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toxicanonymity · 5 hours

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the downward spiral (one shot)

PAIRING: stepdad!Joel x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 3k

WARNINGS: 18+ smut, stepcest, jealousy, possessive Joel. dubcon if you squint. Manhandling, Unsafe PIV, improvised toy, creampie. Brief allusion to Joel as your father figure. Hair can be pulled, can sit on Joel's lap.

NOTES: title is a nine inch nails album. reader has an apartment, but she's visiting for the holidays.

—---

In the kitchen, Joel listens to the coffee maker and checks the time. Leaning back against the counter, he opens his New York Times Games app. He’s contemplating what to start with in WORDLE. “CUTIE,” he types.

A snapchat notification from you pops up, making him giddy. He adjusts his glasses, and his thumb hovers over the notification. If it’s erotic, he’d prefer to save it for a more private moment, but not now. He’s been waiting for you to wake up, and he’d rather see you first. The inner battle furrows his brow, then he watches himself tap the notification. His face relaxes at the sight of you, and his cheeks warm with affection. The shot is pretty innocent, but there’s a look in your eye just for him. And your lips are parted. Ugh, your perfect mouth.

“Merry xmas eve,” it says. 36 hours since he last touched you.

A shadow moves on the stairs, and he looks up from his phone to see you watching him, biting your lip with a little smile. You clasp your fingers behind yourself and stretch, then finish descending the steps.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” his hoarse voice greets you, then he clears his throat. He saves your picture to the chat, then slips his phone into the pocket of his gray sweats. He runs a hand through his hair, then braces his hands on the counter behind himself, leaning back as casually as he can, letting you know you’re in control.

You take your time approaching, and his eyes lock with yours when you’re close enough for him to smell your shampoo. He takes a deep breath through his nose. You lift your arms to waist height as you close the gap between your bodies. You wrap your arms around his strong middle, and he exhales as warmth radiates from your chest. Your body presses gently into his. Warmth. Comfort. You’re made of joy.

He hugs you loosely, and you rest your head on him. His chest vibrates with a low, satisfied, “Mm.” He presses the lightest kiss onto the crown of your head.

“Mm,” you echo.

His thumb brushes the nape of your neck, and his other hand rests lower on your back, fingers spread, rubbing a slow aimless pattern. You smell just as warm and cozy as you feel. Your hips push forward, making him flinch, but . Warmth rushes to his crotch, and you don’t pull away when it moves against you. He swallows, trying not to push back on you.

“It’s ok,” you whisper. As he relaxes, his bulge nudges you, and there’s no mistaking his desire.

“Sorry,” he whispers,

“Don’t be,” you reply.

God damn, you’re making this hard.

The doorbell rings. “Prolly a delivery,” Joel mutters, and his thumb brushes behind your ear. He savors every moment with you.

A few seconds later, there’s a bunch of rustling around outside the front door.

“Alright,” Joel grumbles.

“Lotta packages out hea,” a Boston accent is heard through the door. Oh, great. It’s your neighbor down the street. The newly single one.

You start to pull away. Joel’s chest begins to cave in, but the feeling is quickly muffled by irritation. “The fuck is he doin’ here?” Joel grumbles to himself, then accuses you, “That why you’re down here?” With every muscle in his body tensing, he scratches the back of his neck.

Your head tilts in disapproval. “Would you keep it together? Please?”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“You sure? You good?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and nods.

“You’re doing good,” you reassure him, placing a hand on his chest.

The doorbell rings again, and Joel’s nose twitches. “Get outta here,” he nods toward the stairs. “Now.”

“Chill, I’m going.”

He waits for you to get all the way upstairs before answering the door.

—

There’s Harold, crouched over, picking up one last package, trying not to spill his iced coffee in the process. He stands up straight and smiles with his bottom teeth, proud that he hasn’t dropped anything. His navy, quarter-zip sweater is a little tight for his arms. “Happy holidays,” he says.

Joel has one hand on the frame, and one holding the side of the door. His body blocks the entry.

They look at each other for a moment. Harold’s tired eyes fall on Joel’s gray sweatpants, tighter than they were ten minutes ago. With a friendly wink in his voice, he asks, “Catch ya at a bad time?”

“Yeah,” Joel responds flatly.

When Harold doesn’t leave, Joel bites the bullet and accepts the packages.

“They were all out here,” Harold mutters as Joel takes them one by one.

It would’ve been easier for Joel to bring them in himself rather than indulge this ridiculous balancing act. Joel rolls his eyes as he puts the packages down on the floor inside. As he stands up, he glances around and sees no sign of you. Good. He turns toward Harold and grips the side of the door again, ready to close it.

Harold is standing there with a dumb smile and asks, “How ya doin’, man?”

“Not bad,” Joel forces, silently willing the neighbor to leave already.

“Good, good,” Harold mutters to himself. “Me too,” he offers without Joel asking. “Well, ya know,” he adds with a defeated shrug. “All things considered.” Right, his divorce.

“Daughtah home?” Harold asks.

As soon as Joel translates it to daughter, his nostrils flare. His blood pressure shoots up. His vision blurs, and his glasses do nothing. He’d like to kill this man. He takes a deep, calming breath and sizes him up in silence. Has he always been that tall? “Just ran into ya wife,” Harold gestures down the street with his thumb, bicep straining his sweater. “She said your daughter might wanna come to the–”

“No,” Joel interrupts him.

“New year’s party,” Harold mumbles.

Joel unclenches his jaw long enough to say, “Kinda in the middle’a somethin’.”

“Told ya wife I’d invite her,” Harold explains. “Only take a sec.”

“She’s not dressed,” Joel blurts out. He stops short of clarifying that he’s not your father, either. He wants to be everything. He has to be every man you could ever need, and he cares less and less about who knows it.

“Heh,” a faint blush rises to Harold’s face with a flash of his eyebrows. He rocks his plastic cup, making the half-melted ice jumble around.

“bye, Harold,” Joel closes the door in his face, then watches through the window as this asshole walks down the driveway and raises his cup to a passing car.

Joel steps back and cracks his neck in an unsuccessful attempt to release some tension, but it’s only getting worse. His whole body is wound up and ready to fight.

He can't let you see him like this. He’s supposed to be keeping it together.

He goes back to the kitchen and steadies his hand to pour half a cup of coffee. He holds the cup, watching the bubbles disappear.

The bath turns on upstairs, and Joel groans inwardly at the \ urge to charge up the stairs and ravish you. He has a vision of you sitting on the side of the tub, nude. You reach back and dangle your fingers into the water to test the temperature. Every muscle in his body wants to bust through that door and take you.

Another fantasy he’d never have the balls to act on. Right?

He puts down his coffee and takes off his glasses, resting them face-up on the kitchen island. He eyes the stairs, then shakes his head at himself. His hands brace on the edge of the island and he straightens his arms, triceps stretching his white tee. Leaning forward, he hangs his head and closes his eyes, calming himself. He stands there and breathes for a minute.

“Keep it together,” he whispers, but he can hardly hear himself over his inner caveman.

Kill.

Breed.

Kill.

“Fuck,” he curses.

—-------

The water is loud enough that you don’t hear Joel’s heavy steps thudding up the stairs. When the door bursts open, you jump. Your eyes widen as Joel shuts the door behind himself. He doesn’t look at you yet, despite your nakedness. He braces one hand on the middle of the door and the other rests lightly on his hip. He looks down, still trying to conjure restraint.

All you can say is, “Joel?”

His muscular back flexes rhythmically under his slutty white tee as he catches his breath. After a few seconds, his head turns enough to look back at you. His eyes are dark.

“Tell me to leave,” he commands, with his voice deep and breathy.

Your lips part, but you say nothing. You scan his body, lingering on his pumped up muscles.

He takes his hand off the door and turns to face you head on. His fingers twitch at his sides as his dark gaze roves your body. His head tilts forward, casting a shadow over his eyes as he looks at your face again. “Tell me to leave, honey.” When you don’t show any sign of answering, he steps toward the bathtub, chest heaving. His brows knit and he slightly shakes his head.

You sit there captivated by his energy. The drum in your neck beats harder as he gets closer. Your chest bubbles with excitement.

He looms over you, and you’re lifting your head up to look at him when his large hand seizes your arm and he pulls you to your feet. He wraps his other arm around you from behind and grabs between your legs. Grunting under the roar of the water, he manhandles you toward the double vanity.

He gropes your breasts, still holding you by the pussy. He abruptly pulls you tighter against him and the hard bulge in his sweatpants makes you throb.

After releasing your breasts, but not your pussy, he grabs your jaw and makes you look at him in the mirror.

“Last chance, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear.

You answer, “Do it or leave.”

He releases your jaw. “Uggh,” he groans in painful desire. Emboldened by your encouragement, he slowly slides his flattened fingers along your slit, finding you wet. “This is mine.” his stiffening cock nudges you through his sweatpants. When you don’t reply, his voice gets firmer. “Say it.”

“It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Yeah,” he nods.

He bends you over the counterspace between your sinks. A sweep of your forearm sends an unplugged hair dryer, a bottle of lotion, and God knows what else into the sink you barely use.

Meanwhile, Joel has pulled down his sweats. He holds his hard cock, and his rocks onto the balls of his feet and back. He places a hand on your lower back. You tilt your hips as he lines himself up. His tip nudges into the right spot, pushing at your dripping hole. Then he grabs your hips and shoves into you with a sigh. You grunt at the sweet burn of his sudden intrusion.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “gotta take it.”

He only waits a second before withdrawing all but the tip, then slamming into you harder. He withdraws again. A bruising grip on your hips pulls you back as he slides into you, easier.

The grip of his hands eases up as he buries his cock in you faster. He opts to hold you down. With your breasts smashed against the marble, he grunts as he fucks it all out on you. Your insides bloom with arousal, gripping his cock, pulling at him for more, deeper. Your heart tingles with exhilaration.

His soft affection is a memory. A wild passion possesses him instead, evident with each thrust and grunt. This primal need has him desperate to own you from the inside out.

“Ughh,” he groans, snapping his hips.

You twitch and moan, muffled by the loud water.

He grunts at the sound and fucks you harder.

He needs to pour all of him in there. You have to be his.

He slows down only to wrap a hand around your hair. His firm grip makes your scalp tingle. “Look at me,” he pants. As he begins to lift his fist, you push yourself up on your forearm and look up at the mirror with your breath fogging it. He drops your hair and pulls your upper body closer to his so you can see.

You brace hands on the counter and marvel at this spellbound wreck of yourself. Your movements aren’t your own. You’re controlled only by the rhythm of his cock and his hands. They make you feel small.

“Me,” he commands, and your eyes snap to him.

It’s the face of a man possessed. His eyes are wild and demanding. He grits his teeth. His neck vein bulges. His hair bounces with each unforgiving thrust. His hips move with a purpose - deeper. More. More of you. His. Fuck.

It’s the first time you've met his wild man. You've seen glimpses in the way he lashes out in jealousy. And his intensity has always been evident. But you didn't imagine a whole feral form of him. The way his veins bulge, the power of his body. You never fully noticed the build of his chest or how a v muscle cuts through his tanline. This has all been there, all along. Every time he’s snapped at you, it's been this guy.

“fuck, Joel,” you breathe.

His mouth falls open with a silent moan. About to cum, he grabs your electric toothbrush and races to turn it on. He presses the smooth barrel of your toothbrush against you, with the bottom nearly touching his cock. Your lips part, and your eyelids fall.

He bottoms out hard, and his shaft twitches against your snug insides as you’re vibrated from the outside. He twitches bigger, harder, and sighs with relief as his seed spills into you. A moment later, another burst, and the warmth spreads in your depths.

He turns the vibration up. “Give it to me,” he demands. “C’mon, baby. It’s mine.” He holds you tight with another deep thrust.

A massive throb of his cock sends you over the edge and releases another long rope. The climax seizes you, making you arch your back, grinding against the vibration. “I got ya,” he breathes, then moans with another shot of cum. Your nipples peak. A second later, your spasming pussy squeezes another burst out of him.

There’s more, and more, until warmth is trickling down your inner thigh and his arms are relaxing around you as you finish. When your body relaxes, he turns off the toothbrush and rolls it onto the counter unceremoniously.

As you catch your breath, Joel hugs you from behind, and his eyes soften. He buries his mouth in your neck, then kisses you on the head and glances at the mirror with a puppy dog look, with a gentle thrust deeper, making you spasm.

He growls quietly. God, he’s hot.

“You okay?” He whispers above your ear.

“Yeah,” you smile, looking down and tracing his knuckles.

The bathwater is almost overflowing. Joel slides out of you and pulls up his sweatpants. Cum trickles all the way down your leg to the tile floor. Always such a mess. With a softening tent in his pants he goes and turns the water off, then checks the temp. He reaches in to unplug the drain and lower the water level, then asks, “that good?”

“Yeah.”

He sits on the edge of the garden tub, scratching one side of his scruff and manspreading as you approach.

“Hey. C’mere,” he says softly.

You stand between his legs completely naked, and he runs his hands down your sides, then pulls you into his lap, helping you straddle him.

“Sure you're good?” He asks.

“Yes,” you reassure him. “That was amazing.”

He holds you in his arms, then adjusts your weight so his bulge is against your crotch, and your breath hitches. You’ve only come once. You could go for more, but it's not smart.

He buries his head in your chest, then looks up, and pulls you down for a kiss that starts soft. His tongue parts your lips then he's trying to drink you in. He pulls you tighter, kissing you hard, grinding you on him in a way that could have you quickly lose control. You're leaking all over him.

Your lips break away. You cup his cheek, give him a peck, and he asks, “too much?”

You nod and whisper, “we’re playing with fire.”

He lets you out of his lap, then holds out his hand and you use it for balance to get into the tub.

Your voices are hushed. “You want a bath bomb or somethin’?”

“You know about bath bombs?” You tease him.

“Eucalyptus all the way,” he answers, then crouches down to an under-sink cabinet.

“Linen closet,” you redirect him.

He picks a rose one and fumbles with the wrapping until he comes back and drops it in. He sits on the side of the tub and his thumb brushes your forehead.

“You should go,” you gently urge him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and leans down for a last kiss. “Can I get ya anything else?”

You shake your head no.

“silicone Joel's water resistant,” he offers, pointing back toward your bedroom.

You crack a smile and tell him, “Get outta here. Now.”

------

THANK YOU FOR READING

#stepdad!joel #joel miller smut #cw stepcest #cw age gap #stepcest #cw dubcon #if you squint

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bunnygirllover45 · 2 days

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— VIVISECTION IS ANOTHER WAY OF SPELLING LOVE. ﹑◌﹒WARNINGS﹕Graphical descriptions of the body, Seth wants to study you like you're a computer or something, MC has few to no dialogue, gender neutral MC. Very bizarre at certain points. Medical bullshit and philosophical stuff. Bad English.

♱ ✧ ⤷ Word count: 1,6k words. (This one is a long mf)

The nights always brought the same dream with them; four walls and a room that belonged to an old movie, the walls were decorated with shelves filled with pots, pots with colorful flowers on them, some of them were carelessly placed on top of each other, pressing on top of the poor flower that was under the crushing weight of the other.

This room only had two big windows that illuminated the whole room, illuminating it in a red hue, no matter how much you tried to stare out the window nothing but red was visible. It seemed like if you stared too much into that void for a second, it would swallow you whole, making you part of the bloody landscape.

The furniture was scarce. A table, something that resembled a bookshelf that contained a few books, but the letters were illegible to you since you couldn’t move from your assigned seat; a chair by the aforementioned table. In the center of the table, was a small vase filled with fresh poppies.

The ambiance was a little theatrical, to be honest, you couldn’t even imagine someone living in a place like this, it didn’t look like a place where you could have plants either, most of them were placed against a wall all the way in the back of the room, shrouded by darkness. Not even the crimson light from the window could reach them.

“The light of this place isn’t good for them, I have checked it countless times. Instead of giving them life, it kills them.” You heard the voice of your companion seated in front of you, and when you turned your face to look at him you found the crimson again, but it wasn’t from the window this time, it was from his eyes.

Red. Red. It looked like it wanted to swallow you whole. Those spirals were like the circles of hell, one by one looking at your movements with caution. You tried to answer his words, maybe with a question, maybe with an affirmation, but it was always complicated talking when you entered this ‘dream’ and Seth knew it.

“You know.” he started.

Standing up from his seat and dragging his fingers across the wood of the table he began to circle it, never breaking eye contact for a second. “I have been reading some very interesting books lately.” he continued, his voice dragging across the whole place with an ominous echo to it, which was impossible due to the small size of the place. “They're medicine books, vivisections, that’s what they call it.” a small smile formed on his lips.

“Vivisections?” you managed to ask, your voice merely a whisper. Seth sharpened his gaze, pleased with the sweet sound of your voice, and then he nodded.

“Yes, vivisection. It’s like… taking an organism that’s still alive and opening it, to learn how they function on the inside.”

Seth continued, his leather gloves dragging across the table from side to side while he continued to circle the table, like a vulture, though it looked like a mere distraction, a small gesture he did while talking. It didn’t stop it from being spine-chilling though, the elegance in his movements wasn’t natural. “It seemed interesting to me, sounds nasty, it probably is.” he laughed.

One blink was enough to make him disappear from your sight, but when you felt two hands resting on top of your shoulders you knew he was still there. “Seth?” you called out his name, and he responded with a gentle squeeze against your frame, then you felt his hot breathing against your ear, it made you shiver.

“I’m here,” he reassured, you couldn’t see his expression but you were pretty sure he was still smiling, it was rare to see him without that grin on his face. “Can you close your eyes for a second?”

His petition made you nervous, the fact you couldn’t even turn to look at him worsened the uneasy feeling, your survival instinct screaming for you to not close your eyes, to not give in. But Seth was always good with you every time you came here, so why not? “Please.” Seth whispered against your ear when he noticed you still didn’t close your eyes, the sound of his voice so close it made you tremble.

Going against all common sense you closed your eyes. Feeling Seth’s hands pulling away from your shoulders you almost opened them again unconsciously, but for some reason, it was like they were closed shut by an invisible force, heavy like lead.

“How obedient. How precious. This is one of the many reasons why I like you.”

First, you felt his gloved hands on your face, the sensation now multiplied thanks to one of your senses being removed, the leather felt softer, the sounds louder, and Seth’s breathing hotter. “The brain is like the body’s computer, an insistent and adaptive little thing, it’s truly fascinating.”

“I think your mind is the thing I like the most about you. From the small unconscious movements you make while you’re asleep to the most trivial conversations are born in this beautiful place. It never stops to amaze me.”

Now his voice came from the right, his fingers slipping from your face to your back, your breathing quickening as soon as you felt his hands slipping under your clothes, Seth traced invisible circles on the now exposed skin. “From here I can feel your breathing, you moved a little, do my gloves feel cold?”

Seth removed his hands and the next second you could feel the touch of his fingertips on top of your skin, it seemed like he had taken off his gloves. “Better~?”

His voice sounded a little playful. “Skin-to-skin contact is even more pleasurable, no? I imagine having your eyes closed makes the experience even more intense.”

“I can hear your breathing more clearly. Your lungs are closer to my hands.” And you could feel his breathing, even hearing how we swallowed heavily, like trying to hold back any unwanted sounds from escaping. “What a celestial sound.”

“If I put my mouth on top of you right now I could kiss you until you ran out of air. Then you wouldn’t have any other option than breathing the air I give you, that way each particle of oxygen that enters your system would have my name written on it.”

You tried to move, expecting your legs to crash against the table in front of you, but again. you couldn’t move, but you could feel like… everything around you disappeared for a second.

“You like that? You want that?” And when you heard Seth’s voice coming from in front of you it was unmistakable, everything felt like a small space where only you and Seth existed. “Ask me. Ask me and I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything.”

Then everything fell silent, eerily silent. Then his hands felt like they were back again in all the places he previously touched at the same time, your face, your back, your shoulders, his touch was hot, enveloping you like he wanted to swallow you, like the red color outside the window, like the red in his eyes.

“Here.” His fingers moved like snakes against the skin in your chest, you took a deep breath unconsciously, and Seth laughed. “Here’s your heart.”

“Sometimes I want to push my fingers under your skin, I don’t want to hurt you, of course I don’t, but I would love to see how beautiful you’re from the inside.”

“Like a computer with all its parts exposed, I would like to grab them and build you again like a puzzle, no — like a beautiful statue.”

Now his fingers moved up and down across your skin, just like the way he had touched the table before, it seemed like he had anticipated this moment from much before, what a macabre little thing his brain was. “Mhm…” you felt Seth’s soft hair against your chest, he was drinking the sound of your heart beating like he was in the middle of the desert and you were the most beautiful oasis. “This sound is even more beautiful.”

“It’s beating fast, the little thing, how adorable. Is it fear? Is it love? What kind of feeling is accelerating your beautiful core? Is it me? It must be me, there’s no one else here.”

“Hey, do you love me?” You couldn’t answer, Seth knew that. “I love you too, I love you too much.”

“I want to grab you in between my arms and squeeze you so hard you’d break, I’ll kiss each piece while I put you back together. I would call you my most beautiful creation, there’s nothing more charming than being God’s favorite creation, no?”

Now his voice didn’t come from the left nor the right, it felt like you were being enveloped by him, all your senses, your body, Seth wanted to kill you with soft caresses and sweet whispers of eternal devotion. He wanted to swallow you. He wanted to vivisection you.

“When you wake up from this, please remember my touch, remember these sensations, remember our vivisection. You’ll give me that, right?”

“When you come back I’ll be waiting, I promise I’ll hug you so sweetly you’ll never want to wake up again. I’ll give you a paradise so sweet you’ll want to poison yourself in it.”

Finally, you opened your eyes, but you weren’t in that eerie room, nor was Seth there anymore. You stared at the sheets of your bed, everything looked too white, it made your eyes hurt. Taking a deep breath you held your hand against your chest.

You could still feel him there. His touch was still present, tingling against your skin.

And when your eyes fell to the skin of your chest you could see it better, the red marks, like the light coming from the light from that room, like the color of the blood flowing through your veins.

The marks of Seth’s fingers were still there, in your skin.

#dies irae vn #dies irae seth #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere vn #yandere #original character

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healmydesires · 4 hours

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no bc i know damn well X1 or X2 logan would go until he was grunting and whimpering in your ear from accidentally overstimulating himself…

OH DEFINITILY… he’d be whimpering so much. especially after going round after round after round 🤤 UGHHHH I’m going insane 😭 this ask truly inspired me to write it … because you’re so real!

I normally don’t really write drabbles but hey I had to write it soooooo! enjoy 🩷

getting no sleep ꕤ (l.h)

pairing: logan howlett x reader

summary: what the ask says tbh! logan gets overstimulated while having sex.

genre: smut (mdni! 18+)

word count: 684 (it’s a lil drabble owo)

warnings: porn no plot, overstimulation (both but mainly logan ngl), unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink kinda oops, dirty talk

“God you’re so warm—fuck—so wet,” Logan mumbles on, rambling without a thought, too enveloped in the feeling of your walls wrapped around his cock. You feel every inch of him as he fucks you raw, completely bare. He’s been fucking you round after round after round.

“Logan,” you whine, various cries spilling from your gaping mouth.

“Come on baby,” Logan’s words are slurred from the haze of his own pleasure, recognizing your familiar clench around his length as he keeps plunging inside your tight cunt.

“Lo,” you keen, feet pushing him closer to you as you both mewl in sensitivity. He gasps when you pulse around him, wanting him to spill his load inside of you, needing to see him fall apart.

His abs are clenching, Logan’s whimpering above you as you tightened your walls around his cock. “Babyyyy, you’re killin’ me.” His head tipping back as loud groans and wines are spilling from his slacked jaw, “fuck baby that feels so good—” he chokes out, as he runs his hands over your body.

Soon he leans down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, groaning and whimpering against your mouth. The kiss is so messy; whenever you would pulse around him, his jaw would fall open, and his pretty hazel eyes would roll back in his head.

“Fuuuuck, I am—shit—so close, fuck—” He moans into your mouth, Logan’s body jerks when you clench particularly hard around his cock.

“Christ,” He let his chin fall back down, jaw slack and eyes heavy as he watches his dick disappear inside your tight pussy. You feel his cock twitch as you pulse around him.

The burning ache you are feeling begins to disintegrate as you feel your orgasm approach, gripping onto the sheets, his hands, anything that can stabilise you. “Fuck, Lo—” you whimper as tears stream down your puffy cheeks, drool leaking from the edges of your mouth as you feel yourself release the pent up pleasure. Your orgasm sweeps you in a vicious wave of euphoria, thighs trembling as you moan softly underneath Logan. Your pussy gushing all around his dick and over his lower abdomen.

“Ah fuck—” he whimpers, pushing himself up as he thrusts deeper into you, the head of his cock hitting your cervix repeatedly. “Are you gonna take my cum like a good girl? Let me fill you up until you’re full and messy?”

You visibly shiver at his words, mouth dropped open in awe as you watch him, nodding along. “Please, please Logan...”

“Fuck, take it baby.” He whimpers. It washes over him instantly, hips stuttering into you as he grows desperate, eyes squeezing shut when he feels his cock throb inside of you before hot spurts of his cum splash along your walls, painting them in ribbons of white. The feeling makes you hum, limbs limp on the bed as he shallowly thrusts into you, making sure you take every last drop.

His whole body is practically buzzing, long legs shaking from the intensity of your combined orgasms, mind feeling like jello as the aftershocks run through his body.

“Fu-uuuck baby,” he whines, biting his lip hard as he watches you try to keep up with his orgasm flooding your pussy.

When the stimulation starts becoming too much for him; and right when your vision comes back to you, he pulls his cock out of you. His hips pull away from yours while his index and middle finger pushes his cum back inside of your quivering hole making you whimper loudly, his two fingers basking in the aftermath before he lets his body slump against your own.

“We gotta clean this mess up, huh?” You whisper with a playful smirk.

Logan groans as he wraps his arms tighter around your body. “Later,” he grunts, making you giggle.

“Glad I’m not always the only one getting overstimulated here.”

“Respectfully baby, shut up.” He mumbles as he nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck.

Another fit of giggles escape you at his behaviour.

Who would have thought, that the roles would be reversed one night?

thanks for reading <3 mwah

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naturesapphic · 2 days

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Hihihi I’m a huge fan and supporter of ur writing!!!! I wanted to request a Billie Eilish x Fem where R is besties with Dua Lipa and Dua always flirts with R so Billie gets jealous and sorta just kicks Dua out and doms R in the bedroom like very hard?? AGAIN I LUV UR WRITINGGG!!

