#all the bones got stolen.

[orcboxer]

one thing that sucks about bg3 is that Shar is an edgy bitch who also has the coolest introduction in the game. "I am the empty room" is such a baller line that deserves to come from a much cooler character

[misserabella]

sick love

spencer reid x fem! reader

pt2!!

synopsis;;

you catch your best friend spencer touching himself and far from being embarrassed, it only turns him on even more. if only you knew he had been dreaming about this moment for his entire fucking life and that he has even planned for it to happen…

cw;; (let’s act as if spencer and reader are the same age (consensual 18) in high school

really perv!spencer, dark themes, spencer uses readers body without implicit consent (i don’t know if it counts as cnc since later we find out she doesn’t mind), somnophilia (if you squint), INDECENT use of cum, stalker behavior, use of masculine sex toys, breeding kink, mommy and daddy kink, praise kink, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), sub and dom spencer, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum eating, cream pie, masturbation (m), voyeurism (?), dacryphilia, violence (not towards reader), dirty talking, hair pulling, blood… MINORS DNI OR I’LL COME FOR YOU!

@cafekitsune ‘s separators

Spencer was obsessed with you. Not in a lovely kind of obsessed —that too— but in a really perverted way. His sick infatuation commenced a warm summer, when you and him, best friends since freshman year, had ended up staying up late in your house for a movie night. Your parents were no where to be seen, and being scared of spending the night alone, you invited Spencer for a sleep over.

Everything was perfect. Little snacks, the newest film in D.C in tape and a cozy sofa in which the two of you silently rested as you stared at the tv. That was until you had fallen sleep on the other end of the sofa, loose and extremely short pijama pants letting your lace panties show and nipples erect due to the coldness of the night underneath your tight and white tank top. He found himself stating for far too long, instead of bringing up on your body the blanket that you both had been shared, his eyes taking in just how beautifully exposed you were.

Full honesty? He didn’t even remember how his dick had gotten that hard nor how it had ended on one of his hands, palm slick in precum as he thrusted in it, bottom lip in between his teeth and soft moans and groans scaping his lips. But he didn’t care. He came so hard that night that he swore he saw stars on your living room’s ceiling.

After that, he of course felt awkward and embarrassed of himself around you. Masturbating to his sleeping best friend, and just mere inches away from you? Jesus Christ. Though that remorse quickly went away when he found himself sinking deeper in that sickness under your name.

He relished in that pretty tears of yours when you cried about another stupid boy being mean to you and dumping you against his neck, your tits fully pressed to his chest and whimpers making his cock push against his jeans, even more when that same guys were the ones crying and begging for him to stop as he beat the shit out of them.

He liked to see you cry, but if it wasn’t because of him, he wouldn’t have it. He sent a couple of them to the ER, but they were too scared to get a couple more bones broken if they ever spoke up,— and also, who would believe them if they said that the slender nerd of their class was the one that beat them up— so he always got away with it. In no time, the guys were fucking terrified of even glancing at you, leaving you all to himself. Like it had to be. You were his, or you’ll be.

You were always complaining about things of yours disappearing, “Fuck! I cant found my chapstick.” him shrugging even when he knew that he was, in fact, the thug. Then, he’d go back to his house and open the last drawer of his desk — which he had under key— and take the same chapstick out of his pocket to push it inside along with the other things he had stolen from you: lipgloss, necklaces, bracelets… Panties.

He loved them. He almost had a collection of them, of all types; cotton, lace, thongs… He loved the ones that he stole from the dirty laundry the most, which’s crotch he could push against his nose and lick as he fucked his fist. Getting to taste and smell your slick always drove him crazy.

Another thing Spencer loved to do was take photos of you. He had albums and albums of polaroids for the two of you, being both on the pictures or just you. He loved to watch them from time to time: you smiling, you singing, you dancing, you blowing a kiss to the camera, jumping in the pool, petting a stray cat… Being simply you.

But he also had some photos that were exceptionally and just for him. Some of them were flashes of your body in those little and pretty bikinis you always wore in the warm summers, some other of your naked body —facing away from the door of your bathroom— when you changed, you eating ice cream with cheeks, lips and tongue stained in the vanilla treat, some of you sleeping, some others of the panties and little skirts that you’d wear. He even had one of you resting asleep on his lap, lips parted and against his hard cock. He saved some of them on his wallet in case he ever had to take care of a boner when he hung out with you.

He was in love with you. Sickly in love. Sickly enough to take some of those photos of yours and cut out your face just to tape them to his porn magazines. Some of the pages had even stuck together due to his cum.

And you were just so unbelievably oblivious of his infatuation that you always left the window to your room unlocked in case he ever wanted to sneak in in the middle of the night to stay with you if he ever felt lonely in his empty house. At first, before his infatuation appeared, he would sneak in from time to time when the loneliness became too strong for him to handle, cuddling with you and leaving first hour in the morning. Now? Now he snuck in almost every goddamn night. To cuddle, to watch you sleep, to be able to hold you close and even to take advantage of your heavy slumber. He had licked his cum out of your fingers when he had used your hand to masturbate, having to hold in his moans and whimpers. Other nights, he would get under your covers and part your thighs just to push his head in between them, face against your clothed cunt as his hips buckled against the duvet, tongue flattening against your heat and moaning when your thighs would unconsciously squish his head.

He loved it when you played with his hair, groaning when you’d pull from it when he’d tickle you, and laughing when you’d scream at him for using your good conditioner after a pool day. He was obsessed with your little lotions and expensive shampoos, using them as lube to fuck his hand while he showered in your house, using then his cum to fill the tubes, evening out the difference.

He would steal food from you in the cafeteria, using your own fork or spoons just to be able to have your spit in his mouth. You’d always whine about it, but he never stopped, so you eventually stopped caring, giving him full access to it when you were full.

Spencer considered himself to be a man with clear tastes when it came to sexual preferences. He would love to fuck you to his liking, to sink you into submission and to get you to call him daddy. He thought of himself as a dominant kind of person rather than a submissive one, but that changed when in one of his numerous wet dreams it was you the one who choked him and fucked him, using him like you’d use a fucking toy. He had woke up with a raging orgasm as from his lips fell the word ‘mommy’.

Was he a pervert? Absolutely. Would he ever speak up about his feelings for you? Absolutely not.

He’d prefer to die with a boner than ever telling you he loved you. He was just terrified of the thought of you pushing him away or ever hurting your friendship.

So after a day full of what he thought of ‘teasing’, since it always involved you dressing in one of those incredibly short skirts or staring at him for too long as you sucked on one of the lollipops that he always bought you, he would come to his house and enter his room with a full tent in between his thighs. He would pull out of the back of his closet his fleshlight and spray one of his pillows with those little bottles of your perfume that came as gifts with the bigger version just to bend his other one and push the fleshlight in it, fully lubed and ready for his cock to fuck into, just like that pretty pussy of yours. And that’s what he’d do, fuck his stupid little toy with his face fully buried on the perfumed one as he imagined you under him, ass up and chest pushed against his bedsheets. His pace was needy, harsh and deep, from his mouth, dirty talking spilling. ‘Yeah, take my cock you slut, fucking take it.’ ‘That’s a good girl for daddy.’ Those were always the best orgasms, making him fill the toy to the brim when he couldn’t found himself to stop. Too pussy drunk even when it wasn’t your pussy what he fucked in between whimpers.

He sometimes would leave his house’s and bedroom door open with the dream of you someday catching him red handed.

But they were all just dreams, they weren’t supposed to fucking happen in real life. Yet, there he was, and so were you.

That day he had come with a really painful bonner in between his thighs. You’d been sitting on his lap for a whole goddamn hour since your classmates from class B had borrowed most of your chairs to hang prom signals, leaving you without a place to sit and using your best friend as a chair. The problem was not only that, it was the fact that you’d be adjusting every five minutes and the fact that he had found himself being completely ignored by you as you talked with your best friends, laughing with them and jumping on his lap when the jokes were too good. Well, he was not being completely ignored, since one of your hands, had found his hair and slowly massaged his scalp, every now and then pulling at his hair when you played with his locks, his hands trembling on your thighs —which spread sideways across from his — thumbs circling your soft skin.

The fact that you were using him. The fact that he felt used by you and only you, was what had him gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to buckle against your ass. But Spencer was a good boy, so he just stood sit and went through that delirious torture with not a word coming out of his mouth. He felt like breathing once again when you got up from his lap when the bell rang, notifying the students that the day had ended, but still choking when he no longer could smell your cologne or felt you flush against him.

“Fuck…” he whimpered when he plopped on his bed, his palm pushing hardly against his pulsing and leaking cock, precum staining his jeans and underwear. He had pulled out from his closet his fleshlight, since he felt that his hand would not be enough today. He had to fuck himself. “Please, fuck me, please…” he was a babbling mess when his tip pushed inside the lubed toy. “Use my cock, baby… Use me…” he found himself whimpering at his mind scenario, in which you would ride him relentlessly, his dick reaching deep enough to hit that sweet spot that you’d torture to make yourself cum all over his cock. “Fuck, mommy, fuck, feels so good… Ah, faster.” he was a babbling mess, his hips rutting upwards against his hand movements to fuck his cock deeper in his toy.

“Spence!!!” you had called from downstairs as you opened his unlocked front door. Spencer always left it that way for you to come and go as you pleased. You were smiling, in between your hands a copy of a book he had been dying to read for months and for which he had cried after finding out that it had been sold out. After seeing just how badly he wanted it, you had been fighting with sharp nails to get a hold on one of the limited edition copies that had gone on sale in the city’s center, where you had rushed just as classes finished and where you had killed your savings in the dib. “I have a surprise for you!!” you chanted, locking the door behind you and jumping excitedly, frowning when you didn’t hear and answer from him. “Spencer?” you called out again, the soft sound of his voice reaching you from upstairs. You took off your shoes, a smirk growing on your lips when the idea of giving him a scare came to mind. Up the staircase, you were like a ghost, slowly approaching his room and mumbling, though you froze when a moan got to your ears. Your skin went pale and your cheeks heated up when needy whimpers followed up right after, as if all the blood under your skin had ended up pooling there.

“Fuck, just like that. Faster, please…” was he with someone? Your chest heaved at the thought of Spencer fucking with some random girl that wasn’t you. You’ve liked him for years on end, since the first time that he held you as you cried your heart out after your first breakup. But he never seemed to look at you in any other way that wasn’t friendly, so, at the end, —being too scared to speak up about your feelings in fear that it would break your friendship— you had decided to bury them as deep as you could inside you, believing that he had to be just what he was; your best friend.

Even though you knew it was wrong, you slowly approached his slightly open door, peeking in in need to see who was he fucking, promising yourself that you’d leave once you’ve taken a glance. But all that went to hell when you found out he was not fucking anyone but himself, back against the mattress, bare chest rising and lowering slowly as his hips fucked upwards, inside his clear flesh light. Your eyes widened and your legs trembled when from his lips new groans and moans fell. Spencer was fucking touching himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck… You needed to get away from there. Yeah, that’s what you’d do. You’d go back to your house and forget all about it… Or that’s what you thought, instead finding your feet glued to the floor as you watched.

He looked so hot and pretty all needy… Eyes closed shut and mouth agape in gasps, glasses crooked, eyebrows pushed together as his head fell back against his pillow, hair messy all over it. His hand was slow, pushing the toy down on his cock in deep and harsh strokes. You could almost perfectly see his long and thick dick, his thrusts making the lube’s wet sounds fill the room. “Ah, fuck…” his voice was low and so broken you felt your panties damp in your slick, you were so turned on that your free hand cupped your cunt, making you almost moan if you hadn’t bit down on your bottom lip.

Your fingers had started to push against the lace of your panties underneath your plaid skirt, freezing on your clit when a new babble came from inside the room and your best friend’s lips. “Fuck, y/n…, mommy…, please, fuck, fuck, fuck…” your eyes widened, not only because…, fuck, Spencer was fucking that goddamn fleshlight with you in mind doing so, but because he had called you mommy too. Surprisingly enough that only turned you on even more, a needy moan tearing your throat before you could push it down to your chest. Spencer’s movements stopped, his gaze moving to his opening door just to see you standing there, flushed cheeks, heavy breathing and book in hand.

He quickly pushed away the toy, cursing under his breath when he sat up, a pillow hiding his hard and leaking cock, which was twitching at the sight of your trembling legs. “Fuck, y/n, I…” he didn’t even know what to say. You had caught him, caught him fucking himself with his goddamn fleshlight, and even worse, caught him moaning your name. He felt sick to the stomach, but at the same, so turned on too. You had caught him�� Finally. And who knows how much time you had been listening and peeking at him while he pleasured himself. He had to hold back a whimper at the thought of it. “How much did you hear?” he cursed when you didn’t answer, cheeks reddening and cock twitching under the pillow, leaking against his thigh.

“Mommy.” you said, making his head snap back to you, a frown on his face, eyes widening when you let the book fall from your hands as you stepped in, closer to his bed.

“W…What?” fuck.

“ ‘Mommy’. That’s what you called me.” you smirked, eyes falling to his lap when he pushed the pillow further down. “Who would think that Spencer, the Genius Spencer Reid, would be so goddamn dirty to even leave the door unlocked for anyone to see as he fucks himself. And even worse, have a mommy kink.” he stuttered as he shook his head.

“It’s not what it seems like, I…”

“You what?” you pushed, thumb and index gripping his chin so his eyes would find yours. “Are you gonna deny that you were touching yourself while thinking about me? That you were calling me mommy and whimpering for me to fuck you faster?” he moaned at your words, half-lidded eyes full of lust staring at your full and rosy lips. “Mmh? Answer me.” you ordered and he whimpered, your pussy clenching when he shook his head and cried out a ‘no’. “ ‘No’ what?” your lips brushed against his, teasing him to get out of him what you wanted.

“No, mommy.” you pulled his hair when he tried to kiss you, making him groan against your lips as you clicked your tongue. “Please…” he pleaded, hands rocking the pillow on his lap.

“Only good boys get a kiss, Spence.”

“I’m a good boy…” he was so gone that you almost laughed, so needy for pussy…

“Oh yeah?” he nodded, his tongue dampening his lips, hips thrusting upwards towards the pillow that covered his naked body. “The why don’t you show me?” he shivered when your lips latched to his neck, your tongue pressing against his skin in open mouth kisses that led to his ear. “Why don’t you show me how good you are and let me watch you fuck that pretty toy of yours, hm?” he moaned, muttering a ‘fuck’ as he nodded, making you smirk. “Then go ahead, baby, let me see.” you pulled away as he pushed the pillow off his lap, dick twitching below a pool of precum that dripped from his tip.

In the state he was… He would do anything for you. He would even fuck himself stupid if you said the word. Anything you asked, anything you wanted. Anything for you.

He moaned when you sat down on his desk’s chair, skirt rolling up and letting more of your soft and beautiful thighs show. His hands were shaking when his fingers gripped around the clear silicone or his toy, whimpering when he noticed your eyes on his twitching dick.

You had seen dicks before, but none of them was as beautiful as Spencer’s. It was big, with a great large and just the perfect girth, large and thick enough to have you limping for a few days after a good fuck. And you knew he could give it to you, that he would fuck your hard and needy, deep enough to have you drooling over yourself as you came over and over again. You would love to drool and choke on it too, outline the veins on his shaft with your tongue and take him so deep on your throat you’d need to swallow when he came in your mouth. “Aw, poor Spence…” you cooed at his twitching cock, red tip and tight balls. “Caught about to cum. It must really hurt, doesn’t it baby?” he nodded, tears on his eyes due to your teasing, chest rising in heavy breaths. “Are you gonna cum on that cup for me to drink, hm? Want me to drink your cum, Spencer?” he moaned a breathy gasp, and you smirked to his reaction. He liked that.

Dirty talking. Mommy kink. Praise kink. Notes taken.

“Yes, yes, yes…” he muttered, almost begging for it. The thought of you swallowing his cum making him go crazy. He whined when his leaking tip brushed against the artificial hole, his lip being tortured by his teeth when you parted your thighs, panties exposed and damped lace for him to see. “Fuck…” he cursed, bottoming out into the wetness of the fleshlight in a deep and large stroke, almost cumming at the sight. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” your hands came down your body, your left resting on your breasts— hard nipples pushing against your shirt, which you pulled and pinched in between your fingers— and your right sneaking in between your thighs and below your underwear, whining when you felt just how wet you were. “Shit, y/n.”

His dick was twitching like crazy with every new and fast thrust of his hips, pleads falling of his lips. ‘I need you. Need you so bad…’ ‘Please mommy…’ ‘I’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum…’

“Oh yeah? You gonna cum?” You clicked your tongue when he nodded, chuckling at his behavior. “Look at how pathetic you look.” he whimpered when you had made your way back to his side, standing in front of him and making his head fall backwards when you harshly pulled on his hair, making his hips stutter and breathy whines rip his throat. “Hold it. I haven’t even told you where to cum yet.” he cried when you pushed down your thighs your panties. “Fuck, you are too fucking loud.” you said and he had to squeeze his dick to not come when you pushed your damped panties into his mouth, slicked crotch flat against his tongue. His muffled begging only made your pussy wetter, his eyes full of tears that seemed about to fall when he could take a taste on just how sweet you were. He choked on the lace when you startled his legs. His eyes fell just as your free hand did, straight to your core, where your fingers dug on your wet folds and parted them for him to see thin strips of slick connect them and just how swollen your little pink bud was, hidden under its hood. “Here. Cum on my pussy.” you said, leaning on the skin of his neck to suck a hard hickey on his flesh.

You didn’t even had to say it twice, his hand quickly throwing away the fleshlight to cum all over your folds and clit, muffled groans and moans filling the room when his white and heavy gropes painted your core in white, his mind all foggy and pussy drunk just by the simple contact of your cunt on his tip. You hummed as you stroked his hair, open mouth kisses being splattered across his chest. He was still fucking hard. “Good boy…” you cooed, loving just how fucked out he seemed, moaning when you sat on his cock, his length in between your wet folds and his tip bumping against your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck….” he cried out with your panties on his mouth when you rocked your hips against his. That’s all it took for him to cum for a second time, right after his first orgasm.

You moaned, feeling his dick twitch and nails dig on your ass, your pussy sliding too easy due to the amount of his cum that coated it. “You came again, baby?” he nodded, his cock quickly getting hard again to your humping. “Fuck, Spencer…” you pulled your panties away from his mouth, wanting to hear his groans. “Look at you, making a mess of my cunt.”

“Fuck, y/n…” your name sounded so wonderful falling from his lips… “Please, can I… Can I clean it for you? Let me clean it for you, pleasepleaseplease. I’ll make you feel good, I promise, I’ll be good…” you pulled his bottom lip with your thumb, warm skin under your fingertips. “I promise. I promise mommy…” your thumb brushed your own lips when he leaned in, pupils blown and need on his hazel thin irises. He looked high. And he was, high on his favorite drug: you.

You nodded, giving in, and gasped when he had your back pressed against the mattress in just a matter of seconds, lips all over the skin of your neck and exposed collarbones, his hands leaving your hips to bump against the bottom of your tank top, fingers so desperate to see your tits that dug too hard on the piece of clothing enough to tear it up. You moaned when you felt the fabric give out, his hands cupping your exposed breast and biting hickeys on its flesh in between groans, muttering a ‘The prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, fuck.’. You were tugging on his hair as he played with your tits, biting your nipples and teasing you for a couple of minutes before slowly lowering his lips further down on your stomach, bumping with your skirt, which he quickly discarded it away on his bedroom floor. He pulled away to look to your fully naked body, hair messily spread on his pillow —the same he had fucked multiple times while thinking about you—, lips swollen due to constant biting, half-lidded eyes and flushed skin. He moaned, dick twitching, ‘cause you were so goddamn perfect. Perfect for him.

