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luvsupa · 8 days ago

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LET’S KEEP IT PROFESSIONAL. . .?

𝜗𝜚 summary: where jjk men want you at the wrong place and wrong time… feat. gojo, geto, choso, nanami (seperate).

tags: fem!reader, pwp,smut, (p in v), ōral sex (f! receiving), lactation kink .. (gojo), gojos a king and he’s OBESSED w you, public sex, car sex, riding, sub men (ish), dirty talk, praise, hair pulling, getting caught, mentions of pregnancy (nanami), slight bimbo reader x choso, ummm dunno what else to add … mdni

w.c: 5,3k

a/n: THANK YOU GUYS SOSOS MUCH FOR 2K AND 2.1K!! IM SO THANKFUL FOR ALL OF YOUUUUUU^^^ HERES A 2K SPECIAL FOR YOU GUYSS MWAAA <33

+ there might be errors errrrr….

GOJO SATORU

“gojo-sama,” the family in front of you scolds, trying to get his full attention. the royal family has come to your estate to propose a business alliance—a union with the well-known gojo clan.

gojo has you seated prettily on his lap on his golden cushioned throne, in full view of the royal family and advisors. halfway through the meeting, he loses interest, he has little concern for these meetings—all he truly wants is to be with you and your newborn daughter.

it was nearly impossible for him to focus, your scent envelops him, clouding his thoughts, leaving only you in his mind. his lower lip quivers as you shift against his hardening cock. he struggles to maintain composure but can’t resist trailing soft kisses along your neck. one large hand caresses your once pregnant belly while you fight to keep your gaze steady in front of the royal family.

your eyes flutter, heart racing as you realize he cannot possibly be doing this now. below, the murmurs of the guests fade away as his heated kisses press against your skin. he hums deeply, almost moaning with each kiss, savouring the softness of your body. his glossed lips leave marks along your neck, gleaming in the natural light, a clear display of his desire.

“ngh—’toru. . .continue. . . later,” you whisper, struggling to suppress a moan as gojo’s other hand kneads your plump breasts through the kimono. the soreness from weeks wroth of nursing makes each touch electric. the king below stares, while the guards exchange knowing glances, accustomed to gojo’s actions.

“gojo-sama, we ask that you—”

“hahh, look at that—you’re leaking,” gojo murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he watches your milk seep through the thin fabric of your kimono, a damp spot growing with each teasing stroke of his fingers over your sensitive nipple. your head falls back onto his shoulder, eyes closing in embarrassment ,unable to face the audience.

shamelessly, gojo’s hand on your tummy snakes lower between your shaky thighs. he smiles knowingly as you’re bare underneath, warmth radiating from you. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s made you this wet, you blame it on hormonal imbalances.

gojo’s slender fingers part your swollen folds, sending shudders through your body with his icy touch as he rubs gentle circles on your nub. you moan, not caring how loud you are, overwhelmed by his fingers toying with your nipples and clit—all while numerous pairs of eyes remain glued to both of you.

“what’s gotcha’ this drenched, baby? have i not satisfied you enough?” gojo spills out nonsense, even though he satisfies you too much. he spoils you rotten, always going above and beyond—no matter when or where.

“tell me what i need to do, precious,” he begs as his fingers slide into your slick cunt. you both gasp, his long fingers sucked in tightly by your needy walls. your eyes flutter open to see your breasts leaking uncontrollably as he pinches and twists your poor nipples.

your hips buck wildly, greedily taking in more of his thick fingers as your walls cling tightly to him, massaging your sweet spot with every curl and press. you sob, breaths coming in ragged gasps, eyes glossy as you glance at the guests through blurred vision. each breath is a shaky exhale, mingling with soft whimpers as gojo’s cock throbs, pulsating with each of your desperate thrusts—it aches painfully with need. his fingers work relentlessly, coaxing more cries from your lips. your chest heaves with every breath, the sound of your panting filling the room.

“gojo-sama, take your wife out of here! she’s a clear disruption—” the king shouts, but falters as gojo’s icy gaze locks onto his, sending a chilling wave through him. fear creeps into the king’s eyes, and he immediately regrets his words.

in the blink of an eye, gojo places you gently onto the cushioned throne, your eyes fluttering in confusion as you look up to see him towering over you. before you can speak, he drops to his knees, his face inches from your drooling cunt.

he bunches up your kimono to your waist for better access, exposing your slickness that glimmersunder the harsh lights. just as gojo is about to devour you like a starved man, he hears footsteps retreating from the room.

without turning his head, his voice booms with unsettling authority, filling the space with an ominous weight.

“the first person who leaves will be beheaded.”

fear grips the room as every footstep halts. the tense silence makes it clear, all eyes are now fixed on you two, trapped in the suffocating stillness that follows.

and now, here gojo is, his tongue buried deep inside your stretchy walls, his frosty hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed a rosy pink. he lost himself the moment his lips met your pussy, consumed by an imhumane hunger.

your cunt is loud, the lewd sloshes echoing through the royalty room, disturbing the royal family's ears. your pussy spasms as his head shakes like a madman, his killer tongue curling and thrusting as deeply as he can reach. each movement sends shockwaves through you, and he revels in the chaos he's creating.

both of his hands are messily playing with your drenched breasts, which are on full display. he pinches and squeezes your nipples with need, adding to the overwhelming sensations. you're a moaning mess, the dual stimulation too much to bear—a toe curling experience that leaves you breathless.

gojo drinks and slurps loudly on your sloppy pussy, each sound a explicit reminder to his appetite. your pussy is like a drug to him, he's high off you and can't get enough. he needs more of you—your taste, your scent—or he'll surely go mad.

the room is filled with the symphony of your combined sounds, your moans, his greedy slurps, and the wet noises of your body responding to him. it's a lewd display that leaves no doubt about the depths of his obsession and your mutual surrender to this intoxicating moment.

“hahh, i n-need it, my lady,” gojo whimpers, his droopy eyes locked onto your messy breasts, glistening with milk. his mouth waters, a desperate hunger igniting within him as he rises from his knees, his lips and chin still slick from your leaky cunt. confusion flickers across your face until his warm mouth finally envelops your nipple, his tongue swirling around it with an insatiable eagerness, drawing forth your sweet fluids.

his eyes flutter closed at the new taste flooding his senses—so sweet, candied, and intoxicating that it sends a jolt of pleasure straight to his throbbing cock, which leaks eagerly against the fabric of his traditional attire. the sensation is overwhelming that he can’t get enough.

“oh f-fuck, ‘toru…” you moan, your voice trembling as waves of pleasure wash over you. the sensitivity of your nipple sends shivers down your spine, and you arch your back off the cushioned throne instinctively, pushing more of yourself into his mouth.

“mhm… so good,” he groans against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your body. he sucks harder, pulling on your swollen nipple as if it's the only thing keeping him alive. the sounds of slurping and moaning fill the air—each noise a raw desire consuming both of you.

you cry out again, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you. you gasp, lost in a haze of pleasure as gojo's mouth works its magic. every flick of his tongue and gentle tug sends you spiralling deeper into ecstasy. the royal family stares up in horror at your lewd actions, they tremble in fear at what gojo would do to them if they said one peep.

but gojo is completely lost in this moment, high on the taste of you. “i can’t stop… i need more,” he moans breathlessly between pulls as your milk coats his plush lips, his own arousal pushing him closer to the edge. each time he pulls away to catch his breath, he’s met with the sight of your flushed cheeks and blissed-out expression—fuelling his desire even further.

gojo has found his new addiction in you, and it’s a craving that will never be satisfied. as he continues to devour your milk with fervour , both of you moan like crazy, caught in an endless cycle of pleasure that only seems to intensify with each passing moment.

he’ll never stop at this rate.

GETO SUGURU

your ears perk up as you hear your coworkers squeak in excitement upon spotting geto suguru, the renowned artist, stepping into the luxurious store where you work. this high-end boutique, filled with fashionable handbags and stunning clothing, is where geto loves to shop—not just for the exquisite pieces, but because you’re always here.

fiddling with the clothing rack, you catch a glimpse of geto through your peripheral vision, flanked by his bodyguards as female employees swarm around him. little do they know—and little does the media suspect—that you and geto share a secret relationship. he often begs you to quit your job, promising to provide for you completely. as tempting as that offer is, you've built a family at work that you cherish deeply.

