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theragethatisdesire · 1 year ago

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scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.”

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin.

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it.

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch.

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

#aot x reader #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren x you #eren yaeger x you #eren yeager smut #aot fanfiction #eren jaeger fic #eren jaeger fanfiction

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sagesilentfire · 1 year ago

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The other person is correct. You sound kinda pretencious and like you don't get how fanfics work. Try to make something instead of trying to drag talented artists for being fun and successful.

bruh...

i literally write fanfic. all the time. and a lot of it is fluff, or it wouldn't be five volumes.

#i'm going to assume good faith because i'm nice like that #i love fluff! i love nice lighthearted affairs!#my favorite short fics are all cute hurt/comfort fics!#but those short fluff fics... actually understand the characters and make interesting observations about them and #DON'T make people bullied for liking snakes make friends with their bullies over a snake!#again i do not want to make this A Thing! i'm just a weird internet stranger and i only talk about morningmark because people make #it A Thing. like i have zero platform i don't pose any threat to your favorite artist don't worry about it just let me be Wrong on the #Internet in peace #my main deal isn't even the owl house i think the owl house is amazing and addressed every single issue i would have written a fic about #perfectly #god tier show #i do weird rewrites of stories no one but me cared about! i'm just sitting here queerly being a precious little boy. you wouldn't send weir #anon hate to a precious baby boy would you?#to reiterate my main gripe with morningmark is that all his examinations of characters is surface level. i'm NOT saying he's a bad artist o #morally wrong or not funny. i just don't like it. claim it's jealousy all you want or maybe i'm just a hater. who knows

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 4 months ago

Text

...ready for it? - j.l. howlett

a/n: hi! here's a full version of a blurb i wrote a few days ago that got so much love so quick that i wanted to give yall a full version! the beginning is literally just the blurb but after that it's all new! like many of you wolverine brainrot has hit me hard, so here's graphic smut about him. leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed :) warnings: SMUT!!!!! some dumbification, use of pet names, reader is fem, reader is a mutant and able to control plants, lots of cursing, lots of grotesque fliritng/fantasies, some soft moments, some sort of primal sex, oral (fem receiving), some of the setting is probs inaccurate but whatever. let me know if i missed any big ones!! word count: 4.9 k summary: well, you had to find some way of entertaining yourself at charles xavier's school for gifted youngsters. and you have always liked an emotionally unavailable, absolutely hung, challenge. pairing: logan howlett x mutant!reader now playing: ...ready for it? - taylor swift "in the middle of the night, in my dreams/you should see the things we do, baby/in the middle of the night in my dreams/i know i'm gonna be with you, so i take my time"

You are absolutely enthralled with him. It’s actually sort of pathetic how your fingers twitch at the sight of him, at how the mention of his name or god forbid the sound of his voice makes your head snap up, attention deficit disorders be damned!

Funnily enough, you had no damn interest in Xavier’s stupid mutant school, because to you, you’re not an outsider because of your mutant abilities (that don’t have much of a physical apparition, at least one that you can’t hide) but because there’s never been much of a place for you to fit in.

But, you were behind on rent and of course, you fucking hate your job, so why not? You’d be able to be slightly less of a freak, and you’d get free room and board in the process! (Where Charles gets all of his money, you do not know.)

And because you’re a little older, Charles doesn’t force you to sit in a class room to learn about basic arithmetic and grammar lessons, so you really only do some training around three times a day, you have your own room (with a dusty box under the other bed, you also suspect your room used to be the ‘sex’ room) and you have the weekends off.

So for a twenty something year old with few ambitions, the social skills of a Martian with autism, and a huge crush on every older emotionally unavailable man you meet, it’s a pretty good set-up.

You’re waiting for time to pass in the garden, just reading a rather interesting book that Charles had recommended after he noticed you needed something to pass time before you started making bad decisions.

You hear his heavy footsteps on the gravel before you see him. Your heart beats faster, but you will yourself, do everything in your power not to glance up at him. And you let out a breath as you succeed, keeping your head down.

“In your natural habitat, are you, spitfire?” Your head darts up to him—There’s no way he isn’t talking to you, you know you’re the only one in this garden. And you can see his lips twitch up and you want to crawl out of your skin!

“My-My natural habitat?” You laugh, closing the book you’re reading because your attention is locked to him now.

“Yeah, seems like it.” He saunters on up to you and sits on the bench next to you.

And let’s make something very clear—

Logan Howlett does not sit.

This man poses, as if there’s always some invisible camera capturing every frame of movement, from the way his legs spread out, to the way his chest lifts when he inhales.

Fuck, you think you might die if you can’t suck him off right now.

“And what exactly is my uh.. habitat?” You question.

He takes out his lighter and a cigar, placing the cigar in his mouth as he gestures to the space around the two of you, lighter in hand.

“A garden.” He says, matter of facility, as his voice is muffled only the slightest bit by the cigar.

And you just sort of look at him before asking,

“Oh, you enjoy being boiled down to your mutations, Claws?” You question, and as he goes to light the cigar, he smirks.

“Alright, you gotta admit though, it is cliché!”

You are absolutely in agreement, there is zero doubt you are as much of a walking, breathing, real life living, stereotype.

“It is not!” And the pair of you give each other this look, like you’re both shocked at how whiney that statement is!

“Uh-huh, sure, Spitfire.” It sounds almost like he’s purring at you.

When he lights his cigar, he’s sort of eying you for your reaction, whatever you might say.

“You know, smoking is not only bad for you, it’s awful for the environment.”

“You’re probably the most cliché little freak around here.” Which.. honestly..? Shouldn’t possibly turn you on as much as it does.

You just stare at him for a minute, and he smirks.

“Cat got your tongue?’

And maybe it’s stupid and maybe it’s immature but your hand just comes over to fiddle with the pointed part of his hair.

“We’ll you certainly look the part.” He just looks at you, and honestly? The way he’s looking at you, it’s like he’s proud of you for teasing him.

“Aw, there’s my little spitfire,” He teases, just to see how red you get. And red you are— it’s embarrassing. And here’s the kicker—You are young. Exceptionally young, and what’s insane about that? How horny it makes both you and Logan.

The idea of fucking your innocent cunt, tight and all his, drives him genuinely mad. And you are, quite literally, a whore for the idea of riding this older man’s dick. You know he’s big—sometimes you see the outerline of it when he walks away from you all huffy and puffy.

“You’re a tease, Claws.” You respond, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Says you,” he raises and eyebrow, leaning closer to you now, “You’re the one laying around in the sun, looking like that.”

“Looking like this?” You scoff. You’re wearing a muscle tee and a pair of ripped jeans, but the gaps are huge and he can see your thighs. He wants to devour you, and you would let him if he only asked.

And let’s be clear—he is fucking you with his eyes. There’s no way to go around it.

“I think you’re just.. horny.” You tease, and he just growls. Seriously, this man who is undressing you with his eyes, growls, because he does want you and he is horny!

“I think you’re onto something.” He purrs, and you want to just.. god. You don’t know how to express the pit of desire that grows in you. “I would fuck you until you couldn’t think, right here among your pretty flowers. Would you like that, baby?” he asks, his hand finding your thigh.

But you just cough on the smoke from his cigar, before frowning.

“You really shouldn’t smoke.”

“Aw, I’ll make it up to you.” He smirked. “Promise, spitfire.”

He’s very close to you now, so you take a second to just breath and you know that he knows that he’s got you—hook, line, and sweet, sweet sinker.

And then you realize what exactly it is that you’ve gotten yourself into. And what a nightmare it is—Or maybe a dream if you listen to the pathetic part of your brain, but you are into this an in a way that is concerning for your own mental wellbeing and desperately want to avoid him having all the power in this situation.

“Oh, I am sure you will.” You assure. You lean forward, plucking the cigar from his lips, and placing it on the ground, squashing it beneath your heel. With a flick of your wrist, vines and grass grow over the cigar, composting it. And from the vines, grows a small little buttercup flower.

You lean down and pluck the flower from the grass, before tucking it behind Logan’s ear.

“You should take care of that hard-on you have, Claws.” You hum, before standing up, and walking away. And for a minute, he just watches you go—partly to because you have an amazing ass, but partly because you have absolutely flabbergasted him.

And have made him want you even more.

• • •

The next time you see him is the next night, in the woods near the mansion. Because the literal sixteen year olds you go to ‘school’ with do not know how to do anything on the weekend except drink, fuck, and smoke.

Honestly, you kind of fit in great.

So here you are, nursing a mason jar of.. some fucked up concoction, and you’re not too sure what’s in it, but you have drunk two of them and are on your third. You think you might live forever, until you glance up and see Logan, in these fuck me jeans and this burnt orange flannel and a wife beater.

Instantly, you know that you’ll die tonight if you don’t have him.

He approaches you with this cocky smirk as if he hasn’t realized your intoxicated state yet.

“Now what’s a little spitfire like you doing all alone on a Friday night?” he questions, tilting his head. His smirk is deadly. And you roll your eyes.

“Here comes the big bad Wolverine, all bark and no bite.” You scoff, and his eyes flash with surprise. Only for a second, but even drunk, you notice the way his eyes shoot up in surprise.

“All bark and no bite? That’s quite the accusation.” He hums.

“Well, we’ve been.. eye fucking each other for a few weeks now, and you haven’t even kissed me yet. I get being into foreplay and edging, but holy shit, Claws, throw a girl a bone once in a while.” You scoff, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Are you.. drunk?”

“Do you think I’m drunk?”

“Yeah, you’re drunk.” He sighs. You respond by taking another sip of your drink, but before the bitter liquor hits your tongue, he snatches the bottle from you.

“Let me take you home.” You’re sure your eyes look like hearts, so, dreamily and a little love struck, you respond,

“’Kay.”

And he chuckles a little bit at that.

“We’re not gonna do anything, I’m just gonna walk you home, spitfire.” He starts, and your face falls a little bit, but in an effort to hide it, you respond,

“..’kay.” And he sees right through you. You’re pretty much an open book. And the alcohol doesn’t help. His pointer finger and thumb comes to your chin, and he gently rubs his thumb against your lip.

“Don’t be like that, pup. It’ll happen soon. Just not tonight, okay?” He assures.

“’Kay.” You answer softly, and you think he smiles at you but your vision is sort of blurry. Then, you blink, as a gust of wind moves through the trees, sending a shiver down your spine. He sighs, and wordlessly takes off his flannel, before wrapping it around you. Your arms slip into the sleeves, and you almost cry because it’s like, the best hug in the entire world. “Won’t.. you be cold, then?” you question, and he just shakes his head.

“Let’s get you home, spitfire.” He holds a handout to you, and without a second thought, you take his hand. He wraps his arm around you, and you lean against him like it’s something the two of you do often. If you were sober, you might short circuit. But, you’re not, so it feels right.

The walk home is quiet, but Logan’s thumb gently rubs against your shoulder. He wants to do more, but he knows he shouldn’t, since you are in fact plastered.

You ignore the giggles and whispers from teenagers making their way past you to the party or to their rooms, and you even ignore the way their giggles stop when they meet Logan’s gaze.

When you get back to your room, you take a second to lean against the door, and he takes a second to admire the way you look in his clothes.

“Ready for bed?” he asks gently, and you just smile at him.

“You’re really pretty.” He just does the half scoff-half chuckle that you’re obsessed with. Then, he wraps his arm around you again, opening the door to your room, and guiding you inside. He gets you to your bed and sits you down, before kneeling in front of you to untie your boots. “Has anyone ever told you how good you look on your knees?” you ask.

He just gives you this smirk.

“One or two pretty girls back in the day.” He says, “None as pretty as you though, spitfire.” He says, and you groan, leaning back and laying on the bed, as he pulls off your boots.

“You’re awful.” And you need him.

“Yes, I know, baby.” His voice is almost condescending, and it turns you on. But then he stands up, grabbing the folded blanket from the edge of your bed, and laying it over you. He finds his place kneeling next to you again as you stare at him, cozy in bed. His hands gently brush hair from your face. “Do you need anything else?”

“You.”

“Soon. But not yet, pup. You’re too drunk.” He says softly.

“Thanks for walking me home, Claws.”

“You’re very welcome, Spitfire.” He purrs, leaning forward and kissing your forehead gently. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Logan.” You mumble as you drift off to sleep. He sits there for a few minutes, just looking at you for a long time before he gets up and creeps out of your room.

• • •

The next morning, you sit in the cafeteria, drinking a large coffee, and nursing the worst hangover, possibly of your life. Made even worse by the fractions of memories about what happened last night.

You rub your eyes, flinching when you hear the clatter of a plate on the table, and someone sitting across from you. You peek through the gaps of your fingers to see Logan sitting across from you, a smirk on his face.

He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it.

“I hate you. Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” he laughs. But he sees how much pain you’re in, and slides two pieces of sourdough toast to you. “Truce?”

“Truce.” You agree, taking a slice and biting into it. You feel better.

And after a moment of silence, he asks,

“I’m never getting my flannel back, am I?”

Truthfully, the flannel has been folded neatly and tucked into your drawer, for the next time you need some comfort.

You tilt your head, looking right into his eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

• • •

Weeks go by like this.

You spend your days either going to class or hanging out—okay, it’s more like flirting with a side of hanging out, with Logan. The pair of you become quite close, and maybe that’s why you haven’t fucked yet.

Oh, the two of you want to, and it’s obvious to everyone (Charles has called you out for being distracted more times than you can count, and you remind him not to probe your mind, and he tells you he does not need his mutant abilities to see that your thoughts linger elsewhere.) but you’re.. afraid, at this point.

Which is odd, because you’re no virgin, you know he wants you, but.. what if everything changes after that? Maybe he’ll start to avoid you. Maybe you’ll start to avoid him. And you’ve really become good friends, and don’t want to lose it.

And then, there’s the fact that half the time, he’s away on dangerous missions, and even if he can regenerate, you worry about him. But he hasn’t been on any lately, so it’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You’re sitting in the garden when it happens.

He finds you, and this time, you do not even try to hide the way your head picks up and gazes at him.

“Hi, Spitfire.” He grins, and you smile a bit at him.

“Claws, what can I do for you?” And he sits next to you, and for some reason, maybe because he doesn’t say anything at first, you know that there is something wrong. And you know what it is.

After a few minutes, you glance to him.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Your voice is quiet, as if you’re scared that if it gets any louder, everything will fall apart.

“Yeah. Charles has me going on another mission.” He doesn’t say it, but you both know this isn’t an involuntary thing.

“Cool.” You cringe at your reaction.

“I guess.” He laughs weakly, as if he knows he’s twisting a knife buried within you.

Silence fills the air. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, but it isn’t the relaxed silence you’re used to with him. Confessions dance on the tips of your tongues, and you’re so close to saying it, that when you turn to each other suddenly, you just need to look at each other for a second.

“Be safe.” You say quietly. “And hurry back.” You request, and you try not to sound like you’re begging.

“Of course.” He says, like it perplexes him that you even have to request. “I can’t leave you here yearning for me forever, can I?” He teases, and for a moment, you have this flash of an alternate universe where he does die on this mission and you are trapped in this garden forever, waiting for him. Like a lost puppy, or worse, a lost lover. The mere thought of it fucks with your head.

“No. You can’t. I won’t allow it.” You explain, “If anything, I’m the one that should be haunting you.” He just smiles. A real, not at all awkward smile.

“I’m sure you will, spitfire.” He says, and his head comes forward so that his forehead is resting against yours.

“When do you leave?” You ask gently, and he sighs. His breath smells of mint and cigar smoke, maybe even a hint of lemon.

“An hour. I have to pack quick and then debrief.” He answers you.

And just as love struck as you were the night of the party, you answer,

“’Kay.” You smile weakly at him. And he just.. looks at you for a few minutes before sighing again. He pulls away and leans up to kiss your forehead again, before standing up. He turns a few steps away from you just to tease you.

“Don’t miss me too much, okay?” he requests softly. Before you can stop yourself, you stand up, and wrap your arms around him. He only pauses for a half a second before he returns your embrace, and it becomes apparent that you both needed this moment. You stay like this for a few minutes before you pull away.

“Bring me back a souvenir.” You try, a soft smile on your face.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll bring you something great from the great city of Tulsa, Ohklahoma.” He grins.

“Deal.”

• • •

For the next week, you feel like this must be what it was like for housewives when their husbands went to war. You knew all too well that that statement was extremely dramatic, but you simply cannot help yourself.

You think you might die by day three.

It’s like you’re going through withdrawals and it’s making you go genuinely insane.

You have worn this man’s flannel for almost the entire week, because at first you’re a little self-conscious of other people noticing your repeating outfits, but only at first. By day four, you have decided you don’t give a single fuck.

Day eight you’re just laying in bed, quietly making a list of all the positions you want him to take you in. It’s a long list. You’re brought back to reality by a knock on your door. You’re about to snap, knowing that you’ll tell whatever child has been sent to bother you to scram, but when you open the door, you grin widely.

