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honeyhotteoks · 3 months ago

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an innocent man doesn't stand a chance (j.yh)

summary: it's halloween and your boyfriend has a fantasy. he wants to be the masked killer and for you to be the final girl, and he wants you to run.

note: this was written in a feverish haze of ghostface yunho brainrot, you can thank this fanart and this edit for making this one about yunho, but i have to give all credit for the idea to the nsfw audio creator augustinthewinter who's masked hookup audio killed me. also please read the warnings, this one is potentially very triggering.

warnings: ghostface!yunho x final girl!reader, boyfriend!yunho, hard dom!yunho, girlfriend!reader, sub!reader, sadism, masochism, knife play, primal play/chasing, threats of violence, heavy cnc that really looks like noncon because part of the play is that he wants her to struggle and say no BUT there are consent checks explicit throughout, rough sex, fingering, gloves, masks, breath play, impact play, mirrors, finger sucking don't look at me, dry humping, clothed sex, ripping off clothes, size kink, ass play, lots and lots of degredation including use of sl*t/wh*re/fvcktoy/c*cksleeve, yunho is seriously mean in this i'm not kidding, fear, forced orgasm, orgasm denial, creampie, subspace, there's more i'm sure but this one is a doozy. also lots and lots of aftercare!! after a scene like this i had to write detailed aftercare and confirmation of limits, so that's there too! yunho is v sweet when not in the zone.

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: smut and more smut, no plot in sight

word count: 7.9k

The party is in full swing when you arrive. The house bumping with music and every corner decorated for Halloween. You’re late enough that you can just slip in through the back door, and that was the plan from the start. Yunho arrived first, nearly two hours ago, and made excuses for why you were late, for how you might not even make it to the party. No one would see either of you come or go together, so when you both disappeared to play your game no one would ever know. You had come up with the plan in bed, whispered fantasies and what-ifs between the sheets as he rewarded your willingness to try something new with his tongue.

His fantasy is special, and to do it right you can really only do it on Halloween night.

You weave through a throng of drunk acquaintances, searching the crowd for him, but it’s not as easy to find him as you thought it would be. You’re not sure how a six foot something Ghostface killer could hide from you in the crowd of your friend’s house party, but no matter how many rooms you check you can’t see him. Nervousness pits inside you as you check your phone and see nothing. He could be caught up with friends, he could be changing his mind, but you can’t tell if you can’t find him.

Adjusting your very 90s costume, you dart away from the kitchen where a group of your girlfriends are pouring shots and weave your way into the back of the house. Maybe you can call him? Text him? Would that completely ruin the mood of psycho killer stalking? Maybe, but it’s been forty-five minutes and you haven’t so much as seen a sliver of his mask.

You flick through your phone, checking for any new messages, and then scroll to find Yunho’s contact card in your phone. Your finger hovers over the call button as you lean against the quiet hallway wall, and then in your peripheral vision you see it.

A dart of black, something looming, and when you finally turn your head, you see him. Ghostface, standing wide and imposing in the hall, blocking any way past him and back out into the party.

“Spooky,” You sigh, tucking your phone away.

Silently, Ghostface nods his head.

The hair on the back of your arms stands up. This is it.

“What? Are you looking for the bathroom or something?” You take a step or two towards him, leaning into the character you dressed for.

He shakes his head.

“Looking for me?” You bite the inside of your lip to keep from smiling.

Slowly, he nods.

“Mm,” You raise a brow at him, “what’s the line from that movie? You wanna play psycho killer?”

His head tilts slightly to the side and he nods once again.

“And who do I play?”

He takes a step towards you and you fade back.

Fear starts to spread through you, even with it all being pretend, you can’t fight the feeling that your subconscious drums up in your gut.

He takes another step, and then another, and then you’re running.

Spinning on your heel you push deeper into the house, away from the party and towards a line of doors down the hall. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, your stomach a bundle of nervous trembling knots, and your hands are so slick with sweat you can barely grab the door handle of the basement. It’s not as easy to run as it looks in the movies, especially not in a tight skirt and penny loafers, and you skid down the basement stairs taking them two at a time until you slip forwards and crash down onto your hands and knees.

You don’t have time to assess the sudden sharp pain as the skin of your palm drags over the concrete floor though, so you scramble up in a flash and in a panic you weave your way deeper into the basement.

It’s familiar enough to you, your best friend’s parent’s place. You know there’s a tiny half bathroom in the far back corner, a rarely used guest bed against one wall as you descend the stairs, a collection of old video games and movies, and then around the corner to the left more and more basement, more storage, more dusty nooks and crannies to hide. You’re frozen for a split second, trying to decide the best place to go where he won’t find you, but heavy footfalls on the stairs ring in your ears like drum beats and you don’t have time to weigh your options.

You take off towards the bathroom, fumbling with the door again when you reach it.

The masked man behind you doesn’t say anything, but you hear him moving. His feet are sure and quick, the heavy fabric of his robes making a whooshing sound as he darts forwards to try and close the space between your bodies.

A panicked sound leaves your mouth as you tumble into the sink, clocking your hip hard on the porcelain and bracing yourself on the wall. Turning you reach back for the door, if you just get it latched maybe you can give yourself a second to think, to shimmy out of the very small, high set window. Pushing yourself into action you grab the door, he’s so close you can hear his breath, seconds away. Seconds away.

The door stops abruptly as you throw your body against it, six inches from closing. You push again, but it doesn’t budge, and when you look down it’s clear you’ve lost this game. His heavy black boot is firmly set in the door’s path, and you know there’s no chance for escape.

He crowds you instantly, leaving you no time to recover, his body pushing into the cramped space of the bathroom and flinging the door backwards into the adjacent wall. You stumble into the sink and he moves right up against you, the firm length of his body pinning yours in place.

For a moment everything is still, completely and shudderingly still with only the sound of your hitched breathing and thundering heart filling the room. You’re not sure what you should do - beg? Plead? Stay silent and let him do what he wants?

The masked man’s head tilts to the side as if he’s observing you, something you can’t tell through the ghostly plastic of his mask and dead black eyes. You’re trembling for real, hands shaking as they grip the cool porcelain. Ghostface leans into you, one of his gloved hands reaching for your face, a soft brush against your chin at first that turns to pressure as his fingers slide up your jaw to push you face to the side. It’s like he’s studying you, his hand slipping lower and dragging down your throat.

Your breath comes faster, stomach tight.

Ghostface closes his hand around your throat and your eyes widen. He holds you like this for a moment, his other hand locking down over your waist and gripping you tight, pinning you in place.

When he squeezes, panic bubbles through your body.

Yunho’s never choked you before. He’s never even suggested it, despite all your little jokes about how nice his hands would look around your neck. It seemed pretty clear to you that within the bounds of your relationship that was one thing he just wasn’t interested in, but whoever has you in the bathroom knows exactly how to hold your throat and where to press. Part of the fun is not knowing who’s beneath the mask, but your body still locks up, and an anxious voice inside you starts to wonder - what if? It’s not as if Ghostface is that rare of a costume choice, you see dozens of them on the street every year. It’s not inconceivable to think that at this party there would be more than one.

Your heart beats in fluttering fits and starts in your ribcage as your mind turns over this possibility, and then he squeezes. The fight comes back into you full force when you hear him sigh, his hand tightening even more and cutting off your airway. You wriggle in his arms, pushing against his chest and trying to use your hips for leverage, a startled whine ripping from your throat, but fear laces through your body as you shove against him and realize just how immovable he is.

Ghostface releases your throat, the same gloved hand slipping into the back of your hair to hold you steady.

“No!” The word tumbles out of your mouth as soon as you can properly make noise again.

He crowds you more, masked face dipping by your ear, “Shh, shh,”

You freeze.

“Safe word?” Yunho’s voice is a balm in your moment of sudden panic, his tone low and hushed.

“T-treasure,” You manage it, the realization coming back into your body that this isn’t a total and complete stranger, it’s still him. Your fear starts to melt into anticipation.

He gives you a squeeze, just one gentle pulse with his hand on your hip to communicate that he’s heard you, “Color?”

You take a second to assess yourself. This game is intense in a way that you’ve never experienced. Yunho had tried to tell you how your body might react to this kind of manufactured fear, how it would play tricks on you, how even if you knew it was him your body would still have the urge to fight and flee. You knew it, but you didn’t really understand it until this moment.

Yunho’s gloved thumb drags lovingly over your cheek for just a moment, “Color?”

If he has to ask you a third time he’ll end the scene, you know he will, but the brief flicker of tenderness in his touch reminds you of everything you already know about him. He has you. You’re safe. This is a game.

“Green,” You finally answer, “I’m green,”

One more quick pulse to your hip, he’s heard you again. More than that, he’s pleased with you.

His shoulders straighten as he draws to his full height, his body filling the space of the tiny bathroom and caging you in. You swallow tightly, audible in your ears and then he moves fast.

His hands around your waist, lifting you up and then shoving you back until you’re sitting on the lip of the porcelain sink, uncomfortably balanced and pushed back flush to the mirrored wall behind you. You yelp when he moves you, hands scrambling for purchase on something, gripping the sleeve of his black cape in desperation. Fear and anticipation pulse through you, but he doesn’t give you a rest to get your bearings.

He shoves your legs open wide and slots between your thighs and shoves your face to the side until your cheek is squished against the cold mirror, his hand a controlling brace from your jaw to the crown of your head.

“You look so pretty running from me,” He strokes your face, but this time it’s not loving, it's possessive, it’s pure control.

You grip the edge of the sink and whimper.

“Should we play a little game?” He teases, “It’s Halloween, you must like scary movies,”

Your breath quickens, “Y-yeah,”

He drops his voice low, in a mimic of the movie, “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You’ve heard Yunho do that voice before, lazing on the couch last October when you had yourselves a movie marathon, the day he realized something about your favorite scary movie that turned you on, the day you called him out for being hard during a kill scene. It took a year for you both to work up the courage to actually act on any of those fantasies, but here and now with his mask on and his voice low, you feel that mix of terror and arousal bleeding through your body in a way only he can elicit from you.

You can’t help the little smile that passes over your lips, “Scream,”

“Meta,” He teases, pinching you hard on the thigh, “for every question you get wrong, I’m taking something off you,”

You swallow hard again.

He reaches into his black robes and then you see it, shining in the reflection of the mirror and in your hazy peripheral vision. The glint of a real knife is unmistakable, the cool sharp edge of the steel crystal clear and you can’t stop the actual fear that jolts through you. You jerk in his hold, instinct driving you for a split second, and he pushes your face harder into the mirror.

“Tch,” He makes a disappointed noise with his tongue against his teeth, “the game’s no fun if you don’t play.”

He won’t hurt you, at least not in ways you don’t already like. You have to trust that.

Settling yourself with a slow breath you summon the act he wants, find the fear within yourself and let it inform your words to give him what he wants.

“Please, don’t,” You’re trembling is real, that you know.

He shifts between your legs, drawing the knife closer, shifting it in his hand so he simply presses the cool flat side of the blade against one of your nipples. You hiss at the sensation, tightness building in your gut.

“First question,” He drags the knife a little over your nipple, “What movie franchise is Jason from?”

It’s an actual quiz, of course it is. At least he’s starting off easy.

“Friday the Thirteenth,” You reply fast.

“Correct,” He lifts the knife, and with the blade pointed away from you, he pushes up your tight tshirt until it’s bunched above your breasts.

“I got that right,” You glance down at the way he’s touching you, breaking his own rules already.

“Just getting a better view,” He insists, and then the cool knife is against your nipple again, only the thin fabric of your bralette between skin and steel.

Your body is aching in this position, but you can feel the heat off his body, and the heady tone of his voice from under the mask still has you starting to ache in different places.

“Let’s make this a little harder,” He taps the knife against you and you shiver, “what movie has a group of teenagers being stalked on an island by a killer fisherman?”

“It’s,” You start to answer but he taps the knife again and you jolt, “fuck, it’s I Know What You Did Last Summer,”

You watched it with him two weeks ago. You remember it, clear as day.

“Wrong,” The knife twists, the tip gently skating over the swell of your breast.

“Wait,” You start but he tips the knife under the center of your bra.

“I Still Know What You Did Last Summer,” He clarifies the sequel, “they weren’t on an island in the first movie. I thought you liked scary movies,”

“I,” You press back into the wall as the knife edge kisses your skin, “I… I do,”

“You’re not very good at this,” He twists the knife and drags the sharp edge out so that it severs your thin bra in half, falling open and revealing your breasts to his wandering eyes.

A little gasping sound leaves your lips, a desperate noise you try to bite back, but he hears it.

He hums a soft, amused laugh and suddenly the knife is gone, sheathed and away and he leans into your space again, “You fucking like this, don’t you?”

“No,” You insist, despite the way your stomach is in tight knots.

“Did running away get you hot?” His gloved hand skims over your exposed body, “Do psycho killers make you wet?”

“Fuck,” You whine, “no, no,”

“Liar,” He whispers, and then he delivers a pointed slap to your thigh, “spread.”

Your legs widen instinctively at his command, but he doesn’t reward you or praise you like he normally would, this is different. He reaches under the hem of your taut mini skirt, finding the apex of your thighs, and his fingers gently rub up and down from the base of your slit to your clit. A tiny gasp bubbles out of your throat.

“Are you afraid?” He all but growls.

Your stomach flips and his hand tightens in your hair, “Y-yes,”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” He finds the edge of your panties and drags them to one side.

“I don’t want it,” You answer him, body shaking now.

“Tell me to stop,” One gloved finger presses into your entrance, the softness of the leather and the warmth of his skin beneath it making you tremble.

“Stop,” You beg, “please, please, stop,”

“Why would I?” He slowly pushes inside, stretching you around his finger, “When I know how wet being fucked by a stranger in a mask makes you,”

A tense thready sound pulls from your throat as he adds a second finger.

“If you don’t want this,” He pulses his hand once, forcing both fingers deep into your slick channel, “why are you panting like a dog in heat?”

“N-no,”

“If you don’t want it,” He whispers, “don’t come.”

Your eyes shut as his hand starts moving, a steady pulse of his gloved fingers inside your aching cunt, curled just right in the way he knows gets you off fast. A pumping drag against your g-spot, the sound of his heavy breath, the unmistakable sensation of your own wetness making a mess between your thighs.

“Looks like you want it to me,” He adds the circle of his thumb against your clit and you jerk in his hold.

“Stop, fuck,” Your nails dig into his forearm.

“You don’t want me touching you, but you’re soaking my fingers,”

“N..No, no,” You babble, heat pooling in your gut.

“Fight it,” He pumps his fingers faster, drumming against your sweet spot, “don’t come,”

You hiss sharply, pleasure dropping low in your belly, the sensation of his gloves and his hot hand too much to bear.

“Moaning like you want it,” He laughs, pulling his hand suddenly out from under your skirt and yanking your head back to center.

You yelp at the position change and the sudden lack of contact but he doesn’t make you wait for long.

“Open,” He smacks your cheek lightly.

Your mouth falls open and he shoves both gloved fingers between your lips. You choke against the suddenness, at the way he presses down on your tongue, blinking to clear the haze from your eyes.

“Suck.”

You shiver, your lips closing over his digits, the sharp taste of leather mixed with your fluids assaulting your senses and you can’t fight the moan, the way your eyes drift shut as you swirl your tongue.

He hums, pleased, “Does it hurt?” He asks.

His question doesn’t make sense, and you blink your eyes back open to look up at the cool passiveness of his ghostly mask.

