#the rest of the cast is hard to figure out

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART EIGHTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, violence, fire, illness, depictions of death, be warned as always masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Rest didn’t come easy, nor did waking up with agonizing pain flashing through you like a beatdown on repeat with no stop button. Sometime during your rest, you recalled Soap and Gaz returning with the promised pillows, carefully cushioning you in between to ensure you as much comfort as possible, but the memory was fuzzy.

Everything felt a bit surreal, as if you weren’t truly present and the events that unfolded never actually happened. You figured it was your mind attempting to protect you, repressing the pain of the new memories, but it always came back in the form of anguish, your shattered bones shifting beneath the surface of your skin with every subtle movement you dared to make.

There was no use in pretending. It was pure hell, and up until now, you played the role of a strong woman with no fear of walking along a path unknown. You played long enough. The pain was far too much to muster an act of strength.

The room was empty when you woke for the nth time, the barest of sun rays peeking through the small windows and casting the room in a dim glow. The Captain nor the others were nowhere to be found, most likely manning the ship as promised or in their own beds to earn the rest they deserved after seeing a ghost of their past.

Your eyes remained on the ceiling, vision blurring then focusing, in and out. No matter how hard you blinked, the fuzziness wouldn’t relinquish its hold, nor did you have the strength or courage to lift a fist to frantically rub it away.

You hated being alone. After Price left last night, it had felt peaceful—now, it felt torturous, listening to the distant waves clash among each other and having no way of taking your time to breathe in the salty air as they fought against the sides of the ship.

Had he slept last night? Had he rested at all?

You went to open your mouth, to call out for him in hopes of being loud enough, but all that left you was a heavy wheeze, your mouth dry to the bone. You were parched as much as you were weak, and it showed in the way you attempted to inhale a deep breath, only for it to come crashing down on you in the form of an extreme sharp clash to your ribcage.

Everything hurt. The euphoria of your shared kiss with the Captain had long worn off, leaving you sober and miserable.

You were nothing more than a skeleton, or perhaps even an undead from those of the stories you’d heard about as a child. Alive, but not living. That was surely how it felt.

You felt utterly helpless as you laid there, unmoving. Even the lift of your finger felt as if you were lifting the weight of the world. It was all so heavy, your body, mind, and soul.

While you were one to cure the sick, you were never on the other line. There was no one there to coddle you in the way you knew to do with others, nor any treatment that could fix you the way you wanted to be fixed. An immediate recovery was out of sight, and it only grew you more restless, an itch burning beneath your skin.

It was only by a miracle of the universe that just as you were beginning to fight within yourself that the door to the quarters opened, Soap stepping inside with a bowl of something warm, the steam faintly radiating up. He looked surprised to see you awake, making haste in shutting the door and hurrying to the bed.

“Dove,�� he chirped, throwing you a smile. You knew immediately he was trying to bring you some light, and for that, you appreciated it. “Yer up early today. Was just bringin’ ye some breakfast to start the day with. Ye hungry?”

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of him, then down to the bowl in his hands. You had no desire to eat, your appetite shot the moment you woke with no relief. Despite the faint grumbling in your stomach, the sight made you nauseous, mouth watering in ways considered unpleasant.

Soap noticed, frowning at your pained expression. He set the bowl down, coming to your aid. “Ye don’t look well. Did ye sleep at all?”

All you mustered was a small hum, lips turning down into your own frown. Your body ached, begging to be stretched from its stiff knots, but you truly felt exhausted. It was taking everything in you to resist moving, fearing more flare ups along your side.

Soap’s hand lifted, carefully resting his knuckles on your forehead. Your skin was clammy and warm, something he took note of, and the skin around your eyes appeared darkened, bags already beginning to form.

“M’sorry for what ye had to deal with,” he apologized sympathetically, brushing a knuckle along your brow bone. “Price has been bustin’ ass to figure out where to take ye. Been out there all night.”

You deflated at that, guilt pulling your heart strings. The last thing you wanted was for them to exhaust themselves for the sake of you, and the helplessness only grew.

“Ach, don’t look so grim, lass. We just want what’s best for ye, can’t have ye all banged up and broken, can we?” he attempted to tease, his smile fading into defeated pout when you gave no reaction. “Does it hurt?”

You let out a heavy sigh through your nose, feeling the tension in your rib cage as you excelled your lung’s usage. You offered a short nod, Soap’s expression only turning more apologetic.

“Can I see?” he asked, and when you threw him a weary look, he corrected himself. “I won’t hurt ye, dove, swear. I’ll be gentle.”

You stared at him long and hard, before ultimately agreeing, lifting a heavy hand to paw away at the sheets. The dress was pulled back over your figure, but with Soap averting his eyes respectfully, you worked with all your strength to tug at the fabric to pull it up enough as you did the night before.

You released a frustrated noise when you were unable to get it past your hips, your arm failing you. You hated how weak you’d grown in only mere hours, feeling as fragile as glass, and you knew it would only grow the longer you remained unattended to from a doctor.

“What’s wrong?” Soap asked, voice slightly muffled from him facing the other way. You huffed.

“I can’t get it,” you mumbled, voice croaky from the dryness in your throat.

“I can help,” he tried, keeping his head turned. “I can see ye wantin’ to say no. I won’t make it weird, dove, but it needs to be checked. Let me?”

Your eyes bore into the side of his face, flickering across the rugged skin and stubble. There was no reason not to allow him to see, granted he already had last night, but alone felt much more vulnerable. Still, this was Soap you were talking about—he wouldn’t dare make you recoil.

You hummed approval, turning away from him to avoid his eye as he shifted towards you. His gaze dropped down to the bare skin of your legs, hand outreaching carefully.

Your warm skin felt even hotter when his fingertips grazed your thigh, trailing its way up to the bunched hem of your dress. He was cautious as he helped you lift it, seeming more focused on his own concern rather than anything lustful.

It made you relax, body slowly admitting defeat as the dress lifted past your ribs, the only thing keeping your decency being the thin sheet he had graciously pulled over your legs to provide you cover. It was as if he sensed your discomfort and was doing everything in his power to guarantee he meant no harm.

Your heart seemed to pick up its pace, pounding against your ribcage and shooting a different type of pain through you. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was. You just knew it hurt.

Once your injury was revealed to him, he couldn’t stifle the pained breath through his nose. His face contorted into one of hurt, as if he mirrored your pain.

“Is it bad?” you asked, voice cracking under the cottonmouth.

“Ach, it’s nothin’,” he attempted, though you could hear the burrowing worry in his tone. “Just a bruise, aye?”

You sucked in a careful breath, feeling your lungs fill then slowly release. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Soap grimaced, fingers lightly brushing along the aggressive bruising on your side. The blackened veins had only grown, spreading into ugly branches. Whatever was hiding within them was the sole reason you were so weak, even just mere hours after inheriting them.

“Would I ever lie to ye?”

“Yeah.”

A small smile broke out on his face, only falling when you whimpered a noise of discomfort as his fingers caressed the skin for too long. His expression morphed into one of deep thinking, eyebrows tugged together and teeth nearly gnawing his bottom lip. You thought he looked a bit silly, but maybe you were being delirious.

“No need to worry ‘bout it, birdie. We’re fixin’ ye up real soon,” he assured, a sign of a promise. Despite it, he didn’t sound so sure.

You only hummed, sinking further into the fluff of pillows surrounding you, eyes redirected to the ceiling.

“Do ye want to eat? Ghost fixed ye up somethin’ warm, figured it may lift yer spirits,” he tried, reaching for the bowl he set aside. The steam no longer rose, but the smell of it invaded your nose.

You didn’t think anything could make you feel better, and the reality was until you got true aid, you wouldn’t heal. Not with the Devil coursing through your veins.

But the look on Soap’s face was hopeful, and you felt a nagging guilt if you were to deny him. It wasn’t often you got Soap alone, and you knew he had been the one to take the food to you in order to spend time with you. It would be downright barbaric to deny.

That was how you ended up with Soap feeding a spoonful of warm soup into your mouth, burning your turn at first taste with him snickering in apology and you glaring daggers.

He chirped your ear off, rambling about everything yet nothing at the same time. You laid and listened, occasionally throwing in your own piece, albeit shortly. Speaking fully was hard, even when you wanted to, but the soup had done wonders to your throat.

You reminded yourself to thank Ghost later. Even if he wouldn’t accept it.

“Have ye ever loved anythin’, birdie?”

The question was sudden, nothing like the ventures Soap had been going on about in order to occupy your mind. It took you off guard and you shifted your head to look at him, noting his curious expression.

Love was a strong word, and you knew your answer. You had been alone up until this point, and even then, the act of friendship was something you were still on the path of discovering.

“No,” you murmured honestly. “I have never felt that.”

Soap hummed, tapping his finger against his lip. “The Captain was quite jolly this mornin’,” he stated suspiciously. “He was still actin’ like a hound dog, don’t get me wrong. Barkin’ us around like his li’l workin’ mice, but there was somethin’ different. Ye know somethin’ ‘bout that?”

The two of you stared at one another, Soap holding a grin behind his hand, you appearing stumped. He was playing a game, even with you bedridden and suffering. He truly was a boy at heart.

“Acting different like Ghost does with you?” you bit back, Soap’s face dropping. “You are barking up the same tree, Soap.”

“Ach,” he tsked, throwing a hand up. “Ghost always say I’m too nosy for my own good. Thought the little birdie would have somethin’ for me to hear.”

You didn’t know why, but you felt you could entrust your heart with Soap. He never held judgement towards you, even from the beginning when he fought for your right to be treated fairly. He was a boy at heart, but a man when he needed to be.

“I’m afraid I do not,” you dismissed, rolling your head back forward to stare at the ceiling.

“Tch. Liar.”

You fell silent, as did he. You could practically feel him waiting for you to break, knowing it was brimming.

“I do not think what I say will be very good,” you confessed, tone growing soft.

“I have never forsaken ye,” Soap replied cooly, unfazed by your reservedness.

You frowned to yourself, knowing he was right. At the end of the day, Soap had been your supporter, even from afar.

“Is it bad to feel for more than one?” you asked, keeping your gaze glued to the ceiling.

Soap grew surprised, eyebrows raising. It wasn’t what he was expecting you to say, let alone ask him. “Ye said ye have never loved anythin’.”

“Because I have not.”

“Then what’s this yer speakin’ of?”

“Forget it.”

Soap cocked his head, taking in the way you seemed to shut in on yourself. While he was an open book, he’d dealt with plenty of introverted feelings with Ghost. It was nothing he hadn’t seen.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with feelin’ for more than one person,” he assured, eyes flickering over the side of your face. You could feel the heat of seriousness in the stare. “Hell, who cares if ye end up with more than one? More love to go around, aye?”

You took in his words, allowing yourself to feel comforted by it. You didn’t expect Soap to find it strange anyway, but to hear it outwardly put your mind at ease from the torn battle being fought within it.

“I feel for the Captain,” you murmured quietly, as if afraid to say it. “Yet I feel for Gaz. I am trapped.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, encouraging you to continue, yet you had not much to say. Your own words felt like vomit with anything wanting to come out being trapped in your throat. “Is there anybody else included in that picture?”

You knew what he was insinuating, and it made you nauseous. To confess that your heart pushed and pulled towards each of them in a way that had you longing, it was too much to say. You feared for the path you were strung along, though you feared veering off of it more.

“No,” you replied, missing confidence in your answer. You knew you were lying—you were just too frightened to admit it.

Soap blinked, weighing your answer. It felt as if he was hiding disappointment. You wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t been for the slight drop in his shoulders. “S’not that bad,” he dismissed, trying once more to make you feel better.

It only made you feel worse.

You no longer had a reply, opting for silence instead of conversation. You knew you could trust Soap with the information you’d given him, but there was an underlying feeling of something missing from the conversation, something you weren’t quite ready to address.

Sensing the shift, Soap shot you a smile, clapping his hands on his knees to stand. “I’ll be back later, dove. Ye know to yell if ye need anythin’.”

You highly doubted you’d have the energy to yell, but you nodded nonetheless, frowning at his back as he receded from the room.

You worried you hurt his feelings, but you weren’t sure why they’d be hurt in the first place—your own strange inner workings towards him and the others were nothing bad. He’d said so himself. Yet, the way he left so suddenly had your stomach sinking, thinking that you gave the wrong answer.

You watched the door for the next agonizing hour, blinking away sleep in hopes of catching the next person to come in. When nobody came in, you caved in, disappointed, slipping back into a restless sleep, losing the fight with your own mind and body.

The world was distorted around you, as if peering through a dense lens. You weren’t sure where you were, but all around you was an unsettling darkness surrounding a vast, empty land where nothing there seemed to thrive.

The grass beneath your bare feet was dead and dry, poking into your soles like little needles. The trees, albeit what was left of them, were thin and brittle, branches littering the ground around them. Buildings crumbled in pieces, standing broken and tarnished, the homes of what once lived here now vacant.

The world felt void of anything but disaster, showcasing its ugly teeth and rearing them into you.

You couldn’t recall if you’d ever been here before. There was a sense of familiarity in it, something that struck a chord with you.

The air filled your nostrils, breathing in old ash and faint smoke. It made your throat tighten and your eyes water, the scent shifting the more you consumed it, something more rotten poisoning it.

When you looked around, you realized your loneliness. Nobody was near you—not even Graves. It grew confusion, wondering whether this was one of his nightmares he loved to toy you with, or if this was entirely on your own.

Your body felt weightless, as if the pain you’d been suffering had vanished and you were nothing more than a feather. When you lifted a hand to touch your side, there was no agony. It was like you’d never been injured to begin with.

The world around you was eerily quiet. While it had a nostalgic feel, it had your hairs on the back of your neck standing.

You dared to take a step forward, your feet burrowing into the straw-like grass. The moment your foot touched the ground, everything morphed. Rather than the quiet runes of an old town, your ears nearly bled from screams and cries of hopelessness that filled the air.

Villagers ran frantic, seeking shelter from impending death. Women, men, children, they all were succumbing to their own horrible cruelties. Mother Nature offered no mercy on their souls, taking what she wanted and whatever stood in her way.

The homes were no longer rubble but burning in flames, villagers running for safety, coughing and hacking from the smoke that clouded around them in a dome. You felt the heat singe your skin, warming you from the inside and out.

You stood, horrified, unable to do anything but watch.

You knew why everything seemed so familiar—this was your home. You were watching it fall apart just as you’d done before, but this time, you knew the outcome before it arrived. Everybody around you would be dead once again, and you would be the unlucky survivor.

You attempted to move, but as if your feet were glued to the ground, you remained frozen, locked in a nightmare of watching everything you’d ever known crumble to pieces for a second time.

Why? Why were you being shown this? Why did you have to relive it? You didn’t understand, and the more you fought, the more disoriented you became.

Your gaze darted everywhere, frantic as you searched. It wasn’t until you realized the small bookkeep of your village that it was the only building left standing, unharmed. The flames hadn’t slithered inside, nor had it succumbed to destruction.

You tried your hardest to understand, to think of any reason why your mind was reliving this horrible memory, but the flames began to slink its way towards you, tickling your feet. Its ember grew, and you cried as the heat embedded into your skin.

You’d hardly visited the bookkeep, only on the occasion your curiosity on a subject got the best of you. It held no significant meaning to you. All the knowledge you earned was from your own research. So why?

You watched the fire dance around the building as if it were untouchable, killing everything in its wake while protecting the bookkeep. It hadn’t even touched its grass, keeping it green and vibrant compared to the soot-covered fields around it.

You desperately searched through your mind for importance. Even as the flames at your feet rose, you tried with all your might, hoping that anything of significance would cease the torturous pain and bring you back to your reality.

They rose and rose, until you could no longer think of anything but your melting skin and scorching body. You burned along with the villagers and could do nothing but accept it until you were swallowed whole, engulfed in your own personal hell.

“She’s a furnace, Cap,” Gaz said wearily, the back of his hand pressed to your forehead. “Whatever Graves did to her, it’s not givin’ us a lot of time.”

The Captain paced his quarters, hand dug into his beard, tugging.

Upon Gaz returning to feed you dinner, he found you clammy and burning, your skin hot to the touch. Your forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, the skin discoloring around your eyes to a meek gray. You were asleep, though God only knows for how long since Soap had left that morning.

“Captain,” Gaz tried once more, watching the man nearly rip his own hair out as he lost himself in his own muddled thoughts.

Price said nothing as if he hadn’t even heard Gaz. He was thinking up anything to stall your illness from whatever disgusting infection Graves mustered up, but he wasn’t a medic. That was your knowledge. He felt utterly useless.

“Price,” Gaz snapped, loud enough to garner the Captain’s attention. “Get a fuckin’ grip. Stress later, come up with a plan now.”

Price halted in his tracks, taking in a deep breath. He took the moment to calm himself, knowing Gaz was right in everything he said. He was a Captain, damn it, yet was falling apart at the sight of one of his own.

“We don’t have time for a professional,” Price stated, stepping up to your bedside where Gaz sat. He peered down at you, observing your sickly skin and pure exhaustion. “We’ll take her to a village doctor, a shrink, it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. The nearest place, we take her to.”

Gaz released a sigh, glancing back at your crippled form. Broken ribs seemed to be the lesser worry. It was the ugly veins that only seem to travel further under your skin. They looked worst than they had been the night before, far worse.

“Nobody leaves her alone,” Price continued. “One of us will be here at all times until we make landfall.”

“I’ll stay,” Gaz offered immediately.

Internally, Price wanted to protest. He was Captain, he should take the responsibility, but his responsibility lied with the helm and manning the ship until his body gave out. It was his heart yearning to stay.

“I’ll let Soap and Ghost know,” Price replied. His hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw clenching uncomfortably. “None of you leave her fuckin’ side. Am I clear?”

Gaz stared at the Captain, noting the tension he held. He glanced back at you, a poor sight to see, and he nodded in agreement.

“No man left behind, aye, Cap?” Gaz tried.

Price grunted, giving him a clap on his shoulder. He gazed down at Gaz with an unreadable expression before shaking it off, storming out of the quarters to inform the others of the plan.

Gaz sat quietly, focusing on you. His heart was pained, seeing you so distressed. He did what he thought may comfort you, grasping your hand in his, rolling a thumb over your knuckles. There was nothing for him to do but get comfortable for the night and ride out the storm that Graves stowed upon them once again, promising to whatever God was listening that he’d fight through hell and back if anything were to happen.

You didn’t wake that day, nor the day after. You relived the nightmare over and over until it was engraved in your head, festering itself deep. It took nearly three days to awake, forcing your eyes open.

Your mouth was dry as cotton, eyes crusted over with endless sleep. Your body felt heavy, as if molded to the cot, and it took all your strength to move your head. You would’ve shrieked in surprise if your throat was hydrated enough.

Price slept beside you, faint moonlight as well as a trusty candle illuminating his peaceful features. He laid on his stomach, arms curled under the pillow and cheek pressed into it. He looked almost boyish like that, the worry exhausted from his face and replaced with a quiet calm.

It was the first you’d woken in the middle of the night to the sight of him. The times you’d spent in his bed before were ones you didn’t wake up to, only waking to an empty cot or falling asleep alone.

You couldn’t help but stare, studying every smooth feature. You almost felt it wasn’t real, that maybe this was a new nightmare forming and was playing tricks on you with a subtle beginning. But when you stared long enough, reality formed and you knew you were awake.

Your body was still hurting, though from being so still in slumber, it was more stiff than anything. You weakly lifted a hand, pawing at the Captain in attempts to rouse him.

As if he’d already been on edge, his eyes shot open, meeting yours. His expression quickly morphed into surprise, then relief.

“Dove,” he breathed, sitting up. He made an uncomfortable grunt from the stiffness in his muscles but was quick to ignore it, laser focused on you. “Are you alright?”

You opened your mouth to speak, an embarrassing squeak coming out. Price noticed instantly, shooting up from the bed.

“Water?” he asked, and when you nodded, he dipped from the room, leaving you alone.

You didn’t wait long, and you would’ve thought Price was running a marathon with the haste he made. He sat beside you, carefully curling his hand on the back of your head to lift it. He placed the cup to your lips, and you nearly moaned in relief once the water hit your tastebuds, flooding them with hydration.

“Better?” he asked, watching you gulp he beverage.

Once finished, you sighed, blinking away the soreness of your eyes. His hand remained on your head as he stared at you, worry lines forming between his brows.

You knew you looked even more hellish than before, but he didn’t seem to pay any mind, only concerned about making sure you were alright. It warmed the coldness in you, melting away the icy wall you’d built from the reoccurring nightmare you suffered.

“We’ll make landfall tomorrow,” Price explained, smoothing his knuckles along your cheekbone with his other hand. The affection caused you to relax. “Get you all better, aye? I know how much it hurts.”

You sluggishly nodded, content with the change of scenery rather than angry flames that burned you to death over, and over, and over. Though it’d only been three days, it felt like years.

“Home,” you murmured, voice still shot from weakness.

Price appeared confused, cocking his head. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone as he spoke. “Home?” he repeated. “What’s on your mind, dove?”

“Need to go home,” you mumbled softly.

“I don’t understand—”

“My village,” you explained, frowning.

Price stared at you, trying to read you. His eyes flickered between yours, displeased with the sickly bags surrounding yours. You looked void of life.

“You want to go home?” he tried, and when you nodded, he hummed. He knew you had no home to go back to, and so did you. It was rubble.

Rather than question your reasoning, he merely took it in stride, nodding in agreement. “We can go home, dove—after you get better. Alright?”

You knew you sounded silly, but the nightmare kept flashing in your head. The bookkeep—something was there, even in the ruins of it. It called to you in your dreams, and it stayed unharmed during mass destruction. There was nothing else for you to believe besides its calling.

Price glanced down at the bare skin of your ribcage where it peeked out from beneath the blanket, your dress still pulled up from when you’d shown Soap. They all made sure you remained decent, never wanting you to feel uncomfortable.

Whatever was plotting beneath your skin in the rooted veins, Price could only hope it wasn’t making you delirious. Hearing you utter words about home had him stuck, but he knew better than to not trust you—it was something he did with his life, now that he had you.

If it was home you wanted to be at, he’d take you. He only prayed you made it long enough to see it.

[gilbertscurls]

More ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: SMUT, sub!matt, unprotected p in v, praise and degradation kink (?), use of good boy, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, edging, choking, pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc.)

The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. You lay sprawled comfortably across Matt, your head resting on his chest as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you into a sense of calm. The warmth of his body under yours was familiar and comforting, a sensation you craved after long days of classes and work.

Your fingers absentmindedly traced along the neckline of his t-shirt, brushing against his skin with feather-light touches. You could feel him tense slightly under you. Still, you didn’t think much of it, content to let your mind wander as you continued to trail your fingertips along the edge of his collarbone and up to his throat.

Matt’s breathing hitched, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. You lifted your head slightly to glance up at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips parted just enough for you to notice how his breath had quickened.

“You okay?” you teased softly, your fingers still tracing the delicate line of his throat, the pulse beneath your touch growing quicker.

Matt swallowed hard, his hands shifting to rest on your waist, as if grounding himself. “Yeah,” he breathed, but there was a tension in his voice you couldn’t miss.

You tilted your head, your smile turning mischievous as you shifted your weight slightly, the movement making Matt exhale sharply. “Are you sure?” you murmured, your fingers now trailing lower, over his collarbone and back to the base of his throat.

His hands tightened on your waist, and the way he looked at you—eyes filled with heat—sent a thrill through you. "Baby," he muttered, his voice strained.

Your lips curled into a knowing smile as you leaned down, your breath ghosting over his ear. "I think I know what's happening here," you whispered, pressing just a bit closer to him, feeling the tension radiating from him, his body betraying what his words wouldn’t.

You grinned, your fingertips lingering just a moment longer on his throat, feeling the racing pulse beneath them.

Matt felt a shiver run down his spine as your hand gently pressed against his neck, and he felt the firm pressure of your thumb against his Adam’s apple. He let out a gasp, feeling a mixture of surprise and excitement.

“Whoa,” he muttered, his voice shaky. “Easy there, sweetheart. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

He looked up at you, and the sight of you on top of him, your body pressed against his, and your hand on his throat was making his heart race. He knew you weren’t going to actually hurt him, but the dominating gesture was turning him on in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Be a good boy for me and don’t move so much,” you mumbled, resting your head on his chest, but keeping your hand on his throat.

Matt felt a wave of unexpected pleasure wash over him at your domination, and his breathing got a little heavier. He was surprised by how much he was enjoying this little game of yours, feeling a strange mixture of excitement and submission.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a little breathless. “I’ll be a good boy for you. I won’t move.”

He couldn’t believe how this simple act of you asserting your dominance was affecting him. It was like a switch had been flipped in his brain, and he was suddenly more turned on than he had expected. He let himself surrender to your control, his body feeling warm and alive beneath your touch.

You looked up at him in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re into it.”

Matt felt a blush spread across his cheeks at his incredulous tone. He hadn’t expected you to figure out that he was enjoying this type of behavior. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure.

