#48 years is A LOT OF TIME
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Happy 48th birthday, U2!
(I'm not good with emotional texts, so here's my little contribution :)
#bono#the edge#adam clayton#larry mullen jr#48 years is A LOT OF TIME#I don't know what I would do without these songs and these beautiful people (especially inside)#this is definitely my fave pic of the four of them together#u2#memes#happy bday
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I've already read 13 books this year.
4 of them are rereads of The Baby Sitters Club books so like... easy quick reads lol.
#ashleybenlove posts#I am planning on padding my list with a lot of BSC books this year#of rereads or read for the first time#like in 99-2000 I was signed up to some kinda subscription service/book of the month thing#where I got four of the books in order each month#and then i guess after the move in mid-2000#the package didn't get forwarded to the new address#and that was that#i was at 48 or 52 at the time#so soothing my inner child after like... almost 25 years
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vague planner doodle of botw link from memory LOL
#botw#botw link#art#fanart#traditional art#pencil#ink#been playing a lot of botw (after like two years ive finally finished all the big animals with the lasers. what are they called)#(i was literally playing it less than 48 hours ago why did i forget what theyre called)#(anyway yeah i think im in the last third probably now! i take my time with video games nowadays sorry LOL)#having a lot of fun hee hee
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Oh dear lord Heir is going to be longer than rearrange the stars by a lot isnât it
#rearrange the stars should be updated in January#but Iâve been working on the outline for another very long Drarry fic#itâs up to 48 chapters and Iâm not done with 5th year#(it starts in 2nd year)#rearrange the stars is 45 chapters long#and unlike rearrange the stars The Heir doesnât END with 5th year#word count on outline is less but there are a lot less details that need to be specific in heir#its not a time travel fic. just an AU
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having a meeting with my boss. ended up just traumadumping the story of My Pregnancy And How Much It Sucked
she asked. it wasn't out of the blue. I mentioned back a few weeks ago when she was complaining about her nausea like how it had been for me and she was like oh you've been pregnant? ok. and then today I was talking about how bad my back was in the 2nd trimester because she was saying her lower back was killing, and she was like hey. not trying to pry and you don't need to answer this but how old were you when this was happening? so I told her yeah I was 19 I was in the middle of uni it was a whole thing. and we chatted for a bit about the situation and after a bit she was like RUTH. CANNOT BELIEVE YOU JUST ASKED ME HOW I HAD SO MUCH ENERGY TO DO THINGS THEN YOU TELL ME ABOUT WHEN YOU WERE PREGNANT AND A TEEN.
and I'm like yeah didn't even tell you yet that I got all my assignments in at a 2:1 or higher, made several pieces of commercial art, acted as a full time carer for two suicidal friends and sat on the committee of 3 societies, all in a year when I couldn't get out of bed about 50% of the time and threw up convulsively for half an hour every morning. in retrospect. that's some badass (stupid) shit.
#red said#like when i look back on that time i often feel like i did nothing in those 6 months#bc my overwhelming feeling at the time was of immobility i was SO depressed i CRIED every time i tried to draw I spent entire weeks in bed#my attendance at uni was way down#but like. laying it all out. it's actually crazy how much i carried that year#like. yeah i missed a lot of uni and i has to get an extension on the practical coursework#but. i filled in a year's worth of gaps in one 48 hour sleepless rush. hated everything i made but it did the job#got a 2:1 on the year and some genuinely positive feedback on some pieces#and even when i was actually pregnant like there were 3 separate occasions i got up in the middle of the night to take ppl to a&e#and i helped mediate and shut down a harrassment campaign#and that's like. stupid good. especially under a circumstance when Getting Through The Day would count as an achievement for anyone#like i really gotta go back over some of these times in my life with adult eyes and recognise how off base my self-perception was#my whole adolescence and early adulthood i felt like i wasn't doing enough and i was letting everything slide#but that just IS NOT TRUE i was doing WAY more than could be reasonably expected and i was doing it with a millstone around my neck
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i keep thinking about this NPR piece i listened to years ago about an adult autistic woman who had always had trouble reading social cues. and the example she used was that at summer camp as a kid, she saw a boy and a girl getting into a sailboat and trying to get the sails set up properly, only neither of them seemed to be doing a super fantastic job of it or getting it done quickly, so she asked if they wanted her to do it (since she had just learned how the other day) and they looked at her like she had three heads, and she was never able to figure out why. her entire life was like that: people treating her like an alien because of some missed cue that she was powerless to infer.
and then one day, decades later, she goes in for an experimental treatment where doctors blast her brain with magnets. and instantly, she thinks back to the boy and the girl on the sailboat and realizes that oh my god, they were on a date, that's why they looked at her like that, they were enjoying each other's company and not focused on efficiency. and it was like that with every event in her life: she could suddenly see behind the curtain, see what everyone else had been seeing the whole time.
and then 48 hours later it was gone. she could remember the conclusions she drew, but the thought process that led her there was totally alien. and of course she went back to the doctors to try the treatment again, and of course it didn't work.
she had gotten the fruit of knowledge beamed directly into her skull for two beautiful days and had to live with the aftertaste for the rest of her life. i think about her a lot.
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As the flash hits your eye, you feel something crashing into you from all directions. Below you is obvious, Bonbon situated themself to bump into you while the picture was taken. You look to your right, and Mirabelleâs cheek is pressed up to yours. On your left, Isabeauâs sheepishly hugged you to his side. Thereâs a hand in your hair, too, and it feels like Madame Odile. [...] âWe need a souvenir of this trip,â Mirabelle adds. She rushes to the ground to pick up the picture and snort-laughs as she looks at it. âOh no, Siffrin looks like weâre holding him hostage!â â Curtain Call, Chapter 9, by @openphrase123 (Link in the replies)
2024 October 22nd
Fanfic fanart fanfic fanart!! When I read the "hostage" line, it invoked such a clear image in my head of Siffrin tensed up like a startled prey animal that it got added to my list of things to maybe draw immediately.
Dooon't think about the words 'left' and 'right' in that quote too hard. I know how to read I prommy. :) (I did Not process those words and lost the coin flip in the composition phase...)
Close-up and ramblings about the cans of worms I unleashed upon myself under the cut
Time taken on this was [head in hands] 48 hours and 37 minutes.... That bloated number has two culprits:
1) I got a new tablet! My old one was 10 years old. Its plastic was melting and the electronics had ghosts in 'em, so it needed the sweet release of retirement. However, I had just gotten to the line art phase when the switch happened. Clumsily getting used to the new one during the most precise phase of the process did devastating things to my perfectionism.
2) I made a GRAVE mistake with how I chose to color this. I wanted to keep the grayscale layers for accuracy instead of just slapping a B&W filter over the colored version, so all the colors come from gradient maps, color balance layers, overlay layers, and raster layers clipped to other layers. Listen. I'm used to working with lots of layers. I like keeping things separate so I can edit them more easily. But this is the worst layer system I have ever created. Going from color to B&W requires toggling exactly 20 layers & folders on or off. There are 87 visible layers total. This file lags when you edit it. I've never wanted CSP v1.13 to have layer comps more in my life.
Not helping matters was Isabeau. I said he was the easiest to draw in my last post, but he took that as a challenge, apparently. It's a simple fist-on-hip pose, why was that so hard!?! His face gave me grief too.
Odile's lil' wave got added at the end of the line art phase. I've never added to a sketch that late in the game before, but I felt bad about how little screen area she got, haha. Girl, I tried, but this composition was not kind to you.
Giving Isa, Odile, and Siffrin skin colors felt cursed. Well... "color" is maybe a stretch for Sif. The pallor from being affection-jumpscared isn't helping. In the dev's nose reveal post, they said that Siffrin isn't white but is white-passing, so BOOM albinism headcanon. Like c'mon, they wear a big hat and have most of their skin covered because the sun is a deadly laser when you have little to no melanin and idk if sunblock exists in-universe. Heck, maybe most Islanders have it, their whole religion is about the night sky so maybe they're nocturnal. This makes perfect sense. :)
#in stars and time#in stars and time spoilers#isat#isat siffrin#isat isabeau#isat odile#isat bonnie#isat mirabelle#fan art#2d art
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đïžâđČđ°đđŽ đ¶đ¶đ·........... THE STRONGEST ......filed under the that's not my jjk man series
visitor log: its midday and your clingy-ass boyfriendâgojo satoruâshould be hard at work right getting rid of these doppels not knocking at your doorâgotta be a fake... right?! classifications: bimbo!reader (canonverse of otaku!gojo's bunny!reader), yandere-esque Gojo, nipple play, recorded sex, lots of sex toys, dirty talk, panty theft, extreme overstim + slight omorashi. incidents: 4.4k .......shout outs to @yung-notorious for beta-ing some of this!
*knock-knock-knock-knock-knock*
Rapid, insistent knocks interrupt your laughter as you chat with friends, carefully brushing a fresh coat of polish onto your toes. You werenât expecting anyone, but the familiar, overly enthusiastic rhythmâknocking out the tune of Rick Astleyâs "Never Gonna Give You Up"âleaves no doubt who it is.
Satoru.
You sigh.
Although you havenât seen Gojo much lately and are usually happy to see him, his timing this time irritates you for a couple reasonsâfirst, of course heâd interrupt right in the middle of your much-needed girl time! You were desperate to hang with your friends again, especially after being stuck in lockdown for the last 2 weeks.
There was some juicy tea getting spilled on the call too!Â
More importantly, you weren't in a hurry to get up from the sofaâespecially with your freshly painted white toes youâd propped up on the coffee table to dry. The last thing you wanted was to ruin them by getting dust on them while answering the door when Gojo wasnât even supposed to be here right now.
âBBL, yâall.â
Reluctantly ending the call, you switched over to your Ring camera app.Â
Sure enough, the security feed loads to reveal Gojo, grinning up at the camera with his glasses perched on the brim of his nose and a large pink shopping bag in hand.
Huh? Thereâs no way heâs off-work already!Â
Taking note of the time it reads 1:30 p.m. confirming that Jujutsu societyâs strongest sorcerer is skipping out on work, againâpshh typical.Â
âCâmon babe, let me in!â
Urgh, what was he even doing here?!Â
Shouldnât he be the one leading the charge to kill all the doppelgĂ€ngers? The faster he exorcized them, the sooner youâd finally be able to go outside again.
This doppelgĂ€nger outbreak felt like covid quarantine all over and it sucked!Â
Satoru needed to get his ass back to work so you wouldnât waste the best years of your life cooped up inside!
âGo away, doppelgĂ€nger!â
You use the intercom feature to speak to Gojo, still not budging from the sofa.
Gojo pouts.
âBut it's me, baby! Open the door Bunny bae, please I missed you princessâitâs been too long!â
Satoruâs annoyingly pretty baby blues look even bigger as he pleads into the camera, his lip quivering, making you roll your eyes.
Itâs barely been 48 hrs since youâve last seen him and he still blows up your texts all day!Â
But the worldâs strongest sorcerer was also the worldâs clingiestâso you suppose his doppelgĂ€nger would be too. Although, you were pretty sure this was the real deal, that still didnât mean you wouldnât give him shit for skipping out on work.
âHuh, thatâs funny because there's no way you could be my boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, the strongestâand the one who is supposed to be making sure Iâm not stuck in the house for another 2 years. Itâs been freaking 2 weeks already Toru, Iâm going batshit in here!â
Pushing his glasses back in place Gojo hides his scoff, standing up straight.Â
Shit.
He hopes you arenât onto him.Â
Sure, he could have contained this whole thing in a few days tops.
Despite the doppelgĂ€nger ability to mimic appearances and cursed energy patterns, Gojoâs Six Eyes could see right through it easily. His power allowed him to perceive the core of a soul with perfect clarity, instantly distinguishing the souls of a human and a curse.
But instead of resolving the problem quickly, Gojo made up all kinds of excuses to you (and especially to the higher-ups) about why it was taking longer than expected.Â
The truth was, simple thoughâfor once, just this once, he decided he had earned the right to be selfish.
Not having met you until after the covid quarantine, Gojo had never experienced that kind of isolation with youâand was immensely jealous that your last boyfriend had. Now that he had a taste of it, there was nothing he wanted more than to keep his lil bun-bun safely caged up, waiting for his return everyday (and he did try to make it back everyday).
Okay, so he is in fact being really selfish.
Luckily for everyone else though, most of these doppelgĂ€nger curses are relatively harmless other than causing absolute chaos with their mere existence aloneâunfortunately they could also be seen by people even lacking cursed energy.
Gojo took care of the stronger ones, the ones with more nefarious intentions, while letting the little ones continue to run looseâall so he could have you to himself.Â
Unbeknownst to you, Gojo is intentionally sentencing you to what seems like a never ending cycle of boredom so that when he finally gets home you cling to him like a grain of sweet sticky rice. So eager for any external stimuli or interaction youâd be up for all manner of his perversions youâd normally shoot him down for.
That didnât mean you werenât still a brat though, making him work for itâsomething that Gojo also noted was his fault though for spoiling you rotten, not being able to deny you anything. So you pretend to be annoyed when he showed up, but Gojo knew the truthâthose thick thighs of yours would soon have your slick running down. Your cute, slutty lil pussy dripping would start dripping the moment youâd hear his voice.
Yeah, yeah, heâd get rid of those things eventuallyâbut Gojo was going to enjoy this quarantine with you for a bit longer.Â
âEven the strongest need a break baby! I need my sweet lilâ energizer Bunny to recharge my batteries, eh?â
You crinkle up your nose seeing him wiggle his eyebrows on camera.Â
He's such a dorky cornball.
âAnd this breakâŠitâs approved by Yaga, hm?â Gojo whines at your questioning, not wanting you to deny him any longer nor throw technicalities in his face he didnât wanna have to answer.
âCome on, Bunny! I even brought you real nice gifts to show you how much I missed you!â
The hot pink shopping bag sways in front of the camera, Gojo dangling it as if it were supposed to be a tempting treat.Â
But heâd have to do better than some generic pink shopping bag to impress you!
Youâve gone back to your toenails, starting to apply the top coat while you let him squirm out there for a while longer. You knew he could break the barrier in the blink of an eye but you also knew that he was a big enough baby to want you to let him in on your own.Â
Well tough luck brah.
âThat sure doesnât look like a Chanel shopping bag, Toru!â
âUm, thatâs cause itâs notâBunny you told me you donât even like me picking you out clothes anymore!â
You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyesâof course you said that as whenever Gojo picked something out for you, it ended up being the most scandalous or over-the-top piece in the store. How he would even managed that at a classy brand like Chanel, you had no idea. (Though, little do you know, in reality, he always acted they were ready-to-wear while they were custom-madeâjust for you.)
âI got us some toys, baby bun! Donât you wanna play with me?â
You donât need to ask him âwhat kind of toysâ from the goofy ass expression that is on his face.Â
âThatâs not making me want to let you in at all, Doru!â Â
âHah? WhaâDoru!?â
âYeah, short for Dopple-Toru.â
You try to keep a straight face but canât help giggling as you sneak a peek at your phone, still putting on as if you're completely ignoring him. His expression on the camera is priceless though and you wish you could snap a screenshot of his mouth wide open, glasses nearly sliding off, looking utterly incredulous.
âHey! Come on, Bunny bae, that's not funny! I know you know itâs meâand I also know your pretty pussy misses me!âÂ
Oh knew, it was your perv ass boyfriend and yeah you did miss himâbut you missed your freedom more! And for that reason you are gonna make him think twice before trying to skip out on work again. Not to mention, for having the nerve to show up once you finally found something interesting to stave away your boredom other than him!
âHmm, I donât knowâprove it then, DoruâŠâ
While Gojo loves goading you into playing games and usually lets you win them too, after nearly 48 âgrueling hoursâ away from you, all he wants now is to simply relax in your company. Ya know, nothing too crazy, just the typical cuddles with him calmly resting his face on your titties while his cock nestles deep up against your cervixâjust something casual.
Gojo calling your bluff, ups the ante.
âHeh, kayâŠâ
Youâre actually not paying attention this time, admiring your work on your toes and contemplating on the color you should paint your fingernails as Gojo goes silent for a moment.Â
Yet once you hear a loud zip, the rustling of fabric, and a belt clank to the ground your eyes practically bulge out of your head as you grab your phone, bringing it comically close to your face while blinking multiple times just to be sure.Â
Satoru quite literally has dick and balls out, dangling in the breeze, in front of the entire goddamn neighborhood!
And despite your initial horror and best efforts to remain upset, you pause, your inner slut causing a slight brain malfunctionâas even from the small ring camera you can see his deliciously thick cock bobbing fully erect while his mushroomy tip shamelessly drips viscous globs of pre onto your welcome mat.
Thankfully your short-circuiting of common sense only lasts a few seconds before it starts functioning again.
âTORU HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING SUGAR-FUELED MIND!? YOU KNOW THE HOA IS ONE MORE INCIDENT AWAY FROM KICKING ME OUT, RIGHT!?â
Sighing, you groan in dismay as youâve been on thin ice with your HOA for a while now because of Gojo.Â
Not only have you received the most noise complaints in the neighborhood by far, but he also made âalterationsâ to your home by installing unsanctioned rows of cypress trees. Claiming it was a safety precaution to block the view inside your home from your âsketchy neighbors.â He also ever so obnoxiously takes up 2 parking spots on the street so no one could even âpark too close to scratch his Benzâ and even sometimes double parked in front of your neighbors house when all the street parking was taken.
You would most definitely be kicked out if anyone in the neighborhood saw all of Gojoâs fairly large bits and pieces freely on display.
And yeah, Gojo did know that.Â
He also knew if you got kicked out and had to move youâd have no excuse then not to move-in with him.
Where else would you be able to stay on such short notice? He soon turn that temporary situation into a more permanent one too.
Finally leaping to your feet, you practically trip over yourselfâall thoughts of preserving your polish forgottenâas you sprint to the front door.
You canât get there fast enough, yet as soon as you do, you don't hesitate to lower the barrier and fling the door open.
âHey sweetnââ
Cutting him off, you grab Gojo by his collar and yank him inside before slamming the door shut behind you.
But you donât get a chance to scold him. The moment you turn to face him, your lips suddenly meet his, and his large frame envelops yours into a warm embrace.
Your first instinct is to push him away, but even when meeting your furious eyes he just grins knowinglyâtwirling his pointer finger in the air above him. You frown, confused, until it hits youâGojo has set up another barrier over your own.
No one could have seen him, but heâd let you believe that so youâd let him in faster.
Urgh, Toru is far too crafty for his own damned good.
It's your turn to pout now, having clearly lost this round badly.Â
But Gojo doesnât let the expression lingerâhis mouth is hot and hungry on yours again in an instant. Your soft lips are easily parted by his thumb as he slows to tease his way past your lips to glide his silken tongue into your mouth causing him to sighâyou taste sweeter than any candy to him.
The kiss soon turns more passionate as the strokes of his tongue flick longingly over yours, devouring you as he skillfully melts away your angerâin addition to all the bones in your legs. Reduced to a puddle of goo you completely forget you were just about to cuss him out as your legs now press together from the throbbing between your thighs. Your need becoming more agonizing as you grow dizzy from the lack of air.
When Gojo finally lets you breathe again, he chuckles at your dazed expression. Your lids are lowered and you press your body deeper into his own, clutching onto his collar as you nestle your face into his neck, savoring his scent washing over you.Â
âSo despite all that sass, I take it you actually missed me then?â
You nod eagerly against his skin, in spite of yourself. Even though he isnât supposed to be here right now, you canât hold back any longer how happy you are to see him.
âAnd my pretty Bunny girl is going to let me play with her now?âAll of her?â
You gasp as Gojo does not wait for an answer before slipping a hand into your shorts. Hissing at your heat, Gojo swipes his thumb over the outer folds of your cunt and his fingers quickly are becoming soaked before they even got the chance to get up inside you.
Placing a chaste kiss on your temple Gojo's agile fingers had merely confirmed what he already knew: Youâre utterly drenchedâhis needy, cute lilâ pussy was quite literally begging for him and who was he to deny her?
ᥣđ©áĄŁđ©áĄŁđ©
âFâFuck! P-pussy too good. Keep the phone up though, nice and straight Bunny! T-Thatâs it, youâre the best! SHIIIITâ nâyou got the cutest sluttiest lil cunny! C-Can you get a close up of how well my cock is digging out your pretty lilâ bunny hole?â
âMmmgh!â
Gojoâs filthy words and his even filthier fat cock are bringing you closer to your ecstasy filled ruin as they push you past your limits, engorged veins scraping your walls with every thrust. You're covered in sweat and your entire body buzzesâquite literally as there are vibrating clamps suctioned onto each of your nipples.Â
Mmmm, it all was driving you wild!
Not imagining yourself in this position when you woke up this morning at all.
Especially as initially, when Gojo said he bought toys, you thought he had meant fuzzy handcuffs, silken ropes or maybe even some more of that warm edible candle wax that tastes like strawberriesâbut all this!?Â
You could barely see out of your bleary, tear-filled eyes completely caking your cheeks in streaks of your mascara that while supposedly waterproof, definitely is not Gojo Satoru proof.Â
In addition to the mind-numbing bliss radiating off your swollen perky buds, your body was covered in some sort of edible oily slick. The warmth was initially similar to that of candle waxâyet morphed into anything but. This time the heat was coming from the flames your own body generated as the effects of the candied warming oil made every part of you saturated in the fluid buzz with need.Â
Of course, after soaking your body with it down the tips of your toes and paying extra attention to your nipples, Gojo had been thoughtful enough to pour the most of the remaining bottle over your throbbing lilâ clit.Â
Except now there isnât just a shallow throb between your legs as the fiery sensation of every individual nerve in your cunt was cries out for him to ruin you harder.Â
Your legs are wrapped around him impossibly tight as your heels dig into the small of his back and yet somehow, he still manages to snake a hand between your slippery bodies to pet his favorite girly spot on youâyour clit. Toying with the swollen nub in a painfully slow manner compared to the intensified thrashing of his hips against your own.Â
The motions only serve to push the heart-shaped platinum and pink sapphire adorned butt plug deeper into your ass with every loud vulgar smack of your wet bodies joiningâthe strange feeling of it jostling against the very walls his cock was drilling has you drooling as Gojo further tests the limits of passion he can push over.  Â
âCâmon Bunny, you're going to miss the best part, ya better capture it really well how much squirt I can pump out of this cute cunnyâor weâll simply just have to do another take. Not that Iâd mind spending all day in your pussyâŠâ
You're not in your right mind to scold him for trying to skip out on more work and you certainly don't have the full capacities to hold his phone up any betterâwhat with your hands were tied together over your head to the bed. Gojo utilizing the fuzzy cuffs afterall.
You canât even really see if you are getting the right angle as you desperately hold onto the device, keeping it straight and upright lest it slip and drop right on your head.Â
âAlways such a good girl for me huh, princess?â
Tuhâlike he was giving you a choice!
