#i need to flesh this out more. and the main question is could they. but i like the idea of it

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

NSFW Alphabet--Joe Burrow

In honor of my fanfic writing retirement, I decided to take a crack at the SFW & NSFW Alpahbet for our dearly beloved, Joe, before the pen is officially capped.

Used second person 'you' for this alphabet. Fem!Reader described.

CW: 18+ Content (Smut). Some aspects of BDSM described. General warning, it's filthy.

SFW Alphabet | Joe Burrow Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Joe is slow, languid, soft kisses along shoulders and collarbones. He’s attentive, is already plotting getting water for you should you want it and getting you both cleaned up. But he wants just a few more seconds, loves the lazy drag of your fingertips over his spine. 

“You okay?” he asks in a whisper against your throat. Wants to make sure he didn’t hurt you, that you feel cared for. A soft question that he’s hoping yields an even softer answer. He leaves the space open to you if you need it. 

“Perfect.”

“Hm, I do love the sound of that,” he grins. 

It takes him a minute, maybe three before he pushes up. Shuffles to the bathroom and when he returns, the washcloth is warm against your core. Joe presses a kiss to your stomach as he eases the cloth over you, stands, wipes himself off and then tosses the used item like a basketball, wrist flicked.

The washcloth flops without grace—a wet splat— an inch from the basket. He laughs at himself and you laugh too—a gentle chuckle before he climbs back into the bed, collects you into his arms. “The physics are different,” he defends.

“Hm, sure, we can say that.” Your head settles into the crook of his chest, body slotting into his ribs and armpit. “You okay?” You ask, palm pressed into his chest—the thumping of his heart slowing under his touch. 

“Mmhm, perfect,” he whispers. “Thirsty? Hungry?”

You shake your head no, head stretching up, nose pressed into the hollow of his throat. “No. Not right now. Ask me again in like an hour?”

“We might be busy again in an hour.” The slow drag of your fingers keeps the pot of his desire in his stomach at a low simmer, not bubbling but warmed and steaming. 

You grin against his throat before speaking, “I’m more than okay with that.” 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Joe loves ass and thighs. This is an irrefutable fact. He would worship your ass morning, noon, and night. He has benedictions well practiced for your thighs. Would make altars to your thighs—hell they are an altar to Joe when he’s between your legs. He loves the way the flesh gives into his grasp and the muscle pushes back against his fingertips—a delicious push and pull. 

However comma—

The soft line of a tummy, rounded hip to hip, in a skirt, or a dress, or in jeans—yeah that short circuits his brain. Makes his fingertips buzz and his mouth salivate. It reminds him that you’re real—soft yet firm, human and alive. 

“Could stay here all day,” he groans, fingers pressed into your thighs, teeth grazing the flesh. His gaze drags up your body, teases the line of your tummy with his tongue. A thick long broad stroke. “Would stay here all day. Shit men go to war for.” 

Joe loves it when he’s reclining onto the sofa, his head on your chest, and he teases that line of your stomach, easing around your belly button. If you have scars he’s tracing them, kissing them without thought. Loves that he has a little something to grab onto. It’s soft enough that when he presses his face into it, your tummy gives into him. Got your belly button pierced and showing it off? He’s definitely getting hard. No hesitation. 

Joe likes to take nips at your stomach when he’s eating you out, press down to see if he can feel how deep he is when he’s fucking you missionary. If he can’t, he never gets frustrated, just takes it as a challenge to go deeper, and deeper each time. Joe fucking loves your stomach, doesn’t know if it’s something primal to it. But goddamn he loves it. 

As far as Joe’s favorite body part of himself, he takes great pride in his arms, works hard to bulk them out and fill out his chest. But he’s damn proud of those biceps. He’s confident about his abilities, not cocky. Well, Joe’s maybe a little cocky when it comes to his arms. When you take hold of his bicep, and wiggle your eyebrows at him, it does go straight to his head.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been working out,” you tease. 

It’s all in jest, yet, he stands up a tiny bit taller. “Only a little.” 

It’s no secret that you love Joe’s back. You’ve spent many nights, settled onto his hips—ass to thick ass—and traced it while he’s hugging the pillow. If he so much as breathes a huff and rubs at his shoulders, you’re offering to rub them.

“If I got body safe paint, could I paint your back?”

It’s a question, but Joe sees that twinkle in your eyes. This isn’t so much about needing the paints as it is about needing his permission. “Go get them.” 

“Thank you, baby.” You run up stairs and he finishes the last of the dishes with a grin. He enjoys it too, the reverence of your touch, the nip of teeth, the tickle of the brush. 

It’s those moments that feel like they’re carrying the most weight. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

It’s thick, trailing down his palm and wrist. A waterfall he’d drink from over and over and over again. Joe’s greedy for it—licks you clean, over your ass and thighs too. Sucks his fingers clean, swipes at his mouth and chin. 

“I want it all,” he heaves—chest aching from how little he’s been taking breaths. “Want every fucking drop.”

Aside from being between your thighs—his favorite place to be—Joe loves it when you let him come on you, tits pressed up and together, the cleavage is just the perfect place. He gets to watch it run down your skin. You’ll dive into the mess he’s made, dragging a trail of it up to your mouth, sucking your fingers clean.

The release of your fingers makes the most obscene sound. Joe loves it, kisses the mess you’ve left behind off your chin too. It’s messy, and thick, tacky on the tongue, but it is the closest thing to heaven, a little piece of the cosmos shared between panted breathes. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It’s only supposed to be something to help soothe the ache. When you’re on your feet all day, and nothing really helps, Joe will work the pads of his thumb into the arch of your feet—each pass is deep and firm. But if Joe can be honest, which he can and has done, he likes the sounds you make. The involuntary whimper that’s followed after a few seconds by a sigh. It lets him know he’s doing well, doing it right. 

The soft encouragement helps too, “Hmm, yeah that’s it, my love.” 

That goes straight to his cock. 

So Joe works the meat of your feet nearly daily. 

Wants the wave of warmth at your encouragement and praise. Wants the little stir in his cock, as selfish as it is. Joe knows you know about his not so secret secret because once he’s done you’ll press your heel into his crotch—never hard enough to hurt. Just enough for him to feel it, exhale at the delicious weight of your foot over his cock, and then it’s gone. Not in a flash, but it’s brief. Your foot slips up, presses and then slides on, draping your calf over his thighs. 

“Thank you, my love,” you whisper into the shell of his ear, tongue teasing at his flesh. 

He shudders at the action, his spine turning soft and he grips your knee—to stay grounded, afloat. You never tell Joe, but he whimpers like an animal wounded whenever you do this heel and ear combo. And you love it. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Joe’s a student of his craft. He’s always got space to improve, techniques to get better and better at. This isn’t to say he’a clueless; this is to say Joe’s never—never—going to be happy with good enough. He wants perfection. Wants you to forget your name by the time he’s done with you.

He’s had his relationships, done his one night stands. He’s learned from it all and takes great pride in being able to satisfy and make the experience more of a journey too, ebbs and flows, peaks and valleys.

Joe is gifted with that tongue and nose and he’s going to use every tool at his disposal to make each encounter better than the last.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Joe likes to watch, wants to see you fall apart. Maybe it’s his pride and ego flaring and entangling in that moment. But he loves the way your face falls. Jaw slacked, brows furrowed, his name a chanted prayer on your lips. Sue Joe for being a missionary guy.

There’s nothing like being able to talk to you through it, watch your eyes roll back—kiss you just as you orgasm, swallow down his own name and every blasphemous cry deep into his belly. Let it stroke his ego, let you claw for him—hands grasping at his back like you can’t get close enough. 

“Right here,” he breathes into your neck.

“Shit—Joe, love it when you’re close to me.”

It is fire in his soul—and god does he love it. 

He is a fan of a mirror being involved too—if he’s taking you from behind, he gets a palm full of you—hair, neck, chin, whatever really—and eases your face up so he can see, so you can watch what he does to you too. It’s not vanity. It’s devotion.

“Look at you baby. Drooling all over yourself? Hm? Making a mess on both ends.” His chuckle is low—throaty and devilish as you pant. It’s incoherent words and phrases. Sound for the sake of it. But he loves you loud and needy. Your head is loose on your neck, utterly at the mercy of Joe as he holds onto your left hip, driving into you—perfectly punctuated thrusts. The mirror’s foggy in some spots from your breath ghosting over it. 

His cock is soaked in your arousal. Your chin glistens a little. But you’re grinning, eyes glassy only in the way that go blank when he’s stroking that delicious spot inside, angled perfectly for you. 

“I know,” he coos. “I know you love it, right?”

“Love it so much, Joey. Don’t ever stop. Fuck. Please don’t stop.” 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Joe’s not intentionally goofy during sex. 

But sex is funny at times—a mistimed queef, someone slips, a whispered swear that doesn’t come out right. He doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, so he laughs or grins at the slight mishap. No one can live a life without these things happening. He’s smooth—let’s the levity linger for as long as it needs. And then like artists do to clay, he molds you back into the moment. 

In all the ferocity, the sweet pull of you, Joe slips out. You both notice at the same time, the almost pop like sound echoing his mishap. He snorts, a grin lifting the corner of his mouth as your giggles shakes your shoulders. “Go ahead. Laugh it up,” Joe encourages. “You won’t be laughing long.” 

“Why did it sound like that?” You're trying to stifle your laughter but it was a comical sound, like lips smacking apart. 

“The ancient ones said it best—that’s what good pussy sounds like.” He says it low, kissing at your jaw—trailing it up and up until he’s at your ear. “And you serve up the best.” 

“Joe.” It’s supposed to be a reprimand, supposed to tell him that he’s being annoyingly sauve about something so cringe. It comes out in a sigh, your body melting at the scratch of his scruff. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart. Just need to be back inside you, now, okay? Can I have another taste?”

“Fuck, yes.” 

He’s slow, inches himself back into you until he bottoms out—the delicious stretch of him lighting a fire in your body again. You're clawing for him again, desperate to have him close again. 

And it doesn’t matter that mere minutes ago you both were laughing.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Joe’s groomed due to his profession—it gets hot and sweaty under those pads. So he does what he needs to keep his performance and productivity high and keep him comfortable.

How you keep it—really up to you. But he’s going to eat no matter what to be honest. A man starved is a man starved and he’s not choosy as long as it’s comfortable for you. 

However, if you ask to help him shave/groom it does make his mind blank for a moment. “I-uh? What?”

“Do you want help?” you repeat. 

“You are offering to help me shave?”

You nod. “Consider it like a final check. No annoying stragglers left behind.”

“You don’t have to create a ploy to see my dick, you know? You can see it if you just ask.”

You snort and shake your head, it's a crass conversation but it’s welcomed—freeing to have a directness that the two of you can speak with. “I literally saw it last night in the shower. I know that. But like, no pressure. Just offering.” 

Joe doesn’t get why you asked. But, a couple weeks later, after a particularly rough practice, his back and shoulders protest him at every breath, he calls out for you, “Baby! Can you come here for a second?”

You snag an extra roll of toilet paper out of reflex. There’s two raps on the door before you ease it open and slip one arm through the door with the roll. His laughter is soft. “We’re good on toilet paper. Can you check that it’s even?”

Your brows pinch together and you finally take in the water still slipping down his shoulders. You knew he was showering but somehow the sensory input is lagging, like your brain’s seeing it, but not putting a name to the action until now. “Check what’s even?”

“This trim.”

He tries not to laugh at the light that brightens your face and you squeeze into the bathroom. “Yes, yes, I’ll check.” There’s no one else home, the door can be widened and yet the excitement makes you lose all sense of that. 

“You’re a little odd ball.” But he wouldn’t have you any other way. Can’t imagine in the slightest how else this interaction would go.

Halfway into the squat, you look up, one brow arched. “You really shouldn’t insult the person this close to your balls, you know?”

“You know what, you’re right.”

“I always am. Now give me the trimmer. You missed a spot.” 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

There’s multiple types of intimacy with Joe. When he’s reading over your shoulder, just trying to be noisy when you’re on your computer or lounging with a new book. When he’s resting on your chest, the two of you are watching reruns of a show that you’ve seen too many times to count, and it’s all subconscious touches. 

But during sex, it’s soft and sweet, and brash and hot. 

It’s him nudging his nose along your jaw. A brief two or three seconds, teeth and tongue just barely connecting to your flesh. You swear you can feel his lips moving but you can’t quite make out the words. There’s no breath behind the words—no way for you to hear. You think you catch something like: beautiful. 

It’s you cupping his jaw, both your mouths slack and lips brushing but not kissing. There’s no real words, just the huffs, just the groans, and exchanged moans. You swallowing down every noise Joe gives you. Joe savoring every sound you exhale. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” you whisper into his cheek. “God, I love it when you let go, stop worrying.”

Joe can’t help it, can’t stop the roll of his eyes into the back of his head, the pathetic want to give you everything you want. 

“Love it when you whine for me,” you continue on.

Did he whine? He’s not sure. He’s just lost in you—the heat, the taste, the feel. “Love you so much,” he whispers back. “Love this. So fucking much.” His hold on you is devout—tender and caressing, shaky like he can’t help but tremble in your presence and under your spell. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Two words: Mutual masturbation. 

Masturbation is usually reserved for when one of you is away for an extended period of time, a few days or longer. He’ll do it when he’s away, his voice crackling over the phone—no video because somehow it’s more intense, more desperate without the visual aid. It’s all imagination and auditory. He’s listening to the way you sigh, waiting for your next command:

“Go slow for me, my love,” comes first. But you know without sight, just by the panting that he’s so close to that edge. He’s holding on by the tips of willpower and compulsion. So you follow up with, “Hold.”

“Baby, I can’t,” Joe hisses. 

“No, I know you can. Hold it. Please. Doing so well for me, love. Stop touching yourself if you think you’re going to come. Not yet.”Joe is whipped when it comes to Jerk Off Instructions. It makes his spine tingle when you get hot and firm with him. 

However, early on in the relationship, when your bodies are new to each other, Joe asks you while out on display for him, “Touch yourself for me. Show me how you like it, yeah? Gonna watch if that’s okay?”

“Oh, uh. Okay.” Your head is too fuzzy to really understand, body hot and craving the sweet relief of your orgasm. What even is Joe asking you? And why does he want to see you get yourself off when he’s right there to be of use himself?

Joe rubs at your thighs, sensing your hesitation, a soothing gesture up to your hips. “Hey, look at me, baby. Just want to know how to make you feel good. I mean, I am by no means done with you yet. We’re not done, okay? Not by a long shot. I’ll show you too—how I get myself off too. We can do it together. Just want to know just how you like it.”

The agreement is swift. Because who doesn’t want to see Joe, reclined back, fisting his own cock, stomach tensing? That has to be a glorious sight. 

You watch him after you give your consent, his fingers dipping into you to collect some of your slick before Joe pumps it over himself. The sight makes your head dizzy. “Holy shit,” you stutter out, positive that you’ve actually died and gone to heaven. 

Joe slows his own pleasure, nods for you to continue—so you do. This man is going to be the death of you. You hitch your hips, finding the right angle and circle your clit—nice and slow so he can see. His work over his cock, matches the pace of your fingers. The room is silent—heavy with the heat between the two of you. 

“Do—shit,” Joe huffs, quickening the pace of his first, watching the way your pussy pulses around the speed of your fingers, clenching for more. “Do you normally use toys on yourself?” The question takes every bit of his concentration to get it out. 

“Sometimes.”

“Use them. Please?” It falls all in a hiss. He looks so pathetic. So endearing. So fucking delectable. 

You nod and reach for the drawer they’re hidden in and an arsenal of toys comes out. Joe picks up the string of beads with an arched brow—his ministrations stopped because you stopped and because he is intrigued by all the toys you pull out. “You failed to tell me you got down like this.”

“What? You want to try?”

“On you, maybe. I think I like watching you fall apart more.”

And watch he does, when you press the vibrator onto your clit and you jolt, body convulsing. His name falls sharply from your mouth, all bite and ache cracking the one syllable into two. “Joe, please.”

Joe’s not sure what you’re asking. He wonders if you know what is you’re asking for either. But right now, he’s watching the tip of the vibrator circling your clit, the way you press down harder on the left than the right, how your hips keep hitching off the bed, back arched leaving your tits to disappear just a hair out of his line of sight. And you’re dripping—rivers of your arousal leaking from your core to the sheets. 

“Keep going, baby,” Joe pants, fist a mess now of his own precum, your arousal and the sting drawing up his balls at how hard he’s going to fucking burst watching you play with yourself. 

Like you’ve forgotten he’s there, you slip two fingers into yourself—the insertion of your fingers a loud squelch. “God, Joe, need your cock so bad.”

“Yeah?” he questions, his stomach twisting again. A good hot iron grip of arousal. You need him. 

“Yeah,” you whine in return. “Going to give it to me?”

“After you come for me, yeah, I will. Just keep doing whatever it is that feels good, okay?”

Joe’s cataloguing it all, the twist of your nipples, the squeeze of your breast, the sharp pants as you take yourself further and further into pleasure. He has to stop himself a couple times—take several deep inhales to keep himself from orgasming well before you. Joe’s never seen a hotter sight. 

He stops you, though, when you pat at the mattress around you, like you’re desperate for something else. To you, it feels like torture. He’s just sitting there, not giving you what you need. So you’ll give it to yourself, if you could just reach, could just find—

Joe’s faster than you, brushing the dildo out of your reach. “Not when I’m here,” he all but spits. He pushes in close, drops his nose to yours. His cock presses in heavy against your pelvis, not inside, but right in the seam of your hip. “Pretty girl, come for me, okay? Just come for me and I swear I’ll give you what you want.”

This close, his body heat radiating into your skin, you swear it’s impossible to not come. You grind up against him, use his body to help you reach the end. Your fingers still full of the vibrator, pressed to your clit, the brush of his public hair teasing at your puffy entrance. His mouth working over your jaw--you see stars as you release. One arm wraps around his neck and you’re sure you could’ve blown out his eardrum with how loud you are. 

But the second your body tenses, the second the wave descends and crashes, Joe’s sliding in, hissing out from between his teeth, “Fucking hell, so-” he’s at a lost for words. “So fucking perfect,” he finally huffs out. “Look at me.”

You can barely blink your eyes open, the vibration, the stretch, all of it overwhelms you. But Joe’s icy blue gaze holds you on earth, keeps you here in this moment with him. “Joe,” you cry. 

“Right here.” Every snap of his hips keeps him in your arms. He pauses only long enough to turn off the vibrator and tosses it down on the bed, where he thinks the dildo has landed. Then it’s all relentless, his hips into yours. It’s all the heat of him, the delicious stretch, the perfect tug. Joe doesn’t last long inside of you, not that it matters. 

But the two of you grapple for each other afterwards, needing to stay close, chests heaving. You’re inhaling at the hollow of his throat. Joe’s pressed his nose into your temple. 

Masturbation may not be normal for you too, but it is a tool and God, if you two don’t use it well.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Even Joe knows how much he loves praise. In the relationship, that’s not a secret. At least not a quiet one. It’s rather loud, the way his face melts when you peer over his shoulder. Maybe he’s attempting to cook a recipe you’ve made before. The pot bubbles, smells just right. “Oh, sweet boy, that looks so good. Look at you.”

You see it, the way his eyes flutter close and his smile lifts higher. It lasts only for a second before he stirs again, doesn’t want the beans to stick to the bottom of the pan. What can Joe say? He craves those beautiful words, whether it’s: I’m so proud of you or You did so well, baby. He needs that praise. But only when it matters only when it actually counts. Only when he’s actually done well. 

It makes his body tingle at the sound. 

However, when he’s balls deep, hands slipped up your thighs, holding your knees to your chest and it slips, the words nearly unable to cross your throat, the long and slow thrusts making your head spin and your mouth loose, “God, you’re going to fill me up so well. I just know it. Leave me nice and round, fuck. Please, just like that. Makes me feel so fucking good when you fuck me like this.”

Joe’s mind goes like static snow on an old box TV screen. 

“Not going to waste a drop,” you promise beneath him, fingers teasing at the lines of his stomach. 

He’s a goner. Absolute fucking goner. Because yeah, he does want to leave you nice and full. And it sounds so sweet to hear how much you like it, how much he’s doing well to make you promise not to waste his seed. Though his orgasm blindsides him, chokes him with how hard and fast it hits, Joe settles, still sheathed inside of you, kissing at your jaw. “Going to make sure it sticks, okay?”

You hum, fingers teasing at the nape of his scalp. “It will. You did such a good job, like always.”

