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saintrosalyn · 2 months ago

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JAILBIRD

Ghost becomes pen pals with an inmate before deciding that he wants to adopt his little jailbird.

Word count: 4.1k

Tw: inmate reader, reader is kept as vauge as possible but is implied to be younger than Ghost, violence, stalking, ghost is a perv, p in v, oral (f! Receiving), creampie, spanking (once), orgasm denial if you squint, unprotected sex, NOT edited we die like men.

Edited to Add: Part Two is posted :)

Notes: Baby’s first fanfic, please be gentle. Let me know if I missed any trigger warnings or if you want to see more! I have an idea for a second part but I don’t know if anyone wants it, right now it’s tucked away safely in my drafts. Enjoy! :)

P.S. I’m thinking about making an ao3 account and publishing an edited version of this on there. I’ll link it if I do! I’ve already spent too much time procrastinating finals but christmas break is around the corner so who knows.

The letter came with the top serrated, already opened, as all your letters came. You mostly ignored them. There were a couple of programs that allowed people to become pen pals with prisoners but you’d been there long enough to know what they often contained.

Many of the women milked poor losers on the outside. Money given and sent. Promises of butterfly kisses and blowjobs whispered over the phone. Exchanges. Some were even able to sweet talk their honeys into giving bribes. Money passed into hands of guards, currency that was then exchanged for cigarettes, which were much more valuable on the inside than the bills used on the outside.

You don’t know why you read this letter. It certainly wasn’t the penmanship, a scrawled handwriting that lay between cursive and print. Maybe it was the blue pen, you’d recognize a Bic anywhere, or maybe it was the fact that it smelled a bit like top-shelf liquor.

It was rather blunt. But not in an obscene way. Simple and straight to the point as if constrained by an unknown word count. It wasn’t memorable, but what else was there to do? Pace your cell back and forth and wait for zoochosis to settle further in your bones. Close your eyes and remember what freedom tasted like before it dissolved in your mouth.

The pen they gave you was cheap, the paper even cheaper, but you were used to making things work. Your reply was shorter than his, than Simon’s, but it got the job done. If he wanted to write back he would. If he didn’t, well, the new prison guard was starting to get rather handsy with you. The time will pass no matter what.

___

His replies came in strange patterns. Some weeks you’d get eight in a week, other times you wouldn’t hear from him for a few months. It took a year for the first phone call of which lasted less than a minute and consisted mostly of him grunting on the other end and a schlick sound you pretended not to notice. It was his fourth phone call that he finally said a few words in a voice so low it made the phone buzz against your ear, tickling like a lover's breath. Eventually, you had some semblance of conversations, even if they were interrupted by a recorded voice warning you of the time you had left.

He told you he was a soldier and at first, you planned on cutting the whole penpal idea off. Even before you got arrested you hated bootlickers more than anything. But Simon grew on you, and your friends all suggested you get in his good graces to see if he could pull some strings. You would’ve felt guilty if he was anything other than glorified government property. Both of you were.

The first thing he gave you was a book, The Yellow Wallpaper, which was thicker than you remembered from the time you read it in school. It was only when you cracked open the spine did you find a pack of cigarettes inside, the pages carved out so your real present could be placed inside. You couldn’t help the smile that split your lips as you pressed one between your lips, not noticing the tiny S carved into it.

You thank him for the gift by whispering his name into the phone. A mantra, a prayer, it didn’t matter as long as you kept your voice breathy. He promises to get you more and you learn not to refuse him. At one point, you notice that little robotic voice doesn’t time you anymore. The guard who couldn’t keep his hands to himself was replaced with a woman, hair pulled back into a military-style bun. And you got an extra cookie with your meals.

It took a year for him to visit. You knew it was coming eventually, men are only fine with their imagination for so long before they crave something tangible. Hell, even you were curious about the man who wanted to sink his teeth into you. It almost felt like getting ready for a date. Butterflies dropped like lead in your stomach as you tried to tidy your appearance as much as you could. You smelled, but there wasn’t much you could do about that. The whole damn prison smelled like a county fair bathroom. The lack of air conditioning in the heat of summer just added a sweet BO tinge.

The first thing you noticed about Simon was his size. You had never met a man as big as he was. The next was the thick scar tissue that marred his face. Though, even without the scars you would be hesitant to ever call him handsome.

Intimidating.

That was what came to mind staring at the thick cords of muscle that covered his arms and the broadness of his shoulders wasn’t just genetics. And he just stared at you. You glanced at the phone that connected to his on the other side of the glass and back at him but decided against it.

You offered him a small smile and an awkward wave. It unnerved you. The focus and attention pinned you in place. Normally you kinned yourself to a tiger you saw at a zoo when you were a child. One that paced back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A habit you understood all too well. But sitting in front of your pen pal you realized you were rather off.

Simon was the tiger and you were the bird that caught his attention.

It took far too long for the guard to come and collect you. For once you were grateful to retreat back to your cell, so much so that in your retreat you failed to notice the nod your warden gave Simon.

___

After that Simon met with you in person as often as was allowed. He never said anything and neither did you. Eventually, the novelty of him wore off. Humans were rather adaptable creatures, and you could only be scared of the man for so long before your body adjusted to him. Despite your silence, Simon didn’t appear displeased with you. In fact, it was almost the opposite of it. More gifts arrived.

A pillow, high-end shampoo, a toothbrush (that you had a strange suspicion was used before being given to you), nail polish, and more cigarettes. Some of the women were jealous of the attention given to you, others tried to get with you to share your bounty. Somehow you dodged most of the conflict. But you can only run so long while trapped with so many women.

When you showed up to your meeting sporting a bruised cheek and split lip the air quickly changed. Before you thought Simon looked like a predator.

You were wrong.

Fear coursed through your veins and you recognized the look in his eyes. Every woman in the damn place knows what a hunger for violence looked like. Slowly he reached out an arm, the sleeve of his hoodie riding up slightly showing off tattoos, before grabbing the phone and pressing it to his ear. With a shaking hand, you did the same.

“Bird.” His voice was somehow deeper in real life than over the phone.

“You should see the other guy.”

His lips twitched.

There was something uncanny about his eyes. They weren’t brown, they were black. Obsidian. You realized that before, the first time you met him, he wasn’t trying to scare you. Though, you were pretty sure it wasn’t directed at you.

“Just a little spat is all Simon. Everything sorted itself out.”

All over a bottle of nail polish. Tempers run short in prison. You spend most of your days in a cell, and what little free time you get surrounded by the same insufferable bitches, it’s a mystery there isn’t more violence. For the most part, things were settled with words. The more physical an inmate gets the more time spent in your cell. There were some weeks where you spent twenty-three hours a day in that little room.

Simon let out a sigh as if dealing with you was the most insufferable part of his day.

“Did ye’ get medical attention a’ least?”

You nodded your head.

He gave a grunt.

That seemed to be his preferred method of communication with you. Caveman grunts and growls, the occasional moan over the phone he couldn’t hold back. You figured it had something to do with his job. He was quite tight-lipped about it, but you gathered he has co-workers (his squad? Platoon? What was the proper lingo?). Despite this, you were under the impression he spent the majority of his time alone. He always seemed more primal after those month-long stints of silence.

You always wondered how you would feel if he never contacted you again. Went out and didn’t come back. Would you assume he was dead? That he moved on to prettier things that aren’t locked away? Would it make a difference to you?

No. It wouldn’t.

Even now you got letters upon letters from other men. Though none were as giving as Simon was.

It was back to silence and staring contests that you were used to. The both of you slipping into a familiarity. He never put the phone back. Even when your warden came and escorted you back. You didn’t glance back at him.

Tucked away in your cell you didn’t get to watch Simon slowly rise out of his seat, chair creaking from the shifting of his weight. You didn’t see Simon lurk in the back as the inmates met with their loved ones on the out. Didn’t see him take notice of a particular girls with nails painted the same shade as his gift to you. The same shade as the tip of his cock.

___

The girl was transferred. For a singular moment, you thought Simon had something to do with it. Then laughed at the idea. Simon may be in the military, but you highly doubted he had anything to do with the bitch who got transferred. At least you got your nail polish back. It was a strange shade, and the idea of a man as big as Simon standing in an isle trying to pick out a shade made you chuckle, it was the thought that counted.

Time marched on. Penpals came and went but Simon stayed the consistent part in your life.

Eventually, the possibility of parole was on the horizon.

Freedom.

So close you could practically taste it.

Unfortunately, that meant a laundry list of to-do items. Court hearings, lawyers bankrolled by Simon, arranging for transportation and housing. Simon handled most of it. By now, the lingering guilt of using your soldier fiance had long left you. He seemed like the kind of man who needed to learn lessons the hard way, and entering a relationship with a felon was a lesson most didn’t need to learn. Still, he had been putting in quite a hard amount of work. He deserved a treat.

And after years of forced celibacy, you needed it bad.

The two of you would enjoy each other for a week or two. Simon would realize he made a mistake moving you in. He would kick you out. You’d pawn the ring he’d give you and use the money as a cushion as you landed, getting back on your feet. The two of you would go your separate ways and never see each other again.

Being in prison taught you a lot of things. Despite everything, patience wasn’t one of those lessons. The day you were gaining your freedom passed was the slowest part of your life. The checking, double checking, retrieving your stuff, checking again, until finally,

Finally,

You were outside. You were outside in something other than a uniform that stunk of sweat, there were no handcuffs. Anxiety crept everywhere. You wanted to get as far away from the prison as you could, if you breathed wrong a warden would drag you back. A pair of arms snatched you.

You looked up and couldn’t help but laugh, pressing your lips against his scarred ones.

“Fucking Christ your tall.”

He chuckled against your lips before taking them again, hands digging near painfully into your ass. The two of you somehow managed to walk back to his car peeling off one another before Simon peeled away, hand clutching the fat of your thighs as he drove.

“Never pictured you as a reckless driver.” You giggled.

The adrenaline and giddiness of being free hadn’t worn off yet. If anything it seemed to slowly be morphing into a different beast entirely. You pressed your lips against his bicep causing him to groan. You glanced up at him, watching as his jaw clenched weaving in and out of traffic in a way that was certainly not legal. You would’ve been worried about being pulled over if he wasn’t driving a military vehicle. They answered to a different police, or so he told you.

Eventually, he pulled into the yard of a house with an honest-to-God white picket fence. You smiled as you got out, curiosity creeping in about what his house was like. Simon opened the door for you, which would probably should’ve made you swoon at his gentleman-like behavior, but truthfully it was how he hauled you out of the card and dragged you inside that got your heart racing.

Impatient.

The door barely closed before his body was pressed against yours and his lips were pressed against your jugular. One of his rough hands slipped up your shirt, grunting when he found a clear path to your tits instead of meeting the edge of a bra. The other dipped into the waistband of your pants, running over your clothed cunt, no doubt feeling the wet spot against your underwear. Your hands slid over his arms, squeezing at the muscle, before slowly sliding them up and up, going to the back of his neck, a hand threading through his short hair the other cupping his face to kiss yours.

A large thumb found your clit, only the thin cotton stopped him from rubbing directly against it. He pressed down hard on it, causing your breath to catch in your throat, his thumb moving down your slit. The seam of your mouth parted in a moan and he used that to stick his tongue down your throat.

The kiss was obscenely wet, beastly as his spit passed from his mouth into yours. Before prison, you would’ve pulled away with a grimace. Too much tongue, too much teeth, too much. But your whole body was on fire, years of pent-up orgasms made you desperate for it all. For someone to press against you, to be inside you.

Simon was oh-so-convenient.

You tried to pull away, lungs burning enough to convince you that air was in fact a need, but the door stopped you. Pressed between it and Simon you had no escape. You whimpered against his mouth, again and again until he finally got the hint and pulled away, a string of spit connecting your mouths as if it too was reluctant to pull away from you.

“Bedroom?” You panted, though if he took you here against the door you would die happy.

Simon threw you over his shoulder and took his stairs two at a time before tossing you on his bed making you laugh. The caveman and his prize. Simon took the moment of being away from you to pull at the collar of his shirt. You watched in appreciation as it lifted higher and higher until it was discarded on his carpet.

His body was marred in scar tissue, muscle, and a layer of fat that made for a solid fine specimen of the male species. His pants were discarded next, and either he pulled his underwear down with them or he just wasn’t wearing any to begin with. You didn’t have much time to ponder that thought distracted by his hard cock.

Jesus Christ.

Big was an understatement, monster was the word that popped into your mind. It crossed the territory between delicious into scary. Large and thicker than you thought possible. You swallowed and for a second hoped he would forget about the blowjob you promised him after he gave you a pillow.

“Yer’ wearin’ too many clothes Birdie.”

Quickly, though not as quickly as Simon was, you wiggled out of your pants, shrugged off your shirt throwing it in the same pile as his clothes. He stepped closer to you, one large hand grabbing your ankle before retching you towards him.

He leaned down, mouthing at your bare tits, slobbering over them. The soft press of his tongue flicked over your nipple before he moved to the other and grazed his teeth over it. His hands were everywhere. He was everywhere. Impossibly big and pressed against you everywhere. Until all your senses were filled with him. As if Simon was the only thing that mattered in the world.

The artificial sun in your glass cage.

His mouth moved lower, nipping at your skin before he moved between your legs. He settled his body in between them, the calloused palm of his hands pressing your legs further and further apart until the stretch burned in the muscles where your legs met your pelvis. Quickly the pain faded into the background as he pressed a kiss against your bare clit, before taking it in his mouth and sucking. You felt the rough pad of his fingertips press against your hole rubbing against it but never quite dipping inside. Again and again, he moved it against you but never in you.

It was maddening.

You tilted your pelvis against his mouth, trying to coax his fingers into your welcoming body. He growled against your clit, removing his mouth causing you to whine. A sharp sting met your ass cheek and you yelped.

He spanked you.

“Behave.”

You never took the man to be hungry for anything other than missionary, but it seemed he had learned a few tricks over the years. He did have a few on you, you were sure of it. Your thoughts leaked out of your ears as he moved back up, slotting his hips in between your legs. Liquid lust ran through your veins at the sight of him rubbing his dick against your mound, a mess of your slick and his pre dragging along your pussy and up to your belly button. Your poor hole clenching around nothing at the image of how deep he was about to be in you.

You took a deep breath, mesmerized as he pressed the tip against your entrance, catching it before pressing himself inside. He went slowly, and you couldn’t help the moan that left you as he finally began to sink home. Throwing your head back you closed your eyes as he stretched your body out.

You weren’t a virgin before you were locked away, but years of celibacy made you feel born again. Hell, with the size Simon was even if you had fucked him before he would’ve made you feel virginal with the way he was splitting you open.

When you opened them again you caught his gaze, he stared at you watching your expression pinch as he gave small thrusts, working the last of him inside you. When his balls pressed against your ass you let out a shaky breath. You had passed your limit two inches ago but somehow Simon had managed to coax your sweet pussy to take the last of him inside. The pain of him had taken you away from the edge of an orgasm he was working you towards, but when his hand found your clit again you knew you weren’t going to last long.

If his shaky breaths were anything to go by Simon wasn’t going to last long either.

He kissed you again, this time it was softer. Sweeter. Made your stomach turn in a moment of guilt. It was replaced when he drew out of you, slowly letting you feel inch after inch leave your body, before slamming back in.

He moved again against you. And again. Building up a punishing rhythm. You couldn’t help the small ah ah ah’s that left your lips as he rutted in you. Your hips pushed against his, working with him as you both chased your highs.

His hand never left your clit, as if glued to it working in tight fast circles. His other hand traveled along your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Squeezing at your tits so hard you thought it might bruise, running up your bare skin, constantly moving and feeling. As if he couldn’t believe that you were real. That you were out of your cage and underneath him panting his name in his ear instead of against the end of a phone.

Your own hands wandered. Moving over his arms, God’s gift to you, his chest. But mostly they moved down his back, feeling his muscles move and contract under your hands. Before you left you would convince him to put a mirror over his bed, so you could watch his shoulders shift and move as he thrust inside you.

It was too much. The feel of Simon, the stimulation on your clit, the thick cock pistoning like a machine inside you, pressure built and built inside you. Your nails dug into his back, dragging down as he pushed you off that ledge.

Simon’s thrusts stuttered as he felt your walls fluttering around him, suckling at his cock, coaxing him. He came with a groan soon after you, painting your walls with thick globs of his cum.

You panted as he rested against you, letting his cock soften inside you as you ran your nails over the nape of his neck and caressed his short hair. It was oddly soft, comforting to run your hands over.

Simon began to untangle himself from you, slowly as if reluctant to part from your embrace. He moved to what you now realize was the on-suite connected to his bedroom. You could feel his cum start to drip out of your cunt and down your asshole, shifting at the uncomfortable feeling. You couldn’t find the energy yet to move, not even sure if your legs could support you right now. Simon came back to you, wash-cloth in hand, and began wiping up the mess he made.

“We’ll have to get a Plan B tomorrow.” You murmured as he crawled back into bed next to you.

Simon didn’t say anything, but he had always been a quiet man. He maneuvered the both of you until you rested under the covers, your hand running along his bare chest. Tracing his happy trail before moving back up, not ready to go again.

The adrenaline from before had worn off, leaving you suddenly exhausted. Sated and free you dozed off against him.

When you woke up again it was darker outside. Not yet the full black of night but rather the soft blue that came after the sun had only just dipped out of sight. Simon wasn’t in bed next to you. You rolled over with a sigh, sitting up and smoothing your hair. Thirsty you threw the covers off your body and padded across out of his room entering into a small hallway. There was a door directly across his room and with a shrug, you went into it.

It wasn’t snooping if you lived here now too. Even if you were only going to stay for a little bit.

The handle turned easily but the room was darker than you expected, no windows to let in any natural light. Your hands patted at the wall until you found the edge of a light switch, with a click the room was bathed in a soft glow.

Your breath hitched.

The room was bare except for a small desk and chair, the walls were covered in photos. Photos of you. Old photos, from before your prison stint. Mugshots. But what made your skin crawl were photos of you in your cell. You sprawled out on your uncomfortable cot. You sitting cross-legged across from your cellmate. Images of you in the cafeteria. Images of you in the yard.

You took a step back, then another, and another.

You flicked the light back off and slowly closed the door. You took a shuddering breath and yelped when you felt a chest pressed against yours.

Simon’s hands dug into your hips, pulling you tight against him.

“You look like you’ve seen a Ghost, Birdie.”

Poor little bird, trading one cage for another.

___

Part Two

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon x reader #ghost x you #ghost #simon ghost riley #reader is delulu in this

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iceunhie · 10 months ago

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voicelines about you: as their lover ! (part 2)

featuring: sunday, aventurine, blade (+ black swan, acheron) [ part 1: dan heng, jing yuan, gepard, kafka, jingliu. ]

notes: well. the long awaited part 2 is here! (i took absolutely wayyy too long to finish this but a lovely anon requested the penacony cast so i just waited until now haha) stay tuned for either a future aventurine fic or a sunday fic tho; reblogs are appreciated! main masterlist.

Sunday

About [Name]: Ah, you speak of my beloved. [Name] has managed to strike your interest as well? Heh, I'm joking. You aren't that type of person, no? ….But yes, my lover truly is quite stellar, if not incomparable. I doubt I'd find anyone in the universe as lovely as I do them.

About [Name]: Smitten Robin often jokes about how my eyes change whenever I see them. ‘Softens like the smitten man you are,’ she says. Well, my sister is hardly wrong about matters of the heart, and to be fair, her words are indeed correct. While I cannot be with them every second of the day, despite my only wish to do so…. I suppose this much is fine. At the very least, this bewitched version of myself shall ward any that dare take [Name] away from me.

About [Name]: Preparation. …My mansion has everything [Name] shall ever desire. As for I, what I only desire is them alone, and for them to be right by my side. When the time is right, what's mine shall also be theirs, and none shall ever separate the two of us again. Should anyone attempt it, well, there's a reason my mansion is built the way it is.

Aventurine

About [Name]: [Name], [Name], [Name].... I see that you too have an eye for priceless treasures. Unfortunately for you, this particular one is already mine to behold. Mm, I wonder how my lover must be faring right now…. Missing them is truly, horribly debilitating.

About [Name]: Unworthy Whenever I think of [Name] being with me, of all people… Sometimes, the thought is unbearable. To think they would care for someone like me…. How truly lucky I am. Or maybe it's the other way around? Hehe, take a guess.

About Topaz: Contradictory Topaz and [Name] get along fairly well, despite her rather obvious dislike for me. Nonetheless, I suppose I can understand why. My lover is irresistibly charming~ Now, does this make me jealous, I wonder…. How about we bet on that?

Blade

About [Name]: Though this sword may be battered and broken, if you harbor any intention of harm towards them, I will not hesitate to brandish this blade.

About [Name]: Mara Infliction When afflicted with mara, the senses are ravaged ceaselessly, muddying the mind—being unable to distinguish ally from foe. This is my path. And yet their face is clear, pure amidst the carnage, alleviating the haze for but a moment. My mind may be overridden with hatred, but I will never forget that feeling of salvation.

(BONUS: Kafka’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Truly A Shame Bladie’s little darling, hm? Definitely a wonder, that one, taming him so easily. Those two are definitely an interesting case, that's for sure. Scary, marastruck Blade and them…. truly a shame. Even I know just how the ending of that particular script will end.

Acheron

About [Name]: …They are my lover, yes. Hm? Tell you more about them? Heh, I think you'd have better luck asking [Name] instead of me. I probably wouldn't even know where to begin.

About [Name]: Keeping Memories Despite the fact of my memories being in less than the best condition, [Name] always tells me about all the exciting things they've come across, whether it be delicious food from various planets, or even the most mundane things like the sound of the rushing water, the sight of fireflies in the night. They truly make everything worth remembering.

(BONUS: Black Swan’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Eye Of The Storm Ah, you speak of that Galaxy Ranger's companion…. The abyss that is her consciousness seems to only become calm in the face of them, akin to the eye of the storm. A shining light in the middle of nothingness—that is something that even she cannot let go of. No wonder Miss Acheron is quite taken with them.

Black Swan

About [Name]: The memories of Memokeepers are sorted into various categories by their importance. As my lover, my memories of them hold the greatest value of all. Such memories…. even if the Remembrance wishes for me to hand them over, I doubt I will ever allow it.

About [Name]: Dancing My proficiency in the act of dancing is all thanks to my continued practice with [Name] on our shared time together. Fufu, ‘dates,’ if you will. Every moment I spend in their arms, swaying to the beat of the music at every turn… those are the memories I wish to forever retain.

About Acheron: Indebted One time, Miss Acheron managed to get lost in the middle of the Reverie Hotel’s halls... as usual. [Name] came across her then, and proceeded to have a lovely chat with her. I owe her a debt for keeping my lover company as I was preoccupied with some matters the Garden of Recollection entrusted to me to relay to the family. Next time, perhaps I should invite her over for some dinner with [Name]....

end notes thanks for sticking around the part 2 (for the ogs who read pt 1) and do look forward to more HSR content in the future! also did i say i love aventurine

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koibitogata · 1 year ago

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frustration and anger.

creepypasta/mh x reader in which they get frustrated or angry, or, in BEN's case, are frustrating themselves. word count: 2.1k cw: abuse, descriptions of anger, arguments/quarrelling.

EJ doesn’t often get angry.

in fact, it’s hard to even frustrate him. Even when faced with particularly difficult patients to suture up—ahem, Jeff— he shows no sign of being fazed.

well, perhaps that’s because he’s used to living with Jeff and his reckless, barbaric antics.

but when he does get frustrated, it’s like a gradual intensification.

you like to split his frustration into three phases.

phase 1: EJ starts to seem a little off. Quieter than usual, less responsive, and more distant. Almost as if he’s in his own world, deceptively peaceful.

phase 2: EJ starts to show actual signs of being frustrated. You notice that it is at this point he may start to snap lightly at others, but with you, he tries his best to keep it to a minimum.

phase 3 is the climax before the drop. On occasion, he may raise his voice slightly and openly express irritation. But he always drops, hard and fast.

“I am so sorry, Y/N, I am so sorry,” he whispers, rubbing circles gently on your back. Though he has to bend over quite a bit (he’s a gentle giant at a height of 6’6 or about 2 meters), you find it to be very soothing that his frame envelops the entirety of yours.

oh, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of getting angry.

no, the anger you heard in his voice was undeniable as he roared at another member of the household to stay the fuck away from you.

you’d startled at the sheer sound of it, and quickly those trembles descended into violent shaking as you cried—his roar was simply not…human.

you flinched as he picked you up, just as gently as was the anger intense in that dreaded noise he made, a stark contrast in behavior, a jarring change in your body, mind and soul.

but other than that, you knew your darling EJ was back.

he plopped you onto his bed, surrounded by his sweet yet musky scent, nuzzling your neck and your face.