You're unable to clap back though as your tongue, so lax from all the pleasure, sinks back to the roof of your mouth. The slobber gathered pools past your lips, over your chin, down your neck to your tits and Gojo is eager to slurp the train up your body and back to your lips, kissing you.Â
It goes without saying, but Gojo in âdirectorâ mode is absolutely diabolical.Â
The reason being needs the perfect footage of him playing in your guts to make sure he had good enough material to fap to if you wanted him to spend more time away from you while he hunted down the doppel-curses.
âBe good for me a bit longer, âkay baby?â
Yet his gentle coos donât match his demeanor.Â
Glasses long discarded, Gojoâs own blue eyes looked crazed. Heâs unconcerned with the sweat matting his hair to the sides of his face or the wave of slick your pussy splashes onto his taut abs. Abs are shuddering from just how tight of a hold your pussy has on himâworking him overtime as his heavy pants soon twist into deranged lil whines.
âM-Me and my lilâ buddy missed our two girls so, so, s-sooo muchâAH-HAH-F-FAHHHCK! G-Gotta show ya just how much!âÂ
Shamelessly, Gojo had dubbed his cockâhis little buddyâthe joke that would have emasculated some men but Gojo made it intentionally with the irony that he was anything but little.
âT-They were made for each other babyâlilâ buddy and the wet pretty girl between these thighs, yeah?â
The ham that he is, Gojo always sounds extra insane whenever a camera is recording, howling with amusement when he watches the playbacks. Yet in this very moment, he was as serious as a heart attackâand you definitely weren't laughing as your weeping pussy gets pounded into deeper into ecstasy filled oblivion.Â
âShhhâStawwp, Sâtoruuuuu!â
Tsk, you still could form a coherent thought? Â
That simply wouldnât do for Gojo who is working so hard and bought all these new toys to see you come completely undoneâand he needed you too soon as he wouldnât last much longer in your squishy gooey core himselfânot how your cunt was holding him in the wettest sluttiest lil hug.Â
There's still one item left that he hadn't used yet though, that in trying to keep up his sleeve he'd nearly forgotten about entirelyâhis own brain quickly leaving itself on simmer by your greedy lilâ pussy sucking him in so sloppy.
Slightly changing your position for more leverage, he throws one of your legs on his shoulder slotting himself between your cushy thighs while he straddles the other leg. Fucking you sideways with increasing intensity from the bruising grip on your hips pulling your pelvis towards on him as he meets your thrusts smacking directly into your cervix.
âHeh, I know what will finish you off! Ya ready to cum baby? Squirt all on this dick you love so much, eh Bunny?âYeah ya fuckin' will.â
When you donât answer right away Gojo delivers a harsh slap directly on your clit, the moisture causing the increased sting to intensify sending your senses into a state of floating. Yet, bringing you back to reality, another harsh smack lands on your cunt and you jerk against your restraints, nearly dropping the phone on your face for real this time.
You donât understand what he's saying to you but you not regardless, eyes rolling back into your headâevery single pore on your skin submerged in pleasure. Completely unaware, you donât hear the additional buzz of the final toy until you feel its silicone lips latching onto your clit while the rigid faux tongue juts back and forth across your bud.
Eyes practically leaving your skull for the second time today, everything flashes white, blinding you even with your eyes wide open. A scream so guttural it comes out silent, the ball of tension in you finally bursting as releases flushes through your entire body.
Cumming harder than you ever had before, you just let go completely, gushing around Gojoâs thick cock still pistoning in your now drenched pussy. The splash zone from your cunt is quite a bit more than usual as a giant warm wet spot begins to soil and expand underneath you both.
Ears ringing, Gojo sounds a million miles away as you hear him chattering on about somethingâthe phone?
You wiggle your fingers, realizing you must have dropped it, but youâre still clueless about what has him so excitedâuntil Gojoâs voice finally slices through your haze, yelling out in absolute wondermentâ
âHOLY SHIT BABY, DID YOU JUST PISS ON ME??? MMM FUCK ME FOR REAL!?âSHIT! YOU WETTER THAN A WATER PARK BUNNYâSO FUCKIN NASTY! PLEASEEEEEE PLEASEEEE TELL ME YOU GOT THAT ON CAMERA!â
Suddenly, it dawned on you that when you had let go, you had quite literally let it all go.Â
You could dieâand if you could muster the strength to move you surely would have raced out to the backyard to quickly dig yourself a whole to do just that in. Yet that clearly would not an acceptable conclusion for your degenerate perv of a boyfriend who is acting like a sinner savedâpraising pussy like a newly reborn evangelist baptized in the essence of your erotic filth.Â
His elation is simple as he figures how much you really had to trust him to be able to let go and lose yourself to him to that extentânow he wants to lose himself to you as well.
Easily drowning all inside your sloshing pussy like he never swamâGojo doesn't stop, your pissing only encourages him to fuck himself further into a pussy drunk state to rival your own cock-induced stupor.
Yet, somehow he still maintains enough control to effectively lavish praises for how naughty and shameless your lil pussy is.Â
The frenzy drives him directly to his nut, eyes dilate further and slobber frothes past his lips while spearing his cock into you with renewed vigor. Whimpering and stuttering his words and hips alike. Gojo presses your leg draped across him back against you to be sandwiched between the two of you as leans forward to further ravage your swollen kiss bitten lips again.Â
Twisting you up like a pretzel and near the point of passing out from overstimulation you his insane joyous laughter sounds miles away as he topples over his peak pumping ropes of his vicious cumâthat heâd been saving up for all you over the last two daysâinto your battered creamy core.Â
Gojoâs thrusts begin to slow but heâs in your guts just as far pushing cockhead right against your cervix stealing your lips into another fiery kiss.
Once Gojo finally lets you breathe air again, youâre completely out of it, the dopey blushing smile on your face. The embarrassment from pissing all over him is completely forgotten as hearts all for him linger in your eyes.
Sex with Toru was never dull to say the very least.
âThere you go, thereâs my good girl, huh Bunny? Not bored anymore baby?â
Gojo smirks down at you knowingly while peppering your face with sweet loving kisses as youâre steadily drifting off, allowing every exhausted nerve to claim you.
It's still a good minute before Gojo slides out of you, seeinghis discarded phone next to youâit's still recording. A mischevous smile plays on his lips.
Wanting to capture the aftermath of his handiwork, Gojo sweeps the phone across your body, thumbing off moisture from your dewy soft skin soiled with warming oil and sweat. Making sure to linger longer on your lightly heaving chest and the sporadic quiver of your thighs.
Zooming in even closer, Gojoâs two long fingers to part your swollen lips open, admiring more of his workâhis masterpiece that was the copious amounts of cum and piss dribbling out of your abused lilâ hole down to the crack of your ass.Â
Now Gojo really has a dilemmaâhe wants to keep filming you as his cum, ever so slowly, trickles out of you. He thinks this scene would make the perfect time-lapse of the creamy sap seeping from your cunt like sugar maple. But heâs also fighting the urge to also suck all the creaminess out of you himselfâthe cum rimming around your puckered lower hole tempting him to Gojo start there and slurp and suck his way up your clit.Â
Truly, he never gets enough of how his taste mingles with yoursâand heâs quite curious to know how the additional waterworks will add to your delectable flavor.Â
You were so fucking filthy and so willing to try new things all thanks to this doppel quarantine causing you to make this big a mess in the first place.
God he needed this.
More.Â
He had to have more from you.Â
Gojo couldnât possibly bring this all to an end anytime soon.  Cooing against your inner thigh Gojo makes a promise to your cunt.
âHeh, don't worry pretty girl, I'ma give you six more months of quarantine at least! Can't wait toââÂ
ââTORU, ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW!?!?â
Whoops.
Yeah he definitely thought you were already fast asleepâteehee.
......RESULT: PASSED đđđ đđđđđđđđđą đđđđđđđđđđ đąđđđ đđ đ đđđđđđđ đđđđđđđđđ đđđđ đđ đ đđđąđđđđđđâđđđ đąđđđ đđđđđđđđđđ đđđđđ đđđâđ đđđđđđ đđđąđđđđ đđđđ đđđđ.
that's not my jjk man series (visit series page for full animation)
comment and reblog! next up toji, already finished postingâ10/20
©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.
#âá°đđŸđđđ¶đÂąÏÏĐșŃ#âá°đđŸđđđ¶đÂąÏÏĐșŃâŃĐœÎ±Ń#gojo satoru smut#gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo headcanons#gojo thirst#satoru x reader#jjk crack#crack fic#anime fanfics#anime fanfic#jjk fanfic#gojo satoru#jjk gojo#satoru gojo#satoru x you#thats not my neighbor#thats not my neighbour fanfic#tnmn#tnmntober#tnmn fanart
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THE RIGHT KIND OF WRONG â dbf!mechanic!joel oneshot
series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: dbf!mechanic!joel x f!reader. summary: your car breaks down and you make a deal with your dad's best friend, joel, who happens to be the best mechanic in town. you'll work for him over the summer holidays to pay your debt back, but maybe you can find a pleasant shortcut to it? a/n: well, well, well... what can i say? this whole uniformed!joel shit is giving me proper brain rot. i don't know what came over me while writing this but i just rolled with it. i do appreciate any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated hehe. enjoy! x edit: forgot to mention this oneshot was prompted by this ask! warnings: 18+, mdni. no outbreak AU. juicy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 48). rough, ABSOLUTE filth & i'm not even sorry. some edging. semi-public groping? masturbation (f and m receiving). oral (f and m receiving). pussy pronouns (she/her). unprotected piv. mouth fucking. very mild brat taming kink. transactional sex. alternating pov. reader is female but that's about it. w/c: ~8.9k of pure filth. divider by @cafekitsune
âUgh, not again, câmon!â
Your cranky little car did not have it in it anymore. It was almost fifteen years old now, having passed down from your older brother to you when you turned sixteen five years ago. Out of pure frustration, you hit the steering wheel with the palm of your hand and let out a raspy grunt.
The check engine light had lit up on the dash, which was what caused your fit. And then, as if orchestrated by the universe, the engine made a loud, clicking noise. You flattened your forehead against the wheel, your fingers curling around the rubbery texture with a tight grip.
âYou stupid car!â, you screamed at it as if it was a sentient being. âIâm broke, you cannot die on me like this!â
You were on the parking lot of a cafĂ©. Early that afternoon you had met with some friends to celebrate the beginning of summer and the end of the academic year. One more and you would be done with your degree â it looked so damn far away, but you still had this summer to look forward to.
Rummaging through your purse, you finally located your cellphone and quickly dialled your dad.
âYeah?â
âHey, dad. Iâm at Bettyâs. The fucking light has come on again?!â
âWatch your mouth!â, he reprimanded you from the other side of the line. You could hear him huff and puff with disapproval. âI think your car is on its last legs, gonna have to think about buying one.â
âYou know I canât afford that, all my savings are going into my degree. Iâll just have to get it fixed for now.â
âTake it to Joelâs then. See what he thinks.â
âBut itâs a Sunday, you think heâll be open?â
âThat man is a workaholic, you bet his business is open today.â
âAlright, you reckon heâll do it for free?â
âFor free?â He laughed; you could imagine him shaking his head. âI doubt it, but maybe heâll give you a discount. Gotta go, little bug. Iâll see you at dinner. If you can make it, obviously.â He mocked you.
âHa, ha⊠So funny. Talk to you later.â And you hung up.
The drive to Joelâs garage was a fucking torture. Every time the engine made a squealing noise, your heart would jolt to your throat. You tried to encourage it, whispering sweet nothings in the hopes it would get appeased and make it to Joelâs repair shop.
You also got distracted by your filthy mind. Joel had been in your DILF radar since you were nineteen. Three years ago, your dad celebrated his 45th birthday with a barbecue in the middle of summer. Joel had turned up in a white tee shirt, khaki shorts and flipflops, with untamed silvery curls and a crate of beer under his arm.
When the Texan heat became unbearable, he had stripped himself of his clothes, fashioning a pair of short swim trunks that had left you breathless and wet. When you watched him get out of the water later that afternoon, you could have sworn that the tip of his dick had shown briefly before he discreetly tucked it away. That image had been burnt into your retinas and haunted you since then.
Unconsciously you licked your bottom lip, your core molten with slick, as the car came to a halt. You had arrived at your destination.
There was an old Ford at the front of the garage, someone working under the hood. When the driverâs door of your car slammed against the frame, Joel peeked up from the engine he was working on.
His eyes flickered with recognition. He grabbed an old rag to clean his big, veiny hands of grease and oil. You wondered what else would be big and veiny. Stop it, you dirty fucker, you told yourself.
âHey, Joel!â You waved at him with a smile.
âWhatâs up, kiddo?â
You rolled your eyes at him, the grin staying on your plump lips.
âIâm not a kid anymore, Joel. Have not been for a long time now, yâknow.â You punctuated, unsure of what you were trying to achieve with that comment. Well, you knew, but did not want to admit it to yourself.
âOh, I knowâ, he husked, his voice suddenly gruff.
Tilting your head to one side, you looked at him with question marks in your pupils. Why had he accentuated that âknowâ? And why all the sudden was your cunt gushing? How could he make you wet with three simple words? You were going to need to request a booty call that night from your friend with benefits.
âUh, uhmmâ, you laughed nervously. âThe engine light on my car has come on for the third time this week and the motor is making weird noises, could you check it out for me, please?â
âSure thing, lemme see.â He took the keys from your hand, electricity cracking between you.
You pursed your lips, a gesture he did not pick up on. Joel walked to the driverâs side, activated something and then the hood popped open. He walked around to the front of the car and propped the hood up with the metal rod that was inside.
As Joel was inspecting the motor with his broad hands, you put one foot in front of the other in a vain attempt to rub your knees together and cause some friction in your needy cunt. You squeezed your thighs some more as you watched him work with his hands, and you imagined what it would feel like if he was working you instead.
Oof! Take it down a notch, girl, you thought to yourself when your clit twitched in desperation.
Then Joel turned around to look at you.
âWhen was the last time you changed the timing belt?â
âThe... what now?â Your mind was hazy with lust, but even if you had been at your full mental capacity, you wouldnât have known what he was talking about.
âThe timing belt. In the engine. What ensures that the camshaft and crankshaft rotate in sync?â He looked at you with a cocked brow, cleaning his hands again on that old rag.
Oh, I would pay big bucks to be that rag.
âAre you even speaking English?â, you replied back, partially because you really had no idea what he was talking about, partially because your brain was all mushy with desire.
âIâll take that as a âneverâ then. You should really get it replaced, seems like thatâs your problem. Have you had trouble starting the car?â
âAs a matter of fact, yes, this very morning.â
âYeah, sounds like it. You need to change it asap, if it breaks while youâre driving it would be bad, very bad. You could have an accident. Also trying to fix it after itâs broken will cost you even more.â
âSo⊠will I need to break the bank?â You asked, already flinching at the idea.
Joel seemed to take a second to consider your options, leaning against the passengerâs door and scratching his scruffy beard.
âItâll be $800.â
Your heart almost stopped, your mouth agape.
âEight fucking hundred?â He nodded. âWell, can Iâ Can you not give me a bit of a discount here? You are best friends with my dad. Pretty please?â You laced your fingers together in a prayer and batted your eyelashes at him.
With a low grunt, he straightened his back and folded arms at his chest.
âIâm already giving you one. I would usually charge $1100. Youâre already getting a bargain.â
âWell, what about $300?â You counteroffered.
Joelâs brows knitted together and then loudly scoffed.
âWhat? You think Iâm a fucking charity? No, kiddo. $800 and thatâs it. If I go any lower, Iâd be losing money. Got a business to run here.â
You really did not have $800 bucks to spare. In fact, you barely had five hundred bucks to your name. Asking your family for money was not an option either â not because you were proud (you were), but because money was tight. Your parents already had enough struggles as it was, you did not want to add to the pile.
You visibly pouted and stumped one foot against the gravel, vexed. A loud sigh slipped through your lips as you pressed the heel of your hands against your eye sockets. You needed the car.
Dropping your hands to your sides, you looked at Joel with puppy eyes, covering the distance that was between you. Pleading, you palmed his strong forearm, your fingers wrapping around the girth of his muscles.
For a brief second, you wondered if you would be able to fully grip his erection. Would your fingertips be able to touch your thumb? Or would he be so thick you would need both hands to handle him?
âJoel, plâplease?â, you stammered, your arousal playing games with your vocal cords.
Unwillingly, he scanned your body up and down â slowly, taking his time, pondering his options.
Joel had wanted to fuck you for three years now, since your lustful eyes widened at the sight of only his tip on that dreadful summer day. He could vividly remember the way you had chewed your bottom lip as you watched him slide his cock back in his swim trunks, shamelessly, without blinking. You only stopped devouring him when someone talked to you, snapping out of your trance.
That night, when he got home, he had jerked himself off with you in his mind. He had imagined your plump lips sealed around his glans, the tip of your tongue playfully caressing the slit â your sparkly eyes looking up at him, dreamy and teary, imploring. He had taken his sweet time, rejoicing in his fantasy, until he had spilled in the palm of his hand, as if he was a hormonal teenager. And every time he would fuck someone to find relief, he would visualize your cunt sheathing him, clamping down on his dick like a beartrap.
Ever since then, every time his eyes landed on you, his blood would boil and his cock would harden. Just like now, dick pounding against his boxers, begging to be paid due attention. With the eyes of his imagination, he saw himself letting go and throwing you into the back of your car, drilling your pussy relentlessly until you came wailing, asking for more.
Joel sucked in his breath â he needed to calm down, distract himself with something else. You were his best friendâs daughter. He shouldnât be daydreaming about fucking you stupid. He had seen you grow since you were a babe.
Never thought of you any other way until that fateful barbeque, when he realised you were a full grown ass woman. Suddenly he had seen you for what you were: a fuckable brat who could get his cock rock-hard with the simple lick a of a lip.
An idea formed as you begged him. You looked desperate â desperate enough to him at least.
Joel cracked his tongue, his expression unwavering. But if you could see, you would know his cock was throbbing already.
âWell. I do have an idea.â His words dragged, his erection making him feel uncomfortable.
âYou do? Iâm all ears!â You exclaimed with a lopsided grin, your delicate fingers tighter around his forearm.
His head snapped to his right, pointing to a sign that read âHand Car Washâ.
âIf you help out all summer handwashing cars, Iâll consider part of your debt paidâ, he explained, looking down at your hand touching him.
âIn full?â You eyed him as if he was your goddamn saviour and that unsettled him.
âI said part of it, kiddo. Iâll leave it at $300.â
You batted your eyelashes at him. Did you know that your suggestiveness was wreaking havoc?
âAnything I can do so the $300 reduces to zero?â
âIâll think about itâ, he reluctantly conceded. Joel had a few ideas in mind, but none of them were precisely appropriate. Not for a twenty-one year old to do with a forty-eight year old at least, that was for sure. âBe here tomorrow at 9 AM, sharp. The team works from nine to twelve, Mondays to Fridays.â
You frantically nodded, almost squealing in excitement. The noise you made forced his cock to twitch. He could make you squeal too, only if you would let him.
âIâll be here! Thanks, Joel.â
Before he could think, you let go of his forearm and hugged him close to your chest. To your round breasts. Those two meaty globes he wanted to palm so badly. He could swear your nipples were stabbing at him. You embraced him so close to your body, his bulge pressed gently against your lower belly, and he wondered if you could feel him.
And then you stepped back. Quickly, too quickly for his liking.
âYouâll need to leave your car here, donât want you driving back in that junk. Iâll have a look at it tomorrow. Iâll give you a lift backâ, he offered. âLemme close first and Iâll be right back in five minutes.â
âNo probs, take your time.â You smiled at him as you went back to your car to grab your things.
Soon you were on the passengerâs seat of Joelâs pickup truck. It was dusking on the horizon, the light scattering through the windshield. Joel put down the visor so he wouldnât get blinded by the sun.
âSo howâs college going?â His attempt at small talk made you smile.
âItâs good, hard but good. The first year was really bad though. I didnât know anyone there, so had to make friends and everything.â You mentioned, shrugging, while mindlessly playing with your seatbelt.
âIâm sure you had no problems making friendsâ, Joel said distractedly, checking all the mirrors before turning at the streetlight.
You placed your elbow on the window frame, the back of your head resting on your palm, and you turned to look at him.
âHow are you so sure?â You asked, curious to see what his take on you was. The man was like a brick wall.
âYouâre so vivacious and talkative. Youâre not the shy kind either, always were part of the popular group in high school, werenât you?â You nodded, but he didnât see you, all focused on the road ahead. âBetâcha you have all the boys running after you.â
Well, that was unexpected. For both you and him, because you saw how his jaw clenched. It was almost imperceptible, but you were so aware of his every move, your body so in tune with his, you couldnât have missed it.
Had he noticed you? Like, actually? Was it possible that Joel fucking Miller, your freaking dadâs best friend, could look at you with other than paternal eyes? Why would he make hat comment otherwise?
Your cunt, still wet from your previous innocent interaction, fluttered. You had no butterflies in your stomach â they were actually clapping their fragile wings in between your legs. This man was a fucking menace to your senses, and he seemed oblivious to the effect he had on you. Or did he? Time to find out.
You giggled at his question and patted his upper thigh a couple of times, as if he had cracked the best joke you had ever heard. The pad of your fingers almost caressed his groin, that sweet dip where his thigh met his pelvis. The denim under your touch suddenly stretched as Joel flexed his leg, trying to release the tension that had rapidly built up.
You bit your bottom lip as he peered at you askance, your hand still too close to his crotch.
âI actually do, but none of them seem good enough, yâknow? I want a man, not a boyâ, you ventured, your top teeth sinking further in the soft pillow of your bottom lip.
You saw Joel sucking in his breath â and the grin in your face grew. He was definitely not immune to you, at least not as much as you had originally thought. He looked so unattainable, always so distant, you had wondered if, in his eyes, you had never grown up.
âDo you now, kiddo?â He asked between gritted teeth, tone throaty.
His brown eyes drifted down for one second, watching the tips of your fingers rubbing the denim of his jeans slightly, and then he locked them back on the road. You heard a low grunt vibrating in his throat, although he tried his best to suppress it.
âYeah. Iâm sick and tired of stupid childish boys. They are just boring now, they lackâ well, you know.â You let him brew with your unfinished sentence and removed your hand from his lap.
You could tell Joel finally was able to breathe again as his chest expanded slowly. His reaction to you left a prickling sensation in your pussy â wet, throbbing, needy. You pressed your knees together, but what you really wanted was for him to reach for you and dunk his thick fingers in your slit.
âYour dadâs there.â He stated, succinct, after clearing his throat.
You looked over your shoulder and through the window to realise that, in fact, you had arrived home. Your father was already waiting for you on the porch, probably because he recognised the noise of Joelâs truckâs exhaust pipe. And then he started walking towards you.
You suppressed a pouting grimace â you wanted just a few more minutes alone with Joel. A few more moves and, who knew? Maybe you would have him fingering the shit out of you. But thanks to your father, you would never find out.
Your father knocked on the passengerâs window and you rolled it down, smiling. Although what you really wanted to do was smack him for interrupting.