“Pretending you’re not a whore?” He clarifies and your mouth stills over his fingers. He pulls them out, delivering one more pointed slap to your cheek, and dives back down to plunge them back into your aching cunt, “Moaning like that, your nipples rock hard, and this pussy,”

You choke, a bubble building in your core as he abuses your slick channel again.

“Clenching around my fingers, sucking me in,” He chuckles, “I can feel you, baby,”

“Fuck, fuck,”

“Hold back,” He doubles his efforts between your thighs and you keen, “if you don’t want it, tell me to stop, don’t come,”

“Stop!” You whine, giving him exactly what he wants, “Please, please,”

“No,” His thumb rubs fast, his hand practiced at making you fall apart at the seams, “you come, you keep your eyes open, and you come all over my fucking hand,”

Your breath is fast, heart pounding, and you feel the cord tightening in your belly in a way that makes you want to rub yourself back up into his touch but he has you pinned, stuck, at his mercy just like he wants.

“Come,” His voice is clear, authoritative, and familiar. Like a trained response, your body releases and cracks open into a desperate orgasm, crumbling in his hands as you pitch forward onto his shoulder and grind your hips down to take the last little bit of what you need from his fingers.

When his hand stills, you realize you’re still clinging to him and you jerk back, one hand over your mouth as you try to recover your breath.

He steps back, his hands sliding off you and body slotting out from your thighs. You can’t see Yunho beneath the mask, but you know he’s looking. You can feel his hot gaze sliding over your body and taking in every wet and shaking inch of you. Your body is throbbing with need, but the game isn’t done, he hasn’t even made you touch his cock yet, and you know there’s no way you’re making it out of this basement without that.

“Tell me again how you don’t like it,” He finally says.

You shiver.

“Cat got your slutty little tongue?” He prompts you again, voice hardening.

You swallow hard, finding your words, “I didn’t like it,”

“Mhm,”

“I d-don’t want you to touch me,” You lie.

“Yeah?” He teases, “Well then run,”

“W-what?” Your eyes flick up to the impassive plastic of his mask.

“If you didn’t like it, why are you still sitting there?” He takes a step to the side, clearing your path to the door and you slide off the edge of the sink, your loafers making a click onto the tile floor.

You swallow hard, eyes darting out to the rest of the basement.

“Come on,” He teases, and you can hear the sick smile in his voice, “try to get away,”

You look between him and the room ahead of you again.

He leans forward and you shiver, his gaunt stretched mouth at your ear again, “I can’t fuck you if I can’t catch you,” his gloved fingers yank your top down over your exposed breasts and he chuckles, “better run fast.”

You spring forwards, adrenaline pumping through your body and blood rushing in your ears. Leaping out of the bathroom he gives you a couple steps to get a head start, but he’s so much bigger than you, his stride so much longer, and he closes the distance with ease as you scramble in mock terror to get to the steps.

Yunho’s arms close around you, hauling you up off your feet and against his chest, his touch rough and probing as he drags you up into the air.

“No!” You shriek, “Fuck!”

“You think I’d really let you go?” He laughs, “After that?”

“Fuck you!” The words bubble up out of your mouth.

“That’s the idea,” His hand slides down your belly, closing over your cunt and cupping you tightly.

Your body is reacting before your mind, and you jerk in his hold, kicking back your leg and catching him in the shin with the flat heel of your shoe.

He groans and wrenches you higher in the air, “Keep struggling,” he pants, “I like it,”

You twist again, trying to free one of your arms, but he has them pinned tightly to your body, “Get the fuck off me!”

“Not a fucking chance,” He takes two wide steps to the mattress and then tosses you down.

You collapse onto the bed, the old and rarely used springs creaking under your weight, and your scramble forwards in some kind of an attempt to get your bearings, but he’s on you just as fast. He yanks you back with a hand around your ankle and in a flash he’s on top of you.

He presses one hand firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned face down to the bed, and then his body weight drops down as he straddles the backs of your thighs. Your hands curl into the bedding beneath you, rough sheets and scratchy camp blankets, nothing soft and soothing to take a moment of comfort in.

His free hand wanders, searching your body slowly. The sound of the party raging upstairs drowns out any competing noise, but you can still hear his heavy breath against the mask and your pounding heart, the sound of anticipation thick in the air around you.

Yunho presses his hips forwards and you feel the thick hard length of his cock through his costume nestled against your backside.

“Look at you,” He palms your ass, “shaking for me,”

A whimper leaves you as his fingers dig into your back.

“Do I scare you, baby?” He delivers a harsh slap to the back of your thighs and you yelp, “Are you fucking terrified?”

Another slap leaves you trembling and you hide your face in the mattress, pressing your eyes shut tight. You love when he touches you like this and he knows it. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from whining, wetness pooling in your core. He wanted you scared, he wanted you fighting, you can’t give in just because his glove on your stinging skin feels like sin.

He groans, his cock pressing down harder to your ass and you feel both his hands slide from your hips up to your back and back down again until he has a grip on your waist.

A whimper slips out from between your lips.

Yunho freezes above you, his thumbs massaging a quick circle into your lower back, “Color?”

“Green!” Your voice is muffled by the bedding but you know he heard it.

He groans, pulsing his hips to rut his cock against you again.

Even between layers of fabric, you can feel the heat of him, throbbing and ready for you. Your mouth waters as you picture it, cockhead leaking precum and Yunho’s familiar hand wrapped around the base as he directs it to your mouth.

“Little slut,” He chuckles and it pulls you straight out of your mental fantasy, “rubbing that ass on a stranger’s cock,”

Your stomach clenches, and you twitch under him.

“That’s fucked up,” He drops his body weight over you, one hand pushing your head to the side as he leans over you, “you’re so fucked up, aren’t you?”

Your breathing is fast, a thready sound in your throat.

“Aren’t you?” His voice is low, a shade away from a growl, and he rocks his hips again to rub his cock against you.

“N-no,” You try to shake your head but his hand tightens against your scalp.

“Liar,” He keeps grinding against you, his free hand snaking underneath your bodies to grope your breast, “I know a needy whore when I see one,”

You moan into the sheets as he tweaks your nipple, tears springing to your eyes as he palms you, taking you apart with every touch.

“Let’s see how you like this,” He pinches your nipple once more and you squeal at the sharp sensation that rockets through your chest, a sharp line down to your clit, and then he slides back and shuffles back to sit up over your thighs.

He pushes the stiff fabric of your mini skirt up over your ass and then you feel the cold metal again.

You jerk underneath him, and he tuts softly, the sharp edge of the weapon gently dragging over the curve of your ass cheek.

“Tell me,” He grips your flesh tightly with one hand, painfully pinching, “do you still like scary movies now that you’re in one?”

You shake your head, a whimper on your lips when the knife slips under the edge of your panties, “P-please, don’t,”

He yanks the knife up and splits one side of your panties with a taut snap of fabric, “Please?” He taunts, “Please?”

You sob softly in response.

“Is ‘please’ all you can say?” He delivers a sharp smack to your exposed ass check and you jerk under him.

“I can’t,” You shake your head into the sheets, “I can’t,”

He sighs, and you feel the knife shred the other side of your underwear and then you hear the sound of the blade clattering to the floor. With both hands free he palms your exposed flesh, squeezing you almost painfully and inspecting your exposed body.

Shivers run through you, and you try to hold yourself still for his touches.

“Which hole should I fuck first, hmm?” His fingers search you, probe you.

Your body locks up tightly, a gasp on your lips. You hadn’t discussed that, and you shake your head.

“Scared?” He ghosts his fingers over your rim.

“Please,” It’s all you can manage.

“Beg me,” He presses down with his thumb, “beg me not to fuck your ass if you’re so scared.”

You scramble in the sheets but he has you stuck, “Please don’t, don’t fuck me like t-that, you’re too big, it’s too,”

He massages one cheek and hums, “What should I do then?”

“What?” You crane to look back at him, at the masked man pinning you down.

“Beg,” He says it like he’s bored, like it’s obvious, “beg me to put it somewhere else, or I will fuck this pretty ass open and make you say thank you.”

Heat floods your belly, your body a sizzling live wire, and you fall right into step with a heady whine, “Please, fuck my pussy,”

“Again,”

“Fuck my pussy, please, I’m begging you,” Your voice sounds needy and strange even to your own ears, “I need it inside me, g-give it to me please, fuck my pussy, please,”

“Better,” His hands disappear into his robed costume and then he pushes forwards, his cock finally free and sliding up and down your slit to find your aching entrance.

“Y-yes,” You drop your head back down to the bed and in one sharp thrust, he pushes his thick length all the way inside you until his hips are flush with your ass.

Yunho groans, bracing himself with one hand on the back of your neck and the other on the bed beside you, the mattress creaking with every shift, “Needy pussy,”

“Fuck,” You moan.

“Greedy,” He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, starting to pick up the pace now in earnest, “gripping my fucking cock like that,”

All you can do is hold on, bite down on the sheets and let him use you, focus on the sensation of his impossibly hard cock driving in and out and in and out.

“Are you crying for me? Hmm?” He rolls his hips, the fabric of his costume dragging against you as he fucks into you faster.

Your eyes are wet, pleasured tears bubbling up and you nod, a tiny sob passing through your lips.

“Good cocksleeve,” He presses down harder with his hand on your neck, forcing you lower into the mattress.

Your back arches instinctively, and you whine at the angle change. A few more thrusts and you’ll be done for, you know it.

“That’s it,” He pants, voice muffled by the mask, “come for me,”

“C-close,” The words tumble out.

“Come for me,” He stays steady with his thrusts, pushing your orgasm closer and closer, “come for me, come for me,”

“Ah!” You fist the sheets, legs starting to shake, “Ah, fuck, fuck!”

“Come on this stranger’s fucking cock,” He grunts, shuddering above you, his fingers digging into your skin and no doubt leaving a bouquet of bruises behind.

So close to the edge, just a little more will tip you over, and you whine, “Harder,”

He gasps, forcing his pace to clap harder, deeper, and it only takes two pointed thrusts of his cock into the deepest parts of you to send you careening over the edge.

“Coming,” You twist beneath him, moaning into your fist, “oh, god,”

“Fuck,” He curses as your muscles clench and flutter around him, “fuck, oh fuck,”

Your orgasm has your body locked up and shuddering, but when he pulls free suddenly you gasp into the bedding, “N-no, no, please,”

He yanks off any scrap of clothing you have on with frantic hands and then rolls you in the sheets so that you’re lying on your back spread open for him. You try to form a sentence, to ask what’s happening but suddenly he’s tearing off his mask and the world slows to a stop.

Yunho’s sweaty, flushed pink in the cheeks eyes blown wide with need, his plush lips parted and his chest heaving with labored breaths. In a flash he’s stripping off the costume, peeling off his gloves and kicking off his boots.

“Come here,” He spreads your thighs wider and presses down over you, his cock finding your entrance with ease as he sheaths himself again in one thrust.

You moan sharply and wrap your arms around his shoulders as he collapses over you.

“Need you,” He pumps his hips, “have to have you,”

Pleasure crackles up your body, “Yours,” you nod, “I’m yours,”

He presses his mouth to yours, kissing you hot and hard, “Fuck,” he groans.

Yunho gathers you closer, your slick bodies now flush together as he rocks into the warm cradle of your hips, “never heard you moan like that,”

Your walls clench around him.

“You wanted me to do this,” He groans between messy kisses, “you wanted to run,”

You nod, lips pressed together.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” He pumps into you harder, like he’s desperate to get as deep as possible, “my dirty girl,”

“Oh, fuck,” Your head falls back against the bed, a pleasured moan caught in your throat.

“My little fucking slut,” He groans, tipping your hips open wider, his hands tight on your skin, “so desperate to come on stranger cock,”

You whine sharply, nails digging into his back.

“Say it,” He threads a hand through your hair and tugs your head back up roughly, “say it,”

“Yes!” You whine, “Yes, I-I need it,”

His gaze darkens, the cool mask of your dominant returning, and he slaps your cheek sharply, just enough to give you a pointed sting, “Need what?”

Your brain is soft, fuzzy with pleasure, but the slap focuses you and you blink, “Need to come,” you pant as he thrusts into you, “on a stranger’s cock, need you to… fuck, need you to take it,”

He nods, lips parting open in pleasure, “That’s right,”

Your stomach tightens, pressure dropping low in your belly and you can’t stop feeling the way his cock punches into the deepest parts of you over and over again. Your eyes close tight and you hold onto him, one of your hands slipping up to his neck to tangle into his black hair.

“Oh,” You’re so close, almost there, “Y-Yunho, oh, god,”

His hips thrust forward once more, burying his cock impossibly deep and then he stops. That’s when you realize your critical mistake.

“Is my cock so good you forgot your manners?” He says and your eyes fly open.

You don’t know what to say, you don’t know how to recover, your head is too mixed up to know what’s up and what’s down and you’ve never played a scene where he’s a stranger before. You’re used to your rules, you’re used to calling him sir or daddy or master, but now you feel unmoored.

“Now you don’t get to come,” He leans back, taking your wrists in his hands and pushing them down flat to the bed.

You know better than to protest, but you’re sure he can feel you shaking.

He drops closer, pinning you open with the weight of his body, his head nudging yours to the side, “Maybe you’ve forgotten who’s in control here, baby,”

Liquid heat spreads through your body and you shake your head just a little.

“So drunk on cock,” He bites at your ear, “you forgot you don’t want this,”

Your pussy tightens, and you hear him chuckle.

“Filthy,” He maneuvers your arms above your head so that he can close both your wrists together in one of his large hands, “fucked up little fucktoy,”

Your eyes roll back and you fight the urge to move your hips, his words enough to put you on the precipice.

A sharp slap stings over your exposed breast, your nipple hardening even more and Yunho draws his hips back before slamming forwards, driving you deeper into the squeaking mattress. At the painful stretch, the sharp sting inside, you do cry out.

“Does it hurt?” He thrusts again, just as hard.

You struggle under him, a little for play and a little because it does hurt, but you love the way he groans when you please him and you can’t stop, “Y-yes,”

“Too bad,” His hand claps over your mouth and then he starts to fuck you again for real.

Pleasure and pain in equal parts spike through your body, a perfect combination to get you right up to the edge of orgasm, but you know you’re not allowed. You moan into his hot hand, the sound feral and taut, tears gathering in your eyes and slipping down your temples into your hairline.

Yunho slides the hand on your wrists up to clasp your hands together palm to palm, still pinning you to the bed but offering you a line of communication you desperately need in a scene like this. He doesn’t stop, but his eyes find yours in the dim light of the basement and he squeezes your hand once. You squeeze back just once, your silent sign to keep going.

He keeps driving into you, cursing every time you moan and clench around his thick length, the mask of dominance slipping again as he starts to rut into you with artless, needy thrusts. He’s chasing his own pleasure now, with no regard for your own release.

“No one’s coming to help you,” He groans, “you’re mine,”

You can’t hear everything he says, not with your mind spinning so close to a forbidden orgasm and his pants and groans punctuating every few words, but you hear it when he says he’s coming inside you.

Thrusting deep, he spills himself hot in your belly, hips grinding into yours to milk himself dry as he moans into your ear. The bubble of your own pleasure builds with every rock of his body and you whimper into his hand, tears spilling over as you try not to let it take you.

Yunho’s hand pulls away from your mouth and suddenly his fingers are rubbing fast and firm on your swollen clit, his cock still buried deep.

“Ah, n-no, please,” You grip his hand tightly and lock your eyes closed, trying to pull yourself back from the edge, “please,”

“Fuck,” He groans, overstimulated.

