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gutsby · 2 months ago

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Easy to Please

Pairing: Sleazy Landlord!Joel x Reader

Summary: Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Dubcon à la power imbalance / sex for money. Infidelity. Pervy!Joel. Talks of abuse. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: This fic was loosely inspired by my three favorite songs about female adultery—‘Thinkin’ Bout Cheatin’ by Mae Estes, ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ by The Eagles, and ‘Cheatin’ Songs’ by Midland. No, I don’t support infidelity. Yes, it makes for fun fiction.

Word count: 3.1k

You hate the face he makes when he cums.

You hate the way he tastes when he’s done.

You hate the grit and the heft of the man, every lone hair that sprouts silver from his chest, and the way he pats the open space beside him in bed after you roll away.

‘Never seen a girl so goddamn allergic to cuddling!’

What makes his observation worse is that you know you’re hating it more and more with every passing day.

Today you have seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson tucked into your purse. You walk with a sluggish gait, knowing you’re $310 short of making this month’s rent and last. But you go on anyway. It’s not like Joel can’t see you from where he’s seated on the porch.

The pleasantries you exchange are short. By now, you have only to breeze past him in his lawn chair and say, ‘I can’t stay long,’ and he knows the rest. He grabs his six-pack, then his Pall Malls, and asks after you all the same.

“How’s the wrist?” he says.

You sprained it over the weekend. You aren’t sure how he heard. At any rate, you ignore the question and set your bag down on the counter before going to the fridge. You deflect with a question of your own—what the hell happened to the lemonade? He had a full jug last week.

“Got thirsty,” Joel answers, shrugging.

You’re always thirsty, you tell him, and you eye the case of Heineken that he’s placed by your purse. You don’t need to see his face to feel the smile starting to form.

“Don’t I know it,” he says. Insinuating.

You’d hit him over the head if you’d been able to reach. He’s still smiling when your shoulder checks his—closer to his elbow, from the feel of it—and when you leave the kitchen, he leaves too. He trails behind you with an ease that says this is the sixth time this has happened since August, and you’re hardly a week out from Halloween.

It’s not just rent you need to pay; it’s other things. Transmission in your truck’s gone to shit. Phone’s been on the fritz since you dropped it in the tub. Talking heads on TV say the country’s on track to get hit with another recession, and from the way your boss has been slashing your hours in half, you think they may be right. The crack in your bathroom window was tiny last week. Today it’s gone, because your husband put his fist through the thing on Sunday. You patched the hole with duct tape.

Joel’s covering the cost for the pane to be replaced, but that’s because he has to. He’s your landlord—proud owner of the Delta Commons trailer park since ‘97—and that’s what landlords do. Everything else is yours to pay.

You’re a part-time student, part-time waitress, and a full-time caretaker for your ailing spouse, or so you call him. Joel knows Stetson’s not sick, just perennially unemployed and drunk. You pay for most things, and it’s rarely enough to cover your rent. Stetson doesn’t care.

And that’s where Joel comes in.

No pun intended, but in his mind, there’s really no nicer way to say it: you fuck his brains out to make up for the shortfall in rent. You blow him before work to make sure your husband and you will have enough to eat that week. You bite the warm, freckled skin between his shoulder and his neck while you ride him, because you know that gesture will get you a little extra cash when you leave. You smile after swallowing him, and Joel knows that it tastes like shit. You’ve gotten good at faking it lately.

What he hopes isn’t totally fabricated is the way you call him big. Strong. Handsome. So stupidly well-endowed that you have to wince for the first few seconds when you sit on it, and go slow when he takes you from behind

“O-ow!” you whine presently.

His dick isn’t even in you yet. You just stubbed your toe on the edge of his dresser on your way to the bathroom.

“You alright?”

“Fuck me!”

I will, he thinks.

“Want me to get an ice—”

“Let go-OW! FUCK!”

Joel barely even touched your wrist and you were flinching away with a brand new pain. You rub it, almost defensively, then pin him with an icy glare. Nice going.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Now he’ll be lucky if he can swing a half-hearted handy from the one that isn’t hurt. That’s how mad you look.

You turn your body away, and for a second, Joel assumes that his fate has been sealed: you’ll bumble over to the rug by his bed, toss a pillow on the floor, and assume what he already knows to be your least favorite position. You’ll kneel, and talk of migraines and your long, grueling day and in the end find an excuse not to use your mouth. That’ll be okay. But with the debts you owe him now, it also won’t be enough, and Joel will have to ask you back again. He hates sounding needy, but baby, deal’s a deal.

Luckily you don’t give him the chance to use that line. Much to his surprise, you get on the bed. You lie down. You seem to take a little more care settling in this time, but you take off your clothes. It’s a lime green tank top and some ratty jean skirt, but it’s enough to tempt him.

And not just tempt, but oblige him to accept, unblinking. He crawls over the bed to get to you, and he finds that his spit’s filling his mouth a little quicker. His hands are starting to shake as they slide over the duvet, and the tree trunks he once called his legs are runny, like eggs.

He has to remind himself, bluntly, of your last name, the shiny ring on your hand, your husband’s name, your—

“Age—what’d you say your age was again?” Joel asks.

You look confused for a second, but you tell him.

“Twenty-one.”

Way too fucking young to have gotten hitched three years ago. But then he remembers this is Leakey, Texas, and your family hasn’t strayed more than ten miles from the center of town in four generations. You told him that.

“I thought you said twenty,” Joel says, a little uneasy.

“I did. Up until this past Sunday I was.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Happy birthday.”

You blink.

“You gonna take your pants off or what?”

And he does. Maybe embarrassed at first, but then the jeans come off, and his boxers go next, and without so much as a word or a breath, his worries are sliding away like water off his back. Like his clothes now peeling off.

Like your smile growing thin at the sight of him half-stripped on the bed in front of you. Joel doesn’t flatter himself to think he’s even half as handsome as he was in his youth, but he knows he has his draws. What endears him to you today is, unfortunately, his wallet. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be convinced to like him more.

More than Stetson, he thinks without humor.

Dumb son of a bitch can’t tell his ass from his elbow and yet he’s won himself you, living it up these last three y—

“Oh.”

He sounds like an owl now. His clothes are off, and you’re rubbing him, pumping him gently in your hand, which you were so kind to make wet with your saliva. It even sounds better than his, the way it squelches with every flick. Joel can only say so much in strangled breaths.

He tries anyway:

“Feel like a dream, sweet pea.”

Sweet pea.

Your pace quickens. Joel swears he can see the corners of your lips twitch, but then he thinks you’re just wincing. You move down to the floor beside the bed. Kneel almost politely while you nestle yourself between his parted legs

Your mouth is warm. It’s always warm. Joel wouldn’t expect a girl’s tongue to greet his dick like ice, but yours is always heated to a thousand degrees, it feels like. He enjoys the sting. Your lips envelop his big, leaking tip, and he swears he can stay like this forever—in you.

On you, too. He’s got his palm resting flat on your head, and he doesn’t mean to, but he pushes. He bunches your hair in a fist and drags your face to make you swallow.

Mean old man, you must be saying in your head when he stuffs your mouth full. Makes your eyes prick with tears.

Sweet girl. My sweet pea, he thinks, affectionately, and continues to rub your scalp. He holds your teary gaze.

And then you’re moving up. Down. Coating his length with shiny spit and tiny whimpers as your lips move gently back and forth, again and again. Joel’s grip tightens in your hair, and he begs for more. More.

“More,” he orders, jaw clenched, “Fit a little more’a me.”

From where you’re kneeling below, you look put off.

Then you pull off, and you wipe your wet chin.

“Chokin’ me,” you grumble, “‘S’too big.”

Normally, Joel loves to hear that.

Now, however, he’s sliding his touch to your chin and tilting your head up to him. Thumbing at the spit dribbling out on either side of your mouth and subsequently coaxing your lips further apart.

He slides back in, and you don’t fight it. You like it. Holding his gaze in a soft, docile look while your lips stretch deliciously around his shaft, you must love it. Every inch and every twinge of pleasure from the brush of his cock going in and out must be your favorite thing.

Joel hopes it is, anyway. He holds your face now, and your throat convulses involuntarily. You’re so pretty.

“Such a good, sweet girl, ain’t ya?” he presses, watching the coarse grey hairs at the base of him tickle your face.

You respond well to praise. You preen under those words, and try to nod. But his cock is so deep down your throat you end up choking again. Joel watches all of it smiling.

Petting your head and not pushing again. Grinning.

“Love my cock nice and stuffed in that pretty throat?”

You blink instead of nodding, but it’s more than enough.

“Love me deep?”

And the head of him sinks somewhere he’s never been. Your eyes are like two wide pools, and your lips leak everywhere—your chin, your cheeks, your neck.

Joel’s smearing it all with his palm and smiling so wide that he thinks he might pull a muscle. He pants heavily.

“Just what you’re made for. Just what you need.”

You look like you might agree. He keeps going.

“My fuckin’ mouth. My pretty, pretty mouth.”

He holds your face. He thinks he might cum.

“Ain’t a damn thing Stetson can do for this mouth, huh?”

And then he doesn’t. Joel barely blinks, and you’re already bucking your head out of his hold, mouth skittering away while the spit spills out. You’re practically drenched down to the chest when your face rears back. Your eyes are alight and no longer smiling when you grit:

“Don’t.”

Joel should’ve known better.

He’s hit a raw nerve, and now he really wishes he hadn’t.

It doesn’t stop there—but it doesn’t get better, either. Things progress in much the same way as they always have but with none of the need, or the warmth, of before. You climb back up and straddle him quick. Not meeting his eye, you just sit down, and slide down, and don’t wince at all. You don’t tell him that he’s big, and he doesn’t get the chance to even groan at the first influx of pleasure before you’re riding him. Bouncing and grinding your hips against his with all the passion of someone perusing the newspaper. You don’t whimper or moan.

Of course, Joel enjoys the feeling. He also wants someone to punch him in the throat for what he’s done.

“Hey, hon—” he starts, voice strained, “Hon, I’m sorr—”

“Shut up,” you snap.

Your movements hardly falter, and now your hand is seizing the headboard. You’re clenching him tight inside your wet, drooling cunt, and it’s obvious you’re trying to make him cum as quickly as possible. You swallow hard.

Joel isn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, his body is being flooded with pleasure, and on the other, he fears you may never do this with him again. Quickly fixing on the latter, he cups your face in one hand. It’s still wet.

His fingers smear the spit, and somehow you look even prettier. You keep grinding your body in desperate little fits above him, and really, you feel fucking amazing, but Joel is too focused on other thoughts. He squeezes you.

“Baby—” he tries again, but you shush him just as fast.

Your hips are moving viciously now. No matter how sore your legs might have been from a long day toiling away—just a couple hours before your shift at your next job, if Joel’s remembering correctly—you’re working him well. Doing him in. Fucking his brains out, but you aren’t his.

His fingers smear the spit even more. Never will be his.

“Sweet pea—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

Now he can’t deny that his climax is close. But this isn’t how he wanted it to end—with you so incensed you can hardly look him in the eye. His hand rubs more, helpless.

And just when he’s seconds away from painting your insides white, losing it all to the pleasure, he sees it.

His wet, sticky touch has uncovered a residue.

Joel pulls his fingers away in a blink, and simultaneously, your eyes are fluttering closed. You’re focused now on climax; because of that, you don’t see what he sees.

What he’s stunned to find on his fingers: makeup.

Lots and lots of thick, heavy makeup on your cheeks. Concealer, he thinks he’s heard it called once or twice.

No matter the name, he quickly comes to see what it’s for. Just as you’re hitting your peak, squeezing the headboard behind him, and coming undone with a shockwave trembling all through your body, Joel pales.

The makeup that you applied so heavy tonight hides bruises. Black and blue and awful hues of greenish-purple too, your whole face, he sees, is engulfed.

He doesn’t speak. He won’t ask.

He won’t cum tonight, either.

He’ll finish something else.

You leave Joel’s trailer angry. You don’t say goodbye. The screen door screams shut behind you when you leave, and silently, you wonder why he didn’t cum. For once, you wish he had—and hadn’t said half of what he did.

Six hours pass like molasses, and by the end of it all—the close of your second shift—Stetson’s name still echoes in your head. The way Joel said it. It hums along the walls of your skull while you walk, and as you draw closer to home, you remember that strange and infuriating tone.

Then you remember your own less than two months ago:

Don’t talk to my husband. Don’t talk about my husband.

They were two simple rules, and Joel broke them both.

He must’ve defied the first when paying a visit to make repairs that week, and that’s when Stetson mentioned your hand: how you ‘slipped’ in the bath. Tripped and conveniently sprained your wrist the same night he almost tore your arm out of the socket for looking at a waiter a tad too long at dinner. You’d bet any sum of money Joel didn’t get to hear that part from Stetson when he came over to see about the window, though.

No, your twenty-first came and went without so much as a word about your wrist. Your arm. Your face—used to getting caked with concealer every third week or so.

You wince as you open the door. You walk slowly.

At first, you’re met with silence, and you sigh with relief. Then you hear it, and shortly drop your purse to the floor.

You all but fall down yourself at the sight: your husband doubled over across from you, in the kitchen. His head in his hands. You don’t need to see the face to know that it’s bleeding. Profusely. You tread ever slower into the room, thinking somehow, some way he’s going to blame this on you. And when he straightens a little and shows off the full, gruesome extent of his injuries, you blanch to think that it might be. His body’s been beaten to a pulp.

Your pulse hammers in your head so loud you can’t hear him groan. You see him, but you don’t really believe it.

And when Stetson reaches for you, you stagger back.

