#i need your hand but i don't want to burn it

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Neighbour - Noncon

With your electricity out and your devices dead, you have no choice but to turn to your neighbour for help. He's more than willing to welcome you into his home. Really, you're lucky he's such a nice guy.

Tags: male yandere x gender neutral reader, noncon, somno, just the tip anal, daddy kink but only if you squint, 3.3k words

Living in the middle of nowhere had its perks. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

But after the third day with no electricity, those perks were starting to look pretty damn weak. Your fridge was sitting in an ever expanding puddle. Almost all your devices were dead. And if you had to take one more cold shower you were going to cry.

It was when you were digging through your drawer looking for desperately needed batteries that you found your neighbour's number. He'd offered it to you a little while after you moved in, and while you two were on friendly terms, you'd never actually spoken for longer than a few minutes. You sighed, looked at the 10% left on your phone and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

You: hey, it's me. I still haven't got any power. Do you mind if I come over to charge some stuff?

He replied almost instantly.

Unknown: aww that sucks

Unknown: come on over. I've got hot stew and a generator

Unknown: and you can take a hot shower too if you want

Score. And to think you found him intimidating at first. Just goes to show that you can't judge on appearances. You packed a change of clothes, your devices and the last tub of ice cream that wasn't totally melted. You'd find some way to properly pay him back but a tub of chocolate fudge double cream wasn't a bad way to start.

He was waiting on his porch when you pulled up. A bear of a man in a flannel and blue jeans, a five o' clock shadow darkening his jaw.

"Howdy neighbour," he drawled, opening your door for you while you grabbed your stuff. "Regretting leaving the city yet?"

You huffed a laugh. "You do NOT want to know the answer to that."

His cabin was much larger than yours, a two storey behemoth with wide windows and exposed beams. It had a rustic charm - like some natural park Air BnB where they charged a weeks pay for just one night. A little too big for just one man. Didn't he get lonely?

"I brought some ice cream and chocolate to say thank you. And also because it miiight have been melting."

He opened the door for you and ushered you through with a hand on your lower back.

"Hell, I'll never say no to something sweet."

There was a fire burning in the fireplace and a stack of logs in a crate next to it. He was so much better suited to this life than you were. He locked the door behind you and slipped the keys into his pocket.

"Old habit," he explained with an easy grin.

"Why don't you get settled? I'll plug your stuff in."

You handed over your tech with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you. Really. I'm so behind on work already and I haven't heard anything back from the power company."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," he said. "Once ended up going a week straight with not even a light bulb flickering."

You winced. "It gets that bad?"

"Yep. Especially in winter. Gets dangerous then too."

He tilted his head at you, concerned. "You need to get yourself better sorted before it starts snowing. I hate to think of you stuck out there when the blizzards start rolling in."

God, could you be any more of a city slicker? You rubbed your neck, embarrassed.

"Thanks. I've been here a few months now and I guess I just didn't realise how serious things can get."

"It's all good. But if I'm honest, I get worried thinking about you out there all alone. Plenty of drifters end up passing through. Not a good place to be alone, not for a little thing like yourself."

Little? You wanted to feel indignant, but looking at his bulk, you reckoned that most folk probably seemed little to him.

He lead you to the fireplace and poured you a mug of coffee from the pot that was waiting for you. He jerked his head at the hunting rifle on display above the mantle.

"I can teach you to shoot, if you've got some free time."

You took a sip of the coffee, internally debating with yourself. You could see the sense in your offer but you weren't a big fan of guns. Hell, just being around them was nerve wrecking enough. Maybe -

You looked down at your mug in surprise.

"This is some really good stuff."

The coffee was strong, bitter in the best sort of way. You could catch a hint of chocolate in it too. Just sweet enough to make your toes curl.

" 'Course. Only the best for my guest. Help yourself to another cup. I'll just put your stuff on charge and be right back."

You finished your drink in a few sips and happily poured a second serving. Hot coffee... man, you didn't think three days without it would be so tough. Usually, you were pretty sensitive to caffeine. But by the time your neighbour came back, your head was tilted back and you were half asleep.

You tried to shake yourself out of it but he just laughed and pushed you back down.

"You probably haven't had a good sleep since the power went out. Just rest. We can talk once you wake up."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." His hand was still on your shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into your neck. "It's just fine with me."

You drifted off after that. Into a deep sleep without any dreams. Waking up was like slogging through molasses.

"Finally up sleepy head?"

It was dark outside and your neighbour was on one knee in front of the fire place, coaxing fresh wood to catch.

You sat up slowly. Your muscles ached and there was a strange, salty taste on your tongue.

"My heads killing me..."

He stood, poker still in his hand. "You must be starving then. I've already got some food on the stove. You'll feel better after you eat."

You didn't feel hungry at all. If anything, you felt almost hangover.

"Thanks," you managed. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

He waved you away. "I don't mind a bit."

He came back with a bowl of steaming hot chow and stood with his arms crossed on the back of your couch while you ate.

"It's real late. I reckon you should stay over. I don't want you driving on dirt when it's so dark."

"Oh, it's fine. I've already put you out so much."

"Don't be silly. I insist."

You shivered without meaning to. That almost growl, low and bordering on menacing. It was so familiar, so...

"Just like that. Look at you, half asleep and still desperate for my cock."

"You like the taste? Yeah, I bet you fucking do."

"Ain't just gonna use your mouth next time."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Where the hell was this coming from? Were you remembering some sick dream from this afternoon?

"You okay there neighbour?"

You nodded. "Just my head."

Maybe he was right. Driving when you were so disorientated was just asking for trouble.

"If you really don't mind... I'll be happy to sleep over."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling thing. "I'll make the guest room up special, just for you."

"Could I use your shower too?"

"I offered didn't I? Come on, I'll show you where it is."

He took you to the master bedroom and jerked his thumb at the en-suite.

"Hot water is the most reliable in there. Door doesn't close that well though, so don't mind it. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

You brushed your teeth carefully. You lips felt sore, bruised in a way you couldn't explain.

You waited until you heard his footsteps going down the stairs before you stripped off your clothes. You stood under the hot water for a good few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling. The bathroom was thick with steam when you finally got to scrubbing yourself. The door was open just a crack and the bedroom beyond was dark. You forgot all about it until you heard the creak of the hinges.

You whirled to face the door, your hands coming up to cover yourself. The steam was too thick to see through. You called his name.

Nothing.

You stepped out with suds still on your thighs and pushed the door open. The room beyond was empty.

You sighed. God, you were being paranoid. Your neighbour was a great guy. It was unfair of you to treat him like a peeping tom when he'd gone out of his way to make you comfortable. It must have been just an errant draught.

You stepped back into the shower and rinsed yourself off. But no matter what you told yourself, you still kept an eye on the door.

When you went to change into your fresh clothes, you spent at least five minutes hunting for your underwear. Did you drop it somewhere? Oh, please say your undies weren't just sitting in the middle of his hallway. That would be beyond embarrassing.

Eventually you gave up and just decided to go without them. Not comfortable at all but still better than walking around in a towel to look for them. And much better than calling your neighbour in to help. Wouldn't that be fun? 'Hey neighbour that I don't know that well, you haven't seen my intimates lying around, have you?' Yeah, you'd never again get invited over after something like that.

When you were dressed, you found him already on his way up the hall. He was carrying a glass of water and some pills.

"Thought you might still have a headache, so I brought you some painkillers."

You paused, nervous but not sure why.

"Thanks." His hands dwarfed yours when he handed them over. You didn't recognise the name of on the pills, but they looked harmless. You tossed them back and gagged at the bitter aftertaste.

"They pack a punch, so tell me when you start to get drowsy."

"Aye aye captain."

You followed him to the guest room. It was at the very back on the second story, quieter than the rest of the house. A huge glass wall gave you a view of the forest disappearing into the darkness. You could see the ghost of your reflection in the glass, your neighbour a hulking, shapeless mass at your shoulder.

He took a seat in an armchair across form the bed and stretched out his legs. You perched on the edge of the mattress, still feeling a bit like an intruder.

"How long have you been staying out here?” you asked.

He smiled at you, teeth glinting almost wolf-like. "Got you curious?"

"A little. Folk in town say they hardly see you. I don't know... I'm just wondering if you ever get lonely."

He was quiet and you cursed yourself for being so nosy. You hurried to fill the silence.

"It's just that I get a bit lonely out here too. 'Specially when it's so quiet. And I guess I was wondering if it's the same for you."

He smiled at you, rueful. "At times. Used to be worse, but I've got a new interest to keep me occupied nowadays."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Bird watching."

"Really? What do you look for?"

The way the room was lit up, you couldn't see his eyes. They fell into shadow and you only had his lips to read his emotions by. He smirked, slow and almost mocking.

"Just one bird I look out for. Flighty little thing. Tends to get caught by predators a lot. You’d probably recognise it."

The polite thing to do would be to ask what it was called. You didn't. Some part of whispered that you wouldn't like the answer.

You must have been quiet a little too long because he took it as his cue to leave. He stood, a mountain of muscle, his eyes not quite as nice as they seemed that afternoon. A trick of the light, surely. He wouldn't hurt a fly.

"You rest up. Got a busy day tomorrow."

"G'night."

He was gone before you thought to ask what he meant. And you were passed out on your pillows before you realised it. He was right. The pills sure did pack one hell of a punch.

You were aware of a shadow at the end of your bed. You weren't fully awake, and your limbs were slow and heavy with more than just sleep.

"Who..."

The shadow reached down and one warm paw circled your ankle.

"Just me little bird."

You knew that voice. It was the voice that brought you warm food and invited you in from the cold. You could trust it. Could go back to sleep and not worry about anything.

'No,' some part of you hissed, 'He's not as safe as you think.'

"Cold..."

The shadow laughed and it was the laugh of the fox finding the rabbit's den. Nasty. Hungry.

"Cold huh? Don't worry baby. I'll warm you right up."

He yanked your ankle towards him and your whole body slid down the bed. You were too drowsy to stop it.

"Knew you were gonna be mine the second I saw you," he cooed, hands running up your thighs.

His fingers slipped under your waistband, nails scraping your hip bones.

"Dumb little thing from the city. Doesn't even realise I've tripped all their breakers. That's why you don't have power baby. It's all me."

His fingers were as big as the rest of him. Thick, meaty. Skin rough from working outdoors. You whined when his fingertips scraped the edges of your hole.

"No underwear. You needy slut. That's practically a written and signed invitation to fuck you."

He pulled your pants down to your ankles and pushed your knees up to your stomach. And you were too out of it to stop him. Limp and pliable as a fuck doll.

Your tight ass was exposed to the cold air, entirely at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do.

"Cute." He circled his thumb around the rim, almost pushing in but not quite. "Wanted to be in this ass since you first showed up at my door all those months ago. Lookin' up at me all sweet. Fuck, it's enough to drive a man to desperation."

He lowered his head and you could feel his warm breath washing over your thighs.

He dragged his tongue across your hole. Some part of you must have been more awake than the rest, because your whole body jerked away from him.

"None of that," he cooed, hands digging into your thighs and dragging you back. "I haven't even gotten started yet."

He licked you again, deeper this time. The flexed tip of his tongue pushing at your entrance, and to your dull horror, actually slipping in. He moaned and you could feel the vibrations all through your crotch.

He pulled out and spat, rubbed it in with his fingers. One of them pushed in until the second joint, curling into your walls so rough that you gasped.

"Please..."

"Please what?" he mocked. "Please fuck my tight little ass? Please cum inside me? Use your words little bird."

"Please...stop..."

That made him laugh again, made him shove his finger in all the way to the knuckle. Twisting so cruelly as he pulled out and jerked back in.

"Stop? Stop? After all the work it took to get you here? No way baby. I'm not slowing down and I'm sure as fuck not stopping."

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by a sharp intake of breath when he nudged his leaking head against your hole.

"You’re not going to remember this. And I'm not going to leave any evidence."

He pushed your legs tighter against your chest.

"So as much as I want to fuck you rotten, you're gonna have to be happy with just the tip."

He'd done a good job loosening and lubing you, but it still burned like a hot poker when he forced his way in. He groaned, almost in pain.

"You're fucking choking me. God, do you want my cum so bad?"

You could feel when the tip was in. That tiny difference in thickness between his head and shaft was oh so noticeable when your ass was clenching and fluttering around it. It was the smallest mercy, but mercy nonetheless.

He was panting from the effort of getting it in, the effort of holding back. The size difference between you almost perverse. Like a draft stallion trying to mount a pony. In every way, he was just too fucking big.

He spat in his hand and brought it to his cock, ran his palm up and down his shaft with sickly wet strokes. The combination of his palm and your squeezing ass was fucking delicious.

He had great stamina but fuck if it didn't feel like you were milking him.

He let go long enough to smack your ass. It almost finished him. You clenched around him so hard it felt like his tip was getting fucking crushed.

"Shiiiit, you're the best hole I've ever had. Can't wait 'til I can go all the way."

You whined, pitiful as snared prey. There were words there, though they were too slurred to make out. Something about Daddy and please and stop. He ignored you.

He pushed in a little deeper and watched your face scrunching up. So helpless, so fucking caught. That was what did it. The knowledge that he could do this to you at any point and you'd be helpless to stop it.

He came inside you, snarling through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to bruise. You'd notice the marks in the morning and chalk it up to just being clumsy. But he'd know. He'd see the bruises peeking out from the hem of your shorts and his cock would twitch just a little at the memory of leaving them.

His cock pulsed. Shot strings of spunk deep inside you. You could feel it. Hot, too hot. Gross. Make it stop. Get it out.

He pulled out with a wet pop. His cum drooled down and he took a minute to work it back into you with his finger. Your hole was gaping just a little and it made his balls pulse. If he had the time...

"A real fucking mess. And on my good sheets too. You're a terrible guest."

He mopped up whatever cum remained with a balled up piece of martial that he pulled from his pocket. Even in you stupor, you recognised it as your missing underwear.

"Terrible guest, but the perks of having you around are pretty fucking sweet."

He dropped your knees back to the mattress, pulled your pants back into place and roughly yanked the duvet over you. He grabbed your jaw and smiled at the lost, drowsy look in your half open eyes.

"Got a big day tomorrow. Gonna wake up and find your whole house was flooded. Ruined. Gonna have nowhere to stay but with me."

He sounded smug. It made your guts twist.

Outside, the night grew quiet. A predator was hunting and most prey knew better than to catch its attention.

"I made sure of it. All your family and friends in the city are away from home. There's no one around to help you out..."

He tightened his grip just enough to watch the fear start dancing in your eyes.

"No one...except me."

He let you go and smiled that same warm, comforting smile from that afternoon.

"Dumb little thing. Got no clue how your water mains work, do you? Got no idea how easy they are to sabotage."

He tutted. "Got me so damn busy. I'm gonna have to run to your place, fuck shit up and be back here before you wake up for real."

He traced his index finger over your lips and left behind a sticky coating of spunk. You'd wake up tasting salt again, with no memory of why.

"But it's fine. I forgive you. After today we'll have plenty of time together. Rest of our lives in fact. So just sleep tight and forget what you think you've dreamed."

There are perks to living in the middle nowhere. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

There are perks, but unfortunately for you, your neighbour isn't one of them.

[shotmrmiller]

(Unnamed for now, 4.8k words of nothing but self indulgence because ex bf simon is king. just porn without plot, the usual filth. also i wrote myself into a hole with the smut but whatever.)

If your friends knew that you'd gone to great lengths to look presentable— less cave-dweller, more human— hoping to get lucky tonight only to end up waving off anyone of interest because you're too busy sulking about a relationship you willingly broke off, they'd kick you from the group chat.

(Or never let you live it down.)

But here you are, perched on a barstool, its cracked leather slightly sticky beneath your legs, the cocktail you'd ordered a while ago sitting mostly untouched on an even stickier bar top. Lamenting. Moping all over a guy who hasn't bothered to return a single phone call since you left him the voicemail. And it hadn't been his fault, really. He'd been upfront with you from the get-go; he's a busy man with a job you don't want to know about and are safer not knowing about.

You'd noticed the specific wording he'd used. Not better off but safer off, its implications perilous. The hardened look he'd given you when you'd pressed him on it, hoping for a slip of the truth, had been the first and only warning you'd needed.

Get off his case, understood.

You clench your teeth, irritation nipping at your nerves. You'd like to think that you've mourned this ex-relationship plenty and feeling an acute, smoldering ache again over a whisper of a memory (and not even a fond one at that)—

Time to douse these flames.

Waving the bartender down, you push away the watered-down drink and gesture for a shot. She eyes you warily, hesitating for a moment before sliding an empty glass over and reaching for some top-shelf bottle your bank account already feels the bite of. The fiery burn that courses down your throat resembles the one in your chest.

The alcohol swiftly does its job, offering a sense of relief, and you're grateful for it, even if fleeting. The room starts to blur a bit, the strobing lights overhead bleeding together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain, and you let yourself sink into the moment, the gentle ebb of intoxication pooling heat in your cheeks, warmth seeping into your limbs.

Things don't look so bad now; the world has taken a dreamlike quality to it, with softened edges and vibrant colors. With the liquid courage dulling the sharpness of your previous thoughts and easing the tension in your shoulders, you reckon that now you can start looking for your prey of the evening. It's why you even bothered to slink out of your comfort zone in the first place.

Mission directive: Get laid. Or plan B: go home with a new number saved in your contacts.

You rest your chin on your palm, eyes lazily scanning around the room, taking in the hazy but lively atmosphere. The dance floor is a whirl of energy, couples moving to the rhythm of the music, a group of friends huddling in a corner, hands gesturing animatedly as they chat each other up, and at the front—

If you swiveled away in your chair any faster, the courage you'd knocked back 10 minutes ago would come back up, spilling onto the bar top the barkeep gave up trying to keep clean. There have been numerous instances where your mind plays tricks on you, teasing you with glimpses of big and blonde in your peripheral while out running errands, the miserable lump in your throat only dislodging once you've made your grand escape.

(It's not running away; It's a tactical retreat. You'll face the music when it's less deafening.)

And in keeping with tradition, you settle your tab and scurry off to the bathroom, clutching your bag like a lifeline. A familiar shadow just walked in through the front door, once again haunting you. No matter how many times you whisper reassurances under your breath, dismissing it as a cruel joke your mind loves to play, the semblance of him never fails to arouse a bit of panic in you.

The trip to the bathroom feels like you're trekking across the country, weaving in and out and around crowds of people, dodging flailing limbs like an extreme sport. The inside is relatively small and cramped; three stalls for the entire bar. It's blessedly empty, so you beeline to the sink, hoping for a splash of cold water to settle your nerves.

The water is startlingly cold, or maybe it feels colder because you're flustered, and you're mid air-drying your hands when you hear it: that unforgettable gait, heavy and solid, like a tank rolling over rugged terrain. It's something that you can still hear echo in the small confines of your flat when the world is quiet. The mirror in front reflects your tense face, its edges cloudy with time and poor-quality cleaning solutions.

Get a grip, you're losing it.

Until the door swings wide, hinges screeching as it gives way with no resistance, and you realize that you're not losing it. But you just might.

"'Ello, poppet."

Incredulity forces a chuckle out of you because it's either you laugh or you cry.

"Nice," he eyes the cracked tile beneath your feet, "choice for a night out. Beer's more piss than ale, though." The door closes behind him.

The mockery in his voice is wildly unwarranted, especially for a man you haven't heard from for a better part of the year, and you finally gather your wits to bite back indignantly.

"What? It's not your cuppa? I always assumed you ratted out in seedy holes like this." The bruise-tight grip you've got around your bag makes your fingers ache. "I'll be sure to pick a more refined place for you next time."

He wastes no time closing the gap between you two, your three steps back negated by his single one with laughable ease, and the space around you seems to shrink, his presence swallowing it whole. You'd forgotten just how large a man he was— is.

A different beast altogether.

"No need. We won't be comin' back 'ere again." Your brows quirked at that. He's gone and learned French, apparently. Oui. You try to keep your personal bubble intact by taking another step back only to come in contact with a stall door, its chilly surface forcing your spine rigid. Cornered, caught in the crosshairs of the hunter's gaze, and the intensity of it makes you feel vulnerable, bare, as if you're staring up the barrel of a loaded gun.

