#if you smell jasmine she’s close to you

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

I always feel pretty dumpy after getting dumped. Tonight was no different. I decided to walk the grounds one last time, and the tranquil beauty of the gardens seemed extra mean somehow. Like I was walking through something beautiful that I never even got a chance to miss. No chance to enjoy. Just rejection. Again. And the same message, though at least this time they tried to be kind about it.

Please never practice magic like that again. Bards were mages until you were too good at singing. Then things got suspicious to the headmasters. Song could be such a powerful tool and manipulate people across the field the way that death could. Put death and song together and humans always got so uncomfortable. And when it came to humans, nothing was more unlucky than a sweet death. They say the way they want to die is old and in bed surrounded by their families but...it's never true. Every single one of them secretly yearns for some kind of glory in their hearts, and it just rots and rots and rots as they age. I'd know. I'm human too. But I'm also banshee and people can just feel it. Especially those who are academically inclined. In some cultures they saw us as prophets... until they learned that the angels sing in our ears and fall out of our throats. Also people only like the idea of prophets. Tell them enough future truth and they start looking for the matches and rope. Or a crucifix.

Bewitchment. Enchantment. Manipulation. No one wants to invite a banshee to the table where everyone is sweet and happy and alive with rosy cheeks and laughing eyes.

I'm an omen. It's kind of lonely. But I get it. I suppose if I were someone else I'd feel the same.

I found myself in a gazebo near the tallest of the little sculpted waterfalls in this garden. I liked the way the water sang and flowed as it poured itself over the rocks. It was summer, so there were fireflies, and I could get back to being lost in my thoughts a bit as I watched the way they all twinkled around each other. My son used to say they were all teleporting. I laughed at him, kissed the top of his head, and earmarked that for later because that might be something he ends up being keen at. My daughter used to say she had the power of the forest when she was very young, and gods if she couldn't tell you exactly what creatures were thinking when they wanted something. The more specific the better with my daughter.

I shifted, crossing my legs over each other and anchoring my elbows on the wooden railing and letting my chin fall heavily into my palms. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, trying to catch and understand the direction and pattern to the way the wind blew tonight. The air smelled like roses and jasmine and I looked up to see the little white flowers hanging from their vines right above me. There were lanterns of golden light and everything felt smoky and indigo. A moonlit darkness that was so easy to see around but too misty to see through.

Was it the song, I wondered? I replayed the interview in my mind. I've been learning how to perform on a stage and have gotten to this point where I fall fully into the music. I don't let my mind control the song anymore, but trust my heart to attune and express it authentically. Sometimes my heart sounds drunk or bitter. Sometimes it sounds like delight and perfection. Today... I couldn't remember. I'd found that I could trick people into thinking maybe I was some sort of reformed cleric turned bard if I sang religious songs. Today I considered a shanty because those work too. But in the end I settled on a lullaby and at first everyone looked peaceful and happy but then that look came into their eyes when they realized where they were and what was going on.

Someone told me once that it was frightening to find yourself suddenly disarmed, especially if being vulnerable wasn't something you were used to being with people. I saw that happen in real time today, and suddenly understood what he meant.

Yay, more awareness.

That brought a bit of temper to my system so I stood up and walked over to the stream to sit down. The grass was wet but I didn't care. I took off my shoes and put them into the water that ran clear and cold over a stone bottom. It was deep enough to cover my ankles. I put my palms to the earth behind me, took a deep breath, and let my head fall back as I sighed it out.

I was so fucking disappointed.

But, I'd still done it. I took the chance. I learned something. All of it sucked. I'd maybe built a few sandcastles in my mind about how my life would fit into the routine that school would have brought me. I let myself sit and grieve what was never mine but still felt lost to me. I imagined the tide of this rejection crushing all the sandcastles in one giant wave. I felt my emotions rise out of my heart, making my throat sore, took another deep breath, and sighed as I let the tears release the sadness and flow down my cheeks like the current at my feet.

Fuck, I really really wanted something else to happen. I wanted the outcome I wanted. And I didn't want any other outcome. I didn't want to go to another school. I didn't want to look at other schools. I didn't want to be a bard if I couldn't go to this school. I didn't want anything.

My body shook with a little sob as my shoulders slumped back.

I didn't want anything ever again and-

Suddenly I was laughing, and I just collapsed. I laughed and cried at the same time and rolled around in the grass. If I was going to be a fucking child like this about this I was going to commit and be a child. My heart was broken a little bit and the grass was so wet and awful but it smelled so good. I closed my eyes and cursed as I realized my hair was going to be wet now that I did this and...

There was a cough and a "Ma'am?"

I froze like a rabbit. Then I closed my eyes tighter just in case this was a dream and I could escape the inevitable embarrassment of someone from the school that rejected me seeing me rolling around in the grass like an animal. The moments clicked by awkwardly and I didn't cut to the next scene, so I opened my eyes to face the music.

Security guard. Handsome. I always liked a man in uniform. Flirting was not going to help me escape embarrassment but it could make this story more interesting. As though he were reading my mind, his face darkened with an expression that read plainly don't even try it. Great, a challenge. The only thing I can't resist. His arms crossed as we both seemed to take in each other's character in this particular moment. He scowled deeper.

I sat up like a naughty child and patted at my hair, then shook it out like a dog would. He was watching closely. My head tilted to the side and I beamed angelically. "Sorry, you caught me making grass angels," I chirped merrily.

In order to be admitted to a magic school potential students only need to provide irrefutable proof that they are mages, yet, despite your very obvious abilities, you were rejected with a comment asking you to "please never practice magic again".

[gamerchrissgf]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐩𝐞𝐚┇𝐂.𝐒

𝘱𝘵1. 𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴.

⌈after a lifetime of being ignored, and the death of her father, taking out her rage against the world the only way she knows how - murder.⌉

⌈pairing⌉ Chris Sturniolo x Sweetpea!reader.

⌈warnings!⌉ mentions of death, killing, drinking, smoking, smut (in later parts)

a/n: in my sweetpea era. I recommend watching it first before reading this lol. I dont wanna spoil anything. Its the same story line but like my own twist to it, and some similarities too. its been pretty good so far. so this is soley inspired off the show with also my own twist.

(Divider by @bernardsbendystraws)

‘People id love too kill…’ you thought. Sitting on the back of the bus between two men, man spreading ‘Men that lack human decency. Lindsey from the corner store who was never really happy to help’ flashing back to the memory.

“Just these please” you announced, barely noticed by her as she smacks her gum with headphones in “Right and I told her she couldn’t get mad at me just because her man wanted me.” She tells her friend over the phone.

‘My shitty boss. For failing to acknowledge my work, justin from work. For his lack of spacial awareness. Actually everyone from work ’ another flashback hits you. “Night!” You say enthusiastically just to be ignored by your boss and fellow employees.

‘My mom for leaving us and never telling us where she went’ flashbacks of you and your sister standing with your father begging your mother not to leave. Pulling yourself out of your daze you look down at your phone at your long list of messages to your sister typing an ‘I miss you’ message and hitting send.

‘My sister for leaving me on read.. on the phone and in life.’ You continue thinking. The man beside you spreads his legs wider knocking you out of your trance. “Im sorry but do you mind closing your legs a little? Im already squished” you ask the man. He just scoffs.

‘My dad. For dying.’ Its not like it was his fault for dying. But he left me completely stranded. On my own. Sure I just turned 21 but im all alone now. My sister leaving me to live with her fiancé in California.

‘My old high school bully. Who made me invisible in school and in life. Christopher Sturniolo. Fucking Christopher Sturniolo. Who made my life a living hell.’ Flashbacks of you walking down the hall. You getting shoved into a locker just for the fucking asshole to laugh with his friends “guys I think I just bumped into a ghost” another time being you being at your locker, he walks over with his friends leaning against the locker by yours “guys did you hear that y/n died? Not like anyone would miss the girl anyways” he announces “I’m not dead I’m literally right here” you say in a hushed manner just for him and his friends to shove past you laughing.

Who subjected me to an endless cycle of psychological abuse. Destroying my self-worth and general context of the world. “Oh my god, do you guys smell that?! It smells like rotting flesh!” He says “shes so fucking weird.” One of his friends chime in. Christopher Sturniolo, for making me pull so much of my hair out, that I had to wear a wig. Christopher Sturniolo, for turning me into a ghost.

Making me forever invisible, and afraid.

*itty bitty time skip*

“We gather here today in honor of the late David Sharp. Who was not only a son to the lovely Barbara sharp. But a father to his two beloved daughters Jasmine and y/n Sharp……” the pastor says as he brutally mispronounces your name. “Thats not my name…” you whisper “hush.” Your sister says nudging you with her knee. “A man of many talents, a man of many friends, a man of many loving employees” you turn looking towards Aj giving him a small wave, just for a little head nod in response.

You’ve known Aj for roughly 2 years. Him working as an assistant to your father. You guys have also hooked up quite a few times. The last time being 2 weeks before your fathers passing. You’ve texted Aj in your down time. Mainly when you’ve felt lonely. Just to receive shit ass responses.

Y/n:

Hey… do you maybe wanna come over tonight?

Watch a movie or something?

Aj:

Cant. W the boys.

Y/n:

Oh okay!

Maybe some other time!

Aj:

👍🏼

Before you know it the funeral is over and your standing out front with your sister. Thanking people for coming. You hear a group of guys laughing. ‘Who the fuck laughs at a funeral?’ Looking towards the laughter you see him. “What is he doing here?!” You ask your sister. “Him and his brothers came back to pay respects to dad. Since Jim was a close friend of dad’s…” she says

“Matt, Nick, Chris thank you guys for coming!” She says giving the three boys a hug. You stood there with your head low. “Of course sorry for your loss. I cant Imagine how hard it must be for you guys right now…… hey y/n” Nick says while returning the hug to your sister and patting your arm gently. “How have you been kiddo?” Matt asks. You feel his eyes on you. Looking up you see chris staring at you. “Well my dad died so…” you say “y/n dont be weird” your sister says while nudging your arm. You start messing with the stands of your hair on the back of your neck

It is weird though. You haven’t seen the triplets since you all graduated high school. You getting a normal job at you local newspaper office and them moving to L.A. to be youtubers. I mean of course you guys always had dinners at each other’s house due to your parents being high school friends and your sister being best friends with Matt.

Probably because they’ve also dated in high school for about 10 months. Breaking it off because they both decided being friends would be much easier “You’re not still doing that are you?” Chris asks. Snapping you out of your thoughts you quickly move your hand letting out a small gasp. You look at him before excusing your self and walking away.

“Hey… Ive tried looking for you… when did you start smoking?” She asks with a disgust look on her face. “Since dad died. Only thing helping me stay focused. It was good catching up” you say. “Yea I havent seen the boys in ages. Ive missed them… So ive been thinking we need to sell the house y/n” Jas says breaking the silence “and dads business probably” she adds. “What? B-but I live in the house Jas.” You stammer out. “There are other houses.” She says bluntly

“Well Tom and I wanna buy a place for the kids and us so…” she says “why dont you move back? We could be like a little family!” You try to lift the mood. “Are you serious?” She asks rolling her eyes. “Its settled. Chris is helping. He has a friend in real estate so its final” she says looking down at her phone “Jas no. You cant. Not him.” You say as she cuts you off getting into the back of her uber “lets talk about this later okay? Ill call you… hey the boys are going to luckys tonight for a reunion drink. You should go.” She says trying to make you feel better

“Are you serious?” You ask “what?” She asks “he pretended like he was better than me. Did you not hear what he said to me. He hates me.” You ramble on. “Who chris? Maybe he doesnt. This could be good for you, ya know? A new start?” She says “well dads dead so” you state clearly annoyed and mad at everything thats happened in the past 10 minutes “yea I know. He was my dad too. You need to get over this whole Chris thing. Go to Luckys you might actually enjoy yourself.” She says rolling up the window as the car pulls off.

*another itty bitty time skip brought to you by yours truly*

‘There is no fucking way I actually showed up to this.’ You thought standing outside of the pub. Already a few glasses of wine in. You dont want to be labeled as a lightweight but you just turned 21 so ofc you’d get drunk easily not participating in underage drinking and high school parties.

Walking into the pub, you see many people. Some old cliques from school. Then you see him. Having that liquid courage and already leaving heated voicemails on your sister’s phone you stomp your way over to him.

“Christopher! CHRIS!” You yell grabbing onto his arm. “I need you to fuck off and stay out of my life” you say grabbing onto his forearm pulling him towards you “Oh hey y/n… are you good? Do you need some water?” He says with a smug grin on his face. “No I dont need fucking water I need you to fuck off!” You say “I have no idea what your talking about kid.” He says stepping towards you. Leaving little to no space between the both of you.

“You know exactly what im talking about! You ruined my life in high school you made my life a living fucking hell. My dads dead. Your selling my house! And now your ruining my life again!” You yell. Drawing attention from Matt and Nick as they walk over “Hey y/n… you dont look too good right now. Are you drunk do you need a ride home?” Matt asks “No what I need is for Chris to fuck off and stop ruining my life!” You yell tears welling up in your eyes. “Listen kid. I didnt give a shit about you in high school and I dont give a shit about you now. So all your shitty life problems thats on you. Get the fuck off me.” He says shoving you back.

“Hey are you-” you cut Nick off snatching your arm away from him stumbling out of the pub. Walking across the road a man bumps shoulders with you causing you to stumble some more. You walk down a flight of stairs that lead to a creek under an overpass. Sitting there lost in thought you dig through your purse finding your dads old pocket knife. “Lifes shit without you.” You mumble.

You get lost in thought when a man comes up behind you, taking a piss on the wall and hitting you with his piss “hey! What the fuck?! Did you not see me sitting here?!” You yell at the man “Oh shit sorry sweetpea didnt see you sitting there.” He says chuckling as he turns around to walk off.

Clearly still pissed off with your interaction with Chris and at the man that just pissed on you. You walk up behind him kicking him in the back of the leg “Do you see me now?!” You yell at the man “what the fuck, oh your in some shit now” he says walking towards you. Walking back your back hits the railing and hes getting to close to you.

With the knife in hand you jab it towards his stomach “Ah fuck! You fucking cut me! My favorite shirt! You ruined it! Your so done!” As he steps towards you, your mind goes blank as you jab him in the neck. The man falls to the ground and you straddle him as you stab him repeatedly “do you see me now?! Huh?! Now do you see me! Do you see me now!” Watching the life fade from his eyes you snap back into reality.

“Ohh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You say with panic in your eyes. Dropping the knife looking down at your body. Your covered in the mans blood you can taste it on your lips. In a rush you push the mans body into the creek picking up the knife. You look down at your outfit again zipping up your rain coat and pulling up the hood making a beeline straight to your home.

Walking into your home and hurriedly locking the door you run straight to your bathroom looking at yourself in the mirror. Closing your eyes you get a flashback from your last conversation with your father.

“What happened here?” He says pointing at your hand “oh nothing, justin just bumped into me” you say “you need to stop letting people piss all over you kid. You need to be more ‘RAHR!’ You know?” He says. Shaking your head you open your eyes looking into the mirror.

“RAAAAAAAAHRRRRR” you scream.

a/n: pt 1 wooo. It feels long and ive skipped a lot of parts from the show but I swear this is just the beginning. Pt2 idk when we’ll see how this does. My hands just hurt from all the typing lol.

[turnipoddity]

A Scent of Jasmine

[luveline]

Hi, love! Hope you’re well <3

Could we perhaps have some more single dad Spencer? I miss him and Amanda so much

tysm lovely❤️❤️ —Spencer misses you when he’s not working, so Amy tries to fix that. fem, 1.8k

Spencer thinks about quitting the BAU, sometimes. It was all he ever knew how to do for a long, long time, and the work is important. He’s not too shy to say they need him. 

