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artficlly · 2 days ago

Text

read between the lines [one-shot]

college marvel au frat!jock!bucky x cheerleader!reader tutoring bucky barnes was already distracting enough, but leaving your diary in his room? that is a whole new problem.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, tutoring, first kiss, college au, vague panic from reader, idk it's just kinda fun and cute :), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: hi this was for a request! so so cute, i wrote this so fast i didn't even think i would have it ready to post so quickly. idk anything about cheerleading or how college works in america, so forgive me. inspired by that willow song! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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I’ve been tutoring Bucky.

Well, James, technically. But he goes by Bucky. Says it’s a childhood nickname and it just stuck, and honestly? That’s kind of adorable. Like, who clings to a nickname that hard? Even the professors call him that, which should be cringe, but somehow it’s not? It just suits him. I literally don’t think I could call him James even if I tried. ‘Bucky’ feels right. It sounds warm. Familiar. Stupidly charming.

Ugh. Anyway.

He’s in one of those frats I usually stay far away from. The kind that smells like cheap beer and Axe body spray. Always yelling, always playing music way too loud, always shirtless for no reason. I swore I’d never waste my time on a guy like that. I really thought he was gonna be a cocky, arrogant douche when I first got assigned to tutor him.

But he’s not. Like… at all?

He’s actually really nice. Like, unfairly nice. That casual kind of nice that makes you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed. He remembers stuff I say. Not the big stuff, the tiny stuff. Like how I chew my pen when I’m stressed, or how I like lemon Gatorade for cheerleading practice. And yesterday he brought me those sour gummy worms I mentioned ONE time. Just handed them over all casual like, ‘Thought you might want a little sugar after practice.’ Who does that?? Like… stop. That’s not fair.

But of course, he’s like that with everyone. That’s the worst part. He’s charming in this totally effortless way. Looks at you like you’re the most interesting person alive and then turns around and does the exact same thing to someone else. How am I supposed to know what’s real?

And GOD. He’s hot. Like, it’s actually rude. He laughs and it does something to me. Like full-on makes my brain stop working. And his ARMS?? Every time he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows I lose one year off my life. For real. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. (I mean, he’s not, but like… what if he is???) Sometimes I forget what I’m even explaining because he’s just sitting there smiling at me with those eyes and that stupid little smirk and suddenly I’m thinking about kissing him instead of confidence intervals. It’s not okay.

He’s on the football team. Scholarship guy. Big deal. Girls are obsessed with him. I’ve literally heard people talk about him in the locker room like he’s a celebrity. And me? I’m just… I don’t know. I’m me. I cheer and I study and I try not to let my GPA fall apart and I pretend I’m not crushing on someone completely out of my league.

So no. I’m not gonna say anything.

Because maybe I did catch him looking at me the other day when I tied my hair up. Maybe he does stay a little longer when we’re done. Maybe he leans in a little closer than necessary. But maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want it too bad and I’m just reading into everything. I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to get hurt.

So I’m gonna do what I’m supposed to do. Help him pass stats. Smile when he brings me candy. Laugh at his dumb jokes. Pretend like my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time he says my name.

I’m just going to help him pass stats. That’s all this is. Right? God, I’m so dumb.

—

You were fucked. Well and truly screwed.

You couldn’t even focus during practice. Missed counts, off-beat claps, a completely botched dismount that nearly took you and the poor girl spotting you both out in one go. Natasha pulled you aside with that look—the one that said she was two seconds away from losing it—and muttered something about getting your shit together because the big game was in a week and this wasn’t the time to be spacing out.

But how were you supposed to focus? Your diary was missing.

Your actual, physical, spiral-bound diary filled with every unfiltered thought you’d been too scared to say out loud. The same one where you’d spent the last four pages gushing about Bucky freaking Barnes like some sad, delusional teenage cliché. You didn’t even want to think about what you wrote last night, something about his arms and the way he smiles and how you swore he looked at you differently when you tied your hair up. It was humiliating.

You never should’ve taken it out of your room. You knew it was a bad idea. But Yelena had been on one of her ‘I’m bored and nosy’ benders, and the last time you left anything out, she’d read your old poetry journal and quoted it back to you at breakfast. You weren’t about to risk that again. So, like a total idiot, you shoved your diary in your bag before heading to class, thinking you’d keep it safe with you.

The entire day had been chaos. You barely managed to scarf down lunch between lectures, and by the time your 3 p.m. class let out, you were already sprinting across campus to make it to Bucky’s place for tutoring. Not that you actually got much tutoring done. You never did, not when he looked at you with that stupid, easy grin, or leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him. One second you were going over statistical formulas, and the next you were talking about childhood pets and favourite movies, laughing like you hadn’t just been drowning in assignments ten minutes earlier. Time always slipped away around him. You ended up bolting to cheer practice.

It wasn’t until hours later, back in your dorm with your bag dumped upside down on the floor, that you realised your diary was missing. Your diary.

You’d spent a solid hour panicking, then a full thirty minutes rummaging through the lost and found at the campus security office, practically elbow-deep in a box of mismatched gloves and cracked phone cases. The guy behind the desk eventually looked up from his screen, where he was rather obviously playing solitaire, and told you with the energy of someone who very much did not care that maybe it hadn’t been handed in.

You wanted to scream.

Now your most personal, most mortifying thoughts were just out there. Floating around. God only knew where or with who. And sure, maybe whoever found it wouldn’t read it. Maybe they’d be a decent human being and just turn it in without flipping through. But let’s be honest, if you found a diary with someone’s deepest secrets in it, you’d probably peek too.

You were going to be sick. Actually sick. And not because Natasha had you running suicides again like she was training you for the NFL, but because your life might genuinely be over. Because if he found it? What if you left it in his room? What if Bucky read even one word of what you wrote?

You didn’t even want to finish that thought.

No, you literally couldn’t even finish that thought because, as Natasha finally called for the end of the session and the team began their warm-down stretches, swapping tired smiles and gulping down water, you saw him.

Bucky.

Standing at the edge of the field in that stupid grey hoodie, sleeves pushed up, all smug and handsome like he hadn’t just shown up to ruin your entire existence. He had that lazy, charming smile on his face, the one that made people trust him too fast, the one that made you trust him too fast, and in his hand?

Glittery blue cover. Spiral binding. Your diary.

You were going to throw up. No, genuinely, you could feel your stomach lurch. This was it. This was how you died. Not in a blaze of glory or during a botched basket toss, but here, sweaty, humiliated, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of the goddamn football field.

You didn’t even think. You just stormed over before anyone else could notice, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind the bleachers like it was a crime scene. Which it kind of was. A crime against your dignity.

Bucky didn’t protest. He followed easily, letting you pull him along like it was some sort of game. Of course he did. And of course, he was smiling the whole time, like you hadn’t just gone into cardiac arrest ten feet away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely speak. It rattled in your chest like a warning, like it knew this moment was about to go down in your personal hall of shame.

“Where…how…why do you have that?” you hissed, snatching at the diary, but he held it just out of reach, still annoyingly calm.

He raised a brow, like you’d just asked him what two plus two was. “You left it at my place. After tutoring. You were in a rush, remember?”

No. No, no, no, no, no. Of course, it had been his place. Of course.

“I—I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, I just—” You were spiralling, words tumbling out too fast, too breathless, and your fingers were twitching like you might just snatch the book and sprint across campus. “Did you…Did you read it?”

A beat. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you.

And then, God, he smiled. Not the cocky one, not the football-star grin. This one was softer. Slower. Dangerous.

Your stomach dropped.

“I read enough,” he said.

You froze.

Your ears rang. Your mouth went dry. Your body just stopped.

“Enough?” you echoed, voice cracking halfway through. “Enough of what? Enough to—oh my God.”

You turned away instinctively, hand over your mouth like that could somehow keep your soul from escaping your body. Because what did that mean? What was ‘enough?’ Enough to ruin your life? Enough to laugh about it with his frat brothers? Enough to tell every girl on campus that the cheerleader who couldn’t even stick a full-out had a crush on him?

You didn’t even realise you were pacing until Bucky gently caught your wrist.

“Hey. Relax,” he said, and his voice was way too steady for someone holding the social equivalent of a loaded weapon.

You yanked your arm back like his touch burned. “Relax? Bucky, that was private. It’s literally a diary! It’s not for reading, it's for… spiralling in silence!”

He tilted his head a little, watching you carefully, and if he was offended by your panic, he didn’t show it. “You left it on my bed. Open.”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands. “Please. Just kill me. Right here. Hide the body under the bleachers. I’m serious.”

Bucky chuckled—chuckled, like this was some kind of joke—and stepped closer. You could feel his presence even before you lowered your hands again.

“Why didn’t you just say something?” he asked, quiet now. “If you felt that way.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “Because I didn’t know if it meant anything! You’re nice to everyone. You flirt like it’s a reflex. You remember everyone’s drink orders, compliment their outfits, hold doors and say all the right things. I thought I was just another person you were… nice to.”

He didn’t answer your panicked rambling right away. Just looked at you for a long moment.

“Yeah, I’m nice to people. Doesn’t mean I feel the same way I feel about you.”

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, hating how small your voice sounded.

He held your gaze, completely serious now.

“Like I wanna kiss you every time you chew that damn pen cap. Like, I think about you even when I’m supposed to be studying. Like I can’t focus when you’re talking ‘cause all I do is stare at your damn lips.” He paused, and something almost like a laugh broke out of him, soft and self-conscious. “Like I’ve been trying to find a not-creepy way to tell you I like you since the second tutoring started, but you were always so focused and cool and out of my league.”

That last part made your head spin.

“Out of your league?” you repeated, eyes wide.

He smirked, stepping just a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Have you seen yourself? You’re smart, you’re so pretty it’s ridiculous, and you’ve got this whole thing where you act like you don’t know you’re the coolest girl on campus. Of course, I was nervous.”

You blinked at him. “Bucky… are you flirting with me behind the bleachers while holding my diary hostage?”

He grinned. “Maybe. Depends. Is it working?”

You tried to snatch the diary out of his hand, but he was faster, effortlessly holding it just out of reach like it weighed nothing.

“God, I hate you,” you muttered through gritted teeth, bouncing up on your toes in a desperate attempt to grab it. All it earned you was the embarrassing realisation that you were now fully pressed against his chest, warm, broad, and stupidly solid.

“You really don’t, at least not according to this—” he said, low and smug.

“Bucky!” you warned, trying to reach again, but he shifted it higher.

“Give. It. Back,” you hissed, practically climbing him at this point.

“I will,” he said, eyes flicking down to your mouth in a way that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. “But only if you let me kiss you first.”

Your brain short-circuited. Completely and entirely. The words took a second to process. His voice had dropped, softer now, more serious, like he wasn’t just messing with you anymore.

You looked up at him, heart thudding so loudly against your ribs you swore he could hear it. His eyes searched yours, and for once, he didn’t look like the effortlessly confident guy everyone knew. He looked… nervous like he was the one waiting to be rejected.

“…Fine,” you whispered, the word barely making it past your lips, but your smile gave you away. It was impossible to hide, giddy and crooked and ridiculous.

And then he kissed you.

He bent his head and closed the gap like he’d been waiting weeks for it—maybe he had. His mouth was warm and sure against yours, one arm still holding the diary hostage, the other dropping to your waist, pulling you in like he couldn’t help himself. You kissed him back without thinking, without doubting, like maybe this was the answer you’d been afraid to ask for all along.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and blinking at each other like idiots, he handed over the diary with a grin.

“Okay,” you whispered, still a little breathless. “That was… good.”

“Just good?” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed softly, thumb still brushing your cheek. “So… does this mean I get to keep seeing you after stats is over? Or do I have to fail on purpose to keep you around?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right. You’d probably kill me.”

“More like definitely.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward. He looked at you like he already knew what you were thinking. And for once, you didn’t feel like running from it.

You were so, so screwed.

But maybe… in the best way possible.

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #marvel fic #marvel au #marvel

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inknopewetrust · 2 days ago

Text

Soak

Summary: Jack knows how to cure the remnants of a difficult day.

[Jack Abbot x Doc!Fem!Reader] [WC: 3.8k]

Warnings: 18+!, themes of The Pitt and ED happenings, established relationship (married), non-sexual bathing, heavy angst, Jack is a romantic through and through and a total wife guy, mentions of therapy and trauma related to work.

You thought you’d long forgotten what it felt like to be loved—to be in love.

That intangible feeling of knowing that the nervousness of devotion meant something further omitted itself, taking residence in catacombs of empty recollections. It was amassing eons of ashes without realizing how quickly time had passed because sorrow strikes with a heavy hand.

The simplistic goodness of love became harder to grasp when the abandonment grief stole from it. Love. To be loved, or love, sounded so… childish. Or the need for it, rather, that boiled inside of you like the most warranted reward you could not catch in the palm of your hand. It slipped through, time and again, at the sake of someone or something else you’d never saddle up to. Perhaps love was of importance and priority rather than devotion and emotion. It all hung the same way in the end.

It’s the ghosts that manifest when the whiplash fades away who spur periodic devastation.

When you met with ghosts, it was hard to recall what they had looked like before. Time was a cruel fiend. It masked the memories that had once been placed upon pedestals and marred them with a grisly sheen. Yet when moments of great pain cement themselves to torture you for years, it’s far too easy to remember the lasts compared to the firsts.

But time struck you with a thunderous arrow.

Cracking across the sky for your ears only, it lodged itself in your chest and forced laborious breaths to steady a foundation unearthed by fate. Today had just been “one of those days.”

The kind where you forget that love cocooned around you. Where against devastation, a healer sat in the mist.

The department riddled itself with the calling of a executioner. Perhaps at your hands, according to some of the distraught families that passed through the halls of the ED. But you knew deep down it wasn’t any fault of your own. You tried. You tried so hard to save them. However, when a MVA comes crashing through with three carloads of victims and little hope for recovery, the grim reaper sits in the shadows waiting for the right time of emergence.

And then his scythe cuts the sound of a monitor going flat. The sound never escapes you.

The sound, and the words of the families consumed by grief, also linger far longer when the shift doesn’t seem to end. One turns into two, then three, and so forth until the relief of the day shift greets desolation with a kind smile and knowing statement of “rough night?”

But it’s not enough to make the horror disappear completely. You hear it when you transfer your charts to Collins, in the turn of your lock against your locker. You see their empty eyes behind your lids as they closed at the first sight of sun after twelve long hours. And you feel their hand going lax in yours when Jack’s crosses the center console to try and say “I’m here.”

Yet it doesn’t ground you in the way he had hoped it would. The silence calcifies at a stop light seven blocks from home.

If the radio hadn’t been lowly playing a pop tune, you would have heard the sounds of your blood pumping through your veins. The shallow breathing of chaos; a tense worry growing in your chest that the world was unraveling too quickly.

Jack’s thumb grazed the back of your hand.

“What are you thinking for breakfast?”

You didn’t hear him. Lost in that endless swirl. His voice was gone into an abyss.

“Hey.” Jack moved your hand gently. He said your name as you blinked, clearing away the fog.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly. “I was… what did you say?”

Jack dismissed your apology. “It was bad day. You don’t need to apologize.”

His hand in yours filled an empty cavern. It filled up like liquid in a jar and made your heart ache at your ignorance. Jack didn’t do anything. He was here. He was trying to comfort you. The bad days didn’t cancel out the good ones and Jack too carried with him the scars of a past he would much rather forget.

But the sun rose again on another day and no matter what, you just had to keep going.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The light still hadn’t changed.

“Not really,” you admitted. “But I’ll probably make an appointment to talk to someone about it.”

Jack nodded knowingly, thumb drawing comforting lines along the back of your hand. The light changed to green and for a moment, you were appreciative that his focus transitioned back to the road.

“That’s good.” Was all he said.

You wet your lips in anticipation of speaking more but the words halted in your throat. Breathing in shakily, your free hand ran fingers over your forehead. Jack squeezed the one he held.

“It’s ok,” he said so softly you could barely hear him over the spin of the tires against asphalt.

It’s ok. Not “you’re going to be ok” or the “situation that is completely not normal is ok” but the “it’s ok” not to be whole. That the cracks under your skin were natural after trauma. Your chin trembled as you became overwhelmed by the agony stored inside of you.

Jack hated that he couldn’t do anything more to soothe the hurt. Because when you loved someone with every fiber of your existence, the pain they carried fused with your own.

Love encompassed something larger, abstruse. It was a feeling buried deep inside of you that only awakened at the moment of greatest necessity and Jack always seemed to let that emotion bloom. It unfurled in the palm of his hand and he held tight on to it knowing what time could do if he was not careful. Jack was cautious. He walked a fine line between giving too much and never giving enough but he tried—and that’s all he was asking of you now. Try. Breathe. Breathe.

And when the tears fell four blocks from home, he let you cry in the car. He forgot about breakfast, about how nice sleep would be in a few hours.

Jack didn’t shush you. He didn’t push you to wrap up your emotional plea for the sake of the car parking in the garage. He turned off the engine and pressed the garage door closed with the remote which further shut away the world beyond.

It was just you and him and your sorrow.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed. Five minutes, ten… but the tears did end like they always did. They dried up and left you empty again.

“I just don’t know,” you started when you felt sturdy enough to talk, “how many more kids I can see die on my table.”

Suddenly, you hated being a pediatric physician. You hated that all of the kids that came into the ED found themselves in a room with painted animals and some of them saw their joyous faces and others never had the chance. You hated that parents blamed you for ending a life that had barely begun and you couldn’t fathom understanding an ounce of why they always seemed to place the blame on you.

You tried. You tried and wasn’t that enough?

“It’s their little fucking hands. Their little fingers and toes and eyes that have the life sucked out of them and I’m the last one they see.”

Jack listened. He didn’t push.

“And the parents today,” you groaned at the thought; sucking in a wet, unattractive noise to clear your senses. He loved you enough not to care.

“God… I’ve never wanted to quit until today.”

“Today was a bad day,” he repeated.

“Today was an awful day,” you corrected.

“You’re going to carry it with you forever.” You knew his intrusive stare was targeting your face but ignored it. “You’ll never forget the ones who don’t get to see tomorrow.”

“I keep thinking,” you shook your head a little with a self-deprecating laugh, “about how I, we, get to go home after a family’s world is changed so drastically. And I pretend that nothing happened and that it’s normal to see this every other day and pretend that when I close my eyes, I don’t see them every time.”

“No one’s asking you to pretend,” Jack reminded you. He didn’t. He just coped differently.

“But I don’t know how to function otherwise, Jack. I can’t separate them anymore and I don’t know how to get back on track.”

“You said you were going to talk to someone, yeah?” He moved his head to catch your attention and those dark, hazel eyes bore into you deeply. He needed that confirmation—that you were listening and understanding him.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“Then it’s not your job yet. Okay?” He looked at you expectantly. “It’s not your job yet. It’s not going to change without help but until you get that help, talk to someone who knows how to help you, then what more can you do than breathe? I am here, baby. I will always be here.”

You had stacked the tasks. Heal, heal, heal. Find a solution, be “normal”, and find something else to hide your time with while the struggle remained.

Jack brought you back to earth. Back from the endless orbit and to the ground where he could be the one to help for what little hours of peace you were granted.

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles, then the dorsal and your wrist before turning it over and pressing into your palm repeatedly. Back and forth, back and fort, soothingly.

“Just breathe for me, alright?” He mimicked a slow intake of air before exhaling. Jack nodded at you to copy and you did. Once, then twice, and another.

“That’s it,” he encouraged.

You breathed in, then out. Over and over until that tremble of your hands ceased enough that it wasn’t the only thing he felt. Jack pressed the pressure points until your hand was pliable and unfurled with tension.

Focusing your attention, you looked out into the garage through the windshield and looked at the streaking wet remnants of water lingering behind. You hadn’t even noticed it on the way home.

“It rained?”

“Snowed,” Jack said.

“Badly?”

“Don’t worry,” Jack’s voice gained levity. You saw a flicker of a twinkle pass by his gaze when you looked toward him now. “You have the precipitation levels beat today.”

“I’m basically a prune at this point, I suppose.”

“Eh.” He let go of your hand and unbuckled his seat. “You’re a pretty prune then. The most beautiful prune I’ve ever seen.”

You shook your head at him, letting your seatbelt come undone too. “You don’t have to flatter me because you feel bad.”

“I will flatter as I please,” Jack scoffed. “You’re mine and I will compliment even if you’ve pruned the most prune-y you’ve ever pruned.”

Like routine and an attempt to lessen the burden of grief, both of you exited the vehicle and opened the doors to the back seats where your bags stored themselves on the way home. As you met Jack’s eyes across the space, he had both bags gripped in his hands.

“Jack,” you lamented.

“Go inside,” he nearly ordered. “Go change and I’ll meet you in a second.”

You sighed, holding onto the door as if it supported all of your weight.

“I can carry my own bag.”

“I know.”

“Then let me?”

He pondered it for a brief second before disagreeing. “I’ve got it.”

“J—“

“Are we really going to argue over a bag?” He asked. “Go,” he motioned to the entrance to the house via the garage. “I’ll put these away and then I’ll come find you.”

Jack wasn’t going to take the objections stored like ammunition. His stubbornness had faults but good intentions in the moment.

“Fine,” you faltered. “Alright.”

“Good.”

As you lingered a moment longer, the tiredness of it all washed over you quickly. You shut the door and felt a relief take hold upon crossing the threshold into your house. It smelled like the two of you, it felt like the both of you. It calmed when endless cycle of catatonic winters brought forth a dome of doom.

The car door closed with a beep not long after. Jack deposited the bags in the mud room along with his badge that lay in a tray beside the door. He place it atop yours and paused at the pink tint that faded into the white letters of your “doctor” plate.

It carried home. It always did.

The echos of home held sounds of you. And while his hearing wasn’t what it was twenty years ago because of the lingering legacy of service, he still knew what was you and what the ringing was. The sound of the lights going on in the bathroom that left a small hum burn through the room—you. The sounds of shoes clattering to the floor and a drawer opening in the dresser of the bedroom—you.

His life was filled with the symphony of you and even on the darkest of days, he listened to nothing but.

You felt the water run over your fingertips from the faucet. Warm and greeting, it was a luxury of the morning.

The house you had learned to love was a concession made of you both. A sanctuary of space; somewhere to heal and to love and to rest that met the untraditional needs of a unconventional household. The bathroom was one of those places. The vanity stretched across one wall with a golden, warm lighting cascading across its speckled white marble and a Spanish cedar wood beneath it.

It was spacious and accommodating. But as you looked up into the mirror and at your reflection marred from the day, your eyes caught the tub, seldom used, in the background. The porcelain often sat dry—an inconvenience because of its deep edges and lack of grip. Even in your own pampering you avoided it as habit from Jack’s own difficulties using it.

But he had insisted on it years ago. He said that you’d use it one day and yet, still, the days were far and few between.

It caught your eye now, however.

You thought about what it would be like to fill it up and see the steam roll off the top of the water in swirls. The tendrils reaching and floating to the ceiling quietly while your back would rest upon the smooth, cold ceramic.

“The pipes might be rusty.”

Jack’s voice bit through the stream of water coming from the faucet and your eyes darted to the doorway.

He stood leaning against the frame with his arms crossed at his chest. Peering at you with knowing eyes, you half-figured he knew every thought that passed through your mind at any given moment. You turned off the sink.

“I’ll just take a shower.”

“Why?” His brow furrowed. “We have a tub for a reason.”

“Yeah but it’s—“

“A really nice, expensive, tub.”

“And really excessively tall.”

“It’s a soaker.” Jack walked into the bathroom and pulled a towel from a cabinet adjacent to the shower. “They’re supposed to be big.”

You watched him moved about. “If this was another day, I would have made a joke about that.”

“I can’t wait to hear it when a better day comes.”

It was his turn to turn on a faucet—the tub. He knew you liked the water “boiling” so he turned it hot enough to warrant a longer bath. He opened up the shower door and pulled out the stool from inside of it and place it beside the tub and sat down.

“What are you doing?” You pivoted to rest against the vanity while he sat there in his dirty scrubs.

“I’m waiting for you,” he said frankly. “Come on, take off your clothes.”

He saw the way your shoulder’s sagged as your body began to take the brunt of mental pain. You challenged him to change his mind with one look but he wasn’t going to budge. The stubbornness of Abbot men ran deep within his blood.

This is what love was.

He held out his hand from his place on the stool and beckoned. You breathed in, and then out, just as you had in the car. And his hand enveloped yours once more.

“You know,” Jack started lowly, “it’s not a bad thing when someone wants to take care of you.”

His hands traveled to your hips and lifted your scrub top slowly. His touch melted warmly into the skin of your stomach and around the sides of your waist while his legs parted and brought you to stand closer. You loved the feel of his hands on your body. Not now for pleasure, but to know that he was there. He’d always be there if you let him.

“And somedays, all I want to do is make sure you’re ok. So when you’re not, I want to take care of you.”

Therapy was doing wonders for his communication.

“It’s a pity this doesn’t have a door,” you motioned down to the tub as it began to fill near the halfway line.

“Like those old fuckers have?” He looked at you with a joking offense. “I’m gray, not a hundred.”

“You know what I mean.” You knocked his shoulder with your fist. He rocked back then toward you in return. His hands pulled at your top and you helped usher it over your head.

“I would rather not be alone.”

“I’ll be right here,” his eyes laid heavy into yours.

“What if I help you?” You proposition as his grip moved to your pants. He slid them down slowly. “I can help you too. We’ve never tried it.”

“Because I’d rather not end up a patient with a description of ‘one-footed man who ate shit trying to get into a tub not made for him.’ It just doesn’t seem… right.”

You unclipped your bra and handed it to him. He put it on top the pile growing in his lap of your clothes. Instead of ogling you further, as you removed your panties and then your socks, he turned to the edge of the tub and poured soap in. Jack stirred it with his hand as the warm water radiated up his arm and the bubbles began to form around it.

Your hand found his shoulder as you tried to carefully maneuver into the tub without incident. Jack’s other hand shot out, guiding the small of your back into the water.

“Are you sure?”

The softness in your sad eyes poured into his heart. He sighed, admiring the way the bubbles hid you from view as you pulled your knees to your chest and rested your head on them.

“It’s kind of lonely in here.”

“Baby,” he let out a small chuckle. “You really want me in there?”

You nodded. The hand he had left in the water retreated and crumpled your clothes into a ball. While he was still preparing his protest, he caught the back of his shirts behind his neck and slipped them off gracefully.

“I might die for real this time.” Only people who faced actual death could joke about that.

“Well then I really don’t know what I’d do with myself,” you turned and watched as he stood to remove his pants.

“Waiting for a show?” His hands paused at the scrub ties.

��I like looking at my husband. Can’t a woman admire a handsome man?”

His lips curved into a smirk. There was a way you always distracted yourself from the flood and it was through him. Jack knew it, because he had been guilty of it too. But there was nothing telling him that when he reached the edge of the tub and you rose with your body dripping with soapy water and helping him the best you could into it, that you were trying to have sex to forget about it all.

It wasn’t healthy, for either of you, to fall into that habit.

Without incident, he slipped into the position behind you and you settled back down between his legs and for the first time, Jack was appreciative of the purchase. It was relaxing and it was peaceful.

You moved the soap bubbles between your hands in front of you as his arms rested on the sides. As he relaxed, he knew that if his eyes were to close for an extended period of time, he’d be out like a light. But you kept the water moving. Mildly lapping with every listless sway of your hand and the cupping of bubbles to be brought back down to the water.