“I’m sorry”s were whispered countless times in your ear that night as you dozed off in the safety of his arms.

jeff

gotta put a trigger warning on this one. you know what to expect, but just in case you don’t, TW: Jeff is literally a murderer with abusive tendencies and anger issues.

at the start of your relationship, Jeff had been…well, to say the least, not the best partner.

he often got mad at you, whether it be keeping him waiting or spilling a cup of water.

yeah. spilling a cup of water.

but you understood why he was the way he was. he just couldn’t help it. but that didn’t mean you were going to stick around for it, no matter how much you loved him.

one day after a particularly huge argument, you found him crying in his room. his sniffles were unmistakable, but you knew you’d have to pretend you hadn’t heard from ten feet away.

turns out, angsty little Jeff here wasn’t completely unaware of himself.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he had sobbed as quietly as he could. “I know I’m a bad boyfriend, I know, I keep lashing out at you and I’m so sorry.”

your relationship could have very well ended that day if you hadn’t found Jeff crying on the floor.

but even though he’d hurt you so many times, you took him back into your arms.

and so you taught him to manage his anger, though it took you immense effort, energy and bravery.

he’d always help, though, by reminding you it was okay to yell back at him. you chided him lightly for it, saying that it’d just cause a back and forth.

“oh, right. my bad. sorry, doll,” he had said with a sheepish grin.

today, you are proud to boast that you trained your bloodhound boyfriend to be a tame dog. hell, he even does whatever you tell him to now, albeit sometimes reluctantly.

but he understands that if he loves you, he must make sacrifices upon sacrifices. you did that for him.

now it is his turn to sacrifice himself for you.

masky - tim

it’s not really uncommon that Tim gets angry.

but his anger is almost always the quiet kind.

he will “hmph” and huff lightly, a mild kind of anger you both can still joke about, though his face will redden at it.

you can’t help it though, the sass he gives you when he’s lightly frustrated is too good to let slip past.

oh, but when his anger gets loud—

it’s no longer a harmless little nip.

it’s been directed everywhere. everywhere, his teammates, the table, the card game he’s losing a bit too embarrassingly to Toby who’s being an unbearable little ass about it.

but never you.

okay, it was one time.

but Tim decided it was one time too many. (as he should)

he’d raised his voice at you, more so out of frustration rather than anger.

and you flinched.

and oh, how that little flinch broke his heart.

he shut up immediately, gathering you into his arms, whispering “oh, I’m so sorry, darling”, and “you’re okay, you’re okay”.

he never did it again. ever.

now, when you both get angry at each other, it always devolves into stupid little giggles and kicking.

hoodie - brian

Brian doesn’t really get angry, nor does he get frustrated.

normally, at least.

something shines in his eyes when he is defied, a shadow of a grin, a curl of the lip—

you spend a couple days investigating this, defying him little by little.

“Y/N, could you pass me the water?” “No.” and you’d say it with a cheeky smile on your face to match this strange expression on his.

it evolved into much greater things, “Y/N, come over here for a bit.” “Nope!”

“Y/N, help me up.” “Nope!”

your gleeful defiance doesn’t have a complete zero effect, either. with each silly little “nope”, the glint in his eyes grows brighter. and you know that the cup you’ve slowly been filling the past few days is about to overflow.

it’s one fateful day that you happily defy him once again, and—

oh. something’s grabbing at your jaw, and your lover’s face is so close to yours.

he smiles so gently at you, so purely. but his grip on your jaw says otherwise.

firm like iron, reprimanding, but not harmful or venomous. you know he isn’t going to hurt you, but oh, he isn’t letting you go either.

“Y/N,” he says calmly. “You’ve been a little more uncooperative than usual.”

the shiver it sends down your spine isn’t one of fear. excitement, rather.

he lets you go, but guides you to the bed. “Sit,” he commands.

so you do. what else are you to do when your lover commands you so well?

“Good girl.”

so you never say no to him again, not when it comes to harmless favors.

Brian does not get angry or frustrated…at least, not like the normal person does.

toby

Toby becomes a very bitter cynic when upset, spitting sarcasm wherever he goes.

his BPD only makes it worse. his relationship with Tim is already strained as it is, with the latter trying his best (as much as a man with anger issues can), and his relationship with Brian being almost entirely carried by the older man.

and his relationship with you, oh his sweet vogel, his darling dove— he doesn’t know what to think of it. some days he lets loose around you, tickling you and blowing raspberries against your cheeks, and others he’s withdrawn, curled up into a ball in his bed, and so you dive in with him, nuzzling him against his sheets long overdue for a change.

but if it’s neither of those, he’s lashing out. sometimes you can’t even look at him when he walks into the room bringing dark clouds over the atmosphere. that’s when you know you can’t look up at him.

and when you make the mistake of looking up, your smile meets a scowl.

“what are you looking at.” he’ll spit, and then storm off, as if he can’t stand your eyes on him.

and it’s true, your eyes gaze at him with such gentleness, he can’t bring himself to stare back sometimes. especially when he��s in a bad mood, because he breaks inside as he sees his own eyes burn the love in your eyes, reducing them to ashes of fear.

“vogel,” he’d whisper at night, lying next to you in your bed. “i’m sorry.”

he apologizes so much and so often you no longer make a big deal out of it, but this time, his soft whisper is laced with such heavy guilt, your arms move before your mind thinks, pulling him into a soft embrace.

oh, but this bad mood is nothing compared to his jealousy.

Jeff gets close to you? Jeff is suddenly on the ground, blood leaking from his head and EJ hurriedly dragging the former away, admonishing him about not messing with Toby’s precious human.

Tim comforts you about Toby’s outbursts? suddenly he’s against the wall, Toby growling and spitting in his face. if he can’t be there for you, then no one else gets to be there for you either. though, he knows this is selfish.

if he could help it, he’d let you go to whomever you wanted for comfort. but oh, his heart aches so.

and his jealousy is nothing compared to how angry he gets at himself, bashing the walls of the manor, crying out at night, because he can’t be there for you like a normal boyfriend.

he doesn’t know this, but you’re in a corner too, muffled sobs, tears, nose dripping and all.

so at night, you crawl back into bed before he notices you, and lie awake till he comes back.

as his breathing settles and his snoring begins, you hug him just a little bit tighter, your sweet vogel with broken wings.

ben

you have to admit, BEN is really, really freaky.

in the way he plays his games, the way he treats his archnemesis Jeff, in bed—oops.

but particularly, in the way he seems to have an endless tolerance for things that would usually upset someone.

he just. fucking giggles.

“aww, my sweet Y/N is so cute when she’s mad~”

context: he pissed you off and you’re currently in the middle of admonishing him with your whole heart and soul.

conversely, you’re the one who gets mad right back at him.

within the hour, he presents you with a tiktok with two cats that says: me when i’m venting and all my bf does is make jokes

he cackles to the ends of the earth and proceeds to make even more jokes

frankly, when the topic of frustration comes up with BEN’s name in the same sentence, you pretty much just think of him being the frustrating asshole in the relationship.

“BEN, give me my fucking phone back.”

he’s dangling it over your head, using the fact that he’s a floating apparition that can somehow interact with physical objects to his advantage.

once, you got so frustrated at him that you cried.

thankfully, he had the decency to pause, panic, and reflect on his actions.

“oh.” five seconds passed and your crying didn’t get better (what did he expect?). he repeated himself. “oh.”

“actually say something, you idiot!” you sobbed. and this is what snapped BEN into action. (you can’t believe you actually had to tell him to comfort you.)

“oh.” then he realized he’d just been saying “oh” like a broken record. “um.”

so he wraps you up in a blanket like a burrito, and holds you close to his chest.

“i’m sorry.”

“promise not to do it again?” you look up at him with your best puppy eyes.

“…i can’t promise.” you can tell he’s holding back a cheeky grin.

you whine and hit him lightly.

but you know very well that he loves you; this frustration merely comes with him as a package.

3K notes · View notes

missarchive · 10 days ago

Text

american jesus⁴ ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three part four

summary; In the final chapter, the dynamic between Spencer and the reader has evolved into something quieter, less fraught with complications. There’s a sense of ease in their connection now, a comfort in simply being in each other’s presence. While the future remains uncertain, they both seem to find a certain peace in the current moment, no longer overanalysing what comes next. The chapter closes on an unspoken understanding, leaving the path forward open, undefined, but somehow, still shared.

cw; +18 minors dni, SMUTTTT, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, inexperienced reader, pleasure dom spencer, fingering, dirty talk, munch!spencer, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, reader calls spencer "sir", idk guys this one's super fucking filthy, spencer cums inside, angst, fluff, praise, cum eating/swapping, spencer grovels for forgiveness, slight love-bombing, spit swallowing, slight overstimulation, spencer's a total perv, lmk if i've missed anything <3

an; the final part!!! thank you for sticking with me through this, this is the longest fic i've written to date at about 12k! P.s. this is written with jesus reid in mind <3 xoxo

It’s been weeks since that argument, yet the memory of Spencer’s words still lingers like a wound you can’t help but poke. Immature. Reckless. You’ve played them over and over in your head, dissecting the way his voice cracked on the harsher syllables, the fear and frustration behind his outburst.

But none of that matters now. He made it clear where he stands…or doesn’t. And you’ve resolved to move on, even if it means pretending your chest doesn’t ache every time you see him.

He walks in, hair slightly disheveled, a stack of papers clutched to his chest. His fingers twitch against the edges, knuckles white. His eyes skim the room, carefully avoiding yours, but you still feel the weight of his presence. He’s ignoring you, and it shouldn’t sting as much as it does.

“As we discussed last time, the concept of memory consolidation…”

His voice, usually a source of comfort, now feels like a barrier. You watch him intently, your hand resting lightly on your notebook, waiting for the moment when you can contribute something meaningful to the discussion.

When the opportunity arises, you raise your hand, heart thudding in your chest. His eyes flicker in your direction for a split second before skimming past you. He calls on someone else.

You blink, lowering your hand slowly. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck, and you fight to keep your face neutral. Maybe he didn’t see you.

But Spencer did see you.

In fact, he saw you the moment you walked into the room, your head held high even though he knows—God, he knows how much he must’ve hurt you. Every second he spends pretending you don’t exist is another stab to his chest, another reminder of how he pushed you away with words too sharp to take back.

Spencer knows he should’ve handled things differently. He shouldn’t have yelled. He shouldn’t have called you immature, reckless, or whatever else his panicked mind had thrown out in an effort to create distance. But the fear—the crushing fear—of losing everything, of losing you, had twisted into something ugly and defensive.

Ignoring you feels like punishment, like standing in the wreckage of something he helped destroy. And yet, he convinces himself it’s the right thing to do. For his job. For your reputation. For the tiny shred of professionalism he has left.

He hears your voice rise again, another eager attempt to participate, and for a moment, his resolve cracks. His gaze lifts, just for a second, but he forces it back down, pretending to sift through his notes. He picks someone else, his voice coming out tighter than before. He can’t let himself soften. Not now.

By the end of the lecture, you feel like you’re being crushed under the weight of his indifference.

As the other students begin to pack up, you linger in your seat, pretending to adjust your notes. Spencer busies himself at the podium, organising his materials with too much precision. Every fiber of him wants to speak to you, to say something, but he remains silent.

When you finally leave, without so much as a glance in his direction, his shoulders sag. The door clicks shut behind you, and he exhales shakily, gripping the edge of the podium to steady himself.

He knows he messed up.

And he’s starting to realize that letting you go was the biggest mistake of all.

Spencer stares at the empty lecture hall long after you’ve left, his fingers absently tracing the worn edge of his notes. The silence around him is deafening, amplifying the thoughts that have been circling his mind since the moment he pushed you away.

He shouldn’t have said those things.

The memory of your expression—hurt, betrayed, yet still defiant plays on a loop in his head. He’s analyzed it a thousand times, picking apart the exact moment he saw the light in your eyes dim. It was right after he called you immature, right after his voice wavered with something dangerously close to regret, but he’d pressed on anyway, too caught up in his fear to stop himself.

He thought cutting you off would make things easier. That ignoring you would put some much-needed distance between you both. But every time he sees you in class, looking straight at him with that quiet determination, he feels like the world is shifting beneath his feet.

Tonight, he doesn’t go home right away. Instead, he finds himself at the local bookstore, pacing the aisles aimlessly, running his hands over book spines as if the answers might be hidden somewhere in their pages. His thoughts are a mess, apologies, regrets, the gnawing ache of missing you, all tangled together in a knot he doesn’t know how to undo.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he stops in front of a small display of classic literature. A collection of short stories catches his eye, your favorite author. He remembers how passionately you spoke about them, how you’d once challenged him to find deeper meaning in the prose when he’d claimed it was too sentimental.

Before he can second-guess himself, he buys the book.

The next morning, he’s in the lecture hall early, long before anyone else arrives. His hands tremble slightly as he pulls the book from his bag and places it carefully on your desk, tucking a small note inside the front cover:

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I miss talking to you.

He hesitates for a long moment, staring down at the message, before quickly retreating to his usual spot at the podium. His heart hammers in his chest as the first students trickle in, and when you finally walk through the door, he forces himself to look away.

You pause at your seat, your brow furrowing at the book resting neatly on your desk. Your fingers brush over the cover, and for a split second, Spencer allows himself to glance up, searching your face for any reaction. But you don’t look at him. Instead, you slide the book into your bag without a word and take your seat as if nothing happened.

Spencer swallows hard, disappointment settling in his chest. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

But he’s not giving up.

Not yet.

You haven’t acknowledged the gesture—not in class, not after, not in the fleeting moments when your eyes almost meet across the room. You carry the book with you now, tucked safely in your bag, but you haven’t said a word about it. Not even a glance in his direction.

And it’s driving him insane.

Spencer isn’t used to feeling this way, this gnawing guilt, this helplessness. He’s spent his life solving complex puzzles, breaking down human behavior into patterns and probabilities. But you? You’ve always been the one thing he couldn’t quite calculate.

So, he tries again.

The next morning, when you walk into class, there’s something small and unassuming on your desk, a cassette tape, carefully placed where only you would notice.

Your fingers hover over it for a moment before you pick it up, inspecting the label scrawled in Spencer’s familiar handwriting:

Songs that remind me of you.

You stare at it, expression unreadable. For a moment, Spencer wonders if you’ll just leave it there, push it aside like it means nothing. But then you slip it into your bag without a word, and his chest tightens with something halfway between relief and frustration.

Still, you don’t speak to him.

But that doesn’t stop him.

A few days later, there’s a cup of your favorite coffee sitting on your desk before you even arrive, the heat still lingering in the cup. The note attached is short, almost tentative:

Thought you might need this.

You hesitate again, fingers tracing the rim of the cup as you glance around the room, like you’re trying to catch him in the act. But Spencer is already at the podium, pretending to review his lecture notes, though his ears burn with anticipation.

You take a sip.

And though you don’t say anything, Spencer catches the tiniest flicker of something soft in your expression before you steel yourself again.

It’s not much. But it’s enough to make him keep trying.

The next week, small gifts keep appearing—your favorite pen when yours mysteriously runs out of ink, a folded paper crane sitting in the middle of your notebook, even a neatly written study guide with helpful annotations in the margins.

Each time, you pretend not to notice. Each time, Spencer wonders if you’ll ever forgive him.

He knows he messed up. He knows words alone won’t fix this. But he hopes, God, he hopes, that maybe persistence will.

At first, you think the book was a fluke.

Maybe he left it there by accident, a leftover impulse from the time when things between you were different—when he would listen to you ramble about your favorite stories and pretend not to be impressed by how much you cared.

But then the cassette tape appeared.

You remember sitting in class, holding it in your hands, staring at the neat, careful handwriting on the label: Songs that remind me of you. A lump had formed in your throat, and for a second, just a second, you thought about confronting him. Asking him what exactly he thought he was doing, why he felt the need to dangle these little reminders of what you used to be in front of you.

But you didn’t. Instead, you shoved the tape into your bag, ignoring the way your hands shook slightly.

Then came the coffee. The stupid cup of coffee sitting on your desk like it belonged there, warm and familiar and him. You almost didn’t drink it out of sheer stubbornness, but the note: Thought you might need this, sat there staring at you, and somehow, it felt worse to let it go to waste.

So you took a sip.

And the worst part? It tasted exactly the way you liked it. Because of course he remembered.

The next time it was your favorite pen, smooth and easy in your grip just like the one you always used—until yours ran out of ink at the worst possible moment. You’d stared at it for too long before finally picking it up and using it, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite name.

And now, as you sit in class, your fingers trace over the paper crane he left on your desk this morning. It’s small and delicate, made with precision that you know took time, and something about that unsettles you more than you’d like to admit.

He’s trying.

And you hate that it’s working.

You keep telling yourself that you should stay mad. That you should hold onto the anger from that night—the words he flung at you like knives, the way he made you feel so small. You remind yourself of the humiliation, of the ache that settled deep in your chest when he turned away and left you standing there alone.

But still… he remembers. The coffee, the songs, the little things that no one else would ever notice. And that’s what makes it harder to push him away completely.

You glance toward the front of the room, where Spencer is hunched over his notes, pretending to be absorbed in them. But you know better. The tension in his shoulders, the way he hasn’t called on you in weeks, the flickers of his gaze when he thinks you’re not looking—it’s all there, plain as day.

He’s waiting.

And you hate that a tiny part of you is waiting, too.

The gifts keep coming.

At first, you think they’ll stop after a few days, that he’ll get tired of the silent treatment you’ve been giving him. But Spencer Reid is nothing if not persistent.

Today, it’s a folded piece of paper tucked inside your notebook, carefully slipped in sometime before you arrived. Your chest tightens the moment you see it, and despite your better judgment, you unfold it with a quiet curiosity.

It’s a handwritten list.

Books you might like.

Your eyes skim the titles, some you’ve mentioned in passing, others completely new but eerily fitting your taste. You swallow hard, your fingertips lingering over his handwriting, neat and deliberate, as if he put real thought into each selection. Because he did.

You hate how well he knows you.

Sliding the paper into your bag, you pretend not to notice the way Spencer's shoulders shift slightly at the podium, like he’s waiting for some sign that you’ve seen it. But you don’t give him the satisfaction. Not yet.

You should be angry. You are angry. But underneath it, something else festers—something warm and unsteady that you’re not ready to face.

The next morning, there’s something different waiting on your desk. A small, almost inconspicuous flower, nestled between the pages of your textbook. Pressed and delicate, like it’s been saved for a long time.

You pause, staring at it longer than you should, before carefully closing the book around it and moving on as if nothing happened. But your heart betrays you, thudding hard against your ribs as you struggle to keep your expression neutral.

Spencer, standing at the front of the room, doesn’t look at you once. But you can feel the weight of his presence like gravity pulling at you.

This silent game you’re playing, it’s exhausting.

He’s trying.

And it’s getting harder to ignore.

By the end of class, you find yourself lingering, watching him from the corner of your eye as he pretends to organise his papers. Your fingers brush the edge of the book in your bag, where the flower is safely tucked away, and for a brief moment, you consider saying something—anything.

But then you remember how easily he walked away last time.

So instead, you leave without a word, ignoring the way your heart feels just a little heavier with every step you take.

The gifts stop.

You don’t notice it right away. It’s only after a few days of arriving to an empty desk, no thoughtful notes, no carefully placed trinkets, that it finally sinks in. At first, you feel relieved. No more gentle reminders of what you lost. No more soft apologies tucked between pages and beneath coffee cups.

But then why does it feel so… disappointing?

You shake the thought away as you sit through another lecture, taking notes with the pen he gave you. The small reminders are still there, whether you like it or not.

And that’s when he changes his strategy.

“Y/N.”

His voice stops you cold, just as you’re packing up your things. It’s the first time he’s said your name in weeks, and it sounds almost foreign on his lips, careful and unsure.

You look up slowly, wary, your heart hammering in your chest. “Yes, Dr. Reid?”

His mouth presses into a thin line, and for a second, you swear he looks almost hurt. His fingers fidget with the strap of his bag, and there’s something in his eyes, something regretful, something desperate.

“I—” He hesitates, glancing around at the few lingering students still shuffling out of the room. “Can I talk to you?”

You stiffen, forcing yourself to stay neutral. “About?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, and you can practically feel the weight of all the unsaid things hanging between you. “About… the class,” he says finally, but the hesitation in his voice betrays him. “Your last paper. I had some thoughts.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. And for a moment, you almost believe him—almost fall back into that easy rhythm of long discussions and shared ideas. But you catch yourself, steeling your expression.

“I think I’m managing fine,” you say, slipping your bag onto your shoulder. “Thanks, though.”

You turn to leave, but he steps closer, too close, and you have to fight the urge to back away.

“Y/N, please.”

The crack in his voice is almost enough to make you stop. Almost.

But instead, you keep walking, ignoring the way his presence lingers behind you like a shadow.

The next lecture, it happens again.

And the one after that.

Every time, he waits. Every time, he calls your name, softer, more insistent. He tries to start conversations, little ones, harmless ones, asking about assignments, books, anything to get you to talk to him. And every time, you walk away, pretending you don’t notice the way his voice trembles just slightly when you turn your back on him.

But you notice.

It’s almost routine now.

Class ends, you gather your things, and before you can make it to the door, Spencer is there—waiting, watching, always just close enough that you can’t ignore him entirely.

“Y/N, wait—”

You don’t. You keep walking, pretending not to hear the quiet desperation in his voice. But he’s not deterred.

The next class, he tries again.

“I wanted to talk to you about—”

“I have to go.”

And again.

“I—uh, I found this article I thought you might find interesting—”

“I’m busy.”

Each time, his voice gets a little softer, his eyes a little more tired. But he doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s getting bolder.

One afternoon, you’re halfway out the door when he catches up to you, falling into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You know,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “there was this study done on avoidance behaviour. It found that people who actively avoid situations tend to experience heightened stress and—”

“Seriously, Spencer?” you snap, stopping in your tracks. You whip around to face him, and for a second, he looks almost startled to hear you say his name. His first name.

His mouth opens, then closes again, as if he doesn’t know what to do now that he has your attention. His fingers fidget nervously with the strap of his bag, and his eyes—those ridiculous, stupidly expressive eyes—are wide and earnest.

“I just…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. “I miss talking to you.”

You inhale sharply, that familiar ache creeping into your chest. “You don’t get to do this, Spencer.” Your voice is quieter now, but firm. “You don’t get to push me away and then decide you want me back when it’s convenient.”

His face falls, and for a moment, you almost regret saying it. But then he nods slowly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I just… I don’t know how to fix it.”

You hold his gaze for a beat too long before shaking your head and walking away.

But this time, it doesn’t feel like a victory.

You start seeing him everywhere.

At first, you think it’s just bad luck—running into him outside the library, at the campus coffee shop, even near the quiet corner of the park where you like to study. But after the third time in one week, it’s obvious that it’s not a coincidence.

He’s trying. Again.

You spot him before he sees you this time, sitting on a bench near your usual spot, a book in his hands but his gaze flickering up every few seconds, like he’s waiting, hoping you’ll notice him.

You consider turning around, walking the other way, but something inside you tightens at the thought. You’re tired of running. Tired of pretending his presence doesn’t affect you.

So, you sit. Not next to him, but close enough that he knows you’ve seen him. Close enough that you can feel the tension humming between you, thick and heavy.

A few minutes pass before he speaks. “I didn’t know you liked this place.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “I doubt that.”

His lips twitch, the ghost of a smile, but there’s something almost sad in it. “Okay,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I might have… remembered you mentioning it once.”

You exhale, shaking your head. “Spencer—”

“I know,” he interrupts, voice quiet but insistent. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I just—” He hesitates, fingers gripping the edges of his book like it’s the only thing grounding him. “I wanted to see you.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes your heart stutter. Like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

You look down at your notebook, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into your chest. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “But I’m going to anyway.”

You don’t know whether to be annoyed or touched.

After a moment, you sigh, flipping open your notes and pointedly ignoring him. But you don’t get up to leave.

And Spencer, for once, seems content just sitting there. Close enough, but not too close.

The days that follow feel like a delicate balance, each encounter with Spencer nudging at the edges of your resolve. At first, you tell yourself it’s nothing, he’s persistent, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s breaking through. You’re still in control. You remind yourself of all the reasons you keep him at arm’s length, the walls you’ve built around yourself, stronger than ever after everything.

But as the days stretch on, those walls start to feel more fragile.

You see him again, this time outside a classroom. He’s standing near the door, arms crossed, looking uncharacteristically uncertain as he scans the crowd for you. When his eyes find yours, it’s like he’s finally breathing. Like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.