Your hands skim the counter, but your brain barely registers it. Your husband’s calling to you now, ‘Quit standin’ there lookin’ stupid, do somethin’, huh?!’ He’s screaming, and you’re not hearing it. Barely feeling like a sentient person at all but just a doll stumbling backward on two wooden legs. As you walk, your palm stays stuck to the laminate underneath it, and suddenly, you feel it.

An envelope.

In this state, you aren’t sure why you grab it, but you do.

You take the lone white paper, and you turn to leave. Your hands shake as you hold the thing, and your legs are hardly any better, but they carry you, miraculously, from the kitchen to the threshold of the back door. Then out. Stetson’s not just yelling but bellowing, loud, every last obscenity known to man as he holds his bloodied side and limps in his perilous, pathetic way. Fortunately, you’re gone just in time to miss the bottle he hurls.

Outside, you walk. And walk. And in the still of the night you’re obliged to find your way through a miscellany of trailers and trucks and old, creaking vans by moonlight, and the throbbing in your head begins to slow. You don’t rush to get far, and you don’t have your keys even if you wanted to drive off. You keep walking. Watching nothing.

When your eyes drift to the envelope in your hand, you barely see that either. You’re just blinking as you look, and breathing as you wait for the sight to make sense.

Inside, you find seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson staring back. Next to them are a few dozen others—enough to cover August, September, October, and several months before that, if you had to guess.

You hope you’ll get the opportunity to thank Joel, and maybe tell him that you don’t really hate him, someday.

#GAME JOEL I OWE YOU AN APOLOGY…….I WASN’T REALLY FAMILIAR WITH YOUR GAME #WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME HE SOUNDED LIKE THAAAAAAAT!!!!#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic

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samaraxmorgan · 4 months ago

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Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time He Got Jealous Of His Twin Brother”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: brothers au, pure fluff, slight Yuuji x Reader but we all know who you’re really here for, Sukuna is down bad, narration is mostly from Sukuna’s POV

Word Count: 1.80k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Sukuna is a fucking geinus.

His plan is full proof. His brothers put him in charge of buying the tickets for some stupid ass movie Yuuji wants to go see, and you always write your work schedule down on the calendar taped to the fridge. Sure, yeah, maybe he had to call out sick for today because this was the only day that Choso had work and you didn’t, but now he knows that his plan will fall perfectly into place. Yuuji is already at the apartment, you’ll come downstairs eventually, and Yuuji will invite you to come to the movie in Choso’s place, making it look like a total coincidence and definitely not something he’s been meticulously planning all week.

Could he have just, I don’t know, asked you to go on a date with him? Of course not, that’s fucking ridiculous. This makes so much more sense.

I mean, you absolutely loved The Human Centipede, definitely weren’t covering your eyes in terror and disgust when he showed it to you, so it’s a no brainer that you’ll just adore Human Earthworm. Hah! What a fuckin’ joke, you’ll be dragging Sukuna out of the theatre within five minutes and begging him to take you out somewhere else without his annoying twin brother.

It’s perfect.

Him and Yuuji are lounging on opposite ends of the couch while Yuuji is going on and on about an Elden Ring boss he can’t beat. Sukuna has his boots propped up on the coffee table and his arms resting behind his head as he half listens to his brother, and more so keeps an ear out for your footsteps upstairs.

“I was gonna try and beat her without summons but she’s kicking my ass, how many tries did it take you?”

“One.”

“Ugh!” Yuuji flops backwards on the couch, grabbing a throw pillow and shoving it over his face, his defeated whines muffled through the plush cotton, “She’s so impossible!”

Footsteps, finally. As you walk into the living room Yuuji uncovers his face, and you stop dead in your tracks, pointing at him, and then his brother, back and forth a few times before rubbing your eyes.

“Holy shit, there’s two of you?”

Oh yeah, I never mentioned my family huh?

Sukuna just gives you a smug smirk, “Three, but the emo one couldn’t make it.”

Yuuji perks up, jolting upright on the couch and giving you a bright smile, “Hi! I’m the normal one!”

You pull a chair out from the kitchen table, plopping yourself down into the wooden seat, “I think I’m gonna faint.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Sukuna is… a fucking idiot.

He knew his brother had a bubbly personality and could get along with literally anyone, but how was he supposed to know that you two would hit it off so well? Yuuji is pulling out all the stops, holding the door open for you, offering to pay for your popcorn, god it’s like he’s trying to get on Sukuna’s nerves.

Granted, it’s not like Sukuna told him that he likes you, but I mean for fucks sake that’s his twin brother! Shouldn’t he have some sort of sixth sense for this kind of thing?

That pink haired fucker has you wrapped around his little finger, you’re looking at him with googly eyes and cheesing like it’s fucking picture day. Ridiculous. Why don’t you ever smile like that for him? He’s funny!

I’m never letting him in the apartment again.

The three of you walk up to the top row of the nearly empty theater, Sukuna making sure to sit right between you and Yuuji. Previews are rolling on the screen as Sukuna is trying his damndest to hide the scowl on his face, his large arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches the way the large screen reflects different colors into your eyes. He didn’t really think this far ahead, he’s got you next to him at the movies but… what now? He’s mentally kicking himself enough as it is for not considering his overly charismatic brother, and now he’s realizing that he doesn’t even know what his own intentions are.

Did he just want to take you somewhere? Is he trying to sleep with you? Does he want to be… romantic with you?

God, what has he become? He’s supposed to be the tough fucking scary guy and he’s not only getting shown up by his nerdy brother, but also getting nervous at the thought of making a move on you.

Yuuji flings popcorn in your direction, making you squeal out a giggle as it gently lands in your hair. Sukuna groans, hardly paying attention as he’s deep in thought, running his finger through your hair and flicking the popcorn away. He’s so consumed in his own head that he completely misses the blush that tints your cheeks at his tender touch.

Should I have even bothered with this? I feel like staying at the house would’ve been better at this point.

A piece of popcorn flies into his eye.

“Ugh,” This is so stupid, Sukuna rubs his eyelid with his thumb, “Watch it, brat.”

Yuuji tosses his hands up defensively and you giggle again, leaning over the armrest and placing your pointer finger on Sukuna’s cheek, tilting his face to turn towards you. Have your eyes always been that bright?

“Ooh, bullseye.” He can feel your breath fanning on his face, you’re so close, but just as abruptly as you leaned in, you lean back into your seat. God, he wants more than anything to tell you to come back, but the words wouldn’t be able to escape his lips if he tried. Unfortunately, all he manages to do is glare down at you and make you shift awkwardly under his gaze, mumbling out a quick apology.

Fuck. I think I scared them.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

From what you’ve been able to gather, this movie is weird. Is it horror or romance? You’ve been having trouble paying attention, far too distracted by Yuuji leaning over the very annoyed looking Sukuna to excitedly whisper tidbits about the movie to you. But every time you look over to Yuuji your eyes can’t help but wander to Sukuna’s profile, the flashing lights of the large screen illuminating his tattooed skin, his bottom lip tutting out to blow the loose strand of his pink hair resting on his brow out of his eyes-

Ah dammit, I’m doing it again.

You’re so confused. Sukuna has been giving you mixed signals all night, sweetly running his fingers through your hair one moment, then glowering at you like he wants you dead the next. He’s so unpredictable, and you’ve been so distracted by him all evening that you’ve hardly been able to pay any attention to poor Yuuji, giving him bright smiles and fake laughs while your mind is completely consumed with Sukuna.

He’s been so grumpy the entire evening, you’ve been feeling like he’s… disappointed? Is he mad his other brother couldn’t come? Is he mad that you took the emo one’s place? Would he rather somebody else have gone to the movie with him? It was Yuuji’s idea for you to tag along, so it’s safe to assume that if Sukuna wanted you here he would have just invited you, right?

But then every now and again his eyes flicker to you, watching. Why is he looking at you like that? With his gaze so uncharacteristically soft, scanning your face like he’s searching for something, from the corner of your eye you can catch him looking at your lips.

Is there something on my face?

You’re ripped from your thoughts as a blood curdling scream erupts from the speakers, making you jump in your seat. You catch the tiniest glimpse of a smirk creeping on the corner of Sukuna’s lips as he sits like a rock, completely unbothered as per usual. You gently kick his foot under the seat, and he presses his large boot onto the top of your sneaker, pinning your shoe under his and keeping your foot locked in place under the sole of his steel toe boot.

You cross your arms over your chest, letting out a frustrated huff at him that only makes his grin grow wider, his face still pointed towards the large screen as he flashes his canines at you. He props his elbow on the armrest between you, resting his chin on the ball of his palm as he peers down at you with a smug grin.

“You ready to get out of here yet?”

Cocky fucker, I swear he gets off on making me mad.

“No.” You snap back defensively.

Unbeknownst to you, his question was not rhetorical. But you’re in it now, determined to sit through this entire movie even if it kills you. You’re bothering him enough just by being here, the last thing you want to do is make him feel like he needs to leave.

His smirk shifts into a grimace as he taps his boot on top of your shoe. You slide your sneaker away but he loops his calf around yours and pulls your leg towards him, gently kicking your foot. If you didn’t know better you’d almost think he was… trying to play footsies with you? You’re not really sure what he’s trying to do, all you know is that he’s still leaning on the armrest between you and probably unintentionally pulling you closer by your leg.

Your arm brushes against his as you try to maneuver your elbow onto the armrest, quietly muttering to him “You’re hogging up all the space.”

He leans down slightly to whisper in your ear, “Tragic. Use the other one.”

You nudge his forearm with your elbow, “Just move your arm.”

He lets out a quiet “Tch” and raises his arm to rest over the back of your seat instead, “This better, brat?”

You nod your head as a blush creeps onto your cheeks, luckily hidden by the darkness in the room. When you relax back into your chair you can feel his arm pressing into the back of your neck and his fingers lightly graze against your shoulder. It feels… kinda comforting, you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to lean into his touch and your heart starts to pound at the thought.

You don’t dare to look at Sukuna, deciding to quietly enjoy the moment. Which is a real shame, because if you did look at him there’s a chance you’d catch the way he’s gnawing on his bottom lip with a face that looks almost as flustered as your own.

He might be enjoying this more than you are, and he might even be thinking that having to sit through this movie might not be so bad after all.

A/N: POV you and Sukuna are two idiots who are into each other but neither of you have the balls to do something about it. Also writing Sukuna’s POV for the narration was SO FUN!!! We love our delusional king who sees you god forbid smile at another person and immediately assumes you’re in love with them Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

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muletia · 1 month ago

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[tfp] obsessed!orion pax x human!reader

summary: what if optimus' obsession bypassed his memory loss? what if he was so infatuated that even his past self yearned for you?

cw: fluff, pinch of angst, canon divergence: orion is taken by the autobots, obsessive thoughts, clinginess, orion literally cannot be left alone for one(1) second, tbh nothing happens in this, i just wanted to write obsessed!orion interacting with you, bad writing, silliness

an: i wanted to implement more ideas, but it came out as it did. i will definitely write some more fics with orion, maybe some smut??? ;)) who knows

word count: 4700

"Come to the base. It's urgent."

As you stare at the terse message from Ratchet, your chewing slows and stops. A storm of questions whirls in your mind, panic creeping into your body. Before you can even type a single letter, your phone rings. The caller is none other than the Autobot medic himself. You answer in less than a second.

"Hello? Ratchet, please don't scare me—what exactly happened?"

"It's about Optimus." Your heart skips a beat. "During the last mission, he was... injured. Or, to be precise, damaged."

"Is it serious?" you ask, pacing nervously around the break room. Lunch now long forgotten. "Will he be all right?"

"Physically—he's never looked or felt better. Mentally, however... that's a different story. I'll explain the details when you get here. And make it quick."

"Hold on, wait—I can't just leave work early like that. There's a whole procedure for this. I can't just waltz out, even though I’d love to leave right now."

"...In an hour and a half, I expect to see you here at the base. See you then."

He hangs up. You stare at your phone screen for a moment, replaying the conversation in your head. Something serious must have happened—Ratchet wouldn’t disturb you at work otherwise. And it involved Optimus... You bite your lip, torn by indecision. You need to at least make sure he's okay, to see with your own eyes what Ratchet was talking about. Otherwise, you'll regret your negligence and spend the rest of the day worrying.

Shoving the half-eaten sandwich into your bag, you rush to your computer to draft a request for early leave, praying fervently that your boss will grant it.

You kept pressing the gas, speeding toward the base, trying to balance obeying traffic laws with worrying about the Autobot. You knew he had been preparing for a mission recently, he had told you about it during a ride you shared, but you didn’t expect it to end like this. Maybe you should have, considering you were associated with a race of aliens deeply embroiled in a centuries-long war, but you always pushed such unpleasant thoughts to the back of your mind, wishing your friends the best. Now, though, all the worst scenarios were coming to the surface. Had he fallen into a coma? Was his processor damaged? Had he died? You didn’t want to think about such an ending. Optimus was alive. You were sure of that.

Seeing the familiar red rock, a tight knot of anxiety gripped your throat. In a few moments, you were about to drive into what was practically your second home, not knowing what awaited you. You glanced at the clock. You were half an hour late—well beyond the time Ratchet had given you.

As if on cue, the medic called you again.

“Don’t enter the hangar. Leave the vehicle at the entrance.”

He hung up before you could say a word, and you sighed. The situation had grown even more worrying.

Before you could say a word, he hung up, leaving you to sigh in frustration.

Following his instructions, you parked at the main entrance and made the rest of the journey on foot. The lights seemed especially harsh, glaring into your eyes as the tunnel stretched endlessly ahead of you, as if warning you, giving you one last chance to turn back. But no force on Earth could stop you now. Determined, you marched forward, needing to know what had happened to your friend.