âHey, dad.â
âHey, sweetie. Howâs the car?â
âWellâŠâ You looked at Joel â you had already forgotten what was it that needed replacing.
âThe timing belt is going. Bit expensive but your daughter and I have reached an agreement. Will reduce the price for her but sheâs gotta come work on the hand-wash businessâ, he explained, matter-of-factly.
âSounds âbout right. Get your first taste of what the real world is like.â Your dad laughed at his own occurrence, while your mind drifted far, very far.
âIâd love to get a taste.â You answered feigning innocence, turning your face to Joel with a very wide smile painted on your mouth.
His eyes darkened, transfixed on yours. Oh, he knew exactly what you meant. He subtly stirred on his seat and you wanted to giggle so bad, but refrained.
âHey, Joel. Thereâs a game on tomorrow night. You wanna come over? Can have something to eat, few beers, will be fun. I need the company, God knows this lady over here just complains while scrolling through her social mediaâ, he pointed towards you with his thumb and you simply rolled your eyes at him.
Watching football with your old man was as boring as it got. However, if Joel Miller was there, he would have your undivided attention. Well, not him, the screen, obviously. Duh.
Your eyes shot to his, expectant. Your cunt was even more anticipative of his answer.
âYeah, why not?â
Famous last words. That was Joelâs only thought as soon as he entered his best friendâs home. You greeted him at the door, all smiley and welcoming, ignoring the fact that you had been trying to get him hard the. whole. fucking. day.
You had come to work with some very short jeans â every time you bent down to rub the sponge on the carâs bodywork, the bottom part of your perfectly round ass cheeks would show beneath the denim. Did you even wear any underwear? He thought not.
And then that white crop top was the fucking end of him. You had gotten it all wet when a loaded sponge dripped all over your front while you were talking to him about some trivial thing he could no longer remember. You had tittered and apologised while you scrunched it to get as much water out as possible. And the only thing he had been able to focus on were your pointy nipples, staring right at him, screaming for his caress.
After that, he had been at full mast the whole damn shift.
âHi, Joel, come in!â You greeted him excitedly, swinging the door open.
He had taken a cold shower before coming over, but maybe what he needed was a fucking ice bath. Because the moment you batted your eyelashes at him, his cock twitched again. Joel had fisted his dick while showering, in the hopes that emptying his nuts before seeing you again would placate his lust for you.
Nope, hadnât worked. Not one bit. This was probably a bad idea.
âHey, kiddo.â He greeted you, emphasizing the last word.
He could literally be your fucking father, but that did not seem to deter you. If anything, it spurred you on. Had you no shame? Had he no shame? Because he should have stopped you the moment you started to be suggestive. Instead, he had let you go on, enjoying every single second of it.
Joel walked in and made his way to the kitchen, with you on his heels, where your father was lathering up some ribs with his secret sauce recipe.
âHey, Joel. Let me get that from youâ, he said before cleaning his hands on a kitchen towel and grabbing the beer crate from him.
Feeling they were still cold, his best friend cracked two open and handed him one. Joel lifted the can to his lips and saw you looking at him from the corner of his eye.
âWant one?â he asked, since you were of legal drinking age.
You shook your head no, wrinkling your nose in disgust.
âEww, nah. I hate beerâ, you sniggered and his dick spasmed some more.
ââCourse you doâ, said your father before he could reply. âYou only drinkâ Whatâs that crap again?â
âGin and tonic, dad. Itâs literally gin and tonic mixed. Itâs not that fancy.â You huffed and puffed, shaking your head.
âThis youth mixing everything because they canât have proper alcohol. Whatâs next? Mixing beer with lemonade or something like that?â
âWell, thatâs actually a thing. Itâs called a shandy. Donïżœïżœt be so old.â
Joel let you two have a go at each other. Observing the exchange, he sat down on one of the stools in front of the island, knees slightly bent.
âWhat?! You listening to this, Joel?â You father exclaimed with a joking tone. âIs Sarah like this too?â
âYeah, exactly like this. Thinks beer is disgusting and everything. Thought I raised her better than that, but apparently not.â He jested, sipping from the tin can.
âHowâs she doing?â His friend asked.
âSheâs fine. Sheâs turning twenty-four in a couple of weeks. She moved out two months ago, gone to Houston for her new job.â He couldnât help but be proud of his Sarah. She had accomplished so much. âSheâs supposed to be here for her birthday, but weâll see. Sheâs always so busy, donât really know with what.â
âArenât they all? I barely see this one over here and she still lives under my roof.â
You folded arms, rolling your eyes again, while you sat down beside Joel on another stool.
âSorry for having a social life? Like, what do you want me to do? Stay here with you watching football? Got better things to do, dad.â
âSo you ainât staying tonight then?â Your dad asked.
Joel turned to study you, interested in your answer. Could he have some reprieve tonight?
âOf course Iâm stayinâ. Would be rude not to when we have guests over, right, Joel?â And as the last words abandoned your mouth, you placed your left hand on his right thigh under the counter.
God have mercy.
Joelâs muscles stiffened, one in particular more than the others. His thighs were tense as he gripped the beer can with more strength than what was necessary. He kept his eyes to the front, taming his breathing.
He should have done something, slapping your hand away from his lap for instance. But he didnât. And you took that as an invitation, because soon enough you were kneading his bulge under the kitchen island. Your palm rubbed harshly against the denim, and he saw you chewing your bottom lip.
Your father busied himself with seasoning the ribs and the French fries, oblivious to what was happening just a few meters away from him. This feels fucking wrong, but so fucking good, Joel thought to himself, your hand frisking his groin brazenly.
His cock was thudding with desire under his clothing, begging to be freed from its prison. You sensed his desperation, because you quickly tried to clasp your hand around it. Feeling your frustration at the inability of fisting him properly, Joel parted his legs to give you better access. If that was not an open invitation, nothing was.
Iâm already going to hell. Joel had to stop himself of sucking his breath in when you started to unzip his jeans. His eyes slightly widened, but that was his only tell.
âSo who do you reckon is going to win tonight?â Your father asked as your fingers dipped underneath his boxers.
Your warm skin against his beating cock dulled his senses. Then you took his dick out of his boxers and attempted to circle his girth while working him. Joel had to drink from his beer to shut himself up.
âNot sure, but Iâd like for the Longhorns to winâ, he spat the words out as best he could given the circumstances.
âYeah, would be nice seeing our hometown win something this seasonâ, your father continued with the small talk.
Joelâs thighs flexed when you started pumping him decisively. Fuck. He briefly looked down at his erection. It felt too damn good, your tiny fingers gripping him hard as you slowly moved your hand up and down on his lap. The tip of his cock was glistening with precum and you expertly rubbed it on his foreskin with your thumb.
As your father turned around to put everything in the oven, Joel took the chance to look at you. With your gaze averted, you pretended there was something interesting in the wall in front of you, while your right hand was buried underneath your slutty denim shorts. Joel could swear he could hear the squelching sounds your pussy was making while you played with yourself.
âRight, I think this is it. Gotta wait for an hour until everythingâs properly cooked. Wanna move to the family room in the meantime?â He happily chattered as he walked around the kitchen island.
You reacted quickly and let go of his shaft. With his lap right under the kitchen counter, Joel hoped to hell his friend would not see anything out of the ordinary.
âYeahâ, he said with a coarse voice. âNeed to go to the bathroom first.â
Your father just nodded as he sauntered towards the living room and Joel almost let go a sigh of relief. You simply chortled as you put your left thumb in your mouth, making it obvious that you were tasting his precum.
Joelâs cock jerked on his lap as he whispered a blasphemy. Quickly he tucked away his painful dick back in his boxers and zipped his jeans as he stood up. Then he retreated to the bathroom, needing a fucking moment to find his composure again.
Until he heard you.
âGonna go get my phone charger, be back in a jiffy!â
Before Joel could close the door behind him, you slipped your hand in the door gap to stop him from shutting it. You caught him off guard, because he stepped back, brows knitting when he saw you under the door frame.
âWhatâcha doing?â, he questioned you.
You could feel the rigidity radiating from him. You entered the small bathroom and silently closed the door behind you, both of your hands holding onto the doorknob on your back.
âI came to finish what I started.â
You didnât give him time to think â if you did, you knew he would put an end to this. You were too turned on, your cunt beating every time your heart did. Your pussy lips were all wet and puffy â you could feel your slick trapped between your folds, almost seeping into your panties. You had unleashed the beast and wanted it all for yourself.
So you threw yourself into Joelâs chest, your teeth softly scratching his Adamâs apple as one of your hands found its way back to his cock. He tilted his chin up and groaned at your touch. His pounding dick felt warm and velvety against your palm, so hard from working him under the kitchen counter a minute before.
Once he opened his eyes again, he looked down at you as you gripped his erection with both hands. Slowly you jerked him off, feeling powerful with him on the palm of your hands. Every time you pumped him, your clit would twitch in response. He had not touched you yet and your pussy was already palpitating for him. You could not wait to feel him inside you, stuffing you full.
 âWe shouldnât, your father is right thereââ
You could not care less. And to make it evident, you sunk to your knees in front of him, still holding his cock, now at eye level.
Your tongue darted out and you leaned his dick forward until the tip rested flat against your tongue, your hands still working his veiny shaft.
âYou were saying?â You asked before briefly pecking his glans.
âFuckâ, was the only thing he managed to mumble.
That was your cue to give free rein to your lust. You nudged his column with the tip of your nose as your mouth drifted down to kiss his balls. Then your tongue slid out in its full extension, and you flattened it against the underside of his cock, slowly lapping at it until you reached the top and sealed your lips around his mushroom head.
Glancing up at him, you saw pleasure softening his features as you took him in further and further down, until his cock reached the natural resistance at the end of your throat. When his tip bottomed out in your mouth, Joelâs eyes found yours. His jaw visibly clenched at the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cock burrowed in between your lips, tears gathering on your bottom eyelids because of how his dick was outstretching you.
You moaned as Joel pulled his hips back, his shaft leaving your wet cavity, now full of precum and saliva. You swallowed to make room as you avidly tipped your head towards him, your lips hunting down his dick again. Slurping so you wouldnât drown in fluids, you ate his cock like if it was the last edible thing on earth.
At that moment, something shifted in the air. As if Joel, finally, let go of his prejudices and accepted what you were giving him: your mouth to use as he pleased. His fingers hovered over your temples and then they clamped down on your skull as he held you in place.
âStay stillâ, he commanded, and you nodded, his cock sitting snugly in your mouth.
His hips moved back and then forward, rocking his dick in and out of your lips. First slow, then picking up a pace. You stayed put throughout while he fucked your mouth mercilessly, palms against your knees like the good girl you were. Then his glans breached your uvula and you inevitably gagged at the intrusion.
He forced you to remain still as he tried to go further down, but there was nowhere for him to go. Your eyes welled up while you fought back the need to cough, almost unable to breathe.
Joel snapped his hips back and your mouth became free. You started panting while trying to catch a breath. Joel cupped your chin up so you would look at him. His sly grin told you he was enjoying himself a bit too much.
âCan tell youâve not eaten many cocks, have you? Despite pretending to be this slutty brat in front of everyone, hm?â He asked, his voice rumbling in his chest.
âWell, Iââ He didnât let you finish the sentence because as soon as you opened your mouth, he slotted his dick back in between your plump lips.
âI actually donât wanna hear it.â
Inevitably your cunt gushed at his roughness. He was right though â you had only given head to two guys before and their cocks did not measure up to his. Your jaw had actually started to hurt now due to the effort you were making to house his dick in your mouth.
Joel quickly resumed his pounding, fucking your mouth relentlessly â his hips swaying back and forth in front of you.
âSweetie! Can you bring my charger too please?â Your fatherâs question forced both of you to snap out of the sexual haziness you both were feeling.
You two froze in place, Joelâs cock still in your mouth.
âOr I can come get it.â Then you heard his booted steps coming up the corridor.
In a panic, Joel stumbled back and you sprang to your feet, eyes widened with fear.
âNo! Donât worry! Iâm coming!â You shouted back, hoping that your voice sounded far away enough to him.
The steps stopped and you both listened to him walking back to the living room. âThank you, sweetie!â
You turned to look at Joel, who had grabbed a bunch of toilet roll to clean off the mess on his still throbbing cock.
âJoel, Iâm sorry, bââ
âJust go before he changes his mind and comes looking for youâ, his voice was strained with effort. His erection had to be painful by now without any relief.
But he was right. You couldnât risk it. Neither of you could. So with apologetic eyes, you slithered out the bathroom door and ran to your room to snatch a couple of phone chargers.
Fucking torture that was.
Joel had never been in a worse position than that. Sat on the couch with you, your father on the recliner just a couple of meters away â and his dick still pulsating, his balls full of unspent cum. His cock would writhe in his boxers, asking for a relief that never came. He was in excruciating pain and was not able to concentrate at all. All the small talk your father did went over his head, didnât pay attention to the TVâs commentary either.
From time to time, you would graze his thigh lightly â and on one occasion you slid your naughty hand towards his groin. Luckily the living room was dark, the TV being the only source of light, so your father didnât pay much attention to your provocations. You quietly kneaded his bulge, curling your fingers around his erection underneath, and it got to a point where Joel had to force your hand away, because he was too close to coming.
So, when he waved you both goodbye and got into his truck, he could literally not wait to get home. Under the dim light of the lampposts that filtered through the windows into the truckâs cabin, Joel freed his aching dick and fisted it from the base. With his head tilted back against the headrest, he furiously jerked off â fast and with no measure, to the point it was almost hurting. Tension built up from his nuts upwards and when Joel finally got relief, he groaned audibly as his cum spurted out in white, thick streaks.
With a heavy sigh and some laboured breathing, he opened his eyes, looking for some tissues to clean the mess on his lap. As he was putting his cock back in his boxers, something caught his attention.
The darkness camouflaged you well, but he spotted you on the window of your room, watching him eagerly with half-lidded eyes and chewing your bottom lip. Then your head leaned forward, your chin almost touching your chest, and Joel suddenly understood what was happening. You had been touching yourself while observing him do the same thing, until you orgasmed too.
Your eyes locked on each otherâs through the blackness, something dark and perverted floating in the atmosphere. The whole thing felt wrong. The right kind of wrong.
The next week had been a continuous dance between the two of you. You too suggestive, him too evasive. After you had seen him wanking in his car, you had thought you had him under your spell. He had looked like a damn teenager chasing his release, unable to contain it much longer.
But you couldnât blame him â you had had him on edge for almost five hours. First touching him under the counter, then sucking his dick in the bathroom, and finally kneading him on the couch with your dad only two meters away.
It all had affected you too, because as soon as you had scurried away to your room and had looked out the window, you fingered yourself with your eyes locked on him. You came so hard, that you had to steady yourself on the windowsill, trembling knees and all. And once the orgasm softened its grip on you, you had realised he had been watching you as you rode the last wave of your climax.
So yes, for a week you tried to seduce him again, because you needed to know how it all ended. Having him burrowed down to your guts was a necessity now. However, it got to a point where you almost gave up â it was draining having to follow him around like a bitch in heat. You still had one ace up your sleeve though. One that you hoped to play this afternoon. Because if you didnât fuck him today, you were going to lose your shit.
You focused on your task, which was rubbing the soaked sponge on the bodywork of the car. Two other people were doing the same thing on the back, while you were slightly bent over the hood trying to reach the middle. Your breasts brushed against the metalwork, your white tank top completely wet with soapy water, almost transparent now. The coldness was refreshing in the asphyxiating Texan heat and your nipples especially welcomed it, wrinkling tightly and showing through the fabric.
When you straightened, you caught a glimpse of Joel eyeing you intently. But you pretended you didnât â maybe you needed to play difficult, show him no interest. Reverse psychology. So for the rest of your shift you just ignored him, fully conscious of how his sight followed you at all times. Let him brew.
Joel didnât say a word though, didnât come close to you either. But you heard him wicker while you were openly teasing one of your teammates. Were you trying to make him jealous? Absolutely. So, you giggled and played with your hair at the tasteless joke your colleague told you. It wasnât funny, but you wanted Joel to listen to your flirting.
Midday came around and the other two people working on the hand wash business said their goodbyes. Joel employed a father and son in the shop too, who left the garage to go home for lunch. And then it was only you and Joel left. Just as you had planned.
âJoel? Can you help me with this, please?â You politely asked him after lifting a bucket full of water up to your chest.
You took a couple of steps forward and the water spilt all over, soaking your shirt completely.
âShitâ, you heard him say under his breath, jogging towards you.
He slipped his arms underneath the bucket to release you from its weight and then placed it back down between both of you.
âWhat are you doing? Youâre gonna hurt your back with such terrible manual handling.â He reprimanded you, tutting.
âSomething hurts and itâs not my back, Joel.â You muttered, your fingers wrapping around his wrist to haul him closer to you.
You were done with subtlety. You guided his hand to your pussy and pressed it gently.
âHurts right here.â The low, needy mumble poured from your lips like honey.
Joelâs eyes squinted just a tad, and his nostrils flared. You saw the inner battle in his chocolate eyes, and you fucking hoped he lost.
Soon you had the answer you had been looking for. The palm of his hand flattened against your crotch, holding you possessively, and pulled you against his broad chest. You couldnât help but moan when your breasts pressed against him, your taut nipples aching with sensitivity.
âYouâre so fucking nasty, kiddo. Been watching you all week, trying to get me hard all over again, havenât you?â You shyly nodded, biting down your bottom lip as you glanced up at him, his palm rubbing your cunt with determination. âOf course you have, youâre so cock drunk. You loved sucking me, didnât you?â
You shook your head yes, holding onto the waistband of his jeans. You whimpered when his thumb burrowed in your pants, trying to find your slit over all that clothing unsuccessfully.
âJoel, please.â You begged for mercy, for relief, for something â anything he could give you, you would take.
âYou want me to fuck you, kiddo?â His free hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up, while his thumb kept nudging your damp slit. His mouth hovered over yours as you simply nodded again. âHm? You want me to destroy your pussy?â
âYes, yes, YES.â You were already gushing at his dirty talk.
With no more prodding, Joel bowed down and sunk his tongue in your mouth, darting in with the ferocity only a man on the edge could feel. He swept your entire cavity in an open-mouth kiss that left your knees shaking and your pussy throbbing. You moaned into his breath and your tongue lapped at his, the span on his fingers gently covering your neck and squeezing lightly.
Joelâs hand between your legs moved to your ass, pressing you into him. His swollen lump poked at your lower belly intimately and you couldnât resist the urge to dip your hand in his boxers. He audibly groaned as you attempted to circle his whole girth and failed. Just like a week before, you would need both of your hands around his shaft to properly grip him. You pumped him once, very slow, your hand gliding down till it found his balls.
Joel grunted in the middle of the sloppy kiss and pushed you to go backwards until your body met the back of his pickup truck, which was parked at the end of the driveway. Out of prying eyes, you hoped. Not that you cared that much at this precise moment, anyway.
His beard scratched the skin on your cheek as his lips drifted down to your neck. You looked up to the clear sky before you closed your eyes, giving his pulsing cock a light squeeze that snatched a moan out of him.
Without warning, Joel broke the messy kiss and knelt before you, his hands tugging at the waistband of your shorts with no difficulty. Soon your pants were around your ankles, your panties quickly following, leaving you naked from the waist down. Joel helped you take them off but left your tennis on.
Still on his knees, he peeked up with a devilish smile, then leaned forward and lapped at your mound. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as your fingers raked his salt and pepper curls. The tip of his tongue brushed the point where your slit started and then licked upwards, his tongue skidding through your skin until it reached your belly button.
You pursed your lips, wanting him to go down, not up. In fact, you pushed him down ever so slightly and the cold of his breath against your wet skin when he laughed made you look down, frustrated.
He kissed the beginning of your slit again and when you thought he was going in, he stopped. You whimpered, thwarted, as he got back up to his feet and towered above you.
âYou want me to touch you where it hurts, hm?â He questioned with his lips ghosting yours. âYour pussy? Thatâs where?â
Not waiting for your reply, his index dunked in your pearly furrow and traced it in its entirety, from your quivering hole to your thumping clit. And then he did it again, for good measure.
âYouâre soaking, kiddo. Iâve barely touched you and youâre already dripping.â To emphasize his words, Joel suddenly dived his finger in your opening, a squelching sound making it obvious that you were, in fact, dripping. âYou hear that?â He forced his finger out and then back in, the wet, sucking noise even louder this time.
You frantically nodded as he fingered you, his thumb caressing your begging clit as he did. You mewled into his chest, eyes shut, trying to calm the fluttering of your inner walls around his lonely finger. Lonely not for long, because Joel then introduced a second. You held onto his sides, his tee shirt scrunching in your fists, the orgasm building up.
âCâmon, squeeze your cunt for me. Show me how tight you areâ, he whispered in your ear as his relentless fingering picked up a faster pace between your legs.
You happily obliged and squashed your walls together around his fingers as he dextrously stroked your g-spot. All of a sudden, a firing sensation built in your clit without warning and the haziness of pleasure took over your senses abruptly. You came hard, very hard, wailing his name as he kept on fingering you until the last wave of your climax washed over you.
What the actual fuck? You thought to yourself, amazed. You rested your forehead against his chest, catching a breath and feeling your arousal wetting your inner thighs.
Still recovering from your unexpected orgasm, Joel picked you up and settled you down on the edge of his truckâs cargo bed. Your feet dangled in front of you, and you parted your legs to make room for him while you wrapped his neck with your arms and licked into his mouth.
âNow Iâm gonna eat you raw, kiddo. Give you some of your own medicine.â His hoarse tone gave you goosebumps. Palming both of your breasts over your wet tank top, he pushed you down until your back met the floor of the cargo bed, your legs hanging freely from your knees down. âIs that what you want? This old man feasting on your pussy, on her? âS she gonna like it?â
âJoel, please, justâ Yes, eat my pussy. Eat her, eat me, please.â You begged with a small voice while you pinched your nipples over your shirt, eyes closed.
And finally, he did. With his hands on your knees to keep them apart, Joel lapped at your cunt in one sweet sweep. Your body trembled with elation, shivers firing down your spine. His tongue caressed all the crevices in your shiny slit, lips puffy and reddened. His thumb found your clit as the tip of his tongue played with your leaking hole, going in and out a few times â fucking you with his tongue.
You were not able to take it for much longer â with Joelâs tongue lodged in your creamy fold and your fingers playing with your nipples, you were done for. Soon you came undone, tension growing in your lower belly and molten lava finding its way out. You howled his name, your knees pressing against his head, holding him in place as you came in his mouth. Joel sipped from your fountain, leaving not even one drop behind, your pussy licked clean of your own discharge.
His turn to find relief.
Even though Joel had been fisting himself while eating you raw, the roughness of his palm could not compare to your warmth. He just knew your pussy would hug his cock just right. And he was dying to find out.
Pushing his work jeans and boxers down to his ankles, he kicked his feet until they came off. Soon his security shoes and socks were kicked to the side too. With renewed energy, Joel jumped on to the cargo bed. You propped your torso up with the help of your elbows to study his erection, wetting your lips unknowingly.
