#crackle paste

[electoons]

geiger counter sinus infection what on earth..

[bldwspr]

i find it adorable how much the dl fandom loves yui, specially compared to how most fandoms treat women

(i mean everyones right just LOOK AT HER shes precious)

[deus-ex-mona]

it’s ✨okay✨, right~?

[tonycries]

Girl, I'm Into It!

Synopsis. Jus’ take it, girl, doesn’t matter if someone sees.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, EXHÍBITIONISM, cúmplay, the elders, Geto’s cúlt, creampíes, getting interrupted, cóckwarming, GOJO’S POWERS, face-sítting (fem), true form!Sukuna, dp, semi-public, spítting, VERY pússydrúnk Geto, overstím, spánking, bréeding (Gojo), marathons, showing off, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - A mouthful, woman!

“Mhm—” Toji’s babbling out a drawn-out groan, dragging the sharp bridge of his nose down your drooling slit. Veering slow and syrupy where your clit was just throbbing, “Yeah, that last job- actually. Gimme a sec, Shiu.”

And you can only gasp when he’s trapping that glaring phone screen between his ear and his shoulder, sliding the calloused expanse of his palm up, up, up your arched spine. 

Curling gently around your throat, “Now, who said you can stop sittin’ on m’face, doll?”

It’s said low - dangerous - loud enough that it just reached your ears above those saturated squelches. 

“B-but-” you shudder. “Shiu can-”

“B-b-but what?” He’s licking his slick-glossed lips, pooling your sweet sweet juices on his pinkish tongue. And oh just that one taste makes Toji moan, makes his eyes roll to the back of his head, thick fingers coming down in a swift smack! to hurry your honeyed answer. “S’not good to ah- leave someone hanging, y’know?”

His best friend on the other end of the line be damned, Toji was going to taste your pretty pussy one way or the other. 

“Yo, Fushiguro- where the hell did ya go?”

That makes you just jump, earning a rough snicker from the man underneath you. Words puffing out against your hole in a feverish pant, “Relax, girl, m’muted already.” 

And the rest of Shiu’s crackling voice can’t even register in his melty brain right now, can’t even be heard over that sudden gruff murmur ripping from his throat at the needy little drip! drip! drip! of your weepy cunt down his lolling tongue. Sliding all the way to the back of his throat. “For now.”

Toji’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs ravenously, before he’s just dragging your pliant body with a harsh tug - until your entire body weight is seated on his slutty mouth.

Exactly how he liked- no, loved it.

“See?” Sharp canines nip gently at your puffed-up pussy lips, you could feel Toji’s leering smirk widen, only plunging his pretty face deeper and deeper where you needed him the most. “Was that so hard?”

“N-no–” you’re mewling out, the truth babbling out of you when he slips past your swollen folds easily. Drinking in languid, calculated strokes up and down up and down up and-

“Helloooo? Ya better not have fucked off again, Fushiguro.”

Ah, yes. Toji’s rolling his eyes, taking his frustration out by giving you another stinging swat along your ass. 

And it’s so messy - you’re so sloppy on top of him that it takes a few glissading taps down his phone before Toji can finally unmute himself. Eyes bleary, ears thundering, mouth so drunken that he could barely speak - your pussy coating him in a sticky sheen of your slick with each ounce of pleasure. 

“Whaddaya say again, Shiu?” he’s slurring out - hoarse, strangled. The solid curve of his thumb gliding in a sopping wet dance across your sensitive clit, “Sorry was- eating.”

Toji laughs - he laughs - muffling the deep sounds by suckling on your leaky clit. Lapping at each and every pearlescent bead of your juices, high cheekbones hollowing out to scratch his obscene little taste buds roughly against the very peaked tip.

“You’re really eating mid-call?”

Shit, Toji can already feel the way you grow even more drenched at that, gushing out in a silken wave that dribbles down his chin. 

Smack!

It’s as if he was taunting you to break - to whine loud enough that Shiu would hear. Toji’s free hand is tightening around your neck, hauling you all over his face to meet in the messiest French kiss. “Oh you have no hah- idea.”

It’s just about the last thing said before Toji’s bullying his long tongue past that taut entrance to your sloppy hole, only needing one, two tiny grinds before your gummy walls are sucking him up deliciously. Molding around each one of his hazy drags, every saturated swirl around your cozy channel. 

“Well can ya be so fuckin’ loud-” You’re biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood at Shiu’s little complaint. “Seriously- what are you even eating, you animal?”

“Jus’ a lil’ something sweet. The cutest of desserts.” Nosy prick, he’s musing half-deliriously. “Now are ya gonna t-talk business or do I needa hang up?”

But Toji knows he won’t be hanging up - not by the way every rattled-off detail about his next mission has you grinding your pussy down even more desperately onto his mouth. Snapping those delicate strings of spit and slick with each slobbering drag. Addicted. Hypnotic. 

Enough so that he doesn’t even know the date of his next job - and right now, Toji didn’t care. 

And you half-wonder how his tongue wasn’t cramping up right now, how his voice wasn’t just raw from those faint grunts of affirmation dragged out at Shiu’s conversation - non-stop, purposeful. 

And so was he.

You didn’t know who wanted you to cum more - you, or him. 

But when you do - you’re utterly sure that it’s your dear boyfriend. 

“Sh-shit-” you whisper, breath hitching with each desperate moan threatening to break free. And your nails just claw down his sculpted abs, hips gyrating in drippingly wet swivels with his tongue. Sure Shiu could hear now- “M’gonna cum-” They grow longer - sloppier. “Toji, m’cumming m’cumming- f-fuck-”

All Toji can do is giggle, as if he was fucked-out already. Shakily dipping his head further to ride you through your high, his nose nudges past your spread folds, into the base of your pussy, pointed chin kissing up against your puffy clit. Placing wet thrust after thrust that have you convulsing on top of him, the tiniest ah! ah! ah! leaving your ragged mouth when you feel his big beefy biceps flexing in a vice-like grip around your neck to hold you still. 

Addictive.

So much so that he’s barely even registering Shiu’s little, “You got all that?”

And you swear you hear Toji’s tough baritone crack at the very end, verging on a whine when he mumbles, “Y-yeah yeah- got all of it.”

“Alright, and- Fushiguro?”

“Mhm?”

“At least let a man join next time.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Over-overtime

“Ken-”

“Shh, my love.”

“But Ken!”

Immediately, you’re feeling the soft graze of all five of Nanami’s thick fingers curling over your jaw-dropped mouth. Your shared, golden wedding ring cool over your heated skin when he puffs out in a feverish heave, “Please ah- quieten down those pretty moans, unless you w-want to be caught, darling.”

Honestly, Nanami wouldn’t even mind right now - wouldn’t even care for anything other than swiveling his hips into yours in a slow, sultry cadence.

Angry, red tip pushing you further and further into those important documents he should really be working on right about now. Your tight silken skirt riding high, hands scrambling towards the ends of his cool office desk-

“B-but-” you’re whining, muffled through his digits. “-but it feels so hck! good-” 

You little minx. Nanami can feel himself just gush out a trail of steamingly hot precum in response to your pretty moans, jaw clenching while he tries to hold back the deepest of guttural groans from breaking free. 

It was the first time he’d ever ignored any form of overtime for something like this. But feeling the slight shiver in your thighs, the way your pretty tits heave with each gasping inhale - shiiit, did he wish he did this sooner. 

Every night of overtime, every lunch break, every meeting. 

“S-s’that so?” he’s rasping, and the desk rattles when he picks up the pace. Ricketing after every smack! of his thick, hefty balls against your ass, girthy cock stretching you out maddeningly. “My cute lil’ wife w-wants so badly to moan out? To scream my name?”

“Yes–” you sob, and your trembly fingers can do nothing but snatch the yellow velvet of his favorite tie. Hauling your husband even pressingly closer, “D-don’t care if they hah- hear, need you, Ken-”

Fuck, that’s enough to have him gasping, entire body wracking with an almost-violent shiver. 

Moaning.

Frantically, his sweat-slicked head snaps towards the door - the shut door. 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, he nuzzles down the tender column of your neck. Nosing into your sweetened spots, “Hah- wouldn’t- wouldn’t even mind being fired for this heavenly pussy, my love-” he confesses. But for all how sweet his words were toned, Nanami only pounds you deeper against the desk. Now clattering against the wall with how roughly he was spearing into your melty depths. “But I don’t want them seeing my wife.”

The hand around your mouth was nothing more than a little formality at this point, and Nanami himself was getting so dangerously loud-

Each grunt is punctuated by a meaningful slam into your drippingly wet cunt. Slurring out a little with each one, loosely whispering saccharine praises in your ear. 

“So pretty-” he kisses the corner of your lips, your chin. Ravenous thumb reaching down to pull at your neglected clit, “So fucking sexy- ah you feel s-so good.” Leering smile too unlike him, growing at every one of your plush squeezes. “So- so loud-”

And, truly, the stuffy corporate room was so heady with the hypnotic smell and sound of sex - the sound of you two. 

But Nanami still wasn’t done.

“M-move your hand, darling.” he hiccups out, and you already know what he’s talking about. Scrambling to shift away the now-sopping wet hand you’d cushioned to deter the wet thwack of his cum-filled balls against your ass, his toned pelvis on your ass. They ring thunderously in your ears, “Yeah- yeahhh, fuck- jus’ like that.”

Without the barrier of your hand in the way, he’s hiking up one powerful thigh onto the smooth plane of the desk. The change in angle nudging his fattened tip against your bulging g-spot, drawing swift, sopping glides. He was so out of control now. 

And whatever’s left of his rational self knows that maybe he should slow down - be more mindful of the resounding squelches that your slutty cunt was drumming up.

But he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Not when your slicked walls are clamping down around him so tight. Your eyes fluttering shut, spine arching definitively, mouth dropping open with the most honeyed call of his name when you cum. 

The noise so addictive - his favorite song - that Nanami isn’t too far behind. Overfilling your poor cunt over and over with thick globs of his cum. 

And god it was so much of it that Nanami doesn’t even realize when his arm falls down limply to cup your cheek, messily kissing your puckered-up lips. You whine into the heated kiss of teeth and lips when he gushes out in velvety ropes of potent seed. 

So fucking much. Enough to paint a glossy ring around his thick base, soaking those tufts of blond, dribbling down in a creamy pool at his polished work shoes, slippery.

“O-oh fuck yeah-” he’s spitting profanity after profanity. Twitchy cock still fucking you through the peaks of your own high, “Shhh- sh- c’mon now, milk me- milk fuck, take it all f’me–”

So caught up in his own bliss that Nanami finds his head lolling to the side when he’s finally cracking his eyes open - more to take a look upon that gorgeously fucked-out expression on your face than anything. When his gaze catches on something else-

The door. 

Open. 

A stunned Higuruma standing right by it, one hand holding a pile of documents that were sure to be the work he was actually supposed to be doing, the other adjusting his too-tight pants.

Which, while Nanami understood - hell, he could feel his still-cumming dick spurt out another gripping load of wispy white - didn’t mean he was going to let it slide. Not even for his closest coworker. 

“O-on the other hand…” he muses, throat shot. Looking right into greedy, alarmed eyes when he rubs a lazy gyration on your throbbing clit, bring the glossy, sheened digits up, up, up to his mouth. Tongue lingering on his glistening wedding ring, “Why dontcha be as loud as possible f’me, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - So? Let ‘em see.

“Fuck-” Geto’s panting out, dark brows knitting tighter together after each wrenched-out moan. “Fuck.”

God, it was just about the least he could word out right now - words a ragged pitch, head throwing backwards with each smooth squeeze of your sopping wet pussy around into his swollen cock. Slow, languid glides that only made him impossibly harder. 

And part of him knows, he should keep up that cold, cult-leader facade in front of the group gathered around you two this very moment. To show off how calculating he really is when something is done wrong.

How no one’s safe - not even you, his sweet, special second-in-command.

But you’re looking over your shoulder at him with those glassy, tear-filled eyes and he’s already defeated. Nothing against you. 

“S-Sugu–” you whimper, drool dripping down the side of your lips - which he cranes down to lick away with a lazy swipe. Pinning you down with the weight of his hulkingly sculpted body to prevent your mindless little gyrations.

But Geto already knows that won’t stop your trembly fingers from wrapping around the base of his pretty red cock, hot and heavy in your hand. Begging, “I need you to fuck me so bad- need you ngh-”

He was painfully rock-hard, cum-filled balls pulled so taut that he almost looked like he’d burst if he wasn’t pummeling inside your gummy walls this very second. And just squeeze of your soft palm has Geto’s thick, round tip coating down your wrist in a swelteringly hot coat of his precum. Glossy and translucent. 

Needy.

“Heh, ya sick of cockwarming already, gorgeous?” he’s leering down at you with a sexily smug smirk, pearly white teeth biting his bottom lip raw to hold back his tiny grunts. “M’not sure you’ve m-made it up to us already-”

“Please!”

Smack!

His slender fingers soothe over the stinging imprint across your ass, Geto’s leaning back to take in that heavenly view with his half-lidded eyes. The way your greedy pussy drips! down onto the tatami mats, how you shiver so prettily on all fours for him.

Taking only a split-second to drench his slender digits on the mess you were trailing down his cock, bullying them unapologetically between your lips. Geto’s chest rumbles with the vibrations of his ragged whisper in your ear, “Watch it, pretty girl.”

