#And before the question arises again

[oneofreid]

Casual Tendencies

Summary: In which she’s never had an orgasm and he’s willing to please her until she cums. Straight to the point.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Inexperienced!Fem!Reader

Warnings: (18+ Content) Dry humping, oral (female receiving), explicit language, the usual smut

A/N: so here we go again…bye y’all. my ride is here. (gif by @reidgif) → my other fics are here

“So you’ve never had an orgasm a day in your life?”

You shrugged at his question which was more of a response to your sudden confession. Reverting your attention back to the book that was in your hand. Your body completely sprawled out over the couch in your best friends apartment.

Getting lost in the chapter that your were reading before a hand suddenly pried the book out of your hands. “Reid, what are you-“

“You’ve never had an orgasm before.”

He repeated back to you slowly. Still mind blown at the fact that you’ve never experienced the exhilarating feeling of exploring your body to its full purpose and potential.

“And?”

“Well, it’s typically suggested that the human body have an orgasm at least three times per week. It has a lot of health benefits and by doing that, you’re releasing your body of stress. It can also act as a pain reliever, create dopamine, lower depression, and can even make you nicer-” Spencer began to ramble.

You shook your head, “I don’t see how that’s relevant though.” Slightly gnawing at your lip out of habit since you were growing nervous.

Spencer gulped, suddenly feeling out of place in his own apartment. Yet, the question hung from the tip of his tongue.

“Do you want to know what it feels like?”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head, the air completely being knocked from out of your lungs.

“Spencer…I-I”

“You don’t have to. Please don’t feel like you have to, I’m only suggesting it…as an option, if you want to,” he trailed off. His shy demeanor coming back, realizing he might’ve just fucked up your friendship and relationship for life.

Your heart rate picked up, feeling as if the room was spinning around you. The room suddenly becoming all too hot for you, you might as well have just stripped your clothes off in front of him right then and there.

Closing your thighs together, you grew more aware of the fact that your best friend, the man who you’ve secretly held a crush on for many years, just offered to have sex with you.

“I’m sorry. I know I probably just crossed a huge boundary and ruined our fr-,” Spencer began.

“Okay.”

“What?,” he paused.

“I’ll do…I want you to make me cum.” You uttered, barely above a whisper.

Hardly noticing that Spencer had moved closer to you, his eyes studying your every move. Yet, all you could do was talk down your nerves and doubts that began to arise.

“Hey,” Spencer grabbed your hand to gather your attention, “You don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable.”

You turned towards him, his warm and familiar brown eyes still on you. The sunset that beamed from his open window shining a cast on him, illuminating not only his figure but the beautiful features that you grew to love about him.

“I want this.” You had made your decision.

Lifting yourself to straddle his lap, maneuvering your legs to kneel and place yourself on either side of him. The cool leather of his couch adding some much needed support as you felt it dip from your weight.

Spencer looked at you in awe. His heart rate picking up as the gravity of what was about to happen between you two finally settled in.

“You can touch me, Spence. It’s okay,” you leaned in to pur in his ear. All your nerves suddenly being thrown out the window the second your clothed center made contact with his hardening one. His bulge growing at the sight and feel of you.

It’s like the forces between you had finally collided when he found his lips meeting your soft, plump ones. Your lips melting together into one as you moved to run a hand through his brown curls. Tugging slightly which earned a low moan from him.

You smiled into the kiss, suddenly feeling more relaxed and in control. The scent of leather books, peppermint, and a few spritz of luxury cologne filling your nose.

Spencer broke from the kiss, his lips traveling down to explore and pepper kisses alongside your jaw.

“You smell so good,” he complimented you. Your signature scent of vanilla and amber were his favorite pheromones.

“So,” he kissed you, “pretty.”

His big hands wandering down to play with the hem of your shirt as he began to tug it over your head with one hand. The other one inches above your ass, pulling you closer to him until you were flush against his chest.

Not paying attention as Reid unclasped your laced bra in one swift move. The cool air hit your bare breasts, your nipples hardening at the sudden lack of clothing that you didn’t have on. His hands moved to palm your tits, grabbing one in each hand as he toys with them. Rubbing your nipples in between his long fingers.

You began to grow impatient, realizing that he was still completely clothed. Your body naturally beginning to ache for him as you sat on top of him.

Rocking yourself back and forth, you started to grind against him. Circling your hips, only to press your ass down a bit harder with each roll, onto his clothed dick.

“Fuck,” Reid let out a shaky breathe.

His hands moving to grip your hips to prevent you from moving. “I have a better idea. Lie down,” he instructed.

“But I thought we-,” you began to whine. Feeling your underwear grow soaked by the friction you had just started to ignite.

“We will. Just trust me, honey,” the pet name that fell from his lips causing your cheeks to heat up.

Squealing a bit as he picked you effortlessly up by your thighs, carrying you toward his bedroom. Placing you down gently on his beige comforter before helping you tug your grey sweatpants off.

“Okay love, lie down for me,” you nodded. Doing as he said, the plush and cool material of the comforter hitting your back. Leaning against his pillows for some added support. “Just follow my lead, I will do all the work. You just get to look pretty, okay?”

You nodded again, biting your lip, looking up at his ceiling as you tried to avoid eye contact at all cost. Suddenly growing nervous again at the idea of your best friend seeing you this exposed.

“Hey,” Reid had grabbed onto your knee, “Look at me.”

You obliged, your eyes finally meeting his sincere and concern ones. He began to rub circular pattern on your knee cap as he sat on his, attempting to comfort you.

“If at any point you change your mind and decide that you don’t want to do this, just let me know. Okay?”

Your nerves still getting the best of you, all you could do was offer him a little nod. He was your best friend. Your awfully smart, handsome, charismatic, and charming best friend who you have known. And been in love with for over four years now. So the idea of him seeing you completely naked and head deep into your pussy had you on completely edge.

“Use your words, sweet girl. I got you. I’ll be here to guide you the whole way through. Okay?” He reassured you.

You let out a shaky breathe, managing to get out a small, “okay,” before sinking a bit further into his bed.

Spencer moved crawled closer towards you on his knees, using his large hands to spread your legs open. Your matching lace thong now completely on show for him.

He sucked in a breathe, his own underwear growing incredibly too tight. “You wore this just for me, huh?”

You felt your cheeks grow red again, blushing at his comment. “It’s my favorite pair,” you said sheepishly.

Spencer hummed, not convinced yet all he could do was think about indulging himself into your delicious pussy.

Dipping a finger into the waistband of your underwear, he quickly yanked the thong off. Leaving a full view of your dripping wet cunt just for him. Your folds were soaked, already coated in your arousal. The sight alone was enough to make him go feral.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so wet for me.” He gawked.

His eyes set on the beautiful masterpiece in front of him.

Not being able to contain himself any longer, he sunk down further on his knees. Propping himself up so that he was closer to your core yet still at enough eye level for you to see him devour you.

Spencer began to run his lips over your thighs, leaving sloppy kisses along the inner part of them. Using his hand to grip the side of it for extra stability.

He was hungry. And he wanted more.

Your eyes began to squeeze shut, feeling him inch closer and closer towards your core. Growing noticeably more needy and desperate for him by the second. A loud moan finally leaving your own lips as Spencer swiped his tongue across your folds. The sweet yet salty taste being something he could definitely get used to.

Spencer continued his motions, opting to trace intricate and circular patterns with his tongue. Sucking on the skin of your pussy as if it was his last meal. Gripping harder onto your thighs with every lick and pull that you had on his hair.

“Spence….God, fuck. Holy shit.” You panted.

The sight of him on his knees, face deep in you was something you never thought would happen in your wildest dreams. His moans echoed against your cunt, sending vibrations throughout your whole body. A sweet lullaby to your ears.

You cried out, “Just like that. You feel so good.” Feeling him hit what you assumed, was your sweet spot, one that sent electrifying surges through your body.

Every flick and swipe of his tongue making you see stars. Your moans filled his ears, listening to the sweet melody that you sung to him. You were loud and he loved it. Feeling satisfied with every reaction he got out of you.

You felt your stomach starting to tighten, growing anxious at this unfamiliar feeling. “Spence-“

He lifted his head from your pussy for a second, saliva and your pre-cum dripping slightly down his chin.

“It’s okay baby, when you feel it, just let go.” He sent you a soft smile, kissing your inner thigh before continuing his work.

Flicking his tongue in circular motions, getting the last few swipes in. As you started to pant more, the coil in your stomach growing even tighter and unbearable. The sudden urge to shut your thighs together yet Spencer held you in place. His brown eyes never leaving yours as he sucked relentlessly on your pussy.

Tears brimmed in your eyes as your core clenched, your chest heaving up and down in anticipation. Before a wave of relief washed over you, your legs began to shake uncontrollably. The room filled with the sound of the moans that left you and Spencer.

Spencer lifted his face to finally meet yours.

Your pussy already becoming wet again at the sight in front of you. Spencer’s long, luscious curls all disheveled from you tugging and pulling on it. His brown eyes fully dilated, anticipating his own high as he looked at you ready to pounce again. Your cum dripped down his chin, licking his lips as he savored every last drop.

Spencer couldn’t help himself from pulling you in for a long, passionate kiss. Already missing the exhilarating feeling of your lips on his. His hands shifted to pull you closer to him, your legs now straddling his lap just like you had done before on his couch. You could taste yourself on him.

“That was,” you breathed.

“Amazing,” he finished, pulling you gently by the neck to deepen your kiss before preparing himself for your next round.

[poguehearted77]

Just Another Cliché

Summary: Rafe has been asking to take you out for years and you always shoot him down, but after a particularly bad day, you decide things can't get much worse.

<<Here's some fluffy angst for those who need it>>

Shitty was an understatement for the day you had. This day will go down in history as the worst day any soul has ever lived through.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." The murmur is bitter on your tongue as you stuff your hands deeper into your warm pockets. The breath of your words were visible in the crisp winter air as you were about to pass by Rafe Cameron who waited patiently outside of your apartment building with a single rose just like he always did.

Since your senior year of high school, every year on the fourteenth of February, he would wait outside your complex, asking you out, then you say no, then he goes home. That's the tradition.

Well, technically you never said no. You'd always make up some excuse. 'I don't have time for a relationship right now' or 'Now's a bad time' are just a few of the examples you've used over the last five years.

It's not that there was anything wrong with him. You actually did find him attractive. Aside from the sketchy reputation he had going for him back in high school, he was still a relatively nice guy.

You just didn't have the time for a relationship, or at least you didn't before.

A small smile forms on his face as he sees you, already knowing what to expect. Another excuse like "Fine," yup, just as he thought- Wait.

"Say that again?" His head shakes in disbelief, blue eyes bulging slightly. Your shoulders shrug under your heavy-duty winter jacket. "My car was towed, then I lost my job, so why not lose my dignity too? Let's go out." You say and his heart begins to bounce off the confines of his ribs.

Not sure if it was the frosty air nipping at his cheeks or his lifetime wish finally unwrapping before his eyes, his cheeks flushed and he blinked a few times. "You won't regret this, I promise." he holds out the rose for you to take, and you finally do. For the first time in five years. You bite back a scoff, not in the mood for empty promises.

"Why haven't you given up yet?" You ask and now he places his hands in his pockets as a chilling breeze sweeps past you. He's rocking back on his heels slightly, "Life's too short to give up." The tiny smile on his face does make you scoff this time but he moves past it, "I'll text you later," is the last thing he says before he walks off.

You look down at the rose, then at his shrinking figure as he heads for the distance. A little pep in his step and you shook your head, immediately regretting your decision.

Great, this is exactly what you needed, another cliché.

-

Just another cliché is exactly what it was. On the lowest day of your life, you finally gave Rafe a chance. Of course, he changes your life in ways you couldn't imagine and leaves you with a dead weight of regret for not giving in sooner.

Your first date wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it was fun. The two of you were inexperienced skaters failing to skate in the middle of the town square during the heart of winter. With festive lights outlining the rink where you laughed every time one of you fell.

There was even a point in time when you'd both embraced the cold connection with the ice floor and had a deep conversation on the sidelines, watching the other skaters circle the rink.

"Why me?" The question slips out before you can catch it and he licks his lips. He anticipated the query would arise eventually. "You remember that party Hailey Vanderbilt threw back in senior year?"

You hum with a nod, that was a party you'll never forget. Pool toys ended up in the trees, broken windows, jello in the hot tub, fights in the front yard and gambling in the back. "You and a few of the girls were playing truth or dare and they had dared you to start a rumour that I'd shaved my head because my family had joined some cult or some shit."

It took you a second, but the memory came back to you. "You don't know this, but I was fucking wasted behind the couch, but I'll never forget the way you stood up for me to them and refused to do it, and I dunno, I jus' think that was really cool of you." His head turns to you, his gaze softening when he looks at you.

At that moment, you felt the butterflies flap around in your stomach for the first time. He clears his throat, expression becoming more sombre as he continues. "My mom," He starts, taking a difficult swallow to get the words out.

"She was really sick. I got caught up with the wrong crowd to deal with it. Doing anything people said would get me distracted, even for a little, but she got worse and me being high every day didn't help so I quit. Her chemo was taking everything from her and eventually, she just shaved it off, she hated looking in the mirror and it killed me."

Your chest tightened at the story, having a sneaking suspicion of where this was going, "So when you shaved your head..." You trail off and Rafe nods along, turning away from you as a stray tear falls. "It was for her. You sticking up for me meant so much more than you know."

So there you both sat, on the ice with your backs against the wall in silence while the faint Christmas music chimed in the background. The date had taken a sad turn but you're glad it did, it sparked the beginning of your forever-evolving bond.

That was only the first date of many. Dozens and dozens of dates had flown past you and with each one you hated yourself a little more for letting him stand outside of your complex for five years rather than invite him inside.

"This is a nice place." He compliments as he takes a look around before settling himself on the couch with you beside him. "Thanks, it used to be a lot nicer when I could afford it. Had to sell some stuff to keep it after I lost my job."

He chuckles, "That explains why we're facing a blank wall and no television." and you pinch him. "Sacrifices had to be made. Who needs a TV anyways when there's so many other things we could do to keep ourselves busy." Your wandering hand gently runs down his firm thigh and you can feel the muscles in his leg tighten.

This was unchartered territory for you. You'd been dating for almost three months now and have never been intimate in that way, but Rafe knew the kind of person you were. A perfectionist, you need to be sure of everything before you try it.

Based on how fervently you were currently kissing along the length of his neck he could assume he had a pretty good idea of where your head was at. "Baby, baby--" He struggles to keep you at bay so he can lock eyes with you. "Are you sure about this? We don't have-" You silence him with the passionate attack of your lips against his.

Nearly tackling him onto his back, your hips straddling his as you demonstrated your certainty to him.

-

The months went on and sleepovers became more frequent. Even when Rafe had that tired look in his eye which was more often these days, you kept him up with your bright eyes and wide smile as you explained to him the newest conspiracy that intrigued you.

He tried his best to listen to what you were saying but he'd often lose himself in the labyrinth of his own mind. You were just so cute when you were talking about what you were passionate about. Especially when you wore the glasses you cursed so much, opting for contacts during the day.

"Why don't you wear your glasses more often?" He asks and you frown, "Rafee, did you hear anything I just said?" He nods, "Of course I did. I heard every last word.... up until about five minutes ago." You whine and he hugs you tight as an apology, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

You couldn't stay mad at him. That was proven time and time again when even your biggest fights would be resolved within 24 hours. Rafe insisted on talking things out, no matter how hurt the both of you may feel. He never wanted to go to sleep without making things right. "Life's too short," He would say.

You both had your shortcomings, but that goes without saying. Rafe was short-tempered and you were stubborn, a bad combination for an opinionated conversation. Things can quickly spiral out of control but when it came to apologies, Rafe outdid you every time. Flowers, or a small gift to show his feelings.

Even now, as Rafe leant against your kitchen island as you transferred the flowers he'd gifted you 'just because'. A weak smile graced his lips as he noted the way you did everything with such intensity, putting your all into everything you did.

Leaning forward onto his crossed forearms he watches you. "You're staring, babe." You say and he can only hum. "Can't help it. I like what I see," His words elicit a soft warmth to radiate in your chest.

"I love you, y'know that?" You're startled as you feel his arms wrapping around your waist from behind. "You tell me only every day, Rafe." He comes down to peck your cheek before you're rotating in his hold to face him. "But I love you too." You're unable to contain your smile as you say it.

It wasn't the first time but every time the words left your mouth, it gave you a little bubbly feeling. Security blossomed within you anytime your eyes grazed over his features.

"Let's go out tonight, yeah? Let's go dancing." Rafe declares without thinking and you laugh, tilting your head to look at the time over the stove. "It's almost midnight, nothing's open at this hour." You reason, but he doesn't back down.

Holding you by the hand, he twirls you. "Not a problem, we'll just do it here." That night your apartment was filled with laughter and soft jazz. Rafe hardly ever had this much energy so late but you loved it.

Two days after that night of dancing, you woke up to an eerie silence that felt too heavy for the morning. You went about your routine, still buoyed by the memory of Rafe's laughter filling your apartment. You checked your phone—just the usual notifications, a missed call from an unknown number, and a message from Sarah that simply said, "Call me."

You barely had time to press dial before she picked up, her voice trembling. She tried to speak, but only the sound of soft, choked sobs came through. Finally, she managed, "I’m so sorry…"

The words hit you, but you didn’t understand them. You wanted her to stop, to say something else—anything else. She kept speaking, her words blurred and distant, as though you were underwater, drowning. Somewhere in her explanation, you heard the words, "peacefully… in his sleep." But it didn’t feel peaceful. Your mind raced, demanding answers. Why hadn’t he told you? How long had he known?

Over the days that followed, Rafe's family gently filled in the pieces: he’d been sick for years, silently enduring, doing everything he could to hide it. Every date, every moment spent laughing with you, was a deliberate choice he made to live his last days fully, in love and joy, with you.

He hadn’t wanted you to know because he couldn't bear to see you suffer for him the same way he was once familiar with in his senior year. Even in the end, he kept the truth locked away, shielding you from the loss he knew was coming.

The weight of his choice tore you apart. You wanted to be angry, to hate him for leaving you out, but in his silence, there was also a strange kind of love. A love that had given you a few precious, unburdened moments together. Still, the pain settled deep within you, refusing to ease.

The anger, hurt, and ache became constant companions in the days that followed. But in his absence, you began to understand just how much he’d given for you.

He'd shared with you how hard it was for him to deal with that eerie state of loss. The stage where the person isn't gone but you know you'll lose them. It alters you in a messed up kind of way and he wanted you as far from that reality as possible. He was protecting you from his own condition till the very end.

Helping his family to clear out his apartment was easily the hardest thing you'd ever done. You couldn't do it without tearing up with every belonging of his you touched.

His favourite hoodie that he never let you wear but loved when you did. The polaroids in his drawer that you took from your first date, taken from the floor of the ice rink.

You noticed he'd scribbled writing on the back of the photo.

She finally said yes.

That was all it took. The last bits of your composure were stolen from you and you wept on his bedroom floor. Everyone always told you it would get easier but it never did. How could things get easier when the other half of your heart was buried six feet below the ground?

You learned to live with the loss, forcing a smile when in the company of others and taking deep breaths every morning when you woke up. Mildly disappointed the realm beyond the living hadn't reaped you during your slumber.

Very slowly, you begin to adjust to this new reality. It’s not the life you imagined, but you learn to live with the loss, carrying him with you in the smallest, most tender ways. His favourite hoodie becomes your comfort on cold nights, wrapping you in his memory and his scent.

Just because he was gone doesn't mean you'd end all of your traditions. Each year on the fourteenth of February, you visit his grave, placing a single red rose on the stone as a quiet tribute.

Though the ache remains, you hold his spirit close, carrying him forward into every milestone and memory yet to come, honouring the love you shared while finding the strength to continue onward.

In some ways, your love story turned out to be just another cliché—until it ripped your heart out from your chest, leaving you with the unbearable ache of everything he left unsaid, every unfulfilled promise, and the haunting silence of a future that will always belong to him.

Somehow, even in the quietest, most heart-wrenching moments, you never gave up on finding the silver lining, because life’s too short.

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: omegaverse, size difference, reader's second gender is omega, so there are mentions of pregnancy, somewhat subjugating omega politics, old-fashioned high-class politics of sorts

♡ prequel to this

♡ GN reader

His eyes are garnet and slim—you can’t make up your mind if they’re judgemental or just assessing. Either would be allowed, of course. The point of the date is for him to decide if you’re sufficient or not.

And yet, you’re the one taking him in. His main is ashen blonde, boyishly spikey and wild—not fine-kempt and slick like you’d pictured. He didn’t have any grey hair either, or stubble, or wrinkles. Though he’s still much bigger and burlier than they are, he can’t be any older than the eldest males back at the institution.

He’s obviously an Alpha, and still, it’s so odd.

“You’re young,” you end up saying.

His nose scrunches. “No younger than you.”

It must have sounded accusatory, even when you only meant to point it out for yourself. You probably ought to have said it silently, inside yourself, and not out loud like you did.

And so you apologize, “I’m sorry, I was—I was just expecting someone older…” You try smiling, but the thought of him actually having been older makes your throat tight, and you swallow thickly instead. “Much older.”

He sighs, looks off to the side instead of at you. His brows tighten—you probably want someone who’s already got a house and a car and a boat on a lake, not to mention a good salary and not the intern pay he’ll be living off of for at least the next year or so. His foot taps beneath the table. You feel it in the floorboards. “You disappointed or somethin’?” he grumbles through grit teeth and a slim frown.

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head, blruting, “No!” You even jump out of your chair, both hands slamming flat on the table, making the napkin-wrapped cutlery clatter within their confines. 

Quickly, but too late, you realize you’re causing a scene. Cheeks burning, you look around before settling down again—you’re not making a very good first impression so far.

You take a breath, confessing, “I mean, I’m happy,” You place your hands in your lap and then start fiddling with them. “This way, we can be together for a long time…” Your voice is breathy as you let out a somewhat apologetic sigh, smiling some. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t dare look up to gauge his expression.

You end up laughing nervously in the silence, feeling the joke arise before you're able to dispel it. “I was afraid I was gonna have to be your nurse soon.”

His foot stops tapping. Then he scoffs.

You perk up again, fumbling over your newest mistake, already apologizing a second time so far, “I’m sorry, that was rude. You’re just not what I was expecting—I’m a little caught off guard, is all.”

He huffs, then grins. “That’s okay. You don’t gotta apologize.”

You both sit in silence after that. You pick your nails more. All the questions you’ve prepared are useless given his age—he doesn’t have an answer to how many kids he wants from you. Probably. It somehow feels strange asking him when he isn’t in his thirties or forties or early fifties.

You look at him in askance. It really is odd.

“You can ask—if you’re curious,” he sanctions.

You really want to, but you’ve made enough mistakes already. Your teachers wouldn’t be proud if they witnessed you acting so childish and not as the proper little lady they’ve trained you to be. 

“No, I shouldn’t.” You shake your head and look down at your lap.

“Come on, you don’t gotta worry about being rude with me,” he insists.

You bite your lip, feeling fidgety in your chair, peering up at him. “You sure?”

“Hit me.” 

The question leaps from your tongue before you have the mind to regret it. “How can you afford this?”

He leans back in his chair. “I can’t—not yet. My folks are paying.”

You hum—that makes more sense. “They must be nice,” you say.

“They try,” he agrees.

There’s a silence again. You don’t have anything appropriate to ask. You were more prepared to talk when spoken to, to answer his questions about your health and hobbies, all silly things that make you cute and likable, but given he’s your age, none of it seems any interesting. It seems he doesn’t have much to ask, either.

“I was unsure about this,” he declares after a while. “To be honest with you, it was all my mom’s idea. I didn’t ask for it…” With a pause, he picks up the menu that had been lying undisturbed in wait for his decision. “But, she tends to be right about most things. So, I think I’ll take the offer this once.”

He lets you decide without ordering for you. Neither of you decide to drink, even though you’re both old enough. The conversation is awkward, but you giggle a couple of times and he smirks in turn. You hadn’t anticipated it—this feeling. You’d anticipated the nerves and the tension—but not this other thing, this sweet fluttering feeling blossoming in your belly, flirty and fizzy. Is this what they call butterflies?

He’s left asking himself the same question.

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[skeltnwrites]

Bad Cop - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You wake to a call from your boyfriend Eddie who asks you to bail him out of jail. 

Word Count: 2.2k

TW: interactions with police, mild injury, talk of fighting and bullying, sexual innuendos 

A/N: I might be a little late to the Eddie Munson party but I’m here now! :D

“This is a collect call from Edward Munson at Hawkins Police Station. Will you accept the charges?” 

You clear your throat but your voice still feels raw when you speak, “Yes.” 

“Please hold,” the operator says. 

A trilling sound as you wait, twirling the phone cord anxiously. You’d been tucked in bed a minute ago, dead to the world. The phone rang loud enough from the kitchen to startle you awake. You caught the time on the alarm clock on the nightstand as you kicked the blankets off, just after one in the morning. 

“Y/N?” His voice is soft under the crackle. 

“Edward.” It’s not angry per se but you never use his real name which is telling.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Are you okay?” you sigh, tipping your head till your forehead meets the wallpaper. 

“I’m sorry— I’m fine. I just, can you bail me out please.” 

“What happened, Eds?” 

“Just a stupid fight. Nothing serious, I promise.” He pleads like you won’t believe him and doesn’t give you a chance to press for details, “There’s cash in a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet. On my side, all the way in the back.” 

You want to scold him but you're still kneading sleep from your face, irritated now that you know he’s okay. You bite your cheek, considering the possibility of an argument. Knowing that it shouldn’t take place through a phone. 

“You’re sure? It’s enough?” 

“Swear.” 

“Okay, on my way.”

He apologizes again before the line clicks. 

You shuffle through the band tees he’s grown out of and have since been neglected to the back of your shared closet. You make a mental note to remind him to drop some off at Goodwill. Under a stack of vinyls, you locate the box with a rolled wad of twenties held together by a rubber band. You snap the band, biting your lip. It’s enough to buy something expensive, really expensive. You jam your heel into a laced sneaker and do not bother to change out of your pajamas. The money is pushed deep into your pocket along with the house keys. You shake away arising questions as you start the van. 

Cold air smacks your bare arms as you push open the station door. You blink rapidly at the fluorescents. An officer hands you a clipboard, you sign two dotted lines, and fork over most of the cash. He retreats to a separate room without a word, presumably to retrieve your boyfriend, leaving you alone in the lobby. 

