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theemporium · 6 months

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[3k] too many shots and a bet leads to a very interesting night out. it's just a shame neither of them can remember it and the whole world is discovering the details alongside with them.

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RING! RING!

The first thing you were painfully aware of was the annoying shrill of your phone echoing from some distant corner of the room.

RING! RING!

The second thing was the fact you had forgotten to close the blinds last night, meaning the blinding rays of the Nevada sun were doing their best job in dragging you out of your comforting slumber like irritating parasites.

RING! RING!

And the third thing was that whoever was trying to call you was seemingly very insistent to get in contact with you, if the three calls in a row (that you were so far aware of) were anything to go by.

RING! RING!

“Oh my god,” you groaned as you pulled the edges of the pillow over your ears, hoping it would muffle the ringing shrills. But when the phone continued to ring and the noise only seemed to get louder, you were forced to throw your hand out and blindly try to grasp the cursed device in hopes of making the noise stop.

Your fingers wrapped around the buzzing phone, your eyes still firmly kept shut as you kept tapping the screen until the ringing stopped before you brought it to your ear. “You better have a good fucking reason for calling me.”

“I hope you are doing something you enjoy.”

You frowned, your brain taking a few moments to process the voice coming through. “Arthur?”

“Like, I hope you are fulfilling your lifelong wish right now.”

“What the fuck are you on about?” You grumbled, exhaustion hitting your body just as badly as the rays of sunlight shining through the open blinds were. “It’s too early for your riddles.”

“I am just saying that I think you should be doing something you love before Charles kills you.”

You let out a non-committing hum. “And why would he kill me?”

“Many reasons but I think getting married in Vegas last night is easily the top of the list right now.”

Your eyes shot open when you heard the words leave Arthur’s mouth. It felt like ice had doused your entire body as you quickly sat up in the hotel bed, now painfully aware of the pounding headache that only tequila could give you.

“WHAT?”

“Congrats, by the way. I do pity the poor guy you locked up though.”

Now painfully aware of the situation, your eyes grabbing onto any detail that would hopefully prove your brother wrong. Unfortunately, all you seemed to find was evidence that he was telling the truth if the white dress, the horribly large costume jewelry ring on your finger and the abandoned veil with ‘NEW BRIDE’ on the floor were anything to go by.

“Oh my fucking god,” you breathed out, feeling though as you were going to empty your stomach’s contents any moment now. “How do you know? Why didn’t you stop me?!”

“I wasn’t with you! I just opened Twitter and found pictures of my sister outside a wedding chapel and all over some random guy!”

“I married a stranger,” you hissed out, your lips parting in shock. Tequila made you do many questionable things, but even this was bad for you.

“He’s your husband, it’s a bit offensive to call him a stranger.”

“Arthur, I swear to god—” You cut yourself off as your eyes fell on the large lump in the bed next to you. It took you an embarrassingly long time to realise it was another human. It took you even longer to tear your eyes away from the cheap suit he was wearing before you looked up at his face. “Oh my fucking god.”

“What?”

“Charles is going to kill me,” you breathed out, your heart pounding like it was lodged in your throat.

“Yes, we established that when I called you—”

“Charles is going to kill me when he finds out I married Max,” you continued, lost in your own daze that you barely acknowledge your spluttering brother on the other side of the phone.

“YOU MARRIED MAX VERSTAPPEN?!”

Unfortunately for Arthur’s sake, you quickly hung up the phone. You could barely process the fact the Dutch driver was currently passed out on the bed next to you, let alone doing so with your brother screeching in your ear the whole time. The phone was abandoned on the bed as you stared at the Dutchman, your brain working on overdrive as you tried to work out what to do next.

So, you did what any reasonable person would do and shoved him off the bed.

“OW!”

You froze for a moment before you crawled over to the other side of the bed, peaking over the edge and down at Max who was currently groaning on the floor from his impromptu wake up call.

“What the fuck was that about?” He grumbled, blinking a few times before he realised who was hovering over him. “What the fuck are you doing in my hotel room?”

“This is actually my hotel room,” you replied.

“Oh,” he muttered. “Then, what the fuck am I doing in your hotel room?”

“Well, it’s what a married couple do,” you commented.

Max’s brows furrowed together. “What?”

You lifted your left hand, the ring now on display and you could practically see the cogs turning in his head before the realisation hit him. “Do you think this counts as our honeymoon?”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

...

“How did this happen?”

“Tequila,” you muttered with your nose scrunched in disgust as you watched the Dutchman begin to pace the hotel room. If you cared enough, you would be concerned about him wearing down the carpet. Though as of the current moment, your priorities were currently elsewhere.

Max turned to look down at the certificate he had found stranded beside your veil on the floor, your names and signatures clearly printed on the piece of paper—which took out the small piece of hope that this was just some elaborate prank set up by Arthur.

“How did we get that drunk though?” Max questioned, his brows furrowed together. If he wasn’t so confused, he would be more embarrassed at the fact he clearly couldn’t handle his alcohol as well as he once could.

“Well, it’s your fault,” you commented casually, which had the boy whirling around to face you.

“How is this my fault?” Max scoffed.

“You made the bet!”

Max’s frown deepened. “What bet?”

“At the hotel bar,” you stated like it was a basic fact he should have remembered. “When I bumped into you—”

“We bumped into each other,” Max chided.

“—you were the one to suggest shots,” you pointed out.

Max gave you a look. “How is that a bet?”

“Because you said I couldn’t outdrink you. I said you would be a sore loser. And then you bought us ten shots each.”

He blinked. “Huh.”

“I’m pretty sure it was also your idea to go to another bar afterwards when we got kicked out the hotel bar,” you said in a sing-song voice.

Max scoffed. “Absolutely not. You were the one that said only losers go to bed after one bar.”

You shrugged. “I stand by it.”

Max let out a laugh, a little breathless like he was trying to hide it. He shook his head, glancing down at the certificate one more time before shrugging. “It’s not really that bad, to be honest. A bit embarrassing, but what people don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Your expression turned sheepish. “About that…”

“Who knows?” He asked in a blunt voice.

“Well, Arthur knows,” you started.

“That’s not that bad,” Max scoffed, his shoulders relaxing. “Wait. Charles doesn’t know, does he?”

“Not yet,” you said before quickly continuing. “But he probably will because the paparazzi caught us last night and now the pictures are all over the internet.”

Max blinked. “AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO START WITH THAT?”

“You’re grumpy when you wake up!” You defended, watching as the boy rolled his eyes at you.

“The whole world thinks we are married!” Max countered before sputtering out a laugh. “Well, we are married. Or we aren’t. I’m still not totally sure but I don’t need your brother chopping off my balls over it!”

“He wouldn’t!”

Max shot you a look.

“Okay, he would,” you grimaced before giving him a shaky smile. “But he doesn’t know yet so we should be in the clear—”

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

...

“Okay, I have good news and bad news.”

Max looked at you expectantly. “And?”

“Bad news: Charles now knows,” you said with a shaky smile. “Good news: he doesn’t know it’s you!”

Max pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to rub soothing circles. “Fucking hell.”

“But also bad news: he is coming here right now as we speak so we should probably—” You started, fully set on grabbing what you needed and hiding out somewhere else in the hotel until Charles calmed down. However, your plans were put on hold when you heard a groan from the bathroom.

“CAN YOU BOTH PLEASE SHUT UP?”

Your gaze caught Max’s as you stared at each other, both with expressions mixed between confusion and surprise. A few seconds passed before you were both clambering off the bed, heading towards the bathroom where you threw the door open and scrambled to turn on the light before you both froze in the doorway at the sight in front of you.

“Now that was unnecessary.”

You gaped at the sight of Yuki curled up in the bathtub, dressed in a similar looking suit to the one Max was wearing along with what you were certain was the shower curtain placed over him like a blanket. He had a pillow behind his head and sunglasses over his eyes, and for all intents and purposes, he looked fairly comfortable.

“Oh my god,” you breathed out. “I married two drivers last night?!”

“I hope you at least married me before Yuki,” Max grumbled, only to let out a small wince when you elbowed him. “God, you’re a difficult wife.”

“Kinda going through something,” you snapped back before your eyes moved back to the Japanese driver. “I can’t believe I married you and Yuki.”

The driver in the tub let out a scoff mixed with a laugh. “Please, you didn’t marry me. You’re not my type.”

You blinked, unsure whether or not you should have been offended by his comment.

“The ring on your finger says otherwise, mate,” Max commented, the ring a matching one with the one that was currently on your left hand.

“I married someone but not you,” Yuki said as he waved you off, nuzzling his face back into the pillow. “And our wedding was much classier than yours.”

“I—” You frowned. “You remember?”

“Yeah, you said you wanted witnesses,” Yuki grumbled, bringing the shower curtain up until it was tucked under his chin. “You also dragged Lando out so he would take your photos.”

Max gaped. “Lando was there? Lando knows?!”

“Yes, now can you please go bother him?” Yuki muttered under his breath. “And turn the lights off as you leave. Only wake me up when you order food.”

...

“Don’t make me an accomplice in your crimes.”

“Shut up and let us in.”

You weren’t surprised to find that Lando and Logan were already in the room, both with looks of amusement on their faces as they watched you and Max wander in—still dressed in your wedding clothes from the night before.

You wanted to slap the smug looks off their face.

“Is it really a good idea to hide here?” Max asked as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, feeling as though the headache pounding through his head had nothing to do with the alcohol he consumed last night and more to do with the mess you both had created.

“It buys us time,” you insisted.

“On the chance that Arthur doesn’t rat you out,” Logan added.

“You told Arthur where I was?” Your eyes widened before you turned to look at Oscar. “Do you want me dead?”

“You know, something about the way you’re wording that makes me feel like it’s a trick question,” Oscar commented with a suspicious look on his face.

“Oh my god, I’m going to die today,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head.

“It’s kinda romantic that you guys will die together,” Lando chimed in as he grinned between you and Max.

“If I survive today, I’m going to run you over,” Max threatened with a strained smile on his lips.

Lando snorted, shrugging. “Yeah but the chances of that happening are low so…”

“Your brother doesn’t even know my room number,” Oscar pointed out. “It will take him ages to convince the desk to give it to him or even hunt—”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“This is what English teachers meant when they taught us poetic irony,” Lando laughed, all giddy and happy.

“Like you paid attention,” you grumbled, eyes narrowing on the boy before you turned back to the door. “Don’t answer it.”

Oscar’s eyes widened. “I can’t not answer it.”

“Yes, you can,” you said bluntly. “Just don't open the door.”

“He knows we are in here,” he hissed.

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“OPEN UP! I CAN HEAR YOU! SOMEONE OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR TO GOD—”

“Even more reason not to open the door,” you said, pressing your lips together to hide the wince that you wanted to let out as Charles thumped on the door again.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Max grumbled as he quickly stood up, ignoring your pleas to just pretend your brother didn’t exist. He reached the door, yanked it open and braced himself for the wrath of an angry Charles Leclerc.

Much to his surprise, the Monegasque barged straight past him and headed straight for Oscar instead.

“You!” Charles gritted out through clenched teeth as he reached to grab Oscar’s collar, firsting the material in his hands. “What do you have to say to yourself?”

Oscar’s eyes widened as Charles backed him into a wall. “What?!”

“Marrying my sister in Vegas? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Charles continued.

It didn’t take long for Lando to descend into a fit of giggles, practically on the floor if it weren’t for the fact Logan was keeping him on the bed. Somewhere still standing by the door, Arthur stood with an amused look on his face that only grew wider when he saw your confused and shocked expression too.

“I didn’t marry your sister!” Oscar said to him, trying to push the boy away but he was latched on tightly. “I was literally in bed by nine!”

“Loser,” Logan grumbled under his breath.

Charles faltered, his eyebrows furrowing together. “What?”

“I wasn’t the guy to marry your sister,” Oscar repeated, finally managing to pull Charles’ hands off him. “I don’t think there is enough alcohol in the world for me to do that.”

“First Yuki and now him,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“If you didn’t marry her, then who did?” Charles questioned.

It was almost comical how quickly everyone turned to look at Max, who was still standing by the door and looked like he was contemplating just dashing out the room.

“You,” Charles muttered out, his eyes narrowing on the Dutchman.

“In my defence,” Max started as he gave the boy a smile, though it didn’t seem as confident as he was hoping it would be. “I didn’t know I married her either.”

“I am right here,” you huffed. “Jesus Christ.”

“I am going to—”

“Nothing. You’re going to do nothing,” you jumped in, taking a step so you were blocking his line of vision of Max. “It’s just a…phoney, fake marriage. It’s not that big of a deal, Charles. People will forget by next weekend anyways.”

“Uh,” Logan cleared his throat. “It’s actually very legal all over the US and in some other places—”

“Shut up, Logan.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Charles narrowed his eyes on you. “You’re not allowed to marry him.”

“I already did,” you pointed out with a sheepish expression.

“I don’t care.”

“Charles,” you stepped towards him, though the boy still looked like he was contemplating parading into the paddock with Max’s head on a stick. “Charlie, please. Don’t do something stupid because you’re annoyed.”

“I want to cut his dick off,” Charles told you.

“I know.”

“And you can no longer have alcohol unsupervised.”

“That’s a tad dramatic.”

“And no consummating the marriage.”

“That would be difficult to do if you cut off his dick anyways.”

“Can we stop talking about my dick?” Max chimed in with his hands locked in front of him, almost protectively.

Charles sighed. “But I promise I won’t kill either of you. Today.”

You grinned as you reached towards your brother, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a hug. “Thank you.”

“You should tell Maman before she finds out through the internet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Maybe shower first. You stink of tequila.”

“That would be kinda hard to do considering Yuki is currently asleep in my bathtub,” you commented.

Charles opened his mouth to reply but just shook his head. “I’m not even gonna ask.”

“Good, because I don’t have answers,” you murmured with your lips turned down. “And he’s really snappy when you try to get them from him.”

Charles snorted.

“So, that’s it?” Lando suddenly spoke up from behind you both. “God, that was not worth getting out of bed for. I expected more drama.”

“I’m still pissed at you,” you told the Brit, who just grinned.

“I’ll send you the photos later, don’t you worry,” he said like he didn’t just hear the words that left your mouth. “Maybe one of them will inspire angry Charles again.”

“Please don’t,” Max grumbled.

“It won’t be necessary because we are finding a divorce lawyer,” Charles stated simply, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head before he began making his way to the door, nodding for Arthur to follow him. “Both of you get dressed. We are leaving in an hour.”

Both you and Max gaped at the boy, but he didn’t notice.

“And someone take one for the team and wake up Yuki. I vote Lando.”

Lando frowned. “Woah, wait a second–”

“ONE HOUR PEOPLE!!”

...

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 133,728 others

yourusername call me mrs verstappen

view all 12,892 comments

oscarpiastri sometimes i wonder if you just enjoy pushing charles over the edge

yourusername yes

user WHAT

user it was real?????

user oh my god IT WAS MAX?

user someone sedate me

user this is some wattpad level stuff wtf the book tropes????

user i need to know how charles reacted when he found out

arthur_leclerc badly

maxverstappen1 i mean it was an accidental name but i guess it suits you

yourusername you like meeeee, admit it :)

maxverstappen1 i think i legally have to agree because you're my wife

yourusername damn don't sound too enthusiastic about it

user i just know charles lost years of his life over this

landonorris uh photo creds?

yourusername no

landonorris rude

charles_leclerc take this down

yourusername no

charles_leclerc you are a leclerc, not a verstappen

yourusername the marriage certificate says otherwise

charles_leclerc please stop reminding me

pascaleleclerc welcome to the family maxverstappen1

charles_leclerc MAMAN?????

maxverstappen1 thank you? i think?

pascaleleclerc dinner will be at 6 when you are back in monaco

maxverstappen1 yes ma'am

charles_leclerc MAMAN WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON????

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chris-slut · 2 months

Text

HOW LONG

pairing: dom!matt x sub!reader

summary: for what feels like months, matt’s been feeling different towards you. he can’t help it, he stays up one night scrolling through your instagram, phone in one hand and his cock in the other. nick tells you to go grab a blanket from his bedroom but you definitely grab something else instead.

!both p.o.v!

!warnings!: SMUT, oral; male!receiving, pet names (mama, pretty girl, slut, baby, good girl, gorgeous), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do), praising.

authors note: decided to post again since my last one did good, HOW DO YOU DO A MASTERS LIST.

word count:

MATT HAS no clue why— or how, but he was scrolling through your recent instagram post. the way the silky pink dressed hugged all your curves and showed the slutty little pink panties you had underneath it. fuck all he wanted was to watch you go down under him.

after 5 minutes of scrolling, his cock was in his hand going up and down. “f-fuck y/n,” he moans, imagining his hand was you. he forgot that you were sleeping over for his brother nick.

his hand goes up and down faster and faster— “shit y/n, fuck— fuck!!” he whimpers louder than he’s meant to. his legs shake as he images your slutty lips wrapped around the tip of his cock.

the way your panties were showing made him go insane. he wishes he could rip them off you and just fuck your absolute brains out. it’s the only thing he’s been thinking of doing since he’s laid eyes on you.

he knows it’s wrong, but he can’t help himself. he feels like a dick jerking off to a photo of his brothers best friend. his legs shake more and more and loud growls and whimpers escape past his lips. feeling the cum shoot out of his cock, he lets out one last loud whimper and wipes it off.

all he can think about is you tho, and he knows he can’t take anymore— but come on, he’s so attracted to you he’s got to do it twice.

* Y/N’S P.O.V. *

“DO YOU think you can go and get some extra blankets from matt’s room? there in his hamper,” nick says to me as i nod, placing my cola can down and getting up from the couch.

i quickly walk up the stairs, since i’ve been friends with nick for as long as i can remember and i know matt on some level— i walk in without knocking.

“jesus y/n, fuck!” i fix my vision as matt’s sweatpants are pulled down to his thighs, his long and hard cock moving up and down while his hand is wrapped around it. is he moaning my name?

i sit there for a minute in pure shock, and matt doesn’t notice me so he continues. “fuck y/n, fuck!” he moans a little louder as a little drop of cum starts to come out of his cock. fuck that’s hot.

“matty?” i ask after another 2 minutes go by, his eyes open wide as he takes his hand off slowly— his gaze going from his cock to my eyes now. his cheeks turn to a cherry red s he pulls his sweatpants a little under his v line.

“shit y/n— what are you doing in here?!” he asks, worry filling his voice. i laugh dryly at him as i slowly walk over, “what’s going on in here?” i ask as he smirks, shaking his head at me— “i asked you a question y/n.”

my eyes widen at his sudden dominance, but deep down i absolutely fucking love it. jesus anything this man does turns me on. “getting some blankets for me and nick, is that an issue?” i ask, tease filling my tone. he growls lowly as he grabs onto my wrist.

“why didn’t you knock,” he asks me, “what’s up with all these questions, jesus,” i say back— grabbing the closest blanket next to me. his grip tightens around my wrist as i drop the blanket, barley being able to move.

* THIRD PERSON *

matt grabs her wrist and pulls her hand down closer to his cock, her fingertips only inches away from his waistband. just knowing that any second her slutty little lips could be wrapped around his cock makes him grow harder by the second. she’s a fucking tease. the smirk on her face only makes his grow more and more impatient for her touch.

“y/n, please, just give me head!” matt begs for her touch. all he wants is to feel her hand wrapped around his cock as she spreads her saliva down it. he just wants to fuck her mouth like the slut she is.

“fuck matt— don’t say shit like that,” she whimpers out, mumbling her words as her nails get closer and closer to his waistband. she wants nothing more then to rip his sweatpants and boxers back down and suck his cock.

“why? i’m not lying baby,” he says to the girl, looking up at her through his eyes lashes. fuck he’s a slut. i can’t control myself any longer as i climb onto him and slowly start to take the clothes from beneath his waist right back off.

