbrushes after that first time even as his apartment slowly filled with berets and cologne he didn't wear and a hairbrush with bright red strands caught in it.

Buck didn't mind. He prefers it this way, where he can leave as cleanly as possible after the mess that was Abby, where he'd been building an empty home in an apartment that wasn't his, all to pack up what he thought was a life into a small duffel bag that was heartbreakingly light.

People have been leaving Buck all his life. Buck doesn't intend to get too comfortable because even with the best of intentions, he knows it's only a matter of time.

*

So the first few times at Tommy's, Buck packs a duffel. He doesn't know Tommy well enough yet, not really, but this already feels different, and Buck doesn't think it's just because he's dating a man for the first time. Buck feels different.

Buck feels hungry, and also like he's never known hunger before Tommy.

It’s strange. He’s kissed and fucked and slept with and besides more people that he cares to count, pressed himself into them and desperately begged for pieces he could keep, but he’s never been hungry. He’s never felt like he is allowed to ask for more, because he is Buck, and he is meant to only give, so he’s never let himself feel it and never lets himself ask for space. He’s taken the earliest pangs of hunger and viciously cut it until there’s nothing, and nothingness fills up.

Buck's never known hunger before Tommy, but he's not sure he's never known comfort either. Not in anyone else's space besides his sister's and Eddie's, not really in the loft which was always too cold and always too big, all the sunlight spilling through the big windows never quite enough. It had its moments, Eddie and Christopher sprawled all over the kitchen island watching Buck cook, Maddie drinking wine by the bottle, Buck coming home ever so often to find Eddie on his balcony, sipping the beer he helps himself to.

Tommy though. Tommy's cluttered, small, beautiful house makes Buck feel weird. It looks somewhat like Eddie's but without the traces of a teenager, feels like Maddie's in its warmth and like Bobby's and Athena's old home in the way it smells, turpentine and yeast and that one candle Tommy always lights up once a week that smells like jasmine even though he profuses to not be a big fan of candles.

“How does grilled cheese sound, and some tomato soup that I made too much of?”

“Perfect.”

It's here in this house that Tommy kisses Buck like he is starving, like he wants to crawl into Buck and study everything that makes him breathe. Sometimes they kiss and Buck thinks that Tommy is perhaps as hungry as he is, that he is being fed on as much as he is allowed to take. Like the first time Buck drove over to his house, duffel bag clutched tightly, Tommy didn’t just let him in but came out to greet Buck before he got out of his car, eye crinkles and all, and pressed himself into Buck warmly. Buck let Tommy lead him in, and he didn't let Tommy give him a toothbrush the day after, joking about his expensive electronic toothbrush that he can't live without, and then kissed Tommy with fresh minty breath and a heart that feels heavier for reasons Buck couldn't fathom.

"You need a t-shirt?" Tommy asks after the fifth time Buck spends the night. Buck gestures to his bag, makes a feeble joke about swimming in Tommy's clothes, and runs to the bathroom before Tommy can say anything else.

"I fixed this side table that was in the garage, you want to keep some of your stuff here?" Tommy asks two months into their relationship, and Buck points out that it would look so much better in Tommy's living room as a spillover for the plants Tommy can't stop growing.

"Do you want to leave that jacket here? It's really warmed up today but fake fall will be here soon enough."

"I was cleaning and cleared out this drawer. It's yours if you want it."

Buck waits for the offers to stop, for the other shoe to drop.

The mercury dips, Tommy flips the bed, and just like that, Buck realizes, it's been three months. He's technically been with Taylor longer, but Buck feels like he would claw his own skin off if he had to leave now. He packs his duffel and bites his toothbrush every morning, Tommy's increasingly creative offers still coming, Buck yearning, wishing, hoping for something he can't put into words.

It comes to a head on a Friday morning that they both have off. Buck wakes up freezing, his leg twitching.

"Tom," Buck mumbles, shifting to steal more of the comforter. Tommy, who always sleeps like he's in a coma, predictably doesn't budge. Buck shakes him until Tommy groans.

"What," he asks, yawning, eyes still closed, even as he sneaks out an arm to pull Buck in to his chest, warm and big and somehow Buck's favorite place on earth. "Shit, why is it so cold?"

"I think it dropped like twenty degrees," Buck murmurs against Tommy's mouth, because he can't be this close and not kiss him, and Tommy lets himself get distracted for another hour.

When Buck steps out of the shower, shivering slightly as he waits for the nascent heat in Tommy's apartment to kick in, he finds Tommy on the bed, holding a pair of slippers.

"What's that?" Buck asks, reaching for the hoodie he remembered to pack.

