#i hope you all choke uglies

[gracefullou]

calling me stupid after not even reading my ask properly, where I said the academic were hacked or posted accidentally 😀 You're obsessed with "that man", just like Larries, so you see any mention of him as a crime. The Academic and The Cribs don't give af. Grow up.

If you don't believe they were hacked then what's your excuse for them posting this like what's your explanation 😭

And how do you explain the cribs liking "Hairy went crazy over this " then 😭

You're accusing me of projecting intentions onto these losers bc " i'm obsessed" with that ugly ass man when in fact you're the one playing stupid 😭 Anyway, this is MY blog i'm free to have my own opinion on freaks who disrespect my fav.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

You’ve got my body, flesh and bone

Obsessed!Rafe x nerdy!girl!reader

Summary: something was different about you, and rafe can’t stop thinking about you ever since you came home from college. He knows you want him, too, even if you don’t show it

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, penetrative sex, p in v, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (fem receiving), fingering, obsessed behaviors, pervy behaviors (I think?), Rafe is down bad, reader is secretly naughty, dom!rafe, spitting, choking, bit of degradation, Rafe is rough and she likes it.

Wrote this with s2 Rafe in mind but he’s not as psychotic🥰 reader also wears glasses, hope you like being blind

WC: 5.5k I’m so sorry

A/N: NOBODY LOOK AT MEEEEE. Anyway I couldn’t help myself. Rafe and Drew are in my mind all day and I need them so bad so I wrote it! I dedicate this to the reason of my insanity @bloodibambiidoll love you doll for feeding me into crash out Rafe😩. This was heavily inspired by her own Rafe fics so def check her out!

Also tagging my other rafe baby @babygorewhore🩷

There weren't a lot of things in this world that Rafe didn’t have. His whole life, anything he wanted, he had, at the palm of his hand. Whatever he wanted, he could do. And he fucking loved it. He didn’t know what it was like to crave something to the point of madness. Until you came around. 

He didn’t know what it was, that feeling deep inside his gut. He didn’t know if it was lust, or desire, or if he truly felt something for you. Perhaps he felt all three. But one thing he knew for certain. If he didn’t have you soon, he was going to cave someone’s face in. It didn’t help that you shot him down every time. The more you ignored him, the more he craved you. Albeit he knew he had a chance in high school and he didn’t take it then. But even he knew he was a prick then. More than he was now, anyway. Deep down he couldn’t blame you for not giving him a chance now, he didn’t want you when you were all quiet and had those ugly glasses, so why should he get you now that you were more confident and stopped giving a fuck what people thought about you? He had to admit, college made you hot as fuck. 

Rafe didn’t know it at first, but the first time he saw you at a party, your hair all pretty, your laugh so contagious he heard it across the room, your clothes hugging every curve of your body perfectly. His jaw fucking dropped. He almost didn’t believe it was you at first. Until he heard whispers about just how fucking hot you had gotten after college. He didn’t know it then, but his sanity was going to go downhill from there. 

That was a month ago, and he still couldn’t get you to give him the light of day. It was almost like you were running away from him, every time. And it pissed him off, really, it did. He craved your attention like he never before. Maybe he was getting soft. Or he was going insane. Either one.

The worst part? 

You were doing it on purpose. 

You caught on pretty quickly. After the first couple of times of catching Rafe blatantly staring at you whenever he saw you, you were curious. It wasn’t entirely outlandish, you were like an exotic animal, having come back to the island after graduating early from university. You didn’t change much, you just learned to manage your social anxiety and started putting more effort into your appearance. You didn’t understand why everyone made such a big deal out of you. But you ignored it for the most part. 

But you couldn’t ignore Rafe. His presence was intoxicating. Even if he didn’t approach you directly. You knew he was there. But you never made an effort to talk to him. You only ever talked to Sarah when you saw her. She was the one that pointed out Rafe in a corner, Topper talking his ear off but Rafe wasn’t paying listening to a word being said, he was looking at you. You, of course, brushed her off with the excuse you gave everyone. 

“He'll get over it, just give it a week.”

He did not, in fact, get over it. 

He thought you didn’t notice, but he followed you on instagram. Of course you noticed. How could you not? Your account was public, but you occasionally looked at who followed you. And the second you saw Rafe fucking Cameron followed you, you almost fainted. Suddenly, the stupid crush you had on Rafe at sixteen came flooding right back. You refused to get your hopes up, but the thought of Rafe quietly stalking your social media never left your mind.

You had no proof, but over the course of a month, you posted on your stories way more than you ever did in college, because you knew Rafe would see them. If you went to a party on Figure 8? Insta story. If you went to the beach? Swimsuit selfies. Felt pretty and did your makeup? Insta story. And what did you notice? Rafe always coincidentally seemed to end up at the exact place you were at. He never came alone, obviously. But he always hung out nearby, always within your line of sight. 

You were driving him mad, certainly. There's no way it was legal for you to wear a swimsuit like that. It actually made his blood boil knowing there were other guys blatantly eye fucking you. Only he should be allowed to do that. He angrily sipped into his cup, silently fuming as he had to stand and simply watch you laugh and run around with your friends, walking past him every time you got drinks for the bar. 

He swore he saw you grin at him one time, a devious and flirty look in your eyes when you made eye contact with him. And he was ready to grab you by the arm and drag you to his car and fuck you right then and there. But he decided against it. Somehow he had enough self control. But it was wearing thin the longer his torture dragged on. 

“Girl, what did you do to Rafe?” Your high school best friend asked you when you came back with your drinks. You frowned, tilting your head innocently. 

“To Rafe? Nothing. I haven’t even talked to him since I came back.” You answered with the truth. Though you purposely ignored what she probably meant. 

“He’s been like glaring at you the whole night. He hasn’t moved from there all night and he’s just looking at you.” She pointed out, more quietly now. And you couldn’t help but subtly shift your eyes in his direction. And indeed, your eyes met with his piercing blue ones. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t race the slightest bit when you caught him looking at you like that. He was looking at you exactly how you desperately wanted him to look at you in high school. 

“No idea what you mean. He’s probably just annoyed I’m hanging out with Sarah and her boyfriend. He probably thinks I’m encouraging her hanging out with the pogues.” You mumbled into your cup, shrugging as you quickly averted your gaze from Rafe. You weren’t sure if you wanted to convince her, or yourself.

“You’re better than me, because if Rafe Cameron looked at me like that I’d be dragging him to my car so fast.” She snorted and you almost choked on your drink. “I think you’re the only girl on this island he hasn’t fucked.” 

“Thank God for that.” You responded a bit too quickly, hoping to hide the slight bit of hurt her words brought to you. You always knew you weren’t good enough for Rafe. You always pretended not to care, but you’d be lying.

You left alone that night. And Rafe couldn’t hold back the urge to follow close behind you. He didn’t know when he got in his car after you. Or when he started driving to your house. Or when he got out of his car. He wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t like he was going to knock on your door. Or maybe he would. He ran a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut as he swept his hair away from his face, exasperated. The very small, but still present, rational side of his mind told him to get the fuck out. And he was going to, until he saw you emerge from your room on the second floor, and you stood right in front of the large window cell. He panicked, running to hide from sight, behind a large tree, but he didn’t leave, he didn’t want to. 

His jaw dropped, his eyes blowing wide open at the sight of you, untying your bikini top and just letting it fall, right then and there. The sight shot straight to his cock. What the fuck were you thinking? What if someone saw you? The thought of you exposing yourself like that made his jaw lock, but his now hard cock in his shorts was much more evident. He couldn’t look away. He was pissed he couldn’t see below your stomach, especially when he saw you crouch as you presumably took off your bottoms, too. 

Rafe almost moaned at the thought. 