Your eyes lingered on his cock for too damn long and it twitched on his hand.
âSpread your legs, kiddo.â
And so you did without complaints. You stretched your legs, Joel having a perfect view of your glistening pussy. You were so horny, he could literally see your cunt palpitating from this angle. Knelt between your legs, he leaned forward until the tip of his dick brushed against your slit, so damp again it just slid off. Jerking himself off, he nudged your soaked entrance with his mushroom head and your mouth opened, shaping a perfect O.
âSo needy, isnât she? Arenât you? Playing difficult to catch today, trying to make me jealous with that stupid boy, but in reality, youâre just a desperate brat wanting to get her pussy drilled by her dadâs best friend.â His dirty talk did not stop while he pushed in, your flesh parting to house him until he bottomed out.
Joel moaned, sweat gathering on his brow, his hands on either side of your head. He stood still for a long minute while your cunt fluttered around him, sheathing his whole length. He could feel your inner muscles adjusting to him.
You were so cockstruck you didnât even reply.
âIâm gonna fuck you now, so take it well, kiddo.â He warned before tilting his hips back and abruptly back in.
You wailed loudly at the first thrust, and Joel had to muffle your screams by covering your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm, but he didnât let go. He did not want you to alert the neighbours around the garage. His hips bucked against yours and then, after a few teasing shoves, Joel started jackhammering you fast and viciously hard.
You draped your legs around his waist, the heels of your white tennis pushing on his ass cheeks, encouraging to go deeper and quicker. And so he did, uncovering your mouth to replace it with his.
Joel fucked you mercilessly, filthily. He drove his dick in and out of you in quick succession, drilling your tacky pussy. And he knew you were loving every single second of it. Your soft sobs only spurred him on and when your moist pussy clutched around his drumming cock announcing your orgasm, he couldnât restraint himself for much longer.
He stoically let you come while riding your own climax. His balls tightened and his belly muscles strained, signalling his own relief.
âWhere?â, was the only word that he managed to whisper.
Your eyes were still closed, a languid smile lingering on your lips, all blissful and satisfied while he was still fucking suffering.
âIn my mouth.â Your reply was almost his undoing.
Joel snapped his hips back, his hard, throbbing cock slipping out. He dragged his body across yours until his thick, hairy thighs were on each side of your head and his nuts were resting on your chin, his ass hanging over your breasts.
âOpenâ, he husked, raspy and throaty.
Still with your eyes closed, you parted your lips, and Joel shoved his beating cock down your throat unceremoniously. He leaned forward over you â his hands holding his weight off you, flat against the cargo bedâs floor. And then Joel started fucking your mouth mindlessly, as if it was your cunt â his testicles slapping against your chin and your eyes welling up.
He could feel your head almost rocking up and down below him with the strength of his thrusts. You only stopped swaying underneath him when your hands grabbed his buttocks, your fingers sinking in his flesh.
With a guttural growl, Joel came undone and his thick cum filled your mouth. You stayed still while the last white ropes spurted out the slit on his tip, finally reaching the bliss he had been chasing for a week.
Joel lifted his hips off your face and his dick came out of your mouth with a pop.
âEat it, kiddo.â He requested of you, towering above you.
From this angle, flat on your back and with Joel almost sat on your face, you saw first his balls and then his soft cock hovering over your eyes. What had just happened was filthy, and you loved it, even though you were sure that your throat would hurt tomorrow.
âItâs $300 if I swallowâ, you kidded out of nowhere, almost gargling with his cum as your mouth was full of it.
Joel chuckled as he came off you, sitting down on your left.
âDealâ, he agreed.
And so you gulped his cum down, letting it slip down your throat until it landed in your belly. You smiled at him before opening your mouth to show him it was empty.
Joelâs chest rumbled with satisfaction.
âGood girl.â
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Thatâs What Mamaâs Do
Stepmom!Wanda x Reader
An early Christmas gift from Wanda encourages you to indulge your curiosities, and Wanda learns she can be a bit rougher with you than she originally thought.
CW: Stepmother/Stepdaughter, guilt, sexual exploration, flashbacks, anal (R receiving), spitting, strap ons (R receiving), spanking, inexperienced reader, mentions of videos taken during sex, dirty talk
Word Count: ~4.7k
A/N: Itâs back and Iâm so excited! Iâve extended this series to be at least 6 parts now, so get pumped everyone. I just kept having more and more ideas.
A/N: So definitely not 48 hours but like kinda close?? I was struggling with this part and I still think it might have worked better as a drabble, but I think it works anyway. This part isnât nearly as Freudian, but thereâs more of that to come in future parts! I hope you all still enjoy!
Thank you @marvelwomenarehot0 for reading this like 5 times and reassuring me Iâm FINE
Part 3 of Her Special Girl
The days were filled with peppermint hot chocolate, soft blankets, Christmas movies by the fireplace, and lots and lots of cuddles. You and Wanda were practically velcroed to one another, completely inseparable. The two of you preferred to stay mostly at the house together, seeing as you couldnât be nearly as affectionate when there were other people around in public.
What had started as an unpleasant fluke in your Christmas break, had turned out to be the best Christmas present you could ever ask for.
One this particular afternoon, you and Wanda were dancing together to Christmas music in the living room. She had you pulled close to her chest, gently swaying you back and forth to the jovial holiday music. But louder than both the music and her heartbeat, one thought came blaring through your mind.
How could you ever leave this? How could you leave her, alone? How could you ever be so selfish?
You leaned back so you could see her face. âMama?â You interjected. Your eyes searched herâs, looking for a way to ease the guilt in your heart.
âYes, little love?â She smiled down at you with a heart full of love and admiration. If she was holding resentment against you for leaving, she was doing a very good job of hiding it.
You swallowed nervously. âCould I give you one of your Christmas presents?â You asked. You hoped experiencing her joy upon receiving your gift would quell the aching guilt. âI have more to give you on Christmas. I just wanted to give you a special one while itâs still just the two of us.â
Her smile widened. âOf course, sweet girl. How about we do a special little gift exchange with just us. You know how hectic it gets on Christmas Day.â She bent forward and whispered into your ear. âPlus, I have a present for you that no one else is allowed to see.â
Your heartbeat quickened. She chuckled as she watched a blush rise to your cheeks. She smirked, drawing a medium sized box out from behind the tree. You followed suit, picking out a small box placed carefully on top of the pile of presents. Youâd taken extra special care to wrap it nicely for her. Youâd been excited about giving her this gift for a while now.
âYou first,â you insisted, setting her gift down on the couch after she handed it to you.
You handed her the box, chewing your lip nervously. She unwrapped it meticulously, slowly pulling away the tape without ripping the paper.
Inside was a rectangular jewelry box, off white with a golden W.M. pressed into the center. She opened the lid and gasped as she revealed a gold chain necklace with three stones pressed into the center. The biggest one, in the middle was your birthstone, and on either size shone two aquamarines, the twinsâ birthstone.
âHoney this is beautiful,â she said, pulling the necklace from the box. âBut this mustâve cost you a fortune.â
You shook your head. âNot a fortune. I promise it wasnât exorbitant. The gold was a gift from dad from a couple years ago, butâŠâ
âYou only wear silver,â Wanda finished for you. She chuckled at the general cluelessness of her husband, thinking he could just buy the most expensive thing on the shelf and youâd love it.
You nodded, smiling a little at the thought that Wanda remembered such a detail. You gently took the necklace from Wandaâs hands, clipping it around the back of her neck while she held up her hair.
âItâs perfect, darling,â she said, putting her hand affectionately over the stones. âThank you, so much.â It sat perfectly on her neck, level with her collarbones. It looked beautiful on her.
You picked up your own present from where youâd set it on the couch. It was a bigger box than the one youâd given her, but it was light. You didnât take the same care as she did with the wrapping paper, simply picking a corner and tearing off the paper. You unwrapped and opened the box to reveal a harness. It was very similar to the one you already had, except, instead of one O-ring at the base, there were two.
You tilted your head in confusion, examining the object. Wanda watched you nervously, slightly afraid the gift was unwanted.
She chewed the inside of her cheek. âDo you know what it is?â
âItâs a harness,â you answered. âBut it has two rings for twoâŠâ the realization dawned on you as you spoke the words allowed. You stood in shock for a moment.
Wandaâs heart sank, thinking sheâd gone too far. âIt⊠itâs okay if you donât wanna use it. Thereâs no pressure to try anything, of course. I just thought⊠you used to really enjoyâŠâ she rambled.
You cut her off, still too caught up in your own thoughts to be paying attention to her nervous rambling. âCan we use it now?â You blurted out, excitedly.
She smiled. âOf course, little love. I thought you might like it. I remember you being rather fond of⊠playing like this.â
âââââ
You were standing in the doorframe of her home office, anxiously playing with your own fingers.
Wanda had been furiously typing away at her desk. The sound of keys clacking filled the silent room. Her face was focused, emotionlessly concentrated on the task in front of her.
You stood there awkwardly, trying to build up the courage to ask her your question. You certainly didnât want to interrupt. You didnât even like to interrupt her work when you werenât about to ask embarrassing questions.
She was never upset with you, for interrupting her work. âNothing that comes across my desk is more important to me than even your silliest queries,â she had told you. âAnytime I get to be talking to you, my work day has improved tenfold.â
Still, you stood in the doorway a little longer, hoping she would manage to notice you first.
After a few grueling minutes of going unnoticed, you finally decided to speak up.
âMama?â You asked quietly.
Her face of pure concentration broke out into a wide smile. âYes, my little love?â She responded, beckoning you into the room.
You exhaled in relief. She wasnât upset with you for interrupting, at least. Now it was just a matter of trying to ask the question that brought you here in the first place. âI-I have a question,â you announced anxiously, cautiously approaching her desk.
âAsk away,â she instructed, leaning back in her car and swiveling it to face you. You had her full attention.
You looked down at the hardwood floor, unable to meet her gaze. Maybe this would actually be easier if she was still focused on work and you were simply in the background. âI⊠itâs embarrassing.â
Her face tilted, morphing into one of soft sympathy. âItâs okay, sweetheart. Thereâs no need to be embarrassed. Itâs just you and mama here. You can tell me anything.â She reached her arms out, beckoning you closer so she could gently pull you into her lap. She sat you down and wrapped her arms around your waist, kissing you on the temple.
If she were anyone else, you wouldn't dream of asking her what you were about to ask. You lived in a world where questions, especially ones that may be considered taboo, were discouraged. Your curiosities had always been diminished and shut down, even since you were a child. And yet, Wanda was different. âYouâre still growing up and learning about the world,â sheâd once said. âItâs an honor to get to teach you about all the things you want to know. Thatâs what mamaâs do, after all.â
You steeled yourself. âI⊠um⊠do you know how sometimes when we⊠play together you put toys inside of me and it feels really good?â You asked, trying to frame your question.
âMhm,â she hummed affirmatively, trying to hide her growing excitement. She loved how flustered and embarrassed you got when you asked her questions about sex. It was almost as arousing as the âhands onâ learning experiences themselves.
âI was wondering if⊠maybe youâd ever had toys in⊠the other hole,â you asked, looking down at your lap.
âMmm,â she hummed again. She almost couldnât believe what she was hearing. Were you really asking her what she thought you were asking her? God, you were more perfect thatâs she couldâve imagined.
She kept calm, trying to contain her excitement. âI have. Mama doesnât like to have things in her ass so much, but,â Her tone dropped lower and more sultry. She leaned over so close you could feel her breath on your ear. âI would love nothing more than if youâd let me play with yours.â
âR-really?â You stuttered. âYou donât think itâs⊠gross?â
She chuckled and shook her head. âNo, sweetheart,â she assured. âItâs just another part of your body, little love. I donât think any part of you is gross.â
âO-okay,â you said, leaning your head on her shoulder.
She pulled you tighter into her side, squeezing you in her arms and kissing your head repeatedly. âI love you so much,â she praised. âIâm so proud of you for being such a brave girl, and asking mama all your curious little questions about your body.â
âI love you too, mama,â you responded. You curled up in her lap, burying your red face in her neck.
âHow about I forward all my calls to Natasha for this afternoon, and mama can show you all her toys and we can pick out some for you to experiment with, huh?â She whispered into your ear, voiced laced with excitement and seduction.
Your eyes went wide, and you nodded. It wasnât the first time Wanda had dropped everything to fuck you, but you were shocked that seemed to be equally as excited about this as you were.
She led you to her closet, letting you peruse her collection. For someone who didnât like to use them, she had a lot of butt plugs. She explained in depth their uses, the sensations of the different shapes and materials, and helped you make an educated choice of which one youâd like best. In the end, you both decided to start with a small metal plug, as well as a smallish strap. When you asked if sheâd be pegging you with it, she chuckled.
âI donât think youâre ready for that quite yet, little love,â she explained. âWeâll just use the strap like normal, but youâll have the plug in this time. Does that sound good?â
You nodded. You were a little confused as to why she chose such a small strap if it wasnât going in your ass anyway, but you trusted her judgment.
âOne more thing,â she said, grabbing your favorite toy, the wand, before turning off the lights and leaving the closet. As always she took you to your own room rather than leading you back to her own. You both preferred to keep the sex out of the bed that her and your father shared.
She had you lean over the edge of your bed while she plugged the wand into the outlet. She handed it to you. âAlright love, I want you to make yourself feel good, okay? Can you do that for mama? Can you touch yourself while mama plays with your ass?â
âMhm,â you hummed affirmatively, taking the wand between your legs and turning it on. You immediately shivered at the sensation.
She ran her nails softly up your back. âThatâs it, good girl. Now just relax for mama.â
Her fingers moved down to circle your exposed asshole, watching the muscle tense in anticipation. You jumped at the unprecedented feeling.
âShshsh,â she cooed. âRelax baby. Youâre okay. Mamaâs gonna take care of you. Iâm just going to put a little lube on you, okay? Itâs gonna be a little cold.â
You shivered again as you felt the cool liquid run down your untouched ass. She pressed her finger against your hole, gathering the liquid there before slowly starting to push into you. To her surprise, her first finger slid in rather easily.
You groaned at the sensation, muffled by the mattress. âAre you sure youâve never had anything in here?â Wanda asked, suspicious but not judgmental. âItâs okay if you have, baby. You can tell mama. You donât have to be embarrassed.â
You whined into the mattress. âI-I⊠in the shower sometimes, I⊠explore a little bit.â
Wanda smiled, chuckling affectionately as she rubbed your back, slowly moving her finger in and out of your tight hole. âThatâs okay, honey. Youâre always allowed to explore your own body. Do you just play with your fingers? How many have you had?â
You nodded. âJust my fingers. And only ever one. I-I tried to do two, but⊠I couldnât.â
She nodded, circling her finger around inside of you to get you comfortable. âMamaâs gonna try to add another finger now. Is that okay?â
You nodded. âIs⊠is it gonna hurt?â
She shook her head. âNo baby, it shouldnât hurt. If it hurts just tell mama and weâll stop, okay?â
You nodded. âOkay.â
âGood girl. Now, just try your best to relax. Take a few deep breaths.â You felt a second finger at your entrance, slowly pushing past your muscles. You squirmed, at the uncomfortable sensation, but Wandaâs hand on your lower back kept you still.
âGood girl,â she praised as her two fingers fully pushed into you. âThatâs a big stretch isnât it?â
You whined. It didnât hurt, per se, but there was an intense, unfamiliar pressure. You turned up the setting on the vibrator between your legs, keeping the discomfort at bay.
She spread her fingers out inside of you, stretching the muscles further. You moaned, the discomfort morphing into something more pleasant. The pleasure, oddly, didnât override the discomfort, but rather existed beside it. âMamaâŠâ you moaned, starting to slowly buck your hips back into her hand. âFeels⊠funny.â
âI bet it does feel funny, doesnât it?â She said. âDo you like it? You wanna switch over to mamaâs plug?â Typically, she wouldâve insisted on taking things a bit slower, but, likely due to your own âself-explorationâ, you were handling it a lot better than sheâd expected.
You nodded. âYes please.â
She slowly pulled her fingers out, watching your muscles tighten back up and close. She fantasized, for a moment, about opening you back up so she could spit inside of you, watching your muscles close as little bits of her saliva leaked out. But sheâd save that thought for later. You were far from ready for that.
She took the metal plug and poured a bit more lube onto the end. The plug was a bit bigger than both of her fingers, but not terribly so. She pushed the cool metal against your asshole.
You jumped and whined at the sensation. She shushed you, putting a firm hand on your lower back to keep you in place. âJust relax honey, just like before. Keep playing with yourself.â
You did as instructed, taking a deep breath and focusing on the sensation in your clit. On your exhale, she started to push the plug in. She carefully pushed through the resistance forcing the plug into place.
âMama!â You cried out. A range of sensation shot through your body all at once. Pain, pleasure, discomfort, pressure all came to a head in a sudden orgasm you hadnât expected.
Wanda eyes went wide, seemingly taken as off guard as you were. She smiled and rubbed your back affectionately. âAww,â she cooed, âdid my sweet girl just cum just from mamaâs plug in her ass. Itâs okay, baby. Youâre doing so good.â
âIâm sorry, mama,â you apologized. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as sensations overwhelmed you. Unlike your usual orgasms, this one only made you hungrier for more. You turned up the setting on the wand again.
âItâs quite alright, darling,â she assured. âDo you still want mama to fuck you while you have the plug in? It might feel a little different than it ever has before.â
You nodded eagerly. âPlease mama!â
âOkay, sweetheart,â she chuckled affectionately, surprised and amused by your eagerness. She lined herself up with your pussy, pulling your hips back to meet her own.
You cried out, suddenly acutely aware of why sheâd chosen such a small strap. With the plug in your ass, your pussy felt so much fuller than you wouldâve expected. Your hands shot out in front of you, gripping the bed sheets for dear life.
Wanda made her first few strokes slow, watching as the base of the plug shifted with her movements.
âMama!â You cried again. âFeels so⊠so full mama. Please!â
âDoes it feel good baby?â She asked, rocking into faster. âDo you like having mama in both your holes? Do you like it when she fucks you with a pretty plug in your ass?â
âYes mama!â You breathed. âIt hurts, just a little, but it feels so good mama.â
âAww does it make your ass feel too full baby?â She cooed. âThatâs okay, honey. You can cry while mama fills your holes. Thatâs it. Cry for mama baby.â
In an almost Pavlovian response, you started to cry. The pain was bearable, even surprisingly pleasant, but Wandaâs command allowed your body permission to let the tears flow. You were glad your admission of pain didnât seem to deter her, even when it was paired with tears. In fact, the sound of your cries only seemed to spur her on further, nearly pulling out of you and pounding back into you with every stroke.
âMama Iâm gonna cum again,â you sobbed.
Wanda ignored you, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm. You came harder this time, having to turn off the wand between your legs to keep yourself from overstimulating.
You tried to squirm away from Wanda, but she grabbed your hips harder and kept you in place. âNo baby. Keep crying for mama. Keep making those pretty noises. Iâm so close.â
You felt her hips start to falter before she pushed herself as deep into you as possible. She groaned, near collapsing on top of you before catching herself on the bed.
âThat was so perfect, angel,â she soothed, pulling out of you while she gently ran her fingers through your hair. You whined at the sensation, lying limp on the bed. âLetâs get you all cleaned up and in some jammies, and then you can sit under mamaâs desk while she finishes working. Does that sound good, little love?â
You nodded, groaning as she pulled out the plug and set it on the nightstand to be cleaned. Your head spun. All you could think of was your mama. You were so lucky to have someone who cared for you so deeply. You were so thankful you had her to guide you, to indulge all your curiosities. âThank you, mama,â you mumbled tiredly.
âFor what, sweetheart?â She asked, playing with your hair and looking down at your blissful face.
âFor being here to teach me new things,â you tried to explain. Your head was so floaty you couldnât get your words quite right. âAnd⊠and trying new things with me. And not thinking Iâm gross or weird when I get curious about⊠certain things.â
âOf course, angel,â she said, kissing the top of your head. âThatâs what mamaâs do.â
âââââ
Wanda stood next to the bed, this time in her own room: the room she shared with your father. With him gone all week, her previous rules about keeping sex with you out of their shared space had gone as well. Unlike when you were young, it didnât bother you much anymore. After all, you hadnât seen him in years. In many ways, he wasnât so real to you anymore.
So you held no discomfort about your current position, naked on your hands and knees in the middle of their bed.
Wanda was almost equally as naked, wearing nothing but the harness and the necklace youâd just given her. She was working on preparing and securing the toys you two had picked out in the appropriate O-rings. It she wasnât so goddamn beautiful and you werenât so goddamn turned on, she might have looked ridiculous.
But you suppose that was part of the gig with sex in general. Itâs a little ridiculous, and, actually, mostly rather unsexy. But something about love and arousal morphs your perspective just enough to change everything: to make it a magical experience.
Youâd chosen a smaller, blue dildo on the top. It was only about 6 inches long and less than an inch in diameter. On the bottom, you chose the first strap sheâd ever fucked you with. It seemed fitting that the first time sheâd use the strap on you in three years, sheâd use the same one sheâd used for your first time ever.
You felt the bed dip and she crawled onto the mattress behind you. She ran her nails down your back. âYou are so beautiful, you know that?â She asked in a low sultry tone. She ran a finger up your slit. Youâd been practically dripping since youâd opened her gift.
You shivered at her touch, instinctively buckling your hips back against her hand. âPlease mama,â you whined. You were already so needy for her.
She wanted to hold out for a little longer, circle you while she toyed with your perfectly displayed body. But one look at your ass had her impatient. She needed to be inside of you, urgently. She lined the bottom toy up with your pussy, slowly pushing into. You were all too inviting, practically swallowing her. She was met with little resistance even in the first couple strokes. Then she pressed the top toy into your ass.
Instinctively, you tensed. âShh, baby. Itâs okay. Relax for mama. Iâve got you.â She rubbed gently at your lower back.
You relax, allowing her to push the toy into you. You whined as she pushed past the initial ring of muscles.
âMamaâs got you,â she reassured. âIâll go nice and slow.â
The overwhelming full sensation immediately made your arms collapse, pushing you face down into the mattress. It was so much different than having her fuck you while you wore a plug. Rather than a static thing shifting inside of you, there were two things, moving simultaneously in rhythm with one another.
The stretch was overwhelming. You could feel both of the toys from both holes as they each pushed you open. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your mouth fell open. Sheâd hardly been in you for a minute and you were already losing your mind. âMama⊠mama please,â you pleaded.
She leaned over to wipe the hair from your face. âWhat is it baby? Tell mama what you need,â she said, concerned. It had been a while since sheâd fuck you. Maybe this was too much for your first time back. âDo you need mama to stop? I can take the blue one off and we can just use the pink toy,â she suggested anxiously.
You gripped the sheets under your hands, jaw slack and mouth opened. Once again, her anxious rambling fell on deaf ears as your mind was consumed with pleasure. âFaster,â you said unexpectedly. âPlease, mama, go faster.â
Her eyes went wide at the unexpected request, but she hesitantly started to build to a moderate pace. She gripped your hips, pulling them to meet hers with each thrust.