Logan stands there, looking tired, but he’s smiling and holding up a shot glass that reads ‘Tusla’, and has skyline on it.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d get you a souvenir?” He asks, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, pulling him in. He hugs you back, making sure to squeeze you just a bit—your feet barely come off the ground.

He pulls away, and you grin up to him.

“You came back.” You say it as if you can barely believe it, and just for a moment, he feels an emotion he can’t quite place, but he ignores it.

“Of course I came back, spitfire. All in one piece too, as requested.” He grins, and you’re just.. amazed at the look of him. “What’s that look for?” He asks gently, tilting his head.

“I just..” you start.

And then you break.

You lean up and kiss him gently, those stupidly delicious sideburns making your stomach flip. He doesn’t waste time, kissing you back, his arms around your waist. After a minute, you pull away.

“Sorry. I’m kind of done playing that game of waiting for you to kiss me. I just got the first hit of you I’ve had all week, and I feel fucking amazing.” You confess, and sure, it’s not a big grand love confession with tears and poetry, but your words make him kiss you so intensely that you start backing into your room, his hands exploring your body as you tug off his leather jacket, a new flannel for you to steal coming off soon after.

He keeps kissing you as his hands come down to your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, before gently pushing you to sit on the bed. He kneels in front of you, and begins to tug off your boots again, then, on your jeans.

You grin.

“You know, I’m getting the oddest sense of déjà vu. Something about you looking great on your knees.” You tease, and he just tugs off your jeans in one strong swoop, before leaning in to bite your thigh. You gasp, your hands coming up to tug his hair.

Then, he begins to tug at your panties, and you tilt his head up, glancing at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, before I was interrupted, I was about to eat you out.”

“Wait, really?”

He blinks, confused.

“Yeah. Is that a, uh.. problem..?” He hasn’t gotten any complaints yet.

“I just.. I didn’t think guys actually did that, I thought it was just.. a porno thing.” And at this, the man who is about to burry his face between your thighs, laughs. And not just a chuckle, this man hollars. “What’s so funny, claws?” You ask, a little suspicious.

“Nothing,” he promises, “I am just going to take such good care of you, pup.”

“I’m holding you to that, claws.” And then, he leans in and begins to kiss your thighs, gently biting down here and there. Then, he licks a stripe along your cunt, and you let out this loud moan, and your hand comes up to clamp over your mouth, but he reaches up to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

He pulls away to lecture you. Lecture you. On his knees. Head between your thighs.

“Nuh-uh, I wanna hear all the pretty noises you can make for me.” Then, softer, he adds, “Never been eaten out before, fuckin’ travesty.” He mumbles, before leaning in to lick your cunt again, beginning to lap his tongue over your throbbing heat.

His nose rubs against your clit, and it’s enough to drive you genuinely crazy. You’re unsure how you’ve gotten to this point in your life without having your pussy worshipped like this, but with him around, you’re pretty sure you’ll never go another day without it.

His tongue continues to work magic on your cunt, as his nose presses against your clit, stimulating you to the point of making you see stars.

Your hands tug at his hair, and the moan that it elicits from him is enough to send vibrations through your cunt through your stomach. Your head leans back as you moan, and for a moment, you hope there is no mutant in this mansion with super hearing.

His free hand grips your thigh as he bends your leg back to get better access, as he continues to eat you out. The mere taste of you is enough to drive him crazy—He almost wants to start thrusting into the side of your bed, he’s so hard, but he ignores that urge to continue to eat you out.

“Mm—Lo, I—I’m gonna—”

He just hums into your cunt, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze of approval, before his tongue moves even faster (if that’s even possible, though, he is an amazingly surprising man), and suddenly—

You feel a release you have been waiting for weeks, and it is fucking phenomenal. And the Wolverine just licks up all your cum, even if it makes your thighs shake, but honestly, he doesn’t care and neither do you. For a moment, you just listen to the sound of your own pants.

After a minute, you are able to look at him, and he just looks up to you with the same smirk that has been torturing you for all of those weeks. And you just have to pull him up to kiss you, like it’s the only way you’ll be able to live.

As you kiss him, you pull off his wifebeater and then your hands rest on the sides of his face as he pulls off your shirt as well, before his hands begin to make quick work of his belt, wanting to skip all of the pleasantries and just fuck you.

But when he finally gets his jeans off, you pull away, and he stares at you like you’re crazy.

“What the fuck could possibly be more important than me fucking you stupid?”

“Will you just.. let me look at you?” You scoff, your eyes flickering over him to just memorize every square inch of his body. He humors you for a few minutes, standing there with his hands on hips before he leans in and cages you in with his arms.

“Show’s over, spitfire.” He purrs, leaning in to kiss you, slowly making his way closer to you so that you’re laying back on your bed. At some point during the kiss, his boxers come off, and when you feel his cock against your cunt, you moan into the kiss, and you can feel his smirk against your lips.

Oh, you could kill him. But, you suspect maybe he’ll get to you first.

After he kisses you for a few minutes, he pulls away to tell—not ask, tell you, “I’m going to fuck you now.” And you know your line.

“’Kay.” He grins at this and kisses you again, before lining himself up and starting slowly. He just has the tip inside of you, and you begin to moan, your grip on his shoulders tightening. You already feel entirely too full, and he slowly agonizingly slowly pushes into you, and he sees how his size makes your face twitch,

“Shh, shh, I know, pup. Deep breathes for me, bub,” he says softly, such a stark contract to his rough movements, as he bottoms out and has his entire cock inside of you. And he gives you a second, watching as your face relaces, adjusting to the size of him. “Okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“’Kay,” You assure, and he kisses your forehead.

“’Kay.” He responds, and before you can tease him for it, he begins to thrust into you, slowly as first, but he continues to quicken his pace. Your nails begin to scratch on his back, and he lets out this angelic moan—You must’ve died and went to heaven.

As his thrusts quicken, the lines quickly blur between quick ruts and an animalistic need, manifesting itself in the way he fucks you. You know you won’t last long, especially when his fingers find your clit and begin to rub it again.

“Fuck! Oh my god—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, his free hand coming to your thigh to lift your leg up, only for better access to your throbbing cunt, “God, I love the feeling of you around me.. Worth the wait, I promise.” He grumbles, as he thrusts into you, his only goal to make you cum.

You want to respond to that—To tease him, to make him feel as shy as you do, but he has completed his goal of fucking you stupid.

All you can do is respond, “Fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby, go ahead, cum for me,” he requests softly, leaning in to press a rather jarringly sweet kiss to your lips.

As you cum around his cock, he shudders, the look of you, laying there fucked dumb, is almost too much for him to bear.

“I’m gonna fill you up, pup,” he tells you, and all you can do is moan in response, which makes him come that much closer to the edge. After a few more thrusts, with a euphoric moan that will haunt you forever, his hot cum fills you up, leaving the pair of you clawing at each other, wanting more.

When you’re both finally finished riding out your high, Logan lays next to you, keeping you close. His grip on you is tight—possessive. When you finally find your voice, you ask,

“You’re not gonna turn me into a booty call, are you, claws?”

And he laughs.

“No,” he says, pressing a kiss to your head. “You’re gonna be my best girl, Spitfire.”

“Does this mean I get to steal another of your flannels?”

“I’ll give you my whole fucking wardrobe to see how many times I can make you cum.”

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #logan howlett blurb #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine blurb #wolverine smut #xmen smut #deadpool and wolverine #danny speaks to the void

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reveluving · 4 months ago

Note

Phillip Graves getting jealous because his shy wife is getting flirted on by someone else but she doesn't know how to respond?? Yes please!!

(could be sfw at first but when they get back home graves pounds his wife against any surface he sees because he can't stand seeing his wife getting flirted on right in front of him)

YUUUUH I HAVE JUST THE THING!! I know, it's been AGES with these, and this one from last year but I still hope you like it! and I know you said doing the nasty back home, but I thought "man, I'm already here. might as well!" and filthy-ize(???) it even more for good measure 😘💗

Includes; soft (& slightly mean dom) & possessive graves, fingerf~cking, unprotected sex (p in v), petnames ('sugar', 'pretty girl'), licking, biting & marking, praising, dirty talking, mentions of voyeurism & exhibitionism!!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

It happens.

A lot.

The library, your favourite diner, your flower shop—anywhere.

It happens more than you can imagine, but with Phil around, it’s mostly from afar. The kind where they could only dream about making a move on you, if not for the guard dog with the sharp tongue.

Hence, when he’s not around, he worries a little for you, but he knows you can protect yourself when needed, thanks to the self-defence lessons he has given you when you were still dating.

So, imagine the unlucky bastard who thought it was a good idea to take advantage of your gracious hospitality, not knowing your husband was around.

It happened when he had finished work, but instead of heading home, he took the route where your flower shop was. Closing time was ten minutes ago so he knew you’d be waiting for him at the cafe next door, probably nursing a cup of your favourite drink or nibbling on a pastry.

He hated it whenever he couldn’t reach you on the dot or before, no matter how many times you’ve reassured him.

Reaching the neighbourhood shops was like a breath of fresh air, enjoying the sense of familiarity and the breeze as he turned the corner, passing by the cafe first.

But with a glance, his brows furrowed, seeing that you were nowhere in sight. He quickly took it as a sign that you were still working, though a thirty-minute overtime was almost uncommon of you.

He parked his convertible close to the entrance of your shop but still out of view, and for a brief moment, he caught sight of you through the window.

And just his mood lifted, ready to greet you with open arms, his smile dropped.

You were dealing with a customer, a man likely in his 30s and dressed, well, if one were told to dress formally, and they did it haphazardly, then that was exactly what it was. His body language was a little awkward, almost unsure what pose may look alluring in your eyes.

Though Phil had a knack for judging certain people by their looks, if and only if their personality rubbed him the wrong way, he didn’t have an issue thinking of the worst insults about the man, if not for the uncomfortable smile on your face.

So, leaning against the wall, away from you or the man’s sight, he listened in.

“So, your husband’s in the military, huh?” He asked, but Phil wasn’t dumb enough to think it wasn’t a sneer in disguise. Probably thought he held some rookie position, “Must be hard not having someone to hold to every night.”

Phil didn’t bother hiding the scornful look on his face.

“It’s not bad,” He immediately perked up at the sound of your voice. The gentle sound that could heal even his worst wounds, “He finds time to check up on me.”

Whether or not you were telling the truth or if you were downplaying your thoughts if his absence really did bother you, he’ll ask you later, but for now, he wanted to tell you how proud he was. Not letting some schmuck stick their nose in someone else’s business, and your marriage, no less.

“Well, sure, but look at you! I don’t know about you but if I had a girl like you? Shoot, I don’t I’d ever get any work done,” The audacity. Phil’s jaw tightened, listening to him weakly defend himself when you didn’t respond, undoubtedly displeased by his unnecessary opinion, “But that’s just me, y’know.”

“Right, um,” You turned to the row of flower pots, using the second to roll your eyes to the back of your head before showing him the bunch of bluebells in your hands, “How about some bluebells?”

The man pretended to think, “Nah, I mean, they’re cute but I’m looking for something… more,” He then leaned in, resting his arm on the counter, “A little bland, if I’m being honest with you.”

You forced a smile, but Phil, oh Phil.

He wasn’t smiling.

Who was this man, no, who was this kid to not see how uncomfortable you were with his god-awful ‘flirting’ skills and judge your taste in your very own store?

“That’s fine, I’m sure we can find something else.” Oh, that pitiful tone of yours. Just how long has this man been bothering you?

You bit down a sigh, placing the bluebells back into their pot before walking back to the back of the counter. You knelt, possibly looking for something else, though Phil wouldn’t blame you if you were doing so to drown him out for a bit.

Phil had listened long enough. Moving off the wall, he clicked on the lock button of his car keys. He spun his keys on his finger as he entered the shop, the rattling sounds prompted the man to follow his figure. His eyebrows knitted further, more so when Phil casually stopped right in front of the counter as if used to coming over.

His eyes darted from Phil’s attire; simple yet sophisticated, and how he carried himself, then the convertible behind him. The sudden insecurity forming in the guy’s mind was a no-brainer.

You must’ve heard the extra pair of footsteps and the keys, “I’ll be right with you!”

He didn’t respond, opting to eye the man—Chad, which he would later learn—with full of judgement. The latter flinched when their eyes met, though he tried to act cool soon by clearing his throat.

But the stare may have been too much for him, as he asked, his voice less confident than before, “Do I know you?”

“You tell me.” He responded loud enough for you to hear, and just as he hoped, you straightened, visibly lighting up at the sight of him.

“Phil!” You cheered, already forgetting about the customer as you rushed over to your husband for a hug, “I thought you wouldn’t be back until tonight?”

He shrugged, wrapping one of his arms around you while he caressed the apple of your cheek with his free hand, “Change o’plans. Drove here as fast as I could.” He gave you a lazy smile, more so when you jutted out your bottom lip, pouting at his statement.

“Phil, you know how I feel about you speeding home,” You sighed, despite leaning into his touch, “But I’m glad you’re back. Safe.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him, not with that cheeky smile of his before he pressed his lips onto yours. You could feel the upturn of his lips when you yelped, and he didn’t even bother hiding his amusement—his delighted huff when you returned the kiss.

But before he could feel you, before he could melt into your hands as they held his face, you broke the kiss, almost hiding in his chest for a moment before motioning to the man watching—his face that of panicked realization.

“Phil—Customer…”

Ew.

Well, at least he learnt he had messed with the wrong married woman.

Phil suddenly grinned, and a painfully fake one, judging by the lack of positive emotion, or any emotion in his eyes as he looked at Chad.

“Y’here for an arrangement?”

��U–Uh, no. I’m just… looking around. Thinking of buying one for my, uh, girl.”

The man wasn’t dumb enough to think the smirk on Graves’ face wasn’t the face of mockery. A man who has done enough interrogations to know just how much he was bullshitting.

“Huh, Y’must be lookin’ for a special one if you’re makin’ my girl workin’ overtime,” He glanced at the clock just hanging by the door, his arm not leaving you once, “Y’sleepin’ in the dog house or somethin’?”

“Phil.” You hissed, and ever so cutely, might your husband add. You briefly apologised to Chad, even if you wanted nothing more than to send him on his way.

“Sorry, sorry,” If you noticed his lack of sincerity, you didn't call him out on it. Graves held his hand out, the corner of his lips twitched when Chad took a step back, “Graves. Commander and CEO. Proud husband of this pretty girl right here.”

Chad accepted, albeit hesitantly, nearly squawking when Phil purposely squeezed his hand. He had a feeling he wouldn't mind breaking his arm if it weren't for the obvious repercussions and well, you being there.

“Mr Thompson was just looking for a bouquet for his girlfriend. It might take a minute so you can hang around for a bit while I help him.” You explained, standing close to your husband, now that he was with you.

“Or,” Phil spoke, and you should’ve suspected something was up just by his tone, despite his so-called generous offer, “I help him look for what he needs, while you go ahead and close up, get your bag, lock the back room and all.”

You raised your brows, “Phil, are you sure?”

He hummed, “C’mon. ‘Bout time I put my flower knowledge into good use. And who knows?” He glanced at Chad, sharply. With his eyes on the unwanted customer, he leaned to your side, as if whispering, despite making sure Chad heard him loud and clear, “It’s probably nothin’ more than a lil’ trouble in paradise. Nothin’ I can’t sort out, man to man.”

You thought for a moment. You had your suspicions when Chad stopped by the same time your shift ended. And while you wouldn’t have minded, he wasn’t exactly helpful about his request either. Giving you doubtful answers such as his supposed girlfriend’s favourite colour or the occasion.

Plus, you were a little eager to be away from Chad, even for a short while.

In the end, you nodded, much to Chad’s horror.

“Okay, I just need to organize a few boxes in the back,” You squeezed Phil's arm, “Thank you. I won’t take long.”

Sliding his hand down your arm, he raised your hand to his lips before letting you go.

“Take all the time y’need, pretty girl,” And as soon as you were out of sight, his voice dropped, the upturn of his lips now in a manner that Chad knew this was going to be anything but a quick talk amongst men about which apology flowers were the best, “Take all the time y’need.”

His smile was nowhere to be seen as he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched Chad pinching a leaf of random flower in the guise of interest.

But by the third flower, Graves had enough, surprising Chad with his authoritative tone.

“Y’just gonna stand there and ruin my wife’s flowers or are y’goin’ to buy somethin’ and get out?”

“I’m…” Chad began but Phil didn’t give him the satisfaction to explain himself. He didn’t need to.

“Look. I’m really fuckin’ tired, and my girl is, too, but I’m sure you’re too busy trying to look down her dress to notice that.”

