#crying about the sugar water

[acowardinmordor]

This is what writing feels like right now:

Raccoon + cotton candy + water

but with more agony

[beeduoo]

originnssssss who remembers origins i Loved origins

[uinferno]

There's a certain tragedy regarding the simplicity of lemonade and the frequency of people fucking it up.

[slapmeshigaraki]

⭒˚‧ ⭒ཐིཋྀ "Only nice girls get treats." ཐིཋྀ⭒ ‧˚⭒

♡ warnings: caleb x fem!reader, (18+ mdni), reader is insecure, fingering, dirty talk, pussy eating, begging, crying, dumbification, heavy praise, denial, spit, finger sucking, hair pulling, pussy slapping, mirror

♡ a/n: little treat for the middle of the week. been working on this one for a while so it got a little long,, so sorry. finished this instead of writing my research paper,, butttttt i love writing for caleb so i hope u enjoy xx

You're taking a lot longer than usual to get ready. Nothing seems to be fitting right, every outfit looking worse than the last. Maybe you should just stay home tonight, or maybe, you Caleb needs to remind you just how beautiful his girl is.

“Hey, did you need me to iron something for you? I was gonna’ do my shirt, so—” You listened, turning towards the bathroom door as the honeyed voice came to a halt. There he was, leaning against the wooden door frame, muscled torso on full display, dog tag draped around his neck and glistening in the dim lighting, a white collared dress shirt draped over his shoulder. His pants were held up by a fine leather belt that hung loosely around his hips, the buckle undone. The smell of his cologne wrapped around you, notes of cedarwood and lavender softly calming your otherwise hectic state. The bathroom was a mess, makeup brushes strewn about on the marble countertop, clothes and bras and panties thrown in the corner, heels that didn't match were all over the floor, making for a minefield of a space that you'd been moving around for the last two hours.

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” His brow furrowed at the abnormally dry response, violet eyes studying you as you frantically hurried around the small space, makeup and hair both half done. The dress that he’d seen you in only five minutes earlier was balled up near a pile of purses on the tiled floor now, your skin only covered by a matching black lace set. He was almost drooling at the sight, opting to bite his full bottom lip to keep himself from doing so.

“Everything okay, baby?” His tone was cautious, testing the temperature of the water. You didn’t bother to meet his gaze, too busy wracking your brain to put together a different outfit—or maybe you needed to change your hair? Should you even bother going at all? Maybe you should suddenly pretend to have a stomachache.

“I’m fine, just rushed.” Another short answer.

“There’s no rush, sugar. They can’t start without us after all.” You gave him a soft laugh, brushing off the comment, but he was right. This night was about him after all—a ceremony awarding him for his accomplishments with the fleet this past year. He’d been going over his speech with you tirelessly every day for the last week, picking apart every line one by one until it was perfect. This was Caleb’s night, so why were you the one feeling so much pressure?

“Hey, look at me for a second.” You did, eyes meeting his in the mirror as you ran another coat of red lipstick over your bottom lip, suddenly questioning the color.

“You can tell me if something's wrong ya’ know. We don’t have to go.” You shook your head in dismissal, breaking the eye contact that was quickly making something well up in your chest, tears stinging in the corner of your eyes against your will.

“Of course we have to go, Caleb. I’m going—I want to go, I’m just trying to hurry up.”

“What was wrong with the last dress? Or the four before that?” He wasn’t teasing but genuinely asking you as he searched for your attention in the mirror again, to no avail. A single tear fell from your eye, effortlessly ruining your makeup, a line of foundation erased as you tried not to let anymore escape.

“They just weren’t right. Nothing is fitting right for some reason.” He wasted no time moving over to you, shirt falling to the floor in the process, but he didn’t care. His eyes were locked on you, noticing the way your face slowly crumpled, head hanging as if there was a thousand-pound weight holding you down.

“Don’t cry, baby. Hey, hey, shh…” His arms wrapped around you, toned chest pressing into your back, the warmth of his skin inescapable as he held you as tightly as he could. Your body gently shook against him as you let the tears fall freely now, the thought of ruining Caleb’s night making your heart even heavier.

“You could wear a burlap sack and you’d still be the most beautiful thing in any room, you know that, right? Why are you being so mean to my pretty girl, hm?” His soft palm snaked it’s way across your chest and neck, cupping your wet cheek, sticking your skin to his. He gently guiding your chin up, your reflection staring back at his now.

“Tell me what you didn’t like about the pink dress.” You subconsciously shrunk against him at the question, the visual of your bare skin against him, only covered by the thin pieces of fabric sending shivers down your spine. The little hairs on the back of your neck stood up, ears growing hot—you were so vulnerable like this.

“Be honest with me this time. Please,” he said, voice thick and syrupy like molasses, almost like he was begging as he craned his head down, resting his chin in the crook of your neck and pressing a feather-light kiss to your face.

“My- my shoulders…they looked too wide in it.” His eyes grew big at the confession before they shifted down in the mirror, locking onto your shoulders. He left another kiss on your cheek, then your jaw, next your neck, trailing them across your collar bone before his full lips finally lingered against the back of your shoulder. Your head slowly fell again, before you heard his voice,

“Don’t look away, sugar.”  You watched his slender fingers graze across your skin, faintly dancing over your shoulder blades along with his lips which were still peppering kissing over your frame. Your breath hitched at the sight of his body against yours, his tall and muscular physique towering over you, making you look so fragile in his grasp.

“What was wrong with the red outfit, hm? I think I liked that one the best.” Your eyes rolled at the question which Caleb caught in the mirror. You hated the way you looked in the red dress. The outfit accentuating every curve, the short length hugging your thighs just a little too tightly. You felt so… naked in that dress—every flaw you’d seen in the mirror on full display in that gown.

“My body just doesn’t look good in it.”

“Your body looks amazing in anything. If I didn’t think I’d want to break the bones of any man that looked, I’d suggest you go just like this.” His eyes were not the same when they met yours this time. They were dark, pupils enlarged, darkening his irises. He looked hungry at the sight of you, like a vampire that hadn’t fed in weeks. His lips watered at the thought of devouring you, getting to see sweat glistening on your bare chest, nipples hardened under his rough fingertips, back arched as he pressed himself into you. The thing he loved the most though was your faces, your bottom lip almost bleeding from how hard your teeth grinded against it as you tried to silence your moans, tears welling up at the corners of your eyes that were desperate to escape once he hit just the right spot inside of your soft walls. Your face and body were the things he dreamed about in his sleep, but they were also what would keep him up at night while you were away. They were the things that made him fist his cock, eyes shut tight as he pictured the artwork known as his girl. He was ravenous for you—always, so why couldn’t you see what he did? Why didn’t the lamb understand what made the lion so hungry for it; what made him hunt day and night just for a taste.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his clothed cock hardened against you. He didn’t grind into you like you wanted, his focus instead on getting his fingers on every inch of you. Your gaze fell again, embarrassment heating your cheeks at the sight of his digits languidly sliding underneath the cups of your bra.

“I won’t tell you again. Look up.” You did. You core grew wetter, dampening the fabric of your panties at the contact.

“You know…” His free hand ghosted over your spine, causing you to shiver at his touch as he unclasped your bra, freeing your flesh. A small moan escaped his lips at the reveal, his fingers quickly found your breasts, large hands cupping them, much to his enjoyment.

“I’d kill anyone who talked bad about you. I would never let anyone speak about my girl the way that you do.” A harsh pinch to your nipple forced your chest to push out towards the mirror, your perfect French manicure gripping the edge of the marble countertop. The sight was absolutely sinful.

“So why do you think that you should be the exception, huh? Do you think you’re above the rules?” Caleb rolled your sensitive nipples between his fingers, reveling in the way you writhed beneath his touch.

“No…” You whined, head slowly falling forward at the sensation, you body going limp against his.

“No? Apologize then.” His voice was harsh suddenly, as you felt your muscles give way, gaze being forced back to the mirror against your will as he used his evol against you. He did say he wouldn’t ask again, instead, he would make you look.

“I-I’m sorry,” It was barely audible, strained out between your soft moans as you pushed your ass against the man behind you, unabashedly wanted to feel some sort of friction between your thighs.

“No no no, not to me. Apologize to my baby, hm?  Look at her and say you’re sorry for being mean.” You tried to turn your head away at the humiliating request, but it was no use, you were practically immobilized between his arms. You looked at yourself in the mirror, body laid bare, chest heaving, ass grinding against Caleb like a bitch in heat.

“I’m sorry for being mean.”

“Aww how nice. See I knew you could be sweet. You always listen so well, my obedient pretty girl.” His right hand left your chest feeling cold as his middle and index fingers found themselves pressed against your lips.

“Get 'em wet for me, baby. Go ahead, it’s okay.” So you listen—you let your lips part, sucking his fingers between them, running your tongue in circles around his knuckles as he slides them in and out of your mouth. “Fuck… you look so good.”

“You want my fingers somewhere else? Been grinding this pussy against me like you need something. Do you want me to make you feel good, hm? Will that make my pretty girl stop crying?” He was mocking you, reveling in the way you squirmed against him as he pressed your hips into the counter.

“Caleb… please,” You said, words muffled by his thick fingers pushing down against your tongue, your saliva dripping halfway down his arm at this point.

“But you’re so mean, baby. Only nice girls get treats. Are you gonna be nice from now on? Gonna' treat my pretty girl better?” He watched as your reflection nodded up and down, pretty little eyes closed tightly, nose scrunched up like a bunny. He was in awe at this sight—he almost wanted to give you your reward without making you work for it...almost.

“Answer me, baby. C’mon, be good for me… please,” His words were strained, like he was getting off just as much as you were without him even being touched. It made your knees buckle a little beneath you, forcing your limp fingers to grip around his forearm, desperately searching for some stability.

“Yes yes I’ll be nice. I promise. Just touch me please.” With that, he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, your spit glistening around his digits as they traveled slowly down your body, leaving you painted in your own wetness.

“You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen, you know that?” He pressed a soft kiss to your neck as his wet fingers slid beneath the waistband of your panties.

“Fuck this pussy’s so wet already. I can feel your little clit’s already excited, she’s so swollen. Aw, does it hurt, baby?” His muscled thigh forced its way between your legs, spreading them wider as his fingers lightly toyed with your most sensitive spot, soaked fingers rubbing on each side of your clit. Your hole clenched around nothing, juices spilling out against the fabric, desperately wanting to be filled—hungry.

“Look so pretty when you don’t get what you want though. Maybe this is all you should get, huh? After all, mean girls shouldn’t be rewarded, should they?” You squirmed even more at his words, trying to force his fingers to move faster or press against you harder—something. Caleb was having none of it though, his big hand gripping your waist, pinning you still. Whines fell from between your lips at the denial.

“Didn’t you just say you would be good? Were you lying to me again or does this messy hole between your legs make it so you can’t think straight? Don’t tell me my fingers barely touching you makes you this dumb, sugar. That’s cute… but a little pathetic, don’t you think?” He sloppily kissed your skin between words, teeth nipping against the flesh, tongue lapping at your wounds only to bite into you again.

“I guess you can’t think. Is that it? You need me to tell you what to do, hm?” You nodded uncontrollably, that heavy weight moving your muscles against your will once again.

“My pretty girl with the sloppy cunt. Say it.” His thumb found your clit now, hovering over it, just barely touching the aching button… but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until you did what he told you to.

“Caleb please…”

“No more whining. If you’re not saying what I told you to then you shouldn’t be speaking at all. Say you’re my pretty girl.” He freed your waist, certain that you wouldn’t disobey when he had you like this—so pliable. His hand made it’s way to your half-undone hair now, gripping it, as he pushed your face closer to the mirror, your body bent over the sink, reflection painfully close.

You said it… but not the way he wanted you to. Your eyes were on him, words barely audible, attitude palpable through the statement. Without warning the warmth of his fingers on your cunt was quickly gone as he slipped his fingers out of your panties to deliver a swift slap to your clit over the fabric. You screamed out at the painful sensation, which only resulted in another smack against your cunt.

“Do it the right way. Look at my girl while you tell her she’s pretty and mean it.”  You looked at your reflection, chest bare, sweat staining your skin, hair messy from the way Caleb’s fingers gripped it forcing you not to look away. Your eyes were glazed over, lipstick smudged onto your chin—you were a mess, but you said it.

“I- I’m your pretty girl.” Not even a second passed after the words left your lips before Caleb slid the crotch of your panties to the side, fingers pressing all the way against you now. His middle finger, still wet from the impromptu blowjob you’d given it, made it’s way into your tight hole inch by inch.

“See what happens when you’re not a fucking brat? Don’t you know that only good girls get what they want?” You nodded, your head feeling fuzzy as his thick finger forced itself between your walls, its length allowing him to brush against your g-spot with hardly any effort.

“Say it again.” You did, looking yourself in the eyes once more.

“That’s right. You’re my pretty girl who listens so well. My god you are fucking prefect.” You were rewarded with another finger amongst the praise, but he hadn’t touched your clit again. He knew that the second he did, you would fall apart in his arms. He just wasn’t quite done playing with you yet.

“Aw my baby gets so fucking dumb when her holes get filled. How cute… you having trouble with your words again? What is it, sugar? Come on, tell me, you can do it.” His lips were so close to your ear as he spoke, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His tone was sweet, slightly higher in pitch, as if he were calling out for a stray dog to come eat a treat out of his palm. The condescending sound made you whine out once again, just like a puppy would.

“Aww am I not giving you what you want? Am I being mean to you?” His fingers quickened as he watched you pant, your palms flattened out against the mirror as he rocked you back and forth against his hand.

“Caleb please touch me.”

“I’m already touching you silly girl? What is it, did you want a kiss?” The thought of getting to feel his lips on yours as his fingers fucked harder into you, his tongue lapping at yours, brought more tears to your eyes.

“Yes. Please ‘wanna kiss so bad.” He pushed your head closer to your reflection, until your lips were only a millimeter from the mirror,

“Go on then. Give her a kiss—such a pretty girl deserves a kiss.” His cock ached in his pants against you as he watched it—the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen so desperate for his fingers that she was kissing herself in the mirror just because he’d said so.

“Goood girl. Good job being so sweet. Tell her you’re sorry again for hurting her feelings.” His thumb finally nudged against your clit again, slowly rubbing small little circles around it. The stimulation made you cry once more as he found just the right rhythm to keep you on the edge as apologies flowed from your lips.

“You must be getting close, beautiful. This little pussy is grippin’ on my fingers so tight. She doesn’t wanna let me go. Do you need to cum, baby?”

“Yes yes wanna cum so bad for you.”

“Aw I know I know. It’s okay. I’ll stop being mean to you since you’ve been so sweet. Tell me where you wanna cum, sugar.” The question only made you squeeze him tighter, your sloppy hole clenching and spasming around his fingers and you pressed your lips to the mirror once more, leaving little red kiss marks all over the reflection of your face. Your hips free now, you pushed into his cock again, grinding against the fabric of his pants, leaving an even bigger wet spot than before.

“No no no, you can’t have my cock. This is about you, just wanna make you feel good, yeah?” You whined louder at the denial, your voice trembling as you shook from your sobs.

“Don’t cry anymore, baby. I’ll do you one better yeah?” He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, despite the fight your hole tried to put up in keeping him inside. His hand’s grip on your hair was gone, but not before he used it to force you to turn towards him for the first time. He lowered himself to his knees, rough hands gently grabbing your thigh as he placed it over his shoulder.

“You are a fucking goddess,” he whispered as he brought his mouth between your legs, placing tiny kisses on the inside of your thighs. “Shouldn’t I pay my respects?” He wasted no more time getting his tongue on your cunt, pushing your lips apart as he savored your juices in his mouth. Your fingers tangled into his hair now, pushing your hips into his face as he gripped your thigh even tighter making you moan out at the mix of pain and pleasure. You were already so close, the feeling of Caleb suckling on your puffy clit, the rhythm just how he knew you liked it, made you beg to cum once more in no time.

“So fucking gorgeous, grinding on my tongue. Go on, say it one more time for me. Say you’re my pretty girl. Say you’ll never be mean to yourself again and I’ll let you cum for me.” He looked up at you as the words spilled out of your mouth just like he said, the look on your face intoxicating as you screamed out his name.

“Gooood girl you can cum for me. C'mon pretty girl, cum in my mouth, it’s okay. You earned it.” He held you still, tongue continuing to harass your poor little clit as you writhed above him. Your legs gave out, quivering as he continued to lick up the mess you’d made.

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you. Keep cumming for me, let it all out,” he said, voice sweet once again as he steadied you with his hands and you rode out the rest of your orgasm.

“You did so good. I’m so proud of you.” He pressed one more kiss to your clit, as you finished coming down, your body finally feeling steady in his arms. He stood up, towering over you once again, face wet with your juices as he held your fingers between his. His other hand cupped your face, thumb softly wiping away your tears.

“I love you more than anything and I want you to know that you have nothing to be insecure about. Even if you’re not feeling your best, you can always talk to me and I’ll remind you of just how beautiful you are. Okay?” You nodded, looking up at him with big eyes, your heart hurting in your chest from how full it felt in that moment.

“I love you, Caleb.”

“I can tell because you let me ruin your makeup when we only have…” He glanced over at my phone on the countertop, “thirty minutes before the car gets here.”

“Thirty minutes?” You shouted out, pushing against Caleb’s chest.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll make them wait,” he said, reaching down to pick up the white dress shirt that had been previously discarded onto the floor. 

“And hey, put on that red dress. I’ll need something pretty to look at while everyone else is droning on about how great I am.” You rolled your eyes, letting out a laugh that perfectly harmonized with his as you threw the balled up dress towards him.

“Now you’ll have to iron them both.” He hummed in acceptance, violet irises glimmering at the sight of you.