Your arms pillow your head on the counter until a familiar set of steps rounds the corner. His eyes, big and sorry, find yours instantly. But your attention quickly shifts to the marbled purple and blue highlighting the arch of his cheek. The stern speech about bar fights and bail payments you’d rehearsed on the way flees your throat. He brushes past the counter to hug you and you spot a split lip too. Your shoulders deflate as you meet him halfway. 

“Thank you,” Eddie mumbles into your crown. 

You give his waist a quick squeeze before pulling back. His hands chase the goosebumps from your skin as you scan his face. His curls are frizzy which is typical but more disheveled like he’s been running his hands through them. Your nail traces his lower lip where it was clearly cracked open but is now glazed over with a layer of dry blood. “Lose any teeth?” 

He smiles, pearls still intact, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad. His breath smells faintly of alcohol as he says, “You look tired.”

“I am so tired,” you admit. 

He grits his teeth guiltily, “I’ll make it up to you.” 

An officer clears his throat and passes Eddie a brown paper bag with ‘Munson’ scribbled on the front. He snatches the bag with a wink. The man offers nothing but a blank stare, maybe mild disapproval as Eddie pivots and jogs toward you, already at the door. He fishes for his lighter from the bag, kissing and pocketing it as you step outside. 

“Can I drive?” Eddie reaches for the keys in your hand. You always let him drive. 

You snatch the carabiner to your chest, elbowing his side, “Are you trying to get a DUI too?” 

“I had one beer,” he scoffs as you unlock the door. 

You believe him but pretend not to as you hop in the driver's seat. “You’re a criminal now. Can’t be trusted!” You yell playfully before slamming the door as he jogs around the hood. 

“Very funny,” he mutters as he climbs in. 

You sling your arm over his seat to back out. The streetlight accentuates the bruise when you glance past him. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Hmm?” 

You point at your own cheek. 

“Oh, no. It’s fine. Should’ve seen the other guy,” he chuckles. 

“We’ll ice it when we get home,” you pull out onto the main road before settling your gaze back on him. “So who was the other guy?” 

His eyes roll in your peripherals, “So Shelly Watkins was there—“ 

“You hit Shelly Watkins?” 

“Jesus! No! Her stupid boyfriend Rob Perry.” He groans in disgust. “You remember him? He was such a dick in high school!” 

You shake your head, trying to recall. 

“He’s a couple of years older I think. Well anyway, Shelly was blabbing her big mouth, as usual, about Robin and her new girlfriend.” 

“What was she saying?” You interrupt, curious but inferring already. 

“Nasty shit. And she’s talking so loud the whole bar can probably hear. I mean, I couldn’t not say anything, babe. And hey,” he throws his hands up in surrender, “All I said was ‘Seems like what other people do in their spare time isn’t your business.’” 

You smirk, knowing it was not as polite as he made it out to be. 

“And Rob is all ‘What did you say?’” Eddie teasingly lowers his voice, foot hiked up in his seat to face you with a finger curled under his nose like a mustache. 

You steal glances from the road to watch the theatrics as he retells the story, making sure to emphasize when he punched Rob square in the nose so hard it broke. 

“Did you win?” You ask, attempting to hide your proud grin by checking your blind spot. 

“Oh yeah.” Eddie crosses his arms, accidentally nicking the wound on his lip with his nail as he retracts the faux finger stache. He winces, tapping the cut to assess the damage. Fresh blood coats his finger; he’s quick to press his whole hand over his mouth as he fumbles through the glovebox with the other. A deck of fast food napkins you’d organized spills out. You catch one before it falls, crumpling it into his free hand and swerving back into your lane. He replaces his hand with the thin sheet, wiping his fingers on another napkin off the floor as you pull up to a stoplight. 

He tips his head like a puppy when he catches you staring. You lick your thumb, smearing a stray drop crawling down his chin. Your palm lingers on his skin, rubbing circles behind his ear as the light flicks green. 

It’s not long before you pull into the driveway and unlock the front door. Eddie holds a third napkin to his face. You consider going to the ER for stitches as you toss the keys on the counter and snatch a Ziploc bag from the cabinet. 

Two lines of light form a skewed L in the hall from the cracked bathroom door; A silent message that you are allowed to come in. It squeaks familiarly loud on its hinges but Eddie doesn't acknowledge you. 

He focuses on his reflection as he peels the napkin away hesitantly. The blood has stopped but his lip looks swollen and angry. You hook a finger through his belt loop, tugging him until he turns. You nudge the bag of ice to his cheek and he flinches grasping your hand to pull it away. 

“‘s cold.” 

You tug the hand towel off the sink and wrap the plastic, pushing it back to his cheek. You hold it there caressing his lash line with your pointer. He leans into the touch, rubbing his eyes with ringed fingers. Eddie pulls the thick silver off one by one, setting them on the counter. 

“Sit,” you tell him. 

He perches on the edge of the toilet lid obediently. You pick a washcloth from the drawer and run it under the sink. He parts his knees as you approach him, hands snapping into place at your hips. You cup his chin, pushing up until he tilts it toward you. Cool water cleans his lips where you brush. He doesn’t flinch, even when you accidentally dig too hard. You progress down to his jaw, where blood is smeared dry, and flaky. 

 “Think I’ll have a cool scar?” His breath fans your chin as you work cautiously. 

“No,” you say. He toys with the strings on your pants, happy to be taken care of. “But you don’t need it. You’re cool already.” 

The corners of his mouth lift fondly. He fights the urge to smile, hoping you’ll work longer if he sits still. You swipe in slow strokes, also secretly loving the time and touch. 

You give his face a once over before tossing the rag to the counter. He searches your expression for a diagnosis. But words are slow to find your mouth, too enraptured with the long lashes that bat his cheeks sweetly. “I love how eager you are to stick up for the people you love,” you start. 

“But?”

“But, we can’t afford you getting arrested over something like this.”

“I know,” he groans and headbutts you gently in the stomach. His hands cup the backs of your thighs and his hair drapes around his face like a curtain. You comb a handful of it over his neck and he tilts his head so you can see his eyes. “I don’t regret what I did, though. He’s always been such a bully. He deserved it, you know?” He sighs, gaze drifting away, “I felt like I could finally stand up to him after all these years.” 

Your fingers trail down his shoulder to smooth out the tee riding up his back. “I don’t doubt that he deserved it. I know you just want to do the right thing. But still, he can probably afford it, we can’t.” You hesitate to ask, “Where did you get that money anyway?” 

He hugs your middle, muttering into your belly, “Been saving.” 

“For what?” 

He shrugs and says what you believe to be, “Something special.” You are curious but lean on your trust rather than insecurity. He most likely intended to surprise you with something if you didn’t know.

“Sorry, you had to spend it.”

“Not your fault.” He peers up at you as if to ensure you know that and you brush his bangs back. 

“Still, sorry.” 

He blinks slowly up at you like a cat waiting for more pets. Then, he shoots up, back stiff, eyes wide. “You have work tomorrow,” he realizes out loud. 

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” you pull his arm until he stands. “I actually have come down with a real nasty cold,” you force a cough into your fist. 

“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, not only that but there's this criminal that won’t leave me alone. Think I might have to file a report at the station tomorrow.” 

He laughs, flicking the light off as he follows you to the bedroom. The ice pack is left to melt in the sink and the stained washcloth to dry on the counter, a mess for tomorrow you’ve decided. You’re quick to crawl under the covers and he’s even quicker to shed his clothes and join you. 

Eddie pecks the sliver of collarbone poking out of your shirt, making his way up in a dotted line. He presses gently to your lips, and you break away mindfully, aiming for the corner instead. 

“You know?” Your eyes are closed but you feel his stare. 

You hum.

“I think it’s kinda sexy when you call me a criminal.” 

“Oh my God!” You throw an arm over your burning cheeks, “You are so horny.”

He laughs into your wrist but moves it aside to cradle your cheeks firmly. He pulls one eyelid open gently with his thumb when you refuse to engage. You release the smile you’ve been keeping. He mirrors it, teeth bright in the moonlight spilling in. “Think about it, I already have handcuffs so you can play bad cop and—“ 

You grope for a pillow to push into his face and then another when he chucks it off the bed, giggles overlapping. 

“I’m going to call the police on you, have them arrest you again. Take you to horny jail.” 

“Now you get it,” he releases his grip on your wrists to sit back on his heels and in a voice that is not his own he fawns, “Oh, officer! I promise to be a good boy from now on!” 

You roll over, groaning wildly into your pillow. “Go to bed!” 

He settles behind you, his heart races where it's thumping against your back. Yours isn’t far off. A final kiss is planted on your nape where he tickles you with his hair as he wishes you a good night.

[blushsturns]

can you write like either a blurb / new series on bsf matt x inexperienced reader? not necessarily like she’s innocent but more like she’s just never done anything, and he like teaches her everything and stuff

pairing: bsf!matt x inexperienced!reader

title: lessons

warnings: this work contains explicit content, but it is all consensual! m!receiving, f!receiving, pet names, pure filth.

w/c: 6307

you and matt have been best friends for as long as you can remember. he was always there for you, no matter what. nick and chris were your best friends too, but you always had a special place in your heart for matt. he understood you, listened to your feelings, spent time with you, and always protected you. people always assumed you two were dating because you were just that close. the bond you two had was impeccable and so special to you. 

when you got your heart broken, matt was there to pick up the pieces. he’d hold you tight, remind you that you deserved so much better, and find ways to make you feel better like having a movie night or going for a late-night drive to get the greasiest, indulging fast food to help soothe your soul. 

little did he know, matt didn’t even have to try very hard. just by being around him, you felt safe and secure. you always wondered what it would be like to be loved by him. sure, he loved you, but you always assumed he looked at you as his girl best friend and nothing more. when those thoughts would arise, you’d push them to the back of your head. 

friday night you had a date with a guy that your friend set you up with. you really didn’t want to go, but you’ve already put it off two times before and couldn’t get it out of this time. you were worried because you haven’t dated very much. sure, you’ve had a couple boyfriends, but they all weren’t right for you and ended up breaking your heart in the process. your last boyfriend got fed up with you because he complained that you didn’t ‘put out’ like other girls and didn’t satisfy his needs. it really took a toll on your confidence. 

it’s not that you were innocent. you knew all about sex and foreplay, you’ve been kissed before and you knew what to do when it came to sexual endeavors, but the problem was how to do it all. maybe you were inexperienced and that was your problem when it came to relationships. 

an idea popped into your head when you were hanging out with matt. you were lying next to him in his bed and watching a movie on his tv, but your mind wasn’t focused on the screen in front of you. “hey, matt?” you broke the silence, turning your body onto your side to look over at him, biting gently onto your bottom lip in a nervous manner. 

he immediately turned his head away from the screen to look over at you, his eyebrow furrowed up as he stared at you, his ocean blue eyes focused solely on you now. “what is it, ladybug?”

the nickname he gave you always caused your cheeks to turn a bright shade of pink and butterflies to roam in your tummy and you weren’t sure why. it’s not like this was the first time he’s called you that, or that it had any other meaning behind it. you flashed him a small smile, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, blowing a tiny raspberry out past your lips. “well, i was wondering if i could ask you something?”

he was really curious now as he grabbed the remote and paused the movie so that there wasn’t any distractions. he’d rather pay attention to you, anyway. “you can ask me anything.”

matt could tell you were nervous to ask him as you bit onto your bottom lip again, staring directly at him with your cheeks flushed. “well, you’ve had sex and done sexual things with girls, right? how was the experience?” 

he nearly choked on his own spit in surprise at your sudden questions, sitting up now onto the bed, his attention fully and directly on you. he wondered why you were randomly asking him these kinds of questions since it was out of the ordinary and not usually something you discuss as friends. “ladybug, why are you asking me these questions?”

you let a soft sigh emit from your lips before blowing another raspberry past your lips, placing a strand of your hair over your ear as you tried your best to keep your eyes locked onto matt. he looked baffled at the fact that you’d ask him such questions because you’ve never done anything like it before “well, i’m curious. i have a date on friday and i’m nervous.” you chewed onto your bottom lip for a moment before speaking again. “my past relationships never worked out and i never felt confident, like sexually with them. i’m thinking i might need some tips.”

your cheeks were extremely hot at this point and felt as if they could stay a permanent pink color that had tinted all over your cheeks. you looked at him the entire time, trying to read his facial expressions. he looked completely surprised at the sudden twist in conversation but also seemed quite curious at the same time. 

“and you want tips from me?” he pointed to himself as if he didn’t already know the answer. you nodded your head, a soft giggle emitting from your lips. “yes, silly. who else would i feel comfortable asking? i was wondering if you could maybe show me a couple things. just so i can be prepared for this friday.” you bit down onto your bottom lip again as you awaited his reply. sometimes it was really hard to read matt, even with his body language or facial expressions.

he looked like he was pondering this for a moment before finally speaking up. “okay, i’ll help you but only because i care about you and want the best for you. i’ll kick a guy’s ass if they hurt my ladybug ever again, got it?”

another soft giggle emitted from your lips at his words, nodding your head a little too eagerly, but you couldn’t help it. excitement rolled through you, but also a bit of nervousness. you knew what you were asking of him, and you hoped it wouldn’t ruin the amazing friendship and bond that you both have built to last a lifetime. “can we..start now? i was thinking maybe you can let me know if i’m a good kisser?”

you really semed to pique matt’s interest now. his eyes averted down to your lips, licking his own lips, before looking back up into your eyes, a taunting smile appearing onto his lips. “okay, that can be arranged. c’mere.” he motioned for you to scoot closer to him on the bed, his smile only widening by the second.

even though this was your idea entirely, your heart rate began to quicken with nervousness running throughout your entire body. you nodded your head at his command, scooting closer to him and immediately settling into his lap, wrapping your legs around him comfortably. your pajama shorts rose up slightly to expose more of your thighs, your hands pressed against his chest. you giggled softly as you stared up at him, noticing his cheeks were also becoming slightly flushed at the sudden position you both were in. “hi.” 

“so, this is actually happening.” matt said right away, a soft laugh leaving his own lips as he moved his hands to place firmly against your hips and squeezed gently. “hi, ladybug. okay, well if you’re ready i’ll show you how it should feel when a boy is kissing you and what to do that will drive ‘em crazy.” 

you nodded your head at his instructions, your cheeks still violently warm as you moved one of your hands to place against his broad shoulder. your hand pressed firmly against it, a shaky breath leaving your lips. “yes, please.” 

his lips curved up into a devilish smirk, moving one of his hands to place his index finger underneath your chin, your eyes immediately locking together in an intense gaze. your heart was already beating rapidly out of your chest, and you were so sure that not only could he feel it, but he could hear it too. “move your other hand here.” he took ahold of your hand that was in your lap and placed it on his other shoulder to keep you steady on his lap. 

before you even had any more time to process what was happening, you felt matt’s lips press firmly against yours causing a soft gasp to emit from your lips. it took a couple seconds for your brain to actually register what was happening considering this was your best friend in the whole entire world. you eventually settled into the kiss with your eyes fluttering closed and pressing your lips back against his deeply. your hands stayed rested onto his shoulders, the pads of your thumbs rubbing slow circles against his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt. butterflies roamed in your tummy at the feeling of his lips against yours, electricity running throughout your veins. 

it’s weird, you’ve never had this kind of feeling before with anyone else you kissed. it was a good feeling. more than good, actually. he pressed his lips a little deeper onto yours, a soft hum emitting from his lips throughout the kiss which almost drove you absolutely insane. you melted into him, moving your arms to wrap around his neck to pull him impossibly closer, your fingers now tangling into his tousled brunette locks. he hummed again, his tongue tracing your bottom lip which caused a soft gasp to emit from your lips. you immediately parted your lips to allow his tongue to enter your mouth, your tongues now colliding together slowly and teasingly causing a soft whimper to leave your lips. 

you couldn’t control the sounds that were spilling from your mouth, and matt didn’t seem to mind it. complete opposite actually considering his hand was now moving down your back to your ass and used the back of his palm to push your ass up into him. another gasp emitted from your lips as he pushed your hips into his and you instantly felt his hardening bulge through the fabric of his sweatpants. this was like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and it left you hungry for more. 

your tongues fought together in a dominant battle as he used both hands to place onto your ass, continuing to encourage you to grind your hips against his hardened cock. you allowed him to push your hips into his, loving the feeling of his hands on your ass and the feeling of his cock hardening and twitching against you. matt really knew what he was doing, and it was such a turn on to see. you knew that matt has been with other girls before, but fuck, he really knew what he was doing and how to get a girl going.

you could feel your arousal dampening your panties through the thin material of your shorts as his hardening cock continued to push up into your center. you were the first one to pull away to catch your labored breathing, a soft whimper emitting from your lips at the friction of your hips circling against him. you opened up your eyes to stare down at him with rosy cheeks, your hips stilling but pressed firmly down against his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants that you wish could just fly off him this very second. your heartbeat rapidly in your chest, immediately biting down onto your bottom lip in a nervous manner, still tasting his lips against yours. “wow.” you breathed out, a tiny giggle emitting from your lips. “that was..wow. you really know how to make a girl feel good, even from just a kiss.”

his lips curved up into a slight smirk, his hands gripping your ass once more, his fingers kneading into your flesh through the thin material of your pajama shorts. “not just any kiss. a full on makeout session. can you feel how excited i got?” 

your eyes moved down to the front of his sweatpants, noticing his evident, prominent bulge through the material. he was fucking huge. without even thinking, you moved one of your hands down to press against it, watching it twitch underneath your touch with a soft grunt coming from the back of matt’s throat. you nodded your head at his question, your lips curving up into a daunting smile. “this is all from kissing me, matty?”

he nodded his head confidently, moving one of his hands to grip your face with force causing you to gasp in surprise at the sudden movement. your lips were inches apart, his hot and heavy breath lingering against your lips as he murmurs, “damn right it is. what are you gonna do about it?”

your eyes widened in surprise at his words with your hand still pressed against his cock through the fabric, feeling him twitch against your hand. knowing that he got this hard for you and you only were such a turn on. your panties were pretty much soaked now with your own arousal, your breath hitching as your own breath lingers against his lips. “you want me to take care of you?” you asked shyly, biting onto your bottom lip once again.

he nods his head confidently, his lips curving up into a sly smirk. “yes, ladybug. think you can do that for me? i’ll walk you through the steps. you’re learning, remember?”

after the intoxicating kiss that you just had with your best friend, you had completely forgot that you were doing all this for a reason. for another boy. you don’t know why that made the pit of your stomach feel unnerved, but you decided to push that to the back of your head and focus on the task at hand. even though this was matt, your best friend, you were a little worried. any time that a boy would ask you to touch them or go down on them, you’d make any excuse in the book. your favorite one was that you played hard to get and liked to build suspense for each and every time you hung out. eventually, they caught on to your excuses and didn’t want to deal with it anymore. it was sad that boys only seemed to want one thing, but you wanted to be prepared.

you nodded your head, your breath caught in your throat. your fingers danced along the outline of his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants, his cock twitching at the sensation. “i can do it. just tell me what to do.” 

he hissed through his teeth at the feeling of your fingers tracing over his hardened cock, pushing his hips up slightly into your touch, looking up at you with lust and desire filling his gaze. you’ve never seen him like this before and you were loving every second of it. “well, you can start by getting these pants off me.” he let out a soft chuckle, moving his hand to grab onto yours to pull it up towards the hem of his pants. 

your shaky hands helped him tug his sweatpants off his body, unhooking your legs from his waist so he could shimmy his way out of them and kicking the onto the floor. he was left in his boxers, his hardened cock restraining against the fabric. you were extremely nervous, but also excited. this was matt, your best friend. you felt comfortable and safe with him and glad that he was the first one you were doing this with. 

while on your knees next to him, you looked up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster up. “you’re so big, matty. i had no idea.” your fingers shakily move to slide between the waistband of his boxers and immediately began tugging them down and off his legs. an immediate gasp escaped your lips at the sight of him. he was fucking huge. your mouth practically watered and you could feel your center begin to throb at the sight. “shit.” you muttered out as you stared at him, licking over your lips in a hungry motion. his cock was really fucking nice, the tip of it already leaking a bit of pre-cum.

“like what you see, baby?” he smirked up at you as his cock sprang free, the cold air causing a slight hiss to leave his lips. you nodded your head slowly, a small smile creeping up onto your face. you watched as he spit into his hand and began to lather up his cock with his own hand from the base to the tip as he smeared the pre-cum that was coated there.

“so tell me what to do.” you ask him innocently, biting gently onto your bottom lip.

“wrap your hand around it like this.” he grabbed your hand and immediately wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, your fingers locking around it. his cock immediately twitched at the feeling of your hand finally against his flesh as he let out a soft grunt. “fuck, yeah, like that. then you can begin pumping at it. don’t be afraid to add some extra pressure.”

his words were reassuring and helped calm you as you listened to everything he said. you nodded your head as your hand began to pump his cock up and down slowly as you gripped him a little tighter like he commanded. you must’ve been doing it right because he immediately threw his head back against the pillow, a satisfied grunt leaving the back of his throat. “fuck, just like that. such a good girl.” he cooed proudly.

you felt the confidence building up inside of you at his words and watching his reactions. he seemed to be enjoying it which meant you weren’t so bad at it after all. you continued to pump his cock at a steady pace, moving your hand up each and every time and circling your thumb along the tip to gather more of the pre-cum and lather it along his cock. he angled his head towards you to watch you, his ocean blue eyes visibly darker with desire filling his gaze. 

watching him like this was only turning you on even more. you could feel your own arousal coating your panties, your center throbbing as you let out a soft whimper. you could begin to rut your hips against the bed for friction, but you wanted to focus solely on matt and the task at hand in front of you. “i’m doing it, ain’t i? do you feel good, matty?”

he nods his head at you, his vision hazy and filled with lust. “yeah, baby. just a little faster and you can squeeze harder. you won’t hurt me. feels s’good, promise.” he reassured you as he sat up slightly with his elbow propped up onto the bed, moving his other hand up to place a strand of your hair over your ear.

you lean into his touch for a brief moment before immediately getting back to it; wrapping your hand around his cock tighter, giving him a harder squeeze as you continued to pump him in your hand steadily. this elicited some drawled-out moans from matt, his hand moving over to your chest and immediately began to grasp your breast through the material of your tank top. your nipple hardened at the feel of his hand against you, the pad of his thumb instantly finding your hardened nipple and began to circle it in slow, circular motions causing a soft sigh to emit from your lips. 

as good as he made you felt, you couldn’t get distracted and had to make sure you were fully satisfying him. without hesitation, you leaned down to swipe your tongue along the tip of his cock, your hand still wrapped around the base of it. matt’s eyes widened in surprise at your sudden movement, placing both of his elbows on the bed now to keep himself propped up. “what are you-“

you look up at him as you hear the surprise in his tone, flashing him a small smile before flicking your tongue against his tip once again to get a taste; the salty taste of his pre-cum now coating your tongue. “just guide my head if you have to. i wanna try everything. is that okay?”

“it’s more than okay, sweetheart. fuck, such a good girl.” he grunted his words out, moving one of his hands over to run his fingers throughout your hair. 

you flashed him another grin before moving your head back down and immediately parting your lips to take the tip of his cock between them, your eyes closing shut. you weren’t completely clueless. you’ve seen porn, you’ve read stories. you knew the basics; you’ve just never done it in person before. not until now. 

matt groaned at the feeling of your mouth on him, his fingers running throughout your hair as he watched you the entire time. he was in absolute awe of you and couldn’t look away. you kept your hand wrapped around the base of his cock as you hollowed out your cheeks and began to take his cock down your throat, inch by inch until you felt the tip hit the back of your throat causing your eyes to water and you began to gag slightly. you pulled away a bit to relax, a couple of tears spilling down your cheeks from your mouth being so full and your damn gag reflux. “are you okay?” matt asked in worrisome tone, his hand pulling on your head with a bit of force to pull you off him to get you to look at him.

you immediately nodded your head, taking in a deep and shaky breath, a string of saliva at the corner of your lips. “just trying to figure it out. i’ll get it. promise.” 

he nodded his head, running his fingers throughout your hair to make you feel reassured and relax you. “just don’t push yourself, ladybug. you’re doing amazing. i promise.”

you flashed him a reassuring smile, nodding your head before positioning yourself more comfortably in front of him on your knees as his cock twitched against hand. you leaned down once again, your tongue rolling along the tip of his cock before dragging you tongue down his shaft to the underside of his cock across his veins. your eyes darted up as you heard his pretty moans, his head thrown back onto his shoulders. his cheeks were flushed, and his chest was heaving up and down. 

your hand gripped the base of his cock tightly as you suddenly leaned down once again to take his cock in between your lips once again and down your throat. you started off slow this time, hollowing your cheeks to get enough room as you began to bob your head in a slow motion. matt groaned loudly, his fingers tugging your hair with force now to keep your head directly onto his cock, not that you were going anywhere anytime soon.

you relaxed your throat muscles as you began to bob your head with a bit more speed. each time you came up to the top, your tongue would dart across the tip of his cock causing his hips to jerk up against your mouth and making your head move back down onto his length. “fuck, such a good girl f’me.” he groaned out breathlessly, tugging onto your head to keep it in place. 

your own pussy throbbed at the feeling and taste of his cock in your mouth, but you weren’t focused on your needs right now at all. you just wanted to satisfy matt and possibly get him to cum down your throat. you continued to bob your head up and down against his length, your hand squeezing the base tightly as you looked up at him through your eyelashes for his reactions. he looked so fucking beautiful, and you weren’t sure how you could have anyone else’s cock down your throat if they weren’t your best friend’s. 

you could tell he was getting close. his cock twitched inside of your mouth, causing a soft whimper to leave your lips. he rutted his hips up into your mouth, causing your mouth to take more of him into your mouth. your eyes watered as you blinked them and allowed the tears to fall down your cheeks, bobbing your head at a faster pace. “fuck. i’ gonna cum baby. you might wanna pull away unless you want me to cum down your pretty throat.” he warned you, his fingers still tugging onto your hair to keep your head in place. 

“want to.” you said breathlessly when you pulled away for a moment to catch your breath, a string of salvia hanging from the corner of your mouth. “need the practice.” you muttered before immediately sinking your head back down against his cock, bobbing your head up and down against him at a steady pace and allowing the tip to graze the back of your throat causing muffled moans to leave your lips against his cock.

his cock twitched repeatedly into your mouth, a string of moans fell from matt’s lips as he shouted out that he was about to cum. before you knew it, sticky, salty ropes of cum shot inside of your mouth and down your throat as your head was being tugged on to be held in place as he rutted his hips up into your face, loud groans leaving the back of his throat. he emptied his load down your throat, soft moans leaving your lips and muffling against his cock.

once he released your head from his spent cock, you pulled away and immediately swallowed what was inside of your mouth, licking over your lips before flashing him a devious smirk. “that doesn’t taste so bad at all.” you cooed at him, a soft giggle leaving your lips. a bit of cum was still present at the corner of your lip and matt immediately used the pad of his thumb to wipe it away. your heart was beating rapidly in your chest and your jaw ached now, but it was well worth it. especially by the look on matt’s face, he was spent, blissed out, and extremely proud of you. 