When someone else needs you more, you start to wonder if work is all there is. 

“And… kiss!” 

Spencer scrunches his eyes closed as Amy leans across to kiss his cheek. She’s decided that every time they finish a drawing, they should kiss. Spencer’s enjoying it very much. 

“Good job,” he says, “that was your best one yet.” 

“I’m getting good at bugs.” 

To their left, they have opened a huge copy of The Modern Encyclopaedia of Bugs: Insects, Arachnids, and Myriapods. Spencer has purchased many, many books in his life, and this was somehow the fifth most expensive, but it’s worth it, because it’s what Amy likes. She loves laying down on her stomach with a pack of art crayons and drawing the intricate details of each creature. She is, as she said, getting very good at bugs. 

“I meant the kiss,” he says, leaning forward to tuck her hair behind her ears, mousy brown like his, twice as soft. “But the drawings are amazing every time.” 

“If I… if I draw this one for Y/N, do you think she’ll like it?” 

“She loves everything you draw her, baby,” he says softly, stroking another stray hair behind her ears. If she wasn’t so busy colouring the leg of a spider in concentrated strokes, he’d pull her into his lap for a cuddle. 

“I’m not a baby.” 

“You’re my baby,” he says, and she is. Spencer Reid has a kid. Who’d ever think it? 

The older she gets the more right it feels. He’s a dad. He was always meant to be one to Amy. 

“Amy, can I have a cuddle, please?” he asks softly. It’s fine if she says no. 

She throws her nice crayons down immediately. Usually he wouldn’t say anything, but they’re a gift from his mom, so he says, “Be gentle with your things,” as she climbs over her paper pad and the encyclopaedia to land in his lap. 

“So they’ll last longer,” she says.

He wraps his arms around her in a solid hug. “Exactly. The kinder we are to our stuff, the longer it lasts. That’s why–”

“Why you’re nice to your body,” she finishes for him. “Dad, I know.” 

“You know everything.” He closes his eyes and breathes her in. Amy’s hair smells like lavender kids shampoo, her clothes like detergent. They stood in the softener aisle and Spencer, on his knees to match her height, took down bottles for them to smell the caps one at a time until they found the best one, settling on apple blossom and jasmine. “You smell nummy.” 

Amy rubs her face into his chest. “What do I smell like?” 

“Really clean.” 

“So when I’m dirty, I smell yucky.” 

“You don’t ever smell yucky,” he mumbles, relishing the weight of her in his arms. “Oooh,” —he grabs her under the arms and ushers her right into his neck— “my Amy, I’m so happy to be home. I missed you sooo much this week.” 

“But you’re home next week.” 

Spencer has started consulting more and going on cases less. He’s glad to do it, he can afford it, and Amy will never be any younger. He’s never been happier balancing work and family, except… 

He used to see you everyday. It’s fine, he’ll choose Amy every time, but he wishes he didn’t have to, because he’s starting to miss you too. 

“I’m home,” he says. “For the next sixteen days. Maybe longer, if they don’t need me then. Hey, tonight, I was thinking we’d go swimming.” 

Amy makes a strange noise. “Um, well maybe not tonight.” 

“Are you kidding? You love swimming.” 

“I know, but I don’t want to go tonight.” 

“Why not, angel? We can get your pool noodle and the paddle boards.” He lets his nose wrinkle. “Is it your swimsuit? I guess we haven’t got a new one in a long time. We can go shopping first. We can go now, if you want to.” 

“Daddy, I asked Y/N to come over.” 

Spencer laughs. “What?” 

“I texted her.” 

Spencer realises she isn’t joking and holds her away from him. “You what?” 

“You left your phone in the bathroom,” she says defensively, her eyes on his shirt, “and I was washing my hands and it was boring and I thought you maybe missed her.” 

“How could you know that?” Spencer asks. 

“Because you talk about her lots, dad.” She shrugs. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry! No, no, it’s okay, it’s nice of you to think about me. That’s really kind.” Still, his stomach hurts thinking about it. “Did she… text you back?” 

“She said she’s coming over.” 

“She did?” Spencer asks. “Did she say when?” 

“She said five thirty.” 

Spencer checks his watch and feels his heart drop. “Oh my god.” He gets up with Amy in his arms, rushing to the mirror to see them both in their pajama’d disarray. “Oh my god! We need to get dressed. Amy, we need to brush our hair.” 

Spencer panics harder than he needs to, but seeing you in fifteen minutes when he thought he might not for another two weeks is stressful. He decides Amy will have to wear new pyjamas, that he’s going to have to put on jeans, and that both of them could have used a shower to tame the mess of their hair, his curly, hers fine. He sprays hers with detangler generously, brushes gently, and plops her in front of the air conditioning unit plugged into the window to dry. He’s barely raked a hand through his own hair when the door is being knocked. 

He can’t help squinting unhappily at Amy. She’s totally set him up. 

She smiles back, and he feels awful for not smiling too. 

“Amy, can you give me more warning next time?” he asks, crossing their living room to the front door. 

She smiles wider. “Yes!” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

He thinks, Ouch, I’m not very nice, then thinks Why would she do this to me? before settling on, Everything's okay. Amy didn’t really do anything wrong, Spencer isn’t mad at her, and you’re waiting on the other side of the door to see them. 

You smile on the stoop —how lucky is Spencer to have all these pretty girls smiling at him?— and adjust your bag over your shoulder, the cloth tote bag hooked on your elbow slipping and sliding with a rustle. 

“Hello!” you say. “Where’s the little lady?” 

“Hello!” Amy calls. “I’m by the air conditioner trying to get dry!” 

Spencer lets you in. You nod your head gratefully and put your bags on the sideboard, dumping your keys in the bowl beside his, and offering your now empty arms for a hug. “Hello,” you say, “you smell good.” 

Spencer panics. “You smell good.” Your arrival has brought the smell of Chinese food, and your jacket smells like perfume. 

“Dad says I smell good too.” 

You part from Spencer gently to bend down, meeting Amy at her height, arms out to offer a hug. “I bet you do. Hi, lovely girl, I haven’t seen you in too long.” 

You lean into her with care. Spencer suspects you think she’s much more breakable than she is, but you’re sweet about it regardless, giving her back a good rub and humming happily when she hugs you back. She’s way less careful. 

“Don’t strangle her, Amy.”

You pretend to choke. Amy laughs like a fiend. 

“I missed you,” Amy says. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I missed you too.” Spencer knows how good that must feel. “Can I get a good look at you?” 

Amy springs away to pose. Her damp hair kisses her shoulders, her pants hide her dirtied socks. Spencer forgets that he wants to impress you and instead sees how cute she is, laughing to himself as she does a swift spin and slips into the side of the couch. 

“Spence, she looks so much like you,” you say, grinning. “Don’t you think so?” You catch Amy’s eye. “You’re gorgeous! Can I see another one of those spins?” 

Amy spins. You nudge Spencer in the hip. “I brought dinner like you asked.” 

Spencer covers his face. “Was I polite?” he asks cautiously. 

“You said can I please have my favourite Chinese food and can I please have a soda,” you say, laughing, so at least it’s clear who was really texting you, “so yes, you were very polite.” 

“I don’t know what got into me.” 

“Guess you really, really, really missed me or something.” 

He loves Amy, and he wishes the wood floors beneath you would eat him whole; while it may be obvious that Amy’s posed as her father on the phone, it’s also clear that you, as a profiler, seem to have made assumptions as to why Amy would text you in the first place. 

“It’s okay,” you say, watching Amy as she races to her sketching papers and the encyclopaedia, “I really, really, really missed you too. Even though it’s only been two days. Did you get taller?” 

“No.” He gets the distinct sense that he’s getting flirted with, but he also doesn’t understand the compliment. “Same height, why?” 

“Feel like this is taking much more effort than usual,” you say, your hand on his shoulder as you lift your chin to kiss his cheek. 

Spencer follows you on instinct, not to kiss you or anything, but your elbow in his hand, almost begging for another. 

“Oh, no,” Amy says. 

Spencer feels your elbow but remembers himself, and raises his head. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, scouring her for injuries where she stands in front of you both, her drawing in hand. 

“Now you gave Y/N cooties.” 

Spencer blushes worse. “Oh, I didn’t kiss her! And I don’t have cooties, do I? I give you kisses all the time!” 

“You’re my dad,” she says. “But you’re a boy.” 

You pat him on his warm cheek. “He’s a boy, sure, but he’s not gonna give me cooties, don’t worry. I’m not here to see daddy, anyways,” you say, though your hand on his shoulder rubbing softly hints otherwise, “I’m here to see you. Let’s have our spring rolls before they get soggy, yes? Yum!” 

Spencer wants you to stay for much more than dinner, but dinner’s a good start. He swoops Amy up to carry her to the kitchen table —she’s such a babe, she deserves princess treatment only.  

“Kiss?” Amy asks. 

“Thought I had cooties?” he asks.

“Daaaad. I was joking.” And she wasn’t joking, but Amy gets her kiss.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (prt 5)

Masterpost

It took a little convincing to get Jazz to come back with them, but she didn’t want to stay with Constantine because he ‘smelled like cigarettes and generational trauma’ and she couldn’t stay alone. So in the end she agreed to come back to Wayne manor with the promise that Tim would help walk her through the process of getting emancipated since he’d already done it before. Dick informed Agent A they’d be having another new person for dinner and asked Jazz if she had any allergies, which was also a no. Apparently the Fentons tended to be a very hearty family. 

They took the jet back, dropping Jazz off at the manor before parking in the batcave and changing into civics as quickly as they could so they could go greet her. Before they could Alfred sent a video on the family group chat. The video started with Danny pacing in the foye, then the door opened and Jazz hesitantly let herself in only to be greeted by a battering ram of Brother hurtling towards her. 

She managed to get her arms up in time to catch Danny with an Oof before they just clung to each other. Awww, why weren’t any of Dick’s siblings like that with him?! Something to bully them about later.

—----

“What happened?” Danny whispered against Jazz’s chest. 

“The Justice League finally stepped up and dealt with it. Locked the portal, took away mom and dad and Vlad, I don’t know what will happen with any of them but it’s not our fault whatever it is. It’s not our responsibility or our problem, I’m going to focus on university and you’re going to focus on keeping yourself and the babies healthy and safe.” She said softly, feeling Danny wince.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the babies, I just didn’t know how too,” Danny said, and Jazz could feel how he tensed, expecting her to be angry with him.

“It’s okay little brother, I understand. That was a lot to process, I’m sure you would have told me soon,” She murmured and he nodded. “Danny, did he… did he rape you?” Jasmine forced herself to ask softly. She didn’t think so, but she just needed to know.

“No, he stole my DNA and tried to clone me. But it didn’t work and Danielle and the other clones were melting. I don’t know how many he tried but I can’t imagine he started in batches of ten. I could only save two, Daniella and one of the boys. It was awful. I don’t know how long they’ll need to stay inside me to fully develop but they can take all the time they need. I can feel them inside me, I can feel their love. I love them too, they’re my babies Jazz, I know I’m young but…”

“You’re going to be a great parent Danny,” Jazz promised softly, giving him a gentle squeeze. “And I’m going to be the best aunt and babysitter you could ask for.”

She didn’t realize he was crying until his laugh came out audibly wet. “I’m sure you will. Thank you Jazz.”

“No problem Danny. What about the Wayne’s, you trust them? You think you’ll be okay here? I’ll going to Gotham U so I’ll be close. I’d like to work at Arkham anyway.”

“Ya, they seem good, I’ll be fine here Jazz. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll always worry about you little brother,” Jazz said softly and Danny laughed again, trying to wipe his face as subtly as he could before he pulled back and finally let go.

Alfred cleared his throat delicately to remind them he was still there, though Jazz was glad he hadn’t interrupted their moment. “Dinner is ready when you are Master Danny, Miss Jazz,” he said with a nod and disappeared back down the hall towards the dining room.

“Well I’m starving, I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast!” Jazz said as she started to steer them both after Alfred.

“I’m pretty much always hungry,” Danny admitted with a chuckle. “The little ones take a lot of energy and I need to replace it somehow I goes,” He said touching his stomach in a way she now realized he’d been doing a lot. How had she missed that?

“Well you eat as much as you need to, and any cravings too. They probably have nutrients you and the baby need. You should see a doctor too. I know you probably went to see Frostbite already but you’re still half human and if they’re cloned from you so are the babies. Ask Bruce about a doctor that you can trust.”

“I will, I promise. You’re right, I really do want the babies to be okay and with what you said about the Justice League doing their job I have a feeling my existence won’t be illegal for much longer.” Walking into the dining room just in time for the family to overhear the last of that conversation. 

“Definitely not,” Bruce said firmly. “I know for a fact Martian Manhunter is absolutely furious hearing they did something like this to another sentient species just because they weren’t human.”

“You know Martian Manhunter!?” Danny said with literal stars in his eyes. 

“Oh here we go,” Jazz said with fond exasperation.

“Yes?” Bruce said, he hadn’t meant it like a question but he was just surprised, and a little worried, there was no way Danny would be prejudiced right?

“Oh my god can I meet him?! He’s been my favourite hero for ever! He’s from SPACE! I love space! I want to know everything he knows about space, and about Mars! I’ve never been to space! Well I’ve flown to the moon a couple of times but I couldn’t go further and be back in time for school.”

He had started floating off the ground as he enthused about space, with fond exasperation Jazz grabbed the back of Danny’s shirt and tugged him back down into a seat at the dining room table. It was like Peter Pan with the joy lifting him up, and his excitement was both adorable and infectious. It was so good to see him happy. 

While he was talking food had been being passed around, and Damian, who was sitting on Danny’s other side from Jazz, had been heaping his plate while the older boy was distracted. It was sweet to see him being… caring to another person, he was even putting some meat on Danny’s plate with an odd stubborn set to his jaw. He almost looked aggressive but that was really just his determined face. Damian had accepted Danny in record time, which was a little surprising but it also made sense, they all knew Damian really loved caring for people, and children, and with Danny carrying babies no doubt Damian was already staking his claim on the role of favoured uncle. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Bruce promised with a little smile. He was sure J’onn would be happy to meet Danny so it wouldn’t actually be hard. 

“Thank you!” Danny cheered, only Jazz’s grip on his shirt keeping him from leaping back into the air. 

“Eat,” Damian reminded, shoving a fork into Danny’s open hand. “Pennyworth says you were too worried to eat much at lunch and you need the nutrients!”

“Aww thank you ghostling,” Danny cooed, roughling Damian’s hair who scowled and ducked away, but didn’t lash out At All! Huh apparently pregnancy was a shield against Damian’s aggression.

Danny did start to eat though, and to keep him on track the family started talking with each other. It seemed to make him more comfortable, if things were quiet he felt the need to fill the space instead of filling his mouth. It was honestly sort of nice, even Damian shared a bit more than he usually would have about school, and about his art, then started telling Danny in particular about his animals. Danny hadn’t met them yet after all and he needed to know everything! Which ones were friendly, how to appropriately handle any of them, what treats they could have. 

The way Danny lit up and started questioning Damian about his animals was honestly a little startling, but it couldn’t be more clear that he was genuinely enthusiastic and Damian was preening. Rarely did he get such an attentive listening ear when talking about his pets, especially since everyone who had been in the family for a while had heard similar rants so many times they’d started to tune them out. 

It was a testament to Damian’s self control that he insisted Danny finish his dinner before dragging him away from the table to go show him all the various animals he had collected over the years. Danny laughed as Damian tugged on him and waved back at the family, joking about being kidnapped again (which, worrying) but he didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s good to see someone with such a healthy and well supported obsession,” Jazz said with a little smile, watching after her little brother and Damian rush off. “Oh!” She said, snapping her fingers, “I should explain all that for you! If you’re going to take care of Danny you’ll need a crash course in Ghosts and Liminality. I uhh, I have a powerpoint?” She said, looking embarrassed and hopeful as she pulled a USB out of her pocket.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Miss. I’ll set up the projector in the family room,” Alfred said as he whisked the last of the dishes away. 