He didn’t waste time in parting your thighs —which he took his time with, and of course he would, he had been dreaming about making them bleed for years now—, leaving open mouth kisses and sucking hard on the skin, making you whimper and tug on his hair. “Spencer…” you whined when he bit down on your flesh, making your back arch at the incredible pleasure the pain inflicted made you feel. He was so drunk on your skin… He could spend his whole life kissing it that he would never get fucking tired of it. But his teasing was making your pussy clench and tingle. You needed his mouth on it now. And he seemed to get it when you pushed him further against it, his hands taking your now fully marked thighs to pull them above his shoulders as he sunk on the mattress, stomach flat against it and fingers gripping at your flesh. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when his tongue pushed in between your covered in cum folds, flattening in a long strip and bumping against your clit. Both of you moaned, him due to just how much he had dreamed about the taste of your pussy —which he had tasted before, but only clothed— and you to how many times you had touched yourself with his mouth in mind. His name falling off your lips on a whimper had his hips rocking against the duvet as he ate you out sweet and slow.

It was only when his fingers found their way to your entrance that he started to eat you just like you needed and he always dreamed of: rough, needy and hungry. You were screaming his name when his fingers pushed inside you, quickly fucking the shit out of you and curving to hit your g spot as his tongue circled your clit. Spencer knew how to use it, really well. So well that he had you tipping the edge in less than ten minutes. He was like a starved man, burying his face in between your thighs unable to get enough of you and your sweet taste, of the mix of the two of you in his tongue. “Fuck, Spencer, I…” you babbled, thighs twitching as you pulled harder on his hair. He knew you were close by how moans fell of those pretty lips of yours over and over again. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum…” you cried out, Spencer crushing your sweet spot with every harsh thrust of his fingers.

He moaned, begging for it. “Please cum on my mouth, mommy. Please, let me have it, please mommy, please…” you whined when his tongue gave just one last stroke to your clit, dissolving in the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had, whimpers against your cunt as Spencer drank every last drop of it all, helping you ride out your orgasm as your sweet moans filled his bedroom.

You mewled when once you’ve come down from your high, his tongue licking you clean as hips rutted on his wet sheets, seconds away from coming when you called from him. He whimpered when you tugged on his hair, pulling him away from your pussy as you sat up. He looked completely gone. Half-lidded eyes unfocused, messy hair due to your tugging, swollen lips and wet chin. “Please, just a little bit more, mommy…” he begged, needing to go back in between your thighs. Needing to taste you and make you cum again on his mouth. “Please, I need it…” your eyes fell to his twitching and leaking cock, and then, to the dampness of the sheets where he had been rocking against. You clicked your tongue as you took him in your hand, making him gasp.

“I’ll let you choose where to cum next, Spencer.” you said, your other hand coming to his cheek to rub the flush on his skin. “I could let you eat me out again and let you cum all over the sheets all by yourself…” his balls tightened to the thought of it, feeling cold when the hand that cupped his face left him to fall in between your thighs, spreading you open for him to see. “Or you could cum inside of me.” his eyes rolled to the back of his head, hips thrusting into your hand in anticipation. “What do you say, Spence? Where do you want to cum, baby?” he was almost hyperventilating, whimpers falling of his lips as he leaned on you, eyes on your own.

“Inside.” he found himself to mutter, unable to think, not when you were offering him the chance to fuck you raw and fill you up. Just the thought of it had him reeling.

“Oh yeah?” you whispered against his lips, him nodding slightly, bewitched by your minty breath connecting with his own. “You wanna cum inside, hm? Gonna let me use your cock too?” you gave him a sweet smile when he moaned, furiously nodding. Leaving a little peck on the corner of his mouth, you fell backwards on your back once again. “Then come here, Spence.” he was fast to top you, your thighs parting to receive him there, hands on his neck when he leaned in, eyes asking for permission to kiss you, which he didn’t even need since you were now entering your tongue in his mouth, making him groan. Fuck, he could come just with that. With your tongue on his mouth, your body against him and the thought that you were only letting him fuck you to seek your own release. He moaned on your open mouth when you took his dick to align it with your entrance, which twitched at the feeling of his tip. You needed him, and you needed him now. “Fuck, baby, please fuck me Spencer, please, please…” you whimpered, and he didn’t wait to push inside in a deep and fast stroke. You both moaned, foreheads against the other’s as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, so tight, mommy, so tight… Shit. I’m gonna cum.” your head had fallen backwards in gasps, giving him full access to your neck, which he kissed and sucked, leaving new marks. He was so big you felt like splitting in half, but not in a painful way. His stretch had you delirious, his tip brushing against that sweet spot that would make you come in a matter of seconds. Your nails dug on the skin of his back, making him groan. The two of you were taking your time, him getting used to the feeling of your tight and warm walls trying to milk his twitching dick and you to the feeling of his heavy and big cock sitting inside your wet cunt, spreading you to edges you’d only dreamed of getting to. He groaned against your neck when you started to unconsciously rock against him. “Please y/n, can I fuck you now? Let me fuck you mommy, please? I need to… I need to…”

“Go ahead, baby. Be a good boy for me and let me use your cock, alright?” he whimpered at your words, and in less than one second he had you gripping to his back for dear life and losing yourself in between moans. “Oh fuck, yeah Spencer, just like that baby, shit, fuck me, fuck me…”

He was just feral. Thrusting in you with just cumming in mind. His hips were pushing against yours in a hurry, hitting that spot inside of you that had you whimpering as you thrusted yourself on his cock, just as desperate as him. He was too pussy drunk to even kiss you straight, spit dripping down your chin at the messy made out. “Fuck, y/n, mommy, shit, so good, feels so good, fuck, I love it, love your pussy, ah shit, love you mommy, loveyouloveyouloveyou…” he was a mess. Both of you were. His thrusts had you drooling on the pillow, back arched and eyes squeezed shut, too lost in the pleasure, in him. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release with every new deep and harsh thrust, making your nails dig up on his back, probably leaving marks.

“Fuck, Spencer, fuck, I’m close, shit, I’m gonna cum…” you whimpered on his ear, making him fuck you harder.

“Cum on my cock, mommy, please, please… Use me. Use me…” he begged, and then you could only feel yourself cumming over and over again. It was all too much, but too good at the same time. So good that had your soaked cunt gushing all over his dick as he fucked you dumb, his hands pulling on your nipples and teeth digging so hard on your neck that draw blood. You were seeing fucking stars in the ceiling.

The only thing that you seemed able to coherently form was his name, which you chanted like you sang your favorite summer song. “Spencer, Spencer, Spencer…”

“Shit, Imma cum, I’m cumming so fucking hard… Gonna fill your pussy mommy, gonna…, fuck!” his thrusts became sloppier. “Im gonna cum, i’mcummingi’mcummingi’mcumming.”hips thrusted one, two, three more times before his dick twitched inside of you, filling you so full you choked on air, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when some of it spilled out. He was whimpering ‘mommy’ over and over again in between cries against your neck, thick gropes of cum painting your insides in the purest white.

“Shit, fuck, Spencer. So good…” you moaned, rolling your hips at the feeling of fullness. You were fucked out, brain dead on the cock that had just gave the best sex of your life. You were trying really hard to come down from your high and calm down your breathing. “Spencer!” Though you really couldn’t even do that, since you found your head being hardly pushed against his pillows and back arched with your chest against the duvet when he pulled you up from your ass, his newly hard cock ramming inside of your full of cum pussy. You cried out when his hand came down on one of your cheeks in a hard spank that had you whimpering.

“You didn’t think I was done with you, were you, ‘mommy’?” you could hear the teasing in his voice. “I’m sure you really enjoyed having your way with me, didn’t you?” you couldn’t really comprehend how his mentality had switched so drastically fast, but you were no one to whine about it. If a submissive Spencer had you cumming so hard on his cock, how would a dominant fuck you out? You felt your pussy clench around his dick in anticipation. “Well, I hope you did, ‘cause now is my fucking turn.”

-

i needed to.

[neverendingford]

.

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ imagine life with lumberjack logan . 18+ gn!reader

♡ life with lumberjack logan is peaceful and calm, your love nestled away deep within the woods. no one can bother you here, just you and your man. and he likes it that way, having you all to himself in this safe space he calls home. those wooden walls surrounding you may house you, but he finds his true sanctuary in your arms.

♡ logan wakes five minutes before he knows he has to leave, sometimes ten minutes, long enough to savour your scent and the feeling of your warm body pressed against his. his thick, strong arms wrap around you, grumbling into the back of your neck as he presses soft kisses along your skin. early mornings never bothered him, until it meant leaving you behind.

♡ at work, his thoughts drift to you. wiping the sweat from his brow, he can't help but imagine your sweet smile in the back of his mind. it causes a smile of his own to grow, dampening it before the boys inevitably tease him. they know how whipped he is for you, how he adores you, but logan doesn't mind. though he's quiet in nature, he wants his love for you to be loud.

♡ when he returns home, he catches your scent and like a dog with a bone, he finds you. he pulls you into a tight embrace, burying his face into your shoulder before stealing your lips in a heated kiss. a kiss that tells you how much he's thought of you all day, how much he missed you, how much he loves you.

♡ and it's not long till his thick cock is twitching against you through his jeans, causing you to gasp. he's got you up on the counter in seconds, yet taking his sweet time to remove the material barriers between you. he wants to show you how much he cherishes you, no matter how long it takes.

♡ when he's fucking you? christ, it's like nothing else you've ever felt. so tender yet so rough at the same time, taking you like you're his, because you are his. his cock makes light work of your tight hole, your body remembering his thickness and craving it each time. you call his name as he fucks you hard against the counter, pressing sloppy wet kisses along your neck, and he swears. . . nothing is better than this.

♡ the soft moments are soft, too. he really knows how to take care of you, you're his everything after all. bathing together is one of his favourite activities, slotting you in front of him as he carefully washes your hair, those big paws of his threading through your strands. and sometimes, when he's feeling a little vulnerable - nightmares piercing through the perfect life he has with you, he allows you to wash his hair too. you're slow with him, lathering the soap into his silky strands as he groans and melts against you like the big bear he is.

♡ quiet moments in the night are stolen by the two of you, swaying slowly in the kitchen under the dim orange light projected by the lamp in the corner of the room. his calloused hands are on your hips, your back pressed close to his chest as you feel him smile against your ear. it's so. . . peaceful, domestic, two things logan thought this life would never be kind enough to offer him. and they felt alien, at first. but after years of existing with you, he's come to relax, and perhaps. . . he's beginning to accept that he might just deserve a happy ending after all.

ੈ♡˳ logan promptober day 29 - origins

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Eddie makes a bet with the rest of Hellfire to flirt with a cheerleader, it started with some stupid off hand comment from Gareth that "there's no way a member of the dark side, a cheerleader would give Eddie the freak Munson, the time of day"

Jeff said Eddie should focus on Chrissy to piss off Jason but then Eddie had met you and he could tell by the way that Jason looked at you that he wanted you.

It was fun at first, pissing off Jason by flirting with you in an over exaggerated manner, calling you princess and Milady and watching Jason's stupid face go ten shades of red.

You seemed to enjoy the flirting and gave back as good as you got, almost made Eddie blush a few times but he would outright deny it when someone pointed it out.

Turns out you were sweet and feisty, had a witty comeback for his banter every time. Made him laugh out loud at your comments.

Against all odds and surprisingly Eddie liked you. Didn't expect a small comment from his friends could lead to his life being filled by joy, by you. It turned his cynical heart into something that filled with hope.

He had come into this preparing to hate you or expecting you to dislike you or find out you were like the rest of the dark side who gave him dirty looks and muttered freak under their breaths at him.

But you were nothing like that and casual flirting turned into moments between the two of you, stolen kisses and nights like this where you are perched on his knee and pointing to stars, naming them after D&D characters that you liked the name of.

It was just you and him tucked up on the seat outside of his trailer, a blanket wrapped around you both to protect you against the biting chill in the air.

He almost fell off the seat when you rattled off Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit characters to name the stars, said them without even batting an eyelid, just turned to him with a sweet smile and cuddled into him, head resting against his chest.

There's warmth in his stomach and it's everywhere, the racing of his heart increasing tenfold when your hand entwines with his and he instinctively presses his lips against your forehead.

"Is that what you think about huh? Surprising me with knowledge about the greatest fantasy stories of all time" (well in his opinion) he grins and you peer up at him smiling shyly.

"You're all I think about Eddie" well fuck. There it was, the feeling in his chest expanding and the realisation that settles deep in his bones.

The feeling that he's sure he knows what it is. This is what love feels like.

❤️

[katsukikitten]

Alpha!Katsuki who is so agitated and aggressive although protective of Omegas even if their scents bother him. Roughly keeping them at arms length and openly snarling or grimacing at their scents as he saves or even just interacts with them.

Then there is you, an Omega who acts like an Alpha. Your scent is as strong as an Alpha, you're just as aggressive and have plenty of scars on your throat to show it. When someone thinks of a "traditional" Omega they think the opposite of you. In fact most people already assume your subgender is Alpha, you never correct them.

But you're not, you're an Omega. One with conflicting feelings of wanting to be soft and cozy but can't bring yourself to be less than combative. One who has several nests around your home in all your most comfy spots piled with blankets and stuffed animals you treat with care. An Omega who's given in and stolen her boss' smokey caramel shirt after a workout despite saying you can't stand his scent. An Omega who can't resist the urge to shove it into the nest on your bed as slick gathers between your thighs, naughty fingers toying with your throbbing clit through the fabric of your underwear until you're cumming so hard and so often you're panting. Borderline throwing yourself into a heat over his stupid sweaty shirt because his scent makes you feel safe, soft.

It's tempting to call out the next day but truly you were his front line, he hired you because of your bad attitude and snapping teeth. Because you could and would stand up to an alpha three times your size that demanded to see Katsuki even when they didn't have an appointment. You could handle yourself and you've proven it. Plus what Katsuki will never admit out loud is that he likes the way you smell, loves it. To him it makes sense he's only ever bedded two people and both were Alphas like he thinks you are.

Yet when you come in reeking of distress, shame, and arousal Katsuki finds his body moving on its own.

Pulling you by your lower back until your pelvis is flush with his before you can protest even as you lean away and accidentally expose your throat to him. His nose goes straight to your scent gland, inhaling to make sure it's you that the distress is coming from. The arousal

"Bakugou." You try to push him away but as the number one pro he's much stronger than you, not to mention his scent gland is right by your nose now. His spiced scent sweetening in an attempt to make you relax, pheromones he doesn't realize he's releasing as you fight your body from going slack in his hold.

On lookers stare and when bromine eyes meet them they flare. Lifting his face so they can see him bare his teeth as he pulls you into his office.

"Ya outta suppressants?" He growls and all his voice and strength do is spur on more and more of that arousal that wafts off of you in waves. Sweet floral spice that makes him dizzy as he tries not to get hard. He should let you go, he should step back, but he can't peel himself from your body. You feel good in his hands. Soft, round.

"I don't take any."

"Ya can't go into a rut in my office." He snarls but his lips are resting against your collar bones, "I've got extra in my desk."

"It won't be a rut." Your skin feels hot, so hot and with Katsuki smothering you it's only worsening the effects, the shame that burns when you admit out loud to your boss that you never corrected on what you are, "It's a heat."

Suddenly his massive body is rigid, you can hear him swallow thickly three times before you feel the hardness of his fat length against your leg

And that's enough to send any Omega nose first into a long overdue heat.

@kweenkatsuki-fics sorry it's so long 😭

[bodhrancomedy]

Guess who's on TV!

(Well, iPlayer until the 15th, that's when it airs on BBC One)

Hope Street episode 3.11, let's go!

First of all, I'd say they did me dirty with this picture, but my university ID was exponentially worse.

Onto the spoilers!

Our boy Matthew has arrived in Port Devine, looking a little concerned.

For good reason when he's suddenly confronted by this lad, Dara.

Ah, a fight which Matthew escapes by slipping out of his coat. (Pretty sure this is the take where we ripped it practically in two...)

Dara's questioned, he claims he's never met Matthew in his life. Hmm.

Police do some investigating (and some character stuff) before Dara makes his way to Matthew's mother (Louise)'s house to have a wee showdown.

They both in a gang and Matthew's stolen a gun. Dara needs to get it back...

Matthew's nay having it. "This is my way out. If they want the gun back, they have to let me go."

Another fight. The gun goes off! (Poor Pete and I were convinced after take one to put some padding on. My arm looks bulky because I'm strapped up with squishy stuff and allergic to plasters so it has to be in a sock)

Thank fuck no one was hurt. Dara gets the hell out of dodge -

Leaving Matthew to contemplate his mortality. And other people's, but mostly his own.

"Oh fuck, my bosses are gonna find me and murder me, oh shit. I'm far too young and pretty to die!"

Time for Matthew and Louise to follow Dara's example and get the fuck out of here.

The police are now on the Halbridges' trail, but they discover the phone tracking them and leave it in a field.

Meanwhile, Dara's been arrested for drug dealing. He refuses to talk, clearly nervous.

Ah, what's this on Dara's phone? So Matthew and Dara have been in a relationship for over a year now.

(The poor intimacy coordinator having to walk me through my just about second kiss in my entire life. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth... Pete is a very sweet person. Made it all funny.) ("Relax your hand, Bodh. Just relax it. Open - open your fingers, just let me position your hand.")

They're both working for the same gang. Matthew was given the gun to hold onto by their bosses' and freaked out, running away with the weapon. His plan was to trade his freedom for the gun, but Dara was sent to get it back for the Brazier Brothers, notorious drug runners and gang leaders.

These guys.

Unfortunately, now Dara's had to tell the Brazier Brothers that Matthew is refusing. They're going to kill Matthew and then Dara. Oh no.

But Dara has an idea where they might be hiding.

At the caravan there's a standoff between the police and Halbridges. But when the Braizer Brothers are arrested, they're convinced to come out.

(Side note, my favourite picture of me, ever.)

Oh no, the Halbridges are going to jail and Matthew's regretting his life choices.

Matthew walked off to his new life inside a jail cell.

The end.

(This is where Niall Wright accidently sublexed my shoulder. To be fair to the man, I'd never mentioned it and he took his finger sliding in-between bone like a champ)

Look, it's me!! I was on TV! Bit sad they cut pretty much all the uses of SSE (weren't allowed BSL because we still had to speak the lines), but I got to be queer and Deaf so that's pretty nice.

[silaslich]

Ghost eating pussy?! 🗣️🙏🏼

Papers scatter and the desk lamp drops to the floor - the lightbulb shatters.

Neither of you stop or pull away.

Simon’s lips are harsh, they bruise, fuelled with purpose and greed. You hadn’t heeded his warnings, hadn’t listened to him when he told you just how far he would go to ruin you. “You’ll be beggin’ me to fuck you by the end of the night darlin’” He’d whispered in your ear, a low drawl, barely a rasp from the back of his throat. “Won’t be laughing when I’ve got my cock stuffed in that pretty mouth’a yours” He’d said. His hand cupping your throat and his thumb swiping across your lips where they’re stretched over a wide drunken grin.

Thats the immediate reaction you’d had. Laughing in his face. Your palm flattened over his chest, maintaining space between the two of you, “you couldn’t handle me Angel” you teased, tilting your chin to look him dead in the eye.

This has been ongoing- for how long?

It’s hard to say. Too long perhaps. The teasing and the flirting, getting under one another’s skin and flustering each other to the point it comes time to walk away. It’s unprofessional, it’s time consuming and purposeful the way you both seek each other out, for the pure and simple goal of pissing one another off.