And just like that you were gone. And you didn’t come back to the window. It almost felt like the universe was playing a cruel fucking prank on him. Now he had to drive home with an uncomfortable hard on in his shorts. That pissed him off even more.

~~~~~~

This became a habit for Rafe. He would aggressively scroll through your instagram page multiple times a day, hoping that he’d find out where you were for the night. But not in a weird way. He just wanted to see you. But he still hadn’t found the way to get you to talk to him first. He was starting to see the flaw in that plan. But alas, he couldn’t talk to you himself if he didn’t know where to find you. And sometimes, he’d find himself just standing outside your window, hiding behind that same tree. Sometimes you’d sit by the window cell, play around with your hair, sometimes you would read. And sometimes, you’d walk around completely naked, in full view of Rafe. How many times he all but sped home to rub one out was actually embarrassing. 

Rafe was tired of this little game. Though he didn’t quite realize it was a game at all. You had no proof, but you knew. That one time you caught him nearly running back to his car was proof enough for you. So you kept going, until he snapped. You didn’t anticipate just how fast he would break. 

“Guess who showed up.” Your friend whispered in your ear. You casually glanced over your shoulder to find none other than Rafe, with Topper and Kelce right behind him like lost puppies. It had to be criminal how hot this man looked. The polo shirt he wore was hanging on by a thread under his biceps and you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away. 

“Yeah, so? He shows up to every party.” You shrugged, pretending not to catch on to the blatant connection. She rolled her eyes at you. 

“Oh, so he casually shows up to the one party you’ve come to all week? Don’t you think it’s a little odd?”

You shrugged again. You were sure it was a coincidence. Sure it wasn’t because you posted a selfie of your pretty makeup and your pretty dress with the location of the party you got invited to. And surely the way Rafe was staring at you right now had nothing to do with the way your dress accentuated your chest perfectly, showing enough but still leaving some to the imagination. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. 

“Nope. Anyway, want a drink?” You smiled at her innocently, completely ignoring her Rafe interrogation. She shot you a pointed look, surely she would grill you about it later, but she relented nonetheless. 

With a smile you skipped over to the bar, your dress riding up ever so slightly as you leaned over the wooden bar to speak over the loud music. Rafe nearly dropped his beer, his eyes going from your hair down to your ass. He couldn’t take this anymore. 

“Yeah, whatever bro. I’ll be right back.” He cut off Topper as he went on about one thing or another, he didn’t wait for a response and he approached you in long strides. He sniffed softly, running a hand through his hair before opening his mouth. 

You heard your name spoken in a deep voice, with a drink in each hand, you whipped around, not expecting to run straight into a solid, muscled chest. 

“Hey—oh fuck,” Rafe cursed when the drinks you were holding spilled all over his shirt, and over the front of your dress. You gasped loudly, nearly squealing when the ice cubes slipped down your chest. 

“Rafe! What the actual fuck.” You almost screamed at him, desperately attempting to wipe off the alcohol soaking your dress, the front now sticking to your tits. Rafe wanted to say something, maybe apologize, but he was mouth agape at the sight of your soaked chest, it took him a minute to process. 

“Shit, my bad. I didn’t mean to,” he swallowed, his own shirt starting to stick to his chest. Which didn’t slip past  you, even in your anger. But you couldn’t think about that right now. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah, alright. I’m sure you totally didn’t want to embarrass me by spilling drinks all over me. Grow the fuck up, Rafe.” You huffed, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. You could feel your face fluster with embarrassment and you had to force yourself not to cry. You had tried so hard to remove yourself from the old you, the one everyone made fun of, the one that got asked out to prom as a prank, the one everyone stared at in disgust. And you felt like that girl all over again. 

Rafe didn’t even have time to argue, you were running off before he could get a word in. He groaned, discomfort settling in from his shirt sticking to his skin. 

“Way to go bro. You didn’t have to embarrass the freakshow like that though.” Rafe sneered in disgust at your high school nickname and he rolled his eyes, shrugging off the casual hand on his shoulder. 

“Shut the fuck up before I shove broken glass down your throat.” 

If there was something in this world that Rafe could never have, it would be patience. And this little game had his sanity wearing very thin. 

He didn’t know exactly when he ended up at your front door, fist pounding loudly as he called your name. His bike was somewhere on the lawn, he didn’t bother to hide it this time. He swore if you didn’t open this door right now he would kick it open. He stepped back, his jaw tight as he waited a few seconds before doing something more drastic. Then, the door swung open. And there you were. 

“I swear to God Rafe.” You sighed loudly, crossing your arms over your now slightly damp chest, having somewhat dried off the front of your dress. Rafe was taken aback by the appearance of your glasses, however. He hadn’t seen you wear them since you came back. Were you always this cute in them? 

No, focus. 

“You didn’t even let me talk back there! I didn’t mean to run into you like that, I swear.” He took a step closer, slightly leaning down to talk close to your face. You couldn’t help but stare at him, eyebrows furrowed with mistrust. 

“Oh right, so was it just a coincidence that you were standing right behind me like a wall?” You shot back, shooting him a suspicious look. He rolled his eyes at you, sighing heavily. “If you wanted to look at them better you could’ve just asked! You didn’t have to knock drinks all over my dress.” 

The words left your mouth in a haze. Fast and angrily as you motioned your hands around. You didn’t realize what you said until the look in Rafe’s eyes shifted. Going from confused to downright sinful. He tilted his head at you, crowding your personal space with his big fucking body. You realized then that you really fucked up. 

“What’d you say?” He asked, his voice low as he made you step back into your house. He followed you, his face close to yours and you swallowed. 

“Huh?” Play dumb, sure. 

“Uh-uh, don’t try to be all innocent now. What the fuck did you say?” He repeated, one of his large hands coming up to grip your jaw. You swallowed, your lips pulled into a pout. 

“You really weren’t that sneaky.” You finally admitted, throwing all logic out of the window knowing you both got caught red-handed by the other. Though Rafe didn’t look embarrassed or even remorseful, if anything he looked pleasantly amused. Impressed even. 

“Well, shit.” A grin pulled at his lips as he laughed, a rush of adrenaline flowing through his already amped up body. “You little whore. You were striping in front of your fuckin’ window on purpose, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t know for sure but, I heard your bike a couple of times.” You shrugged, trying to hide the devious smile on your lips. Rafe scoffed humorously, in utter disbelief. “You following me on insta was kind of a given, too.” 

“You are..” He leaned down, his soft lips mere inches away from yours as he blew out a chuckle, “A dirty little slut. You have any fuckin’ idea what you’ve been doin’ to me? Hm?” He squeezed your jaw between his fingers, forcing your head back to make sure your eyes were on him. 

The words that left his mouth made you rub your thighs together, heat forming between them at the thought of being this close to Rafe, knowing he was on the brink of madness, all because of you. You could see it in his eyes, that utter need to fuck you, take you over and over, or else he would go insane. 

“Thought I wasn’t your type.” You shot back, pettiness lacing your tongue. A groan of annoyance rumbled in his chest. 

“I didn’t know I was your type.” 

“You’re everyone’s type, since when are you humble?” You mocked him with a small laugh, but it quickly died in your chest when his fingers fell to your throat, and he dug his fingers with the faintest pressure. You nearly moaned. 

“Well you’re my type right now. Your tits sure fuckin’ are.” He bit his lip softly, making sure his eyes were on yours when he spoke again, “bet your pussy is my type too. Lemme find out, hm?” 

If you weren’t wet before, you sure were now. You nearly moaned out loud, his words alone bending you to his will. Not that it would take much work. 

Rafe didn’t get to say another word, you were pulling him down by the back of his neck and you kissed him, and you kissed him really fucking hard. He liked your intensity. He craved to find out just what else you were hiding behind your innocent and sweet girl facade. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, his fingers lacing into your hair to force your head back for him. And you happily let him. His other hand shamelessly grabbed at your ass, squeezing it as he kissed you. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.

“My bedroom is—“ you were breathless as you muttered against his lips. Rafe chuckled, cutting you off as he effortlessly hoisted you around his waist. 

“I know where your fuckin’ room is.” Of course he did. 

You giggled as Rafe tossed you on your bed, biting your bottom lip as you watched him pull his polo over his head and your jaw fell wide open at the sight. 

“Dude why are you like, so hot? Fuck.” Your eyes were big as you nearly drooled at the sight of his muscled torso. He was so ripped it was unbelievable. Rafe smirked at you, happy to hear that you were stroking his ego. He quickly joined you in your bed, straddling you as he hovered over you. 

“Yeah?” He leaned down, lips curved up into a grin as he pressed an open mouth kiss to your lips. You nodded as his tongue laced with yours, a string of spit connecting your lips when he pulled back. “You should've just talked to me then. Could’ve had me much sooner. You got any fuckin’ idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck you stupid?” 

“How was I supposed to know? You didn’t want me before. I didn’t know.” You pouted, a bit of hurt laced in your voice. He rolled his eyes at you, long fingers coming to squeeze your face. You held your breath as his blue eyes pinned you.

“No, you just wanted to punish me. You wanted to parade yourself around Figure 8 with your pretty little dresses and your innocent little smile. But then at night you’d strip yourself naked in front of your window.” He huffed out the words, frustration coating his tongue. You shrugged. “You wanted to act like a slut, so I’ll fuck you like one. But first, I wanna taste your pussy.” 

The way your body shuddered when Rafe moved down the bed to settle between your legs was embarrassing. You were already shaking and he hadn’t even touched you. You held your breath in anticipation as he reached underneath your dress, tugging your panties down your legs. Rafe grinned at the blue lacy panties that matched your white and navy blue flowy dress. You pretended not to notice him casually shove the lace into his back pocket. 

“Take off your dress. I wanna look at your tits.”  You totally would punch any other man for speaking to you like this, but Rafe? He could speak to you in any way he wanted, especially when he was in between your legs, nearly drooling at the sight of your already soaked cunt. 

You complied, unzipping the side of your dress before pulling it over your head, to reveal that you were indeed not wearing a bra today. Rafe nearly groaned at the sight. 

“Fuck baby. You’re such a slut, did you plan this?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were replaced by a gasp when he dipped his head and licked a stripe between your folds without a single warning. 

It was actually embarrassing how quickly you were falling apart. You were a sobbing shaking mess as soon as he started to circle his tongue around your clit, sloppy sounds leaving his mouth as he moved his head up and down. Rafe was enjoying this as much as you were, how many times he fantasized about shoving his tongue into your cunt, what you would taste like, how you would sound like for him. It was driving him insane. He was groaning and moaning as he lapped at your soaking cunt. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good baby. You got any idea how many times I went home to rub one out thinkin’ about your pussy?” He groaned, spitting on your clit as he looked up at you, catching the way your back arched off the bed as your eyes rolled back into your head. “Should’ve just taken you. You would’ve let me, right doll? If I slipped in through your window and fucked this sweet little pussy in the middle of the night, wouldn’t even care as long as you got some dick, right?” 

His words slipped past you, only the feeling of his tongue back on your clit. You couldn’t think straight, your pussy was pulsing, it just felt so good, you didn’t remember the last time a man ate you like this, with such intensity and fervor. Rafe looked up at you again, amused by the way you squirmed and writhed on the bed. With a grin, he wrapped both arms under your knees and folded them damn near against your chest, spreading you open for him. And you couldn’t run away either. 

“I asked you a question.” He spat into your clit again, this time watching as the string of saliva ran down your clit before licking it. 

“Ah! Rafe! Fuck—y-yes! You can do whatever you want to me!” You sputtered, your voice breaking into a cry when he slipped his tongue into your hole. His nose bumped your clit as he fucked you with his tongue and you were nearly digging your nails into his scalp as you clutched his hair. You wanted to come so bad. “Please Rafe. I’m gonna come.” 

Rafe groaned into your pussy at your words. His tongue was replaced by two thick fingers and he curled them perfectly, enough to have you thanking the Gods for having your own house separate from your parents' main house. 

“Oh, fuck yeah. You look so pretty begging me to let you come. Say it again, say it again just like that f’me.” His eyes never left you as his tongue was back on your clit, his fingers slipping and curling inside your throbbing cunt in the most delicious way possible. You couldn’t even form a thought, let alone a sentence. You sobbed, your pussy pulsing around his thick fingers. 

“Please Rafe! Wanna come!” You didn’t have to say it twice, the second Rafe hummed at you, his tongue lapping at your swollen clit as his fingers fucked you raw, you were over. You were a shaking mess as you came, all you could do was gasp and cry as his fingers fucked you through your orgasm, and he happily continued to basically make out with your cunt.

“That was so fuckin’ good baby. You were so good f’me.” He grunted into your thigh as he lazily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Your eyes were screwed shut, heaving as you were still jolting from the aftershock. When you opened your eyes again you found Rafe already hovering above you, his blue eyes staring down at you with devious intentions. 

“You totally look so fuckin’ hot with those glasses. You should like suck my dick with them on.” You blinked at him, mouth slightly open which made him grin at you. “Not right now, I wanna be inside you now.” 

Rafe didn’t waste any fucking time in pressing your knees to your chest, your glistening pussy on full display and ready for his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck this pussy like I fuckin’ own it.” He spat, his jaw slightly falling open as he slipped into you. Your eyes rolled back almost instantly, the feeling of his cock stretching you was better than you could have ever imagined. He was so fucking big, too. “All these fuckin’ assholes lookin’ at you and I’m the only one that gets to fill this pussy, you got that?” 

You nodded harshly as he bottomed out, and without a warning he pulled out only to slam back into you, his cock damn near splitting you open. You threw your arms around his neck, your fingers lacing around his hair as he slammed into you, filling you deeper than anyone ever has before. 

“Just you Rafe! It’s always been you!” You grabbed his face, pulling him into a messy kiss. Your words made his cock twitch and all he wanted right then and there was to keep you here, beneath him, stuffed with his cock and never let you leave. 

“Why didn’t you come back sooner, huh? This pussy is so perfect, so tight. Just f’me. Want you all the fuckin’ time baby.” He grunted into your mouth, both arms caging you in as he drilled into you, his cock so deep you could almost feel him in your fucking guts. 

A string of pathetic sounds, a string of uh-uh-uh’s left your lips as he damn near folded you in half, your cute nails dragging down his back, surely to leave red angry marks. Rafe grunted in delight, his large hand coming to grab your throat. He definitely didn’t miss the way you pussy clenched around him then. 

“Shit, you’re so fucking hot, yknow that? Such a pretty little slut f’me. You’re gonna let me use you, hm? Do whatever I want with you?” He squeezed your throat, forcing your head up and down in a ‘yes’ gesture and you moaned, eyes screwed shut. “Mhmm, exactly. Open your fuckin’ mouth.” 

The sound that left your throat was so pathetic Rafe laughed. You did as you were told, opening your eyes as you opened your mouth, you watched him with glazed eyes as he leaned down and spat straight into your mouth. He watched you jaw slacked as you happily swallowed, feeling the bump under his fingers. 

“You’re so fuckin’ nasty, I love it.” He leaned down again, his fingers tightening around your throat as he spat into your mouth again, but this time he kissed you, it was so messy and sloppy and you fucking loved it. “Act like a slut, I’ll treat you like a slut.” 

“Mhmm yes! I’m such a slut, just for you.” You choked out, your throat raw and sore from the grip he had on it. He shuddered at your words, his cock twitching as he dropped his free hand to rub harsh circles around your clit. Your eyes rolled so far back you actually looked like you were spasming. “O-oh god. I’m gonna come—! Please Rafe—!” 

“Ohh, feels so good, doesn’t it baby? You wanna gush all over my dick huh?” He spoke right into your cheek, his sweaty cheek pressed right against yours as he held you by your throat, your glasses getting squished by him and you were praying to the Gods that he didn’t end up breaking them. 

“Please, please, please Rafe!” You sobbed, your soaked cunt pulsing around his cock, your thighs sore and shaking as you hanged on by a thread, so close to reaching your limit. 

“That’s it doll, squeeze the fuck out of me, come all over my cock, just like that.” He rubbed your clit and drilled into your already abused hole until you were gushing, you whole body shaking as you fell into a fit of sobs. Rafe wasn’t one to come just like that, but the sight of you so utterly fucked out and sobbing almost made him spill right then and there. 

“Ah! Rafe!” You whined as he kept fucking you, his rough hips and harsh pace not once slowing down, driving you to the point of overstimulation. You squirmed, almost as if you wanted to run away from him. He tisked at you, releasing your throat to grab your arm, holding you down as he gripped the headboard with the other, damn near crushing you with his big fucking body. 

“Oh, where the fuck are you going, huh? Who said you could run away? Nah, you wanted it, so now you take it like a good girl.” He reveled in the way you took his cock, jaw agape, eyes screwed shut and forehead screwed into a frown of pleasure. 

You were practically done for when he carelessly shoved your face to the side, damn near knocking your glasses off your face. His lips sucked marks on your neck as your pussy convulsed around his cock for the second time. Your head was spinning so hard and your vision was so blurry, you didn’t even know what planet you were on.

“Hmph! Rafe!” You yelped but he cut you off, a particularly sharp thrust making you slide up the mattress. 

“Shut up. I’m gonna fill you. Gonna ruin every other man for you.” He spat, his voice raspy and his hair falling in front of his eyes as he chased his high. 

“Please Rafe, give it to me. Want it so bad!” Well that fucking did it. A moan rumbled in Rafe’s throat as he spilled himself inside you. His eyes were screwed shut and his mouth hung wide open. He snapped his hips, one, two more times before he sat still with a long breath. 

You laid speechless, blinking softly as you tried to slow your racing heart, and process that this actually happened. Sixteen year-old you would totally freak out. Rafe Cameron just fucked the life out of you. Rafe was looking down at you with a pussy-drunk look, his eyes slightly closed and his lips were parted. Not that you could see him that well. Your glasses were so smudged and foggy all you could see was blurry shapes. 

“I just fucked you dumb and you’re making that face?” Rafe narrowed his eyes at you as leaned on his forearms, holding up his weight as your legs fell to either side of him. You frowned at him, confused. 

“What face?”

“You’re pouting and shit.” He smirked, squeezing your face between his fingers and you shot him a pointed look, groaning. 

“I forgot to take off my glasses. They’re all dirty now. Can’t see shit.” You rolled your eyes, pulling your face away from his grip as you took your glasses off and tossed them on your nightstand. 

“Well you looked cute and shit so. You’re fine.” He pressed a kiss to your pouty lips before laying down beside you, the feeling of your mixed release making you hiss softly. 

Rafe lied with an arm behind his head and he couldn’t help but grin when he caught you looking at him with your lip pulled between your teeth. He nudged you over with his head and you happily settled underneath his arm with your head resting on his chest. You didn’t take him for a cuddling type but you’d happily take this.

You sighed heavily, just wanting to rest your sore muscles for a bit when you heard him speak again. 

“So are you gonna follow me back on insta now or what?” 

[thecoochiefairy]

lovesick. toji.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 17.1K. word count. blackfem!reader, toji fushiguro, countryboycoded! toji, sweet!toji,dominant!toji, makeup sex, drunk sex, balcony sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, squirting, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condom-less sex, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ listen, don’t cuss me out. it seems like most of y’all didn’t really fuck w/ the snake wrangler, but i did. so this is for the people that did love it, and wanted to tie up the loose ends. :)

𝓐ᥫ᭡ :: song is switch a nigga out, by summer walker.

A PROMINENT FLORAL AROMA WITH A MIXTURE OF GRAPE HUGGED HER NOSE. It was entirely too early for her to be drinking, but she was dying to know her sister’s opinion on the new wine she’d bought, mixing it with orange juice to create her own customized mimosa. 

She dropped a pink hibiscus flower within the tall glass, turning with a small smile as she handed it out, “Here you are, madam—I trust your tongue on the taste of Moscato—don’t fail me now.”

“Tuh, I got this!” 

She took the glass delicately, bringing it to her lips. Drinking a bit of the orange and pink liquid, she swirls it around her tongue before swallowing it down, letting the flavors sink into her taste buds. She smacks her lips together a couple of times, twisting the glass around in her hand fancily. 

“Mm, I can taste the floral tinge from the hibiscus with a dash of grapes. It’s a nice balance of both bitter and sweet. You ate that!”

“I told you it would taste good!” Stoney gives a smile, taking her piece of avocado bread, biting down into it as this was her breakfast. 

She then asks, “Now, remind me again why you aren’t participating in Sai’s career day at school, Ms. I Bake Decorative cakes for a living?”

Serena took another drink of her Mimosa before letting out a sigh, biting down on a piece of her own Avocado bread. She let out a soft hum before speaking, running a hand through her hair as she leaned back in her seat. 

“You know I hate talking in front of people. What about you, bitch? You own a whole pottery studio! Don’t you think that would’ve been cool to show the kids?”

“Do you know how expensive a pound of pottery clay is? I love Sai’s lil’ besties, but I’m not wasting my shit on some bad ass kids,” she shakes her head, “You’re just lazy. Could’ve made them kids a damn Paw-Patrol cake and let them smash it. God don’t like ugly.”

“Well I don’t know how he had our mom birth you then, extra terrestrial. Don’t piss me off— where’s your daughter at before I smack you?” 

Stoney holds back her laugh as she teases, “Ooh, you’re mad. But she’s upstairs, getting herself ready. I did her hair and stuff, I told her she could be responsible for picking her outfit, I just hope she doesn’t come downstairs with two left shoes on and her shirt backwards.”

Serena snickered at the thought, shaking her head as she drank her mimosa again, glancing at the stairs.

“You know if she does, that’s on you for letting her pick out her own outfit.” 

“That’s fine! That’s my baby, and she tried!” 

As she was finishing her sentence, the sound of footsteps came down the stairs towards the kitchen, both women turning their heads to see Sai. She actually hadn’t done bad at all, it was an event at school, so they were told to dress up. Her soft midnight black hair was slicked back into miniature pigtails, edges swirled along her forehead and finger curled ponytails in between the rubber bands beneath her alabaster bows. She wore a shimmering pink dress, glittered at the top, tulle starting at her chest and to her ankles, her ballerina flats matching her bows, socks having ruffled lace along the ankle part.

Stoney gasps, pressing her hands against her face as she greets, “Hi, baby!” Smiling from ear to ear at her five year old, “You look so pretty—You dressed yourself so well!”

Sai grins to herself, giggling softly as she does a little spin for her mom, showing off the pretty tulle of her dress as it swayed around. 

“You think I look pretty, mommy?”

Stoney goes over to her, picking her up and placing her along her hip as she usually did, “So good, my love. Such a good job, hm? I’m so proud of you.”

Sai grins from ear to ear, wrapping her tiny little arms around her mother, nuzzling her face against her shoulder. She lifts her head up to look at her aunt Serena, waving a hand at her. 

“Tee-Tee ‘Rena’—did I do a good job?” She questions, Serena chuckling and approaching the two. Just like an aunt, she had her camera out, recording her niece in awe, snapping a thousand pictures. 

“Tee-Tee’s baby did so well! You’ll be the prettiest girl there.” 

Sai then turns, her big doe eyes—something she’d definitely gotten from her father—blinking at her mother as she conveniently questions, “Is daddy still coming today?”

There it was, the question she wished she could avoid. Her and Nathaniel had been divorced for about six months, separated even before that, and she constantly tried to shield Sai from the absence of her father—she had the unfortunate job of reminding her child what disappointment was. 

She tried not to allow her face to drop as she said, “No, baby. Daddy said he had to work today, so he won’t be coming, okay? I’m sorry.”

Serena awkwardly rubbed sisters shoulder, knowing she hated the face her daughter made each time she was given that news. This was a normal occurrence now, everytime Sai asked about her father, he’d be busy. 

“Who the hell wants to see a weak ass fuckin’ stock broker anyways. What he gon’ do? Teach the kids how to rob, cheat, steal their money?” Serena smacked her lips, Stoney giving a warning as she briefly murmurs, “Serena.” 

Serena pushes off her anger at her ex-brother in law, “My bad. But hey, my lil’ Sai-Sai. Me and your mommy will be there with you and all your friends, and I made cupcakes with extrraa sprinkles!”

“And, Daddy will be here this weekend to pick you up so you can go Christmas shopping with him, yeah?” Stoney adds in, kissing her daughter’s soft cheek multiple times to cheer her up.

Sai was now back to her excited and happy self, giggling when her mother showered her with kisses. The thought of her daddy bringing her shopping was exciting, the thought of spending time with him in general, made the young girl happy. 

 “Can we get presents for you too, mommy?”

“Yeah. Tell the bastard I need thirty bands in the bank right now,” Serena says, Stoney flicking her arm as she interrupts that, “Of course, baby. A little card with your name on it would be beautiful for mommy. You’ ready to go? We don’t wanna be late!”

Sai nodded her head enthusiastically, a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. She hopped down from her mother’s arms, putting her tiny hands in her mom and aunts palms, walking with the two to the front door. This was all Stoney needed—the happiness from her daughter.

 It didn’t matter if she had to be the only one that created that for her—almost having to be the mother and father, essentially—but it didn’t matter. She’d always work twice as hard to provide for Sai. Even if that meant taking her business and turning it into a small pottery studio, having classes three times out the week, allowing people to learn the creations she taught herself. It worked for her. 

They placed the cupcakes for her class within the trunk, Stoney’s Lexus NX 350 pushing down the road as she made her way towards the school building.

“What did that dumbass nigga come up with as an excuse this time?” Serena questions, turning the air up on her side of the passenger seat, not wanting to ask the question, but she was always curious. 

Stoney keeps her hand along the wheel, glancing at the mirrors beside her as she switches lanes, “Said he had a client. I didn’t say too much after that.”

Stoney’s lips form a thin line, sighing to herself. It was always the same thing every time he said he wouldn’t be able to make it with Sai. Work, clients, clients, meetings, meetings. She honestly wondered when it would just stop. It was always some excuse, always something more important than her. Always. 

“I bet the bitch still wanna play house with you. He probably misses you.”

“I wouldn’t care if he offered me the entire world to get back with him,” Stoney briefly says, turning the wheel with one hand, “I just want him to be there for Sai, even if that means explaining what stock-broking is to a bunch of five-year olds. It would’ve been boring, but it would’ve meant something for her, y’know?”

Serena nods her head, crossing her arms against her chest. She turns in her seat, looking back at her niece, who was preoccupied with Bubble Guppies on her mini IPad, eyes glittering in a mix of childish happiness and innocence.

“She’d be way better if she didn’t have a sorry ass dad like him. She’s got you though, you’re doing an amazing job. And you have me. That nigga could turn into a dry-ass Popeyes biscuit.”

“You’d still eat him, huh? Hungry ass.” 

“…Maybe. Actually, damn right! And I’d take three days to shit him out, you know I be’ constipated.”

“You’re stupid,” Stoney sighs, a soft laugh pulling at that. 

“That’s fine, better than the biscuit man. Not that you need a man, but a step-daddy for Sai wouldn’t hurt.”

And at that comment, Stoney decides to say nothing at all, pulling into the school's parking lot. She can see other parents with their children, some of the children dressed in different uniforms from firefighters, chefs, to even small suits, their parents looking to be dressed in their actual work outfits. It was a full on event.

They were guided towards the Kindergarten wing, a door that separated off into an entirely different section that was a lot smaller than what the other grades had to deal with. Stoney and Serena greeted Sai’s teacher, placing the desserts they’d made for her class in the back where everything else sat, Sai giving her mom one last hug as she sat on the carpet with her friends. All the other parents began piling in, a couple unfamiliar faces also standing in the front of the class. It was a man dressed in scrubs, a female police officer, and another man who seemed to be some type of military profession.

Stoney picked up the bright yellow paper that titled the event of today, looking up as she said softly to her sister, “Hm, I didn’t know they’d have extra guests come and speak today. I guess you didn’t have to sign up for it.”

“I guess not,” Serena shrugs her shoulders. She looks around the room, her eyes landing on the unknown men. She then turns to her sister, a sly smile pulling at her lips. 

“Some of them are pretty cute, you have your pick. The doctor, the police officer, or the military? Who’d you choose?” She teases, lightly shoving Stoney’s shoulders with a laugh.

Stoney shakes her head, “Who would you pick, desperate?”

“I’m not desperate,” Serena exclaims quietly, rolling her eyes. She looks at each one of the men again, biting her lip as she tries to decide. After a second, she points at the doctor with his clipboard.

“I love a nigga in scrubs. Mhm, although I’m sure he’ married. Honestly—If he puts me up in a condo, I might be able to get over his wife and kids.”

“You’re terrible, you know that?” 

“Terrible? Meh. Smart? Correct,” Serena grins, watching the teacher as she begins speaking. 

The teacher smiles at the room of parents and kids as they all sit quietly, a small giggle leaving her lips. Each child was going to get the chance to talk about their ‘dream job’ and what they wanted to be when they got older. The special guests would also have an opportunity to explain their job, educating the children in addition to that. As the presentation begins, each kid around the room holds a paper, showing a drawing of what they wanted to be and why. It was an adorable sight, some of them saying fairies, ninjas, assassins, jobs you’d expect a child to say. Then, it was Sai’s turn.

Stoney was easily emotional, she knew that. She told herself she wasn’t going to cry when her daughter stood up there to present her career choice, Serena holding up her phone to record as the five year old held what looked to be her butterfly shaped pottery dish she’d made. 

“My name's Sai, and I wanna be like my mommy when I grow up!” 

The little girl held up the dish—which had pink butterflies, along with the letters ‘S’ and ‘S’ drawn on it—with a smile on her face, showing it off to the rest of the room as she continued, “My mommy makes all these pretty plates and other cool stuff. It makes people happy, so I wanna make people happy. My mommy is like a superhero!”

The teacher smiled at her, “That’s wonderful, Sai. Your dish is beautiful.”  

Stoney’s heart had nearly melted inside of her body, and she wanted to crocodile cry. She loved nothing more in this world than her baby girl.

“All right, we’ll now be moving onto our guests—“

A knock on the door interrupts the teacher's words, the door opening before she could make her way over to it. As Stoney turned her attention like everyone else, it seemed like time stopped—Just to her unamusement. Just to laugh in her damn face. 

He almost had to hunch to come within the classroom, as the ceiling was low, but he was big—his shoulders broad, flexing muscles stretching along his back under the dark long sleeve he wore. His full and dark pink lips, scar cutting through his mouth dangerously, scarily straight teeth made by the devil himself. Dark eyebrows that furrowed as he walked in, sable hair all complimenting his cream skin, littering in tattoos that she knew he had.

 She could imagine the serpent that slithered around his arm, the same one that clutched her hair within his veined palm. And then—those eyes. Those grey eyes poured into her senses, picking up her melting heart and having it drop completely out of her body. 

Toji fucking Fushiguro. 

Her sister's phone that was previously held up slowly dropped down, looking towards her younger sister who could’ve gone into cardiac arrest at this very moment.

 She muttered, “Oh hell.” 

Has he gotten bigger? Taller? Sexier? Why couldn’t he have just become ugly all of a sudden? 

His voice was almost unrecognizable to her, deep, assertive as his first words were, “I’m sorry. Did I miss the special guest presentation?”

Stoney’s eyes were practically popping out of her sockets at the sight of the man—who she thought she’d never see again. And yet, there he was. Toji Fushiguro, standing in all his tall dark glory. She was practically about to have a heart attack. 

The teacher smiles, shaking her head and waving a hand, “No, not at all. You’re actually just in time. Come on up. Class, this is another guest of ours, this is Mr. Fushiguro, he’s a Snake Wrangler.”

The kids cheered at the title—snake wrangler was such a unique and thrilling name to them. But to Stoney, it was like hearing her worst nightmare. She hadn’t seen this man in two months. Since he’d helped her move into her house, since he’d fucked her, cared for her in ways a man in years couldn’t care for her in the way he did in one night. 

And to her luck, Sai instantly recognizes the tall man, running up to him as she wraps her arms along his leg, squealing, “Mr. Snake Man!”

She wished at this moment that Sai wasn’t so damn outgoing—or that maybe this was her personal hell, and it was only a nightmare. Her dark brown eyes widened, her jaw almost dropping open. 

A blind person could sense how attractive he was, even the teacher giving him a look. She collects herself, smiling at Sai, “You know him, sweetie?” 

“Uh-huh! He’s mommy’s friend!” Sai exclaims, her little tiny hands wrapped around his thick, muscular leg.

In that instant, it’s like the entire class looks back towards Stoney, which causes him to look at her. Yup, she was going to faint. She was going to black out.

“Hey, pretty girl. I missed you,” Toji picks Sai up for a moment, pulling her into a hug that makes the small child giggle before placing her back down. 

Stoney was red. Her brown skin was flushed at the situation, unable to even speak. Her heart was racing. He was staring.

She was practically unable to move, unable to function, unable to breathe. Her dark brown eyes staring back into his storm grey ones, unable to break contact. What the hell was he even doing here? This was not the place to run into your one night stand after two months of disappearance. 

The teacher’s voice came in again, “It’s wonderful to have you here, Mr. Fushiguro. Why don’t you find a seat until it’s time for your presentation?” 

He gives a nod, politely smiling as she guides him to a small stool they’d brought for the guests to sit out in front of the group. He sits there now, sitting in that damn school-sized-stool that looked like it would break at any second, his palm clutching what looked to be a travel terrarium.

Nothing was louder than Stoney’s thoughts. She now felt extremely insecure in the top she wore, showing off her midriff, her cargos and fuzzy boots, jade green glasses perched atop of her freckled nose, straight hair lazily pulled behind her face in a matching claw clip.

Serena was having the best time out of anyone there, watching as her poor sister looked like she was going to burst into tears. Stoney knew if she looked next to her, she was going to punch Serena in the face. He couldn’t help but stare at her—she was the prettiest thing to him. Something in his scar twitched at the sight of her glasses, and those freckles he seemed to memorize all those months ago. 

He looked over her body once more, watching her bite at her brown lined lips, how her cheeks were naturally blushed. 

God, he missed her.

“And for our final presenter, everyone give a warm welcome for Mr. Fushiguro!” The teacher ignites clapping throughout the classroom, women gawking, men watching his every move. He was like an alien that’d just come down to earth.

The children cheered and clapped, their eyes looking up at him as he stood from the stool, which was somehow holding up his 200+ pound ass. He stands there, intimidating aura practically surrounding him without needing any effort.

“Well, I’m a Snake Wrangler, or a snake catcher, meaning I help capture reptiles that might be in places they shouldn’t be. In your neighborhood, your backyard, maybe even in your toilet,” which makes the class giggle, but nothing was funny to Stoney at this moment.

A kid within the front of the class raises his hands, speaking anyway before he is called to ask the question, “Have you been bitten before?”

Toji chuckled, the question amusing him, but he answered anyway, “I have. Quite a few times actually. Mostly from smaller snakes. It’s not that bad, just uncomfortable and a little scary if it’s from a bigger one.” 

The class ‘ooed’ at the answer. Another kid spoke up, “Can we see?” 

He smirked, holding up his arm, where there were indeed a few circular shaped scars on his olive skin. All of them seemed shocked, like it was some cool thing. Except Stoney. Who knew what those scars felt like on his skin.

