#idk what that did to my brain but it certainly did something

[parfaitblogs]

state of grace ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your cat has taken liking to your friend with benefits, and you begin to battle with the consequential feelings. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff (18+ for suggestive content) tags: established friends with benefits. reader has a cat. your cat likes him more than you :(  avoidant!reader for like a teensie second. it's okay happy ending. the happiest possible ending actually. fade to black. word count: 1.9k a/n: sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things. like a cat. :) im a dog person. idk why i wrote this.

Seventeen times.

That is how many times Spencer Reid had found residence at your apartment in the past month alone, taking up the space on the other side of your bed. Thirteen of those times he had stayed the night. Six of those times, he had come for sex. The other eleven? He had come because you needed a friend. 

Or, rather, your cat did. 

You had discovered you weren't any more complex than your average man, at the end of the day. Human beings are at their core created to love and be loved, and by extension, to want and be wanted. You wanted Spencer, and you were wanted by Spencer. For both your friendship, and the intimacy your relationship provided. 

But you did not love him, and he did not love you. 

Cat's are anything but fickle creatures. A lot of your best friendships were centred around whether or not your cat developed a liking to the person or not. Oftentimes, your fleeting relationships came down to the odd sixth sense the animal had for disliking the worst people. That, and your one night stands were never a crowd favourite within the walls of your apartment. And yet; Spencer Reid. 

He was nothing short of charming. In a sort of dorky way, yes. But whatever socially romantic skills he lacked, he most certainly made up for by giving you the best of just about everything in bed. A small part of you wants to claim it's human instinct to know how to worship the person meant for you, but the logical reason is probably his eidetic memory knowing exactly what he's doing after a singular trial run. Entertaining the thought of being his soulmate was not a wise choice.

He most certainly was your cat's, though. The Ragdoll always jumping down to greet him the second he stepped foot in your apartment, usually resulting in the break of a kiss and a five minute intermission before the two of you could do anything. 

At first, it was an inconvenience. Your cat had never taken such a liking to a person you'd brought home before, and it was jarring to watch a man you were partially trying to undress, stop everything to pet your cat. Now, it is simply endearing. You've stopped trying to steal Spencer's attention before the cat does, and you've come to the conclusion that Spencer's priority list will always be the feline, then you. 

Today was, seemingly, no different. Despite the dull ache between your legs and the fact that this visit had started as something as obscene as Spencer calling from his work bathroom to ask if he could come over after for he was, and you quote, in dire need to touch you (among many other things), whatever those needs were, were put on hold. 

You smile regardless, leaning against the edge of your couch as he crouches down to meet Po — yes, like the panda — his hand immediately reaching out for the cat to run his head along. 

Spencer's head lifts to look at you. "Morgan thinks Po isn't a real cat, and we've just got a name for your—um—" his brain catches up to his mouth mid sentence, and he's stammering his way to silence. 

"Please tell me you defended my cat's honour," you retort.

"I did! I even showed him the photo I took of him while you were in the shower last week. He thinks it's a different person's cat."

You shake your head in disapproval. "Unbelievable. Your coworker thinks we've named my pussy."

"That's just Morgan."

"I wish Po could speak English. Then he could hear this nonsense, and stop loving you more than me," you grumble, and Spencer's lips twitch up into a smile, as he situates himself on the floor, the cat climbing into his lap.

"Actually, he technically can. Cat's can understand up to thirty-five words in whatever language you train them in. Also, when they meow, they begin trying to mimic the sound of certain human words. It's their vocal tract that prevents them from literally speaking English," he explains.

But, you're too invested in the way his long fingers are delicately running through the cat's hair, to both respond, and really pay any attention at all.

You had had fleeting thoughts about real feelings for Spencer two months ago. Brushing them off as loneliness and your need to satiate the hopeless romantic within you, you'd forgotten about it up until this recent week.

He'd been over every single day, sometimes for sex, oftentimes for a movie and dinner (which was usually a bowl of pasta you had overestimated while cooking). And every single time, you'd developed an overwhelming anxious pit in your stomach when watching him interact with Po, your heart fluttering the entire time, mind running rampant on domestic thoughts you should be squashing. 

Should be, but weren't. 

You'd tried to put it down to the motherly instinct you had over the animal. Seeing somebody else treat him with as much love and care as you did was endearing — it wasn't a Spencer Reid specific trait. Yet, here you were. 

"I feel like the benefits of this relationship have changed," you say, seating yourself in front of Spencer on the floor, Po lifting his head to look at the person behind the sudden movement, before he let it rest back on Spencer's thigh. 

"To what?"

"My cat," you huff, and Spencer laughs.

"He is my favourite benefit thus far," he muses. 

"The feeling is definitely mutual," you nod your head to Po, whose eyes were now shut, seemingly quite comfortable disregarding all your personal plans and taking Spencer's attention.

"Animals don't usually like me," he comments. "I don't know why Po is different."

Oh, you had a few ideas why.

"Maybe he's exercising the keep your enemies closer life motto," you offer, and Spencer's eyebrows shoot up in faux offence. 

"This is unadulterated love," he protests. "He does not think of me as an enemy."

"That's what he wants you to believe," you hum, pushing yourself up on your legs. "Well, since plans have been rudely interrupted, do you want some dinner?" 

"Sure," he answers, though his attention is back on Po. Clearly so, for he says, "I'll get to our original plans after we eat, don't worry," almost absentmindedly.

It's the kind of thing that makes you forget you're in the room with the dictionary definition of a nerd. You know it's only because sometimes he says what he is thinking without thinking. It doesn't do anything to help the ongoing internal battle about your feelings for him. 

Or maybe he does know exactly what he's doing.

"You should get a cat," you say, heading into your kitchen to find something for the two of you to eat. "You seem to like them enough."

"Why? I have yours."

"I'm not going to be around forever," you reply, unthinking. "I mean, one day we're gonna have to end this because the other has found someone they want to be with. Properly. It wouldn't be fair to keep a friendship."

He falls silent, and when you lift your head, you see he's staring at you with an almost confused frown on his face, which triggers your own confusion to appear. His scratching of Po's head has been interrupted, and you're starting to question what was wrong about what you had said. 

Sure, you're pretty sure you have feelings for him, but as far as you knew, they were one sided. Right?

"I didn't—I thought—" he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, then continues. "I thought that had changed this past month."

"What do you mean?"

"I just—I've been here for things other than sex a lot. I thought you knew I liked you, and you were subtly trying to tell me you liked me too. I'm starting to sense I misread that."

For a profiler, he was incredibly awful at reading you. 

"Yeah..." You slowly nod your head, but it's the deepening of his frown that has you rushing to add, "I mean, I—I do. Like you. I'm kind of embarrassed that was obvious. But I didn't think you liked me outside of having sex with me. I wasn't trying to communicate my feelings. I was trying to hide them."

"Oh," he falls silent again. "So the times I’ve been here in the past month weren’t makeshift dates?"

"They weren't intended that way..." you trail off. "Did you see them as dates?"

"Kind of, I guess," he's back to running his fingers through Po's fur, just to keep his anxious hands busy. "They don't have to be, if you don't want them to. I just thought this feeling was mutual and we were... I guess, dating."

"The feeling is mutual," you quickly correct him. "I know that now. I didn't think we were dating because I didn't think you liked me back. Changing our relationship kind of needs to be a conversation."

"Right," he breathes out, an awkward smile painting his lips. "Is this the conversation, then?"

"I guess?"

"So now we're dating."

"If that's what you want," you nod, head feeling a little fuzzy.

"Is it what you want?" he presses. Always the gentleman.

"Maybe," you muse, leaning forwards against the kitchen countertop. 

He's watching you, and for a second you let the silence fall over you, fearful that you've just discouraged him enough to ruin things between you. He carefully takes Po off his lap, the cat running into your room the second his paws hit the hardwood floor, and he's standing up to move over to you. 

"I don't like maybe," he frowns. "Yes or no?"

You blink, realising he was evidently too anxious of your genuine response to have any recognition to your poor attempt of a joke. 

"Yes, Spencer. That's what I want," you're breathless as you speak, and you're thankful for the relieved smile that stretches across his lips.

"That's what I want too," he answers. 

"Yeah, I figured." Your second attempt at a tease lands, and he huffs a small laugh, which warms your heart. "Do you still want dinner?"

He had somehow gotten closer to you throughout the awkward enough conversation, and he was sliding his arms around your waist. Something he had done many times before, yes, and yet this time it was feeling much more intimate, and your heart was thrumming against your chest a little harder than usual. 

"Maybe it can wait?" he offers, ducking his head down, lips ghosting over your own. "I don't have a bothersome cat keeping me preoccupied from you, now."

Despite yourself, you poke a finger into his chest and say, "Don't insult Po."

"I'm not. Just merely stating an obvious fact."

"I'll call him back in here to preoccupy me."

"He has selective hearing. And he likes me more than you."

Your lips drop into a frown, lower lip jutting out, and Spencer is quick to try and kiss it off within seconds of noticing it. 

"I'm sorry. That was mean. I promise he doesn't like me more than you," he says, though his voice is too amused to be entirely sincere. 

"That was mean," you agree with a firm nod. "You're very mean to me, Spencer Reid."

"I know, I'm awful. Can I make it up to you, sweet girl?"

Well, when he asks you like that.

"Mm..." you hesitate, but he's already guiding you around, walking you backwards, through your apartment and towards your bedroom. "Yeah, I guess so."

Hands that were around your waist hike your shirt up, his lips still kissing against your skin despite the intense multitasking he was forcing upon the two of you.

"Thank you."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[mydadleft471]

Okay to anyone who cares because this show has destroyed me hehehe

Anywho, spoilers for Arcane Season 2 Act 3…

Or just Season 2 in general.

what the fuck.

Okay. Okay. I love the lesbians. But the CaitVi sex scene seemed kinda… off? Like the making out and shit was good (ahahaha I’m so bisexual it hurts) but like… Vi just got abandoned by her sister. Her sister that she’s had a VERY troubled relationship with, one she just got back and almost died protecting. Now she’s out and about and has implied that she’s going to do something drastic. And Cait just walks in there all sexy and she’s like “did you think we needed that many guards on the bridge teehee wink wink” and they just start fucking? Like I’m all for it, but it just feels very… off. I would’ve liked it better if they had angry sex in the scene where Vi founds out Jinx was arrested. Idk. Felt off to me.

And and and… Jinx’s “sacrifice?” I’m saying that lightly because people have pointed out very good reasons to why she might still be alive and she just left which opens up a whole other can of worms but that’s beside the point! Anyway, like… it felt so pointless! She’s fought and survived and dealt with so much loss and grief and I understand that Silco told her to walk away and break the cycle but… that’s Silco. The man who never forgave Vander (maybe he did in the “is there anything so undoing as a daughter” scene but ya know) and paid the fucking price? Why couldn’t Jinx break the cycle of hatred and learn to coexist with her sister? To deal with her mistakes head on? To help put that explosive power to good use? It just doesn’t make sense in my brain. I hated it tbh. It felt like such an intentional (shallow) emotional grab to “kill” one of the most beloved characters in the series. Maybe it’s just me, but I hated it.

Mel is cool tho. She is such a woman. A fucking powerhouse and it felt so good to watch her use her golden powers.

So is Ekko. I love him. He’s done so much. I love the consensus that they had to throw Ekko into the wild rune thingy otherwise he’d be too productive and save everyone before anything ever happened. That’s so him.

Poor Jayce. He went THROUGH IT. And Viktor’s design? The way his mask literally splits his face? And the gay power and ultimate sacrifice they did at the end? YES. So fucking good. Viktor’s scenes have been STUNNING this season and I’ve been eating it up like stuffing and gravy on Thanksgiving.

Arcane is certainly a one-of-a-kind show. I’ve never felt so emotionally invested before. I’ve never cried and then danced around my room with joy in such a small amount of time before. Fortiche (I think I’m spelling that right) had the weight of the universe on their shoulders, and boy did they deliver, but there are a few hang-ups. That doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the show or I want my time back. Absolutely not. I loved the ride and I’ll definitely be thinking about Arcane for a long time. What a show.

[melonpond]

He (sock puppet Mr. Hyde) haunts my every thought

[hollow-vok]

Ohh im obssesed

[unjorts]

if you notice something watching you, would it not be polite to Look back and say hello ?

(do not actually say hello or acknowledge it in any way if you do not want to invite its presence into your life.)

[joelscruff]

is it that sweet? (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

masterlist | a/n i've had no motivation to write lately but this randomly popped into my head the other day and suddenly my brain was like okay let's roll!! let's do this!! let's jump in!! so idk what that says about the current state of my subconscious. anyway this is filth! pls read the warnings! love u. summary: you probably shouldn't let some random middle aged man on the beach take nude photos of you, right? right? rating: 18+ explicit warnings: pervy!joel, age gap, voyeurism, coercion, objectification, sneaky picture taking, nude photos, paying for sexual favors, dirty talk, praise kink, pussy pronouns up the fuckin wazoo, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected p in v sex, standing sex, creampie word count: 8.4k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

He's been watching you for about an hour. You'd sussed him out almost immediately after settling onto your beach towel and digging into your bag for your sunscreen, mildly aware of the shape of him in your peripheral vision. He's old, definitely in his late fifties, but certainly not the most unattractive man who could be eyeing you. You're used to it by now anyway, almost feed into the way men seem to gawk at you sometimes now that you've finally thrown caution to the wind and stopped giving a fuck about your beach body. You used to be self conscious about your curves, your tummy, your thighs - you decided this summer that it had to stop.

And you're glad you did. Because now he's staring at you, this unnamed, completely anonymous middle aged man only a few feet away. And it feels fucking good.

Should it feel good? Probably not. Should you tell him to buzz off and leave you alone? Take a picture, it'll last longer, something like that? Probably. But will you? No.

You like feeling his eyes on you.

Older men like you, you've noticed. They stare. They stare more than men your own age - boys, really. Twenty somethings who try to play it cool and more often than not come across as disinterested in their interest. They're cowardly, obnoxious. And you suppose some older ones are too, especially the ones with wives - they want you to be impressed by them, ooh and awe over their high paying jobs and big mansions, their fancy cars that they think make up for their tiny dicks.

But every now and then you'll come across one like this. You can read him like a book, peering at him from over your sunglasses every so often as he lounges behind a vibrant blue umbrella. His eyes caress your bare shoulders and chest, your exposed stomach, your soft thighs. They linger on the places they shouldn't and it makes you tingle. He's appreciating what he sees, basking in it, taking his time.

You could be content just lying here and letting him look. He is handsome after all, greying curls and soft scruff flecked with white, golden skin that almost glows underneath the sun. His legs stretch out over his own towel, long and lean and strong. He's got a soft looking belly, hanging out a little bit over his trunks, and now your eyes linger for a little longer than they should.

But you won't say anything. If he wants to talk to you, he has every opportunity to. You're not going anywhere for at least another hour, not until the sun starts setting and it's time to head back to your friend's vacation home. You've only been in California for a short period of time, but it's like it's somehow molded you into a different person - a more confident, sexier version of yourself that's been dying to get out for years. A version of you who lets this old man stare and get his fill as you smirk and turn over on your towel, arching your ass up into the air.

Oh, he likes that. You can tell because of the way his jaw clenches, neck tightening as his eyes fall to the globes of your cheeks. With a barely there smirk, you arch a little more, stretching and flexing and letting him take in the way your bikini bottoms barely contain them. Your breasts hang low onto your towel, practically overflowing from their own containment, and you have to admit - you're getting a little wet posing for him like this.

He licks his lips, eyes flickering downward again to something closer to him, something in his hand. You crane your neck a little bit to peer around the blue umbrella, and your breath hitches.

He's taking pictures of you.

It's obvious now, should have been obvious this whole time, really. Only one of his hands has really been visible, the other settled low against his side behind the umbrella. Now you can see that he's got his phone angled toward you, the camera peeking slyly out from behind the blue nylon as he repeatedly taps his screen with his thumb. To test him a little further, make sure you're really seeing what you think you're seeing, you push down into the sand with your hands and rise up a little bit on the towel, almost into a lazy downward facing dog. Your tits jiggle below you, threatening to escape, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as the man adjusts the camera to get a better angle. His thumb and forefinger glide across the screen, undeniably - and unashamedly - zooming in.

You're definitely wet now. You know you shouldn't be. You know this has probably gone too far and you should get up and leave, potentially tell someone about the creep on the beach taking photos of women in bikinis.

Instead, you make eye contact with him, settling back down onto your towel with your ass still perched a little in the air. He seems to freeze, eyebrows going up in the realization that he's been caught. In response, you blink slowly at him, pout a little bit as if to say, Really? You arch your back a little more and shimmy your hips, tilting your head as you continue to gaze over at him, eyes going a little hooded.

Come fuck me, you're almost saying, even though you know there's no way in hell you're gonna let him. It's just funny to watch him squirm, phone gripped tight in his hand as his adam's apple bobs in his throat. You arch a little more and then grind your hips into your towel, flattening yourself against it, holding his gaze. You rest your head and smile at him teasingly.

He's getting up and shuffling toward you in no time at all.

"Hi, darlin'," are the first words out of his mouth when he reaches you, and you certainly did not expect a Southern accent to fall from those plush lips. He's gorgeous really, now that you can see him up close - wide shoulders and big arms that strain against his white shirt, strong chest covered in little freckles, chocolate brown eyes that shimmer in the sunlight.

"Hi," you say with a smile, blinking up at him.

"I'm sure you saw what I was doin'," he seems a little embarrassed, voice apologetic as he scratches the back of his neck, "I know I shoulda asked, but you seemed so relaxed, I didn't wanna disturb you."

Bullshit, you only came over because I smiled at you. Any other reaction and you'd have run for the hills.

"I'm Joel," he reaches his hand down for you to take. For some reason, you shake it without hesitation. "I'm actually a photographer, believe it or not."

Huh. You raise an eyebrow at the words, doubt immediately swimming in your mind as you assess him.

"If you're a photographer, where's your camera?"

He chuckles, "Back at my hotel. I just came out here to relax, wasn't plannin' on takin' any photos. But then I saw you, and, well..." he smiles at you sheepishly, "You're just so pretty, darlin'. Never seen somebody like you before."

The words are not special. They're nothing you haven't already heard, nothing he hasn't probably already used on countless other women. And yet... you smile back at him, cheeks warming a little at the way the compliment sounds coming out of his mouth in particular, all Southern and sweet. "Thank you."

His eyes suddenly leave yours to flicker back toward your body again, scanning the length of you. As if on instinct, almost to show off, you tighten the muscles in your ass cheeks and then release, letting them jiggle a little bit under your swimsuit. He swallows tightly.

"Would you be interested in posin' for me, sweetheart? There's a little spot down the beach, outta sight. Still public though, of course. I wouldn't ask you to go anywhere unsafe," his eyes linger on your ass for a few more seconds before he's meeting your gaze again, soft and sincere, "I'd love to get some pictures of you in that bikini, and some with it off too, if you're comfortable with that."

Oh, he's fucking brave. You can feel disgust brewing in the pit of your stomach, a scowl beginning to dawn on your face. This is where you should draw the line. This is where you should get up and leave, tell him to go to hell, tell him he's a pervert and-

"I'll pay whatever you think is fair," he continues, "How's three hundred as a starting point?"

On second thought...

"Beautiful, baby," he's telling you softly, "You're so pretty like that."

You hum in contentment, laying in the sand with a little smile tugging at your lips as Joel maneuvers around you with his phone, snapping pic after pic as you peer up at him through rays of sun. You're a little ways down the beach now, in a sparser area behind some rocks. He was right about it still being public - if something happened, you know you could raise your voice the tiniest bit and be heard immediately by people on the other side. Somehow though, despite his forwardness and slightly perverted habits, you trust that he isn't going to force anything on you.

You've already got three hundred dollars in your purse. He'd given it to you before you'd even gotten up from your initial spot on the beach, placed it in your hand with a grin as your eyes widened. You suppose you could've taken the money and run, but part of you wanted to play it out, test the limits, see what else he'd pay you for.

Which leads you here, laying sensually in the sand with the strings of your bikini dangling a little looser off your shoulders and hips, a little careless, a little more teasing. The poses so far have been pretty basic, and you've tried your best to emulate what you think a supermodel on the cover of Sports Illustrated would do. Based on Joel's responses - excited nods and gentle praises - you think you're doing a good job.

"Turn over now," he tells you with a playful grin, "Put that cute little ass in the air again for me."

It should be demeaning, the way he's talking to you. There's a lot about this situation that should be wrong, and yet you can't help but feel pride swell in your chest at his directions, his compliments. You do what he says, flipping over to dig your hands into the sand and arch your back, turning your head to eye the camera directly with a sultry little smile on your face.

"Perfect," he's murmuring, thumb tapping the screen like his life depends on it, "That's so perfect, honey." You listen to the fake little shutter sounds the phone makes, still wondering if he's even really a photographer. Would it even matter? Wouldn't you have still let him do this anyway?