If Joe could come again, he would, right then and there. It doesn’t matter if there’s a condom or not he’s using—the sentiment has started a fire that no one can put out now. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Joe’s christening that house like a newborn baby. Each room will carry the faded faint scent of your ecstasy in his memory. 

Kitchen, laundry room, guest room floor, bedroom, bathrooms, living room, his office, a quickie in the garage because he couldn’t help himself with how you looked in that skirt, the slight teasing him all damn night with peeks of your thighs, the stretchy elastic band holding the gold ‘J’ charm around the muscle. It peeked out constantly, every step you took, every time you sat.

“You teased me all fucking night, baby. This what you wanted?” he asks, fingers slipping up the skirt, teasing at your folds. Not on your clit, but right where he knows it is, tucked away but only for a moment. 

Joe is quite proud of that particular evening. How he pressed you up against the door that leads into the house, the mechanical whir and clanks of the garage door only a second from finishing the descent and the unbridled need echoed in the slap of his thighs against the back of yours. How the brick steps darkened beneath you, in tiny little droplets from how quickly and how swiftly you soaked his cock. 

“You think she missed me like I missed her?” he questions, hands full of your hips, already several thrusts deep. 

Your hands are splayed on the door to keep you upright. “Jesus Christ-- yes, I do. I missed you too. Probably more.”

His laughter is breathy and short. “Was with you all night.”

“Ached for you,” you return, “Shit. Baby, like that. Oh, just like that.” 

His favorite spot is, of course, the bedroom. He can take his time, savor every inch of you, melt into the seconds slowly and sweet. Likes watching your head fall back into the pillows. It’s always going to be a bit of a mess with you, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. So the bedroom is his top choice, but he’s not opposed to having some stuff elsewhere. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You can breathe and Joe would be turned on. He’s got self control for miles, knows when and where to lose control. But it doesn’t take much to get him turned on, not when it’s you. 

You have a friends trip planned—the washing machine sloshing in the background, your toting the finished first load on your hip, dressed in an old tie dyed t-shirt of Joe’s with nothing on underneath except for an old stretched out pair of panties, ones that he’s nearly thrown out when he did the laundry last week but you insisted on keeping because they were comfortable. 

Your face is bare, feet tucked away in your slippers, the hard bottoms clacking as you move towards the stairs. Joe loves you like this. Nothing but you for him to look at, not the glitz, not the glam. Just you. 

“That basket looks a little heavy, let me help?” 

“I’ve got it,” you grin. “Thanks though.”

He’s not taking no for an answer though. He pauses the show, pushes up off the couch cushions and meets you right at the start of the stairs. “Hand it over.”

“Joe, it’s a laundry basket.”

He eases it out from your grip, off your hip. “And I’m going to carry it. Lead the way.”

“You just want an excuse to stare at my ass.”

“And if I do?” Joe grins as he asks, presses a kiss to your forehead before he switches grip on the basket to free up a hand, only to then snake his free arm around your waist. His palm settles hot on the curve of your ass. 

You don’t fight him, instead continuing on to kiss his lips. He returns the gesture with added interest as his fingers squeeze at the flesh of your backside as his lips press into yours.  “All you have to do is ask,” you whisper as you pull out of the kiss.

“Well then, can I stare at your ass as you walk up these steps?”

“Certainly.” You lift the shirt just high enough so more of your butt peeks out and then start up, one slow step at a time. 

Joe is salivating and hard before he reaches the fourth step. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Joe’s not going to do anything that will lead to significant harm. 

Some light choking only comes out on occasion, playful taps to your ass. He’ll get rough, but he’s not going to slap you, not really spank you either. To him, sex is a holy and reverent venture. Sure, some may like rough and tough. But not him, not with you. Not when all he wants to do is worship your body. 

He’s also not a fan of dubious consent/consensual nonconsent. Part of the charm, the allure to him, is how you say yes to him, how you agree, melt like ice cream in the hot summer sun with him. Sometimes just picking you apart, before he’s actually touching you is more fun than the actual sex. Sometimes just stoking the fire in you is all that Joe wants or needs. 

The two of you are like matches meeting gasoline, and having the permission is the spark. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) 

The praise kink in Joe really loves giving oral. Adores the way you sound when he’s got his head nestled between your legs, loves how your thighs press into his ears involuntarily, how you apologize for the sounds, or the squeeze. Joe doesn’t need it though, doesn’t need the sorry because your pleasure is his pleasure. 

As stated before, your thighs are the altar for Joe, a place for him to commit every sin he’s ever fathom and to repent for them all at once. 

But Joe is a mortal man, made of flesh, sinew, blood, fascia, water, and cells. Watching you drop to your knees, nails tracing over the meat of his thighs, tongue dripping onto the head of his aching cock—oh is that man a goner before you even wrap your lips around him. 

He watches though, every second, the way you lose yourself a little, your chin and his crotch glistening with spit, your hums that he can feel vibrating up his spine. Joe’s never sure if he’s even breathing when you have his cock in your mouth, too afraid to shatter the moment. 

It’s sacrilegious but the two of you consider the other’s body a temple and neither one of you is missing your prayer time—devoted to reciting every line of stretch marks, and moles, and scars. The two of you are students of each other, never wanting to miss the smallest of details, looking for something new, trying to uncover and unearth. An excavation that’s never really about reaching the end, but about the journey along the way. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Joe loves it slow. Wants you to feel every inch of him, wants to feel every second of the experience. 

His signature, “You like that, don’t you? I can tell,” comes out in those slow moments, when every inch of his cock drags against your walls, every vein setting your soul on fire, makes the pads of your fingers ache with want. 

There’s a time and place for the fast and rough, after you’ve teased him all day, played at his couple old scruff, kissed his jaw, brushed against him, your ass into his crotch when it would’ve been so much more convenient to go around him. 

All that teasing makes his pulse quicken. Joe takes you by the wrist, pins you against the wall. His hard cock heavy against your lower back and ass, his weight falling into you to keep you from squirming away from him. “This what you wanted? Me on the verge of cuming in my pants like this? That how you like it?”

“Like you better pounding into me,” you tease. 

Joe delivers—like always, like you’ve asked him too. So hard and fast happens. But there’s nothing, nothing like Joe being able to take his time with you, account for every bump and curve of your body. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies aren’t Joe’s favorite. He really does like to take his time. But there are some moments where the heat from the day prior hasn’t fully faded, and he’s still near the edge. He really should be headed out for practice but he can’t stand to leave you, pouty for him, can’t imagine how his day would go if he left this bed, right now, without a little something to tide him over. 

He’ll kiss over your cheek as you arch back into him, ass brushing against his cock. “If we do this, it'll have to be quick.”

He does have some self control, if you tell him no, he’ll wait. It’ll make him feel like he’s about to burst at the seams. It will leave him teetering on a jittery edge, but he’ll do it. 

“I’ll take all the time you have.”

And God, it only takes seconds, pj’s not even fully disrobed, just pushed and pulled far enough down or to the side to give just enough room. Little words or teasing, just the pure hum of relief as the two of you share each other, even if it’s only fifteen minutes to spare. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Joe’s risky in terms of where and when he’ll have sex—like bathrooms of award shows (usually quick and fast because goddamn you look so fucking beautiful and only after double checking that the door is locked behind him; again, all risks come with the mental calculations with Joe. If he’s going to do it, he’s going to make sure to do it right and do what he can to minimize the threat of being caught as much as possible).

Even if people are over at the house, he’ll sneak away towards the back of the house after you disappeared there to get something and promise hotly in your ear that he can ‘rock your world in ten minutes if you let me’. A promise he’s always good for. That tongue is cursed by the devil himself, nose teasing at your clit too. A deadly and dangerous combination that makes it nearly impossible to say no to. 

Dangling on his keychain is a tiny heart shaped locket, which is at times hard to spot amidst the other metal of the chain. A combined artist rendition of his and your thumb print in the shape of a heart is etched into the front of the locket, and on the back of it is the date he asked you to be his girlfriend. To the outside world it looks like a keepsake, the tiniest of slivers into his personal life that is subtle. It shows up one day when he’s photographed headed into Paycor during the start of the season—a shiny gold heart. 

He gets asked about it once, a quick, “Is that a new addition on the keychain?”

Joe nods. “Yeah. It helps keep them close when I’m far away.”

What people don’t know is that when cracked open aside from the little picture of you that’s tucked into the heart is a nano flash drive--a tiny little thing. Something so unsuspecting hiding away the videos of him begging on his knees for you, videos of you crying out for him, pictures of his favorite set, a soft blue that matches his eyes and he’s a sucker for romantic irony. 

You have a matching locket. With a tiny flash drive too. Pictures of Joe, pictures of yourself.  The videos are only a couple minutes long, bits and pieces. But they’re just enough, certainly enough to help remember each other when you’re apart. 

Both are password protected, long strings of letters and numbers that were meticulously entered. Joe made sure to keep any obvious combinations out—his jersey number, anniversary dates and birth dates were off the table. Easy enough to type in, but nothing terribly obvious. 

There’s a fireproof safe with the laptop, cameras, and cables. All purchased with cash. The computer’s routinely checked and scrubbed. Only hooks up via the ethernet cord to the modem. All the bluetooth capabilities are kept off. 

The stories those cameras could tell if cameras could talk. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

There’s no need to count rounds when there’s hours on the line. When orgasm isn’t the end goal, but connection is, rounds don’t matter. There absolutely been weekends that have passed by them both in a blur--leaving the bed long enough to eat, shower, use the bathroom, and such--but they always come back to the mattress, time passed in kissing that leads to grinding, grinding that leads to perfectly crescent shaped indents and bruises along shoulder, the digging of fingers into flesh, whispered ‘I love you’s’ shared like reciting sacred text. 

It’s about going until everything in them both is gone and satisfied. Most times that means at least two orgasms. Others it means three. Sometimes it’s just one, which is rare, because Joe wants to make a mess of you. No matter how tired he is, he’s going to turn you into a puddle of yourself, reduce you to the incoherent babbles of pleasure, a body liquefied in the sheets. 

On average, there’s two orgasms a piece. Joe’s always been an overachiever though, so there’s days where the third and sometimes even the fourth one happen faster than you can process. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Joe loves to hear you using toys on yourself during phone sex, how much they don’t compare to him. It’s a stroke of his ego to hear you whine, “It’s just not the same.”

It’s never a defeated tone, like you’re somehow determined not to give Joe something to make his head big. He entertains the fierceness in your tone, coos at you with a soft, “I know it’s not. Promise when I get back I’ll give you the real thing. But you’re doing so well for me.”

The line crackles, your sigh popping through the speakers. “Fuck, I need you, Joe. So bad.”

“And I need you.” A soft volley, a way for him to let you know that this is a two way street. “Just as bad, if not worse than you need me.”

Because Joe is a sucker, but only for you. 

Toys are tools and again—he’s a student of the craft, a student of you and your body and your pleasure. He’s not not going to use them. Not every encounter has them—most don’t. He’ll tease you with your vibrator, a feather-like touch before he’s pulling it away from your body, your arms bound together at your wrist, the excess slack tied to the bottom slats of the bed, you can’t even fight back. 

“Please, my love. I can’t take this,” you pant, tears slipping down the corner of your eyes. 

“You can,” Joe promises, pressing the toy back to your clit. The touch is firmer than the others and though you jolt, you’re a mess of gratitude, thank you’s spilling over your lips and tongues. 

It’s a teasing game that Joe likes to play and you like it too, even though you squirm, even though you beg. There’s always the teasing edge to your smile, the way you brush your teeth over your lips to hide away your smile. 

The only thing Joe doesn’t do is use your dildo on you. Why would he when both of you know that it never compares to him? Why would he not use himself for your pleasure and his? Why would he ever be selfish as to withhold that?

Will Joe use a toy to finish you off? Probably not. Not even if he’s dead tired. That’s his job, that's the thing he wants the privilege of doing for you. 

But will Joe tease you with a toy? Asbo-fucking-lutely he would. And he’ll grin the entire time he’s doing it too. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Teasing is an Olympic sport in this relationship with both you and Joe trying to take home the gold.

If it’s not you having dinner ready for Joe, in an apron with a lacy number underneath just to perch at the dinner table next to him like nothing is out of the ordinary, it’s him purposefully walking around shirtless for longer than he needs to be after getting out of the shower, making sure to reach for a cup on the highest shelf just to show up his back that he knows you love. 

If it’s not that, it’s you texting him, When you get home, I’d look at your locket and check for something new in the middle of his day, between meetings and it does not help that he’s in sweatpants and his cock is twitching at the thought of something new waiting for him. 

If it’s not you, it’s him texting you across the room of your childhood home, Do you think you can be quiet tonight? Because I’m looking to test something. 

You watch him after you read the text and he’s already busy helping with something else. But you know he can feel the heat of your stare. 

Teasing is half the fun.  

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Joe’s not loud, but is quite vocal, a fountain of whatever he can think to say:

Love you like this. 

Going to ruin you. 

Shit, baby, could make a man go crazy looking at him like that. 

Oh, I know, honey. That’s it. That’s how you like it. 

His sentences are interrupted at times by swears, a moan, a groan that he just can’t swallow back. Joe just sounds so heavenly when he’s losing control, when he can’t help but say everything he’s thinking in those moments. 

You encourage him, love how his voice drops even lower, how the words sound like they’re fighting to be said first, each letter in competition with each other to be expressed first. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Sub!joe! Sub!joe! Sub!joe! This man will come his pants the second someone puts some authority into their voice with him, takes a responsibility off his plate without question, calls him a good boy with other praise. The jerk off instructions really hit home for him because he so utterly craves the pride in your voice over the phone, he loves it when you praise him. The validation strikes a cord so deep in him it always startles him that you do it so effortlessly. 

There’s a delicate balance in that dynamic, but when you step up, when you take control, Joe’s only option is to obey. He can only succumb, submit to you because he knows you’re always going to treat him right. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Joe’s a grower not a shower. Besides, the purple hat from LSU speaks for itself. Are we really going to argue with that hat? Certainly won’t be me arguing. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Joe can be turned on at the drop of a dime—literally. You dropped a piece of change once, in denim cut off shorts that left a couple inches of your ass out and beat Joe down to the ground to pick it up. He stood behind you to keep you from exposing yourself to the whole gas station but he watched every minute muscle tensing, every jiggle and bounce. The moment you got back into the car, his fingers trailed up from your knee to your thighs. 

“I swear you’re trying to kill me,” he laughed. 

“What?”

“These shorts, if you can even call them that, baby.”

“It’s hot, Joe.” Even though you laughed, grinning at how pathetic he looked with his head dropped back into the headrest, you knew exactly what you were doing. 

“We’re making a pit stop. If you’re okay with that.”

“We’ll be late.”

“Then we’re just fucking late. But that’s not a no I’m hearing.”

“It’s a yes.”

The two of you were only a couple minutes from the house. Joe opted to drive your car for you since you needed gas and it was less likely that anyone would’ve been able to spot the two of you in it. Joe’s never peeled out of a gas station faster. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Joe waits. He pulls you practically on top of him, your legs threaded through his. Bare chest to bare chest and he just waits. He’s listening to the hum of the house, the stillness, counting how long your breaths get.

Once your breaths are long and Joe can tell by how deep they get, he lets himself go. Though he’d been almost sucked under for the last ten minutes, he wanted to make sure you were okay first. 

There’s just something about the way your weight settles him, how he’s more than positive he could stay here forever, listening to you breath, asleep on his chest for decades. 

There’s a couple instances where you both fall asleep at the same time, or he passes out before you. Anytime Joe happens to fall asleep first, you’ll shuffle gently as you can to watch him. His lashes seemingly brushing at his cheeks, the way his face falls completely at ease. He’s so handsome, even in his sleep. There’s no tightness to his brows, no frown at his lips. He looks so young in his sleep. Makes you want to cradle him in the palm of your hands. 

You press a kiss to his chest and then settle back into him to give yourself over to sleep. 

[moonmoonthecrabking]

kitty x min ho this. kitty x yuri that. please, see my vision. acquaintances to enemies to friends to lovers kitty x juliana. walk with me,

[littlelovelunette]

Sticker On Her Forehead

Dim lanterns cast flickering shadows on Sevika's sleeping figure. You were bored, and had been scrolling on your phone for a while.

You held your breath, creeping forward with the stealth of a well-trained rogue—though, to be fair, your mission wasn’t exactly life or death.

It was, however, a matter of pride.

Sevika was asleep, sprawled out in her usual chair. Her breathing was deep and steady, the slow rise and fall of her chest signaling that she was well and truly out cold.

Her mechanic arm hung over the armrest of the chair, chin resting on her flesh hand as she dozed off. Her snores weren't as loud as usual, it was light when she napped but the moment her back hit the bed, she'd be snoring like a bear.

You had never seen her sleep before. You both were in a relatively new relationship, she always seemed too alert, too sharp, like she never truly let her guard down. But now, exhaustion had finally won, and you had the rarest opportunity of all.

In your hand was your secret weapon: a pastel colored sticker of a little pink bunny, ears floppy, eyes big and sparkly. It was obnoxiously cute—exactly the opposite of everything Sevika embodied.

You hesitated for only a moment.

Was this suicidal? Probably.

Would it be worth it? Absolutely.

Carefully, you peeled the back off the sticker, leaning in just enough to place it dead center on her forehead.

Your fingers moved with precision, gently pressing it into place. The contrast was immediate and hilarious—the hardened enforcer of Zaun, the right hand of Silco, now marked with an adorable pastel bunny on her forehead.

A breath of laughter almost escaped you, but you swallowed it down. The mission wasn’t complete yet. You needed to get out before—

Sevika’s nose twitched. Her brows furrowed slightly, but she didn’t wake. You took a slow step back, your pulse hammering in your ears. Another step. Almost there—

Then the metal fingers of her prosthetic twitched, and her organic hand shot out, catching your wrist in a vice-like grip.

Shit.

Her eyelids cracked open, and she exhaled a low, tired groan. “…The hell are you doing?” Her sharp grey eyes scrutinized your expression.

You froze, mind racing for an excuse. Nothing. There was nothing that could justify this.

You giggled nervously.

Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, locked onto yours. And then she frowned. The moment she lifted her hand to rub her forehead, you knew you had mere seconds before—

Pause.

Her fingertips brushed against the sticker. You watched, wide-eyed, as realization dawned in slow motion.

She peeled it off. Looked at it. Blinked.

The silence was suffocating.

And then—

“…You’re dead.”

You bolted.

Laughter burst from your throat as you ran through the house, the sound of a chair scraping violently against the floor signaling that Sevika was up and coming for blood.

You barely made it past the main hall before you heard her boots pounding behind you, her voice a lethal growl.

“You think this is funny?!”

“Yes!” you cackled, dodging around a table.

Sevika was fast. Too fast. It was sheer luck that you managed to duck away before she could grab the back of your shirt.

You swerved happily navigating your way in the house, laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

Then, suddenly, a mechanical arm caught you by the collar and yanked you backward.

Your feet barely touched the ground as Sevika hauled you up with terrifying ease, her face dangerously close to yours.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't break your damn fingers."

You grinned, breathless. "Because then I wouldn’t be able to put more stickers on you?"

Sevika stared. Her grip tightened.

And then—

A long, exasperated sigh.

She dropped you, shaking her head as if questioning every life decision that had led to this moment. “I swear to god, you’re worse than Jinx.”

"That means you love me, right?"

"Shut up."

She turned to leave—but not before slapping the bunny sticker onto your forehead.

"Checkmate."

[ruesol]

Sitting on trueform!sukuna’s lap and feeding him grapes

notes: fem/afab!reader, not proofread, dubcon(ish), suggestive

main masterlist

The King of Curses wasn’t even sure if he liked eating human food as much as he enjoyed sinking his teeth into their juicy and tough flesh.

The screams of terror they’d let out as he’d consume and digest them alive satiated his appetite like no other.

But the human woman in his lap made grapes, a round sweet, acidic fruit taste like it was the most delicious thing ever. Like people died to have a taste of its juices.

He wasn’t sure if he liked the taste because she was feeding it to him or because she was sitting on his lap while doing so. Maybe it was both, but it definitely trumped his love for human flesh.

His hungry red eyes bore into her scared meek ones. Every time he’d look at her, she’d turn away. She was aroused. He could smell it on her. He’d much rather be between her thighs, devouring what was meant to be his the second he laid eyes on her, but for now he had to keep his calm. He had to ease her into his bed and this was the first step.

He had to build trust before using her body to his liking.

His eyes trailed down the silhouette of her body as she lifted her shivering arms towards his face, dangling the last grape by his mouth

“S-sire, this is the last grape. Would you like me to get off your lap after this?” She couldn’t even look him in the eye while asking the question. How adorable.