He then places the terrarium on the desk, his broad back facing the classroom for a brief second—making Stoney’s insides throb,imagining her fingers clawing at his back, whining into his ear. 

She blinks, wanting to bang her head against the wall to knock sense into herself, hearing his voice as he asks, “Now, who wants to hold a snake?” 

Maybe Stoney wasn’t alone in the fear that struck against the classroom, but her fears were entirely different. She expected at least one child to volunteer, yet they all sit with wide eyes, seeing as a yellow reptile slithers around his arm, finding comfort in the material of his top.

“This is Lily,” he introduces, “She’s a ball python. Her color might look a little scary, but she’s the sweetest. She loves to cuddle, and she says her favorite show is SpongeBob,” which makes the class giggle, the parents amused at his words. 

A student calls out, “She can’t talk, she’s a snake!”

“She talks to me all the time!” He defends, “She’s just nervous to see all you new people, takes her a while to get comfortable enough.”

The kids laugh at the statement, even Stoney having to hold back a weak laugh, watching how easy he was with them. He allowed the snake to slither up his arm, up until she made her way to his neck, locking around his throat as he adds, “This is her favorite place to sleep. They like where it’s warm.” 

Stoney was more focused on the way that damn snake slid across his muscular arm and shoulders. It unfairly fit him—made him look even hotter somehow. 

But the thought of the snake touching her—it made her shiver. The fact that she was still standing here watching, it was definitely a sense of growth, something she might’ve been able to thank him for.

The kids seemed intrigued by the animal, even more when Toji carefully picked one child to hold the snake. The girl was clearly nervous, but when she was holding the reptile, she had the biggest smile on her face. 

“The main thing I want you guys to understand,” Toji continued his presentation, “Is that snakes are just tryna’ survive. They’re more scared of you than you are of them. They just want to eat and lay down somewhere warm, nothing more.”

She could feel his eyes on her, and she knew that the second this presentation was over, he was going to come over there to talk. 

Not gonna happen. 

So the moment she heard the teacher say, “Thank you so much, Mr. Fushiguro, you’ve been amazing!” She beelined for the bathroom as everyone began clapping, hiding within the stalls until Serena confirmed that he was already gone. 

She nearly had to fan herself, giving her baby girl a kiss before making her way out of the building with her sister, wanting nothing more than to hide under the covers of her bed and scream.

When they got into the car, Serena held a hand over her mouth, giving her sister a couple of minutes as she said, “Can I laugh? I’m finna’ laugh. I’m so sorry, shawty.” 

“Shut up,” Stoney grumbles, her fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter as she sped back to her place. 

“And you rushed to the bathroom like you were gonna throw up. That’s a damn shame.” 

“Shut up,” she repeated again, rolling her eyes as her sister continued laughing, “I was embarrassed.”

“Why you’ being weird anyways? Y’all not fucking or something?”

Stoney blows out a breath. She then admits, “I haven’t spoken to Toji in two months.”

Serena’s jaw practically drops to the floor of the car. She’s shocked into being speechless for a good thirty seconds before blurting out, “Two months? Ain’t no way you haven’t tried to reach out.”

“I thought it’d be letting him down easier that way.”

“For someone who says they hate when people just cut them off without any explanation, you sure went and did the same. You know how lame you look?”

She narrows her eyes, “I have my reasons, Serena. I didn’t just stop talking to him for the fuck of it.”

Serena gives her, “Oh yeah? Then what’s your reason?” She turns her whole body to look at her, her arms still crossed, waiting to hear what she says. 

Now thinking of the reasons she was going to say, maybe she was starting to feel a little stupid. The moment Toji left that morning after, he asked about seeing her again and she told him she was busy— she stopped picking up his calls or even responding to his messages. 

She exhaled as she responded, “I’m busy with the studio and Sai. I don’t have time for some kiddy ass puppy crush.”

Serena looked at her in disbelief, “You can’t be for real. You spend all of your time with Sai if she isn’t at school, you work from home, and the studio is open three times out of the week. This heartless front you’re tryna’ put on? Doesn’t suit you.”

“Well how would you feel if the man that helped you move your stuff into your ex-husbands house listens to your sob story, makes you feel like you matter, and then fucks you so good that you tell him to cum inside of you after only knowing him for forty-eight hours? I feel stupid. Maybe I was just vulnerable, and he was just horny.” 

“You let that man cum inside you?” 

“That’s not the point of what I just said, Serena.”

Her younger sister's eyes were an expressway to her heart, she could never lie about her emotions. She seemed to have built a wall between herself and everyone. Her hands gripped the wheel tighter, her knuckles white and trembling, her lips pursing. 

There were a million things Serena could say to her at this moment, but instead she asked, “Why do you feel stupid?”

She pulls into her driveway, parking as she sits on that thought. She knew why, maybe she just didn’t want to admit that to herself. She hated being as emotional as she was, wearing her entire heart on her sleeve. 

She pulls her hair behind her ear, “I let him in too quickly, I didn’t even know him, Serena. I have a daughter, and I’m a grown ass woman. I can’t just be fucking niggas and thinking they’re in love with me.”

Serena looked at her, almost seeing herself in her younger sister as she said, “Love at first sight seems like a fairytale, I’m well aware of that. I know you’re an adult and you have a daughter, but you ain’t dead, girl. You can live a little—you should live a little more.” 

 Serena reaches out and places a hand on Stoney’s shoulder, saying, “You haven’t been yourself since you and Nathaniel’s split. So what’s really the deeper issue?”

Goddammit. The question makes her eyes turn away from her sister, looking forward to her condo, the sight of it becoming blurry in her eyes. 

She quickly sniffles as she drags her palm along her cheek, hating that she was crying. Her voice was hoarse as she admitted, “I just feel stupid. A man I knew for two days showed me an affection I never got from my own husband…” She presses her hands to her face, “I just…I’ve been wasting so much time…and I h—hate myself for it…”

The sound of her crying hurt Serena in ways she couldn’t describe. Seeing her younger sister like this, knowing how much emotional weight she carried, it didn’t feel fair to her. No one should have to feel that way. 

“Dammit bitch, got me crying too,” she lightly laughed while sniffling, her own tears forming in her eyes, “You’re not stupid for falling a little too hard. That dumbass baby daddy of yours never deserved you in the first place. Fuck that meat head. The only good thing that came from that was Sai, this condo, and your booming business. You’re blessed, baby girl. Know that. And now you have a man trying to fill that emptiness you don’t need, but deserve. Let him show you a love you didn’t have in a place you should’ve. Give him that opportunity.”

She takes in her sister’s words. She didn’t need any man’s love, but if it was genuine, it didn’t hurt to open herself up again. She sinks deeper into her older sister, needing her comfort as she says softly, “I love you.”

Serena smiles against her skin, holding her close as she says, “Ahh, you’re always a little cry baby when you’re sad. But I love you more. And if this man breaks your heart, Imma’ break his skull. So stop crying. You’re ruining my makeup, and I have a date tonight.”

She pulls her head up, “Wasn’t you just saying you wanted that doctor's number at the Career Day? Now you got a date?” 

She smacks her lips, waving it off as she says, “Do you doubt me as a bitch who can get any nigga she wants? That’s my date, girl! I got his number. Foine ass doctor, let me tell you.”

Here we go again.

Stoney felt a little better as the next day came. It was one of her favorite days out of the week, being within her studio and helping others enjoy a session. She had different packages—Pottery and Paint, Pottery and Pot/Smoking, Pottery and Sip— she enjoyed each session, and always was received well by her customers. She loved her studio, SAI’S, sign illuminating pink at the top of the building. It was minimalistic within the inside, honey pine wood tables and walls, plants hung along the ceiling, easels and workstations scattered within the workshop. This was her second home. 

Today in particular was a children’s birthday party, having the children all along the table with mats, mushing their creations into anything they wanted and painting over it. She had Sai participating with them, as she was in the studio with her today to be picked up by her father for the next week or so, spending time with him before Christmas. She knew her daughter was excited, but she wasn’t exactly looking forward to him coming to her place of sanctuary.

A small smile came along her face as she continued to lead, “Okay, so you’re gonna take your clay and roll it into a little burrito—but don’t eat it! It’ll make you very sick,” she dramatically rubs her stomach, making the children giggle, “Can I see everyone make a burrito for me?”

This was her peace of mind, being surrounded by all things she loved. Her baby girl’s giggle, the sound of clay, paint brushes and paint. It was all something she could immerse herself in.

As the session came to an end, she said her goodbyes to the children and parents, beginning to clean off the tables and unused supplies, feeling herself becoming a bit tired from the day.

“Alright, muffin. I need you to go and clean up in the bathroom, so you can look all nice and pretty for Daddy, okay?” She says to Sai, pulling her out of the chair she placed her in, “You need any help from mommy?”

“I’ll be okay!” 

As she continued to clean up the supplies, she heard the bell atop of her door jingling, and inhaled a deep breath.  Her eyes met with her ex-husband, caramel skin, hazel eyes, waves upon his head. He was wearing a suit, assuming he was coming from work. 

When she goes to politely greet him, the first thing he does is look around, raising an eyebrow as he says, “So this is where all my child support money is going, huh?”

And just like that, her good mood was ruined. She reaches over to grab the Hello Kitty duffle that had all of her daughter’s necessities, reaching it towards him as she dismisses, “Your daughter has her Christmas list in her bag, Nathan. She also needs new shoes, she’s beginning to grow out of her old ones.”

He reaches for the bag, his hand touching hers for a moment. His eyes drift down towards her tattoos on her forearms, before they look down towards her chest, as she wears a soft green tracksuit set, where her zipper was dipping a bit low. 

“You’ still fucking that mover?”

Her neck nearly broke as she was taken aback by the question, her face remaining stoic and unwavering. Instead of getting upset, she pulls the bag back towards herself as she dismisses,  “Do you know what shoe size Sai is?”

He doesn’t seem phased by her not responding to the question, leaning himself against the wall as he shoves a hand into his pocket, “She’s a ten in kids, I’m well aware of my daughter’s shoe size.”

His eyes once again stroll down her body, “Small feet like her mom.” 

“Congratulations on knowing that,” she flatly says, “Sai’s just washing her hands. She’ll be out in a second.”

He pushes himself off of the wall as he walks towards the table, sitting himself down, “So this is where you spend the money you got from the divorce, huh? Painting mugs and ashtrays?”

“It’s a good profit to take care of Sai,” she tells him, “She enjoys it here just as much as I do.”

He laughs, leaning back into his chair, “Well at least she’s enjoying it,” He says, before adding, “Because I know I’m sure as hell not paying for you to sit around and play with clay all damn day.”

She blinks at him, before she turns around and goes back to her cleaning. She really didn’t give a fuck about his conversation right now.

 She then hears his mouth open again, “I’ll be bringing Sai back a day early, me and my fiancé are going out of town for Christmas.”

That however makes her halt. She turns her head as she frowns, “What?” 

 “I’m taking a trip with my girl for Christmas. Gonna show her a nice time. We’re gonna be in Florida, in the keys.”

“You’re engaged six months after our divorce?” Her frown becomes deeper, “I haven’t even been out of the house for three months.”

He rolls his eyes, “We’ve been separated since last holiday. I’ve been with her since before you moved out, and I proposed to her three months ago. She’s my future. What, you expecting me to be pining over your miserable ass?”

She could take a lot of his beatings. But this particular conversation was viscerally pissing her off. She turned to fully look at him, raising an eyebrow as she questions, “Who the fuck is miserable?”

He stands to his feet and crosses his arms, “You’ve been sulking over being a single mom since we’ve been separated. I’d actually be surprised if you kept the next nigga you’re fucking on. You’re pathetic. Why do you think you’re here, playing with paint and clay in a tiny ass studio?”

His words were hitting her harder than she expected them to. Saying these harsh things to herself was one thing, but hearing them from the person that caused most of her misery was deafening. She hated that she was about to cry. But this was anger, and she wanted to become violent.

 She takes the duffle bag that holds her daughter’s items, chucking it at him as she spits, “You can wait for Sai in the car. Get the fuck out.”

He catches the bag, the items in it falling out in the process. He laughs, “It’s like you never even left the house,” He walks closer to her, “You think you’d be less of a miserable bitch after two months on your own.”

“You sound like an ignorant ass nigga right now. I’d advise you to back up before I put you in between this fuckin’ table and work station,” she threatens, uncaring if tears were coming in her eyes. Her hands were shaking. 

“Your new nigga gave you some balls or something? Now you’ can talk to me crazy?” 

She was entirely too angry to see anything else at this moment. So angry that she didn’t even hear the bell jingle atop of her studio, Nathaniel in the way of the door.

Her eyes peer into the doorway, seeing Toji standing there, eyes immediately narrowed, clutching his fist along the bouquet of flowers he holds. 

“You’ good?” 

The question echoes in her mind, almost like a replay of a situation they had before. She blinks in between the both of them as she says, “I’m fine—“

“You know I wasn’t asking you, Stoney.” 

He tries to be as respectful as possible when it comes to her ex-husband for the sake of Sai, but walking in to see him standing over her, he couldn’t hold his mouth this time. 

Before she can give a reaction, Toji drops the flowers within his hand, his face nearly able to burn the skin off of Nathaniel as he continues, “Nah, fuck that.” 

He’s fast, incredibly fast as he’s already making his way towards Nathan, which makes Stoney’s eyes go wide, panicked as she flies around him to grip Toji’s arm, not expecting him to have this reaction.

 She holds him as she confirms, “I’m fine, okay? I’m fine,” she confirms, only wanting to diffuse the situation. 

Toji knocks his head down to look at her. He looks back up at Nathaniel, who’s still standing there with a look of annoyance on his face, but something else within his eyes. Hesitance. 

His jaw clenched as he relaxed a bit, her touch feeling like it’d been forever, almost wanting to thank himself for the cause.

“I’m good.”

Thankfully, Sai appears, seeing her father as she greets, “Daddy!” Excited to see him, jumping up within his arms.

Toji looks down at the child, his features instantly softening as he sees the girl in her father’s arms. Seeing her cheerful smile, she had no idea of the tension in the room.

Nathan gives her a soft kiss on the head, “Hey, baby girl. You’ ready to do some Christmas shopping?”

“Yeah!” Sai says with a big smile, her arms going around his neck for a hug. 

Stoney clears her throat as she gently pulls Sai in to kiss her cheek, leaning down to quickly pick up her stuff that's fallen out of the duffle she’d chucked at Nathaniel, “Let Daddy take pictures of you, okay? I wanna see you having fun with him. And call me if you need anything, okay?” 

Sai smiles at her mom, and nods in reply, giving her a little wave, “Okay, mommy! Love you!” 

Toji watches as Stoney gives her daughter attention, seeing her pick up the items on the floor. He leans down, picking the stuff up with her, taking the bag out of her hand as he reaches it out to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel is still just glaring at Toji, who was waiting patiently for a reaction. Nothing. No talking goes into Nathan taking the bag from him. 

Sai’s sweet voice waves, “Bye, Mr. Snake Man!” as they exit out of the studio.

Toji gives the kid a little wave, and puts on a small grin. When they exit completely, his jaw finally unclenches, taking in the sight of Stoney. It was like seeing her again for the first time.

“You okay?”

He looks down at her fingers, watching how they shake from the previous situation. She’d been crying. Toji brings a palm up, grabbing her hand, unable to stop himself from just wanting to comfort her. 

“I’m fine.”

“Quit lying to me.”

She pulls her hand away, “What’s with the flowers? How’d you even know about the studio?” 

He wants to re-clench his jaw from her pull away. This was his second time seeing her in two months, and she still had her walls up. 

“You ran off on me at career day. I didn’t know Sai went to school there.” 

“Well—you know now,” she dismisses, turning as she begins cleaning up the rest of her studio. She can feel him following behind her, even beginning to pick up items himself to help her clean. 

He continues, “Serena told me about the studio before I left career day. I ended up asking Sai if she needed more flowers in her garden, she said you had pulled some of the Hibiscus’. So—I thought you needed some more,” he takes the bouquet off the table, reaching them towards her. 

Her eyes narrow down at the flowers, “Fucking Serena. Of course,” she presses her tongue within her cheek, turning away to gather the mats off the table. 

His dark grey eyes don’t leave her, watching as she walks around, trying to keep herself composed. When she refuses to take the flowers, he takes them back, setting them on the table, but not taking his eyes from her. 

“You gonna cut your sister off for giving me the name of your studio?”

“Serena couldn’t hold water in a bucket if a gun was to her head,” she retorts, scanning his attire, his overalls and wife beater showing he must’ve been at work, “I don’t need the flowers.”

“Are you upset about what I said to Nathaniel?”

She sighs, halting her steps, “Toji. I didn’t need you to play bodyguard. I can fight my own battles with him.”

Toji leans his forearms down on the table, veins flexing as he watches her pause her steps, finally looking him in the eyes again. 

“I know you can handle your own battles with him. I know. But he’s a fuckin’ prick. Needs his fuckin’ skull bashed in, I see the way he makes you feel. He hurts your feelings.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at him. He then says, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryna impose.”

“Well you did. Why are you here, Toji?”

“I miss you.”

She now raises both eyebrows, “You had two months to get over me. I think you’ll survive.”

“I can’t. So now what?”

She looks up at him, tilting her head slightly as she says, “Look, you did your big one, okay? Let me give you my sob story about my past relationship, fucked me, but we’re both grown as fuck. You don’t know me, and you enjoyed yourself. Why can’t we just leave it there?” 

“That’s what you think? That I just wanted to fuck you?”  

She shrugs, “I don’t know. But I have a life to make for myself and my child, I’m not tryna bring you into my bullshit. Seeing what just happened was enough to understand that.”

He comes even closer to her, feeling his body temperature rising, his eyes not leaving hers.

“You think I’m gonna let you write me off that easily? You think I can’t handle whatever you throw at me? Like I’m weak or some shit?”

“I never said you were weak.”

She feels her own body wanting to pull closer to him. Her heart thumps in her chest as she tilts her head up to look at him, able to smell his scent. 

He then says to her, “My birthday’s coming up.” 

She gives him a fake smile, patting his arm as she says, “Hm, Happy early birthday then. Hopefully you can find some girl to bounce her ass on you,” she goes around him, focusing back on picking up the work mats.

“I’m cool off that, I’d rather you be the one bouncing your ass on me.”

She scoffs, huffing as she turns towards him, “Why are you still here?”

“I want you.”

“Okay?”

He moves as she moves, refusing to let the space between them become too much. His eyes follow her as she tries to go around him, his scarred lip twitching. 

She raises an eyebrow, “Is something funny?”

“You’ not even gonna ask me what I’m doing for my birthday?” 

She sighs, pausing her movements again. 

“What are you doing for your birthday, Fushiguro?”

“Taking you wherever you wanna go. You deserve a real date.”

“Toji.” 

He raises an eyebrow as she says his name like that, clearly frustrated with him. 

“What? You’ done being stubborn now?”

“I’m tired of playing chicken with you.” 

“So tell me where you wanna go then.”

She squints, letting out a sigh as she begins to walk past him, sarcastic as she says, “I’ve always wanted to see Rome, Italy for Christmas. It looks beautiful there.”

“Rome, huh?” 

His eyes watch her ass as she walks past him, wanting to follow her anywhere she went.

 “I’ve heard the food is good as fuck, too. I’ll book the tickets tonight. You’ got three days to pack.”

Her entire body halts. She turns towards him as he begins walking out of the studio, “I was joking, Toji.”

When he’s still walking, she begins following after him, feet scrambling to catch up with his large strides as she alarmingly repeats, “I was joking!”

He then turns back to her, jaw clenching as he says, “I’m about to be thirty-three, Stoney. Imma’ grown ass man. Do you think I’m playing about you?”

She steps back a bit, hearing the seriousness in his tone. She then says, “I think you’re hard headed as fuck.”

“You can cuss me out on the plane. You’ need my card to go shopping?” 

She quickly says, “No,” as he’s already pulling it from his wallet, ready to hand it to her.

He raises an eyebrow in response, “What, money scares you too? Damn, I thought it was just snakes.” 

“Funny, jackass,” she snatches the card from him, “Now you’re finna’ go bankrupt.”

He leans in closer to her, his jaw clenching as he smiles down at her—the bastard was sexy. 

“I got more money than I need. I’m greedy as fuck, you know that.” 

“Goodbye, Fushiguro,” she finalizes, lightly pressing his chest, backing him out of her studio.

“You sure you don't want a goodbye kiss?”

“You can kiss my ass,” she tells him, quickly pulling away as she closes the door to the studio, waving at him through the glass panel.

He raises his hand up, doing a little wave back, knowing she can see the smirk on his face through the window. She has to hold back the small smile that comes to her face as he looks almost like a child, nearly tripping as he makes his way back to his truck. 

She trips as she makes her way over to her phone, going to her emergency contacts as she immediately dialed her sister's number.

“You better be dying, Stoney. I am laid up playing General Hospital, and I do mean that in the nastiest way.” 

“You’ll be dying cause imma’ kill you! He’s taking me to Italy, Serena.” 

“WHA—HUH?!”

                          𝓐ᥫ᭡

THREE DAYS OF PREPARATION WAS OVERWHELMING. She bought mostly black attire, flimsy, sexy, but she refused to admit that any of it was to get his attention. She’d even had Serena take out her sew-in—wash her hair, blow it out, and replace it with all new bundles. New makeup, shoes, even new scents of perfume. She felt ready. 

She watched as he placed her two suitcases in the back of his truck, “Think you packed up your whole house?”

She sighs, “Well one is my clothes bag, the other is my hair and makeup bag.”

“Hair and makeup bag?” He repeats, “You didn’t need a whole bag full of that. You look good enough already.”

“Quit flirting. Oh—“ she pauses, pulling the dark green 

Telfar off her shoulder as she reaches in, “Um—I got you your cigarettes. Thought you might’ve needed some. But you can’t smoke them on the plane, okay?” She raises the box in her hand, “The guy told me there’s organic tobacco in these.” 

His eyes run up her form, taking in her frame dressed in a black hoodie and sweatpants set, matching Toji’s attire accidentally. Her edges swirled along her forehead as she had in an orchid claw clip, freckled face covered by her glasses, skin coaxed by the cloying scent of her vanilla perfume. 

He slowly grabs it from her fingers, inspecting the label, “Organic tobacco?” He says with a smirk, “You tryna make me healthy, now?”

“Maybe,” she says softly, “You’ ready to go?”

He looks back to her, seeing an almost doe-eyed look within her face, genuinely concerned for his health. She was cute. 

“Been ready for three days, baby,” he grunts, reaching for her hand, “Come on,” opening the passenger seat of his truck, “Sure we don’t need to add your ass as a third check bag?” 

“Boy, hush.” 

She leans her head along the window, watching out as they pass the city. The nervousness she had was gone, but she felt…hesitant with him. 

Her head came up as she saw them pulling behind the airport, raising an eyebrow as she questions, “We aren’t flying with the airport lines?”

“Nah, I chartered a private plane. Caught an alligator out of a client's backyard, said he could give me the hook up—gave me a decent price on a jet.”

Her eyes glanced at the cream colored jet, seeing as workers began making their way towards his truck as she questions, “And how decent was the price of a jet to Italy, better yet—how big was the gator?” She frowns, blinking in surprise.

He watches her eyes gaze up at the jet, looking to the workers as they approach, “Big enough. Don’t ask too many questions.”

She rolls her eyes, watching as he pulls a cigarette from the box she’d gifted him. She gives a polite smile to the workers that begin unloading his truck, opening the door as he steps out to smoke. 

She comes around as she almost pouts like a child, “You said you wouldn’t smoke on the plane.”

He takes a hit from the cigarette, releasing the smoke from his mouth as he leans against the side of his truck, “Never said that shit. Plus, I thought these were supposed to be healthy for me?” 

She sighs, “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

He wraps his arm around her neck, pulling her forward with a chuckle as he blows out the smoke. She wasn’t used to a man being so…playful with her, making her feel like she didn’t have to be so aware and parental. She could relax.

He blows the smoke into her face to tease her, watching as her nose crinkles up and she waves a hand in front of her, attempting to disperse the toxins. 

“You’re cute as fuck when you’re annoyed.”

“And you’re annoying when you’re…annoying.” 

He raises an eyebrow, “That’s what you came up with?”

“I’m going to the plane!” 

She begins making her way towards the jet, waving politely to the workers as they open the door for her, ignoring Toji as he calls, “I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave!”

Pulling through the small door of the jet, the size of it made her nervous, this being her first time in one. The seats were big and luxurious, wine glasses and fruit along the small section they had holding food and drinks. She felt a bit overwhelmed at the effort he’d put in.

She sat with a space between Toji as she wanted to lay down, having her arms wrapped around her legs. But the moment they began takeoff, she frowned lightly at how fast the jet was moving, scooting herself closer to him, her anxiety now a bit on the higher scale.

“Scared?”

“What, are you gonna make fun of me cause I’m not a big fan of planes?”

“Why would I do that?” he questions, solemn to his voice. It makes her feel almost embarrassed, like she assumed something out of him.

She exhales, “My bad,” pulling her hands along her arms, feeling herself becoming colder.

“Don’t start that apologizing bullshit. You could’ve just came closer,” he mutters, grabbing her waist and pulling her close to his lap, her head now resting along his legs, his palm almost too warm as he rubs the skin between her thighs and ass.

It makes her take in a bit of breath, still trying to get used to his touch all over again. The minute he pulled the blanket from behind the chair while still rubbing her cold skin, her eyes felt heavy, and she felt extremely comforted by his touch. It wasn’t long before her lashes met with her cheeks.

He looked down at her—the way the sunlight from the window streamed off her face, her long lashes, freckles igniting from the light around her head, cascading along the skin of her shoulder, her breathing a melodic tune. 

Fuck. He was becoming addicted to her all over again.

She didn’t realize how long she’d been asleep. When her eyes opened again, she noticed as her arm pulled around his stomach, face deep within his abdomen as she slept. His hand had instinctively made its way to the back of her head, stroking the back of her neck, rubbing lightly at the skin.

“You’re always so warm,” she says softly, burying her face back into his lap, “Like I have two blankets,” she hums.

He chuckled, letting his hand go from the back of her neck to her waist, his hand now rubbing her ass through her sweats as he looked down into her now opened eyes.

“You’ still tired?”

She shakes her head, “No,” then looks up, seeing as his eyes are focused along his phone, a video playing as she asks, “What you’ watching?”

 “NFL highlights. I put money on the Eagles to win today. They’re losing. I’m about to flip the plane upside down.”

“Oh god, you’re already starting to act your age. Checking sports at random times of the day. Should I start calling you Grandpa?”

“You could call me something else.”

“Never mind. You’re still a child,” she rolls her eyes, “How far are we now?”

“We’re still about an hour out,” he looks back to his phone, “Why? You’ got somewhere else to be?”

“Mmm, maybe. Might find me a sexy ass Italian man and run off with him—“ he’s already leaning his face down close to hers, making her giggle as he grunts at her words, “Yeah, okay. You can run off with him if they find his body.” 

The last hour before they land, he can see her becoming more comfortable with him. It’s a side of her that he hadn’t gotten to see before. She sits up, changing her entire position as she straddles his lap, pressing pecks along his jaw, wanting to touch him in any way she could. His eyes were still along his sports as she used him as her own personal playground, allowing her to pull the hairs off his arms, scratch the scalp of his hair, even plucking his eyebrows at one point. He didn’t mind any of it. 

The moment they hear the pilot go over the intercom of the jet, Stoney leans over at the window, peering down at the overhead of their destination—Rome, Italy.

The sight of the overhead lights of the city, the way the sunset beamed through the sky, he could see the way her eyes lit up in awe. The moment they land, they’re met with the chauffeur as he places their bags in the trunk of the Cadillac Escalade, making their way out of the airport. 

She peered out the window as they drove into the city, the roads small, bricked cement along the ground, pastel buildings and infinite amounts of greenery everywhere she looked. The vehicle glides through the crowded streets, the sounds surrounding them in a buzz. Horns were going off constantly and people walking along the sidewalks, their voices blending into a constant hum. 

When they pull into the driveway of what essentially could be a villa, Toji tips the chauffeur, hopping out of the truck as he pulls their suitcases onto the ground. Stoney looks up at the Mediterranean styled home, glancing down at the stained glass double doors.

The moment they make it inside, a beautiful marble and hardwood space is made up of open-concept. The living room is surrounded by large windows able to see out into the streets. The kitchen is made out of a beautiful white stone, a large island sitting in the middle with a dining room table in the next room. Two doors lead into the bedroom, a vintage look to it, champagne comforter set with a fancily carved headboard, long golden curtains high along the ceiling, leading to a spacious balcony.

Stoney’s eyes couldn’t find one place to look. She’s so distracted by the beauty of this house, she’s pulled away as she feels a pair of arms sneak along her hips, feeling his breath along her neck, holding her close to him. 

She sighs, rubbing the skin of his arm as she tells him, “How are you trying to impress me on your birthday?”

He chuckles against her neck, the feeling of his lips against her skin sending shivers down her spine as his chin rests along the curve of her shoulder. One of his hands slowly travels over her hoodie, gently tracing the skin of the side of her abdomen.

“Don’t gotta impress you, baby. Just trying to make you comfortable. You’ comfortable?”

She nods her head as she breathlessly replies, “Mhm,” before she then adds, “You should go shower. You still haven’t told me how you wanna celebrate tonight.”

He hums against her skin, his lips slowly caressing her neck in an open mouthed kiss, “You’re tryna avoid me.” 

The laugh that comes from her lips is forced, awkward even. It was as if they hadn’t already been together on the drive there, the plane ride, all of it. But they were here now, in this intimate space, and maybe that intimidated her a bit. 

She squeezes his arm tighter as she lies, “No. I just take forever to get ready and think you should go first. Womanly shit. And—I’m hungry,” she adds on, turning towards him, lightly pulling away as she gives him a smile.

He could see the unease in her eyes, and that familiar shyness that would always take over her. He nods his head as he lets her pull away, keeping a hold of her hand, a subtle understanding in his eyes, “What do you want for dinner?”

“I’d ask you that, birthday boy,” she brings her arms around his neck to make sure she wasn’t being awkward, “What are you in the mood for?”

“You really wanna know what I’m in the mood for?”

The question seems innocent, but she knew it wasn’t. She was blushing hard enough. When he chuckles at her slow blinking at him, she sighs out, “Toji…” hearing his amusement as he brushes his nose against hers, finally allowing her to breathe as he pulls back to go shower.

He turns to make his way down the hall to the bedroom, calling over his shoulder,  “I’ll be done in twenty minutes, don’t set the house on fire while I’m gone.”

Her eyes follow him, the way his back muscles flex as he peels the hoodie he wears while walking towards the bathroom, nearly tilting her body to follow him with her vision. 

She mindlessly replies, “….Okay.” 

God.

It was starting to become a game of cat and mouse. The only thing was, Stoney wasn’t sure which part she played. He came out of the shower with a towel wrapped along his hips just begging to fall, his large arms reaching up as he dried his dark hair, muscles flexing along his stomach with every move he made, tattoos almost moving with him.

All of the thoughts she had smacked her upside the head like a brutal fight, driving her insane. She moved around him as she went into the bathroom. 

She took her time on her hair and makeup, wanting to look as good as possible. Her dark hair was pin straight, layers prominent within the dark shine of her tresses. Her lashes create a cat-eye, dark liner in her bottom lid, a mauve and a dark brown mixture along her lips. Even if she’d gotten the approval from her sister, she felt…strange in her dress.

 It was sexy, purposeful to catch someone's eye. The black silk somehow clung to her frame, but still had a flow to it, spaghetti straps along her shoulders, lace clutched along her breast, nearly showcasing the brown of her nipples if you looked close enough. The left side of it had a slit all the way to her hip, giving the illusion that she wore nothing under. She pressed her lips together as she pulled her hair behind her ear, tilting to the side as she checked herself out. 

Her eyes then follow over to the open door, seeing as Toji’s frame now stood there, suit clutched to his figure as it fit him perfectly. His tie was still loose, buttons open from the top as he was getting himself ready. In all of that, his jaw visibly tightened at the sight of her. 

“…Is it too much?” she softly asks.

He walks up behind her, his hands trailing over her hips, watching her face in the mirror through his darkened gaze. His eyes roam over her frame, taking in the lace along her chest, the skin of her neck. 

“Turn.”

She turns towards him with a breath, the sound of his voice making her want to vibrate. She squeals as he places her along the counter of the bathroom, holding him as if she would fall. 

“Please say something else before my brain explodes.”

He chuckles, his hands clutching the skin of her legs, fingers running along her thigh, going under the silky material of the dress. He could practically feel her skin trembling underneath his palms as he looked over her.

“Christ, baby,” his voice comes out raspy as his eyes roam over her body, his fingers gently squeezing her thigh. “Shit is almost criminal at how good you look.”

She exhales at that, “You okay with the dress?” Her eyes glance back and forth, seeing that the question almost confused him.

“If you’re asking whether or not I give a fuck about you showing your body, the answer is I don’t. I know how to fight,” he tells her, his words making her giggle a bit as he gives a kiss to her neck, trailing up her jaw.

The moment she feels him close to her lips, she pulls his mouth back as she questions, “Need help with your tie?”

He lets out an amused huff as she pulls his mouth away, trying to distract herself. He smirks a little as he answers, “I’m grown as fuck. But yeah, do it for me.”

She wraps her fingers along the silk as she begins tying it around his neck, rolling her eyes as she says, “I’m aware, you’re six years older than me. That’s like fifty-thousand years.”

“Very funny.”

 He watches intently as she ties the tie around his neck, her fingers touching the silk, making sure it was proper. 

He smirks a bit as he asks, “You’ gonna be a smartass all night long?”

“Anyways, I couldn’t find much on the restaurants close by, the more local places seem to not be searchable. It also looks like we’ll have to walk a bit to see all the pretty stuff. Ooh! I see the Colosseum isn’t too far away, and apparently around this time they have a big Christmas tree next to it! I wanna take a bunch of pics for Sai to see,” she smiles, “And then there’s this beautiful church with all these paintings of angels on the ceiling, and you can take pictures of it!” She’s rambling, buttoning up the top he wears beneath his suit jacket. 

She halts herself a bit, pulling back her fingers as she says, “Sorry. We can do whatever you want first, of course.”

He watches her ramble on, a small smile on his face as she listed out the things she read about and that piqued her interest. 

“I wanna go wherever you wanna go, baby,” he tells her, his voice coming off a bit softer than usual, “You’re the one excited to see this stuff, so let’s do that first.”

God, she hated being soft with this man. To hear him sincerely tell her that, she closes the final button on his suit, trying to hide her smile as she girlishly replies, “Okay.”

“We gotta go soon before we don’t leave. You look too fuckin’ good in this dress right now.”

“Down, boy,” she giggles, watching as he pulls on her Christian Louboutin ballet heels, giving a kiss to her feet as he ties the satin along her ankles. He pulls her off the counter with a smack to her ass, grunting as he kisses her forehead with a, “C’mon.” 

Seeing the sun set along the city was a sight. It seemed like the night made it wake up from its daily slumber, bodies crawling along the brick ground as she led the way. Her eyes traveled along the pastel colored buildings, the smell of food, music strumming from musicians along the street, windows freely open from neighborhood apartments.

It’s almost as if love fills the air. She watches as people sit on the outside, kissing and touching one another in romantic forms, continuing to pull him past a lit up flower shop—she can’t help but slow down. Her eyes fall along the pastel pink petals, yellow within the middle of it.