The hangar was full of Autobots, their sheer presence intimidating. You had thought you were over the feeling of smallness that came with being one of the humans among them, but now it hit you again, hard, dredging up memories of when humans in their midst were still a novelty. You froze for a moment, your courage momentarily disappearing in the shadows of giants.

It wasn’t until your eyes landed on the reason you had left work early that you began to breathe again. Optimus stood there, seemingly whole and healthy, facing the platform where the kids likely were. Relief washed over you. He was alive. Your heart was still racing, but the weight of dread lifted slightly, leaving you braced for the next wave of bad news.

"Hey, sorry I’m late. Work took longer than I expected," you called out.

Your voice immediately caught his attention. Optimus turned to you so abruptly that it shocked everyone present, abandoning the conversation he had been engaged in. Tilting your head back to meet his gaze, you were surprised when he knelt down on one knee, making himself more accessible. You still had to look up, but now his face wasn’t obscured by his… windshields.

The first hint that something was off was his smile—wide, cheerful, and curious. Optimus didn’t smile like that, not even when something genuinely delighted him. Worry started gnawing at you again. Something was wrong.

"Greetings. You must be our next human ally, correct?"

At first, you were at a loss for words. Of all the scenarios you had imagined, memory loss hadn’t even crossed your mind. But before the conversation could veer into awkward territory or panic could take hold, you managed to reply, mirroring his smile.

"That’s right."

"You seem… familiar. As though we have met before."

The hangar fell silent, the atmosphere thickening.

"Of course he would remember her," Ratchet hissed under his breath. You shot him a glare filled with venom.

Focusing back on the mech before you, you forced a calm smile, masking the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You felt like you were on the verge of exploding—uncertain whether to jog his memories or pretend this was truly your first meeting. Why hadn’t anyone given you guidance on how to handle this?

"Erm, well…" you began, only for Ratchet to step in and spare you.

"Humans can look quite similar at first glance," the medic interjected. "Orion, this is [Name], the last human who should know of our existence."

A flicker of something lit up in his cyan optics—something indefinable, known only to him.

"Greetings, [Name]. It is a great pleasure to meet you."

He extended a servo toward you. Tentatively, you clasped one of his digits, ignoring the ache in your heart. This shouldn’t have been happening. You shouldn’t have to forge a new relationship with someone so dear to you. It felt uncanny—like he was wearing Optimus’s skin but was someone entirely different inside. It was unnerving, disorienting. Yet this stranger had knelt before you, reduced himself to your scale to show respect, just as Optimus always had. It was a glimpse of his alternate self, a sign of the inherent honor and kindness he still carried.

"Hello, Orion. The pleasure is all mine."

Letting go of his servo, you gave him an apologetic smile, signaling the end of the conversation. You needed answers, clarity about the situation, before you could decide how to proceed. As Orion straightened up, you stepped past him toward the platform. You could feel curious optics on you, particularly his, as you fist-bumped the kids. Unbeknownst to you, Orion clenched his servo in the same way you had during your handshake.

"So," you said to Ratchet, "what happened?"

The medic sighed, clearly weary of recounting the story yet again. But you had to know. You listened intently, the details unsettling and at times horrifying, but you felt a growing sense of calm. At least now you knew what you were dealing with—what topics to avoid, how to act. The relief faded, however, when you learned that the first attempt to restore Optimus’s memories had failed, and no date had been set for the next.

As Ratchet spoke, most of the team dispersed, leaving only you, the medic, and Orion in the hangar. Taking a moment to process everything, you glanced at Orion, catching his curious gaze.

This was your new reality. Optimus was gone, yet not entirely, standing just a few meters away, watching you intently. It was too much to dwell on. You needed something to distract yourself.

Standing from the couch, you headed down the stairs. You figured you’d be here for the rest of the evening, so you might as well find something productive to do.

"[Name]?" Orion’s voice stopped you in your tracks. He looked genuinely concerned. "Are you leaving already?"

His behavior puzzled you.

"I’m just going to grab my things. I’ll be right back."

"I see. May I accompany you?"

Oh, that was adorable—especially with the hopeful tone in his voice.

"I’m not sure you’ll fit in the tunnel in your current form," you teased with a laugh. "It won’t take long. I’ll be back in a minute."

This time, you quickened your pace.

For several hours, Orion's life had been filled with uncertainty. He didn’t know how he had ended up on this planet, who the Autobots around him were, or why they called him "Prime" when he felt he was unworthy of the title. And now, another enigma had appeared—you. Orion could not rationalize the overwhelming need to be near you. He had felt it the moment he laid his optics on you. The need to stay close, to converse, to observe. The need to know you better. Never before had such intense emotions stirred within him for anyone, let alone a stranger. But you weren’t a stranger. This may have been your first meeting, and he may have spoken to you for the first time, but you were not unfamiliar. Of that, he was absolutely certain.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and minutes into hours since you had disappeared into the tunnel. He regretted not following you, even if it meant transforming into his alt-form. At least he would have kept an optic on you, preventing the gnawing feelings of confusion and longing from devouring him from inside.

Ratchet watched his friend closely. He recognized that look, that body language. He knew what it signified, what storm was brewing in Orion’s processor. Optimus had been the same when it came to you. For a brief moment, his friend was back. Too bad it was under such circumstances.

"Do you really remember that woman?" he asked.

"I am not certain," Orion replied, still gazing toward the tunnel. "I feel like she is not a stranger, even though I know this was our first encounter. And as… Prime, if I indeed held that title, was she close to me?"

Primus.

"Perhaps closer than any human, but only Optimus knew to what extent. That might explain why you recognized her."

"Then she is special."

"Everything points to that."

Orion glanced at him, offering a faint smile. For reasons Ratchet couldn’t quite explain, the gesture was hard to look at. Fortunately, you emerged from the tunnel, giving him an excuse to start working again.

"See? I told you it’d only take a minute," you laughed, a black backpack slung over your shoulder.

Orion didn’t confess the truth—that by his reckoning, you had been gone an eternity. He watched intently as you climbed the stairs and took a seat on the couch.

"So, Orion," you began, "what did you do on Cybertron?"

Oh. You were curious about him? Truly? He had never thought of himself as particularly interesting.

It was fortunate that you were not looking at him because his body language betrayed his embarrassment.

"I was an archivist. Do humans on Earth have similar professions?"

"Of course. You know, I’ve always admired archivists. It’s meticulous work, requiring patience and nerves of steel—if you know what I mean. Anyway, it’s an important job, and anyone who takes it up is very cool in my book."

"Cool?"

"You know, fascinating, impressive, admirable."

"Does that mean that... in your optics, I am… cool?"

He asked without thinking and immediately regretted it when you gave him an amused look. Embarrassed, he tilted his helm downward. For such a towering and formidable being, he was also astonishingly skittish. It was peculiar to see a former Prime in such a light, but it made him more relatable, more emotionally accessible. Even so, you couldn’t deny that you missed Optimus.

"Of course, you’re cool to me."

That answer brightened him. A spectacle of stars dances in his optics.

You returned to typing on your laptop, but Orion had other plans for you.

"It seems I still have much to learn about this planet."

"I think you’ll catch on quickly. Besides, if it makes you feel any better, the other bots don’t know everything either. If you’re ever unsure, just ask. I’ll do my best to help."

"Thank you, [Name]. Your kindness is very important to me."

"Anytime. If you’d like, you could also explore our literature—it’ll give you a good insight into what humanity is all about. That sounds like a fitting activity for an archivist, doesn’t it?"

He would much rather have you as his sole source of knowledge about your species, as it meant spending more time with you. He wanted to know not just what you were but who you were—your interests, where you worked, how you spent your free time, your philosophy, beliefs, and hobbies. Everything you were willing to share. He wanted to know you inside and out, to solidify this sense of connection and make it real. And if you wished, he would bare his own secrets, reveal his spark, and show you every part of himself. Perhaps then you might look at him just for a second longer.

"Yes, I believe that would be an enjoyable activity. And what is it that you do?"

He asked question after question, each answer adding a new layer of understanding about you. He shared a little in return, preferring listening to you—your opinions, your perspective.

Time passed swiftly in your company. Relentless and unforgiving, it waited for no one. Orion realized this when you set aside your device and began stretching. It was a mesmerizing sight—your movements were so different from those of Cybertronians, fluid, and light. That was until the air was pierced by the loud crack coming from your back.

Energon froze in his fuel lines, and his spark leaped to his intake.

"[Name]? Are you alright? Are you harmed?"

"Hm?" you hummed, confused. He looked as though calamity had befallen him, as though you’d been beheaded. Then you remembered—it was Orion, not Optimus, and the human body was weird. "Oh, that. Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s perfectly normal." To prove your point, you began cracking your knuckles, stopping quickly when you saw his horrified expression. "Okay, sorry about that. But really, I’m fine. I just need to stretch."

"Alright…" he replied, though he didn’t seem convinced. You couldn’t blame him.

You rose from the couch and stepped down from the platform, intending to take a short walk. Panic erupted in his spark. Oh no. No, no, no. He didn’t want to be left alone, not after such a jarring experience. He wouldn’t let you out of his optics now—not even for a moment.

"May I accompany you?"

"Of course!" you replied without hesitation, smiling—a gesture he immediately mirrored. "It won’t be very exciting, though."

"On the contrary, I find you to be a most intriguing individual."

"Oh, thank you," you said, clearing your throat, embarrassed. Compliments delivered in that baritone still flustered you.

Together, you ventured deeper into the base, bypassing various sections. In the training room, Arcee worked on her speed, while Bulkhead struck a makeshift punching bag fashioned from an old car. The children watched the spectacle, occasionally entertaining themselves. You both quickly slipped past the always-open entryway and continued on your way.

“[Name]?” Orion inquires. You turn into an empty hangar with a high platform, starting to ascend the stairs.

“Hm?”

“How do humans attempt to court their partners?”

You hadn't expected that kind of question. You stop mid-step, pondering your answer. When you look at him, his expression is dead serious, though his optics betray a determination. Why would he want to know this? You decide it’s probably mere curiosity.

“It depends on the person.” You continue climbing the stairs until you finally reach the top, now level with his faceplate. “Some buy gifts like flowers, others go on elaborate dates. But the common factor is spending time together, and getting to know one another. Feelings tend to develop naturally that way,” you explain. “Actually, that’s an interesting topic. How did it work on Cybertron?”

“Similarly. However, instead of exchanging ‘flowers,’ we presented rare metals or crystals to leave the best impression. To demonstrate strength and potential as a partner.”

“I know a few people who would totally fall for that approach. Heh, I’d be thrilled to get a geode myself.”

Orion suddenly lights up. Were you suggesting something or just sharing an opinion? Whatever it was, he felt compelled to try. To prove himself worthy. Perhaps he could even find the ‘flowers’ you mentioned.

“I see. Thank you for enlightening me.”

“You’re welcome?” you reply, unsure exactly how you’ve helped, but the sight of his broad smile and bright optics makes it all worthwhile. He was utterly adorable.

The two of you chat casually until you’re forced to check the time. You inhale sharply, and Orion tilts his head slightly, curious about your reaction.

“It was great talking to you, but I really need to go. I have work tomorrow and I’d like to get some sleep.”

Panic flashes across his face. He had enjoyed your company so much. He didn’t feel alienated or alone when he was with you. The sense of connection played a significant role, but Orion had already let you into his spark. He had found a safe harbor in you and wasn’t ready to drift away just yet. He wasn’t ready to let go, even if the world around him were to crumble.

“May I accompany you?” he asks, desperation seeping into his tone.

“Excuse me?”

“May I accompany you?” he repeats, now begging.

“My home isn’t exactly designed to host a giant robot. Besides, it’s dangerous and... wait, do you even know the traffic regulations?”

His expression answers the question, but he still attempts to defend himself.

“I have acquainted myself with them partially.”

“Who has the right of way at an uncontrolled intersection?”

He opens his mouth but quickly closes it again, visibly crestfallen. He looks as though he might cry.

“Orion, we’ll see each other tomorrow,” you reassure him. “The first thing I’ll do after work is come here.”

He frantically searches for an argument to keep you with him—anything to prolong your company. Then he remembers his first encounter with human children.

“Every child was assigned a guardian who escorted them home and ensured their safety,” he states, refusing to give up. “Do you have a protector?”

“Unofficially, that was Optimus…”

“Then I would like to carry on his mission.”

“I’m not a child, Orion.”

“I understand that. I merely wish for your safety, [Name],” he explains earnestly. “And… I would prefer not to part from the company most dear to me.”

Your thoughts drift back to something he said earlier—how he recognized the bond you once shared, even though this was your first conversation. He hadn’t recognized Ratchet or anyone from his team—only you.

You tried to put yourself in his position. To suddenly find yourself in a foreign place, surrounded by strangers addressing you by a false name and feeding you information that might as well be fiction. And then, in a world where nothing is familiar, someone steps in—someone you vaguely recognize. You might not know their name, but you know there was once a connection. Wouldn’t you cling to that tiny thread, desperately pulling it closer if someone tried to take it away?

Orion had found solid ground, and you were unintentionally trying to undermine it. You exhale softly. You already knew you’d be saying goodbye to sleep tonight.

“Alright.” His smile makes it all worth it. It’s as though you’ve handed him a star from the sky. “Let’s see what Ratchet has to say about all this.”

"I see no objections."

Orion looks at you with excitement sparkling in his optics.

"Wow, that was quick."

"It's a good excuse for Orion to explore the area and get accustomed to his alt mode."