“Oh! Thank you Alfred. Can I help at all?” Jasmine asked, already getting up from the table so she could follow.

“Nonsense, you’re a guest and you had a very long day already. I’ll set it up, and then fix a room for you next Master Danny’s for tonight,” Alfred said briskly, shooing her back into the dining room room with the family. 

She looked like she was about to argue but she thought better of it. “Alfred is really the one in charge around here and we all know it,” Dick commented to her with a little smile. “No use arguing with him, and he usually knows best anyway.”

“Well, alright if you say so,” Jazz said with a little smile and tension slowly eased from her shoulders. When was the last time she got to relax? Having to worry about her brother and no one really taking care of the, how long had she been googling “how to stitch up a wound’, ‘how to help a 14 year old with ADHD study’, and various other things to try and care for a boy only two years younger than her. 

“So I know you mentioned to Nightwing that you wanted to go to Gotham U? I don’t know how your grades are,” (a lie, they knew she was a genius and her grades were excellent), “But the Wayne family sponsors many scholarships and if you don’t qualify for any of those we would be happy to just pay for your schooling. What would you like to study?” Bruce asked 

“I want to study psychology!” Jazz said, lighting up instantly. “That’s what I’ve wanted to study since I was seven. I want to be a psychologist, and I’d like to intern at Arkham. I know it’s a dangerous place, but I’m tougher than I look and I have Danny on speed dial so I’ll be fine.”

Well at least she had thought about the danger, and tougher then she looked meant something because she already looked plenty touch. “Well, I know Arkham can always use good doctors,” Bruce chuckled. “Just try not to become the next Harley Quinn,” He said it like a joke but he did mean it, the last thing Gotham needed was another evil genius. 

“Don’t worry, she lacked grounding connections due to her upbringing. I’ll have Danny, and his babies, and I’ll make friends outside of the hospital. As long as nothing happens to Danny I’m sure I’ll be fine, just like as long as nothing happens to me, or the other people he loves, Danny will be fine.”

It sounded like a warning, and it probably was, but they already knew that. Zatana had warned them that Danny could be dangerous. He would need grounding connections, but everyone did, and the Waynes already knew they were going to be family. On their own any of the Bat clan knew they could go off the deep end, a lot of them had even seen the futures with evil versions of themselves but with the other to care for and about, it kept them on the right track… at least mostly.

Next

[littleprinces]

Day 1: Deepthroath

Jiheon x Male Reader

My first kinkvember

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a familiar face. Jiheon, my ex-girlfriend from college, stood there, her eyes widening as she recognized me. She was 21, with raven hair cascading down her shoulders and eyes as dark as her hair. Her slim figure was accentuated by a tight black dress that clung to her curves.

"Jiheon," I greeted, stepping into the elevator. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled, her lips glossy and inviting. "I'm here for a job interview. You?"

"Same," I replied, my eyes lingering on her. "It's been a while."

"Too long," she said, her voice low. She took a step closer, her perfume filling the small space. "You look... good."

I smirked. "You do too. Better, actually."

She laughed, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "You always did know how to sweet talk me, didn't you?"

The elevator dinged, announcing our arrival at the desired floor. But neither of us moved.

"Jiheon," I started, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've missed you."

She bit her lip, her eyes never leaving mine. "I've missed you too, Oppa."

Our lips met in a passionate kiss, a rekindling of a flame we thought was long extinguished. Her tongue explored my mouth, and I moaned softly, my hands gripping her waist.

She pulled back, her breath ragged. "Your office?" she asked, her voice husky.

"Mine?" I confirmed, my heart pounding in my chest.

She nodded, her fingers intertwining with mine as we walked down the corridor. My office was just a few doors down. As soon as the door closed behind us, she was on me, her lips crashing against mine, her hands roaming my body.

"You taste the same," she murmured, her lips trailing down my neck. "Like coffee and sin."

I chuckled, my hands sliding under her dress. "And you still smell like jasmine."

She sighed as my fingers found her lace panties, wet and ready. "I want you, Oppa." she breathed. "I want you to fuck my mouth."

I growled, my cock already hard and aching. "Your wish is my command, Jiheon."

She sank to her knees, her hands unbuckling my belt. My cock sprang free, hard and ready. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with desire and challenge. Then, she took me into her mouth, her lips sealing around the head.

"Fuck, Jiheon," I groaned, my hands gripping her hair. She moaned, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body. She took me deeper, her throat working against my cock. I could feel the head of my cock hitting the back of her throat, and I groaned, my hips thrusting slightly.

"That's it," I encouraged, my voice thick with desire. "Take it all, Jiheon. Show me what you can do."

She hummed, the sound vibrating against my cock, and I groaned, my hips thrusting deeper. She took it all, her nose pressing against my stomach, her throat working against my cock. I could feel her swallowing, the muscles in her throat milking my cock.

"Fuck, Jiheon," I groaned, my hands tightening in her hair. "You're so good at this. So fucking good."

She moaned, the sound muffled against my cock, and I could feel her saliva dripping down my shaft. I pulled back slightly, giving her a chance to breathe. She looked up at me, her eyes watering, her lips swollen and red.

"More," she begged, her voice hoarse. "I want more, Oppa. I want you to fuck my face."

I grinned, my cock already throbbing with the need to come. I thrust back into her mouth, my hips moving faster, my cock sliding in and out of her throat. She took it all, her hands gripping my thighs, her nails digging into my skin.

"You like that, don't you, Jiheon?" I growled, my voice thick with desire. "You like feeling my cock in your throat?"

She moaned, the sound vibrating against my cock, and I could feel my orgasm building. I could feel my cock swelling, the pleasure overwhelming. Finally i cum into her mouth, i love her lips when it full of my cum.

"Thank you oppa, I miss it so bad" Jiheon still on her knees and take a breath and swallow my cum

[overtail]

Late Night Brew - Zuko x Reader 🔞

🔥🛀🏻

Jesus, yall are FREAKS for zuko

Summary: After Iroh opens the Jasmine Dragon, he hires a new worker -- a pretty girl, one around Zuko's age. While Iroh is taking a trip to the market for more supplies after work, desperation unfolds.

Trigger Warning: NSFW, Soft Sex, Cussing, Semi-public Sex, Body Worship, and Zuko acting like an awkward turtle duck.

Micheal, I know ur reading this

...

Zuko didn't like the new waitress.

She didn't do anything in particular to get on his bad side, he just couldn't stand her.

He hated how she looked in her apron, how the skirt she wore rode up a little too high on her thighs.

He hated how her hip popped when she was standing still while taking orders.

He hated all her curves, her moles, and her messy hair; how it all made her so beautiful.

And he especially hated that at night, when he laid in bed in that cold apartment, how he couldn't get her face out of his mind. How the image of her body echoed in his head while he reached his hands into his pants.

He wanted her gone.

"Lee, could you help me with the tables?"

Zuko wiped the counters of the bar, groaning at the sound of her voice. He turned around, only to see her back to him.

He watched as her arm worked on a stained table, trying to get a mark from condensation out.

"Can't you just do it yourself?"

He grumbled, shaking his head and turning back around. It's not like he had much to do -- he just didn't want to work so close to her.

"I've got one table left and my shift ends in two minutes. I'd rather not work unpaid overtime."

He heard her say. Even with Zuko's rude attitude, she still had a soft tone with him; she spoke to him like he was a fussy toddler.

Which he sort of was.

Zuko grumbled a few curses under his breath, grabbing the hand towel he was just using to walk over to one of the tables.

He looked at (Y/N), looking at her thighs and her hips. His face flushing red, turning and brushing back his short black hair.

The table he had to clean wasn't the dirtiest. It had a single cup on it, and a few spills here and there. He wanted to get away as soon as possible, so he could just go home and relax.

Well, his version of relaxing.

He palmed his growing erection through his pants, trying to subside it for at least the remaining two minutes.

"Thank you, Lee."

Zuko heard the smile from her voice, face growing red at her kindness. Even if it wasn't his real name, he felt giddy at the way she said Lee.

All he did was nod, grabbing the cup and wiping off the tea from the table. He marched to the sink in the back room. Zuko grabbed the sponge that sat on the wooden counter, already full with soap. He began to scrub, getting the smell of Jasmine tea out from the cup -- even if it was his favorite.

As he did so, (Y/N)'s soft footsteps were sounded from behind him. He let out an exasperated groan, not wanting to stand next to her.

(Y/N) walked up quiet, placing three cups in the sink. One stayed in her hand, grabbing the other. sponge and pouring some soap in the glass.

There was an awkward silence between the two -- at least on his end.

As she was cleaning, her elbow bumped into his side. He didn't say anything, just kept cleaning the cup. The second time though, it started to bother him. And when the third time hit, he was set off.

"Can you stop doing that?"

He yelled, looking at her with angry eyes. She looked up with her mouth still agape, her eyes meeting with him amber ones.

"Oh, I'm sorry. There's just not much space back here.."

Her face flushed red with embarrassment. Zuko rolled his eyes.

"I already don't want to be back here with you, let alone have to be touched by you."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened, eyebrows lifting quickly. She pursed her lips.

"What is your problem Lee? All i've done is try to be friends with you -- and you just treat me like garbage!"

Her voice was raised, and she poked his chest with her thin fingers. She was kind of cute when she was mad; the way her nose scrunched made his stomach flutter.

"Have you considered the fact that i don't want to be friends with the likes of you?"

He bickered, peering his eyes down to her. She gasped slightly, shoulders raising in surprise.

"With the likes of me? What do you mean the likes of me?"

She stepped even closer to him, their chests almost touching.

Zuko scoffed at her words, rolling his eyes.

"I don't associate with peasants."

And his heart stopped.

(Y/N) was from the lower ring of Ba Sing Se. His uncle Iroh had hired her while he watched her get fired from her other job, feeling bad for her.

Zuko didn't mean peasant in that way. He was just thinking like the old Zuko -- the one that hunted the avatar and did anything to regain his honor back. But he was supposed to be Lee now, a traveler, a teenage boy that works in a tea shop, who just happened to be lucky enough to live in a nice apartment.

"Peasant?"

Her words sounded broken. Her voice cracked as she muttered the words, lower than the loud voice she was using before.

"I get you're from the upper ring -- but peasant? Really?"

She shook her head, stepping back. Zuko felt like he was floating away from the lack of closeness from her.

"That's not what i meant."

Zuko said, closing his eyes and sighing.

"It's just -- i have issues."

He never liked admitting he had problems. He was supposed to be Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, prissy and perfect.

"Yeah, you do."

(Y/N) said, looking Zuko up and down. Her eyes winded slightly, cheeks growing even redder than before.

Zuko raised a brow, confused at what she was looking at. He looked down and then realized.

"Wait, it's not what it looks like-"

"Is this.."

She began, looking back up at him.

"..turning you on?"

She said curiously, turning her head.

(Y/N) stepped forward, her hands lying on her hips. She was about the same height as Zuko -- since he was significantly short.

"Is that why you're so mean to me?"

She placed her hand on his chest, causing Zuko to take a deep breath in.

Oh Spirits.

"Because you like me?"

They were too close. Way too close. He was getting harder by the second, not knowing what to do.

So he did the only thing that came to mind.

He reached his hands forward, grabbing her face in his hands. He pulled her forward, placing his chapped lips tenderly on hers. He stayed still for a moment, never having kissed a girl before.

He leaned back awkwardly, still holding her face in his hands.

His index finger brushed a hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear.

(Y/N) had never been this close to him before. She was able to admire his face entirely as he focused on the strand of hair, looking at his scar and the light freckles that dotted his pale skin. He had bags under his eyes, and she wondered what caused it.

"You're pretty."

She said, grabbing his face with one hand. He flinched lightly, eyes flickering back to her. He wasn't used to such a touch -- not feeling it since he last saw his mother.

Zuko leaned into it, letting her fingers form around the shape of his jaw. His eye lashed flickered as he blinked, and she admired the entirety of him.

"Thanks.. you too."

He said, not knowing how to respond. He didn't ever get compliments.

"You know, you could have just told me that you liked me."

(Y/N) laughed, causing Zuko to look away.

"I don't like you."

He grumbled, looking at the wall above the sink.

She laughed, turning his head with her palm to look at her. She used her other hand to place it on his crotch, grinning wildly,

"What's this then?"

Zuko looked down, feeling a rush of ecstasy flow through his body. He whimpered softly, his eyes closing from it.

"That's enough to tell me you like me."

...

In the next minute, Zuko's lips were on her neck. She was on the counter next to the sink, legs wrapped around Zuko's torso, Her hand was tangled in his short hair, the other gripping the edge of the counter,

Zuko was holding her waist, his right hand gripping the fat of her thigh. He loved being this close, the agility to breath her in making him feel incredibly hot.

"Lee, I love this as much as you do, but we need to start quickly before Mushi gets back."

Zuko groaned against her neck, removing his lips from her soft skin. He was reluctant, but she was right. Regrettably.

"Yeah, right."

He stepped back, beginning to unbuckle the belt that held up his pants. He look up suddenly, face growing hot,

"Could you uhm, close your eyes,,"

He muttered shyly, getting a smile out of (Y/N). She nodded, closing her eyes. Zuko fully took his pants off, now sliding his boxers from his waist. He was practically in pain from all this, and he needed relief soon. He walked closer, close enough that his member hid under the lip of her skirt. She took this as an okay, opening her eyes only to be met with Zuko's amber ones,

She reached down, pulling her underwear to the side, The cold night air hit her exposed parts, making her shiver.

"Okay. I'm ready, Lee."

Zuko placed one hand on the base of him, lining himself up with (Y/N). She scrunched her eyes at the feeling of his tip entering her, toes curling in her sandals, Zuko then grabbed her hips, looking up at her.

Then he bucked his hips forward.

"Shit!"

(Y/N) squealed, squeazing Zuko's tense shoulders. He groaned, one of his eyes closing shut. She felt so good -- better than he could ever have imagined. The nights he spent awake, whimpering her name as his hand rubbed his length up and down, imaging her bent over the tables of the tes shop, in his bed, and even in the back room.

He fully slid in, letting out a mix of illegible words. All that (Y/N) could make out was her name.

He pulled out before pushing back in again. She moaned, throwing her head back. zzuko got a good look at her neck, the hockey's that he had placed only minutes before.

Soon, they were at a regular place. Out, in. Out, in. The room was filled with soft groans, and Zuko could already feel his arrival coming. It was all too much. His eyes were currently chained to her crotch, watching himself slide in and out. He then looked up, making eye contact with (Y/N).

"Lee.."

She said in an airy voice, palm grazing his clenched jaw. That's what did it for him, the sight of her unraveling beneath him. Ropes of white shot out of him, painting the inside of her white. He kept pounding into her, riding out his orgasm.

...

lwk lost my motivation at the end......

[silaslich]

Absolve me of my sins, won’t you?

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader x John “Soap” Mactavish

Wc - 4k

Summary - Johnny gets a taste of what he missed out on at the safe house. Part 2 to this

Cw - 18+, smut, threesome[m,m,f], bondage, blowjobs, face-fucking, masturbation(f)

He’s no stranger to the feeling of bindings.

Johnny isn’t a puritan. Not by any stretch, but he has to admit- these circumstances feel worlds away from anything he’s indulged in before. His pulse leaps under his skin, throat bobbing as he swallows his doubt. He’s nervous. Knee jerking up and down in rapid succession as the chair he’s bound to creaks at the slightest of movement-groaning under his weight when he shifts.