He grunted and lifted her face with a single finger. “How about this instead- you can either stay in my lap and feed me another branch or you can get off my lap after feeding me this last grape from your mouth,” he snarled into her ear. The puffs of breath he left on her skin almost felt like she had been burnt by acidic vapor.

Sukuna knew what her answer would be. From the minute he had initially asked her to sit on his lap she had been jumpy. Aching and waiting for a moment to run off to her quarters in his estate. A sanctuary he had built to spoil his future wife before their wedding night.

She was taking too long to answer so Sukuna did what he thought was appropriate- lick a stripe from her collarbone to her ear. His long nails dragged up her leg, tearing her dress from her calf to her thigh, exposing the creamy skin beneath. Sukuna looked away from her legs before he could hoist her up and give her the fucking she needed to be his.

She felt like she was being scented by a territorial animal.

“I’ll feed you the last grape from my mouth,” she whispered.

“Good choice. I was getting tired of just sitting and eating.” His gravel rich voice rumbled beneath her small body as she plucked the round fruit from the stem of branches.

His eyes followed as she placed the plump burgundy fruit between her teeth. It was too small- both of them knew that it would be impossible to eat the fruit without their lips touching. But she would take that risk for she valued her life.

She shut her eyes tight, gutless. It’s almost as if he knew that if she looked into his scarlet orbs then she would run away, so his second set of arms secured her in his lap. Holding her down tightly while his upper arms wrapped around her waist and shoulders.

He could hear her heart quicken. Lub-dub, lub-dub.

She didn’t mention his well endowed hardness growing right beneath her clothed core.

His iron rich breath fanned over her face as he admired lips that were starting to stain because of her teeth digging into the firm flesh of the grape.

He couldn’t tell if he was more excited to hear her terrified sounds or taste the sweetness on her lips. Either way, one could only find out by executing their desires.

He bit into the fruit and groaned as his warms lips made contact with hers. Her hand automatically held on to his tattooed bicep, digging her blunt fingers in them.

Had it been another woman, he would’ve beheaded her by now. But not this one. She was special.

He pulled the fruit out from between her teeth and swallowed it. It was sweeter than any human flesh he had tasted and it was all because of her.

He bit into her bottom lip, drawing a drop of blood and a gasp from her, giving him entry into her mouth. Her mewls of pleasure only egged him on to continue kissing her. He smirked into her mouth as he felt her rock her hips against his hardness. He knew his sweet thing would come around sooner or later.

Pushing, pulling, biting- she had never been kissed like this. Like he was a sinner and she was his only salvation.

His hands travelled up her body, making way for her center. When she realized that, she began to push her clammy palms against his chest.

“No, please, I have never been touched before!” she cried into his mouth.

“Good, that means you’re pure and mine to taint,” he confidently chuckled. He knew all this was a show. He knew that she wanted him as well- with the way her nipples were perked up through her thin muslin gown and her wetness has seeped onto his robes.

Her body had accepted him. She just didn’t know it yet.

He pulled away as he looked at her. Salty tears streamed down her face as she bit her swollen lips in embarrassment and fear. She looked beautiful. His dream woman. He was finding himself softening up for her. His arms let her go and he set her down before ripping out a part of his clothing to cover her torn dress.

“Go, I don’t wish to be bothered with your pathetic crying. I want my wife willing and happy.”

She let out a deep breath of relief and sputtered out a small ‘thank you’ to him through her crying. He couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight- missing her taste.

He knew that treating her like a doll was wrong, especially if he wanted her to be ruling beside him.

But he couldn’t help himself. Her little reactions were so adorable. He wondered if she would act the same on her wedding night.

—

[flofaiiry]

dedicated to my bae @erwinsvow bc she gets it. and to all other charlie reid truthers bcs how is there like NOTHING written abt this man 💔💔💔

charlie reid and controversially younger gf!reader. so many thoughts being thunk. maybe ur a criminology student and u did a tour in the chiefs office with a class to learn about the cpd and he stops by to talk to ur class about jobs w the police. mayhaps he spots a keen student at the front of the group, little notebook in hand, asking questions and listening intently (you). shamelessly rakes his eyes down ur body when u ask a question about arrest rates or something he honestly couldnt care less right now bcs his main thought is how good u look in that skirt and how much he'd like to see u out of it. somehow finds the words to answer your question despite his thoughts being anywhere but on appropriate things. right before ur group leaves he pulls you aside with a hand on ur back, passes you his card and says if u have any questions don't hesitate to call him.

in classic ditzy 20 year old college girl fashion u believe he has nothing but the purest intentions and just wants to help u succeed in the field so u reach out a day or two after to ask if u can pick his brain about crime stats in chicago or whatevs for a paper ur working on. he of course says yes and tells u to come by later that night to his office. it's late when u go. dark. the building is empty except for a janitor & you & charlie. you ask him how he got into policing, and how he worked his way up to deputy chief. he answers ur questions at first, but then is much more interested in talking about you.

he asks u what a pretty girl like you is doing studying crime in a city like this, all the while his eyes are stuck staring at anything other than ur eyes. ur thighs clench and u cant help that familiar feeling that starts growing between ur legs. you start to notice the way his eyes linger on your bare legs and the neckline of your shirt that doesn't leave much to the imagination. you notice how he smiles when you blush at his compliments or calls you a pretty girl.

nothing more happens, not that night at least. but you can't get his voice and the way he looked at you out of your head so you decide to call him again, tell him you've got an exam in your policing class coming up and you could use his help to study (ur an all a's student, you can hold ur own with studying but he doesn't need to know that!!). he tells you he'd love to help but he's left the office already, he tells u to give him a bit to get back and he'll meet you there but before he can say anything else you tell him it's fine, that you can just go to his place, if it's okay with him (of course it is, he hasn't been able to get you out of his head either).

so you arrive at his house a few minutes later, strategically wearing a little skirt & a shirt that dips way too low. charlie's jaw drops the second he opens the door, he steps aside and invites u in. he asks if u want a drink, you tell him you're not technically old enough to drink, to which he laughs and says he won't tell anyone.

"who developed the UCR?" he asks, flipping through your notebook, glasses on the tip of his nose.

"fbi"

he nods. "when?"

"1929."

"its purpose?"

"to streamline crime reporting across departments."

"good girl." he says under his breath.

"if you want this to stay productive you're gonna have to stop calling me that." you say, trying to fight off a smile by biting your bottom lip.

he turns his head to you, looking at you from just above the frames of the glasses, "sweetheart, i don't think this was ever just productive"

and when i write this into a fleshed out fic then what....

[reidmarieprentiss]

Turning Tables

Summary: The team finds you and Spencer, you come back to work after recovering, things are tense. Spencer realizes he messed up, but you're not so quick to forgive.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: suggestive content (16+), mentions of hookup culture, talks of cases, reader is heavily assaulted by unsub, broken bones, dumb man Spencer, missed signals, bad communication

Word count: 6.9k

a/n: hiii there will be a part three!!

main masterlist part one part three

The team finally found the two of you in the abandoned warehouse, but the sight they came upon was brutal. Spencer had a black eye and a split lip from being hit, his face bruised and bloodied, but you— you had taken the worst of it. The unsub had unleashed relentless violence on you. You’d been slapped, punched, kicked, spit on, cut, and thrown around like a ragdoll. The unsub’s twisted plan was clear: break Spencer by hurting you, the "weaker" hostage, using your suffering to force him into talking. But you both knew that wasn’t an option. Spencer couldn’t give the unsub what he wanted, no matter how much it tore him apart to watch you take those blows.

Every hit that landed on you felt like it was striking Spencer himself. He watched, helpless, feeling the pain of every blow as though it was his own flesh being torn and bruised. Yet he remained silent, knowing that any begging or pleading from him would only make the unsub escalate. He couldn’t give them that. He couldn’t put you through more than what you were already enduring, though it felt like it was killing him inside to watch.

When the team finally stormed in, you were unconscious, your body battered and limp as they carted you away on a stretcher to the waiting ambulance. Hotch approached Spencer, his voice calm but filled with concern as he asked, "What happened to Y/N?"

Spencer, sitting in the back of another ambulance, stared blankly ahead. His shoulders were slumped, weighed down by the guilt and horror of what had transpired. His voice was quiet, flat. “She was the target.”

Hotch took in Spencer's empty gaze, the exhaustion and anguish etched into every line of his face, and knew better than to press for more. They’d have to wait until you woke up to understand the full scope of what happened in that warehouse. But even then, Hotch feared that some wounds might never truly heal.

—

You eventually did wake up, groggy but relieved to find that, despite the brutality you endured, you had very little internal damage. The doctors assured you that your body just needed time to heal. Two weeks of paid leave were granted as you recovered, a rare gesture of empathy from Chief Strauss, who seemed to have a soft spot for you.

As the painkillers faded and your mind cleared, the questions from your team began. You sat with them, still feeling tender but able to think straight, recounting everything you remembered from that night. You and Spencer had been investigating a house, following up on an anonymous tip. It seemed routine until the moment you two split up to check different rooms. That’s when it happened—ambushed from behind, a cloth drenched in chloroform shoved over your mouth. After that, everything went black.

"I only remember waking up inside the warehouse with Spencer," you explained, your voice steady but laced with tension. The memories still fresh, the pain still vivid. "The unsub wanted me. I was the real target. They said I was more of a challenge than any of their other victims."

JJ, sitting beside you, asked softly, her voice gentle and careful. “Why did they take Spencer?”

You heaved a breath, feeling the weight of the answer on your chest. “They thought if they took him too, they could find out where the rest of the team was. They wanted Spencer to tell you all it was a dead end, to send you off on a different trail.” You paused, your breath shaking as you continued. “They said if Spencer did that, they’d release him. But they made it clear… they just wanted me.”

The room was silent for a moment, the gravity of your words hanging in the air. Your team exchanged glances, but no one said anything. They didn’t need to. You all understood what it meant—that the unsub was willing to let Spencer go, but you were never supposed to walk out of that warehouse alive.

—

When you returned to work after your leave, the atmosphere shifted. The entire team was happy to have you back, and there were warm smiles all around. Spencer, however, seemed unsure how to approach you now. Still, he smiled as you passed by, his voice tentative yet sincere as he said, “I’m really glad you’re back and feeling better.”

You returned the smile, a brief and polite response escaping your lips. “Thanks, Spencer. I appreciate it.” The exchange was short, almost too brief, and you both seemed to sense the unspoken tension lingering between you. It didn’t go unnoticed, especially not by JJ, who had grown close to you since the incident. She had been your rock, someone you confided in more and more. 

When she found a quiet moment alone with you, JJ slipped into the conversation with ease. “Hey, how’s your first day back?” she asked with her trademark smile, though there was a hint of something deeper in her tone.

You shrugged lightly, trying to mask any unease. “Same as usual, I guess. It feels good to be working again, though. I was getting restless at home.”

JJ laughed knowingly, nodding. “I know exactly what you mean.” Then, her voice dropped, softer now, as she leaned in slightly. “Did something happen between you and Spence?��

The question caught you off guard, your brows knitting in surprise. Did Spencer say something to her? You quickly tried to brush it off with a joke. “Other than, you know, getting kidnapped together? Not that I know of.”

But JJ wasn’t convinced. She made a face like she wasn’t buying your casual response. “Are you sure? You two haven’t really been talking much. I guess I just assumed something like that would have brought you closer… in a weird, awful sort of way.”

You let out a short laugh, trying to deflect again. “Yeah… we didn’t get the trauma bonding memo, I guess.”

JJ still looked skeptical, her eyes scanning your face for cracks in your armor. “Okay, well… just, if you need to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to go through anything alone.”

Her offer was genuine, and the sincerity in her voice made you pause. You smiled back at her, feeling a small but comforting warmth settle in. “Thanks, JJ. I really appreciate that.”

Across the bullpen, Spencer had been listening to the conversation from his desk, his heart aching at what JJ was implying. He’d been mulling over the same thought—that the trauma you both went through should have drawn you closer. Shared experiences like that often created a bond, an unspoken connection forged in survival. But instead, he could feel the distance between you growing wider, and it tore him up inside.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how hard this must be for you, how you were facing it all alone. You were still relatively new to the team, and as far as Spencer knew, this was your first time being kidnapped. After his first time, he had shut everyone out. Granted, he’d been addicted to drugs back then, but that isolation still hadn’t been the right path. It had only deepened the pain, and he feared you might be doing the same thing.

He could only hope you were receiving the support you needed—support he wasn’t sure he could give you anymore.

—

Later that week, you found yourself in the kitchen, trying to ignore the sharp ache in your side as you reached for a mug to make tea. The pain in your ribs flared up with every stretch, the broken bones protesting loudly. As your arm extended toward the cupboard, the burning sensation became unbearable, and you yelped, clutching your side in an attempt to steady yourself.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was filled with concern as he walked into the room just in time to see you wince in pain. He was by your side in an instant, his hands hovering uncertainly, as if he wanted to help but wasn’t sure how far he could go. “Are you okay?”

You grunted, trying to downplay the pain. “I’m fine, just... need a mug.”

Spencer gave a small, understanding nod before stepping in to help. He reached up with ease, grabbing the mug he knew was your favorite—the one you always used for your tea. “Here,” he said softly, placing it on the counter in front of you. “Making tea?”

A small flutter stirred in your chest at the realization that he remembered both your favorite mug and your preference for tea. It was such a small detail, but it felt significant in that moment, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond that still lingered between you despite everything.

—

You laughed as you watched Spencer pour himself yet another cup of coffee. “It’s three in the afternoon, Spencer! Who drinks coffee this late?”

Spencer chuckled along with you, lifting his cup with a playful grin. “Me! Obviously!” he said, gesturing toward the steaming mug with a mock sense of pride.

You bumped his hip with yours, gently nudging him out of the way as you reached for the kettle. “Well, some of us actually like to sleep,” you teased, your tone light and playful.

What you didn’t notice was the way Spencer had stared at you after that, a soft, affectionate gaze lingering on your face, the kind of look that held more meaning than words could express.

—

“Yeah, thanks,” you sighed, knowing you needed the help but still feeling a little self-conscious about it.

Without missing a beat, Spencer grabbed your favorite tea from the cupboard and began steeping it for you, his movements calm and precise. He didn’t ask if you needed more assistance—he just did it, like he knew exactly what you needed in that moment. It was a silent kindness, one that reminded you of the Spencer you knew before everything had gotten so complicated.

As the tea steeped, you leaned back slightly, watching him with gratitude and lingering uncertainty. The simplicity of the moment, of him helping you with something as mundane as making tea, felt like a brief return to the way things used to be between you.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Spencer asked, his gaze fixed on the steaming mug in front of him rather than meeting your eyes. His tone was casual, but there was something tense beneath it, something unspoken that lingered between the two of you.

You frowned, feeling a bit of confusion and then a flicker of annoyance rising up. Was he only doing this out of guilt? You straightened up slightly, crossing your arms over your chest despite the ache in your ribs.

“Look, I appreciate your help, but you don’t have to suck up to me because of what happened,” you said, your words sharper than you intended. You regretted it immediately, but the frustration had been bubbling beneath the surface for a while now—how careful everyone was being around you, how things with Spencer had grown so strange and distant since the kidnapping.

Spencer froze for a moment, his hand still resting on the counter as he absorbed your words. His jaw tightened, and for a second, he didn’t move or say anything. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady. “I’m not… sucking up to you.”

You huffed, unsure where this conversation was heading but feeling the tension building between you. “Then what is this? You’ve barely said two words to me since I came back, and now suddenly you’re… what? Trying to make up for it by being overly nice?”

Spencer’s shoulders stiffened, and he finally turned to face you, his expression guarded. “I’m just trying to help,” he said, his voice measured, like he was trying not to let his own emotions show. “I know things are… different now. But I didn’t want to push you into talking or pretending everything’s okay if it’s not. That’s all.”

The frustration in you wavered, your annoyance softening as you realized he wasn’t trying to guilt-trip or coddle you. He was as lost in this new dynamic as you were, both of you navigating the aftermath of something you hadn’t fully processed. His hesitation wasn’t about sucking up—it was about not knowing how to be around you anymore.

“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to fix this, or me.”

Spencer's eyes softened slightly as he watched you, his own uncertainty flickering across his face. “I’m not trying to fix anything,” he said, almost a whisper now. “I just… don’t want to make things worse.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and suddenly the air felt heavy, filled with everything you both hadn’t said since the warehouse.

“Worse, right,” you scoffed, the bitterness lacing your voice before you could stop it. “Sorry I started an awful chain of events.” You could feel the hurt bubbling up again, the weight of rejection you’d been carrying ever since that day in the warehouse. It wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the emotional bruise left behind, the wound that hadn’t healed.

Spencer looked at you, his expression faltering. He opened his mouth as if to respond but then hesitated, unsure of how to mend what had already spiraled so far out of control. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said softly, his words stumbling out in a rush. “We were under a lot of stress… sometimes people say things they don’t mean, searching for comfort.”

You felt your heart drop at his words. He thought it was just a fleeting moment, something you’d said out of desperation. That stung worse than anything. You blinked back the frustration and the tears that were threatening to spill over, the pain in your side flaring as you tried to catch your breath.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out, the door to the break room slamming behind you with a sharp, echoing crack.

Spencer stood there, stunned, the sound of the door slamming reverberating in the silence. He hadn’t meant to make things worse. He didn’t realize until it was too late that you hadn’t just left the conversation—you had left the room entirely, and maybe… left something between you both behind.

He clenched his hands into fists, a knot tightening in his stomach. He didn’t know how to make this right, how to undo the damage that had already been done. All he knew was that you had walked away and it felt as if he was losing you for good.

—

Things on the team settled into a new rhythm, even if it wasn’t quite the same. Everyone seemed to accept that you and Spencer were no longer as close as you had once been, though there was an undercurrent of tension. The two of you weren’t assigned together anymore, and that seemed to smooth things out for the most part. But it didn’t go unnoticed that Spencer kept a quiet distance, while you partnered up with Derek in the field.

Spencer couldn’t shake the bitterness that crept in when he saw you with Derek. He couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch had reassigned you because he thought Spencer couldn’t protect you, that you needed someone strong like Derek to keep you safe. The thought left him feeling sour, inadequate, like he’d somehow failed. But then, just as quickly, he’d get mad at himself for even thinking that way. You didn’t need protecting. You were more than capable of handling yourself in the field. You had survived worse than most, even if he couldn’t bear to watch it happen.

What gnawed at him most, though, was how happy you seemed with Derek. The way you laughed and joked with him, talking easily like you once did with Spencer. It stirred something ugly inside him, something he didn’t want to admit. He couldn’t deny that Derek was the kind of man who seemed perfect—strong, confident, and charming. A man who could sweep anyone off their feet. He hated that it bothered him, but he’d never allow himself to admit that he was afraid you’d fall for Derek. That kind of jealousy was too much to confront.

You, on the other hand, were content with your new partnership. Derek was easygoing and didn’t pry into your personal life. He let you manage things on your own terms, only asking questions when you willingly brought something up. It was a refreshing change, especially after everything that had happened with Spencer. You didn’t want to talk about what had gone wrong. You were too embarrassed, too ashamed of how vulnerable you had felt. It was easier to leave it behind, buried where no one could see the cracks.

But despite the professional ease, there was still a part of you that missed what you and Spencer once had, even if you’d never admit that either.

—

On one particular case, you and Derek celebrated the capture of an unsub with a big, triumphant hug. In the heat of the moment, you jumped into his arms, and he caught you effortlessly, spinning you around as the rest of the team cheered. It had been the two of you who made the breakthrough that led to the unsub’s hideout, and everyone was thrilled. You were beaming, caught up in the excitement of the team.

But Spencer, standing on the sidelines, was stewing. His mind kept replaying the mistake he had made, the detail he had missed that Derek had caught. And now, it was Derek who had caught you, too. Watching the two of you laughing, hugging, and celebrating felt like a punch to his gut. His insecurities gnawed at him, building into a quiet anger that simmered beneath the surface.

The rest of the team, however, smiled at the sight of you, happy to see you so joyful and healed enough to engage in lighthearted horseplay with Derek. The dark cloud that had followed you since the kidnapping seemed to have lifted, and it was a relief to everyone.

When the team returned to Quantico, Penelope was quick to corral everyone for celebratory drinks at the local bar. You stuck close to JJ and Penelope, grateful for their company as the night went on. After a few drinks, they pulled you out onto the dance floor, laughter bubbling up between the three of you as the music played. You let yourself go, dancing with JJ and Penelope, the worries of the past few months fading in the glow of the evening.