“No,” he protested, trying to sound convincing. “I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your dick is digging into my thigh, Matthew.”

His face turned an even deeper shade of red as you called him out on his current predicament. He couldn’t deny that your dominating behavior was having a rather physical effect on him, and he was starting to feel a little embarrassed.

“Uh… I, um…” he muttered incoherently, still trying to come up with a decent excuse.

“Uh… Um…” you mocked him. “Speak up.”

Matt felt a wave of embarrassment but also a thrill from your mockery. He took a deep breath and swallowed, mustering up the courage to speak up.

“Okay, fine,” he admitted, his voice shaky. “I… I am enjoying this. A lot.”

„Mm, I can feel that,” you teased. “What, you like to be bossed around and degraded?”

Matt let out a small involuntary moan as you teased him, his body reacting to your words in a way he couldn’t control. He felt another wave of embarrassment wash over him, but he knew he couldn’t deny the truth.

“Y-yes,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I do like it when you’re in control. When you boss me around and… Degrade me a little.

You pouted. “My little Matty is getting so worked up from just that?”

He felt a mixture of embarrassment and arousal when you used that nickname. It was demeaning, but also somehow endearing coming from you. He felt himself harden even more under your body, his desire growing stronger by the second.

“Y-yes,” he admitted, his voice breathless. “God, yes, I’m so worked up right now. Just from you being on top of me like this, and your hand on my throat. I like feeling dominated by you.”

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and embarrassment. He felt a little vulnerable, telling you these things, but at the same time, he trusted you completely.

You kept tracing your fingertips along the side of his sensitive skin. “So responsive for me…”

Matt shivered as he felt your touch, the sensation making his body feel even more alive. He let out a soft gasp, his breathing getting heavier as he responded to your touch.

“Y-yes, so responsive,” he mumbled, his voice shaky. “For you, only for you. You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Yeah?” you murmured. “Tell me, what would you like from me, baby?”

Matt’s heart raced at the sound of your sultry voice, and he felt his body respond even more strongly to you. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing and collect his thoughts.

“I… I want you,” he admitted, his voice quivering with desire. “I want you to take control. I want you to do whatever you want with me. I’m yours, sweetheart. I’ll do anything for you.”

“All mine,” you repeated, gently squeezing his cheeks with one hand. “You’ll do anything… So pathetic, baby…”

Matt felt a mix of shame and excitement at your words, a combination that only served to arouse him even more. He couldn’t believe that he was enjoying being degraded like this, but something about the way you were talking to him was making his body feel a type of pleasure he’d never experienced before.

“Yes, anything,” he panted, his voice needy. “I’m your pathetic little baby. I’ll do anything you say, sweetheart. I’m all yours.”

He looked up at you with pleading eyes, his face flushed with desire. He wanted more, he wanted you to take control and do with him what you pleased.

You moved your face to be even closer to his. “You want to be my good boy, baby?”

He felt a shiver run down his spine, your face just millimeters away. He nodded eagerly, his breathing shallow and shaky.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, I want to be your good boy, sweetheart. I’ll do anything to make you feel good. Please, make me your good boy.”

You smiled at his eagerness and looked at him almost affectionately.

“I know you will, baby,” you purred. “I know you'll be my good boy, because you're so desperate to please me. Aren't you, my little pathetic baby?”

Matt felt another wave of shame mixed with arousal at your words, his body responding to your degrading tone. He nodded quickly, feeling a sense of submission wash over him.

“Yes, I am,” he panted. “I'm your desperate, pathetic little baby. I'll do anything to please you, sweetheart. Please, just tell me what to do. I'm desperate for you.”

“I want to hear you,” you purred, your lips trailing a path from his jaw to his neck, along the carotid.

Matt felt a shiver run down his spine as your lips touched his neck, trailing soft kisses along his sensitive skin. Your words and your touch sent tremors through his body, and he felt a surge of intense need and desire.

“You want to hear me?” he repeated, his voice choked with desire. “H-how? What should I say, sweetheart?”

“I want to hear how good I'm making you feel,” you explained in a low tone. “Every. Single. Moan.”

Matt let out a soft gasp as he heard your demand. He felt a mixture of excitement and shyness at the thought of being so vulnerable and open with you about how you were making him feel. But he wanted to please you, and he knew you wouldn't accept any less than complete honesty.

“Y-yes, sweetheart,” he panted, his voice quivering. “Every moan, every single one. You're making me feel so good, so incredibly good. I can't even think straight.”

“Good boy,” you praised him with a smirk, your hands tantalizingly slipping under the hem of his shirt.

Matt felt another shiver run down his spine, the thrill of pleasing you making his body tingle from head to toe. He gasped softly as he felt your hands slip under the hem of his shirt, your touch alone sending waves of pleasure through his body.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice breathless. “I want to be your good boy, sweetheart. I want to do everything you say. Please, touch me, touch me more.”

You tugged at the hem of his cropped pink shirt with a teddy bear on it. “And you chose this shirt today… So cropped, so pretty… Almost like you wanted to tease me.” You made a quiet tsk sound. “Do you know what you are?”

Matt felt a mix of embarrassment and excitement at your teasing tone, your words making his heart race even faster. He knew you were right, he had chosen this particular shirt because it was a little more revealing than his usual attire, and he had hoped it would get a reaction out of you.

“I… I am what, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice slightly shaky. He knew what you were getting at, but he wanted you to say it.

“You're a slut, baby,” you purred, sliding your hands down his sides. “Such a slutty waist, all in view…”

Matt felt another shiver run down his spine as he heard your dirty words, your hands on his sides making his body feel alive with desire. He moaned softly at your touch, and he couldn't deny the truth behind your words. He was your little slut, wanting to please you in any way he could.

“Y-yes, I'm your slutty little baby,” he panted, his voice filled with need. “I picked this shirt for you, just to show off my body for you. I wanted to be your little tease.”

“Such a naughty boy, teasing me like that…” you murmured, grabbing his chin in your hand.

Matt felt a thrill of excitement as you grabbed his chin, his breath catching in his throat at your touch. He knew he was being naughty, but he couldn't help it. He wanted your attention, he craved it. He looked up at you with pleading eyes, desperate to be your good boy.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he gasped. “I just wanted to get your attention. I wanted to be your naughty little boy.”

You ran your fingertips over the text on the shirt that said I need a kiss. “Mm, I don't think you deserved it.”

Matt felt a pang of disappointment at your words, his eyes widening in surprise. He had hoped that his choice of shirt would sway you, but you were denying him what he wanted. He pouted slightly, his voice pleading.

“N-no? But I… I just wanted a kiss, sweetheart,” he whined, his voice needy. “I was being naughty, but I was doing it for you... Please, please I need you to kiss me.”

“Do you think you deserved it?” You raised an eyebrow.

Matt felt a wave of shame wash over him as you questioned his worthiness of your kiss, but he knew deep down that he didn't. He was being naughty, and he hadn't done anything to deserve your affection. He lowered his head, his voice shaky and submissive.

“No… I don't deserve it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I've been a bad boy, sweetheart. I've been teasing you, and I know I don't deserve your kiss. But… But I want it so badly.”

You smirked at his admission, loving how submissive and obedient he was being. You knew he wanted your kiss so badly, but you also knew you had to teach him a lesson. You continued to run your fingertips over the text of his shirt, teasing him with the prospect of what he couldn't have.

“You want it, baby?” you murmured, your voice low and sultry. “You want me to give you that kiss? Show me how much you want it.”

Matt felt a mixture of embarrassment and desperation as you continued to tease him with the prospect of a kiss he so badly craved. He wanted to show you how much he wanted it, how much he needed it. He looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice desperate.

“Please… Please, sweetheart,” he panted, his voice shaking with need. “I want it so badly. I'll do anything, anything you want. Just… Just please give me a kiss. I can't take any more of this torture.”

His words seemed to have the desired effect, as your smirk widened, knowing you had him right where you wanted him. You looked at him with a mix of desire and satisfaction, still gently tracing your fingers over his body. You enjoyed seeing him desperate and pleading for your kiss, knowing how much power you held over him in that moment.

“Anything, huh?” you repeated, your voice sultry. “Anything to get my kiss?”

Matt nodded eagerly at your question, his desperation growing even more intense. He would do anything, anything at all to feel your soft lips on his. He looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice dripping with desire.

“Anything, sweetheart,” he repeated. “Anything at all. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it. I just… I just want to feel your kiss so badly. I need it, please.”

You enjoyed seeing him so desperate, his pleading voice and pleading eyes making you feel even more powerful. You could feel the control you had over him, and you loved it. You continued to trace your fingertips over his skin, enjoying the way he shivered at your touch.

“Then show me, baby,” you commanded. “Show me how badly you want it. Beg me for it, like the needy little baby you are.”

Matt blushed deeply at your command, his heart racing at the thought of begging you for a kiss. But he was so desperate, so in need of your affection, that he didn't care if it made him look pathetic. He took a deep breath and looked up at you, his voice desperate and pleading.

“Please… Please, sweetheart, I'll beg if you want me to,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I want your kiss so badly. I need it, I need to feel your lips on mine. Please, please, don't tease me anymore, I can't take it.”

You felt a surge of pleasure at his desperate plea, his voice pleading and submissive. You enjoyed seeing him degrade himself to get what he wanted. You looked at him with a smirk, reveling in the power you had over him.

“Good boy,” you cooed, your voice almost affectionate. “Keep begging, baby. Make me believe you want it more than anything.”

Matt felt another shiver run down his spine as you called him a good boy, the praise making him feel pathetic and lowly, but also incredibly desired. He looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice growing more desperate and shaky.

“Please… I'll do anything, I'll be your good boy, your loyal little boy… I just want your kiss, please sweetheart. I need to feel your lips on mine, I need to feel your love. Please, I'll do anything, just let me have your kiss. I can't take it anymore. Please, please, please.”

You were loving every second of this, watching as he continued to beg and plead for your affection. You could tell how desperate and needy he was, and it fueled your power over him.

“You're so pretty when you're desperate, baby,” you purred. “You'll do anything for my kiss, won't you? Anything I ask of you, just to feel my lips on yours?”

Matt nodded eagerly, his voice almost a whine as he continued to beg you.

“Yes, yes, I'll do anything, I swear. Just please, please let me have your kiss. I'll be your good boy, your loyal boy, your everything. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it, just please, just give me your lips. I'm begging you, darling, I need it so badly. I need your love, your touch, your kiss. Pleaseeee.”

Finally, you couldn't resist his desperate pleas any longer. You looked at him with a mixture of desire and affection, your own need matching his. You leaned in close to him, your voice sultry and seductive.

“Alright, baby… Since you begged me so nicely, I suppose I'll give you what you want.”

You placed a gentle hand on his chin, tilting his face up towards yours, and then pressed your soft, full lips against his in a deep, passionate kiss.

Matt felt a wave of relief and excitement wash over him as you finally gave in to his pleas and kissed him. He melted into your touch, his body responding to your kiss with eagerness and desire. He let out a soft moan against your lips, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

He could feel all of his pent-up need and desire release in that single kiss, and he wanted more, so much more.

You deepened the kiss, your tongue gently parting his lips and exploring his mouth. You could taste his desperate need, and it fueled your own desire. You slid your hand up to the back of his neck, holding him close as you continued to kiss him with passion and hunger.

You could feel his body pressing up against yours, his arms holding you tightly, and you loved knowing how badly he wanted you, how much he was craving your touch.

Matt was drowning in the sensation of your kiss, drowning in the feeling of your tongue in his mouth, your hand on the back of his neck, your body pressed against his. He couldn't get enough, he needed more, he needed all of you.

He let out a soft moan, his mouth moving feverishly against yours, his tongue dancing with yours. He was completely lost in you, his need for you growing more intense with each passing second.

You fixed your position on top of him, your hands running up and down his sides, as you continued to kiss him, almost pinning his body to the bed.

Matt felt his body shiver at the feeling of your hands on his sides, his arms tightening around you in response. He was almost completely submissive under you, letting you take control and do whatever you wanted to him. He let out another moan, his breath catching in his throat, as you deepened the kiss and pushed his body further into the bed.

He was completely at your mercy, completely vulnerable and exposed, and he loved every second of it.

“How badly do you want me, baby?” you asked teasingly.

Matt was practically trembling with desire, his body on fire with need. Your words only fueled his desire even more. He looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice almost desperate.

“So badly… So badly," he gasped, his voice shaking with need. “I want you so badly, sweetheart. I need you, I need all of you. I'll do anything you want, anything at all, just please… Please.”

“Please, what, sweetheart?”

Matt was almost losing his mind with how badly he wanted you, his body aching for your touch and attention. Your question only served to make him even more desperate and needy.

“Please… Please, touch me, kiss me, do whatever you want to me,” he pleaded, his voice shaking with need. “I'll do anything you ask me to, I'll be your good boy, just please… Please, give me your love, your attention, your touch. I need it, I need you so badly.”

You felt a thrill of excitement run through you at his pleading words, your power over him making you feel even more seductive. You ran your hands over his chest, feeling the heat and desire radiating off of him.

“You're so needy today, baby,” you teased, your voice sultry. “You want me that badly, huh? You'll do anything for me?”

Matt nodded eagerly, his eyes fixed on your face, his body squirming under your touch. He would do anything, he was desperately, completely at your mercy.

“Yes… Yes, I'm needy, I'm your needy baby,” he managed to gasp out, his voice shaky with desire. “I'll do anything you ask, anything at all, I swear. Just please... please touch me, kiss me, give me your attention. I'll be so good for you, I promise, I'll be your good boy.”

“Mm…” you hummed, running your hand over the teddy bear on his shirt. “Think it'll stay on, don't you think? Since you love to tease me with it so much…”

Matt felt a shiver of excitement run through him at your words, his body growing even harder at the thought of you taking off his shirt. He met your gaze with a mix of need and desire, his voice shaky and trembling.

“Y-yes, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. “Yes, it'll stay on. Just for you, just to tease you. I can be your good boy and keep it on, if that's what you want.”

You smirked at his reply, enjoying the effect you had on him. You ran your hand down over his abs, feeling the muscles tensing under your touch. You leaned in close to him, your lips millimeters away from his ear.

“Oh, I know you'll keep it on, baby. You like being my good boy, don't you? You like being my obedient little slave, hmm?”

Matt nodded eagerly, his body practically quivering with need and desire. He loved being your good boy, your obedient little slave, submitting to your every command. He was completely under your control, and he loved every second of it.

“Yes… Yes, I love being your good boy, sweetheart,” he gasped, his voice thick with desire. “I'll be whatever you want me to, whatever you ask of me. I'm yours, completely yours.”

“Such pretty words…” you mused softly, your hand gently trailing a path from his chest down.

Matt shivered underneath your touch, his body yearning for more of you. His eyes were glued to your hand as it teased its way down his chest, the anticipation driving him wild.

He let out a soft gasp as your hand reached his stomach, his body arching up slightly in response to the pleasure your touch was giving him.

You smiled as you watched him react to your touch, your hand continuing its slow, teasing journey down his body. You could feel his muscles tensing and his breathing growing more ragged as you neared the waistband of his pants.

“You're so sensitive, baby,” you whispered, your voice dripping with a sultry tone. “You love it when I touch you, don't you? You love being my good boy, my toy.”

Matt nodded eagerly, his body practically aching for more of your touch. He loved being your toy, your good boy, completely and utterly under your control. He wanted you so badly, he needed you so much.

“Yes… Yes, I love it, I love it so much,” he gasped, his voice thick with need. “Please, sweetheart, please touch me more. I'll do anything, just please, touch me more.”

You smirked, your hand finally touching him through the fabric of his plaid pajama pants, and you raised an eyebrow. “No underwear either, huh?”

Matt let out a soft moan as your hand touched him, his body arching up to meet your touch. He shook his head, his voice trembling with need and desire.

“N-no… N-no underwear,” he gasped, his heart racing. “I wanted to be good for you, sweetheart. I didn't want any barriers between us.”

Your smirk widened, enjoying the effect you were having on him. You liked that he had gone out of his way to be good for you, that he had done this just to please you.

“That's a good boy,” you purred, your hand stroking him gently through the fabric, your touch driving him wild. “You wanted to be completely naked for me, didn't you? You wanted nothing to get in the way of my touch?”

Matt nodded eagerly, his body quivering with pleasure at your touch. He wanted nothing more than for you to touch him, to feel your skin against his.

“Yes… Yes, sweetheart, I wanted nothing in the way. I wanted to be bare for you, completely open and vulnerable. I want nothing more than for you to touch me, to feel your skin against mine. I need it, I need you so badly.”

You tugged at the waistband of his pants, and Matt let out a gasp as his member sprung free from the confinement of his pants, his body reacting instinctively to your touch. He was completely at your mercy, vulnerable and open to your touch. His heart was racing, his body yearning for more of your touch.

“Sweetheart… Please… Please, touch me…” he pleaded, his voice shaky and trembling with need. “I need you…”

You smirked at his desperate plea, enjoying the power you had over him. You loved hearing him beg and plead, knowing that he was completely at your mercy, completely vulnerable to your touch.

“Oh, but I am touching you, baby,” you replied, your hand continuing to gently stroke and tease him. “But you're so needy today, aren't you? You want more than just my hand, don't you?”

Matt nodded eagerly, his body quivering with need and pleasure at your touch. Your hand felt incredible, but he wanted more, he needed more. He wanted all of you, he wanted to feel your body against his.

“Yes… Yes, I do, sweetheart,” he gasped, his voice thick with need. “I want more. I want all of you. I want to feel your skin against mine, I want to feel your body against mine. Please… Please, I need it so badly.”

“Begging so nicely for me…” you purred, moving down to straddle his hips.

Matt felt a shiver of excitement run through him as you straddled his hips, your body pressed against his, your touch driving him wild with desire. He looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice full of need and vulnerability.

“Please… Please, sweetheart,” he begged, his voice shaking. “I need you so badly. I need to feel your skin against mine, I need to feel you all around me. Please… Please, give me what I want, what I need so badly.”

Your smirk widened, enjoying his begging and pleading. It was so satisfying to see him completely at your mercy, completely vulnerable to your touch and attention.

“Such pretty words, baby,” you purred, your body moving against his slowly, teasingly. “You're such a good boy, begging so nicely for me. And good boys get rewarded, don't they?”

Matt's body reacted instinctively to your touch, his hips moving against yours as he ached for more of you. Your words were like a fire in his veins, fueling his need and desire even more. He nodded eagerly in response to your question, his voice shaky and pleading.

“Yes… Yes, I'm a good boy… I'm your good boy,” he gasped. “Please… Please, give me my reward, sweetheart. I want it so badly. I need to feel you, please, please, please…”

You smiled, your body still moving against his slowly, your touch teasing and torturous. Seeing him so desperate and needy was incredibly satisfying, and you were enjoying every second of it.

“You want your reward, do you?” you murmured, your voice dripping with seductive tone. “You want to feel me all around you, is that it?”

Matt nodded eagerly, his body quivering with need and anticipation. He wanted to feel you, to be completely enveloped by you. Your touch was driving him wild, his body responding instinctively to your every movement. He looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice full of need and desire.

“Yes… Yes, that's what I want. I want to feel you all around me. I want to be completely enveloped by you, to feel your skin against mine, to be touched and loved by you.”

You smiled at his words, his eagerness and desperation fueling your own desire. You liked seeing him so needy and submissive, completely at your mercy. You leaned down, your body pressing against his, your breath warm against his ear.

“You're such a good boy, aren't you?” you whispered, your voice soft and sultry. “So desperate and needy for me. You want me, you need me, don't you?”

You hovered above him, sliding your panties to the side, and positioning him right by your entrance. Matt gasped at the sudden sensation of your skin against his, his body responding eagerly to your touch. He could feel your heat, your wetness, and it sent a wave of desire through him. His heart was racing, his breathing ragged and heavy.

“Sweetheart… Please…” he pleaded, his voice thick with need. “I want you so badly, I need you. I need to feel you, please…”

You smiled at his needy plea, enjoying the power you had over him. You loved seeing him do desperate and submissive, completely at your mercy. “Yeah? What do you need, my good boy?”

Matt whimpered at your words, his body tensing as he tried to hold back. Your words were like a match to kindling, setting him ablaze. “Baby… I need… I need to be inside you. I need to fill you up, please… Please, let me have you…”

“Begging so nicely,” you praised him.

Matt’s grip on you tightened as he felt you slowly sink down on him, your warmth enveloping him. His breaths came in short pants, his chest heaving as he tried to maintain control. “Oh, God… Baby… It’s so good… Please… Move, please, move…”

Matt’s words dissolved into a string of curses and pleas as you began to move, your hips rolling against him in a slow, torturous rhythm. He could feel every inch of you, you walls squeezing him, milking him for all he was worth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… Baby, please…”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” you teased, resting your hands on his chest, still covered by that damn slutty t-shirt, as you moved against him.

His face contorted with need, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to hold back.

“You… I need you. Harder, please, harder. I’m so close, I’m gonna… I’m gonna… Please, baby, please… I can’t… I can’t hold on…”

“So close already?” you asked with a soft tsk. “My pathetic little boy…”

Matt’s body shook with the effort of holding back, his nails digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… It’s just… You feel so good, I can’t… Please, I’ll do anything, anything you want, just… Please…”

His pleas dissolved into incoherent babbling as your movements became even slower, more deliberate. You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “You want it so badly, don’t you? You want to let go and just fuck me until you can’t think straight.”

“Yes… Yes, please…” Matt whimpered, his body trembling as he tried to thrust up into you despite your slow pace. “Please let me, please just let me… I’ll… I’ll wear this shirt every day, I’ll clean the house every day, I’ll…”

Your lips curled into a wicked smirk at Matt’s desperate pleas. You increased your pace slightly, allowing him a bit more friction.

“Mmm, listen to you beg. It’s almost as pathetic as how easily you’re about to cum for me.”

You rolled your hips, taking him deeper, and Matt’s back arched, his body tensing.

“Oh God… Oh God… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… Oh God, I’m gonna… I’m gonna… Please, baby, please, can I…?

“Be a good boy and wait for me, huh?”

Matt’s body shook violently as he tried desperately to hold back his impending orgasm. Tears streamed down his face from the sheer effort and overwhelming sensation. “Yes… Yes, I’ll be good… I’ll wait… I’ll wait for you… Just please…”

You suddenly stopped moving, leaving Matt buried inside you with nothing but your tight warmth surrounding him. You leaned forward, your breath hot against his ear as you whispered, “Good boy. Now, let’s see how long you can last like this, shall we?”

Matt whimpered pathetically, his hips twitching with the desperate need to thrust. His hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles turning white as he fought against the urge.

“Please… Please, baby… It’s so hard… You feel so good… I don’t know if I can…”

You chuckled softly at his distress, your body tensing slightly around him. “You can, and you will. Because you’re my good boy, aren’t you?”

You leaned back slightly, your fingers tracing down his chest.

Matt let out a choked sob, his vision blurring as he struggled to maintain control. “Y-yes… I’m your good boy… I’ll do anything you want… Just please, please let me cum… I need to cum so badly… Please, baby…”

Your lips curled into a wicked smirk as you watched Matt unravel before you. You could feel him throbbing inside you, his body trembling with barely restrained need.

“Anything I want, hmm?” you purred, rolling your hips just slightly. “Then prove it. Hold it.”

Matt’s eyes rolled back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat at the slight movement. His fingers dug into your hips, nails likely leaving crescent marks. “F-fuck… Yes, I’ll hold it… I’ll hold it for you… Just please don’t move.”

You giggled mischievously and did just that. You slowly lifted yourself up, only to drop back down on him, your hips swiveling in a torturous rhythm.

“Like that, Matty? Does that make it harder for you to hold back?”

Matt’s head trashed from side to side, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he tried to form words. His body convulsed violently as he neared the point of no return, his high-pitched whimpering filling the room. “Oh God… Oh God… It’s too much…”

“Shh, baby, you can do it,” you cooed softly, your voice belied by the sadistic grin on your face. You continued to ride him slowly, your fingers trailing over his stomach and chest.

Matt’s back bowed off the bed, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets as he neared the breaking point. “Baby… Please… I’m gonna… I’m gonna… I can’t… I can’t… Oh God… It hurts…”

You moved your hand to his neck, gently pressing on the base of it. “You wanna cum for me, baby?”

His eyes fluttered shut, his face contorting with pain. “Y-yes… Yes, I want to… Please, I’m begging you… I need to… It’s too much…” His voice broke off into a desperate whimper as he bucked his hips, seeking more friction.

“Alright, sweetheart,” you purred sympathetically, your hand on his neck tightening possessively. “You can come for me now. Show me what a good boy you are and give it all to me.”

Matt’s entire body seized up as an explosive orgasm crashed through him. His back arched almost painfully as he let out a guttural scream of ecstasy, his cock pulsing and throbbing inside you.