Then her hands are there, nails scratching over his skin, skating up over his shoulder blades to sink further into his flesh then running down his collarbones and over his pecs.

She’s at his ear, smiling into his skin, the smell of her drifts and catches in his nose; geranium and jasmine. It’s sweet and mild, milky on her skin. As soft as she is.

“You’re so tense, Johnny” she coos as she presses her lips to his throat, smiling against him when he shivers.

He’s not sure what’s led him here or how on Earth he’s ended up in this room- with the two of them.

It’s murky in between. The time since the safe house, since listening in on them fucking, spilling in his own hand to the sound of them together- he’d been caught out. Ghost had loomed close after that. Watching Johnny’s back a little too long for his liking, eyes lingering when he thought Johnny wasn’t looking. Yet, Johnny knew, could feel the shift and could feel his gut stir whenever he was within their proximity. It was jealousy, a need of his own, a desire fuelled lust that kept him awake in his bunk at night.

However, he surprised himself, he’s never been a man to put a label on his preferences, but he’s more then a little on edge to realise he’s jealous of them both. He’s greedy. He wants it all, needs it like it’s a lifeline, like it’ll cure the ache in his chest and the boiling curl of heat in his gut.

Sitting here now- it feels surreal, like it’s all one big joke at his expense. Then Ghost shifts from where he’s sitting right across from Soap. The bed creaks and both her and Soap look up, meeting his eye, watching as he stands and begins looms closer. Johnny feels the way she smiles into his skin, it’s more a smirk, really, like she knows what’s about to happen. Because of course she does, he reminds himself, she’s accustomed to this, used to Simon- probably knows exactly how tonight will go.

It had been her suggestion after all. The three of them a few drinks too deep and more then too distracted to care about the football match that everyone had gathered in the rec room to watch. It had started with a drifting hand on Soaps thigh, shadowed in the dim light, lip bitten between her teeth as she feels his hips shift. She’d been doing this since the safe house, teasing him, purposefully getting under his skin only to leave him high and dry. Without any release. Ghost was the same, his glances, his hand placements and his words, unless someone was looking- they wouldn’t catch the change in Ghost’s demeanour, but Johnny has been around him long enough to notice.

“I think we should play nice with him, Si” she mewls. Her hands clutching at Soap’s abdomen from where her arms are circled around his waist, still pressing her body and lips into him as if she’ll melt right under his skin and into his bones. Ghost hums in thought, deft mind ticking over and calculating like always. Johnny doesn’t feel small under his lieutenant’s gaze, he never has, never afraid to speak his mind to him because he knows Ghost values his input even if he doesn’t agree with it. This? This is different. Duty has been left at the door, because inside Simon’s quarters- they’re everything but soldiers.

The mask means Johnny can’t read Ghost’s expressions, but his eyes are bare, smudged in black grease paint but so transparent; every emotion plays through them. Tonight his pupils are blown wide with lust as he comes closer, stopping when his boots are between Soap’s. He cranes his neck down to meet Johnny’s gaze, a big scarred hand reaching up to thumb over his cheek and then down his jaw. Acknowledging him, toeing the line of too much intimacy but throwing caution to the wind regardless. This is all or nothing now, they’re past the point of return, but it’s clear none of them wish to retreat now.

Ghost lifts his hand to his own face to hook his thumb beneath the mask to tug it up to the bridge of his nose, leaving only his jaw and mouth free. Soap watches, intrigued, he’s seen Simon’s face only once, some time ago- seeing a glimpse of it again now jogs the memory. The notch of scarring at the bridge of his nose from multiple breaks and the stubble lining his cheeks, the cut of a scar through his right eyebrow and the line of scar that slices through the same side of his lips. It floods back- let’s Soap put the image back together piece by piece in his head.

Simon’s face is only an inch away now, eye to eye, flitting from Johnny’s gaze and back to his mouth. “You all in, Mactavish?” He asks, his voice low, almost a whisper. Johnny nods before the words have fully left Ghost’s mouth.

“Aye, sir” Johnny breathes- barely a beat after Simon’s spoken.

Simon tastes of nicotine and danger. His tongue is spiked with the burn of it, the warning of a dire demise- broken apart by his hands and barely put back together. But Johnny wants to be broken, his hands itch to clutch at his lieutenant, to fist his shirt in his fingers as his tongue curls into his mouth. It’s everything- the feeling of Ghost’s palms cradling his face, almost tenderly, a forbidden fondness Ghost had made room in his chest for. She’s back again, watching as Simon slips his tongue across Johnny’s filthily. She squirms as she watches because it’s the hottest thing she’s sure she’s ever seen. Her lieutenant and sergeant getting off like teenagers, panting into each other’s mouths when Ghost breaks away- taking a breath.

Her fingers don’t stop their path across Soap’s skin, running up his arms, over his chest, cradling his neck- she wants to have explored every inch of him. Not a single spot left untouched and unloved. Her hand cups his jaw, angles him so he’s looking at her from over his shoulder, then she connects their lips. It’s tender. Worlds different to Simon, she’s timid, relinquishing the control to him, letting him take it all. The chair scrapes when he presses closer to her, licking into her mouth, tasting his own sweat on her tongue where her lips have pressed indents of adoration into his shoulder blades.

“You taste so sweet Johnny” she huffs, pecking his lips once more before she’s sliding away, closer to Simon. Johnny’s smile is drunk, silly as he watches her go, the way the flesh of her arse bounces as she goes. She’d stripped off as soon as they’d all tripped through the doorway, too hot and bothered and horny to keep the layers on. She’s only in her panties now, bare chest marked by Ghost’s teeth long before tonight. Johnny reminds himself he’s just a guest here. He’s shameless as he watches her. Watching Ghost’s big deft mitts clutch at her hips when she rises on her toes to kiss his cheek, then his neck, rubbing her cheek into his skin like a cat scenting it’s property- much like she had already done to Johnny. Ghost catches her off guard, his hands at her throat to tug her mouth to his- smirking into the kiss when she squeals. His hands root into her flesh, so deep it’ll bruise, Johnny feels his cock swell at the sight. Wishing someone would clutch him so tight he’ll wear the brand of their fingertips for days to come.

She breaks away to sink her teeth into Simon’s throat when his hand palms her ass, taking a handful and squeezing. She’s beautiful, Johnny thinks, the way she looks at Simon is something to admire, the warmth of her soul radiates from the inside out. Heaven incarnate. Johnny’s too enthralled in his own mind to notice she speaks, she’s closer now, stood between his spread thighs.

“You look lost, John” she smirks as she sinks to her knees. “I hope we haven’t lost you just yet” she thuds softly to the floor, knees spread as her palms skate over his thighs. He chucks his head back, heart racing, he still can’t believe what’s happening,

“Y’could never lose me, bonnie” when Johnny opens his eyes Simon is suddenly in his vision, stood over him as he moves catch the side of his face to force his eyes upright again.

“Eyes on the prize, Johnny” he rumbles low in his chest, hand now falling from the side of his head to the base of his neck- holding him in place as he watches her closely.

She thinks of teasing. It plays on her mind, but it’s short lived, her and Ghost have waited this long- what’s the point of a few more minutes? She palms johnny through his jeans, her torso slotted between his thighs, then she’s pulling his belt loose and his zipper yanked down too. Soap hisses when their skin meets, her soft palm, the heat and weight of him in her hand. She grips and squeezes his cock between her fingers till his chest crowds forward- tugging against his binds, they’re the laces from her shoes.

“You’re fucking massive, Johnny” she gasps. It isn’t feigned, it’s not to boost his ego or inflate his head. She’s honest and tugs at him lazily as she works his jeans out of the way, getting comfortable as she shifts on her knees. He’s been hard since he walked through the door, since she’d laid her hand across his thighs in the rec room, like a sad-horny little teenager. So it’s no trouble when she pulls him free from his boxers and finds his cock stood to attention, cold air meeting hot skin- he shivers again.

“Fuck” he mutters, more to himself, it catches her attention when her eyes flicker to his, leaning forward to lick a long stripe from the base of him to his head.

His hips stutter- he’s struggling not to keen into her grip, to fuck his hips up into the heat of her mouth; just to be closer. Her plush lips wrap around the head of his cock, teasing just briefly before her hand begins to pump the base of him, reaching where her mouth can’t when she begins to work at taking him deeper down her throat.

The noises are obscene. Wet sounds of her lips closing around him, all slick with her spit and precum that he’s already leaking for her.

“Shit” Johnny spits, hips jerking, gagging her again, tears springing her eyes. “Fuck- lass ah-h shit” his vision doubles when his hair is curled around a fist and yanked upwards. His mohawk is overgrown and Simon uses the leverage to his own advantage. Johnny’s vision swims, refocusing on Simon when he speaks.

“Think you can handle me, sergeant?” The meaning is open, up for debate, but Johnny has never nodded quicker in his life. His brain is in his cock, all the blood pooling there as she sucks him off, lathing at him with her skilled tongue- she’s sucking the life out of him.

“Fuck- lass” Johnny stutters, smiling lazy as he rolls his neck in her direction, watching her head bobbing up and down, focused only on making him feel good. She lets his cock drop free from her mouth with a wet pop, sucking air in through her teeth. She’s breathless, sweat damp hair line askew as those deep lustful eyes look at him through her lashes.

“Feel good, Johnny?” She asks, fingers wrapping tighter around his cock. “Hmm?” She pokes at him, needing the validation, seeking praise that Simon usually lets her eat up so freely. Before Johnny can register any words that might please her, his hair is caught again, tugged at in Simon’s direction where he meets the sight of his lieutenant staring intently down at him with his cock to hand. Johnny’s mouth gapes, eyes flickering from Simon’s cock to his eyes, never intimidated, waiting for the go-ahead. Johnny bucks his hips up when she ever-so-slightly scrapes her teeth around the girth of him, humming around his cock at the satisfaction it gives her to see what’s unfolding in front of her. Johnny opens his mouth and lets his tongue drop free, never letting his eyes leave Simon’s, he hears when his lieutenant sucks a sharp even breath into his chest.

His hair is tugged at again, neck craning down slightly to allow Simon to close the distance more fairly, he uses his hold on Johnny’s hair and his free hand to guide his cock into Johnny’s waiting mouth. The Scot’s tongue slides across the underside of him, catching a prominent vein and Simon almost fucking loses it. “Shit- Mactavish” he bites, hips jerking when Johnny doesn’t shy away, this clearly isn’t his first time, and that thought alone makes Simon’s spine arch.

Then she makes a noise, a surprised little yelp that catches both of their eyes, she releases Johnny’s cock from her mouth with a smile. “Do that again, Simon” she huffs, breathless, “you’re making him twitch” she seems so pleased with that, her lieutenant making her sergeant’s cock tremor in her throat as she sucks him off. Johnny moans around Simon’s cock and the Brit only tightens his hold in Johnny’s mohawk, fisting the hair around his fingers.

She takes a moment, continuing to pump Johnny in her hand while her free hand dips between her own legs, rubbing herself as she watches Simon fuck Johnny’s throat- maybe watching them tongue each other isn’t the hottest thing she’s seen.

Simon throws his head back, stunting his hips, not wanting to choke Johnny on his cock, maybe not yet at least. Yet, the sergeant seems to want it, chasing Simon’s cock as he tries to retreat, taking more of him down his throat with a filthy moan that makes all three of them shiver with want.

The sounds they all make bleed together. Johnny’s choking on Simon’s cock and she’s whining as she fucks herself on her fingers to the sight of her lieutenant fucking her sergeants throat. It’s any wonder they haven’t been caught, a neighbouring soldier bashing his fist against the wall for them to shut the fuck up - but it’s Ghost’s quarters, so it’s more likely that they know better.

Simon tilts his head, watching her as she works her fingers into pussy while she watches his cock disappear into Johnny’s mouth. She’s mesmerised, but Ghost seeks to sweeten the arrangement. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” Funnily enough, both of them nod, both her and Johnny nodding like cock drunk idiots. Simon smirks to himself. He jerks his head at her and she gives him all of her attention, “come up ‘ere and fuck yourself on his cock, sweetheart”. She stills, both her hand on Johnny’s cock and the one that’s dipped beneath her panties, then she’s moving- no need to be told twice.

The chair is standard, rickety and made of plastic and metal, and Johnny’s huge thighs don’t leave much room for her. Yet, she finds a way, presses her knees into the tops of his thighs to balance herself as she settles her weight on him, eyes still transfixed by watching as he sucks Simon off. Her hands settle onto his shoulders, pulling herself flush to him, leaning forward to his his throat, wishing she could feel the thrust of Simon’s cock against her lips there. “You’re doin’ so well, Johnny boy” she coos, biting her lip with a smile when he groans. Then she’s reaching between them to pull her panties aside, tugging his cock and pressing it against the glistening wetness of her folds.

Simon groans too. “Fuck- Johnny” he rumbles, tugging him closer, pressing his cock deeper until Johnny’s nose meets the tuft of hair below his navel, chocking him with a sound Simon could find himself getting used to. “Jus’ like tha’, Johnny” Simon’s words slur, he’s close, punching his hips forward as Johnny sputters and moans around his cock- she sinks down onto Johnny’s cock in one deep push.

Their moans are strangled together, tied in a knot as she presses her forehead to his collarbone, too much all at once. It stings, buried so deep it feels like her organs shift, he’s bigger then Simon- just slightly in length where Simon makes up for it in girth, but it’s still an entirely new sensation to adjust to. “Ahh- ah shit” she whines, rolling her hips, leaking around Johnny’s cock already, drooling for him. She starts to move, knees pressed into his thighs, nails biting into Soap’s chest till they leave indents in his skin- likely to break skin and bruise.

Johnny has tears in his eyes, moaning around his lieutenant’s cock, his sergeant bouncing on his dick- he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven, or maybe it’s hell, because after this- that’s exactly where he’s headed.

Simon spits something at Johnny that he doesn’t catch, hissed behind his teeth, when he’s forced to say it again Simon snaps- snatches a hand around Soap’s throat and squeezes hard. “Gonna cum in your throat, sergeant” he tells, eyes wild as he pushes his hips forward, rhythm slowing, Johnny tries to nod around him, humming around the girth of Simon’s cock like it’ll cure all of his ailments. As if provoked, Johnny presses his tongue against the underside of Simon’s cock, feeling the thrum of his blood through the veins, beating like a drum. “Fuck” Simon growls, both hands flying to clutch at the hair on Johnny’s head, one last cruel thrust into Johnny’s mouth before he cums down his throat- it’s hot on Johnny’s tongue and it feels never ending.

“Thaaaat’s it Johnny” she moans, sweetly, “swallow it all for us” she leans forward again and kisses his neck, talks him through it with so much sickly-sweet praise it makes his cheeks set alight.

Ghost sounds like a wounded animal, snarling as he cums, vision white and blinding as he comes down from the high, hips slowing completely as he holds Johnny in place for a few drawn out seconds before pulling his mouth off of him entirely. Johnny is given only a brief second to catch his breath, eyes drifting to where his cock disappears into her cunt, swallowed in the tight wet heat of her perfect pussy as it gushes and weeps around him- spoiling his jeans. Before he can even open his mouth the grip on his hair returns, pulled to Simon’s mouth, a tangle of teeth and tongue as Simon licks into his mouth- tasting his own cum on Johnny’s lips.

It’s filthy. Down right fucking disgusting, yet they all moan at the sight and the feeling. She grows wetter, fingers teasing at her own clit as she watches them both, and Ghost can’t seem to get enough of it all. Even while he’s kissing Johnny he reaches out his hand, pushes hers out of the way so he can thumb deftly at her clit- making her squeal.