With this new angle you can feel the loose strands of your bikini top starting to slip, unraveling at the back and trickling gently against your sides. You watch with what should be a worrying lack of urgency as it cascades down onto the sand below, leaving you topless.

He whistles low under his breath, "Well, would you look at that. The girls are out."

"That's an extra fifty," you say with a coy eyebrow raise, "Or else I cover them back up."

"Extra fifty, no problem" Joel echoes, "Can you shake your ass for me again, darlin'?"

You nod, tilting your head and peering back at him as you tighten and release your muscles with a giggle, basking in the way he stares at it, like it's a five course meal he's about to devour. You do it a few more times, arching your back a little more and spreading your thighs slightly to allow for more recoil, more jiggle. He makes an odd sound in the back of his throat and you grin.

"How much to take these off too?" he lowers the phone and peers at you with pleading eyes, brown and soft, "Huh? How much extra to show me this lil' peach, honey?"

You grimace, looking down at the sand and trying to calculate an appropriate cost in your brain. You bite your lip, "You know that's not the only thing that'll show."

"I know," he murmurs, eyes trailing downward again to eye your ass, still perched high and plump, "Your peach and your pussy then, how much?"

Fuck.

"I won't touch you," he promises softly, "You can just tug it down and show her to me, lemme see her up close, yeah?"

Her?

Her.

"Christ," you mumble under your breath. He's filthier than you thought, and not in a bad way - in a fucking hot way. "Another fifty," you decide, voice firm, "And... and I wanna see you put the money in my purse first. And no touching my... her."

"I can do that, sweetheart," he's already digging into his wallet and yanking out the money, opening your bag slightly to place it inside. It could be counterfeit for all you know; this whole thing really might be a completely worthless venture, and yet -

He watches as you reach backward to untie the strings of your bikini bottoms, doing it in one fell swoop and then spreading your thighs again, knees digging into the sand. You arch and press your face against your towel, feeling goosebumps rise all over your skin at the knowledge that he's staring at where you're now completely bare.

You hear him groan, a rough little sound that goes straight to your core, and a few little shutter sounds go off, "Now, that's a pretty little pussy you got there, baby."

Heat rises throughout your body, up through your chest and to your cheeks. You turn a little to look at him shyly, lashes fluttering when you see where his gaze has settled.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, honey, she's so pretty," he breathes, "She's all wet. Leakin' for me, you see that?"

You can't see it of course, but you can feel it; feel the way you're dripping, knowing that he can see it, has a 1:1 view of the way you throb and drool for him. This random old man who about twenty minutes ago you'd never spoken to in your life.

"And your little clit is sayin' hi to me too, babygirl, can see her pokin' out." Fuck. You squirm a little in place as his camera continues to go off, legs spreading a little more unconsciously as you tilt your head downwards and close your eyes. Your clit twitches under his stare.

"Swollen little thing," he breathes, barely loud enough to hear, "Perfect pussy."

Jesus Christ.

"Roll over for me again, sweetheart," you hear him say quietly, "Show me all those pretty parts."

You don't know why, but you whine a little at his words. It's subconscious, a burning desire you can't describe as you slowly flip over and lazily lay back on your towel to show him your entire naked body. He stands over you with his brow furrowed in a gentle kind of way, eyes appraising you up and down like you're some kind of goddess. And fuck, he's kind of making you feel like one.

"Legs open a little bit, baby, that's it." You obey, spreading your legs and looking up at him with lidded eyes, lips parting a little. You bring your arms up to rest behind your head and he takes note of the way your tits bounce for him, shivering back and forth beneath his gaze. "You're perfect," he murmurs, "You're absolutely perfect."

"Stop," you say, unable to stop a grin from spreading across your face, "M'not perfect."

"But you are, darlin'," he shakes his head, eyes full of wonder as he kneels down to get some closer pictures. You watch as he brings his phone down directly in front of your pussy, snaps a few close-ups of your puffy lips and swollen clit. "I'd love to kiss her, honey, if you'd let me."

"N-no," you say quickly, though your voice cracks, "No touching."

"I'll pay you extra," his eyes return to yours, locking your gazes, "You name it, baby. I'll pay anything to taste how sweet you are down here."

You look at him calculatingly, tilting your head. Anything?

"Two hundred," you practically whisper, "In the bag."

You're half expecting him to tell you that he's run out of money, that he couldn't possibly give you any more than the four hundred he's already blown on this. But he surprises you, reaching back into his pocket to grab his wallet and tug out the bills. It's like he has an endless supply, and you're beginning to wonder if maybe this is a hobby of his, something he prepares for, carries money around to be ready to spend on women like you. Maybe he's rich rich, has unlimited money to throw away, and this is just his weird perverted thing he does on the side of something else.

Maybe you should have asked for more.

But he's already kneeling back down into the sand and you're already opening your legs wider for him, allowing him to settle between them and lean his head forward to place his lips gently against your pussy. You watch with heavy lids as he kisses you so softly there, his mouth tender and inviting and deliciously scratchy from his scruff. Without really thinking about it, you reach down and run a hand through his curls, smiling a little fondly as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

"That feels nice," you breathe, watching as he continues to press incredibly slow and gentle kisses to your cunt in an almost respectful way, a reverent way.

"Good," he murmurs, lips vibrating against your core, "Want it to feel nice for you, baby."

You let out a soft moan the second his tongue breaches your folds, wet and warm. You watch as he closes his eyes and seems to get lost in it, tasting your pussy like it - or she, as he'd said - is some rare delicacy he's never indulged in before. He trails the tip of his tongue through the mess you've made, maneuvering your puffy lips and flicking it against your clit. Your hips buck and another moan slips out, quiet and pitiful.

"That's it," he murmurs against you with a little half smile, "So sweet for me, honey." He dives back in immediately and slowly plunges his tongue inside your entrance, fucking into you a few times before carefully pulling back and opening his eyes to peer up at you again. God, those brown eyes are fucking sinful. He gives you one more smile and then reaches down to grab his phone.

"Gonna get some more pics of this messy girl, okay?" he breathes, and you're a little startled when his left hand is suddenly coming down to touch you there, two fingers carefully scissoring you open. You don't say anything, too horny to protest, too intrigued to see what he's going to do. "Gotta open her up a little," he tells you softly, answering your unspoken question, "Wanna take a little peek at what she's hidin' inside her, baby."

A little whimper falls from your throat again as his fingers scissor you wider, holding you open and baring your hole to his camera. You can feel your walls twitching and pulsing, contracting and leaking; you can only imagine what it looks like. Your eyes roll a little when his middle finger taps your clit, another gush of arousal flooding past your opening.

"Look at this lil' hole, huh?" he's murmuring, but your eyes are closing and your head is falling back onto the towel as he plays with you, "Oh, she's alllll messy for me down here, baby. And it's no wonder your clit came out to see me, she loves gettin' played with, don't she?"

Christ, he knows how to talk. His words send another helpless little sound past your lips, thighs trembling as he slowly caresses your clit with his finger, pressing down on it with just the right amount of pressure.

"Aw, you're all sticky here again, baby," he whispers and you whine, feeling your juices dribble down toward your ass, "Shh, I'll take care of it," and then he's leaning back in to lap at your folds, a little faster this time, more desperate, "Tastes so good, pretty girl. So sweet."

He suckles your clit into his mouth and you let out a breathless moan, brow furrowing as he suctions the swollen nub and lets one of his fingers fall to slip inside your entrance. You're so close you can feel it, coiled inside and ready to snap at any moment, his thick index plugging you deliciously as his tongue swirls. You tighten around it, thighs squeezing a little around his head, and then-

He's pulling away, removing his mouth and finger. Your eyes flutter open and you watch as he stands up with a little groan, older age apparent in the way he clutches at his back and exhales once he's upright. You want to tell him to get back down here, finish what he started, but part of you feels like it'd almost be letting him win, somehow. This perverted creep on a public beach that's somehow managed to lure you away and get you naked, take photos of your body and eat your pussy. He doesn't deserve to have you beg for him - even if you want to.

"Can you stand up for me now, honey?" he tilts his head, squinting against the sun and smiling like he didn't just ruin your orgasm.

On shaky legs, you manage to pull yourself up from the sand and stand before him in all your naked glory, legs crossing a little as you squeeze your thighs together. He smirks but doesn't say anything about it, instead angling his phone toward you again and snapping some full length photos. You immediately do your best to go back into Sports Illustrated mode, posing a little and trying to ignore the ache between your legs, the relentless throb of where his mouth just was.

"Squeeze your tits together for me," he tells you, voice a bit deeper, rougher, full of arousal, "Cup 'em a little, show me those cute lil' nipples."

You do as he says, biting your lip and showing the camera exactly what he wants to see. Your nipples are peaked and hard, begging to be teased and tugged, but you refuse to do it yourself - you're not giving him the satisfaction, not after what he just pulled. He takes a few up-close pictures, camera so close to them that you shiver with sensitivity, the smallest bit of air from his movements causing them to tighten even more.

"Those are so beautiful, baby," he murmurs softly, gaze trailing upwards to meet yours, "Can I give 'em a kiss too?" God, his eyes are so fucking soft and sincere, like fucking boba pearls. You wonder if anyone's ever been able to say no to him.

You swallow, keeping eye contact, "For another fifty, sure."

He chuckles at that, "You drive a hard bargain, darlin'."

"I know what I'm worth."

He smiles, nodding slowly, "That, you do." He pulls out his wallet and slips another bill into your bag, then shuffles toward you again. You try to keep your breathing calm when one of his hands comes up to cradle your bare back, pulls you in a little bit as he lowers his mouth to your right nipple. With hazy eyes, you watch as he presses the softest little kiss to it, then does the same to the left.

Part of you wants to pull back and say that's it, that's all you get, just to see what he does, give him a taste of his own medicine. But then he's wrapping his lips around the pebbled bud and suckling, your eyes going glassy, jaw dropping a little as your hands come up to hold his shoulders. Your pussy throbs at the sensation, thighs rubbing together again as he suctions just the right amount and swirls his tongue all over the hard peak. It's impossible not to let a quiet moan fall past your lips, something he returns with a little mmhmm around your nipple, a wordless I know.

It feels so good that you feel your guard going down even more than it already has, feel your head falling forward to rest against his. His greying hair is so soft, so warm from the sun. You blink slowly and inhale, cheek smooshing into his temple as he sucks and sucks and sucks, then turns his attention to the other one. Little whimpers are tumbling past your lips, your hands squeezing and caressing his shoulders as you feel yourself starting to drip down your inner thighs.

It's so fucking intimate, much more intimate than you anticipated. And when he finally pulls away and comes back up to peer into your eyes again, leaving your nipples puffy and a little sore, you betray yourself by leaning forward to kiss him softly, tugging his bottom lip into your mouth and returning the favor with a little suckle. You feel him smile against you, the hand on your back tightening as he brings his other one up to tangle in your hair. His lips are plush and wet - a little chapped from what he's just done to your nipples - and he tastes like pussy.

It's fucking heavenly.

"I wanna show you somethin', babygirl," he murmurs against you after a moment, and you nod a little too quickly, a little pathetically. You're starting to realize that you're losing the battle here, if there ever even was one.

He pulls back a little, eyes still soft. You watch as he reaches down to his swim trunks and unties them, heart suddenly in your throat as he slips his hand inside and comes out with an absolutely beautiful dick. It's long and thick, rounded and full at the tip with an extremely suckable looking mushroom head, as well as a prominent vein trailing up his shaft that makes your mouth water. You both stare at it for a few seconds without speaking, your lips parting but no words coming to mind.

"You wanna take some pictures with my cock, honey?" he asks you quietly, and you think he's probably looking at your face now, watching your expression, but you're still just staring at his dick.

"W-what?"

"Just a few, like...well..." he shuffles forward a bit and very gently presses the warmth of his cock against your bare stomach, letting the tip sit just above your belly button, "Like this."

Your brain is blank.

"That okay?"

His cock is so heavy.

"Darlin'?"

And warm.

He pushes some of your hair behind your ear, cradles your face in his big hand, "I know, honey," he murmurs, "You just gotta say okay."

Okay?

"O-okay," you finally whisper.

"Yeah?"

Yeah. You think it but don't say it, can't say it. You feel beyond overwhelmed, eyes still glued to where his throbbing tip is smooshed into your belly. You can't stop looking at it, ogling it, awed by its impressiveness and girth, the way it leaks a little onto your skin. You've never seen a dick this pretty before. You almost forget that you're standing there without any clothes on, barely aware of the shutter sound as he snaps multiple pictures on his phone.

"Good girl," he murmurs softly, "That's a good girl, just look at it."

Every few seconds he repositions a little, pulling you in closer to capture the way his cock stands at attention between your bodies. Precum gurgles from the tip and makes a sticky mess in his happy trail, dribbling down onto your skin. Without thinking about it at all, completely unaware of even doing it, your arms are suddenly around his waist, holding him close with your gaze still locked onto his cock.

"Yeah, that's for you, baby," he tells you softly, grinding his hips a little bit against yours and essentially fucking his cock against your stomach, "You did that to me."

It's only when he suddenly takes a small step back, holds the base and angles it downward to gently prod the sticky head against your pussy lips, that you finally come to your senses.

"Wait," you gasp out, yanking yourself back from him and shaking your head, "W-wait a second."

"M'sorry," he says quickly, brow furrowing as he puts his hands up. His cock hangs from his trunks almost comically, bobbing up and down as he takes a step back, "Shoulda asked first."

"Y-yeah, you should've," your voice cracks, heat flooding your face, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me just then, that was too far." Why the fuck are you apologizing to him?

"S'not too far," his words are gentle, alluring, "We're just havin' fun, aren't we honey? You were havin' fun, got lost in it. It's okay."

You take a breath, staring at him as you try to get your bearings. Were you having fun? Is this fun? What the fuck are you even doing right now? Your thoughts are cloudy, hazed with arousal and attraction to this complete stranger in front of you. Are you really gonna let this continue? Is it really worth it? Your gaze falls back to his cock and the question is almost answered for you.

"What am I doing?" you ask aloud, a breathless little laugh escaping your lips.

"You're just havin' fun with a new friend, s'all it is."

You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to ignore the way your hands tremble, "Is that what you are? My friend?"

"I'll be anything you want me to be, darlin'," his mouth turns up at the corners, eyes sparkling, "I sure would like to be your friend."

He peers at you for a moment, waiting for you to speak. Your mouth opens a few times but no words come out, your thoughts scrambled as you try to make heads or tails of this situation. You're suddenly painfully aware of the fact that you're still completely naked, and you quickly peek your head over the rock formation to make sure there's nobody nearby - there isn't.

Why are you checking?

"C'mere," Joel finally says, and you turn back to look at him with your lip between your teeth. He's standing there with his arms open a bit, cock still heavy between his legs. By all accounts, a fucking perv. And yet...

And yet.

Fuck it.

You're back in his embrace in no time, hooking your head over his shoulder and allowing his cock to press warmly into your skin again. You close your eyes and sigh as he brings one of his hands downward to squeeze your ass.

You know what he's going to ask before he even says it.

"Can I put it inside you, darlin'?" he murmurs softly, pleadingly, "Just to get a pic of your pussy all full?"

You don't say anything.

"Won't take more than a minute," he urges, "I promise, baby. Just wanna see it stretched around my cock. Don't you wanna see that, pretty girl? I'll pay extra, whatever you want."

More silence.

"I know you wanna see it," he's relentless, his other hand coming down to squeeze your other cheek and pull you impossibly closer, "You wanna feel that, don't you, baby? Big cock fillin' you up before you go?" His middle finger slides between your cheeks and settles at your pussy, slowly teasing your entrance, "Don't gotta do anything at all, just gotta stand here, we'll do it standin' honey."

"Standing?" you ask softly, pulling back to look at him with intrigue, and your response suddenly has him grinning from ear to ear as he slowly inserts his finger. You shiver, eyes fluttering closed as he fills you with it.

"Standin'," he repeats, "Just like this, baby, don't gotta do anything 'cept open your legs a little for me. You can do that, can't you?" The hand on your ass comes up to hold your chin; he pinches it gently between his finger and thumb and gives you another soft look as he starts to fuck you in earnest, "I know you can, 'cause you're a good girl, yeah?"

"Y-yeah," you breathe, arms tightening around his body.

"Yeah," he adds a second finger, smile faltering into a sympathetic pout when you let out another soft moan, "And you want that cock, don't you? I can see it all over your face, honey. Don't gotta pretend."

"I do," you whisper with a nod, swallowing thickly and trembling in his arms, "I want it, I do."

"So..." he's waiting for you to say the words, to tell him to go ahead and put it in, do what he wants, let him take control. His fingers are relentless inside of you now, plunging in and out at a speed you know he's purposely using to distract you, cloud your decision making.

Which is why his eyebrows go up in surprise when you're suddenly reaching down to grab tightly to his wrist, yanking his fingers out of your pussy in one swift pull.

"Three hundred," you state, "Take it or leave it."

To your surprise, his face alights with a gigantic smile, a deep laugh tumbling past his lips as he nods and digs his hand into his pocket, seeking his wallet one more time, "Yes, m'aam," he grins, "I'll take it."

You've never had sex standing up before. Not like this, face to face and completely upright with your feet planted on the ground. It's a little awkward at first, Joel having to crouch a little to align his hips with yours, one hand gripping your waist while the other grips his phone. God, this fucking phone. You're pretty sure you'll never wanna see a phone case with this ugly shade of cerulean blue again, let alone hear those obnoxious shutter sounds.

Your annoyance is quickly overpowered by the sensation of the warm head of Joel's cock pressing gently to your pussy. You look down to watch, lip between your teeth again as Joel snaps image after image of the way his tip crowds your outer lips, pushes them apart. You have to admit, it's certainly a sight to behold.

"Yeah, look at her open for me, baby," he's murmuring, thumbing the base as he slowly rubs his cockhead back and forth through your folds, "Bloomin' like a little flower."

The top of your head rests against his shoulder, face angled down to watch what he's doing. A tiny whimper falls from your lips when he very slowly eases the head of his cock inside of you, the stretch barely noticeable with how wet you are. He releases your hip to reach down and open your pussy lips with his thumb and forefinger, exposing where you're joined.

"Tell her to smile for the camera, babygirl," he whispers, and while part of you wants to roll your eyes, another part can't help but feel a gush of arousal at his words, soaking his cock even more, "Good, that's good."

He feeds his cock to you slowly, making sure to take as many pictures as he can. Little whines and squeaks erupt from your throat and your hands claw at his back, fingers tangling in the white crocheted material as he fills you up. It's only when he's fully sheathed inside of you that he suddenly tugs his trunks down a little more to expose his balls, heavy and round and full. You stare at them with a longing in your eyes you can't describe, lower lip trembling as you watch them bounce and settle against where you're joined.

"There you go," he murmurs, snapping one last picture before tossing his phone into the sand and bringing his hands up to cradle your back, pulling you close, "All done, baby, that's it."

Your toes curl in the sand as you embrace the feeling of being so full of him, his tip pulsing delicately inside the deepest parts of you. A distant thought in your brain wonders why he just threw his phone on the ground, but it doesn't seem to matter when you feel like this, so full and wet and warm, lost in a hazy glow. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out quiet little whimpers as he pulls you in tighter. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, seemingly reveling in the moment too as you stand there listening to the ocean waves, impaled on a stranger's cock.

"How's that feel, honey?" he asks you softly, thumbs tracing shapes along your bare back, "Hm? Feel good?" You don't answer, just nuzzle your face against his skin and let out another soft whine, hands clamoring underneath his shirt to grip his back. He chuckles, "Yeah, I know, baby."

You both stand there for what feels like forever, until you finally have enough sense to pull away from his shoulder and get a look at his face. He's watching you fondly, brow furrowed, eyes still incredibly soft and inviting. He really is gorgeous. Pervy, but gorgeous.

"You dropped your phone," you mumble, words faint and slightly slurred.

"Don't need it anymore," he murmurs, "Got my pictures."

"Then why are you still inside me?" you ask softly, eyelashes fluttering, "If you're done?"

He shrugs, smiling, "'Cause it feels good, don't it?"

You stare at him for a few seconds but end up nodding regardless, turning your face a little to peer over at the ocean, "It does," you admit, "Feels really good."

"Mmhmm," he kisses the top of your head again, then your temple, stroking his fingers through your hair. The way he touches you is reverent, delicate, like you're something fragile he needs to keep safe. It's not what you'd expected, that's for sure. But something you're not as sure about is what happens now, where you both go from here.

It doesn't take long for him to decide.

You feel his thumb on your clit, drawing your attention away from the ocean and back to his presence. You peer at him through bleary eyes, a dazed little smile curving your lips as he carefully rotates the swollen nub. His belly caresses yours, warm and soft, and you smile even wider.

"Feel good?" he asks you again - tender, kind.

"Yeah," you whisper.

The hand on your back comes up to cradle your hair, pulling you in close again and allowing you to rest your head against his smooth chest. You moan as his thumb picks up speed, the sound muffled by his tan skin.