“fuck, ladybug. you did that. you fucking did that. you were incredible.” he flashed you a tired, but extremely proud grin. he moved his hand to run throughout your hair once again. “i think it’s time that i return the favor. what do you think, hm?”

your cheeks were completely flushed as you stayed perched on your knees, feeling your own arousal soaking your panties through the fabric. just by tasting him, touching him, getting him off made you incredibly turned on and your heart continues to beat rapidly in your chest at the thought of how amazing matt probably is at making a girl feel good. “i’ve never had anyone-“

he cut you off with his index finger immediately pressed to your lips, his words coming out soft and reassuring. “i’ll show you how a real man should make a girl feel. you just relax, okay?”

you nodded your head at him, excitement and nervousness rolling through you. he motions for you to lay back against the bed with your head hitting the pillow. matt immediately spreads your legs open with the palms of his hands, positioning himself in front of you. you stared at him, your cheeks permanently flushed at this point and biting gently onto your bottom lip. he used the pads of his thumbs to caress your inner thighs, circling them in a slow motion, causing your body to relax against the mattress. 

his hand traveled up from your inner thigh to the hem of your pajama shorts and began tugging them down your body and allowing them to fall off the bed. you were left in your soaked panties and thin tank top, your cheeks only warming up even more by the second. he stared at you longingly, a slight smirk tugging onto his own lips. “absolutely beautiful. i can tell how soaked you are, baby.”

you cover your face with your hands to try and hide, a soft groan leaving your lips and you try to close your legs, but matt immediately spreads them again before pulling your hands away from your face and placing his hands in yours. his face was inches apart from yours, his eyes staying locked onto yours with intensity filling his gaze. “you’re beautiful. you don’t have to hide, it’s just me.” 

his words were reassuring and comforting and all you could do was nod your head, your lips curving up into a shy smile. “i trust you.” you murmured softly.

he smirked at you, his eyes staying locked onto yours for a brief moment before pulling his gaze towards your center. he used the pad of his thumb to begin circling your clit through the fabric of your lacy panties, causing a soft gasp to emit from your lips. 

you’ve touched yourself many times before, but having someone else touch you was a completely different experience. he slowly slid your underwear over to the side to expose your soaking wet pussy, causing a shudder to run down your spine from the cold air hitting against you. his breath hitched as he stared down at you, licking over his lips in a hungry motion, a soft hum emitting from his lips. “so pretty, baby.” he spoke softly, his middle finger running up and down your dripping folds, his finger immediately coated with your arousal. “so fuckin’ wet.”

you moaned softly at the feeling of his finger against you, biting gently onto your bottom lip to try and contain your moans, but you knew it would be impossible. you looked down to watch matt as he positioned himself in front of you, so he was directly in front of your soaking wet pussy, his mouth practically drooling at the sight. his finger continued to run up and down your soaking wet folds, dipping his finger into slightly into your hole to gather the slick before pulling his finger back up, lazily rubbing your clit in slow circles. “f-feels good.” you breathed out, your gaze never pulling from his movements. you felt your heartbeat picking up once he dipped his finger right back into your tight entrance. you used his free hand to slip underneath the back of your thigh to pull you even impossibly closer against his face. 

“i’m gonna taste you and use my fingers, okay ladybug? tell me how it feels.” he looked up at you for your approval and all you could think to do was nod your head, your brain cloudy and foggy and unable to comprehend anything else but matt and the way he made you feel. he slid your underwear off you so that they wouldn’t be in the way and allowing them to fall onto the ground with the midst of clothes already piled there.

he slowly slipped his finger deeper inside of your tight pussy as you immediately clenched around the single digit causing a soft groan to leave his lips. you watched him the entire time, his focus intently on you and making sure that you felt good. your brain was clouded, your body was floating, and your heart was pounding incredibly fast. you’ve fingered yourself before to experiment and get a feel for what it would actually feel like, but you already could tell the difference. this was even better.

his finger immediately was coated with your slick arousal as he began to pump it in and out of your tight entrance, causing a low moan to leave your lips. without hesitation, he slipped his ring finger inside of you as well, causing a soft gasp to escape your lips at the sudden fullness. the sounds of your slick arousal coating his fingers with each and every thrust echoed throughout the room, and this was probably could’ve embarrassed you from how fucking soaked you were, but all you could focus on was how good it felt.

he tilted his wrist with his palm facing out to slide his fingers even deeper inside of your gummy walls causing your head to throw back against the pillow, louder moans leaving your lips. “oh fuck!” you cried out in ecstasy, pushing your hips up slightly as you felt every inch of his fingers pumping into you. 

just when you thought the pleasure was already intense, he leaned down and immediately flicked his tongue along your clit repeatedly before taking it between his lips and sucking onto it, a soft moan leaving his lips and muffling against you. you gasp out in pleasure, instantly extending your arm out to find the top of his head and grabbing a fistful of his hair, moans falling from your lips.

he moaned against you as the sweet taste of your arousal coated his tongue, his fingers still pumping in and out of you at a steady pace, going deeper and harder with each and every thrust as his tongue swiped across your clit repeatedly. he looked up at you through his motions for your reactions, your eyes opening to lock them with his and the sight of him between your legs was such a fucking turn on. you’ve always wondered what it would be like to be eaten out, and holy shit, this didn’t disappoint.

he used the command motion with his fingers inside of you to hit your sweet spot, his tongue rolling around your swollen nub causing you to gasp out breathlessly, “so so close!” you were so close to approaching your orgasm and you had no idea it was even possible to feel this immense amount of pleasure at one time, if at all. 

matt moaned again against your pussy that muffled against you, his tongue tracing up and down your slick, his fingers repeatedly hitting your sweet spot causing you to let out breathy moans. he pulled away only for a moment, licking over his lips as your arousal coated his lips and his chin. “cum f’me, pretty girl. come on. wanna taste you on my tongue.”

his words were the final straw. your fingers tugged into his hair harshly to keep his head still on your pussy as you let out a string of profanities and moans, pushing your hips up into his as the fire coursed throughout your veins, white stars dancing along your eyelids, your free hand gripping against the bed sheet. “fuck, matty. g-gonna cum!” your gummy walls immediately clenched around his fingers tightly as you came around his fingers and tongue. your sweet arousal coated his tongue, his fingers that were still pumping inside of you helping you rock through your orgasm. 

he moaned against you, his tongue lapping up your arousal. your swollen nub became overly sensitive very fast, a soft groan leaving your lips as you try to push his head away from your center while you come down from your intense high. he pulled away from you, his eyes opening as he stared up at you with a satisfied smirk on his face, licking over his lips to get the remainder of your arousal that had glistened upon his lips. he slid his fingers out of your tight heat, causing you to whimper at the sudden loss of contact. he got up onto his knees in front of you, his eyes staying locked onto yours the entire time. you watched his every move with your arousal coating his fingers as ran his tongue along his fingers to clean them, humming softly at the delectable taste of you. “so so sweet, for such a sweet girl.” 

your cheeks were extremely warm, a soft giggle emitting from your lips as you tried to control your heavy breathing. your mind was still foggy from your intense orgasm, your center now sore from the intensity of it all. it was well worth it, though.

you always knew matt would be fucking amazing at things like this and he exceeded every expectation. “wow.” you breathed out, another laugh emitting from your lips. “that was..wow.”

he let out a soft chuckle at your words, his lips curving up into a slight smirk at your reaction. “so, how do you think the lessons went?”

“absolutely incredible.” you said almost instantly, scooting up onto the bed and looking up at him with a small smile. “do you have any more lessons for me?”

he nodded his head at your words, his lips curving up into a wider smirk as he places his index finger against your chin to keep your eyes locked together, your breath hitching in your throat as your lips linger together. his hot and heavy breath falls against your lips as he whispers, “well how about this. take what i have taught you for now and use what you want with it with your own discretion, but don’t have sex with this guy, okay? save that for me and only me. got it?” 

you had almost forgot all about the guy you had a date with on friday. the entire reason why all of this had happened in the first place. you nodded your head slowly, flashing him a small, innocent smile. “are you saying you wanna be my first, matty?”

he moved his head down to begin pressing soft kisses to the crook of your neck, a soft hum emitting from his lips. your eyes fluttered closed, your head tilting up slightly, a content sigh leaving your lips. “fuck yeah i do. i think you got me hooked, ladybug.”

how the hell could you go on a date with another guy after this? 

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a/n:

thank you for the request! if you have any more requests or just wanna talk, hit up my inbox! :)

-nessa ღ

[xshadowdelta]

FORMER MANAGER

PART 4: Like a tulip.

Kazuha x Male Reader (4K length)

Your hands were gripping the steering wheel of the car tightly, you were still in disbelief at everything that was happening, as if some divinity up there was playing with you for fun, and its enjoyment involved seeing you suffer every fucking moment of the day.

The red light of the traffic light forced you to brake and stop the car for a few seconds. You looked out of the corner of your eye towards the passenger seat, there she was, sitting looking out the window while the fingers of her hands played between them, showing a clear sign of nervousness. Kazuha Nakamura had become, without foreseeing it, the biggest headache of your entire life.

It's not that you had gotten used to sexual encounters with your former Iz*One members, but after what had happened in the last few days, you wouldn't have been surprised if a few more had arisen or even were going to arise in the future, since they seemed to be competing for you or something, something you hadn't been able to figure out yet.

But this totally escaped logic and compromised you enormously, you had in your car an idol whom you had never had under your tutelage, whom you did not know at all, and who had made you an irrational request, to say the least. 

“Can you have sex with me the same way you have sex with Chaewon unnie?”

That phrase kept echoing inside your head. Despite your attempt to hide that 'professional opinion' session, it seemed that Kazuha had perfectly realized what you had done in that practice room.

You didn't even have time to make an excuse or a lie, you had been hunted in such an obvious way that denying it would only complicate this situation even more.

Before you could realize it and without even having accepted her request, you were already leaving the Hybe compound, but with more company than the one you entered with, thanking the gods that your company vehicle had completely opaque window glass.

Neither of you had spoken a single word during the journey, which made the atmosphere feel even more tense and heavier than it would normally be. You wanted to start a conversation or ask a question, but the words just wouldn't come out of your mouth.

“Turn right on that street.” She commented, pointing her finger in the right direction.

And this was another big problem: your destination place. You had really gotten into the car without a fixed direction in your mind. Should you take an idol to your house? Was that right? And what would happen if someone saw you on the street and treacherously took a photo? Could it be camouflaged as part of a television program? Was a hotel suitable? You didn't believe it, but if so, it must be one suitable for celebrities, something you couldn't afford.

You parked the car, following another signal from the girl, in one of the free spots and got out, going around it to reach the passenger door, doing a complete sweep of the area, and opening the door once there was not a single living being. in your range of vision.

Kazuha quickly left and, taking some keys out of her bag, opened the door of one of the buildings, giving you way and successfully completing the first checkpoint.

He called the elevator, and you both went up, still in pure silence. You looked at her through the elevator mirror automatically, she looked back at you through the mirror and blushed, she quickly looked away.

She left in terror when the elevator opened its doors again, yes, taking one of your hands, practically dragging you after her. Your nerves increased when you felt the softness of her hand, wasn't it crazy? Now you were behaving as if you were still a teenager going through puberty.

You entered the interior of one of the apartments, which looked large and spacious from the inside despite only seeing the hall for the moment. "Where are we?” You heard your own voice for the first time in a long time, wondering why she had brought you to that place.

“It's LE SSERAFIM's bedroom.” She answered, taking off her shoes.

Knowing where you were scared you to death, you were in unstable territory. Stepping into that apartment had to be the closest you're going to get to a war camp, with too many people who could come and go at any moment and catch you in the middle of the action.

“The rest of the members are very busy and won't come until the evening, and our staff doesn't usually barge in without warning.” It was certainly relaxing to know that, but still, your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest at any moment. Kazuha unexpectedly took your hand again and dragged you down the main hallway of the apartment, passing by the living room and the kitchen until you entered one of the bedrooms.

The bedroom itself was quite simple, some large beds pushed together, a small desk with a chair decorated with clothes and various junk on top, and a closet built into the wall. You diverted your gaze to the corners and blind spots of the room in search of possible cameras, it wouldn't be the first time that after recording one of those home realities they forget to remove them.

The girl was quick to turn on the light in the room and close the window despite it being broad daylight, seeking to create a more intimate and safe environment.

You turned around, looking around at the entire bedroom, paying special attention to the pile of clothes scattered on the desk chair. She noticed this and, embarrassed, ran there to put all those clothes in the closet in a disorderly manner.

“Sorry, Chaewon unnie and I were a little late this morning.” Great, so this bedroom also belonged to Chaewon.

“Kazuha-ssi, I think you've rushed into all this, I... we shouldn't be here. I'm flattered, really, but I don't think you're aware of what this means."

She walked towards you and took your hands in hers, looking into your eyes with that look that begged you.

“I've wanted to do this for a long time, but I didn't know how. I'm too shy to approach some other random guy and propose this kind of thing out of the blue.” You laughed inside yourself, what she was saying had nothing to do with the spontaneous request she made to you. “I wanted to wait for the right moment and the right person.” Her fingers caressed the palms of your hands.

“I'm definitely not that person.” The expression on your face became more serious now. "You are!” She snapped loudly, making you step back in surprise. “I mean, I know Chaewon unnie very well. She wouldn't have done anything like that with you if she didn't have complete trust and deep respect for you, and that's more than enough for me.”

“But that's not how it should work, you shouldn't do this with some random guy you don't know at all like me, it should be with someone you love, someone you love from the bottom of your heart.” “You sound like the protagonist of a kdrama.” A small smile now graced her face. “Look, it's not that I'm a virgin, nor an expert, but I'm enough of an adult to know that I can have sex without commitment with whoever I want.”

The truth is that she was not wrong, perhaps you had seen too much fiction lately, after all, the vast majority of humans today had sexual relations guided more by vice and lust than by love.

You still had time to run out of there, you knew that she had nothing against you, she would never tell what she knew, and she loved Chaewon too much to harm her dear unnie. This was never about blackmail, just a favor, no one was forcing you to do anything.

That's what you told yourself internally over and over again.

‘This is not right.’

'Why don't my legs react?'

'I have to get out of here as soon as possible.'

'Fuck, she's beautiful.' Wait, what?

You stared at her for the first time in all this time, indeed, she was pretty and beautiful to look at, like a flower blooming in a beautiful meadow surrounded by huge green trees and a bright sun.

She was also attractive, you could see how well trained her body was. Her legs looked toned, and the lower part of her abdomen that did not cover her shirt was better worked than yours. She had an aura of tenderness and sensuality around her that was difficult to find.

Suddenly, in a burst of bravery, Kazuha raised her hands to your face, holding your cheeks to give you a small kiss on the lips. You wanted to resist, you really did, but who knows if, in order not to hurt her, you reciprocated that kiss by taking her waist with your hands.

“Everything you say is true, but also believe me when I say I want you to fuck me, oppa." She whispered against your lips.

"Kazuha, you're asking too much of me." Your lips were now moving unconsciously over hers.

"I don't think so." She chuckled, bringing one of her hands to your bulging crotch, gently caressing that area of your pants. She stood on her tiptoes to bring her mouth closer to your ear. "Don't you want to know how flexible I can be?” That whisper hit you squarely. It would have been a K.O. if we were in a boxing match. Your skin crawled just thinking and imagining certain scenarios, and the bulge in your crotch only grew under the touch of her delicate hand.

You let out a sigh, you sounded defeated, and you actually were. How could you be so fucking weak? Why were you trapped in a spiral of sex with gorgeous girls with beautiful bodies? And why were you martyring yourself for it when anyone would sign with their own blood to take your place? You didn't have the answer to any of those questions.

“Lie on the bed.” Despite your obvious annoyed tone, Kazuha's smile did not fade but rather widened, and she followed your instructions.

Immediately the Japanese idol was lying on her back, with her legs dangling from the edge of the bed, undoing the button on her jeans and slowly lowering them to your delight.

You knelt on the floor right in front of the bed, between her legs, starting to touch her thighs and going down her legs at the same time as her pants were going down.

You noticed how her skin stood on end under your hands, it burned, and you verified it with your own lips when you leaned your head over Kazuha's body, spreading a few kisses on the part of her abdomen that the shirt did not cover.

Her toned abs contracted as she felt your lips on them, your hands joined hers on either side of her legs, finishing off her pants in a single pull.

Your kisses marked a downward path towards the girl's panties while your hands took the opposite route, going from her legs to her hips, moving upwards slowly caressing every centimeter of skin.

A new piece of clothing was recognized as the next enemy, as your hands fisted the hem of her shirt. She understood quickly, and with an agile and quick movement, she slid the garment over her head and threw it away, landing somewhere on the floor of the room.

You kissed her pussy over the fabric of her panties making her moan, and then your tongue began to create lines of saliva before starting to move as if it were a normal cunnilingus.

Even though the panties continued to act as a barrier between your tongue and her pussy, the caresses you provided were felt on her body in a remarkable way, proof of this were the moans that Kazuha expelled from her mouth.

Her pussy was getting wetter due to the excitement, starting to leak down her thighs and even going through her panties, as your tongue began to enjoy the taste of the girl's intimacy.

You sat up a little and jumped on the bed, being careful with her delicate body so as not to hurt her, remaining on top of her, and going directly to kiss and lick her neck as an attack.

Her moans became noticeable again, with an increase in volume and much closer to your ears. However, she was a fighter, and although she seemed to be completely under your control, she managed to take off your shirt and expose your torso, which she did not hesitate to touch and caress.

You ceased the attack on her neck, moving back a little, allowing her to kiss your bare skin, causing you to sigh occasionally. You crouched over her again, kissing her lips deeply, taking her cheeks in your hands.

“Condoms?” You asked the instant the kiss broke.

She pointed out the nightstand next to the bed, and you jumped out of the bed again to approach the designated piece of furniture, opening it and finding a box of condoms still sealed.

You were opening it as you walked back, placing yourself in the starting position, facing her between her legs. You looked up and could see that there was no longer a trace of her panties.

You smiled, finally opening the package of condoms, taking one between your fingers, and placing it on the mattress. You needed both hands free to finish undressing completely. 

Kazuha sat up slightly on the bed so she could look directly at your now-naked cock, opening her mouth shocked by its size and almost reflexively opening her legs wider, giving you a much better view of her wet and shiny entrance.

You placed one knee on the bed, bringing your penis closer to her vagina, one hand holding your dick firmly and the other gripping one of the young girl's pale thighs.

"Wait! The condom…OH!” Her words were interrupted by a violent moan.

She was right, you hadn't put on the condom yet, but you didn't need it for the idea you had in mind, which consisted of rubbing the folds of her pussy with your cock over and over again without actually inserting it inside.

That game seemed to take its toll on Kazuha, who was now trying to silence her sounds by putting both hands over her mouth and allowing you to play with her intimate area to your pleasure.

Your penis soon became well lubricated after being rubbed mercilessly by the wetness of the Japanese pussy, at which point you decided that it was now possible to start the real action.

Now you wrapped your penis in the latex of the condom to bring it closer to the female entrance again, this time with the intention of entering her. You looked one last time into Kazuha's eyes, waiting for one last step back that never came, quite the opposite in fact.

She placed her hands on her thighs, separating her legs as much as she could, leaving you amazed at her incredible flexibility and increasing your excitement as you witnessed that move.

The tip of your penis made contact with her vagina, making you both moan slightly, moans that increased as more inches entered her cavity.

As you expected, Kazuha's insides felt tight, although you had to admit that it was less than you had originally imagined, because the truth is that most of your cock entered without any problem. You gave her a few seconds for her insides to adjust to your size before you started moving.

You started to move slowly, moving in and out slowly and careful not to hurt her, but she seemed to be enjoying it.

“God, you're stretching me so much... It feels so good.”

That gave you the green light to increase the pace, your hips moved faster, introducing you deeper into her. At this point, her pussy was already able to swallow the entire length of your penis without problems.

Kazuha's moans quickly turned into pleas, letting her get carried away by excitement and asking you to go even further.

“AH! Please…more… AH…MORE!”

She raised one of her legs to your shoulder, leaving her foot at the height of your head, leaving the other still resting on the bed. That only deepened your attacks against her even more.

You wrapped your closest hand around the thigh of her leg that was hanging from you, and your other hand went behind her head, grabbing the back of her neck, bending over her, and moving at a hard and incessant pace.

Kazuha's intense moans were only stopped when your lips joined hers in a kiss, just as intense as the clash between your hips. Everything was so intense that tiredness immediately began to appear in you.

After a few more minutes of fun, you wanted to change positions, now lying on your back on the bed, motioning to the girl to sit on your lap with her back to you.

You kissed the back of her neck and her back as she got into position, turning her head for a moment and demanding another kiss on the lips that you didn't deny her.

She raised her body enough so that in one quick movement your cock entered deeply inside her again, causing a sensation of incredible pleasure in both of you.

The girl placed both hands on your thighs to begin jumping on your penis, again and again, without stopping and emitting sweet and erotic moans for each thrust that your cock gave her as it lowered her body.

You wrapped your arms around her waist and pulled her back, causing a small cry of surprise from her and causing her back to collide with your chest.

You once again had control of the situation, you once again imposed the rhythm of the penetrations to your liking and what was best for you.

From this position, you were once again able to attack Kazuha's neck at will, which for some reason had become one of your favorite regions of her body, and she seemed to love it too.

Your bodies were totally immersed in the heat of the moment, eager for each other's contact, roaring for sex, and sweating from the furious action, the temperature of the room had risen some degrees since you entered through the door.

Once again the idol raised her legs, surrounding them with her own arms, preventing them from falling, thus making your attacks clean and direct against her pussy, which you began to notice how it contracted, squeezing your cock against its walls, making you moan louder.

“Shit, Kazuha, your pussy...”

“Please don't stop now! I’m so close!”

Listening to the girl's request and with the aim of releasing yourselves sexually as soon as possible, you gave everything you had left, placing your hands on her butt and attacking her frantically, feeling how after some hard thrust you came brutally, filling the condom with your cum.

“AH! YES! OH GOD! AAAAAAAAAH!”

That liberating scream was followed by her body arching over yours, your hands quickly rising to her hips, pressing her against your body again, and leaving both of you gasping noticeably trying to recover from the intense orgasms.

Kazuha leaned her head back with her body resting on top of yours, trying to compose herself from the tremendous ecstasy you had made her feel. She turned her head to look into your eyes, just inches from your face.

“Now I can understand Chaewon unnie.” She murmured, offering you a soft smile, trying to hide her tired expression.

You, on the other hand, did not hide it at all, you continued searching for air almost desperately, and the fact of having her on top of you did not help, but the truth is that you were not going to complain about it.

“You are definitely very flexible.” You spoke, making her laugh softly, and then kissed her lips, passing your arms around her stomach area, surrounding and hugging her, lying there for a few minutes.

.

.

.

You left the group's apartment after making sure that Kazuha was in good condition. She said goodbye to you very happily, with her eyes giving off a special shine and giving you a small kiss on the cheek, making you both blush.

You drove back to your own house, a little rest wouldn't hurt to clarify all your ideas, but with a firm decision. You had to end your sexual encounters with idols immediately. That was obvious, but would you be able to cut it short? You assumed only the future would know for sure.

You entered your apartment, tired, extremely tired, but you still managed to find the energy to move your butt to the bathroom and get into the bathtub for a long half hour that left you almost as good as new.

You were now wearing your two-piece pajama with a shirt and pants, walking around the living room while drying your damp hair with a towel. You heard the sound of the doorbell, it seemed that the delivery man you had contacted had arrived to deliver your dinner. You put the towel aside, and with your hair still a little wet and messy that fell on your forehead, you approached the door.

You opened the door, but, to your surprise, the person on the other side was not who you expected. A young girl with black hair tied up in a bun, somewhat taller than average and with a slim but very elegant figure.

That girl seemed very familiar to you, the fact that she was wearing sunglasses late at night made it a little more difficult for you to recognize her, but you quickly realized it.

“Wonyoung…”

The sudden sound of a slap echoed throughout the house, silencing you. Your left cheek turned a reddish color at the same time as a burning sensation began to sting. Your face was now looking to the side due to the unexpected slap that the young woman had given you.

You took a step back, trying to stabilize your body so as not to fall, and directed one of your hands to the affected area of your face. Your eyes were wide open, as was your mouth, you didn't know what was happening, unable to understand anything.

When you returned to this world, you looked towards the door again, finding yourself facing the wall of the hallway.

You ran out of your apartment, finding Wonyoung a few meters later walking towards the exit of the building.

"Hey! Jang Wonyoung! What the hell do you think..."

You grabbed her arm, applying some force, without excess, to make her turn towards you, but your words fell into the void when you glimpsed her red face and how some tears formed a path from her eyes, hidden behind those sunglasses until they ended up on her chin.

She didn't say anything, you could only hear her weak crying and sobs that penetrated your soul and stabbed directly into your heart.

Still confused, you loosened your grip on her arm, and with that she got rid of you, setting off on her way again, but this time you didn't follow her, you stayed there, absorbed, with no other possibility than to see her back moving further and further away.

[pedgito]

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | Joel's itch to hunt has became a yearly tradition between you and him.

author's note | i had a very vague outline for this weeks ago that didn't feel solid enough but then i saw some gifs and had to collect myself, a huge hug to @gracieheartspedro for beta'ing this!

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson!joel, sex pollen (consenting), hunter/prey OR predator/prey (whichever you prefer), knives, joel intentionally hurts reader (consenting), mentions of scars, waterboarding adjacent (again, consenting), brat!reader, gratuitous smut (unprotected piv, oral, ect), creampies <3, cum feeding, some fluff at the end.

word count — 5k

“S’bout that time, baby.”

Joel isn’t even attempting to be subtle about it.

The itch came around the time the flowers were beginning to bloom and the overgrown foliage continued to make a home on earth, woven and wrapping around the cracks that have settled. It was always calmer too, oddly. Tommy had suggested Joel could take a few shifts hunting in the nearby woods for food—you know, scratch it. But, he didn’t understand the deeper implications and desires that Joel kept hidden away. Though, not from you.

He always had a habit of sneaking up on you in your home, quiet as a mouse you were, but even the slightest creak would give you away and Joel would come swooping in, stealing your heart right out of your chest as it stilled, relaxing as his warm, sweet musk consumed your entire being. 

He always sought you out, treated you like prey.

Joel was a natural born hunter, a defender—of his territory, his things.