“Ooh- fuck” she squints her eyes shut, rocking against Simon’s fingers, pussy stretched impossibly for Soap’s cock as she rolls her hips. Both men disconnect the kiss, eyes falling to her, the way her tits sway and bounce as she fucks herself on her sergeants cock, the sight of her pussy gushing for them both, beyond turned on at watching them get off.

“Jesus Christ, lass” Johnny moans, hands desperate to touch her, to tweak her nipples and take hold of her throat, bring her lips to his so he can swallow every single noise his cock punches out of her.

“Gorgeous isn’t she” Simon says, no question about it, a shared thought, one he knows to be true. Johnny nods and throws his head back, fucking up into her now.

“Y’both are” Johnny huffs, chest swelling as he chants a series of curses, losing himself to the pleasure.

Simon isn’t caught of guard, not in this situation, she does it all the time. Tells him how beautiful he is and how good he is to her- but hearing it from Johnny is a whole other feeling, likes it not just her pity or her looming orgasm talking, like it could partly be true.

He sees her smile at Johnny’s words, arching forward, hands splayed across Johnny’s chest as she sinks her teeth into his exposed throat. “I try to tell him Johnny” she whispers, but it’s loud enough for them all to hear, “he just won’t listen to me” she’s smirking when she pulls back, admiring the welt that swells under Johnny’s skin. She throws her head to the side, arching her back and meetings Soap’s thrusts now, matching the sloppy rhythm as their orgasms loom. Simon still works at her clit, pressed close her side, then he catches her lips, let’s her taste him, both of them. “Make me cum” she breathes, panting against his lips, and although he would usually deny her for his own sick and twisted amusement- tonight isn’t the night.

Johnny straightens. “Whatta‘bout me?” He smirks, eyes lazy when he leans forward, she smiles and Simon’s eyelids grow heavy, his chest feeling just as. She circles her hips to make Johnny squirm and she’s throws her arms around both of their necks, bringing the three of them impossibly close. It doesn’t really work, their foreheads knock together but they catch one another’s lips, it’s more teeth and bitten lips, but Johnny’s cock grows even harder inside her at the attempted three-way kiss- Simon is the one to break it.

Something cracks open in his chest, a free space, it’s warm and inviting and it’s getting out of hand. But he can’t stop his hands when they reach out for Soap, guided towards the shoe laces that hold his hands behind his back. He tugs at them until they snap away, one falls the the floor while the other bites into Johnny’s wrist, the frayed remnants of it handing loosely off the chair. Before Johnny can clutch for purchase at either of them, Simon grabs his hand and guides it to his mask, he watches the emotions play out on the Scot’s face. Confusion, intrigue and adoration when Simon guides him to fully remove the mask.

Just as Johnny remembers him - tragically beautiful. Scarred and marked by his life, but gorgeously rugged and handsome nonetheless.

Johnny smiles and thumbs over Simon’s cheek as his hand is held there, something shifts right there and then, something beyond fucking and sharing spit. Simon leans forward and Johnny thinks it’s for a kiss, but Simon presses a finger to his lips instead. “Cum in her pussy, Johnny”.

Soap’s eyes harden, as if challenged, and there’s nothing he can’t set his mind to and complete.

His free hands clutch for her now, at her thighs and her hips, leaning forward to close the space, to fuck her with abandon as she stutters her words- clutching for both Simon and Johnny when they both set their hands on her. Simon presses his chest to her spine, loops his arm around her and goes for her clit again, matching the rhythm with strokes of his fingers. “Oh my god” she whines, throwing her head back against Ghost’s shoulder. “F-fuck” she’s crying now too, probably for more then one reason after tonight, but Johnny fucks her through it.

“Cum f’me lass, come on now” his teeth are grit.

Simon pushes her over that edge, he’s done it hundreds of times now, he could do in his sleep with his hands tied behind his back, he knows her body as well as he knows his own now- if not better. The feeling of her orgasm brings Johnny there too, clamping around him, squeezing around his cock so tightly it feels like the circulation will cut off. He howls like a wounded dog, hips punching up, seating his cock as deep as it will go when he finally cums inside of her.

They’re all panting. Breaths twining as the room spins and the muggy smell of sex and sweat lingers in the air, stifling and groggy.

She shifts, Johnny’s cock barely softening inside of her and she laughs, dazed and eyes wide.

Johnny whistles as he catches his breath. “Fuck me” he huffs with a lopsided smile, still breathless.

Simon laughs- something dark, meeting Johnny’s eyes with a smirk.

“That an order, sergeant?”

[anachronismstellar]

I'm here again, this time to further the MQF/SQH agenda!

And I'm happy to help the MQF/SQH agenda fjshskdjsk :D

-----

Mu Qingfang had no idea how he got there, all he knew is that when he blinked he had walked all the way to An Ding Peak, hand up in the air, ready to knock on Shang Qinghua's private quarters.

In his defense, it had been one of those days... For the past weeks. And today it seemed that the Heavens decided to test all his skills, only to deem him unworthy.

He considered leaving, now that he had woken up from his haze, but the Heavens intervined once more, apparently. The door opened slowly, and a sleepy Shang Qinghua blinked at him looking like a dream, his outer robe open, revealing the silk of his inner shirt and pants.

"Mu-shidi?" He asked as he opened the door fully for the other get inside. Mu Qingfang hesitaded, considering his options, an excuse ready on his lips. But the final blow came in the form of a hug, strong arms picking him up, their bodies melting as two soft candles burned out by long nights.

"I head about the attack," Shang Qinghua said he walked them towards his room, gently laying the doctor on the unmade bed, kneeling next to him to help with his boots. "Here's what we are going to do. Are you with me?"

Mu Qingfang nodded, even though he might not being entirely truthful, focusing on Shang Qinghua's voice to ground himself.

"Good. I'm going to make us some tea, the good lavender blend you like," Shang Qinghua said as he got rid of the first two layers of Mu Qingfang clothing, pulling a heavy blanket over him, the weight making Mu Qingfang sigh with relief. "Then you're going to eat and sleep. Sounds like a good plan?"

Again Mu Qingfang nodded, blinking as his glasses were carefully taken from his face and left on the small table next to the low bed. After that came off the pins in his hair, Shang Qinghua's hands combing it until all the knots were gone, scratching Mu Qingfang's scalp here and there.

"Good. Take a nap, I won't be long," Shang Qinghua whispered and Mu Qingfang didn't need to hear it twice. He didn't actually sleep, body too wired to let go without anyone there to wake him in case of trouble, but he was able to lull himself into a meditation state, focusing on his breathing and heart beat.

His mind wandered, eyes closed, the smell of ink permeating the bed mixed with the scent of Shang Qinghua’s bitter tea. He made a mental note to pull his ear for drinking it too much, chuckling when the memory of his first time he had to scold Shang Qinghua came to his mind.

It had been just another afternoon, and technically it was supposed to be just another mission. But as a Head Disciple, Mu Qingfang was starting to learn that nothing was "just a" or "normal" when certain disciples were involved.

"So explain to me again," He held back a sigh, because sighing in front of a patient was unprofessional and made things harder for him in the long run. "You were responsible for a delivery of-"

"Two, one for Zui Xian Peak and-"

"Two deliveries, right." And this time was impossible for him to hold back his sigh. Honestly, this guy had his brain scattered all over the place, how he didn't end up in his office before was a miracle. "Two deliveries, one of Jasmine tea and another of- What's the name again?"

The An Ding disciple shuffled his feet as he looked everywhere but Mu Qingfang's face, a drop of sweat running down his cheek even though outside the winds of Autumn were already strong enough for him to force a ban on sword flying for the next weeks.

"Uh. Tiger Lilies?" the other said with a weak laugh, picking on his nails as he finally had the courage to look Mu Qingfang in the eye, warm brown almost vanishing under the size of his dilated pupils. "But then I ran into Qi Qingqi-shiji and she had to have tea delivered immediately because of a party and-"

"And between one delivery and the other you mixed the parcels and-"

"And I kinda gave the Jasmine tea to Qi Qingqi-shiji, the other tea to Zui Xian Peak and-"

"And you brew some Tiger Lilies tea for yourself."

It was Shang Qinghua's time to sigh as he pressed both hands against his eyes, his shoulders sagging under the embarrassment he must be feeling.

It happened to all of them at some point, no need to shame. But to be hit with an aphrodisiac for the first time because you mixed up the delivery order?

Yea it was a bit embarrassing.

"Here's what we are going to do," Mu Qingfang got up from his low chair to check his cabinet for all the things they would need, picking up some bottles. "I'm going to prepare the room, and I'm going to help you out. Then you're going to drink proper tea and eat, and rest for at least two days, got it?"

The fever must be picking up, because all that Shang Qinghua could do was nod, licking his dry lips as he stared at the bottles on Mu Qingfang table. For a second he seemed terrified, and it crossed Mu Qingfang's mind that- this might be his first time.

He felt bad, scratching his head as the considered if it was a good idea to ask. The poor guy already looked so stressed, Heavens, should he offer to call someone else?

"This one- This one appreciates Mu-shixiong offer, but I know you must be tired, you don't-!"

"Shang-shidi," he interruped the other with a wave of his hand, cutting off that nonsense by the root. "You don't need to worry about me, I'm here to help you, I won't stand here and watch you suffer-"

"No! No, I know, Mu-shixiong is a good person, and I know you care about us all, even when we make dumb mistakes I- Uh. I just-"

The compliment made Mu Qingfang pause, surprised that the other had such high esteem for him. He thought they had met just a few times?

"- so, I think, maybe I could take care of it by taking care of you?!"

The hushed sentence made no senses for a long while, Mu Qingfang trying to process what in the all realms was the other talking about. And his confusion as plain to see, because Shang Qinghua took a deep breath and started explaining again, blushing all the way up to his hair, picking on his nails again.

"I mean, Mu-shixiong is kind and I've seen how you treat everyone and- I also know this is your third night shift so you must be tired, so I was thinking, maybe, since I have all this energy and Shixiong- Not that you won't be able to handle your duties! I know you are a strong cultivator, I just thought-"

"Yes," Mu Qingfang answered half to spare them the embarrassment of the situation, half because-

Holy shit when was the last time someone wanted to take care of him? And what a sad truth, but a truth one nonetheless.

"I mean, if makes you more comfortable, o-of course." he quickly corrected himself, trying to ignore his own sweaty palms and the heat climbing up his neck.

Memory mixed up with reality as Shang Qinghua kissed him on the forehead like he did for the first time so many years ago, making Mu Qingfang smile as he forced himself to stay in the moment, humming as Shang Qinghua kisses went all the way down his face until he got a peck on the lips.

"Feeling better?" Qinghua asked, to which Mu Qingfang nodded, still not entirely ready to speak. "Good, come on, I've stolen some cake from Shen-shixiong, they're really good."

It took him a moment to be able to stand, but slowly and surely he walked, Shang Qinghua's arm a comforting presence on his waist, his blabling a soothing white noise.

And just like that Mu Qingfang let himself go, allowing someone to be there for him for some time.

[theghostkingisdead]

dpxdc - Neglected Child AU

As one of his first acts as Ghost King, Danny basically created ghost CPS. Mostly they help new spirits come to terms with the fact that they're dead, but situations like Danny's are a lot more common than the Observants had lead him to believe. People who come back from the dead or are exposed to large quantities of unstable ectoplasm often lead sad, short second lives. Either because they are unable to obtain the nutrients their new forms require, or because their communities turn against them in fear. This is a story about Jason Todd.

There was a lot Jazz loved about her job. She loved helping young ghosts find acceptance. She loved matching cases with foster Fraids. She loved meeting new people. She loved the rare excuse to travel dimensions. But some days, Jazz was intimately reminded of why this program was formed in the first place.

Knock, knock, knock.

Jazz looked up from her laptop. “Come in!”

Apple – the ghost of a dryad whose tree was chopped down two summers ago – poked her head in.

“Uh, Lady- I mean, Ms. Phan-, no,” Apple took a shuddering breath. Jazz smiled encouragingly. The girl had only been working here for a season, and already she was making excellent progress. “Ms. Jasmine, there’s a city spirit here to see you, uh, on behalf of a uh, potential client.”

“Thank you, Apple, you can send them in.” Jazz said.

Apple flushed green, closing the door with a sigh. Jazz guessed she had about two minutes before the impromptu meeting began. She used the time to sweep some papers off her desk and into a drawer. It had been some time since she’d had a walk-in like this. Jazz had a strict open doors policy when it came to her office, despite the technical fact that her door was often closed; it was just easier to focus that way! She had no idea why most ghosts preferred to submit claims by mail, really it was much better for them to speak with an officer in person.

Thirty years ago, Jazz would’ve had trouble describing the spirit that walked through the doors. Fifty years ago, even looking at it would’ve been painful. But Jasmine Duchess Phantom had been living in the Infinite Realms for almost eighty years now, and liminal senses reached out subconsciously, cataloging scents and colors that her mortal mind would have balked at.

The shape of a steel-colored skeleton peered out at her from a billowing cloud of grey smoke, which curled around its feet and seeped across the floor. Jazz tasted gunmetal and sugar, smelled stale urine and burned bread, felt desperation-fear-hunger-love crash violently against her. Like a cliff to a wave, Jazz stood her ground, letting herself be tested. This spirit was old and afraid; when it spoke, it spoke in a million overlapping voices.

“My apologies for barging in unannounced, Your Grace. I come before you with an issue of great import. One I have reason to believe our King may have a personal interest in.”

Jazz nodded, “My doors are always open, City Spirit. I’m always happy to help. But before I hear your petition, may I know who I am addressing?”

The skeleton did not move that she could see, but Jazz heard windchimes like chittering laughter.

“I am Gotham, Your Grace. My apologies for my rudeness. I have little reason to travel these days and am unaccustomed to necessary introductions.”

Jazz nodded, committing the name and its taste to memory. “No need to apologize, Gotham. Your situation is not unique amongst your kind. Have a seat,” Jazz gestured at the plush couch across from her desk. “What troubles you so, to bring you so far from home?”

There was more windchime tittering, and Jazz wondered if the spirit was laughing or just readjusting itself on a plane she could not see. A nervous tick, perhaps? Maybe she could send Apple for something to make Gotham feel more at ease. Bullet casings or chocolate chip cookies would be equally soothing to this entity, Jazz guessed.

Gotham folded into itself, form blurring slightly before reforming on the couch, leaned forward with elbows on knees. “Many years ago, a mortal man pledged himself to my service. I accepted him as a City Guard, my mortal Champion. This man has many children who have likewise pledged themselves to my protection.”

Jazz smothered the urge to interrupt. She loathed the idea of child Guards; the fact that this City Spirit was here now asking for help meant that this instance had gone just as well as it usually did.

Unaware of her internal judgement, Gotham continued. “The second child died and revived some seven years ago, I…” This time, the rattling sound emanating from Gotham shook the room with the force of a thunderclap. “You have to understand, I don’t claim kids as champions, so technically he was never even under my protection. And when he came back, he ran! I don’t have power outside the city, you know, so even if, well, it’s not like there was anything I could have done differently,”

Jazz was aware that she was frowning. She could only guess what her aura felt like to Gotham, whose smoky aura was rapidly thickening. A bird puffing itself up to look bigger. A cheap trick. If Jazz were in a more compassionate mood, she might have felt embarrassed at such a juvenile display from a spirit decades older than herself.

“You neglected a child, or-” she cut off Gotham before it could protest, “allowed a child to be neglected. For seven years. What changed? Why petition him now and not then?”

Gotham chittered, “Well, you see, he came back to me just over a year ago, retook his pledge and everything. And, well, things were rough, I thought the fraid was just readjusting itself, but, er-”

“Tell me.”

“Well, the problem is I don’t exactly know what the boy is anymore, but he’s more ghostly than not, and his fraid’s fully human. If this infighting between my Guards goes on for any longer, it’ll tear me apart. I figured The King might want to step in, considering this boy might be a halfa, maybe he could help him and the fraid get back to normal.”