She gasps softly, “They’re Lotus flowers…”

He stops as soon as she pauses, his eyes going to the flowers that caught her eye. The petals looked pristine and vibrant, so much as if they’d been grown out of magic. Seeing how she carefully touched them, almost as if she’d break them in two, they looked like the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. 

“You like them?”

“They’re pretty,” she smiles gently, “Sai would love these in our little garden.”

“They’re yours, then. Take as many as you want.” 

He’s already at the register, propping a cigarette in between his lips, beginning to exchange the cash he carried for euros with the cashier as he pulled out his wallet.

She tilts her head, pursing her lips, “Don’t be funny, Toji. How am I supposed to get flowers across the country?”

“I’ll hire an entire fuckin’ army to deliver them if you need me to.” 

She sighs lightly, holding the bouquet close to her chest. She thanks the cashier as he smiles, standing against her heels as she presses a kiss to his cheek, “You’re such a sweet bean. Sai will love these.”

He huffs a bit at the kiss on the cheek, her lips feeling impossibly warm against his skin.

“Yeah, okay,” he mutters within her ear, kissing her cheek back, “Let’s go.”

As they continue walking farther down, she spots a restaurant across the bridge. Christmas decorations hang all along the tent of the building. She clutches his hand a bit tighter, using her other hand to hold her bouquet as she turns to him, “Can we go to that one?”

“We gotta get on a boat to get to that one,” he mentions.

Her eyes fall down into the water, seeing a man sitting on the end of a thin canoe, swaying the paddles idly. She raises her eyebrow as she says, “Boat? That shit is small as fuck. How isn’t he flipping on that?”

He chuckles at her response, “You never seen a gondola?”

She narrows her eyes, “Oh, so you think you’re better than me? Why you’ know what that is? You fucked a bitch from Italy or something?”

He blinks slowly at her, playing along as he replies, “Yeah, my passport’s stamped as hell.” 

“Oh, well how about you call your lil’ foreign hoes to come celebrate your birthday? I’d rather swim than get on a canoe with you!”

“Gondola.”

“Whatever the fuck!” 

She waves politely at the man, taking his hand instead of Toji’s as she steps down onto the navy blue boat. Her heel makes her wobble a bit, the feeling of the water making her tense as she sits along the bench, taking a deep breath as they become situated. 

The moment they began moving, she could feel everything beneath them, including the water swaying. These moments seemed romantic enough in movies, but right now, it was kinda terrifying. The moment the paddle had the entire boat sway, she placed her flowers along Toji’s lap, gripping the end of his suit jacket as she exhaled. 

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“Even after you were just talking shit?”

She goes to talk more shit, the boat teetering, her mouth clasping shut as she grips him tighter, laying her head against his shoulder as she nearly whimpers, “Toji.” 

He sighs, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her even closer, “You’re good, momma. Sai will still have a parent by the end of this boat ride.”

She nods her head, keeping her eyes fluttered closed. He then says, “Unless…”

“Unless what?” her head peaks up. 

“Every night in my dreams—I see you, I feel you…”

She blinks, “You are not singing the Titanic song right now. You’re not funny. You’re just not,” she pouts, hiding her face within his shoulder. 

They finally arrive along the other side of the street, Stoney beginning to walk faster until she makes it to the restaurant, finally accepting Toji’s hand, following the host who sits them down.

“I’m not talking to you for like five minutes,” she huffs, placing her flowers against the extra chair, “That was mean.”

“I see where Sai gets that pouting shit from. It’s cuter when she does it.”

Stoney rolls her eyes, taking the menu and smacking his palm with it, “Say you’re sorry.”

He rubs his hand where she smacked, “Damn,” he mutters, before letting out a sigh, “Apologies for scaring you on the gondola, my lady.”

She smiles, “It’s okay. And stop smoking,” she reaches over to pull the cigarette from his mouth, his entire body conveniently moving back, opening his legs a bit as he manspreads along the chair, continuing to puff his cigarette. 

She hated how good he looked in a suit. The moment he orders a whiskey as she orders a crown and Coke with lime, her eyes glance over him again, patting her fingers against the table.

“I had some questions for you,” she says, her slender eyes sparkling under the lights.

He shifts in his seat, taking another drag of his cigarette, the smoke slowly leaving his lips as he raises his eyebrows, listening intently. 

“Go ahead.”

“Mmm…well, where are you from?” 

He places the cigarette in between his fingers, bringing the whiskey glass to his lips as he takes a small sip, his eyes never leaving hers. 

“Tokyo,” he simply says, his voice coming out a bit huskier than usual.

“Why come to the states? Were there no reptiles to wrangle out in Tokyo? Or someone that needed help moving?” She questions.

He chuckles a bit at her words, shaking his head as he answers, “No one was willing to pay me what I wanted. Started helping a friend move boxes, and decided I wanted my own company. Ended up helping a family get a snake out their house, it piqued another interest. Is this an interview?”

She rolls her eyes, “This is a date, we have to get to know each other!”

“My fault. You’re right, pretty. Continue.”

“Hm…so Japanese was your first language?”

He hums as his eyes roam over her, watching her take sips of her drink, seeing the way the lights in the restaurant made her skin glow gently. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, setting his glass back down onto the table, “Didn’t learn English until I was thirteen. Took a while to learn, shit was hard.”

“Tell me something,” she asks him, leaning more forward on the table, “Japanese is pretty. Wanna hear it from your mouth.”

His lips curve up as she leans forward on the table in front of him, her eyes looking intently. He doesn’t hesitate in his response, his voice coming out deeper, the language sounding more intimate, almost as if it were being spoken only for her to listen to. 

“Anata to sekkusushitai,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on hers.

She blinks as his voice lowers, tilting her head as she questions, “Gonna say it in English now?”

“Tell me what you think I said,” he offers, his tongue running along his lip before he grabs his cigarette, taking another puff.

“Something you ain’t have no business saying,” she squints, “I knew you didn’t like me. Cause you don’t wanna tell me! I’m not your type. Do you even like black women?”

He raises an eyebrow, “So that’s what we’re doing now?”

She crosses her arms, “Well, yes! I mean, do you? How do you know how to handle a black ass situation? What you’ gonna do if you’re fucking me, and you’re pulling my hair too hard that my wig comes flying off? Cause that can happen!” 

“Shit, guess I gotta start pulling at your braids then.”

She presses her hands over her face as she squeaks, “Ah! Nooo. You did not just say that. I’m about to faint,” she fans her face, ignoring the full on laugh that comes from him.

“That’s not what you wanted to hear, huh? That I’m gonna grip—“

“Please stop. I beg.” 

“Well, don’t question how I feel about you then. You should know that shit by now.” 

They then order their food, Toji noticing as Stoney constantly checks the flowers beside her, gently touching them every few seconds. 

He raises an eyebrow, “Think they’re gonna fly away?”

“I’m just tryna think how I could preserve them for Sai. She’ll be so happy.”

His jaw clenches a bit at the sight of her beaming,  wanting to be as close to her as possible. Instead, he keeps his hands to himself as he then states, “Talk to me about Sai.”

She blinks, “About Sai?”

Taking another puff from his cigarette, his eyes don’t leave her face as he nods in response, “Yeah, your face lights up every time you say her name. I wanna keep that up.”

The sentence makes her a bit warm, but she knows how happy the thought of her child makes her. She says, “Well, she’s been doing really good since she started school. She gets along with the other kids, and she’s inviting them to have a sleepover for her birthday. I’m not sure what theme she wants, I think Minnie Mouse but then she said that all the girls at school right now like BRATZ, which shocked me, considering that was the thing when I was younger. She likes Hello Kitty too, but I think she might’ve outgrown her a bit. I’m tryna get her to like Strawberry Shortcake, cause I love that brand and want an excuse to buy a bunch of shit.” 

She heard herself talking and talking, pulling herself back a bit as she lightly laughed, “Yeah…but she’s—she’s great. She’s happy to be with her dad for Christmas, even if he isn’t my favorite person in the world.”

She slows down on her continuation, noticing the way he stares at her. She raises an eyebrow, “What?”

“Nothing.” 

He takes another drag from his cigarette, his eyes never once leaving hers, “Just seeing how long I could keep you talking. Your voice is prettier than fuckin’ angels singing.”

Her heart flutters a bit, eyes pulling away as they place the pasta with meatballs along the table, the large heart shaped pepperoni pizza making Stoney want to dreamily sigh like a princess. She watches as Toji digs the spoon within the plate, swirling the utensil in between the noodles and placing it towards her mouth. She immediately opens in response, pulling the food in, humming as it tasted delicious.

She groans, “Either this is too good or I’m just starving.”

“Probably both. You were too busy acting like you didn’t fuck with me to have a meal before we got here.”

He takes his thumb to wipe a bit of pasta sauce from the corner of her mouth, “You’re making a mess, momma. Don’t need you crying that your dress is ruined.”

As she feels him wiping sauce off the side of her mouth, the buzz of her cocktail creeps its way in. It’s like all of her alcohol had suddenly shot down between her legs. She was a lightweight, unfortunately. 

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have leaned forward, grabbed his finger, wrapped her lips around it and began sucking the sauce off herself. Her feline eyes see his jaw tighten, blinking innocently as she questions, “Am I clean?”

“Chill. I’m tryna’ be good.”

She giggles, pulling herself back, her eyes becoming low as her voice is more smooth, “Think my little drink is catching up to me.”

There’s that damned laugh again. 

He groans as she pulls back, her voice going a bit lower, a new sultriness to it that makes his pants a bit uncomfortable. He runs a hand through his hair, shifting in his chair before muttering, “You’ good, pretty? Need some water?”

She shakes her head, “Mmm, no. Just want your hand, like when you rub my leg.”

He lets out another soft chuckle, his lips curving into a smirk. Taking another drag from his cigarette, he puts it out in the ashtray on the table, watching the smoke slowly leave his lips. Instead of putting his hand on her leg from under the table, he lifts her heel from beneath it, placing it along his lap as he begins rubbing the skin. 

“Like this?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “You’re such a sweetie to me. Look so handsome in your suit.”

“Nothing in comparison to your dress. You’re tryna kill me.” 

He looks around, seeing on the opposite side of the tables that a group of people stand around, dancing to the relaxing music a band plays not too far from the restaurant. 

He then asks, “When’d you open up that studio?”

“Not too long after we stopped talking,” she replies, playing with the straw in her glass, “My ex-husband always said my pottery business would never become more than chump change. So, I made myself a studio. Make decent money, too. I’ve never been so happy.”

“He‘s a fuckin’ idiot,” he comments, his voice coming out rougher. “Should’ve never doubted you. I’m proud as fuck of you, baby.” 

Something in his words makes her eyes twitch. It was like a damn breaking within a River, a sentiment she hadn’t felt before. Her eyes glance over to the people that dance, turning back as she reaches out for his hand, “Come dance with me?”

Despite having two left feet in his mind, there’s no universe in which he would ever turn down an offer to be close to her.

“Drink some water, then we can go,” he pulls the cup towards her mouth.

She waves him off, “I’m fine, Fushiguro. Jesus. I just feel a lil floaty, a cocktail did not put me on my ass. Everything just feels better at this moment, so I’m happy. Dance with me,” she repeats, standing as she yanks the larger man by his arm.

He doesn’t budge from his seat. With a sigh, she reaches for her water, sipping it heavily, watching as he then stands with a grunt, “Hard headed ass,” now pulling her to where the other couples stand, wrapping his fingers along her waist, satisfied with the way she brings her arms around his neck.

She can feel the way she presses all of her weight against him, so comfortable in his arms that his grip is the only thing keeping her from falling backwards. 

She sighs, “So, thirty-three—how do you feel about that age? Do you feel…accomplished in life?”

“Thirty-three’s cool,” he answers, his voice coming out lower, “I’m more interested in thirty-five. But at the moment, I got everything I need.”

“What’s everything to you?” 

The soft hum of music surrounds them, but all he can do is focus on her hair brushing against his skin, looking more captivating in the lights of the restaurant.

“I’m a business owner,” he replies, “Got a roof over my head, support in areas I need it. The only thing I’m missing is my stubborn ass woman to share that with.”

That sentence makes her clutch his suit a bit, unable to let the tipsiness that battles the sobriety of her mind ask questions she usually wouldn’t. 

She then asks, “Why do you want me, Toji? I mean—I have a kid, a shitty ex-husband to constantly deal with. Your life seems…nice. No turmoil, no one else’s baggage.”

“That’s your fuckin’ problem. You don’t see yourself the way I see you,” he grunts, his eyes looking almost darker as he continues to speak, “The way you ramble when you get excited, the way you laugh, the radiance you spread regardless of the shit you’ve gone through. You’re under my skin. You’ll be adding years onto my life.”

She blinks up at him, a sharp inhale quiet in her mouth at his words. She had been trying to push this man away all this time, and he wasn’t giving up. He had shown her an affection in close range that she’d never experienced before— there was no reason to be afraid of him. 

“…Solaya.”

She sees him raise an eyebrow, continuing as she says, “That’s…my real name. I don’t usually give it out—it’s a rarity,” she rubs her finger over his jaw, giving him a vulnerability she hadn’t given anyone else. 

Her words sink in, her name falling from her lips. She was giving him a part of her. He leans down to take in her scent—a mixture of the flowers surrounding them and that intoxicating vanilla. 

“I want you. I’ll chase you to the ends of the fuckin’ earth, Solaya.”

He grips her up more, her heels now coming along his shoes, twisting her around so that it makes her giggle, it being filled with so much sincerity. She leans her head up, pulling him down closer as she admits to him, “I want you too,” brushing her mouth along his jaw, her breath hitching at her own actions.

The moment he lowers his face, his mouth engulfs hers, trapping her within a kiss that made her feel like her head had been ducked in a bucket of water. His lips move with hers in a way that overpowers her mouth, kneeling her head back as he practically claims her within his actions.

Their lips move in sync, his hand gripping her jaw as he tilts her head back further, his tongue running along the flesh of her mouth. The air seems to suffocate them. 

She pulls him back, her face warm, pressing her forehead against his as she breathlessly giggles, “We’re in public, Fushiguro.”

It almost made him growl like an animal as he’s brought to reality—but he didn’t want to push. And to see the rush of blood on her cheeks, he pulls his mouth up to kiss her forehead as he grunts, “Let’s finish eating.”

Her comfortability now opened tenfold, talking his ear off in ways she’d never done before. He was there to listen to all of it. They’d finished their food, traveling back across the water where their villa met. She was now back to being full on tipsy, considering she had drunk some of his whiskey, knowing that the mixture would create an entirely different personality within her own. She was bold, talkative, and relaxed. Though, her feet did hurt. 

Toji had given her his socks so she wouldn’t walk along the ground barefoot, holding her heels and flowers in his free hand, his other holding hers. 

She grumbled as she took another step, “Ugh—fuckin’ expensive shoes should be comfortable.”

He stops walking, chuckling as the villa wasn’t too far ahead, “C’mere, pretty.”

“I’m fine—“ once again, she squeaks, unable to fight as he’s already swooping her up in his arms, now carrying her bridal style. 

“You don’t listen.”

He finally makes it to the door of the villa, tossing the keys along the nightstand close to it. She pressed herself back on the ground as she tossed the socks off her feet and took off, squealing, “I wanna see the sky tonight!” 

“You just wanted me to carry your sneaky ass, huh? Talking about your feet hurt.”

She finally gets to the balcony, pulling the doors as the cool night air brushes along her skin.  Night had come, the stars above illuminating the stars, and the moon glowing so beautifully that it was almost hypnotizing. With soft waves in the water, the breeze was just perfect.

She feels a clutch along the back of her dress, his voice husky as he states, “You’re gonna fall.”

“I’m fine,” she repeats, “Look at the moon!” She wraps his arms along her hips, wanting to feel his touch, “Isn’t it pretty?” She hums, leaning herself back against him, almost in the same position they were in earlier within the day.

“Ain’t as pretty as you, momma,” he mutters, nuzzling his face into her hair, taking in her sweet scent again.

“Being corny comes with the old man syndrome?” She questions, lightly laughing to herself, falling deeper into his chest.

He murmurs, “Being a smartass comes with that young woman syndrome?” His thumbs lightly caress against her skin, his breath fanning just beneath her ear.

She goes to answer—but the way his hands trail under the slit of her dress, wrapping his fingers along her inner thigh, she can’t seem to focus. 

The alcohol within her system has her trail her hand up behind herself, wrapping it to the back of his neck and pulling him down to where his lips meet her throat. 

“…I like when you kiss me here,” she says, her voice soft, quiet. 

He lets out a sharp inhale, his lips skimming along the skin of her throat, not yet making contact, “Where?” he asks, his voice low, “Here?” 

He presses his lips gently along the side of her neck, right along the flesh that she pulled him to. It makes her clutch him a bit tighter, the throb going in between her legs as her skin now feels sensitive to the touch. 

She nods her head, biting her lip lightly as she exhales, “…Yeah.” 

His lips continue to trail against that same spot, sucking and kissing against her neck lazily, leaving spots of red along her skin. He murmurs between kisses, “Talk to me. Tell me where else you’ want my mouth.” 

His touch was like no other, and the desire for him was aching at this point. It had been so long. She pulls her hair along one side of her shoulder as she leans forward a bit and whispers, “Lower…” 

His lips attach to the skin of her back firmly, “Yeah?” he asks, his voice low, “You want my mouth all over you, huh?”

Her body shudders as he presses his hand along her lower body, pushing her forward a bit so she has to lean against the balcony’s architecture. The straps of her dress are falling off her shoulders, revealing more of her back to him, her body almost tantalizing, moving like sultry choreography.

It’s almost as if something in her clicks, and she realizes that she’s along a balcony, the fear of someone seeing them giving her a reality check. It makes her face warm, her eyes fluttering open a bit as she turns back to him, “Toji—“

Her mouth clasps shut, his palms moving like fire as he pulls her dress up to her hips, yanking the lace of her thong, dragging his tongue up the entirety of her. She latches her palm along his hair, nudging herself forward as she stands on her toes, gasping all the air she had in her chest. She was speechless.

Her face screws up at the rush of pleasure that comes through, the feeling lost as she hadn’t been with anyone in months. She whimpers, “F—fuck. Wait—” 

“Been patient as fuck, baby. Just take it,” he tells her, his tongue slurping in between her folds, lapping her up like she was the last thing he’d ever eat. 

He groans deeply as his tongue delves between her thighs, savoring her taste and scent. He grips her ass firmly, kneading the supple flesh as he laps at her clit, growling against the heated skin.

Her back arches into him, her brain going fuzzy as her eyelids come together, the gasp that pulls from her lips nearly deafening, trying to push his mouth away as she whimpers, “We’re on the balcony, Fushiguro…” 

The sound of her whimper sends a jolt straight to his dick, already hard and straining against his pants. He doesn't care about the balcony; all he can think about is making her feel good. He continues his assault on her pussy, licking and sucking recklessly.

"You're fuckin’ drenched," he growls against her soaked folds, "Relax. Need you to gush in my fuckin’ mouth," His hands move to her hips, pulling her harder against his jaw as he devours her. 

He doesn't stop, can’t stop, his tongue swirls around her clit before sucking it between his lips, giving it a gentle tug.

Arousal drowning him within the ocean of her doesn’t feel like enough. He needs more. He spreads her apart, dipping his tongue deep inside her, the intrusion making her walls clench, Stoney slapping her hand along her mouth as she trembles out a moan. She feels him hold her thighs apart as he exposes her to the cool night air. The contrast only serves to heighten her arousal, and she cries out, her other hand flying deeper into his hair to keep him in place even as she tries to pull away. 

"Toji... please..." 

Toji's growl rumbles deep in his chest as he drinks in every drop of her, coating his tongue in her arousal. Her pleas, begging for release, only fuel his hunger for her. 

“Take your hand off your mouth,” he grunts in between, knocking his head side to side, his nose practically burying in between her legs. He’s almost drunk, intoxicated by her scent, loving the way she drips all over his face and jaw, wetter than she’d ever been for him.

She slides her fingers in between her lips, shaking her head as she whimpers, “Gonna be too loud.”

"I don’t wanna hear that shit," he snarls, his breath hot against her pussy as he sucks her clit back into his mouth, “Ride my fuckin’ face,” the vibrations sending shivers through her trembling body.

She bites down on her fingers, muffling her moans as best she could while still trying to ride out the intense pleasure coursing through her veins. Her thighs begin to quake, her toes pressing harder as she stands on the tips of her feet,  pushing her hips further onto his face, grinding herself against his eager mouth. 

His words are filthy, crude, but there's no mistaking the desperation in them. He needs this, needs her, more than anything. And judging by the way she's trembling, the way her juices are still dripping down his chin, she needs it too. But covering her sounds was starting to piss him off. 

He pulls his mouth back, Stoney feeling as he raises himself up, the intensity of her state keeping her body humming regardless of his missing touch. She’s too floaty to realize him wrapping his large arm around her neck, trapping her almost within a gentle headlock. She thought he was trying to kill her. 

His mouth is against her ear, heavily breathing within it, the sound making her heart pound in her chest. She’s unable to see but could feel the monster between his legs, her thighs immediately wanting to tighten as his pink tip nudged at her folds, stretching her out before he was even close to being inside. 

She’s already protesting, wanting to claw out of his hold, clutching her hand around the arm that holds her in place. He uses his free hand to slam his palm against her ass, Stoney shuddering out a gasp as she drags her nails against his skin, Toji tugging her even closer as he tsks, “Nuh-uh, quit all that,” sinking himself within her, bruising her walls in seconds, the sensitivity sending her in overdrive. She can feel her eyes welling with tears all too pleasurable, feeling as he locks his hips forward, dragging her ass back to clap against his abdomen, the sounds of her gushing like a faucet shocking to her own ears. She inhales deeply for seconds, shuddering out the craziest whine she’d ever heard come from her lips as tears fall down her face, feeling herself going into shock as she pushes back against him, squirting as if they’d been fucking for hours.

“Yeah? You’ cumming like that already?” 

He’s holding her in place, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, nearly breaking skin as she drags her nails down his arms, crying in repetitions, “I’m c—cumming, oh m—god,”  nearly wanting to be mad at him for the arrogant laugh that drops out his mouth. 

He growls into her ear, "You’re makin' a fuckin’ mess,” The wetness seeping down his dick making every thrust slicker, allowing him to plunge deeper each time he pulls his hips back, rocking them forward. 

He coos in her ear regardless of the loud noises she makes, “You’ cumming, baby? Yeahh, I hear it,” He grips her ass tighter, spanking her hard enough to leave marks, determined to keep her babbling.

She’s completely out of her mind. She thought about it often, having this pleasure again— it was embarrassing to see how much she needed it. Needed him. 

“Pussy missed me, baby,” he grunts in her ear, her eyes tightly shut as she groans, her skin bouncing against his hips sharply echoing within her mind, the cream of her arousal stickily spreading each time he thrusted in. It was creating more and more, she felt like she was going blind.

“Tryna’ keep her from me, who else is gonna fuck you like this?”

He’s in her brain, punctuating his words with each thrust. He leans in, capturing her ear as he kisses it, her whimpers and moans high pitched. He can feel her pushing back, sucking air into her mouth, her face caught into a frown from how good this all feels. He tightens his arm along her neck, coaching her through as he talks, "Doing good as fuck, momma. Take every inch.” 

His grip on her hips tightens, using the leverage to piston into her harder, faster. 

She reaches her free palm behind herself, pressing it along his hip and squeezing, whimpering immediately as he catches it, pulling the hand behind her back. She’s panting at that point, but giving no actual responses. He spanks her again, which drops a pleading moan from her mouth, rougher in fucking her as softly cries, “Baby…”

She’s just trying to get through the movements he gives her, feeling like she can’t. It’s too good. But it’s also unfortunate how badly he wanted to hear her voice. 

He releases her from that jail of a position, now possibly putting her in a worse one. He’s holding her upright as she now faces him, one leg draped over his shoulder, the other foot barely touching the floor. He’s got her pinned against the railing, her chest pressed against his, her throat constricted between his palm, needing her attention. 

“Put it in,” he grunts. 

Maybe she was right—he was actually trying to kill her. She attempts to pull his mouth down to kiss him, face warm as she didn’t want to keep seeing the stoicness of his expression. The scar on his lip twitches, as if he's amused by her shyness. He’s already slapping his tip against her clit, making her jump as she’s trying to catch her breath. 

She wraps her fingers along the tip, exhaling as she sinks herself down onto him, clutching the back of his hair as she pouts, “…You’re tryna make fun of me.”

He smirks at her accusation, enjoying the way she clutches his hair as she sinks down. He can feel every inch of her enveloping him, her walls clamping around his length as he arrogantly huffs, "Nah, just looking at your pretty ass face," pulling her hips back, tugging them forward, chuckling within her mouth, swallowing her desperate pleas as he tells her, “Fuck me. Take my dick however you want it.”

She’s breathless as she grinds herself against him—eyes fluttering shut, unable to handle his reaction to how she whimpered and whined for him. She was mewling at this point, her body pliant within his grip.

Her inhales are almost concerning, clasping him as if she feared that he’d let go of her. She rocks her hips down, pulling him up by his hair, pressing their foreheads together as she whimpers, “Nobody’s…ever made me feel this good…” 

Her words almost wreck him. 

Toji groans against her, his touch almost brutal as she pulls him closer. He feels the urge to have her all to himself, to be the only one to make her feel this way. To be the only one to take her apart.  

“Yeah? How good?” 

“So good,” her words are soft in cries as he latches his lips along her neck, “S—so good,” she repeats, mouth coming back up to his, breathless in her responses. 

Their lips press together gently, his hands moving to grip the back of her thighs in a possessive clench. He then takes her other leg to lift up, placing them both over his shoulders, Stoney quickly latching her arms around his throat, holding her fingers together in her palms. 

The sounds are filthy as he’s dropping her onto his dick, eyes rolling inside her mind to search for her sanity as they were in this tapout position, listening to the sound their skin makes together, Stoney’s mouth dragging out a desperate moan. 

“You heard me fuckin’ talking to you.”

 He circled back to his words earlier, balls becoming drenched with her arousal, squelching between their skin as the back of her thighs clap along his abdomen. 

He repeats, “Who is else is gonna fuck you like this, huh?” 

A hard thrust comes at the emphasis of his word, bottoming out inside of her, holding her close as she claws to be freed from him. She drags her nails within his back, pitiful in her sounds as she breaks,  “Ohshi— fuck, baby—” she’s gasping, “I don’t know.”

"Don't know?" He mocks, punctuating each word with even more hard, deep thrust, “You know.”

He leans in, his hot breath ghosting over her ear as he growls, "Pussy been mine, you’re too fuckin’ hard headed,” Another brutal thrust, his hips snapping up to meet hers, "And you love it, don't you?"

She’s sobbing at this point, too full of a deadly pleasure he fills within her veins, knowing just how she wanted to be fucked. She cracks, shuddering out whines as she nods, “Love it so much, baby, f—fuck. Take your pussy, baby. Fuck me. Please. Please…”

She pulls him closer, pressing their foreheads against one another as she softly says, “Missed you so much, Toji…” she’s hiccuping, her tears fluttering her eyes, seeming like they came from more than just pleasure. They were honest.

At her whispered confession, something shifts in Toji's expression. The lust is still burning in his eyes, but there's an underlying tenderness, a depth of emotion he rarely allows himself to show. He cups her face, thumb brushing away a tear as he murmurs, "Missed you too, momma. More than you know,” His voice is rough with unspoken feelings, the admission heavy in the air between them, tension being cut each time her clit gets a rush of pleasure from how deep he plunges inside of her. 

He holds her gaze, the intensity of his emotions palpable. Then, without warning, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all those hidden sentiments into the passionate embrace. His tongue delves deep, claiming her mouth as thoroughly as he claims her body. 

"I'm never letting you go again," he declares, his voice thick with conviction.

She gasps at his words, clinging back to his hair again, pulling him lower as she sighs, “I’m so sorry, I…” Her abdomen tightens, fighting against her words, “I’m cumming, I need you…”

At her desperate plea, Toji's resolve crumbles. He knows he should slow down, savor this moment, but the urgency in her voice is too powerful to resist. With a primal growl, he reclaims her mouth in a bruising kiss, burying himself so deep within her, she screams, attempting to cover her mouth, Toji snatching her palm, clutching her jaw back into his mouth, allowing her to fall apart against his lips.

As she gushes against him, Toji loses himself entirely, his own release rushing in a way he didn’t expect. He pounds into her, chasing his own pleasure with low moans as he drinks in her cries of ecstasy. The sound of skin slapping against skin, their ragged breathing, and her broken moans fill the room, creating a symphony of raw, uninhibited passion.

Toji finds his peak, his vision going white as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through him. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, muffling his moans of release against her skin as he pours everything he has into her. His eyes meet hers as she finally opens them, a look of vulnerability that shows the craving is mutual. His hips jolt, still pulsating inside her, prolonging their shared climax as he reaches up to clutch her hair in his fingers, pulling her mouth against his, forcing her into a nasty kiss. He wasn’t planning for her to go anywhere, and she wasn’t planning on going anywhere. He was gonna fuck her as many times as she wanted it, adore her as many times as she needed it—she was his. And so he did. 

Again, again, and again. 

[yanderenightmare]

tomura with hero reader whose quirk he's stolen, rendering them defenseless

Shigaraki Tomura

TW: slight nsfw, implied prev noncon, captive reader, Stockholm syndrome, implied mental break, mental deterioration, disassociation, manipulation, angsty, but also weirdly fluffy? reader is super fragile

gn reader

The chub of your inner thighs is still wet with the act. You rub them together for no other reason than that it feels pleasant. You trace the awful scars on his arm, using his warm chest as a pillow—the sound beating of his heart thumping rhythmically at your ear, a soothing presence.

 He balances a red book atop your crown.

He doesn’t seem very interested in reading it—only regarding it with jaded eyes, a meager scoff then and there before turning the page. But still, even though the book didn’t excite him, it bothered you that his attention was elsewhere. It sowed the seeds of doubt and gave root to way too many intrusive thoughts, sprouting out and spreading like weeds throughout your mind, making your chest curl at the possibilities.

“Do you think I'm ugly?” you have to ask. You have to know, why isn’t he looking at you.

He pans away from the page, beady garnet eyes softening from scrutiny to nonplus.

Your question stunted him—nearly made him believe he’d heard you wrong. Why someone like you would ever ask someone like him something like that seemed beyond all reason. It would be the same if a flower asked gravel.

But then again, you’d become a little ditzy as of late. Or maybe you’d been so for a little while already. It’s hard to say—you don’t talk as much as you used to. You no longer scream either, though that had ceased even longer ago.

You continue to delicately run your finger over the tear where his tough skin meets the even tougher purple tissue as though mapping the damage. There’s a frown on your face. No, not a frown—a pout. 

He thought for a moment to use it against you like he’d done everything else so far. Lie and say yes, tell you you’re about as ugly as he is—gravel—make you fall even further apart than what you were already. But something compelled him to choose differently.

“I think you're the prettiest thing in the world.”

Your pout is sucked between your teeth as you pick yourself up to peer down at him—eyes round and misty and something more, something strange—dare he say joyed?

You're scaring him.

“Really?” you choke out as if you’d been holding back a lump.

He hasn’t known how to treat you lately. You’ve become too soft to handle poorly—too frail to harass and too willing for him to feel the need to. Earlier, you'd even begged him to fuck harder and deeper—even cum inside. Actually, you hadn't veered away from his touch in a while. More like you've been embracing it.

He'd brushed it off as mere compliance at first, a state of meekness, weakened by being touch-starved, something that perhaps developed into a minor case of Stockholm syndrome.

But the way you're acting now—seems more concerning.

“Yeah,” is all he warrants as an answer. Though, he was curious as to yours as he begs the same question, “What about me?”

A smile graces your face then—there’s a comfort to it, a mild and affectionate one, unexaggerated, honest, as you smoothly swing your leg over his lap.

A look like that has no place on your face, especially when regarding him, and yet he finds himself hoping for more. He lays his book aside as you lean forward and doesn't stop you when you cup his face in both your palms.

“As far as I'm concerned, you’re not just the prettiest boy in the world—you're the only boy in the world.” You say it with a kiss, lips just as soft as the words leaving them. It shocks him, though he accepts and gives it back.

You close your eyes, laying your chest against his—he keeps his open to look at you. Observing and assessing.

You’ve truly become a whole other person altogether. A far cry from the tough hero you once were—the one who’d beat him within an inch of his life and leave him to choke on the blood.

“Will you stay with me today?” you ask against his lips—playing with his hair, looping the curly tresses around your fingers.

There’s a neediness to your voice, a certain desperation, a sadness—something lonely and something that reminds him all too much of himself. He feels both a strong urge to reject and soothe it all at the same time.

“No, I gotta go,” he says despite it. He had business.

You hide your face in his neck and continue with your tracing, now on the scrapes striping his throat where he’s raked his nails time and time again. “When will you come back?” Your tone comes out even sweeter, only a murmur mushed against his skin.

It nearly makes his heart twist. “It’s better I don’t answer that.”

It’s funny. Though the thought had struck him, he didn’t gauge any ill intentions. You could be asking, acting, plotting some escape based on the hours of his absence—yet somehow, with the way you nuzzle into him like that, as though you’re pouring your all-too-candid grief into him, he can't sense any other ulterior motive.

“Last time you left at this hour, you came back all beaten and bruised,” you mutter, now with a hint of bitterness—as if you’re cursing whoever hurt him under your breath.

It’s ironic. He sneers lazily, almost fondly, at the old memory. “You’re the one who used to beat and bruise me, remember?”

He’s truly curious if you do. Or if something’s spirited your past life away and left you like this—no longer an aspiring young hero, but something whose only value is warming his bed at night.

You arise, an appalled look of affront upon your face.

“No, that can’t be right,” you very nearly cry, as if the very thought was killing you. “I would never hurt you—I love you too much.”

Apparently, you don’t remember who you were at all.

“Love me?” he all but croaks. It’s a laughable prospect, and yet he doesn’t even smile. There’s something awful in his gut that prevents him. “Don't be stupid. You can't love me.”

Your face doesn’t drop its grimace, only further tears with forlorn outrage. “Of course, I love you!" you insist. "You’re my whole reason for living...”

You look so despaired—wrecked from his dismissal. The tears well quickly then slip down your face just as fast—and yet it isn’t the same crying as you used to. This time, it’s quiet—in wait or in dread as you beg the question, 

“Don't you love me?”

It’s an unexpected one, and it quickly proves to be an existential one—even more so than your unnerving confession. Despite not wanting to, it leaves him to dig through the muck in his head he’d long ignored, down in the dark where he’d tried burying the truth he'd felt oncoming. He'd wanted to deny it, reject it, amend it, simply because it confused him too much to acknowledge—complicated things—changed things he didn’t want or need changing.

He wonders if it’s somehow proof of fate—even though he despises such a concept. That, no matter how much you practice free will, no matter how many knots you make upon the red string, the world will pull and straighten it out, and you’re left to realize you’d brought it all on yourself.