The medic refrains from adding that if the former leader remained at the base, he would likely have wasted away in longing for you, lamenting to every sentient being that he couldn't wait to see you again. Though the comment teeters on the edge of his glossa, he opts for discretion. Optimus, at least, had never vocalized his peculiar obsession with you quite so openly.

"Should anything unusual occur, contact me immediately. Someone will come for you in the morning," Ratchet advises his friend before turning to you. "Good night, [Name]."

You thank the medic for his diligence and ask him to take some rest, earning a piercing glare that almost feels lethal, then retrieve your backpack and head toward the tunnel. Orion stays close by, not leaving your side even after transforming. Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you, visibly delighted at the prospect of your first shared drive together. In his mind, this was more than a mere drive—it was a deeply intimate act, almost akin to inviting a partner into one’s private space.

But his dreams are promptly shattered when you inform him that you have your own car.

The journey is uneventful but nerve-wracking; you constantly check your side mirror to ensure Orion is still following you. Thankfully, there are no issues, and he even remembers to use his turn signals when necessary. Everything proceeds smoothly until you pull into your driveway and are struck by a dreadful realization: Will a Peterbilt even fit in my garage?

You park your car to the side, leaving Orion enough space to drive safely. Exiting your vehicle, you open the garage door and wave at him to proceed. You nervously bite your thumb, watching the massive truck carefully edge into the space. There are barely three centimeters between the roof of the truck and the ceiling. When you close the garage door, the already limited space shrinks further.

"So, do you regret your decision now?" you ask, stepping around to the front of the truck.

Orion transforms with meticulous precision, carefully positioning his limbs and helm to avoid damaging the walls. The process goes well until his helm grazes the ceiling with an audible thud, dislodging a few small pieces of debris. He winces slightly and rubs his helm but offers you a warm smile.

"I do not regret my decision."

"Pfff, well, that's good. Are you all right?"

"I am unharmed."

You can’t help but feel guilty for confining him to such a cramped space, but it was his choice. If he insisted, he would simply have to endure it. Of course, that meant you would have to endure it, too, as the issues began almost immediately.

"All right, I’m going to grab my things. I’ll be back in a moment."

He panics again—something you’re beginning to expect from him.

"Please, do not leave me."

His voice is unchanging. A deep and thick baritone that permeates your body, speaking straight to your soul. It is strange to hear the same voice coming out of a shamed and uncertain being, begging you for company.

"I’ll only be gone for two minutes."

You reach for the door handle, but his servo shoots forward, blocking your exit.

"Orion," you chide, your tone sharp and reprimanding.

He doesn’t meet your eyes, his apprehension laid bare.

"Please, I do not wish to be alone."

"Two minutes," you say firmly, though your annoyance falters when you see the raw emotion in his optics. Sighing, you place a hand on the edge of his digit, catching his attention. "I’ll be back. I promise."

He believes you, of course he does. He trusts you to return, yes, he even knows it. It doesn't change the fact that he is frightened, he feels alone, and your proximity calms the storm raging through his processor. His whole body is clamoring for you, screaming for you to stay with him. He craves bodily contact, he wants your soft hands to stroke his metal and your lips to whisper sweet nothings. He wants more, he wants to feel the softness, more, more, more.

He takes his servo away.

"Good mech."

As you disappear through the door, Orion buries his face in his hands. Despite his embarrassment, he can’t suppress a grin. He had enjoyed that moment—far too much.

He wants to hear you say it again.

When you return, you’re carrying a blanket, a deck of UNO cards, some snacks, and your laptop. Orion beams at the sight of you but frowns when he notices you shivering.

"Are you cold?" he asks with concern.

"Hmm? A little, but I’ll warm up soon."

Without warning, he gently scoops you up in his servo, handling you with the utmost care. The shock is brief—you don’t even have time to protest before he places you on his chassis. His servo remains loosely wrapped around you as a precaution, but your back presses against his warm metal frame. Tilting your head up to glare at him for pulling such a stunt, you find him already watching you, amusement dancing in his optics.

"Ask next time before you do something like that," you scold lightly.

"I make no promises," he teases, earning a playful flick to his digit.

"I was planning to play UNO, but since you pulled that move, let’s watch a movie instead. Unless you’d rather do something else?"

"I leave myself entirely at your mercy."

He would have been content doing nothing as long as he could hold you close.

"All right, then. A movie it is."

It's hard for him to keep up with the plot when he's overstimulated, but he tries, because your questions encouraging discussion come out of nowhere. And it was just at moments when he started to drift off, when the optics shifted from the tiny screen to you; when there was only you and him in the world. Sometimes, however, he would focus for longer, especially during the romantic scenes. He longs to experience something similar with you, an indestructible, sappy love. To recite poetry into your ear and watch you blush, to announce to everyone how much you mean to him. To bestow expensive gifts, the geodes you mentioned earlier. He needs your tender words, your praise, your touch. You could do whatever you liked with him, and he would give you his spark.

He worries when you fall silent for too long.

"[Name]?" he calls softly, leaning closer to check on you. Relief washes over him when he sees you’ve simply fallen asleep. Poor thing—you must have been exhausted.

Still, a part of him resents it. He wanted to talk to you longer, watch more films, learn more about human romance to win your favor. But he knows his thoughts are selfish. Setting the laptop aside, he carefully covers you with his other servo, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

He's not sure he'll be able to recharge. At least not now, when he was too absorbed in devouring you with his optics. You felt safe with him. You gave him your trust. You chose him.

A spark of possessiveness sweeps through his processor. He doesn't want to let you go. He doesn't want you to go to work tomorrow and leave him for eternity. He also knows he shouldn't think that way. The spark goes out.

Watching you sleep, his processor churns with thoughts. You trusted him. He vows to prove his worth tomorrow, to show you just how deep his feelings run.

Because he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be himself. How much longer he will remain as Orion Pax.

#transformers #transformers x reader #optimus prime x reader #optimus x reader #tfp #obsessed!optimus #orion pax x reader #obsessed!orion

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prokopetz · 1 year ago

Text

One of the occupational hazards of being so preoccupied with game design as a discipline is that sometimes I'll have dreams that are just some unknown force explaining an idea for a game to me, and last night I dreamed what is possibly the most obnoxious mechanical premise for a game I've ever come up with.

In brief, it was a traditional JRPG-style game with an atypical levelling-up scheme. Rather than gaining XP or levelling up at milestones, party members would grow in power by finding and absorbing or ingesting these little extradimensional parasites, represented in the dream as small grub- or fetus-like creatures with smiling humanoid faces. These parasites would be found as treasure and enemy drops, and could freely be given to any party member, except for the player character; the player character alone was unable to use them for Plot Reasons, and was entirely reliant on equipment to grow in power instead.

Absorbing a parasite both granted permanent stat boosts and unlocked weird psychic powers. However, they'd also cause progressive personality changes in the party members to which they were assigned, reflected by changes in dialogue and interactions, and eventually in granting or denying access to particular side quests. This function of the parasites was undocumented, and would likely go unnoticed by the player on their initial playthrough, as they'd level up as they went and would never see the unmodified dialogues.

A further wrinkle is that this effect was mediated by the game's expected progression. Farming parasites and "over-levelling" beyond where the game expected you to be would accelerate the personality changes, while going deliberately under-levelled would slow them (i.e., by giving your party members more time to acclimate to having bugs in their brains); like the personality changes themselves, the existence of these hidden modifiers would not be hinted at to the player.

If you spent a long enough stretch of the game sufficiently over-levelled, you'd eventually receive a non-standard game over where your party would betray, kill, and eat the player character. Furthermore, this non-standard ending had a deliberate "eclipse phase" whereby it would wait for a while after you hit the required threshold before pulling the trigger, in particular making sure that you've saved at least once, leaving your save file irrevocably fucked.

As a final twist, the non-standard game over would only trigger after resting; though the game's mechanics would heavily incentivise resting on a regular basis, it would theoretically be possible to massively over-level your party on purpose and avoid the bad ending simply by never resting again, potentially as a speedrun strat. However, doing so would alter the game's ending to replace the usual final boss with a hopeless solo boss fight against your own massively over-levelled party.

#concepts #gaming #video games #violence mention #death mention #cannibalism mention #body horror mention #insects mention #swearing

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kisakis-boyfriend · 12 days ago

Note

Pumpkin emoji!!

(Scenario please)

Kinich with a breeding kink? You can make him AFAB or AMAB idm but I’d like to see him preggers 🤌🏽

Author's Note: After a brief discussion with anon, I decided to make the reader a witch so that they can properly impregnate Kinich (and to comply with the Halloween theme requirement~)

Pairings: Kinich x male reader

Warnings: Male witch!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Kinich, breeding kink, mpreg, overstimulation, use of the terms "pussy, cunt, boypussy, boycunt"

Witch reader who managed to nab the prettiest partner in the entire realm — a partner who also secretly has a wish to be bred and impregnated.

Witch reader who does his best to cum inside his partner each and every time—to indulge his wish—even though it's biologically impossible… unless?

Witch reader who scours all of the fertility tomes the library has to offer, refusing to rest until he finds a way to do the impossible. Luckily for both of you, there are quite a few spells able to grant someone an ability to do this task.

Witch reader who excitedly shouts “Kiniiich, I have a present for yooouu~!!” as he nearly breaks his own front door down. Kinich has never seen you so giddy, practically bouncing around as you hand him a piece of paper. He carefully unfolds it and reads the contents…

Witch reader flies backwards, tumbling to the ground as his adoring partner tackles him with a hug. Kinich is so happy that he insists you start right away!

Witch reader who wastes no time drawing the corresponding sigil on Kinich's stomach—right where his womb would be, if he had one. After that's done, he draws a similar one on his own stomach—one that's supposed to make your seed incredibly potent. Then it's time to light the candles and use arcane powers to activate the spell.

With his senses heightened, Kinich trembles and jolts at the smallest of touches. Your fingers dance on his skin, lighting the fire within him as your lips connect passionately.

Witch reader whose hips grind against Kinich, more than eager to get to the fun part. Before long, your cock is standing at full attention, and Kinich feels every brush against his vulnerable boycunt. The tension has the dark haired beauty in a chokehold—keeping him alert to your movements as you tease him a bit.

Witch reader who plays with Kinich's dick while lubing up, making sure he doesn't feel neglected anywhere. Unlike his normal self, Kinich is noisy as hell throughout this entire session. Filling the room with his beautiful groans of impatience, and bossing you around until you relent.

“Put it inside already! Don't wait any longer!” he whines. As he asks, you ease your cock inside, squeezing past his ring of muscles until you're comfortably filling his ass.

Witch reader with steadily decreasing control as he bucks his hips with more power than usual. Giving Kinich a small taste of what's coming later~

Witch reader who pistons his hips into Kinich's fertile pussy, enjoying every second of pleasure while the first load of cum fills his hole. The world seems to pause during the minute or so of emptying your balls inside of your darling, relishing the tightness of his cunt as it grips your cock. There's not even a bit of spillage—all of your seed manages to remain in his hole.

Witch reader who doesn't even have a second to catch his breath, since Kinich is throwing his ass back and crying that “It's… not enough–!!” while he impales himself further with your cock.

Witch reader follows his instincts — letting his dick do the thinking. Plowing Kinich roughly until the second load of cum gushes into his delicious boycunt, going in deeper than before. Kinich's knees buckle, and the warmth of your seed finds someplace inside his body that feels unfamiliar. Someplace new.

Witch reader who hugs Kinich so tightly after that round, kissing all over his shoulders and upper back without pulling out just yet. “Fuuuck that was… so intense. Aah… are you ok?” after Kinich wearily replies, you grab his hips and bury yourself up to the hilt in his pussy. “Yeah? Mm good~ You look so pretty right now, I wish you could see yourself when you take my cock~”

Witch reader whose knees almost give in as well when Kinich brings out his own dirty talk; “Harder! Breed me again! Pleeeasssee… I… I need to feel it swimming inside–!” he'll scream. Kinich spreads his ass clumsily while you're pounding him and says in the sweetest voice, “Please let me bear your children…?” — and suddenly, another flood of warmth enters his womb, tipping him over the edge too as he sprays cum on the floor.

Witch reader who cums in Kinich until he passes out bent over your bed, pounding load after load into his new, magical womb; that way he'll have no choice but to get pregnant~

— Bonus! —

Witch reader who treats his pregnant lover with the utmost care; letting Kinich rest while he does all of the work, cooking, cleaning, and whatnot. Making delicious meals for your sweet husband and even feeding him to be extra romantic.

Witch reader who helps Kinich through every stage of the pregnancy, making sure that his lover is healthy and comfortable while he carries a new life inside of him~ 💚

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stellamarielu · 29 days ago

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sweetheart

declan o'hara x female reader

summary: working late with your boss (who you have a massively embarrassing crush on) was a normal occurrence for you. not a normal occurrence? him finding your favorite smutty romance novel and asking too many questions about it.

content: mutual pining, nsfw themes, age gap i guess, not actual smut but there are implications, teasing, some dirty talk (bc let's be real it's "how would you have liked him to touch you" declan)

author's note: so this is the first writing i've posted on here because this man and his hairy chest have me in a chokehold. the internet deserves more rivals fics!

——————————————————————

It was the third Thursday in a row you found yourself still at work after everyone else had gone home. You were sat across from your boss, the only thing separating you was an office desk. The piece of furniture was obnoxiously oversized, but you were thanking the universe for it because if Declan was sat even an inch closer, he would probably be able to hear your heart pounding. You had such a ridiculous crush on him. You knew it was inappropriate, but you couldn’t seem to care less. So here you were working overtime just to sit and gawk at him. Pathetic.