You’re going to come, there’s no way to hold back if he’s going to torture you like this and you thrash under him, “I can’t,” you’re sobbing in earnest now, “I can’t hold it,”

“Shit,” He curses sharply, “come, sweetheart, come, I’m so sorry,”

At his permission, your pleasure rips through you, a hot slice of rapture rocketing up your body. Your ears are ringing, black dots over your vision, and your body wrenches up with tight shakes in a way that only a soul shattering orgasm could do. You vaguely hear your own voice, a babbled string of ‘thank-yous’ and sobs, but it feels like someone else. All you know is warmth, and the deliciousness of earned pleasure.

When consciousness starts to creep back in, the first thing you feel is Yunho’s gentle hands on your cheeks. He’s murmuring something, but it takes your mind a second to process, and you blink your eyes open slowly to find his face.

“Hey,” He’s back to soft and warm, your tender lover, “oh, there you are,”

“Mm,” You manage.

He looks you over slowly, warm brown eyes flicking over your skin, “Does anything hurt, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, still boneless and trembling in the scratchy blankets.

“Hmm?” He nudges you, pushing for a verbal response.

“I’m okay,” You respond, but your voice is small.

Yunho, so attuned to you, looks back up and shifts up the bed to meet your eyes, “Feeling floaty?”

“Mm,” You nod, recognizing distantly that the intensity of your play tonight pushed you right into subspace.

“Ah,” He smiles warmly, “come here,”

He gathers you close, arms wrapping around you as he tucks you into his chest and pulls the plaid camp blanket up higher over both of your naked bodies. His skin feels so essential, a necessity like eating or breathing, and you nuzzle into his warm chest.

“You’re okay,” He soothes you, stroking your back, “you’re safe, you’re safe with me,”

A heavy breath releases from your chest.

“That’s it,” He kisses your forehead, “breathe with me, relax with me,”

Your muscles release one by one.

“That was just a fantasy,” He soothes you, easing the knotted up feelings in your body with practiced words, “it was just pretend,”

You nod.

“Just pretend,” He murmurs, lips tender against your forehead, “none of that was real, nothing I said. I love you, and I will always keep you safe, sweetheart,”

Your fingers relax, and you realize how firmly you were gripping his arms.

“There you go,” He murmurs, “I’ve got you,”

“Yunho?” You manage, your body feeling heavy once again as you start to center.

He shifts, cupping your cheek as he leans back to get a good look at you, “Right here,”

“H-hey,” You give him a lazy smile.

He nods, brushing your cheek with his thumb, “Tell me where you are?”

“Basement at the party,” You answer.

“Good,” He nods, “now tell me who you’re with?”

“You, Yunho,” You reply, practiced now at the routine he uses to help ground you out of the scene and bring you back into reality.

“Good,” He continues, “tell me three things you can see,”

You glance around the room, “Old playstation, bicycle,” you look back to him, “your necklace,”

He smiles as you touch the silver chain around his neck, “Good,”

You stretch your stiff limbs in his arms and try to snuggle back into his hold but he’s not done yet, especially after a scene that new and that intense.

“Any pain?” His hands slide over your body.

��No,” You assure him, “a little sore, but I feel good,”

He nods, but keeps looking you over anyway. When he turns your hands in his and finds your scratched palms a little line forms between his brows, “What’s this?”

You look down at the red skin, a few shallow cuts here and there, “I fell,”

“Fell?” His brow goes high with alarm, “when?”

“When I was running, I took the stairs too fast,” You tell him honestly, “but it doesn’t hurt, I promise,”

His fingers trace over the broken skin and he nods, “You promised you’d call the scene if you got hurt,”

For how rough this man can be with you, for how many times he’s bruised you and made you bleed, he never fails to surprise you at just how tender and soft he is outside of the bedroom.

“Baby,” You close your fingers over his, “you promised you’d trust me to know my own limits, I’m not hurt, I got a little scrape,”

His lips close as he considers your words and then he nods, leaning in to kiss each of your palms warmly, “I want to disinfect these at home,”

“Okay,” You murmur.

“Anywhere else?”

“Mm-mm,” You shake your head.

“But sore?” He confirms.

“A bit,”

His fingers find your jaw, massaging the muscle there, “When we get home, we’ll run a warm bath. I’ll take care of all your aches, I know I was rough with you,”

You sigh pleasantly, relaxing into the warmth of his hand and he nods, dipping his face towards yours and capturing your mouth in a soft kiss.

“You did so perfect for me, sweetheart,” he says softly, voice threaded with emotion, “I’m so… is it too lame to say honored? I… you were so amazing, and you trusted me like that and I,”

“Yunho,” You smooth back his hair and pull him closer, “I’m alright,”

His eyes flick over your face, “Yeah?”

“Yes,” You give him the clarity he needs to know he didn’t hurt you, “you made me feel very safe, even though I was kind of terrified,”

He stays quiet, like he’s gauging the honesty of your words.

“Even when I was scared,” You lean in, kissing him quickly, “I knew you wouldn’t take it too far, and you checked in with me. I’m okay, I liked it, I love you,”

“You didn’t push yourself too hard for me?” He always worries about that, the double edged sword of a submissive who’s desperate to please.

“No,” You smooth your hand over his cheek, “I liked it alot,”

He nods and snuggles you closer, his fingertips coasting up and down your back softly. He’s quiet for a few minutes, just letting you both come down as easy as you can with thrumming house music upstairs.

“You liked it?” He finally confirms, carding his fingers through your hair.

You nod, “A lot,”

“What I said,” He kisses the top of your head, “during, about you liking it, that was fantasy too, you know that right?”

You’re quiet, taking in his words.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” He continues softly, “there’s nothing wrong with you for wanting it, all of that was pretend, okay?”

“I know,” You kiss his chest, nodding against his shoulder.

“I love you,” He squeezes you, “you know that too, right?”

You smile, wiggling up in his arms to see his face, “I do,” you kiss him softly, “I love you too,”

He nods and sighs, “I lost my head a little at the end there,” he admits, “I didn’t communicate well when you needed it, I’m sorry about that.”

Your brows knit together in confusion.

“I should have given you permission sooner,” He explains, brushing your cheek with his thumb, “I forgot myself in the scene, I didn’t mean to push you so hard.”

“Oh,” You smile, “Yunho, I’m alright,”

“I know you are,” He dips in for a kiss, “but I’m still sorry,”

“Thank you,” You murmur, pressing your lips back to his, staying warm and still and soft in this moment together, “I know you’ll always take care of me,”

He nods, his broad hand brushing down your hair.

“How was the party?” You nudge him a little.

He smiles, “Fine,” he shrugs, “I was too focused on looking for you, I think everyone thinks something’s up with me.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” You laugh.

“Mm,” He nods, “and now I disappeared and we made a mess of this basement,”

“Fuck, I can’t believe you cut my underwear off, how am I supposed to get out of here,”

“I brought backups,” He grins wide, proud of himself for thinking that far ahead.

“You’re a genius,”

“There is a back door out of the basement though, right?” He looks up around the room trying to find one.

“Yeah,” You reach out, pointing around the back corner, “why?”

“It’s extremely obvious that you’ve been fucked within an inch of your life,” He presses a quick kiss on your forehead and stretches next to you, so casual about the way he just rearranged your insides, “and I’m not so sure you’re going to walk straight,”

You laugh sharply and shake your head, “Take me home,”

“Scary movies on the couch?” He squeezes your thigh as he rolls away, searching for his clothes.

You shiver, “Maybe, that might be too close to home,”

Nudging your knee he smiles, “Don’t worry, baby, it’s just a movie.”

#ateez smut #ateez #yunho smut #yunho #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #yunho fic #yunho ff #ateez fic #honeyhotteoks fics #honeyhotteoks #HAPPY KINKTOBER

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thinkinonsense · 4 months ago

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ON YOUR COLLAR

old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: smut, logan has a bit of a pain kink, slightly jealous/possesive reader

masterlist

every time –without fail– you manage to leave a lipstick print on the collar of logan's white button down as he heads out the door for work. painted in all shades of pinks, reds, and brown; logan couldn't escape your lips even if he tried.

"can't have any of those customers thinking that a handsome man like you is single." you tell him, before pressing the white material to your lips.

logan never would've picture you being the more possessive one in the relationship but he sure enjoyed it. he can't stare at the lipstick stain for too long while working or else he will get unbearably hard and have to relieve himself in the back of the limo once everyone's gone.

"they don't want an old man like me." logan jokes as you place an extra kiss mark on his pulse point.

"good." you whisper into his ear, pushing him down on the bed. "because you're my old man. not theirs."

logan had to go soon but he couldn't resist your touch. fingers popping open buttons and snaking their way down his toned stomach. your eyes were darker than usual; clouded with lust. logan wasn't one to be take orders in bed but there was something about your dominating attitude that made his pants tighter.

"you're mine. isn't that right, baby?" you smile up at him.

"y-you already know that answer." logan huffs, not wanting to cave.

"c'mon, lo..." the sound of your giggles also cause a moan to slip from his lips. "entertain me."

your hand slips under his black trousers. logan sucks in sharp breath, letting his head fall back against the silk sheets. you free him from the tight restraints of his pants, slowly stroking him. in a rush of need, he chases after your lips.

"i'm waiting..."

logan always gave into your antics. sometimes it took him longer to come around but he would never leave you hanging.

your lips press kisses to his throat and down his chest. the lower your head went, the closer logan was to telling you exactly what you wanted to hear.

"i-i'm yours, honey." he stutters, hips thrusting softly for your touch.

you smile up at him, placing a kiss on the head before sitting up to straddle him and lifting up your dress. carefully, sliding him through your slit a couple time and letting the tip bump your clit.

"c'mon, sweets." logan whines, thrusting his hips up until he's able to slip inside. "gotta leave soon."

"s-shit, can feel you everywhere, lo." you purr, grabbing his left hand and placing it on your lower tummy. "especially, right here."

logan could cum from just feeling the bulge of himself inside of you. the urge became even harder when you started swirling your hips, bouncing lightly at first. not nearly going fast enough for his liking. too busy leaving a trail of red kisses behind; marking your territory.

answering his prayers, you finally pick up the pace.

"fuck," he curses under his breath as your teeth sink into his shoulder. you can feel him twitch inside of you at the pain.

"when were you gonna tell me that you gotta thing for pain, baby?" you ask, pulling back to tease him.

not even hesitating, logan wraps a fist in your hair, pulling it just the way you liked. you gasp at the action and he can feel you clench down on him, sucking him in deliciously. your nails dig into his bicep, leaving behind small crescent-moon shapes.

"hush," logan hisses, gaining back control.

the closer you teetered towards the edge, the more willingly you complied with him. you didn't have much of a choice as he repeatedly hit the sweet spot inside of you.

"c-close." you whimper.

logan nods, bringing his thumb up to your lips for you to suck on before lowering it to rub your button. it didn't take long for your orgasm to wash over your body, trigger logan's release as well.

within seconds, you collapse onto his chest, panting and sore. logan holds you closer as he checks the time.

"i gotta go, sweetheart." he says, carefully slipping out of you and rolling you over.

"wish you could stay." you pout as he covers you.

"i do too, but ill be back tonight."

you watch him get redressed, happy with your lips on his collar still. always with him.

"get some rest, you'll need it later." he smirks, walking out the door and listening to your heartbeat increase with excitement.

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sugurugetofavoritemonkey · 5 months ago

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Needy Rafayel succumbs to his pent up desires after you trigger his mermaid heat with Your Fragrance.

You were trying your hardest to remove the perfume that ignited all of this. Your wet hand was rubbing on your wrist and neck as you didn’t hear the bathroom door open behind your back. Was it really this fragrance that made Rafayel all dizzy with need for you ? How could you know that such a peculiar scent would make him look at you like you were some kind of goddess that held all the keys to his pleasure ? You blush as you remember how Rafayel couldn’t even let go of your wrist, how he bit the inside of your palm or how he was about to let his mouth wander along your throat barely seconds ago. You apply some water to your reddening cheeks, vainly trying to cool down your face. As you lift your head up to gaze into the mirror, your eyes widen at the sight reflecting in it and your pulse quicken at the feeling of his warm body tightly caging you against the sink. Rafayel was behind you with his hand pressing against the mirror, effortlessly enveloping you with his presence that begged for your attention.

« Gotcha princess. Trying to run away from me, huh ? »

You avert your eyes from the mirror, Rafayel’s gaze was so intense and almost primal that it was hard for you to hold it.

But your lack of response didn’t alter the way his soul and body was aching for you. You as a whole. At this right moment, Rafayel could kill just to have a taste of your lips, to let his fingers dance across your heated skin or to simply hear how your desperate moans would echo his own and reverberate in his fancy bathroom.

To say that Rafayel was needy right now was an understatement to say the least. His cheeks were adorning a pretty shade of pink and his breathing seemed labored as his face started to nuzzle in the crook of your neck. His lips couldn’t contain the little whines, moans and sometimes grunts as he lost himself in the warm embrace of your neck. The sinful sounds he was making just below your ear unconsciously made you tilt your head to the other side to give him a better access to the spot he was now starting to nip at. Nips turn to bites on the right side of your throat, a spot where your perfume still lingers even after you tried to wash it off.

Rafayel didn’t need much time to paint such pretty marks on your neck, as he thought. The feeling of his lips and teeth running on your sensitive skin to occasionally nibble at your neck was driving you insane as you close your eyes at the delicious feeling.

But Rafayel couldn’t control his desire any longer, he was even barely able to control himself at the moment. His hands grabbed hold of your white shirt, amplifying your cleavage even more as his fingers ripped open your blouse, popping all the buttons that fell to the floor in silence. Your eyes barely had time to widen at his actions that Rafayel already started to hold your hips in a tight grip, increasing the volume of your whines as you could perfectly feel how hard he was getting behind you, his cock starting to fervently rub on your clothed ass up and down.

It wasn’t long before you could happily feel his nimble fingers reach for your panties below your dress to slowly pull them down, pressing kisses on the back of your legs while he gets on the floor on one knee behind you to remove your panties from your ankles, one of his hands helping you balance yourself to prevent you from falling.

When Rafayel is back up behind you, you can feel his hard-on pressing against your wet folds, sliding between them at a leisurely pace, teasing you as Rafayel makes sure to press his lips against your ear without even trying to contain his moans of pure pleasure.

When he finally decides to slowly enter you, with his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your hips, and start thrusting into your warm cunt, Rafayel’s mouth whispers everything that comes to his mind, too drunk on the feeling of the tight grip you have on his moving dick. To accentuate the impact of his words, Rafayel makes sure to take your chin between his fingers, pressing your cheeks slightly together in the process, to make you look at him through the mirror. Your mouth now opens with how overwhelmed you feel because of your boyfriend, while you also struggle to keep your eyes open at the sight of Rafayel moaning against your cheek, looking directly at you with eyes that seem to directly see through your soul.

« You’re such a pretty little thing, darling. Oh g-god and the way you’re squeezing me so tight I can barely move inside this sweet pussy. My angel is such a work of art that I should engrave this image into my mind and paint it later… », Rafayel pauses to chuckle softly against your cheek at the depraved thought in his mind and at how you clenched at the idea as well.

« Oh, you would like that, right my love ? Didn’t thought that my miss bodyguard had such a dirty mind… »

Rafayel’s moans and grunts turn to needy whines as his hips thrust into you at a much faster pace, his balls slapping against your intimate parts as his grip on your hips is sure to leave marks later.

Rafayel starts to nibble your ear when he feels close to release deep inside of you.