Jazz grinned. “Rest assured, Gotham, The Crown will indeed be taking special interest in your case.” Words dripped from her lips, caustic even to her own ears. “Now, why don’t you go outside and give Apple the rest of the details. I have some visits to make.”

[luveline]

You mentioned in one post that bombshell!reader was furious with the team for not helping Reid with his addiction (as she should be)…. Would you maybe write about her helping him thru withdrawal or thru the cravings that follow? Maybe subtly at first, then just making sure he knew he wasn’t alone? Just some tender moments where Spencer starts to realize she actually cares about him, even if he doesn’t believe her flirting yet.

-🌕

I love every single thing you write, even for fandoms I’m not even in. You’re amazing!!

thank you for requesting my sweetheart!!! I really hope this is what you wanted, love you <3 fem!reader

cw past drug abuse

“Hi, Spencer Reid.” 

You perch on the edge of his desk with no further introduction. You’ve changed perfumes, to his immediate recognition, the rich smell of your usual parfum swapped for a less consuming scent. He detects apple blossom, and rose, the smallest hint of jasmine, a contrast to your usual vanilla and peony. The human brain can remember 50,000 scents, and Spencer can remember all of yours. Or, he could. 

“You’re not saying hi anymore?” 

“Hi, Y/N.” 

“Hi. It’s nice to see you.” You put your hand on his. Spencer isn’t sure you’ve ever touched his hand before, he’s never really let you, but he doesn’t move away. A huge winding of tension between his shoulders begins to unspool. “It’s really nice to see you, babe. I’ve missed you tons and tons.” 

He looks up tentatively. “You have?” 

“I have. I haven’t really been invited, today. I’m just here to see you.” 

“Why?” Spencer asks. 

You tighten your fingers on his hand. “Missed you. Thought maybe we should, like…” And that’s unusual, for you to use filler words, Spencer doesn’t know what to think of it. “Well, I have something to say to you, and it’s going to either sound reassuring or ridiculous.” 

“Okay.” 

You give him a withering look. “Don’t make it any easier for me.” 

He laughs. The sound alone fosters your smile. “Sorry,” he says softly, “I doubt it’ll be ridiculous.” 

“Spencer Reid, we are friends. We are. But we never do anything outside of work, so I was thinking you could come over tonight and we’d make dinner and watch TV and stuff.” 

“And stuff.” 

“I’m a bit nervous,” you confess, looking down at your lap, then quickly back up into his face, “I’m worried you won’t want to.” 

You’re kind to avoid saying what he’s sure you’re thinking; you’re worried he won’t want to spend the night with you, and instead will look down the long barrel of a small needle. Or, he thinks that’s what you’re thinking. He does it to everyone. 

“What do you want to make for dinner?” he asks. 

“What are you enjoying lately?” 

“I… I don’t know. I’m not really eating.”

“Cereal?” 

“Yes,” he laughs. ���Lots of cereal.” 

You tap the wheel of his chair with your heel. You’re dressed as though you aren’t working, wearing a sweet dark dress with a starched collar and baby sleeves, stockings, and a necklace at your neck that glows with a small white crystal. You look amazing. It never makes any sense to Spencer, why you’d taken an interest in him, and why you bother now. He knows he’s hard to care for. He knows he’s making it worse. 

You look up and down his face. You must see the purple half circles beneath his eyes, the crack at the corner of his mouth, the cut he can’t stop picking on his cheek. Every time it scabs, he opens it again. One second he’s sitting there and the next he’s got blood under his fingernail. 

“Hug?” you ask hopefully. 

He goes to stand. You move in too fast and wrap your arms around him, leg slotting between his, leaning over his shoulders with a distinct sense of protectiveness. You squeeze him, a little sigh escaping you that sounds loud so close to his ear. 

“How has it been this week?” you ask quietly. 

“It’s fine.” He cups your back in his arm carefully. The other wraps tight around the small of it. He soaks you up, scared you’re gonna pull away any second. 

“How are you feeling about it? Do you need any extra help?” 

He cringes. “No,” he says. “It’s really fine.” 

“When you texted me, about the cravings? What are they like today?” 

He wishes he could breathe in the smell of your perfume and your skin and tell you they’re all better now. It would make sense; there isn’t much in his life that hasn’t been made better by your attention. He’d struggle to do this without you. You’re his only friend who actually cared enough to say the problem out loud, but you’re just a woman, you can’t work the sort of magic necessary to kick this for him. 

“Spencer?” You pull away, nudging his cheek with the back of your finger. 

“They’re okay. I’m not gonna do anything.” 

“Good, honey. I’m proud of you. I know how hard this is.” 

He bites the inside of his lip, surprised at your caring. He shouldn’t be.

“What are you two whispering about?”

You and Spencer have different reactions to Emily’s sudden question. He flinches like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and you, still vaguely pissed with everyone for not telling you Spencer was struggling and not afraid to show it, keep your eyes trained on his face. 

“Nothing,” Spencer says. 

You turn to her with a small smile. You still like her, Spencer knows. Secretly, he’s pleased you’re angry for him. It’s nice to have someone so obviously on his side. “We’re just deciding what to get for dinner.” 

“Oh, nice. Date night?” she teases. 

You press your cheek to his forehead. “Date night,” you agree, your hand unmissable where it bunches in his sweater near his heart. 

[celenawrites]

pretty when you cry

pairing - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

word count - 2.4k

warnings - Ghost is a bit of a dick but he gets better, Reader is a bit of a crybaby here but it's just cuz she's very in tune with her emotions, Simon is emotionally constipated and cannot handle feelings, some fluff, heavy-ish (?) angst, open ending, etc.

Note - Kinda got tired of writing fluffy stuff all the time and my mental health is fraying atm, so I decided to (hopefully) hurt some folks with this little piece. Enjoy!

AO3 Version

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

You cry easy. 

That's what Ghost thought of you when you first joined Task Force-141. 

While he has always been skeptical of any new additions (often temporary) to the team he has come to love and trust after going through hell and back, Price was convinced that your impeccable record on stealth ops, your physical agility, and your skills as a sniper were much needed. 

Reluctantly, Ghost silently accepts his Captain’s decision.

However, time and time again, your sensitive nature had him worried that you might prove to be a heavy liability to the team. 

When you stub your toe against the leg of the table, you let out a few tears of frustration and pain, cursing everyone and their mothers while you hold your injured foot in the air as you comically jump around the kitchen, even though your lack of spatial awareness was to be blamed here. It is almost always a comical sight, Gaz rubbing your back in comfort while you curse and cry, failing to hide his amusement. Soap is not afraid to laugh at your face for it, while Price has this twinkle in his eye as he asks you to sit and eat something for breakfast. 

Simon ignores the flutter in his stomach when you take a seat next to him on the table, your wet hair letting out wafts of jasmine - all for him to smell and keep to himself. 

You cry when you accidentally let the door close on your pinky, dramatic hiccups leaving you as Soap ties up your little finger with white bandages, stroking your hair as he consoles you, "That's a brave lassie, yeah? You got this". (Soap has always been good with people, Simon notes.) Sometimes, Soap will be ‘kind enough’ to offer you to kiss your injuries better and you’d shove him, your face giving away the embarrassment and the humorous jest you feel around the demolition expert. 

You weep uncontrollably when you watch Marley and Me with Gaz in the rec room. Price and Ghost had been passing by, discussing the aftermath of a mission they had just returned from when they heard loud sobs coming from the usually empty room. They peer in to find both of you huddled close in soft blankets, a bowl of popcorn propped up in your lap and a box of tissues in Gaz’s lap, as you munch on the buttery snack and cry over the adorable dog finally being put to rest. You lean into Gaz for comfort and Ghost wonders if you still smell of mud and caked blood like you did on the field. 

Price decides to break up the party as he enters the room, clearing up his throat to grab the attention of his Sergeants. Your lip wobbles as he lightly scolds you, his brow laden with concern as he looks at you and tells you both to go get some much-needed rest. You pass him by as you leave the room, your hand being a feather’s touch away from his and he almost holds onto you. (He still has no idea why he almost reacted like that to you)

One time, Price had been sent to help Laswell out on a crucial mission and all you had accomplished during those three and a half weeks was mope around and wish your Captain were here. You’d be lying on the sofa in the common room and you’d whine to your companions. “I’m so bored. I miss Captain. I wish he was here”, you’d pout and Soap and Gaz would gang up on you, teasing you as they asked you whether you had some unresolved feelings for dear Price. (The idea of you coveting Price like a lover seemed ridiculous to him, really. You and the Captain? Not a chance)

And then there was that one time when you had to go on a solo mission (the first of you being on your own since you joined the task force, really) and when you had come back to him them, battered and bloodied and disheveled but still safe and sound and Price lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as if all the weight of the world has disappeared now that you’re back home, back to your team (where you now rightfully belong). You rush to them, running as if you cannot close the distance between them fast enough, and Price hugs you with steady arms as he lets you cry into his shoulder, wetting his uniform as you all but sob in relief, leaning on your Captain for support as your legs turn like jelly, unable to support the weight of your weary body. 

It must’ve been terrifying - being out there on the field, hostility and death surrounding you in all directions and the only person you could possibly rely on is yourself. Keeping yourself safe and sane as you navigate unknown terrain and fight off the monsters who wear the skins of humans and pollute the very Earth they have been raised on. Blood and gore and gunpowder clinging to you like a second skin as you pray to survive another night and make it back home safely. Back to your team. 

Back to your kind captain, and sergeants you have befriended and a cold Lieutenant who sometimes fails to hide the care he carries for you in his brown eyes. 

Price has a look of sympathy and understanding on his face as he drags you to the infirmary, even holding your trembling hand in his warm palm as you flinch at the sight of the large syringe needle and hiss in pain whenever the alcohol-soaked cotton is applied to your cuts. He soothes you with a gentle pat on your back, mindful of your treated injuries as he softly tells you to clean up and maybe get some much needed sleep, asking Gaz to supply you with something to eat before you doze off due to fatigue and the morphine still floating in your system. 

Ghost found it annoying for the most part - sometimes snapping at you to "Shut up and focus" on bad days and while he’s still irked at the sentimentality you possess, something that he and his comrades have willingly allowed to wither and die in their souls, a small part of him - a part of him that still resembles who Simon was, a mimicry of the humanness he hasn’t felt in his dead soul for years, worried about you. Worried sick about you and your emotions and the lack of lid you have on it. Worried if he had been too harsh on you because he doesn’t do emotions, and clearly he is out of his depth when it comes to dealing with people, but especially when it comes to dealing with you. 

He realizes he doesn’t mind you crying all that much. 

You go out for drinks to celebrate your successful solo mission and you spend the time you had lost on the field with your teammates - you play billiards with Gaz against Soap and Ghost and lose sorely, and then you try out a peg of whiskey the Captain has ordered and Price laughs heartily as you sputter and whine as the drink burns your esophagus. You somehow convince Ghost to teach you how to throw darts and he tries to not lean into your warmth as he stands behind you, his gloved hand holding your wrist as he positions you and teaches you how to throw the wooden dart you hold between your smooth fingers, and tells you all he knows about making sure that the little thing hits the dartboard without fail. 

Simon can smell your jasmine shampoo and your citrus perfume on you as he uses his hands to correct your posture. He can feel how soft and pliant you are under him, eager to obey and please him, and all he can think about is what it’d be like - being your confidante, being the voice of reason for you when you’re drowning in emotions, being a sturdy shoulder for you to cry on. 

And he knows for a fact that you’d be all that and more in a heartbeat if he allowed you to. 

You lean onto Simon for support, your head lolling onto his shoulder as he quietly guides you to your bedroom. You hum quietly as he carefully makes you lie down on your bed, removing your shoes for you and when you beg him to help you remove the little makeup you had applied for the night (Price blatantly ignoring the use of contraband because it’s you), he surprisingly complies. Years of applying camo paint on his face give him the needed experience around using micellar water and makeup wipes as he helps you prepare yourself for a night of mindless sleeping, which will be followed by a hangover in the morning plaguing almost all of them. (He swears he’ll force you to drink the ginger tea he’ll make, no matter how much you’d whine about it tasting ‘yucky’. He’d rather not have you hurling over everything like a cat with a persistent hairball stuck in its throat).

“I’m so happy”, you hum to yourself as Simon tilts your head up. 

“Close your eyes, Sergeant”, he orders and you comply, feeling the soaked cotton pad rub against your eyelids as your Lieutenant removes your pink eye shadow. It’s a pretty color on you, Simon thinks but he never says it out loud.  

You stay silent as he finishes up with your work, his calloused fingertips tilting and moving your head to look at any missed spots he might’ve overlooked in the dim bedroom light. 

“All done”, he scruffs, getting up on his feet and he hears you call out to him as he leaves the room.

“What is it?” he asks, wishing to be in his warm bed on this cold night. 

“Thank you, sir”, you say earnestly with your eyes shining with sincerity and an unrecognizable emotion. 

Simon observes you - you lying on your bed in the clothes you wore to the bar, with most of your makeup removed and your eyes struggling to stay open as intoxication and tiredness tempt you to forget the world and sleep.

A moment too late, he asks you, “What are you thanking me for, rookie?”

Only to find you out cold.

He sighs, draping the thin blanket over your shivering body and leaving you alone in your room. 

When you wake up the next day with a hangover headache, your makeup removed and your blanket draped over you tenderly, you make your way to the common kitchen and you ask your moody superior if he remembers anything from the night before - your hazy memory failing to cover the gaps in your memory. 

He gruffly says out, “No” and then hands you a cup of ginger tea, looking at you intensely as he waits for you to whine about the bitter taste of the tea he’s made for you. Knowing it’s a lost fight, you let out an exasperated sigh and thank your Lieutenant for the hangover cure. He looks at you a beat too long before leaving you to your own devices, exiting the room, and going God knows where. 

It takes him time, with all that he is and all that he has been through, to come to a new conclusion for his first impression of you. Steadily with time, Simon realizes that the reason you cry so easily is not because you're weak. 

It’s because you’re brave. 

Brave enough to express yourself and not fear rejection from others. Brave enough to show that you care, to show that you love life and people and everything life has to offer. Brave and kind and valiant in everything you do, Simon is almost jealous of your ability to be so open and free. He wonders what it would be like to let go and just allow himself to feel. 

It’d probably drown him alive. 

It might set him free. 

He’d never get the chance to know though. 

Now again, you sob as you put pressure on his abdomen wound as you talk to him with a wet, unstable voice, “Stay awake for me, Lt. We will all make it”. You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. (You need that reassurance more than him anyway).

He’s sluggish, the blood loss and pain makes it hard for him to focus on your blurry face and the skull mask on his face doesn’t help him either. He’s immobile, despite trying his level best to raise his hand up so that he can wipe away the stray tears on your cheeks. He parts his lips to tell you to please stop crying, to tell you how he’s not worth the worry, he’s not worthy of your tears - not when he has vehemently admonished you for them all this time. 

But all he can do is let out a low moan of pain, his eyes rolling back in his head. He can hear your voice, can hear the worry and fear and panic as you call out to him, but everything is hard and he can hear you but comprehending your words is near impossible with the ringing in his ears and the whirring of the helicopter that came in to rescue him and his team. He’s aware of his teammates sitting beside him - he can imagine their solemn faces as they cope with the possibility of him succumbing to his wounds before they make it back to safety. But he focuses on you instead - sweet, radiant you who worries about everyone and everything; who wears her heart on her sleeve and still holds onto the hope that he will make it out of this ordeal alive, even though he can feel his life slipping away from him like the sands of time.

Each breath of his is labored, and Simon wishes for nothing more than to wipe away your tears or to maybe hold your soft self against his injured body, cradling you close to his heart as he vows to survive this for you. Only for you. 