"Easy, lovie, no need to look at me like tha', 'm jus' 'ere to talk," he says with a tone that's tinged with condescension, and his giant mitts are up and palms facing you like he's dealing with a skittish animal. There's a thought there, buried deep, that you refuse to acknowledge.

"Talk?" The question bursts out before you can stop it, followed by a sardonic laugh that feels unexpectedly cathartic as it leaves your mouth. Talk now, when you not only kept your line of communication open but also actively tried reaching out for weeks? Weeks spent waiting for a response, foolishly hoping he'd give a damn enough to at least put up a fight for you and what you had?

He tilts his head slightly, eyes unreadable. "Better late than never," he remarks, but that's the problem, isn't it? You were forced to come to terms with never, whether you liked it or not. And you had not liked it, but it had been necessary. To know there was a part of his life you weren't welcome to, regardless of reason, was something that shadowed your interactions. The realization that you were kept at arm's length due to the duality of his life was too bitter a pill to swallow.

It'd been a painful process making peace with the fact that maybe things just hadn't been meant to be. C'est la vie and all that tripe. But now, here he stands before you, having materialized out of thin air, a bloody intrusion upon the fragile peace you've built for yourself— it feels like a mockery of the emotional distress you've had to endure.

"Better late than—? You honestly fucking think you can just," you stumble over yourself in disbelief, "just corner me in a tiny bathroom of a dingy bar to talk?"

Simon raises one bulky shoulder, unconcerned. "You chose the place."

His piss poor attempt at a joke is like a slap in the face. "Right. Goodbye, Simon." You step around him briskly, your arm brushing against his. Just as your fingers graze the cold metal of the door handle, his encircle your wrist and gently pull you away. The span of his palm could easily engulf the entirety of your hand, and you can't help but wonder if you're as delicate and fragile as you feel in his grasp.

"Let me try that again," he murmurs tentatively, and you curse your good nature— the one that's always been too quick to soften even when you know better. You know just how clumsy he is with words, how his tongue ties itself in knots when emotions creep into the conversation. Simon gives your wrist a tender squeeze. "Ya can leave whenever you want."

Damn it. Damn it. Fine. This confrontation has been a long time coming anyway. "Then try again and make it fast," you snap, words short and clipped. "How we haven't been kicked out of here yet is a bloody wonder."

He steps away from you and leans his hips against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. Here Simon stands, no longer a hazy apparition in the corner of your eye but fully here. Real. Uncomfortable so. You shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"Didn't mean to disappear on ya," his tone carries a note of something resembling regret. "Work took me across the world, couldn't reach out t'you even if I wanted to." And there it is, the crux of the problem. His job. Always his job. The one part of his life you've never been allowed to see, what had been the ever-constant shadow hanging over your relationship. What tore him away from you for weeks at a time only for those same gaps to start getting longer and longer while his stays grew shorter.

That's not good enough.

"So that's it?" Simon cannot honestly expect you to take his paltry excuse and run with it. As if it's enough to stitch together the wound his silence left behind. "Work? That's what you're going with?" It's the audacity that stings the most, the hope that you'd simply accept it and move past all of this heartache.

For all you know, he could be lying through his teeth, spinning enough truth to make it seem believable. You must have your suspicions plastered on your forehead because Simon peels himself off the sink with a sharp breath and narrowed eyes.

"'M many things, love, but a liar ain't one of 'em." His hand disappears into the front pocket of his worn denims, and when he pulls it free, you instantly recognize the tattered, frayed edges of his wallet. Still clinging to life, it seems. As stubborn as the man holding it. He opens it and extends it to you because it's imperative you see...?

"Work." And right there is an ID, not your plain old driver's license, which you're unsurprised to see absent. The man has no business being behind the wheel of any vehicle; he's a threat to all life and limb while on the road— but a military ID, the insignia emblazoned on the card unmistakable. You'd pieced together as much but never fully assumed, never formed a picture, just a blurred outline that left more questions than answers.

Name: Simon Riley. Rank: Lieutenant. Special Forces is right above the square where a photo is supposed to be. "There's no picture." You flash your eyes up at his in question.

"Never," he states.

You swallow thickly. An admission, this is. A roughly hewn olive branch tucked away in the ratty wallet you'd told him to toss ages ago. He snaps it shut with a practiced flick and then rucks up the right sleeve of his jacket up to the crook of his elbows, exposing his forearm, stark and freckled, the skin pale but then closer to his wrist, his flesh taking on a more golden hue— honeyed, sun-kissed.

Simon Riley does not tan.

"Sat on my arse out in a barren stretch o' land f'r months on end, cookin' under the blazin' sun while waitin' for orders tha' never came," he grumbles, voice weary. He doesn't flinch when your wandering fingers feather across the darkened strip of skin. "The only form o' communication was local." You flip his hand, the underside of his wrist startlingly pale like the underbelly of a fish. "Couldn't 'ave reached out even if I wanted to. No signal."

It hangs heavy, what he was willing to share, and you're wondering if he's only asking for understanding or something else. Your treacherous heart flutters in your chest, breath squeezing from your lungs. A tiny part of you hopes for he's asking for that something else.

There's a new scar on his palm, close to the hardened calluses on his knuckles, the deep, puckered groove still red and raw— fresh enough to make you wince— and you can't help the frown that pulls at your lips. You can bet he took care of this himself, the oaf. Probably spit it clean and wrapped it up with whatever he had on hand. He's lucky it didn't infect.

"Only when I came back did I receive the missed calls, the texts, the bloody voicemail," he gnarls, and while the sharpness of his tone isn't aimed at you, you feel the biting sting of it anyway. Simon cradles your hand in his much larger one, and he doesn't squeeze, doesn't hold too tight; he simply holds it, the choice to refuse him if you wanted.

You don't.

"And this isn't something you could've told me before? I know I pressed when I shouldn't have," chagrin pools in your cheeks, "but I worried for you. You were sometimes so unreachable, standing between two worlds at once. I couldn't help ease the weight of your responsibilities because I didn't know what I was dealing with." As you thread your fingers with his, they feel impossibly small, brittle— like the bones of a bird swallowed in the expanse of his hand. How unsettling.

(Yet you wouldn't have it any other way.)

Simon shakes his head, slow and deliberate, but his grip on your hand tightens. "I've more enemies than friends," he mutters, raising your hand to his masked lips, the gesture oddly tender as he presses a kiss on it even though it forces you to rise onto your tiptoes. You blow a puff of air, mildly exasperated. Big geezer.

"Every time I rid myself o' one, two take their place. I only did it t' keep ya safe. There's nothin' they'd love more than to exploit any o' my weaknesses." He says it as though the admission itself is dangerous, and maybe it is, but the risk, you believe, is one worth taking even if he won't.

Where he sees danger, you see trust. And that's all you ever wanted. Trust, because either you'll have all of him or none of him, so you tell him that.

His grip tightens imperceptibly. "Only wha' I feel is safe f'r you to know. Nothin' more." You know he means it. You've seen how far he's willing to go, how much he's willing to sacrifice, to keep you out of harm's reach.

Simon will shoulder just about anything alone if it means you'll be kept safe.

How lovely. He's taken it upon himself to play Batman when no one cast him into the role. Ah, well. A win is a win, and you've long learned some battles aren't worth the effort today, so you tuck this conversation into the back of your mind, a note to revisit at a later date. As for now, though...

"Alright, Si," the old nickname slips from you so easily, as if it never left, "We can continue this tomorrow, if you're able, but as for me," your gaze flickers to the faint ring of grime around the drain and the scribbles covering the peeling walls, "I've just about had it with this place."

But he's got no interest in letting you go now, not when you've given him the second chance he'd been desperate for. Instead, he jerks you to him, your shoulder colliding into his chest, his arms cinching tight around you. There is no grace, no soft pretense to it— just a raw, unfiltered need of a man clinging to what he's been too afraid to lose; your arsecheeks apparently because that's what he's currently pawing at.

Pervert. Honestly, you'd applaud him for holding back from groping you for this long. No shame in giving credit where it's due. You thought about letting him have his fill, indulging his starved-dog behavior until his hands started to wander beneath your clothes. You ought to make him stop this before it spirals into something completely out of your control.

Ah, but then he latches onto the sensitive spot on your neck, right below the ear, so close to your drumming pulse and your words snag in your throat like fishhooks when he suckles.

It's tragic how quickly you cave.

Simon's breath fans hot over your spit-slick throat, slow and composed while yours is sharp and shallow as if you can't quite catch it. He jerks his head toward the stall, and you freeze, disbelief rooting you in place.

"You're joking." He's gone and lost whatever scraps of sanity he had left back wherever he was because there's no way you're getting down and dirty in— your lip curls in distaste as you look at the industry-grade bottle of disinfectant that sits in the corner— here. But then he's dragging you toward the nearest stall anyway, your bag tumbling to the ground, not my bag, Simon, shit, you owe me another. The door is a pitiful excuse for privacy, barely clinging to the hinges and sporting a gap wide enough to make you grimace. You've hardly any time to register anything else before Simon is already at your feet, smoothly dropping to one knee, the crown of his head dipping slightly below your navel.

Simon's hands cup the back of your thighs, palms spread wide as they trail upward, the tips of his fingers finding lace and not your everyday cotton. With a deliberate slowness, he lifts the hem of your skirt, his neck craning just enough to bring his line of sight under the drape of fabric, and his gaze lingers.

Oh right. You've got on that set— the one he'd carefully chosen for your birthday, that one that fits you so perfectly it almost feels unfair. A little indulgence that'd been meant for his eyes only. Even as you'd slipped it on earlier tonight, it'd felt like you'd been breaking the rules.

It makes you wonder...

You hook a leg over his shoulder, the heel of your shoe digging into the straight plane of his back. "Well?" Your question is wrapped in feigned nonchalance. "Does it make you upset?" Simon shrugs, dismissive, his eyes steady as they lock onto yours. The dim light above buzzes faintly, its unkind glow spilling over his rugged face. It does nothing to soften the sharpness of his features.

And you notice a new scar, tiny, close to his hare's lip.

"Doesn't threaten me, sweet'eart."

A sharp laugh escapes you. How infuriatingly arrogant. Simon leans in, his nose brushing against your sex roughly before he takes a crude sniff, unrestrained, unapologetic. Nasty as always.

The faintest smirk curls the corners of his lips. "Can't blame me, my girl and I 'ave been apart f'r too long." Humming, you place a hand on his head, palming over the short bristles of his hair before curling around the back of his neck, and you grind down on him.

"If you're hungry, then eat." The smile you give him after your gracious offer is nothing short of salacious.

Simon thumbs your gusset to the side and slips his tongue through your folds, and it's electric, raw. Frissons ripple through you, starting from your nape, and it cascades down your arm and your legs, and the sensation is sharp, almost overwhelming, and you bow forward, nails digging into the dense muscle of his traps.

It's been so fucking long.

Hot, wet pressure circles around your swollen clit, purposefully shy of what you covet, enough to stir something within you but not enough to satisfy— nowhere near enough. It makes you testy. Impatient. It pushes you to lose control, feeling it slip from his grasp, only to land squarely in his.

It's the exact reaction Simon craves. You can grind down on the tip of his nose all you want, push and pull at his head every which way, but you don't come without his say so, and to earn that, there's something you have to do.

By the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip, bite-swollen and glossy with spit, peering down at him with bleary eyes after having rutted against his face without restraint, frantically seeking the friction you yearn for, you also know what to do.

Good.

Now he waits. Your pussy is dripping slick, dewy honey trailing down his chin and joining the sticky mess pooling near his knee, but he doesn't care— his focus is entirely on you. Simon knows exactly how this will end. You're as mulish as ever, he muses, but you'll break. You always do. It's not a question of if but when, and he's content to wait as long as it takes for the inevitable. After all, he's a patient man when he chooses to be.

Your chest heaves with every ragged draw of air to your lungs, your pretty lips quivering with need, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. If he had the skill, he'd pencil this very moment onto paper, immortalizing it. The desperation that clings to your features, the frustrated grunts you give when he laps at your— his— cunt, tongue skimming just shy of your pearl.

It's intoxicating. A heady visceral rush that courses through his veins and pools white-hot in his groin, stiffening his cock almost painfully.

And then, when a finger dips into your sopping entrance, the composure you'd been desperately clinging to begins to come apart. Simon watches it unfold through heavy-lidded eyes, the gentle part of your lips, the tremor in your breath— he drinks up every single second.

"Please," your voice is barely more than a breadth of a whisper. Your surrender is almost as sweet as you.

The kiss he plants on the inside of your thigh is searing as he hums. "What's it?" The prickly stubble of his jaw scratches against your skin. "Don't lose ya courage now," he murmurs, "you've already fought 'alf the battle.

Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, but you truck on, dignity long lost, in tatters next to your bag on the floor. "Please let me come." Your words come out in a half whine, half plea, and Simon's response is immediate; he cants your hips as two thick fingers enter you fully, and at this angle, it's more than he knows you can take, but you asked for it. Begged for it.

Simon takes it slow, not easy, the suction on your clit maddening; strong, fluttering pulses that seemingly beat in tandem with your heart and the world begins to tilt on its axis, his strong hands keeping you anchored lest your knees give way beneath you.

The world narrows down to the sound of your hiccups, the tension coiled spring tight below your navel, the feel of his shirt knotting in your fist— if he had hair long enough to tug, you would've ripped it out.

You knock your head back against the door almost violently, the dull throb stamped out by the livewire crackling beneath your skin when you finally do come, a scorching heat radiating from within your core out, leaving a raw, tingling sensation in its wake. It stings, you dazedly muse. The orgasm that was wrenched from you was so thunderous your pussy stings. It's short-lived but potent, and you can't help but wince, your lips curling, teeth slightly bared in discomfort.

Ouch.

Simon, on the other hand, is just peachy, unbothered as ever, leaned back on his haunches, chin glistening with slick, his thumb sweeping what's about to drip off his nose.

"Don't think for a second I'm returning the favor here. I've standards, Simon." He huffs in response but says nothing, expecting nothing less of you, instead opting to shrug his jacket off and place it over your drooping shoulders. Your limbs feel leaden as you exit the stall, Simon nimbly reaching for your health hazard of a bag before leading you toward the door.

Your fingers curl around the knob, and twist and pull—

and nothing. Confusion knots your brows together as you retrace your steps. Had you pushed or pulled it open? You can't quite recall, so you give it a firm push it instead—

and nothing. Again. The door stays closed.

"Need help there?" Irritation sparks within you, wishing your glare would eviscerate the obstinate door. Does Simon think himself funny? All you want is to go home, scrub yourself sparkling clean, and sleep until the late afternoon, but the door is conspiring against you. Good. Great, even.

"Bloody door," you grumble, "It won't open." Simon steps forward, unhurried, and twists the handle once, twice—

"Open sesame," he says, tone utterly flat and casual, and you snap your slackened jaw shut. "Oh for fuck's sake, Simon, keep your shit jokes," but the door opens with a click.

You're joking.

You're fucking joking.

It swings wide with a creak, and you glance around instinctively. Nothing out of place— just the usual drunken bodies flowing in and out, their laughter and slurred conversations blending into the background.

Simon drapes a heavy arm around your shoulders, large hand squeezing firm as he walks you out, and you trudge alongside, your gait sluggish, until a massive bulk stumbles into your path, and Simon quickly places himself between you and the drunken mass, both a protector and a threat.

The bloke is a guy with a row of thick hair that runs from his forehead to the nape of his neck, the sides clean shaven. "Sorry, bonnie, didnae mean ta-" limpid blue flashes to Simon, his thin-lipped smile stretches wide— too wide— flashing too many teeth for comfort, "bump into ye." He doesn't linger though, clodhopping his way back to the bar. There's a bold-lined tattoo on his nape, of a... revolver? A choice.

"Walk. I'll take ya home. Won't come in for a nightcap," the lines by his eyes becoming more pronounced. "Scouts 'onor." Simon pulls you along, and you're fighting off the sleep in your eyes when a man in a cap, his profile partially hidden by the brim, bumps his knuckles against Simon's shoulder, and curiosity outweighs your fatigue.

"Who's that?"

Simon grunts. "Security."

You don't remember having been frisked by security when you came in.

The crisp air outside bites your cheeks when you step out, and you're grateful for Simon's forethought as you tug the sides of his jacket closer to you, burying your nose into the collar— it smells of cigarette smoke and him, musky and woodsy— a quiet comfort. Sleep tugs at your eyelids, each step feeling heavier than the last as you make your way towards his vehicle.

The metal door groans as it opens, and he extends a hand, aiding you up when you squeeze it as you slur out a confession.

I missed you.

He doesn't falter in his movements as he guides both your feet inside, and his hands are steady as he adjusts the belt, buckle quietly clicking into place until he straightens, gaze dark and fluid as it lingers on you.

He runs the rough pad of his thumb along your bottom lip tenderly.

"I know, sweet'heart. Get some sleep."

The door closes with a firm but gentle push.

I know, he says. Exhaustion pulls at you, dragging you further away from consciousness. Bastard.

Simon doesn't wake you when he pulls up to your driveway, hooking an arm under your knees and the other around your waist to take you inside, your head lolling on his shoulder. Tomorrow, you'll ask him how he knows where you live, considering you moved for a new job months ago.

[muqingslover]

Hi! If you're open to requests, what would you think the lads men (or just one guy of your choice!!) would do in the following scenario?

They are out with mc when they run into mc's ex, and mc's ex says, "Damn, your taste in men changed a lot" in like a condescending manner. (Or something along those lines)

I hope you have a great time!! I love reading your stories!!

[ Thank you for the request! <3 I did a little of everyone so enjoy! ]

Sylus

"Your tastes sure have changed since the last time I saw you." is the first thing that actually catches his attention during the otherwise boring conversation.

Sylus is not an overly jealous person simply because he is very secure of his love for you and how good he is to you. The only thing your ex does is greatly amuse him because the difference is too great to even be considered fair.

"Naturally. You surely don't expect someone to eat trash forever, do you?" He would answer for you in a smooth voice while he towers over the both of you with that confident expression of his on his face.

He feels almost sorry for you, who had to make do with such men, but, not to worry, he's here now and he's not going anywhere.

Xavier

Taunting his jealous side is the same as playing with fire while knowing you're going to get burn.

"Is that the type of guy you prefer?" He'd ask the second the two of you are alone again. His hands pin you to the closest surface so you're unable to run from the conversation and he keeps his face very close to yours to watch for even the smallest reactions "Do you like him more than me?"

My advice? Say no as quickly as possible and give him a kiss to shush him otherwise you're in for the long, loooooong haul. Xavier is not easily soothed once he's worked up and he WILL hold grudges.

The next time your ex shows up he is quick to cut the conversation before they can even get a good morning in and makes it clear you belong to him now.

Rafayel

"What did you just say?" His head never whipped back faster mans almost twisted his own neck.

Arguably the most aggressive per se because he's SO obvious. To him it's just staggering you ever went out with anyone else, especially a thing like that, and that it's here, again, approaching you. Does it not see him? He's right there for god's sake!

"She's on duty so she can't talk to you right now. Or ever." He'd grab you by the shoulder as he sized the guy up and down with the most condescending and judgmental look on his face before scoffing. what a diva

He'll nag at you later for being "distracted while on the job" and say you're supposed to pay attention to him at all times otherwise how will his dear bodyguard protect him? Please be more mindful!

Caleb

It was a school reunion party when your old high school sweetheart came up to the both of you.

"Oh hey, I remember you! Weren't you the guy who got kicked out for cheating on his graduation exam?" He says with an innocent grin on his face knowing full well the guy is a deadbeat and making sure others heard it too.

It's canon he kept track of all crushes MC had while growing up and I'm sure he goes out of his way to show you their bad points so you won't even consider looking their way.

In some cases, Caleb had to get rid of them by manipulating things behind the scenes if they didn't take the hint and this one was one of those cases.

The guy was struggling with his grades and who is he to deny a helping hand? All he did was slip the sheet of answers to the test without anyone knowing, it's not his fault if the idiot accepted it knowing it was against the rules. Such an angel, isn't he.

This interaction will lead to him being even more territorial around you and he wants you to just stay home with him where it's safe. Pretty please?

Zayne

He will step in if they are bothering you by pretending he needs your immediate help in the office but otherwise Zayne merely listening in the background.

Once they're gone the silence is so loud.