« Please…can I cum inside ? Please baby say yes…I’m so close…n-need you to cum with me. »

You nod fervently at the mirror while biting your lips. Even without him asking, you were already okay with this…you needed to feel him release in you just as much as him. With a grunt of your name, Rafayel paints your warm pussy with his white cum, taking your chin in his hand to turn your face to him as he kisses you when you reach your climax with him. The kiss is messy as you both moan in the mouth of your beloved…the hungry kiss turning into soft pecks pressed against your panting lips as Rafayel calmly eases you down from your trembling state.

After a few seconds of trying to catch your breath, you could already sense his cum slowly running out of you and along your thighs, while your boyfriend was still pressing kisses on your face in the most intimate and caring way possible.

When Rafayel gets himself back together, he absentmindedly reach to try buttoning up your shirt, making you giggle as he realizes a bit too late that he previously ripped the buttons opened. Rafayel’s face turn red at how rough he remember being a few moments ago. Rafayel silently whispers with a pout an adorable « ‘m sorry » as he exits the bathroom for a few seconds to come back with one of his shirts, much bigger than the one you were wearing. He gently removes your ruined top from your shoulders and then button his own around your body, carefully taking his time between each button as his loving gaze lingers on every patch of your skin he’s covering.

When he’s done dressing you up with one of his shirt, Rafayel puts back your panties, preventing his seed from completely leaving your sweet pussy. Even if Rafayel calmed himself down compared to earlier, he can’t help but let his fingers massage between your now covered pussy folds, relishing in the feeling of the mess he made, that you were his muse and only his. His fingers toy with the mess he made inside of you, making you whine at the never ending teasing and the lewd noises that his fingers make while rubbing you, making you grab his wrist that was starting to overstimulate you.

Rafayel answers with a chuckle and a quick peck on your right cheek.

« You’re gonna keep my cum inside of you for the rest of the evening, right sweetheart ? »

#rafayel x reader #my own stardust #love and deepspace #lads rafayel #l&ds rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads #lads x reader #lads smut #rafayel smut

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sugurusyndrome · 6 months ago

Text

cw/tags: mild degradation, best friend!suguru, car sex, mild spanking, jealousy, edging, slight drunkenness, dirty talk galore, geto likes his hair pulled, oral (geto receives), fingering, little buildup it’s all sex, fem!reader

i wanna ruin our friendship

——　❈　——

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought your best friend was possessed. Jaw clenched, long fingers tapping erratically on the steering wheel, annoyed breaths puffing out incrementally. He was usually gentle and relaxed.

“You wanna stop being passive aggressive and say what you’re thinking?” You said, irritation twitching your eye as you watched cars zoom by.

“What makes you think anything is bothering me?” Geto shot back. It was not lost on you how his hand tightened around the wheel.

You tiredly rubbed your eyes and your fingers came out mascara-streaked. Flipping open the visor mirror, you thumbed under your eyebags to clean the smudge. “It might have to do with the fact that you keep sighing like an annoyed toddler,” you replied and snapped the mirror shut.

“Nope, nothing’s wrong,” he insisted. Rock music blared through the speakers as he increased the volume. Oh, that irritated the fuck out of you and you practically smashed the ‘Off’ button. “What the fuck?” he said gruffly when the music abruptly cut off.

“We’re adults and I expect you to communicate like so,” You said coolly. No point of both of you losing your temper. Even though he was usually the level-headed one in the friendship, clearly something was up.

Geto was silent for a moment, jaw twitching. Then, he pulled over to the shoulder of the road and unbuckled his seatbelt, turning to face you. “You have a lot of attitude for someone who needed a ride home at midnight,”

Your eyes widened then your brows knitted inwards. “You told me I could call you if I ever needed a ride home,” you replied. “And I said I was sorry for waking you up three times. What’s the issue?”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did you realize that men were leering at you? It was gross but you were painfully oblivious,”

A slow eyebrow raised and a hint of a smile, eyes wide. A beat, then: “Are you jealous, Suguru?”

Now, this was your best friend you’re talking to. Someone who knows you more than most people. Were there constant sex jokes and drunken touches that teetered on inappropriate? Sure, but that’s what all best friends do.

Right?

Geto mimicked your expression sans the smile. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Your smirk twitched and you leaned over the console. “Are you jealous, Sugu?” you cooed mockingly.

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered hoarsely. He hates that nickname and it’s a rare trigger to his aggravation.

It could have been the alcohol running through your veins that emboldened you or maybe the fact that flirting with him came as second nature but you didn’t spare a second thought to hooking your finger through his necklace. You’d gifted the black agate to him for his 26th and he’d never taken it since.

“Are you jealous, Sugu?”

He let himself be tugged towards you and his irritated expression faded, only to be replaced with a wicked, wicked glint in his eye. “Do you want me to be, sweetheart?” That caught you off guard and you blinked.

Taking advantage of your guard down, Geto wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you even closer. “I think you want me to ruin this sweet friendship of ours,” He whispered, his lips a hair's breadth away from yours.

“If I kiss you now, will I taste another man?” Barely brushing your upper lip before licking his own lips.

I wanna fuck our friendship away.

Insane. Absolute fucking insanity.

And yet…

“Why don’t you find out?” You replied in a hushed whisper. He could smell the alcohol as your chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. Cute.

Perhaps the flirting all this time was not harmless or friendly but all thought about anything not related to Geto’s lips in your mind ceased when his tongue licked your mouth open. Shameless, you leaned right into him with a moan and his little growl vibrated in his throat. Against all odds, the kiss was slow. Huh, it would stand to reason that someone as calm and kind would kiss like that, actually.

Glittery nails scraped down his neck, absentmindedly tracing the spiderweb tattoo and he responded by trapping your bottom lip with his teeth. Violet eyes slit open to watch your reaction as he let go of your lip with a wet pop.

“Strawberries” he murmured, the word spilling out like honey.

Your kiss-clouded mind couldn’t understand what he meant. “Huh?”

“Your lips,” Two fingers under your chin followed by another kiss, lips parting with a soft squelch. “Taste—“Another stolen. “mmm…like strawberries,”

A dazed giggle brushed against his mouth. “Guess you didn’t taste a man on them,”

Geto replied with a chuckle of his own and it was too nonchalant. “No, I did not.” His canines gave both of your lips a sharp nip. “But you’ll taste like me soon enough,”

Oh, fuck me.

“Bold. I like it,” His smile widened and you realized you said it aloud. Moaned it, probably. Mortifying

“Seeing as I’m a gentleman—” With an oomph, you found yourself pulled over the console and straddled on his lap. “I’ll do what the lady wants,”

Just looking at his lazy grin and bewitching violet eyes, you can tell he will be anything but a gentleman.

────────────────────

At some point during the night, you had blood-red lipstick painted on your lips; a little smudged from the party but nothing too messy. That is until your best friend’s balls were slapping against your face while you were knee deep in his seat. To be fair, you were the one who dove down. Team effort or whatever.

“That’s it, gorgeous. That’s—fuuuck,” His eyes rolled to the back of his head, his palm firmly pressing down to keep his cock buried deep, deep down your throat until he abruptly pulled you back by your hair. You caught your breath with a sharp gasp and he shuddered out a heavy breath at being edged for the third time now. Like he’s not doing it to himself.

Roughly cupping your cheeks with one hand, he smashes your lips together in a painful wet kiss and you would have been grossed out at how messy it is but the feeling of his hot cock leaking on your bare thigh made all rationale fly out the window.

“You like being edged, Sugu?” You teased breathlessly once you’ve forced yourself to pull away.

At this rate, his cock is twitching every time that damned nickname left those spit-slicked lips. “And here I thought you heard me in the shower every time I slept over,” He teased back, opening up the car console.

With one hand, he lifted the condom to his mouth while his other hand palmed your cunt to slip two fingers inside. A synchronous moan left both of you and you widened your thighs around his lap. “Suguru, don’t be such a fucking tease,”

He grinned around the foil of the condom wrapping. “Would never dream of it, beautiful,” He twisted his wrist deeper and you immediately clamped down, trapping his digits. “Oh? Did I find that special spot—Ohhh,” He moaned with you when the pads of his fingers pressed just right— you felt like he was almost mocking you.

Not that you cared for a second longer, not when he started pistoning his finger sloppily into your cunt, slick dripping down his hand and onto the leather car seat. “Shitshit, don’t stop,” The squeaks that left you were practically unrecognizable. “Your fingers…fucking amazing,”

You were practically riding his fingers and Geto leered at the sight. You shouldn’t be enjoying this but— “You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you?” He finished your thought for you. “Over time, all those sex jokes became less of a joke with me, hm?”

“M-Maybe,” That fucking bastard.

He curled his fingers inside you with his thumb now circling your clit rapidly. “Lucky for you, I can read between the lines. And because I’m a gentleman,” He stole a kiss, swallowing your moans. “I’ll give you a choice,”

“W-Wha..?” You managed out.

Geto slowed his fingers—mercy or torture, who knows—and you whined. “Cum on my fingers or my cock. Your choice, gorgeous,”

“Suguru, I was so close,” You whimpered, clawing at his hand to press his palm to your dripping pussy. Without rhythm, you ground down on his palm, tossing your head back with relief. But it wasn’t enough.

You didn’t take being edged too lightly. Unlike a certain raven-head who simply couldn’t stop leering. Really, for someone who was grossed out at the men at the party doing it, he sure was going all out.

He tutted and grabbed your wrists to stop you from clawing at his hand. “The longer you take to decide, the more your sweet cunt will cry,” His middle finger lightly circled just the tip of your engorged clit.

A dry sob rippled through your body at his torturous touches. “Fuck you, Suguru,”

“I’m trying to, baby—”

“Your dick!” That pathetic screech was nearly unrecognizable to both of you but did you care what you looked or sounded like right now? Absolutely not a flying fuck. “Your cock, Suguru. Now.”

You watched him place the foil between pearly whites and rip it open, spitting the torn bit out. The movement was desperate, sloppy, and it had no right being downright filthy. But here you were, leaking all over his lap.

His hand swiped your pussy, eliciting a sharp inhale from you, and he slicked the condom with your glistening arousal. “Shit…why would I need lube when I—ah—got this dripping pussy? C’mere, gorgeous,”

Taking a hold of his shoulders, you lifted your hips so he can hurry the fuck up and fuck you. But no, he took his time sliding his fat tip across your entrance, your swollen lips just barely stretching around him. No amount of whining and attempted intervention nudged him fully inside. It’s like he didn’t even hear you, eyes glued to your pussy.

Geto was edging himself and you were getting the short end of the stick.

“Suguru, I swear to—Oh fuuuck…” Any thoughts or snarls died the moment he thrust up into you. He filled you up so perfectly you thought the universe definitely created your pussy just for his dick.

Geto had his head tilted back, teeth digging into his bottom lip while his hand death-gripped your hips. “Not yet, beautiful,” he hissed when you tried to start riding him. “Unless you want me to blow my load not even a minute in?”

Back arching toward him, your hand gripped his black agate necklace while your mouth brushed against his ear. “Sugu…baby…” You whimpered softly and you felt him loosen just a smidge when he shifted beneath you.

Bingo. You yanked at his necklace, bringing your faces mere centimeters away from each other. “Fuck. Me. Now.”

Catlike violet eyes widened at the sudden movement before they hooded again. Strong hands gripped your asscheeks before he thrust up testingly. Your whimper gave him all the answers he needed to bury himself to the hilt.

“S-Suguru…y-yes—fuuuck!” Your hips joined in on the dance and soon, your entire body was bouncing atop his cock.

“So sloppy—mmm…” Geto captured your lips hungrily. “So fuckin’ dirty,” He jiggled your ass obscenely, spanking them when you least expected. “What a dirty cunt you got. Who knew my best friend had something like that between those slutty legs?”

A whiny moan ripped from your throat at the impact and your back arched further against him, smashing your chests together. “Fuck, keep d-doing that, Sugu,”

“Hmm? Do what, gorgeous?” He purred against your ear. “Spanking that pretty ass pink?” He punctuated his words with another sharp impact. “Or do you wanna hear about what a dirty girl you are?”

Your palm slapped on the foggy window, dragging down as your hips rolled atop that sinfully heavenly cock. “Bo…Both—ah!” A gasped response scraped out of your throat. His meaty tip battered your sweet spot relentlessly and you just knew you were not going to last long.

Geto’s grin was felt before it was seen and his fingers dug crescents into your ass as he took control. “When was the last time this pretty pussy was pounded properly, hm?” He panted, adjusting his hips so that his cock lodged further into you.

He didn’t wait for a response; there was no way he was getting one from you, not when you were drooling on his lips and your eyes briefly crossed with each spank on plump reddened cheeks.

“Cock got your tongue, beautiful?” He taunted in a cooing tone. “Do you wanna come? You wanna come all over this cock, don’t you? I bet you’ll drench me and my car. I’ll be able to smell you for days to come.” He nuzzled into your neck to latch on your sensitive pulse point. “M’dirty girl…”

Everything was simply too much. Flames started as a little flicker licking up your ankles before flashing up your spine and you shattered, euphoric cries ricocheting in the vehicle. Geto groaned when he felt your fingers gripping his hair from the back; the dual sensation of that delicious sting and your wet cunt squeezing him had him following. Even through the condom, you felt him pulse milky ribbons.

He collapsed against the carseat, arms clinging to your sweaty back as you both caught your breath. This isn’t how either of you expected the night to end. An argument? Sure. An argument that leads to you bouncing prettily on his cock in ways he’d only witnessed in his dreams? A man can only dream and fulfill.

Geto watched you lift your head and chuckled breathlessly at your fucked-out expression, the glow radiating off of your flushed cheeks. He swiped his thumb along what remains of your lipstick before popping it in his mouth. “Told you I’d have you tasting like me by the end of the night.”

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seelestia · 8 months ago

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✧ the gambler and his knight.

aventurine can't stand having his outfit exposed to the elements nor to the rude hands of clients that won't cooperate – luckily for him, he has you to take care of it all. { aventurine with a bodyguard!reader. }

⎯ fluff & angst. 2.9k wc. headcanons w/ some written scenes. the plot is vv subtle but it's there a.k.a aventurine simps for you (jokingly) but you both end up catching feelings (not jokingly). mentions of violence, death & russian roulette. pre-penacony timeline. a self-indulgent piece to celebrate this blog's 2nd anniv! ★

★ 〜 masterlist.

aventurine who graciously welcomes you under his employment with a game. just a little something to ease your nerves and get you used to his ways. you look at him with such incredulity as if he just fell and hit his head silly. he pays no mind to this – finds it to be amusing a great deal, actually. keep it up, newcomer!

“heads or tails?” he asks, flipping a coin in the air and catching it seamlessly. a routine for him, you would've figured from the sight. “that's. . . an odd way of saying hello,” you point out but your tone bears no hint of protest. he notices that.

“i've heard that one before,” aventurine tilts his head with a smile, nonchalant. “so what's your guess?”

“tails,” you reply without any delay. it's a mindless answer; getting it wrong this way would prove to bear less disappointment compared to putting actual thought in it. “heads for me then,” he whistles.

aventurine opens his palm. it's heads. you frown as if to suspect foul play—but you don't because you know about his notoriously good luck—and your new boss chuckles, almost placatingly.

“looks like i win,” he grins without a care in the world at all. “aren't you starving? let's fetch ourselves a meal, friend.”

a loss rewarded with a prize? you blink. with grace so in contrast to the whiplash you feel, aventurine walks past you with a trail of expensive perfume in his wake. obviously, he expects you to follow and you do after a moment's reluctance.