After a few minutes the sounds ceased and though he had closed his eyes, he sensed the way you shuffled back against him and carefully, as if not to spook him, leaned backwards against his chest.

And suddenly, you were at peace.

Love floated into the spaces left cracked from the day. It caressed your arms and folded over your shoulders to hold you tightly together and feel each other in a moment of quiet reflection. A tidal wave breeched your shores again. Jack felt your body trying to ignore it. Tears slipping through your closed eyes as he nudged his head to an angle that now rested against yours.

“Just because we can’t save everyone doesn’t mean we are any less deserving of a good life,” he whispered into your ear.

Your hand cleared itself of soap underneath the water and drew back up to the side of his face, gliding across his features to leave a trail of wet and back to his hair where the strands were still damp.

“I love you so much.”

A beat.

“I love you,” you breathed.

“You are a good doctor, a great doctor,” Jack affirmed. “One day or twenty of them don’t decide you’re not.”

You thought you’d long forgotten what it felt like to be loved—to be in love.

Yet that thought was easily forgettable now.

A/N: jack abbot has been eating at my brain for weeks like a parasite and i needed to write for him so badly - also not proofed yet so don’t assassinate me

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbot #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #jack abbot x you #jack abbot x female reader #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #the Pitt #the Pitt fanfiction #the Pitt fanfic #jack abbott x reader #jack Abbott

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trampleddoves · 2 days ago

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hi! i liked your free use blurb and I was wondering if you'd do it in the reverse where the reader could use spence?

s. r. blurb 3

contents: fem!reader, free use Spencer, slight dom/sub dynamics, MDNI

Dating a nerd who all but worships the ground you walk on has certain perks.

There are the more obvious ones: he does your taxes for fun (and by hand, like the most lovable troglodyte), he takes you to lovely dates that are somehow both exciting and—if you’re being completely honest—ever so slightly boring, he is an absolute gentleman. The type who walks by the street, and would bend down to tie your laces for you.

Lesser known perks are as follows: he can recite books for you from memory—which comes in handy when you need something soft and soothing to lull you to sleep, he indulges in your little hyperfixations, and, lastly, he’s so completely desperate for you. Enough that a simple brush of your hand on his thigh has him stuttering and turning pink, the slightest pressure on his crotch sends him reeling. Certain clothes are his enemy—you wear red and there’s a tent in his pants.

It seems only fitting for you to claim his cock whenever you want. He gets hard so quickly, you might as well take advantage of it, right?

Right.

And of course, Spencer Reid—perfect, loving, incredibly intelligent—says yes to being your free use boyfriend.

Another perk of dating a nerd?

He has nothing else going for him outside of work. Granted, the BAU takes him away from you more often than not, but you simply see that as another opportunity. Just means when he’s back, you’re bouncing on his cock at every opportunity you can.

This weekend is no different. He’s been gone for four days, barely calls—he’s always been so bad at that—but being apart only heightens your need for him. Absence sharpens love after all, or whatever it is Shakespeare said. You’re sure Spencer knows it by heart, something beautiful and poetic, not the clumsy version you can recall.

So he’s home after four long days, trying to play chess, and you’re splayed on his lap, your back to his chest, grinding your hips in slow, circular motions to relish the feeling of his cock stretching you out and filling you up after being unsatisfied for the past few days.

He’s moaning. Everytime he reaches over to move a piece, you bounce on his lap to distract him, giggling at the quiver in his fingers when you clench your walls tightly around his pulsing length. You follow his hands, long fingers wrapping around a knight and moving it to take an opponent’s bishop. You start bouncing faster.

“God, honey,” he groans, accidentally knocking over a pawn in the process.

“Need your safe word?”

“No no, just—I missed you so much.” he whimpers, burying his face into your neck. He begins to buck his hips up, meeting your thrusts.

You pause immediately, hands resting on his thighs. Not that it doesn’t feel good—it does, but the whole point of this is that he continues his activities while you use him. “Did I give you permission to fuck me, Spence?”

“No,” he whines. You smile when he stops moving obediently, face lifting from your neck, “I’m sorry.” He resumes the chess game, moving a rook to take the offensive knight from before.

“Good boy.” you reward him by grinding again, more up and down this time. Leaning back into him, you drag your wet cunt all over his cock, squeezing as you do. Like a good boy, he simply continues his chess game, but you grin triumphantly as his hands tremor even more. With a hum, you bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing quick circles on the swollen nub. “White’s check in three.”

“No way.” he gasps as your pace grows rougher, riding him in quick strokes, “I could have sworn—ah!”

You come undone around him, walls tightening to a nearly painful degree. Soft, breathy gasps leave your lips as you ride him through your climax, going lax and soft in his arms. He sighs, staring dumbly at the chess board in front of him. Understandably needy, but he can’t do much about it right now, that’s not his role. Not unless you give him permission.

“You’ve been so good, baby,” the words come out a sweet little sigh, full of affection. You crawl off his lap, grinning as he turns his head and follows you with a gaze so full of longing it’s almost pitiful. You hum, settling on the couch beside him. Legs spread, an invitation. “Come and fuck me now, Spence, you deserve it.”

The last, perhaps least known perk of dating a nerd?

They’re amazing at fucking. Or, at least, Spencer Reid is.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you smut #📨dove answers #anon #✒️ penned by dove

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passionwillow · 3 days ago

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Robby is giving soft!dom all the way imo

Hnngggg he is such a soft dom and it needs to be talked about.

- He’s always checking in and making sure you’ve eaten enough during the day, or that you’re hydrated.

- Constant touches!!! A hand in yours, or a hand on your back. He always needs to have a hold of you, you’re an anchor for him.

- He loves playing with your fingers, stroking your hair or your cheek. Tilting your chin up so you look at him, a smile on his face as he leans down and kisses you.

- He is always patient with you. Not once has Robby ever raised his voice at you in a harsh manner, or out of anger. He lets you have your moments and is always there waiting when you’re ready to talk.

- He craves getting to just sit and talk to you. Nothing you say is boring to him, he loves listening to your stories or ideas. He wants to know everything he can about you.

- He is so, so connected to you in the bedroom. He loves having your eyes on his, being able to study your expression and judge what you like. What makes your breath catch in your throat, what makes your toes curl, what makes your knees lock around his hips.

- TALKS YOU THROUGH IT. He is always coaxing you through it or praising you. “That’s a good girl, such a good girl for me.” “You can take it, baby, you’re doing so good.” “Look at me. This is all yours, all for you.” “Let me hear those pretty moans, don’t hold back.” “One more, baby, you can give me one more. You deserve it.”

- You can read you like a book. What makes you happy, sad, angry, confused, horny. You’re so in tune with one another.

- He can be rougher, if that’s what you crave. His first instinct is to always focus on your pleasure, but he enjoys it, too. The hand prints he leaves on your ass, the way you gasp and clench around him when he pulls your hair.

- He’s always leaving marks on you. Bites, hickies, bruises from holding you so tight in the moment. Once you assured him you liked it he didn’t feel as bad. He secretly loves it.

- Aftercare king!!! A warm rag, clean clothes, water and snacks, a shower, whatever you need. He gets very clingy after sex, so he’ll be on top of you. Snuggling close, face in your hair as his legs tangle with yours.

#the pitt max #the pitt hbo max #the pitt #the pitt hbo #dr robby x reader #dr robby #dr michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch #dr robby x plussized reader

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beautyinthewayofthings05 · 19 hours ago

Text

Dick would definitely go after Joker first. Jason has no idea and assumed he’d go after him. Tim however definitely knows and started finding ways to just mildly inconvenience Dick. Not enough that people suspect outside play but enough that it is definitely upsetting Dick.

Dick convinced that he’s somehow managed to do something to piss off some kind of luck god( or goddess he doesn’t assume) hides away in his apartment and Jason, assuming that since a couple days have passed he is now free to do his job as little brother, stops by without saying anything. Jason arrives at Dicks apartment to see it in total disarray trash everywhere and the kitchen, god the kitchen. Take-out trash litters every inch of the counter space and some even spills onto the floor. Jason is now slightly concerned not only about the mess but also Dicks eating habits. He makes some sort of comment about Dick being in his mid twenties and still eating like a child left to fend for their self and Dick still half asleep and already on edge mistakenly thinks that Jason is just one of his hallucinations arriving just to tell him how pathetic he is and instead of breaking down or getting angry he just gets up completely calm and leaves. Jason slightly more concerned now just opts to clean up his apartment and then meal prep for him.

While Jason is doing this Dick just up and brakes into Arkham to brutally murder the Joker. The scene is so bad that by morning when police arrive it makes even the most seasoned officers lose their lunch (even Gordon needs to step out for a couple minutes ). Afterwords Dick just leaves. He goes back to his apartment and sleeps for nearly 24 hours straight.

The batfam at this point is in total disarray and after reviewing the tapes are left speechless because that can’t be Dick in the footage no way. The golden boy breaking Bat’s number one rule. It just can’t be true most are considering the possibility of the footage being doctored somehow. But no it’s true and the only ones who believe it are Tim, Bruce, and Alfred. Tim the little evil genius who planned all this is like “well if he did it once then I guess he could do it again”. Jason already panicked is now screaming asking Tim what the FUCK he means by that. And Tim the chaos demon himself( who really just wanted Jason to come around more so that Dick would stop moping) and figured the best way to do that was to have someone avenge him) is like “oh wait you didn’t know. Yeah this is the second time Dick has killed the Joker” and watches with well hidden glee as Jason freaks out, jumps on his bike, and rushes off towards Dick’s place. When he gets there Dick is still sound asleep covered in Jokers blood and other bits of flesh. When Jason wakes him up to ask what the hell happened Dick has no clue what he is even talking about tells him as such before falling back asleep.

(Saw this and thought about dick killing the joker sorry it’s bad)

*Dick crashes out while on patrol and beats someone within an inch of their life*

Bruce: Dick might be a little bit fragile after last night, so let’s try to be sensitive.

Jason: Oh, believe me- I am going to be nothing but nice to Dick from now on. If he snaps and goes on a rampage, who do you think he’s coming for first?

Bruce: He’s not going on a rampage.

Tim: I bet he’d let me live. He likes me.

Damian: I’m just gonna say it. I never trusted him.

#batman #batfamily #batfam #dc #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #tim drake #bordering on supervillian Tim Drake #why is that not a tag #dc joker #dead joker #Dick Grayson hallucinating once again #light suffering

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ivyues · 2 days ago

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Warmth between us: Stray Kids' reactions to their S/O having warm hands

cold hands equivalent

request: Hii! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) I wanted to request skz reaction when their s/o’s hands are always warm! ( ˃̵ᴗ˂̵) ♡ Thank you!

Bang Chan

The apartment was quieter than usual.

The soft hum of the laptop fan and the occasional click of keys were the only sounds breaking through the silence. Chris sat at his desk, back slightly hunched, his jaw set just a little tighter than normal.

You watched him from the doorway, biting your lip. The fight earlier had been stupid – something small blown out of proportion. Miscommunication. A bad day. Raised voices and hurt expressions. Now there was a heavy space between you, one neither of you quite knew how to cross.

You padded over softly, your heart hammering a little too loud in your chest. As you approached, you hesitated just behind him, watching the tension still lingering in his shoulders. He didn’t look up, didn’t stop typing. You knew he knew you were there.

Cautiously, you reached out and placed your hand gently on his shoulder. That familiar warmth – your warmth – spread through his shirt and into his skin.

His fingers slowed.

He let out a breath through his nose, something between a sigh and a surrender. You felt his muscles shift slightly beneath your touch, loosening. He didn’t shrug you off. If anything, he leaned into the touch just a little.

Then, quietly, he mumbled, “Your hand’s warm.”

It wasn’t said with annoyance or sarcasm. It was softer. Because you always run warm, and he always noticed. And when you touched him, especially like this, it was your way of saying I’m sorry, I’m here, I love you – all in one.

Lee Know

The campfire crackled softly in front of you, flickering against the deep navy sky. Stars scattered overhead like glitter, and your breath fogged the crisp night air. You were tucked into your hoodie, legs curled up by the fire, while Lee Know rummaged through the cabin for something.

“It’s freezing out here. You’re still gonna wear gloves.”

You scoffed. “Why would I wear gloves if my hands are already warm?”

He looked at you like you just asked if fire was wet. “Because you keep them warm. I don’t care if you’re a human heater – your fingers are gonna go numb eventually.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already digging through your bag. A second later, he pulled out a pair of gloves and shoved them at you with all the gentle aggression of someone who was deeply concerned but also incredibly stubborn.

“Here. Put them on. No arguments.”

You stared at the gloves, then back at him. “You’re kind of dramatic, you know that?”

“Dramatic?” He raised a brow. “I'm being responsible. You think I’m gonna let you freeze just because you're usually warm?”

You laughed again, softer this time, touched despite yourself. “Fine. For the sake of your peace of mind.”

As you slipped the gloves on, Lee Know gave a triumphant little nod, then scooted closer and brought his arm behind your chair. “Good. Now we can enjoy the fire without me worrying about you catching a cold.”

You smirked. “So this is about your comfort?”

“Obviously.”

Changbin

The studio was dimly lit, filled with the soft hum of equipment and the quiet tapping of keys as music played low in the background. You were curled up on a couch in the corner, sipping a warm drink and your boyfriend was deep in the recording booth.

"Y/N, can you pass me that pen?" Hyunjin asked, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

You looked over, spotting the pen just beside you on the coffee table. You picked it up and stood to walk it over. As you handed it to Hyunjin, your fingers brushed his – just a quick, unintentional touch – but enough to make him blink and pause.

"Whoa," he said, looking up at you with raised eyebrows. "Your hands are really warm."

You laughed softly. "Yeah, they tend to be like that."

Just then, Changbin stepped out of the booth, tugging off his headphones. He caught the tail end of the exchange, his gaze narrowing playfully as he walked over.

"Hey, hey," he said, sliding an arm around you. "That’s my handwarmer."

Hyunjin snorted, leaning back with an exaggerated shrug. "Relax. I was just admiring the natural phenomenon that is Y/N’s temperature regulation."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as Changbin pulled you a little closer and pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “No admiring. I’ve got exclusive rights.”

Hyunjin made a dramatic gagging sound. "You two are so gross when you're cute. I'm leaving."

Hyunjin

As Hyunjin and you were strolling hand in hand, he suddenly stopped mid-step, causing you to almost bump into him.

“Yah,” you said with a playful pout, “why'd you do that?”

Hyunjin turned to you with the most tragic expression you’d seen that week. His eyebrows furrowed like a sad puppy, his lips pushed into a pout and he clutched your hand like it had just betrayed him.

“I just realized something truly heartbreaking,” he said, voice low and theatrical.

You blinked. “…Okay?”

“I can’t do that cool, protective boyfriend thing where I warm your hands in mine!” he exclaimed, eyes wide with faux devastation. “That’s, like, standard boyfriend behavior! It’s in all the K-dramas!”

You burst out laughing as he squeezed your warm fingers and dramatically sighed.

“I always imagined pulling you into my coat, saying something cheesy like, ‘Your hands are freezing,’ and then being all suave, warming them up like a knight in a padded North Face jacket,” he said with a sniff. “But you… you ruined it.”

“I ruined it?” you laughed. “I’m just warm-blooded!”

“Exactly!” he cried. “Where’s the drama? The romance? The scene where I hold your icy fingers in mine and say, ‘Don’t worry, jagiya, I got you’? Huh?”

“You could just pretend my hands are cold.”

Hyunjin looked at you, utterly scandalized. “Pretend?!” he gasped. “You want me to lie to myself? To the universe?!”

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “Okay, Mr. Method Actor. You wanna hold my hand or not?”

Han

"Uggghhhh," came Han’s voice, stretched out like a cat waking up from a nap. “I swear my shoulders are dying. I'm going to have to retire from dancing and become a full-time noodle.”

You glanced over your shoulder, smirking as you watched him flop onto the couch beside you like his soul had left his body. “A noodle?”

“A soggy one,” he added, flopping even further, his head now in your lap. “Just... massage me before I melt into this couch forever.”

You laughed, setting your phone down. “Again? Didn’t I just give you one last night?”

“Exactly, and it was amazing,” he said. “You have magical hands. I don’t know how they’re always so warm, but it’s literally the best thing ever.”

“They’re just naturally warm. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

Han wriggled closer, turning his back to you. “More like a gift. Like – Specializing in stressed-out idols with overworked backs.”

You raised a brow, fingers already gently working into the tension in his shoulders. “You sound like a commercial.”

“I feel like one. This is heaven.” He let out a blissful sigh, his voice muffled against your leg. “Seriously, you should charge for this. Or at least take payment in ramen and eternal gratitude.”

“Oh, I already get paid,” you said, leaning in with a smirk.

Han cracked one eye open. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Your dramatic whining? Priceless.”

He burst into laughter, wincing a little as your fingers hit a knot. “Okay, ow—rude. But valid.”

Felix

You were curled up on the couch beside Felix when he reached out to take your hand, fingers slipping between yours.

The moment his fingers curled around yours, his brows knit together slightly at the unexpected warmth of your skin.

Without a word, he let go and leaned in, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as his other hand came to rest lightly on your forehead.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible as heat crept into your cheeks and your heart stuttered in your chest.

“Checking if you have a fever,” he said, completely serious, brows still furrowed with concern.

You felt your face flush even hotter under his touch. “Felix, I swear I’m not sick,” you said, letting out a nervous laugh. “My hands—They’re just always warm.”

“Mm, you sure?” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “You’re blushing a lot too…”

Your cheeks burned. “That’s because you’re touching my face!”

Felix broke into a soft laugh, that deep, contagious kind of laugh that always made your heart flutter. His fingers lingered for a moment longer, tracing gently from your cheek to your jaw before falling away.

“Alright, alright,” he said, backing off with a grin. “No fever. Just dangerously cute.”

Seungmin

Your relationship was new – still in that sweet, slightly awkward stage where every glance and gesture felt electric, full of possibility. It was only your third official date, but somehow, Seungmin already had this quiet way of making you feel known, like he'd been reading you all along.

He slid into the seat across from you, brushing his hand over the table as he reached for his drink. His fingers accidentally grazed yours – and paused.

“Whoa,” he said softly. “Your hand is… really warm.”

You froze, caught somewhere between surprise and embarrassment. “Oh—uh, yeah. It’s always like that. I’m like a built-in space heater, I guess.”

Seungmin blinked, then slowly smiled. “That’s kind of amazing.”

He let his hand linger just a bit longer, fingers brushing the back of yours. “Do you mind?” he asked quietly, voice playful but tinged with that same softness you were still getting used to.

You shook your head. “No. Not at all.”

So he kept his hand there – not quite holding yours, but close enough that your pinkies touched.

“Is it normal?” he asked, tilting his head. “I mean—are your hands always this warm? Like… all the time?”

You gave a small laugh, shrugging. “Pretty much. Even in winter. It’s weird, right?”

Seungmin shook his head, still watching you like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. “No, I don’t think it’s weird. maybe… kind of comforting? And that's cool. Or—well, not cool. You know what I mean.”

I.N

The summer heat clung to the air in Busan like an extra layer of clothing, but you and I.N didn’t seem to mind. The two of you strolled along the boardwalk, shoes scuffing against the ground, the ocean glittering nearby.

I.N had insisted on getting ice cream from his favorite childhood shop and now you were both lazily licking at your cones, trying to beat the sun before it turned your treats into puddles.

"Ah, no!" you cried, tilting your wrist awkwardly as your ice cream sagged dangerously to one side.

I.N snorted around a mouthful of his own cone. "You're losing the battle, Y/N."

"I have warm hands!" you protested, trying to catch the dripping trails with your tongue and utterly failing. "It's not my fault!"

I.N shook his head with an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh.

You grinned mischievously, wiping a smear of ice cream off your wrist. "Well," you said, flashing a wink, "guess I'm just too hot."

I.N choked on his bite of ice cream, laughing so hard he almost dropped his own cone. "That was terrible," he said between wheezes, but his eyes were shining, crinkling at the corners in that way you loved.

"Terrible but true," you said proudly, bumping your shoulder against his.

He just grinned, offering you a bite of his before yours collapsed completely.

masterlist

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dexxtrosee · 3 days ago

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Overflow

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader. NSFW. Smut. Subish!Robby.

The entire house is suffocating you with silence.

Outside, the city's alive and well. Cars pass and honk, people yell, parties go on. Blissfully unaware of the tense bubble you're in, background noise for whatever is going on inside.

Water pours into the sink until it fills up the glass Robby put under. Seconds pass. It starts overflowing, filling the kitchen with soft metallic sounds of droplets, then streams, then it just becomes noise. He just stares at it, and you stare at him.

“That bad, uh?”

His shoulders are tense. You can see the way his hands are gripping onto the bar for dear life, knuckles white from how much strength he’s putting into it. He’s 6’1 of pure frustration, drawn tight like a rope.

You feel a little guilty when heat spreads all over your body, but you can’t really help it. This Robby doesn’t come out often, the one that is so angry at the system, at the stupid comments he gets at work by his superiors, that he has to close his eyes and take a hundred deep breaths before he can speak coherently and not sound like a caged animal.

You like it when he’s like this. He’s like a knot you just have to unravel, turn him into dust between your palms.

Slowly, you approach him. He doesn’t move a single inch, but his back seems to tense even more, feeling your body heat radiate into him. He’s burning up with so many things it’s intoxicating, makes your head spin.

You’re careful when you press your hands against his back, feeling his muscles clench at your touch. He’s a mess, holding back by trying to control his breath. His face is damp, either water or sweat, maybe both. If he turned to look at you, you’re sure his pupils would be blown out.

“You want to tell me about it?”

It doesn’t surprise you when he shakes his head. He’s barely keeping it together as it is, driven to the brink of insanity all day and worsening every second he feels your touch. You start rubbing your hands up and down, pressing your face to him. It makes him jump slightly, caught off guard by your breath fanning against his skin.

“I think you should try to relax,” you tell him, pulling away slightly so you can start rubbing his shoulders a little. “It’s over now.”

His breath stutters when you wrap your arms around his waist, letting your hands wander low enough to play with the waistband of his pants without actually doing something about it. Your fingers draw lazy circles over his belly, then his chest. His breathing picks up almost imperceptibly, but you can feel every single change, electricity running between the two of you.

Hurried, he turns off the faucet and lets himself bend lower, pressing lightly against you. You let him, shifting until you’re almost by his side. The tips of his ears are bright red.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he has a fever. His skin feels scorching hot in every point that’s rubbing against your own, but that may just be your own fire trying to swallow him.

“You’re here with me now,” you whisper at him, smiling slightly when his breath hitches again. “You can let go.”

His hand is shaking when he raises it to cover his face, biting at the meat of his palm to keep some form of composure. It just makes you want to break him to pieces even more, have him all for yourself. The rest of the world can fuck off for a few hours.

“Relax,” you urge, pulling him closer and twisting until you're standing face to face. The bridge of his nose is tinted pink, and he doesn’t dare look up. “Let me take care of you, Robby.”

He’s so sensitive right now that just those few words are his breaking point. He groans, bracing himself against the sink when you press your hips against his and feel how hot and hard he is already. You laugh at him a little, and he turns away to hide his face, flustered by how easy you get him delirious with desire.

You let him for now, trailing up his neck with your mouth. His pulse is thundering under your lips, you’re so close it’s like being enveloped by him. You’re sure he doesn’t mean to grab your arm, but he does, and he pulls you impossibly closer, going after your touch.

“Please,” he pants, throwing his head back when you bite at his collarbone. “F-fuck, please.”

Warmth grows and spreads from your belly to your entire body. It’s so easy to turn him into a mess with the right words, the right touch. A power trip that gets to your head every single time you have him begging for attention.

“I’ll take care of you, babe, don’t worry.”

When you push yourself away from him, he whines, opening his eyes to stare at you like you just confessed to a crime.

You were right. You can barely see the pretty brown that’s so characteristic of him, almost completely hidden by how dilated his pupils are. You grin up at him, taking in the sight of such a big, controlled man turned into a whiny mess just for you.

You decide to give him a chance, pressing your mouth against his. His entire body shivers, grabbing the back of your head and letting you eat him alive, at your complete mercy. His kiss is desperate, full of the frustration you aim to pull out of him. The hunger swallows you both, rids you slowly of oxygen until you have no other choice but to separate.

Instead of talking, you decide to just pull his waistband open and bury your hand inside to grab his length.

He jumps so hard it knocks him back into the counter, but you don’t pay it any mind. It will be a nice reminder if he bruises, of how easy you can break him into this.

“Oh fuck, fuck.”

You rub your thumb over the tip, using the precum he’s already leaking as lube. His moans are so pretty, loud and stuttered in a vain attempt at holding them back. You kiss his cheek, resisting the urge to bite when his cheeks turn pink.

“Feels good?”

He nods, mouth open and swollen. You stare at it, at the way his lower lip is pushed out and glistening from kissing you. The fucked out look suits him, so different from the composed doctor you’ve seen him be at his job.

You twist your wrist in circles, relishing in the way he squirms and groans. More precum leaks out, dirtying your hand until you’re filling the room with wet sounds. He presses his lips together, unconsciously pulling slightly back from your touch.

“Ta-take it easy,” he begs. You squeeze him harder, giggling when he jumps again. “F-fuck, please, I’m not gonna l-last.”

You tilt your head, speeding up your strokes just to have him gasp and grip your wrist. “What’s wrong with that?”

He lets out a breathy laugh so full of disbelief that it sends molten heat running down your legs. He gives up trying to make you stop, leans back and pulls you with him until the tip of your nose is almost touching his.

“Y-you drive me fucking n-nuts,” he grits out. His hips start fucking into your fist, getting so much pleasure it’s making him dizzy. “Fuck, please don’t st-stop.”

“I won’t,” you promise him, giving him a quick peck that pulls a tiny gasp from him. “I want you to cum.”

There is no human power that could have kept him from doing what you ask of him. Just as he raises his hand to grab your head and crash his mouth against yours, his cock starts shooting cum all over your hand, getting his clothes dirty too. He pushes his moans into your mouth, and the whiny little breathless sounds that he always tries so hard to hide. His entire face is beet red, you can see it spreading down his neck and to his chest.

He twitches in your hold as you keep pumping him, gasping and gripping you harder against him. He cums so much, an explosion of frustrations and anger and so much adoration for you. It leaks from his pores and seeps into your very soul.

You only stop when he gently grabs your wrist, panting so hard it wrecks his entire body. It makes you giddy to see him so utterly destroyed by only your hands and your kisses, so willingly at your mercy after being in control all day.

He leans his forehead against yours, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He interlaces your clean hand with his, kisses it. His body’s still shaking, soft and pliable.

“G-god, holy fuck.”

You laugh against his mouth when he kisses you again.

#michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby #dr robby x reader #michael robby robinavitch #micheal robinavitch x reader #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby x you #dr robinavitch #michael robby robinavitch x reader #i need psychiatric help

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mintyys-blog · 2 days ago

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HOW TO GIVE HEAD 101 | jason todd x reader

DC COMICS MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: blowjobs (male receiving oral sex), sexual themes.

Do not repost, translate, or rewrite my work (AI generated or otherwise) without my permission. @mintyys-blog

MINORS DNI

You and Jason lounged lazily on the couch, half-watching a movie, half just basking in each other’s company. You two had been friends forever — the kind of effortless bond built from late nights, too many shared secrets, and just enough mutual bad decisions to trust each other with anything.