Through black spots and dryness, he blinks up to look at you and he has this realization, a moment of pure ‘Eureka!’ as he observes your worsened state of being. 

You have never been prettier than this instant, crying over him and praying to any kind of deity who’d grant him the boon of life. 

Satisfied with his discovery and suddenly extremely tired, he allows himself to close his eyes, letting the fatigue win and the last thing he sees is you crying for him to stay alive and fight. 

The last thing he hears is your sobs as you beg someone, anyone to save your Lieutenant. 

Note -

Title is thanks to the song 'Pretty When You Cry' by Lana Del Rey, although I wasn't actually listening to the song while writing this.

[shadowbriar]

Regulus Black ‐ Jasmine, Lavender, and Poppy

Pairing : Regulus Black x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 0.6k Warning : Nothing, just pure fluff. Synopsis : Regulus made sure that she would never forget his scent ever again. Notes : My first blurb. Should I make more of these? If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕  

She remembers his scent well. That very special smell of oud and leather, something that portrays luxury and obscurity. Something that feels like home. Something that screams him— Regulus Arcturus Black.

But poking on Regulus has always been one of her most favourite things to do. Even before they were romantic, teasing him has always been second nature for her. His reactions have always brought her bliss. Their harmless banter is what fuels their day and it feels like the perfect time for her to pull the first taunt of the day.

"I don't smell you from the Amortentia," She lied, teasing her boyfriend whose brows are now pinched high from the offensive words she spilled "I smelled cinnamon, wet grass, and linen."

"Bullshit, I smelled you. There's no way you smelled someone else."

Shs shrugs, closing her textbook that hasn't been read ever since they entered the library, "Maybe you smelled wrong."

"I'm never wrong about these kinds of things."

"Yeah?" She challenges, propping her chin in the palm of her hand "What did you smell?"

"I smelled jasmine, lavender, and poppy."

"That doesn't smell like me. You're just listing random flowers."

Regulus raised an eyebrow, "Your perfume's base is jasmine. You drop a few lavender oil to your seal wax on all of our letters. Your garden is filled with poppies. You are jasmine, lavender, and poppy."

A smile blooms on her face. It was one thing to be satisfied by teasing your boyfriend and another to have him spelling the little details of you. Regulus has always been the observant party of the two, she just never realised how much of her he's taking notes of.

"Also, Love, your house is always decorated with those three flowers on every corner. You are what I smelled from Amortentia. You are my soulmate."

"Well, no one said Amortentia smells like your soulmate. They say it smells like someone you're attracted to so maybe that's why." She continues her scheme, concealing her blooming heart "Maybe I'm attracted to someone else now."

Regulus' brows rose higher, looking even more appalled at her words, "Are you being serious right now?"

She shrugs.

Regulus stood from his seat. Perhaps teasing him in the library when they're the last people there wasn't such a brilliant idea. Merlin knows what he might do now. Regulus might be a calm and collected person but wrong poke and you'll wake the fury inside him.

She started to inch away, pushing her seat back until it hit the wall, giving her no other space to escape. Regulus kneeled down, levelling to her eye level and eyes her deeply. His brows were still knitted in displease but his eyes were soft. Her plan to keep an aloof expression has evidently failed as a playful smile cracks on her lips, anticipating for his next move whilst praying that he wasn't genuinely angry.

"You're a menace." He says before kissing her.

Regulus pulled her chair closer, locking her in place as he put his hands on her sides. It wasn't like she's planning to leave, anyway. No one in their right mind would want to go when they're being kissed by him, especially with such an intimate and asserting position.

One hell of a man, Regulus is.

A victorious smile was plastered on her face when they pulled away. It was a short kiss. Just enough for him to prove to her just how wrong she is about the scents she's attracted to. Regulus knew that she was lying, that she was just trying to get his reaction, yet he complied with her charade anyway.

Regulus now stands from his position. He took off his robe, tossing it carelessly to the seat he occupied a couple minutes ago. He then takes off his jumper, making her cheeks burn from the sight. He surely knows how to keep her around.

"The library might not give you the best privacy if you're planning to go nude, Love." She comments.

Regulus rolls his eyes, handing her his jumper, "Wear it."

"Why?"

"So you won't ever forget my scent again."

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"tea" - emily prentiss x fem!liasion!reader

summary: you make a cup of tea to help you sleep

wc: 1.2k

cw: none, really? mostly fluff, & just emily being the best girlfriend ever

a/n: i'm in an emily phase rn and i'm not responsible for the fics i write ok ly all bad

A teal, ceramic mug with I <3 MYRTLE BEACH carved into it is cradled between both your hands as you lean against the kitchen counter. Your sleepovers at Emily’s apartment have become more and more frequent these days, which is lucky for you, really, because now you have a drawer where you can keep your comfortable, printed pajama sets. The set you have on tonight is blue, decorated with cartoon puppies. The shorts ride up your ass a little as you lean against the counter, but it’s no matter to you. Not right now, not when you’re the only one awake.

Or so you thought. 

Emily’s steps are akin to that of a kitten as she pads into the kitchen. Her ivory skin is the first thing you see, standing out in contrast of her dimly lit apartment. Then her dark hair, pulled up in a chaotic bun on the top of her head, leaning a little to the left because she always sleeps on her side. 

“Shit, Em, did the kettle wake you?” You grimace as she treads softly towards you. Her eyes squint to adjust to the light you have on over the range, and she reaches a closed fist out to chuck your chin playfully on her way to the refrigerator. 

“It’s alright,” she says, her voice like sandpaper compared to the usual velveteen you hear all day long. She must have been deep asleep, then. You feel a pang of guilt tug at your heart as you take a long sip of your tea. Emily grabs a handful of green grapes from the bowl in the fridge, popping one into her mouth. She glides to stand against the kitchen island, opposite a small stretch of linoleum from you. “You’re having trouble falling asleep again?” 

You shrug a little, trying to be nonchalant about it, but the truth is, you’ve been unable to fall asleep for a few weeks now. You chalk it up to a bad case about a month ago - unfortunately, both the unsub and their latest victim didn’t make it. You’ve had cases that didn’t end well before, but this victim was a young girl and you can’t help the way this one lingers in the back of your mind, like a bad aftertaste. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, baby,” Emily says before crunching down on a grape, the last one in her hand. You set your tea down on the counter beside you and cross the linoleum street that separates you and your girlfriend, wrapping your arms around her neck. Her satin pajamas tickle your cheek as you press your forehead into the crook of her shoulder. 

You cling to her like a koala and Emily just keeps her hands on your waist, holding you closely as you embrace her. She smells like jasmine and vanilla, and you almost want to chastise her because you know that means she stole your perfume. 

“My head just feels very full these days,” you sigh after a few moments, pulling away. Emily uses her hold on your hips to guide your back against the kitchen island. You hoist yourself up onto it and Emily moves to stand between your legs. 

“It’s that Oregon case, isn’t it?” she asks, tucking your hair behind your ear with one hand, the other palm resting flat on your thigh. 

“How’d you know?” you ask, an eyebrow quirking upward. 

“You asked Reid to help you finish your report on it,” Emily begins. “Two out of three cases since then have revolved around young girls, like you’re overcompensating, and Derek told me he saw you zoning out by the coffee machine while Anderson and JJ were discussing the case.”

You feel pink rush to your cheeks. All of Emily’s evidence is factual, much as it pains you to admit. “Is that all?” you deadpan, feeling a little sheepish. You also want to lay into your coworkers for being such tattletales. As the Communications Liaison, you generally maintain a well-rounded, professional disposition, but you suppose even your attitude at work has been lacking recently. 

“And, y’know, the gut feeling,” Emily adds. “You’ve been a little slower getting ready for work, almost like you’re dreading it.” 

“We agreed, no more profiling at home,” you remind her. She runs her thumb over the dimple in your chin. 

“It’s not profiling, it’s knowing my girlfriend,” Emily bites back with a compassionate sincerity that makes you want to eat her alive. How did you get so lucky? “You’re usually dragging me out of bed in the mornings, not the other way around.” 

You rake your fingers through her hair, meeting her dark eyes in the soft, dim light of the kitchen. This is as romantic a backdrop as any, in your opinion - lovelier than Paris, Rome, and London combined. You’ve always heard that to be loved is to be known, and boy, does Emily know you. 

“Well, I’m sorry for waking you up,” you concede in a slight change of subject, tracing your thumb across her hairline. “D’you want some tea? It’s that herbal stuff for sleep that Penelope recommended.” 

Emily shakes her head, kissing your jaw gently, then your cheek, finally your lips. It’s brief but it carries so many words. “No, thank you,” she says in a whisper, then steps back, grabs your cup from the other counter, and hands it to you. 

You take a drink, the warmth seeping in through your nostrils. “Do you love Myrtle Beach, Em?” you ask with a small laugh as you examine the mug in your hands. It’s obviously handmade, with the splotches of teal paint and weird lumps - and the lack of a handle. 

Emily just laughs, turning around and hoisting herself up onto the countertop beside you. You eye her smooth legs sticking out of those black, satin pajama shorts, and, uncontrollably, you set your mug down and place a hand over her thigh. “I’ve actually never been to Myrtle Beach,” she says. “I bought that at a thrift store.”

“So, you buy designer pajama sets off the rack, but you shop for your mugs secondhand?” you chortle a little, drawing circles into the sliver of pearly white thigh peeking out from her shorts.

“Yep,” Emily confirms, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word and shooting you a sideways smirk. “I like some things luxurious, but other things with lots of personality.”

“And which one am I?” you ask all-knowingly, leaning a little closer so your mouth was mere centimeters for hers.

“Oh, c’mon, now, you know you’re both.” Emily teases, then kisses you softly. 

You smile into the kiss, one hand curving against the smooth angle of her jaw to keep her face by yours for just a moment longer. “I really am sorry I woke you up,” you whisper as you pull away. 

“Don’t be,” Emily insists, resting her forehead against yours. “If it comes down to staring at the ceiling all night or waking me up by making tea, just wake me up. Okay?” 

You start to pull back, but Emily’s hand cups your cheek to keep your eyes on hers. “Okay?” she repeats. 

You nod. “Mhm. Okay, Em.” 

“Good, sweet, lovely girl,” Emily murmurs, pecking your lips once more before hopping off the counter. She offers you a hand to help you down. “Let’s try again, shall we?”

[thedivineden]

Bible Study

pairing: tomura shigaraki x reader

Genre: smut

Tags: Fem!, Dubcon, religious themes, manipulation, sexual themes, age gap, no quirk, breeding, unprotected sex, dumbification

“No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other.” Matthew 6:24

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Over and over, you could hear the man in your ear. Whispers of the Lord’s Prayer embedded on your brain, you must think of something else, anything else. “Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us” you could hardly contain yourself as you opened your eyes, the from the stained glass windows seem to illuminate the indiscernible halo perched on his head. “and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” He had you hooked, “Amen.”.

“Amen.”

You could hardly contain your excitement as you marched out the door towards your parents. Your session with Minister Shigaraki had you on cloud nine. Even if you couldn’t interact with him for more than 10 seconds before someone else is running up to him, being in his presence is a blessing. Despite the initial annoyance, you understand the effect he has on the congregation. Not only is he incredibly handsome, but his words have a way of touching people.

“Come on sweetheart, we need to get home. We can’t be late to dinner.” responding with a quiet yes ma’am you trail behind you family. Shuffling down the corridor and out the door you could feel the July heat swell around you. Even with the barge of people you still manage to catch a familiar smell of spice and soft sage. He’s nearby. Whipping your head around you see priest shigaraki a few feet behind you with that dazzling smile plastered on his face.

His movements are so smooth, the way he weaves through the crowd halts you. It felt like time was moving slow, In a few strides he was in front of you, smiling from eye to ear. It didn’t matter what it was, you were always available to talk to Father Tomura. In a few strides he was in front of you. It felt like time stopped for you two, there was an undeniable connection and you know he felt it too.

“I’m glad I caught you, it seems like you leave something every Sunday. It’s almost a routine” he says with a light chuckle, you knew he would come running after you. He’s the reason this doltish crush continues. If he allows it, then the lord is truly on your side. “Apologies minister, I am rather forgetful.” Laying your hand upon the scarf you brush his hand lightly pulling away. “I do have a rather important matter to discuss with you. Can you meet me in my office after Tuesday night bible study.” Immediately a smile stretches across your face replying with a sheepish yes, “I knew I could count on you, have a blessed darling and stay out of trouble!” The moment he turns from you the world seems dull.

Sunday dinner came and went as normal, it was nice to spend time with family but draining when it comes to your older cousins. They made it very evident that the Priest is only reason to attend church. “I bet you he’s never even fucked someone before, he screams virgin.” Your cousin jasmine says passing the phone to your cousin Brianna. “ No girl, he’s definitely fucked before. You should see what he looks like under the robe.”

That statement alone makes you ears hot. How the fuck does she know what he looks like under his robe. As if she knew you were looking at her, she whipped around to face you smirking. “What’s wrong cuz? Got something you want to ask?” Flustered wasn’t even the word for you right now, you wanted to know. “H-How do you know what he looks like under his robe?” Without another word, jasmine is closing her room door turning the lock. “You have to promise to keep this a secret, we didn’t know he was getting undressed.” They were watching him get undressed?

Would God punish you for this? The pure terror you felt is all the conformation you need but the heat swelling below beckoned for more. “I only want to see because I don’t believe you.” Eyes rolling jasmine pulls out her phone, scrolling through her photos she throws her phone across the room at you. Landing next to you is a photo of the man himself.

Minister Tomura in the back room of the church, cerulean hair pulled back with his robe draped around his waist revealing his large carven chest. Your eyes were glued to the screen. Looking up at your cousin, cheek hot, you ask “can you send this to me?” Giggles and laughs erupt from the two as your throw the phone back to her.

The moment you arrived home you set to finish your chores and participate in night prayer. “Sweetie, can you lead the prayer tonight?” A feeling of shame seem to wave over you and disappear once the intercession began. “Now I lay me down to sleep” you can hear a voice in the back of your head. “I pray the Lord my soul to keep” maybe it’s a spirit trying to send a message. “Watch and guard me through the night” the voice whispering how they will watch over you fills you with warmth. “And wake me with the morning light.” Implicitly wishing father tomura would bless you with his presence, the image of his rope hanging off his waist fresh in your mind. “Father, you know my worries and care for my troubles.” Opening your eyes you can see your mother in front of you, eyes closed reciting the word unaware of your sickly desires.“So I give these heavy concerns to you, Amen.”

“Amen. Thank you sweetie, I love you. Goodnight”

Your night was far from over. It seems as if your knees are bolted to the floor, your ill feeling can only compare to shame and guilt. What would mother say if she knew I was calling out to our pastor instead of the lord. When you heard a ding come from your phone all shame null in your mind, you knew what it was and your mind was racing.

Getting up from the floor you close your bedroom door triple checking the lock before running over to your desk. Phone in hand you make your way over to your bed climbing under the covers. Your heart is racing the sound of it thumping in your ears.

Opening your cousin message eyes landing on the fatal image you saw earlier. Just the thought of him made you immoral, sinful thoughts plague your mind asking the lord for forgiveness before you’re rolling up your nightgown. You swear you can smell spice and sage as you trace shallow small circles around your clit. God, please forgive me.

What would he think if he saw you like this? Your finger speed up whimpering for the man craving for release. Chest heaving you can imagine him over you, praising you, fondling you. The thought of it all sends you over an intense orgasm strikes through you. Sitting up in your bed throwing your legs to the side you slide down to the floor on your knees and pray for your transgression.