Too Much

Billie eilish x fem!reader (romantic), dua lipa x fem!reader (platonic)

Warnings: jealousy, hurt/comfort, rough sex, squirting, strap-on, oral, restraints

Word count: 1,056

You and you best friend dua lipa, were hanging out in the living room watching movies while Billie was out doing press. The two of you have been friends for years now, way before she had gotten famous. The two of you stuck together after all this time and no matter what had happened y’all wouldn’t leave each others side.

It was a few hours later and Billie walked through the front door to see her girlfriend and her friend cuddling up together. Usually she doesn’t get mad at this because she likes to cuddle with her friends but dua loves to flirt with you. She will get all touchy and handsy while Billie would be standing right there watching but dua didn’t care. Billie knew dua had some type of crush on you, that was obvious but you didn’t see it whenever Billie tried to tell you she did.

Billie cleared her throat to get y’all’s attention and your head snapped to where the noise came from. Your lips grew into a smile at the sight of your girlfriend while dua had a scowl on her face. Billie ignored dua and came over to you, sitting beside you. You instantly got out of duas arms and went into your girlfriend’s lap. “Y/nnnn! Why’d you leave? I was comfortable…” she said sounding genuinely upset to which you didn’t understand, but Billie did.

It has been two hours since she’s been back and she had to deal with the constant flirting and attempts to get with you which made her blood boil. There’s no way you don’t see how she’s acting towards you and think it’s just friends being friendly. Billie was getting tired of it and she needed dua to leave now. “Okay dua I think it’s time for you to go. Me and y/n have plans tonight.” Billie said bluntly and you looked at her confused while dua glared at her.

“Well im sure whatever y’all are doing y/n wants me there right?” Dua said looking over at you and you looked at billie. “Oh so you want to watch me bend her over and fuck her pussy like im a bitch in heat hm?” Billie said unapologetically which made you choke on your air while dua scoffed. “Whatever. I’m out.” She said rolling her eyes and getting up to head to the front door while this time, Billie was the one smirking. Dua left and you were still sitting on the couch, absolutely dumbfounded on what had just happened.

“Billie what the fuck was that!” You exclaimed as Billie turned to you with the same smirk plastered on her face. She walked closer to you, not saying anything until she bent down and threw you over her shoulder. You squealed loudly and gently slapped her ass. “Billie eilish pirate Baird O’Connell! Put me down!” You huffed as Billie carried you up the stairs to y’all’s bedroom where she threw you down in the middle of the bed. That’s when she pounced on you and started to basically devour you.

Her lips connected with your neck, kissing and biting the skin, leaving marks behind. Her lips went to your ear where she whispered how you were hers and you will always be hers. How she whispered them to you made you soaked through your underwear. Billies hands were all over you, tearing off your clothes while also taking hers off at the same time. Moans and names were being shouted in the bedroom as billies takes complete control over you. You were naked as your hands were tied above your head and your legs tied to the end of the bed. Billie had her face buried in your pussy as she eats you likes starved which she is when it comes to your pussy.

Your whole body was shaking as she continued to devour you, her tongue deep into your throbbing walls and her nose bumping against your clit. Soon you were cumming in her mouth but she wasn’t done with you. Far from it. She got up and licked her lips clean from her cum and went into the closet. Billie came back out a few seconds later, securing the strap around her waist. You look at her wide eyed as you see it’s the biggest strap she owns and you knew that you wouldn’t be walking for a while. She gets back on the bed on top of you and grabs the strap on her hand, rubbing it on your clit. Then she pushes into you roughly, making you gasp out in pain and pleasure.

“Oh fuck!” You exclaim as billie pounds into you merciless. Billie threw your legs up onto her shoulders, as her hands go on each side of your head, still pounding into you. She found a certain spot that made you roll your eyes back and she continues to find that spot as she does long hard thrusts into you. You were chanting her name and clawing at her back as she keeps fucking you, not stopping for anything. Soon, you were coming undone and you did something for the first time that made Billie go absolutely feral. You squirted all over her strap and on her stomach. Billies eyes went dark as she watched it come out of you and how hot you looked as it happened.

You were panting and trying to catch your breath, thinking that y’all were done but those thoughts disappeared when billie entered back into you, grunting as she pounds into you once more. “Oh you thought I was done with you babygirl? Cute. I’m making sure you know that you are mine and im gonna make sure you understand it.” She says darkly as she keeps fucking you. You are definitely not gonna be able to walk for a while.

A/n: thank you anon for your sweet words and request! I love you hon! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! Take care of yourselves. I love y’all! :)

#billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fic #billie eilish oneshot #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish smut #eilish #billie eilish #billie o’connell #billieeilish #billie #dua lipa

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kingsoowolves · 2 days

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biteable | jsc

pairing: boyfriend!sungchan x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

author’s note: fun little idea that came up to me while I was talking with @melobin about biting Sungchan in this ask. I’m very normal about his arms, I promise! (no, I’m not 😫)

contents: established relationship. smut and fluff. dom!sungchan & sub!reader. biting and marking. thoughts and talks about possessiveness/jealousy.

You love to munch on your boyfriend every chance you get. At this point, it’s no secret at all.

His kind acts, pretty face and adorable attitudes activate your cuteness aggression every other day, so you’re often squeezing his face, making his lips pucker to drop a kiss on them or biting his cheeks. You just can’t help but think he’s the cutest creature in the world and particularly charming when he’s doting on you and making you feel special. Although the way he’s adoring you right now it’s quite far from cute.

Currently, he has his dick stuffed deep inside your pussy, making you scream and crush his hands in pleasure rather than in infatuation for him. You’re laying in your bed with your legs spread open, the side of them brushing the sheets, while he’s up with his knees slightly pressing on the mattress, perpendicular to you while he drives his hips forward and backwards again and again in a slow pace that’s sure to drive you insane any minute now. His hands that are holding your hips are covered by yours, your fingers trying – and failing – to fill the space in between his fingers to loosen his strong grip on you so you’d be able to meet his thrusts in a faster rhythm.

But of course, Sungchan knows you. He knows he can’t give you any power when you are as desperate as you are now, because then you’d both be cumming a lot faster than intended and that’s not what he wants..

What he wants is to continue his leisure and sweet slides of his cock inside of you, savoring the way your pussy keeps swallowing him whole. And he makes sure you know it.

“That’s it, baby, sucking me in so good,” he groans, his voice low and shaky. “Love fucking this pussy so much.”

“Jinsu, please,” you reply in between broken moans. “Please go faster.”

“So adorable when you beg, baby. But not yet,” he tsks at you, making you roll your eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” you state.

“And you’re desperate,” he says, crouching down so he’s hovering above you, his chest squeezing your boobs in between your bodies, but still keeping his hands steady on your hips. “You always ask for faster, but you love it when I go slow.”

You hate that he’s right. No matter how long you beg for him to fasten his tempo, you end up loving his lazy strokes, especially when they make his cock rub sweetly on your g-spot like it’s doing now. But still, you want more. You need more.

“I love it when you’re inside of me, baby. No matter how,” you say matter-of-factly. Because it is true. And also because you hope that it will soften his heart and make him just as desperate as you.

Sungchan eyes you suspiciously and then moves his lips to the shell of your ear. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” he mutters, punctuating each word with a hard slide of his cock, making you babble incoherently. He snickers at your reaction, pulling his head back to look into your eyes and coo at you. “Are you fucked dumb already? I barely even started.”

“Fuck you,” you spit at his beautiful face.

“You are doing it right now, baby,” he says and you roll your eyes again.

After long minutes of keeping the same rhythm, he finally gives in a little, sliding his hands under you to hoist you further onto the bed and finally laying on it, pressing his body full on yours and then relocating his hands to your waist. Of course, the weight of him pressing down on you still prevents you from moving just the way you want, but now you have a little more room to discreetly wiggle your hips back and forth.

“You’re really testing my patience today,” he says when he notices what you’re doing, flames shining behind his eyes with slight anger.

“I’m testing your patience? You’re the one who doesn’t want to fuck me right!” You cry out in outrage, the intense feeling coursing through you.

At your words, he halts all movements, stopping midway through sliding out of you and closing his eyes, taking a deep breath. You know you fucked up at the very moment the phrase was out of your mouth, but pride and irritation make you purse your lips together instead of apologizing.

“Well, if I’m fucking you wrong,” he says, opening his eyes again to pierce them at you, annoyance dripping from his words, “then maybe I should just stop fucking you at all.”

Your response is immediate, your eyes widening and legs and arms tightening around Sungchan before he has the chance to pull out of you.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you whisper pleadingly, your hands holding his face to yours so he cannot look away. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” You drop three kisses on his lips, but he doesn’t kiss you back. You’re heartbroken at the lack of reaction from him. “I’m just so needy today,” you continue, your voice faltering as you feel the tears welling up in your eyes. “I missed you. It’s been so long we’ve been together like this.” It’s true. Work and other responsibilities have been keeping you away from each other for weeks. Now the both of you have finally caught a break for a few days and you just missed him so much. “And I needed to— I’m so sorry. I’m a brat. You can punish me however you want, but please don’t— Please, Jinsu, I’m—”

Sungchan shushes your babbling when his hands come to your face. You lean into his touch like a cat as he caresses your cheeks and you purr from just the small hint of affection. “Shhhh, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” he assures you, wiping your tears away. “It’s fine, I get it. I missed you too. And I’m gonna do it how you want it, okay?”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t deserve it. I’ve been bad—”

“You’ve been my sweet, beautiful, good girl whom I missed so much. And you deserve to be fucked the way you want to,” he says in the sweetest voice ever and drops a kiss to your lips. You follow his mouth when he retreats, trying to coax him into kissing you more, but he resists. “I’m going to give it to you now, okay? And we can go for round two later if you want.”

You’ve never seen Sungchan melt on you so fast before, never seen him change from hard to soft dom in such short notice. You’re taken aback at his sudden change in demeanor, but you can feel the sincerity dripping from his voice and the emotion translated on the shiny tears that gathers at his eyes. “Really?” You ask still, waiting for a confirmation, a stray tear falling from your right eye.

He nods and grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles as he glides fully inside of you again. “Of course, baby.” Then he moves his lips to the trail of the last tear in your face, kissing it until it disappears completely. He places more kisses on you, his lips covering you in his love and his spit as he sucks on your skin repeatedly.

“Thank you, baby. Thank you. I love you so much,” you whisper, gripping his shoulders and raking your nails there.

“I love you too, baby,” he mutters back, ghosting his mouth over yours and kissing you one more time. “Ready?”

You nod. “Ready.”

And then he gives you exactly what you asked for. He slams inside you hard, fast and effortlessly in an unrelenting pace. It’s so powerful you grit your teeth and he has to grip you again so you don’t slip away from him. You think there’ll probably be bruises on your hips in the morning, but you don’t care because your sweet caring boyfriend finally took in consideration your request in bed. And his cock is hitting your cervix in the most delicious way, too.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you scream, moans freely flying out of your mouth. “You’re the best, Jinsu. The most perfect boyfriend. Thank you.”

He chuckles and nips on your clavicle. “If I knew that’s what I‘d get from giving you what you want, I would have done it sooner, baby.”

“Well, I did ask for it more than once before,” you snicker, earning another bite from him, this time a harder one.

“Careful now,” he adverts and you quiet your bratty remarks. There’s no need to make him angry again when he’s being so good to you.

“Sorry,” you whisper and he laughs, moving his arms to rest on the bed, bracketing them on both sides of your head.

That’s when you see it. The veins popping up on his forearms, how they beautifully decorate his skin, from his elbow to the back of his hands. You lick your lips and move your head to the side on instinct, guided solely by the purpose of getting your mouth on him. You kiss his flesh tenderly, laving at it with your tongue and sucking on what you can, tracing the veins with your lips. While you do it, your eyes focus on his biceps, on how they bulge every time he plunges inside of you and relax every time he slides out. Again, you lick your lips and stretch your neck further to reach it. You’re able to kiss the taut muscle just above his right elbow and you smile happily to yourself as you start nibbling on it. Sungchan is so distracted keeping the pace he set and looking down at where your bodies connect that he doesn’t notice it. So you indulge yourself in the moment, delivering bite after bite after, lingering on the next one longer than the last, and kissing and licking in between to calm the blemish that rises on his flesh.

You start to see the indents of your teeth on his skin and, damn, they look so freaking good adorning him. And then you remember the last time you went to the gym with him, how so many pairs of eyes focused on his arms while he did dumbbell curls and bench dips.

Something comes over you. A deep need to mark and assert your territory bubbles up deep down on your belly, flows up through your brain cells and takes over your actions. And just like that, you’re biting his skin harder than before, setting your jaw firm to stamp him with your canines. For a moment, Sungchan still remains oblivious to your actions and everything stays still. But then he’s yelping in surprise and shaking his arm away from you, kneeling up to get it out of your reach.

“Shit, baby. What was that?” He asks, hand going around his elbow and eyes looking at his bicep to inspect this damage. “You almost bit my arm off.”

You finally come to your senses, noticing what you’ve just done, and slip into your docile self again. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t know what came over me. You were looking so good and I—”

“Well, you didn’t have to actually eat me,” he says with a light tilt to his voice, his thumb tracing the imprint of your teeth on his flesh and showing it to you. “Look, it left a mark.”

You focus on his skin and how the unmistakable dent from your front teeth is formed there. You think it looks beautiful.

“Oh my god, you wanted to do it! This turned you on!” He accuses after gauging your reaction and seeing only satisfaction and possessiveness in your eyes.

You’re caught red handed. But at least you cast down your eyes and bite your underlip in remorse. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You just looked so biteable,” you say sincerely.

He chuckles and lays his body back down on yours, still laughing as he presses a kiss to your lips. “It’s okay, baby. But there will be payback!” You grin at his clear promise of doing the same to you and he shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re turned on by that too, right?”

You nod your head. There’s no reason to lie. He’d see right through you anyway. “Yes, please do it.”

“Naughty girl,” he whispers, shaking his head again and kissing your jaw. He’s back to slowly grind his hips against yours now, but you don’t mind. You love the playful atmosphere that your mishap just set down on you both.

“Com’on, you’re not going to tell me you're turned on by it, too?” You say and he stays silent, moving his lips to your neck now. “I felt your dick twitching when you said it, Sungchan!”

“Okay, okay, I admit it,” he replies with laugh in his voice. “But the real question is: where should I do it?”

You shrug. “You choose. Any place.” You are his anyway, there’s no use hiding it. This will just show it to everyone else.

Sungchan lifts an eyebrow up at you. “Any place?” You nod and his mouth opens in a sly smile. “Okay. How about your ass?”

“I’m okay with that.”

“No, no. I think the back of your thighs will be better,” he says, already slipping out of you and flipping you over so your stomach is pressed on the bed. “Those dickheads at the gym keep looking at them when you’re doing squats. They need to know you’re taken.”

You full on laugh, your shoulders shaking with the force of it as you feel him crouch down, first pressing kisses on your ass cheeks to then move his mouth to your left thigh to pinch the flesh with his teeth.

Despite it hurting a little bit, you smile through it all. He’s a goner for you just as much as you are for him. You’re meant for each other and that’s what matters. Even if it comes with some little bites.

If you liked this work, consider sharing your thoughts with me on the comments or my ask box. thanks for reading! 🧡

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iamtired10 · 1 day

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hiii, could you write a one-shot or headcanons, whatever you fancy the most, of newjeans (or just danielle, i dont mind!) with a thoughtful, attentive gf? someone who does not actively demonstrate that she makes an effort to remember their habits and preferences but deep down knows everything about them... 😍

and not in a "stalker" way! (☠) more like in a "I care so much about you it just comes naturally" way

thank you!! have a nice day♡♡

masterpiece in your eyes

pairing - gf! danielle marsh x female reader

synopsis - you love knowing all the little things about danielle marsh—everything that makes her, well, her. but it’s not in an obsessed way; it’s just the kind of deep connection you both share.

genre - FLUFF (someone please request angst. and teach me how to write it too! im so over fluff)

warning - nothing just cringe and boring ig, dani have blonde hair here :(

word count - 831

a/n - fun fact... i always update before i go to sleep 😪

the museum air was still.

the kind that made you want to talk in hushed whispers, but that didn’t stop danielle from bouncing on her heels, her eyes wide with excitement.

she was in her element—curiosity and wonder radiated from her as she stood in front of an art piece that you, frankly, didn’t quite understand.

but that didn’t matter.

what mattered was the way danielle’s face lit up, her soft blonde curls bouncing with every little skip she made from one exhibit to the next.

she turned to you with that signature spark in her eyes. “babe, look! isn’t this one so cool?”

her aussie accent mixed with the sound of wonder in her voice made it impossible not to smile.

you tilted your head, pretending to examine the piece like you knew exactly what she was seeing. “yeah, totally. the… uh, colors are super deep.”

she giggled, knowing you had no clue, but appreciating the effort.

that was the thing about danielle—she never needed you to be into the same stuff she was, but you loved the way she came alive around the things she loved.

you’d always made mental notes of her little habits, what made her smile, what made her laugh.

even though you weren’t the type to be super showy about it, you made sure she felt seen.

like how you always brought her that lavender-scented hand cream she liked when she forgot hers or when you made sure to grab the spicy ramyeon whenever you both went grocery shopping because she secretly loved the heat.

she never outright said it, but you knew.

you knew she loved it when you held her hand in museums, quietly slipping your fingers through hers whenever she got too excited and started wandering off like a curious little puppy.

and so, as she moved to the next exhibit, you reached out, lacing your fingers with hers.

danielle smiled at the touch, her gaze softening as she glanced at you. “you always know what i need,” she murmured, squeezing your hand gently.

she pulled you closer until your arms were lightly brushing.

“of course, i do. i’ve been taking notes,” you teased, nudging her playfully with your shoulder.

she blushed, that adorable pink creeping up her cheeks that always made your heart flutter.

across the room, you heard the unmistakable laughter of hanni.

your friends, they were gathered around an interactive display, messing around with a touchscreen that let you create your own digital art.

haerin was tapping through the colors with focus, while hanni was trying her best to mess it all up.

danielle waved over to them with her free hand. “come on, let’s go see what they’re doing!”

the two of you wandered over, still hand-in-hand, joining the chaos. “unnie, you’re ruining haerin-ah’s masterpiece!” danielle laughed, nudging hanni playfully.

“i’m adding to it,” hanni said with a grin, barely holding back her laughter as haerin shot her a death glare.

hyein was watching from the sidelines, clearly amused. “it’s abstract art now.”

you leaned into danielle’s ear, whispering, “they’re all such nerds.”

danielle giggled, nodding in agreement. “and we love them for it.”

minji, the mom of the group, finally stepped in. “alright, alright. give hae a chance to finish it.”

then she turned to you and danielle, raising an eyebrow. “enjoying the tour?”

“yeah, it’s been amazing!” danielle beamed, her excitement spilling out. she turned to you with a wide smile. “i love that we’re all here together.”

minji smirked. “she loves you being here.”

you rolled your eyes, but inside, your heart was swelling. danielle was so effortlessly herself around you, and that’s what made everything feel so perfect.

after wandering around for a bit more, you both found yourselves in front of a painting that seemed to catch danielle’s eye.

she stood there, staring at it, her expression soft and thoughtful.

“what are you thinking?” you asked, watching her closely.

she didn’t say anything for a moment, just continued gazing at the painting. “it’s beautiful, isn’t it? it makes you feel something, like… warmth.”

you looked at her, not the painting, and said softly, “yeah, you're right, it’s beautiful.”

danielle turned to you with a shy smile, and your heart skipped a beat.

you didn’t have to say much for her to understand.

she rested her head on your shoulder, her hand still holding yours. “you’re such a dork,” she whispered, her voice light and teasing.

“but i’m your dork,” you teased back, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

in that museum, amidst all the art, the real masterpiece was the love you both shared—thoughtful, quiet but so deeply understood.

the kind of love that didn’t need to be shouted from the rooftops because it was already written in every soft glance, every gentle touch.

and in that moment, you both knew — this was the kind of love that felt like home.

a/n - SORRY TO THE ANON IK IT'S NOT GOOD :( MY HEAD IS TOTALLY BRAINDEAD SAURR I JUST WROTE WTV POPPED INTO MY MIND LMAO. IT'S A MESS, SORRYYY! ANYWAY IM GONNA HEAD OUT NOW. BYE-BYE GOODNIGHTYYYYY!

#newjeans #new jeans x reader #fluff #oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #danielle x reader #danielle marsh x reader

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innerfare · 8 hours

Text

Blue Balls - Eustass Kid: Part 2

Summary: Captain Kid takes care of his blue balls; text below the cut. If you haven't already, read Part 1 here!

Pairing: Eustass Kid x Afab!Reader

Genre: smut

CW: penetrative sex, dom Kid, sex on the deck of the Victoria Punk

Word Count: 1,591

For a moment, Kid stood there in the alleyway with his dick in his hands- quite literally. His cock and balls throbbed, ached like he hadn’t fucked you in weeks despite you two having had sex two days ago. Of course, two days was a very long time for the two of you, and Kid had to wonder if that was part of your plan.

He stuffed his cock back into his pants and zipped them up. He gritted his teeth, thinking he could kill a man as he took off after you, the chore of running made so much more difficult by his heavy balls. As he ran, he thought of all the ways he was going to fuck you, all the ways he was going to have you crying beneath him, begging for the release you had denied him.

The edges of his vision were red and blurry, and he had so much pent up energy he knew he’s start a fight with anyone who stepped between him and the Victoria Punk. Luckily, nobody did, and he caught up to you on the deck of the ship.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind and swung you around, grinning as you screamed. You wiggled in his grasp and kicked your feet in an attempt to get away, but he didn’t loosen his grip for even a second, knowing damn well you would take off again and leave him to deal with his problem himself.

“Kid, put me down.”

He refused, holding you off the ground with ease.

“You didn’t actually think you could outrun me, did you, spider?”

“I thought I could at least find a hiding place before you caught up to me,” you admitted, still struggling to break free. Your chest heaved from the run to the ship.

His chest heaved, too, his heart hammering not just from sprinting the distance from the alleyway to the ship but also from the hormones working their way through his body. The pressure between his legs was almost painful. “I can’t believe you just made me run half a mile with a fucking erection.”

“I’m sorry, Captain.” You didn’t sound very sorry. “Let’s go back to your cabin, and I’ll make it up to you.”

“Fuck that.” He set you back on your feet but kept his vice grip on you, holding your back flush against his bare abdomen. “You wanna play games, I’ll play games.”

“Kid-”

“I’m gonna fuck you right here on deck,” he growled in your ear, “and if the crew gets back, they’re gonna watch.”

Your eyes widened. “Kid!”

He clamped his hand over your mouth and pressed his erection into your lower back.

“What’s wrong, spider? Don’t want them to see you get fucked like a little whore? As if they don’t already know the nasty things I do to you every night. I’m sure they’ve gotten off to the sound of your moans before. Please, daddy, cum balls deep inside me,” he mocked.

You wanted to call him an asshole.

Instead, you whimpered. “Kid, we can’t do this on deck.”

“Of course we can.” He yanked your shirt up, relinquishing his grip on you only as long as it took to pull the garment over your head, exposing your breasts in the night. He squeezed one of your breasts and let out a low sigh of relief. He pressed his erection into you harder and groaned. “We can do whatever we want.”

“Kid-”

“It’s my ship,” he interrupted. “I’m the Captain. You’re not gonna tell me what I can and can’t do on my ship. Now, how about you do something with that pretty little mouth that doesn’t involve lying or complaining.” Keeping his metal arm wrapped tight around your midsection, he shoved his fingers into your mouth. “When you told me you weren’t in the mood last night, and again this morning, was that part of your little plan?” He rutted into you when he thought of the morning wood he’d woken up with. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, thinking you can tease me. I’m in charge, remember?”

You tried to say something but only moans spilled out of your mouth as he fucked it with his fingers, saliva running down your chin. With your breasts exposed, your nipples erect from the chilly night air, Kid’s threat of the crew coming back and catching you in such a vulnerable, compromising position seemed all too real. And it only made you wetter.

You tried grinding against his erection, but the height difference made it such that you could only hump his thigh, not that you minded. Kid had the best thighs, thick and muscular, and he let you get yourself off on them all the time. But that night, he pulled away.

“You’re not off the hook just yet.” He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, but the break lasted only a few seconds, because then he was shoving his hand between your legs and getting a feel for the wetness you had denied him back in the alleyway. “For fuck’s sake, you’re creaming. But I guess it’s easy for you to play games since you don’t have to deal with fucking blue balls.”

“It’s not easy,” you whined, hands latching onto his forearm. “I was just playing around a little bit.”

Kid stroked your wet folds, but just as he pushed a dinger into your leaking hole, he felt the rubber band in his belly start to snap and pulled back to keep from cumming. “Fuck, I can’t do this.” His blood pressure was through the roof, and he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of him cumming before he even got his cock in you.

“Do what? Tease me?” You couldn’t keep from smiling, knowing full well he was right at the edge and couldn’t drag things out the way you could. “I’m sure you can manage, daddy.”

With a growl, he spun you around and picked you up, pushing you into the mast. He held you easily in his metal arm, the hand digging into your skin in case you got any ideas. “I was gonna be nice and finger you first, but I guess you’re just gonna have to take daddy’s big cock without any prep. You can manage, can’t you?”

He pulled his throbbing cock out of his pants for the second time that night and lined it up with your entrance, not even bothering to discard your skirt.

“Of course I can- fuck.” You bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out as he pushed his cock all the way into you. The length was a lot to take, but it was the width that made your eyes sting with tears. But you refused to tap out, digging your nails into his back and crying out but taking what he gave you.

“I think you owe me an apology.” He pulled all the way out and pushed back in, his breathing shallow from the effort it took not to cum right then. His balls were throbbing so hard he thought they might fall off, but he was determined to get that smugness out of your system.

You opened your mouth to say something, but as you did, he began thrusting regularly. He fucked in and out of you, the pronounced head of his cock coming to your entrance with each pull and then kissing your cervix with each push, Kid’s hips snapping against mercilessly yours.

“Say it, or I’ll tie you naked to the mast for the crew to find.”

“Kid.” You cried into his shoulder, thoughts completely scattered from him fucking you.

“What was that?”