“look at you, taking orders from me, such a pretty girl,” matt says, causing a moan to slide past the girls lips. his cock springs out and hits his stomach, growing hard just knowing y/n’s in his presence.

matt grabs a handful of her hair and forms it into a ponytail, bucking his hips slightly so his tip hits her lips. “be patient matt,” i try to hold his hips down, but he lets out a low growl and moves my hands— pushing his tip into my mouth. “don’t tell me what to do mama,” he says to her.

she begins to suck his cock, bobbing her head up and down. “fuck— been wanting your slutty lips wrapped around me since i’ve seen you,” he rants out, causing her pace to fasten.

letting go, matt hums in disappointment. she spits on his tip and sticks her tongue into it, a whimper now falling past his lips. she kitten licks the tip and slides her tongue down his full length. ‘such a fucking tease’ matt thinks.

without a warning, she takes his full length. both of them turning into a moaning sweaty mess. “oh- yeah- FUCK!” matt groans out as his legs slowly start to shake, signaling he’s close. “i’m not done with you yet matty,” y/n says as she takes his cock out her mouth, a pop! noise coming with it.

“wanna ride you, let me ride you please!” she begins to beg as matt smirks, running his hands down the curves of her waist. “fuck baby, ride me,” he mumbles in a low voice as he leans forward, uniting the knot to her short pajama pants with his teeth.

he wastes no time sliding them right off, revealing the same pink bow panties she had on in the selfie he was jerking himself off to. “those fucking panties, you know what your doing slut,” matt says as my cheeks grow hot. what’s that supposed to mean?

“jerked off to your photos, you were wearing these slutty little bow panties and jesus— all i wanted was to fuck your dumb brains out baby,” matt admits as he slides them off with one hand, patting his lap for her to sit on.

she quickly does as told as he pulls her in for a messy make out session. their tongue’s fight for dominance and— of course, matt’s won. he slides his tongue past her lip as their teeth’s clash together— a whimper falling from both’s lips. her hips begin to grind as her wet core rubs against the skin of matt’s cock.

“fuck baby, hover over my lap real quick like the good girl you are,” good girl made her grow even wetter, she slides up and hovers her body so her clit is now lined up with matt’s tip. “grab a condom from my bedside table really quick,” matt says as she quickly shakes her head— “no.” she replies.

a smirk falls into matt’s face, “oh your a slut, you want me to fuck you raw?” he says as y/n slightly nods, her cheeks growing hotter as embarrassment fills the room. “you wanna be filled up huh? have my babies like the good girl you are?” matt teases her once more, “fuck matty, please!” she begins to beg for it. she doesn’t have to tell matt twice as he grabs her hips and pushes just his tip into her clit.

“is this good for you so far?” matt asks, sliding in little lengths at a time. “no matty, more- please!” she begs as he shoves as much as he can into her, a loud moan escaping past her lips. “shhh, don’t want nick to hear now do we?” he asks as his one hand falls from my waist and onto my mouth, shutting me up and muffling my moans and cries.

our sweaty skin slap against each other, whimpers falling from both our mouths. “fuck baby— look at you taking me so well, so fucking good for me. such a good girl,” matt praises which sends y/n over the edge. her back arches in the air and her head falls back, rubbing his thighs as she bounces up and down onto him. “fuck matty, gonna cum!” she says as matt slowly goes rougher.

“me too sweetheart, cum with me!” matt moans louder then expected as their legs begin to shake against each other, both of them hitting their orgasms. the room is filled with whimpers and loud cries, occasional growls coming from matt’s throat.

“shit- cumming!” y/n cries out as her steamy liquid falls onto matt’s cock, matt plunging into her once more as he fills her up with his own white, sticky liquid. “fuck— such a good girl!” matt says as he slowly slides his cock out of her core. whimpers falling past their lips as he does so.

“do you think nick still needs his blanket?” matt asks, laughing at his own joke. she lean’s over and click his phone on. 11:38 p.m. fuck time does go by fast when your having fun.

“nah, i think he’ll be fine,” she replies, both of them pulling in for one last kiss.

that night definitely ended better than they expected.

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chrissturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nathan doe #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #smut #sturniolo fanfic

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thebubblemaster · 2 years

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#i need to like vent somewhere and this is as good a place as any bc tumblr hides long tags so pple can just scross past but #having chronic fatigue is so frustrating because im either asleep or exhausted and basic tasks feel impossible #during a fatigue spell i just cant function and i lose track of the time and the day and the world feels like it just moves around me #i have to save the little energy i have for feeding myself and maintaining my hygiene so sometimes i just lay in bed half asleep #i can either scroll through my phone or watch a video or something else that requires little movement or thought #bc if im not i might cry from how frustrated i am and how heavy my body feels and how sluggish my brain is and how slow my words are #and i just #comparing the really bad days to the really good ones brings a lot of melancholy bc the difference is so stark #on my best days i wake up early and clean my room and work out and get my hw done and go to every class and walk on campus #ill keep up with my laundry and dishes and ill go out with my roommates or meet with a friend or make it through a work shift #these are all such ordinary things that i take for granted when im well that i wish i could do at least one of when im unwell #i used to think it was laziness or stress or lack of sleep #i used to push myself to the point of feeling faint and get mad at myself for not being able to handle everyday life #i used to have breakdowns over my inability to function and have my parents list off all the things i was doing wrong that made me tired #i asked my mom if maybe i should go to the doctor and get some tests and she would tell me that theres no magical cure #that if my tests came back with nothing wrong then what would i do #even now knowing im developing a thyroid issue i find myself angry that there are days i cant do anything because of my fatigue #i would give anything to be functional even 80% of the time #ive never known what its like to not be slightly tired and unfocused and uncomfortable #its depressing

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ddejavvu · 6 months

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hiii!! can i suggest some hotch x bau!wife!reader where reader is pregnant and she doesnt know, but at work she goes on about how she doesnt know whats wrong with her lately and spencer suggests that she might be pregnant and then she find out that she is!!

I love your writing sm btw😚😚😚

i think i might finally have enough time to write whole blurbs again :'))

"No flamin' hot for you today, Mrs. Hotchner?" Derek eyes your bag of plain cheetos where they lay open on your desk, and you grimace at his phrasing.

"God, no," You groan, "Don't make me sick."

"You love those things," His brows furrow, and he leans on the edge of your desk with one hand, his thick fingers splayed out over the wood, "I'm pretty sure your tongue is permanently stained red by now."

"I like them when I'm not in the middle of some weird stomach bug," You admit, "I woke up sick. I don't know what did it, but it was probably something Jack brought home."

Derek pointedly removes his hand from your desk, but he's kind enough not to tell you that he thinks you're contagious.

"Feel better, mama." He offers with something that you're sure is supposed to be a sympathetic smile, but looks a little more like a wince. Emily isn't so easily scared off, though, and she continues munching on the carrot sticks she'd brought for a snack.

"You look tired," She comments, and you almost want to take offense, "You were up all night with your stomach thing?"

"No, just when my alarm went off," You hum, swallowing a bite of your sandwich and trying not to heave at the texture, "It was nice enough to let me sleep, but-" Your sentence is cut off with a well-timed yawn, "I feel like I've been awake for days."

"Probably just your period," Penelope hums softly, trying and failing to keep your menstrual cycle a secret, which isn't surprising considering her track record with secrets. Everyone is kind enough to ignore the information she revealed, but when you shake your head and grumble, 'I'm late.', Spencer snaps to attention.

"You've missed a menstrual cycle, you're feeling extreme fatigue, and you're experiencing morning sickness?" Spencer verifies, and it's only with his discerning brain that you feel a weight sink in your stomach - preferably not your unborn baby.

"Oh my god," You breathe, your hand coming subconsciously up to your stomach, "Oh my- oh my god! Aaron, Aaron!"

Aaron rushes out of his office with the combined urgency of boss and husband, his eyes locking on you sharp with concern.

The air between you is thick as the members of your team grin up at Hotch, leaving you the silence to cheer, "I'm pregnant!"

His eyes are no longer viciously worried, their sharp edge melting into something far softer. His lips part, barely enough to let air through, until they crack and curve upwards in a dazzling smile that the bullpen doesn't often get to see.

"You took a test?" He confirms, but when you shake your head, he dims slightly.

"Reid said I am," You offer, and his zeal is back. You're sure he wishes he could wrap you up in a truly breathtaking embrace, complete with kiss far too passionate for your work environment, but you'll save it until you're at home, away from prying eyes and phone cameras. Regardless, you can feel his exhilaration from where you stand, and you're already planning out a nursery in your mind.

"He's probably more trustworthy than the plastic stick," Derek claps Reid on the back, and the doctor looks like the wind was knocked out of him. They're both smiling, though, and you feel JJ's hand on your shoulder, squeezing happily.

"Congratulations," Rossi pats Aaron on the shoulder, much gentler than Reid had been subjected to, "But a word of advice, Hotch? Don't have any more. If I have to split my inheritance another way, it won't be worth killing me over."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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love-that-we-were-in · 2 months

Text

lighting the fuse might result in a bang

pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader summary: Silena thinks you need to start blowing off some steam. You think you just need a fresh victory and Luke Castellan is the perfect opponent. word count: 5.3k warnings: smoking, drinking, usual college party stuff.

author's note: brought to you by my personal deep dark history with boys in hats. also i haven't gotten drunk in like 4/5 years so i don't remember what it's like so this was interesting. also i don't know anything about frats OR smoking. have the most fun <3

When Silena mentions a party you could go to, you jump at the offer, brain fuzzing at the edges where you’ve been locked in on flashcards all afternoon. It’s something you’ve started to navigate better this year, remembering to have fun after a year of non-stop focus. Silena makes it easier - a social butterfly with no qualms about dragging you out of the library when she thinks you’re pushing yourself too hard - and there’s no harm in listening to her without protest sometimes.

“Do you even know who’s throwing this one?” You ask as she’s leading you through campus, rubbing at your arms to fight the fall chill. “I do not want a repeat of March.”

“Have some faith in me. I’ve started vetting my sources.”

Both of you shiver, the memory of a night spent outside the Stolls’ cramped dorm still haunting you six months later. You’re not overly familiar with this side of campus, turning away from the usual halls and towards the sorority housing, but Silena walks the path with ease, arm looped through yours.

The walk seems to have cleared your head, the music as you approach shaking off the last of the static. You’ve been here before, borrowing notes from a teammate, but it’s different like this, all pumping bass and cheers from the kitchen. Clarisse waves at you from across the room, beer in hand, and you mutter to Silena that you’re going to grab a drink. She nods, making a beeline for Drew Tanaka. You assume that’s who the invitation came from originally.

There’s a different energy to the kitchen, not quieter by any means but less noisy. Less concentrated, maybe, with twenty different conversations happening at once and nothing you have to pay attention to. Most people you don’t recognise, a group from your first year stats class huddled together near the sink, and the Stolls off to the side pointing at every new person they see.

Mixing your drink is an easy fix, the kitchen island covered in more choices than you’ve seen in a while, and you savor the first few sips. Between class and swimming, you’ve barely drank since the semester began and the burn of vodka isn’t as numbed as you wish it was. Still, a drink is a drink so you refill it before returning to the thick of the party.

Clarisse takes it upon herself to drag you away from the conversation you end up trapped in with Lee Fletcher, quite literally taking hold of your elbow. You mutter an apology, however disingenuous, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation as he smiles grimly.

“I have no idea how you talk to that lot,” she says when you’re far enough away. “They’re all boring.”

“Lee’s great. He always lends me notes from the lectures I miss.”

She laughs, pushing you into another room. “He’s trying to swindle a date out of you and you’re using him for lecture notes.”

You shrug. There’s nothing wrong with Lee, except that Clarisse is a little right when she says most of your classmates are boring. It’s probably not intentional, and they definitely don’t realize it, but there’s this way they carry themselves around campus - half-nervous and half-haughty. It’s not a great combination and it’s why you gravitate towards the people Silena meets.

“We were wondering when we were going to see you next,” Chris says as he throws an arm over Clarisse’s shoulder. You still don’t quite know the story there, how Chris Rodriguez managed to sweet talk your stoic teammate. One day, you’ll find out - a drunken vow you made with Silena on your dorm room floor when Clarisse mentioned a boyfriend - but you’re content to let them enjoy their romance in peace for now. “Almost thought you’d succumbed to the dark side.”

“You’re not getting rid of me yet.”

“And thank god,” he knocks his cup against yours before gesturing to the far corner of the room. “Because we need someone to kick Castellan’s ass at beer pong.”

“Whose?”

Turns out, Luke Castellan is the newest brother to ksig. There’s not much to know about Chris’ fraternity in your eyes, just the basics of all frats, and you know from last year that there’s always bound to be a hotshot that needs someone to pump the brakes on their ego. Usually, they’re on the younger side, with more money than sense and they don’t expect anything from your approach. Luke Castellan isn’t quite that, but he’s not far from it either.

While Chris talks to the boy who was about to play, you take the opportunity to size up your opponent. It comes naturally, a part of constantly competing, and it comes in handy in moments like this, when the element of surprise is a key factor to the situation going ahead.

Fitted jeans, branded polo and a stupid snapback cap worn backwards to show how cool he is. Nothing you haven’t seen before, really, except there’s this focused glint in his eyes with each plastic ball he throws like he has to prove his worth here. It’s a simple practice, unnecessary for a silly party game, but there’s this serious set to strong shoulders that you’re curious about.

The same way you want to know about Clarisse’s relationship, you want to know what makes Luke Castellan, whoever he is, tick.

“Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning, Rodriguez?”

“I’m not playing you, Luke,” Chris says and you watch closely as the other boy tilts his head slightly to the left. “I just had to go and get the current undefeated champion on campus.”

There’s this moment that happens every time you play - those awkward seconds where everyone looks completely past you to anyone else, anyone more noticeable. You count on it, occasionally, so it takes you a moment to process the way Luke’s gaze slides to you, drinks you in before he nods towards the other end of the table.

Chris mutters a quiet “you got this,” as you brush past him, handing him your drink. You’re not delusional enough to think you can get away with mixing your drinks this early in the game.

It takes two of Luke’s shots for you to land your first, his last hour of playing an advantage you accounted for. He’s not getting sloppy, not in the slightest, but he’s at the point where he’s a little worse for wear - a tired arm and hazy mind - and you take the chance you have at a false sense of security, taking your losses on the chin before playing the game to win.

Within seven shots between you, you can see Luke start to get restless. How he reevaluates the table in front of him, his three empty cups to your four. Part of you really wants to knock that hat off his head, as if it’ll give you more of an insight into his mind. Instead, you wait for what you know is coming, a slight miscalculation that has the plastic ball rolling off the table to land at someone’s feet.

Chris hands you a fresh one and you take in the way Luke swallows, jaw clenching as you line up your next shot. Whether he knows it or not, you’ve just been handed your win.

Clarisse cheers, handing you one of the cups from in front of you as everyone yells. You both chug what’s left of them, the bitter taste of cheap beer drowned out by victory, and as soon as that’s done, she throws herself back into Chris’ arms. Laughing, you turn around to find another drink, only to be met by Luke standing beside you.

“Are you about to be a sore loser?”

He chuckles and it’s different like this. His eyes are brown, which you didn’t know five minutes ago, and his hair is dark from the little wisps of it you can see peeking out underneath his hat. You consider telling him that the hat makes him look lame, but then he’s leaning down to whisper anyway. “I expect a rematch.”

It’s quiet and heavy and you wonder if anyone can tell that your blood feels like it’s on fire. It’s nothing, really, and it takes more effort than you want to respond.

“Then expect to lose.”

The only saving grace to the exchange is that Luke looks a whole lot more affected by it, a blush crawling up his neck as you take the drink nearest to you and leave to find your roommate once more.

Losing never used to get to you. Not like this, at least, where everything sort of feels like a precipice and you’re waiting for the next loss to fall on your shoulders alone. It was meant to be an easy game, a warm-up, for when the season started in earnest and you couldn’t afford to be incohesive. There’s always a learning curve, new starters and new competition, but in no world should it have caused this.

Silena tells you to let it go, throwing yet another outfit on her bed as she gets ready. When you saw her at lunch, Clarisse told you to just push harder during practice. Sometimes you’re not even sure how you can be friends with both of them, how they can be friends with each other either. Unfortunately, it becomes very clear when Clarisse knocks on the door that night.

“Why aren’t you ready?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She tuts at you, digging through the pile of clothing on Silena’s bed before throwing a dress at you. “Get dressed.”

“You can’t make me,” you protest, the black fabric scrunching in your fist. You’ve borrowed it before, for a party last year you don’t remember very well, and you don’t even want to consider why it’s the one Clarisse selected. You turn to your roommate, looking for backup, only to find her with a pair of your shoes in her hands. “Are you seriously going to make me?”

In unison, they raise a singular eyebrow each and it’s unsettling enough that you let go of all will to fight them. Today may as well just be full of losses that you can mourn tomorrow.

It’s only when you arrive at the party that you realize you have no idea who’s throwing it. Or who’s going to be there. Distantly, you really hope it’s a stranger Silena met on her way around campus - full of people you’ve ever met and will never see again. You could find someone nice enough to blow off some steam with before going on your merry way.

When Clarisse yells at her boyfriend, you let out a huff as both he and Luke Castellan turn around.

Since your first meeting, you’ve learned a few more things about Luke. He’s from Connecticut. He was responsible for half of Drew’s sorority coming down with the flu during freshers week. He’s in pre-med. He’s the reason Professor Chase introduced a ban on energy drinks in his lectures (one hundred students simultaneously opening a can of Redbull each was, apparently, mildly disconcerting). Most importantly, he’s always wearing that stupid cap.

You try to equate the things you know with the Luke standing in front of you. Some of it makes perfect sense - Professor Chase and Connecticut - and some of it unsettles you, but it’s all true. Freshers and pre-med and track meets. Focusing on the distracted way he taps on his beer bottle instead of Clarisse greeting Chris, you kind of want to find out a whole lot more.

“Fancy a rematch?”

It’s the first thing he’s said to you all night, twisting the cap off a fresh beer before handing it to you. Then doing the same with his own. You pretend not to notice the movement of it, the few short seconds where you can get away with staring at the shine of silver rings in low light. Taking a sip, you crinkle your nose.

“I’m not really in the mood,” you mutter and, at the very least, the beer is cold and you chug half of it before you even notice you’ve done it. “Don’t you have someone else you can bother?”

There’s seconds before you notice it, how his eyes shift from slightly curious to intense. They don’t change much but standing in front of him, you can tell when they go from relaxed to focused. How his back straightens and shoulders roll back just so. You should go and find something stronger to drink. Maybe even see if Lee Fletcher is nearby.

You stay put.

“It’s just a bit of friendly competition,” Luke shrugs, unknowing of how it echoes in your skull. How that’s all today was ever meant to be. Leave it to him to dig the knife in again just as the tightness in your chest was starting to ease. “But I guess you just can’t handle it.”

“I’d kick your ass in a rematch. I’m doing you a favor.”

It’s obviously the wrong thing to say, Luke’s eyes brightening as the words push past your lips. The beer you drank way too fast is forming words before you even know what they are.

“You can always choose something else for me to beat you in,” he says, like it’s an offer, something gracious that you should be grateful for. “I’m easy.”

“How many beers have you had?”

“Three, I think?”

Silena would tell you it’s a stupid idea - you have a coaching session at 9am and you haven’t gotten drunk since the party where you met Luke - and she would be right. But you need a win tonight, something guaranteed, and there’s this itch that crawls under your skin the longer you stare at the boy in front of you.

So you say it anyway.

“I bet I could outdrink you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

He waits as you down two more beers in quick succession, nursing his own as you do. A clink of your bottles against one another, followed by the final sip you each take and it’s finally a competition.

The night continues, you and Luke almost joined at the hip. It’s to keep track, you tell yourself, talking to a kid that might be in your organic chem class. If the kid looks at you weird for pouring two drinks, only to hand one to Luke in silence, that’s probably just the alcohol misreading things. Only once, when you’re deep in conversation with Lee does Luke pass you a beer, eyebrow raised when Lee gives him a glare. You think that might’ve been drink eight.