Sometimes you swore there was some sort of tension between the two of you. The accidental stares that lingered a little too long. The careful touch of his hand on your lower back when he passed behind you. Sure, you were probably reading too far into it, but in the back of your mind you hoped that he saw you as more than a young naïve coworker.

Your delusions were further fueled by Declan’s constant invitations to join him in his office on Thursday nights. You couldn’t help but wonder if he knew that you would stay late every single night if he asked you to.

But of course, he knew.

He knew you thought he was attractive. He knew that his presence made you nervous. He knew that you had an embarrassing schoolgirl crush on him, and he liked it.

Not only did he like the idea of you wanting him, but Declan reciprocated it. He spent most days with his gaze trained on the work laid out in front of him to avoid eye contact with you. He knew the second your eyes met he wouldn’t be able to control the small smile that tugged at his lips. He would never admit it, but he lived for making you giggle. The sound of your laugh was irresistible. He would crack little jokes throughout the day just to hear it.

Your voice alone was like music to his ears- christ, even the way you said his name drove him insane. He could feel warmth spreading through his chest just thinking about it.

The thoughts he had about you were unbecoming. Thoughts a boss shouldn’t have about their employee let alone an employee that was almost half their age.

So, he tried his best to suppress his feelings and treat you as he would any other coworker. But it sure as hell didn’t help when you were always so quick to stay late and help him with his work. Granted he knew by asking you to assist him after hours he was just digging himself deeper into this newfound obsession. But he couldn’t help it, he longed to be in your presence even if it was just an extra hour or two once a week.

These nights were mostly filled with silence but the occasional banter about office drama or a Keats work that you both admired was enough to have him wrapped around your finger day after day.

“What was that article you were tellin’ me about?” His question breaks the silence that had been occupying the room for the last fifteen minutes.

You look up from your busy work only to be met with his kind eyes. For a man that had no problem showing his angry side, you felt lucky that you so often got to experience a version of Declan that was calm and light-hearted. You sometimes thought he had a sweet spot for you, although you came to terms with it probably being because you reminded him of his daughter who was just a few years younger than you.

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot about that. Hold on I think I have it in here.” You began the search for an article you had mentioned to him that morning. It was an old gossip piece that you thought would be good for him to use on the show tomorrow night.

You began taking things out of your bag one by one trying your best to find the paper in your giant unorganized tote. Notepads, books, a handful of pens, and your favorite lipstick that you thought you lost months ago are now strewn across Declan’s desk as you continue digging through your belongings.

A small chuckle escapes Declan making you stop your search for a split second. Your head snaps up expecting to see him looking at you in irritation for creating such a mess, instead you notice his attention on one of the books you had taken out of your bag. Looking down you realize your copy of Lizzie Vereker’s novel was sat on his desk. A novel that was well known for its extremely erotic contents… and your copy was so worn the spine was barely intact.

Before you could try to say something to make the situation less mortifying Declan spoke,

“I see you’ve read Lizzie’s book then.”

There was no questioning his amusement. He seemed to be enjoying how awkward this was for you.

“That Lizzie is a quirky gal, but a truly great author.” He finished and picked up the book thumbing through the pages.

“She gave me a copy after the garden party last month. When she mentioned to me that she was a writer, this-” you said motioning to the book, “wasn’t exactly what I had in mind”

You giggled as you spoke and the second the sound left your lips Declan’s eyes met yours. There was something about his stare now that you couldn’t place.

“So I take it you’ve read it then?” You asked him, needing to say something to keep yourself from full on passing out in embarrassment. You wish you had asked something else because you desperately needed to change the subject from the smutty pages Declan held in his hands.

“My-“ He paused, “Maud read it years ago. I remember readin’ a bit of it myself. Absolute filth.”

He was looking back down at the book while his hands found the worn spine, a smirk plastered on his face.

Okay, so now he knew you were so miserably horny that you not only read the book, but you enjoyed it so much that you must’ve re-read it multiple times- hence the condition of the novel.

“You certainly seem to be a fan of her work.”

With this comment your humiliation began turning into irritation. Was he trying to further embarrass you by implying that you’ve clearly enjoyed the book? Can a woman not read exceptionally horny literature in peace? Now you’re becoming annoyed by the whole conversation. Afterall, it’s really none of Declan’s business what you do in your free time.

“Yeah, well I spend a lot of nights alone in my apartment Declan.” You deadpan. “I’ve found the dating pool in this town to be quite depressing and I’m 99% sure the men in that book are much better than anyone I would meet here anyway.”

You haven’t been living here long, it’s been maybe three months since you got the job to be a production assistant on Declan’s show. You’ve been working so much that you haven’t had much time to scope out the town’s most eligible bachelors, but from what you’ve seen you’re not interested. Not to mention the inconveniently debilitating crush that you had on your boss keeping you from noticing anyone else at all.

“Oh and why’s that?” He challenges. This time looking you straight in the eyes, a smirk still playing on his lips.

Alright, he wanted to keep this up so why not. Two could play at this game.

“For starters, these men” You steal the book out of his hands, “are written by women. Meaning they have empathy, they’re emotionally expressive and socially aware. Seemingly simple character traits but you would be shocked by how many men I’ve met in the last few months who lack the basic complexity of a fictional character.”

His smirk has turned into a full-blown smile making your body feel warm.

“Not to mention the men in this book are capable of making a woman cum not just once but multiple times in a row. Which seems to be an impossible task for every man I’ve been with.” You continue your rant. Declan’s eyes fixed on you.

“These guys are getting off on a woman’s pleasure” you tap your book, “truly enjoying making their partner feel good. Meanwhile in reality, most men don’t even care if you finish as long as they get theirs.” The second the words leave your mouth you realize you’re talking about orgasms with your unbelievably handsome boss staring right at you and immediately feel the need to hide underneath the desk in front of you.

You look at Declan and notice his expression has gone from playful to something more serious. His lips show no evidence of a smile, instead they’re now relaxed and somewhat parted. His deep brown eyes are slightly hooded, and you could’ve sworn you noticed his chest rising and falling at a rather quick pace. He waits a few moments before standing from his chair and slowly making his way to your side of the desk.

“Well sweetheart,”

Your mouth gapes open at the words. He’s never called you that. But hearing the pet name fall from his lips in such a deep raspy tone sends shivers down your spine.

“I’ll have you know the kind of men you’re talkin’ about from your book do indeed exist.”

No longer separated by the desk he now stood right next to you, close enough that you could smell his cologne and the cigarette smoke that lingered on his suede blazer.

“Some men relish in their partner’s pleasure. They can’t get enough of the way their body reacts to their touch. The way they look so needy and desperate for release.”

He stops for a brief second. His eyes slowly drop to your feet and take their sweet time coming back up to meet your eyes, steadily drinking in the sight of your body underneath him as you sit still in your chair.

“The pretty noises they make as they come undone.”

His Irish accent sounds heavier than normal, and his voice is hushed. Your body is frozen in place and the room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter. His words are stirring something thick and foggy in your head and you can’t think straight. You’re all too aware of how close you are to him. Your face a mere foot away from his crotch. You’re able to make out the intricately braided patterns in his belt and you try to stop yourself from letting your eyes sink lower to what’s beneath it.

Declan watches your gaze fall, and his mind starts to race. Knowing any second now his attraction to you will be evident by the strain of his pants. He gently takes your chin in his fingertips and pulls your gaze upward so you’re looking up at him through your lashes.

Fuck- that sight alone is enough to make him finish in his pants like a teenage boy.

You looking up at him with innocent eyes, your lips parted just inches away from his hips- he thinks he may die right there on the spot. The effect you have on him is intoxicating, clouding his thoughts and almost making him see stars. What he says next comes from a place of carnal desire surprising even him,

“Unbelievable that the men who’ve had the privilege of bein’ with you don’t even know how to fuck you properly. If I had you in my bed I would take my sweet time makin’ you cum over and over again until you’re beggin’ me to stop.”

As he speaks the hand that was resting underneath your chin gradually makes its way down, his fingertips now ghosting your jawline.

“You deserve somebody who knows how to make you feel good sweetheart.”

There he goes with that nickname again. This time he says it and you can’t deny the warmth that pools between your thighs.

Just as you open your mouth to respond, Declan’s phone starts to ring. Your eyes remain locked on one another as the incessant noise continues. You were beginning to think Declan would ignore the call so he could continue dirty talking you into a puddle, but he stood up straight from his position at the desk and began walking to the other side of the room. Answering the phone, he gazed back at you running a hand through his curls, nothing but lust in his eyes.

You sat up in your chair, blinking slowly and trying to gather your scattered thoughts. You weren’t sure what had just happened, but you did know one thing.

The next time you found yourself that close to Declan O’hara’s belt you would be undoing it.

find part 2 here

my masterlist

#declan o'hara x reader #declan o'hara #rivals #rivals x reader #declan o’hara smut #aidan turner #rivals fanfiction #love me a man with a mustache #declan o’hara imagine #rupert campbell black

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eatmyheartoutjpg · 26 days ago

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𓇻 𝗪𝗘𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗦 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗥 ᵃʳᶜᵃⁿᵉ ˣ ᵍⁿ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

Part 1. Part 2. SpinOff. etc etc.

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 ;; Silco, Sevika, Jinx 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ;; A collection of dynamics and interactions, SFW, Platonic. In which you're a weapons dealer from Piltover working with the undercity, Zaun, all for the sake of your own benefit. 𝘼/𝙉 ;; I love writing interactions surrounding one character dynamic, so here it is! I'll probably write stuff like this more, it's enjoyable for me. Probably will write a part 2 w/ other characters.

11.29.24 Masterlist

You were an anomaly in Silco’s carefully constructed world—a Piltie who didn’t sneer at Zaun but didn’t romanticize it either. You were coy and calculating weasel who wielded a sharp tongue and a sharper wit with precision, forcibly creating a space in the murky waters of Zaun’s criminal underground.

Your voice carried the tone of sincerity, but it never fooled anyone for long; your smile never reached your eyes, and your words were more weapons than pleasantries. You could smile while explaining the most grotesque scenario known to mankind.

People underestimated you often. Some said you had been overconfident, but you knew you had power—the kind born of understanding the value of everything around you, including yourself. What made you different, however, was that you had the ability to force it under your own bare hands, you claimed ownership of everything you wanted.

You supplied Silco with the finest weapons Piltover could create, the kind that never made it into the hands of their enforcers or the powerful and rich aristocrats. The kind that gave Zaun a fighting chance. But you didn’t do it out of charity or loyalty. It was business, pure and simple, and you enjoyed the game.

Dynamic with Silco:

Silco tolerated you. He had no illusions about who you were or what drove you. You were eccentric and unpredictable, traits he usually despised, but your results spoke for themselves.

You brought him weapons that turned the tides of battles, secured deals that strengthened Zaun’s position, and provided insights that few could rival. You granted him so much power and influence within days.

Your dynamic was a strange push-and-pull. You’d waltz into his office unannounced, throw yourself onto the nearest chair, and launch into a rapid-fire monologue about your latest ideas or complaints. He would sit behind his desk, curling and uncurling his fingers around a cigar, and watch you with an expression of faint disinterest.

You'd never come in with your own bodyguards of any kind and you'd come by so often no one questioned you walking up the stairs of the Last Drop.

You came by as if you were close friends.

“You have a remarkable talent for talking,” he’d say dryly once you finally paused to breathe.

“And you have a remarkable talent for listening,” you’d shoot back, unbothered by his lack of patience.

Still, there were moments of quiet understanding. Silco recognized your value, even if he didn’t particularly enjoy your company, and you respected his vision, even if you didn’t always agree with his methods. It was a professional relationship at its core, but there was an underlying current of mutual acknowledgment that kept you both coming back to the table.

Dynamic with Sevika:

Sevika didn’t trust you, and you didn’t blame her. You didn’t make it easy for her to like you, teasing her with remarks just toeing the line of disrespect (especially about her arm).

Whenever she was tasked with escorting you on high-stakes exports, you could feel her eyes on you, weighing and measuring, trying to figure out where you fit in the grand scheme of things.

You always ignored it. Her distrust didn’t bother you—it amused you. You loved toying with her stoic demeanor, throwing in cryptic comments and unnecessary flair just to see if you could chip away at her cool. You were unpredictable, and she hated that.

She also had to bear with you for the sake of her boss, Silco. She would hold back loud groans every time you flung open his office door and drop a load of plans and logs onto his already cluttered desk.

And sometimes, out of a desire to share the distaste of being around you, Silco stopped asking her to leave his office. He'd have her stand and listen to you ramble and ramble. If he had to, she did too.

Still, you had your moments. Like the time you presented her with a large selection of highly specialized mechanical arms—sleek, durable, and laced with the latest enhancements Piltover could offer. Her reaction had been hard to read, a mix of suspicion and begrudging admiration as she inspected them all.

“What’s the catch?” she asked flatly, flexing the joints, testing the weight of the mechanical arm.

You only grinned, spreading your hands in mock innocence. “No catch. Just a gift for Silco’s most trusted lieutenant."

She didn’t believe you for a second. But when the arms proved to be everything you promised, she found herself thinking about you less as a threat and more as an enigma. Not a friend, not an ally, but not quite an enemy either.

Dynamic with Jinx:

Your first meeting with Jinx was unplanned. You had stormed into Silco’s office mid-afternoon, as per usual, all grins and energy, barely pausing to knock. Sevika didn't stop you, as per usual.

You launched into an elaborate spiel about your newest weapons designs, gesturing wildly as you described their destructive potential, opening blueprints after blueprints on Silco's desk.