“That’s—”

“Cut,” He didn’t even need to raise a single finger as the tone he normally used on his team on a bad or serious day was enough to shut the man up, “... the bullshit, alright? Y’can buy all the flowers you want to impress her, save a puppy as soon as you see her coincidentally walk by at the park. Fuckin’ pick-me.”

The impatient smile plastered on his face told Chad everything about the commander’s patience.

“I know a degenerate when I see one.” Chad knew not to trust how calm Phil sounded, “And I know she can defend herself just fine. Hell, I taught her everything she needs to know t’deal with boys like you. But I can tell y’one thing; I’ll do so much worse than what she’s already capable of.”

Graves’ heavy footsteps sounded like a disaster waiting to happen in mere seconds before he stood in the middle of the shop.

“Might wanna get out while y’can.” He gritted out, and Chad didn’t waste a second to find out what would’ve happened if he didn’t that very instance, whether it was from you or your husband.

You returned just in time to find Graves appreciating the tulips, though, unbeknownst to you, he was also slightly miffed that some were stained by Chad’s hands alone.

“Oh, did he find what he needed?”

“‘Guess so. Took off as soon as he figured it out. He didn’t buy anythin’ though,” He swiftly carried the bag for you, pulling you in for a kiss on your forehead, “Sorry he wasted y’time.”

“That’s alright,” You grinning, not expecting him to apologize over that, “I just need to keep the flowers in the back. Mind helping me?”

Of course he didn't mind.

He moved with you, carrying much more stock to the cool room where the unsold flowers were kept. During his second run, he lightly tapped you on the ass, stealing a kiss before telling you to lock the register instead. You did just that, carefully organizing the cash and coins before locking it.

Phil worked with ease, pushing necessary pots and displays to one side and pulling the blinds down like the tasks were at the back of his hand. But he didn’t draw the blinds close all the way, though, leaving a small opening at the bottom of the windows where you and Graves could see the sun shining through and the feet of passers-by.

But unbeknownst to you, he locked the front door and with great care, avoided the usual click.

He shamelessly glanced at you at every possible moment, watching you sit prettily as you focused on your task behind the counter.

Once his side was done, he approached you, stannding in between your legs as soon as you locked the register.

“All done.” You smiled, crinkles forming in your eyes.

“Perfect.” He opened up his arms, closing the space in between as you embraced. But just as you basked in the wholesome reunion, you froze up, eyes wide at a familiar tent prodding your stomach. He didn't bother concealing his amusement, his smile grew at your giggles, showering one side of your face with kisses to hear more of you.

“Thought he'd never leave.” He murmured against your skin with zero shame, which prompted you to pull back.

“You threw him out?” You asked in disbelief.

“He threw himself out,” He shrugged, not exactly lying but telling you the whole truth either. He cooed at your little frown, even holding his hand up in a saluting manner, “I’m serious. Scout's honour.”

“Were you even a scout?”

“Nope,” He responded without missing a beat, “But I do know how to tie a knot.”

“Phil!” You smacked his arm, but it did nothing to deter him, “I wasn't even gone that long.”

“Four minutes was all I needed.” He brushed his nose against your neck, looping his arms around you. You couldn't help but melt, sighing but more so in contentment than disappointment. Granted, you were anything but the latter, but who knows where your business would be if Phil did, well, whatever to your customers the way he did to Chad.

“He was bothering ya.” You knew it wasn't a question and there was no point denying it, so you hummed in confirmation.

“Kinda figure that out after a while,” You shrugged, though you didn't want him to worry either, “I, uh, had my suspicion as soon as I asked him what he was looking for.”

“Yeah? What did he really tell ya?”

“Just said he wanted some pretty flowers for a pretty lady, and then,” You mimicked the awkward eyebrow-wiggles he did to you, much to Phil’s amusement and disdain, “And then said no to all of my suggestions.”

Phil’s tutting was akin to a Southern mother's, being his blood and all. That, and he was having second-hand embarrassment—to think Chad thought he'd have a chance using that line on you.

Hell, on anyone.

“It was getting a little embarrassing, honestly.” You couldn't help but snort, only for your smile to grow when he, too, expressed his amusement.

‘A little’ was putting it lightly.

“You and me, sugar.”

You leaned your weight against him just as he did against the counter, figuring that this was one of those days where he needed to just relax. Be around you as if you exuded great energy, and in his eyes, you were.

A far cry from the more despicable chaos he and his partnering team have to deal with for a living.

You brushed your fingers along his stubble, smiling to yourself at the familiar, prickly sensation. Ever the perceptive man, he angled his face so your lips were pressed on his instead of his cheek.

It was much needed for the both of you as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Though, you tried not to go too far with it, your nerves rising as your eyes flitted to the door, despite Phil’s breathy reassurance that he locked it.

Noticing your hesitance, he broke the kiss to rest his head in the crook of your neck. His warm breath tickled you, more so when his hands languidly moved up and down your body.

But then, his hands didn't stop moving upwards.

He swiftly pulled down the straps of your dress, trailing his lips along your shoulder. Though the dress wasn't fully removed, the way you haphazardly held the front of it against your chest, amplifying your cleavage which was just as alluring as you were topless.

“Phil!” You choked out, and yet, he continued. Licking across your newly exposed skin with the tip of his tongue. Starting from the collarbone, down to your tits when he squeezed your breasts together, and then, sucking on the plush at random spots. Eager to leave a mark wherever he could with shameless sounds of suckling and pops, “Here?!”

If the way your hand shot up to his hair, massaging his scalp and pulling his head close instead of pushing him away was anything to go by, he knew dead set on making you scream.

He took a step back, encouraging you to stand up before hooking his arms under your ass, lifting you effortlessly to seat you on the counter.

His bulge was snug against you, thanks to his taller stature. The way his hands slid down your thighs prompted you to wrap your legs around him, despite the growing warmth in your face at the lewd display. There was something about the sliver of possibility of being watched that raised both your worries and anticipation, despite the opaqueness of the cream-coloured window blinds.

Plus, the shop wasn't exactly soundproof either.

He leaned forward, forcing you to lie back on the surface. His lips hadn't slowed down since, enjoying your squirms and breathless moans as he peppered your neck in kisses before raising his head.

“My wife's a beaut, isn't she?” He whispered against your temple, rolling one of your tits in between his fingers before sliding his hand down to your thigh, squeezing the plush of it, “Got these boys actin’ stupid around ya.”

You gasped when his hand slid further under your skirt. He toyed with the waistband of your panties, teasingly pulling them up and wedging the lacy material in between your sopping pussy.

“Even I can't resist her sweet lil’ charm,” He purred, pulling your panties to the side and then bunching the hem of your dress for him to delight in all its glory, “Y’know that, don't cha?”

He swiped two of his fingers across your lips. Even the softest touch elicited the most delicious squelch he had ever heard.

He hummed in approval, teasing you to his heart's delight, “But she's also so, so dirty, deep down,” He made sure you made the slightest mess, letting your juices drip bit by bit, down to your tight hole and the counter itself, “And this—this is only f’me to see, right, pretty girl?’

He captured your lips with his before you could even muster out a breathless ‘yes’, the kiss ending just as quickly as it happened before tapping your lips with his fingers.

You didn't need to be told, but that didn't mean it was any less embarrassing. But his approving hum at your first, kitten-like lick was encouraging. It had you chasing after his praises, verbal or otherwise.

His cock was downright throbbing, wishing it was his cock you were eagerly drooling on instead of his fingers, but who was he to say he wasn't enjoying the view in hand either?

Once he was sure they were wet enough, he slid them out of your mouth, crudely enjoying the string of saliva for a second before dropping his fingers to your cunt.

He mirrored your parted lips, watching your face scrunch up as he eased in one finger. Your whimper was pitiful, and the slightly wicked side of him couldn’t help but coo at you almost condescendingly, knowing you could handle something much bigger than his mere finger, even if they were much thicker than yours.

He set a torturing pace, taking in the way your body moved, rolling your hips in hopes you’d have his fingers knuckles-deep in you. The way you half-heartedly covered your face with one hand was endearing, probably too overwhelmed by his unapologetic stare.

Then, he cranked up the speed with two fingers, greedy for more of your juices leaking out each time he moved in and out. And by the time you were clenching around three fingers, he was ruthless with his pace.

Unforgiving.

He looked euphoric just from bringing the pleasure to you, tipping his head back as he listened to you struggling to hold back your moans and whines whenever he pulled out to tease and slap at your clit.

“Colour?” As casual as he tried to sound, he was just as breathless as you were.

“Green…” You whined, pleading him to continue, even if it felt like you were overstimulating, “Phil, please… Please…!”

You didn’t have to repeat, for he amped up his pace and chased after the climax when the pitch of your voice heightened, arching your back like you weren’t sure if you wanted him to carry on or push him away when you were getting close.

He didn’t falter, nipping on your shoulder just a tad harder just before you trembled, cumming and clenching hard around his fingers. He cupped your face with his other hand, soothing you from your high with praises and kisses.

“Such a good girl, my good girl. Always so brave f’me, makin’ the sweetest faces. None of those boys gets t’see what I see.”

It wasn’t long before he carefully slid his fingers out, comforting you each time you whimpered or twitched.

Opting to continue caressing your face, he took the chance to snag a taste of you. Savouring the one taste he had been dying for each time he was away for work.

But he didn’t finish it all. As much as he wanted to, he needed to save the rest for his cock, itching to have a mere feel of your wetness.

Speaking of, he was straining, standing proud and curved a little as the tip, just a hint of red, nearly touched his belly button as soon as he pulled his trousers down. It yearned to feel you, tight and hot, his extra-vulgar actions were the results of restraining himself.

He shuddered a little—it was entrancing, holding one of your legs up for him to brush his lips against and seeing his cock slide up and down your pussy lips.

Even after prepping you well, it felt like his cockhead was breaching your walls. You let out a breathy sigh, tilting your head at the upside windows, tensing up at the sight of passersby’s feet at the foot of the glass.

“What do y’think, pretty girl?” He murmured against your leg, still pushing into you, “Do y’think that Thompson guy’s around, wonderin’ why the window’s closed while the car’s still out there?”

The way your head tilted back against the counter in ecstasy, the last rays of the sun shining down on your skin. Even with the AC still on, it stopped neither of you from sweating. The thinnest layer of perspiration, especially gathering along your throat, down to the valley of your breasts—oh, what a shame it would be if he didn’t have even a single lick of it.

And he did just that, leaning in to give one of your tits a teasing lick.

Those half-lidded eyes, that drunken smile—oh, he was losing it.

He felt like the most blessed man in the world.

“Eyes on me, bunny. He can listen all he wants but this—it’s you and me.”

And it wouldn’t take long for you to reach your peak, Phil kept his eyes on your facial expression because if it wasn’t the sexiest look he had ever seen before he, too, cums with you. In you.

Holding himself up with one hand beside your head, he used the other to caress your face, allowing you all the time in the world to catch your breath. But truth be told, he had fucked the senses right out of you.

“You alright?” “Mmm…” Your murmurs had him chuckling as he carefully gathered you in his arms.

“Can y'walk? Or do I have to carry you? Because y'know I don't mind either way.” Not especially the latter. He may not be as buff as some of his team but he feels good being able to prove the assumptions wrong. So wrong.

You shook your head, and though none of you were even certain what your answer was, Phil somehow understood, but not before letting you collect yourself for as long as you needed. There was no need to rush. Not now.

“Alright, pretty girl. I can do that.”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

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incidentallysunny · 5 months ago

Text

Through The Skin

Real Uncle!Leon

Dead dove warning.

7k word count. Proof read lightly. Critique is welcomed and my skin is thick for it.

I'd like to appear in the tagz pls so here's a warning. My writing is not ever meant to be taken literally and is just for the sake of writing fxcked up content that I enjoy writing. If you do not wish to read this, please do not as my intentions are not to offend or make you intentionally uncomfortable but if you choose to read- don't be hateful. With that out of the way, extremely sensitive content and dead dove material ahead.

Specifically blood-related incest, smut, suicidal ideation, mentions of grotesque imagery, light mentions of gore in a hypothetical scenario, age-gap, overall just some disturbing topics.

As far as smut specifically: this includes talking of public sex, public female oral-recieving, Leon has dick piercings surprise, make and female oral, fingering, unprotected sex, cream-pie (wrap your willy irl pls) praise, dirty talk, spitting, any probably some other irrelevant shit I'm forgetting my bad.

PROCEED if you read the above, are okay with it, and are mentally unwell like I am. Happy reading, it's a long one.

To be quite frank, you didn’t give a shit about a single holiday party that your parents threw. Having to hug and touch on people you didn’t even know, putting on a fake smile and pretending as if you remembered them at all. Exhausting for a young woman to keep up this charade for so long. You’re sure your relatives noticed the dying spark in your eyes over time. Living Growing does that to a person. You spent all night fetching beers and other pre-packaged, alcoholic drinks- hoping he would show up every time you had to hand one out. Still one less face you’re can be enthralled to see.

You sat at the dining table, leaned onto an elbow with your face in your palm. Clearly a dejected and annoyed pose but everyone here was too cheery or already deep in the ‘special occasion’ wine bottle to even piece that together. Your other hand traced the ringed patterns in the wood surface, wondering how old it had been before it was chopped down ruthlessly by some hot guy with a chainsaw who was getting paid way too much to be fucking up nature left and right. All so that some college-aged girl could sit at the furniture it had been made into and sulk. God, an almost 40 year old tree. That’s pretty fucking old. You’re glad it lived a somewhat long life (in human years, not tree years.) ‘Cause some trees live a few hundred or even thousand years. So maybe it was taken too soon before it became the placeholder for your familial drunken talks. While you were distracted, annoyed, and pitying yourself, the table all erupted into ‘Hey, long time no see!’s , laughter, and other delightful sentiments that were jolly and deafening enough to make you jump. Loud noises weren’t your thing.

Before you could regain your composure and turn your torso in the hand-carved, deep-brown varnished chair- a hand graced the presence of your slumped shoulder.

“Hey, babydoll. Long time no see.” The voice greeted, husky and rough like a patch of concrete you’ve definitely scraped your knee on a time or two. Basically, it was familiar, which is what you’re getting at.

Uncle Leon.

You turned your full body now, swinging your legs to the side of the seat- a few laughs slopped from the table.

Everyone knew how much you loved and fawned over your Uncle- your dad rivaling how much you seemed to prefer his brother over him. Well duh, dad. It’s because he’s fun and you’re a hard-ass. And ugly to look at. Your poor, poor mom.

It had been years since you saw your uncle. Since you were freshly 18, to be exact. Your dad wasn’t too keen on having him around his barely-legal daughter- probably because he could practically smell it on you that you want your uncle to pop your cherry. You still remembered his few quirks, too. He was always sloppy yet casually drunk wherever he was, he hated fireworks (due to PTSD as your dad explained), and he had always been known to be grabby with people- probably because of the alcohol. He was a weird guy, but you loved him all the same. It broke the normalcy of your home and made things interesting to be around him. However- none of this was the focus. His stubble, dark-liquored bags under his eyes that almost resemble eyeliner, and dark-tinted hair were. And god, his chin. Could be a replacement for a Sybian, if you had one. All of that aside, he looks sexy. That’s so fucking weird to say about your dad’s brother, but calling it weird is also so outdated. Fucking your hot, middle-aged uncle is in; getting a boyfriend your age is out.

You stood up swiftly, hugging him tightly around the waist and almost toppling him. He chuckled, steadying himself with one arm around your back and the other on the table to catch himself. Once he felt he was steady enough, the other arm joined around you- the embrace squeezing you like a stress ball. You worried that your eyes might be a little more loose in your skull than before.

“Gotta be careful, kiddo. You’re gonna take down your uncle one of these days.” He teases, moving out of the hug and letting his hands explore their way down your back- resting on the small of it. Digits perched like a bird where your back starts to curve into your ass- not sweetly or gentle- but like one of those huge-taloned hawks that would rip your flesh off. You only say that because his hands are big and rough- and you’ve heard stories of what your uncle does for work (plus the alcohol is making him need to stabilize himself so he doesn’t crash you both into the nearby counter and cause any serious brain injury. At least then you could excuse the bubbling of strange feelings as TBI). Oh, and with how handsy he was known to be (Just ask your Aunt Claire on your mom’s side). But he had never been that way with you- not until now.

You see your dad eyeing him like the same kind of big-taloned hawk from across the table. They’re cut from the same feathers- except your dad must have been the one that never learned to fly. Pushed out of the nest by a sharp shove of a beak and bit every branch of the ugly tree on the way down. Cause he’s a lot weaker and uglier than your uncle. How he pulled your mom is a miracle and a mystery.

“Hey, uh. Honey. Come sit back down. No need in playing into your uncle’s fashionably late, drunken stupor.” He quips towards you while grilling Leon about being late, nursing his own drink with that ugly grin. You roll your eyes. Leon removes his hands from you- putting them up in defense of himself and leaving your back with an empty feeling.