First, he took your quirk, then he took your body—your mind shortly followed—and now it seems he’s managed to take your heart, too. 

There’s nothing left of you that isn’t his. 

There was a time he’d frolic at the thought of having reduced you to such a pathetic ghost in a shell—back then, he’d do anything to destroy you—he’d surely shatter you into a million little scattered pieces if presented with the chance, make sure you were broken for good. 

But that was the old him. Or rather, that was his dream for the old you—the hero he loathed down to his rotten core.

But the pretty misty-eyed thing looking down at him now, aching for his answer, wasn’t that person anymore.

And the truth is, the person you are now scares him more than that hero ever did. 

You were… well, you were the person who warms his bed at night, the person who traces his scars and plays with his hair—the person who wraps themselves around him and keeps him from falling apart when he stumbles through the door into the tiny little room he keeps you a prisoner in. You're his.

This time, his heart does twist. He’s never before spoken the words that dance on his tongue, or if he has, they’ve been long forgotten and come out as dust balls as he affirms them now, 

“Yes. I love you.”

There’s a flash of hope in your eyes, though it just as quickly diminishes—as if you don’t believe him.

Your lip warbles as you confirm it, “No, you don’t.”

More tears run silently down the tracks on your cheeks, gathering at the tip of your chin before dripping upon his chest—each one like a gunshot through something hollow.

“If you did, you wouldn’t go. You wouldn’t leave me here in this room, all alone.” Your nails curl into your palms where they rest atop him. You bow your head as though you can’t bear to look at him, as if it hurts. The next words come out beneath your breath, “How am I supposed to compete with the whole world?”

You’re making him feel like dying. The continuous twists of his heart feel as if you’re about to tear it right out of his chest.

He sits up and lifts your face. It’s strange, even with his two-finger gloves on. He doesn’t think he’s ever held you like this. Though, suppose it’s been a night of many firsts already. And here comes another,

“As far as I’m concerned, you are my world.”

There you are, the one thing he doesn’t wish to destroy.

Your sore eyes become round, then swell with different tears. There’s a hitch in your breath as you sigh through a shuddering sob, throwing your arms around his neck and clinging to him tightly—your body jostling while you rub your wet face into his neck, holding him close for comfort as if you're scared to ever let go.

He returns the gesture, though somewhat hesitantly, wrapping his arms around you and laying his head to rest against your shoulder.

And then, as he holds you—for the first time ever, fear of actually losing the fight ahead strikes him.

He hadn’t much cared about the outcome before. Either he’d destroy or be destroyed.

This wasn’t as simple. As said earlier, this complicated things.

But then again, it was even more of a reason to go.

“But I still have to leave.” 

You part from him—the betrayal in your tone demanding his justification, “Why?”

Suppose, in some ways, this actually made things simpler—as that was a question he had no problem answering.

“‘Cause there are monsters outside…” He rests his forehead upon yours, gazing back into those terribly glassy eyes looking back at him as he speaks to you about your dear old colleagues. “Monsters who want nothing but to take you away from me.”

If only they could see you now, they’d know… you no longer want to leave him.

“So I have to go out there and make sure they have no chance,” he explains, almost like a vow, “You’re mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who says otherwise to keep you that way.”

The way your eyes melt makes him feel all fuzzy. It’s a special type of glee, a victory before the battle even begins—to see you root for him—so deep in love with him that you’ve forgotten you’re celebrating the onset of death to all of your former friends.

They probably wouldn’t be able to take you away from him even if they somehow managed to invade this very room. You’d sooner die than betray him.

And that makes him feel all the more ready for the war ahead.

“So kiss me good luck, and I’ll come right back to you soon.”

♡ SHIGARAKI TOMURA ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[sweetiecutie]

Hi!

I fell in love with ur underbedmonster!simon au!

And I am sure everybody else fell in love with it.

Can we get some more stories with monster simon? If it's no problem, of course :)))

Love your work btw <33

A/n: sure you can, I think that this trope is my new obsession🫣☺️

Warnings: smut, mdni, possessiveness, monsterfucking, tentacle fucking

Part 1 || Part 3 || Part 4

Underbed monster! Simon who was slightly startled by such sudden change in your aura - once sugary sweet and syrupy turned into bitter and pungent, causing creature to sputter and hiss begrudgingly at the taste, his ears (or whatever that was that he had) straining to hear any words coming from you that could explain this drastic shift in your emotions.

Underbed monster! Simon who listened attentively as you spoke on the phone with your best friend, choking on your own tears and sobs as you told them how you broke up with your now ex boyfriend, about the ugly fight you had, how he called you numerous names, shattering your heart in million pieces just with his cruel words.

Underbed monster! Simon who felt rage simmering somewhere deep within him. How dare that pathetic scumbag treat you like that!? Yes, Ghost did torture you with horrible nightmares quite a few dozens times, but you were his human, his to scare, his to taunt, his to fuck, no one else’s. He felt possessive and angry, he wanted to soothe your poor little heart, to make all the pain go away so you could feed him more and more of that honey-like energy that your pleasure exuded.

Underbed monster! Simon who finally decided to take matters into his own hands after keeping a close eye on you when your state didn’t seem to get any better. Ghost sneaked out some of the sweets from kitchen to your bedroom so you had something to munch on, making you confused as to how those candies seemed to magically appear on your bedside. Simon tried keeping the house tidy and clean for you in hopes that it’ll make you get better soon, he even did your laundry once, causing you to freak out at the sight of your clothes, freshly washed and still damp, hanging off the rope to dry out.

Underbed monster! Simon couldn’t be more happier, watching your attention finally shift from your shithead ex to him. Simon was purposefully lurking right in the corner of your vision, making his presence in the house way more obvious. He watched with fierce amusement as you grabbed the sharpest knife from the kitchen, inspecting every nook and cranny of the house, not finding any signs of intrusion or anything that could’ve given a clue about another person’s presence, scrunching up your pretty eyebrows in confusion.

Underbed monster! Simon who fully revealed himself for the first time in your dream, standing in his full glory in front of small scared you, your breathing quickening in your sleep as you inspected his tall dark form, two red eyes glaring down at you from above. You felt paralysed as you watched this creature raise its smokey limb that slightly resembled human arm, cold tentacle fingers brushing your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear affectionately. And all of the sudden all fear and anxiety vanished, leaving place for curiosity and amazement as you studied monster’s features closer, not feeling threatened nor endangered by him. Slowly its mouth opened - even blacker that the rest of him, his voice clear and lucid, ringing right inside of your head “Wake up”

Your eyes snapped open - you were laying in your bed still, crumpled sheets dug into your back unpleasantly but you couldn’t care less as you stared straight into those crimson orbs, cold tentacles slithering up and down your sides, wrapping tighter around your limbs, immobilising you completely. Underbed monster! Simon just purred audibly at your obedience and lack of resistance, branching a few more extremities to slip under the hem of your pyjama top and wrap around your nipples, tugging and tweaking on them softly.

Underbed monster! Simon who growled satisfactorily at the small wet patch that started forming on your panties, slowly rubbing your sweet pussy while applying more and more pressure to his touch, watching you writhe and whine underneath him, begging for more.

Underbed monster! Simon who purred as he slipped a thick tentacle past the hem of your panties, stuffing your fluttering cunny so full of himself, finally that rich taste of your pleasure simmered right through him, filling his ghastly body with strength and energy he lacked all this time you were depressed. Newfound strength just nagged him into fucking you faster and harder, twisting out your nipples and rubbing your clit rapidly, all while forcing his thick tentacles in and out of your leaking cunt, making you scream and tremble in his inescapable grasp as fourth orgasm rippled through your weakened body, pure pleasure surging through your veins, hogging up your mind and making you incapable of thinking.

Underbed monster! Simon who only let you go when first sun rays peaked in through bedroom’s window, leaving you a fucked-out yet blissful mess, pinching you on your cheek affectionately before slipping under your mattress, curling up like a huge lazy cat and falling asleep, full of your delicious pleasure.

And even hours later as you peeked under your bed you could see a huge black spot there, still and unmoving; and if you listened closely enough you could hear your underbed monster purr softly in its sleep, happy and properly nourished.

That’s quite a pet that you have now, eh?

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, don’t be shy to give writers some love! Requests are open, so send me some stuff<3

[uchispeach]

Killer

Dark! Bully! Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Warnings: NON CON, SMUT, rough sex, manhandling & degradation, choking, breeding kink, bullying, violent & abusive behavior, Mean! Rafe, Bully! Rafe…

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, I’ve just had a shit ton of family problems. I hope I can update a bit faster from now on! ALSO lmk if you want this to become a series! 💕

A laugh, dripping with mockery, echoed through the vast room, sparking a ripple of chuckles and whispered insults from the nearby group of boys.

Rafe Cameron’s body stretched lazily in the chair, making it seem almost comically small under his heavy frame. Even with his limbs sprawled out in complete relaxation, the outline of his hard muscles pressed against his shirt, as if daring to break free at any moment. You couldn't deny he looked attractive, exuding an undeniable magnetism in that confident, almost predatory pose, his new buzz cut only amplifying the arrogance that oozed from him. But that ugly, smug smirk? It made your bones ache and your throat dry up in ways you couldn’t explain.

His eyes, the color of storm clouds, lingered on yours with a deliberate intensity, delighting in your discomfort, relishing in every flinch and subtle shift of your gaze. You turned away, hoping your disinterest would bore him eventually, but you knew it wouldn’t.

No matter how hard you focused on the lecture, his presence was like an intrusive, constant drill on your brain—his burning gaze a distraction that gnawed at your senses. How naive had you been to think he'd ever leave you alone? Every time you raised your hand in class, you could count on him to whisper some stupid joke under his breath. How foolish had you been to think he would ever stop tormenting you? This sick dynamic between you two had been a game since childhood, and if anything, he seemed to thrive on it.

His once-small fingers had grown long and strong -now covered in silver rings. Those same digits that used to tangle on your hair and pull from it until your scalp burned in pain. His legs were now far longer, but they had always been longer than yours, outpacing you as they chased you through the school halls in all infant and adolescent years, always with the aim of making you stumble and fall to your knees. But his mouth had never changed. It had only sharpened, evolving into something far more dangerous.

You’d convinced yourself you were above all of it. Charleston had felt like a fresh start, and you’d thought the Pogue curse might finally be something you could outrun. But when Rafe Cameron showed up once more, everything you’d built: your confidence, your peace of mind—began to crumble, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the raw, unresolved tension between you.

You were studying to be a teacher, the first in your family to receive a scholarship that promised a brighter future. Your days were filled with lesson plans, textbooks, and the weight of academic expectation. Every second of your time was accounted for as you worked tirelessly to carve out a new path for yourself, one that didn't involve being brought back to the past or the memories of him. You didn’t have time for distractions, certainly not for him. But here he was, always lurking just at the edges of your life, a dark cloud you couldn’t escape.

Rafe was studying for an MBA, the complete opposite of you, and yet fate had forced you into a shared class. You would’ve done anything to avoid him, but trapped in between those fours walls, mere meters away from him - it just seemed impossible.

And there he was, at your left, staring with a look of sick pleasure every time he found you trying to focus. His presence was suffocating, like the air itself became dense with his attention. His words, the snide remarks whispered under his breath, were like a weight on your chest, making every breath harder to take.

He harassed you constantly in that class—every. single. time. Without fail. No matter how much you tried to bury yourself in your notes, no matter how hard you tried to ignore his mocking chuckles, his eyes always found you, always zeroed in on your every move. He’d challenge you with pointless questions, make stupid comments about your work, his voice dripping with condescension. But it didn’t stop there. His reach extended beyond the classroom, following you into the hallways, his tall frame casting a shadow that would make your stomach turn. He would appear out of nowhere, as though drawn to you by some sick fixation, and make his presence known with a smirk or a taunt, forcing you to look up from your books, to meet those stormy eyes full of wickedness.

He would ‘accidentally’ bump into you, making your school supplies fall over. He licked his lower lip when you bent over to pick the mess up. His front would get dangerously close to your back in any queue, sometimes getting bold enough to grind slightly against you. He would move you around like a rag doll, always putting his huge palm on your ass to push you to the side. Still, there was nothing as uncomfortable as having his dirty eyes scanning you from head to toe at any given time - he licked his lower lip in amusement, making your cheeks grow hotter.

You’d always hoped, prayed, that once the class ended, he’d disappear—vanish into his own world and leave you to yours. But you were wrong. Every time the teacher dismissed you, and you gathered your things to leave, he’d be right there, waiting. It was like clockwork. His long, strong fingers would slide into the pockets of navy trousers, the scent of his manly cologne wafting over you in an intoxicating way. His gaze would follow you as you tried to make a clumsy exit, his footsteps closing the distance between you with every passing second. You hated that you could never outrun him. Hated how he always found a way to corner you.

And just as you thought you might make it out of the door, safe, free—he’d appear at the threshold, standing in your way with that damn smirk of his, a look that seemed to promise nothing but trouble.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice would slither through the air like poison.

Your heart would pound in your chest, but you’d force your eyes to look anywhere but at him, hoping and praying, that maybe, just maybe, today would be the day he’d leave you alone. But you knew better. You always knew better.

And now, you could feel it again; the familiar pressure of his presence, creeping closer, dark and inevitable.

“What’s that I’ve heard?” He scratched his head while pressing his brows together, pretending to be deep in thought. “…Oh, right” Now, enlightened; he stepped forward. Your almost wobbly legs did their best on distancing themselves -though, they weren’t allowed much movement after hitting a desk.

The back of your knees stung against the protruding piece of wood. “You tryna leave…study abroad, right?” Your eyes peeled in horror, and you hid in yourself as much as you could when his tall frame overpowered yours. “No, no. Look me right in the eye.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. Without any hesitation, his cold rings found their place under your chin, burying in your skin when lifting up your face. “How-how do you know?” Your stuttering made him smile -predatory grin adorning his harsh features. “Everyone thinks you’re smart…” The pain on your neck amplified at the uncomfortable position.

“…But I think you’re just a dumb bitch.” He spat at you. Tone as rough as the domineering grip on your jaw. “…Bragging left and right - you really thought I wouldn’t find out?” He shook you with erratic movement. The pain you felt under his digits distracted you from a perverted knee slowly opening its way between your legs.

His unruly eyes took a break from tormenting yours as he admired your skirt’s fabric draping over your thighs. The blond snob flashed you his hungry canines while biting into his lower lip.

The horror only amplified when a sharp thrust attacked your clothed sex. His impatient knee continued to roughly rub against the cotton underwear, cruelty reflected on the fast pace. “Ha. Would you look at that? The dirty slut is getting wet!” You whined in disgust when Rafe pressed harder on the soaked circle.

The scarce dignity you thought you held was harshly stripped from you. On his arms you were nothing but a squeaky toy he got to bite and squeeze whenever he desired, and little by little you felt victim to a raw resignation.

The next thing you sensed was his palm abandoning your neck and moving onto your meaty thighs. He gave the flesh a squeeze, followed by a lusty groan leaving his pinkish lips.

Your mind tried to wander away, but the situation was just too much; too much stimulation everywhere, too much heat coming from his larger body, too much degradation directed your way in mean words and touches, too much torturous pressure applied to your virgin cunt and too much pawing at your unexplored parts.

The next thing your brain registered was a rip. The sound of something being torn apart, and if you didn’t see the light fabric pooling around your feet, you could’ve almost swear it was the noise your spirit made when breaking in half. “And I was thinking about making it nice for you…fucking you on a bed of roses or some corny shit.” He talked with nothing but mockery, while leaning onto your chest. “But I guess you prefer it when I treat you like a cheap whore.” The Cameron boy finished it off with a chuckle, his muscles flexing hard under the rumbling laugh.

You wanted to contradict him, defend your honor and pull him off of you, but all protests got stuck in your throat when he took you by it and slammed your upper body against the desk. The rigid wood wasn’t welcoming. Your head spinned uncontrollably at the beast-like hit.

The lack of oxygen didn’t stop you from hearing him unbuckling his pants. Panic grew louder as you heard his clothes falling to the Classroom’s floor. Worries clouded you in a tumultuous storm, and you did your best to cover yourself up when the only layer covering your vulnerable hole was pushed to the side. “Open your fucking legs or I’ll break your useless skull!” He demanded in a crazied tone, ripping your limbs apart and throwing them over his shoulders.

“Please, don’t.” Your eyelids squeezed together, shielding your irises from looking at the violating scene. “That’s right, beg me” Warm breath imposed itself above your slit, followed by a warmer liquid dripping down your folds. “Gotta make it wetter…I don’t want you breaking at the first use.” Even though your sight was all black, you could imagine his satisfied grin decorating that diabolically handsome face.

You tried pulling away when a foreign limb rubbed against your sex, desperate to be let in. “Rafe, no-” You were cut short by your own screams, eyes peeled open at the feeling of his cock entering all at once.

“Fuck! Tight ass pussy.” He sounded in heaven, palms manhandling your knees to your chest while pounding ruthlessly into you.

The rest of your body went numb, being rocked up and down at the bestiality of the boy’s attack. His groans and moans overpowered your miserable sobs. Your withering form contrasted his blessed expressions, pure passion exuding from his now sweaty body.

“Your whorish cunt is squeezing the shit out of me…she doesn’t want me to leave!” He continued to talk while creating some deeply loud wet noises.

Your neck and waist’s skin burned under his cutting rings and the unsolicited friction of his grip that kept you still. Your ears got lost at the multiple pet names he called you, as well as the dirty sentences of encouragement he occasionally threw your way.

After almost an hour of feeling him impale you on his dick, you grew tired of screaming and crying, now reduced to quiet whimpers and even quieter pleas. “Stop-” He did the opposite to that, toned pelvis slapping hard against you as his tip bruised your cervix in persistent thrusts.

The cries that left your esophagus were now primal and raw, long nails holding onto his huge back. “That’s right, cry for me. You fucking deserve it!” That only made the tears fall faster down your cheeks, reaching your mouth on a salty taste.

And when his movements finally went sloppy and his member felt softer, your suffering only sharpened. “Tell me you love me” He barked at your face, drops of unintentional spit hitting your distressed face.

You thought you heard wrong, that between his chocking, and suffocating weight your brain had imagined the unimaginable. “Tell me you love me!” His features tensed, making a vein pop on his front.

Was Rafe Cameron asking for words of affirmation from you? Was the same guy who just butchered your purity asking you for your heart? Or was it just another inhumane prank? Another limit of yours he wanted to cross?

Clearly you took to much time thinking and not acting because the next thing you felt was the blond burying impossibly deeper into your core and making you know a new level of uncomfortability. “Tell me you fucking love or I’ll come inside you.” The light on the room was vast, you were sure of it. Such an elite university could only have the best illumination for its elitist students; still, his burly body completely covered yours.

His sharp jaw and eyes were enhanced by the darkness found in his stare. “I-” He trembled lightly in excitement at your shaky voice. “I love you.” You finally decreed, unknowingly sealing your fate.

His smile was like nothing you saw before, too devilish and twisted you actually doubted smiling was ever a nice gesture. And when you felt a dense liquid flooding your womb in overwhelming warmth, you swore you could see the devil in his eyes.

.

.

.

[skzdarlings]

the demonstration ; skz ; jeongin x reader

requested by anonymous: you keep your hands where they are or i'll tie them up. ❜ w Jeongin? 😩 please 🥰. requested by anonymous: I.N AND ❛ do whatever you want with me, i'm yours. ❜ ❛ you taste like heaven. ❜ PLEASE IF YOU CAN BEGGING YOU

pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: friends to lovers. reader asks jeongin if he has ever made someone squirt and if so please show her hehe. reader mentions a bad date with a rude guy who called her high-strung. squirting, pussy-eating, riding, just a good time lol. explicit sexual content. word count: 4000 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy <3

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Jeongin is finally awake when you return to his apartment.  You visited this morning but he must have had a late night because the flat was dark and silent when you let yourself in. You went for a stroll, hoping the fresh air would clear your mind, but what you really needed was him.  A conversation with Jeongin always improves your mood.  Just thinking about those deep dimples brings out your own smile.  

“Hi there,” you say sweetly.  You close the door and replace your shoes with the slippers he keeps for you.  You bound up to the kitchen counter.  “Can I ask you something?”  

Jeongin clearly just rolled out of bed.  Far from glamourous, your nonetheless very handsome friend is wearing a hoodie and sweatpants and his black thick-rimmed glasses.  He has the hood pulled over his head, his dishevelled black hair peeking out.  A bowl of ramen sits in front of him, though his sleepy gaze is on his phone, long ringed fingers curled around the device. 

You look at those fingers thoughtfully, your mouth a little drier than before.  Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all…

It’s too late.  Jeongin emerges from the slumped cavern of his hoodie, lifting his bespectacled face.  He dutifully puts his phone facedown on the counter.   Pushing his sleeves to his elbows, he says, “Of course.  Hi.  How are—”  He yawns before he can finish.  The yawn breaks into a wheezy little laugh.   

You take the seat across from him at the kitchen island and watch him twirl his chopsticks.  Nimble fingers flip them around before he digs into his noodles, slurping a little ungracefully.  He swallows almost half the bowl in a scoop.  Your eyes are still on his hands.   

“Jeongin,” you say.  “Have you ever—oh, no, thank you.” 

He is holding out a clump of noodles on his chopsticks.  When you decline, he shoves it in his own mouth. 

“Jeongin,” you say again.  “Have you ever made a girl squirt?”

He chokes on the noodles.  It gets ugly quick.  You emit a little squeak of your own when he thumps on his chest so hard that his hood falls back and his glasses fall off.  He hacks up the noodles and spits some across the island. 

“Are you okay?” you ask.     

“I’m fine,” he says in a rough voice, squinting hard like a beleaguered puppy.  He fumbles with his glasses, blinking quickly once they are back on his face.   Then he reaches for his water bottle and unscrews it with a flick of his fingers.  He rubs his chest while drinking.

You purse your lips, watching him.  His profile is so defined, his jaw so sharp and cheekbones high.  He really is ridiculously handsome.  And those hands.  You look at the prominence of the veins running down his forearm, the subtle strength in his slender form, the long easy grace of his fingers.  If any man is turning women into waterfalls, it must be him.

“So,” you say, “have you ever done it?”

He chokes on his water, but not as dramatically as the noodles.  It’s a messy hiccup and he dribbles water down his chin, barely catching it in the cup of his hand.  He puts the bottle aside and wipes his hand on his thigh. 

“I don’t think I understand the question,” he finally says. 

“What? ‘Have you ever made a girl squirt?’” you ask, tipping your head.  “Sorry, what’s confusing?”

“Um.”  He looks at you in bewilderment.  “The part where you are asking me it?” 

“Oh.”  A little – okay, a lot of embarrassed heat explodes in your chest.  It radiates out with rapid-fire speed, scalding your neck and your face. 

You lower your gaze.  His dark eyes and expressive brows are now too intense for you.  You fiddle with your fingers in your lap, thumbs pushing at each other. 

“Well,” you say, slowly.  You look anywhere but him. “Something sort of happened.”

When you chance an upward glance, he is looking at you very studiously.   

“Sort of…” he says, looking more confused by the second.  “Did you… sort of… squirt?”

You cover your face, suddenly embarrassed beyond words.  Why did this seem like a good idea again?  You were so convinced a few minutes ago that this was a totally fine conversation to have with your friend.  Now you want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. 

You make a miserable little sound into your palms and Jeongin finally laughs.  His whole face crinkles with delight and he laughs so hard that it sounds like he can barely breathe.

“Don’t laugh at me!” you wail. 

“I’m not, I’m not,” he lies, because he is laughing his ass off while he says it.  “Come on, it’s fine.  Stop hiding.” 

He reaches across the counter for you.  You jerk away, mewling pathetically, which just makes him laugh again.  He eventually uses both hands to peel apart your death grip.  You still avoid his gaze, staring down at the counter, but he dips his head to chase your eyes. 

“There you are,” he says when your gazes meet.  “Crazy girl!  Ask me again.” 

“I forgot the question,” you say, petulant.

He snorts.  “I didn’t,” he says.  “You wanted to know if I ever made a woman—”

“Yes, I know what I asked!” you say, shaking your head.  You see him smile, a giant grin of immense amusement as you tug at your cheeks in distress.  “I’m sorry I asked.  It’s just that…”

“Something sort of happened?” he supplies when you trail off. 

“Technically,” you say, “something sort of didn’t happen.” 

“Ohhh.”  He returns to looking bashful, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Were you… with… someone?”

“Mhm.”  You both look at the kitchen counter while you speak.  “I had a date.  I planned the whole thing out.  You know me, I like a plan.”  You try to laugh but a flood of humiliation washes over you, the recollection of last night and how everything went so, so wrong.  You close your eyes and sigh.  “Ugh.  It was going well so I brought him back to my place.  Things got heated.  He said he was really good at… doing that… I said I had never done it before and he got excited and said I would like it.  I think I just… thought about it too much.  You know me!  I like a plan!  That wasn’t the plan!  Anyway, we put a towel on the bed which is why it was even more embarrassing when I couldn’t… when he couldn’t make me… ugh.”  You flop forward, pressing your forehead to the cold marble countertop.  “He called me high-strung and left.” 

You lift your head slowly, looking at Jeongin for his reaction.  His expression is all scrunched up like he smells something bad.  Then he gestures as if he is vomiting, making the noisy hurling sounds to match. 

You laugh in spite of yourself, nodding.

“I know, I know, you’re right,” you say.  “He sucked.” 

“High-strung?” Jeongin says, the word tumbling out like a curse.  “He said that?  Pffft—” 

You are glad you came to him.  Your other friends would have been protective and encouraging, which is nice, but Jeongin’s helpless laughter is more reassuring than anything.  That other guy was so pathetic that all Jeongin can do is laugh. 

Even so, you do feel a little sensitive about the whole thing.  You are smiling now but your gaze stays low.  You trace circles on the counter. 

“I know he… he was just embarrassed too.  He was rude to me, but… he wasn’t totally wrong.”

“No,” Jeongin says, shaking his head.  “No, no, no—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you insist.  You let him take your hands and squeeze, but you talk before he can interrupt.  “Look he didn’t exactly handle it well but I… I am a little… um, overly thoughtful at times.  I’m not good at doing things in the spur of the moment.  It scares me and I think too much and once I start thinking I can’t stop.”  You let go of his hands, giving them one last friendly pat before you neatly fold your hands on the counter.  “Anyway, I asked you what I did because I was hoping you could instruct me so I can practice.  That way next time it happens, I won’t get scared and think so much.”

You smile at him. 

He slowly takes his glasses off, his mouth open. 

“Oh,” he says.  “Okay.  Um.” 

“Soooo… have you?” 

The tips of his ears turn a vibrant red and he puts his reading glasses aside.  He takes a second to rub his eyes with an incredible amount of vigour.  You wait patiently and politely, watching him tug down the sleeves of his hoodie then push them back up.  Those long fingers swipe through his hair once, twice.  Finally, he crosses his arms and nods sharply. 

“Yes,” he says.  “I have.” 

Oh.

The subject of your abstract thought suddenly becomes a tangible reality.  You cannot get the unbidden mental image out of your head: Jeongin, knuckle-deep in the very wet, very soft heat of someone lucky, wringing every last bit of pleasure out of them.  It is unexpectedly easy to imagine yourself in their place, his dark head between your thighs and his steady arm at work. 

You cross your legs.  He notices. 

“Would you mind showing me?” you ask. 

“Showing you?” he repeats, his thick eyebrows high on his face.  “Showing you?” 

“Yes,” you say.  You are so preoccupied with your mental image that it takes a moment to realize your phrasing might be misconstrued.  “Not like that!” 

He jumps in surprise. 

“Oh my god.”  You put your hands over your face again.  “I meant… abstractly.  Draw it.  Or tell me.  I didn’t mean—oh my goodness.”

His ears are still red but Jeongin dissolves into giggles again.   Your mortification works wonders on his dimples. 

“I’m not very good at drawing,” he teases, patting you on the head. 

“Oh my goodness,” is all you manage. 

His laughter is infectious, overpowering your embarrassment until you are giggling with him. 

“I’m sorry,” you say when the laughter finally slows.  You smile, chagrined and apologetic.  “It was a stupid question in the first place.  I’m really embarrassed.” 

“No, don’t be,” he says, waving his hand.  “You can tell me anything.  I was just… surprised.”

“Yeah, so was he,” you say, making both of you laugh again. 

When the laughter subsides a second time, Jeongin sighs.  He puts his discarded glasses back on, blinking his vision into his focus and smiling at you.  After the last few minutes of conversation, that smiles gives you butterflies.  You touch a hand to your stomach as if to still them, but they flutter away. 

“I have an idea,” he says, holding out his hand. 

“Oh no,” you say but take that hand without hesitation.  “Am I about to regret so many things?”

“What?  No.  When have I ever had a bad idea?” he asks while laughing, no doubt in recollection of every combined bad idea your friendship has conjured. 

You can hardly judge him for any bad ideas, though, seeing as you waltzed in here today asking your friend if he had ever made someone squirt.  It sounds very ridiculous in hindsight, but you truly do trust Jeongin so much that the idea seemed reasonable at the time. 

Now you are in his bedroom, hovering by the bedside while he plops down on his bed with a sigh.  He adjusts his glasses and the neck of his hoodie, like this is all protocol and not remotely unusual.  He takes a pillow and lays it gingerly across his lap, then looks up and beckons you forward with the come-hither crook of two fingers.  His smirk is suggestive but playful, just teasing you, but it awakens those butterflies again. 

“Come on,” he says.  “Sit.  I’ll, um, show you.”

“Show me?” you say, eying the pillow in his lap.  “Yang Jeongin, are you… about to defile that pillow?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding solemnly.  “We’re gonna make it squirt.”

“You know when I asked if you had ever done it before, I meant on a human…”

“Wow! I’m helping you with a visual demonstration and you insult me—!”

“Aha, I’m sorry!”  You burst into laughter at the incredulity on his face.   When he pushes the pillow off his lap with a show of dramatics, you wave your hands just as theatrically.  “I mean it, I mean it,” you say, though your laughter contradicts the sincerity of your words.  “Please help me.  I’m sorry, hahaha, I was just teasing, I need your help, please!”

He tries to stand up but you block him, shuffling every time he leans.  He finally grabs your hips to move you but you grab his shoulders.  Your wrestling is a light-hearted tussle, but then he starts tickling you and you stand no chance of survival.  You turn into a flailing, yelping mess, laughing as you spill across the bed with your arms around each other.   He tortures you another second, forcing another apology out of your mouth. 

When it is over, you lay there, panting.  He is leaning over you, his hands on your waist, yours on his shoulders.   Your friend likes to laugh but a very serious look crosses his face.  He looks at you like he is studying you, discovering some detail for the first time even though he has known you for years.  It is like you can feel his stare, a caress across your cheek, across your lips.  You take your bottom lip into your mouth, wetting it.

He takes a slow, deep breath. 

“That man was crazy,” he says.  His voice is lower than before, scratching above a whisper.  “You’re perfect.  He just didn’t care about getting to know you.  And that sucks for him because you—”  His voice breaks, the little squeak making him laugh, a small embarrassed sound.  The tips of his ears are red and he avoids meeting your gaze.  “You’re beautiful,” he says, “inside and out.  Any man would be lucky to be with you.” 

“Jeongin,” you say softly, because what else can you say? 

He meets your gaze.  His mouth is open like he wants to say more but he can only stare at you.  Eventually, he laughs.  He rubs the back of his neck as he sits up straight.  You sit up as well, staring at him while he adjusts his glasses. 

“Right,” he says.  “The, uh, the pillow.  I, um…”

It might have been amusing, watching him poke a pillow suggestively.  But you no longer care about that.  The energy in this room has changed, the whole world melting under the power of his words, changing the very shape of this space.  When you take a breath, all you smell is his cologne, masculine and smoky, all you see is your friend, in his hoodie and glasses with his blushing cheeks, and all you want is him.  Like this.  Right now. 

He reaches for the pillow and you reach for him.  You take his hand and he looks at you, blinking with surprise. 

You turn his hand over.  He really does have nice hands, long fingers, deft and strong.  You measure it against your own.  Then you guide his hand to your lips and kiss the tips of his fingers.  You look at him, making your eyes big, your lashes fluttering. 

“Oh,” he says.  “Oh.”

You laugh.  He cups your face and draws you close and you are both smiling when your lips come together.  Despite his blush, the kiss is ravishing.  You find yourself gasping for a breath, whimpering when he sucks your bottom lip. 

“Lay down please,” he says, speaking against your mouth. 

You nod.  Those butterflies are wild inside you.  You are certain you already look like an unravelled mess, laying on your back and breathing hard. 

He leans over you, catching your hand when you reach for him.  He kisses your palm, your fingers bumping his glasses, making you giggle.  He smiles too, the kiss lingering.  Your whole arm tingles even when he stops.  He guides your hand above your head, curling your fingers around the bars of his headboard. 

“You keep your hands where they are or I'll tie them up,” he says, but laughs at your surprised expression before the words can settle.   “You said yourself, you think too much,” he explains.  “Just lay there.  Don’t move.  Don’t think.  Let me take care of you.”  He puts a leg between yours, pushing forward with his hips to guide yours apart.  He fits there perfectly, pressing his body against yours.  Your breath catches.   “You can trust me,” he says, and somehow that gets you going more than any sexy come-on.

You trust him more than anyone.  You did not hesitate coming to him with an embarrassing story.  You ran to him before anyone else.  You always seek him out first.

You know you are safe in his hands. 

“Do whatever you want with me,” you say.  You never make that sort of offer, but it feels so natural here and now.  With him.  “I’m yours.”

“Whatever I want?” he says, his smile big and dimples deep.   He leans down, kissing your cheek then under your jaw.  When he kisses your throat, it is hot, open-mouthed kiss, all teeth and tongue.  It sends sparks shooting down your whole body, your hips bucking.  He is strong, the weight of him between your legs pinning you to the mattress.  You feel him, firm, hard, his whole body riding the rhythm of yours.  

He has not even undone a single button. 

“Whatever I want,” he repeats.  “That’s a big offer.” 

His hands, those gorgeous hands that had you captivated, slide up your thighs and under your skirt.  He stares down into your face while lifting the material, leaving a trail of goosebumps all the way up your thighs.  You feel yourself clench, a sharp pulse of need in your core.  Your body is thoughtless in its hunger and it feels so good to give into it. 

“Sometimes,” he says, “all I think about this… nothing extreme… just you like this… just us together…”