You were playing with the hem of your hoodie, mind racing, heart hammering a little faster than you liked. Finally, you blurted out, “There’s this guy I like.”

Jason turned his head lazily toward you, one eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? What’s he like?”

You shrugged, a little embarrassed. “He’s… experienced. Like, really experienced.” You avoided Jason’s eyes, choosing instead to pick at a loose thread. “And we’ve been talking, a lot. It’s getting… flirty.”

Jason smirked knowingly, but said nothing.

You swallowed. “The thing is… he really likes—” you lowered your voice, like the apartment walls had suddenly become sentient, “—blow jobs. Like, a lot. And I’m not… super confident about that kind of thing.”

Jason’s expression stayed easy, but there was a flicker of amusement in his blue eyes. You pressed on, cheeks burning.

“I just… I don’t wanna disappoint him, you know?” You fiddled harder with your sleeve. Then, almost too quietly to hear, you added, “So… I was kinda thinking… maybe…”

You turned your head slowly toward Jason, giving him your best wide-eyed, innocent look.

He stared at you blankly for a long beat. Then, deadpan: “Are you asking to suck my dick for experience to impress another guy?”

You grimaced, embarrassed, but forced yourself to nod. “Well… when you say it like that—”

Jason huffed a short laugh, tossing his head back against the couch. Then he looked at you again, more serious this time, something a little more careful in his gaze. “Go ahead,” he said, voice low, a smirk tugging at his lips. Your eyes widened. “Really?”

A grin broke out on your face — you couldn’t even help it — excitement and nerves mixing together in a way that made you buzz. “Yeah,” Jason shrugged, casual, but you could tell he was fighting a real smile. “I wouldn’t mind teaching you. First step, you already got down: sound excited — not like it’s a chore.”

You nodded quickly, trying to tamp down the giddy flutter in your chest. “Should I, uh… take notes or something?”

Jason let out a low chuckle and leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of the couch, legs parted just enough to be cocky without trying. “Nah, baby,” he said smoothly, “you’ll have to learn from some hands-on training.”

Your heart thudded so hard you were sure he could hear it. Hands-on training. With Jason. This night was about to get a lot more interesting.

You shifted nervously onto the floor, settling between Jason’s spread legs, your knees pressing into the carpet. You looked up at him, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves twisting in your stomach.

Jason rested his arms lazily on the couch behind him, watching you with that same amused, half-lidded look. His voice was calm when he spoke, almost soothing.

“Alright, first thing you gotta understand…” he started, letting his legs spread a little wider, making room for you. “A blow job isn’t just about your mouth. It’s about enthusiasm. Pressure. Rhythm. How much you’re into it.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. Your hands rested awkwardly on your thighs, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

He smiled faintly, noticing. “Relax, babe. You’re not gonna hurt me.” He leaned forward slightly. “Start by using your hands first. Tease me a little. Get me hard. It’s not a race.”

You nodded again, hands a little shaky as you reached up and started fumbling with his belt. Jason chuckled low in his throat, reaching down to help you, fingers brushing yours as he undid it and let his jeans hang loose.

“Here.” His voice had dropped a little. “Go slow. Just… touch me. Light at first.”

You swallowed and slipped your hand inside his boxers, fingers grazing against warm skin. Jason sucked in a breath through his teeth, but didn’t rush you.

“Good… now, see, the first few seconds?” he said, tone lazy like he was explaining a game. “It’s about building it up. Light touches, kisses. Make it feel like you’re teasing the hell out of me before you even get serious.”

You blinked up at him again. “Kisses?”

“Yeah.” Jason smirked. “Like you’d kiss someone you really wanted. Start slow. Right at the tip.”

Your face burned hotter, but you leaned in, lips brushing just barely over him. Jason’s breath hitched — barely, but enough that you caught it — and your confidence grew just a little.

“There you go…” he murmured. “See? Already getting the idea.”

You placed another soft kiss, then another, feeling him twitch a little in your hand. Your mouth moved gently over him, just like he said.

Jason leaned his head back against the couch, watching you through half-closed eyes. His voice stayed calm, but rougher now.

“Now… flatten your tongue. Lick up the underside real slow. That spot’s sensitive as hell.”

You obeyed, sliding your tongue along the underside like he said, feeling him grow harder against your hand. His hand twitched like he wanted to touch you, to guide you, but he kept it at the back of the couch, letting you figure it out.

A low groan rumbled from his chest. “Fuck… you’re a quick learner, babe.”

You smiled a little against him, feeling bold now. Jason’s hips shifted just slightly forward, encouraging without saying a word.

“Now… open your mouth. Take just the tip in. Easy,” he coached, voice low and gravelly. “Don’t rush. Use your tongue while you’re sucking, swirl it a little.”

You did as he asked, easing him into your mouth, feeling the weight of him on your tongue. You swirled like he said, cheeks hollowing a little as you sucked carefully, listening to every sound he made, every little twitch of his body.

Jason groaned again, this time not bothering to hide it. His hand finally slid off the back of the couch, fingers brushing lightly through your hair.

“Shit… you’re gonna kill him if you do it like this,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust. “You’re already better than half the girls I’ve been with.”

You pulled back slightly, a little shy at the praise, and Jason laughed breathlessly, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

“Don’t stop now, baby,” he murmured. “Lesson’s just getting started.”

You swallowed and leaned back in, lips wrapping around him again, feeling a thrill at how Jason’s body tensed beneath you. His hand stayed light in your hair, barely guiding — just a reassuring presence.

“Good girl…” he rasped, the words slipping out before he could catch them. You flushed at the praise, heart thudding harder.

Jason gave a low chuckle at your reaction, voice rough but still patient.

“Alright. Now use your hand too. Grip the base — yeah, like that. Twist your wrist a little while you move your mouth. Not too tight, just enough to keep the pressure steady.”

You tried it, sliding your hand along the length of him while your mouth worked the tip, feeling him throb under your touch. His breath caught, fingers flexing slightly in your hair.

“Shit, babe, yeah…” he muttered, letting his eyes close for a second before forcing them open again. He wanted to watch you — needed to.

You hollowed your cheeks a little more, moving your mouth and hand together like he said. Jason let out a low, broken groan, hips twitching slightly.

“You’re killing me here, you know that?” he gritted out, voice hoarse. “The way you’re looking up at me, all eager and pretty… fuck.”

You whimpered a little around him, and Jason cursed again under his breath. His thumb brushed your jaw, gently wiping a bit of spit away.

“Alright, next part,” he said, clearing his throat like he needed to get control back. His hand tightened slightly in your hair, but not enough to hurt — just enough to make you focus.

“Breathe through your nose. Try to take me deeper, a little at a time. You don’t have to force it — just let your throat open. If it gets too much, pull back. No shame in it.”

You nodded, determined, and slowly eased your mouth lower. Jason sucked in a sharp breath, the sound raw in the quiet room. You felt him bump the back of your throat and instinctively gagged a little, pulling back immediately.

Jason chuckled low, rubbing your scalp gently.

“That’s normal. Took me a while to get a girl to even try that.” His voice was warm, almost proud. “You’re doing better than you think.”

You tried again, taking him slower, relaxing your throat just like he said. This time you managed to take him a little deeper without gagging right away. Jason’s hips shifted again, this time clearly fighting the urge to thrust deeper into your mouth.

“Jesus, Y/N…” he groaned. His hand gripped your hair more firmly, guiding your pace now — a slow, steady rhythm.

“Fuck, that’s it. Nice and slow. Let me feel your mouth, your tongue, all of it…” His voice was rough, almost shaking.

You felt yourself getting warm all over, your own thighs pressing together as you listened to him fall apart above you. It was addicting — the power of it, the trust he gave you, the way he praised you like you were already the best he’d ever had.

Jason’s breathing was ragged now, a deep flush creeping up his throat.

“Start stroking with your hand at the same time, baby. Mouth and hand together.” His instructions were getting choppier, like it was getting harder for him to think straight.

You followed, hand twisting at the base while you bobbed your head in slow, steady movements, feeling him twitch and pulse inside your mouth.

“F-fuck…” Jason hissed. “If you do that to the guy you like, he’s gonna fall in love on the spot.”

You smiled a little around him, pride blooming in your chest.

Jason’s other hand gripped the couch cushion like he needed to anchor himself, hips twitching again, almost involuntarily.

“You wanna really drive a guy crazy?” he gritted out. “Look up at him while you’re doing it. Let him see how much you love it.”

You glanced up through your lashes, cheeks flushed, mouth full of him — and Jason’s head dropped back against the couch with a broken growl.

“Goddamn it, Y/N…” he groaned, voice wrecked. “You’re too good at this.”

Jason’s breathing was ragged now, every muscle in his body drawn tight. His hand was firm in your hair, but not harsh — grounding you there, keeping you moving at the pace he wanted.

You kept your eyes locked on his, cheeks hollowed around him, hand sliding up and down the base just like he taught you.

“Fuck… Y/N,” he groaned again, head tipping back, veins standing out along his throat. “You’re gonna make me lose it if you keep looking at me like that…”

Your stomach fluttered at the broken edge in his voice. It didn’t sound like he was coaching anymore. It sounded real — desperate.

His fingers tightened just a little more, forcing your mouth to take him a little deeper with each slow thrust of his hips.

“Little more, baby,” he muttered, voice rough and coaxing. “Open your throat, breathe through your nose, yeah? You can do it.”

You nodded as much as you could, letting him guide your rhythm — his hips rocking up slowly into your mouth, pulling back just enough not to overwhelm you. Every slow thrust made your throat burn a little more, but the raw sounds coming out of him made you want to keep going.

Jason’s hand left the couch and grabbed your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth where spit was starting to drip down your chin.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” he growled under his breath. “Such a good girl… letting me teach you.”

Your thighs squeezed together instinctively at the praise. You were supposed to be learning for another guy — but right now, all you could think about was Jason, the way he sounded, the way he looked at you like he wanted to tear you apart and worship you at the same time.

“Move your hand a little faster,” he ordered, voice dark, strained. “Keep your mouth tight around me, fuck—”

You obeyed, hollowing your cheeks again, and Jason let out a broken, guttural moan that sounded like he was barely holding himself together.

“Fuck, Y/N… if you don’t stop, I’m gonna—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

You whimpered a little around him, swirling your tongue just like he taught you, determined to see it through. The tension in him snapped — his hips jerked up once, hard, and his grip tightened on your hair as he spilled into your mouth with a strangled groan.

You gasped around him, swallowing instinctively because you didn’t know what else to do — Jason’s whole body was shaking, his head dropped back against the couch, chest heaving.

For a second, the only sound was his ragged breathing, the hum of the city outside the window.

Finally, Jason looked down at you — pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, chest still rising and falling fast.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, a slow grin curling his lips. “You’re dangerous, baby girl.”

You wiped your mouth shyly, heart hammering, unsure what to say. Part of you still couldn’t believe you actually did that.

Jason reached out, tugging you gently up by the arms until you were straddling his lap, his jeans pushed halfway down his hips. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his touch unexpectedly soft.

“You still wanna impress that other guy?” he asked, voice low, thumb stroking your jaw.

You blinked at him, mouth parting slightly.

“I…” you hesitated. Your heart twisted, because the way he was looking at you now — like you were the only girl in the world — made you forget why you wanted to impress anyone else to begin with.

Jason chuckled quietly, pressing his forehead lightly against yours.

“Thought so,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “You don’t need anyone else, Y/N. Not when you already got me.”

Jason’s hand was just sliding up your thigh, his mouth brushing along your neck, when you stiffened slightly beneath him. He immediately pulled back, concern flashing across his face. “What’s wrong, doll?” he asked, voice low and careful.

You pressed a hand against his chest, chewing your bottom lip anxiously. “Jay… don’t get me wrong— I do like you, you’re amazing. But… I also really like this other guy, and…”

Jason leaned back the second you said it, smiling a little, though you could see the flash of disappointment he tried to hide.

“It’s okay, doll,” he said easily, lifting you gently off his lap and setting you next to him on the couch. “I get it.”

You grabbed the nearest pillow, hugging it against your chest, guilt washing over you. “I’m sorry if I led you on—” you started, but Jason just laughed, shaking his head.

“You didn’t lead me on. Trust me,” he said, voice warm and teasing. “And anyway, it’s fine. I’m not gonna get butt hurt just because you like some other guy.” He gave you a playful nudge with his shoulder. “Say… what’s his name?”

You brightened immediately, eager to tell him. “Oh! His name is Dick Grayson!”

Jason had just taken a sip of his beer — and immediately choked, spraying it across the room. You panicked, rushing to his side and thumping his back. “Jason! Oh my god, are you okay??” you cried, worried as he coughed and tried to wave you off.

He nodded, clearing his throat with a rough laugh. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” he said, voice hoarse. Then he smirked at you — a sly, almost wicked little look.

You didn’t catch it. You were too busy fretting over him. Jason reached out, ruffling your hair affectionately, and said, “Don’t worry, doll. Just do what you did tonight, and he’ll love it.”

You smiled wide, relief and excitement lighting up your whole face. “Thanks, Jason.”

He leaned back against the couch, tossing an arm around your shoulders in an easy, protective way. “Anytime, sweetheart,” he murmured, still grinning to himself — because you had no idea Dick Grayson was Jason’s older, adoptive brother. And Jason? He couldn’t wait to see how that was gonna play out.

Later that night, after you left — practically skipping with excitement about your crush — Jason was still stretched out on the couch, grinning at the ceiling like a man who just watched fate set a bomb and walk away whistling.

He grabbed his phone off the coffee table, thumbing through his contacts until he found the one labeled:

“Asshole #1”

He smirked and typed quickly:

Jason:

bro… we gotta talk.

it’s about you. and it’s hilarious.

He barely had time to set the phone down before it buzzed angrily.

Dick:

?? what did i do now?

i’m literally just eating cereal rn wtf

Jason barked out a short laugh and leaned back, picturing the look on Dick’s face when he found out who had been practicing just for him tonight.

He tapped another reply:

Jason:

nothing yet. just… be nice when a pretty little thing gets brave enough to flirt with you soon.

she’s special. don’t be a dick, dick.

There was a pause. Then:

Dick:

???

who the hell are you talking about???

JASON ANSWER ME

Jason laughed so hard he nearly dropped the phone. He thought about telling him the full truth — that you, sweet, bright-eyed you, had just spent the evening on your knees for him practicing — but he decided to let it simmer a little longer.

Wouldn’t hurt to make Grayson sweat.

He threw his phone onto the couch and muttered to himself with a grin, “Man… this is gonna be good.” And for the first time in a long time, Jason Todd felt like he had something to look forward to.

It all happened faster than you thought it would.

One minute, you were sitting next to Dick Grayson at a Titans gathering, both of you laughing over something stupid. The next, you were alone together in his room, your heart hammering so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

When you dropped to your knees in front of him — cheeks burning, nerves twisting in your gut — he barely had time to react before your hands were on his belt.

“Y/N—” he started, but the second your mouth wrapped around him, all coherent thought seemed to leave his brain.

He hissed through his teeth, one hand flying to the back of your head automatically — but not pushing, just gripping at your hair like he needed something to hold onto.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he groaned, voice cracking, hips jerking slightly against your mouth. You took him deep, hollowing your cheeks exactly how Jason had taught you, keeping your hand at the base and twisting gently as you moved — slow, purposeful, confident.

Dick almost blacked out.

It wasn’t just good — it was skilled. Way too skilled for someone who, from what he remembered, had said she was “still learning.”

He forced his eyes open, looking down at you — and that’s when the first little seed of suspicion planted itself.

Something about the way you worked him over — the way you squeezed at the base, the way you bobbed your head in rhythm, your tongue teasing just right at the tip — it wasn’t just natural talent. It was training.

You finally pulled off, blinking up at him innocently, a little bit of spit trailing down your chin.

He sucked in a ragged breath, trying to get a grip on himself. “Holy shit, Y/N,” he muttered, wiping his thumb gently across your lips. “That was— I mean, where did you learn to do that?”

You flushed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand shyly. “I mean… I practiced? Once. Before tonight.” You smiled nervously. “I told you I didn’t have a lot of experience… but I wanted to impress you, so…”

Dick’s brows furrowed slightly. “Practiced… with who?” he asked, trying to sound casual — but his voice cracked halfway through.

You shrugged, fidgeting. “Oh— um. Just… my friend Jason helped me.”

Silence. Utter, horrified silence. Dick’s whole face froze — eyes wide, mouth slightly open — like his soul physically left his body for a moment.

“Jason,” he repeated, voice tight.

“Yeah,” you nodded brightly, oblivious to the internal meltdown happening inside him. “He’s really good at explaining stuff. Super patient.”

Dick scrubbed a hand down his face, groaning. “Oh my god,” he muttered under his breath.

He wasn’t mad — not really. He couldn’t be. You didn’t know the full story — you didn’t realize you had literally just given him a blowjob with Jason Todd’s signature techniques. Techniques Dick had, unfortunately, recognized mid-orgasm.

He exhaled sharply, still trying to wrap his head around it.

“Okay,” he said, voice strangled but still kind. He reached down, pulling you into his lap carefully. “Okay. We’re gonna… just… move past that for now.”

You smiled shyly and snuggled against his chest, thinking he was embarrassed because he liked it so much.

Later that night, Dick was stalking down the hall like a man possessed, trying to find Jason. His face was flushed, his hair a mess, and he looked like he’d just been run over by a truck.

(Which, in a way, he kind of had.)

He found Jason exactly where he expected — in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping a beer like he had all the time in the world.

Jason clocked him immediately, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Well, well, well,” Jason drawled, setting his beer down and crossing his arms. “Look who survived his special tutoring session.”

Dick stopped a few feet away, running a hand down his face in pure agony. “You’re a dick, you know that?” he groaned.

Jason barked out a laugh. “Me? I’m the dick?” He pointed at himself, grinning ear to ear. “I’m not the one who got the full Jason Todd patented blowjob experience without even asking.”

Dick made a strangled sound in his throat, visibly dying inside. “You taught her,” he hissed under his breath, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one else was nearby. “You taught her how to— to—”

“—to suck your soul out through your dick?” Jason finished helpfully, smiling so wide it should’ve been illegal. “You’re welcome.”

Dick was halfway between throttling him and bursting into laughter. “Dude, she’s so innocent,” he said, flailing his hands helplessly. “She has no idea— she just— trusted you!”

Jason shrugged, completely unbothered. “Hey, I was a perfect gentleman about it.” He took another sip of his beer, smirking behind the bottle. “She asked for help. I provided a public service.”

Dick pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, groaning. “This is so messed up.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder, nearly sending him stumbling forward.

“Look at it this way, Big Brother—” Jason said with a teasing grin. “At least you got the rewards without doing any of the work.”

Dick glared at him murderously — but he didn’t argue. Because— God help him… Jason wasn’t wrong.

You padded into the kitchen, still floating on a little high from earlier, only to freeze in the doorway. There stood Jason, casually leaning against the counter — and Dick Grayson, standing stiff as a board like he was caught hiding a dead body.

You blinked, shocked. “Jay! Hi—uh, what are you doing at the Tower?”

Before you could spiral into awkwardness, Jason’s grin stretched wider. He pushed off the counter and pulled you into an easy hug, ruffling your hair affectionately.

Dick just stood there behind him, looking like he was silently begging the universe to strike him dead.

Jason hugged you tight, smirking directly at Dick over your shoulder. “Oh, you know,” Jason said casually, voice dripping with amusement. “Just visiting family.”

You pulled away, frowning slightly. “Family? I thought you said you were adopted?”

Jason chuckled, like he was just remembering a silly little thing he forgot to mention. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck like it was no big deal. “Well, funny thing… turns out I kinda forgot to tell you—Dick and I are brothers.”

You stared at him. Then at Dick. Then back at him. The realization hit you like a brick wall. Your face drained of color. Your jaw dropped. “Oh… oh no,” you breathed, stepping back in horror.

Jason just beamed, the most evil, smug, entertained older brother you could ever imagine. Dick, on the other hand, looked like he was about two seconds away from throwing himself out the window.

You covered your mouth, mortified. “I gave head to your—your—!!” you squeaked, unable to even finish the sentence.

Jason patted your head like you were a confused puppy. “Relax, dollface,” he said, winking shamelessly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Actually…” He cocked his head at Dick with a shit-eating grin. “You made my brother a very happy man tonight.”

“JASON!” Dick barked, red-faced, but Jason was already moving toward the door, laughing under his breath.

Before he left the kitchen, he turned back, tossed you a wink so quick Dick didn’t catch it — and said, “Good job, sweetheart. Proud of you.”

And with that, he disappeared down the hallway, whistling innocently.

You stood there frozen, absolutely mortified. Dick dragged a hand down his face, groaning like his soul had physically left his body.

“Well,” you mumbled, cheeks burning hotter than the sun, “at least now I know why it felt like he was weirdly good at teaching…” Dick just let out a helpless little noise of pain, looking at you like he had no idea whether to laugh or cry.

Later that night, Dick lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling like a man at war with his soul. He had been tossing and turning for an hour, replaying every agonizing second from earlier — your mortified face, Jason’s shit-eating grin, the way Jason had said “proud of you” like he was handing out a damn scouting badge—

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He groaned, rolling over to check it, praying it wasn’t who he thought it was. It was.

Jason Todd:

Hey big bro.

How’s my favorite little student?

Dick glared at the screen, feeling his blood pressure spike.

Before he could even respond, another text came in:

Jason Todd:

Did she use the twist?

Be honest.

Dick threw the phone onto the bed like it had personally insulted him, running both hands through his hair. “damn it, Jason,” he muttered, pacing the room.

The phone buzzed again.

Jason Todd:

You can thank me later.

Or name your first kid after me.

Your call.

Dick actually let out a strangled, painful laugh — half from genuine amusement, half from the soul-crushing secondhand embarrassment that was now his permanent companion.

He snatched the phone back up, thumbs flying across the screen.

Dick Grayson:

I’m going to kill you.

Slowly.

A second later:

Jason Todd:

You’re welcome.

Dick groaned again, collapsing face-first onto the mattress. This was his life now.

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #Jason Todd #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #dc #dc comics #dc universe

398 notes · View notes

tinysunshine · 2 days ago

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━━━━━━ ✧˖° 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍’ 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌

‎ ‎ [ 𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni. slightly dead dove.

kinks: daddy kink, dirty talk, leon is submissive, oral sex, cum eating, rough sex, face sitting, one mention of leon in panties, masturbation, mentions of mommy kink (not with reader), protective leon, anal play, panty stealing, fingering, creampie, some humiliation, cumming untouched, light dom/sub, kinky soulmates <3

warnings and triggers: fauxcest, age difference, leon is a perverted old freak, reader is a camgirl and does only fans, dubcon if you squint, noncon fantasies, leon is extremely pathetic and is simping hard, slut shaming, mentions of intoxicated sexual acts, sexual blackmail, reader is kind of a bad person, porn addiction, one mention of drug use, alcoholism, mommy and daddy issues

word count: 9.2k

porn with plot, slight alternate universe.

He’s too old for you. You’re too good for him. Whatever weird thing that’s going on between the two of you - that’s all it can be. Roommates. Friends. And even then, Leon knows that it’s pushing the limits of what’s acceptable.

→ You sell nudes for a living and Leon is the hot, older man who lets you move in with him. He’s the sweetest pervert you’ve ever met.

It starts, because you need a place to stay.

Leon hardly knows you. He knows your name, yeah, and he knows that you have a great rack. Perky tits and a pretty smile, lips that are always pink and glossy. You smell good, and one time you reached around him to grab a straw on the bar top and he felt your soft body press against his, and -

Okay, all Leon really knows about you is that you’re hot. Really fucking hot, like a girl from the porn he used to watch, back when he really hated himself. Don’t get him wrong, he still does harbor deep feelings of resentment for everything that makes him who he is, but it’s not as bad as it used to be.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

He met you at a bar. His bar, and by that, he means his home away from home - the local fucking bar, a few blocks away from his apartment actually. Every good drunk knows it’s mandatory to have a bar they can get to without driving, because every smart drunk knows that in order to properly drink to their heart’s delight, they’ve got to have a safe way to get home. See? Leon called himself smart - he doesn’t hate himself nearly as much as he used to.

But he also just hasn’t figured out the whole Uber thing. Oh well.

Leon, his bar - right. You’re always fucking there. Leon doesn’t understand why, because it’s a shitty place, with phone numbers scribbled on the back of the bathroom stall doors. Once, before last call, Leon swears someone followed him into the bathroom and asked if there was a glory hole. Or - maybe he followed someone into the bathroom and - doesn’t really matter. There’s no glory hole at this place, and it isn’t until after you move in, that Leon realizes you only came to this bar so much because everyone was paying for your drinks. Leon was paying for your drinks. Smart girl.

You’re a lush, that much is true. You drink a lot, and you can’t handle your liquor - but that’s part of your appeal. Just a little. It’s one thing, for a little slut like you to drink like a grown man and not show any signs of it, but that’s not you. You drink dirty shirley temples and cherry coke and jack and your eyes get misty and you slur your words and Leon always has to walk you back to your apartment that you share with three other girls. But the best part about drunk you, is that you’re always asking to suck his dick.

You’re my friend, you told him once, even though Leon doesn’t really agree with that. But fuck it, right? He could always use friends. Especially friends that are as hot as you.

Makes the other guys at the bar jealous, when you show up every Friday night with your stupidly small purse, not big enough to even hold a wallet, just lip gloss and bubblegum and, Leon, you think they take Apple Pay? Leon doesn’t fucking know, and it doesn’t really matter, because he’s paying for your drinks anyway. Can’t figure out Uber, you think he knows what Apple Pay is?

That’s how it starts.

You show up every weekend to a bar you don’t belong at, take a seat next to Leon who always arrives before you and is half drunk by the time you get there, and the rest of the night, he buys your drinks. He doesn’t know a lot about you, that’s true, but you do talk a lot. Chat his ear off. Nothing important ever comes out of your mouth, but you overshare a lot of details that mean nothing. It’s cute, and it’s not like Leon’s got anyone else to talk to. It goes on like this, for months, until Leon finally asks you what you’re doing at this shit hole in the first place.

You blink at him, fake lashes a little crooked since you fixed them in the bathroom. Oh, right - Leon knows you’re a little slut because you sucked him off in a bathroom stall. There’s no glory hole at this place, no - but he put his leather jacket on the ground so you didn’t bruise your bare knees when you let the head of his cock bruise the back of your throat.

“I live close,” you explain, looking at Leon like a clueless little kitten. He swears your nose scrunches up, so fucking cute, and then he downs the rest of his drink before the way your makeup is smeared around your eyes turns him off.

Leon thinks differently of you after you swallowed his cum. After you did that. Not that he slut shames or anything, but - what you did was kind of slutty. He feels bad about that thought, even if it turns him on, so when he walks you home that night, he tells you he’s not a creep, that you can trust him - he’s a cop.

Not that you needed that information to trust him. You’re a little naive, and you’re obviously old enough to drink, but Leon wonders what’s wrong with you. Girls like you should be on dating apps, getting guys your age to buy you dinner or take you to the movies. Or looking for men even older than him, to spend money on you and buy you those heels with the red bottoms. Leon doesn’t remember what they’re called, just that ball busting porn seems to center around that brand of shoes.