You’re choking around his thick fingers - such a sweet, sweet sound that almost hurts Geto to talk over. 

Turning to the rest of the eagerly-watching room- “So, d’you think my gorgeous girl deserves it? After she-” Swirling his digits around your tongue, pressing hard into the narrow back of your throat. “-failed our last mission?”

Your ears are ringing, eyes too bleary to look up at any of the expressions of your fellow members. “Sugu-”

“Shhh–” Geto’s deeply rich tone is soothing, though the way his leaky tip just twitches is anything but. “We’re holdin’ a vote- s’rude to interrupt a vote.”

And fuck, Geto didn’t care about a fucking vote, didn’t care what any one else has to say. Honestly, he doesn’t think he even got through counting half the hands raised - or what it was even for.  

But you feel the way his achy cock swells up even thicker, expanding your clingy channel to your limits. His fat, bulbous tip only grows toastier inside of you, throbbing in a thrumming tempo. Faster. Desperate. 

“Sh-shit- s-so deep-” you’re hiccuping, hands trembling with fatigue where you were holding yourself up. And had it not been for one of Geto’s big, strong arms circling firmly around your waist, it would’ve been absolutely impossible to stop yourself from collapsing into a needy mess right in front of him. 

Ah, but right now Geto felt like a needy mess - having teased both of yourself to the ends of your insanity by now.

He has to blink back the overstimulated tears in his eyes, huff and puff that guttural whine in his voice, the sheer excitement in his eyes. “Well then…” Geto’s purring, planting a path of hot pecks down your neck. “Majority wins.”

And then it feels like you’re being split apart, like you’re being thrust all the way into the ends of your lungs with how hard Geto’s pounding into you. Not even giving you a split-second to accommodate before he rummages his heated cock around your tight pussy. The very outer rides of his prominent veins peeking into your sensitive spots. 

You scramble to grab onto the carpet, the silken sheets, anything when his powerful hips reel back and forth back and forth back and-

“What?” he heaves out as a voice pipes up nearby. Taking a few sloppy seconds to actually register the words let alone the language, with how good you felt milking the fucking soul out of him. “Oh- you’re right-”

Suddenly, he’s sitting back on his knees, dragging you with him like some glorified ragdoll. Geto snickers into the tender crook of your neck, your body all limp and pliant on top of him, seated until you were spearheaded so thoroughly on his messy erection. 

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, long strands of his inky hair sticking to his sweat-sheened forehead, picking up such a merciless cadence. Sharp hip bones dig into you, Geto’s hefty balls sure to leave a raised circular imprint on your thighs, his tip on your cervix - your lungs. 

“Don’ be shy~ let ‘em see, they’re- they’re sayin’ you’re trying to ah- r-run away–” he’s whining in your ear, defined canines sinking down into your ear lobe. “Begged to be fucked n’ this is the th-thanks I get? M’heartbroken, gorgeous.”

But oh, he didn’t sound like it - not even close. 

Dragging his wet, wet lips in a sodden kiss against your sagging mouth, Geto sounded like he was about to laugh. “Now- does everyone here think she deserves a lil’ punishment for that, too?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Sh-shh, baby…”

Choso can’t do anything right now, can’t even say anything other hushed, broken praises and urgent warnings in your ear to quiet down. 

But oh he should’ve known that your teasing self wouldn’t listen. He should’ve known that you’d be toying with his sanity the second you slipped under those blankets with him for Itadori family movie night. That you’d run your greedy fingers across the sensitive curve of his dick - taunting. For just a second - before escaping towards the bathroom with a wink, taking his rationality right along with you-

“Spacing out, Cho?” you’re giggling from the smoothened marble counter, batting those sultry lashes up at him in a way that makes his overworked cock twitch. “Or are ya just thinking about me again?”

And, well, the movie probably ended hours ago.

The sound of your pretty voice is enough to make him whine, to have his thick fingers bunching up at the hem of your translucently drenched panties - still pulled just enough aside to have him grind up deeper into you. 

“N-no-” His lower lip wobbles with that panted-out answer, burning cheeks hidden away when your sweet boyfriend swipes over the curve of his thumb to your leaky cunt. Smearing that glossy trail of cum from your sodden slit, “Jus’- hngh, don’ squeeze me like that, baby- jus’ thinking that maybe we should h-head back.”

He says this, but you feel the way Choso’s reddened cock just weeps out another sloshing gush of milky precum, stretching out your already-overfilled walls with another coat of his. Just once. 

And then again. And again.

“Sh-shit-” He’s suddenly rutting his hips unsteadily, ferally, pulling out the most drippingly wet squelches when he bullies the very rotund tip of his fat head into your cervix. Sweat-sheened forehead drooping against yours, rosy red lips  slacking open, “Shit shit shit shit- have to- have to go- but I’m so hngh! so addicted, ahh my pretty girl-”

Just one, powerful jackhammer was enough to get him pussydrunk all over again.

“Y-yeah?” you ask, struggling through fucked-out gasps. Your hands find their way around his broad shoulders now, tracing over those deep red nail marks clawed across his creamy skin. “What about the m-”

“Don’t you d-dare mention the movie-”

Choso finds it impossible to hide the broken sob in his words, to not let a big fat tear splatter onto your own lips when his furious cock massages your plush walls back and forth. 

“S’probably o-over and-” And shit, he can’t hold back anymore, muffling those honeyed moans with pressurized peck after peck. Leaving your lips ragged and half-bruised. “And I ngh- d-didn’t even get to pay attention and-” Abruptly, Choso’s head is thrown back, brows scrunching, voice whimpering. “-fuck we’re gonna get- caught-”

It was so loud - those saturated slurps emanating out from your needy pussy every time you were milking him dry. 

That sodden slap! of skin-on-skin echo across this snug, heady bathroom and making Choso’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. And he’s sure his family outside can hear it through the door. Fuck- 

Yet, he’s pounding meanly into your gummy pussy, dewy eyes locked onto that heavenly view of his glistening cock disappearing with each one. Your swollen folds rubbed raw with every kiss against his thick base, bulging outwardly, snapping delicate strings of cum and you you you-

“Then- then why don’t we oh- stop, baby?” you’re purring, tugging on his damp strands of hair. “If you’re so scared of g-getting caught we can-”

“No!”

If it was any other moment, you’d have toyed with poor Choso just a bit more for interrupting you - and he’d apologize and apologize until you crack.

But right now, the only thing you could focus on was how he was fucking you into the counter even harder, to indent that cool surface onto your skin, to mark the round divot of his tip into your g-spot. Over and over.

“Then what do you w-want, sweetheart?” you gasp, feeling blood pump rapidly into every solid inch of him. Growing him even bigger, even girthier - stretching out your very insides until you could feel Choso brush over every single nook and cranny inside you. 

“Want you-” he’s moaning. Voice lilting higher in pitch and volume with each wrenched-out word. “Want you want you want- want you ngh- d-don’t even care anymore.” 

Drunk on your pussy, he barely even realizes it when he’s smearing his fingers across that sopping wet gloss of around your inner thighs. Pooling each thick dredge, before just plugging them back into your overstuffed pussy.

“Hngh!”

“Shhh sh-shh…” His mouth hovers agonizingly closer to yours, and for a second, you think that Choso is going to place a sweet kiss upon your lips. But, insead, he’s tilting his head ever-so-slightly to suck on your tongue.

“Gotta be q-quiet-” he’s keening like a mantra, riotous digits now swiveling around and around your clit. Tired, sloppy but still never-ending - swollen twitching wildly inside your dripping cunt. “Quiet- ah fuck gotta-” Mouth running a mile a minute, you were so soft inside every time he was mashing into your sweet spots. He was out of control now. “Can’t be- caught- ah- please-”

And maybe at this very moment, Jin is turning up the volume to the tv even past its maximum, grandpa Itadori takes off his hearing aid - Sukuna just cackles. 

Because in a split-second, Choso’s slamming his hand down on the counter beside you, groaning huskily into your ear, spitting out curse after curse when he cums and cums against your snug walls until he couldn’t anymore. 

You feel his spazzing wet shaft heaten up inside you, pumping out blanks now. Heavy balls squeezing like he’d run out of his voluminous, thick cum. “W-wait did you just hah!”

“M-maybe….fuck-” Choso drags his lips down your jaw, sharply nipping tiny bites for everyone to see. “Y’know, baby- I think I hear another movie playin’.”

Shit.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Queen of curses

Ryomen Sukuna would never admit it - would never even think to hint at it - but oh, how he loved having you like this.

With your bleary head lolling into his pecs, drool swiping a glossy glide across his smooth skin, hips squirming and just jittering atop where he had you sat all prettily on two matchingly aching cocks. Unmoving. Unrelenting. 

All in front of them.

“Well- whaddaya think, brat?” Sukuna’s leering down into your dazed eyes with his devilish red ones. “You think they hah- deserve death?”

Everyone - everyone - in Sukuna’s decadent throne room flinches. All the way from the spattering of lower curses groveling at the much larger demon’s feet, to you. The staggering curvature of your spine bowing only deeper, batting your teary lashes up at him. 

“I- I don’t-” Each gasped-out little answer catches in your chest at the rabid thump! thump! thumping of his furious heads against your gummy walls. 

His true form was so incredibly massive. Pressing up thoroughly in an indenting little swivel - god, no matter how many times you took him, the intense stretch of his girthy shafts always left your clingy walls struggling to accommodate him, scrambling for your sanity. 

“Don’t?”

And it comes out higher-pitched than Sukuna’s usual rumbling baritone. An almost-believable little look of shock splattered all across his handsome face as he tightens two beefy arms around your body. 

“My queen is sayin’ she doesn’t know?” He’s bouncing his muscular knee in both annoyance, and to drag your slobbering pussy down each length. Tiny, punishing gyrations back and forth. “Can ya believe this?”

It takes you a few more sloppily spent seconds to realize with a jolt that he’s not addressing you in that last sentence - your glassy gaze fixated on how he tilts his head at the few curses behind you two. Snickering out a bout of dark laughter, “My lil’ human- the queen, s’too cockdrunk to even hand your sorry asses your fates.”

Huffing, you pound at his broad chest in a way that he thinks almost tickles. Mumbling with the sort of pout that makes him throb, “S’not m-my fault, Kuna!”

“Not your fault” is an understatement - because Sukuna’s hips were slowly but surely rocking upwards into your sopping cunt. Busying one of his hands with gripping your hips roughly, rummaging your insides with every thorough ram, one of his swollen cocks branding against your g-spot, the other making circular indents along your cervix.  

“Awww, you’re absolutely right, woman.” he slurs out. “S’my fault you w-wan’ed to ride my cock while I hold court, hm?” Jostling you on top of him to manspread, holding on tight to the armrests of his throne to just fuck up into you. “My fault your p-pretty pussy’s too selfish?”

You can only keen when his hefty set of balls sting against your ass, and the tiniest of jolts to your body has Sukuna seizing the opportunity to dip his hand down to your throbbing clit. 

Toying. Pulling. Rolling. 

“P-please-” you’re whining out a syrupy string of profanities that make him titter, and the stupefied curses behind you gasp. Stupidly, “M’not selfish- hngh-”

Shit, your pretty moans were such music to his ears. And one glimpse at the scum behind you two revealed that they thought so too. Heh, which is probably what’s spurring him to slam into you even deeper, to thumb your pussy lips apart and show off how well you were milking inch after inch of him. 

And those other curses could already spy the way Sukuna bulged even bigger inside of you, the way your dewy eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

They almost had half the mind to be concerned if it wasn’t for that uncharacteristically sappy smile on their king’s face.

“Damn. Is that so?” his hips grind up into yours faster. Sloppier. The hard lines of his hip bones making themselves at home imprinting against yours. Sukuna cranes his head down to bite at your slack lips, dangerous. “Then why dontcha hah- give these little heathens their punishment for disrespecting your king?”

It’s just about all you can do to whirl your teary gaze backwards, meeting widened sets of cursed eyes. Watching. Waiting. Greedy gazes dipping down-

“J-jus’ finish them off-” you’re squealing, sputtering to get out your words in full when Sukuna’s thick fingers move inhumanly fast on your clit. Quick, taunting circles. “Jus- fuck-”

That earns you the tiniest of swats on your sensitive nub - and he was being nice. “Ah ah- what a naughty mouth. Honestly, m’thinkin’ you should be the one to be punished - wouldn’t you trash agree?”

You don’t get to hear their answer - but you don’t have to, either. 

Because just then, two, thick fingers tap on the side of your cheek - and you already knew what that meant. You didn’t even have to think about it before letting your mouth fall open in haste, tongue lolling out perfectly. 

His absolute favorite part when Sukuna spits - once. Twice. A thick wad of honeyed saliva right onto the middle of your taste-buds, splattering in a translucent puddle down the side of your mouth. All despite his famously perfect aim. 

Sukuna grins, wiping another one of his thumb across your lower lip. On purpose, of course. 

“There- one punishment down and…” In only a split-second, you feel yourself being flipped - easily, pliantly - to have your back pressed up against all the ridges and curves of Sukuna’s muscles. Two bulging cocks still spearheaded all the way into the very back of your poor pussy, rough palms weighted underneath your legs, spreading you open almost shamefully in front of your audience. “-one more to go.”

The audience that Sukuna was pussydrunken enough to half-forget by now. 