âYouâre doing so well, sweetheart,â she praised. The sound of your skin hitting hers alone was driving Wanda crazy. She took a few deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. But when your weak little voice cried out from underneath her, she lost all semblance of control.
âMama, please, harder.â
She tilted her head, giving herself a moment to process what you were saying.
She remembered you at 18, meek and trembling under her. She recalled the way you stuttered when you asked her even the simplest questions about sex. You were so ashamed and afraid to ask anything of her back then. It wouldâve taken you weeks to muster even a simple request.
And here you were, years later, underneath her once again, shamelessly begging for her to fuck you harder. She couldnât be more proud.
She slammed her hips into yours, gripping you hard enough to leave marks. âDid you miss mama fucking you like this? Did you miss her toys filling you up until you couldnât think anymore?â
You nodded. âYes mama!â
âYouâre taking me so well, little love,â she praised. Her eyes darkened as she watched the strap disappear into you again and again. She was fixated with the sight. âMamaâs gonna have to get the camera out so you can see what a little angel you look like from up here, taking my straps all the way to the hilt. Would you like that baby? Would you like to watch yourself get fucked by mama?â
You nodded. âMhm,â you hummed, biting your bottom lip. Her words took you slightly off guard, but that didnât stop them from further turning you on. It seemed your boldness was rubbing off on Wanda.
âMama could record you a little video and then you could watch it while you touch yourself later, huh? See what a good little girl you are for me.â
You moaned, nearly screaming into the wadded up sheets. âM-mamaâŠâ you stammered. The way she spoke, telling you her fantasies so unabashedly, made your head spin. You supposed this was as good a time as any to bring a fantasy of your own into fruition. âS-spank me. Please. Spank my ass.â
Wandaâs eyes darkened with lust at the request. She placed a cautious spank on your right ass cheek. It wasnât hard enough to actually hurt. It was more just for the sensation.
âHarder,â you requested timidly. âPlease, h-hurt me.â
Wanda slapped your other side, harder this time. You cried out, involuntarily clenching around the toys. She spanked you again and again, becoming obsessed with the sensation of you tightening around her. âYou like it when mama hurts you?â She asked. Her voice was deeper than usual.
You nodded. You sniffled back tears, desperate not to cry. You were so afraid sheâd stop or ease up, thinking sheâd hurt you.
âAre you gonna cry for mama?â She asked, picking up on your stifled sniffling. âGo on and cry for me, love. You know mama loves to watch you cry.â
The floodgates opened as you started to sob underneath her, nearly shaking. âFeels so good, mama. I love being stretched with your toys. I love when you hurt me. I love you. I love you.â
Wanda smiled. God you were a vision, crying and trembling underneath her, and asking her to hurt you while you told her you loved her. âI love you too, darling. Fuck. I love you so much.â
âPlease make me cum, mama. Please let me cum with you inside me,â you cried.
âYou can cum whenever you want, baby. Go ahead and play with yourself for me. Mamaâs got you. I wanna watch you cum on my toys, honey. Show mama how much you love her present.â
You reached your hand back and played with your own clit. She started to spank you again. âMama!â You shrieked as you fell apart under her. She continued to fuck you and spank you, grabbing your hands at the wrist when you moved to push her away.
âShshsh, angel,â she soothed gently. âIâm just making sure I get it all out of you, baby. Just let mama take care of it, honey.â She took both of your hands, positioning them on either side of your ass. âBe a good girl and hold yourself open for mama, okay?â
She pulled out of you, leaning over to spit in your open asshole. She watched in awe as the muscle closed back up, leaving her spit inside of you. Sheâd waited years to see this. Had she had a bit of foresight, she would have brought a plug she could stuff you with after, making sure it stayed inside. Oh well. There was always next time.
She moved your hands away, spanking your ass one more time for good measure. You groaned.
She grabbed a cloth off the side table, carefully wiping your clean. You squirmed under her gentle touch, but she held you in place before gently laying you on your side.
Much to your chagrin, she climbed off the bed. âMamaâŠâ you called after her, reaching out for her.
âItâs alright baby, Iâm just gonna take this off and then Iâll get all cozy with you in there okay? Wait just a second for mama.â
You pouted for the whole ten seconds it took her to get the harness off. She crawled into bed next to you, pulling you under the blankets with her. You curled into her side while she gently played with your hair.
âYouâve never asked me to spank you before, little love. What was that about?â She asked kindly and nonjudgmentally.
You shrugged. âI donât know,â you replied hazily. âI was always too embarrassed to ask before, but⊠Iâm not so scared anymore.â
She smiled and kissed your head. âIâm glad you asked,â she admitted. âI enjoyed it. And Iâm so very proud of you for being so brave. You made mama braver too, you know.â
You cuddled into her closer, looking up at her from her chest. Your eyes begged a silent question.
She giggled. âAh, I thought we were asking for what we want now? Now youâre getting all shy on me again?â
You whined. Asking for things was hard, and you thought youâd done quite enough for one day.
She chuckled at your stubbornness. âDo you wanna suckle for mama? You earned it little love, being so brave and asking mama for what you want. Go ahead sweet girl.â
âThank you, mama,â you say before taking her nipple into your mouth.
âOf course, baby,â she whispered, kissing your head. âThatâs what mamaâs do.â
Taglist: @wandanatsgirl @jordy-12 @snowy12 @wandamaximoffsbadgirl @wandaslovey @alicentsbunny @theloveweholdtohigh @inarayofmoonlight @boredandneedfanfics @hikyiwid @mrskatemaximoff @redheadsinmybed @wandaslamb @marigoldenblooms @emiliaisdead @lizziefor @virginiatcm @kittercandy
#wanda maximoff#wanda x reader#wanda x you#wanda x y/n#mommy wanda#mommy!wanda#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x y/n#stepmom wanda#stepmom!wanda
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Schoolgirl Fantasies
Jang Kyujin x Male Reader
Tags: age gap, anal fingering, ass-to-pussy, (lots of) blowjob, BWC, creampie, daddy kink, deepthroating, facefucking, first anal, full nelson, lube, maknae, rimjob, schoolgirl, upskirt, teen, tight holes
Word Count: 4518
For more than a decade, you've been JYP's idols main outlet to satisfy the dirtiest fantasies. From Sunmi to Suzy, Sana to Sullyoon, Nayeon to Yeji, Momo to Yuna, every one of JYP's current and former top female idols has got a chance to enjoy some naughty times with you.Â
However, there is one idol still missing from your collection, but you're about to correct this mistake.
"Hi, daddy," Kyujin appears in your room, wearing a schoolgirl outfit. It's fairly simple but rather effective. One of those easiest fantasies that always work no matter which moment.
The age gap between you and Kyujin is quite astonishing. You're now 48 years old, no longer that vigorous stud that once took the virginity away from legends like Suzy. 30 years separate you from Kyujin. You could literally be her father, so her calling you Daddy actually makes some sense.
Kyujin is very cute but also exudes a nice sexiness. After all, she comes from a stacked lineage of JYP maknaes. Sohye, Suzy, Tzuyu, and Yuna all went through your hands before her, so you're already very curious to see how she looks. She teases you, lifting her skirt and rubbing her hands over her teen pussy, biting her lips as she's anxious for the experience her unnies already had.
"I heard rave reviews about you, Daddy, especially from Haewon, Sullyoon, and Bae unnies," Kyujin says. "You've been working for JYP since when I was just a kid, and now I finally got a chance to spend a day with you; what an honor," she continues.
"It's an honor meeting you too," you say to Kyujin. You let her tease you at first, as she takes her pink top off and shows you her perfect tits while touching her pussy. She makes some moves on the floor of your room, showing her dancing abilities, including a little bouncing to tease you about what she wants to do later. She stays on her knees on the floor, smiling at you and making moves with her tongue, before finally sitting on the legendary couch where some of the biggest JYP idols have enjoyed lots of sex and orgasms.
"How are you doing?" you ask Kyujin. "I'm doing great," she replies. Your moves are the same as to every first-timer; you just want to make them relaxed. "You're so beautiful; what's your name?" you ask her. "Kyujin," she says. You already knew the answer, but the first thing you need to do is make her comfortable.
"Are you gonna be my naughty schoolgirl today?" you ask another question. "I'll try," a shy Kyujin answers. You laugh. "Look at those nice boobs," you tell her. "You like them, Daddy?" she asks. "Of course," you say. "But they aren't as big as Jihyo unnie," she says. "They don't need to be," you tell her.
"Wanna play with them?" Kyujin asks. Of course you do, but you want to rather take it slow. "Stand up for me for a second," you say to her. "Let me look under your skirt," you tell her, staring at Kyujin's very short panties and sexy thighs.
"What's your main schoolgirl fantasy?" you ask Kyujin. "I want to fuck my professor or one of my classmates, but I'm scared of getting caught," she answers, laughing. "Then I'll make your wish come true; today I'm your sex professor, and you won't get caught," you tell her.
"Let me see those perky tits," you tell Kyujin, who pulls her bra to the side. "Now, I'm gonna make them a little shiny," you say, pouring a cold dose of lube on them. "Rub them for me," you ask her, who obliges.
Kyujin takes her bra completely off. "You know, most guys really have a bias between asses or tits. But I like them both equally. So turn around and show me that ass," you ask her, who shakes her sexy teen butt. "You know, usually I don't fuck a girl in the ass in the first time I meet her, but I think I'll make an exception for you," you say. "Oh, yes, please, I want you to fuck my virgin ass, just like you did to Yoona and Bae unnies before," she says.
Indeed, as Kyujin mentioned, she would be just one of many idols who got their first anal try with you. But unlike them, she wanted to have it in the first attempt. Damn, and you thought those JYP idols couldn't get sluttier, but they keep proving you wrong.
You also lube Kyujin's ass and let her spread it around her sexy young butt. "Take your panties off; let me see that young pussy and butthole," you order. "Are you ready for that, Daddy?" Kyujin asks. "I'm more than ready," you say, getting wowed at her young holes. "Look at my tight pink pussy, Daddy," she says to you.
Kyujin puts a pair of fingers up her tight asshole. She knows it won't be easy getting that cock in there. "I need to help myself and stretch my tiny virgin ass so you can pound it, Daddy," she laughs. "Keep stretching it; you're going to need it," you tell her, pouring some extra lube in her butt and letting Kyujin fist deep in that butthole.
"Oh, that ass is so fucking tight, daddy," Kyujin teases you. She's driving you insane, letting your perversions take over. You take your pants off and rub your cock against her pussy, making her moan. "Daddy is gonna fuck that teen pussy raw?" she asks.Â
You'd usually have some foreplay before shoving your cock inside an idol's fuckhole. But Kyujin's teen cunt is so enticing you are ready to throw that rule out of the window. "Oh yeah," she moans as you insert the tip of your massive shaft inside her pussy.
"Fuck," she says. "That pussy is so tight," you whisper to her, barely able to insert a third of your nine inches inside her. If your past experiences taught you something, it is that you have to go quite slow with maknaes. Their pussies are always tight and strong and won't cave out to a cock so easily.
"Oh, I love to feel both my holes getting filled," Kyujin says. You love hearing her say it. It tells you it won't be much of a steep climb when she decides to attempt a DP with a real cock, now just her fingers. "Oh yeah, oh fuck," she moans as you start moving, going very nice slow at first in her teen pussy.
"So you're no longer a virgin," you tell her, noticing you didn't need to break her hymen. "No, I lost it as soon as I turned 18," she says. That's a pity. Just like her groupmate Sullyoon, Kyujin had her first meeting with you only a couple months after turning 18, but she is such a slut she couldn't keep her virgin pussy for you to deflower.
Finding that out makes you increase the pace. After all, Kyujin already has some experience taking cocks in her pussy. Maybe not as big as yours, but you know she can learn. "So good," you groan, noticing the tightness of her hole. "OH MY GOD," she lets out the first scream, but truth be told, that massage she's giving her asshole is helping her quite a bit in enduring that huge cock fucking her pussy.
You start panting and groaning louder. Even for an experienced guy like you, her tight young pussy is quite a challenge not to bust a nut. "Is Daddy enjoying my pussy?" she asks you, but you don't answer, trying to stay concentrated and just keep fucking it.
"Fuck that pussy, daddy," Kyujin says in a very cute voice, almost catching you off guard. Her moans sound so good, and you can tell how much she's enjoying it as her walls clench even further around your cock. You duck your head down and wrap your hands around her waist, kissing her and breathing around her neck as she gives you a naughty smile.
"Daddy, you're making me so wet," Kyujin says, as you can feel her young juices coating all over your cock. It's getting harder and harder to resist, but you manage to find just the right rhythm to pound her tight hole. "That pussy is so nice," you tell her.
Kyujin bites her lips as you increase your pace. Oddly, even though you are the experienced guy in the relationship, you're the one already out of breath. Meanwhile, Kyujin, who's only in the 3rd cock of her life, is doing quite well. I think you should have known by now that dancers truly have walls of steel. You should have learned the lesson from the countless sessions where you pounded the likes of Momo, Yeji, and Chaeryeong to oblivion, yet they kept asking for more. Maybe you were just getting old after all.
You slowed the pace, but Kyujin showed no mercy, moving her hips against your crotch. Her unnies really taught her well, because she was already pulling off some veteran moves in her first session with you. For being such a naughty girl, you decide to punish her, pounding Kyujin's pink pussy harder than ever and trying to dig deeper and deeper, searching for her cervix.
But your plan backfires, as you're forced to pull out. "I'll be back soon, baby," you tell her. "I'll be waiting, Daddy," she says. You rush to the shower and relieve the pressure on your cock by painting the walls of it with your cum. This time you avoided the embarrassment you had the last time you fucked a maknae, where Yuna squeezed you so hard you nutted after 3 minutes fucking her pussy. You were this close to repeating it, but this time you saved yourself at the last second.
After watching some festival performances of Kyujin, your cock is back up at full strength. "Come suck that cock," you tell her. "Oh my God, that cock is so wet," she smiles at you, pleased at the work her pussy had done to it, licking your shaft perfectly. For such an inexperienced girl, Kyujin was quite skilled.
You just sat on the chair and let Kyujin showcase her blowjob skills. She gripped your cock firmly, squeezing it with her soft young hands, then licked it a few times from the balls to the tip, giving special attention to your sperm sack, before going up and getting sloppy with the shaft.
"Oh my God," you groaned as Kyujin deepthroated your nine inches with ease. "You're so good," you say to her as she kisses your shaft. "No, you're so good; you've got such a nice cock; I'm in love with it," she tells you.
"I love licking that cock up and down," Kyujin smiles as she plays with your shaft; your tip grows even bigger as your cock is throbbing harder than ever as she kisses that very sensitive spot. After just surving her tight pussy, you have to endure another one of her tight teen holes trying to milk you dry as she bobs her head all over your shaft. That young slut is truly pushing you to the limit.
Kyujin doesn't spare an inch of your cock. Matter of fact, she wants more, diving down to eat your asshole. What are they putting in those 18-year-olds food? How are they already getting so slutty they are licking your old ass in the first encounter? You're really starting to embrace the suspicion that JYP idols are made in a lab and the new iterations of their software are sluttier than the previous ones.Â
But you can't complain. Her young tongue massaging your asshole truly feels like heaven, especially when she moves up to lick your balls as well. "You like that, Daddy?" she asks. But you can't answer, trying to cope with Kyujin's tongue in your anus and her hands caressing your shaft, pushing your foreskin up and down and making your tip pop up while rubbing against it, giving you a tingling feeling at each time. How did she learn how to edge a cock this fast?Â
Kyujin's magical tongue works all over your asshole, spitting on it and licking it. "I love putting that tongue in your ass, daddy," she tells you, diving deeper and deeper almost as if she were thursting inside it. Kyujin gets very sloppy, making the bottom of your crotch very wet. "So nasty and sloppy, Daddy," she tells you, slurping all over your balls and playing with your foreskin, pushing it as hard as she can using just her mouth.
Kyujin gives another crazy head-bobbing blowjob to your cock, finishing with a deepthroat and letting out a big smile. "I love your fat cock, daddy," she says, caressing your shaft and jerking it off, before more head-bobbing follows.
"You like how I stroke it with both my hands like this?" Kyujin asks you, and you just let your groans do the talking as she spits on your cock and keeps playing with your foreskin. Sucking, twisting, lickingâeverything that is possible she does with your shaft. She really wants that cock wet and ready for her tight fuckholes.
You finally interrupt Kyujin's fun, getting on your knees as you pin her body against the couch and kiss her, your cock rubbing against her navel as she keeps jerking it off. You reach under her skirt to play with her pussy, while diving your head to suck her perky young tits. "AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH," her moans grow louder. You kiss her neck and whisper dirty words to your ear. "I'm gonna fill your slutty body full of cum," you tell her.
Kyujin keeps moaning as her juices coat the carpet in your living room. "Oh fuck," she says as she lies her head on the couch and you keep sucking her tits, searching for her tight entrance. You finally put her on top of the couch and spread her legs, diving into her teen cunt.
"Oh yeah, taste that pussy, daddy," Kyujin demands as she closes her eyes and more moans come out of her mouth. "OH MY GOD," she screams as her legs close and you lick her folds like crazy, the hot air blowing from your nostrills and sniffing her core adding to the pleasure she's feeling in her clit. Her nipples get erect and her veins pop out as she slowly starts losing her breath, trying to resist your tongue doing to her pussy what hers just did to your cock.
"AH YEAHHHHHH, AHHHHHHHH," Kyujin's moans groan louder as she grabs your head and presses it further against her clit. "OH FUCK, OH YEAH," Kyujin keeps moaning as her thighs crush your head and press it further against her young pussy.
You can't resist anymore, surprising Kyujin by shoving your cock back in her tight pussy just as you kiss her. More moans come out of her mouth. "OH YEAH, OHHHHHHHHH," she says as you fuck her at a steady pace, kissing her beautiful face and wrapping your hands around her neck.
"Yesss, dadddy, that feels so good," Kyujin moans as she lifts her skirt further up and gives you a sexy smile. You fuck her even harder, massaging her bouncy tits as your thrusts go deeper and deeper. Kyujin's vocabulary now is reduced to just moaning and screaming and telling you how good you fuck her as your cock rests buried deep in her pussy.
"Pump that little tight teen pussy, daddy," Kyujin begs, spreading her legs completely in the couch now, giving you very easy access to her pink hole. You seize the opportunity and take repeated, hard thrusts deep inside it that hit her cervix. "OHHHHHH YESSSSSSS, OHHHHHHHH FUCKKKKKKK," she screams as your balls smack her clit and you make her cum.
To avoid cumming now, you pull out of Kyujin's tight pussy, eating it out and enjoying the juices that are all over her folds, kissing and worshipping it before you surprise her by shoving your middle finger up her asshole, leading to a huge smile from her. "Am I a good girl, Daddy?" she asks you.
"You're such a naughty girl," you finally answer her, sticking your finger up her asshole. "OH FUCK, OH MY GOD," Kyujin screams as you finally show who the real experienced guy is, making her orgasm just with your hands.
You pull your finger out of Kyujin's butthole. "Dirty teen slut," you call her. "Yes, daddy, that's exactly what I am," she says as you pour more lube at her body. "My ass is so tight, Daddy," Kyujin then says.
"Then let's test how tight it is," you reply, lining up your tip against her virgin butthole. You make a hard effort to put it in but can barely push the tip inside, given how tight it is. Kyujin smiles, as she's about to get an unforgettable first anal experience.
"Oh my God, it's so fucking tight," Kyujin says. "My first time couldn't have been better," she continues. Your anaconda slowly disappears inside her anus; make her contort as she isn't adjusted to it. Even her finger-fisting couldn't help her. Your cock is just too large for her virgin orifice.
After reaching the maximum depth of her asshole, you go slow with Kyujin, giving her nice thrusts that only take half of your cock inside it. "Oh yeah," she moans. You play with her pussy, knowing that the first time can be really difficult, trying to ease her up and loosen up her tight teen hole.
Kyujin tries to moan, but you don't let her. "Shhhhhh," you say as you shove three of your fingers in her pussy. But she can't hold that for long. "AHHHHHHH," she explodes in more screams as you also use her pussy as a way to cope with the tightness of her asshole, trying as hard as possible not to fill it with cum.
You thurst your cock at Kyujin's asshole at the same pace you thursts your fingers in her cunt. "OH MY GODDDDDDD," she screams, grabbing her tits. You go faster, Kyujin just attempting to resist your stimulation. She obviously can't. "AHHHHHHHH," she screams again, dropping her head into one of the pillows on the couch.
"Do you like to fuck that tight ass, Daddy?" Kyujin asks as you commit all of your efforts to pound it, taking your fingers off her pussy. You groan and pant as her anal walls smash your big cock. "Finger that pussy for me," you demand of her. "Yes, daddy, OH FUCK," she screams just as she finishes the sentence and places her fingers in her clit.
Kyujin spreads her cheeks as she lets her asshole take the full shape of your cock. "Keep fucking me, just like that," she says, sticking her tongue out. Her ass is so tight you're forced to pull out after so many thursts, allowing yourself some time to breathe before you put it back in and teasing her little gapes of her formely virgin anus.
You take Kyujin by surprise, switching back to her pussy. "Oh yeah, oh yeah, fuck both of my holes," she begs as you pound her already stretched out cunt like crazy before moving back in her ass and doing the same with it. "I love the way you switch back and forth, Daddy; you can't get enough of my tiny teen holes, can you?" she says.
"No, I can't," you say, going back in Kyujin's pink pussy and pounding it hard. "OH MY GOD, OH FUCK, YES, YES, YES," she screams, grabbing her tits to not let them bounce even further. Back in her ass you go, bringing her legs closer and stretching her hole out as Kyujin feels the heat of her guts being rearranged. "FUCK THAT ASS DADDY," she screams hard.
You finally pull out of Kyujin's holes and kiss her forehead. "Good girl," you compliment her. "Are you gonna let me taste my own ass, Daddy?" she asks. "Fuck yeah," you say. "Then please, fuck my face, Daddy," she replies.
You grab Kyujin's head, using her long hair as handlebars while you pound her pretty face. She rolls her eyes and gags all over your thorbbing shaft, as it proves to be too large for her throat when it fucks it at full speed. You enjoy Kyujin choking on your dick like a good whore, getting your cock perfectly wet for your next move.
"Stand up," you tell her, lying on the carpet. You fully push her skirt up and spank Kyujin's shiny ass, making her moan as she shakes it. You pour more lube on it. "Such nice fuckholes," you say, poking your thumb back inside her pussy to warm her up for more action.
"Do you like Daddy's cock back in your ass?" you ask her. "Oh yes," Kyujin says with a soft moan. "Then show me what you learned from your unnies and squat on that cock," you say.
Kyuhin adjusts your shaft as it slides back in her ass. She moves very slowly, trying to adjust to getting impaled by that massive pole. "Oh my God," she moans, still impressed with how big it is. "Keep going, baby, ride this cock like your life depends on it," you give her the incentive.