When you switched jobs halfway through your first year in Jackson, botany to patrol, the idea arises. And that was all it was, at first. Presenting Joel with a set of options as your connection with him grew, seeing the ease of conversation behind his hardened exterior. 

He liked that you care, that you listened to him talking about his oddball interest without the return of a retching disgust, tongue peeking out of your mouth as your face scrunches up in aversion. Ellie had done it plenty of times, so instead, you ask questions.

Jackson had domesticated Joel back to his previous state, before the outbreak, with what little he’s told you about, he sounds like he wants to leave that man in the past. You understood him, born within a world of pure rage and hostility, fighting tooth and nail from the day you were born.

You were only a small child when the world fell and you barely remember anything from before outside of what you’ve learned from the elders around Jackson and Joel, who wasn’t nearly as old, but had still managed to live a full life and then some, his time split between both versions of this lifetime.

You had patrol together tomorrow, a full undisturbed weekend away.

He clinks your beer mischievously as his eyes glint with intrigue and a small smile tugs at his lips as he hides it behind the rim of his drink—it wasn’t a reminder, rather an auspicious warning.

–

In any other situation, you would hate this patrol spot. 

It was big, too big—why Tommy insisted on keeping it within the route was beyond your understanding, but for Joel, it was perfect.

He’s already digging in your bag for the mauve-hued powder, smelling faintly of berries even with the plastic bag wrapped tightly around it. It was something you had stumbled upon with Ellie during one of your earlier patrols, always following close behind to her wandering, stumbling upon a thick brush outside a forgotten, decaying cabin. 

A small plant, completely undisturbed. 

Ellie almost consumed the plant out of curiosity, eyes growing wide as you slapped her hand away.

“You’re right—yeah, that’s…not a good idea.” She quickly corrected herself, entranced by the intoxicating smell as you carefully unroot the plant and tuck it away in your pack, hopefully that it would stay intact on the ride back or that Shimmer wouldn’t sniff through your bag before you had the chance to make it back.

“Joel would kill me if I let this kill you.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad.” Ellie excused lazily, “Give him a chance.”

That you did.

You snatch the bag from his hand and tuck it away in your pocket.

“Sign us in at least,” You reprimand him, flicking him in the chest before you direct him with a pointed finger over his shoulder. An old, weathered notebook sitting on the counter of the empty clinic, “sweep first—hunt later.”

You both check your respective sides, dead silent throughout, as most of spring usually was around Jackson. Occasionally a straggler would find a way inside, a bloater or clicker that had wandered too far from the herd, but it was completely quiet.

You had traveled all night, the auburn sky fading to blue as the sun rose in the east, the rays projecting through the large window of the second floor of the hospital, an office that was set up with two beds and a pile of supplies for whoever had patrol that month.

Joel’s stripped his jacket off already, yours following suit as you throw it over.

“You know the drill,” Joel announces, his palm curving around the back of your neck as his other hand reaches for the gun tucked into the holster at your thigh, placing it on the counter, “one knife, that’s it.”

“Same rules apply to you, big guy,” You retorted, reaching around his backside for the gun tucked into his waistband, placing it beside your own gun.

He offers over the hunting knife by the handle, his fingers pressing tight against the sharpened blade, eyebrows raised in anticipation as you look at it for a moment, a split-decision before you shake your head, pushing his hand away.

“C’mon baby, now you’re just makin’ it easy.”

You scoff lightly, leaning down to remove your shoes and socks as Joel chuckles lowly, catching onto your antics as you strip yourself down to the bare minimum clothing you needed without being entirely naked—a skin-tight tank that clung to your curves and a pair of shorts that rolled up your thighs, reducing the risk of your clothes snagging in harder to access crevices.

You reach for the treasured bag of special powder that Joel was so eager to consume.

It was an enhancement—a pollen from a special flower that you still hadn’t identified, crushed down into an herb that you traded under the table in Jackson for a high price. The first time you had introduced it to Joel, he was hesitant. But, giving it an hour or so to set in convinced him otherwise.

He could hear better, feel, sense—it was intimidating, the look in his blood-shot eyes every time he found you, teeth bared as they dug into your skin, rutting against you like he was in heat. Sex was the only thing that quelled the ache that it caused as a side effect, and Joel was insatiable.

It started slowly, the slow thump of your heart quickening as the effects settled within you. Then, the paranoia set in, the heightened state of existence, and slowly the urge of desire would settle in, growing and growing until it was nearly unbearable—eventually willing enough to claw off your own skin in an attempt to ease the ache. 

It never got that bad, Joel wouldn’t allow it.

But, something about this batch felt potent.

You felt even more mischievous this time around, your third year of this little tradition and you were determined to make him work for it, drag it out until the final second, as the drug waned as neither of you could take it any longer, wanting to beat him at his own game.

“Like a mouse,” You tease, showcasing the near silent step of your feet against the floor as you lick your pointer and middle finger before dipping them into the bag, the powder sticking to your fingers as you press them to Joel’s tongue, his lips closing around the digits with an intense determination in his eyes, “let’s test out those instincts, old man.”

He mirrors your process, but wraps his free hand around your throat, forcing your chin up and mouth open as his fingers dip into your mouth and press down on your tongue, noticing the way his eyes are already dilated under the effect of the pollen, “I’ll leave a pretty one this time.”

A scar, he means. 

Two already existing jagged lines on each side of your pelvic bone as he pressed the blade to your skin in dignification of his victory, soothing the wound with his tongue and lapping up the blood.

You hum, closing your eyes at the sweet taste as it warms your body.

“If you catch me,” You tease, a slight amusement to your tone as you toss your head back, fingers pressing harshly against the sides of your throat.

“Bold,” He compliments, “s’cute—you can’t hide from me, sweetheart. I’ll find you.”

–

He always gives you a head start, it was only fair.

The only downside to the pollen was the overstimulation of sound, paranoid with every creak of the building as the heat expanded the metal, faint footsteps without any idea where they were.

You weren’t a hunter, by any means. But, you knew how to hide.

For Joel, he enjoys the chase.

However, he likes to seek, too.

And he’s quiet, unsuspecting.

The first four hours are spent working your way through the second floor as you hide away in hidden crevices and evaded his approaching figure as he traverses from room to room, knowing he’s wandering around with only the knife you had denied yourself, twirling it in his grip as you whistled, paused for an eerily long time, then whistled again. He's had surveying from side to side, scanning.

Everything was making you jump, even the low hum of the wind outside.

There’s a brief moment as you escape to the first floor that Joel catches sight of your quickly fleeing figure, calling out your name in a voice that doesn’t sound entirely of his own. It was deep and guttural, like a growl. Animalistic and dark, stripped down to his primal instincts.

“C’mon, little mouse,” You can hear the knife pierce into the weakening drywall as you hide between a crevice underneath the stairs, moving to your stomach to crawl underneath and use the advantage of the shadows casted by the sun as he paces around the hall for a moment, “let’s see if you’ll squeal for me.”

His foot kicks through a closed door, his soft whistling continuing as he searched around and came up empty-handed, biding your time under the stairwell for an extended period of time, skin dampy and clammy as the heat crept in, clothes dirtied with dust and stained with sweat.

By the time you feel safe enough to leave, knowing how easy Joel could wait you out, it was already creeping into the evening and you had cursed yourself for being so stubborn and leaving your pack behind—hungry and thirsty, the throbbing ache at your core growing stronger as you squeezed your thighs together and escaped the hiding spot.

You stop, listening intently, the faint sound of footsteps below in the basement.

You knew better than to trap yourself down there with him, knowing how easy of a win that would be for him, hearing the faint tap of the knife as he calls for you.

“I know you’re here. I can smell ya,” You hear faintly, “Betcha she’s drippin’ wet, huh?”

You can picture the sight of him, hand grazing over the denim of his jeans as he pressed his palm against his growing erection for relief, a similar detriment to your own but with two entirely different tasks.

You’ve never tried leaving the building before, but the peak of the pollen was beginning to take hold, your mouth dry and begging, aware of the creek just a few minutes into the forest down the road—you were desperate.

So, you book it.

And as your feet hit the entrance, you hear him.

But, he’s closer now, ascending the stairs to the first floor as his eyes lock on your shadowed figure before you slam the door closed behind you, his voice booming in the distance as the twigs break underneath your feet, wincing at the sting of pain it brings.

“Bad girl,” He taunts, “Breakin’ our rules, baby!”

Outside of the strict use of one weapon, mutually agreed upon, you both promised to never leave the premises, both for safety, and fairness. But, Joel was good—too good. If anything, it would give him a challenge.

You knew there would be consequences, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

–

You had spent twelve hours evading him, bones and muscles aching with discomfort as you tripped, falling to the bed of rocks covered in slimy moss as you stumbled on your knees toward the running stream, cupping your hands to guide the water into your mouth, instantly quenching the thirst that had festered, patting your wet hands against your clammy skin, knees bloodied and dripping against the surface of the rock as you rested for a moment, catching your breath.

You welcomed the silence, wondering if Joel had stuck on the path of the road, unsuspecting that you would veer off barefoot into the forest on your own, constantly sticking by his side, vigilant of the threats that lingered there.

You whine as your cunt throbs with need, hastily shoving your hand under the fabric of your shorts to slide your fingers against the sticky, wet fabric of your underwear, the gentle press against your clit like a shock to the system, your free hand clutching onto nothing but air as you gasped, subconsciously rocking your hips against your hand.

Your eyes had fallen shut, lost in your own pleasure that you forget how vulnerable you are, nearly naked in an open forest where anyone could sneak up on you—though, no one traveled out this far and it had been several minutes since Joel had caught sight of you, the lack of defined tracks to follow proving difficult for him, but then you hear a sigh, a tsk.

He’s on you before you have a chance to react, knife at your throat as his teeth graze against the shell of your ear and he’s wrenching your hands away from your shorts, “Found you,” He hisses through clenched teeth, feeling his cock pressed against your thigh through the denim.

He was hot, burning up—both with a want for you, but physically, like a fever had taken over.

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed until you’re forcing your eyes open, staring up at the opaline moonlight, making Joel all the more threatening as you couldn’t see him, but you could feel him, rendered immobile as he worked himself over your hips, the weight of him keeping you still. 

“S’right little mouse, ain’t got nowhere to go, do ya?” He taunts, fingers curling around your head as they dig into the root of your hair and tug, the blunt side of the knife running along your throat.

“How’d—how did—find me?” You choke out through broken, garbled gasps as the drool accumulated in your mouth at his scent, the freshness of soap from a shower the night before but a mix of his own arousal collecting in his jeans, “What gave it ‘way?”

“Can hear those perfect little whimpers from a mile away, baby,” He softens slightly, panting heavily against your skin as he belt jingles with subtle movement, slipping through the loops before he’s disposing of it to the side, “S’that why you ran? Scared I was gonna catch you playin’ with yourself in there—well, look at ya,” He taunts, “Got a special place for this one,” 

You feel the cool edge of the knife drag along the side of your neck and down your spine, ripping through the fabric like butter, aided by the gentle tug of his hands as he ripped your top into pieces, repeating the process with your shorts, his fingers curling around the lacy edge of your underwear as he tugged up, dragging the tip of the blade along your cheek.

“Considering markin’ this pretty little ass up, that what you want?”

“S’that what you want?” You retort playfully.

There’s a small prick, another, pulling your underwear between your ass until he can get the blade underneath the fabric and with a quick flick of his wrist, it was nothing but trash, stuffed between his teeth as he inhaled your intoxicating scent, forcing your thighs apart as he cut lightly into your skin at first, an initial to mark his territory.

The letter J forever engraved at the inside of your thigh, the thumb of his unoccupied hand splitting through your folds and pressing against your swollen clit, distracting you from the sharp pain with his movements.

“S’beautiful,” He tells you, admiring the mark but also the way your cunt greedily sucks his thumb inside of you, “fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your hands balled into tight fists above your head as you writhe beneath him, “M’close, Joel—s’right there,” You moan, feeling his hand squeeze at your wounded thigh, his fingers stained with blood as he moves off of you, easily manhandling you onto your back as he stares down with dark, brooding eyes, disposed panties still stuffed in his mouth.

You rise onto your elbows as his hand molds over the back of your skull, nodding toward his buttoned jeans, his opposite hand reaching for your wrist as he guides it to the button before casually yanking the cloth from his mouth and stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans.

His unoccupied hand explores the peaks of your chest, soft and supple and begging to be squeezed, bitten, pert nipple the perfect size to fit between his lips and against the flat of his tongue, finding himself drifting at the thought before your roving touch brings him back.

“You feelin’ gracious?” He asks, “Gonna suck my cock?”

You nod obediently, his hand gripping tighter in your dirtied, damp hair.

He’s waiting, quietly, ominously, only barely satisfied as you begin to pry the button apart and pull at his zipper, the heat of his cock pressing against the fabric as you rub your palm over it teasingly, earning a sharp tug in return.

“You wanna keep up the game?” Joel asks like a warning, “I’ll hunt you through these damn woods, girl. And I won’t play nice.”

There’s a rawness to his voice during times like this, during the hunt. It’s similar to how he sounds as he rouses from bed, groggy with sleep—relaxed, but resting at a deep, booming register.

You pout slightly, squeezing your hand over the damp fabric of his underwear, precum seeping through the front as you lean forward, running your tongue along the cotton before pulling with your teeth at the waistband, tucking his underwear beneath his balls as you like from base to tip in one fluid movement, intoxicated by his scent.

It was mostly clean, but earthy—a day worth of exhilarating hunt and the heat of both the day and the pollen seeping from his pores, he’s salty and sweet, your tongue sliding slowly over the slit before he’s pushing his cock beyond your lips with a solid pump of his hips, moaning at the intrusion.

He favors the soft whimpers as your eyes flutter with the press of his cock against the back of your throat, fucking himself into your mouth with a tight hand in your hair, eyes welling with tears as you gasp after a particularly deep thrust, eyes blown wide as he pulled you off of his cock suddenly, moving to match his stance as you rise unsteadily to your knees.

“Nuh uh,” He admonished, “down, turn around.”

You open your mouth to speak and Joel slaps your face once, sharp, not entirely unsuspected as there was a clear definite line of who was in charge, always testing your limits when he asserted his dominance—you knew it was coming, you wanted it.

“S’your one and only warning,” He tells you sternly, “now turn.”

In times of desperate need and insatiable desire, it was easier to be a vessel to him. Fulfilling his release of pent up aggression and carefully tucked away primal nature, he shifts quietly behind you to stand and strip himself naked, fisting his cock into his hand as he rubs it through your slick folds, puffy and swollen from how badly you needed to be filled by him, consumed.

“So fragile, little mouse,” He takes glance of the weeping wound between your thighs and the flutter of your hole as he fits the head of his cock inside of you, only an inch of his thick and swollen cock, a collective sigh of relief from you both at the connection, “Need to remind you what it means to be mine, don’t I?”

“Joel fucking get on with it alread—”

Joel quickly twists his hand into your hair and pulls your head up, gasping as the hands under your chest curls into fists, pulling you flush with his pelvis as he slips inside of you in one quick motion, feeling the sting as his fingers dig into your skin.

“Smart mouth,” He comments, “so fuckin’ dumb for this cock your forget how to behave yourself, ain’t that right?”

You groan pathetically as he yanks at your hair, “You need me to do it for you, old man?”

You wiggle your ass slightly back against his cock, a harsh huff of breath through his nose before he’s dipping your head under the water as you both teeter near the edge of the rock, with the current you could feel the faint splashes against your skin, but he takes advantage of the gap and dunks your head in the chilled water for a moment, pulling you back up as you gasp.

“You done?” He asks, earning a pitched giggle in return, airy and light as you find the effort amusing, leading him closer toward the edge of the cliff, guiding him into a space that would help him use, without guilt or remorse for his actions.

“Depends,” You challenge, your cunt clenching around his cock as he shifts his hips, one movement from exploding as your clit throbbed intensely.

As a result, he dunks your head once more, this time for a moment longer than last and you find yourself coughing, sputtering air as your wet hair drips over your face, blinking the bleariness from your eyes.

"Always forget how much you like it when I hurt you,” Joel notes with a tone of admiration.

You hum in approval, wretched back by his unyielding hand as he pulls you flush with his chest, your hand flying into his hair as the other drifts over your clit, his hips pummeling into you at furious pace, teeth digging deep into your shoulder.

“C’mon, baby,” He coos, cradling your head in his hand as it lulls back, fingers curling your clit in desperation as his groans melt into your skin, “fuck—she’s squeezin’ me tight, you feelin’ that?”

His hips slow for a moment, deep thrusts as the head of his cock rubs against that nauseatingly sweet spot inside of you, eyes rolling back at the sensation as your orgasm takes hold, pulling Joel over the edge unexpectedly with your whimpering breaths of relief, held up entirely by his own brute strength as he fucks into you lazily, pumping you full of his cum with every thrust.

There’s an immediate exhaustion as instant satisfaction fills your body and his own.

Though, you know it won’t last.

It was temporary, an ease to the ache that had a mind of its own on when it would weaken.

Joel’s fingers drifting between your legs playfully as he scoops up his own cum as it spilled out of you, dripping down the inside of your thighs before he feeds it into your mouth, resting lazily against his frame as he rest on one arm and hip, smearing the slick against your tongue before he brings your mouth to his, a greedy exchange as he licks into your mouth, chuckling as you eagerly leaned in for more, moving forward as he pulled away.

“Easy, baby,” He chastises, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m right here.”

–

You can’t avoid how vulnerable it feels to trek back naked, hair mussed and your steps mimicking a drunken state as you stumble, guided upstairs and into the shower attached to the office, small and compact but at least there was running water and amenities packed away in Joel’s pack for you to use, every inch of your skin overly sensitive as you wash away the grime, feeling Joel approach from behind, careful removing the soap from your hand.

“We’re all locked up,” He informs you, doing another quick sweep as you stepped inside of the shower—he’s increasingly more relaxed now, but the heightened senses linger, his gentle touch igniting the fire in your gut as you turn on him, watching as he lathered his chest in the soap before asking, “still botherin’ ya, huh?”

You reach for him silently, pressing your lips to his tentatively, his gentleness returning with the hand that rests against your hip, slowly extending to your back as he pulls you in.

You loved him like this even more—the soft hums he released as you tilted your head to kiss him, his lips parting as you snuck your tongue into his mouth, filtering your finger through his hair and meeting him with a similar, relaxed passion.

Silently, he guides your hand to the small shelf embedded into the corner of the shower and crowds you against the tile, descending on old, aching knees despite himself. He’d pay for it later, he knows he will, but the way your leg instinctively lifts and rests over his shoulder is enough to soothe the pain for a brief time, the intensity of desire coming in waves.

He licks a long strip up the center of your folds, sucking on your clit as he eventually turns the water off entirely, your moans reverberating off the ceramic, practiced flicks of his tongue bringing you near your end quickly, sneaking two of his fingers inside of you as you come, always amazed at how greedy you pussy was to consume whatever it was he gave you.

Fingers, tongue, cock—it didn’t matter.

He peers up at you through a half-lidded gaze, your fingers running through damp hair as he slowly rises to his feet, peppering kissing up and along your body as he stands again.

“Let’s get dried off,” He tells you, “I know you’re starvin’—worked up a big appetite after today.”

Joel carefully wraps the towel around your body as he does the same, tying it around his waist as he chuckles at your smile, “Guess you could say that.”

And just as you think the pollen has finally worn off, it comes like a fever in the night.

At first, you insist it must be a dream, the way Joel is so helplessly rutting against your backside, tucked tight against his chest as you shared the singular blanket and pillow despite the other bed. He wanted you closer, he wanted you near. 

You smell like honey and home—home like Jackson, that faint hint of charred wood from the fireplace that was constantly running in your home.

He’s willing and malleable to your movements as you guide him to his back, carefully slipping your underwear to the side as you guide him inside of you, a lazy pace as your chests meet, breathing into each other’s mouths as squeezes at any available skin he can access.

“So goddamn lucky,” He murmurs, “always takin’ care of me.”

His pointed thrust drove his words home, his nails digging into your hip as he came for the second time that night, nothing in his voice left to give as his throat felt raw, grunting pathetically as his seed spilled inside of you, a warmth radiating throughout and a sudden feeling of complete relief.

“I think we’re in the clear now,” You admit tiredly, rubbing your hands gently over his flushed chest as you glance up at him, both of you sighing at the loss as you move off of him and return to your previous position, barely registering the swipe of fabric between your legs as Joel cleaned you up without acknowledgment before he’s pulling you tight into his chest.

“Need to convince Tommy into letting me take up this patrol in the winter.”

You snicker quietly at his mischievous nature.

“Is that all I’m good for?” You tease playfully, “Scratchin’ that itch?”

“A couple of ‘em,” He admits honestly, pressing a soft kiss against the spot behind your ear, “s’good idea—as long as you don’t go breakin’ the rules and runnin’ off into the forest again—”

“Alright, alright, big guy,” You admonish, patting his head blindly over your shoulder as he shakes your hand away, “it’s not like you were really complaining about it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I knew just where to look.”

Of course he did.

You scoff lightly, “Oh, I’m sure—you got me down pat, like a damn book, don’t you?”

“Correct, baby,” He answers, “Ain’t no hiding from me.”

It’s a comfort, knowing he was always near.

Joel would always find you, no matter the situation.

[differenteagletragedy]

Price who gets a little older and finally retires but is BORED OUT OF HIS MIND.

He's right around 50, give or take a few years, and years of active duty plus a shot to the leg made it so that he can't do his job the way he used to, and damned if he's going to ride a desk and watch the rest of his team flit in and out doing what he should be doing. So he takes the pension and leaves.

It's less than a month of trying (and failing miserably) to sleep in, starting (and failing miserably) to grow a garden, reading and smoking cigars on his porch (that part goes all right) before he's about to rip his hair out. He ends up takin a job as an adjunct professor at the local university, teaching history.

And he ADORES it, so much more than he thought he would. He gets paid to run his mouth about World War II, something he would most definitely do for free, and he finds it surprisingly rewarding to interact with the students. He always loved taking care of those under him, and this is another version of that. He's a natural born leader, and while teaching is less regimented, it still fulfills something in him.

Another unexpected perk? You.

One of his more attentive students, always sitting in the front row, eyes wide and focused on him -- always on him. You hang on his every word during lectures, jotting down notes and asking questions, offering observations. You're bright, funny when the opportunity arises, and the way you just listen to him so well ... you're young enough to be his daughter, but beautiful enough for him not to be too bothered about it.

Not that it matters anyway. Nothing will ever happen, he knows that. He's your professor, he's sure you see him as an old man, if you even see him as a man at all.

What he doesn't know, however, is that you don't only listen because you're a good student. You listen because he's got the hottest voice you've ever heard, you pay attention because sometimes the dress shirts he wears stretch a little too tightly over his broad, well-muscled shoulders. You hover at his desk after class and ask him questions because you're genuinely curious, sure, but also because that close, you can smell him -- a rich tobacco scent that you're pretty sure you could become addicted to.

"Excellent work, as always," he tells you in that low, gruff voice one day during his office hours. You'd stopped by to get him to take a look at a rough draft of an essay you were writing for him. "You've definitely got an interesting point of view, sweetheart."

He glances up at you, a small, tight grin on his face, and you positively beam at him.

It was a slip of the tongue on his part, the pet name, and he's just about to smooth over it, a quick apology, but when he sees how your eyes light up at the tiny bit of affection, he can't bring himself to do it.

After all, it doesn't really matter, does it? He tells himself again that nothing will ever happen. And if more little names slip out, if maybe he hovers a little too close over your desk when you have a question in class, or if his shoulder brushes against yours when you're reading something in his office? Well, then that won't matter either, will it?

[izvmimi]

“I just think you’d be happy with us,” Luffy insists for the fifth time that week, and exhausted, you reach over your shoulder, where he’s leaned over, practically resting his chin on your shoulder, and you grip his face, squishing his cheeks. 

He pouts, but doesn’t break free, and you turn to look at him, giving him a frown. Your eyes lock for a few moments as you challenge him to keep speaking, and he, never intimidated by you even for a moment, even when you are trying, continues talking.

“Just think about it more?”

You’ve thought about it, many times in fact, and every time he returns to this neck of the woods since you met just several months ago, a similar conversation arises. The naivete in the idea of you leaving behind everything you’ve built for this pirate you knew nothing about a year ago amazes you, but Luffy has always had such a confidence and almost innocent directness to the way he communicates his desires that you find it harder and harder to not question your own resistance each time. 

This time he’s particularly persistent, possibly to the point of being annoying. You apply a little bit more pressure to the grip you have on his face until his lips jut out and he whines.

“Hey, that hurts you know!” 

You let go, even if you know you could never truly hurt him, and sigh. 

“You know, asking more times won’t change my answer,” you remind him as he makes a show of stretching his face back to normal, then watches you stack a pile of books together and store them away into a cabinet. He’s keeping you company in your workroom as you finish up the last of your notes before leaving the clinic for the day. These days he no longer uses your friendship with Nami as a pretense to come and see you, and no one is sick - instead he strides in like he’s important to you in his own right, and you hate that he’s right about that. 

You wonder who even lets him in these days.

“What would it take aside from asking?”

You look at him again, tilting your head slightly. 

“To change my mind?” you clarify. 

Luffy nods. You’ve started walking, and he follows closely behind, your sweet shadow as you lock up the room and place the key in your pocket, hands behind his head as he accompanies you down the street to your favorite restaurant. 

Since the last time Luffy came to your city, a month has passed, and for the first time, you have admitted to yourself that you genuinely missed him - seeing his smile in an almost empty cup of coffee, or hearing his hearty laugh in a group of friends huddled at a bar, thoughts drifting to what it must be like for him on the sea whenever you have an idle moment.

Always joyous and free, sea salt and sunshine sinking deep into his skin.

Being by his side sounds more enticing every time he brings it up, but he doesn’t need to know that. In fact, perhaps he should think the opposite, you decide.

You stop suddenly in your tracks, and he stops too, watching you carefully as you make your first demand of him. 

“Bring me a pearl and I’ll think about it,” you start. Luffy looks confused for a second, eyebrows furrowed, and crosses one arm over his chest, his other hand tapping his chin. 

“I mean we could go to a jewelry shop right now but I don’t see why-”

Your look into his own eyes is fiery, interrupting him firmly. “As big as my head. The kind you’d only find hundreds of kilometers deep in the Calm Belt.”

The words are meant to be delivered neutrally, but their content is laden with irrationality.

You pause, waiting for his protest, but Luffy doesn’t complain. Instead he’s listening intently, dark eyes just as focused on yours, on the drivel coming from your lips and perhaps on deciphering the unspoken code beneath it.

Code that isn’t I don’t want to go with you, but Why would you go through the trouble for someone as bothersome like me?