You shouldn’t be blowing strange older men in gross bar bathrooms. He thinks about how long it took you to tie a cherry stem with your tongue and how he had to pay attention like it was the coolest shit he’s ever seen, and he feels annoyed all over again - but at the same time, a little charmed?

Anyway. You’re practically a stranger. Leon doesn’t even know what your pussy looks like when you move into his apartment. It happens so fast.

One night, you come to the bar looking like shit. There’s no lip gloss on your lips, just some dry looking color and for the first time, Leon understands what overline means, and your eye makeup is smeared around your eyes, and your hair is - not done? God, Leon is the most judgmental bastard in the world. A hypocrite too, judging you like that - since last night he spent about four hours jacking himself off to porn of girls who look just like you. So much for a porn free lifestyle. It's your fault he broke his porn freak streak.

With his non dominant hand, since the other was preoccupied with jacking his cock off - he typed up, spelling errors and all, exact features of your body to get better results. He was dedicated.

Yunggbh bslut gets fucked by old sdaddyh, for example.

Some results did come up, by the way. Last night was a good night. Anyway.

He asked you what was wrong, and you sniffled, demanded a vodka lemonade, and told Leon your troubles. Here’s what went down:

You acted like a little slut. Which, in this case - meant you were just being yourself. It’s okay, baby, Leon remembers saying, As your friend, I’m being honest. Okay? You just couldn’t help yourself, and that’s okay. God, it’s like the blind leading the blind. Leon, obsessed with a girl much too young for him, with scummy, dirty, awful, perverted thoughts about her, pretending to care about her problems so she might touch his dick - telling said girl that it’s okay she fucked her roommate's boyfriend, because she was just being herself.

It’s kind of beautiful. Meant to be, in a kinky, weird way, Leon thinks, ordering another drink for you and himself. Anyway, the point is - you have to find a place to stay, and you’re not sure where to go.

Leon, shit faced, says you can live with him. And that’s how it happens.

────

You get under his skin.

You’re insane, annoying. Smoking hot. Leon didn’t know they made girls that look like you in real life, thought the women he saw in porn and online had to come from a factory somewhere, but he doesn’t see a shipping label anywhere on your body. You’re a little rude, although when someone is as hot as you are, society calls you bratty. Well, Pornhub does. Maybe not society.

Leon can complain all he wants, but that’s actually not something that’s annoying to him - Leon likes brats. Has watched enough bratty stepsis porn in his life to be okay with it, at least.

And anyway, it’s all his fault. Leon hardly knew you when he asked you to move in, which was one of his most pathetic moments. Just a drunk mistake, but how dumb are you, to move in with a man you don’t know? Sure, Leon has paid a small fortune for your drinks over the last few months, has walked you home, listened to you babble about dumb reality shows, assured you that he was a cop, and he knows what color your nipples are - but maybe that was just a long term, elaborate plan to get you to trust him so he could…traffick you or something. Fuck.

You’re so goddamn naive. But, hell - maybe he is too.

You’re a distraction - you come with a big, red warning label that Leon didn’t notice when he brought you home, because how could he? You might be a walking red flag, but you’ve covered that flag in enough pink and glitter that it’s impossible to see the true color of it.

On purpose? Leon’s not quite sure. All he knows, is that he can’t escape you.

Can’t escape the girly mess you leave all around his apartment in the form of little socks with tiny cartoon characters on it, the mugs you collect that take up space in his sink. Can’t escape the smell of your sweet perfume, the way it lingers in his car and on his clothes.

And that shit is really long lasting, because he just came home from the bar and he couldn’t even flirt with any women. Tried to get the number of some blonde in an attempt to distract himself from thoughts of you, and all she had to reply with was asking how old he was, and to tell his girlfriend that she has good taste in perfume.

Bitch. I don’t have a girlfriend, Leon wanted to say, but didn’t know how else to describe you. Even to himself. What can he say? I’ve got a little twenty something year old living in my house. Yeah, she lets me fuck her sometimes, but she’s not my girlfriend. It sounds bad to him, and he's the one living it.

Because that’s the progression. Yeah, Leon let you move in, and now there’s pieces of you all over his apartment, his car, his mind. Feels like you’re literally under his skin sometimes.

Tonight, he gets home, kicks off his boots, hangs up his leather jacket - and he runs a hand through his hair. Leon is tired. Tired of working so fucking much, tired of pretending like he has a life outside of his little thing with you, annoyed that when he was about to score with that busty blonde milf she threw the fact that he smelled like perfume in his face and tried to humiliate him - and he hates that he liked that too. Made his dick chub up a bit. What the fuck is wrong with him?

You’re not in the living room, so Leon figures you’re in your room - and he avoids that door. Likes you and all, just doesn’t want to deal with you right now. Besides, you could be filming, because - oh right, did he forget to mention? You make amature porn of yourself and sell it for money.

Yeah, that’s partially why Leon hates his life so much. You bring out the worst in him, bad habits and all. It’s just porn, Leon, you really don’t watch it? You’re so fucking old, I swear.

Of course, now he does watch it, but you're such a little brat - Leon's been looking at porn since before you were born.

And, yeah - he does think that little fact is hot.

Leon’s pretty sure he’s got blisters from how much he whacks off nowadays. Imagines you in your room, and sometimes presses his ear against the door when you're filming something. Can hear you, the little beep of your camera, the sound of your pussy, so wet while you rub yourself off and post the video for men even more pathetic than Leon to buy and -

Alright, alright. He can’t pretend like he’s not subscribed. He is. Feels a weird sense of intimacy, knowing that the mattress you lay on when you stuff toys inside of yourself is his, that the walls that your moans echo off of are paid for by him, that the cup you drink water out of after deepthroating a pink dildo on live chat is his, gifted to him by his aunt but. Whatever. He notices every curve of your perfect body, that stupid little Playboy bunny belly button ring you wear. He'll jack off in his room, then he times leaving his room, hand still salty with his spunk, to meet you in the kitchen while you're still in whatever sexy little outfit you filmed in.

“Thirsty?” He'll say, pretending like your ass cheeks aren’t hanging out. He’ll reach around you, grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “What are you wearing? It’s cold out. You need me to turn the heat on?” He’ll ask, as if he didn’t anonymously buy you that outfit from your wishlist. He’s such a fucking sick bastard.

But tonight - you’re not in your room. Leon can tell, because the light is off, and normally you’re awake this late, watching movies or dirtying up his kitchen that you won’t even bother cleaning. He won’t accept your money for rent, because he’s not that pathetic, can afford to pay for this place - but he thought you'd at least pick up after yourself. Instead, you leave messes everywhere that Leon has to clean, after he gets off work. Doing laundry naked, which you do, probably once a month, makes up for it. But sometimes you shrink his clothes.

And anyway, knowing you’re in his home, lazy and freeloading, probably playing with your pussy while he fights the urge to shoot himself in the head at work - it kind of turns him on. He’s got no clue why. Imagines you forcing him to fuck you or else you’ll tell mom and dad on the way home from work so he doesn’t drive his car into upcoming traffic and end his miserable existence right there. Porn brain. Thanks to you. Do you know what you’re doing to him?

You’re in his bed. You’re in a pair of purple panties that are the perfect amount of tight and your shirt has a weird picture of a stuffed bear on it. Leon’s half hard already, but he pretends like he’s annoyed. “Why are you in my room?” He asks, standing in the doorway. He waits for you to move, but you don’t. Of course you don’t.

Instead, you spread your legs, turn off whatever you were watching on his television. Probably deleted all his recordings too, because he’s old enough that he still does that. Has cable, that is. You asked what that was once. Leon got so hard, he almost cried when he made himself cum in the shower.

“Lighting was better in here. During sunset, you know,” you say casually, as if he’s supposed to know what that means. And then - oh. He does. You filmed in his room? You spread the lips of your little cunt and rubbed yourself to orgasm on camera on the phone that Leon added to his phone plan in his bed, and -

He pretends to be cool about it.

“Alright,” he says, sitting beside you in his bed. He leans against his pillows, watches you sit up and push your messy hair away from your face. Leon is pretty sure he sees a wet spot on your panties. Not to mention, the bed sort of smells like…pussy. It’s delicious. Gross, in a way that makes Leon lick his lips and fight back the desire to pull you up his body so you’re sitting on his face. He wants that, to taste you. Has only got to do it once, but wishes you’d make him do it everyday. Force him to. He probably needs medication.

You shirt is see through, but you break his imaginary boundaries and cozy up to his side. Grab his arm and lift it, tuck yourself against him and then place his arm around you. It’s hard to believe you’ve known each other less than a year, that you’ve only lived together for a few months. “Where’d you go tonight?” You ask, and Leon wonders if you get jealous. Knows he does, when you put on your slutty little outfits and go out with your friends.

Knows his cock got harder than it did when he went through his Viagra stage, which was before he met you, when you brought your friends over and teased him in front of them. When a pretty redhead, your bestie you said, laughed at him and then asked for a ride in a cop car which he can’t do, unless he wants to lose his job, and he doesn’t, because he wants to keep you and -

“Bar. Almost hooked up with some chick,” he says, trying to appear…like anyone but himself. He can’t tell if you’re jealous, but you throw a leg over him, definitely feel the bulge in his jeans, but you don’t say anything. Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to cuddle with roommates? Not to fuck them? Probably not, since they didn’t tell you not to move in with strange men who have fantasies about younger women controlling their lives. Anyway, Leon’s winning here, why should he complain?

“Why didn’t you?” You ask, tone bratty. Should get smacked in the face for that, instead, Leon just gropes your ass.

“She thought I had a girlfriend. Smelled your perfume,” and because he can’t stop nagging, he’s old, he adds, “Because you’re always spraying it in my car and I told you not to,” and you laugh. Well, giggle. It’s so sweet and so cute and your nipples are hard against him, and Leon just lets out a deep breath.

“I knew that perfume was long lasting. Need to write a review on the Sephora app. Anyway, Lee,” and since when did Leon say you could give him that nickname? He groans. “You can fuck me, if you want. Since I ruined your hookup,” you offer, pulling yourself onto his body. You’re straddling his hips, and then you take his hands, slip them under your shirt and place them on your perfect tits. Leon moans, because he’s pathetic, bucks his hips up and loves that you’re already so wet. He can feel the heat from your cunt through his jeans. You’re ready to go. Ready for him. He can see your arousal on the fabric of your panties.

He’s only a man, okay? He takes you up on that offer, because of course he does. Tonight, he wanted that woman that looked like she wouldn’t mind a bit of mommy play, but everyday? Leon wants you. He takes his clothes off, takes your clothes off, imagines all that stepsister porn shit in his brain while he rails you, because he’s broken, sits up and maneuvers you so you’re under him, fucks you so hard your head hits his headboard and wonders idly if you’re filming this for whatever little hustle you’ve got going on. Secret cameras exist. You’re a pro, really, you are, and you scratch his back and suck his neck and call him Daddy, and Leon likes that but not tonight.

“You got any siblings?” He says, one hand by your head, balancing his body so he doesn’t crush you, the other gripping the headboard. You tighten your legs around his hips, smile a little goofy, and keep his cock nice and snug and tight inside of you. He feels your walls hugging his cock.

“Yeah,” you say, and Leon wonders if you check his porn history. Same wifi and all that. Can people do that? Because you say, “A stepbrother.”

Leon cums inside of you, paints your insides with his seed and when he pulls out he uses that dumbass bear shirt to clean you off. He goes to shower, feeling manly for banging his hot, young roommate, when you call out, “Can I have my lace panties back? The ones with the white hearts on them. They’re pink. Think they’d look cute for the video I wanna film,” but Leon cuts you off. Opens his shower door, turns the water on and stands outside while it warms up.

Quirks a brow. Pretends to be clueless, wonders why you’re just laying in bed still while his cum is probably sticking to your cervix.

You laugh, sit up in bed and toss your dirty shirt into his hamper.

“I know you took them from my laundry basket,” you say, but you’re not judging. You’re cool with it, and ultimately, that’s why Leon likes you so much. Girl of his dreams and all. Leon feels comfortable with you. He’s never felt like this around anyone. You're the least judgmental woman that Leon has ever met.

The shower is hot now, but he walks to his closet and opens his sock drawer, grabs the panties that you’re asking for and tosses them to you on the bed. You cackle.

So much for limp dick Leon. He jacks off again in the shower, all thanks to you.

────

Honest truth? Leon has never lived with a woman. Not like this.

He says it’s hard to live with you, because he’s a negative bastard, but he really doesn’t know if it’d be like this with any woman. Isn’t sure if it’s normal for stuffed animals to cover every square inch of the house, doesn’t know if all women sit on their roommate's bathroom counter and get their little toe marks on the mirror when they do their makeup, because his bathroom lighting is better. One of these days, Leon swears you’re going to ask him to switch rooms with you, and he honestly doesn’t know if he’d be able to say no.

You’ve lived with him for six months now.

Today, Leon’s off of work. And you? You’re driving him crazy.

You’re ruining his couch, drenched yourself in coconut oil after your shower and you’re completely naked, drying off on the couch which really means just destroying the leather. And Leon’s dick is hard because he accidentally sat on your bunny stuffed animal, and you smacked him on the arm and - yup. It’s that easy these days. He's that easy for you.

Doesn't hurt that you're naked and shiny.

“Do you have an Instagram, Leon?” You randomly ask, while he sits on the ground of his own living room since you’re hogging the couch. He’s flicking through channels, leaning against the end of the couch where your feet are, and he swears you're purposely bumping your cute, pink painted toes into his head. Ruining his hair, you little brat.

He makes no move to change seating position though. Too busy dealing with the emotions of realizing that he’s upset you haven’t called him Lee in weeks.

“No,” he says, scoffing because he’s a drama queen. Probably picked that up from you. All he can think about is the fact that you smell like a tropical vacation, one he’s never taken, and that you’re all oiled up and so is your pussy because you shaved. He could slip right in. Taste you, feel you melt on his tongue, bend you over and rub the head of his dick through the oil on your thigh and fuck you in your ass -

“You’re so old,” you reply, sitting up. Leon turns his full attention to you, sits on the couch, loves the way your stomach has a roll and that you’ve got stretch marks on your tits yet you’re so young and so hot and so tight in the way that only women your age are. Don’t get him wrong - he likes older women too. It’s more about the personality of a woman then the looks that get him going, but you? You’re every wet dream he’s ever had come to life. Put the girls in the porn he watches to shame.

He wants to lick your pussy. Instead, he says, “Can I see your account?”

Leon plays dumb. He’s got an Instagram, no pictures and his user is rookiecookiecop, but he only uses it to jerk off to pictures of girls in bikinis that look like you. He doesn’t get it, all this talk about don’t objectify me from girls your age, when all you lot do is show your body off online in skimpy clothes. Begging for attention. At least you make money off of it, link in your bio and everything.

To be fair though, sometimes Leon logs on and watches fridge organization videos, or loyalty test street interviews. Podcast clips, depending on the algorithm of the day. God forbid he accidentally finds one of those Republican blonde chicks hot. You can’t tell someone's political affiliation just from their bikini pics, but a mistake like that will fuck up his Explore page for sure. But they're entertaining enough, all those videos, while he’s warming his dick up with a hand in his pants in his bed at night.

You hand Leon your phone, and your page is cute. Coffee everyday, pink hair clips and little keychains on your purse and lots of cleavage and little skirts and friends just as hot as you. Pictures of the dinners Leon has taken you out to, or when he drives you in his car somewhere, or when you watch a movie together. His arm is the only thing showing in these photos, of course, but his chest feels full of something like love, because he’s a pathetic idiot loser pervert, but it’s kind of nice you want to document your time with him. His arm looks sexy too. His new protein powder must be working.

A lot of guys comment on your stuff, and then Leon can’t help but ask, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend? Why do you type in all lowercase?” You laugh at the second part, scoot closer to him, take your phone back and set your phone on the coffee table and place a hand in the middle of his chest to push him down. You shrug, before climbing up his body, settling on his face.

Your confidence - it’s fucking sexy. Treating Leon like you own him. You sort of do, he’ll admit it. He wants you to know it too.

“‘Cause I got you,” you say, possibly the most romantic thing Leon’s heard in fifteen years. “You're such a good friend. Take good care of me. You don't judge me," and then you add, "Lick my pussy, Daddy?” And Leon does. ‘Course he does. You’re his roommate, his crush, the girl of his dreams - but most of all, you’re his baby, aren’t you? You give him hell, need his protection, live with him and he provides for you and -

He sucks your clit into his mouth. On his face, you cum three times, all from his tongue which makes him feel pretty good. You’re the only girl he knows who is so willing to have her ass played with, his perfect little slut, so he fingers your hole and nearly gets a charley horse in his bicep when his arm tenses up keeping you in place in his face. It feels good, holding you down and prodding at you. He wants you to squirt, but he’s not sure he’s got the skills for that quite yet.

Probably needs more practice. He’ll ask you for some more later.

But Leon’s pretty content right now, smothered under your pretty pussy, two fingers knuckle deep in your ass, your soft skin suffocating him because you’re right about the oil, you feel baby soft. Which works, being his baby, because you keep calling him Daddy and Leon loves it so much. You moan like he’s the best mouth you’ve ever had, which is sweet, since he hears you get yourself off in your own room constantly, and you get much louder than you are right now.

You don’t squirt, but you’re satisfied. Thank Leon for the orgasms and his enthusiasm (ouch) before walking off to your room. You don’t offer to return the favor or anything, but it’s okay.

Leon came in his boxers, untouched. Forget all that shit he saw online about how to fix a dick that won’t get hard. No need to cut out alcohol, no need to take magic pills, no need to eat healthy or workout less or stop porn.

Apparently, all Leon needed was to meet someone like you.

Phew.

────

“There’s no more alcohol,” you say one night, cutting up strawberries on the kitchen counter top with no cutting board. Leon’s got to ask about the way you grew up - it’s like you know nothing about living as an adult, but who’s he to judge? Your immaturity works in his favor. He, and he knows it's sick, wants you to rely on him.

“Okay,” he says, mood a little sour from yet another shitty day at work. Another shitty day in his brain, so bad he sort of thinks he should look in his bathroom cabinet and see if those pills a doctor prescribed years ago for depression might still work. “Go buy some. You need some cash?”

You snort, which is unattractive but cute, and Leon feels a little better just being around you. You’re eating fruit salad for dinner, and even though he bought the groceries and he just came home from work, you don’t offer him any. Makes his dick stir, at your selfishness. He needs therapy, badly. But a quick fix, he realizes, can be found at the bottom of a liquor bottle.

He just can’t believe all the alcohol in the apartment is really gone - just figured you stopped looking after checking one cabinet, but. He can’t take that risk. It’s a Friday night, anyway.

“Wanna come with me to the store?” Leon asks, shutting the fridge door after he sees nothing on interest. You nod, and then you hand him what he thinks is a strawberry, but it’s just the leaf part. You want him to throw it away, so he does.

“Yes,” you say, so excitedly it actually almost makes Leon smile. You like him, want to hang out with him, want to be around him. Someone like you - sweet and pretty with a pussy that makes more money than his brain and his brawn, and you want to spend time with an old fuck like him. It’s flattering, honestly.

So he drives to the store. Leon doesn’t open your door to the passenger seat, and you get all upset, huffing and sighing until Leon asks what’s wrong. “You didn’t open my door,” you bitch, and he rolls his eyes, hands you his phone that’s already connected to the bluetooth because he knows you, and he knows you want to play Katrina, Sarina, what is it again? Sabrina Carpenter? Yeah, that’s it. Leon thinks she’s pretty cute.

“I’m not your boyfriend,” Leon answers, maybe a bit too rudely, because you don’t have a snarky comment back like usual. Instead, you just dramatically look out the window while the new Britney Spears sings about trying out fuzzy pink handcuffs. Drama queen.

You go to a corner store, because Leon doesn’t want to deal with an actual grocery store right now. Not when it’s dark outside, not when you’re in an outfit that you can’t even bend over to grab a basket in without your whole ass showing. It’s hot, shows a lot of leg even in the car, but Leon cares about you and he has a jealous streak, even if he got off last night to the thought of someone who wasn't him giving you the fuck of your life (while he watched and played clean up boy), so he opens the car door for you and takes off and holds out his jacket so you don’t flash anyone on the way out of the car. You smile a little.

“I’ll buy you anything you want,” he teases, because it’s the cheapest 'date' in the world, and then you grin. There's a little lip gloss on your teeth, and Leon wants to lick it off. “Cigarettes?” You ask, teasing right back. Heard Leon’s drunk and coked up rant last month, about how unsexy it is when women smoke.

As if he didn’t, in his youth, ask someone a woman to put cigarette out on him. He’s got mental problems and he knows it.

He tells you no to the cigarettes, puts his jacket back on, walks you inside the store and lets you go nuts. He picks up a basket that’s falling apart, stuffs it with too much junk and too much alcohol, and he’s a really bad person because he’s so much older than you, should be showing you good habits, but the honest truth is that he doesn’t have any. Not one. Can go months without eating a piece of broccoli, okay? He only buys healthy shit for you, like the fruit.

He walks around to find you, can see the way the other men at this corner store are looking at you, and it makes him sick - because he wonders if that’s how he looks. Is it? Like a wolf, licking his chops, ready to pounce on poor Red Riding Hood? The fact that he even remembers that fairy tale sort of makes him embarrassed, so he focuses on finding you in one of the aisles, where you’re looking at the calorie difference on powdered sugar donuts or chocolate ones. You settle on an apple pie scone thing, put it in the basket.

“You’re an alcoholic,” you comment when you look in the basket, a little too loud, and Leon forces out a laugh. People are looking at you both, probably wondering why you’re shit talking him, or why you’re even standing together to begin with. He wonders if he looks old enough to be your dad. Hopes he doesn't, but maybe he does. People look your way, but Leon ignores them, knows you’re trailing behind him on the way up to the cash register.

Everything is fine. Normal. The smell of your perfume lingers in the air and the sound of your little heels on the ground are comforting in Leon’s ears. He gets his ID ready while he waits in line, as if he really needs to show it with his greying hair and the lines on his face when he smiles. But then -

You shriek. Leon turns around so fast, and when he realizes what happened, he drops the basket he’s holding on the ground and looks to you. You look so scared, and it’s all happening so fast but Leon realizes what’s going down and he feels an anger he’s never experienced in his entire life.

He feels like a bad guy all the time, true - but the fact is, he’s really not. Sexual deviance aside. He had dreams of serving his community, wants to help and wants to do what’s right. He’s done good for so many people in his career, and just because he has a crippling porn addiction and an Only Fans model living in his home doesn’t mean all the good he's ever done didn't happen - or that he doesn't have an ounce left of it in his body.

Leon doesn't like what's happening, and he's not going to stand for it. Fuck no. Not when you're so upset. Some loser just smacked you on the ass - and this time, it wasn't him.

“I recognize you,” a random guy says. Ugly, reeking of marijuana and something stale. Since you moved in, Leon’s sense of smell has changed. So used to vanilla and floral and expensive and sweet that anything bad is extra noticeable now. You've changed his life. “You’re that girl, hey, John,” he calls out, and his buddy turns around. “She’s the girl I’m subscribed to.”

You’re getting recognized at the gas station. The men standing there know what your pussy looks like, know what your nipples look like, know what you look like when you cum. Leon looks at you, and you’re about to cry, but he knows violence isn’t going to solve anything. He thinks fast, but he’s always been good at that. Leon steps towards the guys.

“Subscribed to what? You want to explain to me what the fuck you're talking about?” He asks, and you grip his arm but he shrugs it off. Hears you tell him to let it go, it’s not worth it. But Leon’s not going to do that. No, he’s not ashamed about what you do - doesn’t think you should be either. Thinks these two punks, two guys your age that are so fucking stoned they don’t know they’re seconds away from Leon pulling the cop card and calling someone to drag their ass to the station for a drug charge.

But every cop knows - better to just scare them. So he does.

“I’m her father, and you just smacked her ass in front of me. In public. Some man, huh? You want to tell me what that subscription is? I should beat your ass just for looking at my daughter wrong."

Leon doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Words just fly out, and he scares the fuck out of the two guys so bad that they both drop their shit and leave. Leon pays for the stuff you want, a hand on the small of your back while you try to calm down, and then he opens your car door and helps you with the seatbelt, feeling oddly protective.

But once he sits on the driver's seat, starts the car, you break down in tears. Sobbing. Little sniffles, rubbing your face full of makeup onto the white sweater you have - and Leon knows that it’s ruining it. Staining it. He’s the one that washes it.

“Sweetheart,” he says, the nickname rolling off his tongue. “It’s,” he doesn’t know what to say. “It’ll be okay. I’m sorry I didn’t hit them, or beat their ass, or whatever you wanted me to do but,” but you let out a wail, and undo your seatbelt, throwing yourself over the center console to wrap your arms around his neck.

“That was so scary,” you say, and Leon feels so fucking bad. “It’s one thing when it’s virtual, you know? But in real life. It's just awful,” and you cry and cry and cry, and all Leon can think of is - duh. It’s horrible that this happened to you, makes him want to shoot both of those dicks in the, well, dick - but you had to know that real people were looking at your pics. Your videos too. Truth be told, Leon should’ve asked this a long time ago but - where are your parents? Do you seriously not have a decent adult to guide you?

“I know, baby,” he says instead. You go back to your seat, makeup smeared, and Leon knows he’s falling hard for you because he doesn’t think it makes you unattractive. He still thinks you’re beautiful, just. A beautiful raccoon.

He takes you home. Carries the bags from the store. You sit on the couch and pull a blanket over your lap, one of your fuzzy ones that are too small for Leon to use but fit you just right, and he puts the snacks and some of the liquor away. He’s about to take a swig out of a bottle to calm his nerves, when he hears your voice from the living room.

“Leon,” you whimper. He walks over to you immediately. “Do you subscribe to any other girls?” Your voice sounds like you’re worried about what his answer might be, and he doesn’t understand why that’s something you’re worried about right now.

You know that Leon likes you. Look at everything he does for you. He's made it clear that even if you didn’t let him fuck you, he’d still let you live here - but at this point, you really could afford your own room somewhere. You’re friends. Why would it matter if he subscribed to -

Wait.

Other girls?

Does that mean you know that he’s subscribed to you? He flushes red, flustered as he sits beside you on the couch. Hands you a little bottle of vodka to swig out of that he carried in from the kitchen, and you do. Don’t even make a face or anything. Maybe you are related. You hand the bottle back.

“I know you subscribe to me. Rookiecookiecop. Who else could it be? You've said that before when you told one of your stupid jokes.”

Leon shakes his head, takes a swig of his own. “Could be anyone. Lots of cops. I don’t,” but he gives up. Shakes his head again and taps a finger on the bottle he's holding. “Fine. I do. Just you, though. Why’re you worried about that?”

You shrug. You look so sad and small all of a sudden, and Leon just wants to wrap you up in your stupid blanket and rock you to sleep. He doesn’t know if it’s fatherly, or a feeling a boyfriend would get. It doesn’t really matter - he just wants to take care of you.