“Anything for you, gorgeous.”

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Home Bliss | The Salesman x Wife!Reader |

Summary: He may be a psychopath but he pouts when his wife does not respond his messages.

Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Suggestive - Soft moments - S1 Salesman personality with S2 personality - Obsessive!Salesman - Soft!Salesman

He liked to follow a routine, wake up besides you, your soft snores filling the room and your sweet natural aroma.

Take a moment to aprecciate your features, face, body, see the marks he had left behind after a rough night of sex.

If some were fading away then he would take a mental note to give you some new ones later.

Then he would move, letting you sleep some more, sometimes he would nudge you so you two would shower together, an activity he enjoyed a lot.

Washing your body, feeling the soap against your skin, water falling between your breasts and down your collarbone.

Did it lead to him being late becuase he could not control himself under the image that resembled a goddess? Yes.

But he never cared, he made it up by getting the double amount of names crossed from his list.

Preparing his briefcase for work was a private act, the password for the safe know only by him, even if the content itself was not grotesque, he prefer for you to know very little about what he did for work.

After it he would have breakfast with you. A black coffee with no sugar and a red appel, you would often make some bread for him, another thing he loved. Home coked food. He would teast the love you poured when making it. And would leave the house feeling full and loved.

Oh, and with a kiss. He could never leave the house without getting a kiss from you.  A sweet long kiss, soft lips and cold hands caressing his face and hair.

And that look, a look that made him feel less of a monster and more human, a look only someone deep in love could give.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

The Salesman had just ended another day at work and at the park where he would entertain himself by offering bread or fair tickets. Most would choose the second and find out they had lose.

After it he would go to a near bakery and buy some sweet desserts for you, he knew how much of a sweet tooth you had.

He pulled out his phone while he waited for his order, pouting when he saw no new messages from you.

What was his little wife doing?

Were you mad? He did not notice something different in the morning. You acted as you usually did, doting him like he was a starved man for affection.

For your affection? Maybe he was. But only yours.

Was about last night? He knew he was quiet rough, harder than most nights. He could not help himself when he saw you in one of his old shirts, showing your precious legs to him and your half closed eyes.

You looked cute and hot after a nap, he always told you to not wait him awake if he told you he was going to be late. But you were admant about it and wanted to see him before sleeping.

So, instead of going straight to sleep he had took you to his special room, where he showed you just how aroused he was, how much he liked pushing your limits. Making you scream his name and cry. Licking your tears and edging you over and over. Pain and pleasure blurring the line, as he spanked you, making you count and thank him for them.

Oh, your red ass looked so cute with his printed hand on it, he could cum in his pants by it.

Of course he also made you ride himself while he kept a strong hold on your neck, giving you different pressure, cuting out the air that went to your lungs and then letting you breath. He loved to see your eyes roll back, when he would hit that special spot inside you with the sensation of lost air.

Your life was in his hands and you gave him all the control over it.

Even if you were too tired this morning and with more marks than usual...he knew you had liked it.

So no, that could not be the reason.

"Order six!!"

Well, he would have to return home and see for himself what was happening.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Back at home the kitchen was a mess. You had decided to prepare your husband a well deserved dinner (even if walking did hurt like hell). In order to focus your phone was long forgot in your bedroom, were it rested with messages from him.

Not like you could know, too focus in the task at hand, the rice rested in a near plate, the meat being made at medium just like he liked it.

A small salad was also ready and waiting, you even went out to get a nice wine for both. Friday nights were the best nights to get drunk together.

It was all ready, you made your way to the dinning room, serving the plates in a fancy way, two glasses full of red wine.

You checked the hour and nodded to yourself, he would be home soon. You still needed to change.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

The Salesman opened up the door of his home, he frowned when he noticed the lights were off.

Slowly he moved towards the dinning room, were a flick of light was coming from. He started to get worried, did someone break in and hurt you? Just the idea sent rage into his body.

His lips formed a thin line, eyes now sharp and calculated as he walked in.

As he circle the corned his worried flew away, there you were, drinking a glass of wine, wearing his favorite clothes just for him and with the smell of home made dinner that made his heart beat fast and his body relax.

"Love, I kept texting you all day" He greeted going to hug you and kiss your head. "Why did you not respond?"

He gave you a pout, his eyes sad, he was a lot of things and one of them was being a softie for you, his dear wife.

"I was making you dinner, left my phone away so I would not get distracted"

He nodded but still looked over you with worry.

"One, one text its all I need to keep going" He said in a soft whisper "Dont ignore me again"

You had to bite down your smile, for someone who could get freaky and even sadistic in bed, he also had his lovable side, a bit possesive and obsessive but still lovable and yours.

"It wont happen again, now why dont you get out from these clothes and join me for dinner? I did your favorite"

His mouth watered at the sight, he was indeed hungry, and seeing the food was making him even more.

"Of course my love, and later I will show you how grateful im for it" He smirked kissing your temple.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

[ozarkthedog]

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞

summary: you warm Logan’s cock while he smokes.

pairing: Logan Howlett x afab!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. smut. cock warming. grinding. Logan smoking. unbeta'd. w.c: 637

an: just a little something to clear my mind. i’m a whore for Logan and his cigars 🙃

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

"Give me a light, Sugar." Logan murmurs, placing the fresh, unlit cigar between his lips.

He leans against the headboard of his bed with a ragged sigh and wraps his hands around your waist, balancing you on his lap. "Careful now," he hisses as your cunt swirls around his cock. Logan always insisted on keeping you stuffed full of his cock after sex, something about making it stick, even though you both knew it was impossible to conceive. "Don' wanna spill and make a mess now, do ya?"

You roll your eyes and reach for the silver lighter he chucked on the bedside table before he took you to bed. His warm, brute hands keep you steady as you grasp the silver rectangle and right yourself on his lap. You drink down his playful gaze; his dark eyes glint with mischief as he tongues the cigar side to side.

You flick the wheel, igniting a luminous golden flame. Logan's features look sinister under the dancing tint as the earthy tobacco cracks and sizzles while you light the head. He takes a slow drag; smoke fills his lungs before spilling between his lips and swirling up toward the ceiling.

The searing red ember mocks you like your cunt isn't burning just as hot as it's stretched around Logan's girth while he enjoys a cigar after fucking you into his mattress.

He curses on the second drag when your body trembles in his lap. The tight rim of your cunt clutches the thick base of his cock; slick drooling down and coating his heavy sac.

"Y'sure like watchin' me smoke, huh, bub." he rumbles, rolling the cigar to the corner of his mouth. Wisps of smoke rise and swirl as you slowly grind your hips and demurely nod. "That'a girl."

You rest your hands on his burly shoulders, fingers digging into the dense muscle as you indulge in the scorching ache that's settled between your thighs. The dark, wiry hairs that litter the base of his cock rub roughly against your swollen clit, the extra pressure heightening your bliss as the bulbous head cruelly kisses the deepest part of you.

"Yeah, that's it. Take what you need." Logan praises, hands tightening around your waist, moving in tandem with your frantic grinds as you chase the overwhelming pleasure blossoming in your belly once again.

Logan weaves a hand around the back of your neck and presses your forehead to his. His fiery eyes, all-consuming, bore into your own. It's close, too close. So, intimate and intoxicating, but so is Logan.

The smoke from his cigar makes your eyes water and suffocates your airways, but he doesn't grant you solace. "You're stayin' right here. You ain't leavin' 'til you come."

Your pitiful sob does nothing but spur him on.

He callously digs his fingers into your curves, forcing you to keep the steady grind of back and forth, back and forth, until you gasp his name and cry out into the dimly lit room for him.

A deep growl rumbles his chest, his own pleasure racing to the forefront of his mind as your cunt quivers around his length. Your orgasm ripples through you, swirling and milking Logan's cock, as his hips rise off the bed and he spills inside you for the second time that evening.

You collapse with a tired sigh against his chest, his cock still nestled in your warmth as your heartbeat slows to its natural rhythm. He lazily drags his fingers up the column of your spine while puffing on his cigar. "Looks like I'll always have to keep a pack'a cigars on me." He teasingly chuckles.

"When don't you have a pack of cigars on you?" you quip, yanking on his chest hair.

He quirks his brow, agreeing with a sly grin. "You're right."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[iwashie]

Sevika, and reader on her period headcanon...

Sevika is in her late 30s and probably doesn't suffer with her period-or do-, but dating a younger woman, at the peak of hormones and period, makes her think about her time and asks herself how she handles you and all your versions during it.

She knows your period is coming by just seeing your breasts swelling, some complaints about your back hurting, and mood changing during the day as you always do but never remember it's that time of the month.

She always has a lot of pads, your favorite food stockpiled, medicine for your various pains, always ready to massage your back, legs and belly, brings you a lot of water and a hot water bottle for cramps.

"Doll, it's normal to have a period. Don't be angry or disgusting for it. I know you don't like having pains, and all that stuff period brings on, but it's normal. And you have me by your side."

Your mood swings are a challenge for her, but she handles somehow. Just like the day you two were walking around Zaun, enjoying a street food you begged her to buy and then she notices you're not by her side, looking back to see you stuck in the place, your eyes on the ground, on your food on the ground. She immediately ran back to you, soothing you as your eyes filled with tears and mumbled that you haven't even bitten. "That's alright, doll. Have mine and everything is fine."

Or the day she made a joke at the wrong time and wrong place, making everyone at the table in Last Drop alternate gaze between you two just to look away when you lashed out on her and left the place without her. Or the day a woman looked at her for too long, and you had to show that woman that your woman was your woman. Or tried to throw punches at every man whistling at you- Ran had to stop you and Sevika at this one.

She thought your period cravings were something else. Why so much sugar?!? It's was possible worse than pregnancy cravings. "Are you on your period, or are you pregnant?

"I'm craving something sweet, like really sweet." You said, searching for something in the cabinets. "Have some sugar." You looked at her with fire on your eyes, and she felt a cold sweat run down her back. "What about some chocolate cake, ice cream, or some food deep-rooted with sugar? I'll buy it, doll."

She can't keep up with your energy, always accepting whatever you want and following behind you everywhere with a scowl, but making sure you're good, safe, and happy. She doesn't understand how you have so much energy left after doing a lot of things during the day to her about your day and plans, just to fall asleep suddenly.

She also handled you crying over everything and making traps for her, like asking her if she'd love you if you were a worm, or her worst nightmare: "Would you love me if I was from topside?" and her long silence was answer enough for you to start weeping. "Doll, it's just a dumb thought. Of course I'd love you and gonna be with you forever. I promise!"

She prefers to handle you when you are calmer, too sore to handle the world on your back, and stays in bed, being doted by her. She always cuddles you, her human hand on your belly to warm it up, whispering sweet nothings or watching a movie with you, both wrapped in the blankets. "I love you too, doll."

Maybe the best thing about your period is the much horniness you have during it. Your wild side is always showing up at this time of the month; always teasing her with dirty whispers, handsy. She loves fucking you, making love to you, making you cum and all. But, damn, you've come three times already, and you're looking at her with those eyes again, and she isn't young anymore, she needs to catch her breath. "Please, Vika. Just one more. You can use your fingers on me this time. Pleaseee."

She loves it when you are horny and take the lead, playing with yourself, teasing her until she does something about it and makes slow, tender, sweaty love to you. "Fuck, doll. Your pussy is so wet and creamy for me, gotta fuck it properly, huh. Do you want this? Want my cock deep inside your pussy? Good girl, doll..."

Your crazy ideas always caught her by surprise. She is sure that these ideas are made up before your period, and you only come with them to blame on the "period hehehe"

"You know what? I really want-" "Please, a normal thing for once." "You to impregnate me." A silence in the room. "Impossible, doll." "What do you mean it's impossible? DON'T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE?!?" "It's biological Impossible to get you pregnant with my babies." "Well. We gotta keep trying, vika!"

Your low self-esteem is the biggest problem, like how she's gonna put inside your head that you are the most beautiful person in Zaun? The prettiest woman she's ever laid eyes on! "Your body is completely fine! Your skin is normal! You're not fat, square, or I don't know! Your clothes are completely fitting, you're fucking beautiful and perfect. The only woman for me, doll!"

At the end of your period, she would be exhausted, needing vacations away from Zaun, but glad to have you surviving another period without trying to kill her and every other Zaun citizen. She would be so glad to have her girl back, not that you're much different but still.

@iwashie 2025, please do not translate, modify or republish my works

[wonderjanga]

Billy and the Robins

Marvel has met all the Robins up until now. Like, let’s say Billy has been doing this for like eight maybe ten years. This Billy as Marvel met Dick a year before he became Nightwing, met Jason all the way through until his death, met Tim, and met Damian. He’s also been able to connect them to their new vigilante identities almost immediately. Now, Damian still is Robin and of course, Tim going from Robin to Red Robin isn’t too hard to figure out but I can see him doing this to the other two:

*Nightwing just joins the Justice League and all is looking swell so far. His first mission is with Captain Marvel and he remembers the dude being pretty nice. The mission goes well and they’re on their way back to the Watchtower.*

*Two are talking about whatever*

Marvel: *Pauses mid convo and stares at Nightwing a bit before he does a little finger snap* “Oh! That’s where I know you from! You’re Robin! Dude, it is so cool you became your own hero. The blue’s awesome.”

Nightwing: *Has a mini-heart attack* “Wha? Psshh… Dude, I’m not Robin.”

Marvel: “Uh… Yeah you are? You guys have the same” *gestures to Nightwing*

Nightwing: “The same what?”

Marvel: “You know. The same” *gestures to Nightwing again* Nightwing: “You do know that doesn’t tell me anything… right?”

or

*Zatanna, her father, and Constantine are unavailable to help with a magic artifact. This led Bruce to begrudgingly ask Billy for help. At the scene are Bruce, Billy, Damian, Cassandra, and Jason. Bruce is briefing them on something Marvel isn’t listening to as he stares at Jason trying to figure out why he’s familiar.*

Marvel: *cuts Bruce off* “Aren’t you Robin number 2?” *ignores the stares as he looks at Jason.*

*silence from literally everyone*

Marvel: “Holy moly. You’re like 6’2.” (He says as if his Marvel form isn’t like 6’11. I love freakishly tall Marvel) “You used to be so tiny!”

Red Hood: *Gets hit in the face with a flashback*

//Flashback//

(Recently adopted Jason)

Jason: *sitting on a couch in one of the Watchtower’s rec rooms eyeing a box of donuts on a coffee table.*

Marvel: *walks into rec room with the intent to steal said donuts as food for Billy. Sees Jason.* “Robin?” *Walks over.* “You look… different.”

Jason: *fumbling for words, slightly surprised a hero came up to talk to him* “Oh uh- I’m not Robin- Your Robin. The Robin that you know.”

Marvel: “Yeah, well, that’s kinda obvious. You’re all skin and bones, kid.”

*The joke was met with no laughs and a look of hurt.*

Marvel: “Not- not that I’m saying it’s a bad thing! As somebody who frequently lived on ketchup sandwiches and sugar water at your age,” (as if he isn’t still that age, and still lives like that) “trust me when I say, I’m not making fun of you.” *grabs the box of donuts and offers it to Jason* “Look, why don’t you take one of these, or maybe a couple. I saw you eying them when I walked in. I’m sorry if you got upset at what I said.” *really doesn’t want Jason to cry*

Jason: *grabs two donuts. Chocolate and strawberry* “Why?”

Marvel: “Why what?”

Jason: “Why’d you live like that at my age?” (He finds it surprising this guy, this hero, lived like that at some point.)

Marvel: *contemplates whether or not telling Jason is a good idea for like 3 seconds before he throws it out the window* “I was homeless.” *shrugs*

Jason: “Oh. Me too.” *nibbles on one of the donuts*

*After a while of awkward conversation, Marvel soon gets Jason to open up and they branch away from the topic homelessness and spiral into other topics. Jason goes back to Bruce with a smile on his little face*

*After that, and a couple more encounters between the two, Marvel was the first person Jason bee-lined too at the Watchtower. Of course, not before saying hi to Wonder Woman. Greek heroes hold a special place in his heart for some reason.*

//End of Flashback//

*Under the helmet, Jason’s face slowly reddens in embarrassment and he just facepalms, not caring that he hit the metal of his helmet as he went through memories upon memories of little him following Marvel around like a little duckling.*

[clockwayswrites]

A Bird's Wings - Part 30

masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

Danny’s first thought when he woke up in the morning was how rested he was.

It was almost shocking.

He’d been so exhausted for for the past few weeks that to feel rested was a relief that almost made him cry.

Danny’s second thought was about his wings, which he still seemed to have. That was a pretty quick revelation caused by the fact that he was asleep on his stomach. The wings pulled at the sheets as he stretched lazily. At least they hurt less than yesterday at least. He was careful as he sat up, a cumbersome affair with the wings. It basically resulted in Danny getting his legs off the side of the large bed and simply standing up backwards, but at least it did result in him standing.

Grateful for Alfred’s thoroughness, Danny brushed his teeth before taking an awkward shower. He kept to the shower wand only and tried to keep as much water off his wings as possible. Despite the care, he still felt (and looked) like a rain ruffled bird after he had dressed in the modified sweater and a pair of his normal pants. He did what he could to at least tame his hair, swallowed his morning medication, and left the sanctuary of his borrowed room.

“Master Danny, impeccable timing,” Alfred said when Danny came across him in what Danny thought was the foyer. “Breakfast will be served in half an hour in the kitchen. Would you like some coffee or tea to start your day?”

“Coffee would be great, if it’s not any trouble,” Danny said with a bashful smile. He still wasn’t quite sure how to handle Alfred’s uncanny ability to show up and offer his service.