“Hey, hey. Just hugging my beautiful niece.” He turned to address you again. “Been years since I’ve seen you, sweetheart. Look even better than your momma.” You feel a blush creep up at Leon’s words, but your dad clears his throat and your mom pays him no mind. Just an eye roll and sip of a wine cooler. To be honest, even she probably fucked your uncle. You couldn’t blame her if she did.

You huff and sit back down, crossing your arms. Your dad always had to ruin everything. If you fuck your uncle or kiss him or whatever and don’t like it, you can just go to therapy. Leon snickered behind you, patting your shoulder before leaning in next to your ear.

“Come join me out on the deck in a bit. I’m sure you’re tired of being smothered in here with the fun police.”

You feel muggy from his words. Like a Louisiana swamp type muggy. Is your hair sticking to you? Are there zika-virus bearing mosquitos pricking you or is that just undiagnosed anxiety?

You bounce your leg under the table while you hear the sliding door open and close in the distance. Minutes pass of you twiddling your thumbs- and you excuse yourself to sneak off- exiting out the same heavy sliding door that Leon used.

When you sealed it behind you- the smell of whiskey filled your nostrils- sizzling off any hairs that your nose so proudly grew for much needed germ-protection. A hand slapped itself gracelessly onto the glass above you in the dark, trapping you in place. Predictable uncle.

“Shit, sorry sweetheart. Lost my footing. Y’know how it is. I’m always taking spills here and there.” You felt giddy and blistered all over, speaking back to him.

“S’okay. Sorry about dad.” You excused, breathing in. Leon’s other hand patted you low on your hip as he chuckled into your ear- sending off more whiskey breath.

“It’s okay, sweet thing. Your dad can be that way. I’m not exactly safe to be around in his eyes. Besides, he’s just doing his job- looking out for his little girl.” He explains, not making any efforts to move. You predicted this- but it wasn’t unwelcome.

“Why’s that?” You dare to ask, sounding purposefully puzzled- but Leon knows better. And you know the answer.

“It’s ‘cause your Uncle likes ‘em young and pretty.” He mulls the information over you, the words sliding down you like a vibration that sets off a perfect sensation to your already throbbing clit. Because you’re always horny. The hand on your hip now kneads your ass under your skirt- somehow getting there without notice.

“O-oh.” You choke on the word like it’s quicksand in your throat- but only the quicksand is the prospect of having your uncle plow you until you develop early onset dementiaSo really, the quicksand isn’t bad in this instance. You jump into it face first for a good mouthful.

“Shouldn’t be wearing something so short when you know your dirty old uncle is coming over. Can’t keep my eyes where they’re supposed t’be.” He mutters low, leaning down to tickle the shell of your ear with his voice.

“Knew you were coming over. I wanted to look pretty for you.” Saying it makes your head spin, but like in the good way. The sound Leon makes is between a groan that says ‘good god, I’m going to bury my cock inside you right the fuck now’ and ‘I figured as much’. A simple cocktail of horniness and knowing.

“Mm, just want to kiss you everywhere, you know? Love it how sweet you are.” He murmurs into your scented hair, using the hand from the wall to push aside any strands that are in his way. He kisses the back of your neck and his breath scorches your skin. The affection is sloppy and leaves small bits of saliva behind, his barely-darting-out tongue making you ache even more.

“U-uncle.” You shuddered, a slight protest to your voice. Not ‘cause you don’t like it but because you’re worried someone will see. Or that you’ll never want off of his dick. He can be your personal IUD, all buried in your cervix.

Leon ignored the shared thought that someone could see because the way you referred to him made his dick jump in his jeans. Plus, the whole family knows he’s a sleeze. They’d see him balls deep in you and say ‘Ah, that’s Leon for you’ And look the other way until his next sexual prospect. One of the many reasons that Aunt Claire doesn't visit and Aunt Ada divorced his ass. Her loss. You’d happily share him if it were you. It’s only right to share a man that looks like a washed-up pornstar. His dick is great too. Not ‘cause you’re guessing- but because you saw it one time. Last time you saw him actually- the whole incident that left you wanting to see him again oh-so-badly. He had stumbled in the bathroom to piss- ignoring you at the sink. It’s whatever, he was totally wasted and probably didn’t see you. Nor did he probably see the fact you were gawking at his big dick. Or his nice ass, cause he had let his pants drop completely in his hazy state.

“Mm, what is it, babydoll? Hey- Think anyone’d notice if I fingered this sweet little pussy right now?” His voice cut through your memory and thick, long fingers teased the swell of your pussy lips through your underwear, making your hips contract with excitement. Your breath fans over the glass and smogs it.

“I don’t know- maybe.” You huff, trying to keep your composure. It sure is fucking hard when God’s gift to women is about to finger-fuck you at your parent’s house with 20 or so family members inside the property. You second guess yourself now. Maybe God's gift to women doesn’t go around playing with a pussy that belongs to their niece. Or maybe God was fed up with some girls missing out so he created sexually-attractive uncle’s to even any scores. You’ll be attending church this upcoming Sunday. Not because you’re going to follow through with blood-related fornication but because you want to thank the higher-ups properly for this fine piece of ass you’re about to receive from. Or maybe you shouldn’t step foot there, the whole ‘bursting into flames for egregious sinning’ type thing. Wait a minute- there’s literally daddy-daughter incest in the Book of Genesis, so you’ll happily sin away and tell god to fuck off while doing it. Okay maybe that’s a little uncalled for.

Leon tugged your panties to the side, breathing shakily.

“Fuck. I gotta see it, baby.” He mumbles, dropping to one knee with the other bent and still supporting the front of him. Underwear aside, he uses his hands to spread you out- taking in the sight of your damp folds. Damp is putting it lightly. His thumb collects some of your slick and he nearly cums right there.

“You save your first time for me?” He questions. In his mind, you’ve already had a dick or two. He can work with that. Those little guys your age don’t match up to him, but he’s blindsided when you whine about being a virgin, begging him to stick it in or something. Now, Leon’s not the greatest guy morally. At all. But if he’s going to pop your pussy like a soda cap for the first time, he’s going to do it in private cause he’s not stopping for anything. And privacy allows just that. Again- it’s not about it being special, just private. He’ll turn you out good and well.

“Sorry sweetheart. I wanna fuck this needy hole when it’s just us. Think you can wait?” He asks, before darting his tongue out to taste you and lapping up any of you that’s continuously dripping out from pent-up arousal. Your knees almost buckle and he puts his hands under the curve of your ass to hold you still. Your brain goes so mushy you almost forgot to respond.

“Y-yes, uncle Leon.” You whine like a pathetic puppy- begging for something that it didn’t need. But actually, you did need your uncle’s dick so badly. He laughs against your cunt, seemingly happy with that answer. Before you can properly nut like you want, you see your dad pass by in the distance of the sliding door. You tap the glass gently to alert Leon with a small series of clicks. He shoots his head up, yanking your panties back into place and using the sleeve of his leather jacket to wipe his mouth.

“Fuck- always such a blue-balling asshole for anyone, I swear. Sorry, pretty girl.” He smooths down your hair, making sure you look presentable. Well- besides your face that’s red enough to be used as a lit flare.

“Go inside. I’m sure he’s looking for you, babydoll.” He grabs you drunkenly by the upper arm, pulling you in to kiss you on the cheek.

“Come by mine sometime. I’ll be home, for once.” He mutters the last part, loosening his hold on you and starting down the steps of the deck.

“Okay. I’ll see you later, Uncle Leon.” You sound so disappointed and miserable. Pouty. Leon gets it.

“Later, babydoll.”

He heads down the path of the backyard and through the connecting gate that leads to the driveway, the sound of his motorcycle’s engine revving is the cue that he’s definitely headed off.

You let yourself back in, acting inconspicuous. But your dad is already waiting with crossed arms. Yuck.

“Did I not tell you several times about hanging around your uncle. He’s a weird guy. I don’t mind him coming over but, god.” He lays into you, mostly just insulting his brother. You roll your eyes as you normally do. You’ve never not had an attitude with your father. He was born to be shit on in your eyes- barely deserved your mom, as is. Besides, He had no backbone whatsoever.

“Just go upstairs.” He asked, cause he never told you to do anything. Just asked and hoped you’d listen. You were pleased enough to have gotten as much as your uncle tonguing your cunt, so you can comply a bit longer. You go upstairs to your room, shutting the door and lying down.

—

It’s a week later when you finally get to see your uncle. You managed to convince your dad to let you borrow his car, ‘cause you’re a broke college student and can’t afford that right now. Plus you’re spoiled but not enough for a car, apparently. Whoops. Probably because your dad knows as soon as he signs the papers, you’re going to drive to his brother’s house and impale yourself on his dick for life. He’d rather you go to college and get a train ran on you or something, at least.

You hoped you had remembered the right place at first, until Leon’s motorcycle was spotted in the lot. Good, he’s home. You still questioned your memory as you were walking up the flights of stairs in the apartment building, tugging down the back of your skirt when you felt it was airing out your ass too much (for any passerbys, not Leon). After reaching the 12th floor and navigating the scarily clean hallway (the few decorations in the area made it less horror-esque), you found the right (?) door. Your knock was soft because again, you weren’t entirely sure. Just going off of childhood memories.

After hearing a shuffle inside, it didn’t take long for it to swing open, Leon standing in the doorway shirtless with a pair of grey, thin sweatpants loose on his hipbones. His v-line was saying hello to you. Hello to you, too.

“Pretty girl! Hey! Thought you’d never come by. Sorry about the attire- been having a lazy day since I’m off work.” He moved aside for you to come in, the door shutting behind you when you accepted the unspoken invitation. His place was nice. A little cluttered with a half-packed suitcase; clothes messily thrown on top and some paperwork and a passport in a heap on the desk nearby, but still nice. Not to mention spacious. Thank god.

“It’s okay, really. You deserve some relaxation time, you know?” You try to be cool and collected- not getting to the main point of your visit. Even if you did have genuine interest in your uncle as a person.

“Isn’t that the truth? Want a drink?” He asked, already walking towards his kitchen. You don’t immediately reply because the sway of his ass is… something else, but you manage to snap yourself from the hypnotizing gaze of it. He’s got a whiskey glass and bottle already on the counter, waiting for a reply.

“Sure.” You tell him, knowing damn well you can’t handle your alcohol. You get all fucking lovey and touchy, and you’ve only drank like 3 times. And sure. You did come here to fuck him, but you were nervous. Okay, never mind. That gives a complete need for liquid courage.

He makes his way to the hallway- switching something on the AC control before sitting on the couch, adjacent from the chair you’re nestled in. You’re taking small sips of the whiskey, burning your throat, sinuses, and any nervousness down like a forest fire. Leon just sits, legs splayed apart like how men always sit. Except you can see his fat-ass dick print. God, kill me now. Or after I’ve sucked it, at least. You see, too, what looks like indents in the fabric- piercings maybe? Or the folds of the pants are sitting weird.

“Did you find the place okay?” He asks, coming off like he cares- which he does- but he’s mostly waiting to get you and himself sloppy for fucking so he’s just stalling now.

You nod, bottom lip tucked into your mouth- if you talk it’s going to be about his dick being huge or his dick being inside you. Leon allows you another deep sip, finishing off the liquid completely.

“I actually remembered how to get here just about perfectly.” You spoke, laughing a little. Yeah, you’d be gone completely in a few minutes. You already felt yourself slipping into a hazy, bubbly state. Leon could tell, too. Good for him. He loved when the girl was sloppier than the pussy attached to her.

“Smart girl. Always have been.” He took a long, heavy drink- finishing off his glass. You watched how his stomach twitched or moved even the slightest when he adjusted himself, the same with his arms. He was muscular yet lean- like he didn’t eat enough some days. Figures. Beauty isn’t easy and he looked good, and maybe that’s why he got plastered all the time so easily. No appetite=no tolerance. However, you were most certainly not afraid to look at the hard work. Even more so with alcohol brewing in your stomach acid and then liver.

Leon patted his leg, fingers drumming on the material of his sweatpants.

“Come sit. You can tell me more about it on your uncle’s lap.” Gross. Gross in the hot way. The gross-hot way you want him to fold and twist you like a pretzel. So no, you don’t abhor the idea of sitting in his lap.

You don’t even hesitate, standing and nearly falling over- realizing you forgot how wobbly your legs could get while inebriated. Leon reached forward to grab your hand and waist, letting you fall directly onto his lap, ass to crotch. Like a puzzle piece. An incestual puzzle piece- which ideally shouldn’t fit together but it just does.

You feel his cock twitch under you; he’s anticipated this, obviously. His hands slid up your thighs, and down again, then back up- like he’s appreciating them.

“Got the prettiest legs, baby. Want them on your uncle’s shoulders, don’t you?” He cooed, scooting you to the edge of his lap just enough to get his cock out of his bottoms. You turn to look behind you, twisting yourself a bit to get a look at it. Christ. One, he was big. The kind of dick that couldn’t stand ‘cause it was heavy and long. Two. It had a few piercings down the front of his shaft, gleaming in the light. So not only were you about to take your first dick, but a pierced one (like you had suspected). Okay…you didn’t remember seeing those the only other time you ever saw his dick by accident. New additions.

Leon stroked your hair with the hand that wasn’t holding his dick.

“Trust me, feels a lot better than it looks. I promise it doesn’t hurt. Even for virgins.” He adds, like he knows that for a fact. “Nothing you can’t handle for me.”

Okay, he’s right. You’d take his fist if it meant his approval, honestly. How bad could it be?

You move to spin yourself around on his lap, Leon’s amused at your eagerness. He holds his cock, spitting down onto it so he can stroke himself while he puts a hand onto your neck. You’re pulled by the hold into a slow, messy, spitty kiss. He’s definitely experienced, as you are not. His tongue makes its way against yours like he’s silently teaching you how to kiss him open mouthed. Not so hard, you think. He groans into your mouth as he handles himself, maneuvering his cock to brush against your underwear; prodding your clothed clit under your skirt.

You mewl against his lips which only spurs him to kiss you a little more rough now, assuming you’re ready for it. Which you definitely don’t mind. His hand squeezes the side of your neck affectionately, a thumb tracing the skin. You’re thankful you’re in his lap because your knees are weak and your head feels dizzy. It was an exchange of sighs and heavy breathing- no distance. Your hands tangled into his dark locks which is something that Leon loved; having his hair pulled (you could tell by his lusty growl and the shift of his hips). He truly was the epitome of a kinky, dirty old man. If pushing 40 was old. Well, to be fair, you did call the dead tree of a table at your parent’s house old, ‘cause it was 40.

He pulled off of you, your now un-joined mouths drippy with saliva.

“Get in between your Uncle’s legs. Wanna see that pretty mouth on this cock.” He urged, and you found yourself with your calves folded under you in between his parted thighs. He held his cock proudly, and to be honest, the piercings look daunting. How did you even expect yourself to suck on it like you’ve seen in porn? Maybe you should have spent more time watching guys with pierced dicks instead of the step category. You had a preference, clearly.

You snaked your hands up to him, holding his cock with a puzzled look clear on your face. Leon laughed, not like he was laughing at you but the way you laugh at someone when you think what they’re doing is cute.

“Don’t worry about them too much, gorgeous. Just do it how you think you would normally. But pay careful attention with your tongue. Won’t hurt me any, promise.” He reassures you thoroughly, chuckling through a sexually intense gaze. Okay, it seems…. easy enough. Didn’t know dirty old uncles could be so sweet about having their dick sucked.

You lean forward, Leon guiding the head to your mouth.

“Just go slow and focus on the tip. Don’t want my girl to be uncomfortable, now do I?” His girl? You liked the sound of that. Enjoyed it very much. You’d be his girl wherever and whenever. You took him past your lips- suckling on the tip softly and swirling your tongue around it.

“Just like that- fuck- you’re doing great, babydoll.”

The praise edged you on, and you managed enough confidence to glide your tongue down his shaft and over the piercings- flicking over them pornographically. You felt like it was just right. If fucking your uncle could be right in any way of the sense. Leon groaned and his head fell back onto the couch. A large hand found its way to your hair, holding it into a makeshift ponytail. You discovered that it wasn’t too daunting- it was possible to bob your head a little while keeping your tongue exploring the piercings in small swirls and flicks. Just makes your jaw a little tired faster. Besides, seems less scary than taking it inside you.

It’s an alternation of the previous movements and kitten licking up the front of him, and the adornments on his skin only seem to make everything feel much more stimulating. His breath deepens and he guides you now with your hair in hand- looking down at you through deep-brown bangs.

“Fuck- that’s it. Just look at you, dirty little niece I’ve got here, sucking her uncle’s cock like she was made for it. God- so damned pretty with your tongue on me.” His head falls back again for a moment, before he sits up- his labored panting evident.

“Christ. Okay- can’t take it anymore. C’mon, baby. Up.” He says, smacking your bottom when you stand in front of him. You’re feeling a bit ‘five seconds away from crashing into the coffee table and impaling yourself on the broken wood’ type of drunk now.