“Hi,” he says, voice slightly hesitant, but his smile, that familiar, soft smile, makes your chest tighten. “I—uh—I’ve been meaning to ask, if you’re not too busy... Would you like to grab coffee after class?”

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes. He’s persistent, you can’t deny that. But there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes you hesitate.

“I don’t know, Spencer,” you reply, voice a little firmer than you intend. “You don’t have to keep trying.”

His smile falters, but he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he steps forward, just a little, and you notice how his fingers flex against the strap of his bag, the quiet anxiety there. It makes your heart twist, but you push it away.

“I know. But I want to,” he says simply, with that same quiet intensity. “I miss talking to you. It doesn’t feel right not... having you around.”

Something in his words catches you off guard. You feel a flicker of something inside you—something you’ve been trying to ignore for too long. His presence has become like a ghost in the back of your mind, never quite leaving, always lurking. And for the first time in what feels like ages, you wonder if maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

You glance at him, letting your guard down just a little, before you let out a sigh.

“Alright,” you say, almost reluctantly, “But just coffee. No more… no more trying, okay?”

He looks at you like you’ve given him the world, and something inside you cracks just a little bit more. “Okay. Just coffee.”

It’s a small step. But it’s a step forward. And somehow, that feels like the beginning of something you’ve been trying so hard to avoid.

Spencer’s already sitting at a table in the corner, a book in front of him, but the second the door opens, his gaze snaps to you. He doesn’t even look surprised—just relieved.

“Hey,” he says, standing up quickly, his voice just shy of uncertain, but his smile genuine. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

You glance around, taking in the space, trying to ignore the way your heart starts to race just seeing him there. “This place is... different.”

Spencer gives a small shrug, eyes flicking to the side. “I thought it might be nicer—less busy. You know, somewhere we can actually talk without having to yell over the noise.”

You stare at him for a beat, almost surprised by how considerate he sounds. “I didn’t think you’d know the first thing about quiet spots.”

His lips curl into a sheepish grin. “I guess I’m full of surprises,” he says, his tone light but a bit uncertain.

You can’t help but chuckle, feeling the tension between you start to ease. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s nice.”

Spencer looks relieved, but his gaze softens a little. “I’m glad you think so. I wanted this to be… better. For us.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. For a second, the air feels heavier. He’s not just here because he wants something from you. He’s here because he wants to be with you, in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider before.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he leans back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly on the table. “I know I’ve probably been too pushy lately. I get it. But I just… I miss you. And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just want to be here. If you’ll let me.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his words. You feel a twinge in your chest, something you haven’t let yourself feel in a long time. “Spencer…”

“I know,” he interrupts, voice softer now. “I know. I’ve been trying to figure it out, how to give you space. But I don’t want to let go either. I want to be around. Even if it’s just this—just coffee and talking. No more... no more rushing things.”

You take a breath, your gaze drifting to the table. His words are simple, but there’s something in them that makes it hard to push him away.

“I’m not saying I’m ready for everything to just… go back to normal,” you admit, your voice quieter. “But I don’t want to keep avoiding this, either.”

Spencer’s eyes brighten at that, and he leans forward just slightly, his gaze intense but warm. “No pressure. I’m not going anywhere.”

You can’t help but nod, the corners of your mouth turning up a little. “Okay. Just coffee, for now.”

His smile is soft and real, like it’s been a while since he’s had a reason to show it. And in that moment, you think maybe—just maybe—you’re beginning to let him in.

You tell yourself it’s still nothing. Just coffee. Just familiar habits that are hard to break. But when you find yourself walking into that same quiet café again—when your eyes immediately search for him—you know you’re lying.

Spencer’s already there, his usual spot by the window, fingers wrapped around a cup that’s probably gone cold by now. He’s staring out at the street, lost in thought, and for a brief moment, you consider walking past, pretending you didn’t see him. But then, as if sensing you, his head turns, and his eyes meet yours.

This time, there’s no nervous startle. Just a slow, tentative smile.

You sigh, stepping forward before you can talk yourself out of it. He stands when you reach the table—always the gentleman—and you wave a hand at him, rolling your eyes. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know,” he says easily, but the way his fingers twitch at his sides tells you he’s still figuring out how to act around you.

You sit, and before you can even glance at the menu, there’s already a cup in front of you. Your usual, just like last time. You arch an eyebrow at him, but he only shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Thought I’d save you the trouble.”

You could argue—tell him not to make assumptions—but the warmth of the cup in your hands feels... nice. Familiar. So instead, you take a sip and let the silence stretch between you.

Spencer fidgets with his sleeve, then glances up through his lashes. “How’s your week been?”

It’s such a simple question, but for some reason, it catches you off guard. You hesitate before answering, “Fine. Busy.”

He nods like he’s cataloging the information, filing it away for later. “I, um... I was reading something that reminded me of you.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a book, sliding it across the table. “I thought you might like it.”

You stare at the book, your fingers hovering over the worn cover. It’s thoughtful, maybe too thoughtful, and for a second, you feel the familiar urge to pull away, to remind him of the distance you put between you.

“Spencer...”

“I know,” he says quickly, leaning back. “No expectations. Just... I saw it and thought of you. That’s all.”

You hate how easily he reads you, how effortlessly he disarms the excuses you’ve been holding onto. With a quiet sigh, you pick up the book, flipping through the pages absentmindedly.

“Thanks,” you murmur, and when you glance up, his eyes are soft, hopeful but not pushing.

For the rest of the coffee, you let the conversation flow in slow, careful steps—nothing too personal, nothing too deep. But the walls you’ve built aren’t as solid as they used to be.

And when you leave, the book is still in your hands.

It starts creeping in when you least expect it.

Little things—quiet moments that used to be yours alone—are suddenly filled with the weight of his absence. The inside jokes that no one else would understand, the random facts he’d blurt out when he got nervous, the way he’d always—always—remember the smallest things about you.

You catch yourself thinking about him more than you’d like to admit. Wondering what book he’s reading now, if he’s still showing up at that café, if he’s sitting by the window hoping you’ll walk through the door again. And it’s infuriating—how much space he takes up in your head despite all your efforts to keep him out.

But it’s not just in your head anymore. It’s in your chest, a dull ache that lingers whenever you pass by the places you used to see him. And slowly, inevitably, your resolve starts to slip.

The first time you slip, it’s barely anything. Just a text.

Did you ever finish that book you were telling me about?

You stare at the message for longer than you should before hitting send. And when the reply comes almost instantly—Yeah. It made me think of you.—you realise just how much you’ve missed the way he always ties things back to you, like you’re still a constant in his world.

You tell yourself it’s harmless, just a conversation. But one text turns into another, and another, and soon enough, you’re back to talking late into the night, the glow of your phone illuminating your pillow as his words make you laugh—really laugh—for the first time in a while.

The second time you slip, it’s worse.

You go to the café, fully intending to sit alone, to prove to yourself that you don’t need him there. But the moment you step inside and see him, already sitting in the corner with a book he’s barely paying attention to, it’s like something inside you cracks.

His eyes widen when he notices you, surprised but hopeful. He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches as you walk over and slide into the seat across from him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t know what to say at first, but then Spencer offers you that small, tentative smile—the one that always used to break through your walls—and suddenly, you don’t feel like fighting it anymore.

"Hey," you say softly.

His eyes soften. "Hey."

And just like that, you're back in that quiet space between friendship and something more.

The third time you slip, it’s undeniable.

You find yourself reaching for him, metaphorically at first, sending texts when your day feels off, calling when you can’t sleep. But then it becomes literal. A touch here, a lingering glance there.

You miss him. More than you want to admit. And Spencer, being Spencer, doesn’t push. He just waits, patient and steady, like he’s always been.

And maybe... maybe you’re finally starting to realise that you don’t want him to wait anymore.

It’s late when you hear the knock at your door. Too late for anyone to be stopping by without a reason. You hesitate, staring at the door like it might answer for you, your heart already picking up speed in your chest.

A part of you already knows who it is before you even look through the peephole.

Spencer stands on the other side, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, his hair a little messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it too much. There’s something in his posture, an uncertainty, a restlessness, that makes your stomach twist.

You consider not answering. Pretending you’re not home. But deep down, you know it wouldn’t change anything. So, with a slow breath, you unlock the door and pull it open.

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The hallway is too quiet, the air between you thick with words left unsaid.

“I can’t stay away anymore.”

The words come out in a rush, his voice low but desperate, like he’s been holding them in for too long. His eyes search yours, pleading, hopeful. “I tried, I really did, but I—” He swallows hard, shifting on his feet. “We need to talk.”

You should say no. You should tell him it’s too late for this—too late for him to show up at your door like this, looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him together. But instead, you step aside, letting the door swing open a little wider.

Spencer hesitates, his breath hitching, before stepping inside. He stands awkwardly in your living room, looking around like he’s trying to remember how it felt to belong here.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the door. “Spencer, what are you doing here?”

He lets out a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I just... I couldn’t do it anymore. Pretending like we’re okay with things being like this.”

Your throat tightens, and you hate how much his words affect you. “We were doing fine,” you say, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.

“No, we weren’t,” he counters, his voice soft but certain. “I miss you. And I know I messed things up before, but I—” He pauses, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t care. Like I don’t need you.”

You swallow, looking away. “Spencer... it’s complicated.”

“I know,” he says quickly, stepping closer. “But I don’t care how complicated it is. I don’t care if you need time, or space, or if you’re not ready to figure this out yet. I just—” He exhales sharply. “I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I never was.”

Your resolve, the one you’ve been holding onto so tightly, wavers under the weight of his words. The way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing that makes sense in his world, makes your chest ache.

After a long pause, you sigh, running a hand over your face. “Spencer... you’re impossible, you know that?”

He smiles—small, but real. “I’ve been told.”

You shake your head, but there’s no real fight left in you. “Fine. Talk.”

His shoulders relax, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, and as he sits down on your couch, you realise something terrifying.

You missed him too.

Maybe more than you were willing to admit.

Spencer sits on your couch, his fingers laced tightly together like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching out. His knee bounces slightly, nervous energy spilling out in little ways, but his eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering. Determined.

“I don’t care about my job,” he says, and it’s so sudden, so absolute, that it takes you a moment to process it.

You blink at him. “Spencer, what are you—”

“I don’t care,” he repeats, leaning forward, his voice low but insistent. “If it’s my job that’s keeping us apart, I’ll leave. I’ll get a position at a different school, another department—hell, I’ll move out of the city if that’s what it takes.” His words come in a rush, desperate and unfiltered, like he’s been holding them in for too long. “I just... I don’t want to lose you over this.”

Your chest tightens, a sharp ache settling deep inside you. “Spencer, you’ve worked so hard to get where you are. You love what you do.”

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “No. I love you.” His voice cracks, just slightly, but he presses on. “The job, the school... none of it matters if I don’t have you.”

You stare at him, words caught in your throat. This is Spencer—logical, pragmatic Spencer—offering to throw away everything he’s built because of you. Because he wants you back. And it’s terrifying.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” you murmur, shaking your head. “This... this isn’t something you can just throw away.”

“I have thought about it,” he insists, his eyes pleading with you to believe him. “I’ve thought about nothing but this. Every day. Every night.” He exhales, his hands gripping the fabric of his pants like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “I can’t keep pretending that work is enough to fill the space you left.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. The weight of what he’s saying, what he’s offering, hangs heavy in the air between you.

After a long pause, you shake your head again, weaker this time. “You don’t have to do that, Spencer.”

His eyes soften, and for the first time tonight, his voice is gentle. “But I want to. I want to do whatever it takes to fix this. To be with you.”

Your throat feels tight, emotions bubbling up to the surface faster than you can push them down. “Spencer...”

He leans forward just a little, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Just tell me what you want. If you tell me there’s still a chance, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

You feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece, under the weight of his sincerity. The way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered—makes it so much harder to hold onto the walls you’ve built.

You take a shaky breath, searching his face for some kind of answer. And for the first time in a long time, you realise that maybe... maybe you don’t want to fight this anymore.

Your eyes search his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The doubts, the fear, the stubborn voice in your head telling you to keep your distance. None of it matters.

Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

You don’t think. You just move.

One second, you’re sitting there, caught in the gravity of him, and the next, your lips are on his, soft and searching, your hands curling into the front of his shirt like you’re afraid he might disappear if you let go.

Spencer freezes, just for a beat, and then he’s kissing you back, his hands hovering over your sides, hesitant—like he can’t quite believe this is real. But you feel it in the way he exhales against your mouth, in the way his fingers finally find their place on your waist, holding you like he’s afraid he might be dreaming.

It’s not slow, but it’s not desperate either. It’s something in between—familiar and new all at once, a collision of everything you’ve both been holding back for too long.

You pull back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Your heart is pounding, and you can feel his racing just as fast beneath your hands.

“Tell me this isn’t a mistake,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

You shake your head, eyes fluttering closed. “It’s not.”

His grip on you tightens, and the relief in his expression is enough to make your chest ache. “I don’t want to lose you again,” he murmurs, and there’s something so raw in the way he says it, like it’s the only thing that’s mattered all along.

You tilt his chin up gently, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Then don't.”

A low groan escapes Spencer’s chest, and in an instant, he’s pulling you into his arms with a desperation you didn’t know he had in him. His lips crash against yours, hot and urgent, as if he can’t get close enough. The kiss is deep, raw, and hungry—neither of you holding back any longer.

You lose track of who’s moving who, but suddenly you’re pressed against the wall, Spencer’s body firm against yours, his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. His lips part yours as his tongue makes its way inside, a sigh slipping from your mouth at the intensity of the kiss. You tug at his hair, hard enough that he groans, but neither of you pulls away. Instead, he presses into you, every inch of him consumed with the desire he’s been hiding—just as much as you’ve been hiding yours.

His cock digs into your hip as you press yourself up against him, a flutter low in your belly. God, how you want him so badly.

He tears his mouth away from yours, panting. “I’ve wanted this,” he mutters against your lips. “I’ve needed this for so fucking long, y/n.”

He nips at your chin, at your neck, anywhere he can, moving lower. Your head falls back against the wall as he trails open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips. You can feel the pressure building inside of you, a wild, uncontrollable fire.

“Spencer,” you gasp. “Please...”

His lips ghost over your clothed nipple, then his teeth are tugging on your bra, pulling the cup down. He licks over your skin, his breath hot against your flesh. Then he’s sucking you into his mouth, his tongue swirling over you, dark brown eyes gazing up at you. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh there as you squirm against him.

He moans, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. His fingers trail down your stomach, palms pushing your skirt up around your waist when you feel his fingers graze your underwear.

He slips his fingers beneath the fabric, his thumb slowly rubbing at your clit. A whimper tears its way out of your throat.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, his teeth tugging at your nipple. “Gonna make you cum over n over. Gonna make you beg for it.”

You’re already there, but you don’t tell him that.

Instead, you push back against him as his fingers start to thrust inside of you. Your underwear is still in the way, but it doesn’t matter.

“I want this,” you tell him. “I want everything you can give me.”

He makes a noise against your skin, and you know that he’s giving in. That he’s letting go of his fears of crossing the line, of being inappropriate with a student. Of the ethics, of the potential consequences.

As he keeps kissing your neck, his fingers slipping inside of you harder and faster, you realise that you want this for more than just the moment. You want to explore these feelings between the two of you, to see where they take you. If they can take you somewhere special.

He groans again, and you hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper. You feel him press against you, his cock hard and thick through his underwear. He’s still wearing his trousers, but his cock is free, rubbing up and down over your clit.

“Gonna cum, Spence,” you tell him, the words coming out of your mouth in a rush. Your legs are shaking, your knees weak. Your orgasm is building, breathing growing heavy, just threatening to spill over. “Fuck, please, I need to—”

He grunts, his hips moving faster, pressing you back harder against the wall. You can feel him, feel his cock throbbing and hot against your sensitive flesh..

“Look at me,” he orders, pulling away from you.

You force your eyes open, staring up at him as your orgasm rips through you. It’s blinding, overwhelming, making your vision blur. He leans forward and kisses you, swallowing your moan whole. The taste of his tongue in your mouth is dizzying.

Spencer breaks the kiss first, pulling his fingers out of you as your orgasm recedes. You blink up at him, dizzy, as he lifts the fingers to his lips and licks them clean.

“Taste,” he whispers, pretty eyes flitting to your lips as he brings his mouth back to yours. You can feel rough stubble rasping against your skin, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when you're finally getting what you want.

You press into the kiss hungrily, tasting yourself on his tongue, letting out a soft noise of need as his tongue explores your mouth.

He turns you around, his hand on your chest pushing you into the wall as he leans over you. His breath is hot against your neck, your shoulder. “Bend over for me,” he whispers, his voice deep and raspy. “I’m not going to fuck you just yet. First, you’re going to cum on my tongue.”

“Spencer,” you groan. He’s going to tease you, to torture you until you can’t think anymore.

You’re dripping with need, your pussy clenching as you feel him slide his fingers inside of you again. He works his way up your back, then down to the curve of your ass. He rubs a circle over the flesh there, teasing. You know what he’s doing.

His mouth is on you suddenly, and all you can do is gasp for air. His tongue is hot and slick against your clit. He presses inside, his lips and tongue rubbing over your sensitive flesh.

You groan, your hips twitching as he keeps licking into you, pleasure so strong that it’s almost painful. Your pussy aches, clenching with the need to be filled.

“Please,” you pant. “Fuck...”

Spencer makes a sound in the back of his throat, then his fingers are back, thrusting deep inside of you, rubbing over your g-spot with his fingertips.

“Fuck, angel… taste so good, always knew you would,” he grunts into your weeping cunt, voice muffled against your flesh.

You can barely breathe.

Spencer is relentless, using his tongue to make you feel things you never have before. He’s got your clit trapped between his teeth, his fingers curled inside of you.

The pressure building inside of you again, climbing higher and higher.

Your legs give out and you feel Spencer hold you up. Finally, he pulls away and you’re sagging back into his arms, breath coming in gasps and pants.

Spencer holds you upright as he drags your skirt back down over your hips. Then he’s turning you around, pulling you close as you tremble in his arms.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers. “I can’t believe I waited this long to touch you.”

He kisses you again, the taste of your pussy still on his tongue. You moan against him, your head spinning.

“Please, don't make me wait,” you gasp, pushing back against him, feeling his cock throb in response.

“You want my cock, angel?” he rasps.

“Yes,” you pant. “Please, fuck me.”

And then he’s kissing you again, tongue parting your lips and slipping inside your mouth. You feel him walking you backwards, towards the couch in his living room.

He sits on the couch and pulls you onto his lap, moving to straddle him as you kiss him, his cock throbbing against your inner thigh.

“Wanna sit on this cock, pretty girl?,” he growls, breaking the kiss. “Show me how much you need it?”

Your lips are swollen from his kisses, your skin hot all over. He helps you up as you move to straddle his cock, gripping your waist to keep you balanced as you sink down, feeling him nudge against your pussy before finally pushing inside.

Your head falls back as you cry out, feeling your pussy stretch around him. You’re so wet that it’s easy, but he’s still big, bigger than you’d ever taken.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “It feels...”

Spencer swallows hard as he stares up at you. “Yeah, angel?” he murmurs, his hands skating over your thighs to your hips. “Tell me how it feels.”

You start to move your hips, grinding yourself down onto him. It’s a slow, sweet torture. Every time you clench your pussy around him, his eyes flicker closed for a moment before he opens them again. His gaze is fixed on yours, dark with need.

“Spencer,” you moan, leaning forward to kiss him.

He groans into the kiss as you start to ride him, picking up the pace. Your hips roll against him over and over, making the couch creak and groan beneath you. “I said tell me how it feels.”

“Fuck! Feels so so good, sir,” you babble as you break the kiss. You’re close again, cunt pulsing as you take him in his entirety. His hands knead at your ass, guiding you up and down.

“I’ve got you,” he pants, his lips moving over your neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He groans and then you feel him start to move beneath you. His hips thrusting up into you as you grind down, the sensation so overwhelming that it makes your vision blur.

Feeling your pussy clench around him again, you hear him make a noise in the back of his throat, then you’re cumming again, your body trembling above him as the pleasure spills over inside of you. Spencer holds you close, his arms wrapping around your back as his hips thrust up into you again.

“Spencer,” you cry, your head falling back. He’s still thrusting into you, still fucking you as he groans in pleasure.

He cock spilling inside of you, pulsing as he buries himself deep. His arms tighten around your back, holding you close to him. Your body shudders against his as he groans and pants, his breath hot against the bare skin of your neck. You feel his lips on your skin, soft and sweet.

You stay like that for a long moment, Spencer buried deep inside of you as you catch your breath. You blink down at him in surprise, feeling his cock fill you up again.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer’s eyes open, his pupils wide with need. He swallows. “Shh, angel. Just take it,” he tells you, his voice hoarse with need. “You're a good girl, aren't you? Gonna take what I give you?”

You feel him start to move again, his hips flexing up and down. You’re still sore from the last time, but the sensation of his cock rubbing against your sensitive walls makes your eyes flutter closed.

“Oh God,” you gasp. He’s picking up the pace now, fucking you with a hunger and desperation that makes your head spin. His cock somehow feels even bigger as he thrusts into you again and again, his hands holding onto your hips, keeping you in place.

His lips are soft and gentle against your own, tongue moving into your mouth.

Crying out into the kiss, your orgasm comes fast, overwhelming you so quickly that you can’t even process it. You feel his thick cock pulse inside of you, the wet sound of him filling you up again making your head spin.

You’re both gasping for air as you come, your bodies trembling against each other.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you collapse on him or lean back. Instead, he keeps moving, his hips thrusting up and down in a rhythm that makes your head swirl.

“Spencer—”

“Not yet,” he gasps. His eyes are wild, his pupils so dark and wide that they make you feel dizzy. “Not yet, y/n.”

You can feel him filling you again, his cock rubbing over your sensitive walls. Your pussy clenches around him again, even though you’ve already cum. He groans, his voice so loud in your ears that it makes your body shudder.

“Sir- fuck… Spencer,” you whimper.

He presses his lips to your throat, licking at your skin. His hands are still holding onto you, keeping you upright even as your legs threaten to collapse beneath you. You feel like a puppet, your strings being manipulated by the movements of his cock.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp. Your vision is blurring now, breathing coming in short gasps. His cock is relentless as he thrusts in and out of you, making your cunt clench around him again.

Your orgasm tears through you, wild and uncontrollable, pussy milking his cock as he keeps pumping into you.

Spencer grunts as you cum, his breathing heavy as he buries himself inside of you. His cock pulses inside of you, hard and deep.

You collapse into his arms, barely conscious.

He holds you there as his cock starts to soften, still buried deep inside of your throbbing pussy. Your limbs feel heavy, your head lolling against him as you struggle to catch your breath.

“Fuck,” he whispers in your ear.

Your pussy clenches again at his voice, his lips moving over your skin, kissing and licking you, murmuring words against your skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of you,” he whispers.

You let out a soft whimper of response, your body feeling overstimulated. Every movement of his mouth over your skin makes your pussy clench.

“Too much, Spencer, it’s too much.” You whisper, making no move to push him away.

He groans softly in response, his hand sliding between your legs and down to your pussy. You try to squirm away from the touch, but it’s no use. His finger is rubbing at your clit as his tongue moves inside your mouth, making your head spin.

“Spencer,” you gasp. “Fuck.”

He growls something deep in his throat, his finger moving faster. “You can do it, baby. You can give me another.” Your eyes are rolled back, your head pressed against the couch behind him.

You shatter apart in his arms, his mouth swallowing you whole.

He holds you close for a long moment before he leans forward to kiss you softly. He murmurs words against your lips, words that are sweet and gentle and loving, then you feel him shift your body so that he can pull out of your pussy.

You make a soft whimpering sound as his cock slides out of you, feeling the cum drip down your thighs. He reaches between your legs to cup your pussy, feeling the wetness drip out of you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Look at that. So fucking full of my cum.”

He pulls his hand away and holds it out towards you. He looks up at you with dark eyes as he moves his fingers to your mouth. You watch as the cum drips off them and down your chin as you lean forward and lick them clean, swirling your tongue around his digits, collecting your mixed release.

Spencer groans, cock twitching against your thigh, still half-hard. He pulls his hand back, rubbing the cum over your pussy.

“Stay like that for me,” he rasps, his voice full of need. “So fuckin’ pretty, such a messy girl.”

“Anything, Spencer,” you whisper back.

You watch as he strokes himself again, groaning as his cock hardens again. You feel empty without him inside of you, like a part of you is missing.

It’s not long before you feel his lips on yours again, his tongue moving into your mouth.

“I have to taste you,” he growls against your lips. “I need to taste you, need to taste us.”