“A standard request of coffee is hardly trouble,” Alfred said in such a way that Danny felt bad for trying to be polite.

He didn’t think that his Midwest manners were going to get him very far in this house. Manor.

Still trying to puzzle out how his life got him into things like this, Danny followed Alfred to the kitchen. Bruce was already there, looking still half a sleep as he sipped on his own mug of coffee. For the moment, the table was children free.

“Cream or sugar?” Alfred ask as he headed towards the counter.

“Cream please,” Danny said. He turned to Bruce and gave a little smile. “Morning, Bruce.”

“Good morning, Danny,” Bruce said, his voice a low, sleepy rumble. (Danny did his best to fight the blush that the tone caused.) “Would you like some help drying off your wings?”

So much for not blushing. “Ah, yeah. That would be really nice. I tried to do what I could, but…”

Bruce chuckled softly. “Completely understandable. It’s a very awkward angle to try and manage.” He set down his mug and stood. “Fortunately for you, Damian is quite the animal buff and I was sent some very extensive articles on caring for wings.”

“Oh gods,” Danny said. The words were muffled by the way he buried his burning face into his hands.

“Damian simply wants the best for you,” Bruce pointed out.

“Sure, but still,” Danny said. He rubbed at his face as he let himself lean his head back and stare up at the ceiling for a moment, “I’m not a pet.”

Danny saw Bruce come over out the corner of his eye, towel in hand, and rolled his head a little to glance at him. He thought it was progress that he didn’t flinch when Bruce reached out, clearly telegraphing his motion, to run a hand over Danny’s wing.

“No one thinks that you’re a pet, Danny,” Bruce said with so much sincerity in his eyes that Danny had to look away. “Knowing how to take care of your wings is the same as making sure that Damian has easy access to vegetarian meals or that the computers at the manor have a dyslexic friendly font installed for Dick or that Barbara can easily get around in her wheelchair. Your wings, even if only sometimes, are part of you. And for better or worse, my family and I seem rather intent to see you well.”

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck as he glanced back at Bruce. “Part of it may be that I’m not exactly used to that sort of attention. I mean, Lucius tries to make me take care of myself, as well as some coworkers, but in Gotham that sort of feels more like new rogue prevention,” Danny joked.

Luckily Bruce chuckled at that. “I am sorry that we’re so overwhelming.”

“No, don’t be. It’s… excuse the bird analogy, but it’s just a very full nest, isn’t it? It feels cozy. It’s just something different to try and wrap my head around,” Danny explained. “And I won’t pretend that I don’t still have issues, as much as it’s something that I’ve worked really hard on personally and in therapy, dying at fourteen leaves a person with some issues.”

Not to mention being a super hero, staying half dead, dying a second time, and all of the other things that went on during his high school years.

“Yes, I would imagine so,” Bruce said after a pause. His voice was soft and sad.

“Bruce—”

“Sorry,” Bruce said. “When Jason was fifteen, we thought he had died. He ended up out of reach and with extensive brain trauma and memory loss. I know how much it effected him. I’m sorry you had to go through something at that age also.”

Danny squeezed one of Bruce’s hands where it was clasped tightly around a towel. “He’s here now. He’s alive and he seems happy. He has a boyfriend and everything. I’m not saying it doesn’t still pull at him, but it hasn’t dragged him to the bottom. At least not anymore.”

Bruce smile was a somber, soft thing. “Thank you. And you’re here too.”

Danny blinked at that. Bruce wasn’t wrong. He didn’t know almost any of the story, but he wasn’t wrong. Wings and all, Danny was still alive. He smiled softly back. “Yeah, I am.”

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - ii.

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

You sleep long enough that, when you wake up, you have enough energy to cry.

It’s a big one. The kind of cry that threatens to turn your throat out, with how hard you sob. Alone in the cottage, far away from anything resembling civilization, you wail like wounded animal, choking on your own tears and mucus, losing track of your body buried underneath the covers—

But it happens at a remove. You watch yourself implode from someplace deep inside, not entirely sure why it’s happening at all—but long past trying to figure it out.

This is how it’s been for a while. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Nothing urgent. Most of the time, you are a blank space of a person, a vacuum where joy or rage or fear should be, but occasionally some maelstrom or another kicks up to fill it in, and your only course of action is to ride it out until it ends.

You’ve stopped trying to fix it. And you’ve stopped hoping anyone else can, either.

So you cry, until at last, you’re empty again. Or you’re too tired to continue. The difference is negligible, but functionally irrelevant. Once it’s done, you get out of bed.

The pressure in the shower is as weak as Johnny reported, but the water is indeed warm when you turn it on; you stand naked under the flow, arms hanging at your sides.

The day stretches itself out before you with nothing to occupying it, just as you’d planned. Nothing to work towards; no effort to put forward. Nothing, thanks to your choice of locale, to feel guilty about not seeking out.

A day of peace and utter quiet.

Suddenly—violent banging, somewhere in the cottage. It startles you; you jump so sharply at the noise that you smack your wrist on the soap caddy attached to the shower wall. The banging comes again—annoyed, you realize with no little bemusement that someone is at the front door.

You wrap yourself in a towel and hobble out of the bathroom to answer it, a piece of your mind on your tongue, dart-shaped and ready to fly—

Of course it’s Johnny.

Johnny, big and burly in a sweater, kilt, and pelt once again, two paper cups balanced in one large hand and a grocery bag hanging from the other. Whose dark brows shoot up his forehead as his eyes travel with surprise, and blatant appreciation, down the dripping length your body.

“Well, good mornin’, bonnie,” he purrs.

“What,” you grunt. A cold breath of wind chooses that moment to force its way through the door, gasping across the shower water still running in rivulets from your hair to the rolled edge of your towel. Goosebumps erupt from your bare skin in millions of simultaneous pinpricks—you flinch bodily at the chill.

“Ah, hell’s bells, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, following the wind. “It’s freezin,’ go on, let me get in, hurry.”

You let him step inside, for some reason, and he shuts the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He wastes no time after that, heading to the kitchen to set down his things.

“Brought breakfast!” he says cheerfully. “There’s this bakery on Barra I thought you’d like, fresh doughnuts and coffee. Dunno how you take yours, but there’s sugar in the pantry and cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” you say.

“What? ‘Course you do. I’m no’ takin’ you seal-watchin’ on an empty stomach.”

He starts unpacking the grocery bag and setting things on the counter while your jaw hangs open. Several things occur to you to say—I never agreed to that and what the hell is wrong with you, for starters—but your stomach growls at him before you can. The aroma of fresh-baked pastry wafts through the kitchen when he opens one box, and he turns to grin at you, cheeks dimpling.

“Do you get dressed, bonnie,” he says. “It’ll still be here when y’get back.”

It is less polite than he perhaps intends it to be, given that his gaze travels appreciatively across your bare shoulders. You cross your arms fruitlessly over your chest and, nothing else for it, retreat to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

You return to the kitchen after having pulled on wool leggings and the same fleecy sweater from the day before. Johnny, one hip set against the counter, has a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cruller in the other, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Got anythin’ heavier?” he asks around a chewed-up mouthful. “Gets cold out there.”

You look down at his bare calves, broad and taut and covered in a down of dark hair. “You seem alright.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, shrugging—the muscles flexing under your gaze.

You purse your lips. “I don’t have anything.” You hadn’t intended to leave the cottage overmuch.

You approach the counter. Johnny does not move a centimeter, forcing you to stand close as you pick through the two boxes of doughnuts and feel the body heat radiating off of him, displacing the scent of fried dough with his musk.

“That’s all right,” he says. You’re close enough to hear the way his voice hums deep in his chest. “I can keep you warm.”

You snatch a plain glazed from the box and take two very large steps away from him. The hair on the back of your neck lifts as you press against the sink behind you. If he notices your reaction, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest—he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, eyes sliding closed with simple, obvious pleasure, dark lashes curling against his cheek.

You take the brief respite from his gaze to stare at him. In the morning light, on a full night of sleep, you can almost believe that whatever you’d seen in him yesterday had been nothing more than a misfire of exhausted synapses. An overlay of a dream; a circadian prompt to rectify nearly seventeen hours of sleeplessness. You’d been cold, and tired, and hungry. That was all.

You bite down on your doughnut, not really tasting it. The nerves along your spine twitch and contract around the memory of his flashing gaze.

His eyes open again, and he smiles at you. “Good?” He flicks a look at the single bite you’ve taken, looks at your mouth, and then waits for your reply.

“It’s fine,” you grumble. Then, “How did you get here? I didn’t hear the truck drive up. Do you live close by?”

“Sometimes,” he says. He looks pleased that you’ve asked, that you’re interested at all, and you immediately regret inquiring. “Live on a boat, me. Moored in the cove right now.”

“A…boat,” you say.

“Aye.” A wisp of dark hair, something he must have missed when he gelled his mohawk this morning, flutters as he nods. “Nice and cozy. Not as grand as all this, mind.” He gestures around with coffee and doughnut at the less than five hundred square feet of the cottage. “But it’s still a sight nicer than some other places I’ve slept.”

He’s likely hinting at his military service. “Okay,” is all you say, unwilling to entertain it.

He smirk—undeterred. “We’ll take her out once you’re ready.”

“I never said I was going.”

Dark brows lift. “Got somethin’ else planned for today?” he asks, incredulous, as if he never imagined you wouldn’t want to hang out with him.

“No, I—”

You wrack your brain. You have no intention of explaining to this complete stranger that the last thing you’d wanted to do, when you booked this trip, was really anything at all—and in fact, you hadn’t even considered that that might be something anyone else would care much about.

Much less proactively address.

“No,” you repeat, sulking.

Johnny considers you, chewing. His eyes do not stray, this time, to places they don’t belong; but there’s an insight to them. A sharp awareness. A perception in his gaze that is just as undressing, as if whatever is going on with you is visible to the naked eye.

“I figure,” he says, slowly, as if to coax, “you put your wee shoes on, an’ I’ll pack this back up, and we take it along.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you grouse. “I don’t need you to, like—be my tour guide.”

“Aye, but that doesnae mean I don’t wanna,” he retorts, smiling.

He shoves the last bite of cruller in his mouth and gazes patiently at you as he works it with his jaw, the muscles flexing along his temples as he chews.

Exhaustion, your constant companion, stares you down alongside him. It would take so much more energy to fight him than to go along with whatever he has planned. Energy you just don’t have anymore. And going along doesn’t mean you have to pretend to enjoy yourself—it’s not like you care enough about Johnny’s self-esteem to conjure up a happy face to show him.

You can go, and be a bitch about it, and once you do maybe he’ll realize you’re not at all worth the effort he’s making, and then finally leave you alone.

“Fine,” you say, which is how you end up on a fishing trawler headed south toward, ostensibly, a colony of breeding seals.

It’s an old vessel—that much is obvious. Its edges and corners are dull with the passage of time and constant maintenance, scuffed by innumerable passes-over with cleaner and cloth. Mildew competes with the aroma of fresh varnish as Johnny leads you onto the bridge, which is mercifully closed in from the ocean wind.

The interior is mostly wood of a warm, orangish variety—you can’t tell if that’s a decision made with aesthetics or function in mind. The space comprises a kitchen, surprisingly well-appointed with a stove, sink, countertop, and fridge, and a small sitting area with both couch and booth seating. Surrounding windows allow in the grey light of the morning.

“Bought it off an old bloke on Lewis,” Johnny says, taking his place at the wheel, which is in a little alcove off the kitchen.

If you’d thought steering a boat would have curtailed his chatting, you’d have been wrong—he seems to have no trouble with that and talking, incessantly, at the same time, as he pulls the vessel away from the cove and into the open water.

“All his family moved to the mainland, he told me, an’ this is after generations fishin’ these islands, even makin’ it through the Clearances! No money in it anymore, he said, not like you could make in some office somewhere countin’ someone else’s money.” He checks something on the dashboard in front of him, but it doesn’t distract him for long. “Held on for a while, but people just kept leavin,’ an’ he was gettin’ too old to go out on his own. Got such a good price on it, I think he was just happy someone else was gonna take up the tradition.”

“Did he sell you the cottage too?” you ask, and then dig your nails into your wrist for encouraging him.

“Yup,” he says. “No one else wanted it, but me? I saw somethin’ special about it.”

He turns to smile at you—no doubt pleased you made the connection. You avert your gaze.

“Imagine someday I’ll have my own family here,” he continues. “Good place for it. Nice and slow, not like city living. Can hear yourself think out here. Perfect place to have a few wee ones.”

“If people stop leaving,” you mutter.

He turns to you again. “I’m no’ worried about that,” he replies. He’s still smiling. “You came here, after all.”

You have nothing to say to that.

The trip is a short one—Johnny brings the trawler alongside an island he informs you is called Mingulay, a square mile smaller than Vatersay’s tiny dot in the North Atlantic. Unlike the latter, he says, this island has not been inhabited since 1912, and has been completely reclaimed by the ocean and its wildlife.

After he drops anchor offshore, Johnny disappears down a steep flight of stairs below deck, which he had not offered a tour of, and emerges a short time later with a large, bulky coat.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he says proudly, holding it out by the shoulders. “Here, turn ‘round.”

You pause in the middle of reaching for it. You don’t know exactly why you comply—it occurs to you that if you grabbed for the jacket, he could simply not let go of it, and you would end up exactly where he wants you anyway. So you lower your arm and, resigned, give him your back.

He steps up behind you. Warmth pours off of him, more than you think any human body should be able to generate.

You hear him inhale, deeply, as he brings the jacket to your back. As you slide your arms into the sleeves, you feel his exhale on the nape of your neck, teasing through individual follicles of hair.

“There w’go,” he murmurs, much closer than you expected.

You can hear the low hum of his voice in his chest; his hands linger on your shoulders far longer than they need to, heavy, big enough that his index fingers brush along your collarbones.

When his hands make to slide down your back you step away from him and fumble to zip the jacket up; he chuckles lightly behind you. When you turn to face him, his lips are curled—smug.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s get out there.”

He rows the two of you to shore in a small kayak, two pairs of binoculars in your lap as you huddle away from the wind. You’ll be walking to the haul-out, he says—getting too close to the breeding grounds, which he calls a rookery, would spook them, possibly causing a stampede.

“It’s grey seals we’re gonna see,” he explains as the two of you pick your way across the rocky landscape. “Not the biggest haul-out you could see, some colonies get into the thousands, but we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

He insists on taking your elbow every time the two of you cross particularly uneven terrain, even though you don’t need it. You think he takes your attempts to shake him off as proof of your lack of balance, because he grasps you all the tighter every time.

“I’m not a child, Johnny, I can walk on my own,” you finally snap at him.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, bonnie,” he replies nonchalantly. He does not let you go.

As you get closer, you hear the seals before you see them, and when their voices reach you across the open island, you stop dead.

Groaning, grunting, hissing in a cacophonous chorus. Some part of your hindbrain double-takes, reshuffles itself—some ancestral instinct always on the lookout for predation. If you’d been given a chance to guess what a colony of mating seals might have sounded like, you’re not sure you could have guessed what they sounded like.

Certainly not like what you hear now—

Like people.

Johnny grins at you when he notices. “Aye, it’s a right ruckus, innit?”

He leads you up a small rise, where he has the two of you settle belly-down over the machair to overlook the wedge of rocky coast that the colony has claimed for its own.

And when you finally see it—it’s underwhelming.

Perhaps two hundred long, fat bodies, in varying shades of brown and grey, lay indolently along the rocks, in groups of three or four, some heavily galumphing from one place to another while others roll occasionally from side to side. The shifting winds catch their scent and blow it uncaringly into your face; you nearly gag at the admixture of dead fish and ammonia.

It doesn’t escape you that this is a rare thing to witness; you are not wholly immune to the fact that you are only a hundred meters away from something most people only encounter on a screen. It’s just that without a swell of awed music in the backdrop, or a narrator’s breathless wonder at the miracle of pinniped life, what’s left for you to observe is a population of wet, stinking animals, shitting where they lay, vocalizing without cease while they laze about doing basically nothing.

Johnny does not seem to notice your disillusionment; he hands you one pair of binoculars, and directs your attention to activity along the shoreline. You follow to where he’s pointing; one larger seal is hassling a smaller one, which snarls at the aggressor as it thrashes around with its substantial bulk.

“Little one there—” Johnny says, “that’s a female, probably obvious. Big one knows she’s ready to mate, can smell it on her.”

The female bares her teeth and lunges at the bigger male, which flinches back but holds his ground.

“Doesn’t look like she agrees,” you mutter.

“She’s just givin’ him a hard time. She’s all in heat, see? Just makes her cranky,” Johnny says. You feel his eyes on you, and lower your binoculars to look at him. “She’s got to fight to feel all in control.”

You flush. “Right.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” you say. “He’s—he’s just bothering her.”

He gazes at you for a moment, contemplative. Corners of his mouth quirking upward. He does not reply for a long moment, long enough that you have to avert your gaze from his.

“Nah,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’re imagining the low, sultry note in his voice. “She wants it bad as he does.”

You scowl, uncomfortably perceived, and return your binoculars—the pair is still facing off, gurgling and growling at each other. The female is slim, almost sleek, unlike most of the other seals populating the rookery.

“Is she sick?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, she’s alright. The mums lose a lot of weight when they nurse. Takes three weeks, and they don’t eat in the meantime.”

“Jesus.”

“Be nice if the dads ever brought ‘em a bite, aye?” Johnny agrees. “Deadbeats, the lot of them.”

The two of you survey the colony in silence for a moment. As the morning wears on, the cloud covering thins overhead, allowing cool sunlight to filter through. The temperature doesn’t rise in response; begrudgingly, you tug Johnny’s jacket a little tighter around you.

Then, suddenly, his hand lands on your back, between your shoulder blades.