He only nodded along, waiting for a pause in your dialogue to ask questions.

But above Silco’s desk, perched like a mischievous cat, Jinx watched you with wide, curious eyes. She had no intention of sitting through one of her father’s boring meetings, but you were different. You were loud and exciting, and your enthusiasm for chaos mirrored her own.

You were the first person she's encountered to have such a bold and eccentric personality like her own.

Before Silco could silence you with a quip, Jinx leapt down, landing with a loud crash on Silco's desk, sending blueprints flying.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she interrupted, eyes gleaming. “You’re talking about guns?”

You blinked, taken aback for only a second before grinning wider. You weren't questioning her sudden appearance, to be honest, you didn't care to. “Not just guns. Masterpieces. Works of art. Top of the state types. Wanna see?”

Silco sighed heavily as Jinx dragged you to a nearby table, where you began sketching designs and explaining mechanisms. The two of you quickly fell into a chaotic rhythm, talking over each other in a flurry of excitement.

“She wasn’t supposed to meet you,” Silco muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

But it was too late. Jinx had found a kindred spirit, and you found yourself with a new, albeit unpredictable, ally. Silco already dealt with two mad inventors separately (one being his daughter and the other a sly weasel), but together? He and Sevika both knew this would become a new headache for them. Silco’s office would never be the same.

ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ

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loved-reid · 2 months ago

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You’re Cute…Yet Irritating [s.r]

Post prison!Spencer Reid x sunshine!fem!reader

Summary: She’s always humming a tune, dancing, or tapping her fingers. And Spencer can’t stand it.

Warnings: Angst with happy ending, irritated Spencer, crying, self doubt, rude comments, self hatred, etc.

Note: I always fidget and I thought this would be cute! Let me know what y’all think!!

Sorry for any errors! I didn’t re-read it! :)

Tap.

2,745 times

And yes, he was unfortunately counting.

He bet she didn’t even know she was doing it, the repetitive rhythm of her finger nails on the desk. Files piled it, almost all the time, and Spencer always had to walk by with his fist in his mouth to prevent himself from organizing it the way he liked.

He was going to be honest, he kind of missed having that feeling, the urge to clean or organize. It told him, in a way, that his old self was still with him, and that little thing gave him hope that he so tightly held onto.

But his old self was able to focus. His old self was able to dig himself into file folders and never be able to leave, yet the tapping.

Spencer couldn’t take it.

His eye twitched every time she breathed particularly loud, his lips pursed when her foot started tapping on the floor, and, worst of all, his head shuttered when her dang finger nails tapped on the desk’s top.

He hated the noise.

And it surprised him that he did, it was such a little thing that was apparently going unnoticed by everyone else. But he just couldn’t focus on his work with the practical racket that was doing on next to him.

He wasn’t gonna lie, he almost got up just then to go ask Hotch for a desk rearrangement. But he knew that his boss would suspect something and either tease him about it or shake his head about how ridiculous it was.

Spencer agreed as well. He couldn’t change seats just because the woman next to him was tapping her fingers.

Gosh, even thinking it sounded absurd.

But he couldn’t help but imagine silence.

Silence while his brain could process things.

Spencer could’ve lost it when she started humming a soft tune. She seemed to have a new one in her head every day, each time she sat down, tea in hand, she hummed a different song than yesterday.

He couldn’t quite pin point which one it was, but he didn’t dare to continue thinking to figure it out.

His head turned toward her, hoping she’d notice his glare but she didn’t, she’s still stuck on the file she was looking at.

“Quit that, will ya?”

Her head snapped up at the sudden outburst, surprise reflecting in her eyes yet he spotted confusion.

How was she confused to the constant annoying tapping she was doing? And the humming? Spencer was slowly loosing his mind.

He took a deep breath to prevent from lashing out, his hand coming out and wiggling his fingers toward hers.

“T-the tapping, it’s irritating. Quit it please.”

Her face dropped from surprised to hurt, and Spencer somehow hated that it was quiet as soon as he said something.

“Right. Sorry,” she whispered so softly Spencer almost couldn’t hear her. She tried to add a little chuckle at the end of her murmur, yet her voice cracked against her own accord.

He watched her fingers stop, instead clenching them in a fist tightly.

Spencer should’ve been glad that the silence he so wanted was granted, but something unsettling brewed in his chest at her facial expression, her now glossy eyes staring at her computer screen. He also noticed her other hand that wasn’t holding the folder was digging into her thigh to prevent it from bouncing out of anxiety.

He didn’t know the feeling, regret, maybe, but all Spencer knew was that he wished he hadn’t said those words.

But he didn’t want to say sorry, something inside him prevented him from doing it. Maybe he was selfish because he ignored the regret in him and took the opportunity to have the ability to focus once more.

“I can’t help, falling in love with you,” she hummed softly, just under her breath as she stirred her favorite tea in the mug the next morning.

Spencer had to admit, he missed her singing in the morning. It reminded him that through all the terrible cases they’ve experienced, there was still happiness in the world, still hope, and she clearly found it through music.

But the pounding headache that didn’t go away that day prevented him from being kind.

So he couldn’t dare to show his wishes of her singing more often, heck no. And the more he thought about it the more irritating it became. He became hyper focused on the breath before each sentence she sang, the cinnamon toothpaste blaring his nose. She was also slightly off pitch every couple seconds, and she sang a couple words wrong.

It got worse when she took forever to mix her tea, blocking his path towards the coffee machine.

He huffed, ignoring the way she flinched. “Move, will ya? There’s people who actually want to do their job and not sing songs about sunshine and rainbows; just please let me get some coffee.”

Her once upwards lips turned down, the light in her eyes going out. She cleared her throat. “Right, s-sorry.”

Spencer couldn’t help it. The comment spat out before he could control it. “S-sorry,” he mimicked. “You do know confidence is a key to this job, right? Quit the childish stuttering it’s infuriating.”

He didn’t see her reaction, but if he did he would see glossy eyes and a facial expression that represented a shattered heart.

She raced out of the room, tea discarded on the counter and beelined towards the bathrooms. She quickly fumbled with the lock. It echoed throughout the bathroom, somehow making her emotions worsen. The tears went full force, a sob covered by her hands surrounding her.

His words kept repeating themselves in her head, telling her that she wasn’t good enough for the job.

Why even apply? He was clearly smarter than her and took things more seriously. What was she thinking? Coming into a field like this and humming and singing all the time? Who does that?

She could feel her makeup smearing, and her black fingers rubbing her cheeks confirmed her suspicions.

She never knew Spencer’s problem with her. Every moment she recalled every encounter, hoping not to come across a moment where she offended him. And she never did.

But now she knew. It was her humming, her tapping, her singing, her stuttering.

She wasn’t good enough to be here.

The thought made her cry harder, the type of sob where your breath catches in your throat, your vision blurry as your chest aches.

A soft knock on the stall door made her both flinch hardly and gasp at the same time.

A throat was cleared, an awkward moment of silence shoving its way between them.

“Can I come in?”

The voice on the other side wasn’t one she expected. Her heart started going on its own path, thumping quickly within her chest.

Her hand moved on its own accord, though hesitantly, and opened the lock.

Spencer’s hand came into view, opening the door and entering himself, closing and locking the door behind him.

Something about him being so close, the door locked, and them being in a place just for one person made her already beating heart pound harder.

His features, no doubt, were beautiful. His nose was like a button, eyes like chocolate in fresh cookies, lips soft and full like a blooming flower.

His hair, oh his hair. It was like a soft blanket she wanted to nestle her fingers onto, pulling at the roots until he let out a satisfying noise-

No.

He hurt her. The words he said. She was upset. He doesn’t like her.

Then why was he having such an effect on her?

Him clearing his throat once more caught her out of her thoughts, eyes meeting his.

“I wanted to say sorry. For what I said,” he whispered, and she noticed his fingers playing with each other. “It wasn’t nice nor professional. And I don’t mean any of it.”

His apology was simple and sincere, eyes somehow widening while gazing at her. (Or were his eyes always like that? Full and desperate?)

“And in case you were wondering, you’re lovely at your job,” he sounded like he was rambling again, but he also seemed desperate to get the words out. “Your singing brings happiness to the place. You’re more than good enough to be here. And I’m sorry I made you doubt your amazing abilities.”

She felt a soft smile come to her lips, cheeks reddening at his complements. She wiped her nose. “Really?”

He nodded, leaning down and grabbing some toilet paper to wipe her cheeks.

Instead of simply giving it to her, he wiped them himself, wiping the damage he did to her away on his own. “I mean it with my whole heart.”

Her heart warmed.

“Thank you Spencer,” she whispered shyly.

He gave her a toothless smile, opening his arms for a hug from her.

Her heart pounded, knowing he barely let anyone touch him, but stepped towards him nonetheless.

Her arms went underneath his blazer, on top of his dress shirt (causing him to shiver) and laying her head on his chest.

He embraced her back, far too tall to be over her shoulder so he rested his chin on her head, shampoo filling his nose.

They stayed like that for a couple moments before pulling back to look at each other.

His eyes met hers, emotions swirling around, like they were trying to tell him something.

If it was a warning or an invitation Spencer didn’t know, but he leaned forward to find out, nose brushing hers.

Her lips parted, causing his eyes to shoot downward at the movement.

He gave her a moment to push away, to shove him out of the stall for even thinking she had any interest on him.

The rejection never came.

He finally planted his mouth on hers, her hands shooting to his hair to pull at his roots, a small groan leaving his lips.

His lips tasted like coffee and something truly Spencer.

Whatever it was pulled her in more, craving the taste of his mouth.

They finally pulled away, breath fanning each other’s faces. She was the one who laughed first against his lips, and he copied her before kissing her once again.

Sure, she was irritating at times, but she was cute, he’d give her that.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #angst with a happy ending #spencer reid x fem!reader #Spencer x reader #post prison reid #x reader #criminal minds characters x reader

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fox-guardian · 1 year ago

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hey guys did you know that um. did you know. first of all did you know i'm losing my mind, secondly, do y'all remember in tma how when someone reads a written statement, they don't really Stop unless they're interrupted? and they read the whole thing easy cheesy, no issues with reading whatever words are there? like. jon literally could read french for a whole statement and was Fine. granted, that's Jon, but like nobody else struggled with pronunciations and whatnot (that i can recall)

presumably, this is an eye thing. either as employees of the institute, or because everyone there is just also eye-aligned in some degree (melanie had the ghost hunting show, the eye is fond of martin, etc)

and then there's tim in season 3 ep 86

[Sigh] Statement of… uh, Benjamin Hatendi… Hateendi? Regarding a… [papers rustling] a blanket. Dead friend. Monster. Regarding his unavoidable and gruesome end. How he tried to hide. He couldn’t. Statement is from… 1983, March 2nd. And I guess… [long sigh] I guess I’m doing this one. Tim Stoker. Archival assistant… Archival prisoner at the Magnus Institute.

correct me if im wrong but i don't recall anyone struggling with pronunciations before this bit. but that's not even the biggest thing here, that's just a lil Taste, a lil Flavor.

note the phrasing there. "Regarding his unavoidable and gruesome end." why would he say this when the written text on the statement says this:

Uh, right. Benjamin Hatendi’s account of… [rustling pages] oh for… a, a strange encounter. Er, statement date, March 2nd, 1983. Melanie King recording. Apparently.

"a strange encounter". that's it. nothing about an unavoidable death, just a "strange encounter". Tim Why Did You Say That.

why would our dear timothy bimothy, who is being pushed to the brink, who is becoming rapidly more depressed and losing hope, say this?

this isn't the only time he's said some weirdly grim shit tho (ep 104)

There was never really any hope for me, though, was there? This was how it was always going to go.

and then there's this bit from elias apparently having Looked into tim (also 104)

TIM All right, hit me with your X-ray eyes then, boss. What do you see? ELIAS Disruption. An unpredictable, angry man with nothing left but the desire to feel in some way revenged. TIM [Sarcastic] Ooh, terrifying! Surely only magic could have let you see so deep inside my very soul.

