#[[ I'm not against age gap relationships obviously but like.... THIS???? no no no no no no no no | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nereidprinc3ss · 24 days

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do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

part one | part three

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were.

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you.

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive.

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later.

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost.

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go.

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question.

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you.

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet.

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong.

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours.

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms.

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close.

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want.

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel.

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart.

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you.

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you.

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure.

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger.

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes.

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies.

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch.

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes.

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way.

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak.

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear.

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you.

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to.

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him.

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise.

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important.

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra.

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him.

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked.

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands.

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“Not right now,” he agrees.

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides.

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown.

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range.

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff.

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight.

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles.

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing.

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs.

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought.

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning.

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you.

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together.

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles.

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage.

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair.

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess.

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you.

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you.

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this?

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself.

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches.

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply.

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone.

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck.

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him.

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff.

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again.

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod.

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze.

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction.

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him.

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions.

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core.

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry.

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious.

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest.

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him.

Thankfully, he delivers.

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl.

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you.

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds.

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second.

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh.

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer.

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit.

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light.

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous.

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning.

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan.

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it.

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection.

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat.

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core.

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first.

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

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pseudowho · 29 days

Text

Red

Nanami Kento, the infamous Curse User, is finally captured and sentenced to death after years on the run. The reader feels her grasp on morality quickly unravel, when her ex-boyfriend breaks down any inhibitions she thought she still had.

Warnings: 18+, smut, MDNI, Bad!Nanami, really a reprehensible man, rough sex, bondage, forced orgasm, multiple sessions, coercion, dubcon, tw: gaslighting, tw: abuse, reader is obsessed and hopelessly in love, and Nanami Kento takes full advantage of that.

*I absolutely do not endorse a relationship like this, and I must insist that anyone who reads this sees it as the red flag it is...ANYWAY...*

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You felt sick to your stomach.

"They caught him. Did you hear?"

You stumbled through the rain, barely composed, your heart in your mouth. Anxious desperation clawed up your spine, on your way to get the fix that you had been withdrawing from for so long.

"Yeah, Gojo got him, obviously. No, no, he's alive, for now."

Mud spattered up the backs of your legs, tripping through puddles, passing under rain-hush willows, Torii gates, and so many graves filled by his hand. His hands that you knew. His hands that knew you, so intimately, a body and soul so untouched by anyone else ever since and ever again.

"Nanami Kento. The Nanami Kento...scheduled for execution. Finally."

You reached corridors, a caretaker shouting in indignation as you tracked mud all over his freshly polished floorboards. You gained speed, running, ready for his face his hands his smell his eyes his body his heart and yours that was always his forever his still his--

"You shouldn't go in there." Your hand retracted so briefly over the handle of the door to the execution chambers. Feeling cold drip down your spine, not knowing if it was rainwater, sweat, or Gojo's voice behind you, you shivered. You felt him approach. A long hand on your shoulder; protective, apologetic, grieving.

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't want it to be this way. But you shouldn't go down there. He's...bad for you." You sniffed, straightening yourself, steeling against him. Gojo was so insignificant to you in this moment. "Are you keeping watch? Is there anyone else?" Gojo sighed, knowing better than to argue with you, feeling dread creep through him regardless. He leaned back on the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast. You heard your own heartbeat, amplified hummingbird's wings. You heard the rain, cleansing on the leaves, but weighing you down with your sin. You felt the thread on your finger, trapped beneath that door and running down the stairs.

"No. No, it's just me. I...understand. Whatever you want to do, I...I understand." You felt the ghosts in this corridor. You felt the footsteps long since gone. You felt the shadows of the other half of Gojo's soul. Ah, yes, you thought, raindrops running down your cheeks, you would understand, of course.

"There will be a gap in the guard. At midnight. Just five minutes. Ten, if you're lucky." Gojo turned, facing down the corridor. You could smell the regret. The weight of his own failures haunted him. He sensed your fingers grip the handle, squeezing down, taking your life into your own hands.

He would give you this, what he had prevented you from taking five years ago. He would not see another whole broken into halves. He would not regret, for a moment now or for years to come. Behind him, your other hand, cold and damp, reached out and squeezed Gojo's. He felt the farewell upon your skin. "Thank you, Satoru. I love you." "I love you, too. Be good." You wracked with need, trembling down those spiraled steps. They took you so deeply underground, that you could feel the earthen chill of ages past upon your skin, and you welcomed the death and rebirth, shedding the life you had left at the surface.

