#read syllable by syllable ( as in make it more clear ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mariasont · 6 months ago

Text

Spoiled - A.H

a/n: felt feral writing this hope y'all enjoy it as much as i did

think im ovulating or something YALL IDK

anyhow happy reading let me know what yall think 🤭

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which hotch overhears your conversation with penelope and decides to do something about it

warnings: 18+ MDNI, phone sex!, sex toy!, fem solo masturbation, penelope being a little instigator lmao, dirty talk, soft dom!hotch, established relationship, honestly a little bit of angst whoops, reader is slightly dramatic like hotch has been gone for prob 5 hours STAND UP!

wc: 3.3k

"Penelope Grace Garcia!"

Her comment earned her the full government name, igniting a burst of laughter that you attempt to smother behind your hand. Sinking deeper into the couch, you dismiss the absurdity with a shake of your head. You even find yourself glancing over your shoulder even though you know no one is home.

"You know, I really shouldn't be telling you this, but trust me, that's the least of our worries in this relationship."

"Look, whatever floats your love boat or rocks your bed frame is strictly your business," she comments as if that were the most casual thing to say.

You giggle, a warmth spreading through you as you tread across the kitchen tiles, the phone pressed against your ear.

"Oh my god, Pen," you let out a laugh, feeling a soft crimson spread across your cheeks, while your thighs swell with the thoughts of your doting boyfriend. "No, no, like I said we're more than okay in that department. It just gets, well, lonely when he's away."

Your hand curls around the neck of your favorite bottle of red, easing the cork free with a satisfying pop. The liquid swirls into the glass, a little more than probably necessary, as the gentle hiss of water beginning to simmer breaks through the kitchen.

"You, my dear, are a saint among mortals."

"Well, he makes it easy," you shrug, pouring the rice into the bubbling pot, a cloud of steam rising to paint the windows.

"Honestly, I don't know how you manage. I'd be itching for it, especially if it's as good as you say," Penelope admits with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh, propping the phone against the backsplash, its speaker projecting the conversation into the room. Aaron stands just out of sight, unnoticed, taking in your every syllable.

"When he gets back, trust me, every second apart seems like a small price to pay."

"Ever thought about getting yourself a toy? You know, for those long nights?" Penelope hints not (at all) so slyly.

The wine almost sprays from your mouth as you stifle a surprised splutter. Aaron, still unseen, raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, um, no, I haven't really considered... a toy," you murmur, cheeks burning. You clear your throat, pretending to be engrossed in the simmering pot. "Aaron might have an opinion on that, I guess."

Your attempt at nonchalance was failing, you definitely knew that.

Aaron rested casually against the door frame, a soft smile touching his lips at the sound of your bashful laughter. He'd always had a soft spot for the way your cheeks bloom with color--a sight he wasn't afraid to go great lengths to witness. The idea of a toy seemed to pique his curiosity, drawing a pensive frown as his attention stayed fixed on you for a moment longer.

He slips away silently, his steps carrying him to the front door as you continue your conversation with Penelope.

The call disconnects with a soft click, and you're left in the quiet of the kitchen, unwittingly promising to keep Penelope updated. Turning back to the stove, you stir the sauce with a distracted hand, your lips downturned. Aaron should have been home by now.

The dining table is set, candles flickering, their glow falling on the chair he's yet to fill. You let out a sigh, stealing another look at the ticking clock. The food is ready, but with each passing minute, it grows cooler, just the unfamiliar feeling of disappointment settling in your chest.

The audible twist of the key catches your attention, and you can't help but glance over your shoulder. Aaron walks in, his lips curving into a smile upon seeing you.

"Hi, my gorgeous girl," he greets, his voice a familiar sound that kindles a familiar flutter into your heart.

He places his briefcase down, the sound muted, and as he approaches, his lips brush a tender kiss against your temple. The annoyance that had been bubbling inside you melts away with his touch. Damn him.

You turn to him, a sheepish "Hi" fluttering out, your cheeks tinged with heat. It's a feeling that's always fresh, the way he still makes you feel like you're back in high school, hearts doodled in the margins of your notebook.

Aaron settles into his chair, the soft scrape of wood against the tile following his movements.

"Sorry 'M late," he offers, his tone warm, appreciative. "Everything looks and smells wonderful, honey. Thank you."

His fingers gently sweep a loose strand of hair from your face, his smile softening you, disarming you. He's so beautiful.

"You're welcome," you reply, your cheeks growing warmer with each word. "And, um, I hope it's okay. It might be a bit cold. I thought...I guess I assumed you'd be home sooner."

You voice trails off, leaving behind a trail of embarrassed concern, wondering if perhaps you'd somehow overstepped.

Aaron looks at you, his eyes turning kind as he discerns the unease on your face.

"I'm sorry, baby, got held up with a little errand." He bites into the food, and a gratified hum indicates his approval. "This is delicious."

You find yourself beaming at the praise. He had a talent for that--praising you, almost as if he'd made it his life mission. This was a first for you in a relationship, and it's exactly why the late nights and time spent alone didn't weigh so heavily.

After dinner, you're rinsing off the plates when Aaron's hands draw you close, his hands claiming your waist, the heat of his palms radiating through the fabric of your shirt. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Let me help with that. You're spoiling me," he insists, his words spoken into your damp skin.

You lean back into his embrace, his chest flush against your back.

"I like taking care of you," you admit, heart skipping a beat under the weight of his gaze, the softness in his eyes dissolving your concentration on the task at hand.

A deep, affectionate groan escapes Aaron as he pulls you even closer. But all good things come to an end, and the ringing of his phone seems like an icy intrusion, like a sudden draft into the kitchen.

"Hotchner," he answers, and even though the word leaves his lips, his fingers gently sketch patterns across your hip.

You feel your heart sink. When he hangs up, his eyes lock with yours, brimming with an apology he doesn't voice. It's unnecessary, you already know.

"A case?" You hate how small your voice sounds, dipped in an understanding you wish you didn't have.

He nods, a simple stupid gesture that sends a lump of disappointment soaring up your throat, which you desperately try to swallow down.

"Okay... just, be careful, okay? I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you, angel. Be good for me."

There's a hollowness in the house that follows you through each room. You were well aware of Aaron's demanding job when you started dating--the unpredictable schedule, the sudden departures, the cases that required his immediate attention. Still, this awareness did nothing to soften to sting of his absence. At all.

You found yourself wandering aimlessly, picking up a book only to set it down unread, starting a movie but not really watching. Eventually, you ended up in the bedroom, his bedroom, where the subtle scent of his cologne lingers. It's both comforting and heart-wrenching. God, you felt like you were being so dramatic.

You climb into the bed, the sheets cool against your skin, too big and empty without him. Your eyes darts to the phone resting on the nightstand. You've always been careful not to disturb him while he's working, but tonight felt different.

With a trembling hand, you pick up the phone, your thumb hovering indecisively over the screen. Reluctantly, you returned it to its place. There was no point in bothering him.

A sudden draft sent a shiver up your spine, reminding you of the blanket Hotch had bought for you a couple months ago. You sighed, rising from the bed and moving to the closet.

But your eyes skipped over the blanket, instead fixating on a shiny pink bag tucked away in a secluded corner. Compelled by a spike of curiosity, you grabbed the bag and pulled it open. Your eyes widened, cheeks burning with a sudden flush as you placed it on the bed. How long had this been hiding here? And the timing--just after your conversation with Penelope--felt almost too uncanny.

You went back to your phone.

The message was simple. You hit send before you can second-guess yourself.

Almost immediately, your phone vibrated--Aaron's name illuminated the screen. You answer, and his voice was there, infused with immediate concern.

"Hi honey. You okay?" His question was straightforward, cutting through the noise.

You nodded, forgetting for a moment he couldn't see you. Shifting on the bed, you said softly, "Um, yeah, I'm fine. I didn't mean to bother you. Is it a bad time?"

His response is quick. "You could never bother me."

A blush flares on your cheeks, and a smile instinctively forms. You fidget on the bed, the sheets sighing with your movements, sounds that don't escape Aaron's attentive detection.

"Can't seem to find the right spot without me there, huh?"

"I can't seem to do a lot of things without you here," you grumble under your breath, intended more for yourself than for him. The bed emits a soft creak as you turn again, your breath hitching in a pout that he can almost see through the phone. "Aaron, I found something in the closet..."

You lost your words, fingertips tracing the toy's edge, as you fumbled with the strings of your shorts.

"Hmm? Care to enlighten me."

"You know."

You weren't in the mood for his teasing, because you knew he knew. You could sense his smugness, his voice dripping into that familiar, velvety register that prompted your lips to purse.

"I don't know, sweetheart."

Once again, you found yourself stirring against the linen, nibbling on your lip as a wave of exasperation washed over you, your eyes rolling into their sockets.

"Where are you?"

"Just got to my hotel room." You could hear the subtle movements in the background, accompanied by the soft groans of the mattress under his weight. "What did you find in the closet that was so urgent you needed to text me in the middle of my case?"

Your face was warm. "You said it wasn't a bother."

"And I meant it, now spell it out for me."

Your hands cautiously pushed over the toy, examining its buttons and sides. Subconsciously, your tongue swept over your top teeth. You lowered your voice as though someone else might overhear.

"The toy...is it for me? I mean, I would hope so. If not, well, we'd have a rather awkward issue."

"Yes, it's for you, baby."

You stifled a grin. How could he have known? That profiling business was really no joke.

"Why?"

His muffled chuckle filtered through, and you could almost see the flash of his pearly whites. You really missed him, so much so that you were conjuring vision of his mouth of his on places that should not be said aloud.

"I just want to make sure my best girl is taken care of when I'm not home." You could practically hear the smirk on his lips.

You were deep in your fantasy now, your free hand sliding down your shorts as you envisioned him propped against the headboard of his hotel bed, tie hanging loosely, hair tousled just so.

"I'm always taken care of by you, Aaron," you said quietly.

You didn't know how to go about this, whatever this even was. You were treading into unknown territory; never having had phone sex with Aaron--or anyone for that matter. It was a far cry from the occasional suggestive text.

"That's right." His voice flowed like honey in your ear, causing a shiver as your finger skimmed over your underwear, your breathing momentarily faltering. "You're going to be well taken care of for the rest of your life, yeah?"

"Yeah."

You could hardly breathe, squirming against your own touch, glancing over at the toy that sat beside your hip.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate your patience. You're a good girl, honey. Far too good for me." You weren't. It was the other way around; you didn't deserve him. You told yourself that every day. "I know you get lonely, and I know it's something you'd never admit to."

"Aaron..."

He didn't let you finish. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing right now?"

Your actions came to an abrupt standstill, thumb suspended above your clothed clit. You entertained the thought that this FBI gig might have been a front for a psychic, maybe one of those fortune teller types.

You were mumbling into your sleeve, a private conversation with the threads. "Just...um, well it's hardly worth mentioning, honestly."

Wow you're sure you fooled him.

"I'm not fond of dishonesty." The low rumble of his voice sent a tremor through your core. "I'm giving you a final chance. Tell me what you're doing, sweetheart."

A hard swallow passed your throat, your thumb rubbing idle circles into the band of flesh on your hip.

"Well, I, uh, was touching myself." The words felt as awkward as they sounded, an internal wince accompanying each syllable at how unsexy you were speaking.

"Where, sweetheart?"

You exhaled sharply at the question, heavy with exasperation at his insistence on drawing this out. But the slickness between your legs was undeniable. Your hand slid back to the delicate skin between your thighs.

"Aaron, please," you breathed out so faintly it was almost inaudible.

He was playing a cruel game, and he knew it. You hardly cussed let alone talk about your lady parts so openly.

"I hope I've never given you a reason to feel judged, honey." There was a sweetness in his voice that masked his darker intentions. "Just tell me where. I want to help."

Your tongue flicked nervously across your lip, your finger dipping into the valley of your folds as you mulled over his offer. You were wet, far more than you had anticipated, practically coating your thighs in the process.

"No, 'course not," you said softly, biting back a sigh as your thumb worked slowly against your inflamed clit. "It's just, you're so far, Aaron."

"Why do you think I got you that toy?" Your gaze darted to the pink thing, resting against your hip. "I want you to use it. I'll walk you through it, just like I would in person."

You could melt. You could liquefy into nothingness on the spot. Your fingers pressed more urgently against yourself, a deep-seated wish for him to be here surfacing, knowing all the while it was a baseless hope.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"There you go, that's my girl."

You couldn't hold back the whimper that fell from your lips as you arched against the bed, fingers diving into your cunt.

"My needy girl," he repeated, his laughter resonating with a patronizing tone that oddly egged you on. "Alright, can you pick up the toy for me?"

You wedged the phone snugly between your shoulder and ear, your hand closing around the pink, curved object, scrutinizing its every detail with careful eyes.

"Okay."

It was big, not as big as Aaron, but its dimensions were nonetheless imposing. You felt your chest heave in anticipation, waiting for his instructions.

His silence was stretching your patience thin. You turned it on, and it came to life, watching as it vibrated, the soft buzz permeating the space. You let it trail over your stomach, fabric gathering as your shirt rode up. Nearing your clit, you braced, taking in a quick breath.

But that breath was released in a strangled moan as you pushed the toy firmly into your sopping hole, legs spreading expansively as a taut sensation gripped your center.

"Did I say you could use it already?" he questioned, his tongue clicking in disapproval as you strained against the device, the second prong vibrations coursing against your nub, your whole-body jerking in response.

"N-No, 'M sorry," you panted, your focus narrowing as you pushed to toy in and out, your lips rounding into an 'o'. "It feels really good, Aar."

"I'm sure it does, baby," he teased, his voice carrying a certainty that your own lacked. "Let me hear you fuck yourself with it.

You loved hearing him curse, it was rare, and usually reserved for intimate moments like this. It fueled your actions, your wrist quickening, driving the device deeper, your stomach twisting in tight knots, a loud moan escaping unrestrained, suddenly you were thankful for the distance between Aaron's house and the next.

It felt so good, and yet somehow still not comparable to how it was with Aaron. Weren't you spoiled?

"Miss you so much," you slurred, your movements stuttering as the device worked your body in ways you didn't know were possible.

"Miss you too, angel. You're doing so good."

"Can you, ah, come home, p-please?"

You weren't even sure of what you were saying, all your thoughts on chasing your high and pretending the toy was Aaron's cock. Thinking about how he'd fill you up right now, how he'd press you to the mattress, how his body would cover yours.

"Your present isn't enough?" His tone was taunting, your eyes welling with tears, clouding your vision as your hips bucked against the toy. "That's a shame, sweetheart, think maybe you've been a little spoiled. You can't have my cock all the time."

You were completely dazed, his sentences barely making their way through the fog as you'd like them to. You were crying, you think, hot and relentless tears carving a path down your face as you fucked yourself harder against the toy.

The noises coming from your pussy were obscene, soaked and squishing as you tried to respond to Aaron, but nothing but small hiccups were escaping your mouth.

"It's okay, baby, I know. You're doing so good for me. I can hear it."

Your cheeks and ears flared with a heat that spelled out your shame, but it was the least of your concerns. Your walls tightened against the device, the pressure on your clit suddenly all too much and not enough at the same time. Gasping for air, your breaths came out in uneven bursts. When you tried to call out Aaron's name, it emerged as nothing more than a choked sob.

"C-Can I? Please, need to so bad." You weren't entirely convinced you were speaking English, but Aaron understood.

"Go ahead, sweetheart."

That was all you needed. Your cunt contracted again before vaulting over the edge, nearly losing consciousness in the process, a string of moans and half-said words pouring out of your lips.

You could hear the sound of his voice, but the words were just out of reach, not fully making sense. You felt your body twitch, and you blinked deliberately, once, twice, three times, in an effort to reconnect your body to your mind.

"You're so good, baby. So good. Miss you so much."

You pulled the toy, now soaked, from yourself, cringing at the lewd sound as you laid it beside you, making a mental note to wash the sheets later. Although if Aaron had his way that wouldn't happen.

"I miss you." You hated the way your voice betrayed ever emotion you had.

"Need you to go pee for me, sweetheart."

He sounded so soft and tired, but somehow still present. You let out a soft snicker as you curled onto your side.

"Can't move my legs," you mumbled, the sound muffled by the way your cheek was squished into the pillow. "Need you to come carry me."

His laugh was something you wished you could bottle up. "Spoiled."

"And who's to blame for that?" You were ready for his witty retort, but it was cut short by the sudden flash of your phone. You squinted at the caller ID. "Sorry, Penelope is calling me, can I call you back in a second?"

"Course, honey. Thank her for the idea, yeah?" Your mouth fell open as you scrambled for the right words. Of course he had heard. "Also, I plan on spending a few solid hours fucking you when I get home, so I suggest you get some rest."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

#aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #criminal minds smut #hotch smut #hotchner #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #Spotify

3K notes · View notes

whatsnewalycat · 9 months ago

Text

RUTHLESS

Stepdad Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 5.1k+

Warnings: DDDNE, literally just a fucked up stepdad/mom's bf fantasy, could read "mom" as tess but I don't name her or assign physical features to her or reader, post-outbreak, reader is def over 18 but not by much so yeah age gap, NON-CONSENSUAL, power imbalance, unethical d/s dynamic, slapping, spanking, punishment, orgasm delay/denial, humiliation, degradation, face fucking, anal sex, little to no aftercare

A/N: Category is "That old man would fucking never... but if he did..." Please be mindful of the warnings and don't read if it might trigger you. Sorry, mom. Sorry, God.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

------

Within the secluded world of your big noise-canceling headphones, you scan through silence on the CB radio, pausing for a few seconds on each channel before moving on to the next.

Channel 11: Nothing.

Channel 12: Zilch.

Channel 13: Nada.

When you turn the dial to channel 14, though, you pick up chatter and start transcribing.

Channel 14 7/17/22 19:56

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew? Over.

Got enough for the kids? Over.

And leftovers. Over.

I’ll be at Margie’s around supper time. Over and out.

The air goes silent.

After a minute goes by with no follow up transmissions, you glance at the clock. 7:58. Almost time for check-in.

You tune the radio to channel 32 and review your transcription.

Many people speak in code, encrypting their messages in seemingly benign conversations. To the untrained ear, they’re normal exchanges, people making small talk about jobs and rations and kids. Goodnight calls and check-ins that use predictable inquiries to convey messages.

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew?

Most of it you can translate from memory. The drug traffickers that use channel 14 have frequented the same lingo for years. Likely because of the high turnover rate of personnel. There’s less confusion that way. Confusion in communication raises more alarm bells for eavesdroppers than using the same code words across the board.

You flip through your cipher for channel 14, searching for budaydas, but find nothing. Scrunching your nose up, you say the word out loud, “Budaydas. Buh-day-das.”

Carrots, onions, budaydas in a stew.

“Oh,” you nod in understanding, then jot down your translation, muttering under your breath, “Fucking Boston accents.”

(Someone) picked up tranquilizers, benzos (budaydas = potatoes), and opioids. The caller wants to meet up and trade as previously agreed.

The rest of it is easy enough to interpret without the use of a cipher. You probably don’t need to write down the translation, but do it in case your mom or Joel need to reference the notes at a later date.

There’s enough to distribute product across their network of dealers in Boston QZ, plus more to stockpile. They’ll meet at their hub in Area 1, Margaret St, at midnight.

You exhale through slack lips, glancing at the clock as it ticks over to 8:00, then pick up the microphone and hold down the speak button.

“Radio check.”

A few seconds go by before you hear a familiar gruff voice crackle over the radio waves into your ears, “Loud and clear. Over.”

Your nostrils flare when you hear him. Joel Miller. The bane of your existence. Your de facto stepfather, only because you don’t really remember life without him by your mom’s side.

This isn’t to say he’s a father figure to you by any means. The two of you never shared the kind of heartwarming paternal bonding moments you read about in books. That would require warmth and vulnerability, which he distinctly lacks.

Once, when you were maybe 11 or 12, you made the mistake of calling him Dad. The way he looked at you made you feel like dirt. Fire burning behind his dark eyes, he corrected you with one stern syllable that taught you your place: “Joel.”

You sit up straighter and take a moment to gather yourself before responding.

“Did you get your message from Uncle Paul? Over.”

“I did. Over.”

“How’s the weather in Kansas City? Over.”

“Cloudy. Over.”

Fuck.

You swallow around nothing, then clear your throat and ask, “And Grandma, how’s she? Over.”

“Fine, just busy is all.”

You exhale a sigh of relief that melts the tension between your shoulders. Joel continues.

“Anything new with you? Over.”

Tapping your fingers on your notes, you answer, “Rumor has it the market is gonna be busy tomorrow. Harvesting time, I guess. Other than that, same old same old. What about you? Staying out of trouble? Over.”

It feels strange, having a casual conversation with him like this. Even if it’s just a data exchange dressed up as a casual conversation.

There’s a long pause, then he says, “Fine, yeah. Well. See you soon. Over ‘n’ out.”

Stiff as a board. Cold as ice. Joel Miller, everyone. Round of applause.

You snort, rolling your eyes as you unplug the headphones and toss them on the table. It takes a moment for you to re-acclimate to your surroundings.

The dingy two-bedroom apartment is quiet and still. Outside, the setting sun casts the world in a dark golden haze. A FEDRA patrol vehicle roars down the street, broadcasting the curfew alert from a loudspeaker. Faint shouting from a few units down momentarily piques your curiosity before you decide it’s none of your business.

You stand from the chair and reach your hands above your head, lungs expanding in a powerful yawn, then take a lap around the apartment to stretch your legs.

Something catches your eye when you walk by the entry. A note slipped under the doorframe. On the outer fold, your name is written in a familiar scrawl.

Your heart skips a beat.

You pick it up and unfold the paper, revealing an invitation.

I miss you. Come over when you’re done surfing the airwaves. XO, Bert.

Warmth trickles down between your thighs. A smile spreads across your face. You glance up at the door, then to the CB radio and scanner on the desk.

Indecision churns in your belly.

You are explicitly forbidden from leaving the apartment while your mom and Joel are out on runs. A safety precaution you’ve protested dozens of times to no avail. They expect you to stay put and warn them if you notice any signs of potential danger. In return, you receive a cut of the profit and a roof over your head. Security, in short. Which is more than most could say.

That being said… You break this rule from time to time, when the circumstances allow.

Like when the Fireflies and FEDRA have been quiet for weeks and there are no smoke signals in sight. Like when you’re five nights into a seven day seclusion and think you might die of boredom if you don’t get the fuck out of here. Like when your boyfriend slips a note under the door and asks you to come over.

You look down at the paper in your hands, re-reading the words I miss you.

Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Just before midnight, you wander down the hallway to your unit, jelly knees wobbling with each step. As you absentmindedly trace your tingling lips, still puffy from kissing, you unlock the door and push it open, then frown.

The lights are on.

They were off when you left, you’re sure of it. When you step further into the apartment, your foot catches on something. A backpack. This faint buzzing starts behind your ears as you blink at it, wishing it would go away.

Motherfu—

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Your stomach plummets to the floor when you hear his voice. A thick knot of panic tightens around your windpipe as you look up to find Joel standing just a few paces away in the living room.

He stares you down, dark eyes glowing with fury, and questions you again, “Where were you?”

“N-nowhere.”

The blatant lie sits sour on your tongue. His lips purse, so you fumble out another, “I went for a walk.”

“A walk,” he repeats, tone disbelieving, “You went on a walk after curfew wearing that?”

You look down at your clothing. A short skirt and tank top. Your throat bobs in a guilty gulp, then you meet his eyes again and nod.

“And when did you leave on this ‘walk?’”

Your mind whirs as you try to come up with an answer. It feels like a trap. You try to calculate an answer that will provide minimal blowback.

“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes ago?”

“Try again.”

The electricity humming through you takes on a red, frustrated edge, and you snip, “I don’t fucking know, dude. It was a while ago, I wasn’t paying attention. Where’s my mom?”

“Your mom sent me here to make sure you were alive,” he says pointedly, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, “We’ve been tryin’a reach you for three hours. I got here an hour ago. That’s a helluva lot longer than twenty minutes, ain’t it?”

Shrinking into yourself, you search his face. Jaw set, eyes boring into yours. Waves of anger roll off him as he approaches, and you remember all those rumors you heard about him on the radio. The fear you heard in grown men’s voices when they recounted run-ins with that bitch and her guard dog.

You remember what Bert said about him: He’s fucking ruthless.

“You aren’t supposed to leave the apartment when we’re outside the QZ.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you?”

Your heart thuds against your ribcage.

Joel has never directed this kind of outright anger towards you. Sternness, sure. Contempt, maybe. But this is different. You’re in fucking trouble.

There has to be a way out of this conversation.

You drop your gaze to the floor and ask, “Is my mom ok? Did something happen to her?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Righteous indignation straightens your spine and wills you to meet his eyes again, “I’m not saying shit until you tell me what happened to her.”

“She sprained her ankle, but she’s fine. She’s safe,” he tells you, then takes another step forward, “Why did you leave?”

You respond by rolling your eyes.

“Answer the question.”

With an irritated sigh, you search his face, then tell him, “You don’t know what it’s like to be here. Isolated for days or weeks at a time. I fucking hate it. It’s so lonely and boring, I feel like I’m losing my mind—”

“Oh, cry me a goddamn river.”

You scowl at him, staring him down, “Fuck you.”

“Watch your fucking mouth, you disrespectful little shit.”

Red flashes through your field of vision, hot and angry and defiant. You gather the moisture in your mouth on your tongue and spit at him. It splats on his cheek.

His face twists up with fury for one second before he charges, closing the distance between you. The impact pushes your back to the door with a thud.