“Daddy. Daddy.” You held onto him like your life depended on it, not even noticing the way his metal arm cut into your skin, undoubtedly leaving scrapes and bruises for you to find in the morning. Checking yourself for marks the mooring after was one of your favorite parts of being with Captain Kid, though.

“You owe daddy an apology,” he grunted in your ear.

“I’m… s-s-sorry.”

“What was that?”

“I s-s-said…” It was all you could do to hold on tight as he pounded into you. The amount of slickness between your legs would have been humiliating had you had the wherewithal to feel embarrassed. But he had fucked you dumb, and in under five minutes. “I’m… s-sorry.”

“Not good enough.”

“I’m sorry, daddy.” The tension between your legs reached its peak, and your orgasm washed over you. You clenched painfully hard on his cock, but Kid didn’t relent, not even for a second. In fact, he began fucking you harder and sloppier.

“You wanna act like a little whore, you’re gonna get fucked like a little whore.” He wrapped his fingers around your pretty throat and squeezed. “What do you think the crew would say if they saw this? Do you think they’d feel bad for you? I bet they’d be able to tell how much you’re enjoying it.” With that, the rubber band in his belly snapped, and he reached his climax. He thrust into you a few more times, pushing his hot load as deep as he could get it, pleased to know it would be seeping out of you for the rest of the night.

“I’m sorry I teased you,” you panted, placing a hand on his cheek. “But I can’t promise it won’t happen again if that’s the punishment.”

Kid grinned and kissed you.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #one piece smut #eustass kid #eustass kidd #eustasscaptainkid #one piece eustass #eustass x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass kidd x reader #eustass kid smut #captain kid smut #captain Kidd smut #captain kid #captain kidd #eustass Kidd smut

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Say Yes To Heaven

chapter 1 of the National Anthem series

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

synopsis: a reporter finds herself entangled in an affair with Aemond Targaryen, the President of Westeros.

in this chapter: the President has a proposition for the reader, one which she finds almost impossible to refuse. Will she say yes to entering the enticing world that he so offers? Will she yes to him?

word count: 5.2k

themes/warnings: mild smut (18+), tension that can cut like a damn knife, language, mutual pining, use of power for the purposes of pursuing the reader (obviously, he IS the President)

intro chapter ▪︎ series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

President Aemond Targaryen is in the second half of his tenure, and his presidency has already left an indelible mark on the political and historical landscape of Westeros.

From the start, Aemond's detractors were convinced he couldn’t do it. At just 28, they saw him as too young and too much a product of the Targaryen political dynasty. His election, they claimed, was less about his abilities and more about his family’s influence. Who’s to say he wasn’t just a puppet, with the real power lying in the hands of his powerful relatives?

Now, two and a half years later, the country has seen what Aemond Targaryen can do. King’s Landing, once a cesspool of crime and poverty, has undergone a staggering transformation under his leadership. The capital’s streets now gleam with prosperity, lined with new businesses, cultural centres, and bustling markets. Even his detractors begrudgingly admit that his efficiency is something to marvel at.

You’re aware of all this, of course. It’s part of the reason you were chosen to report on his presidency, giving the public a closer look at the enigmatic leader steering the nation. But lately, you can’t help but feel that your perspective on him has shifted, especially after that night in his private suite.

Something lingers. You’ve started researching him more intensely, not because you have to, but because you want to. You pore over old interviews, articles, any scrap of information you can find. You’re supposed to be impartial, and you try to be. But you can’t deny that he fascinates you.

Whatever it is, you’re determined to ignore it. You enjoy your work as a journalist, and you know you were extremely lucky to have landed a position at Highgarden News. Sure, you are still assigned to the team that reports on governmental affairs, but who’s to say that you can’t do your job from a distance? There is no need to get in deep into the thick of it all. The next time you see him, it can be as if that night in his suite at the Highgarden Hotel never happened.

You are a professional.

You know you are also a fool for thinking you can ever resist the attraction, but that does not matter.

Aemond, he asked you to call him, but that must only be reserved for his friends. Those close to him. As far as you’re concerned, you’re just a field reporter doing her job and he is the President of the entire damn country. He must remain President Aemond Targaryen to you. Mister President.

Never mind that he calls you angel, and that it might be the most beautiful name anyone has ever given you.

Angel – it had sounded like prayer on his lips.

What must his wife call him behind closed doors? My dear? My love?

Sitting in the fluorescent-lit office of Highgarden News, the weight of your attraction feels overwhelming. Your eyes linger too long on articles about Aemond, replaying clips of his speeches, watching the way his mouth moves when he talks. It’s pathetic. You close all the tabs, scolding yourself for letting it get this far.

“Still obsessing over him, huh?”

Theon’s voice snaps you back to reality. He’s leaning over your cubicle wall, grinning ear to ear.

Heat rises to your cheeks. “I’m not obsessing,” you mutter, though you can tell from the smirk on Theon’s face that he isn’t buying it.

“Sure,” he teases, nodding mockingly. “You’ve had tabs on Mister President open all morning. Don't think I haven't noticed.”

“I’m doing research. It’s my job, you know. Presidential affairs, national policy, all that fun stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Theon crosses his arms, his grin widening. “Because staring at his pictures is totally related to national policy.”

You throw a pen at him, laughing despite yourself. “I’m not staring at him! He’s the President of Westeros, and I’m just doing my job.”

Theon raises a brow and leans in, lowering his voice. “Come on, just admit it. You’ve got this crush on him. I won’t tell anyone. Well… not a lot of anyones, at least.”

“He’s married, Theon,” you groan. "That means I can’t be interested.”

“Yeah, and I bet that’s half the appeal,” Theon says, unfazed. “Forbidden fruit, baby. Besides, have you seen the guy? If he looked at me the way he looks at you, I won’t even think twice.”

You bury your face in your hands. The worst part is that he’s not entirely wrong. “Theon, please. I’m trying to work here.”

“You’re trying not to think about how good he probably looks out of that suit.” He winks at you, not missing a beat.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’m your best friend, and it’s my job to remind you that you need to get laid.” He taps your desk, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Seriously, though. Be careful. I’ve seen the way he looks at you in those press conferences. That man is starved.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is pounding in your chest. If only he knew the truth of what happened that night. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” you lie, trying to sound casual.

Theon raises an eyebrow, giving you a knowing look. “Whatever you say. By the way, Loras is looking for you.”

You freeze, the mention of your supervisor snapping you back into focus. “Loras? What for?”

Theon shrugs. “No idea. But he’s in his office, waiting for you. Sounds urgent.”

Your stomach flips. Anxiety builds up in your chest as you make your way down the hall to Loras’s office.

Please don’t let this be about Aemond.

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Loras is seated behind his desk when you walk in, flipping through a stack of papers. His sharp eyes flick up to meet yours as he gestures for you to sit.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, getting straight to the point. “I’ve got a pretty major opportunity for you.”

You nod, trying to keep your nerves in check. “What’s the assignment?”

“As you know, President Targaryen’s re-election campaign is kicking off soon,” Loras begins, his tone brisk and no-nonsense. “It’s one of the biggest political stories of the year. We need someone embedded with his team – full access to the President, travelling with him, covering every move.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. Oh no.

“And I want you to be that reporter,” Loras says, folding his hands as he looks at you expectantly. "You’re one of the few reporters we’ve got that are already pre-approved, and the best one for the task.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Loras leans back in his chair, his gaze sharp. “You’ve been covering his administration ever since he got elected. You know him better than anyone else here.”

You swallow hard, trying to process what he’s saying. “That’s… a lot of responsibility.”

“It is,” Loras agrees. “But it’s also the kind of assignment that can make a career. Think of the exposure, the access. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Your thoughts are spiralling. Travelling with Aemond? Watching him up close, day in and day out? You can barely keep it together after one night in his suite – how are you supposed to maintain professionalism while being that close to him for months?

“I don’t know if I’m the right person for this,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loras raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your hesitation. "Why not? You’ve handled plenty of high-pressure situations before."

“It’s just… surely someone else is better qualified. What about Theon? He did the great job at covering the Lannister scandal last year,” you say, searching for the right words. How do you explain that the mere sight of Aemond makes your pulse race?

“That was gossip fodder. The President’s affairs are a completely different territory than what you’re going to cover here. This is serious news. A definitive political profile if you do it well, and I know you will.” Loras watches you for a moment, then leans forward, his voice lowering. “And I’ll be honest with you. The President specifically asked for you to cover the campaign.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

“He requested you by name,” Loras says, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and frankly, I don’t care. But if the President wants you on this assignment, I suggest you take it. For your sake – and for the sake of the agency.”

He asked for me? The words send a thrill through you, even as you try to tamp it down.

“I’ll think about it,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Don’t take too long,” Loras says. “The campaign starts next week. I need your answer as soon as possible.”

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Hours later, you sit alone at your kitchen table, the contract in front of you. The paper feels heavy, like it’s mocking you. The more you think about it, the more your resolve weakens. This is an opportunity like no other. The benefits are staggering – the access, the prestige, the career-defining stories you could write. But then there’s him.

You know you should sign it and get it over with, but something inside you hesitates. A voice, small but insistent, telling you this is a bad idea. That if you do this, you’ll fall deeper into the pull of him, into something you can’t control.

But then your phone buzzes, and you glance down to see a message that sends your heart into overdrive.

Dinner tomorrow. 8 PM. I’ll have someone pick you up. - Aemond

You swallow hard, a mix of surprise and dread washing over you. How does he even have my number? But then again, he’s the President – of course he has access to everything. This isn’t a question; it’s a command, and he knows exactly how to get you. He must sense your wavering resolve.

Your fingers tremble as you type out a reply.

- Why? What for?

His response is immediate. I just want to discuss something with you, angel.

- The assignment. Did you really ask for me?

Yes. I did.

You hesitate, your mind racing through the implications.

- I’m considering it.

Allow me to convince you. Come see me tomorrow.

- Nothing can happen between us.

Understood.

But I can’t pretend that I’m not curious about what could.

- You know what they say about curiosity.

So, what do you say? You take a moment, biting your lip, the playful banter igniting something inside you.

- Fine, I can agree to dinner. But we’ll keep it completely professional.

Deal. Looking forward to it, angel.

Good night.

- Good night to you too, Mister President.

Don’t test me, angel.

A shiver runs down your spine the moment you read those words. His response feels like both a promise and a threat – the kind that ignites something deep inside you. The kind that sends images flashing through your mind, unbidden, making your legs clench together despite your hesitation.

The three little dots disappear as you lock your phone and drop it onto the cushion beside you, as if cutting off the connection to Aemond will somehow help you regain control over your own thoughts.

Tomorrow, you swear to use every ounce of willpower you have to keep things professional. You just hope it’s enough.

A fool, indeed.

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The next night, you're standing in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your blouse for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s appropriate – a crisp white blouse tucked into a knee-length skirt, modest enough for any work setting, but there’s something about the way you’ve put it together tonight. The way the blouse hugs your figure just right, the slight sheen of the fabric catching the light, the way the skirt fits snugly at your waist.

It’s professional, you tell yourself. Perfect for the occasion, appropriate for the upscale location you’ll likely be heading to. But deep down, you know better. You want to look good for him. And that very thought makes your stomach twist.

You adjust your hair one more time, glancing at the clock. It's almost time. You can handle this, you remind yourself. It’s just dinner. Just a professional conversation. You’ve done this a hundred times before.

But you’ve never done this with him. And no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the anticipation buzzing through your veins is impossible to shake.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. You smooth your skirt one more time and walk over, taking a deep breath before opening it.

You’re greeted by the sight of two familiar faces: the same two members of Aemond’s security detail who escorted you to his penthouse that night.

They’re as imposing as you remember – tall, sharp in their tailored suits, one blonde and one brunette, with eyes that give nothing away. The only difference tonight is the extravagant bouquet of flowers in the hands of one of them.

The flowers are breathtaking, an arrangement of deep red roses intertwined with white lilies that feel far too intimate for something as innocent as dinner. But then again, they could very well be a reflection of Aemond’s intentions.

“Good evening, ma’am,” the blonde says, his voice low and composed. “These are for you. From the President.”

Your heart skips a beat. Of course they are. You swallow, glancing at the flowers as if they could explain everything.

The fragrance wafts up to you, rich and intoxicating. You can’t help but wonder if this is just the beginning of the night’s games. Your fingers tremble slightly as you take the bouquet, its weight heavy in your arms, both literally and metaphorically.

“For me?” you murmur, as if the answer isn’t obvious.

“Yes, ma’am,” the man confirms. “The car is ready when you are.”

You leave the flowers on the kitchen counter, stealing one last glance at them before closing the door to your apartment. They feel like a message – a reminder of who you’re dealing with tonight. Aemond Targaryen does not do things subtly.

Soon enough, you’re sitting in the back of a sleek black car, your hands nervously twisting in your lap. The city lights blur past the window, but all you can think about is the man waiting for you inside the restaurant.

After a few moments of silence, curiosity nudges at you. “I suppose you both already know who I am,” you say lightly, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the car. “Probably more than I’d wish for you to know. So, would you care to tell me your names?”

The man in the passenger seat – the blonde – turns slightly, a smile playing on his lips. “I’m Steve, ma’am,” he says, his tone friendly and warm, a stark contrast to the serious atmosphere.

“James,” the other one says from behind the wheel, his voice low and gruff, eyes fixed on the road ahead. There’s a certain sternness about him, like he’s perpetually on duty.

“Steve and James,” you repeat, letting the names settle into your mind, humanising them. You glance at Steve. “So, James doesn't talk much?”

Steve chuckles, casting a quick glance at his partner. “That's just how he is,” he says. “You’ll get used to him. We all have.”

James doesn’t react, his focus still entirely on driving. You smirk softly to yourself, feeling some of the tension in the car ease with Steve’s casual demeanour.

But the thought of their boss – the boss of the entire damn country, one could say – lingers heavy in the back of your mind.

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The car pulls up to the restaurant, a lavish affair located on the grounds of an exclusive country club just outside the city. As you step out, you recognize the place instantly – The Old Valyria, a restaurant housed in a grand, ornate building that looks more like a palace than a dining establishment. The stone facade is intricately carved, its old-world charm unmistakable.

You’d covered an event here earlier in the year, reporting on one of the prestigious galas held by the Highgarden elite. But tonight, even as a familiar face in the city, you feel like an outsider in this world. The guests you spot entering and leaving are dressed in the finest attire, their movements confident, as if they were born into this luxury.

But then you see him.

Aemond stands just outside the grand entrance, his tall frame unmistakable even from a distance. He’s dressed in a sleek black suit, but what catches you off guard is how casual it seems on him, especially with the black shirt underneath, its top buttons undone. It’s a departure from the rigid, formal image you’re used to seeing in the media. His silver hair is tousled, looser tonight, giving him a youthful, almost rebellious edge.

Your breath catches in your throat as he spots you and strides forward with purpose. His presence, as always, commands attention, but tonight you notice something softer in his expression.

He reaches for you the moment you’re close enough, his fingers brushing over yours before lifting your hand to his lips. The kiss on the back of your hand is slow, deliberate. His eyes stay locked on yours the entire time, and you can’t control the heat that flushes through your body.

“That gesture doesn’t seem very professional,” you manage, your voice a bit shakier than you intended.

Aemond smirks, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes. He straightens but doesn’t let go of your hand right away. “Sometimes certain gestures are worth bending the rules for, angel.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. He’s already playing with boundaries, the charming bastard, making it harder for you to maintain your resolve. And you haven’t even made it to the table yet.

“Shall we?” he says smoothly, gesturing toward the entrance.

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The restaurant is even more breathtaking from within. Crystal chandeliers hang from a vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate frescoes, and the soft glow of candlelight reflects off the polished marble floors.

You’re guided to a secluded table near the back, tucked away from prying eyes. Aemond holds your seat out for you, and you thank him, smoothing your skirt as you settle in and try to compose yourself.

He sits across from you, his gaze never leaving yours. His posture is relaxed, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, a sense that he’s in control of every detail – of the night, of the atmosphere. Of you.

“Thank you for coming,” he says, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“It was kind of hard to refuse the President,” you reply, trying to sound casual.

He chuckles softly. “Be that as it may, you could have, and yet here you are.”

The waiter appears, setting down wine glasses and pouring a deep, red vintage. You take a sip, hoping it’ll steady your nerves. Aemond watches you over the rim of his glass, his gaze glinting with something that you desperately wish to ignore.

"I know you’ve been thinking about that night," Aemond says, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

You almost choke on your wine. Leave it to him to cut to the chase. “I… I don’t –” you stammer, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” he continues, leaning forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “It’s not something I think I can ever forget, angel.”

Your throat feels dry, and you struggle to keep your composure. “It was a mistake.”

Aemond’s lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. “A mistake?” He leans back, swirling the wine in his glass. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“I came here because you said you have something you want to discuss, sir,” you say, more firmly this time. “My supervisor informed me that – ”

“Sir.” Aemond clicks his tongue, the word dripping with distaste as his expression shifts into something darker. His brow furrows briefly, and you think you’ve hit a nerve, but then his lips twitch into a smirk, his amusement unmistakable.

His posture is relaxed yet deliberate, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I have to admit, I was about to protest. To tell you I never want you to call me something so impersonal as that.” His smirk widens, and there’s a spark of playful danger in his gaze. “But then… a scenario came to mind.”

“What scenario?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His smile turns devilish as he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, his fingers lacing together. “One where you do call me sir,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate now. “But not in the way you just did. Not with that sharp, cold professionalism. No…” He lets the sentence hang in the air for a moment, drawing it out, savouring it. “In a different setting. One where it’s… earned.”

Your heart stutters, your breath catching as the meaning behind his words sinks in. Heat blooms in your cheeks, and you quickly break eye contact, staring down at the table as you try to collect yourself.

“That’s… not what I meant,” you say, your voice unsteady, trying to bring the conversation back to safer ground. But it’s too late.

Aemond doesn’t seem fazed by your attempt to regain control. If anything, the flicker of a grin on his lips tells you he’s pleased with how easily you’ve been disarmed.

“Of course,” he says smoothly. “You’re here for a discussion.”

“I’m here for the assignment,” you manage to say. “To discuss my role. Professionally.”

His smirk fades into something more thoughtful, though the tension between you continues to coil tighter with every second that passes. “Is that how you really want to play this?”

“It’s the only way to play this,” you reply.

“Oh, is it?” Aemond’s voice is low, almost a whisper. “You always have a choice. You could walk out of here right now, tell your supervisor you’ve changed your mind, that you’re not up for the assignment.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “But you won’t.”

You swallow hard, his words hitting you squarely. He’s right, isn’t he?

“You need this job,” Aemond continues, his voice smooth as silk. “But I think it’s more than that. I think you want to be here. In my orbit.”

Of course he’s right, but admitting that would be walking into a trap. One that you might not be able to escape.

“You’re wrong,” you say quietly, though the words sound weak, even to your own ears.

“Angel… I don’t think I am.”

For a moment, everything hangs in the balance, the tension thrumming in the air. It would be so easy to let go. To give in to whatever this is. But you can’t. Not yet.

You sit up straighter, forcing yourself to meet his eyes again. “As I mentioned, I came here for the assignment,” you say, more firmly this time, regaining some of your composure. “So, if there’s something you need to discuss, let’s talk about that.”

Aemond watches you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, searching for something. Then, finally, he sits back, exhaling softly as if deciding to play along – for now.

“Very well,” he says, his tone shifting back to something more neutral, though you can tell he’s not finished with you yet. “We’ll have dinner, and then discuss.”

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The dinner goes better than you expected. Aemond is calm, composed, and – surprisingly – reigning himself in. He makes casual conversation, steering the discussion toward neutral topics. Politics, the upcoming campaign, even light-hearted comments about the restaurant. Every word is measured, delivered with that cool confidence you know so well.

But no matter how carefully he plays it, the tension simmers just beneath the surface, a constant pulse between you. Every glance he steals in your direction, every time his hand brushes yours as he reaches for his glass, it sends a jolt through your body. You feel it, deep in your core, the magnetic energy that makes it impossible to stay unaffected. Like the way his eyes linger on your lips when you smile… it’s all so subtle, but dripping with intention.

By the time dessert arrives, your heart is racing, and you’re almost grateful when the dinner ends. Because while Aemond has kept it together, you’re not sure how much longer you can.

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The ride back is a different story.

You sit on one side of the sleek, leather seat, your body tense, trying to create as much distance between you and Aemond as possible. He’s stoic, seemingly focused on something else entirely, his eyes fixed on the window as the city lights flash by. But the air inside the car is practically electric.

It’s only when you glance forward that you notice the screen divider has been put up. Steve, or maybe James – you’re not sure who did it – must have done it without you noticing. The realisation sinks in, laden with meaning. What did they think would happen? What did they expect?

Your pulse quickens. You cross your legs, a nervous habit, but when you do, your skirt rides up just a little too high, exposing more of your thigh than you intended.

That’s when you notice Aemond’s gaze shift. His eyes, dark and intense, flick down to your leg. The moment hangs in the air, thick and heavy. His face, calm and controlled just a second ago, hardens with something primal. And that look – it’s all it takes to flick a switch inside you.

In a flash, he’s on you.

The restraint he held so carefully through dinner shatters. His hands are on you, gripping your thighs, pulling you toward him, and his mouth crashes against yours, hungry, desperate, ravaging. You let out a gasp, but it’s swallowed by the intensity of his kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a raw urgency that leaves you breathless.

You meet him in the middle of the seat, your bodies colliding with a heat you’ve tried so hard to ignore. His hands are everywhere, sliding under your now untucked blouse, searching, gripping, pulling you closer. The feel of him against you, the strength in his hands, the way he kisses you like he’s starving – it sends a rush of warmth straight through your core.

Your head spins, your breath coming in shallow gasps between kisses as you manage to push back, if only for a second. “We can’t,” you whisper, your voice shaky, weak. But you’re not pulling away. Your hands are still tangled in his hair, your body still pressed against his.

“Fuck, I know, angel,” Aemond growls, his mouth moving to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “But I want you…” His words trail off, full of frustration.

You should stop this. Every logical part of your mind screams at you to pull away, to remember who he is, who you are. This can’t happen. Not with him. Not like this. But the other part of you – the part that’s burning, aching for him – doesn’t care. That part wants him more than anything.

His lips find yours again, and this time, it’s slower. His hand pushes your skirt higher, his fingers grazing your bare skin. You kiss him back, your hands sliding down his chest, gripping his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Between kisses, you manage to pull back, your lips barely an inch from his. “We can't do this... sir,” you whisper, your voice trembling, the word sir meant to ground you, to remind yourself that he’s your superior, that this is wrong. But even as you say it, the way your body reacts to him betrays the word’s other meaning.

It shifts something inside him. You see it. His eyes darken, his breathing quickens, and for a moment, it’s like a switch has been flipped.

Aemond growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating between your bodies as his hand grips your thigh even harder, pulling you flush against him. “Say that again,” he murmurs, his voice rough, his lips brushing against your jaw as he speaks. “Call me that again.”

Your breath hitches, a dizzying mixture of fear and desire coursing through you. “Sir,” you whisper, and the way his body responds – the way his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs – it’s overwhelming.

He kisses you, sucking on your bottom lip. He moves his hand higher, fingers grazing the inside of your thigh, teasing the heat pooling between your legs, and you let out a gasp, your body trembling against him.

“We can’t,” you whisper, but your legs clench around his hand, trapping it within, pressed against the material of your panties.

“We can’t… sir,” you repeat, but the word sir falls from your lips like a plea, and it’s the final straw.

“Fuck,” he growls, his mouth hot against your neck, his words slurred with need. “You keep saying that we can’t, but I don’t think you mean it.”

He’s right. You don’t.

But just as his fingers nudge the material of your panties to the side, his thumb teasing your clit, the car slows, the outside lights shifting. Reality crashes back in – suddenly, you’re aware of the sound of the tires on gravel, of the car pulling up to the curb. You blink, the haze of heat between you shattering as the car stops.

“We’re here,” you whisper, breathless, your body still pressed against his.

For a moment, Aemond’s hand freezes on your thigh, his breath hot against your neck as he pulls away just slightly. He looks at you, his gaze still dark, filled with that same intensity, but there’s a flicker of something else now. Frustration.

You take a deep, shaky breath and pull yourself back, your lips swollen, your body still burning. “This can’t happen again,” you say, your voice unsteady, though you don’t even believe your own words.

Aemond doesn’t respond at first. His eyes stay locked on yours, and for a second, you wonder if he’s going to drag you back into him, consequences be damned. But then, slowly, torturously, his hand slides higher again, fingers curling under the waistband of your panties.

Your breath catches in your throat, the world narrowing to the sensation of his touch. Then, with steady precision, he pulls the delicate fabric down, his fingers grazing over the slick, sensitive lips of your cunt. The touch sends a shockwave through your body, a shiver of need that leaves you breathless.

Aemond slips your panties off in one smooth motion, and with a smirk that’s maddening, tucks them into the pocket of his trousers, his eyes never leaving yours. The gesture is possessive, unhinged, filled with a promise that you know you can’t outrun.

“See you soon,” he murmurs, his voice low. His lips curl into that same wicked smirk, but this time it’s softer, almost reverent as he adds, "Angel."

The word hangs in the air as you step out of the car.

You’re his angel, and there is no turning back now.

Series only taglist (comment to be added) - @aemond-lover98 @pinkpeachbloom @whencokewascasual @salinaiacono6 @mycheersricochet @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @chattylurker

General HotD taglists (refer here)

Vhagar taglist 1 - @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @joyismm @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @darylandbethfanforever9 @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @anukulee (continued...)

Some notes in the margins...

Well... that sure escalated quickly. How could you have ever resisted? Good luck keeping it professional on the campaign trail, angel. 😇

Some new characters are introduced: Loras and Theon. Steve and James (*wink*). Soon we'll meet the Vice President, the campaign manager. etc. etc.... the wife (!!!)

Let me know how you're faring! It's only just begun 🤍

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #modern!aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #national anthem #president!aemond

41 notes · View notes

chrissweatytoes · 1 day

Text

ANNIVERSARY

WARNINGS INCLUDE: fingering, oral fem!receiving, unprotected sex (no slap if you no wrap), gf!virginity taken, shower sex? use of pet names (baby, doll, love, ma). ENJOY!!

word count: 2108

⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆

BLURB - pairing bf!matt sturniolo x gf!reader softdom!matt who wants to make you feel good on your one year anniversary.

The hotel room is dimly lit, the late afternoon sun lightly peeking through the curtains.