You knew Nanami Kento would, inevitably, be your downfall. And yet...you had shared a room with death so many times, now, that you would not fear him reaching for your hand. You paused near the bottom of the stairs, soaked in the soft orange glow of ten thousand illuminated paper charms. You felt him. He beat you to it. "I can smell you." Your knees almost buckled; that voice. It ran through you, spitting hot oil in cold blood. You flurried down the rest of the steps with numb feet, rounding the corner. The breath rushed out of you, into him, and he smiled at you, so much wider than he used to, all canines and white.

Nanami Kento was bound to a small chair, barely enough to hold the sheer width of him. In this short (long too long so long) five years, he had grown from a man, to a beast, his shoulders hulking and mountainous, scars littered across his forearms and collarbones.

His white shirt was bloodstained-- mostly someone else's, you assumed, but some from Kento himself. Kento was scuffed, bruised, red at the corner of his lip. His parting remained, disheveled from his capture. His harness, the brown leather soft and aged, strained against his chest and shoulders. His blunt blade rested, leant against the wall in a dingy corner of the room.

The only thing holding back what you knew would be Kento's enormous, overwhelming power, were the ropes that restrained him. You fingered at the blade of the Cursed tool in your pocket. He was...ethereally beautiful. You felt the last vestiges of yourself pass to him, blissfully unaware he would take so much more from you yet. His smile grew, eyes full of searingly cold ice, sneering at you as tears built in your eyes.

"You're crying for me?" He cooed, soft and mocking, "Why is that? You made your choice, all those years ago." "You were the one who left." "You were the one who stayed," he growled, lurching forwards against his bonds, chest heaving and straining, snarling. Expecting you to step backwards, instead, he felt the sick satisfaction of you stepping closer instead-- drawn in by his gravity. "You didn't give me a choice, Kento," you begged, shameless, "You didn't come for me. I couldn't find you." Kento huffed, scoffing, twisting against his restraints. "Fuck off," he scorned, spitting a wad of blood to the floor, "I came for you. The night I found you in Gojo's bed, of all people." You frowned, remembering the night Kento snapped and executed two dozen colleagues in his offices, years after leaving Jujutsu High. Remembering the news reaching you third-hand, through whispers in the corridors, as you had headed to Jujutsu High to see if anyone had heard from him. Remembering Gojo's grim confirmation, how you had collapsed in his arms, carved in two. Remembering how he had taken you home with him, tucked you into his bed, where you slept fitfully, alcohol-soaked to numb the nightmares. Your stomach filled with ice water. "You were-- you were there?" You choked, tears spilling over, "At Gojo's? You were there?" "Tell me," Kento commanded, his lip curled, "how many hours it was, after you heard? How many hours before you let Gojo Satoru fuck you like some desperate little whore? How many hours it was before I found you in his bed." You shook your head, brutally injured by his venom, punctuating him with sobs and denial as his voice rose.

"Three? Four? So devastated, it took another man fucking his seed into you before you could get over the loss of your lover? And you have the fucking audacity to come in here and cry over me?" Kento strained forwards, teeth bared as he sniffed deeply, breathing out with a satisfied smirk, a laugh, deep and smoky. "Can't smell him on you now, though," he mocked, filthy and merciless, "I thought he liked pathetic little scraps like you, but I suppose one fuck was enough to tell him you belonged to someone else, just as much as he did."

Kento already knew, of course, that Satoru would not have taken you even once. Kento felt his cock swelling against his thigh with your anguished begging. "Is that what he told you? To make you leave?" Your head swam with the revelation that Kento had come back for you, the rage that Satoru had lied and sent Kento away. You shook your head, dropping to your knees before him; desperate for his approval, full of dreadful fear of rejection.

"Nobody else," you pressed, crawling forwards and squeezing his thighs with cold little hands as he scoffed again, looking away, "ever. Kento. Ever, ever, for years. There won't ever be--" Kento suppressed his smirk, reeling you in after you bit so willingly. He leaned down to you, his cock twitching at the memory of the last time you knelt between his legs, looking up at him with wide wet eyes. He allowed his breath to ghost over your neck, seeing your skin prickle. He softened his face, nectar and promise in his eyes. "...you and Gojo...you didn't...?" His voice was soft, gentle, hopeful. Your head shot up, fingers digging deeper into his thighs as your eyes brimmed over again, thrilled by his belief, his trust in you. His lips were so close to yours, that you felt his hot ashen breath upon your tongue, dragon's fire, those whiskey-soaked eyes flicking across your face. God, if I'd known it would be this easy, Kento thought, maliciously possessive, I'd have let you find me years ago. His cock twitched at the feel of your hands clawing his thighs. He imagined fucking you down into the bed while you clawed at him, struggling, gasping and crying.