“hmmm, i was actually looking for this piece in particular,” you hear him say from behind you. his large hand engulfs yours as he selects the coat you were just touching. you stifle a giggle; this is nowhere near his usual style. he always does this to strike up casual conversations in public.

“would you get the fitting room ready for me, mrs. geto?” he rasps, whispering the last part just for your ears. your eyes widen in shock, hoping no one overheard. you nod, noticing your coworkers scoff at how clearly geto has a favorite.

you already know what he wants with that slick fitting room signal—he misses you and wants to fuck you.

that's why he has you bent over prettily for him in the vip fitting room, your hands pressed against the full-length mirror now smudged with your fingerprints. your work pants are discarded somewhere across the room as you watch him tease you mercilessly, rubbing his cockhead along your puffy folds. your pussy aches, desperate for more.

“i missed you, pretty,” he murmurs softly, and you nearly crumble when he slaps his chubby tip against your clit. the wet taps send jolts through your entire body, making your pussy clench around nothing.

“m-missed you too, sugu,” you whimper, voice trembling with need. he swats your ass, drawing a moan from your lips as you lean into the mirror. fog clouds the reflection as he continues to spank your sore skin, each slap a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless.

“‘m not talkin’ to you,” he scolds as you whine, wiggling your hips back to feel more, a chuckle rumbling from him. “since you wanna ignore my texts... she would never ignore me.” his voice drops as his leaky tip pushes its way into your cunt, your walls stretching to accommodate every inch, almost burning. geto hisses at the way your velvety walls flutter around him, and you feel yourself growing blissfully dumb. the store's background music rings in your ears, a reminder that you're still on the job.

geto watches you slowly lose yourself through the mirror, pulling your hips firmly against his as he slams his cock deep into your walls, making you sob aloud. he pounds mercilessly into your sopping pussy, each stroke deeper than before, his flushed tip kissing your cervix with every thrust. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the fitting room, mingling with your moans and creating a sweet melody of raw desire.

“fuckkk—pussy so good,” he pants as you clamp down at the praise, a grin spreading across his face as he sees your eyes shut tightly, moaning out pathetic pleas. your pussy sobs uncontrollably, nearly louder than the soft music playing through the speakers.

“mmm, she’s very talkative today,” he rasps wickedly, his hand snaking down to vigorously rub your achy clit, the cool metal of his silver rings grazing your sensitive skin. you cry out from the dual stimulation, overwhelmed by the sensation.

“y-you came here to just speak to my pussy more than m-me,” you manage to say, a hint of attitude slipping through as he pauses, taken aback by your words. his thrusts come to an abrupt halt, and you whine at the sudden stop.

“awh baby. are you upset? wanna show me how mad you are?” he teases with a fake pout, watching as your frustration builds. “poor thing, all worked up and nowhere to go.”

he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “maybe if you hadn’t ignored my texts, i’d be a little nicer,” he taunts, giving your clit a sharp pinch that makes you gasp. “but now? i think i’ll take my time.”

his words send a shiver down your spine as he resumes his relentless pace, each thrust deliberate and punishing. “come on, show me how mad you are,” he urges mockingly, his voice dripping with amusement.

those were his last words before you took control, riding him like your life depended on it. he's whimpering beneath you,struggling to hold back his moans as your pussy works him over, each movement a killer. you're pouncing on him on the adjacent couch from the mirror, your hips rolling at a relentless pace as his large hands knead the flesh of your ass. he swears he's under some kind of hypnosis, his eyes glued to your breasts as they bounce wildly in front of his wide, purple eyes.

your pussy squelches louder and louder with each thrust, a symphony of wet sounds that’s music to his ears—he even thinks he might have to incorporate it into his next song.

“how’re you feeling, pretty boy?” you purr, and a moan slips past his lips at the praise. his eyes flutter slightly as you ride him faster, your walls sucking him in with a steady rhythm.

“hahhh, d-don’t think i won’t get back at you,” he whines, but there's no mistaking the submission in his voice. you grin down at him, taking in the sight of his long locks sticking to his forehead, strands of hair messily splayed across his face. he's completely undone beneath you, humming with pleasure as you continue your relentless pace.

his once-commanding presence is softened by the way he succumbs to your movements, each roll of your hips drawing out more whimpers and gasps.

“mr. geto, we found a few pieces that you might like!”

you stop in your tracks, eyes widening in panic as you hear your manager’s voice on the other side of the door. geto lazily smiles, clearly enjoying the fear that flashes across your face. without warning, he lifts you up from the couch, his strong arms wrapping around you as he strides closer to the door. your heart races as he slams you against the wall beside the door, and you stare up at him, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you.

“hmm? please tell me more about it, im dying to know more,” he lies smoothly, his voice low and teasing as he wraps your legs around his waist. his cock is still buried deep inside you, and he begins to thrust slowly, deliberately. you bite your lip hard, desperately trying to stifle any sounds as you’re mere inches away from your oblivious manager who rambles on about clothing pieces.

each thrust sends shockwaves through your body, and you struggle to keep quiet as he fucks you roughly. it almost feels like he’s punishing you, yet the thrill of being caught only heightens your arousal. but fuckk, the way you look at him—eyes wide with fear and desire—makes him want to abandon all caution. he wants everyone to see how much you belong to him.

“you like that, baby? you like getting fucked in front of your manager?” he whispers with a wicked grin, his voice dripping with mischief. you gasp as his dick throbs inside your sloppy cunt, your arousal leaking profusely and staining the expensive flooring beneath you.

your managers voice suddenly drops as she realize something is off, her excitement turns to horror as she begin to piece together what’s happening just behind the door.

“yeaa, I bet you do, doll,” geto taunts, his eyes dark with lust.

“just show her how much of a slut you are.”

CHOSO KAMO

“what do you mean there’s no room?” you exclaimed, eyes widening as you looked into the back seat and saw it completely filled. not even a single inch was available for you. of course, two of the tallest guys—choso and riko—were manspreading like it was their job, leaving your poor friends, mina and sajé, squished together.

“well… we thought the car would fit all of us,” choso’s friend, the driver, said as he glanced back, confirming that there was zero room possible. you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration; you’d already pitched in money for this road trip.

“you can sit on my lap if you’re comfortable,” choso chimed in, his voice smooth and inviting. your eyes nearly twinkle at his kindness, and everyone in the car exchanged side-eyes—half surprised and half amused by the suggestion.

your low heels clacked against the cement as you hurried over to choso’s side of the car, excitement bubbling inside you. when you opened the door, you nearly choked on your saliva at how incredibly good he looked, manspreading in the back seat. his black baggy ripped jeans hugged his long legs perfectly, paired with those monstrous black boots that made him look even taller. your eyes trailed up to his chest—damn, that black compression shirt clung to him in all the right places.

he’s the true definition of an emo hottie!

his lap looked so inviting as you climbed into the cramped SUV. you settled snugly on his lap, feeling his large arm snake around your waist for extra protection. but oh gosh, your cunt was tingling like crazy—your clothed pussy was directly on top of his bulge, and it sent a rush of heat through you.

after nearly hours of driving, everyone in the car is dozing off to slumber—everyone except you, choso, the driver, and the person in the passenger seat. the car jolts suddenly, waking everyone up, but what’s even worse is that you’re practically bouncing on choso’s lap!

“ehh, sorry! the roads are pretty bad here,” the driver says as the car hits a series of small bumps that quickly escalate to larger ones. choso’s arm around your waist tightens, holding you down more firmly against him. you suppress a moan as you feel the outline of his growing cock beneath you—hell, you can even feel it throbbing uncontrollably.

you shut your eyes tightly, nibbling on your plush lips as you try to hold back any sounds. it would be beyond embarrassing if you let out a noise now. but with each bump in the road, the friction between your bodies sends electric shocks through you, igniting a fire deep within.