"I got these house shoes for you," Tommy offers. Buck swallows. It's the brand he usually wears, in the style he usually wears in the loft. The excuse though, always ready, is on the tip of his tongue when Tommy holds out the other hand.

"I got the insole too, for your left foot," Tommy clears his throat. "Eddie told me where to look."

"Eddie told you," Buck repeats. "Why?"

Tommy shrugs. "Because I asked him."

"You asked him what insole I wear," Buck echoes.

Tommy blinks. "Evan." It's the look on his face when Buck's being a brat, but it's not tinged with the ghost of a smile that usually paints Tommy's mouth. "You don't have to walk around this house like you're a visitor. I'm not running a hotel. You don't have to check under the bed for a stray sock every time you leave."

Buck doesn't know how Tommy manages to sound that gentle when those words out of someone else's mouth would've made Buck shrivel up.

He clears his throat. "I just like my things with me, I'm particular."

Tommy smiles slightly. "I am not actually sure that you are, Evan. I've seen how you are at your sister's. You have a change of clothes over at Eddie's. You slept on Ravi's couch when I was sick and Bobby and Athena were in your apartment and you stole his belt."

"It was a nice belt," Buck tries, but his chest expands as Tommy thrusts the shoes at him again.

"You can let your partner buy you shoes so your feet don't get cold and hurt in his drafty old house."

Buck's chest swoops like it does every time that Tommy calls them partners. He steps forward.

"Besides, it's not like I won't find traces of you here forever if you leave," Tommy says quietly, eyes downcast. Buck freezes.

"You have a side of the bed," Tommy continues, glancing up. His voice is still quiet, his lovely eyes tinged with traces of an emotion Buck's afraid to ask about. Too soon, he thinks, though he thinks he knows what it is. Too soon. "I've never been with anyone long enough that we had sides of the bed. You have a pillow for your head and a pillow for your knee and you ignore both of them to sleep on me when you're falling asleep. You bought those fancy laundry pods that one time and now it's the only kind I use. Your stupid duffel has a spot next to the side table." Tommy presses the shoes into Buck's hands. "The world's not going to end because you took up a drawer, Evan."

It's only when Buck lets Tommy pull him in that he realizes he's shaking, arms automatically going around Tommy's broad shoulders like they belong, trying to hide the tremors.

Tommy, because he's Tommy, notices, like he's been noticing and asking and begging Buck to make himself at home, to take up space.

Buck thinks he might. Buck thinks he has been, and the world hasn't ended, and it's four months going on five and tomorrow he's taking Tommy to Spirit Halloween to buy a costume for Jee for the first Halloween they'll be together for. It's been a whole season since that evening in the loft, and Buck thinks that he might be in love, and the world is most definitely carrying on.

"Stay," Tommy whispers into his mouth, shoes still clutched between them like a life raft as they stand barefoot in Tommy's cold house that Buck has grown to love.

Buck thinks he will.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Hi!! I’m a little lurker who only did one request once and I forgot what happened to that one so I have a different request!!

can you…uhm…write a little thing about priest!fyodor who believes reader to be a god but reader just a normal human?

And like human is a virgin and…you know where I’m going with this.

A worshiper Fyodor taking his beloved God’s virginity by riding reader until he passes out from how many times Fyodor bounced on his cock.

idk I just can’t stop thinking about it but I don’t think I worded it pretty well and you have pretty words soooo…

I’m sorry for bothering you with this imma just

go back to lurking once more…

but if I could bother you again? Can I be 🕶️ anon please?

This is similar to something I have started long ago! On my old blog! But it got deleted along with my drafts :’)

Dom!reader x sub!priest!fyodor - reader is gender neutral

Warning: pegging (I use dick), use of condom (wow scary), no prep, cum play (licking), hierophilia, corruption, taking virginity, worshipping, fucking in a church, dacryphilia, handjob, cumming untouched, mind break, sub space, bruises, god - worshipper relationship

It happened the moment he laid his eyes on you. When you walked in, pass the grand wooden door and slandered through the small halls. That miraculous day was Sunday, morning to be precise, and you came in late for the morning chant. Everyone who sat on the benches turned their head to look at you, some with scorn, some with a mocking grin. You looked unfazed and went straight to the first row, keeping eye contact with one single person, the priest in charge.

That cold attitude despite the loud voices, the way your every move was as smooth and elegant as clear water. Your expression after sitting down, lips shut while keeping your arrogant eyes on him, as if to judge him, to attest to something. All that appeared divine in his eyes, superior even, it caused a shudder to run down his spine. He had never felt such a pressing sensation before, it was the first time.