He breaks the kiss and presses your head to the side. You watch in a daze as he moves down your body, lifting your skirt up over your hips and leaning forward. His hands press your thighs apart as he stares at your cum-drenched pussy.

“I think you can cum again for me,” he murmurs.

You whimper in response.

Spencer presses his thumb to your clit. You cry out as he rubs at you, feeling your body tremble again. You’re barely able to hold yourself up at this point, your muscles so overstimulated that you’re trembling all over.

“Please—”

He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Please what, angel?”

You whine in response.

“Please what?” he growls again. “Ask me nicely.”

Your eyes flutter closed. You feel his thumb rub at your clit again, and your pussy clenches.

“Please,” you gasp. “Spencer. Please, just need you.”

He kisses your thigh again before moving up towards your mouth. Lips move against yours as you tremble against him, his kiss hungry and deep. You feel your head spin as you try to return it.

He breaks the kiss and looks up at you, his gaze hungry. “Open your mouth for me,” he growls.

You do as he asks, parting your lips as he moves towards your mouth, then he’s spitting inside of it, his saliva dripping down your chin.

He rubs his spit into your skin with his hand, leaving it there, watching it glisten over your lips and chin. His hand moves back to your pussy, rubbing his cum into you again. He keeps going until you’re dripping with it, until the cum is running down your inner thighs.

“Look at you,” he rasps, leaning forward to kiss your lips again. “Look at what you did.”

Then you feel him lean forward and lick up his cum, his tongue rubbing against your sensitive clit. You make a noise deep in your throat and try to arch into him, his hands holding you down.

“No,” he rasps. “Stay still.”

“But—”

He leans forward, licking at you again. You can’t take your eyes off the sight of his tongue moving over you, can’t help the way your body shudders in response.

Spencer looks up at you as he licks at you. His eyes are dark with hunger, his mouth dripping with his cum. “Stay just like that,” he growls. “Such a good girl, my pretty little angel.”

His tongue making you shudder as your orgasm builds again. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking against him, your clit so sensitive that you’re almost sobbing, cunt clenching so hard that you feel like you might explode.

You cum hard against his mouth, his tongue licking at your release even as you clench around it. His tongue never stops, even as you whimper and thrash out against him. He holds you down and licks you until you’re a trembling, shuddering mess against him.

Then finally he pulls back, looking up at you with hungry eyes.

You look up at him dazedly, your body still quivering. Your legs are still draped over his shoulders, your pussy open to him. Cum is still dripping down your thighs.

Your eyes widen as you watch him stroke himself, his hand moving fast. His eyes are fixed on your pussy as his cock stiffens, as his breathing comes faster and faster.

Then he’s leaning down, kissing your pussy one last time.

You can’t help yourself from arching against him, even though he makes no move to touch your clit this time. Your body is too overstimulated, too sensitive to his touch.

Spencer kisses over your pussy again and again, making you tremble as you feel his cock rub against your thigh. You hear him grunt as his cock pulses, feel his cum soak your pussy all over again. His mouth moves over you again and again as you tremble and whimper, his cum dripping over your swollen cunt.

Finally, he pulls back, finally allowing you to collapse onto the couch, barely able to keep your eyes open.

Spencer pulls you into his arms, holding you tight against him. You lean forward, burying your face in his chest as you try to catch your breath. You hear him whispering words in your ear, sweet and soft.

“Good girl, baby. Such a good girl for me,” you hear him murmur. “Did so well, made me so proud.”

Then his fingers are back between your legs, rubbing at you with gentle strokes. You hear his voice whispering words of praise, telling you what a good girl you were for him. Your pussy clenches against his fingers, and you make a small sound of pleasure. You feel boneless now, your body heavy and relaxed.

“I’ll take care of you,” you hear him whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, baby.”

You lean forward against him and let yourself melt, his fingers rubbing at your oversensitive pussy as he murmurs praise in your ear. You close your eyes and let him take care of you, let him do whatever he wants to your body.

You know now that you’ll do anything for him.

You feel your pussy clench against his fingers one last time, and then you’re out, held in his arms as the cum runs down your thighs. You feel him whisper one last thing in your ear before you fall asleep. You can’t quite make it out, but you know it’s something good. Something sweet.

You sleep in his arms as he holds you tight, his fingers still buried in your cum-soaked pussy.

Nestled against Spencer’s chest, the silence between you comforting yet heavy. There was an undeniable tension in the air, like you were both waiting for the other to say something. He eventually broke the silence, his voice hesitant but determined.

“I’ve been thinking... about us.” Spencer shifted slightly, his hand still resting on your back, his fingers tracing small patterns against your skin. “The money. Our arrangement... I don’t want to stop giving it to you.”

You tensed at the mention of it. You’d been trying to push that part of your relationship into the back of your mind, but hearing him bring it up again—especially now, when things felt so different—was jarring.

“I don’t need the money, Spencer,” you said quickly, pulling slightly away from him, your gaze searching his face. “I never needed it. Not from you.”

His brow furrowed, his hand gently grasping your wrist, his thumb brushing over your skin with a quiet insistence. “I want to give it to you,” he said softly, his tone a little more urgent now. “It’s not just about... the arrangement we had before. It’s about me taking care of you, providing for you, because I care about you.”

You shook your head, your chest tight. “I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want to feel like I owe you something. I just want you, Spencer. Not the money, not the... arrangement.”

He let out a long breath, clearly frustrated with the distance between what he wanted and what you were saying. “You don’t owe me anything. But this is how I show you that I care. You don’t get it. I don’t just want you physically, or emotionally. I want to take care of you. I want to make sure you have everything you need. If that means money, then that’s what I’ll do.”

His words were persistent, full of a quiet desperation that made your heart ache. “You’re not getting rid of me,” he continued, his gaze intense. “Not now. Not after everything.”

You felt the tension building inside you, a tug of war between pride and the vulnerability his words offered. He was right in one way—you didn’t want to feel like you were taking advantage of him. But another part of you knew he was genuine. He wasn’t just trying to control you, or manipulate you. This was him trying to protect you, in the only way he knew how.

“I... I don’t want to need it,” you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to need anyone like that.”

Spencer’s thumb ran across your cheek, his touch gentle but firm. “I understand. But you don’t have to need it. You don’t have to feel like you’re relying on me for everything. But let me do this for you, please. Let me take care of you in this way.”

There was a quiet, almost painful silence as you thought over his words. You felt the battle between your independence and his need to provide waging inside you. He was so certain, so unwavering in his desire to take care of you. And you knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just about the money. It was about him wanting to feel like he was enough for you—like he could give you something, be something more than just a professor or a lover.

With a soft sigh, you finally relented, your eyes meeting his. “Okay,” you said quietly, your voice tinged with hesitation.

His expression softened immediately, a mixture of relief and something else you couldn’t quite name. “Thank you,” he said, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “I just- I want to take care of you… in every way possible. I need to do that.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest, but now it felt a little easier to breathe. You were navigating this relationship together—despite the secrecy, despite the complications. And now, despite the money, too.

The morning light crept through the blinds, painting the room with soft hues of gold. Spencer sat at the kitchen table, his book in front of him, but his attention was somewhere else. His glasses were perched low on his nose, and his hair was slightly messy from sleep.

You leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching him, feeling a small, contented smile tug at the corner of your mouth. “Early start today?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

He glanced up at you, his smile gentle and easy. “Couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts.”

You moved to the table and sat across from him, the space between you feeling familiar now. It wasn’t filled with tension or expectations—just quiet comfort.

After a moment, you spoke again, this time quieter, more thoughtful. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How easy it feels now.”

He set his coffee down, his fingers lingering on the cup. “Strange how?”

“Like we don’t have to overthink everything.” You shrugged, leaning back slightly in your chair. “Like we can just... exist here, like this. Without any of the complications.”

He watched you for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know what you mean. It feels... easier than I thought it would.”

You couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something in his expression, in the way his eyes softened when they met yours, that made everything feel a little clearer.

“Is this what you want?” you asked, the question feeling lighter than it had before.

Spencer took a moment, running his hand through his hair before answering, his voice steady. “I think this is what I’ve been wanting all along.”

You sat with that for a moment, letting it settle between you, and somehow, in that quiet space, it made more sense than it had in the past. There didn’t need to be grand gestures or sweeping promises. Just a simple understanding, and that felt enough.

The rest of the world could wait. You didn’t need to rush toward anything else.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

taglist: @ivet4 @lunarmoonbeam1

#missarchive #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #bau x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader

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gojos-thot-patrol · 1 year ago

Text

a let my demons get a little silly with it here

Now Loading, Kinktober Week Two...

Synopsis: Ryomen always got what he wanted, it was a simple rule of life. And ever since he caught your scent, you were all that he wanted- your previous bond mark be damned. And you must have wanted him too. Why else would your window be open in the middle of your heat? Kinks: Omegaverse, Breeding, Marking, Knotting, Scent, Dub-Con, Non/Con, Somnophilia, and Infidelity. Reader Discretion is Advised.

Sukuna was going to fuck you. He was going to have you on your back, legs spread as he filled you to the brim, breeding you like a bitch while covering you in his bite marks and scent. Sukuna was sure of this fact from the first time he caught your smell in the air, light and warm and made for him. You were made for him. It was only a matter of time until he took what was rightfully his.

The only problem was you were marked, and sadly, it wasn’t by him. Worse yet, it was by some weak asshole who barely even had the ability to mark someone. Some feeble excuse of a man who probably didn't know what to do once he got your panties around your ankles, much less what to do when you were in your heat. The only thing worse than you being bonded to that douche canoe, was knowing it only happened so you wouldn’t be bonded to him.

Okay, so “bonded” wasn’t really the right word there. “Sacrifice” was closer to the actuality of the situation, but still! You were literally destined to be his, and one asshole wants to play hero and fuck it all up? It drove him fucking mad, what right did that limp dick think he had to interfere? He caught himself clenching his fist and jaw. He needed to calm down before he hurt someone, especially since the only person nearby was you.

Sukuna watched from a distance as you lounged under your tree, finding comfort in the forest instead of the inherent danger you should feel. He had suppressed his scent enough he was sure you hadn’t noticed, your calm demeanor conveying that fact. He could have you right now, release his scent and take you where you sat. But, that wouldn’t have done anything about your bond mark. No, to take care of that Sukuna had to be patient. Which, was a real fucking drag because if there was anything Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t it was a patient man.

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

He remembered the first time he encountered you. Almost a month ago now, while he was taking his regular walk through the woods. He could still feel the full body reset that happened when he caught your aroma, the smell of apple and clove working its way through his nervous system and grabbing his cock his heart in a chokehold. Suddenly, his lazy stroll through the woods was a hunt to find out what decadent creature had made such a perfume.

And that’s where he found you. Sitting contently in a floral field, making a fucking flower crown of all things, and surly waiting for him. He saw your hands falter and your eyes widen as he approached, no doubt because you finally picked up on his pheromones. He could feel the smirk forming on his lips.

“Well, what a nice surprise,” He hummed as he approached you, “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone else out here.” You immediately fell into a low bow before him. Good, you knew your place.

“I’m sorry my lord,” You apologize, though you weren’t sure why. You knew of the warlord Ryomen Sukuna. You knew he owned your village, as well as the villages surrounding it. But to your knowledge he didn’t police who was allowed in the woods. Still, you’d rather not risk upsetting him.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here, all alone?” He asked, eyes tracing the way your back curved into the bow.

“My mate and I moved closer to the forest recently, I was exp-”

“Your mate?” The vitriol in his tone made your stomach revolt and ignited your fight or flight system. You didn’t even know what you had done wrong.

“Y-yes?”

“Stand up, look at me.” He demanded. You did so without hesitation, your omega body naturally inclined to follow the alphas commands. When you did, you were hit with a fresh wave of his aura, the smell of whiskey and cinnamon filling your senses and making your joints feel weak. You were caught between your need to honor your bond mark, and the need to fall to your knees for the man in front of you. You whimpered softly as he grabbed your chin and shoved your head to the side.

Sure enough, right there on your scent gland were faint teeth shaped scars. If he wasn’t specifically looking for them, he wouldn’t have seen them at all. Still, the fact it hadn't been refreshed didn’t negate the fact that it was there. You were unequivocally spoken for.

“You don’t smell marked.” He scoffed as he released your head, taking a step back.

“It’s new…” You muttered. He may not have been able to smell your mate, but the stench of a lie was familiar to him. Especially one as piss poor as that.

“If it’s new then you should reek of him, Wench, don’t lie to me.” He growled. You looked down as your shame rolled over you.

“He’s a beta.” HE’S A BETA?! Sukuna had felt rage a lot in his life. Some may even say it was his default setting. But the rage he felt at being cucked by a beta was unlike anything that he had felt before. He felt his fingers twitch with the need to wrap around someone's neck, and the urge to burn down this entire forest was a hard one to fight. He choked back his molting hot fury with a simple reminder: Beta bond marks don’t mean shit. He could easily still have you. He just had to wait for your next heat cycle to do it, when your hormones were high and looking for something more…substantial, then a betas nub.

“How cute, being mated to a beta. I’m sure you’re crazy for each other.” He sneered. You wished. Leaving every heat cycle woefully unsatisfied and frustrated might have been worth it if you had actually loved the man. If your union to him wasn’t purely survival.

“He provides.” You settled on a half truth to keep from lying, one Sukuna definitely picked up on.

“What’s your name Omega?” He demanded.

You told him your name in a soft whisper. Cute name. He’d be sure to have his servants look into you and your records.

“Well Omega,” He said, making a point not to use the title given to him. To remind you what you were. “You should probably get back to your beta. It’s not safe for a pretty little thing like you to be out in these woods alone.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that was a warning and a threat, the edge in his words making that much clear. You nodded to the warlord, before making your way home. You fought the urge to sprint with everything you had in you, knowing better than to activate his prey drive.

He watched as you did, noting your refusal to run. Smart girl. He could feel his mouth watering as he watched your hips sway, and his body buzzed with the need to have you under him. He took a deep breath to recollect himself before making the walk home. He’d have you soon enough.

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

He kept a close eye on you in the weeks that followed. Learning about how your marriage was arranged through his servants, and how your marriage was failing from watching you. To your credit, you did try in earnest to make it work. You were the perfect mate. You kept a tidy home, always had dinner ready, and were always happy to get on your back for your husband.

And yet it did nothing. That asshole still acted as if he was gods fucking gift for “saving” your life, and as if you didn’t do enough. Dinner was never right, there was always an issue with the house, and every morning Sukuna could smell your dissatisfaction from the night before- still rolling off you in waves. It was pathetic that a creature as divine as you was wasted on swine like him. The good news was that your scent was evolving. As the leaves changed colors your fragrance got thicker, and sweeter in some aspects. You clung to your beta even if he was woefully unequipped. Your heat was coming.

A fact you were all too aware of. You could feel it pooling in your stomach and feverish on your skin. The effects were already starting, and you knew this one was going to be hell. Your mate thrashed in between your legs, chasing his high in you. You felt close, so close. Your body was trembling with anticipation, electricity buzzing under your skin. All you needed was his knot and-

He pulled out of your quivering cunt, cumming on your stomach with a guttural moan. Oh, right. He didn’t have a knot. You whined as he painted you white, wanting to snap at him for wasting his load. You held back though, knowing that, in reality, the last thing you wanted was his pups. You watched as he rolled off the bed and grabbed his pants.

“W-wait, but Naoya-” You panted, “I’m so close, please-”

“You’re gonna have to finish yourself, I’m gonna be late for my train.” Your “mate” groaned as if you were an inconvenience.

“But…” You whimpered, then let it go. You knew better than to argue, and besides. Your climax was already fleeting. “Do you have to go?” You asked softly. You understood that, as a beta, Naoya couldn’t sense when your heat was coming like an alpha could. You accepted that. What you found hard to accept was that he still planned a business trip during your heat cycle, despite you explicitly telling him that you would need him.

“Yes, Sweetie,” He said it with so much ire and hate, you would have rather he called you a bitch. “This is my job. It doesn’t stop because you’re horny.” He snapped, tired of having this conversation again. His venom shut you up. You watched as he quickly got dressed, then grabbed his bags and rushed for the train station. You fought tears as you went to clean yourself up. Were you really so unloveable?

You often wondered what the worse fate was, being sacrificed to Ryomen Sukuna or being trapped in a loveless pair bond. For years you knew without doubt it was being sacrificed to the warlord. You were always grateful to your father for selling you to the beta, saving you from what would no doubt have been a cruel and untimely death. Naoya may have been cold at times, but surely he wasn’t as bad as Sukuna.

Or at least, that’s what you used to think. Before you had actually met the man, and felt the way your body reacted to his presence alone. Suddenly, the so-called king of curses invaded your every thought, and life trapped in a passionless marriage felt like a prison sentence. You thought about Sukuna constantly, especially in the days leading up to your heat. You chased his faint scent on the wind, traced his markings in your dreams, and envisioned him to endure your husband's advances.

It left you a wreck. Especially now, as night fell and your body temperature rose. Your fingers were doing absolutely nothing for you, and wouldn’t for at least the next week. Which, was rather conveniently when your husband was due to return home. You knew your heat bothered him, but you never knew it bothered him this much. Resentment grew in you the more you thought about it. If he didn’t want a fucking omega, then why the fuck did he pay for one?

You tried not to think about it as you opened your window, hoping the cool night air would do something to help cool down your feverish skin. You lived far enough away from the other villagers you didn’t really have to worry about a wayward alpha finding you. And at this point, you weren’t sure you would care if one of them did.

You settled into your nest, albeit a bit reluctantly. The faint smell of your mate clung to it, and despite your bond mark it brought you little comfort. More just frustration. It didn’t smell right anymore. You quickly took off your sleep pants, finding them unbearably hot, leaving you in just a tank top and soaked panties as you drifted off to sleep.

Sukuna could try and say that he was just out on a stroll to enjoy the moonlight. That he enjoyed the peace that the dark brought with it, and was only out to clear his mind. He would be lying. The truth of the matter was Sukuna had been keeping tabs on you. And while your bitch of a mate may have been inflicted with brain worms, Sukuna was not. He knew you were alone, and in heat. And he fully planned to take care of you, in ways your beta couldn’t dream of doing.

Walking to your little shack at the edge of the woods felt like wading into a warm lake, your trail becoming thicker and thicker in the air as he made his way to you. It was intoxicating, and he couldn’t stop the visions of you whimpering underneath him from entering his mind. Needy and alone, fuck. He could feel his blood rushing in his veins as your scent laced into his senses and his psyche, and his cock ached for you.

He wasn’t shocked to find your window open. Of course your window was open. You were waiting for him, your true mate. That fucking beta be damned, you wanted him, why else would the window be open? He crawled into your room on instinct more than much else, your body calling to him like a siren's song. The reality of your heat hit him like a train as he took in your visage. Sleeping not-so-peacefully in your marital bed, mindlessly rutting into a pillow drenched with your slick. He fucking hated that you were reduced to fucking pillows.

He was right here, you just needed to let your proper alpha take care of you. Let him protect you, let him fuck you until you can’t walk, let him fill you to the brim- until you’re overflowing, let him fix the fucking stench of your nest. He was on your bed and spreading your legs before he even fully realized what he was doing, ripping your slick drenched panties off of you. On a normal night, he would have touched you and known you were burning alive with a fever. But tonight? He was molting lava with his own forced rut, and he didn’t even notice yet.

Mates don’t need to ask before taking care of their mate in heat, so he doesn't even bother waking you up before shoving two fingers into your weeping pussy to get you ready for him. You whine out softly, back curling off of the bed as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you sharply. He smirked as he curled his fingers up, listening to your breath catch in your throat.

“Fuck, Sukuna..” You whimpered in your sleep. Of course you called out his name, you were his omega. You chose him, you were meant to be with him. Soon, there would be no doubt about that. After he covered you with his scent, after he marked you as his and only his, and when your stomach was swollen with his pups- pink haired, four eyed and undeniably his.

He shrugged off his robe, his rock hard cock burning with need and dripping pre-cum. He ran his dick up your slit, gathering your divine slick on his angry red tip. He felt the tension in his shoulders finally dissolve as he pushed into you, finally at home where he was supposed to be. He growled as he sunk in to his base in one swoop.

You jolt awake with the sudden intrusion, your cunt torn between pushing the intruder out and sucking him in deeper. “Wh-wha…?” You were given no time to try and catch up to the situation before the assault on your g-spot started, leaving you a moaning mess. Sukuna lifted your hips, holding your body with just his forearms as he changed the angle he fucked you in to fuck you deeper, harder. He needed it to take.

You looked up and saw a shock of pink hair and sharp tattoos through bleary eyes. On the surface your body revolted, knowing this wasn’t your mate and he was not meant to be touching you. But something deeper, more primal rejoiced at feeling the alphas fat cock. “Fuck, fuck, more..” You whimpered, bucking your hips in time with his thrusts. You could feel his knot swelling inside you and all you wanted was him. Nothing had ever felt more right.

Sukuna had fucked a lot of omegas during his ruts. He ran through whores like they were nothing. But none of them had ever felt like this. Your pussy was made for him, so perfect as it milked his cock. Your body reacted to him perfectly. You were made to be his. You were his. Every inch of your skin, every breath you took, every smile you gave you were his. He’d prove it. He grabbed you in a bruising grip as he bent over you, capturing you in a demanding kiss and taking what little breath you had away in a clash of teeth and tongues. You belonged to him.

He growled lowly, as he pulled back, throwing your ankles over his shoulders as he pressed his body weight into you, folding you in half. “Fuck, you’re so good,” He groaned, “So fucking tight for me Baby Girl. Gonna knot you, fill you with my pups,” You didn’t know if he was talking to you or himself but it didn’t matter. A thought that should have been deeply revolting to you as a marked woman had never sounded more euphoric.

“Yes, please,” You begged into his ear, “Fuck me, it’s s’ good. Fill me, I- I need you.” you slurred together whatever words you could grapple with. You felt drunk on the feeling of euphoria, you almost forgot sex could feel so good. Your words, albeit a bit jumbled, electrified the part of Sukuna’s brain that had already decided he was your mate. You didn’t just want him, you needed him. You needed him. Of course you needed him, you belonged to him. You were his and his alone.

His his his his-

Then he smelled it. In the sea of apple, clove and cinnamon whiskey a sharp mildew scent hit his nose. The fucking mold of your “bond mark.” Sukuna saw fucking red, his body seething with rage as he remembered you weren’t truly his. No matter how deep he fucked his seed into you, or how much of his skin touched yours, you weren’t his.

Not yet anyway.

He plunged his teeth into your scent glands, right over your previous bond mark. You howled as he did, a wave of ecstasy rocking its way through your heated body and decimating your shocked nervous system as you came all over him. Aftershocks of your orgasm pulsed through your cunt in time with his thrusts, sending static electricity through your needy body. You instinctively dug your fangs into Sukunas scent glands, an act you were never able to perform on your (former) beta mate.

The relief that washed over him as you completed the bond mark was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and it left him in ruins. Cumming deep inside you, painting your womb white. The warm feeling he filled you with actually worked to (somehow) cool the raging inferno in your bloodstream, and you finally found relief from the hell you had been in.

You stayed connected, him holding you close while he waited for his knot to deflate. You thought about Naoya. You had never been able to properly mark him because he didn’t have scent glands for you to mark. It met you were never really bonded, not like how you were bonded to Sukuna now. But, he was technically still your husband. This was his house and his bed you were getting fucked by a perfect stranger in. How would he react when he found you here with the warlord that owned the land? Would he find you here?

Would you regret it?

You didn’t have time to really consider the ramifications of your actions before Ryomen was moving inside you again, and the last thing you wanted to think about was the boy that abandoned you. You whined underneath him, bringing your hands to tangle in his hair. He pressed his forehead to yours in response.

“Still with me Omega?” He asked as he started to pick up the pace, making you whine underneath him.

“I’m here my lord,” You mumbled softly.

“Good,” He punctuated the word with a sharp kiss before straightening up, “Cause it’s gonna take more than just that to knock you up.” He chuckled as his hips started to piston into yours, setting a punishing pace. The natural curve of his cock was seemingly designed to bully your hypersensitive g-spot, stimulating your body back to life as you gripped the sheets under you.

“Aww, look at my pretty little omega,” Sukuna cooed mockingly as he fucked his cum back into you, “All fucked out and full. Feels good to actually cum after spending so much time with a limp dick, doesn’t it slut?” Apparently, all it took was him getting to cum once for him to find his voice.

“So good, so fucking good.” You whimpered, “So big, so full…” And you had no problem feeding into it. His claws dug into your hips, leaving bruises defined enough you could take his fingerprints off of them. He watched the way your tits bounced as you tried to feebly hold onto the sheet, attempting to ground yourself however you could. He watched his bulge appear and reappear in your stomach with every thrust. He watched the way your skin glistened in the moonlight, begging him to mark it. He watched the way your eyes fluttered and glazed over with dazed pleasure.