“f-fuck… need more,” he whispers lowly, just for your ears. your heart stops at his words. did you hear him wrong? but the way he’s holding you down makes it clear that you heard him just fine.

the tension in the air is thick—almost suffocating—as desire hangs between you like a heavy fog. every jolt of the car pushes you closer to him, and you can’t help but grind down slightly, feeling his hardness beneath you. it’s so pathetic how the both of you are grinding hard on each other, holding in whimpers and moans as you feel your panties fully drenched. choso’s breath hitches, and his grip on your waist tightens even more as he bucks his hips up desperately to feel more.

your nails scrape against the driver’s seat in front of you, and you swear you’re about to rip through the fabric. it’s embarrassing how turned on both you and choso are—especially with all your friends in the car!

“pull over here, let’s get some drinks,” riko groggily says, and the car sharply turns right into the parking lot of the convenience store. both of your movements come to an abrupt halt as the atmosphere shifts; everyone becomes hyper-aware of the situation.

“y’all coming in?” riko asks as he opens his door, and you feel your heart race. you and choso exchange a quick glance, knowing exactly what’s at stake. “no thanks, we’ll just stay here,” you manage to say, forcing a casual tone despite the heat pooling in your belly.

you don’t waste a minute as you reposition yourself facing choso, your knees sinking into the plush seat beneath you providing just enough comfort. his hair is messily tousled, strands falling across his face, and those puppy eyes of his are filled with a desperate need that makes your heart race.

without hesitation, choso quickly unbuckles his jeans, pulling out his achy cock from its confines. he lets out a soft moan as the cool breeze grazes his thick shaft, and your eyes widen at how incredibly hot he looks—his rosy tip leaking with anticipation.

“you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. he’s already intoxicated by you, and all you’ve done is grind against each other!. the heat between you is noticeable , and you can feel your own need building as you pull your panties to the side.

“g-gosh, choso,” you gasp as his thick tip slips inside you, your walls inviting him completely. choso throws his head back against the headrest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he drives his hips up with fervor, filling you entirely.

“i’m sorry, pretty— we don’t have much time,” he breathes, his voice strained and shaky, each word punctuated by heavy breaths. his hips move with a desperate urgency, thrusting into you with a rhythm all their own. the sound of your bodies meeting is so loud it drowns out the hum of the engine.

you roll your hips, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. your breaths mingle in the confined space, quickening with each thrust. a moan escapes your lips as his bulbous tip expertly finds your g-spot with each powerful thrust, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. choso’s breath hitches as he loses himself in the moment, the air thick with tension and desire.

the car shakes with each thrust, the windows slightly fogging up as you both fuck each other with desperateness and need.

“‘s fuckin’ big, cho,” you stammer out, your melodic moans music to his ears. his cock vigorously throbs within your slick walls, and the two of you are growing dumb off each other, lost in a haze of pleasure.

with each thrust met, your cunt begins to spasm around him, clenching tightly as waves of pleasure wash over you. the sensation is overwhelming; it feels like your body is begging for release. the car creaks under the intensity of your movements, the air thick with heat and urgency.

as you both get lost in the moment, choso leans in closer, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. it starts softly, but quickly escalates into something primal and messy. his hands grip your face as if he’s afraid to let go, and you can feel his raw passion pouring into every touch.

your mouths move together with urgent need, tongues tangling in a wild dance that feels intoxicating and electric. he tastes like pure desire—sweet and addictive—as he kisses you deeper. each press of his lips sends shivers racing down your spine, igniting a fire within you that mirrors the rhythm of his thrusts.

the kiss grows sloppier; breaths become heavy and desperate as you both lose yourselves in each other. saliva mixes as you moan into his mouth, the sounds echoing in the confined space of the car. choso pulls away just enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze dark with lust and hunger.

“you’re driving me insane,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire before he crashes his lips back onto yours. the urgency intensifies, each kiss more fervent than the last, as if he’s trying to claim every part of you.

with a sudden burst of playful dominance he snakes his hands down to your ass, he slaps your flesh hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure through you, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he watches your reaction.

“yeaaa you like that shit, huh? i bet you-“

his words are cut short when you hear the doors attempt to open. you glance at riko, who’s struggling to unlock the door. before you can react, the driver unlocks it, and riko comes flying into the back seat beside you and choso.

your walls clamp down around his thick cock as he groans lowly, the thought of getting caught sending a thrill through you. you bury your face into his neck, inhaling his husky cologne.

“what the hell are y’all doing?” riko asks, glancing at your awkward position on choso’s lap, head hidden in his neck.

“she’s sleeping,” choso replies quietly, raising a finger to his lips to signal silence. everyone nods, but you can feel choso smirking as you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood.

as the car starts moving again, your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets when it begins to shake. the bumpy road makes you bounce on his cock, and you instinctively grind down, feeling him tense beneath you. his eyes flutter as he watches your hips move, knowing exactly how to make him crumble.

“cut the shit, you two- we already know you aren’t sleeping,” nobara says, pointing at the dashcam that’s connected to one of their phones.

they heard everything,

fuck.

NANAMI KENTO

“let’s just fuck it out mama, we can’t be separated.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you scoff, sitting cross-legged in the divorce attorney's office once the door shut closed.

“we need a moment to speak alone,” nanami had asked your attorney as he left, but he was nowhere near wanting to talk and you knew that the moment the two of you were alone.

“ridiculous? this isn’t even the worst place we’ve fucked,” he taunts, rising from his chair and leaning against the desk, his hazel eyes scanning your figure—something he could never get enough of.

“sign the papers,” you say through gritted teeth, but he smirks, clearly not listening as he admires how beautiful you look in the skin tight dress.

“sign- fuckkk,” you cry out as you’re now bent over your attorneys desk, your black dress hiked up to your waist as nanami ruthlessly pounds his cock into your sore pussy as your walls welcomes him back with a warm and slimey snug. within a split second you’ve become a sobbing cock-drunk mess, your tears staining the important documents that are now scrunched up from being smothered underneath your breast.

nanamis thick fingers grip your sides as he rams his cock deep into you, this speed almost too much for you that you feel as if he’s deep in your guts. he desk shakes beneath you, pens and papers tumbling to the floor, but in this moment, nothing else matters. all that exists is the connection between you, a powerful force that consumes your thoughts and senses.

your knees buckle as he lifts you up, steadying you to keep your balance. “c’mon wifey, what about our future kids? you reallyyy want me to sign it?” he teases, his voice playful yet charged with intensity. you find yourself crying out incoherent sentences, lost in the overwhelming sensation of how good he feels.

“s-sign it,” you shudder as his thrusts intensify, you can hear the animalistic growl he lets out once he felt you squeeze tighter. feeling the tension between you as he pulls you closer. his large hand grips your hair, pulling you closer to his chest as you back arches up from the messy desk. your pussy squeaks out broken sobs as he rams his cock sooo deep that you see a small bulge forming in your lower tummy.

“what’s our lawyer going to think, huh? I spent a lotta money for his services,” he rasps, his thrusts growing deeper and more meaningful, as if to prove that you cannot leave him.

“k-kennn, fuckk,” you moan as he tugs harder on your hair, your body trembling as tears spill down your cheeks. he doesn’t care where you are- all that matters is the pleasure coursing through you. a devilish grin spreads across his face, knowing exactly how to push your buttons and drive you wild.

“i know, sweetheart—I know. just let it allll go,” he sings, encouraging you as he coaxed you toward your intense orgasm. soft “oohs” and “ahhs” escape your glossy lips as warmth pools in your belly, your slick walls tightening around him, practically suffocating his throbbing cock.