“baby?” you cut myself off, now regretting ever saying anything.

“yes doll?” matt looks down at you and holds your hands in his. his soft, warm skin colliding with yours.

“don’t worry,” you say walking into the bathroom and begin running the shower. matt follows “y/n… tell me, you know we don't keep secrets…” he was right about that, you don't keep secrets. you get undressed and hop in the shower.

“you wanna join?” you ask. you’ve never seen matt fully naked, sure you've seen him without a shirt on, but never naked. he’s never seen you naked either. he pauses for a minute, shocked by what you said. he looks like he’s just seen a fucking ghost.

“u- uh yeah are you sure?” he stutters as he watches the water drip down your naked body, hugging your curves. you catch him staring at you, your boobs in particular.

you nod, “mhm hm, i’m sure. after all it is our anniversary, let’s do something nice.” he pauses for a moment, taking in every word you were saying, nodding while you talk.

“alright ma, i was just making sure.” matt rips off his shirt and swiftly takes off his belt, allowing his dark blue denim jeans to pool at his ankles. your eyes wander, taking in the sight on all of his tattoos. the way he looks at you while he pulls his jeans off his ankles and stares into your eyes as he tears down his boxers. your eyes open just a bit further as your eyes dart down to his groin. jeez, he was huge. he chuckles lightly as he notices your expression. matt wasn’t the kind to be insecure about his length. after all, it is massive. he opens the shower door and immediately pulls you in for a hug. His arms wrapping around your dripping wet waist, his cold rings leave a trail of goosebumps along your skin. matt clearly noticed this, he’s always so observant.

“you okay doll?” he looks up from your waist. the two of you hold eye contact for a few moments.

“mhm hm,” you say nodding. you move your hands to matt’s neck, wrapping them around him.

“you’re so beautiful y/n” he pulls you in further, your bodies now touching. you feel the warmth of his skin radiating.

without saying anything, you smile and crash your lips into his. he kisses you back and moves his hands from your waist to your neck and jaw, not breaking the contact for even a second. the kiss lingers for a few moments before he pulls away, beginning to kiss down your neck - painfully slowly. he pauses for a moment, “is this okay?” he looks at you with a look of concern. matt knows that you and he haven't done anything before. he hasn't even seen you naked before today.

you nod “better than okay,” as he continues to kiss down your stomach he pauses just before he reaches your sweet spot.

“c-can i?” all he wants in the world is to pleasure you and make you happy, and if this is what pleases you then that's what he wants to do.

you take a moment to think about if this is really what you want.

“please,” he continues with his movements, moving his hand up towards your inner thighs, leaving a trail of kisses in the same area. slowly, painfully slowly he moves his mouth to your wet folds - both from water and arousal fluid. at his slow but sudden flick of his tongue on your clit, your hands move down to his hair. the tugs make him lightly groan, the vibrations trembling through your body. his tongue switches from your folds to your sweet spot. you’re clearly exceedingly sensitive, he takes note of this - careful not to get ahead of himself. “fuck matt…” you’re moans are like music to his ears. he keeps a mental note of what makes you scream louder - you like when somethings inside you, not just outside. his hand creeps up your thigh, rubbing small circles around the inner - most sensitive part of your thigh. he stops just before your groin. matt looks up at you through his lashes, “can i ma? i wanna make y’feel real good, baby.”

“will it hurt?” your response is nervous and slightly scared. he notices your expression, “it might at the start but it shouldn’t hurt much, it’ll just feel good baby. i promise.” although you’re still worried, you go along with it,

“yeah, yeah. you can.”

“tell me what you want baby, i don’t know if you won’t tell me,” the water continues to pour down above you and matt, only making the situation hotter. the shower glass begins fogging up and the air feels as if it’s getting warmer.

“i want…” you trail off, “i want your fingers baby…” he chuckles, noticing the immense control he has over you. “your wish is my command doll,” and with that he drags his hand up from your thigh to your warm folds. rubbing small, slow circles on your clit as you tug on his hair. this only seems to turn him on more and more.

“fuck… matt, oh my fucking god…” your whimpers and quiet moans progressively get louder - more pornographic as he teases your entrance with his fingers, slowly, ever so fucking slowly he pushes his middle and ring fingers inside you.

“shiiiiitttt baby… fuck you’re tight hey?” he speeds up his thrusts, pumping his fingers inside your pussy. his cold rings burn your warm skin and yet it feels so euphoric. as he drives his fingers in and out of you, the tips of his fingers hit your g-spot. in notice of you getting more riled up, he latches his tongue onto your now swollen bud.

“fuck matt! m’close baby, m’close,” you repeat that phrase over and over again, giving you something to hold onto as the pure ecstasy washes over you.

“you did so well my love, i’m so proud of you ma.” he pulls his fingers out of you slowly, helping you ride out your high. once his digits are fully out he licks them clean, wanting to do the same thing to your cunt but knowing you’re way too overstimulated for that.

“how was that baby?” he asks standing back up to embrace you in a warm hug. you take a minute to reply, trying to catch your breath after your high.

“it was fabulous, you did so well, too bernard.” you pull back away from the hug as you boop his nose ever so slightly with your finger.

“owwww! shit y/n that fuckin’ hurt,” he chuckles and pumps body wash into his hand, beginning to lather himself in it before washing it off.

“you look so beautiful y/n,” matt knows you don’t take compliments well, he’s doing this on purpose now.

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes and chuckle, jeez you loved it when your boyfriend complimented you. he always made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. you wash the body wash off your body then turn the shower off. “done?” you look up at matt, his eyes roaming your body - finding somewhere to rest on your perky tits. “matt? hello? earth to bernard?” you wave your hands in his face, snapping him out of his trance.

“shit m’sorry ma” he shakes his head, fully snapping into reality again. “what were you saying?” he looks at your eyes, no longer fixated on your boobs.

“i was just asking if you were done,” opening the shower door, the cold air hitting your skin sends shivers down your spine. you quickly reach for yours and matt’s towels. handing his towel to him, you wrap yourself up and step back into the hotel bedroom. matt follows you over to your bags, watching your every move as you get dressed into a black thong and an oversized t-shirt. he throws on some gray sweatpants.

“you ready for bed baby?” you crawl into bed, his eyes preoccupied with the way your ass looks in that thong.

“not yet.” although the clock reads 11:30pm, matt has something different on his mind. you notice the sudden shift from matthew’s normal doe eyes, he stares are you with pure passion.

“what’s wrong babe?”

“i’ll tell you if you promise to not get mad, yeah?” matt saying this scares you, but deep down you know you’re kinda excited. you nod, “you can tell me anything, you know that right?” he nods back, and that’s when you notice the tent in his pants. “jesus christ matt, you could’ve told me that’s what you want.” your eyes widen at the bulge.

“well… do you want to? it’ll be our first time, and it seems nice for our one year anniversary.” he looks nervous for your response, but he calms down once he hears it.

“i want to at least try, but i’m scared matty, what if it hurts?” your huge doe eyes look up at him, he’s glad you want to try, but he doesn’t wanna push you too far.

“if it hurts too much we can stop, but just try, okay? it should only hurt for a bit…” you nod along, exhilaration taking over.

“i’m ready,” matt crawls into the soft hotel room bed, he rests his head against the bed head and pulls you onto his lap. a small gasp escapes your mouth, his length poking your barely covered cunt. you lean in to kiss him, the light kisses turn into a passionate makeout. you grind your hips against him - desperate for some kind of friction. as his brick hard dick rubs up against your clit every so often, your breathy moans are music to his ears.

“m-more matt, please…” your pace speeds up as you rest your face in the crook of his neck, leaving little love bites in their way.

“tell me what y’want ma,” he teases, guiding your hips with his hands. the tight grip he has on your hips is sure to leave marks.

“i- i, i want you, i want you inside me.” and with that he yanks his pants down, lifting you slightly to assist. he rips his boxers down and helps you tank off your thong. “now are you sure you want to? i don’t want you to do it and regret it later.” he halts your movements and stares at you, scanning your face for any look of uncertainty. when he’s sure he can’t find any he pauses and waits for your reply.

“no i am ready, i want to.” your words are fast and breathy. and with that he aligns himself up with your entrance and slowly starts to plunge into you. you let out a few whines and groans.

“you okay ma?” he pauses his movements until he knows you’re okay. you nod in response. matt continues to lower you onto him. once he’s fully inside you, he swiftly flips you over. he spreads your legs to get him more access and starts slowly thrusting inside you. your cunt is warm and wet, so tight around his bulge.

“fuck- jesus christ…” you let out. his thrusts weren't even fast, but here you are, not a virgin anymore. you always wondered what the hype with sex was, but fucking hell, now you get it. without any warning matt speeds up his motions, pumping harder, and faster now. his sensitive tip slams hard into your g-spot, your on coming orgasm now been sped up 10x. you feel yourself convulse on his dick, this lets you both know you’re close.

“fuck- holy fuck matt, i’m s- so close,” you manage to let out over hard thrusts and loud, pornographic-like moans.

“me too baby, come f’me ma.” his words tip you over the edge, a white ring forming on matt’s cock.

“fuck baby-” matt let’s out a low groan as he finishes inside you, his warm, white fluid painting your insides. he pulls out of your pussy and grabs a dirty t-shirt to clean you up with. he wipes your inner thighs and your cunt before cleaning himself up and pulling his sweats back on. he watches as you pull your thong back up, the straps sitting just above your hips. you lay back down, resting your head on matt’s chest.

“you did so good y/n, m’so proud of you baby,” you’re out of breath and all rosy in the cheeks.

“thank you matty, you did so well baby.” he continues to rub small circles on your back as you both fall asleep in each other's arms.

⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆ᡣ𐭩⋆౨ৎ⋆

HI YALL! i rlly hope you enjoyed this one, i kinda struggle writing for matt bc im a die hard chris girl, but this was something a little different. I AM SOOO SORRY IT TOOK ME THIS LONG TO WRITE!! if you liked this then you'll like some of my upcoming work 👀 also this wasnt proof read sorry!! i was literally rushing... love all of you sluts💕

with love, mals xx

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you

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bambi-slxt · 1 day

Text

🤍𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞🤍

𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕠 𝕩 𝕗𝕖𝕞!𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

word count: 1.6k

genre/tropes: established relationship, hurt/comfort, all fluff

warnings: reader is on her period (fic inspired by me being sick as fuck for a month)

notes from bambi: chris takes care of reader on her period (does not include period sex). don't like, don't read - if you do read, please enjoy! <3

It probably ruined the mattress too. Fuck.

"Chris, baby.." You shook him gently awake. "I'm really sorry but can you go sleep in Matt's room?"

He yawned, a massive, snake-like yawn, unhinged jaw and all. "What're you talkin’ about, ma."

You grimaced, unwilling to go into gruesome detail. "I, um...

Chris blinked away the sleep from his eyes and took in the scene before him. Dark blood had soaked through his bedsheets—quite a bit of it. “Oh fuck, are you ok-”

“Yeah, I just–no, don't look at it, I promise I'll take care of everything, I'm gonna wash your sheets and if you need a new mattress I'll get it, I'm so sorry, Chris please, just…just go sleep with Matt.”

While you spoke, Chris sat himself up and slipped off the other side of the bed, his face fallen with empathy. “‘M gonna help. Come on, let's strip it.”

Your stomach twisted. “No, Chris. I don't want you to see this, I don't even really want you to see me right now, please just go.”

Chris padded around the end of his bed, walking towards you with his achingly familiar gait. “Come here, babygirl.”

Tears, hot and stinging, pricked your eyes, and they began to flow as his arms enveloped your body. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” You tucked your head into his neck, hands clinging to his shirt like a child while his hands stroked up and down your back, your chest heaving and hiccuping with cries. It was all bullshit, this whole thing.

“Don’t gotta be sorry. It’s okay. I got you. M’ not goin’ anywhere. Easy, pretty girl. Take it easy.” Chris murmured his reassurances gently as you stood together in his dark room.

“Thabnk you,” you sniffled, nose stuffed. “I’m gonna shoot myself directly into the sun.”

He coughed out a laugh. “Don’t do that. Come on, let's take care of the bed and we can go shower, yeah? Get y’ cleaned up n’ shit, okay?”

An apologetic but appreciative smile cracked its way through your features. “Okay.”

Chris’s hands slipped away and cradled your face with as much tenderness as he could muster. “There’s my girl. It’s okay. You’re okay.” You leaned into his touch, looking up at him through tear-soaked lashes. “Hey, baby,” he whispered. “My pretty girl.”

With another sniffle, you finally tore yourself away from his embrace and stared decisively at the disaster zone. Yanking the comforter off, you and Chris began to silently unmake the bed, working in a quiet tandem that would have been comfortable if not for the subject at hand. Balling up his sheets, you stepped around him, making sure your arm brushed his back as you passed, and stepped carefully up the stairs. About halfway up, your ears alerted you to another set of footsteps behind you and you turned to address him. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to-”

“Shh. What if you get lost?”

“...I’m not gonna get lost.”

“Or kidnapped? Ever think about that?”

“I can honestly say that a home invasion resulting in my abduction hasn’t crossed my mind in years.”

Chris huffed and nudged you up the stairs again. “Skill issue.”

Another unexpected smile stretched your lips. “Shut up.”

A soft light emanated from Matt’s room - he must still be awake. “What time is it?” you murmured, sliding open the folding door to reveal the washer and dryer.

Chris shrugged, reaching above your head for the stain remover. “Time doesn’t mean anything anyway.”

“What?” You took the bottle from him and rifled through the heap of sheets.

He chuckled, quite proud of his ability to drop conversation-grenades. “Like, the numbers we put with time, they don’t add any meaning to it. Numbers are just a way for us to measure something we don’t understand.”

You turned to him slowly, in utter disbelief. “All that raw, incredible intelligence…remind me again how you spell tw-”

“Okay, enough,” he grumbled, snatching the sheets from you. “Here, gimme that. You’re doing it wrong.”

You snickered softly, wrapping your hands around Chris’s arm as he scrubbed the magic soap into his sheets. “Wait, no, you don’t have to do that, hold on, let me just-”

He bumped you out of the alcove with his hips. “Stop. I got it. Doesn’t bother me, ma, I promise.”

“...But I feel bad.”

He shrugged, hands still working the solution through the accidental mess you’d made. “Don’t feel bad. Problem solved.”

“Okay but like…it’s embarrassing. I don’t want you to see this and associate it with me.”

Chris tilted his head and turned to face you, leaning on the dryer to stabilize himself. “You’ve cleaned up worse things that’ve come outta’ me. Y’ any less attracted to me?” You shook your head, wrinkling your nose even still as you remembered his week-long recovery from food poisoning. “See?” Chris held out his hands. “Come here.” You sighed when you settled against his chest once more. “I’m gonna see you do some embarrassing stuff, and some gross stuff, and you’ll see the same from me.”

You grinned in spite of yourself. “Or worse.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, ruffling your hair, “Or worse. Look at me.” Raising your head to meet his gaze, you felt his thumb underneath your chin - not to force you, but just to touch you. “I don’t love ya any less. M’ not any less attracted to ya. I don’t want you to be perfect, I want you to be real and I want you to be mine. That’s all I’m askin’ for, babygirl.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, taking in his words and holding his gaze. “You’re so sweet.”

A soft blush lit his cheeks and he turned away to smile. “Shut up.”

After dropping the offending sheets into the washer, Chris managed the dials and left it at that. “You wanna go get cleaned up?”

You nodded profusely. “I feel disgusting.”

“Come on, then. Gonna run you a shower to get all that blood off you and then we can just soak in the bath,” he murmured, beckoning down the stairs for you to go before him. “Ladies first.”

“Why, thank you, sir,” you replied, taking his hand daintily and attempting to saunter down the steps to his room and adjoined bathroom.

“You look like those geese ladies from that old cat movie,” he snickered, following you with a hand wrapped around your outstretched fingers.

“The Aristocats? I fucking love the Aristocats,” you said.

“Wanna watch it later?”

“Yessss.”

Chris chuckled again and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Lemme get the water warm.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I like taking care of you.”

Now it was your turn to blush. “Shut up.”

The gentle shhhh coming from Chris’s bathroom washed over your ears as you slid the ruined pajama pants down to your ankles. “Gonna have to wash these too,” you growled, balling them up and throwing them at the corner.

“I’ll do that,” Chris said, “Get in,” and he pointed forcefully to the shower.

“Oh my god it’s so warm in here,” you groaned happily, feeling it soak your skin and warm your body.

“Not too hot?” he asked, closing the sliding glass door almost all the way.

“Perfect.” Securing your hair out of the way, you let the water flow down your body, taking all the dark stains with it and disappearing down the drain. You didn’t even notice Chris leave.

The lighting in his bathroom was soft and easy on the eyes. You pulled your soap off the tile-inset shelf and opened it over your chest, letting the cool gel coat your breasts and stomach. Frugality held no bearing on your mind tonight - you earned this small luxury.

The door opened again. “‘M back, baby.” Chris leaned against the wall that upheld the shower, turning his head to meet your eyes through the glass door. “You feelin’ better?”

You nodded, smearing the now-sudsy soap over yourself. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Taking care of me.”

Chris smiled, though it was tinged by sadness. “Of course I take care of you. And ‘m sorry you thought you had to do all that, you know…by yourself.”

You returned his ached smile. “I'm sorry I bled on your mattress.”

“It’s not a death sentence, babygirl, it’ll be alright.”

You stepped back into the water stream, and let it send the last spots of blood into the drain. “So will I.”

When you awoke again, it was on the couch. The white couch. Scrambling to your feet, your eyes darted around in horror - but no red marks greeted you.

“You’re okay, baby,” Chris said softly. He stood shirtless in the kitchen, standing over a sizzling pan. “Brought you up here cuz’ you didn't want me to leave you alone in bed.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to regain memory. “But I never…I don't remember putting a-”

“I put a towel underneath us so you could sleep naked like you like,” he said with a smile. “You remember wakin' up this mornin’?”

“Yes…Oh Chris…” A blush flamed across your cheeks at the memory of him holding your hips, running a soft, cool wipe over your folds at your behest. “I shouldn't have asked you to do that, that was weird and gross and-”

“Shut up.”

“No, really, that was-”

“Hey.” He clicked something on the stove and walked over to the couch, cupping your face with his hand. “I was happy to do it. I told you, I like takin’ care of you. Besides, what kinda man would I be if I was scared of a little blood?” His thumb brushed over your cheek. “It’s okay. I promise.”

Tears pricked your eyes, and your chin felt a little shaky. “Thank you.”

“‘Course,” he grinned. “Come on, food’s ready.”

notes from bambi: hope you liked it! i'm such a sucker for soft!chris

#bambi slxt #the sturniolos #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #the sturniolos fluff #sturniolo triplets fluff #the sturniolo triplets fluff #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic fluff #christopher sturniolo fanfic fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo x you

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pinguwrites · 24 hours

Text

The Doll's Burial ⸻ Jonathan Crane

READ DISCLAIMER

pairing | jonathan crane x reader

summary | You knew Jonathan Crane was meant for you from the moment you laid your eyes on him — a brilliant man, filled with wit and curiosity and youth. So perfect, in fact, that you have to take him away from the rest of the world and make him yours, your darling doll. He’ll like it, won’t he?

word count | 9k

Warnings: NON-CON/DUB-CON, dark!reader, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, reader’s delusional and sick and sadistic but sweet ig, religious (specifically Christian) disdain from Jon , murder/torture towards jon/in general, jon isn’t scarecrow au, slightly ooc jon, p in v sex, househusband!jonathan, PROCEED WITH CAUTION - DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE

Disclaimer: This is part of my unfinished works. I don't write anymore, but I still wanted to publish what I have. I'll use bullet points to explain what I planned to happen at the end. Also note that this is heavily unedited, there will be a lot of mistakes.

You didn’t know what beauty was until you met Jonathan Crane that fateful winter’s night, a night where the season’s gentle touch had left windows glazed with frost, and the late evening coated in a thick, gloomy darkness. Crystal flakes were falling from the sky onto your body like specks of dust, but it was nothing compared to the way it looked on him, his dark hair contrasting with the white, the snow melting upon the touch of his skin. His breath was coming out in puffs of smoke before dissipating into the bitter air, his square glasses glinting in the light of the street lamps.

Time had frozen still at that moment, as though your brain had gone numb, much like the cold was numbing your ears and toes and the tips of your fingers. Licking your lips, you observed as the man — whose name you did not know then — glanced at the slim watch on his wrist, shivering ever so slightly as a breeze brushed him by. He was wearing an elegant suit, colored charcoal, the dress shirt underneath thinly striped, and his shoes polished and new, no doubt recently bought. He seemed to be an educated man with wealth, maybe a doctor or lawyer, but you guessed doctor, because he struck you as a scientific mind, curious but practical.

He wasn’t married, as he had no ring, which led you to believe that his profession took up a lot of his time and effort. After all, how could a man as gorgeous as him not be desired? Even the thought of him in bed with you set your loins alight, not to mention the slightest notion of him being yours until death do us part.

“Silly,” you had murmured to yourself, though there was a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re thinking too far ahead, like always.”

But it really wasn’t your fault. He was so delightful to look at. Almost like a doll, with his plump pink lips and blush-dusted cheeks. You could imagine it already: a domestic life. He needn’t not lift a finger, not think a single thought, as long as he allowed you to hold him in his arms. How was it that someone who had not done anything at all to warrant such attraction, found himself at the center of your obsessiveness?

There’s something about him. Something different I cannot deny. He was unlike anyone you had ever seen before, anyone you would ever see in the future. It was strange how humans worked, heart so easily manipulated. What was it that caught your attention in the first place? you wondered. The aesthetic of the scene? His simple presence in the emptiness of the street? Did it even matter anymore, now that you were so hopelessly captured by him?

“Hey, excuse me, ma’am!”

Heart thumping against your chest at the sudden noise, you answered hesitantly, “Yes?”

The man, who was raising his voice so he could be heard across the street, gave you a wary look. “Do you know when the bus will arrive? I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes — the sign said it would arrive at seven.”

“I’m not sure,” you lied. You hadn’t expected him to talk to you. The event felt out of control, like you weren’t sure what was going to happen next. It bothered you, but if anything, this was a sign. A sign that perhaps he was the one. “I’m waiting for it as well,” you continued. “Do you mind if I cross?”

“I don’t.”

After you made sure there were no cars nearby, you walked across the road and finally got your first view of the man, finding his features, his mannerisms, his everything to be just as breathtaking as it was from a distance. He had a relatively low voice, around a medium pitch, and it was grated, almost like a vocal fry. He had these little freckles scattered across his face like distant stars in the sky. If it was possible, you would have plucked out every single one of them to store in a jar.

“I usually don’t take the bus,” you said smoothly, trying to start a conversation, though all you could focus on the way he was looking at you, his gaze piercing and icy, “but my car’s in a workshop. I thought I’d try my luck here before heading to the subway.”

Your car wasn’t in a workshop. It was in the garage parking lot just diagonal of his view. You had only gotten out because you wanted a quick coffee at the local café. Eternally grateful that you spotted him along the way, you weren’t sure what you would have done if you hadn’t. It had only been a few minutes, and you were already in love.

The man hummed in response, not seeming to take much of an interest. “I’m in a similar situation myself . . . I’ll be on my way, then,” he said, clearing his throat.

He started walking down the sidewalk to the nearest subway station, a walk you knew was going to take about a while. And in those clothes? He was most certainly going to catch a cold. If it was proper to do so, you would have offered him your own coat, but in a city like this, where no one trusted, you didn’t need to make him suspicious of your kindness. People were like animals, small critters. Approaching them too fast would scare them off. You had to be subtle, ease into it before you did anything too rash.

“Are you coming?” he asked, turning around, waiting for you to follow him. His tone was expectant, and almost humorous, like the thought of you continuing to wait for the bus was amusing to him. It made you amused. There would be work to do with his arrogance when you finally take him away, you made a mental note of that.

“No,” you responded. “I’ve changed my mind, I’ll have a friend come pick me up.”

“. . . Are you sure?” he pressed, concerned. He was concerned for you. It was so sweet.

“I’m sure,” you repeated. If you were with him for a second longer you would have gotten down on your knees and proposed.

He considered your words, then nodded. “Well, have a nice day, ma’am.”

“You as well . . . I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Jonathan. Dr. Jonathan Crane.”

“Jonathan,” you repeated, the word rolling off your tongue with ease. Jon-ah-thun, meaning God has given, gift of God. A gift to you, surely, or why else would he be here, standing in your presence if he wasn’t meant to be taken away? To be polite, you gave him your own name, hoping he liked it as much as you liked his, and simply said, “Have a nice day,” hiding the butterflies inside your stomach that flew around like hail in a blizzard.

Jonathan Crane, my very own doll.

+++

The chains clinked against the others in the link, the cuffs tugging against the skin, pulled so hard it restricted the blood flow. It was only then the noises stopped, and a defeated sigh left your doll’s lips. His head leaned against the wall and his posture slumped, as though he had given up. It was a shame, too. The sight of him struggling was exhilarating. It filled you with such excitement and arousal that you wished he kept going.

Currently, you were working, with your laptop placed out in front of you on your desk, some oatmeal to your right. The camera system was hooked up to the large monitor, so from here you could watch Jonathan’s movements. He had been awake since the break of dawn, the time he usually got up for work, except he wasn’t at his house today, he was in your basement, body against the cold floor, trembling like a scared bunny.

The planning was the most difficult part of this endevour. You had never actually kidnapped someone before. When you were a child, the local police suspected you in the mutilation of a few small critters in your apartment complex, and in college you were involved in the accidental death of one of your fellow students (he fell down the stairs and hit his head, nothing that anyone could prove was your fault), but to actually kidnap someone was entirely different.

It would be an ongoing investigation until the case was classified as cold, and even then some cold cases were picked up again after years; you had to make sure no could connect a link, because some people were too narrow-minded to understand how true and unconditional your adoration for him was; and not only that, but the amount of research — or stalking, as some might call it — that you had to do was exhaustive; but really, it was worth it, and Jonathan would fall for you just as you did for him within a few months, maybe a year at most. He would come to realize just how much you cared about him, and just how wonderful your life could be together. Once you arrived at that point, things would flow seamlessly. You had all the precautions in place. Even if he did try and escape, you always had a sedative in your pocket, and all the doors to your house was just as secure on the inside as it was on the outside.