“Got some pups over there,” he says. “Look, by the kelp.”

You find them; smaller bodies, white dinged with wet sand and dirt, lounge near their mothers or wriggle with aimless difficulty. They’re fluffy and round as plush toys, with shining black eyes and noses, and once Johnny’s pointed them out you can differentiate the higher, sweeter pitch of their cries from the overall cacophony.

“Sometimes,” Johnny murmurs, “search and rescue’ll get called out because someone thought they heard a baby crying. Some kid stranded or lost, right? Turns out to be a baby seal.”

“That’s kind of scary,” you say.

“Aye,” says Johnny. “Always makes me think that’s where the old legends come from, about seal people or mermaids.”

A small ways away, some of the mothers lay with their pups far into the surf, letting the waves break over them. You watch as one mother thunks her large head overtop of her pup’s as the water rushes toward them; the pup wriggles, and then, as the wave engulfs them, it begins to thrash, whipping up a panicked froth.

“Time for swimming lessons already?” Johnny muses. “Seems early.”

You’re horrified. “She’s going to drown it!”

The hand still on your back pats you consolingly. “Just watch,” says Johnny.

The wave reaches as far up the shore as gravity allows, and then begins to recede. The pup’s thrashing calms as the air meets its face once again; the cow allows the pup to lift its head, and after a few sputters, the pup seems no worse for wear.

“They’re hardier than they look, bonnie,” Johnny says.

His hand, heavy and warm even over his borrowed jacket, slides down from your shoulders to your lower back, and then he rubs, slowly, side to side, as if to comfort you—but the knobs of your spine contract at his touch.

“Last of the births this season, looks like,” he says. “Mum’s getting ready to leave—probably not the only one.”

Something hard drops into your stomach.

“They leave their babies?” you ask.

“Aye. Once they’re done nursing, they mate, and then they go.”

You look back at the other cows with their pups. One baby has its muzzle to its mother’s belly, quivering and suckling, while she lays with her head on a patch of grass. She looks uninterested—more, she looks disinterested. As if how voraciously her pup is nursing has nothing much to do with her, and she’s bored of even having to think about it.

Bored—and already looking forward to the next part of her life without a baby in it.

“That’s horrible,” you say.

“They’re solitary animals, bonnie,” Johnny says, not ungently. “The only time they’re really all together is for this.”

A line tightens between your stomach and throat, and you feel it start to build between your ribs. A tremor—foreshocks. The wind picks up, bringing a sharp chill off the ocean and up the rise that cuts into your stinging eyes, abrades the naked skin of your hands and the exposed part of your neck.

When you look through your binoculars again, you wonder how many of the pups you see have already been abandoned.

“Aw, bonnie,” Johnny says. There’s a kind of pity in his voice that has your hackles raising.

“I want to leave,” you say, yanking away from his touch and shuffling down the incline. “Take me back to the cottage.”

“Bonnie, it’s okay!” Johnny protests, rolling to his back to look at you as you stand. “The pups make it, they figure out how to fend for themselves.”

You glare at him, vision blurring. “All of them?”

Some part of you knows you’re being irrational—knows that nature is a cruel home, and that many children face worse fates than the seal pups. Abandoning the young, the needy, is no aberration; it is, in fact, far more the standard than the human practice, which lingers for decades—

Most of the time.

Johnny has no response. He holds your angry gaze, brows drawn low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the first time that cocky aura, which seems to rest in every fine line on his face and every angle at which he holds his body, is completely absent.

He isn’t reflecting your anger back at you, though—he’s internalizing it. Letting it hit him, you think, and trying to use it to figure you out.

You do not want to be figured out.

You scoff again. “Take me back,” you repeat, and then you start walking in the direction you came, without waiting for him to follow.

Johnny drops you off in the cove, and thankfully does not linger this time before he departs—he bids you farewell after rowing you to shore, contemplation on his face, and then leaves you to yourself.

You retreat, seeking the cottage’s empty quiet.

As you perch on the couch you listen to the radiator hum—the wind blow over the reeds in the thatch roof—your own heart beating a drum in the arteries of your neck.

Percussive. Quick and hard. Like heavy knockers on a door. Pounding as if to burst through.

You realize you’re still wearing Johnny’s jacket, and you throw it off, disgusted with yourself. You get up and pace, and try to ignore it lying in a heap on the floor.

You do something you swore you wouldn’t do the moment you set foot on the island—you turn your phone back on.

True to Johnny’s word, there’s no signal. You picked this island, this part of the world, for a reason; for the past several years, a slow exodus from the British isles has vacated the need for dedicated cell towers or satellite or internet access, especially given that the only ones who remain are too old now to want it or need it or know how to use it.

It’s isolated. Cut off. Left behind by anyone with better options, and only clung to by those trying to preserve the only way of life they know.

Some kinder part of you belongs with that demographic; the part that was telling your mother the truth, before getting on the plane.

The rest of you holds your phone up and starts walking around.

In the furthest corner in the bedroom, you find a single bar of signal. A tiny chip of connectivity—a thin, frayed thread. Something you lied to yourself about cutting.

It’s a weak connection. Unstable. It could take a while—you stand there, waiting.

The screen dims. You tap it again.

Blank.

You unlock it, look through your apps. Wonder if maybe your notifications are bugged by your new SIM card.

Nothing—

No one.

You whip around and, with a cry, pitch the thing at the far wall—it hits the stone with a crunch, falling to the floor in pieces.

You’re out of the cottage then in a mad dash, door slamming behind you, driving yourself back into the wind. Far away—you want to be far away, far from everything, so far that nothing could possibly reach you. You trudge down the path toward the beach, banding your arms across your chest, shivering in the cold, and yet you hardly feel it.

Not worth it. No point. Waste of your time. Energy. All of it. Stop trying. Stop wanting. Nothing. Nothing. You want nothing.

You’re halfway down to the shore, not really knowing what you’re going to do when you get there, when you catch sight of a body on the sand.

You gasp, a sharp breath down your larynx, and freeze in a dead halt.

The body is completely still.

A swimmer? A diver? It’s dark, like it just pulled itself out of the ocean—or washed up—

Then, it moves. A twitch, a ripple across its bulk, and your chest rapidly decompresses.

A seal. It’s a large seal, lounging alone on the beach.

You stand motionless. You’re very close—much closer than you and Johnny had been at the rookery. You hadn’t contended with the sheer size of the animals, tucked safely up and away from them, but there is no illusion of distance now.

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen today, you’re sure of it. Bigger, you think, than most adult men. Its pelt is a riot of every shade of grey, splashy, like liquid paint thrown across a canvas. Black speckles scatter overtop of marbled white and cool slate, and down the center of its back is a broad, dark line, soft at the edges, which reaches all the way up to the top of the seal’s head.

The bull—it must be male—turns over. It lifts its head, and opens its eyes—

Fear suddenly zips up your spine as it looks right at you.

You stumble backward and trip on your own feet, landing hard on your ass. Johnny’s care with keeping enough distance from the colony rushes back to you, along with the warring couple’s bared teeth.

They can’t move that fast on land, right? They aren’t interested in people, right?

You scramble backward. It’s so much bigger than you ever would have imagined. If it got to you—threw itself over you—it could crush you with its weight alone—

The bull watches you placidly. Unperturbed.

You pause.

Its small eyes are dark and glossy—watchful and focused. The whiskers on its muzzle twitch a little as it takes you in. It breathes, deeply and evenly, huge body expanding and contracting at a slow, calm tempo. Its—his—nostrils flex, widening and narrowing, as he blinks docilely.

Unafraid.

If anything—curious.

Then he snorts, and wriggles in place. It startles a laugh out of you, more reaction than humor. Still watching you, the bull lowers his head back down, resting it again on the sand.

Your heartbeat abates. He doesn’t move again—nor does his attention leave you. Slowly, you sit up.

Wary. No sudden movements.

He doesn’t react; only continues to watch you.

You draw your knees up. Wrap your arms around your shins, and dust a bit of sand from your leggings. Rest your chin in the crevice between your knees.

There’s an intelligence in the bull’s eyes that is fathoms deep. There is a massive gulf between his experience of the world and yours, millennia of evolution separating your species from his—and yet…as you hold his gaze, you recognize the look in it.

Him, seeing you. And seeing you see him. The pendulum swinging between awareness of each other, and recognition of that shared awareness.

An empty space in the cloud cover passes overhead; sunlight touches the earth, warms it briefly before disappearing again. You wonder a little why this bull isn’t with the other seals.

Johnny would probably know.

“I didn’t come for you, you know,” you grumble at him.

The seal blinks. Awareness notwithstanding, you don’t share any language.

You sigh. “I guess you didn’t come to see me either,” you say.

But you don’t move away.

And you stay like that for a long while, you and he—regarding each other as the wind breathes out across the shore.

next

a/n: follow for more seal facts™

Also huge thanks to Lev for trawler listings/info. Didn't explore it much this chapter but Soap's boat will show up more soon :)

[hysteria-things]

can we have a fic where reader is innocent and mean dom!matt takes her card if ykyk🙏🙏🙏

BONUS!

NOT SO INNOCENT

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!matt x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: matt figures out what game you’re playing; which your “innocence” is just an act.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FILTHY, swearing, dry humping, degradation, pussy slapping, fingering, finger sucking, p in v, spanking, choking, corruption kink, faux-sympathy, crying, breeding, ROUGH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,069

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i’m sorry if the reader isn’t as innocent i’m too horny to write about innocence right now😪

MATT IS A MEANIE IN THIS! I’M WARNING YOU, THIS ONE IS A LITTLE MUCH! AS ALWAYS, BE AWARE THAT THIS IS FICTION! love you all :)

if innocent had a picture in the dictionary, it would be of you. Intimacy-wise, you’ve only held hands and kissed — not made out — kissed. you haven’t even been eaten out, let alone been fingered or fingered yourself. you’re a fucking virgin for crying out loud.

well… you have ridden your pillow before, thinking about your current boyfriend. especially when he’s sleeping next to you.

still being fully clothed, your clit rubs perfectly against the fabric while you rock your hips. you swallow every moan, instead choking out and breathing heavily. your pink bow lays haphazardly in your disheveled hair. looking at matt’s face, you lean forward to hit a different angle. you pout, shutting your eyes before the pillow disappears, and the ecstasy goes away. “stop acting like a slut and go the fuck to bed.” matt’s voice says, the pent-up orgasm fading away.

secretly, you’re a nymphomaniac. interesting. maybe you’re NOT SO INNOCENT after all.

most girls want their first time to be gentle and a night to remember, but you want it the opposite. you purposely want it rough. you want to cry out from how good it feels. you want to feel useless under matt’s weight.

wiping the sugar off of your hands, you finish your cookie, a smile of contentment on your face. you are leaning over the counter when you hear the front door of the home open. when the footsteps enter the kitchen, you bite your lip and wiggle your ass. you’re wearing a micro skirt, a lacy thong on full display.

“i’m so fucking sick of your shit,” he says suddenly, grasping your wrist and practically dragging you as you stumble up the stairs. you giggle to the bedroom. his hands push at your chest, causing you to fall back on the bed.

tearing your tights open, he rips off your panties. you wince, before squealing when he gives your pussy a slap. “you’re ready for me to fuck you dumb, huh?”

you nod frantically, earning another slap on your folds. “use your words.”

“y-yes.” you breathe out, eyes already watering. “yes, please.”

your heart beats fast in your chest, nervous but excited at the same time. you shiver once you feel fingertips graze your slit. collecting your slick, he inserts his pointer finger inside your hole. face scrunching up, you bite back a hiss.

torso lifting from the bed, he pins it back down with his hand on your stomach. another hand makes contact with the outside of your thigh. “relax. sit still for me, yeah?”

pumping slowly, you gasp softly into the air, before he adds his ring finger out of nowhere. “ah.” you moan painfully, the pressure feeling strange from his long digits moving in and out. his body shifts on top of you, lips hovering over yours.

right when matt kisses you longingly, he curls his fingers to get that spot nice and deep. because of how wet you are, it makes it easier for him to pump at a faster pace. you wiggle and squirm in his grasp, but there’s no point.

it’s embarrassing how quickly he pulls an orgasm out of you. you quiver underneath him nonetheless, a squelching noise heard once he takes his fingers out. he grips your jaw, taking you by surprise, and lifts his digits into your view.

they glisten in the moonlight, your release dripping down his knuckles. before being able to get out a breath, you choke instead when he shoves them into your mouth. you groan at the taste. “you like the way you taste?”

humming in a positive way, your eyes roll back when you suck the remaining liquid off. the flavor is sweet and salty at the same time. “slut’s getting turned on.” he says matter of factly, before gripping tight onto your waist to flip you over. he gives you a spank, groaning at the view.

soaking wet, arousal dripping down your inner thigh, he pulls down his pants. his eyes stay on the mess in front of him, pumping himself a few times before lining up to your entrance. his veiny hand takes your small ones and pins them behind your back. “come on.” you hear matt talk to himself, trying to push his tip inside of you. you arch your ass to him, crying out when there’s a stinging on your buttcheek. “greedy whore.” he mumbles.

“too big!” you whine, matt fucking only the tip in your needy cunt.

“too big.” he mocks with a scoff. “i’m not even close to halfway.”

pulling out, he laughs out loud. he’s fucking laughing at you. “i’ve been wanting to stretch out this pussy for months.”

biting the pillow your head is resting on, you scream when he suddenly bullies all of his cock into you. he moans, throwing his head back. this is better than he’s ever imagined. he wraps his hand around your neck.

that’s it. you’re officially under matt’s dominance.

sliding his dick in repeatedly, you moan uncontrollably in the pillow. “poor baby.” he coos in a faux tone. “not so goody-goody now, right?”

yeah, it’s painful, but it’s pleasurable at the time time. tears trickle down your face, your toes curling as his cock drills into you. your hands clench into fists, knuckles turning white. “fuck, fuck, fuck.” you whimper softly.

“god, you’re so fucking tight. my tight little pussy to use whenever i please,” he grunts, your body rocking to the point where the bed starts to squeak.

“it hurts!” you sob, rolling your eyes back when he hits your g-spot. “hurts too good!”

the same hot feeling as before forms in your abdomen. you clench around him, wanting to cum so badly on his shaft. “going to breed you real nice; fill you up to the brim so a part of me can be with you forever.”

a ring of white smears around his base, and you nod quickly. “i knew a slut like you would like that shit. you look so pretty cumming for me.”

body spent, you’re shaking as your brain feels empty. you can’t think straight anymore, only about how your boyfriend’s load paints your gummy walls. you try to catch your breath when he pulls out, still in position with a mixture of cum dripping from your cunt onto the comforter. you can’t help but smile sinisterly.

just like that, your innocence is gone.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @sturnlcvr @tpvmz @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws

[covenofagatha]

Sugar, spice, and everything nice (Part 4)

Agatha takes you to her house after your date in the park

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: oral sex, sex toys, fingering, mommy kink

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly

Thankfully, Agatha doesn’t tease you at all with the toy the whole way back to her house. You aren’t sure you could take anymore of it. 

You can still feel phantom vibrations inside you and your hips involuntarily jerk every so often. She chuckles, watching you out of the corner of her eye, but you can see her knuckles turn white around the steering wheel when you let out a small gasp. 

Agatha tries to drive safely, but you see her teeth grit when she presses down on the gas pedal to make a yellow light. She’s as desperate as you are, and the thought only makes you clench harder around the toy still inside you. 

Thankfully it’s only a fifteen minute drive and she’s pulling into the driveway of a giant house. You didn’t even know there were houses this big in this part of New Jersey but it looks like a mansion. 

She presses a button in her car and the gate out in front slowly opens. Your jaw drops as you take in the details of the massive two-story house with a three car garage, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and you think you can see a pool in the backyard? 

And there’s a water fountain out front in the middle of the roundabout driveway. 

Your jaw drops open and you look at her with wide eyes. “You live here?” You whisper and Agatha nods with a smirk.

It’s a far cry from your 250 square foot dorm room and you’re embarrassed remembering how you practically begged her to come up with you to it the other night. 

There’s a seedling of doubt that plants itself in your mind. Agatha is clearly a very successful lawyer, with a huge home and more money than you could ever dream of. You’re nothing but a college student who works at a bakery with maybe three-hundred dollars to your name, most of which came from Agatha’s tips. You shouldn’t be here with her. You shouldn’t be with her at all. 

Agatha will always be able to take you out, treat you to the nicest things – the brand new laptop, the sex toys. She gave you her credit card and told you to buy whatever you wanted. 

You had to settle for a picnic in the park. 

“Hey,” Agatha says gently, interlocking her fingers with yours and rubbing her thumb on your skin soothingly. “Everything okay?”

You must be wearing your shame on your face and you shake your head and try to offer a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just kind of crazy that you live here—” you wave your hands, motioning to her house, “and I’m just a college kid.” 

“Oh, honey.” She reaches over and tilts your chin to face her, making you look right into her eyes. Your cheek twitches with the effort of hiding how insecure you feel. “You’re so much more than that.” She leans across the console to press a soft kiss to your lips. 

It makes you feel a little better. “Really?”

She nods earnestly. “You’re so pretty and smart and hard-working. That little crease above your eyes you get when you’re thinking hard about something is so cute. The way your mouth opens in shock when I tip you. And—” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye and you feel your stomach warm, “you’re really fucking hot when you moan for me.” 

Heat sears through you and you gasp, clasping her cheeks and pulling her to you, your mouth meeting hers in the middle. 

Agatha wastes no time before sliding her tongue into your open mouth, flicking against yours and she sucks on your bottom lip, a filthy moan escaping you. Her mouth is hot on yours like she’s hungry, like she’s trying to devour you — and you let her. 