“hgnn—gonna milk me dry, baby,” nanami stutters, feeling his balls tighten painfully as his breaths become sloppy and jagged. he snakes his hand from your hair to your throat, possessively gripping you just tight enough to spark thrill without pain, amplifying the waves of pleasure that crash over you and drawing your intense orgasm closer with every pulse.

you bite your lower lip hard as you both come undone in perfect sync, a skill nanami has mastered. your walls flutter around him as his hot release fills you, feeling his thick seed plunge deep within your womb. your vision blurs and your ears ring; it’s so messy that your mixed juices cling between your thighs, sticky and gooey.

your mind is so dizzy that you don’t even notice when he gently places you on the desk, your back crumpling the papers beneath you as your legs are pressed against your chest. your permanent anklet dangles and glimmers in the natural light, the diamond ‘K.N.’ charm a constant reminder that he will always be with you, no matter what.

your eyes lazily flutter open to find nanami kissing your inner thighs, your legs still trembling from your previous orgasm. his lips graze your swollen folds, causing your body to jolt in response. nanami's eyes glimmer with amusement as he watches globs of your mixed essence drip down onto the papers creating a small pool on the wooden desk.

“mmm, you sure came a lot for someone who wants a divorce,” he taunts, bringing his cool wedding band back to your throbbing core, globs of cum coating the once-gold ring in a sticky white layer. you gasp at the metallic sensation as he rubs the ring against your swollen clit, toying with you while you sob incoherent sentences. your eyes dart to the door, where you catch a glimpse of shadows peeking through the window. panic rises in your throat as you try desperately to signal to nanami that there are people watching.

but oh he knows,

he knows very well that the entire floor heard the scandalous things you two were doing, and he wants everyone to know.

without warning, nanami plunges his warm tongue into your sopping core, savouring every drop of your arousal as he hums against you. the vibrations sends shivers through your body, and you can feel him revealing in the taste, his tongue exploring every inch with a deliberate slowness that drives you wild. he laps up your juices eagerly, occasionally grazing your sensitive nub with his teeth, teasingly biting it just enough to send waves of pleasure coursing through you. it feels as if he’s determined to make you scream for everyone to hear.

the loud slurping fills the room, making you cringe at how messy and indulgent he is, yet your body craves him more with each passing moment. you feel yourself teetering on the edge, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you, when suddenly, just as you're about to beg for more, the door swings open. several flustered lawyers stand in the doorway, their eyes wide with shock.

“u-uhm, mr. and mrs. nanami, the p-police are outside…”

8K notes · View notes

chocum · 4 months ago

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KARMA !

— brat taming the jjk men feat. choso kamo, kento nanami, toji fushiguro.

WARNINGS. femdom!reader, f!reader (she/her), brat taming, cock slaps, crying, handjob, choking, p in v, riding, overstim, lingerie, lollll slotted toji out :33, recording, finger sucking. ( 2k ) note. hellloooooo hope u all enjoy this. i had fun writing bc i loveee the idea of making big strong men crumble mhmhmhm. anywaysss reblogs are appreciated thank youuu love u all. repost bc last night it didn’t show in the tags 💔 but i edited it and added alottt so if you already saw it feel free to read again !! ty

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 CHOSO KAMO

“ma— make m— ooohh fuck. wai—wait” his voice trembled so cutely that it was barely coherent, crumbling into a pretty whine that drowns out his pathetic attempt (if you could even call it that) at being a defiant little brat, making you giggle, your slicked up thumbs pushing and rubbing down on the slit of his leaky tip, sending jolts of pain masked as pleasure up his bony spine, “make you?”

immediately he knows he’s fucked up. the air between you growing thick.

he didn’t know what came over him, really. maybe he had been watching too much porn, fantasizing too much, because the idea of getting tamed by you— god, just the thought of getting put in his place, turned him on so much. so, so much.

but having to actually disobey you, he couldn’t. he believes he was only put on this earth to serve you and please you. to be good. his head hurriedly shakes side to side, making each strand of ravened silky hair jump and dance before resting to frame his flushed face, “‘m sorry didn’t me—”

you land a heavy, hard slap to his cock, the sound pounding in his flushed ears blending with the beat of his heart, making his body tense up and jerk underneath you. his breaths come out in ragged little gasps, each one such a struggle as his fuzzy brain short circuits under your warm palms.

it really is cute, you think. cute how easy it is to break him. the pretty tears that drip down his puffed-up, blushed cheeks remind you of that. he’s choking on his sobs when you move to cup his face and kiss the corners of his eyes, and his cheeks. crying and sniffling because he hates when you’re mad. hates disappointing you.

“‘m sorry, i don’t— just wanna be so good for you. i’ll be— wanna be your good boy.”

“i know,” you coo, petting him like the pretty pet he is, “wanna try again for me, hm?”

and oh, he’s nodding so sweetly, cock throbbing for you, his big glassy eyes heart-shaped, staring up. so ready to be yours, ready to be the good boy you’ve trained him to be.

so you tell him again, “fuck my fists, make yourself cum, pretty boy. and look me in my eyes.”

his hips buck up, the salty tears on his cheeks warming and dried as he uses your sticky hands like a fleshlight, whining prettily when you tighten your grip around him, “‘m sorry” he babbles over and over, drooling out the corners of his parted puffy lips.

he’s so good. staring into the blown pupils of your pretty eyes without fault, like you told him to. because you told him to.

and his thighs burn, his legs shaking and trembling against the silky sheets as he gets closer and closer. the pain almost urging him on, “are you gonna cum for me? baby? gonna give it all to me hm?”

“yes, ple— please. please, can i cum can—”

you pull your hands off him.

drawing out the prettiest whine to ever be heard. like a song of the angels. his head falling back against the wooden headboard, hips bucking up in search of something to ease the ache that overwhelms in his tummy. those hot tears making a special reappearance.

“aww baby,” you hum, feigning sympathy, massaging his warm— full, heavy balls, “did you really think you’d get to cum after that, hm? did you?”

his eyes widen in desperation, disappointment. he tries to speak, to plead, to beg, but all that comes out are broken little sobs and whimpers.

the look on his face is almost pitiful. furrowed brows, pout, and his mouth hangs open.

you bend to lean in closer, your breath so warm against the shell of his sensitive ear, “you have to earn it, baby. good boys get rewarded. brats get punished.”

for you, he nods weakly, his voice barely a whisper as he chokes, “i’ll be so good, pro— promise. please, let me cum. let me show you how good i am”

so pretty. your fingers slip down to massage his aching balls, applying just enough pressure to keep him on that edge he loves to dangle over without giving him the sweet, sweet release he craves. “nuh uh, not yet,” you hum softly, your tone both firm but oh so gentle. “show me how much you want it.”

his hips buck up involuntarily, humping the air in search of your grip— relief, eyes locking onto yours, colored irises filled with adoration. he’s completely at your mercy, every nerve and ending in his body on fire, every muscle tensed up in anticipation.

and you can see the struggle in his eyes. it’s really a beautiful sight, and you savor every moment of it. “that’s it,” mumuring, “keep looking at me like that. show me how much you need it.”

his breaths come in short little, ragged gasps, his chest heaving and caving, thighs burning from fucking the air.

but finally, after what feels like an eternity, you decide to grant him some mercy, your hands moving back around his throbbing cock, stroking him just how he likes it, “cum for me, pretty boy,” you command, a soft, seductive purr. “give it all to me.”

with a strangled, gargled cry, he obeys. his body convulsing, every muscle tightening as he finally, finally finds his release, his cum spilling all over your hands in thick, hot, sticky spurts. and he’s so obedient, his eyes remaining locked on yours, even as his vision blurs and fuzes with pleasure.

“there you go,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “such a good boy.”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 KENTO NANAMI

the tie that usually wrapped snug around the collar of nanami’s shirt adding that signature pop of yellow to his suits now decorates his flushed neck, constricting it, the tail of it clutched tightly in your fists as you ride his cock, your hips rolling and jerking against him relentlessly.

thick cum drips down to his balls, pooling underneath him, a swirl of your mess and his. he’s cum two–no, four? he doesn’t even know how many loads he’s stuffed into your warm cunt— or how many you’ve forced and sucked out of him, his cock so sensitive it fucking hurts, every time you snap back down on him sending poky jolts of overstimulation through his entire body.