You can basically feel that he's bothered by something, but he won't open his mouth even if you ask him about it because it's 'petty and childish'.

"Are you happy with me?" He'd eventually ask you after stewing in his own thoughts for the day. What if your tastes hadn't changed and you were just too nice to tell him he's not doing enough? That he is not enough.

Please reassure this sweet man that you're happy in the relationship. Especially so if your ex is the type that is super extroverted and easy to get along with since that's one of the points he struggles with the most.

The problem goes away on its own after some good quality time together and affectionate words.

[eraserbread]

there's nothing your nanami loves more than watching you cook.

he enjoys the way you get into it, crinkling your brow as you multitask from nursing your sauce to peeling your vegetables. he just loves everything you love, including your stupid, smutty tv shows and perpetually sad music.

if you carved a hole in his chest, you'd probably just see... you. every part that encaptures your soul.

tonight, you're cooking for him again wearing a matching pajama set you know he loves. you're wearing it as he slugs back in from work, frustration brewing and rising above his head like a spell. his shoulders are so heavy that it's palpable. you drop the knife in your hands.

"oh, kento." you purr, approaching him with your arms outstretched. in a single move, he drops his glasses and loosens his tie, ready for you to dote on fully. "I'm sorry you had a bad day."

"you're making something good?" he puts on a millisecond smile for you, closing his big hands across your back. the air around you smells like home, and you feel like it. soft to the touch and packed full of comfort and ease. it's why nanami married you -- there's no pain or adversity within these four walls. that's only a work thing.

"your favorite, f-

he chuckles, cutting you off from the tangent he knows you'll take him on. "I don't see you laid out on that stove."

"-ken!" you slap both hands across the bottom of his pretty face, flustered and blushing red. you knew he has a mind to say something risque, but it always surprises you when he does. he's still not the easiest person to read. "jus- just sit down and I'll finish up."

"mm, okay. take your time." nanami has to peel himself away from you, and it takes all of his might. on the upside, he can watch your back as you fuss around in the kitchen. silently, you check the pot of rice, noting the remaining cooking time, stir and lower the flame on your meat and head back to continue cutting on your board. nanami studies all of it. he truly loves you so much.

so, he can't help the fact that the beautiful meal you'd been doting over got a bit too crispy.

your nanami just had to taste you for himself, already two fingers deep into your aching cunt, he leans down between your thighs to lap at your sweetness. he could die between these thighs -- make a home in the cushioned, comforting skin and stay forever.

he needed your pheromones in a cologne -- your taste on the back of his tongue forever, because you were so delelectible. you're always insanely fucking pretty when you're mewling his name; lovely, scattered renditions only you can call him tumbling out.

he's dragging the thickness of his tongue between your folds, focusing the tip against your swollen clit. he has you right where he wants you, knowing its not enough to make you cum immediately, but just enough to send you over the edge.

you're sliding back on the counter, its slickness from your body and nanami's spit not making it very suitable to eat off of. neither of you care, because it's just so sweet to be in this shared presence.

it's so lewd to hear your husband's fingers fucking you over the sound of your dinner sizzling and burning. but, that's just exactly what you signed up for when you agreed to become

mrs. nanami kento

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

Thank you so much for the part 2 of the shapeshifter AU! 🙏 The atmosphere is so singularly spooky and sultry. Keep up the great work!

on it boss!!

70 / 1.6k / part 3 of shapeshifter familiars!141 tormenting witch!reader

...

You wait until the early evening. It's the earliest you can run. Your so-called familiars won't come out while the sky is still bright. Even so, the moon’s faint sliver stands faintly visible against the sky. You pack your things and fetch your traveling cloak. Vital components. Your dagger. Scrying parchment. You've survived on less.

Something catches your eye as you open the door. The setting sun gleams off the little glass vial on your hearth. You grab it. It's the thing Soap left—what he was teasing you about; the "little treat" he brought back. You see now what it is: black henbane. Your heart beats faster. Out of anger or anticipation—you're not sure which wins out. You'll certainly make use of this. But it will be despite your demons. Not because of them.

As you set off to leave, though, you find yourself face-to-face with a different threat altogether: townsfolk with torches and pitchforks.

The mob's torches flicker, casting jagged shadows across their grim faces. Their leader, a broad-shouldered blacksmith with soot-stained hands, steps forward. The pitchfork trembles in his harsh grip. "Off to consort with devils, witch?"

Behind him, a farmer's wife spits at your feet. "My boy hasn't slept since your cursed raven perched on our roof! You sent those monsters to torment us!"

A ripple of agreement surges through the crowd. You catch the glint of silver amulets around their throats—crude charms of rowan berries and iron nails. Your designs.

"I don't want any trouble," you tell them. You already intend to leave this place forever; all you need to do is convince them to let you go in peace. "I swear it. I condemn the demons that plague the village just as you do."

The blacksmith's shout cracks like a whip. "Liar!" He thrusts his pitchfork toward your cottage and the crow feathers littering the threshold. "Found your nest o' nightmares. Bones under the floorboards. Charms written in your hand guidin' those beasts!"

A teenage boy hurls a rock. It grazes your temple with a thump that rings in your skull. "She fed my sister to the black dog! Saw its yellow eyes in her window the night she vanished!"

Then a torch arcs through the dusk. It crashes against your doorframe, tallow and embers cascading onto dry thatch. The farmer's wife screams, "Burn the hellspawn out!"

Other voices roar in agreement. The mob surges forward as one. Their amulets glow faintly as they near your wards, rowan countering rowan.

You slam the door shut, scattering glowing red hay, and bolt for the back door instead. You flee toward the forest. Warm blood slides down your face and trickles into your collar. You crash through the tree line. Brambles tear your cloak. Torchlight dances between birches behind you. They’re gaining.

"Kill her before she calls the beasts!" one voice shrieks.

Another voice, a child’s, cries, “There! By the elder tree!”

Your boot catches on its massive roots. You hit the forest floor hard. Pine needles stick to your bleeding palms as you scramble up—and freeze.

Yellow eyes blink open in the shadows ahead. A wolf.

The blacksmith’s heavy gait clatters to a halt. “Christ preserve us.”

The hound steps into the fading daylight, scars rippling across its muscular flank. Ghost. He bares teeth longer than your fingers.

You back away only for another shadow to fall from the trees above and land next to you soundlessly. The shape is feline—Gaz—but he's no longer the size of a housecat. He's as massive as a tiger. A growl thunders through him. He levels his gaze past you. At the villagers. They don't stand a chance.

You whirl back on the villagers with wild eyes. "Get out of here!" you cry at the mob.

The blacksmith shoves a trembling boy behind him. "Back! Back to the—"

Ghost lunges. Not at the villagers. At you.

His jaws snap inches from your thigh, herding you backward into Gaz's flank. Gaz pins you with one paw on your chest. He keeps his claws sheathed, but the pressure is enough to bruise. His rumbling purr vibrates through your ribs as he licks blood from your temple wound.

"Demons!" A villager hurls a torch. It bounces off Ghost's shoulder. Embers catch in his fur. He doesn't flinch.

Soap's cawing laughter rings from the treetops. He drops down as a raven, shifting mid-fall into human form. He lands in a crouch. "Och, look at these brave lads! Come to play with the big bad devils."

The blacksmith thrusts the pitchfork at him. "Back!"

 Soap catches the shaft and yanks the smith forward. "Careful now. You'll poke someone's—" He drives the smith’s own weapon through his boot, impaling foot to soil. "—eyes out."

Screams erupt. The mob fractures. Some flee. Others stand frozen.

"No, don't hurt them!" you gasp out. You try to push out from under Gaz's paw, but it does you no good. "Leave them alone!"

Gaz's purr deepens into a predatory rumble as he drags his rough tongue up the side of your neck to taste your sweat. His hot breath stirs your hair when he growls, "Too late for mercy, love. Smell the fear on 'em? Ripe as summer fruit."

Soap wrenches the pitchfork free from the smith’s screaming form, flicking gore off the tines. "Aye, let's make it a proper feast! Been ages since we had fresh meat that fought back."

"Enough."

Price's voice cracks through the woods like thunder. He stands under the pines’ shadow as if waiting for the last motes of sunset to vanish before he ventures out.

"You lot should've heeded the warnings. Salt your thresholds. Avoid the woods after dark." His gazes pauses over a young child frozen in fear, no parents in sight. He tuts. "But you meddled. Stole from my witch. Harmed her."

The blacksmith finds his voice. "W-We didn't—"

Price steps forward. His boot crushes the smith’s bloodied foot into the ground. Bones pop. "See, that's the trouble with mortals." He crouches to stare into the terrified villager’s face. "You don’t admit you’re wrong."

"Price, please, just take me instead," you plead. "I'm what you came for, aren't I?"

Price's gaze snaps to you. He rises slowly. The flicker of your burning cottage on the horizon behind you reflects in his eyes and makes them glow. His expression tells you how little choice you have in that particular matter. Where you go, they go.

Then he looks past you. “Gaz."

Gaz’s hand slides up your inner thigh. "Already on it."

"No. Save the foreplay. We've got a village to raze." He grabs the bloodied collar of your cloak and hauls you to your feet. "You'll watch. Then we'll discuss your ungrateful actions." His gaze flicks away. "Ghost. Gaz. Clean up."

You can only watch Ghost and Gaz bound into the screaming mob. Your body feels lighter than the air. Then you remember the weight of the henbane in your cloak pocket. The next moment, it's in your hand. You crush the glass, ignoring the stab of pain. You send it sailing through the air, and it lands right on its mark—the roaring torch discarded in the leaf litter.

The henbane catches and wafts up into the air as smoke. It curls upward in thick, narcotic tendrils. The smell is heady, its effect potent and immediate. Soap snarls as the first plume hits his nostrils. He staggers back and clutches his head. Gaz convulses mid-pounce, collapsing into ferns as his tiger-like form shrinks to housecat size. Ghost whines low in his throat and shakes his massive skull like a dog with water in its ears.

Chaos erupts. Villagers seize the chance to bolt. The blacksmith drags his wailing son toward the tree line.

Price grips your arm hard enough to leave talon marks. His other hand clamps over his nose, veins bulging in his temple. You cough into your sleeve. Your vision swims. Henbane's poison works both ways, after all. It’s powerful for those who know how to use it for their own ends. Black henbane is what you used to summon your familiars and what bound them to you. But its hallucinatory effects are more pronounced on those who have surrendered the greater part of their souls to magic—or for those whose bodies are already flush with it. Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap don’t stand a chance. Even your soul is so considerably marked by witchcraft that you quickly fold to its effects. But you, at least, can twist it and warp it to weave a spell that might protect you.

Cloaked in smoke, you transform.

The shift hits you like a lightning strike—bones crackling, muscles twisting, vision narrowing into a something wide and preylike. The forest tilts, and suddenly Price's grip is gone. He holds your sleeve, but not you. You slip away, tumble through your limp clothes, and hit the forest floor on four paws. The world sharpens into smells of damp moss and wolf musk. Your rabbit heart hammers against ribs as thin as wishbones.

You dart left--straight into Gaz's waiting claws. The tomcat pins you with a paw, purring as his claws prick your scruff. Then he sneezes, henbane pollen glinting in his whiskers. You writhe free.

You race deeper into the forest with the wind at your back. The woods close in, but thorns no longer claw your clothes; roots no longer trip you. You are no longer an intruder. The forest itself turns toward you, opens to you. Thorns tug pleasurably against your fur as you bound past. Old magic stirs beneath your rabbit feet.

"Clever girl. Find her." Price's voice slithers through the trees far behind you, syllables slurred but venom intact. "And keep her whole enough to scream."

...

← part 2 / [part 3] / part 4 ➡

more Price / more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / masterlist

[alyanas-little-hideout]

oh I actually know why/how some of these happen. 1.) you already figured that out- thaw it first or it won't properly mix with seasonings and won't cook evenly

2.) stir noodles while they boil- usually they won't burn, but if they press against the bottom of the pot they can stick, which causes them to heat up way higher than the boiling water would, so they burn. It also means that they can stick together and prevent water from actually getting to the noodles.

3.) you over/undermixed it then. Buttercreams are kinda temperamental- they'll *taste* right but the texture relies a lot on aeration.

4.) Oil ;-;

5.) you're not the only person who needed to look up a youtube video for eggs lol, growing up we only ever ate them fried and cooked over hard so I had to go look up how to do sunny-side up. putting some water (like a tablespoon) in the pan (not on the egg) and then covering the pan will steam the top of the egg, which makes it a lot more consistent to make sunny side up eggs.

6.) I... I'm impressed by your immune system.

7.) too much salt will kill your yeast. (I also suck at bread but it's mostly because I keep saying "oh I can just knead by hand I don't need a stand mixer" like my wrists don't start dying 20 seconds into that)

8.) Everyone who regularly eats rice will tell you to use a rice cooker. Presuming that is not realistic- wash your rice first (critically important- you need to remove the starch layer on the outside of the grains of rice or else they'll stick together and be incredibly mushy- just pour water over them and mix the water and rice together before pouring out the water and repeating until the water comes away clear.) Then you're going to want to add it to a pot alongside water (2 parts rice to 3 parts water by volume) and stir as it comes to a boil- and then this is very important. You are going to cover the pot. and you are going to wait while it cooks- should take about 13 minutes if using 1 cup of rice, before taking it off of the heat and waiting another 10 minutes before opening the pot.

9.) using a splash guard when frying can help, but otherwise it's just a matter of practice

10.) I've... never tried eating tofu raw. It's pretty good seasoned and pan-fried though!

11.) why. Why were you trying to microwave a full container of peanut butter?

12.) I've actually seen someone try to pour water into an empty kettle after it had been sitting on the stove heating up. It didn't go well.

13.) How... did too much butter mess up hashbrowns?

Also

I'm genuinely scared to know how it's possible to start a fire when boiling water.

Foods I have fucked up that I have had no right to fuck up

This one's for you @returnsnull7404

Ground beef; I did not know you had to dethaw it and was confused on why my ground beef was hard and tasted bad; this happened several times and I had to literally film the cooking process and send it to someone to figure out what was going wrong

Noodles; I somehow burnt them while also not cooking them at all; yes I cooked them in water, no I don't know how I ended up with burnt raw noodles regardless

Buttercream frosting; I still don't know how I fucked this one up, tasted fine, but the texture was wrong

Box brownie mix; I forgot the oil

Sunny side up eggs; The whites were cooked fine but the yellow bits hardened up and tasted God awful. This happened three times. I am the only person who has ever needed to look up a youtube video on cooking eggs

Chicken broth; used two month old chicken (It was in the freezer for like, 75% of that time but I left it to dethaw in the fridge for like two weeks and yeah I'm not sure how I didn't get sick cause I ate it anyway. Didn't taste great)

Bread, literally too many times to count; I am very talented when it comes to killing yeast

Rice; I still have no goddamn idea on how to cook rice. I can not get rice right, ever. Literally have never managed to cook rice correctly a single time in my life.

Chicken drumsticks; I actually managed to make this one taste good (With step by step instructions given to me by a friend) but I also managed to splatter myself with oil several times during the process and give myself some minor burns

Tofu; I did not know you had to cook it and thought you could eat it raw. And in fairness to me you can, but you probably shouldn't, it is bad

Peanut butter; I didn't know that the foil on the container had metal and put it in the microwave. The container itself was plastic. Which also can't go in the microwave

Boiling water in a kettle; I didn't realize the lid was hot and also managed to burn myself, again

In conclusion I'm not entirely sure how I'm alive sometimes

[mediumgayitalian]

"Don't worry about me."

"I'm allowed to worry for people when they are doing stupid, foolish things."

"You worry about everyone."

"False. I've never worried about Cecil Markowitz a day in my life."

Nico snorts, tugging on his boot and yanking on the laces. "Right," he drawls, "and the insistence on walking him fourteen entire fucking miles to the bus stop at the end of camp was because..."

Will flushes. "Because he's stupid, okay. He's actually unwell. I checked his brain and everything. If I leave him alone too long he'll get kidnapped, and then what?" He cocks a hip to one side, crossing his arms and tapping his foot and generally just looking like a carbon copy of his mother. Nico mourns his lack of camera. He needs to send Naomi another snapshot for the Wall of You Do Act Like Me, You Little Shit. "What am I gonna do if he dies, huh? Resort to off-brand Twizzlers? I'd rather kill myself."

The frayed ends of his laces cooperate, finally. He desperately needs new combats but the thought of having to break in a new pair makes him want to strangle the nearest karpoi. Any one of them would do.

Nico pushes himself to his feet, cupping both sides of his boyfriend's scowling face and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, holding there until he feels them soften. He smiles, snickering at Will's huffy pout.

"I am doing one errand," he says, exasperated. "Just one."

Will throws his hands up. "You know who else did one errand?! Orpheus! That's right, dumbass, and he died! So!"

He waves his hands again, because obviously he cannot simply make his point with his words alone. Oh, no. His whole body needs to get involved, or else there is Not Enough Emphasis.

Gods, Nico loves him to death.

To death, and then some.

"You are more dramatic than your father," Nico says, kissing him again before pulling away. "You know that?"

"I thought you loved me," Will grumbles. "I thought you loved me, and then you go around saying such insulting things. Don't you love me? People who love me would never say that to me."

"I have actually heard that exact speech come from Apollo's mouth. Twice, at least."

"I'm about to commit a felony. It rhymes with shmassault and battery."

"Shut the fuck up," Nico says, but he's grinning. Will is scowling hard but doing a very bad job of it, and Nico can actually see the don't you dare fucking laugh you're mad at him you have to stay mad at him flashing around in his eyes.

Nico swipes his thumb gently over his freckled cheeks.

It does not take very long for him to cave.

"I'm just worried," he admits, sagging into Nico's hold. His head, as it always has, fits perfectly in the crook of Nico's neck. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to his temple.

"Knew it."

"Shut up." The quick curve of his exasperated smile twitches against Nico's collarbones. "I just mean. Gods above, Nico. It's all the way across the country."

"I shadow travelled all the way across the world, once," Nico reminds him. He runs a hand through fraying curls. "I was fourteen at the time."

"Yeah, and you almost fuckin' died."

Will pulls away, agitated, and Nico lets him. The fraying curls get worse with every tug of his twitching hands, and the sound of his own echoing pacing makes him jump. The bags are deep and black under his eyes.

Nico sighs.

"Will," he says, and words hard to keep the frustration out of his tone, "Will, sweetheart, you cleared me."

But Will isn't listening. The mumbling has started, and so has the fidgeting; the bandages around his arms twist, and twist, and tug, leaving red marks on his bruised wrists.

"Monitoring hymn," Nico hears him mutter. "Or a lifeline..."

Nico checks his watch. He's -- well, he's late, technically, but he's never been punctual even one time, so it's fine. He's got time. He flops to the marble floors, leaning against his bedpost. He watches his boyfriend, notes the flicker and flash of his glowing freckles, of his spattered burn scars.

You and I both know you will be fine, Chiron had said. He had sighed, long and aged and hard, and stared at his buzzing, fritzy student. It will be good for him. Exposure.

"Will," he calls, eventually. "Tesoro."

Will stops. He blinks, coming back to himself, to the cabin. He searches around, eyes settling on Nico's comfy spot on the floor.

He sighs, shoulders sagging. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He stands there a long while, still except his breathing, tense.

"Everything is -- green," he says eventually, voice small. "I don't know how to stop it."

"You know how to make it worse," Nico points out, as gently as he can manage. "You've been spiraling for weeks."

"Not -- weeks."

"Since the start of the month."

"Yeah, only a few days."

"It's the thirtieth, Will."

He looks up, eyes wide. "No." He blinks. "Actually?"

Nico's smile is small and sad. "Yes."

"I thought -- I thought --"

"I know."

He doesn't really. He's watched it for years, but he doesn't -- understand, not in the way he understands the depression, the anger, the grief. He and Will have more things in common than they don't, but he doesn't spiral. Not like Will does. His pain has always bubbled and burst its way out of him, tingeing the edge of his vision red and igniting the curl of his fists. His pain has made him quick. His pain has made him quick, it has made him bitter, it has made him miserable, but it has always pushed him forward.

Will's pain gets curled up endlessly inside him, twisting his insides to knots.

It robs him, sometimes.

"Come here."