By the time Chris finds you both again, you’ve thrown yourselves onto the couch on the outskirts of the room. Someone’s abandoned coat is thrown over your legs in a mediocre attempt to preserve some dignity in the dress you’re wearing and Luke’s hat has twisted to the side. You’re sure neither of you has drunk a sip in ten minutes.

“You guys doing okay?”

“We’re drunk,” you say and you can’t tell if it’s a whisper or a shout. “I’m winning.”

“You’re not winning,” Luke turns his head to glare and you blame the alcohol on the attention you pay to the slope of his nose. “Neither of us have finished these drinks.”

“Are you going to?”

He glances down at the cup in his hand, half empty. You can see it, the hesitation, before he places it on the floor by his feet, shaking his head. “Are you?”

The nice thing to do would be to give up, call it a draw and appreciate that you managed to have fun despite the bad day that had preceded it. However, you like to win. So you grit your teeth before drinking the final three sips, tilting the empty cup towards him so he can see the proof. It takes you a second to remember you have to actually swallow in order to drink, but you do and Luke scrunches his nose. You kind of want to kiss it as a way to smooth the skin back out.

“That’s two wins to me, Castellan.”

Chris shakes his head at you both. “I’m not calling either of you to make sure you’re alive in the morning.”

It’s an almost unconscious action when you walk into Drew’s sorority house, how you wave Silena off in favor of scanning the crowd, searching for the one reason you agreed to show up in the first place. It takes a moment, pinks and blues and silvers all merging together in your eyeline until you spot him near the staircase, familiar black cap resting on his head.

You’re already a little buzzed, the thrill of your final project this semester finally being handed in just hours ago, and it’s why you let yourself actually look at Luke for once.

By this point, you’ve seen him in a polo and a flannel, always with jeans. Laidback. That’s what party Luke was. Tonight, though, it’s like he’s trying harder - baggy pants, like they’re resting a little too low on his hips, a white t-shirt, white trainers that you know are going to stain before the night ends and a slightly oversized leather jacket that doesn’t quite go with the hat you used to identify him. Maybe it’s something he does on purpose, ruining a good thing over comforting familiarity. Maybe you’ll ask him.

Luke looks up then, as if he has a sixth sense, and you kind of don’t know what to do with the slight wave he sends in your direction. You wouldn’t call him a friend, that’s for sure, but you nod in response before weaving through your classmates to the kitchen.

It takes two vodka cranberries for Silena to find you. And it takes four shots with people you’ve never met for Chris to ask if you’ve seen Luke anywhere. You tell him where you last saw him, maybe an hour ago, and he shakes his head like he’s already checked the entire house.

“Do you think you can let him know I’m heading out?” Chris asks, one arm looped around Clarisse’s waist, more for support than anything else. She was already unsteady when you arrived and you know by the flush in her cheeks that it’ll only take a couple more drinks for her to start throwing up. You nod at Chris, cradling your drink to your chest, and he mumbles a thanks while steering his girlfriend towards the door.

With both of them gone, it leaves you with little to do except go hunting for Luke. So that’s what you do, waving Lee off as he attempts to grab your attention from the couch.

Focusing is a lot harder now, squinting over everyone’s heads in search of that damn hat. Nothing. You know he’s not in the kitchen, that’s definite, and you learn that he’s not in the garden either, Katie from your anatomy class staring at you bewildered as you explain your quest.

There’s only one place left to check for Luke and you consider if it’ll be a worthwhile risk. It’s entirely possible that he’s already left, whoever he was locked in conversation with earlier with him maybe, and you’re searching an entire sorority house on the off-chance he’s still in the building.

But you promised Chris. More than that, you refuse to let Luke Castellan beat you.

So you commit to the staircase, pushing past the line for the restroom upstairs. It’s quieter up here, not by much, but you can hear yourself think clearer. There’s three doors on your left, all closed, and you drain the remnants of your drink so it warms your blood and erases the small part of your brain still protesting.

There’s two yells when you knock on the first door, both hurried and pitching higher as the words fade so you move on quickly. No one answers to the second door, so you crack it open enough to see inside. It’s dark and neat and completely untouched by whatever is happening below, so you let it click shut again.

Luke is in the third room, you learn, pressing it open when there’s no response to your knock. The room itself is still orderly, but you find the boy you’ve been searching for sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, hat turned to the side and the sleeves of his jacket bunching carelessly where they’ve been pushed higher on his forearms.

“Chris wanted me to tell you he took Clarisse home,” you blurt when it feels like you need to say something. “He couldn’t find you so…”

Luke waits. When it becomes clear that’s all you’re here for, he says, “Well, thanks for letting me know.”

You’ve done your job. You can go back and enjoy the party downstairs, maybe make use of the empty room next door instead of remaining awkwardly in the doorway.

You think about how Chris mentioned that Luke can recite pi to seventeen places while drunk. How you’re still beating him by two points. How there’s an ashtray on the floor beside Luke’s knee and it’s sort of considerate of him to use one when no one else would.

“Mind if I join you?”

Being in an empty bedroom with a guy at a party isn’t unusual. You’ve had your fair share of them, rushed and quiet and mostly on a bed. Sitting on the floor with Luke is different, you find, a gravity to it than you can’t quite wrap your head around after so many drinks. It’s slow and languid and you don’t really say much of anything as your knee bumps against his thigh in an effort to get comfortable in the space.

No one told you Luke smokes.

You tell him as much.

“It’s a bad habit,” he shakes his head, twisting a cigarette between his fingers and you both act like you’re not paying rapt attention to it. “I try to avoid making it one.”

“I used to. Back in high school. Gave it up when I got accepted here.”

He turns to face you then, head tilted so the visor of his slanted hat brushes his shoulder. “I would never have guessed you were a smoker.”

It’s not said with judgment, just as an observation from the limited interactions you’ve had since the semester began. The focus in Luke’s gaze crawls up your spine and mingles with the alcohol you’ve yet to flush from your system.

“You ever blown a smoke ring?”

If you’re not challenging him, you don’t quite know what to make of Luke. It’s the thing you know most about him, the way his face shifts from victory into loss. The way it matches yours, stretches from his eyes to his jaw and into clenched hands. If you’re not challenging him, you can’t read him - you want to be able to read him in the low light of right now.

“I bet I’m better at it than you,” you say after he answers. A short laugh escapes him, almost a huff, and it raises the skin on your arms when it meets the top of your ear. “Wanna see?”

“I’ve only got one.” He waves the cigarette he’s been holding in front of your eyes.

“We can share.”

It’s a bad, terrible, absolutely stupid idea.

“You’re on, Castellan.”

As he lights the end of it, you wonder if he knows what the brief flame does for his cheekbones, for his jawline. Paints them in small, defined shadows that you might still see if you close your eyes. You almost want to mention it to him. You settle for watching his lips settle around it, the sinking of his cheeks on the inhale and the noise as he exhales. There’s an almost complete ring of smoke in the air.

Luke hands you the cigarette and you repeat his motions, a little quicker. A little smoother. The ring that leaves your lips is full, but less circular.

Both of you pretend not to notice the other one staring.

You agree to best of three. You agree and you win by the tiniest margin and you hand Luke the little that remains as a consolation prize. He indulges in the last few drags and you watch him do it, looking nothing like the pre-med student you know he is. You think he could be dangerous like this, based on the way your stomach twists as he puts the cigarette out, how his head tilts back and the final wisps of smoke escape his mouth.

You aren’t as drunk anymore.

You really wish you were.

It takes Luke a second to notice that you’ve moved at all, eyes still closed but he does, and the run of his gaze across your face is enough for you to seize the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream, pushing forward so you’re actually face to face with him, knees digging into the rough carpet beneath you.

“Can I help you?” It’s low and a little ragged and this is the first time you’ve really noticed the thin, pale scar that stretches down the skin of his right cheek. It’s actually a little insane how pretty he is up close.

“I think I want a little more than the glory of winning this time,” and half of your whisper is lost to Luke Castellan’s lips but it’s not that important anyway.

What is important is the warmth of his hand through your shirt, pressed into the skin that exposes itself as you shift even closer. It’s the slightly rough texture of his jaw underneath your palm, the way his breath hitches in tandem with yours and you both push through it anyway. It’s the unexpected catch of your finger on his cap and the way you give up on it entirely, finally snatching it off his head so it lands somewhere nearby.

You’re not sure what you expected Luke’s hair to look like. Horrible, probably, with odd patches that lie weirdly flat and should be covered from view. It’s not this, wild dark curls that deserve to be seen.

“You have curly hair?” You say it before you can think not to, so caught up in the discovery you’ve just made, and Luke squints at you, unsure. “I can’t believe you have curly hair.”

He’s preparing a smart-ass comment, you know it by the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip, and that’s really just not going to work this time - not when he’s been lying for months behind a hat. So you do what any sane person would, twist your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and trail your lips across his jaw like you’ll die if you don’t.

His hand hooks underneath your thigh and, when you bracket his waist between your legs, cool leather brushing against your knees, you think this might be the best victory you’ve experienced yet.

Silena knows something is up when you refuse to speak to her about the party. There’s few secrets you’ve kept from each other since meeting, and even less since Clarisse got involved. It’s pointless to try, mostly, since they all spill out of you when the lights go out and you’re left with each other's company. You almost forgot how annoying she could be when she’s pushing for information.

“Don’t think I’m going to tell you either,” you say when Clarisse joins you in the library a week after the party. “I am a fortress of secrets.”

“I know you hooked up with Luke.”

“Seriously?”

She rolls her eyes, passing you the book you’d asked her for during practice last night. “Calm down. Chris told me. I’m down ten bucks now.”

“You bet on it?”

“Of course we did, it’s our brand.”

“I’m not telling Silena,” you whisper again, frowning at your notes. You wonder if Clarisse is aware you haven’t actually spoken to Luke since that night. “She’ll make it a big deal for nothing.”

“I won’t tell but you should probably figure out what happens next. There’s a party at ksig tomorrow night before everyone goes home for the holidays.” You tap your pen against the textbook. Clarisse pushes a slip of paper towards you. Someone’s phone buzzes to your left. “Think about it.”

When she’s long gone, you grab the paper she left from the table. It’s wrinkled and you smooth it as best you can beneath your fingertips. Blue ink, messily scrawled, and you commit it to memory. Closing your textbook, you leave it pressed between chapters seven and eight.

The party is loud, louder than you’re prepared for after flaking out on so many since your first one last year. Silena brushes past you once you arrive, shoving your shoulder just enough that it twinges and you frown. You didn’t speak a word on the way here and the silent treatment is starting to drive a little crazy.

It feels silly now, in a place so crowded, and you breathe deeply. Someone points you in the direction of the kitchen after multiple attempts at asking and you miss the light chaos of throwing up outside the Stolls’ dorm with your best friend.

You grab a beer, using the table edge to pop the cap off, and it helps to ease the tightness in your chest at how unfamiliar this all is. You’re not sure you could even find the restroom, let alone a singular person.

Pushing back into the bulk of the party, you vow to leave if you don’t find him before you finish your beer. There’s a project you have to start looking into for next semester that could be a good use of time tonight.

If anyone tried to convince you that most of campus was here, you’d be willing to believe them. A drink raised in Lee’s direction, a nod to Ethan from last years’ stats class, a half-hearted smile at Rachel, who raises an eyebrow at you like she knows something no one else does.

And maybe she does, because you turn away from her to find Luke just feet away, gesturing animatedly to the guy next to him. There’s a beer in his hand and a hat on his head and his phone number so deeply etched in your mind since last night that you hardly think about it until you’re standing next to him again, drink placed on a table somewhere along the way.

“Hi,” he smiles and his scar shifts with it. He turns to the guy from before. “We’ll catch up later, man.”

“Have I ever told you that I hate that fucking hat?”

“I sort of got that when you threw it across the room.” His lips wrap around the rim of his bottle and you think you can be normal about it, go back to the way things were, until he smirks just slightly and you know you can’t.

“You’re such a sore loser, Castellan,” you mutter as you push yourself up to snatch it from his head. He doesn’t comment, lets your fingers brush through his curls until they’re a complete mess instead of compacted. He glances down at the cap in your hand and mutters, “And what is your genius plan for my hat?”

It’s a really fucking good question. Short of getting it off his head, you didn’t know what you were going to do. It’s one thing to throw it across an empty room in the dark, another thing entirely to abandon it to a frat party. So you choose the next best thing - placing it on your own head and daring him to question it.

“I guess that can work,” Luke says and it sounds like a promise soaked in laughter.

Neither of you find it as funny when he has to tip the visor upwards to kiss you.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan x you #🖊️ abi writes…

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munsooooon · 7 days

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Steve hates very much to be called "Steven" not even as a joke, he has not talked about it with anyone but implicitly everyone senses it in some way or another and therefore they do not call him that way, it is always Steve or Harrington or some nickname. That's because when his parents called him that it was because they were incredibly angry or drunk and therefore punished him in horrible ways, when they called him Steven he usually ended up getting beaten up. When they called him Steven in public it was enough to make him freeze and make him shiver, eventually he would be silent and terrified for the rest of the evening.

Now being older if someone calls him Steven, he immediately assumes they are fighting with him or that he did something wrong and depending on the situation or the person he will react with sadness or anger, for example, when Tommy called him Steven, it ended in a awful fist fight. It really makes him feel very bad, in recent years sadness is what he felt the most when he hears his name, because it hurts him too much to disappoint the people he loves.

Eddie doesn't know it, but he doesn't call him Steven either, it's always a nickname or Stevie, or Steve or even Harrington. Until one night, when they were in Steve's room kissing fiercely and passionately, Steve was under him doing whatever it took to feel Eddie rubbing his skin, between gasps and accelerated breaths, every little movement Eddie made or every little touch Steve felt, he reacted effusively with his whole body shuddering, he was and felt hypersensitive, he couldn't keep still.

"Steven" Eddie whispered with softness and a beautiful smile, Steve looked at him surprised. "Stay still, I need to take your clothes off, love"

Steve loved that. It was the first time someone pronounced his name with such love. He stood for a few seconds, processing what was happening. He began to shake in anticipation of what Eddie might give him. His brain was short-circuited, and all he could think of was Eddie calling him "Steven" with that authority and that beautiful softness that only he had. He felt loved.

"Are you okay? Do you want us to stop?"

Steve took a few seconds to appreciate him, ran his face gently, because the words wouldn't come out even though they were in his throat. He was always silent when he shouldn't be but he couldn't help it.

Eddie kissed the hand that was on his face, not intending to go any further, and Steve melted once again, he wanted to speak and express loudly the pleasure the other boy was making him feel but he couldn't. Instead, he took Eddie's hand and directed it to his pants to make him feel what he had provoked, to make him understand that he didn't want to stop.

"No, I don't want to stop" Steve said as he sat on Eddie's lap. "Call me Steven again, just you, just you Eddie, call me love, baby, tell me I'm your princess and never stop"

Steve was incredibly loud that night, moving his hips against Eddie's lap, trying to fuck himself harder, deeper. He spoke his name softly and lovingly, until he began to cry, begged for more as tears flooded his face. Eddie held him tight with his arms to keep him right where he wanted him but also to keep him safe to hold him as he released a weight he seemed to be carrying for years.

Eddie couldn't utter a word, it was unbelievable. Eddie was always loud and Steve was quieter, but in the dark, in the security of their love, Steve could be whatever he wanted and could act however he wanted, so he was being loud as he wished because in Eddie's arms no one could punish him.

"You're such a good boy, don't you?" Eddie says softly.

"Yeah?" Steve asks as he chases Eddie, he moans loudly as Eddie once again hits that place on his body, his mouth stays open as he moves on Eddie, soft sounds keep coming out of his mouth, he closes his eyes, because he can feel Eddie all over his body, even though he moves slowly.

"Yeah. You're so sweet, my baby boy, I can't even explain how much I love you, princess"

Steve smiles with his eyes closed. He looked precious, his cheeks were flushed, his lips red, and somehow the tears made him incredibly beautiful.

....

Steve still hates being called that, he finally confessed it to Eddie but also gave him permission to call him that on special occasions. Plus, he told him that he would love to tell his parents what he does with the traumas they caused him. Because now every time he's called Steven it's because he's loved, because he's revered and because he's being fucked incredibly well.

Steve get his name back, Steven belonged to him and Eddie.

#eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson x steve harrington #steddie headcanon #stranger things #steddie ficlet #guys i blame my depression and the deftones for this

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psychedelic-ink · 8 months

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𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

body piercer!joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, modern au, no outbreak au

word count: 4.7k

summary: you finally go and get your nipples pierced.

warnings: reader has tattoos & has flat/small nipples which is the only physical description in this fic, nipple play, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, joel miller with a tongue piercing, lots of teasing, sexual tension, tattoo kink??? joel is really into them

a/n: this fic literally wouldn't exist if not for @swiftispunk's fic flesh and metal after reading it and screaming about it (and also reading articles about it) this fic was born, enjoy xx

special thanks to @johnwatsn for the beta! 💞

It’s late. The faint buzz of the neon sign is loud in your ears, taunting, mocking you for just staring inside instead of going in. Your face is illuminated with a red hue, the words BODY PIERCING burning into your irises. And despite the tacky neon sign, the inside looks quite clean. You would know, you’ve been stalking their Instagram page for a while now.

There’s no one inside and you’re contemplating whether or not you should just get on with it. The idea of getting your nipples pierced had been a vague thought until recently. You desperately needed a change, you wanted something new and exciting. You wanted to feel sexy again. Your ex had certainly done a decent amount of damage to your self-esteem and that, plus your already low view of yourself, did not help your brain to see the good of you.

So many things could go wrong, you’ve read multiple articles about it. Your body might reject the piercing, it might leave a scar, irritate it. . .

G Suddenly, a brisk burst of frigid air gently caresses your cheeks, causing you to instinctively step back. Your gaze swiftly shifts from the interior of the shop to the door, where you notice that someone has just opened it, allowing the chilly air from the air conditioning inside to spill out.

Joel Miller, the shop's number one body piercer. Your cheeks burn, your pulse quickens, the sound of it flooding your ears. He’s tall and broad, his brown eyes staring at you with utter amusement. As you continue to just blatantly stare at him, he cocks his head to the side with a crooked smile.

“I’m closin’ in half an hour, sweetheart. If you’re thinkin’ of comin’ in, I’d do it now.”

“O–Oh,” you swallow thickly. “I can come back tomorrow if you’re closing up, sorry to bother you.”

He raises an eyebrow, his smile falling, “Well, I didn’t quite say that, now, did I?” Come on in, darlin’. Tell me what you need.”

Tell him what you need—your heart beats in your throat, the lazy drawl of his words going directly between your legs. You mentally curse at yourself. How touch-starved are you? He’s just being polite. You’re the customer, it would’ve been weird if he just shooed you away.

Joel takes a step to the side, silently granting permission for you to enter. You stroll past him, making your way inside without uttering a word. The air conditioning is a blessing on your sweat-soaked skin. Even though you don’t have to, you briefly look at your surroundings. Just like your research had entailed, the shop was squeaky clean.

“So,” Joel clears his throat. “What can I do you for, sweetheart?”

Some part of you wishes that he could just understand without you having to form the words. You lick the back of your teeth, suddenly it’s very hard to breathe.

“I. . . wanted to get my nipples pierced—if that’s okay?”

“Of course, it is,” he smiles, much softer compared to his crooked smirk from before. “I’m Joel by the way,” he extends his hand and you take it with a sigh of relief, you feel much lighter now—

“I know.”

Your eyes go wide, both your hands stopping mid-shake. Joel’s amused glance is back again, his smile stretching into a grin, “You know?”

“I mean—well, I did research before I came here,” you answer quickly, aggressively almost, and release his hand. His grin only wides, a puff of air escaping his nostrils. “So that’s how I know your name.”

“Aren’t you the cautious one,” he turns on his heel and points towards the back. “If you’re set on what you want we can just head inside, I can explain the rest there.”

“Sure.”

Just as you both take a step you remember what you initially wanted to ask before going through with it and stop. Joel senses your lack of movement, turning around, you notice the furrow between his brow. “I actually wanted to ask something before we went on with it.”