You were staring at him so much, though he couldn’t read your intentions. Nothing, only emptiness. A gentle breeze, that brought forth comfort, turning into an icy storm capable of destruction. These words would be perfect to describe you, or how his view of you, because everyone else seems to think otherwise. Most of them scoffed about you coming in late, those little complains soon changed into more vicious words. Like a devils curse, causing the once friendly guests to sin.

“Dear father, may we continue with the morning prayers?” Among the low whispers of the devil, a voice akin to an angels emerged. “Excuse me..?” Fyodor murmured, eyes subconsciously darting to the direction of the sound. Once again, it was you who called out to him. A blush crept onto his cheeks when he noticed your piercing gaze, it was a little embarrassing that he dazed out there. “Yes, of course, pardon my inattentiveness.” The priest said, glancing at you a last time before focusing on his duties. Or at least he tried, because he couldn’t concentrate. The entire time he found himself stealing glances at you, watching you. This wasn’t like him, he couldn’t even recognise himself.

From then onwards, he found himself searching for your eyes or attention. It began with him asking around about you, then it gradually turned into him actively seeking you out. Your meetings became more frequent, and more private as well. One day, he found you kneeling in the confession box, boringly staring through the bars. He quickly positioned himself, then asked, “what brings you to me, my child?”

Seeing you up close was a new experience, he felt the tingly sensation crawling around his body again. “Father, I’m here because I believe you have something to confess.” You said with a voice coated in sweet honey. “Me, confess?” The priest mumbled, obviously baffled by your words no matter how he adored your voice. “That’s right, I can see. If you have something to say, do it now.” After hearing you out, he swallowed the lump in his throat, before smiling at you meekly and admitting, “I fear I’m not loyal to my god anymore.”

It took a lot out of him, a servant of god, to utter these words. Of course it wasn’t without reason. Simply being in your presence made him feel special and watched, as if those nonchalant eyes of yours were the watching gaze of god. He couldn’t explain it, it was a chilly feeling, but at the same time it burned him from the inside. “Speak, father.” You spoke, then he suddenly slammed his hands against the wall separating the two of you. “My lord, you don’t have to speak politely with me. I, Fyodor, this lowly subject of yours, am ready to serve you with all my heart.” The male announced, smiling at you in delight, cheeks rosy as he declared you as his new god.

Anyone who heard this would have thought he was out of his mind, staring at him with a face that screams the word disbelief. But not you, contrary to what one would expect, your expression stayed neutral. “My subject? Lord?” You questioned his choice of vocabularies, tilting your head to the side. “Yes, oh lord, please let þis servant worship you.” Then, to your surprise, the father you were supposed to confess to kneeled down and clasped his hands together, praying to you with a sickening obsession.

That shivering, oppressive feeling didn’t leave him alone, it gnawed at him and told him this was the right thing to do. He couldn’t care less what he was supposed to do or not, all that wasn’t important anymore. Since his deity has come down and granted him an audience, he only has to follow their- your orders from now on.

Whatever got him acting this way was all in his head, you were nowhere near of being a god. Quite the opposite, you were just a human like him, and you found his actions irritating. But you weren’t any better, you didn’t correct him, rather, you liked that desperate look on his face. You wanted to test his limits, to see how far he’d go for you. In truth you enjoyed playing god for him, depending on who you are asking this might be even more twisted than what fyodor was pulling off.

It started with you getting him to do bothersome stuff for you, sometimes it also became materialistic. Other times you would just converse with him and enjoy his company. He’d ask tausend questions about you, some trivial, some existential ones. Most of the time you’d put up with his antics, acting like a benevolent and nice deity. That’s when one day, one of his curiosities caught you off guard. It was when he asked you:

“my lord, do.. you want me to comfort you?” You stared at him with furrowed brows and scoffed “comfort? Where did you get that idea?” “You look stressed my lord, I wish I could do something for you.” Fyodor said, he was on his knees in front of you, who was sitting on a bench in a huge room. The room where each Sunday a crowd of people would come in for morning prayers.

He looked up at you with foggy eyes, hands itching to worship your body. How could someone be this divine and perfect? Obviously he was the chosen one, he was born to meet you. “That… I’ve never done anything like that before. Speaking of which, have you, as a priest?” You questioned, a tiny bit interested. “No, I kept my chastity for you, my god.” Fyodor answered shamelessly, then thought about what you told him.

If what you said was right, then he awfully wanted to give his first to you, and to be your first as well. To take the virginity of his most beloved god and to give, there was nothing more he could ask of. “Is that so?” Your warm voice broke off the momentary silence, then you continued with, “come here.” You tapped your thighs, wondering if he would do it. Did he believe in you enough to commit something that has always been taboo for him? A part of you doubted it, but you wished he’d obey you yet again.