“Ah, you pathetic scum are still here.” His chest vibrates with hissed-out words, breath hot against your ear. He’s whispering - to you, this time, “Whaddaya say- if ya squirt on m’cock I’ll finish ‘em off, my queen?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - POWA

Not one. Not two.

Not even the entire council of elders could stop Satoru Gojo from taking exactly what he wanted - you. 

Not the way your joints were protesting at this rude mating press he had you folded into, how his poor, overworked cock was twitching a mile a minute trying to keep up with his vigorous cadence - not even the fact that the two of you were being heard.

“T-Toru–” you’re begging, but it comes out as more of a strangled little mess of moans than anything. Your nails claw rawly down his back - yards upon yards of red, red lines. “The elders are just- out- the- door-”

Oh, but it was so hard to spit out any coherent sentences with the way that your husband was ramming his swollen cock into your with reckless abandon. Each and every ragged thrust like his hips were moving before his very mind - like he was just chasing that toasty hug of your walls. 

It takes a few more sloppy spearheads into the very back of your cunt before his pussydrunk brain can manage to find the words, “So what?”

You’re gasping when his palm comes down in a shuddering smack! right onto the smooth tatami of your living room floor. Too depraved. Too restless to have taken you anywhere else. 

Those pressurized waves causing the tiniest of tremors in the ground underneath you - more to piss off the grumbling elders outside than anything, if those muffled whispers were anything to go by.

For them to hear, to imagine. But not to see - no, because Gojo Satoru was a possessive bastard over his dear wife. 

“They sh-show up to my Estate-” he gasps out - voice dragged hoarse, each word spat with the utmost venom you haven’t heard Gojo talk with to even his deepest of enemies. “Interrupt my time with my wife to demand hah- shitty talks of clan politics and- heirs.” And you swear his cerulean eyes just glow in the dim lighting, biting down hard on your earlobe, “And expect not to get a firsthand experience on makin’ an heir, heh-”

You’re keening when it seems like he’s hitting all your sweetened spots at such an inhuman pace. Scrunched eyes tinging with slight blue lightning when he glides a splayed-out palm across your stomach-

“F-fuck, Toru-” your own greedy gaze widens when his long index draws an invisible line halfway across your stomach. Deftly feeling for that bulging nudge of his fattened tip denting into your g-spot, smirking at that feeble recoil. “Are- are you using six eyes?”

At this, Gojo’s babbling out a humorless bout of laughter - broken, higher-pitched, murmured into the corner of your mouth. 

“And?” His aching cock was just sobbing swelteringly hot precum with every surging ram, and so was Gojo - the stimulation of your plushy walls and the use of his jujutsu too much that he can feel his eyes well up with big, bulbous tears. “Hafta- hngh! hafta give ‘em a lil’ lesson on how strong our heir’s gonna be, right, sweetheart?”

You finding yourself clinging desperately onto Gojo’s snowy locks, boring up into his half-lidded, red-rimmed eyes. “Y-yes- gonna hafta- hngh- just hafta have you fill me up, Toru–”

Clearly, that was not what he was expecting.

Because this little answer leaves the strongest heaving in deep inhales of air. Barely even realizing the slow, lazy nod he’s giving you - a fucked-out grin spreading across his pretty features when he tilts his head towards your firmly shut sliding door. 

“Mhm- jus’- hngh-” he groans, head throwing back at the mess of gooey translucence that dribbles its way down from your snugly filled cunt. “Jus’ need ya to say it a ah- little louder f’me, my wife- p-please?”

“Wan’ you t-to give me an heir-”

“Louder, sweetheart.”

“Wan-”

“Louder-”

You scream - you moan. And you cum, crashing into your orgasm headfirst, faster than either of you expected-

“Fuck- fuck yeah, gonna fill ya up-” Gojo’s gaping in awe, unable to rip his eyes away from your beautiful face all twisted in ecstasy. Just the very furrow in your brows, the trickle of drool at the corner of your lips, the way your hot insides massage him so snug makes him fuck you into the tatami faster. “Gonna make ya a p-pretty momma- hngh- all round n’ glowing- Give you all my cum until all they can see is me- fuck- me me me.”

Forehead pressed up damply against yours, his abs burn at the fervent drive of his weeping dick. Sensitive shaft feeling his thick precum slosh around your insides with each aggressive grind. 

And he’s fucking wondering already how you two haven’t broken bones yet. 

Much, much later, he’ll figure out that it was his reverse cursed technique. That his cock runs red and raw after tonight, that the power bursts out in all prefectures in Tokyo when Gojo Satoru finally cums. 

Halfway on purpose - letting loose of his jujutsu a bit more than necessary. 

He snickers at the chorus of gasps from outside when shards of lightbulbs flow across the room, whimpers spilling from his ravaged mouth. “Heheh- serves ‘em right-” Drilling into you sloppily, so deep. “Gonna f-find out- gonna fuck a baby into ya- hngh- an heir- fuck serves ‘em right–”

Oh, he’s running his mouth a mile a minute with little nonsense - and you can’t speak at all. Feeling those darting spurts of his potent seed at your very lungs, the sheer volume knocking against your womb. Over and over in a silky white gloss. It drools out of your sopping wet slit, soiling a puddle underneath your sweat-slicked bodies. 

“Oh, sweetheart-” Gojo simpers, and shit, you already knew his tone didn’t bode well for your poor, overspilling pussy. His eyes lock on the door, “I don’t think our guests have left yet-”

“Because you froze them with your jujutsu-”

“How about another round?”

A/N. These poor side characters do NOT get paid enough lemme tell ya that.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[spacedkey]

was immediately re-impressed how smooth the darkness 2 runs on this computer because of how shit the emulation of the darkness was but the universe had to balance out the good somehow and decided all the ambient sounds+music will only come out of the right speaker and ignore volume sliders

[transgender-catboy]

aw nuts, I didn't get butter when I should have

[biohazard-inevitable]

How on brand of me is it to have a black eye from slamming a metal door into my face?

[nezuscribe]

it's that same summer when you're at the gojo summer estate, the one near the sea. you're still teens, long before gojo became arranged!gojo.

your last encounter with gojo was something you brushed off. but gojo couldn't stop thinking about you. you were this puzzle he didn't know how to figure out. this war map that no matter how long he looked at it, none of his past strategies were making sense.

but the two of you go about your usual routine. he's with his friends, and you stick to yourself.

or at least you tried to.

gojo's mother, the lady of the gojo family, was an earnest and strict woman. everybody knew that she wasn't one for games or jokes. she rarely smiled and rarely, rarely, laughed. you, along with all the other kids, knew to bow extra low whenever greeting her. she seemed to carry more power than her husband, but she didn't seem to find an issue with that.

but for a woman who was so keen on tradition, she seemed to care about you a lot more than the other children.

when she spoke to you, her eyes softened. her voice was gentler, more caring. your sisters especially grew annoyed at this, trying to butter up to her even more, but she seemed to harbor this sort of kindness only towards you.

you didn't question this either. it must be some form of pity, but you appreciated it nonetheless. sometimes you pretended like she was your actual mom, but then you quickly shook that thought away, chiding yourself for thinking something so childish.

this sort of gentleness she had with you turned into her trying to include you in things. some days it would be having tea with you when the other adults were having tea somewhere else, or sometimes she'd plan a little dinner with you where you could get dressed up and act like a lady.

tonight, however, she seemed to think that the best way she could include you was to include you in the group of the other kids, a gentle and guiding hand on your protesting back.

"really, i like the library," you insist, but it couldn't be farther from the truth. you had been inside the library for so many hours that you could blink and those high walls filled with books would be seared into your vision.

"nonsense," she tells you, her blue eyes and white hair looking down at your form as she waves it off, "the kids are outside near the fire. they'd be delighted to have you."

you cringe a little bit, wondering if she was just as daft as her son.

but she had found you near the fireplace, trying to stick its warmth as you hunched over yet another book. she decided that enough was enough, you should be out with the other kids.

so you couldn't say much to the woman who was hosting your family to argue, letting her lead you outside the grand patio and into the overbearing fields that led out to the sea, you soon saw the fire crackling away, the sound of laughter filling your ears.

some of the kids who were facing the two of you nudged the other ones to turn around, looks of confusion on their faces as the noblest lady of the land led a quivering you closer to them.

the usual look of caring she had whenever she was with you melted away, turning to something icy as the two of you neared the group. her hand on your back was still present, but you wished that it could somehow push you deep into the ground where you could hide forever.

her eyes looked over the group until they fell on her son, gojo, and narrowed.

everybody's eyes bounced from you over to her.

"there should be room for one more, yes?" she asks, and all the kids quickly nod, moving over on the logs that they had created into makeshift seats as they scrambled to make space for you.

you wondered what it was like to command such respect from people, what it must be like to have people actually listen to you.

she nudges you forward a little bit and you glance up at her one more time, a sort of useless plea as she encourages you to sit down.

you take a deep breath, offering them all an apologetic smile as you slowly sit on a log, your legs cramming together to make yourself seem as small as possible.

you watched as she walked back through the patio, talking to a maid as she motioned over to your group, saying something you couldn't make out, and you looked back to the other kids, the ones you had barely spoken a couple words to, and wince.

"sorry," you say slowly, your hands fidgeting non-stop in your lap as you laugh awkwardly, wishing you could just drop dead.

you can see your sisters seething in the corner, rolling their eyes as they sneer. the other kids nod at you just as tensely, and you wonder how disrespectful it would be if you just went back inside.

you feel a pair of eyes searing in the side of your face, and you look slightly to your right to see gojo staring at you, his eyes slightly squinting, just as his mother did.

you swallow thickly, picking at your nails as you send him a small smile before looking back down at your lap.

you could still feel him looking at you, but you chose to ignore it.

gojo doesn't really know why his mother liked you so much, but he never truly questioned her. she treated you with a tenderness he never saw her treat anybody (aside from him) with. he sometimes saw the two of you sharing tea with each other, other times hearing her laugh whenever you cracked a joke. something unusual for both of you.

his eyes look at your face, taking in the way you duck your head to seem smaller than you are. your eyes avert any contact, teeth gnawing on your already chewed-up lips. gojo looks at your hands, at the way you pick at your nails. he looks at your dress and sees the way the seams are fraying, the initial shape of the dress looking a little bit unfitting on you. almost as if it wasn't made for you specifically. his eyes narrow in more as he pieces it together. the dress is a hand-me-down from your older sister. not because your family couldn't afford a new dress, of course not, but to remind you of your place.

he feels a sting in his chest.

slowly the conversation with the group goes back to usual, the other kids pretending that you weren't there. gojo could feel the arms of one of the girls latched around his, her body pressing into his side as she tried to get closer to him. he wanted to shove her away, but didn't want to make a scene right now.

one of the girl shifted the talk to the topic of couples, talking about how she saw this husband and wife in town the other day who seemed to actually like each other.

one of your sisters, mei, snorts, shaking her head at the idea.

"us girls either marry an old man or a slightly older one," her eyes look over to you, "there's no in-between."

everybody grimaces at that, her other sister, yume, shoving her shoulder roughly at the crude statement.

"what?" mei scoffs, sitting back up as she nudges her chin to you, "she is."

yume gives her a warning look, one that's clearly saying she's saying too much, but mei doesn't seem to care much. everybody stirs, their heads craning with the thrill of gossip.

gojo looks at you and wants to see what you think about all this, but you're so far in your own world that you don't notice the commotion that seems to be directed at you.

mei calls your name, trying to grab your attention, and your head shoots up, brows furrowed to see who needs you.

"right?" she asks, knowing you don't know the answer.

you look around again, wondering if she was just trying to be funny.

"what?" you ask finally.

"you have to marry someone older, yeah?" mei presses, her eyes gleaming as your confusion melts away into one of embarrassment, looking at yume to see if mei was really serious.

of your two sisters, mei was always the mischievous one, if you could even call her cruelty that.

gojo sits up slightly, his brows scrunching up together a little bit at the mention of this. nobody had heard of any marriage offers, especially this early. you were still underage. who...?

you scratch at your neck, heat rising to your cheeks at the sudden attention on you.

"it was just an offer," you say through clenched teeth, shooting mei a look as she just smiles smugly. she knew she'd never have to deal with this.

"who?" one of the guys asks.

"nobody," you say quickly, waving it off as you rub a hand over your face, wondering if you threw yourself on the fire if that would help.

"naoya!" mei says instantly, your eyes widening as she reveals this very secret thing that even your father was trying to keep hushed away. you feel your stomach drop, eyes stinging in embarrassment as gasps echo around the group.

"isn't he...?" one of the girls tries to do the math, seeing how much older he already is.

"i heard he wants children," another girl adds, giving you a look of attempted sympathy but it just looks like a wince, "like, a lot of children."

you shut your eyes, rubbing at your aching forehead. you look briefly at gojo, only to see him looking incredulously at you. he's the only one who doesn't seem to be talking in a shocked or excited tone.

everybody gets excited about a terrible marriage offer when it's not them who have to offer themselves up.

he's studying you, seeming to be the only one who sees the way your chest is heaving, as if you're struggling to breathe. or the glossy look in your eyes, the way you dart them away so nobody can see. gojo looks over at mei, at the way she looks satisfied for delivering her piece of gossip for the night,

at your expense.

he doesn't know why he feels the way he does, or why he drags the girls arm away from him as he stands up, shrugging his coat over his frame as everybody suddenly looks at him.

but he's only looking at you.