Will does. The fight has drained out of him, and there are tears in his eyes, even as he tries desperately to blink them away. His bandages lay limp at his sides, fluttering in the breeze from the still-open door.

"It's not that I don't trust you," he says, somewhat desperately. He turns so they're facing each other, criss-crossed knees knocking. "I do."

"I know," Nico says. He manages a small smile. "I always know that, Will."

"Good." His bright eyes soften in relief, fingers rubbing at his sternum. "You -- you're powerful, Death Boy. More than anyone I've ever known."

Nico raises his eyebrows. "Careful with that, Sunshine. You're going to get smited."

"Smote."

"Don't correct me when we're having a vulnerable moment."

"Don't need correcting, then."

Nico's smile widens. Will's, this time, matches, dimple flashing on his left cheek. Nico presses his thumb there, relishing in the sudden heat of Will's face and accompanying rolled, flustered eyes. He lingers, and stares, and stares, even as Will squirms, as the glow turns into something hotter than blood heat.

"I'm going to be okay, my love."

"I know."

"It's one jump. Hazel is waiting, unicorn draught at the ready in case I start swooning like a damsel."

"I know."

"Even my dad knows."

"I know."

"I would actually have to try to die, Will. Like there would have to be real effort on my part."

"Just --" he scrunches up his nose -- "I don't know what you could say that would make me less scared of it. Of losing you."

"I mean it would kind of suck if you did." He tilts their foreheads together, because it looks stupid as shit at this angle, and he knows Will'll laugh. He's right. "Since you love me and everything."

"I suppose it's one of those conditions," Will allows. "The whole caring if you up and die thing."

"Yep."

"S'a real pain in the ass."

"You're telling me. I was just fine being an emo loner, not giving a fuck about anything, and then you had to go ruin it. Now I gotta stress about your wellbeing and shit."

"Must be exhausting."

"Miserable." He reaches for Will's hands and squeezes, hard, until Will squeezes back. "It is the most important thing to me, though. Ever."

Will swallows. "Okay."

"I love you, Will Solace. Even when you are annoying about grammar and when you are prodding me about my iron levels and when you are so far in your head you're losing time." He pulls back slightly, just enough to press a kiss to Will's knuckles. "Especially then."

"I love you, too." Will swallows. "You'll be okay."

"I will."

"And you'll IM me when you get there."

"I will."

"And I'll be okay. Waiting."

Nico smiles softly. "You will be."

Will takes a deep breath. He nods. He stands, pulling them both up, and walks to the darkest corner of the Hades cabin, shoulders tense but face brave. He turns, exhaling slowly, and brushes invisible lint of Nico's shoulders, hands lingering.

"I will see you when you get back," he says.

"When I get back," Nico echoes. He kisses him again. "Worrier."

Will huffs, and Nico laughs, and he lets go, and Will lets him, and he steps into the familiar darkness, and the last thing he sees before the shadows envelope him is the trust in Will's light eyes.

[mythalism]

It struck me how profoundly uninterested the writers ultimately were in modern elves and elven culture. After 4 games, Origins is still the only one to offer up any info on them (with 2 adding certain tidbits) & it really hit me how colored their view is by their indigenous coding such that the elves aren't really shown to have any kind of society/civilization when compared to the dwarves 4 example, a people on the brink of extinction facing an almost perpetual Blight, yet still not solely defined by their struggle against the darkspawn. I don't mean to pit them against each other, but once I made the comparison I couldn't unsee it. We're challenged to show respect and learn about their customs & history as soon as we enter Orzammar and u cannot gain their aid until u fully engage with & submit to their political demands (Halamshiral wishes it had what Orzammar has!), your only influence is who comes out on top, and even that is a decision that has to be made by really getting a feel of their society and their different wants & needs, depending on caste & political allegiances. Whereas u can stroll into the Dalish camp and nothing stops u from only tackling the main quest, which is saving them from their curse (which turns out to be saving them from themselves<-a clue that'll become relevant later) by ideally convincing Zathrian to kill himself, an elf whose Hatred of Humans has gone too far (however justified his thirst for vengeance is) so he can be succeeded by Lanaya, a city-born elf who, despite being kidnapped as a child and kept as a slave, bears no grudge against humans. I'd be more forgiving if this wouldn't set the tone for their portrayal in subsequent games & didn't turn into 1 of 2 major(&only!) themes they cared to explore wrt elves. This obsession w/ elves not being agreeable enough can already be seen in the conversations u can have in their camp where at least 3 NPCs apologise for not being friendlier and I guess to make up for this cardinal sin all the side-quests (2 conv+2 fetch-quests) reward u with cool loot ranging from prized possessions to priceless artifacts, & the fact that u can get your hands on 2 valuable books on elven history teaches us early on that with minimal effort, any part of their history, no matter how sacred, becomes available for consumption. It seems important to add that both books can be given to the Mad Hermit who says he's gonna wipe his ass with them (this also reminds me of when Marethari gifts Hawke the Somniari book for no reason & it gets added directly to your trash pile). Which brings me to the other big theme: elven history is not for elves to explore and reclaim (&any attempt is dangerous+must be punished). While dwarves are allowed to be stewards of their own history&culture, and their pursuit of reclaiming thaigs & lost history (&their deep respect & attachment to that history) is generally presented as noble, elves are afforded no such dignity. I never realised the discrepancy, but from the start you have no choice but to take a dwarf with u when exploring the Deep Roads, whether that's Oghren, Shale, Valta or Varric, you are a partner & a guest, and, while u may help them in their journey of discovery, they always retain sovereignty. The only equivalent would be us getting an autistic Dalish girlie w/ a special interest in elvhen history whenever they feel like expanding the lore, using them as a vehicle for that, then punishing them for their 'overzealous' interest in their own past.

Velanna lucks out by virtue of being a dlc char & becoming a Warden, but she's still presented as being too into the elfy stuff even for her own clan, with the final straw that leads to her expulsion being wanting to get revenge on the humans who tried to burn their clan alive & took her sister(or so she thought). I appreciate that she's not shamed for her interest in elvhen history, but it's telling that the focus is on how misguided her quest for avenging her people is, with even her clan, when u meet them, still blaming her for her sister's fate & saying they're better off without her (interesting that Justice also disapproves, while at the same time berating Anders for not 'striking a blow against his oppressors, so they can do this to no one else', but apparently Velanna should atone to her oppressors and 'teach them'). Her best ending slide also has her warming to humankind & saving a whole village of them, as if that was our primary concern/her biggest problem to overcome, not making peace with her sister's fate.

Speaking of learning lessons, Merrill gets taught a harsh one, and while u can be supportive of her, you cannot escape this lesson, whatever u do: it is the height of hubris for elves to try and reclaim their past (or think they have a right to it), only humans can safely do it. Another ostracized First, one may be fooled into thinking the objection to Merrill is only the blood magic thing, but her first quest makes it clear the question u r being asked isn't is she right to use blood magic or should she limit herself to safer methods, but does she have a right to her People's history? It's so explicit that Merrill invokes that very right, vir sulevanan, in order to get the Arulin'Holm, a tool 'as old as Arlathan itself', only, after performing the service to her clan asked of her, Marethari hands YOU this artifact that'd been in their possession since before the fall of the Dales and tasks u with holding her heritage hostage!! And instead of her being disqualified from being Keeper ever again, you're left to interview Merrill to see if she deserves smth that belongs to her & u can choose to keep it from her! Why?? Marethari could've just not given it to her. Ofc, this all comes to a head in Pride's End where Merrill is yet again denied agency by her Keeper, & worse still, that baton is passed directly to you after her death, with u having to accept your paternalistic role or else slaughter her entire clan bc they don't accept any other answer than u taking full responsibility for Merrill. And, if u still need it drilled into u what this is really about, her rivalry path culminates, not in her disavowing blood magic forever, but in smashing her eluvian. Her friendship path also makes me uncomfortable, the conclusion being her clan are too backwards to ever get it, but at least she's free to chart her own course now. Set by you, ofc. You have the final say now, remember? Still, this is the last time the Dalish are a faction with any sort of agency. Maybe that's why you can wipe them out both times.

In Inq, sadly, they're relegated to a brief stop on the map on the way to saving their colonizers, a formality in order to gain access to their ruins, 1 of their warriors, & have the pleasure of picking the Dales clean without all that pesky white guilt! They even call the quest A Dalish Perspective when you're still viewing them thru a settler's lens; they're a problem to be solved, a list of complaints, they have no interiority, no ambient dialogue & the only lines they have are strictly quest related. They also pay the ultimate price for trying to reclaim their history, their deaths as inevitable as your success in safely claiming them. Twice Inquisition asks u: isn't their history safer, then, in the Chantry's hands? Morrigan's whole spiel fits here, too, ofc, as a human mage who argues her (stolen)knowledge gives her more of a right to the Well than any Dalish could hope to have. I also find it sad that in JoH, you discover Ameridan, & instead of getting to talk to his surviving clan, the only conclusion to his quest is this: it's the elves' fault the Dales fell.

All of this to say, the conclusion 2 Bellara's arc doesn't come out of nowhere when you consider it a culmination of this throughline. You finally get to answer once and for all: do elves deserve to recover their lost history? At least you can say yes.

10/10 no notes. only thing i have to add is how interesting it is that the devs had an inkling of awareness of how harmful their writing of the elves was in previous games - epler mentioned how they took the criticism of how you can kill an entire dalish clan in every single game into consideration with veilguard.... and the conclusion was that...... "the elves had their time to shine"? and they should be relegated to basically set dressing in the background of a story revolving entirely around their own history and religion? and told "get over it. just move on." instead of just... portraying them with more nuance, sensitivity and empathy? maybe hiring some more diverse writers? a sensitivity reader/editor? or just ignore the problem entirely........ there is no war in ba sing se..... there is no elven oppression in thedas....

[ssaaaronmontgomery]

Life is Full of First Times

Hotch x inexperienced!reader full fic!

Warnings: Smut, oral (m and f receiving), grinding, petnames (sweetheart, honey, princess), inexperienced reader, reader is slightly insecure from lack of experience in bed, p in v sex, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, Hotch asks if r is okay multiple times, unprotected sex, one use of y/n. I think I got most of them but let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 7.3k

Pairing: Hotch x inexperienced!fem!reader

A/n: This fic is FINALLY finished. This is going to be my celebration of 1k followers!! Thank you so much to everyone following 🥹💖. And thank you for being patient with me on getting this fic done, I've just never written something so long before! I hope this fic is enjoyed <3. I tried very hard on this 🥹💞.

Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @criminalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @canuck-eh @luvehotch @callm3c0nfus3d @ivyflowers13 @xgreysiconss @bernelflo @mrsmorganprentiss

Hotch tags: @14buddy22 @htchnr @pastelpinkflowerlife

Tags for this specific post: @hotchspearl @sky2nd @xgreysiconss @justyourusualash @howabouticallyou @queenofvelaris @fifiandtheflowertotsss @littleslaywrites

Let me know if you want to be added to my tags 🫶

*This post is NSFW MDNI*

You have waited for so long.  It has moved very very slowly in this area of the relationship.  Hotch has been waiting for you for a few months now.  He has never been impatient but he still thinks about all of the things he'd love to do and ways he wants to make you feel good.  And he doesn't tell you about these things unless you ask because he never wants you to feel like you have to move faster if you're not ready yet. 

It goes from snuggling up with soft kisses, to making out and letting your tongues slip out to explore, and one night it gets to you on his lap and his hands on your hips as your hands wander over his body.  Mostly his chest, stomach, shoulders, and arms.  And then you can't help but rock your hips a few times, testing things out a little bit.  You can feel his hands tighten their hold on you and you do it again, earning a groan from him. 

Now he's really struggling to not get hard beneath you because again, he doesn't want you to feel pressured to do more than you're comfortable with.  He doesn't want you to feel like you have to help him out, because you don't have to do anything.  But that feeling in your lower belly is starting to burn and demand more. 

The kissing becomes sloppy and messy, mixed saliva coating your puffy lips and his too, a string of it stretching when you pull away for just a second before your mouth finds his neck and throat.  Aaron's chest shakes when he tries to take a deep breath to calm himself down. 

"Sweetheart, what are you doing?" His voice comes out raspy and low right in your ear and it makes your insides burn even hotter somehow. 

"I just....I need more.  Just this.  It feels good like this, Aaron.  Are you okay with this?" You ask him, unsure of if you have crossed a line or not.  You remember him telling you that he is ready for anything you are, but maybe he changed his mind.  You stop your movements and look into his eyes, but his hands just move to help your hips start grinding against his again.

"I'm fine with anything you want to do, honey, you know that." Aaron's hands rub affectionately at your sides and your hips.  The soft smile on his face and the amount of love for you showing in his eyes could make your heart melt. 

You return his smile before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his warm lips, your arms wrapping around his neck as you do so.  You part your lips just enough to capture his bottom one between your teeth and then you pull back slowly, releasing his puffy lip from your mouth.  It was enough to make his pupils look blown with lust, but he keeps himself in line.  He'll never understand why he likes that so much, but it didn't take long for you to figure it out even with your lack of experience in every area of relationships.  You see Aaron's Adam's apple bob when he swallows thickly.  He likes being caught between your teeth.  A grin spreads over your face.

You start rocking your hips again and his grip tightens on them like it had before.  You struggle to find the right rhythm, but Aaron helps guide you. 

"Am....am I doing it right?" Your voice sounds shy and hesitant, like you're embarrassed to ask him.

"Does it feel good, sweetheart?"

You just nod and press your forehead against his.  He plants another soft kiss on your lips before speaking again.

"Then you're doing it right, princess.  If you're feeling good, that means you're doing just fine.  And if you need me to help you, just tell me." His hand comes to press on your lower back, pushing you slightly and helping you grind on his cock that he has finally allowed to get hard.

It makes you whine and he smirks.  His other hand comes up to hold the back of your head, keeping your forehead pressed to his.  This is something he's dreamed of and now that he finally has it, he's going to memorise every sound, every movement, every twitch in your expression as you figure out what feels good.

You're both still wearing your clothing from work and he's desperate to get both yours and his off, but he keeps letting you go at your own pace.  You’re so wet that you almost decide to get naked and ask him to take you, but you don’t.  You’re not ready for that yet, even if your body is begging for him.  

You keep rocking your hips steadily, Aaron helping you whenever your hips stutter and lose rhythm again.  This continues until you both climax, still fully clothed.  Aaron immediately apologises, like you hadn’t also just moaned his name as you came right before him.  That’s what had sent him over the edge.  He tried so hard to keep some of the composure he had left, but he couldn’t hold it back any longer.  Not when his name sounded like honey as it fell from your lips again and again.  So he was left sitting in his slacks with his cum sticking to his skin.

You both cleaned up after that.  You felt a little embarrassed but Hotch assured you that there was nothing to be embarrassed about.  He told you that it was perfectly fine and that he didn’t mind anything that had happened.  During it he asked if you were alright or if you felt like you wanted to slow down at all, but he had also asked you after you’d both finished.  He asked to make sure you were also okay with what had happened or if you wanted to take a break from the hot makeout sessions for a little while.  

You shyly told him that no, you didn't want to stop making out with him like that and that you also really enjoyed what happened that evening.  The little smile on his face sent butterflies through your stomach in a different way than before.  It makes you happy.  

Aaron stays over that night.  He holds you all night long and you both find sleep easily after your previous activities took away the last bit of energy you both had after a long day at the BAU.

It eventually moved to you and Aaron being in bed together one night, making out having started everything once again.  You took your top off and Aaron was mesmerised by what he was able to see now.  He hadn’t seen your boobs yet and he was immediately obsessed with the soft skin and asked if he could touch them.  You nodded and asked him to do it.  He started with massaging them gently before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and suckling on it as he rolled your other nipple between his fingers.  Your moans were the most beautiful symphony in his ears.  He loves making you feel good.  

“Do you like this?  Do you want me to keep going or should I try something different?” Aaron murmurs against your skin and he trails open-mouthed kisses between your breasts. 

“You can keep going.  I like it.” You hold his head in your hands and guide him to suck on your other nipple now and your hips jolt up against his when he gives your peak the attention it wants.  Aaron goes with it and obeys.  He likes helping you figure these things out so much and you love to let him.  He has had so much patience with you.  Which is the bare minimum, but some guys wouldn’t want to wait as long as you want.  Aaron would wait until the end of the world if he had to.

Once you’re ready to move on, Aaron begins trailing more kisses down to your stomach and then to your abdomen and your hips.  The heat is really starting to pool now and you feel like you need to have him.  But then you get nervous.

“Wait, what are you doing?” 

His head pops up fast and he halts his actions to ensure your comfort.  

“I was just working you up to…to go down on you, sweetheart.  Unless you don’t want that.  It’s whatever will make you feel good, princess.” He rubs your thigh affectionately like he normally does in these situations where you’re both exploring new territory and he wants to help ease any of your worries or doubts.

“Well I don’t really know if…if I like it.  I haven’t gone that far with someone that…actually wanted to do it.” You’re shy about your admission.  Of course he knows about your lack of experience, you told him early on.  It bothers him that the only person to ever be with you sexually at all, once, didn’t even bother to take care of your needs.  You just took care of theirs.  You told Aaron most of it.  Sparing certain details, of course.

“Can I help you figure out if you like it, sweetheart?  Or do you want to slow down for now?” The repeated motion of his hand on your thigh is absentminded and natural at this point.  Your hips shift a little bit at the thought of him eating you out.  You’ve thought about that a lot more than you would care to admit, but Aaron probably knows that somehow anyway.  That big smart brain of his.  He notices the shift, he knows you want to but he also knows that your nerves are getting to you.

“I…I want to.  I’m just…too nervous.”

“We won’t do anything you aren’t ready for, honey.  You say stop at any point and we stop.  Do you want to stop, baby?” He is so soft spoken and all you can do is shake your head.   “You want me to keep going then?” you just nod at his second question.  You definitely don’t want him to stop and the burning fire in your belly hasn’t died down in the slightest, it almost needs him to keep going.

So he does.  He kisses down your body again and he caresses your hips and your thighs as he gets closer to where you really need him.  He places a few kisses to your mound on the wet patch in your underwear before he helps you slip them off.  You’re holding your breath as he takes in the sight of your completely naked body for the first time.  Aaron is breathless as he drinks you in.  He takes his time.  He wants to savour this and he wants to move slowly with you.

“Beautiful.  So so beautiful, sweetheart.” Aaron murmurs before kissing your clit and then he lets his tongue dart out to lick gently at it.  A small gasp exits you and you swallow hard.  Aaron smiles a little bit before he continues.  He licks up your slit and groans at the taste of your arousal on his tongue.  He instinctively pulls you a little closer with his grip on your thighs as he dives in and really begins to eat you out, his movements still slow and calculated.

He tests some different things out.  Different motions and different pressures and patterns.  He finds what makes you respond the most and he runs with it until your thighs are practically crushing his head between them as he licks and laps at your pussy.  It started off completely slow and sensual, and it still mostly is but he is adding more pressure and that knot in your belly is growing and you’re certain that you’re going to snap soon.  

“Aaron, just like that.  I like that, don’t stop.  Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not, baby.  I’m not.” He mutters quickly so he can continue.

It doesn’t take much longer.  Each stroke of Aaron’s skilled tongue on your sensitive and throbbing clit pushes you closer and closer until you’re finally seeing stars and moaning his name as you cum.  He rides you through your intense climax and the pressure on the sides of his head from your thighs' nearly skull-crushing grip coupled with tasting your release has him almost finishing in his slacks again like he did that one evening with you on the couch.

One of your hands is gripping his hair and the other is grabbing at anything you can reach.  Aaron is moaning and groaning into your cunt as you tug on his dark locks of that soft hair you love so much. He can’t help the way his hips buck against the bed a couple of times as he watches the look of pleasure that is written all over your features.  Your head is thrown back and your back is arched, nipples hard, eyes shut tight.   

You and Aaron are both panting by the time he pulls away.  He rubs your thighs again and it helps to ground you.  He looks up at you and you look down at him with your eyelids drooping slightly over your eyes.  

“Are you okay?” 

You manage another nod and a smile.  “I’m amazing, Aaron.  That felt so good.” 