But it wasn’t until Derek joined you girls on the dance floor that something shifted. Spencer, sitting at the bar, felt a surge of jealousy flood through him. Derek was there again, touching your arm, laughing with you, spinning you around as the girls cheered. Spencer’s vision blurred with red-hot anger, the insecurities and feelings he had been burying for weeks now boiling over.

Before he could think twice, Spencer stormed over, grabbing Derek by the arm and pulling him outside the bar. The sudden outburst left Derek confused, glancing at Spencer with genuine concern. “What the hell, Reid?” Derek asked, his voice sharp with confusion but tinged with worry. “Are you okay?”

Spencer was breathing heavily, steam practically pouring out of his ears as he glared at Derek. “Do you like her?” he snapped, his voice cracking with frustration.

Derek blinked, taken aback. “Who? Like who, Reid?”

“Y/N!” Spencer shouted, his voice louder than he intended. “You keep touching her, and dancing with her, and laughing like—like you’re trying to be with her!”

Derek’s face softened in realization, and he held up his hands defensively, trying to calm Spencer down. “Whoa, whoa, kid,” Derek said slowly, his tone measured. “You think something’s going on with me and Y/N?”

Spencer’s chest heaved as he struggled to control the emotions that had been brewing for so long. “I… I don’t know. I just—every time I see you with her, I can’t help but think you’re—”

Derek cut him off gently, shaking his head. “Spencer, man, it’s not like that. We’re friends. That’s it.”

But Spencer wasn’t ready to accept it. “Then why do you keep acting like that with her? I see it, Derek! You’re always laughing with her, touching her, like you’re… like you’re taking my place.”

Derek sighed, finally starting to understand what was bubbling beneath the surface. “Alright, Reid. What’s going on? ‘Taking your place’? You know Hotch was the one who reassigned us all. It’s just work, man.”

Spencer huffed in frustration, his foot kicking at the loose gravel beneath him. His mind raced, emotions swirling, but he couldn’t seem to piece together a coherent response. He felt like a rubber band stretched too far, about to snap, and it wasn’t just about work. He knew that much.

Derek watched him closely, reading the tension in Spencer’s body, the unease in his eyes. “That’s not what you meant, though, is it?” Derek questioned carefully, his tone soft but pressing for the truth.

Spencer’s shoulders tensed even further, his head dipping slightly as he tried to find the right words. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice shaky with frustration. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to confront what was really bothering him. But he also couldn’t stand feeling like this—watching from the sidelines, seeing you with Derek, seeing you laugh and smile like he wasn’t even part of your life anymore.

Derek took a step closer, lowering his voice so only Spencer could hear. “There’s more, isn’t there?” he asked, but he wasn’t accusing. He was just trying to get Spencer to open up, to confront whatever it was that had him spiraling.

Spencer clenched his fists at his sides, staring at the ground as his heart pounded. “I… I didn’t mean for there to be,” he admitted quietly, his voice strained. “It’s just… I don’t know how to be around her anymore. Everything’s different, and I—I don’t know how to fix it.”

Derek nodded slowly, understanding dawning. “You care about her. More than you’re letting on.”

Spencer’s silence was answer enough. He cared about you deeply—more than he had ever allowed himself to admit, even to himself. And now, watching you get closer to Derek while he kept his distance, it felt like he was losing you, piece by piece.

“I don’t know what happened in that warehouse," Derek began, his voice steady and understanding. "I read the report, but I’m sure there were some forgotten details… stuff that can’t be put into words.” He paused for a moment, giving Spencer a chance to process what he was saying. “If there’s something you need to tell her, just do it, Reid. Y/N isn’t the type to laugh at you or shut you out.”

Spencer sniffled, the tears coming against his will, his emotions too raw to hold back any longer. “I... I know that,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the strain. He wiped at his eyes, feeling small and overwhelmed. “I just want to go back to how things were,” he complained softly, his words sounding almost petulant, like a child wanting to undo what couldn’t be undone.

Derek’s heart softened at Spencer’s admission. He had seen this kind of pain before, knew how trauma could twist things, how it could fracture even the strongest of bonds. “That’s not gonna happen, kid,” Derek said with sympathy, shaking his head gently. “What happened to the two of you… that changes people. It changes the way you see the world, and it changes how you see each other.”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words sink in. He knew Derek was right. He knew things had changed, that he had changed, and so had you. But hearing it made the ache in his chest sharper, more real.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t rebuild together,” Derek added, his voice hopeful. “It’s not about going back to how things were, Spencer. It’s about moving forward—together. You’ve both been through hell, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. You still have a chance.”

Spencer looked up at Derek, his eyes filled with uncertainty and vulnerability. “What if… what if it’s too late?”

Derek shook his head, giving Spencer’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s only too late if you give up on her. Don’t wait until you lose her for good before you try to fix things. You care about her, Reid. She needs to hear that from you.”

Spencer took a deep breath, nodding slightly, though the fear still gnawed at him. He didn’t know if he was ready, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. He had to find the courage to face you, to face what had changed, and to see if there was still a chance to rebuild the connection he had feared was lost forever.

After their tense conversation outside the bar, Spencer headed home, deciding it was best not to linger. He didn’t want to ruin your night by bringing up anything uncomfortable, and the idea of watching you dance with Derek—or worse, with other men—was too much for him. The weight of jealousy and regret was already suffocating, and he needed space to figure out what he was really feeling.

It turned out to be a good thing he left when he did. After Spencer and Derek stepped outside, you were approached by a very handsome, very suave man. He had an easy charm about him, the kind that made conversation flow effortlessly. His flirtatious smile and smooth lines quickly caught your attention, and for the first time in a while, you felt yourself relax, enjoying the moment without overthinking it.

One drink turned into two, and before you knew it, the night had slipped away. The man offered to take you home, and in the haze of alcohol and the desire to forget the complicated feelings with Spencer, you agreed. You didn’t want to think about what had been left unsaid, about the tension between you and Spencer, or how much everything had changed.

That night, you went home with the charming stranger, eager to escape the weight of the unresolved emotions that had been building for weeks. But in the back of your mind, even as you tried to lose yourself in someone new, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just another way of avoiding what you were really feeling.

—

That one night started a fire inside you, one that you hadn’t realized had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long. The realization that—even if it was just for a fleeting moment—you were wanted, desired, was intoxicating. After everything that had happened with Spencer, after feeling rejected and unsure of yourself, it was refreshing to be wanted without complications or emotional baggage.

The feeling of being desired, even if only for one night at a time, ignited something within you. It gave you a sense of control, of freedom, and it felt good—so good—to be seen as someone worth chasing. So you leaned into it. You found your place in the hookup culture, where the rules were simple and the emotional weight was nonexistent. One night, one person, no strings attached.

And it was fun. The thrill of meeting someone new, the brief connection that didn’t require anything more than mutual attraction, gave you a rush. Sure, the expense of condoms and the constant reminder to stay on top of frequent STD testing was a minor annoyance, but it was worth it for the feeling of power and liberation that came with it.

You felt like you were finally getting your fix, like the hole that had been left after your complicated feelings with Spencer was being filled—albeit temporarily. It wasn’t about love or deep connection anymore. It was about reclaiming something for yourself, something you hadn’t realized you were missing. You had found an escape, and for now, that was enough.

But then, one day, you made a mistake—a slip of the tongue in the office. You weren’t necessarily trying to keep your new lifestyle a secret, but you hadn’t planned on making it common knowledge either. Your friends and coworkers didn’t need to know every detail of how you were trying to get over Spencer, how you had buried your hurt in casual flings to escape the complicated feelings lingering from the rejection.

It happened when Penelope asked about your weekend plans in the bullpen. You casually mentioned that you were busy, but the response sparked curiosity.

"Busy? With what?" JJ asked, her eyes narrowing playfully. As your close friend, she felt like she would have known if you had something going on. She sensed something was off.

You laughed awkwardly, realizing you had stepped into dangerous territory. "Uh, just... seeing a man."

Penelope's face lit up with excitement. "You have a date?" she asked, her glee impossible to hide.

"Not exactly..." you trailed off, hoping the conversation would end there, but you should’ve known better.

Derek, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. "Little miss thing, do you have a scheduled booty call?" he asked, his tone filled with mischief.

Your face flushed fiercely, the blush creeping up your neck. The small, involuntary smile on your lips gave you away instantly, and before you could protest, Penelope squealed with delight, while JJ chuckled in surprise.

"Oh my god!" Penelope exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. "You minx! Why didn’t you tell us?"

You tried to play it cool, shrugging lightly. "I mean, it’s nothing serious. Just… you know… having some fun."

But what you didn’t notice was Spencer, who had overheard the entire conversation from across the bullpen. His face paled, and his heart sank as the reality of your words hit him like a freight train. You were seeing other people. You were sleeping with other men, and it was painfully clear—you were trying to get over him.

The girl he had always wanted—you—had wanted him back. That truth crashed into him with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for, and the weight of it left him standing frozen, unable to process how much he had lost. Spencer felt the deep ache of regret, gnawing at him with every word you spoke to your friends. You had moved on—or at least, you were trying to. And it was all because of him, because he had pushed you away when you had been vulnerable, honest, and open with him.

At that moment, Spencer couldn’t deny it any longer. He finally admitted it to himself—he wants you. He likes you. Maybe he even loves you. He always has. 

The realization of what he had been running from all this time hit him harder than any unsub ever could. He had been too scared to face it, too afraid of messing things up between you, too unsure of how to handle his own feelings. But now, watching you laugh awkwardly with your coworkers about casual hookups and hearing how you were slipping further and further away from him, it became painfully clear—he had already messed things up. 

Spencer clenched his fists at his sides, his mind racing with the weight of what he'd been denying for so long. He wanted to be the one you turned to, the one you laughed with, the one you came home to after a long day. He wanted to be more than your friend, more than someone you used to be close to. He wanted you in his life, in every possible way.

—

Spencer had always been on your speed dial—back when things were simpler, back when you called him almost every day, your friendship close and easy. So when his phone buzzed after 11 p.m. on a Saturday, his first instinct wasn’t concern. But after everything that had happened between the two of you lately, the timing made him uneasy. This wasn’t normal anymore. He hadn’t heard from you in weeks, not like this, and certainly not at this hour.

His heart pounded as he grappled for the phone, his mind racing. If you were calling him this late, something had to be wrong. He didn’t hesitate for a second, fumbling to answer as quickly as possible, already imagining the worst. “Y/N?” he called out into the phone, his voice tense with worry. “Y/N, are you okay?”

But instead of your voice answering, what he heard stopped him cold.

It was faint at first, a muffled noise, but as he strained to listen, the unmistakable sounds of… pain? groaning? It left him on edge, his panic rising. His mind raced, thinking the worst—had you been hurt? Were you in danger? He called your name again, louder, more frantic this time. “*Y/N!*”

But still, no response from you. Just the sounds, growing clearer, louder.

And then, it hit him like a punch to the gut. Through the haze of sounds on the other end, he heard a man’s voice, moaning your name.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat as realization dawned painfully, his stomach twisting. You hadn’t called him on purpose. You had buttdialled him during a hookup. The groans, the noises that he had thought were of pain—they weren’t what he had feared. They were… something entirely different.

His hands shook as he stared at the phone, the pit in his stomach growing. He could hear everything, the intimacy, the passion—things that weren’t meant for him, things he should never have been privy to. The knowledge of what was happening, of who was with you right now, left him reeling.

He hung up, the phone slipping from his grasp onto the bed. Spencer sat there, stunned, trying to process what had just happened. It was the harshest reminder of what he had lost, of what he had pushed away. You were moving on. You were finding comfort in someone else. And here he was, on the other end of a phone call that was never meant to be made.

For the first time, Spencer felt the full weight of what he had done. He had pushed you away, too scared to face his own feelings, and now he was watching—no, hearing—you slip further away from him. The girl he had always wanted, the one who had wanted him, was now with someone else. And all he could do was sit there, helpless, with the sharp, bitter taste of regret heavy on his tongue.

—

You were blissfully unaware that you had called Spencer the night before. After a fun, carefree night with a man whose name you couldn’t even remember, you woke up feeling satisfied and content. It wasn’t until the next day, when you went to call Penelope, that your heart stopped. Staring at your call log, your eyes widened in horror as you saw the call to Spencer. A call that had lasted for several minutes. 

You quickly checked the time. It had definitely been when you and what’s his name were together. Oh god. A pit formed in your stomach as the realization hit you—did Spencer hear anything? Your mind raced, mortified by the idea. You hadn’t spoken to him much lately, and now, this? It was beyond awkward.

By Monday morning, you were terrified to face Spencer. The embarrassment gnawed at you, and the thought of seeing him after that accidental call made your stomach churn. When you arrived at the office, you tried to keep your head down, praying the situation would somehow blow over. But as soon as you made it to your desk, Spencer stormed over, his face set in a hard, unreadable expression.

“Y/N,” he said lowly, his voice tense, “a word.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You nodded silently, following Spencer into the hall, the weight of what you feared was coming making it hard to breathe.

Before he could speak, you blurted out, “Listen, Spencer, I’m sorry—” You didn’t even know how to finish the sentence, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was grappling with something—whether to be angry, hurt, or simply frustrated. “You called me,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else you couldn’t quite place. “I heard... a lot.”

Your heart sank even further. He did hear. “Spencer, I didn’t mean for that to happen,” you said quickly, desperate to explain. “It was an accident. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Just…” Spencer interrupted, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away, clearly uncomfortable. His voice was quieter now, but the tension between you was palpable. “Please don’t do that again. It was horribly uncomfortable.”

You winced, guilt washing over you. The last thing you had ever wanted was to make Spencer feel that way. “I’m really sorry, Spencer,” you said, softer this time. “I didn’t realize I had called you. If I had known...”

He nodded, still avoiding your gaze. “I know. It’s just… hearing that, knowing what was happening, it was…” He trailed off, the words hanging unfinished in the air.

"It was what?" you pressed, sensing that Spencer was leaving something unsaid, something important.

Spencer glanced away, his expression tense, and then, as if the weight of his feelings could no longer be held back, he blurted it out. "I was jealous, okay?"

You blinked in disbelief. “Jealous?” The word left your mouth before you could stop it, confusion swirling in your mind. How could he be jealous after everything that had happened between you two?

“Yeah, Y/N,” he sighed, finally meeting your eyes, the vulnerability in his gaze clear now. “I was jealous.”

You shook your head, still baffled by his confession. “Spencer, you rejected me,” you reminded him, your voice sharper than you intended. The hurt from that moment still stung, and hearing him say he was jealous felt like a twisted irony.

“I know,” he said quickly, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know I did, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle what you said or what I was feeling, and I pushed you away. But hearing you with someone else, knowing you’ve moved on… it hit me harder than I expected.”

You stood there, staring at him, processing his words. Part of you wanted to lash out, to remind him of how much his rejection had hurt you. But another part of you, the part that had always cared for Spencer, softened at the sight of him so open, so raw with his emotions.

“Spencer…” you started, your voice gentler now, “you don’t get to be jealous. Not after everything. You made your choice.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes full of regret. “And it was the wrong choice. I didn’t realize how much I wanted you—until it was too late.”

There was a pause as his words hung in the air between you.

“Well, I’m sorry it took you so long to realize it,” you said, the hurt still lingering in your voice despite the calm exterior you tried to maintain.

Spencer nodded slowly, his expression full of regret. “Me too,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at you then, his eyes filled with all the things he hadn’t been able to say before, the weight of his hesitation clear now that the truth was out.

The silence between you stretched on for a moment, heavy with everything that had gone unsaid for so long. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on you, the hurt and confusion swirling around inside your chest. This was what you had wanted once—to hear Spencer admit that he had made a mistake. But now that it was happening, it didn’t feel as satisfying as you thought it would.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Spencer continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings. And now I’m scared I’ve lost you for good.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was no quick fix for what had happened between you. His apology was genuine, but the damage had already been done.

“I don’t know what to say, Spencer,” you admitted. “I’m not going to pretend like this doesn’t hurt, or that everything can just go back to how it was.”

“I understand,” he said softly, looking down at the floor. “I don’t expect things to go back to the way they were. I just… I wanted you to know how I feel. And that I’m sorry.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I appreciate that. But this doesn’t change everything.”

“I know,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours once more. “But maybe… maybe it’s not too late to figure it out. If you’re willing.”

You hesitated, the rawness of the conversation still fresh. You didn’t know if you could open that door again—not yet. But maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

“We’ll see, Spencer,” you said softly. “We’ll see.”

And with that, the conversation hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, but with the faintest glimmer of hope.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic

[fanaticsnail]

Exhibitionism: Trafalgar Law

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word Count: 4,100+

Themes: Law x afab!reader, mdni, NSFW, 18+, smut, fingering, praise, public, no prior relationship, masturbation, education, medical malpractice, (witnesses present: Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo), consent asked multiple times, medical talk, vaginal exam.

Notes: This is day 2 of my celebration event. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, please excuse any inaccuracies.

When Ikkaku approached you with a coin from your captain’s prized collection, your brows knit together in puzzlement. She had this look in her eye, one that held something hidden behind her usual disgruntled expression that held you intrigued. Head lulling to the side, she pursed her lips and asked you her question.

“Heads or tails?”

Shaking your head softly, you gave her more of a confused smile than anything else. With a soft shrug, and an assumption in your mind regarding chore rotation, you simply pouted while uttering your answer.

“Tails, I guess?”

With a mischievous smirk, Ikkaku flicked the shiny object in the air with a skilled roll of her thumb. Catching it mid-air, she swatted it and held it firmly within a cupped grip on her forearm. Eyes darting between yours, her smile grew ever wider the longer she held your attention.

“Don't want to reconsider?” she taunted you, “Last chance to change your answer, hon. Still going with tails?”

“I like my odds, and tails is my favorite” you smile warmly at her, “They're always more intricately carved, and their patterns are pretty.” She nods, tugging away her hand and revealing the side facing the roof of the tang to you both.

“Would you look at that! You win,” she chuckled, reaching the coin forward and gently offering it out for you to take, “Give this to the captain when you go on in to see him. He's expecting one of us, and I'm so fucking glad it's you.” She seemed to breathe out a sigh of relief at that last statement, her cheeks falling a little as she feels a weight flee from her shoulders.

You cocked your head at her response, darting your eyes between hers before you apprehensively took the coin from her hands.

“What the fuck did I just agree to?” you giggle a little, unsure of what would phase your crewmate so much that she'd breathe out this much relief, “Some sick and twisted chore?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that,” she giggled, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze, “Captain needed a volunteer for a lesson he wanted to teach some of the crew, is all.” She gently waved you off, giving you that grin filled with mischief that had your skin ignite with goose flesh.

Shrugging off your nerves, you ponder what mysterious lesson needed your person in that only you or Ikkaku would be able to serve under.

Whatever you concocted in your mind, nothing prepared you for where you found yourself. Splayed out in the medical bay, legs in stirrups, and made comfortable by pillows tucked behind your head, and a weighted blanket kindly placed over your stomach to grant you some comfort within the issue at hand: Captain Trafalgar Law was giving three of the crew a lesson on anatomy. Your body as his guide, he had his nylon gloves tugged over his wrists as he gently pointed out several areas of your pussy to your crewmates.

“The labia majora and the labia minora are a part of what is commonly referred to as ‘the vulva’,” Law’s low tone and dry voice caused you to internally shake your head and roll your eyes, but externally remaining still so he could deliver more of his lecture, “This also includes the urethra, vagina, and glans clitoris. Any questions?”

“What is the main function of the clitoris?” Bepo’s voice bashfully rose his question through a shy mumble, “What does it do?” Snickers from Shachi and Penguin were hastily silenced by a look Law shot them, his eyes piercing them more precisely than his blade ever could.

“The clitoris is where most owners of vaginas often source their pleasure,” Law explained without fluctuation in his cadence, “For many, it is the most common cornerstone of their orgasm. Only a small fraction is external, the majority of the clitoris is internal. Stimulating the clitoris is usually the final leg to achieving an orgasm. Any other questions, or should I move on-?”

“-The fuck you mean it's internal? Like the G-spot?” Shachi spoke over Law, cutting him off and relating his concern. Law sighed, clamping his eyes shut and taking a small breath of agitation.

“Both yes, and no. It's currently under debate as to what part of the network the G-spot is: whether it's a part of the vagina, or if it's the underside of the clitoris,” Law spoke, resting his hand on your exposed thigh.

You try not to tense up as you stare at the ceiling and think on the dinner menu, the cleaning rotation, the timetable for overnight shift, and what time to set your alarm in the morning. Anything other than four of your crewmates staring at your pussy, and attempting to ignore the way your Captain's authoritarian dictation was affecting you. Anything other than the embarrassment of getting aroused at each soft and intentional poke and prod to your cunt, paired with the dry delivery of medical speech.