He spots your sets when you’re both working out, putting his hands all over you without a real need to, he takes a handful of your ass or twangs your bra strap so it hits your skin with a sharp sting. You have to bite your tongue, you have to keep up the facade that he’s not bothering you, that you’re stronger than he is.

In return, you make sure that you’re seated next to him in every briefing and meeting. You press your thigh against his, rub your knee against his to the point you can tell it annoys him. Only then will you put your hand under the table, unnoticed by everyone else in the room, stroking up and down his thigh as languidly as possible.

Again - just enough to get him to the point he starts to fidget, when he starts to clear his throat and sit a little straighter in his seat. Thats when your hand finds itself at the juncture where his thigh meets his groin, applying pressure, squeezing his skin beneath his clothes. Slowly sliding your palm across, cupping his cock where it sits half-hard in his trousers.

Now you’re kissing him. He’s kissing you. It’s all boiled over to this moment, a stolen moment that belongs to only the two of you.

He’d tried hard to wait, patiently watching from afar all fuckin’ night, his resolve had broken the second another bloke dared to ask if he could buy you a drink. One second you’re smiling politely at the man and the next your wrist is crushed in Simon’s vice like grip, being pulled through the pub doors toward the closest taxi rank.

Somewhere between hauling out of the taxi and getting back to base, your hand had slipped into his, and he’d held it so fucking tight. His room is closer than yours, it’s a logical and strategic choice, neither of you can wait. The thick fog of competitiveness seems to have slipped from the two of you, it’s just lust now. Pure unadulterated lust.

Now he’s between your legs, so tall and striking in the low light as he dips his chin to kiss you again - and again and again.

You’re perched on the edge of his desk, sullying his paperwork because your dress was quick to be pushed up till it’s pooled around your tummy. You hadn’t argued, hadn’t had the strength to ask for breath even. You let him guide you all the way, you let him push up your dress and pull your panties down till they’re hanging around one ankle.

A warrior by day and a pacifist in the confines of your lieutenants room.

She who breaks bones and fractures minds is to be broken and fractured by the very man who taught her all that she knows.

Sickly sweet irony.

His palm cups your jaw and squeezes, you gasp and your head tilts back against the pressure. All you can do is close your eyes and focus on his touch, when his lips find your jaw and trail downwards all you can do is moan out his name. There’s a sharp sting off teeth to the skin between where his fingers now sit against your throat. “So fuckin’ pretty” he whispers against your skin and you’re panting, needy for this man and his simplest touch. You would hate to prove him wrong, but a little bit of selfishness never hurt anyone.

Tilting your head you catch his lips, closing the space he’s created with the way he holds you by the neck like a prized bird. He hums against your lips, curling his tongue into your mouth when you part your lips to do the same. Sloppy and greedy. A string of spit connects your mouths when you lean back onto your palms, dark eyes looking up at him, “I want you to fuck me” you whisper. He looks triumphant. “I said didn’t I” he presses, bracketing your thighs with both palms against the table as he kisses your jaw again, “I knew you’d be beggin’ me for it” his tone is probably the cockiest you have ever heard him. You’re quick to snatch his chin between your fingers, forcing his face straight to look at you, his eyes darken as he meets yours. You smile, leaning forward to kiss him filthily again, all tongue and teeth and spit on his lips, you kiss across his cheek and down his jaw till you reach the pale skin of his throat. Feeling a moan vibrate against your lips when you sink your teeth into his flesh. “I wasn’t begging you, Angel” you say, letting your lips glide up his throat until you’re at his lips again, pressing a wet kiss. “I was telling you to fuck me” you’re still looking up at him when you pull away, his irises are blown wide and you note the way his chest heaves.

A broken man is Simon Riley in this moment.

He captures your lips once more, he takes your hands from your sides and guides them to his belt - you don’t need any further instruction. His teeth sink into your bottom lip when his hands fall to your thighs, he braces a hand under each one and pulls them even further apart to better fit his hips. When he takes a single step you’ve already freed his cock, heavy and hot in your hand, it makes him hiss.

There’s always so much talking, so much venom spat between the two of you, it’s been a constant dick-measuring contest between the two of you since the day you met. Now, here - your mind can barely comprehend it all let alone think of something to say, whether encouraging or derisive.

“Fuck” he pants, dipping his chin to his chest, watching as you lean forward and let a glob of spit fall from your lips and into the space where your fingers circle around his cock and start pumping. You look up and meet his eyes, he looks drunk, and it’s not the bourbon. It’s something else, something worse, it’s you.

Your lip is between your teeth as you hold his gaze and continue pumping him in your hand, your free hand scratching upwards through the thatch of hair at his happy trail - continuing upwards till his shirt begins to bunch up. “Take this off” you’re stern, or at least, you want to be. He chuckles, the sharp white of his teeth catching your eye, “yes ma’am” he complies and begins working on the buttons. Who is he to argue? You’ve got his cock in your hand.

You can’t help but watch dutifully as he goes, there’s no haste in his efforts, he’s watching you watch him and he knows this is turning you on. It always has, the width of his shoulders and the expanse of his broad chest, the thick cords of muscle and solid flesh that make him whole. It’s admirable. His shirt is tossed aside somewhere and then his hands cover your cheeks, smothering the hair out of your face from where it sticks to the sweat on your forehead. For a few drawn out second he just looks at you, drinks you in, scanning every scar and freckle and mole. Committing it to memory, locking it away somewhere in his head deep down.

The whole time your hand never stills where you rub him, where he twitches in your hand, the tip leaking and desperate. Then he’s pulling your face toward his and meeting you half way, kissing you again with too much of everything - but not enough of him. He rocks his hips into the friction of your palm, panting against your lips, moaning your name. You can’t help but do the same, whispering his name against his lips, making sure this is all real.

He’s close, you can tell, the way his cock hardens even further and the way he pulses in your grip. You quicken your pace, smearing the pad of your thumb over his slit, he practically growls in his chest. Then his fingers are curling around your wrist, pulling your hand away, your heart almost falls out of your chest. It’s the fear you’ve done something wrong, something to hurt him, something he doesn’t like. He sees that in your eyes and is quick to react, pulling your hand to his lips and kissing your fingers. “I need to do something first” he assures, but it doesn’t work to settle you, not until you watch as he sinks to his knees before you, hooking your legs over his shoulders. You brace yourself on your palms, leaning back and pressing your hips into the wait of his mouth. He tuts at you, “patience sweetheart” he drawls, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. A sound of disappointment leaves your chest and it earns you the sink of his teeth, a bruise for you to wear tomorrow. It makes you gasp. Then he kisses the other, closer and closer to where you need him most. Your breath quickens and you watch him intently, unable to break your eyes away from his as he drinks you in. He drags two fingers through your sex, gathering the wetness there, entranced it seems.

Every touch feels like electricity, every featherlight brush of his fingers and lips, it feels like he’s kindling a fire - and soon you’ll burst into flames right before his eyes. When you steal a second to focus on breathing, staring up at the ceiling, that’s when he takes the opportunity. He strikes when you’re not looking, pressing his mouth against your pussy, kissing you there. You almost leap out of your skin and you can’t be held accountable for the noises he pulls from you, each intricate flick of his tongue and purse of his lips has you clutching at the blonde of his hair for leverage. The curls that are soft against your fingers, as soft as his lips as he buries them between your folds, tasting you like this is the first and last time he’ll be able to. “Fuck- fu-“ it’s all you can manage, punctuated by the drawling moans that heave from your chest when you dare to take a breath. You feel him smile against you and you fist his hair tighter, but in retaliation, he only fucks his tongue deeper inside of you - making you arch your hips into his face. He goades you, flatting his tongue across your entire pussy, focusing on your clit. It takes very little to push you, he’s been dragging this on for months, you’re simply putty in his hands.

He kisses your clit, flattens his tongue over the sensitive nerves. You’re so so close, but when he pumps two fingers inside of you alongside the attention of his skilful tongue - that’s when the heavens sing and hell cracks open beside where Simon kneels. He guides you through it, removing your hand from his head and threading his fingers with yours. Letting you squeeze him tight, almost as tight as your walls squeeze around his tongue. Nevertheless, he pushes on, laps at your juices as they spill out of you, spreading over his lips and chin.

There’s no more time, your patience has more than worn thin, it’s blown away like dust on the breeze. You lean forward and wrap your palm around his throat; you couldn’t hurt him at all, not even if you tried, but the hunger in his eyes at the action is more than rewarding. Using the leverage of your hand you guide him up, watching him rise off of his knees as he looms over you once again. Even when he kisses you, you don’t take your hand away, this feels different and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a good feeling. You’re stroking his cock again, retreating for only a second to gather some of your own juices from where they leak onto Simon’s desk, smothering them over the head of his cock and down to the base. His lips are at your neck, laying wet kisses to your skin, pressing his tongue against your pulse.

“Simon” you moan, urging him to look at you, which he does, those big dark eyes that are full of hunger and lust. Your hand skates up over his abdomen and chest, cupping his throat and then his jaw, stroking your thumb across a thick scar that lays there. “Please fuck me” you whisper, smiling up at him, he smirks and kisses you hard. You’ve proven him right. Not for his ego, he doesn’t need it, they barely make helmets big enough for him as it is. It’s because you want him to, no, you need him to - and if begging him will make him fuck you quicker then so be it.

He can win this once, just this once.

“Told you” he whispers, curling his tongue into your mouth. He takes his cock in his hand and strokes it, lining himself up with your cunt. He looks into your eyes, making sure you’re looking into his and paying full attention when your name falls from his lips. He presses into you, pushing home, and even when he stuffs all of his cock inside of you - it’s still not enough.

He punches the air right out of you, the thick of him, he stretches you wider then you thought possible, but the pain and initial burn die away just as quickly as he kisses away the stray tear that falls over your cheek. The tenderness, it’s not what this is supposed to be, but he gifts it to you anyway. You begin to meet his thrusts, canting your hips into the rhythm he sets, kissing every bit of exposed skin you can reach as he fucks you with abandon. You moan his name, it slips in somewhere between God and fuck.

That’s all you’re capable of, begging Simon to fuck you harder and pleading to a god you don’t believe in.

There’s that irony again.

The desk rocks beneath you, the legs creaking and the feet scuffing against the floor with the way Simon uses his body weight, thrusting deeper, bracketing you between the thick of his arms. Your name drips from his mouth more times than you can count, between how beautiful you look and how good you feel, he’s giving you all of it tonight.

It nears again, the white spotting of your eyes and the way your limbs feel like rubber, he’s pushing you closer and closer, pressing his thumb against the already sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. His pace quickens and you’re desperate to keep up, but it’s futile, he’s seen red and he’s chasing it down like a dog would a rabbit. His fingers dip harshly into your skin and his lips leave a wet trail from the bottom of your ear to the start of your jaw, your pussy walls tense in response to his touch and then it boils over again. His orgasm seems to take even Simon by surprise, burying his teeth in your shoulder as he cums inside of you, his hips struggling to maintain the previous rhythm. Somehow, he manages to pull you with him, to drag you through that fiery heat again. Through the feel of white hot metal as it presses under your skin and brands you, a blinding light that beams from all around, it’s too much.

Yet from Simon Riley - all you want is more.

[bunnys-kisses]

the sun's lullaby & the moon's symphony

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, rivals au, photography, snark & sass, enemies to lovers (i guess), parental issues, secret relationship, talks of marriage & children, cowgirl position, admissions of love, long fic

this bunny runs on comments, reblog & tags! do you part to feed the bunny! (this was a thrill to write, i've been writing a lot of rivals au, so feel free to suggest your own! i also still have my bakery series going on, so feel free to order up. love ya'll)

this all started when you were teens. stubborn and stupid. the two prodigies of racing of two different stories. the moon, who was raised from birth to be the god of racing. and the sun, who emerged from nothing and up towards the sky to claim her rightful spot as a champion of the track.

the sun and the moon. you and max verstappen

so when you shared your first kiss with him at sixteen over a stolen a bottle of wine from your parent's fridge. you knew that you'd be forever link to the other driver.

it was over dinner in monaco, the lighting of the place was low. and max was seated across from you. occasionally his foot would rub up against your ankle.

you looked at him over the glass of wine in your hand, "you're not going to make me say it."

he smiled as he swallowed his bite of food, "why, prefer to tell me in private?" belgium was a great weekend for him, opposed to you. max sailed into second while you dragged behind in eighth.

but even at dinner, you'd never give the red bull driver the benefit, you'd rather have your bones wrung out of you like liquid in a rag than admit that max was good at racing. that would be the final pump of his ego that he'd go sailing away.

you put your glass down and rested your chin on your interlocked fingers, "maxie." you fluttered your eyelashes at him, "maybe if you came in first, i'd actually have something to congratulate you on." you reached across the small table and touched the inside of his wrist, you looked at the part of exposed flesh then to his face once more. you pouted at him, "second is the first place of losers."

he gave you a sarcastic smile before he took his wrist away, "and what about you, i thought you were supposed to be the rabbit on the track. out racing all of us. i guess daddy's money can only buy so much talent."

"you're a fucking dick, verstappen."

he shrugged, "and yet, you can't get enough of me. a glutton for punishment you are." his eyebrows knitted together as he frowned for a moment, "i think you're just trying to find daddy's approval, except that fucker won't give it to you. just like you won't give me what i want." he reached for you and cupped the side of your face. it was moments like these you remembered how big his hands were, "break the cycle, rabbit. be a good girl."

you pulled away from him, you heard the shutter of a camera and you both looked over. you grimaced, perfect. another photo to the collection of you and max in compromising positions. without context you looked like a pair on a date. you could already read out the statement you'd have to make if this all got a little too big.

you kicked max under the table, "good job, dickhead." your voice was painfully low.

he kicked you back, but not as hard, "you started it."

this night would end the same. the photo would go semi-viral. you'd have to lay low on social media for a few days. wash, rinse, repeat when you two eventually fuck up again. and like every other dinner together, it ended up with you two in his bed. those broad hands all over your back as you rode him. you held his face and looked down at him as you bounced your hips.

photographic evidence of you two together were vast, spanning close to ten years at that point. you both met in your carting days, with promises to make it to formula one. the photos only got more intense once you both entered the league.

they ranged from the two of you at a party together, or sneaking out a club holding hands. there was one of you on his boat, handing him a drink and what looked like him kissing you on the cheek. there were tons of his arm around you and your face buried in his broad chest. over the years the "evidence" had been piling up to suggest that you two were a couple.

if that was true, then why did you want to strangle max verstappen?

you stalked towards his driver's room after the dutch grand prix and opened the door without knocking. you felt fury in your bones as he looked at you. you put your hands on his throat and got close up into his face.

"you fucking asshole, you really are the devil aren't you, max?" you snapped. you weren't choking him, but rather holding him as a sign of dominance.

he grabbed your wrists and said, "and you're going to kill me now? i didn't think choking was your style." then pulled your hands away from his throat, "people might get the wrong idea if you start leaving marks."

"you ran me off the track. you knew what you were doing when you cut me off like that. you think you're so slick there, verstappen. is it because you're old man was there? wanted to show off to the pathetic excuse of a driver! fuck you, max. i didn't need the dnf because you needed to be a show off to daddy dearest, you piece of shit!" you knew you were just ranting, you sounded like a rambling mess but you wanted to win this.

through your rambling, he leaned in and kissed you on the lips, he didn't move when you tried to hit him in the chest. when he pulled away he held you by the back of the head, "it's all part of the game. you told me you'd rather be flayed than have me go easy on you. i'm treating you like every other driver. don't get mad."

you took a heavy breath before you pulled him in and kissed him on the mouth once more. he smirked against the kiss and wrapped his arms around you tightly. he held you close to him as you passionately made out with him.

when you pulled away, he said, "feel better now?"

you gripped onto the front of his shirt and deeply exhaled, "i could kill you and get away with it." then looked at him. his blue eyes always seemed to stare right into your soul. because maybe you two were bound by your souls, meant to exist in each other's orbit until the day you die.

he loosely kept his arms around you waist and pressed his forehead up against you, "i know. and i'd happily die by your hand." when he was tender like this, you wanted to bite his head off. but instead you simply let him hold you.

"you're an ass, verstappen." you muttered as you clung to the front of his uniform, "i hate that you know me so well and can get under my skin so easily."

he chuckled and held you closer, "i'm pretty sure you can map out every scar on my body and where i got it."

"like that time i accidentally stabbed you in the rib with a corkscrew." you said.

he nodded, "yeah and that time i fell down your stairs at your old home and you, me and charles had to figure out if my foot was broken."

you looked up at him and pressed your chin against his chest to look up at his face, "you really should've gone to the doctor for that. like two of your toes were purple."

"i lived." he then held you face for a brief moment before there was a knock on the door and you two stepped back from one another. he patted you on the arm before he shuffled you to the couch to act more casual than what you were just doing.

at least no one took any photos of you moment of romantic intimacy. in all fairness, what photos the press had of the two of you. was nothing compared to the photos max personally had of the two of you. everything from you in his driver's suit with nothing underneath (and the zipper open), to videos of you giving him head. he even had a video you took of him eating you out.

max had mapped every inch of skin with his lips and tongue over the years. from the plane of your back to behind your ear, the back of your knee and in between your legs. he could probably trace your body from memory with his lips. there was a likely chance you could do the same about him.

it continued on into the last night in the netherlands. the room max was staying in was lovely. you assumed only the best for the country's golden boy. you had come over after dinner and max was more than happy to see you.

you were seated by the big window with your feet propped up against the window ledge. in your hand was a glass of wine and you felt content watching the city go by as night hung in the sky. max was in the shower, so you were keeping yourself company.

you heard the shower turn off and you put the glass of wine down on the window ledge before he came out. even now, seeing max's cock made you look away to preserve some modesty.

you hoped that your expression didn't give it away. as he walked out naked with him rubbing the towel in his hair. to see him so exposed made your heart jump.

"like what you see?" he asked. he went over to the bed and got onto it, "i'm sorry for keeping you waiting."

you shot him a look, "i can't believe you convinced me to do this. is this a way for you to inflate your ego even more? you won this race and now you want to stick your cock in the one you drove off the track! and you didn't even get punished for it!" you wanted to stop your foot like a child out of sheer anger.

he chuckled, "well, you're free to come and go. i'm not forcing you to do anything... i certainly didn't force you to wear that dress either." his gaze on you was hot and it made you more flustered.

"i wanted something i could replace if you tore it." never forget when you had to replace your driving suit because someone got a good hold of it and ripped it at the seams around your pussy and ass.

call max impatient, it wasn't like your team couldn't afford it. if they couldn't he could always make room for you at red bull. he had to look after you.

"then i suggest you take it off before i start getting my hands on you." he spread his legs a little wider on the bed. the towel was on the floor to be hung up later, "last chance, my treasure. i want to hear you say it... you want me."

you reached behind you to get the zipper down. you'd rather die, but his heated gaze was enticing. you instead replied, "i want to ride you max, i want you under me as i fuck the daylights out of you. it is not a want, it is a need."

max barked out a laughter, "always so poetic." then licked his lips when you stepped out of the dress you wore. letting it grow wrinkled on the floor. it was followed by the expensive matching pair of bra and panties.

"did i buy that for you?" he asked curiously. he prone to sending you gifts in the off-season. while the rest of the drivers got joke gifts between each other. max always handed you something with a price tag that would make most gawk at.

you looked down at the matching set. you shrugged, "i honestly couldn't tell you. the brand it italian so, maybe it was a gift from charles." you made a face as you thought about it. it was all a lie, it was obviously from max.

the idea of charles even knowing your bra size felt weird, but with max it felt normal.

something crossed max's face as he leaned a little forward, his arms crossed along his toned chest, "funny. you're quite the comedian.' he raised his eyebrows at you, "so tell me, does leclerc fuck better than i do? is there other men i should know about? i heard you went on a boat trip with zak brown, is he getting action too? whore."

you made a face, "you're a possessive fuck, verstappen." you swallowed, "and if it strokes your ego, no. i'm not fucking anyone else because if i tried to fuck someone else i think you'd make their death look like an accident." you stepped forward, "if i told you that i was getting action from anyone, could be a random man. you'd kill them!"

max puffed out his chest for a moment in defiance, "really? what about that lovely girl, that reporter during our first year in formula one. you saw one picture and got the wrong idea. you left you crying. so don't act like i am so mean man." he uncrossed his arms as you got closer.