Every breath of a phrase is punctuated with a kiss, down your chest, your stomach, your thighs.  You are not expecting him to kiss you through your underwear, your hips bucking when he opens his mouth and ravishes you regardless of the barrier.  When you have soaked through the flimsy material, he finally hooks his pinkies into the fabric and tugs it down. 

You do not have time to be shy, just desperate to get them off.  He pushes your thighs back, folding you in half, then goes back to eating your pussy like he has all the time in the world, like there is no where he would rather be.  Your legs shake, your toes curling, body held firmly in his capable hands as he licks you hungrily. 

“Jeongin,” you gasp. 

“You taste like heaven,” is his reply. 

It is so cheesy but it makes you laugh, a happy sound that rumbles in your chest, that couples with pleasure and leaves your whole body singing.  You feel like you could float away. 

You are pliant, soft and malleable in his hands.  He really can do anything with you.  It does not scare you one bit.  You trust him, following his direction when he rolls you onto your side.  You gasp at his hand sliding under your shirt, squeezing your breasts, finding every sensitive nerve as he feels you up. 

“Don’t think,” he says, one arm around your chest and the other sliding down between your legs.  “Just feel, okay?” 

“Mmm,” is your only reply. 

You are so ready for him, wound up from his dirty kisses, taut with tension.  By the time those long fingers are inside you, it feels like completion rather than intrusion.  He fits like he belongs there, curling his fingers against places you never knew were sensitive.  It is like your body gives way, revealing all your secrets to his searching touch. 

“That’s it,” he says when your breathing gets erratic. 

You did not even realize he had found somewhere extra sensitive, not until he is already fucking it slowly.  By the time you realize just how soft you are there, it is too late to brace yourself.  He adds another finger and your body tightens around him.  Your eyes close and you see stars, gasping and rocking and almost crying at the dizzying swirl of sensation. 

“Oh, Jeongin,” you say.  His name is all you say for another minute.  It is the sound on your lips when he moves you, when he turns his hand just slightly, when the new angle sets off a chain reaction of feeling.  You cry out, clenching sporadically around his rapidly moving fingers.  You yank a corner of the bedspread right off the mattress.

Your orgasm seems to go on forever, pulsing and aching and clenching.  Your whole body feels boneless by the time it settles and he slips his fingers free. 

“Oops,” he says, adjusting his skewed glasses with his clean hand.  “Should’ve put a towel down after all.” 

You look down and whimper at the obvious wetness on his bedsheets.   You would apologize but he does not look sorry at all.  In fact, he grins, looking very satisfied with himself. 

You are in a state of utter disarray and he is still fully clothed, having shattered your world with just one hand.  It makes you laugh, giddy. 

Your arms finally drop.  Though it takes a minute, you find a little strength and push yourself up.  He is smiling when you climb into his lap.  He even winks at you when he puts his wet fingers in his mouth. 

You open your mouth too.  You hold his gaze while he puts his fingers in your mouth, his breath catching when you suck them eagerly. 

“I want something more,” you say. 

“Do whatever you want with me,” he echoes your words back to you.  “I’m yours.” 

He is right about the simplest fantasy making for a wonderous reality.  There are no expectations of any over-the-top actions; it is enough it is you and him, together.   Clothing ends up scattered around his room, then you are in his lap and he is holding your waist, and you are holding the bars behind his head as you ride him where he sits against the headboard. 

His glasses get askew but you fix them, laughing against his smile before kissing him again.   It is for nothing because they fall off a second later, when he grabs you and moves, putting you on your back to fuck you at another angle.  He slides a hand between you, rubbing at you, working you up. Your head falls back, your whole body tingling with the approach of another orgasm. 

“Yes, yes,” he says, no doubt feeling you get tight around him.  It is his moaning that sets you off, your legs around his hips, pulling him in close as you come together. 

He kisses all over your face, both of you laughing when he slightly misses your lips.  You find his glasses and put them back on him, meeting his re-focussed gaze and smiling. 

“Was that an okay demonstration?” he teases.  “Like I said, I’m not very good at drawing.” 

“Maybe so,” you tease back, running your fingers through his hair.  “I might need another one.  Just to be sure.” 

“Just to be sure,” he says, nodding very sagely.  “Good idea.  Maybe after that, I’ll take you out to dinner.  Then we better come back here and try again.”

“Just to be sure,” you say. 

“Just to be sure,” he agrees. 

You are already smiling when he kisses you. 

You have never been more sure about anything in your life. 

[gyaruhana]

Can u please write wlw smut for my glorious queen se-mi player 380

Se-mi/Player 380 - hatefucking

Synopsis: You and Se-mi can't stand each other so what better way to deal with that issue then fight for dominance?

A/N: i did combine this with another request for hatesex bc they both were wuh luh wuh so.. hope you don't mind!!

Warnings: smut content, choking, degradation, slight fight for dominance, fingering, it's hatesex..

If there was one thing you avoided, it was arguments. You preferred to avoid making enemies because; what was the point? It was far better to make friends than enemies who’d plot your death on the daily. Friends would be there to make you happy and comfort you when you're sad. Enemies would just laugh at you and pull you further down into the depths of sadness. That's why you always opted for only making friends and allies.

The only exception to this little rule was her. Se-mi.

Se-mi had been getting on your nerves from the moment you had both spared a glance at each other. There was something about her that reeked of over-confidence and judgement. The way she would look at you with that smirk on her face as if she thought she was better than you. It pisses you the fuck off and all you wanted to do was punch her face in so she could never smirk or scoff at you again.

Whether it was for good or bad, Se-mi felt the same way. You were always so nice to everyone, even to those who didn't deserve kindness whatsoever. It pissed her off that you'd try to be friends with everyone. Were you naive or just plain stupid? Whatever it was, she didn't like it. You were so happy-go-lucky as if you weren't trapped in this hell hole where people are being killed left and right. She didn't trust you at all because you seemed like the type who'd willingly stab someone in the back sooner or later.

In short, the feeling of hate was mutual between you two and, everytime you were near each other, there was a silent tension of unspoken dislike. Neither of you had actually communicated your dislike through speech, it was all just glares from across the room and the purposeful avoidance of each other.

Today, you unfortunately didn't have the opportunity to avoid each other like you two usually opted to do.

It was the third game and it was called ‘Mingle’. It wasn't a difficult game as long as you weren't one to crack under the pressure of a short time limit. All you had to do was form a group of whatever number was called out and then run into a room with them. The first four rounds went well for you since you were friends with practically everyone here and could always find a group to join.

When the fifth round came, the number two was called and chaos broke out quite quickly as people realized not everyone will be fortunate enough to get a room. As chaos broke out and lights flashed, you found it rather difficult to see who was on their lonesome and needed a pair. Luckily for you, you managed to spot the tall silhouette of someone who was on their own so you ran towards them and grabbed a hold of their wrist, dragging them into one of the last free rooms. You quickly shut it behind you as you let out a relieved sigh - glad you managed to find someone before it was too late.  

When you turned around, you were met with the unimpressed face of Se-mi. You almost let out a groan of annoyance at the sight of her. Maybe you should go back out there and just get shot. At least then she'd die as well and you could rest peacefully knowing she'd never plague anyone with her ugly personality again. 

“I'm not happy to see you either,” she says as she folds her arms across her chest and leans against the wall behind her. You let out a scoff of annoyance as the doors finally locked indicating the timer was up. Considering you'd probably be trapped in this room for a while until they clear out the bodies, maybe now would be a good time to confront her about her behavior.

“What's your problem? You're always such an asshole to me,” you say as you step closer to her. Your words may have been slightly aggressive but you couldn't help it when she was around. She just naturally got on every nerve in your body. In response to your words, she pushes off the wall and uncrosses her arms to step closer to you.

“My problem? You're the one with the problem,” Se-mi spoke as she looked at you with annoyance. The audacity you had to call her a bitch as if you were any better. Seeing you like this made her believe all your kindness really was an act for your own personal gain. That only fueled her hatred for you.

“You're the one who's been glaring at me since day one. You're a total fucking dickhead with your arrogant attitude,” you speak as you point an accusatory finger in her face. You were sick of how she'd act and the way she'd judge everyone silently. She needed a wake up call or something so she'd stop standing on her high horse. After all, she glared at you first. What were you supposed to do? Let her treat you like that? Hell no. You might be all for making friends but that doesn't mean you'll back down when someone chooses to be your enemy.

Then suddenly, out of the blue - her hand wrapped around your throat and she pushed you onto the wall. “I'd watch your mouth when you speak to me,” she says with anger bubbling inside her. Calling her arrogant? Who did you think you were? Someone needed to put you in your place.

You were taken aback by the sudden violence before grabbing her wrist tightly and glaring at her. “Or what? What are you going to do about it? Kill me?” you spoke sarcastically. You didn't fear her at all or the hand around your throat. It's not like she'd kill you. She couldn't have the guts to murder someone. You knew her type. Assholes on the outside, total pussies on the inside. They all just made enemies with people they assumed were weak so they could act tough.

She was quiet for a moment as she thought about your words. She couldn't kill you, no. You wouldn't learn anything that way (and she might get in trouble for that). She'd have to take a different approach if she wanted to make you learn a lesson about your bitchy behavior and, thankfully, she knew just how to make someone learn a lesson. She smirked for a moment before nodding her head.

“I won't kill you, no. I'll teach you a lesson,” she spoke before suddenly pressing her lips to yours. Her hand stayed wrapped around your throat, lightly squeezing to serve as a warning. You didn't expect her to kiss you of all things. It left you frozen in shock. Her kiss wasn't gentle either. It was rough as if its purpose was to silence you. There was nothing loving about it and, strangely enough, you found yourself actually being turned on by it. You didn't have feelings for her, no. You hated her but you were stuck in a place like this with no guarantee of a tomorrow so maybe a little hatefuck wouldn't be a terrible idea.

“Fuck, you're a shitty kisser,” you speak when she pulls away. She lets out a bitter chuckle at your words and shakes her head. “Thought I told you to watch your mouth?” She said as her free hand trailed down to the waistband of your pants. Oh, Se-mi was going to make sure you submit and watch your attitude towards her from now on.  “You think I'll listen to you?” You respond snarkily. 

“Oh, you will,” she says, her hand making it to your underwear as she gently traces the fabric of it. She moves her hand beneath the fabric and gently feels your entrance. “You're wet. You're just a whore, huh?” she spoke with a mocking smirk. She found it amusing that you were turned on by something like this. 

You were about to make a quick comment in response when she quickly slid her index finger into you making you let out a moan. God, you didn't expect her to do that so suddenly. She was full of surprises today. You quickly recovered from the initial shock as you noticed the smug look on her face. It drove you insane. If she thought she was teaching you a lesson like this, you'd have to teach her one too.

“Don't think you're in control,” you speak before grabbing the back of her head and pressing your lips to hers. Se-mi would be lying if she said she wasn't a little taken aback by the sudden kiss. She had assumed you'd fold immediately but apparently you were much more of a challenge. She smirked into the kiss before pulling her finger out slowly and then teasingly thrusting it back in. You let out a muffled moan at the feeling as you bring your free hand to the hem of her shirt. You lift it up slightly before putting your hand underneath and slowly trailing it upwards. 

“Might want to try harder to please me. You do a poor job at fingering a girl,” you speak after breaking from the kiss. She shakes her head with the smirk not leaving her face as she starts to thrust her fingers in and out of you quicker. “Oh really? Your body says otherwise,” she says, her hand tightening around your throat once more to serve as a silent warning. 

“I'm not even close to getting to cum. Can't you do any better?” You say as your hand that had earlier slipped under her shirt pinched her nipple. She tensed for a moment as her breath hitched, making you laugh. “What? That sensitive?” You tease and she sends a glare at you. She could try to dominate you as much as she wants but you weren't one to submit so easily.

She suddenly presses her thumb to your clit and starts to rub it roughly. The sensation makes you lean your head back against the wall as you moan. “Seems like you're the sensitive one,” she says as she watches your reactions carefully. As much as you wouldn't ever admit it, she was actually quite good with her fingers. She knew exactly how to move them and get someone to cum quite quickly. 

“if we weren't stuck here, I'd show you how good I could really fuck you,” you speak with a smirk as you look back at her again. “sure you could,” she responds sarcastically as she continues to thrust her fingers at a quick pace. She could tell you were close now as she felt you clench around her fingers.

“You're close, huh?” she says, clearly mocking you. You laugh breathlessly as you shake your head and look to the side. God, she was still such a cocky bitch. You looked at her before pulling on her hair and glaring at her. “When I cum, I'll make you lick your fingers clean, yeah?” you speak and the smirk on her face seems to grow bigger. Fuck, she really didn't think you'd still be acting so dominant. It was actually turning her on more - getting to fight for dominance like this.

With a few more thrusts of her fingers you came undone with a quiet moan. She slowly pulls her fingers out of you and you don't waste a second to grab her hand and pull it out of your pants. “C’mon, suck,” you say as you bring her hand to her mouth, her fingers wet with your cum. She looks at you for a moment before slowly putting her fingers into her mouth and sucking them clean of your cum. She pulls them out of her mouth after a few seconds and, as if on cue, the door unlocked meaning the guards had finished cleaning.

You both looked at the door before looking at each other again. “If you make it out alive of this place, I'll have to fuck you on my dildo next time,” she speaks as she steps back from you. “Looking forward to it- seeing you embarrass yourself, i mean,” you respond before walking out without another word and leaving her alone in the room. She watched you walk out before scoffing.

“She better make it out alive,”

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Late Night

Pairing: Dark Hawks x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

SUMMARY: Keigo hates threatning you - only when necessary.

WARNINGS: Implied Kidnapping; Threats.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

–

"Hey, c'mon, don't cry..." 

He tries, tentatively reaching with a hand but instantly stopping at the abrupt increase of your sobbing. 

"Y/n? Babe, pretty please..." he sighs, rubbing his tired eyes, "Let's just go to sleep, yeah? It’s getting late and I have to wake early tomorrow."

"Leave me alone." you howl the words out, as if you're a wounded dog. You feel like one, to be fair. Bunched up in a corner of this huge room, face contorted as you cry ugly tears and snot. 

It's only been a week since you were taken from the comfort of your life, and you still can't stop the aching pain that burns your heart whenever you think about it. 

During the day, it’s slightly more manageable to pretend that it’s fine, that you’ll eventually escape him, that everything will be fine.

But as soon as the dark cast of the night hits, it’s like all the overwhelming weight of sad reality starts to wear you down. 

You’re so tired of him. You just wanna go home and hide underneath the safety of your blankets. 

“Babe….”

Keigo sighs once again, leaning back at the adjacent beige wall as he runs his fingers through the blonde hair. 

"Hate to ask, but any chance you can speed this up? Not to the part where you relentlessly beg to go home, to which I'll say no - obviously." Keigo says with such normality as if he’s asking you to turn the lights off.

"Also not the part where you cry your pretty eyes out for another 20 minutes, yell shitty things, threaten me, and so goes on…”

You gulp, with a new batch of tears forming as he tilts his head to the side, lips curling into a half-smile as if your despair amuses him. 

“... but yes to the part where you finally shut up with the hysteria and we go to bed.”

You tearfully glare at him, indignation flaring up at his nonchalant words. 

“I hate you. You kidnapped me!" you continue, half-choking in your own tears, hoping the hatred and anger in your face is enough to show him just how much you hate him. “I hate you!” 

Keigo dismissively shrugs his shoulders, despite the new tension in his jaw as he glances at his wrist watch. 

“I’m not the bad guy here, babe.” 

“You-” 

“If I was the bad guy…” he interrupts you, an unpleasant glint in his eyes showing that deep your words didn’t sit right with him. “...right now I’d be punching a hole into your pretty face for being such a brat. Or maybe I’d be ripping your tongue out with my bare hands, so you won’t speak bullshit like that. Maybe you’d like that better?” 

Your eyes widen at that, body freezing as fear takes control of you. 

For most times Keigo is laid-back and chill, but times like these are the ones that remind you that he’s just as dangerous as a villain is. He could easily hurt or even kill you within seconds, and there was nothing your quirkless ass could do to stop him.

You are at his mercy, much like you’ve always been ever since he took you. 

You hate how helpless you feel. 

Keigo notices your mortified reaction and walks closer, crouching in front of you. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you, babe.” he says with a jovial tone. “But I really need you to behave, ‘kay?”

His hand elevates and he ignores your flinch as he brushes away a few tears. 

“Enough with the tears, you’re too pretty to be cryin’ like that.” he smiles, hand lowering to grab your forearm.

He stands up, pulling you with him towards the bed. 

“Now, let’s go get our beauty sleep.”  

[grugruel]

His Little Killer

Pairings: Cooper howard x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: in reluctant companionship with a ghoul, which turns out to be exactly as dreadful as you'd thought. You find yourself in a shoot-out where–post battle–one of your usual fights end way more pleasurable than usual.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: (violence, blood, death, in typical fallout manners), enemies to lovers, choking, pinv sex, rough sex, fingering, creampie, pet names (darlin', honey, killer, sweetheart), praise, a pinch of degradation.

AN: not yet proofread! Hope yall enjoy! (Yes, I'm unwell.'

Wood shattering, explosions booming–and charging footsteps heading straight for me. 'At my right!' I shout, gesturing in the direction of the steps. My voice barely registering above the racket of the fight.

Nonetheless, he heard me, I knew he did. Because bullets suddenly whizz past my makeshift cover in every direction except to my right.

The ammunition creating sick squelching noises as they collide with their targets, bloodsplatter spraying the walls a horrifying deep red. Meanwhile, in my corner. The heavy footsteps were left wide open to plough through the old wooden barrels I was hiding behind, 'Holy shii-' I squeak as im tackled to the floor with enough force to knock the breath out of my lungs. I try to cough, try to make my lungs open up as the man grabs hold of me. I hit my chest hard, desperately hoping it would do something–

He grabs my boots, pulling me toward him and finally- I get a breath of air. 'Stupid, fucking asshole.' I mutter through clenched teeth as I lunge and wrestle my attacker, our quarreling bodies kicking up a cloud of dust to swirl around us.

The man was big and foul-smelling, maybe it would've been better refered to as an it, considering the animalistic growls, snapping teeth, and fraying lips that bit and lunged at my face. He attempted to pin my arms to the ground while aiming its teeth at my jugular, but I was quicker. My knee smashing into his balls before he had a single thought of defending himself. He cried out in pain and I took my chance to roll him over, pinning him down with my weight instead, and I began throwing a wave of punches to his face, over and over again. 'I said MY right!' I shouted over my shoulder, weeks of fury and frustration bubbling up inside me as it fueled me into beating the ugly mut unrecognizable–when a second force slammed into my back, knocking me onto the ground once again. Another man, now climbing on top of me, his dirty fingers slithering around my throat and-

Another splatter, this time it's his blood–the second man's, and its sprayed all over me.

'Finally. . .' I exhale heavily, thudding back against the floor, splaying out with relief.

'Were really polishin' up on our teamwork.' A gruff voice announced, words coming out slow and steady with that self-satisfied tone which never failed to get on my nerves.

I heaved myself up on my forearms, angling my body so what remained of the man slumped off of me, and the source of the voice appeared like a specter from the dead man's shadow. 'You're a real pretty sight when ridin' a man like that.' He said, nodding to the guy with a bashed face.

I rolled my eyes, unbelievable. 'You mean while beating the shit out of him?' I ask, my voice pitching higher as I couldnt quite fathom the nerve of that man, despite forcing myself to get used to it over the past few weeks.

He hummed. 'Mhm, really got me goin' for a sec.'

My face scrunched up in disgust. 'Fucking cowboys.' I spat, renouncing the idea loudly. But, quietly, inside my mind, the thought had my core purring unwillingly.

'I shot right, just like you asked.' He shrugged, stalking closer, the drawl in his voice washing through the barren and now battered bar.

'The hell you did!' I hissed. He stopped at my feet, looming over me with his tall frame, frayed coat swaying around his chins, and that stupid cowboy hat covering half his face just like always. We'd been forced travelling companions for a while now, and I could say a lot of nasty things about him, but it was hard to deny- he was a real fucking apocalypse cowboy. Pretty cool if you cut his personality out of the picture.

'I said my right, what the fuck else do you think I ment with "my"?' I kick the lifeless body with my boot, emphasising my point.

'Well. . .' He shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. '. . .my, right.' He smirked.

I shook my head, shooting him daggers. 'Not even you are moronic enough to get that wrong, ghoul.'

'Well, you're right.' He admitted, shocking me for a second. But then, the problem I've always had with him, inescapable and always the same–he never shut his damn mouth. 'You need to work om your phrasin', honey.'

I shut my eyes, screwing them together so tight I began wishing I could disintegrate from annoyance and seep through the cracks between the weathered floorboards like a corn of sand. But no, I was stuck with him, and had to lay there listening to his idiocy. 'How–?' I sighed a heavy, exasperated sigh. '–is it possible for a man to be so full of himself, yet- never talk about himself?'

'Tricks of the trade, sweetheart.' He winked, clicking his tongue while those forsaken eyes roamed my body like a predator sizing up it's prey, and extended a hand toward me as if it were no big deal.

Exhausted as I was, accepting his help seemed sorely tempting to my tired body. After a moments hesitation, I decided–once, wouldn't harm my morals. So, I grabbed his hand with reluctance and let him pull me to my feet. 'I could've died, I hope you realise.'

'Yes. . . But you didn't.' His lips pulling into a grin. 'I wouldn't let that happen'.'

'You're a real bastard, y'know that?' the words left my lips with an unintentional drawl, damn that man.

The ghoul cocked an inexistent eyebrow. 'If I didnt know any better, I'd say im rubbin' of on you, honey.'

Another scoff from me. 'The only thing you're rubbing–is me the wrong way.' I spat, this time making a point of speaking as plainly as possible.

His eyes lit up suspiciously, filling with mischief as his widening smile creased them. 'Well, tell me how you like it then and I'll do it the right way.' He smirked, his voice gravely as it scraped along my spine with a shiver. He always did this, He'd call me nicknames, flirt with me. All cause he knew I hated it. But now he's just bordering on harassment. It did however, not, stop the heat from rising to my cheeks, or for a blush to seep through my skin. He'd staggered me, I truly didn't know how to react. What happened next was purely instinctively driven–

The palm of my hand made contact with his cheek, a crisp slap sounding out through the room. I even confused myself for a moment, almost as I was the one who'd been hit. But I would've been furious, how he reacted, well. . .

'There you are. . .' He purred, his tone lethal. '. . .my little killer.' A grin spreading across his face as he took a step closer.

He was pure poison, somehow both hot and cold as he ran through my veins. 'I ain't yours.' He wss the only person- ghoul, who could get on every nerve I possessed, lighting it ablaze with frustration.

'No. . .? You ain't?' He chuckled, 'You're sure startin' to sound like it, sweetheart. I see the way you look at me, the way you blush when I call you pretty little names.' He nodded toward my eyes, his hat tipping with the movement as he took another step, gaining on the precious distance between us. I feared he was right, too, my cheeks burned in a way I'd never noticed before. Had I always reacted like this? Before I knew it–I'd flung my palm for his face a once again-

Only this time, he caught my wrist. 'Tsk tsk tsk, you can do better than that, killer.' He let go off me, forcefully shoving my arm back to my side with a scoff.

But now, I'm the one stepping closer, pushing him away by the chest simultaneously. 'I hate you.' I spit, taking another step and push again, but this time he doesn't budge, and I was left standing mere inches away from him, my hands pressed firmly against his chest as my own heaved with frustrated breaths, strands of hair hanging over my face from the ordeal.

'Good. . .' He whispered, brushing wild strands of hair from my face. '. . .Now, show me how much you hate me.'

I could've slapped him again, pushed him again, done anything else than what I actually did. But my body acted on instinct, again-

I crashed into him, my hands grabbing his face as our lips met in a battle for control. He released a breathy moan, his trigger ready hands finding my waist impossibly quick to pull me flush against him, our bodies clashing together in a thud. He hummed. 'That's right, killer. Show me.' He whispered in the air-swallowing gasps between our kisses.

I put pressure behind my hands, walking him backward while my fingers found the buttons of his vest. Undoing them along with the shirt, then slid his coat and vest down his shoulders in one go, right before his back collided with the bar top. My hands found themselves making their beneath his shirt, feeling the dents of his scarred chest as I sucked his lip between my teeth, and bit down. A sharp hiss escaped him, quickly being replaced by a wide grin. 'Naughty girl.' He breathed.

Smiling, I pushed myself off of him. 'You bring it out of me.' I panted, pulling my shirt over my head and unhooking my bra, letting it fall to the floor.

He leaned back against the bar, bracing himself on his elbows as his eyes roamed over my bare chest and flushed face. 'Those are the prettiest fuckin' tit's I've ever seen. . .' He spoke in a low voice, too filled with lust to allow him anything else. 'Now, would you mind.' His hand gestured below my waist, his index finger sliding through the air as he traced the buttons of my pants from a distance.

And an idea struck me, suddenly feeling like I wanted to indulge myself in a little torture. Turning around, I did as he told me and began unbuttoning them, slowly. Terribly, terribly slowly. Sliding them over my hips and down my thighs, bucking my knees and bending over slightly as I pulled my panties down along with them. Just as I stepped out if them and looked over my shoulder to give him a coy little look, perhaps revel in the feeling of his pained expression–I was in for a surprise.

Turning my head over my shoulder, I came fave to face with him, but he wasn't just standing there- no. He collided with my back, his arms already wrapped around ny front to catch me. His shirt bow nowhere to be seen. 'Enough.' He growled, one strong arm wrapping around my breasts as the other wrapped around my waist. He raised me off the floor, held tightly against his chest. I squeeked, giggling as I pulled my legs up. Completley overcome with the anticipation of what was about to befall me–then I all of a sudden found myself pushed over the bar top, chest against the smooth luke warm surface. The quality off it telling me it hadn't been bought when fitted into this weathered building.

Then, the clanging of metal, leather groaning, friction, and his belt hit the floor. Gruff hands ran over the swell of my ass and down the arch of my back, taking his time to feel all of me. 'Been thinkin' 'bout this, how you'd feel falling apart beneath me, on top of me–' he leaned over me, hand wrapping around my neck as he pulled me flush against him only to whisper in my ear. '–around me. . .' He breathed, dragging the words out. '. . . All wet 'n messy with my cum fillin' you up.'

A moan left my lips. 'Show me.' Was all I could get out, a silent pleading to make all those thoughts a reality–and so he did.

Before I knew it, a hand had disappeared to line himself up with my entrance, pushing inside me without as much as a warning.

'Fuck!' I cried out, my voice breaking as my breath left me. It felt never ending, he was huge. But oh, he felt so good.

He groaned, finally stopping as he'd sunken all the way into my core. 'So wet for me already.' His hand slid over my back and shoulder, molding itself to my throat as the other grabbed my hip. Already flush with my back, he inclined his head, leaving trail of kisses along my spine and neck.

'Fuck me, please Coop-' it was the first time I'd called him by his name, and I realised it the second it left my lips.

His lips curled against my skin, a smile-

He thrusted into me, again and again. My back arching into an angled I had no idea it was capable of, helping him hit my core at every rut of his hips–not that he needed it. The 200+ years of experience really showed, and they were definitely felt.

The bar was dead silent, no noise except for our joint breaths of pleasure and the sound of slapping skin. It was lewd and brutal, and It made me absolutely delerious. His low, pained grunting in my ear did nothing to ease the matter. He'd created an aching so strong within me I wasn't sure It'd ever be able to be tamed.

'Harder, harder, please.' I stuttered, the words barely coming out between my heavy pants. Fuck, he made me feral. Without even trying, that's just what he was capable of. It annoyed me, he managed to annoy me while fucking me senseless. Oh, how I wish I could hate him, but there was no going back now.

Coop left little love bites all along my shoulder, and up the side of my throat, nipping and kissing in equal meassure as his breathing warmed my skin deliciously. Doing it all with such precision I couldnt understand, his thrust were rocking my emtire body, his chest rubbing againdt my back, yet he could be so delicate. I side ive never seen before. 'Little killer ain't so tough no more, is she?' He whispered, placing a kiss behind my ear before biting the lobe, tugging in it gently.

'. . . Mmh- 'm not, I'm not.' I got out. I was whatever he said I was while he delivered this type of pleasure on a silver platter. I didn't care, my morals had been thrown out the window the second his lips touched mine.

'Well, look at that. Admittin' defeat already?' I could feel his stupid grin again, his pace slowing- still ruthless, but it did enough for that feeling of building pressure to wain inside me.

I shook my head, shutting my eyes hard as I tried to focus on his member moving inside me, desperate not to lose that red string that'd lead me to climax.

'Words, sweetheart. Use em'. .'

'Dont fucking care.' I cried. 'J- just- Fuck. Me. Harder.' I ground out, my teeth clenching real hard from a mix of desperation and frustration for the pressure to start rebuilding.

'That'll do.' He groaned, squeezing my throat. All the while his other hand slid down to my cunt, starting condensed circling around my clit. And just like that, he'd made me into a whimpering mess for him to steady, falling apart beneath him just like he'd thought. Then he simply took up right where he left off, without missing a beat he thrusted so ferociously I was sure I'd be bruising on every single part of my body from the vibrations that rumbled through my muscles alone.

The darkness of my lips were specking with white, a wall of pressure building brick by brick in my abdomen. 'Close, so fucking close.' I whimpered.

'Good- Good job sweetheart. Doin' so good for me.' He burried his face in my hair, nuzzling his nose into its scent, inhaling it as he too approached climax. And there it was, that sudden softness. It was almost unsteadying my senses more than his touch, more than his thrusts, but only almost. 'You sound so sweet for me, honey. Let me hear ya'. . .' He moaned, exhaling warmth against the nape of my neck.

I obliged, of course I did. 'Feels so good, Coop- so close. . .' I panted, tears burning my eyes as they began rolling down my cheeks.

He slid his hand upward, keeping it between me jaw and throat, still choking me as he angled my face over my shoulder, enabling him to kiss me properly. And I've never been more thankful because I was about to cry myself dry as the wall broke. Pleasure flooding through my body in tidal waves, my knees bucking beneath me. 'Good girl.' He praised, voice muffled against my lips. Fingers stopping to instead cup my aching cunt. 'My good fuckin' girl, my little killer.' He moaned softly, my lips vibrating from the roughness in his voice as he caught me, delivering a final few ruts of his hips before he too came. Doing just as he promised, filling me up with his cum.

He loosed his grip around my throat and slit, letting me depend on the counter for support while he held me. 'Still hate me?'

'Yes.' I didn't, but it'd be a long time before I admitted that to him.

'Good.' And then there was silence, our lungs catching up with our breaths. 'Still wanna see those pretty hips ride me.' He murmured as he hugged me from behind, his hand sliding lower, pinching my hipbone.

'Ow! Asshole.' I yelped, and he kissed my shoulder to make up for it. But the thought was alluring nonetheless. I wriggled in his embrace, looking around at the destruction we'd caused, at the- dead bodies. And a pang of guilt hit me. 'Fine, but not here.' I agreed, actually wanting nothing more than to get out of there and sit in his lap, maybe ride his thighs too.

We redress, and share a kiss before leaving. 'Can't wait to taste that cunt of yours, killer.' He murmured suddenly. Leaving me staggered once again.

Ugh, I'm done for.

[evolnoomym]

Washing Machine Heart 🩶 Pt.1

Mom’s Best-friend!Joel Miller x f!reader

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Summary: Your Mom is not nice to you, her only Daughter, always picking on you whenever she can. To get back at her you decide to seduce and fuck her Highschool Best-friend Joel Miller. Oh she also has a crush on him so that’s a bonus.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: no use of y/n, female reader, implied abuse, childhood trauma, alcohol, smut, reader has no name only nicknames, size difference, age gap, readers age is mentioned and Joel is more than double sooo, mommy issues, strained relationships, petty shit, cream pie, tittys, choking kind of, teasing, Joel is tiny bit Pervy, of course Daddy kink, unprotected p in v,

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Authors note: I was mad so this is what I cooked up lol

Shoutout to @cafekitsune for the dividers 🫶🏻

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. This is my first time writing smut sooooo be nice please. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly. 🖤

Song’s I listened to while writing:

I Hate My Mom by GRLwood

Class of 2013 by Mitski

I hope ur miserable until ur dead by Nessa Barrett

Bubblegum Bitch by MARINA

Backstabber by Kesha

Jerk by Oliver Tree

You know exactly when the relationship between you and your mother started deteriorating- The day she decided to choose your loser Stepdad, the one she only dated for 4 years, over her own 8 year old daughter. From then on you took a backseat in her life yet she still expected you to take care of her all needs. You hate her for what she did and you miss her like a little kid. You had to drag her home when she drank too much, you can’t even remember how often that happened. Always having to jump in between that asshole and her fighting cuz even though she practically emotionally abandoned you, you still wanted to protect her from harm's way. She forced you to grow up so quickly, it’s her fault you never got a real childhood.

For years you accepted that this is normal. The screaming, the violence and the degrading words became a part of growing up. You were a kid but not clueless, someone who loves you wouldn’t have done all of this. And yet all of them tried so hard to make you shut up and believe it’s what you deserved.

Luckily what happened did not entirely break you. No, you grew into someone who fought for herself since no one ever did that.

Of course you hoped she might realize her mistakes, apologize and change but nothings new with her. She’s great at pretending to be a better person to the outside world, than she is in reality, behind closed doors the mask unveils an ugly woman. A narcissistic self absorbed monster that took all your joy away.

It’s pathetic considering how much she always talks about getting abused by her own father but instead of breaking the cycle she doubled down on it. Going as far as using that as an excuse for what she did to her own child.

She only kinda stopped the abuse once you no longer were a small child. Now that you could fight back she did not corner you anymore.

But just because she couldn’t hit you anymore doesn’t mean the picking on you stopped, no, it was her mission to rid you of the last remaining confidence and self love.

In each screaming match she tried so hard to gaslight you into believing you were crazy for feeling offended by her disgusting behavior.

One time you asked why she hit you as a little kid and the answer left you completely blown away. She expressed that you cried so much, and did it to provoke her. What else could she have possibly done other than raise her hand?

Or another time she refused to acknowledge that she hit you at all but a second later told you that perhaps if she would’ve done worse you would’ve turned out better.

At some point you stopped calling her Mom and only went with her name. You knew that it must hurt but did she really deserve that title after everything she did?