(this guy is more confusing than the stellaron.)

aventurine who grows quite fond of seeing you acquiesce to his wishes, whether serious or trivial. could you ward off those reporters? could you pour him a drink? could you play a game of poker with him? could you join him for lunch? you're always so professional that he starts to find some mirth in pushing your buttons (never too much). unlucky for you, he does it to be affectionate and lucky for him, you always say yes even if you roll your eyes every single time.

aventurine who trusts you with his credit card. . . to a worrying degree. when asked if he's sure about this, he just waves it off and says it'll be safer in your hands. seriously, this card has been in your possession longer than it's ever been in his. sometimes, he does ask for it back – only to drop some 200k credits to your account. “a tip for doing a good job,” he'd wink casually while you're flabbergasted beyond belief.

aventurine who finds it extremely attractive whenever you step in to protect him from harm. dealing with uncooperative clients is a day in his life, yet some are so brutish they resort to getting physical – but he has you to make sure their hands stay off him. a gun in his direction? knocked off before the trigger even has a chance to get pulled. reaching out to grab him by the collar? they're already on the ground, your foot threateningly pressed on their back as a warning. what a dashing sight – and thanks to you, his pristine outfit has been saved more times than he could count at this point.

aventurine who likes to call you his “knight in shining armor” teasingly. awh, you don't like it? he thinks you're more than deserving of that title with the way you always swoop in to get him out of trouble. if the thousands of credits he gives you aren't enough yet, won't a cute title suffice? “it sounds corny,” you tell him with a grimace—and maybe, yes—but he just chirps coyly, “dunno. i think it's fitting.”

aventurine who makes it his responsibility to check on you after a rough mission. credits are no problem, he'd even reserve the most expensive private doctor in the cosmos if that means you'll recover faster. sadly, he has little to no medical skills – so the most he can offer you is bandages. sure, you can take a bullet to the stomach and handle a punch or two, that's your job, but what about tiny scratches? . . .don't tell him you're about to reject his kind offer.

“what's your favorite color?” he queries, somewhat out of the blue considering the situation where he is helping you tend to a minor cut on your finger. you raise an eyebrow, “why do you wanna know?” as he gently plasters a plain-colored bandage on your skin (which he's only been granted permission to after minutes of begging you to let him do it).

“for the bandages,” aventurine answers. he finds no need to hide his intentions as he runs a thumb over the bandage, softly as to not hurt you, to keep its position secure. “so that the next time you ask, i'll have some in your favorite color for sure.”

“how. . . thoughtful of you,” you snort, amused.

(briefly, he resists the urge to ask if he can place a kiss on your cut for 'luck'. but if he does, you might have his head. so, he'll try another time.)

aventurine who slowly begins to find a sense of comfort in your company. maybe, it's the way you scoff at his quips with a smile or the way you always tell him to be careful. maybe, it's the way you take him seriously or the way you stay by his side—is your job description the only reason why?—or maybe, he's just pathetic and reeks of so much loneliness you feel sympathetic. he can't tell, but he hopes the luxuries he has can persuade you to stay just a little longer. even if you don't actually care. (you do.)

aventurine who notices how anxiety brims in your gaze when you watch him gamble at the table – with a sum too high to be considered sane and sometimes, his own life. he can see it all; how your hands shake as if you want to reach out, how your lips tremble as if you want to tell him to stop. but this is what he's made for, is it not? he'll survive one way or another. . . until fate decides the bill for all his past good fortune is finally due. and when the time comes, he'll be ready for it. (will you?)

a game of russian roulette.

it always starts with thrills only to end with carnage spilled all over the table. luck is the only thing worth praying for at that point and oh, is luck not the dearest friend aventurine ever had? hence the reason why he always agrees, not with a yes but with a “why not?”.

you're there as his protector, yet utterly condemned to the role of a witness as soon as aventurine nods along to that darned game. panic rushes through your veins as the gun is passed around so relaxedly, so easily with laughter all around. aventurine's next in line, you realize grimly. the next decision that comes after is spontaneous, so different from your usual calculated nature – you drag him out of the casino in a frenzy before the weapon even lands in his hand. in your head, there is no other thought louder than: he could've died.

“a shame i didn't get to the fun part,” you hear him hum from behind you, too disturbingly calm for your liking. the bustling noises inside the establishment have all but faded into the background. “that was close, hm?” he laughs, a sound you would've found endearing if this was another occasion. any occasion that doesn't involve teetering dangerously on the precipice of death.

you stop in your tracks and aventurine, behind you, naturally follows. your silence is something he first takes note of and the way your hand shakes as it holds his is the second. you still haven't let go. what's going through your mind? he calls out your name softly, perplexed at your lack of explanation.

“. . .why did you say yes?” you respond with a bitter question. “you could've died. you almost died,” you try to hold back a shout – yet, your words are spat in such a fusillade he feels a seed of guilt starting to bloom inside his lifeless heart. he discards it in favor of putting on a frivolous smile.

“oh, relax,” he lets out a chuckle, one that sounds so ignorant of the taut tension in the air. “it's just some russian roulette. why so serious?” he shrugs as if to physically brush off any seriousness clinging to his figure. his remark gives off the assumption that every single hint of your worry has flown over his head.

“it is serious. . .” you bite your bottom lip. he sneers in return, “yeah? since when?” as if to challenge you to give an actual answer. his life is full of risks, to say otherwise would be a lie. “you're sweet for worrying but you don't actually care about me that much, do you?” he snickers to himself. like the thought of your caring about him can't possibly be true, like it's all just a terrible joke.

but he's the only one laughing.

aventurine falls quiet and finally, genuinely meets your gaze for the first time that night. he doesn't like what he sees. your lips are downturned, unamused and saddened—you do care, a realization that has been left unsaid—and all remainders of levity in him are replaced by immediate dread. it only now registers that the anger, concern, frustration on your face are for him; they're the unavoidable consequences from caring about him.

(his eyes widen. no, no, no.)

“c'mon, you—” he covers it up with a carefree smile, as feigned as it came. he shoves his hand in one of his pockets. it's shaking. “. . .worry too much. you've seen me play a handful of games before. i've never lost a wager, remember?”

you don't look convinced at all. in fact, you look as if you've arrived at the brink of seething. “and if you do? for once in your life, you lose?” you prod him for more. for something, for anything – perhaps, for a promise that he won't do it again.

(but you know aventurine, you know there would be no such promise.)

“then i lose,” he says, final and resigned. “there's really nothing else to it,” he tries to offer you another smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “hey. at least, you'll be there to witness my spectacular fall, right? it'll be a show to remember.”

he nearly doesn't manage to keep up the façade. it's already as precarious as it can be. you don't reply to him this time – instead, you let go of his hand to wipe at your cheeks. his gaze trails after your fingers and it freezes upon seeing the pearly tears falling free from your eyes.

aventurine has never seen you cry before. you're always so stone-faced, so hard to break that he recalls almost cheering when he heard you laugh for the first time. that was when you finally won a round of poker against him. a pity, he would've reminisced about the memory more. . . if only the matter of losing and winning a game isn't as serious as it is now.

“don't say that,” you mutter, harshly wiping away at the incessant tears pouring from your eyes more than you'd ever allow them to. some make their way into your mouth, they taste just as bitter as your current frustration. does he truly value his life so little? you can't fathom it, you can't fathom him at all.

but there is one thing you were certain of, at the very least: “you hired me to protect you,” you shake your head unrelentingly, “so i'll do it. until you throw me away, i won't let you die.”

you've stopped crying then. aventurine feels remorse; the tears that you shed because of him are starting to dry. the selfish part of him wants to reach out and brush them away with his thumb – but would you let him? would this lead you further down the rabbit hole that is him? in the end, he decides against it.

“. . .i'm sorry,” he sighs instead, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. whatever it is he is apologizing for, he doesn't have a clue either. he lets his eyes slip shut. he can't bear to look at you, can't bear to look at his pitiful reflection in your eyes.

(he's not worth caring about, can't you see? he dances hand in hand with death – there is no need to subject yourself to being a spectator.)

the two of you then part ways that night with shallow pleasantries on your tongues. no inside jokes, no evident yearning for the other to stay, no more than an awkward exchange of “i'll see you tomorrow.”

on his way 'home', regret and relief clash to form something inexplicably hollow inside kakavasha's chest. he wanted to wipe away your tears—what a regret—but if he did, they would've burned on his skin and became another mark to haunt him—what a relief he didn't. and frankly, if destiny is about to reap his debt, he'd rather go with no regrets at all.

whether those regrets include you? he doesn't have an answer just yet.

(the name at the bottom of his contract with fate is signed as kakavasha. but you wouldn't recognize that name. not as him, at least.)

aventurine whose eyes can't flutter close at night ever since thoughts of you fill his mind more than they already do before. you care for him, you want him to live—all his fault, he allowed himself to get too close—but these realizations are rooted in too deep and refuse to leave. what to do, what to do, what to do?

it isn't supposed to turn out like this.

what he and you have is meant to be transactional; he'd be spared from unnecessary scuffles and you'd be compensated with monetary payment. he means to keep it superficially fun; for him to tease you with jests—so you'd stay and save him from the deafening silence in his head—and for you to dismiss him with that adorably annoyed look on your face. just some silly banter, that's it.

so then, since when are there rounds of poker where he'd coo over your frown when you lost? or the sound of your lecturing after he secretly got you a high-end item? or meals shared together where you'd bicker over the bill? or bandages in your favorite color kept inside his bedside table? since when do you start to care? . . .since when does he start to care?

think of something else.

kakavasha tosses and turns in his bed, but the soft pillows and blanket do nothing to quell these bothers of his. are feelings always this complicated? he places a hand over his eyes, tired and exhausted, and stares at the ceiling as if it could provide him with an answer.

but there's no use.

in a moment void of logical thinking, he reaches for his phone and hovers a finger over your name in his contacts. he is usually good friends with bad ideas – but not this time, he sets his phone down and lets out a frustrated sigh that only his expensive pillows are there to hear.

(for gaiathra's sake, he hasn't even told you his real name yet.)

aventurine who becomes awfully distant the next time he sees you. you accompany him to meetings with clients per usual, but it's different. . . he talks to you succinctly, not verbosely with that trademark grin of his. his face is bereft of the things you grow to like seeing on him. a sincere smile instead of one just for show, for example. but even that's difficult to ask for since he only speaks to fill the silence with empty chatter. he doesn't look you in the eyes either; you feel a pang of hurt, you've always loved his eyes.

aventurine who discards all thoughts of you as soon as he steps inside pier point to be assigned a project. a conclave between the stonehearts is a matter of top confidentiality and you, dutifully, are ordered to wait for him outside the office. though, he'll admit; your absence by his side actually does leave a gaping void—such hypocrisy, really—but at least, those pesky voices in his head know how to shut up when it comes to work.

“penacony. . . is diamond finally ready to do something about it?”

aventurine rests his left hand on the small of his back, fiddling with the clubs-shaped detailing on the fabric there. it looks like an act of idleness from afar, but anyone observant enough would know it's a way to subdue whatever nerves he wishes to hide.

he waits for the person in front of him, gazing at the purplish-red sky of pier point at sunset, to speak. for their next words shall mark the start of his next journey in fate's course.

aventurine who hesitates to let you come to penacony with him at first. but it'd be poor reasoning not to, since some might have a bone to pick with him as the corporation's representative. . . and he knows you'll protest to come with anyway. fine then, situationship discomfiture be damned – not even a second after he steps out of the meeting, his neon eyes finally meet yours. “so, how does a trip to penacony sound?” he announces with a confident smile. you blink, noticing how his lips are wobbling at the sides. you don't say no, however. (if only the two of you know what sort of ride you're getting yourselves into.)

— thanks for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. why don't we all sob over this man like it's a cryfest ♡

#hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x you #hsr headcanons #hsr imagines #hsr fluff #hsr angst #seelestial.inks #gambler & knight 🎲

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dyingswanpavlova · 10 days ago

Text

"Your girl" - Part 10 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: A fight turns into something beautiful. Turns into what could be your last day on earth.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/rape/death, hinting at suicidal thoughts (only briefly and not really serious, but I'll put it here nonetheless), body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities and desires, smut, (rough) sex, oral sex, switch, degradation kink, dom/sub dynamics, daddy, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

The tight smile.

It was all you needed to see to know you were in great, big trouble. It was really disappointing though, considering how good the day had started.

When you woke up, right after having a short, restless sleep, you saw him lying beside you. And for once, ever since you had gotten here, he wasn’t awake. No, he was deep asleep. His beautiful eyes shut tightly and his expression one of peaceful relaxation. You hadn’t ever seen him this perfect before.

It was nearly ridiculous. Just a few hours earlier, he had ravaged you in a way that left you feeling sore and used, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but somehow you had a feeling last night was different. It wasn’t the sex per say. It was the way he got angry and you felt you couldn’t get through to him, even if you truly wanted to. And what was far worse than all of it, was the threat.

The threat.

What did it even mean?

I would never kill you. At least not unless you gave me a reason to.

It wasn’t even a subtle threat. He didn’t try to hide that he was twisted and dangerous. Dangerous for you, if you pushed the right buttons. You had done so quite some times by now, but luckily you were still around. But how much was too much?

What would make his mind go blank and cause him to swing an axe at you?

Shoot you right in the face?

Gut you in the middle of the-

You shuddered and took a long, deep breath to calm yourself. This wasn’t going to happen. You wouldn’t anger him to that degree. And yet, you couldn’t keep yourself from thinking about it.

What could possibly piss him off enough, to trigger such an extreme reaction?

If you went out and fucked someone else?

Or if you spilled milk on the coffee table?

You took another slow breath and looked back at his peaceful, sleeping form. It was hard not to love him, when he was like this. Sweet. Peaceful.

Vulnerable.

You hadn’t even seen vulnerable, regarding him. Not really. You didn’t know his name, his family, his backstory or anything else that truly mattered. All you knew was which buttons to push and it would make him slap you. You had his age. And his sexual preferences. You knew he had some kind of dangerous job, but you had no idea what it was about. And you knew he was twisted.

Utterly and entirely twisted.

But you saw none of that as you watched him sleep. All you saw was a handsome man, the most handsome man you had ever seen, even with the faint trace of a scar on his cheek. You still hated the sight of it. Not because it would have done anything to his attractiveness. No, he was very obviously still perfect. It was the fact that he got hurt.

Someone hurt him.

You were surprised just by how angry the thought made you. He was always so confident. It was his choice to either be angry and take it out on you or to be gentle and spoil you with affection and gifts. But it was his choice. He was the man. He was in charge. He was the epitome of strength.

And someone hurt him.

Him.

A part of you was almost tempted to think yours.

Someone hurt your man.

But you pushed the thought away just as quick as it came. He was hardly your man.

Your bane, your curse, your horror. Yes.

But not your man.

When he stirred slightly, you were pulled out of your thoughts. It didn’t take longer than a few seconds for him to blink his eyes open. When he finally looked up at you and met your gaze, a hint of surprise flashed over his features. But he schooled his expression into a soft smile effortlessly.

“Good morning, my little owl.” He purred. “You’re up early.” He raised a brow and smirked slowly. “Were you watching me sleep?”

Your face flushed, but you didn’t feel the need to deny it. It was pretty obvious anyway.

“I did.” You said quietly. “I couldn’t help it. You looked so…peaceful.”

He hummed softly and propped himself up on his elbows, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear with two fingers. “Peaceful? Doesn’t sound like me at all.”

He didn’t seem angry or even irritated that you watched him. If anything, he seemed amused or maybe even strangely flattered.

You shrugged.

“Have you been up for long?”

You shook your head.