“I just don’t know why you don’t like me like that. Like…more. I know that you’re hot and you’ve got your shit together,” and as these words leave your mouth, Leon genuinely thinks you’re pulling his leg. That you’re teasing him. Because - you’re out of your mind. You think that he’s got his shit together? He can’t even walk past your laundry basket without grabbing a pair of your dirty panties. He let a random girl move in, he secretly subscribed to her online porn page. He’s a depressed alcoholic who shouldn’t have access to a gun for his own mental health, and you -

You’re beautiful. Sexy. Caring, when you want to be. Leon loves you, but he doesn’t know what that means. Doesn’t know what that looks like. So he scoots closer, puts the bottle down on the coffee table, wraps one arm around your shoulders and then places his other hand on your thigh, so he’s all in your space. Your fake eyelash is falling off but he doesn’t even care, really. He presses a kiss to your nose.

“You’re so wrong,” he whispers, because that sums it up. “About everything. You have no idea, the things you do to me,” and he’s going to regret saying this, but he has to let you know. Would feel guilty, keeping this truth from you. “You’re too good for me. You see that, don’t you? Could do so much better than all this. I can’t be your boyfriend, because you deserve someone better, baby. Okay? But I’ll be what you need me to be, as long as you need it. Just you,” you nod. You understand. Leon doesn't even need to finish his speech.

You kiss him, and you’re good at all sex acts but you could use some work with your kisses. Too much saliva, that Leon slurps up because it's you, and this is the closest he's ever gotten to a woman spitting in his mouth. Your teeth knock into each other for a second. Leon loves it. Reminds him of his first kiss, and his dick swells up in his pants. “Lee,” you whisper against his lips, and Leon missed that nickname but he still cringes, cups your face with one hand, uses his thumb to try to clean some of your makeup up. “Want you to be Daddy tonight.”

Leon can do that.

────

You like to call Leon Daddy, and he gets it. Understands the appeal, because anytime he sees a woman over thirty with big tits he wants to call them Mommy. There’s something comforting about choosing your own authority figure - to just relax, turn your brain off, have someone else make all the rules for you.

Leon wouldn’t consider himself dominant. Sometimes he worries he’s only two porn categories away from having a foot fetish, truth be told, because he just likes the feeling of someone else taking control.

And, because he paid for your pedicure last month and you let him look at your toes close up to see where his hard earned government money went. You're so sexy to him, you bring out new fetishes - and Leon thinks that's beautiful.

He loves your bratty behavior. Loves that you tease him about his drinking habits and his porn addiction and his age, loves that you disregard his needs unless you need something from him, like cash to get your nails done or to buy something dumb at the mall. He’s pretty sure that even with all the money you make, he’s the one solely funding your coffee habit. You’re selfish, and rude, but you’re so hot and you’re so young and Leon likes that about you. Loves that he can take care of you, be your Daddy, someone you trust and look up to - even when he bends to every single whim you have, and sometimes feels like your bitch boy more than anything else.

Your dynamic gives him a chance to be the pathetic loser he wants while also tricking him into thinking of himself like a winner. Because yeah, you might wear his balls around your neck because even when you don’t sleep in his bed, he lets you keep your stuffed animals in his bed all night with him just in case you come in there if you have a nightmare, but you’re dumb enough and sexy enough that everytime he gets a chance to play with you he feels like the man. Other men can only dream of living the kind of life he lives with you, and for the first time, Leon really does feel like he’s a winner.

He’s such a loser.

You wanna be babied tonight? Leon will do that. He carries you to his bedroom, eats up the way you compliment his big, strong arms, is supposed to be in charge but you tell him exactly what to do. How you want him to fuck you, how many fingers you want him to use when he opens you up, if he’s allowed to give you any hickeys (no, and it’s just a slap in the face at this point because Leon’s never marked you up - but you’ve done it to him, make it impossible for him to get laid by anyone else).

“Daddy,” you say, when Leon gently takes your clothes off, positions himself between your legs and softly licks up your slit. You’re not even wet yet, which means this Daddy thing is more than just sexual for you. Truth be told, Leon did always figure you had no relationship, or a strained one with your father. On Father’s Day this year, you did a 24-hour broadcast on your camming account, and Leon’s pretty sure any woman doing that has daddy issues that run bone deep.

But who’s he to judge? Imagining that he’s your father can get his dick so hard, sometimes he can literally cum without touching himself.

“Yeah, baby,” Leon assures, licking your pussy and running a finger lightly around your clit, teasing before he drags his finger down and pushes it inside of you. Your back arches off the bed like it feels so fucking good, and maybe it does, but Leon doesn’t know how it compares when he knows you shove ten inch dildos in your pussy on camera. He’s bought you one before. “Daddy’s here.”

“Fuck me,” you say, like you changed your mind about the foreplay. You’re wet enough now that Leon doesn’t feel bad for fucking you without getting you all properly good and wet, so he positions himself on top of you, spits in his hand and rubs it on the tip of his aching hard dick, because yeah, he’s already that turned on, has a hero complex and the fact that you were all over him with tears, well - he's a cop for a reason.

And then he pushes his dick inside of you, and you cry and scratch his back so hard that he hisses - but he knows he just stretched your tight little cunt out without much warning. It's what you wanted though, what you demanded from him, right?

“Tell me something sweet,” you beg, and Leon looks down at you, taken aback. You’re always the flirty one in bed - saying filthy, sexy things. Bending yourself into crazy positions, but right now you really seem upset. Maybe you’re more emotionally disturbed than Leon thought. Maybe you really do have problems that lead you to live this kind of lifestyle. Maybe Leon’s a worse guy than he thought -

But you being so vulnerable is making his balls tighten, much faster than usual, and he fucks you so brutal and so rough and the only sweet thing he can think of really isn’t that sweet at all.

“Perfect little slut,” he manages to say, pulling out so he doesn’t cum inside of you. "You make a real pretty cumrag." If you’re filming tomorrow, he feels bad about giving you a creampie - doesn't know if you can get it all out in time to get a close up of your pussy. Not fair to you. So he pulls his dick out before he can cum, jerks himself off for a second before he busts his nut all over your sweet little stomach and that sexy belly button ring. He’ll help you properly clean it when you're both done.

Leon sucks. He didn’t get you off. Came in about five minutes. But -

“Lick the cum off. Finish me off,” you whine, so Leon does, licks his own seed off of your stomach, your skin warm and soft under his tongue. To be honest, he doesn’t taste that bad, which makes sense why you’re so obsessed with sucking his dick. Protein powder for the win again, he supposes. Leon cleans you off, and then he licks you out. You cum from his tongue pressed hard in your hole, his thumb circling your clit.

He’s Daddy, so he carries you to the bath and lets you tease him about being a grown man in a pink bubble bath. It’s your bath bomb that you're both using, but, yup, you guessed it - Leon likes the humiliation. Dick half hard and pressing into your back while you two relax together and raise the cost of his water bill. You love your baths. Take one almost every day.

“You feel better?” He asks, rubbing up and down your soft thigh. Leon kisses your head.

“Yeah,” you say, a little happier than before. “I really like you, Leon. You take such good care of me. You’d make a really good boyfriend.” You’re silent, while Leon absorbs the compliment that gets rid of about two years of emotional trauma inside of him. Then you break the silence.

“Why’d you tell those guys you were my dad?” You giggle, and Leon shrugs. He’s embarrassed, because he doesn’t even know himself. “First thing I thought of,” he admits, and you lean back against his chest. All is right in the world. Until -

“Don’t get mad, Leon, but,” and then you tell him. You tell him the truth.

That you’ve secretly been filming every single time you've had sex with him. You explain that it gets the highest views, and you always crop out his face, and now that people know he’s your dad they’ll probably tell the internet forums, because after all, you are a very popular creator. So it works out, you say, that Leon pretended to be your dad today. People online are into that kind of shit, you tell him, and pretty please don’t be mad.

Leon, he’s - he doesn’t even know. Doesn’t even know what to fucking say. You’ve been secretly filming him fucking you, putting it online and -

That’s a crime. That’s literally a fucking crime. Men go to jail for that sort of thing. For a long time. Leon is speechless. He feels betrayed. Violated. Even worse, you pocketed all the money you got from those videos?

You must take his lack of talking to mean he's not mad. So you start lathering yourself in soap, chatting about the pink flip phone you want Leon to buy you, one you saw on eBay a few weeks ago, so you can get one to match his artifacts. Leon wants the bath to swallow him down the drain.

“I,” he says, pulling away from you just slightly. “I don’t,” he can’t form a thought. “No.” But he says it like a question. “You know that’s illegal, don’t you? I could lose my job.”

And then you turn to him, eyes big, the makeup almost all washed off after crying. Your lips are in a pout, and you rub your ass against his cock. You're manipulative, Leon sees it now. You're smarter than you look, and Leon feels queasy and...a little scared?

“Daddy,” you say, and he guesses you're back to that now. You know how to play him. Forget selling pictures of your body - you need to make a fucking online course to teach women how to get away with murder.

“Please?” Another pause, and you lick your lips like you’re thinking and it makes Leon want to groan. “I mean, if you told anyone, they’d know it was you. Plus, if you really did get fired, we could probably just make more videos for more money. It’s not a big deal.”

Leon feels like he hates you a little bit. Feels like he walked into a trap, a prison with his eyes closed, and now he's stuck.

But somehow, by the end of the bath - Leon steps out with his dick painfully hard, dries the both of you off, and pulls his phone out while you cuddle up to him in bed. He buys you the phone you asked for, all while you read the comments and requests from your viewers and subscribers out loud to him.

“Put your dad in panties,” you read, literally throwing your head back in a laugh. Leon is red in the face, but the truth is?

He’s never been so hard.

And he’s pretty sure you do have access to his porn history -

How’d you know his favorite category was Blackmail?

#leon kennedy ㅤ♡#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut #resident evil x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader

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bloggerspam · 56 minutes ago

Text

This fic seriously blew up in a way that kind of scares me. I didn't expect so many people to like my silly little fic---I see and read all of your comments, but I simply am too anxious/frankly scared of the sheer amount of them to actually respond.

Forgive me, truly. Hopefully the fic lives up to the hype!

===

Truth be told, Jazz didn't think Ellie would make it this far.

She honestly didn't think Danny would make it this far either, not that she'd ever tell him that because it'd either crush him or make him mad.

She thought that maybe, at a push, Ellie would accidentally phase through something (she's still getting the hang of it) whilst playing with Dad.

She even thought that maybe Danny would be seen putting stuff into his body (he's always been so mad that Ellie is better at it, and adamantly uses himself as a purse in retaliation).

She didn't think that they'd catch out another family member's powers. much less an entirely new cousin.

Admittedly, she's kind of proud of her siblings—proud of herself, even.

Mom had assured her a thousand times that nobody would notice, and to be fair to her nobody noticed Ellie until Baby Jon got involved.

She wonders if Conner or Baby Jon would notice if Dan joined them (he's still on probation though, so it might not be for a long while if ever in their lifetime, which is a shame).

The fact that Uncle Clark (because it must have been Uncle Clark, Aunt Lois would never have thrown her sons into the deep end this way) thought the same way makes Jazz cringe at the Walker Family Genes.

Perhaps, instead of calling it Fenton Luck, it should be re-dubbed as Walker Luck.

"So you're both metas," Ellie hums, bringing Jazz back to the present, "But Jon only got his recently?"

"Uh huh." Baby Jon confirms, munching on the food that Jazz sent Danny to grab for the group. "Got them just after the last reunion."

"That doesn't explain your supposed brother's sudden appearance." Danny points out, biting into a mini pie himself, Jazz sits back to let her siblings do the questioning, pulling out her phone to a specific text conversation as she keeps half an eye on the kids.

"I'm not an affair baby," Conner reminds them, dejectedly sipping his juicebox, "But Clark donated to a sperm bank once, and long story short, the Kents took me in to save me from a bad situation about four years ago."

"That's another thing that bothers me," Danny points a crumby finger at Conner, "You call Aunt Lois 'Mom' so naturally but you call Uncle Clark by his name. Why?"

"Clar—Dad didn't really react well to my existence." Conner grumbles, "He thought someone, ugh, I don't really know what he thought, but it wasn't great."

"Dad was a butthead for sure." Baby Jon chimes in, "But Uncle Bruce beat him up a little bit, and then tattled to Mom."

"Uncle Bruce?" Jazz daintily pops a grape into her mouth, the crispy juice flooding her senses as she ponders. This all seems plausible, but something about it is…off. Plus, if Uncle Clark really was that bad she's going to have words with him. She shoots off another text. "Uncle Bruce from Iowa, or the Uncle Bruce from the Big Apple?"

"Uncle Bruce as in my best friend's dad." Baby Jon clarifies, toothy smile a little messy around the edges with crumbs. "Uncle Bruce is Dad's best friend in the whole world, and his son Damian is my best friend in the whole world too."

"Anyway, me and dear old Dad are better now, but old habits die hard, y'know?" Conner grumbles, juicebox making loud crackling noises as the juice comes to an end. "Enough about us, what about you guys?"

"What about us?" Ellie tilts her head, mouth full of fudge. Jazz puts her phone down, grabbing a napkin to wipe a smudge of chocolate off her cheek. "We're metas."

"But Cousin Danny said it was a new development." Baby Jon argues, "I didn't even know the Walker Family had meta-genes—Ma said they didn't."

"There's bound to be at least a couple, big family like this. Dad has the meta-gene." Jazz pipes in, shrugging when Baby Jon looks over at her. "I mean, you've seen him,"

"I have not." Conner deadpans, making Ellie and Jazz giggle.

"Dad's like an off brand Kool-aid Man." Danny rolls his eyes, flopping back into the grass. "I got my powers three years ago."

"What?!" Baby Jon looks affronted, "That means I've had my powers longer than you!"

"And I'm still better at controlling my powers than you are." Danny agrees, smugly haughty in tone. "What's that feel like?"

Jazz has to smother her laugh—Danny does have an unusual ease with his powers. The hardest part for him has always been remembering what powers he has access to. Danny's always been like this with the littler cousins, and it always makes her laugh.

Before Baby Jon can retort anything else Ellie interjects by flopping over onto Danny, making him oof.

"I hate to say it, but big brother is just that good." Ellie huffs. digging her elbow into Danny's stomach as if in retaliation. "I got my powers just after him, and I still have trouble with my powers."

"You're not that bad." Danny feigns hurt, twisting and rolling around until he's got her in a headlock. "You just keep forgetting where the bar is."

That, and she only just got some stability in her genetic make up. With Mom and Dad helping with some ethical, wholesome science Ellie was finally able to stabilize the ecto in her chemical make up. She's been having a rough go, getting used to her powers and staying more human this past year.

"Crazy coincidental that you both got your powers so close to each other." Conner hums, watching Ellie and Danny wrestle with a weird kind of fascination. He looks over to Baby Jon, awkwardly patting him on the head twice. "Don't worry, you'll get the hang of hiding your powers."

"If Uncle Clark can't teach you, I'm sure your brother can." Danny smirks, down at Baby Jon. "He's not as good as me, but…"

"Wha—" Conner's head whips to stare at Danny, "I'm not—I didn't—"

"Danny." Jazz scolds, shooting her brother a look. "We do not out people!"

"I'm informing him that I know so he knows to do better." Danny sticks his nose up, "I am not outing him, I'm trying to help."

"You mean you were being competitive." Jazz rolls her eyes. "Pretending to be better at hiding your meta-status when you voluntarily used your powers to nab Ellie and Baby Jon is certainly a very interesting way to try and help."

"I'm just sayin'." Danny singsongs, smartassed-ly pointing out, "It's not like you didn't notice, and Ellie would have found out eventually."

Conner whips his gaze to her now, as if to silently ask if this is true. Jazz has no choice but to smile sheepishly at him in response—clearly he at least has some kind of advanced hearing if he was able to direct Jazz to the others so quickly.

Conner slumps in defeat as his little brother laughs at him. He wordlessly pushes Baby Jon into the grass in response, which starts another scuffle that Ellie inexplicably joins in on.

"How did you get your powers anyway, Baby Jon?" Danny asks once they've all settled once more. "Did something happen? Are you okay?"

"I just grew into mine!" Baby Jon smiles, "But thanks for worryin'. What about you?"

"Got em on a dare." Danny brushes off, plopping Ellie into his lap so he can play with her hair again, "Barely even noticed."

Jazz hits him on the back of the head. "Do not."

Danny grumbles, but says nothing. She's going to have to have a big boy conversation with him about being so blase about his death, mark her words.

"Danny had to go to the hospital." Ellie informs them, patting Danny on the leg. Jazz bites the inside of her cheek against the surge of grief that almost overwhelms her. "I got my powers because I'm—"

"Because of very private circumstances." Jazz interjects, firmly. Ellie's jaw shuts with a clack, burying her face into Danny's chest. Danny pats her hair soothingly, and Jazz rubs her back to apologize for cutting her off. "We're not particularly hiding it from the family, but things could get messy back home if someone found out."

"Are you from a small town or something? Dealing with meta-prejudice?" Conner asks, eyeing Ellie with a look Jazz doesn't like. It reeks of sympathy, the kind that you know first hand. Perhaps the bad situation Conner escaped from was meta-status related…She's definitely going to have to probe Uncle Clark later, or perhaps ask Aunt Lois about Conner's previous home.

"Wasn't it in Illinois?" Baby Jon hums, tilting into his brother. Conner doesn't seem to be used to contact, which concerns her—though it's a relief that he seems caring of his little brother. She watches as he hesitatingly wraps an arm around Baby Jon, as if unused to it despite the supposed four years with the Kents.

"Pennsylvania." Jazz gently corrects, reaching over to pet Danny's hair. "Don't worry, it's nothing serious. It's just a hassle."

Amity Park accepted Ellie's existence with little trouble, chalking it up to the Drs. Fenton's quirky natures to adopt some random cousin from one of Dad's late siblings.

But if Danny and Ellie's so-called meta status became public they'd have to be very careful to only show specific powers unrelated to their ghost sides.

There's also the matter of the GIW, and that entire…thing.

"If you say so." Conner eyes the siblings, crushing Baby Jon closer as if imagining worst case scenarios. "But if you need help, I know someone who works for the Justice League."

"Uncle Bruce funds the Justice League's space tower thing." Baby Jon explains, which is interesting but ultimately irrelevant—it's not like the Justice League did anything about the GIW before.

Though she can't really blame them, as far as she knows Amity Park never filed a complaint and it's not like the Justice League can be everywhere. Besides, Danny's got a handle on the ghost situation, and Mom and Dad are doing…something about the GIW with Vlad.

"It's fine." Danny waves them off, scoffing at the very idea. He's become very unimpressed with the JL lately, Martian Manhunter not-withstanding. "We can handle it."

Conner looks like he has something to say about that, but before he can get another word out a commotion of familiar voices nearby catches their attention.

"Oh no." Jazz and Danny say in unison, looking at each other and hurriedly getting up. Danny scoops Ellie up, holding her like a sack of potatoes and following after Jazz as she rushes towards the noise. Ellie simply lets him, going limp and brushing off the grass on Danny's shirt where she can reach.

"What? What's happening?" Conner jumps up, frantically looking around for a threat. Baby Jon grabs him by the sleeve and drags him to try and catch up.

"Ancients, they really just tossed you into the deep end huh?" Danny grumbles, giving a disapproving glance down at Baby Jon. Their little cousin sheepishly smiles back up, which Danny responds with a roll of his eyes. "Just so you know, this reaction would'a been another reason to be caught out."

"Dad said he got it!" Baby Jon tries to defend, but doesn't bother explaining the situation to his older brother.

"Well he clearly didn't!" Conner practically yells, hooking an arm around his brother's waist and catching up with her and her siblings. "So will someone please explain what the hell has you guys—"

Conner cuts himself off as they round the corner, a familiar (to Jazz and Danny) scene greeting them just behind the little gathering of trees that line the edge of the backyard.

Mom and Uncle Clark are, as usual, yelling at each other.

Aunt Lois looks very done, one hand on her hip and the other pinching the bridge of her nose. Great Aunt Martha is fixing Aunt Lois's hair and clothes, patting down her own hair once her daughter-in-law's all sorted. There's a basket of more mini pies on the grass next to their feet.

"Uncle Clark and Mom have had Grade-A Wagyu Beef with each other since they were kids." Ellie stage whispers to Conner, before bidding Danny to let her down. He does so easily, placing her between himself and Conner, who has also put Jon down to his other side.

"Oh you've always been like this! Golden Boy Clark Kent, can't do no wrong so he never thinks things through!" Mom is yelling, throwing her hands up in utter disgust.

"Me? You're the one who ruined prom with your experiments—" Uncle Clark has his arms crossed defensively, leaning down to meet Mom's height, "Mad Maddie Walker back at it again with her shenanigans, never lettin' sleepin' dogs lie, always gotta poke the hornet's nest!"

"Oh please, you should thank me for that prom disaster, what with that god awful suit Aunt Martha got you." Mom leans around Uncle Clark, smiling sheepishly at Great Aunt Martha. "No offense, Auntie."

"None taken, dear." Great Aunt Martha laughs gently, as Uncle Clark yells indignantly at the same time, "It was a nice suit!"

"It was periwinkle blue with ruffles, Clark. You're god damned lucky my experiment got you and you still fit Pa's suits." Mom scoffs, turning back to Uncle Clark with a sneer.

"I had to pay full price for that rental, had to use up all my Summer wages!" Uncle Clark retorts, but Mom isn't having it.

"And you should be thankin' me, like I said! Got that Lana girl all up in your business now didn't I?"

Aunt Lois snorts then, which makes Uncle Clark glow red. "You leave Lana outta this Maddie, and you weren't no better, sneakin' off with the Miller's boy, you think nobody knew?"

Mom sputters, turning red herself. "You were two states away, how did you know about that!"

"Distance didn't stop you from ruinin' my prom now did it!" They're in each other's faces now, which is comical considering the height difference,

Jazz decides that enough is enough. "Mom, you promised you would behave!"

"Jazz!" Mom jolts, backing away with a sweet smile and ignoring her scolding per usual. "Honey, what are you doin' all the way over here?"

"We heard the commotion, Mom." Jazz rolls her eyes. "What did Uncle Clark supposedly do this time?"

"Your Uncle Clark here," Mom's smile suddenly looks razor sharp. "is apparently Superman."

The silence that follows is very very loud, much louder than Uncle Clark and Mom bickering, much louder than the crowd on the other side of the row of houses where the rest of their giant family is still partying it up.

Aunt Lois face palms, the slap of it jolting every one back into breathing. Great Aunt Martha sighs gustily, hand pressed to her cheek

"Fuck," Conner finally says, breathing the curse out before saying louder, "Fuck, they're right, I get it from you—Batman's going to kick your ass."

A chorus of voices overlap each other in varying tones to yell out in unison:

"Language!"

Cousins, Clones and Conning the Family

Family Reunion AU, where cousins Maddie and Clark try to smuggle their clone children into the family reunion that happens every 5 years and pretend they've been there the whole time.

Spoiler alert, one of them does significantly better than the other. Mainly Kid POV, and also on AO3! Multichapter. ===

The problem with big family reunions, Danny thinks, is how utterly fucking lost Danny is all the gosh dang time.

"Well now, you're Maddie's son now ain'tcha? How old is you now?" The woman standing before him guffaws, ruffling his hair. He lets it, trying desperately to remember the speadsheet Jazz created for the family and (obviously) failing to recall this woman's name.

Agatha? Selene? Riri? No, Aunt Riri is over there—

"Yes ma'am," Danny smiles up at the unnamed aunt, accent going a little twangy like it always does at these functions, "I'll be hittin' 17 in a coupl'a months or so."

"My, my, you youngin's sure grow like weeds!" The aunt coos, gesturing to a height by her hip, "You used to be this tall last time I saw ya, betcha don't r'member me now do ya?"

It's a trap. If he says he doesn't remember, which is expected at reunions such as these that happen every 5 years or longer, she'll start going on and on about the stories she has of the family. Danny would have to stand here and demure and laugh at these cousins he doesn't really remember too well, but know enough to know that she's gotten them all mixed up.

"Pshaw," Danny doesn't react when a whisper breathes the answer into his ear, "I'd never forget a pretty lady like you, Aunt Helena!"

It works like a charm.

The second he's out of her clutches, he feels around for a cold spot. There, trailing just behind him, is Ellie. She's not invisible anymore, so he tucks her under his arm and bee-lines it towards the metaphorical kid's table.

"Thanks, Ellie. Weren't you supposed to stay with Dad?" Danny leads them around, trying to avoid any other mishaps. "Did Jazz send you?"

"She made me flashcards!" Ellie smirks up at him, ignoring his other question and pulling a corner of an index card out from the palm of her hand. She's always been better than him at manipulating the ecto in her body, for obvious reasons. Danny's not bitter about it at all.

"Damn, all I got was a presentation." Danny grumbles. Jazz and Dad somehow know every single one of their family members, which is ludicrous when even Mom doesn't know despite it being her side of the family.

He still can't really believe how big his family actually is, but he supposes that's natural. He only sees them once every couple of years, the only relative they see even on a remotely regular basis is Aunt Alicia, who has no kids and refuses (rightfully so) to remarry.

Danny's fine with that, he gets the best of both worlds after all. Cozy holiday stays with Aunt Alicia and he has places to stay all over the country if he really needs it, no questions asked.

Plus, crazy as they can be, these reunions have always felt like a big country festival for Danny.

"She likes me better." Ellie snickers, tugging him back to avoid Uncle Charlie's drunken stumbling.

"Everyone likes you better," Danny rolls his eyes, pushing Ellie's head down and ducking to avoid a stray kid's toy flying overhead, "I like you better."

As if somehow knowing Danny's being self deprecating again, Jazz shows up to smack him on the head. "I like both of you equally in special ways."

Danny makes a disgruntled noise, grumbling as he rubs his head, "Mooooom, Jazz is therapizing me again!"

Even though he was only half joking, Mom does show up specifically to laugh at him. "Honey, your father and I love all our children equally!"

"It's a secret," Dad says from behind Jazz, kids climbing all over him, "But Ellie's the favorite!"

"Jack!" Mom yells at the same time Jazz screams, "Dad!"

Ellie dissolves into giggles, making everyone but Dad helplessly laugh. It's good to see Ellie laugh, she does it a lot but it still doesn't feel like it's enough. Danny picks her up, giggling mess and all, and tosses her at Dad.

She lands, as expected, straight into the pile of children who scream and accept her easily.

"Nice." Jazz chuckles, this time patting him gently on his head in approval. Danny shrugs, dusting his hands off and heading back towards salvation: the food.

He and Jazz mingle a bit, exchanging greetings and school updates with the Aunts and Uncles they occasionally bump into, making their way slowly through and keeping an eye out for the other cousins.

Eventually, Jazz gets nabbed by Cousin Dermot just as Danny reaches the table, tossing a pig-in-a-blanket into his mouth and chewing with glee. The locals of the family usually something potluck style—and though Dad's genes are strong and the Fentons can't cook, the bulk of the Walker family definitely can.

In fact—Great Aunt Martha said she was going to bring some mini pies right?

Danny spies a pile of them in the middle of the large table and reaches for one, only to bump into the spikes of black fingerless gloves.

The gloves are, of course, attached to someone else.

It's a boy, around Danny's age, in a spiked leather jacket (matching the gloves) and white tee shirt with ripped jeans. He's got the tiniest John Lennon sunglasses and piercings everywhere—it makes Danny squint at him, with how much the sun keeps catching on everything—the spikes, the piercings, the metal arms of the sunglasses, is this dude also wearing lipgloss?

Danny's not judging, a guy can appreciate proper hydration to avoid chapped lips or even just for the aesthetic, but it doesn't help with the glare.