You let out a low moan as you felt Matt’s hot seed spilling into you. You continued to move on him slowly, drawing out his release, until he was writhing beneath you, oversensitive and pleading. “P-please… Too much… It’s too much…”

“Hush now, sweetheart,” you cooed soothingly, your hands running gently through Matt’s sweat-soaked hair. “You’ve been such a good boy for me. Just a little more, alright?”

Matt let out a shuddering breath, his body still trembling as he tried to endure the overwhelming sensations. He whimpered pitifully, his body tensing as another wave of pleasure hit him. “I-I’m still… Still… Oh… Oh… Baby…”

Your grin widened as you felt Matt’s arms wrap around your waist, his fingers digging into your back as he clung to you. “That’s it, baby. Give it all to me. You’re doing so well,” you praised, your hips moving in gentle circles to milk him for every last drop.

Matt’s vision started to blur as he teetered on the edge of another climax. His breath came in ragged gasps as he fought to hold back, his mind screaming for relief. “N-no more… P-please… I can’t… Can’t take any more…”

“Yes, you can,” you assured him, your voice dropping to a low, sultry tone. You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his. “You can take it for me, can’t you, sweetheart? You’re my good boy, aren’t you?”

He let out a shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering shut as he nodded weakly. “Y-yes… Yes, baby… I’ll take it… I’ll be your good boy… Please… Please, it’s too much… It’s too good… It’s… It’s…”

Matt’s words devolved into a high-pitched whimper as another wave of intense pleasure washed over him. His body convulsed uncontrollably as he came undone, his fingers clutching at your back as he rode out the sensations. “Love… You… Love you… Baby…”

Your heart swelled as you heard Matt’s mumbled words. You pulled him close, cradling him against your chest as he trembled in your arms. “I love you too, sweetheart,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “And you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Matt nodded against your shoulder, his breath still coming in short, sharp pants. “Y-yours… all yours… Only yours… Forever…” He lifted his head to meet your gaze, his eyes glazed and unfocused. “Baby… I think I’m…”

“What, sweetie?” you asked softly, concern etched on your face as you looked down at Matt. He seemed so fragile in that moment, so completely consumed by you. “What do you think, sweetheart?” You brushed a strand of hair out of his face, your fingers gentle on his skin.

Matt swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I think I’m gonna… Gonna come again… Just from feeling you hold me. You make me feel so good…”

Your eyes widened in surprise and arousal at his confession. You could feel his body tensing in your arms, his cock twitching against your thigh as another orgasm began to build.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” you purred, holding him tighter. “Come for me again.”

Matt let out a strangled moan, his hips jerking involuntarily as the pleasure crested.

“Baby! Ah, ah, ahhh…” His cock throbbed and pulsed, spurting thick ropes of cum onto your thigh and stomach as he came undone in your arms.

You held Matt close as he shook and trembled through his intense orgasm, cooing words of praise and love. “That’s my good boy… You did so well, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”

You peppered his face with soft kisses as he slowly came down from his high.

idk i kinda hate it

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash

[charles-leclerc-official]

Formula 1 Drivers as Supernatural Episodes

I have selected 2 episodes from the CW's hit show Supernatural for each driver in the 2024 F1 season. Enjoy!

These are episodes I feel fits a driver's personality/vibe/style/history and are meant to be complimentary. This is very vibes based XD

Presented in team order <3 (also I guess spn spoilers warning)

Charles Leclerc: Lazarus Rising x The Man Who Would Be King

Charles and the angel Castiel have a lot in common. Charles is seen as this figure that is leading Ferrari currently and into the future and his first season in Ferrari was iconic (Lazarus Rising) Dare I say some of his drives have been as insane as pulling a man out of hell. However it's been a bumpy road and the burdens of one of the most iconic teams is enough to try the patience of any man (The Man Who Would Be King) There are a lot of faith and religious parallels to be made here. If there was one driver insane enough to try to single-handedly fix heaven (Ferrari) Charles is that driver. Also you could cast him as Cas and I don't think anyone would complain. I could go on about the Charles-Cas parallels but we do have to get to the rest of the grid, so he gets two stand-out Castiel episodes.

Carlos Sainz: Trial and Error x The Devil You Know

Carlos sometimes smashes through plans like a hammer, sometimes you need schemes other times you need to throw them out the window and start punching (The Devil You Know). He's also been through the Ferrari trials which is no small feat, often requiring a lot of pressure and sacrifice (Trial and Error). I also feel like he could wrestle a hellhound and come out winning.

Lewis Hamilton: Swan Song x First Born

I felt that one of the most iconic final battles in Supernatural of Swan Song was fitting to encapsulate Lewis' many hard fought WDCs. In addition to First Born, where Dean goes to take the mantle of the mark of Cain from a man who keeps bees in his retirement (Lewis taking WDC from Seb parallels) Both massive turning points in the show and iconic, like Lewis. A lot of small plot and emotional beats in these two that really touch on some career moments.

George Russell: Defending Your Life x Girls Girls Girls

If there was any driver on the grid who would enter into a legal battle against an ancient god and win it's George Russell (Defending Your Life). Additionally George is one of the few who could pull off witchcraft with ease while looking iconic doing so (Girls, Girls, Girls) I just think George and Rowena would get along and get up to some trouble with the book of the damned.

Max Verstappen: The Executioner’s Song x In The Beginning

The parallels of young talent coming in to take down the former bearer of the mark of Cain to Max's 2021 WDC are strong. It was hard, it was messy, and it was one hell of a fight (The Executioner’s Song). Then we have more emotional nuance (In The Beginning) a guy who just likes cars and is kind of old school about them too. These episodes are nuanced and plot centric and that felt fitting. The vibes are here you have to trust me on this.

Sergio Perez: Our Father Who Aren’t in Heaven x Criss Angel is a Douchebag

Do not underestimate Checo, much like you should not underestimate an arch angel that is related to you, and yet. The parallels between Adam, the third Winchester brother, and Checo are not lost, especially in meta context (Our Father, Who Aren’t in Heaven). Then of course Checo does have a flair and charm about him, he can pull a trick or two out of a car when people least expect (Criss Angel is a Douchebag).

Fernando Alonso: Good God Y’all x Weekend at Bobby’s

Fernando is chaos, he's here to cause unapologetic trouble, if he were to be a horseman of the apocalypse he'd be War and he'd have a hell of a time (Good God Y'all). Of course if there was one driver on the grid I know could figure out how to get his soul back from a demon after selling his soul in the first place Fernando would be that driver (Weekend at Bobby's) Naturally there are many Nando and Bobby parallels.

Lance Stroll: Scoobynatural x Hibbing 911

Of all the drivers on the grid at risk of getting sucked into a children’s cartoon I feel like Lance is at the top of the list (Scoobynatural). In addition I think he would be the chill hunter just casually explaining that ghosts are real to Scooby and the gang. Lance would also reluctantly become a vampire hunter if they invaded his small community (Hibbing 911) And he very much reminds me of both Donna and Jody in various ways.

Oscar Piastri: About a Boy x Jack in the Box

I feel like Oscar would be a good witch hunter, I also think if he was hit with a de-aging spell he'd be able to handle it and not panic and figure out how to get out of that situation, worry about the soul crushing curse later (About a Boy). And of course with the way his second season in F1 has been going it very much feels like Mclaren have been holding back a young driver from reaching his potential because they are afraid of his capabilities, you could say they have been putting a nephilim in a box designed to hold back his power (Jack in the Box). Also I cannot be the only one who sees the Jack and Oscar resemblance.

Lando Norris: Swap Meet x I Know What You Did Last Summer

Tell me Lando would not somehow end up practicing black magic accidentally on purpose and somehow survive (Swap Meet). That and I think he would also really like this episode in general. I feel like the duality between Ruby and Anna presented in I know What You Did Last Summer captures a very specific vibe about Lando, is he the demon trying to trick a guy into drinking his blood? Or is he the angel that decided to become human because he was done with heaven's shit? Depends on the day honestly.

Kevin Magnussen: Rock Never Dies x Survival of the Fittest

If there was any driver on the grid that would make crashing the Impala part of the plan to take down eldritch monsters it would be Kmag (Survival of the Fittest). Rock Never Dies just fits Kevin, iconic, villainous, Lucifer comes back a second time and is ready to cause chaos. The whole vibe of this episode is insane and it fits Kevin's particular brand of heart and unique driving. He's loud, you are not going to forget he's there, you should be afraid.

Nico Hulkenberg: Shut Up Dr Phil x My Heart Will Go On

Nico just has the look of a man who would time travel to get rid of a single Celine Dion song (My Heart Will Go On). He does have a lot in common with Balthazar, fun loving but powerful and can execute a plan, he might just end up adding his own flair to it. And I think Nico's spats with others are not frequent, but when they do happen they are memorable (Shut Up Dr Phil) Plus he reminds me of these old witches who have been married a few centuries and keep the chaos alive.

Ollie Bearman: The Girl with the Dungeon and Dragons Tattoo x Reading is Fundamental

Including Ollie in the Haas section since he's raced for them the most this year on the F1 grid. But his story starts as the young talent called at the last minute to solve a huge problem, driving a Ferrari in Jeddah with an hour of practice. I'd say that's similar to being suddenly asked to single-handedly go against some of the most dangerous monsters in the world with no training in monster fighting (The Girl with the Dungeon and Dragons Tattoo) but also being surprisingly good at it. Then we have another team needing young talent to step up and drive their car when things were down, you could say Ollie is in advanced placement in terms of being an F1 rookie now (Reading is Fundamental) I think the Ollie Kevin Tran comparisons are strong. Overall these two episodes of young talent needed at the last minute to save the day really sum up Ollie's 2024 F1 experience.

Yuki Tsunoda: The Gamblers x A Little Slice of Kevin

Sometimes luck is on Yuki's side, and often times it feels like it's not. But then again he's been fighting and sticking around longer than most other drivers in the face of more bad luck than one man should deal with, so perhaps he's won against an old roman god for a bit of luck, who's to say (The Gamblers). Then we get to the duality in A Little Slice of Kevin, young talent being used as a pawn in the larger scheme of Red Bull, more likely than you'd think. Is he escaping purgatory or being captured by demons? Probably both.

Daniel Ricciardo: Frontierland x Blood Brother

I know one thing about Danny, he would time travel back to the wild west to hunt down a rare monster no questions asked. He would bring his own cowboy hat as well (Frontierland). Danny also has that quality of guy who doesn't ask for much, so when he asks for a favor you gotta help. He also does have similar vibes to Benny, don't tell me he wouldn't make a great southern vampire (Blood Brother).

Liam Lawson: War of the Worlds x Bad Day at Black Rock

Similar to Yuki, Liam's luck is a tricky thing. He was in a will he won't he situation at Red Bull for so long. If he had a rabbit's foot he kept losing and picking up again I wouldn't be surprised (Bad Day at Black Rock). I think the episode really captures that kind of swinging pendulum of luck his junior career has seen. Then of course now he's been called to the seat he's caught up in a pretty intense battle at the end of the season, with a lot of demands being made on top of the constant turmoil within the team. Imagine Lucifer is telling you not to do a spell another powerful arch angel is commanding you to do, I feel like that about sums up how he's been thrown into F1 (War of the Worlds).

Alex Albon: Heart x It’s A Terrible Life

Alex was a rookie that went under the radar, at first, but something bigger was brewing in the background and then boom he was suddenly at the center of the driver market and was thrown into the spotlight. A feeling reflected in It's A Terrible Life. Alex is also the type of try to help someone against all odds, even when they seem impossible (Heart). Also I am not denying I am possibly calling him a werewolf fucker, here but tell me I'm wrong.

Logan Sargeant: Jump the Shark x Dog Dean Afternoon

Logan would do well being able to communicate with a dog and would adapt well to taking on dog-like traits to solve a case (Dog Dean Afternoon) I don't even think he'd question it. Forgotten, overlooked, massively unlucky I don't think there is a better Supernatural parallel for Logan than season 4 Adam (Jump the Shark). He was a great guy who got caught in the middle of something dangerous and paid the price.

Franco Colapinto: Red Sky at Morning x Sharp Teeth

Franco is one of the guys who I just think would be able to make it work for him if he were accidentally turned into a werewolf. He'd take a few months off, come back and be totally fine (Sharp Teeth). I cannot fully explain but Franco does give me Bella vibes, the mix of mischief and amusing self confidence perhaps, or maybe he just has the look of an international occult thief? (Red Sky at Morning) He'd be able to steal rare artifacts using his looks and charm I know that.

Valtteri Bottas: Party On Garth x Everybody Loves a Clown

Valtteri strikes me as the most like Garth. Fun, a little silly, but good at his job and scary when he needs to be (Party On Garth). His methods may seem a little out there but he gets the job done. How could I not include the introduction of the best mullet on Supernatural? I know Valtteri would love Ash and call him #mulletgoals (Everybody Loves a Clown). Another character who seems a little unserious out of the profession but Ash is brilliant and knows how to lock in.

Zhou Guanyu: Hunteri Heroici x Wayward Sisters

Zhou would 100% interrogate that cat and get information. He's probably an expert (Hunteri Heroici). I think his level headed mindset would also really help in a case where the world is literally going Loony toons. Zhou also has been through it, but is strong, and iconic in his unique way (Wayward Sisters). He's been fighting an uphill battle in that Sauber car, new hunter learning on the job has a similar experience, add a little dimension hopping in there for flavor.

Esteban Ocon: Beyond the Mat x Hollywood Babylon

Esteban is a sweetheart but do not be fooled, he absolutely would take down his childhood hero if he needed to (Beyond the Mat). I also think that he'd absolutely be one of those hunters looking for all the old Hollywood ghosts, he'd be an expert about which myths were real or fake and have that locked down over there (Hollywood Babylon).

Pierre Gasly: Monster Movie x Simon Said

I am not saying Pierre is a shapeshifter, but I am saying that if he was he'd be doing the over the top camp and theatrics seen in Monster Movie. Also he like Dean has a way of finding out how to have fun even when things are extremely stressful. If he did have mind control powers he'd use them for good or not use them at all, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to use them or that he's not strong (Simon Said).

That's the end! Thank you for reading. This was just something silly I have been working on. It's mostly vibes based but I had a lot of fun putting it together.

*Carry on Wayward Son + F1 theme mashup starts playing*

[thatnonameuser]

Yelloow!! popping in!!!~~ I've seen Dorms, Grim and Staff as Yandere types.... But what of Neige(Vil's Rival), Chenya, and Rollo??~

I know that there are different takes from different kinds of Yandere AU's -- but out of curiosity, I wish of your take!

Let’s do the RSA boys first. 

Royal Sword Academy has a reputation for accepting the ‘princely’ yanderes. Unlike the NRC students, they don’t tend to act on violence unless they have to and their red flags aren’t as bad in comparison. 

But a red flag is still a red flag. 

RSA teaches more gentle ways of pushing darlings to their yanderes. Specifically while they use kidnappings, potions and the works, they use their affection as ball and chain to make sure leaving them is impossible. 

They’re taught to become friends first, and then start being more and more oppressively clingy. To slowly break down the darling’s defenses and walls, and leave them weak to their affection with the power of friendship, love and complete and utter manipulation. 

But it’s not manipulation, it’s being a loving partner.

Chenya’s a bit of unpredictable yandere. He’s a hard read but he’s clingy and a stalker. Chenya’s not overbearing at first. He’s friendly, cryptic but friendly, and then you’ll start to notice him around more and more. Which you might get worried about when he starts to pop up more and more in a school full of people who hate RSA. But he’ll just keep popping up and since your friends, why worry? 

Thanks to his magic, it is very easy for him to vanish and appear as quickly as the wind. So following you around is easy as pie, and with his aforementioned cryptic behavior, it will be quite difficult for you to understand his intentions. Kidnapping you would be a breeze for him, one moment you’re there and the next you're stuck with him forever and ever. 

But with Chenya, you probably won't see the threat of danger till you're too lost to figure your way out. On the brightside, you might like it. Maybe.

Neige LeBlanche ( I am a big BIG fan of the most innocent and gentle seeming people being the most manipulative motherfuckers. So…) is yandere that was actually misdiagnosed as a darling. Neige’s sweet, kind and gentle behavior in his youth lead to his misdiagnosis, and as a yandere he is a mix of delusional and manipulative. Delusional, he believes in true love and happy endings. Finding the perfect partner for his happy ending is a dream for him. (The man thinks of Vil as a friend, he’s deluded plain and simple) But while his delusions fuel his love for you, his manipulative ways can keep you there with no choice. Among the darling child stars of Twisted, Neige held quite the crown back when he was misdiagnosed, and no one can deny darlings anything (minus freedom). His demeanor is so well-meaning that any manipulative behavior is considered to be him just being a good friend or partner. He’s oppressively clingy too, and his manipulation makes sure that the people he cares about are always close. 

For this AU, Neige is a platonic yandere for Vil, and has purposely been sabotaging his casting so that Vil always and only performs with him. 

He’s the kind of yandere that wouldn’t risk killing someone to make you unhappy, but that’s not to say that his fans wouldn’t try to beat his rivals into the ground to protect dear sweet Neige. Neige is aware of how devoted his fans are to him, and he’ll use that to manipulate you, using the pressure to keep you with him, wouldn’t want them to be unhappy, would you?

Noble Bell College has a history with yanderes like many others, but its view on the yandere darling relationship is much different to the rest of the world, and many in Fleur City agree with it. Specifically, that yanderes are the ones in the wrong for their uncontrollable desires and the darlings are…. Well…. Darlings are the embodiment of purity. They haven’t done a single thing wrong to be thrown into this dirty world and yet here they walk amongst the selfish and licentious. But the darlings are not immune to the temptations of the dirty world, and can be lured into danger.

Most, if not all the yanderes at NBC believe that their desires are wrong yet impossible to beat without their darlings. And they all believe that darlings are pure, but in need of salvation from the dirty world. The Righteous Judge had a darling himself, a romani that had fallen for the dirty world’s enchanting song, who he saved and brought her to salvation. (Sure she wasn’t happy about it and the flaming pyre she’d nearly died on was purposely left out of the history books but hey, happy ending?)

Students in NBC are taught that sometimes force is needed to help darlings save themselves from the wretched world. And they won’t be happy about it, it’s for the best. For their salvation. 

Rollo Flamme is a worshiper yandere with a guilty conscience. A devout believer of the ‘darlings are the purest things to be born of this sinful earth’, Rollo has faithfully believed that, and even magical darlings cannot receive his ire because he believes that they had been tempted by its power, thanks this world’s filth, and need to be saved. 

When it comes to you, a magicless darling not from this sinful, magical world, you rest highest on the podium of purity in his eyes. And because of that, you need to be saved from it, and those who intend to tempt and sully you. 

As for the guilty conscience part….To make adjustments for the AU, I’m making Rollo’s younger brother a darling. But because of how it happened being ambiguous at the time, Rollo was never punished, but this is why he is so protective over you specifically because magic could tear you away from him like his brother. 

In Rollo’s eyes, his darling is the purest thing in the world and if he needs to sully his own hands in every way to rid the world of the filth trying to tempt and defile you all so you can be lead to salvation and the safety of his arms, he’ll do it.

[speaknow-sw]

“𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒶𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃”

Summary : When you went to the church to ask questions about praying you didn’t meant this types of prayers…

Word Count : 4.9 k

Ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ: mdni, older men/younger woman, threesome, dub-con, church sex, cock sucking, PiV, pussy eating, vaginal fingering, breeding kink, orgasm denial (kinda), slight degradation, praise, comfort, corruption kink, praying mantis position.

A/N : okay…longest fic I’ve ever written 4.9k of pure filth just out of a convo with @bimbo-baggins17 and @anisangeldust about fucking a bearded Kurt and pornstache Donnie. Enjoy lovelies ! (Angel don’t wet the sheets, I don’t have another set)

— The morning sun was casting delicate beams through the stained-glass windows as you stepped into the small country church. You’d come with a heart full of questions and a quiet faith that had carried her through many storms. Today, you were looking for answers from Pastor Don Piper, a man known for his wisdom and kindness. You walked down the aisle with a determined stride, breathing in the scent of polished wood and incense.

But as you reached the front pew, a figure emerged from the shadows near the pulpit—a large, silent man with a long, dark beard. He looked like a bear. His eyes caught yours, an intense gaze that sent a shiver down your spine. You’d seen him before, a presence on the edges of Sunday gatherings, always lurking but never speaking.

"Kurt," the pastor’s voice interrupted her thoughts, echoing gently through the stillness of the sanctuary. "Thank you for helping set up today."

He nodded, but his attention never left you, and you felt the weight of his gaze as Pastor Don welcomed you into the quiet, dimly lit back room. Before you knew it, the door closed softly, and you felt the unmistakable pressure of both men’s eyes upon you—two forces you hadn't expected to face.

Don and Kurt exchanged a knowing glance as they cornered you in the dimly lit back room of the church. The air seemed to thicken with tension.

"Well hello there, dollface," Don purred, his voice a velvet caress. "What brings a sweet little thing like you to see old Pastor Piper today?"

Kurt remained silent, his intense blue eyes roving over your body in a way that made your skin prickle. You could feel the heat of his gaze like a physical touch.

Don took a step closer, crowding into your space. His cologne, something spicy and masculine, invaded your senses. "You look troubled, love. Is there something weighing on that pretty little mind of yours?"

His large hand came to rest on the small of your back, fingers splaying possessively. Kurt mirrored the action from behind, caging you between their solid forms.

"We're here to help," Don murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "Pastor Piper and his faithful assistant Kurt are always happy to... counsel our parishioners. Isn't that right, Ku?"

"Mmhm," Kurt rumbled, the vibration of his deep voice resonating through your body where he pressed against your back.

Don's hand slid lower, cupping the curve of your ass through your skirt. He gave a light squeeze. "Why don't you tell us all about what's bothering you, sweetie? We'll make it all better..."

You squealed and tried to back away only to bump into a hard chest. “I…I just had questions…on my faith…on praying…” You mumbled frightened.

Kurt's large hand slid around your waist from behind, his palm splaying over your stomach. "Questions about prayer, huh?" he rumbled, his breath hot against your neck. "We can definitely help with that, doll."

Don pressed closer, trapping you between their solid bodies. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass. "Mmm, such a sweet little thing, aren't you? So innocent. So pure." His lips brushed your ear as he spoke, sending shivers down your spine. "We'll be sure to give you our... undivided attention."

Kurt's other hand came up to cup your breast through your blouse, squeezing the soft mound. "Yeah, we'll pray with you real good, slut."

Don tsk-ed darkly, the sound seeming to reverberate through the small room. "Let's move this to the office, my boy. More privacy there to... focus on this sweetheart spiritual needs."

He grabbed your wrist, tugging you towards a side door. Kurt kept his hands firmly planted on your body as he guided you along. Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you stumbled into the pastor's office.

Don kicked the door shut behind you, locking it with a decisive click. "Now then," he purred, spinning you to face them. "Let's discuss those faith questions of yours, shall we?"

His hands went to the buttons of your blouse, slowly undoing them one by one. Kurt watched hungrily, his own large hands roaming your curves possessively.

"Lord have mercy," Don breathed as he pushed your blouse off your shoulders. "What a delectable offering you are. I think the Lord will be quite pleased with our devotions today..." You squealed and backed away struggling against them “Pastor, m-maybe not…”

Kurt's grip tightened on your wrists as he pinned you against the wall, his body flush against yours. "Shh, now doll, don't fight it," he growled, his lips brushing your cheek. "Just relax and let us take care of you."

Don stepped closer, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your face. "That's it, babydoll. No need to be scared. We're going to show you the depths of the Lord's love." His thumb stroked your lower lip. "Open wide for us, sweetheart. Let us fill you with His glory."

Kurt's other hand roamed down your body, palming your breast roughly through your bra before dipping under the fabric. He squeezed your nipple between his fingers, rolling the sensitive bud. "Mmm, such a responsive little thing. I bet you'll look so pretty stuffed full of our cocks, slut."

Don captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving past your lips to plunder your mouth. He swallowed your whimpers as Kurt continued to grope you. The pastor's erection pressed insistently against your stomach, thick and hard.

Breaking the kiss, Don trailed his lips down your neck, sucking dark hickeys into your skin. "My precious little lamb," he breathed reverently. "So pure, so ripe for corruption. We'll ruin you for all other men, dollface. Mold you into our perfect little fucktoy for the Lord."

Kurt released your wrists to yank your top down, freeing your breasts. He buried his face between them, motorboating your tits. "Fuck yes," he groaned. "Gonna wreck these perky little titties. Make you our personal cumdump."

The two men manhandled you, stripping you efficiently as they muttered filthy promises. Soon you were naked and trembling between them, completely at their mercy. Don sank to his knees, spreading your thighs wide.

"Time for your first communion, my child," he intoned mockingly before burying his face in your exposed pussy.

You yelped trying to close your thighs, feeling his rough mustache against your cunt. “Pastor…I…I Don’t think…” You struggled weakly.

Don's tongue delved between your slick folds, lapping hungrily at your most intimate area. "Mmm, you taste divine, sweetheart," he purred, the vibrations of his voice sending tingles through your core. His mustache tickled your sensitive skin as he ate you out with gusto.