She swallows up the sounds from your throat and you tangle your fingers into her hair to try and get her closer, you need to feel more, you need her so much you can hardly breathe. 

Your skin feels like it’s burning, more wetness pooling in your already soaked underwear from earlier, you clench around the toy and wish she would turn it on to give you some much-needed relief. 

Her tongue licks against yours and she groans and pulls back, resting her forehead against yours while she pants. 

She huffs out a laugh as your breaths mix together. “Should we bring this inside?” 

And all your worries about not being good enough melt away. “Yes, please,” you say, not even bothering to hide how desperate you are for her. 

Agatha’s eyes dart down to your lips and she kisses you one last time like she can’t help herself before opening her door and getting out. You follow in suit, grabbing your overnight bag with all the sex toys, and she leads you up to the front door, fumbling with the keys with shaky hands before finally unlocking it. 

You barely have time to admire the gray laminate flooring or the extravagant chandelier that hangs in the entryway or the extensive bar tucked into a corner of the living room as she wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into her, her lips finding yours once again. 

This time, when her tongue traces against your lips, her hands slip under your shirt and the heat from her splayed fingers makes you gasp. You drop the bag and your hands wrap around her shoulders and you don’t think it would be possible to be closer to her than you are right now. 

She walks you backwards until you hit the wall, her mouth never leaving yours, and her thigh slots between your legs, and you grind against her, the same way you did on the park bench. 

Tension grows in your stomach, not taking long at all with how worked up you still are, and Agatha’s hands roam higher under your shirt, brushing against the edge of the lacy bra you put on for her. She cups your breasts and you gasp into her mouth, your hips stuttering against her leg. 

And when Agatha circles her thumbs against your nipples, you keen, your back arching off the wall with a sigh and she smirks against you. 

“Agatha,” you breathe. “Mommy.” 

She groans like the name is too much, too good, and you throb at knowing you have that effect on her, and then she’s grabbing your hand and yanking you into the living room. Your lips are swollen and your cheeks are flushed and the mess between your legs keeps getting worse and you need her more than you thought possible. 

“Lay on the couch,” she rasps and it’s dizzying to hear her like that, like she needs you just as much as you need her. 

You obey and in an instant, she’s straddling your hips and tearing off her blazer and the blouse underneath, throwing them somewhere in the room and you inhale sharply at her smooth pale skin, her black bra, her stomach. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” you say before you can think about it and she uncharacteristically blushes before bending over you, her hair tickling your face, and kisses you softly. 

It turns every bit as filthy as the other ones and soon enough, she’s tugging at the hem of your shirt to help you take it off while your hands trace the outlines of her ribs. 

Her lips nip at your chest, soothing the sting with her tongue, and your fingers bury into her hair to keep her there when she sucks on your nipples over your bra. Your hips rut up, the toy inside you providing a little bit of stimulation but nowhere near enough, and the heat inside you only gets worse when Agatha gets frustrated with your bra and rips the middle of it open, giving her access to your breasts. 

Before you can make a comment about your torn lingerie, her tongue swirls around your nipples and your eyes roll back, all the thoughts in your head vanishing. You make a strangled noise and your hands fiddle with the clasp of Agatha’s bra before finally unhooking it. 

She pulls away to shrug it off and then lowers herself against you to kiss you, her nipples sliding against yours and you gasp at the feeling. 

Agatha huffs out a laugh, a hand sneaking between your bodies to dip into the waistband of your skirt and you moan, hips jumping—

A phone rings. You think it might be yours coming from your bag by the door, but through the haze in your mind, you remember that your phone is set to silence. 

Which means — Agatha swears and looks between you and her blazer that’s laying on the floor, where the sound is coming from, as if she’s trying to decide what to do. 

The ringing stops eventually and Agatha smirks before dragging her lips against your collarbone, her hand pushing up your skirt and sliding a hand between your legs. You jump when she cups you over your underwear and she chuckles teasingly before stroking two fingers up and down, pressing the outer piece of the toy against your clit and you can feel how wet you are, and the sudden pressure on your clit makes you moan. 

Her ringtone plays again and this time Agatha growls before quickly getting off you and retrieving her phone from her blazer. 

“What?” She barks into it and you see the clock on the wall say it’s a little past 9 pm. Who would be calling at this hour? You watch as her body position changes and she slumps defeatedly into herself, eyes looking anywhere but you. “Are you serious?” 

Agatha turns around and massages her forehead while you try not to get too distracted by how good her ass looks in her tight-fitted pants. You are positively aching right now and you wonder if she would be mad if you started touching yourself. 

You feel like she would so you sit up and squirm on the couch instead. 

“Fine. Give me fifteen minutes,” she says and she sounds pissed. She hangs up the phone and curses, grabbing her shirt and blazer off the floor. 

You chew on your lip tentatively. “Everything okay?” 

Agatha pulls her shirt over her head, fluffing out her hair from the neckline. “This stupid case I’m working on has hit a snare. That was my partner at the firm, he needs me on a video call in fifteen minutes with some of the other attorneys to discuss how we’re going to move forward.” Agatha sighs and walks over to the couch, cupping your cheeks and kissing your lips, making your clit pulse while you sit there, suddenly cold. “I’m so sorry, honey.” 

“No, it’s your job, I completely understand,” you say, still a little letdown but trying to hide it for her. “I’ll still be here after.” 

She gives you a sweet smile and it’s hard to be annoyed when she looks at you like that. Agatha softly brushes your hair, tucking a lock behind your ear, and kisses your forehead. “That’s my good girl.” 

It’s hard to miss the shudder that runs through you when she says that and she smirks. 

“You’re welcome to explore or come hang out in the study with me. I have some swimsuits in my closet if you want to go for a late night swim,” she offers, eyes twinkling at the thought of you in a swimsuit and you laugh. 

“I’m sure I’ll figure something out,” you say and she squeezes your shoulder before going into her office, leaving the door open as an invitation. 

You decide to look around a bit. First, after you shrug off the ruins of your bra and put your shirt back on, you go into the kitchen where you’re met with white marble countertops, a huge stainless steel fridge with post-it notes stuck to it with reminders like Check on Vidal case and Talk to Wanda about Wu finances and Bananas, eggs, chicken, bourbon. You read each one and then with a jolt, see one that makes your cheeks heat up. Date with y/n Tuesday — clean the house. 

On the island, the faucet in the deep sink is gold plated and the wine rack tucked into the side is filled with expensive bottles. Not a speck of dust anywhere and you’re just in awe of how nice everything is. 

That hint of insecurity starts to creep back in and you decide to go back to the study and be with Agatha. Even just sitting near her will make you feel better. 

She’s sitting at a big mahogany desk and looks up over her computer to smile and you can see the AirPods in her ears like she was hoping you’d come in. In front of the desk is a glass coffee table with two leather couches on each side of it, all perpendicular to her desk.

You trace the spines of the books on the shelves lining the walls, some lawyer books, some of the classics, and even a few fiction books that you’ve read. 

There’s still the ache inside you, although it’s dulled to a steady, muted heat and you decide to settle on one the couches and watch her. 

She starts talking, saying a lot of fancy lawyer words that you don’t quite know the meaning of, but you’re content to rest your chin in your hand and stare. It’s absolutely enchanting to watch her in her element like this, and it’s hot how effortlessly she takes power and says things so matter-of-factly. 

And then she starts to flip her pen around her fingers on her left hand and it makes your mouth water. You can’t stop looking at her now, watching her long fingers easily and absentmindedly move the pen while she listens, brows furrowed together. 

All of a sudden, the heat is roaring back to life inside you with a vengeance and you shift on the chair, gasping when the toy presses further into you. 

You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, it could be really distracting for her and she needs to focus — and yet, you can’t stop yourself from spreading your legs in her direction and pushing up your skirt to show her your soaked underwear. 

The pen between her fingers clatters onto the desk and she rushes to pick it back up. Feeling emboldened, you slide two fingers into your mouth and hollow your cheeks while you suck, giving her the best pair of doe eyes you can, and Agatha sputters out a cough, a slight pink tinting her cheeks. 

You skim your wet fingers down your chin and neck, and then over your shirt before rubbing up and down your panties. Agatha’s jaw clenches as she tries to focus on the meeting but her eyes keep straying back to you. 

When you finally move your underwear to the side, revealing your swollen pussy with the toy still inside you to her for the first time, she swallows roughly and puts a hand under her nose to try and look collected. 

You’re about to take the toy out of you, but she gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head, telling you to keep it in, so you settle for pressing the piece against your clit and grinding your hips up to amplify the pressure, a small gasp coming out of you. 

Agatha tousles her hair and reaches down into the pocket of her blazer to pull out her phone and lay it face up on her desk. She taps and the next thing you know, the toy turns on. 

Your hand flies to your mouth to smother the moan that tears itself out from deep in your chest and you can’t stop your back from arching off the couch. Your head lolls to the side, still never looking away from her with glazed-over eyes, and the ghost of a smug smile is on her face. 

She lets you build up, waits until your hips are uncontrollably rocking up into the vibrations, and turns it off. The look you give her must be absolutely pitiful, but you don’t care and she turns it back on. 

This time, the intensity is lower than it was before and you push up your shirt to pinch your nipples to get a little more pleasure. Agatha’s teeth sink into her lower lip as she watches you with dark eyes, fingers tightening around her pen, and you know she’s not paying attention to her meeting at all. 

Little sounds start to fall out of your mouth and you clench around the toy, your movements becoming more jerky and manic as the tension inside your stomach grows. You know you won’t last much longer, she can see it too, and you wonder if she’ll let you have it. 

Agatha flips the page she was taking notes on and scribbles something down in big letters. Without moving her body, she turns the notebook around so you can read it. 

Don’t cum. 

You whine softly, trying to plead with her, but she shakes her head again. And then she turns up the vibrations and your fingers grip onto the leather so hard there might be marks. 

She plays with you, bringing you closer to the edge and then shutting it off and then starting with a low buzz before repeating and it’s torture. You’re a sweaty, shaking mess on the couch all because of her, and you can see how much she’s enjoying it. 

“Okay, great, sounds good,” she says, and your head perks up. “Of course, I’ll see you in the office tomorrow. Have a good night.” 

She slams her laptop shut, yanks out her AirPods and drops them on the desk, and you don’t even have time to think before she’s walking over to you and situating herself between your legs. She shoves her hands under your ass and hauls you forward so you’re laying on your back under her, resuming the positions from earlier. 

Agatha rolls up the sleeves of her blazer, that sight alone making you clench around the still-vibrating toy inside you, and she taps a button the phone she brought over. 

It turns off and she tosses her phone onto the coffee table before taking a hold of the toy and sliding it out of your wet pussy. You whimper at the sudden emptiness and Agatha laughs before her fingers rub at your clit. 

“Please, Agatha, mommy,” you cry. “I need you.” 

But she doesn’t give you any more than that, just traces her fingers through your folds, dips in at your entrance, and just comes back up to circle your clit. 

She shushes you. “Honey, I don’t want to rush. I want to take my time and explore you and figure out what you like and don’t like.” 

It’s so chivalrous, and any other time you would let her, but she’s had you on the edge for too damn long and you can’t take it anymore. “Agatha, I like you, you can do that later, just please fuck me!” 

She chuckles before obliging, pushing two fingers into you and curling them roughly and you moan loudly. Agatha smirks above you and leans down to suck at your nipples and tug on them with her teeth while she starts to fuck you, your hips rolling to meet every thrust. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re a whimpering puddle beneath her, you’re sure your wetness has dripped onto the couch beneath you, but you can feel the coils of pleasure tightening in your stomach and you know it won’t take you very long at all from all the edging you’ve been through. 

“Agatha,” you moan again and she pauses and easily fits a third finger into you and the stretch is delicious. 

She switches to your other breath, scraping her teeth against the curvature of it and then swirls her tongue around your nipple and when she swipes at your clit with her thumb while her three fingers drag against your fluttering walls and with one last perfect curl of them, you cum and it’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had in your life, relief finally flooding through your veins, the dam finally breaking after being built up for hours. 

But Agatha doesn’t stop there, she barely gives you any time to recover before she crawls down your body, takes out her fingers, and licks up your slit and it makes you keen. 

“Fuck,” you groan weakly, hands flying to her hair and tug gently and she moans against you, the vibrations going straight to your sensitive clit. 

Her tongue dips inside you, brushing against your walls, and you make a sound you’ve never heard before. “God, honey, you taste so good,” she says, her words muffled by your pussy and when she picks her head up to readjust, you can see that the entire bottom half of her face is glistening. 

Agatha swirls her hot tongue against your clit and then thrusts inside you, making you see stars. You’re still reeling from your last orgasm and you can feel your second one start to creep up on you as she continues her administration, the rhythm of your hips faltering against the movements of her tongue. 

But she keeps having to stop because your underwear that’s pushed to the side continuously gets in the way and rubs against her cheek so she lets out a frustrated grunt and tears the fabric so she can peel it off you without having to move your body.

“Come on,” you joke in reference to the second piece of lingerie that she’s ripped today. 

“I’ll buy you some more tomorrow, sweetheart,” she promises with a wink and then her mouth is back on you, finally unburdened by your underwear. 

Your head falls back again, eyes closing, but she nips at your inner thigh. “Look at me,” she orders and you nod shakily. 

Agatha holds eye contact while she tongues at your clit and you whimper, needing just a little more. But she sees this, knows exactly what you need, and slides two fingers into your dripping pussy again and your walls instantly bear down around them. 

“Yes, fuck,” you groan, feeling better than you ever thought possible with her mouth on you and her fingers in you. You’re so close again, heat vibrates under your skin, and the muscles in your stomach tense. 

And then Agatha sucks on your clit with a particularly hard thrust inside you and it sends you flying over the edge, your vision going dark for a few seconds while pleasure racks every crevice of your body. 

She gently fucks you through it and then pulls her fingers out of you, making you wince at the emptiness. Agatha laps at your wetness, thoroughly cleaning you up, while you squirm because of how sensitive you are. 

“You okay?” She asks when she finally pulls back with a laugh. You are sure that you look absolutely ruined sprawled out on the couch like this. 

You nod weakly. “Yeah, except I don’t think I can move right now.” 

She smirks and bends over to kiss you, letting you taste yourself off her lips. Agatha moans when you slip your tongue into her mouth this time, and you realize you can feel the heat radiating off her so you begin tugging at her blazer to get it off. 

Once her blazer and shirt are off, you pull at the belt on her pants and she huffs before standing up to take them off. She’s wearing matching black underwear and you grab her by the hand to pull her back onto you so she’s straddling your waist again. 

“Mommy,” you plead, not sure what you’re asking for. You just want to make her feel as good as she made you. 

But there’s a glint in her eye. “Will you let mommy sit on your face?” She asks and your breath catches in your throat before moving your head up and down furiously. “God, you’re hot,” she mutters before she shimmies up your body and looks down at your face framed between her legs. 

She reaches down to pull her underwear to the side and holy fuck she is a mess. Her folds are swollen, sticky and shining, you can see how wet she is, and you can smell her.

“Please, mommy, I want to taste you,” you whine and she closes her eyes momentarily to savor how desperate you sound for her. When she opens them back up, the pure heat inside them makes you shiver. 

“Make mommy feel good, honey,” she says, voice trembling, and then lowers her pussy down onto your waiting face. You moan at the taste, at how soaked she is, and you take your time, tracing her with your tongue while she lightly grinds against you. 

Small noises fall from her lips as she starts to ride faster when your tongue curls inside her, the feeling of her warm walls around you making you groan into her muffledly. 

“God, baby,” Agatha whimpers, pulling on your hair to hold you right where she needs you and then grinds down harder, your mouth absolutely coated in her. You can feel her clit dragging against your tongue and you do your best to flick up at it with each drag of her hips and it makes her moan. 

Her legs start to shake around you, with effort and pleasure, and you grab onto her ass to help her keep moving. Agatha’s breaths come out short and shallow and she starts riding you harder, her wetness making a sound as she slides against you. 

You try to say something, you’re not even sure what — it just comes out garbled against her and the vibrations pull a high-pitched whine out of her and you sharply inhale, a burst of heat exploding in your pussy. You’ve never seen anything hotter in your life than her falling apart on top of you and you double-down your efforts, closing your lips around her clit and sucking, her head falling back. 

There’s a slight flush on her neck, a redness that’s spread down to her chest, and you think she must be a goddess. 

“Fuck, hon, I’m so close,” she pants out and you just hold out your tongue while she grinds down hard, over and over, until she cums with a loud gasp.

Her hips shake as she undulates through it and she collapses forward, putting her hands on the arm of the couch so she doesn’t fall on top of you. 

It takes a moment to collect herself, your mouth still full of her as she hasn’t moved from on top of you, and she winces when you teasingly slide your tongue inside of her. 

When she finally moves her thigh over your head and gets off, you suck in a deep breath and she endearingly rubs her thumb over your lips to clean her wetness off before popping it into your mouth. You suck on it, enjoying the way her eyes get even darker if possible, before she helps you off the couch. 

Her gaze darts down to your mouth and then takes in the rest of your disheveled state. “Want to take this upstairs?” 

Does she even have to ask? “Of course,” you say and you think you might be becoming addicted to her, every atom in your body yearning to taste her and feel her. 

She smirks and drags you by the hand out of her study, pausing at the foot of the stairs before pointing to your bag that is still by the front door with a wink. “Better get those toys, honey. We might need them.”

[canthelpit0]

Dacryphilia

[prev. Unreleased from kinktober 2024]

Pairing: Chris x Reader

Wordcount: 3.6K+

Summary: 4 times Chris gets aroused at your crying, and 1 time he does something about it. (Sort of?)