Now at 21 years old the relationship is just as rocky, not much has changed.

Your mom has basically zero friends, she’s a bitch of course no one would want to be too close, well except for Joel…..Joel Miller that somehow was her friend.

Perhaps only since they have known each other since High School, he might have felt some kind of obligation towards her due to that. She told you once that Joel was the boy every girl had a crush on with his whole guitar playing thing they all swooned over him.

Even now all those years later Joel was a beautiful specimen, tall, broad shoulders, huge hands, strong arms you’d like to be enveloped by, tanned freckled skin, a cute butt, gorgeous brown curls with slightly gray streaks showing his age, big brown eyes, a prominent nose and soft pillow like lips.

You understand why your Mom had a crush on him, any woman would bend over for him if he’d say so. She thought it was not too noticeable but unlike Joel you caught it immediately.

She made you the reason for her life being so shitty but now after years of torment you saw a chance at really giving her a reason to hate you. Maybe something is wrong with you for liking the idea of breaking her heart so much but you honestly couldn’t care less. The one you felt sorry for most was probably Joel; he would be the pawn in your deranged game without knowing.

As it turns out though Joel is not as innocent as expected, the more you tried to get closer the more you realized he might be easier to seduce than originally anticipated.

You started with small things like hugging him a bit longer than normally so he could feel you perky full tits squished against his chest. Touching his arms and squeezing them but not too much as if to draw attention to it. And from his reactions, he did not seem to mind.

You were not worried about your mother, she never was the most alert to begin with.

When Joel came over for a barbecue you used the time alone with him in the garden while your mother was in the kitchen preparing god knows what to impress him.

Joel and you had some interesting conversations.

“Soooo you work in contracting, right?” You asked him sweetly. Joel chuckled “Yeah sweetheart, I do. But ya know tha’ already, so why ask?” You played it off as much as you could “Just making sure you didn't decide to switch career paths in the time I haven’t seen you…” you look up at him through your lashes, cheekily biting your lip. Joel of course fell into the trap, his eyes going down to your plush lips in mere seconds. Got ya you dirty old men.

You stepped closer until you two were only a couple inches apart. His chest almost touched yours. In this position you really had to Crane your neck up to keep eye contact consistent.

“What are ya doing Baby,huh?” Joel tilted his head slightly down towards your face. You just giggled at him “Nothin Joel, just…” with that you put your hands on his wide chest ruining them down over his enticing slightly protruding belly. “I know you stare at my ass alllllll the time. I also know you like it when I walk close by you and graze you with my tits. My little skimpy outfits turn you on as well don’t they,huh Joel?” You smirk at him.

You can see how he clenches his jaw…ohhh yes you got him figured out.

He hisses low and menacing at you “You are a little slut ain’t ya, baby. Groping a man over double your age. Teasin me with those sugar tits and that tight lil ass….”

You can see his pupils dilate till his eyes look close to being completely blacked out. You muse “Yeah I’m a whore but you like that don’t you?” With that you cup his hard cock over his shorts he decided to wear today.

He gasps and immediately grips your wrist to yank those devilish hands away from his throbbing length. Especially when he hears your mother’s voice calling out from inside the house.

He backs off and tries to catch his breath as well as calm his raging hard on down to an unnoticeable minimum. Before he leaves to figure out what she called for he turns to you and lifts an accusing finger towards you.

“We ain’t done baby, ya gonna make it up to me for teasin and leavin me all high and dry, mkay?” He tilts his head almost to intimidate you but to no avail you’re just a massive brat “Hmmm sure Joeliii but i think your underwear is anything but dry.” You giggle and continue “Probably full of pre cum am I right,huh?”

Joel can’t believe what he’s gotten himself into and just shakes his head while turning to the house.

Somehow he made it through the barbecue without your mother noticing any tension between Joel and you. Stupid of her but good for you.

In the weeks after that afternoon you and him kept secretly meeting up. Most of the time at his house or he’d pick you up with his truck to drive you somewhere where he could have you without any distractions, of course when your mom wasn’t home. She might be stupid but even to her it would be weird why you suddenly start taking trips with Joel and she should not be suspicious.

Also during the talks with Joel that happened when taking a break between fucking it was once again made clear that he for whatever reason had not an ounce of knowledge about your mom’s crush.

The plan for how the reveal should go was set in motion. Your mom was driving out to one of those weird grocery stores that sold the health powders she drowned herself in, in hopes of making her more pretty from the inside out but to no avail the rot can’t be reversed.

You knew how long that would take her, it gave you enough time to fuck Joel in her favorite spot on the couch. Yeah petty and perhaps childish but you don’t care make her remember how you defiled her lovely couch with the man she was in love with.

Joel showed up 10 minutes after she drove off. You barely got the door closed behind him before he pounced on you. It’s been a few weeks since you fucked him last, you wanted him to be desperate for it so he’ll might be more focused on pounding you then notice that your mother is returning.

He immediately slotted his lips over yours, his hands grabbing at your hips with urgency.

You spin with him attached to your lips so you can guide him where you want him, on the couch. His breathing is already elevated and by the significantly evident bulge he’s massively turned on. Good, the less rational thinking the better.

While you push him towards the couch his lips slip down your jaw and land on your throat kissing and sucking all over. Between those kisses he huffs “Babyyy - I’ve - missed - ya so - much…” you just hum as an answer and when the back of his knees hit the edge of the couch he’s forced to unlatch from you.

He falls back, his head hitting the soft pillows so he’s only slightly elevated. You wink at him “yeah I bet you have and most of all He has missed me huh? Looks almost painful, did you not touch yourself in meantime?”

He sounds a bit whiny in his response “No Baby haven’t touched myself, saved it all for ya greedy little pussy.” Even when you think to have the upper hand he reminds you how different it actually is. “Come on baby, why don’t ya take of that lil skirt an’ take seat on my lap.” While grabbing at his crotch.

Your mouth is watering but there’s no time today to get your mouth on him like you usually love to. At his dirty words you can feel some wetness gush from your pulsing cunt, coating the inside of your thighs. As requested you slip your flowy skirt down your legs.

Joel let's out a gasp „No panties baby? Ya naughty little slut.“ he chuckles and you retort „Don’t need them if I’m with you, so why make it harder than it needs to be?“ at that Joel can only nod.

„Come here Sweet Moon Love.“ he demands.

You get on your hands and knees between his spread legs that lay on the couch. Slowly crawling towards him teasing him with your tits that are almost spilling out of your skimpy tank top.

When you finally sit down on his jeans-covered cock he lets out a sound of relief. Your knees on either side of his hips and his hands immediately find home on your hips and ass, kneading and caressing the skin there.

„Fuck Moon ya turn me on so much take of that goddamn top and show me those sweet sugar tits.“

So you do, slipping it over your head and throwing it somewhere behind you. He’s not surprised by the lack of a bra. He knows you hate wearing them and if he’s honest he loves that a lot, easier access and all.

Joel’s hands go from your hips up to the tits he loves so much. Carefully touching them, his warm hands and the wonderful feeling making it unable not to moan. Swiping his calloused fingers over your nipples, twisting them with determination causing you to keen.

You start arching your back towards his groping hands. His administrations cause the pull in your lower stomach to Continuously get stronger. You are convinced his jeans are covered in your juices and without realizing you’ve started to rub your bare pussy over his bulge with vigor.

„Joel enough I need you inside me, now!“ You don’t even wait for a response, lifting your hips and loosening his belt and unbuttoning the buttons of his jeans. With his help you drag his pants down but only so much that you are able to pull his throbbing cock out of the confines that are his blue boxers and you can see a huge dark spot where pre cum leaked, making you look at Joel chuckling „You really want it huh? Daddy” with a sweet lilt that makes his dick Twitch in your hands.

He just groans “Baby Moon if ya don’t sit down on my cock right now I’ll do it myself and I won’t give ya time to adjust.” He threatens but it really only turns you on more.

You peer up at the clock and see that you only have about 15 minutes left.

You take your original position and when his warm length slips through your moist folds his pre cum mixing with your own juices to create an addicting squelching sound.

At this point the dark hair nestling at the base of his cock and his happy trail are completely soaked.

“Gosh, Sweetheart she’s gushing all over me, put it in. She wants my cock don’t keep her waitin” you love when he talks in this way about your cunt, makes you wetter if that’s even possible.

You lift up a bit again and take hold of his length with one hand, the other on his chest to stabilize yourself. Dragging his leaking head through your glossy folds before lining him up with your gushing opening. You take one deep inhale cuz you know it’ll be a stretch even with how often you've done this.

Before sinking down on him you look at him there’s guilt somewhere deep in your conscience but you shake your head, you ain’t backing out now.

You slowly start to sink down when Joel decides it’s not quick enough so he grips your hips and in one swift fast motion sheets his huge dick inside your tight cunt.

“Ahhh..-ah J-Joel what the fuck” you hiss slapping his chest hard for being so impatient.

He huffs “Sorry Baby but Daddy has waited long enough for Her, just shush.” He actually has the audacity to shush you.

You get used to the feeling of being so filled to the brim and slide back & forth for a moment.

Then you put your feet down flat on the couch and grip the headrest behind him before starting to fuck him in earnest. Up and down at first slowly but steadily you get quicker and harder. Joel can’t even speak unless you count his obnoxiously loud moaning and growling.

“Yeah how you like that old man, hmm Daddy you're all quiet this pussy shut you up good, huh?” You wonder and out of nowhere one of Joel’s big hands grips your throat making you slow your movements to a minimum. He pulls your face toward his and grunts “Baby Moon ya need to be put in your place, ya bratty ass is treading on some mighty thin ice.”

He gives you one hard peck and then shoves your face in his neck. You don’t complain, you love when he’s so rough with you and his musky masculine smell is your favorite.

Joel pulls his legs up and plants his feet on the couch just like you did and then he starts to relentlessly push up into you at an alarming speed so hard that if it weren’t for the arm pinning you to his chest you’d fall off.

“Jo-Joel….Joel it’s so good ah…don’t stop” you babble in his ear and opposite to his harsh pounding he soothes “Shhh Baby I know, I know it’s so much for ya and Her. But listen to how much she’s enjoying it.”

And he’s right besides the obscene “plap, plap, plap” of skin hitting skin you can hear the wet squelching from the place you're both connected. “I’m close baby, where?” He asks while slipping a hand between your bodies to touch your neglected clit and immediately your whiny moans get even louder “I-in…inside Daddy. Pleaseee cum inside me.”

You beg and he loves that “Hmm yeah, ya wanna be filled up Baby?” He questions “God yes Daddy fill me up, please pleasee” you want nothing more than to feel him spill inside of you.

Seems that when Joel told you he was kinda deaf in his right ear it wasn’t a lie or maybe the plan of making him so desperate to fuck you that he won’t hear the door unlocking worked out.

But you can hear the slight clicking and the closing of the door. Unlike what you expect she does not start screaming, no, she’s eerily quiet. Perhaps it’s due to not having realized who exactly you're screwing as if there’s no tomorrow or simple shock.

Joel under you seems to have reached his end and without any preamble he starts shooting his warm cum deep inside your tight hole. The warm sensation combined with his unrelenting rubbing your clit pushes you over the finish line too. With that you pull up from his neck and drag him up as well, crossing your arms around his neck and kissing him.

You know she is right there at the threshold, you don’t care and to rub it in even more you say “Thank you Daddy, I love you.” And as if he knows his role Joel answers “I love you too little Moon.”

And that might have been the final straw, she speaks up and it flips out into incoherent screaming. Joel is immediately startled; he lightly pushes you off, quickly tugging himself back into his jeans and getting up to explain. You however get up slowly and put your top and skirt back on.

With the lack of panties you can feel his spend leaking out of you and you’re sure there’s very evident stains on Joel’s jeans that your mother must see.

The back and forth they must be having doesn’t even register to you. The blissful buzzing from the orgasm and the satisfaction of having succeeded in hurting her are making you all dozzy.

But then she comes charging at you screaming in your face “You’re smiling, you think this is funny??? I knew you were a bitch who only ruins everything, you are a worthless piece of shit a absolute waste of space” she’s so hysterical but you don’t care, it’s good she’s showing her true colors for Joel to see.

She continues “You are disgraceful and shameful for the entire family. I want you out of the house now. You are dead to me.” She probably thinks those words could hurt but it’s nothing compared to all the horrible things she did in the past. You just smirk at her nodding which infuriates her more than any comeback could.

With that you slip past her, Joel looks completely stunned by what just unfolded before his eyes. You don’t acknowledge him much, quickly skipping up the stairs,entering your room, grabbing a suitcase and filling it with the most important items. Then shuffling out of your room locking it behind you. You heave the suitcase down the stairs, no sign of Joel all you can hear is her crying in the living room, it amuses you, not an ounce of sympathy left for her. You don’t bother saying bye just open the front door and out you are.

The surprise is waiting in front of the house, Joel, he didn’t leave but instead waited for you.

He looks at you “Did it mean anything to you at all, or was it just a big joke?” He doesn’t look hurt, just confused. You close the distance between him and you “I wish it wouldn’t but it’s not possible to not feel anything, look at you Joel you’re a so beautiful so caring of course I fell for you.” He nods and takes your suitcase out of your hand. “Wh..what are you doing ?” You question “I’m taking ya home Moon, think I’d let you run around these streets? Get in the car” he urges.

And you do, when he drives off you don’t look back once.

Npt: @joelmillerisapunk @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelslegalwhre @thundermartini @studioghibelli @sizzlingcloudmentality @vivian-pascal @strang3lov3 @xdaddysprincessxx @mountainsandmayhem @mrsmando @joelsgreys @janaispunk @sizzlingcloudmentality @the-mandawhor1an @clawdee @penvisions 🩶

Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI, thank you 🙏🏻

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could have a Emperor Caracalla x reader where because of his disease he doesn't recognise her for a moment when they're about to make love and she has to calm him down

I am here and no one else

Emperor Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, kissing, choking and using knife, cuddling, crying

Summary : They had been together many times, they saw and felt each other. It reassured her that he was aware of her, that Caracalla was not lost in madness, but on the night of the full moon when they were in bed together, madness crept into his mind and next to him was no longer the woman he loved and had married.

info : Thank you very much for the request dear anon it is a pleasure to get another request for Caracalla, enjoy reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His blue eyes had been so clear a few years ago, when the sun was above them and the people had cheered them both and his smile was sincere and honest.

The wedding of the emperor Caracalla and his wife the sun roms was cheered and no shadow had settled over the imperial family, it was a dream, a beautiful dream that seemed so far away when she looked at her beloved husband now.

His eyes clouded with madness, bloodied when he saw the battles in the colloseum and his temper erratic, she loved him, loved him through it all but with each passing day she feared for him, for his brother and herself. Because if madness prevailed, Caracalla himself would not stop at her and Geta, they were sure of that.

The whole day, however, he seemed like a miracle, but clear from breakfast he remembered what appointments were coming up today, ,,The ring is especially flattering to my sun” he had wooed her at noon on the way to the Senate.

Even in that he not only supported his brother but also ignored the lies of the senators, he seemed to clearly recognize what Geta was pursuing and stood up for his values. It was moments that brought tears to her eyes as she seemed to wander back into the past dream.

A ring he had bought her, it was small things, but it was these small moments that gave her and Geta hope that things would get better, even in the coliseum Caracalla remained relatively calm.

,,The credit goes to the victor!” he extended a rare moment of grace when even Geta would have decided otherwise and she saw in the older man's gaze that he was proud of his brother.

The day had been blessed by the gods it seemed from the moment the sun rose until now but such protection can be deceiving.

After dinner the three of them planned to keep to themselves, but keeping to themselves ended in togetherness for Caracala and her.

Kisses exchanged in the hallway, hands holding each other and clothes removed, ,,Such beauty,” he said, searching her lips a second time as they both changed from their tunics into those for the night.

Naked skin disappeared under silken fabric, gazes resting on each other, bright eyes looking at their bodies and seeing only pure beauty, ,,You are so beautiful,” he heard a giggle as she turned in her clothes and came towards him in another kiss that led them to the bed.

Soft fur and pillows caught her and she ran them through blonde curls, she loved him, loved his art, his laugh and giggle, his pretty eyes and golden curls, ,,You're more beautiful” she murmured and tapped the tip of his nose as they both let go of each other for a moment.

Reaching to the side table next to the table wine had been provided and grapes he held the goblet out to her and she placed the grape to his lips, it was a quiet moment, a moment between adults, a moment that was not possible in his madness, ,,Your flattery is both amusing and sweetening” he said eating the grape and savoring the sweetness on his tongue.

She put the goblet aside after a sip and ran her hands over his pale torso, the small scars and inconsistencies of his illness were not ugly to her.

She smiled at his words, circling his skin as he leaned over her, his lips searching her face, but in the darkened room where the torches provided light, his eyes saw the wine on her lips.

Dark...dark red...blood red.

A color that made him pause kisses that he continued to return but his fingers that touched her, from her neck where he heard her pulse to her soft breast became more and more strange.

Stranger and stranger with each blink her appearance became more distant, with each kiss she smelled and tasted less like his wife and he caught the scent of her blood.

Blood like at a birth, blood that no longer threatened to flow through him and blood of a madness that he had to stop in her, ,,You-you're not her!” he cried out, interrupting the kiss and his fingers wrapped around her neck, fingernails clawing into her skin and her eyes opened in shock.

Air that was drastically and quickly no longer inflicted on her his name came broken from her lips, her hands clutching at his wrist trying to gently reassure him at first.

,,It's me...it's your wife” she rattled fluttering eyes trying to find his gaze, to find her husband. Instead, he only squeezed harder, seeming neither to hear nor recognize her...and in that moment she realized that her nightmare that his madness would kill her had come true.

Her legs kicked, trying to throw him off her, but there was a power in him that she didn't know he had, a power that made her slowly see black spots.

Fear and adrenaline flowed through her body, ,,Cara-Caracalla” she gasped trying unsuccessfully to calm him, she looked around the flash of the knife caught her eye, tears ran down her eyes as he pushed her harder into the pillows the giggles were replaced by screams as she cut his arm with the knife.

Her fingers just managed to grab it, she would never have wanted to hurt him but if blood was what made him run away, maybe it was blood that brought him back.

His scream continued to echo through the chamber as he held his arm away from her as if he had been burned and she took a deep coughing breath, tears streaming from her eyes.

Caracalla rolled off the bed screaming and crying as he hit the floor and pressed himself against the wall as his gaze lifted and he began to scream again, ,,I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry...what have I done!” he said over and over again as the sticky blood ran down his arm, staining it and he realized when he saw the desaturated state she was in.

Coughing and struggling to get air back into her lungs, she slowly got up from the bed, swaying, her voice failing as she tried to speak and coughing a gesture that only made him cry more.

She came slowly towards him, he pushed himself further away from her, ,,Stupid, a monster...a delusional one" he reproached himself as his face settled in his hands and she hugged him, holding him trembling as she slowly began to breathe regularly again, stroking his head.

She shook her head and took a piece of her robe to wipe the blood off his arm, ,,Not-it's not your fault. I'm alive you see I'm alive my king” she replied and clasped his hands, forcing him to look at her as she kissed his hands and looked at his reddish neck and saw his face, his hideous work.

Before he could cry again, she pressed him to her, kissed his forehead and his fingers clutched at her body, ,,You're still alive?” he asked the question so obviously that she laughed and nodded, ,,Yes! Yes, it's me here,” she said, putting his hand on her chest, his hand feeling her heartbeat, and he breathed shakily.

His smile just as pleased as hers as he engaged her in a kiss, holding onto her and the other way around as the two of them sat there on the floor bloody kissing, reassuring each other that they were still alive.

As he held her hand he told her, ,,Never again...I will never lose control like this again” he promised her, tapping the tip of her nose as she had gestured as the imperial couple remained sitting there holding and loving each other.

That despite the strangulation marks on her body and the blood on his, they loved each other no less than before and no madness would change such love and care.

They were bound by blood and love and they would be until the end of madness if they loved each other forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @sigiismunda , @somepallings , @naysha140 , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [2]

series masterlist previous || part two -> woad and weld || part three -> orpiment

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you recover from the boat, and wonder why you were taken w.c: 3.9k tags/warnings: pain, caretaking, food, stomach issues, threats, mean simon, fears of rape (doesn't happen), viking-typical slavery, unwanted cuddling / massage / touching, alcohol, scars, violence, hunting, laswell hello!, reader has some puritanical attitudes / assumptions but she was a nun so, power imbalance, dubcon comfort, crying, religious themes (dldr)

You're a stone sunk to the bottom of the ocean, pulled under by exhaustion and turmoil. It's the sleep of the dead, dreamless and unreachable.

Vaguely, in moments of semi-consciousness, you hear voices and feel softness against your skin, warmth all around you. The brush of fingers against your cheeks.

When you do wake, it's like crossing between different worlds, with a head full of cotton and fog. Your sense of smell comes alive before anything else, the smell of food permeating the air around you.

Fish. Cream. Something herbaceous, something earthy. A fire crackles closeby, warming the air, warming you. You can feel fur touching your arms and legs, draped over you and flat underneath you.

It only serves to soften to blow of pain, overwhelming pain. True awareness comes then, waking you with a gasp that alerts-

"Did she just-"

"Sh!" Simon's voice, coming closer. "You awake?" his face comes into view above - you only recognize him by voice.

He's scarred, big and small, but the most eye-catching one bisects his face, splitting it into two from his cheekbone to his jaw on the other side. It's deep, raised, angry even if you can tell it's healed.

You scream.

It's a weak sound, the cry of somebody that knows it's pointless and yet can't help but shout into the void and hope that something will answer.

Before, that would have been god. You'd have prayed, lived as a hermit, sequestered yourself to a cave and live as one of the great ascetic saints. A life even further dedicated than nunhood.

Since he had refused to answer you on the boat, you turn away, and whimper like an injured dog when that scarred face turns to a mask of stone.

"Ha!" Johnny doesn't pick up on the tension that's rising, slowly, as you tremble under Simons gaze. Or maybe he does, and he doesn't care. "Havnae seen his ugly mug yet, have ye? Dinnae worry, lamb."

Guilt curls in your belly, dampening your fear. Simon doesn't look shamed, but you weren't afraid of his scars - truly, you were disoriented, barely clothed and towered over by the same man that took you.

"He won't bite," Johnny continues. He walks over and lays a hand on Simons waist, fingers curling in the off-white fabric. "Well, not ye."

A wink.

"Hush!" Simon barks. "Get her up, she needs to eat."

There's no hesitation. Johnny leans down to you, pulling you until you sit up with a wince. You bite your lips to keep from crying out again, pain lancing through your muscles. You're seized by muscle spasms, by the fiery hot pain of your chafed wrists and a gnawing, deep hunger in your stomach.

"How-" you choke, throat dry and voice unused. Johnny pauses helping you up to listen. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Few days, lass. It's the evening," he grins. "Ye should thank us. Kept ye warm, washed, slipped ye broth into that lovely mouth-"

Simon puts a wooden bowl down onto the table, louder than necessary. There's a grumble from Johnny, but he gets you up and waits while your legs get used to weight on them again.

You're half-dragged, mostly carried to the table. All you're wearing is that shirt, nipples pebbled against the front from the cold. Hard to care too much when your muscles scream even holding yourself sitting up.

You lean on Johnny as Simon ladles soup into bowls, hunched over the kitchen hearth, silent as the grave.

"Eat slowly," is all he says.

It smells good, herby and warm. Your stomach groans and gurgles and begs you to eat, but you're weary. Afraid. Only when the men eat that you pick up a carved wooden spoon and hesitantly slurp.

Heat. Satisfaction. Eating is incredible, and you discover the wonderous ingredients loaded into the soap; salmon, potatoes, a green herb that tastes like sharp, citrussy grass.

Then your stomach cramps, and you tilt with nausea.

"Too fast?" Johnny coos, rubbing a big palm up and down your back. "Awe."

"That's enough, then," Simon goes to take your bowl, but you're too fast. You pull it close to your chest, spilling a little onto the table and drops soak into your shirt. "You can have some later. I said that's enough."

You hold fast. Your stomach hurts, but you're desperate for some form of control. All the terror and all the uncertainty rises, rushing through your finally conscious brain into a battle of strength. You took me but I have agency! it says. You took me but I can take this!

He's too strong.

The wood bowl clatters against the ground with a crack, hot soup spilling on the floor. You heave with the force of your breathing, afraid and too-aware of your predicament.

Taken, snatched, at the mercy of men whose intentions are unclear.

You're too slow to cower when Simon's arm shoots forward and grabs your jaw, hard and mean, giving you a squeeze.

"Now we've been nice to you," he starts. His voice is as solid as his arm. You start to shake. "But I can just as easily put you over my knee. That what you want?"

You shake your head.

"That's what I thought."

Johnny leaves after the soup is cleaned and you're tucked back into the bed again, muscles trembling still with the exertion of your first meal. Small, electric spasms make you wince every one in a while. Your wrists are bruised and scabbed, but healing. They feel hot and itchy, but Simon tells you as he rubs an ointment into the wound that they're healing well.

You try to shy away, hide yourself, when he notices your grimace and reaches for a calf. The look he gives you stops you, takes your breath, until he shakes his head and starts rubbing deep circles into the tenderest spot of your muscle.

"God!" you should. A wonder how badly you can hurt from just laying in bed. He snorts. "Ow!"

"Don't be dramatic," his thumb presses deeply, moving down, then back up. Squeezing. The bed dips with his weight as he scoots closer to you.

You take a moment to look around you. The cabin is made of wood, warmed by the fire, and is full to the brim. Clay pots, furs, tools, a couple barrels- they're everywhere, unorganized. Makes you wonder about the sacred items they'd stolen from your convent.

"Why did you take me?" someone bolder has possessed you. Your mouth twists when Simon's eyes find yours.

His hands don't stop moving. They switch legs, pulling the finished one onto his big thigh. It does feel better, relaxed and tender in a good sort of way, pain not so unbearable anymore.

"You're our spoils," he moves down, digging into your arch. You almost yelp. "D'you know what we gave up for you?"

Something in your chest squeezes, something scared and unpleasant. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"That's alright," Simon murmurs. Your anxiety fights against the comfort he's giving you. "You'll be alright."

He flits his gaze downwards, eyeing you. Your breath catches when you realize that the position has left your legs open, shirt ridden up, and he's looking right at your bare cunt.

"Ah!" you pull your knees shut, hands finding where you're exposed and folding over, cupping yourself, face ablaze. Tears prick at your eyes again, fear winning over comfort.

Simon doesn't let you panic for long.

"I won't force myself on you, pet," he grunts. "We won't."

There isn't much choice but to hang on to his words for dear life, to believe that he won't force you. The hope is fragile, but it's there. You take the chance to pull a soft, worn blanket over your body.

"Am I to be your slave?" your voice wavers.

"No," he says simply.

For a long time, you watch him. He putters about, moving things, unloading boxes no doubt full of supplies used for raids. You wonder if that means he doesn't intend to go on another one, then wonder what they'll do with you if they do leave.

Johnny comes back flushed, smiling. You smell sweetness under his sweat, something you can't recognize. His eyes crinkle when he sees you.

"Two nights," he breathes, looking at you but talking to Simon. "They'll celebrate in two nights."

Your stomach tenses, roiling, eyes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. Even a short time is much for you after your journey.

"Price's back?" Simon asks. He's pulling a sealskin from a burlap bag, smoothing it out with his hands onto the table. The silvery, spotted skin reflects the fireplace.

"Tomorrow," Johnny pulls leather boots off his feet, then thick socks. He wipes himself down with a rag from a tub, shuffling to the bed when he finishes. "Then we feast."

Your eyes are heavy slits, mouth open. You hardly move even when Johnny sits next to you and brushes a thumb over your cheek, smiling toothily down at you.

"Awe, she's precious," he says, lowering his voice. "Go to sleep now, little lamb."

You wake the same way as before. A tilt of one world into the next, sliding down into consciousness as slow as thick porridge.

Only this time, you're surrounded by a warmth not brought by thick furs. It's skin, all around you, boxing you in. On your face you feel hair, prickly and soft, comforting and frightening all at once.

Behind you, a chest breaths against your back. Your eyes open, alarm cutting through grogginess.

Johnnys big hand is clutching your breast, squeezing every few moments, snuffling into your neck like a sleepy animal.

You try to extricate yourself, lifting yourself to find Simon looking down at you, eyes half lidded but aware. There's warning there, but there's also contentment. Scars big and small litter his skin, pocked and torn and scraped, all shapes and sizes. Some are silvery while others are such a deep red you'd think they were still fresh.

He looks past you at Johnny, and turns to his side.

"Weren't planning on running, where you?" his voice is low, so as to not wake the other man.

"No," you whisper. Johnny shuffles behind you, sliding a thigh between your legs. "Please help me." you wiggle, trying to move.

Simon sighs, sitting up. He shuffles to the edge of the bed, then reaches to peel Johnnys hands off you. His hand slides against the soft spring of your breast, hands sliding under Johnnys to pull, brushing your nipple on the way up.

"Thank you," you're still whispering, not wanting to wake Johnny up lest it irritate Simon. You roll until you're out of his grasp, body feeling less pained than it did the day before.

"Hungry?" Simon moves towards the kitchen. "Got one more day to relax."

The feast, you think. The divide, the celebration. Frissons climb your skin until your scalp prickles.

"Yes, please," you sit up, weary of Johnny finding your heat in the bed.

The smell of animal fat and the sound of sizzling fills the cottage then. You look around, noting an improvement for the clutter. The sealskin is gone, replaced by two standing up boots.

"They're yours," Johnny says. You startle, almost leap, but he catches you by the hips and puts his face into your hair. "Simon stayed up all night."

"Gets cold," he dismisses. Eggs jump in the pan in front of him, popping in the hot tallow.

You have to be helped again to the table, but it's not so bad this time. You arm goes around Johnnys waist, his under yours, fingers barely brushing the underside of your breast.

Breakfast is good. Fried eggs, seasoned by the fat, over gruel. It fills you with an internal sense of strength, and you can actually finish it all today.

"Good girl!" Johnny claps your back. "Gonnae be choppin all our wood for winter, eh?"

After, Simon has you change into a simple brown wool dress. You try to ignore them looking at your nakedness as you drop the other shirt, but the wool is nice and warm and there's even a soft pale shift to go underneath it.

Then he slips pants on your legs, tied at the waist under the dress, and wraps wool around your calves.

"You're gonna run errands with me," Simon says. He wraps your feet again in wool, securing them with leather twine. "Get your strength up."

His eyes find yours where he's kneeling, squinting at you, expression turning stormy.

"I don't want to re-injure your wrists," he motions to them, and you look at the healing scabs. "But if you try to run, I'll drag you back by your hair n' tie 'em back up. You pick."

Outside, you wince against the light. Simon holds you by the elbow, walking at your weak pace. It's a tight village, houses clumped together, shops close. It's a wonder you haven't heard anyone from inside Johnny and Simons home, until you see how thickly the walls are built when the door opens.

The street is wet with mud, and you're grateful for the footwraps. They're warm against the chill, sliding through the mud beneath you when you lose your footing, legs feeling as new as a fawn.

"Here," Simon leads you to a market-like stall. Dried meats hang from the ceiling in bunches. The smell is pungent.

"Nik!" He shouts. A huge, burly man steps out.

They talk like they've known each other a long time, though not quite friends. An image of two great bears crosses your imagination, both big and still respecting the other. A rare alliance.

Simon hangs a bag off of you, a salty-smelling bag full of cured and fermented meats. The man looks down at you and grins as you leave, laughing lowly.

You bristle, but follow - what else is there to do?

The next stop is a real shop, only you can see a homestead behind a wooden counter.

It's a girl this time, lovely and soft. She smiles at Simon, wordlessly fetching another man from the homestead behind the store.

"Big man!" it's one of the raiders - the young one. Gaz. "And the nun." his brown eyes find yours, friendlier than the last time you saw him.

They talk, too, more amicably than the other man. Gaz folds his forearms over the counter and laughs, peeking at you every once in a while with intense eyes.

"Right," he claps his hands together. "I won't keep you."

You're starting to feel tired, overexerted.

Gaz comes back out with a wrapped package, the soft girl from before on his arm. The apples of her cheeks are high with a smile.

"See you!" she sits back down on her stool, wide hips wiggling until she's comfortable.

"See ya around," Gaz says. He winks at you.

Simon carries this package himself, not looking at you as he leads you further into the village.

People make way for him, not in fear, but because of his size. He's bigger than most, even some of the other men.

The third and final place has you panting, hunched with the effort of keeping yourself up.

It's a house not unlike Simon and Johnny's, just bigger. A wide, squat wooden house with a wide open door and goats bleating from a pen closeby.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye, putting his hand on your lower back as somebody steps out of the doorway.

"Hello again, Simon," it's Price. The leader, or perhaps the chief. It would make sense - his authority, his size, the number of scars on his skin. Nearly as many as Simon. "You bring your end of the bargain?"

Straight to the point then. Price doesn't look at you once, which doesn't do much to assuage the fear that you're the end of the bargain.

"If you've got yours," Simon leaves you behind to follow him inside, where you can hear them talking. Jovial, like old friends.

By the time you get back home, you're wiped. Exhaustion pulls at you like invisible strings dragging you to the bed. Even Johnny with his smarmy expression and his patting the mattress doesn't stop you from crashing.

The men have brought you to a celebration. After letting you sleep a majority of the day after your errands, Simon dressed you in the same wool dress and wrapped a thick cape around your shoulders to ward off the chill.

It's a welcome home. Simon had been the first to see Price at his home - he and a band of fledgling warriors had sailed right past the village and gone hunting.

Price is not the chief, as you had assumed. He is a leader, an explorer, the ambitious spearhead of overseas raids. Nodding heads and a sense of respect, of deference, follows him wherever he goes. Even as an outsider you can see it.

The chief is a woman. It's not something you expected, not with the sheer size of the men around you, not with the brutality in which they regale their exploits. Many of them have wives that trail them, welcome them, carry their children on their hips, or are welcomed as fellow warriors.