Perhaps he picks up on the subtext a bit, too smoothly. “Is that all you want?” he asks, finally.

You inhale sharply, and resume your walk.

“Yes. Unless you bring me one of those, I don’t want to talk about ever leaving with you again, Luffy. Don’t even come back to see me.”

Unfazed, Luffy smiles even though you’ve given him a nigh impossible task - in fact, you’re not sure these giant clams exist at all, and it would be a fool’s errand to search for one, but he laughs. 

“Deal.”

Leaving the matter as it is, you resume your walk, and at some point Luffy must have taken your hand, because by the time you’ve made it to where you’ll have dinner together (and invariably he’ll clean out your wages for the entire week just in meat), your fingers are interlocked as though they’ve belonged linked the entire time. 

—

Luffy leaves the next day, leaving a note that is short and sweet on your kitchen table.

Be back soon.

You figure you’ve possibly seen the last of him in a while and your stomach turns gently at the thought.

—

Three days pass and because your friend Nami hasn’t yelled your ear off by transponder snail, you figure Luffy has dropped the entire ordeal and not wasted his crew’s time by going off track to do something absolutely stupid at your request. 

Another three pass and you worry he is stupid enough to try to do it despite being hated by the sea, and you resist the urge to call it off yourself. 

But you have to trust that he could understand how you felt. 

As impossible as it is for him to do this for you, it’s impossible for you to leave your earthbound life.

—

But ‘impossible’ sits on your nightstand that night.

A perfectly round pearl, as big as your head (bigger even if you were to hold it up and compare the object in a mirror)and polished to an impeccable shine, waits for you, with another note.

You ran out of food. Be back in a moment.

When Luffy comes back, large bags of groceries in hand to restock your empty fridge (even though he’d end up cleaning it out himself that night), he finds you in quiet tears.

Slowly, he lowers himself to the ground, allowing his arms to wrap carefully and gently around your body until you’ve leaned into him fully, your sniffles muffled as you let your face hide pressed against his forearms.

You don’t ask how he did it because the act itself is enough, and he doesn’t speak until you open your mouth first -

- to say “Hi, I missed you,” even if you’re overwhelmed. 

Luffy hums in assent, and lets his face nuzzle into your hair further, the simple act asking you again, please come with me without him needing to say it out loud, even if the pearl he’s moved heaven and earth to bring to your doorstep allows him to.

To which your heart, as though you were being proposed to with this very act, finally says yes.

[whoistartaglia]

crafting with genshin mem

you can’t tell me neuvillette wouldn’t crochet with you. neuvillette would be all into it, buying you all the yarn and hooks and needles you need. and he’s unsurprisingly good at it; someone that graceful is daft at handling the crochet needle with grace and ease. if you thought you were going to be the one teaching him the basics, you’re unfortunately wrong. though, neuvilette will be fascinated if you teach him new techniques or show him new patterns and projects. crochet nights with neuvillette are relaxing, with both of you working on your own projects, together. do expect him to crochet you a lot of sweaters, scarfs, and hats; even if you protest you don’t even live in a cold climate, he won’t hear a word of it.

zhongli would knit with you. yes, there is a difference between that and crochet. you’ll be working on your own project, and zhongli will immediately be captivated. you don’t even consider yourself terribly talented at knitting, but zhongli’s watching you like you invented the craft yourself. eventually, he’ll ask you to teach him, and it’s cute. zhongli is an attentive student; he’ll listen you carefully and ask intelligent questions as they arise. his projects are questionable at first; you’ll have to reassure him every beginner starts out with random scraps and knots. his face scrunched up in concentration makes you want to laugh during his lessons, but you refrain in case he suspects you’re laughing at the “scarf” he’s trying to create.

you tell childe that you heard making abstract art is a good stress reliever, and you not-so subtly add that he should try it. and because he adores you, childe will almost immediately agree. you expected him to give it his best attempt and maybe get a new painting for your living room; what you didn’t expect was how aggressive the paintings looked. the first one was a collection of reds and oranges, jagged lines and dark streaks; the second was similar, and the third one yet again. you figure childe just as a lot of pent up stress, and hey, isn’t this better than him going out and doing hid who-knows-what with his who-knows-who fatui colleages? this is what you tell yourself as childe proclaims he’s made another painting, as if you don’t already have one for your living room… and every other room in your house.

kaeya would want to paint you. specifically, he would want to use oil paint to really “capture your likeliness on the canvas,” in his own words. kaeya will frown if you laugh at that bold declaration, but he’s persistent and you relent. but on one condition: you get to draw him as well. kaeya agrees, charmed you’d want to do such a thing. so you purchase the paints and canvases and invite him over. the rule is that you can’t look at each other’s paintings until the end of the night. expect flirty eye contact as you both try to paint the other. flowery words from kaeya stating he’ll have to use a bit more red paint since you’re blushing so much. the portraits turn out pretty good for a few hours. kaeya will appreciatively tell you that his portrait looks so handsome, and frown should you tell him it looks “nothing like him.” (it doesn’t, but he doesn’t need to know that.)

scara will blush and malfunction if you find the secret pencil drawings he’s done of you. it’s cute, you reassure him, and you’re honestly a little flattered. he’s your grumpy boyfriend going through his doodles and sketches of you, providing context (but not without grumbling a little bit) about each should you ask. some are of you when you’re not looking, others are from memory. you always asked scara to draw you and he’s always refused, so this was an endearing, touching surprise. please do tease him about this, especially given how much he refused to entertain the idea before this. even if you ask now, there’s a low chance he would specifically draw you, for you; it’s the spontaneous nature of it all that gives the drawings their charm. or, so he says.

bonus scene: if you ask scara to draw him, he will give you a disgusted look follow up by a flat-out nope, no thanks. he won’t entertain any conversation about it. not at all. but… should you “accidentally” doodle him when your mind slips or draw a rough sketch of him, scara will protest against it, then ask you to finish it, give it to him, and keep it forever.

[fancyfeathers]

Love the mother daughter pair, but not gonna lie, fascinated by the thought of bruce blackmailing reader, and then having to properly try and woo her back essentially. If he really wants a seemingly loving family, he has to know he needs to coax his wife and the mother of his daughter into a better mood and viewpoint. No matter how much blackmail he has, she can start gaining just as much now that she's in his life, and I doubt the daughter will start trusting him properly with the tension between him and her mother. How would bruce coax the mother back? And would Talia actually have an easier time establishing a connection? Could see Bruce feeling jealous of Talia if that was the case. Idk just the tangent my mind ran on, even if that's not the case still love the work

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

The blackmail is practically all there is he does that truly hurts him, and that’s only if she does not agree to his proposal when states his intent of gaining custody of their daughter. But after that comes to pass everything would be perfect for a normal couple, news about their engagement spreads like fire, and the wedding will probably be the social event of the century given how they were engaged once before and now it’s back on. The most perfect white wedding and Bruce treating his darling like the perfect husband.

Their daughter does not know the details of what happened, one moment it’s her and her mama having a perfect life together, traveling the world and being each other’s best friend, and then the next all of that is over, her father is back in her mother’s life and now she has siblings and none of them feel like the family she had with her mama, it feels suffocating and her mama doesn’t seem as bright as she once did.She clings to her mama every single day and is only separated when her attention is dragged away forcefully from her daughter and one of her brothers of father comes right to the littlest one’s side.

His wife does not push any of them away, she lets her husband hold her in the morning hours when they have just woken up and press kisses onto her face, she lets Dick call her mom as he runs up to hug her, she lets Jason help her daughter with her homework even though she asked her for help, she lets Tim take her daughter out to the park even if it’s their mother-daughter day they have, or used to have, every week, she lets Damian sit down by her and lay against her while she reads to her daughter. She will never be happy but she will fake it, she does not want to make a scene and have her daughter see and realize something is wrong and do something herself. She wants her daughter to be happy and have a future, go to university, leave Gotham and go back to what is left of the life they had, parents make sacrifices for their children and she is willing to do everything for her. She plays the game of pretend, acts like the perfect wife and mother and stepmother, stays calm and bites back all the internal rage she has building up inside her.

Honestly it is after every she has been through just for her daughter’s sake is when Talia starts to think a bit more highly of her, she understands the strength it takes to make sacrifices for one’s child. She also knows how possessive and protective they all are of her and her daughter, so meeting her discreetly is the best option. Like at a charity gala and someone accidentally spills something on her dress and has to go to the bathroom to clean up and-

“Hello again.”

She nearly screamed when she turned on the bathroom light and saw Talia’s reflection in the mirror. Talia helps her clean up and change into a new dress all while talking to her about what she has found out. She went from viewing her as Bruce’s house pet, because it was clear their marriage was not equal, to seeing a mother who is willing to sacrifice and do whatever it takes to take care of her daughter.

But it is during this the question arises and the answer is terrifying…

“What are you going to do if your daughter is just as trapped as you are? What if all you did for her was in vein?”

“I-I….”

“You are far too soft, you will never get what you desire for your daughter while you stay docile, playing the role of a perfect housewife, a house pet…”

“Talia…”

“I should be off now, but do take care of my Damian, he adores you as his stepmother.”

She leaves her alone in the bathroom and she just cries, feeling like a failure of a mother and she she can barely look her daughter in the eye again.

She just lays awake at night with the thoughts of the life she grew up with, she had a golden childhood and all she wanted was that happiness for her own daughter.

After that there is no chance of anyone winning her over, but she will not act out either, she just feels dead inside, like a complete failure of a mother. Her daughter clearly notices something is wrong and while her mother will stay perfectly compliant, her daughter is a completely different story.

The moment she sees her mom loose that shine in her eyes like she had when raising her on her own she knows this is all of their faults, they took her and her mom away from their life they loved and now there is nothing left of the mother who used to teach her to dance at parties, or attend her piano recitals and sat in the front row to applaud the loudest and despite the busy schedule of meetings she had she never missed one, or when her mom who could not help but boast about her daughter’s latest achievements…

Remember she is still her father’s daughter and has a level of determination that should not be tired under pressure.

[axolotl4days]

Batfam au angst :) also leading into (platonic) yandere batfam

What if Jason wasn't the first kid to die :)

And what if Damian wasn't Bruce's only biological kid :)

Au idea I'm simple terms: what if Bruce had a daughter in his early years of batman, who went missing and dead, but then years later reappeared and was found again, Bruce and the others won't make the same mistake twice.

Author's note before reading: Please keep in mind I'm new to this fandom, so I don't know much about what's canon. I simply get creative ideas really easily and have decided to share them.

If anyone else likes this idea, feel free to rewrite or add onto the concept, if you do please tag me I'd love to see what others do with this concept

I'm picturing reader to be the same age as or potentially slightly younger than Damian, but no specific ages are mentioned

Damian POV:

It was a day like any other, awful, Damian had to go to school. He didn't hate school, just the people there, loud, annoying, nosy.

He went about his day the same as always, reading in class and working on his work, until suddenly the principle came to class abruptly saying they had a new student, which the teacher promptly assigned to sit next to Damian. Great.

The teacher also informed him that he would be the one to show this new student around. So Damian braced himself for the extra annoying questions about him and his family, after all that's what people always want to know.

But to his suprised? This girl didn't care about any of that, simply asking questions about the class and school. She didn't even ask if he was really a Wayne, she looked a bit suprised but it wasn't the usual suprise most people had, and she didn't ask him any questions about it so it didn't matter.

As he showed her around he found out that they had the same classes, he heard her sigh of relief, but when questioned she said she was glad because it ment she wouldn't be alone in any of her classes and she'd have someone to turn to.

As the day went on they would go to class and work on classwork, it seems his new classmate was a lot smarter than the rest of them and he didn't have to constantly help her with work.

At the end of the day he made a mental note of a new acquaintance.

Later that day

"Ah, Master Damian, welcome back. How was your day at school?" Alfred asked, greeting the young boy

"It was alright Pennyworth, we had a transfer student today, but she seemed to be quite intelligent unlike the rest of those peasants" Damian replied

"Oh? A transfer student? In the middle of the school year? How odd."

"Yeah, I'll keep an eye out for any suspicious behavior, but there wasn't anything out of the ordinary, her name is Y/n." Damian said, but after saying her name he noticed Alfred looked pale

"Pennyworth? Are you feeling ill? Do I need to inform father?" Damian asked

"No no, I'm quite alright, it's just, I... used to know someone with that name, so I was suprised to hear it. That's all." Alfred replied, but he still looked pale

"If you say so. I'm going to head to my room and work on schoolwork before it's time for patrol" Damian said, and he was gone without another word

Alfred's POV:

'Calm yourself Alfred. It's a normal name that anyone could have, besides, it's been 20 years. Even if it was her she wouldn't be part of the young masters class. Still... I should inform Master Bruce, incase he mentions this classmate' Alfred thinks to himself before heading to the batcave.

There he finds both Bruce and Tim, working on the computer, searching for sightings of criminal activity, recently rumors of a new villain with unknown powers had started to arise, so it was the batman's job to keep Gotham safe

"Ahem, apologies for interrupting, but I need to borrow Master Bruce for a moment" Alfred says

"Did something happen Alfred?" Bruce asks

"No, not necessarily, it's nothing serious but we need to talk" Alfred replies

Bruce gets up and follows Alfred out of the room

"What is it Alfred? You look like you've seen a ghost." Bruce states

"Apologies Sir, as I said, it's nothing serious, however Damian informed me of a new classmate at school today" Alfred starts

"In the middle of the year?" Bruce comments

"That's what I said, however that isn't the point, I simply wanted to let you know before hand, incase the young master mentions this classmate infront of you.." Alfred pauses

"That's it? Why would you need to inform me of that" Bruce asks confused

"Well you see. He said that her name was... Y/n" Alfred states, and Bruce becomes just as pale as he is

"I see.... did Damian tell you anything else about this.... classmate?" Bruce asks

"No, he did not. But simply stated he'd keep an eye out for anything suspicious." Alfred said

"I understand." Bruce said with a deep sigh

"Are you alright Master Bruce? I know it's been a long time but-"

"I'm fine Alfred. I just... I'm fine. I need to head back to work now, we still don't know what this new villain is capable of, or what they're after." Bruce says, turning away

"Alright sir, if you insist. Please take care of yourself."

Alfred says, but he knows how Bruce is

The patrol went on as normal, and so did school. Nothing particularly interesting happened it was a week like any other, Damian and y/n would work on schoolwork together during breaks, since y/n joined late she had a lot of work to catch up on but she didn't have much trouble and Damian helped her when she did. The two had even become friends, turns out they had a lot in common, and some classmates tried to joke about how they were like siblings, but the two didn't mind. The jokes did make Damian aware of how... familiar y/n looked. He pondered the idea of her being a child from a one night stand, but the timelines didn't match up so he brushed the thought away, thinking it was a coincidence that she looked so much like Bruce. But nothing out of the ordinary happened of note, not until one fateful patrol where Damian made a discovery

Y/n POV:

Y/n didn't know where to go after waking up again, it was clear so many things have changed, and her dad taught her well. She needed more information before she made any decisions.

Unfortunately this ment she had no place to stay. After all, she couldn't go to an orphanage, she wasn't an orphan and she didn't have any documents or a story on where she came from. She knew better than to go to the police, what would she even say to them? So here she was. Sitting under a bridge hoping she won't get sick. But she was strong, she'd do what she'd have to in order to understand the situation better. Even if that means sleeping under a bridge like a troll, even if it means only eating the food provided by the school, even if it means-

"Hello there. Are you alright?" A voice asked making her jump

She turns to see, some sort of vigilante. She had heard in passing about how her dad Batman wasn't the only vigilante in Gotham anymore, so she figured it was one of them

"Oh um, I'm alright" she replied, she hadn't planned to meet any of them, she knew she might meet batman, which she kind of hoped for because then she could get some answers, but this was new territory this was- wait a minute why does he kind of look like Damian?

"Are you sure? Your sitting underneath a bridge at night, kids shouldn't be out here like this you could get hurt. Or worse. Why aren't you with your parents?" The vigilante (Damian) said, after recognizing his classmate, assessing the situation

"It's... complicated" y/n replies, before wondering how much she should tell him "I... can't really talk about it, but I can't go back home.. not yet at least, and I don't have anywhere else to go, so I've just been here" she states, hoping she didn't say to much

The vigilante just stays there for a moment, not saying anything, and she wonders if she said to much or if he thinks she's a criminal

"I see. In any case, you shouldn't be out here alone, the streets of Gotham aren't safe, however if you insist on staying out here may I suggest somewhere that isn't so easily spotted? You wouldn't want to be attacked. I know a few places that are safer than.. this" The vigilante says offering a hand

"Oh, uhm" y/n thinks for a moment, weighing her options "I'll take you up on that offer, it's not great down here" y/n replies, taking his hand

The two go to a more remote, slightly cleaner area

"Here we are, even if it's temporary this would be a better place for a shelter than where you were before. I don't know what's going on, but if you need assistance, im willing to help" the vigilante replies

"Thank you, you've really been more than enough help and I appreciate it a lot. If I need anything il let you know....."

"... Robin. My name is Robin." Robin says, noticing her pause

"Robin... thank you for the help, good luck with the rest of your patrol" y/n says

"Of course, you be careful now, always keep an eye out." Robin says, before leaving

'Phew.... he's gone. That was definitely him, and he definitely recognized me. Now what. He didn't say anything so they're definitely still doing the secret identity thing. I guess I'll just have to play it cool and hope he doesn't say anything at school. If any of the teachers find out I'm definitely gonna get investigated and then my whole plan will be thrown out the window.' Y/n thinks to herself 'Maybe this is a good thing, if he's Robin, it's likely that dad's still Batman too, which means I might run into him. What if he doesn't recognized me? What if he does recognize me?? What if- what if he didn't miss me.... no, no! This is dad, of course he missed me but it's been... so long... what do I do if he doesn't want me back...' y/n starts to worry about before she falls to the floor and starts to cry

Which, unbeknownst to her, Damian saw, he doesn't know why she's crying or why it makes him feel so... protective but he knows somethings up, so he goes off and reports what he knows to Batman

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aaaaand cliffhanger! Mwahahahaha

I would have kept going, and I know exactly what's coming next, but I've been typing for awhile and I have no idea how long this post is, and I don't want it to be too long

So I'm stopping it there,

This wasn't supposed to be this much but my creative brain decided to run with this idea, so there's gonna be a part 2 soon

Also I've decided to call this au

Batman Dead Daughter Au

Because.... idk what else to call it and if I'm gonna make a part 2 and potentially more depending on how this goes, I'm gonna need something to refer to it with.

As I said before, I'm extremely new to the batman stuff

Pretty much all of my knowledge comes from youtube and tumblr, so bare with me if things are out of character

I've also never written fanfiction before, it's always just been in my head, so the writing is probably a bit funny

Yes I'm a writer in the making but I haven't actually gotten to the writing part

And fanfiction is a bit different

Hope yall like the concept tho

Again, feel free to write your own version of this if you want to, just tag me so I can read it too lol

[igotanidea]

Just right: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

part 1 to too much

part 2 : not enough

part 3 : almost there

part 4: Stuck

A/N: I am NOT sorry for all the possible spellings and punctuation mistakes there. It's been almost 2 months since "Stuck" and I am FREAKING OUT posting this while crying because it's over. Enjoy and thank you <3

Warnings: end of series, 4082 words (!!)

***

He felt like a fool.

Reverting to his old ways instead of showing all the emotions coursing through his veins.

Turning around and walking away, leaving her alone, when all he wanted was to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness.

But how would the viscount Bridgerton look, while doing so, observed by all the ton, including the two biggest gossipers in the person of lady Featherington and lady Danburry?

Seemed like whatever he would choose to do, he would end up being a dolt.

“Anthony!”

He didn’t even flinch hearing someone calling him, nor recognize the voice. Too stubborn to stop he only continued his marching pace, hoping for the love of god that whoever dared to try and approach him in this furibund mood would get discouraged.

Not very gentlemanly of him.

“Anthony!”

He quickened his pace.

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“What?” he almost spat spinning around on his heel, leaving a dent in the ground, taking on his most stern expression. If his obvious ignorance of the caller was not a deterrent perhaps the frown and fiery eyes would.

Supposedly it might have worked on anyone else, but soon enough Anthony transformed from the head of a family and the viscount into a little child, upon noticing that it was his mother, exhorting him to the halt.

“Mother…” he muttered looking at the ground, having only confirmed his previous theory of his role in this entire disarray.

“Let us take a walk.” Violet smiled brightly taking her eldest’s arm and imposing a walking rather than soldierly pace. “What did you Anthony?” the gentle expression never left her face even when she was scoffing her unmanageable child.

“Why would you think it was me that--?” the viscount took the last resort to protect his own pride, but the tightening grip on his forearm betrayed the fact that Violet knew the entire backstory, behind the marital disagreement.

“I raised you. I daresay it gives me enough knowledge to not answer your question. “

“If you let me –"

“Don’t, Anthony. Y/N has been nothing less but charming since the beginning.. "

"That's the way to describe her--" the man muttered

"Strong-willed and persuasive, surely, you wouldn’t take anything but, but charming nonetheless. So do tell me so we could remedy the damage before it arises further.”

“Shall you mistake me for Daphne and ask about my feelings—”

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“I am a man, mother. A head of the family.”

“Clearly said head has been missing guidance in the right direction.”

“Mother!”

“Do not raise your voice on me son.”

“Apologies…”

“Good.” Violet beamed serenely “Do you think me so little knowledgeable to ask your emotions? I do not. I’m merely asking for facts, which you clearly have such a strong inclination to.”

Anthony mumbled something once more.

“do you wish you lose your wife, viscount?”

“What?” such possibility never crossed his mind. Y/N’s anger, her hurt, pain and merciless avoidance – yes. Abandonment and lack of her presence nearby? No. She would never… She could never. Lord above, who was she thinking she was? A woman married into a noble family wanting to cause a scandal by resenting her husband?

And once again, while his heart should have been shattered and humble enough to clarify the turmoil, the sudden blood rush turned into clenched fists and ire. All because he could not bare the thought of losing her for good, however hiding behind all the negativity was easier. It was something he was used to for years.

Nevertheless it was impossible to deny the facts further. It was her influence that caused the improbable openness in his soul was the exact same reason of his spirit bleeding.

And he needed her back.

Each minute without her was a minute lost. A minute less in the so very limited time they were given as a miracle on earth.

“What do I do?” he raised gaze at his mother, now truly looking like a lost man. Man in love, who was probably not the most romantic and gentle one with words, but still deeply infatuated with the woman who gave her whole life to him.

“Do not fret my dear. We shall alleviate the situation immediately.”

***

Y/N’s feelings were beyond anything possible to describe with words.

There she was, with her feet rooted to the ground, wishing for – and willing to accept – apologies but met with the harsh reality of the stone wall of Anthony’s behavior.

Accompanied by Eloise, smirking like the know-it-all she was, and Benedict with the compassion written all over his face.

Presumably, shall they not be there, the young lady viscountess Bridgerton would abandon all the pretenses of a woman of her position and begun blubbering in the middle of the promenade. However, the most mischievous of Bridgerton siblings acted with wit and sense, involving their dear sister-in-law in a challenging conversation, capably hauling her away from prying eyes and gossipmongers, preventing any possible rumors about incongruousness.

***

For unmistakable reasons she was not in the mood to see their ludicrous older brother and with the sudden disappearance of Violet, Benedict and Eloise took the privilege to invite Y/N back to the Bridgerton’s family house and extend the invitation for indefinite period of time. After all, Anthony might have been the head of the family as he proudly announced to anyone who was willing to disobey his wished and/or not listen, but Benedict was the oldest bachelor of the house and was more than willing to make a few decisions of his own to finally be seen as something more than merely second son and waiting for his time. 

***

Violet returned home few hours later and accepted the presence of her daughter-in-law with a mysterious smile and not a single word of objection. As amazing and uplifting as such approach might have been, it was also highly surprising. Viscountess Bridgerton was well known for her mitigating skills and tendency to scotch conflicts almost immediately, especially in her own family.

And it raised a lot of questions and secrets that Y/N and Eloise tried to uncover spending the night in the former’s bedchambers, talking for hours, creating conspiracy theories and preparing for whatever may have been coming.

Cause the fact that Violet was going to help her oldest son in winning back his wife’s attention was more than conspicuous.

Only that Y/N, who was forgiving and accepting at the begging was slowly turning cold at the fact that her husband could not simply apologize but rather resorted to some intricate ways of regaining her favor.

After a year of marriage, should he not know her enough for independent ideas and not seek his mother's avail?

***

First thing happening in the very early morning, was Y/N’s most trusted servant humbly asking for her lady’s time, which was bizarre and – as any other family may have deemed – inadequate and even shaming.

Moreover, any other house would quickly discard the commoner showing at the mighty's doorstep but Bridgertons were prone to discarding rules in private and with those who earned their trust. Be it servants or nobles. And Y/N was no exception to the rule, welcoming her maid with a smile upon seeing the person from her own household.

“My lady.” The girl bowed so low, she almost touched the floor with her nose.

“My dear Laura, please stand up, there is really no need for that-“ Y/N grabbed her hands and forced the girl up. “I assure you that-“

“But Lady Violet and Miss Bridgerton –“

“I assure you that they do not expect you to kiss the ground they walk on.” Y/n almost laughed at Laura’s discombobulation. Poor one was doing everything in her power to not make her lady embarrassed and act like a good and obedient servant, almost expecting Violet or Eloise to be cruel and judgmental.

“Dear Y/N, did you give your helpers the idea that we are some sort of tyrants?” Violet send her daughter-in-law a honest smile, which immediately got Laura’s reaction in the form of blushing.

“Lady Bridgerton I apologies if my appearance is the dishonor on-”

She didn’t even finish the sentence, met with Y/N, Violet’s and Eloise’s laugh and a polite look from more balanced Francesca sitting on the chaise longue.

“Do not fret, my girl, we are more than happy to welcome you in our household.”

“Tha-thank you my lady…”

‘Now I assume you came to talk to your lady, so we shall give you some privacy. Come girls, make haste for the matter to cover is of utmost delicacy.”

“And how shall you know it mamma?” Hyacinth almost twitched her ears, not really understanding much of why Y/N was with them rather than with Antony, but curious as a young girl could be.

“Precisely mamma, how shall you know?” Eloise, immediately picked up her sister’s question, only not so susceptible to extenuations.

“Eloise Bridgerton, I shall expect you to practice the bowing before your incoming debut in front of the queen. Daphne made quite an impression and –“

“Daphne was deemed diamond of the season and such title is below my ambition.”

“Regardless, you do not want to trip or slip do you?”