“fu—fuck, honey, please. i don’t have— ngh— don’t have anything left to give. fuckin’ drained me already— can’t—”

you tug on the silky fabric, making him choke on his words, gargling on warm, foamy spit. his hands reaching to grab at the curve of your waist, but he’s flinching, remembering how you said, no touching. remembering why he’s in the position in the first place.

because he doesn’t listen.

refused to keep his hands to himself, your body begging to be touched, in his words. as if he didn’t take you seriously, just kept grabbing at you, digging his slim fingers into your plush skin.

so, obviously, there’s some sort of misunderstanding .. some sort of disconnect. he must have forgotten who was in charge.

you don’t even give him a response, ignoring the prickly burn in your thighs to fuck him dumb. maybe then, ironically, he’ll learn how to act. each jerk of your hips move to push him further to the edge, to remind him of his place.

his body is weak, just sitting pretty, twitchy, letting you do as you please, sweetly hiccuping under your frame, “hah— please, my fucking god i— i’m sorry” he’s all gone and sucked up, cock crying, drooling pathetic tears of salty cum in your cruel walls. sweat peppering his forehead, slicking the ridges of his chest, making him glisten.

“please, i’m fucking begging i’ll— hah, won’t disobey you again. i’ll— i’ll be good. i’ll be yours”

aw, there it is.

and you hum, stilling your hips, letting his cock fill you all the way up, “mhm that’s all i needed to hear. now give me onee more load. just one. know you can do it pretty boy, give it to me”

even though his body is spent, just the true definition of exhaustion, he responds, his pretty cock twitching inside you as he drags against his own warm cum in your spongy walls. and it doesn’t take long before he’s giving into you. balls so empty, just a few little spurts drooling out, but it feels just as intense, maybe even more than any of his other orgasms. “good boy”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 TOJI FUSHIGURO

“toj’ my pretty boy” your finger draws across the pink lacy lingerie that does a pathetic job of covering his cock. poking out, leaking and drooling all over the fabric, almost ripping through it with just how hard he is, “you look so good like this”

he grunts, blush growing across his cheeks, a deep, deep crimson, turning his head to avoid your gaze, avoid your phone brightly flashing, recording him.

“so hard too, aw” mumuring, you move closer, recording every detail of how he bulges through the set you so perfectly picked out for him. the pink complementing his tanned skin so well, truly a work of art “touch yourself for me”

another grunt escapes his lips, and he’s fidgeting, dragging his balls against the bed, rutting like a fucking dog, pulling at the ropes that hold and confine him, caging him against himself, “need your ..”

“yeah, need what?” you prompt with a smile, watching through your screen how he struggles to say it, pouting as his brows furrow up.

“need your help”

theres a wicked little glint in your eyes, pulling back at the stretchy band of the pretty underwear, letting go so it snaps back against the sensitive underside of his thick cock, making him whine, his broad body shaking and twitching, muscles clenching up.

humming, you bring your palm to his face, telling him to lick, and he listens, immediately.

licking a long stripe up your warm palm, but oh, he gets carried away. stretching to wrap his scarred lips around your fingers, bobbing his head up and down, drool dripping down from around his pursed lips, letting his tongue lay flat. “look at you, so eager”

he comes off with a pop, smirking because he knows you love when he’s so good like this for you.

you press your slick fingers against his covered perky nipples, watching as he twitched, before moving to stoke him through the pretty lingerie, “don’t fu—fucking tease”

you ignore him, let him get away with the little back talk because he just looks toooo cute, eyes all big, looking up into the flash of the camera, leaking through the lingerie like such a pretty boy. all for you.

you flick your wrist faster, leaning to spit on his clothed cock, sending thousands of shivers up the nerves on his spine, making him croon, his ass raising up off the bed to buck into your palms, giving the camera such a good show.

“gonna cum, shit— i’m so close. fuck— please”

he’s babbling, his voice all high and whiney.

“mhm go ahead, baby”

with a final, desperate thrust, he’s shooting against the fabric, babbling your name as it oozes through making a sticky little mess before you’re leaning down to lap at his clad tip. to clean him up.

then you come off him, stopping the video. and tojis looking up at you through glassy eyes as you press against your phone, smiling.

“what— hah, what are you doing”

“sending it to shiu”

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nereidprinc3ss · 18 days ago

Text

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there.

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that.

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for.

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips.

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more.

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it.

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling.

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching.

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air.

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact.

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out.

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for.

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon.

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion.

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it.

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm.

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him.

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline.

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits.

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles.

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time.

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest.

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment.

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble.

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling.

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind.

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him.

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway.

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact.

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair.

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs.

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long.

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind.

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving.

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved.

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed.

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles.

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly.

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer Reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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mostly-imagines · 6 months ago

Text

The Alchemy vol. I

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

vol II

warnings: slow burn, mentions of attempted sa for reader, depictions of blood and injury, mentions of standard gotham violence

Dear fuck, he’s as heavy as he looks.

You use all of your weight to pull him backwards towards the couch, almost giving up when you realized you’d have to lift him up off the ground to actually get on it.

Getting him through the window was enough of a hassle, challenging the difficulty of the decision to bring him in here at all.

Thankfully you don’t have to think too hard on it because you feel his body stiffen up suddenly. He jolts upright, though clearly pained to do so, hand flying to the gun holster on his side.

You take a step back, hands out in front of you. “Hey, it’s alright.”

“Who are you?” His voice is interrogative.

You put your hands down, “You’re the one who passed out on my balcony, I think if anyone gets to ask that question it’s me.”

He stares at you, white lenses bearing into your soul.

Okay, yeah. You tell him your name. He doesn’t move. “You just looked like you needed some help..”

His posture loosens a bit, and his hand finally leaves the holster.

He glances down at his abdomen, a sizable tear in his suit and a nearly alarming amount of blood. “You got any bandages?”

“Uh, I—yeah, yeah, I do.” You dart down the hall into the bathroom, shuffling through your first aid kid. You toss a few wraps into your arms, along with some antiseptic spray you suspect he’ll need. You grab your hand towel and get it wet under warm water.

When you return, he’s moved himself onto the sofa, lifting his shirt up to assess the damage. You round the couch, seeing more blood than you’d have hoped for.

“Can I?” You ask, motioning to his injury.

He looks up at you for a long moment. He nods.

You kneel down in front of him and replace his hand in lifting up the shirt. It’s a cut, it doesn’t look terribly deep, but still not shallow enough that he could just leave it.

You take the rag and dab it around the wound, trying to clean up the blood as much as possible without making contact with it.

He’s very still as you work, and you get the strong impression he’s watching you carefully.

You grab the antiseptic spray, shaking it. “This’ll sting.”

He grunts.

You apply the antiseptic thoroughly and he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t move his gaze from you for a second.

You unwrap one of the bandages and place it on firmly, making sure there’s no bleedthrough.

And not that you particularly want to be thinking about this right now, but the man is noticeably ripped. Stacked like a house of cards.

You rip away your gaze and stand up, hands on your hips, taking a deep breath. You look at him—at his helmet.

You don’t know how you can tell, but he’s studying you. Trying to get a read on you, maybe. Regardless, you’re eager to escape the gaze.

You shovel the remainder of your supplies back into your arms and bring them back to the bathroom, calling out, “I didn’t take off your helmet, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

There’s a short beat.

“Do I seem like someone that worries often?”

You peek your head out of the bathroom door.

You look at him. “You seem like someone that doesn’t worry enough.”

He snorts. “You’re not far off.”

You make your way back once you’re done, looking at the disregarded meal you’d been interrupted from. “I have pasta if you…eat.”

“I do.”

“I can go in the other room if you—”

He clicks the lock on his helmet, taking it off. He’s left with a second mask underneath, covering his eyes and nose. His dark hair sticks up from the helmet, a white streak poking out in the front. He looks younger than you would’ve expected. Cuter, if his jaw is anything to go by.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Okay then.

You grab a second plate out of the cabinet and scoop on the rest of the pasta from the pan.

You hand him the plate, avoiding standing too close.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You turn back around as casually as possible after hearing the name, wanting to avoid letting your face give anything away.

This guy kills people, right?

You sit down in the armchair across from the couch, spooling the pasta on and off the fork. He doesn’t show the same hesitation in dining away that you do—you guess fighting crime would require some calorie exchange.