“Now, let's talk internally,” Law cut through the silence, gently moving his warm hands towards your core and using the heels of his palm to divide your walls and expose your entrance. “The alley towards the cervix-.”

“-Captain, I'm sorry to interrupt your lecture,” Bepo’s voice spoke quietly once more, “But I have more questions about the clitoris. When you say it's the most common source for the orgasm, can you explain anything else about it? I-... I just want to learn, I'm sorry.” You purse your lips and attempt to suppress a soft coo at Bepo’s sweetness.

Law was less enthusiastic about the interruption, but halted his explanation to satisfy the curiosity of the polar-bear mink.

“The clitoris has three parts to it,” you felt his hands move up, the heel of his palm at the base of your abdomen, pushing up the skin and exposing more of you to your crewmates, “See here? I’m pushing the clitoral hood back to reveal this smaller organ hidden beneath? That is an extremely sensitive part of the vaginal anatomy. When stimulated, the vagina will self-lubricate to allow easier entry internally.”

You could barely breathe, thankful for the security the weighted blanket offered you to anchor you to the table and prevent you from fleeing from sheer embarrassment. Taking a few steady breaths in, you attempted to keep yourself calm as you shoved away the feeling of an almost touch to your sensitive bundle of nerve-endings from your captain.

Sensing your unease, Law drew his other hand to your thigh and gave you a gentle tap in appreciation of your willingness as his assistant. While he would never say it, he hoped you were the one to agree to this little display instead of Ikkaku. He wouldn't have heard the end of her sass, and you were far easier to ask to follow obscure orders from time to time.

“Sir, when you say ‘self lubricate,’ can you explain what that means-?” Bepo asked quietly once more, prompting you to let out a soft cough to cover a nervous laugh. Law seemed to notice your nerves, gently checking in with you before he did anything without consent. With the gentle call of your name, he broke you from your thoughts and coaxed your eyes to meet his.

“Would you mind if I demonstrated a little bit about how lubrication is produced?” His question seemed the most straight forward to ask the most abstract concept you could ever hope to agree to.

Your captain, Trafalgar D Water Law: former warlord of the seas, and titled the surgeon of death, was asking for permission to get you wet in front of your crewmates. With a soft warmth illuminating your cheeks, you felt compelled to nod. You did not want to disappoint your captain, and having him so close to your intimate region was driving you to the brink of your self control.

“If you deem it necessary, and are prepared to, Captain. I won't stop you,” you responded, checking in with him to ensure he was comfortable with demonstrating this in front of his subordinates. While you were the one about to be made aroused in front of your crew, your captain was going to be the one to do it.

“Alright,” Law nodded down at you, again while giving your thigh a soft squeeze, “Thank you. You're an excellent assistant, and I appreciate you for doing this.”

Managing to give him a soft nod, you lay back and fixed your eyes on the silver roof of the Polar Tang’s med bay as you felt your captain's hand shift towards your pussy. Gently holding your pelvis up with the heel of his palm, he exposed your clit by pulling back the hood.

“Where most partners, once knowing where the clitoris is and what it does, would go charging in towards it,” Law spoke while the warmth of his hands moved towards your pearly bud, “You must only be kind to it. Gentle motions: either up and down,” your breath hitched as his fingers made contact with your clit, his motions following his instructions.

“You can also go side to side,” he rolled your clit with his index finger, your dry pussy now weeping with a small amount of arousal pooling at the entrance, “Or in a circular motion. Like so,” his wrist shifted, using both his index and unity finger to stimulate your clit. You continued to stare up at the ceiling, attempting to fight the way your body was responding to your captain and compartmentalize the feeling of his hands on your body.

“And now you see, there's a little bit of lubrication at the entrance,” his hands darted down, collecting a small amount of your slick, and raising his hand up to the light. “This is an indication of arousal, and will often pave the way for penatritive sex for those who enjoy it.” Law finished, bringing his hand away from your pussy and letting it throb in front of your crewmates.

“Now that we've got it wet, is there any other quest-,” Law’s words were stolen from him when Bepo interjected, much to both Shachi and Penguin's delight.

“-When you say ‘penatritive sex,’ do you mean when a penis goes in? I am so sorry,” Bepo added, his apologies directed at you, alongside his heartfelt gratitude, “I just want to learn. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.” Before Law had a moment to reprimand Bepo, you spoke up calmly and sweetly.

“No, it's okay Bepo. It's actually refreshing that you want to learn this,” you raise your head and give him a soft smile, “If you have a partner with these parts in future, I know they would appreciate you knowing how to satisfy them. Sorry for interrupting, sir. I won't do it again.” You turn your attention towards Law, offering him a soft smile before returning to your reclined position against the bay.

Law, despite his stoic exterior, attempted to ignore the twitch in his pants each time you called him ‘sir’ while being so close to your pussy. ‘It was all in the name of knowledge and medical education,’ he told himself, ‘Nothing more.’

“Penetrative sex, Bepo, can be with foreign objects, including: hands, tongue, tools, and another person’s anatomy that fits within,” he relayed, gently bringing his hands back to your pussy and massaging your clit once more. “The only thing you need to think about is how aroused they are when entering. So, you see how there's a little amount of lubrication at the center?”

Law lined up his tallest finger with your core, gently carding through your folds and rubbing your slit. Slowly inching his fingertip within your pussy, he listened for that gentle hiccup in your breathing that shot lightning straight to his cock. He clamped his eyes shut to take a moment of composure, focussing his attention on the way his gloved finger disappeared into your pussy, and continued.

“So now we've got our partner lubricated enough to enter,” he pressed a little more firmly, more of his finger disappeared upwards within your pussy, “It goes in with ease. In a gentle rocking motion, we can use our hand and fingers to draw out pleasure.” Law continued to press more of his finger within your pussy, trying not to groan at the way it swallowed his digit with a greediness he did not anticipate. He could feel how hot and wet you were through the glove, and it made him almost want to dismiss the three from the room and claim you on the table.

“Now, if we're satisfied with this,” Law continued rocking you on his hand, his attention now turning towards Shachi, Bepo and Penguin, “I could now talk about performing cervical testing and pap smears, like I intended in the beginning-.”

“-Once the entrance is lubricated enough,” Bepo again spoke up, “Should the clitoris be ignored? It's far from the opening, and I could imagine it hard to reach.” Law sighed, turning back towards you while his finger was still buried within your center to the knuckle.

“I am so sorry,” he offered you, his eyes empathetic while he choked back his anger at the line of questions, “Would… Would you mind if I made you cum? I don't want to make you uncomfortable, and I would only be doing it for the benefit of answering all of the follow up questions that I know will come from my brief explaiations.” Law gave you a few short rocks of his hand within your pussy, causing you to bite back a moan that he so easily could have ripped from you.

“If-...” you hissed, feeling more of the pressure returning to your abdomen the longer his hands remained focussing on your pussy. “If you think it's necessary, sir. I am at your mercy, and I will leave it up to you to decide how far you want to take this in the name of educational curiosity. Anything you need, I'm here to assist, sir.”

“Very well,” Law offered with a soft, cocky snicker in his tone, “I'm going to demonstrate a little bit of what I know about anatomy. Please just relax, let me take the reins, and tap my arm to stop me if it gets too much.”

“Yes, sir,” you nod, closing your eyes as you relax against the bay and gulping back your nerves, “Thank you, Captain.” You try to ignore the way you knew four sets of eyes were now fixed on the way your pussy sucked in Law’s finger as he dove it in and retracted it out.

“Okay, now that we're both consenting individuals for this small display, I'm going to demonstrate how to induce an orgasm from our willing crewmate here,” Law nodded to the other three, “You signed up for learning how to complete cervical screening, not learning how to deliver an orgasm. I am happy to cover them while you leave if you do not want-.”

“-Nope!”

“-Nuh uh, I'm good!”

“-I want to learn, Captain.”

You almost wanted to scream at the awkward tension in the room, feeling yourself slink back into the comfort of your shell and hide from them. Just as you were about to speak, Law drew his thumb up and began to gently roll your clit in slow and circular motions. Each time he drew his finger inside your pussy, he would match it with a soft roll of your clit beneath his thumb.

“This act is called ‘fingering’,” he added, likely for Bepo’s benefit while he continued to motion with his hands further, “While few partners enjoy being stimulated either internally or externally, I find the combination of the two actions gets a far greater result. See how much more lubrication freely falls from the entrance?” Law removed his finger from your pussy and held it up to the other three before returning it back to your slit.

“Now, I'm going to add a second finger to the mix,” he nodded, gently bringing his unoccupied hand up to the top of your thigh and giving it a small, appreciative squeeze, “I prefer using my two middle fingers, like so.” He lines up his fingers and gently eases them in your drooling pussy, rolling them against each other to stretch out your entrance.

“This leaves our index finger, pinky finger, and thumb free, so we can use them to-...” he draws his index finger and pinky against your labia and spreads it, his thumb returning to your clit and gently tapping on it with every in-thrust, “...Gently pry apart the vagina so we can see what we're doing, while using our thumb to stimulate the clitoris.”

Scrunching your eyes tightly shut, you used your top teeth to clamp hard on your lower lip to halt a wanton moan from falling from your lips. You couldn't, however, halt the way your back arched on the medical bay as your thighs began to tremble at the amount of pleasure your captain was ripping from you.

“Based on this reaction from our partner, how should I proceed?” he offered the other three, “See how they've arched their back, and their legs had began to twitch a little? This is the telltale sign that, regardless of the silence or not, they are enjoying what we are doing. Should I continue like this, speed up, or slow down?”

“I think we should slow down, draw it out a little more, and take our time with it,” Penguin offered in contemplation, “Withhold it a little to prolong the orgasm and build it up to a larger release.”

“I think we should stay at the same pace,” Bepo suggested, his tone more apprehensive, “Our partner seems to like it, and I would not want to disappoint them by changing what I'm doing in case they don't like it as much.”

“I think we should speed it up, hook our hands up, spit on it a little bit to add more lubrication, and see if we can make them squirt,” Shachi shrugged, uttering it is if it was the most obvious choice, “Use our tongue too, suck on the clit a little bit and make them get a little loud and nasty-.”

“-Keep up the language, Shachi, and I'll have you used as an example of what a prostate exam is,” Law’s warning tone, alongside his coaxing fingers had you whimpering. Your eyes floated open, eyelashes fluttering as he kept a steady rhythm on your pussy, and drawing out your pleasure with ease.

“While these are good suggestions, what we're missing is collecting preference from the one person that truly matters,” Law nodded to them, turning back his attention to you, “You're doing so well. Thank you for letting me do this. Would you prefer I slow down, speed up, or keep talking at the same pace while I change it up?” You gulp at his attention now returned to you, trying to compartmentalize the pleasure while communicating with your captain.

“I-...” you close your eyes, fighting a soft whimper at the way his hand manages to press against your most intimate regions and erogenous zones with the precision of a marksman hitting their target. Without much thought to the action, you couldn't help the words that fell from your lips.

“Please make me cum, captain. Please speed up a little bit, add some more pressure to my clit, and focus more on where your fingers touch me internally,” your soft plea was made with an almost innocent and begging look from your rounded eyes, “Please make me cum. I n-need to cum. Please, sir? Please?”

“Fuck,” a soft whisper from behind Law almost tore you away from your thoughts, Shachi’s hand moving to the front of his boiler suit and adjusting his hardening cock by pinching at the fabric. Law had no time to reprimand him, his entire attention focussed on you the moment your first utter of ‘please’ escaped your lips. Law sped up his motions, hooking up his digits and circling your clit with his thumb.

“Like this? I can feel the way you twitch around me when I push here. But if I push here,” Law moved his hand slightly up, leaning his body closer to yours while his hand was pressed on the base of your pelvis. Moving your hood back with his hand as he did earlier, he exposed more of your clit and spread your slick over your quivering pearl while his motions picked up, “I can stimulate all the parts of your clit at once. Do you like that?”

“Yes, please!” your back bowed as you felt your orgasm grow and bloom in your abdomen, “Please don't stop, captain! Please make me cum!” The fact your crewmates were watching as you were brought to your peak on Law's hands escaped you, your body responding to each rake of his fingers deep within your needy cunt.

“Fu-uck,” another whisper echoed from behind you, this time from Penguin who was clutching his clipboard closer to his chest and pressing his thighs close together.

“You can cum. Cum for me. Cum on my fingers,” Law kept his eyes on your face, continuing to beckon your orgasm from you while raising the intensity and speed of his motions. You felt the coil within your abdomen begin to wind tightly bound, your toes beginning to twitch and curl while your legs dug in against the stirrups.

“Nnnngh-... f-fuck-!” Back fully arching off the table, your lips parted in a silent cry as your pussy began to flutter around Law’s fingers. Both “A” and “T” continued to disappear into your pussy, his relentless stimulation of your clit pushing you from that ledge as you floated off into oblivion.

“There you go, there you go,” Law encouraged you, slowing down his motions as he felt you contract and pulse around his digits, “Good job. Look at you, cumming on my fingers. That's it, keep going.” You couldn't help but let out a higher whine at his praise as he continued to draw out your ecstasy with his skilled hands. He easily ushered you through it, careful to not overstimulate you as he draws you closer to your conclusion.

Feeling the last few waves of your pussy pulsing over his fingers, he holds them within, right down to the knuckle. He felt selfish in lingering longer than necessary, but he needed to feel you just that little bit longer as you panted and heaved through that high.

“So, you see how I slowed down as our partner experienced their orgasm?” Law slowly withdrew his fingers from your pussy, feeling the way it attempted to suck him back within and made him feel like internally groaning at the action, “Why did I do that?”

The room was in pregnant silence, nobody speaking a word, nor raising their hands to indicate their answers. With a soft roll of his eyes and a sigh, Law reached up and removed the elastic of his gloves with a snap over his wrists, breaking the men from their trance.

“To not overstimulate our partner. When the vagina experiences an orgasm, it is far more intense than the penis,” Law discarded the gloves into the bin and gently placed the blanket to cover up your exposed cunt, “The body doesn't feel it at just the abdomen, it feels it everywhere. If you keep it sped up, it overstimulates them to a point where it can become painful in some people. Communication is key with our partner. Any questions?”

Through the small amount of silence, the small voice of the polar-bear spoke shyly.

“Thank you,” he gently praised through his gratitude, rolling your name over his tongue with a blush dusting his white fur, “I appreciate you showing us this, and answering a lot of questions I was going to have before I asked them.”

You keep your eyes fixed on the roof as you raise up your hand. Extending your thumb, you gently squeak out through panting breaths: “Happy to help.”

While remaining composed and professional through the entirety of the ordeal, Trafalgar Law was far from unmoved by your display. He heard your whines for him, saw your back bowing and hips bucking, and remembered the way your pussy quivered against his fingers through each wave of your bliss. When he was alone in his quarters, he couldn't help but to bite his palm hard to muffle the keening cries of his bliss while fisting his cock to the memory. Ropes of cum spurting from his slit while he pictured the way your pussy would feel in the cusps of ecstasy atop his cock.

With the soft cry of your name muffled by his palm, he chased his high past overstimulation while picturing your begging. Eyes rolling, he bucked up into his balled fist while falling from a secondary edge of his own. He was desperate to feel you again: taste you, kiss you, consume you, worship you with his body against your own. All he could do was harden his resolve, charge up to you, and confess his adoration to you…

…Right after he cleaned up his mess.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

🎶Happy Birthday to Me🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[wildwestdean]

repose

based on a request made by @chevroletdean! 🤍

a/n: this is a repost, because i tried to edit the main post when half asleep but my dumb ass deleted it instead 😭

summary: you catch a cold while out on a hunt with dean. you refuse to take it easy once back at the bunker, so he takes matters into his own hands to try and help you recover - even if it means bribing you into finally getting some rest

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 2.6k+

warnings: some mentions of violence/mutilation in the beginning, established relationship, stubborn reader, reader puts her own health on the back burner, reader doesn't like to feel useless, reader won't take her meds, fluff, a touch of angst, minor swearing, protective dean, worried dean, dean goes full caretaker mode, dean just really loves reader, briefest mention of clothes being taken off, reader gets carried around, more fluff

Dean knew it was a bad idea. 

He knew he should’ve tried harder to stop you, but really, what was he supposed to do? The suspect was about to get away, and you were too stubborn in your ways once you set your mind to something. All he could do was watch as you ran out the door, quickly disappearing within the sheets of freezing rain that were falling while he cursed to himself. 

His first thought wasn’t a declaration of fear that the suspect might get a drop on you. No, despite your appearance, your skills were rivalled only by those of Sam and Dean themselves; they taught you everything you knew, after all. Instead, shockingly, the first thought to cross his mind was: she’s going to catch a cold. 

Hurrying after you, you two easily managed to apprehend the suspect to haul him back to the warehouse for questions, all while Dean grumbled about how you should’ve stayed put and let him deal with it; a rant that only earned him a roll of your eyes in return. You didn’t venture out very far, and while it did feel like you were soaked straight through to the bone, the warehouse was growing closer and would soon offer respite from the downpour - his worrying, like usual, would end up being over nothing. 

Yet the chill you were met with once back in the warehouse almost had you regretting your choice, and had it not been for the sickening grin you were given by the douchebag that Dean was currently tying to a rickety chair, you probably would have. You were convinced it was even colder in here than outside; but you refused to let Dean in on that fact.

He didn’t pick up on it right away, focusing solely on extracting the answers that were buried behind the soulless eyes he glared into. He always enjoyed taking his time when it came to things like this, letting the fear and dread settle in their hearts as he threatened to carve into skin or chop off extremities. It was fun, really, and he was enjoying it right up until you decided to pitch in, voicing your own threat of cutting off a very precious body part piece by little piece.

As soon as the words left your mouth, Dean took on a new sense of urgency to get the information you two needed. You could see it in every choice he made: how his pacing quickened, how his voice got darker and tighter while his patience drained away, how he stopped giving warning before his knife dove into flesh. 

You knew he was suddenly in a hurry to wrap this all up, but what you didn’t know was why. You didn’t know that when you spoke, Dean heard the waver in your voice, the quiet chatter of your teeth as you shivered from the cold. You didn’t think it was noticeable, but when it came to you, there was nothing Dean wouldn’t notice. 

With the increase of effort and decrease of delicacy, it wasn’t much longer until Dean finally got what he needed, and he plunged his knife through skin and muscle one final time before eagerly leading you from the warehouse.

“Wait here,” he requested, gently tugging you back just before you could step outside. 

“What, why?” you asked, silently amazed at how warm his palm felt on your arm despite being just as drenched as you were. “We need to finish up.”

“Just wait here,” he repeated, running out into the darkness before you could even reply. 

Left confused in his wake, all you could do was stand there and wait for him to return, trying to ignore the way your whole body wanted to tremble in response to the frigid air. You really, really longed for a hot shower right now, and the fact you knew you needed to dispose of this body somewhere out in this storm made tears threaten to spill over onto your still dampened face. 

The sight of Baby’s headlights cutting through the curtain of rain was like a breath of fresh air to you, and you yearned to just curl up on her front seat while the heat blasted from the dash. 

“One step at a time,” you told yourself. “Take care of the body, then you can warm up on the drive back.” 

Dean made it clear he had other plans in mind when he pulled up as close to the door as possible, leaving the engine running as he ran back over to you. 

“Heat’s on,” he declared, shaking some excess water from his jacket. “Lock yourself inside, I shouldn’t be too long.” 

“Too long doing what?” you asked, totally lost. 

He looked just as confused as you were, not understanding what you didn’t understand. 

“Getting rid of the body,” he declared after a moment, as though it were completely obvious. 

“You’re not doing that alone,” you argued in bewilderment. 

“Yes I am,” he argued back. 

“Dean-” you wanted to argue some more, but he cut you off by taking your face in his palms. 

“Even the screams couldn’t cover up the sound of your knees knockin’ together,” he teased. “Go wait in the car, baby. If you don’t go willingly, I’ll gladly toss you in.” 

You had the urge to say no, wanting to be useful and help him, but you backed down when you saw the look in his eyes.

“Fine,” you agreed, sighing in defeat. “But if you’re not back soon, I will be coming to find you,” you warned. 

Dean grinned in triumph as he planted a kiss on your forehead. “Understood,” he confirmed, guiding you to the car before heading off to carry out his mission. 