"i forgot to give you your blanket from last week." he says simply, his voice heavy and coarse, as if he hadn't used it in a while, "come with me,"

well, he never said he was good at lying.

but he puts a steady arm on your shoulder, helping you stand up as you shoot him a confused look, letting him lead you away as the silence behind you becomes defeating.

you wipe at your nose, sniffling silently as he leads you through the grassy field.

he glances down at you. this is the second time the two of you have been alone, and the first time he's ever seen you on the verge of tears.

"thank you," you murmur thickly, rubbing at your eyes with your palms as you laugh wetly, "she wasn't supposed to say..." you trail off, looking away from him in embarrassment.

gojo guides you up the porch, behind a long marble pillar where the two of you are away from the other's curious stares.

he's never been good at comforting people, but he's never wanted to more than now.

"she's right, though," you say through a stutter, arms crossing at your chest as if that's what gojo was thinking about, "naoya, he-" you can't finish the sentence, the reality of it too heavy for you.

naoya proposed a month ago. a marriage offer for when you turn of age. he was desperate to find a wife, but not too many women were desperate to make him their husband. but your father needed the alliance, and your father's wife needed you away, so they swiftly agreed to it.

gojo's hand still hasn't left your shoulder, and he gives it a small squeeze.

"i'm sorry about this," you motion to yourself, laughing humorleslsy, "i didn't mean to...gods, i just...i don't want to be his w-wife," you admit quietly, shaking your head as you hide your face in your hands, "i-i don't want to have his children."

gojo feels bile rise to his throat at the thought of that.

he's only seen you twice. why does he care so much about what happens to you?

"somebody else will come along," he says in a whisper, and you look at him through your fingers, dropping them to your side as you blink slowly, rubbing at your cheeks.

"no good man wants to marry me," you tell him quietly, without any trace of pity for yourself, something that was simply the truth, "if not naoya, then another variant of him."

gojo leans down slightly to level with you, his lips pressed into a thin line.

you don't know why he's so close, or why he looks more worried for you than anybody else has. you shrug him off of you, trying to collect yourself as you peer through one of the large windows that look inside the estate.

"you can get rid of that blanket," you mutter, eyes darting from the window to his stunning blue ones, ones that make your knees slightly weak, "i was going to knit a new one anyways."

you bid your farewells, nodding lowly at him as you find your way inside.

gojo watches your back, looking back at the group as he runs a hand through his hair, gripping at his white locks in frustration.

he doesn't know what he's feeling. he doesn't know why he wants naoya suddenly dead. he doesn't know why he's not going to listen to what you just asked him to do, or why he wants to hold onto that blanket.

gojo doesn't know why you suddenly infiltrate his every waking moment, or why he needs to see naoya buried alive just so that you wouldn't have to marry him.

he doesn't know the answer to any of these things. but he doesn't know if he wants to.

[kateschi]

midnight check-in

synopsis: in the middle of the night, you are woken up by a call from your husband.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the phone buzzes on the nightstand, dragging you from the edge of sleep. squinting at the glowing screen, you see katsuki’s name flashing across it.

it’s late—past the time he should have been home, but not unusual given the unpredictability of hero work. swiping the call open, you press the phone to your ear, voice still heavy with sleep.

“did I wake you?”

his voice is rough, but familiar, crackling through the line like static.

there’s no apology in his tone, but you can hear the subtle hint of concern buried underneath, like he’s weighing whether he should’ve waited until morning to call.

“no,” you lie, sitting up and adjusting to the quiet darkness of the room. “it’s fine. what’s up? are you coming home soon?”

there’s a brief pause on the other end. you hear the faint shuffle of his gear, like he’s shifting in his seat, maybe still in the office or the agency car. “yeah, I’ll be home in a bit. just… wanted to check in.”

check in? katsuki doesn’t just check in. the man’s explosive, stubborn, and blunt to a fault—never the type to dance around what’s on his mind. so, when he calls you this late just to ‘check in,’ something feels off.

“everything okay?” you ask softly, leaning back against the headboard. your fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, tracing small patterns over the fabric.

“yeah, just a long-ass day,” he grumbles, his voice a little lower now. he’s tired, you can tell, but there’s something else lurking in the background of his words.

“didn’t mean to be out so late. I know I said I’d be back before—”

“katsuki,” you cut him off gently. “you don’t have to apologize for doing your job. I know how it is.”

he lets out a frustrated huff, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s feeling restless.

“still,” he mutters. “I said I’d be there, and I’m not. doesn’t sit right with me.”

your heart softens at that. even though his words are gruff, katsuki has always had a way of showing he cares—usually in his own roundabout, katsuki-style way.

“you’re here now,” you say, your voice a little warmer. “that’s what matters. I’m just glad you called.”

another pause, this one heavier. there’s a slight crackle from his end, like he’s shifting again, probably leaning back in whatever chair he’s stuck in, the tension still clinging to him.

“yeah, well… I didn’t wanna wake up and find out you’re pissed I didn’t get home.” there’s a touch of humor in his voice, and you can practically hear the smirk on his lips. “figured I’d save myself the trouble.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head. “you’re not getting out of trouble that easily, katsuki.”

“darn,” he clicks his tongue, but the familiar grumble in his tone makes you smile. it’s his way of saying he missed you, without actually saying it.

for a moment, there’s just comfortable silence between you.

the sound of his steady breathing on the other end of the line makes your chest ache a little—wanting him here, not just on the other side of a phone.

“you almost home?” you ask quietly, the warmth of the blankets doing little to fill the empty space beside you.

“yeah.” his voice softens, dropping just enough that you can tell he’s not as guarded anymore. “should be there in about ten.”

“good,” you murmur, stifling a yawn as you sink further into the bed, imagining him walking through the door any minute now. “I’ll wait for you.”

there’s a beat, a moment where his breathing catches ever so slightly, before he grumbles again, but softer this time. “you don’t have to stay up for me, y/n.”

“I want to.”

the silence that follows feels different—warmer, like he’s smiling, even if you can’t see it. and maybe it’s the exhaustion in your voice, or the way you said it so matter-of-factly, but something in him shifts.

you hear him let out a quiet breath, the kind he only ever lets out when he’s alone with you.

“...you’re such a damn idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. just warmth.

you smile into the phone, eyes already half-closed. “takes one to know one.”

he snorts at that, a rare sound of amusement that you love catching him off-guard with. “whatever. just keep your ass in bed. I’ll be there soon.”

“mhm,” you hum, already feeling the drowsiness tugging at you again, but there’s something in the comfort of his voice that keeps you tethered.

you shift slightly, hugging the blanket closer, waiting for the familiar click of the front door. before you drift off entirely, you murmur, “love you, katsuki.”

there’s a pause, and for a moment, you think he’s hung up. but then, quietly, with all the weight of a promise, he replies.

“yeah. love you too.”

the call ends with a soft click, but even after, the warmth of his voice lingers in the quiet room. you smile to yourself, feeling the space beside you growing less empty by the minute.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Verdict Due

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1)

Innocents Among You (Part 2)

The Guilty Plea (Part 3)

Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: You head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

Simon's steps are slow, lacking energy or purpose. Releasing the buckles strapping his vest down to him, he finally arrives to his door, lifting the camo from himself.

His forehead pressing into the wooden door, he finds it harder and harder to open everyday, seeing reminders of you every moment of everyday, when he closes his eyes, when he lays down in bed. Hell when he opens the door. He hated this room now.

Outside of the place that you both had made your home away from war, from battle, from the base, this was where the two of you had once spent most of your time.

He raised his head off the door, before bringing it back down on it, then doing it again, this time hard enough to hurt. "Fuck," he cursed, cursing himself, his stupid decisions, the times he'd never get back, the mistakes he'll never be able to erase. Huffing out bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut, he's still for a moment, before banging his fist against the wall. "Fuck!" There's a crackle along the wall, a clatter of dust and dried paint hitting his feet.

A shuddered breath leaves him, swallowing down his grief, his anger at himself. But, he can't help it. He's ruined everything.

Simon's head stays there against the doorway, he doesn't want to go in.

His head turns a bit, seeing a figure down the hallway, straightening up, dark eyes squinting. "Johnny?"

Quiet and Still. The Scotsman's mouth is set in a hard line, he runs a hand down his face, smearing the mess he'd made of himself. "I..." he breathes deeply. "I saw her today."

"You what?" Simon perks up, eyes wide. He looks past his comrade, seeing the open doorway of your room, "She's here," he speaks, voice alight and hopeful. Making his way past Johnny, "She's here?" he asks this time, bracing himself at her doorway.

But, the room is a mess and void of you. He'd nearly forgotten how the soldiers had left it, the day it happened he could watch it, it would've been too finalizing of what he thought was your betrayal. Today was meant to be the day they'd clean it all up, due to plaguing themselves with missions and ops that required long weeks, long hours. No one wanted to think about what they'd done.

But, now they'd only made another mistake in waiting too long. And now you had to be greeted by this mess.

"I didn't know it was--" Johnny couldn't turn back to the room, back to Simon, as he spoke. "I didn't know we did so much to her. I thought--how long--how could I--" he shakily began. "--how could you?" Simon's eyes flicker to his friend, dark circles and sunken cheeks seem to worsen. "She was so...she couldn't even look at me, Si. Like I'd make her sick, like I'd--hurt her again...I've never--" his fingers claw at his chest, hoping to rip away the ache in his heart, eyes haunted to tears and staring into the dark of his memory as he thought back. "I'd never--" he can't finish.

"She was here?" Simon asked again.

Johnny's clouded eyes look to Simon, opening his mouth before opting for nodding. Clearing his throat, finally seeming to get a handle on himself, "Just left."

"She what?" Simon bolts out towards the stairs, pushing through the doorway and jumping down the first flight to rush through the rest.

As he gets to the lobby floor, he shoves through the door, revealing the hallway to him, running down the long stretch before ramming into the side wall to catch himself at the corner. He continues down the way, running as fast as he's able, before bursting through the side doors of the front lobby.

He sees you immediately, beyond the glass doorways.

"(Y/n)..."

He's running before he can think to get his legs moving.

---

Leaving the dormitories, finally leaving behind the spare hospital wear that you had swapped for your own clothes, you waved down the first vehicle you'd seen.

The driver letting you into the truck, the two of you unaware as he begins to drive off, Simon shoving his way through the residential doors and coming to a stop in the middle of the street as you drive away.

You, having hopped a ride with one of the soldiers making his rounds, the Jeep shakes with the changing terrain, providing more conversation than the trooper that was much too quiet. Shifting his shoulders, adjusting his fingers around the leather, glancing one too many times through the mirror.

It was getting weird. But, you were a familiar face on the base, unfortunately now, it used to be because you were good at your job, the best sniper they had on the force. But now, it was because you were the first proclaimed traitor of the force in decades and the first to be wrong about.

So, the new attention is nothing to be pleased about.

"Find something interesting to look at, soldier?"

Back straightening, body stiffening and eyes facing the road, the trooper swallows thickly at having been caught eyeing you. "No, ma'am!"

"Then I suggest you keep your eyes on the road."

"Yes, ma'am!" clearing his throat. "Sorry, ma'am, I don't mean to stare."

Arms crossed, head turned to watch the smaller buildings go by, your jaw clenched. "It's fine..." you breathe, before relaxing a bit more as the drive goes farther and farther away from the residential areas. Eyes flickering over to the still tense trooper, you mutter. "Ease."

His shoulders drop, head turning, flustered. "Sorry, ma'am."

It was always strange to be called 'Ma'am' by fellow soldiers, usually you were only a year or so apart, others you had been younger by ten years or older by five. But, this trooper was new to the force, young, clearly still jumpy, you had been the same after your first missions on the Task Force.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the trooper then speaks, shakily.

"You don't have to keep--"

"About what happened to you," he continued. "I'm not sure if you heard that yet, but it's--that sounds--I can't imagine. I'm sorry that happened to you."

For a moment too long you're quiet, holding your breath, staring at the scenery as it whistled on past, the wind whipping through your hair. Your nails tearing into your skin as you rake them over your scars, smearing the line of blood left after ripping out your IV line, abandoning it as you found a ride.

"Get any cool scars out of it, at least?" he jokes, lightheartedly.

Your eyes snap his way, his eyes widening before he looks back to the road, back to stiff.

You open your mouth to speak, but you can't. You're just angry, too angry to find the words. But, you don't want to take it out on him, he was just attempting to alleviate whatever burden he imagined to be on your shoulders. But, all it was was a reminder, this was all anyone could think of anymore, when it came to you, this ordeal.

The apologies, the reminders, the quiet looks, the whispers, the fucking gnawing pain still splintered through your spine, you were tired of it.

The car pulls up to the largest administrative building on the base camp, hopefully you were right and this was where Laswell was posted up.

Quickly pulling the car handle as the trooper steps out of the vehicle to assist you, you hurriedly speak as he reaches to touch you. "I've got it," you hiss out, harsher then you meant. Stepping down and off the platform, onto the sidewalk, you forget you don't have your IV pole to at least stabilize you. So, when you stumble, he grabs your arm, his other resting on your shoulder.

"Woah!" his grip lacks gentleness, though not bruising, it's enough to set you off.

Your arm goes back and over his arm, shrugging him off, roughly. "I said I got it!" Your palm pushing into his shoulder and sending him back and off of you, he shifts back and nearly off his feet, catching himself.

"Alright, jeez!"