But the real show was happening where the two of you were connected. Where your slick coated his cock, creating a foamy ring around the base. Where your natural lube mixed with his load, making the most vulgar sounds as he fucked your quivering cunt. God, he couldn’t have asked for a better mate.

Your warm pussy hugged him perfectly, begging him for more and pulling him even deeper into you with every thrust. Every movement of your hips sent a wave of euphoria through him, and he desperately chased both of your highs. He wanted to see you cum. He didn’t get to the first time.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again. You were finally finally his after months of coveting you. Of watching you, of needing you wanting you, of imagining you, you finally belonged to him. He was going to see what you looked like when you came for him god damn it!

“You gonna cream for me again Sweetheart?” He growled, “Squirt all over my dick like a good girl? I know you are, I can feel it, fuck-” His words fell apart on his tongue as you clenched around him. Stars blotted out your vision as your second climax started to creep up on you, slowly tingling up your spine and taking over your body. You bucked your hips into his erratically, chasing the high only he could give you. Sparks of bliss exploded under your skin as you felt him start to swell again.

And suddenly he felt way too far away. You needed him closer. You needed his scent, his skin, him. You ripped one of your hands away from the bedsheets and reached out, trying to communicate what you wanted. His head tilted to the side and he scoffed as he looked at your outstretched hand.

“Words slut, what do you want?” He growled.

“My mate.” You whimpered. He was immediately leaning down to you, pressing his chest to yours and letting your fingers intertwine with his. How could he deny you your mate? Your body exploded into a thousand sparks of ecstasy where his skin ment yours. His scent wrapped around your senses like an old blanket, cozy and familiar and safe. You whined softly and closed your eyes to embrace for impact.

“No.” He growled, using his free hand to pull your hair and force your eyes open, “Look at me.” He demanded. Your watery eyes held his fiery ones as you moaned pathetically under him.

“I’m so close..”

“Then cum for me.” The floodgates opened and you were suddenly drowning in a sea of ecstasy and dopamine. Your hips thrashed against your will and your legs shook like the last leaves on autumn trees. You swore you saw entire galaxies be born before your eyes as you were hit with one of the hardest climaxes of your life. Your eyes watered as they looked into his, your skin felt flushed against his touch, and your grip on his hand tightened.

“Fuck, Ryomen…” He hadn’t heard his first name spoken in years. His body slammed into yours as his own climax hit him with a brick. He fucked you as best as he could through his knot, riding out both of your highs as he filled you to the point of overflowing and then some. His entire body was racked with euphoria as he came harder than he even thought possible.

He collapsed on top of you, rolling you both to the side so he didn’t crush you with his body weight. For a while, the only sound was of the two of you trying to catch your breath. You felt his arms wrap around you and calloused hands rub your back gently to sooth you. He kissed your neck almost sweetly.

“You’re doing so good sweetheart,” He praised in a whisper, one soft enough the wind threatened to take it away, “So good for me.” It made your stomach flutter. His presence was instantly calming, much more so than your ex’s. You might have even fallen asleep, if you didn’t feel him start to move again, still rock solid inside of you.

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Your body was sore the next morning when you woke up, but the fever had subsided for now, finally giving you room to breathe and think about literally anything other than lust. The first thing you noticed was that you were not at home. You jolted up in bed, a soft whimper leaving your throat.

“Silence, woman.” That was when you registered the body next to you in the bed. You looked over to see Ryomen, fully annoyed at being woken up. “You’re safe. I’m here.” He grumbled as he pulled you back into his side. You weren’t sure what was more impressive, that he managed to return to (what you assumed was) his home after last night, or that he managed to carry you with him.

“Sukuna-”

“Ryomen.” He corrected you with a dangerous growl. You paused, a bit taken back.

“Ryomen,” You accepted the correction, “what happens now?”

“Hopefully you go back to sleep.” He sighed, irritated to have been woken up at the ungodly hour of 12 pm. While he was still in rut no less! He didn’t get a lot of chances to sleep during this time, and neither did you. You needed the rest.

“No, I mean with…with,” You didn’t know how to put it.

“What, you mean your cuck ex? Don’t worry about it.” He didn’t hide that he was irritated with you for bringing him up first thing in the morning.

“....Is he going to be hurt?” You asked softly. Sukuna felt his lip twitch.

“If I have it my way, yes.” He didn’t mince words. Why the fuck did you care so much about that loser anyway? You thought about your mates words, then nodded.

“Good.” You said, finally settling back into Ryomens arms and relaxing into him. He didn’t hide the smile that tugged on his lips. He knew he loved you.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・ Taglist ・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

thank you lovlies, for supporting my work! @sk8ttles, @blkkizzat,@littyasatittyyy,@ketchupsush1 and @risuola

If you wanna get on the tag list, comment: here!

And if you wanna read week One, you can find it: Here!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #alpha!sukuna #omega!reader #omegaverse #jjk omegaverse #abo #sukuna abo #sukuna omegaverse #ryomen sukuna x reader smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #kinktober #trick-or-kink 23

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harumwahsa · 2 months ago

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── .✦ Harumasa makes a little wish after waking up from a nightmare.

WARNING(S): Brief mentions of blood, IV lines, and syringes.

NOTE: I just want to give him the tightest hug. 😞 Anyway, YAYY 1.4 is here!

White crows. Bustling city streets. Murmuring crowd. Flashing cameras. Accusing fingers pointing right at him.

Why is he here again?

Wake up. He needs to wake upーalas, misfortune has always been rather fond of him. No matter how much his mind screams, his body just refuses to listen. Imprisoned in a nightmare, all he can do is run in circles, a promise of escape nowhere within his reach.

The weight of his choker feels heavier than it should, and yet, he still thinks it should be wrapped around him tighter. Is he still human? With trembling hands, he holds his neck. His fingertips are cold. His body is cold. Are humans supposed to be so cold?

People are closing in, adamant about their accusations. A white flash blinds his eyes.

Wake up, wake up, wake upー

Syringes scattered all over the floor. Beeping machines. IV lines twist and tangle.

When will this end?

A room of broken mirrors. Ethereals reflected in the shards. A man in white coat. A child screaming. Blood on the walls. Blood on the floors. Blood on his handsー

"Haaー"

Finally.

His breath is heavy as he stares at the ceiling, eyes wide as if he were never asleep in the first place. Deep breath. In and out, in and out. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine other things. Something happier. Or something... less bitter, at least. But all he can see is himself; cursed and broken and everything he wishes he is not. Thus, he opens his eyes again, not wanting to see such a miserable view.

Another restless night for him, it seems.

As an attempt to cast his thoughts aside, he turns his attention to you.

...

You are snuggled up to him, seemingly all too comfortable and in bliss. Adorable. But isn't this when you should be awake and give him comfort? How could you be dead asleep whilst he was terrorised by his nightmares? How utterly unbelievable. Should he be offended? He should be offended, right? Instead, he scoffs in amusement. It would be nice to have you comforting him right now, but then again, he would not have known how to respond to such warmth.

He much rather you stay asleep anyway. Ignorance is bliss, no? He doesn't want to burden you. Plus, the fact that you feel safe enough in his presence to sleep so soundly puts him at ease. Seeing you like this alone is a form of reassurance. He knows he is still human when you are by his side.

He shifts slightly, bringing you closer to him, carefully so.

Harumasa is still getting used to these physical touches. More often than not, the hugs he shared with you were short, and so, too, your kisses. They rarely ever lasted longer than needed to be. He would joke and say that he has a clock-out countdown for his display of affection, when deep down he was struggling with his own fears. "If you want another kiss, then you'll have to wait after dinner," he would tease, even though all he wanted was to pull you back in. He wonders if you ever realized how much he actually longs for you.

Brushing his hand against yours when you walk next to each other. Lingering touches after messing up your hair. Glancing at you from across the room. Squeezing you in his arms before pulling away from a hug. Have you ever noticed?

Regardless, even the strongest man has moments of weakness. No matter how good he may be at concealing his true feelings, there were times when his vulnerability seeped through the firm walls he has built around him. There was a time he held your hands so tight, his lips chasing after yours, one kiss after another. There was a time he told you to stay and keep him warm, snarky tone out the window.

And now is another moment of vulnerability. Is he a child, needing comfort after a nightmare he has grown so accustomed to? No. He is very much a mature adult, so used to bitterness; pills and life and everything in between. The debate goes on in his mind, but it doesn't stop him from holding you tighter. It doesn't stop him from wishing that you would stay by his side... no matter what the future holds.

Is that a childish wish? Is that too much to ask for? Still, he yearns for itーthe little bit of sweetness in his bitter, bitter life.

Credit(s): Divider

#zenless zone zero #zenless #zzzero #zzz #asaba harumasa #zenless zone zero x reader #zenless x reader #zzzero x reader #zzz x reader #asaba harumasa x reader

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niallhorxns · 7 months ago

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Niall Horan x Reader: Not Like Him

Prompt: Because of your past, you hate confrontation. One day, Niall comes home particularly grumpy.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: anxiety, past verbal abuse mention

A/N: hi all!!! continuing to try and post on here. please feel free to send any niall x reader prompts / ideas my way :)

You’re in the midst of putting a dish you just washed away when you hear the front door open, then suddenly slam shut. The pictures hanging on the wall rattle as you peer around the corner anxiously. The first thing you see is Niall bustling through the door. Normally, having Niall home would cause a surge of warmth and excitement to rush through you– but today, instantly, you recognize that something about his demeanor is off.

He throws his flannel on the chair and with his back facing you, runs his hand through his hair. When he turns to you, there’s no warm smile or cheerful greeting. Instead, he takes a few steps then tosses his keys on the counter, letting them slide carelessly across the surface. He makes no effort to even acknowledge your existence.

Instantly, a lump forms in your throat, making it harder and harder to breathe. You hate tension… Or any sort of confrontation, really. Your parent’s entire marriage was built off tension and confrontation– passive aggressive comments and slamming doors leading to screaming, which then led to shattered dishes or dented walls.

Your father had a temper. And it didn't matter how well behaved or helpful or unseen you were. Something always managed to spark his anger. The nights he drank were worse, and as the years went on, the sober version of himself made less and less of an appearance.

Although you didn't recognize it at the time, looking back, you knew that you spent the vast majority of your childhood living on edge– always waiting for the yelling or the screaming. You were afraid more often than not. And that wasn't something you could just unlearn when you were old enough to leave– no matter how far away you were.

In fact, it took years of hard work to heal from the trauma you'd experienced. But for so long, it felt like no matter how much therapy you attended or self-help books you read, there was always a part of you that was just stuck.

Until you met Niall.

Niall was the missing piece. His presence alone was healing. He was calm and safe and consistent. He was patient and gentle and kind. And when you finally got up enough courage to tell him about your childhood, he listened carefully, his brows furrowed somberly. It was like your trauma caused him physical pain– that's how much he loved you– how much he felt with you.

With Niall, you could safely work on communicating without screaming matches or slamming doors. It had taken time, but slowly, piece by piece, you started to rebuild, until you actually felt like you could trust someone again.

And of course, even now, in the midst of whatever this unknown territory was, you trust him. But despite that, tension is radiating off from him. It’s almost palpable in the air– suffocating you.

You have to say something– Niall will understand.

“How was your day?” You ask nervously, already knowing the answer.

Niall walks right past you to the fridge, pulling the door open and ignoring your question.

You bite your lower lip, your anxiety settling like a rock in your stomach. This feeling felt too familiar…

“Is everything okay?” you ask. He pulls out a beer, showing no sign that he even heard you. He cracks it open, the sound alone sending shivers down your spine as you’re instantly reminded of all the nights your father would drink five beers before even recognizing you were home. But Niall is not your dad, you remind yourself. Niall is gentle. Niall is kind.

He takes a long swig before walking towards the stairs.

“Niall?” you say, worry evident in your tone.

He doesn’t stop.

Niall isn't like him. Niall cares about your feelings. Niall loves you.

You follow him a few steps, knowing that you can’t let him just go to bed this… angry? Upset? Whatever he is–

“Niall, what’s going on–”

“Oh my God!” He bellows suddenly, waving his arms and spinning in his tracks to finally look at you. “Can you leave me alone for one goddamn second?!”

Before you can quiet down your brain or repeat all the ways Niall was different from your father, your body reacts as if they are one and the same. You flinch harshly from his sudden movements and loud tone, like your body remembered exactly how it felt to live in your house twenty years ago. And before you can help it, the glass cup in your hand falls to the floor, shattering around your feet.

The noise makes you snap out of your trance. Looking down at the mess you made, your mouth goes dry. Your whole body has already begun shaking and you can feel the tears fighting their way to your eyes.

“I’m sorry–” you whisper, choking back a sob. Then you brace for the screaming– the berating. Clumsy, stupid, idiot.

Nervously, you kneel down, tucking your hair behind your ear while you try to pick up the broken glass. What the hell is wrong with you? It’s obvious Niall had a bad day. So why couldn’t you just leave him alone? The last thing he needs is you making and being a mess.

“Sorry–“ you mutter, it’s so quiet though, you doubt he hears. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. You’re so anxious you don’t even grab a dustpan, you just start collecting pieces of shattered glass in your hand. Your vision quickly becomes blurry with tears as they streak down your cheeks.

“Shit,” you vaguely hear, but you don’t stop trying to clean up. You’re frantic, grabbing whatever you can off the floor before he can get more upset about it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Through your clouded vision, you can’t see what you’re collecting off the floor– all you know is that you have to keep cleaning it up.

“Baby, stop–”

The voice is distant.

“I promise I’ll clean it up,” you say, hands shaking so violently, you wonder how no pieces have sliced open your skin yet.

“Baby–”

It’s just background noise.

“Hey, hey, hey.”

You vaguely see a figure kneel beside you and before you can wave him away, Niall reaches out– hand cupping yours before forcing open your fingers. As soon as the glass is out of your hand, you see him reach up to toss it on the counter before kneeling back down to be on your level.

All it takes is one arm wrapping around your shoulders for you to break. Suddenly, you can’t hold back the sob that’s been sitting in your throat. The second it escapes from your lips, Niall pulls you into his chest tightly.

“C’mere,” he exhales, chin resting on your head while he slides the both of you back against the cupboard. You let out a choked gasp and cling to him.

His arm winds tightly around you, locking you in place. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes.

“I have to clean it up–” you cry.

“Shh,” he soothes. He rocks you on the floor like that, his arms wrapped around you securely. Your breathing is choppy as you shake against him. Niall grabs your bicep with his hand, holding you steady while his thumb rubs up and down your bare skin gently, trying to calm you down.

You’re not sure how long it takes for you to feel like you can think again. Time stands still as you settle into his embrace. Niall’s embrace– you remind yourself. Not your father’s. Because your father wouldn’t embrace you after yelling like that. And he certainly wouldn’t embrace you after you broke a dish.

After a while, your breathing gradually returns to normal again. Moments later, you feel him shift. “Did you cut yourself?” he asks carefully.

He supports the majority of your weight, all but lifting you off the floor before scanning the length of you.

You shake your head. At least you didn’t think you did.

Niall nods before reaching his hand out. “C’mon, let’s get away from the glass.”

You take it willingly, sighing as you feel the warmth from his palm spread through your hand. He guides you away from the pile of glass and towards the kitchen island. He helps you settle into one of the tall stools.

“Hey,” you hear him whisper. But you’re still staring at the mess, so worried about cleaning it up. Until you feel firm, but careful hands cupping each side of your face– forcing your attention to shift towards him. “Hey,” he repeats.

His calloused thumb trails along your cheek. Before you know what you’re doing, you’re leaning into his touch, craving his comfort.

“Did you cut yourself?” he asks again, clearly not trusting your earlier response.

To be fair– you’re not even sure that you trust your earlier response. By now, you feel like you’re actually back in your own body, and feel no pain. So you shake your head, this time more convincingly.

As soon as you give the confirmation that you’re alright, Niall takes a step forward and wraps his arms around your shoulders, crashing his body against yours.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, lips ghosting against the top of your head. “I didn’t mean to yell like that.”

You nod into his shirt, pinching the fabric between your fingers and breathing in the smell of him. Niall is not your dad, you repeat. Niall apologizes. Niall loves you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, you were slightly more calm. “I’m sorry I was so annoying– I’m sorry I broke the glass.”

You feel Niall shake his head above you. “No–” he says firmly. “I don’t give a shit about the glass. I had a shitty day,” he sighs. “A really shitty day. But that’s not your fault.”

“I should have just given you space.”

He shakes his head again, pulling back from his embrace to look at you earnestly. “No– We’re supposed to talk about things. I promised you I’d always talk to you about things, and I broke that today.”

He brushes a few loose strands of hair from your face, before wiping some stray tears stuck under your eyes. “I know how much yelling activates you– I know it sets you off, and I just wasn’t thinking.”

“You’re allowed to get annoyed,” you remind him. “And angry. You’re allowed to yell.”

“That’s not how you and I communicate,” he says. “That’s not ever how I want to communicate, and I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time”

Squeezing him tighter, you nod against his chest.

Because Niall is not your father and you believe him.

#niall horan fic #niall horan angst #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan imagine #niall horan x reader #niall horan x reader angst #niall horan x reader fanfic #niall horan x reader fic #niall horan #niall horan x you #niall horan x reader imagine

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 months ago

Note

hey author! how do you think the batboys would act if they had a best friends to lovers kinda of thing going on? like reader is their bro, their other half and then out of nowhere the batboys are like omg i love my best friend <3

Dick often made jokes in the past that it was only time before you two become the plot of a really bad romcom, two friends who pretty much did everything together, it was almost as if fate itself was trying to tell you something. A cliche friends to lovers trope just waiting to happen.

Now he couldn’t help but recognise the irony now as he holds his head in his hands, curse him and his loud fucking mouth for it always found its way to bite him in the ass sooner or later.

Dick didn’t mind falling in love, but to fall in love with your best friend after teasing about it happening for such a long time felt like karma for his teasing behaviour. He’s stuck trying to think of anything that didn’t remind him of you but unfortunately for Dick everything reminded him of you no matter where he looked, even his apartment was covered in things that you’ve left behind with no intention of taking back.

This has proven to be the perfect example of how much you’ve been overtaking his mind, slowly but surely before becoming all he could think of in his waking hours and his sleeping hours. It was driving him mad with how obvious his feelings must’ve been to the people closest to him.

You were all he knew in these moments and he was forced to be remained of his ever growing emotions with how he always seemed to be touching you in any capacity he could, his arm was often thrown over your shoulders in public or he’s holding you from behind as you stayed over at his place. He thrived off of your warmth and presence that it made going home to his place even more dull without you by his side to parent Hayley together, you’d make a great dog parent for all he was aware.

The signs were there and Dick was made to realise that he was the one who had fallen first out of the two of you, even though he wished it was you, and now all he could think was how he’d much rather have you live with him since you loved to leave your stuff at his place for convenience when you did spend the night. Hell you even cuddled together like a couple with you burying your head under his chin while he caged you against his chest with his arms as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Dick knew he’d have to make a move sooner or later before someone else swoops you up right in front of him.

Damian was having his own integral crisis once he realised that he wasn’t in fact ill and was infect feeling romantic feelings towards you.

He’s against it and heavily so that he would find himself putting distance between the two of you because of it as it wasn’t something he was ready to face.

It’s very much an ‘oh shit, oh god why?!’ Type of reaction and suddenly his walls are back up. Damian knows how dangerous it would be if you were either him, as if being friends with him already didn’t put a target on your back. Not only that but he was secretly scared of what these emotions could spell out for his future.

Would he be distracted in patrols and missions to come because his mind was fixated on you and your wellbeing?

Would he become sloppy in his fighting or would he become even more ruthless at the idea of something terrible happening to you under his watch?

Damian didn’t know and he wasn’t one to ask for help either so he would often retreat to his room and put his head in his hands and sigh. Emotions were more trouble than what they were worth and it often caused him frequent headaches in the process. Damian didn’t know what to do and so he could only hope that if he spend less time with you then the feelings would go away.

However owever this plan ultimately backfires on him as he finds himself missing your presence more then he’d ever admit at gunpoint, he’d even find himself drawing you how he saw you and he’s back to holding his head in his hands and groaning at how much of a bother these emotions were going to be.

He loves you but wasn’t willing to risk your safety by taking your friendship to the next level, but even if he ever did he’ll most likely have to teach you basic hand to hand combat to satiate his concern while he’s away from you. But until then he’d rather let the emotions die in his chest, no matter how much they burn him from the inside for he’s dealt with worse.

Jason would come to this realisation that he was in love with you when he found himself becoming more protective over you than normal. And I mean more than normal.

He’d be on patrol and the first person he looks out for is you, especially if your on an late shift at work, as he doesn’t trust Gotham in the slightest at night for that was when the city was at its upmost worst. He’s watching over you like a guardian angel, a rather violent guardian angel but only towards those who deserve such lethal and or permanent punishment from his gun.

He wants you to be safe on your journey home that sometimes after beating up some goons, he’s walking you home as red hood for extra protection before bidding you a goodnight. He doesn’t care how often he has to do it because he’ll gladly walk you home no matter what, your safety was Jason’s top priority and he knew he’d hate himself more then he already did should anything happen to you when he wasn’t nearby.

He knew he had fallen for you when he became softer and more affectionate towards you, whether that be holding you by the waist as he moved to grab a cup in the morning, kissing your temple as good morning greeting, holding your hand when he feels the need to distract himself by fiddling and intertwining your fingers together.

He even remember falling more for you when you reciprocated the touches with some of your own that lead to him falling into your arms, finding his much needed solace there as he realises just how much he wanted this to be a reality you both share together, a reality where you’d lie in bed tougher and wake the other up with kisses and sweet whispers of love and adoration you had for one another.

His apartment that felt cold and dead was more alight and filled with life when you came in through the door, decorating it with trinkets and other gifts that you bestowed upon him, but what made his apparent more alive and warm to Jason and that was you with your presence and Jason didn’t know how he’d manage to live his entire life without you being his rock and his reason for everything.

So needless to say that Jason felt as though that if he’d loose you he would be a man without a cause, a man without an anchor who could aways bring him back form the brink, he knew damn well that how he treated himself now would be nothing in comparison to how he would treat himself if you left his life.

Jason needed you like he needed air to breathe, how he was going to confess he wasn’t certain but he had a thing or two in mind.

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saerins · 1 year ago

Text

°୨୧ NO CONTEST

+ kaiser x f!reader | wc 2.8k | content: fluff, friends to lovers, slight hints of jealousy, mentions of alcohol, they go clubbing

notes: help me i think i made myself fall for this guy even more after writing this shit for him > ⤙ <

summary: being just friends doesn’t mean much when neither of you really want to keep it that way. problem is, will either of you make the first move?

SPOTTED: KAISER-KAIA DUO HIT THE STREETS, NEW BUDDING ROMANCE?

“i like you though, y/n.”

it’s spring and the weather outside is the nicest it’s ever been in a while and you have every chance to enjoy it except for the fact that dear michael kaiser is lounging on your couch, rifling through the magazine he got in the mail.

“right, haha, very funny,” you mumble sarcastically, slumping down onto the other couch where kaiser isn’t sprawled all over.

sometimes, you think it’s funny how he’s portrayed as this hot, sexy, confident soccer player who can do no wrong when it comes to matters with his looks, but then in private he’s like… well, this. his bed head’s a mess, his room slippers are the fluffy-fuzzy kind, and much less high maintenance than everyone makes him out to be. (but you have to stop yourself from staring because kaiser doesn’t sleep in anything but his sweatpants during this season and well, where his abs are concerned, he’s definitely got no problems there.)

kaiser sighs in the overdramatic fashion that’s probably his trademark right about now. “y/n, y/n, what do i have to do to make you believe me?” he turns around, smirking at you as he raises a brow. maybe it’ll work on his countless fangirls, but after being friends with him for over six years, you’re probably immune to it.

“maybe you can just shut up and get ready for your event later.” you roll your eyes, sauntering to the kitchen to get yourself some breakfast, automatically making two of everything because kaiser loves to crash your apartment in the morning. (he really does need to learn about personal space.)

breakfast preparations go quietly. kaiser listens to you—he shuts up and starts getting ready for his event before coming back into your apartment, all fresh and ready to shamelessly eat the breakfast you made, staring at you from across the table whenever you’re not looking like he always does.

“kaiser-kaia duo hit the streets, new budding romance?”