He grabs your jaw, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of your cheeks. His eyes are hot coals, burning into you. The muscles in his jaw twitch, nostrils flaring, breath shaky.

When he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth, “You don’t know what it’s like out there.”

“No, because you won’t let me fucking leave—”

“You should be fucking grateful, you know that? Being here is a fucking cake walk. Your mom ‘n’ I have seen things, done things—horrible things you couldn’t even imagine,” he husks, searching your face, grip tightening so hard it makes you whine. “We keep you safe, and all we ask is that you stay put and keep a lookout for us when we’re gone.”

Even if you wanted to respond, you can’t. The vice grip he has on your face renders your mouth immobile.

All you can do is stare back at him, studying his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Full lips pinched thin as he glowers at you.

You notice how close his broad body is to yours. The heat radiating off his tightly-wound muscles onto your skin. His ragged breath scatters across your face and wafts into your open mouth. You taste the bootleg whiskey on his breath and your pulse jumps.

Warmth drips down your spine and pools at the center of you, a horrifying sensation that makes you squirm.

“Were you with your little boyfriend? Hmm?” he asks, eyes darting around your face, trailing down to your body for a moment before returning, “That boy downstairs? Figure you musta been, on account of how you’re dressed.”

You don’t say anything. You can’t. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s not really a question.

“Abandoning your post to go out and get fucked, is that it?”

A whimper slips from your throat as heat swells beneath your skin.

He wouldn’t be treating you like this if your mom was here. He wouldn’t say these things or be this close to you. Knowing this, you understand that whatever is happening right now is wrong.

You also understand that you like it.

You hate that you like it, and hate him for making you like it, but you like it all the same.

Letting go of your face, he demands, “Answer me.”

“Fuck you.”

Before you even realize what’s happening, you feel a sharp, hot sting on your cheek and yelp.

He fucking slapped you.

“Wrong answer.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you retort, bringing your hand to the welt forming on your cheek, “I’m gonna tell her.”

“Yeah? You gonna tell her I found you sneaking in at midnight, too? That you compromised our safety to go out ‘n’ get dicked down?”

You harden your gaze on him, lips pressing together with disdain.

“She wouldn’t like that, would she?” he asks, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “She’d probably kick you out on your ass.”

“She wouldn’t. You guys need me.”

“And you need us,” he counters, searching your face, “So what do we do to make sure this doesn’t happen again? Hmm?”

A dozen inappropriate images flash through your head, each more lurid than the last. An electric, tingling feeling shoots out from the base of your spine and works through your extremities.

You swallow hard and shake your head, “I won’t do it again.”

“If I don’t punish you, you will. You’re fucking disrespectful. Selfish. You need discipline.”

Again, a flash of frustration taints the world red. Crossing your arms over your chest, you scoff, “Just because you’re fucking my mom doesn’t mean you’re my dad. I am an adult and you are not the boss of me.”

He sighs and takes a step back, planting his hands on his hips. His gaze drifts around the empty apartment, jaw gnashing back and forth for a moment before he returns to twist the deadbolt closed and grab your arm.

“What the f—” you swat at him and dig your heels into the floor, but it does nothing as he drags you by his steel grip, pulling you stumbling along behind him into the living room.

He sits on the couch and forces you to lay over his bent knees, one big hand securing your wrists behind your back while the other flattens against the swell of your ass cheek. As soon his touch leaves, it returns, a sharp snap tingling across your skin.

Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe the chaos throbbing through you.

“You’re right, you’re an adult. And I’m not your dad,” he asserts, lifting his hand. Your whole body clenches in anticipation. “But as long as you live here, I am the fucking boss of you,” he slaps your ass again, “Do you understand me?”

It surprises you when you hear yourself sob, “I’m sorry—”

He does it again and again, hissing, “Yeah, you’re fucking sorry now, aren’t you?”

Each firm slap he lays down is firm, unflinching. Ruthless.

It overwhelms your senses and becomes the only thing you feel. The universe world narrows down to just his palm on your skin. The reliable and exquisite pain ringing through you. Smack. Smack. Smack.

Every time he draws his hand back, you don’t think you can handle it again. But you do.

Soon, you start to crave the impact. His skin on your skin. You can’t feel the start or end of it. It’s just him and you. Pain and pleasure. Sobs and moans, all blended together.

Far away, you hear him chide you for not wearing underwear beneath your skirt. Then he asks, “Are you fucking enjoying this?”

Too ashamed to admit it, all you do is whimper in response.

Smack.

He sucks in breath through his teeth, then grabs the meat of your ass and rumbles, “You do, don’t you?”

When his grasp on your wrists releases, you pull your elbows beneath you and look over your shoulder at him, watching as he spreads your cheeks apart and stares down between your legs. You’re probably shiny and wet with the evidence of your desire.

His lips form an ‘o’ when he kneads you back together and spreads you apart again. The motion teases all your hungry nerves and makes you moan. It feels so fucking good.

You realize then that he’s grown stiff against your belly, hard cock leaving no mistake.

“You fucking like it, too, don’t you?” you ask him, your voice breathy and amused, “I can feel how turned on you are.”

Slipping a hand between your bodies, you press against his strained zipper. His cock jumps at the contact, and he groans, dragging his fingers through your slick lips.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you nod in approval. He works your clit in steady, firm circles while you smooth your hand along the big bulge in his pants, letting out a string of whines at the bubbling pleasure inside you.

You lose yourselves here, both of you squirming and panting and petting the other. So wrapped up with how fucking good it feels that you forget to feel ashamed.

When he smacks your ass now, you croak through clenched teeth, “Fuck yes.”

He likes that you like it. You can tell by the way he groans and throbs beneath you. This knowledge inspires your pulse to pound and your muscles to tense.

“Joel,“ you whimper, opening your eyes to meet his heavy-lidded gaze, “I’m gonna fucking come, don’t stop—”

“Did I give you permission to do that?” he asks, slowing his touch to a torturous rhythm, “Did I say you could come?”

You shake your head and whine, “Please, Joel, please—”

“Are you sorry for what you did?”

“I’m sorry—”

“Are you gonna do it again?”

“No no no, I won’t, I promise, I’ll be a good girl—”

He groans, tossing his head back as you frantically rub at the bulge in his pants. Your palm chafes against the stiff denim, but you don’t stop. You would do this for eternity if it meant he’d let you find your release.

“Oh yeah, you’ll be a good fucking girl for me?” he asks, touching you just soft and slow enough to twist your nerves ragged, but keep your orgasm out of reach.

“I will, I promise. Please, Joel,” you whisper, holding his gaze as your face gets all hot, “Please make me come, please please—”

“Show me you mean it.”

He doesn’t need to explain what he means. While he takes off his jeans, you scramble off his lap and kneel between his spread knees. His eyes stay glued to yours as you slide your hands up his thighs.

Batting your lashes at him, you wrap your lips around his swollen cock. He fills your mouth. He feels smooth but hard against your tongue. He tastes salty and heady and when you inhale the musk of him, you moan around his girth.

Nodding, he anchors his grip behind your head and bucks his hips, forcing his dick down your throat. When you gag, he doesn’t let up, but thrusts into the sensation, grunting, “Fuck. Yes,” before letting you pull off, gasping for air.

You wrap your hands around him, all shiny and slick with drool, and pump his length for a moment while you catch your breath, then take him in your mouth again.

This time, you sit up taller. You relish the stretch of your lips as you bob up and down. Savor the tug of his fingers curled tight in your hair. Memorize the sound of his huffs and grunts as he fucks your face. The wet squelching gurgle of his cock squeezing down your windpipe.

“Look at me,” he orders, so you do.

He’s all blurred from your watering eyes, but you can make out the dark irises and stay locked onto them while relaxing the muscles of your throat to take him easier. When you make an enthusiastic humming noise, he groans. It’s wanton and lusty and lights a fire in your belly.

Joel has never treated you this hard or soft. His regard for you has always been callous. Closed-off. Indifferent. With your assistance on the radio, he treated you like a tool for survival. Before that, or even in-between smuggling runs, he treated you like some kind of a household pet he had little regard for. Your mom’s responsibility, never his.

For years and years, you ached for more.

When you were younger, you used to sit up nights and wonder if he’d ever consider you his daughter. He wouldn’t, though. He won’t.

But this is something.

Distinctly, you want to please him. Be the best he ever had. You want to sink your claws into his brain and leave your mark for years to come. You want him to look at you after this and feel a flicker of desire and self-loathing. You want him to think of you when he fucks your mom. You want him to hate how you made him feel.

When you pull off him and start to work his soaked length with your hands, you pant, “Does that feel good? Am I doing a good job sucking your cock?”

“It’s good,” he nods, lets out a groan that pinches his eyes shut, then meets your gaze again, “So fucking good, Jesus Christ. Is this what you were out doing tonight? Sucking cock?”

“Not tonight.”

“But he fucked you, didn’t he? That boy?”

You nod, stroking him slower. His eyelids flutter.

“Did he fuck your pussy or your ass?”

The question sends a jolt through your middle. You recall the sex you had with Bert. Barely an hour has gone by since he pulled out of your cunt to shoot his load on the mattress, but it feels like a lifetime ago.

“My pussy,” you answer, then gather a thick, hot wad of saliva on your tongue and spit on his cock. You spread it with a slow churning motion, watching Joel’s face twist up with pleasure.

“Were you bein’ smart about it at least?” he asks, studying you, “We don’t need you getting knocked up.”

“He pulled out,” you shrug.

He grunts in acknowledgment, then sits up and pulls on your arm to join him on the couch, “C’mere.”

You follow his guidance, lying back on the cushions as he strips off his shirt.

The only times you’ve seen him shirtless were accidental and slightly embarrassing for both of you. But now, you notice how his smooth chest glows in the dim light. Now, when you drink in the sight of his big arms and broad shoulders, heat bubbles up your spine.

While you pull your tank top off over your head, he tugs your skirt down your thighs, asking, “You ever taken it up the ass?”

You shake your head.

His eyebrows jump a little like he’s surprised. A sadistic kind of smirk plays across his lips as he pushes your knees up to your chest, then spreads you apart, the head of him nudging at your backdoor.

He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t ask if you want it this way, or if you want him to be the first. He doesn’t even warn you about the initial shock and pain you experience when he rocks his hips forward and breaches the tight hole.

You yelp and try to lurch away from the sharp pain, but he grabs you and holds you there.

Sitting up on your elbows, you cry, “That fucking hurts, Joel.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it didn’t hurt a little, would it?” he murmurs, disinterested, watching your asshole stretch to accommodate the head of his cock.

The sensation is overwhelming. Like being stabbed or split open. At first, you hate it. You sputter and gasp and shake your head as he pushes himself in further and further.

Then he pauses the invasion, releasing his steel grip on you to tilt your chin up and meet his gaze, “Just relax.”

His eyes burn into yours, making your pulse jump. You bear witness to his heaving chest and parted lips and feel him twitch inside you. Sparks sizzle across your body, but you still scowl at him.

“It hurts, I don’t like it.“

“It’ll get better, you just gotta relax,” he coaches.

“Why can’t we just have normal sex?”

He grunts, thinks about it for a moment, then tells you, “First off, this is not normal sex,” he points between your chest and his, “This will not be a normal thing, you understand?”

It stings a little, if you’re being honest. But you nod, “I understand.”

Nodding, he licks his lips. He throbs inside you, hips jerking a little in reaction. This time, the friction feels good enough to make you whimper.

“Second, we don’t need another mouth to feed around here,” he says, searching your face, “We’re stretched thin enough as is. You know what I mean?”

“But if you—”

“Pulling out can still stick. This way’s tried and true, trust me.”

“Trust you,” you scoff under your breath and roll your eyes.

“What’s that?”

You meet his hardened gaze, feeling emboldened enough to ask, “Do you fuck my mom in the ass?”

“That’s none of your business,” he warns.

“So, what, you can interrogate me about my sex life, but I can’t do the same?”

“That’s right,” he barks, “Know why?”

In response, you glare at him.

He takes this moment of bitter silence to drag his knuckles up your slick, swollen lips. The light touch branches out beneath your skin and makes your heart pound. You gasp a little, but try to hide it. He clocks it immediately.

“There we go,” he murmurs under his breath, almost as an aside, smoothing the pad of his thumb in soft circles on your clit. Pleasure churns beneath the touch, hot and hungry for more. When you whimper, Joel’s eyes go wild for a second, then he says, “I am the fucking boss of you, understand?”

You swallow a moan as he arches forward and starts to roll his hips. It feels better now. Good. Fucking amazing, almost. Electric and gooey. He fills you so completely with each thrust, you wonder how you can even breathe.

“So if I tell you to be home, that’s where you’ll be. If I ask you where you’ve been, who you were with, what you were doing—you tell me the truth. Understand?”

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand.”

“You don’t get to ask me about your mom. You don’t tell your mom. You don’t sneak out to go get fucked by some boy who doesn’t even know what to do with you—”

“Holy shit, Joel I’m gonna—” you gasp at the pressure building at the base of your spine, spreading thick and hot and delicious across your body.

“And you don’t come without my fucking permission. Understand?”

“I understand I understand,” you cry, literal tears burning behind your eyes at the ache of trying to keep the ecstasy at bay, “Please can I come, please please please—”

“Are you sorry?”

“I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again—”

“That’s right, you’ll never fucking do it again. Why’s that?”

“You’re the boss,” you beg, your voice so raw and pleading it sounds foreign. He pounds into you now, a wet slap that echoes off the apartment walls. It takes all your concentration to keep your pleasure contained, to not spill over the edges, but you hear yourself babble somewhere far away.

“You’re the fucking boss. I’m sorry I’m sorry I won’t disobey you again I’ll be a good girl I’ll do anything just please give me permission to come daddy please please please—”

When he moans, loud and depraved, it just about breaks you, but you manage to keep your resolve long enough for him to pant, “Go ahead, let it go.”

With a choked sob, you untether your pleasure and allow it to expand, growing hot and wide and unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Every muscle in your body tenses up as the sensation swallows you whole, then spits you back up, sending wave after wave across your body.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he grunts, taking his hand from your clit to hold your knees down and fuck your ass hard and fast and ruthless.

It surprises you when heat starts stretching out from the middle of you again. Your heart starts to race as the feeling grows.

“Ffffuuuuck,” you whimper, “That feels so fucking good—”

“I told you, didn’t I?”

“You did you did holy shit,” you meet his eyes and nod frantically, “I love it I love it—please can you come in my ass?”

“Is that what you want? Want me to come in your tight little asshole?”

A feral noise escapes you, and you sob, “Yes—”

“Do you wanna come too?”

“Yes—oh my god, yes, please please please daddy—”

“Come with me, baby.”

You let the feeling overtake you again, gasping out, “thank you thank you thank you,” as it takes you strong and fast. Pleasure pulses through your body, causing you to convulse and strain against Joel’s grip spreading you open. He releases a moan from his belly and gives you a hard, deep thrust that he holds for a shuddering moment. After emptying himself inside you, he pulls out, falling back to his seat on the couch.

Chest heaving, you prop yourself up on your elbows and study him. He pinches his eyes shut and catches his breath before meeting your gaze again.

His expression goes soft long enough for something dangerous to flicker between you.

Then he turns away and starts getting dressed.

“Get yourself together, I’m gonna go get your mom.”

As you sit up, you fold your legs into your body and watch him button his shirt.

“Joel—”

He looks at you, searching your face expectantly, but your brain goes static and you’re not even sure what you were going to say.

“This stays between us, understand?”

His tone is firm but gentle. You swallow hard and nod, “I understand.”

Nodding, he glances down at your lips, then back to your eyes. He rises to his feet to leave, but before he does, he leans down to press a kiss into your forehead.

“Good girl.”

[ NEXT PART ]

2K notes · View notes

sister-lucifer · 4 months ago

Text

“You’re Really Not Cut Out For This…”

A Toby x Gender Neutral Reader Drabble

Content/Warnings: Porn with no plot, bottom/sub Reader, degradation, a bit of mean Toby, heavy discussion of Reader basically being a free use sex toy, no specified genitalia for Reader, Reader + Toby are both proxies

This is not fully proof read! Please let me know if you see any typos

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, USED COMMERCIALLY OR FED TO AN AI. IF YOU DO THIS I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND FUCKING KILL YOU.

“You know, y-you’re reeeaaaally not cut— c-cut out for this-ss-s…t-this ‘job,’ I mean.”

The sudden admission would make you pause if had the lucidity to do so. You can’t do much of anything with the rabid way Toby’s pounding into you from behind, shoving his cock into you with the whole of his strength without so much as a single thought to your wellbeing. You barely manage to babble out something that sounds like a question. You can feel him smiling despite the forced wrenching of his face.

“I-I’m just saying,” he continues, punctuating that last word with a particularly acute thrust that makes you squeal, “You d-don’t—shhh!—don’t seem like y-you really enjoy this-ss-s…line of-fff-f work…hell, you’re not good at i-it— it either, if we’re being hones-ss-st-t.”

There’s no ignoring the cheeky giggle in his voice as he insults you to your face. He leans over you a bit, putting more of his weight on you and practically trapping you beneath him. He keeps talking before you even get a chance to protest.

“You’re definitely n-not my equal,” he growls with a chuckle, as if highly amused by the idea of your inferiority, “You’ve hardly su— s-succeeded at any mission th-the ‘Boss’ has given you— y-you…but you are so good at this—“

He laughs at the way you choke on nothing when he angles his hips upwards just right, hitting that sensitive spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. You can feel his body shudder on top of you, a series of involuntary tongue clicks and whistles interrupting him for a moment before his endless chatter continues on.

“You’re sooo— s-so fucking good at taking my cock…”

He can’t contain the flood of sick giggles that burst from his throat before he can truly finish his thought.

“…Tell you what I’m gonna do.”

You shiver at how deathly serious his voice becomes suddenly. He’s speaking lowly into your ear, making sure you hear every syllable clear as day. His stutter even pauses for that moment; he’s focused, suddenly, and a focused Toby is rare, but horrific for anyone who happens to be in his line of sight.

“I’m gonna talk to the ‘Boss’…y-yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I-I’ll tell— t-tell him myself, ‘I don’t t-think the n-new— new— new one is cut out for this.’”

He grabs at your arms, pinning them to the mattress as he uses his body to hold you down. He’s starting to lose his steady pace as his excitement builds, his fingers flexing and popping in ways they shouldn’t be able to as he grasps your wrists.

“And he’ll l-listen to me, you know? H-He’ll lis— l-listen-nn-n to me, I know he will, be— b-because— beep! beep!— because I’m his f-ff-favorite.”

The word ‘favorite’ echoes in your mind, making you dizzy and sick. As much as you and the others are convinced that creature can’t feel emotion at all, it does show favoritism. It doesn’t love Toby, it doesn’t even care about him; on some level, Toby has to know that, he’s smarter than he lets on, but…

…He doesn’t care.

All he knows is that he’s getting positive attention from something, and it’s going straight to his ego. The only saving grace is that he’s usually too juvenile and short sighted to use that power against his fellow proxies.

Usually.

Unless he can get something he really wants out of it.

“I-I’ll tell him, I’ll tell him-mm-m you’d be better off as my toy.”

You nearly choke as Toby rocks you forward with a particularly hard thrust. You can feel your legs trembling, nothing more than jello underneath you, barely holding you up. Toby sucks in a breath through his crooked teeth as he watches you put the pieces together in your mind, though you can do little to show it.

“That’s right, that’s-ss-s right!” He repeats, sounding far too pleased with himself, “I’ll tell him you’d be b-better off-ff-f being used, just-t something I can use— u-use— use to unwind after I do all the hard work that y-you— you could never.”

He breaks out into giggles again, wrapping an arm around your neck and stifling your air without warning. You grasp onto his sleeve, clawing at his arm, but you’re far too shaky and weak to pull it away. He forces you to look him in the eyes, not wanting even a scrap of your attention to not be on him.

“That’s right, you h-hear that?” He manages to choke out between his laughter, “I’m gon-nn-a get you demoted to a fucking hole!”

He pushes—throws, really—your head back into the mattress before even have the chance to argue. He shoves your face into the bed, hand tangled in your hair as you whimper pathetically, exactly how he likes. He runs his tongue over his lips as he looks down at you, completely helpless underneath him, and it sends a surge of sick pleasure through his body.

“Just enjoy it,” He hisses through gritted teeth, “Because when I-I get m-mm-my way, this is all you’ll ever do.”

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out.

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

#creepypasta #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral nsft #ticci toby smut #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x reader #slenderman #toby rogers

886 notes · View notes

lelengerine · 20 days ago

Text

pairing. cafe owner!chenle x regular customer!reader

synopsis. chenle might just have a thing for his cafe's regular customer, based on a req!

genre. cafe au, love at first sight mixed with a little puppy love, chenle’s like a goldie retriever here :(( i swear, mentions of food, reader uses she/her pronouns for this one, ft. jisung and jaemin, pls lmk if anything was missed!

wc. 1.0k words

notes. i love this one so much (i say that almost every time i have a new thing written) but it's chenle who are we kidding ofc i have favoritism… slight. likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

chenle wasn’t the type to hover.

he trusted his staff—jisung handled the customers, jaemin worked his magic in the kitchen. that left him to observe from the sidelines, content to manage from a comfortable distance. it wasn’t laziness, more like knowing where he fit in the daily rhythm of the café.

but the moment you walked in, everything shifted.

it was nothing special at first. the soft chime of the door, the way the afternoon light caught the edge of your face as you stepped inside, looking around with a quiet curiosity. chenle had been by the counter, flipping absentmindedly through the register logs. he wasn’t paying attention to much until he saw you. it was like the air in the room shifted, pulling his focus to you as if he’d been waiting for something but hadn’t realized it until that moment.

you took a few steps in, glancing at the menu board above the counter. jisung, ever efficient, moved to take your order, but chenle stepped forward without thinking, his voice coming out before he even realized it.

“i’ll take care of it,” he muttered, sliding in front of the lanky boy and ignoring the surprised look thrown in his direction.

jaemin, who was watching from the back with flour dusted on his apron, gave chenle a knowing look, but said nothing.

chenle paid neither of them any attention, turning his gaze to you whose eyes were eagerly scanning the menu above the counter. “what can i get for you?”

you smiled, polite but distant, ordering a cup of mocha latte—voice reaching him in soft but clear syllables. chenle couldn’t help but hold onto each word as you spoke, wanting the moment to stretch just a little longer.

when you took your seat by the window, chenle made your drink himself, pushing aside jisung’s attempts to do his job. it wasn’t even about making the best coffee; it was about making your coffee. a strange feeling stirred in his chest as he watched the milk swirl into the espresso, the heart-shaped foam settling on top with more care than he’d ever thought to put into a simple drink.

it became a routine after that. you came in regularly, and each time, chenle found himself moving before anyone else could. jisung and jaemin didn’t even try to get involved anymore, knowing how stubborn their boss could be. they’d just exchange quiet glances and sometimes a snort of laughter when chenle would rush to be the first to greet you.

he knew your order by heart—mocha latte, no whipped cream, always served in the same spot by the window. he’d bring it to you, trying not to hover too long, hoping each time that maybe this would be the day you’d stay a little longer, or say something more than the usual thank you.

but you never did.

you’d sip your coffee, eyes on your book, and the world outside would blur as you disappeared into your reading. he’d watch, just for a moment, trying to convince himself that the way you quietly smiled to yourself meant something, that maybe you noticed how much care he put into each cup, but weeks passed, and nothing changed.

you’d finish your drink, leave quietly, and chenle would be left with the echo of your absence. he started to wonder if it had all been in his head—if maybe he’d read too much into your polite smiles and the way you kept coming back. the doubt crept in slowly, like the steady ticking of a clock, until it was all he could think about every time you left without saying more.

today felt the same. you walked in, and he already had your mocha ready before you reached the counter, your usual spot by the window waiting for you. you gave him that same smile, soft and distant, and he tried to hide the way his heart leapt when you looked just a little surprised that he had your drink ready before you asked.

“you remembered,” you said, tone light, almost teasing.

chenle shrugged, trying to seem casual even as his pulse quickened. “it’s not hard. you come in here a lot.”

you laughed—soft, barely more than a breath, but it was enough to make his chest tighten. a small thank you made its way past your lips, and then, just like every other time, you disappeared into your little corner with a book in hand, sipping your drink as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

chenle watched you from behind the counter, torn between the quiet hope that had kept him going for weeks and the creeping disappointment that maybe, just maybe, this was all it would ever be. the unspoken silence between you stretched on, and by the time you finished your drink, the weight of his thoughts had settled into something heavier.

you left, like always, slipping out the door with only a glance back. chenle sighed, staring at the empty cup you’d left behind. another day, another missed chance. he walked over to clear the table, mind already drifting to the usual routine, until something caught his eye.

a small piece of paper, folded neatly beneath the cup.

he picked it up, his breath catching as he unfolded it, scanning the words quickly, then again, just to be sure he wasn’t imagining it.

i’d like it better if you sat down and ate with me instead of staring from behind the counter next time. my treat, pinky promise.

your phone number was scribbled beneath the note, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

chenle froze for a second, blinking at the piece of paper in disbelief, then suddenly grinned, pumping his fist in the air with a quiet yet triumphant “yes!”

from behind the counter, jisung and jaemin watched him, snickering quietly, exchanging knowing looks.

“has he finally gone insane?” jisung said in a deadpan.

jaemin just shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “just let the boy live a little. it’s not always that we catch him like this.”

“that boy is still your boss.”

“eh, he’s still younger than me.”

“your point being…?”

and despite being more than aware of jisung and jaemin’s bickering from behind the counter, chenle didn’t care. all he could think about was the next time you walked in, and how this time, he wouldn’t just be serving you.

this time, he’d be sitting with you.

#nct fluff #nct dream fluff #chenle #chenle fluff #chenle angst #chenle x reader #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct dream imagines #nct dream x reader #nct drabbles #nct dream drabbles

353 notes · View notes

eelnoise · 6 months ago

Text

with hearts aligned (nsfw!)

zoro x fem!reader this fic's followup btw. takes place between fishman island and PH (yes there's lore!! 🙄! and yes zoro did keep all that shit bottled up for a bit!!) cw: confessions of love, somewhat troubled zoro, not-so-awkward first times (our boy is intuitive okay ?!), piv sex, fingering, cute stuff idk an: okay i know this took a long time but i re-wrote this like 5 times and accidently got hyperfixated on ffxiv and generally needed a break from writing BUT WE ARE BACK BABY !!! wc: 3.4k tagging @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @sleepymarimo @willowbelle @nina-ya

The clinking of cutlery upon plates and chatter among friends fills the small island tavern with animated joy and serene relief. Brook plays the violin somewhere to the left side of the room, though the eager blathering of the crew drowns out the more finer notes and melodies played.

A well-deserved interruption and a welcome change from the unpredictable nature of the past few day’s events – though for Zoro, it’s a distraction that’s come to an end. Despite the crew being whole again, he still feels a hollowness within – something no amount of eating or drinking or fighting can fill.

And it’s entirely his fault.

You sit across the table from him, sipping at a near-empty glass of wine and discussing something inaudibly with Usopp. He can’t quite read your expression from where he’s seated, but you look interested enough in the conversation.

And if it’s obvious to himself that he’s keeping you at arm’s length, it’s clear to anyone with a working conscience that he’s doing his utmost to avoid you. The many longing gazes from his peripheral do not go unnoticed, but he dares not to look – for the hurt in your eyes would crush him and sear and stain into his soul. A far-flung difference from the camaraderie that came before all of this, when the two of you were rarely found an inch too far apart from one another – and now Zoro can’t even look you in the eye. After his many imagined intimate rendezvous,how could he?

With you distracted, he lets his eye wander across your face, to the length of your arm, down to the glass pinched between your fingers – but it comes to rest upon your lips. He watches, transfixed on the flight peek of your tongue behind your teeth when you speak, how your lips twist with each syllable, how they purse when you’re in thought, and the way they stretch across your cheeks when you smile.

Zoro’s throat tightens, a sharp dagger of guilt carving into his chest. He forces his stare to the table, the tiniest sliver of your form still lingering in the corner of his vision. You’ve journeyed this far, fought, bled, and laughed together. And now, for once, he’s unable to find the words to say.

The weight of his inaction bears down on him, leaving him listless. The only respite he’s found is in the distraction of a battle, a thudding, a clash, steel ringing against steel. In those moments, he’s alive, he’s focused, and the words that plague his every waking thought cease to exist. But without the battle, Zoro is left with nothing but the echoes of unspoken desires.

His hand trembles, gripping his mug of ale as he brings it to his lips. The bitterness of the brew does little to quell the fire in his chest. He’s a swordsman, a pirate – not a poet, bard, or a man of words. It’s a mess of feelings. Lust, want, longing, love, all these indescribable sensations that only serve to make Zoro feel weak and helpless and vulnerable when faced with them. He feels like a coward, daring never to speak to you again, never to confess his feelings, and never pulling you into his arms and kissing you senseless.

Zoro’s eye meets yours for one singular fleeting moment, the intensity of the connection making his heart race. He knows he can’t keep up this charade, this dance of avoidance – but how does one even confess to these feelings? How does one bridge the gap between comrade and lover? He scratches his chin, trying to come up with a solution, but all he can think of is a single, frustrating fact: he can’t keep running.

Whether it’s every empty bottle he’s seen the bottom of tonight, the last of his resolve wearing thin, or just the sheer guilt of it all that drives him suddenly to his feet, he isn’t sure. Inhaling one of the deepest breaths he’s ever taken, he silently trudges around the table to where you’re seated.

At first, he hovers awkwardly so as to not interrupt the conversation you’re having. Both hands come to rest at either side of the back of your chair and he can feel his pulse through his fingertips on the wood – and when you tilt your head up to look at him, a curious smile twitching at the edges of your cheeks, he cracks.

Zoro clears his throat and forces his gaze. “I need to talk to you for a sec.”

His voice is hoarse as he asks, and he hopes you can’t hear the nerves that lie beneath his words. Surprised by how much he’s sweating and how his heart races against his ribcage, he swallows to regain some semblance of composure.

“It’s important,” he adds, trying not to stumble over his thoughts. It’s a pitiful excuse, but all that comes to mind amidst the maelstrom of emotion in his head.

“Oh, yeah – of course!” You reply with raised brows and begin to stand. Zoro allows you the room to move, taking a step back from the table. “Sorry, Usopp,” you say as you turn and give him a weak shrug, “Remind me where we left off later?”

“No prob!” The sniper shoots a thumbs-up and the two of you exchange a wave before you turn to follow Zoro away from the lively table and out of the tavern.

Zoro leads you to a quiet spot by the docks nearby, where the salty scent of the sea mingles with the faint tang of fish and the distant hum of the island. He can’t bring himself to look at you, electing instead to focus on the water and the twinkling reflection of the night sky in the soft waves.

“Everything okay?” You ask softly, taking a few steps toward him and assuredly taking note of his hesitance. “What’s up?”

“I missed you,” Zoro replies, fixated on the sigh of the shifting tides lapping at the wooden posts below. “A lot.”

“I missed you too, Zoro, but what’s so urgent?” The concern in your tone is apparent and caring, and normally works to soothe him when his mind runs rampant – but this moment, this situation he finds himself in, it does the opposite.

“No,” Zoro shakes his head, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I missed you - differently from the others.”

“Differently?”

Zoro’s jaw clenches, and part of him wants to jump into the ocean and swim as far away from the island as his arms will take him. The honest admission hangs heavy on his tongue, the weight of the years of denial suddenly threatening to push it out. He pauses, opens and closes his mouth a few times, then finally, with a shaky exhale, he looks you straight in the face.

“I love you.”

The admission hangs between you, the weight of years of suppression. Zoro shifts his weight from one foot to the other, twinges of regret creeping up the nape of his neck. It takes you a moment to reply, and considering the nature of the confession, it's reasonable. Zoro's nerves feel like hot coals beneath his skin as he watches your face for any sign of an answer.

“...for real?” Your gentle response fills his entire being with a wistful spark of hope.

Zoro's fingers curl into fists. "Yes, for real," he confirms, still not looking up. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, a heavy, leaden weight. All his hopes and fears rest on the outcome of this conversation. He's unsure if he could handle rejection, but he can't go back to the pretense any longer. Zoro swallows, tasting bile at the back of his throat. "I should've told you before now, but I... I'm an idiot.” He lets out a humorless laugh, his voice quiet.

He isn’t sure when you move, but a smaller, softer hand wraps around his – and in an instant, he feels himself relax into your touch. Zoro relaxes his grip, allowing your fingers to entwine with his.

He snaps his gaze towards you, his heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears. You peer at him, a sweet, crooked smile on your lips and a blush across your face. And when your free hand finds purchase on his cheek, Zoro finds himself leaning in.

You meet him halfway in a genuine, tender kiss that sends a jolt of electricity coursing through him. Zoro's arms wrap around you and pull you close. The world around falls away as you both delight in the embrace. The kiss is gentle, delicate, and filled with longing. It floods him with an unexpected warmth – and for once, he can't think of the past or the future. He's simply lost in the present moment.

When you finally pull away, Zoro can't help but lean into your palm on his cheek with a bit of a dazed smile on his face. Holding onto your hand, his other hand slowly moves to cup your cheek in return. His heart is pounding, his mind a blank slate tinged with overwhelming happiness. He's lost in your gaze, unable to speak, but he doesn't need to. The moment says everything.

"Do you know how much I missed you?" you murmur, lips ghosting his and thumb trailing upward to gently trace the lower half of the scar that now covers his right eye. "How often I thought of you?"

And then you say it - the words he's only imagined hearing you speak.

"I love you, too.”

Zoro's chest tightens, a lump forming in his throat as he meets your gaze, his heart swelling. Words fail him, the raw emotion in his gut silences his voice. A slow smile spreads across his lips, a look of awe and joy shadowing his features. He doesn't need words. The simple fact that you feel the same is enough to fill him with warmth and peace.

Leaning in again, Zoro captures you in another deep kiss – a deep and soulful kiss that speaks volumes. He's consumed by the feeling of being with you, of finally being able to express his love. His hand moves to cup the back of your head, pulling you closer, and he kisses you with all the passion and longing he's suppressed for far too long.

You sigh into him, the sound willingly swallowed by Zoro’s growing hunger. Arms wrap around his shoulders and you press yourself into him, the opened-mouthed kiss quickly turning into a twist of tongues dancing together in a frenzied rhythm with audible smacks of saliva mixing with each meeting of your lips. His hand clutches your hair more firmly, his other hand slipping around her waist to pull you impossibly closer.

The gesture is all-consuming, a whirlpool of desire and affection that leaves him lightheaded. For the first time in years, he feels like he's truly alive, his heart beating in perfect harmony with yours.

Slowly breaking the kiss, Zoro's lips ghost over your jawline, trailing down to your collarbone as he breathes in your scent, savoring every moment. He wants to memorize the taste, the feel, and the sound of your breath as his hands roam over your body, his heart beating a furious tempo.

You let out a small gasp when his lips touch your sensitive flesh, your body reacting to his every move. Goosebumps raise in the wake of his fingertips as he nibbles at your neck, causing your grip to tighten and for you to moan softly into his ear.

Part of Zoro wants to take you here and now, but what remains of his will stops him. He growls into your neck and lifts you up fully and, – with a little assistance from you – heads in the direction of the ship anchored nearby. The others wouldn't be back for a while, so why not take advantage of the privacy?

You’re weightless in his arms as he carries you away from the bustle of the small island village and towards the deck of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro can feel himself growing hard beneath the fabric of his pants as you kiss and nip along his neck, giggling in his ear when he retaliates with a playful squeeze to your rear and a rumbling growl against your skin.

He wastes little time pushing the door to the men’s quarters open with the tip of his boot, his grip on your hips tightening when he moves to lift you onto the nearest bunk, one hand still clutching your waist while the other travels up under your shirt to caress your chest, deft hands making quick work of unhooking your bra and tossing it aside to be forgotten.

Zoro’s breathing hitches, his eyes dark and lustful as he dips his head to suckle at the swell of your breast. He can feel himself twitching against your thigh, and despite his inexperience, he wants nothing more than to please you.

He kisses down your body, taking a nipple into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue while his hand roams, finding your core already soaked with desire. He pauses, fingers grazing over your clothed slit and feeling you shiver in pleasure. Zoro murmurs your name, and snakes his fingers beneath the waistband of both your shorts and panties before sliding them down your legs in one motion, leaving you naked and bared before him. His own pants follow suit, quickly discarded next to yours.

Zoro's hand finds its way between your thighs again, spreading your folds with ease, and he lowers his head to kiss you once more, his tongue probing your mouth as his fingers gently stroke your clit, drinking in your soft moans.

"Show me." He whispers just loud enough for her to hear. His expression is a loving one, though she notes the slightest bit of hesitance in his words.

Show me how you like it.

You nod and guide his fingers, taking two of the large digits and easing them in circles on your clit. "Not too rough, though," you say patiently, letting go of him with a soft sigh and an encouraging smile.

Zoro hums in acknowledgment, his thumb and forefinger doing as you ask, the slickness of your pussy allowing his fingers to move easily as he continues to tease at your clit. His other hand rests on your hip, steadying you as his thumb rolls over the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting small moans from you.

Zoro brushes the tip of his finger against your entrance in an experimental move, and by the way you wreathe and whine, he's urged to continue his work. He slides one past your folds and inside of you, making your toes curl and your back arch.

"Shit–" You sputter out between breathless sighs of desire. "Feels really good..."

One finger becomes two, your inner walls clenching around them as he scissors them in and out of your pussy. There's a wet slosh of sound coming from where you meet, your wetness audibly coating his fingers and dripping down down his wrist.

Zoro's breath hitches at the sound of your pleasure, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your reaction. He's entranced by how your body responds to him, and he can't help but lick his lips as he continues to finger you. He adds a third, the stretch making you gasp and tighten around him.

His pace increases, his fingers swirling and thrusting within you, and he watches as your body writhes and arches beneath him. He can feel the tension building in you, the way your breath hitches and your eyes flutter closed.

"Do you want me inside you?" Zoro asks, his voice low and thick with need. He's anxious to give you pleasure, but he's struggling to keep himself from joining his fingers inside you.

"Please," you whine, eyes wide and watery with pleasure but red hot with the need for more. "Need you, Zoro."

Zoro's heart beats wildly in his chest, his own need for you overwhelming as he pulls his fingers from your slick warmth and licks them clean before sitting back on his heels to position himself between your legs. He lines his cock up with your entrance and looks into your eyes, the passion reflected in his own.

Without warning, he thrusts forward, plunging deep into your tightness. You're hot and wet around him, and he lets out a growl of satisfaction as he bottoms out. He pauses for a moment, allowing you both to adjust and to revel in the feeling of being connected. He pulls back, slowly at first, then picks up the pace as he leans over you, the headboard digging into the wall with each forceful thrust. Zoro's eyes never leave yours, his gaze locked as if he's trying to absorb every detail of your expression.

Each stroke of his cock against your walls feels heaven-sent, and the taste of you that lingers on his tongue drives him crazy with want. Nails dig into the flesh of his triceps and your back arches, a song of passion belting from between your lips, a serenade made for him and him alone.

Zoro grunts at the sound of your pleasure, his thrusts becoming even more ferocious as he watches your reaction, the sight of you so lost in ecstasy driving him to the brink. He grips your hips, holding you steady as he pounds into you, the sweat glistening on your skin as your bodies collide.

The moonlight trickling in from the window illuminates your body below him. It's a sight better than anything he could dream, your face contorting in bliss and ecstasy, hands clinging harshly onto him as if he'd disappear if you let go. Savoring a feeling that neither wants to forget.

"You're so fucking perfect." Zoro growls, leaning over you to kiss you feverishly, his tongue seeking yours as he fucks you. He can feel the tension building, the way your body tenses and your nails dig into his skin, and he knows you're close. He wants to give you this moment, wants to make you cum as much as he wants to feel it himself.

"Come on," he urges, his voice thick with lust. "Let go for me." The words were a warning, a promise that he wasn't going to last much longer..Zoro increases the pace of his assault, his own release imminent as he watches your face, your eyes half-lidded and flushed with pleasure. Together, you move, driven by the primal need for release.

Zoro's thumb meets your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts with the speed of his ministrations. The dual stimulation pushes you over the edge, crying out butchered attempts at his name as your body convulses around him, your orgasm washing over you in waves. Zoro can't hold back any longer, feeling his own climax building as he watches you.

With a roar, he lets go, burying himself deep as he cums, the spasms of your walls milking him as he shudders and groans into your ear, seed spilling inside of you. He pants heavily, leaning over you as he rests on his forearms, his forehead meeting yours. He stays like that long enough to press a quick kiss to your lips before collapsing atop you with a very exhausted, but very relieved sigh.

You breathlessly hold him close. Cradling his sweaty form to your chest, one hand makes its way into his moss-green tresses to lightly scratch at his scalp. Zoro lets himself relax, letting out a sigh and nestling into your shoulder. He closes his eyes, feeling thoroughly sated in your embrace.

Zoro pulls out of you eventually, gently rolling off your body to rest. He pulls you into his side as he nuzzles into your hair. "I love you." He whispers, his voice soft and tender and almost unrecognizable.

Snuggling into his side, your hand still lazily strokes his head. "I love you too," you reply, voice equally tender, and a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Your soft touch and tender words soothe Zoro, your shared connection cemented in the aftermath of passion. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, a smile still lingering on his lips. The words you whispered echo in his mind, a warm feeling settling in his chest – and together, in each other's arms, you find peace.

#one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x reader smut #zoro smut #one piece imagine #x reader #fem reader #rattling the bars of my cage!!!!!!! RAAAAAAAAGH I LOVE ZORO SO MUCHHHHH

590 notes · View notes

avis-writeshq · 1 year ago

Text

03 — labyrinth

summary: “uh oh, i’m falling in love”/“thought the plane was going down, how’d you turn it right around?” pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, slow burn, mutual pining warnings: drug usage & addiction, talks about relapsing, therapy, tobias hankel, talks about weight (not reader’s), panic attack/night terrors wc: 3.8k a/n: as always, special mention to @astrophileous for beta-reading SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

“Are you okay?” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you gently lay a hand on Spencer’s forearm. You offer a soft squeeze of reassurance, your gaze meeting his.

He nods dismissively, averting his eyes but not shrugging your hand away. His tone is cold as he responds, “I’m fine.”

You know better than to believe him. Ever since his kidnapping a few short weeks ago, he’s been acting strangely. His eyes are sunken, bloodshot most of the time, with dark bags beneath them. He’s lost weight, not that he wasn’t already skinny to begin with, but he’s thinner than usual. He gets distracted more easily, he doesn’t spout out about random facts or statistics, and he’s now almost always irritated about something.

He’s been spending more and more time at your apartment, not that you don’t blame him. The two of you would spend your mornings at the dining table, eating half-stale cereal and sipping coffee from the premium machine you splurged on a couple years ago. The closeness is nice, and at times it feels a little too domestic to be platonic, but you’ve learned to control yourself around him.

You open your mouth to say something else (you’re mainly hoping to call him out on his behaviour), but he moves his other hand on top of yours, lightly pressing your fingers. Your mouth goes dry and your cheeks flush at the contact, effectively making you go quiet. He glances at you, his face softening and for a moment you could have sworn you saw the ‘old Reid’ resurface.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear, his voice wavering with each syllable. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Even before you were a profiler, you prided in being able to read people well. Spencer is no exception to this; he’s always been easy to read, and his tells are only obvious to the trained eye. In other words, in your long five years of knowing him, you could smell his lies from a mile away. You don’t comment on it, just allowing yourself to bask in the comfort of his touch and the warmth he exudes.

The two of you head off to work minutes later, climbing into your car with you in the driver’s seat. He holds your hand the entire time.

***

Spencer thinks he’s going to throw up. The moment he gets onto the plane, he thinks he’s going to hurl. He locks himself into the bathroom, fumbling with the little vials of clear liquid in his satchel. He doesn’t know how long he can keep this a secret for– he’s always been a bad liar– especially from a team of profilers. He gathers that they probably already know.

His vision blurs and his head grows foggy as soon as he feels the liquid enter his bloodstream. He squeezes his eyes tightly, relishing in the artificial feel of serenity when there’s a knock on the door.

“Uh… Spencer?”

Fuck, he wants to scream as he scrambles to put everything back in his bag. Not you. Anybody but you.

“In– in a minute,” he responds hurriedly, flushed and woozy from his high. He feels nauseous again and he wonders if he should actually just throw up to make the story more believable.

“Um, okay? I was a little worried; you’ve been in there for a while. Did you need anything?” You ask again through the door as quietly as possible, glancing at where the team were sitting. “Water? Tea?”

He swings the door open, and his voice is a lot harsher than he expected it to be. “I’m fine.”

He almost misses the way you step back uncertainly, and the way your fingers twitch at your side. Almost. He knows you don’t believe him. He knows that you know him better than anyone and at times it scares him. He feels like Pandora’s Box and it’s only a matter of time before you release the demons within him. His heart lurches as he watches the way your face falls into confusion and hurt– hurt that he is responsible for.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, softer now. “Just– just tired.”

He watches as you pause and give him a once over. His breath hitches in his throat as he feels your eyes over every inch of him, and for a second he feels incredibly exposed.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” You say slowly, cautiously, and you reach a hand out to gently graze against his forearm. ��I’m here for you.”

The contact is enough to get him to calm down, and his shoulders visibly relax and his eyes close for a moment. He nods, looking at you with a softness he didn’t even know he could muster.

“I know,” he responds, touching his fingers to yours. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” you respond with a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You pause for a moment before nodding towards the seats of the plane.

Spencer follows you there, sitting beside you and as he relishes in your warmth and, in your company, he doesn’t feel quite as lost. The nausea begins to dissipate and he suddenly feels a lot lighter– and it’s not because of the drugs. This is different, a better different. A different he could get used to. The pressure from the plane doesn’t seem to affect him as much anymore, and his ears are no longer ringing.

He leans into your touch, his head pressed against your shoulder and his eyes begin to close. He feels your fingers gingerly hold his own, squeezing lightly in an effort to help him relax. It works. It always works. He feels the way your thumb grazes against the back of his hand and he feels both full of air and breathless at the same time.

“You okay?” You ask into his hair, continuing to rub your thumb back and forth against his hand.

He nods, not being able to bring himself to speak. He’s tired, so unbelievably tired, and he thinks that if he speaks he’ll begin to cry. He doesn’t realise that his grip on your hand has tightened.

“I’m not going to leave you.” He hears you whisper, squeezing his hand back.

He only brings himself to nod again, trying desperately to ignore the way his heart flutters in his chest. Uh oh. He’s falling in love.

***

Spencer knocks on your door at half past two in the morning, eyes bloodshot and feeling as if he was suffocating. He doesn’t want to be alone. At least, he doesn’t right now. He would usually enjoy the feeling of solace, considering that it was unlikely he would be able to experience those moments, but lately it feels as though he is lost inside of his own mind. He misses the moments where his head would swirl with unnecessary statistics, or random animal facts that he knows you adore. Now, the only thing stuck in his mind is the rush of the high– and the plummeting feeling of the low.

He holds a breath as he watches your feet come to a stop at the door before the doorknob jiggles and opens. His eyes hesitantly meet yours and he swallows thickly.

“Can I come in?” He asks, the words barely a whisper.

“Yeah,” comes your response, and you open the door a little wider. “Yeah, Spence, of course.”

He watches as you boil water and prepare two cups of tea– one chamomile and the other peppermint. He sits on the couch, fiddling with his fingers and his eyes darting around nervously.

“Spencer.”

Your voice echoes through the room, and suddenly he feels very grounded. He forces his eyes to meet yours and he feels himself stop breathing. Have you always been this beautiful?

“You haven’t been yourself lately,” you say, setting down the cup of peppermint tea in front of him. “Talk to me.”

He laughs humourlessly, sipping at the scalding tea and he grimaces at the burning sensation. “You sound like a therapist.”

“I studied as one,” you counter, dipping your teabag up and down in the cup. “The others… they can’t say anything. But I’m leaving the BAU soon, so I’m technically allowed to ask you this without any federal obligations.”

“I don’t know–” he begins to deny, but stops short at the way you give him a warning look.

“You’re high right now, aren’t you? And you were on the plane.” Your tone isn’t accusatory, but he expects it from the words that leave your lips. Your gaze softens as you continue. “It’s because of him, isn’t it?”

He flinches and he knows there’s no way out of it. “I tried.”

“I know.”

“I just– I can’t and I want to and I wish that I was… that I was stronger.”

“You are strong.”

He shakes his head. “I should be able to get over this. Get over everything he did to me.”

“Spencer, you were kidnapped and drugged and then you came back to the BAU like nothing even happened.” You pause and lick your bottom lip. “No one is expecting you to get over it, especially not this quickly.”

He doesn’t respond, a strange sense of deja vu filling him at your words and he sits rigid on the couch with his hands in his lap. His eyes don’t leave your face, his gaze shifting from your eyes to the curvature of your nose and then to your lips. For a split second, he wonders how they would feel against his, or how they’d feel against his neck. His head goes heavy at the thought and he pushes them away.

You don’t seem to notice where his eyes have settled, or you’re very good at acting as if he isn’t staring at your face because you continue to speak. “Well,” you say slowly, putting the cup of tea onto the table, “it’s a good thing I’m leaving the BAU then, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know if I can do this job without you,” he confesses, shifting his eyes downcast as he stares into his tea.

You laugh a little, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “You act as if I’m dying or something.”

“I’m serious,” he presses, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I want to be happy for you. And I am! But at the same time I feel– I feel so selfish for wanting you to stay.”

He feels you sit beside him and he instinctively leans into your touch, burying his face into the space between your neck and shoulder.

“It’s not your fault, Spence,” you whisper, rubbing comforting circles on his back. “And I’m always going to be there for you. Promise me you’ll remember that?”

He nods deftly into your neck, breathing in the smell of your perfume.

“Spencer.”

“Promise,” he mumbles, an arm wrapped around your waist. “I know. I promise.”

You hum in acknowledgement. “Good.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, but for once it’s no longer the uncomfortable silence you were tormented with back home. You could feel everything from his hot breath on your neck to the way his fingers squeeze your sides as if you’d disappear if he held you any looser.

“We still need to talk about this whole issue at some point though. You know that, right?” You murmur into his hair.

“I know.”

“We don’t have to talk about it now.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to stay over?”

“… please.”

***

It has been two weeks since you finished up at the BAU and started work at a clinic, working as a children’s therapist. It’s been a good change of pace for you; a lot slower and much more routinely. The hours are a million times better, and you find that you’re able to get home before seven on most days. The amount of free time that’s been handed to you is something to get used to, now that it’s no longer filled with completing paperwork or getting onto a plane.

Despite all the positives, it feels strange not seeing your former team everyday. It feels strange not being able to see Penelope’s brightly coloured outfits, or Derek’s dumb jokes. You missed Emily’s sarcasm and JJ’s stories about Henry, and you missed seeing Hotch’s rare smiles whenever he sees someone in his team succeeding. A lot of the time you find yourself craving Rossi’s famous pastas accompanied with special wine. But most of all, you miss seeing Spencer in his element every single day.

He’s been doing better, or so he says. He’s been going to self-help groups and you’ve been sending him summaries of help books written by former addicts. It seems to have helped because he’s been acting more and more like Spencer Reid than a weird limbo version of him. He still spends a lot of time at your place, sleeping on your couch despite your constant protests. He ends up taking turns with you after you bribed him with multiple chocolate donuts.

Although he insists that he’s been doing better, his constant night terrors say otherwise and more often than not you find him sweating and sobbing in his sleep. Today is no different.

“Spencer,” You whisper, shaking his shoulder firmly. “Spence!”

He jolts awake, sitting up so quickly he almost knocks his forehead with yours. He groans, his fingers flying to his eyes as he rubs them. Fresh tears slip past his closed eyes, spilling down his cheeks and you pull him into your arms.

“You’re okay, I got you,” you murmur, rubbing soothing circles against his shoulder blade as he sobs.

He keeps repeating the words “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t want it” as he sobs against your shoulder, clutching your shirt in the palms of his hands.

“Breathe in,” you guide gently, running your free hand through his hair, “breathe deep… breathe out…”

He takes in a shaky breath before exhaling through sobs but he continues to follow your guide. He wraps around you tightly, taking deep breaths in before releasing them. After a few minutes of steady breathing, he finally speaks.

“I relapsed yesterday.”

He expects you to push him off and start screaming. He expects you to start yelling at him for not being able to control himself and for wasting all his progress. He reckons he deserves it. But you don’t do any of those things.

“That’s okay,” you respond, squeezing his hand. “Have you talked to Meredith about it?”

Meredith Gray is a therapist you introduced Spencer to. She’s a good friend of yours and specialises in addictions as well as post traumatic stress disorder, and she even wrote her final thesis about it. Even though you work in different fields, the jobs cross over a lot when there’s speculation that a parent could be sick. After explaining the situation to her, Meredith was more than willing to take Spencer as a client.

Spencer shakes his head, the guilt creeping into his chest and lacing his words. “No… I have an appointment with her tomorrow though.”

“Okay, good,” you nod, continuing to rub soothing circles on his back. “Relapsing is normal. It’s just another step to healing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

“But–”

“It’s normal,” you repeat firmly. “You acknowledged it, and you told me. That’s good, Spence, better than most people.”

He’s quiet, his nose brushing against the soft skin of your neck before he speaks again. “Did you know I’m scared of elevators?”

You can’t help but laugh at the change of conversation and you squeeze his hand. “No, I didn’t.”

“Morgan and I got caught in one the other day. On a case,” he muses. “On average, elevators are inspected once or twice a year, but some could go up to three years without inspection. There are approximately ten thousand elevator related injuries per year, and twenty seven deaths.”

“Now I’m never going into an elevator again,” you respond with jest, poking his cheek. “It’s late. Take the bed, Walter.”

He huffs. “It’s your turn.”

“You need it more than me.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“I never said that you are.”

“(Y/N).”

You give him a pointed look. “Spencer.”

He stares at you for a moment, holding your gaze before he swallows and looks away. You watch the way his Adam Apple bobs in his throat and you suddenly feel faint.

“Take the bed, Walter,” you repeat, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Please?”

He says your name again, and he reaches up to rest his fingers against the collar of your pyjamas. Your breath hitches and you can’t help the way your cheeks grow warm and your head starts to spin. His touch is gentle, his fingers brushing against the skin of your shoulder. You resist the urge to shudder as you relish his skin against yours.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, pleading, and his eyes glance from your collar to your eyes.

“You hate sharing beds,” you remind him.

His thumb grazes against your jaw and his face is so close to yours you could count his eyelashes. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that he was going to kiss you. But you do know better, so you avert your gaze and push the thoughts out of your mind. An indescribable look flickers on his face but it is gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“It’s okay if it’s you,” he says earnestly, and you find yourself agreeing because how could you say ‘no’ to that?

You climb into bed, one leg outside of the covers because everything felt so warm, especially with his arm wrapped around your middle and his breath against your shoulder. The thin line between platonic and romantic love has blurred indefinitely now, and at times like these you feel as if it has disappeared entirely. Guilt creeps into your veins as you feel him bring you closer to him, his nose buried into your shoulder. Is this considered coercing? He’s in the middle of healing, working towards sobriety, and here you are taking advantage of his vulnerability. Well, technically you’re not ‘taking advantage’ of him if he seeks you out first but it still feels inherently wrong. Morally wrong, maybe.

It takes you another thirty minutes to fall asleep, your head rushing with thoughts and questions as you do. He’s gone when you wake up in the morning.

***

“Someone is looking happy,” Derek comments with a teasing grin, slinking an arm around Spencer’s neck.

It has been about a week since the ‘sleep in the same bed’ incident and he was promptly whisked away to a case in Nevada. He felt guilty about the whole ordeal, considering he wasn’t in his right state of mind at the time. It still made him feel like a sleazy college student who had a one night stand with some random person and then bolted (even though there was no contact of that sort that night). Despite his initial guilt, his head is spinning with the sheer peace and comfort that he experienced when he was sleeping in the same bed as someone. And that someone was you! He could barely even believe it. It all felt so right and perfect… and the way you would shuffle closer at times… it was enough to get his heart racing (he thinks that it’s terribly cliche and horribly cringe-worthy, but therapy has told him that he needs to ‘embrace’ his gross sappy feelings).

“What? No– I mean yes but–” Spencer coughs in response to Derek’s teasing, clutching the strap of his shoulder bag.

Derek cackles at his fumbling, grinning ear to ear. “Alright, so… is it a girl?”

“What?!” He shrieks, his voice raising by two octaves as he does. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Oh so there is a girl,” Emily joins in with a smirk.

“There is– there is no girl,” he responds briskly, his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Derek hums in thought, a mischievous look in his eye. “Did you catch up with Lila again?”

“No!” Spencer bristles at the thought. Ever since he almost destroyed his friendship with you over her, he hasn’t even bothered to give her a call. “I haven’t seen her since her since– since her case.”

“What about that girl you picked up at a bar?” Emily offers with a sly laugh. “What’s her name again?”

“Austin,” Spencer recalls instantly, his cheeks flaring up again as soon as she says her name. “B-but I haven’t spoken to her either!”

JJ rounds the corner, all too happy to join in the fun (much to Spencer’s chagrin). “I bet it’s (Y/N),” she says with a knowing smirk.

Spencer considers his brain to be a well oiled machine of facts and logic. It’s one of the only things he could rely on– and the only thing people seem to respect him for. As of late, his ‘well oiled machine’ hasn’t been functioning as well as he would have liked, but that doesn’t mean it’s not functioning at almost full capacity. But JJ’s comment, no matter how well functioning his brain was, rendered him speechless.

“Looks like you hit the nail on the head, JJ,” Derek cackles, clapping Spencer’s shoulder.

He lets out a small grunt at the contact, almost stumbling over his feet before he catches himself. “There is nothing going on between (Y/N) and I. We’re just friends.” The words taste bitter on his tongue and he resists the urge to cringe.

“Sure,” Emily says with a short laugh. “Totally believe you. How long did it take for you to realise you’re in love with her?”

JJ snickers along. “Yeah, before or after you had that make out session with Lila?”

Spencer groans at their relentless teasing, covering his face with his hands as they walk along to the bullpen. They’re definitely a lot calmer once they enter their official place of work, but it still doesn’t stop the way they poke fun at him through sly smiles and tasteful words.

“There’s nothing going on between us,” Spencer reiterates with a frown. “She knows just how difficult this job is; she doesn’t deserve to have to deal with it again.”

“Isn’t she the one who’s supposed to decide that?” Emily asks gently, no more teasing in her tone. She’s always been good at giving advice.

He pauses at that, a frown etched upon his features. His mind rushes with memories; the constant leaving, the torture, the trauma, the drugs… his fingers run through his hair.

“It’s not a good time right now,” he explains softly.

“When will it ever?”

He doesn’t meet her gaze.“I don’t know.”

← previous part || next part →

full work

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #taylor swift #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x reader fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x reader angst

2K notes · View notes

hysteria-things · 7 months ago

Text

BIRTHDAY BOY

also based off of this

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sub!nate x stripper!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: for his 21st, nate goes to the strip club with his two best friends.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY SMUT, swearing, drinking, semi-public, oral (male receiving), overstimulation, gagging, p in v, handsome/good boy kink, unprotected sex, cream pie

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,370

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: day THREE of nate week!

let’s pretend that today is yesterday🤫

shoutout to @stellarsturns for the idea <3

boston’s local strip club was the last place nate wanted to go to for his 21st, but chris and matt insisted on bringing him. for understandable reasons, nick decided to stay home and wait for them to get back to have some birthday cake.

this isn’t his scene at all, and to be honest, he’s freaked out. not because of the half-naked girls dancing on poles, but because this isn’t… him.

he wanted to stay at the triplet’s house to celebrate, but according to chris and matt; that was boring.

poor nate got left all alone, watching with wide eyes as the dancer did their thing on the stage in front of him. the other two left and said ‘we’re coming back with a surprise!’ whatever that means.

“nate, dude!” chris slurs loudly over the music, his two friends stumbling back to the table they’re sitting at. “look who we got for you.”

“this is— uh…” matt trails off.

you wave. “cherry.”

“damn straight.” matt says, sipping on his beer. “happy birthday, man. we paid her ahead of time.”

holding your hand out, nate’s silent as he grabs on with his shaky and sweaty one. you can feel that he’s squeezing tight, but he doesn’t notice. you don’t mind, though, and instead start walking to one of the many private rooms. “don’t have too much fun!” chris laughs, cheering until his voice fades.

nate didn’t realize how much his head was pounding until he got into the room, the vibration hurting like crazy. the music is muffled, voices from others outside the door. “sit.” you demand softly, and he does.

he takes a good look at your very revealing two-piece, cash that he assumes is the money chris and matt gave you sits under the strap of your bra. avoiding eye contact, he glances around the room. he’s so intimidated by you, especially when he was standing. you’re much taller than him in those tall heels.

“you’re intimidated.” you point out as if you’re reading his mind.

ain’t that the truth.

taking your acrylic thumb, you graze it over his bottom lip. without thinking, he opens his mouth the tiniest bit. he’s looking at you now, mesmerized by your beauty. “your friends told me it’s your birthday.” you say innocently. “how old are you turning, handsome?”

he clears his throat, stammering syllables before he gets the words out. “t-twenty-one.”

nodding, you hum before straddling his lap, your clothed pussy rubbing on the bulge in his pants. he wants to touch you, but he doesn’t know if he can. your hands run from the sides of his head down to his chest, grinding slowly.

he grunts, rutting his hips subconsciously. “s-sorry.” he stutters, but then does it again. his cheeks are red like a tomato. “i-i’m sorry.”

sighing, you start to leave open-mouthed soft kisses down his neck. he groans, the aching boner rubbing your clit the right way. rutting his hips once more, he whines. “i’m so—”

“it’s highly against the rules to fuck customers.” you say between kisses. “but because you’re the birthday boy… i’ll make you an exception.”

you hover on the ground, licking and biting your lips as you stare into his pleading eyes while you unbuckle his pants.

there’s already a wet spot forming through his calvin klein’s. he’s just about cumming in his underwear already. “aw, pretty boy. you’re already making a mess in your boxers.” you tease innocently.

when you start to kiss his hard-on, he jolts from the sensitivity. his hands rush to the hem, pulling down the remains of his bottoms in a whine.

so needy.

his dick is red, the hardness of it looking painful the more you stare at it. you lick the pre-cum from his slit, pumping your hand and swallowing the amount you can fit in your mouth.

lolling his head back, his mouth hangs open from the warmth. god blessed you with no gag reflex, so this is going to be a piece of cake. his eyes roll back each time you bob down.

your throat morphs into the shape of him, gulping as your saliva moistens his base. you notice his nails claw at his thigh. he wants to grip your hair, but he also doesn’t want to hurt you.

to tease him, you moan to send some vibration throughout his body. he thrusts up into your mouth from the suddenness, but you keep going.

the softness of his hips moving upward has him moaning like a mess. “oh, fuck. oh, fuck.”

his dick twitches, pelvis shuttering before shooting his load down your throat. that doesn’t stop you, though. “w-wait.” he whines, trying to push your head away. you don’t budge.

in fact, you move back to his tip, kitty-licking the rest of his cum off of it before spitting. his breath hitches, legs quivering from the feeling. your plump lips move to the side of his dick, sloppily licking the remains of his orgasm that dripped down.

angling yourself differently, you take him to the point where all of him now fits in your mouth.

“wait!” he cries again, eyes becoming watery. “it’s t-too sensitive.”

even though he’s complaining, he takes each side of your head and guides you nice and deep on his cock; nose touching his pubic bone. “it hurts.” he whimpers, forcing your head to go faster.

nate feels so pathetic because of how fast his second orgasm approaches. he’s squirming and twitching like crazy.

“i’m going to cum again.” he pants, hooded eyes looking into your doe-like ones.

a few gulps later, you stay put on his dick while his spurts of cum land on your tastebuds. it’s still coming out of his slit when you take your mouth off with a pop noise.

you get up from the floor, his eyes staring at what your hands are doing as he catches his breath. you reach for the front clip on your bra, take it off, and let it fall to the floor.

then, you remove your panties, bunching them into a ball. his mouth dangles open in complete awe with your body.

you take your time to walk over and lean over him, smirking when all he seems to look at is your breasts. “you’ve been too noisy.” you state. “i think somebody needs to be gagged.”

before he can answer, you shove your panties into his mouth. you start to sit on his dick, nate’s panting getting more intense the further down you go.

you moan lowly, lifting yourself to the tip and plopping back down. he sniffles, you continuing those actions. you run your hands through his hair, looking at his face of pleasure each time you bounce.

the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs is covering up his muffled whimpers and moans. tears stream down his cheeks, a choked sob flowing through the panties blocking his lips.

“you’re so handsome.” you coo, the eye contact turning you on even more as you wipe the tears. his blue orbs are dark, the lids fluttering closed at how your bare pussy feels.

you can’t help but moan as well from the squelching noise that portrays. the tips of your fingers run through his hair, peppering kisses on his jawline. “you want to be a good boy for me?” you ask.

he nods frantically. “uh huh.”

“be a good boy and cum for me, yeah?” you say, moving faster, causing you to squeal when your g-spot gets hit. your dominance is starting to slip. “you-you have too much of a handsome face.”

his eyes widen when he figures out what you mean by that, but he doesn’t care. he grabs your hips and starts to thrust into you, the both of you whining as you reach your highs. “that’s right, handsome. c-cum in me.”

“mhm.” he moans, following your instructions.

you keep going until you collapse on top of him, removing your underwear from his mouth. grabbing the money his friends gave you, you hold it up and get off of his lap. he’s trying to catch his breath when you put your foot next to his leg to hunch over.

“free of charge.” you smile. “happy birthday.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828 @stingerayyy2 @sturnsjtop @luverboychris @yapperchris @imaslutforoldermen @madisonlovesyouu @poetatorturadaa @chr1sgirl4life @hiimolivia @jo-777 @sturnskiss @st4rgrlll @mattyblover07

#nate doe #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nathan doe #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #nate doe fanfic #nate doe smut

504 notes · View notes

keyotos · 1 year ago

Text

"you know, if being cute was a crime, you'd be guilty as charged!"

you have been at this for hours (it has only been a few minutes) now. wriothesley, who has been idly sipping his tea with a straight face, has not yet wavered at your terrible pick-up lines.

"that one was bad," he sips. you roll your eyes.

you clear your throat, "if fine was a felony, you'd be on death row," you give wriothesley an exaggerated wink.

he gives you a disconcerted look.

you pout, "okay, c'mon! that one was good!"

wriothesley puts his teacup on the table and moves his chair closer to yours, "i don't think death row should be associated with romance," he shakes his head, "that may have been the worse one today."

"i think that was, 'are you a crime? because i'll do you anyday!'" you laugh and grab wriothesley's teacup, taking a drink out of it so ordinarily.

wriothesley basks in this. tonight is a quiet night: the inmates aren't awake, sigewinne has clocked out for the day, and you are here. it's strange how you are one of the loudest people wriothesley knows of, yet you make the world sound so quiet when you're around. whatever your magic is, wriothesley isn't opposed to it.

everything about this scene reads domesticity, even though the two of you have been together for a couple of months. spending late nights together, sleeping in the same bed, drinking out of the same teacup? if someone had told wriothesley a few months ago that he would be doing these things (nevertheless with you), he would have called them mad. but here he is, sitting in his office doing nothing but drinking tea, while hearing you recite horrible pick-up lines.

"wouldn't it be the perfect crime if i stole your heart and you stole mine?" you push the teacup towards you boyfriend.

wriothesley winces, "maybe that was the worse one today."

"what?! i thought that one wasn't bad."

your boyfriend looks to the side, "it was really cheesy."

"clearly, you missed the point of pick-up lines," you lay your head down on the desk, "i'd like to see you come up with one."

wriothesley chuckles. you relish in the fact that you are one of the only people that have ever heard him laugh. it's an unexpected sound, and it always comes out more lighter than most people would think. but it's endearing, just like him; you always think that a light chortle from him would paint your dark skies to a clear blue.

"i'm saving myself from the embarrassment," wriothesley sips out of the teacup, on the same side you drank of, you might add.

"boring," you draw out the syllables of the word.

"what? did you run out of lines?" wriothesley teased you, taking another drink out of the teacup to hide his smile. he watched as your face morphed into a light grimace.

"i did not, actually," you raise your head off the desk, "in fact, i'm thinking of one right now."

"oh no..." wriothesley shivers. you shoot him a petulant look. he backs down.

when you think, you have this habit of sticking your tongue out of your lips, just ever-so slightly. your eyebrows crease just a little bit, not enough to be furrowed, but enough to not be at resting position. your eyes don't narrow, they widen. wriothesley thinks that if someone caught you like this on a kamara, your photos would go down in history.

finally, after what felt like years (it was one minute), you look back up at him. this time, however, your eyes are laced with uncertainty rather than flirtatiousness.

"if being in love is illegal, would you be my partner in crime?"

love. you guys haven't talked about it yet.

was that why your eyes were so full of nervousness? did you think he didn't love you back? if that was the case, then it'd be preposterous, for how can anyone look at you and not fall in love? although, wriothesley supposes that it's a good thing, because that means you're his to have.

one side of his brain is in doubt. it's just a joke, it says, they're not being truthful, it's just a pick-up line. but his heart says otherwise. if they were joking, then why do their eyes look like that? why are they fidgeting with their fingers? why are they gently tapping their foot on the ground?

love has never been a consideration for wriothesley. throughout his life, it has been abandonment and independence. there's only been room for one, not two. but you: you reconstructed his entire mind. so now, when he thinks about drinking tea, he doesn't drink alone anymore. when he's staying late to do paperwork, he doesn't have to be alone while doing so. when there was one, there is now two.

oh.

oh shit. your confession of love came from a pick-up line. and it actually worked on him, because he loves you back. he loves you back so much. wriothesley loves you back with his heart, his mind, his body, and possibly his soul. and he realized the extent of his love through a pick-up line. from you out of all people.

though, even though he's in love with you, he's not letting you get the satisfaction of your line working.

"i don't know. according to the my close friend, the duke of meropide, he says it's illegal to participate in criminal activities." wriothesley's tone is soft. his eyes are full of endearment. your eyebrows stop crinkling, and your eyes revert back to normal. you know. you know.

you give into an easy smile, "don't you think your friend, the duke, is a little too compliant to the law?"

"sorry, he's not changing his ways. but," wriothesley gets out of his chair and strides towards you. his hand meet your jawline, and his thumb traces the corner of your lip that's turned downwards due to your pout. with his thumb, he guides it upward, making it so you were smiling. he laughs slightly⎯twice tonight, which is something he did not expect to do⎯and moves his thumb to lightly caress your bottom lip.

he uses his hand to tilt your head up towards him. you know what's coming, and you excitedly lean in closer. wriothesley tilts his head down to meet your lips, carefully tracing every angle of your jaw as he does so. you meet him halfway, closing the gap between you two almost immediately. wriothesley can feel you happily grin into the kiss. you grab his shirt collar and pull him closer into you, and he obliges with no hesitation.

you are the first one to pull away, and it takes all of wriothesley's willpower to stop himself from pulling you back in.

"but?" you ask, chest heaving up and down. wriothesley, the bastard, is still breathing normally. "does the duke of meropide have any contentions?"

wriothesley shakes his head, "i think he could make some exceptions," he whispers, grinning while doing so.

he doesn't miss the beaming glow of your smile as leans in once more. and then, he knows that he'll be your partner in crime for a long time.

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #they r so sweet nothing by tswift coded #THIS WAS THE CUTEST THING I EVER WROTE

2K notes · View notes

simp4konig · 3 months ago

Text

"You drive me crazy."

Obsessed! Nikto x Reader

Word count: 2472

Nikto's POV! Sporadic uses of "Y/N" — otherwise, reader is referred as "You".

To say that Nikto is obsessed with you would be an understatement 😵‍💫...

Nikto's psychological state gradually deteriorates as you read!

Google Translate Russian lmao 💀,, please forgive any errors! 😟

Edit: Realising that this fic is darker than my usual works. Warning my readers for darker content!

Edit 2: Added the appropriate "dark content" tags. <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

I've lost my mind long ago. We're losing it as we speak. I've lost myself long ago and I have not known what to do with ourselves.

Of course, not all was lost. I was cleared for service. I can approach situations without hesitation or uncertainty — but most importantly, kill methodically.

All I need are targets. Just give me targets. Nothing else matters. Nobody.

But I found you. I found you. And you found us. Although there was nothing to find, you found us.

How? It's a mystery. An enigma. An unsolvable puzzle.

My name is Igor. Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich.

Игорь. Igor. I—gor. Two syllables. Four letters, in English. A not so common name in Russia, according to the statistics: in 1991 — the year of my birth — approximately 37 baby boys born were named as such. In 2021, only 17 baby boys born were named Igor. I would assume the number declines each year — maybe less than a dozen Igors were christened this year. Or a single digit. Nine. Eight. Seven. Or even less than five.

October 13, 1991 was my exact date of birth. I was born in Novgorod, when Russia was still the Soviet Union. I had parents. A sister…

…Yet that means nothing to me.

Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich? That is foreign. That is not anyone that I know of. I am Nikto. I am no one. Nobody to know, yet somebody that I know of. Not this… Igor. I am nobody. Никто.

When the voices are quiet, that's when I can silently mourn the man that I once was.

Though, can you mourn someone whom you don't know? Can you mourn the faceless person in the casket, whose face is unrecognisable? Can you mourn at a funeral that no one attended, and hadn't taken process?

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to repeat it, yes?

I knew it. We knew it. Everyone else knew it.

But you didn't. You. You.

You… remind me of someone.

They're dead now.

They were just a target. Too bad I can't remember who they were.

But you're not. You're more than a target.

You treated me with kindness when everyone avoided me like the bubonic plague. A Black Death following the death of the former Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich and the black, black blackness lingering — a reminder. But not anything that allows us to remember, or reminds us of who we once were.

I don't remember anything. I don't remember anyone. Photographs of my family before the torture are irrelevant. Documents stamping my existence could just as easily make us inexistent. Nobody exists any more aside from Nikto.

A cacophony of voices has infiltrated my brain. Our brain. We will never be me anymore. We are who we are now.

I am a broken man. I hear the voices of many men, who won't let me sleep, won't leave me be, won't give me peace. I was one of those men. Maybe all of the men are me?

But if all of them are me, and I am all of them, then who are we? What are we?

Then again… who I am is nothing. What I are is everything. What we are — crazy.

The pieces of the puzzle aren't fully there. Surely you must have been aware, my treasure?

You were doing your due diligence to arrange the puzzle pieces, so meticulously and with dedication, devoting hours of your time and wishing for the finished product to be cohesive, but you won't find that within us. How unfortunate.

Some of the pieces are missing. Some of them don't even fit. What you're left with is an incomplete picture — one which will never be completed.

No matter. You can be the missing puzzle piece, yes?

My fellow operatives named me Никто — “Nikto”, meaning “Nobody” or “No-one” in Russian — for… what did they say? My “uncanny ability to replicate other people and hide [my] true identity”? Ironic — seeing as replicating an identity is not the same as claiming your own, and being an individual. Having an actual identity, as opposed to being forced to think that being nobody can suffice.

Funny. I was apparently religious before all of this.

Have you heard of Orthodox Christianity? It's a branch of Christianity most often practised in Eastern Europe, in case you weren't aware. Orthodox Christians believe that Jesus redeemed humanity by sacrificing himself through crucifixion — unlike Catholics, who believe that Jesus sacrificing himself through crucifixion was all in an effort to redeem humanity.

Perhaps I was an altar boy in my childhood. Or wore a cross around my neck. Maybe I was devoted, and prayed in the morning, before a meal for grace, in the night, before a mission for mercy, during a mission out of desperation, and after a mission as gratitude.

Such bullshit.

Obviously, God doesn't exist — not in the ethereal, omniscient sense.

Oh no.

The God is You. You are my God.

Just like with Orthodox Christianity, and the salvation of humanity after the sacrifice of Jesus, your presence, your mere existence, was salvation. You brought redemption unto us.

Of course, following my torture, God became an abstract concept. How could the Holy Father abandon me? How could my prayers after the tortue be so wilfully ignored? Why would he actively play a passive role in my damnation, as I'm burned, as I'm beaten, as I'm bruised, abused, cut, and mutilated?

No one was born a sinner. Not even me, this nobody. So what kind of retribution was this — a disfigured face, ruined body, and voices which infiltrated my psyche, words equivalent to the evil of the Antichrist?

But You? You made it worthwhile. Your kindness. Compassion. Charity. It was all worthwhile. Even to gaze at You from afar.

Well.

For the most part.

We have repented for our sins: stealing Your dirty laundry, Your hairbrush, Your t-shirts, and other trinkets which we deem Holy Relics; using Your lip balm without permission, You none the wiser; committing sinful acts in the comfort of your own bedroom, only for You to return, oblivious. We apologise for that nagging paranoia, demanding You to turn around, to catch a glimpse of the eyes staring at You, but You not noticing us when we were camouflaged in the shadows. For stalking You and learning Your schedule. For hacking into all of Your devices and acquiring every little piece of information available from Your digital footprints.

But, You forgive us, yes?

Don't look so horrified, dushka. We left no trace, yes? No evidence. You said You have forgiven all of our transgressions. Think of this as a confession, nothing more. Besides, we never tampered with You belongings. They're all still with us. Just like you will.

You are our oxygen. Without You, we can't breathe. Our lungs suffocate without Your natural scent to fill them, to keep us alive. Our eyes go blind with time without the sight of Your face, Your body. We can't hear anything other than Your voice — our ears tune out any frequencies and wavelengths that don't leave those pretty little lips, yet wage civil war amongst ourselves, spitting curses that cut like knives and pierce like bullets. And Your lips. And Your eyes. And Your eyebrows, hair, hands, neck, God — everything.

You won't abandon us, yes? You wouldn't abandon us, would you, мое сокровище? You are our treasure. I treasure you — all of us do: your pretty little lips, that speak in the softest of tones to us; those eyes that stare in slight fright, yet crinkle in as genuine of a smile as you can manage; those eyebrows that furrow over your bright eyes in the subtlest of frowns, in sorrow or frustration, maybe vexation — and that's just your face. What about your hair? Your hands? Your neck? Your body? What is there not to treasure?

Боже мой, Bozhe moy, my God. Oh God, it's as if an angel has descended and granted us salvation, a merciful deity absolving us of our sins and cleansing our soul. And both the angel and deity are You — working in perfect sync, so benevolent and forgiving, taking pity on a creature so pitiful, so ruined, so unfixable.

We can't remember what some of those was.

Those puzzle pieces, of course.

Zakhaev’s torture stole some of the pieces to the jigsaw, and the puzzle won't ever be solved. We ourselves interrogate, torture, eliminate, kill. Sometimes we dissociate. Other times I am completely in control. Yet all the time, we are committing sins, sins, sins.

And You forgive them. Forgive us.

Every prayer is us praying for you, to you, about you. And each one concludes with your sacred name, whispered in hushed tones as the syllables are too precious to utter out loud.

Poor, poor thing. You probably didn't even know what you were signing up for, did you? You probably intended to be charitable. Sympathetic. And you were, sweet one.

But you were naive to have assumed that we wouldn't become possessive of you like an unwanted stay mutt of its only bone. So innocent — perhaps stupid — but we like to think that you were misguided in your intentions, yet guided by some God.

An ignorant God? If You're the God to worship, then are You an ignorant one? An innocent, naive, and unconditionally loving one? Yet, one that, despite Their obliviousness, can knowingly soothe with a simple string of words? With a caress?

What an oxymoron. It suits You. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aw. Are those tears, dushka? Let's wipe them, hmm? Kiss it better, yes? You will like our lips on you.

Don't scream. Don't hurt those vocal cords. We like the sound of your voice. We want you to talk.

There there, little one. You look beautiful when you cry, but you look most beautiful when you're smiling. Smile, hm? Do it for us. Your Nikto.

You don't have to be afraid, you know. Don't be afraid, krasotka. We love you.

Here, put your hand on our chest. Feel how our heart is beating? It beats only for you.

Our abdomen, our stomach. You feel how toned that is, yes? You feel the muscle?

What about our biceps? The strength in our forearms? They're all for you. We're all yours, yours yours yours.

Our blood looks good on you, dushka. The blood really accentuates your nails. But please, stop. Stop.

You don't have to scratch us, or scream. You know that none of that will change anything. You know that we will love you, even if you tell us you hate us. It's too late.

Get used to touching us, yes? What's left of us, anyways. Yes, our body won't be the most appealing, or the handsomest, but it's all for you. Every inch. All for you — just like how you are all ours.

You're ours, just as much as we belong to you. You could stab us with a knife and we'd smile. You could shoot us with a gun point-blank in the head and we'd thank you. What an honour it would be to live with you by your side, or die by your side. We're a dead man either way. Your dead man. Your Nikto.

You underestimated my capacity for violence. Or were perhaps too naive to understand it.

That's okay. Put your hand on my face. Just like that. See? Nothing to fear. It's just us. Your Nikto.

I can feel it shaking. Why do you shake so much, hm? Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You should know there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were fearless when it came to speaking to me, and weren't afraid to reach out to us. Surely you don't want to abandon us now?

That's too bad. You won't abandon us. We won't let you.

I'm crazy: I don't think I need to repeat it, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy.

I am already crazy yes but it is You who drives me to insanity do You know that? Why do You deny? Do not deny us this yes? Yes You do know that it is You who makes me mad beyond return of course You do You've always known it and You know it now little one You're just pretending feigning ignorance with surprise in Your eyes. Why pretend that it was all a pretense? Your kindness? Your sympathy? Your company? It was not pretense to us no it was everything. Everything we could have hoped for prayed for and lived for.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy, baby.

Craaazyyy. Crazy crazy crazy!

You have made us the craziest we have ever been from the moment we met Your eyes and will be forever driven crazier with Your around from the day You die. And that won't be anytime now, my treasure. We will treasure You, take care of You, keep You safe. You will want for nothing, we can assure You — nothing, nobody, no one. Only Nikto. Nobody will ever look at You, as their eyeballs will be gouged out for having the audacity to spare a glance at the pinnacle of perfection. And nobody will ever want You, nobody will taint that precious skin with unworthy fingers, as anyone who tries will have them broken have their bones crushed to dust their skin muscles and tendons ripped to ribbons until there is no body left.

Nobody will ever look at You. Only Nikto. Us. Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever we will have our eyes on You until our retinas dissolve and our pupils can no longer absorb light and we become blind and crippled, crying, crying crying crying for You, crying only for You. You crying out for us until Your voice is hoarse from moaning, until our name becomes a prayer just as much as Yours is to us.

We love You. Think of nobody. Only Nikto. Only of Nikto. Only for and against Nikto. We will live for You. We do already, do you understand? We're yours. Yours. Yours yours yours yours yours yours to have yours to hit yours to scratch with those nails yours to scream at yours yours yours yours yours. Yours. Yours! Yours!

Yours!

Y/N.

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it. You should have known it.

And if you didn't know it, then You will know it.

Because You drive me crazy.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/Ns

Really really really Really REALLY had doubts about posting this and thought that no one would like it. I felt inspired and happy and proud of myself when I was almost finished but it took me days to conclude the work since I was second-guessing whether or not I should post this after all. Kind of embarrassed, in all honesty, but I decided to post it in the end since I quite like it. :'>

I just wanted to highlight your, @//connorsui, lovely, lovely words when you reblogged my last Nikto post 😭😭😭💘💘💘. To receive not only some compliments, but your thoughts on my headcanons AND analysis *AND* your evaluation of my post was so, SO heartwarming to wake up to in the morning 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓, especially when it was so long!!! Like, what?!! 😢😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😿😿😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you so so so SO much for your positive feedback !!! I've read it over four times by now. O really appreciated and still appreciate it. ☺️💞🫶💖✨✨💕💕

(I also want to kiss Nikto's scarred face ☹️☹️☹️ just wordless acts of intimacy where words aren't necessary and just to show the man some affection, regardless of how he looks 😟💝 need that ugly traumatised Russian man SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Inspiration for this gained from:

thisvvv song!!! and Chapter 7 in Metro 2035 lol,, when Artyom was drunk and disorientated I thought it was written really REALLY well and I wanted to incorporate his meaningless drivel into this.

Nikto's voicelines and his various voices/sporadic changes in character

the Fandom Wiki

my own headcanons lol 😋

From fluff this whatever the fuck this is!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed 💗💗

294 notes · View notes

ginnsbaker · 6 months ago

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (11/?)

Part Summary: You listen, and her reasons make sense, but they don't ease the tightness gripping your heart. Knowing how well Leigh understands the control she holds over you leaves you feeling exposed, almost humiliated. It feels manipulative, whether she intended it or not.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.300+ | Warnings: Angst | Author's note: Buckle up you guys.

You've never looked at Leigh this way before.

Not even when she confronted you months ago, a formidable presence with a devastating revelation that shattered what you thought was a straightforward affair with a single man. Not even when she accused you of lying, or when she consistently made things difficult for you.

Now, you look at her as if she's an entirely different person. And from the way you fall back, it's obvious you don't particularly like what you see. Leigh hadn't realized just how painful it could be to be looked at in such a way. With each of your steps, panic swells inside her. Though you're only a few feet away, it feels as if you've drifted oceans apart. She can't reach you, and the growing distance makes her fear she never will.

“What did you say?” you repeat slowly, each syllable dropping like a stone—deliberate and heavy.

Your eyes, hard and cold, fix on her. It’s an unsettling sight; she'd almost prefer your anger. Anger, at least, is a familiar adversary, a clear-cut emotion she has long helmed and appeased within herself. She understands anger, knows how to quell it, how to unravel it into something resembling forgiveness or at least a truce. But this wounded belief—she doesn’t know what to do with it. It doesn’t want loud arguments or quick fixes. Instead, it seems to demand something she finds far harder to give: an explanation of motives she's not sure she fully understands herself.

“Your eyes are... enthralling?” Leigh stammers out, her voice quivering slightly as she attempts some self-preservation. She regrets the words as soon as they slip out, sounding hollow and clumsy to her own ears.

You don't laugh, or even react much at all, except to say, “You know that's not what I'm talking about.”

Leigh’s heart sinks a bit more. She winces, shaking her head, realizing the frivolous comment has fallen flat, doing nothing to undo the damage. In the end, she can’t bring herself to say what she knows you want to hear.

“After all this time, how…? How do you know about that nickname?” you ask, maintaining a façade of indifference though you can feel the cracks forming.

“I work for the website,” Leigh says, her eyes dropping to the floor when she hears you take in a sharp breath. “I used to run the advice column there. But when Matt died, I couldn't handle it anymore and I left.” She stops for a moment, her gaze flickering back to you, searching for a reaction, but you remain silent, your expression unreadable.

“They brought me back recently, just as a contributor. I wasn't sure how to tell you. It's part of how I'm trying to move on, getting back into writing, even though it feels different now,” she adds somberly.

“So, did you just read my entries and figure out it was me from what I wrote?” you ask, your voice low and uncertain.

Leigh swallows dryly, steeling herself for what she has to say next. “Not only did I read your entries,” she admits slowly, her voice a whisper of trepidation, “but I was the one replying to them.”

After her confession, Leigh struggles to meet your eyes. Her ears are filled with the loud rush of her heartbeat, thumping wildly as the seconds tick by without a word from you. Time seems suspended, and when you don't speak, move, or give any indication of your thoughts, dread begins to creep into the edges of her mind.

“I was going to tell you,” Leigh murmurs, the words barely escaping her lips. Your arms cross over your chest, sealing yourself off even more. She feels you slipping further away, when just moments earlier, you had been kissing the life out of her, as if trying to breathe her in.

This can’t be happening, Leigh thinks. It just can’t.

“When?” you scoff. “When you’re… what? Done with your revenge?”

Leigh’s brow furrows at the accusation. “Revenge?”

“Isn’t that what this is about?” you ask, retreating until your back meets the wall, leaning heavily against it. Leigh notices the fatigue etched into your features, as if the realization that she knew about your submissions and was the one responding to them is more than you can bear.

“I don’t—”

“Payback for what went on between me and Matt?”

“Y/N,” Leigh utters your name hard, like a deity in her prayers. “You’re misunderstanding this—”

“Am I?” you challenge, your voice rising. You don't care if the neighbors hear; you’ve never met any of them anyway. “I remember a ‘Gigi Herrel’ advising me to move on, to meet other people, to pursue someone else—”

Your words become stuck in your throat as you realize that ‘Gigi Herrel’ is an anagram for ‘Leigh Greer.’ How could you have missed it? How could you have been so blind?

Leigh aches to reach out to you, to touch you and reassure you that she never meant any harm, that her intentions were never what you're accusing her of. But her hands remain at her sides, afraid you might recoil or push her away. She worries that one wrong move could drive you away for good.

“I never meant to hurt you. Please, Y/N,” she begs, her voice trembling with an urgency neither of you thought she was capable of. “I was trying to protect you—from myself. I’m a mess, Y/N. I’ve been a mess since Matt…” Leigh trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

“You thought toying with my feelings was protection?”

“I wasn’t!” Leigh objects forcefully.

You slump to the ground, your strength giving out as a sharp, nail-like pain spreads through your head. You bury your face in your hands, fingers pressing into your temples, while Leigh sits across from you, her hands nervously twisting together.

Quietly, you voice your frustrations. “If it wasn't a game, then why do I feel like I've been losing all this time? Things would be fine between us, and then suddenly, you'd ignore me. My texts went unanswered, my messages unseen for days. It felt like you weren't even treating me right as a friend. I'd drive myself crazy wondering if I said something wrong or did something wrong… It feels like I'm always walking on eggshells. So, if it wasn't a game, tell me you didn't do those things on purpose. Because if not, then you were awful to me without even trying. You know that, right?”

Leigh's eyes brim with remorse. She quickly wipes at her eyes before a tear can fall, trying to maintain her composure in front of you.. “I would never play games with you,” she implores. “I've been in pieces for so long that I've forgotten what it means to be whole. When I found out about your feelings, I didn’t understand them. I couldn't see how it could happen when I wasn't my best self.

“I pushed you away because I was scared of letting you see the real me—the broken, messy parts. I thought that if you got too close, saw too much, you'd realize there wasn't much to hold onto. That eventually, you'd see me the way I see myself and end up disappointed.” Her voice trembles, betraying the strength she tries to project.

You listen, and her reasons make sense, but they don't ease the tightness gripping your heart. Knowing how well Leigh understands the control she holds over you leaves you feeling exposed, almost humiliated. It feels manipulative, whether she intended it or not.

“You knew how I felt about you, Leigh,” you say, your lips curving into a wistful smile. “I understand that you're hurting and that being scared is part of it, but it doesn't justify leaving me hanging, wondering where I stand with you, feeling like I'm just... waiting for you to decide I'm worth your time.”

Leigh nods slowly. “I realize that now, and I'm so sorry. It wasn't fair to you. I was trying to manage my own issues, but I ended up projecting them onto you.”

You look into her eyes, searching for a sign that the change you need from her is possible. “Being broken isn't a reason to break others,” you say.

Leigh flinches slightly, your words hitting home. “You’re absolutely right,” she agrees, her eyes unblinking. You can tell that if you were to list her faults, she would agree and confess to them all just to resolve things right here and now. But that's not what you want, nor what you need from her.

“Y/N,” Leigh's voice almost breaks as she says your name. “Will you forgive me?”

Yes, you think instinctively. Forgiving Leigh feels almost second nature. But actually saying it out loud right now would set a course you're not sure you're ready to follow. Trust has been strained and rebuilding it isn't as simple as uttering a single word of forgiveness.

Leigh looks at you expectantly, anxiety lining her features. “Y/N?” she repeats softly.

You understand what she's silently asking: if there's a chance to reset everything. But you're not ready to commit to an answer. Offering her any assurance now might only lead to false hopes, especially if you later decide a real relationship isn't possible. Part of you wants to give in, to return to her embrace and pick up where you left off. But another part, perhaps the more rational side, holds you back.

“Leigh, I... can we just... I need some time to think,” you finally say. Disappointment flashes across her face, almost imperceptible but unmistakably there. As Leigh stands, you expect her to quietly leave, respecting your need for space. Instead, she spins around to face you with renewed determination.

“I'm not a perfect person, okay?” she whispers, but you can still sense the rough edges around her voice. This is a side of Leigh you're all too familiar with, having felt the sting of her impatience and temper more times than you'd like. But instead of rising to the challenge, you simply feel drained—too exhausted to argue tonight.

“You don't have to be perfect, Leigh,” you say, more tired than angry. Then, almost impulsively, you ask, “Does Danny know you’re here?”

Leigh's composure slips for just a moment at the mention of his name. Guilt or surprise crosses her face like a shadow, only to vanish as quickly as it appeared. Her jaw tightens, and you sense her displeasure at the topic. “No, he doesn't know I'm here,” she says curtly.

Well, at least she’s being honest. But what were you expecting—that her presence here meant she had chosen you?

“You need some time to think too,” you say, pushing yourself up and moving toward the door. Leigh's expression stiffens as her eyes follow your movements. You open the door, gesturing for her to leave. She approaches, hesitating just short of it, her gaze searching for the right words or maybe just some reassurance, but finding neither.

“I'm sorry,” she murmurs, her defiance fading. “This isn't how I imagined tonight would go. I don't regret what happened, really, but I hate that it ended up hurting you. That's not why I came here.”

“I know,” you reply, unsure of what else to say.

Leigh starts to leave, then hesitates again just before crossing the threshold. “Can I contact you?”

You let out a sigh. "Good night, Leigh."

She swallows hard and nods slowly. “Bye,” she whispers.

You gently close the door after her and lean against it for a moment. Leigh has turned your world upside down more times than you can count, and you two haven't even truly begun.

“Do you ever just think about disappearing?”

Jules lifts her head to look at her sister. They lie side by side at the foot of Leigh's bed, with empty glasses of milk on the floor next to them and an open pack of Oreos, an invitation for the ants.

The night before, after the whole debacle with you finding out she’s been answering your advice submissions, Leigh had come home with her lips still tingling and her stomach in knots. She had almost run to her room in a huff, drawing puzzled looks from Jules and Amy, before slamming her bedroom door shut. They knew better than to ask what was wrong and wisely kept their distance. That was, until Leigh didn't come out of her room the entire morning until afternoon, except for a quick trip to the kitchen for some food, and even then, she was wearing the same clothes as the day before. A single whiff from a few feet away also made it clear she hadn't showered either.

Worried, Jules decided to intervene with a little gesture that she hoped might coax her sister out of her shell. She grabbed a packet of Oreos from the pantry and poured a glass of milk—Leigh’s comfort snack since childhood—and tapped softly on her sister's door. Leigh didn’t answer. She tried the knob, found it unlocked, and pushed the door open. The sight of Leigh, all disheveled and pale with those heavy bags under her eyes, took Jules right back to those first several days after they learned Matt had been found dead at the bottom of a cliff.

Jules lifts her head to look at her sister. “Leigh, you're scaring me. You know that, right?”

Leigh quickly shakes her head, realizing how her words sounded. “No, no, I don’t mean like that. Not disappearing in the way Matt did.” She sighs, throwing an arm over her eyes. “I just mean... rebooting, you know? Wishing we could rewind to before everything got so complicated.”

Relieved by the clarification, Jules settles back down beside her. They both gaze up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“I wish I never tasted alcohol when I was fifteen,” Jules says suddenly.

Leigh frowns. “That bad, huh?”

Jules smiles wryly and nods. “Yeah. Some choices just stick with you, you know? Can’t undo them. Just have to live with what comes after.”

Leigh's thoughts drift as she listens to Jules, a rueful smile crossing her lips. “You know, I've got my own list of should've, would've, could've. I always thought I'd finish college, maybe become an editor or write something of my own one day.”

Jules tries to offer a silver lining. “But you don’t need a degree to be a writer, Leigh.”

“Yeah, I know,” Leigh mumbles, tracing a pattern on the bedspread absentmindedly. “It's just... having that formal education might have made things easier. Like being pushed by mentors... or the doors it would've opened, the people I would've met. But more than that, I regret not sticking it out. I quit too easily.”

Then, turning on her side with her back to Jules, she continues, “But in the end, it all circles back to Matt somehow. This… this inability to follow through really got to me after he was gone. We had so many plans, so many dreams together. And now none of them will ever happen.”

“You still really love him, don't you?”

Leigh’s answer is slow to come. “Yes,” Leigh whispers, her reply muffled slightly by the pillow. After a moment, she adds, “And no.”

Before Jules can comment on it, she continues, “It’s like… I love who we were, who he was to me. And I love all the memories, every plan we made, every silly promise. But,” she stops, picking her words carefully, “but there’s also this part of me that’s learning to live without that, to not need it so much. It feels like moving on, and that part doesn’t love the pain, doesn’t want to keep holding on if it just hurts.”

Jules reaches out, resting her hand on Leigh’s shoulder, offering a silent show of support. “And, um, does that tie into why you were so upset last night?”

Leigh's laugh is faint and strained. “Yes,” she says softly, “and no.” Then she rolls over to face Jules, burying the lower half of her face in the blankets.

“How so?”

“It’s complicated, Jules. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Alright,” Jules huffs. “I’ll guide you then. Does it have something to do with what I said about Y/N seeing Sara?”

Leigh doesn't answer. Instead, she sits up, letting the blanket fall around her lap as the steady breeze from the air conditioning causes her skin to prickle with goosebumps.

Jules sits up as well. “It's fine to be upset over her. You can grieve for others too, not just Matt. You can’t keep using him as the reason for all your pain. If you want to handle this, you’ve got to figure out what you're really up against.”

“Since when did you start playing therapist?”

Jules smirks. “Rehab over the past five years teaches you some things.”

Leigh forces a smile. She knows Jules jokes to cope, using humor to deal with everything she’s been through. Taking a breath, Leigh says, “I saw her last night.”

“I figured,” Jules says with a knowing look. “You dashed out of the house without even putting on a bra.”

Leigh covers her face, cringing. “You noticed that?”

Jules chuckles. “Well, it's not like any of us, including Mom, bothers wearing one around the house,” she jokes, and they both laugh. “So, did you actually forget to put one on, or…?”

Leigh rolls her eyes and gives Jules a light elbow to the side. “I forgot, okay?”

Jules grins, teasing, “Well, not like it got you any action considering how annoyed you looked when you got back last night.”

Leigh goes quiet, her eyes flitting around the room. “Well, actually…”

Jules leans in, eyes wide. “Oh my god, something happened?”

Leigh bites her lower lip. “We…kissed.”

Jules's brow creases together. “And it was that bad? You looked miserable and locked yourself up all day. Was it really just because of a bad kiss?”

“It wasn’t,” Leigh corrects her quickly. “It was good. Like, really good.” She must look a bit dreamy thinking back on it because Jules grabs a pillow and playfully smacks her in the face.

“Alright, be serious,” Jules says, fighting to keep a straight face. “What really happened?”

Leigh sniffs, clearly reluctant to revisit the details but she begins recounting it for Jules. She explains how she received a submission for the advice column she writes for, from someone using the pseudonym ‘EspressoEyes.’ It arrived on her birthday and was intriguing enough that she responded immediately. She had no idea it was you, but as the details matched too perfectly with your birthday surprise, she started to connect the dots. Then came another question, so on point that she couldn't chalk it up to coincidence anymore. After the kiss you shared last night, she let slip that you truly have espresso eyes.

“...and that's when everything fell apart,” Leigh finishes, flopping back onto the mattress with a bounce, face down, her hair fanning out around her.

Leigh waits for Jules to react, to say anything. But her sister doesn’t speak or even make a sound for a long time, and just as she’s about to sneak a peek at her sister, curious and a bit anxious, Jules says, “Honestly, if I were Y/N, I’d be very much horrified too.”

Leigh gives her a look that’s both curious and wary. “Yeah?”

“Telling someone you have feelings for them is scary,” Jules explains. “Imagine finding out that the feelings you’ve been hiding came out in such a vulnerable, almost embarrassing way.”

“I guess you’re right,” Leigh concedes.

“But,” Jules continues, “the real problem is that you didn't address it right after you figured it out. You let her pine for you before pulling her in.”

Leigh nods and grabs an Oreo from the floor, popping the whole thing into her mouth. “And I still don't know why I confronted Y/N about Sara right away. By the way, you're an asshole for that, Jules. Y/N isn't dating Sara.”

Jules just grins, completely unabashed. “I know. But it was fun seeing you all riled up.”

Leigh sighs, the cookie in her mouth losing its sweetness. “I feel so stupid for needing that push. I didn't even realize what was happening. It felt like being hit by a truck when I realized I wanted her. And I didn't trust it, you know? Especially since I haven't even been into women since my ex in college.”

Jules studies her sister thoughtfully. “So, what now that you've messed up?”

Leigh looks away, her face shrouded with uncertainty. She wishes she had a definite answer, but she knows only time will tell. “She said she needs some time to think, and I'll give her as much as she needs.”

“And in the meantime,” Jules asks, her eyes brightening with a bit too much enthusiasm, “are you going to break up with Danny?”

“Right,” Leigh mutters weakly, “I almost forgot about Danny.”

You carefully place your rental bike against the railing on the front porch, careful not to scratch the paint. After spending a year in sunny Los Angeles, the crisp autumn air of Camden, Maine, nips at your cheeks, reminding you just how unaccustomed you've become to the cold. You pull your bomber jacket tighter around your body, a futile shield against the chill, and find yourself yearning for the relentless sun that’s now hiding above the clouds of your hometown.

The aroma of blueberry pie wafts from the slightly ajar front door of the Ranch style home where you spent most of your childhood, drawing you irresistibly towards the warmth inside. From where you stand, you can see the boats bobbing in the harbor, their masts swaying gently in the breeze. You can nearly taste the ocean’s saltiness, brought back vividly through memories of sailing with your father.

“Mom?” you call out as you step inside after removing your shoes. “I’m home!”

Your mom appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted apron. She looks up, her eyes lighting up when she sees you, and she quickly closes the distance to wrap you in a tight hug. Over the years, she’s grown shorter, now standing three inches below you. As she hugs you, you rest your cheek on her salt-and-pepper hair, which smells sweetly of sugar and blueberries.

“Welcome home, honey,” she says, her voice muffled against your jacket. “I wasn't expecting you until dinner.”

“I managed to catch an earlier flight,” you say, squeezing her a little tighter. “Where's Morris?” you ask, referring to her partner and the man who's been sort of a stepdad to you, although your mom and he never got married. They've been sharing this home for the last ten years.

“He's out back,” she replies, pointing towards the yard through the kitchen window. “He's been trying to get the garden ready for winter before the frost sets in.”

You hum in response, dropping your duffel onto the couch nearby.

“Are you hungry?” your mom asks, turning towards the fridge.

“Am I too early for the pie?” you ask, your stomach rumbling at the thought.

Your mom turns around with a wide, toothy grin. “You made it just in time.”

Your bedroom is just as you left it last year, preserved in time. Your mom has kept the dust at bay, and the sheets feel freshly laundered, as if you'd only left them hours ago. Instinctively, you gravitate towards the shelves lined with various framed photos of your family. Smiling faces of your brother and your father gaze back at you from the pictures, and a warm, nostalgic smile spreads across your face. You feel a pang of yearning for them—it's been too long.

With a sigh, you collapse onto the bed and pull out your phone. As promised, Leigh hasn’t made any attempts to reach out to you. Without thinking, you browse through her social media accounts, though there's nothing new since you discovered she knew about your feelings all along. Nonetheless, you scroll through her old photos, the ones from before she was widowed, where her smiles seem effortless and full of confidence, as if happiness was her default.

You miss her; that much you can't deny. But you're still hurt, not just because she didn't come clean about her discovery, but also because of the way she often treated you—the hot and cold attitude, the confusion, the lack of kindness and consideration. Time and again, you've given her the benefit of the doubt, especially considering she's grieving a loved one with a secret that further complicated his passing. You understand loss, having faced it yourself, but you've never allowed your grief to justify lashing out at others or toying with someone's emotions. It makes you wonder how you even fell for her in the first place.

Before you know it, your eyelids grow heavy and you nod off, your phone slipping onto the comforter. You're not sure how long you've been out when a soft knock on your door jolts you awake.

“Come in,” you mumble, still half in a daze as you rub your eyes.

The door creaks open and your mom pops her head in. “Dinner's almost ready,” she says with a warm smile. “Want to come down and help me set the table?”

You nod. “Can you give me five minutes? I promise I'll help.”

Without waiting for a response, she walks over to sit beside you on the bed, gently stroking your hair as if you were still a child. “What’s wrong?” she asks softly. Your mother has always been your confidante, able to read you like an open book. You can't hide anything from her; she'll know.

“I keep falling for the wrong person,” you say, offering a bittersweet smile.

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Love is more complicated than the right or wrong person. We're all a combination of good and bad; it's just a matter of deciding whether it's worth it in the end.”

You reflect on your past relationships, few though they are, and realize you're better off without them. They were either taking what they could get or using you as a fallback for their own misery.

“Do you feel like this person could be worth it?” she asks.

“I honestly don’t know,” you say. “It’s all so uncertain.”

“And that's fine,” she says. “Love isn't a sprint. Give yourself the space to figure it out.”

You're finding it hard to agree with her. If only the answers could be handed to you, saving you from future heartbreak. Why do some lessons have to be learned the hard way? Why don't people come with warnings and expectations?

Noticing how unconvinced you seem, your mom offers an idea.

“Tell you what, let's ask Morris to set the table for us. How about you and I go see your brother and father before dinner?”

You and your mom walk side by side through the cemetery, hands clasped together. You haven’t visited your father and brother’s graves in over a year, and you've been fighting back tears since leaving the house.

Your mom unfurls a thick blanket over the damp grass, spreading it out with care before you both settle onto it. She surprises you by pulling out a bottle of white wine from her bag. You lift an eyebrow, and she laughs, saying, “In my defense, I used to drink stronger liquor back in the day.”

You chuckle, picking up an empty glass and holding it out. “Pour me one.”

She fills your glass before pouring her own, and the two of you sit there, sipping wine quietly.

A few minutes later, she turns to you and says, “So, tell me about her.”

You nearly choke on your drink, surprised she knows it’s a woman. “How did you know?”

She smiles impishly. “You’ve always had poorer judgment when it comes to girls, so I figured this is what’s been on your mind.”

You can’t help but be impressed by how well she reads you. “Her name is Leigh. She's the wife of someone I used to see,” you say.

Your mom’s smile vanishes, replaced by shock. “Wait, you're saying you had an affair and now you're seeing his wife on the side?”

You burst into laughter at her horrified expression. “No, it's not like that.” Taking a deep breath, you tell her the whole story: how Matt died and how his wife, Leigh, found you after discovering Matt had cheated on her.

As your mom listens, her shock softens into contemplation. She tops up your wine and says thoughtfully, “Well, that’s complicated.”

“Yeah, it is.”

You open up to your mom about Leigh, sharing both the beautiful and terrible moments without holding back. As you recount the story, it's like rereading a passage in a book and analyzing it with new eyes. When you finish, your mother sets down her drink and says, “She's mean to you.”

You nod, draining the last of your wine.

“Loss does things to people,” she says softly. “You and I both know that better than anyone.”

“We do,” you say quietly.

Your mom regards you for a moment, then asks, “What do you see in Leigh? Why do you like her?”

You think about it, grappling with how to express the spectrum of emotions Leigh evokes in you.

“She’s pretty, definitely, and there’s a sharpness to her that’s... captivating. She’s unapologetically herself, and it’s often really funny. But… does that sound shallow? I can’t help but feel a bit foolish listing these superficial things—”

Your mom gently places her hand on yours, stopping your words. “You don’t need a poetic reason to love someone,” she says with a small smile. “Sometimes you just do. But mostly, we feel connected to people because we recognize some part of our soul in them. Recognition is why people are together, Y/N. Can you really love a stranger?”

Perhaps it’s true. Leigh isn’t really a stranger to you. Aside from concealing her knowledge of your feelings, she never pretended to be someone she wasn't. She was honest, showing you both her strengths and flaws. And you didn’t have to like all of it. But you kept coming back, eager to uncover more of her layers.

She continues, “By the way, you must be wondering why I brought you here.”

You glance around at the headstones of your father and brother, then back at her. “Yeah, I was.”

She looks toward the gravestones, her eyes misty. “To remind you that we don’t have all the time in the world. We have to make our time count, even if it means taking risks or facing things we're afraid of. Love isn't easy, but it’s worth finding the right person and making it work.”

“What if it doesn't work out, though?” you ask.

She smiles knowingly. “If it doesn’t, at least you’ll know you gave it a chance. You won't be left wondering what could have been. And that matters.”

She gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, and you return it, feeling a bit more grounded. She waits for her words to settle in you, before asking, “You’ve already made your choice, haven’t you?”

You nod slowly, a growing sense of certainty welling up inside. “I think I have.”

“Well, then. Let’s finish our bottle and head back.”

“You waited until after Thanksgiving dinner to break up with me?” Danny's voice cracks as he speaks, his figure looming in the doorway of his apartment, blocking Leigh's exit. His eyes dart between anger and desperation, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set in a stern line. Yet, his hands are open, reaching toward her—pleading.

They had just returned from Thanksgiving dinner at the Shaws'. Leigh wanted to create one last pleasant memory with Danny, something kind to look back on. Aware of his strained relationship with his mom, she didn't want to leave him alone during the holidays by breaking up earlier. Now she accompanied him back to his apartment, planning to end things there and collect her belongings afterward.

Leigh turns to face him, her expression somber. “I just... I thought it was the right time to talk, after everything settled down.”

“After everything settled down?” Danny repeats incredulously. “You mean after we spent the whole day with your family, pretending everything was fine?”

Leigh sighs, knowing how it looks but needing him to understand. “I know how it seems, but I couldn't do it before dinner. It didn’t feel right to ruin the holiday for everyone.”

Danny steps back from the doorway, giving her space to enter. “So, you decided to ruin my night instead?”

Leigh walks inside, closing the door behind her. “I'm really sorry, Danny. I’ve felt for a while that this isn’t working, and I can't keep stringing you along.”

Danny runs a hand through his hair and starts pacing. “Is this about Matt?”

Leigh stills for a moment, considering her answer. It would be easy to say yes, to blame everything on that one pervasive loss. Matt has often been her scapegoat, but Leigh is tired of deceiving herself and others. For quite some time now, it hasn't been Matt’s absence that's been upending her world. Which is why she resolves to tell him the truth, aware that he would find out sooner or later.

Leigh sucks in a deep breath and looks Danny in the eye. “No, it's not about Matt. It's because of Y/N.”

Danny stops in his aimless tracks, his eyes narrowing. “Y/N?”

Leigh feels her heart race, knowing she can’t back down now. “Two weeks ago… we kissed.”

He blinks, stunned. “You kissed Y/N?” His voice is flat, almost disbelieving.

“It wasn’t planned, but... it happened. And it felt right, in a way I can’t ignore,” Leigh says.

Danny crosses his arms, scoffing. “I didn't know you were into women,” he says with a sneer, as if trying to insult her.

Leigh grits her teeth. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Clearly,” he replies bitterly. “So how many times? How long have you been cheating on me?”

Leigh shakes her head, holding her ground. “I didn’t purposely cheat on you, Danny. I didn’t even realize I had strong feelings for her until that night. It just happened.”

Danny's face contorts with rage, and he yells, “Stop lying to me, Leigh! You fucking checked out of this relationship a while ago, and now it makes sense. You were screwing someone else on the side.”

Leigh protests, “We’ve never slept—” but her words are cut off as Danny suddenly swings his fist into the wall beside him. The sound of splintering wood and cracking bones reverberates through the apartment, and Leigh stands frozen, shocked beyond belief at what she's witnessing.

Danny looks down at his bloodied knuckles, bewilderment creeping over his features as he pulls back from the wall. He catches his breath and stares at Leigh, their eyes meeting in horrified silence.

“Sorry… I’m so sorry,” Danny mumbles, cradling his injured hand.

Leigh quickly grabs his keys from the dusty fishbowl on the shelf. He watches her, his gaze confused and desperate. “What are you doing?”

She meets his eyes, surprised herself at how calm and collected she feels. “I’m taking you to the hospital. You need to get that hand looked at,” she replies.

He doesn’t protest, only nods numbly and follows her outside.

At the hospital, Danny sits in a stiff plastic chair, his freshly bandaged hand resting on his lap. Leigh is next to him, her eyes fixed on the speckled tile floor, avoiding his gaze.

After several minutes, Danny breaks the silence. “I didn’t know what happened back there,” he starts, his voice low and unsteady. “I didn’t want to be angry, but it just… it had to go somewhere. I’ve never hurt anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to explain.

Leigh turns to look at him, her expression blank. “You punched a wall, Danny. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never hit anyone; you’ve got some serious anger management issues.”

Danny stays quiet for a moment, staring at his bandaged hand as if he’s still trying to comprehend what he did. He finally looks up, his expression twisted in frustration. “I’ve been angry for a long time, Leigh. Long before Matt was gone. I can’t even remember a time when I wasn’t.”

“I understand that,” Leigh says, shifting in her seat. “Even with therapy, the anger and resentment don’t really disappear completely. They linger like shadows.” She exhales, glancing down at her lap. Before she can stop it, a small smile plays on her lips as she thinks of you. “But lately, when Y/N is around, I forget about it. So know that I didn’t make this decision lightly.”

Danny studies her for a moment before asking, “Did you ever love me? Did I ever stand a chance?”

There's no easy way to say this without hurting him, but she doesn’t want to leave him with false hope. “I tried, Danny. I wanted to,” she whispers.

Danny turns away, his body twisting from her. Leigh wants to feel worse than she does, but instead, she just wants this to be over. She hopes the billing clerk will soon call their name so they can pay and head home. It's been an unbearably long day.

As she waits, her thoughts drift to you. She wants to call you after this, to tell you that she wants to try with you, that it could be real. She wants to explain that she ended things with Danny, that she did it to be free to explore the possibility of being with you, without any reservations.

After a while, Danny lets out a slow sigh, then looks at Leigh with a despondent look. “If your mind’s made up, I should probably put everything out in the open too.”

Leigh looks at him expectantly, a little curious.

“I’ve been keeping something from you. I didn’t think it would matter, but now… well, I can’t hide it anymore.”

“Just say it, Danny,” Leigh says, crossing her arms.

Then Danny proceeds to tell her the one last secret he thought he'd carry to his grave.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

408 notes · View notes

daycourtofficial · 4 months ago

Text

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part X

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 1.5k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Masterlist

The next morning, you came down the steps, entering the dining room to find your High Lord at the table. He sat, buttering a croissant when he noticed you. “Good morning.”

His voice was low as he greeted you, raising the croissant in your direction. You looked on in surprise, not sure what to make of his presence.

“Morning.” You elongated the syllables, not really sure how to take in his presence. You had spent two weeks here by this point and saw him daily, however the conversations lasted no more than thirty seconds before he ran off quickly. Something about his presence unnerved you, and it wasn’t until now that you had to sit with it in the silence. It was strange - he felt so known to you, like watching the sunset every night - you always know it’s going to happen, but when you see it, it’s like a brand new experience.

“I hope you don’t mind my company, Feyre is occupied this morning. I figured we could spend the morning together.”

You nodded, a bit hesitant in your movements as you moved to sit a few seats down from him.

The silence settled like a blanket over you two before his throat clearing disturbed it. “How have your meetings with Feyre been going?”

His voice was strained, and you were mentally scolding yourself for opening up to Feyre. Usually he asked you this question in passing, stopping you in the hallway to check in. Now as he sat at the opposite end of the table, you felt trapped here with him. It’s not that Rhys had to like you - by all means, you’ve had coworkers or tavern regulars you couldn’t stand, but you found his silence these few weeks to be odd. When he showed up in your village, it felt like he really cared about your well-being and training you.

Neither of those things had been on his radar the past few weeks, though.

“Fine, I suppose. Like I’ve said before, I’m not entirely sure how it’s supposed to go, but yesterday I made progress.”

His eyes lit up, and you narrowed your own. He seemed surprised at your progress. Did Feyre not tell him about yesterday? His gaze on you was so boyish and excited you almost laughed - he looked nothing like the egotistical bastard the Illyrians you knew had painted him out to be.

In the time you had been here, you had wondered where the truth lay with their words - were the High Lord and his court the vermin they were said to be? Could the High Lord really read minds? You thought about if he really could, not thinking too much before screaming very loudly in your mind, watching Rhys intently. He didn’t move at the loud screaming, so if he could read minds, maybe he could turn it on and off at will.

“What kind of progress did you make?”

“I’m not sure how to describe it, I um- I felt really nervous and then I felt okay. Feyre and Azriel said they felt something, but I’m not sure what they felt. They didn’t say.”

He nodded, his violet eyes watched as you loaded your plate with eggs and sausage. “But they felt something, yes?”

You nodded, chewing your eggs before answering. “It was something, they ended things pretty quickly afterward, which was fine by me. It tired me out.”

He continued watching you eat, making you a bit uneasy before he cleared his throat. “Have you ever played chess?”

You kept your face neutral as you told him, “no, I have not. How do you play?”

He walked through the rules with you, telling you what each piece meant, how they moved, and even told you some half decent strategies for a beginner. The two of you ran through a mock game where he allowed you to win, and you knew because you were making the worst possible moves to see how he’d react. He had a decent poker face, but when you placed a piece in a terrible spot and he got a little cocky, one of his brows arched. Throughout the game you sprinkled in ‘accidental’ smart moves, leading him to tap his finger on his chin.

You smiled as you checked his king after several disastrous moves, beaming with pride. “I’m ready - let’s play for real!”

He chuckled, but you continued. “Come on, don’t go easy on me. I can take it.”

Hands moved across the board, pieces moving back into place. You even misplaced your rook to let him correct you. You let the game linger a bit - not wanting to give him a completely easy game, but still throwing it nonetheless. You played with just enough competence for him to see potential in you as a player.

When the game had finished, after Rhys checked you in forty-three moves, you asked, “how about a wager? I’m getting the hang of this, I think I could beat you.”

You watched his lips twitch in delight, looking down as he reset the board. “I don’t think it’d be a fair game. I have been playing for five centuries.”

You shrugged, unbothered by the time he’s spent playing. “And I just learned a few minutes ago. I’m sure there’s something I can do you’ve never seen before.”

His grin didn’t falter as he said, “if I win, you’ll try to show me what you did with Feyre and Az.”

“And if I win, while I’m here I get put on your line of credit so I can shop in Velaris.”

He leaned forward, his ring-clad hand fitting into your own. His skin was soft as he shook your hand, a small itching feeling taking over your inner wrist. “Deal.” You pulled your sleeve back just enough to see the knight piece there, the black ink shining as you rotated your wrist before covering it once more.

A knight. A piece of unexpected maneuvers.

Your eyes flicked to his shirt, wondering where his bargain tattoo laid itself and what it was.

“White moves first, no?”

You picked up a pawn, the small piece a winged male with a sword raised, placing it for your first move.

“Check.”

You wanted to laugh at the crease in his brow as he took in the placement of your piece. You had him cornered, forcing his hand to leave his king undefended. He tried to keep a neutral face, but you could tell he was not used to losing at this game - much less in twenty moves.

“And you’ve never played before?”

“Not until our practice game earlier.”

He grimaced, his eyes looking toward the pawn you had used in the first move staring down his king. The whole game he had been off, performing a strange strategy. You were half-convinced he couldn’t actually read minds with the way he played - his defensive strategy was so far from your strategy, it allowed you to check much faster than you anticipated.

He grumbled as he leaned back in his seat, but something about him felt off. Something in your chest felt heavy as you looked at him, some deep sadness permeating your insides. You looked at him, cocking your head before looking away, the feeling dissipating slowly. You looked back at him, the sadness returning.

“What’s on your mind?”

Your voice startled him from his grumbling before he shook his head, the feeling in your chest swirling with something new. Fear, perhaps.

He tapped his fingers against the table, a quick rhythm. “Nothing.”

You knocked over one of his pieces, causing him to look at you. His violet eyes were wide and searching, so different to the stories you had heard of him all your life.

His presence in your chest felt devastating, as if his world were crumbling around him.

“I can feel you.”

His hand dragged his face, stopping halfway at your words. “What?”

“You feel.. sad. “

He sat up straighter, his hands moving to the table in front of him. “Have you been able to feel anyone else?”

His tone was serious, causing you to stutter out, “no, no never. I’ve felt the things I did with Feyre and Azriel but I’ve never.. Felt someone like this. I mean I could feel when people cried or were angry, but I’ve never been able to feel something that didn’t have a visible cue.”

He stood up, standing in front of you, his hands on your face. “So you’ve never felt this before with anyone here?”

You shook your head, fear creeping in at his tone and how drastically he changed. He nodded, pulling his hands from his face. He turned, his steps rushed as he walked out of the room, nothing to note his farewell.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

I got cursed series taglist: @doodlebugg16-blog @ceoofyearning @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @willowpains @anarchiii @i-am-infinite @bsenpai @sstrohma @teenagellamaangel @allthatisbuck1917 @elsie-bells @rcarbo1 @pruvii @whyshouldihaveanam3 @sleepylunarwolf

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar writing #azriel x y/n #i got cursed like eve got bitten #azriel shadowsinger

296 notes · View notes

pin-k-ink · 30 days ago

Text

LEGAL AFFAIRS ⋆✦⋆ endo yamato

synopsis ➸ you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve defended him in court. but you both know the real battle starts when the courtroom clears—and it always ends the same way.

tags ➸ dub-con, friends with benefits/casual relationship, mentions of past infidélity (reader and her bf), posséssive!endo, unheàlthy/tòxic relationship dynamics, mentions of a blòwjob, degràdation, mild objectifícation, gróping, name-calling, praise kínk, one clít slàp, unprotected séx, manhàndling, bitíng, squírting, overstimúlation, nípple play, cunnílingus, dírty talking

wc ➸ 11.4k

note ➸ first time writing for him. i haven’t read the manga in a couple of months so im not sure if everything is accurate. but feedback is always welcome :)

The heavy oak doors swung shut behind you with a hollow thud, the sound echoing down the empty courthouse hallway in eerie finality. You let out a shuddering exhale, tension seeping from your shoulders as the insistent throbbing behind your eyes finally began to ebb.

Another case settled. Another potential crisis averted by the slimmest threads of your persuasive talents and intimate knowledge of legal loopholes. You closed your eyes for a beat too long, allowing the hazy vestiges of lingering adrenaline to slowly bleed away.

When your lids parted once more, movement at the periphery of your vision made you stiffen instinctively - every finely honed survival instinct snapping back to full alertness in an instant. But you knew that silhouette, that effortless leonine prowl all too intimately. The familiar sight made a very different breed of anxious anticipation begin twisting low in your gut instead.

"Endo..." You breathed his surname before you could reconsider addressing him directly. "I should have known you'd still be lingering around after the verdict like a bad stench."

Your biting sarcasm sliced through the stifling quiet of the deserted hall. But if your former childhood friend detected the undercurrents of venom lacing the syllables, he paid it no outward heed. That familiar smirk you'd once found so infuriatingly roguish tugged his lips as Endo sauntered closer, those piercing ice-chip eyes glinting with undisguised amusement from beneath the hooded fall of his tousled raven hair.

"Well hey there, gorgeous," he practically purred, making your hackles rise defensively even as your traitorous pulse kicked up a notch. "That's no way to greet the guy whose ass you just pulled from the fire again, is it?"

Despite the dim lighting of the derelict courthouse corridor, you were starkly aware of every harsh angle and shadowed hollow defining Endo's striking features as he slid into your personal space. All arrogant masculinity and coiled intensity, he radiated careless confidence like an elemental force to be reckoned with - yet another seismic reality to keep corralled through the precise application of your legal talents.

Not for the first time, you found yourself gritting your teeth against the inexplicable cocktail of heady memories, hard-won conditioning, and lingering attraction swirling nauseatingly through your psyche. Because of course the mere sight of Endo Yamato, equal parts adolescent menace and forbidden temptation, would undermine your meticulously maintained composure so effortlessly.

"You make it sound like I go out of my way to tarnish my otherwise spotless professional reputation slumming as your personal legal pit bull for fun," you sneered, shoulders drawing back instinctively as he drifted ever closer - near enough for his tall, broad-shouldered frame to loom over you in a silent brand of dominance your senses recognized before higher reasoning could override them.

Endo snorted out a low, rough chuckle that sparked electric shivers rippling outwards from your abdomen in involuntary awareness. You refused to be cowed, however, keeping your spine rigid and your chin tilted imperiously despite the magnetic force of his presence working to undermine your airs like an implacable tide against your battlements.

"And here I was gonna tell you how much I appreciate you working your legal magic for my benefit..." Endo went on in that infuriatingly nonchalant rasp, tilting his noble visage to study you through those smoldering bedroom eyes as he spoke. "But clearly Miss High and Mighty Hotshot Attorney doesn't need my gratitude cluttering up the conversation."

You bristled outwardly in response but your innate defensiveness came more from the fact that you could feel your pulse rabbiting beneath your skin - far too attuned to the electrified current passing between your bodies despite the empty space yet separating your forms. Something shivered in the taut lines of Endo's frame too, a deft micro-adjustment that confirmed your every hyper-tuned instinct reading the same unspoken message:

This encounter was mere prologue to the main event yet to unfurl between your joined existences tonight. And the undercurrents of delicious inevitability thickening the air around you both were silently calibrating - piquing senses and stoking the pyre of long-starved want seething through each set of stuttering nerve-endings like an unseen arsonist.

One of Endo's broad palms lifted, fingers grazing featherlight along your jawline in a silken graze that made your breath stall behind your clenched teeth. You glared balefully but couldn't quite summon the resolve to retreat from his branding caress, skin erupting into needling gooseflesh beneath his shameless mapping of sensations.

"Besides...isn't this the part where we skip straight to the after-party activities, sweetheart?" He husked, the raw desire in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. His lithe frame pressed closer until you could feel the heat radiating off his body. "You know, make that infuriatingly sexy brain of yours short-circuit for a little while at least?"

The brazen suggestion hung heavily between you, stoking memories you'd tried in vain to repress. Images flickered through your mind unbidden - of Endo pinning you against seedy motel room walls, teeth grazing your neck as those skilled hands roamed over every inch of your bared skin. His muscular thighs bracketing your hips as you sank down onto him with a muffled cry, your nails scoring lines down the inked canvas of his back in ecstasy.

You recalled with visceral clarity the way his sculpted abdomen flexed as he took you with punishing strokes, forcing breathless keens from your parted lips. The blissful burn of his cock stretching you open, possessing you so completely in the aftermath of every legal battle you fought to keep him out of jail. Endo worshipping your body with his sinful mouth, driving you higher and higher until your climaxes crashed over you both in shattering waves of rapture.

Despite the many times you'd sworn it would be the last, you always found yourself succumbing to Endo's intoxicating allure again. Falling back into the delirious spiral of primal need and rough sex that left you both spent and aching for more. There was an unspoken magnetism that drew you together and you couldn't hope to resist.

You blinked hard, Endo's heated stare and sinful smirk snapping you back to the present. Your pulse thundered in your ears, skin flushed hot despite the crisp courthouse air. This couldn't keep happening...could it? You shored up your resolve, drawing yourself up to meet his gaze squarely despite your body's blatant betrayal.

"Not this time, Endo," you said, proud when your voice emerged steady and firm. "We're done with this cycle. For real this time."

One dark brow quirked upward as he studied you with blatant amusement. Rather than deterred, he seemed intrigued by your adamant refusal - a new game to play and conquer. Endo leaned in until his lips brushed the sensitive shell of your ear, voice dropping to a gravelly murmur that sent heat lancing straight to your core.

"Sure about that, Princess? Because I can still smell how fucking wet you are for me..." He let the words linger as his tongue traced the delicate whorls of your ear, teeth grazing your lobe with just the barest hint of pressure. "I think your mind hasn't caught up with how much your greedy little cunt still craves me buried deep inside you."

A mortified whimper slipped past your lips at his crude insinuation, body betraying you as your thighs clenched instinctively. God, why did his filthy words affect you so viscerally? You knew you should push him away and storm off, but your limbs felt frozen in place under his magnetic pull.

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting against the molten desire coiling low in your abdomen. "Stop it, Endo," you managed in a strained whisper. "Just...stop."

Rather than obey, his nose nuzzled along your jaw in a teasing caress. "You know you don't really want me to stop, Princess," he rumbled against your tingling skin. Warm breath ghosted over your neck as he pressed closer still. "Your pretty lips might be saying no, but that sweet little cunt of yours is begging me to take what's mine again."

His wicked words pierced straight through your rapidly deteriorating defenses, setting your nerves ablaze. You could practically feel your resolve crumbling, rational thoughts stampeded by the carnal reminder of how Endo had always reduced you to a quivering, wanton mess under his dominance.

Gathering every ounce of your remaining willpower, you planted your palms against Endo's firm chest and shoved him backwards with surprising force. He stumbled slightly, arching a brow in what looked like genuine shock at your uncharacteristic defiance.

"I said no, Yamato," you bit out firmly, desperately ignoring the way his ruffled hair and flushed lips made your mouth go dry with want. "This was the last time, end of story. I'm not cleaning up your messes anymore or letting you derail my life just so you can get your rocks off whenever the itch strikes."

Rather than shrink from your harsh rebuke, Endo's expression settled into a lazy smirk - the calm before the storm. "That's what you think this is? Just a booty call to help scratch an itch?" His gaze raked over your body in a molten perusal that had you flushing hotly. "If that's all I wanted, I could find a dozen random whores to plow through whenever I got a little antsy. But you and I both know it's never been that simple between us, [Y/N]."

You wanted to protest, but the words died on your lips. Because beneath the seductive bravado, Endo's taunts rang with an undeniable truth. The explosive, shameless passion you shared arose from somewhere far deeper and more primal than just base physical cravings. It was a soul-scorching, cosmic pull that defied loyalty or principles or even free will itself.

Endo watched the myriad of emotions flickering over your features before letting out a slow exhale. "Look, if you're serious about cutting ties completely, then fine - I'll walk away after tonight. But at least let me buy you one last drink first, yeah? Let's toast our... special friendship properly before going our separate ways."

Your eyes searched his, hunting in vain for any hint of agenda or manipulation. All you found was that infuriatingly cavalier smolder you knew so well, daring you to refuse his request as if he already knew you'd cave eventually. Just like you always did.

"Just one drink?" you asked at last with heavy skepticism. Endo offered you a slow, heated smile that had your pulse kicking up instinctively.

"Scout's honor," he murmured, winking conspiratorially. "We can play it real classy for our big final hurrah." His large, calloused hand extended in silent invitation, and despite your better judgement you found yourself reaching out to take it.

Endo's fingers curled around yours possessively as he pulled you flush against his powerful frame once more. Those chiseled features were set in a predatory cast of cocky assurance as if he already knew you'd be too intoxicated by his mere presence to break free again so easily.

"Just relax and let me take you for one more spin around the block, Princess," he rumbled in a seductive timbre that made your knees go weak. "And who knows? Maybe you'll find you don't actually want to walk away after all."

You swallowed hard, refusing to concede to the anticipation gnawing inside you. For all his bravado, you told yourself Endo was wrong about this being more than a final closing of the door between you. This drink would be nothing more than a polite farewell toast, even as your heart hammered a staccato percussion of excited denial.

The bar Endo steered you towards was far more upscale than you'd anticipated. Rich, burgundy leather booths lined the dimly lit interior while ambient jazz crooned from unseen speakers, lending an almost sensual ambiance to the air. You arched a skeptical brow as the immaculately dressed host led you towards one of the more secluded alcove tables tucked discreetly away.

"What's all this?" you murmured as Endo's palm found the small of your back, ushering you ahead of him with proprietary ease. "Since when do you frequent places that require actual dress codes?"

He leaned in close so his lips brushed the delicate shell of your ear, voice a low rumble that made your pulse spike traitorously. "What, you think I can't do classy for our final encore?"

There was a dangerous edge of challenge lingering beneath the teasing lilt of his words. You shot him a withering look over your shoulder, but couldn't quite banish the shiver of anticipation his proximity awoke low in your belly.

"Just don't go overboard trying to impress me, Endo," you shot back lightly, willing your voice not to waver.

The smirk he flashed you was all teeth and sin. "Now where's the fun in that, Princess?"

You rolled your eyes overtly to deflect from the treacherous fluttering in your chest. But as Endo's palm settled at the small of your back once more to guide you into the plush booth, you had to admit the upscale venue lent an exciting new illicitness to your sordid history. Even now, surrounded by muted sophistication, you could vividly picture him bending you over the polished bar for a delirious claiming right there amidst the hobnobbing elites.

Despite your determination to keep things platonic and focused, Endo seemed to settle into your shared surroundings with predatory ease - like a lion effortlessly blending into the brush to stalk its prey. While you perused the menu of top-shelf liquors with reluctant curiosity, he watched you with those piercing glacier eyes, undisguised hunger simmering behind the casual sprawl of his pose.

"So," he drawled after the waiter had taken your orders, voice dropping an octave in that way designed to make your thighs clench instinctively. "Now that we've gone and gotten all gussied up, figured we should make the most of it and have a proper final toast, yeah?"

You eyed him warily over the rim of your initial whiskey neat, unsure where exactly he intended to steer the conversation from here. Experience had taught you that Endo's deceptively lazy demeanor often belied calculated intent - usually of the variety designed to seduce or unsettle you in equal provocative measure.

"Oh? And what exactly does a 'proper toast' entail in your book?" You opted for sardonic deflection, already tasting the bittersweet truth lingering behind his silken words.

Those striking blue eyes of his glinted dangerously from beneath hooded lids as Endo reclined further into the cushy leather backing. You watched his distractingly full lips curve in the barest hint of a smirk around the crystal tumbler. When he spoke again, his inflection seemed off-handedly casual - though you knew better than to dismiss the banked heat lacing every syllable.

"Well, I figured if we're gonna bid a permanent adieu to our...friendship, we ought to take a trip down memory lane first." Endo's stare burned like twin lasers into the side of your face until you reluctantly dragged your gaze back to meet his. "For old times' sake, baby. Don't tell me you've already forgotten all the fun we've shared over the years?"

His words, coupled with that unmistakable sensual rasp curling around each syllable, punched the air from your lungs in a shuddery exhale. Of course Endo would opt to take this path - revisiting your tangled past and the scorching trail of sins committed under the thrall of your explosive chemistry. But even as indignation flared instinctively at his shameless provocation, you realized a deeper truth in the back of your mind:

Despite the chaos and heartache, some wistful kernel of you still cherished and clung to the delirious history you'd spun with Endo against all reason or consequences. Those moments of rapture where only your tangled bodies and the communion of souls unraveling existed.

As if sensing the direction of your contemplations, Endo's wolfish grin widened by a few molten degrees. His tongue darted out to trace the seam of his bottom lip - a painfully lewd gesture he knew would transfix your undivided attention.

"Don't tell me that pretty mouth's forgotten how to suck dick properly, counselor," he purred in a cadence dripping sin and blatant masculine confidence. "Because I've got more than a few hazy memories of you choking on my thick cock while tearstained and desperate for more..."

Your breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but Endo's laser-focus never wavered. Of course he would lead with the most visceral reminder of your depraved bedroom antics - the times you'd utterly surrendered control to worship the most intimate, physical part of him with mouth and hands. Those memories swamped you in tandem with his filthy reminisce at the worst possible moment.

You saw flashes of Endo's powerful body looming over you, scarred and virile, as you nuzzled into the taut vee of his straining abs with kittenish flicks of your eager tongue. Sinking down his rigid shaft with a lewd moan until your makeup streaked salty tears from the exquisite stretch of him prying you open. The way he'd hiss encouragement through gritted teeth, hips undulating to chase your bobbing mouth's suction as you eagerly deepthroated every delicious inch of him...

A sudden jolt jarred you from the sensual reverie with heated cheeks. Endo was regarding you smugly, eyes glittering across the table in feral triumph.

"Mmm...yeah, I can see those dusty old spank bank files are all updating nicely in that brilliant head of yours," he rumbled in a tone ribbed with masculine satisfaction. "Don't go shy on me now, Princess. We're just getting back in our groove before the grand finale, after all."

You swallowed hard against the flush of embarrassment mixed with indecent excitement coursing through your veins. Despite your earlier conviction, the truth was that part of you longed to indulge in this carnal nostalgia tour Endo offered. To let your most depraved, uninhibited self free to revel in the ecstasy of worshipping and being claimed by her perfect match one final time.

But of course Yamato wouldn't stop there. Having glimpsed the first tendrils of your resistance cracking, he ruthlessly pressed on - ripping the scab off one of your most potent shared regrets with punishing alacrity.

"Speaking of perfect cocksucking form..." he drawled with an indolent roll of his broad shoulders, gaze turning molten once more. "Whatever happened to that wet little side-piece you tried playing house with for a while there? That nice guy accountant I always felt just knew you were letting him pound that greedy pussy on the regular?"

The sudden mention of your ex hit like a lash straight across your composure. You recoiled, anger and resentment congealing into a churning conflagration in your core at Endo's utter lack of tact or pity in casually disinterring such raw wounds from your shared history.

Before you could fire off the scathing retort hovering behind your teeth, Endo simply barreled past your seething glower - all traces of humor vanishing behind a mask of inhuman intensity that stole the breath from your lungs anew.

"Don't think I don't remember how his sad puppy-dog eyes used to track me whenever I showed up to claim my sloppy seconds fresh outta you, Princess," he intoned with sadistic relish, tongue tracing his bottom lip with needling intent. "Always scanning you for hints of where my fat cock had been stretching out those swollen little lips or blooming bruises down your perfect thighs...while he got to lap at my handiwork like the pathetic cuck bitch he was."

The words seemed to sear across the vulnerable hollows of your psyche with ruthless efficacy. Endo's stark unpacking of all your most shameful pasts hit like barbs tearing flesh - resurrecting a maelstrom of emotional turmoil you'd naively hoped to leave behind when moving on from that chapter of your life. But as his taunting smirk curled higher and the glint of wolfish victory flashed behind those glacial irises, you realized he was nowhere near finished lancing your deepest regrets and indignities wide open just yet.

"Face facts, sweetheart," he crooned with rich malevolence, leaning forward over the tabletop to pin you in place with his magnetic presence alone. "You let that poor bastard play pretend for a little while, sure - but we both know he could never truly own that greedy slut-body of yours the way I've fucked you down to the core of your being countless times before."

The sound of your whiskey glass trembling against the tabletop was deafening, nerves shuddering beneath the incendiary weight of his revelations. Because despite your anger, despite your every intention to maintain a cool, dismissive front, Endo's stark unpacking of your sordid history resonated with undeniable truth.

You remembered the guilt-soaked nights you'd clung to your then-boyfriend's sleeping form like a lifeline - desperately fighting away the muscle memories of Endo's brutal claiming and carnal ownership every time his chiseled features or punishing physique flashed behind your lids.

The hot, festering shame of enduring the most transcendent pleasures imaginable in Endo's arms only hours earlier before stumbling home to the man you swore fidelity to under far more mundane circumstances. The disconnect, the psychic sundering, and dissonance had very nearly driven you past the brink of stability on several occasions as your tangled allegiances strained under the immense gravity shared between you and Yamato.

"You tried to run from this perfect fucked up union we share, Princess," Endo continued in a molten growl that punched straight through your trembling defenses. "But I'll always be buried so deep and tangled in the root of your core that you could never shake me, no matter how many bullshit half-measure replacements you cobbled together along the way."

Suddenly, he was leaning in so close you could trace every rugged detail of his classically handsome features and smell the tang of whiskey on his tongue. Those blue eyes blazed with bruising intensity, appetite naked and unapologetic as he surveyed you with cool possession.

"Don't act all torn up over it, baby," Endo breathed, cupping the delicate line of your jaw with commanding insistence until your gazes locked irreversibly. "It's who and what we are - two beautiful flesh tapestries of depravity woven together at the souls to bring out the worst in one another..."

His words seemed to scour away the last lingering pretenses between you like gritty sandpaper, laying bare the churning truths of your psyches in one scouring revelatory blast. Because in the end, Yamato had always been the only mirror capable of reflecting the ravenous hunger and unshakable darkness lurking deep in your core without flinching or casting judgment as a result.

You opened your mouth to respond - to rebut Endo's provocative litany or perhaps surrender fully to the naked truth burning between you. But any retort shriveled on your tongue as a familiar voice cut through the dim ambiance of the bar.

"Well I'll be damned! If it isn't the city's most cutthroat legal pit-bull herself gracing us mere mortals with her presence."

You whipped around in your seat to find one of your former high-profile clients beaming at you from across the lounge area. Watanabe Takumi, local celebrity chef and serial philanderer, looked every inch the roguish charmer in his designer suit and wolfish grin.

"Mr. Watanabe," you greeted with a polite smile, tamping down the flare of embarrassment at being unexpectedly spotted out at such an intimate venue. "Fancy running into you here of all places."

Despite the charged tension still crackling between you and Endo, you moved to rise out of ingrained courtesy. But Watanabe waved you off, already sidling up to your secluded alcove with that same easy swagger.

"Please, no need for formalities between friends," he chuckled, those hazel eyes flickering with undisguised appreciation as they raked over your form. "And might I say you're an absolute vision in that dress tonight, darling."

You forced out an awkward titter at his unsubtle flattery, silently cursing whoever had assigned you Watanabe's high-profile divorce proceedings a few years back. While his team had ultimately triumphed with your ruthless counsel, Watanabe himself had exhibited a flair for testing your professional boundaries throughout the whole lurid saga.

Now Endo shifted in unmistakable interest from beside you, eyes flicking between the two of you with a leonine gleam you recognized all too well. Before you could politely disengage from Watanabe's advances, that low rasp sent a shiver racing straight down your nape.

"Well aren't you going to introduce your old friend here to your...dinner companion for the evening, Princess?"

The emphasis laden into that final endearment brooked no misinterpretation of his sudden prickling territoriality. You fought back a wince, already sensing the disastrous collision course taking shape as Watanabe openly regarded your companion for the first time.

Unfortunately, he seemed to view Endo's silent smolder and rugged good looks as some sort of unspoken challenge rather than a warning. Those hazel irises sparked with clear masculine relish at the prospect of some impromptu romantic rivalry.

"You sly minx!" Watanabe chuckled, shaking his head in exaggerated disbelief. "Here I'd thought this was just another quiet evening out for the hardest working woman I know. But look at you all dolled up with tall, dark, and handsome for company!"

Before you could get a word in edgewise, Watanabe had plopped down onto the opposite side of your booth and extended a hand across the table with a broad, charming smile.

"Watanabe Takumi. Honored to make your acquaintance, my friend."

His greeting hung in the stifling air for several beats, tension thickening inexorably around Endo's thunderous silence. You could practically see the muscle twitching in the sharp cut of his jawline as he visibly wrestled with his rising temper.

When he finally moved, the scorching brand of his palm settled against the back of your neck in a grip just shy of painful possession. Your pulse kicked up traitorously at the intimate claiming gesture as Endo leaned across the table with pantherlike grace - eyes chips of arctic ice boring into Watanabe with unfiltered menace.

"The name's Endo Yamato," he purred with deceptive softness, powerful body radiating dangerous charisma from every angled line. "Though my girlfriend tends to call me plenty of...other little endearments when we're getting rough."

The verbal gauntlet smacked heavily against Watanabe's cockiness, his bravado withering under the stark acknowledgment of your intimate attachment to Endo. His well-manicured hand faltered mid-air before withdrawing numbly back across the table.

"I...see," he managed at length with an audible squirm of embarrassment. "Well I ah, didn't meant to intrude on what I now realize was a private evening."

You could practically taste the raw antagonism and primal masculine ego thrumming between the two men. Despite your better instincts, something hot and undeniable kindled low in your abdomen as you watched the unspoken clash of prowess unfold before you.

"Smart decision," Endo crooned, somehow making the words sound like a thinly veiled threat rather than empty praise. He shifted imperceptibly, cutting Watanabe's line of sight towards you off entirely with the imposing wall of his torso.

"Why don't you go ahead and get back to whatever new little plaything or legal matter you're hustling these days?" Endo continued with predatory, unhurried enunciation, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of his lower lip on the final syllables. "I'm sure there are plenty of desperate cum-dumpsters willing to throw themselves at you all night without needing to cockblock a private date, am I right?"

The sudden transition from civil discourse to sexually-charged intimidation seemed to make Watanabe's blood run cold. You watched the flush of embarrassment drain from his features, skin taking on an unhealthy pallor as he eyed the promise of violence hovering over Endo's still frame like a thunderhead.

He swallowed audibly, throat bobbing above the crisp knot of his tie. "I uhh...I think you're right," Watanabe stammered, easing himself back from the booth with jerky motions. "Terribly sorry for interrupting, folks. Just ah...just enjoying a quiet evening out with my plus-one, as you said."

With that, the disgraced celebrity chef beat a hasty retreat without so much as a backwards glance - his tail thoroughly tucked between his legs. You watched him disappear through the throng with a certain hollow resignation, already anticipating the storm swelling just behind your shoulder from Endo.

Sure enough, no sooner had Watanabe vanished from sight than your erstwhile lover rounded on you with undisguised displeasure carved into his striking features. Endo's hand found your chin in a vice-grip, wrenching you around to meet his glacial stare head-on.

"I know you love to act like a desperate little cock-tease, Princess," he practically snarled, the words dripping with visceral menace as his blazing eyes bored into yours. Any trace of seductive charm had evaporated, replaced by a dark storm of possessive fury. "But letting assholes like him try to poach my woman from under my nose, right in front of me? That's crossing the fucking line."

You bristled at his crude insinuation, anger and indignation roaring through your veins like wildfire. How dare he speak to you with such blatant disrespect and sexist condescension? The mere implication that you were some vapid little plaything to be leered at or "poached" by other men made your jaw clench hard enough to ache.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that again," you bit out in a low, dangerous tone - eyes flashing with thinly leashed rage. "I'm nobody's 'woman' or desperate cock-tease, you arrogant prick."

Rather than cowing him, your vehement rebuke seemed to further stoke the inferno of possessive fury blazing behind Endo's piercing glare. He leaned forward, crowding you against the booth until the heady musk of his cologne mingled with the faint tang of whiskey on his lips to make your head swim.

"The hell you aren't," he snarled, upper lip curling to expose the barest hint of teeth in a feral snarl. "I saw the way you were letting that greasy bastard eye-fuck you right in front of me like it was open season, [Y/N]. Don't try denying your little slut tendencies when we both know how much it gets you off provoking my jealousy..."

You opened your mouth to unleash a torrent of vitriol back in his face, utterly appalled by his vulgar misogyny and audacious projections. But Endo wasn't finished ruthlessly airing his depraved assumptions yet. One rough hand tangled in your hair, gripping a fistful to wrench your head back until your lips parted on a gasp of indignant pain.

"Yeah, that's it..." he purred like a predator savoring the first scents of its trapped prey. "Get all riled up and fighting mad for me, sweetheart. You know it just makes me want to bend your feisty little ass over this table and fuck some manners back into that gorgeous mouth of yours even harder..."

Despite your rising fury, every base instinct within you seemed to sharpen at the leashed violence in his words. Your pupils blew wide, breath hitching as forbidden tendrils of sick arousal began unfurling in the pit of your stomach. Because Endo had always possessed an unnerving talent for rousing your most depraved hungers with the barest provocation - stripping away your veneer of civility until only your most primal, wanton core remained exposed to his piercing wolf's gaze.

"You're despicable..." you managed in a strangled rasp, trying in vain to regain solid footing against the quicksand of heated sensation rapidly engulfing you. Endo's teeth glinted wolfishly, tongue darting out to lave his bottom lip with blatant intent. Just the sight of it made your thighs clench with treacherous longing.

"Tell me something I don't know, Princess," he rumbled in a cadence that seemed to resonate deep in your tingling core. Somehow, he'd managed to shift even closer - so near you could feel the tantalizing rasp of his breath ghosting over your parted lips and heightening your tortured arousal to dizzying new heights. "Like how you still fucking cream yourself like a deprived little cock-whore every time I remind you of how thoroughly I used to break you down and re-sculpt your dirty desires between the sheets..."

A soft whine slipped past your defenses at the crude provocation, body positively thrumming with the effort not to give in and surrender to the primal lust building inside you like a supernova. You could practically taste the bestial musk radiating off Endo's chiseled form now. It called to you like the sweetest nectar, beckoning you to open wide and swallow the full vitriolic draught of his rapacious presence until nothing remained within you but gasping, mindless need to be claimed and remolded to his whims...

No - you couldn't succumb. Not here in public before you'd even scraped the surface of retaining some scrap of pride and boundaries from this final encounter. Gathering what remained of your tattered composure with a visible effort, you steeled your spine and turned your face away until you no longer swam in the intoxicating depths of Endo's oceanic stare.

"I'm leaving," you grit out with as much conviction as you could still muster, untangling yourself from his ensnaring limbs with jerky tugs. "Pull another stunt like threatening innocent bystanders over your own delusional baggage again, and I swear to God this ends right here with me walking away for good - no further discussion."

Despite your best efforts at a firm rebuke, the words emerged shaky and wavering with residual heady arousal. And Endo, the bastard, clearly couldn't resist twisting the knife one final time before you rose on quivering legs to escape his suffocating orbit of sin and subversion.

"Sure thing, babydoll..." he practically purred, voice lowering to a gravel-rough timbre that seemed to stroke molten velvet against your overstimulated senses. "Whatever helps you walk away with that gorgeous pussy still dripping like a deprived little slut aching to get her guts rearranged properly again..."

You shuddered at the perverse benediction, clenching your thighs together against the renewed onslaught of dizzying desire lashing through your core at his words. He was right - despite your lingering wrath and righteous fury, your body had become a screaming conflagration of raw want desperate to surrender and be reshaped anew between the crucible of Endo's punishing depths.

He watched you rise and totter on unsteady legs with a knowing smirk, all traces of the earlier alpha posturing replaced by calculating amusement and predatory intent. Before you could flee his company fully, Endo's next words sliced through your lingering restraint with cruel efficacy:

"You can deny it and pretend all you want, baby...but we both know you're still gonna come slinking back to beg Daddy's thick cock to wreck you proper before this night's over."

The coiled possession dripping from that final endearment nearly buckled your knees through sheer profane revelation. You trembled with simmering umbrage and molten arousal alike, torn between spitting acid vitriol or surrendering to the reckless riptide of ecstasy his unwavering confidence promised to unmake you within.

In the end, pride - or perhaps mere survival instinct - prevailed through sheer force of obstinate will. You managed to wrench your gaze away from Endo's towering temptation, turning on unsteady feet to storm away from his carnal dominion before you surrendered completely once more.

"Save your depravity for someone actually worth defiling themselves to that degree," you tossed over your shoulder without looking back, each word clipped and trembling like a winter brook's crust of ice over surging rapids. "I'm through letting you reduce me to some wanton little plaything for your sick amusement."

With that vain insistence, you pressed on towards the exit lounge - painfully aware of the relentless promise laced through every measured footfall stalking easily in your wake. Because Endo refused to be outrun or evaded from his obsessive hunt, a singularity of primal appetite refusing to be denied the final cataclysmic reunion awaiting you both tonight regardless of all flimsy human resistances...

The steaming bathwater enveloped you like a warm cocoon as you sank deeper into the fragrant depths with a weary sigh. Despite your best efforts, the tension from your earlier encounter with Endo refused to fully unwind from your muscles.

You closed your eyes, trying to chase away the lingering memories of his towering frame crowding you with scorching intensity. The smoldering promise blazing behind those glacier eyes as he growled crude provocations against your lips. The undeniable flare of sick arousal that had blazed through you at his bestial display of dominance, even as righteous indignation roared in protest.

"Insufferable bastard," you muttered under your breath, feeling traitorous heat prickling along your skin despite the herbal bath's soothing vapors.

Endo just couldn't help himself, could he? Always pushing any situation toward selfish gratification and power plays, uncaring whose boundaries he trampled in pursuit of his next conquest. You felt the blush of shame tinging your cheeks as you recalled how utterly weak you'd become before his lascivious words and possessive fury, body betraying every flimsy defense despite your convictions.

Still, you couldn't resist sinking deeper into the bathwater as flashes of your incendiary pasts washed over your consciousness in lurid delirium. You remembered countless desperate trysts with Endo where he'd reduced you to a whimpering, submissive mess through seemingly little more than brooding charisma and intoxicating confidence alone...

Squeezing your thighs together, you shuddered at the muscle memory of him splitting you open on his punishing cock as he savagely claimed your quivering form again and again. Each agonizing stretch of being pried apart to accommodate his sheer masculine bulk had always felt like a rapturous rebirth into the searing crucible of sin and subservient devotion only Endo could instill in you.

Your fingers sought your aching pussy almost instinctively, picturing his rough palms pinning your thighs wide in blatant ownership as his thumb circled torturous patterns against your oversensitized clit. You couldn't bite back the tiny whimper at the phantom recollection, hips stuttering in involuntary grind against your own questing fingers before you managed to rein the temptation back under rigid control.

"Enough of that," you scolded yourself shakily, snatching your wandering digits away with renewed determination. There was no use getting so worked up fantasizing like a lovesick, desperate virgin. You were no simpering ingenue to be enraptured by Endo's primal allure. At least, not any longer...

With immense willpower, you allowed the bathwater to drain completely until it receded into a cold reminder of reality around you. Rising on trembling legs, you reached for the plush towel and dried yourself with brisk, merciless efficiency — ignoring the slick arousal still dripping between your thighs in mute testimony to the rapture consuming you.

By the time you emerged into your bedroom, you felt a brittle semblance of composure had settled over your being once more. Until you turned the corner fully and pulled up short at the sight of Endo casually lounging across your mattress, rolling a delicate pair of your lace panties between his fingers.

"Wondered when you'd show," he rumbled in that smoke-roughened baritone that never failed to make you shudder. Those blue eyes glinted with taunting relish as he studied you standing frozen in your towel. "You always did take your sweet time getting dolled up...even if I planned on ruining the pretty pictures anyway before the night was through."

"How..." you growled, momentarily nonplussed by his effortless violation of your private sanctuary. Anger resurged as a defensive reflex while you clutched your towel tighter. "How did you get in here, Endo? I never—"

"Did you really think this ivory tower of yours could keep me out for long?" His brows lifted fractionally, dark amusement playing over his striking features. "Please, sweetheart. We both know there ain't a single locked door, alarm or fancy high-society hurdle that could ever truly bar me from what's rightfully mine."

The air seemed to charge with sudden electricity as your gazes locked, molten indignation and dark promise swirling in the space between your frames. You knew Endo was baiting you deliberately, but the crudely possessive declaration made your temper flare regardless.

"Yours?" You scoffed before you could reconsider rising to his provocation. "You arrogant son of a bitch. I don't belong to you or anyone else, Yamato. No matter what twisted psychosexual delusions your ego might be clinging to these days."

Rather than looking chastened, Endo merely smiled around the words - a slow, wolfish curl of sinful promise that made your core muscles flutter instinctively. The bath's towel suddenly felt achingly thin and inadequate as a barrier against his piercing presence.

"Aw c'mon, baby..." he crooned, tongue flicking over those sculpted lips with shameless intent. "We played these uptight little games a million times before, but you know damn well how this fairytale act of yours always ends up the same way..."

You watched in mingled trepidation and forbidden longing as Endo rose from his indolent sprawl on your bed with leonine grace, dropping your panties onto the floor. Every coiled inch of his powerful physique screamed dominance and assured possession, hips rolling in a hypnotic cadence that drew your gaze helplessly. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't tear your widened stare away from the imposing spectacle of taut muscle and assured masculine menace steadily closing the distance between you.

"I'm nothing if not a patient man," Endo practically purred, coming to loom over you fully within your bedroom's hushed dimness. The heat radiating off his body in searing waves seemed to smother your next protests before they could form. "So you go ahead and keep on stomping those pretty feet all you like while you still got some fight left in you..."

His rough palm cupped your jaw then with shocking tenderness, guiding your chin up so your faces hovered perilously close together. You froze like a captive doe pinned in oncoming headlamps, senses overwhelmed by the earthy musk of his skin and hot whiskey burr of his breath ghosting across your parted lips.

"Because we both know that by the time I'm done tonight?" Endo's voice had dropped to a gravelly murmur of dark, intoxicating promise now. "You'll be just another greedy little whore begging for my fat cock to fuck every last scrap of denial right back out of you like always, Princess..."

Then his mouth was crashing over yours in a searing, punishing kiss that seared away your very breath from your lungs. You shuddered and whimpered against the uncompromising onslaught — hands scrabbling weakly against his chiseled chest as Endo swept you off your feet and bore you backwards towards the rumpled sheets.

"Look at you..." Endo growled in a voice dripping with dark relish as he bore you down onto the bed. His towering frame caged you beneath searing heat and tightly leashed menace. "Acting all coy and innocent, like you're not already soaking that greedy little cunt for me despite your prim act."

You glared up at him defiantly, mouth opening on a scathing rejoinder. But his calloused palm clamped over your lips in a shockingly dominant gesture, fingers digging into your jaw hard enough to make you wince.

"Ah ah ah..." he tsked with a disapproving shake of his head, glacial eyes glinting dangerously. "None of those spitfire little protests you think make you sound so righteously above all this depravity we know damn well is simmering beneath that icy exterior, Princess."

Despite yourself, you felt a tremor of treacherous heat coil low in your belly at his blatant dominance and crude dismissal of your indignation. Endo's smirk widened fractionally as he no doubt tracked the quickening of your pulse, the way your pupils dilated against your will.

"See, that's the difference between us, gorgeous," he purred in a low rumble that seemed to vibrate straight to your rapidly liquifying core. His nose grazed the line of your jugular in a sensual glide, drawing a strangled whimper against his restraining palm. "I've never once tried to deny or lie about what a depraved pair of greedy sluts we are deep down when it comes to stripping each other bare and surrendering completely..."

You wanted to protest, to writhe away from the dark truths Endo breathed across your electrified nerve endings with carnal physicality. But his scent and presence surrounded you utterly, leaving you feeling dazed and strangely disarmed beneath his imposing dominance in your innermost sanctuary like this.

Endo seemed to sense your internal struggle, grinning wickedly as he slowly freed your lips from his restraining grip. He caged your face on either side with his corded forearms, giving you just enough leeway to part your lips on a tremulous exhale...while leaving no doubt of your helplessness pinned so thoroughly beneath his bulk.

"Go on then, sweetheart," he growled with a wolfish smirk, undulating his hips in a slow grind that had your breath hitching in your throat. "Give us one of those haughty little speeches about how you'd never let some thug like me defile your body and take what's mine whenever I damn well please..."

You swallowed audibly, entire being thrumming with humiliated arousal at his flagrant display of possession and ownership over your prone form. But this time, the vehement refusal wouldn't quite find voice past the desert dryness of your yearning.

Instead, what emerged was a soft mewl of raw need - punctuated by you reflexively canting your hips upwards in search of glorious friction against Endo's weight above you. You blinked up at him in a daze, frustration simmering at your mouth's betrayal even as your body sung with the truth of being made so helplessly wanting by his dominance once again.

"Yeah, that's what I fucking thought..." Endo rumbled in a gravelly rasp overflowing with relish and virile promise. His nose traced the shell of your ear, wandering mouth leaving a slick trail of possession down your prickling throat as he growled in your ear: "We both know that greedy little cunt of yours won't be satisfied with anything less than this real, raw cock stretching you out properly like the needy slut you are at heart."

You whimpered involuntarily at the filthy promise laced through his words, not even trying to disguise the way your thighs clenched together with visceral longing at the crude imagery. You knew he could feel your treacherous arousal spiking against where your bodies ground so fragrantly. Smell the slick desperation likely glossing your aching folds as they grew slicker by the second from being so thoroughly claimed and toyed with beneath his gaze like prey.

"Ngghh..." you choked out on a quavering exhale, pawing ineffectually at the solid mass of Endo's shoulders as he continued taunting and laying you raw. "Y-You're...foul...you...know that?"

Rather than look chastised, Endo simply smiled down at you in dark, naked amusement - clearly savoring the position of sheer power he'd so effortlessly displaced you into. One large hand tangled in the hair at your nape as he wrenched your head to the side in a rough show of dominance. You shuddered helplessly as his mouth blazed a searing path over the vulnerable line of your jugular, teeth grazing in a blatant promise of savagery.

"Oh I know exactly how goddamn foul and depraved I'm being with you, Princess," he rumbled against the saltprickled thrum of your pulse, tongue dragging a long languid lap that wrenched another involuntary moan from your core. "Right down to knowing that pretty little mouth of yours was just made for my cock to split those lips wide right about now..."

You tried to shake your head in denial, but Endo's grip went punishingly tight in your hair — hauling your head back at a sharp angle to bare your throat fully to his possession once again. Panic and forbidden arousal spiked in equal measure as he loomed over you with those glacier eyes blazing unholy promises of rapture and ravaging down to your very soul.

"Don't you dare try to deny the truth now, sweetheart," Endo snarled in a voice like milled gravel against your tingling senses. His hips ground down harder into your molten apex in emphasis, drawing a strangled whine from somewhere deep in your chest. "We both know you only get this riled up and squirming when I remind what a painfully pathetic little cumdump you turn into just begging for me to use that greedy body however I want..."

Despite your best efforts, your body seemed to instinctively surrender to his crudely spoken possession. You couldn't stop the way your thighs parted in supplication or the way your back arched wantonly in silent petitioning for more of his dominance and punishment. Endo's feral grin widened at the visceral display.

"That's it, baby..." he crooned with undisguised rapture, hips circling in a devastatingly sensual pattern you knew from feverish experience would soon drive you past any coherency for protest or denial. "Just give in and let go like a good little bitch getting exactly what she's been craving..."

You turned your head away then, squeezing your eyes shut as if you could somehow block out the wave of utter submission cresting over your defenses. Everything about Endo's presence and effortless mastery raked against your tattered resistance with brutal physicality. Leaving your psyche utterly disarmed and your body thrumming in wanton obedience to the core against anything further than total surrender and recreation beneath him once again.

The rustle of sheets and fabric filled the hushed bedroom. You held your breath as the blazing brand of Endo's weight shifted and the heat of his body suddenly left yours completely. For one hopeful beat, some vestige of your mind prepared itself to flee - to run from this reckoning and unholy reclamation of your defiant spirit before it swallowed you whole in blasphemous glory again.

But then his rough palms found your shins, dragging your calves apart with searing possession until your thighs parted like gates swinging wide for the conquering ruler. Your eyes snapped back open with a ragged inhalation, panic spiking as Endo crouched between your splayed limbs like the apex predator regarding its newly subdued prey.

From this vantage, you could clearly trace every inch of chiseled virility and battle-hewn potency etched into his form. Every vein and ridgeline of musculature seemed to emanate threat and masculine intent underpinned by utter surety in his right to take what belonged to him again. Yet as his piercing, ravenous gaze consumed your newly exposed vulnerability, Endo somehow appeared all the more depraved and all-consuming despite the stark nudity.

"Look at me, Princess..." His voice carried the quiet, hushed command of one accustomed to being obeyed utterly. You trembled with the urge to deny him, to resist yet again with venom or futile struggles. But his words cut through any lingering pretense or courage to defy like butter.

"Look into the eyes of the only man who's ever truly ruined you before..." Endo demanded, reaching out with leashed menace to grasp your chin in a vise of heat and corded power. You had no choice but to meet his feral, ice-chip stare head on as he seared your very essence with that unholy promise once more.

"This is me coming to unmake every last strand of that good-girl facade once and for all tonight, sweetheart..." The endearment dropped from his tongue like profane vow, punctuated by his free hand sliding between your thighs to stroke those slick, swollen folds with teasing ownership.

"So say goodbye to all those denial and delusions about being anything other than my personal whore to fuck as I see fit, baby girl..." Endo growled, thumb circling your aching clit with delicious friction until your back arched into a taut bow of needful agony. "By the time I'm through, that perfect mouth won't have a single shred of false innocence or dignity left to lie behind..."

He surged over you once more with leonine grace, swallowing your tremulous whimper of fatalistic arousal in a searing, punishing brand of his mouth devouring yours entirely. His tongue lashed against yours in searing possession, teeth sinking into the plushness of your lower lip in a warning nip of pain and pleasure that left your toes curling.

Your fingers scrabbled uselessly at the flexing mass of his shoulders, digging into corded muscle hard enough to leave crescents behind in a futile bid to anchor yourself against his all-consuming onslaught. Endo only growled deep in his throat, clearly enjoying the way you clung and clawed and writhed beneath him like prey pinned by the most savage predator.

"Mmm, that's my girl..." Endo crooned against your kiss-swollen lips, one large hand cupping your breast and kneading the yielding flesh with possessive vigor. His calloused fingertips brushed over your pebbled nipple in teasing strokes that sent jolts of need straight to your already soaked apex. "So ready and eager for me to ruin and fuck every last inch of you again, aren't you, baby?"

His head lowered, capturing the bud between his teeth in a sudden, ruthless nip that wrenched a ragged cry from the depths of your throat. Your thighs clenched convulsively, core muscles clenching and fluttering around empty air with desperate want. Endo smirked around his mouthful of supple flesh, lashing the sting with the flat of his tongue until you writhed and pleaded incoherently.

"Such a shameful display..." he rumbled in a voice thickened with depraved lust, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you yelp. "What would all those stuffy, sanctimonious pricks and holier-than-thou do-gooders think of their precious little lawyer acting like such a whore for a lowlife like me? Mmm?"

You tried to shake your head and deny his vulgar insinuations. But the words died on a gasp as Endo's hot, wet mouth blazed a path down your tingling midriff — teeth scraping and tongue laving with the utmost devotion until he reached the crest of your hip.

His large palms curled around the supple flesh there, parting your thighs even further so the humid gust of his breath washed over your exposed and aching folds. Your face flamed crimson at the obscene, humiliating sight you must have presented spread so wantonly for his depraved enjoyment. But Endo's eyes burned with feral, unholy worship as he drank in the sight.

"That's it..." he breathed with dark relish, thumbs spreading your slick labia apart to fully expose your needy core. "Look at you, Princess. Soaking wet and aching for me already without a single inch of my cock in that greedy cunt of yours. Fuck, you're almost too pretty like this, aren't you baby?"

Before you could react, his mouth fastened around your aching clit — lashing the swollen nub with his tongue and sucking it between his teeth in a devastating onslaught. Your back arched, entire body spasming as a bolt of searing ecstasy shot up your spine and sent you keening. Endo hummed with approval, burying his face even deeper between your trembling thighs — licking, sucking and laving until all you could do was thrash and keen and clutch at his hair with frantic, desperate hands.

"So sweet and perfect and mine, aren't you, baby?" He rumbled, the vibration sending a fresh wave of electric pleasure rippling through your core. His calloused thumbs sank into your soft folds, spreading them even further as he licked and suckled and devoured with utter carnal hunger. "That's it, sweetheart. Be a good girl and soak this perfect little pussy for me nice and good before I sink every last inch of my cock into your slutty cunt..."

You wanted to resist. To somehow reclaim some shred of self control and dignity from the dizzying spiral of sensation and need he so easily orchestrated with his sinful mouth. But each flick of his tongue or drag of his teeth against your clit sent you spiraling closer and closer to the inevitable edge. And Endo's low, filthy litany of encouragement only drove you that much more rapidly towards the inevitable climax.

"That's my girl. Let go and cum for me nice and hard. I remember how much of a squirter you are when I eatyou out like a good little slut. Don't even think about holding back, baby girl. I want to feel you flood my mouth like the naughty girl you are for me...mmphhh..."

With a muffled snarl, he fastened his lips around your clit and sucked hard enough to send you plummeting over the edge into blinding rapture. Your inner walls convulsed, muscles clamping down around nothing as a rush of slick heat gushed forth. Endo growled in pure masculine triumph, lapping up the deluge and continuing to stimulate your overly-sensitized flesh with his tongue until you collapsed back against the pillows, utterly wrung out and panting.

"Fuuuuck...you are just as fucking sweet and responsive as I remember, aren't you, baby?" Endo's voice sounded raw and guttural as he mumbled the praise right against your dripping folds. He sealed his mouth around the swollen nub again, suckling so hard that the sensation verged on pain and wrenched a ragged sob from your raw throat.

"N-No...please...I can't—" you choked out, shaking your head frantically in a weak, token gesture of protest. Your hands tugged weakly at the roots of his hair, trying to dislodge him from your overwrought sex. But Endo only growled, his grip tightening on the swell of your hips as his tongue resumed its tormenting assault.

"Oh, yes you can, baby..." he snarled, licking a long stripe along your glistening slit before thrusting his tongue inside your pulsing channel. "You're going to cum for me over and over again, sweetheart. As many times as it takes to wash away every last trace of all those other pricks you let fuck you while we were apart. So I can remind this perfect cunt exactly what it means to be fucked by a real man again..."

And then his lips were back on your aching clit, lashing and suckling the bundle of nerves mercilessly while his hands pinned you down — helpless and writhing beneath his dominant onslaught. You could only keen and whimper in broken supplication as Endo's mouth and fingers worked your aching, soaked flesh in a relentless pursuit of another shattering orgasm.

"Yamato...please, I can't...I can't...ohgodplease—"

Your back bowed taut as a drawn bow, head thrashing and toes curling as he pushed you past any capacity for coherency or restraint. The world faded away to a pinpoint of sensation, pleasure and pain blurring into a single point of agonized ecstasy until your core clenched tight and release rushed upon you once more.

You screamed hoarsely as you came apart, muscles quivering and convulsing with the force of the aftershocks. Your inner walls fluttered wildly, clamping down around the invading fingers buried deep inside you in a futile bid to draw him further inside. But Endo kept his hand perfectly still, the pad of his thumb pressing against your aching, engorged clit and keeping the stimulation just on the knife-edge of unbearable.

"Mmmm, that's it, sweetheart," Endo crooned, dragging his free hand through the sheen of perspiration that coated your torso and the valley of your breasts. He leaned up to seal his mouth over one puckered nipple, drawing the pebbled bud between his teeth in a harsh, pleasurable nip. You whimpered at the overwhelming sensation, the sound trailing off into a broken keen as he twisted his fingers buried within your clutching, molten heat.

"Fuck, the way you're milking me already, baby," he murmured reverently, licking the sweat-salted curve of your breast in a languid lap before turning his attention to the neglected twin. His fingers curled within you, brushing against the hidden spot deep inside that made stars explode across your vision. "You're almost there, aren't you? Ready to gush all over me again like a good girl, huh?"

His thumb ground mercilessly into your oversensitive clit, sending you hurtling headlong towards the brink once more. Your legs kicked reflexively, thighs squeezing tight around his forearm in an instinctive effort to escape the overload of sensation. But Endo's forearm remained firmly locked in place, fingers scissoring and curling in a devastating combination that tore the final shreds of resistance from your very soul.

"Cum for me, baby girl..." Endo murmured in a guttural growl, his own breathing gone ragged with arousal and the leashed power of his restraint. He pressed a bruising kiss to the soft flesh of your breast, teeth nipping a warning as his thumb bore down even harder on the oversensitive, swollen nub.

You cried out, head thrown back and body arching high off the mattress as another, deeper orgasm slammed through you like a runaway freight train. You gushed over Endo's fingers in a hot rush, drenching the sheets and his hand in the flood. But his wicked fingers never stopped stroking and pumping and filling you. Keeping you writhing and keening beneath his expert, depraved ministrations as wave after wave of agonized ecstasy crashed over you.

You were only dimly aware of his low, feral snarl and the sudden loss of his fingers. But then the scorching, broad head of his cock notched against your sodden folds, rubbing along your swollen slit until it notched at the entrance of your fluttering channel. Endo's strong arms slid beneath your trembling legs, hooking behind your knees and pulling your hips flush against his.

"N-No more...please, s’ too much," you choked out, shaking your head and writhing feebly in a token gesture of resistance. But Endo only smirked down at you, eyes glazed with pure, unrestrained depravity and feral desire.

"Oh, you're not going to get off that easily, baby..." he murmured, lips quirking at his own choice of words. He bent his head and dragged his tongue in a slow, deliberate path up the side of your throat, the hot, slick friction making your core pulse with renewed, shameful hunger.

"Mmm, not when your greedy cunt is sopping wet and ready for me, sweetheart..." He nipped sharply at the hinge of your jaw, the pain sending a fresh, delicious ache straight to the over-sensitized bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. "Besides, it's been far too long since I've fucked this tight little pussy nice and deep and filled it up with my cum. Think of this as your…payment for services rendered, if you will..."

You tilted your head to capture his lips in a sudden, biting kiss. Your tongue delved into his mouth, tangling and sliding against his in a fierce, punishing clash of wills and dominance. You bit down on his lower lip, nails raking bloody crescents down the expanse of his broad shoulders. Endo growled deep in his throat, surging forward to plunge his thick length inside you in a single, brutal stroke.

The sudden, full stretch of his cock parting your tight, soaked walls made you throw back your head with a choked scream. You had forgotten how thick and long and big he was. How perfectly, achingly full and complete his cock made you feel with the first, deep plunge. He seated himself fully inside you with a single, smooth glide — groaning a rough, guttural curse as your silken heat clenched around him, milking his cock and pulling him deeper into your molten core.

"God, I've fucking missed this perfect cunt, sweetheart," Endo gritted, pulling back and slamming home in a powerful stroke that jolted you up the mattress. He pinned your thighs wider, pressing them flush against your chest so that your pelvis tilted up at a nearly obscene angle. "Fuck, you're so goddamn tight...squeezing and sucking me inside that slutty little pussy so perfectly, baby."

He pulled back, the slow drag of his cock almost torturous, before thrusting home once more with a feral snarl. His footplanted on the mattress for leverage, fingers digging bruises into the flesh of your thighs as his pace sped up and turned vicious. You writhed and whimpered, the wet, filthy slap of his balls slapping against your ass punctuating the debauched chorus of moans and keens and whimpers wrenched from your raw throat.

"That's my girl," he grunted, eyes glazing and fixed on where his cock pumped and disappeared between the flushed, swollen folds of your sex. "Let me see you cum nice and hard all over my cock, baby girl."

He released one of your thighs to press his thumb against the slippery, aching nub of your clit. The sudden pressure and stimulation was almost too much. Your inner walls seized around his thick girth, spasming and fluttering wildly as he continued to pound into your molten core. Endo growled a dark curse, the cords of muscle along his neck and shoulders standing out in sharp relief as he fought his own climax.

"Fuck, baby, cum for me. Squirt all over me like a good little whore," he ordered, the raspy edge to his voice sending a fresh flood of slick heat pooling at the apex of your thighs. "Do it, Princess. Now!"

His hand pulled back and then came down right on your exposed, aching clit. The stinging slap sent a white-hot bolt of pain-tinged pleasure rocketing through you, ripping a ragged scream from your throat as a third, deeper orgasm crashed through you. You came apart with a choked, broken sob — back arching off the mattress as every muscle went taut and a gush of fresh, hot wetness sprayed over his pistoning cock and stomach.

"God [Y/N]," Endo groaned, hips slamming home in a series of frantic, uneven strokes. "You're fucking perfect."

You whimpered, shuddering and gasping for breath as your inner walls milked him with the aftershocks. Endo snarled, a primal sound that sent a fresh flood of molten arousal gushing around his buried length. He snapped his hips forward once, twice, burying himself deep as the dam finally broke and his control shattered.

His cock swelled even thicker, a low groan tearing from his chest as his hips jerked in a few frantic thrusts. Your inner walls clenched tight around his pulsing length, each pulse of his cock and burst of his cum triggering a series of fluttering spasms that prolonged his own release.

Endo's forehead dropped against your collarbone, body folding over yours as his hips bucked and his cock emptied deep inside you. His hot, heavy weight was a grounding pressure as he collapsed on top of you, muscles twitching and breath coming in great, heaving pants. You wrapped your arms around him, fingers combing through his damp, tousled hair as he continued to shudder and twitch.

He rumbled a deep, satisfied purr, tilting his head up to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss. You hummed contentedly, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him nestled within your sated heat. His arms shifted beneath you, rolling the two of you onto your sides in a smooth, effortless motion that left his cock still sheathed within your tight, pulsing core.

You blinked up at him, eyelids fluttering at the way his hips twitched and stirred, the friction and the sensation making you gasp. Endo's mouth quirked, his hand sliding beneath your thigh to hook behind the knee and lift it high around his waist. He rolled his hips again, cock sliding against your swollen, sensitive flesh with a wet, sticky friction that made you gasp.

"Yamato, what—?"

"It's been a long time since we've done it this way, hasn't it, sweetheart?" he asked, the wicked glint in his eye telling you all you needed to know about his intentions. His cock slid out halfway before sliding back in with a deep, lazy thrust. You mewled at the sensation, a fresh wave of warmth flooding your channel and drenching his cock.

"Think you can handle a few more, baby girl?" he whispered, mouth curving in a smirk as he pulled out and slid home once more. Your hips lifted, seeking a harder, deeper friction as he continued his languid, lazy thrusts. You nodded, biting down on the plush, swollen swell of your lower lip as your hand slid down your stomach, seeking the slippery, swollen nub of your clit.

Endo's hand caught yours, trapping it against the mattress as his lips ghosted along the sensitive shell of your ear. "Leave that to me, sweetheart," he growled, tongue flicking out to taste the delicate flesh beneath the curve of your jaw. His thrusts slowed even further, a deliciously teasing slide and drag against your tender, aching walls.

"It's going to be a long night, Princess."

156 notes · View notes