You're stumbling back into the light pole luckily a few steps behind you, leaning yourself against the cemented metal, you balance yourself. Shaking off the buzz in your ears and rubbing away the tension built along your skin, taking a few shuttered breaths, turned away from the soldier.

The trooper takes a few steps away from you, expression lifted to frustration and annoyance, rolling his eyes, brows furrowed and back pedaling to the Jeep. "Fucking crazy," he mutters to himself, adjusting his gear and stepping up back to the vehicle.

But, he doesn't make it very far until you're on him.

"What the fu--!"

Taking the opening of his kevlar and yanking him out of the vehicle, unable to catch himself fast enough to get to his feet. You hold a steel grip on the collar of his uniform, literally holding him up by his straps, pulling his entire bodyweight off the ground, leaning down so you're face to face with him. "Say it again," you snapped, eyes dark and boring into his skull. "I wanna have a good excuse for what I'm about to do to you."

He was taller, probably stronger, but looking up at you, he could see the years of mayhem and chaos that's burned itself into your irises, made you the lieutenant he'd tripped up on properly respecting. "I didn't--I didn't say anything! I'm sorry, ma'am, it won't--it won't happen again!"

Nostrils flared, eyes flickering between his wide, fearful ones, your hands loosen around his gear. He falls forwards, landing on his forearms with a groan, releasing a relieved breath.

He looks up, watching as you turn and make your trek into the building. You had seemed so fragile before, with a limp in your walk, scars head to toe and those braces along your legs, he assumed you had no fight in you. He couldn't have imagined, five minutes, he'd be wrong.

---

"Laswell."

The Station Chief turns, manila folder files in hand, brows raised at the intrusion before her eyes widen at the sight of your tired figure.

"Gray..."

You don't wait to be invited inside, instead pulling up a chair as you let the door close behind you. Not fully out of a lack of respect but your legs were killing you and surely if you wait a second longer you'll literally tear a muscle. "You free?"

"Never. But, I can make time," she answers. "Is something wrong?"

You bite down on your tongue. What isn't wrong.

"I put in a request for council in resignation, ma'am. I'm just here to know if it went through."

"I did...receive your request," The woman is still quite surprised to see you, a bit off put at your presence, hearing about your scars was one thing, seeing them was another. "Of course. Though, I expected you to wait for my call before deciding to come to me."

"I'm sure," you feigned a slight chuckle that faded as soon as it started. You say nothing else but stare.

Laswell sighs, tossing down the folder she'd been holding. "Look, Lieutenant Gray--"

"Just (L/N)," you gritted out. "Please." You couldn't stand your codename at the moment, you didn't want to carry a single thing this team had given you.

"Lieutenant..." Laswell pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the long table, facing you, "You've accomplished much on the force, saved lives, eliminated threats that had the potential to level the united nations, your honors and distinctions. At the very least, here, your guidance is a treasure..."

"I'd like my resignation to be approved, Chief--"

Laswell continues. "I need you to careful think about what you're doing here, Gray--(L/n). I don't want you to be motivated by what's happened to you, you still have a place on the force, it doesn't have to be beside your team. Don't waste your talents in the field because of this experience."

"Experience," You scoffed at the word, nose cringing up in disgust at the downplay. "I didn't go on a rollercoaster at Disney World, god--I was tortured by my team for weeks while my fiancé threatened to kill me afterwards..." you were about to lose your mind. "What makes any of you think I'd want to stay here? Why can't any of you just respect my decision to leave? I'm resigning."

Laswell settles back into her chair, lips pressing together, she makes a hum of a sound. "I can arrange a transfer," she compromised. "But, my authorization goes through only after informing Price, he also needs to sign off on this."

Your jaw clenches, your fingers tightening around your clasped hands. "Then how about that favor you owe me?"

Station Chief straightens, brow lifting and arms crossed. "Excuse me, soldier?"

Sighing, reaching a hand into your bag, you bring out a folder of your own, some documents signed off. "I had to wonder who the evidence was sent to, given it was right after our mission and Price doesn't even look at his reports to sign off on something in under 24 hours, it wasn't him," watching as Laswell opened the folder, revealing her own name signing off on the interrogation, just a few of the photos that'd declared you guilty. "Thanks for ruining my career, Laswell."

She spreads out the evidence, her own signature on the papers, she breathes out. "And what are you trying to do here, Gray?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Trying to threaten me with what exactly--?"

"Nothing," you answered. "I'm asking for a favor, from someone I thought was my friend," you find it harder to say, Laswell's jaw clicks and she shifts in her chair. "You owe me that much."

"It's the job, (L/n). I was protecting our own, our resources were very promising."

"Until they weren't, huh?" you sarcastically gritted out.

"Yes..." Laswell sighs. "I do apologize, (L/n), but--"

"Just do this for me," you interrupted, pleading this time. "Please. I can't go to him, I can't even look at Simon, let alone Price. Forget about being in the same room with them. I just--I can't be here, this isn't where I belong anymore," looking down at your hands, the scars that circled your wrists. This was a final decision. "I'm resigning with or without you."

Rising from your seat, Laswell stands as you do, "You resign without clearance, they'll take everything from you. Your pension, your insurance, retirement, everything, you'll be dishonorably discharged, you understand that?"

"'Course, I do," you admit. "Honestly, I thought I'd be dead on a mission somewhere before I saw any of that, I don't expect anything out of this. Nothing's...worth any of this."

As you turn the handle to leave, Laswell speaks once more. "I just wanted to enlighten you on what I'm risking for you, signing off on this."

At that, you glance back to her, watching as the older woman sighs heavily, picking up a pen, opening up the manila folder she'd been holding onto previously. Opening it up to reveal your resignation papers.

"If I do this, when I call on you, Gray," Laswell says. "I expect you to be there."

As she wrote her signature down on the dotted line, you swallowed down the ache that's plagued you for weeks, "I swear."

As the station chief continues down the packet, turning to the next page and signing once again, you slowly slide back into your chair, sitting silently as you watch her sign off on your leave from military service.

You bring your hand up fast as a tear runs down your face, wiping it away before Laswell can see, sniffing quietly.

---

Walking slowly down the side hallway of the admin building, you stare out into space, your eyes glistening as you hold the signed resignation packet to your chest, pressing it to yourself tightly.

Passing the front desk, the security posted up at the elevators, you enter the main hall and come to a stop. Your grip on your documents tightening as you watch rain pour out onto the outer glass of the windows.

Watching the downpour outside, you can't seem to get your feet moving to just leave this place. That's all you need to do, just...walk right through it, into a car, past the gates, onto the highway. Just...go home.

As you flinch at the pitter patter of the rain hitting the building, a short burst of thunder, you try to inch your way closer to the doors but the closer you get, the more you can remember. The more you can feel.

The rain gets louder, and louder. It's cold, although you recall it being 90 degrees and in the middle of the desert. It must just be you.

Putting your folder away and into your bag, the automatic doors open for you, but it's too hard to step through. Staring out into the open landscape, the dividing border of the desert land and the gates surrounding the base. The dry ground now turning muddy, trucks driving by and the mud swelling up at the change in pressure, soldiers rushing through the rain, kicking up mud, flicking up umbrellas.

Breathing deeply, you scuff your shoes forwards, feeling the first drop hit your skin, it's warm, but it's no comfort. Gasping at the feeling, you stumble back into the building, the automatic doors closing.

Short gasps of breath quietly leave you, your nails burrow into the skin of your forearm, you stare at the rain as it pelts at the ground, flooding pot holes and falling into storm drains.

The automatic door opens again, you back up, shifting to the side, as an officer gives you a strange look as he walks past and into the rain.

Your hesitance to proceed into the rain was noticed by a few in the main lobby. Like Kyle, who still stood in his mission uniform, dropping off his reports to the main desk, getting off the elevator to see you staring up at the cloudy sky.

His eyes widening in shock, he's lost in his own world when he begins to take steps towards you, lips parting in disbelief, voice cracking as he breathes out to say, to beg or plead for forgiveness.

The automatic door opens again as you shuffle forwards to try to step outside, he doesn't fully notice your fear of the weather when he speaks.

"(Y/n)..."

You turn at the sound of your name and his eyes flicker to the large scar along your cheek, the red of your eye still, that had changed the color of your iris, maybe permanently. The way you hold your bag tight in your hands as if to shield it from the rain before yourself.

You don't say anything, he hadn't expected you to. You stare at him, surprised to see him, then the expression changes to terror, brows pulling inward and hands sinking into your bag to bring it closer. His heart aching at your reaction to him, his lips pressing together, he doesn't know if she should say another thing. Just let you go.

"(Y/n), I..." he can't help himself as he continues, breathlessly.

You back away from him, out of the building and into the rain. The moment it hits your back, soaking through your shirt, rain hitting the top of your head, down your back, you tense up and spin around.

Kyle's brows furrow, before worriedly witnessing as you curl into yourself instantly, crying out in terror, your hands coming up and over your head. "(Y/n)!"

Realizing what you'd done, your back hits the glass doorway, too late for the doorway to register you wanting to come back inside. You stumble to the corner of the building, just next to the doorway and under the too small gutter to find any shelter from the pelting water at your skin.

A loud sob leaves you, squeezing your eyes shut, you can feel the torture starting again, the unbearable freeze of your limbs, the force of crashing pounds of water along your spine. The screams they would pull from you...

Your torment lasts only a few seconds, suddenly the rain stops, but the sound continues around you. A coat settling around your shoulders and over your head, Kyle's hands on your shoulders, he's yelling over the thunder. "Come on, let's get you out of this. Come on, (Y/n)," he takes your arms. "Let me help you, please!"

"You did this," you cried. "I told you. I told you it wasn't me. But, you kept turning it back on! And then you'd leave it like that and it drove me fucking insane. I'll never be ok again, I can't--" hyperventilating. "Don't touch me, Kyle."

Kyle swallows thickly, head hanging low, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before leaning down to you. "I can't leave you here like this, please, love," he hauls you up to your feet. You shove him back, pressing yourself further into the corner, shaking, "(Y/n)--"

"Don't put your fucking hands on me. What don't you get, huh?" you spat. Pulling off the jacket he'd placed over you, tensing at ever drop of rain that fell over you after, but you toss it back at him. "I don't want anything from you. Never again."

"I'm sorry," Kyle clutches the jacket. "I'm so bloody sorry. I'm sorry for every damn thing I'd ever done to you. I'm sorry we didn't listen. I should've never done that to you. I didn't want to, I just--I thought I was doing the right thing for all of us," his voice breaks and he cries under the rain as his little sister, his family, hatefully stares him down. "I thought you'd give in, that it'd be over as quick as it started! I'm sorry I couldn't trust that you were telling the truth all that time."

"I don't want your apology!" you yell. "Cause you'll never know the same feeling. You'll never understand what you've taken from me. What you've done to me--" hiccupping painfully.

Kyle looks away from you, inhaling with a shudder, reddening eyes are covered as he raises his hands to run over his face.

"Your apologies. Your wishes for forgiveness," you seethe. " You should keep them. They mean nothing to me."

With that, you shove on past him, re-entering the building and rushing down the hallway, you turn the corner away from Kyle. Leaving the distraught man out in the rain, the automatic door sliding closed as he looks on after you.

Part 5 OUT NOW!

[writers-potion]

Let's Talk About Pacing Our Fight Scenes.

For Fast-Paced Parts:

Short words with single syllables. Immediately > at once/ endeavour > try/ indicate > point at/ investigate > check out.

Short sentences, the shorter the better.

Partial sentences to blaze through multiple senses and actions within a few lines.

Short paragraphs

Lots of verbs.

Few adjectives and adverbs.

Cut down on -ing form of verbs, as it can make words longer

Use simple past tense

Avoid conjunctions and link words.

Avoid internal thought - your characters are irrational, ruthless and in the flow of pure action.

For Slow-Paced Parts:

Use medium/long sentences

the paragraphs are longer: three lines minimum

Include longer words with more syllables

Use adjectives and maybe a couple of adverbs.

Insert the thoughts of the PoV character.