Eloise (and everyone else) obviously remembered what happened to Featherington’s sisters and the embarrassment so with a heavy, exaggerated sigh and one quick, sharp, bright look at Y/N Eloise left the room, followed by her mother and sisters.

And once the lady and her trusted eyes and ears of the house were alone, who could stop the two of turning a lot more unmindful of societal norms?

“My lady, the lord has been quite annoyed since the quarrel you lordships have had. He even refused to eat his favorite meal.” Laura confessed with blushing cheeks

“Are you to tell me that Prescott prepared the roasted pork for Anthony after he was so unjust towards the lady of the house? I shall have a word about a loyalty with him upon my return.” Y/N satirized wholeheartedly.

“When shall you return my lady? Seeing as that viscount is not the one to have a change of heart and admit his wrongdoing easily?”

“He will Laura. One way or another I am fairly convinced my husband may take a long way to do so and take the aid of his mother whilst deciding. It’s just I am not fully convinced if the apology made with cheating are worth accepting.”

“Oh! You took the lower route here my lady forgive the audacity.”

“Just the route of a woman who expect honesty from her man.”

“Fair enough I suppose. But shall you be agitated my lady I take it you do not wish to accept the viscount bestowment?”

“Bestowment?” Y/N frowned a little in confusion “and what shall that be?”

“I do not know, my lady. I am merely a messenger—”

“I believed you to be on my side Laura.”

“And I am, my lady! But one do not object the command of the lord, that is clearly ready to vent his anger on the first soul that happen to be unfortunate enough to be around.”

“My god, you are a prattler!” Y/N laughed “where is that gift in question? Cause since it is mine either way we might as well get a little curious, shall we? Would be such a shame to put it to waste.”

Laura stood up from her chair and started heading to the corridor, but Hyacynth was first to barge into the room carrying some parcel that was almost bigger than her.

“Y/N! Is this that gift from Anthony!?” clearly she was eavesdropping  “Can we take a look, please? It’s so big I wonder what it is? Come on, open it up! Open it up!”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Eloise muttered but there was no denying she was equally curious as her sister.

Y/N only rolled  her eyes, inviting all the girls over and opening the box. Fishing out the most beautiful and definitely expensive new dress. The color was perfectly matching Y/N’s complexion and the material delicate yet durable – Anthony knew his wife and her adventurous tendencies.

“It’s so beautiful and elegant” Francesca whispered touching the dress with delight.

“So what, he think he can just buy her the garment and she will forgive him?” Eloise scoffed “Men are so simple minded and belittling of women!”

“Try it on, Y/N!” Hyacinth encouraged, almost jumping from excitement

“Do not try it on! This would be relenting!” Eloise objected.

“He made a gesture!”

“It’s not a gesture! It’s an attempt of buying her forgiveness!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N?!”

“Quiet!” Y/N finally managed to break through the noise of two sisters. ““No offence girls, but this is my marriage and my decision. One I have to make by myself. So thank you “ she smiled brightly but with a hint of annoyance “for your positions on things, but I am perfectly capable of weighting the significance of the gift, on my conviction to forgive or not forgive him.”

“Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!” “Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!”

***

Anthony was waiting for her in the garden outside some estate she had no idea existed. After all, Y/N has spent her entire life in London, rarely being invited to the cottage. And in this case it could have been used a leverage, not that he was aiming for measuring forces and cold calculation.

No.

He was walking back and forth, almost trampling a path in the ground in a place where it should never be. Nervous enough to anxiously fiddle with his fingers like a lady before her debut entering the society. Hoping she would come. Wishing for any entity in heaven might want to listen that she would take this dress he send her as an expression of humility rather than boosting like a rooster. Praying that Eloise wasn’t there with her sharp tongue and unrestrained thoughts to discourage his beloved from accepting both the gift and the invitation.

The minutes turned to hours and even his father’s pocket watch refused to work with Anthony in this important moment. Having no regard to the poor flowers any other plants standing no chances against his heavy riding boots, the time seemed to stand still.

For whatever it was worth it, Anthony Bridgerton swore to himself that he would rather turn into a sack of boned waiting in this desolate place than walk away while there was still a glimmer of hope she might appear. He was done and fatigued with missed opportunities, poorly chosen and ill-spoken words.

It was never his intention to said all those atrocious words to her.

Too much.

Dear Lord.

Now that he was thinking about it, his heart was capering in a way that filled him with self-hatred. After all the pain he might have caused her during that little hurtful exchange while she did nothing more than be there for him. Even if he not exactly wished for it. Even if he himself didn’t know that her presence in his life was the best thing that happened since his father’s death. If not since forever.

Anthony wasn’t the one to believe in signs or any spiritual influence on earth, but the more he was dwelling on his own misery, the more deliberative of their first meeting he was becoming.

It was late lord Bridgerton’s death anniversary and as any other year – he separated himself from the rest of the family. To show how adamant his heart and mind was and to underline that this was nothing more than just another day in a line of any other similar ones. But the truth was, he wanted to visit his father’s grave alone without any possible disturbances or havoc that his younger siblings could have caused. None of them really knew Edmund Bridgerton the way Anothony did. The first born son, the heir to the title, deprived of his father’s guidance and presence and forced to take responsibility for the family in way too young age.

He needed to be by himself, cause god forbid anyone seeing him showing any signs of humanity and indulging in grief.

And his family knew and accepted it.

She didn’t.

Just a stranger, strolling by herself in the area, looking like a commoner, having no regards to the sanctity of the moment nor the place she found herself in.

And worse for her – spotting Anthony in the never-seen moment of vulnerability written all over his face.

“Lord Bridgerton” she bowed in a way that showed that the savage, Anthony took her for, actually had manners. And that he knew him, but this was not so unexpected.

He only grunted in response to annoyed by an unfortunate set of circumstances that worked against her. The viscount himself was not going to bow to a girl that was clearly a servant, with messy hair and in a dress that was far from anything a woman, even of lower position should be seen in.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be, girl?” he muttered under his nose, throwing daggers with his eyes.

“I’m sorry my lord but-“

“You should be sorry. I am convinced your lady nor your lord will be pleased with the fact that their service wanders alone in an area that does not belong to them!”

“Service?” Y/N smirked looking at him with amusement and twinkling eyes. And Anthony with his youthful energy and virility could not miss the fact that she was actually pretty.

“Yes, service.” He hissed at her “now get out of here girl, before you get yourself in far more trouble from me and end up on the street!”

“I shall-“ she obviously was not going to let anyone maltreat her like that, but her acuity wore up that very moment. She noticed the weariness in viscount’s eyes, noticed the monument nearby, and realized what day of the month it was.

“Forgive me, my lord.” She bowed in respect “I shall be on my way. And I shall not mention this meeting to anyone, hopefully wishing for you to forget my impertinence.”

She was gone as fast as she appeared, and Anthony thought to never see her again.

Until the next rout Daphne was attending, where he actually did.

Immediately realizing the scope of his previous mistake, upon learning that the service girl was in fact Miss Y/L/N, the youngest daughter of Lord Y/L/N. And met with another look of those glistening eyes and amused face expression. Forced to accompany her for the evening, since apparently Lady Bridgerton and Lady Y/L/N has made some arrangements for the future.

He was thinking it was all just a coincidence back then, but now he came to conclusion that it must have been his father who send this girl into his life. Knowing better than him that she would turn his ways around, challenge him, test him patience mercilessly and yet – that she would be the one to love him unconditionally and whom he would love with all his broken and unperfect self.

And the burden of possibility of ruining it all for them was even more overwhelming.

He clasped his hands behind his back, walking shorter and shorter distances, turning back more and more often, stuck in his belief that he would stay here as long as she didn't show up, even if -

“Anthony.”

Viscount spun around so abruptly it almost caused him falling to the ground.

She came.

She truly came.

It was like meeting her all over again, back in time, back next to his father’s grave.

Only she wasn’t looking like a servant girl now.

She was wearing the dress he sent her, looking not only like a viscountess, but like a queen herself. His queen. His wife. His love. His everything.

Her skin was radiant due to the color of the material (just like Violet predicted), cheeks flushed, hair done in perfect curls surrounding her face, bright like a sun.

“Y/N….”

“It was so unwise on your part viscount to call upon me and invite me into a wild place a woman like me should never step foot on.” She said sternly, but the everlasting and never changing glistening of her eyes betrayed her true intention “and perilous, may I say? Far from the city? Lady travelling alone? So many hazards awaiting me on the way.”

“Benedict and Colin were following your post chaise.”

“Oh I knew I heard someone laughing on the way. But my coachman brushed my concerns off!”

“Did you really believed I would send my greatest treasure into the wild without proper security?” Anthony took a few steps forwards, reaching for her hands and placing gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Your brothers?” Y/N let him show the courtesy, but raised eyes in skepticism of the words.

“Believe me my lady, you should never underestimate the man of the Bridgerton house.”

“In what aspect my lord?”

“In every aspect, dear.” He looked deep into her eyes.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” Y/N quickly averted her eyes, because Anthony’s gaze were so full of passion, love and genuine remorse and apology she found herself falling into his charms. And this couldn’t have been so easy for him. “You sister discounselled me on coming here.”

“And yet, you came my lady.” Anthony reached for her chin and slowly, gently and with tenderness turned her face towards him so that their eyes had to meet again.

“Anthony I –“

“My love, I am sorry.”

“this is not—”

“Let me speak” he hushed her, not breaking eye contact. “I asked you here, because this is the very place where my father asked for my mother’s hand. Where he pledged her his undying love, support and loyalty. And you, out of all people in the world, learned how much I cherish my father’s memory and his legacy.

“Anthony-“

“Therefore, here I am. Standing in front of you, expressing my deepest condolences-“

“Oh, dear lord, Tony!” she cried out in frustration “stop using the words you would say to me if Lady Whistledown were nearby! Tell me how you feel!”

How he felt was not with words.

How he felt was expressed by the way he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his chest, capturing her lips in the searing but gentle kiss that conveyed more than any noble and dignified words of a lord could.

I love you.

By his strong arms encompassing her like a shelter from the storm.

I won’t ever let go of you.

By tender caress of her hair and back.

I will always cherish you.

By the way his lips were moving against her, whispering silent words understood only by two souls forevermore yearning for each other.

I am sorry.

She was the first one to pull back for air, reluctantly so.

“My love. My beloved.”

She smiled at him, connecting their foreheads, allowing his arms to tighten around her waist and waiting for what was coming next to assess the truth behind his words.

“Am I too much now?” she whispered

“You are always too much. To much for me to keep. To much for me to even wish and pray for. Too much of a blessing in my life. Too much in the best possible sense and—”

This time It was her who cut him off by a kiss, silencing anything else that might come from his lips. He was honest and sincere. And if he was trying to apologize by saying anything else and backing out on what he said back there she probably would not forgive him sensing manipulation. But this?

“I forgive you.” She whispered against his lips.

“Thank God.”

“Is this cottage inhabited or--?”

“No. It’s not. And I intend on taking advantage of it right this moment.” He grabbed her and carried inside bridal style, ready to not get back to London for at least a couple days.

(spoiler alert below)

I got a request for a fluff pregnancy fic.... <3

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[ttsukiimi]

୨୧⋆ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ in which geto has never really found a purpose for the mirror in his bedroom until you.

୨୧⋆ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ geto x fem!reader, smut (mdni), full nelson position, size difference if u squint, katoptronophillia? (sx in front of a mirror), slight belly bulge, marking, unprotected sx, bit rough at the end, creamp!e. (he basically fcks you dumb!)

Suguru had always had this fantasy--a wet dream even--of ruining someone in front the spacious, looming mirror perched at the foot of his bed. Hell, he'd barely even look into the thing, only doing so when he was in a hurry or in need to fix his hair or clothes. So, it just always seemed so right.

The lucky day you finally came around, doe eyes innocently surveying around the room, lips curling upwards into a smile as he took your smaller form in his arms, he knew you'd be the one to fulfill this dirty little fantasy of his.

His sharp eyes didn't fail to notice the way your vision zoned to the mirror, admiring the gold little details around the frame. "Sugu, what do you use that for?" You asked in that sugary tone of yours, unknowing of what the question would arise into.

Suguru chuckled at the question, seeing his chance, and planted a kiss to your pulse-point, peering up at you, eyes entwined with something you couldn't quite place at the moment.

"Wanna find out?"

And you did soon enough. But by that point in time, he had your thighs pressed against your stomach as his arms locked around the back of your knees, cock pummeling in and out of you at an almost inhuman pace.

Sweat trickled down his forehead, hot pants fanning past your neck.

"Do you know now, princess?" he questioned, the sentence shaky. You locked eyes with him through the reflective glass, moaning alone at the cocky yet pleasure-stricken look on his handsome face.

Your mind felt too fuzzy for you to even consider answering him, mouth opening for an answer, though all that came out was an incoherent mewl.

"Feels that fucking good, huh? Got you dumb on my cock." Suguru groaned, losing himself to the way your walls pulsed and clamped down so deliciously around him, sucking him in like he was the breath to your lungs.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment at the noise your cunt made around him, the loud squelch of your juices being smothered on his dick. And even though you inwardly hoped the shameful sound would stop--Suguru felt his cock twitch inside you--it was like music to his ears.

Closing your eyes, you let your hand hang back, but almost as fast as you had did so, he spoke up. "Keep your eyes on the mirror."

And he thrust in particular hard, causing you to yelp in pleasure and pain and immediately comply with him. "But Sugu, can't keep them open," you watched his reflection, hoping he'd at least serve you some mercy--but no.

"'M not saying it again, baby." that was final. His lips attached to your neck and sucked, only popping them off until he was satisfied with the blemishes on your supple skin. He watched as he entered and came out of you, your clit red and swollen while your folds stretched to accommodate his size.

Suguru slid his gaze up and almost came on the spot.

He could see a slight bulge on your lower stomach where he fucked into you, and he swore something feral let loose in him. Suddenly he was rutting into you twice as fast, heavy and thick inside, a thin sheen of sweat now covering his forehead and sculpted body.

"Y'fucking feel that? Feel me where I'm not supposed to be?" he panted near your ear, your toes curling in sheer pleasure. You nodded, not daring to open your mouth, and let the feeling consume you.

Your thighs began to shake as you neared your high, your nerves overwhelmed with static. "Cumming!"

Before your juices dripped down his cock, the warm feeling triggering his own orgasm, and he gazed at you.

"Inside."

Suguru didn't need any more than that. He released his pent-up load into you, fucking all of it into you.

You were both left panting, inhaling in air that smelled of sex. He sighed contently and pressed a kiss to your forehead, placing your still quivering and sweaty body on the bed.

"That was..." you cut yourself off for air, "So good, Sugu."

Suguru kissed you again, this time on your lips, slowly pulling out of you with a pained and muffled groan. You didn't even want to let go of him.

His lusty gaze snaked down to your battered cunt, drinking in the sight of his seed dripping out of you and the white ring of cum formed around his base.

"Thank you, princess."

[qlossytbh]

im so FUCKING stupid and i accidentally forgot to add tags and i deleted the anon request this fic was inspired from so i will paste it here

“Could you please write one about having a team night round Rossi's but you and Spencer had had an argument before so it was tense between the pair of you so you try and flirt with one of the out of town agents to try and get his attention?”

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧- 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you and Spencer don’t usually get along due to your constant fights to prove who was better. But when the two of you are paired on a case together, hidden feelings start to arise towards the surface.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 enemies to lovers type beat (?), academic rivals (?), fem!reader, typical criminal minds content, jealous spence, mentions of a guy that gets a little too handsy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 4.6k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i get a little carried away with request oops. i don’t think this is exactly what you were asking for but

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It had come to no one's attention that you and Spencer were fighting— again..

The BAU team was currently hunting down a murderer that was attacking teenagers at a local campus in the city of Chicago, and all that Reid seemed to be doing these past few days was getting on your nerves.

Wether it was searching the crime scene, analyzing the possible behavioral patterns of the UnSub, or setting down a profile, you and Reid could not stop bickering, driven solely off the desperation of beating each other with whoever could piss the other off more.

You thought Spencer had this aggravatingly, annoying need to prove he was always so much smarter than everyone else, using his wide variety of big intellectual words just to show off.

He, on the other hand, truly couldn't stand how you'd always butt into every conversation you deemed necessary attempting to seem smarter just to get yourself on top of a case. Your ego had been Spencer's main problem across these past few months, but it was slowly driving him off the wall and he found that with each passing day, he was finding it harder to work with you.

The initial conflict seemed irrelevant right now— something about Spencer purposely embarrassing you in front of the the team back when you had just started out in the BAU. Even if it was unintentional, the anger stuck.

You had been so embarrassed, feeling your insides pool with irritation as you questioned why he felt the necessity to correct you so publicly— in front of people you still didn't know.

With time, it slowly morphed into a constant competition to prove who was smarter, quicker on their feet, more widely intellectual than the other, always finding ways to one up each other in conversations— anything.

You were smart and you couldn’t blame him for seeing you as a competition the second you stepped foot into the BAU.

The rest of the team was growing sick of the two of you always whining and bickering. It could be the smallest, stupidest fights— or something so weighty, the two of you wouldn’t speak for days.

However, the two of you got into a fight yesterday when landing in Chicago.

It had been stupid

It started when you "accidentally" slammed the taxi door in his face, genuinely not realizing he was getting out of the cab on the same side you were, even though a side of you thought he deserved much more than a slammed door to the face.

Later on in the day a heavier argument spewed, given since he accused you of being ‘unprofessional’, which had incredibly pissed you off. It was the one thing that truly got to you, and Spencer knew this.

Since then, none of you had spoken to each other and the rest of the team could practically feel the tension. Hotch rounded the table, pressing his hands together.

"So, let's lay it all out," Hotch announced. "Who's starting?”

You and Spencer both volunteered simultaneously. You shot a glare in his direction, which he easily disregarded as he stood from his seat at the table

"So far, we know were looking for a male between the age of 20-25," You cross your arms across your chest and look over at the board with a huff, accepting your defeat.

Your eyes scanned through the evidence and pictures at hand. While Spencer continued his analysis, hands shoved deep into his pockets, you squinted at the words scribbled onto the case file. "The killer seems to have a target preference given how all four victims have been female college students between the ages of 18-24"

"So, do we know which kind of killer were dealing with here?" Morgan asked, flipping through the case files.

"If I'm not mistaken, the last victim presented a alteration in the Unsub’s M.O in comparison to what we've been observing so far, which could ultimately mean we could be dealing with a disorganized offender acting out on—" He stated, turning towards the board, but when your eye caught a part of information in the file, you were quick to interrupt.

"Actually, you are mistaken," You reached over, grabbing the file in front of you in one swift movement and flipped the page as you stood to your feet. Spencer froze and turned towards you.

"Excuse me?" He inquired, clearly unamused at your antics. You briefly looked up at him, only sparing him a brief glance.

"You're wrong. The Unsub isn't disorganized," You jutted your chin towards the board. "We're actually dealing with an organized offender."

Morgan glanced over at JJ, quietly cursing to himself knowing that this was probably payback and not heading in any favorable direction.

"Sure, this specific victim wasn't as calculated and precise as the other," You started. "Up until now, the Unsub seemed to be killing all of these girls with long, tedious methods, such as torturing them, which clearly shows us he feels no remorse and actually finds pleassure out of killing them. Organized crimes are premeditated and carefully planned, so that would explain why we found little to no evidence at the scene yesterday and organized criminals, according to the classification scheme, can tell right from wrong—"

"—But our buddy here doesn't care," Morgan finished off, looking up at you. With a nod, you continued

"Precisely. The pattern of our victims also leads us to believe that he's seeaking some sort of revenge on the girls, since they're all from the same background." You pointed to a few post-it notes on the board. "Right here it says that all four girls belonged to the same frat house on campus—"

"Yet our recent victim did not," Spencer butted in with a shurg, facing you smugly. With an unamused glance, you took two warning steps towards him, maintaining your composure.

"Well, Dr. Reid, if you read the autopsy report you'd see that the newest victim died from a blunt force to the head," Annoyed was an understatement as to what you were feeling towards him at that precise moment. Your eyes narrowed while you managed to keep on the most innocent smile you could. "That means that the attack was out of some unplanned rage, which caused him to lashout and therefore break his regime."

You took one more step towards Reid, suddenly dangerously close to him. Intimidating people wasn’t something that came hard, much less with Spencer.

Something inside you fed off that vast satisfaction that arose when he'd get activated with you. Seeing his breaths go shallow, his whole posture to stiffen along with the habitual furrow in his brows felt like your daily dosis of serotonin.

"If you payed more attention to these case files, you'd also see that the newest victims was our previous victims best friend, so there still is a connection just not the one you've been blindly looking for.”

With that you slapped the files into his chest and stepped back, referring back over to the board.

Spencer gapped at you, opening his mouth before clamping it shut immediately. He fumbled, grappling at the papers on his chest and looking down at them in embarrassment. You felt yourself smile with satisfaction at how his movements became sloppy. "I— I would've said that if you let me finish my analysis and let me actually read these papers."

"Or you can just admit you're slow—"

"So!" JJ butted in, quickly cutting off whatever fight was about to implode in-front of them. "We’re looking for someone connected throughout the campus that would somehow want some sort of revenge on these girls? Correct?"

"Yes." You and Spencer stated simultaneously. You bit back a comment, swiping your tongue against your lower lip, annoyance filling every single nerve in your body while he let out a noise similar to a scoff.

"Here's the plan then," Hotch said, ignoring the two of you. "Prentiss and I will give the Chicago police force the profile. Morgan and JJ, deal with collecting possible witnesses; anyone at that campus who knows anything that may deem useful."

You stood, glancing over at Spencer. When he met your eyes you quickly looked away, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

"Reid, Y/L/N," Hotch said, finally acknowledging the two of you with a steady gaze. "You two will assigned search the crime scene to see if any evidence was left behind—just protocol checking, but we need to be sure nothing was left unseen."

You opened and closed your mouth, intending to protest about the pairing but deciding strongly otherwise.

With the intention to remain professional you nodded in agreement. As hard as you found to do so, you waited patiently for the other members of the team to draining the room until only you, Morgan, JJ, Spencer were left collecting the remaining of your things.

As Morgan was grabbing a few of his things with JJ patiently waiting by his side, you walked up to her with a devious smile. "Hey Jayj, wanna change partners?"

"I am right here." Spencer answered.

"I dont care," You shot back, causing him to angrily shove more of his files into his satchel. You turned back to Morgan, practically ready to get onto your knees and beg him for sympathy. "Please Morgan, trade with me— I'm begging you."

"We don’t get to choose who we get paired with,” He started, looking down at you unamused. Your face fell, deadpanning at your friend.

“If you're going to complain about being paired with Reid none of us wanna hear it," Morgan groaned, dragging a hand across his face. You opened your mouth to protest, but he rudely cut you off by pointing an accusitory finger at you. "The two of you have been yapping at eachother faces since we got here."

"We have not!" You both shouted in unison. You angrily turning around to face Spencer, warning him with a glare. “Stop that!"

"It's always something with the two of you," JJ shook her head in disappointment. "You're lucky you two are the smartest members on the team cause we would've had you seperated months ago,"

JJ finished grabbing her things and glared at the two of you. Morgan grabbed his things as well, before turning to you. "Either you sort out all of this sexual tension you've got going on or you keep your mouths shut and get along!"

"What!?" You gaped, taking aback by Morgan's accusations. "Thats not—We dont—"

You fumbled with your words as your cheeks grew hot. You stammered, trying to hit back with something, but inevitably found your mind blank. You huffed, snatching your bag and rushing towards the exit of the conference room "I hate you."

"No you don't princess." Morgan stated as you walked past him and shoved his arm.

"And you boy genius," Morgan said looking at Spencer and tossed her bag across her shoulder. "That goes for you too, either get laid, or shut up."

With that, they left the room leaving a sputtering and angry Spencer struggling to regain his composure after the absurdity that had left his collegues mouth. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and grabbed his final things, leaving the room in a frenzy.

You pulled the cars ignition once you pulled the car into the Campus buildings entrance. You put the car in park as you umblucked your seatbelt, which Spencer started doing not long after you had, following your suit. The ride had been completely silent, none of you wanted to speak to eachother, worrying that if you did another argument would start.

All he did during the ride was read some of the case files while you intently focused on the road. Your hands gripped tightly at the steering wheel and every once and a while you'd sneak small glances at him— not because you cared or anything, you just wanted to see how much more information he was getting ahead of you with.

The building was secluded off to the public and the entrance was swarmed with countless police officers and agents. As you climbed out of the car, you pulled your glasses onto the top of your head and slammed the door in one swift motion. By the time you got to Spencers side of the door, he was still inside slowly collecting his things, which pissed you off. You waited impatiently for him to climb out with a huff.

For what seemed to feel like forever, he finally opened the car door and started to climb out as you waited impatienly. "You look like you're doing that on purpose."

"Getting out of the car? Yeah, I am actually" He stated, finally stepping out. A snide remark came up your throat but wasn't able to leave your mouth given how Spencer towered over you once he strightened himself out.

He unintentionally stepped way too close for your personal preference, but your boundaries melted somewhere in your consciousness.

You craned your head back just slightly, allowing yourself to look into his eyes. Spencer swallowed thickly, suddenly painfully aware of how close the two of you were. An unfamiliar voice reeled the two of you back to reality. "Dr. Y/L/N?"

You practically jumped, swallowing down the urge to yelp. You stepped away from Spencer, blinking rapidly as you cleared your throat. "Uh yes!—“

"Thats, uhm, me—“ You slipped your glasses off and put them into your bag anxiously. "Dr. Y/L/N."

You turned to the Agent in front of you, who held his hand out with an irksomely pearly white smile. You gazed at the man, and you had to admit he was easy on the eyes— a little too stereotypically attractive for your taste.

"I'm Agent Mirthwood, head of the Chicago police department, Aaron Hotchner specified you'd be here to help with the case," You took his hand and shook it. "Wasnt expecting a doll like you."

Spencer didnt miss the way his eyes raked across your body, taking in every part of you with careful detail. You were wearing a silk black button up, along with a blazer that matched the skirt that hugged your skin tightly. Spencer would have to be blind to ignore how every piece of clothing you had on hugged every inch of your curves perfectly, so obviously, whoever this guy was, he was going to be staring.

How couldnt he?

You laughed nervously and Spencer, despite his profiler background, couldn't tell if it was becasue you were uncomfrotable or flattered. Either possibilities made his skin crawl.

"Charming," You noted, not really wanting to give him any more material to chew at. "So, mind leading the way?"

"Not at all." He grinned, placing his hand on your lower back and guiding you towards the building. Spencer followed behind pathetically, feeling his hands clench and his jaw tighten while he watched the guys hand linger where they didn't belong.