Kurt chuckled darkly, watching the show with hooded eyes. "Look at that pretty pink cunt, all wet and ready for us. She's a natural born slut, ain't she?"

Don pulled back just enough to blow cool air over your soaked slit. "Oh, she's a good girl. Just needs a firm hand to guide her." He dove back in, sucking your clit between his lips.

Kurt crowded in close, wrapping a hand around his own hard cock and stroking slowly. "Bet she's never had a real man before. Gonna ruin this tight little pussy."

Don inserted two fingers knuckle-deep in your dripping hole, pumping them in and out. "Fuck, she's clenching around me. Gonna feel so good wrapped around my dick."

The pastor stood, shedding his clothes quickly. His thick, hard cock sprang free, the tip already glistening with precum. "On your knees, babydoll. Time to worship the Lord properly."

Kurt followed suit, freeing his own impressive length. He gripped your hair, forcing your head towards Don's erection. "Open wide, slut. Choke on that holy cock."

Don guided himself to your lips, smearing the head across them. "Suck, sweetheart. Take your pastor's blessing deep in that throat."

You whimpered around the intrusion as Don pressed forward, stretching your lips obscenely. Kurt held your head in place, forcing you to take more of the thick shaft. Tears pricked your eyes as you gagged and choked.

"That's it, my precious lamb," Don crooned. "Take it all, every inch. Show me how much you want to serve."

Kurt's fingers tangled in your hair painfully as he rocked your head forward and back. You chocked and bobbed on Don’s length. Suddenly you felt a roughness against your cunt and tried to close your legs. 

Kurt held your thighs apart, baring your dripping cunt to his hungry gaze. "None of that now, slut. Keep those legs spread nice and wide for me."

He surged forward, burying his face in your soaked folds. His tongue delved deep, lapping at your entrance before flicking rapidly over your clit. Kurt groaned into you, the vibrations making your toes curl.

"Mmm, sweet nectar," he rumbled, the words muffled against your sensitive flesh. "Gonna make this needy little hole mine."

Don grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. "Eyes on me while you suck, babydoll. I want to watch you take my cock like a good girl."

He thrust shallowly into your mouth, letting you adjust to the thick girth stretching your lips. "Fuck, your throat feels so good wrapped around me. Gonna paint it white with my seed."

Kurt added a finger alongside his tongue, pumping in and out of your clenching channel. He curled it just right, hitting a spot that made you see stars. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"Look at her, so desperate for it," Kurt chuckled darkly. "Bet she's never been tongued like this before. Gonna wreck this greedy cunt."

Don picked up the pace, fucking your face in earnest. His heavy balls slapped your chin with each thrust. "Take it, sweetheart. Every fucking inch. Show me what a good little cock-sucker you are."

Kurt slipped a second finger inside you, scissoring them apart to stretch you open. His thumb circled your clit, rubbing firm circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Gonna make you cum on my tongue, slut," he growled. "Scream for me while your pastor fucks your throat raw."

Don pistoned into your mouth, grunting his pleasure. His cock pulsed on your tongue, signaling his impending release. "Get ready, babydoll. Gonna flood this slutty throat with cum. Swallow it all like a good girl."

You cried around Don’s cock. Your thighs trembled and you squirted all over Kurt mouth, coating his beard in your fluids, your muscles almost giving up.

Don grabbed your head, holding you steady as he fucked into your throat with abandon. "Fuck yes, take it all like a good girl," he grunted, his cock pulsing against your tongue. "Gonna fill this slutty mouth with cum."

Kurt lapped at your squirting cunt, groaning into your flesh. "That's it baby, soak my face. Fucking drench me." He sealed his lips around your clit, suckling hard as he worked you through your climax.

Your body shook with the force of your orgasm, thighs clamping around Kurt's head. Don's cock jerked, spurting thick ropes of cum down your throat. "Swallow it all, babydoll. Every last drop."

Kurt gentled his ministrations, letting you float down from your high. He placed a tender kiss on your mound before pulling back, wiping his beard with the back of his hand. "Damn, you taste sweet. Could eat this pussy all day."

Don withdrew from your mouth, tucking himself back into his pants. He cupped your face, smearing the remnants of his release across your lips. "Such a good girl, Evelyn. You took your pastor's blessing so well."

Kurt stood, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Think you've got another round in you, slut? Still plenty of worshipping to do."

Don chuckled darkly, helping you to your feet. "Indeed. The Lord works in mysterious ways. And we're just getting started..." You sobbed, shaking your head as you plopped down on the carpet, curling in a ball.

Don knelt beside you, gathering you into his arms. "Shhh, my precious lamb," he crooned, stroking your hair soothingly. "I know it's a lot to take in. But you're doing so well."

Kurt crouched on your other side, running a rough hand down your spine. "Fuck, she's so tiny. Like a little fragile doll." He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your temple. "Don't worry, baby. We'll take good care of you."

Don tilted your chin up, making you meet his gaze. His dark blue eyes were filled with concern and hunger. "Are you alright, sweetheart? Do you need a moment to recover?"

You nodded shakily, burying your face against his chest. The comforting scent of his cologne filled your senses, grounding you slightly. Kurt's large hand splayed across your lower back, a silent offer of support.

"That's it, just breathe," Don murmured. "We'll go slow, let you adjust. But remember, this is all for you. To bring you closer to God."

Kurt snorted softly. "And to fuck this tight little body senseless."

Don shot him a quelling look before focusing back on you. "Pay no mind to him, babydoll. He doesn't always have the most... appropriate bedside manner."

He helped you sit up, keeping an arm around your shoulders. "How are you feeling, my child? Any lingering discomfort? Any questions or concerns?"

Kurt shifted, his knee brushing your thigh. "Yeah, doll. You okay? We can stop if you need us to."

Don squeezed your shoulder reassuringly. "But I think you're stronger than you realize. You've taken so much already. I have faith in you, sweetie. Faith that you can endure whatever we have planned."

Kurt's hand slid lower, cupping your ass possessively. "Mmm, and I have faith that this needy little cunt can handle everything we give it. Gonna make you ours, slut."

“Can you stop calling me a slut ?” You turned to look at the mountain of a man that was Kurt. You had to raise your head to talk to him as it just reached his chest.

Kurt's expression softened at your request, a rare moment of gentleness crossing his rugged features. "Sorry, doll. Didn't mean to offend. It's just... you're so fucking sexy when you're all flushed and needy."

He brushed a thumb over your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender. "Guess I got carried away. Won't happen again if you don't want it to."

Don nodded in agreement, his arm still wrapped securely around you. "Of course, sweetheart. We want you to feel comfortable and respected. Whatever makes you feel safest."

Kurt sighed, running a hand through his short brown hair. "But fuck, you gotta understand. Seeing you all spread out and desperate... it brings out something in me."

Don shot him another warning look before turning his attention back to you. "Focus on your breathing, sweetie. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Nice and slow."

He guided your head to rest on his shoulder, one hand gently massaging your scalp. "That's it, just relax. Let us take care of you."

Kurt's large form loomed over you, but there was no longer any threat in his presence. If anything, he seemed almost... protective. "You're doing great, baby. So fucking brave." He engulfed you in a weird but comfortable bear hug. You inhaled his scent — a mix of sweat, smoke and musk. 

You felt soft kisses accentuated by the beard against your throat and relished in the feeling of these two men kissing you. Don on the forehead and Kurt on the throat.

Don's kisses trailed down your face, peppering your cheeks and nose with gentle affection. "My sweet girl," he murmured against your skin. "So pure, so innocent. It's our duty to guide you to enlightenment."

Kurt nuzzled into your neck, inhaling deeply. "Mmm, you smell divine, doll. Like honey and sin." He grazed his teeth over your pulse point, not quite breaking the skin. "Can't wait to mark this pretty throat. Let everyone know who you belong to."

Don's hand slid down to cup your breast, squeezing the soft flesh. "And this body... it's a temple. One we'll worship until you're trembling and begging for more."

Kurt's fingers danced along your thigh, teasing closer to your center. "Gonna ruin this tight little cunt. Fuck you so deep you'll forget your own name."

Don captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth possessively. He swallowed your gasp, muffling the sound. "That's it, babydoll. Let us in. Let us consume you."

Kurt's hand slipped between your legs, fingers gliding through your slick folds. "Always so wet for us, slut. Dripping for your my cock."

Don broke the kiss, panting heavily. His dark eyes were clouded with lust as he gazed down at you. "On your back, sweetheart. Spread those legs nice and wide."

Kurt flipped you effortlessly, settling between your thighs. He gripped your knees, pushing them apart to expose your glistening sex. "Fuck, look at that pretty pink cunt. Begging to be filled."

Don knelt beside you, trailing a finger down your sternum. "We'll fill you up, babydoll. Stretch this greedy hole until it's molded to our cocks."

Kurt lowered his head, breathing hotly over your clit. "Gonna suck this fat clit until you're screaming. Make you cum on my tongue like the desperate little slut you are."

He grinned up at you, his beard glistening with your essence. "Like what you see, doll? This hungry mouth is gonna devour this sweet cunt."

He licked his lips, savoring your flavor. "Mmm, fuck…could eat this pussy for hours."

Don's hand traced patterns on your flat stomach, his touch feather-light. "Patience, Kurt. We have all night to worship our little lamb."

Kurt chuckled, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "You're right, pastor. No need to rush. Gonna savor every inch of this perfect body."

He dipped his head, dragging the roughness of his beard along your inner thigh. The contrast of the softness of your skin and the scratch of his facial hair sent sparks of pleasure racing through your veins.

"So soft," Kurt rumbled, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your thigh. "Gonna mark you up, leave you covered in hickies. Everyone will know you belong to us."

Don's hand drifted lower, fingers ghosting over your mound. "Such a responsive little thing. Getting wetter by the second."

Kurt nuzzled into your folds, inhaling deeply. "Fuck, the scent of you. Drives me wild." He sealed his lips around your clit, suckling gently.

Don circled your entrance with a single digit, teasing but not breaching. "Mmm, so tight. Can't wait to feel this cunt squeezing my cock."

Kurt released your clit with a pop, grinning up at you wickedly. "Gonna stuff this needy hole full of my tongue. Fuck you with it until you're shaking."

He dove back in, licking a broad stripe up your slit. Don's finger pushed inside slowly, stretching you open. The dual sensation of fullness and suction had you arching off the floor.

"That's it, babydoll," Don crooned, pumping his finger steadily. "Take it. Let us in." He tsk-ed “So uncivilized. Kurt you’re not a beast, behave for the Lord’s sake.”

Kurt grunted and added a second finger, scissoring them apart. He curled them just right to make you arch your back, moaning loudly and almost squirming away.

He held you firm as you squirmed, gripping your hips tightly. "Uh uh, no escaping, slut. Gotta take your punishment like a good girl."

He pushed his fingers deeper, curling them against your g-spot. The pressure made stars burst behind your eyelids. "That's it, moan for us. Let the whole church hear what a desperate little cock sleeve you are."

Don added a second finger, stretching you wider. He rubbed slow circles around your inner walls, seeking out that special spot. "Right here, isn't it, sweetheart? This is where we'll focus our attentions."

Kurt sealed his lips around your clit, sucking hard. He released it with a pop before flicking the sensitive nub rapidly with his tongue. "Gonna suck this clit until you're screaming. Make you cum on my face like the shameless slut you are."

Don's fingers pistoned faster, his palm grinding against your clit. "That's it, babydoll. Ride our hands. Fuck yourself on our fingers like the needy little whore you are."

Kurt dipped his head, licking a broad stripe up your slit. He swirled his tongue around your entrance before pushing inside, fucking you with the slick muscle.

Don twisted his fingers just right, rubbing firm circles against your g-spot. The dual stimulation had you seeing white, your body drawn taut as a bowstring.

"Gonna make this cunt ours," Kurt growled, the words muffled against your folds. "Ruin you for anyone else. No one will ever satisfy you like we can."

Don thrust his fingers deep, his thumb circling your clit. "Praying mantis position Ku’….” He whispered “Gonna make you cum so hard you'll forget your own name."

Kurt grasped a pillow from the couch nearby and stuffed it under your back, putting your right leg on his shoulder before lining his cock up with your entrance, the thick head nudging insistently at your slick folds. He gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his dark gaze.

"Beg for it, doll. Beg for my cock like the desperate little slut you are." You sobbed in pleasure. “Pl-please…I…ungh…” You stuttered, unable to talk properly. 

Kurt grinned wickedly at your sobbing pleas, the sound music to his ears. He loved seeing you come undone, reduced to a desperate, needy mess. "Please what, slut? Use your words."

Don chuckled darkly, twisting his fingers deeper into your fluttering heat. "That's it, babydoll. Let it all out. Show us how much you need it."

Kurt pressed the thick head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of fullness. "Beg for my cock, doll. Beg for me to split this tight little cunt open on my fat dick."

Don rubbed tight circles on your clit, keeping you riding the razor's edge. "And tell us what a good girl you are, sugar. How much you love being used by your pastor and his assistant."

Kurt pulled back slightly, denying you the penetration you craved. "C'mon, baby. I know you can do better than that. Really sell it for us."

Don's fingers curled, stroking that secret spot inside you. "Kurt wants to hear you scream, sweetheart. Wants to know just how badly this greedy hole needs to be stuffed full of cock."

Kurt rubbed the head of his dick through your slick folds, coating himself in your juices. "Beg, whore. Beg for me to fuck this needy cunt raw. To pump you so full of cum you'll be dripping for days."

Don pinched your clit hard, sending sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through you. "And don't forget to thank us, babydoll. Show your gratitude for the honor of being bred by your spiritual leaders."

Kurt lined himself up again, the tip of his cock kissing your entrance. "Last chance, doll. Beg for it like you mean it. Or I'll leave this hungry little pussy empty and aching."

Don's fingers pumped faster, his thumb circling your clit in tight, maddening strokes. "Go on, sweetie. Give us what we want to hear. Beg for my sacristan cock like the desperate little slut you are."

“Please…pl-please…I need you…I need your….please.” You sobbed desperate for something inside of you. You would’ve worshipped Kurt’s dirty boots only to feel his cock rearranging your guts.

They exchanged a satisfied glance at your desperate, broken pleas. They could see how badly you needed this, how much you craved their touch, their cock. It was a heady feeling, knowing they had you so utterly at their mercy.

"That's more like it, babydoll," Don purred, his fingers still working deep inside your fluttering channel. "Begging so sweetly for Kurt's dick. What a good little slut you are." His cock dangled in front of your face and you latched on the tip, suckling it, making him gasp “Goodness…”

Kurt gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, the promise of pain sending a thrill down your spine. "Gonna give this needy cunt exactly what it wants. Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name."

With that, he slammed forward, burying his thick cock to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Your back arched off the floor, a scream tearing from your throat as he split you open, stretching you wider than you'd ever been before.

"Fuck, so tight," Kurt grunted, savoring the vice grip of your walls around his shaft. "Gonna ruin this pussy. Mold it to fit my cock perfectly."

Don scissored his fingers, rubbing tight circles on your g-spot. "Come on, sugar. Suck my cock like the desperate little whore you are."

Kurt set a punishing pace, his hips snapping forward with enough force to rock your entire body. The obscene slap of skin on skin filled the room, echoing off the walls.

"Gonna fuck this cunt raw," he growled, his beard tickling your inner thigh. "Pump you so full of cum you'll be dripping for days."

Don twisted his fingers just right, rubbing firm pressure on that secret spot. Your toes curled, your thighs trembling as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

"You’re doing so good, sugar," Don grunted you, his voice low and rough. "Gonna make you cum so hard on my assistant cock. Milk it for every last drop."

You sobbed loudly, your right leg dangling from Kurt’s shoulder. You arched your back, unable to take so much pleasure as little « Unh…ugh…ugh » noises escaped from your lips and Don’s cock throbbed in your mouth. 

Don and Kurt shared a knowing look as they watched you writhe and moan beneath them, your body overwhelmed by the pleasure of Kurt's thick cock pounding into your tight cunt and your mouth suckling another one. The sight of your leg hooked over his shoulder, your back arched in a perfect bow, was the most erotic thing either of them had ever seen.

"Look at you, babydoll," Don crooned, his fingers still buried knuckle-deep in your fluttering heat. "Taking his cock so well. Such a good little church mouse, aren't you?"

Kurt grunted in agreement, his hips snapping forward with enough force to rock your entire body. "Fuck, this pussy was made for my dick. Squeezing me so tight, like it never wants to let go."

Don twisted his fingers just right, rubbing firm circles on your g-spot. The added stimulation had you keening, your thighs trembling around Kurt's pistoning hips.

"That's it, love," Don urged, his voice a dark promise. "Cum for us. Cum on Kurt's cock like the desperate little slut you are."

Kurt changed his angle slightly, the head of his dick hammering directly against that secret spot with each brutal thrust. Sparks burst behind your eyelids, your toes curling as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

"Gonna fill this cunt up," Kurt growled, his beard tickling your inner thigh. "Paint these greedy little walls white with my seed."

Don pinched your clit hard, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain shooting through your core. "Do it, babydoll. Milk his cock with this needy cunt. Show him what a good girl you are."

Kurt's thrusts grew erratic, his fingers digging bruises into the meat of your thighs. "Fuck, I'm close. Gonna cum so deep in this pussy. Breed this slutty little hole." 

Don came right on the spot and you gulped thick, sticky ropes of cum as your pastor let out loud grunts of pleasure. You came as hard, writhing and sobbing, gripping Don’s shirt tightly.

Don and Kurt watched in awe as you came undone beneath them, your body writhing and sobbing in ecstasy. The way you gripped Don's shirt, your knuckles white with the force of it, was a testament to the intensity of your pleasure.

"That's it, babydoll," Don crooned, his fingers still buried deep inside you as your walls fluttered and clenched around the intrusion. "Let it all out. Give yourself over to the pleasure."

Kurt's hips stuttered, his own release fast approaching as your cunt rippled around his throbbing cock. "Fuck, sweetheart. Cumming. Gonna fill this pussy up. Breed ya’ real good with my baby…"

With a final, brutal thrust, Kurt buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he painted your insides white with his thick, hot seed. Don twisted his fingers just right, prolonging your orgasm as you milked Kurt's dick for every last drop.

"Good girl," Don praised, his voice a dark rumble against your ear. "Taking Kurt’s cum so well. Such a perfect little vessel for his holy seed."

Kurt collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the floor. He nuzzled into your neck, inhaling the scent of your sweat and sex. "Fuck, you're incredible. Gonna ruin you for anyone else. No one will ever satisfy you like we can."

Don gently extracted his fingers from your tender folds, bringing them to his lips. He licked them clean, savoring the taste of your essence mixed with his own. "Mmm, delicious. The sweet nectar of a goddess."

Kurt lifted his head, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead. "Rest now, doll. Gather your strength. Because when you wake up ? We're going to do it all over again."

[zarpasuave]

In other news I caught up to Purple Hyacinth on webtoon and I am pondering a Scarabedo au for it.

I would obviously change a lot about it cause these two don’t lend themselves too well to aus but just: forensic/police investigator Albedo and fed up assassin Scaramouche deciding to collaborate in overthrowing the Fatui and whatnot.

[my-current-obsession]

My hyper-specific type when it comes to otome guys:

- Absolutely pathetic - Cannot speak to a girl normally to save his life - Tries to be calm/aloof, but turns tsundere when flustered enough - A good and pure man at heart, yet does some questionable things - ...Little Red Riding Hood???

[mantisgodsdomain]

Slowly, yet painfully realizing that we're probably the exact type of person that random fandom guys would miscast as a father.

[arolesbianism]

I've been digging up some one of my most neglected stories recently and I'm finally actually developing the rest of the cast after like what? 7 or 8 years or smth? I genuinely don't know when I first thought up Lace but she's been floating at the edge of my mind since then as my token true timeloop guy as opposed to Butters who doesn't rly count because the quote unquote timeloop was entirely within their control and only was a continuous loop because they kept consciously trying again and again. Lace on the other hand. Legitimately 100% powerless in her timeloop situation, as in there was quite literally Nothing she could do to end the loops herself. Some gods just threw her in a 50 year timeloop without even doing the bare minimum of telling her first and she just sorta had to live with that until it from her perspective abruptly stopped leaving her to deal with the fallout of everything she went through now that she's suddenly being forced to live a real life again. And as fun as all of that is it has been very stagnated for years because there is in fact a story and world that exists outside of and around this one plot that matter quite a bit and that I have been refusing to properly work on until now lol.

[dekuneho]

five in the morning ☆ ( ​prohero!katsuki x reader ) mdni | suggestive

The digital alarm clock seated on your bedside table flickers, casting a glow that reads 5 AM in the asscrack of morning. Your boyfriend is dead asleep and probably won’t wake up for a while, hopefully. You don’t waste opportunities that the universe has clearly granted on a silver platter, and so you set to work right away.

You slip off the bed, skillfully slithering away from Katsuki’s grip. He stirs momentarily, legs sliding over the warmth you had left; you hold your breath, watching him carefully. Katsuki continues snoring.

Mission accomplished.

Katsuki’s the better cook, and he had been spoiling you rotten all this time with his three-star Michelin cooking. Considering how well he treated you last night, you want to treat him by waking up to breakfast in bed this morning. It’ll be nothing special, but he’d be on the other end of the princess treatment this time, and it’s at least something.

A traditional Japanese breakfast would take a while, but you had prepared beforehand with leftovers and freezer foods. Now, the real challenge is perfecting Tamagoyaki the way Katsuki does — an impossible feat, but you wouldn’t be Katsuki’s favorite person in the world if you weren’t stubborn and headstrong.

As the rice boils, you move to reach for a cutting board but instead, startle at a warm figure pressing against your back.

Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to wake up right away! You barely started. Did he wake up once he realized you were missing?

“Katsuki,” you say, twisting around to meet your boyfriend’s half-asleep daze. “Can you go back to bed and pretend to be surprised in preferably an hour or so?”

“Nah,” he rasps out, octaves lower than usual. “Don’t wanna waste my view.”

Your plans have been foiled, but whatever. The heat emanating from Katsuki’s body makes you want to leech off him for a little longer. This morning had been a little too cold for comfort.

Katsuki keeps quiet as you work, his chin resting on the curve of your shoulder. He doesn’t murmur any complaints or criticisms, so it could either be because he’s approving of your methods, or it could be because he’s dozing off on your clavicle. He’s pliable as you glide through the kitchen, back and forth — and still, Katsuki’s like a cat perched over you.

“Hey,” Katsuki says. You feel his voice rumble over his chest, and it meets your shoulder blades. “Baby, look at me, please.”

A please so early in the morning? What a miracle.

You shift around, meeting Katsuki’s sharp and heated gaze. Seems like he enjoyed watching you a little too much. You smile, your arms slowly winding their way around his shoulders as his nose brushes against yours.

“Hi,” you whisper in the space you share, grinning.

“Mm,” hums Katsuki, expression turning fierce.

Without warning, he ducks and bites over your nose. It doesn’t hurt, just the threat of his sharp teeth on your skin. Still, you jump in his hold, bewildered and possibly a little aroused?

“Katsuki—”

He licks over your mouth, humming like a cat purring in approval. 

Well — scratch that. He’s more like a dog, licking your face like that, what the hell? You hide your face with an arm, ignoring the heat pooling in your stomach at how Katsuki’s staring at you like he’s mistaken you for breakfast. Breakfast that you worked hard to prepare!

“Down, boy,” you scold. Is he experiencing cuteness aggression?

“Had some on your lips,” Katsuki explains, like he couldn’t have just wiped it off with his thumb. “Tastes good.”

He pokes his tongue out, and you go cross-eyed, trying to follow it. There’s a trace of sauce on it, and you have to summon the power of a thousand men to hold back from sucking on it. He cages you on the island counter with two beefy arms.

“You, I mean,” clarifies Katsuki.

The thousand men are failing miserably.

“Katsuki,” you warn, sounding winded. Pointedly ignoring his grin, you push on his chest. “Let me finish your damn food first, ungrateful brat.”

“You ain’t my ma,” Katsuki snarks back. “Could make you one, if you—”

“Katsuki!” You push on his shoulders with more force, ears burning. Katsuki barks out a gleeful laugh, sounding too lively at this hour, feeding your mess of irritation and arousal.

Katsuki skids to a halt before you can reach the dining table, leaning forward to capture your lips in his. You inhale sharply, fingers twitching uselessly by his side. Katsuki pries your lips open with his, licking into your mouth some more. You can taste the residue of the fruits of your labor ( the breakfast that will get cold soon if Katsuki doesn’t cut this shit out ), and his hand sliding down to cup your ass is all it takes for you to melt against him.

You jerk away, needing to breathe. Katsuki watches you with a frown. You feel lightheaded.

“Fuckin’ cute,” he mutters, pinching your cheek. “Cookin’ breakfast f’me like that. So good to me, baby, you know that?”