"Never," you promised, chasing his face with yours, while Kento withdrew just enough to maintain a teasing closeness, "he lied. He lied to you." Kento's cock twitched again, thirsty for your desperation.

Kento smiled again, that beautiful, cloud-parting smile, and you preened into him. He hummed, leaning forwards so briefly to brush his nose against yours. Your breath left you in a shudder as his voice passed over your lips;

"That's good...good girl. I couldn't bear to think of anyone else's hands on my beautiful girlfriend."

You sunk into his sudden warmth, your hands stroking up his thighs, his hips, up his ribs and shoulders. He allowed you to embrace him like this, for just a moment. Prickling with fear, you felt the frost form over him once more. Kento sneered again.

"...she's gone though, I think. Rotting here, festering with the dregs of Jujutsu Society. Willing to live and die a pawn. Scum. Less than scum."

Kento sighed, withdrawing from you fully, his back against the chair, turning his head as you tried to cup his jaw in your hands. He shook you off, face twisted with disgust. He was thrilled to watch a part of you shrivel and recoil, before reaching out harder, begging in fractured whispers, clawing for dry land.

"You had your chance. You're too wet for my life. You couldn't do what I do, live how I live. You couldn't lie, cheat, extort, torture, murder. You're too soft." Kento's lip curled in disgust as you pressed yourself between his legs, begging, beseeching, "To think of all the cum I wasted by fucking it into you." He hoped you couldn't feel him, hard and throbbing against your belly.

"--anything you want-- I'll do anything you want-- please--"

"Please what?" Kento shot, shaking the ropes around him with thick, scarred arms, "I'll be dead before dawn. And I want some peace and quiet. You're nothing to me now."

A part of you died, shattered by his rejection. Clapping a hand over your mouth, your shivers threatening vomit, you sat back on the floor, pressing your face into your knees, sobbing and abandoned for a second time.

"It's a shame," Kento scorned, tutting, "we were beautiful, once. But I'd rather die than have you be my only fucking option."

Kento felt you break, and it was delicious.

You shook within, panicking at his imminent second abandonment...but you were more determined than ever to prove yourself to him. You would sell your soul. You would sell the lives of your fellow sorcerers. You would sell your dignity, your self-respect, your whole being. Having Kento in any form, even this cold-hearted killer, was better than the agony of his death, where you would surely die with him.

From your pocket, hands shaking, you withdrew a blade; a special grade cursed weapon, stolen, illicit. You reached around Kento, breathing deeply of the sweat, sandalwood and copper tang on his skin. You pressed the blade into the hands bound behind his chair. You turned, hesitated...and walked away.

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You could not bear to return to your apartment. You had staggered past Gojo, reeling from Kento's biting rebuttal. You had wiled away the evening in some backwater ditch of a bar, sinking into spirits and self-loathing.

You waited to be found...by him, or by your colleagues, for execution as an accomplice to his escape. You didn't care anymore. You would die at his hands, or theirs, and cling onto that final shivering bliss of his bound body against yours. Even as a good man, he had always possessed you, more than you possessed yourself.

Walking to your door just after midnight, fumbling with the keys, you let yourself in, to spend a final night alone before your inevitable execution.

The alcohol numbed your senses, the darkness close around you. You did not feel his approach, this killer in the shadows.

All at once, you felt an enormous hand clasp over your mouth, and another pinning your wrists behind your back, tugging you backwards against a body, such an immovable chilly presence. A whisper, a tongue grazing against the side of your throat.

"I want you screaming...but not yet." You arched back into Kento's body, seeking a warmth he didn't have any more. The man you knew was long-since dead.

You felt his hand loosen, drifting slowly from your mouth, to your throat, squeezing just tightly enough to make your breath hitch, examining the length of your throat from the outside with a hum. You smelled the cigarettes and whiskey on his breath.

"I'm so proud of you," Kento purred, stepping you slowly through your apartment, pushing you towards your bedroom, "such a good girl...I knew you'd pass the test." Your heart swelled with his praise, but a lingering doubt soured the edges of your tongue.

"--how did you-- s'too early, Kento-- the guard--"

"Guard?" Kento laughed, booming with genuine mirth, "Some scrap of a boy in a beanie? Please. They'll find what's left of him in the morning."

"Oh--Ino--" you felt tears prickle on your lash line, your breath leaving you with a gasp as Kento tossed you face down on your bed. You tried to turn back to look at him, but felt his hand grip the back of your neck, shoving you roughly into the sheets. You shivered, fingers clenching as you heard the telltale clink of his belt undoing, the soft shhhk-shhhk-shhhk of Kento unthreading it from his waist.