The only thing you worried about was witnesses. See, Jonathan was usually very careful not to go into secluded alleyways or dingy locations on his own, which made it difficult to take him. So, you had to bump into him in a coffee shop — a coincidence, you had told him — and from there lure him out.

You sighed lovingly and gazed at Jonathan through the screen, deciding that it was time to bring him breakfast and lay out the ground rules.

After a few more minutes, you crept down the stairs with some food and water, careful not to step on any of the parts that would cause a creaking sound, and unlocked the basement with the passcode. When you opened the door, Jonathan raised his head, scooting his body away from your figure until he backed into a corner.

It was a dingy little place. It used to have carpet, but you removed that in favor of plastic tarp on the floor, nothing that could indefinitely stain the cement underneath. The walls were covered in that as well, and there was no window or clock to let him know the time. There were blankets to the side, and a small toilet to the other corner of the room. It was a good enough place for now. You hated seeing him in these conditions, but only once he proved responsible would you update him to a secured bedroom. At this point in time, he wasn’t capable of understanding things, and would only try to run away if you gave him more freedom.

Jonathan stayed quiet for a long while, and so did you, but then he scoffed. “I’m not eating that.”

Frowning, you bent down to his level. You placed the bowl in front of him, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and honey filling the stale air. “It's not poisoned, you know that.”

Jonathan did know that. He was smart enough to realize that a person wouldn’t go through all the effort of bringing him here, only to poison him. There needn’t be a conversation over this. He didn’t reach for the bowl yet, but you knew he would when you left. Eventually, hunger would get to him.

“Are you in love with me?” he asked next.

Yes, yes I am. I love you as true as the air you breathe, as blue as your eyes gleam, and as certain as the beat of your heart.

“Why do you ask?” you said instead.

“Your eyes are always dilated, you can’t keep them off of me. Not at the bus station, the coffee shop.” He paused. “You’re sick. I’m not in love with you. Whatever fantasy you have is not real.”

“You may not be in love with me now, but you will be soon.”

There was no point in hiding your intentions.

He scoffed again, head down. “Realize this, I have nothing. Whatever you want from me, I can’t give you.”

Reaching out to him, you rubbed your thumb against his skin. He was cold. Again.

“You need to learn how to keep warm,” you said, concerned. “There’s some blankets. Use them.”

Jonathan pulled away, though you could tell he wanted you to keep doing that, because for a brief moment he almost leaned into your touch and warmth. So, you did just that. You gripped his chin and forced him to look at you. He put up a bit of a struggle, but in the end, he relented, and let you caress his skin. Letting your fingers trail up his cheek to his nose, you quickly made your way to his eyelashes, his long, thick eyelashes that fluttered like a black bird’s feathers.

“I did a bit of research on you,” you said. “Just enough to make sure no one would come looking for you right away, to learn your patterns and your habits, or any other important bits of information . . . like the fact that you have a therapist.”

Jonathan looked straight into your eyes. It was almost as if, at the moment, he was more concerned about what you might have read about him than his current predicament. He didn’t want anyone to know his past, his secrets, his weaknesses. It was embarrassing, and you knew that because you read in his file — which took atrociously long to obtain — how ashamed he was of himself, how conscious.

He shoved you away, and you backed off.

“Don’t be mean,” you frowned, hurt. “It was necessary. Watching you through your window wasn’t enough to truly know you. And even now, I’m sure there’s so much I’ve missed. It’ll be nice. As long as you listen and don’t cause trouble, everything will be okay.”

“You’re delusional,” he scowled. “I’ve known enough people like you in my life to understand how you work. Once you’re tired of me, you’ll dump me and get someone new to torment.”

“That’s not true, and you’ll see that,” you protested. It broke you to know that he thought of himself as expendable. “. . . I know you need some time to think. I’ll come down in a few hours with lunch, alright?”

You took his silence as a ‘yes’.

“Good boy.”

+++

A few weeks had passed by. The snow was beginning to melt, turning into a mushy, brown sludge that you had to trudge through every morning to get to work. Admittedly, you were quite busy with your job, but you made as much time as you could for Jonathan. Your doll was in a sour mood the entire time, and after calling you a bitch and a unintelligent, perverted whore — such colorful language — he started begging you to let him go.

I won’t tell anyone. I’ll give you money. Please, I’m begging you. All clearly signs of emotional distress.

It hurt you a lot when Jonathan rejected your affection. More than you thought it would. He should be grateful that you took such an interest in him, but instead he was disgusted. Of course, he would fall for you soon, but it made you wish that he had already done so, and that too on the night you two met.

Wouldn’t it have been romantic? Love at first sight. Did you not deserve something like that? For someone to look into your eyes the way you did his and think, This is the one I want to marry. Again, you knew it would take time, but the wound still cut deep.

He was eating, which was good. One less thing to worry about. But when you checked his wrists to see if the cuffs were still locked you found them red with marks. It worried you a bit, so you applied some cream to them — or at least, tried to, with the way he was struggling and all. You did other things like bathe him, but despite how desperate you were to see his pretty cock, you never went beyond the waistline, and encouraged him to clean himself down there instead. You hoped it established some sense of trust between you two, because at least Jonathan would realize that you would never do anything to make him uncomfortable.

When you were researching Jonathan Crane — before you took him — you learned that he was a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum. A professor at Gotham University first, but either way, it seemed that his heart lied with the sciences. You did a little internet digging and tracked his book orders, then picked something you thought he would like and was sure he hadn’t read yet.

One book on chemistry and its applications on brain science, and another on psychology, a look into real-world examples written by a doctor from the late twentieth century.

Carefully wrapping it up in light blue paper, you tied it with a navy-colored ribbon and made a bow. Your fingers lingered on the box, a little nervous about handing it over to Jonathan, but you walked downstairs with it anyways, opening the basement door and watching with satisfaction as he scurried away once again.

“It’s just a gift,” you laughed, setting it down in front of him. He watched it warily. “I want you to open it. I hope you’ll like it.”

Jonathan’s lower lip quivered, and you had a sudden desire to kiss him. Lips upon lips, heavy and sweet. Sometimes, you felt as though the only way to get close to him — truly close — was to peel off his skin and wrap it around you. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? He would die, which you didn’t want, but to think about it was enough. It was so intimate it made you hot all over.

“Please,” Jonathan muttered. “Please let me go. I’ll do anything.”

You sighed. “I don’t want to hear this again. I’ve been really patient with you. Can’t you just . . . be normal?”

“Normal?”

Oh, dear. He’s about to go into another one of his fits.

“How can you expect me to be normal when you’ve got me locked in chains?” he frowned. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t getting upset, but rather more submissive. He wasn’t scowling or spitting in your face, but rather his head was downturned and his body language more open. Was this it? Was this the point of breaking?

“I have nothing,” he continued. “No bed to sleep in, no touch . . .”

Touch. Well, he had you, didn’t he?

“You don’t like it when I touch you,” you said.

He looked away, almost embarrassed. This doll of a man had you completely enamored, fooled, like a hopeless soul waiting for the heavens. Anything he did, anything he said, would make you fold in a heartbeat. If he asked you to go get the moon, you would die, frozen in the vastness of space just trying. He could make you do anything, except perhaps let you go, but only because you knew that deep down, he didn’t really want it.

Jonathan didn’t make an effort to come closer to you, and you didn’t either. Despite your devotion, you wanted to see him make the first move. You had waited long enough. All you wanted was to be loved by him, and you knew that he had it in him to show his affection. He just feared you, feared that you would hurt him.

. . . Maybe a few more days. A few more days of waiting until you would take drastic action.

+++

Laying on the couch, you turned on the TV, opening up the Gotham news channel as background noise while you dozed off. There were a few errands to be done, but you decided to put them off until tomorrow as the weather had gotten worse. It wasn’t raining anymore, and the snow was still brown and mushy, but it was freezing, and you made the stupid mistake of leaving your car outside.

After ten minutes of just lazing around, you were abruptly woken up by the ring of your doorbell. With a groan, you got up off the couch and unlocked the door, only for your nerves to jump and a nervous chuckle escape your lips.

“I — well, hi. Can I help you, officer?” you asked, looking the man in front of you up and down. He had wispy brown hair that was covered by a fur hoodie and a kind smile painted on his face. He didn’t look like he meant any harm, but perhaps this was just a facade to get your guard down. For all you knew there could be police officers stationed all around your house. Or were you being too paranoid? Yes. You probably were.

“You can,” he said, voice a little gruff. “My name is Peter Wright, I just wanna ask you a few questions. May I come inside?”

You hesitated. “What's this about?”

Wright chuckled, but didn’t answer. “Do you know a man named Jonathan Crane? You may have just passed him on the street — he had dark hair, glasses, clean-cut . . .”

Your mind ran through all the possibilities. There was absolutely no way this man could know you two even met. You were so careful — so unbelievably careful. Was there something you had overlooked? Something you had missed? Maybe someone saw you with Jonathan and reported it to the police once they realized he was missing.

“. . . No.”

Wright smiled. “No need to be so tense. We just wanna know where he is.”

You smiled, trying to be friendly. “I’m sorry, sir, I have no clue who that is. You probably have the wrong person — ”

“ — yeah, figured,” Wright interrupted, flashing another smile. “He’s been missing for a while. You’re not in trouble, we just have to check every lead.”

“Oh, I understand completely,” you said. “May I ask, why have I become a . . . lead?”

“Just some security footage on a date of interest. You had crossed the street at a bus station.” Wright paused for a moment, seeing if you remembered anything. You did, but you kept your face blank. It was better to pretend. It made you relieved, however. This was nothing serious, and nothing that was your fault. “He wrote it down in one of his journal entries, that’s why we checked.”

“Journal entries?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

“Yes. That’s how all these smart people are like, or so I’ve been told. Methodical, pattern-orientated.”

Was he even supposed to be telling you this? It seemed like this man was more loose-lipped than he first appeared. Perhaps you could pull some information out of him, turn on your charm.

“You know what? Come inside. It’s cold, and I can make you some hot coffee.”

“Really?” Wright raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re getting let me in?”

You gave a playful glare. “I’m not gonna ask again, sir.”

Wright obliged, and for the rest of the evening, he divulged information about the case, a little too flirtatious for your taste, but it got the work done, and by the end of the day, you learned that they had nothing on you, and nothing on this case.

+++

“Jonathan,” you cooed as you entered the basement with a plate of mashed potatoes and steak. You immediately noticed that his knuckles were bloody, and realized what he was trying to do — he must have heard another person upstairs and banged against the concrete walls in the hopes that he would’ve been heard.

What a stupid boy!

“Hold on,” you muttered, annoyed, placing the food down. “I’ll get you some bandages — ”

“ — Can’t you just be here?” Jonathan said shakily, his voice hoarse. “You said you loved me but you never spend time with me, you’re always upstairs . . . I’m going insane.”

Your heart leaped. Finally. Finally! It was happening. He was beginning to see, to truly see the connection you both had. You could envision it already — a wedding, with only an eficator there to make things legitimate, with flowers and a beautiful background, perhaps a sunset or beach, or maybe some mountains — topped with snow. That would be perfect, absolutely wonderful. Oh, you would have to start making the plans now!

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” You snapped out of your thoughts. “Oh, no. No, darling. I’m just so excited, I’ve been waiting so long . . . Here, can I hold you?”

Jonathan nodded with a sniffle.

Not wasting a single moment, you wrapped him up in your arms, watching as he delicately snuggled his head in the crook of your neck. The feeling of his hair brushing up against your skin was exhilarating, making you shudder and shake like you were about to lose it. About to lose it and take him right then and there, all romantic like, with nice words and the scent of rose petals . . . Maybe your first time could be in a bath, with lit candles, cleaning each other off. It was —

Hold on. Where was his chain?

Jonathan’s arms were around your waist, but you couldn’t feel the metal. You looked to the hook on the wall and saw that it had broken off, next to it the psychology book you gave to him, heavily dented.

Chasting yourself, you felt Jonathan tighten his grip around your body. You should have checked — you should have checked for the chain like you did every time you came down. What was wrong with you? This one simple mistake could ruin everything . . .

Trying to think as quickly as you could, you looked around the room for the other book, but couldn’t find it anywhere. You had a sedative syringe in your pocket, but you couldn’t get to it without alerting him. Alas, you finally felt something poking you in the side, something sharp like an edge, and within seconds you had been tossed to the floor and hit over the head.

+++

When you finally woke up, your head was reeling. You had a massive headache, and everytime you tried to sit up your vision would go a little dark and you would give up. Before you could try again, you had a hand against your throat. You felt a horrible surge of anger, and in the midst of your emotions, a slight sense of arousal.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” you cried out, voice choked. You could feel a shift in movement, because after Jonathan realized he was hurting you, he loosened his grip, but it still wasn’t enough to get out of his grasp. He probably tried to open the basement door but couldn’t, so waited until you came to give him the passcode. You couldn’t rely on the hope that he wouldn’t hurt you. He was desperate. But so were you.

“Everything you’ve done,” he repeated with a low murmur. “You know how humiliating it is to be trapped in a basement for a month, forced to bathe in front of you because I can’t even be trusted with a flow of water? Have to piss with chains on? I’m a doctor, I shouldn’t have to submit to your delusion.”

“You should and you will!” you screeched, squirming. “You finally have someone to love you, to adore you, someone who would do anything for you, and it’s still not enough. Or you know what? Maybe you like that. Being sad all the time, not having anyone to care for you. Probably used to it, huh? Distant parents, bitch grandmother, no friends, no lovers . . .”

Jonathan tossed you to the floor and pinned you down, his nose close to yours, breathing heavy, eyes a little glossy. Then, without warning, he slapped you. The sting was both painful and pleasurable. The little whimper you let out was more of a light sigh, but you didn’t let that distract you. All you needed to do was reach into your pocket for the syringe, which he clearly hadn’t noticed was there. If you could drug him just a little, you would be able to get your power back, your control.

“I want the code. That’s it.”

“I want a kiss.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just one kiss. A nice, long one.”

Jonathan thought for a moment. His breath tickled your skin. Then, he leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut, and brushed his perfect, pink lips against yours. He was so easily manipulated, so eager. Even when he had all the power, he still fell for your little antic. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to kiss you.

While he was distracted, you swiftly took the syringe out and stabbed him with it, pushing half the liquid in. He pulled away and gasped, but then his eyes started drooping, and his movements became more wobbly, and he fell into your arms, disorientated and dizzy.

“Mm . . . what did you do?” he asked.

You grabbed his hair, making him wince in pain. “You know, I’ve been trying so hard to be patient, not rushing you, making you feel as safe as possible” You paused. “But sometimes people aren’t grateful for what they have. That’s okay, it happens. You just have to learn. I’ll be patient again, just for you.”

You laid him on his back and started unbuckling his pants belt. He tried to stop you, but his movements were too weak and groggy.

“Don’t — don’t,” he pleaded.

You stopped, but only for the time being. You lifted him up onto his feet and let him lean against you. His feet were dragging a little against the floor, but he managed to walk. He pulled himself away from you when you made it to the top of the stairs but stumbled. He just wasn’t strong enough. You unlocked the passcode.

You led him over to the bathroom on your first floor, where you opened the tub’s tap and let the water flow. Jonathan’s eyelids drooped slightly, but you could see — smell — the fear in them. He knew what you were going to do, and he was helpless to stop it.

Taking off the rest of his belt, you pulled his cock out. White, soft, a little big, but other than that it was perfect, just like every other part of him. You brushed your finger across it, watching the way it twitched in your hands. Unable to stop yourself, you leaned down and gave the head a small kiss, but that was the last bit of kindness Jonathan was going to receive today. In fact, receive for a long while.

You dipped your hand in the tub, which was steadily flowing with water, and gave his cock a hard squeeze, making him whimper in pain. “That’s the closest to lube you’ll get,” you said. “Now come on, don’t fight me. Dip your face in.”

Pushing his head down into the tub wasn’t much of a struggle, but Jonathan wasn’t making it easy. Your doll, your poor doll. He didn’t want to be hurt, but that was what had to happen. And it would keep happening until he finally admitted that he loved you.

When Jonathan’s nose touched the water, he groaned, his head dizzy. It was cold, but by the time he could even register the temperature, his entire head was in, held by your hand as your other stroked his cock. A few air bubbles came up, but you didn’t give in. You wanted him to struggle, you wanted him to be in pain. He was like a fragile mouse caught in a trap. Only you could let him go. Only you had the power to.

After a few more seconds, you lifted his head up, watching with glee as he gasped for air, coughing and sputtering when he could spare it.

“Aw, baby boy. You don’t like that very much, do you?”

He shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him. You just shoved him down into the tub again, feeling your body tingle. You swiped your finger over that little hole where you would soon force cum to shoot out of, and pressed down on it hard. Then, you found your way to his balls, slightly pulling at the small hairs there. Pinching and squeezing. His thighs shook, so you slapped them. They were another beautiful part of his body.

You continued pumping, up and down, steadily, then pulled him out. You could feel some pre-cum on your hands . . . even when you were torturing him he couldn’t control his biological reactions.

When he came up for the second time, he begged, “Please — I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . . Mercy, I can’t!”

His hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, and water was running down from his chin to his chest underneath the plain white shirt you had given him. His nipples were perked, probably from all the adrenaline, but you liked to think that it was because he was aroused.

“You can and you will,” you growled. “Take it. Take it!”

+++

When you were finished with him, you took him back down to the basement, his cock hanging limp through the zipper area of his pants, and tossed him to the floor. Noticing one of the books you gifted him on the ground, you picked it up and threw it at him. It hit his leg, and within seconds, he passed out.

You locked the door and left him like that for the next few days. No food, no water, no nothing. Through the camera you could see that he was barely moving. He only got up to use the toilet, but other than that, he was like a slug. It was on the third day that you decided to go down again and nourish him, otherwise he might die, and you didn't want that, not after all this hard work.

ii.

Jonathan Crane was respected throughout the city of Gotham, a known and reputable psychiatrist amongst others in his field, as well as connected with higher elites who often funded his projects, his small passions. Never did he think he would ever end up in someone’s basement, that too the basement of a beauty.

He had gotten into a car accident while pulling out of Akrham’s parking lot. It was a stupid mistake, not even his fault, really. The curb was so narrow and it was difficult to see past the line of trees whether another car was coming or not, and in his rush to get home, he went ahead without thinking and collided with a red Sedan.

No one was injured, but his car was beat up, and after getting it towed, he had to walk all the way to the nearest bus station (which was very far away, as the aslyum was rather secluded). It was cold, and he wasn’t dressed for this weather at all. He tried to take his mind off the temperature by looking at his watch, the tick-tick ticking, but when he finally got there, he found that the bus was not coming at all. It had been fifteen minutes, and nothing was there. The entire street was surprisingly empty for a city as busy as Gotham, with only the occasional patrol car driving past.

He was about ready to head to the subway — another long trek — when he saw someone else standing across the street. It was a woman, he could tell from the figure, but she was shrouded in darkness . . . Maybe she was waiting for the bus as well.

“Hey, excuse me, ma’am!” he shouted out, hoping not to startle her. He knew how women could get, all scared and skittish when they were alone. He understood. Crime rates were high, rape and theft were common. Even he was on his guard right now.

“Yes?” the woman answered hesitantly.

“Do you know when the bus will arrive?” Jonathan asked. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes — the sign said it would arrive at seven.”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m waiting for it as well. Do you mind if I cross?”

Jonathan hadn’t expected that, but agreed nonetheless. He found it a bit odd that she was waiting on the other side of the road, but figured that she might have only just arrived. When she crossed, the light of the street lamps hit her face and he was taken aback. She was awfully pretty — beautiful, in fact. She was looking at him with almost dazed eyes, a nervous expression upon her face. He couldn’t tell if she found him attractive, or if she was intimidated by him. Most people were.

They had a short conversation that eventually ended. Jonathan would head down to the subway station, and the woman had opted to call her friend to pick her up. He was a little disappointed. She seemed interesting, and there was no harm in continuing their conversation, but he was also tired and in no mood to convince her to come along with him.

He was about to leave when she asked him for his name. “Jonathan. Dr. Jonathan Crane,” he clarified.

“Jonathan,” she repeated. For a moment, he felt ill at ease. Maybe it was the reminder that he was in the middle of an empty street at night, or the way she looked at him as she repeated his name. He shook it off, he was just being silly.

The woman gave him her name — your name, a nice name. He didn’t know what it was about you, but for the rest of the day you were on his mind. It was enough to make him mention you in his journal, mention with a flow of compliments that ranged from beautiful to almost sinister.

+++

Jonathan had always had a bit of a problem when it came to people. As a child he was ostracized and bullied for his gangly body, and in his adulthood, he had always come off as too unnerving for others. It probably didn’t help that he was arrogant and assuming, too. When it came to lovers, he could get quite obsessive, a problem that broke most of his relationships. Apparently no one liked it when their boyfriends were possessive.

He’d had a few affairs before, but nothing ever serious. He could never find someone he liked enough to marry. On the surface, he semed like the kind of guy that was more interested in his work than anything romantic, but in the end he had been raised with typical values, and as much as he tried to shake it off, he really felt like his path in life was to work, marry, have children, and then die.

When he was a kid his grandmother, Keeny, stressed upon him the importance of finding a good Christian wife. She must be a virgin, submissive, good-natured, and so on. He was sure she had already picked someone from their small town for him, because she was oddly pushy towards this one Church girl who liked to have ribbons in her braids (that was all he really remembered of her). Jonathan wondered what his grandmother thought of him now. Despite all the bad memories associated with her, he still sent letters with money every once in a while. She responded sometimes, mostly with pleas for him to come back, but he never paid them any mind. He was done with her and Georgia.

In his mind, his ideal wife would be an intellectual just like him. Preferably smart, but not as smart as him, who was just as clingy as he was, who understood and could care for him, and who was perhaps a little more on the dominant side. He was always embarrassed with the fact that he liked dominant women, but wasn’t going to let that stop him from finding one, or at least, hoping one would find him.

“So, you’re opening yourself up to new relationships,” his therapist, Dr. Taylor Smith said, an encouraging smile on her face. Jonathan had been with her for years, and while they were strictly professional, Jonathan couldn’t help but be slightly attached to her. It was what happened when someone gave him even the slightest ounce of affection.

“I suppose so,” Jonathan responded, not knowing what else to say.

“If you’re ready for it, I think you should go out and start talking to people,” Smith suggested. “You have a lot of colleagues, you could start there.”

Jonathan frowned. “They’ve stopped asking me to lunches.”

“Because you decline all the time?”

“Probably.”

“Then why don’t you ask them first?”

Jonathan frowned again. “I’d rather not.”

Smith gave a knowing look. “And how do you suppose to meet people, then?”

Jonathan didn’t want to answer. He knew he was being silly, but he just didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. Eventually someone would come along and ask him out, right? He just had to wait a little . . . Perhaps he could loiter around some bookstores or near the lectures he attended so he could meet a woman who was like-minded.

“Look,” Smith said, intertwining her hands. “Before we meet again next week, I want you to have made an effort towards a relationship. Friendship would be a good start.”

“I have friends. Harleen is — fine,” Jonathan relented, after seeing the glare his therapist was giving. “I’ll do that. It’ll be my homework,” he joked, but on the inside he was thoroughly annoyed.

+++

Jonathan’s first idea was to go to a coffee shop. He had been starved for some caffeine and decided that instead of making one at home he could go out and get one. He parked his car in a nearby garage and walked over to a local shop. It had a long line of impatient-looking people, moody, too, at that.

He took his place in line, inhaling the sweet aroma of the atmosphere. A few people were working, typing away at their laptops, while others were with their friends or family or partners. He tried to look as casual as possible, sweeping his hair over his forehead every once in a while, but then he stopped, feeling stupid.

He felt like a kid back in highschool trying to get a girl’s attention. Everyone here was either already with someone or rushing to get out. It was a dumb idea. He’d just get his coffee and leave.

Maybe he could just ask his coworkers at the asylum. They were nice enough, and it would probably do good on his work relationships if he made an effort on them.

When he got to the counter he ordered a small latte and went on his way, but after turning the corner he bumped into someone. They were holding a cup of coffee — from the same cafe he just went to. The cap, which must not have been applied properly, fell to the ground, and all the hot, brown liquid splashed onto both him and . . . and . . . the lady from the bus station?

Jonathan hissed at the burning sensation, but restrained himself from letting out a small scream. A few people stopped and turned to look at them. A few of them in pity, others stifling their giggles, while one man offered to go get some napkins.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the woman — you — said, grabbing some napkins from the man and wiping your blouse off.

Jonathan glared.

“What is wrong with you?” he sneered, his face contorted in controlled disgust. “Are you stalking me?”

“What? I don’t — look, I’m really sorry, sir,” you fervently apologized, which made Jonathan feel a bit bad. “Here — some napkins — ”

“ — Don’t bother,” Jonathan said, looking down at his suit, though his tone was a bit softer.

There was a moment of silence. Jonathan admired your features for those few moments, and thought back to how he wrote about you in his journal. His cheeks flushed a light pink at the memory. Imagine what would happen if you found out . . .

“Aren’t you going to say sorry, too?”

Jonathan sighed, getting annoyed again. “I’m sorry,” but it was sarcastic.

“I want to hear a genuine apology,” you said, but before Jonathan could say anything, you continued, “That or . . . you buy me another cup of coffee and we go our separate ways.”

Jonathan was caught off guard, but he realized that it was the perfect opportunity to do what he came here for: make a friend. And she was so obviously flirting.

“Alright. But we’ll be quick. I have to change.”

You chuckled. “Okay, okay.”

You both walked back to the coffee shop, standing in line as you looked over the menu. Jonathan wondered what to say.

“It’s quite the coincidence, don’t you think?” he said, feeling sticky as his dress shirt stuck to his skin. “We meet at the bus station, then here . . .”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Jonathan couldn’t believe that you didn’t remember. “I introduced myself to you. Dr. Jonathan Crane. And you told me your name.”

You thought for a moment, eyes dazed for a few seconds, but when you looked back at him you shook your head. “I-I suppose you look familiar, but I don’t really remember . . . I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s alright.”

Eventually, you both got up to the front. You ordered another coffee and Jonathan paid with his card. This time, he made sure your lid was secured on properly. When he got out of the cafe for the second time that day, he felt disappointed that he had to leave you again.

At the bus station he had let you go, and was he about to do the same thing here? No. He would try, shoot his chance. If it didn't work, so what? He would get over it.

“I can walk you back to your car,” Jonathan offered, taking a sip of his coffee, which thankfully he didn’t drop when he bumped into you.