Words for Action Scenes

act, alter, attack, avert, back, block, bang, bash, battle, beat, beg, belt, bend, best, bite, blacken, bleed, blind, blister, blow, blunt, boil, bolt, boot, bore, bow, box, brace, brag, brash, brawl, break, breathe, brush, buck, bulgde, burn, burst, cackle, call, can, carry, cart, carve, catch, check, chop, chuck, clack, clank, clap, clash, claw, clear, cleave, click, cliff, cling, clip, close, club, cock, coil, cold, collar, come, con, connect, corner, cost, count, counter, cover, cower, crack, crackle, cram, crash, crawl, creep, crinkle, cross, crouch, rush, cry, cuff, cull, cup, curl, curse, curve, cusp, cut, dart, dash, deepen, dig, deep, dip, ditch, drive, drop, duck, dump, ede, effect, erect, escape, exert, expect, feint, fight, fire fist, fit, flag, flare, flash, flick, fling, flip, flock, force, gash, gasp, get, gore, grab, grasp, grip, grope, group, hack, harden, heat, help, hit, hop, hurl, hurry, impale, jab, jar, jerk, join, jolt, jump, keep, kick, kill, knee, knock, knot, knuckle, leak, leap, let, lever, lick, lift, lock, loop, lop, plunge, mask, nick, nip, open, oppose, pace, pack, pain, pair, pale, palm, pan, pant, parry, part, pass, paste, pat, peak, peck, pelt, pick, pierce, pile, ping, piss, pit, pivot, plot, pluck, plug, plunge, ply, point, pool, pop, pose, pot, pound, pour, powder, pray, preen, prepare, prey, prick, prickle, print, probe, pry, pull, pulp, pulse, pump, punch, pursue, push, quarry, quarter, quest, race, raise, rake, ram, rap, rasp, rear, retreat, rip, riposte, rivert, roar, rock, roll, rope, round, rouse, run, rush, sap, scale, scalp, scan, score,scream, seek, seep, shake, shape, sharpen, shock, shoot, shop, slap, slap, slash, slice, slick, slip, slit, smash, snap, snare, snatch, snipe, sock, space, spar, spark, speed, spike, spill, spin, spit, splash, spoil, spring, spur, spurt, spy, squirm, stand, steert, step, stick, strap, strike, stuff, suck, support, swat, sweat, sweep, swingm tack, tag, take, target, taste, team, tear, tent, test, thrash, throw, thrust, thud, tick, tide, tilt, time, tire, top, toss, tower, toy, trap, trick, trigger, trip, triumph, trouble, trump, try, tuck, tug, twril, twitch, weaken, wet, whip, whirl, whirr, whoop, whoosh, whop, work, zap, zip.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[bldwspr]

okay i already knew hoyo fans were fucking stupid but this is sending me i'm gonna start hitting people with bricks

[whateveriwant]

Ok I lied. Here’s some more Simon fucking himself stupid because apparently he has a chokehold on me. (prev: part 1, part 2)

You’d think a man that regularly fucks his own brains mushy would have a poor performance in the bedroom, right? For a normal man, perhaps, but this is Simon Riley we’re talking about; ‘vigor’ is his middle name.

So even after going for multiple rounds, cycling through multiple positions, and getting covered in multiple fluids, your boyfriend is as ready to go as ever… physically speaking, that is. Because as far as mentally goes, he dropped out a long time ago, somewhere between taking you on your back and then on your knees.

Now you’ve reached the part of the night you like to call your ‘wind down phase’, where you’re just looking for one last, easy release before you throw in the towel. But where you’re tired, sensitive as hell, and already feeling tomorrow’s soreness starting to creep in, Simon’s still pinching and pawing at you like he can’t get enough.

As you lazily ride him, fingers curled over his thick shoulders, Simon’s own hands are pressed hungrily into the meat of your hips. From where he’s sat against the headboard, his lower back propped up by a pillow or two, he’s in the perfect position to guide you back and forth in his lap.

It’s as you feel the slow approach of your final climax that you begin to pick up the pace a little, only to slow right back down again as a sudden noise has you distracted. It takes you a second to place the sound, but once you recognize it, you’re immediately grinding your movements to a halt.

Simon’s phone only rings when it’s you or his work calling. And seeing the current situation you find yourselves in, you know it’s not the former.

The phone rings and rings, neither one of you bothering to move for it. The call gets sent to voicemail, and for a moment you think that’s all it’s going to be, but as the phone promptly begins to trill again, you know something else is up.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you reach over to the nightstand to grab the device. “It’s John,” you tell your boyfriend, seeing his Captain’s contact flash across the screen. You turn the phone around to show Simon, but it seems he has little interest in it, his grip on your waist unwavering as his phone buzzes away in your hand.

“Should you answer? Could be important,” you say. The boss making back to back calls speaks of urgency, if not emergency. But Simon’s focus lies solely on where your two bodies are connected, a sex-fueled tunnel vision if you ever saw one.

Though one look at Simon’s face tells you he’s in no place to have a meaningful conversation right now, as the phone darkens again, only to then light up for a third time in a row, you know this is serious. So despite the haziness in his eyes and the limpness of his jaw, you decide to answer the phone, putting it on speaker.

There’s silence on the other end for a moment before you hear the deep baritone of Price’s voice calling out. “Simon?” He waits a beat. “Simon, hello?” He tries again when he hears nothing in response.

While Price is kept in limbo, you’re busy trying to rouse your boyfriend back from brain death. “Simon, it’s John,” you whisper to him, hoping to not be heard by the other man on the phone. Unfortunately, Simon gives zero indication he’s heard you, his bleary gaze looking right past you.

“You there, Simon?” Price’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Bringing your hand up, you lightly tap Simon on the cheek. “Baby, it’s John. Your boss,” you whisper again, slightly louder this time.

Again, he offers you no response, just a slow blink, an even slower trickle of drool starting to form at the corner of his mouth.

As you hear another gruff, “Simon?”, being spoken over the phone, your taps become a little more insistent, a little more forceful.

“It’s Price, Si. Price. Captain Price,” you hiss, urgently patting him against the cheek.

Somehow, whether by miracle or sheer force, you’re able to knock Simon’s last two brain cells together and coax forth a vaguely human-sounding reaction from him.

“Priiizzzzze,” Simon rumbles out, a garbled approximation of his Captain’s surname.

The line goes quiet for a beat, and you can almost imagine the man on the other side blinking in confusion. Then, “You alright, Simon?” he asks earnestly. “Now’s not a bad time, is it?”

Thankfully, Simon seems to have regained the smallest hint of his bearings again, and he manages to hum a solid, “Mmmf.”

Price takes a moment to consider what he means by such an ambiguous response, and deciding it translates to ‘Speak freely’, he does just that. “Well, I’m callin’ because we’ve just received word of some new developments comin’ out of Hong Kong. Laswell’ll want to give a full briefing tomorrow mornin’, but essentially–”

And that’s about as far as Simon gets before he checks out again.

As Price continues to lay down the basics for him, Simon’s focus shifts back to what he really desires: the person he’s currently buried to the hilt inside.

His Captain’s droning acts as little more than background noise as Simon reaches up and begins toying with one of your nipples. The action is unexpected (not to mention ill-timed given the circumstances), and you try batting his hand away, even as a pleasurable tweak has you choking back a moan.

However, unfazed, Simon drags his fingers down, down, downwards, slowly tracing the midline of your body until he reaches your throbbing sex. His fingers are warm and slightly rough as he begins to stroke you, applying just the barest of touches, but it’s enough to light your nerves on fire.

This time, it’s harder to stop your moans from spilling forth, and you’re forced to mash your lips together lest you reveal your presence to the Captain still chirping on and on. Your free hand darts down to grab Simon’s wrist, meaning to tug it away, but instead, you find yourself pausing, holding onto him as a shudder wracks up your spine.

You know you should push him away – or, at the very least, tell him to ease up a little – but it just feels so fucking good that you can’t bring yourself to do either.

Besides, even if you were to speak up, would Simon be cognizant enough to heed your words? A quick peek at his expression tells you all you need to know. The lights may be on upstairs, but there is no one home right now to answer the phone.

You can feel the hand between your legs grow wetter and wetter as you start to leak droplets of your arousal. The slippery fluid makes Simon’s fingers glide that much smoother, that much slicker as he rubs you.

Even the way he’s touching you now – the way he’s expertly taking you apart – isn’t the result of conscious decision making by Simon. His movements, however deft, aren’t directed by any true rhyme or reason; they’re pure muscle memory at this point.

Simon’s other hand on your hip starts to rock you against him, and you find it’s getting harder to keep yourself under control. Try as you might to tamp your voice down, your ecstasy soon gets the better of you, and before you can stop it, you’re muttering a less than subtle, “Fuck.”

Immediately, you realize what you’ve done, and you slap a hand over your mouth at your mistake. As Price’s side of the call goes similarly quiet, you squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to kick yourself for your carelessness.

Just as you think the jig is up, however, you catch a lucky break, as not a second later, Price resumes, “–boots on the ground to confirm what these sat images have been pickin’ up.”

The feeling of relief that floods you is almost akin to euphoria, and you exhale deeply (but not loud enough to be picked up over the receiver) as you bring your hand back down.

That was close; way too close for comfort, honestly. And yet, despite how close you just came to exposing yourself, Simon is totally, completely oblivious to it all.

This time when you reach for the wrist between your legs, you successfully tug it away. You feel like you’ve tempted fate enough for one night.

Though Simon puts up zero fight as you remove his hand from your sex, that’s only because he then reaches up and quickly stuffs his slickened fingers into his mouth. His eyes fall shut as he savors the salty taste of your arousal, a sort of blissful wave washing over him as he sucks his fingers clean.

Somehow, though you’re not sure how it’s possible, you swear you can feel him grow even harder where he’s buried inside you. The sensation makes you squirm, wanting to bear down on the fullness within you, but you force yourself to resist the urge to tilt your hips back and forth.

This is almost torture at this point, like you’re caught in some kind of kinky Saw trap. Honestly, you’re not sure how much more of this you can take. But thankfully, it appears you won’t have to endure it for much longer.

“All that’s to say, it looks like our timetable’s been moved up. We’ll be shippin’ out earlier than expected,” Price starts to wind the one-sided conversation down.

Though Simon has been relatively mute this entire time, for some reason, at this moment, he takes the opportunity to let out a long, “Mmmmmm.”

While you know the noise isn’t much more than an appreciative moan at your taste, Price is unaware of that fact, and so he asks, “That’s not a problem, is it, Lieutenant?”

You both wait a few beats for Simon to respond, but with less than a handful of working neurons left in his brain, you figure that’s unlikely to happen. Knowing Price is still expecting an answer and your boyfriend is unable to offer him one, you realize you have to take matters into your own hands once more.

So puffing out your chest and straightening up your spine, you muster up your best Simon impression as you expel a deep, gravelly, “Hmm.” The several seconds that follow find you holding your breath in anticipation, praying to whatever god will listen that Price buys your impersonation.

It’s after he eventually says, “Alright, well, I’ll expect you at 0800 for tomorrow’s brief,” that you breathe again, feeling nearly on the verge of passing out.

Frankly, this whole ordeal has left you exhausted. From having to hide from Price to having to pull one over on him, you feel like your heart is liable to give out any moment now.

If only Simon had been more of a conscious participant in this conversation maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. You and him could have quietly laughed and swore together in your shared misery. Instead, he’s too preoccupied with squeezing your nipple again between his wet fingers to notice anything’s the matter.

You don’t even bother pushing his hand away this time as you can sense the call is mercifully coming to a close.

“Have a good rest of your night, Simon,” Price says through the speaker.

If you weren’t so wrecked right now, you could almost leap with joy from how utterly relieved you feel. From the moment you answered this call, you thought you’d undoubtedly be found out. Truth be told, you’re not sure how you managed to make it through the past several minutes unheard and undiscovered. All you know is that you did and you’re beyond grateful for that.

But before you can hang up the phone to celebrate, Price has one last thing to say. Just as you’re about to press the end call button, just as you’re about to fling the phone to the far side of the room, just as you’re about to collapse into a boneless heap because you’re finally, finally, finally in the clear, Price gives one last farewell that makes your stomach fall out of your ass.

“And you too, (Y/N).”

The call dies, and you wish you died with it.

[illyrianbitch]

Body Count

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Anxious about how your lack of experience compares to Azriel's, you ask him about his body count. Unfortunately for him, he misunderstands the question gravely.

based on this funny lil request!

Warnings: angst if you squint, miscommunication, silly az and silly cassian making fun of silly az, mentions of death/killing, a sweet lil kiss! fluff!

Word Count: 3.3k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You’ve always had a soft spot for Azriel. 

It wasn’t just his mysterious aura and brooding looks that made him irresistibly attractive to you— though those definitely added to the appeal. Azriel was thoughtful. He was attentive. He seemed to understand you and your needs in a way that none of your other friends could. 

Your feelings for him had grown over time, blossoming into a full-blown crush.

And for the most part, it seemed like Azriel enjoyed your company too. 

There was a playful flirtation between you two, a spark that you hoped would ignite into something more. It had grown even hotter these past two months, through conversations that were held entirely too close to one another, stolen glances, and brief touches that sent shivers down your spine. 

But deep down in your stomach, there was something holding you back— a bitter, nauseating feeling. You weren’t just nervous, you were insecure. 

It wasn’t a secret that Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand had their fair share of lovers. After all, they were all extremely attractive and had lived for centuries longer than you. But the idea of Azriel’s love life had begun to spin itself into an anxious, terrifying web in your mind. You weren’t experienced in such matters— at least, not nearly as experienced as Azriel must've been. The thought was daunting to you. Terrifying, really.

It was late at night now, and the last of your family had bid their goodnights, retreating to their respective rooms and homes. You found yourself alone with Azriel in the dimly lit living room, the small crackling fire mixing with the remnants of the celebration that lingered in the air— the heady scent of wine and the distinct smells of each of your loved ones. 

You stole a glance at Azriel, noticing the way his cheeks were slightly flushed, eyes bright with mirth. His shadows were calm, dancing playfully around his feet and his arms. He caught your gaze instantly, offering you a lopsided smile, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a way that made your heart flutter.

This was your chance— a perfect, quiet moment to confess something to him. To tell him how you felt. 

But the nauseating feeling in your stomach bubbled up once more. You bit the inside of your cheek. Perhaps it was the perfect moment indeed. Not to confess your feelings quite yet, but to get rid of the spider web of overthinking you’d created. 

Summoning up the courage, you leaned closer to him, the alcohol emboldening you. "Hey, Az," you began, your voice soft and hesitant.

Azriel turned to you. "Yeah?" 

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "Can I ask you something?"