It wasn’t until a few days later, when you finally made it back to the bunker, that you realized maybe Dean’s worrying hadn’t been over nothing after all. Despite having the heat cranked all the way up in every motel room, those worn down radiators could really only do so much. The piercing winds would seep through the meekly insulated windows, finding you even under the feigned safety of blankets and tight embrace of Dean; not to mention there being no way to avoid the icy blows whenever you made stops along the road. The sheer lack of sleep you got due to rushing back home seemed to be the final nail in the coffin, and your body was too exhausted to fight off the inevitable. 

It started as a tickle in your throat, which resulted in you continuously chugging back tea and honey; honey that Cas was extremely thrilled to provide you with. Dean was quick to notice you started doing this, and took it upon himself to bring you a mug whenever you were tied up with Sam and looking into some lore, or tirelessly helping Jack understand his latest discovery of the day. 

When the tickle in your throat developed into you having a full blown cough, he bought you your favourite cough drops, keeping an eye on them to make sure you didn’t run out. Though when they seemed to not be enough, he made sure to get you some cough syrup, too. 

He did his best to make sure you didn’t do too much, but asking you to take things easy was like asking a baby not to cry. It just wasn’t going to happen. You had the constant need to be productive, to be helpful. Feeling a little under the weather wasn’t going to change that. Him getting you to see a doctor was nothing short of a miracle, and the fact you were just about as stubborn as him was nearly ironic; he would laugh about it if he wasn’t so worried about you. 

His worry only magnified tenfold when he went to check on you one night, only to find your room empty. He tried convincing you to let him stay with you like usual, but you didn’t want him to get sick, too. He was really regretting not pushing back on that more, now that he found you in the library, lost in a pile of books; he had to take a breath to compose himself before speaking. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, approaching the table. 

“Research,” you croaked, eliciting another coughing fit. 

“Research?” he baulked. “For what? And why now?” 

You coughed once more, chugging down the rest of your tea before replying. “T’help Sammy. Couldn’sleep anyway,” you sniffled, words jumbled together from congestion.  

Dean sighed heavily, taking a seat beside you. “You didn’t even try to sleep, did you?” 

The lack of response from you told him everything he needed to know. 

“Alright, come on,” he announced, reaching for the book you were reading. 

Your reaction time was definitely slower than usual, but you still managed to pull the book out of his reach just in time. “No.” 

Knowing it would be a losing battle, and that it would probably cause more harm than good to just toss you over his shoulder and carry you to your room, he got up with a huff and left. You assumed he was angry, and felt a little guilty for upsetting him when he was just looking out for you, but you knew you were fine enough to carry on with this for a while longer.  

The last thing you currently expected was for him to return with a bowl of your favourite soup, leftover from when he made some for you earlier, and another large mug of tea, placing them on the free space in front of you before sitting back down. 

“If you wanna be helpful, then you’re gonna sit there and eat while I look for whatever the hell it is we’re looking for,” he ordered, easily snatching the book from you. 

“Fine,” you mumbled, picking up the spoon. “Bossy,” you added, hoping he didn’t see the smile playing on your lips as you feigned annoyance. 

He definitely did, but he kept it to himself as you gave him a cliff notes version of what you were looking into between spoonfuls of soup. 

You aren’t sure when it happened, but at some point between finishing the soup and drinking half the tea, you started to drift off; the warmth of his palm on your thigh and comfort of his soft rambling beside you lulling you to sleep. 

This time, Dean knew he would win the battle against you, and he carefully took you in his arms and carried you to bed, staying with you until morning.

Days had continued to go by, and you only seemed to be getting worse. Dean didn’t know what else to do and it was driving him mad - he couldn’t stand to see you like this anymore. 

He refused to take no as an answer now when it came to him doing things for you, and took over every task you tried to start. He followed you around, practically glued to your side, never letting you lift a finger and being a second pair of eyes when you did any research. 

Research that he tried to stop from coming in by threatening to break Sam’s legs if he didn’t quit bothering you for help, only to find out you were doing it of your accord. 

Even Jack had decided to stop coming to you for things until you were better, since he knew you’d never let him heal you.

Yet Dean knew it wasn’t enough. He knew you needed to just fucking lay down and rest. 

Waking up in the middle of the night to find your side of the bed empty once more, Dean stormed off towards the hub of the bunker as he shouted your name - he didn’t care if he woke everyone up at this point. 

He didn’t stop until he found you in the kitchen, frantically cleaning and completely unaware of his presence. 

“Baby?” he asked cautiously, hesitantly approaching you. 

“'m’not going back t’bed,” you told him, not even looking at him.

“Okay,” he said. “Why not?” 

“Too much t’do,” you replied simply, trying to breeze past him. 

“Hey, whoa,” he called, gently taking hold of your shoulders. “Look at me.” 

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, meeting his gaze after he forced your chin up.

He took note of your distant gaze and pale skin, practically burning under his touch. Suddenly, everything seemed to click into place. “You’re really not, sweetheart,” he determined, tucking your hair behind your ears. “You have a fever. Which means you haven’t even been taking your meds, have you?” 

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise at his question, before you averted your gaze in guilt. “No.” 

Dean wanted to be mad at you. Well, truthfully, Dean was mad at you. You’ve been doing seemingly everything you could to prevent yourself from recovering, while Dean was trying as hard as he could to help you. He wanted to yell at you, but more importantly, he just wanted to understand. 

“Why?” he asked gently, softly running his thumbs across the apples of your cheeks. 

“They make me groggy,” you told him.

“You mean they make you sleep,” he corrected, knowing what it was you wouldn’t say. “I don’t understand why you won’t let yourself rest.” 

You shrugged helplessly, feeling smaller than ever under his searching gaze. “I don’ like feelin’ useless.” 

“You’re not useless, baby. You’re sick,” Dean defended. 

“Still,” you said, not having a better argument. “I need t’help.”

“How about we make a deal?” he suggested, fully understanding how it feels to not want to lay around and not help with anything, all while everyone else seemed to scramble around.

“Like?” you wondered, lightly shoving him away so you wouldn’t sneeze on him. 

“Like,” he said, feeling more and more like this was the best idea. “You leave this mess as is, go take your medicine, and lay down with me.” 

“That’s not a deal,” you argued thickly. 

“I didn’t finish!” he said with a laugh. “You do that for me, and that disgustingly cheesy movie you love so much? Not only will I watch it with you from start to finish, but I won’t even make a single joke about it.” 

“But what about-” 

“Sam and I can handle the mess later,” he said with a sigh, already knowing what you would ask. 

“‘kay,” you sniffled. “Then deal.” 

“Good,” he grinned, not giving you a chance to change your mind and scooping you off your feet once more.

He made a stop at the bathroom first, so that he could help you freshen up and do your usual nightly routine. Lord knows he watched you do it enough times to know it step by step, and he was never more grateful for that than right now.

Once that was all taken care of, he took you to your room to get you fully settled for the night. He gently peeled off your lounge clothes to slip one of his clean sweatshirts over your head before tucking you into bed. He grabbed you a glass of water so you could take your medicine. He hunted down extra blankets to keep by the bed in case you got cold. He settled in beside you, setting up the movie as you nestled against his chest. 

It was barely even twenty minutes in by the time you were sleeping soundly in his arms. Dean smiled to himself, carefully landing a kiss on the top of your head as he carried on with the movie. 

He started to doze off about halfway through, and he knew in his heart that if this was the deal he’d have to make every night while you recovered, he’d gladly do so. There was definitely no shortage of these cheesy movies you loved, and there was nothing in the universe that mattered to him more than you and your wellbeing. 

Besides, even though he’d never admit, these romcoms you liked really weren’t half bad. 

taglist: @roseblue373, @redmaro86, @snowayumi, @iluvdeanwinchester, @winharry, @star-yawnznn, @jc-winchester

if you'd like to be added or removed from this list, please let me know!

(sorry for the double tag on this y'all, i'm stupid af lol)

[twinroomies]

"have him home by 9 i guess" in response to the selfship ask is peak btw. just want you to know that

Hahaha, well, that's what I had in the chamber when I got asked this question, so, I appreciate it. To get real with ya'll personally SEPERATELY from the main Twin Runes account, mainly because over here this IS my little area so I CAN say a bit more without it representing both Akane and I... WARNING: THINGS GET SERIOUS DOWN HERE

You know, it's interesting from my perspective to be in this position, right? Not to diss or put down "goatkisser" anon here as I'm gonna lovingly refer to them as, but you gotta understand, ya'll: when you're a writer you put a lot of YOURSELF, or your experiences into your characters, right? We've all had fictional crushes (if you have romantic or other types of feelings, if not: please disregard and also valid), we've ALL thought about Mega Man X from Mega Man X. This is a universal experience. Stop looking at me like that, but the point is: I MADE this Mega Man X. So it's just a little surprising. Good writing has vulnerability to it, and you expect people to laugh, to make light of, to critique parts of you that you put out there when you do that. You don't expect people to go "ah yes the homunculus of every America's Funniest Home Videos moment in your life made flesh. I would date that." That's the one that gets you, at least it got me. I don't wanna be John Funkiller, murderer of joy and whimsy, but like imagine you drew a comic yourself, and you had your character tell a story from YOUR LIFE of something funny that happened to or because of you, and then someone looked you dead in the eyes and said "I want to make out with them". That's… I mean, there are probably other parts to it beyond that story, maybe they just REALLY like his horns they ARE cool but you know that part of you is STILL THERE. There's also an element of: Okay, if I say yes, am I about to see someone go way too far with this? Chat, I'm a voice actor, I've had people upload my voice to websites so they could chat with characters I've played. Ever had a poorly written fanfiction robot attempt to flirt with you while having an existential crisis because you needed to hear enough of the voice back to confirm it was your own voice? I don't recommend it, I'd leave a bad yelp review.

Anyways, I'm GLAD people like Asriel, but to keep it a BUCK FIFTY WITH YA'LL, that's… I mean, look. How are you supposed to respond to that? 😅 Will I STOP YOU? No, but all of that is how I FEEL, the REAL PERSON, the NOT THE GOAT. Just remember though, that some of those stories you'll hear about the goat, start with me, or Akane, or people we know.

[futureperfectchanges]

H-Otter Whisky: Part 1 - The Twink

It was bear night at Infernos nightclub and the bartender took a moment to see how busy the club was. It was always packed on these nights as it was the main occasion where going shirtless, or at least showing a lot of flesh, was almost a requirement. So as well as the usual bears the night attracted anyone wanting to show off, from slim twinks gyrating on the dance floor to gym bros taking every opportunity to flex their muscles.

The bartender could see the various groups that had formed across the club, and was himself being kept company by another group - the barflys. These were the individuals who would come to the club on their own and then spend the night people watching from the bar. He could tell a lot of these men were shy and too nervous to head out into the club, but he wanted them to have a good time so would make an effort to talk to them whilst serving their drinks.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked to one of the barflys, a young looking twink who had been perched at the end of the bar watching the dance floor for the last hour.

"Just another beer please." came the reply.

"You going hit the dance floor in a bit?" the bartender asked trying to keep the conversation going whilst he poured out a beer.

"Oh, er, maybe later, i'm not a very good dancer."

"Well I think you'd be popular regardless of how well you dance - if you catch my drift." the bartender replied with a bit of wink, although the twink quickly went red and looked away. "Perhaps you just need something a bit stronger to give you some confidence?"

"I don't think any amount of confidence is going to work with the type of guys i'd like to dance with. Let's just say they would be looking for someone a bit more manly." the twink explained.

The bartender thought for a second and decided he'd try and help this guy out. He finished pouring out the beer, then opened a cabinet at the back of the bar and pulled out a bottle. "I might be able to help you with that actually. We got sent this bottle of H-Otter whisky from one of our more niche suppliers in Europe. They say it is guaranteed to put hairs on your chest. So how about a shot of that, on the house?"

"If only it were that easy, but I guess I can't turn down a free shot, so thank you very much."

The bartender measured out a shot and watched as the twink downed it in one. He had had a few bottles from this European supplier and knew they could be quite effective with regards to what they promised, so was curious to see what would happen.

The bartender saw the few hairs already on the twinks chest start to spread up towards his shoulders and then down to his navel. Within a matter of moments the guy had gone from a few whispers of hair in the centre of his pecs to a thick forest of curls covering his whole chest. That was quickly followed by hairs pushing out across the guy's face forming a dense scruffy beard. It looked like if he ever shaved he would struggle to avoid a persistent five o'clock shadow on his cheeks.

The new otter coughed as he put down the glass. "Wow, that was good, real strong stuff, you can feel it burn as it goes down. Thanks again." he said smiling at the bartender. He then looked down and rubbed a hand across his chest. "Not sure it has put any hairs on my chest though, there isn't really room for any more!"

"Glad you liked it." The bartender was happy to see the changes had been accepted without question - that was a sign with these drinks that they had quenched the right thirst. "So are you ready to hit the dance floor now?"

"Yeah, you know what - I think I am, although I do have one quick stop that I want to make on the way there."

The bartender watched as the guy picked up his beer and then walked straight over to one of the bears by the dance floor. He wondered what was being said, but whatever it was must have worked as a few moments later the bear and the otter made their way together onto the dance floor.

[forever-rogue]

hello miss bee 🐝

if you're in the mood to write for joel id love to ask one where he and reader just had a baby of their own and ellie starts to feel left out but they both comfort and reassure her that they won't treat her differently since they already unofficially adopted her anyway 🫶🤲

AN | There may be a new baby on the way, but that doesn’t you’ll ever love Ellie any less. She just needs to be reminded of that💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings | None

Word Count | 3.3k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I hate this,” you plopped down in the chair on the back patio with a loud huff. You heard a snort of amusement from behind you and turned around to find Joel watching you in amusement. Your lips pulled into a pout and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “this is all your fault.”

“Hmm,” he raised an eyebrow before going back over to the makeshift grill to check on dinner, “pretty sure that’s only half true, sweetheart.”

“Well,” you crossed your arms over your chest and frowned at him, “it’s still partially true. Being pregnant is the worst. Especially with this heat. I should have gotten pregnant in the summer so the worst of it would have been in the winter.”

“Think of it this way,” the way you raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested you were anything but amused, “we’ll have a fresh baby for the holidays.”

“I’m still hoping for a halloween baby,” you grinned, rubbing your belly that seemed to be growing by the day, “how cool would that be?”

“The coolest,” Joel teased as you laughed, an actual laugh that went straight to his heart, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“The real question - do you think we’re going to have a boy or girl?” 

“Girl,” he insisted without hesitation, “I’m always going to have my girls. I don’t think that’s changing anytime soon.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” you took a sip of the fresh lemonade and let out a soft sigh, “but I have a feeling you’re going to be wrong!”

“Oh yeah? You wanna bet on that?” Joel stood there, hands on his hips as he watched you closely. You stuck out your tongue at him, causing both of you to laugh.

What you hadn’t realized was that Ellie was in the kitchen, getting some plates ready to bring out, listening to the two of you. She loved you, she loved you both immensely. She knew that you and you knew that. But she couldn’t help the pang that settled in her stomach and the way her heart seemed to constrict. It was a feeling that hadn’t left her since you’d told her you were pregnant. You and Joel had been so excited to tell her and despite the shock of the news, she’d been excited too. Ellie Williams was finally going to have a baby sister or brother. Her family was growing.

But as the weeks passed by and your pregnancy became more visibly obvious, the worse she started to feel. And it felt like it was eating her alive. It was a mix of emotions that she was struggling to handle and cope with. She was excited for you and Joel and your entire little family but it left her feeling…lost and confused. 

Ellie knew that both of you viewed her as your daughter and she viewed you as parents. She wondered what it would like when the baby came. Your baby - your and Joel’s flesh and blood. Once you had your own baby, would you no longer care about her? Would she be pushed to the wayside as you welcomed and loved your actual child? 

These types of thoughts had been plaguing her for months now. It was stupid, so fuckin’ stupid, she’d be the first to admit, and yet the feelings remained. Realistically, she could have gone to either of you and asked in order to alleviate her fears or get some simple reassurance. But that seemed silly too. What was she supposed to do? Come up to you and ask ‘hey will you still love me once the baby is here?’ That felt ridiculous. 

Instead, Ellie internalized her feelings, deciding to push them away and act like nothing was wrong. You’d noticed that something was off with your girl recently. Things had just seen so crazy lately, with getting ready for the baby and Joel being off for a while with work to do, it hadn’t been easy. But Ellie really had been your rock and you hated the idea that you were neglecting her in any sense.

“Ellie?” the girl almost dropped the bowl of salad she was holding when she heard you call out to her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back her tears before heading into the backyard. Your entire face lit up when you saw her and she felt bad for a moment for ever having doubted your love and affection for her, “there you are, Ellie Bean! Everything okay?”

“Y-yeah,” she set the plates and bowl onto the table and nodded softly, “just got caught up cutting the…tomatoes.”

“There’s no tomatoes in the salad, baby,” you gave her arm a gentle squeeze, “we gave the last of them to the Meyers the other day. Are you sure you’re alright?”

She looked away and nodded, staring into the distance as she pleaded with her heart and mind to remain calm and collected. Joel clicked his tongue and caught her attention, giving her a questioning look. Sometimes he hated how well he knew her and how he seemed to see right through her.

“C’mere,” he motioned for her to come over and she obliged, walking over slowly with a heavy tread. She stopped in front of him and he put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down slightly so he was closer to eye level with her, “what’s wrong, baby girl?”

“Nothing,” she replied through gritted teeth. Joel knew that something was up but he didn’t want to push her and possibly cause her to pull away from him. He sighed softly before pressing a kiss to her forehead. It had become such a reflexive action that he didn’t even think about doing it any more, “you’re being gross and showing too much emotion.”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he teased and that caused her to smile slightly at him, “‘cause it sure ain’t going to be you right, is it? You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” she whispered, “not right now.”

“Okay,” he nodded lightly, “I’ll be here and ready to listen whenever you’re ready.”

“I know, old man,” she pushed his arm before turning on her heel and walking back over to you. She sat down next to you, her gaze drifting for a moment to your belly. You reached up and touched her face, gently stroking her cheek, “you’re both such saps.”

“It’s only because we love you,” you beamed at her. She felt her cheeks growing warm and pink as she stared at the bowl of tomato-less salad, “you wanna help me make some dessert while the food’s cooking? I was thinking pudding…ooh or maybe some sort of pie?!”

“Sure,” she perked up at your enthusiasm, unable to deny the appeal of spending time with you and making a dessert, “let’s do it.”

Ellie decided that she’d figure out the rest later. Right now, she was okay and she just wanted the two of you to have some fun. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I’m worried about her,” you closed your book and set on the nightstand before turning to your husband with a sad expression on your face. He followed suit and turned so he was fully looking at you.

“The baby?” 

“I - no. And we don’t know if it’s a girl or boy yet so calm down,” you laughed for a moment before moving to sit crossed-legged - to the best of your ability anyway - and gave him a serious look, “Ellie. She seems so closed off lately and it always seems like she’s upset, but when I try to talk to her she changes the subject or finds an excuse to leave. I feel like my poor baby girl hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Joel took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze before you laced your fingers together, “she could never hate you.”

“But something is wrong and I don’t know what it is and I can’t fix it,” a wave of emotion washed over you and tears stung at the back of your eyes. You sniffled, fully aware that you probably seemed ridiculous right now but you didn’t care, “I just want to make it better.”

“Honey,” Joel’s voice was soft as he put his hands on your sides and gently pulled you towards him. You easily gave in, soft and pliable, as he settled you in his lap. You felt pathetic as you looked at him, tears running down your cheeks. He tenderly brushed them away before taking your face in his hands and turning your face up to his, “she doesn’t hate you and she never will. Whatever she’s going through right now, she’ll come around. She’s still guarded and sometimes these things take time. She’ll come around, she always does. We just have to keep on loving her.”

“Promise?” you whispered as he nodded softly. You leaned into his touch as he rubbed your back soothingly, “I don’t know what I’d do if…I don’t know. If she stopped loving us.”

“That ain’t happening,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I have a feeling I know what’s going on with her.”

“Oh?” you looked at him in surprise and he couldn’t help but grin at the sight of your confused expression. The fact that you were so pouty and pregnant made you even more adorable to him than before. He had to fight back a laugh at your expression, opting instead to kiss you softly, “what do you think it is?”

“The baby,” he answered, putting a hand on your belly and rubbing it gently, “I think she’s worried about the baby.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think she thinks that we’re just going…to stop loving her?” the waterworks started again and this time you couldn’t hold back the tears, “she thinks we’re going to replace her!”

“Oh honey,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and tried to hug him as best as possible. You huffed as you buried your face into his chest and he softly cooed at you, “I don’t think she thinks we’re trying to replace her. I think she’s worried that we won’t have as much time and love for her."