“Uncle Leon’s gonna pop that cherry, got it? Now sit down and let me lick that sweet pussy. Can still taste it after last time.” He’s speaking filthy things you should hear and run in the opposite direction from- but you don’t.

“My room. Remember where that is?” He mumbles, standing behind you now while he runs his hands down your sides- possessively grabbing at any fabric on you.

You shake your head no.

“Can’t remember. Need you to show me.” You whisper to him, putting your hands over his on your sides. He just muffles a laugh into the crook of your neck and shuffles you along in front of him, the two of you almost falling over multiple times on the way to his bedroom. You’re sure that something did get knocked off the wall at one point, but you literally do not care in any way.

Leon staggers you into the room and pushes you back onto the bed, shedding off his sweatpants. Naked, no boxers. Just full, thick cock and a trail of hair leading up to his belly-button that you haven’t let your eyes leave for however long you’ve been here. Oh, and muscled thighs. One of the greater parts of a man. His hands find their way to your thighs, tugging you to the edge of the bed before invading his thumbs into the waistband of your panties.

“Let’s get these off.” He grunts, pulling them down your legs and tossing them only for the undergarment to land in an unseen place. You go to tug off your skirt, until his hands pin yours to the bed.

“Want you to keep that on. Looks cute.” He says, retracting from you and sinking down at the edge of the bed. In no wasted time, his mouth is lazily lapping at your cunt- making your back bend in the reaction of immediate, overwhelming pleasure. You grabbed at the sheets until you remembered how his body responded when you pulled at his hair- so you found your hold there instead. Tugging his darkened strands with the pace he was eating you out at- stubble against your pussy and nose in your mound. His cheeks tickled your thighs, punching out a soft giggle and squirm from your body between the moaning. It makes him smile into you- reaching a hand up to knead your breast. Honestly, you hoped that the roof caved in right now and took you to your death because no moment would be better than this and that in itself made you suicidal.

You feel a finger slip past your hole, curling itself into that soft wall of fleshy, orgasmic sponge. The noise that left you was new, for sure and the muscle in his mouth jerked against your clit in tandem. It seemed Leon had the same deep feeling and worry you did about his dick even fitting, cause he added a second finger. Then tried to add a third but gave up because he actually wanted his dick to do that labor. He can be selfish, okay? It didn’t take long for you to cum either, duh. He was a skilled whore of a man and you’re a virgin. Or will be for only a few more minutes- probably less.

Your legs shake and tense, your heart thumps viciously, and your fingers threaten to tangle his hair into knots and make him start balding. Not happening no matter how hard you yank, though. His genes are too good for that. He was made for rough pulls to his mane. Made to take damage both mentally and physically. Made for splitting open cute, slutty nieces like you.

While you recovered, he licked his lips and fingers as clean as he could- missing the further parts of his stubbled cheeks. He stood up, hand on his lower back (‘cause duh, he’s old as dirt), and reached into the nightstand for a condom- which you gave him a look before he could open it. A look that told him ‘please, please, please don’t put it on! sure, fuck your blood-relative niece raw and possibly knock her up! Might not have to worry because you’re an alcoholic and your sperm quality is low, though.’ So fuck away.

He was a sucker for your big, glossy eyes and the slutty pout of your bottom lip. Not mentioning- he wouldn’t have worn a condom anyway. Would have just slipped it off before he stuck his dick in you. A virgin couldn’t tell the difference. What? You expected a man that fucks his own family to have morals for things lesser than that? No chance.

“Please, Uncle.” You begged softly, Leon knowing what you want without actually saying it. He’s great at reading people.

“Fucking hell. You’re something else. You want it that bad, huh?” He laughed, pleased by you beseeching him with so little words. You nodded, no objections about it. He tossed the unopened condom back in the drawer and shut it impatiently, making the lamp wobble.

“Changed my mind. Everything off. Gotta see that pretty set of tits.” The words were matter of fact and laced with a bit of erection-fueled urgency.

You reach your hands up to remove your shirt, then discard your bra and skirt. Left in the nude as naked as the day you were cut from your moms stomach. C-section baby and all that. Only this time there was no blood. Yet, anyways.

When you were stark naked, Leon pushed you firmly onto his bed again- folding you by the backs of your thighs, legs pressed to your chest and gifting your stomach with that cute roll thing it did. Leon liked that on a woman.

He grabbed his cock, positioning it against your slick that dribbled from your yet-to-be-abused hole. He was gonna change that. You could feel his one of the piercings resting against your skin down below- a tsunami of anxiety settling over your delicate village of a body.

“Might hurt a little, babydoll. Can’t promise I’m gonna be gentle with her.” He referred to your pussy, your hole fluttering when he talked. You gave a look of understanding and acknowledgement.

“God, want it so bad.” You whined under him, the position he had your legs in made you even crazier about having him in you, like, yesterday.

He didn’t savor the moment so that he could push into you, he just did it. The feeling of each piercing bumping your hole on the way in. It felt fucking good, but also his dick stretching you out was intense and stung like a papercut.

His hands held your thighs down into your stomach- giving you a novice contortionist experience, and you could see the veins in his forearm pop a little. Your mind raced with the following anxieties; ‘What if a piercing cuts my insides and I die from sepsis or something? What if a piercing ball comes off and is lost inside me forever? Maybe I should stretch more.’ The first two were irrational but maybe not so much so, or else you wouldn’t be thinking of them. You’re not the first woman to think any of it.

“Fuck- there we go. Shit. You feel incredible, baby.” He dropped the doll in favor of calling you baby this time, making you squeeze around him as he bottoms out, balls against your ass. Yep. A bruised cervix was in your future. Going to have to come up with an excuse for why you won’t be able to get out of bed for the next few days. You thought other girls were just exaggerating this whole time about feeling yourself be split open, what the hell was he trying to do? Dig out your uterus with his dick? Does he really have to be so deep? It’s, like, really hot and feels really fucking good, but also, slightly uncomfortable. Maybe it’s the position.

Either way, he’s feeding your ego.

You let your head relax onto the bed instead of continuing to hold it up, ‘cause doing that was much more painful.

“God.” You muttered, relieved to be full and get the virginity loss out of the way. You should be getting a cake and celebration for this, if it wasn’t your uncle. But still. Taking big, pierced dick deemed trophy worthy. Or maybe a plaque.

Leon gazed down at you through straight locks, shaking them out of his face a little. He pulled himself out, minus the tip, before pushing back in with a groan- his Adam’s Apple bobbing hypnotically. Your spine arched, lifting your back off the mattress and your hands dug into your own thighs, helping hold them in place.

“You like that, huh?” He asked, the difference between it being pure hormones and condescension was blurred. Could have been both. He doesn’t give that much of a timeframe to start dragging his cock in and out of you, slowly picking up speed and bottoming out each time- balls slapping against your bottom.

You babble nonsensically, the ribbed sensation of his piercings almost sending you into hysterics. Something about yes, yes. I love it. Need you to fuck me so hard that my dad disowns me because I’m wheelchair bound and he knows why.

“Feels good, baby. I know it. Bet it’s hitting places you didn’t even know you had.” If he wasn’t so fucking hot, you’d probably have the ick from how cocky he is. Or not, you’re fucked up.

He leaned forward over you more to tangle into your hair, guiding your head to more of an angle and exposing your neck. You were so overwhelmed from how hard and deep he’s fucking you, not to mention his dick feels like how you imagine a beginner level bad dragon dildo to feel. Or maybe a less monster-y version anyways. It just feels fucking good and that’s all you needed to care about. Soft, airy cries crawl their way from your throat and leave you between that and moaning. Uncle, please. Please, please, please, harder.

“Let it all out, that’s it. Uncle Leon’s gonna take good care of this pussy.”

You nod as much as you can with his hold on your hair, and he pants into your collarbone, sweaty and nasty on top of you. You feel like you’re almost being crushed under his weight but it’s only hotter, and gets even more when you feel his free hand slip between your damp bodies to thumb your aching and still-sensitive clit. You tighten around his cock in reaction- gasping.

“Take it, babydoll. Fuck. Show me how much you want your uncle to make you cum. Belong on my cock, you know it?”

Your brain is off somewhere in a hot air balloon, far from its preferred skull. Which is yours. He speaks in ways you didn’t imagine you’d ever get to be spoken to or even enjoy. But it’ll be the only thing that gets you off from now on, no doubt about it.

“Uh huh, belong on your dick forever. Never wanna take it out.” Yeah. You’re stupid for him.

“Fuck. That’s my girl. Keep talking like that and I’m not ever letting you go.”

You nod your head.

“Want that, want that so bad. ‘D let you fuck me whenever you want, uncle.”

His lips curl into a half-pressed grin before he’s panting again- a bead of sweat dripping onto him. You remember he did something with the AC. Yeah-to the heat in the apartment is frying you good and well. Guess he wanted the sex to be extra clammy and gross. You know, besides the incest.

“Christ. Fuck, yes.” He groans deep, throaty and carnal.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you. You’d be the prettiest little girlfriend. Sitting around waiting to get fucked all the time. I know how needy my baby is.” Christ. You’re going to the deepest abyss in hell. You’re sure whatever torment awaits is worth it though, so it’s not a big deal right now.

“Wanna be yours.” You choke, throat dry. Ah, you remember you’re intoxicated. That must be why you’re so loose at saying this stuff.

“Open up.” He huffs, almost face to face with you but still enough that his breath is hot on your features. You’re hasty to open your mouth like a whore, Leon dribbling his gathered spit down onto your tongue.

“Gotta keep you hydrated, baby. Can’t have that throat getting raw, can we?” You nod, there’s so many nasty things happening you can’t process it properly- unaware of everything as you cum a second time on his hand, squeezing his dick like a much softer and less dangerous guillotine.

His thrusts were a little more sloppy and erratic- alcohol fully set in for the both of you. Normally, he’d be able to hold off his orgasm a little longer- but combatting it wasn’t an option in this drunken state.

“Christ- so fucking pretty and tight when you cum on my dick. Gonna cum too, baby. Don’t think I can pull out right now.”

You shake your head no.

“Don’t pull out, please. Please uncle, ‘ll do whatever you want.”

He laughs brokenly, choked up from the moans that need to come out first.

“God, yes. Okay. Gonna fill this sweet pussy up, baby.”

He focuses a few more thrusts, hard enough to make it hurt a little and sloppy enough to still be just the right amount of perfect.

“Here it comes, baby. Need you to take i- shit.” He buried deep inside you as he came hard, rasped voice and all while he held his place firm. His hair is stuck to his face in some areas, his natural scent emanating off of the sweat droplets.

His dick spasms inside you, filling you with every bit of semen he’s got pent up in him. You could almost feel the way your cunt was full of his cum, having no room around his dick to go anywhere, really.

He relaxed a little, letting out a long, pleasurable groan. You yourself joined him in letting your body go limp as it could in this position. He grabbed your legs to straighten them out and let them wrap around his waist, making you realize they were folded too long and that they ache a bit.

He kissed your collarbone, picking up his head and kissing your cheek next.

“Mm. Did so great for me, babydoll. Not gonna be able to let you go now.” He teased, another peck to your mouth that you managed to reciprocate just in time.

“Then don’t.” You tell him, mumbling.

“I can manage that. Could easily be my girl. Would have to be our little secret, though.” He adds at the end, threading his fingers in your hair.

Yeah, you’re not turning down that offer.

#dark diary #leon kennedy #leon kennedy death island #leon kennedy vendetta #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon s kennedy #tw #tw inc*st #i’m literally crazy abt him #tw dead dove #dead dove fic

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just-jordie-things · 1 year ago

Text

the subject of every photo - fushiguro megumi

word count: 5,555 (i'm so proud of that) warnings: swearin' summary: a photoshoot at the pumpkin patch isn't his ideal day, but at least megumi gets to spend time with you. and maybe he'll take a few pictures anyway. (a/n): really delayed pumpkin themed fic with the softest boy but i needed to write this ok a greater power called upon me to do it

___

“It’ll be fun!” Nobara had claimed, although her tone was more threatening than bubbly. “It’s just a little photoshoot at a pumpkin patch, why so gloomy about it?”

And it wasn’t that Megumi was gloomy about it, because he wasn’t. It would be immature to pout about a simple hangout among friends. The thing was… he just didn’t care for the whole pumpkin patch thing that really seemed to take off on instagram and tiktok these last few years.

He hadn’t carved a pumpkin since he was just a tot, and even then he’d only done it to satisfy Gojo’s bonkers need to participate in every holiday tradition. He never particularly liked scooping the guts and seeds out, and as a kid wasn’t decent enough with a blade to carve a face that actually looked interesting. Not to mention, it was always chilly in late October, making it insufferable to wander around outside solely to pick out a big orange vegetable.

Really, if he wanted a pumpkin that bad, he would’ve picked out a discount one from the grocery store. But really, he didn’t want a pumpkin.

Nonetheless, Nobara had bought four disposable cameras— which he didn’t know were even still a thing— told everyone to wear their cutest, coziest outfit, and pretty much demanded they all go spend the afternoon at one of the more popular farms in town. As with most plans, Megumi begrudgingly agreed.

Even under three layers— his coat, his sweater, and the long sleeved tee he wore underneath them both— the crisp air still pricked at his skin and left goosebumps in it’s wake. It was hard to enjoy being out here when he was fighting the urge to shiver.

“It’s pretty cold for this, huh?”

Megumi wipes away the resting bitch face he’d been making, opting instead for as much neutrality as he could muster. He turns to (y/n), only to find her peering up at him from behind her little plastic camera. His brows wrinkle.

“Don’t take a picture of me at that angle”

He puts his hand over the lens and pushes it away before she could even think about snapping the photo, and she chuckles a bit at his boyish antics. He almost cracks a smile when she’s peeking up at him with her cheeks tinged pink from the cold. He squashes it before his lip could curl too far.

“Well what side do you prefer then?” She teases, shifting around to stand before him and raising her shitty little camera again. “Full portrait? Or perhaps a side profile?”

Megumi rolls his eyes, but when he starts to walk away, she’s quick to follow. He doesn’t dislike her company.

Nobara is off farther in the field, ordering Yuuji to pick up as many pumpkins as he can for the perfect picture. It was only a matter of time before she came over and started barking at the two of them to make the perfect poses as well.

“So why do you hate pumpkin patches?” (y/n) breaks their silence, but when he turns to her again, she’s fixing her camera on a sparrow pecking away at a less than ripe pumpkin.

“I don’t hate pumpkin patches,” He replies, but even he has to admit the dryness in his voice makes it seem a bit unbelievable. “It’s just…” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, but he’s quick to straighten his gaze when he finds her full attention on him now. “Cold” He finishes, lamely, but it’s not untrue.

He fiddles with the plastic camera in his hands.

“Yeah,” (y/n) agrees from beside him. “Would’ve been nice to do this a few weeks ago, when it was still sunny”

Megumi nods back at her, unsure of what else to say.

He hoped that they weren’t doomed to only speak about the weather today. However that meant he’d probably have to put the effort in to change the subject. His palms began to sweat.

It was their day off, so he didn’t want to strike up a conversation about work, and preferably he’d like to avoid the subject of sorcery altogether. So that narrowed down the options by a lot.

He knew that like him, she liked to read. But she was more into the fantasy stuff, and the only book off the top of his head he could make conversation about was The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe and he was fairly certain that wasn’t currently on her shelf.

Was it always this hard or was he just overthinking it?

“Wait, stay right there!”

Before he can suck it up and ask how her most recent assignment went, (y/n’s) throwing her arms up at him to make him freeze in place. Megumi startles at the sudden movement and holler, but he listens and stays put while she backs up a few steps.

“The sun is peeking out,” She explains, before steadying her camera in front of her face. “The lighting is great” She says with a grin, and then without warning, she snaps the photo.

Megumi wants to complain, he didn’t even have time to smile or pose or anything. When that picture got printed, he’d just be a guy standing there, probably with a resting bitch face. Nobara wouldn’t be happy.

But (y/n’s) still grinning as she lowers the camera.

“Too bad we gotta wait so long to see ‘em,” She says as she heads back towards him. “It’d be nice to—”

“Stop moving”

He’s more blunt than she is, already lifting his camera and peeking through the small lens. (y/n) gets the hint and retraces her steps to fit properly in the frame.

“Better?” She asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder dramatically before posing with a bright smile.

Megumi snaps the photo without warning, although he’s sure that this one will turn out much better than the one she’d taken of him. For one, she’s smiling, but he’s also certain that she’s much more photogenic than he is.

She’s at his side again as they wander around the patch, fiddling to fit the camera into the pocket of her coat. It takes him a few minutes to find his courage again, but eventually Megumi clears his throat and tries to spark conversation.

“Gojo used to take a million pictures of me and Tsumiki”

That seems to be exactly the right thing to say, because (y/n’s) entire demeanor lights up as she looks up at him with wide eyes.