"Sorry, my bad." Right, okay, city slicker then. Not that Danny's much of a country boy or anything. "Did my spikes get you?"

Maybe Cousin Jenny brought a plus one? Danny eyes the guys jeans—they look tight. Was Cousin Mark into guys? Is this dude a guy or possibly a masculine girl? Ack. Stupid sun frying his brain.

"It's okay," Danny says, blinking away and tossing mini pie to the other person. "Aunt Martha's pies are worth the minor injury. You comin' in with one of the cousins?"

"Uh, yeah." Citypunk looks at Danny nervously, "I mean, I am one of the cousins." The guy bites his lips, shrugging, "Uh, one of the Kents, actually. Ma's real proud of the pies."

Danny blinks.

"…You're not Jon." Danny says, very carefully and slowly.

"…No…" Stranger Danger draws his vowels out, "I'm Conner. His, uh, older brother? Can't blame ya for being confused though!"

"…You can't." Danny agrees, because out of the two them, Danny definitely isn't to blame for the confusion.

"Yeah, lots of cousins, and all," Curiouser and Curiouser beams at Danny, shrugging and rubbing the back of his neck, "Plus, I know Jon's more sociable at these things."

"Right, he really is rambunctious, that guy." Danny nods, as if that's the problem, and not the fact that Danny knows every single cousin his age. Big as his family might be, Danny's generation came out the smallest. Cousin Jenny and Cousin Mark are the only two his age.

With Ellie and Jazz each being four years younger and older than Danny, and the other cousins being well beyond those ages in gaps, there is no way this guy is a cousin.

"Don't worry," Punk'd laughs self deprecatingly, "I know he's the favorite. even if Mom won't admit it."

Danny feels a vein throb in his right temple.

He's unsure if he should slowly back away or get up in the guy's face. It's just—now that Danny thinks about it, if wedding crashing is a thing, does that mean family reunion crashing is a thing too?

What's the protocol here? Should he fight this guy for having the audacity to use Great Aunt Martha's name in vein?

Wait, no, that's Jesus.

Is Great Aunt Martha Catholic? ...Is that the one with Jesus, or was that Christianity?

Wait, Danny, you knuckle head, Uncle Clark was adopted. Conner could be adopted too! Even though he looks exactly like that Uncle Clark when he was younger…

"Is this your first time at a reunion?" Danny ventures, "We only have 'em—"

"Every 5 years, yeah." Conner huffs, "Nah, I just used to hide with Ma in the kitchens."

Okay, clearly Great Aunt Martha isn't in on this, because Danny used to hide with Great Aunt Martha in the kitchens. Danny's about to lose his shit on this guy—or maybe sic Ellie on him. Whichever is worse.

"Oh yeah? That's must have been cozy." Danny grits out, taking a deep breath so his eyes don't flash.

"Yeah, it was!" Conner beams shyly. though all Danny sees is a smug smirk. "She's real nice-like, I'm sure you know. Real lucky to have her for a Grandma."

"Real lucky." Danny agrees, because Great Aunt Martha really was one of the better Great Aunts. Though most of the Walker Kin were hardy and tough, in that badass kind of way. Mom really liked Great Aunt Martha's lessons on bull wranglin' back when they were younger. "Speakin' of, she ain't here?"

"Nah," Conner makes a sad little pout. "She hadta stop by Auntie Agatha's for an emergency. She left two days ago, so she's runnin' a little behind. Cl—Dad went to go pick her up."

Danny squints at the possible imposter. That sounded like he was going to call Uncle Clark by his name, which makes things confusing for Danny. Guy will call Aunt Lois Mom but he won't call Uncle Clark Dad easily? Maybe he's a kid Aunt Lois had before marrying Uncle Clark? But Aunt Lois would never hide a kid, and Great Aunt Martha would never let her treat a kid like that. That's not even taking into account that this kid looks way too much like Uncle Clark for it to be a fucking coincidence. Plus, Danny knew about Aunt Aggie's emergency and how she might not be making it to this year's reunion—this gives Conner's story credibility.

But Danny knows that the best way to lie is with truths, even if the truths are confusing.

So what the hell is going on? Is Clockwork fucking with him? Did an alternate timeline get switched with his?

It wouldn't be the first time, but Clockwork at least had the decency to let him know at least.

"What the—" Danny blinks, as Conner picks up a very familiar, eye-searingly green colored post it note that was stuck to the plate under a mini pie. "Is this yours?"

"Yeah," Danny huffs. taking the note and rolling his eyes as lies roll off his tongue, "Sorry, y'know how it goes with Jazz."

"Oh, yeah." And Danny has to give it Conner, he at least rolls with the punches real quick, "I heard about it but didn't ever uh, see it in action."

"Really?" Danny feigns surprise, head pulsing in irritation at the words all is as it should be written in purple pen. There's no mocking smiley face, but Danny feels it in the ink anyway. "Thought she got all the cousins at the last reunion."

Conner chuckles nervously, "Oh, yeah—Guess I'm just, easy to miss you know?"

"Uh huh…" Danny eyes the guy and his piercings and very distinct style, from the tip of his clearly styled hair and needlessly ostentatious big black studded boots. "…Right."

Conner laughs, wincing. "These're new. High school debut."

"…You're a freshman?" Danny tilts his head, squinting.

"Junior." Conner automatically corrects, before stiffening. "…I just wanted to reinvent myself for Junior Prom."

"Right." Danny repeats, drawing out the vowels and finally giving up. He can tell Conner already knows what Danny is going to ask, and is trying to exit this conversation post-haste.

Fortunately for Conner and unfortunately for Danny, Jazz comes barreling in, almost knocking the former out in the process as she grips the latter's biceps tightly with her eyes wide and nervous.

Unfortunately for Conner and fortunately for Danny, though the look in Jazz's eyes thoroughly distracts the latter and gives the former a window to escape, Jazz's hissed out words end up keeping Conner rooted to the floor.

"Baby Jon has powers!" Jazz hisses as she moves Danny away from the possible imposter a couple feet. Even though she says it low enough for only Danny to hear, Conner's wide eyes as he whips his gaze towards them suggests that Jon's not the only one with powers.

And then words actually register along with that thought.

Danny hisses out the first thing he thinks of. "Since when?? I thought he took after Aunt Lois!"

"Since now," Jazz gruffs, switching her grip to drag Danny away, "and I need you to do something about it!"

"What?" Danny doesn't struggle, going along even as he eyes Conner who seems to be following them at a distance. "Why?"

Jazz pushes him towards the kid's area, rushing out a frantic "He's in the bounce house with Ellie!"

Danny freezes, or tries to even as Jazz keeps tugging him along, before shaking off her hand and booking it towards the bounce house.

Once the bounce house (a castle) comes into view, Danny clocks several things in succession:

One: Ellie and Jon are thankfully the only ones in the bounce house right now.

Two: Ellie and Jon are laughing, and through the mesh Danny can see Ellie watching Jon jump way too high to be considered normal.

And three: The bounce house is about to fucking tip over.

There's a gaggle of Aunts herding the younger cousins towards the food that's dense enough for cover, but sparse enough for Danny to dash through.

Between one blink and the next, he disappears.

2K notes · View notes

lacedwithsuguru · 10 hours ago

Text

˳ . ⋆ ⭒ A LITTLE BIT HARDER NOW

synopsis: being the water girl for suguru geto’s basketball team made it incredibly easy to keep him in your line of sight as his secret admirer. some may call it obsessive, some may call it a hobby (only you call it that)—but to each their own. but wait, why’s he talking to you? and now you’re heading to his teams party?

pairing: girl!failure reader x oblivious basketballplayer!suguru

contents: reader is lowkey a pervert but also a virgin (get a grip.), making out, dry humping, heavy smut, noise control, protective sex, down-bad suguru/idiot suguru.

wc: 10.3k (sowwwy.)

absolutely not proofread. (when is it ever?)

cover art by mossmaybe1 on twt divider credit to @thecutestgrotto

His wired headphones dangled over the slopes of his ears, the same ears adorned with piercings ranging from his industrials, tragus, daith, orbital, and the fan-favorite, gauges. The muted hum from the buds played his favorite warm-up tune, A Little Bit Harder Now by She Wants Revenge.

A little weird to see the star player of the Tokyo Prefecture Universities’ Basketball team being a punk, indie, self-proclaimed tragic 20-year-old man. Indulging in his oddball, societally paradoxical fantasies of being in a modern, grunge rock band whilst being a D1 athlete like an emo and indecisive Troy Bolton died out when he realized that he simply didn’t have the time to indulge in both.

At least, not until basketball season let up.

Running his fingers through his raven tresses, he tied them up with a black band and let a few strands loose to frame his face. He was clad in his blue jersey and shorts, shutting his locker and making his way out of the changing room.

“Took you long enough. What, were you jerking off in there?” His white haired best friend joked, tossing an arm loosely over his shoulder.

“Satoru. Can I have about 5 minutes of peace before you ruin my day?”

Gojo raised his arms in mock defense before shuffling onto the basketball court.

“Geto,” Couch Yaga bellowed, crossing his arms and bearing down his hardened stare. “Glad to see you could finally join us. 10 extra laps after practice.”

The man in question simply laughed like it was another day, nodding his head and hurrying into pace beside his team that was currently dribbling their rounds around the court. It was their Sunday morning scrimmage before their big game on Monday night, determining whether or not they’d be going to Nationals upon the final score.

They’d been doing an impressive job so far this season, going continuously undefeated against every single team they’ve come up against. And knowing Kyoto National College’s reputation, along with their streak last year, he did not doubt that they had this game secured.

Gojo passed him the ball, to which he pivoted around their newest recruit, Haibara, and landed a lay-up.

“Sweet!” The younger boy exclaimed, pumping his fists and reaching his hand out to Geto for a high five. He released a low chuckle in response, slapping his palm against Haibara’s and ruffling his hair.

“You know, you’re not supposed to cheer for the other team.”

“Yeah, I know,” he pouted, opposing his inside-out jersey and dribbling around Geto.

“The guys’ seriously obsessed with you,” that mischievous voice whispered in Geto’s ear.

“Ah, leave him be, Satoru. I’m just glad he made it on the team.”

He simply shrugged, passing Geto the ball and getting into position. “One on one before Yaga gets on our ass?”

A smirk found its way upon Geto’s lip before he dribbled the ball and shoved it towards Gojo. “Teams gonna make us take this outside.”

“What, you scared?” Gojo teased, tossing the ball back.

Geto dribbled the ball between his bent knees, feeling his hair nearly coming loose from his swift movements. His eyes tracked his friend’s body, anticipating his next move.

Gojo had always excelled in offense, making sense that he would be the point guard. Yet, what he seemed to lack was his defensive techniques. Geto saw an opening and he sure as hell was going to take it.

Dribbling the ball behind his back, he paced his way towards Gojo, who was ready to steal, before Geto pivoted but faked it, sending Gojo tripping over his foot and landing a dunk.

Geto laughed at his friend, who was rubbing his bottom on the ground with a pout on his face, before extending his hand and helping him to his feet. “Man, you really gotta work on your defense,” he said between huffs.

Before Gojo could respond, a shaky voice called out. “Hey! You dropped this.”

Geto turned to look over his shoulder to see a girl, water bottles, and something small and black in her hand, hurrying over to him.

You stopped right before him and held your palm out to him. He furrowed his eyebrows, then turned his gaze downwards to see a black hair tie in your hand. Lifting his hand to his hair, he realized it had spilled out of its style and onto his shoulders.

What also didn’t go unnoticed to him was your slightly trembling hand. Taking the hair tie from your hand, he gave you his signature smile. “Thanks, I had no idea it came undone. Rest of practice would’ve been hell without it.”

Your head was downcast, not making eye contact with him, before you bowed while muttering something and hurried back to the sidelines. There was a water station set up that you were manning, where the teammates was going to and from to get a drink.

He cocked his head to the side, watching you work in a hurry to serve his teammates when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “She finally made a move.”

Nanami, the team captain, was watching you with a slight curl of his lips.

“What’re you talking about?”

“And I thought I was oblivious,” Gojo remarked, crossing his arms and eyeing you as well. You seemed to be in an effective flow of filling and handing out cups, yet the frantic look on your face didn’t go unnoticed, unaware of the three guys watching you.

“Is she a new addition to the managing crew?”

Nanami scoffed, smacking Geto upside the head. “She’s been the water girl for months now. You seriously haven’t noticed her?”

Geto felt a pang of embarrassment, shaking his head and eyeing his water bottle sitting idly against the bleachers. “Well, no. I bring my own water.”

“Yeah. We know,” Gojo and Nanami said in unison, rolling their eyes.

What was their problem?

—

You felt your heart practically slamming against your ribs, bruising from your very first interaction with Suguru Geto.

The irrefutable MVP of your university’s basketball team. Two years ago, during your freshman tour, you were able to witness the star athlete prodigy’s first game of the year during his freshman year. He’d scored 87 points all on his own and ridiculed not only the other team, but some of his upperclassmen.

Sitting in the bleachers with your friends, your eyes were drawn to his every move. Every flex of his tan, bulging biceps, every curl of his dexterous digits around the basketball, every shuffle of his large legs, you’d practically drooled over.

It was like fucking eye-candy. You were adamant on applying and getting into this school for the sole purpose of walking past him in the halls and catching a glimpse of him. You knew he was far out of your league, one of the most popular guys on campus, and you were an utter girl failure, nobody.

It’s definitely the confidence speaking, but that’s for later. Yeah, you were smart and got along just fine in your classes. But nothing about you stood out to him, or so you thought. It was a hell of a lot easier to interact with (replace with: stalk) Geto since you were both education majors. Through the grapevine, you’d heard he was looking to be a basketball coach so that once he graduated, he could join the national basketball team since he had the marks, and if need be, due to an unforeseen circumstance like an injury, he’d have his licensing to fall back on.

You, on the other hand, were pursuing an English education license. Writing had always come easily to you, along with sticking your nose in whatever book you found. You’d sworn that you’d foster a group of students to flock to your fan fiction websites and create their own content once you were a professional.

Besides the point, though, because right now, your fingers were cramping up after pouring small cups of water for the 20+ grown men since Coach Yaga decided to invite the junior varsity team to the scrimmage. And being only one water girl providing plastic cups that held around 200 mL of water that they’d down in one gulp, you were quite outnumbered.

Sweat managed to bead on your forehead, probably because this was the most you’d physically exerted yourself in a while due to your sedentary lifestyle, and you felt your fingers going numb. Damn carpal tunnel.

“Hey, need help?”

You could recognize that voice from a mile away, with headphones, during a rainstorm. Despite your wanting to be at least somewhat composed, your body betrayed you in every aspect as you jumped with a yelp. And what was worse was that you didn’t even look up at him. You fixed your eyes on the cups as you stilled completely, your brain and mouth giving up on you.

Suguru Geto was talking to you.

“Uh, you alright?”

You nodded quickly, grabbing the pitcher with ice and attempting to pour it into a plastic cup, but failing miserably as the freezing water sloshed all over your hand.

“Woah, easy there. Hold on,” he said, jogging from your side and heading to the bleachers while you unsuccessfully tried to make an effort to slow your heart that was threatening to explode.

“Here, use this,” he said, handing you a cotton towel. You held it, eyes fixed on the embroidery of his name and the crest of your university.

Glancing up, you met those gorgeously beautiful plum irises, ones you’d only seen through snapshots that the school provided on their sports website and his Instagram, an account you’d gotten embarrassingly familiar with despite not having the guts to hit the follow button.

His skin was even clearer up close, freckles dotting his tan cheeks. You had to make a few notes of his features that you’d bookmark for later—the slight arch of his nose, the sharp edge of his jawline, the plush lips you wanted to trace with your fingers-.

“Oh, uh, don’t worry. It’s not used,” he said, and you furrowed your eyebrows. He must be assuming that you were grossed out by the possibility of it being used, but that would honestly be even better. “You can keep it, I’ve got a spare in my-.”

“No!” You squeaked, and the suddenness surprised both of you, along with his teammates who were drilling. Shaking your head, you cleared your throat and rattled your brain for a response despite the ice running through your veins. “I’m fine, really. You can go back to-.”

“What’s your name?” He interrupted, cocking his head as his eyes scanned you.

There’s no fucking way that the Suguru Geto was asking for your name. Are you dreaming?

Your name trickled from your lips, and he nodded, mulling it over. And then, he breathed your name a few times, as if he were savoring the taste of it on his tongue. By now, you were so tense that your shoulders were hiked up so far they were nearly touching your lobules.

“Pretty,” he whispered, orbs scanning your figure before he leaned forward. You shut your eyes, completely straightening out in fear and wondering why on Earth he was getting this close. Was he…”

“Relax,” he chuckled, low and husky. Your eyes snapped open to see him leaning past you to grab a few plastic cups and lining them up. He lifted the pitcher and began pouring water into them seamlessly. “I’m not gonna bite.”

You froze, wanting to slap yourself multiple times for being so embarrassing, and let out a nervous laugh that went on a little too long to earn a sideways glance from Geto, to which you clamped your mouth shut at.

“You always like this?” He asked, and you weren’t sure if you should be offended.

Come on. Get it together. You’re making yourself look nuts in front of him!

“Only around black-haired basketball players who are power forwards.”

Woah. There’s no way your brain came up with that. Are you really flirting with Suguru Geto???

An eyebrow of his cocked, the corner of his lip twitching before curling upwards. “Is that so? And what makes me so special?”

You looked up from the plastic covering over the napkins you were attempting to rip open and pathetically failing at to match his gaze. Your breath hitched, and your newfound sense of confidence was lost to the wind.

You might have imagined it, but for a split second, you swore you saw his eyes dart down to your lips before making eye contact.

“Make that 30 laps,” Coach Yaga yelled from the opposite side of the court, and it broke whatever staring contest you were holding with Geto.

He cleared his throat and began stepping away. “I’ll, uh… I’m gonna head back. Try not to spill any more water,” he teased, sending a charming grin your way that had butterflies dancing in your gut.

You don’t even remember how the rest of the scrimmage went. You were hyper-focused on serving the drinks until Nanami approached you, tapping you out.

“Hey. Everyone’s headed home for the day. You okay?”

“Huh?” You looked up, the blonde seeing your frantic state and nearly laughing at you, but he held it in as your new close friend. The two of you sat next to each other in Econ last semester, and when you’d gotten the results for your first exam, he’d promised to help you pass with the sole requirement of you helping him land a date with Haibara, your friend from high school. Of course, you accepted it extremely quickly, and the two of you hit it off pretty quickly.

“Want us to stay back and help clean up?” Nanami asked, cocking his head over at Haibara who was rounding up the last of the basketballs.

“Oh! Jesus, Nanami. I’m so out of it today. And no, I’m all good. You guys can get going.”

Nanami nodded, ruffling your hair with a kind smile, before heading out with his boyfriend, who waved you goodbye.

The entire team shuffled out, and you collected all the discarded plastic cups into a large plastic bag. Your phone was resting on the folding table, playing the newest release of your favorite shoegaze band.

“Is that Wisp I’m hearing?” A familiar huffed out breath called, and you braced yourself before turning around.

There he stood in all his post-scrimmage, afterglow beauty. He changed into a hoodie and sweats, lifting his water bottle to his lips and taking a few deep gulps, water dribbling down his chin.

It took everything in you to be completely normal about this.

“Uh, yeah. This is their newest release Sw-”

“Sword.”

He finished the sentence for you, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. “I didn’t know you listened to them.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and made his way to you slowly. “Since when do you know anything about me?” His tone was light but the genuine concern in his lilt didn’t go unnoticed.

Fuck. How do you explain that you went on a deep dive to find his Spotify?

“Uh…” You froze, feeling your body tremble slightly as he stopped right before you, his height looming over you. He smelled so good right now, musky and sweat-ridden, laced with his signature cologne you’d sniffed in passing on more than one occasion. “I don’t. You just don’t seem like you’d listen to them…” you trailed off, your voice losing not only confidence, but volume.

Geto turned his head downwards, scanning his dark outfit as he was clad in all black, then met your gaze again. “You’re not very good at reading people, are you? I am literally their target demographic,” he chuckled, pointing out his hair and piercings.

An awkward smile made its way to your face as you continued picking things up around you, still very nervous in his presence.

He must have caught on, grabbing a few pieces of trash to help you dispose of while the quiet hung between the two of you.

“So,” you said, after mustering up some courage. “Why’re you here?”

Tossing his head back, he let out an exasperated sigh as his shoulders dropped a bit. “Coach Yaga’s been on my ass. Says I’ve been too lax during practice. The guy thinks I’m getting too comfortable.”

“Well, are you?” It felt a little weird to be talking to be on such casual speaking terms, but you brushed the thought away.He didn’t respond for a few beats, and you worried you’d ventured too far before he exhaled. “Honestly, yeah. Part of me has been struggling with, like, the meaning of it all. Everything’s been feeling quite useless these days.”

You eyed him for a moment, allowing him the space to continue before his eyes widened and he shook his head. “Fuck. Sorry, didn’t mean to unload all of that out of nowhere. Don’t feel compelled to sympathize or anything-.”

“I get it,” you whispered, pulling your plastic cleaning gloves off and tossing them into the bag. “Don’t know if it was like… an early, existential crisis of mine, but I often turned quite nihilistic.”

Geto absorbed every word you gave him as you paced over to the folding table to clear it of the pitcher.

“I think you just gotta make your own meaning. You can’t dwell in that depression, or else it’ll consume you. Finding your people and finding your place…” You trailed off, fixing your gaze before you. “That’s where you’ll find all the meaning you need.”

As you entered college, you had a difficult time finding your routine and fell into a dark descent. Schoolwork was overwhelming, living away from home felt isolating, and everything felt purposeless.

But it wasn’t until you’d met some friends who made you shine with every interaction, and a major that genuinely spoke to you, that things began to get better.

Peeking up at Geto, he seemed to be a painting in time, marveling at you in all of his beauty. Neither of you knew it, but the two of you shared something right now you hadn’t shared with anyone before.

“Agh,” you chuckled, waving your hands and dismissing the tension. “That’s just my thought process, really.”

You continued picking up the last of the scraps and tossed the bag off into the large trash can on the side of the gymnasium, dusting off your hands.

“Alright, there we go,” you said, picking your things up and preparing to head out.

“Hey, I know we just met today and all, but… would you like to come to my party tonight?”

You felt your body stiffen, unsure if you heard him right. “Sorry, w-what?”

“It’s just this stupid get-together we’re having at Chi Pi. Or Sigma Nu. I don’t remember. Uh, I’d totally get it if you had plans, though. This is such a last minute invitation…” he trailed off, rubbing his nape and looking off to the side with a genuine but awkward smile.

To be quite honest, you do not know what possessed you in that moment to accept such an invitation. “I’ll be there.”

Turning back to meet your gaze, he flashed you a heartfelt grin. “Really? Great, I can…” he patted his pockets and felt around until he pulled out his phone. “Here, put your number in.”

Again, you had no idea what possessed you to agree to this. With trembling hands, you nodded and tapped your digits into his device as nonchalantly as possible before handing it back. Your phone number was now in Suguru Geto’s phone. Don’t panic.

“Alright then. I’ll see you tonight,” he grinned, before jogging off to run his laps.

—

You don’t even remember your walk back to your dorm room, replaying every moment in the past hour. The flutter in your heart was unrelenting, images of his smile, wafts of his scent, all of it flashing in your mind to remind you that it really did happen.

Not to mention, you had physical proof that it all happened.

Sitting on your knees, you bent over your bed and gently laid the blue cotton towel onto your comforter and stared at it, gently tracing your finger against the embroidery.

It had his name stitched in white thread along with his jersey number, #3. Clutching it in your fist, you brought it up to your nose and took a whiff.

It had an earthy scent, some chlorine undertones as if he just washed it with some bleach detergent. Or had he brought it swimming?

Was this creepy? Oh, definitely. But that wasn’t stopping you in the privacy of your dorm.

“What’re you doing?”

You jumped, flinching at the sound of a voice behind you.

Nanami stood at your doorway, holding the knob to the door you left unlocked, Haibara peeking over his shoulder.

Scrambling to your feet, you shoved the towel underneath your bed and clamped your hands behind your back.

Nanami and Haibara exchanged a look before stepping in. “Geto says you’re coming to the party tonight!” The bowl-cut-haired boy exclaimed, hopping into your room with a skip. You let out an exhale of relief that didn’t go unnoticed by Nanami, silently eyeing the small lump of fabric on your bed.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll be there, but… how many people are coming?”

Nanami leaned against your door frame whilst his boyfriend plopped into your desk chair. “Dunno. Just some of the basketball team and a couple of friends. Shouldn’t be anything too crazy,” Haibara shrugged, busying himself with a stack of Post-it notes and flipping through them.

So this wasn’t one of their large-scale parties? You weren’t quite sure how to feel about this now, seeing as you didn’t have many mutual friends in that crowd. Sure, you knew Nanami, Haibara, and you worked on a couple of projects together with Gojo, but that was really it.

Nanami must’ve caught on to your worries, seeing as he elbowed his boyfriend to stop rambling on the topic of their new friend circle gossip. “Haiba, babe. Shut up.”

Haibara pouted and crossed his arms, spinning in his chair until he caught onto the blonde’s glare and rose to his feet, clamping his mouth shut.

Tossing you an empathetic glare, Nanami pushed off the door frame and beckoned Haibara with a throw of his head. “C’mon. We’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

After they made their way out, you immediately got to work.

Geto’s friend group was pretty close-knit, and in all honesty, you’d wanted to be closer to a lot of them for quite some time now. Your confidence and social skills may have deterred you in the past, but you weren’t going to let your opportunity go down the drain.

It took you quite some time to complete your everything shower routine, blasting your music whilst you scrubbed yourself to attempt to rid yourself of your nerves, and you’d left the steaming bathroom slightly nauseous and lightheaded. You slathered lotion all over your body, fixed your hair up, put on some light makeup, and draped your bedroom in nearly half of your wardrobe, thus you’d felt a hell of a lot more prepared.

You checked your phone for the time.

5 hours ago.

Had time really flown by that quickly? Not to mention, in the chaos of it all, you’d managed to miss a text. No, not just any text.

A text from an unknown number.

You felt your heart rate pick up, knowing who you were expecting a message from, a hiccup escaping your lips as your eyes widened so far they nearly touched your forehead.

Mentally preparing yourself, you paced around your room, biting your lip. It’s just a text. Open it.

Pressing on the notification, your eyes darted to drink in the letters on your screen.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: Hey, it’s Suguru Geto from earlier on the court. Looks like the party’s gonna be at Sigma Nu tonight. I really hope to see you there.

Your fingers twitched as you read over the text nearly 20 times, feeling like the world around you had gone completely still. He… hopes to see you tonight?

Deep breaths. Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t-

The loudest squeal left your lips that your floor mates definitely heard, frantically slipping around your dorm room and sliding into your shoes.

Reaching for your purse and tossing it on your shoulder, you hurried out and realized that the party started about 15 minutes ago.

Good. You don’t wanna be the first person there, right?

What you hadn’t realized was that Sigma Nu was on the exact opposite side of campus, nearly a 20-minute walk, and you didn’t want to spend money on an Uber.

So you walked. Clasping your hands around the leather strap of your bag, fingers tapping excitedly against it. The walk gave you plenty of time to think over everything that’d been buzzing in your mind since you left the court.

It also gave you enough time to get incredibly nervous.