"That's not true," you hated the fact that that thought even crossed her mind, "that's like…the farthest thing from the truth! She's my baby too. Nothing is ever going to change that."

"I know that," he gently brushed his fingers along your jaw before resting his hand on your cheek, "you know that. I think she just might need a little reassurance."

"Yeah," you sighed softly, "I can do that. I will do that."

"I have no doubt about that either, honey."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ellie startled when she heard your enthusiastic knocking on her door. She groaned as she looked at the old school alarm on the bedside table and saw that it wasn't even eight o'clock yet. 

"Come in," she rolled onto her side so she was facing the door. You almost threw open the door in your excitement, already fully dressed and ready for the door.

"Hi my love!" Her eyes widened at your cheeriness, "good morning, Ellie Bean."

"It's early," she groaned as you leaned against the doorway, causing you to laugh softly, "why are you so awake?"

"I've been up for a while…couldn't sleep well," you shrugged it off, "but I thought it would be fun if we spent the day together, just the two of us!"

"O-oh," she slowly sat up, heart almost constricting with emotion, "are you sure?"

"Duh," you teased, "its been a while since it's just been the two of us and I figured we could have some fun!"

"Okay," she looked at you, an eyebrow raised in question. You clapped excitedly and she offered you a tentative smile in response, "w-wait, am I in trouble?"

"Of course not," you walked over to her and held out your hand to her. She took yours and slowly slipped out of the bed, "I just want to spend some time with my favorite girl."

"Alright," a little bit of a flush crossed her cheeks as she offered you a smile, "yeah, that could be fun."

"Let's go then slow poke, no time to lose!"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your day had been filled with doing anything and everything that Ellie wanted - within reason of course. As the day bled into night, the two of you were at the lake, sitting on the dock, feet dangling into the water. 

"Can I ask you something?" You finally couldn't take it anymore and needed to clear all the air. Ellie paused before nodding slowly and turning towards you.

"Sure…"

"I feel like lately…things have been different," you put your arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze, "and I want to make sure you're alright. You've been off lately, and I want to know if you're okay and if I can do anything to help."

"Oh. Oh," Ellie swallowed thickly; she thought she'd been better at disguising her feelings, "umm…it's…just. I don't know. Things have just felt different since you've been pregnant."

"Yeah?" You asked as she turned to you with a sad little smile and a nod, "oh, Ellie."

"I just…it feels weird that…umm. Like it's you and Joel, you know? And now you're having your own child and it makes me feel like…where's my place?"

"Baby," you tried to keep your own emotions at bay but it was hard when all you wanted to was to wrap her up in a big hug, "your place is with us - it'll always be with us. We're family. Nothing is going to change that."

"But if you love the new baby more than me?" You hated that she even thought anything like that. You wished you could convey just how very much you loved her, "I keep thinking about…what if you don't want me anymore."

"We will never not want you or love you," you took her hand and held it tightly in yours, "that will never change. Nothing could change how we feel about you. You're our girl, Ellie."

"Are you sure? The baby-"

"The baby doesn't change anything," you pulled her into your body as much as you could, "its another person we're bringing into our family that we can love. It doesn't mean any of us is going to get less love. Okay? I swear on my life. And Joel's life. All of it."

"Every time I've gotten close to people they've been taken from me," Ellie sniffled brushing at her eyes with the back of her hand, "my parents, my family, my friends…I almost lost Joel. I don't want to lose you too and the baby. I'm not sure if I'd make it if I did."

"Ellie," you softened at the young girl, "you are so young and you've been through so much. More than anyone ever should. And I know the world is scary and we don't know what the future holds but we can't let that dictate how we feel about the present or how we act. You're not going to lose us or your brother or sister. Never. And maybe me just saying that doesn't make anything better but I'll show you and I'll keep showing you that we mean it. Honestly, I don't think I'd survive without you. You are the world to me, Ellie."

"Being pregnant has made you so sappy," she laughed through her tears, "even more than normal. Its kind of gross."

"It's because I love you so much, kiddo," you grinned at her, brushing away her tears, "but the hormones definitely aren't helping! Luckily it won't be too much longer before the baby is here."

"Are you scared?"

"Terrified," you confessed with a sheepish grin, "but I know I'll be okay. I've got you Joel and you. Everything will be okay."

"Yeah," she nodded, a bit of confidence oozing back into her, "we'll be okay. I'm excited to meet the baby."

"Boy or girl you think?"

"Girl," she seemed so confident that you were almost convinced of that as well, "Joel's meant to be surrounded by girls."

"Funny, that's exactly what he said too," you shook your head in amusement thinking about the two of them. They were too alike for their own good, "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"Whatever," she playfully rolled her eyes, "we all know we're right!"

"Mhmm," you slowly stood up and held out your hand to her, "come on my love. Let's go home and annoy Joel."

She took your hand eagerly, "I love you too, just so you know."

"Yeah," you promised her softly, "I know. I love you more, kiddo."

-

Ellie approached you slowly, almost unsure if she should be coming over. You beamed at her, motioning for her to come closer. She stole a quick look at Joel, who offered her a small smile and nod of reassurance.

"Come here, my love," you held out your hand to her and she came over, staring at the bundle in your arms in awe, "I hate to admit it, but Joel was right. You've got yourself a little sister."

"Wow," she reached over and gentle stroked her chubby little cheek, "she's so small. What's her name?"

"Well, we don't have a name picked out yet," you smiled softly, "we were hoping you'd help us by picking her name."

"Me?"

"You! If you'd like to that is," you could see her eyes watering up, and your heart felt so full, "you can take a bit to think about it-"

"Daisy," she stated softly, looking between you and Joel to gauge your reactions, "I like Daisy."

"Me too," you gave her a hand squeeze, "Daisy it is. It's perfect. Do you want to hold her, Ellie?"

"I-I don't know," she swallowed the lump in her throat as the baby cooed softly, "she's so small and I don't wanna…hurt her."

"You won't," you promised, straightening up as she stepped closer, "hold her to your chest and make sure you're supporting her head, okay?"

"Okay," she reached over gingerly, as though the baby was made of glass. She took her from you and did as you said, holding the small baby protectively. Daisy made a few sounds before yawning and snuggling into Ellie. The girl watched her in amazement, "she's so cute and little."

"Just like you," you teased, reaching over and giving her arm a squeeze. You turned to Joel, who was watching the scene unfold with nothing short of heart eyes, "look at that, Joel. Look at our girls. They're the best."

"Yeah," he agreed, pressing a kiss to the side of Ellie's head, "they are. But you know what else?"

"Hmm?"

"I was right - it was a girl," he threw you a cheeky grin as you snorted in amusement, "wouldn't change it for the world."

"Yeah, me neither," Ellie piped up, "I guess we're a pretty cool family. Daisy and me anyways. You guys are alright."

"We love you too," you sighed contentedly, happy to have your little family all together, "both of you. Lots and lots."

[bhaalsbabe]

This bed has seen everything

Pairing: afab!Durge Reader x Enver Gortash

Label: nsfw

Word count: ~2k

Summary/warnings: MDNI, afab!durge, durge is a magic user, unprotected sex, piv, creampie, some biting on both sides (and both sides like it), choking (receiving), the glove stays on, Gortash is a simp for durge but what's new, Gorty is more dominant here

Author's note: long expected part two of This desk has seen everything. Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts &lt;3

You need to focus or you'll get yourself killed. The Emperor's stern voice rumbled inside your head, the force of his mind pushing your urge back, enough for you to see clearer again. You were standing next to an open manhole. Looking around to figure out where you were, you noticed an undead beggar you ran into after entering the Lower City a day before. You sighed, rubbing your temples as you made your way back to the room you had acquired in Elfsong Tavern. As soon as you entered the main square, however, you were stopped by one of the steel watchers.

"Citizen, lord Gortash is looking for you. Please return to Wyrm's Rock Fortress immediately," its robotic voice said.

"And what if I don't return?" You asked, not in the mood to deal with both Gortash and this annoying piece of metal.

"Then you'll be escorted there against your will."

You frowned, thinking about your options quickly. You hated having to follow anyone's orders. At the same time, you weren't in a position where you could take out the entire city's guards, and while you could turn invisible to slip out of this steel watcher's grasp, you would have to show yourself eventually and be captured then.

"Fine, I'm going there right now. Happy?" Your voice was dripping with malice that totally went over the steel watcher's head. It continued standing there menacingly, watching you as you made your way out of the city again. You walked as slow as possible, wondering what awaited you.

Gortash wanted you. That much was evident. The surprising part was that you wanted him too. This man, who was ready to doom so many people for his god and hunger for power, who hurt Karlach so much and sold her to Zariel... You should hate him and be planning his assassination, putting a stop to all of this. Yet instead, you were thinking of how familiar his touch felt on your body, how it made your heart sing in a similar way as killing did. Even without the memories that would explain the reasons for it, you craved him, his brilliant mind and his reverent touch.

As you entered the fortress, you were greeted by the mechanical voice of the steel watcher, telling you that "lord Gortash is awaiting you in his chambers". Two guards, these made of actual flesh, then lead you to what you assumed were the doors to his chambers. You waited until they left before entering, your heart speeding up in anticipation.

The room was big and expensive looking. It screamed 'important person resides here'. Currently dimly lit through various hanging lanterns, you could still make out the prevalent colours, red and black, with occasional sprinkle of green. All the way back was a king sized bed with canopy, with its owner sitting on its edge.

"You gave me quite a scare back there. I thought you'd start a bloody rampage in the open." He chuckled but you noticed he sounded almost relieved as his eyes set on you. You felt a pull towards him, your feet leading you to the bed on their own.

"I warned you I'm not as in-control as you might think." You replied, stopping in front of him. The dark lighting of the room made him look more imposing and you had to admit, it suited him. Black was his colour. His smile widened as he caught you staring at him.

"Can't help yourself? I don't blame you~" You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead choosing to ask the question that's been burning in you.

"What exactly were we?" You winced at how unsure and vulnerable you sounded. Gone was your usual confidence. When it came to your past, you were lost and helpless and it scared you. Part of you berated yourself for showing a weakness to an enemy of such status as Gortash.

But he didn't take advantage of it. His eyes softened and his flirtatious smile changed into a melancholic one. You had a strong feeling not many people had seen this particular expression on him. He stood up, taking both of your hands into his while gazing into your eyes.

"Allies," one of his hands left yours to wrap around your waist and pull you against his lean body. You let him do it, intuitively putting your free hand around him too.

"Friends," he leaned close to you, his next word whispered to your ear as if it were the most precious secret.

"Lovers." You heard him take a deep breath, almost like he was taking in your scent, his hold on you tightening for a brief second before he pulled away, reluctantly letting you go and stepping back.

Hearing him actually say it made a bit of your doubt and guilt go away. Of course your body recognised your lover, even if your mind struggled. You weren't betraying your friends by wanting to be close to Gortash. How could they possibly blame you for wanting someone you used to love?... You could easily do more mental gymnastics to defend your following actions if necessary.

Your breathing quickened as you pushed him back, making him fall into the bed, before climbing over him. "Good. Now I don't feel so bad for wanting to fuck you."

His eyes widened as he took you in, looking up at you as if you were a god, a self-satisfied smile stretching over his face.

"Old habits die hard~" He said before using his strength to flip you over. "You should know your place, however," his voice was deeper, his clawed hand wrapping around your neck, making it harder to breathe. You glared at him in defiance, displeased that he'd dare to do this.

"Oh, are you imagining slicing me open now? Frying me with you spells?" His eyes and voice were laced with amusement. He put more pressure on your neck, the sharp claws digging into the soft skin of your neck. He leaned close to your face. "Good."

The moment your lips connected, he released his hold on your neck enough for you to be able to breathe better again. His other hand made it's way under your shirt, mapping your body to his memory again. He sighed contentedly, almost getting lost in the simple kiss-

And then you bit his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood and to make him recoil in shock. He pulled away, touching his bleeding lip gingerly before looking back at you. His eyes seemed to get impossibly dark as he watched you lick your lips, stained by his blood. His pants got more tight as you gave him a mad grin, one that used to be on your face so often before your disappearance.

"I didn't think you still had it in you," he chuckled, looking way too happy for someone who could've lost his lip.

"You seem to be enjoying the pain. Aren't you supposed to be a tyrannical sadist?" You teased him, dropping your gaze at his quite visible bulge before looking back at him.

"Oh I can be, trust me, dear. You're just too special." He got near your face again, scanning over your features with his eyes. You could see the imperfections on his skin in return - the soft wrinkles around his eyes, the laugh lines, the scar on his chin - and as you shared this moment, you truly felt special.

You started kissing each other once again, more passionately and ferociously, both of you needing to feel, touch, taste each other. Gortash pressed his clothed erection against your core and you moaned into the kiss, your legs wrapping around his body to pull him closer, to stimulate the spot that was crying for attention. All of a sudden, none of you had the power to continue your playful banter. You needed him, and he needed you.

He started undressing you, his nimble fingers making quick work of your clothes and he didn't even have to stop kissing you for a moment. His hands kept exploring your body, squeezing in all the right places. He knew your body well.

His mouth left yours to kiss your jawline and continue lower, to your neck, your clavicle, and even lower, to give some welcome attention to your nipple. As he sucked on that piece of flesh, one of his hands started its journey over your inner thigh all the way to your cunt. He only dragged his finger through your folds, spreading your slick, and your hips buckled.

"Fuck... Enver, just fuck me already," you panted, your chest heaving heavily, your nails digging into his shoulders. He left your nipple with a 'pop', his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you before him, all desperate and needy, although he wasn't doing much better and you uttering his name didn't help.

"As you wish, my dear," he mumbled, removing his pants and underwear hastily. He didn't bother with prepping you, knowing you enjoyed the sting of his cock splitting you open and so he inserted his dick in you in one fell swoop. You tensed up, unused to this kind of pain, trying to hold back any sounds of discomfort. Gortash noticed it, kissing you softly on the lips, before whispering into your ear:

"You're doing great, my love, just relax." His fingers started playing with your clit, mixing the pain with pleasure and soon you were urging him to move again. He didn't need to be told twice, his hips pistoning into yours immediately after getting your permission.

He was thick, making the muscles in your vagina strain as they tried to accommodate his girth. It helped that you were embarrassingly wet, the squelch audible every time his dick moved in and out of you. Gortash buried his head in your neck, letting out whimpers that made you feel less humiliated about the noises you made.

"Ah, I've missed this. I've missed you. Thought I'd never see you again..." he mumbled into your neck, his breath hot against it. He cradled you close, as if you could slip between his fingers at any moment, his hips picking up speed. He wanted to enjoy this more, he truly did, but he was desperate to state his claim on you again, make you his once more. He made sure to rub circles into your clit in an effort to bring you to climax along with him. You were so responsive to his touch, like the first time you gave yourself to him, and he wanted to make sure you'll come back for more.

His clawed hand that held you close kept leaving bleeding scratches behind that you didn't mind at all, not when everything in this moment made you feel so alive. You thought killing felt great but this was actually better than that. He then bit your neck, groaning at the same time, his hips stilling, and you felt a warm sensation in you as he filled you with cum. With the continuous stimulation in and around your cunt, along with the small bits of pain he brought you, you followed him over the edge soon after, a silent prayer of his name on your lips.

You were both breathing heavily, still wrapped in each other as you tried to recover a bit of lucidity. Gortash finally pulled out, making his sperm spill out of you onto the expensive bedsheets but he couldn't care less. He laid next to you, pulling you against his chest, and he kissed your head sweetly. It felt unreal, that a supposed tyrant like him had the capacity to be so gentle, to an enemy no less, and yet here you were.

Well, let's just say you're heavily considering your alliance now.

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Editing Part 4: Worldbuilding Pass

Next up, worldbuilding! We're tackling this before structure, because you don't want to get too far into the weeds, realize a critical component of your story is wrong, and then throw your computer out the window in frustration.

Anyway, when it comes to worldbuilding, there's a lot of moving parts. There is no right or wrong way to worldbuild, but my preferred approach is to worldbuild as the story goes along. Any method works, and you can check out the worldbuilding tag for more. In editing your worldbuilding, you want to think about:

Trimming Front-loading/Info Dumps

When writing fantasy/sci-fi, getting down how the world works can take over the story. In first drafting, this is fine! But when you're trying to clean that draft up, it's better to weave this information in as you go.

Need to explain how the giant mechas guarding the city operate? Maybe your main character is trying to steal some precious alloy from one, giving you opportunity to explain how they work and how society feels about them. Have a magic system that relies on singing tunes? Show that off by having students practicing, or dueling rivals taking it too far.

You probably know by now that the thing you should avoid the most is "as you know" dialogue dumps - characters explaining concepts to each other that they both clearly understand. Another, weaker version of this is the "magic class" trap, where things are explained to the main character and the reader. A classroom environment is fine, but pair worldbuilding with action - demonstrations get out of hand, spells go wrong, etc. Make it fun!

Your World Needs Clear Rules (Sorry)

Listen, this is the part I hate. I have a WIP with the word "Rules" in the title and I'm still figuring out what those rules are. Argh. But the sooner you know the rules, the easier editing will be. The more clear those rules are to the reader, the more impactful breaking them will be.

If the rules of the world (you can't use warp speed too close to a planet's gravitational pull, the same type of magic cancels each other out) and the consequences of breaking them are clear, the pay-off will be satisfying for both you and the reader.

Use Your Environment to Your Full Advantage

You've no doubt heard 'make setting a character' and that's evergreen advice. Some of the best books out there are those where it feels like you could step through the page and into a real place, be it your childhood middle school or Narnia. Getting that feeling, however, is more than just describing a place really well.

Mood - How does the location make you feel? Does a dark, cramped room leave the characters with a feeling of dread? How would that feeling change if it was an overstuffed library with comfortable chairs?

Weather - Beyond the 'dark and stormy night' descriptions, weather impacts our daily lives and is often overlooked. A rain-drenched funeral scenes seems like it's the way to go, but how differently would that scene feel if it was a sunny day with birds singing?

City Versus Countryside - These books are a great reference for description, but also take a step back to compare how different situations would feel both in the setting and to your character. Quiet can mean very different things depending on where you are. A morning fog in the countryside might feel comforting to someone used to it, but to someone new to that environment, it might feel creepy. Think about both your environment and how your character reacts to it based on their backstory.

The Empty Room Problem

This is always a big challenge when moving from the first draft bare bones basics to fleshing things out. How much description is too much? (As a note, it's always okay to overcorrect - you'll have a chance to fix it later!) This post from @novlr has a lot of great questions - but you're still going to narrow it down to the most important details.

Escape the Movie Setting - You cannot describe the room like it's a movie set. Trying to do so is going to be overwhelming, and important details will be lost in the attempt. If you were to describe your room or your favorite coffee shop and could only highlight four or five details, what would you focus on? What gives the reader the essence of the place rather than a list of things that exist there?

Establish the Essentials - Is this your first character's first time in this room? Is it going to be key to several plot-important scenes? Some big, sweeping details when entering - how big it is, what's in it, where the windows are, how it feels, etc - are good to start with. Your character can briefly admire a full bookshelf in the first scene, and then study it in more detail in the second. If you have one scene in this place and spend too much time describing it, you're going to make your reader think it's more important than it is.

Engage the Senses - Does an old room smell musty? Does the coldness of the woods have a sharp taste? Does touching a shelf bring up a lot of dust? How does the lighting in the room make the main character feel?

Getting down the description of a room or setting is not something you'll nail in one shot, but if you approach each scene asking yourself "does this feel like a real place or a white room?" you can narrow down what's missing.

[eldritchx]

Helluva Boss is not progressive, not only is its portrayal of queer people incredibly questionable but the female characters are treated like garbage. The show is so incredibly misogynistic, so is the fandom and it's incredibly exhausting.

All the women's plotlines revolve around men, their stories are in the men's perspective and/or sparked because of a man. None of their personalities, back stories, conflicts, etc. are in a woman's perspective. I understand this show has a large amount of male characters but that's no excuse.

The male characters are allowed to have their emotions raw, exposed and artistically written/drawn. Yet the women can't do any of that. We get pieces of backstory, it's never in their perspective either.

Now, I don't want to hear any excuses about how we just need to wait. It's been years and our main female characters are one-dimensional compared to the men.

This isn't a "man-bad" post, I'm just commenting on how the women just revolve around the men and nothing else. As well as the general sexist writing of the series.

Do I think Vivian intentionally writes women this way? No, I hope not. I just think she has no idea how to write women whatsoever. As well as characters in general.

↓ I'll be giving my thoughts of all the female characters below, if you have any issues or critique feel free to tell me as long as it's civil. I will bring up topics of sexual assault, misogyny, abuse & other canon-typical themes.