"There you go," you say as Kyujin increases her speed, her ass hitting your thighs as you start groaning. If the likes of Momo and Chaeryeong usually kill you by how fast they can bounce their big asses on your cock, Kyujin is slightly different, using the tightness of her butthole to her advantage to achieve similar results under a slower ride.
"Oh fuck, does daddy want to cum deep in that ass?" Kyujin slows down as she senses you're losing it. "That's amazing," you whisper. Kyujin just enjoys your cock going in and out of her, resuming her bounce by going faster than ever, trying to go for the kill.
"Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah," you're now the one moaning as Kyujin quickly learns how to ride a big cock. "You like watching that tight ass going up and down that cock, daddy?" Kyujin asks as she pushes you to the edge. "So good, so good," you whisper, holding your breath not to cum.
"Bend over, you teen slut," you tell Kyujin, regaining control of the situation and shoving your cock back in her ass. This time you didn't hold back. Now you knew Kyujin could take it like a champion in the ass; it didn't matter if it was just her first time.
Kyujin struggled as your cock hit her fast and deep, fingering her pussy and resting her head on the couch to resist your increasingly harder thrusts in her asshole. "Keep fucking my ass, daddy, AHHHHHH," she moaned. These words only made you go faster, grabbing her waist and getting your cock deeper and deeper in her ass.
"YES, YES, YES, YES," Kyujin rapdly screamed. You groped her tits and pounded her like an animal. "Face down ass up," you ordered to her, stretching her butthole to the fullest and pumping it nonstop. "You stretch my ass so fucking good, Daddy," she says.
"Turn around and suck my cock again," you tell Kyujin as you pop out of her asshole and lie on the floor. She eagerly takes your cock in her mouth, tasting her ass to the fullest and enjoying spitting on your tip. You kiss her, ready to test her in one final challenge as she keeps her hands jerking your cock off.
"Sit on my cock, slut," you tell her, wrapping your arms around her waist as you lie on the couch, pulling Kyujin's body on top of yours. If there is one sex position every dancer needs to master, it's the one you're about to teach her: the full nelson.
Kyujin mounts on your cock, but she doesn't even have time to react; you just spread her legs as hard as you can up in the air and take control of thrusting in her asshole from the start, turning her into an anal fleshlight. Kyujin is now just a passenger of your ride to pleasure as you destroy her once virgin ass to the fullest.
"OH MY GODDDDDDDD," Kyujin screams as your balls pound hard against her cheeks. She fingers herself, trying to deal with such a barage of thursts. You're only a couple years from turning 50, but this is your best form yet. "OH YEAH, AHHHHH," she keeps screaming as you show no signs of slowing down.
"I love that big fat white cock in my tiny little Asian asshole; you fuck me so deep and hard, Daddy," Kyujin says. "Fuck me like a whore; keep fucking me; make me a dirty little teen whore," she continues.Â
Her words drive you mad. At first, you wanted to leave your mark in her formerly virgin asshole, but seeing her say those dirty words changed your plans as you switched your cock back into her cunt. "Oh, put it back in my pussy; I want you to fill me up real good, Daddy," Kyujin says as she watches you move your shaft inside her babyhole.
"Fill that tight little Asian pussy with your big white cock cum, fucking give to me, empty your balls for, YES, PLEASE, CUM INSIDE ME, DADDY," Kyujin begs. You pump her pussy hard until your cock can't resist anymore, pulsating multiple times inside her teen pussy. "You filled up that tight little pussy so good, Daddy," Kyujin says with a big smile in her face as your cum oozes out of her vagina, Kyujin quickly scooping it up to taste it.
"Now I'm a real, real, naughty girl, full of daddy's cum," Kyujin says. "It's so sticky," she says, putting her tongue out and showing off your semen in her mouth.
Kyujin kisses your big white cock for one last time, licking the remnants of cum that stood in there and putting her schoolgirl outfit back on. "That was so good, Daddy; I can't wait for the next time. I'll tell my unnies to come join me, and we're gonna compete to see who can milk this big fat white cock the hardest," she says, going back to her dorms to share the experience with her groupmates.
Haewon is the first to ask her about it once she is back at the dorm.Â
"So how was it?" she says.
"You weren't lying, unnie; he's amazing, no wonder all the girls at the company are so whipped for his cock," Kyujin says.
"We want to be there next time; he fucked our asses so good," Sullyoon and Bae come off and say it to her.
"You're all welcome; I promised him next time it's going to be all of us," Kyujin says.
"Game on, let's see who's gonna make his cock cum the hardest," Lily and Jiwoo say. "Absolutely," Kyujin finishes, already thinking about the next round.
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easy living
pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader
summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?
tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing
a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.
i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all
ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI
The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when youâll get something close to free reign with your voice again.Â
Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.
Youâll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.
And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. Youâll never be able to have a pet bird. Youâll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didnât really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You donât see why you shouldnât just lay here on the couch forever.Â
On the other side of the coffee table thereâs a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isnât startled awake. Itâs so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you.Â
You want to look at him, but you fear that youâll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the⊠creatures wonât go, right?
Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know heâs awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. Youâd been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunderâ enough to learn that he has family across the world.Â
You canât imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know whatâs become of them. You canât even begin to fathom the fear that heâs feeling, as much as youâre despairing.Â
Ericâs big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?
No, youâre definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and canât be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that youâre lying.
Eric knows youâre lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?
You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile thatâs indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he canât make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.
You donât have a coffee maker that doesnât also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you.Â
On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you.Â
Ericâs lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. Youâre able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.
Bloody American.
Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. Youâll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.
You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; youâve lived alone, youâve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But itâs so difficult to be sitting next to someoneâ someone you feel you could really get to likeâ and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt.Â
Youâll never be able to know what Ericâs laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. Heâs right there next to you, heâs risked his life to save you once already, and yet heâs so far away. Youâll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?
Heâd created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know heâd probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and⊠well, you werenât just gonna leave him, scared and alone.
You, too, were scared and alone.
Ericâs hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether youâre okay with such an intimate gesture.Â
Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. Youâre slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.
But youâre a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Ericâs shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough.Â
The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you.Â
Youâll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. Youâll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. Youâll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. Youâll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.
âDo you think itâs worth it?â You whisper, so faintly that itâs barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. âTo try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you donât exist?â
Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way youâd done to him.Â
âI think itâs worth it to try to survive.â His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, âSo survive with me, yeah?â
You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. âI canât stand not talking to you.â Itâs so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else.Â
Eric takes it in stride. âYou are talking to me.â He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me.Â
âNot like this,â you breathe to him, because thatâs really what it isâ itâs a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. âI want to talkâ I want to get to know you.âÂ
âWell, this isnât so bad, is it?â Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. âWhat do you want to know?âÂ
His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. âWhatâs your favorite song?â
âEasy Living. Billie Holiday.âÂ
âYouâre kidding.â Youâre blushing, hot in the cheeks. Youâre imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didnât think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.
âAbsolutely not.âÂ
âSomehow⊠I canât picture you listening to jazz.âÂ
âPicture it all you want,â he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, âMy granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But whenâ when he died, the records went missing. I couldnât find the song until a couple years ago,â he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur.Â
You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls⊠nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear.Â
âYou have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?â Eric nods in your hands. âI wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish⊠I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, Iâll take it.â Youâre nodding as well now, like youâre trying to convince yourself of it. âIâm telling you this because I donât know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I donât want to waste it passing notes. Okay?âÂ
âOkay.â He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that donât come, and then he nods. âOkay.âÂ
Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like itâs pressing in on all sides. Ericâs hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that youâre still holding his. Youâre near sitting in his lap with how close youâve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.
You think you should pull away. You donât.Â
Ericâs thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. Itâs so featherlight itâs barely thereâ his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. Youâd let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. âEricââ
He closes the gap and kisses you. The way youâd said his nameâ or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumbâ had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system youâd worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. Heâs scared, he said as much last night. Youâre scared, you said so just now.Â
Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you canât jabber at him, there are some things you just canât put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you canât think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.
Itâs stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, âOne day? Thatâs all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?â And theyâd be rightâ maybe itâs not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.
Your hands find Ericâs chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like youâre half-drowning. Itâs harder than you expected.Â
âBeen wanting to do that all morning,â Eric whispers. And just like that youâre falling again, faster this time, like heâs just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.
You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. Itâs the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin.Â
Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier.Â
Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like heâs been shocked beyond belief. You didnât honestly intend for this to happenâ you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate.Â
How do you get your feelings across when talking isnât really an option? When innocent attraction becomes⊠whatever this is?Â
You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet.Â
Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window.Â
You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. âYour eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,â you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You canât help itâ you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. âYouâre so pretty.â
Eric whimpers. Itâs a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but itâs still too loud for the world that youâre in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.
âDo you want me to stop?â You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. âWant me to keep going?â Eric nods his head yes.Â
Heâs shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he canât hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins.Â
You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. âYou have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?â He nods. âWe canât make a sound. Okay?âÂ
Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you donât want to be mean, you just donât want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.
You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadnât dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You donât necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You donât think it would add to your sex appeal right now.Â
He doesnât notice the lack of a strip teaseâ heâs already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until youâre stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder.Â
So. Eric doesnât need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again.Â
His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You arenât sure if he wants to take his time, or if heâs going slow so that he doesnât make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but wonât risk making you moan.Â
Itâs so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, youâre having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when heâs basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs.Â
Then, Ericâs hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue.Â
Knees buckling, you collapse into Ericâs lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face thatâs way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief.Â
Ericâs brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, âYouâre too sweet for me, Eric.âÂ
He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. âMaybe one day I wonât have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.âÂ
The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking youâ that this isnât even him as normal, that heâs having to hold so much backâ makes you burn hot all at once. That this isnât something heâs planning on doing once. That thereâs a âone dayâ that he sees in the future with you in it.Â
With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again.Â
Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you.Â
You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap.Â
This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness.Â
There isnât a lot of movementâ you canât risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head.Â
Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and itâs the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesnât seem to mind it.Â
You know heâs close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. âFeels so fucking good,â comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but thereâs that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does.Â
To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. Itâs just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down.Â
Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after heâs spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.
Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. Itâs cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet.Â
To keep you quiet.Â
Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Ericâs head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Ericâs ear, and youâre nothing if not a talker.
âEric?â you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. âIâm glad that I met you when I did. Even if itâs terrible timing, Iâm glad we met.â
A sweet, tired smile flits across Ericâs beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. âIâm glad, too.âÂ
You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. Heâs such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table.Â
You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other.Â
On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss.Â
And then, Billie Holidayâs voice plays for only you two to hear.Â
Living for you is easy living, Itâs easy to live when youâre in love And Iâm so in love, Thereâs nothing in life but you.
#eric a quiet place day one#eric a quiet place x reader#a quiet place day one#roses*#eric x reader#eric a quiet place day one x you#eric a quiet place x you#eric a quiet place day one x reader#eric fan fiction#eric x you#joseph quinn
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The Manson's have a habit of dragging Sam to fancy balls where she has to 'be on her best behaviour'
One of these fancy balls was the Wayne Gala.
And it was there she met a young Jason Todd.
The two were immediately besties, ride or die, thicker then thieves.
The whole party shivered in fear as the two formed a friendship, the shivering was mainly because they were standing in front of the burning remains of the most expensive car Bruce owned that they took for a joy ride.
When Sam went home they kept in contact via texts, Emails, phone calls, video calls, letters when one of them was grounded, and the occasion crime spree whenever Sam was in gothem.
They each learnt something from each other even if they didn't want to.
Sam now knew, how to pickpocket, hot wire a car, win a fist fight, and a bunch of facts that were going to carry her through all her English classes.
Jason now knew, how to built a toaster from scratch (Sam learnt that one from Danny), how to know what plants are safe to eat when he's stranded on literally any part of the planet, how to summon a ghost (all amity kids know how), and now knows thousands of recipes that are vegan.
Everything was going alright for them
Then Danny died.
And before Sam could process the fact that she saw one of her best friends die only to come back halfway, the ghosts came.
Then Box Ghost, then Vlad, then Dani, then Frightknight, then Pariah Dark.
Sam didn't get a lot of time to contact her gothem bestie but she managed to find time to talk in the lulls between fights.
Jason was getting busier too, he never told her what he was busy with but she didn't either.
Phonecalls and videos calls gave way to texts that would go unanswered for 48 hours.
But there was always an answer.
And that was the new normal.
Then Jason died.
And Sam's heart broke into a million pieces.
There was a part of her that held to the belief that he'd come back like Danny did, but Sam was realistic and Jason was not Danny.
On the day of the funeral she found out that Joker had gotten free again.
Joker.
The man who killed her friend.
Sam could not avenge Danny, but she could avenge Jason.
And so Sam made a plan to kill the Joker that would span years.
Danny and Tucker decided to help.
Because sitting in on numerous text conversations and calls they became friends, while they were not best friends with Jason like Sam was, he was still their friend.
#dpxdc#dcxdp#dp x dc#dc x dp#danny phantom#danny fenton#batman#dan phantom#Red Hood: I want Joker Dead!#Sam who has no idea who Red is: Get in line!
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Okay, this is my third time trying to put this into words. I am very upset, hurt, and honestly terrified. Iâm about to share a lot about myself, my family, and a very scary situation happening right now, so for my own safety, I wonât provide too many details.
I live in a secondary city in a South American country. The Jewish community here is very smallâaround 5,000 people total out of over 50 million. In my city, which has over 3 million people, there are only about 300 Jews. Weâre literally on the other side of the world from Israel.
We own a family business, a small clothing factory where we make knitted garments. It was founded by my grandmother 48 years ago. My father is the current manager, and both my sister and I work there. We employ around 80 people. We pay fair and legal wages (not the industry standard in my country), and although times are really hard, weâve never missed a payment, not once in our 48 years in business. My father paused his own salary and hasnât received a cent since January, and my sister and I both stopped getting paid for three months. But the people who work with us have always received their salaries as they should.
Now, today, September 30th, (just a couple of days before the start of our high holidays and exactly one week before the first anniversary of October 7th) the biggest and most important public university in my city, in conjunction with the syndicate council, invited the Palestinian ambassador to give a conference about the current situation and the war. Well, apparently, it derailed into open antisemitism and ended up as a conference about how Jews are all thieves and scammers. Because, I kid you not, back in the '90s, a huge group of my countryâs biggest companies went bankrupt and couldnât pay their employees what they owed. One out of about 30 of those companies was owned by Jewish people. So, of course, "we Jews are all liars, scammers, and thieves, just like the Israelisâalways trying to take what doesnât belong to us"
So, what conclusion did they reach at this conference about Palestine and the current war happening on the other side of the world? Well, naturally, they decided to target Jewish-owned businesses in my city (which means our factory and two other small businesses in our area) to protest and vandalize, because weâre all thieves and scammers, and Israel is bad and horrible, and everyone in my city needs to be made aware of that. When are they planning to come? October 7th, of course, when else?
The only reason I even know about this is that one of my Jewish friends decided to attend the conference to hear from the Palestinian ambassador and, risking their own safety, stayed to hear the names of the businesses that are going to be targeted.
I'm hurt and scared and I've been trying not to cry since I found out. These are the people on the left, these we were supposed to be my people, I've marched with them, I've worked and voted with them. I don't know what to do? Please, please tell me how are they different from actual Nazis? How is this situation different from any other jew living in Europe in the 1930's? I guess shannah fucking tovah to me, as if last year wasn't a wake up call. I am fucking awake.
#if you had asked me yesterday i'd said that my city was not very antisemitic#i stand fucking corrected#we don't get to mourn in peace#and we don't get to celebrate our high holidays in peace#i am at a loss#i truly dont know what to do#i have a week to figure it out i guess#nice of them to give us time#this is my last straw by the way#not on the left anymore i guess i've officially been kicked out because im a dirty dirty jew#antisemitism#jumblr#jewblr#jewish#judaism#rosh hashanah#israel#palestine#october 7#october 7th
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You are the knife (I turn inside myself),
S2!Post-addiction!Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader
SMUT!! (and copious amounts of angst, and like a small amount of fluff to just⊠balance it out), Workplace rivals, aka, enemies to lovers (who are still enemies and would rather die than tell each other theyâre in love).
ââââ autistic spencer (as per usual), evil evil reader (im being dramatic, kinda), they hate each other so much that they have to find a new way to crawl into each others skin.
Warnings: sub spencer, brat!spencer (a man gets glasses and suddenly thinks he can be defiant) brat!tamer!reader, HUGE corruption kink (someone keeps putting that in there???? itâs not me, i swear), first time for Spencer (i love a virginal nerd), restraints (someone has to pin him down), cryingâ like lots of crying, degradation (and a little praise because they work hand in hand), Spencer eats reader out like rent is due, reader says thankyou by destroying him, they argue mid-sex. They actually just argue constantly.
â warning: mentions of past drug addiction.
w.c: 9k (mostly smut, holy shit how is it 9k??? their arguments hiked up my word count im positive)
a/n: i know tumblr hates to see me coming with my Spencer Reid one shots. I wrote this at 3am when I was supposed to be studying for my latin exam, itâs okay. Uni will understand I had greater things to do. I promise iâll get around to my requests this week, i just got possessed by the holy ghost and wrote this.
ââââââââââââ
Something, something, mindless torture. Spencer holds his brain, his intellect, in high regard. Proverbial accomplishments, Stanford Binet approved genius, heâs an outlier to most. And yet, the moment you start speaking, he has no thoughts beyond the domineering urge to throw himself off a cliff.
Youâre late today. Chicago, youâve both been sentenced, discarded to create a profile from the minimal information present. Forced proximity, the team have been trying to stifle this animosity shared between you for over a year now. It doesnât work.
Hereâs the thing, each member of the BAU has their own specialised feat: Penelope could be a cybercriminal, if she so wished, a tech-genius that has no qualms in tearing down firewalls. Morgan, adroit, an expert on the field, stereotypically strong, all running lines of muscle. Who wouldnât want to be princess-carried away from danger by him? Heâs also remarkably good at kicking down doors. Gideon has incalculable years of experience, a mentor.
The list stretches on.
But you and Spencer canât both be the brains of the team. Itâs unbalanced, skewed. A clash of intellect. Scales tipped in one direction, why does he always come up short? Why canât he justâ
Why, repeats as you push through the bureau, blanking the predictable, formulaic stares of various officers, trained officials, the usual mess. Whyâ why profiling? Why did you voluntarily choose to suffer your way through ceaseless cases of sanguinary?There has to be an element of masochism to your career; no one with a sane mind voluntarily decides to walk into an onslaught of serial killers and death.
The early mornings are always the worst; stumbling out of bed, deriving no sleep from the night, tangled sheets and restless limbs. âDonât,â you push, padding into the office, met with Spencerâs hardened gaze. âLate night.â
âWe havenât been here for 48 hours yet, 36 and 22 minutes to be precise, and youâve alreadyââ
âGet your mind out of the gutter, boy genius. Late night as in I stared at the casefiles until my mind went numb.â
âDid you take a break?â he asks, and you both know itâs not born from care. âMaybe a self-reflection period to realise that torturing yourself isnât the most effective form of work. Your reactive skills will be delayed now, letâs hope we donât find the unsub today. In fact, maybe I should warn Hotchââ
âHave I ever warned Hotch about your breakdowns?â that shuts him up. It also makes him spiral, because you canât know, itâs not statistically possible that youâd be aware of Hankelâs lasting impact on his body, dilaudid, hydromorphine, and not tell someone. He assumes youâd be desperate to eliminate him from the team, to claim your win.
âRight, umâ the case,â he shifts in his seat. Professionalism, tolerance, itâs all a little too much work when it comes to the subject of you.
âThe case.â you agree.
Youâre attuned to each other, a psychological curse heâs forced to stomach. Offices and crime scenes, analysing, competing, hellbent on one upping the other. âLook at these markingsââ his hands rifle through the files that adorn the table, searching searching until they produce an autopsy report.
The markings on the body are intricate, latin symbols prominent against the victims pale skin. You lean further forward, following the path of his index finger as it traces the outline. Perhaps thereâs an element of telepathy to your dynamic; you donât need to state the obvious, too aware that his brain has already processed the information, that heâs moved onto the nuances now.
Human sacrifice, itâs not the first time youâve caught yourselves in the midst of cult worship and indoctrination. But itâs certainly the first time of its kind.
âTraces of wine in her bloodstream. Found in a forest. Sounds like a bacchanal.â you state, shifting to pull yourself up on the desk.
Spencer looks. At your long, slender legs extending out from a pencil skirt. Effortless, natural, situating yourself on the oakwood, hair half covering your face, with loose strands pooling over your eyes to obstruct your sight.
Itâs a strange analogy, the two of you; Spencer with his tired eyes, haphazard clothes and messy desk, and you, just as dishevelled in the morning light.
Metaphorically and literally youâre higher than him right now. He fixes his askew glasses. Clears his throat. âRegina Horthorne,â the victim, âStraight A student. Honour role. What are the chances she willing went to said⊠bacchanal?â
âHm. I donât know, maybe sheâs like Laura Palmer. Double life. 4.0 cheerleader by day, crazed bacchante by night.â you retort.
Shamelessly, you take a moment to observe him, just as he did you. Shirt sleeves bunched up at his elbows, hair tousled, large hazel eyes, interminably darting across your face. You wonder for a moment if heâs analysed you the way youâve analysed him. Itâs a futile question, of course he has.
Anything to gain the upper hand.
You continue, âMaybe theyâre sacrificing virgins. You could go undercover as a potential victim. Certainly fit the part.â
âIâm already too old to be counted as an appropriate victim. Thereâs a high probability âtheyâ, the dominant unsub, wouldnât even look at me, andââ he pauses, pretty face marred by creased features, brows furrowed, a slight pout to his lips.
âThereâs a homicidal cult preforming human sacrifice, and youâre wasting time by insulting me?â Spencer isâŠ.. a perpetual scholar, a social disaster, wearing his intellect like an ill-concealed secret, outcasted for the weight of his own brilliance. âThe BAU clearly made a well-informed decision when they hired you.â
âOh, you wound me boy genius.â you respond, pressing your hand against your heart.
Endless cases. The impenetrable presence of fall. It feels like you shift through cycles, bleary-eyed and tainted from the job, damaged goodsâ do you struggle to sleep like I do?
You lean forward, hands, adorned with cluttered rings, braced against the table, bodies closer now. Thereâs a burn, something fervent that lingers between you, rivalry, opposition. Some days you feel as hedonistic as the unsubs you track and chase.
Continuing, you let out a sharp laugh. âAre you still bitter because I realised it was a bacchanal before you? Donât worry, iâll let you take the credit for it. Iâm sure Gideon will be so impressed.â
Gideon sees everything in him, and nothing in you. Predictable.
The distance between you has become almost null. Itâs intimate, and heâs not sure how he feels about that. âIâm not bitter. And I donât care about the credit.â A lie. âUnlike you, I donât need to prove my worth to him.â
ââââââââââââ
Spilt blood. Your hands are calloused from holding a gun. From firing a bullet straight through skull. The case closes, locked behind that inviolable wall, the one thatâs installed into your mind the moment youâre employed, the moment you sign your fate over to the BAU. Youâre not sure why anyone stays, overworked and undervalued, thereâs no heroes in real life. Maybe itâs the sense of family, or maybe itâs just what everyone subconsciously fell into.