"she was going to use you, max. i knew it. you were so eager to be loved by someone, she would've taken advantage of you."

max sighed and braced his arms behind him. the two of you were naked and you were bickering. he said, "then name someone who won't take advantage of me."

you got onto the bed, your hand on his chest. you could feel the quickened pace of his heart. you said softly, lips close to his, "me." before you pulled him flat onto the bed and started to make out with him.

he loved the sound of that. when the kiss was broken, he watched you straddle his waist. if max verstappen was going to pick any lover, it was going to be the woman who drove him crazy on and off the track. someone he pushed him to be the best.

but in glimmers of tenderness, a soft underbelly. max knew that you loved him. and he loved you. it was just the words got all mixed up from the brain to the tongue.

i love you often became i'm going to beat you.

you sank onto his cock and hissed a little bit from the stretch. you held onto his shoulders for leverage while he guided you with his hands on your hips. your stomach flipped as you got fully seated on him.

"beautiful."

"shut up, max."

"never. not for you."

it was mushy, emotional in a way that made you core throb. a vulnerability that made you run hot. you rolled your hips against him, his cock nudged against the softest parts of you and it made your back arched.

max eventually got himself up against the headboard to feel closer to you. his hands left your hips and started to palm at your breasts. he soon leaned in for kissed along the soft skin. even his tongue dragged across your nipples, which only made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"you always feel beautiful." he said, "no one else has been like you." he had changed so much since you met, ten years of this. the back and forth.

it made you chest clenched. you could only imagine what would happen if all this came out. but, in fairness you couldn't keep it behind the doors of hotel rooms forever. the minor controversies of the two of you in each other's grasp.

you hated to admit it. but you loved max verstappen. he was as much a part of you as you were of him. racing was in your blood, but the draw towards each other. a twin flame.

he'd almost run you off the track, you'd get into his face. he'd buy you dinner and you'd slink off to his room. away from prying eyes, the two of you would make love. or at the very least a primal kind of sex that left your head spinning.

it was a game, one to shield feelings. but as you moved your hips against him. it became more obvious that you were both under a delusion. you thought he didn't know that you loved him and he though you didn't know that he loved you.

but was obvious. as you moved and he touched you. you two knew each other too well. it was an obsession and you had long since pushed past the line of enemies.

enemies didn't look at each other like they wanted to devour one another. max verstappen didn't think of lewis hamilton or charles leclerc when he saw engagment rings in shop windows. you didn't think of george russell or oscar paistri when saw expensive wrist watches. you didn't have dreams in your early adult years of you dressed in wedding white and alex albon beaming at you, and max didn't jerk off to a vast collection of nude photos of lando norris. you two were in your own little orbit.

you panted heavily as you continued to move. the feeling were growing as you felt the throb in your chest. you ranked your fingers down his chest.

"max." you panted.

"yes."

you pulled him by his face up for another kiss as you continued to move against him. you moaned into the kiss, and he in turn whimpered against you. the feeling was prodding at just the right parts of his brain.

you were beautiful and it drove him wild.

"i'm glad no one else can have you." max said softly, tinged with tenderness, "they wouldn't know how to handle a woman like you."

you held his face for a moment and looked into his eyes, "oh yeah and you're an easy ride too." then pulled him in for another searing kiss.

he held onto your hips and guided you quickly against him. both of you working for a common goal (for one).

you braced your hands on his bare chest to give yourself support and continued your movements. a few more heavy thrusts of your hips before you leaned down and kissed him on the lips. your cunt tight around him as the wash of lust came over you. you came, then he came. and it both left you exhausted and breathless.

you yelped a little when max grabbed you by the middle and pulled you on the beside beside him. he peppered your face with kisses and you felt hot all over. your heart leapt at the feeling of him holding you. his softening cock up against you.

"you're beautiful."

"max." you said softly, the heat still in your cheeks.

he held you, your head against his chest. one of his hands was on the back of your head while the other was interlocking his fingers with yours. you were gravitated towards the sounds of his heartbeat.

you sighed, "i fear i have to admit something to you, verstappen."

he perked up a little, "oh?"

you sighed and raised your head. your hair was a mess and you looked tired from the long day on the track and the longer night together. you said, "this isn't me showing weakness. if you mistake what i am going to say as weakness, then you have another thing coming."

he looked at you with raised eyebrows and asked, "what is it?"

you rubbed his broad chest and said in quiet voice, "max. i'm in love with you. and i have been for some time." you swallowed, diverting your eyes from him, "i think we suck as rivals. i think we need to become lovers, for real. even if we don't tell the press and give them that satisfaction. to be able to call you mine is all i would want."

he took you by the chin and pressed a kiss against your lips. your heart jumped and when he pulled away, he said quietly in return as if it were a secret, "i'd want nothing more. i think we're about to save the whole grid anymore headaches."

-

driving felt like a lifetime ago, as did the rivalry you and max shared. the day after max retired, he posted two pictures online. the first one had basically been scrubbed from the internet, except on max's phone. it was you two in your first year of formula one. your legs draped over his lap while he took a selfie of you two kissing. the second was a similar pose, years later. when the charade was over and you two finally admitted your feelings to one another.

in the caption he made a cheeky comment about how the two of you probably weren't as careful as you thought. but, that was being young and dumb. when you retired two years later, with two championships under your belt. you posted a photo of the small wedding you had a year prior.

your caption read, "call me mrs. verstappen and we're going to have a problem." you had simply hyphened your last names. which was then passed onto your son that you had a year after your retirement.

"niko." max was as he tried to wrangle his son, he eventually hoisted the little boy up, "you have to put on a life jacket, remember?" he smiled at his son, "you have to listen to mama, nicholas." he reminded his son.

the little boy nodded rapidly as max carried him onto the boat. you had lunch packed in a bag while max carried the rest of the stuff needed as well. the three of you were going for a little boat ride for the afternoon.

max made sure that his son was secure in a life jacket while you put the bag you were carrying down. you took a seat and picked up your son. you felt max's eyes lingering on you.

"what?" you asked half-jokingly.

max smiled, "i love you." he seemed lighter now, he had all the trophies he could ever need.

"i love you too." you responded, a phrase you had said a thousand times at least. to think that there was a period of time that the idea of loving him would've made you pull your hair out. you then kissed youe son on the cheek, "but i love you more, nico."

the little boy laughed and max winked at you before he went to get the boat started. while you busied yourself getting sunscreen on your son, you held your smile.

the media circus around you two eventually died now. there was no draw to mystery of your relationship, it also didn't help that the two of you kept nicholas out of the public eye. it left you both retired with your son. you'd sometimes think about how you were all those years earlier, when max was still your 'rival'. but, in all fairness, even if you two did stand toe-to-toe with one another and pushed one another into racing greatness. he was a better husband and father than he ever was a rival.

the sun, the moon and their little star.

[ki-yomii]

down on you | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, mild praise kink, squirting, hair pulling, standing missionary, rough sex, porn w/ plot, mafia!jk, detective!reader, established relationship, mild angst, mild violence ➥ summary | It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all. ➥ notes | the mafia!jk au no one asked for aka an excuse to write smut w/ feeling lol.

💚 masterlist | inbox | AO3 💚

On his knees staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with a mouthful of blood, he knows this is the end of the line. He’s going to die like a rat in the gutter - no mercy to be found, loopholes to exploit or bribes to be made.

This is the real deal, and there’s no coming back.

Judgement Day comes in the form of a man with dark eyes and a dangerous smirk: Golden, the deadliest guard dog of the underground.

Credited with dozens of hits, you won’t know he’s there until it’s too late. Trying to keep him pinned is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands, or a whisper on the wind.

And you won’t know he’s coming until you feel the breath on the back of your neck, hear the crack of a bullet ringing in your ears.

Belonging to one of the most powerful men in the world: Kim Namjoon, he’s more war machine than man.

“Go ahead, do it!” He spits at Golden’s feet, a mess of blood and drool staining the crisp leather of his combat boots. “Killing me won’t change a goddamn thing.”

A coy smile tugs at Golden’s mouth, his grin all sharp teeth and violence. He stays where he stands, his silhouette haloed by distant streetlights.

Water laps at the docks, the tang of salt heavy in the mid-summer Seoul air. There’s no rush; they both know he’ll be dead and dumped just like all the rest of the garbage in this rotting city.

“Come on, you prick! Pull the fucking trigger already.”

Golden cocks his head, and hums in the back of his throat. 

“Tch! I hope you’ve got a lot of bullets - we’re gonna knock the crown off Kim’s head one way or another.”

Golden thumbs at the safety of his gun, the barrel glinting through the shadows. “Ahh, is that what you think?” He shrugs, a lazy ripple of muscle. “Well, I have to say: I’d love to see you try.”

The night is shattered by the resounding crack of a gunshot and an echoing splash of something heavy dropping into the water below.

You climb out of the nondescript government-issue car. The faintest tremble of your fingers nearly gives you away but you’re able to reign in the impulse to smooth your hands over your clothes at the last second.

Showing weakness is the last thing you need to be doing right now.

Especially here.

Right in front of where you’ve parked - shoved between two looming apartment complexes - sits a quaint, vintage building. The rough brick face is at odds with the sleek surroundings, but tinted windows keep prying eyes at bay while the classy signing hanging above the door reads The Red Bullet written in caps.

If you didn’t know better, it would be hard to believe this otherwise mundane storefront is a cover for one of the most dangerous international organizations based out of South Korea.

Not only do they hold the keys to the kingdom, but their success is largely in part because they spearhead operations from government espionage all the way to simple blackmail.

Even though it’s been several months since you darkened its doorstep, the familiar sight is enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Send your heart galloping into a tailspin as your stomach swoops.

While time away helped clear your head of stolen kisses and promises whispered in dark rooms, it also drove the longing bone deep.

In those quiet moments to yourself, when you have nothing else to distract from how lonely you are, you miss this place like one misses a limb.

You didn’t realize how attached you were to these four walls until it was too late: the hazy air filled with whorls of smoke, the overhead lights that bathe everything in red, the plush chairs you spent many nights sprawled across, the glossy black stages.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when but at some point it (he) started feeling like home. A luxury you can’t afford. Not again. After all, if you give in, any progress you made outside of his gravitational pull will be for naught.

Which puts you in a dangerous position as you find yourself back where it began; feelings at war with duty, mind vs heart. Because even if it leads you to a place you could go a million years without ever seeing again, you have to follow the trail of bodies.

A bouncer grants you access, the heavy door slamming shut behind you like a death knell as he herds you towards the back of the club.

It’s outside of official operating hours but it’s no less busy inside, men and women alike in scattered conversation as you pass through.

“It’s nice to see you again,” the bouncer murmurs, chancing a quick glance at your profile. “Been a while.”

You swallow, gaze darting down to your shoes. “Ah - yeah… Got busy with work. It’s - it’s nice to see you too.”

The small talk fizzles out, a snuffed candle as you arrive at a cordoned off room, “Here we are. Mr Kim is already expecting you.”

Any further pleasantries grow stale on your tongue as you enter the private booth, fighting against the lump in your throat to manage a hoarse ‘thank you’.

And then you find yourself left alone with the man himself, Kim Namjoon. He’s as intimidating as you remember, lounging back into the leather booth with his ankles crossed.

A lukewarm smile stretches across his lips, the slightest hint of a dimple peeking out from the valley of his cheek. Standing at attention on either side of his reposing form are two massive bodyguards. Their hands rest on the butts of their guns, daring any who enter to try and make a move.

“It’s good to see you again. But I gotta ask - what’s the occasion, Detective?” Namjoon hums. “I thought we were past all this.” He waves a nebulous hand between your bodies. “After all, you’re practically family.”

You ignore the hidden barb with a wince. “Mr Kim, you know why I’m here.”

“I used to know why a long time ago.” A well-groomed brow raises, his gaze glacial as it spears you in place. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Please, Mr Kim. I don’t want to make this more difficult than it is. I just need to know about the man they fished out of the harbor, and then I’ll be on my way. So… who was he?”

Namjoon scoffs. “What makes you think I know more than the police?”

There’s a flash of a smirk, barely noticed, before his face returns to its neutral expression. As calm and cool as a placid river. “A john’s a john. What I do want to know is why you care so much?”

The underlying question is clear; why are you really here?

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with civillians.”

“Oh? So I’m a civilian now.” His expression is not unlike the cat that caught the canary: vicious and delighting in the discomfort his evasions are causing. “Gotta say that’s a new one for me.”

Sighing in defeat, you say, “Alright, enough. I get it. I’m wasting my time with you. Let me ask this instead: where is he?” 

“He doesn’t know any more about this than I do,” he says, waving a blase hand towards a door off to the left, “But if you insist, you can find him in the office. Oh, and Detective?”

“...Yes?”

“Take your time, I’ll be out on business all afternoon.”

With a curt nod, you flee the room amid low-throated chuckles and enter the office. Standing near the desk, his broad back turned towards the door, you find the man you simultaneously want to see the most and run from the fastest.

He turns around, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement. Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nearly swallow your tongue as your eyes trace over the cut of his body.

The moment your eyes meet, those many months spent cultivating time and distance turn to ash. You forgot how even the mere sight of him affects you, any resistance to his many charms virtually nonexistent as the world falls away.

Rich, coffee dark; his gaze sucks you in until it’s all you can do not to reach out, to brush your fingers over his edges and feel them soften beneath your palms.

Rocking back on your heels, you clear your throat and glance to the side as you remain standing in the entryway, more than a little off-kilter.

Coming back after so long apart, only to find him the same as the day you left… How do you reconcile everything that’s changed with everything that was?

“Well, hello there.” Jungkook croons, leaning his hip against the corner of the desk with a roll of his shoulders. His arms cross over the trunk of his chest, accentuating the bulk of his chest, the flex of inked bicep. “Long time no see.”

Shifting, you gulp. “Ah - yeah…”

The burn of his gaze - a palpable sensation prickling across your skin - tracks a path from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes as he gives you a thorough once-over.

“You’re looking good,” Jungkook hums in approval, “real good. I’ve missed those pretty eyes of yours.”

“You - you too.”

Your attention doesn’t know where to settle: drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the jut of his bloody knuckles, the tuck of his trim hips to the thick-soled combat boots.

Tiny hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, and your palms slick with sweat.

“I mean, you look… y’know, uh, good too.”

A flash of a crooked smirk, the raising of a pierced brow gets your blood pumping, your heart tattooing a rhythm against your ribs. Emboldens you to reach back with shaky fingers to turn the lock. The sound grates down your spine, bolts of anticipation slicing through you.

It was dumb to think coming here, seeing him again, would end any other way than his taste on your tongue and his cock in your cunt. Hope makes fools of us all.

Should’ve known better but you’d been hopeful those days were long behind you. Now you realize it was inevitable.

After all, Jungkook is magnetic.

The black hole at the center of your universe, consuming everything in its path until he’s what remains in your head, your heart. You’re helpless, ceaselessly drawn to him like a moth to flame.

And try as you might, you can’t say no to a face like that.

Never could, in fact.

Failure to extract yourself from his orbit during your not-relationship is nothing new. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it difficult.

After all, you still have some dignity intact.

So try, try, try again.

“Ahem.” You try to banish the heat from your cheeks, guiding the conversation into the correct territory. “I’m not here on a-a social call, Jeon. I need to know: were you the one that killed and dumped the john in the harbor?”

Stalking closer, a lazy jungle cat on the prowl, Jungkook crosses the distance between you. He only stops once your bodies brush with every labored inhale. Heat radiates from him, and you’re achingly aware of every point of contact.

The light scent of his cologne teases your nose, and his eyes - god, his eyes. They’re shaded and hungry, devouring your expression with single-minded possessiveness. 

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Jeon -- Jungkook.”

He hums.

Your heart thrums, pulse rushing hard through your head until you feel faint, blood surging the longer you stay in close contact. The shameful clench of your cunt makes your cheeks burn all the brighter.

The last time you were looking up at him like this, his hand was on your jaw while his cock thrust balls deep.

“C’mon, you know that isn’t going to work. This is me you’re talking to, not some rookie.”

“Mm,” he purrs, “it is you I’m talking to, isn’t it?”

You manage to bite back the groan but can’t stop your eyes from rolling even if there’s the slightest hint of a stutter when you reply, “Please, I just need to know if you killed him.”

Jungkook looms tall and proud, crowding closer. “And if I did, baby?” he asks.

Instinctively you back up, only to be followed step by step. A game of cat and mouse that finds you pinned against the wall before long. With nowhere to run, you watch, heart in your throat, as Jungkook dips his dark head.

His nose runs along the length of your neck, breath puffing across your sensitive skin as he inhales the pleasant scent of your perfume.

“I - I…”

“Would you see me in handcuffs?” His lips caress the underside of your jaw, a soft groan escaping him. “… C’mon, answer me. Would you?”

“I would - if I had to.”

As much as you wish that was true, you know in your heart of heart's you would do everything in your power to make sure that never happens.

No matter how much you like to think you’d do the right thing when push comes to shove, you’d choose him a thousand times over.

His eyes dance playfully. “Careful, I might like it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you say with a snort.

Jungkook chuckles low and warm, using the arm around your waist to tug you into the safety of his body. The softness of your breasts presses into the hard planes of his chest, your nipples pebbling through the thin cotton shirt you wear.

With a deep-throated groan, his hands encircle the curves of your hips as a thickly muscled thigh slots between yours.

An answering quiet sigh gets his blood pumping and his cock twitching.

“Mm, something tells me you’d enjoy it just as much, Detective.”

The use of your title is a rude awakening.

“Jungkook,” You warn, moving to push him away. Only once you start touching him, you can’t stop. His muscles flex beneath your curious fingertips. “We really shouldn’t.”

You’re sure if he could, Jungkook would spend days worshipping between your thighs, velvet heat wrapped around his tongue and hands in his hair as he brings you to peak again and again until you’re a sobbing, sopping, boneless mess beneath him.

“Come on, I know you want me - that you’ve missed me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, tongue flickering out for a brief taste before a rough thumb skates across your bottom lip, tugging down to expose your teeth, the glitter of your tongue as it darts out to flick over the pad of his finger..

“I’ve certainly missed you, baby. Want me to show you?”

Even though you refuse to admit anything out loud, you can’t help but angle your throat back and grind into his hips pressed against yours.

Jungkook tsks, “That’s alright. I’ll get that pretty mouth open one way or another.”

Before you can retort, a mouth swoops down to fuse with yours in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. A low, broken moan punches from your chest.

Reaching up, your fingers sink into the mane of dark hair that brushes the cut of Jungkook’s jaw. Soft, thick, and wavy in your grip; you tug at the roots.

Jungkook hisses. 

Teeth nip at your lip, kittenish licks soothing away the string as blood bursts across your tongues. The thigh shoved between yours grinds up with every wet, sloppy pass of your lips.

Thick muscle spreads your pussy open through the thin slacks of your work uniform. Sparks of pleasure dance down your spine with every rock against your swollen clit.

“S-Shit!” Your shoulders curl in, a shudder jerking through you. “K-Kook, I… !”

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” Jungkook growls, rutting his cock against the jut of your hip. The wet patch you’re making on his jeans grows larger with every filthy grind. “You’ve been gone too fucking long. Never again, you hear me?”