He can’t help grinning up at you and he plants a kiss on the inside of your thigh.  “Do you want me to do it again, sweetheart?” Your hips buck slightly and he chuckles as he rubs two of his fingers through your fields and to your bundle of nerves.  He gives it some more attention now as you nod and he sticks with just rubbing your clit for time being to see if it feels good for you.  He can’t help tasting you again though and he moves his head to slip his tongue inside of your dripping cunt.  He groans into you and the vibrations feel funny but not unwelcome at all.  

Aaron’s tongue is pressing in and out of you, going up to swirl around your clit every so often and then uses his finger again as his tongue darts back inside of you.  It doesn’t take long for your second orgasm to come over you and he works you through it until you’re relaxing back into the bed.  

“Can…can you use your fingers in me next?” 

You’re so polite and shy when you ask for things.  He thinks it’s kind of cute really.  He just nods and slips one digit into you at first, fingering you with it slowly for a minute before adding a second one to the mix.  You find the stretch delicious.  It feels perfect.  The stroke of his fingers against your walls is so good and you’re extra sensitive by now so you’re feeling it even more.

His tongue finds your clit again and flicks it skillfully.  You try to grind your hips up against him for more, chasing your third orgasm.  Aaron tries to add another finger, but he quickly stops when you tell him to.

“I don’t…I don’t think I like that much.  I’m not ready for that.  But keep going.  With two.  Please.” You swallow, still panting heavily from everything that you and Aaron have been doing together.

Aaron nods and uses two digits again.  “Okay, sweetheart.  I’m sorry.  Are you okay though?” He’s looking up at you with some concern flashing in his eyes, but he continues to finger you since you asked him to.  You nod and grind your hips up against his hand again before tangling one of your hands in his hair and guiding his mouth back to your core.  He doesn’t hesitate to go with your actions.  He just wants you to feel as amazing as you can.

He ends up giving you many more orgasms before you finally feel like you can’t keep going.  And then you’re asking him if you can help him out.  He doesn’t want you to feel like you have to, he would never want you to feel like you had to do anything.  So of course he is asking you if you’re sure, and you almost sound like you’re pleading for it.  

“You don’t have to if you aren’t ready for that yet, honey.  I like focusing on your pleasure and making you feel good.  I’m not really worried about myself right now.” 

“No, I know that, Aaron.  I just really want to make you feel good too.  You have made me feel incredible and I want to do the same to you.  I really really want to do this; I just need you to help me because I don’t know what I’m doing.” You chuckle a little awkwardly at the end and Hotch finds it a bit endearing.  “Please?” There’s that soft ‘please’ again that he knows he’ll be screwed by in the future because he doesn’t think that he will ever be able to deny you anything you want.

He lets out a soft sigh and smiles softly as he nods and sinks back into the mattress.  He would be lying if he said he didn’t want you or if he said that he had never thought about having your mouth on him.  He had thought about it too many times, but he wouldn’t want to tell you that.  He’s thought about doing many things with you, really.  Most of the time his thoughts stay on the softer side of things.  He knows there are things you wouldn’t be comfortable with yet so he typically keeps his mind from wandering that much.

He knows that you’re okay with him thinking about you like that though.  You’ve told him about your own little fantasies with him before.  You were surprisingly fairly candid about it, which surprised him a little bit.

It all came out one night when you were watching a movie together and you saw a sex scene that had ignited a steamy thought in your mind and you accidentally let it slip that you’d be thinking about him doing that with you the next time you were alone and needy.  The way Hotch’s eyes had widened when you said it made yours widen too because you didn’t realise you had said it aloud.  But then he smiled at you and you returned it.  You felt flushed.  Bashful.  Your cheeks felt like they were burning up.  

Aaron had filed the information away for another time further into the relationship.  He let it go and brushed it off when it had happened because he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable after accidentally giving yourself away to what you like to think about doing with him.

“So…how do I start?” You ask tentatively and Aaron gives you a comforting smile as he takes your hand and guides it to his clothed and achingly hard dick.  

“Like this, sweetheart.”

His hand guides yours to palm him and you watch his expression as he tries to remain composed and controlled.  He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose, exhaling through his mouth shortly after.  He feels the urge to buck his hips and grind against your palm, but he manages to control himself.

After a minute of you palming his throbbing cock, he removes his clothes for you. He is desperate to really feel your touch on his sensitive flesh.  He takes your hand again and he guides it to wrap around his thick length and you begin to stroke him at a slow and consistent pace.  He bites back a groan and closes his pretty eyes again.  His chest is heaving already.

He helps you smear the precum leaking from his tip with your thumb and then his eyes flutter open when he feels you shifting on the mattress.  You’re lowering your head and licking his tip now.  His hips nearly jump at the contact.  You look up at him through your lashes and ask him if you’re doing okay so far and he nods quickly.  

“Flatten your… your tongue next and… up the underside- oh god.” He feels filthy as he instructs you on how to suck him off, but the second you drag your tongue up the underside of his cock, his eyes are falling shut again and then his lids squeeze together tightly as you wrap your lips around the head of his dick and start bobbing your head at a steady pace now.  

He tries so hard not to make all of the noises that are threatening to spill over because he isn’t sure if you like that, but his plan backfires because the fact that he is being so quiet is making you second guess yourself and you pull off of him.

“Am I doing it wrong?”

“What?  No, no it’s perfect.  It’s amazing, baby.  What makes you think you’re not doing right?” His eyebrows furrow in concern and confusion, mirroring your own expression.

“Well you’re just being pretty quiet.  I thought maybe it wasn’t good for you or something.” You sit back a little bit and keep looking at him a little muddled by his lack of noise.  You were plenty loud when he was going down on you.  

“Oh, honey, no.  I didn’t know you liked the noise.  I won’t hold it back anymore.  You want me to make noise?” He asks, trying to clarify and clear up the confusion.  

“Yes, like when you were moaning and groaning into me when you were eating me out, it made it all feel so much better.  I liked hearing you.” You smiled softly at him before getting back into your position of hovering over his cock.  

You don’t wait for a response before taking him back in your mouth once again and this time your ears are met with the groan that rumbles out of him.  It makes you horny for him all over again as you take as much of him into your mouth as you can before pulling back and repeating the action over and over, your hand stroking what you can’t fit.  His moans and groans increase and so do yours, adding to his pleasure as your noises cause vibrations to run through him.

One of Aaron’s hands takes your free one and moves it to cup his balls and you look up at him again to see his expression.  His eyebrows are drawn together and his lips are parted.  His chest is heaving with each breath and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard after a particularly loud moan.  

It doesn’t take much longer for you to work Aaron to the edge and once he is spilling in your mouth, having warned you ahead of time, he is moaning and whimpering as his hips practically thrash around the way yours had done earlier after your fourth orgasm.  His high is intense and it lasts a little longer than it normally does when he is taking care of himself because having the real thing here in front of him is like his dream come true.

After he calms down a bit and catches his breath, he grabs at you, wanting to pull you closer now.  You settle in his arms and he kisses you.  You can both taste each other on the other’s lips and tongue.  

“That was… the most incredible thing ever.” he is still breathless and he lets out a breathy chuckle at the end as he smiles tiredly and glances at you through his heavy eyelids.  You smile back and giggle a little bit.  

“Well I am glad you think so.  I was happy to help.” You respond and you gaze at him with nothing but love and happiness in your eyes.  Something about seeing him like this after making him feel good just makes you feel soft.  You feel even more love for him.

You both fall asleep for a little while before getting out of bed to clean each other up.

You and Aaron continue to explore each other more after that night, but it takes you about a month to finally tell Aaron that you’re ready to have sex with him.  Aaron is calm when you tell him.  He is soft spoken with you, his voice just sounds so gentle.  It’s even more gentle than it normally is when he is around you, which is almost always except for when you are at work, though he normally tones down his “boss man” persona when he is speaking directly to you, especially when it is in private.

“You’re ready?” 

“I am.  I have been thinking about it a lot and I know that I am ready now.  I’m ready for us to take that step.” You don’t really feel shy or embarrassed to be having this conversation with him like you were about most of the other sexual interactions and conversations.  You have become fairly comfortable with Aaron in this way since you both started to take things further and explore more of yourselves and each other.  It has helped you let go of that uneasy feeling and it has also helped with your previous lack of confidence in bed.

“Okay, sweetheart.  Okay.  I want to make it special though.” He rubs his hand up and down your arm a few times in a show of affection.

“Oh you don’t just want to throw me down right here on the couch and take me until night comes?” You joke and Aaron laughs loudly.  You love to make him laugh like that.  It surprised you how easy it could be to get such reactions out of him when you first started seeing each other outside of the office.  You could make the dumbest joke and he would laugh at it like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard in his life.  He only really laughs like that with you though.  At first you thought he was just exaggerating how funny he found your jokes, but then you realised that that wasn’t the case.  You found that no one else really tries to joke around with him because they all saw him as too serious, too cold and unfeeling.  That’s just not true though.  He just has to act that way at work and you wish the team would include him in things more often.

“No, sweetheart.  I don’t want to just ravage you right here and now.  Well, okay maybe part of me does, but we can do that another time.  This time should be extra special.” He reaches up and cups your cheek, rubbing it lightly with his thumb in the way you both love.  

It’s your turn to giggle at his admission of some of him wanting you right then and a lovely smile graces his lips at the sound.  It’s one of his favourite things to hear.

Aaron doesn’t want to rush any part of this experience, including even getting to that part of the experience.  He plans out a night for the two of you.  It is as romantic as he can make it.  A date out at a restaurant, lit with the soft glow of the candles he made sure were included.  He wore a suit and you wore your best outfit, at his request.  You had both looked each other up and down when he arrived to pick you up. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you the entire evening, not that he wanted to anyway.  You were the only thing on his mind then and he couldn’t help admiring your enchanting aura.  He loves this.  The time filled with a sort of domestic conversation and little moments of comfortable silence and knowing glances, eyes filled with love and desire for the other at knowing what was to come.  

Aaron reaches across the table to grasp your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles as he gazes into your eyes.  He brings your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on it before lowering it back to how he had been holding it a moment before.  He looks at you and speaks in his kind voice that he saves for outside of the BAU.

“I love you so much, y/n.  You are one of the two most important people in my life.  I love you more than anything.” His eyes are showing so much warmth as he states his love for you.  You can feel your heart start to beat a little faster in your chest.  It’s not the first time he has said he loves you, but with the addition of the atmosphere and the extra feelings and emotions that are showing tonight, it all makes your heart flutter.  You swear that sparks go off in your brain.

“Aaron, I love you too.  I swear it’s like I fell for you the second I saw you and once I really started to get to know you, it just grew and never stopped growing.  You mean everything to me.” The warmth in his expression radiates off of him.  His posture is different from the way it usually is at the office.  Normally his back is as straight as possible and his hands are clasped.  Now, though, he is leaning in to be a little closer to you and he is holding your hand.  His other hand is resting under his chin, his elbow on the table in front of him.  He is looking at you like he is lovesick.  He is.  You both are.

Later, after you both finish your wine and food, Aaron takes you out to walk around.  More intimate conversation and quiet moments take place as you both appreciate the scenery around you.  Your walk is also filled with more giggles and laughter.  It’s just wonderful in every sense of the word.  

Once Aaron finally takes you back to his place, he asks you to wait outside the bedroom for a minute so he can finish setting up the last bit of what he has planned.  You oblige of course.  When he opens the door and stands to the side for you to come in, you are met with so many more candles than there were on your date.  

The room seems so warm from the soft flickering light illuminating the familiar space.  It makes you feel a bit tingly on the inside as you take it in.  Aaron is a hopeless romantic and a little cliché at times, making the petals leading to the bed seem very much like something he would do for you.  He was thoughtful enough to not actually put them on the bed though.  You had always wondered if it would feel strange to do something like that on flower petals like they do in the movies, and you’re sure a couple could end up in less than pleasant places after being squished.

It’s serene.  You are very grateful to have someone like your boyfriend.  He’s always been so considerate, especially in the romantic area of your relationship.  He likes to make things a little extra special for you whenever he can.  He puts a lot of thought into things surrounding your time together.

“Aaron, it’s perfect.  Thank you.  I love it.” You gush a little over his thoughtful gesture and you take one of his hands in both of yours, looking at him with a fondness that you only show to him.  He squeezes one of your hands a little and cups your cheek with his other.  

“I’m happy you do, honey.” 

Then he is leaning in and kissing you.  Soft and tender like he normally does, but there’s a little more to it.  You can’t quite place what it is, there’s just something extra.  Maybe there are more feelings and emotions behind it.  

Aaron’s hands find your sides and they rub up and down, tracing some small patterns lightly before resting them there.  The kiss is very delicate and he starts to guide you to the bed, gently pushing you back onto it and going down with you.  He’s resting his weight on you and it’s already getting you excited to have him on you like this.  

He pulls away and starts to take off his suit and you take this opportunity to take your clothes off too, leaving only your underwear on and moving more to the middle of the bed as you wait for Aaron to join you which he does a moment later.  He settles back down on top of you and kisses your cheek and the corner of your mouth before going to your lips again.  His movements are thought out, calculated, like they always are.  

Your lips move against his, increasing with more passion and need over time.  

“You’re completely sure about this?” Aaron mumbles as his lips go to your jaw.

“Very sure.” 

“Just tell me to stop if you change your mind.  And if something doesn’t feel right or just doesn’t feel good, let me know and we can figure it out.  Okay?” He lifts his head a little so that he can make eye contact with you.  He’s searching your eyes and expression for any hesitation or uncertainty about what is going to happen.  

“I know, baby.  I will.  You know that I always will.” He does know.  He just needs to hear you say it again.  This is a big step for you and for him too.  He needs to make sure that you don’t have any doubts about it.

Aaron nods and then goes back to kissing your jaw, slowly trailing down to your neck and sucking on your pulse point, causing the first noise to leave your throat.  He grins against your neck and keeps going.  His hands go to your chest and he starts fondling your breasts, pinching your nipples a little bit and causing you to let out a real moan this time.

He nips at your neck and soothes the gentle bites with his tongue before moving down to suckle on your nipples.  He alternates between sucking on them and flicking and swirling his tongue around them, one hand always giving the other peak attention as his mouth tends to the other.  Your hands are already tangling in his hair and tugging at the dark strands just the way he likes.  He has always loved the feeling of you pulling on his hair.  It makes him groan against you, around your nipple, and the vibrations cause a particularly high-pitched sound to leave you.  Your back arches a little at the unexpected, but welcome, sensation.  

Hotch reaches down to run a finger over your clothed slit and he can feel the growing wet patch.  The deep sigh he lets out is one of him trying to contain the arousal he is feeling.  He already wants to take you so badly.  His dick is already aching for some attention, it twitches but he ignores it to focus on you.  

He places kisses between your tits as he drifts down and places little pecks along your belly and hips before getting to where you are also aching to be touched.  His tongue darts out to lick at the wet patch on your underwear before groaning again, sliding them down and off your legs with the help of you lifting your hips for him.  

He gets between your thighs again and brushes his lips along the inside of them, more soft nips and licks taking place now.  Then he dives in and starts lapping at your heat.  It feels amazing like it always does.  You’re moaning and pulling on his hair even more than before, pushing Aaron’s face deeper into your core as he feasts on you.  He pulls an orgasm from you quickly and then even faster than before he manages to get a second one out of you with his skilled fingers.

You pull him up, needing him to get to what you’ve both waited so long for.  He moves back up your body, his lips crash into yours with more passion and intensity than earlier and you immediately reciprocate it.  There is so much need.  So much raw desperation.  

“Aaron- Aaron, I need you.  So bad.  Please.”

“I know.  I know, I need you too.” Aaron mutters against your lips before pulling away and removing his own underwear.  You watch as his cock stands for you, spewing precum from the tip and all but demanding to finally be touched in some way. Any way as long as it soothes the throbbing just a little.  

Aaron settles back down, his hips slotting between your thighs before he takes a hold of his length and lines up with your entrance.

“Are you ready, honey?” He uses his other arm to hold himself up.  He’s able to rest his hand atop your head so he can brush his thumb over your forehead.  

“I am.  I’m ready, Aaron.” 

With that, he finally pushes into you for the first time. 

It is slightly painful as Aaron eases his way inside of you.  It’s unhurried.  He wants to take his time and let you adjust to the intrusion.  You grip his shoulders and he rubs your side like he did earlier.

“I’m right here.  Are you okay?” He whispers into your ear as he wraps an arm around your shoulders to hold you a little closer.  

“Yeah.  Yeah, I’m okay.  Just hurts a tiny bit.  I need to get used to you.”

Aaron nods a little and kisses your forehead.  He massages your shoulder, trying to help your body calm down and relax more and to show you that he’s there for you.  He plants chaste kisses along your forehead, cheeks, and temple.

After adjusting around him you tell him that he can start moving and he pulls out almost all the way before pressing forward again.  He does this over and over again, the slow drag of his cock against your soaking wet walls has his head dipping down to rest in the crook of your neck, his sweet moans and groans filling your ears and making your spine shiver.  You can feel his chest rumbling with each noise he makes.  His motions have the same effect on you, the sounds you’re making are like music to Aaron’s ears and he has to bite down ever so gently on your shoulder to hold himself back.  

His dick is throbbing inside of you and he already feels like he could finish, but he doesn’t want that for you yet.  He wants to make this moment last longer.  He wants to savour the feeling, the experience of being with you like this for the very first time.  He puts all of his focus into making sure you feel as good as possible.  

His head dips a little more and he places little pecks on your chest and then he sucks your nipple into his mouth again like he did earlier.  Your back arches up again and your core clenches around Aaron’s length and he struggles again from how tight you feel.  He goes just a tad faster and slightly harder but his thrusts are still slow and deliberate.  He doesn’t want to get rough with you this time.  That can wait until next time or the time after that.  Whenever it feels right.  

Your hands are roaming all over Aaron’s back and shoulders, scratching lightly at the skin beneath them as they wander.  Your hips instinctively buck up and grind against Aaron’s and he knows that he won’t be able to last longer than a couple more minutes.  He reaches a hand down and he starts rubbing your bundle of nerves in tight circles until your cunt is constricting around him as you cum and moan his name over and over.  He doesn’t let up, giving you almost no time to recover and pushing you into one more not long after.  

He can feel your pussy fluttering with the aftershocks of your orgasm as he rides you through it.

“Sweetheart, where do you want me to-”

“Inside.  Inside, Aaron.  Please.” You whisper to him.  Your brain is hazy from the pleasure but you know what you want.  You’ve wanted all of this for a long time now and you’re ready tonight.

It doesn’t take more than a few thrusts to fill you up.  You can feel the warmth blooming and spreading throughout you.  He lets out whimpers and moans as he does so, biting down on your shoulder again but it’s not hard at all, gentle just like any other time.  He doesn’t want to hurt you.

You rub Aaron’s back as he comes down from his high, the most intense high that he has had in a long time.  He could almost swear that he nearly lost consciousness from how incredible it felt.  

Once his body has relaxed back down against yours he has to let himself just stay there for a moment.  Your hand moves through his hair and you say sweet things in his ear.  He feels like this should be the other way around, but he can’t help basking in the comfort and love that you are giving him.  

Once he finally has the energy to move again he pulls out completely and he rolls off to be beside you, arm draped over you to stay close and to keep feeling you.  He runs his hand along your skin lazily and he closes his eyes for a few minutes.  You roll over onto your side and wrap your arms around him, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck and inhaling his scent deeply.  He always smells so good no matter what.  His scent is like home to you.  It's your Aaron and it always calms you.  When your heart is racing after an intense moment during a case, he will hug you and hold you close.  You always focus on how he smells and the sound of his heart beating and his breathing and it always relaxes and soothes you almost immediately, just as it calms your pounding heart now.  

You continue to breathe a little heavier than normal and so does Aaron, but once he can think again, he looks at your form nestled up against his side.  His lips ghost over your temple and he leaves a small peck there before whispering into your ear.

“Did you have a good time?  Was there anything I can do to make it better next time?” 

He wants to make sure you feel phenomenal.  Your enjoyment is always the most important part to him.  

You inhale sharply, his soft voice alerting you again after you had nearly started to doze off from how sleepy you have become.  “It was perfect, honey.  Don’t worry.  I wouldn’t have wanted our first time to be any other way.” You mumble against his neck.