Waking up on Monday morning was dreadful for you. Your body felt heavy and your mind is racing, thoughts of last nights dallying has you shaking you head. I need to get it together. Minister Tomura was a background thought as you went to class. Your day is as normal as it can be taking your exams, thinking about priest tomura, attending office hours with your professors, masturbating in the bathroom to his picture again, volunteering at the homeless shelter, and begging god for forgiveness in your driveway.

Mentally you were falling apart. Laying back in the seat you recount your day. The photo of your very own priest has plagued your mind. You were beyond forgiveness, there is no way you’ll be able to look him in the eye on Sunday. He would call you a pervert. What if your mother found out? The buzzing in your ears seems to increase with every thought. Your chest felt tight breathing becoming ragged and shallow. How could you be so disgusting?

Before you have a chance to spiral again a knock on your window startles you. Reclining your seat forward you see an all familiar cerulean head of hair. The universe seems to be playing a practical joke on you, why would your pastor be in your driveway. “Why are you sitting in the car?” Nope, this is definitely him, and you could hardly stop the disgusting abstractions from popping up. Punishment is due soon for you.

After having a short and awkward conversation with Minister Tomura in the driveway, you both made your way through the front door and towards the dining room. You didn’t even have a chance to ask what he was doing here. What if he knows about the picture? “Oh! Minister! I’m so glad you were able to stop by! Go wash up sweetie, dinner is almost ready.”

Palms sweaty you head up the stairs to your room. Your stomach has a mix of butterflies and ill. After freshening up you put on some comfortable clothes and head downstairs. your ears were practically on fire trying to hear the conversation from the steps. Rounding around the corner met with the eyes of your mother, father, and pastor seated at the dining table. “Hope the party didn’t start without me” letting out a nervous chuckle you take a seat next to Tomura.

The smell of spice and sage dance at the tip of you nose, his smell is intoxicating sitting so close to him makes you want to pounce. Who cares if your parents see. You’d suffer through the embarrassment if it means you can having him buried inside of you. “Did you hear your mother?” snapped out of your daze your eyes dart across the table. “Aah apologies Minister, my child has a tendency to daydream.” you can hear a small chuckle come from the man. It sent chills down your spine.

“This is the first time I’ve seen her like this. She’s so vocal in study, I don’t know what I would do without her.” in that moment you felt like your heart would jump out your chest. There is no way Father Tomura hand is resting on your thigh. You immediately put your hand on top of his offering a small smile. This is the best night ever. Once dinner is over you start clearing the table retreating to the kitchen placing the plates and pots into the soapy water.

The sound of the clanging pots drowns out the sound of your parents and guest laughing. You didn’t even notice a presence behind you until you felt hands on your shoulders. Tilting your head up you’re greeted with a toothy smile. “H-Hello Minister, is there anything you need?” disappointment crashed on you when his hand left your shoulder. “I just wanted to know if you need any help? It would be rude of me not to help my favorite congregant.” You were his favorite? It fell so smooth out of his mouth it made your knees weak

“Of course Father, I would never deny your help. You’re a good man.” You can hardly think straight. Why is he so silent? What if he thinks you’re gross or trying to hit on him? You can feel his slender finger under your chin lifting your head up to meet his eyes. “You think I’m a good man?” small shocks flow through your body, you were hot under his touch. “I do! I think you’re a good man. I’ve seen how you connect with people it’s like you get them not only physically but spiritually an-“ his lips on yours send you into overdrive.

“Thank you for your hospitality and the lovely dinner. I’ll see you at tomorrow night bible study?” turning to you, offering him a small nod, he wishes you and your family a good night. Heading to your room you close and lock the door. You can still feel his lips on yours, you would give everything to him if he asked. Tuesday morning came faster than you thought soon you were out the bed and on your way to work. Tomura being the first and only thing on your mind. Was he thinking about you too? Of course not. He has better things to worry about than some kiss.

It wasn’t just some kiss to you, thoughts about how soft his lips were and how your tongues dances with each other. Recalling how his hand slid around your waist holding the small of your back. His finger no longer under your chin but sliding through your braids. You were on cloud nine. How could he not feel the spark between you two, you belong together. Once you arrived at work your mind shifts between holding meetings and filling complaints out you had no time for distractions.

Only when your workload is complete and you’re in the car the excitement hits you. You have to know what the kiss meant. Your unwavering devotion and desire for him expands beyond the holy gates. He’s all you can dream of, who you touch yourself to — he is truly deserving of worship and praise. Upon arriving to the church you sat in the parking lot for ten minutes asking and pleading with God to lead you on the right path to guide you with strength and compassion.

The horde of teens and kids comes into view once you lift your head up, you were going to need to head in at some point. Exiting the car you make your way to the double oak doors, the moment you step in you notice the empty pews making your way to the back room.

Past the open doorway you have a clear view of an angel. Everything about him is heaven sent, from his slender jawline to his scarred lips. Every inch of him is perfect. “Good evening Minister” it’s so sweet and natural in your mouth your excitement dissipates the moment he opens his mouth. “We’re holding independent group sessions, you have your own. Good luck.” he didn’t even give you a chance to respond leaving you stunned as he sits at the opposite end of the room.

He avoided you the whole night, it felt like your heart was shattering. It’s infuriating. You actually thought he would be interested in you? Now you’re watching him laugh with members of the church. The quicker you can leave the better. Making your way out you exchange pleasantries with familiar faces. Standing right by the door is tomura, greeting him with a smile you ask “Is there something I can help you with father?”

“I hope you’re not leaving we having had our discussion yet.” his unwavering smile made you feel delicate, you didn’t even notice how he stepped forward backing you away from the door. All you want is for him to hold you in his arms and never let go. “No, I was just stepping out for some fresh air.” with a reassuring smile he steps aside holding the door open for you. “Head into my office when you get back, I’ll be done soon.” softly nodding you make your way outside.

Your mind is reeling the only thing that keeps you sane is praying. ‘Heavenly Father, thank You for Your great faithfulness in my life. I choose to flee from lust, because I know You will empower me to follow righteousness, faith, love, and peace with all who call on you out of a pure heart. Amen.’ once your mind is at peace you head inside gunning for the ministers’ office.

You hear the large double doors slam shut and lock the sound of his footsteps down the corridor. The hair on the back of your neck is raising your hands bunching the ends of your dress out of nervousness. Once the door opens he’s apologizing “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Taking a seat in the leather brown chair his arms immediately crossover his chest. “What we did last night was inappropriate. I have to apologize for my transgression” your heart is thumping so hard, if you don’t say something now you’re going to lose him.

“I have a confession father.” lifting his head up to look at you made you neurotic, “I-I haven’t thought about anything else since last night, if I must be frank, I think about you a lot even in the most shameless ways.”. Eyes bouncing between the floor and his gaze, his expression is unreadable a sigh leaving his lips he says “Confess your sins child and I can set you free.” Patting his lap you get out of you seat circling around the amber desk swiveling the massive chair around you find purchase on his thighs. You can feel his slender fingers snaking around your waist palming at your sides breath hot on your ear he whispers “what thoughts have been tormenting your pretty little head?”

All confidence went out the window the moment he spoke those words into your ear, “It’s too embarrassing to say, I don’t want you to think less of me.” The grip he had around your waist tightened “my sweet flower, I could never think ill of you.” planting a kiss behind your ear you body involuntary jolts forward. The friction between his pants and your cotton panties made you melt. God has answered your prayers.

“I touch myself whenever I think about you.” No words left his mouth he only hummed bouncing you on his thigh. Small whines escape you lips, your bodies were so close. He sighed at your naivety “Is that all, those th-“. “Even now as I sit here I can only think about your touch.” your mind is blank the only thing you can focus on is grinding. release is your only concern. The grip he had around your waist tightened halting your climax.

Tears fall from your eyes “I’m so sorry father, I-I didn’t mean to!” overwhelmed with shame and arousal trying to squirm out of his grip. “Don’t be disobedient. Let me take care of you, get rid of impure thoughts” picking you up bridal style he sits you down on his desk. “Lay back for me sweetheart” obeying his command you lay back on the desk holding the end of your dress over your panties.

A low chuckle follows this action your hand jerked away from your dress. “Don’t get shy on me sweetheart. You were just riding my thigh, confessing your sins. You feel no shame.” His words were harsh, but he only spoke the truth. Father Tomura is never wrong. His words were harsh but you knew he would never steer you wrong. “Be a good girl and I’ll make sure these thoughts go away.” standing in between your thighs you can feel his hands sliding up your legs.

Slowly he trailed caressing and massaging every inch of you. His touch is so soft and soothing the butterflies in your stomach, it made you feel loved. Working his way up your panties sliding your underwear off. You don’t see him bundle them up in his pocket as he brings your legs to his shoulders. Tomura bent down swiping his tongue through your slit without warning. Your thighs snapped around his head — your hands attempt to push him off, as the grip he had around your legs tightened he forces your legs open.

“Tomura~ please.” your pleas were null to him. “It’s Father Tomura, if you can’t get it right you won’t get anything at all.” pouting you relax your legs allowing him to dive in between you legs. He was gentle and reassuring at first. Tracing small circle on your clit teasing your hole with his tongue. Whimpers and prayers fall off your tongue fingers tangled in his hair. Tomura could hardly contain himself sucking and pulling at your clit. Tomura wants to see how far you can go, how much he can make you cum.

You were so sensitive, his actions were beyond making you cum. He wants to feel you around his dick moaning and screaming his name. Deciding to speed up the process his finger ghost over your hole trying to get his fingers wet with your slick before easing his fingers into your sopping cunt. His eyes are zoomed on you — he’s watching the way you grab the desk, the spit spilling out the corner of your mouth “Ahh~ Tomura, slow down.”. Completely disregarding your request he continued to pump his finger curling them to hit your sweet spots.

The pressure in you stomach is unbearable you were practically begging him to slow down. Just looking at you made hard. He wants to fuck you into the table, tears rising in your eyes he takes this moment to slide is fingers out and unlatch from your clit. Eyes wide you try to make an escape before he slaps your clit hard. “No! Please!!” all of your tension and shame is washed away letting the pleasure surge through you. You were soaking, wetting the minister and his robe pathetically covering your face with your arms.

The best part about this is he has full view of your cunt clenching around nothing.You’re practically begging for it. Untying his robe let’s it fall to his ankles pulling you to the edge of the desk. His juice soaked hand came up to you face slightly caressing it as he teases your entrance with his tip. His movements were so smooth — one moment he’s leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, next he’s bullying your cunt with his cock. “Repeat after me, Lord, forgive me for I have sinned before you. Wash away my sin, purify me, and help me to turn from this sin.”

Your eyelids were heavy you reaching for something maybe some solace from his dick kissing you cervix. Eyes fluttering open you can see the furrow of his, the stern look he is giving you reminds you that silence wasn’t an option. His hand rose again coming down on your clit with force. A squeal erupts from you as your hips jolt forward, breathlessly you recite the prayer “Lord, f-forgive me for I have sinned before you. Aah~ wash away my sin, purify me, and help me to turn from this sin.”. The way your cunt is convulsing around his dick makes him feel invincible. The sounds you’re making alone sends him over. He’s only focused on release.

His dick jumped at the thought of desperate inexperienced girls opening their legs for him. You were the perfect vision of sin. “Father Tomura~ I can’t hand-“ you words cut off by his lips smashing onto yours. “Just push a little hard for me sweetheart, I know you can do it. Look at how easy you’re taking me right now” you response were incoherent and thats exactly how he wants you. His groans made the tensity in your womb crack. You wrap your arms around his shoulder and tighten your legs around his waist.

His kisses and stormed become messy and deep, it felt his smell is suffocating you. He wants to absorb everything you have. Feeling the way your cunt is fluttering and gushing around him it’s begging to be filled and defiled. “You’re such a good girl, I’m going give you a reward. A present from god.” Burying his head in the crook of your neck satisfaction is all you felt. Your orgasm takes a new form within you, nails digging into his back your hips are fucking into him chasing, pleading for relief.

His pace is brutal the thought of filling your lewd cunt made his mouth water. Drool coaxing the side of your neck a low growl causing your body to shake “cum f’me sweetheart~”. Fireworks exploded through your body, you can hardly formulate words as squirt cover both your abdomens. The corners of your eyes succumb to darkness as Father Tomura restlessly pounds into you. His teeth engrave your neck, praises and apologies fall off his tongue, “M’gonna fill you up. You’re such a good girl, squeezing my dick like this. M’gonna give you what you want”.

His grip is shaky the twitch of his dick is evident, he’s hooked your legs around his arms deepening the position. Tomura felt pure bliss being buried in you, his mind was hazy, the once relentless pace faltering as he fills you up. The only sounds in the room were shallow breaths, lifting his head you expecting pure joy across his face. Disgust. “You’re so disappointing. I thought you were better than this.” As he let your legs sliding out of you, he continued his verbal assault. “You seduced a holy man and allow a man who isn’t your husband taint you.”

The room feels cold. You rose quickly reaching out for him catching his arm. “I’m sorry father! I am disappointing! I-I can be better, I can do better! Snatching away from you he rounds his desk sitting in his chair, almost instinctively you were in front of him on your knees. One of his hands gently grasp the side of your face. Wiping the tears from your eyes. “Show me.”.

[syoddeye]

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price x f!reader | ~450 words tags: makeshift gag, noncon touching a/n: don't know what this is, no plans to continue it. just vibes. ✨

A conflux of competing factors led John into the garden, herding her into the far reaches of the hedges. Bullying her step by step, goading that sharp tongue into hissing and spitting all sorts of threats unbecoming of her station. Pushing on, dragging a rough breath through his nose when her eyes saucered. He relished her realization, too late, of course, for it to save her from him.

“Spare me your bleating.” He chides, stuffing his handkerchief past her lips to muffle her pleas with checkered silk. Satisfied, he squeezes her wrists above her head and hums.

His hand hooks into her waistband, yanking her pants down, not bothering to unfasten them first. It hurts, probably pinching her waist and chafing her thighs. Inconsequential, as are the popping stitches, though a tearing seam earns him an angry noise. She should’ve thought of her poor clothes before she took a tone.

Something like Someone will see bleeds through the fabric.

“No one’s gonna see.” John assures, voice steady and calm despite his squirming charge and task at hand. He presses close, dragging the tip of his nose along her throat, lips brushing goose-pimpled skin. His nostrils flare, smelling a blend of sweat and jasmine. “Everybody knows they’ll have to deal with me if they do.”

He’d gouge out their eyes for their trespass.

Face buried in the crook of her neck, he licks and sucks idly. Sweet and salty, the heat of the day lending flavor. His whiskers must feel like sandpaper to skin as soft as hers, the spoiled and pampered creature. How many hours he’s spent staring at this skin, keeping watch, left wondering about the extent of her softness. His hand skims south over her belly and between her legs, three fingers sliding over the gusset of her underwear, gently tapping her covered cunt.

A smothered, weak whimper tickles his ear.

“Now,” he purrs, nipping where her neck meets her shoulder, voice low and commanding. “You gonna behave f’me?”

It’s mean. She can’t answer, not really. Not with her mouth occupied or the distractingly slow massage of his fingers. And yet—a single word escapes. It sounds like Stop.

“I’ll stop when you promise to behave,” he offers. “To take your safety seriously.”

John pulls back to watch her for a moment, assessing her reactions. The fluttering of her eyelids, the stubbornly withheld tears, and the sheen on her forehead. He holds her to a knife edge, middle finger pushing insistently over her hole through the give of the fabric. He knows she’s nearly there, that her body is screaming at her to be good, to just listen to him. He also knows she’s stubborn, that it’ll take more than a few stern words and a little heavy petting to break her resolve.

“But until I see improvement,” he adds, fingers drumming the wetness between her legs, chest rumbling at how the cotton’s gone glassine against her glistening cunt. “I will take your obedience one orgasm at a time.”