You canât understand why youâre so angry at Spencer, why it extends to the next case, South Dakotaâ deaths of locals, but these days, all of the illogical, petty reasons just blur together. Create this tangled mess of overcompensation. âI assumed you two would get along,â Prentiss had statedâ but what does she know? Sheâs been an active member of the BAU for a whole 10 minutes.
The hostility has mounted to new levels now.
Itâs hard work, long hours, no gratitude and a pay cheque that canât even begin to cover the trauma that comes with the job. The BAU is like self-sabotage: a long list of reasons to leave, and no real reasons to stay. But still youâre both stuck in this loop.
South Dakota, of course itâs South Dakota. Cold, desolate South Dakota where the wind and snow will not let up, and the team are forced to remain cooped up in a cheap motel, desperate for any sort of entertainment.
Here he is, coerced into your room to work on the case, overtime, his eyes are rimmed crimson.
Youâre sprawled out across the bed while he sits at the other end, slender legs crossed. Spencer is tired with a weariness that seems to go soul-deep, shoulders slumped forward, glasses oblique.
The tension is near-palpable, stifling. âI can do this myself. No offence,â full offence, âbut youâre unneeded right now. In general, really.â
You make him cruel. Or no, maybe this job does? He canât remember himself unscathed now, fresh-faced to the BAU, unaware of what heâd endure. Itâs still early days in recovery, two months since he was entirely, indomitably reliant on Dilaudid.
âNo you canât,â you retort. Maybe itâs unprofessional, disreputable to waste so much breath on insults, to dedicate specific moments to hostilityâ people are dead, people will keep dying. And yet, perhaps thereâs justification for this; your mutual animosity is the only semblance of routine to this job, the only way either of you can seek control.
Control. All you do is reach for the blade.
âYouâre just bitter that I know what Iâm doing. Youâre not infallible, Boy Wonder. You need my help, so shut up and read that autopsy report. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go back to my apartment and forget you exist.â
Well thatâs certainly unlikely.
âI think,â he says, and he knows this is going to be bad. He can feel the serrated edge to his forming words, his half-baked analysis too focused, too distracted, by his need to hurt. But heâs exhausted, and these days, he runs on a detrimentally short fuse. Maybe he finds a release in your dynamic, or maybe it makes everything worse. How can something be everything and nothing at the same time?
âI think youâre insecureâ he continues, âbecause you know Gideon values me more. That, to him, youâre replaceable. Itâs why youâre so fixated on one upping me. Why you feel the need to prove yourself superior. Textbook insecurity. You canât stand the fact that he chooses me over you, that he thinks Iâm better than you. That my input is more wanted, more necessary.â
This is uncharted territory now. Itâs never been pushed to this extent. Itâs never gotten so morbidly cruel that his words actually pierce. Youâd consider yourself to be thick-skinned, bullet-proof, a mess of hardened edges and calloused flesh. But he regards you with such insignificance, in a way thatâs different from your own personal view of him.
Obstinate, petty, a smart kid yet to meet his match. But never insignificant.
Thereâs silence, and then heâs dragging you down with him, forcing you to dig deeper, to smother wounds with salt. âDid he really choose you, though? No one on the team noticed. Not one person. After the Hankel case? When you came back different?â
Spencer falters.
Itâs a vulnerable, raw spot, a laceration that never seems to heal; the worst part is that youâre right. Heâd been in a spiralling decline for months, in plain sight, but everyone had been so absorbed in their own issues and god he needed a release. No one noticed. No one ever notices.
That he has no life, no prospects outside of the BAU. That his existence has been one comicotragic mess of inexperience, missing the mark, missing the joke, the punchline, the fact that everyone was always laughing at him, behind his back, to his face, present or gone. It didnât matter? Why would it ever matter to a bunch of washed-out teenagers?
He was robbed of his adolescence. And these days, he barely gets by.
Spencerâs eyes drift back to the files, avoiding your perusing gaze, if only you had enough decency to soften your eyes. Just once.
âYou donât get to bring that into this.â He murmurs. âShut up.â
âYou started thisââ
âAre you 5?â he bites back, âI was making an observation.â
When he abruptly stands up, files clattering to the floor, discarded despite the prevalent case, youâre quick to follow after him, to chase him into the cheap motel corridor. Because no, he doesnât get to walk away from this. Not when he laid the first blow, when the first cut was drawn from his blade. Perhaps itâs perverse, to chase the hurt that comes from being around him. Maybe itâs all just an elaborate way to self-harm, to find release in the distorted relationship you both share.
âWhere are you going? You canât walk away from this one.â you state, gripping his arm. Nails pressing into skin, crescent marks thatâll stain and remind and then acheâ itâs repetitive now.
âI covered for your ass.â you knew about the addiction, you knew, and even though omitting such information to the BAU couldâve lost your license, you still. Didnât. Say. Anything.
Itâs not like it took much effort to discern the truth.
âI also signed your email up to about 100 rehab centres and self-help blogs.â youâre not sure if you did that out of malice, or if it was your own, interpersonal way of minimising the damage, despite the circumstances.
You noticed. The rest of the BAU, who pressed false promises of friendship, loyalty into his shaking palms didnât notice. Didnât even think to humour what he became at his worst. But you did.
Furthermore, to add onto that jarring conclusion, you helped him. Admittedly in your own insufferable, (downright mocking) way. But it was help, and thatâs more than heâs ever received before.
All he knows right now is that he hates you, hates the person he is, the person this job, and the intransigent presence of you, forced him into becoming.
All he knows is that heâs stumbling forward, cupping your face (taking your grip along with it), and kissing you. Kissing you hard. Like heâs Icarus and youâre the sun, worth the inevitable burn, even if the touch is only momentary, even if itâll seal his fate as foolish.
Itâs a mess of harsh, rough skin, tousled hair and sharp teeth against soft lips. Itâs like trying to grasp at stardust, his hands fumbling for purchase along your body, trying to push you closer, as if the chasm of space between you is unbearable, a distance thatâs impossible to endure.
He laughs when you respond instinctively, a sharp excuse of a noise, muffled by your swollen lips, and heâs just kissing you through it because he hates you, he hates youâ he hates you so much that sometimes he canât breathe when youâre around.
You crawled under his skin a long time ago, made yourself a home there.
âI think Iâd rather be held hostage for a second time than kiss you again.â he says, and he mightâve elaborated further, but his lips abandon such a notion to chase your own.
The kiss becomes more languid, more desperate, like heâs trying to find an answer in response to it. Thereâs a brief, agonising break, foreheads pressed together, a harsh gasp of air, before the moment restarts.
God you taste good. Feel good, he thinks. Heâs never been this intimate, not beyond Lila, that fleeting mess in the pool. The two events incomparable, he felt something then, small and minuscule, not enough to pursue. But right now? Oh, In contrast, he feels everything now.
âI wish you were being held hostage. Itâd be quieter,â you retort. Itâs muffled, and youâre moving, bodies stumbling into obstacles as you relocate, when did you get to your room? It feels like natural progression, evolution, diminutive changes that you donât even realise are occurring.
You bite his bottom lip, draw it between your teeth, ruin him for anyone else. Because isnât that what youâve been doing for years now? Hurting each other so profoundly that only you can bare the scarred aftermath?
Itâs sick. Itâs sick, and you wonder how petty comments, trivial work-place rivalry distorted into this? How youâve just ended up sick because of each other, and admittedly, for each other.
What is sickness without pleasure?
He whimpers. The noise almost imperceptible, but itâs there, and itâs pathetic, an unbecoming thing caught somewhere between a gasp and needy whine. Heâs backed against the wall now, and he canât find it in him to complain.
âOf course it would be you,â he says breathlessly. For all the knowledge he lacks here (physically; heâs well-versed in the hypotheticals of anatomy), he doesnât feel pure.
People like him donât get that.
He should feel guilty. He should recoil at the touch, at the knowledge you bear, at the reality of this. Except, for some unknown reason, he relishes in the idea of someone having him, even if the cost is his pride, his dignity, even if the cost is you.
He whimpers again as your teeth rake along the slope of his neck, shuddering at the sharp sensation, and heâs almost begging, words on the verge of being uttered.
But he canât. Because that isnât him when heâs with you. âAre you going to punish me? For uh, everything I said tonight? Because ah, god, Iâd like to see you try.â
Admittedly, itâs not hard to break his resolve. A few more soul-crushing kisses and your wandering hand, dipping beneath his trousers, hard. Obscenely hard. Yes, heâs muttering as you unclasp buttons, as you loosen his trousers to the extent that you can palm him through his boxers. Half-choked gasps escape his bruised lips with every touch, and heâs crying now. Pretty tears streaming down his face, accentuating those doe-wide eyes of his, now glossy and warped.
âOnly person whoâs ever touched you, huh?â you state, and maybe you derive pleasure from that concept. That only your hands, drenched thick with staining blood, have ever scrutinised the warmth of his skin. The areas where his form curves, and the areas that make him come apart, undone at the seams. Grasping you, relying entirely on the wall, just to remain upright and somewhat conscious.
He makes another noise, another guttural, pathetic sound. Because, yeah, itâs just you. Itâs only you, and the thought should be unbearable, but the pleasure of having, being touched is too much.
He has to grasp the back of your shirt, nails digging into fabric, as a distraction, a way to centre himself, while the rest of the world falls apart. His words are scattered, broken and messy, and he finds himself saying things heâll inevitably regret. âPlease, I canât-â
Heâs supposed to hate this, hate you.
âCantâ canât take it. Oh,â he wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck, but youâre gripping his jaw, forcing him to look directly at you. Glasses discarded, the view was blurry without the added layers of tears.
âEyes on me, boy genius.â
He complies. Gaze locked, unable to look away, entranced by the way your pupils dilate, staring at you, like youâre artwork, something to be studied and broken down and torn apart, only to be rebuilt again once heâs had his fill.
âLetâs look at you. Hm?â you state, removing his sweater, then his shirt, and thereâs so many layers, and heâs acting coy now, as if he wasnât whimpering moments prior.
Instinctively, by reflex, he tries to cover himself up. To hide planes of untouched skin from your gluttonous palms. You grip his wrists, pin them above his head, and oh isnât this a sight: Spencer Reid, entirely bare, bound by you alone, tear track marks and swollen lips.
He always wanted to be seen.
He just didnât expect, anticipate, being seen to this extent. He canât fight your trailing gaze, and he doesnât want to; it might make him flushed, a few irrational movements away from a cardiac arrest, but this itâ raw uncut intimacy.
Youâre softer now, as you run your hand along his dick, earning a variety of muffled noises, as your thumb brushes over his tip, taking care to touch every part of him. Everywhere he needs it. When you finally wrap your fingers around him, everything burns, fervent and collapsing, and he supposes this is what it felt like the moment Troy collapsed.
âMhh,â he moans, hips bucking in time with your palm, steady movements.
Heâs already so messy, and it should be embarrassing, but all he feels is the blunted edges of pleasure, the jagged cut of humiliation, warring against each other.
âYouâreâ oh.. youâre enjoying this far too much,â he manages, and it takes so much energy to get it out, his words slurring, interrupted by debauched gasps.
It feels good, so good that he canât process the shame thatâs bound to follow. He hates you, and he might be a little in love with you, and itâs not fair to process feelings, chemicals, he was never supposed to obtain.
âThat itâs. There you go. Thatâs my good boy.â
Spencer sobs.
âShh, shh, I know, I know, itâs a lot.â thereâs always an element of condescension to your words. An undertone that rips through his defences. Destroys him in the process.
His body is receptive, ruined, because of the praise. Heâs not sure how you can look at him, clearly, consciously, and dictate that heâs good. Most days he feels impure, debased. Burnt-out and wasted, the great always fall.
The same skin he pierced with needles is now reverently on show, and you should be cruel, itâs what youâre both good at, the only viable way to communicate, an undisclosed secret language. But youâre not. That confuses him to no extent.
âI canâtâ cant, âm so close.â his arms are still bound above his head, and despite the ache, he keeps them there. Itâs not the most conventional âfirst timeâ, but he takes it regardless.
âYeah?â you mutter, pace picking up. The sound is obscene, his excessive pre-cum smeared across his length, wet noises with every stroke. âYou wanna cum for me, hm?â
âOh god,â he breaks, âYesâ yes, pleaseââ
You have no interest in denying him, not when heâs this destroyed from a mere hand-job. âGo on then. Just because you asked so nicely.â
He falls apart. Dewy-eyed and blissed out, you force him to look at you as he reaches his orgasm. To keep looking as he squirms and writhes. So he does, because apparently his cognitive function has evaporated now.
Your tongue meets your palm, tasting him, pressing the excess into his mouth with an indecent kiss. Is this what sex entails? Complete submission, vulnerabilities bared wide? Dirty in that primal sense, the same one he always shied away from?
Finally, finally in the aftermath, he breaks his stare. His head falls back against the wall, eyes closed, neck exposed. Stifled gasps, itâs quiet, as if youâre both aware of your actions, the consequences of them.
âThis is, uhâ yeah.â he mumbles, reaching for his clothes; now the ecstasy has worn off, the shame overpowers. The sin of man, heâs starting to think youâre the personification of the serpent.
Or maybe itâs the other way around. He doesnât hold his own body to such pure standards. Heâs not sure any benevolence would look at him with acceptance. Not after everything heâs done to it.
âHey wait,â youâre not good at this whole âniceâ thing, not when it comes to him. But there have been moments, in the past, small, fleeting seconds ofâŠ. youâre not entirely sure what to call them. Late hours spent scrutinising cases, your back-up points to his statements, mindless information dumps that the team canât quite understand.
âDonât make me chase you a second time, jesus.â You canât just leaveââ you exhale, breathe, in and out, âAre you okay?â
He stops. He stops because youâve never asked that question, never cared to ask that question, and maybe that hurts more than not being asked at all.
A part of him, the small part of him thatâs not functional, wants to stay, wants to just stay in this bliss and pretend that it doesnât matter, that the inevitable fallout wonât occur. But the larger, prominent part, reminds him that this isnât right, that he needs to leave and collect his wits.
âI donât know, im confusedââ he sighs, drags a shaky hand through his hair. âYeah, im uh⊠iâm fine. âI just need to leave, I have to-â he swallows. âI canât. Not right now, I need to doâ anything but this.â
He walks out on you and itâs fine.
ââââââââââââ
Everything is fine, reality can return, and you can forget that you had his arms bound against the wall, that he fell apart from the weight of your dragging palm. You can pretend you never saw him naked, bare in every form of the word. Stripped raw, his lips burning against yours, skin on skin. Itâs. Fine.
Life continues. Your dynamic remains the same, unrelenting, your biting words, just short of callous, his scathing remarks. Modus Operandi. You wonder how youâve turned the most tender person into something sharp, and you wonder if itâs ever going to be reversible.
When the case closes, the BAU, in predictable, systematic fashion, celebrate (ease the weight) over drinks. Youâre adorned in lace, a black dress that just catches your thighs. Itâs late now, and by the time you arrive at the dive-bar, the majority of the team are intoxicated (you couldnât go straight from work, there was still blood clinging to your skin).
Everything is fine. To reiterate.
Itâs not.. Itâs not. Because oh, Spencer finds himself staring. Heâs fairly certain he doesnât have any lingering interest. But then again, why is he fixated on the way fabric clings to your ruinous figure, the way your hair sits, slightly dishevelled, pooled over one shoulder? Itâs exasperating and inebriating all at once. You shouldnât be able to affect him to such an extent, and yet here he is, mindlessly staring at you with starry-eyes. He should look away. Leave even?
Of course, he fails. You end up squeezing in next to him, all leather seats and too little space.
And, okay, he knows he should feel guilty.
In reality, heâs not. Because, sure, heâs sat too close, and sure, he can just make out the scent of your perfume, faintly floral. But heâs intoxicated, just as everybody else is, and itâs making logic and reason seem far off, too distant to process. He looks at you once, then twice, like he canât quite believe youâre tangible.
âYou look nice, I guess,â he murmurs bluntly, looking away, feigning disinterest.
As if the âincidentâ (as heâs taken to calling it) didnât tilt his world on its axis.
âYou also look nice, I guess.â you retort, and itâs the best youâre going to get out of each other. At least in this state (the surplus of praise that left your bruised, possessed lips cannot be justified, or repeated ever. again.)
You lean forward, watch as his face creases at the proximity. Are you thinking about the kisses? Plural, fuck, plural. Open-mouthed, desperate movements?Youâre. not. Instead, you steal his glasses, slip them on. The prescription is strong, thick lenses that distort your perception.
âWhat do you think?â you ask, âI might go as you for halloween, itâll definitely scare the kids.â
âThey make you look intelligent. Considering you need all the help you can get, Iâd take that as a compliment,â
Itâs a domestic action, to put on his glasses. And the thoughts that burn through his mind stem from HR prohibited to domestic, which he argues is far worse. You, tangled in sheets, sporting nothing but his glasses. Resting against the tip of your nose, askew, as you ride him. As you tilt your head back, exposingâ no.
He wants to say something about how ridiculous you lookâ but itâs hard to focus, youâre taking up all of his sanity, like a computer running multiple programs at once. Youâre malware actually, destined to corrupt him (which youâve already done to a painful extent).
âYou canât just touch my stuff.â he settles on, sounding more petulant than anticipated.
âOh chill out, boy wonder. Itâs a pair of glasses,â you mutter, removing them to blink blink blink, and there he is, the centre focus of your vision, now fully detailed again. It takes you a moment to render in his appearance: shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, arms exposed, long, deft fingers. Thereâs heavy bags gathering beneath his eyes, dragging down those big, blown-out irises of his, wide and completely dirty (how is it that his natural resting face is so obscene?).
Focus.
You push the glasses back onto his face. Better, itâs a sight youâve come to anticipate after he ran out of contact lenses. âThere. Oh, were you just upset because you couldnât see me properly? Thatâs sweet, Spence. Flattery will get you everywhere.â
He can see everything.
Every small detail of your face; strands of hair falling loose, dilated pupils, accentuated by heavy liner, obsidian that contrasts against your incisive eyes. Your lips, oh your lips, he could write a thesis on them. Stained crimson, if he were to kiss you right now, residue would catch against his own mouth, incriminate him.
He gets up. Excuses himself. Sometimes he wishes he could vanish.
But itâs not good enough.
âYou,â he says between messy kisses, âNeed to keep your hands to yourself.â â okay, heâs not sure how this happened. He left for the bathroom (to splash water on his face, gather his dignity, perhaps drown himself?) and you to humour the locals outside, gathering around with half-smoked cigarettes and slurring conversations.
But then, on his way back, padding through the long corridor (why is it always a corridor?), you were there, and yeah. He was screwed. Fatefully wrecked.
He had tried, in the moments leading up to his demise, to resist, but he was a man of logic and science and the science, when he was around you, simply did not apply. Youâre bad for him, in every sense, he should avoid you, he should stay away.
But now, thereâs no space between your bodies, no space for rationality or reasoning (god heâs tired of the thinking part. He just wants to feel).
The kiss is rough, sloppy, a desperate, messy thing. âThis canât keep happening,â he mumbles against your smeared lips.
âDo you remember last time?â you question. Itâs taboo, to bring it up, to disclose the buried. But youâre fairly certain this compromising position wouldnât exist without the lethal effects of that one night. The cheap motel and his body arching into your touch.
Rationality appears to be nonexistent now. A discarded concept.
Like last time, you guide him back against the wall, pin his hands above his head. Mirroring your actions. Well, to some âdignifiedâ extent. âHad you just like this,â you lean forward to press a series of kisses along the curvature of his jaw. âI bet youâd let me take you like this again, hm? Right here? In the middle of this shitty dive bar?â
And if he werenât so far gone, heâd protest, heâd tell you that no, this is wrong, because youâre so wrong for him. He knows that if one good man has to fall, it shouldnât be him.
But you donât let good men rise, and thereâs something so enticing about the depths of hell. Heâs not sure heâs good anyway. Itâs a complex situation. âYouâre a sadist,â he murmurs, breathless, âI wouldnât.â
Your grip instinctively tightens against his wrist, and he squirms. Heâs nervous, âCould we, like⊠at least find a bathroom? Iâd take a bathroom, even though thereâs endless strains of bacteria there. Or, or split a cab. No, iâll just payâ Anything. Iâll do anything. Just not here. This is a public space, and technically, public indecency, andââ
âFuck,â heâs never been the type to swear, âIâll do anything.â this time, he says it in self-defeat. Acknowledgment.
ââââââââââââ
French exit. His wandering hands in the cab, and the electric pulse that burnt through his body as he kept a low profile, stumbling out of the bar, muttering thinly-veiled excuses for his abrupt departure.
The second youâre both inside your apartment, youâre clattering into things. âI love your eyes,â you state bluntly, forthcoming in every sense of the word, âLove it when you cry for me.â
You think of every harsh word that has ever escaped your lips, You think of the consequences they mightâve had. Did he ever cry over them? You know, in contrast, you never did over his. Though there was that sharp, sinking pain that felt like the embodiment of slow death. Something terminal, fated to linger, to eat and eat until nothing remained.
No big deal!
âItâs an involuntary bodily response. Youâre a dacryphiliac.â he responds.
Thereâs not a lot he can compute right now, his brain too preoccupied with processing your touch alone. Which is so prominent, so harrowingly good that not even his genius mind can comprehend it.
Heâs reasonable to believe he would kill whoever had the pleasure of experiencing you like this.
âItâs not a fetish if I only feel it for youââ
Spencer breaks.
âNo-no-no,â he says, too loudly, âYou canât just- say those things. You canât tell me you love when I cry, just because- I should be scared, of you. Youâre volatile. Destructive,â he murmurs, head leaning against the crook of your shoulder. Against better judgement. But all reason has left him now. Youâve stolen it, taken it as a personal trophy to parade and boast about.
âWhy am⊠Why am I not scared?â he asks, âItâs not like I make you cryâŠâ
âBecause thereâs no reason to be scared.â you answer simply. And at surface level, itâs true. In spite of the hostility, the years of white-knuckled rivalry, youâve always trusted him. Itâs a coveted admission, considering youâre circumspect by nature.
You unbutton his shirt, let it fall to the floor, exposing his skin in the middle of your apartment. Heâs standing there, and youâre not sure what to do with all of this want that perhaps youâve misplaced as enmity for so long.
âYou could make me cry,â you state, because if thereâs one person out there capable of cracking you open, leaning behind fragmented pieces, itâs him. Itâs always going to be him.
Itâs a startling realisation. That he, Spencer Reid, of all people, can reach the centre of you in ways nobody has ever done before.
âWhy would I want you to cry? Thatâsâ iâm not even sure how I would go about it.â
You grip his hips, walk yourself backwards until youâre hitting a wall, there your body instinctively curves forward to meet his. âIt doesnât always have to be bad.â you explain, because heâs looking at it from a simplistic, textbook perspective. âLast time,â those words still feel like poison, âWhen I made you cry, there was no pain, right? You cried because it felt good.â
Heâs staring at you clueless. Though, he might just be distracted. Either works.