Aaron holds you for a little while longer before he gets up and helps you to the toilet.  He runs you a bath and he washes you up.  You both talk about whatever crosses your minds and there is laughter every so often.  He is happy to sit and let you soak for a nice long time, until the water begins to cool.  Once you get out, he dries you off and brings you some nice comfortable pyjamas to wear back to bed.  He has already put some clean underwear on to sleep in.

Once you are both in bed again, Aaron tucks you both in with the warm blankets and he wraps his arms around you protectively as you both snuggle up together.  He drifts off to sleep with you, both tangled in each other happy and content.  Aaron is happy that he could give you a good experience and he can’t wait to do it more in the future.  You’re happy that it was him and not someone else.  You’d had that one bad sexual experience before him and it didn’t really teach you much of anything, but Aaron has taught you so much and he has been able to show you what real pleasure truly is.  You already know that you’re going to love learning even more with him.  

[bunni-v1]

smilk winning the pettiest jealous bitch award every year until beast yeast 8 cuz the man dead ass is just "yeah doll it's just a test :)" but the second you start getting close to truthless recluse he's just ">:( no I don't like this anymore"

we're just befriending your other half bro!! u wanted this and you're mad about it!! little bitch (affectionately)!!

i love my petty husband-

(also, your honor, was the "remembering who you belong to" thing a hit to jealous intercourse?? 🙏 cuz i love that 👀 love to hear more about that if ur in the mood, if not, ignore this lmfao)

MDNI!!!

Ohhhh, Shadow Milk is a jealous petty little bitch, and he knows it too! He really wants you two to get along, it’s great! Until it isn’t…

Oooo seeing you being so sweet on Truthless Recluse really makes him feverish. You were his little dolly, so why were you so sweet to some other cookie? You should be giving him all that attention! It’s not right! You know who you belong to, don’t you?

You’ve got that bite on the back of your neck, is that not enough? The tug and burn of his annoyance should’ve reminded you, but… Well. If you need the reminder, he’s more than happy to give it to you! Just be a good little cookie and he’ll take care of you <3

But seriously, he doesn’t really cause a fuss, mostly pouting and grumbling, UNTIL you touch Truthless Recluse. Just a brush of the hand was all it was, nothing with any meaning, but oh did it set him off. He was patient! Kind! Benevolent even! But you crossed a line with that one, and he won’t tolerate your actions any longer.

You are swooped up off your feet and transported to your shared bedroom within a fraction of a second. Having been with him for so long, you already know where this is going, so you don’t bother fighting him. But jealous sex with Shadow Milk Cookie is something entirely different than the norm.

What you think will be a regular session turns into something else entirely. Not only does he intend to remind you just who’s you are, he means to show Truthless Recluse that as well.

He’ll tie you up and blindfold you, which isn’t strange by any means. He likes forcing you to use your sense of touch, heightens the experience and really makes you squeal like he wants. All the while he’s playing it nice and cool, jealousy not quite bubbling over for the sake of the performance.

He runs his hands all across your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His mouth following to leave marks all across your pretty dough, nipping a few bites where he can. He pointedly avoids touching you where you need him most, though. Knowing better than to give you what you want right away, lest he ruin the fun for himself.

He gets you positively squirming beneath him, then, he stops. Not only does he stop, leaving you whiny and flustered, but he leaves. He leaves you tied up and dripping and alone. It’s a cruel punishment you’d never experienced from him before, and it nearly makes you cry until you hear his pleasant little giggle.

“Ohhh, did you think I left you all alone? Poor thing… you know better than that, dolly~” He’ll coo, returning right back to where he was before.

He’s a bit more aggressive about his ministrations now, leaving bites that leak jam and are sure to scar. Licking up the wounds with a kindness that gives you whiplash, until finally that sinful mouth of his reaches right where you need it.

With practiced precision, he swallows you whole, forked tongue working over you like a dream. It knows all the right spots, moving across your most needy areas and leaving you weak and breathless. He goes and goes until you reach the edge, and then he pulls away like he always does.

He lingers a moment longer, though, and you feel his eyes burn into you from his place. You wonder if this time he’ll just give you what you like, but instead you feel a sharp pain shoot up from where he just left. A shout of surprise forces it’s what out of your lungs, and before you can process what he’s done, he’s already licking away to soothe the bite on your most sensitive areas.

“Did you just bite me?” You accused.

He snickers like a delighted kid, “What? Not into it?”

Aching and huffy, you grumble out a ‘no.’ Though it was certainly more pleasant than you’d like to admit, you’d prefer to be told before he tries something like that.

“Well…” He purrs, and you feel him crawl onto the bed, positioning himself nicely between your legs. His eager member is already free, and like it has a mind of its own, is rubbing against your inner thigh in a sort of apology. “Lemme make it up to you then, hmm?”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he is pushing into you. It tears a moan out of your lips, never quite used to how odd he feels the first time he enters. You swear he can expand the damn thing on command with how it fills you, rubbing all the right places at all the right times.

He’s kind enough to let you adjust, though you know he doesn’t have to be. The damn thing squirms excitedly inside you anyway, negating the whole point of his waiting. Maybe he just liked watching it press up against your stomach, or maybe… something else was going on. Before you can mull on it too much, he moves his hips in a brutal thrust.

It nearly knocks the wind out of you, pushing yet another surprised noise from your mouth. He giggles to himself at the sound, making his next thrust even harder to draw it out again, and again, and again, and again, until you can’t think straight. Each harsh thrust is another reminder that he’ll be carrying you around all of tomorrow, and your raspy throat tells you speaking won’t be much easier either.

He leans over you at some point, though you’re not exactly sure when. His body covering you from the cool air of the spire. He uses the closeness as an excuse to leave more marks across your neck and shoulders, happy to scar you up for everyone to see.

His dick twists in a way that has you seeing stars, throwing your head back into the sheets to cry to the heavens. He has every intent to fuck you until you couldn’t think straight tonight, and just as you think he’ll let you cum, he pauses his rough pace. You nearly whine, but stop when the blindfold stars to be undone.

He’d turned off the lights, so your vision adjusts much faster, and you are met with his sharp toothy grin. He seems satisfied with himself, so you smile weakly at him.

“Awwwwh, you’re so cute! Aren’t they cute?” He coos.

It takes you a second to realize he is talking to someone else, blinking in confusion a few times before you follow his gaze across the room. You meet dull ones, seemingly uninterested in the affair unfolding before them. Your jam freezes, jerking in your restraints in surprise. Why was Truthless Recluse here? How long had he been watching? Why was Shadow Milk okay with it?

“Oh, nonono, you’re not going anywhere!” He purrs, rubbing his cheek into yours like your attempt at escape was cute, “Don’t you like the surprise I made for you? It seemed like such a good idea, don’t tell me you’re upset!”

It’s hard to keep up with him, so all you manage is a very stupid, “What?”

He giggles with good nature, “Well, you seemed to like Vanilly’s attention sosososo much, that I thought it would be fun to have him watch us! And I was right, you’re never this vocal… it’s a little annoying honestly. Y’know, I’m getting the impression you like him more than me!”

You shake your head adamantly at him, and you mean it too, even though you’re fucked out and stupid you still manage to understand what he’s saying. You can’t come up with a good argument against him in your state though, petrified eyes unable to focus on staring at him or hiding from Truthless Recluse. It seems to make him happy, but he doesn’t stop his teasing despite the satisfaction.

“You do know who you belong to, don’t you dolly?” His words are accompanied with a thrust, a gasp forcing its way out as you nod, “Use your words pretty~”

Another thrust and you manage, “Y-you.”

“Mhm~ What’s my name, c’mon. You’ve still got some brain left up there, dontcha?” He teases, tapping on your forehead. If you weren’t so horrified you might’ve laughed.

“Sha~adow Milk— shit.” You manage between the steady smacks of his hips against yours, the tip of his dick rubbing your g-spot each time making things all the more difficult for you.

He smiles proudly at you, as if you were a pet he’d broken in. You certainly felt that way right now, not that you’d complain too much. His hand grabs your face tightly, jerking your head to the side with a smug smile.

“Tell him who you belong to.” He commands, and there is not room for debate.

“I belong to Shadow Milk Cookie,” You cry out to the silent cookie. He seems… unsure of the sight in front of him, whether he enjoys it or not, but Shadow Milk pulls your face back to his before you can make it out.

“Good job! I’m so proud of you! Now,” He squeezes your face tight in his grip, smiling cruelly at your struggle, “Keep your eyes on me. Don’t make me have to remind you again, alright?”

You nod dumbly, only verbally responded when he raises an eyebrow, “Of course, I’ll be good.”

He giggles, pressing the kindest kiss he could muster to your lips, “That’s my dolly~”

[littelovelunette]

CAN U PLEASE DO A

Alpha sevika x omega reader AND READER IS IN HEAT PLEASEEE

I'm dying here, I don't like the Omegaverse all that much, I think it's exaggerated asf and cringe bc of Wattpad authors n shit 😭

In Heat

Contains smut, g!p Sevika, breeding

The moment Sevika steps into the bar, she smells it.

Something sweet, warm, and utterly intoxicating clings to the air, curling around her senses like a vice. It stops her dead in her tracks, pupils dilating as her instincts sharpen in an instant.

Her usual confidence wavers just slightly, enough for her to grit her teeth and clench her metallic fingers in a vicious fist.

An Omega. You.

Her Omega, her instincts snarl.

Of course, you aren’t hers. Not yet, at least. But that doesn’t stop the primal, deep-seated growl that rumbles in her chest as she follows the scent, her body moving before her mind can catch up.

The dim lighting of the bar does little to hide the way you slump against the counter, skin dewy with heat, lips parted as if gasping for air.

It’s subtle, the way your fingers grip the edge of the wood, knuckles paling as you try to steady yourself. But Sevika sees it all. She sees the way your body trembles ever so slightly, the way your pupils are blown wide, the way your thighs press together in a way that makes her own breath hitch.

You’re in heat.

It hits her like a freight train, the need to claim, to protect, to satisfy.

She forces herself to move slowly, to not pounce on you like every part of her body is urging her to do.

She’s still an Alpha, but she’s not some feral beast—she won’t take without permission, won’t act without control.

Even if the way you smell right now makes her want to. Sevika won't, her resolve is stronger than that.

She slides onto the stool beside you, leaning in just enough that you’ll feel the warmth of her presence, the sheer size of her compared to you. Her voice, deep and edged with something rough, something primal, rumbles out low.

“You should be home right now, little Omega.”

Your breath hitches. Slowly, you turn your head towards her, blinking up at her with those wide, heat-dazed eyes.

And fuck—you’re beautiful like that.

Soft. Vulnerable. Hers, if she wanted.

And God, does she want.

“I’m—” You swallow hard, hands gripping your own thighs as if trying to steady yourself. “I’m fine.”

Sevika chuckles, dark and low, eyes flicking over you like she can see the way you’re struggling to hold yourself together. You’re shaking. Your scent is clouding the air around her, wrapping around her like chains, sinking into her lungs, into her bones. Into her very being.

You’re anything but fine.

“You’re burning up,” she murmurs, her voice dropping as she leans in just slightly, close enough that your scent is all she can breathe. “I can smell it. Everyone in this damn bar can smell it.”

You stiffen at that, lower lip caught between your teeth. There’s a flicker of something like fear in your eyes, and it stirs something violent in Sevika. No one else gets to look at you like that. No one else gets to smell you like this.

Only her.

And fuck—you want her. She can feel it. In the way your body leans toward her ever so slightly, in the way your fingers flex against the bar top, in the way your breath catches when she speaks.

Her mechanical hand flexes, long metallic fingers drumming slowly against the wood of the bar.

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

Your breath comes out shaky, body swaying toward her before you catch yourself.

You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling through your nose, and when you speak, your voice is nearly a whisper.

It felt truly pathetic to be like this and you don't know if you could trust, she is after all who she is and you are aware of notorious reputation. But you have been heat for so long (it hasn't even been that long but it feels like it) that it was somehow physically hurting you.

“You.”

Sevika inhales sharply through her nose.

Fuck.

That one word nearly shatters the fragile restraint she’s barely holding onto. Her little bit of ego, little bit of pride.

Her chest swells, her instincts roaring in triumph, in possession. But still, she waits, gaze steady on you, watching for any hesitation, any doubt.

She finds none.

Instead, you’re looking up at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters. Like you need her more than air, more than anything.

And fuck if she isn’t about to give you everything.

She stands, looming over you, and when she speaks, her voice is a promise, a command, a claim.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

And you don’t hesitate. You follow.

Because in this moment, she’s the only one who can give you what you need.

And she intends to.

Sevika makes sure you know that because the moment you step into her house you are greeted with the aura of something dangerous, something so untamed you were sure it would rip you in half, but you'd let it. Wouldn't you?

She pins you to the wall, fingers digging deep into the flesh of your thighs. Her flesh fingers and metal fingers barely had any difference in force, if anything they were the same. But you assumed she had gotten used to her prosthetic.

The next time Sevika speaks to you, her voice is more lowered than usual, it was a rasp, a very needy rasp. "You want me to fuck you, don't you? To really mess up that cunt of yours and keep going until you're just a hopeless, pathetic, brain rotten mess. But you'd enjoy that."

You gasp as Sevika's bulge rubs over your clothed pussy, "Oh you feel that?" You whined and nodded needily grinding back at her bulge.

"Need it, big dick inside please..." You pleaded so pathetically you could've mentally slapped yourself but right then your needs mattered the most. You were so horny it almost hurt.

"You're so cock drunk before it's even in," Sevika commented however she did push you against the bed and slowly trailed her fingertips over your thighs.

"Please, daddy, I can't wait any longer," you whispered, Sevika's hands palmed at your clothes, pulling at them almost desperately. She pulled your clothes off slowly but by the time she reached your undergarments she couldn't hold back anymore and ripped them apart with feral need.

"Sure 'bout that? Sevika growled. "You'll be able to handle me?"

"Daddy, please," you moaned in her ear making Sevika shiver a little but she didn't hold back, unzipping her pants and instantly stuffing her cock inside your aching cunt.

"Oh my gosh!" You cried out as Sevika grabbed your waist and started pounding in your so roughly that the bed creaked in protest against her ramming. It was almost violent, her grip bruising your skin as she continued her relentless thrusting.

"Daddy! Daddy!" You screamed for all of the world to hear as your back arched and fingers tangled, one in her hair and the other in the bedsheets. With every thrust your tits jiggled, giving Sevika a view to enjoy as her thrusts continued to target your poor g-spot.

You barely could catch your breath because of her intense speed.

"Yeah, you like that?" Sevika taunted, her pace unaltered as she continued to abuse your clenching, wet hole. Your hands shot up and you tried to hold her close the best you could.

"Bet you're already close. Little slut," Sevika slapped your tits before one hand grabbed your throat, forcing you to look at her despite the utterly pathetic state you were in. There was drool and tears running down your face as your eyes lolled in the sockets, brain fucked into a complete mush.

"I am, daddy, I am," you managed to breathe out as your abdomen tensed, ready for the impending orgasm about to rip through you.

"I'm gonna bust a good fuckin' load in you," Sevika panted in your ear, biting down on the side of your neck.

"Yes, please!"

With one last slam she came as did you. Her load filled you up nice and warm making you gasp and scratch at her back.

It was a foreign sensation but nothing you would hate. It was quite nice actually.

[kawhh]

Omg that temporary tattoo thing got me thinking about how in one tree hill when Hayley gets a 23 tattoo above her ass for Nate…

oh dark!quinn wouldn’t be able to think about anything else when he sees your reach up high for something and your shirt lifts up and he gets a peek of the 43 above your his ass.

He would ask you about it and when you wouldn’t admit it right away he would bend you over and he would fuck you from behind. You don’t get to finish because you lied but he cums over your back and swipes it across the 43 tattoo to further claim you, proper tattoo care be damned. Yeah that’s hot

My ask turn around time needs to be studied. There'll be a day when I catch up with them all and it doesn't take me a month lmao.

I gotta put One Tree Hill on my watch list now? I've always seen it talked about a lot but I've never actually seen any of it.

Warnings: Quinn losing his mind, nails sinking into skin, biting, blood mention, ripping clothes, rough fucking, cum play.

You'd done it as a cute little gesture. You adore him and you're oh so proud of him, it'd been the easiest tattoo choice of your life. You'd wanted it somewhere he'd be able to see on you, wanting it more for him than for you.

You hadn't fully considered the impact of it until it was etched into your skin, until the scratching had stopped. Flushing heavily in the car coming back from the studio. Embarrassed about how he'd react when he saw it, knowing it's permanent now.

Hadn't considered how he'd feel about the fact that you were a little undressed for the artist, laying there with their hands on your skin, touching above and around your ass.

Hadn't considered that it might make him more feral, you'd been high on the feeling of wanting to show him how proud of him you are.

You'd tucked your shirt into the back of your jeans as you walked into his apartment, needing more time to think of an excuse, a reason, before he saw it. He wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you for long.

It's a shame you'd immediately forgotten the plan, distracted by him asleep on the couch. Rushing around the kitchen to make him food ready for when he wakes up, worried about how exhausted he clearly was after practice. Guilty you weren't here for him when he got home.

Hadn't heard him stirring, hadn't heard him creep towards you, fixated on the little inch of your bare skin visible to his eyes as you reach up. The emotions battling for control in his eyes - the confusion, the savage need to claim you, to fuck you. The disbelief. His pupils fully dilated, his arms shaking.

You don't hear him kneeling behind you, needing to get a better look or he feels like he'll die. Your startled gasp as he reaches out to grab your hips, the way your cute little jump exposes even more of your skin.

The way his nails dig into your skin, his eyes wild, resting his forehead above the tattoo. Tensing up when you feel his hot breath against your skin, sending shocks up your spine.

"Sweetheart.. you gonna fucking explain?"

The way his nails dig in further when you don't answer, when you don't even offer an excuse. Just whimpers coming out of your mouth. Your gasp of pain when he bites around the tattoo, making a circle. A ring of bloody possession around his mark on you. You're even more his now. You can't go back from this. You've made this choice.

His veins burn with the need to be buried in your cunt. His nails no longer still - clawing into you, dragging them down your ass. Leaving a stinging trail that makes you hiss, softly crying out his name. Pleading for something. Needing something.

Your cries pushing him over the edge, rising to his feet, throwing you over his shoulder. He needs you now. Needs you bent over his fucking couch right now. Needs his cock in you. Needs to make a mess. Needs to stare at his mark on you when he rails you.

He's not gentle about throwing you on the couch, cradling your head from the harsh impact. He's not a savage after all.

He has no care for your clothes, viewing them as a barrier to what he needs and wants. Doesn't care to gently take them off you, doesn't care if he knows they're your favourite. These fucking jeans. They might make your ass look like a buffet but they're keeping him from your cute little cunt and it's illegal.

He doesn't need them fully off, just down enough. Yanking them down your thighs, restraining your legs with them around your knees. He has room. He'll make it work. Warming you up, pushing his aching head against the wet spot on your underwear, pushing the material into you, watching as you grip the couch and tremble. Lazy little thrusts, pushing it into you further, eyes narrowing on the tattoo.

Swiping his tongue across his bottom lip as he rips your underwear, laughing as you squeak in protest at the slight burn.

Doesn't hesitate when he has a clear shot, sinking balls deep inside your cunt instantly, pushing his weight against you, forcing you to bend further over the couch, restraining you even further. Gripping your hip with one hand, resting his fingers against the tattoo, needing to physically feel it.

He's a machine fucking into you, slamming you further over the edge of the couch with every thrust, slamming you back down against him when you creep forward too far. Making you scream at the brutality.

Begging him to slow down, whining about all your adorable little choices. You're just making it worse. He wants you ruined. He wants you to make a mess, to be a mess.

Spanking your clit while he pulls out, teasing you, pretending that he's giving into your demands, before he's slamming back in even harder. Feeling your walls clench down on him, feeling your pussy sucking him back in. How it's desperate for him to be inside you, even if you're vocally protesting.

He's chanting, whispering to himself about how badly he needs to cum on every thrust, tossing his head back, losing himself in the feel of your cunt. You're his. You're marked. He can do this every day. Fuck, he can fuck you every day. He can stare at the mark and make you cum every single second of every single day.

Moaning as his speed picks up even further, no longer even focused on your reactions, just needing to cum. Needing to cum. He's gotta cum. Fuck, he's gotta cum. He's so close.