"Oh, Ino!" Kento mocked, "Shut the fuck up, before I make you shut up," his voice pitched and ruthless. His face twisted as you trembled, noting smears of blood left by his hands on your wrists. You smelled the copper tang over his sweat and stale cologne. You knew you would never reject him, already wet with the promise of him coming back for you.

Kento softened momentarily, knowing he would struggle to fit inside you if you were scared and trembling. The faintest ghost of him wanted to pull you into his arms. The ice over his old soul knew he'd break if it cracked.

Kento crawled over you, his black trousers unzipped, cock straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. He clasped your hands, binding them with his tie to the head of the bed. You were so ready for him to take back what was his, that you didn't hear his next words, rumbling and gravelly on the back of your neck.".

"Keep still, and do as you're told. I'm sure you remember the old safe word...if I care to listen."

You felt your skirt forced up to bunch around your waist, heard a fabric rrriiip of your tights and underwear being shredded away from your core. Kento breathed heavily as he knelt above you, hooking his cock and heavy balls out, stroking himself with one thick hand as his fingers jabbed between your legs, sinking between your folds with little to no regard for your pleasure.

You jolted, squeaking against the sudden intrusion. Kento letting out another rich, smoky laugh as he sunk two thick fingers into your entrance.

"...ahhh, lovely. Can you warm my fingers up for me?" Kento laughed again, drawing out into a stilted growl as he jerked his cock eagerly to your tight wet walls around his digits. You panted into the sheets, Kento releasing his cock you squeeze your arse as he fucked you with his fingers, leaving bruising fingerprints before slapping the skin harshly, groaning as your fat jiggled, flushing with the abuse.

"-- better than some common whore...shit. Such a good girl...getting me out of there. Maybe I'll keep you around...just to fuck, my sweet little cocksleeve. Or are you better than that?"

"--anything, I'll be anything you want-- Kento-- please please take me with you please--" Pleasure burned in your belly as you heard the wet slaps of his hand, masturbating himself again to the sight of his fingers moulding you to the shape of him.

You filled with a burning need to be what he wanted you to be, so exhausted by life, so bitter and ready for someone else to take control. Kento did so, gladly, withdrawing his fingers to your disappointed groan. He slapped your backside again in punishment, once, twice, three times until you learned your lesson, biting your lip against your cries.

"You'll come on my cock, or not at all," he snapped at you, impatient, with his pre-cum dripping down your folds as his cock grazed at the entrance to your prone, bound body. He rammed his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to lick him clean, low voice husky with need at the feeling of your tongue swiping over him.

Pressing one hand down on the back of your neck, before raising it to yank sharply on your hair, Kento fucked into you without warning, pressing hard, to bottom out immediately. Your scream was choked, your neck hyperextended back at the insistent pull of your hair. Your body ached and strained against his use of you, and you revelled in it, in too deep to care about how wrong it was. You stung with the size of him, always big, and so much bigger without preparation.

"--haaaah fuck-- good girl...fuck you through it-- fuck you through it-- scream all you like-- been waiting for this for so long--" Kento crushed your body flush under his, so heavy that he forced the air out of you, making you lightheaded against the raw pleasure of his cock pounding into you without mercy, simply chasing his own orgasm.

Kento's skin electrified with the sinful joy of stealing pleasure from you, ripping his shirt and harness off over his head with a fractured growl. He gripped your bound hands, slipping a hand under you to squeeze your throat, his hips slapping into you with agonising bliss. He cursed and spat against the pleasure, demeaning you and praising you in equal measure.

Breathing hard and fast, Kento saw a bead of his sweat fall to the back of your neck, and leaned down to bite you there, hard, mounting you like an animal as he fucked you harder, faster. Your clit throbbed, untouched, but you lost yourself in the deep primal ecstasy coiling in your belly. You felt the telltale twitches of his thighs and abs against your legs and back, knowing from his frantic jagged moans that Kento was about to cum, before remembering--

"Ken--Kento--oooh--ooh, Ken," you cried, whimpering as his cock bullied against your cervix, "...'m not-- not on-- pull out Ken--"

Kento jerked and groaned, grinning that wide sharp-canined grin again, his laugh leaving him in ragged breaths as his balls drew up close, ready to spill; "--fuck...pull-out? Not a--haaah-- fucking chance, without the safe word, sweetheart." Kento fucked you faster, challenging you as your cock-addled brain clasped at straws, trying desperately to remember, fuck what was it--

Kento gasped, his orgasm starting to wash over him, "Too late," he jeered, and came with a broken hushed roar, rutting his cock inside you so his seed would spurt, coating you, thick and sticky, all over your deepest walls. Kento didn't give a shit that you hadn't come-- and neither did you, trembling and mewling as his length jerked thick heavy ropes inside you.