“I — I should be the one saying that, Katsuki,” you say, embarrassed. “‘s why I wanted to surprise you.”

Katsuki scowls. “Stop acting all cute so damn early in the morning. I don’t want to fuckin’ marry you on some random fucking Wednesday.”

Breakfast is quiet, with you steaming from embarrassment and Katsuki preening from his win, all smug and stupidly handsome. It didn’t work out as planned, but maybe it was just an opportunity for you to share a Wednesday morning with your Katsuki, who’s criticizing the lack of spice but inhaling every grain of rice on his plate. 

You smile at your food. Maybe marrying him on a Wednesday wouldn’t be so bad.

[vetyr]

hi, i ireally love your work and i don't know if you've answered this before but, what kinds of studies do you do or how did you learn color theory? i wanna get better at rendering and anatomy but im having trouble TT TT

Hi! Long answer alert. Once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox.

When I started actively learning how to draw about 10 1/2 years ago, I exclusively did graphite studies in sketchbooks. Here's a few examples—I mostly stuck to doing line drawings to drill basic shapes/contours and proportions into my brain. The more rendered sketches helped me practice edge control & basic values, and they were REALLY good for learning the actual 3D structure behind what I was drawing.

I'd use reference images that I grabbed from fitness forums, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and some NSFW places, but you could find adequate ref material from figure drawing sites like Line of Action. LoA has refs for people (you can filter by clothed/unclothed, age, & gender), animals, expressions, hands/feet, and a few other useful things as well. Love them.

Learning how to render digitally was a similar story; it helped a lot that I had a pretty strong foundation for value/anatomy going in. I basically didn't touch color at all for ~2 years (except for a few attempts at bad digital or acrylic paint studies), which may not have been the best idea. I learned color from a lot of trial and error, honestly, and I'm pretty sure this process involved a lot of imitation—there were a number of digital/traditional painters whose styles I really wanted to emulate (notably their edge control, color choices, value distributions, and shape design), so I kiiind of did a mixture of that + my own experimentation.

For example, I really found Benjamin Björklund's style appealing, especially his softened/lost edges & vibrant pops of saturated color, so here's a study I did from some photograph that I'm *pretty* sure was painted with him in mind.

Learning how to detail was definitely a slow process, and like all the aforementioned things (anatomy/color/edge control/values/etc.) I'm still figuring it out. Focusing on edge control first (that is, deciding on where to place hard/soft edges for emphasizing/de-emphasizing certain areas of the image) is super useful, because you can honestly fool a viewer into thinking there's more detail in a piece than there actually is if you're very economical about where you place your hard edges.

The most important part, to me, is probably just doing this stuff over and over again. You're likely not going to see improvement in a few weeks or even a few months, so don't fret about not getting the exact results you want and just keep studying + making art. I like to think about learning art as a process where you *need* to fail and make crappy art/studies—there's literally no way around it—so you might as well fail right now. See, by making bad art you're actually moving forward—isn't that a fun prospect!!

It's useful to have a folder with art you admire, especially if you can dissect the pieces and understand why you like them so much. You can study those aspects (like, you can redraw or repaint that person's work) and break down whether this is art that you just like to look at, or if it's the kind of art that you want to *make.* There's a LOT of art out there that I love looking at, probably tens of thousands of styles/mediums, but there's a very narrow range that I want to make myself.

I've mentioned it in some ask reply in the past, but I really do think looking at other artist's work is such a cheat code for improving your own skills—the other artist does the work to filter reality/ideas for you, and this sort of allows you to contact the subject matter more directly. I can think of so many examples where an artist I admired exaggerated, like, the way sunlight rested on a face and created that orange fringe around its edge, or the greys/dull blues in a wheat field, or the bright indigo in a cast shadow, or the red along the outside of a person's eye, and it just clicked for me that this was a very available & observable aspect of reality, which had up until that point gone completely unnoticed! If you're really perceptive about the art you look at, it's shocking how much it can teach you about how to see the world (in this particular case I mean this literally, in that the art I looked at fully changed the way I visually processed the world, but of course it has had a strong effect on my worldviews/relationships/beliefs).

Thanks so much for sending in a question (& for reading, if you got this far)! I read every single ask I receive, including the kind words & compliments, which I genuinely always appreciate. Best of luck with learning, my friend :)

[xo100]

A summer to remember - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando, Y/N, and their daughter Isla enjoy a perfect summer vacation filled with love, beach fun, and yacht adventures.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2388

୨ৎ

It was a beautiful summer morning, and the sun was already casting its golden glow over the peaceful coastline. The soft sound of waves lapping against the shore could be heard through the open windows of the cozy villa where Lando Norris, his wife, and their one-year-old daughter, Isla, were spending their vacation. It was a much-needed break from Lando's hectic Formula 1 schedule, and he was determined to make the most of every second with his little family.

Inside the villa, the sweet scent of fresh pastries filled the air as Y/N was busy in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the three of them. Isla was sitting in her highchair, her big, curious eyes watching her mom move around, while her tiny hands held onto a small stuffed bear that she never seemed to let go of. Lando, fresh from a shower, entered the kitchen with a content smile, his heart swelling at the sight of his two favorite girls.

“Morning, love,” he murmured, stepping up behind Y/N and wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck. “You’re up early. Didn’t think we’d need to be up so soon on holiday.”

Y/N smiled, leaning back into him as she flipped a pancake. “Well, someone woke up hungry,” she said, glancing over at Isla, who was babbling happily to her bear. “Besides, it’s too beautiful outside to waste the day.”

Lando hummed in agreement, his chin resting on Y/N's shoulder as he watched her cook. “You’re right. What’s the plan today, then? What amazing adventure are we going on?”

Y/N turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I thought we could start with a beach day. Just us, some sand, and the ocean. Maybe build a sandcastle with Isla. She’s been dying to get her hands in the sand.”

Lando grinned, his eyes lighting up at the idea. He loved the thought of spending the day on the beach with his family, especially if it meant seeing Isla’s face light up with excitement. “That sounds perfect,” he said, stealing a quick kiss before letting her go. “But I think we should add something extra later. How about a yacht ride this afternoon? I’ve already got one booked for us.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. “A yacht? Seriously, Lando?”

“Of course,” he replied with a cocky smile, giving her a playful wink. “Figured we’d sail off into the sunset like in the movies. You know, champagne in hand, wind in our hair… or at least, your hair. Isla and I don’t have much of that,” he teased, running a hand through his slightly damp hair for emphasis.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re too much sometimes, Norris.”

Lando winked. “And you love it.”

Isla, hearing her dad’s voice, squealed excitedly, her little arms reaching out towards him. Lando’s expression softened instantly as he scooped her up from the highchair and spun her around, her giggles filling the kitchen. “There’s my girl!” he said, holding her close and pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “Ready for a fun day with Mum and Dad?”

Isla giggled in response, her tiny hand grabbing onto Lando’s shirt, holding on as if she never wanted to let go. Lando’s heart melted, as it did every time he looked at his daughter. She was the perfect mix of both him and Y/N—her sparkling eyes and infectious laughter were all her mother, while the little dimple in her cheek and the mischievous glint in her eye were pure Lando.

-

After breakfast, the three of them headed down to the beach, which was only a short walk from the villa. The sand was warm beneath their feet, and the ocean stretched out in front of them, glittering under the morning sun. It was the kind of picture-perfect day that made it hard to believe anything else existed beyond this little slice of paradise.

Lando carried Isla on his hip, holding her tiny hand as she stared wide-eyed at the ocean for the first time. Her mouth formed a little "o" of wonder as the gentle breeze tousled her soft hair. “Look at that, Isla,” Lando said, pointing towards the waves. “Isn’t it beautiful? Just like your mum.”

Y/N, who had been spreading out a blanket, glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Lando’s words. “Flatterer,” she teased, though her cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. No matter how long they’d been together, Lando always knew how to make her heart skip a beat.

Once everything was set up, Y/N and Lando took turns playing with Isla in the sand, helping her dig little holes and attempting to build a sandcastle that mostly ended up in a pile of mush, thanks to Isla’s enthusiastic hands. Lando pretended to be frustrated as Isla gleefully knocked over the little towers he was trying to make. “Isla, love, I’m trying to build a masterpiece here,” he said in mock seriousness, though his grin gave him away.

Isla just giggled, grabbing another handful of sand and letting it slip through her tiny fingers. Y/N watched them with a smile, her heart swelling with love. There was something so pure and beautiful about the way Lando interacted with their daughter. He was playful, patient, and so incredibly gentle with her, like she was the most precious thing in the world. And to him, she was. Both of them were.

-

After a few hours of playing in the sand and dipping their toes in the water, it was time for Isla’s nap. Y/N and Lando packed up their things and headed back to the villa, where Isla quickly fell asleep in her crib, her little face peaceful and content.

With their daughter sound asleep, Y/N and Lando had a rare moment of quiet together. They sat out on the terrace, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun. Lando stretched out on the lounge chair next to her, his hand lazily tracing circles on her leg. “This is nice,” he murmured, his voice low and relaxed. “Just the two of us for a bit.”

Y/N smiled softly, leaning back in her chair as she gazed out at the ocean. “It is,” she agreed. “It’s nice to just… be. No distractions, no schedules. Just us.”

Lando turned his head to look at her, his eyes filled with that familiar mix of love and admiration that always made her stomach flutter. “You know,” he said quietly, his fingers gently brushing her skin, “I don’t think I tell you enough how much I love you. How much I appreciate everything you do for Isla and me.”

Y/N’s breath caught slightly at the sincerity in his voice. She turned her head to meet his gaze, her heart swelling with emotion. “Lando…”

“No, really,” he insisted, sitting up a little. “I don’t say it enough. You’re incredible, Y/N. The way you love our daughter, the way you take care of us… You make everything feel so effortless, and I just—I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away, smiling softly at him. “I love you too, Lando. More than you know.”

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss that made her forget about everything else. In that moment, it was just the two of them, wrapped up in each other, the world fading away.

-

Later that afternoon, as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, Lando, Y/N, and Isla boarded the yacht that Lando had arranged. It was a sleek, beautiful boat, and as they set off into the open water, the breeze ruffling their hair, it felt like something out of a dream.

Isla was fascinated by the gentle rocking of the boat, her little hands gripping the edge of the railing as she watched the water with wide eyes. Lando stood behind her, his hands on either side of hers, keeping her steady while whispering little words of encouragement. “Look at that, baby girl. Isn’t it amazing? Just like flying, huh?”

Y/N watched them from her seat, her heart swelling with affection for the two of them. There was something so undeniably sweet about seeing Lando with Isla. He was a natural father, always knowing how to make her smile, always there to comfort her when she was upset.

As the yacht sailed further out, Lando eventually scooped Isla up and carried her back to Y/N, sitting down next to her and cuddling Isla between them. The three of them sat together, watching the sun slowly sink into the horizon, casting a golden-orange glow over the water.

“This is perfect,” Y/N whispered, resting her head on Lando’s shoulder as she cradled Isla in her arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

Lando smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Me either,” he murmured. “This… this is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Y/N glanced up at him, her heart swelling at the love in his eyes. “You mean that?”

He looked down at her, his expression serious but filled with so much warmth. “I do. You and Isla… you’re my world, Y/N. Everything I do, it’s for you two. And I’ll never stop loving you, not for a second.”

Her breath caught at his words, and she leaned up to kiss him, slow and sweet.

The kiss lingered, sweet and unhurried, the weight of Lando’s words settling between them like the most beautiful promise. When they finally pulled apart, Y/N rested her forehead against his, their breaths mingling as the world seemed to pause for just a moment. Isla, nestled between them, was quietly playing with Lando’s fingers, completely content in the embrace of her parents.

“I love you, too,” Y/N whispered, her voice full of emotion. “More than I could ever put into words.”

Lando smiled, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. “I know, love,” he murmured. “I feel it every single day.”

They sat there for a long while, the boat gently swaying with the rhythm of the sea, as the last rays of sunlight danced on the horizon. Isla eventually dozed off in Y/N’s arms, her tiny body relaxing completely, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only sound breaking the peaceful silence.

Lando looked down at his daughter, his heart nearly bursting at the sight. He reached out to lightly stroke her hair, his touch so gentle it was almost reverent. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?” he said quietly, his voice filled with awe. “How did we get so lucky?”

Y/N smiled down at Isla, her heart swelling with love for the little girl in her arms. “We did get lucky,” she agreed softly. “She’s everything.”

Lando’s gaze shifted from Isla to Y/N, his expression softening even further. “You’re everything to me, you know that, right?”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I think you’ve told me that about a hundred times today.”

“Well, I mean it. Every time,” he teased, leaning in to kiss her again. “You’re stuck with me, Norris, so I’m gonna remind you as often as I can.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Y/N whispered against his lips before kissing him back.

As the sun finally disappeared beyond the horizon, the sky fading into a soft twilight, they decided to head back to the villa. Lando took Isla from Y/N’s arms, cradling their sleeping daughter as they made their way back to the dock. The boat ride back was quiet, peaceful, the gentle hum of the engine and the lapping of the water lulling them into a contented silence.

-

When they reached the villa, Lando carefully carried Isla to her room, tucking her into bed with the same care and tenderness he always showed. Y/N stood in the doorway, watching him with a soft smile on her face, her heart full as she took in the sight of Lando, who had once been the carefree, fast-driving boy, now a devoted father and partner.

Lando pressed a soft kiss to Isla’s forehead before pulling the blanket up around her tiny body. He stood for a moment, just watching her sleep, his heart filled with a deep sense of contentment. Finally, he turned to Y/N, slipping his hand into hers as they quietly left the room, closing the door behind them.

Once back in their bedroom, Y/N flopped onto the bed with a happy sigh, stretching her arms above her head. Lando followed, lying down beside her and propping himself up on one elbow to look at her. “So,” he said, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “What’s the verdict? Best day ever?”

Y/N turned her head to look at him, her eyes sparkling with love and amusement. “I’d say it’s definitely up there,” she teased. “But tomorrow might just top it.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what do you have planned for tomorrow?”

Y/N shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Lando leaned down, his lips brushing hers as he whispered, “Whatever it is, as long as I’m with you and Isla, it’s already perfect.”

Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, full of the love and promise they’d built over the years. When they finally pulled apart, Y/N curled into Lando’s side, her head resting on his chest as his arm wrapped around her, holding her close.

“Thank you for today,” Y/N murmured, her eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. “It was perfect.”

Lando kissed the top of her head, his fingers gently running through her hair. “You don’t have to thank me, love. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. For you and Isla, I’d do anything.”

With that, they fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves outside their window lulling them to sleep. As Lando drifted off, his heart full and his arms wrapped around the woman he loved, he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

And as the stars twinkled above, casting their soft light over the peaceful villa, one thing was certain: this summer, this moment, would be one they’d cherish forever.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know! I’m currently writing part three of baking cookies! I hope to finish it soon and upload it soon!

[rowarn]

HEHE HI HERE U GO <3 HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!!

afab!reader, thigh riding, neglect kink tbh, brat tamer!simon?, soft!simon and mean!simon hehe, maybe a lil hurt/comfort if u squint

"please, si!" you practically sobbed, rutting your hips desperately against his thigh. 

simon sat still, lidded eyes cast over your shoulder to the tv that played a soccer match. he huffed through his nose but didn't offer any other verbal acknowledgement to your whines. 

you had disturbed him while he watched the game, pawing at him and begging for him to fuck you. he had ignored you completely so you naturally took matters into your own hands. you figured if you got him worked up enough, he would give in and give you attention instead of the stupid tv. 

but before you knew it, you were naked and rocking against his thigh. you were the only one between the two of you who showed any signs of being worked up. 

and simon? completely ignored you. he refused to offer any assistance, even when you teetered dangerously on your knees and almost toppled over. 

it honestly infuriated you as much as it turned you on. maybe it even embarrassed you a little to be ignore like this while completely naked and needy all over him.

he wouldn't flex his thigh to give you anything solid to grind on (although his thigh was pretty firm even when relaxed) and he certainly wasn't offering any words of encouragement to help you along. he simply stared over your shoulder at the tv, acting like he didn't have his sweet little love grinding a nice, wet pussy against him. 

he was hard in his sweats; that long, thick cock tenting in his pants. it was the only indication that he even noticed what you were doing. 

"s-simon!" you pathetically wailed, suddenly stopping your movements when you realized you most definitely weren't going to be able to cum with him ignoring you like this. you rested your head against his shoulder and tried to quell the intense trembling that wracked your whole body. 

under the sound of the cheers on tv, he could hear the sound of you sniffling and crying. he let you sit there for a second until you finally slumped in defeat against him. 

you let your breathing come down before you rolled off of his lap and shamefully began to pick up your clothes, completely unaware of the way he now watched you instead of the tv. he could see the dejected little frown on your lips and it made his own quirk up. 

you were so cute. 

before you could slink away to pout in the bedroom, he caught your wrist in his hand, tugging you back into his lap. you caught yourself against his chest, looking at him in bewilderment. you still had little tears in your eyes, no doubt still nursing hurt feelings from him ignoring you. 

"you done bein' a demanding little brat?" he asked. 

if you had doggy ears he's sure they'd be flattened shamefully against your head right about now with the pathetic little look you gave him. you nodded your head and normally he'd request verbal assurance but he let it slide. 

instead, he shifted his hips and situated you on it once again, your cunt still wet and sticking to the fabric of his sweatpants. 

"get to it then," he mutters, fixating his gaze back on the tv. he could see you pout out of the corner of his eye, clearly not feeling as confident as you had before. his hands came up to your hips, kneading the softness there in encouragement before flexing his thigh against you. 

at that, you finally started to move, slowly rutting your hips against the firm muscle. with his hands stabilizing you, you freely plucked at your own nipples, rolling the buds between your fingers as you humped him. 

you slowly got louder and louder as the pleasure grew until he couldn't hear the announcers on the tv. gritting his teeth, he cupped the back of your head and pulled your face against his shoulder to muffle you. you took the hint, biting down into the fabric of his shirt as your eyes rolled back. 

you were so close. and the way he began to bounce his thigh beneath you wasn't helping to slow it down. 

you gripped onto him for dear life, arms around his shoulders before pulling your head back despite your intentions to keep quiet and not disturb him any more than you had already. but truthfully, simon didn't mind listening to you cum. 

you sweetly called his name, babbling about how you were cumming and how good you felt. he bit back a smile, running his hand down your back to express his unspoken fondness of you. 

before long, after a few, sloppy rabbiting movements of your hips, you finally came to a halt. you slumped against him, panting and twitching.

"you done?" he asked, doing his best to sound like this whole endeavor had been a nuisance. 

you sheepishly looked up at his profile and nodded your head. but you didn't make any moves to leave him, instead curling against his chest and cuddling as close to him as you could. and he acquiesced, dropping the mean façade in favor of wrapping you up in his strong arms and pressing a kiss to your temple.

[rememberwren]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Easy breezy beautiful premature ejaculation. Hypersexual!Simon/fem!reader. Discussion of edging. Cumming untouched.

-

“If we do this,” he says around his cigarette, “then we do it my way.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you admit cautiously, turning your hands palm up as if to show you have no weapons, no tricks up your sleeve. I’m innocuous, your posture says. His own says: I’m still deciding, with his tense shoulders and narrowed eyes. “This weird, femdom thing. So I appreciate your guidance. Because I know fuck all—“

“You’re no femdom—Jesus, fuck, I can’t talk about it anymore,” he grits out. He takes a step back and away, creating distance, exhaling a plume of smoke that makes him look strangely ethereal in the evening light. Against your will, your eyes flicker down to just below his belt buckle and oh god. He’s hard. 

“Just from talking about it?”

The look he gives you could melt ice. It could sublimate it. You cringe, knowing you were in the wrong, wishing you could reach out and snatch the words right out of the air. He’s trusting you with this. The last thing he needs is to feel like a joke. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have—you’re not a, a science experiment or something—“

“Wouldn’t mind that so much. Might figure out what the fuck’s wrong with me. Less interested in being treated like I’m part of a circus troupe,” he grumbles. He drops the cigarette and grinds it to ash beneath his boot. He asks: “Inside?” 

-

Gingerly, so gingerly, he undoes the button of his jeans and unzips them. He holds his breath as he works the denim down his thick thighs. God, is he built: muscles made for more than just show. His history is inscribed on his body in its strength and in its scars, scars of white and pale pinks that darken to purple in the lamplight. He’s wearing boxer briefs, straining at the front from his erection, and they are soaked. You’re surprised that he hasn’t soaked straight through to his jeans. 

“Don’t look,” he grits out through his teeth. You look away, unsure where to cast your eyes to, and settle for shutting them. He explains: “Can’t take the way you’re looking at me.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling your face flush hot. 

“Just—let me—” you hear the sound of fabric rustling. He kicks off his jeans—you can tell by the soft sound of them landing against the floor off the side of the bed. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, eyes squeezed shut, hands clenching in your lap. 

“Nothing just—fuck. No way I’m going to last.” He sounds bitterly disappointed. 

“That’s the point of this, right? To get better at lasting?” 

He sighs, a long-suffering sound, like this discussion is well worn and frustrating to him. Something in you shrivels, and it takes your body with it as best as it can, sending your shoulders hunching inwards, your head ducking down. You pick at one of your nails by feel alone, eyes still closed, and nearly jump when his fingers brush your knee. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “You’re right. That’s what this is for. Might as well get used to embarrassing myself.” 

“That’s the spirit." 

He snorts. More fabric rustles, and at length he says: “Alright. You can look. Just…you can look.” 

You open your eyes hesitantly. His cock is right there—and Jesus. It makes sense, proportionally, but it is frightening in a very real sense. You’re already doing the math, measuring in your head and comparing to your past precedents. Ghost would have them all beat, quite comfortably, in length and girth. He’s cut, which surprises you, but isn’t a turnoff. He keeps himself landscaped nicely, which you appreciate, even if it isn’t necessary. 

He is flushed a ruddy pink, the head darker than the rest. As you stare, it jerks, a bead of precum welling at the tip. Suddenly one of his large, scarred hands reaches down and grips the base of his cock in a painful hold, hissing in a breath through his teeth. 

“Can’t look at me like that,” he admonishes again. 

“Like what?” you ask, a little defensive. You’re just looking! You have to look, right? 

“Like you want it,” he mutters. 

God, does he really have no idea? No inkling of how badly you want to sit on that monster in his hands? No notion of how wet you’ve been since your conversation in the parking lot? Sure you aren't like him, not about to spring off if the breeze was just right, but you are anything but unaffected. Still, it seems like the wrong moment to educate him on your attraction to him and his cock, so you do your best to morph your expression into one of unimpressed ambivalence and hoped it helps. 

“I’m ready when you are,” you say, interrupting his deep breathing exercises. He nods but doesn’t give you the go-ahead, not for another minute or two, until his chest stops heaving and he can remove his hand from the vice grip he has around his balls. His cock has a near purple tinge, and you wonder if maybe he should have rubbed one out in the bathroom beforehand just to take the edge off. Oh well, it’s a thought for next time. 

“Go ahead,” he says, like he’s giving you permission to pull the trigger on him during a game of Russian Roulette. 

You reach out—his cock twitches, a nice warm welcome if you’ve ever seen one, but you hesitate. Your hand is dry. Should you ask for lube? How does he usually jerk off? Dry? You have a feeling he doesn’t mind the discomfort; he seems like he has a self-destructive streak a mile wide. His eyes are fixed at a point on the ceiling, his chest unmoving as he holds his breath. You decide that some sort of lubrication is better than none—so you lick a broad stripe up your palm. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, a little punched-out sound. Sometime between opening your mouth and licking your palm, his eyes had transferred from the ceiling to your face, to the flash of your tongue and your wet palm. His eyes widen, irises swallowed up by the pupils, and he says again, more urgently: “Oh fuck.” 

He reaches down to grip the base of his cock again, but it is too late: he cums. His abs are thrown into sharp relief as he tenses with each pulse, cock jerking against his brutal grip. He doesn’t even jerk himself off—just ruins it as you stare with your mouth open and your hand wet, watching him splatter seed against the coarse line of hair that runs from his belly button to his cock all because he watched you lick your hand. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, throwing one arm across his eyes, breathing heavily. His mouth is flushed a pretty red, like he has been kissing. His hand clenches into a fist as he says: “I’m sorry. I tried not to.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, your nearly brain blue-screening from how turned on you are. You lower your hand and wipe it dry on your leggings. “That’s what this practice is for—so you don’t do it when it really counts. We can try again tomorrow or something.” 

He snorts. “Tomorrow? Give me five fucking minutes.” 

[marcyvampire]

Pt.3 SILLLY LITTLE BAT.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ There are only memories, fragments of a past that, like shadows, will haunt you until your last breath, whispers of what was and will never be. Gotham cries out for a guardian, a soul to face the darkness, to challenge fate in its shadowy alleys.

But tell me, who will rise to protect you, traveler of scars and broken dreams? Who will watch over your light when the world swallows your hopes?