Forcing his head back up so he can watch the tattoo bounce on every thrust, feeling like it's taunting him, violently pulling you back and thrusting, giving it every single percentage of energy he has, shocks going down his spine, his thighs cramping with the strain.

He can't resist pulling out as he cums, drowning your back in his seed. Panting as it drips down your back, aided by gravity. How it covers the tattoo, his hips jerking like he's cum again, the sight making his brain break.

He's collapsing against your back fully, the hand on your hip spreading it over the tattoo, trying to rub it into your skin. To mark you further. Running his hands through the rest of the cum, reaching up to force it into your mouth.

He'll keep you both here for a while, too exhausted to lift off you.

[shinebyeoli]

Hiiii I found out I have a somnophilia kink so can you do it?You can choose which Ateez member you want to write about.I really need it.😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️

「 Between Sleep and Desire 」

☆SUMMARY: Your boyfriend wakes up in the middle of the night horny and desperate. He couldn't hold it in so he takes it out on you. but what happens next?

☆PAIRING: Boyfriend!Wooyoung x Fem girlfriend!reader

☆GENRE: Smut, fluff at the end.

☆WARNINGS: Somniphilia, Switch!Wooyoung, Dom!reader, Wooyoung gets into subspace at the end, rough sex, Unportected sex (don't do!), Humping, fingering, oral (on reader), missionary, Humiliation kink, overstimulateion, begging, crying, Aftercare.

☆WORDCOUNT: 3k

☆A/N: Hopefully this is good, I'm not sure. I've never written somnophilia before and for some reason I thought Wooyoung would fit it! I hope you like it.

You met Jung Wooyoung on a Thursday in late September, when high school hallways still smelled like dry erase markers and the midst of summer that clung to everyone’s skin. He’d barged into your chemistry class ten minutes late, his uniform tie hanging loose around his neck and his backpack dangling precariously off one shoulder. The teacher scolded him, but he’d just flashed that disarming grin—sharp, playful, all teeth—and slid into the desk beside yours like he’d always belonged there.

“Do you have a spare pencil?” he’d whispered, leaning so close you could see the tiny mole under his eye, which you thought was cute. You handed him one, your fingers brushing his, and by the end of class, he’d “accidentally” pocketed it. That was Wooyoung: equal parts charming and infuriating, a hurricane of cheeky grins and shameless antics.

He became a constant in your life. He’d snatch your notes to copy them “Your handwriting’s prettier than mine,” he’d say, batting his lashes, beg bites of your lunch “I’ll starve if you don’t share!”, and tease you until your cheeks burned pink. But between the chaos were quieter moments... Such as walks home after study sessions, his laughter softening as the sunset painted the streets gold, or the time he held his blazer over your head during a rainstorm, his arm brushing yours the entire way to your apartment.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you’d said, shivering under the awning as rainwater dripped from his hair.

He’d smirked. “But you like it.”

You did.

Graduation day arrived too quickly. The two of you sat on the school rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, soda cans sweating in the afternoon heat. Wooyoung had been uncharacteristically quiet, fiddling with the pull tab of his drink.

“I’m gonna miss this,” he said suddenly, glancing at you.

“Miss what? Me yelling at you for stealing my highlighters?”

“Yeah.” His voice dropped, playful tone dissolving. “All of it.”

When you turned to face him, he was already looking at you—really looking, his dark eyes unguarded. Your breath caught.

“Y/N,” he said, softer now. “What if I don’t want this to end?”

You kissed him first. Or maybe he kissed you. It didn’t matter. His hands cradled your face like you were something fragile, his lips warm and tentative against yours. The soda can tipped over, forgotten, fizzing quietly on the concrete...

NOW

2 Years later, you’re curled beside him in the cozy queen bed of your shared dorm, his arm draped over your waist. His breathing is steady, his cheek smushed against the pillow, making him look younger and softer. Your Wooyoung—still chaotic, still yours.

But tonight, something’s different.

It’s past midnight, and the room is bathed in the blue glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. Wooyoung's drifting in that hazy space between sleep and awareness when he feels you shift. His fingers twitch against your hip, restless. A low, muffled sound escapes his throat—frustrated, almost pleading.

“Y/N…?” He murmurs, half-asleep.

you don't answer. your lashes flutter, your brow furrowing as you turn onto your back. The sheets tangle around his legs, and for a moment, his breath hitches. He freeze when his hand slides absently down his stomach, his lips parting in a silent sigh.

you're still asleep.

Wooyoung's pulse thrums in his own ears. He should turn away. Let you be. But He can’t stop staring—at the curve of your jaw, the way you make a tiny noise everytime you swallow. youre beautiful like this, vulnerable and wanting, and it terrifies him how much he feels it too.

“Doll..” he whispers, so quiet, but you don't hear it. you're in deep sleep.

He whines then—a soft, desperate sound that vibrates in his throat—his hips jerking subtly against the mattress. He was hard.

His fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles white, as if anchoring himself. “Fuck,” he whispers, voice strained. “Why won’t you just… wake up?”

But you stay perfectly still, your a subtle twitch of your closed eyes, feigning innocence. His frustration is palpable, radiating in the way his breath staggers, the way he bites down on his lip to stifle another groan. He's never been like this before. He needs you, but you're asleep.. a deep sleeper.

He rolls toward you again, his knee nudging between yours, a hard, insistent press of him against your thigh. Wooyoung's pulse spikes and his breathing is heavy, but he forces his body to stay relaxed. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp with sweat, and he lets out a shaky laugh. “You’re asleep, aren’t you?” he mutters, equal parts exasperation and awe.

For a moment, he hesitates, his lips hovering over the thin fabric of your shirt. Then he presses a kiss there, his teeth grazing your collarbone. he nearly gasps, your toes curling under the blanket, but he pulls back before you can react. He didn't want you to wake up..

“No,” he hisses to himself, dragging a hand through his hair. “No, no, no—this isn’t—” He cuts himself off, flopping onto his back again with a muffled groan. His chest rises and falls like he’s just run a mile, his skin glinting in the dim light. He couldn't be horny... Not now, in the middle of the night.

He lies there on the bed, wide-eyed, as the clock ticks toward 1 a.m. But he remembered something.. You had once 'joked' about him fucking you until you woke up.. He sat up and looked at your figure.. You were a heavy sleeper so this would be perfect..

Outside, the world sleeps. Inside, something new and electric lingers in the air—unspoken, undeniable. He was going to fuck you until you woke up...

He got on top of you as the blanket slips from the bed like pooling in a heap of cotton and shame at Wooyoung’s feet. His stolen hoodie rucked up to your ribs, your pink lace panties clinging to the curve of your hips like a dare he’s too weak to refuse. A bead of sweat traces the column of your throat, his tongue darting out to wet his cracked lips.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his cock strains against his boxers, a damp patch spreading where the tip leaks incessantly. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t—But here he is, drawn to your heat like a moth to a flame.

He sinks to his knees and leans in until his breath ghosts across your parted lips. His nostrils flare, drinking you in, and his hand drifts to his cock, giving a squeeze through the fabric. Precum soaks his palm instantly.

“Y/N…” His whisper skates down your neck, your skin pebbles under his gaze, nipples stiffening beneath the thin cotton of his hoodie, and he whimpers, high and reedy. “You’re—fuck... you’re doing this on purpose.”

The accusation hangs between you, unanswered. Your chest rises and falls in the steady rhythm, each exhale soft and quiet. His fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers, peeling them down his thigh. The elastic catches on the head of his cock, and he hisses, hips jerking instinctively.

“Look what you’re doing to me.”

A droplet of precum lands on your inner thigh. He watches it slide toward your knee, tracing the path of an old scar.

The panties are next. His fingers yanking them down in one vicious motion. “Shh,” he soothes, though it’s himself he’s trying to calm.

His free hand finds his cock again as he held the panties to his nose, stroking in time with the pulse hammering in his throat.

“Knew it,” he rasps against the fabric. “Knew you’d be fucking drenched for me.”

You shift in your sleep, thighs falling open wider, and he chokes on a sob. His hips piston forward, fucking the air above your leg, as he tongues the lace like it’s your cunt itself. Precum strings between his tip and stomach, glistening trails that catch the light with every jerky movement.

“Gonna ruin you,” he promises, voice thick with tears. “Gonna make you—fuck—scream my name—”

He’s rutting against your thigh now, the lace still pressed to his face. Your skin flushes red under his assault, where his cock slaps against it. He’s lost to the rhythm, to the wrongness, to the way your breath hitches every time his thumb brushes your clit.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, hips stuttering. “Just like that. Take it.”

His orgasm crests without warning, tearing through him like a bullet. Ropes of cum stripe your stomach, your hip, the scarred knee he’s kissed a thousand times. He collapses forward, forehead pressed to your sternum, and sobs—ugly, heaving things that shake the bed frame.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, licking a stripe through the mess on your skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—”

But his cock twitches against your thigh, still half-hard, still hungry. He whines, high and desperate, and grinds down again, chasing the friction that’ll destroy him.

He moved your shirt up so it was bunched beneath your armpits now, his hoodie stretched and stained with sweat and semen. He’s only been at it for at least 10 minutes and he's already such a fucking mess—alternating between fucking his hand, your thighs, and the clenching heat of your sleeping cunt. His jaw aches from biting back moans, his throat raw from whispered pleas.

“F-fuck.. whish you would look at me,” he begs, two fingers buried to the knuckle inside you. Your walls flutter around him, a sleepy mimicry of the way you’d milked his cock last Tuesday, when he’d had you bent over the washing machine like a whore. “Please.”

Your hips roll up, seeking more, and he crooks his fingers, pressing hard against that spongy spot he’s memorized. Your back arches off the mattress, a silent scream parting your lips, and he feels it—the way your cunt clenches, the gush of arousal that slicks his wrist.

“There,” he snarls, fucking his fingers faster. “Knew you’d cum on my hand. Knew you’d—fuck—love this.”

He’s rock-hard again, talking to you while you're dead asleep. He's practically talking to a wall. His neglected cock slapping against his stomach with every thrust. Precum drips onto your thigh, mingling with the dried streaks from before, and he grinds his palm against his tip, smearing the mess.

“Wanna taste you,” he whimpers, lowering his head between your legs. His tongue swipes through your folds, lapping at the combined flavors of his cum and your arousal. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Was all he could think in that pervert little mind of his.

He eats you like a man condemned—sucking your clit, thrusting his tongue inside, teeth grazing your tender flesh. Your thighs clamp around his ears, muffling his broken moans, and he claws at your hips, desperate to get closer.

“Doll,” he gasps, pulling back to stare at your glistening cunt. “Doll, please—”

But you’re still asleep, still gone, and the realization cracks him open. He scrambles up your body, hands shaking, and crushes his mouth to yours. The kiss is all teeth and desperation, his tongue licking into you as if he could steal your consciousness through sheer force.

“Wake up,” he pleads against your lips. “Wake up, wake up, wake up—”

He couldn't hold it in anymore.. He positioned his throbbing cock right against your hole and slammed in. It made you whimper a bit but at this point, the poor boy didn't care. He needed to fuck your cunt by now. It was already a dripping mess. He couldn't believe he was fucking you, asleep.

“S'tight.. Shiiiiit..” He whined out as he was slamming into you over and over again. He looked down as he watched his cock go in and out. He was so mouthy when he was submissive.

Suddenly, your lashes flutter. He freezes, terror icing his veins.

Your eyes open.

He’s inside you in an instant again, sheathing himself to the hilt with a sob. The stretch burns, your cunt fluttering around his girth, and he collapses atop you, tears dripping onto your collarbone.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes, hips rolling instinctively. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I’ll—”

Your nails carve crescents into his shoulders, anchoring him. “Don’t.”

He stills, breath hitching. “Y-Y/N—”

You lock your legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass. “Did I say stop?”

The command shatters him. He fucks you in earnest now, pace frantic, the headboard slamming against the wall in a rhythm that matches the pulse roaring in his ears. Sweat drips from his chin onto your breasts, and he laps it up, salt and skin and sin exploding across his tongue.

“Gonna fill you,” he snarls, voice guttural. “Gonna pump you so full of cum you’ll be leaking my cum for weeks...”

Your hands fist his hair, yanking. “Harder.”

He obeys, hips snapping forward with enough force to bruise. The slap of skin echoes through the room, a vulgar metronome counting down to oblivion. Your moans fuel his frenzy, each breathy whimper a brand against his soul.

“Mine,” he growls, biting your shoulder. “Mine, mine, mine—”

You arch beneath him, cunt clenching like a vice, and he screams your name as he spills. His orgasm rips through him, violent and endless, painting your insides white. He collapses, sobbing, and clings to you like a man drowning.

His tears pool in the hollow of your throat, salt mingling with the bitter tang of his shame as he fucks his oversensitive cock deeper, chasing the high only your body can give. You weren't done, no.

The room reeks of sex—cloying musk, dried cum flaking on your thighs, the metallic sting of blood where his teeth pierced your shoulder. He laps at the wound now, tongue rasping over the broken skin, and moans when you arch into the pain.

“More,” you demand, nails raking down his spine. “You can do it.. You're such a slut.”

He whimpers, hips stuttering, and obeys. The slap of flesh grows louder, wetter, each thrust forcing a choked gasp from his swollen lips. His cock aches, raw and overstimulated, but he can’t stop—won’t stop—not when your cunt milks him so perfectly, fluttering around his length like it was made to ruin him.

“D- doll,” he rasps, forehead grinding against yours. “I’ll—fuck—I’ll die if I stop—”

You seize his jaw, forcing his gaze to yours. “Then don’t.” You breathe out as he humps you, his tip hitting your g-spot over and over again. You liked this, you liked having him submit to you. “Y-you just couldn't wait, c- couldn't you?”

The command cracks him open. He fucks you like a man possessed, hips pistoning erratically, tears and sweat dripping onto your chest. His hands scrabble for purchase, fingers bruising your hips, and he hauls you closer, deeper, wetter. The angle shifts, his tip grinding against that spongy spot inside you, and you scream, back bowing off the mattress.

“There,” he sobs, pounding into the spot relentlessly. “That’s it, that’s—fuck—how you like it, right? How you always liked it—”

You claw at his shoulders, making a few marks, and he revels in the sting. The pain anchors him, a counterpoint to the suffocating pleasure coiling in his gut. His balls tighten, another orgasm looming, and he grinds his forehead into the pillow beside your head, teeth sinking into the fabric to muffle his screams.

“Gonna cum,” he warns, voice shredded. “Gonna fill you up again—”

You lock your legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass. “Do it.”

He shatters.

His release floods you, hot and endless, and he collapses atop your trembling body. His cock twitches inside you, still spurting weakly, and he whines, oversensitive and raw.

“Too much,” he slurs, tongue lolling against your pulse. “Too much, t-too much—”

His hips roll out instinctively, his poor cock against your thighs.

“Shh… I’m here. You did so well,” you murmur, and his exhale hitches, a broken sound that makes your chest tighten.

He’s deep in his subspace, that fragile, floating state where words dissolve into sensation. You guide him to the edge of the bed, his legs unsteady, and he slumps against you, forehead pressed to your sternum.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, “For waking you. And… earlier. I didn’t mean to—”

“Look at me,” you say, softer than you intend. He does, pupils blown wide in the dark, and you thumb the worry from his brow. “You think I’d let you do a single thing I didn’t want?” A half-smile tugs at your lips, fleeting but real. “You,” you press, “are exactly what I want. Every time.”

You take his hand and lead him into the bathroom, the light flickers on as you clean up properly. He leans against the sink, watching you wet a washcloth under the tap. There’s a bruise blooming on his hip, and you pause to run your fingertips over it. “This okay?” you ask, and he nods, a shiver skittering through him. “Yeah. Feels… good. Like you’re still here.”

a few minutes later, you're both back in bed, he curls into you, his head pillowed on your heartbeat, and you let your nails drag lightly down his nape, the way he loves.

“Will you…?” he starts, then stops, biting his lip.

“Will I what?”

“Say it again. That you’d… that it wasn’t too much.”

You tilt his chin up, holding his gaze. “I’d let you ruin me every night if you asked,” you say, low and deliberate, and his breath catches. It’s not entirely a metaphor. You’ve seen the way he comes alive in those moments—feral and radiant, all sharp edges and wildfire—and part of you wants to let him burn you to ash.

He kisses you then, slow and syrupy, all the desperation gentled into something sweeter. When you pull back, his cheeks are damp again, but he’s smiling. “Thank you,” he says, like he’s handing you a secret. “I love you, Y/N..”

“I love you too, woo...”

By 3:30a.m., he’s asleep, one leg hooked over yours as if to keep you grounded. You stay awake a little longer, listening to the rhythm of his breaths, the distant hum of the city outside. The candle on the nightstand has pooled into wax, the wick drowned. You’ll need to buy a new one tomorrow, you think.

Or maybe you’ll wait. Let the remnants linger, proof of the night’s wreckage and repair.

But for now, you press your lips to the crown of his head, breathing him in—this boy who trusts you with his broken edges, and the hands that always, always put him back together.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Eddie doesn't say a word as they step into the Diaz home, for all the four days it's going to remain so. Buck bunches his shoulders around his ears, sticks his hands in his pockets to keep from pulling Eddie close and demanding he just talk to him.

But Eddie doesn't say anything. Won't even look at Buck. Buck debates staying out on the porch. He doesn't think he's allowed inside after tonight.

One look from Eddie has him padding inside though. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs.

Buck can't keep this up. Can't spend the last days he'll ever have Eddie not speaking to him.

"Why are you so pissed at me?" Buck scowls. There's no venom in his voice like the time he questioned it in a grocery store. There's nothing but resignation, accompanied by a helpless shrug.

"Because you're-" Eddie stops himself as he whirls around there in the living room, takes a step closer.

"Exhausting?" Buck scoffs. "Yeah, I know."

"No, Buck," Eddie growls. "You're acting like you don't matter. Like you don't give a damn if you get hurt!"

"I wasn't going to let that poor dog die in there," Buck fires back, "all alone. I just couldn't. And you wouldn't either, you can't tell me otherwise, Eddie!"

"Of course I wouldn't," Eddie huffs.

"Then what's your problem, man?" Buck demands, taking a step closer himself. He wants to grab Eddie by the collar, shake the answer from him, or claw it from his skin or... Something.

"You," Eddie says, his voice lower than Buck has maybe ever heard. He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. Buck wishes he didn't. Because what he does say threatens to shake Buck apart. "You didn't wait for me to go with you."

Buck shakes his head. "I couldn't ask you to do that."

"Why not?" Eddie demands, pleas. "We're a team, Buck. I'm supposed to have your back!"

And that is what breaks him. He's been hanging on by his fingertips since he flipped over Eddie's tablet, and now? He lets go. Lets himself plummet, off a lightning rod of a ladder, or a crane. There's no ground beneath his feet. He just falls, and falls, and drags Eddie down with him.

"You're not going to be here to have my back!" Buck cries.

Eddie flinches like Buck struck him.

Regardless, Buck keeps talking. "You're leaving, Eddie. Leaving me behind just like everyone else does. And I- I know, it's selfish as hell to even think it because you- you need to go, and I can't stop you. I wouldn't ever stop you, you need your kid, but I need..."

He has the good sense to stop there, but he thinks it's too late anyway.

Eddie stares at him, a little like Buck just informed him of a death. And yeah. If that death was whatever Buck had with Eddie, the comparison would be an accurate one.

Eddie nods and ducks his head. Sniffs and looks anywhere but at Buck. Buck wants to keep talking. At least then, Eddie's eyes would be on him.

Then, in a voice too small for the space Eddie's supposed to occupy, he asks "why won't you stop me?"

Buck's tense shoulders drop in defeat. "Why would you want me to?"

Eddie shakes his head. Rolls his lips. Lets out a bitter laugh that, for all it's anger, still makes Buck's heart jump. "You know, I thought..."

Buck steps closer again, and it's probably the most dangerous step he's ever taken in his life. He's run into burning buildings, up ladders in lightning storms, through flooded streets, gunfire. And still, this one step is the most terrifying he's ever made.

Because they're close. Closer than they should be for the fight they're not really having. But still not close enough. There's maybe six inches between the toe of Buck's sneakers and Eddie's boots. But he doesn't dare close that gap.