Your hand catches his wrist, and then youâre hiking up your dress, guiding his touch beneath fabric. The lace panties that cover skin. Heâs tentative, experimental, dragging his thumb over your clit, causing your hips to cant towards him. âMake me cry, boy genius.â
You act like this is the most indecent thing heâs capable of doing. From an unbiased standpoint, itâs up there on his list, but admittedly he hasnât really done enough to constitute a list in the first place.
Spencer, in response, simply drops to his knees. Your panties are pulled down your legs in a disconcerting haze, and then heâs just groaning, cursing Gods he doesnât believe in, spiting them with blasphemy, whilst also simultaneously thanking them, humouring false promises he wonât commit to.
Itâs blasphemous, a prodigy on his knees, in front of you, for you. As if heâs worshiping something he canât even comprehend, something beyond the expanse of his knowledge. And you just pull strands of his hair, pull at the strings of him.
His hands find the inside of your thighs, caressing the soft skin there and you make another noise, a noise that has him devouring you.
Face buried between your legs, he flattens his tongue against your clit, drags it upwards to catch wetness, to affirm that youâre just as affected as he. That since you touched him, all thoughts have consisted solely of you.
He doesn't think he's doing this correctly- but you're making noises, gasps that he didnât even know you were capable of, and that's the thing about science or anatomy, whatever it may be, the brain is incredibly subjective, and the more knowledge you acquire, the less you really know.
And there's knowledge here, but itâs not utilised; no coordination, even when there should be, even when heâs got the human body memorised to perfection. Still, you seem to like him messy, desperate, drawing your clit into his mouth to pull, to tug, before shifting back to blow cold air against you.
The task was simple, at surface level: make you cry. And whilst, if you pick it apart, it becomes more complex, he seems to be efficient in following orders because right now, youâre ruined. It might not be the most meticulous head youâve received (though youâre sure, under different circumstances he could probably surpass that standard), but itâs wanting, in a way that makes you ache.
âOh oh, fuckâ fuckfuckfuck.â
You grip his hair, twisting and pulling and using, and he lets you, heâd do anything, do this forever if he had to. His fingers, still gripping your thighs, dig into soft flesh, leaving visible marks. And he wants to see those marks, in the morning, an irrefutable fact that would force him to accept this as real.
But he canât focus, canât think about anything when youâre reacting like this, so undone. How can there be anything, at all, beyond this?
He lets you drape a leg over his shoulder, letâs you get off against his face, fingers sliding inside, one digit at a time, to feel warmth wrapped around him. To feel the way you clench when he curves them, when he grazes spots that he could explain to factual detail.
Your body shudders, and youâre making noises he hasnât heard before, sounds that could only be described as obsceneâ and his name, youâre moaning his name, and god, heâs certain he would follow you to the ends of the earth right now. Without question.
Itâs when he stops, when he leans back enough that he can breathe. That he can look at you, really look at you.
Youâre messy, undone. The sight could be considered humiliating from an outside perspective, but youâre gorgeous, and heâd do this a thousand times over if it resulted in this exact reaction. A reaction that heâs given you. No one else.
âI love your face.â He says, a little bluntly. But itâs true, he does.
So he returns to the task. Practically situating you on his face now to suffocate him, to let him become some sort of extension to your pleasure. And inevitably when you fall apart, tears and writhing, boundless pleasure, he can only push you through it. Allow his existence to crumble, for the second time,
And as he draws back, face covered in you, he can only stare.
His knees are bruised. Thatâs the first thing you notice when you stumble to the bedroom, when youâve taken a moment to wipe away evidence of the tears, to regather and compose yourself. Itâs not in your nature to be soft, no to him, but you still find yourself kissing the mauve blemishes, working your way up his body after youâve oh so unceremoniously undressed him. Reduced to his boxers, heâs an incriminating sight.
âLosing your virginity to me is like the biggest irony ever.â you say, kissing along his stomach, watching as his body reacts, arches, contorts in search of more pleasure. Itâs a hypnotising sight, to see every nerve tuned to you solely.
âIronic, demeaning, enough to send past versions of myself into an early grave. Yes, I get your point.â he mutters.
Your hands find their way to the waistband of his boxers, and heâs lifting his hips, because he wants you to undress him, because heâd let you do anything right now, but he also feels embarrassed, exposed. Vulnerable in a way heâs never felt before. Youâre seeing him, seeing things he doesnât even know himself. But thereâs nowhere to hide, not while youâre slowly pulling off his underwear, with a care that heâs unaccustomed to.
âI wonât go easy on you,â you assure. Even though thatâs technically a straight-faced lie. Of course itâll be more tender than anything else youâve endured; he has this devastating habit of softening those around him. Itâs only taken this long to affect you out of pure, unbridled spite.
Oh, he wants. The evidence is his body alone. Laid out before you, like an offering, a hedonistic one. Dick hardened, dripping pre-cum onto his stomach.
âHands above your head,â you watch as he blindly obeys, any defiance now crushed. Well, for the most part: at least in his actions. âThatâs goodâ good boy. Tell me if theyâre too tight,â you say, binding them with his discarded tie.
You stare, and itâs like you want to eat him alive, and against better judgement, heâd let you. Serve himself up, passive as you tear him limb for limb, taste all the bad parts of his existence, the ones he keeps hidden shamefully away.
âToo tight? Iâve been held hostage, I think I can handle a little bit of fabric.â he retorts before tugging at the restraints, âTighter.â
âDidnât realise you were so into thisââ
âNeither did I,â he scoffs, âIâve never done it before, obviously.â
âNow you have. Congrats, iâll give you a sticker once weâre done. Gold star, huh?â and just for good measure, you tighten the restraints further. Just a few more pulls until youâre knotting it in place. Until heâs entirely defenceless, but realistically, what would you do? Itâs hard to find fear when youâve covered him on the field for over a year (heâs prone to being targeted, an unsubs wet dream).
âYes, thank you. Iâll put the sticker on the wall next to my PhDs.â right now, right in this moment, countless people are getting what they want.
And Spencer is being manhandled by his pretty coworker.
Ironically, thatâs exactly what he wants.
Youâre the perfect dichotomy. Cruel, and caring. Harsh words to juxtapose gentle hands. Soft touches, but scathing remarks that linger, leaving behind a trail of scars, the ubiquity of your cruelty.
Youâre lethal, and heâs smart enough to comprehend the danger. Except heâs never been smart when it comes to people.
Your hands are acquisitive, roaming, searching, blunt nails that scrape skin as you rake them down, down towards his abdomen. He shivers, bite into that pretty bottom lip of his until heâs spilling blood, and itâs a sight. Something sick that you both want to such an offensive extent.
âSensitive.â you murmur, like the idea of him so reactive pleases you, in a way youâve never considered before. Because the way his body strains, bucking forward to deepen the contact is maddening.
âAre you always like this?â you wonder aloud, leaning down to run a hand along the length of his inner thigh. âPoor baby, so touch-starved.â
âI donât know if Iâd use the word sensitive.â he replies, âMore susceptible to the fact that youâre touching me, and that I havenât felt another person touch me in a long time. And of course when people touch me, itâs usually professionals poking me with needles or stitching this weeks new wound.â
Touch-starved? He has sensory issues. The lightest graze can provoke, cause his skin to crawl. Of course he would like your touch, of course the universe would torture him by finding relief in the one person who nobody should stumble upon for relief.
âOh youâre a soldier, you suffer so much.â you state, and itâs condescending (naturally), but there is some truth to the serrated comment. You, the team, are all bruised, mentally and physically distorted from the consequences of the job. Only he could react so reverently to your calloused hands, blissed out to the extent that it looks like youâre witnessing ascension.
Itâs pretty. Pretty, in a soft, domestic way. One that demeans his bound wrists and your sharp words.
You press a few tender kisses to his thighs, the inner sections, where youâre certain, assured, no one has ever touched before. Maybe thereâs something possessive to that thought, the want to own, to know that no one will ever have him the way you have him.
Your touch is like a brand. He wants it, even if itâs bad, even if itâs cruel. Because the alternative to this is nothing. A lonely existence. A life of work, of chasing shadows, knowing he had so much to give, and no one to give to.
âStop mocking me.â he replies, itâs through laboured breath. âJust because I donât have your proclivity for taking hits doesnât mean I donât suffer.â
No oneâs ever touched him like this. No oneâs ever cared to try. Youâre his first.
âI know you suffer,â you retort, are you arguing? Is this foreplay? If it is, then you have some serious self-reflecting to do on every single past conversation. Because maybe you shouldâve taken him to your bed earlier, in that case.
Oh god was your hatred of each other built solely on sexual tension?
Finally, you move. Just like the first time, your hand runs across his length, taking him slowly, easing him into it, coercing him through the pleasure. Itâs not similar to before: it wonât end after heâs found his release, and itâs not frenzied and ardent. Spurred on by shame.
âAnd you know iâm always going to take the hits for you, regardless.â he whines when you remove your hand, and whines again, for contrasting reasons, as you spit on your palm, generate lubricant to support each stroke.
âOhââ he breathes out. Heâs fairly certain heâs supposed to be more contained. A huff escapes his lips and then heâs retorting, âYou could try a tactic other than reckless self-sacrifice every once in a while.â
Heâs overwhelmed, with you. All of you. The way you look, the way you talk, all the harsh lines and scathing remarks. The way you take the hits for him, an altruistic custodian, but he isnât worthy of being saved. Isnât worth the effort.
âShut the fuck up, Spencer.â you say, promptly ending this discussion; you grip his dick tighter, tilting your movements to catch him at a better angle.
âShitâ okay, okay,â he moans because that feels really really good, and he wishes he could articulate it in a better way. Something complex and poetic, but itâs just so good.
Heâs always been a little masochistic. Too smart for his own good, too analytical. He wants you to take him apart, piece by piece, and see the inner workings of his body laid out before you, raw and vulnerable. Because only you can see him like this.
He doesnât even really touch himself. Thereâs been nights, body flushed and wanton, bucking up against sheets, muffled noises pressed into his pillow. But theyâre rare, and they usually lead to an aftermath of ignominy.
Heâs a prodigy, a genius in the field of criminal psychology. So why does it feel so good like this? To be humbled, to be demoted. As if all his degrees, his awards, his intellect, mean absolutely nothing.
Heâs never felt so loved. Which is ironic. Because heâd always hoped love would be slow, gentle. Soft, like a caress. The kind of love you share over meals and pillow-talk.
He realises, with a jolt to his system, that if this is love to you, heâd accept it, in its most primal form.
âYou get off on this,â he analyses as you draw back, mostly to stifle the begs that nearly escape his mouth. Come back, need you here.
âWell Iâd be pretty concerned if I wasnât getting off on this right nowââ
âNo,â he pushes, âYou like that iâm, that yeah. I have no experience. You want to corrupt me, huh?â he looks up at you with pretty, innocent eyes. Holy shit. âRuin me for anyone else? Go on, let me have it. Iâll only come back, iâve already done it once. Statistically, itâs going to happen again. And again. Pavlovian responses, condition me. Make my body react to no one else.â
When you kiss him again, he can only take it. Can only moan, whimper, plead against your mouth until youâre lining him up, until youâre sitting on his dick, and everything is okay.
âYouâre soââ bottomed out, wrapped around him entirely, you sigh. âFuck, Spence, who taught you to be so fucking dirty?â
âYou.â he mutters, playing coy. âBut youâre a bad teacher, I think I could do with a few more lessons..â
âI think you could do with learning to shut your mouth more often.â
âIt is better suited for other purposes, I suppose..â
He gags when you slot two fingers, index and middle, into his mouth. No warning, no predetermined acknowledgment. They hit the back of his throat, and he can only suck, muffling protests around the digits until he goes blissfully silent.
âBetter,â you retort. Drawing them out, you press your thumb against his bottom lip, keeping it parted so that you can lean forward, spit into his open mouth. When you first met, he promptly refused to shake your hand, too conscious of the dissemination of germs, now? Heâs swallowing your saliva, unprompted, with little resistance.
You know him. The way you touch is like youâre searching for something. Anything about him. Itâs like youâre a bloodhound, trying to unearth every single vulnerability. And you mustâve found them, because youâre suddenly here, bearing all your weight on him, moving, and itâs all his body can do to take it. All of it. All of you.
He tugs at his restraints, because he wonât go down without a susceptible fight. Even if he knows itâs fated that he will inevitably fall. âPleaseâplease untie me, just wanna hold your hand.â
And, oh that shatters you. Like, mentally, physically, spiritually dismantles you until youâre breathless, staring at him with widened eyes and a loss of composure. Itâs such a tender request, something domestic and raw, and mindlessly youâre fumbling with the knots of his tie. Freeing them to take one in yours.
Itâs against your nature, but you canât help, canât refrain yourself from pressing a kiss against his knuckles. âYouâre doing so good fâme. Such a good boy,â
Your free hand runs across his torso now, grazing skin, admiring the sight of him, flushed, debauched, sprawled out beneath you.
He grips your hip. Thatâs the first thing he does once heâs sufficiently sane, well⊠partially, the praise did knock him entirely off balance. Tip the scales, send him over the inexorable edge.
He watches as you take the incentive to slip off his body, and the loss of friction is okay, tolerable because heâs sitting up against the headboard, drawing you closer, whining for you until youâre on his lap, until youâre sat in your rightful place.
Here, he can kiss you. Which he admits has become a very vital aspect to his existence.
The kiss is like a bruise. Not rough, heâd never be rough with you, heâs all long, languid strokes and soft movements. But itâs overwhelming, and leaves discernible, lasting imprints.
And yeah, sure, kissing you is the closest thing to worship he has ever known. Something he would like to commit to memory, every single time your lips touch, itâs like heâs seeing god in the shape of your cupidâs bow.
âPlease, I needââ he stutters over his words, âIf you donât move, I swearââ he pauses, his head falling against your shoulderâ âI swear, Iâm gonna die, this has to be against the Geneva Convention, you canât leave me like this, pleaseââ
âThe Geneva convention? Really? Is this your form of dirty talk?â you retort, unable to muffle your laugh.
âNo. Iâm stating my rights,â he says, âTorture is prohibited.â
âIâm not torturing youââ
You tangle your hand through his hair, tug tug tug, and then pull, drawing his head back by tousled strands, forcing him to meet your gaze.
âOhmyfuckinggod, yes. You are.â he whimpers.
Itâs indefensible how good he feels, how he sinks into you, hitting crevices youâre certain no one else has ever grazed before. Feeling full, whole, itâs new. Itâs your own first, and you canât even begin to articulate how defenceless you are to the way it makes you disintegrate, fragment to pieces of pleasure. Spencer is warm, and soft, and it makes you want to cry. To just fall, give in, transcendence of self, Burke said, and right now, you feel that entirely.
His moan is unapologetic, unfiltered as you move. At this point, you could slice him open, leave him bleeding in your bed, and heâd thank you for it.
You hold his hand, and yet, simultaneously destroy him.
âPlease,â he whimpers againâ heâs too pretty to be asking so nicely. âI justâ I want you closer. As close as possible, I want you so close to me that Iâm not even sure if my body can handle it.â
Itâs not dirty talk, itâs more like heâs begging you, tears staining his skin, pitiful eyes, wide and glassy, staring at you with some form of desperation. Brows furrowed, gaze soft.
And his gaze only grows worse when you do give him what he wants, when your pace fastens.
Itâs a religious experience, like heâs about to be crucified, a martyr to his pleasure. Heâs almost afraid to touch youâ to stain something divine, like youâre too much for him. But youâre not.
âI like this. Like you. Like you here. Youâre so good for me,â he murmurs, and itâs untruthful, but right now, he sincerely believes it. âso good, so perfect, all I need, pleaseââ
âStop it.â you bite, preferring him defiant over thisâ because this opens up wounds you werenât even aware existed. âOh fuck, stop it.â
âSo good. Youâre so good,â he cups your face, presses his forehead against yours, and you might as well just die right here.
âSays you.â
âSays me.â
You fuck him harder.
âOh,â is all he can pronounce, little ohâs every time you rock against him, and he has to grip you hips, deepen the movements until youâre bouncing against him, up down up down, exploiting his sensitivity with a torturous pace.
And itâs not fair, he needs to balance the scales, so he runs his thumb over your clit, firm halos that have you keening. âIf being nice got me this, Iâd be so nice to you for the rest of my lifeââ
Another lie. But itâs worth it. If only for the way you kiss him. The way you silence his cutting words, forcing your way into his mouth, forcing him to just squirm and sob, until youâre clenching around him, and heâs there with you. Falling apart, bodies shifting until movement ceases, and thereâs nothing but bliss.
âI hate you so much,â you say in the aftermath, and itâs closest youâve ever gotten to a confession of love.
He laughs, wipes away tears, âHate you more.â
âDonât leave this time.â he just nods, bordering on nonverbal now. It takes you hours to coax actual words out of him, and by then, youâre both tangled in a foreign mess of warm limbs.
âOh iâm going to be so mean tomorrow.â you mutter, playing loosely with his hair.
He can only sigh, stare at you dreamily. âGod, is that a promise?â
#sub spencer reid#sub spencer#brat spencer reid#spencer reid angst#spencer reid smut#criminal minds#enemies to lovers#rivals#idk they hate each other but want each other#itâs a messy situation!!#id hate to be either of their therapists#or HR who has to deal with the fallout of this
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OP Men as Dads Part 3
Note: Part 3, Part 3!! I was asked by someone on AO3 to add Luffy, so I did that! I still view Luffy more as a brother or son, so I still don't expect to write anything romantic for him, but this I can do! I hope you all enjoy!
Franky probably didnât even think heâd ever get the chance to have kids, not after the train accident you know, but heâs excited for it! Youâd have two boys around three to four years apart that are just like Franky in every way, but the older would be a bit more shy than the younger. Theyâll both spend a lot of time with Franky in his workshop when they get old enough, theyâve got a knack for shipwright work and it almost brings a tear to Frankyâs eye to see them sketching their own ship designs on whatever scraps of paper they can find. Your boys love you too of course! The two will bring their drawings to show you and ask your opinion, you have to tell them everything on your mind or they wonât go back to drawing, mamaâs thoughts matter! It becomes family time to go over the sketches your boys made during the day, they want to do you and Franky proud in everything, but nothing they do could ever make you love them less.
~~
Katakuri has planned to have kids for a while, even though heâs already 48, he still wants to have a few and be a father to them. Heâll raise them differently from how he was raised, but still love them dearly and want only the best for them! Youâll both be surprised when you only have one first, a little girl who has Katakuri wrapped around her finger as soon as sheâs born and handed to him. Sheâs so tiny, heâd be content to have just her if sheâs all you were blessed with. Fast forward five years and thereâs a set of wailing triplets that you also didnât expect to have, but the three boys are more than you ever couldâve asked for and their big sister loves them just as quickly. She begs to see them as soon as their born, Katakuri brings her by that day to see you and them, and she has to gold all three in a row immediately. After that, a set of twin girls comes along a few years later, your oldest isnât the only girl anymore and sheâs still just as happy to have new siblings at around ten-years-old, your five-year-old set of triplets also excited. Katakuri loves and thanks you so much for the family youâve made with him, even if you tell him your twin girls are it, youâre done. He's happy with what you have, grateful for your love and children.
~~
Killer is absolutely a great dad, you couldnât have asked for anyone better to be your partner and father to your children. You have a boy first off, with your eyes and blond hair, he wants to be just like his dad when he grows up! A couple years later comes a little girl, sheâs a surprise but a pleasant one at that. You didnât really expect her to have Killer wrapped around her finger in a heartbeat but the second he saw her it was over, he became wholly devoted to your little girl and making sure she was happy as could be. Youâve come back to your family multiple times seeing Killer either having a tea party with your daughter or playing some make believe game with both your children, he normally plays the damsel in distress for their enjoyment. Your kids can see people act oddly around Killer when they recognize him, but neither of them care to know why, theyâre still quite young, and they only care that theyâre dad loves and takes care of them alongside you. All that matters to them is that Killer is around to play with them and eventually start teaching them to protect themselves.
~~
Luffy would be the fun dad, no doubt in my mind! Like how Ace would have three daughters, I can see Luffy having three sons! Probably twins at first, then another son a couple years later, the three having the same dynamic that he had with Sabo and Ace when they were kids! Theyâd all look like Luffy, except your middle child would have your eyes, a small piece that shows yes, youâre the mother to these three rugrats. All three dream of being pirates, its their favorite game to plan, especially so since their dad is King of the Pirates. After all, who better to tell you how the pirate life works than him?? With all of the Straw Hats around, your sons would be protect from the moment they hear youâre pregnant, everyone being the best aunts and uncles around as soon as theyâre born. Luffy would be the most protective of course, but heâd still give your sons the freedom to do what they want and to grow and learn how the world works. Being a pirate is about freedom, isnât it? Your sons will never have to wonder if theyâre loved or wanted, everything you and Luffy do is for them.
~~
I honestly see Mihawk with one child, a daughter. Sheâd be an unexpected blessing that has him around her tiny finger the moment she takes her first breath. Heâd never let her, or you of course, out of his sight, unless he absolutely had to go to a Warlord meeting or something like that. When Zoro and Perona show up, theyâre both flabbergasted that the Dracule Mihawk has a child, and that sheâs a cute baby girl, only a few months old! Perona will try to dress her up in frilly dresses but your daughter will cry, which ends with Mihawk taking her back and demanding Perona stop using his daughter like a dress up doll. The funny thing is, your daughter will be absolutely enthralled with Zoro, sheâll fuss until he holds her, sometimes heâs the only one who can get her down for a nap or to sleep at night. The number of times Mihawk has caught Zoro training with your daughter strapped to his back or the two napping together warms his heart, maybe having the two freeloaders around isnât so bad.
~~
Sabo never thought too much about having kids. It was a nice idea, but he didnât have any strong opinions about it. Then of course, you showed up and he started to have dreamy ideas of his own family and children with you as the mother. Your first is a little girl, blonde as her dad and just as rambunctious. Sheâll chase down everyone that she canât to play with her and grab their attention for whatever story sheâs made up, Sabo especially listens intently to her, giving her a smile, asking questions, and responding to everything she says positively. After your daughter comes two boys, one after the other just a couple years apart, and both times Sabo canât believe heâs so lucky to have you and your children. Your sons look more like you, though your youngest has Saboâs hair just like your daughter. Heâs more shy than either of his siblings, but with Sabo heâs more open and talkative. Your first son may be the middle child, but heâs also the one who becomes more interested in the Revolutionary Armyâs work. Although Sabo knows that all of them may become interested one day, wanting to join, he hopes that their work can be completed first and your children will be able to love safe, comfortable lives as they grow up.
#one piece x reader#reader insert#luffy x reader#monkey d luffy x reader#mihawk x reader#dracule mihawk x reader#franky x reader#cyborg franky x reader#charlotte katakuri x reader#katakuri x reader#sabo x reader#killer x reader
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