As Kento pulled out, breathing hard, pumping his length a few more times to spill his last drops of seed across your back, he huffed out a humourless laugh, running his hand back through his hair; "'Pull out'...you'll take what I give you, and be grateful." Kento scooped up some seed, dripping from your cunt, shoving it roughly back inside you.

"What fucking use are you," he spat, ramming his fingers in you until you sobbed, squirming around him, "if you can't even keep my cum inside you? Pathetic." Your breath hitched, tears spilling over at his brutal mockery. Seeing your tears, hearing the lump in your throat, Kento cooed at you, clasping your jaw in one thick hand.

"Oh darling...don't be sad...just be better." He slapped at your cheek a few times, too stinging to be tender, pressing a hot wet kiss just beneath your eye. He stood up, stretching, padding over towards the door.

"I need a drink." Kento mused aloud. You pulled yourself up the bed, still tightly bound, clamping your legs together to keep his cum inside and win his approval. You almost wept with the bitter ache in your shoulders and arms, how your pussy stung, how worthless he thought you were. You heard the clink of bottles and glass in the kitchen.

Kento returned, sitting in the chair at the end of your bed, naked, legs crossed, as he poured himself a full glass of whiskey. You could not see him, your face pressed into the pillow. You couldn't see the cold, impassive gaze upon your bound, shivering form. You couldn't see the way he idly played with his cock, slowly stroking life back into it as his cum glistened on your folds.

"Let's play a game," Kento proposed finally, as sleep began to creep across you, "and if you win, I'll take you with me. If you lose, I'll leave you here for the dogs." Kento took a long drink, draining his glass with a satisfied hum, his cock now half-erect against his thigh.

Your determination peaked again, so certain you could make things right, and make Kento love you like he used to. You were a void, yearning to be filled.

"Yes, I-- I can do it-- anything," you pressed, voice strong and bold now, eager to shed the shell he had left you in. Kento refilled his glass, almost to the brim, grinning wolfishly. He reached into your bedside drawer, tipping his head and raising his eyebrows at you with a smirk, withdrawing a vibrator, and a dildo.

"So confident," Kento teased, a shadow of the way he used to play with you when he was softer, more restrained. He couldn't deny the flicker of joy he had felt at the old you, briefly rearing her head.

Kento emptied his hands for long enough to flip you to your back, binding your arms to the bed again, ripping your shirt and bra open at the middle, exposing your breasts and belly. Kento grabbed your nipple roughly, yanking it until you squealed, slapping it hard with a gravelly chuckle.

"Don't spill my drink." Kento ordered, picking his glass up, placing it on your chest, between your breasts. You faltered, stock still, staring up at him, uncertain.

"...I-- what?" Kento's slim brown eyes burned down at you, teasing the dildo against your sloppy cunt, before ramming it into you. You instinctively moved to squirm away with a cry, understanding almost a moment too late, the meniscus of the whiskey kissing the lip of the glass. You stilled completely, shuddering at the cold rubber filling your cunt to the belly, squelching with Kento's cum.

Kento hissed between his teeth, face twisted with nasty glee. He looked so animated, so alive with this hedonistic torture, such a far cry from who he once was.

"Close," he taunted, leaning down to brush his lips over yours, pulling away as you moved to kiss him, satisfied to hear you swear under your breath as he denied you. Kento flipped the wand vibrator in his hand deftly, switching it on and clicking to max out the vibration.

"Don't...spill my drink." Kento repeated slowly, pressing the brutally vibrating wand directly against your clit.

You saw stars, your body moving to convulse reflexively, and you gritted your teeth, eyes fixed on the wobbling glass on your sternum. Your legs shook, the pleasure too harsh to be enjoyable, feeling yourself being unwillingly dragged towards a bone-wracking orgasm.

"Kento please-- please stop please please-- I can't do it I can't keep still I can't--" You babbled at Kento, tears streaming, certain he may not acknowledge your safe word even if you did squeeze it out. Only your desperation to win him back stopped you from even trying.

"Then die here." Kento shrugged, stroking himself again as he pressed the wand harder against your clit, thrilled to hear you scream in anguish. Your orgasm hit you with stunning force, harsh wracks of pleasure pounding through you as your body remained rigid. Still, the whiskey did not spill.

Your teeth gritted around your cries, and you met Kento's eyes with a ferocity that used to make him hard in seconds. His cock twitched in his hand in memory, pre-cum dripping down to wet his fingers. Baring his teeth in a snarl now, Kento knelt between your legs, grabbing the dildo and fucking it into you with harsh strokes, pressing harder with the punishing vibrations of the wand.