You claw at his shoulders, stuttering out, “there’s noth-ing you can do t’stop me.”

“If you don’t come back to me,” his eyes are dark and stormy, voice whiskey rough, “I’ll find you.”

It’s not a threat - it’s a promise.

“Then make sure I never want to leave,” you challenge breathlessly, staring into his blown out pupils, “Make me want to stay.”

Above all else, you think.

The words are barely past your lips when Jungkook accepts your challenge with gusto (just like you knew he would). Without delay, he thumbs open the button on your pants.

Refusing to let you look away, Jungkook yanks them to your feet and swings you up into his arms one-handed. They hang from your ankle like a chain.

Your surprised squeak is quickly swallowed up by a moan when he settles you over the bulge in his pants, your cunt hovering over his erection.

The heat of his skin sinks through the thin cotton of your panties, so, so close to where you need him. Slick soaks into the fabric, and clings to your inner thighs.

Every shift is a smooth, sticky glide of folds that stirs, and stokes the ember of desire smoldering behind your navel.

“Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

Your head rolls back, and you sag into his chest. Your hips twitch in pathetic little attempts, trying to get pressure where you need it. Having him hot and hard and all for you; any distance between you is suddenly unbearable.

He needs to spread you wide and stuff you full with every inch of his thick cock until he’s so deep you won’t be able to walk for days.

“Shh baby, I’ll give you what you want,” he says, gaze heavy and possessive. “I’m gonna ruin you so good, you’ll have no choice but to come back. You’re mine.”

“Says who?”

“Hmm. You don’t think you are?”

Nibbling on your ear, Jungkook slips a finger under the hem of your panties. He smirks when you keen, rubbing his knuckle up and down your sloppy folds with teasing pressure.

“How about I show you what your body already knows?”

Wasting no time, he lifts you off his cock, the scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground. His free hand dives between your bodies. Then comes the clink of a belt, the sound of a zipper pulling down.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your body coiled with anticipation as your stomach swoops at the brush of his fingers along the underside of your thigh.

“Look so pretty like this, baby.” Jungkook twists his wrist, hips arching back. “And it’s all for me. Fuck, I can’t wait to get inside this pretty pussy.”

Any response dies on your tongue, brain short-circuiting as the slick, fat cockhead rubs along your slit. Pressing against your entrance the slightest bit before slipping up to nudge at your clit - coating himself up in your sticky juices.

The ultimate tease - something Jungkook’s always been overly fond of doing until you’re out of your mind with desperation.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, cheeks on fire and eyes half-lidded as you circle your hips. “Stop playing around. I want it - want you, Kook.”

“Oh, baby,” he smiles, ducking down to kiss your forehead. “You’ll take whatever I give you.”

You can’t stifle the broken sob, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Liquid fire surges through your veins, a thousand bolts of lightening crackling beneath the surface of your skin. Your pussy is tender, swollen. Walls fluttering in time with your heartbeat. 

“Ha, you’re so needy for me.”

Jungkook’s lips brush away the moisture around your eyes, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the base of your spine. All the while, his torturous grinding never ceases.

“Aren’t you?”

You croak, “I can’t – Kook, please. Anything, I’ll do anything you want just fuck me.”

The flash of his eyes is your only warning before he’s right there, your walls embracing the girth of his erection inch by inch. Every ridge, every jerk as he seats himself as deep inside your silken heat as he can is absolute heaven.

The stretch as you take him to the hilt sends you careening towards the edge, eyes rolling back and toes curling in your shoes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” you whimper.

“Shit!” Jungkook grits his teeth, squeezing the base of his cock as you tighten  around him. With every deep inhale, his pelvis brushes your swollen, needy clit. “Forgot how good you feel wrapped around my dick, baby.”

“Me too,” You gasp, tightening your legs around Jungkook’s hips.”Me too, Kook.”

Dropping his forehead to yours, he says gruffly, “‘m not gonna last long.”

Making a noise of acknowledgement, you wiggle your hips. Sinking your teeth into the side of Jungkook’s jaw, you bite and suck at his skin, wanting to leave a mark to remember you by. His reaction is instantaneous, releasing the grip on his shaft to grab a fist full of hair.

He yanks back.

The long, elegant line of your throat is exposed to his butterfly kisses and scolding love bites.

“Now you’ve really asked for it,” Jungkook huffs out with a dirty chuckle.

“Then give it to me.” You lick your puffy lips, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Show me who I belong to.”  

The brewing hurricane in his eyes is unleashed. Wide palms and strong fingers grip your hips so tight you feel bones grind together. His stance widens, his unwavering gaze locking onto your face, brow pinched, and mouth slack.

His lip piercing glints in the light, his tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. Dark curls tussle about his head, a wild halo that sweeps down into the burning umber of his eyes.

Helpless, you succumb - enchanted by the darkness peering at you from behind those dangerous eyes. He’s ethereal; a siren song that threatens to drown you, swallow you whole.

You’d happily let him, you realize with a shiver.

It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all.

“Hold on tight,” Jungkook says, hooking his hands under your bottom. 

And then, he’s jackhammering into your cunt so hard and fast all you can do is hold on for the ride. Punch drunk and moaning as he manhandles you how he likes, spreads you wide and stuffs you full until you’re panting for breath and clinging to sanity by your fingernails.

“Fuck yes, that’s it. Look how well your pretty pussy always takes my fat cock.”

His low voice whispering filthy praises in your ear makes you whimper, whine, and writhe as the band of pleasure coiling tight in your belly comes close to snapping. It’s the fastest he’s ever fucked an orgasm out of you, and it feels so good you don’t even care.

The pace is brutal, slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips come morning. But it’ll be so fucking worth it. You’re going to cum hard and long, you just know it.

About to melt as Jungkook fucks the slick out of you, groaning as you drip down the base of his cock, his balls - his very own pretty little mess.

“Yeah, you gonna cum, baby?” he laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to the side of your face. “Can feel how - haaah shit - how tight you’re squeezing me.”

“Uh-huh,” you cry, holding onto the tops of his wide shoulders. Every thrust has his cockhead dragging over the spongy patch of your g-spot, sending fissions of pleasure rocketing through your nervous system. “So - so close, baby. Just a little more, I--”

Balancing yourself, you lift up only to slam back down, meeting Jungkook’s thrust with all the force of gravity. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Crashing over you like a tsunami, your orgasm shoots through your limbs and zips down your spine. A warm rush of cum soaks Jungkook’s shaft, the wet and messy sound of your squirt splashing against the floor secondary to the cry that claws its way out of your throat.

“K-Kook!”

Jungkook grunts, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he helps you keep bouncing up and down on his erection. “Yeah, that’s it - keep going, baby. Wanna feel you keep cumming all over this cock.”

Aftershocks slice through you like lightning, tiny jolts of electricity. As you come down from your high, your gummy walls pulse, milking at Jungkook’s thick shaft.

He groans softly whenever your muscles tense, release; your body a worn-out rubber band as your breath stutters from you.

Then a hand pets down your flank, your skin shivering with hypersensitivity at the tender touch. “S’okay. Just breathe, baby.”

Peeling open your heavy eyes, you look up at his face. Take in the crinkle of his brow and the ravenous expression. Even floating on a sea of bliss, white noise fills your ears, you want more.

You slur, determined, “Kook, baby, please. Cum in me, want you s’bad.”

“Fuck! Can’t just say shit like that to me or I…” Jungkook bites down onto the tender crook of your neck, muffling his grunts in your flesh. “Shit - ’m so --”

You cry out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, “A-haah, K-Kook!”

Snapping his hips forward one last time, Jungkook grinds as deep as he can get and lets go. The fat head of his cock kisses your cervix, his length throbbing in time with his heartbeat as a rush of cum floods your insides.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunts, rutting once - twice into the cradle of your body, “take it like a good girl.”

He croons when you whine at the press of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit. Thready sparks of pain shoot down your legs that hang limply over his forearms. Every breath stutters from your lungs, slow and deep.

“No more, can’t - can’t…” Shifting, you arch your spine and burrow your head into his chest, nearly catatonic in his arms. “S’too much.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fingers brush over your closed eyelids, smoothing over the arch of your brow. With every kiss dropped to the top of your head, he mumbles in dulcet tones, “I really have missed you, you know.”

You mewl in response as strong fingers knead the backs of your thighs.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“Oh,” you can’t muster up enough energy to say anything more, body tender and trembling with little aftershocks, “s’that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He chuckles. “You’re staying here - right where I want you.”

In lieu of a response, you pick your head up off the pillow of his chest and seek out his gaze. Liquid soft; he’s looking at you like you hung the world on a string.

“I’ve missed you too, Kook,” you say with a gentle smile.

You’ll allow yourself this moment of weakness when there’s no space between your bodies or hearts. Titles don’t matter much when he’s cradling you to his chest like a piece of precious china.

Between the two of us, you’re the one who hung the moon and stars, you think while combing back his sweaty bangs.

And I think I love you, you whisper voiceless against his lips.

[saradika]

— just can’t say goodbye

bodyguard!din djarin x princess!reader

rated e - 4.8k

tags: sorta medieval vibes, references to antiquated societal expectations, mentions and references to virginity, arranged marriage, technically infidelity because of said arrangement, light angst, sneaking around, first time, fingering, PiV, creampie

this is for the 1500 kisses event for @janaispunk! I got din + wedding! Jana, thank you so much for hosting this awesome event & for the gorgeous moodboard! 💖

“Take me,” You beg. It’s pathetic, no more than a whimper, “Take me, and then take me away from here.”

He’s been in your bed since the second your maidens were dismissed. You won’t sleep until dawn, not if tonight is all you have.

“You cannot mean that.” It’s harsh, almost a growl as it buzzes from his helmet.

"I have never meant anything more.”

(or - a final night is spent in the arms of your bodyguard, before your arranged union the next morning.)

You'd always known your duty.

What was expected from you, of you, drilled deep from an early age. Borne with pride - you were the eldest daughter of the king, after all - until you were wise enough to see that perhaps your obligations and loyalty were as much a chain as they were an honor.

Your life followed a well-worn path. Absorbing the lessons. Hours spent in learning about those before. Women like you - the graceful neck beneath the head of another lord, another king.

Support them, love them, bear them children.

It hadn't bothered you. You hadn't known anything else.

Not until him.

The Mandalorian had been assigned to protect you three years ago. A renowned knight, his allegiance first pledged to your father. And then, you.

Your bodyguard is not from your planet. It’s something you clung to - an endless source of information about things you've never seen or known, when his lips finally loosened.

But you had always seen him for more than just your bodyguard. That it was more than duty that bound you to each other.

Over time, during those hours spent with his back facing your door - a steadfast barrier between yourself and the cruel outside world - you had started to see between the cracks.

To read into his minute movements. Catching the tilt of his head and cock of his hip. The dry comments that slip from beneath his helmet.

Pretending he doesn’t care which of your handmaidens were caught in a dark corner with Ser Shand.

But you know better.

You think that perhaps you were doomed from the start. That it was always going to turn out this way between you.

Because when you had finally reached out to touch temptation - to sink your teeth into that sweet, ripe fruit - he had let you.

And at first - with the way he had allowed your hand to flatten against his armor, fitting into her personal space - you had wondered if it's because he wasn't able to.

People do not often tell you no. You've grown up in a carefully-carved mould - your requests are rarely things to be denied.

The thought had you shrinking back, the flat of your palm pulling back to fingertips.

Until his hand had closed around your wrist, tracing up to map the back of your hand. Bringing it back to smooth against his chest, right above his beating heart.

It had you realizing that perhaps he was just allowing you to take the first desire that has truly been yours. That your hopes and wishes had not been alone.

That all this time, he had simply been waiting for you to come to him.

Hours are spent together since, stolen between dusk and dawn. The near-silent wandering of hands and mouths.

That beskar armor nearly always fixed in place. It’s as much a part of him as flesh and bone. The edge of his helmet only lifting when he gets desperate. Sealing his mouth to yours. Deepening the kiss, until he’s all you can taste.

So much of him is still a mystery, but he’s come to know you as well as the back of his hand. Knows just how to make you bend, and then break.

Working his fingers between your thighs, until you’re shattering his arms. It will be enough to hold him over, until next time.

It has to be.

In the months since that first night, you’ve never tried to push. You’ve long known that you don't need to see his face - to strip him bare - to love him.

Determined not to ask him for more than he can give.

That is - not until tonight.

You've tried to hold on as long as you can. Always had been good at pushing things down. Grinning and bearing - with that polite, learned smile.

The dread you’ve been holding back crashes into you now, a charging lance against a shield. Splintering, and you can feel the ache in your ribs as if truly struck.

You cling to him. Stripped bare, his armor a welcome chill as your fingers slip between the fastenings of his armor.

Tonight, he allows you to loosen them. The room pitch-black, as the moon hangs full against a blanket of stars.

His helmet set carefully on your side table. Too dark to see him, a way around his creed. Trust woven in his actions, and you thank him with the soft press of your lips.

Against his throat. Teeth nipping skin as he groans.

He can’t leave a mark on you. Not a single thumb-print bruise - not with the way you’ll be stripped and scrubbed tomorrow.

So you leave ones on him. Reminders he can keep, until you can manage a moment alone again.

Desire swirls hot in your belly. Your own palm slipping down to tuck against his front, cupping him. Another part of him that he’s denied you fully.

“Take me,” You beg. It’s pathetic, no more than a whimper, “Take me, and then take me away from here.”

The potential wrath of your family pales in comparison to the thought of being bound to another. The reality of your situation sets everything in sharp contrast, the pretty veneer you’ve been living in cracking at the seams.

Din’s breath is harsh in your ear - fingers stuttering where they circle against your clit at your plea, coated in your slick.

He’s been in your bed since the second your maidens were dismissed. You won’t sleep until dawn, not if tonight is all you have.

“You cannot mean that.” It’s harsh, almost a growl as it buzzes from his helmet.

You might have thought he was angry, if you did not know him so well. If you couldn’t hear his own desperation, woven into each syllable.

It has your hips canting into his touch. Each word panted out, as your fingers stroke where he strains.

"I have never meant anything more.”

Your fingers pluck at his belt, but he eases them gently away. Catching your wrist with his spare hand, pinning it to the bed. His thumb sweeping against your skin, soothing as you squirm against him.

The fingers at your clit slip down to press just inside you. As if he’s thinking about it for just a moment, giving you what you’ve long desired.

But instead there’s a finality to his words, as his touch slips back up. Increasing the pressure until you’re moaning into your pillow, the tightly-wound stream about to snap.

His words, murmured into your hair, as you come undone.

"I won't let you throw your life away."

But how can you live, knowing that he won't be yours?

Not in the way you want him to be.

The man you’ve chosen to marry - a high-born Mandalorian from another clan - is kindly enough, but he is not your knight.

No one could be.

Your only solace in this union is that Din is going with you, honor-bound by his own sworn duties.

A blessing in spite of everything. You do not think you could do this without him.

But it does not make the lead-weight of your feet any lighter. The room spins in front of you, stretching long and think as your hearing fades out to white noise.

It's only the grip of your fingers into the King's bracers that keeps you upright. Nails digging into steel, as you take one step at a time.

Your wedding is as beautiful as it should be. As you've always dreamed - your dress in pretty layers of white and gold. Up since daybreak, primped and pampered.

It's enough to almost, almost, have you regret meeting Din. If you had not known a love such as him, you might have been content for a marriage like this.

But of course, it's no more than a fleeting thought. Immediately shut down.  

Better to know and grieve, than to not know at all.

You're still as stone, at the end of the aisle. All the movements practiced the night before - the events that had sent you rushing into Din’s arms after.

It hadn't seemed real until then.

Your lips feel carved into that smile. Hewn since the day you were born, your true feelings hidden in the dull sheen of your eyes.

Disconnected, as they drift. Annoyance flickering deep in your mind, when they slide over your groom.

His armor is ill-fitting. The leather straps at the shoulder stretched to their limits, hooked on the last notch. Too much space between the plates of his cuisses, and his poleyn.

You've spent weeks preparing for this, and he couldn't even dress in his finest for the ceremony. It feels like an insult, after everything.

Maybe if you blur your eyes, you can pretend it's him. Just until this is over.

The Cleric chants the words you’ve known since childhood. Repeating the phrases as your palm presses against your groom's. Each phrase bringing you closer to the end.

Only propriety and decades of lessons keep the quaver from your voice. They sound just as you practiced as they slide from you, even when repeated through muted lips.

There's a crackle of energy at the joining words. A golden string, glimmering.

Only now does your hand twitch. Resisting the urge to pull away. If you don't right now - right this very moment - then you will not get the chance again.

Your groom feels it. The slight tremble - his grip tightening around yours. The barest sweep of his thumb against your knuckles.

The movement startles you.

Just long enough for the string to loop around your joined hands, and then tighten.

It's too late now. Bound forever, until death do you part.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

Your eyes go to his helmet, as the ceremony winds to an end. His finger and thumb catching on the hinge, as his head tips towards yours.

You can’t bring yourself to meet him. Not until his lips press to yours. Not until there’s an intimate familiarity to them.

The gasp that slips from you is quiet. A hushed thing, breathed into the chaste kiss. There’s scruff on his jaw where his skin should be smooth shaven.

The height is off, too - something you’re only just now noticing.

It’s like your heart remembers how to beat again. Confusion and hope swirling in you in equal measure.

You squeeze the hand in yours, as the kiss breaks. Eyes shining as you both turn towards the crowd, life finally flickering in them agin.

It’s here, that everything begins to fall apart. Almost fool-proof.

With a bang, a man stumbles through the arched door at the end of an aisle. The pale blonde of his hair is mussed - eyes wide and red-rimmed as he shouts, a finger pointing towards the pulpit.

“Stop them!” It’s a high, hoarse thing, “He’s an imposter-!”

There’s a rippling murmur, gasps and cries as the man’s voice carries.

But your husband’s hand is is tightly grasping yours.

“Trust me?” He mumurs, and you’re nodding.

Following behind him as he darts to the side, making for the hallway. Your skirts bundled up in a fist as your heartbeat pounds behind your ribs.

There’s voices behind you. The stomp of feet, though the guests and the hired protection do not know the castle the way the two of you do.

Ducking down one corridor, and then another. News hasn’t spread fast enough - there’s murmurs from guards that you pass, but they’re not quick enough to stop you.

The sky bleeds red when you burst outside. A ship waits, engines roaring - the same one you watched drop out of the sky years ago, with his first arrival.

“Su cuy'gar!” A voice calls from inside - another Mandalorian hailing as he rushes down the ramp, “You’re late. I’ll stall, but you need to go.”

It's one you recognize as a member of your Father's own guard, hand-chosen. Boba Fett's reputation for ferocity and loyalty preceeding him. Only now do you realize just where that loyalty truly lies.

“Vor entye, ner vod.” Din clasps his arm, a farewell woven into his thanks.

“Ret'urcye mhi, princess,” Boba’s head dips in a nod, “We’ll handle things from here.”

You’re whisked inside, and ship takes off just as guests begin to pour from the door. Boba blends into the crowd as you watch the scene from above, becoming no more than another bystander.

They grow smaller. Doll-sized, and then ants, and then the stars are streaking as the ship makes the jump - shooting you out into hyperspace.

It’s here that your legs finally give out. All that tension building up until it snaps, until you’re collapsing into the co-pilots chair.

Din’s hands are on you in a second. Gloves shucked with his teeth, discarded on the floor. Warm and familiar as they cup your face.

“I am sorry,” His voice is rough. Still distorted beneath your betrothed’s helmet, but you know it’s him, “I couldn’t let you marry him.”