"nothing left" but the desire to feel revenged. and tim doesn't dispute this, because it's true.

when he first joined the institute he did so in order to look for answers about danny, but then he stopped seriously looking. and now that the circus is back, this is all the drive he has left. not looking for answers, just wanting revenge. closure. an end, if you will.

this is Literally It For Him. a couple lines later he suggests elias kill him, he's At The Breaking Point.

he is so tired, he's lost all hope, and he's saying all this grim shit about "unavoidable death" and "this is how it was always going to go" like hmmmm sounds familiar doesn't it. DOESN'T IT (<- is going insane)

(ep 11) [....] despite the rapid response of the paramedics and how much of his medical history I had immediately to hand, there was nothing I could do to save him. (ep 11) I have no responsibility to try and prevent whatever fate is coming for you. Based on my previous experience, such a thing is likely impossible anyway,[....] (ep 121) There. That was it. That was our fate; where we would always be.

hmmmm sounds a bit like oliver huh? everyone's favorite ex-accountant avatar of the end?? right??

but then there's this last bit i have from ep 86.

why did he stop reading the statement

Statement. “My parents never let me have a nightlight. I was always afraid, but they were ju–” Ugh, this is stupid.

why did he do that. again, correct me if im wrong but when else has someone just Stopped Reading like that without someone or something else interrupting them? why could tim just stop himself?

my theory is this: at this point, tim is completely gone from being aligned with the eye. he no longer seeks to know what happened to danny, he just wants closure. he doesn't wanna do any statement work, and he keeps mentioning these tidbits about hopelessness and the inevitability of terrible events, specifically death.

the eye isn't compelling him to read the statements like it does the others, because it doesn't have as strong a hold anymore. the grip is slipping from him. and by the time the unknowing rolls around, maybe it's lost him for good. maybe he finally fell into a different power he never meant to serve, and yet, he does.

and maybe. just maybe. because i'm so not in denial. but MAYBE. he did die in the unknowing. but maybe he got better.

basically end!tim truthers rise up, this is how end!tim kayaking with his bf oliver banks can still win, etc etc I'm Going Feral <3

#ramblings with major #the magnus archives #tma #tim stoker #oliver banks #timoliver #lil bit uwu #tim stoker tuesday #end!tim #cursing #tma angst #ig #i hope this is coherent and makes sense im losing my MIIIIND im losing my Mind

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borathae · 2 months ago

Text

↳ Index [Day 12 - Sensory Play]

Pairing: Soft Dom!Yoongi x sub f.!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, second chance!AU, Gangster!AU

Kinks: romantic love making, morning sex, somnophilia, he wakes her with oral sex, multiple orgasms (f.receiving), hair pulling (m.receiving), biting (m.receiving), finger sucking (f.giving), body worship, sensory deprivation with a sleeping mask, praise kink, good girl kink, sensory play, knife play, wax play, but nothing of it hurts her, use of a vibrator, orgasm control & edging, subby girl tears, lots of begging, he is so gentle and loving with her, penetrative vaginal sex in missionary, hand holding, choking (f.receiving), loving dirty talk, creampie, strength kink, protective!Yoongi, she feels so safe being his sub, loving aftercare, some plot: mentions of past struggles with sex because of bad mental health, mentions of corrupt police work, the character growth we all wanted from Yoongs

Wordcount: 5.4k

a/n: all you had to say was say gangster!yoongi and vanilla sex and I KNEW I had to give you the sequel to TCOFU about their mountain holiday. like! do we all get her now and why she couldn’t leave him? like he is really that man omfg oh lord

Yoongi regrets a lot in his life. Quite frankly, he regrets most of his life. He regrets the choices he made and the consequences they bore. He regrets the people he killed because he couldn’t save them and regrets the people he killed because he was reckless. He regrets the hearts he broke and the dreams he crushed. He was a good person once, someone with ambitions and dreams. He was someone who wanted to change the world for the better and he truly thought that he could. And then reality woke him and turned him from a dreaming boy to a hopeless man.

Yoongi still remembers the breaking point. The true, actual breaking point. He remembers what lunch he had that day. Bibimbap with sausages because you ran out of beef the day before. Yoongi loved eating it, but soon felt it sit in his stomach heavily. Yoongi remembers what he wore that day. His uniform with his favourite pair of socks, which he couldn’t look at after that day. Yoongi also remembers that he cried on the toilet that day because that day was the moment he felt helpless for the first time. A crime happened in his precinct, but the criminal was never punished because it was his boss. His former captain, who was caught with pornographic images of non-consenting women on his hard drive. It was swiped under the rug because he was friends with a politician in a rather high position, who just so happened to know some vultures which called themselves reporters from the press. The women were never allowed justice and the captain ended up working for another three years. Yoongi woke up that day and then began making decisions which were so right at first before he was blinded by the power they brought him.

He became a cop who lived two lives. By day he tried to serve the law and by night he disobeyed it for the sake of helping those who were forgotten by it. It was honourable at first but then he became greedy and the decisions he began making were regretful.

Yoongi regrets a lot of the things he did. He regrets the choices he made, the choices he didn’t make and most of all, he regrets how he treated the person he loved most.

You.

He regrets most how he treated you.

He became cold, distant and took your affection for granted.

He regrets it. He really does. You have always been the person most important to him and yet he treated you like shit. When you broke up with him, he expected it but never welcomed it. He knew he needed to change for your sake. For his woman and his love. He never thought that you would take him back, but you did and he swore to himself to make you not regret it.

Yoongi woke before you from the thunderstorm outside. The thunder ripped him awake, making him think for just a moment that he was in danger until he remembered where he was. In the mountains with you far away from the cursed city with its disgusting people.

You wanted to leave it behind and he wanted to make it possible. He knew that you were struggling for quite awhile now. He also knows that it was mostly his fault and regrets it so deeply that it hurts, but he also knows that the city was at fault. It is dirty and corrupt and filled with suffering. You always had a good heart and an empathetic soul and this city ruined you. Yoongi thought that he could fix it for you, he hoped that he could, but he sometimes thinks that he only made it worse. You said so yourself. He fucked it up, just as much as he fucked you up. Yoongi truly regrets a lot in his life.

Thunder cuts through the silence. You flinch in your sleep, instinctively drawing closer to him. Yoongi shushes you quietly, brushing his hand over your head in soothing. Your body instantly relaxes, a content sound leaves you in a sleepy sigh. Yoongi feels happy witnessing it.

He thinks that he might have finally done something right with this holiday. Yesterday he watched you take a deep breath and relax your shoulders afterwards. You haven’t done this in so long. The day before that, you ate two portions of lunch because you finally had an appetite again. In the car on your way to the mountains, there was a moment where you talked about how beautiful the landscape was. And right now, you are smiling in your sleep as he pets your hair slowly. You are starting to feel like the woman he fell in love with all these years ago. Not burdened by the suffering of others, not suffocated by the toxic fumes of the city, not shackled by your own thoughts. You feel like you and you look happy.

You look really happy.

Yoongi traces your eyebrows, heart taking each beat just so he could gaze at you for longer. You are the very reason he breathes. From the very first moment he loved you, he knew that he would do anything for you. He would set the whole world on fire for you. Even kill and he has done so in the past. The scar running down his face will be a visual reminder of it for the rest of his life. On most days, he hates looking at it because he feels ugly with it, but on some days he remembers that if he wasn’t carrying this scar right now, you would have to run around with the memory of being violated by cruel monsters which call themselves men. He stops hating the scar then and swears that he would do it again. He would take a knife to the face over and over again if it meant that you will always be safe. He took this oath years ago and swears to never break it.

Another thunder cuts through the silence as if God Herself was whipping the sky. You flinch awake from it, taking a deep gasp of fear. Your eyes show your feelings.

“Hush, it’s okay. It’s just thunder”, Yoongi whispers, cradling your cheek.

Your fearful eyes lock with his’. Your voice doesn’t want to come out as your lips form his name.

“It’s okay. You’re safe”, he promises and kisses your forehead.

You exhale deeply, touching his chest. His skin practically comes alive where you touch him. You are so warm from sleep.

You crane your neck so you are looking up into his eyes. Thunder and lightning. You don’t flinch anymore, instead, your lips curl into a toothless smile.

Yoongi retorts it, brushing his thumb under your eye.

“I’ve been awake for a while. The storm woke me. I thought someone was trying to fucking shoot me.”

You agree with a knowing snicker and a nod of your head. He chuckles with you.

“I watched you sleep.” He traces the slope of your nose, forcing your eyelids to grow heavy. “You smiled in your sleep.”

“It’s because I’m happy”, you get out and shiver with your entire body, “Yoongi, I feel comfortable”, you confess, cuddling into his chest.

Yoongi hugs you, kissing the crown of your head and closing his eyes. Comfortable might be a normal state to most people, but you haven’t felt like this in too long. Yoongi cherishes your confession deeply.

He begins running his fingertips up and down your back. It draws you closer to him and for your happy purr to meet his ears.

“Do you like this?” he asks you in a barely there whisper.

You nod your head, humming your answer. He answers you in a hum as well, continuing his touches.

You fall back to sleep like this, cradled in his strong arms and against his safe chest as he pets you slowly. The rain and thunder lull you back to sleep as well, now that you know that nothing can hurt you. You are with him and he will always keep you safe.

You don’t quite know how much time passed, but it must have been enough for the thunderstorm to stop. Only rainfall can be heard now. But that isn’t what wakes you. No. Warm, slick pleasure between your legs does.

“Ah”, you get out, sleepily arching your back and reaching down to see what is making you feel so good. Your legs close around a head, your fingers meet bundles of soft hair.

Strong hands touch your inner thighs and push your legs apart again. The warm, slick pleasure stops in a sucking sensation. Lips against your inner thigh, teeth in soft bites as well. Sucks and licks and kisses.

“Good morning, beautiful”, Yoongi rasps between his kisses, “don’t let me wake you, just relax”, he breathes and connects his eager mouth with your pussy again. He sucks and licks, moaning softly each time your clit is between his pouty lips.

It feels so good that you can’t help but whimper. He is so warm and soft. Judging from how wet you are, he has been doing this for quite a while. That explains why your dreams started to become so sinful.

You are delirious from sleep, both numb and sensitive, so what he is currently doing is a lot. You can’t talk yet because you are too tired, making a small sound and twisting his hair. You do it so weakly that Yoongi barely feels it.

He smiles and tongue kisses your clit with his eyes closed in bliss. You are especially precious when you are sleepy. You get so weak and quiet despite trying to be so strong and loud. Yoongi swears he would do unspeakable things to anyone who dared to disturb you in this state. His protectiveness almost makes him feral.

But he doesn’t let the feralness consume him. No. He runs his big, strong hands to your waist and places a protective touch on the softest part. Your skin dimples where his fingertips lie. Yoongi knows the meaning of to have and to hold when he can hold you like this, when he can have you like this.

Your weak body writhes helplessly, your throat produces a small sound. Yoongi soothes you by rubbing your waist and purring around your clit.

“Oh my god”, you get out in a breathy whisper and whimper, legs closing around his head in a quick twitch and body convulsing in the sudden high his purrs drag out of you.

Yoongi moans, wrapping his muscular arms around your tensing legs and moving his hot tongue on your clit eagerly. Your noises are heaven to him. So sweet, so cute, so perfect. He loves nothing more than making you feel good.

You sob softly, overwhelmed by what he makes you feel. You aren’t even properly awake yet to take in the sensations and now he has you orgasming. It feels like too much and yet so good.

He expected you to orgasm quickly, but not that quickly. He is delirious, rutting the sheets with his aching cock as his tongue makes sweet love to your pussy. This is heaven to him. True heaven.

“Sto…stop”, you breathe out after your high turns into overstimulation. “Plea..stop…”

Yoongi listens to your begs, kissing a path up your naked body. It wasn’t always naked but he undressed you so he could gaze at you and worship every inch of you. He missed you a lot in the three months you and he were separated. He needs to truly appreciate every second with you and memorise it so it will always stay with him.

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, kissing your tender skin slowly. Like this, his hard cock rubs against your thigh. He is naked as well because he wanted to share the state with you. Perhaps there is even a chance that he spent a good ten minutes holding you as you slumbered so his skin could finally feel you again.

You sigh and chase him. Yoongi understands, giving you what you crave so deeply. A kiss. A slow, deliberate tongue kiss where each second counts and each movement is filled with emotion.

You shiver, burying your hands deep in his soft hair and making him shiver with it. You and he draw closer, skins touching and lips moving with so much more passion. This is the first time you and he have sex here.

Yoongi has been wanting, craving, you ever since this holiday started, but he knew not to pressure you. You seemed drained and in need of healing. He wanted to give you time to do so. He held back, but he can’t hold back anymore.

The way you kiss him, lets him know that you don’t want to hold back either. You bury your fingers deeper in his dark hair, making him purr contently.

Yoongi has the thickest and healthiest hair ever. It is dark black, except for when the sunlight hits it and turns it a warm dark chocolate brown. He wears it slicked back on most days because he wants to look his best as police captain. When he is with you like this however, tangled in the sheets with your bodies still warm from sleep, his hair is unstyled. It is messy and it is soft from the lack of product. It hangs into his face or gets ruffled when you play with it just right. You could honestly write songs about his morning hair.

You break the kiss to look at him in his pretty state. You open your eyes. Darkness. A nervous sound leaves you, fingers coming up to touch your eyes. Soft fabric. How peculiar.

“Don’t be scared. It’s just an eye mask. To heighten your senses”, Yoongi assures you, tracing it gently and with it, ridding you of your fear. “Do you want me to take it off?”

“No.”

You drop your hands again, sighing his name. He kisses your neck, talking to you like this. He rests his hands on your wrists, long fingers stretching along your palms. There is no pressure involved, neither strength, and yet you still feel so claimed. In a good way of course.

“I want more of you”, he purrs, running his thumbs up and down your tender wrists.

You whimper and squirm, legs opening.

“But don’t worry, I know you’re not ready yet. Let’s play a game.”

“A game?" you talk in the kind of voice you only possess when you are in subspace. It is soft and a little higher in pitch and brings out Yoongi’s desire to protect.

“Yes a fun game. You’ll like it.”

“Please.”

Yoongi begins kissing your face as he talks. It feels so good to receive. Everything he does and did to you feels so good. This is what you needed from him for months.

“Okay so, next to us are five things. My necklace, my knife, a candle, your makeup brush and a leaf. You have to guess with which of the things I’m touching you. How does that sound?”

“Fun. Really fun.”

“Yes?”

You nod your head, putting your hands above your head in a submissive squirm. Yoongi smiles, heart skipping a beat in giddiness. He would do anything for you. He really would.

“I knew that you would like it. Any of the things you don’t want me to touch you with? I guess most are soft, except the knife and wax. I won’t cut you and the wax will be hot, but not painful. Is it okay for you?”

“Yes, really okay.” you writhe and sigh, parting your legs for nothing in particular.

“Good, that’s good. You can stop this anytime you need to. Your voice matters, sweetest. Your safety does as well.”

You whimper in emotion, healing from deep wounds. This is exactly what you needed from Yoongi. This kind of care and love and safety. You were so scared that giving him another chance will end in your heartbreak, but instead he is proving to you how honest he was in his promises to change.