Your body was on fire, every part of you burning, from bruised bound wrists, to your feet, crackling with electric overstimulation. You cursed, spitting out tearful bile at Kento.

"--Kento-- stop it-- you fucking monster-- I hate you-- you fucking left me and I hate you so just stop it--"

Kento grinned, growling out as he continued his messy overstimulation of you; "There! There she is! That's my girl...make me proud!...shit, you're a mess. Don't spill it now." As another orgasm hit you, a primal hideous landslide, you screamed with your head thrown back, woefully unable to dissipate the pleasure through movement.

Suddenly full of unbridled rage, the years of grief and abandonment pouring out of you, you snapped, certain you wanted to hurt him as he had hurt you.

The glinting madness in Kento's eyes, the way his hand worked his rigid cock harder as he released his grasp on the dildo, now ramming it back into you with his knee...he wanted this. He wanted you pouring with spite. With rage. He wanted the venom and the hatred. He wanted the raw unbridled loyalty that you promised him through this humid obsession.

"--let me go-- KENTO. I'm warning you--"

Kento laughed, rich and earthy, as he gripped you by the throat, pinning you to the bed. Your body was exhausted, groaning, all bone-deep and guttural aches. By the time your third orgasm hit, you were floppy, the whiskey glass tilting on you just too sharply--

--before being snatched up by Kento, who drained it in one thirsty gulp. Pulling the sex toys out of you and tossing them aside, Kento moved to line his cock up with your entrance. Full of tearful anger, you kicked, hard, fighting back against him as he laughed, encouraging you-- "Fight me-- come on girl, COME ON--"

Kicking out again, spitting acid at Kento, berating him for leaving you, berating him for the twisted hatred you had endured alone for the miserable job you did, you cried, all bitter spite and loneliness. Kento caught your legs, forcing them open, pressing himself between them. He jabbed his cock between your folds as you squirmed, struggling up the bed, until Kento folded over you, grasping you by the back of the neck, and pulling you up for a searing kiss-- the first time you had tasted him in years.

Kento took advantage of your gasp, and invaded you with his tongue and cock, fucking sloppily between your legs, cursing into your mouth, until he met your entrance, slamming himself in to the hilt. Kento gripped you by the hips, thrusting into you while he slammed your pussy against him. He immediately set a feral pace, intent on claiming the last scraps of you, if he couldn't get you out of Jujutsu society alive. "--not gonna-- haaah-- let you die here-- fuck, good girl, good fucking girl, take it-- FIGHT ME--"

Every time you tried to buck and kick, and throw him out of you, Kento cupped your jaw, kissing you just like he used to, disarming you as you bit into his forearm planted beside your cheek. Kento kept up his punishing pace, reaching up to release the belt as he groaned into your throat, biting the delicate skin there. The briefest flicker of warmth passed over him, to feel your hands clutch at his chest, still trying weakly to push him off you. Kento reveled in your fight, your incessant struggling beneath him making his need to cum, to fill you again and make you his, urgent. You felt this in him, in his trembling arms and sloppy thrusts, all at once splitting you in two and completing you. Relenting, you allowed him to claim your mouth again, lips smooth and supple against yours, whiskey on his breath. Kento couldn't last any longer, and didn't want to; he finished with a broken rumble, all groans and whispered curses in your hair. Crushing you to the bed beneath his hulking body, you whimpered to feel his cock twitch and bound inside you, filling you again with sweet ache and seed. Kento rested on you, ignoring your gasping little breaths as you saw stars, buried beneath him. Swallowing away the lump in your throat, your mind swam with your fates; killed in battle or executed or on the run or hiding with filthy curse users or begging the higher-ups for mercy but all alone every one of them alone-- "...come with me." You blinked. Kento's back still heaved with exertion, his face buried in your neck. You felt a twinge, a prickle down your spine-- Cursed energy, approaching from a distance. "You have to decide...there's no time. I lie. I steal, and extort. I blackmail. I murder. I live in...in absolute luxury. You will never want for anything, while you're with me-- but you must be with me." You smiled. Another door had opened. Kento was the easiest decision you ever made.

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aha-chuu · 9 months

Text

Here's the thing. "Renheng but Blade is immortal and nothing goes wrong" goes totally against the themes set up in HSR. But it's so fucking funny.

So, Dan Feng loves Yingxing whatever. They decide to make Yingxing immortal together and then BAM no one finds out (so no big crime to be arrested for) but there's two ways to play it. Either they have to slowly gaslight everyone into believing YX was a long life species this whole time, or they have to somehow pretend this is not YX, this is some other 100% naturally immortal dude and Dan Feng just has the Most specific type ever, to the point that he basically got his exes twin but immortal with a cooler haircut.