He frowned slightly and held your chin in his hand, brushing his thumb over your skin in a gentle way. “You didn’t sleep well. You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

You averted your gaze. What could you possibly tell him? That you spent all night, asking yourself not if, but when he would finally snap and snap your neck the same?

“Look at me.”

You hesitated, but eventually you met his gaze again. His expression was one of thoughtfulness and curiosity and you knew you had to give him something. He wouldn’t stop pestering you otherwise. You thought for a moment, before you finally gave up. You didn’t trust your ability to lie to him. He would see right through it and punish you for trying to deceive him.

“It’s about last night.” You murmured quietly.

His eyes narrowed slightly, but eventually he relaxed his expression and let go of your chin. With a soft sigh, he murmured back: “Was it too much for you? Too rough?”

You thought about the best possible way to answer this. Eventually you came up with something you would have hoped would be the perfect solution. “I’m still ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” He frowned.

“Because a part of me enjoys it.”

He hummed softly. “We talked about this, sweet girl, but I’ll say it again and again. You have nothing to be ashamed about. First of all, it’s not your fault you turned out like this.”

“That’s kind of the problem.” It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. It did bother you. Just that the life threatening thing was worse. “I feel like you enjoy what we do, because you simply enjoy it. And I think I enjoy it, because I feel the constant need to get hurt and degraded, because of…because of what happened to me.”

He regarded you with a long, thoughtful look. His eyes softened somewhat and he was back. The man who supposedly cared about you came back, after a long, rough night. He sighed and rolled over so that he was on his back and staring at the ceiling. All the while he stretched out his arm and pulled you along, curling you into his side. He didn’t look at you as he spoke and his tone of voice was almost emotionless.

You couldn’t tell if you preferred this over the anger. Probably not.

“Did I ever tell you about my father?”

You froze. What? No. He hadn’t ever told you anything about himself that mattered. Let alone his family. As far as you were concerned, he didn’t even have a father.

But all you managed was a small, breathless shake of your head.

He hummed softly and played with your hair as he spoke, still keeping his voice cool and measured. He never met your gaze. Almost like he couldn’t. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to appear nonchalant or if he truly didn’t care. You hoped for the first one.

“My father had some creative ways of punishment.” He hummed. Oh, God. “Similar to your mother, I might think. Just more blood. And a few…other things.”

You held your breath as he spoke, feeling utterly sick. The fact that he had so subtly and smoothly threatened your life last night was suddenly the last thing on your mind.

“Don’t get me wrong, sweetness. I was always a little different from other boys my age. I wasn’t interested in the things the others were. I liked different things. Darker things. But I’m pretty sure, had it not been for my father…” He hummed. “He did some nasty things. Really nasty. And not only to me. To my mother as well.” He turned to face you fully, while you still lay frozen and staring at him with bated breath. All the while he caressed your face and spoke in this soft voice, like he was reading from a children’s book. It was eerie. “That might be one of the reasons why I am always in control.” He smiled briefly. “Especially sexually.”

You just kept staring at him. He hadn’t said it outright and he probably never would, but you could tell there was something. Something dark and terrible, something that still haunted him, even after all these years. And it made you sick to the core. The fact that his father, his own father, had hurt him, it made you feel nauseous. And especially, angry.

“So, I should probably be grateful to him, don’t you think?”

You knew you weren’t supposed to say anything to that, anything about that at all. No matter how terrible you felt, no matter how badly you wished to comfort him. He would get angry, because he would think of it as pity. You were sure. But you still had to say it.

“Your father is a sick man.” You said quietly. “And you didn’t deserve whatever he did to you.”

“Oh, I’m aware, my sweet, darling girl.” His face lit up in a soft smile. “I was just a boy. A twisted one, maybe. But still a boy.”

It made you feel as uneasy, as you felt relieved about it. At least he acknowledged it. He had no fault in his father’s cruelty. At least not back then.

And at least there was something. A tiny reminder that he was human, that he was real, that there was something akin to flesh and blood that made him similar to you. Not the fact that it had happened. Oh no, you would have changed it, were you in the power to. You would have bled and suffered, if only it meant to free him from the burden of his past.

No, but the thought that he told you about it. He had a father. A mother. A family. He had a childhood. A life. He was real.

You lay in silence for a long while. Of course you wanted to say more, to comfort him and hug him. To kiss away the fear he had probably felt as a little boy. You wanted to take him in your arms and make him whole again, puzzle him together until he got reunited with the love he was so desperately missing all his life. What about his mother? You asked yourself. But you thought now wasn’t the best time to ask. You didn’t want to risk making him angry, when he wasn’t so far. He hadn’t ever shared as much of himself. You didn’t want to say anything. And, you suddenly realized, you were afraid to pressure him.

So you said the next best thing. In the silent hope, that one day he’d trust you enough to let you in.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” You said very softly. His head perked up and his expression softened. No anger in sight.

“My sweet, caring girl. The ghosts of my past are no more than that. And don’t you worry. I got my revenge.”

You bit your lip and rolled onto your side, facing him properly. The thoughtfulness in your eyes turned into something else the longer you looked at him, a mixture of concern and gentleness. He didn’t seem to mind. He let you stare without interrupting your thoughts. It was a peaceful, comfortable silence.

“How did you get your revenge?” You asked quietly, before you could stop yourself.

He smirked and stretched out his arms behind his head.

“I killed him.”

A part of you had suspected as much. But another part of you, the naïve little girl that you somehow still were, felt horrified. He killed his own father. And yet, that other part of you whispered softly in the back of your mind.

Did you expect anything else?

You thought back to your mother. Had you ever had a gun in the wrong moment-

No. Never. You couldn’t kill anyone. Not even a fucking fly. You were the type of person to chase them out of the window, instead of crushing them.

It wasn’t enough to calm you down and he seemed to notice.

“Are you alright, sweet girl?”

You were going to die anyway. Why not speak freely at least?

Forget his father. He’s dead. But you’re not. Not yet at least.

“You scared me last night.”

His brows furrowed. “When we-“

“No.” You said in a soft tone and slowly sat up, wrapping the sheets around your body. “I mean, yes. Kind of. But that’s not the problem. You scared me when you said…when you said you would kill me if I gave you a reason to.” Your expression and your tone of voice were almost child-like. Innocent and curious, not at all trying to guilt-trip him. Just a girl, scared for her life. Her sanity.

Herself.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He said softly as he sat up as well. He reached out to pull you on his lap, but you pulled back. He frowned, but he didn’t protest.

“I was simply-“

“What could get me killed?”

It was so sharp, so matter-of-fact, that it made him pause for a moment. He looked genuinely caught off-guard, like he never expected him to ask him such a question. And like he wasn’t sure how to answer it.

“What?”

“What could I say or do that would make you kill me?” You asked in a soft voice. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, but you tried to stay strong. You needed to get a point across. You needed to know.

He thought for a moment, before he leaned back and narrowed his eyes in a thoughtful frown.

“Another man.”

Cheating. As if you really were anything to each other, right?

Such a normal thing. People got killed over cheating all the time, didn’t they?

Or did they really?

“Another man.” You whispered. “Okay. What else?”

He hummed softly. “If you left me.”

“If I left you?” You meant it in a way as if saying; how would I be supposed to leave you? There aren’t even fucking windows here.

He nodded. “When you leave me, you’re no longer my girl. And I don’t have a reason to keep you alive, if you’re not.”

You swallowed thickly. How very refreshing. He was being honest at least. Wasn’t that what you wanted? And you didn’t know if this was better or worse. You had expected as much.

“Anything else?” You whispered hoarsely.

“No.”

Your brows shot up in surprise. “No? If I don’t cheat on you or leave you, you won’t-“

“No.” He said again, in that infuriating, calm tone.

“And if I insulted you?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking. “If I hurt you? If I-“

“Don’t get me wrong.” The menacing bastard was back. “You don’t get to trample on me, sweet girl. In fact, you know what happens, if you do all that. You’ll get punished. And that didn’t change.” He narrowed his eyes further.

He took a long breath to calm himself and finally said: “I just didn’t want you to be terrified for no reason. I’m sure there are a few more things you can do that will definitely get you killed. So, try not to push my buttons too much. Don’t experiment. Don’t think you get any kind of power. All you are is my girl. Mine. Mine to use. Mine to torment as I please. You’re my plaything. My toy.” He got angrier with every word and you were sure, more than sure, you had done something terribly wrong.

“Mine to use however I see fit.” He gritted out. “Because that’s all you are to me.”

Every word stabbed a wound deeper and deeper into your soul. He didn’t love you. You weren’t an idiot. But a part of you had hoped, hoped so desperately, that you were anything more to him. Anything of meaning. Anything he cared about. Anything he thought about and smiled, when he went off to his mysterious workplace. Anything at all.

But you weren’t. You were his plaything. His fucktoy. His doll.

His girl.

Your face burned in shame and your guts churned painfully. You slowly looked down at your hands and folded them in your lap, while you kept the blanket pulled up to your chin.

“I wasn’t-“

“Yes, you were.” He hissed and roughly pulled your chin up, to make you look at him. “Did you hear me? You’re nothing more than a thing for me to use, a doll, something to dress up in a pretty dress and take my anger out on. Did you get that through your goddamn, thick skull? You’re nothing. Nothing at all.” He spat out.

At this point, you felt indeed like he had stabbed you. The knife was still there on the carpet by the bed. How very reckless. You could have stabbed him last night, didn’t he think about that? No, he was tired or maybe he just trusted himself to have broken you enough not to ever hurt him.

It was true. You wouldn’t ever hurt him. Not like that. That one punch was as far as it could go.

And now, as you sat there and listened to his cruel words, a small part of you suddenly wished he hadn’t bluffed, hadn’t used the knife as a way to find relief in his twisted mind. A part of you wished you weren’t there, to listen to his cruel reminders. The reminder that you were nothing.

Nothing at all.

You felt your hands shake, just the same second your lip quivered.

He was so angry, so furious, he hardly even recognized your presence. He wanted to make some point known.

You understood it now.

He would never love you.

But you? It was too late for you. You already loved him. And he was breaking your heart.

All your life you thought that couldn’t happen to you. You always assumed you were far too numb for these things.

A tear rolled down your cheek and you stared firmly down at your lap. Your hands were shaking furiously and your body shook with the sobs you choked back.

By the time he looked up again and saw the state you were in, his anger immediately disappeared. Something akin to horror took its place instead. He rushed forward without even thinking about it and held your arms tightly, tilting his head down below and staring up at you, to make you look at him.

“Wait.” He said quickly. “Wait. I didn’t mean it.”

You were stuck between pushing him away and letting him console you. But you knew there was probably nothing that could ever bring you back. Your heart, already broken and bruised, had just somehow been pieced back together by him, only for him to crush it again under the palm of his hand, under the cruelty of his words, under the weight of his actions.

You decided to push him back instead. At least for once, you tried to keep a semblance of dignity. It was a lost cause, but it meant something to you.

He let out a surprised exhale, but quickly rushed forward again, trying to get ahold of you, but this time, you struggled.

“Get off of me!”

“No, you need to listen to me!”

“No! No, get the hell off!”

“You need to listen!”

You struggled even harder and pushed him back, clawed at his skin and within seconds you found yourself in the middle of a physical fight. So far, he hadn’t tried to slap you or bring you to your senses anyhow, he just tried to make you focus. And when you hit against his chest or pushed him back by his shoulders, when you scratched his arms and pulled on his hair, he let you. Without retaliating. He let you.

You were just waiting for him to snap. A part of you might even have been hoping to get some kind of reaction out of him, because he had just hurt you so terribly. But he didn’t.

And when you pushed him back against the mattress, he let you.

And when you straddled his lap, he let you.

He even let you intertwine your fingers and press his hands against the bed.

He just let you.

You stopped struggling. Stopped fighting him and stopped trying to provoke anything.

You were on top him, your hair falling over your shoulders and framing your face like a waterfall. Everything else was suddenly gone. All that there was left were him and you. He stared up at you, his eyes wide and his expression one of quiet fascination. Of course he allowed you to take control. After all, all it needed was a tiny bit of strength from him and he’d have you pinned to the floor. But this time, he didn’t. He didn’t protest, didn’t fight back, didn’t even flinch. He allowed you to take the lead. He allowed you to take control of him.

When the thought hit you, you nearly choked on the air you breathed. And you breathed, heavily and quickly, until your breaths mingled into one. You leaned further down, so close that the tip of your nose almost touched his. His chest rose and fell quickly. You could tell, even though you kept your focus on his face.

“You meant it.” You whispered breathlessly.

He stared at you with his mouth slightly agape and then he slowly shook his head. “You’re more.” He whispered back.

More than a toy?

More than a doll?

More than just his girl?

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t allow yourself to hope, because if you did, the next time he crushed it, it would be ever harder for you to find back to yourself. And did you really want to risk that?

You shook your head, ready to come up with the next bitter, biting response, when his words caught you off-guard.

“You’re not only mine”, he said quietly. “I’m also yours.”

God, this was confusing. And slowly you felt yourself get as dizzy and nauseous as you would have on a rollercoaster. You hated rollercoasters, because you were afraid of them. You hated them, because you never went on one.

“You’re two people at once.” You whispered breathlessly. “How do I know, when your evil twin will be back?”

He smiled slowly. Even now, even when you felt heartbroken and furious, his smile meant so much to you. It made everything seem beautiful. Everything was easier. Nothing hurt.

Until it did.

“I know.” He whispered. “Maybe you could try and put him in his place, every once in a while.”

You stared at him with wide eyes. Did he really allow you to take control? Just like that? Was it a trick? Was it a game? A joke? Something even more evil he’d come up with?

Whatever it was, you were dying to find out. Because you were sure, you’d get punished anyway. So, why not make use of it?

You took a shaky breath and leaned further down, so close, until your lips almost touched.

“You really didn’t mean it?” You asked in the ghost of a whisper.

His gaze briefly wandered down to your lips, before he looked into your eyes again.

“No.” He whispered back. “Not even I am that dense.”

That nearly made you smile.

But just nearly.

Instead you did something else. You leaned further down, until your lips finally touched his. The kiss was feather-light and hesitant. The touch was so gentle, that you caught yourself asking yourself in your head, if it really was the same man.

He was letting you kiss him. He didn’t try anything. Didn’t try to part your lips or pull you closer. Didn’t try to push your legs apart. His hands were still motionless under yours, all that he did was slowly caress the back of your hands with his fingers.

He participated in the kiss. He kissed you back, obviously. But all he did was mirror your touch.

You were in control.

You gasped against his lips. You had no idea what to do. It felt odd. Maybe even wrong. The only things you had ever fantasized about were to get controlled by someone else.

Controlled by him.

And for you to control him, it sounded like an impossible endeavor. It felt like one, even more. But there you were. On his lap. Slowly guiding the pace.

You swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know what to do.” You whispered into the kiss.

He hummed very quietly. “Imagine I’m the good twin.” He whispered back and pulled back just enough to look at your face. “There is no right or wrong. Just do whatever feels good.”

You bit your lip as you watched him closely. It could still be a trick. But in the back of your mind, you knew it wasn’t. It was an attempt to heal you. Heal him as well, maybe. You were both damaged. Both two fragments, incomplete and alone. Was it possible that you could heal each other?

It sounded strange in your head. You wanted to be controlled. And he survived off the feeling of being in control. But maybe, just maybe, this was what you both needed. A role reverse. A chance to grow. A chance to connote. Just this once.

To become one, whole thing.

You took a deep, shaky breath and brushed your lips over his. You were still nervous. But you tried to do what he said. Just do whatever feels good.