In the eternal night, amidst the echo of fear and longing, there is only one path: to confront the monsters and become the hero this city needs, even if the price is the forgetting of oneself.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation.

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt2. Pt.4

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— Here is the continuation of the other parts. There will be a few more parts but you should know that we will soon reach the end, but there are still things to clarify and so on. I don't know if you would like me to do another Batfam yandere series in the future or similar. Send me your ideas if you want :3

They are upset because I left

Where they never included me.

The car moved slowly under the gray sky of Gotham, as if the universe itself understood the weight of the pain you carried in your small figure. Commissioner Gordon, with his firm hands on the wheel, cast furtive glances at the rearview mirror, where he saw you curled up in the back seat. Wrapped in an old blanket, the same one you had hugged for days, your face was hidden among the folds, but the silent tears that fell could not be disguised. There were no words that Gordon could offer to heal the recent wound of losing your mother, but his empathy, though silent, was there, wrapping around you like the coat that couldn't quite warm you.

In your lap, a small Batman doll rested, pressed against your chest, as if that fabric toy could protect you from the world that had just destroyed your innocence. Your eyes, still swollen and red, looked out the window without seeing, watching the city that seemed so distant, so foreign.

"You will be loved and cherished," Gordon whispered, breaking the silence that had weighed like fog in the car. "Bruce Wayne... he will take care of you, I promise."

But you didn't respond immediately. The name Wayne felt strange, distant, as if he spoke of someone living in a story, not in your reality. You looked up, your eyes meeting Gordon’s for a second in the rearview mirror.

"And if they don't want me...?" you murmured, insecurity clouding your childish voice. "I don't know them, Commissioner... and they don't know me. What if they leave me in an orphanage? Mama always told me those places aren't nice."

Gordon swallowed hard, understanding the depth of your fear. "You were just a child, but you had already learned that love was not a guarantee." The world had taught you that cruel lesson too soon.

"The Waynes..." he began, searching for the right words, "are good people. You might not understand it at first, but I assure you they have suffered too. Bruce..." he paused, recalling the losses that man had faced. "He understands what it is to lose someone. He will do everything he can to make you feel safe, to help you find a home again."

But you kept looking at the doll in your hands, your fingers squeezing it tightly, as if it were the only stable thing in a world crumbling around you.

The silence grew heavy, uncomfortable, as if the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how. Again, Gordon spoke, his voice low, almost afraid to break the stillness.

"And/y/n... what was your mom like?" he asked softly, not taking his eyes off the road, as if by doing so, he could give you space to be honest, to not feel pressured.

You fell silent for a long moment, your small fingers nervously playing with the edges of the blanket. The world outside the car seemed a reflection of what you felt inside: cloudy, cold, distant.

Finally, you exhaled, as if gathering the courage to speak. Your voice came out shaky at first, filled with a mix of sadness and a hard-to-accept truth.

"My mom..." you murmured, not taking your eyes off the window. "She wasn't a good person, but... she wasn't a villain either."

Gordon nodded slowly, without interrupting you. He knew things were rarely black or white, that life had that cruel ability to mix the two.

"She... told me she grew up in an orphanage. She never had anything that was really hers." You paused, your eyes glassy as you recalled details that now seemed more painful than ever. "Well, except for me."

"Gordon felt a knot form in his throat." He knew that loss was a terrible burden to bear, but there was something more in your words, something suggesting that, amidst it all, there had also been love. An imperfect love, but real.

"She always dreamed of having a little house..." you continued, and for the first time, a faint smile appeared on your face, though it was tinged with melancholy. "A house with a garden, lots of Barbie dolls, and a little dog. She didn't need more. She just wanted something that was hers."

You stopped for a moment, as if the simple act of recalling those dreams your mother had hurt you. You knew she would never have them. That the world had been cruel to her, denying her even the small things she wished for so fervently.

"But... she never got it. We were always moving around, fleeing, searching for something better. And now... she doesn’t even have that."

The car seemed to shrink, the air denser. Gordon felt a wave of compassion for that woman who, though perhaps not perfect, had dreamed of something so simple, so human, and yet had not achieved it.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," he murmured.

"Commissioner, what if... what if I can't forget her?" you asked, almost in a whisper. "What if I can't stop thinking about Mom?"

The silence in the car became heavy, almost tangible. Gordon wanted to tell you that you didn't have to forget, that it was natural to carry that pain. But the words didn't come, and instead, only a long sigh escaped his lips.

"It's not about forgetting, Y/n," he finally said, his voice low but firm. "It's about moving forward, even though it hurts. Your mother would want you to find happiness again, even though it may not seem possible now. And I’m sure Bruce will do everything in his power to help you."

The car turned onto the long, dark road leading to Wayne Manor. The trees formed a tunnel of shadows, as if the road were wrapped in the same mourning you carried within. The mansion, with its imposing grandeur, appeared in the distance, its walls as high as the secrets it held. "You were so small in the face of the immensity of this new life that awaited you."

"We're almost there," Gordon said softly, as he slowed down. "The wind outside whispered through the trees, like an echo of everything you had lost."

You didn’t know it at that moment, but that house would be full of stories, some broken, others in the process of healing. And although you felt like a stranger in a strange land now, Gordon hoped that, one day, that place would become your refuge.

The car stopped in front of the enormous gates. Gordon looked at you one last time before getting out. In his eyes, you could see a mix of sadness and hope, an empathy that went beyond words.

"You are not alone, Y/n," he said, his voice now firmer. "You will never be alone again."

You remained silent, gazing at the mansion as you clung to the blanket and the Batman doll. The weight of the world still rested on your small shoulders, but for the first time, there might have been a glimmer of relief in knowing that someone, even if he was a strange and distant man, was waiting for you inside."

And in that moment, although you still felt the burning pain of your loss, a ray of hope began to break through the shadows of your heart.

Y/n was sitting in the BatCafé, that corner of the city where the tables wobbled and conversations were woven into murmurs, as if the place knew how to keep secrets that even you wouldn’t dare to share aloud. The walls, a mossy green, were filled with stories that no one had asked for. She looked at her lukewarm latte as one looks at a future that hasn’t quite arrived, a liquid mockery evaporating before it could warm her hands. It had barely been a month since she left her family home, but she already felt that independence was more of a myth than a fulfilled dream. At first, the heroism of having thrown herself into the world had filled her with pride, but now reality lurked like a treacherous chill seeping through the cracks, and the fact that she was waiting for her potential roommate didn’t help matters.

“Well, at least the rent will be cheaper,” she told herself, or rather to the coffee, as if the dark liquid could reply with something sensible.

Sharing an apartment was, for Y/n, the only way out. Her salary barely covered survival, but only if she fed on fresh air and broken dreams. And there she was, waiting for someone named Pamela Isley, who, according to the ad, didn’t even seem to be from this planet. "I hope she’s not one of those people with invisible cats," she thought. Of course, the alternatives weren’t very promising: people who collected Batman figurines or guys who made friends with cockroaches in the kitchen. She had seen it all; after all, her apartment was in one of the most dangerous areas of Gotham, and she knew it all too well.

You were born in that area. One could say the neighborhood chose you before you had a chance to choose it. You didn’t remember exactly which apartment; in that hive of broken windows and half-painted bricks, all the floors seemed like a blurry copy of the previous one, each with the same square footage and an air of silent resignation. In the end, it didn’t matter, because in a way, everything was the same. Dust in the corners, worn tiles, cracks in the walls that seemed to form a map of some invisible and secret city, a place that only you could decipher if you stopped to observe long enough.

It was an unpretentious place, where people rarely smiled, but neither did they let themselves be trampled. There was something in the air, a kind of poorly disguised pride, as if every neighbor, every stray dog, knew that surviving there wasn’t a matter of luck but of will. Heroes didn’t exist in that corner of the world, but villains didn’t dare impose their law without facing some gaze that, without saying anything, said it all. It was rough terrain, where kindness camouflaged behind growls and complaints, and malice grew tired before it could fully settle.

And yet, you loved it. It was absurd, but you loved it with that devotion reserved for things you don’t choose, for roots that sink into your chest without asking for permission. The place was filled with memories you didn’t ask for, stories you never wanted to hear but that seeped into your skin. Tales of people who vanished in alleyways, of broken promises around the corner, of loves that drowned in factory smoke. And yet, those same tales were like echoes that held you, reminding you that you were born there, in that half-hell where life was always a fight but never a complete defeat.

The clock in the BatCafé struck six ten when the door opened. What happened next was hard to explain, like when you dream and you don’t know if it’s the pillow or the universe holding you. Pamela Isley walked in, and it was as if the wind, that autumn wind that brings memories, had gently pushed her in. Y/n looked up, and the first thing she noticed was her hair, a red that was out of this world, more fire than pigment, more nature than dye. The roots tangled as if they were living branches, and for a moment, Y/n wondered if the sun had made a mistake and was shining only on her.

Pamela walked as if she had a pact with the earth. Her steps were slow but firm, as if her feet waited for the ground to respond before settling. She wore a jacket that was impossible to describe without sounding crazy: green vines and small buds peeking out, as if at any moment the plants would grow over her. "Where does this woman come from?" Y/n thought, feeling something beyond mere curiosity. There was something she couldn’t deny, an attraction that felt unsettling, like those waves that, without warning, sweep you away when you think you can still touch the bottom.

Pamela approached the table with a calculated calm, a calm only nature or time can sculpt. And then she smiled. In that smile, Y/n felt something familiar yet strange, as if she were facing a younger version of her mother, but instead of being terrifying, it was comforting. What was happening?

“Y/n L/n?” Pamela said, her voice reminiscent of the whisper of dry leaves underfoot.

“Yes, that’s me,” Y/n answered, trying to make her voice sound normal, even though everything inside her felt out of place.

Pamela sat down across from her, crossing her legs with an almost feline elegance. The BatCafé seemed to conspire around them; the air smelled of wet earth and freshly brewed coffee, a strange mix, like the combination of what was about to be born and what had already died.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” Y/n began, not knowing exactly how to finish the sentence. She wasn’t even sure what she was expecting.

“Strange?” Pamela completed, with a playful smile that left Y/n with a sense of defeat and fascination in equal parts.

“Something like that,” Y/n replied, looking at Pamela’s hands. Her long, slender fingers were covered in small green spots, as if she had just planted a forest with her own hands. There was something almost magical about her, as if every part of her being was connected to the earth in a way that Y/n couldn’t quite understand. And there, amid that confusion, was the fine thread of attraction.

Pamela let her gaze fall on her own latte, turning it between her hands as if it were about to reveal some hidden secret in the foam.

“So, what do you do? I mean… aside from, you know… looking like you walked out of a Tim Burton movie,” Y/n said, attempting a bit of humor to ease the tension she felt in her stomach.

Pamela glanced at her and laughed softly, a laugh that felt like an unexpected breeze on a hot day.

“I’m… a caretaker. Of plants.” She paused, gauging Y/n’s reaction. “And other things.”

“Other things?” Y/n asked, intrigued but also amused by the way Pamela toyed with the mystery.

“Yes, like people who don’t know how to water a plant without drowning it,” she replied, arching an eyebrow mischievously.

The response made Y/n laugh, a laugh she hadn’t expected, as if Pamela had found a way to touch something deep within her, something that hadn’t bloomed in a long time. And without being able to help it, she felt drawn, not just by the way Pamela moved, spoke, or even by the air of mystery surrounding her, but because there was something more, something familiar, something that reminded her of her mother, but without the shadows of authority and judgment. It was like a wild, free version of what had once been security.

“So… are you going to save my cactus or criticize it?” Y/n said, trying to sound casual while feeling that her heart had started playing a game of chess with her emotions.

Pamela smiled again, and this time it was a different smile, one that seemed to carry a promise.

“It depends. Would you let me stay to try?” Pamela said, with a playful seriousness that left Y/n unsure whether the question was about the cactus or something much larger.

Y/n blinked, trying to process the phrase, but deep down she knew that any answer would sound awkward. Pamela’s question hung in the air between them like a leaf falling slowly, right at the perfect point where it was neither entirely a joke nor completely serious. And there she was, caught in that space, wondering whether she should laugh or just blush.

“Well… you can try,” she finally said, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her face. “But I can’t promise the cactus will survive. I’m something like… a serial plant killer... When I was younger, I had time to care for them as they deserved, with help from… from my father. But now work consumes me a lot, and the truth is I’ve neglected them too much… they must feel the same way I felt when… sorry, I talk too much about myself, don’t I?”

Pamela raised an eyebrow, with a smile that seemed to say more than either of them dared to voice at that moment.

“Oh, no, keep talking about yourself; I’m used to it. I have very… eccentric friends, to be honest.” She leaned a bit closer, as if about to share a secret. “Though I prefer not to work under threats, so don’t look at me like I’m going to be your next plant murder victim. But I doubt a little scared bat can kill even a fly.”

Y/n laughed nervously, surprised at how easy Pamela made everything. She, who had always been clumsy with conversations and glances, felt like the words flowed with Pamela in a way she didn’t quite understand but didn’t want to question either.

“...Little Bat?” Y/n asked, with a clumsy and blushing smile as her fingers nervously toyed with the edge of her cup.

Pamela let out a low giggle, that laugh that always seemed to carry the sound of dry leaves being trampled in autumn. With a gentle gesture, she pointed to her clothes.

“Is it that obvious?” she said with a half-smile, raising a playful eyebrow as she leaned a little forward.

She wore a dark fur coat, enormous, with a wide fall that, under the dim light of the BatCafé, seemed to have the precise shape of bat wings extending. The high, well-fitted black boots completed the image of a figure that seemed to have emerged from the very shadows. And for a moment, Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or get lost in that air of mystery that Pamela seemed to wear like a second coat.

“Well…” Y/n diverted her gaze with a shy smile, “it’s not like you’re hiding it much.”

Pamela smiled with that touch of mischief that characterized her.

“Does it bother you? I’m sorry, it’s just… I’ve been fascinated by bats since I was little.” she asked, her voice low and slow, as if measuring every word, as if the world were a delicate plant that required to be touched with the tips of her fingers.

Y/n let out a small nervous laugh, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks again.

“No, not at all. I think it’s…” she hesitated for a second, searching for the right word, unsure how to avoid the obvious, “I think it suits you well.”

Pamela watched her for a moment, and then, with that look that always seemed to go beyond what words said, added:

“You’re turning red, you know?”

Y/n’s eyes widened a bit more, surprised by Pamela’s directness, but all she could do was laugh at herself.

“Well, it’s just that, I’m not really used to… this.”

“This?” Pamela repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Sharing coffee with someone or bats?”

“Both,” Y/n admitted, shrugging, which provoked another smile from Pamela. “I always wanted one as a pet… but I have a vegan little brother who’s very… spooky… so I’ve always been afraid he’d steal it from me or accuse me of having exotic pets.”

Pamela settled into the chair, not taking her eyes off Y/n.

“But you’ll get used to it,” she paused, letting her words float calmly.

Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of nerves and a spark of something she couldn’t quite define. Pamela’s dark coat and relaxed smile were a disconcerting yet strangely familiar contrast, as if they had always been there, waiting for her. And suddenly, all she could do was wonder how soon that would happen… getting used to it.

“Although I can’t promise my apartment isn’t… a battlefield,” Y/n said, trying to sound confident, but noticing the slight tremor in her voice.

Pamela looked at her intently for a moment, with that mix of flirtation and something deeper, something that seemed impossible to decipher completely. Then she relaxed in the chair, as if the game had just begun.

“A battlefield, huh?” she said, playing with the spoon of her coffee. “Well, I like challenges. And chaotic places have their own charm if you know where to look.” Pamela let the phrase slide smoothly, like someone throwing a stone into a lake and waiting for the ripples.

Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that every word Pamela spoke carried a double meaning, but far from making her feel uncomfortable, it sparked something akin to contained laughter, as if they were sharing a private joke that she was just beginning to access.

“Don’t you have plants at home?” Pamela suddenly asked, as if the question had sprung from the foam of her coffee.

“Well, there are a couple of cacti… and a fern that I think hates me,” Y/n replied. “But I always forget to water them. Or I overwater them. Seriously, it’s like plants come to me already doomed.”

Pamela smiled, one of those slow smiles that seem to grow little by little, like a sprout deciding when the perfect moment to emerge into the light is.

“It’s not just about water, Y/n,” she said, with that voice that seemed to carry the calm of the wind and the weight of centuries of nature. “Plants need attention. Patience. Sometimes they just want to know you’re there, even if you don’t say anything.” She paused, letting Y/n’s gaze get lost in her eyes. “Sometimes, like people.”

Y/n felt a little shiver. It wasn’t what Pamela was saying, but how she was saying it. There was something in her voice that disarmed her, as if every word had been calculated to penetrate a defense that Y/n hadn’t even realized she had up. And then, almost without thinking, she let slip a truth she rarely shared.

“I’m not very good with people.” The confession came out of her mouth before she could stop it. She said it without drama, almost as if she were talking about the weather. But something in Pamela changed, barely perceptible, like a leaf moving without the wind touching it.

“Really?” Pamela asked softly, but without an ounce of pity. Just curiosity.

Y/n looked down for a moment, fiddling with the edge of her cup, before daring to continue.

“I grew up in a huge house, but… empty. My father… well, he was busy with his things. Business, parties, the usual. Shrugging it off, wanting to downplay it, even though inside she knew it wasn’t something that could easily fade away. Alfred, the butler, raised me. And yes, he was amazing. But it was always just him and no one else. It’s not the same as having… friends.”

Pamela listened in silence, but not in that awkward way where people listen just to see how you respond afterward. No, there was something in her attention that enveloped Y/n, as if she were giving her space to bare herself without fear of being judged.

“You never had friends,” Pamela asserted more than asked.

Y/n shook her head.

“Until now,” Pamela said, with that same softness that seemed to have become her trademark, and something in Y/n’s chest stirred, as if she had just heard the most important thing in the world.

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that somehow connected them. And then Pamela broke the spell, with a mischievous smile that lit everything up again.

“So… are you going to let me be your first friend, or would you rather keep killing plants?”

Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, a sincere and liberating laugh, as if something inside her had broken an invisible chain. After all, it was clear that Pamela wasn’t just another person passing through her life. There was something different about her, something that made the air feel lighter, that made the future seem less uncertain.

“Well, if you can survive the cactus…” Y/n said, leaving the sentence unfinished, but knowing Pamela would understand.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Y/n felt that everything might be okay. That maybe, just maybe, Pamela Isley wasn’t just a roommate, but the first person in a long time with whom she could imagine a less lonely future. She was already caught in that web, and the worst, or perhaps the best part, was that she didn’t care at all.

Bruce Wayne was sitting in the mansion's garden on a gray afternoon that seemed to drag memories along like the wind drags fallen leaves. In his hands, a cup of black coffee, still steaming, its strong and bitter aroma mingling with the scent of damp earth after the rain. In front of him, on a small wrought-iron table, rested a piece of dark chocolate cake topped with melting strawberry ice cream, forming a pink puddle around it. But he found no pleasure in the view. It was more of a bitter symbol of a routine he once believed unbreakable.

In the garden, where the wilted flowers swayed gently, a little girl flitted about with contagious energy, as if the chill of the afternoon did not exist for her. Her laughter, so innocent and pure, filled the air, breaking the sepulchral silence that seemed to reign in that old home for a moment. She wore a pink dress with small white dots, an 80s style that would have been charming in another time but now seemed out of place with the scene. Her patent leather shoes shone as she ran back and forth, chasing her dolls.

In her small hands, she held action figures, one of the Batman her father portrayed and another of the Joker, his eternal rival. The girl, no older than six, organized her battles with adorable seriousness. In a high-pitched, mischievous voice, she brought the characters to life, staging an epic duel between hero and villain.

“You won’t defeat me this time, Batman!” she exclaimed, raising the Joker figure with a malevolent laugh.

“I will stop you! I always do...” she replied with her other hand, giving voice to Batman, but with a childlike touch that contrasted with the darkness of the character.

Bruce watched the scene with a mix of tenderness and pain. He knew she wasn’t really there, that this vision was nothing more than a distant echo of what never was. Y/n, his little Y/n, had vanished months ago. And he… he had never given her the love she deserved, always wrapped in his own shadows, in his endless struggle to protect a city that never rested.

The air felt thick, heavy with nostalgia and regret. The girl continued to play, laughing, talking to her dolls, oblivious to the weight of the years, to the loss. And Bruce, although he knew it was an illusion, couldn’t look away; he couldn’t stop imagining what it would have been like to give her what he never knew how to offer. What it would have been like to see her grow, to laugh more, to run through those gardens with the carefree spirit only childhood allows.

Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps interrupted the daydream. Alfred appeared at the garden entrance, always elegant, always with that air of discretion and understanding that only he possessed. He approached slowly, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as if he understood the pain that kept him trapped in that scene.

“Mr. Wayne” he said in a low voice, filled with compassion, “it’s time to come back.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, letting Alfred’s words seep into his consciousness. He knew what they meant. He knew that girl, in her 80s dress and her dolls, was nothing but an idealized memory, a distorted reflection of what never was. Because Y/n wasn’t like that. She didn’t like those old dresses; she had always preferred the fashion of the 2000s, with its vibrant colors and comfortable clothes. And she never enjoyed the chocolate cake now sitting in front of him. She liked carrot cake, simple and sweet, but he had never paid attention to those details when he still could.

How did he know those little details about his daughter? Bruce often wondered. It wasn’t because he had learned them by being close, because proximity had been a luxury he never allowed himself. No, those small fragments of her life he had discovered in the album that Alfred kept with an almost reverential discretion. That album was more than just an object; it was a silent refuge where Alfred had archived what the big house, always filled with shadows and echoes of footsteps that never came, had refused to hold.

The day the children learned of the album’s existence marked the beginning of a chaos he still remembered with a mix of exasperation and a contained smile. They had decided, like little conspirators, that treasure belonged to them. A kind of all-out battle had ensued in the mansion, something that over time acquired the quality of family legends.

Bruce, standing in the study, could still see the sparkle in Damian’s eyes, the intensity, the almost playful fury with which he had taken that assault as a personal mission. Damian, with his perpetual impatience, had been the fiercest of all. He vividly remembered how his youngest son had burst into the room wielding two katanas, with the cold precision of a millennia-old warrior, even though his hands were still too small to fully grasp the handles.

“It’s mine!” Damian shouted, with that mix of stubbornness and vulnerability that only the youngest possess, as if he could cut not only the air but the very uncomfortable silence that always floated between them.

“It belongs to all of us, Damian” Bruce had tried to intervene, with that authoritative voice that, curiously, never managed to control his own children as he did with the chaos of the city.

But Damian wasn’t listening. For him, the album was not just an object; it was a relic, a bridge to something he felt but couldn’t name. His sister Y/n, so distant in daily life, was closer in those pages than in any superficial conversation they had ever had. She was his sister, but not enough. He wanted those photos, those notes that Alfred had kept, he wanted to understand what it was about her that slipped away from him daily.

Bruce watched from the threshold, not really intervening. He let the chaos unfold, as if it were necessary. The children fought, but it wasn’t just for the album. They fought for something deeper, a kind of silent reclamation of what they had never been able to have: time, connection, perhaps even love. Alfred, from a corner, merely smiled with that quiet wisdom, knowing that those battles of childish katanas, of shouts and disputes over photos and notes, were actually the way they tried to find each other in a house full of absences.

Bruce sighed, remembering. Alfred had always known more than he did, always understood those invisible things that Bruce, no matter how much he wanted to, could never quite grasp. And so it was that he himself, at the end of it all, also ended up snooping in that album, with a silent curiosity he would never admit. There, in those carefully tended pages, he found his daughter. Or at least, he found the idea of her, the pieces of a life he hadn’t shared but that, somehow, had always been present in those photos, in those little notes that Alfred, more of a father than he was, had kept with such love.

“She won’t come back, Alfred... I lost her... maybe forever... ” Bruce murmured, his voice barely audible, as if admitting it aloud would make her absence more real—“and I… I was never there for her as I should have been.”

The old butler sighed, his tired eyes filled with infinite patience.

“It’s never too late to remember, sir. It’s never too late to honor her memory in the right way.”

Bruce opened his eyes, looking again at the scene, but this time more clearly. The girl had disappeared.

The wind blew gently through the Wayne mansion's garden, carrying away the murmur of the dry leaves. Bruce remained motionless, as if the weight of the years, of the mistakes, had turned him into another statue in that landscape. The aroma of coffee had dissipated, and the cake before him remained untouched. Y/n’s figure still floated in his mind, her laughter like a distant echo that wouldn’t fade but also wouldn’t console him.

Alfred, with the patience only a father at heart could have, stood by his side, his firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, as if in that gesture he could transmit strength to face the pain that gnawed at him.

“Mr. Wayne” Alfred began, his voice soft but laden with meaning, “the kids have gone looking for Y/n again.”