“I know,” You head turns, lips pressing into the palm of his hand, “I was so afraid. I wanted to run, I almost did-”

He feels how you tremble. A ragged breath as his touch turns soft - smoothing over your cheeks, knuckles brushing your neck.

Your name is breathed out, as you relax against him. As your hands start to wander, tugging at the edge of his cuirass.

“I don’t like this on you.” Your voice sounds thick, in your own head. Biting through the emotions that threaten to choke you, “It’s not yours.”

“No.” He hums, and it sounds like a laugh, “Though as my wife, you may remove them now. If you wish.”

Din’s words makes you ache with want. His wife.

You wonder if he’s teasing you, or if all that he said is true. He’s never allowed you to remove more than a piece or two before.

“Is your armor here?”

“Mine is in the bunk. Along with your things, I had them packed while you were getting ready today.”

You smile then. Relief in knowing that this was planned. That he had put the ball in motion, in those few hours you shared before dawn.

Maybe he had daydreamed about it for even longer. Knowing he could not, but still unable to help thinking through things. How he would always choose you, if only you were to ask.

And you finally had, at the very last second.

He lets your hands slip across his chest, mirroring that first night. New, in the way you slip the leather straps free, until pieces are left stacked on the floor.

The flightsuit beneath is his own. Your fingers have traced the stitching night after night, patterns you know by heart. And for the first time, he lets you tug at the zipper under his chin. Guiding it down with you, exposing tanned skin beneath.

It leaves you greedy. Fingers mapping every inch that appeared. Tracing over old battle wounds and scars from a lifetime ago. A pounding in your heart as each second stretches to the next.

Expecting him to take this back. To wrap himself away again, hiding from your eyes.

Soon, only his helmet and small clothes remain. Your fingers drifting to where he’s half hard, another part of him you already know well.

But his hands wander as well. Plucking at the ribbons that weave up the back of your dress, encasing you.

“Are you fond of this?” He’s asking, just as a fingers hooks beneath. The sharp tug that follows the shake of your head has the seams splitting. That ribbon starting to fray, and then snap.

Your gasp is almost as loud, as the fabric rips. The straps drooping down your arms as the dress starts to pool around you, dragged down by the layers of tulle.

“I’ll get you another,” Din rasps - watching, as you wriggle free.

Seeing the layers of lace beneath, meant for another man. Deep down, knowing it was always meant for him.

His bare hands catch at your hips. Sliding over skin, then up.

"I'll marry you again, cyar'ika. Properly,” Din’s words make you shiver, as his touch drifts across your arms, “As many times as you want, as long as you're mine."

“Yours.” You echo.

Reminding you about binding rituals of the ceremony - all the excitement of the escape almost making you forget.

But when his fingers catch yours, dragging your hands to the curve of his helmet, it’s impossible to think of anything else.

Intent in his movement. The tip of his head towards you, the muscles in his chest going tight as he holds his breath.

“Are you sure?” The beskar is cool beneath your touch.

You know what he offers you. Something akin to the vows you recited, something spoken in his own language.

“Yes,” He echos, “I’ve never meant anything more.”

There’s a weight, one of which you’ve never known. That this wasn’t just to save you. That he’ll wind up right back here as many times, until you believe him.

The lift of your hands is slow. Revealing the stubble on his neck, then chin. You’ve seen bits with the tip of his head. A knowledge that the hair is dark, but then there’s the soft curve of his lips.

Ones that you know the shape of, tracing yours fingers over them in the darkness. Pressed against every part of you, night after night.

There’s a patch of hair missing against his jaw. His nose, and you resist the urge to press your lips to it. A hint of curls, grey-flecked at his temples.

And then his eyes.

He needs the mask, you realize. You would have fallen immediately, looking into eyes like that. Warm and dark, as brown and pretty as his hair.

Everyone would have known what you meant to him, if that had caught him looking at you like this.

The exhale of your breath is low. Only a heartbeat until your mouth is pressing to his, insistent.

Hungry, unleashed fully for the first time. His hands slide up your hips, as the helmet hangs from your fingertips. Curling around your back, pressing you to him.

He’s dreamed of taking you countless times. Your own desires mirroring his - something flickering in your mind, now. A thought that maybe, you should move.

Down to his bunk, perhaps.

But there’s something about here. The cockpit, the streak of stars behind you. His strong thighs spread and bare in the seat before you, as you stand between them.

It’s easy to crawl into his lap. To straddle him, your clothed core already damp when you fit yourself against him.

You can feel groan in his chest as your palm flattens against him. One of his real ones - not modulated through metal.

“Please,” It’s hushed, whispered against his mouth. A rock of your hips, grinding against him.

He catches your hand, dragging it down again.

“It’s yours,” He husks, “It’s always been yours.”

Pleasure blooms low in your belly. Your fingers cupping against his length, before they slip beneath the fabric to curl around him.

Eagerly easing him out. His hips lift so you can shove his small clothes down. The weight of his cock trapped between your belly and his, as his own fingers trace the damp fabric at your core.

“I need you,” You breathe, arching into his fingertips. How they press and rub at you through the lace. It’s far past want.

Want was those early days, stolen glances from beneath your eyelashes as your solemn guard. Finding excuses to make him laugh, so sure he must be smiling beneath the helmet.

Din wears his expressions so openly without. His own desire shown in the grit of his jaw. Those lips that part on a groan, as your fist gives a slow pump.

The lace at your hips tears as easily as the ribbons that held your dress together. A pivot of his chair until he can lay you back against the metal panels of the dashboard, chilling fevered skin.

You whine at the distance that now stretches between you, but his hands only tighten where they grip at your waist.

“Shh, cyar’ika. I’m not going anywhere.” He soothes you, as the reason he moved you suddenly becomes clear.

It’s easier for his fingers to fit into you this way. The flip of his hand, as it faces palm-up. The tip of one stroking against bare skin. A familiar stretch as he slips to the first knuckle.

And then, as a shallow gasp slides from you, he sinks further than he’s ever been.

Had to hold back, before. Give you just a taste of what you’ve been wanting. This - the feel of him nudged so deep inside you.

“I know,” Your husband soothes, as his thumb nudges at your clit - distracting you.

From the slow plunge of his finger. How that quick twinge of discomfort bleeds into a pulsing throb you know well.

It’s not long before your hips are lifting. Your breath growing shorter, as a second fingers slips in to stretch you out. Getting you ready.

His cock is heavy where it rests on your thigh, the tip sticky against your skin. Flushed and swollen - making you realize that maybe you had been too hasty, thinking you could take him before.

Your own hands drift - and this time, you watch. Catching how dark and blown-wide his eyes get. The peek of his tongue between his lips when your fingers pinch at your nipples.

The way he inhales, when he feels you clench down around him. Back arching off the console, as his fingers curl against a spot that you never knew existed inside you.

“There,” You moan, as nudges against it again, “Din, please-”

His jaw grits, his voice low, “Yeah? Are you close, ner riduur?”

You’re used to the pretty names he calls you - a hidden way to show his affection. But never like this, with the soft purr of his voice. The way the words slide so easily from his tongue.

It must mean something special.

“Yes,” Your fingers pinch harder, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Biting back the panting gasp of your breath, as his thumb presses against your clit.

“Come for me.” It’s a command, but there’s a razor edge of need in his words, “Always sound so fucking pretty. Let me hear you.”

You’ve always had to hold back. Muffled into pillows, his palm of his hand as it clamps over your mouth.

The cry rips from you today, as you reach your peak. Eyes fluttering shut as the star-lines streak across your bare form - still bright, even as your vision darkens.

Your nails scrape against his skin, as he leans into you. Din’s mouth sealing to yours as you’re hauled into his lap, his thick fingers slipping free.

The kiss is messy, your mind still swirling as you reach down. Desperate for more, now that you’ve had a taste.

He pants into your mouth, “Don’t have to, cyare. This is-”

The words breaking off with a groan, as your fingers squeeze around him. His own need evident with how he throbs against your palm.

“‘s not enough,” You’re breathless, the dregs of pleasure settling low in your belly, “I’ve waited, we’ve waited-”

“Long enough.” He rasps, a flash of teeth in the darkness when you lean back.

Your nod is sharp. Determination in the pull of your shoulders as you lift up, angling his cock between your thighs.

A breath, and then you’re lowering yourself. The pressure you felt before is nothing compared to now - a muffled cry, as your nails bite into his shoulders.

As he stretches you open, even with how slick and ready you are. His own hands tug at you, trying to keep you from dropping down too quickly.

But you take him. You were made for him, after all. You decided that long ago. Even if you had joined with another, you’d never be theirs like you are his.

And you always were a quick learner. That competitive streak in you takes over now - figuring out just how to move in the cramped space.

That sting easing into pleasure, with the roll of your hips. The movement is familiar - you’ve sat astride him before, just never like this.

Never feeling this full, when your thighs are finally flush against his. Din’s hands guiding you like they often did - grasping at your waist, keeping your rhythm steady.

Even as it threatens to stutter, with just how good he feels. The angle you ride him sends him across the place his fingers found. Each drop of your hips sending you higher, eager to follow his murmured encouragement.

“You feel so fucking good,” It’s ragged and low - close to the tone he has when he comes, spilling across your belly, “Been waiting so long so have you like this-”

“Yours,” You sigh, again. Finally able to say it aloud, “I’m yours, we can have each other any time we want.”

Din groans at that, his hips bucking into you.

“Mine.”

It’s possessive. The hairs on the back of your neck standing up, as his fingers slip down again. Needing to know just how it feels to make you come around him, after imagining it for so long.

Your rhythm goes sloppy with his touch. Unable to figure out how to keep moving with your mind so clouded with pleasure. Chasing his touch as you bounce, head tilting back as his lips press against your throat.

Up, and then up, until he’s kissing you again. Your arms twine around his shoulders, curls tucked between pinched fingers as he brings you over the edge again.

Sharing a breath, as you moan into his mouth. His cock filling you as you clench down around him, almost as if trying to keep him inside as your orgasm pulses through you.

Din used to worry about monsters and beasts darkening your doorstep, never knowing he’d create one in you. Hungry like you’ve never known, eager for more even as your energy slips from you.

With his own desperation, he’s not far behind. Not with how you tight you are. Ready to give you everything, now that he finally can.

His jaw grits as he buries himself in you. Doing most of the work now, your legs leaden in your afterglow. Rutting his hips against yours, notching himself deep into where you’re wet and warm.

“Princess-,” Din rasps, like he used to. A low huff of a breath as you correct him.

Your lips at his ear, as you croon, “Riduur.”

“Fuck,” He groans at that, his voice dropping low, “Riddur, where do you want me?”

It makes you moan, the rough tone in his voice. How that name in his native tongue affects him just as much as you.

Your hips begin to move in earnest, skin slapping against skin. Those dark eyes on yours as you answer - finally able to express your hearts desire, after all these years.

“I want to feel you.”

His breath grows harsh, as your hips roll.

“Come in me. Please, Din.”

There’s no need for you to beg. He’s already there - a rough grunt as his hips near lift off the seat. Tugging you down and flush against him as he spills inside you.

You can feel him throb, as his warmth floods your walls. Threatening to spill from you, to leak onto thighs that are already sticky with your release. Sweat-dewed with exertion.

That heady ache of need fades, when you both come back down. It’s just bliss now, warm in your limbs. In his embrace. For the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re able to breathe.

The stars streak across his skin, illuminating pieces of his face. So like the stained glass back home, each feature split and soldered with darkness.

“Do you regret it?” His voice is low, barely audible over the hum of the engine, “Leaving with me?”

Your head tilts back, as you look at him again. A sight that you cherish, one you hope you can indulge in, but never take for granted.

And after all the questions that led to today - this one has been the easiest to answer.

“No,” You catch his hand, pressing it to your heart. Mirroring his words earlier.

“It’s always been yours.”

In every world - you would have gone with him.

Sometime amongst the late hours, you wind your way downstairs.

Fitting together in the narrow bunk, not minding the small space. Drifting off with a hand cradled against his neck. Thumb brushing his cheek, loathe to leave the warmth of his skin.

Soft dreams swirl in the moments you do sleep. In between the times when you wake - reaching for each other. Another hour spent twined together, re-learning every inch.

Not fearing the dawn, this time.

Because for once... your life is yours.

thanks for reading! and jana, thank you so much for hosting this event, I was so excited to celebrate with you! 💖

Su cuy'gar! - a friendly greeting (lit: "still live," i.e. "so you're still alive.")

vor entye - thank you (lit: "I accept a debt")

ner vod - my brother

ner riduur - my spouse / wife

ret'urcye mhi - goodbye

[misserabella]

sick love

perv! ellie williams x fem! reader

pt2

synopsis; you catch your best friend ellie touching herself and far from being embarrassed, it only turns her on even more. if only you knew she had been dreaming about this moment for her entire fucking life and that she has even planned for it to happen…

cw; really perv!ellie, dark themes, somnophilia (if you squint), breeding kink, mommy and daddy kink, praise kink, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), sub and dom ellie for the first part but dominant on the end, p in v sex, cum eating, masturbation (ellie), voyeurism (?), dacryphilia, violence (not towards reader), dirty talking, slight stalking? (only if you really really squint), hair pulling, blood… MINORS DNI OR I’LL COME FOR YOU!

‘Use me. Use me...’

Ellie was obsessed with you. Not in a lovely kind of obsessed —that too— but in a really pervert way. Her sick infatuation commenced a warm summer, when you and her, best friends since freshman year, had ended up staying up late in your house for a movie night. Your parents were nowhere to be seen, and being scared of spending the night alone, you’d invited Ellie for a sleep over.

Everything was perfect. Little snacks, the newest film in tape and a cozy sofa in which the two of you silently rested as you stared at the tv. That was until you had fallen sleep on the other end of the sofa, loose and extremely short pijama pants letting your lace panties show and nipples erect due to the coldness of the night underneath your tight and white tank top. She found herself staring for far too long, instead of bringing up on your body the blanket that you both had been sharing, her eyes taking in just how beautifully exposed you were.

Full honesty? She didn’t even remember how her panties had gotten that fucking soaked nor how her hand had ended inside her pants, palm slick in precum as her fingers thrusted inside her slick cunt, bottom lip in between her teeth and soft moans and groans scaping her lips. But she didn’t care. She came so hard that night that she swore she saw stars on your living room’s ceiling.

After that, she of course felt awkward and embarrassed of herself around you. Masturbating to her sleeping best friend, and just mere inches away from you? Jesus Christ. Though that remorse quickly went away when she found herself sinking deeper in that sickness under your name.

She relished in that pretty tears of yours when you cried about another stupid boy being mean to you and dumping you against her neck, your tits fully pressed to her chest and whimpers making her pussy drool, even more when that same guys were the ones crying and begging for her to stop as she beat the shit out of them.

She liked to see you cry, but if it wasn’t because of her, she wouldn’t have it. She sent a couple of them to the ER, but they were too scared to get a couple more bones broken if they ever spoke up, so she always got away with it. In no time, the guys were fucking terrified of even glancing at you, leaving you all to herself. Like it had to be. You were hers, or you’ll be.

You were always complaining about things of yours disappearing, “Fuck! I cant found my chapstick.” her shrugging even when she knew that she was, in fact, the thug. Then, she’d go back to her house and open the last drawer of her desk — which she had under key— and take the same chapstick out of her pocket to push it inside along with the other things she had stolen from you: lipgloss, necklaces, bracelets… Panties.

She loved them. She almost had a collection of them, of all types; cotton, lace, thongs… She loved the ones that she stole from the dirty laundry the most, which’s crotch she would push against her nose and lick as she fucked herself. Getting to taste and smell your slick always drove her crazy.

Another thing Ellie loved to do was take photos of you. She had albums and albums of polaroids for the two of you, being both on the pictures or just you. She loved to watch them from time to time: you smiling, you singing, you dancing, you blowing a kiss to the camera, jumping in the pool, petting a stray cat… Being simply you.

But she also had some photos that were exceptionally and just for her. Some of them were flashes of your body in those little and pretty bikinis you always wore in the warm summers, some other of your naked body —facing away from the door of your bathroom— when you changed, you eating ice cream with cheeks, lips and tongue stained in the vanilla treat, some of you sleeping, some others of the panties and little skirts that you’d wear. She even had one of you resting asleep on her lap, lips parted and against her clothed cunt. She saved some of them on her wallet in case she ever had to take care of herself when she hung out with you.

She was in love with you. Sickly in love. Sickly enough to take some of those photos of yours and cut out your face just to tape them to her porn magazines. Some of the pages had even stuck together due to her cum.

And you were just so unbelievably oblivious of her infatuation that you always left the window to your room unlocked in case she ever wanted to sneak in in the middle of the night to stay with you if she ever felt lonely in her empty house. At first, before her infatuation appeared, she would sneak in from time to time when the loneliness became too strong for her to handle, cuddling with you and leaving first hour in the morning. Now? Now she snuck in almost every goddamn night. To cuddle, to watch you sleep, to be able to hold you close and even to take advantage of your heavy slumber. She had licked her cum out of your fingers when she had used your hand to masturbate, having to hold in her moans and whimpers. Other nights, she would get under your covers and part your thighs just to push her head in between them, face against your clothed cunt as her hips buckled against the duvet, tongue flattening against your heat and moaning when your thighs would unconsciously squish her head.

She loved it when you played with her hair, groaning when you’d pull from it when she’d tickle you, and laughing when you’d scream at her for using your good conditioner after a pool day. She was obsessed with your little lotions and expensive shampoos, smelling you on her skin to fuck herself while she showered in your house.

She would stole food from you in the cafeteria, using your own fork or spoons just to be able to have your spit in her mouth. You’d always whine about it, but she never stopped, so you eventually stopped caring, giving her full access to it when you were full.

Ellie considered herself to be a woman with clear tastes when it came to sexual preferences. She would love to fuck you to her liking, to sink you into submission and to get you to call her daddy. She thought of herself as a dominant kind of person rather than a submissive one, but that changed when in one of her numerous wet dreams it was you the one who choked her and fucked her, using her like you’d use a fucking toy. She had woken up with a raging orgasm as from her lips fell the word ‘mommy’.

Was she a pervert? Absolutely. Would she ever speak up about his feelings for you? Absolutely not.

She’d prefer to die with this feelings than ever telling you she loved you. She was just terrified of the thought of you pushing her away or ever hurting your friendship.

So after a day full of what she thought of ‘teasing’, since it always involved you dressing in one of those incredibly short skirts or staring at her for too long as you sucked on one of the lollipops that she always bought you, she would come to her house and enter her room with slick coating her thighs. She would pull out of the back of her closet her pussy-shaped toy and her strap and spray one of her pillows with those little bottles of your perfume that came as gifts with the bigger version just to bend her other one and push the fleshlight in it, fully lubed and ready for her cock to fuck into, just like that pretty pussy of yours. And that’s what she’d do, fuck her stupid little toy with her face fully buried on the perfumed one as she imagined you under her, ass up and chest pushed against her bedsheets. Her pace was needy, harsh and deep, the back of the strap bumping against her clit and from her mouth dirty talking spilling. ‘Yeah, take my cock you slut, fucking take it.’ ‘That’s a good girl for daddy.’ Those were always the best orgasms, making herself cum over and over again when she couldn’t found herself to stop. Too pussy drunk even when it wasn’t your pussy what she fucked in between whimpers.

She sometimes would leave her house’s and bedroom door open with the dream of you someday catching her red handed.

But they were all just dreams, they weren’t supposed to fucking happen in real life. Yet, there she was, and so were you.