The boy stared at your moving hands for a while, then did as you instructed, climbing onto your lap with reddened cheeks. “…like this?” He raised his arms, about to wrap them around your neck but decided against that. Then he bawled them into fists and kept them behind his back, before grinding against your crotch with his own bulge. “Nghh... fo-forgive me, hah I-lord, can I please continue?" Fyodor mumbled with squinted eyes, biting his bottom lip while he let his desires take over. You grabbed his waist, wrinkling his black robe and stopping him, whispering, "D-don't move, not in the church." Your conscious forbid you from carrying out such acts in a holy place. Sure, you provoked him first, though you didn’t expect it to escalate this soon.

He begged you with glistening, teary eyes, hoping you'd let him go further than that. It felt so good he couldn't stop, he has never even touched himself before so that simple gesture was enough to make him drool. "P-please." Fyodor groaned into your ear, his voice has never been this needy or lewd, it surprised both of you. Instead of stopping when you told him to, he continued to grind against you and whimper, "use me however you see fit, my lord, please let me he-help you." You clenched your teeth, use is a strong word. It’d be a lie to say you weren't aroused, so you sighed and complied with his request, "dammit, fine. Go and get my bag."

This was how you were going to have your first? Giving it to a crazy priest who believes you were a being above humanity? Who would have guessed…

You watched him get off with shaky legs, the spot between his legs was all wet and sticky already. Was it normal to be this sensitive? It's probably because he's a virgin, just look at him eagerly bringing your stuff to you. Once he came back, you fumbled around in your bag, luckily you always brought your stuff with you in case of a spontaneous one-night-stand. It never happened before, yet you knew you would need it one day. After you were done with the preparations, you opened a pack of condom, about to pull it over your length when he clasped his hand over yours. "L-let me do it." He proposed, hands shaking with embarrassment as he took slowly pulled it down to the shaft. You almost laughed because he was making such a big deal out of it, sweating furiously with an ashamed gaze.

"Do you find it dirty to touch it?" You chuckled after watching him for a bit, finding his reactions pretty amusing. "No-no.!! No.. that, I-I'm.." His face heat up again as he tried to find the right words. In the end he decided to just speed up the entire thing, and grabbed the bottle of lube that was in your other hand. Then he squeezed the contents onto your dick and spread it evenly, wondering if this would even fit. After a minute, you grabbed his wrist and scoffed, "are you done playing?" Out of nervousness and excitement he forgot to stick it inside him, looking away in shame before lining the tip up with his hole.

"HnnGgh.. this is h-hard.." he complained under his breath, trying his best to take you. You wanted to prepare him first, but he said he wanted the first thing to enter him to be you and not some fingers. Since that was what he wanted, you decided to let him be. That's what led to your current situation, where he's desperately poking his entrance with your dick. “NghhHg..! Ah, f-feels good..” Finally he managed to take your tip, already panting like he had ran a marathon. "Good job." You praised him, then caressed his soft thighs. They were covered by his clothes, which annoyed you a little, so you gripped his hips and butt before slamming him down your cock. "AhhHGGgNN.!? AahHH..! H-hurts.." He moaned out loudly, then slumped against your chest, fingers clawing at you for support.

Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, his body shivered at the sudden impact. You were stretching him so much, he could swear his butt was going to tear. At the same time he was so happy, enjoying this to the fullest. His insides were working overtime, trying to accommodate your thickness and length, his rim clenching and loosening up with each inhale. He made such sinful noises when your hands squeezed his snatched waist, to the point you wondered if he was telling the truth earlier. After waiting for him to stop holding onto you like his life depended on it, you cupped his cheeks, making him look up at you. “Look here, fyodor, tell me how good it feels.” Then you grind your hips against his.

The movements were minimal, you didn’t make him ride you yet, only pushing it slightly deeper inside him. Yet the reaction was better than expected. He arched his back, throwing his arms around your neck out of reflex and whined, “ahHhH!! I-i love it, god, it’s so NGhh m-my insides are tingling..♡” You clicked your tongue, grabbing his butt to have a better grip and praised him, “so good for me.. there’s to turning back now, you don’t mind sinning for me, right?” He didn’t even think twice before saying, “I’ll do whatever you want me to..!”

After getting his permission, you told him to hold onto you tightly. Once he did as you commanded, you manhandled him and made him go up and down your dick. Your little worshipper wasn’t particularly short, rather, he was unusually light. He couldn’t even keep a straight face composure anymore, crashing against you once again as he moaned into your ears. Poor boy was crying due to the overwhelming pleasure, thighs trying to close together in a twitching manner and toes curled off the ground. Drool dripped down his chin and soaked your clothes, all while he moaned out your Titel.