Once inside the building, you and Spencer looked around your surroundings, checking over a few areas of the marked numbers and rerunning the supposed series of events in your heads. "This is where the first victim tried escaping,"

You and Spencer simultaneously looked over to the glass window that had been merely cracked. "Can't believe how a murder took place and the campus director didn't even close the place down for more than five days."

"Agent Mirthwood, you said that the floor above us was where Anya Colins was murdered, correct?" You asked, looking over towards the locker. Spencer stood beside you with his hands shoved into his pocket.

"Over in classroom seven, yes” He responded. His eyes flickered towards the pop of your hip. “Call me Ben,"

You looked over your shoulder momentarily, shooting him a polite smile. Spencer bored his eyes into the side of the agents face, slyly enough so that he wouldn’t notice.

"Could it be possible that we take a look across the flooring, you know, check inside any of the clases for some clues we may have missed?" You said, lifting your chin and facing Agent Mirthwood. He smiled bumptiously at you.

"Why I'd be delighted to accompany you and help you look out for whatever it is you're looking for—"

"Actually," Spencer butted in, somewhat protectively if you let yourself assume— given how the tone of his voice had grown territorial. "Hotchner specifically implied we stick together as the pair we were assigned, and we usually work best when just the two of our heads are looking around."

You furrowed your brows, looking up at Spencer with confusion. His tone alarmed you momentarily, and at first you wanted to grow defensive because who was he to boss you around?

You took in the familiar line-out of his clenched jaw and how his shoulders broadened ever so slightly. You noticed he had chosen to stand between you and Agent Mirthwood, and suddenly it dawned you and hit you harder than a ton of bricks.

Spencer Reid was jealous.

Despite the weird feeling nagging at your chest, you couldn't contain how a smug smile began to appear onto your face. Somehow this newfound information cave you a newfound cockiness— you finally found something you knew had the upper hand on.

"Actually Ben," You dodged Spencer, making a B-line for the broad man you had only recently met. You tried looking as innocent as you possibly could, the look you always used to get men right into the corner you needed them in. "I'd actually love having your company. I'm gonna need someone watching over me up there."

Spencer froze, looking back and forth as the darkness in this guys eyes only increased and suddenly— he panicked. Spencer was panicking because he genuinely thought you were going to leave with Agent Mirthwood and he wouldn't be able to watch over you or him, or anything you did with him—

Then he saw it. The way you turned, shooting him a challenging glare over your shoulder towards him.

"You wouldn't mind, would you Dr. Reid?"

“I—“ His fists tightened as he stared at you, stunned. Something underneath his gaze was warning you that you were pushing him close to his limits and you loved it.

“One of the victims was attacked up there and then dragged herself all the way down here,” You watched the agent explain broadly.

“That must’ve been horrible,” You added an almost feather like gasp to your words. He knew damn well that you knew what this officer was saying was nothing but false due to how the crime scene was framed.

“Yeah,” Ben took a step closer to you and Spencer couldn't even stop himself when he pried through, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards him territorially.

“Bosses order. The rest of you keep looking around to see if anything looks out of place."

Spencer dragged you all the way up the stairs and into the empty hallway on the second floor. You struggled to keep up, complaining pretty vocally that your heels were screwing up your rhythm, especially in comparison to his long and hurried strides. You finally dug the palm of your foot into the ground and yanked your arm away.

"What the hell is your deal!?" You clamored, knowing you had him cornered. He turned, pushing his lips into a straight line and looking at you in complete silence.

“My deal!?" He shot back suddenly, gesturing towards you in an exasperated motion. “You barely know the man and you're willing to walk somewhere with him alone..!”

You scoffed. "Oh please, like coming up here with you is any better."

"You don't run the risk of getting potentially murdered by me." He said, trying to prove his point.

"You sure about that?"

Spencer looked at you and something shifted behind his eyes. Your face was furrowed with nothing but pure anger as you huffed widely. Spencer opened his mouth and closed it once again, hesitating whether to say what he was about to.

"You're being unprofessional." He blankly stated. Your mouth fell agape.

There was that fucking word again— You felt about ready to murder him. There was adrenaline coursing through every nerve of your body at this point.

“What did you say?” You almost whispered.

“I said you’re being unprofessional.” He stated nonchalantly. You gaped at him before tightening your fist and resisting the urge to punch the crap out of that smug look.

“I’m unprofessional?!”

“Yes,”

“That’s because you’re making it hard for me to work with you!”

He rolled your eyes at you and became indignant.

“Stop doing that!” You barked.

“Im not doing anything,”

“You keep treating me like im stupid,” You pointed a finger at him. “Stop acting like you’re so much better than me when you are not.”

Spencer clamped his mouth shut, seeing you blaze with anger. “Ben would be a way better company than you,”

“Why do you keep saying his name like that?”

You huffed. “Like what?”

“Like—“ Spencer stopped, sucking in a sudden breath as if he hasn’t been breathing since he walked up here with you. “Never mind,”

You scoffed. “No come on,”

You took a dangerous step towards Spencer, now only a few inches away from his face. “Say it,”

“Because I think Ben, pissed you off the most when he had his hands on my—“

Spencer quickly grabbed your face in between both his hands and slammed his mouth onto yours. You inhaled visiously through your nose as you melted immediately under his touch.

Everything froze right then and there as he pulled away quicker than he had leaned in. Your face still remained cupped gently in his hands while your grip was tight on both his wrists as you stared at him, mouth low in shock. A shaky breath left his mouth, and fear was pooling around in his eyes.

You could feel your own chest heaving as you looked back and forth at his eyes, still not grasping what had just happened between the two of you. Spencer towered over your small frame, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the room. It felt like there was a rope pulling between the two of you and it was right about to break. His thumb grazed your bottom lip and you could practically hear the chord snap.

All the anger drained your body instantly as you caught yourself pulling him onto your mouth with just as much desperation as he had previously done. Your movements were hurried and frantic, as if both of you were scared that at any point this new found standing point would stop disappear and distance would be put between the two of you. The last thing you wanted was for his body to be any farther away from you than it currently was, and not understanding why you suddenly felt that way, angered you even more.

His mouth hungrily moved against yours as his grip on your face tightened. Your hands snaked their way into the back of his soft curls and pulled at them roughly, emitting a groan from his mouth onto yours.

Out of all the times you'd provoked a groan from Spencer Reid, this had been your all time favorite.

In frantic movements, Spencer pushed you against the nearest wall, hearing a rough thud come from behind you but never once disconnecting your lips from his. His hips pushed against your in one rash motion, causing you to whimper softly against his lips, which reached the deepest parts of him

His hands traveled anywhere and everywhere you'd let them. They ran down your waist and stopped at your hips giving them a rough squeeze which only caused you to squirm once again and pull at his hair ever rougher.

Everything was messy and hurried but so unexplainably wonderful.

"Tell me to stop and I will," He muttered over your lips.

"Don't—“ You warned, panting desperately for him to grab you in ways you could have only dreamt about. You needed to feel his hands rake across your body as if he owed it. “Please, don’t”

Spencer’s heart shuddered as he could visibly hear the desperation in your voice. How you were practically begging for this just as much as he had been. How you melted under his touch so effortlessly.

Before Spencer could move any further, a voice cut the two of you off. “Hey, guys!”

You pushed Spencer off yourself with a little more urgency than you had initially intended. You ran your hands through your hair frantically and pushed your skirt down, which had accidentally— not so accidentally— been pushed up. Spencer on the other hand, settled with a simple, subtle gesture of grazing the corner of his lip to remove some of the nude pink lipstick that had smudge a bit onto his face.

He cleared his voice before turning to whoever had called out, but before he could say anything you quickly interjected. “Morgan? JJ? What are you doing here?”

Spencer could’ve allowed himself to smile at the sound of the quiver in your voice and how your body was still distraught by the adrenaline.

Morgan eyed the two of you and it didn’t take any time at all for him to realize what had happened. The shuffled hair, the puffy lips along with all the wrinkled clothes. Not to mention how both of your chests heaved heavily.

“We have an advance on the case but it seems like you two are busy with something…” JJ stated, looking over at Morgan from the side of his eye.

“Or someone,” He added. You tried to find some sort of defense in your favor but came up with none. You didn’t want to even look Spencer in the eye, so you quickly turned and headed for the staircase, when you approached Morgan, he whistled lowly.

“Someone got a piece of genius boy and enjoyed it—“ You smacked the back of his head.

“Hey!” He groaned, looking back at you while you strutted down the stairs, barely being able to keep your balance steady.

i am planing on doing a spicy part two😝

[theorist-fox]

Fair trade

John Price x Reader

Cross posted from AO3.

This one shot deals with heavy topics such as emotional manipulation, emotional abuse from family, and self-objectification.

I'm begging you to read the tags before pursuing the story. Thank you so much for taking care of yourself first. 🦊

If you're looking for some aftersex comfort, recommending this by @/karlachismylife. 🧡

Summary: John helps you out of the toxic pattern your family has woven around you, and finds how utterly gorgeous you are behind it. He cuts your strings, and loves you the way you deserve.

18+

Word count: 10k CW: smut (cunnilingus, blow jobs, sex seen as a form of self-harm, sex seen as a way to feel useful), heavy angst, hurt/comfort, dubcon if you squint.

Masterlist 🦊

“No, we can’t come over, darling.”

To have a life planned out must be a dream. No worries nor fears, because everything is already outlined—a step-by-step guide, given to you at birth. A path, a purpose.

To give is your purpose.

It’s been ever since before you hit the eighteen mark; the birthday being only a threshold that signed your legal independence.

But you’ve always been, haven’t you? Shadowed by bigger problems ever since you were a small thing because there wasn't trouble that mattered less than you did.

The difference being that before you were shielded by your naïveté, by the bleeding heart they’ve carefully built for you, so you’d bend and break pliantly, even willingly at times, without ever realizing.

Now you're an adult, they'd implied.

Now they can use you at your full potential, and you won’t even put up a fight. You won’t set boundaries, because this is all you’ve ever learned. This is all they’ve ever taught you. Their perfect mold, kneeling in perfect obedience.

But how much can one take in a lifetime?

“Thanks for the help, love. I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“Will you?”

“Of course.”

But staring at the phone won’t make it ring.

When you’ve never had a moment for yourself but plenty of time to dedicate to others—where do you draw the line of this so-called purpose, then?

“Happy birthday sweetheart.”

“It’s next week, mum.”

“Oh. I must have mixed it up.”

This goal—this agonized prize, towering at the finish line you’re desperately running to, the one defined by your family the moment your first cry pierced the air—what is it, exactly?

It’s a cascade of praises. It’s a shower of love that reawakens you from your torpor like a bucket of ice-cold water. It's abrupt but somewhat needed until it slowly becomes fresh instead of freezing, and it hydrates your skin and soothes the thirst. You feel rejuvenated, coming out of your lethargy, and alive and thriving and—

It stops.

Your fifteen minutes of unbridled, limitless love just snatched away in spare seconds.

And you’re parched again. Sometimes, they leave you wanting until you’re on your knees. Sometimes, they never give it back.

And so, the questions arise—what happens when you’re not needed anymore?

What happens when the calls plummet?

When the visits diminish until there are none?

When you're a ghost haunting your own life because your purpose is slowly vanishing. When that prize stands in the distance as a rushing fountain of praises and kindness, but you've already given a hand, an arm, your legs, your voice, your heart. What then?

How do you move, exactly, if there are no limbs to which attach the strings? How will you speak, if they’re not shaping your voice?

How does your puppeteer lift you from the floor? Your ventriloquist—how will it force you to agree to every demand?

“You... met without me?”

“Sweetheart, we thought you were busy.”

“You could’ve asked.”

“You would’ve said no.”

But you wouldn’t have. You’re not even sure you can say ‘no’ to them.

Is there someone who will hoist you up, when you’re nothing more than a torso, and take you to the finish line?

“Uh, darling, mind calling later?”

“I’m not feeling fine, I was hoping—“

“I’m busy, love.”

A therapist for your mum.

A crutch for your dad.

An advocate for your brother, but you’re no one to them.

A child, once. A person, now.

A notification on their phone. A Google reminder of a birthday.

A missed call. An excuse.

A vacant shape in a family photo. A memory, then nothing.

Raised to serve. But what happens when there’s no one to serve?

“What you’re doing to me is not fair.”

“I don’t like that attitude. Don’t forget how much we did for you.”

Your hands are tight around the steering wheel. White knuckled fists and creaking leather. The car smells of stale tobacco, cigarettes you’ve smoked with your offhand limp out of the car window, then stubbed in the portable ashtray.

"We love you, of course we do. How could you ask that?"

It's raining but your window's rolled down, a ciggie snug between two fingers. Elbow propped on the car door, arm hanging out. The sleeve of your sweater is soaked, and the cigarette is sodden. You don't even notice it when you bring it to your lips and take a drag. Nothing fills your lungs.

It’s fine.

It's a habit. It's autopilot. You go. You exist.

“It really doesn’t feel like it. You haven’t called in weeks.”

“It’s just—we’re people too. We’re busy.”

“You’re not busy for my brother.”

“He’s—you’re different, darling.” You’re used. We’ve consumed you.

It’s a feeling of emptiness that spills out of every hole like heavy smoke, clouding your senses. A husk that billows dark tendrils from its eyes, moves mechanically like an alien imitating a human being.

It's fake. You're a dummy. Unhuman. A thing.

“I just need your help. I—I’m not fine. I’m not asking for much. Just an evening toge—”

"So much is happening right now. You can deal with it on your own, love.”

You close the car door once you've parked it in the garage. Up the stairs you go, dragging your feet on every step.

“Like you’ve always done.”

Would this world exist even if you weren’t in it? Would these stairs lead to your apartment, if you didn’t inhabit it?

Is your flat even yours? Sure, you’ve paid for it. The party you threw after your signature was placed on the contract is still a cherished memory.

But what were you even celebrating? Four walls. A roof over your head. A bed to kip.

It’s a lot, you’re aware. Not everyone can say they own all that. But do you? 

They’re things. Can you own things?

Surely, you are owned. By them.

But you’re not even sure you need things. You can’t need, because things don’t need. And what are you, if not a thing? Because things are used, not humans. Humans fight back, eventually. Humans hold their pride dear, it's the only character that separates them from animals, from meat. You never bit back, not once. So what does that make you, if not theirthing?

Your purpose is not a choice you made, it’s theirs. You have to give—that is why they made you.

You own, so you can give them.

You earn, so you can give back.

Because who’s given you a roof when you couldn’t afford it yourself? And the food in your belly?

Darling, it wasn’t for free. You were expensive to raise. You were costly to craft, to mold, to perfect.

But they haven’t called. No one has. No one will. 

The master left the strings—and what of you, now? Do you just lie limply on the floor, waiting for the next hand that'll hoist you up?

And if they don’t call to ask from you, how do you know you’re doing fine? How do you know if the finish line is close when they took your eyes already? How do you ask for help, if you don’t have a voice?

But that was the point. Their goal. They own you, and without them, you’re nothing but a heap of wood, infested with termites. Wooden rods on the floor, nylon strings cut short. You’ll grovel and beg, they’ll croon at you in mockery, bleeding you dry, but it will be enough for you—anything would be enough for you.

You unlock the door. John hears and his head peeks from the kitchen.

“Hi love,” he rumbles, and you feel it shaking your heart.

Does he need you?

John Price is a captain of the special forces who has gone through hell and back. He's witnessed things you've only heard from the mouths of journalists or read in black-and-white papers, and he came out of each one of them unscathed. Strong. Resilient.

He doesn’t need you. 

“Sortin’ out dinner,” he adds, and returns behind the wall that separates the living room from the cooking area. “You’re gonna love this pasta, I’m telling you.”

Of course, he doesn't need you.

The house is pristine. He takes care of it while you’re at work since he’s off deployment. He’s going to be home for a while now, a handful of months. That’s a good thing, you miss him when he leaves.

It’s you who needs him. But you can’t need, so how does this work, exactly?

How do you explain that hole in your stomach that relentlessly craves to be filled? That makes you want to curl on the floor. Turn into dust and seep through the cracks of the hardwood.

Disappear. Invisible. Paper-thin.

Because maybe you're tired of being needed. Perhaps you want to break through that mindset and start needing something.

You chastise yourself for even concocting the thought.

You stand stock still at the door. You hear nothing but the blood rushing in your ears and John moving pans around the kitchen.

You see his head at the doorway again.

“Love?”

Your eye twitches, but you don’t answer.

He doesn’t need you. Then why is he here?

There are plenty of people out there who’d love to bend for him. Mouths he can kiss. Holes he can fill.

That’s what people are, no?

No. That's what you are.

You’ll make him need you. You’ll show him that you’re fundamental, not just another hole. That you cannot be replaced, because you can't afford to lose him. You can't.

It’s selfish, it is.

You cannot be selfish, it’s not what you were taught. But you will. Just today, just now. The first apparent tear into the careful pattern threaded by your family.

But it's not really a hole, is it? If you're carving it to escape a trap, only to fall back into another one of your own making.

You hurriedly toe off your wet shoes and walk with purpose to the kitchen, dropping your bag on the floor as you do. He quirks a brow at you and your silence, but his face soon morphs into sudden confusion when you come to stand in front of him and drop to your knees.

You know how to do it—how to make people smile.

Your empathy is unmatched. You read people's tics, their quirks. Gauge them from the way they move their lips, the words they use, the way they look at you.

And John—oh, he loves how you work with your mouth.

And if he needs your mouth, then by extension, he needs you.

Your hands palm his thighs as you flutter your lashes up to him. He's forced to lean back against the kitchen counter, but he's not looking at you the way he usually does—not with his lidded blue eyes, heavy and wanton.

John looks dubious instead. Even flinches when you press your cheek to the crotch of his jeans, stroking the fabric to your skin. Denim’s rough, and it especially hurts when the plump of your cheek catches the zipper’s teeth.

Good. 

Let him take. And let it hurt.

“What’s goin’ on." He states, doesn't ask.

Please, take.

You’re already working through the button and the zipper when you answer, fingers shaking as you do. “I wanna suck your cock.”

Now, John wouldn’t normally complain, but you sound much different from the other times in which you actually do want to suck his cock.

He hums, allowing you to palm him through his briefs, gently but firmly pressing your hand where he’s still soft. You nose him through the cotton, flattening your tongue against his dick—you can feel it twitch under the muscle. Good, means his body is responding how you want him to.

His hands curl painfully tight around the lip of the counter.

It’s so silent except for your heaving breaths warming up his length and the buzzing fire on the stove.

You place tender kisses as you feel him harden under your lips.

He's looking at you to try and gauge the reason behind all this. It's clear to him that you're not being your usual self, there is something in your eyes that tickles him in the wrong place. You know he knows—you know he's gathered something's wrong. He’s ever so attentive, capturing every minimal change in the wrinkles of your face.

You're so akin to him when it comes to that.

You don't give him time to ponder for long, though. You take his cock out of his briefs and force it into your mouth.

John knocks his head back against the cupboard and fixes his eyes to the ceiling, wide open. A heavy breath leaves him languidly. His cock chubs up as it sits heavy on your tongue, and you can feel it fill up your mouth.

“Christ.”

Yes. It’s what you want, to hear him lose himself in you.

You start slowly, pumping your hand at the base along with the movements of your lips, mindful of keeping your teeth out of the way. Tilting your head sideways, you let the tip of his cock push against your cheek while your tongue lavishes the malleable skin around its length.

Your eyes swivel upward, and you're met with the view of his corded neck, tight and straining as he refuses to look at you.

No. 

He needs to know it’s you.

He needs to understand that you can give this whenever he wants, that you're not just another mouth. That no one else is as versed as you are when you eat him up. Your tongue knows how to follow the vein along the velvet of his skin, all the way to the slit on the tip. Your hand knows how to cup his balls and brush the seam in the middle—how he shudders, each time you do.

He needs to know that.

He can’t let you go. Not him too.

He has to hoist the limbless torso that you are towards the finish line, where you’ll get your caresses and your praises and your prize: the crumbs of love you’ll lap until your famished heart stops rumbling.

So, you drift your free hand upward and thread your fingers through the curls on his pelvis, gently grazing the skin with your nails. Then, you drum the pads on his soft belly, feeling them dip into the flesh and hit the harder muscles underneath. You splay your palm in the middle of his stomach, where you can feel the blood rushing madly as his heart pumps all the same.

It’s enough for you, the bodily reaction to the softness of your mouth.

But why isn’t he looking at you?

Recognize that is me. That I can make you feel good. That you need me, that you still do.

In the desperation of the moment, you opt for the best you can do: you take him deeper. The hand at the base of his cock moves to flatten on his thigh, and you carelessly widen your jaw to take more, and more, and more.

You flatten your tongue against the underside of his shaft and then twirl it around, all the while hollowing your cheeks without ever daring to take your eyes off him. That way, if he decides to look down at you, he'll find you teary-eyed and wanting—perfectly on your knees, like a devotee, no matter how artificially placed.

Your lips slide so easily up and down his cock, coating it with saliva, teardrops and precum. They swell so beautifully around it like a plump peach being ravaged; he always flatters you for it. Calls you beautiful when you suck him off so fervently, eliciting choked moans from you as you drink up the praise. 

You dive in and the head tips at the back of your throat, causing you to gag around it. The muscles of your neck clench and he curses under his breath. Your eyes water in joy and overexertion when he looks down at you at the sudden change in pace. You don’t care if it hurts, let him bruise your throat.

You can give him more. You can give him everything. 

You push even further until you're nuzzling against the coarse hair on his pelvis. You choke around his cock, a weak and wet cough that causes drool to dribble at the corners of your mouth. You pull back then, to take a wet gasp around his length, and then push forward to flush your nose to his crotch once more.

The tips of your knees hurt; the tiled floor in the kitchen is hard and merciless against the bone. It'll leave your joints aching and rough. They'll pop when you stand up, they'll hurt tomorrow when you go to work.

Good.

The knot in your stomach is ever so tight, seeking to be released and let go. It contorts in wantonness and, you’ll realize later, mortification. Just because you’re used to giving yourself so freely in exchange for crumbs, it doesn't mean it gets easier every time—to watch yourself bend on a whim, to see your pride shatter into even tinier pieces.

You feel his hand thread through your hair and tears fall down your cheek because yes, now he’s going to fuck your face like you want him to.

Use me. Treat me for what I am. Become the fucking puppet master. Take my fucking strings now that they’ve dropped them and guide me through this fucking shit I was left in.

But instead, he pulls you back, his cock escaping your mouth with the same ease you got it in.

A ragged breath, thick and wet, leaves your lips as soon as they’re free. Your coughs turn into a hack, as you stare at the glisten of your spit coating his shaft. A string of thick saliva tethers your mouth to it. Tears roll down your cheeks as you recollect your breath, nostrils flaring in the attempt to take in the air you’ve deprived yourself of.

“What’s this.”

You swallow down the liquid pooling in your throat, salty precum and viscous saliva like tar, gluing your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

“Let me.” You croak. The thought that you might sound pathetic doesn’t even cross your mind.

His brows twitch, but he keeps his voice even. “No. What’s going on? Spill it.”

Your pleading look morphs into a glare. Bloodshot eyes, tears, and snot. Spit and cum. Clumped lashes and runny mascara.

Whore. 

Your chest heaves, not from the strain, but from being caught red-handed, and you don't know how to behave.

No one ever asks why you do it, they’re simply glad you do.

You’re helping, aren’t you? It’s what you were crafted for, brick by brick, bone by bone. Made to change like a chameleon based on other’s necessities.

It’s what you are—so let me do it.

“I want to suck your cock.” You say as crudely as you can manage. “I want you to come down my throat and then I want you to bend me over the table and fuck me until you’re empty.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, still holding your head by a handful of hair. His fingers aren’t tight, but your scalp stings nonetheless.

“Can do.” He shrugs. “Need to know why, first.”

You’re a heap of wood once again, piled up at his feet. Your limbs are jointless, just lying there, waiting to be thrown in the fire to rekindle its flame, so everyone else can be warm at your expense.

A broken puppet can still be used for other purposes until it's ash.

There's nothing in you, if not how wonderfully soft your mouth would be if only he'd let you wrap it around him again.

“Because I want to.”

He curls his nose, mustache following the stretch. “Hardly.”

“I do.”

He tugs at your hair and says your name in such a commanding manner that you can’t help but deflate. The glare in his eyes snuffs the defiant flame in yours.

"Please let me," you plead, and the way you sound is nothing short of degrading.

You don't care. You don't care if you reduce yourself to a puddle of pleas. You know you're not supposed to need anything, but you need this.

Your hands are sticky with dried spit and precum when they grab his cock again. You start pumping it fiercely, trying to make his orgasm hit earlier than what you had planned. He holds your head out of reach, meaning you can't wrap your lips around it—you'll have to make do with your hands.

Slut. 

But it’s okay, you’ll be a slut, if it helps him realize that you can make him feel good with everything you have to offer. That he won’t find another as pliant and willing as you are. That if he wants to be served, you will be his thrall.

Everything you own, it’s so you can give him.

Everything you earn, it’s so you can give back.

He can mold you. He can break you and put you back together the way he likes. He can craft a new puppet out of you, you’ll hand him the strings. He’ll take you to the finish line and love you, then.

Only then.

You see his mouth curl, bile on his tongue, as he reins in his own lust. There’s something wrong about you tonight, and he’s starting to understand what it is.

And so, he leaves your hair, favoring the softness of your cheek. He thumbs the plump of your cheekbone and then rubs a line along your lower lip.

It's then that you take your chance and rush forward, planting a kiss on the tip of his cock. Tongue out to leave kitten licks at the drops of precum you are squeezing out of him with your hands, knowing he likes those tiny shocks it sends up his spine.

And just when you think he’s relented to your pleas, just when you have your lips plump and shiny, ready to wrap around the flushed head of his cock, he takes ahold of your chin and tips your head back.

“I love you,” he croaks.

Words he’s said already, but not as often as he should’ve. It’s his fault, he grievously considers, if you think you have to be on your knees to receive them.

He realizes it when you shock into a stop. When your eyes widen a tick too much.

Blind idiot he is.

"I love you," he says again, more firmly this time.

Your face screws up as if you're trying to wrap your head around this language you don't know. You haven't done much to reach that prize—if anything, you’ve done the opposite. You’ve edged him until the head of his cock has turned an angry red that must be aggravating to handle, impossible to quench without the welcoming warmth of your mouth or that of your cunt.

You blink up at him. Tears fall down your cheeks. “But you need to come.”

If you’d have shot him, he would’ve handled the ache much better than this.

"I need nothing." He supplies gently, tracing the corner of your lips with his thumb, getting rid of the mess he's inadvertently made of your mouth.