"You want me to make you come, honey?" he murmurs, fingers brushing carefully through your hair, "You wanna come all over that big cock inside you?"

"Yeah," you repeat, a little broken this time, "W-wanna come."

"You've been so fuckin' good for me, you know that?" he breathes, barely a whisper, brow furrowed as he continues to rub your clit, "Posin' all pretty, showin' me that soft little pussy, lettin' me taste her," he gives a low whistle, shaking his head, "And now she's all full, huh? She full?"

You nod, eyes rolling a little, "Y-yeah." Apparently yeah is currently one of the only words in your vocabulary.

"She all messy for me?"

Again, you nod, expression blissful as you let out a moan, "Yes, Joel," you whimper, and you're pretty sure it's the first time you've said his name this whole time. It's like you've been trying to be disconnected from it, from him, and now suddenly he's everywhere; inside you, in front of you, above you - there's no escaping him. And you don't want to escape - what you want is him. Badly. Desperately.

He seems to realize this at the exact same time you do, the moment he hears his name fall from your lips. Which is why you're not surprised in the slightest by his next words.

"What if I wanted a pic of my cum leakin' outta this little pussy?" he whispers, mouth suddenly directly next to your ear, sending insane amounts of pleasurable tingles throughout your whole body, "Huh? How much would that cost? Tell me."

"You can't," you mumble, lightheaded, but you're lying to yourself, completely lost in the pleasure he's giving you, the movement of his thumb and the girth of his cock.

"Only take a few seconds, honey, m'already close," as he speaks, you feel his hips slowly begin to buck, cock pulling from you for only a moment before easing back in, making you shudder, "You don't gotta do nothin', 'cept show me how she drools when she's full. You can do that, can't you baby?"

"Joel," you whine again, eyes shut tight as you dig your toes into the sand, holding tight to his back as he slowly starts to fuck up into you. He's so big, so thick, plugging you full and then leaving you again, slow and warm. You can only imagine how it would feel to have him burst inside of you, to fill you to the brim.

"I wanna see her drool, honey," he murmurs, voice desperate again, full of arousal, "Wanna see her push it out."

"Fuck," you moan, high and whiney as you suddenly grip both sides of his face in your hands to peer directly into his eyes, "A thousand," you whimper, your hands clawing at his scruff as his hips pick up speed, as his hands fall to your waist and hold tightly as he starts to pound up into you, "A thousand and you can come in my pussy."

He presses his forehead against yours, lets out a guttural sound and then hisses, "Deal."

And for some reason, you believe him.

Getting pounded while standing upright is a fucking trip. His nails dig into the pebbled flesh of your hips, knees bending and unbending as his cock fucks up into you relentlessly without stopping or slowing. Your hands are still holding his face, eyes locked with his as your mouth pops open in a silent scream, thumbs digging into the apples of his cheeks. Holy fucking shit.

"I know, I know, I know," he's groaning, voice wild and unhinged, groans vibrating in his chest, "Fuckin' take it, s'what you were made for, honey. Knew it the second I saw you, knew you were gonna go wild on that dick."

"Please," you moan out, tears pricking in your eyes, the sensations almost too much to bear, "Please, please." You don't even know what you're begging for, thoughts muddled as you release his face and wind your arms around his neck, "Keep fucking me, keep fucking me, don't stop, please."

"I got you, honey, I got you," you feel his thumb return to your clit as he speaks, the sounds of your skin slapping together almost rivalling the sound of the ocean waves, "You gonna come, pretty girl? Huh? You gonna cream on my cock?"

"Yes," you practically squeal, and before you can really process what you're doing you're suddenly jumping up from the sand to wrap your legs around Joel's waist, ankles tangling together behind his back. He has no issue shifting positions, his arm cradling you and holding you in the air while his thumb continues to ravage your clit. You feel it building in your stomach, tightening more and more with the insistent pressure of his thumb and the continuous thrusts of his dick hitting your cervix over and over.

"Ohh, I feel her, baby," he groans in your ear, "Sloppy little cunt wants to make another mess, doesn't she?" And that's all it takes for your orgasm to hit you, your legs squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter around Joel's body as you moan and whine and cry, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and shaking in his arms. It's like having the wind knocked out of you, arguably one of the best orgasms you've ever had in your life, your eyes rolling back into your head as you sob into his neck.

"Joel," you whimper, pussy pulsing repeatedly around his dick through the aftershocks, "Joel, come inside her, please."

"Oh, fuck."

You feel it then, the twitch of his cock and the warm ropes of his release pumping into you. You sigh almost dreamily, burying your face in his shoulder and listening as he groans, feeling the way his fingertips dig into the soft plush of your ass. It's steady - there's so much more than you thought there'd be, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper again, murmuring his name one more time as he empties himself.

You stay like that for a moment, the ocean loud in your ears, all other sounds seemingly drowned out by the hiss of sea against rock and sand. Eventually, he carries you a few steps to your towel, your ears ringing and his body trembling a little as he carefully lowers you down. You let go of him a bit reluctantly, a pout on your lips as he lays you out and then slowly pulls himself from you with a wet squelch.

"Good girl," he's murmuring - you realize he's been saying it the whole time - "Good girl, that's it, open your legs."

There's no hesitance at all anymore, not after that. You open your legs wide with abandon and sit up on your hands, watching with heavy lids as he grabs his phone from where he'd discarded it, bringing it down to your leaking pussy.

"Look at that," he breathes, awestruck, and your eyes trail downward to see what he sees. You feel heat return to your cheeks when you see the way his creamy white release is slowly beginning to dribble out of you and onto the towel.

"Wow, that's a lot," you whisper with a faint little giggle, eyes coming back up to look at his face as he watches it drip. You're not sure he hears you, intensely focused on where you're swollen and leaking, but you don't mind. You push back lazily on your hands and smile fondly at him as he takes his precious photos. In the afterglow, you find that the shutter sounds aren't that annoying, not really.

"Open her up for me, baby," he tells you softly, "Spread her wide and push it out."

You sit up a little, feeling drowsy and dreamy as you reach down and pull yourself open with your hands. You apply a little pressure, closing your eyes in a daze and hearing the wet little sounds as you push his cum out of you and onto the towel. You hear him groan, hear the shutter sounds again, and you can't help but grin.

"Are they good?" you ask him, genuinely wondering, "Is she pretty?" As you speak you pull yourself a little wider, allow him to take one more picture as close inside as possible before he pulls it away.

He looks up from his handiwork with that familiar soft smile on his face again, brown eyes shimmering in the sun that's already beginning to set, "You're perfect," he tells you, "And don't argue with me, I just gave you almost two thousand dollars."

You snort, releasing yourself and falling backwards onto the towel to stare up at the sky. Your limbs feel heavy, eyelids drooping as you watch Joel in your periphery slipping his soft cock back into his trunks, as well as his phone.

"It's real money, right?" you ask, a little unsure.

"I promise it's real money," he says with a chuckle, walking over to stand over you, "D'you wanna come back to my hotel with me and get cleaned up? Maybe have some more fun?"

You bite your lip, "Would you pay me?"

"I'd pay you."

Admittedly, as reality begins to wash over you, the idea doesn't sound anywhere near as appealing as it might have an hour ago. With a little effort, you sit up again and reach for your bikini, half buried in the sand near your feet.

"Nah, I think I'm good."

Joel reaches his arm down and you take it, letting him help you to your feet. As you put your bikini back on, you watch with a little smile as he digs the rest of your money out of his wallet, slipping it into your purse like it's just second nature at this point - which, it basically is. He stands there then, a little awkwardly, like he's not sure what to say.

"Well, uh, thank you, darlin'," he finally says, taking a step back and nodding toward you with a kind expression, "Not many girls would have, um... not many would've done this. I'd offer you my number, but I get the feeling that's not what this is."

You wince, shaking your head, "Yeah, this, uh- this isn't gonna go anywhere, sorry. But it was fun."

He nods, "It was. And, I mean, those pictures aren't just gonna collect dust, I can tell you that much."

You laugh, walking forward a little to pick up your bag. You stop in front of him and, after hesitating for only a moment, lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. Just a peck - a goodbye.

"Have a good rest of your summer," you tell him as you pull away, heat rising in your cheeks again as he looks at you with those beautiful eyes, "And uh- maybe try to be a little more covert with that camera."

This time it's his turn to blush, his cheeks tinging a dark shade of pink as he laughs and tosses you a wave, turning to begin walking away from you. He only makes it a few steps, and then-

"Hey, Joel?"

He turns on the spot, a hopeful look in his expression that makes you wonder, if only for a moment, that maybe you're making the wrong choice.

"You're not really a photographer, are you?"

His blush deepens, a look of embarrassment crossing his features, "No, I'm not. But after today, I just might try my hand at it."

[feyascorner]

jealousy looks good on you

summary. Astarion realizes you're jealous after a night out at the tavern where he must gather information from another. And him being him, teasing ensues.

warnings. fluff, idk just two idiots doing idiotic things, Tav here is good oriented, sorry to evil tav players,,,

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. I love morons in love,,

You were not jealous. Especially not of that damned elf practically hanging off from his arm.

You'd encountered devils, walking brains, even the greatest of beasts during your adventures, yet not once have you felt nothing but utter annoyance. Like an obnoxious fly circling your head insistently no matter how much you swatted at it.

You'd never considered yourself possessive of your dearest companion. Sure, you were protective of him at times, but so were you with the rest of your group, especially knowing what each person had gone through in their lives. And while being lovers might've given an extra kick to that boundary, by no means were you excessively watching him like a hawk.

But now here you were, not watching him, but her.

Information, you remind yourself. You'd nearly forgotten why he was even tolerating her behavior in the first place, because even if he was flirtacious by nature, his tendencies narrowed down towards only you after your conversation at Moonrise. You knew he dreaded this as much as you, but the information that woman had was a must—and Astarion had insisted he could help out.

You were sincerely regretting even entertaining the idea now.

She has her chest pressed flush to the toned muscles of his arm, making sure he’s aware of what qualities she has to offer. With a bat of her lashes, she lets out a shrill laughter when he mumbles something, playfully hitting his chest as if it's the funniest thing in the world.

You’ll show her something really fucking funny at this rate—

Patience, you remind yourself. Breathe. In and out. This is unlike the qualities of a hero trying to save the city. Shooting an arrow at the woman would do nothing but cause panic. Why did you even want to get so violent in the first place? A little minor bump in the road shouldn't make you this angry, should it?

You seriously don't want to watch anymore—especially when he leans toward her to whisper something in her ear and she lets out that rage-inducing giggle again—so you down the rest of your alcohol and run a hand down your face.

You don't notice his eyes glancing at you every few moments, too busy calming your nerves.

A few minutes later, you hear the scrape of his chair pushing back and a rush of relief floods you when you see him stand, face content in a way that tells you the mission was successful. You thank the Gods above because any more of this and you certainly would've committed some sort of crime-

The woman takes his hand, shaking her head before giving him a sly smile. The breaths you took earlier seem to have no effect the second she motions towards the door, her fingers still wrapped around his hand like a death sentence.

You should trust him, you think.

He's had more experience in this than anyone else.

You can't see his expression, but the second you see hers drop, you're suddenly moving across the entire tavern. He whips around when he hears your steps and the relief on his face almost calms you. Almost.

“Hello, dear,” you accentuate. And though your eyes are trained on his, you're more focused on the woman from your side view. “Ready to leave? Sorry I had to catch up with a friend earlier.”

He raises a brow for a moment, and you suspect it’s because you were never supposed to even be in the plan. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze and look away, embarrassed to have let your emotions alter the mission so much—but he seems more than pleased. In fact, the bastard grins.

“Yes, my love,” he snickers, snatching his arm away from the woman and looping the other around the waist. “Let us hurry. I cannot stand another moment being unable to ravage you under such—prying eyes.”

Somehow, your face gets hotter.

Before the woman can respond (though you doubt she even wanted to), he's leading you out the tavern into the cold air of the streets for a much needed breather on your part. You're almost certain you won't be going to that tavern for a while.

“‘My dear’?” he mimics, his lips stretching wider. “I’d believed I was the one with pet names in our relationship. You'd seemed quite adamant on calling me by my given name after all. Had a change of heart?”

Your voice is a mumble as you retort. “Must be the alcohol.”

“Really? Because if I didn't know any better, and I do,” he stops the two of you around the corner of the building in an isolated spot, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I’d think you were jealous back there, darling.”

“I was just worried about you,” you blurt in a hurry. “Otherwise I wouldn't have butt in and—”

“Oh, my sweet sweet love,” he laughs. “I could feel you glaring from across the building. And I'm sure I could've sworn to see you slam your goblet a few times. No need to be ashamed. Jealousy is quite normal, and I'm more than flattered.”

“I’m not—” you begin, but her face flashes in your mind again. The way she'd touched his arms, his chest, and you knew she'd never know him the way you do. But it didn't quell the annoyance flickering in your chest. He raises a brow expectantly for your answer, and you quietly lift your hand to his arm, dusting it off.

Dusting her off.

And finally, you accept it. “I’m going to burn those clothes.”

He snorts. “I’m sure there's more romantic ways of getting me naked, but this’ll have to do for now.”

“I will. Then I’ll bury the ashes somewhere.”

“Charming.”

You look at him, disappointed—not in him, but yourself. Before you can drown in your own thoughts, he lifts his fingers to caress your face, smiling. “There really was no need to be jealous, darling.”

“I know,” you mutter. “I just—seeing her practically begging for your attention pissed me off.”

“And there's the difference between you and her. If it's worth even comparing at all,” he says, planting a peck to your forehead. “She begs a hopeless cause while I beg for you.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “You don't need to beg me for attention.”

“I’m aware. I know how much you're fond of me and my gorgeous eyelashes.” You sigh at this. “But I must admit that a selfish part of me is a bit pleased by your reaction to that vile woman.”

“Why? This feels horrible.”

“Well, now you get a taste of what I want to do when I see you with that damned cleric,” he groans at the thought. “Yes, I am aware you two are the giddiest of friends, but whenever she puts her hands all over you for the sake of healing—”

You burst into a fit of laughter. “How else is she supposed to help?”

“I’m sure she can heal you from a safe distance away. Preferably twelve feet. Maybe more.”

Wordlessly, you calm your smile and press your lips to his, your fingers running through white curls. He holds you like you’re made of glass, gently.

The kiss is soft, even as you finally pull away. “Stupid vampire.”

“Silly darling.”

You don't complain when he pulls you closer for one last kiss.

[minswriting]

HIIII min i hope you’re well idk if you’re still wanting requests, but giving spencer head for his first time has been on my brain lately and i know you’d do so well with it 😍🤭💋

omg thank you!! i hope you enjoy!!

nsfw | mdni

entering your relationship with spencer, you knew he was like the most virgin of virgins. he had never really kissed anyone before. he most certainly had never had sex at all. let alone he’s never had anyone touch him in a sexual manner. so you had decided to ease him into it. the first few months of your relationship were innocent. you taught him how to kiss, how to really enjoy someone’s company romantically. and spencer was such an amazing boyfriend almost right off the bat that it was just great.

after a few months, you guys began talking about sex. with hot make out sessions and hands roaming one another, it was inevitable. but you wanted spencer to ease into sex at a rate that’s most comfortable for him. he had jerked off in front of you, watched you as you fingered yourself in front of him. you gave him numerous handjobs. just as he has fingered you. and now, it was time for oral.

so here you were, on your knees, with spencer’s cock in your mouth as he sat on the couch, looking at you. his expression was gorgeous. his cheeks were flushed and his mouth was agape in an “o”. his beautiful brown hair had fallen into his face slightly. he had one hand gripping the couch while the other was entangled in your hair.

“o-oh,” spencer moaned as you hollowed your cheeks around his length, moving your head up and down slowly. coming up, you swirled your tongue around his tip, making spencer jolt from the pleasure. “holy shit,” he said as he threw his head back.

spencer wasn’t afraid to moan. that was something you taught him. you wanted him to show you just how good you made him feel. and therefore, he never shied away from being vocal. as you began to speed up your movements, the grip spencer had in your hair tightened. you knew he wouldn’t last too long.

you brought your hand to the base of his cock, jerking off what you couldn’t fit into your mouth. your head and hand moved rhythmically together as you bobbed up and down. “it feels so good,” spencer whined, unable to help the thrusting of his hips as he chased the pleasure.

and with a few more movements, his cock was stiffening in your mouth as spencer’s moans grew louder. he was breathing heavily, looking down at you while you looked up at him. “i’m gonna- oh fuck,” he moaned as he began cumming inside of your mouth. he had expected you to pull off. but you didn’t. you stayed put, sucking spencer through his orgasm and swallowing his cum. when he finally finished, you pulled off of his cock, leaving a trail of spit and cum.

spencer’s breathing was harsh, looking at you with a fucked out expression. “i think that’s the best thing i’ve ever experienced,” he said breathlessly.

you laughed, shaking your head. “that’s just because you haven’t fucked me yet,” you exclaimed, standing up and sitting down next to your lovely boyfriend on the couch. “but for now, it’s time for you to learn how to eat me out.”

and spencer grinned, sliding off of the couch and going on his knees in front of you. “i’ll gladly learn how to please you, my love.”

and so he did. spencer was always a fast learner.

[beenbaanbuun]

blood w/ poly!ateez

so i feel so sane about this… definitely no evil thoughts filling up my brain right now. none whatsoever :)

i want to write so much more about this universe and i’m literally sending the biggest kiss ever to @ateez-main-yapper to requesting this because i will be thinking about this for the rest of my life!

words - idk

genre - smut, horror (there’s a bit of gore i guess)

warnings - vampire!ateez, mafia!ateez, human!reader, smuggler!reader, blood, scarification, collars, ownership, blood, surgery mentions, nicknames (little mouse, princess, sweetheart), dancer!yeosang, security guard!mingi, ripper!doctor!yunho, mommy!seonghwa (don’t look at me like that, i had to), hand kink (mentioned), no actual sex but it’s talked about a lot, hair pulling, i think that’s all??

——————————————————————————

the scent of stale blood haunts the hallway you find yourself walking down, clinging to the back of your throat until yourself gagging on it. no matter how many times you find yourself down here, it never gets any easier to cope with; even a slaughterhouse would be more pleasant than this.

it begs the question why you’re back. by now, you’ve bled them of enough money to never have to work again, so it’s certainly not the pay. the job itself is harder than most, and not at all rewarding when you have to lie and cheat your way into success. there’s no doubt that the stress of hiding a smuggling operation behind the guise of a blood donation clinic has taken a good 20 years of your life from you. you can guarantee that job satisfaction isn’t what’s keeping you here either.

it’s only when you turn a corner and your eyes land upon them that you remember exactly why you’re still so willing to walk these halls. it isn’t something keeping you here but rather someone; multiple someones, in fact.

“mingi!” your footsteps quicken as you get closer the security guard that stands waiting outside of a heavy metal door. despite the fact that you’ve been on the other side of it multiple times, it still sends a shiver of curiosity down your spine. it’s not an anxious curiosity as it was when you first landed yourself in this position, but more of a morbid one. you know the horrors that lie behind it, you’ve experienced a few of them too, yet you still yearn to see more. “long time no see,” you offer a polite smile once you’re close enough to lower your volume from a shout, “san told me hongjoong had assigned you to pest control. is it not going well?”

mingi gives you a slow blink, his jaw set in stone and his eyes steely as he stares you down. he’s always looked far more intimidating than he actually is, although you suppose it serves to his benefit when his main job it scaring away anyone who might wish to disturb the peace. you’re only grateful to have had the chance to see behind the mask he wears; to watch his eyes melt and his lips part in the wonky grin he gets so little time to wear.

“you’ve not seen me in months and the first thing you ask me is about my demotion back to security?” he quirks a brow at you and you have to bite back your grin. in truth, you’d heard all about it from seonghwa over the past few weeks, your main contact within the clan more than happy to share life details with you as though you’re a lifelong friend rather than a mere employee. their favourite employee, sure, but still at the bottom of the pecking order.

“i just wanted to know more,” you lift your arms in defence, not missing the way his eyes flicker to the bandage on your left forearm, “like you said, it’s been a while.”

mingi hums in agreement as he examines the clean cloth. a long finger reaches out to trace the spot where the fabric meets your skin, the touch lingering and soft. it’s more the real mingi than it is the security guard mingi; it warms your heart to see.

“when did this happen?” he whispers, voice barely above a whisper.

“about two weeks ago,” you i pull your wrist back, letting mingi’s hand drop back down to his side, “hongjoong wanted to approach me about it, but i didn’t take much convincing,” actually, it was you who approached him but for some reason that’s much harder to admit, “you guys are much… kinder to me than the other clans i supply, well, supplied to. it was a no brainer to ditch them when given the chance.”

“so you’re ours?” he asks, voice dipping a little too low for the question to be purely innocent.