What if you were awkward? What if you made a fool of yourself and Geto no longer thought you were this mysterious water girl at his practice? Why had he finally noticed you today? What if all of your smooth commentary from earlier was just some beginner’s luck at flirtation?

You’d never been one to throw yourself to the current—entirely comfortable in the hermit shell you’d created. However, this isolation had made it possible that you’d never had your first real anything besides the awkward peck in the 6th grade from your classmate.

Maybe you should just turn back now. You’d never hung out with this crowd before, and you could very well be the only fresh face in the room today.

Fuck. This was a bad idea. Maybe your mysteriousness was a good run while it lasted, and you were setting yourself up for failure.

Again, it’s the low self-esteem talking.

And through all of your self-doubt and hyper-anxious thoughts, you found yourself standing in the yard of Sigma Nu’s frat house.

There didn’t seem to be a rager tonight. No drunken bodies spilling from the doorway, no loud music thrumming through the night street, no neon yard decorations to catch your eye.

This was probably a pretty small get-together.

And you had time to escape now. Nodding to yourself in acceptance of your girl loser ship, resigned to your nature of being a girl failure, you turned on your heel preparing to slink away, before you ran into a solid chest.

Glass clinking against each other resonated in your ears as you looked up to see shades peering down at you.

“Gojo?”

Tilting his head, he studied who just ran full throttle into him down the bridge of his nose before a small smile crept upon his lips, breathing your name in recognition. “Where you goin’ in such a hurry?”

Your eyes widened, scanning the street around to see if he’d been with anyone else, but he seemed to be alone. He was holding a few beer carriers in each hand, probably on drink duty. “N-nowhere… I uh… left my phone-“

“The phone in your bag?” He questioned, calling bullshit immediately and jutting his chin at your purse that wasn’t zipped completely shut.

You cringed, slapping your clutch and mentally wishing you were slapping yourself for your idiocy. “WOW! Thank you so much, I had been looking everywhere for it,” you exclaimed quickly, though you didn’t sound all too convincing.

“Uh-huh,” he nodded, picking up his stride towards the door. Your feet remained planted in place, watching him head to the stone steps, praying that he’d enter without a word like he hadn’t seen you try to escape, but of course, luck was not on your side. When was it ever? “You comin?” He prodded past his shoulder.

“Mhm!” You immediately hummed eagerly, your shoulders tense as you followed his steps. Though he only watched as you ascended and didn’t move.

“You know,” he sighed, setting the drinks down and crossing his arms. “I honestly didn’t think you’d muster up the balls to do it.”

With furrowed brows, you peered up at him, feeling slightly defensive at his odd word choice but unsure as to what he was referring to. “Do what?”

He shrugged, a knowing smirk on his lips, crossing his arms over his biceps. “Talk to Suguru.”

A chill trickled down your spine, your blood turning ice cold at the mention of his name from his best friend’s mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered, breaking eye contact and wrapping your fingers around the clutch of your purse with a tight grip, needing to ground yourself.

“Relax. I won’t say nothin’,” he chuckled, seeing the en garde yet all-telling look on your face. “But you’re crazy if you think half the team hasn’t noticed your less-than-subtle stalking.”

You cringed, realizing the situation you were now in. Should you run? Should you build a house on the peak of Mount Fuji and never return to society?

“I support ya.”

Squinting at the white haired boy who you were pretty sure was going to either tease you to hell or expose all of your secrets just seconds ago, you squeaked out a small “What?”

“Said I support ya,” he said, reaching down to the handles of the drink carriers and returning to full height. “You seem like a sweet girl. Nervous and socially challenged, but who isn’t around their crush?”

Shaking your head, you attempted to process a word out of his mouth and balled your fists. “Gojo, if you’re messing with me-“

“I’m not. Just don’t be so intimidated by him tonight. He’s a good guy,” and with that, Gojo pushed the wooden door open and headed inside, leaving you alone to suppress your racing heartbeat.

Had you just gotten the blessing of his best friend? And had he just told you that you were nothing less than discreet in your one-sided crush? Not to mention his comment of you being socially inept.

Fuck.

And you can’t dip now. Gojo had seen you. He was probably letting everyone know that you’d finally made it. Despite the sweat beading in your palms and your clammy skin, you had to show face.

Grinding your teeth, you pushed through the door and stepped inside.

Sigma Nu was a 3 story, brown and brick beauty. You’d never attended any of their parties as you were too nervous for such a social scene, so you knew you had to rely purely on instinct to find your way around.

It wasn’t too hard, though—stepping past the grand stairs to an ajar door that spilled a neon blue light. There was some laughter and conversation muffled from below, and you began descending the stairs.

There was a break in the wall from the left once you were around halfway down, peering your head to the side once your height leveled to it to take in the scene.

The basement setting was pretty spacious, nearly 20 people hanging around the walls, the pool table, a gaming console with a TV, and a couch midst it all. A hint of smoke and booze lingered in the air, making you scrunch your nose.

You recognized almost everyone—different members of the team, some partners of the players, and some were managers of the basketball team. Nearly everyone held a red solo cup, taking swigs and flashing tipsy grins to their friends.

You spotted a mess of white hair, bending over to set new bottles down onto a table in front of the couch.

And that’s when you spotted him. Suguru Geto, draped in the corner of the sectional with his hair sprawled onto his chest and back. He was sporting a black compression T-shirt, accompanied by a cotton black zip-up.

You padded over in your Mary Janes, feeling a little dolled up for the occasion as you picked a white and pink blouse, the least controversial amount of cleavage you could flash and muster yourself up to, and a jean mini-skirt.

He’d opted for grey sweats, and as he man spread, you suddenly felt that annoyingly perverted side of you peek through as you took a controversial look at his lap, eyeing the tent in the fabric to get a read on his size.

“Hey,” he exhaled, eyes scanning your figure, tone raspy and husky as if he was… was he stoned? You couldn’t tell.

Your cheeks flushed as your eyes darted to match his crimson ones (oh, he was definitely stoned), wondering if your previous staring had gone unnoticed. Surprise, it didn’t. A smirk tugged at his lips as he stood up, pushing Shoko, who was currently making out with her girlfriend, off of him and making his way towards you.

Squeezing both hands in front of you, you rocked on your heels as you gave him a soft smile.

“Let’s get you a drink,” he said, narrowing his eyes with a teasing smile and walking you to the kitchen. Of course, they had a kitchen down here, too.

There was an array of snacks and sweets covering the table, and you eyed a pizookie, cooing and reaching out before Geto clasped his hand around your wrist to halt you, firmly but gently.

“Careful. Those aren’t uh… regular pizookie’s.”

You stilled at the sudden touch, then turned to him and tilted your head, a confused expression that earned an endearing chuckle from him.

“They’re laced, sweetie.”

You opened your mouth, a small “oh” leaving your lips as you dropped your hand from his grasp. “Thanks. I’ve never tried those before.”

Crossing his arms, he leaned against the fridge. “No problem. I’m glad you made it here tonight, by the way.”

You ignored the way your heart fluttered at the comment. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

He poked his head around the kitchen until he found a solo cup and some punch, letting you know there wasn’t any alcohol in it unless you’d wanted to spike your cup. You weren’t the biggest drinker, along with the fact that you were in charge of yourself tonight, so you allowed yourself to hydrate on the red beverage without any intoxicants.

He nodded as you sipped, a small hum leaving his lips as he never broke his gaze from you. “I wanna show you something.”

You glanced up, meeting his enticing, purple orbs as you nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Disposing of your empty cup, he led you out of the basement, not without earning a few looks from his friends, where the two of you made it to ground level and headed towards a shut door. Pushing it open, it revealed a large table with a few scattered papers and a desktop. There were a few shelves that lined the walls with what looked to be trophies and a couple finance books. Classic frat.

“It’s their office. I doubt they mind,” he said, plopping onto the desk chair and tapping away at the keyboard.

Stepping inside, you turned to shut the door and heard it click, wondering if that was the right move or if that was creepy before he called your name over to where he was sitting. “Look.”

He pointed to the screen, and you walked over, bending slightly to where his pointer finger was indicating as the light illuminated your face. “Battle of the bands…” You breathed out, eyes scanning the screen. “You entered a music competition?” You inquired, turning to look at him, seeing the excited grin on his lips.

“Yeah. Do I fit the whole Troy Bolton stereotype, or am I far off?”

You giggled, returning to your full height and brushing a strand out of your hair, looking down at him with a smile. “I think you need to add the word ‘grunge’ in front of his name.”

“Oh yeah?” He crossed his arms behind his head and reclined into the chair lazily. “Can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or if you think I’m more grunge than emotional,” he teased.

Shrugging, you placed your hands on the edge of the table and hopped up, sitting and laying your head on your shoulder, mulling over his statement. “You’ve never pegged me as the emotional type.”

Cocking his head, he had a difficult time concealing the humor tugging at his puzzled expression. “Never? What timeline are we talking here?”

A sputtered laugh left your lips, and you felt nervous at the question. How do you explain that you can only recall the same 3 expressions on his face—slight joy, exhaustion, and driven focus—for the past two years you’ve spent gawking at him despite having 2 total interactions with him, including right now?

“I’m messing with you,” he chuckled, then fed into your relieved expression. “But, I do feel that I must let you know something.”

“…Yeah?”

Training his focus on his thighs, he let a couple of beats pass before crossing his arms over his chest. In real time, you wondered if you were ovulating or if he had those many veins in his hands alone. “Nanami came over to me. ‘Fore you arrived. Told me to uh…” he rubbed his large hand against his jaw and bit his cheek before exhaling. “Take it easy on you.”

“What?” You gasped, an aghast look painting your face. Nanami said what???

“Yeah. Look, I can be… a little oblivious when it comes to things,” he started, and you held out a hand to stop him, wincing at how carefully he was picking his words.

“Stop. Stop stop stop. Please. If you’re planning on letting me down easy, just stop right there. I don’t know what Nanami told you, but I know I’m going to murder him later,” you gritted your teeth, feeling blood rush to your cheeks and warm them.

Geto stood up in shock, waving his hands next. “Woah, no. I wasn’t… that’s not what I was…” his eyes narrowed, the edges crinkling as he scanned your flushed face. You looked so pretty tonight. “Listen,” he began, taking a step closer to you until your knees were mere centimeters from his thighs, and the height he had on you was nothing short of intimidating.

“All my life, I’ve managed to fit the clueless basketball player stereotypes. And for all I care, people can continue to think that about me. But what I am not is dumb. I may have been too clueless to pick up on you around me, but I am not dumb enough to let you… get away.”

Words… words you didn’t even know how to respond with, caught in your throat. What the hell was Geto saying?

“Geto…”

“Suguru. Call me Suguru,” he interrupted jarringly, placing a large hand of his next to your thigh on the table.

You sat there with your hands now bunched in the hemline of your skirt, feeling your pulse quicken. There’s no way in hell that he was confessing what you thought he was.

“Since our talk in the gym this morning, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. God, you’re so good with your words, it makes my head hurt.”

You let out a yelp at the groan he let out, then bit your lip.

“Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?” He chuckled, noticing your stillness and quietness.

“N-no… It’s okay… I just, I don’t know exactly what I did…” You whispered, hating the sound of your mousey voice.

“Wish you could see yourself from my eyes,” he breathed, reaching his hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Did you cast a spell on me?” He teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You quickly rattled your head, orbs wide, and watched as he leaned his head near yours. Fuck. Was he about to kiss you?

It was all happening so fast. Clamping your eyes shut, you waited for the moment you’d dreamt about for as long as you could remember. And waited. And waited… before peeking out of your left eye.

Suguru watched you quietly, a dazed look on his face.

“Is… something wrong?” You questioned, wondering why his lips weren’t on yours.

“No… just… why are you bracing yourself like that?” He sounded so genuine, you wanted to melt away. How do you explain that you’ve barely been kissed before? That you were mentally a whore but physically a virgin. “Is this your first kiss?”

“No!” You yelped, then covered your mouth with an unintentionally dramatic slap. “….Well, it’s my second.”

He backed up, his eyes widening slightly, then rubbing the back of his neck in what looked to be guilt. “Fuck. Sorry, I didn’t mean to… come onto you or anything…” he trailed off.

No… no no no. You didn’t want him to back off now. Not when your heart was thrumming with need, and a lot of nerves.

Reaching out, you gripped the sleeve of his zip-up and gave him pleading eyes. “Kiss me.”

His eyebrows raised, watching you with surprise that turned into admiration, before he inched closer.

You spread your legs, allowing him to slot his large frame between them, and kept your grip on his zip-up.

“Want me to kiss you, darling?”

If the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering before, they were having seizures now, from the insane octave drop in his voice. God, it made your core throb from the sultriness.

With a fevered intent, you nodded your head and tugged him gently.

That gave him all he needed to dip his head down, placing his lips onto yours and using his large hands to cup your jaw.

Up close, he smelled like wild cedar and jasmine… tasted like a spiced booze.

You tilted your head backwards, allowing for more access as he pushed himself closer, swiping his tongue against your lower lip. The feeling made you let out a whine, to which he grinned in response.

His lips moved with such skill against yours, and you were breathless in an attempt to keep up.

Sliding one hand to the nape of your neck, he used the other to rub your flushed cheek gently while he made love to you with his mouth. Now you tasted mint and something smoky. To Suguru, you tasted like your strawberry lip gloss that was smearing against his lips and the punch you’d just downed moments ago.

With one hand clutching his arm and hanging, your other hand found its way to his side and gripped at whatever fabric you could to pull him as close as possible. What you hadn’t intended on doing was feeling his crotch rub against your clothed core, a groan leaving both of your lips.

“Fuck,” he heaved, pulling away and a string of saliva hanging between the two of your plump lips. His eyes were lidded and low, a hungry look simmering beneath. “Don’t… don’t do that.”

You could hear the grit in his tone, only making you need him all that much more. Your fingers balled in the fabric of his clothing as your eyes nearly glossed over in lust, missing the weight of him against you. Tugging him closer, he dropped both hands to your sides and dipped his head into the crook of your neck with a sigh.

“I-I can’t… when you do that,” he sighed, inhaling your scent. He was afraid of taking things too far with you, with the knowledge that you were inexperienced.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t think of a better way to go about your first time—more than ready at the prospect. “I want you,” you shuddered, angling your head to the side to allow him to pepper more gentle kisses along the column of your throat. His hot breath fanned over the skin, nibbling gently, but not enough to mark you. He was nervous to be the first to mark you. “I know it’s my f-first, but I’m ready,” you whined, and it had Suguru bowing, his jaw clenching in need as blood rushed to his erection. You had no idea what you do to him.

With slow deliberation, you reached your hands up and to his shoulders, sliding his zip-up off to fall to the ground. He allowed it, breathing heavily into your neck. Tugging at the hemline of your blouse, he pulled it up and over your head and felt the wind knocked from his lungs at your bare chest.

Heat found itself creeping up from your neck to your cheeks, shy from his hungry stares.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighed, tracing the bare skin of your shoulder. You were wearing your favorite bra and panties today—it wasn’t some fancy lingerie set but it made your bosom look swell.

“Thank you,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes as your hands flinched, wanting to cover yourself.

His hands found purchase in your bare thighs, kneading the skin softly with his thumb, pulling you closer to him and off the edge of the table. “You sure you want this?”

You nodded eagerly, biting your lip and craning your head up at him.

Narrowing his eyes, he cupped your cheeks and leaned in, his breath fanning over your lips as he kissed gently, then pulled away after a moment. “I need to hear you say it,” he whispered huskily.

“I…” you trailed off, humming a small whine before lifting your hips to rub yourself against him. “Sugu…. I need you inside.”

The growl that left his lips sent a fire blazing over your skin, the two of you tearing at each other’s clothes to rid yourselves of them, the pace not quick enough for how high-strung the sexual tension in the air was.

As he pulled his compression top up and off of his head, your eyes scanned over his muscular and toned tan figure, feeling that wet spot in your panties grow even more damp.

You trailed a finger along his collarbone, then down his chest, and laid a kiss against the bare skin. He tossed his head back, shivering at your delicate touch. “You’re such a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”

A giggle left your lips as you glanced up at him, then brought your hand down to his clothed erection, palming it. Fuck. He was so hard, and his size must be insane.

His back bowed forward, slamming a hand down onto the table as you slowly moved your palm up and down, a stifling gasp when you reached the clothed top and rubbed the slit.

“Y-you sure this is your f-first time?” He inhaled, fist balling against the oak desk.

You opened your mouth to assure him, but was promptly silenced as he pushed his lips against yours. Suguru moved with such ferocity this time that you could barely keep up with him. Your hands were slack above his shoulders, tugging at his Stygian locks that trickled onto you. They were silky smooth and you’d only dreamt of this moment, curling and twirling your fingers through them.

In your lustful haze, Suguru slipped his tongue between your parted lips, the wet muscle pushing down against your own and earning a whimper from the action. He grinned and glided it deeper, your saliva intermixed with his.

His fingers worked their way onto your back, unclasping your bra and tossing it to the side. Gripping one mound in his hand, he tweaked at the sensitive nipple, and you flinched, his cold touch sending shivering ripples through your body.

Kissing the seam of your love-bitten lips, he trailed his pecks down your throat again, this time leaving a trail of marks that made you look oh-so beautiful. They continued down to your bare breasts, where he took one mound between his lips and bit, causing you to tug his hair.

“You like that?” He muttered, licking a ring around your nipple.

You whined in response, feeling your body nearly turning to jelly. He noticed this, wrapping an arm around your waist and suctioning his lips around one breast, fondling the other to make sure she wasn’t lonely.

Twitching, he continued his ravage against your chest, flicking and sucking in ways that had you tossing your head back.

Pulling away, he peered down, eyes glinting in mischief and pride as he admired his work. "You're a fucking painting," he breathed out, brushing a hand through his hair as he panted.

A warmth bloomed in your chest, bringing your hands to your chest and glancing down to see the amount of hickies he managed to cover you with, your eyes widening.

Suguru chuckled at your reaction, stroking the top of your head, then meeting your eyes with a more serious look. "You absolutely sure you want to do this?"

God, how could someone be so hot when asking for consent?

"I do. Truly, I want my first to be with you," you said, love-sick eyes pleading him.

He scanned your pleading orbs, before reaching to grab his zip-up and digging in his pocket for a square piece of plastic.

Tugging at the hem of his sweatpants, he pulled them down along with his boxers, his shaft springing free.

Your jaw fell open, eyeing his massive length. It looked... angry. The veins running down his cock were prominent and bulging from the scruffy, base covered with onyx-colored hair that matched his head, up to his dark tip that was already leaking pre.

There was no way that girth was going to fit.

He chuckled at your reaction, putting the wrapper in his mouth and tearing it free with his canines. Tossing it to the side, he undid the plastic and pulled the rubber along his member, stroking it a few times to get snug.

"Don't worry, we'll go slow," he assured you, leaning closer and placing his hand on your nape, angling you to meet his eyes. "Just keep your eyes on me, angel."

You nodded eagerly, wrapping your arms around his shoulder to peck his lips, earning a soft grin from him.

Within moments, you felt his fingers tugging your panties to the side and his tip nudge against your drooling folds, gasping at the pressure. Slipping it up and down, he collected your juices, the scent of your arousal wafting through the air, before pushing into your tight hole.

“O-oh my god,” you winced, feeling his tip push right against that ring of resistance, your body stiffening from the harsh sting.

Suguru leaned to peck your jawline, then found that sweet spot against your throat to suck on, all while his hand groped your breast. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin.

Releasing a shaky breath, your body began to relax as he inched himself deeper, the pain mixing with pleasure.

Your lashes fluttered as he twitched inside of you, feeling his veins rubbing against your syrupy walls. God, he was so massive it had your heart stuttering.

Lifting his head from your neck, he glanced down to where you two were joined and gripped your thighs, pulling you slowly down his length.

Your nails scratched down his broad shoulders, leaving red marks in your trail, his cock so deep inside you that you could practically feel him in your lungs.

“S’ too much,” you whimpered out, feeling tears trickle from the seam of your lids.

Suguru brought a hand to your cheek and wiped it with the pad of his thumb, then leaned down to kiss your eyes as he stilled his movements entirely, allowing you a moment to adjust.

The heaving of your chest slowed, and soon you began to feel that need clawing away at you, head rolling around in a daze.

"Ready?" He questioned in a whispering tone, kneading your thigh and you could feel every touch of his now leaving a blaze of heat in it's path.

Without a word, you rejoined your lips with his and could practically taste the essence of Suguru, your wet arousal leaking from you as he picked up a steady pace.

Gripping the underside of your thighs, he hoisted you up, and clutched the back of your head. You let out a yelp, feeling as he gripped your body taut against his as you hovered in the air before he pushed you against the nearest wall.

Without wasting a moment, Suguru began bucking his hips up and into you. You could feel your mouth watering lazily, a fucked-out grin on your face as the desire washed over you.

"Fuckin' wet," Suguru slurred, almost angrily, as if he couldn't fuck you fast enough, splitting you on his length.

Babbles and whines left your lips that made no coherent sense, enough to assure Suguru that he was making your first time worthwhile.

Obscene squelches resonated in the room with each thrust into you, the curve of his shaft finding that sweet spot that had you screaming in his mouth.

Bringing a hand up to muffle the noise, a sheepish smile made it's way to his perspired face. "Like that?" He cooed, slamming into you and you could feel his veins dragging along your gummy walls even through that rubber covering.

"Fuck! S'too... too good," you yelped out, slurred and smothered by his hand, bringing your bleary gaze down to him. Fuck. He was so devastatingly beautiful with his violet, teary eyes and perfectly messy hair.

It felt all too much like a dream. That the one and only Suguru Geto was plowing into you, popping your cherry.

Your ragged gasps were music to his ears, each rut against your cervix definitely bruising you.

His calloused fingers indented your thigh, squeezing and gripping every inch as you slid up and down the wall, holding yourself up by his massive shoulders and wrapping your free leg around his waist.

“Fuckin’ made for me,” he groaned out, feeling his member twitch as it dragged along your walls. Each thrust had your whines increasing in volume, the beast of a man more than satisfied to feel the drool pooling in his palm held against your mouth. Your sounds were driving him feral, pushing him past the point of lust and into the realm of consuming every ounce of you that you could give him.

You were so pliant, so malleable in his arms, he feared that he could break you. It’s unfair he couldn’t be taking you raw, but he hoped it’d be something in the future for the two of you.

"You close?" He asked, and you nodded eagerly, eyes shutting from the overstimulation. That coil wrapped tighter and tighter into a knot in your gut, begging to be undone.

There was a a violating display where the two of you were connected, your cream creating a ring round the base of his cock and coating his dark drapes.

Suguru felt himself choking on his groans, your pussy sucking him in with each thrust that had him release a whimper with his head tossed back. "B-baby... fuckin' ngh... you're fucking milkin' me," he whined out, voice nearly pitched up.

His pace was growing sloppy and slow, practically dragging you down the wall to push himself deeper and deeper.

"Sugu!" You screamed out into his hand, a sudden flash of hot white engulfing you to the point your vision blacked out and your ears began to ring.

Literal seconds after, Suguru let out a hoarse groan, shoving himself as deep as possible before releasing, his limbs contracting as he stilled.

Your head dropped lazily to his shoulder, attempting to catch your breath as he pulled out, letting you ground yourself with the help of his guidance and standing on your two feet.

Peering up, you met the gaze of the guy who just took your first. "H-how was that?" You chuckled, wobbling to the desk chair.

In all honesty, Suguru was at a loss for words. No woman he's ever been with made him... whine. He was hoping the flush on his cheeks could be mistaken for his exertion rather than exposing him for being flustered.

Sliding back into his boxers and sweats, he dragged a hand through his hair and eyed you. God, your afterglow was something else.

Leaning against the table, he crossed his hands over his bare chest and bit his lip in thought. "Sure that was your first time?"

You choked on the waterbottle he handed you, nearly spitting it all over him. "Yeah, can’t believe you’re asking me again" you chuckled, wiping your damp cheek with the back of your hand. "Did I surprise you?"

Suguru let out a low chuckle, pushing off the table and heading towards the door. "I'll be right back."

He disappeared around the corner, and it was the first time you felt like you could take a deep breath, slumping in your chair and eyes widening.

Who did you bless in a past life to have sex with THE Suguru Geto?

Should you do cartwheels around the room right now? Should you record the aftermath and write in your journal this second to ensure the entry didn’t miss a single detail so you could relieve this moment every night for the rest of your life?

…Hold on, where did he go?

Your eyes flickered to the ajar door, grabbing your bra and blouse and sliding them back on.

Damn it. Your heart thrummed in your ears, wondering if you were a bad partner and let him down. Was he coming back? Or was that his escape plan?

Did he even come? Where did he put the condom?

Suguru Geto wasn't an asshole... no. You assured yourself, nodding your head as you limply paced around the room with your fingernail in your mouth.

But how well did you really know him? All of your infatuation with him was solely surface—frankly, you knew almost nothing personal about the guy.

A couple of knocks were heard on the door, your nervous expression meeting the man who leaned casually on the doorframe, a white rag in hand.

"Didn't think I just fuck and dash, did you?" The man in question quirked cooly, walking over to you.

The relieved sigh that left your lips didn’t go unnoticed. Your mouth hung open in defense, but you were truly at a loss for words. You, in fact, did think he fucked and dashed on you.

He noticed your hesitation, leaning down and scooping you up bridal style swiftly. A quiet gasp left your lips, peering up at him.

"You wound me, pretty," he whispered, striding over to the desk chair and setting you down.

Your heart stammered as you watched him kneel down and bring the warm, damp rag to your bare thighs to clean you up, then up to your sex.

The entire scene was a little too intimate for your liking, as you knew that after this, there was no way in hell you could possibly get over Suguru Geto. You attempted to mask how ticklish you were throughout the whole thing. Or maybe you were just giddy?

How could he be such a gentleman?

"I wanna ask you something," he whispered, eyes trained on the hem of your skirt as he adjusted it to cover you up.

You nodded and he peered up at you, cocking his head slightly.

"Would you like to come to my game tomorrow night?"

The scrunch of your brows had him chuckling. "I know you're gonna be there as the water girl but... I mean as my date. Officially."

Your hands gripped the silk fabric at the bottom of your top, your mouth hanging open.

What? Had you died and been reborn? Is this heaven?

"C-could you elaborate on what you mea-"

"I like you," he interrupted, taking your hand in his. "I know it's like, way too fucking early for this as our first conversation was literally this morning and I just fucked you at a party," he breathed out, eyes darting between yours as he rambled. "But, I've never met a girl quite like you. And I'd be an idiot not to chase after you."

The upward tug of your lips didn't go unnoticed by Suguru, who matched your expression.

"I'd love to, Suguru."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

—

"Hustle! Run the floor!"

Coach Yaga roared down the court, clapping his hands and throwing them around as he threw out plays, curses entwined in each sentence.

Suguru, clad in his jersey, was nodding at Gojo, open for a pass and took the chance regardless, landing a 3-point shot, and tossing a smug grin to his teammate.

And there you were, in all your glory, manning the water station.

Again, the frantic nature of filling up water cup after water cup was practically tradition. But this time, you knew you had an audience so it wasn't easy to hide the trembling of your hands.

You were Suguru Geto’s fucking date to his homecoming basketball game. Not to mention, he invited you to his battle of the bands competition right before the game.

This wasn't a scenario you could've dreamt up even two days ago.