“L-lord, god.. ah, please!! S-slow down.. ngHh, too much, too big..♡♡” his voice became higher with each trust, and bruises began to form around his hips because of your rough grip. “Didn’t you say I can do what I want?” You reminded him, licking your lips when you saw his melting face. How those beautiful water drops raced down his cheeks like soft rain against a window. His pupils even formed little hearts to match that pleasure-ridden gaze in his eyes. Most of his bangs stuck to his forehead, the rest of his hair bounced around whenever you made him ride you.

Then you said fuck it and ripped his priest robe, so that you’d have more access to his skin. “Hu-hUHmnn..?! M-my lord! AhhHNN!!” He shrieked when he noticed one of your hand on his inner thighs, pinching and groping his skin. “W-why there..? Nghhh…” Fyodor groaned, a tad embarrassed by the intimate touch. His deity was touching him after all. Alone the thought of you, his one and only god, fucking him and using him was enough to get him to the verge of cumming.

More precum leaked from his shameless tip, soiling the back of your hand. “M-m’sorry, so-sorry..ah, for being d-dirty..!” He immediately apologised, holding your wrist weakly and bringing it to his lips. Then he slowly licked off the pre, using kitten licks that looked so inexperienced and adorable that you had to tease him more. Sticking your finger into his mouth and snapping your hips against his. Fastening your pace, going rougher and deeper, rutting into him like he was some fleshlight. At this point his petite body won’t be able to take it! He’s so slim and vulnerable, it’d be a shame to break his mind and make him your toy, wouldn’t it?

“MhmMNN… ah, r-right there..Nghh, too f-fast, g-god! feels good~ ♡” Fyodor mewled into your ears, squeaking as he tried to shake his ass for you. But he was more on the passive side, letting you move his body however you saw fit. His sloppy and slutty hole was making squelching noises whenever you bottom out in him, all sticky with lube already. You were so caught up in the moment, you weren’t even sure what you were doing. All you knew was you wanted to touch him, to feel up his figure and trace the outlines of his body. Then you kissed his neck, causing him to whimper uncontrollably. “Hnghh… I- mHhm, l-lord help me.. I want more♡ something is coming out..!!” The boy gasped and smiled, grinning satisfied, the expression almost looked dumb.

You did as he asked of you, slamming him down onto your dick harder and trying to hit his sweet spot more often. The way it rubbed and played with his soft and warm walls made him see the light, or he was just about to blank out. “Nghh! F-forgive me.. for my siiiinnns..!! ♡♥︎～” The priest, Fyodor, your exclusive worshipper and toy servant groaned a last time before shooting ropes of cum out of his twitching member. His thick and filthy cum got everywhere. From his ripped clothes to his milky inner thighs and chest. Then he slumped down, pleasure and sensations he never felt before all coursing through him at once. He felt so good, this was the first time he felt this amazing. It must be due to you, because of your blessings.

Oh how lucky he was to serve such a kindhearted and generous god, who was patient enough to show him all this bliss. This was heavenly~ His body was still a shaking, twitching mess. The lingering ecstasy making him sob and moan louder. After giving him a gift this great, he will have to serve you even more diligently and wholeheartedly! He will make sure to worship and treasure whatever you gave him!

Even you had to catch up your breath since the session was so intense, panting a little while still admiring him. You were still inside him, and he was clenching down onto you without letting you pull out. Then you leaned back against the lean of the bench, signing when you realised what you just did. Now you were definitely going to hell. Fucking a priest in the praying halls, were you possessed? Right before you could tell him to get off, since you two had to clean up, he took off his clothes completely. “Huh..? Fyodor?” You whispered in disbelief. Sure, you ruined his robes, but why did he take them off?

It was the first time you saw him entirely naked, and he was as skinny as you noticed him to be. His nipples were all hard and pink, a cute colour in your opinion. A few seconds later, he re-positioned himself in your lap despite his legs giving up under him. Then, he slowly rode you, jumping up and down while wrapping one hand around his shaft. You rushed to stop him, saying, “wait a sec- shouldn’t we, especially you, take a break?” Seriously, for how sickly and pathetic he looks, he had quit the stamina? Instead of obeying you like normally, fyodor smirked obsessively and moaned, “G-god, forgive me for i-indulging..! Ahhh.. I’m so sinful, I deserve punishment. But..!! it’s just so good I can’t stop ♥︎♡.”

What…? Wait- isn’t this priest too slutty…?? It seems you’ll have to suck it up and wait until he milked himself dry on your dick ♥︎