“i’m mine,” you confirm, “what i supply, however, is all yours.”

there’s a smirk on his lips, not as easily defeated by your sense of self worth as you’d like him to be. he knows as well as the rest of them what the mark on your arm means, after all. he knows as well as you do that there’s no getting away from them now. the moment yunho took his sweet, sadistic time carving their mark into your body it wasn’t just your business that belonged to them.

“sure you are, little mouse,” he whispers as he leans in close, his icy breath fluttering against your face. your stomach drops but you choose to ignore it. this was your decision, after all, “now, scurry along; you wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting, would you?”

with the flip of a switch, the metal door clicks open and your immediately met with a blast of cool air and a wall of sound. you’ll never understand the clan’s need for these constant frivolities, especially when you’re on the other side of this getting your hands dirty, but you suppose it is a good way to hide their more secretive operations. no one is going to notice the door in the corner when there’s so much going on out here, right? it’s an extra layer of security, and a darn good one at that.

when you step inside, the door clicks shut behind you and you immediately get to scanning the crowd of partygoers for a familiar face. amongst the hoard of vampires, they’re harder to spot, their ashy skin and red eyes sticking out a lot less than they would next to a human. instead you look for a familiar hair colour, recalling the angry text you got from seonghwa about the den’s main bathroom turning pink with hongjoong’s hairdye. nothing sticks out at you, though, and so you’re back at square one.

your arms stretch out before you as you go to push through the crowd. it’s moments like this that you’re glad for the metal, almost collar-like band around your neck. yeosang had created it as a way to keep your pulse hidden from any less-well-meaning vampires. he’d insisted that the tag dangling from it with the clan’s emblem engraved was all hongjoong’s idea, but you recognise the same possessive glint in all of their eyes. it’s the same one yunho had given you when engraving that very emblem into your body, and the same one san had given to you when wrapping your bleeding arm up in a fluffy white bandage. yeosang is just like the rest of them, even behind his sweet exterior.

but right now he isn’t crafting some marvel of engineering out of metal scraps and a dream, but instead on the stage at the front of the room. it’s not often he’s up there instead of one of the others, but as you watch him elegantly dangle from a hoop that hangs from the ceiling, you find it hard to see why. he’s utterly ethereal, like a butterfly about to emerge from a chrysalis; one of those blue ones with the wings that seemed designed to capture your attention with their beauty. you’re entranced, much more so than the rest of the party-goers who seem to have grown blind to the creature moving elegantly before them.

his body moves not at all like a butterfly though, instead flowing smoothly like a viper along the branch of a tree. he extends his arms in such a way you’ve never seen before, silken and smooth as he reaches out to his audience. it pulls you in further, your feet shuffling as you push through the final layer of people to get to the stage. you stumble forwards, catching yourself on the edge of the raised platform. if he notices you there, he doesn’t show it; the stoic expression he wears remains steady as he gracefully shifts his body into yet another position.

you watch him like that until the end of his performance, unblinking with your lips parted in awe. even the way he tumbles to the floor and bows to an uninterested audience holds so much more grace than you think you will ever possess. to think that this is the man that spends half of his time smeared in motor oil with a puppy-like grin on his lips is strange, yet it feels so right.

“hello, little mouse,” he echoes the familiar nickname as he makes his way to the front of the stage, crouching down in front of you and running an all-too-confident finger along your jawline to your chin. he snaps your mouth shut in a way that is so far from the yeosang you know that part of you believes this must be his much cockier twin. “hongjoong is out tonight; some trouble on south side caught his attention so he wanted to clean up the mess before the police got there.”

“i’m meeting with seonghwa then?” you murmur, too starstruck for your mouth the form words properly.

yeosang shakes his head.

“seonghwa and san went with him,” the finger from your chin shifts down to the piece of jewellery that fits snug around your neck. his touch catches against the tag, the jingling sound reminding you of a bell on a cats collar. you try to ignore the smirk that rises to his face as sees you make the connection, instead shifting your gaze to the pendant around his neck that shares the same symbol. “yunho is busy with whatever sick shit gets him off, me and mingi are working which means…”

fuck.

“jongho and wooyoung.”

“clever mouse,” yeosang’s tone is venomous, despite his words being soft. clearly performing does something to his ego; inflates it until every sign of the sweet mechanic is hidden behind a thick shroud of confidence. it’s deliciously cruel, mirroring the sick sadism of yunho or the vast overconfidence of mingi, and holy fuck do you want a taste. perhaps later, once business is over.

if business is over.

“i wouldn’t worry too much about those two, though,” he continues, tugging on the tag of your collar—because despite your pride, even you have to admit that there’s no other way to describe it—until you’re face is merely inches from his own, “hongjoong promised yunho their balls if they can’t learn to control them. maybe you’ll finally be able to have a meeting with them before getting your pussy stuffed, hm?”

you feel yourself getting warmer, your face flushing as yeosang so blatantly talks about your track record with the pair of resident trouble makers. it’s not like you’ve let slip about all the times jongho’s had you sitting on his cock with your mouth wrapped around wooyoung’s the second you step into their office which means that they must have instead. it makes you wonder what they talk about whenever you’re not here, and how much each of them know about your less than professional escapades with each of them. it’s a troubling thought, and yet it’s still manages to light a fire deep in your belly.

“see you later, yeosang,” is the only thing you can mumble in response as you pull away from his touch, the tag of the collar bumping gently against your neck as it slips free of his fingers.

——————-

“you told the others about fucking me?” you scoff as you barge your way into the office where the two youngest vampires await your arrival. it’s nice to see them here already, since they usually arrive far later than the agreed upon time. although, you suppose with the delays of mingi and yeosang, you’re also late on this occasion. you let the passive-aggressive comment about time keeping slide, knowing it won’t help you right now.

“hello to you too, mousy,” wooyoung hums from where he lays on the green sofa in the corner of the room, “it’s nice to see you again! we’re doing wonderfully, by the way; thanks for a—”

you let the door slam behind you as you storm your way towards him, completely ignoring the curious gaze of jongho.

“cut the shit, wooyoung,” you grab hold of his shirt collar and lean in close. it’s supposed to be intimidating but the wide grin on his lips lets you know otherwise. “you’ve all been talking about me when i’m not here? what the fuck, man!”

wooyoung chuckles in your face, his dangerous fangs glinting beneath the overhead lights. you know he’d never bite without your permission—people have been killed by hongjoong for much less—but it still sends a shiver through you whenever you see them.

“you’re not exactly discrete yourself, princess,” the office chair creaks as jongho stands, making his way around his desk and towards you. although you keep your gaze firmly on the little rat who still sits giggling to himself, you can’t help but be hyper aware of the presence behind you. a large hand traces its way up your spine, not stopping until you feel his fingers lace themselves with your locks and tug. your grip fall limply from wooyoung’s shirt as you’re hauled back into the soft muscle of jongho’s chest, your neck craned awkwardly over his shoulder to keep you in place. “what do you want us to say when san is asking about who’s cum he’s eaten from your pussy? do you want us to lie to them?”

you squirm, wincing when his grip on your hair doesn’t loosen despite your attempts to break free. they call you little mouse and right now, you really do feel the part—you walked right into a trap of which there’s no way out.

“maybe i should let you fuck me again just so i can watch when yunho rips your fucking balls off your body!” you grunt through gritted teeth.

jongho hums in amusement, “it was hyperbole, sweetheart,” a pair of cold lips meet the hot skin of your cheek for just a second before pulling away, the softness a stark contrast to the harsh grip he still has you in, “he doesn’t care how much we fuck you as long as we get the job done. after all, he’d be a hypocrite to complain about us fucking you when his dick is inside of you twice as often, hm?”

you watch with cautious eyes as wooyoung stands from his place on the sofa, grinning as wide as the cheshire cat. it reeks of danger, yet you’ve never been the type to give into that sort of thing. you’re a human working for a bunch of vampires; danger is just a regular part of your life at this point.

“besides, mousy,” the cheshire cat purrs, “you think we’re the only ones who talk? you don’t think we know just how much you love calling seonghwa mommy when you ride him? or how much you love it when yeosang spits in your mouth whenever he’s fucking you dumb?” wooyoung brings a hand to your cheek, dusting over your bottom lip with his thumb, “you’re ours, little mouse; we can talk if we want.”

[ohbueckers]

TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME. my life can get crazy, i deal with shit on the daily. but baby, i’m thinking maybe we could agree to work it out like this.

CHAPTER FOUR! pairing, paige bueckers x teammate!oc. notes, tried first person and IDK IF I LIKE??? & a tag for my beautiful baby ke! @thaatdigitaldiary warnings, sexual content 😣 i’m back on my edging game sorry…

october, 2022

paige shifted in the driver’s seat. the others had already climbed out of the car, heading toward their apartments after a long day with the team. now, it was late, too late really, and i could feel the exhaustion settling in. i sat there, in the passenger seat, my eyes locked straight ahead. i wasn’t even sure why i was still sitting there. my heart was telling me to stay just a little longer, while my head was screaming at me to get the hell out. i didn’t need any more paige bueckers intimacy. especially not now. and normally, i’d listen to the more demanding approach.

well, nothing about tonight was normal.

“yo, hold up,” paige’s voice cut through my thoughts as her hand gently grabbed my arm before i could unbuckle my seatbelt. “you good?”

i turned to look at her, eyebrows furrowed. “what do you mean?”

she was looking at me, looking as if she could read me. she used to have trouble with that, i could tell. but now, i wasn’t sure. we hadn’t really talked about the season yet, any of those stupid lingering gazes both of us always caught, and certainly not that almost-kiss that had been messing with my brain ever since i moved out. i’d been trying to keep my distance. paige is extremely easy to get pulled into, and i did not want to be one of those people. that was the plan. that was the plan from the very beginning.

paige turned off the engine, the silence suddenly heavier than it had been just moments ago. the hum of the car disappeared, leaving only the quiet between us. she shifted again, angling herself toward me, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. “bro, you’ve been off all day. what’s up with you?” it was like she was begging me to open up to her. why?

“i have not been off,” i shook my head like it was the most absurd thing, not wanting to give her more than that. my hand was halfway to the door handle. “thanks for the ride but i—“

“yo, sana, stop doing that.” paige interrupted, her hand wrapping around my arm just enough to keep me from leaving, but not forcefully. her tone was light, almost teasing, and i knew she wasn’t about to let this go. “talk to me.”

it wasn’t like she was demanding an answer, but something in her voice made me feel like i had to. she had a way of getting to me like that, drawing things out before you even realized you were spilling your guts.

i sighed, leaning back against the headrest, fingers idly toying with the edge of my uconn jacket sleeve. “it’s nothing.”

paige raised an eyebrow, i could see it from the corner of my eye. her face threatened a smile, too. she wasn’t letting up. “you know i’m not dumb.”

i chewed on my bottom lip, turning my head to her with a huff as i asked, “have you seen twitter at all?”

“what?”

“have you seen twitter?” i repeated more sternly this time.

paige scrunched her face up, eyes wandering for a brief moment before they settled back on me. “no. why?”

i let out another sharp breath, glancing away, the words feeling heavier as i tried to get them out. “people have been talking, like, a lot. about the team… about me.” i turned back to face her. “basically saying i left a championship team for a losing one, and since you’re out, everyone’s looking at me like i’m supposed to pick up the slack. like i’m the one who has to save the season.”

her eyes softened, and she swallowed, giving me her full attention now. “sana—”

“i’m not done,” i interrupted, holding up a hand. “one of my old teammates liked something about it. a teammate, paige. i saw it this morning. and now i’m just… i don’t know. i feel like i have to prove something. i didn’t even know there was any bad blood about my decision to leave.”

for a moment, she didn’t say anything, and i appreciated the silence. i hadn’t really given myself anytime to think about it. south carolina, and more importantly, the people had no doubt been my home for two years, a sanctuary while i didn’t really have my own, and some stupid tweet had me questioning everything. how genuine everyone really was. you kinda pick up on it when nobody reaches out anymore.

paige exhaled, the sound low and thoughtful. “you know better than anyone that playing with something to prove doesn’t get you far.”

i chuckled, despite how tight my chest felt. “that’s funny coming from you,” i shot back, recalling the time i’d told her something similar that first day of practice. i’d definitely been more snarky, and i definitely had meant it, too.

she grinned, the corners of her mouth pulling up cockyly. “it’s different when i say it, though,” she replied with no hesitation.

i leaned back against the headrest, feeling my hair probably shriveling up from the friction, but i didn’t care. a breathy laugh slipped out. “sure, paige.”

she studied me for a second, then, with a little too much confidence for my liking, she shifted, spreading her legs wider in that ridiculously casual, yet infuriatingly self-assured way, taking up all the space her 6’0 self could. “you’re overthinking this.”

“no, i’m not,” i shot back, bristling a little.

“yes. you are,” paige replied in the same tone as me, almost mocking. her voice was so matter-of-fact it made me want to roll my eyes.

i opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off. “look, i’m not saying you’re wrong to feel how you’re feeling. but letting it get to your head isn’t worth it. the stats will show. maybe you just need a…” she trailed off, eyes darting out the window as she searched for the right word. “distraction.” she tilted her head, watching me for another moment before she leaned back into the seat, letting out this exaggerated sigh like she’d just had a revelation.

i quirked a brow. “a distraction?” it was more of a deadpan than an actual question. “and what? you’re volunteering?”

she only shrugged, stretching her arms along the back of my seat, that dumb smirk returning full force. “maybe. i’m a pretty good distraction, you know.” she licked her lips.

i couldn’t help but laugh this time, the absurdity of it all making my frustration turn into something lighter. my heart practically stuttered in my chest, and i let out a shaky laugh, trying to play it off. “paige, stop playing.”

“who said i was playing?” she asked rhetorically, and the smile on her face made it hard to believe her. “we both got a lot going on. so why not… help each other out?”

oh, she was dead serious.

there were a hundred reasons why this was a bad idea, starting with the fact that we were teammates, and ending with… well, a whole list of things i didn’t even want to unpack. there were way too many what if’s, questions i didn’t even want to ask out loud.

it felt too risky. too complicated. sure, we’d had that weird chemistry from the start, but wasn’t that just the heat of competition? the back-and-forth on the court, the banter during practice, the way our games synced up so easily after we got over it. it didn’t have to mean anything.

God, i’m really delusional.

and yet, here i was. sitting in her car, of all places, late at night, contemplating the idea of crossing that line. i wasn’t supposed to even consider it, right? i had this whole speech in my head about how i didn’t need distractions. i had enough to deal with, enough people talking behind my back, and i was already struggling to tune them out.

but somehow, paige made me forget all of that. she had a way of making this crazy ass idea actually sound logical.

“what about what dorka said?”

paige bit down on her lip. “what you mean? like, the teammate stuff?”

i nodded.

paige chuckled, not phased in the least as she shook her head. “bro, i’m not asking you to be my girlfriend, sana. i don’t want a relationship.”

the words hit harder than they should’ve, even though i knew i had no right to feel stung. it wasn’t like i wanted anything more either. i wasn’t looking for commitment. i’d just moved to this team; i barely had a grip on my own game here, let alone the dynamic between me and paige. it wasn’t supposed to matter that she didn’t want something serious.

and yet… something about hearing her say it out loud left a bitter taste in my mouth.

i’d have to be real serious about this no emotions thing. this couldn’t be more than a distraction.

paige moved again, settling back in her seat, arms crossing casually over her chest. i could make out her face from the streetlights hovering over the car, blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, chain untucked over her black tee. “you really gon’ tell me you don’t need it? that it wouldn’t help?”

i narrowed my eyes at her, instinctively defensive. “how are you telling me what i need?”

paige raised an eyebrow, her tone softening but still filled with that teasing tone. “you tell me what you need then, sana.”

i didn’t say anything right away, my mind running a mile a minute, trying to figure out if this was a test, if she was playing with me or if this was something she actually believed would work. but maybe she wasn’t wrong for the first time in her life. maybe i did need something to take the edge off. i didn’t have to spend my time overthinking every move i make, every word spoken on and off the court, because something else would consume that time.

and maybe we both needed it.

before i could stop myself, my body moved on its own. i unclipped my seatbelt, the sound of the metal clicking softly in the quiet of the car, and i shifted, climbing over the center console until i was straddling her. paige didn’t move, didn’t flinch—she just sat there, arms still crossed over her chest, her eyes locked on mine.

when her hands finally moved to rest on my thighs, fingers brushing the insides, her touch was warm, but not overbearing. the air even felt warmer, the confined space of the car suddenly felt smaller. she looked up at me, her blonde hair falling in soft waves around her face, and that cocky grin still hadn’t budged. her control was good, mine better.

i leaned forward, just enough to get in her space, letting my lips hover dangerously close to hers without closing the gap. i could feel her breathing, see the way her chest rose and fell a little faster now, she was composed, but barely—just holding onto it by a thread. “you first.”

she licked her lips, eyes in a trance on mine as i brought them to her neck, dipping my head. i ghosted over it, initially hesitant before leaving a soft peck. then, i pressed a soft peck on her neck, then another, each kiss slower than the last, more deliberate. it’s been awhile since i’ve done something like this, and i was just testing the waters.

i wasn’t gonna actually give her what she wanted.

paige’s breath hitched as i licked up right beside her ear. “need you…” she trailed off, her voice almost a whisper as her breath started to pick up, shaky and uneven. her hands, which had been resting passively on my thighs, started to move, exploring, finally getting comfortable. her fingers traced up my sides, slow but firm, pressing into the fabric of my jacket before slipping underneath. “need your time, your attention… everything,” she rushed out, her voice more desperate now, as though the words were tumbling out faster than she could catch them.

i smiled, bringing my mouth back in front of hers, our lips hovering close enough that i could feel her exhale. tilting my head just slightly, i wrapped my arms around her neck, pulling her in closer before pressing my lips to hers in a kiss.

her hands tightened on my waist, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened. my mind blanked for a moment, getting lost in it as my hips began to move. i could feel the shift in paige herself, the way she let go, her composure slipping as she kissed me harder, like she needed more—more of me, more of this.

i could feel her waiting, the weight of her words hanging in the air. it was my turn, and she was letting me have the moment, handing over control—waiting for me to speak.

i leaned back just a little, eyes locked on paige’s as i watched hers fall elsewhere. lips parted, practically chasing mine. finally, i spoke, my voice drawn out and sultry. “i need you…” i dragged it out, fingers tracing the outline of her collarbone before i gently pushed her back, adding just enough pressure to get her off me. i grinned, watching the confusion in her eyes as she tried to figure out what the hell i was doing. “to not wanna be mine.”

before she could react, i pushed her face away gently, and she let it remain turned. her hands slipped off me, and i could feel her confusion, hear it in the way her breath hitched again, this time not from excitement but from the surprise. without looking back, i opened the door, sliding out with as i brought my leg from over her lap. i grabbed my purse from the passenger seat in the process, slinging it over my shoulder as i stood outside.

“sana—what?” paige’s voice cracked through the silence, the cockiness gone, replaced by genuine confusion. she turned in her seat, staring at me from the open door, searching for something—an answer, a reason for why i’d just left her hanging like that.

i leaned against the door, looking down at her with a smirk. “distraction, right? something to think about?”

she blinked, lips parting like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. i watched her eyes dart between mine, her mind clearly racing for an answer, for some way to get control of the situation again.

“i gave that to you,” i said simply, stepping back from the car. “goodnight, paige.”

surely if paige bueckers wanted some no-strings, totally casual sex out of me, she’d have to fucking work for it.

i’m not that predictable.

[saturnsorbits]

Prying Eyes

Warnings: Voyeurism, Masturbation, Throat Fucking, Cumming in Pants. Word Count: 2k.

-> This is shit, but it’s all I’ve got rn. Idk what’s wrong with me I’ve just kind of lost my edge? Tried something with a new character. So, this is that. I’ll come back with a banner etc when I get around to making it…

The first time was an accident.

How was he supposed to know? He’d thought you needed help. The noise you were making was reverberating off of the walls, that high pitched, whiny squeal - of course, he’d raced to your aid.

Only you hadn’t needed help.

Not his help at least.

Thinking back on it now, he’s glad he didn’t slam the door open and interrupt. If he had, he wouldn’t have seen what he did. He wouldn’t have seen you.

Skidding to a stop at the door, chest heaving, he’d peaked through and angled his body for the best view of the room.

He'd seen you instantly. Your face glowing as you crouched on your knees, giving him a perfect shot of your side profile. Anxious to see more, he'd shifted. Moving just enough to watch as you'd reached out, your hands gripping at the baggy pants of the man in front of you.

He should have known then.

He should have left, but he didn't...

From there he’d bore witness.

Pushing closer, you'd stretched your neck and dropped your jaw as pouty pink lips had wrapped around the pale head of the man's cock. The tip of your tongue slid from behind your teeth, cradling the underside of his cock with a gentle, but practised ease... Then, then had come the noise. Sliding down on his cock, you'd hollowed out your cheeks and sucked, hard. The sound of your eagerness landed heavily in the air, filling the room and bleeding through the door.