"Eddie..." He doesn't know what to follow that up with. He hopes Eddie has some idea. Hopes, probably derangedly, that the words he wants to say are ones Eddie understands already.

"I'm going to get my kid back," Eddie says, looking somewhere over Buck's shoulder.

"I know you are."

"Why won't you stop me?" Eddie asks, finally meeting his eyes. There's something desperate there, something Buck hasn't seen since Christopher wouldn't look his father in the eye.

"The same reason I couldn't let you follow me into that building... I can't ask you to put your happiness aside for me," Buck admits, a desperation of his own forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

"Evan," Eddie says, and it makes Buck want to fall to his knees. He takes that last perilous step closer to Buck. Buck doesn't dare breathe. "You are my happiness."

Buck shakes his head, that isn't right. He's been bad, for so long, he doesn't make people happy. Eddie reaches up, cups his face in his hands to stop his movement. "Yes," Eddie continues. "Buck, I have spent... probably my whole life denying myself joy. And I'm finally learning that I don't have to. I found my joy, Buck. It's you."

"Eddie," Buck says, reverent like a vow. He had endless things he wanted to say to Eddie, but it all pales in comparison now.

"I'm coming home, Buck," Eddie promises. He swipes his thumbs across Buck's cheekbones, wiping away the tears Buck didn't even notice he'd started crying. "If you'll be here for us to come home to."

Buck pounces on him like a dog offered a treat. Better still, a place to stay. Someone's feet to curl up by.

He throws his arms around Eddie, burying his face in the crook of his neck. "Yes," he whispers against Eddie's skin. "I'll be here for you to come home to."

[itheunknown]

odi et amo - (03) i, ghostly

negelected! meta! reader x platonic! batfam

masterlist / prev / next

(TW) : emotional neglect, self-destructive behaviour, self-harm, suicide, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking, underage drinking, alcohol abuse, depression, bpd, depictions of mental illness, violence, trauma, ...

you can't tell what's louder, the thumping in your chest or the ringing in your ears.

your breath comes out shaky, the smoke curling out your nose and mouth, caressing your face.

it's hard to grasp reality. you don't know how you ended up here, nothing feels certain.

nothing feels real.

the sting on your now dried tear streaked cheek is the only feeling you feel, a reminder.

you never expected anything from that family, a family that isn't yours. but, perhaps, it was wishful thinking that if you made yourself forgettable enough, they would leave you alone. it didn't matter anymore, the fact that they were never there - you've done this before, you've been alone before. the heart could only grow brutal from feeding on fantasies.

and it's haunting.

did it hurt? fuck yes. but you're used to it.

you've been hurt your whole life.

you are nothing more than a body that hurts.

fantasies of loving arms, fantasies of warmth and peace.

fantasies of being seen. fantasies of being wanted.

you're staring down at the deep drop, somehow finding yourself back at the same abandoned building years ago. the sharp sting of the wind barely felt through the thick of the hoodie engulfing your form, the hood protecting your identity. the pack of the nearly empty cigarettes you had burned through along with your lighter layed scattered besides you, mixing with the discarded butts.

but you're never seen.

and you're never wanted.

expectations only lead to disappointment.

you didn't even flinch, no signs of making a move to acknowledge his presence, the burning cigarette still in hand as it nears your lips once more. a sigh and footsteps were heard before he was seated next to you, plucking the half-smoked cigarette out of your trembling hands and flicking it out the building.

"didn't take you for the rebellious type."

a sense of déjà vu, a voice, a similar scenario and the same setting - recognition washes over you - the voice of the vigilante that stopped you from jumping. and now, now you just can't seem to find the same sense of finality and courage to do it again.

"that's littering", you mutter, and he let out a surprised laugh despite your deadpan tone and the depressing atmosphere.

you're grateful that the hood makes you unidentifiable, thanks to the shadow it casts upon your face, further assisted by the blanket of the night: you don’t want to be seen right now, you just need to be heard.

he's thankful that, at the very least, you weren't making a move to jump off this time, the memory of it still unnerves him everytime he revisits it. although admittedly, smoking is just another way to achieve what you had come here to do before.

he looks at you, a moment of prolonged silence as his laughter dies out. you didn't even stir, defeated.

your voice was more mature, your stature taller but despite your unseen features, he can still sense how hollow you were - just like the first time he saw you.

despite everything, it was still you.

"… do you want to talk about it? ", he hesitates.

a beat passes. he desperately wants to help you, but also wishes not to overstep.

you asked your own question, one that had lingered at the back of your mind ever since that day:

"why did you stop me?"

he's surprised.

you're waiting.

your head tilted slightly, the moon light barely illuminated the edges of your face.

"because your life has value. i couldn't watch you, just, throw it away like it meant nothing.”

"it does mean nothing, i have nothing to live for", you reply, your tone grim and finalized.

his heart aches, the burden heavy in your voice - you sounded tired. broken.

his hand finds its way on your shoulder and pats awkwardly. "i'm sure that's not true. you may think that now, but you don't have to carry this weight alone."

"but i am alone."

“that’s not true, i’m sure there are people who care about you!”

he nudges your arm lightly, a light and reassuring smile on his face. you stare at him, at how the moon perfectly encapsulates his presence, at the tender warmth and genuine care radiating from him - the personification of life. the opposite of you, who's haunted by the idea of death.

you, who’d always remain in the shadows, remained in the desolated and dark corners of everyone’s mind, ignored, forgotten. dead to them.

“you don’t even know me,” you breathe out, “nobody knows me.”

the weight of your words weigh heavy on his soul. “that may be true, but that doesn’t mean i can’t care,” he offers. “you know, kid, you actually remind me of one of my siblings. around the same age, actually.”

your curiosity peaked as you silently urged for him to continue.

“but they came around eventually, i think. the hurt doesn’t go away, but you have to reach out for help.”

“…have you talked to your family about it?”

you scoff and stood up, making your way out of the building. he hurriedly follows you, frustration tainting his carefully crafted positivity. “you can’t just push people away like this. why won’t you let anyone in?”

you’re annoyed, it’s not like you did so deliberately, had anyone ever tried to get to know you? let alone care about you? you had abandoned that wishful thinking long ago, especially after today’s events.

“what’s the use,” you snarled. “nothing ever changes.”

“nothing can change if you don’t try!”

“sure, whatever.”

you paced hurriedly to where you left your bicycle, his presence hot on your trail.

“don’t dismiss me. your life matters, damn it.” he grabs your wrist.

you exhale sharply, yanking your arm out of his grasp. he falters back a bit, sensing that he crossed a line, trying to tone down how aggressive he was coming onto you.

“just- just remember that people care about you.”

“sure, like you do?”

“yes!”

you still for a bit, looking at him skeptically. you both awkwardly stood there, the situation almost comical in a sense, especially since his eyes can't remain trained on any visible feature of your face.

“hmm, thanks. i guess.” you trailed, hopping on your bicycle.

he watched you ride off into the night, unable to shake the feeling of helplessness. he wanted to help, but also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and scare you off. he stood there contemplating before he dashed off to continue the rest of his patrol.

“be safe, alright?” he watches you, unsure if he should follow you to assure your safety.

“i will.”

the distance between you both grows larger, moving in opposite directions, but your thoughts lingered on each other's words.

you retreat to the bathroom of the manor, the storm in your mind temporarily tamed. the cold water trickling down your arms, the soapy smell in the air to wash away the smoke clinging on your skin. the hoodie you wore hanging in the shower after you'd hand wash it, not wanting to expose yourself in case alfred gets a whiff of it.

despite continuing his patrol, he couldn't shake off the feeling of responsibility: for you - the mystery person tonight, and then, his mentioned sibling. he recalls how they were when they first entered the manor, and how they quietly adapted to the new lifestyle, growing up with the habit of concealing their emotions behind the facade of indifference, thinking that he didn’t notice. but he did, he was just never confronted with the drastic measure it would lead to if everyone in that manor just let that feeling of hopelessness fester within them. in a way, he's thankful to you: you gave him a wake-up call.

that sense of urgency nagging him to check on his family as he made a mental note to visit them after his patrol, your words lingering at the back of his head.

despite what had happened, you can't help but want his approval - the only person who actually gave you the time of day in this manor.

your expression focused, your eyebrows knitted, lips sucked in as you scrubbed your arms raw. you feel more grounded. your eyes dart to the reflection in the mirror, reminding yourself to keep it together.

keep it together.

keep it together.

keep it together.

subliminally. consciously. repeatedly

keep. it. together.

you release the death grip and push yourself off the sink, and sigh harshly.

keeping it together, you made way to the kitchen, planning to get some tea.

and then, you see him.

your breath lodged in your throat, you stand frozen watching him wait for rbe coffee while seemingly deep in thought, troubled. anxious.

richard grayson.

in the same vigilante suit, mask off.

you can't believe it. richard grayson, the oldest sibling, the vigilante, was the person who pulled you off the ledge, was the person who actually listened to you.

you can't describe this feeling in your chest, gripping your heart like a vice.

he was here all along.

you recall the mention of the sibling, was it you? did he actually… notice your struggles? maybe he had good intentions all along, trying not to overstep, hoping you'd come to him?

you don't know why you're trying to make excuses for him, but the mere fact that he saw you was enough.

you. hoodie off.

you finally let out a noise, snapping him out of his trance and his eyes snapped to you.

he looked a little caught off guard, surprised he didn't sense your presence.

“oh. hey.”

he rubs the back of his head. maybe he felt embarrassed that this was how you found out? but it's alright, because now he’ll finally notice you-

“i’m a little worried about him. i mean, since the cat's out of the bag, you should know he does a lot of work to contribute to us keeping the city safe - you wouldn't understand.”

“have you seen tim?”

“what?”

he sighs and grabs the finished coffee, settled on a tray with a dish holding an assortment of cookies.

he cuts himself off, deeming it not important enough to explain, and completely overlooks the horrified expression that now settles on your features.

dick had left the kitchen in search for tim, deciding to check out his room first. you absent-mindedly trailed behind him like a kicked dog, not saying a heap.

your vision starts to swim, your neck feels hot - unsure if it was embarrassment or rage.

embarrassed at the fact that you were deluded enough into thinking anyone in this house would ever give a shit about you, that anyone would care about what you're going through.

angry at the fact that you are never the person who gets asked for, never the sibling who's struggles are acknowledged.

you didn't register him knocking on tim's door.

you didn't register how dick affectionately asked a tired tim to spend some time together.

you didn't register them conversing while walking inside.

you didn't register tim giving you an odd look and closing the door to give them more privacy.

now, you sit in your room once more, alone, back against your bed, the torn shirt bundled in your hands. the grip on the fabric tightens, your knuckles whitens, and your shoulder starts shaking.

tears made its way down your face as you silently sobbed once more, occasionally chuckling at how pathetic your situation was.

you give up.

you can't keep it together anymore.

expectations only lead to disappointment.

so what if you had no family, no friends. your grades would never betray you, you'll continue your plan: study hard, get into a good university and then get the fuck away from here, from everyone.

despite your lethargy, you somehow made it through another school day. time started to bleed into each other, you resorted to going on auto-pilot.

so it didn't matter when onlookers would sneakily glance at you and the hand print on your cheek, resting under your red rimmed eyes and heavy eyebags that no one thought could get worse.

you had to keep moving. at the very least, you still had something that defined your worth - your intelligence.

no one will miss you.

no one would even notice.

they offer you a sympathetic smile, their face painted with worry. that alone almost sent you into another crying session. you find yourself in their embrace, soothing you while you try to hold it together, shielding you from the world.

“hey that's a bit much. what are we, chopped liver?”

the deafening ring of the bell signalling the end of school somehow fell deaf on your ears, but the sound of your friend somehow pierced through the barrier of your haze, jolting you back to reality. your eyes flickered to them, trying your hardest to offer a weak smile, but somehow failing.

yes, you're not entirely alone.

you still have your friends.

they would miss you.

they would notice.

so it didn't matter when the students gave you an odd look, putting some distance while you stood to the side engulfed in the arms of your friends. it didn't matter.

you had them.

you had someone.

you really needed the company, but despite being too ashamed to communicate it, they knew. so now, even if you arrived home later than usual, the sky turned dark and cold, you felt warm. that's the safety and comfort that no one else has been able to provide you, and you're so grateful that you at least had them - your precious friends, your reason to stay.

the path back to manor somehow the sky looked nicer, so did the grass, and the lush bushes of wildflowers - noticing the little things that you usually disregard, walking your bicycle while chatting away with your friends.

they never pried on why you were upset. they knew you, they knew. they knew because you knew. and that was enough, a wordless understanding, unconditional. they had insisted to keep you company, maybe spend some time together in your room.

so when you opened the door to the manor, still chattering and giggling with your friend, alfred had heard from the other room.

he felt somewhat relieved, the guilt over his actions had started to consume him, and so he had waited impatiently for your arrival that had been later than usual; but before he could fuss over you, the sound of your laughter had effectively calmed him down knowing you were safe and happy. he'd never heard you this happy before, and it hurts knowing that you had never been able to find joy while surrounded by the walls of this house.

he straightened his shirt, cleared his throat, and put on a kind smile while making his way out of the room to greet you in the doorway, your smile that could light up a stormy day, contrasting the gloomy room.

“oh, hey alfred! i know this wasn't informed but my friends were wondering if they could stay for dinner?” you turn to him, “we won't be much trouble, i promise!”

your friends shrunk back a bit, seemingly nervous of the tall and poised butler, feeling out of place.

you grabbed their hands and gave a reassuring squeeze, telling them it's alright.

you beam at him, waiting expectantly for alfred to welcome your friends.

while alfred could only stare in horror at the empty space next to you.

howdy skibbidis, i am not feeling very sigma :pained_heh:

lowk work has been ass and so has everything else but hey we move. i appreciate every single one of your comments and reblogs yall are so funny lol, but fr the support has been like saving my ass from burning out. grassy ass my skibbidi sigmas.

(TAGLIST) closed due to limit :sadge:

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[starrylanex]

bf!dean having to see reader take one for the team and flirt/make themselves bait for a pervy witness during a mission. I'm just wanting to see how hard it would be for him to restrain himself from stepping in or him having to step in if things get out of hand 🤍

Thank you Pookie 😘

COST OF THE JOB, D. WINCHESTER

wordcount: 1,2k; warnings: a creepy guy, readers uncomfortable but dean comes in and saves the day.

an: hi angels, this has been in my drafts for way too long now so I think its fair it finally sees the daylight lol, so sorry to the person that requested this, but here it is now✨

———

The second Sam briefed all of you on the plan, you knew it was going to be a problem.

Not because the mission itself was complicated, just a simple case of a missing person, tied to a local creep with enough ties to the supernatural world to be suspicious. No, the problem was the role you were being asked to play.

"Carl Jennings," Sam had explained, tossing a file onto the motel room table. "Owns a bar downtown, last person to see our vic before she disappeared. Cops questioned him, but he claimed she left alone. No leads since."

You flipped the file open, scanning the contents. The guy's face was plastered across one of the pages, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a face that made your gut twist. Not because he looked particularly intimidating, but because you recognized the type.

Sleazy. Overconfident. The kind of man who thought women were owed to him.

Dean leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "So, what? We knock on his door, ask real nice?"

Sam shook his head. "He's not gonna talk to us. But," he turned to you, "he's got a type."

You groaned, already seeing where this was going.

"Great." You dragged a hand down your face. "Let me guess, I'm the bait."

Sam hesitated before nodding. "He likes younger women, especially ones who act... interested. If we send you in, maybe you can get him talking."

Silence.

Dean hadn't said anything yet.

You glanced at him, expecting at least a grunt of disapproval, but he was just staring at the file. Too quiet. Too still.

Oh, yeah. He hated this.

"Dean?" you said, his name sounding more like a question.

His jaw clenched. "Do we really need to do it this way?"

Sam sighed. "Dean—"

"No, seriously," Dean cut in, his voice sharp. "There's gotta be another way. We can corner him after hours, rough him up a little—"

You snorted. "Yeah, because nothing says 'please tell us everything you know' like breaking someone's nose."

Dean shot you a look, but you ignored it, closing the file and pushing it away. "Look, I get it. This isn't exactly my dream gig, either, but if this is the best way to get him to talk, then I'll do it."

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning forward to brace his forearms against his knees. He ran a hand over his mouth, visibly trying to reel himself in. "I don't like it."

"I know." You placed a hand on his knee, squeezing lightly. "I don't either, but I can handle myself."

Dean's eyes flicked to yours, something passing through them. Something tight and reluctant, something that said I know you can handle it. I just don't want you to have to. But he didn't argue.

And that's how you ended up here. with Dean Winchester sitting few tables away from you pissed.

And honestly? You couldn't blame him. 

Because if the roles were reversed, if it were him sitting at the bar, laughing a little too sweetly at some pervy woman's joke, letting her place a hand on his arm, leaning in just enough to give the illusion of interest, you'd probably be throwing chairs. 

But the job was the job, and you knew what had to be done. 

It didn't make it easier. 

You could feel Dean's eyes on you from across the bar, burning into the side of your face, hot and searing. You didn't need to look to know that his jaw was clenched so tight he was probably grinding his teeth, that his fingers were wrapped too tight around his beer bottle, that he was seconds from saying screw the mission and stomping over here just to deck this guy for breathing in your direction. 

And honestly? You wouldn't have minded. 

Because this guy, Carl? Craig? Who cared, was exactly the type you hated dealing with. The kind of man who thought confidence and sleaze were the same thing, who assumed that a polite laugh was an invitation, that the way you leaned in closer was because you wanted to, not because you were trying to get him talking. 

You had the routine down to an art. Light touches. Tilt of the head. Biting your lip just enough. A perfectly timed giggle. And it was working, he was spilling information between flirty comments and drawn-out stories about himself. 

Then he placed a hand on your thigh. 

Every muscle in your body tensed. 

You swallowed the disgust curling in your throat, forcing a breathy laugh as if that wasn't your cue to get the hell out of here. As if your skin wasn't crawling under his touch. 

It's fine. You've done worse. It's just a hand. 

And then he leaned in. 

His breath was hot against your ear, his voice dropping into something meant to be seductive but landed more on the side of stomach-churning.

"You're even prettier up close," he murmured. "Bet you taste just as sweet." 

Oh, hell no.

Before you could react, before you could push him off, before you could figure out whether breaking his nose would blow the mission, he was gone. One second he was next to you, and the next, Dean was in his place, standing between you like an immovable wall, broad and solid and yours.

Oh, shit. 

You barely registered the sound of the guy stumbling back, his confused "Who the hell are you?" barely processing because your brain was still catching up with the fact that Dean had moved.

Because Dean Winchester never let personal feelings get in the way of a mission. Not when it mattered. 

But this? This was you. 

His restraint had been stretched too thin, too fast. 

And now? Now that elastic band had snapped.

"Her boyfriend." Dean's voice was rough, clipped, the kind of dangerous that had made grown men twice his size back down without a second thought. 

The guy scoffed, glancing at you like he expected you to deny it. When you didn't, he rolled his eyes. "Jesus, relax, man. She was into it." 

Your stomach churned. You were so close to just decking this guy yourself, mission be damned, but Dean's grip on the bar was white-knuckle tight, and you knew if you so much as exhaled wrong, he'd finish what he started. 

You placed a hand on his back, fingers curling into his shirt, not to stop him, but to ground him. To tell him I'm okay. I've got this.

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose, tension radiating through his body. "Yeah, well, work's over," he gritted out. "So why don't you take your slimy hands and crawl back into whatever hole you came from, huh?" 

The guy held up his hands in mock surrender, muttering something under his breath as he walked off, and only then did you feel Dean's body loosen under your touch. The moment the guy was out the door, Dean turned to you, scanning your face like he expected to find something broken. Like he was waiting for an excuse to go after the guy and finish the job.

"You okay?" His voice was softer now, hands finding your waist, pulling you in like he needed to feel you close.

You sighed, letting yourself relax into him, just for a second. "I had it under control, De." 

Dean huffed, eyes flicking to where the guy had disappeared. "Yeah, well, my self-control only goes so far." 

Your lips twitched. "I noticed." 

Dean ran a hand down his face, exhaling deeply. "Next time, I'm taking the pervy witness." 

You grinned, tilting your head. "Sure when you grow a pair of boobs."

Dean smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple, warm and steady and safe.

"Might as well."