That day she had come with a really painful ache in between her thighs. You’d been sitting on her lap for a whole goddamn hour since your classmates from class B had borrowed most of your chairs to hang prom signals, leaving you without a place to sit and using your best friend as a chair. The problem was not only that, it was the fact that you’d be adjusting every five minutes and the fact that she had found herself being completely ignored by you as you talked with your friends, laughing with them and jumping on her lap when the jokes were too good. Well, she was not being completely ignored, since one of your hands, had found her hair and slowly massaged her scalp, every now and then pulling at her hair when you played with her locks, her hands trembling on your thighs —which spread sideways across from hers— thumbs circling your soft skin.

The fact that you were using her. The fact that she felt used by you and only you, was what had her gritting her teeth and fighting the urge to buckle against your ass. But Ellie was a good girl, so she just stood sit and went through that delirious torture with not a word coming out of her mouth. She felt like breathing once again when you got up from her lap when the bell rang, notifying the students that the day had ended, but still choking when she no longer could smell your cologne or felt you flush against her.

“Fuck, y/n…” she whimpered when she plopped on her bed, her palm pushing hardly against her pulsing and aching cunt, precum staining her jeans and underwear. She had pulled out from her closet her fleshlight and strap, since she felt that her hand would not be enough today. She had to fuck herself. “Please, fuck me, please…” she was a babbling mess when the tip pushed inside the lubed toy and her clit rubbed against the strap. “Use my cock, baby… Use me…” she found himself whimpering at her mind scenario, in which you would ride her relentlessly, her dick reaching deep enough to hit that sweet spot that you’d torture to make yourself cum all over her cock. “Fuck, mommy, fuck, feels so good… Ah, faster.” she was a babbling mess, her hips rutting upwards against her hand movements to fuck her cock deeper in the toy.

“Els!!!” you had called from downstairs as you opened her unlocked front door. Ellie always left it that way for you to come and go as you pleased. You were smiling, in between your hands a copy of a film she had been dying to watch for months and for which she had cried after finding out that it had been banned and would never get to the town’s Film Store. After seeing just how badly she wanted it, you had been fighting with sharp nails to get a hold on one of the limited edition copies that had gone on sale in the city’s center, where you had rushed just as classes finished and where you had killed your savings in the dib. “I have a surprise for you!!” you chanted, locking the door behind you and jumping excitedly, frowning when you didn’t hear and answer from her. “Ellie?” you called out again, the soft sound of her voice reaching you from upstairs. You took off your shoes, a smirk growing on your lips when the idea of giving her a scare came to mind. Up the staircase, you were like a ghost, slowly approaching her room and mumbling, though you froze when a moan got to your ears. Your skin went pale and your cheeks heated up when needy whimpers followed up right after, as if all the blood under your skin had ended up pooling there.

“Fuck, just like that. Faster, please…” was she with someone? Your chest heaved at the thought of Ellie fucking with some random girl that wasn’t you. You’ve liked her for years on end, since the first time that she held you as you cried your heart out after your first breakup. But she never seemed to look at you in any other way that wasn’t friendly, so, in the end, —being too scared to speak up about your feelings in fear that it would break your friendship— you had decided to bury them as deep as you could inside you, believing that she had to be just what she was; your best friend.

Even though you knew it was wrong, you slowly approached her slightly open door, peeking in in need to see who was she fucking, promising yourself that you’d leave once you’ve taken a glance. But all that went to hell when you found out she was not fucking anyone but herself, back against the mattress, bare chest rising and lowering slowly as her hips fucked upwards, inside her pussy-shaped flesh light. Your eyes widened and your legs trembled when from her lips new groans and moans fell. Ellie was fucking touching herself, desperately rubbing her cunt against the strap, slick on her thighs. Fuck, fuck, fuck… You needed to get away from there. Yeah, that’s what you’d do. You’d go back to your house and forget all about it… Or that’s what you thought, instead finding your feet glued to the floor as you watched.

She looked so hot and pretty all needy… Eyes closed shut and mouth agape in gasps, eyebrows pushed together as her head fell back against her pillow, hair messy all over it. Her hand was slow, pushing the toy down on her cock in deep and harsh strokes. You could almost perfectly see just how long and thick it was, her thrusts making the lube’s wet sounds fill the room. “Ah, fuck…” her voice was low and so broken you felt your panties damp in your slick, you were so turned on that your free hand cupped your cunt, making you almost moan if you hadn’t bit down on your bottom lip.

Your fingers had started to push against the lace of your panties underneath your plaid skirt, freezing on your clit when a new babble came from inside the room and your best friend’s lips. “Fuck, y/n…, mommy…, please, fuck, fuck, fuck…” your eyes widened, not only because…, fuck, Ellie was fucking that goddamn fleshlight with you in mind doing so, but because she had called you mommy too. Surprisingly enough that only turned you on even more, a needy moan tearing your throat before you could push it down to your chest. Ellie’s movements stopped, her gaze moving to her opening door just to see you standing there, flushed cheeks, heavy breathing and tape in hand.

She quickly pushed away the toy, cursing under her breath when she sat up, a pillow hiding the strap, clit throbbing at the sight of your trembling legs. “Fuck, y/n, I…” she didn’t even know what to say. You had caught her, caught her fucking herself with her goddamn fleshlight, and even worse, caught her moaning your name. She felt sick to the stomach, but at the same, so turned on too. You had caught her… Finally. And who knows how much time you had been listening and peeking at her while she pleasured herself. She had to hold back a whimper at the thought of it. “How much did you hear?” she cursed when you didn’t answer, cheeks reddening and hole twitching under the pillow, leaking against her thigh.

“Mommy.” you said, making her head snap back to you, a frown on her face, eyes widening when you let the film fall from your hands as you stepped in, closer to her bed.

“W…What?” fuck.

“ ‘Mommy’. That’s what you called me.” you smirked, eyes falling to her lap when she pushed the pillow further down. “Who would think that you would be so goddamn dirty to even leave the door unlocked for anyone to see as you fuck yourself. And even worse, have a mommy kink.” she stuttered as she shook her head.

“It’s not what it seems like, I…”

“You what?” you pushed, thumb and index gripping her chin so her eyes would find yours. “Are you gonna deny that you were touching yourself while thinking about me? That you were calling me mommy and whimpering for me to fuck you faster?” she moaned at your words, half-lidded eyes full of lust staring at your full and rosy lips. “Mmh? Answer me.” you ordered and she whimpered, your pussy clenching when she shook her head and cried out a ‘no’. “ ‘No’ what?” your lips brushed against hers, teasing her to get out of her what you wanted.

“No, mommy.” you pulled her hair when she tried to kiss you, making her groan against your lips as you clicked your tongue. “Please…” she pleaded, hands rocking the pillow on her lap.

“Only good girls get a kiss, Els.”

“I’m a good girl…” she was so gone that you almost laughed, so needy for pussy…

“Oh yeah?” she nodded, her tongue dampening her lips, hips thrusting upwards towards the pillow that covered her almost naked body. “The why don’t you show me?” she shivered when your lips latched to her neck, your tongue pressing against her skin in open mouth kisses that led to her ear. “Why don’t you show me how good you are and let me watch you fuck that pretty toy of yours, hm?” she moaned, muttering a ‘fuck’ as she nodded, making you smirk. “Then go ahead, baby, let me see.” you pulled away as she pushed the pillow off her lap, pussy twitching and thighs soaked in slick.

In the state she was… She would do anything for you. She would even fuck herself stupid if you said the word. Anything you asked, anything you wanted. Anything for you.

She moaned when you sat down on her desk’s chair, skirt rolling up and letting more of your soft and beautiful thighs show. Her hands were shaking when her fingers gripped around the clear silicone or her toy, whimpering when she noticed your eyes on her strap.

It was big —if not massive—, with a great large and just the perfect girth, large and thick enough to have you limping for a few days after a good fuck. And you knew she could give it to you, that she would fuck your hard and needy, deep enough to have you drooling over yourself as you came over and over again. You would love to drool and choke on it too, outline the veins on the shaft with your tongue and take it so deep on your throat you’d whimper at the pain of your jaw. “Aw, poor Ellie…” you cooed at her. “Caught about to cum. It must really hurt, doesn’t it baby?” she nodded, tears on her eyes due to your teasing, chest rising in heavy breaths. “Are you gonna cum for me to drink, hm? Want me to drink your cum, Els?” she moaned a breathy gasp, and you smirked to her reaction. She liked that.

Dirty talking. Mommy kink. Praise kink. Notes taken.

“Yes, yes, yes…” she muttered, almost begging for it. The thought of you swallowing her cum making her go crazy. She whined when and tortured her bottom lip with her teeth when you parted your thighs, panties exposed and damped lace for her to see. “Fuck…” she cursed, bottoming out into the wetness of the fleshlight in a deep and large stroke, almost cumming at the sight. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” your hands came down your body, your left resting on your breasts— hard nipples pushing against your shirt, which you pulled and pinched in between your fingers— and your right sneaking in between your thighs and below your underwear, whining when you felt just how wet you were. “Shit, y/n.”

Her pussy was drooling like crazy with every new and fast thrust of her hips, pleads falling off her lips with every brush against her clit. ‘I need you. Need you so bad, y/n…’ ‘Please mommy…’ ‘I’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum…’

“Oh yeah? You gonna cum?” You clicked your tongue when she nodded, chuckling at her behavior. “Look at how pathetic you look.” she whimpered when you had made your way back to her side, standing in front of her and making her head fall backwards when you harshly pulled on her hair, making her hips stutter and breathy whines rip her throat. “Hold it. I haven’t told you to cum yet.” she cried when you pushed down your thighs your panties. “Fuck, you are too fucking loud.” you said and she had to squeeze the toy and stop her movements to not come when you pushed your damped panties into her mouth, slicked crotch flat against her tongue. Her muffled begging only made your pussy wetter, her eyes full of tears that seemed about to fall when she could take a taste on just how sweet you were. She choked on the lace when you startled her legs. Her eyes fell just as your free hand did, straight to your core, where your fingers dug on your wet folds and parted them for her to see, thin strips of slick connected them and just how swollen your little pink bud was, hidden under its hood. “Here. Cum on my pussy.” you said, leaning on the skin of her neck to suck a hard hickey on her flesh as you pushed aside her strap, exposing her swollen and reddish soaked pussy.

You didn’t even had to say it twice, her hand quickly throwing away the fleshlight to push you down on her and cum all over your folds and clit, muffled groans and moans filling the room when her white and heavy gropes painted your core in white, her mind all foggy and pussy drunk just by the simple contact of your cunt on hers. You hummed as you stroked her hair, open mouth kisses being splattered across her chest. She was still fucking horny. “Good girl…” you cooed, placing the strap back on top of her cunt, loving just how fucked out she seemed. She moaned when you sat on her cock, its length in between your wet folds and the tip bumping against your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck….” she cried out with your panties on her mouth when you rocked your hips against hers. That’s all it took for her to cum for a second time, right after her first orgasm. You were gonna fuck her, shit, you were gonna fuck her cock…

You moaned, feeling her nails dig on your ass, your pussy sliding too easy against the silicone due to the amount of slick that coated it. “You came again, baby?” she nodded, moaning due to your humping, overstimulating her clit. “Fuck, Els…” you pulled your panties away from her mouth, wanting to hear her groans. “Look at you, making a mess of my cunt.” you were fucking soaked for her.

“Fuck, y/n…” your name sounded so wonderful falling from her lips… “Please, can I… Can I clean it for you? Let me clean it for you, pleasepleaseplease. I’ll make you feel good, I promise, I’ll be good…” you pulled her bottom lip with your thumb, warm skin under your fingertips. “I promise. I promise mommy…” your thumb brushed your own lips when she leaned in, pupils blown and need on her green thin irises. She looked high. And she was, high on her favorite drug: you.

You nodded, giving in, and gasped when she had your back pressed against the mattress in just a matter of seconds, lips all over the skin of your neck and exposed collarbones, her hands leaving your hips to bump against the bottom of your tank top, fingers so desperate to see your tits that dug too hard on the piece of clothing enough to tear it up. You moaned when you felt the fabric give out, her hands cupping your exposed breast and biting hickeys on its flesh in between groans, muttering a ‘The prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, fuck.’. You were tugging on her hair as she played with your tits, biting your nipples and teasing you for a couple of minutes before slowly lowering her lips further down on your stomach, bumping with your skirt, which she quickly discarded away on her bedroom floor. She pulled away to look to your fully naked body, hair messily spread on her pillow —the same she had fucked multiple times while thinking about you—, lips swollen due to constant biting, half-lidded eyes and flushed skin. She moaned, pussy aching, ‘cause you were so goddamn perfect. Perfect for her.

She didn’t waste time in parting your thighs —which she took her time with, and of course she would, she had been dreaming about making them bleed for years now—, leaving open mouth kisses and sucking hard on the skin, making you whimper and tug on her hair. “Ellie…” you whined when she bit down on your flesh, making your back arch at the incredible pleasure the pain inflicted made you feel. She was so drunk on your skin… She could spend her whole life kissing it that she would never get fucking tired of it. But her teasing was making your pussy clench and tingle. You needed her mouth on it now. And she seemed to get it when you pushed her further against it, her hands taking your now fully marked thighs to pull them above her shoulders as she sunk on the mattress, stomach flat against it and fingers gripping at your flesh. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when her tongue pushed in between your covered in cum folds, flattening in a long strip and bumping against your clit. Both of you moaned, her due to just how much she had dreamed about the taste of your pussy —which she had tasted before, but only clothed— and you to how many times you had touched yourself with her mouth in mind. Her name falling off your lips on a whimper had her hips rocking against the duvet as she ate you out sweet and slow.

It was only when her fingers found their way to your entrance that she started to eat you just like you needed and she always dreamed of: rough, needy and hungry. You were screaming her name when her fingers pushed inside you, quickly fucking the shit out of you and curving to hit your g spot as her tongue circled your clit. It was just then when you understood the rumors that went around in your highschool about her mouth. Ellie knew how to use it, really well. So well that she had you tipping the edge in less than ten minutes. She was like a starved woman, burying her face in between your thighs unable to get enough of you and your sweet taste, of the mix of the two of you in her tongue. “Fuck, Els, I…” you babbled, thighs twitching as you pulled harder on her hair. She knew you were close by how moans fell of those pretty lips of yours over and over again. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum…” you cried out, Ellie crushing your sweet spot with every harsh thrust of his fingers.

She moaned, begging for it. “Please cum on my mouth, mommy. Please, let me have it, please mommy, please…” you whined when her tongue gave just one last stroke to your clit, dissolving in the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had, whimpers against your cunt as Ellie drank every last drop of it all, helping you ride out your orgasm as your sweet moans filled her bedroom.

You mewled when once you’d come down from your high, her tongue licking you clean as hips rutted on her wet sheets, seconds away from coming when you called for her. She whimpered when you tugged on her hair, pulling her away from your pussy as you sat up. She looked completely gone. Half-lidded eyes unfocused, messy hair due to your tugging, swollen lips and wet chin. “Please, just a little bit more, mommy…” she begged, needing to go back in between your thighs. Needing to taste you and make you cum again on her mouth. “Please, I need it…” your eyes fell to her strap, and then, to the dampness of the sheets where she had been rocking against. You clicked your tongue as you took it in your hand, making her bite down on her lips.

“I’ll let you choose where to cum next, Els.” you said, your other hand coming to her cheek to rub the flush on her skin. “I could let you eat me out again and let you cum all over the sheets all by yourself…” her hole twitched to the thought of it, feeling cold when the hand that cupped her face left her to fall in between your thighs, spreading you open for her to see. “Or you could cum inside of me.” her eyes rolled to the back of her head, hips thrusting into your hand in anticipation. “What do you say, Ellie? Where do you want to cum, baby?” she was almost hyperventilating, whimpers falling off her lips as she leaned on you, eyes on your own.

“Inside.” she found herself to mutter, unable to think, not when you were offering her the chance to fuck you raw and fill you up. Just the thought of it had her reeling. If only she could really cum inside, she’d make sure to do it over and over again until your belly would swell.

“Oh yeah?” you whispered against her lips, her nodding slightly, bewitched by your minty breath connecting with her own. “You wanna cum inside, hm? Gonna let me use your cock too?” you gave her a sweet smile when she moaned, furiously nodding. Leaving a little peck on the corner of her mouth, you fell backwards on your back once again. “Then come here, Els.” she was fast to top you, your thighs parting to receive her there, hands on her neck when she leaned in, eyes asking for permission to kiss you, which she didn’t even need since you were now entering your tongue in her mouth, making her groan. Fuck, she could come just with that. With your tongue in her mouth, your body against her and the thought that you were only letting her fuck you to seek your own release. She moaned on your open mouth when you took her dick to align it with your entrance. You needed her, and you needed her now. “Fuck, baby, please fuck me Ellie, please, please…” you whimpered, and she didn’t wait to push inside in a deep and fast stroke. You both moaned, foreheads against the other’s as she bottomed out.

“Fuck, so tight, mommy, so tight… Shit.” she was struggling to move at how hard your walls were swallowing her. Your head had fallen backwards in gasps, giving her full access to your neck, which she kissed and sucked, leaving new marks. She was so big you felt like splitting in half, but not in a painful way. Her stretch had you delirious, her tip brushing against that sweet spot that would make you come in a matter of seconds. Your nails dug on the skin of her back, making her groan. The two of you were taking your time, her letting you get used to the feeling of her heavy and big cock sitting inside your wet cunt, spreading you to edges you’d only dreamed of getting to. She groaned against your neck when you started to unconsciously rock against her. “Please y/n, can I fuck you now? Let me fuck you mommy, please? I need to… I need to…”

“Go ahead, baby. Be a good girl for me and let me use your cock, alright?” she whimpered at your words, and in less than one second she had you gripping to her back for dear life and losing yourself in between moans. “Oh fuck, yeah Ellie, just like that baby, shit, fuck me, fuck me…”

She was just feral. Thrusting in you with just cumming in mind. Her hips were pushing against yours in a hurry, hitting that spot inside of you that had you whimpering as you thrusted yourself on her cock, just as desperate as her. She was too pussy drunk to even kiss you straight, spit dripping down your chin at the messy made out. “Fuck, y/n, mommy, shit, so good, feels so good, fuck, I love it, love your pussy, ah shit, love you mommy, loveyouloveyouloveyou…” she was a mess. Both of you were. Her thrusts had you drooling on the pillow, back arched and eyes squeezed shut, too lost in the pleasure, in her. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release with every new deep and harsh thrusts, making your nails dig up on her back, probably leaving marks.

“Fuck, Ellie, fuck, I’m close, shit, I’m gonna cum…” you whimpered on her ear, making her fuck you harder.

“Cum on my cock, mommy, please, please… Use me. Use me…” she begged, and then you could only feel yourself cumming over and over again. It was all too much, but too good at the same time. So good that had your soaked cunt gushing all over her dick as she fucked you dumb, her hands pulling on your nipples and teeth digging so hard on your neck that draw blood. You were seeing fucking stars in the ceiling.

The only thing that you seemed able to coherently form was her name, which you chanted like you sang your favorite summer song. “Ellie, Ellie, Ellie…”

“Shit, Imma cum, I’m cumming so fucking hard… Gonna fill your pussy mommy, gonna…, fuck!” her thrusts became sloppier. “Im gonna cum, i’mcummingi’mcummingi’mcumming.”hips thrusted one, two, three more times before she finally came. She was whimpering ‘mommy’ over and over again in between cries against your neck, thick gropes of cum painting the back of her strap and her thighs.

“Shit, fuck, Ellie. So good…” you moaned, rolling your hips at the feeling of fullness as she had stilled up to the base inside of your swollen and used cunt. You were fucked out, brain dead on the cock that had just gave the best sex of your life. You were trying really hard to come down from your high and calm down your breathing. “Ellie!” Though you really couldn’t even do that, since you found your head being hardly pushed against her pillows and back arched with your chest against the duvet when she pulled you up from your ass, her cock ramming inside of your soaked pussy. You cried out when her hand came down on one of your cheeks in a hard spank that had you whimpering.