“I’m all ears.”

Oh god, this is embarrassing, “So. . . my nipples are. . .flat—or is it more proper to call it small? I don’t know. Would that be an issue?”

The glimmer in his eyes returns full force, his expression of worry melting away, “I’ve never met a nipple I couldn’t pierce,” he teases. “So no need to worry that pretty head of yours.”

“Do you sweet talk with all your clients?” you ask, your lips twitching into a smile. You don’t know what it is, but you feel comfortable with him. Maybe it’s because you’ve been stalking his shop for so long. Either way, it’s a nice feeling.

“Only with the ones that know my name before I meet them.” His eyes gradually move up and down your body, eating you up. His tongue darts out and swipes over his bottom lip. You notice the faint shimmer that belongs to a silver tongue piercing. “And the ones that’ve been starin’ into my shop for least an hour.”

Joel takes a step closer and you feel your breath dissipating from your lungs. Dark, charcoal eyes sweep across your face. Your heartbeat is like a fearful hummingbird, hitting the bone cage in rapid succession. You swallow. By some miracle, you hold his gaze.

“You ready to go, little rabbit?”

All the tension drains from your bones and you burst out laughing, “Rabbit?” you giggle, your amusement only growing when you see his wide smile. “What the hell?”

“There’s that pretty smile,” he hums, pulling back. Joel stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Now that you’re relaxed we can get to business. We can stop whenever, so don’t feel pressured when you’re in the chair. You can just leave.”

You nod along as you follow him inside. You’re relieved when you see that it’s a spacious room with bright lighting that doesn’t irritate your eyes.

“First things first, let's pick out the piercing.” Joel walks towards one of the small glass cases and pulls out one of the drawers. Your excitement builds as he presents them to you. “Any ticklin’ your fancy?”

The light above gleams against the glass, there are so many and for a split second, you want them all. You never thought you would be labeling piercings as pretty. Looking them over, you decide you definitely want barbells instead of hoops. Now the question is which barbell one do you want?

“So many,” you mutter, eyes scanning over them again and again. You see one that says ‘cum here’ on each heart-shaped barbell. There’s a couple of them that say different things; kiss here, bite me, lick me— a shudder rolls down your spine. Your mind instantly fills with indecent thoughts, most of them staring at the man still patiently holding the glass case. You bite the inside of your cheek.

You bet he has the most skillful tongue—

“Oh, that one!” you exclaim suddenly, pointing at one in the shape of a heart. It’s decorated in shimmering rhinestones, the metal gold. When he inserts it, the heart would be framing your nipple. “It’s so cute.”

“You like shiny things, huh?” he smiles. “You gotta good eye, it’ll look good on you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, “Thanks.”

“Now lay on the bed, darlin’.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the piercing bed. You’re about to lay on it before he stops you with a raised hand. “Take off your top.”

“Most guys buy me dinner first.”

“Har har very funny,” he rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, which in return makes you lightheaded. The expression is like a drug and you want to see more of it. More and more and more. “Besides, if you have a flat nipple I’m gonna need to stimulate it.”

“Excuse me?”

Joel is unaware of your blundering, he arranges the fresh, disposable drape and sterile forceps, placing it on the small portable workstation, “If you’re uncomfortable with that I can use the suction device too,” he answers nonchalantly. You watch breathlessly as he pulls on his black rubber gloves and finally turns to you. He raises an eyebrow. “Why’s your top still on?”

“I—I just wasn’t aware nipple play was involved.”

“You do realize where you’re gettin’ pierced right?” his lips twitch up. “You’re not drunk, are you sweetheart?”

“Very funny,” you answer, mimicking his tone from before. “But anyway, okay, I guess I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Understandable,” you point towards the endless draws. “Want me to get the suction device?”

“God, no,” you let out a low chuckle. “Your fingers are just fine.”

“Never had any complaints before.”

Your stomach jumps, arousal caressing your skin similar to a summer breeze. The darkness in his eyes is back, his gaze intense and nerve-wracking.

“Will it hurt?” you mumble.

“I ain’t gonna lie so yeah, it will.”

“How much?”

“Depends, really.”

Your shoulders drop.

“Mine didn’t hurt that bad, to be honest, but my pain tolerance is quite high,” he mutters to himself rather than to you. He follows up with another sentence, probably something to soothe your worry but your brain is locked on to something very specific he just said.

“You have nipple piercings?” you ask incredulously. “Really?”

“I do, though it was more of a bet kind of situation. My brother loooves causing me trouble,” he sighs and crosses his arms over the expanse of his chest. “But joke’s on him because I liked how they looked so I kept them.”

“Can. . . Can I see?”

“You gonna be a good girl and keep still when I pierce you?” Joel teases. You nod furiously, lips pressed tightly together. “A’right then.” He curls his fingers into the hem of his shirt and lifts it. Your eyes are glued to his chest—his entire torso. You see the way a soft trail of draw hair starts from his bellybutton and disappears under his jeans, you see the soft swell of his stomach, the muscle—your eyes move up, you finally see his nipples, pierced, just like he said, with silver barbells. You lean closer, your ass at the very edge of the piercing bed.

Joel suddenly drops his shirt, hiding away, he shrugs, “Nothin’ fancy, but still, I like’em,” saying that, he takes a seat on his chair and sways a bit thanks to the wheels underneath.

“Do—” you lick the back of your teeth. “Do they make it more sensitive?”

His smirk makes your heart skip a beat, “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he points to your shirt. “Now off.”

Without a word, you peel off your shirt and unhook your bra. Joel’s eyes widen momentarily, his breath hitching at the sight of your bare torso. You’re confused for a moment. Surely, in his line of work, he’s seen many tits before—

Then you realize he’s staring at your tattoos.

You don’t have many, though you guess compared to others you do have many. Joel’s gaze lingers on your chest piece, two hands reaching towards each other with the sun and moon in between, decorating the dip between your breasts without going too deep. The blood rush of your body fills your ears, and your lips part with a gasp, his eyes instantly snap to your lips. You see the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

“Didn’t know you were tattooed, darlin’.”

“You like tattoos?” you ask, your voice hoarse and barely there. “I have more on my back.”

You swear his pupils dilate, “I’d love to see them after. If you’ll let me.”

“Sure,” you answer with a weak smile. “I don’t see a reason not to.”

He wheels closer, eyes dropping to your breasts. You look away. Your cheeks feel unreasonably warm despite the air conditioning running. Goosebumps blossom over every patch of skin. His mouth is too close, the warmth of his breath fans your chest, a pleasant tingle echoing over your breasts.

You’ve always felt a bit awkward about your nipples. They always seemed silly compared to your breast size, especially when you started seeing other nipples.

“I’m gonna touch you now,” he says softly, dragging you away from your thoughts. “I’m gonna massage it a bit to work it out, a��right?”

You nod and hold your breath simultaneously. He does your right nipple first. Just like he said, he massages the flesh closest to your nipple, easing it out. It feels good, undeniably so. The pads of his fingers work delicately. Deep down you wish he didn’t have to wear the gloves. Your body aches for his heat, his bare touch on your naked skin. Joel pinches a bit hard and you flinch, he mumbles an apology. You don’t have it in you to tell him that it didn’t actually hurt, rather, it felt good.

Soft whimpers threaten to escape your lips so you bite into the bottom one, hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to regulate your breathing with deep inhales. His thumb swipes over your, now hard, nipple. “There we go,” he says.

You don’t open your eyes. Pain blossoms from the flesh of your lips, you feel them starting to swell.

“Hey,” Joel’s hand cups the side of your face, then you feel his thumb easing out your lips from between your teeth. “You’re gonna hurt yourself like that. Are you okay?”

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re just turned on? That this has been the most action you’ve had in months?

“I’m okay,” you answer. His brows furrow in disbelief and you can’t really blame him. You let out a long sigh. “I’m fine, I promise. I just got a little worked up.”

“Worked up?” His smile is back and in response, you want to bury your head in the sand. “What d’you mean?”

His hand slides to your waist, squeezing it gently. You stick your bottom lip out. “You know what I mean.”

“Hmmm, maybe,” his voice drips with cruel teasing, his thumb begins to draw lazy circles around your skin. You think he’s going to say something else but his gaze once again drops to your chest. “Looks like it disappeared, gonna need to work it out again.”

You expect his fingers—maybe for him to pinch a bit harder this time.

What you don’t expect, however, is his burning mouth on your cold skin.

“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, your body instinctively arching towards him. He groans as a response, taking more of you into his mouth. His tongue flicks your peaked nipple. You feel his teeth nipping the tender flesh and you gasp once more, a sharp moan rattling in your throat.

His eyes look up at you, momentarily he parts away, his lips are swollen, spit glistening at his lips, “This okay?”

“Yes.”

And he continues to devour you.

Your fingers bite into the leather bed, he laps at the pebbled flesh, purposefully rubs the tongue piercing into it. The sudden hardness of metal makes you jump and then melt into it, he repeats the movement of his tongue again and again, swirling it until your thighs start to shake. His hands briefly move to your tattoo, thick fingers dancing along the ink.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs, directing his attention to your other nipple. He flicks at it first then closes his lips around it. Your underwear is sticky with slick, your legs in constant motion to relieve some of the tension from your throbbing clit. He cups your mound, presses his fingers into your clothed slit. “Be patient, I’m gettin’ there.” He sucks on your nipple and teases the other with his fingers, pinching and pulling them.

“Won’t be able to do this when we pierce them,” he growls, teeth sinking into your nipple, he flicks his tongue over it. “And you better not let anyone else touch’em too.”

Your head falls back with a groan. He flicks his tongue again when you grind into his palm, the friction not enough to quench your need for him. You grip his shoulder, urging him to move back. He does. You immediately feel guilty at the worry crossing his eyes.

You grip his shirt, slightly sliding it up his stomach, “Can I see how sensitive you are?”

A brush of color spreads from his neck to his cheeks. You smile. Red looks good on him.

He stands up, the chair wheeling away. Joel is quick to discard his shirt and you’re glad that the piercing bed makes it so that you’re in perfect tasting range. You spread your legs wider as he comes closer, taking his place between them. His skin touches your own, his warmth overwhelming yet welcomed.

You kiss his neck first. Then his collar bone, you suck on his skin, teasing the sensitive flesh with your teeth. He shudders. Slowly you make your way down, your thumbs push at the pierced nipples and he moans behind gritted teeth. Smiling sweetly at him, you swirl your tongue around one, playing with the other. Your tongue moves over the bead of the piercing, you tilt it which in return twists the nipple. Another tremble overwhelms him, his body curling around you even further. The outline of his cock is prominent through his jeans, his body impulsively grinding against your stomach. You moan at the hardness, and he moans at the pressure.

“Fuck, that’s nice,” he rasps, hips jerking. “But let’s take care of you now, I bet your panties are soaked, darlin’.”

Fuck, it is.

Joel drags his lips down your cheek, he kisses your neck slowly, the metal on his tongue forcing a shudder up your spine and making you curious about how it’ll feel on your cunt.

“Want to eat you out from behind, sweetheart, wanna see those tattoos.”

His hands are a constant on your skin as you hop off the bed and bend over, he helps you with your jeans, reaching around and unbuttoning it for you. The fabric suddenly feels too tight on your skin and you need to get rid of it—now.

The harsh fabric pools at your ankles and you kick them away. His fingers play with the elastic of your underwear, pulling and twisting. The heft of him rubs between the crease, thick cock straining against his zipper. You expect him to take off his jeans too. Your piercer is full of surprises, though, and instead of doing the predictable thing, he continues to roll his hips whilst tracing the pads of his fingers over tattoos.

“Fuck, they’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he mumbles. His touch is ticklish, yet arousing at the same time. More slick gathers at the fabric. You’re desperate for his touch. By the movement of his fingers you guess which of them he’s stroking. First, it’s the fox that stretches over your spine, beams of sun framing its face. Then it’s the smoke-like lines that are closer to your shoulder and the other one near your hip. Joel can’t seem to get enough of it. His palms are flat against inky skin, trying to feel the thought of you while you got them.

You gasp at the touch of soft lips and soft tongue. He licks a slow line up your spine, tracing over the fox and sunlight. By pure instinct you bend over further, your breasts completely pressed against the leather. You’ve never been more glad to have tattoos in your goddamn life—he’s worshipping them, the figures that adorn your skin.

His velvet tongue is replaced by sharp teeth, your back arches, ass pressing further into his clothed cock. Joel trembles and follows your eager movements with another tender bite.

“I love them,” he mouths over the inky smoke near your shoulder. “I love feeling you, touching you. I could just do this for hours. You feel amazin’ against my skin, my sweet little rabbit.”

This time you don’t laugh at the absurd nickname. His name drips from your damp lips like honey, sweet to say and sticking to your tongue.

His hand dips between your legs and his mouth moves down to your ass, he kisses the plump flesh as two fingers stroke you from over the fabric of your underwear. His groan reverberates on your skin, teeth skimming the flesh, “Fuck, you actually are soaked,” Joel hums and slips them under, gathering you around his fingers. “All this for me?”

“Yes,” you gasp, raising your hips. “P-Please—”

Joel shushes you, “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he gets down to his knees and as he does, a small grunt leaves his lips.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Just fine,” he kisses your pussy and you’re instantly melting towards his mouth, a groan ripping from your throat. “A sacrifice I’m willin’ to make.”

Joel doesn’t give you the chance to reply or offer to change positions, he slides your panties to the side, licking into you hungrily. You shudder and your upper body jolts, forming the perfect arch. He presses deeper. Licking and teasing your clit with the tip. He cups both sides of your ass and gives them a gentle smack. Your eyes roll at the mild pain, your slick coating his lips, tongue, and chin. The rough hairs of his beard chafe your skin, only adding to the pleasure.

“Taste so good, beautiful,” Smack. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you, make you come until there’s a goddamn puddle on the floor.”

“Oh god—” you choke on air, a moan locking in your throat the same time you’re trying to gasp for air. His words and the swirl of his tongue are downright sinful. He flattens his tongue and parts your folds with the soft muscle, teasing your entrance.

Joel pulls you back against him, his lips teaching your clit, your jaw drops, a jolt of pleasure rushing through you and tightening your nipples. It’s filthy, that’s all you can think. If someone walked through those doors right this instant, they would see his face between your cheeks, drinking from you like a man dying of thirst.

Your head drops, mouth flooding with saliva, you roll your hips; begging, asking for more. He gives it to you. Two thick fingers slide into you with ease, his mouth leaving wet open-mouthed kisses on your ass.

“Gonna come for me?” he asks, voice full of gravel. “Come on, give it to me, let me see how your pussy throbs, sweetheart.”

He curls his fingers and you imagine him smirking as he breaks you apart. You cry out his name, your entire body shuddering as if lightning struck it, “That’s it, that’s it, that’s it. . .” He continues to thrust his fingers in and out, you feel yourself dripping, imagine yourself making a puddle just like he asked for. “Give it to me, honey. You’re fuckin’ beautiful, look at you. . .”

Joel spreads you with his fingers and delves back into you, he draws circles around your clit, his jaw constantly moving with every lick. He doesn’t stop until he’s coaxing another orgasm out of you—your head fills with bliss, your body lifeless.

When he’s done feasting, he slowly gets up with his hands sliding to your back. He leans down to pepper more kisses onto your tattoos, your skin tingling and singing at the contact.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, lips sucking at your neck. “Then let’s get those pretty nipples pierced.”

“W—What about you?” you ask breathlessly.

Joel helps you sit back up on the bed, you part your legs so he can come closer, he accepts the invitation with a wide smile, “I have a feelin’ we’ll be seein’ more of each other, sweetheart. You can make it up to me then.”

Your heart skips a beat and your lips part.

You have a strong feeling that he’s right.

With gloved hands, Joel carefully opens a sterile needle package. You watch with rapt attention as he takes out the fresh needle, inspecting it. Your body is still thrumming with pleasure, your head still swimming in a daze. All you can hear is his breathing.

He had already walked you through everything while preparing for the procedure. No touching, no swimming. You had to clean them softly in the shower and that was meant to be the only source of water your nipples touch for a while. If there was any irritation or marks, you were to reach out immediately.

Honestly, you found it cute that he’d gotten so serious all of a sudden. It was nice to see him so professional too, so competent.

He comes closer and your body seizes. You hold your breath. With a sudden need to distract yourself, your eyes linger on to the walls. Your brows furrow in surprise when you notice the tattoo designs. You thought this was only a piercing shop.

“You do tattoos too?” you ask nervously.

“My brother does,” he answers. “He works the tattoo side of the business and I do the piercings.”

“It’s nice that it’s in the family. . .”

“Sweetheart, I know what you’re doin’. You’ll be fine I promise.”

“Okay. I trust you mister man-I-just-met.”

He grins, “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it ten minutes ago.”

“Touché.”

Joel prompts you to lay on the piercing table, he approaches you with a reassuring smile on his face. You can feel your heart racing as you nervously anticipate the pain of getting your nipples pierced, you imagine the worst, your heart beating in tune with your fear.

He carefully cleans the area around your nipples and marks the spot where the piercing will go. He double-checks the placement with you to ensure you're happy with it. You give a slight nod, still feeling a bit apprehensive.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs. “It’ll only hurt for a second.”

With steady hands, Joel takes the needle. You feel a sharp pinch as it punctures through your skin, but the pain dissipates quickly. You let out a small whimper, “It’s okay, it’s okay, just a bit more,” he comforts you and you nod with a long exhale.

After the needle is through, he quickly follows it with the jewelry, securing it in place. You watch in awe as he attaches the beautiful barbells to your nipples, the adrenaline and endorphins making the pain feel less than it is.

Once the piercings are in place, Joel gently cleans the blood before you can get a look.

“Aaand done, tell me what you think.”

You’re surprised that he has a mirror in hand when you sit back up. Your gaze finds your reflection and an instant smile spreads across your face.

“You like’em?” he asks, his tone shy.

“Like them?” you gasp. “I love them! Thank you!”

“Oh that’s a relief,” he leans back into the chair, slightly rolling away with a relieved smile. “No matter how many times I do it, I still get nervous.”

“I definitely love them,” you say, you get up to wear your shirt but end up wincing at the sharp pain. You look at Joel between squinted eyes. “When did you say the pain would stop again?”

“It’s gonna take a while,” he answers with a sympathetic smile. “You don’t know how much your nipples touch stuff until you get’em pierced.”

“Well, at least they look good.”

He shoots you a wink, “They sure do, little rabbit.”

“That nickname is still ridiculous.”

“Should I remind you that the last time I used it you came on my tongue?”

“Nope no reminder needed,” you put your shirt back on, smiling. “I’m still going through the aftershocks.”

“Good,” he stands with you, hands on your waist, he pulls you as close as he can without your nipples touching his chest. “So, you wanna go out?” Joel’s gaze drops to your chest and he licks his lips, “Gotta make sure you’re takin’ care of them properly.”

“My hero.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller au #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #scheduled post

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satorusugurugurl · 6 days

Note

heyy!! how ru? soooo, i was thinking about jjk men found out that reader has problems with food, if you are okay with it, could you write it? if you r not its okay! you are a great writer and i love reading your stuff!! kisses!

JJK Men: When You Have an Issue With Food

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna

Word Count: 3,907

Warning: Themes of eating disorders, issues with food, negative body image, suggestiveness, fluff in the end

A/N: Thank you for the request, Nonnie! As someone who has struggled with issues regarding an eating disorder, this took me a bit of time to figure out, but I feel proud of it. Please seek out resources if you struggle as well! There are so many helpful resources that have helped me!

Gojo Satoru:

Satoru loved sweets. He developed his love in high school when stimulating his brain, which led to him developing a sweet tooth, so you could always count on him to bring home all sorts of sweets, which was nice. You enjoyed it until someone at work mentioned that it looked like you gained weight. You brushed it off at first, but it struck a nerve when she said you might lose your boyfriend if you continued eating the sweets. Did you put on a few pounds since you started dating Gojo? Was it all the sweets you had been enjoying with him?