“I don’t want to bother you,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s all the way down the road.”

“I insist,” he said.

You smiled. It was such a sweet smile, Jonathan wished he could igraine the memory into his mind forever.

“What do you do for work?” he asked, trying to make light conversation.

“Real estate,” you responded. “You?”

“I’m a psychiatrist . . .”

He didn’t mention the fact that he worked at Arkham. It was infamous in Gotham, and not that great of a conversation starter. Jonathan didn’t want this to turn into an interview about what it’s like to work there, how the patients were, and so on.

When you and Jonathan reached your car, he felt that odd sense of dread again. He was near a closed-off area behind a shop. It was one of those places that had parking lots for behind a store, and was shaped almost like a square. The shop was closed, and there was only one car in the area — presumably yours.

“Sorry,” you apologized with a laugh after seeing the look on his face. “There was no parking nearby. I’m actually kind of glad you walked me . . . it’s a little scary all by myself.”

“It’s fine. I understand,” Jonathan said with a shrug, ignoring his instincts. He walked you to the car, and before he knew what was happening, he was knocked out.

+++

The chains clinked against the others in the link, the cuffs tugging against Jonathan Crane’s skin, pulled so hard it restricted the blood flow. It was only then he stopped, and let a defeated sigh escape his lips. His head leaned against the wall and his posture slumped. Since he woke up he had been trying to get out of this place — out of this basement, it looked to be. His thoughts flooded his head a million times, and it was impossible for him to produce a semblance of coherent thinking. He begged his brain to stop working, to just be quiet for a moment so he could control his emotions and focus, but it wouldn’t. It left him tired and confused and scared.

What happened to me?

Why am I here?

Was that woman responsible for this? Did she kidnap me? Oh god, she kidnapped me.

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

People are going to notice I’m missing. The police will come for me, I’ll be fine.

No they won’t. It’s Gotham, no one will do anything about it.

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. Stop it. Stop thinking.

After a while, he got his thoughts to quiet, but before he could be rational, the padlock clicked and the door opened. He backed into a corner — well, as far as his binding would let him, and his suspicions were confirmed.

It was you. You were his captor. His doom.

You placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. Cinnamon and honey filled the air. It had little pieces of apple cut up, and even some chocolate chips on the side. It was absolutely heavenly, and Jonathan could feel his mouth water at just the sight of it. He restrained himself, however. He was not that hungry, at least not yet, and he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t poisioned.

“I’m not eating that.”

Frowning, you bent down to his level. “It's not poisoned, you know that.”

Jonathan did know that. He was smart enough to realize that a person wouldn’t go through all the effort of bringing him here, only to poison him.

“Are you in love with me?” he asked next.

“Why do you ask?” you said instead. Avoiding the question.

“You may not be in love with me now, but you will be soon.”

Was it wrong that for a moment Jonathan felt nice? In all his life, he never had someone care for him, but here, someone had gone through the effort of kidnapping him just to be with him. He felt stupid for thinking like that. This wasn’t some story, it was reality, and in reality, you didn’t actually love him. You were obsessed. Obsessed . . . Was he that incapable of being loved that people had to either hate him or obsess over him like an object? Was there no in-between?

There were a few more words exchanged. You brushed your fingers against his skin, and though he pulled away, he couldn’t deny the affection rising within him. No one had ever touched him this gently before, this kindly.

You left, leaving Jonathan alone in the cold, dark room. After a few moments of hesitation, he reached for the bowl, and began eating.

+++

A few weeks had passed by. Jonathan couldn’t tell if the weather outside had begun to turn warm, or if it was still as cold as the last time he saw it. He never knew what time it was unless you came down with food, and even then, he was probably a couple of hours off. As he spent time in that basement, searching for a way out, he felt a sense of desperate hopelessness creep onto him. Would he ever make it out alive?

He couldn’t believe that he was even in this situation. After insulting you and calling you names, he resorted to fervent begging, but even that wasn’t enough to make you let him go. In your delusion you had made his life a misery. He couldn’t keep living in your basement like some sort of pet, forced to bathe in front of you and constantly monitored by cameras.

Maybe Jonathan would have liked you better if you actually gave him a nice room to sleep in. Or if you made something other than acai bowls and fruit smoothies all the time.

He could see it in your eyes that you truly believed you loved him, and it made him feel scared. While he overviewed cases like this and met people with the same mentality to kidnap and stalk, he still didn’t know what to do. In a part of his brain, he thought that maybe you weren’t so bad and that you could have been torturing him right now, but instead was being kind and thoughtful.

You tried to apply cream to his bruised wrists, and you didn’t even scold him for trying to get out of the handcuffs. He made it a difficult process, but it was because he was afraid. He had never been touched like that before. You were making him feel all sorts of things — anger, confusion, fear.

It didn’t help when you brought down a present for him. A book on chemistry, and another on psychology. It was wrapped in a box, which was wrapped in a light-blue color. Why were you so sweet? In all his years, he had never gotten a present as meaningful as this. His heart had wrenched uncomfortably, and he had to remind himself who you were, what type of person you were.

Maybe if he used this book to hit you over the head with, it would knock you out and he could escape. He could use it to break the chains, too. They were hardcover, and th

———

(I stopped writing here.)

The rest of this section was just going to be through Jonathan’s perspective.

iii.

You opened the door hesitantly, a wave of guilt flooding your body. Jonathan lay there on the floor, beaten and bruised, shivering in a corner even though he had a blanket around him. He didn’t smell good, but you expected it to be worse, so you took it as a sign that things could still be salvaged.

———

(I stopped writing here).

Jonathan is passed out, barely able to move. For the next few days, you nurse him back to health. You clean him, feed him, and give him better clothing. He doesn’t fight back. Slowly, he starts to accept his new environment and you upgrade him to a guest bedroom, but you still lock the doors and windows so he can’t escape.

The police officer comes back to flirt. You’re annoyed, but you know you need him for info. The police officer starts to get suspicious, and out of fear he’ll do something, you murder him. The murder is sort of the climax of the story.

After that whole ordeal, Jonathan has been completely conditioned by you, but the ending is open-ended. “The Doll’s Burial” is meant to represent a burial of his true self, replaced by a version you created, or, his actual death. It depends on you — do you get bored of him, is it truly an obsession? Or do you truly love him, and are willing to spend your whole life as his wife?

Tagging in case ya'll are still interested: @shroombloom-rry @madnessandobsession @henrywintersdearestgirl @hllywdwhre @your-nanas-house @ellebelleshelby @Meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008

@nela-cutie

@slut4thebroken

@wild-rose-35

@madeinuk

@flwrs4aust

@httpxgray

#Jonathan Crane #Jonathan Crane x reader #Jonathan Crane x y/n #Jonathan Crane x you #the dark knight trilogy #fanfiction #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x y/n #scarecrow x you #cillian murphy #pinguwrites

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1arkspur-aconitum · 2 days

Text

DISRUPTIVE (s.r.)

IN WHICH: Juniper Bishop sneaks into the back of one of Spencer’s lectures and pretends to be a student, nearly getting both of them in serious trouble.

PAIRING: Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: fluff, fade-to-black smut

CONTENT: established relationship, relentless teasing, hints at smut towards the end, similarly genius character, first person so no use of y/n, 13x16 vibes

WORD COUNT: 10k…

‘—YOU CAN STAY IN BED, you know. I won’t be long.’

The bed sheets are cool across my bare skin, but Spencer’s body is warm. Dazed by sleep, I opt for warmth. Going purely by the sound of his voice, I latch my arms around his shoulders and try to haul him back into the pillowy softness of our bed. Strands of his hair tickle my arms but my attempt spectacularly fails. Whilst my boyfriend does topple a little bit, he also succeeds in sticking a hand out to support himself.

‘June—seriously, darling, I have to go now.’ Spencer chuckles, an exhalation of breath against the shell of my ear. I moan sleepily. Pressing myself to him as best I can, I force my eyes to blink open.

Spencer is kneeling over me and I’m surprised to see that he is not naked—in fact, Spencer Reid has already put his suit trousers on, his favourite white shirt, and his lenses. His face splits into a wide grin when he sees my brow furrow, taking in the unexpected appearance. It’s our day off. Normally we spend our day off nude and lounging around the house. In fact, I’m insulted that he isn’t.

‘What are you doing?’ I grumble, pushing a few stray strands of his hair out of his face as he gazes down at me. The sheets separating us bother me. ‘Why aren’t you naked?’

This earns me a laugh. ‘I told you last night, I have to go to the Academy, I have a lecture.’

Oh, yeah. That’s right. I have a vague Morpheus-marred memory of Spencer mentioning something about being asked to lecture whilst I dozed on the sofa to some documentary about bugs, but I’m pretty sure I chose to not listen. Alas, my tactic of hiding from reality has never been very effective. Especially when it comes to Spencer Reid, the man who remembers literally everything.

I pout, idly scratching my nails across his skull. Spencer’s eyes flutter shut briefly, head leaning into the palms of my hands. Perhaps if I do this enough he will fall back asleep and our day of naked relaxation can continue on as planned. Spencer hums deeply, the sound reverberating through the peaceful quiet of our bedroom. The blinds are still drawn, but the dusty sun slips its fingers around the edge of it, casting sharp lines of light across the duvet.

‘Juniper.’ Spencer says, with a slight moan as he pulls his head back. My hands drop from his hair. He chuckles down at me, big brown eyes impossibly soft. ‘Seriously. The lecture starts in an hour and I have to prepare.’

‘Do you have to go?’ I say, with as much whine as I can muster. He does have to go, it’s not like the lecture will teach itself, but a girl can dream. In an ideal world, Spencer would have already gotten a call from the head of his department to say that he can spend the day with his girlfriend, but he wouldn’t have already gotten nearly fully dressed.

‘Yes, darling,’ Spencer leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. His lips are soft, warm, but the kiss is way too short. ‘I do. I won’t be long, okay? If you roll over now, you’ll probably still be asleep by the time I get back.’

‘You know I don’t like sleeping without you.’ I complain, still pouting, but resigning myself to my terrible fate. Spencer sighs but he’s still smiling. He always does this–pretends to get annoyed with my morning antics, but really, he loves it. Why else would he have woken me up in the first place?

‘I know.’ He kisses my forehead again. ‘I’ll be back before you know it. I love you.’

Spencer goes to move away, off of the bed, but a groan pulls him back. I proffer him my chin, and he swiftly presses a kiss against my lips. It, like the forehead kiss, is way too short. My boyfriend clambers off of the bed and heads towards the wardrobe. Sleepily rolling onto my side, I watch him don his favourite sweater vest and brown blazer through half-open eyes. It doesn’t take him long at all. The only sounds are the soft exhalation of my breathing and the rustle of his clothes.

When he’s dressed and ready, he briefly returns to the side of the bed–his hand is warm across my hair, lips gracing across my cheekbone–before the bedroom door clicks shut. The sounds of him pouring himself a coffee are far off, as if through water. With a sigh, I roll over and bury my face into the pillow that still smells like him.

The front door closes (and locks) barely five minutes later. I am suddenly left in the suffocating quiet of the dark bedroom, wrapped in cold sheets that are incomparable to my lover’s arms, and I feel bereft. This was not how I had planned to spend this morning.

I swear, I do my best to try and fall back asleep. I toss and turn to get myself comfortable. Take deep, steady, box-breaths. Tense my muscles and relax them one by one. Fuck, I even count a varying array of barnyard animals–sheep, cows, donkeys–but none of them help. Unfortunately, it seems as if I am well and truly awake. Awake and bored as hell.

When I look at the clock, only fifteen minutes have passed since Spencer left.

‘Fucking stupid lectures.’ I plaster a frown onto my face as I clamber out of bed, letting my bare feet sink into the soft carpet. The room is freezing so I grab one of Spencer’s discarded Cal-Tech shirts. The cotton slips over my bare skin. ‘Stupid. Why today?’

I pad into the living room to make myself a coffee. Whilst I’m awake, I may as well caffeinate myself. Spencer has left out my favourite mug already for me–the bright yellow Kiss the Librarian mug I’ve had for years–and the coffee pot has been topped up. As always. Pouring myself a steaming cup, I start to meander around our living space.

Evidence of our Chinese takeaway litter the coffee table. The cardboard boxes are partially open, chopsticks protruding from mine, Spencer’s neatly closed. All of the spring rolls were demolished last night, but the tub with my veggie chow mein has mysteriously vanished–probably into the fridge. The sofa is a mess of blankets, Spencer’s plaid shirt tossed casually over the arm. A stack of books teeters precariously on the side table. Spencer insists on having a grace period between stack and shelf, though I think it’s so he can look at his purchases before filing them away.

I really had tried to stay awake last night but David Attenborough always lulls me into some strange stupor. Somehow Spencer managed to keep himself alert throughout the entire documentary, occasionally nudging me when something interesting came up. His near-insatiable desire to learn has always been voracious, even when it’s about the mating habits of dung-beetles. It’s the reason why I love him so much. He has such passion it’s hard not to be passionate with him.

As I finish the dregs of my coffee, my eye finds its way to the clock. An idea enters my mind.

Safe to say, I wouldn’t be bored any more…

The FBI Academy is barely a ten minute drive on Maple, her engine rumbling securely underneath me. Considering the Academy (and most of Quantico) is deep within Lunga Park, I only have to zip through the main traffic in the centre of town before the wide, open road through the forest opens up for me. Maple rips through the air, my body hunched over her fuel tank. There is nothing more freeing than opening up that throttle. God, I need to bike more.

I arrive at the Academy car park with about five minutes to spare, hurriedly shrugging out of my leather riding suit. The cool morning air nips at my exposed skin as I struggle with the stubborn zipper, drawing curious glances from a few passing students. Their eyes linger on my battle with the brown material, but I don’t have time for explanations or small talk. Not when time is ticking.

Yanking my bag out of Maple’s panniers, I swiftly shove the suit and helmet back in its place, double checking that everything is secure. Taking a deep, steady breath, I begin to jog gently after the students. My FBI badge allows me access to the Academy and before long, I am navigating familiar hallways. Muscle memory truly is a spectacular thing–it’s been years since I’ve been in this part of the Academy, and yet I know exactly where to go.

My heart races with a mixture of anticipation and nervous energy the closer I get to the lecture hall. Each measured step brings a soft tap of my pleated skirt against my bare thighs, a rhythmic counterbalance to the quickness of my breathing. Spencer’s favourite green sweater, hastily tucked into the hem of my skirt, provides a comforting familiarity. It smells like his cologne. I’ve yanked the collar of my shirt out over the crewneck of the jumper, adding a touch of polish to my hastily (yet calculatedly) crafted outfit. Paired with my favourite brown boots and a messy ponytail, I’m pretty confident I will blend seamlessly with the rest of the students. A mischievous smile finds its way to my lips as I imagine Spencer’s reaction.

Hopefully he won’t spot me right away and ruin my fun.

I slow down when I reach the right corridor, keeping an eye on the brass numbers hammered into the doors. Stopping outside the correct one, I can hear my pulse thumping through my ears. I take a deep breath. I take a moment to compose myself before peeking through the small glass window in the door. The room is already filled with students arranged on tiered seating. Their attention is focused downwards, to a raised platform at the front of the room. There, commanding the space, is Spencer.

His back is to the door as he scribbles notes on the whiteboard. As usual, his handwriting is near illegible, a messy mixture of capitals and lower cases. For a genius, you’d think he would care more about the grammatical errors, but I suppose even perfect people have to have flaws. From the flow of his words and the attentive posture of 95% of the students, it’s clear that the lecture is already in full swing.

Balls. I am later than I’d hoped.

Steeling myself, I grasp the door handle, easing it open with painstaking care. As quietly as physically possible, I slip through the narrow opening, my movements slow and deliberate. The click of the door closing is thankfully masked by Spencer’s voice. It fills the room with an authority I have learnt to love and a passion I have always adored. He’s deep in a discussion about the differences between a stressor and a trigger, his words punctuated by the occasional squeak of his whiteboard pen.

Within seconds of being inside the room, I have identified the perfect inconspicuous spot. There, in the furthest corner of the back row, a seat is mostly marred by shadows. With a stealth only possible after years of field experience, I make my way to the seat, settling as quietly as possible. Spencer has yet to turn around. Mission successful.

Crossing my legs, I let my bag settle at my feet, leaning forwards to observe my brilliant boyfriend in his element. A warmth blooms in my chest as I listen to him talk so passionately about the topic, a mixture of pride, adoration, and just a hint of mischievous anticipation for the moment he finally clocks me.

I reach into my bag just as he turns around. My heart stutters against my ribcage.

I freeze, hoping the shadows will be enough to hide me. Spencer, however, barely breaks stride in his lecture. He scans the room once, methodically sweeping over his enraptured audience. I hold my breath as his gaze passes near my hiding spot, but to my relief, he doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Spencer continues pacing, circling around the edge of his desk as he continues his impassioned speech. His hands move as animatedly as ever, punctuating key points with a flourish, with gestures that draw everyone’s attention.

That familiar small smile–the one I have affectionately dubbed the ‘I’m being a nerd’ smile–plays out on the corners of his lips, a testament to how much he enjoys teaching. It’s wonderful to see him smile. Ever since he left the prison, it’s been harder to coax it out of him.

As the fear of being spotted abates, I allow myself to relax. As quietly as possible, I rummage around in my bag, searching for a specific thing. With a triumphant–yet silent–‘aha’, I retrieve my favourite treat. A cherry flavoured lollipop about the size of a tin of Vaseline. I nearly always have one in my bag for emergencies.

Unwrapping it carefully to avoid any telltale crinkling sounds, I pop the lollipop into my mouth. The burst of artificial cherry flavour makes me salivate. A wave of childish glee washes over me as I continue to suck on the lollipop, watching Spencer pace back and forth. I wonder if he can hear the faint pop as I roll the treat around my mouth. The sticky sweetness is a stark contrast to the sterile lecture hall air. It’s a small, miniscule act of rebellion. A secret pleasure I am indulging in right under his nose. The longer Spencer remains oblivious to me, the more the thrill increases. I am playing a game with him and for now, I am winning.

Spencer is currently gesticulating about the psychological impacts of prolonged stress on an Unsub’s decision-making process, which is actually very interesting. He’s so engrossed in it that it’s hard not to pay attention to him. There is something about Spencer actually lecturing that is really hot. It might be the authority and power he holds over the room, or the endearing way he tries to keep everyone engaged, or it might simply be that the collar of his shirt is undone and I can see the smooth planes of his throat. Either way, I can’t drag my eyes off of him.

It is only when he poses a question to the whole class that I remember this lecture is not for my benefit alone.

Spencer’s question about undue stress and sleep patterns hangs in the air and I find myself already formulating an answer. My fingers itch to be raised, but I catch myself. I’m not supposed to be a participant; I’m meant to be invisible. Suppressing a chuckle, I sink further into my uncomfortable lecture seat, savouring the sweet irony of my predicament–and the sweetness of my lollipop.

A few hands shoot up amongst the congregation before me, one of them even vibrating with excitement, but Spencer’s gaze sweeps over them. There’s a familiar hint of amusement in his eye, the one that I always see before he tackles me to the bed. The look that tells me he knows he’s in control of the situation. He’s scouring the faces carefully, starting at the front row and skipping over those who already have their hands up.

When Dr. Spencer Reid finally spots me, his entire demeanour shifts. His usually water-fluid movements come to an abrupt halt, as if someone has just paused a lecture video or stalled a car. Those warm, intelligent brown eyes of his lock onto mine, widening slightly as recognition ploughs into him. His eyebrows lift in a momentary micro-expression of surprise, a tell-tale sign that I have genuinely caught him off guard.

Mission complete.

His beautiful mouth parts and I catch a glimpse of teeth, the hint of a surprised intake of breath. The corners of his lips twitch, fighting between maintaining his professional composure and breaking into a smile. I cannot help but grin back, lollipop nestled in my cheek. My heart continues to beat a dangerous rhythm against my ribcage as I wait to see what he does, how he recovers. The air between us crackles with unspoken words, a silent exchange that speaks volumes in the midst of a crowded lecture hall.

For a brief moment, time seems to stand still. The rest of the room fades away, leaving just me and my boyfriend, caught in this unexpected moment of connection. I can almost hear the gears turning in that beautiful mind of his, no doubt already formulating theories as to why I am there. He correctly assumes that because I didn’t interrupt the lecture, it is not for official business.

Then, it’s over.

Spencer looks away. Turns to someone with their hand up and continues on with his lecture. As if I wasn’t even there. If it wasn’t for the frequent amused glances he sends up my way, I would think he was upset that I crashed his lecture.

The lecture continues, heading towards it’s close, and I find myself increasingly engrossed. Not just in Spencer’s words, but in the subtle dance of our secret interactions. Every time he looks at me, my skin heats, as if I’m seventeen and in love again. I cannot help but wonder what will happen when he finishes the lecture, and how he plans to address it. If he scolds me, or tells me he wants me to come to all of his lectures. Admittedly, both sound appealing.

It’s clear this game of cat and mouse is affecting him too–the way he subtly shifts his weight towards me, lingering more on my side of the lecture theatre than the other, the slight tremor in his voice as he continues to ask questions to the students. It’s as if he’s trying to reconcile the professor with the loving boyfriend, and the conflict is absolutely adorable.

As the lecture reaches a natural stopping point, I find myself leaning forward. The lollipop is significantly smaller on the pit of my tongue, but no less flavourful. There’s something about the way Spencer presents his desire to share knowledge that is incredibly alluring. I can’t help but feel a certain smugness that I am the one who gets to see him like this every single day, get to see him at his most vulnerable. His most authentic.

‘You’re probably gonna want to write this down,’ Spencer announces, gesturing towards someone in the mid rows. When he continues to talk, he slips his hands into his pockets in a movement that really shouldn’t be sexy, but totally is. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you guys this, but I’m definitely putting this on the final.’

‘I’m…I’m only auditing this class.’ A young female voice snaps me out of daydreaming about Spencer’s hands, and I shift in my seat to get a better look. Admittedly, I can only see the back of her head, but her long brown hair is pretty. She tucks it behind her ear as she ducks her head to Spencer. I can practically hear the broad smile on her face.

Spencer frowns slightly. ‘Is anyone else auditing this class?’

To my absolute glee, approximately fifteen more hands shoot up in response to Spencer’s question. As I scan the room, I notice a striking pattern–all of these raised hands belong to young women. The realisation hits me like a wave of mirth, and I have to clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. Most of these ‘auditing’ students don’t even have the pretence of a notebook in front of them for notes. One particularly enraptured girl has her chin propped on her hand, her eyes fixed on Spencer with a vacant, faraway look that speaks volumes.

You don’t have to be a profiler to realise that these young women are not here for the intricacies of criminal psychology, nor the nuances of prolonged stress. No, their motivations are far more…aesthetic in nature. They–like me, I suppose–are here to bask in the presence of Dr. Spencer Reid, to drink in his every word and movement like fine wine. It is a testament to Spencer’s obliviousness to his own appeal that he doesn’t seem to grasp the situation.

He has his adorably confused expression as he surveys the room, a clear indicator that he has no idea the effect a handsome lecturer can have on students.

I force myself to continue sucking on my lollipop to stop the laughter. This is absurd. My brilliant, gorgeous, genius of a boyfriend is completely oblivious to the small fan club he has inadvertently created. These girls are fawning over him. Pride shoots through me, quickly chased by unwarranted jealousy. Yes, I will be the first person to say that Spencer is one of the most attractive people I have ever laid eyes on, but these girls only see that. They have no idea the depths of his intellect, his kindness, the small quirks that make him Spencer. They’re captivated by the surface, whilst I have the luck and privilege of knowing (and loving) him as a whole.

‘Okay.’ Spencer says, obviously disarmed, and quickly checks his watch. ‘Unfortunately, that is all the time we have for today. Thank you, guys.’

The class erupts into a chorus of disappointed groans, a few of the girls even going so far as to plead with Spencer for more time. It’s almost comical how they hang onto his every word, as if he were some kind of famous rock star rather than FBI profiler. The smile I have had on my face since the auditing question only grows–I can’t blame them, I mean, I was no better when I first met him. Spencer has that effect on people.

Students begin to file out of the lecture hall. I slowly clamber to my feet, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and twisting my lollipop. It clacks against my teeth. I watch, amused, as the girls who raised their hand start to form a vague queue to his desk. Spencer has been surrounded. When it becomes evident that they’re not going to disperse any time soon, I make my way down the tiered seating to join them.

I become a silent observer in the sea of admirers, the girls as jittery and nervous as I am. When I reach the edge of the group, I tuck myself in amongst them, remembering how it felt to be at college and drunk on the idea of impossible love. With my head ducked down, I angle an ear to listen.

‘Dr. Reid, your lecture was amazing,’ one of the girls gushes, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. She’s on the raised platform with a couple of cronies, dressed in some very short shorts and a jacket. ‘I don’t think I have ever been so captivated by a topic before.’

Spencer chuckles, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you found it interesting.’

‘Interesting?’ Another girl chimes in, her eyes fixed on Spencer with an intensity that borders on predatory. ‘It was more than interesting–in fact, some might call it inspiring.’

I bite back a laugh, the lollipop nearly falling from my mouth. These girls are laying it on thick and my poor Spencer seems utterly bewildered by the attention. He spares a brief glance back up to where I was sitting and I’m slightly pleased to see a glimmer of disappointment in his eye.

‘Do you think that’s a new suit?’ Someone whispers near me, and I turn to look.

‘I don’t think we’ve seen the blazer before.’ It’s a pair of girls, huddled together a bit further away from the dias. One has hair of white blonde, falling in sheets around her face. She’s all wide angles and broad lines, and is absolutely gorgeous. She’s clutching the arm of a smaller girl with frizzy brown hair and purple glasses, more diminutive but no less attractive. ‘Ugh, it suits him though, doesn’t it?’

‘I think anything suits him.’ Purple Glasses gushes back, angling her head at my boyfriend. I can’t deny the thrill of hearing these girls fawn over my boyfriend. It’s a validation of my own feelings, a reminder of just how lucky I am that Spencer Reid was in my bed barely three hours earlier. ‘I mean, look at him.’

‘I know,’ I say, matching their tone and sidling up a little closer. I make sure to keep my eyes wide and mimic their adoring expressions. They glance at me. Look me up and down. I feel as if I am lining up for the firing squad. Thankfully it doesn’t take them long before they relax again. I have been deemed just another student. ‘Isn’t he dreamy?’