And maybe it would.

You hesitantly, almost shyly, ran the tip of your tongue along his lower lip. His reaction surprised you. He moaned. You really expected him to get off on nothing but cruelty and violence. But somehow the feeling of you, of being with you, in any way, seemed to be enough.

You needed to try it. The shift. The control. Even just this once.

You slowly parted his lips with your tongue and yours met his in a timid, careful movement. He was still the one guiding you. But the biggest reason was, that you had no idea what you were doing. But he was holding himself back. You were on top, pressed against him.

He was yours.

Your man. Your psychopath. Maybe even your lover.

The kiss went on and your movements became more and more confident. You didn’t actually care what you were doing, as long as you heard the soft moans he tried to suppress. And every time he did, you couldn’t help but moan, too. Your tongues tangled in a sinful dance and you slowly slid your fingertips over his wrists and up his arms. Until you eventually reached his shoulders. His neck. His hair. His cheek. His chin.

You hadn’t realized how quickly you were breathing. All the time you expected him to push you away, to reject you, to stop you. But he never did.

Your hand stilled against his face and you pulled your head back to look at him. To see if he was going to stop you. Mock you. Hurt you some more.

But his expression was more earnest than you had ever seen before. You could see the way his throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed and the small, tiny frown of focus on his face. He looked much more mature in that moment than he usually did. When he wore that twisted smile, he looked younger. Carefree. But in that moment, he looked like a man who had seen life.

And death.

And taken a part in it.

He slowly parted his lips, when your fingers stilled against them, inviting you. Your mouth fell open and you inhaled sharply as you felt his tongue dart out.

“God, what are you-“ You stopped yourself and instead released the softest moan, when he ran his tongue along your index finger. His hand gently circled your wrist and he pressed his lips against the back of your hand. Your knuckles. And eventually each finger.

You watched him in awe, realizing you were only ever falling deeper for him.

What was it with that man that you loved him so much, despite all the pain he put you through?

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. The watching, the silence. You squeezed his hand and your head dipped forward. Your lips found his neck and you made a point of kissing each and every spot of skin you found on the way. His eyes fell shut and he took a shaky breath.

“No.” He whispered. “Wait.”

You immediately froze, expecting the inevitable rejection. But instead, he bit his lip and slowly slid his hands under your nightdress. The calloused skin of his palms ran up your back and he gently slid the material up, until he finally managed to pull it over your head and onto the ground. His gaze wandered from your face, down to your neck, where it lingered and eventually further down to your breasts and your stomach.

“God.” He whispered breathlessly. “God, you’re perfect.” He bit his lip again and met your gaze. “Let me worship you.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you tilted your head to the side, only to feel his lips brush along your earlobe and eventually over your neck. You closed your eyes and sighed softly. It was the best feeling in the world.

His lips caressed your neck and his tongue occasionally darted out, drawing a moan from your lips. He moved with devilish slowness, a torturous pace, slow enough to make you melt into a puddle of desire on top of him. A part of you almost wanted to beg him. Beg him to go faster, to touch you harder, to take you. But you didn’t. Because another part of you wanted to savor every second of this.

When you felt the wet heat of his mouth move lower and embrace the sensitive skin of your breast, you felt your eyes roll back in your head. The sigh that came over your lips was more of a moan. You gently buried your fingers in his hair and played with it. Every time his tongue slipped out to run over the curve of your breast, you felt your hips press down against his own on pure instinct. You felt how hard he was, painfully so. But he didn’t press his hips up against you, he didn’t even try once. He was skilled at ignoring his own need, when he wanted to. He made you feel like a princess. Like all that mattered in the world were you.

You squirmed and shuddered when he moved underneath you, brushing his tongue down a wet path on your stomach.

His hands encircled the back of your thighs and he held you firmly, his fingers gently digging into your skin. And he moved. Lower and lower. Until you felt his hot breath kiss the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. A soft whimper left you and you bit your lip to keep yourself from begging. He was going to give you whatever you wanted. Today, there was no need to beg.

He slowly but firmly pushed your legs apart, and settled in-between them, still lying on his back and ignoring his own ache. He shot you a pointed look, before he finally stuck out his tongue and rolled it over the warm wetness of your need.

“Oh, God.”

He hit every right spot at the first try and you could no longer stay silent. His grip on your thighs tightened and he silently encouraged you to move. Move. Take what you want.

You swallowed a shaky moan and began to tentatively move your hips. It didn’t take long for you to figure out how it worked, how you had to move. It was so easy and the pleasure rolled over you like a warm bath.

“Oh, God.” You whispered again, tightening your hand in his hair.

He did the most sinful things, sliding his tongue inside you and pulling it back out, running it along every spot, embracing your center of pleasure with his warm lips and it felt like Heaven. He knew where to kiss, where to lick, where to suck and where to flick his tongue. He knew everything. And in that moment, you didn’t care one bit about where he gained that knowledge.

Because he used it on you.

And he’d be using it on your for as long as you were his girl.

And you wanted to be his girl for the rest of your life.

“Yes. There. Right there.” You gasped out, moving your hips again and silently begging him to continue, to give you what you wanted, to give you him.

And he did nothing less than that. He kissed you like he’d kiss your lips, he tightened his grip, he didn’t let you back away. His mouth was firmly attached to your body, eager to give you everything you wanted. Letting you ride yourself to bliss.

Which was exactly what you did. You didn’t even realize it, by how suddenly it happened, but your release rolled over you like a flash of lightning. It felt more intense than ever. You felt everything deeply and he didn’t stop, until he was sure, you were entirely spent and satisfied.

You were still gasping for air, when he finally released his grip on you and looked up at you with a soft expression.

You stared at him, trying to catch your breath. All you wanted was to say something, anything, but no words came over your lips. All you managed was the gentle touch of your palm against his cheek. He smiled slowly and covered your hand with his own. Then he slowly moved back up, so that you’d straddle his lap again.

“How was that?” He whispered.

“Fuck.” Was all that you managed.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest, but no trace of mockery. Just satisfaction and a tad bit of pride. You forgave him. You would have forgiven him anything.

“Can I?” You finally whispered. You needed to know, if you were still in control.

He smirked. He looked so confident. Just like you always knew him. Confident and strong. In control. And yet…

“I’m all yours, baby. Ride me.”

You bit your lip. Your face flushed the tiniest bit, but you nodded. Now, this was making you really nervous. You had seen videos, but were you able to do it yourself?

Why not? You thought. Why not?

You leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss. Still slow and sensual, but you poured all the passion you felt for him in that kiss. And he responded in kind. He didn’t try to take control of your mouth. Instead he moaned against your lips, every time your tongue brushed against his. He ran a hand down your back and squeezed your behind firmly in his hand.

“Fuck, I need you to ride me or I’m going to die.” He groaned as he bit your lip. You responded with another moan. You still felt his hardness press against you, hard and ready and needy.

God, the thought alone. The thought that he wanted you that much. It drove you insane.

You swallowed thickly and carefully ran a hand down his chest, down his stomach, down his waist, until-

You smiled. You missed his throbbing, aching need and brushed your fingers gently along his thigh instead.

He glared up at you, a hint of desperation behind the repressed anger.

“I should have known this would come.” He hissed.

Your smile widened into a grin, as you teasingly caressed his side instead.

“What? I’m just doing what you do.”

He released a frustrated growl.

“You-“

“Come on.” You whispered. “Let me have this. Just this once.”

He was still frustrated, but the look in his eyes softened the tiniest bit.

“But I want you.” He murmured and you swallowed.

“How much?” You whispered. God, this was fun.

“How much?” He asked incredulously. “Can’t you feel how much?”

You hummed in the same way he normally would. So innocent. So devilish.

“Paint a picture with your words.”

He exhaled sharply. But eventually he calmed down and wrapped his arms around you gently.

“I need to be inside of you or I’m going to die. I’m going to die, I mean it.”

“Keep going.” You whispered. “Talk to me.” While you spoke, you shifted slightly on his lap, gently grinding down on him and letting him feel you. Just enough to make you gasp, not enough for him to enter you yet.

He bit his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.

“I want to feel you.” He murmured. “I want to fuck you. I want to be one with you. And I fucking want to cum inside you.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you sighed.

“Keep going.” You responded in a breathless whisper, as you ground down against him again. The friction was enough for your both to snap your eyes shut.

“I want you to cum.” He whispered back. “I want you to cum so hard, that it’ll make you cry.”

“Fuck.” You whispered breathlessly and buried your face in his neck. “Fuck, yes.”

You swallowed again and pulled your head back up, enough to rest your forehead against his.

“Let me move then?” You whispered. “Please?”

He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. “But fucking get to it.”

You released a shaky sigh. You kept your forehead pressed against his and stared into his eyes, intense and deep, while you slowly spread your legs further. You shifted again, your movements a little awkward and insecure, but eventually you felt him press up against you and you felt his tip press against your entrance. And then you slowly lowered yourself down onto his lap. You felt him fill you, but it happened so slowly that you felt every bit of it. And all the time you kept your gaze fixed on his eyes. His reaction. Every moan, every sigh, every twitch. All of it was enough to make you moan in return. You slowly lowered yourself further down, until you felt him all the way. And when you did…You didn’t move. You stayed like that. Just feeling. Just feeling all of him.

And the look in his eyes was worth it.

You had never seen him this soft, this vulnerable before. Not even when he told you about his father. His eyes were softer than ever before and you suddenly realized; you had never seen him this needy. This desperate to feel you. You were sure, just a second more and he would either take control or beg you. But you couldn’t let that happen.

It was his first time to let someone else take control after all.

And you couldn’t have him begging. You couldn’t have him do anything that would make him feel ashamed, when he was so unabashedly doing everything in order to make you happy.

So finally you moved. Slowly and carefully, very unsure still. But you moved. And he moaned. And he moved. And you moaned.

You had never felt him this deep before, this hard, this raw.

“Ride me.” He whispered breathlessly. “Ride daddy’s cock, baby.”

Your face flushed even more, but all you could focus on were his words. You movements became more forceful, more frantic, more desperate. And as hard as he tried not to move at all, it was simply impossible. He pressed his hips up against you, letting you feel him, so hard and God, so desperate.

“Yes. Yes, babygirl, just like that. Let daddy fill you up.” He groaned out.

With every thrust, every move, you felt yourself get closer yet again. It felt like a fantasy.

“Yes. Yes, my sweet girl, my baby, my darling, my love-“

His eyes widened frantically. He panicked. You could tell. So did you. On the inside. But on the outside, you pretended. You pretended all you could, that you hadn’t heard it.

The L-word.

The word that nearly broke you.

No, you hadn’t heard it. He had never said it. It was just a slip-up. A simple mistake. Nothing to get hot and bothered about.

When he realized you didn’t react, he slowly calmed down again and tightened his grip on your hips. His own movements became more and more desperate, until he was pounding into you from underneath.

“Fuck, yes. Cum for me, my babygirl. Cum for me, my darling. Take every drop of my cum.”

His words were enough to drive you over the edge. With a sharp inhale, a breathless moan, you felt your own orgasm hit you again. And he went over the edge right with you.

Your lips just an inch apart and your eyes fixed on each other.

Deep.

And raw.

“Yes.” He growled. “Oh God, yes. Fuck, yes. My girl. My girl, my...” His voice cracked and he came with a roar. He pushed his hips against you with a fervor that nearly left you bruised from the inside and it made your release drag on and on, until you felt you were about to take off to the sky.

It took you a few seconds, but when you both finally came back down from your high, you realized you were still staring into each other’s eyes. You mouth slightly agape and gasping for air, your brows furrowed and your bodies still connected in the most intimate way. You didn’t want him to withdraw yet. You wanted to feel his release run along your thighs. You wanted to feel dirty like that and at the same time you wanted something else entirely.

Stay close.

Stay together.

My love.

The word kept echoing through your mind like a poem, like a curse.

Like a death warrant.

My love.

He buried his hand in your hair and gently tugged on it.

“That…was…”

You had never seen him speechless before. The sight stirred so much in you.

You idiot girl. He hurt you, he hurt you so terribly and all you wanted right now was him beside you, at all times, maybe with a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly.

God, you were just as insane as he was. Probably even more so.

He was a psychopath. What was your excuse?

You tried to distract yourself from your thoughts and so you decided to take control a last time. Your head dipped forward and you kissed him. With a tenderness that made your heart ache. And he responded. With a softness that left you breathless.

My love.

Half an hour later, you finally managed to get your hands off of each other. After you finished your bathroom routine, he invited you to the shower with him. You’d join him in a minute, you decided, while you were on your way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Your mouth felt dry, your whole body did actually.

You felt sore as hell, but God. God.

The memory of it made you smile. You had never felt more loved in your life. Never felt more special, more desired, more…

A sound made you snap out of your thoughts and you looked up from the ground. What you saw made your heart stop.

The door.

The fucking door.

You mind went blank and your heart stopped beating.

The fucking door was open.

You swallowed thickly. Was it a test? Probably. Did you consider leaving?

You took a deep breath and slowly stepped into the hallway. The front door was open and there was that visitor’s terrace with a glass door attached to it, which led to the great staircase of the apartment complex.

It was a test. Or something equally cruel.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if he truly made a mistake? He was only human after all.

You stared at the glass door like you would have stared at an alien.

This was probably your only ever chance. To flee. Escape.

Get back to…

To what?

To normality, you told yourself.

To safety.

A lump formed in your throat. Did you want that? Did you even want to leave?

Even if it wasn’t a test, did you truly want to leave him?

The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. It almost felt like acid and it weighed like a heavy stone on your heart. The thought of sleeping alone again, of never seeing his silly smile again. Even the twisted one, you’d miss.

The thought of never feeling his lips on yours again.

His hands in your hair, his voice in your ear.

His everything.

Him.

You were his girl.

You couldn’t just up and leave. What was there in the world for you?

Maybe this was exactly your destiny. Him. Him. Him.

He was all you needed, right? He took care of you. He provided for you.

He loved you. In his own, twisted way.

My love.

You couldn’t, you decided. You couldn’t leave. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t ever-

The sound of someone’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, but to your horror, it wasn’t him. Your eyes widened impossibly when you saw the form of a man approaching.

He looked like a janitor or something like that. A man far past his prime with greying hair and a kind smile.

God, you had missed kindness.

But no, no, you were his girl. You were his girl. You wouldn’t ever leave.

You took a step back like a cornered animal as the man approached and said something to you in Korean. When you backed away even more, he stopped and his eyes widened in surprise.

He kept talking to you, kept speaking in that reassuring tone of voice.

“I…don’t…understand.” You breathed out.

You didn’t even realize how you must have looked, terrified and broken. A faint mark on your cheek. Your clothes crumpled. Bite marks, love bites, more marks on your throat.

He frowned slightly and tilted his head to the side.

“Miss-“ He said in a thick, Korean accent. “Miss- The man that’s live here- The man- Is he-“

In that moment, you felt it. His presence was so prominent, you didn’t need to hear him call out to you. You just felt it. He came in, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair wet from the shower. He most likely came to look why you hadn’t come yet.

You quickly spun around and met his gaze, your expression horrified. Your eyes were so expressive.

The door was open. He came by himself. It wasn’t my fault. Please! It wasn’t my fault!

Something hard flashed through his eyes, but it was only visible to you and it was only there for the blink of an eye. And then it was gone and it got replaced by the tight smile.

A tight, polite smile, directed at the janitor in the doorway. He spoke to him in Korean and stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You stared at the ground, completely horrified.

Oh no, you thought.

Oh no. This is it.