The comment had you poking at your stomach in the mirror with a pout. That woman blatantly announcing their view in front of your coworkers was rude. It was embarrassing and had you questioning if Satoru had noticed if you gained weight. You need to stop indulging in sweets, or more people might start making comments about your weight. Or the worst-case scenario was that Satoru would leave you.

That same day, you went straight to the gym when you got home. You heard footsteps rushing to the door when you returned to your apartment. Satoru nearly tackled you as he kissed your cheeks repeatedly as you headed for the kitchen.

“Hi, Toru!” You giggled as Satoru shuffled with you into the kitchen, not once letting you go. “How did the mission go?”

“It was boring! I wish I could’ve brought you with me!” White strands of hair fly as he yanked his head away from your face. “But I brought you home some souvenirs.” He handed you a pink bag with a cute cat label. “Macaroons from France! This shop is known for its take on different flavors. Peanut butter and jelly blueberry and cinnamon roll. I bought one of every flavor for us to try.” His smile was wide and warm, leaving you feeling sick.

“Oh, thanks.” You placed the bag onto the counter with an evident frown. One Satoru saw your unenthusiastic reaction, and it made him pout.

“What’s wrong? You love macaroons.”

“I do. I just—” Nausea twisted in your stomach. “I can’t eat them anymore.”

The combination of ‘I do’ and ‘I can’t’ had Satoru reeling in stunned silence. “What do you mean you can't? Did you develop a macaroon allergy while I was gone?”

“No, I can’t keep eating sweets, Toru.”

Satoru could tell something had happened while he was gone. Usually, you jumped at the chance to try an exotic sweet he’d bring home. For you to be so dismissive wasn’t like you at all. He’d only been gone for a week, and suddenly, you had an aversion to sweets.

His fingers gently grab your chin between his thumb and forefinger. The second his eyes meet yours, he can feel your anguish. Tears glimmer in your eyes as a little hiccups sound in your chest. Seeing you in such a state had your boyfriend searching you for injuries only to realize it wasn’t on the surface but deeper.

“Sweetheart.” The tenderness and concern in his voice make you cry harder. “Baby, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” Satoru pulls you to the couch, sitting you directly on his lap.

“M-My c-co—“ si s wreck through you as you try to speak, “my coworker—”

“Your coworker what? Who do I need to Hollow Purple?”

Satoru runs his hands gently up and down your back, which is soothing. “They were asking if I gained wei—weight. A-And they said that I would lose you if I gained more.” His hands stopped moving, and his eyes widened in disbelief.

“I’m sorry. What the fuck did you just say?”

You spilled your guts out, telling him everything from what they said to you to going to the gym. Never once amid your rant did he interrupt you. He just held you, pressing kisses against your tear-stained cheeks until you shuddered with a sigh once you were done.

“Baby, my sweet, beautiful girlfriend. Fuck them. Fuck those assholes; God, I hate people so much.” His hands grab your hips, making you straddle him to stare into his eyes. “I think you’re beautiful just the way you are. If you want different souvenirs, I’ll bring you something different. If you want me to bring you back, I will.” His hands gently stroke at your tear-stained cheeks. “But don’t let a bunch of assholes dictate what you can and can’t eat.”

Sincere cease the stream tears. “You think I’m perfect?” A smile graces your face, causing Satoru’s heart to flutter.

“Yes! I love you, whether you indulge in sweets or focus on going to the gym. Regardless of your choice, I’ll support you, whether I bring you home more treats or join you at the gym; say the word, and I’ll support you no matter what.”

You gently pressed your lips against him. To which he gladly reciprocated, holding you tight as you messily made out like horn-crazed teenagers. You happily munched on the macaroons Satoru brought home the next day at work when your phone rang. The woman who had commented on your weight, Tadashi, appears on the caller ID, making you roll your eyes

“Yes?” You asked, licking the crumbs off your lips.

“You have a delivery here in the front.”

You rush to the lobby and pass other assistant supervisors into the waiting room. The delivery man is hidden behind the arrangement of your favorite flowers. You melted as you stepped forward, the floral scent drawing you in.

“Hi, those are for me.” You helped your hands out to the vase.

“Yes, they are!” The flowers lowered, and your grind blindfold creased as he stared down at you.

“Toru?!”

“Just had to remind you how perfect and loved you are!” he placed the flowers down before rubbing his arms around you. “I also want hollow purple the assholes who hurt you.”

“No, Toru, please don’t do that.”

While murder was out of the question, Satoru decided on a different approach to let your coworkers know how much you were loved. He wrapped his arms around you before dipping you in front of all of your shitty coworkers just before kissing you. He made such a scene making out with you and grabbing your ass that you were left a blushing mess. He finally managed to pull away; he flipped off the woman who had made such terrible comments to you.

“Hope this proves that I’m never going anywhere.” he slaps your ass again, drawing a squeak from you. “She’s mine forever and always, no matter what!”

Nanami Kento:

Ever since high school, you have had a food issue. When you were a child, your grandparents often commented about you cleaning off your plate or having seconds. They would frequently call you chubby or warn you that man would like a woman who finished her meals before him.

Because of their comments, you never ate as much as you would like. Purposely leave as much food on your plate as possible without starving yourself. While the habit was unhealthy, it pleased your grandparents to the point they finally got off your back about your plate and weight. After their deaths, the harmful habit caused by their poisonous words scarred you your whole life.

No matter how hungry you were, you never finished your plate. A handful of the entire plate was eaten at every meal you ate. If you were still hungry, water helped with the lingering traces of hunger. Because of your seemingly peckish behavior, you were called a bird throughout high school and even into adulthood. You didn’t see it in a bad way. You were eating the way you did, which never bothered you. You were happy and content with your choices until you started dating Nanami Kento.

When he first asked you out, you thought the good-looking man was pulling a joke on you. Much to your relief, he was serious. He wanted to take you out for dinner and drinks, which you excitedly agreed to. Nanami took you to the best restaurants in town, and it was. You moaned as you ate until you had to force yourself to stop, as you were dangerously getting close to finishing your plate for the first time in years.

Your grandparents' words haunted you as you reluctantly put your spoon down. That was the first time he picked up on your issue. The way you assured him that you were full when your eyes still lingered on your food or how you moaned when you took a bite of the sweet dessert, going in for another spoonful only to freeze and drop your spoon.

Something didn’t seem right, but Nanami wouldn’t pry on the first date. Perhaps you weren’t that hungry, or you were nervous around him. There was no point in bringing it up right now. He wasn’t even sure if he’d get a second date.

But he got that second date and the third, and soon, he became your loving, doting boyfriend

A boyfriend who noticed you not cleaning your plate off wasn’t just a one-time occurrence but a habit of yours. No matter the meal, breakfast, lunch, or dinner, you never finished your plate. Even when you complained about how starving you were, you never ate until you were full.

You never looked satisfied whenever you ate; one would even say that you looked disappointed whenever your plate was taken away at restaurants. Or when you close the lid on your unfinished bento box. You wanted to eat, but something was preventing you from pushing past the limit you made for yourself

Nanami didn’t want to pry or embarrass you by bringing it up, but he could no longer hold his tongue after the two of you had gone to dinner. You stopped eating, and while he finished his meal, you chugged down an entire glass of water. Clearly, you were still hungry but not wanting to eat.

He decided he needed to bring up the manner in the comfort of his home, away from watchful eyes. So Nanami invited you to his condo for a homemade dinner featuring your favorite meal.

It was so good. The flavors were perfect, mouthwatering, and nearly orgasmic. You moaned eagerly, shoving more food into your mouth, losing yourself in the delicious meal made by loving hands; Nanami watched you while sipping on his wine, watching you eat until you stopped eating like always. The disappointment was evident on your face as you reluctantly put your fork down.

Now was the time to act.

“Darling, is the food not to your liking?” A sense of dread burned in your stomach as you looked up from your half-full plate at your boyfriend

“No, it was good! I’ve never tasted something so tasty.”

Nanami placed his wine glass down, licking his bottom lip. “ Are you just not hungry?” You shook your head, cheeks burning. “Then why don’t you eat more Love? You clearly want to.”

“But I don’t wanna lose you—”

Not expecting that to be your answer, Kento pulled his chair to your side, sat down, and gently grabbed your hands. You flushed as he brought them towards his mouth, pressing gentle kisses against your knuckles. Your boyfriend looked so distraught over your answer as if it had wounded him to the soul.

“Why do you think that? Have I made you feel if you were to finish your food, that would result in me leaving you? If I made you feel that way, I’m sorry.”

“Ken, no, no, wait a second.” Your fingers squeezed around his hand. “You didn’t do anything remotely close to making me feel that way.”

“Then why do you think you’d lose me if you were to finish a meal in front of me?”

Swallowing at the lump of dread in your throat, you sighed. “Well, it’s something my grandparents always used to say.” You told him everything about their crude remarks and terrible advice. You also confessed that despite their passing, their words still haunted you, making it hard for you to finish meals.

“That has to be the most asinine bullshit I’ve ever heard.” Kento snapped, irritation carved into his features. “People are so cold and cruel. They don’t understand that words can impact a person for the entirety of their lives.”

“Kento—”

“I can assure you that I would rather you finish your plate than starve yourself. Food is one of the many joys in life that is better shared and company.” He closed the small distance between you. “If you finish your plate, I won’t be disgusted or turned off. I promise you it’s the opposite; seeing you happy and enjoying yourself makes me happy.”

“It does?”

“You always look so happy when you eat something you like.” Nanami picked up your fork and is holding it out for you. “So please don’t let the cruel words of terrible people dictate how you live your life. I won’t be leaving anytime soon, so please eat as much as you’d like.”

Hearing those words from him, the man who stole your heart, made your soul soar. Confirming that your grandparents were terrible people and that he wouldn’t leave you left you feeling overjoyed. Like you had been set free. It was like Kento had taken bolt cutters to the chains wrapped around you for years. That rush of relief had you eating more food off your plate with a happy hum.

You ate all the food off your plate for the first time in years. Nanami grinned as he gently stroked your head, elated to you, so happy and satisfied. Seeing you in such a euphoric state delighted him; words could not describe it. Nanami Kento was falling hard for you, and he couldn’t wait to see what the future holds for you both.

Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU):

“Big bro!” Sukuna Thomas is a slice of toast on Yuuji’s plate. “Bro!” The smaller boy pouts at his brother, who ultimately ignores him, tossing a butter knife into the sink. “Brother!”

“What?!” Sukuna snaps, running a hand down. His little brother is unfazed by his tone, happily munching away on the toast he had prepared for him.

“Big sis forgot her lunch again!” Yuuji always referred to you as his big sister, even though you were dating his older brother. Sukuna made a mental note to discuss calling you by either your last name or first name, whatever you preferred, when you got home from work.

“No, I handed it to her,” Sukuna is about to call Yuuji a brat for lying when he spots your Bento box wrapped in a cherry blossom cloth on the entrance table by the front door. He swears you’d lose your head if it weren't attached to your body. This was the third time you had forgotten your lunch this week. “Dumb little brat.” he snatches it off the entrance table to put it back in the fridge for you. “She’d if it wasn’t for delivery services and convenience stores. Always forgetting her shit.”

“She didn’t forget it.” Yuuji’s addition has his brother shutting the door to the fridge to box still in hand.

“The hell you mean she didn’t forget it?”

The smell of sterilized wipes makes your empty stomach twist. Maybe the fasting and the protein shake in the morning weren't cutting it anymore. This meant you would have to eat a bit more, which was something you didn’t want to do. Not when your beach trip with Sukuna and the boys was around the corner.

“Hey.” One of your coworkers tapped her knuckles on the door of the exam room you were cleaning. “Once you’re done here, you can take your lunch if you want.”

“Lunch?” You laugh, pulling your gloves off and tossing them in the trashcan. “If you count a protein shake as lunch, I’ll take it.”

“Oh,” your coworker covered her mouth, “ I think I just ruined the surprise.” Surprise? What the hell was she talking about? “Your boyfriend is in the lobby with your lunch.”

Oh fuck.

Without another word, you rushed through the office, heading to the lobby. Sukuna stood by the front desk with a scowl over his tattooed face. He was pissed, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to face him, but the plot to hide vanished the second his crimson eyes shot in your direction.

A chill ran down your spine as the sheer coldness in his gaze had you frozen in your spot until he motioned for you to come over with his index and middle finger. You approached him, smoothing out your scrubs, avoiding eye contact at all costs, which lasted for a second before Sukuna could use his fingers to lift your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Let’s take a walk.” The sharpness of his tone left no room for discussion

“Okay.”

He at least waited until he was outside to turn and glare down at you. You would have to thank him for that. “Care to explain how you forgot your lunch?” His jaw is clenched, and the veins are popping out of his neck as he attempts to hold back his anger.

“I uh—”

“And before you even think about telling me ‘you forgot’ for the third time this week, long and hard about how you wanna answer my question.”

“I left it behind.”

Sukuna nodded with a scoff. “So does this mean you haven’t forgotten your lunch all week, or have you purposely left it behind?” You give him a guilt-ridden nod. “Why?” His being short and questioning your motives was exactly how you imagined his reaction if he found out what you were doing.

“Because of my diet.”

“Diet, the fuck you mean your diet?”

Your cheeks burn as he repeats the word diet ten more times as if repeating it will help him understand your reasoning. Sukuna listens to you sigh in defeat before sitting on the fountain's edge in front of the medical complex where you work. His frustration blinded him so much that he didn’t notice how you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth or how your leg bounced anxiously.

He sat down, putting your bento box off to the side. “Why are you skipping meals on this ‘diet’?” The bastard was using air quotes now.

“My coworker showed it to me. Two meals with protein shakes and eat only one big meal or day I could tone up.”

“So you’re basically ‘starving’ yourself to tone up?”

“Can you stop using air quotes?”

“I will once you tell me why you’re skipping meals for the shitty diet you don’t even need to be on. If you want to focus on your health and getting toned up, do it. I’ll go to the gym and show you how to use the machines. I’ll even spot you. But so that you know, I think you’re perfect the way you are.”

“You’re obligated to say that because you’re my boyfriend.” Your attitude in your tone has said boyfriend glaring daggers. “You’re muscular and buff, and I’m—“ you pout, “ I’m just me.”

“Yeah, and I want you, all of you.” He’s getting fed up with the piss-poor attitude you have going on. “What’s with the self-hate.”

Sukuna was expecting more attitude or possibly the silent treatment, but you didn’t; instead, it was quiet as your delicate fingers rubbed against your pants. “I-I bought a new swimsuit for the trip to the beach and—” your boyfriend perked up, interest peaked. “And it’s a little snug in some places.”

“Snug?”

“Yeah.” When you first got the swimsuit, you saw nothing wrong with it, but a friend of yours pointed out that your bottoms were a bit snug in the ass region—seeing that your beach trip was two weeks away, your coworker recommended the not-so-awesome diet you were on since you wanted to tone up; because if your friend thought it was snug. You could only imagine what your boyfriend would think. “I just wanna look good for you.”

“Oi.”

“Ye-mph!” Just as you turned to look at him, he shoved the tip of a rice ball into your mouth.

“I need to see you in those bottoms.” There was a certain cuteness with how he puffed his cheeks out as you eagerly chewed on the rice ball. Once you finish swallowing, you grab it by the end and pull it out, holding the remainder of it in your hand

“You want to see?”

“Of course, why the fuck would you listen to some nobody? Let me see them, and I’ll tell you what I think.”

That was the last thing you wanted, but you knew he wouldn’t let this go until you did. Taking another bite of the delicious rice ball, you sighed in defeat. “I’ll show you, Sukuna,” He flicked his finger against your forehead. “What was that for?!” He shoved the second rice ball into your mouth, silencing you.

“For being a dumbass, eat your lunch and bring those bottoms back to my apartment.” He pressed a kiss against your cheek. “I gotta get back to work, but don’t forget I love you the way you are. Please don’t starve yourself because you assume I wouldn’t like something on you.”

You ate all your lunch while dreading the mere thought of him seeing you in the bottoms, which your friend had deemed too tight. The anxiety of what was to come had your day flying by, and before you knew it, you were peeking your head out of the bathroom of Sukuna’s apartment. Your boyfriend sat on the edge of the bed, watching you closely.

“Promise you’ll be honest. I’m dead serious, Kuna.”

“Promise.” When you stepped out of the bathroom, Sukuna’s eyes widened at the sight of the tight red bottoms you wore. They were snug and all the right ways. They were hugging your hips and the curve of your ass perfectly. The color complimented your skin tone. You were so fucking perfect. Your friend must have told you that your bottoms look too snug because they were jealous of you.

Sukuna stood up, crowding you against the wall, inhaling sharply as you hit the cool wall. Your tattooed boyfriend sunk to his knees, his lips and teeth nipping at your thighs up to the curve of your hips. The warmth of his mouth, how you gasped, your hands gripping the pink tufts of hair.

“Kuna.”

“Throw those fucking shakes away, babe. These are perfect.” His voice was muffled as he nipped harder at your skin.

“You don’t think they’re too snug?”

“No, they're perfect.” He whispered, drawing closer and closer to your core. “Now, let's have our own little experiment. I wanna see how well they do—” crimson eyes meet your panting flushed face, “when they’re wet.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks

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cupid-styles · 3 months

Note

A little idea of a scene for hockeyxballerina: even before they start having a thing they end up in a heated kiss with him pressing her against a wall, car, bookshelf of whatever whi his hamd on her throat and her brain his so foggy she lets him spit on her mouth but the she comes to hers senses and runs away without a word, not even an insult because she is so shocked with what she did

🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

word count: 1.6k

content warnings: smut (hehe finally!!!) (spitting, public play, dirty talk, degradation)

hockey!h x ballerina!yn masterlist

main masterlist

. . .

There must be something clinically wrong with Y/N tonight.

Well, maybe not just tonight. Maybe... maybe, that "something wrong" has been creeping up her body and spreading from her stomach out to her chest and center over the duration of a past few weeks. Maybe she expected it go away after a day or two, because why wouldn't it?

Harry Styles is his worst nightmare. Her moral enemy. Her fiercest competitor.

So why the fuck does she think he looks good enough to swallow whole tonight?

He walked in with a crowd of his hockey buddies an hour or so after Y/N, Lea, Rena, and Mai had arrived. Per the pre-game hosted at Mai and Rena's place, she was already feeling a little buzzed when she got here. She was planning on taking it easy tonight — she was still diligently practicing for the spring showcase every day — but the second her eyes flitted over to the stupid backwards hat he wore and the flex of his jaw from the gum he chewed, she knew she needed more to get through the night.

And she's pleasantly tipsy when she makes a move to head to the bathroom. She hears her friends scold her for "breaking the seal," but she rolls her eyes and playfully flips them off in response. Her sneakers stick to the vodka-coated floors of the college bar as she pushes her way through the crowd, trying to make her way to the ladies' room without any tequila spillage on her top.

Harry Styles is an idiot, she thinks to herself as she walks, There's no way I could have a crush on him. What, just because he drove me home a few times and helped me when I hurt my ankle? That's stupid, he's stupid, and—

"Hey, you."

Her eyes dart up at the familiar deep voice and she wishes the ground would open up and take her right then and there. Did she somehow conjure Harry up with her thoughts? She's a little drunk, but there's no way she's that powerful.

Unless she is.

"I have to pee." she replies, pointing to the bathrooms behind his tall stature.

"Okay. Go pee, then."

She flashes a tight smile his way as she brushes past him. She thinks from the corner of her eye she sees him stand against the wall of the small hallway, crossing her arms over his chest. The last time they were in this area together, it was right after she slept with Malcolm (the stupid, prissy idiot from the opposing team who wouldn't even smack her ass). At this point, it's been months since Harry lowly waxed poetic in her ear about how he could make all her degrading dreams come true.

The memory makes her shudder as she washes her hands.

Y/N's suspicious are proved right when she exits the bathroom to see Harry still standing there. She's prepared to ignore him and walk straight past him until he reaches out to grasp her wrist, gently pulling her back. She yelps, a tipsy, unattractive sound, and it makes Harry's eyes crease with laughter.