“You a nurse?” He asks after a few minutes.

The question takes you by surprise. You hadn’t taken him as a small talk kind of person. “Huh? Oh, no, I’ve just taken a few first aid courses and stuff.”

He gives a short hum, thoughtful.

“What?”

“You’re good.” Hardly.

“I didn’t really do anything.”

“You did enough.” He says, not leaving much room for argument.

He stands up at once, walking past you to the kitchen. Your gaze follows him silently. He puts his empty plate in the sink and returns to the edge of the living room.

He looks at you once more and pops his helmet back on followed by the click of the lock.

“I’ll see ya.” He says shortly, before ducking out the window.

You’re left alone, sitting in your armchair, plate of cold pasta forgotten on your lap.

That could’ve gone very badly. Maybe not your most thought-through decision to literally drag the Red Hood into your apartment, but hey. Maybe you’re exercising your ability to be an upstanding, helpful person. Or maybe you were just hoping to prevent a vigilante being found dead on your fire escape.

Regardless, you close the window after him, leaving it unlocked. Just in case.

You wake in the middle of the night to the sounds of footsteps in your living room. You shoot upright, immediately spotting the lamp light flooding in from under your door.

Creeping to a stand, you grab the baseball bat next to your bed and slowly walk to the door.

You creep the door open as quietly as possible, inching out half a step at a time. A nearby creak on your floorboards had you swinging blindly, only to have your bat get stopped midair. You look up to see Mr. Hood himself, blocking the blow of your hit with his hand.

“Wow. You and a bat against Gotham, huh, sweetheart?”

“Fuck!” You let go of the bat and drown your face in your hands. “What is wrong with you?”

“Apparently that I don’t carry enough baseball bats with me.” He says coolly, inspecting your bat. Though he’s got to admit, your bat is probably a hell of a lot more useful than his.

You drop your arms at your side. “If I’d known bringing you into my apartment one time was going to be considered a free pass forever, I might’ve thought twice.”

“If I’d known I was going to nearly be concussed with a baseball bat, I might’ve too.” Barely. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re still half asleep and it was not a very good swing.

He looks at you straight on for the first time. His helmet quickly drifts down and back up to your face just as fast.

You look down. T-Shirt, underwear, and…no that’s it. Not…ideal. You pull down on the unfortunately not at all oversized shirt, wanting to creep back into your room.

He turns his back, allowing you to do just that and scramble for some shorts to throw on.

“Very gentlemanly of you.” You call out from your room, “And only thirty seconds after breaking into my apartment.”

“Okay, one, I’ve been here longer than that. In a non creepy way.”

“Right.”

“And two, I didn’t break anything. You live in the middle of Gotham and don’t lock your window?”

You reemerge in the doorway, “I live on the eighth floor.”

He turns around to face you again, helmet in his hands. “Didn’t stop me.” No it did not.

“Mm. So are you here specifically to judge my home security or was there something you needed?”

He takes a deep breath, “Actually yeah. I just need a place to rest for a minute.”

“Rest from what?”

A series of gunshots echo from down the street.

“Next question.”

Concise.

You and Hood sit on the couch in the dark, per his insistence, because for some godforsaken reason, you have no curtains. It takes a few minutes for the silence to dissipate into forced conversation, which takes a few more minutes to fade into actual conversation.

“Can I be honest with you?” You ask him.

“Does it matter how I answer?”

“I don’t understand how you’re not dead.” You poke your head up, turning to him. “Are you human?”

He cranes his neck to look out the window, “Maybe getting shot at isn’t the worst thing that could happen tonight…”

You roll your eyes with a smile that you’re glad is hidden by the darkness. “Oh, fuck off.”

“You don’t have much in terms of self-preservation skills, do you?”

You ignore him as to not acknowledge that he’s probably right and roll through to your next curiosity, “Who the hell was shooting at you anyways?” Though, you don’t really expect an answer.

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. They got ‘til sunrise anyway.”

You tilt your head, “‘Til sunri—” oh. Yeah. Come to think of it, he does have two guns on him right now. At least that you can see. You squint blankly at the wall, “You know, I’m placing a lot of trust in the hope that you’re not just as bad as those guys.”

“Yes you are.” He nods, not doing anything to convince you that he is in fact a good guy. He hasn’t tried to harm you in any way though, so you guess that’s a good sign.

You tilt your head at him. “Do you get paid to do this?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of people who would pay me not to do this.”

You nod solemnly, mouth turned into an exaggerated frown. “So you have a day job?”

He looks over at you, “Do you always ask this many questions?”

“Are you always so dodgy about answering them?” You shoot back. If you’d thought for .5 seconds longer on that, you might not have said anything. But you feel comfortable here, in your apartment with a man whose face you’ve never seen, name you don’t know, and always has at least two loaded guns on him.

He huffs out a laugh, “Yeah. I am.” He looks over at you. “You live here by yourself?”

You look around at the empty apartment before turning back to him, “Seems that way.”

He shrugs, “Boyfriend could be out or something.”

“Well most people are asleep at one in the morning. Like I was. Remember that?”

“No.”

You sigh, curling up into a ball on your end of the couch, resting your chin on your knees. You’re quiet for a minute before piping up, “Do people actually break into apartments on high floors a lot?”

“Stupid people.” He pauses, looking over at the frown on your face. “Look, I’m in the neighborhood a lot. If I see somebody climbing your fire escape I’ll shoot them.”

You let a little smile out, “I’m thinking there’s other steps you could take before you get to that point.”

“If you want to waste time.” His gaze doubles back at you, “That was a joke, by the way.”

You bark out a tired laugh, “Yeah, I picked up on that, thanks.”

He removes his eyes from you, fixing on a set of pictures you have hanging on the wall.

Your eyes flutter and you move to rest your head on the arm of the couch. “Is this going to be a regular thing then?”

“You could lock your window.”

“Living on the eighth floor didn’t stop you, I can’t imagine a shitty lock will do much more.”

“If you don’t want me here, I won’t be here.” He says gruffly.

“If I don’t want you here, I’ll let you know.” You mumble, eyes closing.

You can barely make out a laugh from him, “Good to know.”

You’re not quite sure how much time goes by when he leaves, but you have a pretty strong feeling you’d fallen asleep. Your main indicator was feeling the blanket draped nicely over you that you could’ve sworn was on the chair across the room.

Maybe it’s ten o’clock at night and you’re sat on your kitchen floor, bawling your eyes out. Maybe you’re going to have to quit your job. Or maybe you’ll have to face a lawsuit. Maybe this is the worst day in the history of time. Maybe it’s about to get worse.

The sound of your living room window sliding open has you startling into a rush, body panicking as if you’ve done something wrong and desperately need to cover the evidence. The past few weeks of sporadic visits leaves no question about who it is, and you just hope the kitchen island in front of you will be enough to convince Hood that you’re not in and he’ll leave.

But because today is today, that’s not how it goes down.

You can vaguely make out the sound of his footsteps approaching, a courtesy that you’re sure he incorporated on purpose.

“Oh fuck…” you mutter to yourself, wiping your eyes.

He rounds the counter, looking down at you. “Wha—what’s wrong?”

“Fuck. Nothing.” You say, standing up and adjusting your clothes. “Are you hurt?” He better fucking not be at only ten.

“No, I—why are you on the floor?”

You roll your eyes, “I live alone, forgive me for assuming I would be given the privilege to cry on the floor in private.”

“Did something happen?” You’re trying really hard not to call him an idiot.

You raise your eyebrows, giving a light nod. “Uh, yeah, I’d say so.”

He shifts in his stance, “Do I need to talk to someone?”

You scoff, knowing damn well his version of ‘talk to someone’ does not include talking to someone. “Why are you even here so early?”

“Wanted to stop by before I went out.” he says quietly.

You’re about to snap something at him again, but the burning in your eyes takes immediate priority. You wrap your arms around your middle and try to calm yourself down, with very little success. The tears fall easily and your shoulders start shaking as you look at the floor, letting the melancholy take over.