“miko, don’t tell me you’re reading that gossip rag too,” you whine, looking for any excuse not to dive into your pile of work for the day.

your colleague swivels her chair over to your cubicle, looking around to make sure your bosses aren’t around to witness the both of you slacking off. “hey, isn’t he your friend? give me the tea! are they really dating?”

leave it to miko to get all excited about dating rumours. you really don’t know what’s so special about them—kaiser’s gotten so many of them ever since, well, forever. even before he became a soccer superstar.

you remember what kaiser said in the morning. “i like you though, y/n.” always ready with that smooth tongue of his. that aside, if he really was dating someone, you bet that they’d be staying over with him more often than not, and there’s really no harm in rejecting a rumor as opposed to confirming one.

“nope, they just happened to be waiting for a cab at the same spot.” and paparazzis love to snap a shot from misleading angles. now that you’re really looking at the article, they managed to make it look like kaiser’s kissing her cheek. you find yourself rolling your eyes at it and looking away.

miko sighs, leaning back against her chair. “man, that sucks, they look cute,” she comments, scrolling away from the online article before she gives you a suspicious side eye. “hey, you sure you’re not dating him?”

you still a little at the sudden line of questioning before turning your attention back to your laptop equally quickly. “if i was, i wouldn’t be so free all the time now, would i?” a response to which miko shrugs off and decides to let go of as she retreats back to her desk.

as much as you love miko as your colleague, you haven’t been as honest with her as you could. she knows you’re friends with kaiser, yeah, but she doesn’t know he’s basically your neighbour. she doesn’t know that he comes over all the time whenever it’s off season. she doesn’t know that the both of you have fallen asleep next to each other on the couch.

she doesn’t know a lot of things—like how your heart’s beating erratically now at the notion of being someone special to kaiser. it’s always been sweet nothings that you thought would stay that way, and you’ve always been short at realising your own feelings, so much so you were, once upon a time, positive you had zero romantic feelings for your friend.

now? you’re not so sure anymore.

seven days pass and kaiser’s been pestering you every single moment you’re free—like he always does—but today’s kind of a special day because it’s your birthday and it’s an hour away from your dinner party yet you’re not even close to ready.

your hair’s wet, you’re still in your loungewear, you have no idea what to wear and kaiser’s just flipping through the channels, half bored to death. for his part, at least, he’s already ready.

it’s not even fair how he takes just half an hour to get ready and yet he looks like he does. hair perfectly soft, and he’s wearing a nice black suit with a wine red dress shirt underneath, his tattoos peeking out here and there. if he wasn’t a soccer player, he’d definitely either be a model or a very charming businessman.

“too handsome for you?” kaiser smirks as he catches you looking, and you have to spin on your heels to avoid getting flustered (to his face).

“shut up, kaiser, i haven’t found anything to wear,” you groan, making a beeline for your bedroom. you really wished your friends hadn’t booked a high-end restaurant for little old you—then you could literally just throw on anything and be done with it.

kaiser, completely comfortable in your apartment, strolls into your bedroom with you and starts browsing through your closet, ignoring your protests. within seconds, he finds a dress and holds it out, a lopsided smile filling his face. “how about this?”

the wine red satin dress hovers in front of you, and you have to swallow the lump in your throat before you speak, feeling the line getting blurry. “trying to get me to coordinate outfits with you or something?”

you’re trying your best but your voice quivers just a little bit, and you bet that smug smile on his face that he can hear it. “why not? we look good together,” he shrugs, as though it’s no big deal but it’s hard to stop yourself from overthinking when lately the two of you have been flirting more often and serious than usual.

rolling your eyes and trying not to be too late, you grab the dress from him and change into it, spending some time to yourself to recollect, internally cursing him for being able to make you this flustered over nothing at all.

by the time you come back out into the living room, hair all done and accessories settled, this time, kaiser’s the one who’s caught staring, shameless in the way his eyes drag over you from head to toe. you’d tease him for it, but you’re not entirely sure you’re ready for his comeback so you refrain.

as you grab your go-to black heels and sit down to strap them on properly, kaiser’s quick to offer a hand, his lithe fingers taking your heel from you, slowly inserting your feet, his eyes lingering on your face and his thumb rubbing circles around your ankle. your eyes are glued to his own, and somehow it makes you even more nervous when he’s not joking around. when he looks at you like this—serious, like he’s trying to tell you something without saying anything at all.

the way he ties the straps are gentle and precise, tight but not too tight that it’ll hurt you. you’ve jokingly told him to help you tie your shoelaces before but he’s always refused. yet now he’s helping you put on your heels on both feet without saying a word and the way his hand lingers on your calf when he’s done is enough to make you melt.

on some other day, you’d joke with him and get him to let go. today, you’re silent.

kaiser chuckles, though, his hand casually brushing up your calf slightly before he pulls away, gently patting your head as he gets up.

“let’s go.”

dinner is agonising, enjoyable, agonising.

it’s nice; being seated around a table, enjoying small talk and nonsense with the same group of friends, catching up with people like kaiser and ness who’s been away a lot because of their profession.

yeah, that part’s nice. what’s agonising about it all is how close kaiser is to you, how his right hand casually drapes around your shoulder from time to time, shifting down to your thigh sometimes, making you go crazy.

it’s not like the both of you haven’t been close before, but you feel like maybe this time, it’s different. it’s not just the close proximity, it’s the intimacy of it all that has you inwardly keeling over. what’s worse is that you think you want it, him. in a way you didn’t think to think of before.

“you sure you’re not dating him?”

miko’s words ring repeatedly in your head. somehow, your answer’s changed from nope to you sort of wish you did. you bite your lower lip, absentmindedly laughing along even if you didn’t hear the joke at all.

“you okay?” the voice in your ear nearly makes you jump up from your seat.

on your right, ness is grinning as he looks at you, like he knows something’s going on in that little head of yours. you shake your head anyway, but ness shoots you a knowing smile as his eyes briefly shift to kaiser’s arm around you before winking at you.

fuck, is that really enough to make the heat rush to your cheeks?

“y/n?” one of your other friends calls out, snapping you back to the foreground.

“what?”

“next stop: new club downtown! orange, or grape, or whatever the fuck name it is,” he drawls, excited, “you up for it?”

before you even get the chance to agree, one of the other guys speaks up. “hey kaiser, speaking of clubs, didn’t that dating rumour come up recently? the one with, uh, kaia?”

readjusting himself, kaiser pulls away from you, taking a swig of his beer. “don’t remind me,” he groans, sighing.

“why not? she’s hot!”

there’s a knot in your stomach that you can’t explain.

beside you, ness snickers. “tell ‘em what really happened, stupid.”

that manages to pique your interest.

kaiser sighs, resigning because he knows they’ll just keep hounding him if he refuses. “she tried her luck, that’s all,” he settles for something vague, trying to escape.

ness, however, ever the kind soul, expands on his words, making sure you hear every single bit—you’re not sure if he’s trying to egg you on or just see your reaction.

“please, she was trying to get you to send her home, no?” ness’ explanation gets a reaction out of the group, and you’re glad you all have a private room here so no one outside can hear you, servers included.

“shut up.”

“kaia and kaiser—has a nice ring to it.”

and even though kaiser doesn’t entertain that, you feel a little envy brewing inside you—one that you fail to drown out.

orange is filled with people; combining the fact that it’s holiday season and it’s the club’s launch night, it’s safe to say that there’s barely any room to breathe. still, your friends are all drunk on the alcohol, pulling one another to the dance floor, leaving you and kaiser at the table.

he’s still close as ever, his bare hands brushing yours, one of his arms around your waist, keeping you close.

“dance with me,” he raises his voice over the music. the way he smiles so genuinely now managing to make your heart skip a beat.

suppressing your grin, you wordlessly agree, letting him lead you onto the dance floor. he meanders the crowd skilfully, as expected considering he and ness are frequent clubbers. it’s only now that you realise you’d never gone to such a place with him, which is surprising considering your many years of friendship.

as you join your friends on the floor, you can’t help but notice how kaiser sticks to you and you alone, his hands on your waist, trickling up and down your arm, dancing along behind you. even surrounded by people, he commands your attention alone.

unfair.

but to kaiser, it’s unfair too. it’s not fair how you’re so pretty, it’s not fair how you’ve always been. it’s not fair that he’d fallen slowly for you, and now so so deep. how is it fair that even when he tries to forget you, when he tries not to mess with the friendship, that he ends up falling even more?

his eyes stay glued on you, shamelessly making sure no other man gets their hands on you—it’s fucking insulting how they try to get you to dance with them even when he’s right there. lucky for him, you’re not budging. you’re there. with him. only him. even if your other friends are here.

it’s just him and you and he wonders what you’re thinking. are you as flustered as he is right now? kaiser hasn’t even let himself drink more than one mug of beer, all because he knows this is a night he’d rather remember than risk forgetting.

“hey, isn’t that kaia?” one of your friends excitedly points out and kaiser follows his line of sight.

it is her, and she’s heading this way—but that’s not really important because what’s important is how kaiser noticed you’ve stopped dancing, awkwardly trying to shuffle away. it’s kind of funny, he swears he can tell that you might feel the same way about him. maybe you’re just more stubborn than he is.

so he keeps his arms around you, pulling you close.

“stay with me,” he whispers into your ear, and he suppressed a grin from the goosebumps searing across your neck. he guesses it’s a good sign you’re listening to him.

“kaiser, what’s up?” kaia greets, evidently trying to move for a hug but kaiser’s not budging, squeezing you closer instead.

he nods at her in acknowledgement before letting the rest of his friends throng around her for a photo.

once she’s sufficiently busy, he hears you speak up. “were you dancing with her that time too?”

kaiser manages not to snicker at your obviously jealous tone, “yeah, we went with a few other people after our shoot was wrapped up.”

you nod, and all kaiser can think of somehow is that your shampoo smells so nice. “oh, sure you don’t wanna dance with her again tonight then?”

are you testing him? it’s cute.

he shakes his head. “nah, i danced with her a lot that time already,” he teases, though he’s not too sure whether you’d take it like a joke like it was meant to. when you don’t respond, he chuckles, gently turning you to face him. “there’s one thing i didn’t do with her though.”

kaiser’s face is just inches away from yours, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek and he’s aware that everyone in the close vicinity is looking at the two of you but he doesn’t care.

honestly, he has to admit, he’s dreamed of doing this a thousand times over, always hovering between the decision to ruin this friendship or not. the thoughts were there whenever he’d wake up next to you on the couch. or whenever all of you met up and one of the other guys would throw their arms around you. or in the mornings when you made breakfast. there’s not a time he’s been sure whether this is what you wanted too.

hell, he’s not even sure now. but fuck, if he wastes another minute not trying he thinks he’ll kill himself for it. and he’s hoping to god this isn’t a dream because you’re not pulling away and you’re not treating this like a joke and it can only be because you want this too.

without another thought, his lips press against yours and it’s like the loud music drowns out into the background, getting lost and fading away. suddenly it’s like you’re the only thing in front of him and fuck, you taste even better than he can ever imagine.

“fuck,” he exhales, cheeks pressed against yours. “be mine?”

still breathless from that kiss, you chuckle weakly and nod, both of you earning whoos all around the room. (you make a mental reminder to tell miko before she winds up seeing this online before you get a chance to explain.)

and just like that, kaiser’s finally gotten the girl of his dreams.

“want you, baby, just you.”

the next morning, the two of you make the headlines.

LIPS LOCKED: KAISER & RUMORED GIRLFRIEND SHOW OFF THEIR LOVE

#bllk x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x you #kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #michael kaiser fluff #kaiser fluff #kaiser x reader fluff #૪ aeri’s fics !

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ilguna · 1 year ago

Text

☼ whisper of the beast (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; on your own, you try to find your boyfriend in the arena. instead, you run across something much, much worse.

warnings; swearing, death, weapon usage, ehhh gore, blood mention.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 11. "Just keep breathing. In and out. You're doing great."

—

There is something seriously horrifying going on with this arena, and each time you think you get close to figuring it out—it changes.

The only consistent factor in each of your theories is the jungle, and that’s because it’s the root of the fear. When you travel through the greenery for long periods of time, a creeping feeling grows on you, one that you can’t shake unless you make your way back to the beach.

Which is far from safe, itself. Especially since there are nine other tributes alive here, roaming around, hunting for lone victors. For it only being the second day of the Games, it’s remarkable that so many are dead, already. With six of them dying today, alone.

It makes you think that you’re being overly paranoid, because you’re out here by yourself. It’s a completely new experience to you. The first time around, during your Games, the Career alliance lasted up until the very last second. You never had to keep an eye out for yourself, because you had others with you that were doing the same thing.

You were under the impression that you’d be doing that for these Games, too, but nothing has gone according to plan. You and Finnick had a long discussion the night of the interviews on what to expect regarding corralling Katniss and Peeta into the alliance. Neither of you thought it would be easy. Worst case scenario, you’d grab one and he’d get the other, and the two of you would meet up somewhere in the middle.

The Gamemakers really must have it out for you this year, determined to keep you and Finnick apart. That’s why they decided to put you on the opposite side of the Cornucopia, keeping you from seeing Finnick. While also putting Brutus in your water wedge, to ensure that you wouldn’t be able to reach him.

By the time you fought off Brutus and got to the Cornucopia, all three of them were gone. The only option you had left was to wait for Johanna and Blight, but with them still in the water and the Careers coming to take over, you had to leave. There wasn’t a choice in the matter.

Since, you’ve spent your time traveling through the jungle and taking the occasional rest on the beach, in the hopes that you’ll run across your boyfriend. The search was casual yesterday, as you were more worried about finding drinking water than the rebel alliance. Now that the numbers are spiraling, you know that the rescue plan is right around the corner.

You’re confident enough to say that they won’t do it today, but it’s got to be tomorrow or the day after. They won’t have Katniss and Peeta openly in danger like this for longer than they have to. You likely have less than forty-eight hours to find them, or else you’ll get trapped in here and taken by the Capitol.

You would say that you wish you had a general idea on which direction they went in yesterday, but it probably won’t make much of a difference. With the amount of people dying in these trees, you’re sure Finnick is directing them the opposite way, just in case.

It’s another reason why you can’t stand to be in the jungle for long periods of time. From what you’ve gathered, at least half of the tributes that have died today so far, have come from somewhere in the trees. It makes you think that something is out here, and it’s more than just a rogue tribute.

In fact, it would make more sense for it to be a mutt of some kind. In the last Quarter Quell, they were everywhere. There was not a single animal that a tribute could trust to be friendly. On top of that, there were aspects of the arena that took them by surprise.

It appeared to be the most breathtaking place imaginable. The Cornucopia was in the middle of a vibrantly green meadow, the sky a perfect blue, with fluffy white clouds. In the distance, there was a snow capped mountain, one that looked straight out of a picture book. On the other side, a healthy forest with plants you couldn’t name.

Of course, it was all too good to be true. The mountain was revealed to be a deadly volcano, the plants were poisonous, the water was infected with a disease, the insects stung and the flowers could kill when inhaled too closely. Everything that was placed in that arena was working against them.

Who’s to say it’s not the same for this one?

You pause next to a nearby tree to rest your feet, because they’re throbbing in your shoes. You lift one, stretching your thigh, feeling the immediate relief that comes with being off the foot. After a minute, you switch, but it doesn’t feel as good this time around.

When you reach up to run a hand through your hair to smooth it back, you find that your scalp is wet, soaked from sweating so much. It feels much hotter today than it was yesterday, like the Gamemakers are trying to boil you alive. It’s brutal enough being in here, do they really need to make it any worse?

You dip your head, eyes closed while you take a deep breath, sighing it out. You return to walking, paying attention to where you place your feet.

It might make more sense for you to go down to the beach and wait for Finnick, Katniss and Peeta to show up. The issue is that you’re not willing to take the risk of the Careers spotting you while you’re down there. The four of them could easily get you pinned down. You’ll be dead before you can call for help.

A branch rustling behind you makes your next step stutter. Your eyes widen, as you slowly look across the fern in front of you, to the left of your vision. With sensitive ears, you adjust the spear in your hand, turning your body halfway to look behind you, at the tree you were just standing at.

There’s nothing.

You take a minute to search the trees around you, backtracking to get a better look. Even if it’s just a critter, you want to know. If there’s living animals out here, that means there’s a water source—and you won’t have to depend on your sponsors to keep you hydrated.

There’s not a trace. At least, that’s what you think, until your eyes catch the hoof print in the mud. Your face contorts, you drop into a crouch to get closer, curious on what could’ve made a mark like this. As far as your knowledge on the jungle goes, there shouldn’t be anything that could leave this behind.

The goosebumps that crawl up your arms are involuntary, stomach dropping. The safety blanket that the jungle had been providing seconds ago, is gone now. There’s something in here with you, and it was smart enough to run when it made noise.

You raise your head, thinking about the best way to handle this situation, when your heart seizes in your chest.

What the fuck is that.

In one fluid movement, you jump to your feet, turning in the direction of the beach, and beginning to sprint down the slope. A screech cuts through the previously quiet air, piercing your ears enough to make you wince at the pitch.

And then you can hear it galloping behind you, hands and feet pounding against the spongy jungle ground. A scream rises in your throat, terrified to look behind you to see how fast this thing actually is.

You take the chance when you swing around a tree, stealing a glance over your shoulder.

Whatever it is, it’s demonic.

You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s coming at you on all fours, there’s hooves where its feet should be, with long and pointed nails on its fingers. Its fur is so black that you can’t make out where its eyes are, or if it has any skin exposed at all. It’s a beast straight out of one of your nightmares.

It isn’t fast by any means, but it’s not slow, either.

You can hear it tearing up a path behind you, trampling through the bushes, ripping bark off trees. As the path between the trees narrows, the jungle becomes more condensed. You hear less of it coming in contact with the ground, thumping replacing the noise.

Until it stops altogether.

Your instincts take over, jerking to the right, shoulder slamming into the tree. You watch in silence as the beast flies by where you were a second ago, claws out and ready to latch on. It comes into contact with the ground about ten feet away, head whipping unnaturally to see over its shoulder.

“No, no!” You let out, beginning to weave through the trees.

A snarl rips through its throat at the idea of you outsmarting it. It’s coming for you, and there’s nothing you can do besides run for your life and dodge it each time it tries to attack.

You play this game for what feels like an hour, but it can’t be more than twenty minutes. You make it half a mile down the slope, knowing that the beach can’t be that far away from where you are, when you realize that it’s gone. The monster that has been chasing you has given up.

You lean over your knees, mouth watering, throat beginning to close. As you gasp for air, your body tries to expel some of the heat by making you sweat, but all that’s doing is making you sick. You think you might throw up.

Right as you’ve come to terms with losing all the water and food in your body, spit falling from your mouth in long strings, a shadow on the ground grows larger. Your face twists, thinking that something must be falling, like a leaf.

It hits you, literally, flattening you against the ground, head hitting the dirt. It digs in, nails cutting through skin as it tears through your back and arms, shredding your jumpsuit. A scream leaves your lips, a white hot and blinding pain smothering you all at once.

Your hand tightens around the spear, cheek against Earth as the beast presses into your shoulders, keeping you from moving. Still, with the small amount of mobility you have, you swing the head of the spear up, toward yourself, narrowly missing your left shoulder.

It lodges into the beast, causing it to roar in pain. You shove the pole further back, hoping that it pushes into its body deeper. The weight on your shoulders disappears, you can hear it stumbling away.

In the window you have, you get back to your feet, ignoring the screaming pain your entire backside is in. You just need to make it to the beach, it’s not that far away, you’ve covered this distance in your sleep before. It’s harder to do, though, when every hard step you take makes you grit your teeth to keep from crying out.

The beast is catching up with you, recovering from its wound. It’s faster than you are, and it’s completely disregarding everything in its path. Nothing can slow it down. You can see the golden sand through the trees, you’re almost there.

A body jumps out from behind a bush, making you run into it. For a moment, you’re sure that it’s an exact replica of the monster behind you, but once you realize that you’re staring at another tribute jumpsuit, the panic subsides. But only for a second.

“Move!” You shriek, trying to get around him. He grabs the sides of your arms, holding you there.

You look up, finding that you’re standing face to face with the male tribute from Ten—someone who is not part of the rebel alliance, and doesn’t care whether or not you make it out alive. When you glance over your shoulder, you can see that the beast is getting closer. It’s not going to stop until it gets its hands on somebody.

And it won’t be you.

The only choice you have is to sacrifice him, so that’s exactly what you do. You jerk him around, switching places with him, forcing his back to the beast. His eyes widen, mouth opening to say something, when you pull back from him, lifting your leg to kick him in the chest.

The beast takes him gratefully, landing on his back. He stumbles forward, struggling under the weight of the beast. You watch in horror as its jaws unhinge, revealing razor sharp teeth. It throws its head back, before whipping forward, mouth securing around the tribute’s neck.

And with no resistance, he rips out a chunk of the flesh. A spray of blood hits you in the face, and it coats the jungle floor. You back away with wide eyes, watching as Ten’s legs can’t hold him up anymore, body collapsing in the dirt beneath the beast.

A cannon fires.

You turn, making the final push for the beach before it can come after you, too.

The moment your feet hit the sand, it begins to drag you down, keeping you from running as far away as your mind is screaming for you to go. You make it a few feet before landing on your hands and knees, sucking in sharp breaths and letting them out aggressively.

That was almost you. That could’ve been you.

You try to crawl, hands forming in fists in the sand, tears falling from your eyes.

“(Y/n)?” You hear. There’s a headache forming, black spots coming to eat away at the corners of your vision. “(Y/n), hey.”

A hand touching your lower back makes you swing a hand up to get them off. Your wrist is caught, eyes meeting Finnick’s, finding him worried.

“You’re okay, honey. I’m right here.” He pulls at your elbow to make you sit up on your knees.

You grab onto his shoulder, struggling to breathe, “It—it… The—”

Finnick takes your hand placing it against his chest. “Follow me.” He takes a deep breath, you try to follow, stuttering. He blows it out, you sob. “Come on, (Y/n). Just keep breathing. In and out.” You mimic his breaths, allowing them to even out. “You’re doing great.”

“Finnick.” You cry, head falling forward.

He cups your face with both hands, lifting your head. He’s only a couple inches away from you. “You’re safe with me, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He wipes your tears away with his thumbs. “Do you want to tell me what’s in there?”

You look away, eyes too intense to stare into. “A monster.”

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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reidmania · 7 months ago

Note

Hiii, I’m sorry if this is super awkward, I’ve never sent a request before. (If this has been done before please ignore it). A reader who is really, really clumsy. Like walks into walls, drops everything, constantly having bruises that they dong know how they got there, and they’ve been made self conscious of being clumsy because lots of people have made fun of them? Reader falls down the stairs, or something like that, while carrying something of boyfriend!Spencer’s, maybe a gift for him or something to do with doctor who that he really likes? Like a figurine or something like that. It gets broken slightly, it can be fixed easily, but reader freaks out thinking that Spencer will be super upset and angry with them? But ofc Spencer just cares that reader is okay and not hurt?

If this is a really bad idea please ignore it, I’m not very good with ideas lol. Thanks :)

CLUTZ | spencer reid

summary; reader is shattered when they accidentally breaks the gift they got for spencer, while spencer only cares about them.

warnings; gn reader, mentions of being clumsy, crying, mentions of being insecure, mentions blood and bruises, grazes and injuries, hurt x comfort

an; you didn’t specify a gender so i just made it gender neutral i think but i saw this right before going to my birthday dinner and was ACHING to write it. this is so cute thank u so much for requesting

You think you stopped breathing.

There was a rough thumping in your chest, so you knew you were still alive — as much as you wished you weren’t in this moment — but you think you stopped breathing.

The ground held the pieces of the plastic figurine. The one you had spent waiting in line all morning for the minute Spencer said he wanted it — unfortunately he had to work so he wouldn’t be there and would likely miss out.

You wouldn’t have that when you saw how badly he wanted it.

Only in this moment you couldn’t stop thinking about how if he had been the one to get it, there wouldn’t be broken pieces of the figurine all over the floor right now.

You were making it a bigger deal in your head than what it was, it wasn’t in many pieces, the plastic head had just fallen off, but built up guilt and insecurity made its way through your veins and buried themselves right behind your eyes pushing the tears forward.

You always did this.

No matter what it was, spilling coffee on yourself, tripping up stairs or over your own feet, dropping things or walking into desks and doors. No matter what — you were constantly covered in bruises, no matter how much you tried to be careful its like your body never alined with what was in front of you.

“Baby?” You looked up from the floor where the broken figurine laid. You hadn’t realised you were in fact breathing — although it came out uneven and harsh as you struggled to calm the build of anxiety in your blood stream.

Your eyes landed on Spencer as he looked over you worryingly. Maybe you should’ve stood up from where you had tripped, landing on your knees which were now bleeding with grazes.