Sakura swallowed. Shifting from foot to foot, he'd pressed his thighs together. Shame and arousal sunk in his stomach, an acidic battle between the two rooting him to the spot. His brain screamed at him to leave, but no matter how loud his conscious demanded, the warmth spreading through his hips kept him still. A notable bulge filled his jeans. His face flaming, even as he had tried to use his jumper to cover the shame.

He should go.

He definitely should stop looking.

So why can’t he look away?

Why doesn’t he want to?

When he looks back through the door, you're still on your knees. Your hands are obediently clenched, your fists resting atop each thigh as you'd let your eyes flutter shut and relaxed your throat. There's a hand around the back of your head now, cradling your skull and preventing your retreat. The other soothed your cheek, his fingers hooking under your jaw, thumb stroking at your skin. With each thrust his cock slipped deeper earning a gag, but if you were in any discomfort you certainly didn't show it. Instead you'd moaned, broken and openly around him – a show of just how much you enjoyed being used.

The man increased his pace, using you as his own personal toy while you whined for me. The sordid squelch of spit filled the air as droplets of it dripped down your chin and pooled between your thighs.

He didn't know how it happened, he just knew that it did. One moment he was absorbed, caught in a trance as he watched the scene play out in front of him – his very own show and then, his entire body was aflame. It started in his chest, a dry heave of emotion that sunk quickly and was absorbed by his pelvis.

He was a lost cause from there.

Inside of his jeans his cock jerked, pumping out lash after lash of cum directly into his boxers. He'd shivered through the pleasure, eyes screwed shut as his body stuttered – unable to stop as his entire body unraveled for you.

The echoes of his orgasm had barely subsided when he'd fled, his embarrassment refusing to let him glance behind as a new cacophony of sound had started up behind him.

Since then, he's antagonised himself stupid over it.

At night he replays the scene, your face, lips dripping with spit and pre-cum, how you'd swallowed him down so easily... How you'd enjoyed it. More than once he's cum to the thought, his arm thrown across his eyes, hand stuffed down his pants.

It's as if that moment had unlocked something in him, something dark and perverted... Something he can't satiate.

Which is probably why there was a second time.

The second time was anything, but an accident.

This time, when he'd heard your staccato moans, he'd known exactly what he was doing.

Staying as quiet as possible, he'd crept towards the room and peered in. He'd expected you on your knees again, the sound of your throat being filled will cock to reverberating through his ear drums. Maybe he'd even touch himself this time...

Except he never really gets to that.

Sakura's knuckles are white around the door frame where he's gripped it. His fingers burn with the hold, but it's all he can do to hold it together.

What he'd found was more than he had bargained for.

Laying a top the desk you look like a vision. Your knees face him, closed, your feet propped up on the wooden table top as you lean back. A soft trickle of pleasure is drawn from your lips, each moan more alluring than the last as it drips into Sakura's ears like an IV.

He swallows, licks his lips and dares to dream of your taste.

That's when your legs drop open.

Now, Sakura can see everything. You're naked, completely. The soft mounds of your breasts visible from his height as he tries not to trip over himself and into the room. His gaze eats away at you hungrily, devouring every inch of your skin as he commits you to memory.

Your skin shines in the light. The peaks of your nipples evident in-between your fingers as you play with them, encouraging another stifled moan from your chest. Each touch has your body prickling, desperate for more as your unoccupied hand sinks lower and lower down your body. Skating over the pouch of your fat at your lower abdomen, you let your fingers dip into the mess of your cunt.

Already you're wet, the idea of your little game creating a swell of excitement that had lodged itself in your chest a week ago. Spreading your fingers, you expose yourself and imagine the hitch in his breath. You wonder if yours is the first cunt he's seen.

It had been a surprise all those weeks ago when you'd caught him peeping. He hadn't exactly been subtle. If the thundering footsteps hadn't been a dead give away, the hushed moaning and strangled pants had made him obvious.

Still, you hadn't minded. Quite the opposite actually.

You moan and arc your back, teasing yourself, a soft stroke of your clit with the pads of your fingers. Your arousal is evident, dripping down your folds and onto the table below you. It makes taking two fingers easy. Hooking them inside of yourself, you writhe as your fingertips find the sponginess of your G-spot.

Sakura thinks he's gone insane. His head spins, his heart beating so hard inside his chest he thinks he might faint – something his shaking knees seem to agree with. It's impossible not to look, not to watch with wide-eyes as you pleasure yourself in front of him. Your cunt pulses, sucking your fingers in; each movement causing a sound more sinful than the last.

He clenches his jaw. Not for the first time he wonders what it would be like to touch you, to slip his own fingers in beside your own and feel your body stretch and clench. Glancing down, he takes a moment to observe his own hands. His fingers are thicker than yours, he thinks. Would you be able to take two? Three? Would you enjoy it – how he could stretch you out better than your own?

Canting his hips forward, he searches for relief and finds it in the dull press of the door frame. He's hard, painfully so – although, shame has yet to settle itself at the top of his spine. The pressure of his movement almost makes his eyes roll back, the sensation so present after nothing, but the confining hold of his jeans. He rolls his hips, an experiment in stamina, and realizes very quickly that it's not a race he’ll win. Already, his cock throbs - balls pulling up tight to his body as his knees turn to jelly beneath him.

Rocking harder against the wood, he imagines what it would be like to be in the room with you. If it was his fingers inside of you. His tongue. His cock. The image brings with it a whole host of new sensations as he lets his imagination run away with him. Your moans help, urge him closer and closer to the edge.

Using a palm, he covers his mouth as he tries in vain to prevent the trickle of moans that hiccup from his lips. He's unsuccessful. The noise builds in his chest, promising to get him caught. He can't have that. Can't ruin the moment.

Clenching his fist, he jams it into his mouth and bites. His teeth sink into the flesh of his knuckles, denting skin and brushing bone as he struggles, once more, to lower his volume.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to ruin a second set of underwear. Static bursts across the insides of his eyelids, blinding him to everything that isn't pleasure and the sound of your voice. His body convulses. Reaching between his thighs, he takes hold of himself and squeezes – prolonging his high for as long as possible as he manages to open his eyes.

You're backs arched more now, pushing you up onto your tip-toes as you continue to rub harsh circles in your clit. Sakura watches your movements like a hawk, memorizing them. He massages his cock to your pace, matching you in any way he can as he watches you come undone on your own fingers.

By the time you've finished, collapsed back on the table – your legs hanging limp over the edge, he's breathless. Cum sticks to his thighs, gluing his clothes to his skin. He's pretty sure there's a river of it running down his leg too. It slicks over his ankle and pools on the floor, blatant evidence of his perversion. Panic swells in his throat. He's half-way through lifting his foot to slip off his sock to use as a make-shift rag when a hand comes down on his shoulder.

Sakura jumps.

'It's only me.' Kiryu tilts his head and beams. His hair is a mess, held back by a thick headband and sticking up in any way it can. His shirt unbuttoned almost to his navel.

‘I -‘ Sakura’s face flames, a tumble of words tripping over themselves as they jam behind his teeth and get caught in the gaps. He stamps, shifting his foot to cover his shame puddled on the floor. It's his own fault. He should have known. How many times has he seen you and Kiryu walking down the corridors hand in hand, or sitting across from each other in Pothos sharing a meal.

Of course it had been Kiryu the first time.

Of course he would be here now.

Not for the first time, Sakura curses his own impulsivity.

He braces for impact, for Kiryu's fist to connect with his nose – to be called out and screamed at, but whatever he was expecting... It doesn't come.

Cupping his cheek, Kiryu brushes his thumb over the bone and smiles. He's warmed to Sakura, that much is true, but you've wanted a piece of him since the first time he caught you and whatever his princess wants, he's happy to provide. Slipping closer, he licks his teeth and gestures to you, tired and spent on the table inside. ‘What if I told you, you didn’t just have to watch…’

-> Full Masterlist

[annes-andromeda]

Wish Rewrite

I have this tendency for rewriting material I either don’t like or think had wasted potential. At the time of writing this, Wish hasn’t come out in theaters but I did pirate it as there was an early screening. I also read the junior novelization and bought the concept art book. Needless to say, I was disappointed by what I read/saw.

I feel like Wish could’ve been better. Granted, the story and characters are not terrible, but they certainly leave much to be desired. This is literally Disney’s 100th anniversary, yet it doesn’t really feel like it. Not only that, but the movie felt incredibly rushed. Yeah I know that most Disney movies try have a run time of 90-100+ minutes, but I think a few more minutes could’ve been added to this film.

So, I decided to indulge myself and outline some changes that I think could’ve made the story slightly better. These ideas are by no means perfect, and in the end, this is all in good fun.

Spoilers ahead btw

The main story of Wish is essentially that Asha wants to get a job as Magnifico’s apprentice so that her grandfather’s wish is granted. But Asha finds out about the King’s true nature, and after questioning him, doesn’t get the job, and Magnifico vows to never grant Sabino or Sakina’s wishes.

Asha makes a wish on a star, and the star comes down, Magnifico tries to hunt down the two of them, he uses an evil spell book to create a staff, Magnifico destroys some wishes, Asha gets help from her friends, they sing a song to defeat Magnifico (I ‘wish’ i was joking), Star gives Asha a magic wand, and all is well.

Oh, and Amaya is… there.

It’s nothing complex, pretty cut and dry. And I don’t have a problem with a simple story! But this feels like it’s… missing something.

Firstly, I’d change the title. Disney already has a boat called Wish, and not every movie needs to be one word like Tangled, Frozen, and Brave (amongst others), so the story could be renamed “Asha and the Wishing Star” or “Asha and the Kingdom of Wishes”. Idk, something that evokes a classic fairytale book feel (or that does confuse people with a boat).

((Side note #1: I honestly enjoy that the story started off with a book, as a nod to classic disney movies, especially Snow White. That was cute))

Secondly, and I know I sound like a broken record at this point…

AMAYA👏🏼SHOULDVE👏🏼BEEN👏🏼A👏🏼VILLAIN👏🏼ALONGSIDE👏🏼HER👏🏼HUSBAND👏🏼

The original plan, according to the concept art book, was to have Magnifico and Amaya to be a villain couple who were partners in crime and owned a black sphinx cat named Charo. However for… reasons, the creators took the ‘safe’ route and made Amaya the good one out of the two.

But the problem is, by erasing Amaya’s evilness, the creators of Wish essentially removed any purpose or personality she may have had and thus, she was left to become a literal ‘supporting’ character. First supporting both Magnifico and Asha, then leaving Magnifico to prop up solely Asha.

Deadass, you can literally remove Amaya from the story and nothing would change. Which is probably why she was exempt from much of the promotional stuff minus the dolls. Because she literally serves no purpose but to be… there.

So, in my version of Wish, Amaya would be a co-conspirator to her husband and yes, I’m adding Charo too. Her personality would be inspired by classic female villains such as the Evil Queen from Snow White, Lady Tremaine from Cinderella, and Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty.

Vain, glamorous, cunning, and unabashedly evil, Amaya would be the Morticia to Magnifico’s Gomez, the brains to his brawn. She’s the girlboss, he’s the wife instigator. Magnifico spoils Amaya rotten with countless gifts and praises, whilst Amaya is the more calm and collected evil compared to her husband’s ever-growing temper.

While she starts the story with no magic, Magnifico just can’t leave his wife hanging and shares the power of the evil spell-book with Amaya. And yes, even Charo gets in on the fun, turning from a small house cat, to a massive shape-shifting beast who breaths blue fire similarly to a dragon (shut up i think it’d be cool)

Magnifico and Amaya essentially keep the wishes of Rosas locked in the castle as a form of obedience. By giving the citizens false hope, it makes them more dependent on the royal couple, and the two have more power over everyone.

Anyways, let’s get to the main characters: Asha and Star.

I don’t have much of an issue with Asha’s character, more so her design. I already made a post showing my redesign of her, so that’s out of the way. Tbh tho, I also have an issue with the rest of the costume design of Wish, being a big costume nerd myself. The movie’s supposed to take inspiration from the Mediterranean, primarily places such as Spain and Morocco (and the Amazigh people for Asha), but the fashion feels like generic European medieval fashion.

I feel like the whole storyline of Asha’s interview with Magnifico was pretty pointless, so I would have it that she just starts off as the kings apprentice, whilst also working as Amaya’s scullery maid.

The couple took Asha in when the girl lost her father at the age of 12 (according to the film), and she’s been working for them for five years. Asha works not only to support herself, her family, and her community, but also as a way to distract from the grief of losing her father. Which is no issue, as Amaya always bombards the girl with chores, and Magnifico only teaches Asha the most basic of magic for fear of her growing more powerful than him.

I made Asha work as a scullery maid not only as a reference to princesses such as Snow White and Cinderella starting off their respective stories as maids, but also because scullery maids acted as assistants to the kitchen maids. Dahlia works in the kitchen, Asha and Dahlia are best friends, I figured it made sense.

But anyways, on the day of Sabino’s 100th birthday, Sakina tells Asha to take a break and return home, as she hardly visits anymore due to work. Asha says she’ll try asking the king and queen to get off early, but that she can’t make any promises.

Asha meets with Magnifico and asks for the day off, but the king refuses. However, wanting to keep her loyalty, Magnifico finally shows Asha the wish chamber, and even allows her to witness the wish ceremony that night. But once Asha starts questioning the king on his methods, any goodwill between them begins to fade.

Another thing I’m disappointed in, is that originally Star was going to be a shapeshifting humanoid inspired by the Genie and Peter Pan, and may have even had a romance with Asha. But, the idea was scrapped for the more cutesy, ‘marketable’, version of Star.

In my retelling, I’d choose to do this human shapeshifter version of Star, but I’d name him something else. The star Earendel was mentioned in the concept art book, which is the farthest known star from Earth and not only means ‘morning star’ in Old English, but is also named after the Tolkien character, Eärendil.

I would call this shapeshifter Star Earen, and because Disney loves their animal/cute sidekicks, Earen can have the ‘Kirby’ Star as a companion, just like how Asha has Valentino and Magnifico and Amaya have Charo.

((Side #2: Anybody else notice that Star lowkey looks and sounds like Kirby😶))

Earen and Star journey down to Rosas once they hear Asha’s pleas for guidance. Once Asha tells of Magnifico and Amaya’s lies, Earen reveals that he actually met Magnifico decades ago. The amount of years shocks Asha, as she realizes that the King and Queen might be far older than what they are.

((Side note #3: I didn’t realize this till someone mentioned it, but if Sabino is 100 and he gave Magnifico his wish at 18, then he’s been waiting 82 years for his wish to be granted. Which means it’s likely that Magnifico might be immortal. That, or Disney didn’t think this shit through (most likely)))

Anyways, Earen actually attempted to stop Magnifico and Amaya’s ploy to keep the wishes of Rosas locked away, but he was sealed within the heavens until he and Star heard Asha make her wish.

We can have it that the king and queen spun the story so that Earen was made out to be an evil that once threatened Rosas, but Magnifico banished him and saved everyone, essentially making himself out to be the good guy and manipulating the narrative.

Asha and Earen must now work together to expose the lies of the royal couple, and along the way, the two begin to fall in love. Earen disguises himself as a peasant boy so as to remain inconspicuous, while Asha tries to go about her job as if nothing happened, evading the King and Queen’s suspicions.

Star gives Asha a stick infused with stardust once finding out she is, quite literally, the sorcerers apprentice. It is also so that she may defend herself, as Earen has his powers and a sword (similarly to Peter Pan).

Unlike Magnifico, Earen and Star teach Asha the wonders of magic and the potential she wields, showing that there is no need for her to hold back when her gift can help so many, including those she loves.

The three manage to sneak into the kings study, but only have time to retrieve Sabino’s wish and return it to him. However, Magnifico and Amaya, now strengthened by the powers of dark magic, find Asha and Earen and threaten to destroy all the wishes should Earen not surrender to them.

And as a way to ensure that Asha doesn’t foil their plans, Magnifico destroys both Asha and Sakina’s wishes, despite Asha not being eighteen yet. However, the evil magic allows him to do so. This act weakens the two women, and infuriates Earen.

Earen then willingly complies despite Asha’s opposition, and Sabino takes Asha and Sabina to the seven (well six) teens for aid, who are in hiding after Simon ratted them out and who now serves as a puppet to the king and queen.

Despite loosing her wish, Asha finds the strength to carry on through the memory of her late father, enlisting the help of her friends and Star, who managed to evade the royal couple’s grasp. The team must work together to save Earen, whose power will be drained by Magnifico and Amaya. And if such a feat were to happen, then Earen would die and Rosas would be lost.

The five teens go into the woods to distract one of the royals, with the aid of the forest fauna and Star. Amaya chases the group alongside Charo while Magnifico tortures Earen and begins stealing his power. With the help of Dahlia, Asha sneaks into the castle to confront her former mentor and save Earen before it’s too late.

At first, it seems that the heroes have the upper hand with Magnifico neutralized, but then, Amaya swoops in riding Charo, who now takes the form of a giant dragon. Earen transforms into a dragon himself and battles Charo and Amaya, while Asha continues battling Magnifico. Star even comes to help after the original plan fails.

However, the unholy trio have the upper hand, and Amaya strikes down Earen, giving Magnifico enough time to not only drain Earen’s power, but to trap Star within his staff. With their combined powers, Magnifico and Amaya gather all of the peoples wishes, even stealing the wishes of those not yet of age, which includes the teens.

With all the wishes gathered, the couple and their pet destroy all the wishes, taking their energy for themselves.

Asha falls into despair as she watched her friends, love ones, and community succumb to the grief of loosing their wishes. The king and queen force Asha to apologize to the people, mocking her and making her feel even more guilty.

However, Earen comforts Asha despite his weak state, telling her it’s alright and that she shouldn’t be ashamed of wishing on Star, as he brought the two of them together. The two kiss, the strength of their newfound love and hope shining through the darkness and inspiring the people of Rosas to rise up.

As the sky and stars become alive, Magnifico’s staff is destroyed, releasing Star in the process. All the evil magic he, Amaya, and Charo used is sucked out of them and vanquished, and Earen is restored to full vitality.

Think of this as the transformation scene from Princess and the Frog. Asha and Earen get new outfits, with Asha even gaining a crown and a new wand from Star.

((Side Note #4: The “transformation” in the finale of the film is so stupid. Asha could’ve literally gotten a new dress once she becomes a fairy godmother, but instead, Star just made her sparkly. How magical🙄))

Rosas rejoices, as they realize they don’t need the king to make their wishes come true, and they can pursue them themselves. With Magnífico and Amaya banished from Rosas, Asha and Earen become the new rulers, being names Prince and Princess respectively.

And that’s basically how I would’ve done Wish. It’s not perfect, but it’s just an idea. I’m just disappointed that Disney do something better for their 100th anniversary.

[hotchs-big-hands]

What did you call me?

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|4.9k words

Aaron Hotchner x plus size fem!reader

NSFW Minors dni please

Warning(s): some angst, yearning, details about graphic crime scenes, strip clubs/sex clubs.

When Dom/sub couples begin to show up murdered mid-coital, the BAU team is brought in to solve the case. But as more couples are found and the unsub remains undetected, it becomes an undercover mission. The posing Dom/sub couple in question? Your intimidating, attractive boss and you.

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

Hey everyone, welcome to my first fanfic! I used to write and post stuff back in 2018ish but it was a different fandom. I've not written and posted anything tho since then so I'm a bit nervous! But idk I just got back into cm recently and I saw Hotch and my brain was like oh yeah 👁️👁️ (I used to be a Spencer girlie) and I've mostly written stuff for myself but I decided imma start doing stuff on here too! I hope you enjoy and lemme know if you wanna be tagged in future writings 🥰 side note, I'm a fat gal so I will probably centre most of my stuff around plus size readers cuz there's not enough of it for plus size Hotch girlies 😔 but technically anyone can read and enjoy it! This was getting extremely long so I'm splitting it into three parts so here's the first one! Anyway, enjoy 💅

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

The feeling of something blunt lightly bounced against your forehead, making you blink a few times and rub the area with your hand.

"Hey... Who did that?" You grumbled, eyes darting from one face of your coworkers to the next. Three of them all pointed towards the culprit and as your eyes drifted back to him you were met with a cheeky grin on the charming, dark-skinned man's face.

"You were spaced out, sugar." Derek Morgan said. "Got a lot on your mind?"

"Got a lot of him on her mind, more like." A voice cut in smugly, flustering you in an instant, your heart beginning to race. Your eyes flicked to Prentiss, the pristine raven haired woman was smirking at you, her eyes glinting. You squeaked and shifted in your office chair nervously.

"No, Em! Just... couldn't sleep last night."

The weak explanation didn't help, it only widened the smirk on Prentiss' face as she leaned forward.

"Oh? Do tell us more."

"There's nothing to say!" You abruptly turned to the casefile that lay open on your slightly messy desk and tried to ignore the movement at the corner of your eye; Emily was shuffling her chair over to you, no doubt still with that annoying smirk on her face.

"Oh it sure sounds like there is though."

Before you had the chance to defend yourself an all too familiar voice demanded everyone's attention and subsequently caused a shiver to trickle down your spine. Your hands gripped onto your chair.