"You good?" he asks. Y/N's vision darts down to the gum he's chewing between his teeth and she swallows.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

Harry shrugs. "Just making sure you're not too drunk."

"I have a dress rehearsal this weekend," she replies with a shake of her head. "I just came out to see the girls."

"And me." He points out cheekily, making her roll her eyes.

"I didn't even know you'd be here tonight, Harry."

"It's one of three bars in town and all the athletes come here."

He's right about that, and she knows he could double down by pointing out the obvious, too — that this is the only bar their friend groups ever frequent, and the hockey team rarely misses a Friday night out.

Luckily, he spares her the embarrassment.

"We have a game tomorrow night," he continues, "Will you come?"

"Why would I do that?"

"School spirit. Duh."

Y/N scoffs at that and shakes her head. She focuses her eyesight on anything but the cocky, beautiful, stupid man in front of her.

"I'm practicing all day. I'll be in an ice bath before your game even starts."

"Hot," he smirks. Y/N's stomach flutters.

"Stop being a douche. I thought we were past this."

"We are!" Harry exclaims, lifting his hands up in surrender. She only now realizes that he'd had his fingers looped around her wrist that entire time. "I'm just saying, you're hot."

"You must be more fucked up than I thought," Y/N guffaws.

"If I was fucked up, I'd be trying to sleep with you right now."

The words fly from her lips before she can even stop them: "And that's not what you're doing?"

She doesn't know if she says it because she wants to call him out on his bluff or she's feeling the confidence — and lust — from her the drinks she consumed tonight. But she doesn't take it back. And she certainly doesn't walk away as she watches Harry's head cock slightly to the side. His expression almost seems as if he's... impressed, in some way. The smirk on his lips makes her ball her fists at her side.

"You would know if I was trying to fuck you, Y/N."

She swallows. It's warm — she's suddenly so warm right now as she realizes their chests are nearly pressed against one another. The height difference between them makes it so her breasts are below his pecs, but she still feels the expanse of muscles through the layers of their clothing.

"I doubt that," she mutters, and he clenches his jaw. It's almost hypnotizing to watch. "I really think—"

"I think you should shut up now."

In a moment, his hand is spread over her hip and they've swapped places; her back now pressed firmly up against the wall. His tall form all but blocks any onlookers from seeing who he has cornered, but he couldn't forget it even if he wanted to. Not when he's been dreaming of this for weeks.

And really, he wouldn't do it if he didn't have some sort of prior knowledge about her hookup with Malcolm — the fact that she's somehow just depraved as him.

So he wedges his gum to the back of his molars, utters out the words, "open your mouth", and gathers up the spit behind his lips. His length immediately thickens in his pants when she sticks her tongue out. And then he spits in her mouth.

She whimpers instantly at the feeling but it's drowned out by his own groan. It's filthy and demeaning, but he can see it in her eyes how much she loves it.

"Looks so good," he mumbles, thumbing at a bit at the side of her mouth before pushing it in. "Swallow."

She does.

"You're well-behaved for a brat," he notes as he gives her hip a squeeze. She hums, eyes flickering when his hand lifts her shirt up slightly, fingertips trailing over the smooth skin of her stomach. "Did you want a prize, puppy?"

With hazy eyes, she nods.

He smirks, almost immediately stuffing his hand down her jeans. She gasps when he finds the sodden fabric of her underwear, eliciting a low chuckle from his chest.

"All this just for some spit? Maybe you're nastier than I thought."

She wishes she could reply back with something snarky but she can’t, not when he begins to roll her clit beneath his fingertips. Her eyes flutter shut as he applies a bit more pressure, pausing momentarily to collect some of the wetness accumulating at her whimpering hole.

“Finally let me play with this pretty pussy, hm?” he says mockingly, “Maybe one day you’ll let me stretch it out, too. Might take awhile for it to fit, though— I know you’ve never been with someone as big as me.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles breathily. He laughs and squeezes her clit between two of his fingers. She gasps, barely offering enough recovery time before he’s back to rubbing circles.

“What, you really think you could take my cock, sweetheart? You can barely take one of my fingers. Gonna have to train you for months, but I think you’d like that.”

“Harry—“

“I know,” he coos condescendingly as he speeds up the movements of his fingers. “You’re such a stubborn brat you’d just want me to stuff you full on the first try. Feel me in your fuckin’ stomach.”

“‘m gonna cum,” she mewls, reaching out to dig her fingernails into his chest. He hisses from the small bite of pain. “Don’t stop, please, I’m gonna cum—“

Harry wouldn’t stop touching her even if he wanted to. Especially not as he watches her fall apart beneath his grasp, her knees almost buckling from the intensity of her orgasm. He feels her pussy clenching rapidly and he swallows harshly, the sight nearly being enough to make him come in his pants.

She’s quiet and shaky as her orgasm tapers off and Harry gently pulls his hand from her pants. He helps adjust her jeans back up and over her hips, her eyes flickering up to his face.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, her eyes widening as if she’s just realized what she’s done. “Oh my god, what the fuck?”

“What?” Harry asks through furrowed brows. He’s expecting some sort of nervous response about accidentally abandoning her friends, but instead she shakes her head and lightly pushes him away.

“I can’t. This was— this was bad, so fucking stupid.” She mumbles to herself, keeping her arms stretched out in front of her so he can’t get closer. “Fuck, Harry.”

He’s left confused and nervous as she watches her leave the bar.

#bestie asks #writing #hockey h

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daddyricsdoll · 3 months

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Two is better than one ✭ Lando Norris and Jude Bellingham

Summary: It was hard to suppress your feelings for your best friend since childhood, especially if he's the Lando Norris. But then you met an alluring man who had made you question if you had loved Lando or if this was an act of lust. Soon growing a desire for both men but still questioning what to do. Until they decided to give you the answer- two is better than one.

Warnings: Threesome, masturbation, use of toys (vibrator, dildo, clit sucker), unprotected sex, anal, creampie, rough sex, double penetration, overstimulation, teasing, bondage, blindfold, oral, fingering, not breeding kink but likes to fill the reader up, nipple clamps, degrading name (slut and brat).

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Based off of this request. Ok so maybe the reader has some flaws, but who wouldn't when both Lando Norris and Jude Bellingham exist. Especially when they both want her! Writing this was a pleasure and honour because both my favourite things collide. So thanks anon for requesting this, and I hope you enjoy!!! Also, FOR YOUR LOVE by Måneskin is the song that probably expresses the thoughts going through both men's heads. And it's just a great song in general. And if you waited for long then you would want answers to why this took so long, so in a short answer- I nearly died. But I finished this! So Yay!!! You can enjoy now...

“Lando, hun, good luck and be safe.” I hug him tightly, his scent filling my nose and hypnotising me once again. Forcing the butterflies to come alive in my stomach and memorise the feeling of his large hands enveloping my waist. He doesn’t let go, waiting for me to first, and if I could, I’d never let us part. But right now, he has a race to win and I’m not gonna stop him from that, I never have and never will.

So it takes strength to part from him, but having Lando after the race is leading my hazy mind. Even if it’s not the touch I want, it’s still him even how hard I wished to suppress that thought or feeling.

I watch him zip up his race suit, hiding his fireproof that shows me each muscle I’d wish to lay my tongue against. Balaclava now pulled over top his head, and curls hidden underneath the fabric. Lastly he puts his helmet on and fits himself into the car that will certainly give him victory.

I rush back to the McLaren garage, saying hi to some familiar staff and trying to find a place to sit before lights out. My eyes search for my signature spot, but now occupied by an enigmatic figure. He had an aura that you would find hard to describe with one word. Holding himself with confidence, looking straight forward and not giving a care about who watched. Confidence exuding off him, but not one that reveals too much. Rectangular sunglasses covered his eyes, but his tall figure and crossed arms drew me closer. I didn’t move physically but I tried to search him with my eyes, racking my brain to find out why he made me feel this specific heat in the pit of my stomach.

“Darling, stop looking at me like that or I’ll have to fuck you right here and record it for your boyfriend.” The sentence left his mouth like it was second nature, so smoothly and at a volume that was only for me to hear. His words made my breath hitch and I stood in shock, my core on fire but I was ready to open my legs.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh even better, you’re only mine.” He takes his sunglasses off, holding it loosely between his fingers as he leans against the wall. Cheeky smirk on his lips.

“Who said I’m yours?” I take steps closer to him, trying to exude the same confidence as him. My heart beating oh so faster at the way his eyes are so intoxicating.

“I did, Darling. Something wrong?”

“You have a lot of audacity.”

“I’ve got to, or a pretty woman like you wouldn't be talking to me.” I’m certain the blush on my cheeks became a shade darker. Even my skin rising in temperature, it makes me question how I’m still looking at him and not the ground. My mind already hazy as he made me lost for words. I couldn’t speak now, I couldn’t say the wrong thing or this could all crash down. So instead of speaking with words I used my eyes, they flickered to his lips, making mine part once I reverted back up to him.

“You’re really trying to take up my offer.” He keeps eye contact as he speaks, looking up and down my body once he’s finished.

“Oh you can’t possibly think I’m that easy?”

He inches his face closer to mine, making me think he’ll close the gap between our lips, but instead he goes toward my ear. “So you’re telling me you’re not wet right now. That you don’t want me between your thighs. Or maybe it’s not me, maybe it’s your driver Lando.”

My breath hitches once again and the expression on my face would make you think the words he said were a forbidden curse. A curse that had me rubbing my legs together and thinking of such filthy things.

“Can’t I be wet from both of you? Imagining each thick dick sliding inside and out of me.”

Taking back some dominance, my whisper full of emotion and smoothly leaving my lips. And for the first time it’s as if his character breaks. More colour finding his cheeks, and his smirk faltering. I decide to lean further into him, my lips millimetres from touching his ear.

“Imagine I'm riding your dick so good squeezing my tight pussy making you moan and whine the shit out of you.” I drag my lips against his ear before biting his earlobe. “All this while Lando is fucking my tight ass. I will be so full-” A moan leaving my mouth and his reaction goes straight to his dick. His large hands try to cover the bulge, somewhat achieving it.

“If you're gonna tease me, you should expect me to make those words true.” Hands coming to my hips to bring me forward, the bottom half of my body now flush against him. Feeling his hard cock press along his pants, and now me. His size, oh I couldn’t imagine.

“How about I give you something to do when this race is finished?” He whispers to me. His offer so tempting, it would be criminal to say no to.

“Sweetheart… let me give you something else. If you don’t want it, then you’re not gonna get an alternative.” I wait for him to nod before I continue. “I’m here for 3 more days, that’s the time you have if you want something.” Just as I take my first step away from him he speaks.

“Give me your number, Darling.” He stretches his arm out, phone held by the tip of his fingers. I take it from him, typing out my number. “Give me your name.” I ask, learning the most basic thing about him last.

“It’s Jude, Darling. Jude Bellingham.” He takes back his phone once I’m done, winking at me before I walk away. Keeping composure and hiding the fluttering feeling in my stomach.

✭

Lando holding victory after the race was expected, but when he hugged Jude right after me and then spent what felt like hours with him, I could say that was not planned.

I stood on the side and waited for Lando, usually being the centre of his attention after races, but out of all of them this one had to be different, because of one man. Annoyance grew in me, but not for the anticipated reasons. It was because they both looked so good together, and that one of them knows my desires, while the other knows everything about me except that. The heat that’s now constantly in the pit of my stomach grew. But I couldn’t keep my eyes off of them, whether my stare from the outside seemed neutral, almost as if I’ve zoned out and they were the lucky view I zoned out from, my feelings inside were far from that.

Lust wasn’t the only feeling lurking inside of me, a pure liking toward them both danced beside it as well– fondness, but maybe infatuation would be a better suit.

Jude’s eyes flickered to me as he conversed with Lando, a small grin on his face at the expression I displayed on mine. Now I regret my partial “no” to him. Because I desperately need something between my legs, but for now maybe playing hard to get will be on my side, well once he crumbles and ruins me like he said he would.

I keep my eyes on both the men as they say their “byes”, Jude walking one way and Lando walking to me. My tight lipped expression turned into a grin as he pulled me into a hug.

“Don’t think I could forget about you.” Lando says into my hair before pulling away. But he doesn’t really, his hands still on my hips even while his body isn’t pressed against mine.

“Yeah, I know.” I try to force my attention from his hands, but when they fit against me perfectly it’s so hard.

“I heard you met Jude.” His grin now a tantalising smirk.

“Oh, really?”

“You’re not as innocent as I thought; but if you wanted me, you should’ve just asked, I would’ve given you everything.” I suddenly hear my heartbeat in my ears, skin burning hot and desire pooling in my stomach. Lando speaks as if there's no tomorrow, as if he’s the best thing I’ll ever find– and maybe he is, but that doesn’t mean I’ll show my desperation and succumb to him already. I’ve got Jude, and games to play.

“Oh hun, you know what else can give me everything? Those toys I use while I think of you.” My words sinful and enthralling, leaving Lando standing there watching me as I walk away. I didn’t know what could’ve possibly run through his head, but I’d only hope he could still give me everything.

✭

Before arriving back in the hotel I had a detour to one of the shops I’m more fond of. Spending hundreds of dollars on items I may not even use, but there were a few I’d be certain to use on this solitary night.

Once I closed the door of my room I opened my phone checking every notification as I slowly walked into the bathroom with my bag full of the products I purchased earlier.

‘Darling, have any plans for tonight?’ The number unknown, but the first word revealing his identity he didn’t even try to hide. My eyes are stuck on my phone–his message– as I turn the bath on, filling it with water as I start undressing. Actions speak louder than words, is what they usually say. But in my case, my action is a photo.

My nipples hard, and body drained of clothing. I stare at myself through the mirror, blinding myself from every insecurity as I lift my phone up. Capturing a photo of me and not looking at it once before sending it to both men. Immediately I turn my phone off and place it beside the sink. Opening the bag and pulling out the few things that will keep me sane for now- my clit sucker, vibrator and dildo. I look at the large bath, not filled all the way yet, so I put my things on the bath tray while I wait. Checking my phone, I see new messages from both men.

‘What happened to the toys?’

‘Or do you want my everything now?’

Lando’s message cut into two, but he shows the desperation I try to hide. I don’t reply just yet, checking what Jude sent.

‘Darling, you can't just send one and leave. Show me’

Both men only make my need for them worse, and the toys that my eyes make contact with encourage it too.

I ignore the tap still filling the bath as I get in, aching for a touch between my legs. My hand drawn to the vibrator as I grasp it and turn it onto its 4th setting already. I put the camera of my phone on and film myself as I drag the vibrator between my breasts, going beneath the water and becoming invisible to them.

My face being the only thing that describes and expresses what they’d wish to be watching. My legs are parted as I start teasing my clit with the vibrator, going between my folds and forcing even more arousal to coat it before the water cleans it away. I go back to playing with my clit, using it like a toy and already bringing me close to my climax. I imagine both men, laying in their rooms with their cocks between their fists, pumping it as they watch me.

Lando thinking about what my lips would feel like when they wrap around him. Jude falling into the thought of me clenching my walls around him as I ride his dick. But in this reality it’s their own fists making them explode, coming on their hands. Just as I released too for the first time in this long night. Moaning out curse words and such pornographic sounds.

I stop filming and send it to Jude and Lando, the clip answering both of their questions and demands.

My eyes close once I turn my phone off, relaxing into the feeling of the vibrator handing me orgasm after orgasm, turning the levels up by twos and making me release even faster than the last. Each of my actions wanton as my whines filled the room and I grew addicted to the sensation against my swollen clit.

I stopped counting the times I had released once I passed four. The vibrator now became a familiar feeling, but still as good as the first time it touched me. When I opened my eyes again, the sight of the dildo and clit sucker never looked more appealing. I cursed myself for being so salacious, but it didn’t stop me from swapping my vibrator with them both. The dildo being prioritised as I slide it between my folds, trying to cover the tip in my arousal so it slides in easily.

I push it in slowly, feeling the burn of the stretch, eliciting a moan from my plump lips. Continuing to make small thrusts until I can fit it all in. Once it sits in me, I grab the clit sucker, whining just looking at it and wishing it was one of their mouths. I get reminded of both men, wondering how the sensation of a vibrator created a haze over both of the people who owned my mind.

Sweat trickles down my chest as it moves with each of my heavy breaths. My body anticipating the contact against my clit. Once it envelopes my slit I turn it on. Nearly pulling another orgasm from my overused clit. I think about how it would’ve felt if it were Lando or Jude’s lips on me. Bringing me back to them and what their possible replies could’ve been to my video. With my free hand I grab my phone, seeing both their messages being sent half an hour ago. It couldn’t have been that long?

‘Fuck, that’s what I wanted’

‘Give me more’

‘Darling, it’s been a while’

‘You want to feel my cock? Forget how to walk?’

Jude’s last message sent from minutes ago. Wanton moans, cries and whines leave my mouth as I release again, adding onto every other climax I’ve had this night. I inch closer to another, certain that that one should’ve been my last. Before I let myself release I go on Lando’s messages, somehow making me reach my climax once I read them.

‘I know what you’re doing’

‘You’re a slut’

‘And I’m gonna treat you like one’

‘Once I get my hands in your pussy, I'm gonna stretch you out. And you're gonna take it like the good girl you should be’

My pussy throbs and eyes flutter reading his message. Tired from each orgasm but my core needs more. Just as I reach my hand down to grab the dildo a loud slam of the hotel door fills the room. My heart pounds and I try to cover myself, feeling even more vulnerable that the bathroom door is wide open. I knew I was helpless and my mind was blank of things to do, but then I caught a glimpse of the two men that just walked in.

Both of them walked straight toward me. “So this is where you’ve been Darling.”

“She’s not a darling. She’s a slut.” Landos eyes roam over me, a depraved smirk on his heart-shaped lips.

“You know what? You’re right.” Jude peers to the bag beside the sink, finding interest in it and pulling out each product. A set of restraints, a blindfold and nipple clamps. Jude looks over to Lando, just for them both to keep their contrast of eyes on me.

“And now we’re gonna treat you like one.” They both move closer to me, Lando grasping me by my arms and Jude moving the bath tray to pull me up by my thighs. They both lift me and make me sit on the edge of the bath, both men cursing when they see the dildo still deep inside of me and the clit sucker barely holding on.

“Couldn’t really hold back could ya. If I didn’t know better I’d flip you over and do exactly what I said I would when we first met.” Jude brings his face closer to me, just for his whisper to be toned with harshness. Pulling the dildo out and thrusting it back in. Making me choke on my breath and grab his shoulders for stability.

My action works to his advantage as he lifts me up and throws me onto the bed. “We would usually wait, but you’ve already started without us.” Lando walks out of the bathroom, holding everything I bought today in his large hands. Tossing everything onto the bed beside me, he leaves the box of restraints in his hands, opening it and throwing some to Jude.

I stay in my position on the bed, staring at both of them.

“Come on slut, don’t act like you don’t know what to do.” Landos eyes ravenous, but his voice rough. It makes it hard for me to believe he was hugging me with love and sunshines just hours ago. But I listen to his words, spreading each of my limbs while they keep the dildo inside of me. As they tie me up they let the thought of my comfort out, making the restraints so tight that I couldn’t even think of moving.

Once they finish, Lando places a blindfold over my eyes. Covering my vision and turning it to black. My other senses heightened as I waited for their next actions. I shiver at the next touch, one of them putting the nipple clamps on me. My core definitely dripping, and the fact that it’s so exposed makes another wave of arousal go through me.

“I’ve always wanted to taste you.” Landos words leave his mouth like a purr and I feel his hot breath against my pussy. Losing the dildo and clit sucker as Lando pulls them both away without a second thought.

“And I’ve always wanted to see how your lips would look around my dick.” Jude’s voice comes from beside me. The bed lowers from weight beside my head, until I realise that it’s Jude hovering over me. Legs on either side of my head and his cock so close I was millimetres from tasting it.