You had messaged Spencer to meet you outside, however you had not expected to trip over your own feet in excitement sending the figurine out of your hands and your body to the ground.

You suddenly felt the pain coursing through your legs, a small sound of pain ushered your lips as the tears lining your eyes began to cloud your vision, causing Spencer to be covered by blurry vision.

“Im sorry” You ushered out as your hands sprawled open and closed as you tried to calm yourself down but it wasn’t working. Spencer didn’t say anything for a moment as he bent down to your level, offering a hand to you.

“What happened angel?” His tone was so soft, so gentle, so sweet. The tone you couldn’t feel less deserving of. You took his hand as his other pressed gently under your other arm to help you out as his eyes scanned over your body, lips parting as his eyes settled on the blood pooling a little around the graze on your knees.

“Im so sorry — I am such an idiot! I don’t even- I was just walking, Spence Im so sorry, I know how bad you wanted this and I just completely ruined it, i ruined the entire thing and they’re all sold out I got the second last one, Im so sorry.” You rambled as hot tears fell from your eyes as you blinked, they burnt their trail down your cheeks leaving their residue aflame.

“What?” Spencer furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as his eyes looked down to the floor to the figure that was in two parts. He looked back at you as his eyebrows furrow deepened. His hands gracing over your side in the gentlest touch, just allowing their comforting presence to be known. “Who cares about that— How about you come inside and I’ll clean you up yeah?” He said softly, eyes dropping back down to your knees.

“I care!! And you do!! You wanted this, Spence — And - and i wanted to do this for you. You do so much for me and I couldn’t even get you a bloody gift without completely ruining it.” You ushered out in a broken sob as your hands rose to your face to provide somewhat of a soothing sensation to your skin that felt like on the verge of ashes from the tears that grazed them — but it made no difference.

Spencer frowned as he listened to you speak, his hand paused softly on your hips before rising your face, replacing your hands with his own as he cupped your cheeks softly. “I care about you angel. I care that you are bleeding right now. I care that you are obviously in pain and you are more worried about something that we can fix” He said softly, his thumb rubbing over your cheek softly.

You didn’t say anything as you leaned into his touch instinctively. “Im sorry” You repeat gently as your hands frail by your side. The tears don’t stop but they fall more silently as they continue to fill your eyes no matter your attempt to blink them away.

He coos, “Theres nothing you have to be sorry about sweetheart. You did nothing wrong. Can we get you inside and clean you up?” He speaks so gently and softly it makes your stomach tighten and your chest clench as if someone is holding it in a death grip. — how you deserved him was beyond you.

“I always do this” You mutter, shaking your head. His hands are brushing hairs away from your face and thumbs are brushing the hot tears that fall, his hands providing a cooling sensation over the burning paths of the tears. “I suck” You laugh out, but it’s not all that funny.

He shakes his head as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, before he leant down to pick up the figurine that landed on the floor between you and him. You watch his hands work and in moments the head is reattached, theres a little bit a scrape on the plastic of it, but nothing big.

“Easy fix honey. I love it, and don’t get me wrong I am so insanely grateful for you and that you went out of your way to get it but i’m more worried about you” He said, his hand coming to the back of your head to softly drag you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a soft hug that he knew you needed.

You bury your face in the warmth of his sweater vest, his lips kissing your hair softly repeatedly. “Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up.. Can you do that for me honey?” He almost whispered as his fingers smoothed out your hair gently.

You finally nodded into his chest as the tears subsided, your breathing came out shaking but less heavy and throaty than it was previously. His comfort providing you a the resemblance of a lifeline.

He thanked you softly as he took his hands in yours, leading you inside the figurine tight in his other hand as he looks over every few steps to make sure you were okay, he could see the pain evident in your face in every step you took and he wanted nothing more than to scoop you up and carry you to his desk but he knew you would just be embarrassed by the attention from other people looking, so instead his hand squeezed your hand gently.

Finally you relaxed against the wall of the elevator and Spencers hands were instantly tucked under your thighs, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. “Spence” You whisper out as your face goes red.

“It’s just my team, baby. Id rather you not in pain” He said softly as his hand pressed against the small of your back softly. You did nothing more than sigh in response as your head rested against his shoulder softly.

He was bringing you to his desk and placing you gently in his chair only moments later. He was on his knees in seconds, fingers searching through his draw for antiseptic wipes that he kept in there constantly for two reasons.

1, because the world was gross.

2, because you were always getting yourself hurt.

“Gonna sting baby” He said softly, hands working to peel over the individual wrapping. You felt the burn when the wipe hit the graze on your knee, a quiet wince left your lips as your face screwed up.

Spencer frowned as he leant up to the top of your knee over the skin he had just cleaned and pressed his lips softly against it, as his hand continued wiping over the graze gently. “I know darling, Im sorry.” He whispered quietly.

You let the feeling of his lips against your skin take over the pain. His hand scrambled softly back in his draw for bandages.

“Im sorry” You muttered again as he places the bandaids gently across the scarred skin. He looked up at you with eyes filled with nothing but admiration and love, the look making your stomach drop in a way you couldn’t explain if your life depended on it.

He tsked slightly, shaking his head as he pressed his lips gently over your knee again, “No apologies, cmon” He said softly as he used a new wipe to clean his hands before taking yours in his own. “It was an accident. You couldn’t control it and you have no reason to apologise for it, as long as you are okay, I don’t care about anything else” He spoke clearly with so much intent you felt in piece through the insecurity that build up your body.

He leant up to place a gently kiss on your lips. “Are you okay?” He asked softly, once his lips separated from yours he stood up properly, hands remaining in yours as his thumb rubbed over the soft skin on the back of your hair softly.

You wondered how he put up with it, how he put up with you — but then he would looked at you with eyes full of admiration and his hands would graze your skin so softly as if you were something so delicate. He would talk to you as if his entire world depended on protecting you, and then there was no room for insecurity or doubt in your mind when it was all too consumed with him.

“Im okay.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds show #criminal minds x reader #criminalmindsfans #spencer criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #wattpad #criminal minds one shot #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid

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saladscream · 1 month ago

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Merlin’s throat is distracting.

Arthur is not sure when that came to be. The realisation crept up on him stealthily, until one day he became aware that he’d been staring at the pale column of his manservant’s neck for close to a full minute.

His only excuse for the disconcerting fascination is that… It’s a nice column. Smooth. Solid. A grain of skin as fine as alabaster. It is rather shocking that a commoner should parade around with such a flawless bodily feature, but by now Arthur is resigned to Merlin eluding the rules of propriety and class conventions. By all rights, Merlin should have a peasant’s neck – sinewy, weathered, pimpled, with creases of age-old encrusted filth. Not a Roman statue’s milky throat and perfect collarbones.

Because, yes, Merlin’s collarbones are works of bloody art too. And for everyone’s peace of mind, Arthur would rather not dwell on said offending clavicles, for gazing too long at them makes his tongue long for truly disturbing acts.

So Merlin’s throat is without blemish and Arthur believes the damn neckerchief is responsible for this hideous state of affairs. It wraps around Merlin’s neck like a loving, clingy embrace and protects it from the elements as much as from covetous looks. Arthur doubts the scrap of material is a vanity on Merlin’s part. He reckons that it rather serves a grimly mundane purpose, such as always having a convenient rag on hand to mop up spills or garrot a bleeding limb. But the fact remains that it acts as a virtuous shield against the less-than-virtuous designs of the beholder.

Arthur doesn’t know whether he loves or loathes the infuriatingly familiar piece of fabric. He sometimes wonders if Merlin is aware that his neckerchiefs were all cut from a couple of Arthur’s old cloaks.

Today, some spiteful deity somewhere must be upset with Arthur because the neckerchief is not there to serve its chaste and merciful function, leaving Merlin’s throat indecently exposed. And to make matters worse, there’s a small streak of soot or charcoal down the side of Merlin’s usually immaculate neck. The little black smudge is neat and innocent in its own way, but it stares Arthur boldly in the face – enticing him, daring him.

It would be so easy for Arthur to take it upon himself to lick his thumb and make the impertinent little mark go away. But that way lies madness. And indignity. And too much explaining. So Arthur closes his hand over his thumb and waits for the urge to pass.

Of course, it doesn't.

The wicked smudge is playing coy but challenges him nonetheless.

In desperation, Arthur catches Merlin’s gaze and nods at him, doing some elaborate finger wiggling to indicate on his own neck where the offending smudge stands, hoping the prat will get his meaning.

Of course, he doesn’t.

Instead, the ever-helpful Merlin comes to inspect Arthur’s neck, leaning closely into his space, squinting and mumbling an asinine ‘I can’t see anything’.

And that, gentle reader, is exactly why they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Arthur is now forced into sinful proximity with not only with the elegant throat and the lick-worthy collarbones, but also a remarkable shock of dark hair.

A Merlin-scented shock of dark hair.

@miyriu @neptunesyellowsands

1 - Merlin's eyes

2 - Merlin's lips

3 - Merlin's hands

4 - Merlin's throat

5 - Merlin's hair

6 - Merlin's ears

7 - Merlin's legs

8 - Merlin's forearms

9 - Merlin's chest

#merthur #merlin #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #merlin x arthur #merlin ficlet #merthur ficlet #anatomy of a manservant

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billiesbossanovas · 1 month ago

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Shut out

One shot

long ish?

Billie x gn!reader

Angst to comfort

Billies been grumpy for a week, you break down infront of her for the first time.

Billie is on a break from tour, and to say it had been going horribly was an understatement. She came home a week and a half ago in a funk, she’s due to leave again In a few days. You were starting to feel down, the full time she’d been home she’d barely spent any time with you. She’d go to bed late at night once you were already asleep, you tried to plan dates you could do at home, movie nights, ordering take out, home made dinner dates- but she was always busy, or too tired.

It started wearing you down, in the past couple of the day’s arguments started out of nowhere, you asked if you could tag along when she mentioned how she had plans with Finneas to out for lunch and she ranted about how it was her first tour without him and she hadn’t seen him in months, but you hadn’t seen her in months. She barely spoke to you. It didn’t help when you saw a few days later Claudia’s Instagram had a photo of them at lunch together. The full time she’d been home you had no affection, not even as much as a forehead kiss before she went to sleep. It was making you exhausted mentally, you didn’t want to get out of bed, yet you felt selfish for feeling so upset about her being upset over your going wrong.

Currently you sat on the couch, your favourite movie on the tv, Billie would watch it all the time and make fun of how into it you got, though right now she’s busy at one of her friends house, having a party or hanging out with people she hadn’t seen in a while- you couldn’t keep track of what she said. Your blinking had started slowing down, so you decided to get up from the couch, make your way into the kitchen and make yourself a nice hot cup of coffee to keep yourself awake, a smile creeped its way into your face as the smell filled the kitchen, one of your favourites. The coffee was done in less than a minute, you sighed and picked the cup up, taking a sip of it, looking at the clock it read, eleven fifty two pm, it was late, you’d usually be in bed by now, but being the stubborn person you are, you had decided to wait up for Billie and talk to her about how you’d been feeling, how it wasn’t fair to be shut out all the time, especially when all you want is to spend some time with her before she leaves for another couple of months for tour.

Another hour passed by, your eyes are barely open, the exhaustion starting to get the better of you. Any hints of tiredness leave your body as soon you hear the click of the door lock and keys being hung up, you stand up and walk over to meet Billie by the door way to the living room, she looks at you confused, as if wondering why you were up. You take in breathe before looking at her “can.. can we talk.. please?” It comes out barely above a whisper, Billie rolls her eyes and flicks her shoes off before nodding, she walks past you into the living room and sits on the couch, you sit next to her, already feeling your emotions getting the better of you, and you’ve never friend infront of her before, or around her, not even while she was in the house.

Billie looks over to you and rubs her face, she looks at you as if she’s annoyed by your presence, she’s tired, you tell by the way she’s slumped over, resting her face in the hands. “Well.. what is it y/n?” She sounds uninterested, as if you’d just spent hours talking to her about cardboard.

You open your mouth to speak, all that comes out is her name, it’s barely above a whisper, but she hears it, she hears the way your voice breaks and you cut yourself. She straightens herself up, she wasn’t expecting that, not from you. “I-..” you try again and blink back tears that pool in the corner of your eyes. “Please stop shutting me out-“ is all you manage to get out, it’s nothing compared to the long rant you had planned to lay on her. That didn’t matter anymore, all you could focus on was the fact you were crying, no sobbing. Infront of Billie, she blinks a few times, she’d never seen you anything other than a tiny bit upset. She’d never seen you cry before, let alone breakdown, and for her to be the cause of it made her stutter over her words to try and comfort you as she rushed to pull you into her, letting you sobbing to her chest as she carded one hand through your hair and the other held onto your back, her thumb rubbing soft circles.

“My love..” she starts, it’s a whisper, you barely catch it over the sound of your own sobs, you felt stupid, so unbelievably stupid for the way you’re feeling. “I’m so sorry” she mumbles into the top of your head as she kisses it. “I haven’t been considering your feelings, I’m sorry” it was as if she was reading your mind as she spoke “I’ve been so shitty to you baby, I’ll be better.” Billie starts gently rocking you side to side, her hand still playing with your hair, and the other now just holding onto you, pulling you firm against her.

Nothing else is said for a while, your sobs have slowly become sniffles, Billie quite frankly didn’t know what to do, it was the first time she’d had to comfort you that way, all she could was hum to you and hold you tightly, and it worked, it comforted you, relaxed you, more so because Billie had given you attention again, had shown you love after so long if not being in her arms properly.

You pulled away to look up at her, your eyes puffy and cheeks red, she smiled and kept hold of your arms, she leaned forward and kissed both your cheeks, one hand moved to cup one of your hands, wiping away the tears that still dripped down, she sighs and gives you a soft smile. “I promise, the next couple of days will be me and you love.” You give her a small smile I response. “I love you so much” she mumbles as she rests her forehead against yours closing her eyes.

“I love you.”

#billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish #HMHAS #hmhas billie eilish #tour #Billie Eilish x reader #billiesbossanovas

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dreaming-medium · 1 year ago

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Stray Kids Kinktober Day 2

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Titfucking - Hyunjin

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Hyunjin was always staring— he wasn’t as conspicuous as he originally thought. It’s time to take matters into your own hands.

———————————————————

It was about six months into your relationship when you clocked Hyunjin’s slight obsession with your chest.

Well, slight is putting it gently.

In the beginning you chocked it up to him just being a man with wandering eyes and a libido to challenge that of a Roman emperor. After all, it’s not uncommon for one to stare, especially when you wear a lower collared shirt.

Then, the first time the two of you went to the club together as a couple, he could not keep his hands to himself the entire time. Even surrounded by all of your friends, when he danced behind you, his thumb would ‘accidentally’ brush the underside of your tits.

Most mornings when one of you stays over at the other’s apartment, you’ll wake up with his arms around you. His hips will be pressed against your ass and one hand up your shirt, cupping your naked breast.

His morning wood would harden the more he woke up and he would continuously fondle you even more until he eventually straddles you and fucks you like your life depends on it.

You catch Hyunjin staring all the time.

It doesn’t bother you, no, not in the slightest. In fact, quite the opposite. You absolutely love the extra attention he gives your chest.

As someone who’s had extreme sensitivity there for your entire life, it feels like you’ve hit the jackpot. Well, both of you did.

If the two of you are spooning on the couch watching a movie, all it takes is one lithe hand slithering underneath your shirt and you’re suddenly the horniest you’ve ever been.

And the bastard knows it, too. It’s a win-win situation for the both of you. Especially when you get to be on top. You get to ride Hwang Hyunjin and he gets to watch your tits bounce before his very eyes like a private show.

Still, even after all this time, he will not admit to your face how much he gets off thinking about your tits and your tits alone.

But, that was all going to change tonight if everything was going to follow your plan.

With a new comeback just a month away, the poor thing has been stressed out of his mind. Every morning, Hyunjin wakes up before you and goes to bed after you.

Lately, you’ve taken to sleeping and basically living out of his apartment just so he can hold you at night.

There’s a few texts throughout the day; he’ll send you selfies of his stage outfits, videos of choreography, voice notes of random stories about the boys. But you’d be lying if you said your thoughts were less than pure when consuming whatever he gives you.

In one video, he was showing you the new choreo to a song and the only thing you were able to focus on was the movement of his hips. How is he able to do that so fluidly?

That was your final straw.

It was Friday night, he didn’t have to be at the studio until early afternoon tomorrow. And you planned on using that to your advantage.

Hyunjin was going to walk through that door any minute now, and he had no idea what’s waiting for him.

It’s close to midnight when the apartment door opens.

“Hyunjin!” You call out from the bedroom, “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” he calls back to you. He kicks his shoes off by the door and throws his keys into the bowl on the table. “You will not believe the day I had.”

“Oh, yeah?” you answer. “Would you mind helping me with something? You can tell me all about your day while you do so.”

You cannot help the sing-songy mischievous timbre to your voice. It seems to go right over his head since he continues talking.

“Minho drilled us on choreography all day,” he whines. “Some of the others didn’t get the foot work right away so we kept doing it over and over again.”

His voice gets louder the closer he walks to the bedroom.

“Towards the end of it I just wanted to—“

Hyunjin immediately stops talking, a gasp catching in his throat.

There you stood in front of the full length mirror in one of the skimpiest bikinis he’s ever seen in his entire life. The fabric barely covered your most intimate areas, straps wound around your entire body.

A metal heart sat right underneath the valley of your breasts.

Every thought Hyunjin has ever had in his entire life has flown out the window. Gone with the wind.

“Do you like it?” you ask innocently, not turning to look at him fully. You’re playing a game with him and he doesn’t even know it. “The girls and I have that weekend spa trip coming up and I wanted to get some new suits. I tied a knot in the back and I can’t get it undone.”

Hyunjin stands in the door, his mouth opening and closing over and over again.

“Hyunjinnie?” a barely contained smirk graces your lips and you turn to look at him. Batting your eyelashes innocently, you twist your body around for him to see everything.

“It’s—“ his voice is hoarse when it comes out, so he clears his throat. “It looks gorgeous on you, Y/N. But, ah… are you sure you want to wear that to the spa? What if you get tan lines, you don’t want that, right? All those… strappy tan lines.”

You giggle at his rambling.

“I was thinking the same thing, baby. But, I still need help getting it off.”

Hyunjin clenches his jaw and walks over to you, his feet padding on the carpeted floor.

Instead of turning around when he gets close to you, you wrap your arms around his neck. Like second nature, he rests his own around your waist.

His bare hands on your skin feel so warm and soft, you shudder at the touch.

Standing up on your tiptoes, you press your barely clothed chest against his. His grip on your waist tightens.

“I’m so sorry you had such a rough day, Jinnie,” you murmur to him. Hyunjin stares down at you, a pink blush slowly dusting his cheeks.

You lean forward and press an extremely gentle kiss to his soft lips. His hands spread out on the sides of your rib cage and hold you closer to him.

It’s just a peck of your lips against his, so when you pull back, he chases after you.

You don’t let him continue, you turn around in his grasp and lift your hair off your shoulders.

“Do you mind?” you say, looking back over your shoulder at him. His eyes narrow for a split second before he looks down at the knot in the back of the bathing suit.

You made sure to tie it on the looser side for this very purpose.

Dexterous fingers grab at the strap and he works quickly to try and unknot it. Within seconds the top loosens around your chest.

His fingers slide down the curve of your back gracefully, mapping each inch of skin. The featherlight touch has you shivering.

Hyunjin exhales shakily through his mouth and the hotness of his breath fans over your exposed skin.

Slowly, his fingers come around to grab your waist again. But, you reach down and grab both of his wrists tightly. You pull at his wrists a bit so he steps closer to your body.

As soon as his front is flush with your back, you can feel just how much he loves the bathing suit you’re wearing.

Inch by inch, you bring his hands up your skin. Over your ribs and up to your chest.

Hyunjin gasps quietly behind you and you can practically feel his cock jump in his pants. Another shaky breath leaves his lips.

Immediately, his hands slid under the flimsy fabric that was loose and ready to come off. The softest groan comes out of the back of his throat as soon as he cups both of your tits.

After a few seconds, you release his wrists and reach your arms back to wrap around the back of his neck.

Your head tilts back to rest against his collarbone, whines quietly falling from your lips.

Hyunjin’s fingers pinch your perky, hard nipples and you roll your hips backwards into his painfully hard erection.

“Fuck.” he hisses and pinches even harder.

Dipping down to your neck, Hyunjin latches his mouth onto the soft skin and licks wherever he is able to reach.

“Jinnie,” you mewl, “been thinking about you all day.”

Hyunjin hums against your neck in response, leaving love bites down closer to your shoulder. His preoccupied hands bring you even closer to his chest.

He can’t get enough of you, his hands paw at your chest, pinching, pulling, and kneading the soft mounds. His head is in the louds, every thought is fuzzy. The only thing he knew was that he never wanted to stop touching your soft skin.

It’s a good thing that your bottoms are meant to absorb moisture.

Behind his head, your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, wrapping around the strands and pulling slightly.

You turn your head to whisper right in his ear. “I want you to play with me how you’ve always wanted to, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin practically whimpers in response, his hips buck forward and he sucks hard where his mouth was.

You cry out, pushing your ass against him.

“I know you want to, baby. Don’t think I don’t see the way you look at me. How much you like fucking me in the mirror so you can see my tits bounce with each thrust of your cock.”

Hyunjin moans against your skin again, it sounds like he’s almost in pain from how aroused he is.

Both of his hands grip as much of your breasts as he could hold before turning you around in his arms. His lips immediately dip down and capture yours in a heated, wet, hard kiss.

His eyebrows are furrowed together and his hands travel back up your body to fondle your tits even further. The feeling goes straight to your core and you clench your thighs together. Your cunt aching for attention.

But tonight was about him, not you. Plus, you know there’s no way you’re going to bed tonight without cumming, not if Hyunjin had anything to say about it.

While your tongues slide over each other, you reach down and make quick work unbuttoning his jeans.

You also “accidentally” palm over his cock a few times, each time he moans into your mouth and you swallow the noise greedily.

Hyunjin pulls back for a split second to rip his shirt over his head, throwing it onto the ground carelessly. The entire time his eyes don’t leave your chest, as soon as his shirt is off, his hands are back on your breasts.

He can’t stop staring at how they look in his hands.

A long, heavy breath leaves his lungs when you push his pants and boxers down.

His cock springs free and he hisses at the cold air.

You get up on your tiptoes and pull his swollen bottom lip between your teeth. “Go lay on the bed, baby.”

His eyes are glazed over with pure lust. Hyunjin nods dumbly over and over and practically sprints to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

One of his hands absentmindedly pulls at his dick, his eyes stay zeroed in on your chest. The fabric of the bathing suit is doing nothing to cover your breasts anymore.

“What do you think, baby boy. On or off?” You ask, pulling slightly at the strings of the top.

Hyunjin gulps, leaning back on his elbows while his bottom half hangs off the side of the bed.

“O… On.” He answers heavily, lips parting, chest rising and falling with deep intakes of air. Truly, he didn’t care, you could do whatever you want to him at this point and he would beg for more.

You wink in response and walk over to the bed, swaying your hips with each step. His eyes rake over your figure, his Adam’s Apple bobs with a gulp.

When you get to the bed, you sink down onto your knees, eye level with his cock which is completely rock hard and weeping precum at this point.

Keeping direct eye contact, you put your arms behind your back and lean forward, licking a fat stripe up the underside of his cock.

An absolutely feral, sinful moan reverberates off the walls. Hyunjin throws his head back in pleasure and one of his hands fists into your hair, pulling tightly.

You only smirk once you get to the tip. “Gotta get you nice and wet first.” You pull as much spit into your mouth as you can.

“Fuck, Y/N!” You see his cock jump at your words.

Your tongue swirls over his tip once before you take his entire dick in your mouth. Hyunjin’s hips buck into your mouth and he lets out a long, deep moan.

It’s the wettest blowjob you’ve ever given. Spit is leaking out of your mouth and onto his pelvis and then dripping onto the sheets. But you need him soaking wet for what you want to do.

Saliva drips down your neck and onto your chest.

Hyunjin’s eyes follow each drop and when his eyes flicker to yours, you wink. His hand tightens in your hair and he whimpers.

“You’re gunna fucking kill me, Y/N.”

Whine after whine, whimper after whimper. It’s all music to your ears.

Just when he really starts to get vocal, you lift your mouth off his cock and he howls at the loss of your warm mouth pleasuring him.

“Oh, baby, you have no idea how good this is gunna feel.”

When Hyunjin opens his eyes again to look your way, you let your tongue drop out of your mouth. His lust-blown pupils follow the mouthful of spit and precum that leaks downwards; it drips down your neck and into the valley of your breasts.