"My team; in the conference room now. We have a case." Your unit chief spoke. All heads turned to the direction of a slightly elevated walkway where a sharply dressed man stood for a mere moment, locking eyes with yours, before he began walking briskly towards the mentioned conference room.

Fuck. Hotch was wearing your favourite suit and tie today and a few stray wisps of his short, dark hair stubbornly lay over his forehead, no matter how often he must have tried to push them up off his face. Everyday was harder than the previous working with that man. The moment you'd attended your interview months ago, sitting in front of the brooding man, you knew you were fucked. Yes, you had been eager to join the famed BAU unit and were grateful for the opportunity that arose but you'd be lying if another reason you eagerly answered all the questions prompted to you in that interview wasn't because you were instantly attracted to Aaron Hotchner. However, that was almost a year ago now and you were struggling with your growing attraction to the man the more you were around him. Your coworkers and friends certainly were no help, given they'd soon caught onto your crush.

A hand waved in front of your face and you blinked.

"Time to go, lovergirl." Prentiss teased and you sighed, quickly joining the others as they made their way to the case briefing. You needed to focus.

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Landing in Chicago a few hours later, the team were thrust into a gnarly investigation involving couples being murdered in their hotel rooms mid-coital. The crime scene photos were hard to look at, to say the least. Setting up a base of operations in the police department didn't take too long and currently you were in the midst of interviewing family members of the deceased along with Hotch at his insistence. It wasn't often that you took part in these interviews, even less often did Hotch ever team you up with him. Quite frankly, it made you feel a little nervous, but there was no way you'd question his decision. And certainly, you did not miss the subtle smug look Emily gave you as you trailed after the man you thought about way too much.

Sitting beside him in the SUV, just the two of you alone made your head feel a little bit floaty as you tried your best to remain as stoic as possible, reminding yourself of the details of the case so far and of the little bits of information from the families you'd spoken to. Even with the effort there was no preventing the permeating scent of his cologne and a hint of his own natural musk from scrambling your brain. He smelled good, too good, and the way his hands gripped the steering wheel from the quick glances you dared peek developed a heat to coil within the depths of your lower abdomen.

"Are you alright?" His voice brought you out of your thoughts. You felt flushed.

"H-huh?" You felt dumbstruck, all because of him. He exhaled through his nose sharply, clearly dissatisfied with your response.

"You're distracted."

Oh. Of course he could pick up on it. You shifted in your seat, subtly rubbing your plump thighs together.

"I'm okay, I guess I've not had enough to drink today though. I'll get some water when we head back to the station." Not a lie, technically. You'd forgotten your bottle of water you normally had ready to fill up to take on cases. Hotch hummed, the sound deep and making you clench between your thighs.

"I did notice you didn't have your water like you usually do. I should have said something." He said. Wait, he noticed? You didn't think he picked up on things about you, he didn't often appear to pay attention to you besides on a strictly professional level. But as you turned your head to him in surprise his brows were furrowed in frustration, as though annoyed with himself for not saying anything.

"Oh no, it's fine. I've been a bit of a scatterbrain as of late." You admitted sheepishly, a little smile on your lips. Hotch glanced at you, eyes flicking down to your lips, then back to your eyes, making your breath hitch.

"Anything I can do to help?"

You bit your lip, your mind flooded with a whole array of thoughts that you knew you shouldn't be having about your boss. He didn't know he was the reason you were so distracted, desperate to feel his lips on yours, on your body and his hands on your skin, his fingers inside you. Fuck. You needed to get it together, for goodness' sake. You quickly glanced back towards the road.

"Ah, no. I'm okay, sir. I'll sort myself out." You murmured, missing the way his knuckles whitened under the pressure of his grip on the wheel.

"Don't hesitate to come to me if you need anything."

You tried not to think of what you wanted him to do to you, instead humming in response.

"Thank you, sir."

You needed to get out of this damn car as soon as possible.

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Immediately upon returning to the station you rushed off to find a vending machine so you could grab a bottle of water. As soon as you had your hands on the cold, plastic bottle you were gulping down the cool liquid, not realising just how flushed you felt.

"Whoa, slow down there, (L/n)!" You heard JJ's voice from behind you and you turned, pulling the bottle from your mouth wide-eyed. The blonde woman looked slightly alarmed. "Are you okay?"

You nodded.

"Yeah, yeah. I just forgot to bring water so I kinda got a bit dehydrated I think." You explain quickly. JJ frowned a little.

"You'd better be careful next time. And don't drink too quickly, you could accidentally choke."

You smiled sheepishly under her scolding and screwed the lid back on.

"Sorry, I'll drink slower."

JJ led you back to the office where you found the familiar sight of Spencer pouring over a map of the area. Pieces of string had been wrapped around pins indicating the last locations victims were seen and the scenes of their murders, no clear pattern in sight as there sometimes was. On one of the tables lay several empty paper coffee cups, a few rings of spilled coffee staining the surface top. He was speaking quietly to another member of the team, David Rossi, and Hotch; of whom stood beside the young Doctor with his arms folded across his chest, inevitably tightening the suit over his physique. You forced yourself to focus on the map.

Not long after your arrival you heard two sets of footsteps trudge into the room.

"No employees or frequent customers that are of note. We have nothing." Derek huffed as he made his way over to one of the chairs and slumped down into it. Emily joined you and JJ, her face appeared neutral but you could tell there was a hint of annoyance behind it. You heaved a deep sigh and felt eyes on you which made you instinctively seek out who it was, only to be startled when your eyes met deep brown ones, almost black in the artificial lighting. Hotch didn't look away, instead holding your gaze until you quickly turned away, feeling embarrassed.

"There has to be something that connects them all." Rossi said. Your eyes drifted across the map, narrowing a little. There had to be a mutual place that all these couples had been to in the final week leading up to their deaths. Somewhere that couples who enjoy sexual relations more than the average couple would go. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and quickly scrolled through your contacts until you found the one you were looking for. As you pressed dial you put the call on loudspeaker it merely rang once before there was an answer.

"Hello, you've reached the hotline for the simply fantabulous Penelope Garcia; how may I assist you?" A bubbly voice filtered through. All eyes were on the phone as you placed it on the table in front of you.

"Hiya, babe, I have a request for you. We're trying to find a link between the couples but so far nothing has cropped up. But I have a theory," you spoke, feeling a little awkward at what you were about to say. "Uhm, do you think you could try search for any strip clubs or even straight up sex clubs in the area? Easily accessible or possibly a more hidden club?"

You could feel his eyes on you again but you tried hard to stare at the phone. Garcia gasped from the other end of the line, but the sound of nails on a keyboard reassured you she was already on the case. Beside you, you felt Emily poke you and you lightly shoved her with your wide hip.

"Oh wow, I did not think I would be looking at this sort of thing today. But lucky you, I have a whole list of places! I-" there was clicking, followed by another gasp. "Oh my! That is certainly a homepage! You have no idea about the things I'm seeing right now, well, I mean I'll be sending these to you anyway but gosh! I'm going to do a thorough clean of my history once this case-"

"-Garcia, focus." Hotch said firmly and you heard a quick apology from the other end of the line. He moved to lean over the table, propping himself up with his hands as he took charge of the phone call. "We need security footage from these locations. Whatever you can give us, we'll take it."

More clacking of nails, you tried not to stare at your boss as he leered over your phone, forcing yourself to look away from his straining suit, the dangling tie, his large hands. Horrifically, you instead met eyes with the oldest of the group, Rossi, who had clearly caught you ogling Hotch from the glint in his experienced eyes and the twitch at the corner of his mouth. Shit. You could only hope no one else had witnessed your blatancy. Thankfully, Garcia's voice came through again.

"I'm sending over whatever footage I can find as well as the addresses to the establishments now."

You reached across the table, hyper aware of how close you were to Hotch as you took hold of your phone. He studied you carefully when you hurried backwards, swallowing thickly. You cleared your throat.

"Thanks, babe, you're a star." You said.

"Well of course, I'm your star." Garcia responded cheerily and the line went dead. Hotch straightened up and pulled his suit back into place, turning to address everyone.

"We need to review the footage and find out which location all the victims visited at some point within the last few weeks, then we can make a plan of action." He was stern as he spoke, hands in his pockets and his shoulders squared. There was a mutual noise of agreement from everyone and you all split into smaller groups around the monitors in the room. Hotch disappeared off to find the chief of police and you couldn't help but let your eyes follow him as he rushed out of the room, eyes transfixed on the tight fabric of his dress pants.

"Girl, you aren't even hiding it." You heard Derek say and you huffed, walking over to Spencer and sitting down next to him. He offered you an awkward smile and shuffled his chair to the side so you could get closer to the computer he was working on.

"Shut up, Derek." You muttered and he chuckled.

"I'm just saying, you should probably talk to him."

Your eyes widened in horror.

"Excuse me?"

Spencer cleared his throat.

"I agree, It's a bit obvious that he's interested in you too." He said softly and you huffed, shuffling your chair closer to the table and leaning towards the computer screen.

"Stop saying ridiculous things like that, both of you. We have work to do anyway."

Derek stepped back with his hands raised in surrender before retreating back to the computer he was situated at whilst Spencer simply watched you carefully, frowning a little.

It was dangerous for you to even dare think of such things. There were so many reasons why you couldn't let your mind go there. If not for the ethical reason due to his and your job statuses, then maybe because he was much older than you with a son. But also you'd seen photos of his ex-wife and ex-girlfriend and you certainly didn't look like his type. Not slender, not sleek like they were. You didn't think he was a shallow man but you'd also dealt with disappointment after disappointment with how others had treated you based on your appearance. You had to keep yourself safe, so your attraction for your boss would remain nothing more than a secret from him. You sighed softly as the young man beside you clicked on the first video footage from one of the private sex clubs. There was no more time to waste.

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The following few hours were downright miserable, viewing video, after video of footage from various clubs until you felt as though your eyes and your brain would melt out of your head. Finally, however, Emily made a noise of alarm, mouth full of cheap coffee, and alerted everyone to her computer. Swallowing the burning, bitter liquid, she retracted the footage a little and replayed it.

"Look, It's the Smiths! The first couple to be murdered. They came in to this very exclusive private sex club at the end of last month." She said hurriedly. In the slightly fuzzy camera quality indeed the couple waltzed into the lobby of the facility and approached the reception desk.

"Fast forward the feed." You heard Hotch say, causing goosebumps to bristle across your skin. You knew he had returned at some point but didn't expect him to stand right beside you. Someone made a call to Garcia and she confirmed with her database that it was indeed the couple. Further analysis of the footage from days afterwards showed that every single of the other couples had also been to this sex club too shortly before they were murdered. And yet they had no indication still of who was the murderer.

The day was drawing in at this point but as a final task before anyone would return to the hotel, Hotch sent out Morgan and Prentiss to the club to ask some questions, something that you couldn't help but chuckle at. The raven haired woman narrowed her eyes slightly at you.

"Laugh all you want but I'd be careful if I were you." She warned but you simply smirked.

"Don't have too much fun now, you two." You said cheerily, Morgan raised a brow at you and then the two were off begrudgingly. You felt JJ sidle up beside you.

"You know she will get you back." She murmured and you shrugged.

"She doesn't scare me."

"She scares me a little." Spencer said aloud, causing the two of you to turn your heads in his direction. He flushed, ducking his head slightly. "I- uh, well you know how she is."

"I wouldn't think you were intimidated by her, Spence, I mean you're the one who won the prank war with Morgan." JJ said, chuckling. A small smile tugged at his mouth.

"I wouldn't cross Emily, though."

You hummed and pushed up out of your chair.

"Well anyway, either of you want a hot drink?" You offered. JJ smiled.

"Oh no, thank you." As Spencer opened his mouth to respond she lifted a finger up at him. "Ah- you definitely don't need anymore coffee at this time of day."

A quiet giggle passed your lips and you turned to head to the kitchenette of the station.

"I'm not getting involved."

Walking out of the office you crossed the police department, avoiding any officers who still remained within the building, and came to a pause in the entryway of the kitchen, dipping away from the doorway out of sight. The two oldest members of the team were in a deep conversation, Hotch with his back to the door and Rossi facing the direction you were in. They spoke quietly, you knew you shouldn't listen in and yet you couldn't help it.

"Stop being absurd. What makes you think I'd even consider doing that?" Hotch hissed, his voice barely audible from where you were.

"Come on, Aaron, you can't keep this going forever. You know that." Rossi countered. There were more words said but were too quiet for you to decipher. That was until Hotch spoke a little louder again, sounding more frustrated.

"I am not currently wishing to be involved with anyone like that, Dave. I just can't."

In an instant you felt your heart in your throat, your eyes stinging.

Oh.

You felt stupid. Of course he wasn't interested in dating anyone. Even despite closely guarding your feelings for Hotch to be nothing further than a personal crush that he would never find out about it still hurt knowing you never had a chance to begin with.

Walking a few steps away from the kitchen, you made a point of entering the kitchen area, feigning surprise as your eyes landed on the two men in the room. Clearly, your entrance startled them, particularly him, who looked a little guilty before the slight expression glossed over with stern stoicism. Hotch glanced away, turning to Rossi.

"I'll see you at the hotel." He muttered and then he was brushing past you, his hand grazing your arm slightly and his scent consuming your senses. And then he was gone, all that remained was the slight coolness of his absence. You swallowed thickly but tried to mask your emotions from the seasoned agent still remaining.

"Coffee? There's some left still, maybe enough for one last cup." Rossi said softly. You smiled slightly as you approached him but shook your head.

"Ah no, thank you. I'm going to have tea. It's way too late for coffee, don't you think?"

The man hummed, watching you carefully. You suspected he had seen you earlier, that you'd heard the conversation but you didn't feel like talking about it.

"I hope you know that if you ever need someone to lend an ear that I'm always willing to listen."

Your hands faltered slightly during sorting out putting a tea bag in a clean mug. Your eyes flicked to the side at Rossi briefly.

"I know that."

"I know you heard what you think you heard but-"

"-Let's not- We aren't talking about this." You cut him off shakily, stopping yourself before you poured the hot water into the mug. "There's nothing to say about it."

You turned away from the kitchen counter to lean against it, rubbing your tired eyes with your palms. Rossi sighed quietly.

"You didn't catch the whole conversation." He tried after a moment. You scoffed.

"It wasn't for me to hear. I only did so by accident. I'm not going to read into it because the only people who were meant to hear what was discussed was you and-" Your throat felt tighter still, an unseen coil constricting you, just as the man you longed for constricted your heart and soul. You didn't say his name, couldn't. Mercifully, the man before you understood.

"I know."

You nodded. The mug of tea wasn't appealing anymore; the quiet promise of solitude in a hotel room called to you more than all else.

"I.... I think I need to call it a night. I don't feel well."

Rossi placed a hand on your upper arm and squeezed lightly.

"I'll inform the others and grab your stuff then I'll drive you to the hotel we're staying in," he fished out the keys to one of the SUVs and handed them to you, the metal clinking together. "Go, wait in the car for me." He said. The corners of your mouth tilted upwards in appreciation and you hurried out, eager to have even a moment to yourself.

The moment you pushed the doors of the building open and stepped outside you exhaled, grimacing slightly at the still, warm air of the night. You'd hoped it would have cooled down more, now that the sun had long since settled behind the horizon, but you felt stifled, the heat doing nothing to soothe the tightness in your throat and chest. Breathing shakily, you unlocked the car and climbed into the passenger seat, laying your head back against the head rest.

There was no reason for you to feel so upset about this. It wasn't as though you intended on ever approaching your boss about your ever growing feelings for him, you wouldn't dare do that. And yet you felt almost physically sick from heartbreak and the worst part was he didn't even know the pain you were in. Hell, you didn't even know where he was right now after he rushed out of the kitchen.

You knew the moment Rossi obviously had retrieved your belongings judging the way your phone had begun to vibrate from text notifications, no doubt from your coworkers. You'd answer them when you made it to the hotel, you decided. A few minutes later you spotted the older man exit the station and approach the car you were in, your bag and coat in hand. The sight made you smile even the tiniest bit, something that he noticed. You felt the car jolt a little as he opened the trunk so he could put your belongings down and jolt again when he slammed it lightly. A second later he was climbing in on the driver's side where you held out the car keys to him.

"Thanks." He took the keys and inserted them into the ignition, the engine roaring to life and you slipped your seatbelt on. Rossi glanced at you. "Let's get you to the hotel. Best thing about this is if there aren't enough rooms for one each you can have first pick on if you want the single or not." He said as you pulled out the station parking lot. You scoffed.

"Oh you know I'm absolutely taking the single this time." You retorted. In any other scenario you would have risked sharing a room, risk being paired with him. Now the thought made you want to cry. Your little smile faded and you turned your head to the window, resting on the cool glass. Sensing you were finished talking, Rossi didn't say anything else for the remainder of the drive.

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A little groan escaped your lips when you collapsed backwards on the single bed in your hotel room, exhaustion overrunning your very being from the long day. For a moment you simply lay there silently, staring at the dulled white ceiling whilst your mind raced. You knew this wasn't ideal, you couldn't let yourself be distracted from the case.

Huffing, you remembered that you needed to respond to messages to let the others know you would be alright by the morning. After pulling your phone out of your pocket, the screen lit up and your eyes flicked across the notifications on the lock screen. Lots of messages from your worried coworkers. You unlocked the phone and set about answering them one-by-one. JJ and Emily offered to stop by your hotel room to check in on you, not knowing you'd been feeling unwell up until this point, but you reassured them you would be okay.

Just as you finished your nightly routine and pulled the covers back, there was a knock on your door. Your brows furrowed slightly. Who would be knocking at this time? Sighing, you approached the door and leaned close to the peephole, expecting to see one of the ladies or maybe even Rossi.

Standing tensely with his shoulders squared was Aaron Hotchner. A quiet gasp escaped you and you jolted backwards from the door. What the fuck was he doing here?! With shaky hands, you pulled the door open and slightly covered yourself with it, hyper aware of your clothing situation. Hotch perked up and stared down at you.

"Rossi informed me that you weren't feeling well and had to retire early." He murmured gently, his face stern. You swallowed and silently invited him into your room by stepping back, pulling the door with you. He cautiously walked into your hotel room and you closed the door behind him, wrapping your arms around yourself in a feeble attempt to cover your body up. Why, oh why did you have to wear shorts that barely covered your ass and an old tee that wasn't as baggy anymore from being washed one too many times?

You cleared your throat and avoided looking in Hotch's direction.

"He's right. But I'm sure I'll feel better by tomorrow though."

You offered a little smile, eyes flicking to his face and realised he was staring. Except he wasn't staring at your face, no, his eyes were focused lower down at your chest. Christ. You quickly looked away again before he realised you'd caught him out and he hummed, the sound making you clench.

"What's wrong?"

Oh no. You couldn't answer that. Your eyes met his and you opened your mouth, hesitating with no response to give.

"I.... Just felt sick, that's all. I'll be okay though."

You never were good at hiding how you were really feeling, the deepening frown on the man's face before you merely evident of this.

"Are you certain? You can tell me anything, you know that." He said softly as he stepped closer to you. You nodded and tried smiling again at him.

"I know, sir. I promise I'm alright though." You tightened your arms around yourself until your flesh dipped under the pressure of your fingertips. Hotch's eyes trailed over you from head to toe, clearly unsatisfied with your reluctance to tell him the truth, but didn't push the matter further. You inhaled as he stepped closer still, his scent once more overwhelming you. His fingers flexed at his side as though he was conflicted and you wished he would reach out and touch you. Eventually, he sighed quietly and retreated a step.

"Alright. But I will be keeping an eye on you now."

Not good. You nodded though, then yawned and your cheeks flushed with warmth. Despite the tension, a small smile tugged at Hotch's mouth.

"You should get some rest." He said. You chuckled.

"Yeah, you as well though. I know what you're like."

He raised a brow at you.

"Really now?"

Your eyes widened and you stuttered.

"W-well I'm just saying, you do leave the office last, you're up earlier than everyone else too-" you cut yourself off, not wanting to dig your hole any deeper. You dared a quick glance his way and he was still slightly smirking.

"Get some rest, your boss is going to be up early again tomorrow to call everyone in."

A little chuckle escaped you and you followed Hotch to the door, grabbing the door as he opened it and hiding behind it again as you watched him make his way out into the corridor. He turned back to you and gazed down at you again.

"Good night, (L/n)." He murmured. Your eyes met and you gripped onto the door.

"Good night, sir."

He shifted, as though debating something in his head, then he turned and stalked down the corridor. You didn't close your door until he disappeared from sight. When you returned to your bed you collapsed down onto it whilst your mind raced. That night your dreams were filled with forbidden touches and kisses from the man you loved.

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And that's part one for now pls lemme know what you think and if anyone wants to be tagged in future works! Thank you for reading 💖💖

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

TKATB: More theories! Yay!

This most certainly will contain spoilers for Days 1 and 2 of @fantasia-kitt 's 'The Kid At The Back', along with containing mentions of material found on her Twitter (https://twitter.com/fantasia_kitt).