“Really?” She laughs softly at the mental picture. “Did he keep, like, photo albums and stuff?”

“Oh yeah,” Megumi snorted, recalling the rows of photo books on the living room bookshelf when he was young. “Dozens, at least. It was like he couldn’t commit a thing to memory, always had to document everything”

When he was young, it was obnoxious to always have a camera shoved in his face. Now though, he wonders if the crazy bastard still had those albums.

“That’s sweet,” (y/n) muses, wandering off a bit to check out a display of gourds, all varying in shapes and colors. “I bet there’s tons of embarrassing ones of you, too” She teases.

Megumi doesn’t give her an answer, instead silently watching as she picks up a large green vegetable with a curly top. She holds the long end in her hand, before turning to face Megumi with the plump end out, holding it like it was a very deformed gun.

He rolls his eyes at the joke, but just as she looks away, he snaps a photo.

(y/n) seems to not even notice, setting the gourd back on the display and turning back to Megumi to continue their conversation.

“Was he a scrapbook mom?”

He chuckles, and he wants to deny it, but he can’t. Even if he tried he thinks she’d see through it with how he smiles with all of his teeth. She’s laughing before he even explains.

“He made one scrapbook, ever,” He tells her. “And you have to swear to never tell them this,” He adds quickly. (y/n) doesn’t have to ask to know who he means, and she simply drags her thumb and forefinger over her lips as if to zip them up. “It took him weeks. I think the kitchen table was covered in all of his crafts for a solid month”

“You’re kidding!” She laughs louder, loving the image of her mentor hunched over a table while he glued down photos and ribbon to pretty sheets of paper.

“I wish I was. I think it’s why he only ever made one,” Megumi shrugged. “But it’s… a lot. Every sheet was three dimensional. The spine of the scrapbook was stretched so wide the thing couldn’t even sit flat”

He knows that all of the pictures in that book would be embarrassing now. Gojo liked to document every first— first day of school, first science project, first A+, along with more ridiculous milestones, like when Megumi chopped all of his hair off in the fifth grade and looked ridiculous. If he remembered correctly, Gojo glued that hair in the book too, as if it were his baby hairs. That scrapbook really should be burned, but a part of him wishes he could show her now, just to prove how messy it really is.

“I’d do anything to get my hands on it,” (y/n) sighed, almost as if she could read his mind. “My parents did some stuff like that, but they certainly weren’t obsessive”

“Obsession is all he knows” Megumi mumbles, and he doesn’t mean to be funny, but she laughs, and it makes his chest feel warm.

“I still think it’s sweet,” She assures him, and then she stops in their slow and aimless walk, kneeling down to tie the shoelaces on her boot. Megumi waits beside her. He cared much more for her company than he did seeing the pumpkin patch. “He probably just wanted to save lots of memories of you guys when you were little. All parents say it goes by fast”

She goes to tie the other boot, and Megumi can only stand there in soft surprise. Sure, deep down he always considered Gojo his parent, because he simply just was. But no one else referred to their relationship that way, the others always called him teacher or mentor. But (y/n) must’ve understood that it was more than that.

He’s pulling his camera out again and stealing another quick picture while she was still focused on her shoes.

When she stands, he’s got the camera tucked back into his pocket and an innocent look on his face.

“Want to take a picture over there?” She asks, pointing to the tower of hay bales set up mostly for photos. Originally it was for children to climb and play on, but it’s purpose was far more often served as a posing station.

Megumi simply nods, and follows her as she races over the tower. It shouldn’t have surprised him when she started climbing the thing right away. Surely Nobara had been over here earlier, striking a pose with one hand on her hip and the other on the stack of hay, but not (y/n), who was almost to the top.

“You’re not gonna fall, right?” Megumi asks unsurely as she’s grabbing at the highest bale.

“I’m a trained athlete!” She shrieks back, clearly offended.

“I’m more worried about you destroying the play area” Megumi retorted, his lip curling upwards against his will. He can’t help but take a picture before she’s settled. Her hair’s a mess and her limbs are everywhere as she tries to steady herself on the wobbling tower, but it’s a perfect picture nonetheless.

“This is great!” She shouts back at him, before stretching her hands above her head. “Take my photo like this!”

It’s silly, it’s childish, but Megumi’s laughing to himself as he snaps a couple.

Somehow she manages to climb down without toppling the entire thing, and they quickly make their way across the pumpkin patch before an employee could scold them for being grown adults playing on the children’s setup.

Megumi finds it easier to talk with her the longer they walk around, aimlessly eyeing pumpkins without committing to picking any out, taking photos here and there, but mostly they just wander around and talk. Yuji and Nobara seem so wrapped up in the full on photoshoot they were having with each other that it could seem like they’d completely forgotten the other pair, but Megumi didn’t mind one bit.

Hang outs never turned out like this. Nobara tended to cling to (y/n) like a lifeline. She was always dragging her off to the next boutique on the strip or game in the arcade or exhibit at the museum— wherever they went, it seemed as soon as Megumi would get a minute of alone time with her, Nobara would steal her away. It was deflating, but he couldn’t be mad, they were best friends after all.

Today was like a gloomy day miracle. He almost felt spoiled having the last half hour with her all to himself. All of her laughter and smiles were only for him. It warmed up his chilled hands until soon, even the breeze wouldn’t make him shiver.

(y/n) didn’t appear to have the same effect, shaking like a leaf every time the wind picked up. She always shrank into the collar of her coat and shoved her hands into her pockets, and after a few times, Megumi couldn’t stand to see her freezing.

“Let’s go inside for a bit,” He nodded his head towards the small shop. (y/n) pouted back at him, before glancing around the pumpkin patch, clearly looking for their friends. “They won’t be upset that we went inside because we’re cold,” Megumi chuckles to himself, before gently pushing his hand against the small of her back so that he’d follow her. “I’ll text Itadori” He adds for good measure.

After a moment of hesitation she agreed and walked along with him, but just slow enough that he left his hand on her lower back. Just because it was nice to be so close to him.

Stepping into the shop was an instant rush of fresh warm air, and she finally felt like she could stretch her fingers. There was a small bakery inside with only a couple of tables, but without anyone else inside it was perfectly quaint to warm up in.

“I’m going to order a hot chocolate, do you want anything?”

The offer was sweet, but she’s already making her way to the counter, set on a mission as soon as the alluring smell of apples and cinnamon wafted past her nose.

“I could go for a coffee” Megumi hummed as he followed.

He’s ordering for the both of them as soon as a clerk arrives behind the counter, two drinks along with the enormous bear claw in the glass case that (y/n) hadn’t torn her eyes away from since stepping up to the counter. She tries to fight him when he pulls out his wallet but he’s faster at tapping his card to the reader than she is at hitting him.

Even once they sit down with their drinks and the pastry that takes up most of the table space between them, she argues with him about the payment, and all he can do is shake his head— and maybe smile to himself just a little bit. After realizing arguing is futile, she decides that as long as he eats some of the bear claw, she can forgive him.

And they continue to chat, about dumb things, about nothing, about everything. Megumi learns all about the book series that she is reading, along with her plans for getting promoted faster, and that her dream pet is a sugar glider.

“That’s ridiculous,” He mumbles through a mouthful of almond paste and cinnamon. “When would you ever have the time to take care of something like that?”

“That’s why it’s a dream pet, dummy,” (y/n) rolls her eyes at him. “Doesn’t have to be realistic. Don’t you have a dream pet?”

“I kinda already have a lot of pets”

“Oh, right,” She laughs to herself, and he thinks he can see a hint of a blush dusting over her cheeks. Was she embarrassed? He wasn’t sure exactly. But it was really cute. “Well if there’s ever a sugar glider shikigami, please summon it for me” She tells him in all seriousness, and Megumi bites his tongue as he agrees to the condition immediately.

He pulls out his camera for the tenth time that day and rests his elbows on the table as he brings it to his face. (y/n’s) eyes widen before she’s covering half her face with one hand.

“Are you taking a picture of me right now?” She hisses anxiously, before shaking her head at him.

“Duh” He mutters out as he tilts forward and back, trying to find just the right angle of lighting.

“I’m eating—”

“So? Not like you have food on your face. Hush. Go back to eating or something”

“I am not letting you take a picture of me while I eat”

“Alright then just sit there then”

She’s grabbing her paper cup of hot cocoa to use as a shield, but it’s too late. Megumi clicks the button and she can hear the soft whirring coming from inside the camera.

The lens cuts to black and Megumi pulls the camera away, eyeing the little roll of numbers next to the lens.

“I’m out already,” He says, tossing it onto the table. “Guess I win”

(y/n) laughs to herself.

“I didn’t know this was a competition,” She takes a sip of her warm beverage before setting it back down. “But I can’t believe you finished before me”

“How many do you have left?”

Curiously, (y/n) pulls the camera out of her pocket and eyes the tape with the amount of film left. She frowns as she looks back up at him.

“Just one,” She answers, and her frown tilts into a small, soft smile before she asks, “Do you want to take one together?”

___

Greedily, Nobara snatches the stack of freshly printed photos out of Megumi’s hands. (y/n) and Yuji are too busy sharing theirs with each other, and Nobara had been dying to know what photos Megumi and (y/n) had taken on their last outing. By the time the group had met up and gone home, their cameras were already full, and she knew she hadn’t been the subject of a single one of them.

“I swear Fushiguro if these are all dumb pictures of pumpkins, I’ll—”

But her threat falls short after sliding through the first three pictures.

The first was (y/n) on the path, just standing and smiling. It wasn’t special, there wasn’t even a pumpkin in the background, but it was cute.

The second was a picture of her crouched down and tying her shoe. Her face wasn’t even in the picture, her hair was hanging in front of it, but if you squinted you could barely make out the tip of her nose.

Then the third was another candid, where she was pretending to hold a gourd like a gun.

“What the—?”

Nobara flips through to the next one in the stack, and yet again there’s a candid of her climbing up the side of a hay bale tower. At least that one captured her smile. She shouldn’t have been surprised to see the fifth one in the stack was also of (y/n), this time sitting on top of the haystack victoriously

“You’ve got to be kidding me, dude”

“Okay give them back—!” Megumi tries to grab the stack of pictures from Nobara before she could keep being nosey, but she deflects fast, swiveling to turn away from him and keep skipping through the photos.

He shouldn’t have let her get her hands on them to begin with, but it was too late now. If he caused too big of a scene, Yuji and (y/n) would notice. He didn’t exactly want all of his pictures on display.

So Nobara kept flipping.

One was of her lifting up the tiniest of pumpkins— definitely the runt of the whole patch. It fit in the palm of her hand but she seemed delighted by it.

The next few were just of her walking around, nothing too exciting in the frame. Just the occasional pumpkin in the background.

There was a decent one taken from inside the shop. (y/n) was still in the frame but her back was turned as she eyed the glass case of sweets. Nobara could almost let Megumi off the hook for that one. Almost.

And then the last photo was of her laughing, the blurry image of a paper cup waving in the space beside her face. Her eyes are on the camera, so she must’ve known he was taking that picture, but judging by the surprise in her expression, it was easy to conclude she was trying to hide behind that cup.

Once she’d ogled every picture, Nobara finally turned back to Megumi. Her brows twitched and furrowed, lips parted in shock, not a single word spoken as she handed the stack back to him. It’s practically shoved towards him, but he doesn’t complain, just snatches them back as fast as he can.

He wants to find a way to quickly and discreetly ask her to keep this to herself, but before he can find the words, she’s gawking at him again.

“Every single one?” Nobara asks in a mutter.

“We hung out the whole time, okay? It's not like—” Megumi tries to defend himself, but it’s no use. Nobara’s already speaking over him again.

“It’s almost pathetic, dude. Just ask her out like a normal person”

His brows almost raise to his hairline in shock. Here he thought she was about to call him out for being a creep or something. But no, her disgust only lied in his pathetic pining and lack of action. Maybe he should have assumed that already.

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything before Nobara’s marching over to Yuji and demanding to see his photos as well. Megumi’s left reeling from the whole interaction, the humiliation still lingering in his gut.

The feeling remains as (y/n) makes her way to him, her own fresh stack of photos in her hands. There’s a nervous sort of smile on her face as she glances back at Yuji and Nobara, double checking that they were out of earshot.

“They took that pretty seriously, huh?” Her voice was still low, careful not to draw the attention of their rambunctious friends. “Yuji takes great photos, don’t get me wrong. But I think she should pay him for his time”

There’s some relief in his chest when he cracks a smile, a small laugh coming out. He could only imagine the quality of Nobara and Yuji’s photos, certainly prepped for instagram.

“I bet she still puts filters over all of them” He mutters back, and (y/n) stifles a giggle behind her hand, but nods her head in agreement.

“Can we leave now or what?” Nobara calls out, already dragging Yuji by the arm to leave the store. “I want to get boba before home”

“Boba sounds good,” (y/n) agrees softly. “Let’s go”

As the red head continued to drag her friend despite him arguing that he was an adult who could walk by himself, she turned and aggressively whispered something to him. After her obvious threatening, she glances back at (y/n) and Megumi, which Yuji promptly follows her pointed glance. Suddenly after that he was upright and speed walking along with her.

(y/n) and Megumi share a baffled look as their friends so blatantly ditch them, but they don’t exactly pick up the pace to follow.

“So, did you get good photos?” Megumi asks, tucking his own away in his pocket. Foolishly, he hoped if they were out of sight she wouldn’t ask him about them.

“Oh,” (y/n) chuckles nervously, holding her stack of pictures in both hands. She tilts them towards herself so he can’t see, and Megumi raises a brow at the secrecy. “It’s kind of embarrassing, actually” She says sheepishly.

Her cheeks flood with color, and Megumi can’t help the curious grin that begins to stretch across his face.

“Embarrassing?” He repeats, sounding horrifically hopeful. (y/n) sighs, and sticks her arm out, handing him the stack. He’s quick to take them and start flipping through, eyeing her anxious demeanor in his peripheral vision.

“Yuji’s probably going to tell you anyway. But… they’re sort of all..”

His steps slow further after quickly sliding through the bunch of pictures.

The first was at the entrance of the pumpkin patch, with the cute sign with the family name painted on it, and just under it was him. He wasn’t paying attention, and quite frankly he looked rather bored standing there. She must’ve taken it while he was still pouting about having to go.

The next photo was of the sparrow poking at the rotted pumpkin, and he had to admit the way she captured it actually was sort of cute.

The third was the photo Megumi dreaded seeing. He recognized it as soon as he saw himself standing on the thin path of dirt. He grimaced as he looked closer to see just how bad it was. But to his surprise, he wasn’t scowling like he thought he’d been. He was actually smiling.

Which was odd… he certainly didn’t remember smiling for that picture. He clearly remembered being upset because he hadn’t tried to look nice for her picture at all.

He glances at (y/n) to gauge her reaction so far, but she was holding her expression at a neutral state, waiting for him to react first.

So Megumi goes back to the photos, and flips to the next one. Which was… also him. It wasn’t anything special, just him standing there, but he was smiling a little bit in that one, too.

When the following is also a candid of him with that dumb little smile, he glances over at (y/n) again, raising a brow at her in silent question.

She’s a tough one to crack, but the corner of her lips gives her away as she tries to bite back a smile. His own smile is unable to be hidden as he flips through a few more photos.

And to his shock and delight, they’re all him. Him while he was picking up that big pumpkin she dared him to, him while he was drinking his coffee and not paying attention, him just standing and doing nothing in particular, but for whatever reason, she’d used up all her film on capturing it.

His favorite is the one of the both of them. She’d given him the camera so he could stretch his arm out and snap the photo selfie style. They’re sitting at the small table, two paper cups and the enormous bear claw between them, but pushed aside as (y/n) leans across the tabletop in order to better center herself. She’s grinning from ear to ear, her chin set in one hand while the other holds up a peace sign. Megumi’s smile isn’t as wide but nevertheless it’s genuine, and anyone looking at the picture would know. It’s a great picture of the two of them, and he thinks it’s probably the first, too.

Megumi hadn’t realized he’d gone through the whole stack till he flips to the next one and is met with the first photo, but once he does, (y/n’s) quick to reach out and take them back. She doesn’t snatch them as aggressively as Nobara had, she handles them gently, careful not to leave an ugly smudge or crease.

Megumi watches with eager intrigue as she tucks the edges together neatly, making the stack smooth in her hands.

“Sorry if that’s creepy— is that creepy?” She turns to him suddenly, full of worry that she’d crossed a line, but Megumi just chuckles, and shakes his head at her.

“Not creepy” He muses, his soft smile remaining as he dips his hand into his pocket, retrieving his own small collection of photos.

He stares at them for an indecisive minute, clenching and unclenching his jaw, working up the courage to make the smallest of gestures. When he does hold them out to her, he still doesn’t say a thing. His throat is too dry and hot to even try. He thinks it would be worse if his voice cracked right now.