Azriel’s face seemed to soften. "Of course."

You held his gaze for a moment, taking in the hues of his eyes that seemed more golden in the firelight. A small blush rose to your cheeks and you swallowed nervously, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. 

"What is your body count?" 

Azriel blinked. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink as his mouth slightly parted, and you watched as his gaze seemed to dance around your face. He opened his mouth to respond, but a hiccup escaped him instead of words.

"I'm just... I was just wondering," you stammered, your cheeks burning hotter with heat. "If you're comfortable sharing, that is."

Azriel smiled at you, letting out another small hiccup as he repositioned himself to lean closer.  His shadows seemed to reach out towards you, a subtle, almost subconscious gesture of reassurance. "It's alright," he said, his voice gentle. "I don't mind sharing."

He took a moment to compose himself. “8,754.”

As if you’d been doused in icy water, your alcohol-induced haze dissipated instantly. 

"Oh," you breathed out, your eyes widening in shock. "Oh."

You would’ve tried harder to hide your shock, but the only thing you could focus on now was the large, heavy, number. It hit you like a ton of bricks, the weight of it settling heavily in the pit of your stomach. 

You expected a large number, sure. You told yourself that you could come to terms with it, learn how to be comfortable with the gap in your experiences. But you hadn’t prepared yourself for this large of a number, and suddenly you felt… uneasy. 

Azriel watched you closely, his expression quickly filling with concern. "Are you alright?" 

Azriel had been with over 8,754 people?

You nodded slowly. Unable to meet his gaze, you casted your eyes towards the carpet in front of him. "Yeah, I'm fine," you murmured, "I, uh, I think I need to go home. I must’ve drank too much."

Azriel seemed to sober up immediately. His shadows, which had been lazily swirling around his feet, suddenly grew still, sensing his shift in mood. He sat up straight, a look of worry crossing his features. "Here, let me walk you to your room," he offered, his wings slightly unfurling as if ready to rise.

You avoided his gaze once more, shaking your head quickly. "It's alright. I got it," you insisted, standing up a bit too quickly. You swayed slightly, and his wings twitched as if he wanted to reach out and steady you. You quickly regained your balance. "Goodnight, Az."

Azriel watched you go, shadows trailing after you slightly before retracting back to him. His wings sagged, a sense of helplessness washing over him as he watched your retreating form disappear down the hallway.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel was tense. Every muscle in his body, every movement he made, it all felt constrained– stressed. Troubled. His shadows swirled restlessly around him, their hurried movements perfectly mirroring the deep agitation he felt in his gut.

Days had passed since his last proper conversation with you. He missed it— missed your presence, missed your laughter. He’d grown so used to your company, had begun to look forward to your conversations and the small flirty banter that he’d gained the confidence to indulge in. But you were distant now— awkward, even. And it was driving him mad. 

It was hot out, the afternoon sun blaring down on him and Cassian as the sound of clashing blades filled the air. Heavy sweat trickled down their faces, to a point where Azriel’s hair clung to his forehead like glue. 

But Azriel’s mind was anywhere but the training ring. And his brother quickly noticed.

"Alright," Cassian said, stepping back and lowering his weapon. "Either you're losing to stroke my ego, or something's going on."

Azriel grumbled, parrying another blow. "I'd never lose for your ego.” His wings twitched in annoyance. 

Cassian frowned, a scrutinizing gaze watching Azriel's movements closely. Something was definitely off. He tied his hair back up, securing it tightly. "Alright, spill it."

"No," Azriel replied curtly, his grip tightening on his weapon. His shadows seemed to wrap tighter around his form, as if trying to shield him from the conversation.

"No?" Cassian echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not going to talk about my feelings with you. We're not twelve.”

Cassian let out a small scoff, raising his hands in exasperation. "By the Cauldron, Az, just tell me why you've got a stick up your ass."

Azriel glared at him. A moment passed. And then he sighed, sheathing his weapon. 

"Y/N has been avoiding me, it seems."

Cassian frowned. "Are you sure?"

The question only brought a scowl to Azriel’s face, who threw Cassian a glare. 

"Yes, Cassian. I'm sure."

There was an itchy, prickling feeling of annoyance filtering through Azriels skin. His shadows flared out briefly before settling back into their usual orbit.

"Well, what did you do?"

Azriel’s shadows twisted tighter and his wings rustled uneasily.

"I didn't do anything.” 

Cassian gave him a skeptical look, crossing his arms. "Really?"

Azriel threw him another withering glare. But when Cass only responded with a raised eyebrow, Azriel’s shoulders sagged slightly. "At least, nothing that I'm aware of."

"Alright," Cass said, "Maybe you offended her somehow. What happened the last time things were normal? Can you remember?"

Azriel paused. He remembered quite clearly despite the drunken haze he had been in. He grimaced as the memory drifted into his mind, bright and clear as day. 

"She asked me for my body count.”

Cassian’s eyes widened. He stilled, leaning forward slightly. "And?"

"And I told her.”

There was a pensive look on Cassian’s face, a furrow forming between his brows as he processed Azriel's words. He narrowed his eyes at his brother. "What is your body count?" 

Exactly like that other night, Azriel replied without hesitation. "8,754.”

Cassian coughed, his eyes widening in disbelief. "I-I’m sorry?" he spluttered, caught off guard by the staggering number.

Azriel's confusion deepened, a frown marring his features. "You know this.”

"No," Cassian countered, shaking his head emphatically. “I do not know this.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, offering Cassian a cold unamused and irritated stare. “Yes, you do.”

"Apparently not.” Cassian let out a scoff. “Hell, I would’ve remembered if you slept with almost nine thousand people, Az. That's more than me."

Azriel’s face twisted into a scowl, a deep crease forming between his brows. His wings flared slightly. 

"Slept with? What the hell are you talking about?" 

Realization flickered in Cassian’s widened eyes, and suddenly, an understanding dawned on him. "Oh," he breathed out, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He let out a hearty laugh. "Got all the skills in the world but that brain still fails ya, huh Az?" 

Azriel fought the urge to send a swift hit to his brother's jaw, if only to knock the amused grin off his face. 

"Can you be serious for one godsdamned minute?" Azriel snapped.

Cassian's laughter subsided, his expression sobering as he met Azriel's gaze— only slightly. The grin still persisted. "Body count doesn’t refer to your kill count," he explained, "It’s how many people you’ve fucked."

Azriel's face dropped and the color drained from his cheeks. From behind him, his wings fell limp. "You can’t be serious.”

"Deadly serious, brother.”

Azriel glanced to the ground, his mind racing through that moment with you. He thought back to your response, to that small “Oh” that haunted him, to the way your eyes widened. He’d simply assumed that you were disgusted by the amount of lives he’d taken, that you’d spent the night imagining how much blood was on his hands. For some reason, this new reality of what the question meant— it felt even more intimate. Oh gods.

"So does Y/n think that I..." he trailed off.

"That you've fucked almost nine thousand people?" Cassian finished for him, a subtle grimace painted on his features.

"But I haven't," Azriel protested.

"Well, you should probably be telling her that." 

Azriel didn't waste another moment. He turned on his heel, desperate to immediately find you and explain the very apparent miscommunication. 

"Wait!" Cassian called out. Azriel paused, turning around with an impatient glare. 

"Take a bath. You stink," Cassian said, wrinkling his nose for emphasis.

Azriel's glare deepened, and he flipped Cassian off before continuing his stride toward the exit.

Cassian's laughter boomed behind him, the sound trailing after Azriel as he walked away. "eight thousand seven hundred and fifty-four," Cassian muttered to himself, still chuckling in disbelief.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel rushed down the hallway. Following Cassian’s unasked for advice, he was freshly bathed, hair still damp and clinging to his forehead. His shadows flitted nervously around his feet, his wings twitching restlessly at his back. 

He had no time to waste. Azriel really liked you. He needed to find you and clear up the misunderstanding before it began to fester into something deeper, something much harder to clean up. 

He found you in your room, catching you just as you were about to leave. “Y/n,” he said, as he came to a stop in your doorway. His voice was a bit louder than he intended.

You jumped, letting out a small scream as you spun to face him.  You caught his gaze as your hand flew to your heart. “Azriel,” you breathed out, a nervous smile playing on your lips as you steadied your breathing. “You scared me.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, his wings shifting slightly– a small, but clear sign of his embarrassment. “Sorry,” he said softly.

You let out a small laugh. “Hi, Az.” 

His smile grew. “Hi Y/n,” he responded, walking further into your room. “Are you heading out?”

You blinked in an attempt to break away from his gaze, casting a quick glance down towards your window. “Oh, yeah. I was just gonna go walk about Velaris, get some fresh air.”

Azriel hesitated for a moment before asking, “Would you like some company?”

You hesitated too, a part of you wanting to say yes. But then the infamous number came to mind, and the bitter, nauseating feeling returned. “Maybe another time?” you said, trying to sound as genuine as possible.

Azriel could tell you meant it, but the disappointment was clear in his eyes. “Alright,” he responded softly, his wings drooping slightly. “Enjoy your walk.”

A wave of sadness rolled through you at his response, at the way his shadows seemed to still at your rejection. Your eyes scanned his face, taking in his wet hair and the way his eyes seemed to plead with you. 

“I’ll see you later,” you said, offering him a small smile before making a move to side-step him. 

Before he could overthink it, Azriel reached out and gently grabbed your arm. The touch was soft, but it stopped you in your tracks. You turned back to him, finding yourself suddenly very close to him, faces only inches away.

His shadows wrapped around your wrist where he held you. A giddy flutter spread through you as his touch sent warmth racing through your veins. You melted into his grip, feeling a hunger for his closeness after just a few days without it. His gaze held yours, intense and searching, before flickering down to your lips. You took a deep breath.

“I’ve taken 8,754 lives,” Azriel finally spoke, his voice low and hesitant.

Your eyes widened in surprise. You took a step back, properly facing him now, trying to process his words. “What?”

Azriel looked sheepish, his eyes flickering with a mix of embarrassment and uncertainty. 

His shadows fluttered around him.

“The other night, you asked me what my body count was. I told you 8,754.”

You nodded slowly. “I remember.”

“I thought you were asking how many people I’d killed. Not—” he paused, a small blush reaching his cheeks. “Not how many people I’ve slept with.”

Your lips parted in an O of realization. You took in his face, observing how his shadows swirled tirelessly around him. Azriel offered you a small, unsure smile. A small laugh left your lips.

“Why would I be asking you how many people you’ve killed?” you finally asked. Your voice was soft with confusion and a hint of amusement. A small gleam grew in the shadowsinger’s eyes. 

“I don’t know,” Azriel responded honestly. “Why were you asking how many people I’ve slept with?” 

You blushed, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “It’s silly.”

Azriel reached forward, gently grabbing your hand and pulling you closer to him. His shadows wrapped around your wrist where he held you. You fluttered at the sudden closeness, feeling a rush of warmth and nerves flow through your body. 

“It’s not,” he insisted softly, his eyes holding yours with unwavering sincerity.

“I just wanted to prepare myself. I haven’t… I’m not experienced in these types of things.” You paused, holding his gaze for a moment. And then the corners of your lips tugged into a smile. “But gods, it’s good to know I don’t have to compete with the experience of almost nine thousand previous lovers.”

Azriel’s expression softened, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You never have to compete with anyone, Y/n. Especially not with me.”

A warmth settled in your chest. His thumb stroked your hand, a soothing rhythm that seemed to cause butterflies in your stomach with every touch. 

“Well, that’s good to know,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah?” 

Azriel’s voice was soft now, a low cadence that made you feel like puddy in his hands. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a small smile.

The smile on his face grew further. You traced the movement with your eyes, taking in the small smile lines and dimples that formed. His smile dropped slightly as he frowned, brows furrowing slightly. 

“Wait.”

You tilted your head curiously. “Hmm?”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’ve killed 8,754 people?

 “I know you have your reasons.” You shrugged gently. “Also, I don’t have to compete with dead people.”

Azriel’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, as if a weight had been lifted off him. A chuckle left his mouth. It was warm and genuine, and the sound resonated deeply within you. “Just one of the many reasons why I like you.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“You like me?

Azriel nodded, his gaze unwavering— something soft, almost sacred. “I do.”

A rush of warmth spread through you at his confession. You took a moment to let the words sink in. Your grin widened. “I knew it.”

Azriel shook his head, a smile of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “I wasn’t really trying to hide it.”

Your grin widened even more and you met his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. His thumb continued its gentle rhythm on your hand.  “Do you feel the same way?” he asked. 

“I wasn’t really trying to hide it,” you admitted, mirroring his previous words with a soft smile.

Azriel’s expression seemed to soften further, his eyes reflecting a warm sense of longing. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. 

Slowly, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. His hand cupped your cheek delicately, his touch sending a shiver down your body. You took a deep breath, feeling his scarred fingers run alongside your cheek. He met your eyes again, his gaze heavy, seeking something— permission. 

“Can I kiss you now?” 

Words eluded you for a moment as you met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. You simply nodded, breath catching in your throat as you whispered, “Please.”

For another fleeting moment, his hand cradled your face delicately, thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a tenderness that made your heart ache. And then he closed the remaining distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was sweet and fervent.

It was shy at first— a hesitant, tentative meeting of lips that conveyed unspoken feelings that had never been fully addressed until now. You welcomed the warmth of his lips against yours, the sweetness of the moment overwhelming your senses. You pressed yourself further into his touch, fingers moving to tangle themselves in his hair as you pulled him closer. 