_____________________________

Tag list: @mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q @whitefeathers @ennvfv @heartzxx @yourpointbreak @hell0kittt @salesmanlover08 @pascalislove @nina357 @ing9449myu @vamplivivi @tvbais @ilovenana00 @misswannadiesworld @glads-stuff @chunkzdeluluwife @estreiiuh @lokis-lovely-muse @zaimeskuna @lalalaa2210 @i-might-be-vanny @cupidzslvt @k1ra-park3r @vyladsgirl @jayyourbabe @yeaiamme2 @babyscilence @abcde-12345dorito @madzpm @o9sessions @dilfismz @idenack @sunburngal @prettysatoru @newtscreatures347269 @4j4ax @yru3xme @rafecamsgirlll @recordofragnarokfan2 @hayakamis-blog @kttb @fictionalmen-dilflover @puddingknows @wanderlustingcastaway @magicseahorse @everwhovian @savemyheart101 @beebeechaos

@hayakamis-blog Thank you for your lovely request, I loved the idea and I hope it turned out the way you hoped!

Author's note: I'll be honest with you, guys, this chapter cost me YEARS of my life, omg. I wrote 5000 words yesterday and then realized I didn't like what I was writing, so I deleted everything and did this today instead. I hope it was the right decision! On a super exhausted note, I'll try to answer all of your sweet, lovely messages in time!!! I'm not even exaggerating, a few of them really made me cry. Not almost, but for real. I don't know what I did to deserve all this kindness and love, but I really, really love you all! SO much!

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pathologicalreid · 4 months ago

Text

kryptonite | s.r.

in which all roads lead to Spencer's apartment, at least they do for jareau!reader

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: fluff (some comfort (god knows spencer needs it)) content warnings: reader went to a bar, but she's not drunk, creepy guy follows her around, abandoned by her 'friends', takes place following 6x12 "corazon", spencer and reader's first tea date, spencer's migraine arc, jj is in the middle east, this fic definitely wasn't inspired by a 3 doors down song, ffofa!spencer, reader feels out of place in the BAU, sexual innuendo word count: 2.97k a/n: MY GIRL IS HOME i have been wanting to go back to jareau!reader since ffofa ended. i genuinely have their whole lives planned out.

Screwed. You were so totally completely screwed.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?” The guy behind you asked once again, but he’d had more to drink than you. You wouldn’t trust yourself behind the wheel of a motor vehicle right now, much less a man who had leeched himself to you in a dive bar.

You laughed nervously, crossing your arms in front of your stomach protectively as you checked for passing cars before walking across the street. “Yeah, I’m sure,” you called over your shoulder, dreading the image of him following you around.

Slowly, you began recognizing your surroundings, the street name that you were turning onto ringing a bell—but which one? Somewhere you had seen the name, but as you glanced around, nothing triggered a memory. “I don’t want you to get left walking all around at night, could get dangerous,” he offered, slurring his speech.

It was the green canopy that finally jogged your memory, you picked up your pace as you recognized Spencer’s apartment complex. “I’m really fine,” you insisted, cursing your friends for the nth time for leaving you in the bar.

You faltered at the door, the blood draining from your face as you realized you’d need Spencer to buzz you in before you could finally lose the creep on your tail. “You’re supposed to push the button,” the guy—whose name you could not recall for the life of you—instructed you.

Smiling anxiously, you reached forward and pressed the button next to Spencer’s name, tapping your heeled boot on the sidewalk as you hoped he’d come let you in. For all you knew, he wasn’t even home.

“If your guy isn’t here, we could always head back to my place,” the drunk guy offered, looking around aimlessly, “it’s over… where are we?”

With wide eyes, you pushed the button two more times for prosperity’s sake, hoping that the world would take pity on you and get you away from him. “Don’t worry about it,” you mumbled, pushing the button again before resigning yourself to an evening with this guy. Turning around, you gave him your best attempt at a smile, “Look, I’m really sorry, but somewhere we got our wires—“

He nodded behind you, “Hey, is that your guy?”

You could’ve cried. Honestly, your eyes might’ve welled up at the sight of Spencer Reid, it looked like he had dragged himself out of bed to come get you. “Yeah,” you breathed, “That’s him.”

Spencer peered out the window, the frustrated look on his face softening when he saw you in the dim lamplight. He opened the door and stood, “Y/N, hey,” he greeted, brown eyes flickering from you to your unexpected guest.

“Hey, man,” the guy said from behind you, “I’m just droppin’ your girl home. I wanted to make sure she got home safe, there are a lot of weirdos out there.”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised in acute irritation, “Sure are,” he responded dryly. He took one look at your widened eyes and reached into his pajama pockets, holding his keys out for you to take, whispering his unit number to you as you swiped them.

“Thank you,” you breathed, squeezing through the doorway behind him and making your way up to apartment twenty-three. You unlocked the front door, faltering when you made your way inside.

You’d never seen Spencer’s apartment before, the entire space perfectly curated so that every nook and cranny was just so… Spencer. His bookshelves were crammed full of old texts, books that collectors would go to the mat for were piled up on the hardwood floor, waiting to be placed on a shelf.

The walls were painted a dark shade of green, and you wondered if Spencer had chosen the color himself or if the apartment had always been this color. You walked inside, placing your dead phone and Spencer’s keys on the coffee table before taking a seat on the supple leather. Tonight had been a nightmare, a story torn right out of the book about your college years.

You stood up as the doorknob turned, and Spencer walked inside, kicking his shoes off before locking the door behind him. “Spence, I am so sorry,” you insisted, walking around the couch and approaching him, “My phone died, and I didn’t know where else to go. I was going to take the metro, but then I remembered that you live near Van Ness, and I thought having somewhere to go would be better than potentially bringing that guy back to my place.”

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking you over quickly, checking the state you were in.

Nodding, you nervously ran a hand through your hair, “Yeah, that’s just… not how I wanted to spend my night.” Finally able to get a good look at him, you inspected his flannel pajama pants, a blue Madras pattern conflicting with the orange emblem of his CalTech shirt. You had never seen him so at ease, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

He shook his head dismissively, “You didn’t, I was still awake.”

You hummed, “Reading?”

Spencer faltered, “Oh, yeah,” his voice softened, looking over at the bookshelves as if he was missing something.

Part of you wanted to mention the odd behavior, but the two of you only ever interacted within the confines of the BAU. Maybe you don’t know him well enough to say that to him. “Do you have a phone charger that I can use? Once I get enough charge, I can just take the metro back to my place.”

Frowning, Spencer looked at you as if you had grown horns, “I’m not letting you take the metro, it’s the middle of the night.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you checked the time displayed on his microwave, if you plugged your phone in now, you’d be able to make it before the metro shut down for the night. “I only need to get on one line to get back to my place,” you informed him.

“That’s irrelevant, it’s past eleven and you’ve already been followed around by one creep tonight,” he reminded you, leaning against the column in his entryway and giving you a knowing look.

Your heart pounded in your chest, “Will you drive me home then?”

Running his hands through his hair, Spencer mumbled something unintelligible before he answered, “No, I shouldn’t drive right now. Just… I’ll go find you something to sleep in,” he told you, pushing off of the wall to go into what you assumed was his bedroom.

You sat back down on Spencer’s couch, skimming your palms over the knit blanket that had been thrown over the back of it while you waited for his return. Spencer Reid was something of an enigma to you, there were times when you thought he’d be your closest friend in the unit, and there were other times when he seemingly wanted nothing to do with you.

He came back out of his room, balancing a sweatshirt in his hands and presenting it to you, “Hey, this should fit.”

Checking the tag on the sweatshirt, you nodded in response as you inspected the rest of the crewneck. An old academy emblem was embroidered on the front of it, but the year didn’t match the timeline of when Spencer did his training at the Academy. You hummed, “Whose sweatshirt was this?” You tried to act nonchalant, thumbing the loose threads on the cuff.

“I’ll check my desk for a charger,” he swerved around your question, leaving you holding the sweatshirt in the middle of his living room.

You watched him walk away, “Uh, where should I change?”

He nodded his head in the direction of his room, “My room is fine. The bathroom is connected if you need it.”

Quickly, you slipped into his room and stripped off your dress, laying it on his bed while you pulled the crewneck over your head. At the very least, the fabric smelled like Spencer instead of smelling like another girl’s perfume. The navy blue sweater skimmed the top of your thighs, falling over you comfortably.

Rolling your dress into a ball in an attempt to hide your bra, you opened the door and jumped when you were met by Spencer. “Is that good?” He asked you, looking you up and down—not for the first time that night.

“What?” You asked, peering up at him with wide eyes. Obviously, you hadn’t expected him to be waiting for you outside of his bedroom. You would’ve mentally prepared yourself to be in your underwear in front of him—you’ve had dreams that started much like this.

He smiled softly at you, “The sweatshirt,” he whispered, “Does it fit alright?”

Mystery girl’s sweatshirt fit you just fine, and you nodded a confirmation up at him, looking at your iridescent reflection in his glasses.

“I live by a lot of nightlife, and that’s gotten out once or twice. So, there’s a small box of clothes that people have left behind here. For all I know that sweatshirt was Morgan’s,” he told you, holding a charger out for you to take.

Your face warmed with embarrassment, “You don’t owe me an explanation,” you murmured before taking the charger from his hand, letting your fingers linger a bit too long in his palm.

The soft smile that remained on his face was enough to make you weak at the knees, “I know, but you asked.”

Holding the charger to your chest, your head bobbed, “The sweatshirt’s great, Spence,” you told him meekly, stepping around him to plug the charger into the wall, and setting your phone next to his on the kitchen counter.

“Do you want to call your sister?” Spencer asked, loitering in the doorway between his room and the living room and sticking his hands in the pockets of his pajamas.

Shaking your head, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “No, she’s probably busy. Still uh… adjusting to her new job.” You looked over at him, each of you staying on one side of the room. You weren’t sure what JJ’s new job entailed. She had been acting cagier than usual on most of your phone calls.

He finally kicked off his shoes, prompting you to take a seat on the couch and unstrap your heels. “Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?”

Leaning back into the cushions, you tugged the hem of your sweatshirt down on your hips, “There’s really not much to tell.” You watched intently as he turned the corner, sitting next to you on the couch, so close that you felt the heat emanating off of his body. To your surprise, Spencer was one of those people who was built like a furnace—the lanky stature was misleading.

“Did you go out alone?” He asked, matching your level of relaxation and leaning back on the couch. Grabbing one of the pillows from the end of the couch, you set it in your lap and wrapped your hands around it.

Shaking your head, you frowned at your phone, which still hadn’t powered on, “No, I went out with a group of friends for a birthday.”

Concern pinched his brows, “Your friends left you in the bar with that guy? Why would they do that?”

You shrugged in response, skimming your fingertips over the stitching on his pillow, “They think I need to get laid.”

“Do you?” He asked, likely before he was able to process what he was saying, based on the shocked look on his face.

Smiling softly at him, you teased, “Jeez, Spence, buy me dinner first.”

Spencer’s cheeks turned pink as a result of your jest, shaking his head quickly, “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m sure you have plenty— er… I’m sure you’re very successful in that area of your life.”

A soft giggle escaped your lips, the light feeling of laughter a stark difference from how you felt twenty minutes ago, “I’m just messing. I know what you meant.” At least, you thought you knew what he meant. You kept watching him, his body turned away from the lamp, neck slightly craned forward. “So,” you began, “If you weren’t sleeping, and you weren’t reading, what were you doing before I buzzed?”

His expression went tight, and you worried you had somehow stepped over an invisible line, “Can you keep a secret?”

Your heart jumped at the prospect of becoming Spencer’s confidante. You’ve spent your first few months in the BAU hoping someone would invite you in, but they all seemed too preoccupied with losing your sister to the State Department to even acknowledge the fact that you were floundering. Trying not to seem too eager, you nodded at him, “You can tell me anything.”

His eyebrows knit themselves together, “I’ve been getting these… headaches lately. Migraines really.”

Your expression softened, mouth going slack in surprise, “Have you been to a doctor?”

He nodded in response and leaned his head to the side, so close to you that you could feel his hair touching your shoulder, “They can’t find a physical cause.”

Your stomach flipped, eyes widening ever so slightly as you found yourself glad he wasn’t looking at you. If there wasn’t a physical cause for Spencer’s migraines, then you knew exactly what he was worried about, “I’m sorry, Spence.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment, not saying anything else for a moment. There was just the two of you on his couch, and you wondered if there was any way you could make this a normal occurrence. You’d give away every night out for the promise of nights like this.

Bits of the puzzle started to fall into place. The way he had acted on the case in Miami, all of the time off he had taken, and even his newfound aversion to coffee—he was drinking less caffeine. He hasn’t been sleeping, the bags under his eyes told you that much.

“I’m gonna make tea,” you announced, resting your hands on the tops of your thighs and pushing up. “What kind of tea does Spencer Reid drink on a Saturday night?”

With his head buried on a couch cushion, you hear an almost pained response, “Lavender.”

Your back was to him as you smiled, “I like a guy who drinks lavender tea,” you said, your voice too soft to carry into the living room. Turning on his electric kettle, you started going through his drawers, hoping to find a stash of tea bags somewhere.

“This really isn’t necessary,” Spencer called over from the couch. “I just… needed to share.”

You hummed as you found the tea, grabbing a lavender tea bag before lifting up a box of chamomile, checking the production date before tossing a bag on the counter. Your next challenge would be mugs. “You took me in like a stray cat in the middle of the night, making you tea while you have a migraine is the absolute least I can do.”

He didn’t respond, but you felt his eyes on you as you worked in the kitchen. Dropping the tea bags in the mugs—an air and space museum one for him and a Snoopy one for you—you picked up the kettle before it let off its high-pitched beep, pouring the hot water into the mugs.

Carefully carrying the mugs back to him on the couch, you set them on the coffee table and returned to your spot next to him, “Here we are,” you said, flattening out a napkin for the two of you to place your tea bags on.

“Thank you,” he responded timidly, reaching out for the mug. “Since I shared about myself, I think it’s only fair that you share something with me,” he told you, a ridiculously serious look on his face.

You raised your eyebrows, using your tea bag to stir the tea in your mug, “Oh, a quid pro quo?” A soft smile grew on your face when he nodded, “What do you want to know?”

He thought about it for a while, taking a sip of his tea while he considered his options. “Why does JJ call you Ducky?”

Scoffing, you roll your eyes in response, “Oh, Spence, if you wanted the answer to that question, you should’ve asked while I was drunk.”

“You were never drunk,” he responded easily. “Y/N—” he faltered, frowning before he had the chance to continue.

You incline your head toward him, “What is it? Is it your head?”

He shook his head carefully, “Would you mind if we watched something? On the TV?”

“It’s your apartment, you can do whatever you want,” you told him, your volume hovering just over a whisper.

Spencer reached forward and took the remote off of the coffee table, hitting the power button and bringing the television to life. To your surprise, the pictures that showed up were cartoons. Old reruns from when he would’ve been a kid, he must’ve noticed your surprise, because he whispered, “It gets too hard to focus on anything else.”

He must’ve changed the settings on the TV, bringing down the brightness in a way that was comfortable to his eyes. You thought of all the times Spencer had been in a bright or loud space for work in the past few months, and the sympathy made your chest ache. “Thanks for saving me,” you murmured, watching to catch him before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

Extending his mug to you, you gently clinked your mug to his before giving your undivided attention to Inspector Gadget.

As the night went on, you remained in your place on the couch, because when Spencer fell asleep on your shoulder, you didn’t have the heart to wake him up.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #written by margot #jareau!reader #margotober #flufftober

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