His statement hangs in the air, stale and musty and threatening, not as sweet as he thinks. It clogs your nose and tightens your chest, curdling your blood into frozen lumps. The noises around suddenly feel deafening: the bubbles popping on the surface of the boiling water, the wet sound of your skin unsticking from his cock as your hands leave it, their thud as they fall in your lap.

If you’re not needed, then what are you?

Carefully, he tucks himself back into his briefs as he kneels to your level.

He whispers your name and cups your cheek as he does. "I love you.”

You know he does, but stuck in the web woven by your family, you always thought it was a purely transactional sentiment. A fair trade.

He loves you because you kneel prettily in front of the sofa.

He loves you because you let him stuff you up and fill you to the brim with his come at the snap of his fingers.

He loves you because you're a lovely addition to his arm when you doll up for his work ceremonies or other functions.

He loves you because you cook a mean Sunday roast when he comes back from deployment.

And you love him because he's John, because what's there not to love.

With gentle blue eyes framed by bushy eyebrows, and droopy eyelids that give his often scowling look a gentler feel to it. The honey smatter of freckles on his nose, and the sharply trimmed beard on his jaw. Plump rosy lips, how soft they feel when he places them on yours, juxtaposing with the prickly ends of his mustache.

His encompassing heart and the way he's enlarged it for you to fit better, so you're all comfortable and warm in his life.

John gently presses his lips on your forehead as he speaks softly, "I love you."

Your eyes flutter closed. A heaving breath again, one that stutters as you try to inhale it. Fat tears fill the cracks in your lips and flow down your tongue.

John brushes the back of his knuckles across your cheeks. “Don’t need all this to love you.” And then he looks in your eyes, searching for any sign of skepticism, and regrettably finds a considerable amount of it. “You knowthat. Right, love?”

No, you don’t know.

But you don’t have the gall to tell him. Suddenly, it hits how pathetic you look. On your knees, begging for him to stuff your mouth with his cock so you can feel useful, so he can shower you with love once you give him a reason to keep you.

You kneel there helplessly, deflated.

Useless.

You gesture with your hands at him, feeling how limply they hang from your wrists as if you've never used them on your own in the first place.

There is very little you can do to humiliate yourself further, and yet you manage.

“But you need me.” You cry, as your face scrunches in a pain so deeply settled that John has no clue how to work around it. “I need you to need me.”

However, he tries. He tracks your tears with his thumb, stopping their fall right above your cheekbone.

"Don't need you, love." He says tenderly. "I want you.”

He shifts a little closer and cradles your face in both hands so that you cannot avoid his eyes even if you tried.

“Want you.” He breathes hoarsely, “Ain’t with you ’cause I need someone. I don’t need anyone, and I don’t want just anyone—I want you. ‘Specially when you’re not on your knees.”

Your nose is stuffy, and you can’t breathe right. Suddenly, you feel so unbelievably tired. Your face plops in his hands, and the humiliation feels ten times worse. It's hard, however, to interject with a word that would make him understand how deep this pattern runs.

He doesn’t let you, but only because he knows already.

"Like you when you get all chuffed ‘bout your plants sproutin’." He drawls. "Love it when you hop into bed and shove your cold feet against my thighs ‘cause I'm much warmer. Or when you make love to me. But not when you—when you pull this."

His voice is heavy. Your heart aches because you're so tightly wrapped in deadly silk, stuck in your family's cobweb, that you've never noticed how it must pain him as well, to see you reduce yourself to this.

"Bloody hell, love." He sighs, furrowing his brows. "I love you, yeah? I don't need—whatever this is. I don't want whatever this is.”

John's eyes close, his face screwing up in that way that tells you he's thinking. He shakes his head subtly, and you're afraid you've gone and done it now. He's going to go because he already has so much shit to deal with that your puzzled self would only be another broken case to add to his file.

But alas, dread doesn't even manage to settle on your heavy heart that he locks you in place with his blues.

One of his hands drifts to the back of your head. He leans in, enough for you to smell the tobacco on his breath.

You swallow dryly, lips parted in shaky pants. Eyes lidded and tired, nose scrunching in sniffles.

John presses a gentle kiss on your lips, no more than a peck. And then another one, and another, and another, until you can’t discern whether it’s the salt of your tears or that of his skin.

Your breathing becomes heavier and it mingles with his own when he comes to rest his forehead on yours.

"I love you," he murmurs tirelessly.

The hand on your nape guides you to him, and he kisses you again. Unlike the previous ones, this is bolder, yet tender all the same. He holds you in place while the rest of the world falls into impeccable silence.

The gentle smacking of lips is all you can hear, and even if only for a moment, it manages to silence the voice in your head—a mimicry of your family’s cries, their lying coos, their grating, consuming, plastic love. 

You feel yourself uncoil under John’s touch and the deft work of his tongue on yours. Hands in your lap, you abandon yourself to him, but it's a different type of surrender; your eyes close and all your feelings, all your energy, flow into that kiss.

“I-I love you,” you venture, breathy voice brushing his lips.

John inhales sharply, and he realizes this might be the first time you said it because you wanted to and not because you had to.

His hand drifts from your cheek to your shoulder, down to your stomach and he guides you to lie with your back against the kitchen floor. His palms flatten next to your head.

Normally, John would have you on a fort of pillows and blankets and would never compromise about it—constantly making sure you’re as comfortable as they come as he ravages you. Beforehand, you'd get ready in the bathroom, having prepped yourself to a T. Shaved and moisturized and seasoned like a prized pig for him to consume, wearing the prettiest, skimpiest lace to frame the petals of your perfectly waxed pussy.

Because it’s a fair trade; he treats you like a princess, so you can be his pretty whore.

Yet tonight you think he won’t do any of that. There is a gentleness in his kisses that, while not uncommon, certainly feels unique. Your hands hover between your chest and his, unsure of where to place them. You hope he’ll guide you through this too, manhandle you into position like he always does.

But again, he doesn’t.

He barely feels like John at all. His behavior is so different that if you closed your eyes, anyone could be in his place right now. But that is only your perception, isn't it? Because John has always been tender with you, you were just too busy thinking about how to repay his kindness instead of living in the moment.

His lips leave yours only to busy themselves with the skin on your cheek, then down your chin and to your neck. You gasp at the goosebumps, and he stops.

His face comes into view and it is so flushed you think he must be collecting all his blood right in the apples of his cheeks.

“Okay, love?”

You blink. Your mouth tastes more like his cigars than tears and precum. It makes you feel less dirty, even if what you did (and have been doing your whole life) hasn’t changed.

You swallow thickly as he gazes into your eyes.

“Y-yeah, just—” A crease forms between your brows, “I should—I left you like that, and—”

He hushes you.

"No need to bother 'bout me." He reassures you.

He presses a kiss between your brows, smoothing the lines your concern has formed. You close your eyes, focusing on how warm he is in contrast to the tiles pressing against your back.

“Tell me what you want.” He breathes. As if you have an answer for that.

His kisses trail down your face and your neck, turning more open and wet. The rising gooseflesh, however, does nothing to stop your mind from running miles ahead.

What do you want? 

You must've been posed that question before because it's such a basic one. You try to think of contests in which one might ask that, such as your birthdays, or celebrations, or a teacher wondering what is it that you desire in the future: a career, a husband or a wife, a family.

But to desire is to choose, and you don’t think you’ve ever been given that possibility.

Hence why you're rattled, aghast. On your back on the floor, with John sucking love bites on your neck.

You give the answer you know will make him content.

“Fuck me.”

You’ll moan like a porn star. You’ll dig your pretty nails into his back so he can show off the marks you left on him with pride. You'll pretend an orgasm if yours is taking too long, so that his ego will be kept fed and full, and he’ll still find you appealing. So that he can go tell his friends and comrades how good you are, in and out of bed. What a gem. Wife material.

He’ll doll you up and tie the strings around your wrists. Make you dance and you will—coy smile, pretty eyes and all. A new puppet out of you, just for his sake.

John stills, and he shifts uncomfortably above you. His mouth is suddenly next to your ear, and he leaves a kiss at your jaw hinge.

“You don’t want me to fuck you.” He murmurs, and you swear there is a hint of guilt in the way he says it.

You feel dizzy at the thought of being caught. It’s scary to have your thoughts so out in the open after having spent an entire lifetime locking them up.

John nips at the shell of your ear. You venture with your hands and place them on his chest, still unsure of whether you want him closer or far, far away.

"Can I make you feel good?" He asks hoarsely. Your body responds naturally and it makes heat pool in your lower stomach.

You suck in a breath, eyes fluttering closed at the idea his words have instilled in you.

You reply the only way you know. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Yes.” He says forcefully, almost as if he wanted the answer to stick to your brain for the days to come. The switch is so abrupt your heart skips a beat. “Yes, I have to ask. Of course, I have to ask.”

He props himself up, hips snug between your thighs. He could roll them against yours and seek the friction his chubbed up cock must physically need after you teased it.

But he doesn’t, and it makes you feel both inadequate and nervous.

“So, answer me, love.” He rumbles, as his pupils dance between your eyes. “Can I make you feel good?”

You’re not sure why, but it makes your eyes water and your heart hurt. Your brows draw together in a frown that rips at John’s chest.

“Y-Yes,” you stutter, voice strangled in your throat. “Yes, please.”

John leans in to kiss your eyelids as you snap them closed.

And then he kisses your cheek, your nose, and your lips. His hand trails over your sweater. A gentle tug at the hem makes tears fall down your temple and into your hair.

You give an imperceptible nod at his silent request and he thanks you by pressing his lips to your jaw. He lifts it above your breasts, sitting atop the plain, skin-colored bra you're wearing. You haven't shaved, there's regrowing hair under your armpits and you're flushed to the bone. 

You're not the doll you allow him to see. You haven't prepped yourself for consumption this time, and it almost makes you squirm, as you force your biceps flush to your ribcage.

He can't see that you're not the perfect little puppet you've always shown him. If you aren't perfect, willing, and breakable, then he can find a thousand more like you—better than you.

But he presses a kiss to your sternum, ignoring sweat, squirming, and whatnot.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs, tongue out to trace the line of the bone. “Pretty fucking girl.”

You sob. It doesn't deter him, as he lines the plain fabric of your cup until his fingers meet the clasp conveniently placed to the front. With a quick snap, he undoes it, and your tits spill out to the sides.

He hooks your attention back with a look, and you understand he’s asking, once again.

He’s seen you naked a thousand times but you realize he’s never seen you this raw. Your cheeks are flushed and his eyes have never looked so gentle yet hungry.

You nod again and he dives in, wasting no time.

His hands grab the fat of your tits. Push them together. Thumbs teasing nipples as they pebble under his pads. Lips kissing anywhere they can land, latching on flesh until it darkens. His teeth graze the peaks of your breasts, and your back arches off the floor.

Each grunt that escapes him has your spine vibrate. You can't fathom the thought that he likes this, not when you’re tasting like a long day at work and wet rain, instead of buttercream and mango.

You try to snake your leg between his own, to give back what he’s giving you. Carefully, you stroke the curve of your foot against his hard length, but he pulls back with his hips and gently guides your thigh to rest once more around his waist.

“Don’t need tha’, sunshine.” He grunts, a murmur lost as his lips mouth at your nipples. "This 's more 'n 'nough."

His hands hold you by the waist now, fingers gripping the flesh with tenacity. His beard scrapes at the soft skin of your tits as he travels downward with his mouth, following the path lined by your sternum to the gap between your ribs.

He licks stripes as if your skin were covered with cream. His teeth sink softly where your flesh is plumper, causing you to writhe against him, and he chuckles under his breath as he remembers you’re ticklish.

Such tiny things he knows about you, you almost forgot it’s been years he’s known you.

His bites turn kisses, and they're chastely pressed on the line of your stomach, over your belly button, and to the seam of your jeans.

John looks up at you when his lips reach the zipper, and by doing so you notice his brows arching up, causing lines to wrinkle his forehead. Pretty blue eyes take you in and the mess that you've made of yourself. Runny makeup, bitten lips.

You know he can see how undecided you still are. Brows pinched in both pleasure and discomfort because this is so new to you.

But you nod a little sharply for him to go on, as your mouth curls down in the hopefully non-futile attempt at muffling your sobs.

John unbuttons your pants and shimmies them down your hips to your ankles in such an agonizingly slow manner you can’t help but think he’s doing it to give you time to rebut, in case you change your mind.

You don't.

He takes them off together with your socks and brings your foot next to his face. Places a kiss on the side of it, sending tingles up your legs that tip to the apex of your thighs. He leaves small pecks down your ankle and your calf, closing his eyes and sometimes brushing his beard against your skin.

You look away, cheek flat to the tiles, now wet with your tears and the rain soaking your hair.

It doesn't deter John in the slightest, not even when he slowly comes down to a crawl, chest to the floor and nose on your mound. He tugs with his teeth at the cotton of your panties, nothing more than plain white cheeky underwear. So different from the way you always present yourself to him, with your expensive lace and your silks and your soft skin—painfully waxed so it could mimic the feel of your babydolls.

Gingerly, you reach down with your hand and thread your fingers through his hair, smoothing them back from his forehead. You cup the side of his face and brush your thumb to his flushed cheekbone. He leans into your palm and kisses it, uncaring of the stickiness left by your previous activity.

You feel something inside of you crash and break, then, like a glass vase falling from a height. You’re not sure whether it’s a good thing or not, because it makes more tears collect at the corners of your eyes and those are never predictors of a good ending.

He digs the tip of his nose against your slit, following the wet stripe that inevitably formed the moment you dropped to your knees for him.

“Can I?” He asks, sending little spikes of electricity up to your chest when his lips brush against the sensitive skin covered by flimsy cotton.

You feel your chest get so tight someone might as well be curling rope around it.

You feel so pathetic for crying just because you’re being asked about what makes you comfortable and what doesn’t. You’re such an advocate for your friends to go out there and demand for their needs to be met, that you can’t help but wallow in your hypocrisy when someone asks for yours.

He waits patiently for your consent, even if he's a breath away from your private parts, with his hands caressing the back of your thighs. Even if he's done this to you a thousand times already, with your squirming body giving him a show worthy of the cameras, had they been there.

He makes everything around you look so soft, even the tiles of the floor that are uncomfortably sticking to your skin feel like plush cushions.

You wonder briefly if this is how it should’ve always felt, had you allowed yourself to recognize your needs instead of seeing your body as a means to make others happy.

It comes out of your lips as a breath that’s followed by a wet sniffle, your head nodding softly, contrastingly to how tight you’re biting your own teeth.

“Yes.”

No amount of pressure on your jaw could stop the sob that escapes you afterward.

John closes his eyes and a warm shuddering sigh brushes your skin. You’re starting to realize that maybe you’re not the only one who’s being affected by this sudden change in your and his intimacy.

His fingers hook at your panties and he slides them to your ankles, letting them hang down one foot. You swing it carefully and kick them off as he returns his attention to the apex of your thighs, hooking your knees on his shoulders.

He starts tenderly, pressing kisses on the soft flesh of your vulva, paying attention even to the smallest bits you weren’t even aware could feel good. He latches on your outer lips, feeling how puffy they get at the slight suction.

Your thighs are corded and stiff under his grip, arms hooked around each plush leg, and palms flat on your skin.

John’s eyes are closed, although you wish he’d look at you as he travels with his lips along your slit. A kiss on your hole without probing too much, then one along the middle of your slit, which was getting impressively wetter as time passed, and the one on your hooded clit.

It sent jolts up your spine, causing your hips to buck against his mouth. His fingers tighten around your thighs in response, as if he’s trying to rein it in for you.

You appreciate it more than he thinks. You don’t think you’ve ever been placed on top of the queue so blatantly in your entire life.

The tip of his tongue darts out, but it’s obscured from your eyes by the regrowing hair on your mound and from his thick mustache. So, it takes you by surprise when he all but licks a thin stripe over the protruding part of your clit.

You hiss, and your head goes dizzy. You feel tiny pinpricks tingling in your brain, making you lightheaded and more than a little breathless.

During the whole relationship, you’ve been so focused on appearing like a full meal to his eyes, that you forgot how good it felt to be that meal on his tongue.

He laps at you again, eyes now wide open to gauge more of whatever you were giving him. You feel them as bright spotlights aimed at your face, but you can’t find it in yourself to display the act you’ve always given him.

You're already too different from the woman he's so used to seeing. You wonder if he likes you anyway; or if he likes you less, or more. When your eyes lock with his own, a dark flash tells you to go back to your ways. To flutter your lashes and pout your lips in small pleas, whimpering moans that always make his eyes roll to the back of his head.

And just as you’re about to give in to those old habits, John flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks all the thoughts out of your head. You tilt it back in a groan that has never, not once, left your lips in his presence.

He seems more than excited to hear it and starts eating you out like you’re his first meal in a century. This time, there is no plasticity in the ways you move. You’re not squirming away and acting coy about it, meeting his eyes to make sure he realizes that you're his pretty doll.

This time there’s you and the pleasure he gives you. There’s a hand in his hair that shyly tries to keep him still, as he puckers his lips around your nub and sucks it in his mouth. There’s the subtle canting of your hips to press your cunt closer to him, and the way he makes sure you don’t pull away from his tongue with his thick arms coiled around your thighs.

It’s so strange to allow yourself to feel so much. All this time you’ve been oblivious to all this as it happened in your same body because you were too busy focusing on how you appeared to his eyes. Even as he tongued your hole, your head told you it still had to be about pleasing him—because nothing in this world could ever be exclusively about you.

It hits you sharply that your beliefs about yourself, instilled by the callous teachings of your family, had bled through every aspect of your life. You already knew that, of course, but you never realized they had seeped into your intimacy as well.

Yet now you have proof of it, because you're sure John has not changed his tactics, it's you who's finally allowing your body to feel all this.

He twirls his tongue around your clit and you’re seeing stars. It’s such a strong sensation that you think you might have lost a marble or two in the process. Each grunt he emits from his lips vibrates through you and elicits similar sounds from your own mouth.

You’re not even looking at him, and you don’t care. It’s too good. He feels fucking heavenly and you’ll probably end up apologizing later for not having included him more, for not having paid enough attention to him as you should’ve.

But now—fucking hell, now—there's only how his tongue toys with each and every nerve ending of your sodden cunt.

You let him manhandle you, then, like he did so many times in the past. But now he positions you in an unflattering angle you would've never allowed before. He sits up on his knees, carrying your pelvis with him, close to his face.

To help yourself up, you place your hands on your haunches, propping your elbows on the floor. The tiles press harshly against the bone, much like they did on your knees when you’d knocked them down to suck him off not even twenty minutes prior, but now that pain feels so fickle compared to the pleasure he’s giving you.

He locks his arms around your lower belly, soft thighs pressed to his ears, and he dives in again.

Like this, you’re sure he can see every stupid, unflattering thing about you. But there’s the catch—it’s stupid. You’re sure you’re going to rethink all this eventually, but now everything that isn’t John and his lips on you is so unbelievably, fucking stupid.

“Taste like honey, y’ do.” You think you hear him say, as he nuzzles your cunt for all it’s worth.

He delves his tongue into your hole, plunging as deep as he can until he’s nosing your clit too. Facial hair scrapes the inside of your thigh raw, but that only enhances the opposite bliss happening thanks to his mouth.

You whimper, but not for show; it feels criminally good, and John knows it's real because your thighs shake so fiercely his vision goes wobbly too.

He chuckles, but it’s not derisive. His eyes are incensed, the light blue barely a rim around enlarged pupils. He looks in utter awe as he takes you in; face flushed, hair still wet from the rain and now from the sweat too. With an expression he's never once seen before, not on you. The sheer discomfort of the position but also the complete bliss that makes you forget you could have this on a more comfortable bed.

“Look at you—fucking beautiful." He murmurs with his lips to your cunt. "Criminal to hide this from me, love."

Your lips part into an oval, and your eyelids tremble, fighting the need to close your eyes and just feel. But he looks so unbelievably stunning you refuse, categorically, to take your eyes off of him.

And he apparently thinks the same, because his gaze never falters, not even when you tighten the grip your thighs have around his head. Nor does his tongue, as he plunges it again in your cunt, nose nudging your clit just right. 

He might be fucking you with his mouth, but he sure is doing it with his eyes too.

And you’ve never felt so seen in your entire life. You’ve never felt so beautiful, so worthy, as right now. You wonder if he’s always been looking at you this way, but you were too lost in your own ways to notice.

You feel tears trickle down your temples again, mingling with your hair.

Jaw clenched tight, you breathe it out with all the strength you’ve got left in you.

“I love you.”

And John breaks into something different. You must have given him some final blow because his eyes shut closed and his brows knit together. An expression you've never seen, equally as pained as delighted.

He doesn’t answer, using his tongue for other purposes, keeping the stimulation both inside and out of you. Strong arms hold you still to his face, squeezing painfully tight around your hips. Thick palms flat against your lower belly, with his thumb tugging at your mons to unhood your puffy clit.

He goes on until you can’t hold yourself up anymore, arms giving out from under you. But he catches you anyway, hooking your legs better above his shoulders. The fact that your thighs are pressing against his ears gives you some sort of relief, knowing his hearing might have been muffled by your flesh.

So, you let go.

You moan loudly, fuck the neighbors, and whatever the world has to say. Fuck your head for sabotaging you, and taking you away from him.

You feel it build up slowly but suddenly; one moment it’s just fully encompassing pleasure, the next there’s a vine that stems from your ravaged cunt and curls around your belly, up to your neck.

Your throat blocks off, breathing shallow and sharp.

And then everything snaps.

John fights against the bucking of your hips just so he can keep his mouth on you and fuck you through it.

Your groan is so guttural you don't even think that was your voice. You don't even think, period. Your mind blacks out. A scorching heat develops from your sternum and coils around your chest like ivy in bloom.

You’ve had orgasms before thanks to his mouth, or his fingers, or his cock.

This, however, it’s so different you might consider yourself reborn.

It’s liberating. It’s new. It’s free and only, completely yours. 

You don't even notice, as his tongue slows down, that your eyes are staring at nothing on the ceiling. That they fill with tears. And that you're crying.

You notice nothing, but just how good your body trembles, from the tips of your toes to the conscience in your head.

You don’t notice the sobs that leave your lips, as John gingerly places your body back down. Nor the way your chest heaves as if you’ve just learned how to use your lungs, while he hooks his arms behind your shoulders, and lifts you up to sit butt naked on the floor.

He holds you to his chest and you painfully sob against it. Not a thought about whether this is the right time to cry crosses your mind.

He cradles your cheek to his heart, while wet lips press against the crown of your head.

“Let go,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “’M here, love. Let go.”

You cry so hard you think you might crack like porcelain on that floor. Your heaving sobs echo against the walls of the kitchen like the cries of a newborn child.

And John has no intention of letting you go through it alone. He is there with his hands, with his lips, with the strong, steady heartbeat against your ear until your wailing abates. Only then does he cup your cheek to lift your face.

You weep under your breath when you notice the bloodshot whites of his eyes and the clumped lashes. The dampness on his cheeks and the redness of the skin.

He smooths your hair back. Kisses your forehead with such intensity that he just might suck away the self-hatred your family has seeded in your brain with his lips.

He looks at you, then. Lips pursed in a tight line.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do now, love.”

It’s inevitable the way your lips stretch in a smile that quivers and shakes in a breathless, wet chuckle.

You dig the heels of your hands in your eyes, sniffling painfully hard to get some air in your lungs. Your mouth is pasty and God, you must smell like proper shite.

But John leans down anyway and kisses your lips, uncaring of the salt of your tears, the snot, and the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

And you kiss him back, this time threading your fingers through his hair, arms looped around his neck in an embrace you never want to break.

Noses flush against each other’s cheeks, lips parting only for you to take breaths because your nostrils are currently too stuffy for you to use them properly.

You sniffle and kiss and tug at his hair and hold him until you're both sated, but never enough. It won’t ever be enough.

A few beats of silence reign the kitchen as you sit on the floor, tangled in each other’s arms. The water in the pot must’ve boiled away, forgotten on the fire that still buzzes silently. John’s chest is your tiny alcove as you rest your head against it, and he holds you until your heart’s content.

Everything you’ve ever learned shakes before your eyes. Every thread that knitted the pattern carefully woven around you is slowly unraveling. The fabric wears down the more he shows you love without asking for anything in return.

He's making you regrow your limbs, returning the eyes they stole, allowing you to see that at the finish line, there's nothing but lies.

Nothing but missed calls, skipped appointments, and neglect. Honeyed words, saccharine pet names to render you soft as dough, willing to offer yourself to their exploitation. Sucking on every last drop of your sap, until only a hollow marionette is left.

John hasn't refilled you with energy; he made you realize you were never empty to begin with. Helped you see that they never smothered your fire to ashes, but only dimmed it to a flame, one you can rekindle easily.

One he cannot wait, for the life of him, to see ablaze again.

He’ll fight with you, give you the wood you need to keep yourself warm and your heart safe. Cut your strings once and for all, until you can get back on your feet again.

He thrives at the idea of seeing you glow like you did moments before, in your most raw and real form; a woman he's yet to meet.

However, being human, he does feel a temporary disappointment at the thought that you had put up such a blatant front for so long. Anger that he’d never noticed, thinking you were just this pliant little thing.

But he should've never thought of you as a thing. Never should've seen you as this obliging, pretty doll hanging from his lips. He should've dug deeper, like he always does even on the field, instead of falling for lies.

He’s often asked himself how you’ve never seemed to need anything, often pegging the behavior to self-sufficiency. You always took care of everything by yourself and promptly refused any aid when he tried to give it to you.

His mind reels with memories of the times he’s offered a helping hand, and you’ve politely declined it. It shatters him to think that you did it because you were afraid you had to give something back and maybe were too tired to offer anything.

It’s then that his mind deep dives into a place that sickens him.

How many times did you have sex with him and see it as a bargaining chip? Or as a way to repay him for something he’s done for you just because he loves you?

He shuts his eyes briefly, forcing the bile down his throat and deciding to dwell on the subject later. This moment comes first. You come first. So, he takes you in, blinking his eyes open once more.

He blindly reaches back to turn off the stove, before returning his arms around you. He brushes his lips to your temple, and your muscles soften under the way his breath tickles your skin.

You tilt your head back to lock your eyes with his own, gauging the earnestness swimming in his blues.

“I love you,” he breathes for the umpteenth time, that day.

No ventriloquist forces you to say it back. No strings move your arms to loop around his neck, as you lift yourself on your knees to be level with his eyes.

It's you, who rests your forehead on his own, brushing your nose to his in a butterfly kiss.

You feel like flesh and bone, more than polished wood tied to nylon strings. No voice box if not your vocal cords vibrating when you decide it, asking and giving all the same.

“I love you,” you whisper back.

There is no hunger for love, no finish line to reach. It’s not a race, not today.

And with John, you don’t think it’ll ever be again.