The way his face twists in pleasure, you would think he was in physical pain. His ears and cheeks are bright red. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth to try and conceal the noises he’s making.

“Y/N-!” Everything about his demeanor screams desperate. He’s wriggling on the bed, hips moving uncontrollably. The hand that’s not in your hair is clenching the sheets so tight his knuckles are turning white.

From behind your back, you reach your hand up and spread everything over your chest, getting it nice and wet. During the process, you make sure to bring your other hand up and pinch and pull your nipples, putting on a show for Hyunjin.

“Please,” he’s borderline sobbing at this point. “Please, Y/N.”

“Yeah, Jinnie?” you tease and lean forward, spitting on his cock again, pumping him a few times. “You wanna fuck my tits, baby boy?”

“Fuck!” Hyunjin throws his head back with a broken wail.

“You wanna put that long cock between my wet tits? You wanna fuck them nice and slow?”

“Yes! Fucking please!” He squirms on the bed. “It’s all I want, Y/N! Please!”

Deciding to be nice, you finally grab your tits in two handfuls, wrapping them around his cock and pushing together.

Hyunjin’s eyes roll back in his head and his back arches off the sheets. More babbles leave his swollen lips.

Slowly, you move your tits up and down on his cock.

He’s going insane, he knows he is. He’s been balls deep in your soaking wet cunt before, he’s had you ride him two ways to Tuesday– but this? Fuck!

The skin on your chest is so soft and warm and it’s so fucking filthy.

With every pump, his dick leaks more and more.

“Jinnie,” you call out to him playfully.

He knows as soon as he looks down, he’s going to blow his load. But he cracks his eyes open anyway, his head lifting off the mattress to look you in the eye.

Right when he does, you stick your tongue out and lick the head of his cock as you pump downwards.

Every single one of his ab muscles clenches when he sees you, he cries out so loudly, his body curls inwards from the pleasure.

The more his cock leaks, the wetter it gets for both of you, and the easier it is to move up and down.

A long string of curses leave his lips as you pick up speed and squeeze your tits together even more.

Hyunjin’s hips begin to move in time with your pumps. Every wet dream he’s woken up from is finally coming true before his very eyes.

If the neighbors were sleeping, that was long over. Hyunjin has always been vocal in bed, but never like this.

Each lick is sending him closer and closer to the edge.

“So fucking good to me,” he blubbers, pulling at your hair and your sheets at the same time. His thighs begin to shake.

“Love this so much, baby. Love having your cock between my tits.”

He writhes around from your praise, “Close–! So close, Y/N!”

“Can’t wait for you to cum all over my skin, Jinnie. Might even let you take a picture, set it as your background.”

Picturing everything you’re saying does it for him. Hyunjin calls out your name loudly and his chin dips down to his chest. He yanks your hair in a vice grip.

Cum continuously shoots from his cock, and to put on a great show, you even stick your tongue out further.

To him, it feels like he’s cumming forever. Even after he’s completely empty, shots of pleasure shoot down his thighs every few seconds. It was definitely one of the fucking longest orgasms of his life.

Hyunjin’s mouth hangs open, he can’t seem to catch his breath. But that’s not at all what he’s paying attention to. He’s watching the cum dip from your tongue down onto your chest, the same way your spit had done minutes before.

His cock twitches and he winces from the overstimulation.

“Fuck, look at you.” he pants.

One of your hands moves and you use your finger to spread the cum all over your chest, over your hard nipples and eventually up to your mouth where you suck on the digit.

“So good for me, baby. How long until you can go again?”

#stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids kinktober #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #skz smut

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kamiversee · 11 months ago

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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 23 || The Party Era

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, fluff, violence, drugs, & slight mention of alcohol consumption.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.8k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——AFTER THAT INTIMATE morning, you and Gojo consider yourselves to be on decent enough terms. Of course, you still hate him-- or, at least you think you do, and he slowly begins to change in a good way.

When he talks to you, which is more often than before since you're no longer trying to ignore his existence unless necessary, his tone is always soft and filled to the brim with affection. You try not to bring up the fact that he claimed to be in love with you but it was extremely difficult not to think about it.

Blackmail or not, you can't just ignore his confession.

Shoko mentioned that he was in love with you before but you didn't want to believe her so, now that he's told you, you genuinely don't know how to feel.

His words echo in your brain constantly, so much so that it grows annoying. It's like you can't unhear it-- Gojo really said he was in love with you. It wasn't a dream, wasn't something someone else told you he said, and it wasn't a lie, Gojo Satoru confessed his love to you.

You hate it though.

You despise the fact that he loves you. To you, it's almost entitled for him to feel like he has that right. How dare he hold such a strong emotion for you? If he felt this way, why is he forcing you to sleep with people for him? It makes no sense.

Why would someone claim to love you and put you through so much?

If he's been in love with you all this time, why start the list in the first place? Why couldn't he have just tried to win your heart from the beginning? Why the list? Why the blackmail? You don't understand him.

A sigh escapes you as you think about it. By this point in time, it's roughly been two weeks since that faithful morning and you can't stop thinking about it. You have so many questions, wondering to yourself when it'll all make sense.

Then, there's also the longing you feel in your chest to see Choso again.

Of course, you haven't stopped thinking about him. You can't wait for the list to be over. The fact that there are only two people left makes it feel like a lot less pressure on you.

From here on out, you just want everything to go smoothly-- that's all you ask for.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

In the two weeks you spent at peace with Gojo, you and him have talked about who your next target should be; Sukuna or Nanami?

He tried to explain that Sukuna would be easier than Nanami but you quickly told him that you're not sure you trust his difficulty levels when no one you've seduced has been that hard. Well, with the exception of Mr. Fushiguro, seducing him took weeks of you pretending you had some kind of assignment to complete.

But even so, you still managed to pull that off. If anything, you felt a little more confident in yourself about seducing the last two people, thinking it'd be a nice walk in the park from here on out.

With this newfound confidence in yourself, you tried telling Gojo that it didn't matter which order you seduced the last two in. "Almost every difficulty level you've given me so far has been wrong, y'know..." You told him over the phone.

Though you couldn't see it, his lips pulled into a pout, "That's not true, sweets... Suguru was medium, no?"

"No, Satoru, he was easy..." You hum, "The only reason he'd be considered anything close to medium is because I had to get used to his uhm... teasing."

Gojo smiles foolishly at the way you say his name, his heart swelling in his chest over such a simple conversation with you, "Yeah, yeah, whatever." He hums, "Anyway, it's still up to you who you wanna go for first, I was just sayin' Sukuna will be easier."

You sigh, "How so?"

"Well for starters, he's having a party this Thursday so like..." Gojo shrugs sheepishly on the other side of the phone, "If you're free, you could come there with me and meet him."

"Uhuh... And what about Nanami?" You question as you jot things down in your journal, your body comfortably laid out across your bed.

"Hmmmm..." Gojo hums dramatically in thought, "I think there's a bar he goes to every weekend?"

"You think?" Your eyes narrow, "I need you to be sure."

"I'm like ninety-nine point nine percent sure." He says, "He goes on Friday nights so, y'know..."

"Are you suggesting that I formally meet Sukuna and Nanami, then decide who I want to sleep with first?" You ask for clarification.

"Pretty much, yeah."

You look around your room for a second in thought before shrugging, "Alright, sounds like a plan."

Gojo smiles, "Really? So... you do realize this means you'll be going to a party with me, right?"

"Okay?"

Curiosity sparks within him, "Do you even like parties?"

"Eh, I haven't had enough friends to want to go recently. But, I used to go to them a lot during Freshman year." You explain casually, earning a hum from him.

"Aww, and you didn't invite meee?" Gojo whines.

"I didn't know you, Satoru..." You sigh, finding yourself smiling ever so slightly at his silliness, "We literally met this semester."

"Sure about that?" He asks as if you don't recall talking to him for the first time early that August.

"Uhm, yes?" You arch a brow, "What, do you remember us talking before this year or something?"

"Nah." He hums, "But I do remember seeing you around a lot."

You begin to close your journal, "Really?"

"Mhm."

"And you never said hi?" You tease, mocking his earlier joke to you.

Gojo chuckles nervously, "I was too shy."

"Oh please." Your eyes roll, "You? Shy? Yeah right." A scoff leaves your lips in reaction to his claims.

"I'm serious." He emphasizes.

"Whatever..." You decide to brush off the topic. The phone call has lasted long enough so, you try to end it, "Anywho, we have a plan all worked out so text me the details for this party and I'll see you then."

"Aww," Gojo pouts again, "You're hanging up so soon?"

"Yes."

"C'mon, I wanted to talk some more..."

You scoff and your voice is sarcastic as you respond, "Skill issue."

Gojo bursts out laughing, "Seriously?"

"Suck it up pretty boy," You joke further, "We'll talk later."

He smiles from ear to ear, "Oh? You think I'm pretty?"

"Bye Satoru." You say flatly.

He sighs heavily and gives up, "Bye sweetheart." There's then a second of silence as you move the phone away from your ear but his next words make you freeze, "I love you."

Your heart pulses strongly, "...If you're expecting me to say it back, you're going to be disappointed."

He chuckles lightly, "I don't expect you to say it back, jus' want to make sure you don't forget."

You couldn't possibly forget that. "Right, okay, bye." The phone is quickly removed from your ear to end the call and then you toss the device across the bed.

Your heart is beating so rapidly for some reason. You do not feel the same way for him but that doesn't change the fact that hearing those words from someone makes you feel all tingly inside.

After only a second or two of gushing at his words, you return to your usual neutral mindset and pick your journal up. Your body slides off the bed and you walk to the drawer you keep it in, making sure to lock it as you place the item inside. Then, you sigh and head back to your bed.

Flopping down face first, you groan into your pillow-- wondering how the rest of this will play out. It feels weird to be on speaking terms with Gojo again. You can't exactly say you missed it but you also couldn't say you didn't enjoy it, even though the conversation wasn't long.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

With that, the rest of the week leading up to Thursday went by in a blur like always. Your schoolwork hardly ever overwhelmed you since you had that very well organized and for once, life somewhat felt like it was entering an era of peace again.

However, deep down inside you still missed Choso.

Not talking to him daily or hardly ever anymore really made you remember how boring your free time was. Perhaps that's why Thursday came so fast...

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, your hands tracing over the silhouette this expensive dark red dress provided for you-- the item being something Gojo bought for you the very second you told him you weren't sure what to wear.

For someone who so easily deposited money into your account every time you slept with someone and bought you things the very second you made even the slightest complaint, you wondered what the hell he was in debt for.

Perhaps all of the people on the list truly couldn't be paid with money? Even so, you can't help but question what the hell he did to these men to the point where payment in the form of sexual satisfaction was established.

Toji is the only person on the list that you know the backstory for but, even then you still don't know how sexual satisfaction was agreed as a method of payment. And to add to those questions, does Gojo tell the men after you sleep with them that you were his form of payment?

If so... wouldn't that technically mean Choso should know about that?

You groan slightly as you get confused just thinking about it. It's like you're missing so much information here. The entire thing is steadily starting to make less and less sense as you go on. Not to mention the fact that he said he deleted the video of you a long time ago.

Does that mean he considered letting you go from the list? How long has he had the video erased from his phone?

You finally shake out of your thoughts when the man in question sends you a text, the chime from your cell prompting you to turn your head to the idle device on your bathroom counter. You pick it up to see a simple text that reads; 'I'm downstairs, sweetheart'.

You simply leave the man on read before making sure you have everything and heading out of your bathroom. Once you make it out of your bedroom, you spot Shoko typing away on her laptop in the living room.

The sound of you closing your room door makes her turn her head back to look at you. She gives you a wolf whistle and flashes that pretty smile of hers at you, "Heyyy beautiful." She greets teasingly.

You smile, "Hey roomie, how do I look?"

"For a party hosted by Sukuna, I'd say pretty damn good." It's no surprise that she knows who's hosting the party you're going to, Shoko always seems to be up to date with those kinda things.

A chuckle leaves your lips while you make your way to the front door, "Thank you but, I'm surprised you're not coming."

She shrugs, "I have like four assignments due tonight and my professor is a complete bitch about turning things in late." A little frown pulls at her lips, "Any other day, I'd totally go with you though."

"Maybe next time," You suggest, smiling at her, "Oh, and, I know this is a weird question but like, do you know his full name?"

"Who, Sukuna?" Shoko asks, raising a brow.

"Yeah." You nod. The memory of Choso hardly ever speaking about the guy he's supposedly related to runs through your head and you find it odd since he always seems so family-orientated.

"Itadori Sukuna, last time I checked." Shoko informs you, "But if you call him by his last name he'll be a dickhead about it. I think he hates it 'cause that's what connects him to his younger brother or something."

You blink. That somewhat explains a few things, "Damn, you sure know a lot..."

Shoko winks, "Benefits of going to parties to be nosy, you should do it more often."

With a laugh, you nod your head, "Well, thanks for that."

She flashes you one last smile and then raises her hand to wave you bye as you open the door and exit the apartment.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

When you get downstairs and to Gojo's car and quickly seat yourself in the passenger seat, his eyes are all over your appearance like he's starstruck.

A handsome smile spreads across his face, "You're absolutely breathtaking, y'know that?" Gojo complements.

You roll your eyes and begin putting your seatbelt on, "Seeing as you're able to speak perfectly fine, it doesn't sound like I'm all that breath-taking." You fire in response.

He chuckles and his bright blue eyes slip up and down your body, "You didn't hear the way I choked when I saw you walking toward the car."

"Aw, did you?" You respond mockingly.

"Mhm..." He hums lowly, suddenly focusing more on your face. His head is resting on the palm of his hand as he leans against the console in between the two of you.

You swallow and then just barely turn your face to him, "Plan on staring at me all night?"

"If I had the option to, I definitely would," Gojo says honestly.

You roll your eyes at him again and scoff.

"I'm serious." He utters, "If I got a dollar for every time your face has made my brain turn to mush, I'd be a fuckin' trillionaire."

With a sigh, you nod your chin toward the steering wheel in front of him, "Drive your car, Satoru. We don't have all night."

Gojo's eyes soften for a second as he actually loses himself in staring at you, "...You heal me," He suddenly says.

"What?" Your brows furrow and your face twists up while you meet his gaze.

He looks into your eyes for a second longer before turning his head to face forward, "I'm a broken man, sweetheart." Gojo explains as he moves his large veiny hands to the wheel in front of him, "And you... you heal me little by little every day."

You're unsure what to make of his poetic claims. Is this another type of confession? What does he mean he's broken? How do you heal him? What the hell is going on inside that brain of his??

Gojo glances over at you one more time, moving his hand to poke the center of your forehead, "Don't think on it too much, you'll get a headache trying to decipher my nonsense, sweets." He says in a soft tone.

You find it weird he even refers to his own claims as nonsense when it's far from such a thing. The things he starting to say to you are becoming more and more complex, hidden meaning behind his words and secret bittersweet implications slipped in between his claims.

You gently move his finger away from your head and nod, "Whatever... just drive already."

Gojo smiles, "Yes ma'am."

With that, he returns his hand to the wheel and does exactly as you've told him to, quickly driving to the destination of the party.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

There, you could hear lively music blaring from outside this large mansion. The place wasn't too far from where your campus is and you wondered how you went so long without ever being aware of its existence.

As stated before, you used to be quite the partier and most venues have been blessed with your presence. Yet, there you were, getting out of the car with Gojo and heading inside a house you'd surprisingly never been inside before.

Outside of the large estate, you spotted all kinds of people doing all kinds of things. It was expected and all but it had been such a long time since you've seen people having this much fun.

For starters, Choso isn't a partier. Why do you think about that now? Well, you asked him about it but he told you the chances of anyone catching him at a party are zero to none. He much rather be at home engrossed in his artwork.

There's another instance where you're wondering how different of a person Sukuna is in comparison to Choso. Especially when this big ass party is being hosted by him.

Gojo suddenly swings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you close to him while the two of you walk down the main path toward the entrance. The big double doors to the house are wide open, partygoers are scattered absolutely everywhere, and a large chunk of people are spotted inside.

Your gaze shoots over to the man all too close to you, "Satoru..."

"Sweetheart..." He replies.

"Why is your arm around me?" You question flatly.

He chuckles, a big smile painted across his overly handsome face, "I don't want you to get lost."

You blink, glancing away from Gojo and spotting people dancing, laughing, drinking, and even fucking in some places. Scrunching your face up at that last thing you spot, you continue to question Gojo, "What if Sukuna sees us like this?"

"He won't." He hums in response.

"How do you know?"

"Well... around a time like now, that asshole is probably somewhere in the middle of the party," Gojo explains.

The way he refers to Sukuna as an asshole has you worried. Are you going to have to deal with another Naoya?

Swallowing down a large gulp of nerves, you bat your eyelashes at Gojo, "Asshole...?"

He tenses up beside you for some unknown reason, "Uh... I mean, yeah." He shrugs, "Sukuna isn't the nicest guy in the world, everyone knows that."

"I didn't." You respond dryly, then you raise a brow in question, "He's not gonna be like Naoya though... right?"

Gojo looks down at you, finding your worried pout cute, and flashing a comforting smile at you, "No sweetheart, Sukuna's an asshole but..." His expression flickers and his smile fades away. He swallows and then clears his throat, "I'm pretty sure he'll satisfy you just fine."

The two of you finally enter the house and Gojo looks around, greeting some people he knows with a nod of his head while the two of you conversate.

You narrow your eyes at him, "Are you sure?"

Music is heard blaring further on in the party but you two haven't gone deep enough inside to not be able to hear each other yet.

"Fuckin' positive," Gojo suddenly sounds pissed and you grow concerned. The arm around you gets a little tighter while he walks you through some crowds and you keep looking at the man confused.

There's a vein popping out along his jawline because of how hard he's gritting his teeth. You're confused about what pissed him off so suddenly, "What's wrong?"

He avoids looking at you, "Nothing sweets, just know he'll take greeeat care of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You murmur. The softness of your voice alone helps Gojo to somewhat come back to his senses.

"Sukuna..." Gojo pauses, thinking hard about something before shaking the thought away, "He uh... How do I say this... He'll," The man looks down at you again, "He'll be nice to you."

"...Will he?"

"Yeah, you're cute." Gojo compliments, shrugging all his thoughts off, "He likes cute girls."

"There's plenty of cute girls at this party," You point out, "What makes me so special?"

"Everything."

You scoff, "What-"

"This is about to be your eleventh question since we've been here." Gojo cuts off before giving you a comforting little smile, "Relax, everything will be fine, okay? Trust me."

Your lips purse together as you decide to drop all your questions for now.

Both of you continue walking deeper and deeper into the party, the volume of the music soon engulfing almost all of your senses. People were dancing all over the place, you saw a few drinking games taking place, some people were gathered together smoking, and it was all so lively.

While you walked with Gojo, you couldn't help but notice the way girls gawked at the man beside you, their eyes all over his face, and jealousy noticed in their expressions after they spotted you beside him. What made the whole thing better was the fact that Gojo didn't even glance at them.

The only woman whose eyes he ever looks into is yours. The only person's body he's drooling over is yours. Hell, the only person at this party Gojo even cared about was you.

At some point, he stopped to talk to some people he knew and you just stood quietly by his side. Gojo would give the people he spoke to this murderous glare if they even so much as peeked at you.

You wondered if you imagined the looks he gave some guys up until one was caught staring at your cleavage by Gojo. The man beside you tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, "Fuck are you starin' at?" He spat out.

You were oblivious to what was going on at first until you saw who he was talking to; some weirdo leaning against a wall gawking at woman after woman. When he noticed Gojo was talking to him you watched how he immediately teared his eyes off you.

Gojo then dragged you along, making his way toward a dance floor. You looked up at him, "You look like you're gonna stab someone...." You said playfully, mocking him for the wicked look in his eyes.

He smiles and that look completely disappears, almost as if it were never there, to begin with. Meeting your gaze, Gojo pouts, "Who, me?"

"Yes you, don't try to act all innocent."

He snickers, "Stabing isn't the way I'd go about hurting someone but, alright."

"People stare at me all the time, y'know... You can't keep glaring like that." You say, looking away from him, "Especially when I'm not even your girlfriend or anything."

"So?" Gojo scoffs, "I don't like seeing people look at you like that and I couldn't care less if you aren't my girlfriend," He suddenly leans down to you and his eyes go dark again, "You're by my side, in my arms..." He explains lowly, "And even if it's not reciprocated, you're my love."

You stare, seeing the same look he had in his eyes that day he caught you, the same look he gave you when he said he wanted you. Gulping, you try to respond, "Satoru-,"

"I'm serious. They can look at any other chick in this party, just not you. Especially not when you're with me." Gojo claims.

"That's a bit possessive don't you think?" You point out, halfway joking.

"Oh, trust me," He smiles as if it's no big deal, "I'm aware."

You open your mouth to say something but he suddenly leans up and takes his arm off you, "Anyways, I'm pretty sure you'll find Sukuna somewhere in all that," He instructs, nodding toward the group of people dancing and shouting on the main floor. He starts backing away from you, "Text me if you don't though."

"You're leaving me?" You say dumbfoundedly.

"Well, Sukuna can't spot us together..."

"Right." Your lips purse together and you nod, the two of you finally splitting for the first time that night.

The music is so loud that you can feel the vibrations from the base of your toes as you walk into the crowd. You steadily begin to dance by yourself for a moment and at one point you get a drink to help you loosen up.

You didn't plan to overdo it or anything because the last thing you wanted was to be horny and drunk all over again but, you did get enough to give you a little buzz. The smell of weed was strong throughout the dancefloor and you would've partaken in that too but you definitely don't trust drugs from just anyone.

As your body sways with the music, you end up dancing back into some guy on accident but when you try to move, hands go to your waist and your hips, immediately making you uncomfortable. You tried not to make a scene about this random man touching you, casually trying to dance away from him.

Your body language made it so painfully obvious that you didn't want this guy touching on you and you eventually turned your head back to him, noticing that it was the same person Gojo snapped at earlier.

That realization caused goosebumps to form all over your skin and you tried telling the man to back off you. He definitely heard you but clearly ignored you, going as far as groping your ass and creepily smiling at you.

You grit your teeth and elbow the weirdo back away from you, creating only a bit of distance between you and him since there are so many people around. The creep still misses the hint and tries to come close to you again.

In the blink of your eye, one second he was trying to come to touch you again and the next you saw a fist make contact with his jaw, a crack heard even through the music as his body stumbled to the side and then made contact with the floor.

Your eyes went wide at the sight and some people around you cheered. Was getting punched in the jaw like this some kind of regular occurrence? Why were people cheering and laughing so suddenly?

The guy was out cold on the floor, people dancing around his still body as you stood in shock.

The person who punched the fuck out of him was standing where he once was and you turned around to face the guy.

Your heart probably skipped fourteen beats at the sight in front of you. Towering over your smaller frame, smiling maliciously at the motionless body on the ground, with dark yet attractive tattoos decorating his handsome face, bright pink hair, and harsh maroon eyes, Sukuna stood proudly before you.

You batted your eyes at the man, in complete awe of everything about him. The shirt he wore was sleeveless, revealing even more tattoos that went along his large shoulder, his bicep, and his wrist.

With a snarky laugh, you watch as he then disrespectfully spits on the knocked-out man's body, "Disgusting." Sukuna hummed.

Those sharp and surprisingly scary eyes of his snap over to you, the only person shocked by what just happened. The smile that was once spread across his face drops completely when he looks at you. You can feel every hair on your head stand up as you meet his gaze, your spine goes rigid and you think you start sweating.

Sukuna turns to face you and takes a simple step toward your nervous body, tipping his torso down and toward you so that he can be at eye level with you. You think you stop breathing entirely.

Why the fuck is he so intimidating? Why did he stop smiling? Why does he look like he's about to punch you next? Your heart is pounding against your ribcage and you don't think any man has ever made you this utterly nervous from just a glance before.

His rose-tinted lips part and his voice is so low and deep you could feel your body getting tense, "This is the part where you say thank you."

You blink, "Th-Thanks." You hated yourself for stuttering.

He tutts, "Nono, not 'thanks', thank you, brat." Sukuna corrects.

"Thank you," You say, your voice small.

He smiles at you, the sight making your heart race. A sexy and slightly raspy chuckle leaves the male, "Thaaat's more like it, good girl."

A strong throb of arousal thrums in your core at the sound of his words. It's embarrassing how such a simple phrase has you turned on already.

It was at that very moment you realized that this man was going to be different than the rest. Not Choso level different and not in any romantic sense but, the small conversation and his aura made one thing very clear.

Sukuna was in a league of his own. This man was a damn beast and you were both scared and excited to explore that.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

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