WILL HAVE SPOILERS! IF YOU HAVEN'T PLAYED THROUGH DAYS 1 AND 2, I RECOMMEND FINISHING THEM FIRST.

Quite a lot of these may allude to the ones I posted a week(?) ago, but my brain has brained REALLY HARD (almost as hard as when I get when I see Geo) and I think I have more ideas/more specified ideas of what could happen.

- So, I am correct in assuming the fact that the Hallow's Ball is on Day 5 (because Day 1 is in fact Monday); now this might be a stretch, in fact, it probably is, but due to the fact the Higher Class paid a visit to the school, maybe some of them might show up? Or maybe the people who bullied Brittney (think the food fight route) try to publically humiliate her or something, because something tells me she's got a lot of enemies, and something pretty bad is gonna happen to her.

- Geo is mentioned to have been disqualified due to 'accidentally' shooting an arrow at another person and it cutting their hair. Jess mentions we'd have to go 'next year' to see him partake again, so I'm gonna guess this competition is an annual thing. Maybe (and I'm assuming this as well) Geo and Hyugo were part of the Higher Class (because their dad works with the city's Founder, so that's gotta be High Class if I've ever heard it), but they were moved down. Geo is seemingly using archery to try and get selected to return back to the Higher Class, but if so, why get purposefully disqualified over almost potentially killing someone? Maybe, someone *really* pissed him off, or maybe got him sent down for whatever reason (we know Geo has daddy issues so maybe his father treats him like shit because of it) and he's subtly trying to threaten them?

- Along with that, MC wonders why he didn't get arrested. Think about it, he's got money, a lot of it. Hyugo says how corrupt this city is, their father (I believe Geo is an illegitimate child, due to the mother cheating or smth idk) probably paid the cops to not give a shit.

- Hyugo also has a LOT of connections, is often MIA, and is in the student council, so he's got influence. (Maybe adding salt to Geo's wounds indirectly?) I have a feeling he goes MIA for his syndicate activities (he has access to sleeping pills); and maybe because he's part of the council and gets stupidly high ass grades, nobody questions it. Besides, he's probably got some sketchy operations going on to maintain it all.

- With Crowe asking about Marie Antoinette, I now feel that our 'responses' to whether she was a good or horrible person are things HE did. "She was ignorant, she raved while people were starving..." - MC to Crowe when choosing the 'She was a horrible person' choice. I'll ignore the latter part for now, because that was a normal thing for rich people to do at the time. But the ignorant part is interesting. Maybe the reason Crowe is so nice (and it's not a facade, according to Fantasia herself) is because he's trying to redeem himself? Sol, if you don't skip class and let him escort you, states: "Ichabod (Crowe's surname) it's always been you. I should have dealt with him years ago..." So, maybe, at some point, Crowe had a pristine relationship with his family, mother specifically, (he doesn't anymore) and the reasoning behind this is due to the fact he believed he was superior? Maybe he was even a bully at some point? Hell, maybe he even made fun of Sol, and Sol wants to obliterate him for it. He (Crowe) was making him (Sol), and now he is trying to steal his so(u)lmate?! How fucking dare he?!

- Brittney also states that she's astonished about how Deryl has almost no friends, so I think that's incredibly fascinating, because it's true. How does a bubbly, happy jock like him get ignored by so many? Maybe because he helped Brittney (along with Jess) when she was low?

- Again, about Brittney, I feel that that frat party 2 years ago shattered her reputation, her image, everything. I bet some damaging info got spread about her and it led to her 'mysteriously' leaving the cheerleading squad, becoming more isolated and essentially (I'm assuming this) getting moved down with Jess. (Check previous one for why I think Jess got moved down as well, but tldr is she lost her shit, maybe got physical and it got her and Brittney sent to the worse school together). - On Fantasia's twitter, there's a Day 3 nsfw image of Sol essentially standing in front of a mirror with blood everywhere (ill link the slideshow that i have of every image i found/liked), anyway it's the right one on slide 9; with the caption "All I see are flaws"....so maybe if you ignore him on Day 3 and hang out with Crowe, he'll start losing his shit? Maybe thinking he isn't good enough? - Also, in the Day 2 NSFW scene, there are some prominent burn marks on Sol's back...does he get abused to this day? Does he live alone and they're scars?????? Maybe that's what he meant when he says "I've been dealt worse" in relation to the bullying? He does have history with them after all.

So. That's basically it, brain will continue to brain. Until then, ciao. (and yes the Geo fanfic is coming dw) Slides: https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1Wb_biHRk6g1gKj0WZ5XVwEtKGjFRTapDYerlEyhYPGE/edit#slide=id.g2cffd4cd112_0_34

[gretavanlace]

Sugar II (part 9)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, angst, language, the tiniest amount of alcohol consumption, digital penetration, masturbation, oral sex (fem rec), anal play, unprotected sex, etc

Okay, sweet peas, we’ve got one more chapter to go (maaaaybe two idk), but all your favorites will be back! Plus an epilogue. Thank you so much for sticking with me after I did sugar jake so dirty the first time around ❤️

The air is lush and fragrant with herbs, sizzling eggs, and Jake when you wake - though his side of the bed has already cooled.

He’s all around you. Clothes and scuffed boots tossed about the room. Guitar case propped open sans Gibson - where has she gone? The scent of his skin clinging to yours. The gentle bustle of him milling around in the kitchen. You roll over and shamelessly bury your face in the pillow he rested his pretty head upon last night. Drawing him in with a shiver of content…he is home and you are basking in the comfort that is the great return.

He’s humming something to himself, and though you can barely hear - and you certainly can’t place the song - you try to hum along, laughing quietly to yourself when it comes out sounding muddled and strange as you search for a melody you don’t know.

It doesn’t matter. If he’s humming, you want to hum along. You’d like to walk beside him always, twisted and tangled together like a silken braid of devotion.

Seduced by his silly siren’s song, your feet hit the floor as you search for something to throw on. You settle on the black blazer he’s tossed over the back of a chair and pad down the hallway. Lulled and lured by his quiet chaos.

You find him, back to the doorway, gingerly shaking a pan with one hand and tossing what looks to be diced veggies with the other, totally at ease and at home. A gorgeous, disheveled chef complete with yesterday’s sweats, t shirt that’s torn at the neck, and tangled hair.

Should you stand and watch him awhile? It sounds tempting…to watch him work, a sneaky, head over heels fly on the wall. The way he moves, every shift of muscle is intoxicating. Yes, you are bewitched, but even standing here bathed in his presence, you miss him, and that wins out.

”Morning, Jakey,” you smile, breaking his concentration.

”There’s my sugar,” he tosses you a look over his shoulder that stops your heart. “I’m making you breakfast, my love. Would you like coffee or tea?”

Bare feet dancing over chilled tile, you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your cheek between his shoulder blades, “Whatever you’re having.”

He backs up a little, no doubt worrying about your arms - though they are protected by his jacket - being too near to the stove, and turns, pulling you closer while walking you backwards towards the island, “How about we share a cup of tea? You hungry?”

Flashes of memories burn through your brain…last night, in the foyer wrapped up together on the floor while he kissed your body and wept. On the couch while you talked about how exactly this all might work. Later, in a bed that wasn’t yours, in sheets you wouldn’t wash.

You should be thoroughly sated, but yes…you are hungry.

”How’d I get so lucky, little girl?” His lips curve into a grin that derails your thoughts and replaces them with something much softer. Your heart is weak for the look in his eyes…the unapologetic, worshipful love that blazes there. “How did I manage to earn this?”

”Earn what?” You smile back, praying that the emotion pounding in your heart is as evident in your gaze as it is in his, “Us?”

His eyes duck away with a shy nod, “I just never thought I’d have you like this again. In my arms, not going anywhere. Staying.”

Your fingertips are at his cheeks, sweeping over the perfect warmth of his skin, soft as air, “Jake, you didn’t earn anything. You’ve always held my heart.”

Still unwilling to meet your gaze, he rests his forehead on your shoulder. “You took it away.”

”No,” you argue in a hush. Can he really not see? “I left it with you. You’re the only reason it beats, anyway. But if you don’t feed me soon, I fear I may perish.”

”Drama queen.” He grins, pecking your cheeks each in turn, grateful that you’ve eased his mind and calmed his tender nerves.

The kettle begins to scream and you patter off to the table tucked into the corner, homey and quaint, to watch him work to take care of you. Soon, you’re gifted a steaming mug along with another kiss dropped atop your head. “Splash of rum and a sprinkle of cinnamon, sugar. It’s 9 o’clock in the morning, you lush.”

”Trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me, Jake?” You tease back, watching as he moves to finish things up at the stove, throat seizing with aching affection…he remembers how you take your tea.

”I don’t have to get you inebriated for that,” he sounds gravelly and full of himself, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “I could fuck you however and wherever I so felt the inclination, my lovely little doll, and you would grace me with your gracious and enthusiastic appreciation.”

You bat your lashes wildly at him as he presents two plates heaped with brightly colored, expertly sautéed vegetables and fluffy, scrambled eggs like cheery, sunny clouds. A bowl of swollen, fuschia raspberries deposited between your plates like a pile of sweetened jewels steals the show. “Oh, be still my heart…you know how I enjoy it when you speak like a dictionary.”

”I know, sugar,” there’s that beaming smile of his again as he offers you a berry, lightly teasing it at your lips until you open up for him. “plenty more where that came from.”

A comfortable quiet sparks to life as you both dig in and pass the teacup back and forth. He finally breaks it, speaking up around a bite of potatoes and peppers. “I spoke to Josh this morning.”

”And how is your missing piece?” You quirk an eyebrow over the top of the cup you have now commandeered.

He leans back in his chair and settles his gaze upon you, clocking your expression closely, searching for a reaction. “Obnoxious as ever. He’s annoyed with me because I haven’t looked over the lyric revisions he sent me, and I certainly couldn’t care less if I actively tried. However, he’s very excited to see you. Cross though he might be with his dear brother.”

”Hello, Oliver,” you wink, “Let’s have Jacob back, shall we?”

You haven’t forgotten Jake’s tendency for trotting out Mr. Reed when he’s dipping a toe or two into the waters of vulnerability.

“Do you miss him?” He asks quietly, “Do you want things to be the way they were before? Because I can live with that if it means you’ll stay.” He rushes on as if he fears he may lose his nerve. “I want you to be happy, whatever it takes, I just want you to be happy.”

Fork clinking lightly against your plate as your focus zeros in on his lovely face, you lean forward and reach for his hand “Did he tell you he came to see me? After I ran into Danny that day?”

His fingers slip into your waiting palm with a soft squeeze, “He mentioned that he found you and asked you hide away until we’d gone. I’ve never wanted to hurt him as badly as I did then. Not even when we were young and stupid. Not even that night, when he forced me to let you go.”

“He was only trying to protect you, jake.” Your head tilts, watching residual pain flare to life in his eyes. “I’ve done a great many things to hurt you, it’s a wonder he doesn’t hate me for it.”

“He could never hate you, sugar. Don’t say things like that, it would break his heart to hear them.” The conviction in his words is fierce, and that makes sense…they share a life force at times, it seems.

“He did ask me to hide away, yes…” you nod, wrapping your free hand around his knuckles, warming his touch with your own, “But did he tell you anything else about our visit? Did he tell you how easy it was for us? How we caught up and laughed and looked at each other like very old friends that had been lost to each other for too many years?”

His shoulders tense as though he’s bracing for a gentle impact, but on you march, whispering to him in this unfamiliar kitchen that feels fat full of love.

”Did he tell you that it didn’t even hurt, our being in the same room with everything so fucking different? Did he know that all I could do was sit there, falling silently apart and searching for you in his eyes?”

“But you loved him.” Now it’s his turn to search your eyes, but for what you’re not sure. “I don’t want you to have to tamp that out. Not ever. You love so beautifully, sugar. I can share.”

”I did love him,” you nod. “Very much. A long time ago. I love him still. Differently. And not the way I love you. I have never loved anyone the way I love you. You don’t have to share. Not anymore.”

His grip is pulling at you now, tugging you to your feet and into his arms, creaking the worn wood of his chair beneath the weight of you both as he buries his face into your bare chest, hiding his tears in the lapels of his blazer as he weeps into your skin.

“Shh, baby,” you soothe, stroking through his hair, holding onto him as he clings to you as if you might vanish like a sigh.

His face tilts upward, lips brushing over your chin and jaw, licking and tasting you through his tears. “I love you, sugar. Sometimes I feel like all this love I have for you is just going to break me into pieces, like I can’t hold it all inside. There’s no room for it. I’m too small.”

”Jake,” you feel like you could break into pieces right alongside him as he begins tugging his jacket away from your shoulders.

He shakes his head, hushing you silently, “So, I’m going to take all this love and I’m going to give it all to you. And I’m gonna fill our house with it, press it into the walls and let it seep into the floorboards. Every nail and every window is going to feel it. The pipes and hinges. The chimney is going to breathe it into the night when we light fires in the winter. And we’re going to have babies and I’m going to love them just as much, and I can’t wait to watch you love them…”

You feel baptized in his tears and the wet, warm press of his mouth as he tattoos beautiful promises into your flesh. How could you ever have believed that you wanted anything other than this?

“I’m going to exist for you every single day, sugar…” a sob escapes him, though he tries so hard to bite it back, “I already do…I always have.”

“I know, baby…it’s okay,” you’re kissing adoration into his hair, combing your fingers through the tangles, coddling him and cooing the softest endearments, desperate to mollify his soul, fraught to offer him peace. “Please don’t cry, jakey. You know I can’t stand it.”

Hearing his own words lilting off of your tongue, he pauses and gazes up into your eyes like he sees everything he’ll ever need in them, “When I said that to you, I wanted to disappear. I wanted to be…gone. I didn’t want to live in a world where you wore his ring on your finger with tears in your eyes. Will you miss him?”

Should you lie? Perhaps. But wouldn’t he see the untruths lying bare? Wouldn’t that hurt even worse? Your deception?

“Yes,” you nod, petting him as he presses in closer, “he was kind to me, and sweet. He made me laugh. He made me half-way happy enough to pretend. I’ll miss him sometimes…but never enough to look back and regret chasing after you.”

“I’m glad he was kind to you,” he whispers, kissing a drunken, winding path across the tops of your breasts, “you deserve kind. He loved you, I could see that. I didn’t want to, but I could. And maybe I hated that, but I would have hated the alternative so much more. I’m sure he loves you still.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you laugh softly, “he wasn’t very pleased with me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sugar,” he stares up at you with eyes laced heavily in adulation, “you don’t leave a man alone so easily. You linger and overstay your welcome in the worst way. Learn to leave a room, sweetheart.”

He has pulled another laugh out of you, louder and bell like this time…it twists his heart with heated, pulsing adoration.

”Jake,” you pause, waiting for him to give you his honey brown eyes, “You were right when you said none of it matters. This matters.” Your palm finds your heartbeat for a moment, and then his own.

”I know, my love…” tears skate along his lash line like blissful, shimmering quartz, “I know.”

~

His mouth is at your throat, gentle hand splaying out across your abdomen, holding you down against the cool, polished wood of the table.

Fingers playing at your lips, he breaks a raspberry apart between his fingers before sweeping it over your waiting tongue. “You’re so beautiful, sugar. Aren’t you? Aren’t you my pretty, pretty girl?”

His shirt has landed on the tile, forgotten and worthless to this task at shaking hand.

“Yes,” nails digging into his shoulders to remind him of where you’ve been, of where your touch belongs, you nod fervently beneath his kiss, “I’m your pretty girl, Jakey. I’m your girl.”

Lips beginning a path up your cheek to your temple, he hums euphorically and grasps at your ankles, tugging gingerly until your heels are resting on the table. “Will you show me?” His voice is silken and inquisitive, tongue fluttering over your earlobe to bring chills to life inside you. “Hmm? Will you show me how pretty you are for me?”

”Anything,” you pant, arching away from the table, desperate to be closer to him as he pulls back.

You watch on, body throbbing and screaming for him while he pops a raspberry into his mouth and settles back into his chair, legs spread wide, hands fisted into flexing balls at his knees, “Touch yourself for me, sugar. Rub your sweet little clit, nice and slow, just for me.”

Maybe you’d like to say your body protests, maybe you ought to say that you shy away, maybe if you weren’t so indescribably in love with him you’d do both of those things, but as it stands….

….as it stands, you give him what he’s asked for without thought. There isn’t a breath of hesitation. You simply roll two fingers over your tongue, reach down between your thighs, and begin.

The hushed moan that tumbles off the tip of your tongue tugs a sigh from his lungs that sets you further on fire. He sounds so beautiful, so wholly under a spell that you can’t fathom having the ability to cast over this deity of a man.

“There’s my good girl,” he is so quiet, you’d scarcely hear him were your focus not so completely honed in on jake jake jake, “Does that feel good, little girl? Is my sugar making that pretty pink pussy feel just so nice?”

He is an obscene angel staring you down with snarled hair and wicked sin in his wild eyes.

A trembling sound is all you’re able to manage as your touch dips inside yourself to draw slick back up to your clit.

”Yeah?” he tilts his head, watching you reverently, “It looks like it does. You’re dripping all over the table. I want to lick it up.”

“Please,” your fingers circle faster, but something is missing. He, close though he might be, is missing.

”Please, what?” He sounds as needy and hungry as you feel. “Tell me what you want me to do to you and I’ll do it, baby. Whatever you want…I’ll fucking do it.”

”Your mouth,” your legs spread wider until your hips protest, and then you spread a little wider in offering. “I’d like to have your mouth please, Jakey. Please. lick me, please, please.”

A groan rumbles out of his chest like pained thunder as he wraps his arms around your thighs, tugging you in and burying his mouth exactly where you’ve so politely begged for it. Another anguished sound pushes from his lungs as he drinks down his first mouthful of you.

The tip of his tongue teases over your shivering clit, and then slinks down to dip inside you, and then down farther still to lap against that heavenly little spot where it shouldn’t be.

He hums against you while you whine and yank at his hair, pulling his kiss in closer as your hips lift away from the wood you’re making such a mess of.

“Fuck,” your fingers lace through his hair perhaps just a bit too tightly, but a quiet grunt signals his appreciation, “right there.”

“I know where you like my mouth every now and then, sugar,” his words are hot against you as his thumb slides, warm and thick, inside your cunt “Dirty girl.”

Watching you shy away so endearingly squeezes at his chest. You have always given yourself to him so completely. You have always been his girl. His mouth has known every breathtaking inch of your body in a hundred different lifetimes. His heart has known your heart in a thousand more.

Your fingers search out your clit, neglected and crying out for attention, completing that lovely trifecta as you rock your hips, fucking his face without shame.

He is yours and you will take him.

Your belly is burning, white hot and tight, coiling and churning as your body begins to tremble and flush.

“Gonna cum…” A complete sentence seems an impossible task “I— oh, please, please, please,”

His fingers replace his thumb with a feral growl low in his throat, tucking up in behind your clit as you watch his arm begin to move rhythmically below the table.

”Don’t cum,” you order through whimpers and whines that sound anything but authoritative. How difficult it proves to be to be bossy when his tongue is warm and wet where you shouldn’t adore it so damn much.

”I won’t,” his promise is beautifully muffled. “But I want you to do it. Cum for me, fuck doll…give it up pretty.”

You tighten deliciously around his searching tongue and delving fingers as it crawls through you like sinking into a warm bath that swirls with glittering, lilac goldfish. They kiss your skin soft as monarch wings; strange, swimming beings in the waters that are Jacob. It is lovely, though given the filth that has ushered you into this state, maybe that makes no sense.

He works you carefully until your breathing begins to stutter and gasp uncomfortably, and then there is his striking and stunning face - cheeks blazing with desire - kissing and licking up your body as you squirm languidly.

“Was that good, baby?” His teeth are dragging against the swell of your breast now, igniting a fire within you anew.

Jacob, always so cocksure and confident, sounds famished for your approval. How strange.

You hand it over willingly and honestly, on a silver platter of affection, “So, good, Jakey…I love you so much.”

“You taste like fucking candy everywhere,” his praise is little more than a whispered murmur as he buries into the crook of your neck, “I want you in my mouth and under my fingertips forever, for fucking always.”

The tip of his cock, full and hot like velvet, sweeps across your entrance, teasing inside just a breath before pulling back and then nudging in all over again.

“Put it in,” your fingers are clawing lazily at his hips, silently trying to guide him into action, “Fuck Jake, please baby, just slip it inside and—“

He grinds his hips forward, cutting you off, filling you up, pulsing and slick and hot and…

”My girl,” his words are humid at your throat as he whimpers through a physical shudder. “My sugar, my love. That’s my baby, that’s it…taking it so well. You feel so fucking good.”

His wandering fingers find and sweep over your clit with a glide as sweet as satin, and it has you clenching down around him so wildly his eyes snap shut with a furrowed brow, mouth hanging open in a silent moan.