‘He’s by far the sexiest of all the lecturers.’ Blondie opens her body language to me, accepts me into their circle. I can feel Spencer’s eyes boring into my head, but from the sounds of it, he is still being inundated with questions from the girls. ‘No wonder so many people are auditing.’

Purple Glasses nods enthusiastically.

‘I just love his hands.’ I purr, twisting my lollipop in my mouth. The other two send me ‘omg tell me about it’ expressions, so I do. ‘The veins, the fingers. It’s almost so distracting I can’t focus.’

‘I know. He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, so we don’t think he’s married.’ Purple Glasses ducks her head towards me and I glance over at Spencer. He sends a glare in my direction, but I simply brush it aside. Hard luck.

‘I think you’re right,’ I murmur, the three of us conspirators. We share a knowing look, revelling in our shared secret. Part of me feels guilty, but most of me is having way too much fun to stop. ‘I’m gonna keep auditing this class if he keeps looking so damn good.’

‘I’m totally with you on that one.’ Purple Glasses gushes.

Spencer has managed to deflect some of the girls, a few of them giggling as they head towards the exit, but he has been surrounded by some more. It’s as if they wait in packs to ask him questions, and from the few snippets that I catch, hardly any of them are even related to the topic at hand. He feels me looking and sends a glare in our direction. In the few seconds that our eyes lock, I quirk a mischievous eyebrow.

‘Oh my God, I think he’s looking at you.’ Blondie hisses, grabbing onto my arm and hiding behind me. I do my best not to laugh, pressing my lips together into a firm line around the stick of my sweet.

‘Do you think he heard us?’ Purple Glasses whispers with wide, fearful eyes. I manage to not roll my eyes–Spencer is hyper tuned into me right now, there’s no way he can’t make an educated guess as to what we’re talking about.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, trying to keep the amusement from my voice and failing. I risk a glance at Spencer and am rewarded with a pointed glare. Apparently he’s not a massive fan of me pretending to be a student. ‘He probably thinks we’re being weird.’

‘We are being weird.’ Blondie replies, but there is no malice in her voice. In fact, she gives my arm a reassuring squeeze and a smile.

‘I don’t care.’ Purple Glasses shrugs. ‘He’s hot.’

‘So hot.’

It is at this exact moment that Spencer, evidently reaching the limits of his patience, decides that he has had enough. With a deliberate and resounding clearing of his throat that startles me and causes the flock of girls to scatter a little, he strategically manoeuvres himself. By putting the desk between himself and the persistent gaggle of admirers, Spencer creates a physical barrier that subtly but effectively identifies his need for space. His body language shifts, and when he speaks next, he addresses the group as a whole.

‘I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to answer any more questions at this time,’ he announces, tone firm but not unkind. His words are met with a chorus of disappointed groans from those still eagerly awaiting their turn. Spencer’s gaze sweeps across the group, making eye contact with each student in turn, though I notice he pointedly avoids mine. ‘I’m going to have to ask you all to leave. I have work to do.’

The girls grumble amongst themselves, their disappointment as malleable as putty in the air. Amidst their reluctant shuffling, I dramatically clap a hand to my chest, a silent question for Spencer and Spencer alone. His ocher eyes meet mine. His expression is inscrutable but somehow speaks volumes. You don’t have to be a genius to work out what I am trying to say: do you want me to leave too?

His response, when it comes, is succinct and leaves very little to communication.

‘Not. You.’ He enunciates each word with the utmost care. When the girls look to see who he is talking to, there is no doubt. Spencer’s eyes do not stray from mine, effectively singling me out from the departing crowd.

‘Oh my God.’ Blondie whispers in my ear. Her voice is a trembling combination of excitement and disbelief as the rest of the girls start to file out. I do not miss the dirty glares a few of them send my way. Blondie’s fingers dig into my skin, her wide eyes flickering between me and Spencer. ‘Oh my God. I am so jealous.’

‘Good luck.’ Purple Glasses says as she walks past me, her face a visage of awe and envy. ‘He’s never asked someone to stay behind like that before.’

‘Count me the lucky one.’ I breathe, barely sparing them a glance—I only look back once to find Blondie giving me one last lingering look before she follows Purple Glasses. Another small pang of guilt spears through me for deceiving these girls, but the thrill of this little game has far outweighed any remorse I might have.

The door closes and it is finally just me and Spencer.

‘You are supposed to be in bed.’ Spencer breaks the silence, stepping around his desk and approaching the edge of the dais. I have to tilt my head back to look at him, but there’s no hiding the shit-eating grin I flash his way. I flutter my lashes like a schoolgirl and he fights back a smile. My boyfriend doesn’t seem that upset at me, which I will take as a win.

‘But, Dr. Reid, how could I miss your lecture? I need it for my college credit, you know.’ I tease, unable to stop myself. ‘It truly was inspiring, as some might say.’

I take his offered hand and Spencer helps me up onto the platform. He looks amused as he ghosts a kiss to the back of my knuckles.

‘You already have a degree—several, in fact.’ He reminds me, clearly attempting to sound exasperated and failing spectacularly.

‘So? Perhaps I felt like auditing.’ I pull away from him and sidle over to his desk. Leaning back against the oak, I make no attempt to hide how much I am relishing every moment. ‘Seems like a lot of people—I’m sorry, girls—had the same idea.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair and taking a step after me. His eyes trail down my outfit, to where the little pleated skirt has hitched itself around my arse. Spencer swallows.

‘I was bored.’ I shrug, crossing my legs at the ankles. Spencer’s eye dips lower. My grin widens. The lollipop is nearly finished so I crunch it between my teeth loudly. His eyes narrow playfully, now focused on where the stick twists between my pursed lips.

‘Bored?’ He repeats, raising an eyebrow and taking another step towards me. Spencer’s broad frame starts to dominate my view. ‘So you decided to crash my lecture, dressed like that, and pretend to be a student?’

‘Hey, at least I can still pass for early twenties.’

‘June.’

‘What can I say?’ I laugh, reaching out a free hand to thumb the lapel of his jacket. Tilting my head to the side, I allow myself free reign to check him out. He’s all fine lines and a firm frown, sharp angles that compliment each other so well. I could look at Spencer Reid all day and not get bored. The students are right—he is delicious. ‘I wanted to see you in action.’

‘You didn’t have to pretend for that.’ Spencer closes the distance between us, one of his hands brushing naughtily up my bare thigh.

‘In my defence, I didn’t come here with the intention of being a student.’ I grip his wrist and yank it away from where his fingers are now idly playing with the hem of my skirt. Spencer quirks an eyebrow. It’s rare for me to stop such an intimate touch. ‘It just kind of…happened.’

‘Mmhmm.’ He doesn’t believe me in the slightest.

‘Oh, come on, Spence.’ I straighten the collar of his shirt, still looking up at him from under my lashes. My fingers brush the column of his throat. ‘How could I resist? They were all fawning over you, I wanted to do that too.’

‘They weren’t fawning—’

‘Oh, Dr. Reid, please keep talking, I don’t think I’ve ever been so captivated,’ I pitch my voice up, making it soft and breathy, and he narrows his eyes again. ‘Oh, please, Dr. Reid, give me extra credit, I’d love to help you with your research.’

‘Juniper.’

‘Don’t ‘Juniper’ me.’ I grin, standing up so our chests are pressed together. Spencer peers down at me, wetting his lips with his tongue. He leans in. Before our lips meet, I dance away, putting the desk between us. Spencer scoffs in annoyance. ‘You can’t seriously tell me you don’t realise how fucking sexy you are when you’re being a nerd?’

‘I’m not a nerd.’

‘Yes you are, Spencer, we’ve covered this topic before.’

‘I’m teaching, it’s different.’

‘No, it’s not—you’re still a nerd, you’re just being paid for it.’ I lean against the desk, hands splayed wide. ‘Besides, I never said it was a bad thing. I love it when you’re a nerd—didn’t you hear what I said?’

‘They could have been interested in criminal psychology, you know.’ Spencer mirrors my movement, leaning on the opposite side of the desk. I can feel his warmth from here.

‘Only if criminal psychology is being taught by you.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Spencer insists, shaking his head. It makes his curls bounce.

‘Oh, come on, you remember what it was like to have a crush on a lecturer—fuck, I mean, I practically dominated Dr. Traver’s office hours when I was doing my PhD.’

‘I was fourteen in college.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ I put on my best innocent smile. ‘Well, then, what about your first crush? The rush of feelings, the ‘oh my god she looked at me!’ thing? The ‘oh, did she just touch me and if she did, did she mean it?’ thing?’

Spencer opens his mouth to reply, but pauses. His eyes glimmer with amusement. He straightens up, pushing his hands into his pocket, and angles his head. I feel as if I am a piece of artwork on a wall and Spencer is trying to decide if he likes me or not. My confidence wanes just a smidge. I push my shoulders back and try to bring the armour back over me, folding my arms across my chest.

‘I remember.’ Is all he offers, inclining his head. ‘I was like that with you.’

I’m touched. I bite my lip to stop my smile getting too wide. ‘You’re sweet. But you see what I mean, right?’

‘Alright, yes, fine.’ Spencer relents, rolling his eyes. He reaches out a hand and I move around the desk, a magnet pulled towards another. ‘Maybe they don’t have as much of an interest in the subject matter as I would hope.’

‘I mean, I can’t blame them.’ I let him take my hand, let him pull me closer to him. Spencer chuckles softly, hooking an arm around my waist and tucking me perfectly into the space between him and the desk. I slide my hands up underneath his blazer. ‘You really are the hottest lecturer I’ve seen.’

‘If this was a research study, you’d have an undeniable bias.’ Spencer pushes some of my hair away from my face, cold fingers trailing down the back of my neck. I shiver. He smirks.

‘So…’ I murmur into the small space between us. ‘Are you going to invite me to all of your lectures now? Or will I have to do this again?’

‘Don’t push your luck.’ Spencer retorts, voice firmer than it was before. ‘This could have gotten me into serious trouble.’

‘What?’ I recoil, frowning up at him. The idea that my (seemingly) harmless fun might cause Spencer a reprimand jars through me. There’s no way that this could cause him to not lecture any more, is there? It’s not like I’m not allowed to go see him teach, I’m part of the FBI for crying out loud.

‘Pretending to be a student? What if someone found out?’ Spencer laughs, using his hold on the nape of my neck to pull me back towards him.

‘You’re just being mean now.’

‘I suppose I’ll just have to keep a closer eye on you.’ Spencer teases me, using his thumb on the hinge of my jaw to angle my face up to him. My traitorous cheeks heat. He is so close he could kiss me at any second. ‘I will admit, seeing you in this little skirt was…quite distracting.’

‘Then it did its job.’ I breathe, wrapping my arms around his neck. My fingers curl in the long hairs I find there. I let a wicked grin spread across my face. ‘Who knew Dr Reid had such a thing for his students.’

‘Juniper.’ Spencer scolds, barking out a stunned laugh as he does so. ‘You can’t say things like that.’

‘I’m a profiler, Spencer, and some might argue a genius when I’m not standing next to you.’ I raise an eyebrow. Spencer purses his lips. He goes to protest but I keep talking. ‘I know how to read your brain. It’s not hard to see you’re hot for school girls.’

‘You are incorrigible.’ His grip on the back of my neck tightens, voice dropping to a husky, deep timbre that ripples through me.

‘And you are not denying it.’

‘Shush.’ Spencer scolds me, dropping a hand from the back of my neck and letting it rest on my hip. Fingers brush the pleats of my skirt. That also wasn’t a denying statement, and a thrill of pleasure at having worked that out pools in the pit of my stomach. He regards me carefully for a few seconds. ‘As nice as it is to see you here, I am kind of sad you’re not still in bed.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Mmhmm.’ Spencer brushes a kiss to my cheek so that his next words are murmured into my ear. ‘I was thinking of different ways I could wake you up.’

‘And what might those be?’

‘I suppose you’ll never know now.’

‘Spencer.’

‘I’m not the one who decided to crash my lecture and ruin the surprise.’ His nose brushes against mine, lips parted and so dangerously close. Spencer is clearly loving this. He’s got that annoyingly smug smirk on his face and it riles me up. The notion that Spencer had been daydreaming about potential wake-up calls only makes that feeling in the pit of my stomach grow.

‘Well, why don’t you show me anyway?’ I try. Hopefully the temptation will outweigh his desire to punish me for my antics.

‘Nuh-uh.’ Spencer shakes his head, even when my fingernails scrape his skull. ‘You’ve ruined it.’

‘I’ll even wear this skirt.’ I wheedle, rocking up onto my tiptoes so that his fingertips brush the warm backs of my thighs. His eyes flash. Darken. ‘Pretty please?’

‘God,’ he groans, so close that the breath I exhale is the one he breathes in. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’

‘Good.’ I purr, tugging on his curls. I’ve had enough waiting. Hopefully Spencer finally gets the hint.

And he does.

Spencer’s lips crash into mine with a hunger I wasn’t expecting. It speaks to longing, to pent up desire, almost as furious as the first time he ever kissed me. His hands grip the loose hem of my skirt as he pulls me closer to him, as if we are two clay bodies that he wants to become one. I can feel the heat of his skin, and that pool of tension in my stomach only serves to make me want more. He leans over me, forcing me to fold backwards—to stop us toppling over I have to latch on tightly.

Spencer groans against my mouth as he pushes me back into the desk. He’s so demanding, taking up every available thought I have until it is just me and him. I arch into him, desperate for more friction. The desk behind me creaks ominously, his hands sliding dangerously down my bare thighs. His body is a solid wall of heat. Spencer’s fingers dig into my flesh, and I wonder if he’s actually considering fucking me in a lecture hall, and if I’d let him.

Someone clears their throat.

The moment shatters.

Spencer jumps away from me as if burned, lips swollen and raw. I quickly brush my skirt down, flamed with embarrassment, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Our faces are flushed, our breathing heavy, as he turns to the door—there, standing with the look of a deer trapped in headlights, is Blondie.

Fuck.

Her jaw is slack, eyes essentially bugging out of her head as she takes in what must look very suspect. She looks between us, taking in the dishevelled state of our clothing, the heavy pants of our breath. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots and I physically witness her face march through a series of emotions—shock, disbelief, then crushing disappointment.

‘Oh,’ she breathes, her voice barely a whisper, but the quiet of the auditorium amplifies it. ‘I…I’m so sorry, I left—I didn’t—I’m sorry—’

Spencer, ever the gentleman, tries to salvage the situation. It would work better if his voice wasn’t so breathless. ‘It’s not—she’s not—’

‘It’s okay,’ I take a step forward, ignoring the way Spencer glares at me. I tug on the hem of my skirt, suddenly regretting wearing something so short. ‘It’s not what it looks like, I’m not actually a student here—’

‘Sure.’ Blondie says with as much sarcasm as she can muster. She lifts her backpack onto her shoulder, unable to look either of us in the eye. Her cheeks are a vibrant shade of crimson. The poor girl must be mortified, and I feel somewhat guilty as to putting her in this position. ‘I’m just gonna go. Sorry again.’

With one final lingering look of distrust, Blondie turns around and flees. In her haste, she leaves the door ajar, and we can hear the steady sprint of her footfalls all the way down the corridor.

I can’t help it. I burst into laughter. The tension has dissolved into uncontrollable giggles, and my laughter only increases when I see the mortification on Spencer’s face. He’s staring at the door like he’s seen a ghost, skin pallid and a motley shade of green. I double over, laughter filling the entire space.

‘It’s not funny.’ Spencer says, voice a harsh hiss. He storms towards me and grabs his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. ‘This could seriously get me into trouble—why the hell did you pretend to be a student?’

‘I didn’t know you were gonna practically fuck me on your desk!’ I retort, annoyed that he’s blaming me for this situation. It’s not my fault.

‘I wasn’t going to—Jesus, June.’ Spencer spins in an agitated circle, brain whirring away as he tries to process what just happened. He evidently decides what to do as he grabs my wrist and drags me towards the door. ‘Come on, we need to see the head, right now.’

‘The head?’ I gape, stumbling after him as he unceremoniously hauls me up the stairs to the still-open door. ‘What—why?’

‘Because I am not getting fired over this.’ He replies, a few steps ahead of me as he yanks the door open and starts to march down the hallway. I can barely keep up. Spencer doesn’t seem to care if I stack it as he pulls me through the Academy’s corridors, past several bewildered students and curious faculty members.

I have no idea where we’re going, but I’m 99% sure I’m about to witness Spencer get a bollocking from his boss. He hasn’t said a word since we left the lecture theatre, and that irritation tugs at my chest. If he actually thinks this is because of me, then he’s got another thing coming—and I have no idea why we have to go to the head of his department just to fess up that we were about to have a quickie on his desk and someone walked in on us.

‘Hold up,’ I say, gasping for breath. I manage to dig my heels in and Spencer stops, turning around to face me. Stress tightens his cheeks, sets his mouth in a firm line. ‘I don’t understand. How is this my fault?’

‘It’s not your fault, June.’ Spencer says, trying to keep his voice down. We have reached a door with a brass plaque declaring it the office of ‘Head of Behavioural Science’. ‘But I have to explain the situation before that girl tells someone and this all gets blown out of proportion—if people so much as think I’m having relations with a student, my entire credibility goes down the drain.’

‘You make it sound like we were actively having sex on your desk.’ I grumble, folding my arms across my chest. I only realise how petulant this action is when Spencer’s lip twitches.

‘We weren’t far off, now, were we?’ Spencer retorts, but the bite has gone out of his voice. He looks down at me and his expression softens, the tight grip on my wrist loosening. ‘Look, I’m not angry at you—well, maybe a little bit—but I need to sort this out, okay?’

‘Alright.’ I say, following it up with a deep sigh. ‘But if you get fired, I want the record to state that it was your fault.’

Spencer rolls his eyes but there is no heat behind it. He knocks twice on the door, giving my hip a gentle squeeze before folding his hands in front of him. The picture of a demure professor, ready to supplicate at the foot of his superior. I do my best to copy his position, but I’m well aware that my lips still taste like Spencer and cherry lollipops. Just don’t make the situation worse, that’s all you have to do.

The door opens to reveal a tall, somewhat imposing man with a neatly trimmed brown beard and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. Like most members of the FBI, he is dressed in a well cut black suit. The hem is a bit frayed at the sleeves, though, so probably an old faithful. He looks surprised to see us both outside.

‘Dr. Reid? Dr. Bishop?’ He greets us, stepping aside to usher us into his office. His voice is a deep baritone that commands respect—useful if you’re going to be the head of a department. He closes the door behind us with a click. ‘What can I do for you?’

I hover awkwardly as he makes his way around his desk and sits down, gesturing for us to take the two plush armchairs facing the desk. His walls are relatively bare, aside from a few paintings—Ophelia by John Millais dominates one side, mirrored with Samson and Delilah by Paul Rubens. Baroque and Renaissance, squaring off to each other. He has a miniature Venus statue on his desk, but not much else other than a file organiser and a small sign that reads ‘Dr. Jonathan Moores’ in a crisp gold font. The lamp behind him is switched on despite the sun streaming through the blinds.

‘Sir, I need to explain something.’ Spencer blurts out, ushering me into a seat. His words tumble over themselves in a rush. I have to bite back a laugh as I watch my boyfriend, the picture of composure out in the hall, devolve into a stuttering mess in front of his superior. If I wasn’t so nervous, I might have found it endearing.

‘Go on.’ Dr. Moores says, voice wary as he inspects the both of us.

Spencer proceeds to recount everything that happened—from the moment I walked into the lecture, mind, to the ‘misunderstanding’ with the students as he so kindly phrased it, to the very unfortunate situation with Blondie. Spencer chooses his words very carefully when he reaches that point, avoiding things like ‘making out’ to go with ‘a little peck’, obviously downplaying the situation. I choose not to say anything, instead watching Dr. Moores expression shift from serious concern to poorly concealed mild amusement. By the time Spencer has finished his sordid tale, I have a hand clamped over my mouth to muffle my laughter.

When Spencer finishes, Dr. Moores leans forward and steeples his fingers. He lets the silence stretch, practically torturing poor Spencer. My boyfriend is shuffling awkwardly in his seat, unable to sit still—in fact, he even cracks his neck as he waits, right leg jiggling incessantly.

‘Well.’ Dr. Moores finally speaks, clearing his throat and schooling his features into a look of bland disinterest. ‘I must say, Dr. Reid, I didn’t expect to be dealing with a case of mistaken identity and a potential HR violation on a Thursday morning.’

‘I know, sir, I’m sorry.’ Spencer hangs his head.

‘However, I appreciate your honesty, and thank you for coming to explain what happened.’ Dr. Moores relaxes his features and that, in turn, relaxes Spencer. Spencer rolls out his shoulders, shooting me a bashful look, and nods his head. ‘I must admit, this will make an interesting case study for my next lecture on personal dichotomies…’

Spencer’s eyes widen in horror. ‘Oh, no, sir, please don’t do that.’

‘Don’t worry, doctors.’ He chuckles, and all pretence of anger has dissipated from him. His laughter spurs me on. A giggle escapes from behind my hand and I fold my legs. Phew. We’re not in trouble. ‘I won’t actually do that, though I do trust this situation has taught you that you really shouldn’t be kissing on company time. I trust you’ll both be more careful in the future.’

‘Yes, sir, of course.’ I manage to say relatively straight faced, but I have to say the words to the desk rather than to the head of the department.

‘And Juniper, if you do decide to return to the Academy, perhaps I might be able to convince you to do a lecture or two yourself.’ Dr. Moores rises to his feet and we copy him. It’s clear that this conversation has finished. He leads us towards the door, looking at me for an answer.

‘I’d love to, sir.’ I grin over my shoulder at Spencer, who mouths ‘don’t even think about it’ as the head opens the door to his office. Spencer’s disapproving look vanishes as soon as the head turns around to look at us. I offer Dr. Moores my hand as I leave, ducking my head. ‘I’ll be in contact—and sorry, again, sir.’

‘It’s quite alright.’ He shakes my hand and gives Spencer’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze as my boyfriend trails after me. ‘You’d be surprised how often that happens. Enjoy the rest of your day off.’

And with that, he closes the door behind us and the situation as a whole.

‘Well, it was definitely unexpected.’ I say. We’re back home now and finally able to discuss the situation—Spencer had sent me home on Maple first and followed behind in his car. He’s currently sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee and some chat show on the TV that he must have forgotten to change. ‘I didn’t expect it to go that way.’

‘You think?’ Spencer moves his blazer to let me sit down next to him, tucking my feet up underneath my skirt and cradling a steaming mug between my palms. There’s a glint in his eye that shows me he’s not mad. His arm falls across my lap in a casual display of intimacy.

‘I’m surprised he didn’t give us both detention.’ I tease him, bumping his shoulder gently with my own.

‘I think he was more amused than anything,’ Spencer hums, taking a sip of his coffee before smiling at me. ‘Though I have to admit, I was nervous.’

‘I know you were.’ I find my eye trailing down his collar. ‘I found the whole thing absolutely hilarious. But hey, at least you haven’t been fired.’

‘That is definitely a plus, though maybe next time, don’t pretend to be a student, darling.’

‘Well, maybe you should learn to control yourself around said students.’

‘Stop it.’

‘They already adore you, what are they gonna do when Blondie tells them you were practically balls deep in me on the fuckin’ lecture theatre desk.’ I chuckle to myself, taking another sip of my coffee. Spencer chokes beside me.

‘Oh my God June, your mouth is filthy.’ When I look at him, he’s gone bright red. Even after everything he has been through, everything we have faced together, he’s still embarrassed by a couple of naughty words strung together in a sentence. It’s so endearing that my chest hurts.

‘Seriously, Spencer? We’ve known each other for, what, ten years—’

‘Ten years, seven months, nine days.’

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever, and you’ve only just realised that?’

‘No, June, I’ve always known you to have a dirty mouth, but I think it’s weird when it’s relating to my students of all things. And I don’t think ‘adore’ is the right word.’

‘Alright.’ I lean back in my seat, lick my lips. With a careful, calculated gesture, I stretch my legs over his lap. His eyes drop to the stretch of skin just below the hem of the skirt, fingers brushing down to touch it. ‘What would you like me to say instead? That they’re desperate to shag you? That they love you?’

‘Stop. It.’ He grips my thigh tightly, giving me his patented exasperated look. I return it.

‘Why? It’s true.’ I shrug, leaning further back into the cushions and eyeing him over the rim of my mug. Spencer’s fingers trace idle, teasing patterns on my thigh, sending shivers down my spine. ‘I reckon half of them would become Unsubs to have you look at them the way you look at me.’

‘You are being ridiculous.’ Spencer insists, shaking his head, but the very tips of his ears have turned pink. A telltale sign. He clearly loves the attention, he just doesn’t want to admit it. He leans over and puts his coffee mug down with a thud. When he returns, he is significantly closer, his head nearly on my collar.

‘Am I?’ I raise my eyebrow, sliding my arm across his shoulders and letting my fingers fiddle with the seam of his shirt. ‘You can’t say that you didn’t enjoy it, at least just a little bit.’

Spencer sighs, letting his head rock back onto my arm. His lips are slightly pursed as he thinks over my words. The hand on my thigh continues to make idle patterns, though it is getting higher and higher towards the hem. He’s not inconspicuous in the slightest, though I don’t think he’s intending to be. Spencer licks his lips before he speaks.

‘Perhaps a little,’ he admits sheepishly, brown eyes locking onto mine. I grin in triumph. ‘It’s nice to be appreciated, I guess.’

‘See, I knew it.’ I press a kiss to his cheek, unable to keep the humour out of my tone. I don’t want him to think I’m making fun of him, so quickly continue. ‘You’re only human, Spencer, you’re still a man. Admittedly a man with Adonis-like cheekbones and a face Paris would choose, and a certified genius, but a man nonetheless.’

‘I am hardly a god amongst men, June.’ Spencer chuckles, but his cheeks turn pink. He plucks my mug from my hand and puts it on the table next to his. When he returns, he wastes little time in pulling me into his lap, large hand descending back to my upper thigh. The more he strokes my skin, the harder it is to focus. ‘And you’re the one who keeps calling me a nerd.’

‘Being a nerd and being appreciated are not mutually exclusive.’ I remind him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and speaking against his skin. ‘Besides, you’re my nerd, and I appreciate you more than anyone. Don’t you forget that.’