Warnings: smut, fantasizing, crying, sweet!chris, refer has a naval piercing, porn with a lot of plot, voice kink, praise kink

A/N: bear in mind, this is old. It was originally for the kinktober series but since I gave up on that…. Anyway. This was written 12.05.2024, so it’s just been sitting in my drafts for a while.

00.

You and chris met at a party. It was just a month after Chris had moved to LA with his brothers.

You were both influencers and had collabed a few times before.

01.

The first time it happened Chris didn’t think anything of it.

Your boyfriend, who you had been dating for over a year had cheated on you.

Chris had met the guy once, and as soon as he had he hadn’t liked him.

Tho who was he to tell you he didn’t like your boyfriend, when you’ve been dating him for literally longer than you’ve known chris.

When you found out that your dear boyfriend was cheating on you, the first thing you did after breaking up with him and screaming, telling him to never talk to you again, was drive to the triplets house.

You wanted to see your best friends.

Even tho you’ve only known them for a few months they were one of the only genuine people in LA

You were crying in nicks arms, hysterically sobbing, and all Nick could do is be glad that you didn’t crash your car on the way here.

Matt, who’d been in the kitchen came to the living room faster than Chris.

And while Matt and Nick were doing a fine job calming you down, trying to get you to explain what happened without hyperventilating, as soon as Chris was there all the work was out of the window.

As soon as you spotted Chris at the top of the stairs and now in the living room, you ran over to him and hugged him.

He hugged you back letting you bury your face in the corner of his neck and sob into his shirt.

Chris felt a wave of dread and sadness wash over him. That was until he gently pulled your face out of his chest and looked at you.

Your eyes red and puffy. You had tear streaks running down your red-tinted cheeks. Your lips were red and puffy. You had that adorable yet sexy pout on your lips. Your eyebrows were low. your eyes narrowed in sadness.

You had no right to look that hot right now.

Chris wanted to comfort you, but he couldn’t help but scan your features again.

Your mascara being waterproof only fell in black tiny little clumps. A bit of it smeared at the corner of one of your eyes lower lashes.

Chris hadn’t really ever seen a woman cry. He’s never dated anyone, so he’s just never made a woman cry. At least not that he knew of.

He tilts his head at you as if examining your face even more. You think you’re imagining it when you see his pupils dilate. You blink up at him.

The way he’s staring at you seems so outlandish that it makes you curious. Curious enough to make you momentarily forget about your sorrow.

Chris blinks seeing that your tears stopped. Seeing that you weren’t sobbing anymore. After a slight pause he snaps out of it.

Having sexual thoughts was one thing.

But having sexual thoughts about his best friend who was crying was a whole Nother thing.

In the end you started crying again while explaining what had happened.

02.

Chris was borderline scared of himself for thinking like that.

Well not really scared, but he was weirded out by himself.

You weren’t one to cry easily.

Yet today had been a horrible day.

You originally wanted to edit your newest video, just to have the revolution that the audio hadn’t picked up and that the entire 30 minutes of footage was useless.

You let go of it easily, simply sighing and letting it go.

You then decided to make yourself an iced coffee like you used to in 2020 for old times sake. The infamous whipped coffee.

When you started to use the frother on your mixture of instead coffee, sugar and hot water, you somehow managed to let the glass down out of your hands.

It landed on the floor with a loud crash and you jumped at the impact.

It wasn’t fun having to clean that up and the bottom of your pink satin pajama pants were slightly stained now.

But you sucked it up and reluctantly cleaned up.

You went to change and get ready for the day, you wore a cute button down you’d just gotten.

You walk out of your bedroom to the living room and have a mini heart attack thinking you lost your phone. Until you realized that it’s probably still in your bedroom, since you thought you took it with you.

Being clumsy as you are tho, while walking back into your bedroom you walk straight into the door handle. The door handle catches on your button down and rips off a button.

You groan. You end up searching for that damn button for too fucking long. You put the button on your desk already taking the top off to sow the button back later.

Then you remembered you were searching for your phone. So you searched every corner of your bedroom while still not wearing a top.

You decide it’s a problem for later and find yourself a new top that fits with your flared jeans.

These jeans were a little tight on you, but that meant that it just showed off your curves great. That was until you tripped on a stray sock.

You fell in a weird way. Your hands instinctively flying out to catch your body, wich caused you to twist your wrist.

With the pain in your wrist you hadn’t even heard the loud rip of your jeans.

You groan turning around to sit up. You instinctively cross your legs and hold your arm with your other arm. You sigh heavily letting your head fall forward.

When you open your eyes tho you notice a patch of skin peaking through your jeans. You pause pulling your arms out the way.

Your jeans had ripped along the seam on your inner thigh. You scoff, beyond done with today.

All you want to do at this point is go to bed and sleep, but after the iced coffee thing you’d texted Nick that you’d be coming over and you didn’t want to stand him up.

So you get up and take the jeans off once again changing your entire outfit. Then you have another mini heart attack and search for your phone.

After a while you give up and decide to go back to the living room, Your kitchen being open to the living room.

You suddenly hear the telltale sound of an iPhone notification. You look around only to see your phone blowing up on the counter of your kitchen.

After that everything goes smoothly. Well except for you consistently bumping into things.

You don’t know what’s up with you today, normally you’re not clumsy or prone to accidents at all.

Now you’re at the sturniolos house sitting in the couch. Nick had gone upstairs to change for some reason, and Matt and Chris had been in their rooms all day.

You feel thirsty and get up. You just have to go to the kitchen to get a drink, it’s not that hard-

You stub your toe. On the fucking couch table. You’d been overthinking so much, that you didn’t pay attention.

But instead of scoffing and playing it off like you have been all day you actually let out a cry at that.

It was like that was the last straw and the floodgates snap.

Chris who’d been on his way upstairs to get a Pepsi sees this unfold. He sees the way you double over in pain and start crying.

His immediate instinct is to rush up to you and ingulf you in a hug.

You weren’t really crying because you stubbed your fucking toe, you were crying because you suddenly felt every single bruise on your body that you had gained today from just bumping into shit.

You suddenly felt overwhelmed with the feelings you’d been pushing back all day.

“Sh, sh You’re okay.” Chris whispers sweetly. He lowers you both to the ground.

You sit on your legs your hand in his. It still hurt from when you fell on it earlier, you just felt it even more right now.

You let out a pathetic sob. You can’t help but look up at the ceiling trying to compose yourself.

Chris watches you with awe. He couldn’t help it. And he really felt confused of why he thought you were hot like this. A crying and sobbing mess on the floor.

Sure you were attractive, but why did he find this sight particularly arousing?

All he wanted to do was to cradle your face into the crook of his neck and whisper sweet nothings to you. And that’s just what he did.

He wanted to care for you, to soothe you and to make you calm down. He wanted to see your big glossy eyes right after you finally stopped crying.

03.

It was the week before your period. Your lower back was aching, it felt like a bunch of needles were being stabbed through you over and over.

You were feeling all emotional like you usually do the few days before your period.

The triplets were at your house once again.

They’d just invited themselves in with nicks spare key before you had woken up. You woke up just to see the three lounging in your living room and eating your snacks.

You didn’t even bat an eye at it.

You simply walk to your kitchen getting stuff for a toast ready.

Once you’re finished with preparing and making your food, you sigh. You lean against the counter plate in hand and take a bite of your warm toast feeling the cheese melt on your tongue.

Suddenly you hear Chris gasp. You look over, wich wasn’t hard since your kitchen is open to the living room.

You watch the way Chris jumps up from his seat on the couch and then proceeds to fumble around with something.

You just raise an eyebrow but keep eating your toast while it’s still warm.

You watch Chris walk around the kitchen island to you.

Chris holds out a small white paper bag. You put your plate on the counter and clap your hands together to get any and all crumbs off of them.

You swallow the food in your mouth “For me?” He nods simply.

You tenderly take the paper bag from his hands. It somehow looks fancy. You raise an eyebrow after peering into the paper bag.

You take out a small box. You slowly place the paper bag on the counter not bothering to take your eyes off of the small white box in your hands.

“Open it” he urges. Chris looks like he is about to jump out of his shoes. He’s practically radiating energy. He looks so excited.

Your eyes momentarily lock on Chris’. This was probably some jewelry, but what kind. Had he gotten you a ring, you’ve been needing some new ones in your collections. Or ear rings or-

Before you can think about it too much you’re already opening the box.

You’re greeted with the sight of jewelry for your belly button piercing. It’s cute silver jewelry with a Viviane Westwood chain dangling off of it.

Your eyes start to Involuntarily water.

You love Viviane Westwood. You had some cute earring, and when you had talked about wanting to buy the matching necklace Chris had given you his.

“When I saw this I thought of you” he explains rubbing the back of his neck slightly. He was mildly embarrassed. But it was a cute gesture.

You gently put the box on the counter next to the other stuff. You were aware that Viviane Westwood probably didn’t sell belly button rings, wich only means he’d probally gotten it off of Etsy or something.

Even tho you knew it was probably just stainless steel and not actual silver, it was the gesture, the idea that counts.

You look up at him with your teary eyes.

You wanted to damn your sappiness to hell right now, but that was probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you, or at the very least that was the only thing you could think of.

You knew you probably looked like a mess. Your hair being messy, no make up on, your bottom lip quivering as you hold in tears. You were always an emotional train wreck a few days before your period starts.

“Thank you so much” you croak out.

Your vision is too blurred to notice but Chris is giving you that look again. He looks fond.

With a swift move, you wrap your arms around Chris’ neck and hug him. Out of instinct his hands go to your waist.

He sighs. “That’s so sweet” you let out under your breaths a chocked out sob following after.

You feel Chris’ arms wrap around your waist to pull you even closer.

He’d accepted it, he liked seeing you cry. Obviously he didn’t like seeing you sad, but he thought you were cute. You always were, even sobbing with mascara running down your face.

But seeing you cry out of happiness because of such a small gesture, a small gift Chris got you… that was a whole other high for him.

04.

Chris decided on a random Tuesday morning that he had nothing good to do. He felt incredibly bored.

So he decided to google random things that come to his mind.

Whether it be learning more about fish types going down the rabbit hole of the internet and what not.

He always googles random things he thought about to find out more about it so he could maybe talk about it in a car video or something.

Suddenly he thought about you and the few times he’s seen you crying.

He thought about it more, and it became apparent that he thought that crying was hot.

He googled his thoughts out in multiple diffrent ways. And at the end, the watered down version was “why do I find crying hot?”

He continued to lay in his bed semi intreated in what google had to say.

the first thing that popped up was a Wikipedia page with some title he couldn’t even pronounce.

So he continues scrolling trying to find the meaning of said word without having to klick on the link because he was too lazy to.

Dacryphilia (also known as dacrylagnia) is a form of paraphilia in which one is aroused by tears or sobbing

He reads out in his head. “Huh?” Was literally all that went through his mind after reading that.

And the follow up question was “what the fuck is a paraphilia?”

So Chris went down a rabbit hole.

Chris figures out that Apparently philia is a Greek word that means “love”. Better yet, a paraphilia is apparently a non-normative sexual interest. - a fetish. Not really but almost.

The word ‘pedo-philia’ now makes a whole lot more sense. It’s a taboo fantasy. And it’s taboo for a reason ew.

Chris spirals from topic to topic almost forgetting why he even started this search.

Until he goes back in his history to read over the meaning of this thing again.

“I have a crying kink?” He says under his breath his eyes narrowed at the screen while he questions his life and everything that got him to this point.

Chris wrecks his brain to think. It’s like his brain is empty trying to process the information.

Suddenly his mind comes up with a scenario he’s all too familiar with. It’s always the same, just slight differences.

You, His best friend under him crying loudly while choking out moans while he eats you out.

Him fucking you from behind, his eyes glued on the tears rolling down your face through the mirror.

Chris, watching you come on his cock, your orgasm hitting you so hard that you break out in tears, your chest heaving while you try to catch your breath.

He sighs heavily closing his eyes. These were all thoughts he’s had before. He licks his lips his eyes locked on the ceiling. He’s hard, painfully so.

In hindsight, he doesn’t know how he thought these thoughts were average. Well first off he’s fantasizing about his best friend, but also because they seem kind of extreme.

In hindsight it makes sense

+1

Chris continues to thrust into you.

He doesn’t really know how this happened really.. it just kind of did.

He’s kept you in missionary all night thrusting into you.

Some of his messy hair strays were sticking to his forehead from the thin layer of sweat coating his skin.

His eyes stay glued on you. He knows it’s wishful thinking, but he wishes sho much that you’ll start crying for whatever reason .

Of corse he doesn’t want to hurt you or anything, but he would love for his fantasies to become reality.

“Fuck please keep talking” you pant your eyes shutting as you try to take in this moment.

You never in a million years would’ve thought that your best friend would rail you this good.

He keeps hitting every right spot in you to make you weak in the knees.

“Mhm?” He mumbles. You groan in response. he was teasing you. You wanted to hear him talk, and praise you, but instead he was waiting for you to beg for it.

“Come on” you whine. Your head is thrown back at the overwhelming amount of pleasure.

“Eyes on me ma.” He demands. So without any second thought, your eyes snap open and connect with his.

He’s looking down at you with so much love in his eyes, it’s almost painful. Despite literally fucking you dumb right now, he’s looking at you with such intense need and desire it almost makes you melt.

Your mouth drops open when he quickens his pace even more.

Your legs stay wrapped around his torso trying to keep him close.

“So pretty” he breaths out. One of his hands mindlessly grabs one of your boobs starting to toy with it.

He keeps thrusting into you, and the intensity, both physical and emotional, makes your eyes water.

You really were not an overly emotional person, but this good ass sex was making you weak and you silently curse yourself for it.

You let out a slight sob. You immediately fell embarrassed, you slam one of your hands on your mouth to shut yourself up the other one still tangled in your bedsheets.

His eyes widen seeing your eyes become glassy. He felt a corse of adrenaline shoot through him.

“You okay?” His thrusts don’t waver, he doesn’t seem phased by your tears, if anything, only more turned on.

You nod eagerly. You try to make it abundantly clear that you don’t want him to stop since you’re getting close.

He lets out a breath his eyes becoming somehow even darker. “Let me hear you” he says under his breath. His tone is so low but borderline seductive.

He grabs your wrist pulling your hand from your mouth. You have tears running down your face ruining your once perfect make up.

You close your eyes in embarrassment while you can’t help the few sobs between moans. Chris’ desire only seems to be fueled more as he keeps up pace.

You feel the rubber band in your stomach twist up so uncomfortably, ready to snap at any moment.

“Eyes on me or I’ll stop.” Chris threatens gruffly. And as soon as your glossy eyes meet his again,his pace only seems to get messier and more uncontrolled.

You can’t even warn him through your loud sobs, whines and moans, and before you know it you’re creaming a round his cock.

The impact of your orgasm feels like a brick to your head. you feel lightheaded, your eyes only watering more while you can’t seem to keep quiet for the life of you.

Chris is close behind you, and seeing the expression you make, trying to keep your eyes open, but not being able to focus, along with the tear stains on your cheeks and the mixture of sobs and moans, sends him over the edge.

He doesn’t even bother pulling out instead giving you a few more deep and significantly slower thrusts to help you both through your highs.

You blink the tears in your eyes away trying to compose yourself. You honestly don’t know why you have such a man emotional reactions with Chris.

“So pretty” Chris coos. He leans down cupping your face and showers you in kisses. He doesn’t even bother pulling out while he does so.

“You’re not disgusted?” You breathe out. You’ve only cried once during sex before and it was your first time. The guy had been disgusted at it, but ‘let it slide’ since it was your first time.

“No.” Chris chuckles leaving a long kiss on your forehead. “Why would I be?”

His goofy grin makes you smile.

You watch Chris lick his lips. “I’m sorry I’d didn’t ask this before, but.. uh, can you be my girlfriend?” He starts to get more shy again his eyes soften as he looks down at you.

He looks at you with practically heart shaped eyes.

You feel happy when he asks you tho, you don’t want to be his fuck buddy, you want to be his.

“Yes” you breathe out looking up at him.

Chris connects your lips in a sweet and passionate kiss, one that makes your heart melt.

he pulls away with a boyish smile. He slowly pulls out his eye never leaving your face. “I’ll be right back” he mumbles pecking your cheek.

He gets up quickly putting on his boxers, he practically sprints into your bathroom.

You smile at the eagerness. Your new boyfriend was just the sweetest.

Masterlist

‼️ please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

A/N: proofread, but English is not my first language so idk. Tell me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist. I do not write for the triplets anymore, this is a draft.

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @stunza , @whicked-hazlatwhore , @sturniooolos , @ecliphttlunar , @orangeypepsi , @klaus223492 , @char112244 , @sst7niolo , @slut4chriss , @mattsturniololoverr , @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n , @st7rnioioss , @t1llysblogs , @nonat-111 , @blahbel668 , @rockstarchr1s , @sturnsintrouble , @nayveetbhh , @tillies33ssss , @sturncakez , @strnilo , @somegirlfromasgard , @mattslovelygf , @sturnsmaeve , @sturnstvr , @lucianastrun , @jnkvivi , @jamiesturniolo , @chr1sgirl4life , @h3arts4harry , @whosthislyssbitch , @jamiesturniolo , @sturniololover-09 , @zayyluvz , @sturnzsblog , @jetaimevous , @imwetforyourmom , @yoongslvr69 , @ilovethesturnstriplets , @obsessionsarenotfortheweak , @mininishiriki , @bigbootyjudyyyy , @harry-winkes , @likefirenrain , @emely9274

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Aussie Athletes

♥ masterlist

♥ pairing: oscar piastri x fem!sargeant!ballerina!reader

♥ smau - fluff

♥ a/n: I said I'd write some ballet fics so here's one lol. I'm going to write some ship fic ballet au's (drivers as ballet dancers) after I finish my folklore and Romeo and Juliet series'. Also! I'm performing a don quixote variation this weekend so wish me luck lol :) (none of the pictures are mine)

liked by logansargeant and 32,406 more

yourusername First Day @/ausballet

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logansargeant congrats sis

yourusername <3

user14 she's in Australia now 🫢

user3 PLEASE let that mean she'll be at more races now

yourusername 👀

user5 💗💗💗

oscarpiastri welcome to Australia

landonorris trying to get a date on main?

logansargeant don't even think about it piastri

oscarpiastri ???