And with the gaslighting idea - I think it could work. No one's gonna notice that YX isn't aging for at least a few years, probably more since everyone they know is long-life and they likely have a warped perception of how regular aging works. So DF & YX just gotta wait like 5-10 years, slowly dropping hints that "oh yeah can't wait till our 150th anniversary!!" And Jing Yuan is like "... Hmm is that normal? That's probably normal?".

Cos also. Who's gonna mention it? Like it's gonna take so long for anyone to notice, is Jingliu gonna eventually sit them down like "you did a big sin didn't you" and then YX and DF just play dumb: "what??? Jingliu what are you on about? Is Mara eating all your memories of YX definitely being immortal this whole time?" So that's not good for Jingliu's mental health but whatever.

Anyway so Dan Feng and Yingxing have successfully scammed everyone but DF is still definitely the High Elder and absolutely no one wants him to be dating this guy. Also the dragon heart is missing cos it's in YX's chest and surely the Preceptors would check up on that? Like a renewal service? Some sort of 200-year check-up? Does DF have to take his bf with him so the aura is nearby? It's just a game of "how dumb are these guys?" Until all those preceptors reincarnate into ones who DF can convince "oh no the High Elder is supposed to give the dragon heart to their beloved. Yeah it's a ritual. Oh the immortality uh no Yingxing had that forever obviously".

Eventually YX is gonna get stabbed and he's definitely more immortal than everyone else. More gaslighting ensues probably, cos otherwise it's like?? He's just an abundance monstrosity (Jingliu is seeing red rn) and Jing Yuan has sussed it out at this point but yknow he likes YX; he prefers him being alive than dead. Jingliu is gonna stab YX for being an undying monstrosity and JY steps in - "nooo don't you know I mean ig your parents never told you but if uhhhh you suck enough dragon dick this is totally normal -" and anyway Sanctus Medicus get a lil fetishy sex crazed from that conspiracy theory.

Then later DF has to be reborn which is sad, but I like to think YX just takes like. A gap year from their relationship. He's a divorced old man he deserves a mid life crisis while DH gets the "plss don't fall in love this idiot guy again" speech from the other Vidyadhara but it's working like reverse psychology, DH is all "pshh I'm way too put-together for that!!" And anyway YX is still a hot piece of ass so DH fails immediately.

One day DH gets a dream memory about the whole sinning part of their relationship and has to come to terms with That™ meanwhile YX is sipping a mimosa while he's having a moral dilemma. "No babe it's fine it's like. Yeah it is a hellish sin but it's cute that you're so worried about it. No they can't try us for crimes we did so long ago don't worry" meanwhile JY is still dealing with the paperwork nightmare from YX's birth certificate definitely not being that of a long-life person's but ehh.

Basically fluffy unproblematic renheng where no one gets amnesiaed or tortured is great and good even if it laughs in the face of canon.

#renheng #yingyue #hsr #blade hsr #dan heng #dan Feng #Yingxing #imbibitor lunae #Honkai star rail #jing yuan #jingliu

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scarisd3ad · 28 days

Text

You’re too sweet for me

Pairing - dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

Warnings - age gap (readers in early/mid 20’s and Joel’s at least in his late 30’s/early 40’s), cursing, angst

Masterlist

A/N - can’t get hoziers new song out my head, and can’t get the fact that it’s so Joel miller coded out my head either.

I'm standing in Joel Miller's living room, arms crossed over my chest, eyes watering, wishing I could just disappear. It's 2 pm on a Tuesday, which means my father and his daughter, the two people we didn't want to know about our relationship, are working. "Y/N, you're too young for me," he says, standing about 4 feet away from me. I wasn't too young for him when he was balls deep inside of me two days ago, so why all of a sudden was I too young?

"Why now?" I ask, his brows furrow as he asks, "Huh?" I roll my eyes. "Why now?! Did someone find out?" he sighs, arms resting on his hips as he says, "Tommy, he found out. he's threatenin' to tell your daddy unless we break this off," he says, gesturing to the both of us. Tommy Miller is again the world's biggest snitch. "can't we just lie?" I ask, blinking back tears as Joel takes a few steps towards me.

His hands rest against my upper arms, both thumbs caressing the supple flesh beneath my cotton tee shirt. "You should find someone your own age. Someone you can actually have a future with." My eyes fill with tears once again as I plead, "Please. I want a future with you."