Nanami and Shoko had been blowing up your phone ever since the two of you left the party last night, and you noticed the sheepish glances Gojo passed you every couple minutes.

Suguru wasn't the most subtle guy in the world, but he didn't care. Every shot he made, he glanced in your direction to check if you saw him. Sometimes you'd be jumping up and down, waving your arms frantically, and other times you'd be cleaning up a spill to avoid being yelled at by the referee.

God, you were so cute. He honestly doesn't know what got into him, asking you out after knowing you for a day.

But there was something about you, something that drew him in like a magnet, that made the oblivious!suguru not want to let you go.

tags: @tinydonkeysforlife @teenbreakup

#𝄞 blush's tracklist #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk fluff #geto suguru #suguru geto #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #geto smut #jjk geto #geto x reader #jjk suguru #getou x reader

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lxdymoon0357 · 3 days ago

Note

Hiiii...... Please do a suggestive scenario for yandere cael (my derelict favorite) x isekai fem reader(only if you're OK with it) ?? Thanks💐

(warnings: This is fucking filthy, I'm so sorry, but I'm not sorry. Afab reader. mentions of suicide. Dub-con/cnc, yandere content. Porn with half-baked plot. Manipulation using suicide, somewhat. Nipple play, dacryphilia, fingering, choking, clit play, grinding, rough sex, half-baked missionary, cowgirl, breeding kink, unprotected sex (don't do this irl, hoes, be safe), he holds your throat far too many times and chokes you far too many times, I don't know what to do with hands. Tell me if I missed something. You can also kill me for any and all spelling mistakes.)

Oh, Marquis' pretty slut!

What's the easiest way to keep someone close to you? Love, marriage, gifts? Cael has tried everything...yet you were determined to go away. Go back to 'your world'. How can you do that?

Caelus doesn't want to leave, so you were stuck, holding a knife and hands shaking, the same knife moments ago held against the nerves of his neck, on his pulse. If you weren't going to be here, he was no reason to be here either!

You felt bad, leaving him unstable.. Seeing his swollen eyes, eyes glassy and round, snow-white lashes blinking up at you with so much love..it hurts. What more do you need from him?

He's so sweet, so kind, caring, protective..everything you want, everything you need. Who cares if he murdered Hestia because his marriage to her was stopping him from loving you?

Even now, as you tried to leave him, you have no idea how, but he simply pushes your head down, a near grin on his lips from seeing you almost whine as his fingers gently twisted in your pussy— knuckles deep.

His fingers feel warm, he could feel your creamy walls push down on his fingers, sucking him deep despite your wishes, "C-cael...no-plea-noo.." yu almost whined, cheek squished against the bed-frame, as you held onto it as your knees buckled.

Caelus almost smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your back as he lowered himself on his knees, looking up and admiring you as if you were his God.

"don't you feel good? Isn't it nice? Why do you wanna leave me?"

He asked, but barely gives you time to respond as he begins moving his fingers far too rough to handle, as his other hand held your other ass cheek, gently spreading it..

Cael wrapped his arm around your waist, turning you around as he sat back on the bed, crawling back, pulling you against him as his hands gently slapped your thighs, making you spread them individually,

"Oh...so pretty" he mumbled, snuggling his face against yours as you sniffled, your knuckles going white as your hands bunched in the mattress, as he put his thighs right over yours. Making sure you couldn't close them as his hands pulled you tight,

"Oh, how could you leave me...I love you..I can't live without you." he mumbled, as you felt disgust crawl in your veins as you tried not to let your eyes tear up, but his fingers gently stroked your slit, rings cold as he began rubbing your clit in tiny eight motions making you let out soft moans,

"Caeell. -Ah-Ca-el..no..hah-ngh ple-plea-pleaseee, no" you could only writhe in his tight grip as his fingers and cold rings just trace your pussy-lips softly, giving you just the pleasure but not enough—Just not enough!

Cael's fingers softly circled your clit, squeezing just gently making you arch your bag..as your hips gently shimmied to get him to press his fingers in again as he smiled.

His fingers entering, "Se-see? Hah.." he panted, feeling you grin back on his cock as he leaned his head back gently, his grip from your waist moving up your chest and around your throat, subconsciously squeezing

"Ca-caelll..No, ple-ha-please—ngh..! Ah-!" you moaned, trying to get words out as he gently pushed his middle finger in, the ring cold pressing down on his knuckles the further he pushed his finger in, the ring's coldness on the rim,

"h-hahh...ple-ss-ye-yess.." you whined, kicking your legs out as Cael's grip around your throat pressed in rougher before letting go. Your hands gently reached back, unbuckling his pants while your hips were moving on their own against his rough palm to get more stimulation on your clit as he pulled you back roughly,

"Swe-sweetheart. I'm sorry—" he panted out, his hands working faster than yours as they pulled out of you with a little whimper from Cael's own mouth and a little whine from yours.

He worked quick and before you knew it, you were straddling him as you smiled, "ha-hah...betterr, no?" hee said, a bright smile on his otherwise stoic face as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your pussy.

Your cunt getting slick and wet, gushing despite your wishes as you whined, "no-no-ah...", "Sweetheart don't say no." Caelus said firmly, blocking your airway for a few seconds with his large hands making you whimper out and you were gonna go say something back.

But with his grip on your throat and the threatening distance the knife, he previously used to attempt to end his life, was from you and him...You barely moved, only your body seizing softly every time his cock touched your clit softly.

Caelus smiled, rubbing your waist, "..Are you okay, my dear?" he asked softly, gently holding your wrists together as you whined, feeling him gently push his cock in as your back arched,

"Ca-Cael..ple-please..no" your whined left unheard as Cael threw his head back in pleasure, forcing you down as you whimpered.Your thighs shaking as Cael 's hand reached down rubbed your clit softly trying to get you more wet,

"come-come on-uhn-mhm...shh" Cael also felt his mouth gape open as he wiggled his hips to get you to take his cock deeper,

"It's ok-ok-ayy." His fingers circling your clit far more rougher than he meant to, "You're so pretty-ohfuckfuck..mgh..mm-Hah.." Cael whined, his hand's grip tightening on your hips.

Your eyes began watering, your head thrown back and back arching as Cael shoved his face in your chest, softly pinching your nipples, making you cry out louder,

"No-ah..fu-fu-no-fuck-! Pl-pleasepleaseno-!" your thighs began shaking far more as your brain began to loose thoughts, oh fuck—

Was it just now or was Caelus of Vrandt always this big compared to you?!

Your thighs were paining as you felt whimpers, whines, drool and any thought, or coherent ones at-least, leave your brain as you joined Caelus's hands in rubbing your clit faster, your cunt juicing Cael's cock as you whimpered,

"Ah-hm..Yea-mnh, dear. Jus-just like tha-thaat-!" he panted, smiling softly. Oh, were you accepting him already? Please do..he couldn't wait to make you his spouse.

Your eyes watering, tears spilling past waterlines and a whine from your throat, sending it straight to his cock as his hands held you close, softly sucking on your nipple, making you gasp ou, "fu-fuck..hah"

"Ye-yes..Yes, I know. you're oka-okayy" he sighed out as he bottoms out, as you sighed, as he shifted back just a bit, pulling you close. Hot and white as he gently held up your thighs, gently pushing you against the bed's poster.

Pulling his hips back and slamming in as you choke out incoherent words or rather, not even words..simple incoherent sounds to get him to be somewhat gentle,

"Ah-hu-Ca-Cael. S-huh, gentle-! Plea-pleasee..Gentler" you hiccuped out, soft gasps and whines spilling over your glossed up and drooled over lips as he shoved his face in the crook of your neck, sighing,

"Y-yes..My dear, I-uh, I'll-I'll t-try." he sighed, though his actions did not replicate his words or promise or agreement a he pushed his cock deeper, plunging in your warm cunt and walls, making you jerk back-and-fro with every movement of his hips.

You cried out, whining out please and soft crie..though half heard over your gasps, soft seizing of your tongue in your own mouth, choking and whine.

The entire manor would know what would be going on in the Marquis' bedroom and the likely reason it was so quiet, though usually it wasn't. Caelus pulled his head back to drink in the sight of you, clothes half-torn, hair ruined, face red, soaked and just wt as your lovely unt he was pushing his cock into.

Cael almost smiled, you were angelic right now. His hand gently cupped your cheek, wiping your tears with a smile, "M-my lovely.." he paused and hummed as if to get your attention.

Before again moving his hand to stroke your shoulder and rubbing the span of skin from under your jawline to your shoulder to pull you out of your dazed trance, "ha-hah.." you whimpered out, refusing to met his eye in disgust and anger.

Caelus did not care. He used his other hand to pinch your nipples, while pushing his cock deeper into your cunt,

"Love. Look at me." he said firmly, his hand moving you hold your throat yet again as if having found it's perfect resting place there, squeezing down, as he plunged his cock in and groaned,

"ha-hah..so perfect, if only you'd-you'd behavee.." he panted out. He pushed himself against you.

His hands right behind your knees, pulling you back onto him, so you weren't leaning against anything and slipping down onto the mattress, you were now on top. "Ha-ah..ple-m-nonono" you whimpered in horror, your thighs paining.

"Co-come on, love, Up." he smiled, leaning his head back to admire you from below you a bit as you straddled his waist.

You had sex before..yes, but you had never on top, "Chk-mm-hm ngh..Ca-Cael..ple-please-no-!" you softly whispered out, a little hiss as you felt yourself push yourself down anyway.

Oh shit—

You felt the gravity do it's toll and impale you down as you threw head back, "Caell..Pl-pleaseee.." the biiig stretch, it was far too deep..how did ti reach that part. The spongy spot being the hit of Cael's cock and it's tip and veins..

Despite it all, that gorgeous smile on Caelus's face guilted you into softly wiggling your hips to get comfy, as he pulled you roughly and smashed his lips against yours.

With the calloused ends of his nimble but strong digits clasping ‘round your throat, he’s reeling you to him like some cute toy for him. Drinking in your every piping shrill, whine, moan, dripping drool while he is kissing, loving, slobbering, gnawing-

You felt his other hand move off and force your hand open, off his chest and intertwined and lace it tightly with his before removing his hand from your throat to force yours tightly against his, before finding it's loving place against your throat yet again,

You felt a shiver up your spine as you hummed, kissing back despite the sloppy movements, his cock resting against all your sensitive spots..

That fucking kiss..You could feel your slobbering pussylips grow ever-wetter, glossing out a slick coating Caelus's cock with squelching noises all for a kiss. That's all it took to melt you against the man.

You whimpered, the stretch a bit too much with the pre from his cock and juices from you spreading down to basically stick and glue your thighs and pussy-lips down onto Caelus.

Even now as Caelus' hand gently moved down your neck and holding your ass, kneading the flesh before giving it a little pat, as he pulled away from the kiss, drool spreading on his lips with a string connecting your lips to his.

"Sweetheart-..move. Come on, please..? Do-don't say no-!" he begged, his eyes dewy as you whimpered. No..nonono, you can't do that! You didn't want this to begin with!

You had no idea how you're here..why you're here. You should be back home, not in this stupid novel, not it going horribly hazardous! But the urge was far too much to stop, using your force you used energy and a hand on Cael's chest to lift yourself up.

You could be feeling spiders crawl down your back with the feel of your juices and his pree becoming sticky right at your pussy-lips and the hilt of his cock.

It was making it all sticky as tears dripped down your cheeks as Cael wiped them off lovingly, on hand tightly laced against yours. You softly pushed yourself down, plunging his cock deep and repeating over and over and over till your bouncing on his cock with difficulty from the pain and burn in your upper thighs.

"Hah-hah-C-Cael..pl-pleas-mmmgh-ye-yeah-hah-" You whined out, whimpering and crying softly as Cal nodded, "IknowIknow-! Pl-please, yes-yes, my love. Just like that-!"

You whimpered, trying to get yourself off over and over and over in jagged bounces while trying not to get tired as you whimpered, "Ha-ahm-mnh" you felt burns in your legs.

More and more and more and it just wasn't enough!

"C-cael..I-I can't! Do-hmmh-hmg-do something!" you mumbled, huffing as you settled your weight on him, as he pulled away his hand from yours and put them both on your waist, moving you softly as if spelling his name with your hips.

Your mouth was drooling as he wiped your lips gently, shoving his thumb in as you sucked softly, before he pulled it out. Using his wet thumb to gently circle your clit.

“Please- nghhh please, it feels t-too good–”

Feeling the thumbing of your clit, you subconsciously grind down humming in delight as Caelus smiles in between whines, whimpers and dewy eyes of his own.

You could feel the edge approaching as you huffed,using whatever energy you had to force yourself to fuck down on him, bouncing happily.

Over the sound of skin over skin with plap, plap, plap! in routine with the squealches from the pre cum and juices causing a sticky mixture in between your and Caelus's thighs and your pussy-lips and his cock.

The swell of his vein-covered shaft protrudes against some of your sweetest spots, probing. “I feel- feel it-”

“Yeahhh—? Is-I-iss she memorizing it?” Caelus asked, a tone far too mischievous to be his own conscious and live mind as you looked down at his own fucked out, pussy-drunk face..

This? On your first time? He'll die if he got to actually fuck it everyday..

"..Yes, for you, my dear" you mumbled, despite the embarrassment of sleeping with a man who you didn't want to admit made you fele good or fucked you better than anyone..espcially not the man who had basically forced himself onto you, even if he didn't mean to.

"Come on..Caelus, fuck me-! Harder, faster, rougher!" you whined out, as you felt Caelus groan and almost cry out with his grip on your tightening as you he fucked up into you.

white-hot sparks of pleasure running through Caelus as he whimpered, feeling you clamp down like a vice, refusing to let him even move, "are you close..? Love?" he asked and he didn't even need to wait for an answer.

You couldn't tell when you came, gushing down so hard..but you did feel Cael pump you full, pressing down on your tummy right beefore you cum gushes down, mixing with the pre, the juices and his own cum as h pulled you in a rough kiss.

"Hm..mhm. My love" he hummed, in the kiss, smiling as he gently stroked your clit a few more times. The white-hot sparks of pleasure, not dying down..

You're just such a perfect slut for him!

178 notes · View notes

iidilio · 3 days ago

Text

Day 24: An innocent touch isn't so innocent when it's repeated too much…

— You woke up playful, do I need to explain more?

[ 🌸 ] i think—i get very excited with the nsfw…

characters: Sylus

warnings: none, Orgasm denial, p in v, Oral sex (woman receiving), inappropriate use of evol, begging, Sylus being lil very cruel, size difference, v-fingering, pat on the readers' pussy, pregnancy kink, explicit sexual content, raw fucking, pure smut, almost plotless porn (pipipi), a cock warming (?), dom/sub, overstimulation, naked woman dressed man, kids pls read the Bible instead of this—

More? Here

…

You couldn't help it.

It was too much fun teasing him like this. The way he looked at you with those pleading eyes, soft and full of tenderness, only for them to turn into a look of exasperation when you escaped from his touch, leaving him hard and wanting you.

It made you feel powerful somehow, especially when you straddled his lap and began kissing him while moving your hips, your pussy rubbing against his dress hard cock. The way he moaned your name so beautifully, pleading for more before you slipped out of his grasp again, leaving him with a hard-on and wanting more.

He never stopped you—even though he probably wanted to—you only heard him say your name in that breathless voice with an exasperated sigh. Of course, he let you have your way… until he didn't.

Maybe it was a bad idea to do it on the day he was in a bad mood.

You let out a moan. You couldn't move your hands; his evol held you captive beneath him as he licked and sucked your clit mercilessly, his fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy, touching your G-spot.

It was cruel. He'd stop when he sensed you were close to your orgasm, denying you that delicious peak of pleasure. It was your punishment for playing with him so much.

Sylus heard your breathing quicken, felt your pussy clench around his long, calloused fingers.

He smiled as he moved away from your weeping pussy, watching you squirm and move your hips pathetically, seeking some satisfaction, something—something that would bring you to your orgasm.

"Now, now. Keep your legs wide open, my love. I'm not finished with you yet," Sylus murmured in his husky voice, his lips teasingly brushing the skin of your inner thigh.

You begged for mercy, you promised you wouldn't tease him to the limit again, and yet, that didn't matter to him.

You let out a pathetically shaky gasp as he gently pinched the hood of your overstimulated clit, so drenched with your juices and saliva.

"Good kitten," he whispered. His fingers glided so easily between your swollen folds, delving into the entrance of your pussy. Slowly, so tenderly, he inserted a finger; his long, thick cock was painfully hard, but he ignored it in favor of prioritizing your punishment.

Feeling your slick walls tighten around his finger, he added the other, allowing you time to get used to the sensation of his long, thick fingers inside your beautiful insides. His other hand slid around your body, pinching your swollen clit just right to make you shudder.

He smirked, a touch cruelly, as his fingers found your G-spot so easily inside you. He knew your body like the back of his hand. He began to massage it. He covered your poor clit with his thumb, slowly circling it in tight, painfully slow circles.

He licked his lips at the tantalizing sight you offered him. Your pretty fucked face, your tits and your weeping pussy being fucked by his fingers.

"You look beautiful, sweetie," Sylus whispered, his voice husky but loud enough for you to hear.

He picked up the pace, still careful not to accidentally hurt you. He watched as your breathing quickened, your body began to tremble, your walls fluttered like a butterfly, and your pretty legs shook uncontrollably from the approaching orgasm.

With an almost cruel, mocking smile, he removed both hands, preventing you, refusing to bring you to orgasm again.

“Stop moving so much, kitten. Behave yourself,” he admonished as he slapped your reddened pussy, so swollen that surely the slightest touch made you see stars.

Gently, and with a patience that only came out in special falls, he leaned down to suck and lick your swollen clit, listening to your every plea between pleas and moans. Feeling your legs tremble on his broad shoulders. Feeling you squirm under the strong grip his evol had on your wrists.

With a loud smacking sound, he pulled away from your clit. He watched your fucked expression.

“S-Sylus...! Please...” you begged breathlessly, your cheeks flushed and soaked with tears from the overstimulation. “It’s too much... please—I’m sorry…”

Sylus smiled mischievously, enjoying the desperation in your voice. He felt you tremble, your sexy body yearning for the release he was constantly denying you. The way you said his name in such a pleading and needy way only encouraged him.

“Too much? Or not enough, sweetie?” he purred, his voice deep and almost cruel, but still with that gentle touch. His fingers didn’t cease their tortuous movements, sliding in and out of your wet pussy, caressing that sensitive spot that made your head feel light for the pleasure.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "You're being a good sweetheart. You won't tease me like that again, will you? You're handling your punishment just fine. But I think you can handle a few more..."

To emphasize his words, Sylus added a third finger, pumping them harder and faster. His thumb rubbed quick, tight circles around your clit, enjoying the way your eyes rolled back. He could smell your arousal, see the wetness trickling down your swollen folds to your buttocks, and it made his cock throb painfully.

But he ignored it. This was about your pleasure, your punishment. Your body was his canvas right now, and he was determined to paint a masterpiece.

"Let's see how many more times I can make this greedy little cunt clamp down on nothing before I fill it, huh?" Sylus growled, moving his fingers at a pace that made you moan so loudly that a very small part of you was afraid someone would hear you.

The wet sloshing of your arousal filled the room.

You could feel him sending you soaring toward another peak, your breathing shallow and ragged. But just as you were teetering on the edge—Sylus withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and desperate.

You moaned. You whimpered as you looked up at him with eyes desperate to truly feel that denied peak of pleasure.

"No. Not yet, my love. You can't cum until I say so," he said with a dark chuckle, blowing cool air over your soaked, swollen, sensitive cunt. He knew you could feel the rush, the emptiness where his fingers had been.

Sylus wasn't done. Not even close. He wanted to ruin you by playing with him so much, wanted you to crave only his touch, his cock. He wanted you addicted to the rush of almost cumming, to the sweet agony of being denied.

He plunged into your heat again, between your legs, his tongue plunging into your dripping pussy.

You moaned breathily as your toes curled in ecstasy. “Sylus…! Please let me cum…—!”

Sylus felt your beautiful body tense, your soft muscles taut like a bowstring about to snap.

He could hear the desperation in your breathy pleas, the way you were begging for that release.

It egged him on, made his achingly hard cock throb and bulge painfully in his pants. He wanted more of those sounds, more of your sweet, adorable cries and moans. He wanted to fill the luxurious room with the music of your pleasure until it drowned out the outside world.

His tongue penetrated deep into your wet pussy, swirling and coiling around your sensitive walls. He could taste your arousal, could feel it coat his tongue and glide across his chin. It was intoxicating, addictive, and he knew he'd never tire of it.

He could feel your clit against his lips, swollen and sensitive from his previous caresses. He could feel your hips rocking, grinding against his face as you sought your orgasm, so greedily. He squeezed your thighs tighter to hold you in place.

Just as he felt you tremble, your body convulsing with the force of the impending orgasm, Sylus pulled away. A flick of his fingers and his thrust was gone, leaving your wrists, your hands free. He wanted you free as you fell into the void.

"Cum for me, kitten," he commanded with a growl. "Cum screaming my name, so everyone knows who owns this pretty little pussy."

And with that, he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his tongue quickly running over the sensitive bundle of nerves. At the same time, he thrust three fingers deep inside you, pumping them, bringing you to your previously mercilessly denied orgasm.

The image of Sylus's head between your legs, the obscene sounds of him devouring your pussy, was all you needed before finally reaching that peak of your pleasure.

You don't know how much time passed. It was as if the world stopped. You lay limp on the bed, panting and trembling, your shaky legs still draped over Sylus's broad shoulders. Your body disappeared beneath his as he straightened.

He could see your eyes struggling to focus on him, glazed over with post-orgasmic bliss.

Seeing you like this, completely destroyed and satisfied with just his touch, filled him with a deep desire. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Sylus withdrew his fingers from your wet, trembling pussy. He brought them to his mouth, brazenly licking her juices from each finger, savoring the taste of your essence on his tongue.

"Delicious," Sylus murmured in a deep voice. "You're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted. And it's all mine."

His hands slid down your trembling thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps. His thumbs slowly massaged your hipbones while he waited for you to come down from your bliss.

His crimson eyes admired the sight of your shiny, swollen pussy lips, so red and beautiful from his attention.

He could see the entrance to your pussy fluttering, still trying to clench around something, eager to be filled.

He wanted more. He wanted to be inside you, wanted to feel your tight, wet heat clenching around his aching cock. With a low, almost gruff growl, Sylus half-unbuttoned his black button-down shirt. His muscular chest was half-exposed. His hands unbuttoned his jeans just enough to let his cock spring forth, long, thick, and hard.

Sylus smirked at your enthusiastic reaction; you were always so eager for more. He wrapped his large hand around his cock, stroking it slowly a few times. He could feel it throbbing, the veins pulsing with need, the head swollen and oozing with anticipation.

"Do you want this, my love?" he purred, rubbing the tip playfully between your soaked folds, coating himself with your wet arousal, the tip touching your clit in a raw way that made you shudder. "Tell me how much you want it. Beg for my cock like the needy little thing you are."

This time he pressed his head against your entrance, not forcing it, but applying just enough pressure so you felt its shape, its size. Sylus wanted to hear you beg, wanted to hear you admit how much you needed him inside you, filling you, claiming you raw.

Sylus could feel you trembling, could feel you trying to push down on him, trying to get him inside. But he held back, tightening his grip on your hips, holding you in place.

"Say it," he growled, his voice low and raspy, with barely contained lust. “Tell me what this greedy cunt needs. Only then will I give you what you need.”

Meanwhile, you… couldn't believe he still made you beg after what he did to you, how he devoured and licked your pussy, how he denied you orgasm. It was so cruel.

“W-Why are you doing this to me…? It's so unfair…” you whispered, trembling beneath him. “Please… please, I need you… make love to me—fuck me,” you begged, giving him those pleading eyes, the ones you knew Sylus wouldn't be able to resist.

As expected, his heart sank when he saw your pleading eyes looking up at him, shining with desperate longing. Your soft, whispering plea was like a siren's song, impossible to resist.

Sylus moved forward, sinking himself completely into your tight, wet heat with one smooth thrust. He thrust into you, his balls resting against your ass, his cock as deep as he could reach. Your pussy clenched and churned around him, gripping his thick cock like a velvet vice.

“Fuck, kitten,” Sylus moaned, his voice tight with pleasure. “You feel incredible. This tight pussy is so fucking perfect.”

He began to move, slowly withdrawing until only the tip remained inside you, before slamming back in with the enough force to made the bed wobble. Your back arched off the mattress pushing your perfect breasts toward his still-clothed chest. Sylus couldn't resist the temptation to lean down and capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking it hungrily. The obscene sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and cries of ecstasy.

He hooked your legs over his elbows, nearly bending you in half as he loomed over you, dominating you completely.

"Take it all, love," he growled, his hips never wavering from his relentless rhythm. "Take my cock. Fuck, you're so tight."

Sylus could feel your slick walls squeezing him, clinging to him as if you never wanted to let go. It drove him on, drove him to thrust into you harder, faster, with the single-minded determination to make you his. He wanted to fill you, claim you so you would never forget who you belonged to.

His hand slid down to rub your clit, fingering your sensitive pearl in time with his thrusts.

Sylus could feel you trembling and moaning beneath him, your body flooded with sensation as he relentlessly stimulated your most sensitive spots. The sound of your moans and the way you writhed on his cock drove him wild.

“That’s it, kitten,” he growled, his voice low and approving. “Let me feel you shudder with pleasure. Let me feel this sweet little body melt on my cock.”

His hand continued its relentless assault on your poor clit, rubbing the sensitive pearl in swift, firm, circular motions. He could feel your pussy tightening around him, your cunt beginning to tingle.

You twitched and shook as another orgasm approached.

You felt so good. All your senses were overwhelmed, all you could do was receive it.

You wondered if all your punishments would be like this in the future. If he would fuck you as well as he was doing right now.

"Cum again, love," Sylus growled with a cocky grin. "I want to feel this pussy milk my cock. I want to flood your womb with my cum until you're filled with my children."

His filthy words, combined with the relentless stimulation of your clit and his cock fucking you relentlessly, brought you over the edge once again. You came with a gasp of his name, your pussy clenching around him. Sylus moaned as he felt your pussy clench and churn around him. It was enough to send him tumbling to his own end, his hips slamming into yours one last time before he plunged himself in.

“Fuck!” He groaned, his cock throbbing as thick jets of cum spilled into your cunt. He filled you with jet after jet of his hot cum.

You gasped, feeling boneless, completely exhausted but satisfied.

Sylus captured your lips with breathtaking tenderness in a searing kiss. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Sylus broke the kiss. He pulled back to gaze down at you, admiring how well-fucked you looked. Your eyes were glazed and unfocused, your lips swollen from the kiss and slightly parted. The flush on your skin and the sheen of sweat made you look like a depraved angel.

He stayed there, inside you, enjoying your warmth as he pulled you against his chest, feeling the heat of your skin through the fabric.

After a while, he pulled away, moving his hips, feeling his cum inside your pussy. He could feel it around his member. He gave one last long, deep thrust into your completely spent and wet pussy before finally pulling out with a low, satisfied groan. He watched his cum begin to ooze out, sliding down the curve of your pretty ass.

"Look at you," he murmured in a deep voice. "What a good little kitten, taking my cock so well. But don't tease like you did before again, or I'll punish you worse than today." He lectured you gently, giving your pussy a final pat.

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