It feels like much longer than it probably was, but sometime after the first few tears fall he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. This only makes you cry harder, sobbing against his armor. Your arms stay wrapped around your center, while his hands remain completely still against your back, though firm. You don’t realize it immediately, but he’s holding a good portion of your weight up, you’d for sure collapse onto the floor otherwise. You kind of wish you would. Sitting on the floor felt nice, maybe falling down on it will feel even better.

You slowly start to regain your breathing, the well in your eyes drying up again. He waits for you to stop completely and slowly pulls back from you, hands momentarily still wavering next to you like he’s ready to catch you.

It takes you a minute to notice, but his helmet is locked on to the finger-shaped bruises on your forearm. You awkwardly move your opposite arm to cover them, looking around your apartment with nothing to search for.

He’s quiet for a long while, clearly thinking hard. “What happened?”

You sniffle, “Some asshole at my job.”

“Some asshole?” He doesn’t believe you. Rightfully so, but he has no business being able to tell that you’re lying about one single word in that sentence.

“My boss. Was very intent on successfully hitting on me.” You exhale deeply, “His approach could use some work though, if I’m honest.”

His posture remains statue-like. “Where do you work?”

You look at him straight on for the first time that night, “What does that matter?”

“I’ll take care of it.” He says simply.

You wave him off, “It’s fine.”

He waits a moment before letting you know, “I’m being polite by asking, I’m going to find out either way.”

You plop back down on the kitchen floor, knees to chest. “Well, then do it the hard way.”

About ten seconds of him staring down at you in silence go by, before he sits down next to you. It’s a bit funny how he tries to shrink himself down next to you, you’re assuming because he doesn’t want you to get panicked again because this massive stranger is sitting next to you in your kitchen in the dead of night.

You don’t look at him as he clicks his helmet off and sets it on the other side of him. It’s quiet for another minute when he holds his gloved hand out to you, and you’re not quite sure how you know what he wants, but you do. You place your bruised arm in his hand, letting him gently pull it closer to him and scan over it.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Again, you don’t know how, but you can tell he’s asking how far things went. “I started screaming and it freaked him out. He let me go.” you say numbly.

You can see him nod out of the corner of your eye, bits of red making their way into your peripheral despite the discarded helmet. You turn slowly to look at him, finding him looking at you already.

His face is more covered than it had been the first night, the same black mask covers his eyes but the lower half of his face is also hidden by a red mouthpiece. You’re in the lamp light and closer to him than you had been before and you’re counting out specks of green in his blue eyes. He lets you, to your surprise, and when you run out of emerald hues you take focus on his thick, dark eyelashes. Your gaze moves back ever so slightly to make eye contact with him and you tear your eyes away, zeroing in on the kitchen tiles.

You sigh contemplatively, “I’m worried if you kill my boss it’ll be traced back to me and I’ll get pinned for it.”

He doesn’t laugh. But your delivery was a little dry in the wrong way so really it was on you.

“I’m not going to kill him.” he tells you, “I wouldn’t gamble with my pied-a-terre like that.”

Your head falls back, hitting the drawer behind you with a light thud. “Then why waste your time at all?” Maybe you should slow down with the snide comments.

He wants to, but he doesn’t call out the implied self-slighting in your words. “Maybe it’s a ‘me’ thing but I don’t particularly like men that hurt women.”

You let out a dry laugh. “In Gotham, it just might be.”

He sits with you on the linoleum tile of your kitchen until your eyes start to droop and he lightly corrals you to your bedroom before taking his exit through the window. You told him multiple times that he could go and you were fine, but he insisted that nothing important was happening in the city that time of night. You didn’t quite believe him though, because it was past midnight by the time he’d headed out.

When you showed up to work the following day your boss wasn’t there. Wasn’t there the day after either. Or the day after. He didn’t make an appearance again until the following Monday. And when he did show face, he did so with a neck brace and a cast on his leg. But once more, he absolutely refused to make eye contact or speak to any of the female employees. It actually became a whole thing when he wouldn’t give instructions or feedback to any of you, and insisted on having his secretary replaced with a man, who he then used as a middle man to speak to all of the women for him. HR got involved three times in the span of the next five days, and by the Monday after, he’d been fired.

So to recap: yes, no, no, undecided, and hard no.

Maybe you’re really starting to like this Red Hood guy.

Hard yes.

You’re slightly on guard upon hearing a clattering on the balcony, though if the past few weeks have been any indicator, you’re not in much danger.

Your posture slumps as you peer around the hallway corner, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Good to see you too.” he grumbles, dropping onto the floor.

“Well, I have to imagine I’m a step up from the last person you saw.” You say, looking him up and down, seeing what sure as hell looks like a gunshot wound on his chest armor. “What happened to you? The Mad Hatter uses guns now?”

He groans, “Ah, I said something about him being a heartless fuck, and I guess he took it personally.”

You sigh, “Jesus Christ, Hood.”

He waves you off, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You scoff, “He tried to shoot you in the heart.”

“Yeah, well, he missed.” He grumbles, adjusting his position on the couch.

You exhale sharply, “How do you know?”

“How do I know?” He tilts his helmet at you, exasperated.

You throw your arms up at your side, “I don’t know! I’m not equipped for this scenario.”

He huffs, “Look, it’s fine, it hit my armor. It’ll probably just be a bad bruise.”

“Probably?”

“I don’t think there’s blood. Could you…” he vaguely gestures to his torso, but it's enough for you to get the hint.

You shake the panic out of your head, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

You help him shrug off his jacket as he strips off his armor, and you lift his shirt up as slowly as you can in case the injury is worse than he thinks.

You’re not shocked to see that he has scars, that’s kind of a given in his line of work. What you are shocked to see is one very long scar that lines directly up the center of his body. It’s a deep scar, too.

And, oh. The long scar extends further, splitting off into a fork at his collar. That’s—oh. Oh. Oh. That is an autopsy scar.

You’re not sure what to do. You’ve never seen a living person with an autopsy scar—though you have to imagine neither have most people.

He clearly does not want to talk about it and you’re happy to let him keep the skeleton in the closet.

You avert your gaze back over to his diaphragm at the area of reddened skin.

“There’s no blood, but…” You inspect it a bit closer, “I think there’s going to be a bad bruise. You might end up with bruising on your ribs, you need to get that looked at.”

“I am.” He says shortly.

You stand up straight, dropping your shoulders. “By someone who went to medical school. Or has taken more than one anatomy class in their life.”

He yanks down his shirt, standing, apparently too quickly, and wobbling. You catch his arm as he sways, attempting to steady him. “You should sit down.”

“Need to go back out.” He grunts, trying to pull away from you with little force.

“To get killed? ‘Cause you’re going the right way about it.”

He tilts his head at you like he’s daring you to be so bold again. At least that's what it felt like. You sigh, gesturing to the couch, “Sit down.”

You didn’t expect it to work but he does as told.

You look around, unsure of what to do next. “Do you need ice?”

“What?”

“You’re hurt.” You say slower. “Do you need ice?”

He falters for a second, “No, it’s—no.” A couple beats pass before he adds, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

It’s impossible not to notice that he’s staring at you. You feel hot under his gaze, not knowing what to do with yourself. You clear your throat, telling him to hang on for a second.

You call out behind you as you walk to the kitchen, “Take your helmet off, it’s rude.” You grab the painkillers from their new easily-accessible place on the kitchen counter and grab a water bottle from the fridge.

It was a joke but when you come back his helmet is off and he’s just wearing his domino eye mask. His hair is extra tousled, the white streak barely visible in the mess of loose curls. You toss the bottle of meds at him, followed by the capped bottle of water. He catches them easily, downing more than he probably should have but he got shot tonight so you figure you’ll give him a break about it.

You plop down on the couch next to him, honestly closer than you’d meant to. Your knees and shoulders lightly brush against one anothers, though neither of you make any moves to scoot over.

You both look straight ahead at the wall, simmering in the amity. “So did somebody else deal with the Hatter or when you get shot do you just bounce back like a T-1000?”

He scoffs, “No, getting shot at is a bit of an inconvenience for me.”

“Wrong line of work.”

He cocks an eyebrow, “You’re telling me.”