“You didn’t think I was done with you, were you, ‘mommy’?” you could hear the teasing in her voice. “I’m sure you really enjoyed having your way with me, didn’t you?” you couldn’t really comprehend how her mentality had switched so drastically fast, but you were no one to whine about it. If a submissive Ellie had you cumming so hard on her cock, how would a dominant fuck you out? You felt your pussy clench around her dick in anticipation. “Well, I hope you did, ‘cause now is my fucking turn.”

-

a/n; I NEEDED TO OKAY? I NEEDED TO MAKE A SICK LOVE ELLIE VERSION SORRY!! 🩵

[vatelixx]

The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

a/n: everything i write has been so angsty recently. i’m working on something softer for my next upload i swear (alongside the requests, I promise, they’re being written im just a die-hard perfectionist). aaaaanyway, happy (belated) halloween!! It’s Spencer’s favourite season so i thought i’d write him getting destroyed by a serial killer (god when is it my turn????)

────────────

Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, “Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again’ and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don’t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

[sour-leminies]

Helloo! Can you do a James Hook x reader in which the reader is like Kitty Cheshire (From Ever After High) But a more nicer person who’s bestfriends with Bridget since they’re both from Wonderland and Ella.. Hook and her meets at the Life is Sweeter scene and maybee you can think of the rest! Thank you!!

Smile

Paring: James Hook x Cheshire Cat Daughter F!Reader.

Summary: Growing up you were always told to put a smile on your face. It’s your motto, your mask. It first instinct to smile through anything. Though when a certain pirate says you should smile, every bone in you wants to defy him. However this always makes him more curious.

Warnings: None I can think of but lmk otherwise!

Taglist: Just comment and ask!

A/N: Ahhh, this was such a good idea — more thoughts on writing this at the end!

I smiled brightly at the sight of Bridget started to sing. She was working with the red haired girl beside her — making flamingo cupcakes.

She turned around offering me one before starting to sing — her voice kind and gentle. I grabbed one off the tray, biting into the delicious treat.

“It’s not really a secret recipe.”

I walked beside her, smiling as I sing out with her. “A little butter, flour, sugar, and a lot of positivity.”

We started to walk around the campus, people grabbing cupcakes as they were walking past. Part of them turning pink, Bridget’s color.

“Honestly, it always works for me.”

I smiled as she started to get more into the song. I held out my tray full of sweet treats as well, watching as they quickly started to fly off and into people’s mouths.

Me and Bridget smiled at each other before singing together, “cause the sun shines a little more brightly.”

“When you take things a little more lightly.” People around us also started to get into the vibe, dancing with us. Having fun.

I squealed as someone lifted me off the ground and spun me around.

As we walked up to Aladdin and Jasmine I couldn’t help but cringe at their pda. This school was full of it — but they tended to take it up a notch.

I fall into routine with the others, dancing in sync making sure to not fall. I handed Bridget the cupcakes again as it started to settle down.

“So your friends with everyone?” Red ask, making me wince. “Gosh no,” Bridget spoke. “My only friends are Ella and Y/N.” She said her time full of hope as she went on. “But with time and more delightful treats — they will be.”

I smiled at the two new girl, smiling widely despite the akward situation. Though my attention was stolen as a bunch of Vk’s made their way into the court yard.

I watched intrigued as they moved out the way — showing the captain. James Hook.

“Look for a hand, find a golden hook.” I crossed my arms, he had a nice voice. However the vibe I got from him rubbed me wrong in every direction. Which was weird cause normal I was fine with everyone.

“Captain of the seas I got ‘em all shook.” I watched as the rest of their group introduce themselves. Setting it up for Uliana — Ursula little sister to make her way. The Queen of bullies.

“Say Uliana and watch them flee!”

I looked over to their confused faces as Bridget informed them. “She’s Ursula’s baby sister.” Uliana rolled her eyes, while the Vk’s started to walk into us.

I watched as the pirate started to take a few steps towards me. Thankfully we all pushed back. “The sun sines a little more brightly.”

Hook and the rest off them pushed back as well. Though I felt my breath hitch at how close he got. “The darkness is a little enticing.”

Circling each other — we started to dance again. Though as I went to spin, a hook grabbed onto my wrist.

Getting pulled back I bump into the chest of the man responsible. I pulled my hand back away from him — though he used in hand to grab it again.

Before he could say anything I gave him a sarcastic smile. Disappearing leaving only my smile for a second.

I reappeared beside Ella — and continued to dance.

Once everyone was calmed down I made my way closer to Bridget, watching as Uliana took one of her cupcakes. “Thanks.” Though I could tell she was not being sincere.

Bridge started to be polite but she cut her off. “For all of them!” Grabbing the tray. Ella was the first to jump to Bridge’s defense. “Give that back to her.”

My smile dropped as they started to make fun of both Ella and Bridget. I looked down to the person beside me. I grabbed his tourney stick and pointed it a Uliana.

“Listen her sea freak. You’re going to give them back.” I could hear one of the new girls, Chloe I think list off the rules.

A hook pushed away a stick before Hook walked into my personal space. “Easy there lassie. Don’t know where you come from.” He took another step closer, and this time I could practically feel his breath on my face. “Don’t know where you come from, but her we fight after school.”

He pushed some of my hair out my face. “Meet me them.” I grabbed onto his hook for a hand. I took the gum out my mouth, pressing it to the sharp point. “You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

I pushed him back, causing him to smile. Though I wasn’t expecting him to lift the sharp hook to his mouth. Biting off the gum from it.

I glared at the pirate, as Red pushed in front of me treating the sea witch. “I only wanted the feathers.” She threw the tray onto the ground, causing a few people to jump. Rude.

Uliana was about to take a bit of all the feather — but kind Bridget was nice enough to warn her. “You really shouldn’t, that’s way too many.”

Not heading her warning Uliana placed them into her mouth — eating them. The sea witch started to brag about her self, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the flamingo screech she did.

“What was that?!” She looked around — trying to find what was responsible. I crossed my arms once again. Watching as she slowly started to turn pink, into a flamingo.

“You alright Uli? You’re looking a little pink.” I turned my heated glare back to his stupid face.

“No really?” I asked him, no duh genius. You would think a sea witch would know what too many feather would do.

“Easy there kitty. Don’t go starting fights.” He turned his full attention onto me instead of his boss. While everyone else watched as Uliana turn pink all over.

I couldn’t help but scoff. “You started the fight.” I look past him to see a flamingo Uliana glaring a Bridget and I knew exactly what she was thinking. I push past Hook and started to push Bridget to run. “Bridge go. Go!” Bridget, Ella, and me all rushed to run away and Uliana started to chase the three of us.

We almost made it into the dormitory when Maleficent and Hook blocked the door way.

“Hello again lassie.”

“How did you?” I started to question trailing off as I pointed to the court yard than to here. “I know my way around.” Is all he told me before the two of them started to chase us.

Running to the next door, Hades and Morgie blocked us next. We ran over to the fountain and once Ella pulled Bridget away I pushed the sea witch into it.

“She warned you.” I spoke to her, but she couldn’t hear me since she was underwater. Grabbing Bridget and Ella we all ran past the other kids. Making our escape.

⎈

I sighed as I collapse onto my bed. Luckily, I had a dorm to myself. Where I could finally drop the smile and relax.

I rested my eyes, finding myself comfortable before a knock on the door made me reopen them.

For a second I thought I just let them think I’m not home. I teleported in here anyway, it’s not like they say me come in.

Another pound at the door made a groan free from my body and I pulled myself up off my comfie mattress.

Yanking the door open I spoke before I even saw them, “yes?” Aggravation laced in my tone.

“Well aren’t you a nice kitty?” The teasing voice was one all to familiar.

“Hook.” He smiled before forcing himself in. “I was wondering when you were going to get home.”

“What?” Confusion made me furrow my brows, the hell was he talking about? “Worry not about that. I’ve come to properly introduce myself.” He grabbed one of my magazines ripping out the hot guy.

“Hey!” I snatched the paper from him trying to piece it together.

“I’m James hook. Captain. Villian. Charming, dashing, skilled fighter, amazing—.“ I cut him off before he can continue. “Alright that’s enough. What do you want?”

My arms cross and I lean against my table. “A smile for starters.” I felt my lips, only to realize I wasn’t smiling. There’s never been a time where I wasn’t at least smirking in front of people.

I try to find my smile — except I can’t find nor force it this time.

“What do you want? Hurry up.”

“Uliana is not a fan of you or your pink friend.” I kept my gaze on him as he strolled around my room. “Maybe you’d like to make a deal.”

“My protection, for your powers.” I tilted my head confused. “What do you need my powers for?”

He walked over to me, invading my personal space once again. “Well I hear sneak kitty is the best thief.”

“I’m not stealing anything for you.” I said simply. He gave a low up, bringing his hook up to push back my hair. “How about a date then?” I felt the air leave my body. Heat rushing back and all over.

I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the door, “no way, not until wonderland makes sense.” I was about to shut the door but his hand stopped it.

“Can I get one conversation at least? Tomorrow at the enchanted lake. Noon. And if you don’t show up I won’t stop trying.” He walked away causing me to roll my eyes. Pirates and their determination.

⎈

I had spent the day contemplating on weather or not I should go. I eventually decided to do so. I’m just curious.

Opening my door, I was surprised to find the pirate I was supposed to see at the lake at my door. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to walk with you, wouldn’t want someone to take advantage of you.” In a place full of royals and goody kids?

And villian kids.

Right. Rebels too. Deciding to just go with him, we walked quietly to the lake. Well I was quiet, and he kept talking and talking.

By the time we had gotten to the refreshing water cliff I had found myself started to enjoy his voice.

“So what now?” I asked once we had passed the bridge. “Well, now we cool off.” I looked at him confused before he shrugged off his jacket.

My eyes widened and I grabbed his hands, stoping him from continuing to unbutton his shirt. “What are you doing?!”

“Going swimming? You alright kitty cat?” His accent was very noticeable as he finished unbuttoning his shirt.

My mouth wet dry at the sight of him throwing it onto the ground with his jacket. His tan skin looked delectable, and I for some reason felt a desire to rub my hand down the slope of his abs.

“I’ll uh, I’ll wait here for you.”

He tiled his head, looking me up and down. Studying me. He gave a low hum before walking to the edge of the cliff.

“Sure you don’t want to jump with me.”

“I’m sure.” A part of me wanted to give the reason; I can’t swim, but a bigger part of me knew his kindness now was an act. He was still a bully.

He took a step off, falling with a smile. I leaned over the edge, watching as he splashed into the water.

I sat down, letting my feet dangle as I watched him swim around. Laughing when stubbed his toe against a rock.

I walked down the cliff meeting him as he walked out the water. “You’re soaking wet.”

His smirk widened as he shook his hair — getting the water out. Like a cat. I snaked his shoulder when he got sprinkles onto me.

“Watch it.”

“I’ll make sure of it, kitty cat.”

We sat on the shore, I made sure to not let the water touch my feet while Hook didn’t mind it. Classic pirate.

I laughed as he told the story of Hades throwing a fit when Uliana took Maleficent away from him for an hour.

“That’s nice.” I squint my eyes curiously. “Your smile. Your real smile, not that forced one.”

“I—“ I honestly didn’t know what to say. I just came up blank. “Thank you.” It was the safest option. The only thing I could really think of.

“Perhaps I should walk you to your dorm now.” I nodded quietly, just as quiet as we walked back. It wasn’t awkward either, it was comfortable.

⎈

I walked up to Bridget smiling, “How are you, your highness?”

“Ugh Y/N I told you not to call me that.” I laughed at her rolling her eyes, before linking arms with her. “Should we go dress shopping today? I asked.

“Omg, yes! But I hear there’s someone waiting in the court yard for you. Wanting to ask a very specific question.” She smiled knowing, and I know what her tone was hinting at.

“Someone’s trying to ask me to castlecoming?” I hated that the first person to cross my mind was a certain devious pirate.

We walked out the doors, and I lost my breath at how many people were out here.

Standing on a table with a sign saying ‘Castlecoming? Yes or no?’ Was Peter Pan. One of the royal popular boys only rivaled by Charming.

I looked around, Bridget had dropped my arm. Everyone was staring — expecting. Everyone was staring demanding. I knew the look all to well.

Always put on a smile

Papa’s voice waved through my mind at the same time I locked eyes with Hook. He was out here as well. Only a few Vk’s were out and about.

I felt like i couldn’t breath as I forced my smile.

Your real smile, not that forced one.

I gave everyone what they wanted, I said yes.

⎈

I didn’t see Hook the next two days. I hated that it got to me, I barely knew him. I had just met him for the white rabbit sake.

However every second that I didn’t see him, felt like a cruel laugh. One wrapped in a British accent.

The hours ticked and ticked and before I knew it Peter was knocking on Bridget’s door. I had gotten ready with Ella and Bridge but I would be arriving with Peter.

The carriage ride was quiet, and I had attempted conversation, but Peter in nice words was dry. I blended into the backround as Peter chatted and laughed with his friends.

Once they and all gotten to absorbed into each other I had made my way across and over to the drink stand.

“All alone kitty cat?” His voice wrapped around me, and it felt warm. “Hook.” I clipped my voice, not wanting to show how much I had actually missed his presence.

“Miss me?” Yes. “No.” I had only met this man recently, and yet he had such an effect on me. Like he was the moon while I was a star. Blindingly in awe of him.

“I missed you.” I searched his eyes for the lie, but instead found honesty. “I will say I’m upset you came with Peter Pan.”

“Are you angry at me?” My eyes pleaded for him to say no. “Not with you.”

He brushed my hair out my eye with his hook, taking a step into me. Leaning close to my ear, I could feel his breath fanning across my skin , leaving a burning fire.

“Rest assured kitty cat you may have came with him, but you will be leaving with me.”

I was sure I looked like a fish out of water with the way my face burned and the way my mouth wide open.

“Now,” he offered his hand, “will you dance with me?” I didn’t say anything, but I just took his hand. Letting him lead me out onto the floor.

“Is this a bad time to say I don’t know how to dance.” I whispered, kicking myself for being to wrapped up in him and not being focused.

“Don’t worry,” she placed my hand on his shoulder, the other in his good hand — all while his hook rested on my hip. “Just follow my lead.”

The music started, he took steps and I followed him. Every twirl I laughed, and every dip I smiled.

By the time struck midnight, I had left with Hook. Forgetting all about Peter Pan.

Walking across the bridge we were quiet until I spoke up. “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t mean to.” He kept quiet, I had walked in front of him — the moon light lighting my way.

“And I know how much you dislike Peter Pan, so I’m sorry that it was him—“ my hand was yanked back and before I knew it Hook had trapped my lips with his own. Taking my words away.

For the first time, I finally felt relief. I stepped into him as he placed his hook on my waist. His hand getting trapped and tangled in my hair as he pried open my lips.

He was so consuming, his lips demanded the attention he thought he deserved.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, lifting my up slightly, as wind started to blow.

Not to sound to on the nose, but it honestly felt like a fairy tail.

⎈

“Thank you for walking me home.” I shrugged off his jacket, handing it back to him. “Nothing to mention.”

He grabbed it from me, his gaze on mine. Searching. I went to walk into my room but his voice stopped me.

“Keep it.” Handing me his jacket he continued on. “You can give it back to me on our first date.”

“I dont remember asking for a date.”

He smiled and kissed my cheek. “That’s because I’m asking you.” Not demanding, but asking.

“I’d love to go out with you Hook.” He wrapped his arms around me and twisted the door nob. “James will do.”

I walked into my room, turning to shut the door. Right before it closed I whispered out, “goodnight James.”

“Good night Y/N.” He had waited until I was fully safe inside.

⎈

A/N: Ahhhh, I loved this idea. I can’t help but feel like this was rushed but I hope you enjoyed. James Hook is my soul mate trust 🤞

Navigation — other works!

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[avocado-writing]

Kinktober #15

15. Hair Pulling // Glory Hole // Teasing (Old Man Logan x Reader)

You only wear the little shorts around the house when you’re sure he’ll have the time to rip them off of you. 

The climate is humid, always. Clings to you like a second skin, as if saran wrap is trapping in the sweat. So really, you have an excuse to wear them. Constantly throwing a look over your shoulder at Logan when you bend down to pick something off the ground, always leaning over at your waist so as to show off the curve of your ass to him. You can feel his gaze settle heavy on where your cheeks peek out from the bottom of cut-off denim.

“Oop, I’ll have to be more careful…” you sigh. With moments he’s on you, cock pressed up against the curve of your ass, getting hard and heavy in interest. You gasp at the pure size of him bullying into your space.

“Baby, what are you doing?” he asks, voice rough. A hand splays between your shoulder blades to keep you curved over. You nudge your ass back against him playfully and he growls.

“What, Lo? Just walking around the house is all…”

He hums, a gravelly sound deep in his check, rocking his length into your soft skin. You smother a gasp at the illicitness of it.

“You tryin’ to tease me, honey? Wearing those little shorts which drive me crazy?”

Unseen by him, you grin. Yeah. That’s exactly what you’re doing, because you know it never remains teasing for long.

When you don’t answer he pulls you to your feet with a rough but tender motion, pressing his lips against you with such force that the breath is stolen from your lungs. You’d gladly give it to him though. You’d give him whatever he asked so long as he kept you close. A calloused palm runs up the back of your thigh to take a meaty handful of your ass and squeeze. You grin against the kiss, smile blooming into the whiskers of his beard.

“You like it when I feel you up, sweetheart?”

“I like knowing I’m yours, Lo,” you sigh. His pupils blow wide at that and he can’t help himself, turning you around once again so that he can bend you over the back of the sofa. He takes a second to make sure you’re comfortable against the pillows - ever the gentleman even when he’s about to fuck the brain from your head - before he pulls the shorts down and runs a finger over your sex.

“No panties… you’re gonna kill me, baby.”

You know that the giggle you let out drives him wild. One hand on your hip at all times to steady you, you hear him mess with the belt on his pants to free himself. The head of his cock rubs against your wetness and he coats himself in you before sheathing himself inside fully, making the two of you moan in harmony.

“Logan…” you sigh as he settles, letting you adjust for a moment as he always does. Your hips rock back into him needily.

“I know, honey. I’ve got you, I swear,” he says through gritted teeth, starting to move in earnest. All you can do is hang onto the soft threadbare throw on your shared couch and let him fulfil his promise, fucking you with such force that it squeaks forward a few inches. You moan and whine and bite into one of the pillows, but Logan snatches it away meanly.

“No you don’t. You tease me, I’m gonna hear the noises you make when I put you straight.”

You turn to jelly even further under him. Any rigidity your bones had melts in your flesh as he slaps a thick palm against your ass and you gasp. He crowds over you; chest to your back, the buttons of his work shirt digging into your spine over the scrap of tank top you wear. He kisses along your shoulder as if to apologise for having to take a firm hand… as if you’d ever care. For a few moments everything in the universe narrows down to the snap of his hips against yours, alighting stars in your eyes as he makes you come just from being fucked so hard.

“Baby,” he says through gritted teeth, panting in your ear, “I’m not gonna last…”

“Inside?” you beg, but despite his desperation, you hear him chuckle. He pulls out at the last moment, leaving you achingly empty - instead jerking himself a couple of times so he finishes in your little shorts. He leaves thick ropes across denim, dripping obscenely from the crotch and down your legs; along the smacked cheek of your ass, too.

“Logan…” you whine. He shrugs and drops a kiss on your shoulder.

“Punishment fits the crime.” His chuckle is drawn from deep in his chest.

With a faux harrumph you step out of the shorts and drag them to the washing basket. They’ve done their job anyway… for now.