“Open up.” Jude commands and subordinately I open my mouth wide. If he had any intentions to be slow, he forgot them all. Already thrusting his dick inside of my mouth with no mercy. Lando gives me no time to think as he starts abusing my already sensitive pussy with his mouth. Pulling against the ties had no use, and every sound I’d let out would be taken from Jude.

Lando rammed in his fingers to add along to the work of his tongue. Giving me no chance to control my breathing or even make up my own thoughts. It was shameful that I blatantly enjoyed this. Being controlled by two men as they used my body like a toy. Calling me names that I wouldn’t ever dare another man to say and fucking every thought and word out of my mouth.

The pain mixed with pleasure and pleasure brought me to my release once again. Whining out another moan as I knew my body couldn’t handle it anymore. I attempted to writhe under Jude, but Lando’s hand splayed out on my lower abdomen, trying to stop me as Jude continued fucking my face until his cum covered the inside of my mouth.

It didn’t take a lot longer until that moment came. Jude exploded in my mouth and coating my tongue, throat and roof of my mouth with his release.

“Gonna tease us like a brat, you’re gonna get treated like one.” Judes words could only be for me. And if I could have one wish, it would be without this blindfold. To see the man who mesmerised me with his beauty but also made me cry because of his cock– but he’ll never know.

“Swallow.” He demands of me, and just like the first time, I obey his order. Feeling his weight leave the bed beside me.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do Jude? I’ve always wanted to fill her up and watch as my cum drips out of her.”

“Fuck. You know what I’ve always wanted? Is to feel how tight she is through anal.”

I whine out, each word of theirs so tempting but my pussy can’t take anymore. “What was that?” Lando asks me.

“I- no, please.” I struggle to find the right words, choking over myself and hoping they know it’s my end.

“I guess you know what that means Jude.” I follow Lando’s voice as it walks from one side of the room to the other. My heartbeat fills my ears until it eases when I feel my wrists becoming undone from the ties. My ankles are untied next and I don’t do anything, letting them keep dominance over everything.

I feel Lando’s hands grab me, making me rise onto my knees and I cry out, finally connecting the dots.

“Oh hun, if you really think you could get away that easily then you’re wrong. So come down and sit on my dick.” And how I wished to refuse, I craved it more. Listening to him as I let his hands guide me down. His dick thicker than I could’ve imagined and it stung more than the dildo, but it was a sting I was happy to get used to. More tears welling up in my eyes, making it a perfect time for Lando to force my blindfold off.

I couldn’t rely on myself to keep a rhythm so I let Lando lead me. He only made it worse, forcing my clit to rub against him as he pushed me down. By that time, I knew my cries and pleads could never work, so I’d surrendered that, letting the only sounds to escape my lips to be moans and whines.

My body soon became pressed against Lando’s in favour of Jude. Giving him better access as he very slowly pushed into me. Both of our voices strained as he bottomed out. Tears ran down my face from both men, and I realised how close I was to my climax.

What I had thought of being soft sex, was only a disguise. Once Jude became accustomed to me he started ruining me in a place I hadn’t been before. Lando holding my body and thrusting up into me, making the sound of skin slapping to crowd the room.

A long moan fleeing my mouth as I released. The knot in my stomach finally exploded and I rested on Lando’s body as I indeed became their toy. Jude’s grip on my hips still growing tighter and Lando’s thrusts still had power but lost pattern. Jude along with Lando spasmed in me, making the clenching of my pussy to let them release one after the other.

Jude quickly pulled out and released over me and Lando, soon followed by an unholy groan leaving Lando’s mouth as he released in me. Each spurt of his cum filling my helpless pussy just seconds before he pulled out and let me lay on my back. Legs parted and eyes already fluttering closed. Catching a few glimpses of Jude and Lando, achieving a few of the things they’d wanted as I feel Lando’s cum start dripping out of me.

“Darling, maybe next time don’t start without us. You should get some rest, although I’ve always wanted to fuck someone while they sleep.”

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lilahisntsadanymore · 5 months

Text

Blood status seems to become less important when you acknowledge the actual feeling of love. What will Theo do when Y/n comes to the terms with the differences between them being impossible to ignore?

Pairing: Theo Nott x granger!reader

Words count: 1.9k

Author's note: My apologies for keeping you waiting so long, but I finally got some time off at uni!! Wishing you all a good year!!

Kind of a 2nd part of this fic, but you can read it without the previous one

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Keep you safe

One evening, Theo was waiting in the library. Waiting for a person he never expected to talk to. Y/n Granger. He found himself feeling a bit nervous, even though there was no reason.

Thinking about Y/n made him feel something. A feeling he never felt before. Slughorn said it's love, the muggle kind of love, the purest form, not induced by anything supernatural.

Theo decided to read about it. Hoping to find some book about it, he asked the librarian. She gave him a book specifically about love potions and spells. One of the first chapters was just what Theo was looking for.

"How to tell the difference between love and infatuation caused by magic." He whispered the first sentence to himself.

He started reading, his mind realizing what he got himself into as his gaze brushed over the text. Well, technically it wasn't his own fault and apparently also not the girl's fault.

But there must've been a reason. If love was a part of biology, brain chemistry, there had to be some logical factor.

"What are you reading?"

When Theo heard Y/n's voice right next to him, he immediately closed the book, causing it to make a loud sound.

"You took such a long time I got bored." He replied.

"Don't be so shy," the girl shifted her eyes to the title of the book, "oh, love potions and spells? But we're doing something completely different."

"Really? I couldn't care less, forgot what we were supposed to do." Surely one thing he'd love to do was making out with her on that table.

Y/n put her homework on the table.

"Read it and tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, I just-"

"What's wrong with my text, Nott. I didn't ask how you were doing."

"Right."

Theo took the papers and started reading. The text was written with the most beautiful handwriting he's ever seen. So elegant, so precise.

"How long did it take you to write?" He asked.

"One evening. It was easier than you'd think."

"I think it's extremely easy." He bragged. "Anyway, is that all? Or do you wanna add something?"

"Well, Slughorn thought it's necessary for you to help me. Is there anything you think should be added?"

"Uh, no, it looks fine," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Fine? Theodore Nott, the perfectionist Slytherin, settles for 'fine'? I expected more from you."

"Look, it's not my homework, it's yours. I don't know why I agreed to help you, but it was pointless."

"You got yourself into this, could've said no."

"What the fuck am I even doing?" Theo asked rather himself than the girl. "I don't need to be helping a mudblood, who cares what grade you'll get." With these words, he stood up.

"Because-" Y/n stuttered. "Because... I've heard your conversation with Slughorn. And you said... that you liked me."

"Me? Liking you?" He snorted with laughter. "What the hell, Granger?"

Tears formed in Y/n's eyes as she watched Theo walk away. Sure, he was mean to her before, this wasn't the first time. But this time was somehow different.

Y/n could swear she heard Theo confessing to Slughorn that he's actually in love with her. It's not possible her brain played tricks on her. Plus Hermione said Theo told her about his feelings for Y/n.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Harry walked onto the astronomy tower. Y/n was supposed to be back a long time ago. Ron and Hermione also wanted to go there, but Harry asked to let him go alone.

Harry knew where Y/n was thanks to the Map. He felt such relief not seeing Nott's name next to hers. She was standing alone, leaning on the banister. There was something in her hand, Harry couldn't see well in the dark, but from the smell he realized it was a cigarette.

"I didn't know you smoke." He spoke.

Y/n expected this to happen, she was aware of Harry's feelings towards her. She took one last drag from her cigarette then dropped it on the ground, put it out with her shoe and kicked off the tower.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Y/n asked, smoke leaving through her mouth. "I knew you're gonna look at your silly little map to see where I am."

"We were starting to get worried. Theo is... you know, dangerous. We got scared he would hurt you."

And he did. Theo did hurt Y/n, just not physically.

"Hermione should be here instead. But, let me guess, you told her you'll check up on me."

"Maybe," Harry admitted finally, "do you know why? Because I actually care about you. I've had feelings for you for years. I deserve you, not Nott. I deserve you, because-"

"Because you're the chosen one?" She mocked and paused. "Look, Harry, I like you as a friend. I've never felt anything more than this. I can't change how I see you and I won't pretend otherwise."

He nodded, acceptance settling in. "I get it. I just... I thought if I cared enough, it would make a difference."

"Caring is important, Harry, but it doesn't always lead to the feelings we hope for."

"Whoever you date, just don't date Nott, please."

"I promise I won't. Not after today, I'm over him."

"Care to share what happened?"

"I'll tell you, Hermione and Ron in the common room. Let's go, I've been here too long."

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Y/n didn't even know how wrong she was that night on the astronomy tower, but she forgot about it. Weeks went by, Christmas had passed, everyone were back from the break. Classes started again and Y/n found herself hoping to catch a glimpse of Theo.

They kept exchanging glances on the corridors, accidentally bumping into each other in the crowds. Y/n wanted to believe Theo liked her, but even if he did, they could never work.

"Y/n, listen to me," he said, catching her when she was alone in the library one time. "I know how things have been between us, but during the break I... I realized I don't wanna keep being enemies."

"Theo, you know it could never work. You said what you said and maybe it's better to leave it this way."

"I contemplated a lot," it was true, he spent the break mostly in his room, drowning in thoughts. About her, about them, coming to terms with what he was feeling. "I decided to accept my feelings."

"That's great for you, but we could never work. I've always 'fancied' you, I guess, despite what you were doing, ironically, but the time we worked on my project together, I accepted we could never work."

"And why's that?"

Y/n took a deep breath, wondering if he was stupid or just pretending. Maybe it was a bet he had with someone. Maybe Draco dared him to do this.

"You don't see how different we are? What do you expect is gonna happen? Would you introduce me to your father? Wouldn't you care that I'd get you disowned?"

Theo looked at her, Y/n could see sadness in his eyes. She realized her words made him realize the differences between them, because he walked away. Theo walked away without a word.

Y/n pierced her own heart with an invisible knife. She was really hoping they could work, but it just wasn't possible in this universe. Maybe there was a universe where none of this purity bullshit didn't exist. Y/n wished she would've been born there.

Y/n couldn't predict what Theo was going to do. She thought her words made him give up on her. It was for the best, of course, she should've focused on her studies firstly, and then on a realistic relationship.

It was a Friday. Y/n was sitting next to Ginny by the Gryffindor table. It was dinner time, all the students gathered in the Great Hall. All the students besides one Slytherin, the one that Y/n hoped to see. Maybe it was weird, but she enjoyed the sad looks they'd pass to each other.

"Hey, Y/n, are you listening?" Hermione asked from across the table.

"Sure," Y/n quickly shifted her eyes to her sister. "You were talking about Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"You've got divided attention. Stop looking at the Slytherin table."

"Ugh," Ginny groaned, "were you doing this again? Merlin, you stare at this Slytherin git 90% of the time."

"Well, he isn't here today. I wonder where he could be. Everyone else is here."

"There he is," Ron pointed out, rolling his eyes.

The golden trio and two younger Gryffindors looked at the doors' direction. Theo had just walked into the Great Hall, but surprisingly he didn't walk towards his table. He walked towards Y/n.

"Y/n," he spoke, catching everyone's attention. People were reading to witness another argument. "I can't help this, I love you."

Shocked noises came from all the tables, but Slytherins kept whispering between each other also when Theo continued talking.

"I don't care what anyone says, anyone thinks. Love is not meant to be controlled, it kills me to fight it."

Y/n stood up from the table, ready to leave the room.

"Theo, stop," she begged, "you're embarrassing us both. Your friends will-"

"I don't care what they do. If they don't accept it, they're not my friends. If anyone wants to fight me for having feelings for a muggleborn, I can fight, I've never lost a duel."

The whole Great Hall fell silent, even the teachers didn't try to intervene, when they saw Theo pulling out a small, black velvet box.

"I want you to wear this ring," he opened the box, "as my promise to always protect you from whoever tries to harm you or our relationship."

"It's beautiful, but..." Y/n was speechless by the sight of the ring. It was silver with two gemstones forming a subtle heart - half emerald and half ruby.

"It was custom made and if you accept it, I'll once get you a matching engagement ring. Also, there are thorns which will hurt you when you try taking it off. I want you forever, Y/n Granger."

The ring in the black velvet box sparkled under the enchanted ceiling. The Great Hall remained in silence as Theo poured his heart out, confessing his love. The unexpected turn of events had everyone on edge.

Slytherins exchanged intrigued glances, Gryffindors shared confused looks and even the teachers seemed to not know how to react. Y/n could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her, and for a moment, she considered the potential consequences of accepting Theo's proposal.

"Theo," she began, her voice breaking, "it's not that simple."

"I know it is. But I can't keep hiding my feelings, Y/n. I've tried, and it's tearing me apart. I'll protect you from whatever comes our way."

Y/n looked at the ring, then back at him. "I believe in second chances. And I appreciate your sincerity. I accept the ring, Theo."

Theo carefully took the ring from the box and gently slid it onto Y/n's finger. The Great Hall burst with cheering and applause, only the Slytherin table didn't seem so enthusiastic about this.

Theo placed his hands on Y/n's waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She didn't hesitate to kiss him back, her hands sinking in his dense her yet the ring on her finger still visible, reflecting the light from the ceiling.

#Theo Nott #theodore nott #slytherin boys #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfic #theo nott fanfic #Lorenzo Zurzolo

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inkskinned · 1 year

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im having a particularly terrible night with urges and imagery that i dont know how to handle. i gave in to some things. held back on some others. but im barely holding on, dear internet stranger.

you do not owe me your time or your words.. but if you could write some hope into existence for me.. i would be unendingly grateful to you.

please. tell me how you do it. tell me how you survive. because im not so sure i can get through the fifteen days it'll take to get to my seventeenth birthday.

could you please give me something to place my faith in? i dont think the universe is watching out for me anymore.

i don't usually answer these, because i am not a professional, and you deserve professional help. when i was 17 i was terrified of the idea of professional help, because my household was extremely unsafe, and made it clear that if i ever chose to get help, i would be punished for it.

i hope this is not your case. i hope that you can call someone, and they can take you where you should go.

but i will give you the advice that i wish i got, when i couldn't get help at 17, when i was so bad that years later, i literally don't-know-how-i-survived it: what you want is peace, not death. your brain is sick. it has romanticized an ending where there are no consequences. where effort isn't necessary. where you can just... forget.

you want peace. that is a normal, human thing to want. maybe it feels more like you want quiet. or just... to take a break for a second.

here is what i will say: to end yourself means you never get to experience what it's like to actually be happy. i thought i knew what it was like, and i was bitter about it. i'd say - i've been happy, it's not worth it, because i didn't know what i was missing. i thought that happiness meant having a partner or having a job or money or a college degree. it sounded like effort. it sounded like something that had to happen to me.

for the first time in my life, just this week, i was able to go to a concert and just-enjoy-it. no liquor, no drugs. just stomping my feet and getting caught up in it. i didn't feel nervous or self-conscious or overwhelmed. i just had a good time. these days have a lot of these firsts for me - it is the first time i can eat cake without crying. it is the first time i can be around an exacto blade without supervision. it is the first time i have too many people to call when i am crying.

i can't tell you where you'll run into happiness, only that, for me, it started once i was out of that fucking house. it started once i figured out where the pain was coming from. once i figured out that i was not possessed, something medical was wrong with me. that i am not stupid or lazy, i have depression and adhd. the first few years were difficult. at 19, during my efforts to recover, i actually got worse by a considerable margin. and then, with time and patience - i got better.

happiness doesn't feel like what you think it will. in movies it's so golden and all-encompassing. but it doesn't fly into your hands when you buy your first car nor does it arrive in the arms of a partner nor does it require passing your classes. happiness came to me on a tuesday in the form of a red-winged blackbird, and i looked at her, and she looked at me, and i said - oh. the whole world suddenly filled itself in with color. like i had been forever-asleep. like every corner of every room was suddenly glistening.

it ended quickly, back then. it just stopped in to check in on me. but it was enough - this thing i had never experienced, but that i knew (logically) could happen. before that, i was only staying because it would make my mom sad if i died. that was my only reason. and then the happiness came, so strange and brilliant and lovely that for years i couldn't even look at it directly.

these days, things are so different. life is so much easier. i don't wish for death because so much of what i have is already at peace. my boss understands when i need a mental health day. people in general are less prone to high school drama. entire communities hold my hand and have my number. i have a car and a dog and a little apartment garden and candles on all available surfaces and today i bought myself a little cake just-to-celebrate-nothing. my body is my own and we are both dancing.

there are so many things i've gotten to taste in the last 10 years. i know, for you, that is an eon, because it's more than half of your life. but if it helps? in the 5 years between 17-21: i filled myself with laughter and love. i got to be a lead in a ballet and got my first tattoo and then my second and pierced my ears the way i'd wanted to (one of them professionally the other over a hot stove with a potato) and i discovered hozier is my favorite singer (i know. he was new back then) and i got my first real job and my first real paycheck and i hadn't ever been seen as smart but then i started to actually treat my adhd as a condition rather than a burden and people started saying you're like the smartest person in the room and my best friend met her husband who i will one day stand next to as maid of honor when he is her groom and i got to help people and make a stupid blog called "inkskinned" and find out that writing is actually my passion and that maybe i'm actually kind of good at it if i just practice and i got to meet my parents' dog (his name is kaiju) and i slept on couches and kissed people and tried new things and learned how to breathe without feeling my chest tighten and that peace is here, on this planet, that peace echoes everywhere, it is in my hair and my homework and my houseplants, it is quiet and divine and mine because i fought for it and i built it and yes i lost hair over it but holy shit the whole world feels like it is shifted through a sunbeam

recently someone asked me if i could go back in time to 6th grade, with all the knowledge i have now, would i? and without thinking, i barked absolutely not. i know i should say it's because i wouldn't want to risk losing any of this stuff - but really it's because i would never survive being a teenager again. it sounds incredibly lame and impossible, fake - but being a teenager was the hardest thing i ever did. i had no voice, no control, only fear and hatred.

but i did survive it. nothing about me is special. nothing about me is stronger than you or better prepared or more efficient. i didn't survive it perfectly. i made a lot of mistakes and lost a lot of friends and harmed myself in ways that i'm still recovering from. but i did survive it. and there is a part of me looking at you in the past and saying - i'm you in the future.

and holy shit. every day. every goddamn day i'm glad we survived to see the rest of it. because you hit 18 and everything changes. like, everything. and holy shit, it is infinitely worth it.

#i hope you are okay #i wish i could help more #i hope the pain eases soon #and i hope that you stay #ps . to those of you reading this thinking i should help you too: please just dm me #it makes me really #really really scared when it's anonymous #bc i cant check in with u #i am not a professional and i am not actually good at helping ppl through their troubles #this is an exception bc they are 16 #not the rule #ps if u misunderstand ''being a teenager is the hardest thing i ever did'' when i mention briefly that i was in unsafe housing...#trust me. it was worse there. by like A HUGE margin #every person raised in unsafe housing nodding their head like . oh yeah worse stuff TECHNICALLY happened after but leaving that home was #legit the hardest thing i ever did

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evieelyzabethh · 10 months

Text

Sugar and Spike

pairing(s): Spike x fem!reader

summary: after a night of patrol goes wrong, Spike starts noticing some changes in himself, mainly that Buffy's sweetest friend won't leave his mind and that she would never look at him the same if she knew what he wanted to do to her.

warnings: smut!!! a smidge of yandereness, kinda a sex or die fic, possessive spike, handjob, unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral (fem receiving), praise kink, biting/marking (mentions of blood), a little bit of spanking, overstimulation, riding, fingering, veryyy little plot, and I think thats about it.

In hindsight, they should've kept a better eye on him. It was an odd night of patrolling, the usual gaggle of vampires being a demon or two this time around. Big tall thing that appeared out of nowhere and left as soon as it came. Spike, always with little regard for the consequences of his actions, ran right in. Ran so hard he went right through the demon as it went into smoke. He breathed it in before going into a coughing fit, as if he could feel it in his nose and lungs, spreading in his chest like a vine that pulled everything impossible tight before releasing him like he was never in its grasp . Red flag one.