Stella

Stella is a one-dimensional, insufferable moral scapegoat. She's a charcuterie of an abusive wife, she's such a poor villain that Vivian made Andrealphus (which is basically male Stella) to process the plot instead of her because she's nothing but a hysterical idiot. The only way Stella could have affected the story was if she were a man.

She's basically deemed "pure evil", we only get her story through Stolas' perspective, her character is incredibly lackluster and stereotypical. Like a majority of women in the series she has anger issues and physically abused the main (usually male) character.

A lot of people excuse her poor writing as something we need to wait for. But it's been two seasons and she's supposedly the main villain, yet we don't get a crumb of basic characterization and she's overshadowed by her brother because Vivian refuses to let women do things without another man in the picture.

She's written to be stupid, angry, nonsensical, bratty and loud. We rarely get to see her be an actual villain and scenes with Stolas (or even Octavia). We know nothing about her because she's just there to scream for the reader's enjoyment. Stella has potential, but since she is female, she is reduced to just a bitter wife and nothing more.

Millie

A lot of people have already critiqued Millie already, but I'm still going to put my perspective here. Millie is a character that only exists for men. She's Moxxie's husband and Blitzø's best friend.

In her supposed episodes, it revolved around men. Her conflict with insecurity in Unhappy Campers is sparkled by Moxxie, her anger and eventual backstory reveal happens because of Blitzø. Not once do we get her raw perspective unless another man is in the mix.

In Ghostfuckers, Millie isn't possessed, we don't get her perspective when separated, she's there to just comfort Blitzø and give crumbs of her character just for him. Mille has plenty of opportunity to be fleshed out but she's never given the chance to just have an episode for herself.

Not to mention the pregnancy plot line. Instead of exploring her self loathing, anger or even something new. They decide to make her pregnant because of course they would. One of the time woman fighters is just reduced to baby drama, which we all know will revolve around Moxxie and eventually get forgotten by the main plot in favor of the pointless melodrama.

Millie has anger issues, which is a running trait in all these days women. I can't help but think that the constant angry personality is just leaning into the "hysterical woman" trope. Millie's frustrations in Sinmas aren't the source of genuinely interesting conflict but hormones and that's just insulting.

She doesn't even get to talk in Mastermind, her husband does. What the hell? The angry, passionate woman doesn't argue once? Oh my God.

Loona is another case of wasted potential. She was born as a Hellhound, which gave her a rough upbringing. And her conflict with her trauma could have been good if the show treated it as something serious. She's a victim of trafficking and her physical abuse / anger is played off for laughs. Instead of fleshing out their character she's just a "bitchy woman" who makes fun of Moxxie for being fat for no reason.

Loona

All I wanted was for Loona to evolve and grow into a better character instead of her development either being off screen or ending in one episode. Her childish behavior and aggression is annoying to see because we really have no reason to like her. She's rude, hurts her supportive father and insults her colleagues. A few seconds of her backstory in Blitzø's perspective doesn't do much. Why don't we see how Loona is feeling in her eyes? Why do we need to understand Loona in a man's backstory?

Her lack of socializing could have been interesting to watch but it's all skipped over and established off screen proven by Sinmas despite it being essential to her character.

She's a survivor and making connections is obviously hard for her — yet we don't see her grow? It's all so quickly concluded. I doubt Vivian actually cares about Loona's development because she immediately becomes a respectful daughter to Blitzø after one episode (yes, I know he almost got executed and she probably realized how much she really cared. But Blitzø is an assassin and has probably nearly died multiple times).

Loona is just a nothing character, her writing is rushed and she pretty much just exists for merch bait. There's nothing special about her and her character was made for Blitzø's story.

Verosika

Not much to say about Verosika, other than she's a plot device. She's just a bitter ex and I don't understand why we should care or feel sympathetic towards her because she literally sexually assaults Moxxie with her friends (which is also played as a joke). She's just Blitzø's ex-girlfriend and that's about it.

I will give the writing credit for giving her perspective on the relationship, but she's only giving her piece for Blitzø and his development. Verosika just exists to taunt or help Blitzø — not act as an actual character. We don't even see Vortex talking about her whatsoever or even a hint of their dynamic.

She's angry, rude and swears like a sailor of course. Her anti-Blitzø party was hilarious because it was the worst written part of the show. Blitzø just hooked up with demons and didn't want anymore, yet Verisoka who is a popular popstar and succubi probably does the same thing and it's fine by the narrative.

The only true committed relationship Blitzø had with Verosika was with her so I'm not sure why they decided to villianize Blitzø for not wanting romance by making Verisoka an unhinged, creepy stalker who hunts down "ex-partners" for a former boyfriend who wanted to remain single.

She's just a pointless character, the fact we know more about her than Millie (a main character) is madness.

Barbie Wire

Where do I even begin? She's apparently the most important figure in Blitzø's life yet she's rarely mentioned, exists in one episode and that's it. Apparently she was cut out of the fire scene in Oops which is crazy considering their mother dies.

And again, she only exists because it's Blitzø's plotline. She's only brought up because of Blitzø and we don't even see her perspective on the matter. Even if she's a side character, if she's so important to Blitzø we should get a proper flashback with her; which we didn't even receive in The Circus.

Another bitter, angry woman to add to the list. There really is a pattern. Also her creepiness towards teenagers is also really weird. I just dislike her in general, what a waste. Nothing but a woman that's relevant when the man's development finds it necessary.

Other Women

-> A good chunk of the mothers in this show die for the men. Do we see their perspective? Do we see their character? No, they're just made to die off for the male characters because what else are they good for.

-> Additionally, I don't have an issue with Sally Mae. I think she's a neat side character but she barely affects the plot and yet she has a ton of merch. It's not a problem but why? I'm glad Sally Mae is a woman and we see her perspective, as well as her dynamic around Mille (finally) but she's kinda just there.

-> Beelzebub is another generic party girl. I find it really weird they try to show the personification of overindulgence to an unhealthy degree and a slave owner as a fun, spunky lady who just wants everyone to have fun! I am glad she doesn't revolve around men and is her own person but this agenda that she's a good person is just ridiculous. Beelzebub probably sold Vortex as property and signed him away, yet they're seen as a cute couple.

My Final Thoughts:

This show is sexist as fuck. And I'm tired of people excusing it. It doesn't matter if your show is male centered or focusing on men, you don't neglect your women and just make them exist for the male characters. I don't think Viv is some evil mastermind, but she needs to write characters better and understand women.

[diejager]

I have a fucking insane idea based on a DnD thing I saw once lmao. So basically, if someone went through an immense amount of trauma, it could sort of manifest into another being used for self defense. This being was literally only limited by their imagination. It could be a damn house cat or a fucking dragon. It was basically an extension of their body that was a result of a dangerous or traumatic situation. It could help with other tasks as well, but its main purpose is defense. I need to see the men react to this, I’m begging

Monster au. Plz

~🧋

Cw: trauma, inaccurate magic, tell me if I missed any.

They were familiar with all kind of magic. Be it Old Magics and Magiks, enchantments, hexes, curses, dark arts, and everything known to the world, yours was…. peculiar. Quite peculiar for a person without any ties to a magical lineage or prior knowledge of powers. You were just a normal human - as normal as you could be with all your fearlessness towards monsters and hybrids alike - with a few unique perks and qualities, but a human no less. You weren’t any different from your parents, your extended family or any friends. A mortal with soft flesh, resilient and persevering, wild imaginations and genial abilities to adapt and conquer, and yet, were so, so fragile. 

They hadn’t expected it, with Farah - the only witch they personally knew - tied to Alex by the hip and always on the move, their repertoire of magical knowledge was lacking. So, there was a mass of confusion between them, one that made understanding your strange ability difficult, but not impossible. They had Laswell’s help to sift through all existing records, some confidential, hidden under red tapes and confidentiality regulations, and others public, open to any curious eyes and prying noses. 

The black Maine Coon that seemed to follow you, her lumbering figure and elegantly, curled fur that stood out among patches of grey and military green and browns of the base brought many questions, but all shrugged away at the mere sight of those piercing green eyes, vibrant lime that seemed to glow in darkness. She could light up the room with a single glance. It was as odd as it was menacing, and she was fiercely protective of you, shadowing your steps, curling her tail around your leg, laying on your lap when you sat and glaring at anyone who tried to approach you. 

A spirit animal someone had commented, a guardian in the shape of a cat another had hushed. She was all speculations and would stay that way until someone found out more about your Maine Coon, or if someone grew a pair and actually asked you rather than treating it like a secret mission conducted behind your back. A mystery to resolve, a like game they thought it be amusing to play until you found them out or someone gave up after grueling weeks of hitting a brocade —a dead end. 

It was fun and all, at least while it lasted. They felt like they were so close to figuring it out by themselves - pride and ego, you’d cackle. You’d have a field day laughing at them for them, then praise them for holding out so long - and Soap went out and begged for an answer. 

“I was wondering when one of you would crack,” you smiled, running your fingers through her fur, brushing away knots and tangles, “Took you longer than I expected.”

You had known of their investigation, but never spoke up. It riled them up, a thrill at finally being given the knowledge they’re hungered for, an adrenaline that pumped from their hearts to know the answer. And you stalled, teasing them with the pretty curl of your lips, taking all the time you needed to have them squirm in their seats and hang at every word that fell from your mouth.

“She’s a… trauma response, of some kind. I don’t really know how or why, but she just appeared one day while I was recovering. I was confused,” you laughed, nuzzling her scruff when she sat up to lick your chin, “Really confused. But I did some tests, experiments out of sheer boredom and discovered she came from my mind- or a product of it.”

“Your mind..?”

“You know humans have vivid imaginations, as physically unfortunate we are, our minds are a… strange thing, and she came right out of it.”

“So she could be… anything?”

You threw your head back, pulling her up in your arms as if she was the lightest kitten ever, your smile so wide it was infectiously making them smile.

“Anything that my mind can conjure up.”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[xomakara]

Bump and Trim

SUMMARY |  San helps you trim the hair around your intimate parts since you're pregnant.

PAIRINGS |  San x Reader

GENRE |  smut, established relationship, pregnancy, non-idol au

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, fingering, dirty talk, oral sex (both f/m receiving/giving), praise kink, pet names

RATING |  Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+

LENGTH |  2,285 words

TAGLIST | --

NETWORKS | @illusionnet @atzhouse @cromernet @wonderlandnet @k-vanity @othersideoutlawsnetwork @ksmutsociety

AUTHOR’S NOTE |  Don’t forget to like, comment, reblog and show some support. Love you all 💚

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

“San! Honey!” You called out from the bathroom, waiting for you husband of many years to answer your beckon. It took only a few moments and then you were face to face with his handsome self leaning against the doorway, a smile plastered to his lips.

“Hmm?” he hummed at you and you tried really, really hard to not focus on how that particular little noise was going straight to the region you wanted to shave. Damn his voice for having so much control of you.

Instead, you held out the razor towards him and smiled. His brow raised in confusion and you wiggled the object closer. “San, can you help me shave? I can't reach down there and my belly is in the way and..."

"Love, why do you need to shave? Won't it affect the baby? Not to mention how bad it'd be if you got a cut." San interjected before you could finish.

"But it's a freaking forest down there." You pouted, letting your hand drop to your belly that housed your unborn child, his hand covering your own. You saw a spark of a firelight behind San's eyes as his attention fell to your belly and his hand rubbed circles gently across its surface.

"How about we trim it to keep it nice and tidy?" He suggested and then kissed the bridge of your nose to add emphasis to his desire to not harm you or your womb mate. "And then after you give birth, I will personally take care of the grooming of the forest that will reside between those heavenly legs of yours. Do you agree?"

You pretended to mull it over for a few moments, humming in feigned thought before giving a small giggle as San's hand cupped your ass and pressed himself firmly against your swollen midsection. A quiet moan left your throat and his fingers dug into the flesh. He needed you; his hormones were in just as much disarray as yours.

"Lovely idea, my dearest husband." You managed to rasp.

"Indeed it was..." his voice dropped several octaves.

He picked you up, easily and carefully, and then sat you gently on the bed, laying out towels and propping a pillow to lean against your back, keeping your pelvic region open to him. Carefully he separated your legs, just a few inches, before wetting the pubic area a little with a wet cloth he retrieved from the bathroom. He got the clippers ready and checked everything and you couldn't help but grin from ear to ear, eager to feel his tender hands between your thighs.

"What is so funny, wife?" He questioned, turning the clippers on before gently taking some hairs between the blades. He clipped them neatly, making sure none was too long or too short and didn't make a mess. Your skin tingle from the new sensation.

"Just your adorable concentration." You giggled softly, propping the pillow and yourself a little more and caressing San's smooth face while he worked on a very ticklish area. It wasn't an unusual task for him to do this, and you thanked your lucky stars every day that San was comfortable with things most males were shy with. He was gentle, loving and quite talented.

"I'm concentrating on an area that I have very deep appreciation for." He hummed happily as he snipped another tiny clump of hair.

"Oh, so you care more about my forest than about your baby and wife, do you?" You teased, playfully poking his cheekbone. He smacked your finger with his own finger, his lips quirked in a smile.

"If I don't tend to the forest, how else will you allow me access to the tree situated in the middle?" He answered.

The statement made you break into a loud burst of giggles. "You're so weird sometimes!" You snorted through a laugh, resting the back of your head on the pillow behind you. He looked up from his careful work, grinning from ear to ear, baring teeth, tongue stuck out slightly.

"Only for you, babe." He teased back.

"If only my husband would always stay between my thighs...all my stress would go away and the world would be right again." You stated boldly, feeling empowered in that moment to admit how much you craved your husband's attention and adoration. It felt great.

"Aren't you needy all the time?" He added.

"You're the one who made me like this, San."

"Guess I better hurry this trimming up so I can fulfill my wife's request..." He growled.

Once your lower pelvic region was nicely trimmed, he was going to pull back and stop there. However, that didn't exactly go according to plan.

You let out a small whine from behind clenched teeth and pouted at him, making a shoving motion between your legs with your hand. His gaze fell there and he knew immediately you didn't want any of this stopping now that you were feeling this aroused. "I'm waiting, husband."

It's been four months since you and San stopped having sex because of the pregnancy and it was really, really frustrating. Of course the doctor said it would be safe to have sex during pregnancy, but this was San and he was a worrywart for both yourself and your little one.

"Are you certain, my love?" His expression was that of longing. Longing to touch you. Longing to have you beneath his skilled fingers. Longing to claim what belonged to him and no other.

"The doctor said it was fine, San." You replied. He waited still. "I just...can you please, please get to business here? I'm fucking horny as fuck right now and I just need you like eat me out or something."

And that he did, slowly and deliciously dragging his tongue across every bit of skin from inner thighs to pubic bone. He enjoyed the tangy taste of your sweetness on his tongue and you enjoyed the way he groaned his enjoyment of it, the vibrations from his mouth on your sex, hitting you just the right way, sending hot sparks of arousal up and down your spine, leaving you breathless and clutching at the blankets. Your body trembled from all the stimulation he was sending through your being, tongue dipping into every fold and tasting every part.

San held you gently, his hands cradling your swollen belly while he made slow love to you with his mouth. His tongue stroked and swirled across your clit and then sucked ever so slightly upon the bundle of nerves, smiling at each gasp, groan, and moan that escaped your parted lips. You clasped your hand on his hand that rested on your belly and gripped your other hand into the bed sheets.

"I can't believe that our daughter is growing in your beautiful body right now..." He murmured after another tender lick that ended at your sweet entrance. "She'll be the cutest little lady that anyone could ever meet, next to you, my love."

"Keep- keep talking, honey..." Your body spasmed, waves of heat pulsing through you, getting closer and closer to completion. He rubbed your belly with one hand and then made sure to find one of your own hands and laced his fingers with yours.

"So strong and gorgeous, aren't you, my queen." He breathed against the apex between your thighs, feeling them quake under his hold. You moaned a bit louder, losing your sense of volume, knowing you had a very sexy and attractive husband between your legs who was loving your pussy and teasing you to the point of almost being able to orgasm.

Almost.

"Please..." You begged him, pleading with him to help bring you that last bit further.

"I love you, y/n" he smiled from the spot where his nose was nestled among your trimmed, yet moist curls and licked a little longer, pressing his thumb against your nub, stroking at the sensitive flesh. His long fingers prodded against your cunt and slid inside without warning, giving you the opportunity you needed. He curled his fingers just right and pulled another loud groan from you. Your back arched off the bed, but he leaned down quickly, laying his head onto your belly and rubbing it a little firmer, so you were laid flush to the bed.

"O-oh!" Was all you could say, every muscle tensing, a feeling of euphoria washing over you in waves of hot pleasure, shuddering around San's fingers. As if on cue, he removed his digits slowly from inside of you, placing soft kisses and kitten licks on your clitoris, down along your slit. It didn't matter much, though because your body went slack against the bed, breath coming in gasps and your entire being trembling, dripping wet and covered in sweat.

"Done eating my forest?" You groaned out, trying to catch your breath, cheeks flushed from the wonderful moment he just gave you. He chuckled and kissed his way up your body, mindful of your pregnant belly, and claimed your lips sweetly.

"Most certainly. I can see my way through." San joked and nuzzled his nose along your temple lovingly. "You okay, my love? Was that good?"

"So, so amazing. Thank you so much, San." You blushed from your head down to your neck, hiding your face in your husband's shoulder, biting down slightly, wanting to return the favor, even if it couldn't be nearly as spectacular as his skilled tongue could do.

He flinched at the feeling and shivered, laughing at your bashfulness. "And how would you repay my deed?"

"How about my hands?" You suggested, a smile spreading across your face. He helped you move into a comfortable position and leaned down to kiss the bridge of your nose tenderly.

"As long as they're attached to an amazing wife, anything will do." San moaned softly into another kiss to your mouth.

His pelvic muscles quivered when you took hold of his heavy length and stroked carefully along the length and felt the hot length pulse in your fingers, a whisper of a name falling past his lips, mingling with his soft moan, filling the quiet bedroom. San bucked lightly into your hand, wanting more friction and you were quick to oblige by running your palm up and down a little faster, the girth twitching when you squeezed just enough around him.

His hands took hold of your free one, intertwining fingers, placing sweet kisses on your knuckles and panting loudly, groans of praise and excitement muffled with his sweet touches. The scent of his excitement, precum leaking profusely from his swollen cockhead, causing your hand to slide easily across his shaft.

"I love you so much..." San murmured in your ear. You hummed your approval of the lovely words, brushing your thumb over his tip, swiping more beads of precum from the tip. With a loud exhale, his brow furrowed, chest heaving with the breaths.

"Are you close?" You asked him, licking your lips and squeezing again, thumb brushing and feeling the blood coursing underneath the flesh. It throbbed under your hand and it made you want to taste him, even if the sensation wasn't quite the same.

"Gods...don't stop, babe...right there..." his moans grew higher pitched as he arched off the bed, movements growing erratic, jerking himself with your hand around his aching cock. You increased the pace a bit more and kissed his flushed cheek when he craned his neck to rest his head on the pillow behind him.

San couldn't quite form sentences anymore. Just pleas for more, to keep going. To milk his thick shaft for all its worth. And that was exactly what you did. In seconds his warm, sticky cum painted across his chest and spilled a little on your belly, pooling above your naval. The creamy white substance oozed from him, overflowing as you continued your slow, languid strokes, relishing the feeling of his climax in your fingers, his shaky, erotic expressions.

The moment his breathing slowed and his body relaxed against the bed once more, he let out a loud sigh. A satisfied sound that left no doubt he enjoyed every minute of that. Your lips found his own in a sweet and tender kiss.

"That was glorious." San grinned lazily from beside you.

You giggled a bit at the euphoria covering his face. He sat up, cleaned the two of you up a bit before pulling you against his frame, wrapping his arms around you lovingly. His attention turned towards the baby bump between you. He was silent for a few minutes, admiring the view he had of his future child in there and the feel of you cuddled in his arms, a glow about you he adored.

The baby kicked and moved in you, causing you to squeak. The look on San's face went from surprise to full fledged affection for both you and your child. His hand immediately came to your stomach and felt the baby shift about, the sensation a little uncomfortable to you, but wonderful all the same.

"Already so protective." You hummed and laid your palm across San's, helping him map your stomach.

"How can I not be? You and our baby are everything I've always wanted." San admitted, watching the way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you laughed and how they closed when you were pleased with something he said or done.

"God, I hope the baby has your eyes, San." You whispered into the evening air, San kissing the crown of your head and continuing to caress your stomach as you two snuggled together in bed.

You would just have to wait and find out a few months later.