Azriel let out a sound of content as the kiss deepened, his shadows wrapping around you both like a protective embrace. You felt their cool, feather touch around your body, felt as lone tendrils weaved through your hair. 

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, Azriel rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed as he savored the closeness between you. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your cheek. 

“I’m glad we cleared that up,” he murmured.

You let out a soft laugh. 

“Me too.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark

azriel tag list🫶🏻:

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[skinnamon39]

I think my rotator cuff muscles might be fucked up

[pathologicalreid]

defrost | s.r.

in which the heat goes out in your apartment and Spencer comes up with a creative idea to keep warm

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: fingering, hand job, good old fashioned dry humping, softdom!spencer, masturbation is referenced, unprotected p in v sex, sex on the floor (!!!), kissing, established relationship word count: 2.8k a/n: smut? havent seen that word since october. well past due if you ask me :-) hope you enjoy

It took entirely too much of your focus not to trip on the comforter that you were hauling from your bedroom, adding it to the heap of linens that you’d collected. The heat had gone out in the entire apartment complex earlier that afternoon, and while it was originally supposed to be fixed by five, the time was pushed back until the gas company finally just told you the issue wouldn’t be resolved until the morning.

Luckily, Spencer had managed to light the fireplace while you gathered every linen from the apartment and arranged a makeshift bed in front of the hearth, but even when you sat in front of the crackling flames, you were still cold. Pulling the cuffs of your sweatshirt over your hands, you tucked them beneath your thighs in an attempt to defrost yourself, you looked up at your boyfriend in desperation, “When did they say the gas would be back on?”

“They said eight, but before that, they said six, so there’s really no accurate measurement that they could provide. I hope we’ll know more in the morning,” he told you, taking a seat next to you and draping a blanket over your shoulders, making sure you were cozy before grabbing one for himself.

You sighed, admiring the way the movement of the fire reflected in his eyes. The two of you had ordered out for dinner, discarded takeout containers were in organized chaos on the coffee table, and two mugs were sitting on coasters filled with warm tea. Your range was out of commission, but thankfully, you had electricity. Admittedly, you were milking the situation, opting for candles over your lamps.

Spencer leaned over and nudged you gently with his blanket-covered elbow, “Are you warm enough?” He asked, looking around for another blanket to hand off to you, but coming up empty.

“If the gas isn’t back on by tomorrow afternoon, we should book a hotel,” you suggested, though, with your luck, Spencer would probably be called on a case tomorrow, leaving you to freeze on your own.

He furrowed his brows in response, “You were the one who didn’t want to stay in a hotel tonight, though?”

Shrugging, you looked at the thermostat on the wall, too far away to read, but you imagined it telling you that the apartment was becoming an industrial-sized icebox. “I don’t like staying in hotels if I can help it, I like having my things and my routine,” you responded as if he didn’t already know this about you.

“But?” He pressed.

“But I’m cold,” you told him, wrapping your blanket tighter around yourself and smiling when he opened his blanket cocoon. Gratefully, you obliged, shuffling yourself over to him and settling into his lap, sighing in contentment when he closed the blanket around you, “Oh, you’re warm.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Spencer took the opportunity to press a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose. “Is this better?”

Nodding, you closed your eyes and let your body relax into his, his arms wrapped around you, adding a reinforcement—a border of warmth, if you will. “Yeah, much better,” you murmured, trying to think warm thoughts.

“You know, it would be easier to share body heat if we weren’t wearing clothes,” Spencer told you, shifting one of his arms until his hand was on your waist, giving it a slight squeeze.

A shy smile bloomed on your face, turning your face to bury it in his neck, though the warm glow of your cheeks was a welcome sensation, “Are you trying to get in my pants right now?”

Spencer hummed, shifting beneath you slightly—a telltale sign that he was turned on—and gripping both of your hips, “Technically, I’m trying to get you out of them.”

Now grinning, you leaned forward, pressing your torso against Spencer’s until his back was against the blankets you’d stacked for your makeshift mattress. You took a moment to adjust the fabric that surrounded you, removing the layers of separation between you and Spencer when you finally reached his sweater. Carefully, you slipped your fingers beneath his layers of clothes, pausing abruptly when he inhaled sharply, “Are you okay?”

“Your hands are freezing, honey,” he told you; a lightness was present in his tone as if he was trying not to laugh.

Withdrawing your hands, you instead stuck them beneath his back, hoping to warm them up while you craned your head up to his, placing your lips on his and immediately sighing into him. You settled the rest of your body across his, bringing your knees up to his hips and grinding your core against his hardening length. The layers of clothing between you were proving to be a hindrance, but you weren’t ready to rid yourself of any insulation just yet.

You bunched up the wool of Spencer’s sweater in your hands, finding a rhythm between your rocking hips and moving lips, patiently waiting for the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth and hoping your hands were sufficiently warm when you moved your dominant hand back to his torso. Slowly, you lifted your hips from his and tucked your fingers beneath the waistband of both his flannel pajama pants and briefs, making sure he didn’t flinch at the temperature of your fingers when you wrapped them around his cock.

His mouth opened against yours at the contact, a low moan vibrating in his throat as you kept your hand in his pants. This was your opening, leaving you to slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss and speeding up your heart rate.

Moaning against his lips, you needed to sacrifice your kiss for the sake of a hand job, ducking your head so that you could focus on the flick of your wrist, the elastic waistbands working against you.

Spencer craned his head, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head, you could feel his abdomen tensing under your arm as you reached your other hand down to try and push his pants over his hips. “You wanna take my clothes off, don’t you?”

Your ministrations slowed as you peered up at him through your eyelashes and nodded, taking your cheek between your molars.

You hummed as Spencer used his grip on your waist to pull you up until your faces were close enough to meet again, he kissed you again, chastely this time, before whispering, “You first.”

Bracing yourself for the cold apartment air to brush against your skin, you assisted Spencer by pulling your arms through the sleeves of your sweater, gritting your teeth while he tugged it over your head. You were pleasantly surprised when the air surrounding you remained insulated, too distracted by the heat to think about the way Spencer was pushing your pants down.

While you regained your focus, you helped him discard your pants, kicking them off into the abyss of blankets that you were still cocooned in. “Are you still warm enough?” Spencer asked, dragging his knuckles up and down your bare waist as he looked up at you.

“Yeah,” you asked, the way he was so concentrated on keeping you warm and comfortable sent a flurry of butterflies to your stomach, making you all the more needier. “Spence,” you whispered, thinking about all of the layers of fabric that still separated the two of you.

He pulled you close to him, looking to the side before rolling you both over until he was on top of you. You quickly got to work, tugging at the hem of his sweater and relishing in every inch of exposed skin that touched yours. The inherent eroticism of skin-to-skin contact was beginning to drive you crazy, and Spencer noticed. He tossed his sweater off to the side, laughing lightly as you disappeared beneath the covers, finally pulling his flannel pajama pants off until it was up to him to get them off the rest of the way. Once you peeked your head back above the covers, you saw the lovesick grin on his face. “Hi,” he whispered, reaching a hand up to cup your face.

You reflected his smile back at him, “Hi,” you murmured, studying his face while he kept his every attention on you.

“You look so pretty like this,” he said, moving his hand down to grip your thigh, parting your legs around his waist while you kept your eyes on him.

Raising your eyebrows, your face warmed at his claim, “What? Beneath you?” You teased, grinning so broadly that you stuck your tongue beneath your teeth to try and tame the smile.

He didn’t falter. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and nodded, “Well, yes,” he admitted. “It gives me the opportunity to do things like this,” he said, dropping his hand down to your core, his eyes on yours as your mouth parted in anticipation. “It’s much easier to see your face while I touch you when you’re beneath me.”

As he spoke, his index finger slipped between your folds, causing your stomach to twist even as he was just barely grazing your clit with his knuckle. “And here I thought it was a control thing,” you challenged, your voice weaker than you’d originally hoped, practically breaking off into a whimper.

“That certainly doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, using his finger to spread your slick over your pussy, any sounds muffled by the blankets that still surrounded you. “But nothing will ever beat the look on your face when I slip my finger inside of you,” he teased, but his words didn’t reflect his actions, leaving you slightly disappointed.

You hummed, leaning your head back and checking on the fire before looking back up at Spencer, “You have an eidetic memory, don’t you have enough of me in your spank bank at this point?”

Spencer shook his head, watching you with an undying interest as he slipped his index finger into you tantalizingly slowly. Your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth parted, and a small, choked noise escaped your lips. “There it is, honey,” he cooed. “No memory will ever do that justice.”

Nodding, you forced yourself to open your eyes and meet his, studying the ring of gold surrounding his irises while his hand found a rhythm. Lifting your hips as his thumb applied pressure to your clit, you gasped at the sensation, your cunt clenching around his finger while his ministrations refused to cease. “Spence,” you breathed, “feels good.”

“Yeah?” He asked, taking your reassurance as a hint to add a second finger to his ministrations, “I like it when you let me take care of you, you spend too many nights alone in our bed for my liking.”

You lifted your hands up, just barely peeking over the blankets so you could place them on his shoulders, “I’ve never minded,” you reminded him. He always comes back to you, albeit in various states of disarray sometimes, but he always comes home.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck and leaving gentle kisses on the soft skin, never sucking long enough to leave a mark, but he paused once he reached your collarbone, “I mind,” he muttered against your skin, kissing down your chest until his lips were level with your breasts, taking the opportunity to take your nipple in his mouth.

As he sucked gently on the sensitive bud, you became all too aware of the familiar knot building in your lower belly, “Oh,” you gasped, your hips bucking up when he hummed against your chest in response, the vibrations going straight to your core, tightening the knot.

Spencer switched nipples, latching onto your other breast while he continued the pressure on your clit. A strangled moan made its way through your throat as the rubber band in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm rippled through you, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your entire body while Spencer continued to work you through it. He separated himself from your chest, leaving tender kisses on your jawline while you tried to remember how to breathe.

Your orgasm ebbed into a dull ache between your thighs, and you let your head fall back against the blankets, wincing when Spencer withdrew his fingers from your cunt. You caught your breath while Spencer adjusted himself, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your juices from them—it made your walls clench around nothing. “Please,” you found yourself saying, looking up at him with wide, lust-blown eyes.

“Patience,” he cajoled, pinching your hip lightly as you squirmed beneath him. “Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and trying to practice the virtuous trait, “I feel really good,” you assured him, your breath hitching when you felt his tip aligned with your entrance. “We should have sex on the floor more often,” you told him.

He smiled dropping a small kiss on your nose and deciding to adjust the blankets around you. Although, funny enough, you were beginning to get too warm. “You look gorgeous,” he told you, gently pressing into you, only part of the way.

Releasing a shuddering breath, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and met his shining eyes, which he accepted as an okay for him to slide further into you. You were sure you did not look gorgeous, in fact, you could feel your hair sticking to the back of his neck while he sheathed himself inside of you, giving you time to adjust and smoothing your hair out of your face in the interim—as if he had read your mind.

Your walls clenched around him, and he dropped his head in the crook of your neck, “You feel so good,” he muttered, lifting his hips from yours before pushing back in.

“Honey,” you whispered up at him before he found a rhythm, “Will you kiss me?”

You only saw his look of incredulity for a moment before his lips were on yours, you hummed contentedly into his mouth, your breathing faltering as he continued to thrust in and out of your cunt, finding a rhythm.

One of your hands dropped to the side of his neck, cupping his jaw while you moved your mouth on his, taking control of the kiss while he focused on fucking you. Separating your lips only to take a breath, your other hand was on his back, nails lightly grazing his otherwise unmarred skin as you searched for any semblance of stability.

 There had to have been something about the atmosphere, the various flames around you, or the heat of the blankets that covered you, that brought your orgasm on so quickly. You could already feel it building, and you gasped into Spencer as you felt it.

Using one hand to keep himself hovering just above you, he took his other hand and hooked it beneath your thigh, hoisting your leg up and opening your cunt even more to him. The change eased the pressure in your core, giving him more time to build up his own, but you had to separate your lips, “God, Spence,” you said, somewhere between overstimulated and overheated as your cunt clenched around his length.

He sighed, hot breath against your neck as he assured you, “I’ve got you.”

Just like that, you were a goner, head thrown back in complete bliss as your walls pulsed around Spencer’s cock, the sensation bringing on his own orgasm. You were trying to catch your breath while his cum spurted out inside of you. “Oh,” you sighed as he dropped your leg, letting your muscles stretch as Spencer’s hand massaged the inside of your thigh.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, dropping a soft kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, forcing yourself to open your eyes and look up at him, “Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, more at the feeling of the fluid sliding out of you than anything else.

Spencer hummed, “Are you sure?” He brought a hand up, skimming his knuckles over your cheekbone, “It seems like something’s wrong.”

Shaking your head, you brought your hand up to hold his, leaving a soft kiss on his palm, “Promise,” you assured him. “I’m just warm, and I know I have to get up to go pee,” you told him, adjusting yourself on top of the rumpled blankets.

He gave you a lopsided smile in response, “What do you say you get up to pee, and I’ll get us some water while you’re gone?” He offered, bringing a smile to your face. “When we get back, we can watch a movie, your pick.”

Grinning up at him, you run a hand through his hair before ruffling it, “I say you’ve got yourself a deal.”