(y/n) smiles as she tucks her pictures away in her purse with great care so that she could better look through the pictures he’d taken. His face flushes with color when she finally takes them from him. Even the small brush of the tips of her fingers against his has Megumi’s breath catching in his throat.

And he holds his breath as she eagerly slides through the stack of photos. His throat is far too constricted now to show any sign of life. He very well could pass out at any moment. He just hopes she’d leave him there in a heap on the ground.

The relief of the exhale doesn’t come until she begins to giggle. It’s soft at first, almost under her breath as she continues admiring his photos, but then it erupts into something brilliant and bubbly, as if it was coming out of her uncontrollably. As lovely as the reaction was, it didn’t do much to ease Megumi’s nerves. They began to sink their teeth into his heart and gut, and he knew that any minute now, his knees would give out.

When her laughter calms down and she finally looks up at him, the surprise is evident on his features when he sees her colored cheeks and nervous smile. She hands the stack back to him, and Megumi’s quick to tuck them into his pocket, where maybe he they’d disappear forever, or at least just from the front of their minds.

“That’s pretty cute, huh?” She asks, an aftershock of quiet laughter shaking her shoulders and crinkling the corners of her eyes. This time, Megumi can’t help the way he laughs with her, but he does duck his head bashfully.

(y/n) thinks it’s all the more cuter, how he resorts to his nervous habit of rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but directly at her. She wonders if he even knows he’s doing it. With a surge of confidence, she rocks on her feet.

“Wanna ditch our friends and get lunch or something?”

He shrugs and nods, thinking anything would be better sustenance than the too-sugary drinks that Nobara had an addiction to. But the implication of the question dawns on him too late, and suddenly his eyes are widening as he realizes what she really meant.

“You mean— like, a date?”

It’s so damn cute the way his brows furrow and then raise ever so slightly, waiting without a single ounce of patience for her clarification. (y/n’s) giggling again as she nods her head, putting him out of his misery.

“Yeah, like a date,” She repeats teasingly.

Megumi nods his head again, this time faster, as if there was a time limit to her offer and he was worried he’d already wasted too much of it. Her smile brightens and there’s a small but noticeable skip in her step as they head off in a new direction together.

“Now maybe it won’t be so creepy when our friends see those pictures” She says, and Megumi can’t decipher if she’s messing with him or not. The look he gives her barely hides his panic.

“They’re gonna see them?”

“What do you think they’re talking about right now?” (y/n) retorts, knowing for a fact that Yuji and Nobara were gossiping away about the pair’s photos that consisted only of each other.

The thought makes Megumi’s face feel hot, and there’s no discretion in the way he tugs at his collar. The idea makes him nervous, his stomach flipping excessively. That said, he knew with the amount of gossip those two chatterboxes would generate, there was plenty of time to add a date to today’s agenda.

“They probably won’t even notice we’re gone”

(y/n) nods in agreement.

“They’ll be grateful to have the time for girl talk,” She teases.

With purpose, she steps closer to him so she could link her arm around his, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow and shyly smiling up at him. Megumi returns the smile, his arm hooking a little further to keep her tucked next to him as close as he wanted. It was another chilly day outside, but he could almost forget about it with the way her closeness sparked warmth in his chest that flooded throughout his whole body. He hoped he’d get to do this for the rest of their day—

“So… where do we want to go?”

—and more days to come. ___

xoxo ~ jordie

#fushiguro megumi #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi imagine #fushiguro megumi x reader fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader fluff #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #megumi brainrot

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midnightcrw · 7 months ago

Text

Provocative

Pairing: Alastor x fem!reader

Summary: Lucifer visits the Hazbin Hotel because his daughter called him, but there he sees a good friend he hasn't seen in a long time.

Warnings: Swearing

a/n: I know it's been a long time, but I just couldn't get myself to write anything because of my finals coming up and everything else going on. I also didn't want to write a bad third part, so I only wanted to write when I had some motivation to do so. I hope you all will like it. Part 1 / Part 2

If you had known that one day you would see Mimzy again, you would have been the most holy person in your mortal days, and unfortunately, you weren't.

And as soon as everyone in the hotel registered the short woman's appearance, Lucifer dropped his grip on your hand, looking almost fearfully at your expression, which probably said more than a thousand words.

"Why is everybody gawking? Is it cuz I'm adorable?" The woman playfully said while posing as you gritted your teeth.

And not even a second later, Alastor immediately stopped holding your hand, "Mimzy!" The happiness was more than obvious in his tone.

"Alastor, sweetie, doll face!" In your mind you were already imagining how you could break every bone in her body. "How have you been? Good? Good," she said as she put her arms around your husband.

They even squeezed each other as they made contented sounds. "You good?" Lucifer whispered in your ear as you could almost feel your eye twitch.

"Splendid," you murmured back as the Ruler of Hell continued to look at you uncertainly, but your eyes never left the pair.

"I heard you were staying at this ritzy slob factory and I figured I'd stop by, say hi! For old times sake" you hated the way she talked about Charlie's hotel as the blonde walked even closer to Alastor, if that was even possible.

"Of course, Sweetheart! Everyone is welcome here" the enthusiasm still didn't leave your husband's voice as you balled your fists tightly.

"'Everyone is welcome' my ass," Lucifer muttered hatefully, squinting his eyes at the man dressed in red.

When Charlie asked how they knew each other, you tried to hold back as best you could, you knew what was coming.

And the moment Mimzy heard the question, an even bigger smile appeared on her face "Oh yeah. We go way back."

A little too far back, you thought.

"You know, this one used to frequent the club where I used to perform. He's the only one I knew who could pound whiskey like a sailor and then keep up with me on the dance floor," her theatrics continued as she did a little dance and received a compliment from Alastor.

"Ho ho, you should have seen her in her heyday," oh, how you wished you hadn't seen her then.

You remembered everything perfectly. Mimzy and Alastor knew each other before you married him, and you met her through him.

Alastor was always a huge fan of music, especially the music that was played at the club where Mimzy used to work. And one day he had had taken you out on a date. Of course you were excited at first, you had never been to that club before, you were expecting something spectacular since your husband was always talking about it.

And oh, how spectacular it was, Mimzy practically throwing herself at your husband like it was nothing. Now, you really weren't a jealous person, but the short woman brought out the worst in you.

At first you really tried to like her, but with every backhanded compliment, you began to truly despise her more and more.

It was obvious that she had a crush on Alastor, and that crush probably never really went away, or she just wanted to get you mad by sticking to him like glue.

"Oh, oh, my stars," she made her way to Lucifer as soon as she saw him, and you immediately made your way to Alastor while she was distracted.

"You never told me she was here," you said in a snippy tone as you approached him until you and him were face to face, just with you having to look up due to his height.

"My sweet, of course Mimzy would be in hell," he only said as he looked at the chubby woman who was currently engrossed in a conversation Lucifer had no interest in.

Before you could snap at him, the annoying voice was heard once more, "No way!" Mimzy shouted loudly as she made her way towards you, deliberately swaying her hips.

And before you could prepare, the short woman hugged you tightly as she stood on her tiptoes to lean closer to you, "Still the jealous little wench, I see," she snickered as you bit your tongue.

"Ah, just like old days," Alastor's smile still remained on his face as he looked at the two of you, obviously not having heard what his friend had just said to you.

I'll show you the old days, you thought when Mimzy finally let go of you. And then you all remembered that the tour of the hotel had to continue.

"Why don't you let the others help you settle in and I'll be back before you know it," your husband said to Mimzy as he took your hand and led you to Charlie and her dad.

"Behave," Alastor whispered in your ear as his static returned and you could only scoff.

"I'm the one who should behave?! Look at you!" You whispered back, even digging your nails into the hand that was currently holding yours.

And while the tension between the two of you didn't go away, Mimzy already started talking to the others at the bar.

"How ya been, fur-ball?" She asked as she leaned her elbows against the bar, holding her face up with her hands.

"Good until five minutes ago" Husk wasn't happy about the whole situation, just like you, and it was obvious, and clearly ignoring his mood, she turned around to ask what Niffty has been up to.

"I never understood why you liked her so much," you said, keeping the frown on your face as Alastor let go of your hand and wrapped his arm around your waist while Lucifer glared at him as Charlie showed him around.

"Jealous, aren't you?" He asked with his piercing smile, having already expected this reaction from you.

"She's the last person I would be jealous of," you snapped back, but in reality you knew she was everything you were ever jealous of.

Not only was she popular, but she was beautiful and confident. All the things you couldn't see for yourself.

Suddenly, Alastor laughed, even softly, I might add, as his hand rubbed your hip, "As it should be, you have nothing to be jealous of, love," your eyes widened.

He has never called you "love" before, unless it was to get attention or to make your marriage more believable decades ago.

"Uh-huh... Thanks, pussy cat!" Mimzy said as she drank from the glass.

"Oh, fuck you" was the only thing Husk replied with as he walked away while Angel Dust made his way to the bar.

"So uh, you and Alastor are like what? Friends?"

A grin made its way across her face, "Well, that's your word, not mine, but I think it fits," Angel Dust didn't seem too convinced as he sipped from his glass, which didn't seem to make Mimzy too happy.

"Why so surprised?" She grunted as Angel Dust responded with "Well, just didn't know he had any of those. He's been here a while and is still a big, creepy mystery. I really don't know how his his wife handles him. What even is his deal?"

At the mention of you, her face fell for a split second, but she regained her composure as she began to tell them about when Alastor revealed himself as the Radio Demon.

"But underneath is all... he's a total sweetie. Put on some jazz and pour a couple fingers of rye, and he becomes a kitten!"

Sir Pentious and Angel Dust looked at her in shock, since that part didn't sound like the Overlord they knew.

And once the tour was over and they made their way back to the bar.

"There you all are! I was starting to get real bored here," Mimzy's voice was slowly starting to make you mad once more.

"Finally," Husk grunted as he wiped the glass in his hands clean while Mimzy continued to talk.

"I bet she was the reason it took so long," obviously referring to you as she glared, "Nothing's been the same since the marriage," the short woman ranted, while you rolled your eyes at her as you suddenly felt Alastor's hand graze your back.

Looking up at him, his eyes were a fraction softer for once, as you couldn't look away.

"Since the marriage?" Lucifer asked, clearly confused as to what was being discussed.

"Their marriage, of course," Mimzy said with disgust in her voice as she nodded towards you and Alastor.

"You're married?!" Lucifer yelled as you flinched at the sudden loudness, while Alastor rubbed your arm in reassurance.

Fuck... you thought.

Taglist

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@lucifers-silhouette

@droopingdatura

#alastor fluff #alastor x you #alastor imagine #alastor fanfiction #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel x y/n

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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Hating You Is The Easiest Thing I Can Do

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: When your boss pulls your case out from under you and gives it right to the BAU, you're pissed. You're even more pissed when Doctor Spencer Reid suggests you can't do your job properly. After a week in his company, you decide to give him a piece of your mind

Warnings: Day One of Kinktober - Hate Sex, enemies to lovers, dom/sub, Mean!Dom!Spencer, Brat!Reader, spanking, degradation, spanking, spit kink, sir kink, vaginal fingering, slight creampie, Reader's boss is an asshole, typical office misogyny. Spencer is also an asshole, but that's just because he's a dumbass.

A/N: Special thank you to @reidmotif and @mrs-dr-reid for proofreading this one for me! I wrote this when on a major Pride and Prejudice moment, which is why there's a whole lot of plot before the sex. I hope you like the build-up just as much as the smut! <3 If you like it, don't forget to leave a like, reply, or reblog and tell me your thoughts! ((just as a reminder, apart for Sundays and Tuesdays, I'll be posting all the kinktober fics on AO3 exclusively, so check out my writing there - reiderwriter))

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To say you were angry was an understatement. You were seething, the anger bubbling up inside of you and threatening to lash out at anyone who so much as crossed your path as you made your way down the crappy motel corridor. You'd only known Spencer Reid a week, but you could think of no one you despised more.

The FBI had always been a boys' club, you knew that. There were some goddamn strong women in your field office, of course, but you were outnumbered 10 to 1. Which was why you were so determined to do well on the first case assigned to you as lead Agent. The first week of the case, you'd made sure you were thorough. A body had been found in the park by a jogger, and you darted to the crime scene the moment you got the call. A woman in her early twenties, like you, had been raped, tortured, and then dumped here, her body posed in a demeaning way to make it seem as if she were performing a sexual act. Your entire body shuddered at the sight, but you couldn't let your coworkers see you weak so you powered through. Collecting evidence, getting an ID on the victim, interviewing potential witnesses, and yes, even breaking the news to the poor girl's family, you had been so attentive to every detail of the case and you felt you were making progress, your boss delivered a humbling blow.

"Another body has been discovered. I've invited the Behavioural Analysis Unit in from Quantico because you're in over your head." He'd told you, not even looking up at you from the file he was reading on his desk.

"What? I wasn't told about another body, why wasn't I notified?"

"I didn't think you needed to know, now that the BAU is coming in."

"So I'm off the case? That's it?"

"No, I want you to assist them in their investigation. Tell them everything you've gathered so far, get them situated in the office as best you can."

"Get them coffee when they want it? Rub their feet if they ask for it? This is bullshit, I was making progress, if you'd only have given me more time-"

"Agent, I suggest you walk out of this office right now and get your PMSing under control before I have to suspend you from fieldwork." You pressed your nails further into the beds on your palms then and bit back your tongue from replying, simply giving a terse nod and exiting the office.

It wasn't even an hour later before the new team arrived, and you offered a tense smile and welcome as you got them set up in their own office. The Unit Chief didn't seem too bad, but Aaron Hotchner couldn't exactly be described as the most welcoming of people, and you felt an instant camaraderie with JJ, the other agent who'd come into the office with him. There were more agents apparently, but they'd gone out into the field to check out the new victim and reinterview the family, something you weren't exactly happy about. But, if you were going to be their little bitch for the next week, you were at least thankful they were tolerable and polite.

"So here's everything I've got so far. I've been pretty thorough in my interrogations of potential witnesses, and there are no CCTV cameras in the general vicinity of the dump sites, so I don't think you'll find anything else there that'll aid in your profile."

" If you'd have been thorough you'd have found this though, right?" A new voice popped up from the door, and you felt yourself tense up under the sudden accusation. Looking up you saw he was holding up his phone, a picture of a strange marking on a tree lighting up the screen.

"Excuse me?"

"This was left on a tree roughly thirty feet from the first dump site. I called Rossi and Morgan and they found a similar marking near the second victim. It's a Mesopotamian symbol relating to the worship of prostitutes and sex workers to promote fertility." He spoke plainly, but all you could hear was the condescension in his tone, and your blood boiled with rage.

" Agent Y/L/N, I'm sorry about him, this is Doctor Spencer Reid, he's another member of our team." JJ introduced the man, sending him a warning glance, as if letting him know that he hadn't just put his foot in his mouth directly.

You looked at the man then, really focusing on him now instead of the pictures, and almost cursed out loud again. He was a jerk, but fuck was he attractive. Tousled hair, dark eyes, and a perfectly sculpted jaw, it was as if he were sent from hell directly to piss you off and tempt you. You pushed the attraction aside for the minute then, choosing to be the bigger person and introduce yourself.

"I'm Agent Y/N Y/L/N. And I'm sorry that I'm not an expert on Mesopotamian prostitutes, but I guess that's probably your specialty, right, Doctor?" You held out your hand for him to shake, but he just looked down at it.

"If you're referring to my doctorate, I actually didn't study classic civilizations. I hold PhDs in Math, Chemistry, and Engineering and additional BAs in Psychology, Philosophy, and Sociology. And I don't do handshakes." He glanced straight past you after that, walking back over to Hotch and filling him in on other things you must've overlooked during your brief time working the case.

You glared at his back, finally letting your hand drop to your side again as you let out an angry chuckle.

"Don't take it personally, Spencer is just… He’s He's not great with people. He'll warm up to you." JJ put a reassuring arm on your shoulder and you nodded. But inside you knew there was not one thing the man could do to reverse the bad opinion of him you'd just gained.

–X–

After the initial anger of having the case seeped out from beneath you wore off, you actually began enjoying your time with the BAU. You hadn't put much thought into profiling before, it usually being so far off your radar while you were working in the field office but you were actually coming to enjoy how they worked, and you'd learned a lot.

Your relationship with Spencer, however, only degraded.

Your hatred had reignited the moment you'd been joined by the rest of the BAU Team. Your boss has finally come down to greet them, and, almost as if making you pay for your earlier comments, had genuinely sent you on a coffee run for them. You could deal with the fact that the man had the most annoyingly complicated coffee order you'd ever heard of in the Bureau, but what you couldn't forgive were the sly comments you walked in on when you returned.