Bruce closed his eyes, allowing those words to sink into his consciousness. He knew all the Robins and Batgirls had been following leads, searching for answers in the darkest corners of Gotham, but the emptiness he felt remained overwhelming. They had failed so many times… what did another attempt matter? The city, always hungry for its heroes, seemed more a trap than a cause.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Alfred” Bruce replied, his voice rough, worn down by years of struggle. “None of this will change what happened. Y/n… is gone.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Alfred interjected, this time with a firmer tone, “Y/n is still out there. And as long as there’s a single chance to find her, you cannot allow yourself to give up.”

Silence stretched between them. Bruce’s gaze remained fixed on some point in the garden, lost in thought. But Alfred, with his usual insight, knew he needed more than empty words to awaken him.

“There’s something else,” Alfred added, taking a breath, “a new figure appeared last night during a robbery in the East District. They call her Kerosene. The White Bat. She was seen taking out a group of assailants in seconds.”

Bruce didn’t react. Kerosene. The city had always generated figures willing to fill the void he had left every time he stepped away, every time Gotham lost the light of its vigilante. But this time, he didn’t feel the urgency to learn more. What did it matter? He repeated to himself. Gotham already had its heroes.

“I don’t care” he murmured, his voice empty, as cold as the air surrounding the garden—“Let others deal with Gotham. Kerosene, the Joker, or whoever… the city doesn’t need me anymore.”

Alfred tightened his grip on Bruce’s shoulder, almost like a father refusing to see his son give up. He stepped forward, and this time his voice was lower but more incisive.

“This isn’t about Gotham, sir,” he said with an intensity Bruce hadn’t expected—“It’s about Y/n.”

Bruce lifted his gaze, his eyes finally meeting Alfred’s, as if those words had ignited a spark within him.

“If you don’t want to protect this city, do it for her ” Alfred continued—“Because you will find her, sir. I’m sure of it. And when you do… how would you want her to find you? Destroyed? Defeated? No. You need to be ready, you need to be strong, for her. Wherever she is, Y/n is still waiting for her father.”

Bruce felt the pain in his chest intensify, a constant reminder of his failure, but Alfred was right. Y/n was somewhere out there. Alive or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that as long as he didn’t find her, he couldn’t give up.

“The kids have done everything they can to find her,” Alfred said, softening his tone—“They’re still at it. Every day they search for new leads, explore new corners of Gotham… but there’s only one man who can put everything in order. There’s only one father who can bring her back.”

The air tensed between them, and for the first time in a long time, Bruce felt a slight tremor inside. He remembered the moment he decided to become Batman, driven by the guilt and pain of losing his parents. Now, that same guilt, that same pain, called to him again, but this time, it wasn’t for Gotham. It was for Y/n. His daughter.

“Tell me, Alfred, who is this Kerosene?” Bruce murmured, finally reacting to the information Alfred had given him.

“Yes, sir. Her abilities are astonishing, according to reports. Agile, fast… but her true identity remains a mystery. Some say she’s just another vigilante trying to fill the void you left. But the important thing is that she is acting with lethal precision.”

Bruce stood slowly, leaving the cup of coffee on the table, already cold and forgotten. He looked at the empty garden, but this time, with a new determination blooming in his chest.

“If this Kerosene is connected… if there’s any link to Y/n, I will find out,” he said, his voice firmer, closer to the one Alfred had known for so many years—“And if not… then I’ll find her myself.”

Alfred nodded, a mix of relief and satisfaction reflected on his face. He had managed to awaken the man Gotham needed, but more than that, he had awakened the father Y/n deserved.

“ Very well, sir,he replied with a slight smile, always the unwavering servant—“The Batcave is ready for your return.”

Bruce turned toward the mansion, but not before glancing once more at the garden, where Y/n’s figure, so real in his mind, faded like morning mist.

Wherever you are, I will find you.

Richard “Dick” Grayson knocked forcefully on the old apartment door, the echo resonating in the narrow hallway of the building, where dust gathered in the corners like forgotten memories and the lights flickered as if trying to perform one last dance before going out. Beside him, Barbara Gordon, the commissioner's daughter, crossed her arms, staring at the door with an intensity that could have splintered the wood.

Jason Todd, restless to his left, kept his gaze fixed on the doorknob, his body tense, as if each passing second brought him one step closer to breaking through that wooden barrier. Above, on the roof, Red Robin, The Spoiler, and Batgirl waited, shadows in a world that seemed to ignore their pounding hearts, ready to act.

“I don’t know why we always have to deal with the worst specimens of humanity,” Barbara murmured, adjusting her coat as she shot a sidelong glance at Dick, who seemed to have a plan in mind.

“Because we’re lucky,” Jason replied, sarcasm lacing his words, a crooked smile on his lips that didn’t quite fit the situation. “And when I say ‘lucky,’ I mean we’re carrying someone else's karma because we… are screwed.”

Dick knocked on the door again, this time with more force. The echo reverberated through the hallways, a declaration of intent.

“We should break it down. You know it’s not going to open just from a gentle knock,” Jason said, stepping forward, his intention clear and palpable.

“Calm down, Jason. Not all problems are solved with violence,” Barbara retorted, though a part of her knew that idea faded every time they found themselves in a situation like this.

“Sure, as if we have another option. Do you want me to schedule a tea date instead of kicking down the door?” Jason frowned, the tension palpable.

Finally, a sound came from behind the door. Chains, the metallic echo of locks being unlatched with a maddening slowness, as if someone on the other side knew that every second of wait was boiling the blood of the three standing before the door. At last, the door opened just enough to reveal a face: the landlord. A short man with small eyes and a slimy smile that seemed to ooze like dirty oil through his yellowed teeth.

“What do you want?” he asked in a thick voice, looking at Dick with suspicion, but his gaze soon dropped to Barbara, lingering unpleasantly on her figure, and then to Jason, who had already tensed the muscles in his jaw.

“We’re looking for Y/n Wayne L/n,” Dick said, trying to maintain his composure, the heat of anger threatening to overflow. “We know she lives here. And we know you know where she is.”

The man let out a laugh under his breath, a rusty squeak that resonated like a heavy joke.

“Ah, the pretty girl… yeah, yeah. And who are you all, huh?” he asked, his slimy tone sending chills that seemed to crawl over Dick's skin.

“It’s none of your concern. We just want to know where she is,” Barbara said, her voice firm and resolute, although the tension in her body betrayed her impatience.

The landlord tilted his head, like a cat playing with its prey, and smiled with a disturbing mischief.

“Well, if you haven’t found her in five months, maybe you don’t want to know,” he said, letting the words drop like stones in a pond, creating ripples of discomfort.

“I warn you, this isn’t a game,” Jason interjected, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me remind you what can happen when a man plays with fire.”

The man shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned, although the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Jason's hand rested near his belt, right where he kept his gun, and although he hadn’t drawn the weapon yet, the threat was clear.

The landlord noticed but instead of being scared, he wore a repugnant smile, like a predator that had just spotted a wounded prey. His gaze shifted back to Barbara, and then, without the slightest respect, murmured something that made Dick’s fists clench.

“Ah, Y/n... yeah, I remember her. She came around when she had just turned eighteen. Good material, if you catch my drift. She looked innocent, but... those are the most interesting ones, right?” The man's gaze darkened, scanning Barbara again, as if evaluating merchandise.

“Say that again,” Jason growled, drawing his gun in a motion so quick that the landlord barely had time to blink before feeling the cold barrel pressed against his forehead. “And I swear I’ll blow your brains out right here.”

The words hung in the air, sharp, loaded with contempt and a lust that twisted like a snake inside him.

The man let out a cynical chuckle, relishing the moment.

“The last time I saw pretty Y/n was a while back. I don’t know what she’s up to now, but I kept some pictures of her and her friend.” His tone was defiant, almost mocking.

Rage was bubbling in Jason. His fists were clenched, a deadly spark in his eyes.

“What did you say?” His voice trembled between anger and control, like a string about to snap.

The landlord, feeling invincible, continued. “I don’t know if they’re lesbians, but seeing them together was quite the spectacle. Both of them were hot, you know?”

Jason could no longer hold back. The anger erupted like a volcano.

“Shut up!” he shouted, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the tense silence that had invaded the room.

Before the landlord could react, Jason pulled his gun, aiming with precision.

“I’m going to give you one chance. Tell me where Y/n is. Now.”

The man’s laughter faded, his eyes widening in shock. “Wait, wait, there’s no need to…”

“WHERE?!” Jason's voice thundered, firm and filled with rage, like a storm rumbling in the atmosphere.

The tension became palpable, the air thick with promises of violence.

“Alright, alright!” the landlord stammered, but Jason’s voice turned even colder.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“She just left for work at night and that’s it…” he started to say, but Jason could no longer hear. The man had photos of Y/n. Compromising, crude, and that simple mention ignited hell in his chest.

In an instant, the sound of an explosion resonated in the hallway, and the man fell to the ground, his silly smile erased by the terror that had overtaken his face. Blood gushed forth in a dark torrent, staining the floor and nearby walls.

Barbara covered her mouth in shock, while Dick stood frozen, stunned.

“Jason!” she exclaimed, but the image of the landlord lying on the ground with his vacant stare was etched in her mind.

Jason holstered the weapon, his breath rapid and uncontrolled. He had crossed a line, and in that moment, he realized there was no turning back. Anger had found a way to break free, but at a terrible cost.

“I won’t let anyone hurt Y/n again,” he murmured, his eyes filled with determination. No one else would stand in his way to find her, no matter the price he had to pay.

The room was saturated with the echo of the gunshot, and the silence grew heavy, almost palpable. Barbara took a deep breath, the anger sparking in her eyes as she looked at Jason, who still seemed dazed by the act he had committed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she said, her voice contained but sharp as a blade. “That’s why we didn’t bring Damian along, because he would have gone off just the same, but in a much more reckless way.” Her gaze fixed on the corpse, lying in a pool of blood, a scene that could have come from the mind of a disturbed artist.

Jason, with his chest heaving and jaw clenched, simply shrugged.

“I couldn’t just stand by. He knew something, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away.” The fervor in his voice didn’t hide the confusion that was beginning to seep in, like the cold of the night creeping through the windows.

Barbara didn’t respond, but the silence that filled the room grew even denser when the others entered, alarmed by the gunshot. Tim, Stephanie, and Cass arrived, their expressions filled with concern that quickly transformed into indignation.

“What happened here?” Tim asked, his eyes widening at the scene. Blood slid across the floor like a dark river, and the landlord’s body faded beneath the flickering light.

“Are you crazy, Jason?!” Steph exclaimed, disbelief palpable in her voice.

Cass crouched down, her expression grave as she looked at the fallen man. She didn’t need to speak to convey her disapproval; every glance said more than a thousand words.

“It doesn’t matter how we got here,” Dick intervened, his authoritative tone trying to restore order. “We need answers. Let’s investigate.”

With a determined movement, Barbara approached the body, while Jason still breathed irregularly, as if the weight of his actions began to settle on him. Barbara looked around; the apartment was a dusty and sad place, filled with shadows that seemed to whisper secrets.

As the others searched, Tim found a series of photos pinned to the walls, each one showing Y/n and other women from the area, frozen laughter in time, trapped between moments that should have been happy. However, there was something unsettling about the way they were arranged, a disorder that seemed a declaration of possession.

“Look at this,” Tim said, pointing to the images. There was Y/n, always smiling, but next to her was a figure that couldn’t be ignored. The silhouette of Pamela Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, stood beside her, her red hair like a fire that seemed to consume the sadness of the place.

“Pamela…” Cass murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “She’s been in Arkham for three months.”

Barbara moved closer, examining the photos more closely. “This is more complicated than we thought. Ivy has been involved, and that changes everything.”

Jason, still trying to comprehend the chaos he had unleashed, ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find Y/n. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Barbara looked at him, her expression one of challenge but also understanding. “We can’t do this recklessly. We have to be smart. Silent.”

The group nodded, realizing that the road ahead would be filled with dangers, but also promises of redemption. They were all willing to kill for Y/n, but they had to do it quietly, like shadows slipping through the streets at night.

“Listen, we’re going to find her,” Dick said, his voice resonating like a mantra. “No matter how many doors we have to break down, how many truths we have to drag into the light.”

And so, in the echo of the silence that followed the violence, the five united in a tacit pact, intertwining their destinies in the search for Y/n. Each lost in their thoughts, each remembering that shadows sometimes have the power to conceal not only secrets but also the light that clings to hope.

The shadows stretched as they moved away from the apartment, leaving behind the vestige of a dead man and the echo of trapped laughter. The search had begun, and Y/n’s fate hung in the balance, a thread of light in the darkness that promised to bloom amid the ruins of despair.

The city lights flickered in the distance, like lost stars in the asphalt.

The tears of Y/n fell onto the slippery ground, forming puddles that blended with the blood, a dark ruby staining every part of her thin body, as if sins were being tattooed onto her skin. The humidity of the place smelled of iron and fear, of broken promises and a destiny she had chosen but didn’t quite know how to accept.

“It doesn’t feel good, little one?” said the Doctor, his voice a bitter whisper echoing off the damp walls of the room. He, with his dirty blonde hair falling messily over his forehead, wore a white coat that looked more like a rag than a symbol of authority. A cynical smile spread across his lips, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than the fate he had designed for her. “Bathing in the blood of enemies, isn’t it an exquisite pleasure?”

Y/n, her gaze lost at a point on the floor, nodded slowly, as if each movement cost her an eternity. The blood, warm and sticky, slid between her fingers, a sensory experience that drowned her in contradictions. On one hand, there was a dark delight in the power that image conferred upon her, a power she had learned to wield. But on the other hand, there was an abyss of pain threatening to consume her.

“It’s…” she whispered, barely able to form words. Her voice trembled like a leaf in autumn, indecision etched in her features. Guilt suffocated her, and each tear that fell was a reminder of what she had lost, of what she had left behind.

“What is it?” asked the Doctor, leaning toward her, his eyes lit by a glow that was not exactly compassion, but rather a cruel satisfaction. His gaze seemed to pierce through the layers of her being, scrutinizing the dark corners of her soul. “Is it pleasure you feel, or is it fear?”

Y/n recoiled, feeling her skin burn under his gaze. The Doctor’s words tangled in her mind, forming a knot that seemed impossible to untie. Her voice, almost a cry for help, resonated in the air.

“I don’t know! I don’t know if it’s pleasure or pain.” The words shot out like arrows, but only managed to embed their tips in the empty air, finding no destination. She trembled, caught between repulsion and the desire to free herself from the invisible chains that kept her anchored in that place.

The Doctor let out a cold laugh, as if he were enjoying the spectacle unfolding before him. With a careless gesture, he threw another bucket of blood onto the floor, creating a small puddle that slid toward Y/n.

“That is the beauty of your situation, my dear. You have been chosen to cleanse Gotham of the scum, and along the way, you will discover that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin.”

“Chosen?” replied Y/n, her voice shaking with the fierce mix of disbelief and rage. “Chosen for what? To be your puppet?”

The Doctor stepped closer, letting the distance between them fade. His presence was oppressive, like a shadow that swallowed light.

“You are not a puppet, Kerosene” he said, pronouncing her name as if caressing it. “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution. The tears that fall now are the ashes of the old you, and it’s time you embrace what awaits you.”

Y/n felt the air grow dense, as if the Doctor’s words were trying to envelop her, to convince her. But there was a truth in his voice, an echo of what she had longed for deep within her being. Hadn’t she been searching for purpose, a place to belong?

“No… I don’t want to be what you’ve made me.” she said, though her voice sounded more hesitant than determined. It was as if reality slipped around her, like the slippery ground she stood on.

“Of course you do, Y/n.” He smiled, and there was something unsettling in that smile, something that made her feel she was on the brink of a revelation. “Your pain is the echo of the city, and you, little one, can be its savior.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, and Y/n felt herself teetering on the edge of the abyss, the possibility of becoming Kerosene, the force of vengeance and power. She fought against the idea, but there was a part of her that was beginning to awaken, to open like a flower in the desert.

“So, what do I have to do?” she asked, finally facing the reality that surrounded her. The tears, instead of being a sign of weakness, now seemed a recognition of her new identity.

The Doctor looked at her with a mix of satisfaction and complicity, like a teacher who sees the spark of greatness in his student.

“First, you must accept that the past does not define your future. The blood that surrounds you is only the first step toward freedom. Become what you have always been. Your destiny is to burn, and in doing so, illuminate others.”

Y/n felt the weight of her decision slowly fading away. By accepting her destiny, she had found a new way to free herself, a purpose that shone like fire.

“Then I will do it.” she said, her voice now firm and resonant, as if she were finally embracing the darkness that had always dwelled within her. “I will be Kerosene.”

The Doctor smiled, and in that smile lay a world of possibilities. Together, they could shake the foundations of Gotham.

“That’s right, my dear Kerosene.” He stepped back, allowing his figure to fade into the shadows..“And remember, every decision you make will be a step toward glory or toward downfall. The line is thin, and you are destined to cross it.”

“What about them?” Y/n asked, pointing to the shadows surrounding her, referring to the Waynes who remained silent in their luxurious prison of silence. “Where is Batman?”

The Doctor paused, his gaze turning serious and contemplative.

“Since your appearance, the Waynes have become shadows of what they once were. Batman has vanished, as if fear has locked him in his own game. They don’t want you to know the truth, and I wonder if, deep down, he fears what you are capable of.”

“Fears?” repeated Y/n, incredulity splattering her voice like a rain of dead stars. “Why?”

“Because the truth is that there is no longer space for the good in this city.” The Doctor stepped closer, his tone low but filled with fervor. “Soon you will go after the Court of Owls. We will expose those monsters in the streets, as they deserve, and they will have no one to defend them. Not even their beloved bat.”

A chill ran down Y/n's spine. The idea of stepping out into the night, of facing the villains who had ravaged her city, filled her with a strange power. She remembered Pamela, laughing amidst the shadows, her voice like an echo urging her to fight.

“I will not be their puppet. I do not want to be a pawn in a bigger game.” The words erupted from her with the force of an approaching storm, and the vision of Pamela dancing among the flowers filled her with a sudden sweetness.

“You will not be a pawn, Kerosene.” The Doctor smiled, and in his eyes was an air of admiration. “You are the queen in this game. Your vengeance will not only bring down those villains, but it will also seek the man behind the mask of Batman. We need to end him.”

“End him?” The question hung in the air like a trembling whisper. Her heart stopped for an instant, remembering the nights spent with Batman, the unspoken words, the caresses of an absent father.

“Yes. Because he, like them, has become a legend that needs to fall.”

Y/n felt the darkness looming over her, a shadow whispering promises of power and pain. But there was something more, a spark igniting within her, a fire burning with the strength of a new dawn.

“Then I will do it.” said Y/n, her voice resonating with a clarity that surprised her. “I will expose the Court of Owls and make my father see.”

The Doctor watched Y/n with palpable satisfaction, as if he had finally ignited a spark deep within her being. With a gesture of his hand, he made the invisible shackles that kept her trapped fade away. In that moment, a strange freedom slipped over her skin, a freedom laden with dark responsibility.

“Come, Kerosene.” he said, his voice now a hypnotic chant rising among the shadows. “There is something you need to see.”

He led her through a labyrinth of damp hallways, each step resonating like an echo of past decisions. The walls seemed to whisper forgotten secrets, tales of those who had fallen into the abyss before her. As they advanced, the light of day faded, and the gloom became an accomplice to their thoughts.

Finally, they reached the balcony of the building, a place where time had stopped its march. The Doctor gently pushed Y/n toward the railing, forcing her to look out over the vast expanse of Gotham that stretched before them. The city was a canvas of flickering lights and deep shadows, a portrait of intertwined chaos and order.

“Look, little one.” the Doctor whispered, his voice wrapping around her like a veil of mystery. “This is your city, a monster that feeds on the secrets you hold in your chest. The blood that stains your skin is a symbol of the struggle that lies ahead.”

Y/n leaned over the edge of the balcony, feeling the cold wind caress her bare skin. The city glimmered like a sea of dying stars, each light a story, each shadow a whisper of betrayal. The vision enveloped her, and for a moment, she felt like a spectator of her own destiny.

Her bare skin, still stained with blood, prickled at the chill of Gotham, a freezing breeze sneaking through the cracks of crumbling buildings, as if the city itself reminded her that she was alive, that darkness embraced her with its mantle of forgetfulness and despair. Each small contact of the air made her more aware of her vulnerability, and at the same time, of the power that blossomed from within her. It was a reminder that, amidst chaos, she was the spark of a new flame.

The puddles of blood that had stained her skin, silent witnesses to her transformation, shone like a dark ruby under the dim light of the moon. In that moment, each drop was an echo of past decisions, a symbol of the life she had left behind. And yet, in her mind, the Doctor's words echoed: “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution.” The irony of her state wrapped her in a sweet and bitter confusion; deep down, her nakedness felt like a release.

The city stretched before her, a vast ocean of twinkling lights and lurking shadows. Gotham, in its complexity, seemed to breathe, a living being pulsing with stories of pain and longing. The streetlights flickered as if about to go out, and Y/n felt that each flicker was a whisper calling her, a reminder that she was destined to be part of something much larger than herself.

As she gazed at the horizon, her mind filled with images: the faces of those she had lost, those she had loved, and those she had to confront. Her heart wrestled between the desire for vengeance and the longing for redemption.

“What do you see?” asked the Doctor, his eyes shining with an unsettling intensity.

“I see…” Y/n began, but the words slipped away like sand through her fingers. The city was a labyrinth of emotions, a stage where pain and pleasure intertwined in a macabre dance. It was a reflection of her own internal struggle, her desire for vengeance and her yearning for redemption.

“I see a sea of shadows, a stage where illusions collapse like houses of cards.” she finally replied, her voice echoing. “Each light, a hope; each shadow, a whisper of unhappiness.”

“Perfect.” The Doctor smiled, his face illuminated by an almost fraternal satisfaction. “Gotham is a mirror, and you are the light that can break the darkness. You must be able to see beyond what shines.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, tearing through the veil of confusion that enveloped her. In that instant, Y/n understood that every tear shed had fed the city, that every drop of blood on her hands was an echo of what she had lost. And yet, vengeance offered her a new purpose, a path into the unknown.

“The city cries for change, for a fire to purify it” she whispered, her voice gaining strength in the night breeze. “And I… I am that fire.”

“That’s right, dear.” The Doctor nodded, a mix of pride and malice in his expression. “The fire that will purify Gotham and, in its wake, consume everything that stands in your way.”

Y/n felt the air fill with electricity, a palpable current connecting her to the city, to its pain and desire. Deep within her, something began to change. She was no longer just a puppet; she was no longer merely the shadow of her past. She was Kerosene, the spark that would ignite the flame of change.

“But, Doctor, what about those who love the darkness?” she asked, her voice now an echo of what she had learned. “What if they cling to their shadow?”

The Doctor stepped closer to her, his penetrating gaze filled with complicity.

“Darkness is a possessive lover, but there is always a price to pay. The truth is that they cannot hold onto it forever. And when the fire burns, only those ready to be reborn will be saved.”

Y/n felt a mixture of anguish and determination. The city before her became a symbol of her internal struggle, a stage where light and shadow intertwined in an eternal game. Every street, every building, every corner whispered her name in a song of warning and challenge.

“And when the fire consumes everything in its path, will there be anything left of me?” she asked, her voice trembling with the fragility of a leaf in the wind.

The Doctor smiled, a smile that seemed to mock the questions still dancing in her mind.

“Perhaps, dear Kerosene, you will find yourself in the act of burning. Or maybe, you will fade into the ash. That is the enigma of transformation: in the fire, death is merely the prelude to a new beginning.”

As she gazed at the city, Y/n felt her identity fragment and fuse, in an endless cycle of creation and destruction. The image of Gotham before her became a metaphor for the human soul, a reflection of the struggles everyone faced in the darkness. The city, with its chaos and its heartbreaking beauty, enveloped her like a hug.

With one last look at the flickering lights and lurking shadows, Y/n stepped back, a firm decision rising within her.

“There’s no turning back now” she murmured, her voice an echo of her new reality. “I will be the fire that illuminates this eternal night.”

The Doctor, with a gesture of approval, retreated into the shadows, leaving her alone in her revelation. As the city spread before her, a mantle of mystery and power, Y/n knew that the true journey was just beginning. The line between fire and ash was thin, and in her chest burned the certainty that by crossing it, nothing would ever be the same.

“So be it, Kerosene” she said to herself as the wind enveloped her in secret whispers. “Let the fire speak in your name and let the night receive your lament.”

And looking at Gotham, she understood that, in the end, her destiny was not merely to be a spectator, but an unstoppable force, a storm that would unleash chaos. And so, with her heart beating to the rhythm of the city, she prepared to embrace her truth, her fire.

☆

A/N — Here is the long-awaited third part of this series. Thank you for all the support and love you have given me. I decided to make this part longer (at the cost of not being able to include the last image :( ) so that you can enjoy it more.

I was reading your comments where you were asking if Y/n and the Doctor would have a romance (which horrifies me a bit :d, but it gave me an idea) or if he performed a lobotomy on her. Well, that will be answered in the next part or in a headcanon, whatever you ask me.