You turn your head to him, “Why do you do it then?”

He looks back at you earnestly. “Someone has to.”

“Someone does.”

He tenses up a bit at that, breaking eye contact. “Not well enough.”

Your head slowly lulls and drops into a rest on his shoulder, causing him to stiffen up a bit more before almost completely relaxing.

“So violence is the answer to violence?” you ask, not argumentative, just genuinely musing.

Hood sighs, “Half-assed reform programs didn’t do anything, shitty ‘crisis interventions’ didn’t do anything, the cops sure as hell don’t do anything.” He shrugs under you. “You run out of options eventually.”

“And that’s why you took it upon yourself to intervene?”

“Mm. ‘When reason fails, the devil helps.’” He says, quite melodramatically, in your opinion.

“I-Is that—” you squint, shooting off of his shoulder to look him in the eye. “You spend your nights getting in street fights and shootouts and you spend your days reading Crime and Punishment of all things?” You gawk at him, “That explains a lot about your disposition.”

He shrugs with a shake of his head. “It’s a rough world. Can’t afford to be reading about Hogwarts.”

You pause, combing through your next words, “‘Man only likes to count his troubles; he doesn’t calculate his happiness.’”

His eyes crinkle under his mask as he smiles, clearly pleasantly surprised that you know your shit. “Touché.”

You grin back, pleased with yourself.

There’s a brief recession where your smiles both get caught in the flicker between on and off, where your eyes take the opportunity to scan over each other’s faces.

You realize that this may be the first time you’ve seen him properly smile and it’s so magnetizing. So much so that you don’t realize you’re staring at his lips until your eyes snap back up to his and find that his are on yours.

His eyes don’t leave yours as he nudges you a bit with his shoulder. It does just enough to break the trance, giving you the cue to rest your head on him again. This time you allow more of your weight to lean against him and he actually seems relaxed for once.

You glance at the clock on the wall without moving and realize it’s almost four in the morning. “I’m tired, Hood.” you mumble into his shirt.

“You don’t—” he falters for a moment, “You don’t have to call me that.”

You squint at him, “What should I call you then?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “J.”

“J?” you whisper, like it’s a grave secret. You guess it kind of is.

He nods.

“Okay.” Your cheek flattens against his shoulder. “J.”

You nearly think you’re imagining it when you feel him rest his head against yours.

“You don’t know how to protect yourself?”

You roll your eyes at him, “You saw the way I swung at you with the baseball bat, what do you think?”

It’s only just after sunset, you could still see some purple-pink hues in the sky if you looked out the window. He’s started showing up before patrol some nights, saying he felt bad about waking you up at 3 am multiple times a week. So now, he mostly only drops in late if he’s a manageable amount of injured.

You stand in the middle of your living room together, after you’d made a joke about needing him as a bodyguard in Gotham. As it turns out, that was a one way street to him finding out that you’re useless in a fight.

“I was hoping you were having an off night because you just woke up, but now I'm concerned.” He says, grimacing.

You shrug, “I carry pepper spray.”

He grumbles, displeased. “Put your hands up.”

You drop your head to the side and glower at him, “Really?”

He raises his eyebrows at you. Just do it.

Alright, you’ll humor him. You put your fists up and he holds his hands open in front of you in kind. You throw a light punch.

“Come on, put your weight behind it.”

You do, hitting his hand harder. “Hood—”

He tilts his head forward at that, looking at you through his brows.

You inhale impatiently, “J, Why do we have to do this? I don’t have any illusions that I could knock you out and I can’t imagine you do either.”

He shakes his head, “It’s not about knocking someone out, it’s about defending yourself. Gonna be a hell of a lot harder to hurt you if you’re throwing punches. Harder.”

You give a raised hum, “Not if they have a gun…”

“Well, we’ll work on that too.”

You groan, throwing a half-assed hit. “Where’d you learn to fight?” You ask before throwing another.

“Turn your body into it.” He corrects. “My, uh, my dad taught me.”

You hum, hitting him again. “Are you guys close?”

“You’re being nosy again.” He grunts amidst a hit.

“You’re being evasive again.” You shoot back.

He drops his hands, taking your wrists in his, “Here, put your hands in front of your face when you shoot so you can block counters.” He tells you, adjusting your stance accordingly.

You make a face, “I’m confused, am I fighting a mugger or a kickboxer?”

He ignores you, moving his hands around to give you different angles to hit at.

You go at it for a few minutes, taking his critiques with reluctant concedence. “Alright, that’s good.” He says, relaxing his body.

You perk up, “We’re done?”

“No,” he shuts you down before asking earnestly, “Do you trust me?”

Your brain hadn’t even fully processed the question before you nod, mumbling a ‘yes’. He takes a measured step closer to you, watching carefully for your reaction. You almost back up in surprise, angling your head up further to look at him properly. You give no objection, so he continues, “I want you to try to get me on the ground.”

You let out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-scoff. “You’re twice my size.”

He sighs, looking at you somberly. “Sweetheart, odds are you’re not going to be evenly matched against someone that wants to hurt you. You get ‘em on the ground ‘n you have the upper hand or it’ll give you time to get away.”

You throw your hands up at your sides, “I don’t—” You huff, “Fine, okay.” You try to trip him by sliding your leg behind his and kicking, but he blocks you expertly.

You, against better judgment, shove your shoulder into his side, though it does nothing to phase him, let alone knock him down.

“You gotta get more creative than that.” He chastises with a tut.

In response, you take a step back to reassess the situation. You try to maintain a poker face as you strategize in your head. You make a dive for his legs, wrapping your arms around the back of his legs and pulling hard to make him lose balance. You’re sure if he were actually trying for a damn you would immediately be done for afterwards, but it does make him wobble. You then throw all of your weight against him, pushing him backwards and causing him to hit the floor with a thud.

He probably allowed for gravity to come to your aid, but he lands on his back all the same. You land half on him, half on the carpet, your hand resting on his chest. He looks up at you nodding, “Good. That was good, sweetheart.”

You smile, quite proud of yourself, and start to stand up when he hooks his arm around the back of your knee and pulls you to the ground too, switching places with you. You hit the ground gently with a sigh, “Really?”

He has one hand rested next to your head to balance him in his place above you. He smirks down at you and lets a tussle of white hair hang over his forehead. “Can’t be getting cocky, sweetheart.”

You laugh sourly, “Coming from you?”

You quickly push at the bend of his arm and use the distraction to adjust your position to wrap your legs around his center and push your arm against his chest in an attempt to rotate him off of you.

He counters you by pushing your shoulder down, holding you down to the floor. His opposite hand flies to pull your forearm away from his chest, pinning it next to your head, careful to avoid your hair. He moves so quickly that you have half a mind to think he acted on pure instinct. That, and the look on his face when the dust settles says that he hadn’t intended for you to end up in this position.

Your legs are still wrapped around him and you’re too frozen in the moment to make any changes. He’s in no more of a rush to move, large frame towering over you. You feel his touch stutter against your shoulder, his eyes flickering across your face.

You gaze up at him, taking in the soft look in his eyes behind the mask. You think you can see more green than you did before. You unwrap your legs from around his waist and slowly start to sit up. He releases your wrist and eases the pressure on your shoulder. He leans back half as quickly as you move forward, stopping when you’re propped up on your elbows.

Your faces are only a few inches apart and it feels like your only option is to look down at his lips. You have a feeling he’s doing the same to you. The adrenaline of the hassle has long since faded but the rhythm in both of your chests remains quick.

He leans forward so barely, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. “J…” you say breathily, not sure what implication you’re aiming for.

He stills and this time you’re sure he’s looking at your lips. He blinks a few times like he’s trying to come back to himself and inches his face away from yours slowly.

You let the hold in your breath release, disappointed more than anything. He eases off the floor to a stand and holds his hand out to help you up too. You take it with more of a frown than you’d meant to let out and rise to your feet.

“Let’s, uh…” He looks at the ground before taking a step back and putting his hands up again. “Let’s try some combos.”

You blink up at him for a second before raising your hands too.

Alright, one step at a time.

vol II

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