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

2023 British GP

You walked into the paddock bright and early to find your brother before he was busy with qualifying. You ended up running into a different, yet familiar face instead. 

“Oh, hey Oscar,” you smiled 

“Didn’t expect you to be here with your new Australian ballet career,” he smirked and took a sip of the water he had in his hand. “You don’t have a busy schedule? 

“I do, but the season wrapped last month. I figured I’d come down here and support Logan, you know? I’ve got a lot of training to do when I get back, though.” you laughed softly. 

Oscar hummed in an understanding response. 

“How’s it been there?” 

“Good,” you paused. “Tough, too.” 

“I’m sure it is. It’s an art and a sport.” 

“People don't really consider what I do “a sport”.”

“They say the same about racing.” 

“I guess we have something to bond over.”  you smiled.

You both heard Lando call Oscar's name, gesturing for him to go to their garage. Oscar gave an awkward, blush-filled goodbye and ran towards the Brit on the other side of the pit lane.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 340,967 more

yourusername he says I'm so american

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lilymhe top golf double date

yourusername we are so there

user7 WHO IS HE

user9 y/n x oscar crumbs

user2 crying and writing fics

logansargeant 😐

yourusername ...

user6 @/landonorris please tell us she's with oscar

user8 why would lando know?

landonorris 🤐

user8 @/user6 I'm sorry I wasn't familiar with your game, clearly Lando does know

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 305,678 more

yourusername opening night 🧡

logansargeant you did amazing 💐

user2 the orange heart...

user5 NOT a coincidence

user8 AND it's f1's winter break meaning Oscar is back home in Australia where it just so happens y/n dances at

user4 the pieces of the puzzle are finally coming together

ausballet our sugar plum fairy

yourusername <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Time Skip - 2024

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, and 670,895 more

yourusername MONACO <3

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charles_leclerc welcome to the piastri-leclerc family

yourusername I'm honored, thank you charles

oscarpiastri so when should she meet my brother leo?

user6 Y/N'S APART OF THE JOKE NOW 😭

user10 someone go get Nicole

user4 y/n l/n-piastri-leclerc

logansargeant don't break her heart

oscarpiastri I won't I swear

[mariasont]

Office Sleepover 3 - A.H

a/n: yeehaw this took me way longer than i thought but here she be

i feel like im so ass at writing smut so just bear with me yall

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

part one here! part two here!

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, hungover reader, unwanted attention from some rando, awk as fuck reader, fingering, dirty talk, doing the dirty in the office, definitely illegal, definitely probably caught on cameras

wc: 4.2k

Everything hurt--your stomach churned, your head throbbed, and your eyes burned. You squeezed them shut, feeling your body tense against the stiff fabric of the pull-out couch. Fists curled tightly, you gradually let your eyelids part, casting a slow, sweeping glance around the room, trying to piece together what the hell happened.

Pain hammered around the inside of your head. You desperately needed a hefty dose of Advil--ten at least. As though your mind had materialized them, you rolled over to discover a bottle and a glass of water on the nightstand. You assumed you had JJ to thank, though the certainty of that was as fuzzy as your thoughts. Each effort to reconstruct last night's events was a stab to your already excruciating migraine.

You had all your clothes on, that was a plus considering your notorious history with wine and stripping. Stripping. Your hand slapped over your mouth, a floodgate of recollections bursting through--calling Hotch in a wine-induced haze, flashing your tits, asking him to stay.

You were in full-blown panic mode, the sudden urge to throw up clawing at your throat. The bed was empty, save for yourself, but you vividly remember Hotch laying down with you. This only left two possibilities: he left after you fell asleep or it had been a figment of your imagination. You were desperately hoping it was the latter.

But clearly, the universe had its own plan, because there he was, leaning against the door frame, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag that, by the smell of it, contained greasy food.

With a throat like sandpaper and sweaty palms, you met your boss's gaze. "Hotch," you croaked, pausing to swallow. "Um, good morning--or is it? My sleep schedule's always off after drinking. It feels bright in here, right? It's also kinda hot, is the AC working?"

You impulsively rose from the bed, a decision you instantly regretted as the room seemed to spin around you in protest.

"Sit down," he commanded, a firmness in his voice that brooked no opposition, and you promptly sat your ass back down, watching him with an expectant look.

You attempted to read his face, but it was a blank slate, making you that much more nervous. He must hate you, you figured, because you certainly hated yourself. Your boss had seen your nipples. A wave of heat washed over you, and you clenched your eyes shut, as if that could make this situation disappear.

"Here," he said, handing you the coffee and the bag, then gesturing to the Advil on the counter. "Take that, and I know you might not feel like eating, but it's necessary. The food and coffee will stabilize your blood sugar levels."

"Right, yeah, course," you nod, accepting the items with shaky hands, holding the cup with a grip that's a little too firm. "Listen, sir, I'm really sorry about last night. I promise I don't usually drink that much. I don't even know how I got that drunk, and I know I acted completely inappropriate towards you. If you need to file a complaint, I understand. Again, I'm just so sorry..."

You wanted to cry, but you held it back, knowing it would only make this whole situation worse. You deliberately avoided his eyes, focusing on anything but him while you absentmindedly toyed with the breakfast sandwich in your hands.

After a moment, he releases a soft sigh, the mattress sinking slightly as he settled beside you, his knee gently knocking yours.

"I'm aware this week's been tough on you. It's, uh, clear you weren't thinking straight, and I'm not about to make a formal issue out of a slip-up."

Your head dipped, as you tried to fend off the rising warmth in your face. "I don't think I can ever look you in the eyes again."

"That feels dramatic," he pointed out, a chuckle in his voice that made you glance his way. "Trust me, it's already forgotten."

That was a lie. He may have lacked Reid's eidetic abilities, but there was no possible, imaginative way that he would forget the image of you topless--it was imprinted in his memory. In fact, it had become the sole focus of his thoughts ever since. He silently thanked the gods that it was a Saturday, and he didn't have any pressing work issues.

"Somehow, that's not very comforting," you replied, a suppressed giggle breaking through as you met his gaze. "So, did you, um, end up staying over?"

Your cheeks glowed with a soft pink, hands unconsciously smoothing over your thighs--a nervous habit of yours he had quickly taken notice of. It emerged involuntarily when you faced tough cases, or when your computer took too long to start up, or even when the elevator made an unexpected noise.

"I did," he admitted, "You shouldn't have been alone."

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and you were weirdly frustrated that you couldn't recall being the same bed as him, being able to feel his body against yours. You bet he was warm, and soft, and large against you.

"Thank you."

His phone went off. "Hotchner."

Your eyes followed his movements, noting the firm nods, watching as he stood, his expression hardening, jaw tightening, and hand coming to rest on his chin as he faced away from you.

The phone call was brief, and he quickly turned his attention back to you. "We've got a case."

And it was quite the case--three male victims, all in their forties. Each crime scene was close to Quantico, about twenty minutes, sparing the team any extensive travel. Though, after last night, you don't think you would have minded if they had been halfway across the country.

You were really banking on Hotch's ability to keep things professional, knowing full well that if Morgan caught wind of this, you'd be better off dead.

The team was huddled around the briefing table, absorbing Garcia's detailed rundown of the killings--they were violent to say the least--with heads bashed in and over twenty stab wounds per victim. Whoever was doing this was angry.

Hotch eventually split everyone up into tasks—Spencer and Morgan to the crime scenes, JJ and Emily interviewing the families, and Rossi was tasked with convening with the local police force. So, you know who that left at the office? You, Hotch, and Penelope. What a great group.

You avoided both of them, a pattern that had become all too familiar you had realized. Hunched over your desk, you were engrossed in sending Spencer images of your latest research on the town. True to form, he responded--Can you just fax that over to the police station?--because god forbid, he has to read it from his phone.

So, there you were, barely resisting the urge to slam your head into the fax machine. You wouldn't consider yourself technology impaired, but to say you were on friendly terms would be overstating it.

"Need help?"

"Oh, yes, please—," you began, but your voice trailed off as you noticed one of the guys from forensics hovering just a tad too close for comfort.

"They're always a bit stubborn," he noted, barely giving you space to breathe before his shoulder nudged against yours as he fiddled with the device, "just a slight...there we go."

The machine sprang into action, prompting you to step back and acknowledge his help with a nod. "Oh, thanks."

"Not a problem," he assured, stepping closer in the process, his fingers lightly brushing your thigh as he pointed out the correct button. "You see, it's all about timing," he added, his voice low and unnecessarily close, "these things can be so fussy, right?"

A subtle nod was your only response, hoping he'd take the hint that you weren't in the mood for small talk. The hangover clung stubbornly, and the whiff of his breath was a cruel taunt against the fragile peace you were maintaining over your stomach.

"So, do you find this kind of tech stuff challenging?" he asked, a little too casually. The question hung awkwardly in the air. You sought to put some distance between you, yet he matched your every move, keeping the space closed. "I mean, I'm pretty good with my hands, not just with machines honestly."

Ew.

You mustered a smile, though you were sure it was more of a grimace. The room felt smaller, the walls inching closer. "I usually manage," you responded, the strain evident in your voice.

He leaned closer, if that was possible, it was like the concept of personal space was foreign to him. "Maybe I can show you a few tricks, help you manage a little better?"

His words were light, but his proximity was anything but, almost suffocating.

Just as you were firmly about to tell him to shove it, a sharp voice beat you to it--probably for the best.

"That won't be necessary."

The forensics guy, whose name you still hadn't gotten, straightened, his smile faltering under the weight of Hotch's piercing, don't fuck with me, stare. A look usually saved for unsubs and incompetent officers, but now it singled out this man.

The same look remained on the poor guy as he directed his words to you, "why don't you join me? We need to go over some case details."

It really wasn't a question.

The man backed up instantly, mumbling something under his breath about just trying to help, but Hotch's glare followed him until he was well out of earshot.

Surprisingly, a similar sharpness was aimed at you as soon as he opened his mouth. "I'd appreciate it if you chose to flirt on your own time, not the Bureau's."

His words landed with the sting of an unexpected slap. You blinked, taken aback. "What? I wasn't--,"

But he didn't allow you time to finish. Instead, he pushed a water bottle in your hands, his eyes scrutinizing your face with such an intensity that you wished the floor would swallow you whole. "Drink. You look pale."

"Gee, thanks," you grumbled, under your breath, more to yourself than him, as he wheeled around and headed briskly for the briefing room.

Your steps lagged slightly behind him, your forehead lined with a thoughtful frown. What was that about? The way he acted--the tightness that had formed around his mouth and the harshness in his words, it was so unlike him, well, at least for it to be directed at you.

The rest of the day unfolded just as you thought it would upon waking--like shit. Hotch kept his distance, his exchanges with you brief and to the point. Every time you tried to grab his attention, hoping to clarify things (why you felt the need you weren't sure), he was already looking else, focused on literally anything but you.

It was painfully evident that he was avoiding any personal conversation with you, a realization that bit deeper than anticipated.

The office slowly emptied, the case binding you and Hotch to the briefing room, the only sounds being the faint gentle tapping of your pen and the occasional snap of your hair tie.

It was late when you finally spoke. "Hotch, this says the victim had fibers under his nails that don't match anything from the suspect's home."

Hotch's gaze snapped up to yours. "Are you saying you think the forensics team missed that?"

You met his eyes squarely, cocking your head to the side at the tone of his voice. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just pointing something out."

He bridged the space between you, his jaw set in a firm line. You could feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks as the distance dwindled.

"I'm just saying I don't want you jumping to conclusions based on underdeveloped theories."

You met his eyes with a glare, your teeth grinding together in the process. "Underdeveloped? Is that how you see my contributions now?"

The space between you had now vanished, your heart racing, finger almost poking into his chest as you spoke.

Hotch settled back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, giving you a pointed look. "I didn't say that," he replied, his voice level, markedly different from your agitated one. "We just can't afford to investigate every insignificant detail."

"Every insignificant detail?" you scoffed, "these are leads, Hotch."

His shoulders lift in an indifferent shrug that made you want to wrap your hands around his throat, and not in the good way. "Maybe. However, we need to be sure before we pursue it."

Drawing in a controlled breath, you fought to stay calm, but he was making it very hard. The sensation was all too reminiscent of college, contending with the overconfident frat boys just to voice your thoughts. That comparison may have been a tad extreme--Hotch was far from being like those insufferable boys, but he was certainly pushing your limits right now.

"I am sure. Why aren't you listening."

"I am listening," he said, but his voice was distant. "I just... I just don't want to get sidetracked, that's all."

"Sidetracked? By what, exactly?"

"I'm just not sure you're all here right now."

You felt your cheeks warming with a tinge of shame, but you pushed back, fists clenched at your sides. "I'm here, Hotch. I'm focused."

"Because last night—,"

"Last night was a mistake, okay? I got it. I already apologized for that. But I'm not irresponsible, my focus is on this case."

A lengthy pause followed, his expression unreadable. "You're certain about that?"

"Yes, I'm certain," you snapped, moving towards him again. "And for the record, JJ said you were okay with us having a few drinks."

"I was," he admitted. "But I didn't think—,"

You didn't let him finish. "What, that I'd get wasted? That I'd do something stupid? I'm sorry I'm not perfect."

"Well, yeah."

"Screw you, Hotch."

You knew that was a mistake the minute his nostrils flared, his chest now a pressing force against yours.

Then, without warning, his lips crashed into yours. A muffled oomph of surprise left you, your hands hanging motionless at first, only to quickly melt, grasping at his jacket, pulling him into you.

It wasn't a gentle kiss, nor was it kind, but it was magic, exceeding anything you could have imagined, setting every fiber of you on fire. His lips pressed against yours with an intensity that drew out a breathy sigh, arousal tingling through you, and your passion rose to meet his, equally hungry, equally desperate.

Your fantasies had never done him justice--kissing him was intoxicating, and now you could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, realizing it was everything you never dared to hope for.

Drawing back just enough, his hands drew you closer, pressing against the dip of your back, his breath fusing with yours in a dizzying blend, making the air seem scarce.

Against the soft pressure of his lips, you murmured, "I wasn't flirting."

There's a pause as his eyes locked on yours, searching, questioning. Then, his hand settled at the side of your neck. "You better not have been."

Any witty comeback you had dissipated as his lips crashed against yours again, more urgently this time, his hands tracing every contour of your clothed body with an insatiable curiosity.

His grip tightened around your waist, effortlessly lifting you onto the briefing table's cold surface with a resounding thud, his palms then cradling your thighs. Documents and files fluttered beneath you, hopefully they weren't too important. His eyes, dark pools of brown, were meticulously scanning your face.

"You," he breathes out, his voice a low rumble laced with something you couldn't quite place, "have consumed my thoughts since the moment I discovered you on my couch." He inches closer, his breath scorching your cheek as his fingers waltzed a pattern up your thighs. "Do you understand that feeling? The intense frustration?"

You were rendered motionless, frozen in place, scared to even twitch and risk this all being a very realistic wet dream. This was Hotch, your boss, the man defined by his lack of outward emotion. To think that you--of all people--could have an effect on him was an overwhelming concept. The room seemed to tilt on its axis as he gently guided your legs apart, positioning himself between them.

"Y-Yeah, I know," you uttered unevenly, your thoughts scattering as your hands tentatively reached for his collar.

"So, you know what it's like, huh?"

Your nod was subtle, a flustered smile briefly lighting up your expressions.

"And?" he prompts, while his fingers explore the shape of your thighs, squeezing gently.

You squirm under his gaze, the intensity of it making your heart race inside your chest.

"And... it's annoying," you confess, puffing out a breath, trying sound annoyed, but the delicate blush dusting your nose gave you away, you were sure.

"Annoying?" Hotch repeats, his hand tenderly angling your face upward, his smile laced with a taunt. "Is that all?"

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "It's distracting," your voice was softer now, desire pooling in your belly as you grasp just how compromising of a position you were in.

"Distracting," he tsked, echoing you once again as he nodded solemnly, pulling your hips into his. Your mouth parted in an 'o' of surprise, your gaze lifting to meet his. "Have I been the subject of your thoughts, then?"

Your head dipped in a nod, your fingers brushing against his firm chest, a soft blush coloring your cheeks. "Maybe a little, in a totally platonic boss-employee type of way."

"Oh yeah?"

You caught your lip between your teeth, considering your next words very carefully. "Well, maybe more than a little, and maybe more than just a boss."

"Oh, wow," his breath was a warm hover over your lips, hanging in the space between you. You ached for the tase of him again, rich with dark expresso and spiced cinnamon. It was a lovely combination. "Sounds serious."

You released a hushed giggle, a light note floating between you as your foreheads met. "It's not like I can help it."

"And why is that?"

"Because," you paused, wetting your lips in anticipation, "you're infuriatingly unforgettable, that's why."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You would."

He was kissing you again. This time a little softer, unhurried, and the whole reason for your argument faded into nothingness. Although if insubordination led to this sweet consequence, it might just become a habit.

His lips traced a path down your throat, prompting your head to tilt back, baring the expanse of your skin to his exploration. Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him impossibly close. The world seemed distant, the sensation dreamlike, buoyed by the soft lull of a lust-induced haze.