These are the fledglings?

You're in a wild, barbaric place.

When you reach the longhouse, a building as short as all the others but stretched much farther and lit orange with light and the smell of honey, you're bathed in warmth.

No, not honey. Alcohol, sweet and cloying on the breath of each viking. Their depravity seems to know no bounds. It's the same sweet smell you'd smelled on Johnny that night he'd left - presumably to speak to the chief.

Laswell, they call her. The chief. She stands on a raised dais with Price, murmuring between themselves, nodding toward Simon and Johnny when they take their seats.

"Right here," Simon spreads his thighs. There are no other spaces on the bench.

"I don't mind standing," you try. He pinches the back of your knee until you buckle into him, tucked into the cradle of his arms. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Not lettin' ye sit apart from us," Johnny brushes your cheek, and you look past him to the rest of the people gathered.

Decorated, scarred, hardened warriors. Price joins the group, taking a heavy seat by the man from before - Nik - and exchanging claps on the back. Gaz, a woman with dark hair, but Gaz's soft girl is nowhere to be found.

"Welcome!" Laswell shouts. The hall goes silent. "Drink, eat - celebrate a job well done by our boys."

Eruption; noise all around. She's a carefully controlled, steady woman, yet she's inspired this group of a few hundred into the loudest cacophony you've ever heard.

Simon cups his hands over your ears. You try not to be grateful.

Debauchery. You witness debauchery- drinking beyond your most twisted imagination, dancing surely enough to summon a demon, maybe the devil himself. It's enough to make you pray under your breath, turning away from public displays of affection.

Above you, in front of you, conversation. It doesn't slip your mind how high up on the table Simon and Johnny are, right across from Price and Gaz and next to Laswell at the head of the table.

Even she laughs, imbibes, discusses the distribution of goods with a content sort of smile.

"And the nun?" eyes turn to you. Laswell has focused her gaze on you, sharper than before. "You're satisfied with just her?"

Johnny takes a long pull of his mead, before pressing his shoulder to Simons.

"Thas'right!" he only slurs a little. "Found ourselves a proper little wife, we did."

A chill moves through you. A slow freezing. You tense in Simons lap, spine rigid, heart flipping in your chest. Carefully, you try not to show a reaction.

Wife?

"Och! Sorry, lamb," he turns to you and takes your hands. "Didnae mean to ruin the surprise."

"Quite the surprise," Gaz chirps. His girl has found him, and he's made a place for her beside him. You're jealous of her autonomy, especially now. Taken as prisoner, as spoils, and now?

"You promised," you mumble. "You said you wouldn't."

"What's that, love?" Gaz again, but you aren't listening. Blood rushes through your ears.

"You said you wouldn't force me," you look up now, at Simon and his deeply scarred face. He betrays nothing. "Why lie?"

"Didn't lie," he grunts. "Now be quiet."

"When's that, then?" Price asks.

"Before next summer."

The walk back is silent except for the wet slaps of your feet against the mud. The chill is worse at night, biting at your nose and your fingers. At least your future husband - husbands - don't want you to freeze.

The thought hits you like a boulder, heavy and immovable. You stop walking, drawing the attention of the observant men.

"Too tired?" Johnny asks.

You run.

Or try to, as fast as you can.

It's hard in this terrain, slippery and with the cold burning your cheeks. You have no direction in mind, only obeying the mindless terror coursing through your blood, unleashed by this night of truths.

Simon is the one to catch up to you not ten feet from where you started, grabbing the back of your cape and pulling hard until you fall on your butt.

It hurts, the ground has slowly been freezing with the onset of fall and Simon is not nice as he captures you back.

"Ow," you sniffle, fingers wet and muddy.

"Yeah I bet that hurt," his voice has gone hard. "Where did you think you were going?" a laugh, harsh and grating.

"Didnae mean to scare ye," Johnny says. He helps Simon in dragging you back to to cottage.

"In!" Simon barks when you reach the door. You plant your feet, frustrated tears prickling hot and then falling down your cheeks in heavy droplets. "Stupid girl- get inside."

The insult adds salt to the wound as you stumble onto your hands and knees. Pain lances up your wrists.

"Did'ya think you'd be able to what, survive by yourself?" he scoffs. Johnny helps, but mostly just acts as if you're a doll, in removing your cape and sodden woolen dress.

The shift is wet, too. Less muddy than the dress, but still wet. Johnny slips it over your head and you cross your arms to hide your nakedness, still crying.

"Hey," Simon crouches. He puts his face close to yours, noses touching, eyes deadly. "I didn't lie. We won't force you, you'll come to us."

"You'll go to hell," you're upset now, but it only serves to make them shake their heads and laugh breathily, silently. "You stole me."

"Aye, we did," you're wiped dry by big hands. "And you'll be our wife."

Another slip goes over your head, thin and rough on your skin, well-worn.

"Get in bed."

Johnny listens and brings you with him, wiping the tears from your face as he lays you down. You're as helpless as a lamb.

"If I have any choice," you start. "I won't be your wife, and I won't-"

"Wheesht!" Johnny pulls you to him, hand over your mouth, making room for Simon. His other hand goes over your stomach, squeezing. Warmth surrounds you. "You're overexcited, ye need some rest."

God help you, you're so tired you do.

[lightseoul]

IN THE DARK (1.8k)

a/n. thought about taking a break from my 2k milestone event by writing something that felt very personal to me. i was supposed to rest today but this sort of just...happened. i hope y'all like it.

cw. afab!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up characters, themes of body image issues, mentions of weight gain, minor nsfw references, basically just some hurt/comfort goodness

you’re in the middle of re-scooping your boobs into what has become a tiny ass tank top when a soft array of knocks echoes from the door.

“babe? are you almost done?”

alarmed, you quickly glance at the mirror. it only takes you one look at your reflection to decide that nope—you’re definitely not going with this one—before you swiftly tug it off your body.

at least, you try to do so.

the fabric catches on the areas of your torso that have noticeably gotten fuller in the course of the past year and a half. you huff in frustration as you squirm, desperate to have what used to be your favorite halter top off you.

another round of knocks comes again.

“babe? you okay in there?”

“yeah!” you manage to choke out, finally out of that damned material. “don’t come in—i’m not decent.”

the moment you say those words, you instantly know what the reaction would be.

“hah?” comes his incredulous, borderline offended reply. “the fuck do you mean ‘you’re not decent’?”

scanning the interior of your small walk-in closet, you feel the panic rise in your throat until your eyes land on the pajamas and baggy t-shirt you were wearing before you started trying out outfits for the reunion you were having with the class of 1a tonight.

“i’m just in my underwear,” you retort, frantically putting back on the much more forgiving articles.

“i think i’ve seen you with much less than that, dumbass.”

“okay,” you call out, ignoring his comment and slightly winded from your efforts, “you can come in now!”

as if on cue, the door slowly opens, and in comes bakugou, who’s already dressed in a crisp, black button-down and straight-legged pants, a suspicious glint in his eyes as they dart across the room before landing on you.

and when they do, his lips almost instantly form into a frown.

“i thought you were getting changed?”

you feel yourself flame in embarrassment despite yourself.

“yeah, well…” you wrack your brain for a not-so-incriminating excuse, “none of the outfits i was envisioning are working.”

well, that is the truth, anyway.

it’s just not necessarily complete.

“okay…” he drawls out, entirely unconvinced. “why’d you put your pajamas back on, though? it’s not like i haven’t seen you naked or some shit.”

“uh—” you pause, before finally settling with: “—it’s just that i’m wearing ugly panties, is all. real granny, the-type-you-wear-on-your-period kinda stuff.”

bakugou only stares at you. “since when have you cared about me seeing that?”

you are not about to say that was a shitty excuse you pulled from your ass just now.

so instead, you turn your back against him and start riffling through the racks of clothes. “how ‘bout you help me pick out what to wear for tonight, huh, kats?”

a few moments of silence pass before you finally hear a quiet ‘sure’—which is immediately followed by him stepping forward and occupying the space beside you.

he goes through the options himself before his hands land on the white, off-shoulder peplum blouse you got around a year ago. taking it by the hanger, he lifts it on display.

“how ‘bout this?”

you immediately shake your head. “those make my arms look extra big.”

at that, bakugou’s face contorts in confusion. “what? no, they don’t.”

you chuckle dryly, wondering why you’re even having this conversation.

you coax the shirt from his grip and place it back where he pulled it from. “pick another one.”

bakugou doesn’t say anything, but you can feel him side-eyeing you more than anything. still, he relents, and picks out a sky-blue sleeveless high-neck top you copped from your go-to store a few months ago.

“i remember you looked really good in this,” he offers.

you hum absentmindedly at his comment, studying the spandex-like material. ultimately, though, you shake your head.

“that one hugs me in all the wrong places. really emphasizes my midriff.”

“but—”

“can you choose another one, please?”

the man huffs in what you think is disgruntlement but follows suit anyway. once again, he traces his hand along the articles of clothing for a minute until they finally stop at what used to be your favorite sleeveless, v-neck black crop top.

grinning, he pulls it out.

“you’ve got to wear this.”

at the sight of it, you pull your lips into a tight line. “…i don’t know, babe.”

“seriously?” he asks, looking dangerously close to insulted. “this one makes your boobs look absolutely incredible.”

“katsuki!”

“what? i’m not wrong, am i?”

for a second, you let yourself imagine what you would look like in that rather skimpy top. and for a brief moment, you actually believe it’ll work out.

that is until you remember you’re imagining the you from way back when, and the last time you put it on a few weeks ago, you thought you looked fucking horrendous.

with a heavy sigh and a shake of your head, you take the clothing from his hand so you can return it to the rack.

at least, you try to, because bakugou doesn’t let you.

when you tug again and his grip tightens, you finally look up at the man, confused.

“wha—”

“we need to talk.”

almost instantly, your stomach drops in anticipatory dread.

“oh?” you try to answer nonchalantly, trying to take the item again from his hold. thankfully, this time he lets go, but his serious gaze that’s fixed on you remains unyielding.

“oh? that’s all you have to say?”

you turn away from him, moving to hang it back on the cabinet. “i don’t think there’s time for that right now, kats.”

to further emphasize your point, you glance down at your watch, which now reads 6:17 pm.

fuck.

you’re already going to be late.

you think about it for a beat before finally coming to a conclusion and shifting to face him again.

“i think you should just go ahead.”

bakugo gapes at you like you just told him the sky was green. “what?”

“we’re already running late and i haven’t even done my makeup, let alone picked out what to wear,” you reason.

“you really think i even want to go to this stupid party?” he retorts right back. “you’re the only one who makes them bearable. to hell with this going alone shit.”

“but—”

“not happening, babe.”

you let out a heavy exhale, struggling to tamp down the disappointment at your failed attempt to get out of the situation.

neither of you says anything for what feels like minutes before bakugou finally breaks the monotonous quiet.

“…can i ask you something?”

his voice is so uncharacteristically soft that you can’t help but look up at him despite the visceral urge to avoid his gaze, anticipatory anxiety now churning in your gut at the question.

the man, though, apparently takes your silence as a yes, because he continues.

and you barely manage to stop yourself from choking on your spit when he does.

“why do we only have sex in the dark?”

that was not what you were expecting him to say.

“e-excuse me?”

bakugou moves to rub the back of his neck, perhaps feeling sheepish at his blunt query.

but he presses on.

“it’s just that i remember it wasn’t always like this. when we first started getting intimate with each other, you didn’t mind when the lights were on or if the curtains weren’t drawn. but then…”

“my preferences simply changed,” you interject, scared of letting him continue.

“really?” he asks, but the question seems more rhetorical than not. “because if you were to ask me, i’m starting to think…maybe, just maybe—and i could be wrong about this—you don’t want to be perceived.”

a long pause.

“baby?” comes bakugou’s worried voice when you don’t reply. “did i hurt you?”

you shake your head, although your eyes are trained downcast to your socked feet, unable to meet his gaze.

“say something, please.”

at his request, you finally look up, trying to blink away the tears that are pooling in your eyes before he notices.

but it’s either you don’t do it fast enough, or he’s just insanely perceptive, because bakugou manages to catch sight of it, eyes widening the second he does.

“shit, i’m so—”

“it’s okay!” you chuckle, waving him off. you take the hand that was just reaching out to wipe the tears away and encase it with yours. you chance a glance at the man, who’s now peering at you guiltily.

“i really didn’t mean to hurt you,” he starts again, “i just wanted to finally talk about it because—”

“i know, i know,” you cut him off before he can ramble any further. “don’t worry, babe. i’m not angry at you. it’s just…”

you take a shaky inhale.

“…it’s just that it’s been so hard, you know? i really try not to dwell on it because most of it is beyond my control, but…whenever i try on a dress that used to fit me so well, or when i look at my reflection, or especially when i’m bare for you to see and i feel your eyes roving over my body—it just hits me all over again.

“the fact that this is how i look like now. and i hate it.”

you look at bakugou, who’s staring at you so intently with a pained expression on his face.

“you don’t have to say anything,” you quickly add on. “i know this is kind of a lot to take in.”

“yeah—no, it’s just that i’m angry at myself for ever making you feel judged,” he huffs, and you can practically hear the frustration seeping out from his tone.

he tightens his hold on your hand.

“believe me, baby, when i say that when i look at you all so vulnerable like that, it’s never me fucking judging you. i can’t even—

“i can’t even begin to describe how much i love your body. every time i see even just a sliver of what’s underneath your clothes i get so hard i—”

you snort.

“—laugh all you want, but it’s true. it’s fucking embarrassing sometimes, how much my body reacts to seeing yours, but it’s true.”

you shoot him a sad, albeit grateful smile, to which he responds by squeezing your hand.

“look, i know i can’t change how you feel about your body, and i understand that you want to look differently. but i also do know that i can’t just stand here and watch you tear yourself apart like that. you don’t deserve any of that, you fucking hear me?”

you don’t even know where to start with your reply, so you opt to just nod wordlessly instead.

“good,” he grunts. “i’m just here to support you, whatever you wanna do. you already know that i think you’re beautiful the way you are right now, but if you want to do something or work towards a certain goal, i’ll be here.

“i know a thing or two about fitness, if you’re interested in exploring that.”

“really?” you beam at him, already feeling so light. “you’ll really help me with that?”

at that, bakugou scoffs. “‘course i will, dummy. actually…”

you peer at him curiously. “actually, what?”

he grins at you, the mood suddenly taking a mischievous turn.

“…i actually know of a certain cardio activity i wanna do right now, if you’re open to that.”

my replies, reblogs, and asks are open if you wanna talk about stuff <3 sending hugs to you!

[vatelixx]

The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

a/n: everything i write has been so angsty recently. i’m working on something softer for my next upload i swear (alongside the requests, I promise, they’re being written im just a die-hard perfectionist). aaaaanyway, happy (belated) halloween!! It’s Spencer’s favourite season so i thought i’d write him getting destroyed by a serial killer (god when is it my turn????)

────────────

Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, “Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again’ and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don’t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

[xneens]

bad ideas (and good results)

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader, sort of spencer reid x reader

summary: after aaron’s rejection, you enlist spencer’s help to make him jealous.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: reader putting on a naked show, airplane turbulence, reid calling reader out for daddy issues

a/n: accidentally put too much spencer in this whoops

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The tension between the two of you was so palpable you were practically choking on it. You couldn’t be alone in a room with him without resisting the urge to throw yourself at him. Even with others around, you still had to peel off your drenched panties when you got home and take a cold shower.

And you knew he felt the same, though he wasn’t as obvious about how it affected him. The team had commented how you were his soft spot, always assigning you to him on cases (when you were newer, you had brushed the thought aside, thinking he wanted to watch over you and evaluate your work), getting your favorite coffee every morning and even putting his jacket around you when you’d been soaked in lake water after catching the unsub.

So when you decided to take the leap and ask him if he wanted to have dinner, you weren’t expecting him to reject you so blatantly. Just a flat-out no. Didn’t even try cushioning the blow.

You still couldn’t erase his expression from your memories as he told you he didn’t like you in that way. Confused at the time, you had stood there dumbfounded by what he was saying. Walking out of his office and heading home was a blur and you wondered if you had imagined his previous actions.

Sitting on your couch with a bottle of wine in hand, you thought about your interactions. Surely you didn’t imagine the way he looked at you on those nights you stayed late to help him with paperwork? Or the way he had comforted you after an unsub had harassed you mercilessly during an interrogation. Or when you had to share that hotel room in Alaska and sleep in the same bed for “warmth.”

After an hour of watching The Wedding Date, you had got an idea that was so delusional it might work. Calling Spencer in the wee hours of the night had him pick up the phone after the second ring, concerned it was an emergency. In a way it was, and he had gotten to your apartment in record time.

He had barely knocked on the door when you swung it open, grabbing by the arm and practically dragging him and his Jesus haircut inside. Spencer raised an eyebrow at your excitement, glancing at the state of your apartment as you drag him to the couch.

“What’s going on? Why’d you need me to come at,” he checks his watch. “Eleven thirty-seven at night?”

You sighed, pushing him to sit on the couch and grabbing the remote. “I kind of asked Hotch out. And before you congratulate me for making the first move, he doesn’t feel the same and basically told me he found me ugly and disgusting.”

Spencer gave you a skeptical look. “He did not say that.”

“Whatever, it was implied,” you reply and Boy Genius gives out a snort at your dramatics. “Anyways, I was watching The Wedding Date when I got this idea … In the movie, this girl hires an escort to be her date to her sister’s wedding because her ex is going to be there. And I was thinking …”

“Go on.” he encourages.

Spencer was the only one to know about your crush on Aaron. The others, especially the girls, had a suspicion you did but Spencer was the one you spilled all your information to. Mostly because he was the first to catch you making eyes at your boss and the closest in age to you. He had listened to the details of your days with Aaron, sometimes debriefing you on how Aaron had interacted with you, the words he had said about you, or the way his body language gave him away. You had eaten up everything he had said in the hopes it had been true.

He was also the only one you could go to with this plan. Derek would’ve had you relayed all the details of your crush to him before agreeing and you didn’t want to tell him he had been right about your crush. You’d have rather died than have Derek Morgan know he was right. Spencer was sweet and attractive, and despite your taste for older men than the doctor, it would be believable considering how much time you spend with each other outside of work.

“I was thinking that we fake date to make Hotch jealous.” you finish, slightly grimacing at how stupid the plan was now that you said it out loud. Before Spencer could reply, you jumped in. “I know it probably won’t make him jealous considering he doesn’t like me that way but on the off chance that it does–I kind of want him to hurt a fraction of what I had tonight. And you probably think the plan is idiotic and pathetic–”

“Alright,” he said, cutting off your rambling. When you raise an eyebrow, he lifts a shoulder. “I don’t think it's idiotic or pathetic. I think we should do it.”

It took you a few seconds to process his words. “Really?”

Spencer nods, giving you a small smile. “Yes, I would do anything for you. Besides, it would be a good experiment and I love experiments.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Of course you do.”

“So how is this fake dating thing going to work?”

You spend a good half hour talking about the parameters of the plan. Both of you had decided it was best to keep it subtle instead of announcing to the team you were “seeing” each other. Neither of you would confirm it and if asked, you’d redirect the topic somewhat noticeably so whoever had asked would be able to pick up on it.

Spencer surprised you when he came up with the idea for small touches and light flirting. When you had given him a look, he was quick to explain his idea. Obviously, you had to be affectionate towards each other in front of the team and especially Aaron, but not so much that it qualified as PDA.

The smart doctor had proposed small touches like lingering fingers, a hand on a shoulder (you pointed out you did this with him quite often and he argued it would only make more sense to keep doing it), hair ruffling (again you told him you’ve done this to him and he admitted he liked getting his hair played a certain way), and hand squeezes.

You waited for the shock on Spencer’s face when you wondered out loud if it was effective for you to “sneak” into his hotel room during a case and have a member of the team see you going into his room so they could relay what they saw to the others; instead, you were met with an intuitive hum of agreement.

By the time you’d gotten done with planning, it was ten minutes past midnight and Spencer was yawning every few minutes. And while his apartment was only about ten blocks from yours, you offered for him to stay the night with the promise to stop at his place before work for him to get a change of clothes. He accepted and both of you had fallen asleep in the living room while the credits of the movie played in the background.

In the morning, you came to the realization that the wine you had drank had caused you to oversleep, and keeping Spencer up past midnight had also caused him to wake up about half an hour later than usual. You slapped him awake with a pillow before rushing to get ready.

Spencer had been half asleep as he got in your car but after a near-death experience with a semi, he had woken up and clutched his seatbelt all the way to work. As you entered the building, you were rolling your eyes as he mumbled how you were more of a reckless driver than Derek–impossible–and how he feared for his life whenever you were in the driver’s seat.

As soon as you pushed through the glass doors, Emily noticed something different. You placed your stuff on your desk, plopping down on your chair when she sits on your desk, glancing between you and Spencer, eyebrows raised.

“Reid, are you wearing the same sweater from yesterday?” she questioned, and your ears perked up at her words.

Your eyes flicker to Spencer’s outfit. With your lateness, you weren’t able to stop at Spencer’s place and he had assured you he could change into something from his go bag. He was in the midst of picking up the duffel when Emily commented on his fashion sense. You gave him a look to play along but he was looking down at his outfit to notice.

He tilted his head, nodding. “Yeah, we woke up late this morning.”

You’ve never seen Emily’s head turn so fast–you were worried she had accidentally snapped her own neck. The brunette smirked at you before turning back to Spencer. “We?”

Spencer looked up, eyes finally meeting yours. His eyes flickered with recognition and took the opportunity to start your idea. His slight blush was the cherry on top. “What?”

Emily’s smirk grew, and she looked like a cat that swallowed a canary. She turned to you, giving you the look she’d make when a guy would flirt with you during a girl’s night out. “So … what’d you do last night?”

You couldn’t help but grin at her nosiness. “Work. Long, hard work.”

“Yeah, I bet.” she chuckled, side-eyeing Spencer. “The work definitely looks hard when you’re doing it.”

The water you sipped trickled out of your mouth at the innuendo, and you furiously wiped your chin. Emily cackled at her own joke, drawing JJ’s attention from nearby. You try to ignore her, gently pushing her off your desk, mumbling about having to do work, but it only makes her gasp for breath.

JJ sauntered over to your desk, curious at whatever made Emily cackle like the green witch from the Kansas movie. “What’s going on here?”

Emily leans over to whisper in her ear before pointing at Spencer who had taken his go-bag along with him to the bathroom. JJ adopts Emily’s smirk, sharing a look with the brunette before glancing between you and the men’s bathroom.

The blonde pulls up a chair next to yours, the girls surrounding your desks. JJ leans in close, grinning mad wildly at you. “I thought you liked Hotch, not Spence.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed by the whole thing while you smiled internally. “I don’t like either of them, beyond friends. … Stop looking at me like that!”

“Clearly you like Reid more than that if you guys spent the night together.” Emily wiggled her brows, earning another chuckle from JJ. She yelped at the small smack you gave her on the arm.

“We didn’t spend the night together.” you hissed, keeping your voice low. How you would’ve loved to show Rossi your performance right now after he commented you were a terrible liar. “We were doing paperwork together and we fell asleep because it was late and so we woke up late.”

The girls gave each other a look, nodding at you, clearly not believing the semi-lie you told. (Did it count as a lie if you told them the half-truth but in a way that was unconvincing?)

“Uh-huh.”

“Of course. It makes perfect sense.”

“Yeah, especially if you guys were up late. It’s only reasonable that he stayed the night.”

“Mm-hm. You guys were probably so tired you didn’t do anything before sleeping.”

The sarcasm was leaking from their voices, practically dripping on the floor. You didn’t know how to answer their cryptic responses, covering your smile with a hand. You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips. Despite Aaron’s harsh rejection not even twelve hours ago, you were feeling better.

Thankfully, you were saved from coming up with a reply when Penelope came in the room with a case file in her hands, gesturing towards the briefing room. Unfortunately, JJ and Emily’s amusement was so obvious, Penelope was able to pick up on the brewing gossip from just the look on their smug faces.

You passed her on the way up the stairs, giving her a small smile as she stayed back to get the information from JJ and Emily. You rolled your eyes when you heard the technical analysis gasp, walking to the briefing room faster.

While you temporarily escaped Penelope’s wave of questions upon entering the briefing room, you were met with the presence of the man your bones–and pussy–ached for. You avoided looking in his general direction as you sat next to Derek.

He turned to you as the girls entered the room, smiling. “Damn Mama, you look tired. What’d you do last night?”

And as if on cue, Spencer sat down in the empty chair on the other side of you, causing Emily to burst out laughing. The guys turned to look at her, confused by her reaction to Spencer’s timed action. She waved away their confusion, hiding behind her iPad, pretending to study the case all the while her shoulders shook from silent laughter.

Penelope had her eyes set on you and Spencer, giving you a look that read she wanted all the details directly from you. Saving you from having to explain Emily’s reaction, Penelope started the briefing, pulling everyone’s attention from you and Spencer to the serial killer running around Los Angeles.

It was easy to ignore Aaron’s stares through the briefing, too focused on the case details to give him attention but that couldn’t be said on the plane, especially when he walked up behind you on the steps. Your eyes met his and it felt like your nerves told your brain it was a fight or flight situation, causing you to internally panic.

You more or so sprinted up steps and into the plane, inadvertently sitting down next to the man half your coworkers suspected you were hooking up with. While it wasn’t unusual for you to sit next to anyone on the team, your normal spot had been right beside Aaron, the window seat while he took up the aisle seat. So accidentally sitting next to Spencer had caused Emily and JJ to share a glance with each other.

After Aaron had given the team details on what they were supposed to do–thankfully he had partnered you up with Rossi instead of himself–your phone buzzed relentlessly as Penelope texted you asking for details about your new paramour. Said paramour was peeking over your shoulder to read the numerous Penelope had sent.

After a second of them being left unanswered, she called you, her name popping up on your phone. You playfully glared at Emily and JJ before getting up and answering the call.

“Yes, baby girl?” you cooed, pushing the curtains aside to get a cup of coffee. “What can I help you with?”

“You and Reid?!” her voice was so loud you flinched as it hit your eardrum. “I thought you liked Hotch!”

“I don’t like either of them.” you sighed, heart pounding at the lie. Even just hearing his name had caused your body to tense, and you were sure there was a patch of wetness on your underwear. “And Spence and I are just friends.”

“JJ told me you guys spent the night together,” she replied, and you could practically hear her brain cogs working overtime. “As in doing intimate, not-suitable-for-work stuff.”

“No funny business, I swear,” you mutter, hissing when you spill coffee on yourself.

“Please don’t lie to me,” begged Penelope. “You can tell me anything, you know that. And you don’t have to be ashamed that you like Spencer, he’s cute in a nerdy way! You guys would make a great couple–”

Spencer pushed through the curtains, and it was as if Penelope sensed him through the phone because she went silent. Boy genius reached over you to grab a plastic cup from the counter, pouring his own coffee.

“Is that Garcia?” he asked, motioning to the phone. You nodded, smiling at the nearly inaudible hitch of Penelope’s breath. He chuckled, moving a tad closer to the speaker. “Hi, Garcia.”

Before she could reply, you intervened. “Bye Pen.”

You hung up, sighing. Taking a sip of coffee, you leaned against the small counter. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think our plan would progress so fast. Do you think it makes it look less believable?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it just made it more so,” said Spencer, mirroring your actions. “It’s very realistic friends would hook up when the situation pushes them to like working late nights, watching movies, or going to chess tournaments together.”

Giving him a blank look, you slurped your coffee rather loudly.

He cleared his throat, feeling awkward. “Anyways, the only thing people may not believe is that I was able to … get you.”

“That’s insane. Why don’t you think you could pull me?”

Spencer blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just that I’m me and you’re … you. It’s kind of obvious you’re out of my league. I mean you’re very pretty and you could get any guy and honestly, I find it hard to believe Hotch would turn you down–”

You grinned, interrupting his rambling. “Aww, Spence, you’re so sweet. But you underestimate yourself. You’re very cute and if I wasn’t attracted to men twenty years older than me, then I would’ve gone for you.”

“Have you ever wondered if your attraction to much older men is caused by your daddy issues?” he blurted.

The plane lurched to the side, bringing Spencer to pin you against the counter, a hand placed on the counter to keep himself from falling right into you as the plane stabilized. Fortunately, Spencer’s coffee had spilled on the floor instead of either of you. Unfortunately (or fortunately), Aaron had chosen that moment to walk into your little space.

You and Spencer freeze in place as your boss–and the object of your desires–catches you in a position that would’ve had Penelope screaming from excitement. Spencer's free hand was on the counter, trapping you in between. His torso touched yours, your breast pressing up against his chest and your right hand was on his shoulder to stop him from crushing you during the turbulence.

Aaron’s eyes narrowed at the contact and the lack of space between you and Spencer. Both of you immediately sprung into action, Spencer taking a step back while you slid to your left, trying to put more space between you both.

While you were internally celebrating Aaron’s almost-jealous expression, you were more embarrassed at what he must be thinking. You didn’t plan to be so outward with Spencer, after all, you both agreed on only subtle touches, not pressed up against each other in a public space.

“Are you two alright?” Aaron questioned, eyes darting between you and Spencer.

You didn’t want to be delusional and lie to yourself but the vein on Aaron’s neck was bulging, a thing that only happened when he felt stressed or angry. You must’ve smiled subconsciously because he stared at you, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, the turbulence just caught us by surprise,” you reply, motioning to the coffee-stained floor. You stepped around him, shoulder brushing up against his arm. The curtains parted and you backed out. “I’m gonna head back.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes linger as you walk back.

By the time you head back to the hotel, you’re grumpy and sticky from sweat. Throughout the day, everyone has heard you moan and groan about the heat. By now, the team has figured out you’d rather freeze to death than heat.

The AC at the police station could only do so much when the temperature outside was over one hundred degrees. Rossi fanning you while you checked out the crime scene hadn’t helped and when you got back to the station, you begged Aaron to let you stay inside, breaking that awkward tension between the both of you through your hatred of heat.

Not that the tension hadn’t grown whenever Spencer and you were in the same room. Aaron would send him out to look at the body or interview close friends but as soon as he came back to the station, Aaron would find some excuse to send him back out, not giving you two the opportunity to work the plan. Not that you cared that much, you were too busy melting.

When everyone got to the hotel, Aaron held out four keys, and the team groaned. You’d have to share.

JJ snatched a key from Aaron’s hand. “Me and Em will share.”

“I’m not sharing a room with Reid, again,” Derek announced, crossing his arms. A confused Spencer tilted his head at him, a little hurt at the comment.

JJ smiled, handing Spencer a key. “Spencer can share with his friend.”

You glared at JJ, and she threw you another smug smile. Emily snorted, faking a cough when Rossi turned to look at her. Turning to Spencer, you nodded. “Yeah, we can share.”

“Actually,” objected Aaron, eyes never leaving you. “It’s Reid’s turn to have a room to himself.”

Derek looked at him, confused. “No, it isn’t. He had a room to himself in Alaska, it’s my turn actually–”

“Morgan, you can share with Rossi,” Aaron said with finality, giving him a key. He looked at you once again. “I’ll share a room with you.”

You knew the plan had worked but you were too exhausted and sticky to be happy about it. Not that you hadn’t wanted to share a room with him again, but all you could think about was taking a cold shower and hopefully freezing your entire body to the point where you stay cold all throughout the case.

The team dispersed. Aaron and your room was on the third floor while the rest stayed on the first. He carried your duffel bag, and you didn’t bother fighting him like you usually had. The elevator ride up was awkward and you wished he could make up his mind on whether he wanted you or not.

As soon as he unlocked the door, you rushed into the bathroom and turned on the shower, setting the temperature to cold. You snatched your bag from his shoulder and ran back to the bathroom, peeling off your work clothes. A moan slips out as the cold water hits your skin, and for the entirety of the shower, you forget about the man behind the door.

Exiting the shower, you notice you haven't shut the bathroom door completely. The tiny crack allowed you to see Aaron sitting at the table, staring at the file in front of him. If you could see him, he could probably see you.

This is fucking crazy.

Maybe it was a breeze from the vent or maybe you mastered some form of telekinesis but the door cracked open further, about four inches wide now. You don’t make a move to close it.

Heart pounding, you dry yourself, turning away from the door as you bend over to dry your legs. The vent was the only noise you hear as you do so. You’re about to cave and shut the door but you feel eyes on you as you stand up straight.

You don’t turn around. Confidence grows as you take your time drying your hair with the towel, sometimes running a hand through it to separate the wet and semi-dry strands. The reality of the situation finally dawns on you when you squeeze the remaining water out of your hair.

Growing wet at the thought of Aaron watching you, nakedly drying yourself, you can’t help but give him a small peek at what he was missing. You turn around, enough so he could see a glimpse of your pussy. No, you don’t look in his direction, but you can see him staring from your peripherals.

The door had cracked open further since you last saw it. There was no doubt he saw every inch of your backside as you hadn’t wrapped the towel around you once.

You let your hands squeeze your breasts once before bending down to grab a t-shirt from your go bag. It’s oversize, the hem falling just below your ass. Putting a pair of red panties on, you remember how much Aaron likes the color.

Once you’re done, you zipped up your bag and looked in the mirror. It’s obvious how free your breasts are under the shirt, your nipples peeking from the thin material. Reading the words on the shirt, you realize it was one of Spencer’s. You remember stealing it from his duffel after swimming into the lake to save an unsub.

Your lips twitched into a smirk. Opening the door, you were met with Aaron’s unrelenting stare, eyes drifting up and down your body. Not giving him the satisfaction, you ignore him, dropping your bag on your bed.

Wait.

Looking around the room, you notice just one bed.

Shit.

In your distracted haze about the one-bed problem, you failed to notice Aaron moving. A hand gripped your waist tightly, pulling you back towards a hard chest. You freeze, glancing behind you to see a heated Aaron. His lips graze your ear.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”