Buried to the hilt now, those eyes lull open to stare down where your bodies connect. “Looks so pretty stretched around my cock. How’d this little cunt ever get so beautiful?”

Your cheek turns to meet the cool of the oak you're draped across, embarrassed in the most blissful way, but he is positively weak for the way his words cause your thighs to tighten around his waist.

His name begins to burn out of your lungs, smoking into the sun-soaked kitchen like a prayer.

”That’s it,” he sounds faraway, like he’s crooning to you from across the room, “My name, sugar…always my name.”

And then, there is his thumb, soaked in your need and brushing against that spot just below where his cock is dragging in and out of your cunt.

A wanton cry for more bleeds out of you, bringing forth another knit of his brow as he sinks inside you to follow the deep thrust of his cock, “‘Oh my’, right sugar? Isn’t that how my fuck doll reacts? All sweet like a lady, to being filled up so full?”

His loving, mocking tone snatches you back full circle to that very first night with him that seems so long ago…he has been all you’ve ever wanted, ever since. He is all you will ever want.

He is every direction, the night and the day, every song ever written…every poem ever wept onto pages, every star that will light the skyline tonight and all the ones that came before. He is every beat of your pulse, every breath in your lungs - and when you breathe your last, it will be his name on your lips.

White explodes behind your eyes as fireworks detonate down deep inside you, sparkling a crackling-like frenetic energy throughout your nervous system until you are tightened up and writhing with it…cumming so hard, so fucking hard, that you nearly force his beautiful cock right out of your body.

He follows your lead and pulls away, tugging at himself violently as you shower down over him like the filthiest, most exquisite drops of summer-of-love rain.

“Oh fuck, sugar, please,” he’s whining as his release lands hot and frantic against your quivering stomach, but for what, neither of you know.

You’re lost in his faraway expression, watching him fight for a deep breath as you search for your own composure when your fingers sweep through a milky ribbon painted across your navel…you want to taste him, but his grip is wrapped firmly around your wrist in an instant, with your fingers nestled against his cashmere tongue.

“I’ll clean my pretty girl up myself, if she doesn’t mind.” His mouth brushes soothingly at your hip just before he begins licking up his own release, eyes cast upwards to your own as you shake, stunned and blissfully shellshocked.

At last, you find your voice as his bubblegum pink tongue curls over the last drop, “You taste good, don’t you, Jakey?”

“Not as good as you, sugar,” His mouth is on yours now, kissing far too sweetly for what you know him to be capable of. “not even close.”

“Shower?” He pops another raspberry into your mouth and then nuzzles against your nose.

”Bath.” You correct, nearly melting into the table beneath his love.

~

A sponge, fresh out of its package and now smothered in body wash, drags across your chest as his chest rests against your back.

”We leave tonight?’ Your voice sounds unfamiliar…too content, too relaxed. It’s been such a long time since you’ve sounded this way. Since you’ve been so completely happy.

”I wish we could stay longer,” he kisses at your drenched, now squeaky clean hair, “just you and me.”

”Me too,” you sigh, settling back into his embrace even more, “but I’m also excited to see those idiots you call brothers. Especially the baby.”

”He’s missed you.” More kisses to clutch at your already stolen heart. “Nothing was the same without you, sugar. Time to come home.”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @lvnterninthenight @paintmyhouse @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie @hugorobinson @jaketlove

[wherewritersgotodie-blog]

Thousand Yard Stare — Kit Walker x reader

A battleweary soldier and a clairvoyant girl who is a little too curious.

warnings: piv, unprotected sex, sadism if you squint, war, psychopathy idk, ptsd

AU in which Kit Walker was sent to war and was traumatized, which is why more people don’t believe that he in fact wasn’t Bloody Face. Alma, nor the aliens, are mentioned, however this version of Kit is still not guilty, even as it is not clearly stated.

I do not specify said war below, but the timeline aligns with the Vietnam War. To clarify, this is entirely fictional and not indicative of my views on experiences of people who’ve served.

This AU takes place in the late 60s. Kit Walker is in his late 20s/early 30s, unspecified.

Deinstitutionalization (the closing of many psychiatric hospitals) began in the late 1960s in Europe then in the U.S.A. shortly thereafter. In this timeline, Kit is admitted after Briarcliff is sold to the state.

Take everything I write as pure work of fiction and not indicative of my beliefs on any life experience of real people. This is fantasy.

Dead dove do not eat.

Happy reading.

You’re the first truly beautiful woman he’s seen since being overseas.

Sure, a few pretty girls out on the town before he was locked up in Briarcliff, but none so exquisite as you.

He couldn’t stop staring.

The way your body pressed against the gray romper you wore, which seemed as though it was a bit small for you. He deduced that a male staff had likely administered your clothing in the smallest sizes so they would fit the way they did.

He wondered if you felt uncomfortable in them, if you knew how easy it was to guess exactly what was underneath. That alone could get him off: watching you adjust yourself as you stood up, look down and pull on the fabric, hoping for it to offer you some privacy from the rest of the patients and staff— to no avail, of course.

He usually sat in corners, staring into the room or sometimes out the window. That was, until you showed up.

He wondered when you’d notice his constant gaze. You’d been here about a week, and not yet had you even made eye contact with him.

He sort of liked that, how unaware you were. Like easy prey.

Something has flipped in his brain, something sick and scarred.

All that emptiness, that endless void in the pit of his stomach was now filled— rather, overflowing— with lust, vengeful and unforgiving. Every minute he was out of bed he spent watching your every move. Perverse, twisted images of the violating things he would do to you were he ever to get his hands on you rushed his mind as he watched your often bare legs as you walked and the teasing silhouette of your waist and chest underneath your clothes. He wanted to make you feel dirty. He wanted you to be covered with his filth, just as he was.

He wasn’t always like this. Before the war, he was actually quite the gentlemen. Sure, he’d had quite a few girlfriends, but he was kind to all of them. He brought them flowers, bought their milkshakes, kissed their foreheads and gently whispered in their ears as he made love to them.

That version of him died right alongside the people he killed in the jungle— with guns, with his bare hands. That version of him died with his brothers in arms, of whom he helplessly watched bleed out just beside him on the battlefield. The light left his eyes just as it did in theirs.

The faces of those girls were simply shadows now; that version of himself the darkness.

He couldn’t remember if any of them were as beautiful as you. He doubted it.

You certainly weren't an alert person. You entered every room without scanning either direction, as if you'd never been in danger a day in your life. He admired that naivety— revered it, even. He could stare from the minute you entered the common area until you left without meeting your eyes once.

He stared at your hair often— the way you'd tuck it behind your ears as you scribbled in your notebook with your short pencil, which was cut to just about an inch long so you couldn’t hurt yourself or any of the other patients with it.

Most patients didn’t get the privilege of even regulation writing tools or reading books other than the Bible. He wondered what you had said– or done– to get such privilege, or if it was your pretty face that was just able to melt a man’s resolve enough to give you whatever you wanted. Other patients had rebuked you for your unfair advantage over them, but it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t help that everything about you made men curious about how your pussy felt.

He loved your legs, too. On days your legs were uncovered, he'd watch as your thighs rubbed together, your knees pressed to your chest. He stared as the fabric rode up your leg, teasing the soft skin of your perky ass. Your skin was smooth, your face soft and cherub-like. If he believed there was a God, he would believe that you were made to save him from his emptiness.

It wasn't until halfway through the second week that he finally got your attention.

You were in the common room, completing your daily mundane routine of reading and drawing. You had hardly introduced yourself to anyone, as you were trying to keep your head down and not become one with the wildness of Briarcliff. You thought, maybe, if you didn't interact with anyone, if you played the game right with the psychiatrists, if you reflected their language and healing back to them just right, maybe you had a shot at going home.

Today, though, you were desperate for some company. You craved conversation where you weren't screamed at or spoken to like a child or a criminal. Once you were finished sketching a vase of flowers– from memory, as you hadn't seen a flower since your admission to Briarcliff– you looked up from the page and glanced around the room. You began to fear that there was no one at Briarcliff who would at all understand you. No one seemed to be so lucid as you were, let alone able to hold a substantial conversation.

Just as you were about to return to your sketches, more frustrated with the state of things than before, your gaze instinctively flickered in the direction of a pair of brown eyes, watching you with a dead stare.

You recognized them– they were the eyes from a dream you'd had a few weeks prior. You hadn't slept for days after.

You couldn't see much through the smoke. It was enough to drown in. You felt your breathing get shallow and labored, but it didn't seem to be suffocating you. Your vision stayed steady.

After a few moments of directionless wandering through the endless gray swirling in the air, a shadow emerged from the distance with a heavy stride. You first identified it as a man. As he marched forward through the smoke, which was slowly dissipating, you saw the outline of heavy gear on his belt and a machine gun swung over his shoulder.

You went to move in the opposite direction of him, but you were froze in place.

Your heart pounded as he halted just a few feet from you. You eyes flickered to the all but fluorescent green forest behind him, realizing then that the smoke had cleared entirely.

You looked back at the man, scanning him from his dirt-covered boots, to his belt of bullets, heavy-duty camouflage jacket, black helmet, cloth that covered his face up to just above his nose, and, finally his eyes.

Deep brown, lacking definition, you watched as they traveled up from your hips, resting on your waist, then your chest, landing to gaze directly into yours. Your breath hitched.

There was an unmistakable blankness in them. They'd look exhausted, mournful, angry, maybe, if it wasn't for the endless black, that slack expression– emptiness.

You felt it to your core, like all the life had been sucked right from you, too. Suddenly, your limbs felt so heavy and your eyes were burning and the smoke was returning to the scene. The empty eyes ran up and down your figure once more, before the man turned his back to you.

You woke up in a cold sweat.

Those eyes, they were the same. Even from across the room, you could see how shallow they were—like all emotion, all humanity, had been ripped from behind them.

You could swear there was a smirk playing on the right corner of his mouth, but the shadows cast on his face from the window beside him made it hard to tell. Like a killer Mona Lisa.

He allowed his eyes to wander all across your body in the lewdest ways possible, full of lust that circled the air.

You felt it deep in your chest now. The emptiness was almost infectious, and it caused you to panic.

Just like the dream, you were frozen in place, watching those dead eyes.

You weren't sure what to do with yourself, so you offered him a small, twitching smile and a raised hand. Your chest, though, was heaving, and gave away your fear. Then, you were certain he was smirking.

When you finally pulled your eyes away from him, you gathered your things and rushed back to your room.

That night, his thoughts of you were so perverse they were violent. He was sick with his obsession with you.

He laid awake, facing the ceiling, fisting his cock, imaging you riding him, your hair a mess all around your bare shoulders, your hips rolling against him. As he got closer to release, his thoughts became more twisted. He imagined you beneath him, his hand wrapped around your throat as he forced himself into you, tears gathering in your round eyes as you stared into his. They'd be filled with fear, he was sure.

In the same hour, you dreamt of those eyes again, but this time, they were on top of you, and you could see a glimmering silver in the lower rim of your vision.

When you saw him in the kitchen the next day, you resolved to approach him, whether it was a good idea or not.

You walked up behind him, while he was facing the opposite direction, and tapped him on his shoulder. He turned around slowly, and when he met your eyes, that smirk returned to his face. His eyes were at half-mast again, and they scanned you shamelessly once more.

"Hi," he said, a toothpick in his mouth. His voice sounded far-off, like it a was ringing from a distant land– it was almost ghostly.

"Hi," you said, trying to shake that unsettling familiar feeling his eyes gave you. "I'm (Y/N)."

"I'm Kit. Kit Walker," he said, checking your hips once again.

"I know," you say, "Bloody Face."

"Nnn," he hummed, shaking his head, "I killed a lot of people," he said, "But those women back home? I didn't touch any of 'em."

"I know," you say, not breaking eye contact, as hard as it was. He could feel your discomfort. He reveled in it. "Thank you for your service."

That sent chills down his spine. The images flooded back for just a moment— the death, the carnage, the thrill. "You're welcome, sugar," he drawled. It felt oddly personal, like he really had been fighting for you.

You asked him a few questions about the war, to which he replied with short, vague answers. Your curiosity about the man whose eyes you had predicted only grew with his mystery.

Finally, after he’d grown tired of dodging your morbid intrigue, he settled on asking, “So how’d you end up here?”

You told him your sordid tale. How you had been able to predict future events all your life. You rarely told anyone about it.

You saw in a dream a vision of a girl, a girl you knew, being brutally murdered out on the edge of town. You wrestled with it for days, then finally resolved to telling her. She relayed your strange omen back to your family, who called you crazy for even suggesting such a thing could happen. So, when the girl in fact died, her family was quick to point fingers at you. As it was, her father was a prosecutor himself, and before you knew it, you were stuck in Briarcliff for a murder you hadn’t committed.

He simply nodded. He had no stake in the matter. He of all people knew that killing was situational— anyone could do it if they were given a good enough reason. Even pretty girls.

“So, how are you managing?” you ask, voice soaked in concern. You then push yourself onto the counter with your palms, straightening your arms and hoisting yourself up. You adjust yourself to sit on the edge of the counter. You don’t bother to pull the fabric of your dress down, which makes the full length of your thigh up to just about two inches below your hips visible to Kit.

He doesn’t bother answering your question, his gaze now flickering from your legs to your face rapidly.

There’s something penetrating that emptiness in his eyes, even stronger than the lust that’s been coming to a boil.

Hunger. Starvation.

You can feel it radiating off him— a need to fill that void now becoming a ravenous beast threatening to pounce.

Now you understood.

He could hardly breathe. So close to you, able to feel your body heat, able to reach out and touch your pussy, your ass, to see the outline of your nipples through the fabric covering your chest. They were hard, he could tell.

After the things he’s seen and done, after the places he’s been, offending you is the last of his worries. “I haven’t been this close to a beautiful woman since before I left the states.” He places a hand on your thigh.

“Oh,” you gasp instinctively.

“God, your skin is warm,” he practically groans, his head dropping to lean on your shoulder. Your muscles tense at the familiar action from the unfamiliar body. He runs his palm up and down your thigh, flat against your skin.

It’s like you already belong to him, he’s feeling around your thighs, pressing his face into your neck like he’s trying to milk every second of contact between your skin and his. He’s groaning into your neck, now placing each of his hands on the opposite sides of your thighs, feeling up to the soft skin of your ass and down to your knees.

He was worshipping you.

When you finally accepted him, you placed a hand on the back of his neck. In response, he press his hips against the counter and groaned into your collarbone as if you’d just put his whole dick in your mouth.

He was starved. Weary and uncaring, and you were feeding him and healing him with the warmth of your girlish fingertips and Playboy legs.

“I wanna touch your pussy so bad, sugar,” he mumbles into your neck.

What’s a girl to do? A handsome man who’s been overseas, who has been forced to do unimaginable things simply because his birthday was picked on the television, a man who bravely served his country and is now paying for it with his freedom, asking to touch you?

“Okay,” you hummed.

He pushed his hand into your cotton underwear, pressing his fingers to your wetness. He couldn’t resist then. He pushed his two fingers into you, earning a yelp, then, with his other hand, wrapped his fingers in your hair and pulled down— hard— causing you to whine again. He gripped harder, and your scalp burned.

“You like that?” he asked.

“No,” you mumbled.

“No?” he responded. Your neck was forced back as far as it could go, which added to the pain of his assault on your soft locks. It didn’t help, too, that he was pushing his fingers into you, and it was making you ache powerfully.

“Uh-uh,” you whined.

You heard a door close down the hall. You looked up at him in fear, and for a moment, you almost thought he was going to keep you in this compromising position, however, he pulled his fingers out of you slowly and stepped away from you just as the staff came to check the room. You jumped onto the floor, and you both put on your best business-as-usual act. Just as more patients entered the kitchen, he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’ll come find you.”

I’ll come find you.

The words replayed in your mind over and over.

“I’ll come find you.” I know where you are. You can’t escape me. You’re in it now.

That evening, during dinner, he didn’t even bother to look up at you. He was going to have you.

That night, in the dark of your small, locked room, you waited. In just a cotton t-shirt and white panties, you waited, back against the wall behind your bed, knees pulled in. You fiddled with your fingertips, internally criticized your legs. You looked like you were expecting someone.

The light from the window poured into your room. Moonlight and street lamps made a twilight of your hour before midnight.

Was he coming? Were you disappointed? Was he caught on the way here? Is it normal to be so worried about him? Were you really crazy?

Then came the keys jingling. Then the door opening. Then, Kit.

He took a moment to take the vision of you in, leaning his head on the door. “I didn’t think you’d wait up for me.”

You only smiled in response, which you didn’t really understand. His knees got weak. He closed the door behind him.

He got a good sight of your body, barely clothed, your hair in a braid that had dozens of strands that had fallen out. He thought he could finish right then.

He wanted to hurt you, that he couldn’t deny. But he wanted to be able to have you again. So, he did what any gentleman does: he played you slow.

He climbed onto your bed, kicking his shoes to the floor. He put his hands on your knees, leaning over you, then muttered, “All this for me?”

You stared up at him, wide eyed, nervous. You bit your lip and nodded.

“Yeah. For me,” he cooed.

He went in, starting at your neck, kissing down to the collar of your shirt. His hand traveled to your chest. You weren’t wearing a bra.

He put his thumb against your nipple, rubbing it gently, determined to hear you squeal. He squeezed lightly and you did.

He continued at your neck until his hand reached the stitch of your shirt. He grumbled and pulled it over your head.

He could swear his heart stopped.

On the field, thinking of these moments kept him alive. Civility, femininity, the possibility that a woman might be naked in front of him again.

He went straight for your chest, his mouth attacking your cleavage, your nipples.

You were still leaned up against the wall, but your legs were now parted, knees bent, his body between your thighs.

As he sucked on your nipple, his hand traveling down to your underwear, his fingers flattening against the cloth.

You were wet. His head dropped to your chest. “Fuck,” he whispered. He rubbed over the cloth with the back of his knuckles.

Then, he pushed his hand down your underwear, his fingers running along your slick. “Fuckin’ holy shit.”

You look up at him, a deep blush hitting your face that doesn’t go unnoticed, even in the dark.

“You really want me, don’t you?” he taunts, half shocked, half disturbed by your lack of self preservation, or lack of basic common sense.

You nod. You bite your lip and you nod.

He stares at you, working you with his fingers underneath your underwear, until he, frustrated with the stunt they put on his skills, pulls them down to your knees.

“You don’t… You don’t have to… I wanna take care of you,” you mumble into his shoulder.

“Aw, sugar,” he whispers, biting your neck. You gasp. “Your pussy’s gonna take care of me just fine.”

You groan into his neck. He reaches up and wraps his fingers in your hair and pulls down hard. Your back arches and he latches his mouth onto your nipple. It’s overwhelming, the combination of sensations. That’s when he reaches his hand around and latches it onto your throat and presses onto either side.

When he brings his mouth back up to the crook of your neck, combined with his finger speeding up against you, it’s enough to push you over the edge. You wrap your arms around his neck, attempting to stifle the sounds squeaking from your throat.

After he has let go from your neck, you reach down to undo his belt.

“Eager little lady, huh?”

“Oh, Kit,” you mumbled against his mouth. You attempt to push him on his back, but he doesn’t budge. But when you flutter your eyelashes at him, though, he gives into you.

You swing your leg over him, straddling him. You lower yourself onto him— you couldn’t quite see in the dark, but you can feel that he’s very big.

When your pelvis hits his, he moans. It’s not soft, it isn’t breathy. You can hear his tone of voice, the dryness of his throat. You think maybe the other patients may have heard, too. He latches his hands onto your thighs, hard.

It hurts, bad, especially when he digs his nails in. It’s entirely possible he’s drawing blood, but you can’t see. You squeal, but it’s suppressed.

He doesn’t miss this. He was smart, and even in the dark he could read you like an open book. You were letting him hurt you.

He wasn’t sure if it was pity or a lack of self-protection. Either way, he decided to accept it, even though it actually made him want to be more gentle.

He always took pity on the people he killed who didn’t fight. You were like that. Like a deer who doesn’t know to be afraid.

He retracts his nails from your skin, resting them flat on your hips. He pushes you back and forth, very gentle.

He let out a string of, “Fuckyou’retight, fuckyou’rewet, fuck, I can hear it, Isthisallforme? You’redrippingalloverme,baby,” to which you replied with incoherent moans as your ability to stay upright become more and more difficult.

As he started to roll himself up into you, you were grabbing at his thighs trying to hold yourself up.

Out of pity, he propped himself up on his hands, wrapping his arm around your waist. The heat from his body drove you over the edge again. You moan into his neck, mumbling his name, and then somewhere in there, “I love you.”

He chuckles at this, but it catches between moans, and he breathes out something like, “You better.” You come again as he does, too. He pulls at the roots of your hair again, arm wrapped tight around your waist. It just then occurs to you that you weren’t using protection.

After you peel yourself off of him, sweat making your skins feel like one, he pulls you into his chest as he melts back into the bed.

“Baby, you are some homecoming,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your face.

“Anything for our bravest,” you smile into his chest.

He laughs like he just won the lottery.