“You’re important to me”, he kisses your cheek, “you’re so fucking important.”

“Yoongi”, your voice trembles as it leaves you.

“Mhm, my sweet girl.” He kisses your ear softly and straightens up. He rubs his hands up and down your stomach gently. “Ready for the first item?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be scared to guess wrong. There won’t be punishments, just rewards.”

“Rewards?”

“Mhm, guess correctly and you’ll find out.”

“Okay”, you sigh.

Yoongi climbs off your lap. You listen with bated breath. The sheets ruffle as he gets comfortable. Then sudden silence which he breaks in a soft rasp.

“Ready?”

You nod your head.

“Use your voice, sweetest.”

“Yes, I’m ready”, you whisper cutely, sending his heart into overdrive.

With a racing pulse, he lowers the brush to your collarbone.

“Oh”, you gasp with the first touch, chasing it.

Yoongi lets your skin soak up the feelings, guiding the brush up to your shoulder and down your arm. He dances it over your chest, circling your nipples. Then he guides it up your other arm, over your shoulder and back to your collarbone.

“What’s the first item?” he asks you in soft spoken voice, guiding the brush back to your nipples to circle them. He is obsessed with the way your body reacts. Goosebumps and swollen nipples. You are so beautiful with the most perfect reactions.

“Feels nice.”

“Of course it does, but what is it?” he is chuckling his words, finding you beyond adorable.

“Uhm..”, you shudder as he tickles your neck with it, “brush?”

“Mhhm good girl”, Yoongi praises, placing the brush aside to get your reward. He turns it on.

You instantly move your head into the direction of the sound, gasping his name.

“Can you guess your reward?” Yoongi asks, guiding the vibrator down the inside of your thigh.

You moan weakly, writhing on the sheets. You nod your head because you can’t talk. The vibrations feel so good and they’re coming close to where they feel otherworldly. You are so excited.

“Do you want it?”

“Please.”

Yoongi takes your consent and connects the vibrator with your clit, rubbing circles on it. You wail up weakly, hands instantly reaching down to grab his wrist. Your legs close around him, but fall open a moment later, toes curling in the sheets.

“Is this nice for you?” he asks you, eyes flitting between your pussy and your face. They linger on your chest as well, soaking up the view of you writhing in pleasure.

“Nice”, you whimper, rolling your hips up into his touch.

“That’s good”, he says and then falls into comfortable silence with you.

Not that the moment is truly silent. The pitter patter of rain enters the room. The low purr of the vibrator mixes with your quiet moans and breathy sighs. Yoongi’s own heightened breathing matches you. But there is no traffic, no loud neighbors, no emergency sirens or people cursing on the streets below. There is no city. No burden. Just you and him and nature.

Yoongi knows from how quickly he brings you to the edge that you are truly enjoying the sex you are having. When he fucked in the past, trapped with you in his penthouse or your small apartment, you often struggled to reach climax. Sometimes you didn’t orgasm at all, no matter what Yoongi tried. And be certain that he tried. Your pleasure has always been important to him. He tried, you tried but the city had an awful grip on you, keeping you tense and nervous and too anxious to truly be in the moment.

But not anymore. You gasp and tense in the way you always do when you are close. It happens so fast that Yoongi feels high. You are so into this, so relaxed. He is doing this to you. He is making you feel good. Yoongi wants to give you an orgasm, but knows not to rush it. If you climax, you should really enjoy it. You should crave it so violently that you have nothing else on your mind.

He takes away the vibrator, soothing your squirms with gentle touches.

“I was close”, you whine.

“I know sweets, I know”, he kisses your neck, “it’ll be worth it. I promise.”

“Oh god.”

He kisses your cheek and sits up, “next item. Guess whenever you are ready.”

You wait with bated breath and an aching pussy. You really wanted this orgasm. Sheets ruffles, silence. The sensation.

“Oh god”, you get out, arching your back to chase it.

Something metal and tangly. It is cold and light. He guides it down your sternum and stomach, letting it tickle your belly button before he guides it up to your neck.

“Chains…” you moan, writhing from the memories of feeling them hit your skin whenever he fucked you deep.

“Good girl”, Yoongi praises, rewarding you by tangling them over your face. He makes sure that they hit your skin in the ways they sometimes do when he is buried inside you.

You chase it, moaning his name.

“You’re thinking the same, right?”

“Yes. Yoongi…”

“I fucking love being with you, my sweet girl”, he says, tickling your face one last time before he gives you your true reward.

The vibrator. He keeps the same setting and the same spot, but rubs your stomach the entire time. Your moans are louder than before, your pussy so much wetter and your hips a lot more restless.

It also takes you way less time for your orgasm to be close. Yoongi really draws out the moment he takes it away from you, keeping you on the edge until the last second.

“No please”, you beg, bucking your hips against nothing, “please.”

“Patience, sweetie, patience. You still have three more items to go.”

“Please.”

“Patience”, he whispers and lifts the third item, “time to guess. Focus on the sensations, not your pussy. Do it for me, sweetest.”

“Yoongi, oh god”, you whimper, almost spilling tears.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

You obey only to have it knocked out of you when sudden burning warmth hits the skin of your chest. You sob, arching your back and twisting the pillow edge.

“Wax, aah”, you mewl, feeling dizzy. It is hot, but it’s not painful. Exactly how he promised. You still weren’t ready for how good it will feel.

He starts at your sternum, leaving a puddle of it on your skin. Next he covers your breasts with it, your soft flesh first and your nipples last. You sob again when he covers them in the hot wax, pleasure soaking so deep into your fibers that you find it hard to breathe.

“Good girl, correct again. Is it too hot?”

“No, feels so good. Yoongi please fuck me, please.”

“Patience, sweetie. First you need your reward.”

“Please…”

As the wax hardens on your chest, Yoongi presses the vibrator against your clit again, rubbing it up and down for a change. You mewl his name, digging your heels into the sheets and thrusting against the toy. Judging by how much your voice pitches, you are already close.

Yoongi takes it away, pinning your hips down easily as they try to squirm.

“Please no more edging, please”, you beg in desperate croaks.

“Sorry sweetest, sorry”, he rasps, kissing your neck and jawline. “It’s soon over. I promise.”

“Yoongi please just fuck me, please.”

“Soon, sweet girl, soon. Two more items. I promise.”

You mewl, squirming in agony. Yoongi sits up and gets the fourth item. He decides to guide it over your stomach and thighs. You instantly open them wider, skin covered in goosebumps.

“Your knife. Feels so good.”

“Good girl. Mhm your skin is so soft. I could cut it, mark it as mine, but I won’t”, he lulls, tracing the inside of your shaky thighs.

“Please do. I’m yours.”

“Another day. promise”, he says and picks up the vibrator. He puts the knife aside, using his unoccupied hand to pin down your squirming hips.

He managed to edge you to a point of such sensitivity that he only has to keep the toy on you for a few seconds before your body tenses in your approaching high.

He takes it away, shushing you lovingly when you keen in agony. He lies down next to you, cradling you against his chest and kissing your cheek.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I can’t do it anymore please”, you beg, “please I want to be with you, please.”

“One more item, I pro-”

“No! Please. I want to be with you, please.”

Yoongi sighs in defeat.

“Okay. You can”, he gives in.

“Please I wanna see you, please Yoongi.”

“Okay, sweet girl”, he whispers, pulling the blindfold off your eyes. When you beg like this, he can’t say no. He has to fulfill your every wish.

You instantly look at him, spilling tears because of how happy the view of him makes you.

He wipes your tears away, speaking to you in a soft voice.

“Why are you crying, my love? Is it getting too much for you? Should we take a break?”

You shake your head and open your legs.

“Please. Be with me.”

Yoongi smiles in order not to tear up. He hums a yes, nodding his head vigorously before dropping it against yours. His right hand cradles your cheek safely.

“I’ll always be with you, my love.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise you”, he says and climbs between your legs.

You roll to your back, following him this way. He takes your hands and pins them in the pillow above your head, holding them tightly.

“I'll always be with you.You have me”, he says and seals his promise by finally connecting with you.

You and he moan together, hands squeezing the other’s and eyelids fluttering. Both of you refuse to close your eyes, wanting to see the other.

“You have all of me, my sweetest girl”, he says and picks up a deep and gentle pace. “All of me, you’ve got all of me.”

“Yoongi”, you whimper, body shaking instantly. You spill tears, sobbing softly.

“Does it hurt? Are you getting tight again like you sometimes do?”

“No, feels so good”, you sigh and place his right hand on your throat.

Yoongi moans your name, hips stuttering in shock.

“Please”, you beg and Yoongi knows what to do.

He applies pressure on your veins, watching the last piece of sanity disappear from your pretty eyes. You roll them back and moan. You moan in ways you haven’t moaned in too long. Quite frankly, Yoongi already forgot that he could help you make such noises.

“You know I don’t believe in god, not with the kinda suffering the motherfucker allows to happen to innocents, but holy fucking god”, he gets out and picks up speed. Not too much. Just enough to make your back arch and your toes curl.

He drops his forehead against yours, resting on his one elbow. His fingers are still holding your neck, feeling your pulse race uncontrollably.

“Holy fucking god, baby. Fucking god.”

You reach up with your free hand, twisting his hair. It feels so good. All of it feels so good. You don’t know what is happening to you. Sex hasn’t felt like this in so long. Can it really feel that good? Can you really be so without burdening thoughts?

“Don’t stop please.”

“Mhhm never. Gotta make you feel so fucking good.”

“Good. Yoongi. Ah!”

“Fuck I was such an idiot, fuck I forgot how alive I feel when I dedicate my all to you.” He thrusts into you deep and passionately. “I’m on a high, my sweet girl. You feel so good”, Yoongi gets out, letting you taste each word.

“Yoongi please.”

“Too much?”

“Please can I cum? Please.”

“Fuck”, he curses and growls, kissing your nose softly afterwards. “Do you need more?”

“No, just please. Soon.”

“Whenever you’re ready, sweetest. I’m right here. Your Yoongi’s right here. I’m not fucking leaving you again. I’m here.”

“I love you”, you sob and break. He didn’t even get to let go of your neck before you fell victim to your high. You simply feel way too good. There was no other way.

“I love you too. Ah, I’m-”, Yoongi’s voice breaks and turns into desperate whimpers as your intense high throws him over the edge as well.

He makes sure to keep moving, so you could really enjoy yourself. And oh how you do.

You are so lost in your pleasure that you pull him close enough that you manage to bite down on his shoulder.

Yoongi mewls in pain, guiding your mouth away gently with the hand he once had around your throat. You instantly take his fingers inside your mouth, sucking them eagerly as you and he ride the waves of your shared highs.

Once you and he come down, his fingers are messy from your drool and you seem so deeply satisfied that you can’t help but cry.

Yoongi instantly cradles your face, kissing your tears away.

“What’s the matter? Too tight?”

“No, I feel safe. Yoongi, I feel safe.”

“Oh.”

You haven’t felt safe in so long. He knows that you don’t mean physically safe, but emotionally safe.

He smiles and rolls to his side, taking you with him in his arms. He lets you cuddle into him and use his chest to get through your tears.

Yoongi knows that you need this cry. He put you through so much and you went through twice as much on your own. Knowing that you can finally cry about it, is healing to him as well.

Once you calmed down, you feel sleepy and cold. Yoongi cocoons you and him in the blanket, allowing you to rest your head on his arm while he traces your face. His head rests on a pillow which he folded up half to make it sturdier. You are looking up at him. He smells like him. Good, clean, masculine, familiar. He smells so calmingly familiar.

“What are you thinking?” he whispers, tracing your brows and nose.

“Just that I’m happy.”

“You are?”

“Very. I haven’t felt like this in ages.”

“I know. I…” he struggles with his words, gnawing on his lower lip.

You reach up and begin tracing his scar. He instantly knows that he is allowed to talk freely.

“I know you’ve been struggling with enjoying sex. I could beat myself because I know it’s partially my fault.”

You shake your head, “it was never your fault. You tried to make it good for me. I could see that you did. It was the only time I felt like you actually tried for me.”

He furrows his brows, “I’ve done so much wrong in my life and most I’ve done to you. I’m so sorry, my sweet girl.”

“Thank you. I know that you’ll be different from now on. That Us will be different again.”

“I will. We will. I fucking promise you. And I-”

“And you never break a promise. I know”, you interrupt him in a soft whisper.

Yoongi’s smiles, nodding his head. You giggle because it feels good to know him so well and be known in return.

“I felt so good today.”

“That’s good. That’s all I want when I’m with you like this.”

He brushes his thumb over your eyelid gently. You close your eyes with a smile, enjoying his tender touch for a moment.

Once it passes, you look up at him again.

“I’m scared of going back.”

“To the city?”

“Yes. I’m scared.”

“Don’t be. I’ll take care of it. I promise I’ll make your life happy again.”

“What do you mean?”

“You won’t have to return to the city if you don’t want to. I meant it when I said that I’ll fucking set it on fire if you want me to.”

“What about your job? The things you keep hidden from the law?”

“I’ll take care of it. You won’t get hurt, I promise.”

You cup his cheek, eliciting a shaky gasp from him. Your eyes widen as you stare deeply into his eyes.

“I’ll kill whoever needs to be gone. Just tell me.”

“Oh sweetest”, he kisses your forehead before cradling you against his chest, “don’t make such promises. I don’t want you to have to get your hands bloody.”

“But-”

“No buts. I’ll get my hands dirty, so you won’t have to. Now enough about the future, right now I wanna hold my woman and let her know I’m entirely here for her.”

“Good. I’m glad you are”, you say and melt into his strong embrace.

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