Spencer’s arm around my hips tightens, the other hand relaxing its ministrations. He just holds me for a moment, head falling onto my collar as he exhales shakily. We sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments. The only sound is the low chatter of the TV and Spencer’s unsteady breaths. I close my eyes, fully content to bask in the warmth of Spencer’s presence, the weight of his arms a comforting anchor in the sea of chaos that is the world.

‘I appreciate you too, June.’ He murmurs, voice a soft caress against my chest. ‘More than you know.’

‘I know, Spence, I know.’ I press a kiss to the crown of his head. My hand cards through his hair, the softness so familiar to my fingertips. It’s nice to sit here with him and share a moment of peace, especially after such a hectic morning. It goes to show how much stronger we are together than we are apart. I decide to be a bit cheeky. ‘So…about those wake up calls…’

‘Oh, I thought I told you’d never know about those?’ Spencer smirks cheekily at me, pulling his head away from my chest and raising an eyebrow.

‘Yes, but I also know that you find it hard to resist me.’ I retort, leaning in so we’re barely a centimetre away from one another. Spencer’s eyes drop to my lips, hand tightening around my thigh. It’s my turn to smirk. ‘I also know that I mentioned something about the skirt…’

‘You’re incorrigible.’ He groans, and leans in. I pull away with a cheeky grin.

‘You’ve said that already today.’

‘I thought it was worth repeating.’ Spencer retorts, pulling me back down towards him. ‘I suppose I could be convinced to show you what I was thinking of doing to you this morning…’

‘Please.’ Is all I need to say before Spencer is upon me.

He kisses me with a fiery intensity I have rarely experienced from him before. His pent up passion is palpable as he curves me backwards, pressing his lips against mine with fervour. It’s a little sloppy, an untamed urgency, and his tongue seeks entrance earlier than usual, pushing against mine with a newfound dominance. Evidently I had been getting under his skin.

The large, warm hand on my thigh slips up under the skirt to grip the meatiest part of it, a handful of skin that I have no doubt will be bruised tomorrow. The idea of bruises only serves to turn me on more, though, the idea that I will find evidence of our mischievous behaviour invigorating. I do my best to keep up, clinging onto him, matching his enthusiasm as best I can. I am way too pleased with myself that I have managed to get this to go my way.

Spencer’s lips leave mine and aim for the underside of my jaw, trailing a line of fire. He peppers open mouthed kisses to my throat, my chin, wherever he can lay his lips on. It’s as if he is determined to taste every single inch of exposed skin. The hand under my skirt ventures further, slips under the hem of my underwear and I have to bite back a soft moan of excitement. Spencer is everywhere, all at once, leaving me breathless and wanting.

‘Bedroom?’ I suggest, voice barely above a whisper. The living room is suddenly way too confined for what I have in mind.

‘Bedroom.’ He confirms, voice a husky mix of pleasure and barely restrained desire.

‘As you wish, doctor.’ I tease, a playful lilt in my tone as I extricate myself from his lap. I sashay towards the bedroom door in languid, deliberately provocative movements. Spencer, however, is quick to follow. Before I can open the door fully, a hand—the very same one that was exploring underneath my skirt mere moments ago—slams into the door. Spencer has effectively barred my entry. I blink up at him, confused. ‘Babe, that’s the door to the bedroom. I can’t go in the bedroom if you’re holding the door closed.’

‘Strip.’ He instructs, voice low and commanding. He leans against the door, eyes raking up and down my figure with unmistakable hunger. It’s a hunger I’ve seen many times before.

I chuckle, bemused, but do not deny him his pleasure. I start with his jumper, peeling it off impossibly slowly before tossing it somewhere over my shoulder. Spencer’s gaze is intense, searching me rapidly for any hint of exposed flesh. I turn and bend at the waist to remove my knee-high socks, fully aware of the view I am presenting. The deep groan that rumbles from the back of his throat tells me he’s appreciating the glimpse of my very skimpy underwear. Next to join the others is my shirt and bra, leaving me nearly bare. The chill of the air conditioning makes my nipples pebble, a testament to my ever-growing arousal.

I reach for the waistband of my skirt but something stops me.

‘Don’t—’ Spencer’s slightly strangled voice stalls my movements, and I raise an eyebrow at him. Spencer clears his throat once and scratches the back of his neck in a gesture that betrays a hint of the sheepishness I saw earlier. He schools his features and swings the door open, holding it wide for me. ‘Leave the skirt.’

‘I fucking knew you had a thing for it!’ A triumphant grin spreads across my face and my laughter—rich in smugness and amusement— rings through the apartment. I saunter into the bedroom. Spencer follows swiftly behind, slamming the door shut with such force that the vase on the windowsill shudders.

Looks like I might be in for it today.

Safe to say that this skirt has just become my very own secret weapon. Who would have thought that a little bit of pleated fabric and a smile could be so disruptive?

THANK YOU FOR READING! MORE SPENCER REID FICS ON THE WAY.

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #larkspur acontium

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definitelynotanaliennope · 3 months

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the urge to cover a man in bloood got me guys

cw: blood below cut vvv

#limited life #inthelittlewood #martyn inthelittlewood #itlw #trafficblr #cw: blood #i’m not sure if this counts as eyes and ears or not #but it’s martyns lore stuff #this might be eye strain but i’m not sure #eyestrain #alien_art

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tonycries · 5 months

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Give Me Tough Love

Synopsis. What happens when your boyfriend just so happens to be mad at you? Well, your poor pússy might just know the answer.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Geto x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, brat-taming, angry séx, oral (male + female receiving), víbrators (Nanami’s), manhandling, unprotected, spanking (Sukuna’s), thigh-riding, intercrural, mentions of Higuruma and Shiu, cúmplay, bunch of heinous stuff idek, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.2k

A/N. Smh I’m sick, try not to catch my virtual cold.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Dirty mouth? He’ll fix it.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” he spits, Toji’s hand tightening around your throat, pathetic little gurgles going straight to his cock. “Because I know you aren’t talking back to me like a lil’ slut unless you want to be treated like one.”

“T-Toji m’sorry- mpfh-” Greedily taking in the way your your mouth drops into a soft little oh! as he grazes his fat tip across your lips, glossing your lips so fucking filthily with his precum, all pretty and dripping down to your chin. Hot and angry, and at perfect eye-level for you.

Hand moving up to pry your swollen mouth open, “You’re only sorry cuz yer gonna get what you’ve been askin’ for, doll.”

You’d been extra mouthy with him today, all sass and snipey comments like you just wanted this to happen. And it only took one offhand remark about how Shiu probably lasts longer in bed before Toji’s pushing you onto your knees, hand at your throat, breath hot against your ear. And, well, that smart mouth can do nothing but beg for mercy now.

Toji scoffs, snapping you out of your daze, “Nothin’ to say now, huh?” edging his hips closer “Open wide f’me now, yeah- jus’ like that- m’gonna clean out this dirty lil’ mouth of yours. Hngh-”

And with that Toji’s stuffing himself into your mouth. A raw little grunt leaving the back of his throat as your lips stretch so sinfully around his thick cock, and if he angled his head just right he could see the way your throat was bulging and full of him. “Shit, doll. Look at you struggling to take me.”

And Toji’s so mean - not even easing you into it before he’s thrusting in harsh, quick little strokes into your heavenly mouth. “Hah- Hard to take me all?” he taunts, loving the way you’re choking and gagging all around him.

Pulling you down on his swollen cock till your nose is pressed against those tufts of black hair at his base. So wet with precum and spit. “Shouldn’t be, no? Ngh- A lil’ slut with such a fucking filthy mouth like you should take me s’easily.”

All he gets in response is a low, wet moan, muffled around his cock. One that goes straight to his twitching balls. Smacking your chin with each thrust, so hard he’s sure it hurts. But he couldn’t give less of a fuck, chuckling, “Heh, forgot you can’t speak with m’dick lodged in your throat, huh?”

And oh Toji almost considers going easy on you at the messy state of your mascara, and the way you bat your lashes tearily up at him. It’s only when you flick your tongue so sluttily underneath his sensitive tip in a way you knew would drive him wild that all thoughts of that go out the window. “So you like this, huh?”

Voice so low and dangerous it makes your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? You don’t even know because Toji has his hand wrapped around your throat again, hip stuttering filthily.

And then it’s like something snaps because Toji’s ruining your pretty face. Abs flexing as he drags your head up and down up and down up and- like some toy. God, he thinks, it’s fucking hard to look at you too - so sloppy with the way precum and spit was dribbling down the corner of your mouth, his dick bulging in and out of your throat. In and out in and out in and-

“Might let out a few tears, but I know that slutty lil’ cunt of yours has never been wetter.”

Reaching blindly to feel for his phone, he punches in that familiar contact. Cock twitching inside your plushy mouth at the way your eyes widen in surprise. Sputtering around his dick - but you can’t run away, because Toji has a hand firm on your head, pushing you down. Still fucking your pretty lil’ mouth while the line rings once. Twice.

“Don’t act so suprised, doll. All Shiu and I are gonna do is fuck some manners into you.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Karma’s a bitch

“Mhm, yes, Higuruma. I’ve told the supervisor to email me the documents. Oh? In the background?”

His darkened eyes sweep your figure - wrists tied, soaking through your panties, swollen lips falling into a little oh! at the bullet vibrator buzzing maddeningly in your dripping cunt. All controlled by the man himself, watching you like a hawk from the corner of the bedroom. “Must be the wind.”

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt-

“Kento- please, wan’ cum. Ngh-” you whine pathetically. But it all falls on deaf ears, because Nanami only manspreads further on the armchair, a long finger unhurriedly coming up to signal you to be quiet as he continues on his business call.

Intensity setting 1.

Oh you could just cry. How did you even get here?

All you did was send him a few photos in his favorite lingerie while he was at work - who knew that Nanami would end up clocking early, coming straight home to absolutely fucking ruin you for that little stunt that had him sporting a rock-hard boner all through an important meeting.

“A voice? Ah, yes.” and that snaps you out of your little reverie. You blink at the flash of amusement in Nanami’s eyes as he continues the call. “Yes, a little fight as all couples have. Y’know how it is.”

Intensity setting 2.

You jolt at the stimulation, body jerking up for some - any - friction. “Kento~” you choke, tears clinging to your eyes now.

But oh where Nanami was usually gentle touches and sweet, sweet love - he was so fucking mean now. Licking his lips at the slick dribbling down your legs so sloppilly, spreading in such an obscene pool on the sheets below. Frustrated tears cling to your lashes - you just wanted to fucking cum.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say she’s mad at me.”

Intensity setting 3.

No, you were fucking losing your mind.

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt- Blinking tearily at Nanami as his thumb draws quick, relentless little circles on the intensity. The vibrator throbbing against your walls in time with your quivering walls, just grazing that one spot. But purposefully avoiding it so that he could see you fall apart and all desperate.

He sighs, “I know, I have to make it up to her, right?”

Intensity setting 4.

“You have any ideas, Higuruma? Flowers?”

“Hngh- Kento- Please, wan’ your cock.” Gritting your teeth so that you won’t just scream or outright demand that Nanami ends the call and makes you cum right now, you settling for low, needy little whimpers of his name. Whiney in just the way you knew he liked. And by the looks of the painfully hard cock straining against his trousers, you knew it was working.

“Or, chocolates?”

Maybe it was working too well because Nanami’s amping up his abuse on your cunt. Devouring the way you’re reacting so sensitively to the way he was turning the vibrations up and down. Swollen cock twitching at the wet gasps leaving your mouth, thighs twitching and squeezing together so sluttily to get yourself off.

“Yeah, you’re right.” you blink away the tears in your eyes to risk a glimpse at the man currently driving you wild. Irritation spiking at the way he was huffing out a laugh, “I could just make her cum hard enough to see stars. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Intensity setting 5.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise - violent and fast. The last thing you see is the cruel little smirk curling Nanami’s lips before he’s setting the phone down with a quick goodbye. And then it’s all stars behind your eyelids as you finally cum, not even caring if whoever’s on the phone hears the strangled yelp of “Ah! Kento, m’cumming m’- hah-”

And it’s all you can do to ride your high out on the vibrations still stimulating your sore cunt. So sensitive and maddening that you almost miss the metallic clinking of a belt.

Ringing in the heady air, the complete opposite of the voice to suddenly very close against your ear, low and hoarse with desire, “Now, think it’s time for me to make it up to you. Hm, sweetheart?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Work for it!

“Get off on m’thigh, or you’re not getting off at all.”

Geto’s had enough of the cold shoulder today before he decides you’re getting one too - even when you’re needy and sat so prettily on his lap. It was only fair, right? Which is why he swats away the hand reaching for his aching cock, angry and throbbing in his fist. Twitching in his hand at the adorable little pout playing on your lips, “Nuh uh, bad girls don’t get what they ask for.”

“But Sugu~” you whine, slightly whiny yet not desperate - at least, not yet. “Already said I was sorry-”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it for that attitude you were givin’ me earlier, gorgeous.” he cuts you off, leaning back comfortably on the chair. Smirk only widening at the way your eyes were so deliriously locked on the way his fist starts moving in slow, languid little strokes up and down his swollen cock. “Now, y’gonna fuck that pretty lil’ cunt on my thigh or just watch? S’fine f’me either way.”

You huff at the way he was being so mean - letting a beat of silent staredown pass. One. Two. Cunt so achingly wet and dripping all over where you straddled Geto’s muscular thigh.

“Fine.”

You feel so dirty dragging your pussy all over his thigh like some bitch in heat. Your clit pressing down on his skin hard. “Sugu!” you yelp, hands reaching up to play with your sensitive nipples, still rocking your hips sloppily.

Fuck does he love your little show - and you can see it too. Catching the way his balls squeeze painfully, brows furrowing and locked on the way your folds were spread apart so sluttily.

“All that talk but look at y’now.” he hums. And Geto knows he’s supposed to be punishing you, but he can’t stop the way he starts bouncing his leg to meet your grinds. “What’ve ya gotta say for yourself now, my lil’ slut?”

“M’sorry!” you whine, nails digging into his shoulders to steady yourself as he fucks you on his thigh. So hot and messy. His skin glistening in the dim light with all your sweet sweet juices, trailing down to the cushion below and pooling at his heavy balls. And Geto was such a fucking picture - hair falling over his shoulders, bottom lip bitten, cock so long and mouthwateringly hard, flushed your favorite shade of pink at the tip.

Only bouncing his leg faster at your cute lil’ whines, like he was turning you into his slut - hit stupid lil’ slut. And all you can sputter out are strained little “M’sorry m’sorry jus’ lemme touch you. Wanna touch you-”

He cuts you off with a desperate, desperate kiss. A permission. A surrender. And you taste the sin and the satisfied little grin on his lips as you reach for his heavy cock. Drinking in the low hiss at the back of Geto’s throat as you start stroking him in quick, desperate tugs.

And he lets you.

Hips bucking to chase the feeling of your soft hand wrapped so deliciously around his throbbing cock. Faster. Your nails delicately tracing the pulsing veins along the side, swirling under his slit because shit you might act like it’s a punishment but you’ve never been wetter. “Fuck this hand was made f’me, you were made f’me.”

Previous anger forgotten - perhaps in some miraculous act of mercy - Geto couldn’t even care less if it was all sloppy, mindless little tugs and grinds, high off of your desperation. In fact, Geto wasn’t any better with the way he was snaking a hand down to draw steady, lazy little circles on your swollen lips.

Whispering against your lips, “Make us cum within the next five seconds or you’re going back to getting off on my thigh and nothing else.” Oh. Not an act of mercy.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Evil twin

“Sorry-” he’s murmuring into your neck, lifting your leg just a little bit higher to slide his cock messily between your swollen folds. “Ngh- sorry, baby. Fuck.”

Choso can’t even remember why he’s pissed off - or that useless little argument that led to this - but when Choso’s angry, it’s like he flips a switch. Such a silent tease where he’s usually all lingering kisses and everything you could ever want.

Which is why he’s got you splayed out on your side, angry, red tip kissing your entrance in a way that was so filthy.

“Cho, jus’ gimme your cock.” You arch your back, rubbing so deliciously against his abs, flexing with the strain to not just plunge into your pretty lil’ cunt right now. “Jus’ want you inside me. Please?” And shit Choso must be really pissed off because he doesn’t waver even at the way you bat your lashes at him, instead resorting to leaning down and kissing that adorable pout off your lips.

He bites down on your bottom lip, tugging ever-so-slightly as he starts sliding his cock inbetween your pretty thighs. Creating such a sticky mess as he moves in slow, shallow little thrusts - Choso was always so sloppy. And such a fucking tease as he angles his hips to just graze your swollen clit.

You gasp into his open mouth, mewling out a strained lil’ “Ah! W-wait what’re you doi-”

“Fucking getting myself off, what does it look like doll?”

Fuck, he was really mad. But that doesn’t stop you from craning your neck to glare at him - eyes traitorously drinking in his flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes, stray strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead while he meets your gaze head-on. Unwavering.

“Bit rude to get off by yourself, huh?” you scoff, raising a brow at the slow smirk curling his lips.

“You’d know a lot about being rude, huh?”

You don’t even have the time to react to his sheer audacity because Choso’s snaking down a hand to toy with your swollen clit. Still rocking his hips between your thighs. Loving the way all you can do is buck into his touch and whine so prettily as he rolls the sensitive bud between two long fingers. “But since I’m so fuckin’ nice, you better thank me, baby.”

“Y’like this?” he hums hoarsely, playing with your needy clit. Index circling your hole, just barely dipping in before he’s swiftly moving back to rub delicate patterns on the bud. “Could’ve gotten more if you hadn’t run that pretty lil’ mouth earlier.”

“B-but I want more.” you’re babbling deliriously, trying to meet his relentless little rhythm on your cunt. Just wishing that he would fuck you like you wanted him to. But no - not yet.

“More? You think you deserve more?”

“Yes!” and it sounds like a sob that goes straight to his cock. “Wan’ more please. Was wrong- ah- I was wrong-”

Choso isn’t even sure if you remember what you two were fighting about, but that doesn’t stop him from having such fun bullying you - high off the power and the way your cunt tries to clench around his fingers. And especially your little surrender.

“Exactly what I was waitin’ for.”

It’s like something snapped because Choso’s bullying his fingers in between your folds, curling deftly against that one gummy spot he knows will have you letting out such cute lil’ whines. Hitting that spot over and over as he pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt. Letting you soak him in all your sweet juices.

And you’re so sensitive and needy that all that spills from your lips are mewls of, “Oh- hngh- Choso Choso- yes, jus’ like that. Faster.”

Maybe for the first time tonight, Choso listens. Movements getting so sloppy and frantic as he chases your high. And occasionally you get such a delicious taste of his throbbing cock as his hips get erratic, fucking himself on your thighs.

You cum with a strangled gasp of Choso’s name, hips bucking wildly. White-hot pleasure running down your spine, and your blood roaring in your ears. It’s all you can do to milk his fingers the way you would with his cock as you ride out your high.

But luckily for you, you feel his weeping tip nudging your quivering hole. So heavy, precum mixing with your slick in such a sinful combination. Breath hot against your ear as he whispers a quiet little, “Actually, m’really fucking not sorry.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Plaything!

“Fuckin’” he kisses his teeth, hand raising up, up, up - coming down swiftly- Smack! “Brat.”

“Oh- Hngh p-please.” you gasp, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Nails digging into his shoulders for some - any - mercy from where you’re sat prettily on his lap, throbbing cock stuffed in your cunt. Hard and aching. Yet still unmoving.

Thumb drawing lazy little circles on your clit, fast enough to have your thighs quivering on his lap, but slow enough to not give you exactly what you want - he’s been teasing you for hours now.

“P-pleeease.” he mocks, voice so dramatically whiny, swatting your ass again. Sukuna doesn’t even know why he’s fucking pissed off, he just likes seeing you all teary and letting out such cute lil’ whines, trying to eagerly to please him. Is he being a bully? Yeah. Does it make it cock so painfully hard watching you try to grind your pretty pussy down on his cock? Fuck yeah.

Which is why he watches you desperately try to fuck yourself on his cock, and oh how he loves taking in this heavenly sight. Your cunt spread so shamefully, sloppy and wet enough that you’re dripping all over him.

His messy girl. It almost makes him want to play nice.

Smack! And that has you keening, pressing your sensitive tits harder against his front. “What do you want, brat?”

Your breath hitches, words shaky, “Want your cock, ‘Kuna-”

But the only response you get is a huffed out dark chuckle. Strong arms spreading your legs even further as Sukuna leans leisurely against the headboard. He scoffs, loving the way you were always the cutest when he played mean. “You already have it in your pretty lil’ cunt, want more could you want?”

“W-wan’ you to fuck me,” a hand trailing down to massage his heavy balls, moving your hips in slutty circles to meet his, milking him inside you. “Wan’ you to fill me up with your cum till m’dumb. Till everyone’s gonna know- Ah- ple-”

Oh how he loved all your dirty little tricks. “Hm, ya really were desperate for my cock, huh?” he grits out, jaw clenched and eyes locked on the way your dripping cunt was swallowing him up so deliciously. Like you were trying to milk something delicious out of him. “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. Ya really that cock-hungry, brat?”

Smack! Speeding up his movements on your clit, your pathetic little sob rings in Sukuna’s ears and goes all the way down to his twitching dick. Massaging your plushy walls just right.

That makes you mewl and buck wildly, slurring out, “Yes! Wan’ed so bad. Wanted to be split a-apart hngh- on yer cock n’ filled to the brim.”

Fuck, Sukuna bites his lower lip, do you even have any idea what you’re saying?

He doubts it - and he doesn’t give a fuck because before you know it, your hands are pinned behind your back, and Sukuna’s fucking up into you in one, harsh thrust.

“Said you wan’ my cock, n’ you’re gonna get it brat.”

Messy and desperate as you’re being split apart by his massive cock, starting to ram into you with wreckless abandon. And you can do nothing but take it because Sukuna’s holding you still, arching you impossibly deeper into him.

“Kuna- mm ngh-”

“So cockdrunk that you can’t even speak, huh?” he’s high off of the way your words are a strangled mess. Such a pity you couldn’t do anything else either - with the way he was holding you still. Like some fucktoy from the depths of his treasury. Grip bruising on your arms, only being able to let out such pathetic lil’ ah! ah! ah! against his ear each time his cock hits your bruised cervix.

“This what my little slut wanted?” His hips are erratic now, fucking any and every thought out of your mind. Hungry gaze appreciatively taking in the way your head was lolling against his shoulder, so cock-drunk and delirious already. “Now, don’t act so fucked out, brat. We’re only getting started.”

Well, he didn’t say he was going to be nice. Now, did he?

♡ GOJO SATORU - Candy for a bad day

“Had a bad day.” It’s all that announces Gojo’s arrival.

Startled, you whirl his head to catch that an uncharacteristic little sigh, he’s pulling his blindfold down haphazardly, raising his eyes to meet yours and oh-

Fuck, you weren’t going to make it out alive.

And Gojo wasn’t sure whether he would either with the way he was immediately slamming the front door shut, lips searing on yours as he shoves you against the adjacent wall with a soft thud!

“S-Satoru, what the fuck?” you sputter, head spinning because he was here and then kneeling in front of you so fast you think he might’ve teleported there. Hand groping every inch of you he could reach, thumbing over your hardened nipples. Drawing little circles on your hips as he looks at you through heavy, half-lidded eyes.

You try to talk back some semblance of sanity into him, “Satoru, what happ-”

“Shut up. Those annoying old fuckers always fuckin’ piss me off. Dunno why you fuckin’ made me attend that meeting.”

Oh. That’s what happened.

Heaving in a shaky gasp, you let him all but rip off your skirt. Flinging them to God-knows-where with the audacity of a man that would buy you ten new ones to replace it. Gojo’s mouth falls into a soft little oh! at the heavenly sight of your already-soaked panties.

“Swear m’gonna purple hollow them all one day.” he murmurs into your pretty pussy, tongue darting out to draw lazy patterns along your slit. “Gonna have ‘em begging for their lives.”

Words muffled around the flimsy fabric - ones he rips clean off your hips with one hand. Not even letting you flinch at the cool air before Gojo’s pooling your sweet juices on his fingertips. Staring right in your eyes while he pops them into your mouth, sucking them clean and glistening with saliva in the dim light.

“Oh.” Eyes rolling to the back of his at the taste of your sweet lil’ cunt. “You always taste s’fucking perfect f’me. Can’t believe you’ve been fucking holdin’ out on me.”

And maybe Gojo loses his patience - maybe his sanity - because one taste, and he’s hooked. Diving face-first into your clothed cunt, breathing in your scent so fucking lewdly.

“F-fuck, Toru-” you whisper breathlessly, gripping those soft white locks for some stability. The only reply you get is Gojo licking long, languid stripes up your swollen folds. Your slick glossing his ruby lips, trailing down his chin. “It feels s’good.”

And he’s so uncharacteristically messy - making out with your sloppy pussy like it’s his last meal. All pure desperation, lips puckering so prettily around your swollen clit as he sucks on it harshly. Rolling his tongue over and over and-

“Hate that you made me go. They drive me crazy, y’know.” he slurs lowly into your sensitive cunt. Vibrations sending white-hot pleasure running up your spine. “Makes me wanna wish I could stay home with you, eating this cute lil’ cunt out all day.”

“Wha- what nonsense, Toru.”

“Your cunt is addictive, pretty.”

You barely even notice the way that he’s the one holding you up, throwing a leg over his shoulder, looping and arm around your waist to pull you deeper onto this tongue. Close. So close. “Hngh- Toru-”

“Close?” he murmurs, muffled. “Can feel y’clenching around m’tongue, y’know. How am I supposed to tonguefuck my pretty girl if she’s sucking the soul outta me?”

He was such a little tease. Becoming as frantic and sloppy as you - dripping all over the hardwood floor with a maddening tap! tap! tap!

And despite the way he was devouring you - licking all over your pussy, tongue dipping in and out of your slutty hole - Gojo still finds it in himself to run his mouth. Babbling about how he’s gonna destroy the elders all while you’re in shambles above him.

“Hah- Toru, shit I’m close. M’gonna-”

“Give it to me, my girl. Wanna taste y’on my tongue.”

And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes and Gojo’s tongue fucking you through your high as you grind down on his pretty face. Dragging your dripping cunt all over till it’s so messy that it makes your cheeks burn.

But Gojo doesn’t mind - of course, he doesn’t. In fact, his glossy lips only turn up into a slow, sly smirk as he stands up slowly from the ground.

“C’mon, gotta punish you proper now, princess.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

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