"Come on, Reid. That Agent is easy on the eyes, you should talk to her, get you a slice of that." You'd been introduced to Derek Morgan earlier and you'd instantly pegged him as a flirt, so this wasn't exactly shocking to you. What was a bit surprising was the other man's reply.

"If she's attractive I hadn't noticed. I've been too busy trying to clear up her mess with this case."

You walked in the door then, coffees in hand, and slammed his drink down on the table for him. You handed Morgan to him, double-checking that you'd got both of their orders right before shooting another glare at the man and walking away to find the rest of the team.

But not before hearing Morgan chastise Reid in another whisper: "God man, you gotta be nicer to the kid…"

To say that your working relationship had soured totally after your two personal encounters with the man was simply an untruth. You didn't have a working relationship, you had a working rivalry.

From then on, you'd slyly interrupt the man when he was speaking, telling him to cut his genius rambles in half, that you didn't have all day to sit around and wait for him to stutter his way through his theory while there was a murderer on the loose.

He didn't hold back either, constantly asking you questions he knew you didn't know the answers to, just to smile slyly down at you and make you admit that you weren't as good as him. It was getting so detrimental to the office atmosphere that you had to be genuinely separated after only three days, Hotchner bringing you into the field with him on multiple occasions and forcing Reid to stay behind with JJ to work on a geographical profile.

You'd been with Hotchner at a family interview, working with him to gain details of the second victim's actions and whereabouts leading up to her murder to establish a timeline when you got a call.

Excusing yourself from the room, you quickly picked up the call.

"This is Agent Y/L/N."

"Hotch isn't picking up his phone." That was all the explanation you got from the man on the other side of the phone, his voice instantly grating.

"Yes, I'd assume he isn't, Doctor Reid, because we are currently interviewing a bereaved mother and father and he put his phone on silent. Is there something you need?"

"I need to talk to Hotch."

"Well, you called me. What do you need?" You heard him breathe out a frustrated sigh on the other side of the line, and you rolled your eyes, slightly enjoying being this stubborn and getting under his skin.

"Just tell him we're ready to give the profile, okay?" He hung on you after that and you cursed him down the line, receiving nothing back but the empty beeps of the dial tone.

–X–

It didn't take long after delivering the profile to get your guy, but as he hadn't been in the middle of committing any felonies when you picked him up, you'd had to spend a few days in the interrogation rooms.

Hotch had taken a crack at him and gotten nowhere, and so had Rossi and Emily and Morgan. JJ had been the one to make the arrest, so she went in last and still came out with nothing much. He hadn't layered up yet, as they'd suspected he wouldn't, too egotistical to allow anyone else into the room that he thought he was going to talk himself out of.

"We're getting nowhere with this, Hotch. I think I have an idea that could get him to start talking." Reid said as you all stared at the man through the one-way glass.

"What, you think you can charge in there and get him to talk?" It was petty, but it'd been a stressful week, and he was used to this flow of conversation between the two of you.

"No, you are. Hotch, she fits his type, she's attractive, same build and coloring as the previous two victims. I think it'd work." You scoffed at his suggestion.

"Oh so now you think I'm attractive? I thought you hadn't noticed because you were, what, too busy cleaning up my mess?" You crossed your arms as he gave you an incredulous look, and you realized that he didn't think you'd heard him.

"Spencer's right, Y/N." Hotch nodded, looking between the two of you to see if he needed to pull you apart to keep you from fighting or to keep you from jumping each other. You personally weren't sure which you'd like most at that point, cursing yourself as you let your eyes trail down his body.

"It's going to excite him having you so close, you should pop a few of those buttons, too," Reid suggested looking down at your chest as you scoffed and crossed your arms.

"Oh you'd really like that," you mumbled under your breath, but a swift look from Hotch had you shutting your mouth again as he began to brief you.

Going in you felt a surge of pettiness seep through you. You were going to nail this guy, get him to talk about every little nasty thing he did to those girls, and prove to your boss that you could do this when every member of the BAU had tried and failed. But a small, dim, and annoying reminder at the back of your head whispered in your ear that you'd be pleasing Spencer then as well. Proving him right. You weren't sure if you wanted to succeed to hear him or your boss say "good job" to you after you finally succeeded, but when you imagined it with him, he was a whole lot closer, right in your ear, body pressed against yours.

You focused on your anger over your attraction and pushed into the room, ready to stare down a monster and escape unharmed.

–X–

It had worked, of course. It had taken a few hours of building rapport but you'd done it. You'd had him eating out the palm of your hand while he confessed to the three murders you knew about and an extra four that you didn't.

A day of retrieving bodies later and by 10 pm, the case was finally closed.

"Well done, kid, you really got him in that interview. That was some great work." Morgan nudged your elbow as he grabbed his duffle, exiting the makeshift office.

"Don't forget we're getting drinks at the cocktail bar in half an hour. Shower off that mud and change into a hot dress, Agent, and I'll buy you your first shot." Emily called back to you from the exit too, leaving you in a fit of giggles as you promised her you would.

Once they'd all gone, you started packing up your things ready to leave yourself when there was another knock at the door.

" Hey, I need to grab my bag." Reid stood in the door awkwardly, and your smile dropped into a politely neutral face as you nodded to him.

"Don't let me stop you, Doc."

"Spencer."He said, stepping a bit closer to you.

"What?"

"I want you to call me Spencer. You keep calling me Doctor or Doc, I want you to call me Spencer."

"No. Doctor Reid is just fine for me."

"And what if I want more?" He grabbed your wrist as you turned to go, using a bit too much force and leaving you stumbling into him, hitting his chest as you looked up at him, your noses almost touching with the proximity.

"Let me go," you growled, but his grip loosened and you didn't move an inch.

"What if I want more?" He asked again, a little more insistent this time, his eyes dark in the dim room, expression unreadable.

"Why should I care what you want, Doctor Reid?"

"Because I think you want it, too. Because I think that despite all the odds, you want me just as much as I want you."

Your anger burst out of you in a sarcastic laugh then at his presumptuous words.

"Despite all the odds? What odds are those Spencer? You treat me like shit, ignoring me, refusing to even shake my hand, and downplaying the hard fucking work I put in before you got here? God, you are so fucking narcissistic." You finally stepped away from him then, turning away to regain your composure.

"Me? I'm not the one who missed some vital fucking evidence in a murder investigation, Y/N, so I'm sorry I wasn't the most welcoming person, but God if we're talking egos, you should probably check yourself."

"Forget it, you're impossible. I really tried to be nice to you, but more fool me for making messes you had to clean up."

"Are you still stuck on that? Y/N, I'm sorry, but Derek just has a way of-" He stepped closer to you again and you could feel the oxygen being sucked from your lungs.

"Don't you dare blame this on Morgan. You're attracted to me and you fucking despise that, and it's none of Morgan’s fault. Now please, just get out of this fucking office and go back to your motel room." You practically hissed those last words at him, holding back the urge to scream in frustration. Your lips were so close now, as his chest heaved, hands clenched by his sides as he resisted the urge to grab you.

"Forgive me… for suggesting something so obviously repulsive to you." With that, he brushed past you and walked out, leaving you reeling at his almost confession, head light from the lack of air. He'd taken your breath with him as he left the room.

–X–

The promise of free shots had convinced you to get back out to the bar as promised, not letting Reid and his fickle moods control when and where you'd be enjoying yourself.

You finally showed up at the bar and were greeted by hugs from JJ and Emily, already one drink in as they immediately handed you a shot from the bar. Guiding you back to the table, you paused as you saw him there.

Morgan was sat at the table, happily chatting away with Reid, who'd since grown quiet, eyes meeting yours before leaving to rake down your frame. You resisted the urge to cover yourself, confidently standing tall as he devoured you with his eyes. Changing out of your work clothes, you'd decided that you needed some fun tonight, donning a short red dress, barely hitting the tops of your thighs, hugging your curves tightly, and pushing your chest up so it nearly spilled out completely. You'd completed the look with thigh-high black boots and a red lip, looking the absolute image of lust - or anger - personified.

"Whew mama, you look good, Y/N." Morgan greeted you, standing up to give you a kiss on the cheek. Reid still said nothing but kept his eyes trained on you as he took another sip of his drink.

"I was promised shots and dancing, I think I'm dressed pretty appropriately don't you think?" You smiled and giggled up at Morgan, letting your touch linger on him a little longer to see if it would spur Reid into action.

"Have I ever told you about my very good friend Penelope Garcia? I think you two would get along just fine."

The rest of the night continued in a similar vein. You'd stepped out onto the dance floor with Emily and JJ, letting whatever man wanted to sidle up close, begging one of them to be a distraction from the man whose eyes were boring into you from the other side of the room. It didn't work. Their hands were on your hips, guiding you to the sound of the music but in your head, all you saw was him, doing the same.

It didn't help that he was getting hit on constantly from his perch beside Morgan, and you watched with a bitter feeling at the bottom of your stomach as women tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to pay attention to them. After another frustrating invitation for a tryst with a local man, you excused yourself from the dance floor, finding Morgan in the bar, letting him know that you were calling it a night.

"Where's Reid?" You asked, trying and failing to sound casual as you glanced around the now crowded bar for signs of him.

"He left like ten minutes ago. Said he was tired and went back to the motel."

"Was he…" You didn't want to finish the question, not knowing which answer you'd prefer, but Morgan filled in the gaps himself with a wide grin.

"Alone? Yes, kid. Here, it's the address of the motel we're staying at and his room number." You hesitated before grabbing the paper and grabbing your stuff, practically running from the bar and hopping in the nearest taxi.

–X–

That's how you found yourself stomping down the corridor of the motel, pounding on his door at 1 a.m., unashamed in your brazen actions. He opened the door, slightly shocked to see you there, and you pushed your way inside and turned on him as you shut the door.

"What the fuck was all of that?" You demanded as soon as he turned back to you. His shirt was open now, jacket and tie discarded on the floor somewhere deeper into the room, but you forced yourself to look up into his eyes, away from the pale plains of his skin.

"What was what, Y/N?"

"You, staring at me like that the whole night and then just leaving."

"Did you want me to stay?"

"I want you to stop answering my questions with questions, Reid. This is bullshit, you can't act like a dick to me all week and then look at me like I'm a piece of meat you want to rip apart, for fucks sake."

"You made it very clear earlier tonight that you wanted no part of this, Y/N. Are you saying I should've done something else?"

"That's another fucking question, Spencer! If you don't start actually talking to me, I swear to god, I'll-" You ran a hand through your hair, and when you looked up again, he was closer than ever. You backed up into the wall, but he followed you, pressing a leg between your own. Slowly and with that condescending grin plastered across his face, he drawled out his next words.

"You'll what?"

Your lips crashed against his with the fury of your frustrations, a mess of teeth and tongue and biting anger as you surged forward into him.

With a rough push of your hips, he slammed you back into the wall, taking charge of the situation, coaxing his tongue into your mouth, battling you for control, and winning. Grabbing you by the neck he slowly pulled his lips away from yours, leaving you gasping for breath.

"Don't be such a brat, Y/N. When I ask you questions, it's because I want answers." You moaned as you tried to regain his lips, but he chuckled and kept you pinned.

"Tell me, baby, what should I have done earlier instead? Got down on my knees to beg your forgiveness, or thrown you over that desk and used you like a cheap little whore? I think I know which one you prefer."

You moaned at his words, but kept your mouth twisted in a grimace, choosing not to answer. He got tired of waiting, and, with a swiftness you didn't know he possessed, twisted you around so your hands were planted against the wall, your chest pushing against it too as he pulled your hips up and out, effectively baring your pantie-clad pussy to him as your dress pushed up and over your ass all by itself.

"So fucking slutty. You let all those men in that club touch you while you stared at me the entire time." He ran his hands across your ass massaging you underneath your underwear before pulling his hands away again and grabbing your hips. He pushed his clothed cock against you from behind and you moaned at how hard and big he felt already.

"Was this what you wanted, brat?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"I think you'd much prefer it if I fucked you, don't you think?" He turned you around again, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around him, the new angle pressing your core further into his cock.

"Open your mouth, now." Against your better judgment, your body reacted to him quickly, your tongue dropping out of your mouth as he ground his cock into your core, effectively dry-humping you. With a swift motion, he spat in your mouth, your eyes going wide as you instinctively shut your mouth and swallowed.

"Good girl," he stroked your hair, lifting you up and carrying you to the bed. His lips locked with yours as you tasted his spit on your lips, letting him take control and move you in any way he pleased.

"But you've been a brat," he said pulling away. "And brats need to be punished."

With that he forced you over his knee, pulling your panties down as he positioned your hips higher, your ass raised. He fisted one hand into your hair and began softly stroking your ass with the other.

"You're going to count for me, baby. If you lose count, we'll start again. With each number, I'll tell you what you did wrong, okay?"

"Fuck, yes, yes sir." With another soft touch, he pulled his hand up and bought it back again down sharply, letting it cup your ass as you hissed from the sting.

"O-One."

"That was for being a brat in the office. Being so confident you missed some vital evidence that was staring you right in the face."

He did it again, and you squirmed under his touch.

"Two."

"That was for teasing me in front of Hotch. Making me get hard right there in the office before you went to interrogate that creep."

"That made you hard?" You gasped out as he cracked out another slap to your ass. "Three."

"That was for talking. You need to stop fucking talking." He stroked your ass again, delivering a fourth, fifth, and sixth blow in quick succession as you felt yourself leak your arousal all over his lap.

"That was for dressing like a little whore tonight. That was for flirting with Morgan. That was for letting another man touch you. What do you have to say for yourself now, brat?" Your breaths stuttered out of you as you tried to compose yourself, confident that he'd finished your punishment now.

"G-Go…. FuckFuck yourself." He growled and threw you back on the bed, ripping your dress off over your head and letting his lips return to yours as he trailed his hand to between your legs, finally pushing two fingers inside of you as you moaned and writhed beneath him.

" I hate you," you moaned in his ear as his lips trailed down to your breasts.

"You have a funny way of showing it." Your orgasm was rapidly approaching, so close you could practically taste it. He sensed it as well, though, and pulled his fingers out of you before you could reach that bliss.

"You thought it would be that easy, brat?" he whispered in your ear with a low chuckle before flipping you over to your front and thrusting his fingers back into you from behind, causing another moan to rip from your throat, uncontrollably loud in the otherwise silence of the motel at night.

Unzipping his pants and freeing his cock, you felt the weight of it on your ass as he rubbed his precum against your now bright red asscheeks.

"You're going to look so pretty with my cum decorating your ass baby. It's going to make your ass feel better, too."

"You're disgusting," you spit at him, but your hips push harder into his dick, trying desperately to capture him inside of you and force him to use you.

"No more talking, bitch. Take my fingers." He pushed a hand into your mouth and you started twirling your tongue around them, using your distraction to finally violently thrust his dick all the way inside you. You screamed at the sudden filling, cumming around his cock in an instant, trying to milk him for all he was worth. But he clamped a hand down over your mouth so that all that fell from your face was escaped tears and muffled pleas for more.

"Gonna use you like this baby, gonna make you admit you love me."

His thrusts gained a steady pace as your brain emptied beneath him, desperate for more of the pleasure his body was supplying you with. He released your mouth then, content that all your energy seemed to be spent on pushing your ass back into his, listening to the wet, sloppy sounds of your activity.

"Do you like that, brat? You like me making you feel like this, huh?" He slapped your ass again as he thrust, and you moaned back with a nod.

"Yes, Spencer, don't stop… Don't stop." You moaned again, another orgasm rolling over your body, causing you to clench unconsciously around his cock.

"So good baby, you're responding so well to my cock." He trailed a hand underneath you to your clit and started rubbing it in time to his thrusts.

"One more for me. One more and I'll pull out, okay? Just one more."

"I can't, Spencer I can't do it.." You whined underneath him, face fully buried in the motel pillows. You were surprised he even heard you through the tears as the material.

"Yes you can, baby, look you're so close already, just do one more."

"I hate you," you moaned again, feeling your third and final orgasm wash over you, your eyes rolling back in your head as your body started twitching and didn't stop. You felt a small twitch from him too, as he finished thrusting inside of you, letting a little bit of his cum escape into you before pulling out and decorating your ass with his ejaculation.

He fell by the side of you and gasped desperately for a few minutes, before grabbing a hot wet towel from the bathroom and cleaning your ass off.

"Spencer…" you croak out eventually, regaining some clarity, but still not moving much from your spot in his bed.

"Spencer, I don't hate you."

"I know. I don't hate you either. Which is probably for the best."

"What? Why?"

"Hotch just requested your transfer to the Quantico Office so you could start training with the BAU. You did a good job this week, Y/N." Your eyes started watering again and you gently pushed away tears as he laughed at you, asking why you were crying.

"I'm not happy," you joked.

"I just realized that means I have to work with you more." You both laughed at that. You didn't hate each other exactly, but that didn't mean you could work together well either.

And you didn't want to if this was the outcome of your bickering and hatred.

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