Reason gave way to impulse; your hands lost in the softness of his hair, your back arching to his hands grasping at your ass, your clothed pussy grinding against his erection.

His hands hesitated, hovering as he reached for your top, his eyes holding yours. "Is this okay?"

You nodded, more eagerly than necessary, but that still wasn't good enough for him.

"I need a verbal yes or no."

Desperation clung to you, a needy sigh escaping you as you squirmed into his touch, his hands halting your restless movements. "Yes, please, Hotch."

"You were so eager to call me Aaron last night. Say it again."

"Aaron, please, I need you to touch me," your voice rang out, imbued with such sweetness making his length constrict against the fabric of his slacks.

His fingers deftly navigated to the hem of your shirt, sliding it over your head with a fluid motion. Your bra was next, its clasp yielding effortlessly to his touch, your tits releasing with a gentle bounce, and he fought back a groan as his large hands enveloped them.

"Every bit as perfect as I remembered," he said, his fingers skillfully pulling and twisting at the nubs as you brought you forehead to meet his, a breathy gasp tumbling from your lips at the contact.

You arched your back into his heads as he let out a soft chuckle, loving the way your body reacting to him. Your eyes held a glazed-over look, lips parted ever so slightly, and you looked up at him expectantly in way that could surely kill him. 

His hands moved slowly down your sides before brushing the sensitive skin under your waist band. You swallowed a gasp, moving your hips into his again, rolling yourself against his stiff erection.

His palms pressed against your hips. "Slow down. Let me take my time with you, yeah?"

You were at his discretion; he could ask you to jump into oncoming traffic right now and you'd probably say yes.

A nod was all you could manage as you fought the urge to move, every muscle tensed, waiting for him to make the first move, but god was it hard. You couldn't really believe this was happening, until the solid press of his thumb against your clit brought the moment into sharp focus. 

"Aaron, god," you gasped, your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Your teeth found your bottom lip harshly, trying not to show him just how easily you could come apart right now.

"Is that good, honey?"

Honey. You could practically feel the arousal dripping your thighs as you nodded eagerly.

The pad of his thumb glided between your folds, gathering the slickness to continue his assault against your swollen clit. You buried your face deeper into his suit jacket, attempting to stifle the embarrassing sounds that you couldn't seem to contain. 

A whine of protest filled the space between you as his hand slipped away from your pants. His eyes bore into you as he gathered the strands at the back of your neck, guiding your gaze to yours. 

"None of that. Let me hear you gorgeous."

"Aaron, please, I need your fingers inside me, please."

You were painfully aware of how ridiculous you sounded, knew that if anyone else was in the office right now, you'd be so screwed, fired probably, but as his fingers dipped into your cunt those concerns dissolved quickly.

"Since you asked so nicely."

He was torturing you--his pace aggravatingly slow, working in and out of you as you tried to fight the overwhelming desire to slam your legs shut. It was so much, yet not enough. You ground yourself against his hands as his other hand clamped around your back, keeping you from falling back.

"That's it, baby, fuck yourself on my fingers."

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, his chest rising and falling in a way that only seemed to spur you on, doing exactly as he ordered. His words felt foreign in your ears, before today you could never imagine him talking like this, so vulgarly. 

"Aaron, I-I need—," you paused, your eyes falling to his pants, more specifically the hardened cock inside them.

"Yeah? Is that what you want?"

"Yes, fuck, please," you gasped as his fingers hit that one spot just right. Your head lolled back as you clutched at his collar, his arm behind you keeping you in place.

"Watch your mouth," he said, and for some reason that was enough to send you right over that never ending ledge, your stomach coiling, heat spreading under your skin, every part of you ached.

"Oh—, Aaron, I-I'm—," you were a blubbering mess, rocking without mercy against his fingers, his thumb brushing against your nub in a way that made you feel like you had met your maker.

"That's it, baby, go ahead."

That was enough for you, your walls clenching around his fingers, back arching into him and you swore for a minute you could see stars. He helped you ride out your high.

You were wholeheartedly convinced; this was heaven. You had died and gone to heaven and the first one to greet you was Hotch, his hands tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin in an attempt to bring you back down to Earth. 

Just as you were about to reach for his pants, determined to feel him inside of you, his phone went off. Of fucking course. He shot you an apologetic look, the sound a wake-up call, pulling you both from the lust-fueled moment. 

He moved back with a couple steps, offering nods and muted words to whoever was calling at 12 am. You were suddenly extremely aware of your appearance--topless and on the briefing table for crying out loud. 

You attempted to stand, your legs betraying you with a wobble that had him instantly clasping your arm firmly, his attention flickering from the phone to the tremors in your stance. You gave him a small in return as if to say I'm fine.

You reached across the table, grabbing your shirt from its discarded state, not bothering with the bra as you dressed quickly. He cleared his throat, causing you to turn, just in time to see his phone disappear into his pocket.

"That was the Stafford police chief, there was another murder," he explained.

"Oh, right, okay, um..." you started, your brain racing into overdrive as you instinctively moved towards the door. "I just need to..."

Your movement was too quick, a dizzying spin that resulted in you tumbling into Hotch's solid frame. His reflexes were immediate, hands clasping onto you once again, preventing you from landing straight into him.

"Whoa, hey, are you okay?" he asked, brows knitting in a frown, "take a second."

"Yeah, um, yeah, I'm good," you managed to get out, even as heat suffused your face. "Just need to get changed, uh, can't imagine either of us want to the team to find me like this."

"Right."

He was still frowning, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss away the harsh lines of his forehead, but you were sure he wouldn't appreciate the gesture. 

You made a beeline for your office, the door's thud barely registering over pulsating rush in your ears. God, you were so screwed.

taglist: @chronicallybubbly @aremuslupinsimp @sky2nd @thisisdaisytrying @ryswritingrecord

[evilminji]

Okay, so maybe it's just me? Projecting my new Tea Phase?

Cause for med reasons, no more energy drinks, only Teeeeeeaaaaa~☆

But honestly? Now that I am an adult and ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT? Really digging it! Am enjoying the Teas. Mmmmmmm~ leaf broth. I like the fruity ones.

So! IMAGINE~☆ If you will:

Danny. 14 and his parents are LOUD AS FUCK (CRASH BANG SMASH BANG WHIIII-) dispite it being, once again, a school night. This has been going one For Years. That STUPID fucking machine. All God damned hours. Crashes and bangs and powertools. Explosions.

When will it ever end!

He's... he's honestly used it.

Unknowingly? This is is a skill that will come in handy later. Living and functioning while sleep deprived. Healthy? Fuck no. But it's USEFUL. He IS the ten year old downing Monster drinks in the parking lot before school.

It makes him a jittery weirdo. Twitchy. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, his parents either blew up or TOOK APART the washing machine AGAIN. He... he never stood a chance. It's a miracle the indoor plumbing hasn't been compromised yet... AGAIN.

His blood is more sugar, caffeine, and guarana or whatever those other things in the can are, then actual human blood. He doesn't CARE. He just needs too get decent grades, graduate, and become an astronaut. It's... it's FINE. This is normal. They're FINE.

(If they weren't... someone would have noticed, right? Would have DONE something. Cared. So it HAS to be fine. His family's just weird. It's FINE.)

But THEN...

The Accident.

And his biology CHANGES. Green goo, wrapped vicious and loving, around his very DNA. Like Kintsugi of the body and soul. In green, Green, GREEN. It... it's a lot. Everything changing all at once. Maybe that's why it takes him so long to notice.

Why he thinks "oh, I'm just tired cause I'm running more then usual. Fighting and flying. Doing ghost stuff."

When... when honestly? Some part of him always kinda KNEW. From the very moment he stumbled out of the portal. The aftershocks. The pain. Sam and Tucker crying, scrambling to help him up the stairs. Sam tearing her bag apart looking for her cramps medicine. Because... because pain medication is pain medication.

"It's gonna be okay, Danny. Please. Please god, just take it! I promise it's gonna be okay!"

How do you look your panicked, crying, strongest-person-you-know best friend in the eyes and tell her... you can FEEL it dissolving in your throat. Like the pills were dumped in a human shaped pot of acid. That... that the pain isn't changing... and you... you don't think it's going too.

When you're scared. Might be dying. And you can already tell they think it's their fault. W... when you're all just KIDS. And all you can think is... you can let them know how bad... how bad it hurts...

They'd never be able to live with that knowledge.

Yeah. Yeah, Sam. Thanks. T... The pills helped a lot. He feels better. You really saved the day. He lo... loves you guys so much.

...

.....

He thinks about that moment A LOT. About how much he realized and knew, before the denial kicked in. Before he got so... Tired. Fresh of all that energy. And? You'd think he realize. The mood swings. The irritability. The headaches that disappear the SECOND he goes ghost. That he's in caffeine withdrawal. But? Nope.

He kinda blames the constant ghost attacks for distracting him.

But see... Sam? Doesn't drink tea. Goes against her diet. Tucker was where he GOT his illicit borderline illegal energy drinks. And his sister? Big on flavored sparkling waters. Which are gross to him.

His PARENTS drink a thick tar they insist is coffee. It might be liquid fudge. Zone knows its nearly the same consistency. It's horrifying. No thanks, he wants to LIVE.

It's? Ironically? Mr. Lancer and his constant detentions, that help Danny realize somethings up. Because Mr. Lancer shares. If he makes a cup for himself, he'll make one for you. It's how he was raised. And, yeah, the after school detentions? Those were herbal blends. No caffeine.

But...

But they tasted nice. Were warm. The classroom was quiet and as frustrating as it was? The tea itself? Was always... the one exception to how shit the situation was. So Danny finally broke down and asked about it. Learned Mr. Lancer knew a? Surprisingly LOT about tea. Huh.

Then one day he gets SATURDAY detention. Oh joy!

Bright and early. One of the few times he could be trying, desperately, to be sleeping through his parents cacophony. Catching up on his desperately needed Zzz's. Here he is... getting a handed a new cup of different tea?

Breakfast blend? And a bagel..

N...none hostile breakfast? A quiet space to catch up on his homework? No Dash? Just... just a quiet classroom, some tea, and the sounds on a peaceful morning outside?

......oh.

It's the best time he's had in school in... God, in YEARS. He gets so MUCH done. For once can concentrate. And? Actually, now that he thinks about it? Feels... awake? Or at the very least, not as sleepy. And being a Fenton, whom to the LAST are a genius if eccentric family, it's pretty damn easy to put two and two together.

Tea.

He felt more awake after having Lancer's breakfast blend tea.

He obviously asks about it. Then, after detention is done. Calm packs up. Goes home. Drops his back in his room. Goes ghost. And SHOOTS for the Far Frozen with his phone and an energy drink. Because clearly he's missing something and it's time to ask.

The good doctors of the Frozen are... gently horrified. Clawed hands steeples infront of their mouths as they try to tactfully figure out how to word "Great One, WHAT THE FUCK!?!? Why would you DO THIS TO YOURSELF!?" Because that... is not professional. Breathe. In, out, in, out. We can do this.

They get the most patient and restrained of their elders to... CALMLY, very VERY Calmly, ask some medical questions. Listen. Without judgements! Because they are medical professionals. Who do NOT want to scream, forever, into the void. Certainly not. So Calm! (They are going to BURN THAT CAN IN-)

Which! Huh. Yeah, that explains the constant exhaustion. He was poisoning himself. Kinda. Not so much the GHOST but the human half. Putting to much strain and too much trace chemicals, minerals, and buckets of sugar. General "mmmm :/ Don't Like THAT ™" energy from the Goo causing it too try and constantly burning it all out of existence. Endlessly.

The more he put in, the more there was to burn. The more there was to burn, the more tired he became. The more tired he became... well, the more he put in. It was a slowly lethal starvation cycle. Big Yikes.

The TEA on the other hand? Those are leaves. The good recognizes leaves and water. Other various plants, dried or otherwise. It ignores them as "fine" until they reach a "problematic" threshold, apparently? So... *blank look at the doctor*

*sighs in medical professional*

Tea? Good. Satan Can of Halfa Poison? Bad. Please drink tea.

👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

And it's like MAGIC. He's suddenly BACK, baby! Ha ha ha! Skulker you fuckin THOUGHT?! Oh it's 2am? Well SUPRISE bitch! He's bright eyed and bushy tailed! His grades are up AND he's beating you like a drum! He has ice breakers for old people discussions now!! The local Tea Shops have NEVER been so well protected.

He actually manages to graduate with not just decent grades? But GOOD ones.

And the second. The INSTANT. He is legally his own man? Has his important paperwork squirrelled away and the go bags safely WELL outside of Amity. It's time. He meets OUTSIDE the house, because he's not an idiot. He's been practicing his Clones and has them ready to grab his parents so he can get out of there alive. Jazz is on video call from Star city.

His parents... suspected. Not at first, but as goofy as they are? They aren't ACTUALLY idiots. They've been watching, going over old research. Trying, failing, to get in touch with the League to have THEIR team test their research. Peer review is critical after all. They... they had been so certain. Are still somewhat certain.

But their research doesn't exactly ACCOUNT for this "halfa" phenomenon. So, there is a very real chance they are missing something. The one thing the DO know? Danny is their son. Stuck in some eternal mortally wounded state or not, he is a hero. And they weren't there for him.

They can't change their beliefs on a dime. But they've clearly missed a great deal. And refuse to fall to academic bias. The very thing that got them LAUGHED AT for decades. Mocked and belittled. This is their life's work. By God they WILL find out the truth.

It's? Better then he could have hoped. Not perfect. But better.

He helps set up safeties and a security check point at the portal. Both sides. He's kinda a big deal these days, mom, dad. Ghost scientists eager to work with them. A whole TEAM under their command. It certain endears ghosts to them a whole lot more. Then?

Copy of the blue prints, go bag turned into normal bags, Danny's off to college.

Bounces from major to major. Nothing really capturing his interest. As he aged, he's need less sleep. Gotten stronger. Grown into his father's height and grandfathers build. Tucker keeps calling him a dorito. Danny retaliates with Ancient Egyptian Cyber/Pharoah Twink allegations. According to SAM they are both dumbasses.

She's not WRONG... but hey D:<

Eventually? A really niche botany seminar run by Pamela Isely catches the attention of Tucker, who forwards it to him n Sam. Nice ™. It's being held in her Murder Park! Cool! Obviously they have to go. So off to Gotham they go. And? When they get there? Sam is APPALLED.

She may HATE landlords as much as the next activist.... but LOOK at all these run down, foreclosed, rotting buildings! Beautiful gothic infrastructure! Those could be businesses or homes! Danny, busy with signing them up, makes the mistake of tuning her out as she rants in fury. She does this some times. Needs to vent. Uh huh, you're very right. You should contact somebody. I agree. Mmmhmmm.

Hey, Sam, Ms. Isely needs your-....

Sam?

Oh FUCK ™.

By the time the Seminar come around? Sam has violently kicked in the door of more then a feel reality offices. Owns QUITE a few buildings. Danny is sweating. She... she's doing the THING again. The "gimme your Ghost Crew, I KNOW you have a highly specific Ghost Crew, don't you DARE lie to me or I take your knee caps, Danny" stare.

>.> Sam you can't keep doin- *stare intensifies* Yes Ma'am. *Pulls out Fenton phone* and so? Here come the renovation crew. The ONLY honest building Crew in all of Gotham. They cut no corners. Can't be threatened. Gangs, villians, and even local government office try to arrange... accidents on the build sites.

Nothing. Nada. In fact, it turns out more dangerous for THEM then this crew of outsiders!

Wtf!

Then? After these two College age weirdos finish Poison Fuckin Ivys HIGHLY SUSPECT biology seminar? Manson fucks off to who knows where! Leaving what HAS to be "the muscle" behind. Cause I mean? Look, at the guy! He's huge! And what does he do?

Goes building to building. Rents them out to low income families. Honest, hard working shop keepers. And? Eventually decides to settle smack dab in the middle of Gotham, in the shadow of Wayne fuckin tower, spitting distance from the Space museum..... and open? A tea shop? The FUCK?

"The Zone".

In a weird shade of green. With little ghosts, wearing crowns, because and I quote "it's funny"? Certainly crazy enough for Gotham. But like, it's loud as FUCK here. Crowded. There are gas attacks and shit. It'll never las-....

It stays untouched for MONTHS.

Sometimes being the ONLY building near it to be untouched. Gas NEVER getting in. The damn place a BUNKER. And? Despite looking like it's two floors? It's three. You enter and your actually on the second floor. No one's even sure where the fuck the guy LIVES, since he never seems to leave.

Not only THAT. But it... it's like one of those old school apothecaries. Big ol bank of drawers. Guy'll mix up your blend for you right as you watch. Tea nuts are actually risking COMING to Gotham to try his stuff. Writing articles. Apparently he has some pretty rare shit in those drawers.

Some UNKNOWN shit, according to one guy on ViewTube.

There's this whole debate on if it's Ultra Super Rare or that means it's just super cheap knock off crap. Some of them he won't make for people, even if they ask. There's a rumor it's for Meta's with specific diets. Or alien blends. But no one can verify that. Cause like?

Anyone who tries to cause trouble?

Can't fucking FIND the place. And if you're already inside? You just... drop. Stone cold unconscious. It's definitely magic but no one knows if it's HIS or Manson's? You know? He won't talk. Gets annoyed when harrased.

Which off course!

Leaves Only ONE gentleman for the job. An elite special forces trained expert. Polite, dignified, enjoyer of fine Teas. Alfred "Why do you chucklefucks keep forgetting I was in the Queens Service and a Registered Badass" Pennyworth.

After all! He DOES have the days shopping to do.

@babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes