#so i decided to flip these on a whim

[likearolloftape]

[tonycries]

I-T G-I-R-L!

Synopsis. Making big, powerful boys break beg and follow your every whim? Easy!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, NÉEDY boys, making them whine, bondagé, creampíes, GOJO’S POWERS, chokíng Geto, use of “good boy”, cúmplay, spítting, making them CRY, MAJOR overstím, bégging (THEM), pússy-slappíng, oraI (fem receiving), face-ríding, matíng presses, dry húmping, overspill, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k (whew)

A/N. Woke up n’ decided I wanna bully them so here we are. Have a lovely day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - MR. AND MRS.

“P-please.”

“What was that?”

“Fuck you-”

It was low - begging - and for the first time, you have that syrupy sweet privilege of hearing Toji’s husky baritone break with such a whiny crack at the end. 

Smugly, you swipe an index right across where your puffy pussy was straddling his poor, overworked cock. Collecting the saturated mess along his furious length - still so swollen with the sheer volume he’d been gushing out tonight. All the way up, up, up to that messy puddle of seed glistening all over his flinching abs. “Then…I guess m’not letting you cum inside, Toji. Again.”

“No! No no no- oh.” Toji’s burst of pained moans are cut off when you shove your fingers between his bruised lips. Dewy, green eyes rolling to the back of his head with each suck and slurp at their milky white sheen. “Fuck- you little-” And despite how furious he sounds, you could feel the very tip of his fat head thicken, twitching a jagged pattern along your cervix. With a low growl, Toji narrows his gaze, biting down on your now-clean digits with his sharp canines, “I said- please, my girl.”

Just that simple plea has your boyfriend’s jaw clenching, teeth gritted so viciously at the way you’ve been oh-so-coyly denying him the one thing he’s wanted for what feels like hours now. 

“Louder.” your lips curl into a devilish grin, back arching in that perfect bow Toji loved so much. Only deepening the lingering rolls of your hips down his needy tip. “Didn’t hear ya.”

“F-fuck.” Toji’s throwing his head back, thick fingers coming down to splay out across your bent thighs. “Can you- please-” You could feel every minute flex of his muscled thighs when he efforts to buck your sloppy hips deeper - faster - down his fat cock. Only to be halted by ten mean fingernails of yours pinning him down by his curving pecs, “-please. Wan’ cum inside- let me cum inside goddammit, woman.”

Of course, you decide to tease him by slowing down your pace even more. Letting your sloppy pussy just stroll down every greedy inch of his dick. Trying to hold back your content giggle, “I dunno…”

And Toji thinks he could yell out in frustration, he thinks he could sob, “Fuck- I said please. Pretty please? What more do you fucking want?”

He sounded so devastated. And you swear you could spy wet, bulbous tears at the corners of his long lashes, the familiar scar along his lips wobbling with such precious need. 

“Hmm–” you’re letting out such a sultry drag of your voice, taking so much of your sweet sweet time that Toji thinks he’s about to lose his mind. About to just flip your bratty self over and shove his thoroughly teased cock into you until you forget about that looming threat of not letting him paint your insides white. Fuck, the things he does for you-

“Call me your wife.”

Shit - Toji’s darkened eyes widen at your little request, jaw hanging open in disbelief and-

“That’s it?” he laughs - laughs. Rumbling out of his broad chest in a hoarse rasp, and those two strong arms of his tug down your limp body to kiss teasingly at your jutted-out lips. Slipping his hot tongue between the seams, “S’all because my hah- baby wanted to be my- my pretty lil’ wife. Well-” Any and every retort is fucked out of your mind when Toji’s spearheading into your mushy g-spot with a harsh rut of his hips. “-what my wife wants, my wife gets.”

The bed is creaking with every riotous slam, smearing the velvety pool of cum even farther between your bodies. Sticking to you like a sloppy second skin, strings of lewd juices form and snap when his massive cock stretches your gummy walls until they gape. 

“Shit- shit shit shit, if I knew that was all you wanted-” you’re feeling the languid drag of Toji’s happy trail scratch your throbbing clit. ���Please- I would’ve been fucking my wife for s-so long now. Silly girl, s’all I’ve ever wanted- would’ve begged, gotten on my knees-”

“Hngh! Fuck-” you’re squealing when you feel him drip with even more saturated precum to coat your snug channel. One calloused palm of his coming between the two of your slick bodies to smear across the mess from his sweet highs, deftly angling them so that the rounded tips of his fingers are stuffing your leaky pussy with sloppy globs of his seed every time you’re slamming down. 

“Now now–”  It’s all you can do to gulp in heaving breaths to make your tone sound warning, but even that sounds too breathless - and both of you know it. Babbling away, “-don’t get so cocky- might just- hah, change my mind, husband.”

And fuck. Oh fuck. 

Your poor cunt just throbs when in a split-second, Toji’s mouth slacks even further, wrenching out a guttural groan. 

And then your gushing walls are milking out every ribbon of velvety cum that splurges into your tight pussy. It’s so much - too much, painting your insides all white with his seed. Toji’s gasping at the feeling of it sloshing around your elastic walls in slow, clingy swivels coating the both of you. 

His breath hitches when he spies down at the obscenely white mess below, globs of his cum slobbering messily down your inner thigh. Fuck, he’s never - never - came before you. This was-

“This better be a proposal, y’know.” you hum in amusement. “Or it would be interesting that you came early just becaus-”

“The fuck else would it be?” Toji’s gruffing out, two warm hands gliding to grip onto the globes of your ass. Still irritated. Still embarrassed. 

Ignoring your titter, he rams your teasing hips down with a sharp smack! like he was branding all five fingers onto your skin. Plugging your ravaged entrance shut with his weepy dick to stop even more of that thick, gushing cum from trickling out. You mewl when you feel his swelteringly wet tip quirk at the very bottom of your spongy cervix in interest, “Now be quiet and let me fuck you properly as my wife.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Hands-on intervention…

“You really are trying to get us fired, huh, my love?” he’s murmuring gently, “What do you think you’re doing this late, hm?”

Now, Nanami knew he shouldn’t have taken on those extra documents, he knew he should’ve been back home by now. Wrapped up in you and your cute gossip about what happened in your department today.

But here he was, sitting at his empty office. With you - stubborn as you are - straddling him like such a slut on top of his heavily manspread, muscular thighs, his favorite late-night snack. His coworker. His wife. 

“I should hah- ask you the same thing, Ken.” you’re grinning, the sinfully tight satin of your skirt hiking up with each slow, teasing roll of your drooly cunt against his clothed erection. It’s so messy. Your syrupy saturated slick mixing in with Nanami’s steadily beading precum. “Didn’t we both agree to no more late nights?”

He’s heaving out a shaky sigh, running a warm hand up and down your arched spine, “I know, I know. I apologize.”

That frantically achy little pulse of your slick-glossed cunt on top of him told him that he wasn’t forgiven just yet. And Nanami gulps - loosening that yellow, speckled tie of his with the tight bobbing of his Adam’s apple. Rich tone shaky - shuddering, even, “How- how do you want me to make it up to you, darling?”

You’re batting your lashes at his expansive mahogany desk. “Well…”

Of course he should’ve seen where this was going - with your high-heel-clad feet swiveling high in the air, digging into his broad shoulders. Stitches in your poor skirt popping and tearing with each bullying thrust your husband’s planting on your ravaged in this tight mating press. 

“K-Ken—” you’re letting out such a sickly sweet moan when his fat, weepy tip collides with the very bullseye of your sensitive g-spot. Your fingers work deftly to reach into your skirt pocket - pulling out that familiar tiny hot-pink bullet vibrator.

“Walkin’ around with that during work?” Nanami gasps, barely tearing his eyes away from that heavenly sight of your swollen pussy entrance wrapped around his girthy shaft. “Such a dirty girl you-” 

“Oh s’not for me.” 

And fuck, Nanami can only watch - can only gape his clenched jaw open when your devious fingers dip the feverishly shaky vibrator down, down, down to kiss so delicately at his thick hilt. 

“Oh!” His towering body wracks with a shiver, full, heavy balls clenching so tightly. Hammering his rawly aching cock so thoroughly into you, hips pistoning forwards with the carnal need for more more more- “Wait- Fuck! M-my love?”

“Yes–?” you’re humming, low and sultry and oh Nanami already knows he’s gone. He can only pray he leaves with his sanity intact. 

Splaying out two large hands on the sides of your head, the documents on top rustle in sync with those saturatedly hypnotic squelches echoing from your ravishing cunt. “Is this- s’this oh, fuck- please.” Nanami screws his eyes shut when you’re holding down the device even harder onto his glistening shaft. “S’this- is it- because I broke our hah- promise?”

“Maybe.” you’re breathing out into his panting mouth. So enveloped by his weighty figure that it was almost difficult to work your little magic. “Maybe I just got tired of waitin’ around for you to finish overtime, Ken.”

“Please!”

Over and over. That tiny spark is enough to have him barrelling back into your dripping wetness with reckless abandon. 

He’s so utterly ruined - glasses sliding down his high nose-bridge, thighs quivering with sensitive need. And you could just feel every fresh wave of heated precum painting your cunt in a glossy new coat. “Fuck- tell me please. Please, darling, m’begging.”

“Promise me no more overtime.” You’re grinning, fingers still steady tracing his most sensitive spots. 

“P-promise…”

“N’ to always hurry home to me?”

“I promise! I promise- promise to always come home- to you- always. Please-” he’s startling you with a soft pad of his thumb rolling over your neglected clit. Such a low, broken keen leaving him at when you start drawing harsh, methodical circles on the sensitive spots along his length. “N-no more overtime. Please please please- feels too good- what do I do- what-”

Ah, success looked so pretty.

Nanami’s eyes were already so watery, stern lips trembling with little apologies about “never workin’ overtime again.” So uncharacteristically disheveled in a way that makes your mouth water.

“Shit-” you hiss when that pointed nub of the vibrator accidentally hits your widely stretched-out pussy. The velvety cling of your walls making him hiss furiously. Disrupting, fat tip nudging all those crevices along your snug channel. “Hah- don’t think I’d let you off so-”

Before you can react, he’s hiking a long leg up on the desk to angle his crashes with scary accuracy. Just colliding against your bulbous g-spot with no hesitation. Pushing, with the very edge of his weepy tip - far, so far that you could scream.

Over and over and over- So elastically stretching out your snug hole to your limits to take him in all his long, throbbing entirety. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck I know, I know.” He’s alternating between long, rough strokes to shove you further and further up the cool desk, and shallow lingering grinds to mold your pretty walls to the exact form of his swollen shaft. “I’ll do anything- anything, please just- cum.”

It only takes a few more calculated pistons of his hips, and a touchy, teasing smack! onto your weepy cunt before you’re crashing headfirst into your orgasm. Cumming all around his wildly twitching shaft, your velvety walls just mending all around the shape of his pretty cock. Your toes curl, back arching into such a bowing bend. And in the split-second your grip weakens, Nanami’s seizing that hot pink devil in your hand.

“F-fuck wait-” you squeal at at familiar bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt echoing across the filled-out walls of your cunt. Squeezing inside the tight fit where Nanami’s fat shaft was nestling, tremoring so deliciously against each and every one of your sweet spots. Stuffing you full. “What-”

“Don’t forget - you’re working overtime, too, my love.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - No need for air

“F-fuuuck, gorgeous.” Geto’s melodic moan makes your cunt throb, a fresh gush of your sweet sweet juices slobbering down to where he was slapping your puffed-up clit with his fat head. The angry divot of his tip smacking up once, twice onto the too-sensitive nub. 

“So fuckin’ wet f’me-” he whispers from behind, gliding a thumb across the glossy sheen trickling down from the corners of your slit. The sight of his glistening fingers makes him bare you with such a crazed, feral grin, feeding you inch by fucking in languid, bullying rams. “-almost makes me forget the hand around my throat.”

At this, your nails are digging in even deeper around the pale, long column of his throat. Leaving neat, red indents that stand out. And you swear you could spy his leering grin grow even wider at that sinful sting. 

“What about it, Sugu?” you’re grinning over your shoulder. Gasping for air at how relentlessly he was trying to squeeze his fat shaft through that tight, glossy ring of muscle. 

Each drag of his throbbing shaft has your fingers tightening more around his throat. Making Geto feel so woozy and lightheaded with each little grind into the glistening channel past your puffy folds. “Heh, really like fuck- it rough like this, huh?” A low groan drags at the back of his throat when you start pushing your limp hips back in a jerky little cadence to try and meet his. “Shit- shit shit shit s’too good. You’re suckin’ me up so tight s’almost hard to fuck into ya. Almost makes me wanna-”

“Cum inside?” 

This earns you a punishing smack! on your bulging cunt, cool metallic rings of his burning into your skin. So sopping wet and struggling to expand your gummy walls around his expanding girth. Drawing out a dark chuckle from the depths of his chest, “Real funny, gorgeous. You and I both hah- know s’jus’ your hngh! cockdrunk mind talking.”

“Nooo—” you’re tugging him in a desperate, vice-like grip to crash your lips against his. Whining against his lips, “S’not. Really really want you to cum inside, Sugu. F’me - please? Like a good boy?” 

It was a little slip of your tongue - really - and you didn’t expect anything more than another teasing slap to your cunt, maybe even a joke at your expense.

But what you didn’t expect was for the sloppy cadence of Geto’s hips to falter just a bit. You’re turning your head just in time to catch that glassy, far-away look in his eyes, jaw slacking open to let out a shocked gasp. You hear a sharp pop! from his toned hips before they’re surging forwards to barrel your poor cunt with every weighty inch of his girth. 

Over- and over and over- One large hand of his is catching around yours to squeeze - warningly. Letting out a strangled, “G-gorgeous…”

Oh? 

Brows quirking, you’re batting your lashes so syrupy slow, “Are you gonna be my good boy, Sugu? Make me a momma?”

Another lewd push and pull, having you bouncing back on Geto’s sharp hipbones with such loud smacks! of skin-on-skin. Ringing into the humid, heady air and wracking his body with almost-painful shivers. 

“F-fuck–” He’s struggling to find the words - to even think with his melty mess of a mind. Such a delicate blush burns at Geto’s scowling cheeks when you’re facing him with a surprised grin - one he hides by latching his lips onto the crook of your neck, hiding away the smile threatening at his plump lips. “God- you’re gonna be the death of me. Don’t you fuckin-”

Your firm grip grows even firmer, resolving to him choking in large, breathy exhales. “Good boy.” Craning your arm around deftly to cup his pretty cheek. “You’re gonna do what I say, right?”

Shit, he was a goner.

It has the same effect, and once again, your big bad boyfriend is reduced back into a whiny mess. He’s planting two strong legs on the drenched silken sheets to fully fuck his bullying cock all the way into the back of your plushy pussy. 

Usually sharp tongue so heavy and slurring. Babbling out little pleas into the rhymically jiggling valley of your breasts - “Ohhh yes- yes yes yes please let me- wanna- m’your good boy, right? Let me cum inside, hngh shit! Wan’ you to take it- ah- a-all, make you a momma.” 

He lets out wet, feverish pants when you drag him close enough to moan that dangerous little word into his mouth. “Please? Please let me?” Geto nuzzles his cheek into your soft palm, heady movements so slow. Syrupy - like he was moving through molasses. And it’s like he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing when he’s popping one of your fingers into his mouth. Delicate pink lips looking so pretty - depraved - wrapped around your ring finger. “Wanna knock you up- hah marry you.” His eyes roll to the back of his head, “Put a ring on this finger- n’ a baby in ya pretty pussy.”

Meeting that increasingly ruthless cadence by fucking back to memorize each thumping ridge, each prominent vein along his girthy shaft. Twitching. Angry. He’s nodding - nodding so feverishly - tears crinkling glisteningly at the corners of his lids. “Please- please call me that again. Let me make you a momma, please.”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his sentence, because it only takes a few more solid, thorough swallows of his rummaging cock before he’s speechless. So fucking pussydrunk he can’t piece together anything but your name followed by a slurred-out string of profanities. Close. Too close. 

Staring into Geto’s heavy, half-lidded gaze, you whisper such a saccharine sweet, “Then, cum inside f’me like a good boy, Sugu.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Crybaby.”

It’s by the second orgasm that Choso feels a bit jittery, thighs quivering uncontrollably, chest heaving up and down in pained, ragged little gasps. 

It’s by the fourth that Choso feels nervous, he trusts you - of course, he does, you’re his sweet girl after all - and yet he can’t help that churning heat in his pulse. Heavy balls squeezing weakly with each glide of your soft palm down his red, achingly stimulated length. 

It’s only by the fifth that Choso is sobbing, big fat tears trailing down to his glossy lips. Such a rosy red and bitten in worry, hips fucking up in jagged, mindless little grinds. Oh, it takes everything in Choso to not cling on desperately to your feverish hand right now - dwarfed by his sheer girth, so glossy with a thick sheen of precum - yet still dragging up and down relentlessly. Treating him like some toy. 

“Baby–” your beloved boyfriend’s wet gasp catches in his throat when you swivel a curious thumb underneath his sensitive slit. Letting a fresh gush of his saturated precum glisten down to your wrist. “Baby baby baby- please. P-please, I don’t think I can- ngh- give y’anymore.”

“I think you can.” your leveled hum cuts through his frantic pleas. “Don’t you think? After all, you were so happy getting off to my panties like this, weren’t you? Ruining them?”

It’s like the very memory of his shameful act has Choso fucking his jerky hips up into your soft touch, arching his muscled back into a beautiful curve on your soaked bedsheets. Oh, how embarrassed he felt - how shameful, being caught in the very act by you, fingers deep in your panty drawer. 

Despite his very obvious need, he’s shaking his barely-lucid head. Damp, dark tresses sticking to his sweat-glossed forehead, curtaining those glassy eyes. Slurring out, “Fuck! Please m’sorry m’sorry I don’t think- can’t-”

So deceivingly innocently, you’re batting your lashes in a way that has his massive girth jolting ferally in your hand, “But that’s all I really want, Cho~?”

“...”

Leaning down, Choso could feel your mean smirk against his hotly flushed skin. Dragging up his salty trail of tears, kissing so gently meanwhile your next words made him think he’d pass out. Sultry, and whispered right against the shell of his ear, “Then we better make this last one count, right?”

“Ah!” he’s yelping, large hands scrambling for the sheets - the headboard - you when you seat yourself so prettily on his splayed-out lap. Greedy cunt feeding into every long, solid inch of his achy cock in an easy glide. It felt so good - it hurt so good. Fuck, he thinks he’s gonna-  “-die.” Choso rasps, jittery hands coming to rest at your waist. “Think m’gonna die- gonna- fuck fuck fuck-”

You didn’t even have to think of moving, yet - because all it takes is for Choso’s gushy tip to be swallowed up by your snug channel - the slightest taste of heaven, the slightest squeeze - before you’re being slammed down onto the plush mattress.

Breath puffing out of your lungs, gasping at the sheer stretch when your dangling legs are being thrown over Choso’s broad shoulders. Wrapping tight into a vice-like grip when he folds you in half, down, down, down into the meanest mating press you didn’t think either of you capable of.

But rationality was the last thing on Choso’s mind, right now. 

“Baby—” he’s hissing, fully sheathed inside your dripping cunt to that thick hilt of his. He gulps at the stars bursting behind his lids with each slow, lingering grind. Nuzzling into your touch, “Baby, can’t b-believe you’ve ahh- brought me to this state. M’sorry hah- please forgive me.”

And you almost feel bad - that is, until Choso’s swiping his fat tip against your spongy cervix. Still feeling every single pads of your fingers burning down his raw shaft every time your puffy cunt milks him tight. He’s jutting in jerky, unmethodical little humps - feeling less human than just sheer need. 

“W-well-” you’re gasping, when he gives such a ruthless smash into your bruisingly bulging g-spot. Bonelessly, you wrap your arms around his pale neck, tugging him in so close. A full-body shudder wracks through his entire body when you crane your glossy lips up to bite down on his ear lobe, “-how about you cum f’me again to make up for those three limited edition panties you stole.”

His jaw falls even more slack at your little sentence, a shiny trail of drool dripping from the corners of his ravaged lips. 

“Baby, please.” he’s hissing, moving pistoning even sloppier into you as if on autopilot. A cracking ah! ah! ah! leaves Choso’s mouth at every bullying crash against your g-spot, every dizzying thrust. “Anything else. Please please-”

Through his blurry vision, the blood roaring in his ears, Choso could make out your soft suckling kiss against his slack lips. “Cum f’me, Cho.”

Maybe it’s that honeyed little nickname, maybe the way the curve of your thumb glides away his mess of syrupy saliva. Or maybe it was the way your velvety walls come to form around him so tight - squeezing almost meanly. Once. Twice. 

Choso doesn’t know - nor does he fucking care right now.

“F-fuck I can’t believe-” his eyes snap so comically wide open, letting out such a long, drawn-out drawl of your name. Hips stuttering to smack forwards, “-m’cumming- shit, it hurts- it feels so good. M’cumming m’cumming-”

Choso cums - in ghosting, wispy streams of almost-translucent fluid. Withering out into nothing, until his poor, overworked cock is spurting out just blank heavals. Cumming dry, the only signs of him fucking you through his high being that shaking in his thighs, that frantic twitching of his shaft - flinching to nudge into each dripping sweet spot inside you. 

And his broken, pleading cries, “Fuck- m’buying you the hah- wh-whole store. Fuck- please, baby just-” Nudging his sobbing cock even deeper to brand at your cervix, “-just one more.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - TASTE

“You little-”

“What?” you’re leering down at the great Ryomen Sukuna. Pink locks splayed out across the decadent silk sheets, pretty face framed so perfectly by your thighs. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Not quite.” his long, rosy tongue licks a strip up your exposed skin. All the way up from about midway at your inner thigh to just the edges of your drippingly wet panties. Syrupy sweet, and see-through with all your juices. “You really think this is gonna make me say sorry for uh-”

You have to stifle a low laugh when Sukuna cuts himself off with a ragged hitch of his breath. Sharp, cursed eyes widening - just a fraction - honing in to let his greedy tongue loll out. It takes him only a split-second to catch that droopy ooze of your slick, beading through your sopping slit and right onto the middle of his tastebuds. 

“Mmm-” he’s licking that lewd little gloss all over his lips without even a shred of abashedness. “Where- uh where were we, brat?”

Without warning, you’re lacing your fingers through his surprisingly soft strands. Pulling - hard enough to make him groan - until the tip of Sukuna’s nose was just kissing at the lacy mound of your cunt. 

“I believe…” you’re smirking at the way that’s all it takes for him to slide the thick seam of his tongue between the thin fabric of your panties. Red - to match his eyes. Not wasting even a second when he lets your honeyed sweet cunt drool all the way down to the back of his throat. “Not gonnna make him say sorry” your ass. “-you were in the middle of apologizing for forgetting our little dinner date.”

You don’t think he hears you - you don’t even think he breathes. Because with one, final shuddering breath puffed out onto your quivering pussy, Sukuna is meshing his lips with yours in such a messy kiss. Fast, thirsty. Clashing against your swollen folds, slurping past your flimsy excuse of panties to latch around your throbbing clit. He’s hollowing out his cheeks to give them harsh, methodical little sucks. 

“Shit- mmpf- fuck I always forget how sweet you are.” he’s rasping, two large hands coming up to spread the globes of your ass. Pushing you up, up, up to slobber all your saturated slick down the lower half of his face - his cheekbones. “C’mon now, ride my nose- hah, use me with this cute cunt like you always do.”

Fuck, was it tempting. And it takes everything in you to tug away his salivating mouth with a loud squelch! And if you didn’t know any better, you’d have said that the infamous king of curses let out a whine - a whine - watching those delicate strings of spit and slick snap away when you hoist yourself off his greedy mouth.  

“What the fuck, woman?”

“I told you, Kuna.” you whine out, as scoldingly as you can. Wrangling against those big beefy arms trying to desperately pull you back down, “You hafta apologize.”

You’re teetering precariously when Sukuna’s entire chest rumbles with a groan, eyes rolling so sassily. “What did you want me to do?” he clicks his tongue. Baring you with such dangerous fangs that glisten with your juices in the dim light. “Had to kill off some scum curses, s’not my fault. M’not apologizing for- shit-”

Any and every retort is knocked out of his mean mouth at that heavenly sight of you running your trembly fingers between your puffed-up pussy lips. Pushing past your panties to run them up and down where your dripping wet cunt needed you most. 

“Oh?” you’re quirking a brow at how transfixed he was. Following that shuddering gulp when you roll your neglected clit between two fingers. “Cat got your tongue now?”

His jaw slacks open when you’re teasing your winking hole, glossed-up and already so pliant with where Sukuna had just dipped the edge of his soft tongue inside. His mouth waters at the memory, “I–”

“Or is it that you just don’t hah-” you’re arching your back even more to give him the perfect view. Fingers getting a bit more frenzied, circling around the very edge of that ring of muscle the way you knew he loved to do. “-want this-” Whining out, “-Kuna–?”

That was it.

“Fuck, sit-” Sukuna’s gritting out through clenched teeth. And when you’re only stagnating and hovering tempestuously in front of him, he wraps all four large arms around the small of your waist. “-fucking sit, woman.” 

You’re squealing at the force of his inhuman strength, dragging you down unceremoniously onto his awaiting mouth. With this, he’s spitting on your cunt. Once. Twice. Three whole times to add to the glistening gloss that collected down your folds. 

“M’sorry, see?” he goads pridefully. Oh, if anyone heard the cruel king of curses apologizing like this, they’d faint. Giving the fat of your ass a branding smack! Hard enough that he could feel all five bumps of his sweltering fingers on your skin. “Fuckin’ little- oh- spoiled little-” But Sukuna can’t even finish his sentence - can’t even think about it with his mind so saturated. Hot tongue mashing in to swerve and drag across those sweet spots hidden at your plushy walls. “Said m’sorry, s’this good enough for you?”

Your pussy such a sopping wet mess that Sukuna can’t help but kiss again. And again. And again and again and- “See m’sorry. M’so, so sorry- fuck just never take this pretty pussy away from me, little brat.” 

And now you’re sure he lets out a whimper - raspy, and a few octaves higher than his usual baritone. So deep now that he was just cinching your pulsing clit across his sharp nose. Murmuring, “Stop laughing- can feel ya shaking- before I cancel our dinner reservation for tomorrow. M’renting out the whole fuckin’ restaurant, so ya better give me my fill.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Bed chem.

“It won’t-” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that the great Gojo Satoru was pleading right now. Praying. Voice shot, pretty pink lips wobbly, pale hand raw and red from tugging on those fluffy handcuffs. He’s pouting, “Won’t work.”

He was so picture-perfect, restrained tight to the headboard with those customized handcuffs you’d ordered. Blinking his weepy, blue eyes droopily, slurring words that were all bark and no bite. 

You’re rolling your eyes, giving his spit-glossed lips a lingering little peck, “Didn’t think you were such a pussy, Toru?”

“F-fuck who are you calling a-” It makes your cunt absolutely drip with a fresh wave of honeyed juices when you give his sensitively overworked shaft another thorough glide of your drooling walls. Meshing your pussy lips with the very hilt of his angry, red cock. “Please- fuck when you’re riding me like that, sweetheart.” he’s yanking frantically on those restraints as if to hold onto your feverishly gliding body. “Think- hngh! Think I really will explode-”

“Oh?” you’re cutting through his babbles, eyes flitting over his powerful arms, those glassy eyes that just seemed to glow in the dim bedroom lighting. “I knew I wasn’t seeing things, so you do think that- ah- your powers are linked to you-”

Your thoughts are spiraling into a gooey mess when Gojo’s uncontrollably strengthened thighs leverage themselves on the silken mattress to just rut up into your squelching pussy. 

“Jus’ wanna see, Toru.” you’re huffing, reaching a hand behind your ruthless hips to palm at his painfully squeezing balls. Rolling the soft pad of your thumb over the curve of their straining texture - just the way he liked it, “Wan’ you to cum f’me. Just wanna see.”

“Using all your dirty tricks-” he’s spitting, mouth sagging open to let you plant a few somewhat apologetic kisses down Gojo’s face. “I can’t-” Another harsh buck of his hips, and with such a loudly pornographic mewl he’s bullying his overwhelmed cock up, up, up to swerve into your neverendingly sloppy staccato - right into your sweet spots. “Fine- fucking fine- hah- use me. Use me for whatever- just, please. Fuck I just wanna cum- please—”

You’re very quickly realizing that those handcuffs can do nothing to restrain Gojo Satoru. In fact, the only reason they’re still on him unscathed was purely out of indulging in your cute little play. 

Gifting you with such a sexily cocksure grin he tries to mask away his furious flush, his trembling voice with, “N-no, m’not a- hngh! M’not some grade 4 sorcerer. I’m the fuuuck- strongest, why would my powers go out of control when I cum- fuck-

Gojo’s blabbering mouth is cut off with each gripping slide down his achy cock. Molding your plushy walls to each of his eager twitches, so fucking massive that you had to balance your hands on your boyfriend’s broad deltoids to even have him reach each hidden deep spot inside you. 

It makes him throw his head back, it makes him cry out, it makes him whine. 

And it only takes a few more churning strokes of Gojo’s hips, a few more critical mashes into the spongy bullseye of your g-spot before you’re cumming. So hard that you don’t even realize it at first. 

Gojo does, though - of course, he does - fighting back against the velvety cling of your cunt to fuck you into the desk so deeply. So purposefully that he can almost feel every indented bruise of his fat tip hitting against your slick cervix, your bouncy g-spot. Wave after wave having you milking the fucking soul out of him and-

“Fuck m’gonna-” he’s whining, hips stuttering upwards like they’re pained to pull back from your heavenly pussy. If even just to thrust his greedy length all the way back in. Gojo’s breaths come out in ragged pants, chest heaving up and down. Somehow, the hairs on your body raise, and you can feel that familiar tension of pressurized atoms. “Can’t hah- last much longer. Fuck- please. M’close- gonna cum gonna-”

That sobbing little divot at the end of his angry, thick head just bursts with thick, long ribbons upon ribbons of sloshing white cum. Gliding across every inch of your tight pussy, coating all your insides in a creamy color that was so Gojo. 

It’s so much - dripping down the corners of your bulging slit in oozing little dredges, making such a mess of your rapidly overfilling cunt. Almost too much - it felt like you could explode. 

You’re almost missing that familiar little flash of blue lightning at the corner of Gojo’s pussydrunk eyes. Glowing and almost falling shut with just how fucking good it felt to have your milky cunt sloshing full of his seed. The thought- the thought makes him-

You’re gasping when the lamp by your sloppy bed starts flickering so dangerously, once. Twice. Before bursting into tiny shards that flick at the both of you - only to be stopped, falling to the surrounding blankets just a few centimeters short like they were hit by an invisible wall.

“T-Toru–” the sound of your voice makes something in Gojo’s heating body raise its dark, feral head. And he only wrenches out of those pathetic handcuffs to wrap two big, strong arms around your waist. Face burying into your skin, fucking up into you over and over and-

CREAK! 

The bed groans at his rough cadence, so loud even over the dragging wooden noises of some of the furniture nearby inching forward like they were briefly tugged by some magnetizing force - Gojo. 

Bingo.

And it’s like something snaps because you’re jolted with a sharp spark of electricity. White-hot pleasure blissing down your entire limp body, and suddenly your high feels like it’s being repeated over and over and-

“Hey- hey, sweetheart?” Gojo’s voice sounds so far away. Lazily, your heavy lids blink back your vision - when did it even become hazy? “...y’know how every science experiment has about five trials?”

“...”

A/N. I don’t want to write a longer version of Gojo’s but the demons in me want to write a longer version of Gojo’s…

Plagiarism not authorized.

[friendoftashi]

friday night in | spencer reid x reader (nsfw)

summary: spencer gets his way with you--three times.

warnings: fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv, vaguely dom spencer?, one use of "girl"

a/n: this one’s long and i wrote it in the app and lost a really great draft that didn’t get saved!

work had been quiet recently, almost eerily so. when weeks pass on end without an active case, a restlessness settles over the bullpen. you’re all so conditioned to being on the move, it’s difficult to feel truly settled, to relax. it’s one of the reasons you’re so grateful to have spencer. the evenings are easier with someone else around, especially when that someone has his mind set on taking your thoughts as far from work as possible.

spencer doesn’t do quickies. you’ve tried, more than once, but his lust for you isn’t something that can be satisfied by a hasty fuck in the storage closet, not according to spencer. if he had it his way, he would be able to stop time on a whim to be in that space with you. tonight, he was getting his way.

6:43 pm

after arriving home, the two of you had settled into your usual places, reading quietly in the makeshift reading nook spencer had been so excited to craft with you when you moved in together. an hour passed, and the rate at which spencer was flipping pages had slowed as his attention shifted to you, just out of reach. you catch him in your periphery, setting his book on the small table to his left, sinking deeper into the plush on the chair, thighs spreading slightly. your stomach flips with the gentle, gravelly rumble of your name. you’re already unfurling your legs to make your way to him.

draping yourself across his lap, your fingers comb through this hair as he twists an arm around your waist, the other gripping your upper thigh.

“yeah, baby?”

you both hear and feel him inhale deeply against your neck, nose brushing at your pulse point. it’s unclear whether he was taking in your scent or caught off guard by the sultry tone of your voice paired the feeling of your nails grazing his scalp.

that's how you ended up splayed across spencer’s thighs in his reading chair with one leg propped up on the arm rest, back to his chest, head falling onto his shoulder as he fingers you. just barely moving, his fingers curl inside you as you try to catch your breath. with the slightest flick of his wrist and press of his fingers, he can render you useless in under three minutes if he really wants to. tonight, he’s taking his time relishing in your soft mewls, maintaining an easy pace.

10:51 pm

your socked feet rest in his lap as you discuss the movie that had just ended. it took your eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the credits rolling on the screen, but you can feel his eyes on you. his fingers have begun sliding from their place on your ankle up the length of your shin and back down again.

“you tired?”

“nope,” he replies from his side of the couch. he’s looking at you with half-lidded eyes, his mouth pursed in an attempt at suppressing the smirk he knows gives him away. but you can always see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch.

“wanna go to bed?” you ask cautiously, knowing he’s already decided what he wants.

his grip on your ankles tighten suddenly and he’s yanking your body down the length of the couch playfully. you squeal and try to sit up, but he’s too quick for you, slotting himself between your legs and dropping his weight onto your torso. his chin rests against your chest as he studies your features.

“i think right here is fine,” he murmurs as his hands slip beneath the fabric at your hips, just barely kneading the plush skin, sliding lower to grip your ass.

he pauses before continuing, checking in with you, “this alright, angel?”

“yeah, spence” your reply is breathy as you dip your head down for a kiss. his mouth is soft and gentle against yours and it’s annoying. you need more, need him as worked up as you are, and push your hands into the hair at the back of his head, holding him to you and wrapping your legs around him. you whine when he pulls back from your lips slightly and feel, rather than hear, the laugh under his breath. you nip at his bottom lip in response and drape an arm across his shoulders, tightening your grip on his curls. his lips meets yours again, hard, and he slips his tongue in your mouth. then he’s gone as quickly as he came, kissing at your jaw and down your neck.

one hand has begun pulling your panties down your legs as the other pushes your shirt up to expose your chest. he kisses down the length of your body, holding your gaze. you can feel his hands on the insides of your thighs, easing your legs open. one dangles off the side of the couch, foot resting on the floor to give him enough room. he slides his hands under your ass once more before they come to grip your hips.

he takes a moment to admire you, still glistening from your first orgasm. a hand moves from your hip to your mound, spreading you apart. you brace yourself, anticipating the flat drag of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. when your eyes meet, he spits on it.

"jesus christ," your head falls back onto the cushions. you can't bare the sight of him.

his mouth latches onto you as he swipes his tongue between your folds. the discipline spencer has to take him time fingering you does not extend to oral sex. with each lick to your clit, he increases the pressure applied with his tongue. he listens for your sounds, allowing your body's to guide him. as your moans begin to increase in pitch and frequency, his mouth closes around your clit, sucking hard.

your hands are in his hair, following when he shifts his attention lower and breaches your entrance with his tongue. he brings his fingers to your clit, feather-light circles just barely brushing against the swollen bundle of nerves. you can feel his tongue swirling around your walls, only able to cry out in the blinding pleasure of his worship. spencer uses his whole body to eat you out, his mouth always ready to follow the twist of your hips, the muscles in his arms flexing as he pulls you against him, pressing his tongue impossibly deeper inside.

you're already close, still buzzing from your first orgasm of the night, before spencer, you could be sated by a single orgasm. he trained that out of you quickly. his tongue replaces the fingers at your clit and you can hear him mumbling something about how good you taste around kitten licks. your hips buck slightly, either running from or chasing the vibrations of his words hummed against you.

he's loud and messy with it, slurping and lapping at your clit. his hands are all over you. a forearm pinning your hips down, a hand caressing the valley between your breasts, fingers ghosting along the sides of your neck, his palm pressing into the skin of your inner thigh as he spreads you open. when he's between your legs, he's devout.

"gonna come for me, doll?" he pants against you, his pupils blown wide. if you didn't know him better, you might be worried.

your orgasm begins slowly before crashing over you all at once. with your back arching off the couch, hands in his hair, you're sobbing in pleasure, crying his name as he suckles lightly at your clit. on more than one occasion, spencer has considered taking up painting, driven by the need to memorialize your beauty in its rawest form on canvas.

11:17 pm

as your orgasm subsided, spencer had pulled you into him on the couch. he held you, stroking your hair, listening to your breathing evening out.

"ready for bed?" he hummed quietly after a few minutes had passed.

your legs still felt like jelly, the bedroom seemed a thousand miles away.

"gimme a minute," you'd mumbled against his chest.

he moved a hand to your cheek, guiding your eyes to meet his, "okay, love?"

you smiled at the softness in his voice, "yeah, spence. m'alright... thank you"

his head was resting on yours and you felt his smile as he chuckled.

eventually, you made your way to the bathroom, breezing through your nighttime routine with spencer. you were spent, but the warmth that radiated from his body as he hovered around you stoked the fire of your arousal.

as soon as he settled into bed beside you, you were pulling at his arm, urging him to roll on top of you as you leaning in to kiss him. he obliged easily, hovering over you with his forearms planted on either side of your head. you'd watched him brushed his teeth, but could swear you still tasted yourself on his lips. you reached in between your bodies to cup him through his loose boxers. his groan into your mouth is low and throaty and you're immediately wrapping your legs around his waist, ankles locked and heels nudging at the small of his back. he's already half hard when you slip your hand under his waistband. he's practically whimpering with each stroke of your hand. he moves to push the fabric down his legs, his warning that he's not going to last whispered against your lips.

"i know, i know. just need to feel you, baby," you soothe.

his cock is a deep red, the tip sticky with precum. you're sure it's less than comfortable, but when you brought it up once--the orgasm disparity in your relationship--he assured you it was intentional. every once in a while, he enjoyed the ritual of making you cum in as many ways as he can imagine as well as the challenge of edging himself. when you pushed for more details, his cheeks turned red as he sheepishly admitted that you feel different, impossibly softer, wetter, spongier, warmer, after he's been working you up for hours.

he ruts the length of his cock along your slit, the head bumping your clit just how he knows you like it. he'd intended to tease you like this, drawing you to the edge before sinking in, but you're so slick and his hands are trembling with desire. your breath catches in your throat when the tip of his cock nudges past your hole. you can tell by the way his body tenses that he hadn't meant to do it. he needs a moment before he continues. you moan in tandem when his hips met the back of your thighs, bottoming out immediately.

it drives him crazy to think about how well your bodies fit together, how your body opens up for him. he quickly works his way into a steady rhythm, one hand gripping your waist, another twisting in your hair. you're crying out with the pace he sets, the headboard snapping against the wall with the rocking of his hips.

"oh my god, you're fucking me so good, baby. right there," you urge him on.

he's been staring at the places where your bodies meet, mesmerized by the sight of his cock wet from your slick, plunging into you over and over. when he meets your gaze, you can't help the broken moan that slips past your lips. he's absolutely wrecked, pupils blown wide, curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, his swollen bottom lip trapped between his teeth. you cup both sides of his face with your hands and pull him into a kiss. his pace has grown somewhat sloppier as he draws closer to his finish. slipping his arms beneath you, he cradles your body, enveloping you with his own. one hand is pressed between your shoulder blades, the other on the back of your hip, then your ass, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

"need you to come with me, sweet girl. can feel it, so tight," he grunts.

you're arching your back, nails digging into his bicep, so close it almost hurts, "please, touch me, spencer!"

he releases his vice grip on your ass and maneuvers his hand to press circles onto your clit. one, two swipes of his index and middle finger and you're there. your third orgasm happens all at once. legs trembling around his waist, teeth sinking into his shoulder to quiet the scream you can't hold back. lost in the fire coursing through your body, you only register that he's coming with the sharp slam of his hips and moan of your name. his fingers haven't left your clit, his hurried movements drawing out your orgasm. he only pulls away when you shove at his hips, thighs still twitching as they threaten to snap shut.

he's watches you carefully from his seat at the end of the bed. he's given you countless orgasms in your time together, yet spencer still can't seem to shake the momentary twinge of fear that comes with watching you come down from a particularly powerful orgasm, regardless of how many times you've reassured him that you're enjoying yourself. by the time your breathing had slowed and you could open your eyes, he's fetched you a glass of water and settled onto the edge of the bed. you're grinning when your head lolls to the side to meet his gaze.

"welcome back," he teases, hand on your shoulder as he helps you sit up and brings the water to your lips.

from your spot across the bed, he's leaning into you. you look up at him through your lashes as you take slow sips, daring him to slink back over to your side of the bed.

he rolls his eyes, shaking his head with fondness. you finish half of the water and he places it on the nightstand.

"enough," he chastises you playfully, unable to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his eyes. holding your face between his hands gently, he presses a kiss to your hairline before slotting his lips against yours in a slow kiss. you follow his lips as he pulls away, looking into your eyes and whispering a quiet,

"i love you."

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Femboy Tenant x Landlord Reader

He’s just so used to being catered to 

Men and women falling at his feet everywhere he goes

Lending their money and bodies to every little whim of his 

He’s beautiful and social and the most desirable guy around

“Oh Soru-sama! I have a gift for you!”

“Soru-sama here have my money this month! I do have to pay rent but I feel the most fulfilled if you were to have this!”

“Soru-sama I wish I was as cool as you!” 

With a flip of his hair crowds absolutely swoon 

“Thank you so much, everyone…now please leave your gifts in an orderly pile.”

But at the end of the day, Soru does return to a home

A gated house that he’s currently renting 

And it's the house you own

“Tenant Soru I’ve come to get your rent!”

“Oh (Y/n) you’ve conveniently arrived right when I had my noon bath~ Are you thinking of joining me?”

“Soru the rent.”

“Ah! Can I maybe persuade you with a bottle of champagne?”

“No, it’s probably drugged. What I want is the rent.”

“Uh oh~ I think I left the water running! If you’ll excuse me!”

“Hey!” 

At first, he hated you 

Because you weren’t kissing the ground he walked on like past landlords

Whether you are just not interested or eager to maintain a tenant-landlord relationship

You just won’t be swayed

And in the end, he’s just not used to the typical treatment

Where you’ll threaten to evict him if he doesn’t pay up

Or how you scream and threaten to call the police when he offers something alternative

And how when he goes to talk to you, you don’t immediately try to ask him out

He comes to find he just really really really likes you

It takes him a while to realize though

“They’re right…I really should stop dropping by their place unannounced…but I just really want to see them and when I don’t I feel–wait…oh no…am I in love!?” 

But when he does realize he refuses to stop himself

Whether you are already dating or not interested 

He won’t be deterred 

All his life he’s been given everything 

So if he wants you he should be able to have you right

To entrance you all by himself 

Once he’s decided on you he never stops 

Using every tool in his arsenal to get an ounce of your attention 

“(Y/n)! So glad you could stop by~! Care for a cookie?”

“You said your pipe was broken…”

“It is! And I desperately need you!”

All he needs is one shot 

One slip-up from you is all he needs

All he wants

When you finally accept that drink or those cookies or even decide to rest your eyes in the ‘seemingly’ empty house

It’s over

At the snap of his fingers and a lie, Soru has an entire dedicated fanbase ready to help with crafting your disappearance 

When you do wake again, you’re so dizzy you settle on the thighs under your head

“Aww does my little landlord have a hard time keeping their head up? Good, I wouldn’t want it any other way!”

[purplecoffee13]

Please, Please, Please - pt.1

Summary: “Harry is utterly fascinated by his new neighbor, Y/N, and takes it upon himself to protect her. But little does Y/N know, that Harry may be the person she is supposed to be running from…”

Wc: 5.6k

Tropes: good girl x bad boy / neighbors

Warnings: mentions of violence, cursing, bit of gaslighting.

A/N: THIS IS A TWO PART ONE SHOT based on this request. Please note that it is based around the MUSIC VIDEO, not necessarily the song itself! I decided to cut it up into two parts, because it was getting awfully long, and I was too eager to share it with you. Next part will be steamy!

General Masterlist

PART 2

You sigh, looking up at your new home. Well— you think. You're not exactly sure which window is yours, but you will figure it out once you're on the right floor. You adjust the duffel bag that is slung over your shoulder, and grab your suitcase before walking towards the entrance.

With your new set of keys which you got from the landlord yesterday, you open the door to the lobby. Or, hallway with post boxes. That would definitely be a more accurate way to describe it.

When you were little and fantasized about moving into a place of your own, you have to admit, you did imagine something a bit less... intimidating. Unfortunately, you had been left with no choice.

Ever since your dad died about five years ago, your mother has been serial dating like there was no tomorrow. You had learned to ignore the different men in your kitchen, eating the cereal and drinking your coffee at 7am, but lately something had changed.

Your mother had stuck with one man.

Sadly for you—and your mother, although she wasn't ready to admit that—the guy was a fucking prick. Worst thing about him? He was sneaky about it. When you confronted your mother, telling her you weren't sure if her new boyfriend was that good of a guy, she had flipped out. As she threw all kinds of accusations on the table, such as you not wanting her to be happy and even insinuating you want her boyfriend for herself, you decided that enough was enough.

That night, you hunted the internet for an affordable place. It's how you found this apartment. You knew it wasn't the best neighborhood, but it was a place of your own, and you were sure that you could make it on your own over there.

After all, you had a well paid office job not too far away, and the costs of the apartment wouldn't interfere too much with your saving for law school.

So, kind of on a whim, you contacted the landlord. And now, here you are, ready to unpack all of your stuff. Your mother had at least been so kind to hire a moving truck, but you think it mainly had to do with her wanting you out of her house as quick as possible. You shared the sentiment, so you hadn't said much about it, besides a polite thank you of course.

It takes you three hours to get everything upstairs, and the janitor, Rod, even helps you out with some of the big furniture. Being a tall, broad guy, appearing to be in his sixties, you had actually been quite unnerved by him. Nevertheless, you decided to play smart and throw him a sweet smile the first time you ran into him. It had faded the seemingly permanent  frown on his ever so slightly, and after introducing yourself, his face was even neutral.

It didn't take more than three minutes of chit chat before Rod had warmed up to you, and by the end of the fifteen minutes, he offered to help you. If it hadn't been for him, you would've still been carrying pieces of your couch into your apartment.

You had been able to take over the bed frame and the dining table from the previous owner, so you only had to put your mattress on your bed before you could let yourself fall on it and chill out for a while.

After letting yourself rest for about fifteen minutes, you unpack as much of the stuff in the kitchen, and you spend the rest of the night unpacking your clothes while dancing to the music that blasts through your headphones.

At around midnight, you pass out during a feeble attempt at sorting your socks.

Your peaceful slumber gets interrupted, however, by an array of less peaceful noises coming from another apartment. The first few minutes awake are spent with your eyes stubbornly closed, hoping to fall asleep again, but when you hear an extremely loud thud, your eyes shoot open.

Getting up from your bedroom, you walk over to your door, and look through the peephole. It doesn't seem like there is anyone in the hallway, and the sounds do seem to have quieted down. You sigh, turning around to go back to your bed, when you hear a shout, followed by another thump. Frowning, you go back and open the door, walking out into the hallway. You squint, and blink a few times to get used to the harsh light. Then, you knock on the door in front of you.

There's a couple of voices sounding from inside the apartment, but no one answers. You groan, knocking again, and even harsher this time. It grows quiet, and you are contemplating going back to bed, hoping whoever is on the other side of that wall got the message, but then the door swings open.

In front of you stands a man, with brown curls and a very apparent frown on his face. One that falters ever so slightly at the sight of you, and is accompanied by a small smirk. He leans against the door frame. His cross necklace dangles, visible by his dress shirt that is far from buttoned all the way up, and you swear it hypnotizes you for the shortest second.

"H-hi." You stammer, looking at the man with wide eyes. His smirk grows, and you forget why you are even here.

"Hello." He greets back, hands sliding into his pockets as he looks you up and down, shamelessly. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

"Uh, I just moved into the apartment across from you, and I was wondering if you could keep down the noise a little bit?" You ask, but the man doesn't respond. He solely scans you with some sort of frown on his face. You can't deduce whether that is his neutral face, or if he's pissed at you. Nevertheless, you are kind of scared. "It's just— I don't mean to be rude. I just have to get up very early, and it was very loud, so... also, are you okay? It's— I heard a thud, I thought maybe someone fell?"

Once again, it grows quiet between the two of you. With every passing moment of silence, you are regretting your choice to knock. Did you really have to piss off your neighbors the first night you moved in? Couldn't have just battled through a broken night? You curse yourself as you wait for some sort of answer.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll shut it all down for you."

You let out a breath of relief, glad to see he is not taking it badly. You bite your lip, trying to fight your smile from getting too wide.

"Really? Thank you so much! I appreciate it, and I really didn't mean to offend you or anything. I promise, it's just because I have to get up so early and the coffee at my work is horrible so—" You stop yourself mid-sentence when you realize you are babbling your new neighbor's ear off. "Never mind. Good night, and nice to meet you. My name is Y/N, by the way."

The man doesn't say anything once again, so you take it as your cue to get the fuck back to bed before making it worse. You walk into your apartment, turning around to close the door, when you hear his voice.

"Harry."

Your head shoots up, tilting it ever so slightly at the sudden word spoken by your neighbor. He tilts his head, mocking you, as he repeats the name while pointing to himself. With that, he turns around and closes the door. You do the same, leaning against the door as you realize you have the hottest new neighbor ever.

Another, extremely loud thud sounds from his apartment, and your eyebrows knit together. A loud voice is heard, one that is clearly Harry's shouting 'sorry!'. You giggle, shaking your head at the comedic timing before waltzing back to your bed.

Little do you know, that while you fall back asleep in your comfortable bed, your new neighbor thinks about you through the entire night. Harry's mind is absent, even as they drag the body of the guy that didn't pay up in time out of his apartment, even as he scrubs the blood off his hands and face.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll shut it all down for you."

He had been purely sarcastic, baffled by the fact that you even had the guts to knock on his door. The first time you knocked, he thought it was just noise from outside or something. No one was stupid enough to knock on Harry Styles' door. No one was dumb enough to risk it.

But someone did knock; an insanely beautiful woman with nothing but an oversized shirt on. Well, shorts under it maybe, but for the sake of his imagination, you didn't. And you weren't stupid, you just didn't know whose door you were knocking on.

Anyone else who would have been foolish enough to do so, especially while he was dealing with a deadbeat who owed him more than enough money, would've met an entirely different fate.

The way you stumbled over your words and  let your eyes travel over his body had given him too much of an ego boost not to play with you a little bit. And once you had reacted so genuinely to his sarcastic response, he somehow didn't have it in his heart to tell you that he wasn't being serious.

Which is strange, because he didn't peg himself for someone with a heart, not anymore.

Nevertheless, he decided that you were right. The incessant noise had gone on long enough. And so, right after he closed the door, Harry turned around aimed his silencer right at the deadbeat's head. Following the thud of his body falling down, he had shouted a 'sorry' for the last noise he would make that night.

Now, as he lays in bed, the reason for his sleeplessness isn't the weight of another death on his shoulders. No, it's his new neighbor and her long, bare legs.

************************************************

ONE DAY LATER

Your shoulders are hurting.

After yesterday's moving activities and today's excruciatingly long day at work, you are exhausted. Not only did you have to do an insane amount of paperwork today, you also got assigned to even more administrative work that shouldn't even be yours to deal with in the first place.

When you had mentioned you wanted to gain experience in the field of law during your interview for receptionist at a law firm, you hadn't expected them to throw all the work in your lap. You were doing a lot of things, spending way too many after hours in the office, doing jobs that were never in your job description, and instead labeled as 'ways to gain experience'. The worst thing is, your boss is acting like these tasks are a huge favor to you, but you know it's just the jobs that they are too lazy to do themselves.

Nonetheless, you don't say anything about it. Despite the cruelness and sometimes uselessness of the assignments you are given, you do have access to active cases that lawyers are working on, and it gives you an opportunity to observe their styles and its effectiveness.

Wanting to become a lawyer is something you had always dreamed of. You loved justice, and you weren't afraid to fight for it. In your day to day life, you are very sweet, bubbly, and in some cases—like yesterday—even shy. But once you are in a professional setting, you can switch and stand strong. The division between your personal and professional self is one you have learned to balance very well, and you also use it as a secret weapon. People are way too quick to underestimate you, and you always make sure it comes back to bite them in the ass.

You put your groceries and briefcase on the ground, allowing yourself to look for your keys, which you forgot to take out of your bag and are now buried somewhere at the bottom. Head deep into your purse, you don't notice Harry walking out of his apartment until his door shuts. It is right after you've found your keys, so with them in hand you turn around to greet him with a smile.

Your new neighbor looks gorgeous, which doesn't bode well for you because you are currently feeling like an expired, mushy sack of potatoes. You shiver at the thought.

"Hey!" You say instead.

"Hello sweetheart." His smooth, English accent hits your ears just right. "Sleep well last night?"

Your cheeks turn pink, and you nod. "Yes, thank you for asking. Oh! Speaking of..."

You turn around and bend down to dig through your grocery bag. When your eyes meet Harry's again, you are reaching out a bouquet of flowers. He stares at it, wary of your intentions.

"They're for you." You feel the need to clarify.

"Aw, sweetheart, you didn't have to go through the hassle of buying me flowers. I'm quite an easy man you know, all you have to do is ask." He says, grin wide as he observes the way your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets at the suggestion of him and you. He likes seeing you all flustered.

"W-what, no! I— it was for yesterday! Because you were so nice to me. I wanted to make up for meeting in such an unfortunate way. Didn't want you to think you have a shitty neighbor now or something." You explain, watching Harry's amusement at your awkwardness.

"I'd never think that, sweetheart." His voice is low, and despite saying it in a bit of a joking way, you swallow at the sound of the sentence. The raspiness of it just gets to you. You brush your nerves off with a weak smile, and turn to open your door.

"Well, have a good night." You say, awkwardly waving at Harry as you carry your bags into your apartment. You place them in your hallway before walking back to close the door. Harry waves back with the flowers, winking at you.

"Good night, sweetheart."

Your heart races at the continuous nickname. It sounds so sexy coming out of his mouth, and it is the only thing you can think of as you cook your dinner. It is even hard to concentrate while watching your favorite show.

A few hours go by, and the sound of Harry's voice doesn't fade from your mind. Neither does the excruciating pain in your shoulders. At around nine p.m. you give up and decide to grab some painkillers. However, to your great horror, you find out that you ran out and forgot to buy new ones.

Cursing yourself, you rush over to your coatrack and grab your jacket. Along with your purse, containing important things such as money, your keys, and pepper spray, you leave your apartment to pop into the convenience store nearby.

It's only a five minute walk, but with your speed you cut a minute from that estimate. It takes a little bit to find the paracetamol, but after grabbing two boxes of pills, you rush to the cash register. You wait until the man in front of you has paid, smiling politely when he turns around to walk out of the store, and step forward to pay for your painkillers.

Despite the cashier's monotone voice, you are more than satisfied with this convenience store, and you walk out smiling at the knowledge of being rid of your pain very soon.

You flinch at the sight of the man from before standing right outside, grinning at you as you walk by. Despite his middle aged appearance, his teeth are rather yellow. You avoid making further eye contact, tension growing in your stomach. As you walk back to your apartment, you make sure to keep your pace quick.

You're too scared to look behind you, but you feel it. You feel that this man is walking a few meters behind you and you also feel like you might throw up. But you keep walking, keys in one hand, pepper spray in the other.

You are ready to open the door that leads you to the hallway of your apartment complex, and immediately push the key into the hole once you get there. But for some stupid fucking reason, the door won't budge. Your heartbeat rises and your hands are getting clammy as you shimmy your keys, trying to open that goddamn door. As your eyes begin to water, you hear a voice behind you.

"Need some help, pumpkin?"

Frantically, your gaze searches for a way to get out of here. It falls into the intercom, but you can't seem to find some sort of emergency button. Since you can't buzz yourself in, that option seems to be useless.

Then, an idea enters your mind.

You take a deep breath, hoping it'll steady your voice before you respond. "No thank you."

The man chuckles. "I think you do. 'S okay, I like a damsel in distress."

Pulling the key out of the hole and wrapping your hand around it, you turn around to the man. You swallow your pride and try to be as nice as you can be when rejecting someone. Stepping back a bit, you almost lean against the wall as you blindly press one of the buttons behind you. Luckily, the noise of ringing a bell isn't very loud from downstairs, so you don't think the man notices your sneaky action.

"I am fine, good night." You say, your smile gone now. You can't find it in yourself to be nice and sweet after that creepy comment. Technically, you are very helpless right now. Because of him, and his actions that fill you with fear. The threat of his presence is what makes you that 'damsel in distress' in the first place, and you hate the fact that men idolize saving you when often they are the danger itself.

"I don't think you are. Why don't you come with me, get a drink together?" His tone is dominated by the insincerity that drips from his words. You know it isn't a question, it's a command. The salacious smirk he wears with it is disgusting, and the way his eyes shamelessly scan you makes you want to shower five times just to feel less gross.

You feel the slight pain in your thumb for pressing so much and hard into the button behind you, but you can't help but pray that your idea will work.

"No, please leave me alone." You try to be as stern as you can, although your shaky voice isn't conveying that message very well.

"I don't think you understood what I said, pumpkin. You and me are gonna get a drink together." He reaches forward and grabs you by your arm, pulling you towards him. You try to shake him off of you, but his grip only tightens. You choke out a cry, still trying to get his grimy hands off of you while he only buries his fingernails further into your skin.

"Let me go!" You scream as loud as you can, hoping that there is someone who will at least hear you. Your free hand reaches into your purse, and you pull out your pepper spray. In a split second, you are holding it up and spray it in the man's eyes.

He shrieks in shock, and lets go of you, covering his eyes with his hands. You quickly turn around to run back inside, but crash into a body on your way there.

Holding your waist, Harry keeps you from falling over. He frowns, his jaw clenching when he catches your terror filled, red eyes.

"Go inside." He orders. While the context is stern, the words spoken come out way softer than one would think when demanding something from someone. You don't have to be told twice, rushing through the open door and running up the countless flights of stairs. You are completely out of breath when you reach your floor, but you don't stop hurrying until you are in the safety of your own apartment.

You tear all your clothes off your body, feeling like you might choke because everything you have on feels to tight to your skin. You keep crying as you jump into the shower to wash yourself off, as you take off your make-up, and as you put a tank top and loose sweatpants on your freshly washed body.

You take your head out of the bun it was in to keep it dry as you walk towards your front door upon hearing a knock. When you open it, you're standing face-to-face with your neighbor.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, eyebrows knotted as he looks at you. You nod, not wanting to say a word because you don't want to make him uncomfortable by becoming a blubbering mess in front of him. "Can I come in?"

You nod again, opening the door further so he can enter your place. His steps are careful and light, and you see his eyes scan the apartment as he walks in. You shut the door behind him, making Harry turn around to look at you.

He is back at your side as soon as he spots the marks on your arm that the creepy man left when he tried to take you to god knows where. With a tight jaw, Harry glances up at you.

"You need to put ice on that. It's gonna bruise."

You look down, too timid to meet his gaze, and notice Harry's red knuckles. It doesn't take you very long to put two and two together. For some reason, you don't want to directly mention that just yet, so instead you whisper:

"You too."

Harry lets out a breathy chuckle and nods his head, watching you as you walk over to your freezer to get some ice. Putting it in two different dish cloths, you hand one to him before walking over to your couch. Harry follows suit, plopping next to you and putting the cloth meant for him on your arm.

Flushed from that action, you slowly grab his hand and place it flat on your thigh. Ignoring the way it makes the rest of your body feel, you press the ice filled cloth against his knuckles, hoping the cold will give him some relief. He winces, his fingers tightening around your thigh ever so slightly before immediately relaxing again.

Your eyes travel to your own arm, initially to see Harry's hand wrapped around it. However, the sight of the red marks on your arm make your eyes water again, the memory from what just happened resurfacing. The sickening fear of not knowing how the fuck to get out of that situation is as overwhelming as it was just before, even though you are safe now. You hate that a man made you feel so weak.

You can't help the tears from flowing, so you just let them as you silently recall the events of tonight. Your thoughts are cut in on when Harry removes his bruised hand from your thigh and cups it around your jaw. He leans forward, green eyes all sympathetic.

"It's okay, you're okay. He won't hurt you anymore, or ever again." He whispers. You shut your eyes, your silent tears now breaking into soft sobs. There is no choice but to let the sadness flow, and relish in the comfort of Harry's fingers wiping away your tears as you cry out the stress you had been feeling, and give it a place.

You feel it getting lighter with every cry. Each tear that Harry catches is a bit of weight off your shoulders. For some reason he chooses to sit there and offer you a space to store your pain. And even though normally you would never allow yourself, tonight you make use of that space.

*****************************************

A few weeks had gone by, and Harry had taken it upon himself to become your new watch dog. After what happened, he refused to let you go outside by yourself.

The morning after the incident, you got up and went to work like normal. But when you opened your apartment door, you ran into Harry, who had also been planning on going outside. He walked you to your car, and watched as you drove away. That night, when you returned from work, you ran into him again in the hallway downstairs, and walked to your apartments together.

After about three nights of these exact same situations, you could confirm for yourself that Harry was waiting to escort you anywhere.

You thought confronting him about your knowledge of his schemes would put an end to the overprotectiveness, but you were proven wrong. Instead of toning down his behavior, he amped it up. There wasn't a trip to the supermarket that you made by yourself anymore. And anytime you tried to say something about his following you everywhere, he would make up a silly excuse that left you speechless with flushed cheeks and a stupid grin on your face. You gave up fighting it not long after that, mainly because you enjoy his company so much.

Being so close to Harry all the time did make you realize how much distance everyone else kept from him. You didn't miss how people avoided his gaze, or how certain cashiers stumbled over their words as you paid for your groceries. It had you wondering; just how scary was Harry?

Harry had really taken it upon himself to protect you. It kind of went automatically, if he had to be honest. He simply couldn't watch you walk around the neighborhood so defenseless. What happened to you had enraged him so much, he didn't want a repetition of it.

Of course, an exact repetition was not an option anymore since he had beaten up the guy who assaulted you to the point where he was hospitalized. Harry couldn't find it in himself to feel even the slightest of remorse. Well, maybe only for the fact that he didn't kill him right then and there. He would have, had he not been too worried about you being alone upstairs.

Soon enough, word had traveled about your association with Harry, and it resulted into people being afraid of you. You were so incredibly confused about the shaky voices of people you'd ask for help in stores. You had never imagined yourself to have such an intimidating aura.

Since Harry had taken it upon himself to watch you, you had taken it upon yourself to feed him. It was the least you could do, and it gave you a reason to keep him around longer at night.

Part of you was aware that wanting to get closer to Harry might not be the best idea, especially considering the collectively instilled fear that lingered everywhere he would go. But he was so sweet to you, and you were sure that there was an explanation.

So, tonight during dinner, you had decided you would ask him about it.

Harry was delighted when you asked him if he wanted to stay and eat, and didn't hesitate to say yes. Now as he leans against the counter, watching you cook the pasta you promised to prepare, you have to actively control your breathing. His intense stare has a way of turning your legs into jelly and fogging up your mind.

"How was your day?" You ask him as casually as you can. Harry doesn't tear his eyes off of you, grinning at the way he is making you squirm.

"Good, love."

You swallow at the new nickname he suddenly conjured up. The low baritone of his voice combined with his green eyes on yours has your heartbeat getting out of control. You hear the breathy chuckle leaving Harry's mouth, and it makes your stomach turn. He knows exactly what he is doing.

"So, uhm... I have a question." You say, focusing extra hard on stirring the boiling pasta. He hums, indirectly telling you to ask away. You turn down the pitch on which your pasta stands, and turn to face him. For the first second that you meet his eyes, you were forget what you were even going to ask him, but you quickly regain your senses.

"Why is everyone here so afraid of you?" You tilt your head, really observing Harry. Sure, he is tall, with a broad and muscled figure. He always wears dark clothes and his green eyes will never look away first. But to truly be terrified of this man? You couldn't imagine why.

Harry doesn't say anything. He pushes himself away from the counter and walks towards you, slowly towering over your smaller frame. He leans forward, his face closer to yours than it has ever been before, and it gives you ideas that you probably shouldn't have.

"Do I scare you?"

Silently, you shake your head. Harry's eyes slowly travel down your face, fixating on your mouth for the longest five seconds you have ever experienced, and then shoot back up to meet yours again. "Then why do you care so much about what others think?"

"I don't." You respond embarrassingly fast, overwhelmed with a need to get his approval.

"Well, there you have your answer."

With that, he turns around to the counter and grabs the glass of white wine you poured for him. Taking it between his hands as if it were a cocktail glass, you watch entranced as he takes a sip. Your gaze falls onto his hands. You feel sinful for the thoughts that occupy your mind, but they fly out the window when you spot how bruised his knuckles are. And you realize...

"No, I don't." You say sternly. Harry looks at you, amused by your protest. "I don't know anything about you, Harry."

Harry laughs, but it’s a bitter laugh, accompanied by his hand running through his hair and his head shaking as if he can’t believe what he is dealing with. A part of you wants to get on your knees and beg him to forgive you for being suspicious of who he truly is, but you refrain from doing it.

“People fear what they don’t know, Y/N.” He says, his eyes finding yours. Your heart starts beating faster, aware of the fact that his eyes are going to keep being trained on yours without even so much as faltering.

“I don’t give a fuck about what those people think of me, they don’t know me. You do. So why is their judgment relevant? I’m here, aren’t I? Standing in front of you, letting you know me. Is that not enough?”

You feel a pang of guilt in your stomach at his words, and the authenticity of them. You let out a sigh, breaking eye contact to look down at the floor, contemplating what he’s saying. Maybe he is right.

“Sorry.” You say so softly it could almost be classified as a whisper. The feeling of Harry’s fingers pushing your chin up makes your eyes meet his, and you notice the hint of a smile he wears.

“Go sit.”

Slightly confused, you follow his order, looking back at him to see him finishing up the pasta and making a bowl for the both of you.

“I’m 29.” He states, his back still to you. Your mouth breaks into a smile, and you prop your elbow on the couch, leaning your chin into the palm of your hand as you observe him.

“Really?” You are grinning like a proper idiot now. Harry nods.

“I don’t have any siblings, but we did have a dog, and we rescued a stray kitten that was sleeping in our garden.” He goes on, turning around and walking over to the couch with the bowls of pasta. He sits down and hands you one.

“What are their names?” You ask.

“Dog is called Pepper. Mum let me name the cat, so I named her Hades.” He explains, making you a giggle.

“You named your girl cat Hades?”

“Persephone is such a mouthful. Plus, I was like ten, and had this big obsession with Hades.” He shrugs, taking a bite of the pasta. Your eyes widen, and you begin to laugh even harder.

“You mean to tell me that little ten year old Harry was obsessed with the Greek God of the underworld, the God of death… Are you okay?”

Harry shrugs. “He’s just doing his job.”

You cover your face with your hands, beyond amused by his nonchalance. You don’t see it, but Harry might take more joy out of the situation than you. His eyes sparkle with adoration as he watches you laugh, and he wishes he knew how to control time just to stay in this moment forever. There is something so extraordinary about your happiness being caused by him. He is fascinated with how much he wishes he could do it every day for the rest of his life.

He didn’t know whether opening up about himself was the smartest ideas, but he would give you his social security number if it made you laugh like that.

You take your hands off your face and look at him, the sudden urge to kiss him being almost unbearable. Almost. You sigh, not knowing how to express these feelings you have towards him, so instead you opt for a simple comment.

“I’m so glad you’re my neighbor.”

Harry smirks. “I’m glad you’re my neighbor too.”

[hyuny-bunny]

what are your thoughts on skz with a dumb s/o? like genuinely ditzy and little absentminded and forgetful, but you’re still such a sweetheart. makes them wonder how dumb you’ll go on their cocks.

skz + dumb s/o

MDNI(18+): suggestive, nsfw, corruption kink, dumb kink ?, finger sucking, oral, penetration.

love this ask so much, it's not something i've thought much about before but here you go ! :3

chan: oh he dotes on you sooooo much. in the beginning he thought it was just a cute quirk but as you became more serious he realized... you really are just ditzy. he can't lie that he has to hold back on the days you can't help saying "huh?" or "hmm?" to everything but it sounds so saccharine from you. he loves the duality of it though. he can dote on you with how cute your whims are then flip you into a submissive state. even more so when he decides to pin you down in the backseat of his car putting your pretty mouth to good use. chastising you with "pretty baby so cock dumb hmm? only good for sucking me off huh?" with your response being your typical "hmm?" but your mouth stuffed with cock instead. even with your whimpers to take more of him in your mouth, he's happy to oblige holding your pretty face in his hands to use your mouth.

minho: as 1/3 of paboracha, he's never minded. intially i think he would think consider them as one off moments like asking the same question twice in a 2 second span. he might look at for a solid momemt with those cat blinking stares, processing that you're serious. he finds it cute though!! maybe quietly giggling to himself before kissing you on the forehead in passing. he likes it even more so when you're too cock dumb from him making you ride him while he coos and pets you like he does a cat. after trying to tease him all day with sex and suggestive groping. he only let you ride his thigh before caving into you enough to give you his cock after you begged him so nicely. "jagiya, use your words hm? too dumb to speak now hmm?" he'll say while thrusting up into you pretending he's not paying you any attention

changbin: loves loves loves how ditzy you are. he likes playing into the idea that he's just as much brain as he is brawn to you. especially when you're so absentminded with your surroundings in public. maybe there's someone being creepy towards you in a cafe, he's clocked them in already wrapping a protective arm around. you pick up in his protectiveness and to find your answer is being stared down with daggers by binnie. you're hero, savior! you have to reward him with the best head he'll ever had so you're happily taking him in your mouth once your home. he's got you on his cock taking him all the way down his throat while he coaxes you into fitting it all in your mouth "stupid angel always needs time to come to rescue mmh rewards me so sweetly."

hyunjin: 2/3 of paboracha coming in. he'd never think you were outright dumb, ditzy ? oblivious ? yes. he himself has no room to judge, you'd probably have him questioning himself on multiple occasions. you're probably just a little more oblivious around him, which he doesn't mind one bit. he kinda finds it cute how little though you probably give to so many things. he finds it even cuter when he's able to convince you to wear an outfit he picked out for you, one that of course will give him easy access to tease you in public. it was supposed to be cute picnic in secluded area of the park, until he had you laid out on the blanket taking his cock from behind shoving strawberry in your mouth & sucking fingers to shut you up. "shhh my love, don't want people to find us okay? can't let them see how stupid you were to let me take you like this"

han: going 3 for 3 with paboracha here. another one who dotes on your ditzy nature. i could see him with a s/o that's a little more clumsy. maybe you're always scraping a knee, bumping into sharp corners, burning yourself while cooking/baking, or just straight up walking into glass doors or poles. whatever the case may be he's there holding out his arms to soothe you, giving you kisses all over your face. he finds out how easy it is to convince you to the dumbest things. like convincing you that if you let him go down on you, his headache will go away or you're sore throat from the concert last night will feel sooooo much better if you blow him. that by swallow his cum, it'll feel & tase better then honey. "that's it's, good, suck me dry baby i promise you'll feel better. we might have to try a few loads of cum for it to work, k? just focus on taking it all though." his head thrown back while shoving you further on his cock.

felix: he likes that your so absentminded and ditzy. it make its so easy for him to impress you. especially when he has you sitting like a curious cat on his bed while you watch him build his new PC. your eyes sparking with excitement as he completes each step. or even when you watch him bake his recipes from scratch. doe eyed while you sit perched on the counter making your favorite brownies! he'd take a finger coated in the batter letting you lick off his fingers which only leads to him fucking you on the counter while he makes you choke on his batter covered fingers, "doesn't your orgasm feel so much better when you have something so sweet in your mouth mm? maybe let's watch you suck me off with the batter on my cock since you like my fingers so much?"

seungmin: mean dom seung *sigh*. he loves you to death but god you make it so easy for him to tease you. you're not a quick as he is, whether it's his snarky remarks or quick reactions to things he knows. you try to learn baseball, not actually playing but you know the basic rules. you want to try to at least understand what goes in the game. you're not the best but your attempts don't go unnoticed. even when someone hits a home-run but you're shouting goal so confidently it has him falling to his knees in laughing clutching his stomach because you genuinely meant it. he calls you the nth member of paboracha but in bed you're his dumb cock slut, taking him so good you're babbling nonsense. " what was that slut ? did you say something ? aren't you too dumb for words? " he'd condescendingly say before slamming himself into you once more.

jeongin: bark. sorry i love him so badly. he takes your ditzy nature as naiveness. whether or not that's the case, he'll treat it that way. even when you try to argue over something you know already he'll talk to you so sweetly like he's done such a good job of teaching you. maybe you're trying to learn japanese and his fluency helps you but he'll tsk you if he's in a particular mood. maybe you're out in japan gawking, 'ooh'ing and 'aww'ing at each store and you're curiosity almost gets you dragged in a male host club. so jeongin decides you need a break for a few hours so he checks you into a love hotel (unbeknownst to you) where he'd spend the next 2 hours or so talking down in your ear while he plays with you between your legs. haughtily scolding you for every single thing that's led to this moment, " i thought you knew better ? you have to listen to me jagiya, there's so many people out there that just want to use you hmm. guess i'll just have to show you." all before bending you over and smooshing your face into the pillow to abuse your hole with his cock, crying out for him to let you cum. chastising you until he's felt you learned you lesson.

[boypied]

pairings: tom holland x male reader

request: tom holland and his tiny bratty bubble butt boyfriend(I’m 5’3 #tall king) y/n is being bratty because tom is playing video games all day and so y/n decides to play with himself on the bed and tom loses his shit.

warnings: SMUT !, anal sex, hand job, cock warming, swearing.

MDNI + FDNI !

"Tommy!" You groan out, "I'm so bored. Quit playing that game." You plead with him. You begin pulling at the corner of his top, "Come on, I've been working all day, let me play," he slightly whines at you, Tom says turning to face you.

"But you've been playing that game since you've gotten back from set! And that was seven hours ago." I moan at him, Tom just rolls his eyes, going back to his game. "Fine!" You blurt out, walking over to the bed behind him, stripping off.

Tom turns his head slightly, his eyes widening in shock, "Y/N! What are you doing?" He says in disbelief as he watches you strip off. "If you aren't gonna help me, I'll help myself," I say smugly.

You lay against the headboard naked, and your fingers gently trail down your body and slowly slide in your tight pucker, causing you to whimper, "mhm!". Tom turns his head as the moans trail into his ears. He bites his lip at the sight of you playing with your hole.

"Your little game isn't going to work on me!" Tom says smugly before his face drops as he watches you pull out a dildo from your bedside drawer. He watches and nibbles at his slight as you rub the tip against your hole.

"Hey, Hey! Stop. " Tom whines out. You immediately stop while your hole is stretched around the tip. "You're such a brat." Tom says with an annoyed look on his face as he steps away from his gaming set up as he begins to strip off, revealing his perfectly sculptured abs.

He slowly pulls down his sweatpants revealing his flaccid cock. He leans down and pulls the dildo out of your hole, and throws it onto the floor, "You couldn't just let me relax, you desperate needed a good dicking." Tom says sternly and you cowar at his dominance.

"I'm sorr-" You blurt out, but Tom cuts you off, "No. Don't apologise, " he says to you, not caring for what you have to say. He lays his back against the headboard and grabs your arm "sit on my cock..now" Tom commands and you obey him.

You slowly slide down his large member about to bounce, but he grips your hips, holding you down, "Don't move." Tom commands as you quietly whimper at him feeling his cock twitch against your sweet spot.

Your body begins to shake from pleasure, "Please let me move, tommy," you whimper out, begging him to move. He shakes his head and keeps gently twitching his cock inside of you, before he grips your hips and lays you down.

"Now listen.. I am going to fuck you so hard, and since you are being a brat... you aren't allowed to cum." Tom commands of you, he stares at you sternly making sure you understand his commands "yes sir." You quietly whimper out.

He slowly thrusts back and forth a couple of times before completely destroying your ass. The sounds of wet claps can be hard from miles away as well as Tom's grunts and your loud screams of pleasure.

"Look at you, not so bratty anymore. Are ya?" He says cocky, beating your boy-pussy up. "No, Sir!" You moan out as your untouched cock twitches, indicating your close but you hole back. Tom continues thrusting back and forth before pulling out and flipping you over.

As he flips you over to expose your bare ass cheeks, he roughly spanks it, causing it to glow a shade of red "fuck look at that jiggle" he says inbetween breaths. He lines his cock back up with your sloppy hole before sliding right back in.

"TOM!" You gasp out as his tip hits your sweet spot in an instant, he grips your waist and begins fucking you back and forth. Making your hole loose and sloppy, perfectly sculptured around his cock. He completely owns your hole.

"Fuck, I'm close!" Tom gasps out, thrusting his cock into you hard, shooting his load inside of you, your walls painted white.

You whimper at the feeling of his warm seed running down your hole. Tom flips you over and gently wraps his hand around your cock "You can cum" he says jerking your cock off.

"Tommy!" You moan out shooting your load and watching it run down Tom's hand as he continues to jerk you off. You breathe heavily with a smirk on your face as Tom pulls you in for a kiss.

"Maybe I should be a brat more often." You blurt out, which causes Tom to roll his eyes and laugh.

taglist - @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m

[anniebeemine]

exploration- s.r x fem!reader

warnings: use of sex toys (vibrator), fem. rec, minors dni

It hadn’t been an issue, not really. Your relationship with Spencer was far from vanilla—there was passion, tenderness, and even playfulness when the mood struck. But there were moments when you found yourself craving more. Something different. Something spicier.

It all started in California.

You’d gone into a sex shop on a whim, half out of curiosity, half in search of inspiration. The colorful shelves and the discreet rows of toys and accessories had piqued your interest. At first, you felt self-conscious walking through the aisles, but soon that faded as your intrigue grew. It wasn’t the flashy, overtly bold items that caught your eye, but rather the subtle ones—the little devices that promised pleasure in the most unexpected moments. One particular item had stayed in your mind: a discreet remote-controlled vibrator.

You thought about it for days after. The idea of handing control over to Spencer, letting him decide when and where to tease you, ignited something inside you. The thrill of it, the secrecy, the surrender—it was all exciting. And after weeks of considering it, you decided to take the plunge.

That’s how, six weeks later, you found yourself sitting at your desk on the edge of your living room, Spencer lounging comfortably on the couch behind you. You were sorting through paperwork, organizing bills, and trying to focus on the mundane tasks in front of you. But it was nearly impossible.

The consistent, insistent buzzing between your legs had you teetering on the edge of control. You clenched your thighs together, biting your lip as another low moan threatened to escape. Spencer, who held the remote, was the picture of calm behind you, flipping through a book as if nothing unusual was happening. But you knew better. You could feel his eyes flicker toward you every few moments, watching as you squirmed in your chair, trying your best to appear composed.

The vibrator hummed to life once more, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. You gasped softly, quickly muffling the sound by pressing a hand to your mouth. The papers in front of you blurred as you fought to concentrate, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“Spencer…” you breathed, glancing over your shoulder at him. He didn’t look up from his book, but the faint smirk on his lips told you everything you needed to know. He was enjoying this—enjoying watching you struggle to maintain control while he toyed with you from afar.

“Yes?” he replied innocently, his voice steady and calm, as if he weren’t the one responsible for the growing heat pooling between your legs.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to sit up straight, even as the vibrator pulsed again, stronger this time. “I’m trying to get this done.”

“I know,” he said, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and you knew that he wasn’t going to make this easy for you. “You’re doing a great job, by the way.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing full well what he was doing. He was testing you, pushing your limits, seeing how far he could take it before you broke. And god, you were so close to breaking.

“Spence…” you said again, your voice trembling slightly as you gripped the edge of your desk. “Please…”

He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow in feigned confusion. “Please what?”

Your breath hitched as the vibrations intensified once more, and this time, a soft moan slipped out before you could stop it. Your body betrayed you, hips shifting involuntarily as you clenched the chair beneath you. The papers you’d been sorting fell to the floor, forgotten.

“Please stop teasing me,” you finally managed to say, your voice thick with need.

Spencer’s smirk grew, and he leaned forward, setting his book aside. He held the remote casually in one hand, his thumb hovering over the button. He didn’t press it, but the anticipation of what he might do next sent a fresh surge of arousal through you.

“Are you sure you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You hesitated, biting your lip as your mind raced. Did you want him to stop? Or did you want him to push you further, to see how much more you could take?

“No,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Spencer’s smirk turned into a full grin, and he stood up, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps. He stopped just behind your chair, his hands resting on the back of it as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Good girl.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips. Spencer chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck before his hand moved to the remote again. With a simple press of a button, the vibrations between your legs became relentless, sending you spiraling toward the edge of pleasure.

You gripped the desk in front of you, your body trembling as the sensations overwhelmed you. You were so close, so painfully close to release, but Spencer knew exactly how to keep you hanging on the edge without letting you fall over.

“Spence, please,” you gasped, your voice desperate now.

“Please what?” he asked again, his tone playful as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

“Please let me come,” you begged, your body aching with need.

Spencer hummed thoughtfully, as if considering your request, before finally giving in. He pressed the button one more time, the vibrations reaching their peak, and within seconds, you were undone. The orgasm crashed over you like a wave, and you cried out, your body shuddering with release as Spencer held you steady, his hands firm on your shoulders.

When it was over, you collapsed forward onto the desk, panting and flushed, the paperwork completely forgotten. Spencer leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as he switched off the vibrator.

“Maybe next time,” he whispered, “we won’t wait so long to spice things up.”

[cornerstoreclown]

Mornings with Art? I think it’s a cute scene to imagine Art eating while reader comes in (all sleepy and groggy and out of it cause they just woke up), wordlessly kisses him on the cheek, and makes her breakfast

Writing this before bed. So if there’s errors, I’ll get ‘em tomorrow. For now here’s some domestic shit. I did add dialogue though, I hope that’s okay! I was trying to think of how to go about it without words but then I just went wherever my head led me.

F!Reader x Art

———————————

Ever since he’d come home one particularly bad night due to a victim that just so happened to be carrying a firearm, he’d been taking it easy on himself. A few bullet wounds here and there, which you helped him patch up with the standard bandages and gauze, but for the most part he took his injuries in stride, opting to lay low and keep indoors for however long he decided. Dying was hard when you were a supernatural force, which you knew he very well was. You let him borrow the spare room to work on whatever gadgets and gizmos he wanted to create for his next escapade–for whatever that might actually entail.

As long as you’re not at the end of his knife, gun, mace–whatever weapon he decides to use, you’re fine with it. Though you know one day you might end up with one of those weapons lodged in your back or in your skull, you pray that it never happens. The first mistake would be to get comfortable around this man and let your guard down, which you never did.

However, it’s moments like this, when he’s sitting at the kitchen table when you head downstairs for breakfast that really make you want to do otherwise. Especially right now.

Art was sitting right at the kitchen table, eating frozen pizza from last nights dinner, and he’s doing it rather politely, you note. One slice on a paper plate, napkin nearby, and another slice being daintily held with both hands as he quietly and gently chews each bite he takes.

You have to remind yourself he killed someone last month and ate a rat last week. But it doesn’t stop you from tiredly smiling as you watch him through your unkempt hair that obscures part of your vision.

He merely regards you with a look, still munching away.

Fatigue whispers in your ear and urges you back to your warm and comfy bed. But whether you’re burdened by school, work, or both, there’s no rest to be had.

“Hey,” You yawn tiredly, walking your way to the coffee machine. It was either that or tea this morning. Art was a tea kind of guy, so you put on the electric kettle for him.

He resumes eating, almost finishing his first slice. He’s now got one leg crossed over the other as he assesses you in your oversized t-shirt, munching away on the crust. He has an aura of sassiness to him this morning with that body language.

“Yeah, yeah, I look rough, I know. Not all of us are divas when we wake up,” You lean against the counter, folding your arms across your chest. “And pizza? For breakfast? Come on.”

Art just responds in kind with fluffing up his imaginary hair and then flipping it over his shoulder. Bad hair day? Couldn’t be him!

“You got any plans for today, or are you just gonna go back to crafting shit in my spare room?”

Art shrugs his shoulders as he reaches for the second pizza slice, this time ripping off parts of the cold sauced and cheesed up flatbread to pop in his mouth in a very prim manner. He’s been very into letting his whims lead his decisions as of late.

“Gotcha.” You remark, not sure where to continue the conversation immediately, but you don’t need to worry about that as your coffee has finished brewing and the electric kettle has heat up the water. You sweeten your coffee to taste, as well as Art’s tea in a timely manner. He liked his drinks sweet. Anything bitter was an immediate no. With the remaining hot water in the kettle, you use it to make yourself instant oatmeal.

You plant a kiss to his cheek which he allows as you put his drink down near him. You take your seat on the other side of the table where your oatmeal waits, coffee mug in hand, watching him eat. Silence passes between the two of you until you finally voice what you’ve been thinking for the past few minutes.

“Can you rip me off a piece?”

[luveline]

𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you have to find new ways to communicate when a cold leaves you voiceless. miguel is less than happy —featuring grumpy miguel and his cheerful spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 2.3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel's hackles hike as you appear. You have an obsession with toying with him and he's in the middle of something more important than your whims and wants.

"Don't start," he warns, barely looking at you. 

You point at yourself as if to say, Who, me? Grinning, you pull your arms behind your torso tightly, your shoulders harsh slopes where they'd usually be lax with calm. Your spider suit strains against the movement, shining with a subtle shimmer as you twirl your way into his side. You blink up at him, mock-innocent. 

"What did I just say?" he asks. 

He's expecting a charming rebuttal he doesn't get. You're awfully charismatic; Miguel often thinks you've manufactured a devilish siren call that yanks him in like a fish on a line no matter how hard he tries to split his lip and flee.

You're pretty, sure, but it isn't your looks that endear you to him. You have this way of speaking that's effortlessly carefree, despite the frankly ridiculous depth of the well that is your fondness for the world. It shouldn't make sense, and it does: you're happy because you love the world. When you speak to him, annoy him, praise him and degrade him in the same breath, Miguel thinks you might love him, too. 

You're silent. Miguel takes it as a blessing and finishes analysing the footage playing in front of him. He finishes as quickly as he can, and he's not a dick, he says, "Thank you." Then, with an unimpressed eyebrow raise, "Where have you been?" 

You come to see him so often he kind of forgot you didn't have to. He's taken you for granted, he knows, and after three days of not seeing you he should be happier. He should've asked you about it as soon as you appeared. 

You shrug and point at his screen. He can practically see the question mark in your eyes. 

"That's nothing. What, you're not speaking to me now?" he asks. 

Paper creaks in your hand as you pull a sketchbook from your pocket. Small, lilac, you flip to the first page and show him the scrawled message there with a rueful smile. 

Miguel's expecting a cartoon version of himself, but instead you've written three words. 

I have laryngitis. 

Miguel's gaze flickers between you and your book, assessing the claim with scepticism. "Why would you have that? You're practically impervious to disease." 

You flip to the next page. 

Superbug from Earth-87222 defeated my enhanced healing.

One of your Peter Parker friends lives there. He isn't jealous (because he knows that particular Peter doesn't like girls). "And you can't talk?" he asks. 

The next page. I can't talk.

You tuck the book to your chest. Lips parted, you attempt to speak, but all that comes out is hot air and a cruel croaking scratch that makes his chest ache. 

"Don't hurt yourself," he says, softer than he'd been speaking beforehand. He can't decide whether to glare at you or pull you in for a hug. If he hugs you, you might attach yourself to him like that thing from Alien. He glares. "You could've told me." 

You gesture to your throat. I can't speak. 

"That you were sick, you know how to type. You bother me every day for weeks and then one day you stop showing up, and you don't answer your watch, what am I supposed to think?" 

You stare up at him dreamily. He swears you get off on being scolded half the time. 

Miguel takes your wrist into his hand and turns your wristband forward to showcase the screen. "You see this? You see when my prompt comes up? You could take ten seconds and hit me back." 

Again, you open your small sketchbook, turning to a fourth page. You've predicted him well.

I didn't want to worry you. Don't be mad, handsome, you'll get more wrinkles. 

"Tu sabes todo," he fumes. You know everything. "If you're so smart, you can help me recalibrate the pocket dimension storage." 

You flip a page. It's finally a drawing rather than a knowing line, your familiar artistry obvious in your weighted linework and rushed shading. It's Miguel, his expression one he isn't sure you would've actually seen to reference as well as you have, lovingly concerned with a speech bubble coming from beside his softly rendered hair. Get well soon, cariño. 

He scoffs. "You seem fine to me." 

In truth, you don't seem fine. Now he knows, he can see evidence of your days away. Your lips are chapped under the balm you've applied, your hair dishevelled (though it's often unruly, in line with your personality). You wince when you breathe too hard. Miguel lowers the platform and sets you up next to him on a workbench in the back of the laboratory beside him for purely professional purposes. He has to make sure you're doing the calibration correctly, that's all. 

He can't quite explain away the tea he gets for you from the cafeteria, nor the research he does on the way back to you, Lyla at his shoulder saying, "You're such a softie." 

You find you don't need the sketchbook to communicate. Miguel places your tea down and your smile alone is thanks enough. It's pure reverential delight. He doesn't really deserve it, so he pretends he doesn't see. 

When you need help with a recalibration, you take his wrist gently. You don't even need to point at the screen, the subtle uptilt of your brows enough clue.

"Here, you're almost there," he murmurs under his breath, distracted by the complicated code you've been editing in the corner of the screen. "Oh, is this what you do when I'm not looking?" 

You tug his elbow. 

"No? You're not messing around?" he asks, rolling his eyes. "You think I'm stupid." 

Your fingers tighten. Miguel clicks a couple of things to finish the calibration. He looks at you from over his shoulder. Your face is near. It radiates heat. He bites the tip of his gloved finger and yanks it off clean to press the back of his naked hand to your forehead. 

"You're warm," he says, patting carefully downward. Your skin is as hot as he'd worried. 

Miguel drops his hand without rush, the side of his pinky tracing down your cheek. "Maybe you shouldn't be here." 

You shake your head vehemently. There's something in it he doesn't understand, an uncharacteristic shyness. He supposes he'd feel the same if he were sick like this, but you have no reason to be ashamed of a bad cold.

"Enough calibration, then. Take it easy." 

You do not take it easy. Your first port of call is to request to share his screen. He grants you permission and rescinds it soon after, irked when the majority of his monitor becomes wallpapered by digital post it note drawings of him looking cranky and of you in a crown, a ship's captain's hat, standing on the moon. He sets them each back to the perimeter of his window and tries to work. Trust you to find ways to bother him without teasing aloud. 

He thinks that… but then, his hands falter over the keyboard. You aren't a bother. You irritate him but he kind of likes it, most of the time. He turns his head just enough to see your face, blue and white light kissing your skin. You glow. 

Miguel thinks about how he used to do this alone. Lyla on his shoulder when she felt like it but usually tinkering in the quiet, trying to stop the end of the world, the pressure akin to how Atlas himself must have felt, knees locked and arms braced above his head to stop the Earth falling into the black abyss. Miguel doesn't always know what he's being punished for (or, he didn't). He doesn't know why this ended up on his plate, but the panic of doing it alone ebbs every day. With you by his side, unshakeable if not unfailing, it feels less like a death sentence and more like a problem that needs solving. He can't save everyone, but he can try. He can't stomach the agony of his life if he thinks about the past; you make it easy to stay present. 

Who would he rather have here than you? Out of everyone living that he knows, you're the only person he could stand to sit with for this long. 

It's not the same without your voice. Your murmurings, your kind doting, your put upon and less-so confusion. He misses it more than he can say in that moment, worse when you feel his eyes and turn to face him with a soft smile. 

Everything okay? you ask without asking. 

You don't need to speak. He can see it on your face. 

Miguel gets up from his bench to tower over you. Without giving it too much thought, he bends down, wrapping his right arm behind your shoulders, the left loose over your front, and kisses your forehead with the barest of pressures. It's hardly a kiss at all, and it makes no noise. More like he's resting his lips there, his nose at your hairline, breathing in. His hand rubs an up and down of its own accord into your upper arm, the soft fat of it melding under his touch. 

Your head dips back invitingly. You're like butter in the sun at his touch, a slow melting. 

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll deny it," he says quietly. 

You snort. You give his arm a pat and reach over it to grab your sketchbook. Miguel straightens but doesn't remove his arms, watching as you flick to the right page. 

I can't talk, the page says. You beam at him.

"I see," Miguel says. "You think it's funny because you couldn't tell if you wanted to." 

Your answering hum comes with the feeling of your fingers latching onto his elbow. Exactly. 

Well, fuck it. If you can't tell anyone, Miguel might as well send it. He leans down to grab you up into his hold, a squeezing hug that says everything he wanted to tell you while you were gone, his worry for you and his annoyance at your lack of communication. You don't need audible words to tell him things, and Miguel doesn't need words either. Hopefully his arms around you and his nose digging too rough into your temple says how he feels plainly. 

"I figured you got sick of taking orders," he confesses. You got sick of me. "When you didn't come back." 

You refuse to act small —Miguel doesn't want you to—, standing despite the weight he'd been resting on you, turning in the circle of his arms to look up into his eyes. It's too much, Miguel doesn't want your face this close to his, not with the rawness of his feelings aching a trail up between each of his rib bones, one by one. He clenches his jaw. 

Your hand climbs to his ear. He stays very still. As the initiator he should be forgiving, but your fingers touch his ear and he contemplates sinking his teeth into your hand. You stroke hair away from his face with a dramatised expression that says it's in the way, pesky stuff, though the final fond tuck of it behind the shell of his ear is impossible to deny.

Your thumb rubs his earlobe. 

"Are you having fun?" he asks dryly.

Your nod is sincere. Enthusiastic, you start to ease your fingertips into the thick tresses of his hair. 

Miguel grabs your wrist in an iron grip. 

"Enough." 

He guesses more than knows what your pout means —that isn't fair. 

"Life isn't fair," he says, pressing your forearm to your chest, an action fraught with apology. It's ridiculous how much can be said without words. He'd like for you to get your voice back solely to end this confusing misery. Well, not solely… Miguel misses the sound of it, distinct as your lopsided smiles and unconventional hand movements. "You can file a complaint just as soon as you get your voice back, how's that?" 

You roll your eyes and sit back down on your bench. Miguel takes a lap around the laboratory to calm down, returning to a new program blinking on computer his taskbar to be opened. 

He doesn't give you the satisfaction of looking your way as he opens it. 

"Miguel!" The program chirps, in a voice jarringly close to yours but not nearly as sophisticated as the majority of language intelligence he uses in his own coding. "I was waiting for you, handsome! Where have you been? Now you're back, I have a very special song to sing for you. Sing along if you know this one! Alright… Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine bottles of beer! You take one down, pass it around, ninety nine bottles of beer…"

Miguel realises he can't mute or close the program shortly thereafter. Vocaloid you counts down to sixty one bottles of beer by the time he resigns to turning off his computer altogether, a headache twinging angrily behind his eyes. 

Maybe he could use a break from your voice after all. 

You giggle breathlessly at him as he drops his face into his hands. 

"Drink your tea," he orders, words muffled by his palms.

He doesn't look up. There's the sound of a big sip. Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. He's kidding himself —the sooner you get your voice back, the better. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 2 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

chapter 1 / chapter 3

During the school day, she'd ignore you as usual. Wandering the halls of Northshore, you'd catch glimpses of her but no more than that. It actually felt like you were seeing less of her than usual. It was hard to avoid somebody in a school like Northshore, but somehow she managed it. You doubted it had anything to do with you specifically. She'd been acting off since you'd had dinner at the Georges'.

After school, those days you went to Regina's house to do their yard work, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Gretchen and Karen weren't around. Regina had taken her mom's place on the patio and bathed in the sun as you worked.

You hated to say it was distracting. Partly because the whole thing had thrown you off kilter, like why was she doing all this all of a sudden, and also because she was hot. There was no question about it. Regina George was hot.

You desperately tried maintaining focus on the chlorine you were pouring into the pool, pretending you weren't all too aware of Regina lying not too far away from you, in a skimpy hot pink bikini, large sunglasses covering her eyes.

"Regina! Oh, that's such a cute 'suit you got, where'd you get it?" You were distantly aware of Mrs George stepping through the sliding door to the backyard. Regina muttered something in return. You didn't have to look to see Mrs George wilt at her daughter's dismissal.

It pissed you off. Regina didn't have to entertain her mom's every whim, she could be a bit much, even you could admit that, but she didn't have to be so mean.

You walked over to them with the empty chlorine bag in hand. "Hey, Mrs George." You called as you approached. "Margaritas?"

"Hi, sweetie! I brought you two some, gotta stay hydrated in this hot weather. All virgin, of course!" Mrs George winked and offered up the tray she had in her hands. You smiled gratefully and took one of the glasses. You were actually quite thirsty and Regina's mom made the best (alcohol-free) cocktails.

"Thanks," You said before taking a sip. Mm, strawberry and basil. Yummy.

"Just leave it there, mom. She's gotta work and I'm busy." Regina pointed at the little table next to the sunbeds before directing her attention back to, uh, lying in the sun. She sure looked busy.

"Okay, honey." Mrs George smiled, but the chirp in her voice was strained. "You just call and I'll be right here, alright?" She looked from her daughter to you.

"You got it, Mrs George."

Once the older woman had ducked out of the door and closed it behind her, you turned to Regina.

"You don't need to be mean, y'know." You took a sip, watching the pink slush move through the swirly straw.

"Excuse me?" Regina craned her neck in your direction, looking very uncomfortable. You walked around to the sunbed next to hers and sat down facing her.

"She just brought us margaritas." You said, continuing to sip on your drink.

"Uh, yeah, and I'm busy." She huffed before reaching for her own drink. "Why she feels the need to bother me is beyond me."

"She's your mom and wanted to do something nice." You rolled your eyes, already sick of her attitude.

Regina didn't bother responding. You adjusted on the seat so you were sitting on it the right way, legs kicked up and leaned back. You decided to relax for a few minutes. It was still the beginning of the school year, September barely just started, so summer was still lingering warm in the air.

There was a robin's nest in one of the apple trees. Red-chested birds flew around, from their home branch to the bird pool, to somewhere you couldn't see and back. Soon it'd be apple picking season. For the last two years of high school Mrs George had given you maybe more than half the apples since she didn't know what to do with so much. Before that, it used to be you and Regina. Picking apples, sitting on the branches, peeling each and every one and boiling them into jam with obscene amounts of sugar. Looking back, you were pretty sure doing all those things without proper adult supervision was like tempting a tragic accident.

(To be fair, you had fallen out of those apple trees once before. You were maybe twelve and it was the middle of summer. You'd lost your balance and toppled onto your wrist. Regina had nearly fallen herself scrambling down to get you. She'd cried more than you and you were the one with a broken bone. She insisted you pick a pink cast. She was the first to sign it, too.)

Out in the sun, it was much hotter than under the partial shade in the yard. You chugged the rest of your drink before standing back up. You pulled off your shirt as you walked to the patio stairs, leaving on just a sports bra and your shorts.

"Jean shorts are so lame," Regina said behind you. You turned to look at her and found her looking at you from over her sunglasses. Her eyes raked over your body, no doubt judging how much weight you'd gained since she last saw you without clothes.

Fuck. Not like that. That sounded wrong. You had spent a lot of time at her pool, both of you in swimsuits, as kids. A totally normal, non-sexual setting.

You shrugged, pretending her wandering eye did not make you insecure. "I like my jorts."

"Your taste is questionable." Regina scoffed, a little smile playing on her lips. "At best." She added sassily. You had a feeling she was mocking you.

"Thanks!" You struck a little pose, cocking your hip and blowing a kiss her way, responding in an equally snarky manner. You knew you didn't stand up to her fashion standards. Loose jean shorts down to a little above your knees, basic brown slides, and now sans a raggedy, well-loved Queen tee was not exactly high couture.

"You're not cute, jorts." She leaned up on her elbows and pushed the shades up to her hair. "I think I saw this exact outfit on you, like, three years ago." She pretended to think, finger on her chin. "So, when we were thirteen..."

"Yeah, you probably did." You chuckled. "You also called me jorts three years ago. So, clearly, nothing's changed, right?"

You both damn well knew a lot had changed. Still, she entertained you with a seemingly genuine smile. You smiled back before turning away to retrieve some tools from the shed. There was a gap in the fence that needed fixing.

Then, for the following week and then some, as if the past years of her ignoring you hadn't happened at all, she started speaking to you. Not at school, though, never in public. Only Kylie and Mrs George were privy to your rekindled friendship. You weren't sure if you could even call it that. Was it friendship if it was conditional to time and place?

You couldn't find it in yourself to care too much, though. You had your own crowd at school. You had things other than the Georges' yard work to do. Sometimes you went skating with the guys, picked up shifts at the shop, did chores and yard work at home, played video games, and on rare occasions studied. You had a life outside of Regina George.

So what if when you fucked up a trick and looked around all frantic, checking that Regina hadn't suddenly spawned at the skate park and seen your epic fall. So what if you spent your work hours thinking about her, counting down the minutes until you got to clean the Georges' pool again. So fucking what you wanted to beat the shit out of Regina in Mortal Kombat.

Maybe you did care. You wanted to spend more time with her. Was that a crime? If you could talk during the several hours of the day, five days a week, that the two of you went to the same school, then that want would've abated. But you had to wait. Sometimes there were several days in a row that you barely got a glimpse of her.

You sounded pathetic. Gosh. You hadn't realized how much you missed her until you got a taste of what it was like to have her back. You couldn't even remember what had caused her sudden avoidance back then. Something with Janice and a sleepover. The details had gone blurry since then. You hadn't even been at the sleepover, but you'd heard something bad had gone down. Something that caused Janis 'Imi'ike to switch schools for the remainder of middle school.

Sighing, you let your pencil fall from your hand. You fucking hated algebra. Functional math, business math, that you could deal with, but derivatives and parables and all that stuff? No. Just no.

You rolled your chair back from your desk and decided it was high time for some relaxation. You walked across the hallway to the computer room, planning on fucking around on RuneScape.

Before you could get into gaming, though, you checked AIM and noticed you had a message. From Regina. What? You click the chat open and see that it's been sent a pretty long while ago.

> can i come over? daddys home

You stared at the uncharacteristic message. You two never spent time at your house back then. It was always empty and you didn't have the same fun things Regina did. Mrs George had been a significantly better cook, to add. Your toaster oven tater tots and dino nuggies couldn't compare.

But, hey, maybe this was the start of something new.

> sure > when? whenevr is fine w me

That could've all been one message but, well, here you were. You jumped in your seat when she responded almost immediately.

> omw

Shit. You shot up from the desk chair, sending it rolling to the other side of the room. You shut down the behemoth of a machine as fast as you could, which wasn't very fast, and shot down the stairs. The living room was a mess 'cause you'd spent the last few days pigging out in front of the TV, playing videogames and eating exclusively takeout.

You spent some time in the pantry trying to look for a garbage bag, time was running out, before rushing to the crime scene that was the couch. Styrofoam containers, probably some cutlery, empty bags of Cheetos and whatnot, empty cans, all that flew into the bag. You wouldn't have time to vacuum, so you just brushed the crumbs away into the couch cushions or onto the floor.

You were almost done when the doorbell rang. You had collected all the trash, but you still had to put away some of the still good leftovers. Didn't wanna waste those since you could eat it later.

"Hi!" You exclaimed, a little too riled up to seem sensible at the door. "I was just cleaning up."

"I see that." Regina drawled, eyeing the garbage bag as well as you. You'd completely forgotten about how you looked.

"Shit, sorry," You looked down at your body and the unfortunate clothes draped over it. Blue briefs with little Spidermen printed on them and a ratty grey hoodie with a devastating stain right on your chest. Your hair probably looked just as bad. You hadn't been bothered to fix up your bedhead, it was a goddamn Sunday.

"Don't worry about me." Regina, with her hands at her hips, looked at you expectantly. "So..."

"Yeah, uh, just stay here," You turned and put your sandals on. "I'll put this to the trash and, I still gotta put some things away and then you can come inside."

Regina just stared at you. You pursed your lips together and hustled past her, down the porch steps and toward the trash cans. By the time you'd hauled the bag away, you could no longer see Regina on the porch.

"Regina! I said don't go in!" You ran after her.

"Don't be ridiculous, jorts, I'm not afraid of a mess. Gosh." You could hear her from inside, probably taking her shoes off. That'd been a thing at your house always, but you didn't expect her to remember.

"Fucking- fine, okay, just..." You huffed as you spied her saunter into your living room as if she owned the place. She slumped down onto the couch, the very same you'd slept on the previous night.

You collected the food from the coffee table and moved it to the kitchen. You gave tentative sniffs to glean if they'd gone bad already. They'd only been out in the open for like, less than a day. So it was probably fine.

"When'd you order that?" Regina's voice came from behind you unexpectedly. You turned to her, caught with your nose in some noodles.

"Uh, last night..." You wiped at your nose with your sleeve.

She walked up to the container, right up in your space, and also gave it a sniff. Then she shrugged.

"I was thinking the same," You poured the noodles into Tupperware and shoved it into the fridge.

"Why's your fridge so empty? Has your dad gone bankrupt?" Regina stepped in before you could fully close the door.

"No, Reggie, he's fine. I don't have the money to stock up like your mom."

Regina turned to look at you, a displeased pout on her lips. She'd always hated it when you called her that. "I fucking hate that stupid nickname. And what do you mean you don't have the money?"

"I mean I don't have the money?" You paused in pouring beef and broccoli into another container, turning to look at her.

"Doesn't he send you money or make someone do it for you when he's away?"

You smiled a little bitterly. "He hasn't done that since I was, like, twelve." You paused. "Well, he's always sent me money but he used to have my babysitter buy groceries when I was way young."

Regina's lips twisted like she was genuinely thinking. You continued, feeling weird now that such a weirdly vulnerable conversation had been opened: "He sends me an allowance every week for groceries and school lunch, but it's not that much. If I didn't work at yours or at the shop I'd be toast." You grinned as you put on the last lid, moving to put the last two containers into the fridge too.

Regina didn't look all that amused. She was still frowning at your fridge, the rather pathetic state of it. You could admit it was pretty bleak. Two-litre bottles of various sodas, microwave meals, and an astonishing amount of condiments were not a sight that sparked hope.

"That's weird," Regina commented. "It's like you're poor but with a nice house."

"Gee, thanks so much, Reg, that makes me feel so good and seen." You drolled. "Oh, you think I have a nice house? That's nice."

"It's alright, I guess. Mine's better." Back to her usual, unthinking and overall not-that-nice persona. This was familiar territory.

"I would know. I work there." You motioned for her to follow you to the couch. "I'm gonna pick your apples soon."

"Daddy's home now. I don't know if you can." Regina sat with her shins tucked under her, leaning her side against the back of the couch. You sat a comfortable distance away, facing her with your legs crossed.

"What did your dad do again?" You asked, trying to remember.

"I don't fucking know." She gestured with her hand. "Human trafficking?"

"I hear it's a lucrative business." You grinned, enjoying talking like this with your old friend.

"We should start a company. Who'd you think would have a good price at our school?" She looked so excited at the prospect of talking shit about your peers. It was a little adorable, but in the way that a man-eating beast was. Like a devil cougar or something like that.

"I think that's eugenics, Reg." You muttered, jokingly wincing. "That's problematic."

"What, are you gonna sue me?" She leaned forward, inclining her head cheekily. "With what money?"

"With daddy's money, you fuck!" You laughed. "What money are you gonna sue me with? Wait, let me guess, uhh... Daddy's money."

"I'll have you know, it might be mommy's money." She widened her eyes dramatically as she began to tell the story. "I did some snooping around, and it just so happens daddy might not be the breadwinner after all, because-"

As Regina got into telling you about Mrs George's strange investments, which she and Kylie both had been pretty sure were pyramid schemes, you listened keenly and watched as she spun the story. She'd always been a good storyteller, good with performing and making the room pay attention to her. It was a shame she'd started to use her powers for evil.

Sitting here, Regina George on your dirty couch in her designer clothes and all, listening as she told you about the most mundane things in her life, made you feel warm in a way you hadn't in a long time. Loneliness was a quiet thing. It snuck up on you and you hadn't even noticed.

You hoped she wouldn't duck out of your life again.

Notes: Written late at night. My eyes don't work like they used to before. Might've missed some spelling errors or weird grammar. I'll return to it after I've slept. Also, in case you haven't noticed, this is firmly set in 2004. This story takes elements from both films, 2004 and 2024, but time-wise it is 2004. Another thing, I changed up the chapter titles. Originally, the first part was the prologue but then I thought about it and it really isn't like a prologue. So, that was chapter 1 and this is chapter 2. Bye-bye, party people.

Taglist: One person asked for this lmao, but I am but a servant of the people. Comment on this post if you wanna be tagged on the next part when it comes out. Disclaimer! Chapters will not usually come out this fast.

@autorasexy

[surielstea]

Friends Don’t Kiss

Based on this request.

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: Azriel and reader refuse to accept their feelings so Mor and Cassian interfere.

Warnings: Fluff | Slight Angst | Suggestive

5.3k words

The storm outside my large window rattles me awake. I jolt upward at the next clap of thunder, rain sputtering down onto the glass wall so harsh it was as if it might shatter.

My heartbeat picks up as the wind howls intensely on the outside of my walls. I slip from my sheets and walk over to the window, pulling the curtains closed. I jump again when another thunder strike booms, the sound reminding me of an unfortunate event that happened as a child, I could still remember the fear on my mother's face as she anxiously peered out her window whenever a storm rolled in. I didn't know why she was so scared then, but now that I've reached adulthood I realized— the uncertainty of it, the wildness that could kill anyone I love based on a whim, and I'd be able to do nothing about it.

I tremble, deciding sleep would be impossible with how fast my mind was racing. I walk over to my bedroom door, deciding to fetch a glass of water to calm my nerves. But when I open the door I'm met with a figure on the other side, preparing to knock. "Azriel," I begin looking up at him with creased brows. "Hey, you alright?" He asks. He was one of the only people who knew about my fear of storms like these, likely because he was the one I went to when feeling particularly scared.

"I'm fine I just—" My breath hitched as another strike of thunder snapped and a shudder racks through me, my body passive as I wrapped my arms around Azriel's torso and held him close, praying to the mother he'd hold me back. Of course, he does. One of his hands comes to my back while the other weaves into my hair.

"You're okay. Everything's okay." He reassures, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of my head. Another boom and I squeeze him tighter, as if he might disappear from my grasp. "Why don't you come to my room tonight?" He offers and I nod into his chest. He slowly detaches from the hug and I do the same, his fingers finding mine and intertwining them as he pulls me out from the doorway of my bedroom and across the hall.

His room was much larger, as well as his bed— made to fit Illyrian wings. I invite myself onto his mattress, sinking into the plush blankets. I slip beneath them as Azriel slides onto his side of the bed, his arm curling around me before tugging me right into him. I flip around to face him, our legs intertwined and our chests flushed against each other.

"Thank you, Az," I mumble, his hand brushing up my waist to cup my cheek. "You don't have to thank me." He shakes his head. Another crack outside the window but I don't jump, not while in his arms. "Go to sleep, I'll be here if you wake up alright?" He reassured, his tone light. I nod and he kisses the top of my forehead before wrapping both of his arms around me and tucking me into his chest.

I release a soft sigh as I allow myself to melt into his warmth, his chin propped atop my head as I cuddle into him. My heart rate was still rapid but now for an entirely different reason. I hoped he couldn't hear it, or that he'd blame it on the thunder. The last thing I needed at the moment was for him to find out I loved him just as much as I hated storms.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

I shift as a certain weight lifts from my torso, and then a familiar warmth disappears and I shiver from the newfound cold. I flip over with an incoherent mumble, reaching to the side of me but not finding Azriel's bare torso, instead my hand comes in contact with a soft pillow. "Good morning, love." A familiar voice hums and I squint my eyes open, spotting Azriel beside the bed staring down at me with a gentle smile on his lips.

"Hi," I mumble tiredly, rubbing at my eyes. I looked to the window where only a sliver of sun was rising over the horizon. "Too early," I grumble, pulling the blankets up to my shoulders. "Come back to bed." I lift the blankets for him, inviting him back into the warm embrace of his mattress but he only chuckles. "I've got a mission." He hums, reaching over and brushing a strand of hair behind my pointed ear. I grab his gloved hand and intertwine our fingers. "Where?" I glance up at him and then down to the mesmerizing siphon on the back of his palm. "Spring court, another meeting with Eris." He sighed and I nodded, tracing my finger around the cobalt gem. "Be safe." I slip my hand from his. "I'll still be in bed when you return." I hum with a cheeky smile and he frowns.

"No goodbye kiss then?" He tilts his head I scoff and gaze up at him, only to realize he's staring straight at me without so much as a hint of amusement on his face. "Oh, you're serious?" I arch a brow. "What if a beast attacks me on my way back?" He gasps theatrically and I roll my eyes before reaching up and grabbing him by the collar, tugging him down. "Shut up you drama queen." I giggle before placing a kiss on the corner of his lips— much closer than I aimed for but my delirium due to exhaustion seemed to take control. "I'll see you when you get home," I murmur as I back away and lie my head back down. "Right, home." He nods, slightly stunned before backing away towards the door.

I flip around to avoid watching him leave and wait until I hear the door click shut. Only then do I allow myself to let out a long sigh, then scream into the pillows, cheeks heating as I curse myself for kissing so damned close to his lips. Azriel and I have been giving each other kisses on the cheek since we were little but this— this was different.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"It was my first time going out with a female and yes, it was just Rita's— but I don't know, I got nervous." Mor ranted as she told me about her date with Emerie. "Mor, there's no need to stress. Emerie is one of the sweetest people I know, I doubt you scared her off." I reassure. "Really?" She looked to me hopelessly and I gave her a soft smile. "I guarantee she hasn't shut up about it all training. I could ask Nesta for the details if you'd like?" I arch a brow. "No!" Mor's palms come down onto the counter with urgency and I startle. She quickly retracts her hands and crosses her arms. "Sorry, just tense about all this." She muttered. I wave her off. "But enough about my love life; I heard you woke up in Azriel's bed this morning?" A knowing grin etched across her dazzling features and I flush. "It wasn't like that." I shake my head, looking down at the sketch in my notepad, we were making a list of where Mor could take Emerie on their next date but I got distracted and started doodling while she told me about her first date.

"If it's not like that, then why are you drawing him over and over again?" Mor leans over to peer down at the paper. My eyes snap down and I notice how all of the portraits were in fact of Azriel. Every single one. Gods, I was embarrassing.

I tore the paper from the notepad and crumpled it up before tossing it in the trash. "Hey! Those were good." Mor pouts. "Those looked nothing like him." I cross my arms.

I've tried to draw Azriel a multitude of times, but something was always off. How do you draw someone so perfect? It seemed utterly impossible. I couldn't even get his eyes right. His perfect hazel eyes—"Hey," Mor snaps her fingers in front of my face and I jump, looking up at her. "You're daydreaming again." She hums and I roll my eyes, closing my sketchbook and placing my pencil down. "Tell me about him." She props her elbows onto the counter and leans into her hands. "I know you want to." She gives me a smirk and she wasn't wrong.

"There's nothing to tell," I say evasively, if I talk about him I face my desires and I wasn't interested in taking my feelings for Azriel anywhere past a crush.

"Oh please, you guys have been ogling at each other since before our hundreds," She looks at me pointedly and I shrug. "I can't understand why you don't just confess," She slides into the barstool next to me. "He doesn't see me like that," I mutter and she deadpans, wondering if I was serious or not. "Don't be ridiculous, it's obvious from the way he looks at you." She hums and I perk up. "How does he look at me?" My eyebrows twitch together.

"Like you're everything." She smiles, leaning back into her chair. "No. We're just friends." I wave her off. "I'm not ruining a friendship because of the way he looks at me." I mock and she groans, flopping onto the counter dramatically. "Just confess already, what's the worst that'll happen?" She sighs.

"He’s so repulsed by even the idea that he never speaks to me again, instead he goes to Rhys and manages to get me kicked out of Velaris where I'll never be able to see any of you ever again." I rant in an all too quick tone. Mor just marvels at me. "You've thought a lot about this," She whistled lowly and I nodded. "I would've confessed a long time ago if I thought it a good idea," I murmur and her eyes widen with a new plan. "What if you don't have to confess." She sits up. "I already don't." I stare at her blankly. "But what if we can get him to confess." She raises her brows tauntingly.

"That won't work." I scoff. She gives me a dedicated smile. "Azriel is the most protective male I know, even more so than Rhys, if you tell him you take an interest in someone he'll have to confess." She reasons. "No, he'll say he's happy for me while he's drowning in his own self-pity," I argue and she clamps her mouth shut because she knows I'm right. "What if it's someone he doesn't like?" She arches a brow and I sit up, intrigued. "When Nesta danced with Eris, Cassian was ready to rip his head off." Mor hums. "You want me to make him jealous by talking about Eris?" I look at her with creased brows. "That's exactly what I want." Mor hums. I look to Feyre who's sat at the couch, staring at me like this is the best entertainment she's gotten in weeks.

"Fine," I hum and Mor squeals while Feyre claps her hands excitedly. "What's the worst that could happen?"

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"C'mon Az, of course she likes you back." Cassian grumbles during the journey back to the House of Mist. Azriel could've winnowed them but thought it'd be nice to fly with his brother. He wouldn't have taken Cassian up on the offer if he knew he'd start interrogating him.

"I already told you, I'm not talking about this with you." Azriel reminded and Cassian dramatically groaned. "Well, I'm talking to you." Cassian defended. "I think you should confess—" Cassian begins before getting gusted with a particularly strong wind from the flap of a wing, Azriel leaving him in the dust as he shot forward.

"Gods, you're childish," Cassian grumbled before quickly catching up with his brother.

"Avoiding your problems won't help you!" Cassian called and the shadow singer didn't so much as glance at him. "I'm just saying you ought to confess before she gets swooped up by someone else," Cassian explains and Azriel's wings stutter at the idea.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The shadow singer's head whipped towards his brother, who only shrugged. "She'll get bored if you keep dragging her on like this." Cassian hummed like he knew all the answers to the universe. "No one is going to swoop her up." Azriel scoffed but held some determination in his tone, like this is now his mission. "Sure they won't." Cassian droned before dipping down towards the House.

"Do you think someone will?" Azriel chased him, quick to follow the male. "If I say yes will you be that someone?" Cassian presumes and Azriel pales, sealing his lips. Their conversation is cut short as Cassian dives down and lands on the platform of House of Mist. Azriel quickly follows to do the same.

I was in the dining room with Nesta, the both of us reading our separate books as we sat in front of our untouched plates. The two Illyrians came into the room with a volume I hadn't expected. Nesta rolled her eyes and continued flipping through her book while I marked my page and shut the novel, my eyes going over to the blue-siphoned male.

"Hey," I smile at both of them but only Cassian replies with his greeting. "I made dinner, it's on the counter," I say and Cassian swiveled on his heel and beelined for the kitchen. "You're a savior," The lord of bloodshed voiced as he passed by you, then Nesta, and kissed her on the crown of her head.

Azriel approached me, bending down and placing a kiss on my cheek. I smile and look up at him as he analyzes the book in my lap.

"Another romance?" He arches a brow, I shrug innocently. "It's more than just a romance," I argue and he shakes his head lightly. "You're right, it's also pure smut." Azriel hummed as he flipped through the pages and I slammed down the cover onto the table, Nesta made a hum of amusement but didn't say anything. "You could learn a lot from these books," I say matter-of-factly and he looked at me curiously, standing to his full height over me. I blink up at him as he leans his hip on the high table and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Like how to get a girlfriend." I intone and he rolls his eyes with a scoff. "Or how to correctly pleasure a female," I add and he arches a brow at me, Illyrian pride coursing through him. "You think I don't know how to pleasure a female?" Azriel said coolly, Nesta nearly spat out her water. "I think you're cocky for a fumbling bat." I quip and a vicious smile curves his lips before he leans down and kisses my jaw. "I better get to reading then." He purrs deathly close to my ear before leaving the room.

Nesta looked at me wide-eyed like I'd gone insane. "Have you two fucked?" She whispers as soon as he leaves the room and I shake my head no, a pink tinge staining my cheeks.

"Not yet." Nesta chuckled as she fanned herself with her book dramatically. I giggled and dug into my meal. "How's training been going?" I ask and she sets her book down, deciding to pick up her fork as well. "It'd be better if Emerie would shut up about Mor for five seconds," Nesta grumbled as she stabbed a piece of meat particularly hard. "Why did we think it'd be a good idea to set them up?" She sighed and I smiled, happy that the two girls were equally obsessed with each other.

"I miss you guys," I frown. "I should start coming to training again." I mutter and she gives me a small smile. "I'd like that."

Azriel didn't come to dinner, perhaps made himself a plate then did find a Sellyn Drake novel to read. Knowing the bastard, I knew he would. Cassian however did come trudging in with a giant plate filled with the food I made, some of his favorites. Every bite had him groaning, Nesta kicking him beneath the table at the excessive noise so I took that as my queue to leave.

I collected my dishes and dumped them into the sink before padding down the hall and breezing by Azriel's room, peaking my head in but he wasn't to be found.

"Snooping?" A voice makes me jump and I whirl around to face the quiet spymaster. "Stop doing that." I place a hand on my rapid heartbeat and he smiles at me proudly. "It scares you, every time." He brushes past me into his room and I follow. "And it stopped being funny the first time," I grumble, closing the door of his bedroom behind me.

He took a seat at his desk, most likely to finish up some paperwork so I slid into his bed, looking out at the window as I picked at my nails, watching the flow of the sidra from so many feet above. Lying on my stomach and swaying my feet back and forth with a soft hum, shadows swirling around me to the tune.

I spot the pleasure hall along the river bank, its dark lights beaming its sign. "I want to go to Rita's" I mutter and he turns in his stool to look at me. "Whys that?" He asks and I flip onto my back, sitting up to face him. "I want to have fun." I shrug. Was I seriously going to try and get him to confess now? "Fun," He verbalizes like he's never heard the word before. "I haven't been with a male in a while, Az." I sigh. A long while.

"Well, none of those guys are worth your time." Azriel hummed, turning back around and returning to his work. "Then who is?" I prod, hoping he'd say him, praying he'd just admit how he felt. "I don't know, someone of higher propriety." He shrugs, I get up from the bed and walk over to his deskside.

What I was about to say next would end our friendship, for the worse or the better. "Someone like Eris?" I ask, hoping he couldn't hear how fast my heart rate was picking up. His writing halts and he freezes.

"What?" He looks up at me with pure confusion.

"Eris has a higher propriety, and he's more than interested." I hum. "Are you?" His brows crease. "Interested?" He adds and I smirk. "Would that bother you?" I tilt my head. "No, I just— I think you could find better people to kiss." He evaded and I suppressed a sigh. Why couldn't he confess, just say what he truly wants? He couldn't seem to read my hypocritical thoughts.

"I'm sorry Az I'll make sure to come to you before dropping my panties" I joke but he seems to take it all too personally. "that's not what I meant. I just—" He cuts himself off from saying something he'd regret. "You just what?" I narrow my eyes at him. He looks at me with tight lips like he knows what I'm trying to do. "Spit it out." I prompt with a taunting smile.

"I just don't want you crawling back to me when he's done using you." He finally admitted and my smile faltered.

"Crawling back to you? What am I some kind of burden?" I scoffed at him, I wasn't acting anymore. "No, love I didn't mean it like that—" He reaches for my wrist but I jolt back. "How else could you have meant it?" I mutter, my brows tense as my eyes begin to burn with tears. "I just don't want you to get hurt by someone you think loves you." He tries to explain.

"Too late," I murmur before exiting his room and going right into my room, he chases after me but I slam my door closed, shutting him out.

I lean back against my door, a shaky sigh racking through me as I wait for his footsteps to recede to his room. He doesn't take long, cursing himself before leaving the hall and slamming his own door shut. I release a soft breath and drag my feet to my bed, plopping down onto the mattress in defeat.

Sleep didn't come easy that night, silent tears slipped down my cheeks and I didn't bother wiping them away, just let them drip down onto my pillow. I don't want you crawling back to me. A shudder runs through me at the voice in my head and I tuck tighter into a ball, pulling the blankets up to my shoulders. And even if I was mad at him, I couldn't help but wish I was in his warm bed instead of my cold one.

__________

The next few days were quiet. I hadn't realized how much Azriel was weaved into my daily routine until I started going out of my way to avoid him. Luckily he left for a mission halfway through the afternoon, which relieved me. Still, it felt wrong not to wish him good luck with a kiss on the cheek, not to even spare him a glance as he left.

I haven't stopped thinking about what he said, a different emotion consuming me each time I thought about it again. Usually, it was anger, but sometimes remorse for even pushing his buttons in the first place. I don't even want Eris yet I knew it'd make him mad, I wanted to see him jealous, anything to show that he wanted me and that this wasn't one-sided. I suppose I got what I wanted in the end.

It was sunset now and all I've done today was read through an entire novel to distract myself from my real issues. So I sat on my bed and watched through my windows, the wind howled as clouds rolled over the stars. I suppressed a sigh as I realized a storm would be coming tonight. Azriel isn't home yet, and as much as I wanted to avoid him, I also found myself hoping he got back before it started to rain.

I shifted up to my pillows, perhaps I could find sleep before the thunder began, hoping I would dream through it, I pulled the blankets up to my neck and allowed my bones to sink into the mattress. No tears came tonight but I wasn't hurt by Azriel's words any longer, just mourning the loss of his conversation, his touch, or even his presence at all.

I managed to slip into a light slumber, exhausted from all too much thinking.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Thunder boomed and I jerked upright, my fingers clenching the sheets as my breath began to quicken. Another ear-shrieking crack. I shudder, holding back a gasp and clasping my shaky hand over my mouth. I close my eyes and pray for the storm to go away. Another flash of light outside my window and I'm quick to press my palms to my ears, it does little to shut out the noise but at least I knew it was coming.

I wasn't going to be able to sleep now that I'd already gotten a few hours. I hoped Azriel got home safely, that he didn't get stranded halfway through the storm and had to seek shelter in an unknown court. I wished he was at my door, that he'd be there ready to comfort me if I needed him. But I knew better than to have false hope.

The whole point of all this was to avoid ruining our friendship, but now I'm sitting here with my hands to my ears and a broken friendship.

I perk up, the realization hits that there was no point in avoiding my feelings and that our friendship was already ruined. If we're going to never speak to each other again I'd rather know than stay in the dark.

Before I can talk myself out of it I slip from my sheets, jumping slightly as another loud crash sounds outside my window. I get to the door but as soon as my hand rests on the handle a knock sounds, a specific knock I recognize as only one person. I freeze. Dread fills me. I understood I was just on the way to see him but now he was outside my door and suddenly I was thinking again, talking myself out of opening this door.

I contemplate my options, fingers pressed to my lips as I remain utterly quiet. A loud crack has a small gasp leaving my lips and there's no way he didn't hear it. So I'm forced to open the door. I don't dwell on my choices and quickly swing the door open, looking up at him and clenching the hem of my nightgown in my fist, fiddling with it in anxiety.

His brows are drawn and his lips seem to be in a permanent frown, bags under his eyes as evidence of his lack of sleep. "I'm sorry." He says through a breath he seemed to be holding. "What I said was inexcusable, I just was so upset at the thought of you being with someone else." He admits, then suddenly clamps his mouth shut like even he didn't expect himself to say that."No, I'm sorry." I shake my head. His brows knit together in confusion.

"What could you be sorry for?" He frowns. "I don't want Eris I just, I was trying to make you jealous," I confess. His eyes soften, and then he releases a light, solemn chuckle. "I'm sorry for something else too," I fiddle with the doorknob and he tilts his head inquisitively. "What's that?" He asks. I rise onto my toes and cup his jaw before pressing my lips to his. I backed away as quickly as I came. He blinks at me, utterly shocked.

"Sorry for not doing that sooner." I profess and then his gaze turns into something much softer. He steps forward, past the threshold of my room, his large hands coming to my neck and waist as he pulls me towards him, his lips catching mine and I melt into him.

The kiss is everything I dreamed of like electric shocks running from the tips of my fingers to my toes. He leaned down, kissing me deeper, he needed more. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him impossibly closer. He smiles against my lips at the action and I can't help but mirror the expression.

"Fuck, I missed you." He hummed and I giggled, pecking his lips between words, just because I could.

"I missed you too." I grin wildly, then jolt when a bolt of thunder strikes down. His arms wrap around me tighter and I press my chest to his, the warmth more comforting than anything else. "Want to sleep in my room tonight?" He arches a brow and I smile up at him, then nod with a bright expression. He mirrors my features, his dimples creasing his cheeks and I marvel at the sight. He picks me up from under my thighs and my legs wrap around his torso.

I peck a line of kisses up his jaw as he carries me through the hallway and into his room, leaning back against it to shut it. I hum mindlessly before kissing his lips again, drunk on the taste of them. Wanting to do it all the time now that I had the option. I backed away, looking at him as he stared at me in an utter daze, a soft smile on his face as he observed my every move. "You're so pretty." I admire, brushing a finger across his cheekbone. "I was just thinking the same thing about you." He looks into my eyes and I flush, then his eyes flick back down to my lips and I take the hint, coming closer and resting my mouth against his once more, slotting to him like two ends of a puzzle, savoring the feel as he filled every empty pit and crevice of desperation inside of me.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

I awoke with bleary vision, squinting my eyes open and resting them upon the sunrise outside. Dawn creeps over the mountains in pink and purple hues. A weight rests along my waist, tugging me closer unconsciously until I'm pressed up against a familiar chest. I smile wildly as I remember the events of last night and flip around to look up at a half-awake Azriel.

"Morning, love." He hums, I've heard the deep tone of his morning voice hundreds of times before but none of those compared to this moment. "G'morning." I look up at him, wrapping my arms around his neck, leaning forward, and pressing a gentle kiss to his sensuous lips. "I could get used to this." He mumbled and I backed away with a chuckle, snuggling into his chest and releasing a soft sigh.

He rolls over onto his back, his wings adjusting beneath me as he pulls me up on top of his chest. "Do you have any missions today?" I ask him, propping my head up on his sternum as he looks down at me through his lashes. "My schedule is clear." He informs, fingers tracing up and down from my waist to my hips, spanning the distance with his large scarred hands.

"Just for me?" I teased with a head tilt and he nodded. "Just for you." He confirms before I settle my lips back onto his, gods I couldn't get enough of how perfect it felt like we were two sides of a magnet meant to be pressed together, couldn’t be torn apart without the utmost force.

The door to the bedroom opens and shadows swirl around us. "Hey Az do you—" Cassian begins as he invites himself into the room. "How many times do I have to tell you to knock Cassian!" Azriel shouted at his brother, throwing a pillow at him. The general caught it with ease, his eyes practically glowing with excitement.

"I'm not sorry." Cassian proudly shakes his head. "We could've been fucking." Azriel mutters sourly, his wings coming to wrap around me. I was only in my nightgown, nothing Cass hadn't seen before but now that Azriel had the right to be overprotective he was going to use it.

"You say that like we didn't use to fuck different girls in the same room when we were in Windhaven." Cassian reminds him pointedly, another pillow is thrown at him and I giggle because this time it actually hits him.

"What do you want?" Azriel demands, eager to return to kissing. "Do you have any bandaids? I have a paper cut." He held up his pinky which had a small nick in it. I tilt my head at him, confused as to how some of the greatest warriors couldn't lay a finger on him yet here he stood defeated by a paper cut.

"In the bathroom cabinet under the sink." Azriel waves him off, shadows guiding the male to the door as he flips the both of us over, his hips coming to rest between my thighs, his head stuffed into my chest. "Have fun you two!" Cassian calls and I snicker as shadows slam the door closed on him.

"Bastard," Azriel grumbles into my breasts and I look down at him with an amused look. My hands go into his hair, pulling his head back to look at me. His hands trace incoherent shapes on my thighs, his gaze catching mine. "What are we?" He asks and I grin down at him. "Friends." I taunt.

"Friends don't kiss." He shakes his head, leaning down and pressing his lips onto mine.

"I'm only kidding." My hands come up to his cheeks, thumbs rubbing his sharp cheekbones as he stills a mere centimeter away. "I've been reading those romance books," He admits. "Oh really?" I arch a brow and he nods. "I think I learned how to get a girlfriend." He admits and I smile at the recall. "Did you learn how to properly pleasure a female too?" I taunt, coiling my fingers in his hair as he watches me attentively before replying, "Would you like to find out?"

Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glam-targaryen @going-through-shit @fauxdette @impossibelle @amara-moonlight @webecheesy-blog @sarawritestories

@lees-chaotic-brain @mell-bell

Comment a “💙” to be added to the general taglist!

Comment a “🖤” to be added to the Azriel taglist!

[josephquinnswhore]

Her Sanctuary

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader.

Summary: you start pulling away from Joel, he’s scared he’s going to lose you.

Word Count: 1.7k

Content Warning: mentions of anxiety, bad mental health. Joel talking about Sarah!!! 😭 soft Joel!!!!! Hurt/comfort.

Note: kinda just wrote this on a whim after rewatching the last of us. I miss joel. @cool-iguana ily.

You were an outspoken person. About everything. There wasn’t a single topic you didn’t have an opinion on. Always a snarky reply, a joke, or following pun. That’s just who you were.

Joel spent months wishing you weren’t like that. That you’d just shut up so he could have a few moments of silence between you. His limited replies included a scowl, raised eyebrow or an annoyed grunt. He spent months travelling across the country with you, refusing to open up and reluctantly teaching you how to shoot his rifle.

He didn’t like how you made him feel. How he had started looking at you romantically. The sound of your laugh stirred something in him. Your bright eyes lightened the darkness in his own.

He never allowed himself to let you in; as much as a fight he put up. You wormed yourself into the cracks in the walls around his heart and started to mend him. He doesn’t know when it happened exactly, all he can remember is wanting to hear more of her laugh, he even found her a joke book in an old RV he scouted one evening at the trailer park they posted in overnight.

He had learned how to accept your brightness, for all its worth. Your dorky comments, crooked grin and boisterous laugh. Even those small touches to his back and arm when you would pass by, excusing yourself. Always followed by a mumbled, “sorry.”

But this.. this he didn’t know what to do. He was tearing himself up inside for not knowing what to do. You were quiet today, something bubbling inside of you that radiated off and in between them in a depressing aura that had Joel feeling breathless.

He even found himself staring at you, from the corner of his eyes, turning his head to watch you, making sure you kept up as you lingered a few steps behind him, completely silent. Not laughing, not crying. Silent.

It was heart wrenching and he couldn’t figure out how to put the pieces together to finish the puzzle. Nothing extreme had happened that they hadn’t faced before. They’d fought off some infected yesterday but—it couldn’t have possibly been that. They were fine. They survived.

Maybe you just wasn’t coping as well as he thought you were.

He tried to think of things to cheer you up, and the guilt consumed him when he realised he didn’t really know much about you. He had never asked. It was always you asking about him, pestering to know more about him. He cursed himself for being so selfish.

The harsh reality of their one sided dynamic hit Joel hard, he had always protected her, with his physical strength and ability to kill. That primal instinct that kept them both alive and for what? He couldn’t help her when she actually needed.

He felt utterly useless.

Until. He had an idea. That stupid fucking joke book that she treasured, had to cheer her up right? It had to draw out one of those loud laughs that made his insides flip, the smile that made your eyes squint that his heart craved to see.

He reached into his pack, pulling it out. She’d stashed it in there, insisting that her pack had no more room. He didn’t argue, he knew she struggled carrying the weight. He decided that day that he could carry the extra burden for things that she decided she couldn’t bare.

This baggage however, was tricker. He would take it if he could. He hoped this would work.

He turns around to look at you and what he saw made him feel like there was a metal vice around his heart, your slumped shoulders and black eye bags complimented a vacant look in your eyes, you were unrecognisable in comparison to your default sunshine personality.

“Hey, I was thinkin’ about that algae-bra joke you told me the other day.” He tried to make his voice as soft as he could when he spoke to you, trying to nudge a reaction.

Nothing, she barely looks at him. “Hm?”

“Anyways, I was thinkin’ we could pass the time with this.” He held the joke book in his hand, swinging his pack back over his shoulder, adjusting his rifle strap as he shuffles on his feet.

You felt a spark of something, something that was quickly put out by the fear and darkness that felt so consuming.

“Maybe later?” You offer quietly, walking past him. “It’ll be dark soon.”

Joel felt defeated. How had he failed so badly. How did he let this fester inside of her like a fucking disease that he didn’t know how to get rid of.

This was an infection in your mind; that he figured on his own. This kind of infection he didn’t know how to cure. He had always pushed his own anxiety and panic attacks down burying them, until he learnt to live with it.

But you; the one fucking good thing in his life that brought him life, hope. He wouldn’t allow you to ignore it, to let it consume you.

He wasn’t going to let you fall victim. He would do whatever it took.

He set up camp in silence, stuck in his head about how the fuck he was going to help you, a feeling of shame overwhelmed him as he sits by the fire, rubbing his hands together as you sit in your sleeping bag, across from him.

Arms wrapped tightly around yourself, legs pulled to your chest. It made you look smaller, the way you held yourself protectively. A reflection of the flames flicking in her eyes only made the mood more somber.

He can’t say something came over him, possessed him to say what he felt bubbling up inside of him. He didn’t want to lose her. To him, you were too important, you disarmed him and weaselled your way into his heart. He wasn’t going to let you leave, not ever.

“When my little girl used to get upset, she always shut me out like this, like what you’re doin’, I always told myself she’ll come around.” He nods to himself, as if reminiscing the memory.

You stay silent, watching him. Watching his expression soften.

“An’ now she’s gone it’s all I regret. Not doin’ more. Not making more of an effort with shit like that. Fuckin’ haunts me.”

Not once in the months they’ve travelled he had mentioned having children, a daughter, let alone a decreased one. He had mumbled a few times in his sleep, incoherently a name. Serine, Sari, Sarah? You could never figure it out, and never pried.

But here he was, sitting across from her looking on with longing eyes and his features the most relaxed she’d ever seen.

“I ain’t makin’ that same mistake again, seein’ you like this, pullin’ away. Feels like I’m failin’ all over again.” His admission shocks you, enough to stun a quiet confession from your own lips before you could think.

“I thought you were going to die.” He seems surprised to hear you talking, but stays silent, wanting you to talk more, wanting to hear more.

“I know we’ve dealt with plenty of infected.. we’ve had some close calls even, sure.” Your heart clenched as you recall.

Joel lying on the ground with that infected on top of him, Joel’s gun inches away as he fumbles, fingertips desperately grasping the hairs of grass as he searched for his weapon.

Holding the infected away with one arm, grunting in a struggle that he was bound to lose. It’s rotten teeth and fleshy stench was so close to grazing Joel’s neck. Inches away from sealing his fate.

You had somehow mustered some courage inside of you to tackle the infected, throwing it off Joel and giving him a split second to reach for his gun and put a bullet in the back of the infected’s head.

Your jeans still stunk, of gunpowder and blood. A stench so vile you couldn’t help but relive the moment, it was on your mind every second, unable to process it all.

You almost lost Joel. Joel almost fucking died. It was a breath away.

“I thought if I just—shut down maybe you’d get tired and ditch me.. worse yet I’d stop caring about you so damn much.” Joel’s ears perked at her soft admission.

“And I know you think I’m just—some annoying fucking girl that you have to protect and feed and I’m sorry..“ Joel wouldn’t allow another word.

“Hey. Look at me, now.” His tone was soft, but held a firmness, there was no doubt he wasn’t asking you. He needed you to look at him.

His face looked so soft beyond the flames of the fire, his expression was tender and kind; as no one had ever seen before. He looked beautiful, fuck, he was handsome. You’d always thought so.

“I know it was a close call, we’ve learnt from it, yeah? We won’t make the same mistake.” You nod, Joel continues.

“Don’t pull away from me sweetheart. Please.”

You open your mouth to say something, but Joel interrupts by patting the space beside him.

“C’mere sweetheart. C’mon.” You don’t waste a moment to plop beside him. He wraps his sleeping bag around you and his big hands grip around your torso to pull you into his.

“Tell me you ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

For the first time since you’ve known Joel. He was the one asking for comfort, reassurance.

“Promise I’m not going anywhere Joel.” You nuzzle into him, his natural musk strung a desire out of her that all she could do was lean into him.

“You get some rest now. I’ll keep ya safe.” He murmurs into her ear, a promise.

All you could do was obey him. Closing your eyes as your body and mind revelled in the intimacy and vulnerability of this moment.

His head rested on top of yours, your hair gets stuck in the rugged coarse hairs of his beard. He finds himself nuzzling into you, allowing himself to get lost in you. After months of fighting you; he lets go. He lets you in.

You were his. And he wasn’t going to let anything fucking hurt you. Not even yourself. He would be your sanctuary. No matter what it took.

[ghostdrinkssoup]

something I find really interesting about hannibal’s character is how he uses people’s expectations and ingrained assumptions to hide himself. no one suspects he’s a serial killer because he doesn’t present as one. he’s elegant and refined and isn’t cruel to animals. he’s highly sophisticated, a polyglot and has a deep admiration for beauty and life. he appreciates saving lives just as much as he appreciates ending them. in fact, this particular aspect of his character is partly why it takes will the entirety of s1 to accept hannibal’s true nature. will saw hannibal save abigail and accompany her to the hospital in apéritif and he also saw hannibal save a man’s life by performing emergency surgery and taking over the operation at the end of sorbet.

this moment in particular is interesting because of how it’s framed to make hannibal look almost godly from will’s point of view:

1) hannibal is positioned immediately higher than will due to being in the ambulance, meaning will is looking up at hannibal, while hannibal is looking down on him

2) hannibal is standing under a bright light as he works to save this guy’s life, while will is standing in almost complete darkness

3) the usual orchestral, classical music is playing in the background, emphasising the apparent “holiness” of the act and framing hannibal as some sort of saviour

the impact of this scene is even more potent when considering the context of the rest of the episode, since will has already stated that the ripper is not the type to save people or enact mercy on anyone. his style of murders doesn’t suggest this characteristic whatsoever, and although will’s assessment is correct, hannibal’s personality and overall demeanour doesn’t match what we’d imagine a person like that might look like. I think will is confronted by this as well, because even if hannibal’s surgical skill means he matches the ripper’s profile (which makes him a valid suspect) his actions contradict will’s image of the ripper, while simultaneously affirming it:

it’s difficult to reconcile these facets of hannibal’s character. it’s inherently contradictory and defies our cultural expectations. nonetheless, hannibal’s inclination to save people is sometimes more insidious than his murders. he doesn’t save people out of altruism, he does it because he thinks he’s superior and enjoys deciding outcomes. he doesn’t view himself as insane, he views himself as god. this is most aptly explored in takiawase, through the acupuncturist/beekeeper killer. here we see a murderer who confesses that she killed a man to quiet his mind, and tells jack that it’s beautiful that she managed to protect him and her other patients. this is one side of hannibal’s character, the one who’s a doctor and therapist and sees death as a cure from disease, even if the ‘disease’ itself is literally just discourtesy. it’s ultimately an act of power.

and yet in this same episode he flips a coin and saves bella on a whim. this of course is framed to others as an act of mercy, however the reality is he took bella’s power away in an act disguised as kindness. once again, he hides in plain sight. this is the other side of his character, and it’s just as deadly.

it’s still about power.

but we don’t associate acts of mercy with monstrosity. when hannibal comforts abigail in trou normand we question whether he’s as bad as we think, because what negative connotations are tied to paternal tenderness? we miss that hannibal is fostering dependency, that he literally looks dead in the eyes as he holds her, and that he blatantly just told us that he’s using abigail to manipulate will:

hannibal often does this actually. he either directly says what he’s doing or suggests that he’s the culprit (often through cannibal puns, as we know) but no one ever interprets him correctly because doing so would contradict the image he’s carefully constructed for himself. it would cause too much dissonance.

and what’s fascinating is that on a subtextual level this is largely what the show is about. the story is an exploration of societal roles and the struggle to fit into stiff categorisation and expectations. will parallels hannibal in this regard because he’s desperately trying to repress his identity by taking on certain roles. and the audience is lured by this persona the same way the characters are lured by hannibal because will defies our understanding of certain tropes. on a genre level, will assumes the detective archetype, meaning we are primed to think he’s inherently good. when we see him say he wants to save people we believe him, even though he often only does so to prove to himself that he’s a good person. will is indeed righteous, a characteristic we often view positively, however he’s violent, wrathful and actively enjoys murder due to how powerful it makes him feel. he’s not dissimilar to hannibal, we just don’t see this straight away because doing so would disrupt our understanding of good and evil.

will hides the same way hannibal does, except will hides from us as well

[mercy-burning]

Someone Else

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: "You were simply two beings with the same boisterous hurt in your hearts and a longing to quiet them." Inspired by Devil Herself by Ashe. Category: SMANGST 18+ (angst with smut, the perfect pairing!) Content: Strong language, unprotected sex, crying, crying during sex, oral sex (both receiving), public sex, drinking, reader/narrator self-deprecation, bittersweet ending. Word Count: 2.4k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: I started this one back when Ashe's new album came out earlier in September, and I finally needed a break from writing my Alaska fic, so I decided to finish this one up on a whim. Aaaaaand then I cried while finishing it LMAO. Enjoy!! <3

***

You should have known it was too good to be true. Nobody that perfectly imperfect just walks right into your life and stays until your final day. You were smart enough to know that and yet you welcomed him with open arms. How could you not?

Spencer Reid was a heavily damaged soul when you met him. Takes one to know one, you know. Coming off of some trauma he never fully disclosed with you other than a simple yet effective, "I've hurt a lot of people," you knew there was a lot going on in that tragic, beautiful little brain of his— a lot that could probably stand to disappear for a while with a little help... It wasn't like you were one to prey on the damaged, but there was something alluring, and even comforting, about him that you couldn't help but want to unfold. So despite what it looked like on paper, you couldn't call it taking advantage of him.

You were simply two beings with the same boisterous hurt in your hearts and a longing to quiet them.

He took you home to your apartment that night, and gave you the greatest sex of your life. It was urgent and cathartic and all-consuming, and by the end of it you knew you needed to feel him over and over again. Thankfully, Spencer seemed to be mutual in that need, calling you a few days later to ask if he could come over again.

You assumed it would be just sex. For about a month, it was.

And then one night he seemed extra... sad. You could tell he wasn't himself, but you embraced him anyway, knowing you'd certainly been in his shoes with sexual partners before. He tried to be his usual dominating bedroom-self, but not long into the night you could feel his control slipping away. He was thinking too much, getting choked up and weak with each thrust, and before you knew it, you instinctively flipped the switch and lent a helping hand.

You rolled the two of you over and held his torso straight up in a hug as you rode him on the bed, your legs wrapped firmly around his waist. It was the most intimate position the two of you had been in, the most vulnerable, and though it felt a little foreign and confusing emotionally, you couldn't bear to let him be alone. So you let him bury his face in the crook of your neck as you fucked yourself onto him, legs burning but determined to make him feel good.

"I've got you, Spencer," you sighed earnestly into the air, your heart stuttering when you felt him let a small sob out into your skin. "I've got you. I'm here."

His grip tightened around your torso, nails digging into your skin, and he came undone with a purging shout. You didn't finish yourself, but at that moment it didn't matter to you. Still, he profusely apologized through kisses over your shoulders and your arms, and then down to your stomach and lower. You didn't want him to feel like he needed to make anything up to you, but you also couldn't bring yourself to stop him as he cleaned you up with his tongue. You laid there, sighing out his name and letting yourself feel... taken care of. For the first time in your life, it felt like somebody actually gave a shit, despite their own shortcomings. What you offered to him, he offered gladly in return, and it was a breath of fresh air.

A very odd breath of fresh air.

He stayed through the night, falling asleep in your arms, and was gone before you awoke.

For weeks while he was traveling for work, you couldn't shake the feeling of missing him. It wasn't like before, when you'd miss the sex and the sex alone. Suddenly you missed the absence of a smile you'd never seen, and domestic moments you'd never shared.

It was so scary to you that the next time he showed up at your door, you barely even registered that he was smiling sheepishly with a rose in his hand before you tugged him inside by the collar and immediately kissed him. You thought you'd imagined it. You went through the night begging him to fuck you so hard you'd forget your own name, and to his credit, he obliged. But you left the house the next day to see a rose petal flattened to the ground by the doorway, forgotten to the shadows, and that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach came back.

You didn't know if you liked it or not.

Regardless, you decided that the uncertainty was worth it. The two of you spent nearly every free moment together for months, having sex and going out and eating dinner and sharing fucked-up stories.

There were a few moments where you could tell he was trying to get you to open up about your past, but each time you'd shut it down. He didn't need to know the gory details, because they didn't matter. Not anymore. Besides, you certainly didn't push for him to tell you his gory details, and yet each attempt to get you to be vulnerable with him included a little more background of his trauma— A sick and troubled mother, a heavy job with many casualties, and most recently an ex-girlfriend who'd broken things off with him because he cheated on her with a serial killer... All reasonably traumatic.

Still, you weren't naive enough to think that you could open up to him and still live your life out like a fairy-tale romance in the end. Things in your life were always ugly and complicated and unfixable, and no amount of rehashing it to Spencer for the sake of camaraderie was going to change it or make you feel any different. You didn't know why he couldn't seem to see that.

Eventually though, he seemed to have given up. You were afraid that he'd decided you weren't good enough for him then and want to pull away, but to your surprise he remained a constant in your life, and you were grateful.

You showed him exactly how grateful in many ways. Not just with sex, but with adventure. Sometimes both in one.

For his birthday, you took him to his favorite science museum and let him talk you through each exhibit, and when you told him you needed to use the bathroom, you dragged him inside with you. He was rightfully more reserved than in the privacy of your home, but he went along for the ride anyway, holding back groans as you sucked him off in the far stall and nearly choking on air when someone walked in. You tried to hold back a laugh, consequently gagging around him and prompting a concerned, "Are you okay?" from the woman who'd walked in to wash her hands.

"Yeah, I just ate something that didn't settle," you called back, grinning at Spencer, who looked mortified. "I'll be okay, thank you!"

He tried to act like he wasn't amused, but he left the museum with a giant smile, lacing his fingers with yours.

Almost a year into knowing each other, things in your life finally seemed to feel normal and... not bad. Almost good. Admittedly you stopped a few times to wonder if it was going to all come crashing down, but always came to the conclusion that if it did, it wouldn't be surprising given your track record with relationships, and if it didn't, you'd be pleasantly surprised. A win either way, regardless of how depressing the logic was. Still, there was always this sinking feeling that the other shoe was going to drop, try as you might to lock the feeling away.

The night he asked you to meet his friends, you haphazardly shoved the feeling in a box, but you couldn't seem to get it to lock.

They were kind people, that much was obvious. And they loved Spencer. He had a great support system, and you couldn't be mad at that. But it was a group you didn't quite fit into. A family.

You tried your hardest to make small talk, but it was severely painful, and you got a feeling they didn't like you very much.

Which, of course, was unfortunately apparent when you overheard JJ talking to Spencer later in the evening.

"I know you've known her a while now, but... Do you really know her, Spence? Know anything?"

"She's not keen to talk about her past. But I respect her decision... She doesn't have to tell me anything she doesn't want to." The words were kind, kinder than you probably deserved. But he sounded... hesitant. Like he knew it was the right thing for a boyfriend to say, but he didn't want to say it because he didn't agree.

Your stomach turned sour.

"I just... I don't want you to get your heart broken again. I hate seeing you that way, we all do. You deserve to be happy, with someone who gives back all the love you give."

You didn't stick around to listen to the rest of the conversation, downing the rest of your whiskey, turning on your heel, and making a run for the car, empty glass still in hand. You texted Spencer to let him know you were outside because you didn't feel well, and it wasn't long before he appeared at your side.

"Are you okay?"

His caring, gentle hand on your shoulder felt like a wound.

"No, I think I drank too much. I want to go home."

He carefully guided you into the car, but you felt hollow.

JJ's words hurt, but they weren't wrong. You were just another trauma to add to his compendium, another stain on the page. He didn't deserve you, and you sure as hell didn't deserve someone like him. Damaged or not, he was a genuine good soul surrounded by more genuine good souls. You were a piece that didn't fit.

He surprisingly hadn't avoided you after the disastrous night out with his friends. He distanced himself emotionally a little bit, sure, but he still came to see you regularly.

In fact, he's currently on his way over as you mull over your entire relationship from the start, and there's a knot in your stomach that tells you it might be the last time.

You don't want it to be, but in the year you've known him, he's become... Well, he hasn't become anything, you suppose. He's always been an emotionally intelligent, self-aware person. But somewhere along the way he allowed your companionship to heal a little bit of his damage. Meanwhile, you just let it fester yours.

It was never going to last.

When Spencer finally shows up at your door, you open it for him and pull him in by the collar, afraid that he might somehow slip away if you didn't. If this truly is the last time you see him, you don't want it to be sentimental. You want what you started this with— indulgence.

Your lips attach to his with an eagerness that seems to catch him off guard. His hands hesitate before they knot in your hair, gently tugging the strands as he kisses you back deep and languidly— a little indulgence of his own before he recedes.

He pulls your head away, and you try to resist.

"Y/N..." his voice is shaking. It's unsure. But his hands are firm as they cradle your head.

You grip his shirt tightly, willing the word to work when you say, "Don't," through your teeth.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore," he says quietly.

The words numb you, but you'd expected it. You loosen your grip on his shirt and feel yourself slipping away. "I know, and I get it. We don't fit. I used to think we did, but..."

You're actually more well-adjusted than I thought.

He drops his eyes sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

You deserve better anyway.

So much for indulgence.

"But I am... I... I know you don't see it, but there's a lot of good in you, Y/N. You're bright, and beautiful, and witty, and charming... And you're going to find someone someday, who you'll want to open up to, and you'll let them bring out all the best parts of you. I'm... It's unfortunate that I probably won't be there to witness it, but I just wanted you to know... that I wish you absolutely nothing but the best. You deserve it."

It's ironic, you think, that he's probably the closest you'd ever gotten to what he's just described. The missing him when he was away, and the fighting urge for something that you always felt when he was near, but pushed down and buried at the last second... Something that felt a little too much like pure love and not just love for the sake of giving the feeling a name.

He was so close to being that person for you, the one who pulls out all of your best qualities and makes you want to open up. But in the end, his grip wasn't strong enough.

You don't even realize that you'd shed a tear until Spencer reaches out and wipes it away. And then you feel all of them, blurring your vision slowly and surely until it blinds you and your throat is too tight to breathe. He pulls you into a sweltering hug that will stay with you forever.

You sob willingly into his chest, and you aren't sure for how long, but he gladly holds you through it all— until you calm yourself down and blow your nose. He even pours you a glass of water and makes sure you're really okay before he leaves, parting with a final tender kiss.

The cliche of it all almost makes you groan, but you laugh at it instead—slowly at first, but then you're crying again, only this time through a humongous fit of manic laughter. It rings through the room sharply, surely annoying the neighbors upstairs and down. But you don't care.

Because even though it isn't indulgence, in a way, you're still ending this relationship the same way you started it.

In catharsis.

You were right, It was too good to be true. It wasn't meant to last. 

But for the first time in your life, as you laugh yourself to sleep, you finally feel... like you're going to be okay.

Because if somebody like Spencer Reid believes in you, then there must be something good in there, after all.

[poppy-metal]

hnngnngnggggnnn Patrick being a spoiled little rich boy <3

need to be his sugar baby :( getting to lounge around his mansion and use his black card at any shops you want as long as your mouth or pussy or ass are available to him whenever he wants :((

his little free use girlfriend who he parades around at important events in skimpy dresses that make people stare at you in shock, all so he has easier access to lift up your skirt or tug down the top and reveal your tits if the whim arises :((((

#needthat

need to be rich!patrick zweigs bratty sugar baby. need to be his little mistress because he never separated from his family and grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and became pro at tennis and became like all the other boring fucking older men at his fathers country club he swore he'd never be. need him to hate his life and how easy everything was to obtain and how his marriage is loveless and she doesn't even put out and his kids are rich little brats he can't connect with because they're little ipad kids, absolute demons, they wont go outside with him they dont wanna learn to play tennis or any sport or run around and make stick and dirt soup like he did when he was a kid and life is so fucking boring everything is in grays - until he meets you.

at a bar one night. its not the first time hes cheated on his wife - but it might be the first time he's fallen in love. he sees you and wants to fuck you immediately. already decides he'll have your panties around one ankle while he shoves a tongue up your cunt in the bathroom stall - he buys you a drink and you let him. you're sweet and flirty and you draw him in like a bee to a pretty flower - he's subconsciously leaning in, eyes can't stop dropping to your lips.

things take a turn though when you get up to leave and he blinks because he didn't mean to get swept up in the conversation - chases after you to try again - to take you back to a hotel or even in the back of his car - but you tell him no.

he just looks at you. confused. hard. "no." he repeats. rolls it around in his head. foreign. hasn't heard it much before. it sounds sweet coming from your lips.

"you're not fucking me." you tell him simply.

that shouldn't turn him on but it does. he's not stupid. you were attracted to him. he'd seen the way you looked at him - bitten your lip. he knows he's not projecting, because even now you're smiling as you say it.

he rubs a thumb over his bottom lip as he checks you over. strappy heels, but cheap. tight little bodysuit, but not designer. flashy purse but he knows the diamonds on it are fake.

ah.

"you in college?"

you smooth a hand down your hair. "sophomore year."

he nods, leans against the brick building of the bar. fishes in his coat pocket for his packet of cigarettes. "what're you studying?" he flips the box open, slides a cig out - brings it to his lips.

you eye him curiously as he roots for his lighter next - trying and failing to ignore the heat in your belly at how good this man looks leaning against something with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"we already did the small talk, dude. you're not getting any."

he ignores that. lights his cigarette and inhales. he likes that you're obviously irritated but you dont move away. he blows smoke through his nose. says again, "what're you studying."

you huff. roll your eyes. he watches you calmly, taking drags his cig. in the cool night air you can't tell the exact shade of his eyes, but you think they're green. everything about him screams money and dominance.

you cross your arms. "law." short but simple.

he nods like that makes sense, flicks ash.

"that's good." he says it in a way that sounds like he means it but also could be condescending and you dont know why that makes you swallow deeply. "expensive, though."

you narrow your eyes.

"you think im poor?"

usually someone would fumble after being called out like that but patrick just smiles in a way that says he knows you are -

"i know you're not rich."

you bristle. that hurts. you don't know why. who wants to look rich, anyway. fucking snobs. but still, its embarrassing to be told the distinction in class is obvious to someone else who's far far above you. you can already tell the watch hes wearing costs more than the apartment you can barely afford.

"thanks for the unasked for observation, dickhead." you yank your purse strap higher on your shoulder, make to turn away. "I'd say its been pleasant but well, it hasn't. so."

you make it a couple steps before he calls out -

"I'll pay it."

you're alot of things. you're haughty and stubborn and yeah, not rich. you're also down on your luck and struggling and drowning in so many things in the moment - barely being able to afford your own fucking beer at this point when what you wanted to accomplish in life would take thousands, thousands of dollars. so hearing the word 'pay'. well, yeah. it makes you turn around to face the guy.

"you'll what?"

he knows you heard. it was cute how you perked right up.

"I'll pay it." he gestures towards you. "all of it - your semester. your tuition. textbooks. whatever else you need."

you gawk at him.

the thing is. he's attractive. alarmingly so. disarmingly really. he's tall and broad and he dresses well. he has that perfectly styled hair and deep rich man scent that makes your mouth water. a beautiful face with a rouge kind of touch. you'd have fucked a man like him under any normal circumstance, but given the way your life is going at the moment - you haven't the time to waste on pretty men with big dicks.

probably. he probably has a big dick.

"you're fucking kidding me."

"nah." he licks his bottom lip. takes another drag. flicks more ash to the pavement. he looks at you like he's already imagining you naked in front of him. "I'm good for it."

"well duh." you look him up and down. "you look like you just stepped out of a magazine for mens wealth or whatever. why the fuck are you offering? you expect me to suck your dick for it or something?"

you say the last part sarcastically, rolling your eyes - but patrick just looks at you seriously. sucks the humor right from your bones when he says - "yeah, i do."

two things happen in your body.

firstly, you stiffen. the urge to slap him for being so derogatory making your fingers twitch at your sides. your face burns.

secondly and most apparently, your cunt throbs. your nipples tighten. you inhale sharply in a way patrick notices. smirks at.

you blink at him several times.

"i can't believe you just seriously said that to me." you say it kind of breathlessly. you really can't believe it though.

"should i be more clear?" he takes one step towards you. "i want to fuck you - you want to fuck me, but you won't do it for free. I'm offering to pay you for it."

"i - im not a whore."

the grin patrick gives you makes a tremble shoot through your whole body. you feel it in your toes.

"you sure about that?"

you really should slap him.

you dont.

you fumble, "you're married." you'd spotted the ring at the bar earlier. it hadn't been the reason you turned him down initially, but still.

"you dont care about that."

fuck.

"you cant just...... buy whatever you want. im a person."

he nods. he's done with his cigarette so be crushes it beneath his boot. "give me your hand." he just takes it anyway. you watch dumbly as he gets a pen from his pocket - how many things did he have in his fucking pocket? - bites the cap off, and brings the tip to your palm. "this is the number for my personal phone."

of course he had multiple phones. he doesn't let go of your hand when he's done writing. rubs his thumb into the pulse point at your wrist.

"when you change your mind -" when not if. "- i want you to call me."

you go to pull your hand away, but patrick squeezes it.

"one more thing."

he's close enough the spicy mint scent of him fills your nose. he dips his head so he's closer to your ear, you feel the stubble on his chin graze your cheek -

"when you let me fuck you - you will be a cheap whore. you'll let me do what I want to you. and i know its not because of the money. but i understand what its like to need something to let yourself have something else." he turns his head. kisses your cheek. "don't take too long to call, though. I'm not a patient man."