By the way, in the tag list, there are some users I couldn't add, sorry about that 😔. I really appreciate your understanding and patience. Your enthusiasm keeps me motivated to keep creating and sharing these stories. I hope you find this installment engaging and that it brings you the excitement and emotions you’ve come to expect from the series. Enjoy!

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @imnotdumbimstupif @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @sheepintherain @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @kiarst @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

[readsaboutreid]

Cast Your Bets | S.R.

summary: (Y/N) has been at the BAU for two months now and the tension between her and Spencer has been noticeable to everyone but them. The team takes bets on when they'll finally snap but (Y/N) and Spencer over hear them and some smutty shenanigans ensue.

This is smut so it's 18+, minors please dni.

spencer x bau!reader

contains: unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation (m), fingering (f receiving), non-established relationship

this has been sitting in my drafts for few months so i figured i'd finally let it see the light of day

The team were all sat on the jet after a long case, everyone off in their own little worlds. Morgan had his headphones on and had nodded off, JJ and Prentiss were playing cards, and Hotchner and Rossi were talking about the case they had just finished in hushed tones. Spencer had run out of reading material so he was just kind of sitting and staring off into space. His eyes fell to (Y/N), her brows furrowed in concentration as she read what looked to be a well-worn book, and he couldn't help the way his heart fluttered in his chest.

Ever since she had started at the BAU, Spencer had been hopelessly infatuated with her. She was intelligent, sweet, and most surprisingly she seemed to enjoy when Spencer would go off rambling about something that would usually leave Morgan rolling his eyes or Prentiss poking him and asking, "how did they make you so lifelike?" But when he was talking with (Y/N) and he would start off on a subject, she would just tilt her head and listen with a soft smile, occasionally chiming in with a question or comment, making it more than clear she was listening to every word.

She locked eyes with him and flashed him the sweetest smile and he felt his cheeks burn with a sudden heat. "Something interesting, Reid?" She chuckled, closing the book she had been reading and setting it on her lap as she turned to face him.

"I—I was just trying to see what you're reading," he lied, unconvincingly. He swallowed nervously and a small smile twitched at his lips at seeing her smile grow even wider before he looked down at his hands resting in his lap.

She held the book up for him to see the cover. Dune.

"Dune? That's one of my favorites!" He exclaimed with a wide smile.

"When I was a little girl this was one of my favorites. My dad would read it to me before bedtime," she explained before opening it back up to begin reading again. "I read it once a year the month of his birthday."

Spencer felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of confidence and decided to take advantage of it. "Hey, uh, I finished the only book I had brought with me earlier, do you mind if I read along with you, maybe? I could just read over your shoulder or something." He bit his lip as he waited for her to shoot him down, the confidence he felt already fading away rapidly.

"Oh! I, uh, o-okay," she responded while her eyes widened a little bit in response to the request. She moved closer to him on the bench they were both seated on. He adjusted the way he was sitting so that she could lean up against him and he found himself silently hoping she couldn't hear how fast and hard his heart was beating against his chest. She opened the book, holding it up high enough for Spencer to be able to read as well and they began reading. Spencer stole the occasional glance at her, the butterflies in his stomach flying around more frantically each time he did so.

His body was in overdrive and he did everything in his power to maintain his composure. He could smell the scent of eucalyptus and lavender on her hair as she leaned up against him and he started thinking about how nice it would be to be able to run his fingers through it while her lips were wrapped around his—

Spencer shook his head, dispelling the thoughts before they had a chance to take root. He cleared his throat and crossed his legs to cover up the fact that he was becoming rather noticeably hard. (Y/N) shifted a bit, leaning further into Spencer's chest and resting her head there gently. His breath hitched in his throat before he relaxed into her, resting his arm around her shoulders and his cheek against the top of her head.

They continued reading until Spencer noticed that she hadn't turned the page in quite a while. When he looked down at her he noticed that she was sleeping quite soundly against him. He tried his best to maneuver without waking her, placing her bookmark in between the pages and closing the book. There was no way Spencer himself would be able to get any sleep right now, but Spencer tried to relax enough to at least be a comfortable human pillow. Wrapping his other arm around her, he eventually found himself getting lost in the scent of her shampoo yet again as his eyes grew heavy.

Next thing he knew, he was waking up to Morgan lightly shaking his shoulder. "Come on lover boy! It's time to wake up. We're about to land," he said in a voice loud enough to also rouse the still-sleeping (Y/N).

She shot up suddenly, her face turning a deep shade of crimson as she stammered out a flustered apology and swiftly rushed off to the bathroom, leaving Spencer to glare daggers at Derek from his seat on the now otherwise empty bench.

Later that night, Spencer found himself at home, sprawled on the couch with the familiar blue glow of the television screen illuminating the room. The soft hum of the TARDIS filled the air as he half-heartedly tried to focus on the episode of Doctor Who playing before him. But try as he might, his mind kept drifting back to (Y/N).

Her scent still lingered on his clothes, a sweet and intoxicating blend that teased his senses. Images of her leaning against him, of her hair brushing against his skin, invaded his thoughts. His body reacted to these memories, stirring with a desire that he couldn't ignore.

As the scene on the TV faded into the background, Spencer's hand began to stray lower, fingers tracing the outline of his growing arousal through his pants. He closed his eyes, letting himself fully indulge in the fantasy of (Y/N) that had taken hold of his mind.

Her soft lips against his skin, his hands exploring her body with a gentle curiosity...

Spencer reached his hand into his pajama pants, pulling out his throbbing member and wrapping his fingers around himself, slowly beginning to stroke up and down. His breathing grew shallow as his hand moved more purposefully, seeking release from the building tension within him. Lost in a haze of desire and yearning, Spencer's thoughts were consumed by the memory of her touch, her scent, her warmth as she leaned up against him. With a quiet gasp, he abandoned himself to the fantasy, his movements growing urgent as he chased the climax that beckoned to him.

The fantasies of (Y/N) moaning and writhing beneath him in pleasure became more vivid, more alluring, fueling the fire that consumed him. Every fleeting touch, every whispered word in his mind pushed him closer to the edge until finally, with a shuddering breath and a silent cry of her name on his lips, Spencer found release in the solitude of his living room. The waves of pleasure washed over him, leaving him spent and breathless, his heart pounding in his chest.

As reality slowly seeped back in, Spencer lay there in the dim glow of the TV screen, a flush of both satisfaction and guilt coloring his cheeks. He wondered how he would ever be able to look (Y/N) in the eye again, but at the same time he couldn't help but long to see her still.

With a deep sigh, Spencer finally shut off the TV, cleaned himself up, and headed to bed, his mind filled with a mixture of longing and remorse.

The atmosphere in the bullpen was buzzing with it's usual energy. Spencer and (Y/N) were hunched over their desks, papers scattered everywhere as they focused intently on their work.

Meanwhile, across the room, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia, and JJ were observing the pair with playful banter and knowing looks. Their whispers floated through the air like mischievous spirits.

"Hey, JJ, how long do you think it'll be until these two finally give in to their sexual tension?" Derek asked with a cocky smirk.

JJ shrugged. "I'll give it two weeks."

Derek scoffed in response and said, "I say a week tops."

Penelope interjected, "oh please! I give it three days."

"You're all ridiculous" Emily shook her head and laughed, "I bet it'll take 24 hours, tops."

Spencer could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he overheard the playful bets being made about him and (Y/N). His heart raced at the mere thought of what could transpire between them, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling within him like a storm.

As they both reached for the same file folder, their fingers brushed against each other's in a fleeting moment that sent a jolt of electricity through Spencer. His hand trembled slightly at the contact, his skin tingling with a sensation he couldn't quite describe. But he couldn't deny the rush of warmth that flooded his veins at the simple touch.

(Y/N) quickly withdrew her hand, her eyes widening in surprise as she glanced up at Spencer. Her cheeks were painted with a delicate pink blush that mirrored Spencer's own, a silent acknowledgment passing between them in that moment.

Emily raised an eyebrow as they all observed the exchange between Spencer and (Y/N). "I told you all—24 hours, no more, no less.”

Agent Hotchner's lowered voice came from behind the group, startling everyone at the table. "Less than 12 hours," he stated calmly, his eyes piercing as they turned towards Spencer and (Y/N). The sudden silence that followed his words was almost palpable, the tension thick in the air as his prediction hung over them like a heavy cloud.

As the others in the room exchanged surprised glances, Derek let out a low whistle. "Hotch, you sure about that?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips.

Hotch simply nodded, his expression unreadable as he turned away and walked out of the bullpen, leaving the rest of the table floored as they looked back at Spencer and (Y/N).

The gentle hum of the bullpen around them seemed to fade away as Spencer found himself lost in a daydream, imagining a world where he and (Y/N) were more than just colleagues. His heart quickened at the thought of what could be, but just as quickly, the shadow of doubt crept in.

What if she didn't feel the same way? What if their friendship was forever altered by a moment of vulnerability and desire? Spencer's mind swirled with conflicting emotions—longing mingled with fear, desire intertwined with doubt.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn't notice (Y/N) shooting him a quick smile before returning to her work. The warmth of that smile lingered in the air around Spencer, filling him with a sense of hope and a tinge of uncertainty. Was it just a friendly gesture, or did it hold a deeper meaning that he desperately wanted to believe in?

As the day drew to a close and everyone began packing up, Spencer finally spoke up. "Hey, (Y/N)," Spencer nervously fiddled with the strap of his bag, "would, uh, w-would you want to come over and watch Star Trek tonight? We could get some takeout, you know, like we always do the weekend after a case?" She looked up at him with a warm smile that made the butterflies in his stomach flare up and nodded happily.

As they walked out of the office together, Spencer couldn't help the sweat that began coating his palms in a thin layer. He gripped the leather strap of his bag and fiddled with it to give his hands something to do. The elevator took them down to the parking garage and they approached her car. Spencer rushed to open the driver's side door for her, drawing a soft, melodious giggle from her lips that made him go weak at the knees.

He made his way to the passenger side and slipped into the seat, buckling the seatbelt and swallowing the lump in his throat. She pulled out of the parking space and they began the short journey to his apartment. On her car radio a CD started playing, and a man with a soft and pleasant voice was singing to them about a woman with a green plastic watering can and a fake Chinese rubber plant. (Y/N) hummed along to the song and Spencer looked at her from the passenger seat, and as he did so his mind ventured back to the conversation he over heard between their colleagues earlier today.

"Spencer? Why are you staring at me?" She asked with a small smile, snapping him out of his thoughts and back into reality. His cheeks burned as he silently berated himself, not realizing how long he had been looking over at her. A whole new song was playing on the radio now, the same man now singing about how he used to fly like Peter Pan.

"S-sorry, I, uh, I just, uh—hey, wh-what did you wanna order tonight?" He clumsily attempted to change the subject, looking down at his hands as he wrung them together in his lap.

"Oooh!" (Y/N) exclaimed, always excited to talk about food. "There's a new pizza place across the street from your building that I noticed the last time I came over, what if we ordered from them?"

Spencer closed his eyes and exhaled shakily, relief washing over him. "That sounds like a fantastic idea," he smiled and shot another glance her way, this time immediately looking back at his hands.

(Y/N) parked the car on the curb in front of Spencer's building and turned off the engine. They stepped out into the cool evening air and walked across the street, entering the pizza shop. The inside of the shop was small, just a handful of tables. The walls were painted a pale shade of yellow and plastered with vintage Italian film posters. The air smelled of tomato sauce and pesto, and as they approached the counter a middle aged woman with a red apron over her blue dress pushed through the door in the wall behind it, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Welcome! Table for two?" She asked, looking between (Y/N) and Spencer.

"Can we actually just order something for takeout?" Spencer asked, looking at the menu above her head.

"Of course! What can I get for the handsome couple?" She smiled, her brown eyes crinkling on the side.

Spencer blinked. "Oh, uh, w-we, uh, we're not—," Spencer stammered, his eyes widening as his cheeks flushed. "Um, can we get a, uh, a large pepperoni pizza?" He shifted gears, remembering her once mentioning to Garcia that pepperoni was her favorite pizza topping.

"Did you want a two liter bottle of cola? It would only be an extra $1.25," the lady chuckled, entering everything into the register.

"S-sure," he responded, pulling out his wallet.

"Alrighty! That will be $9.25," Spencer handed over a $20 and the lady opened the register drawer and handed him his change. "Please, feel free to have a seat while the two of you wait." She gestured over at the tables, which were all empty save for one, which was occupied by a single woman with a large slice of pizza on her table doing a crossword puzzle, before walking back through the door behind her.

"After you," he turned to (Y/N), following her to a table by the window. He pulled the chair out for her, earning another one of her beautiful giggles that made his legs go wobbly.

"Always such a gentleman," she smiled up at him as he made his way to the other side of the table and sat down. They waited for around 10 minutes and chatted about random topics, flowing from one to the next. The same lady from before approached the table with a white pizza box and plastic bag with the large bottle of soda and little packets of crushed red peppers and parmesan.

"Here you go, one large pepperoni pizza!" She placed the box and the bag on the table and wished them a good evening before heading back through the same door behind the counter.

The pair headed out of the shop and crossed the street, entering the door to Spencer's apartment building. Spencer carried the pizza box and soda while trailing behind (Y/N), struggling to keep his gaze off of her behind as he followed her up the stairs. As they approached his door, he fumbled trying to get his keys out of his pocket and ended up dropping them on the ground.

(Y/N) immediately reacted, bending down to grab the keys as soon as they hit the ground with a good natured laugh. "Need some help, Spencer?" She teased while grinning up at him.

"Yes, please," he laughed in return, shooting her a sheepish grin of his own. She unlocked the door to his apartment and opened the door, allowing him to slip in first and place the pizza and soda down on his small table. She followed and closed the door behind her.

"So I know I had agreed to come over to watch Star Trek, but what would you say to watching a little Doctor who?" She turned to him, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "It's been a while since I've sat down and watched that and I kind of miss it."

"We can watch anything you'd like!" Spencer responded while heading to the kitchen to grab a couple of plates and glasses. He brought them back out and offered one of each to (Y/N). They each helped themselves to a slice of pizza and poured their drinks before heading over to his couch. He grabbed the remote and put on Doctor Who.

They ate their pizza and watched Doctor Who on his couch, each of them getting up for another slice at least once. Spencer stole the occasional glance at her as they ate and watched, and once they both finished he took their plates to the sink and washed them off before quickly returning. As he sat back down, (Y/N) scooted closer to him slowly before gently leaning up against him and softly asking, "i-is this okay?"

Spencer's breath hitched in his throat as he managed to croak out a quiet, "y-yeah, it's okay." He lifted his arm and tentatively placed it around her shoulders while she moved in closer, leaning into his chest and resting her head against it like she had on the plane as they read together. This time he was sure she had to hear the way his heart was racing, but fortunately she said nothing. They continued to watch in silence as the tension between the two of them grew nearly palpable.

Eventually, once Spencer found himself wondering if she had yet again fallen asleep, (Y/N) broke the silence with a question. "So did you hear the team talking about us earlier today?"

"No, uh, wh-what were they, um, talking about?" He lied, doing his best to maintain his composure.

"You are a very bad liar, Spencer," she chuckled, making his cheeks flush bright red as she sat up.

"Sorry," he muttered, closing his eyes before looking up at her. "Y-yeah, I overheard them. I'm sorry about them, I can try to talk to them about it and ask them to stop—"

"No, it's not that! It was actually fairly funny," she chuckled, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "But to be honest I'm kind of offended that they thought it would take me that long to seduce you." She joked, nudging Spencer in the ribs. "I mean, Emily said 'no more or less than 24 hours' but I'm fairly certain that if I really tried, and I mean really put my heart into it, I could get you into bed with me tonight." She laughed again but there was a hint of nervousness in it this time, shooting a look at him from where she sat as a faint pink blush began to spread over her cheeks. Apparently she hadn't heard Hotch's bet, but Spencer wasn't focusing on that. He was too busy focusing on the fact that he was sitting here listening to her speculate how long it would take for her to seduce him as if she hadn't been plaguing his dreams and fantasies since they met.

"Good point," he breathed to himself, hoping it was quiet enough that she wouldn't be able to hear over the TV. Unfortunately for him, he thought wrong. He yelped in surprise as she lunged over his lap, grabbed the remote, and hit the mute button, making the TV go silent.

"Oh, really?" She shot him a smile that was an equal mix of surprised and some other emotion Spencer hadn't seen on her face before. "So tell me, Spencer, what might I need to do to convince you to sleep with me?" Her voice was sultry and soft as she bit her lip and looked up at him, her face closer to his than it had been before.

"I-I, uh," Spencer cleared his throat and swallowed, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He had two options: try to lie his way out of this or just tell her how badly he'd like nothing more than to lay her down and take her right there on the couch. His palms grew slick again but he took a deep breath. He had already been called out for his poor lying skills once this evening, so there was no point in attempting the first option. Instead he simply opted to tell her the truth.

"Y-you wouldn't have to do anything more than just ask and I'd say yes." His voice was barely above a whisper and he finally looked up to meet her eyes before he added, "in a heartbeat."

Before he could fully register what was happening she had leaned in and pressed her lips to his softly. His eyes slowly closed as he kissed her back, shifting to turn so he was facing towards her with more of his body. His hands slid to her waist, wrapping around her and pulling her into him.

When they pulled away from each other he reached his hand up to cup her cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb. He opened his eyes to find her already looking at him before she softly said, "Spencer, would you like to—"

"Yes," he exhaled with a fervent nod, grabbing her face with his other hand and crashing his lips back against hers, her lips parting to allow his tongue into her mouth. She threw her arms around his neck and laid back, pulling Spencer down with her. They shifted their legs until Spencer's hips rested between her thighs, his cock stiffening rapidly in his pants.

Her hands tangled into his hair and he began gently grinding his hips against her. They both moaned into each other's mouths at the sensation and Spencer's movements became more insistent and needy. When they finally broke apart to catch their breath, her cheeks were flushed and her pupils were dilated. Spencer brushed some of her hair out of her face before he pressed his lips to her cheek, then began trailing kisses from her cheek to her chin, then to her neck. She moved her hands to the collar of her shirt and began undoing the buttons while Spencer rose up to remove his own layers.

Once he had removed his shirt he looked back down at her and the sight awaiting him stole the breath right from his lungs. She had removed her shirt and her bra in the time it took him to get his jacket, vest, and shirt off and her entire torso was on display to him. He brought a hand up to one of her breasts and cupped it in his hand, brushing his thumb over the nipple. He leaned back over her and began kissing her neck again, teasing and tormenting her nipple before moving his mouth to take over, his fingers going to the other one to tease while he suckled and ran his tongue over the first one.

Everything else faded into the background when he heard her moan at sensations, including the throbbing and aching need in his pants. All that he could focus on was drawing more of those sounds form her mouth. He let his teeth graze against her nipple and she gasped, tangling her fingers back into his hair. He let his teeth press gently onto the hardened nub again and the moan she released in response was beautiful enough for him to think that maybe he had died and gone to heaven.

He eventually moved his hand from her other nipple, switching it out for his mouth and giving the first one a break. He let his hand trail down her abdomen, stopping as he reached the waistline of her skirt. He looked up at her from her chest as he hooked his fingers into the waistband and began to gently tug. She lifted her hips and used her hands to push her skirt and panties down before Spencer slowly pushed her thighs back open.

His fingers slid up her inner thigh until he reached her dripping center. His breath hitched in his throat as he felt just how ready she was for him. She whimpered beneath him and he felt his cock twitch at the sound as he moaned against her nipple. He gently ran a fingertip from her entrance to her clit, circling around it slowly before running his finger back down the other way. He repeated the action a few times. As he continued he started slipping the tip of his finger into the entrance of her pussy before swiping up to the clit, and with each repetition his finger slipped deeper and deeper into her.

His head became hazy with lust as he kept going until his finger was fully embedded into her. When he slipped it out this time instead of swiping it up to her clit he instead added a second finger, slowly pushing them both into her and pulling them back out. She arched her back up into his mouth, still tormenting her nipple. He switched back to the neglected one, feeling her chest heave against his mouth. Her fingers were back in his hair and tugging gently, and his cock twitched again at the feeling. He moaned loudly against her chest, and she pulled his hair again in response. He tugged at her nipple with his teeth lightly and she gasped, clenching around his fingers.

He sped up his pace, chuckling against her as the way she stifled a scream. "S-Spencer I'm gonna—oh fuck yes I'm coming!" She cried. Spencer pulled back to see her eyes flutter back into her head and her face twist in pleasure. Her face, neck, and chest were flushed scarlet and he felt as her pussy pulsed around his fingers. The sounds that fell from her lips were more beautiful than anything he'd ever heard. He slowed his fingers down, gently coaxing her through her orgasm.

(Y/N) tugged his hair, pulling him up to crash her lips against his. She then moved those hands to his belt, deftly undoing his belt buckle and fly. Spencer removed his belt and then pushed his pants and briefs to his ankles before kicking them off. (Y/N) reached a hand out and ran her fingers over his cock, her thumb swiping across the tip as it throbbed.

He was aching and leaking into her hand, his hips bucking into her touch while she stroked once, twice, a third time, before guiding the tip between her thighs and pressing him against her entrance. He pushed in immediately, moaning at the heat that enveloped him, and stilled once he was fully sheathed inside of her. He panted heavily as he remained still inside of her, listening to the way she whimpered beneath him.

"S-so good," he whispered, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to keep himself from finishing immediately.

"Yeah? It feels good?" She asked breathlessly.

"Yes!" He moaned. "You feel s-so good." His entire body tensed and his arms trembled under his weight when he felt her begin to writhe beneath him, trying to get some sort of friction between her legs. He took deep breaths before he pulled his hips back and pushed them back forward, earning enthusiastic moans from (Y/N)'s lips as her back arched up off of the bed, her chest pressing into his. He dragged himself back out, then back in, and kept this up until their hips had fallen into rhythm together. Every sound that fell from her lips was more beautiful than the last as Spencer rammed into her and the slap of skin on skin was mixed in with their moans.

"Sp-Spencer—" a moan cut her off, followed by his lips finding hers and swallowing the moan. His hips sped up and he felt her nails dig into his shoulders.

"I—oh my god—(Y/N), I think I'm about to come!" He cried out. He tipped his head back and a desperate whine ripped it's way from his throat as he felt himself growing closer and closer with each disjointed thrust into her and each moan from her lips. "Wh-where do you want—oh god—where should I—"

"Give it to me, please!" She mewled underneath him. "Please, please fill me up Spencer, please I need—" he finished before she could even finish her pleas, moaning loudly as he tensed and spilled every drop into her. He could feel her clench down onto him, could hear her cry out in pleasure and felt her fingernails digging into his shoulders hard enough that he suspected she may have drawn blood, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that through the pleasure coursing through every cell in his body.

By the time he came back down, he could barely hold himself up on his arms with how hard they were trembling. He opened his eyes and was blown away by the sight beneath him. Her hair was tousled and her face and chest were flushed, the latter heaving with her own gasps for air. Spencer leaned in to give her lips a soft kiss before pulling himself out of her. When he looked down in between their legs and saw his seed dripping out of her, his head spun with lust. He was snapped out of it by the sound of a cell phone ringing, and he reached for the source of the sound to determine which of them needed to answer.

When he located the phone beneath his own pants he answered figuring it to be his own phone ringing. "Hello?" He was still breathlessly panting as he looked at (Y/N), her eyes dancing with humor at his tone.

"Reid, is that you?" Garcia's voice came through the phone.

"Yeah, who else would it be?" He asked, gaining back a bit of control over his breathing.

"Well, given that I dialed (Y/N)'s number, perhaps her?" She laughed a little bit. "What are you doing answering (Y/N)'s phone sounding like you just finished a marathon?" She asked, her voice growing more and more excited with each word.

"I—uh, um—(Y-Y/N)'s phone?" He stammered, sitting up quickly at the words as he turned his gaze to (Y/N), who was cleaning herself up next to him with some tissues she had grabbed from his side table. Her eyes widened as she heard those two words come from his mouth and her hand shot to cover her mouth to stifle her laughter. "I. uh, I guess I must have grabbed hers by mistake after we ate lunch together at her desk."

"Spencer Reid you really are the world's worst liar!" Garcia laughed from the other end as Spencer felt his entire face burn with embarrassment at being called out on his poor lying skills twice in one evening.

"I-it's for you," he mumbled while he handed her the phone. After he had cleaned himself up, he put his pants and shirt back on while he let (Y/N) focus on her conversation with Garcia, which she managed to continue while getting dressed. Once she had hung up the phone she pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed slowly while laughing.

"Well, now that Penelope knows so will everyone on the team," she let out a sigh but then smiled at Spencer so sweetly he couldn't help but scoot closer and wrap his arms around her again. They sat like that for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's presence in front of the still muted television.

"Hey, Spencer?" She spoke up eventually.

"Yeah?" He muttered back sleepily while he absent-mindedly played with her hair.

"I'm going to go grab another slice of pizza, want me to bring you one, too?"