It fell on him like rain, some clumping into what looked like pink sparkles in his hair, on his jacket, his worn boots. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling away expecting to see it gunked together, but there was nothing there. It felt like his hair had been hit by my mist, slightly damp and cool. It seeped into his exposed skin, adhering itself into a pink sheen which also disappeared after only a few minutes. He remembered trying to brush it off, expecting it to feel wet but it was just slick. It was admittedly infuriating, especially since the feeling wouldn't go away. Red flag two.

“Buffy!” He shouted, rubbing his hands on his jeans as if it was going to wipe away the phantom feeling, but his complaints were met with apathy.

“There’s nothing there, Spike.” A groan bubbled in his chest.

“Astute observation, Slayer, but it feels like something’s there.” You were there beside him, something that would’ve gone unnoticed had he not been hit with your scent as your fingers brushed against his hand. He pulled away quickly out of instinct, not as subtle as he would’ve liked to because you noticed and scampered off in between Buffy and Giles. The distance between you and him got larger and the two of you talked about a mall trip you had planned and Willow was the only one to stick with him. She humored him, allowing him to shower at her place and taking a sample of skin only to find nothing. No residue, nothing abnormal, nothing had changed at all. Red flag three.

But he was sure it was fine. Nothing had really changed. You had been a bit cautious though.

You were prone to worrying, and he couldn't blame you. There was a lot to worry about when your best friends hunted demons and one of them was a literal creature of the night. You worried about Buffy so much he genuinely feared you would collapse from all the stress you put yourself under. Pursuing a nursing degree so they could avoid hospital visits unless absolutely necessary because none of you had the money. Having him train you in basic self-defense because you hated feeling like dead weight. You took up Latin and all of the other dead languages in those old dusty books just so you could be useful. You tied yourself in knots just to be sweet. God, you were so sweet. Even to your own detriment, like pure sugar that was going to rot his teeth eventually.

The more time you spent together, the more the rot seemed to take his brain than his teeth. His mouth never got anywhere near you; Buffy made sure of that. He wished he could say it was because she was babying you too much, that you were also tired of Buffy making Spike seem like the biggest mistake you could ever make. To be fair, he hardly knew you. He knew of you; he knew of the pink wardrobe and the fluffy socks and the pretty shoes. He knew of you as Buffy's cute neighbor who stopped by so often that you might as well live with them. You weren't being a baby, you were being cautious, even more now. He almost wished you didn't believe him as much as you did, maybe you'd keep visiting him. He hadn't seen you in days and it was really starting to take a toll on him. His leg bounced and he got in the bad habit of biting his nails, which was starting to get annoying with how often he had to repaint them.

If you were here, you would repaint them. You would sit your pretty self on his busted couch, and you'd have a little bag with you with all your pins and charms that jingled like the earrings that dangle from your ears. In your bag would be at least three shades of pink, a range of blacks and greys, and a wild card or two, maybe a blue or a green. You'd let him pick his color, despite knowing he always went for black. You asked anyway, just in case he decided to go with pink just to humor you. Had you walked through right now, he would've obliged. He would've done anything you asked him too. It wasn't even that he was lonely, but it was getting to suffocate in here. It was getting hot, like a fire was spreading. Each breath felt smoke filled, his skin was on fire, his skin was getting damp, like the dust had fallen again. His hand was shaky as he put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, surely the smell would break him out of what had to be a daze.

If you were here, you'd make a joke about him needing to air the place out. He'd probably open the door and call that enough air, but he liked his privacy, and he didn't like the idea of anyone just being able to waltz right in. You would want to make a joke about no one wanting to visit him, but you’d bite your tongue at the fear of being too harsh. You always got that look in your eye when you thought something that could be misconstrued as mean. You took your lip into your teeth and your pretty eyelashes flitted and you looked away. He thought about what it would be like to bite your lips, wanting to see what they looked like, all red and even prettier than they were before. Just a taste, that's all he wanted, a taste.

He got up to open up the door only for that phantom feeling to return. All over his body, it felt like he had stepped out into the sun, like every molecule that made up his body was vibrating and mere seconds from combusting. His breathing got ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his brain going into overdrive. He squeezed his eyes shut as if it would make it go away, but even from behind his eyelids, you were there. The idea of you, your smile, your laughter, fuck the very way you said his name. It sounded so nice coming from you.

The way you said it when he got injured in a fight when you would patch up his wounds and have a bag of blood for him to replace what he lost. “Spike.” you would say. Like he should’ve known better than to just throw himself into danger. Not even bothering to consider the possibility that he did it to look heroic, or maybe in your care with your hands over his chest. There’s no reason for him to be this beaten and bruised from some baby vamp; William the Bloody. Spike? He had pride, but not as much as Angelus. It was easily quenched by the fact that he was in no way losing with your delicate hands tracing over faded scars on his chest and feeding him blood while they were just dust.

“Spike.” Buffy would say, her tone laced with less concern and more disapproval. She knew something was up. After all they had gone through together, vampires should’ve been nothing for him. He had to space out his “fuck ups” just to get her off his back, just to get her voice out of his head. She didn’t say his name like you did.

There wasn’t much better than how you said his name when it was just the two of you. Being together in his crypt, sometimes in your own bedroom which you had invited him into much to Buffy’s chagrin. “It’s Spike,” you had said, “how many times have we saved the world with him? I think he’s earned it.” It sent shivers down his spine. He would’ve saved the world so much sooner if it meant being able to be in your space. If it meant getting to hear you say his name through fits of laughter, trying to regain your breath while still finding enough to utter his name. “Spike.” you said, your hand over his while you giggled. He felt that heat now, felt the heat of all your touches culminating right now. All over his skin, tensing his muscles, holding his chest as he fought for breath himself.

While he had the chance, he should’ve raided your underwear drawer. Now he was left to fist his dick with just the memory of you. You wouldn’t notice a pair or two gone, surely you wouldn’t. It was the type of small thing you would overlook because really what is a pair or two. You wouldn’t want him to be in pain, hearing his situation now, you’d feel like it was all your fault. The least you could spare was a pair of your prettiest panties for him to wrap around his cock while he fisted himself to the thought of you and how you would say his name now.

The closest he’d gotten would be after a big battle. You had taken a beating, by the time you had gotten to a safe space you had lost a dangerous amount of blood, but the sounds that came out of your mouth were so delicious. And you trusted him to carry you to safety, your bloody hand wrapping itself around his bicep to maintain some tether to consciousness. “Spike.” your voice dripping with pain, but even that wasn’t enough to mask how pretty you sounded. He felt bad then for how hard it got him, but there is such a thin line between pain and pleasure. The only difference now would be circumstance, and he would never hurt you. This would be good for you, the both of you, you just had to let him. You just had to say his name.

“Spike?” In that moment, he knew there had to be some high power looking out for him when he heard your voice. Dream-like, and soft, like the wind could have blown it out and away from your lips. “Spike?!” you said again. He couldn’t tell if it was his shred of restraint or his body’s unwillingness to listen to his brain that kept him glued to his couch.

“Now really isn’t a good time, love.” He tried to keep his voice level, he really did, but it was too much. And you weren’t stupid, he heard the heels of your shoes against the hard floor and smelt you before he even saw you. And fuck you smelt heavenly.

“Are you okay? What happened-” You looked like you had a halo above your head, or maybe he was much further gone than he had thought. You cut yourself off in shock. When you had walked in, you hadn’t expected to catch Spike with his hands down his pants.

“You know what, I’m just gonna go a-and come back later.” You tried to smile in an attempt to make the situation less awkward than it needed to be, but he grabbed you by your wrist.

“Wait-I just need-fuck. I just need you to stay for a bit. I don’t feel good.” Your eyes met and you saw the sheen of what you assumed to be sweat covering his chest and face. His pupils blown out, his hair out of place, his labored breathing, like he couldn’t catch his breath. Oddly enough, the sheen had a pink tinge, and despite the fact that his fangs were protruding, his vampire face hadn’t appeared. You reached out to touch his forehead to surprisingly find a temperature. He groaned at the contact, both wanting to melt into your skin and like it physically pained him.

“What happened?” He declined the answer, instead pushing his head more into the palm of your hand, tipping his head to sniff the inside of your wrist. “What are you doing?” You tried to pull away and put some distance in between the two of you, but he pulled you back, even closer than before.

“You smell so good.” He nosed his way past your wrist and up your arm till he made it to your collarbone, trying to find where he could hear your blood pump the loudest. “Stop it!” you pushed against him as soon as you felt the tip of his fangs attempting to break skin. To both of your surprise, he let you. It looked like it pained him to do so, his eyes screwed shut and his hand gripping the arm of his couch until the wood snapped.

“If this is about the demon thing, I’m gonna go get Willow, okay? You just need to stay right here.” The authority you had laced in your voice was cute.

“Just stay here with me, yeah? There’s no need to get Willow. We don’t need Willow.” His voice had dropped an octave, his pupils blown and his brain damn near empty. Anything went in one ear then out the other as he held your hands in his, staring through you as if daring you to defy him.

“Spike, you aren’t well.” You had tried to reason, but all he heard was that you weren’t saying no because you didn’t want this. You were concerned for his well being, even when he had you pinned down and his teeth at your neck, each breath moving you closer to him drawing blood, you were saying no because you were concerned he didn’t want this. You somehow thought he didn’t want you.

“I’ve never felt better, baby.”, he said-practically fucking growled. Hell if he wanted you, he needed you. He pressed himself into you, his hands grabbing at anything he could to ground himself, his left at the base of your scalp and his right bunching the fabric of your skirt in his hands. He breathed into your neck, nipping and nicking at bare skin then soothing it with his tongue and kisses. He worked himself up over you, taking and taking until he was drunk, his tongue lolled out as he put his head on your chest.“Can I fuck you.”

You had been caught in a daze yourself, his words had barely registered. You had more sense than he did at this point, finding enough resolve to shake your head. “Please.” he begged, groaning it out through clenched teeth. “I need you to make it feel better, please God just make it feel better.” He had pushed his hips into your hand, his weeping cock leaking onto you, pleading with you to touch it. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear, just be my sweet girl, yeah? Just make it better.”

You experimentally rubbed the tip, and he whimpered. His hand grabbing your wrist so fast a look of shock flashed across his face. You took that as a sign to pull away but he put your hand back around him, pushing your hand up and down his base. “Too much too quick, love.”

Any hesitancy you had was swallowed as he smashed his lips into yours. It was urgent and quick, almost bruising how hard he kissed and held you as if you were going to disappear at any point. He tugged at a handful of hair, catching you in a moan that he used to force tongue into your mouth, sucking it as you pumped his dick at a painfully slow pace.

His kisses made you breathless, and it was then you realized that he likely forgot in his haze that you actually needed air. He moaned into your lips, the sound spreading throughout your body and shaking you to your core. It wasn’t lost on him how damp your underwear had gotten, had he had the strength to pull away to touch you he would, but the mere seconds his skin would be off yours was enough of a deterrent to keep him in place.

You tried to move away, but his hand kept you in place. “Don’t move.”, he rushed it out, a tone that otherwise would’ve been more commanding had he not been weak himself. “Keep going.” His hips bucked and stuttered, his movements becoming erratic the more faint your touches became. Like it was a warning; let me up for air and I’ll keep touching you. He whined at the thought of you pulling away. That wasn’t fair.

His lips parted from yours, settling for the corner of your mouth before moving to your jawline to your neck, then just under your ear. You gasped for breath, you numb with the ecstasy of air and the feeling of his rushed kisses. He was getting close. Your hand was covered in his sticky pre-cum, his cock even more so as your hand moved alone over him, his own hand now grabbing at your shirt at the feeling. You squeezed at the bass, a motion he clearly enjoyed with how his body tensed up. A series of obscenities flowed from his pretty lips as he came, spurts of his cum getting over your pretty pink skirt, an image Spike would get himself off to later.

You didn’t get long to sit in what just happened when he was on you again, laying you on your back and ripping your skirt clean off. You moaned something that sounded like “My skirt!”, but neither one of you were really worried about it.

His lithe fingers were quick, rubbing you through the fabric of your panties, while he kissed up to where you wanted him excruciatingly slow. His hands rubbed and teased at the soft skin of your thighs, marking bruises everywhere he went.

He moaned into you, sniffing you once again, before finding a place he wanted to dig his fangs into. Maybe it was how delicately he stuck in his teeth, maybe it was the lust blown fervor, but it didn’t hurt as much as you anticipated. In fact, you moaned at the intrusion, unable to know what to do with yourself as he sucked and lapped up the blood he had drawn. Your fingers wove into his hair, as if he could be pulled any closer to you than he already was. “You taste so good. So good.” And he let you know as such. The obscene noises that flew from the both of you, the slurping and whines, the pop of his lips as he traveled from one spot to another. But that’s not how he intended to eat you whole.

You were unbelievably wet, soaking through your panties and even Spikes fingers before he took pity on you and decided to pull them aside and plant his fingers into you. Now, you weren’t a virgin, but you had never had sex that felt as good as this. Never had someone in you that had hundreds of years of practice beforehand.

“You’re doing so good, Sweet Girl. So good, can’t get enough of you.” What was an attempt to calm your nerves, had you keening and over the moon, the praise bringing tears to your eyes as you ground yourself in his hand. That didn’t move him along any quicker, his tongue still collecting anything you would give him like he hadn’t been fed in years.

“Spike!” You called out, which finally seemed to get his attention. He saw the glass-like look your eyes had taken and the pout on your face. You looked like you were about to cry. Poor thing, so desperate. He said he’d take care of you, make you feel good. No point in denying the inevitable.

You whined when he pulled out of you just to choke when he began to devour you. His nose at your clit and his tongue plunging into. “Thank you.” he muttered into you, like this was some divine gift to him. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” The combination of his praise and how good he was giving it to you made that coil in your belly tighten and tighten until it threatened to snap. And he just kept going. Completely in his own world, the only thoughts in his mind being about you, how you smelled, how you tasted, god you were so good to him. Letting him eat you out like this, helping him like this. He shouldn’t have expected any less from his girl. His sweet girl. No one else's, you couldn’t be anyone else's after this. His grip tightened around your thighs at the very thought. “Mine.” he said, the vibrations hitting your core deliciously. “Mine.”

“Yours Spike, all yours.” He hummed in approval, inserting two fingers back into you while he kept up his electric pace. He held your hand as it began to be too much, your back arching off the couch and your thighs closing around his head as he just kept going. You called his name as you came, high and higher until it became too heavy on your mouth and you couldn’t say anything at all. The grip you had on his hand had loosened, but he hadn’t let up. He still rambled into you, “Again. Again. Again. Please.”

You didn’t know if your hips were bucking into him or try to wiggle away from him. Either way, both attempts were unsuccessful. With how hard he pulled on your panties they had snapped and had been thrown to the side for the simple crime of being in his way. His forearm lay on your hip keeping you in place. Your hand still laid in his, him squeezing it as if it was any comfort from the inescapable feeling of his tongue licking your thoroughly soaked pussy.

Your toes curled in your frilly socks as you came again on his tongue, and you foolishly expected that to be enough. You would’ve asked him to stop if you could pant out anything more than whines. You would’ve pushed him away if you could manage anything more than weak taps on his forearm. “No more.” you whispered out. “Can’t.” His fingers rubbed your hand as some form of encouragement.

“Yes you can, love.” You shook your head weakly, scooting your hips back only for him to swiftly smack your pussy. You preened on the contact, and he drank in the arousal that gushed out just from that. “My sweet girl isn’t gonna disappoint me, is she? She’s gonna make me all better, isn’t that right?” Your brain was so fogged out you couldn’t even produce a response. You just groaned and squirmed, unable to brace for impact when he smacked you again.

“Spike!” You cried out, but he didn’t care. Heknew you were feeling good from how much you gushed while he tongue fucked your cunt. It was just a bit too much for you right now. You would feel better, you just needed to let go some more. He tried to relax you, tried rubbing mindless shapes on your skin to calm you down as he worked you through your third orgasm, but you just heaved. Your tits bounced with how heavily you breathed, and yet after all of that, he still didn’t feel better. Why didn’t he feel better?

Despite the relief that came from him pausing his abuse, you still whined as he sat up from behind your legs. With your taste still on his tongue, he kissed you. You sighed into him, the feeling of his large hands moving from your hip to under your shirt to touch your tummy and rip your bra in half. You didn’t even notice him moving you into his lap and setting your thighs on either side of him so you straddled him. He thumbed your nipples, pinching and rubbing over them while he relished in the feeling of you cunt so close to his dick.

You didn’t seem to catch on either as he slid in between your folds, too lost of him finally kissing you again. You moaned into this kiss as his fingers dipped to toy with your clit before he whispered in your ear. “Just one more.”

In one fluid motion, he slipped his dick into his cunt, catching you as your limbs went weak. He was so big you felt your eyes water with the pressure of him being in you. You could tell he was struggling to stay still, but the haze had worn off enough for him to regain some sense. He still waited eagerly for you to adjust, brushing the fallen tears from your eyes and kissing your checks to make it all better.

“Too big. It’s too big.” You stuttered. It was all you could manage to mutter out. He cooed at you, his dick growing harder than he thought possible at the feeling of it all and the praise.

“I was made for you, Pretty Girl, you can take it.” You yelped as he jerked his hips into yours, but he just couldn’t help it. You were so pretty like this, all fucked out and dumb. Not a thought behind those eyes of yours and the only thoughts he was capable of was you. How warm you were, how wet you were, how tight you were. You were squeezing him and milking him dry and as much as he tried he just couldn’t stop him self from fucking into you.

“I’m sorry.” and he meant it. You weren’t ready and he couldn’t even tell if he was ready, his body had a mind of his own and he felt himself just slipping into the feeling of being enveloped by you. “Just too good. You’re too good. My good girl. You’re gonna take all I give you, aren’t you, love? You gonna be my sweet girl and take it?” His voice was breathy and low and impossibly hot.

All you could manage was a soft ‘mhm’ as you took him in. It wasn’t like you had any other choice as you bounced on his cock, gripping at his chest and taking in each moan you earned as you drew blood from your scratches.

You felt every inch of him, felt the tip of his dick hit your cervix and kept pounding at it like it was his job; like he would die if he didn’t. You can’t do anything but take it as you screw your eyes shut and just try to breathe as everything in your body fights to hold on to some feeling. It was impossible to think, not when Spike’s hands were all over you and his touch was so incredibly hot. Even stranger, a pink glow began to emanate from him, that or you were closer to passing out than you originally thought. .

He kept you close to his chest as you both chased your impending highs together, your lips meeting in the middle as you moaned and sighed into each other's mouths and he was a goner, rambling like a mad man in your ear, thanking you endlessly for something he couldn’t put his hands on. Maybe it was your release, that you felt coming like a truck. He squeezed at the fat of your hips, pulling you even closer until neither one of you could tell where the other started and ended and you came like that, so close that you were almost suffocating, but a different kind from before.

He came not long after you, his dick still inside spurting his cum inside you and keeping it in there with little intention of coming out any time soon. That pink glow had faded from before, fading away until there was nothing there and the slight pink tinge from before was gone too. His eyes drooped a bit, his blue irises that you hadn’t realized you had missed finally reappeared, his pupils returning to normal and his fangs retracting.

He hung his head in your neck and you felt his temperature drop a bit, no longer boiling hot. He refused to move his head from his spot though. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was ashamed of what just happened.

After the both of you had a moment to catch your breaths, he removed himself from inside you, stalking off to find something to wear now that your outfit was completely ruined. He even had the decency to turn around while you changed, granted he had a hard time looking at you anyway.

“You’re gonna wanna deep clean that couch.” You said to break the silence. You were surprised you got a chuckle out of him.

“Yeah. I don’t normally do this sort of thing on there.” Another moment of silence passed between the two of you.

“You know, we can go back to my place and I can fix your nails. I can tell you’ve been biting at them.” He didn’t need to be told twice either. The place still stunk of sex and his head was feeling clearer than it had in days, he couldn’t stand to be there right now.

“About all of this…you won’t tell Buffy, right?” You giggled.

“Not if you don’t.” And that was more than enough for him.

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