He shakes his head. "We can't, y'know that." Joel was obviously older, in his late 30s, and me in my 20s. I was closer in age to his daughter than him, but that didn't mean we couldn't be together. "Please, Joel," I say, hands grasping at his arms. "Honey, we aren't anything alike; tell me, did you think this was ever going to be anything other than sex?" and just like that, my heart breaks in two. Tears flood my eyes and stream down my face.

Maybe he knew something I didn't; with all the years he had on me, maybe he learned something in one of those I hadn't yet. Perhaps he could see into the future and wanted to save me from himself, but I still can't take it without shedding a few tears. "I love you, Joel," I admit through tears. His mouth is left a gap as he stares down at me, tears streaming down my cheeks. I can almost hear his brain tick, tick, ticking as he thought. "Baby…" he shakes his head, "you don't love me. Kid, you don't know what love is,"

I feel more angry than sad. "Don't call me kid," I mutter as I pull myself out of his arms. How could he say I was incapable of loving someone yet loving him yet. I didn't need to live a million years to know I love him. "c'mon, you're just too sweet for me. We're too different." I was the sunshine, the light of everyone's day, and he was the rain clouds rolling in to ruin everyone's day. I quickly wipe my eyes before turning around to walk out of his house. "don't come crawling back," I mutter to myself as he shouts, "You know we can't be together without ruining both of our families."

The egotistical part of me wants to say I'm the best thing he'll ever have, but I know that's not true. I know there's going to be some age-appropriate woman who comes and sweeps him and his whole family off his feet. A girl who will single-handedly make him forget all about me. A woman, my dad, will talk about how 'good she is for him' and how 'this is it for him, I know it.' a woman I will try to force myself to hate, but I'll never be able to. She'll be the best thing he'll ever have, and I'll just be a fuzzy memory in the back of his head.

#fanfics #x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us show #the last of us x reader #the last of us #joel the last of us #hbo tlou #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #pedro pascal #Spotify

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

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i'm always thinking of being bradley's inexperienced controversially young girlfriend who also happens to be mav's daughter

got a lil carried away with this one bc it’s almost 2k words oops… warnings for obviously unspecified age gap, and dumbification a lil bit. Tried to keep this race inclusive despite dad Mav

I am pushing the deadbeat dad Mav agenda hard rn ,,, sorry Mav. So we all know Bradley had his issues with Mav, I’m gonna say that Bradley cut him off at around eighteen and didn’t really come back into contact with him until the events of TG:M, when he’s around 33/4. And we all know that Mav was a bit of a heartbreaker.

So, I’m going to say that it’s a while after Bradley cuts off Maverick that one of Mav’s exes comes to him and let’s him know that he has a daughter. He tries, but your relationship with him is consistently strained. You’re a lot like him and that scares him, he tries to control you and you hate that. He missed out on a lot in those years before he knew you, too.

You see him occasionally, less than frequently, through your adolescence and into early adulthood. You know all about Goose, and Goose’s son — your mother filled you in. You hadn’t ever really taken much time to think about the cute little blonde toddler dangling off of your father’s arm in of those photos from the eighties, and who he would be now. Truthfully, your intentions are as innocent as can be when you’re lounging on that beach and picking up a football that was kicked in your direction. There was no way you could’ve known who the tall, handsome brunette towering over you and asking if he knew you from somewhere was.

Sure, once you’d noticed that he was an aviator, maybe that should have put you off a little bit — but growing up this close to Miramar, if you struck off every guy in the Navy, you’d be single forever. And Rooster, the name he had given you, was a dream.

From that first day, inviting you and your friends to join his at their little bonfire on the beach, you had been hooked. Pretty brown eyes and a smile that made you want to melt, he drew you in and left the rest up to you. Inviting you to that bonfire, sitting at your side, acting like he was the perfect gentleman. Letting you do the work, prove that you wanted him.

And you had. Giggling at something that would soon spin into a full-blown inside joke between the two of you, you touched him for the first time. Just you palm, skimming briefly across his knee as you leaned into him, laughing.

Then, your arm looping around his as you shifted closer to keep warm. He chides you about not dressing appropriately for the late April weather, you remind him of his age. He smiles, hearing old man roll off your tongue, knowing that it’s anything but an insult coming from your mouth.

He doesn’t kiss you in front of his friends. You ask him to walk you home, already knowing that he will, since he’s such a gentleman. You weren’t planning on staying out that night, the t-shirt you had brought to wear over your swimsuit does nothing to protect you from that evening chill. But his arm does, when he’s got it draped around your shoulders, cuddling you into his side as you walk.

He’s bigger, far warmer, than you are. He tells you about his adventures as he walks you home. At your door, you both know that this isn’t going to be a kiss on the cheek goodbye. Still, he plays your game like it will be. His giant hand eclipsing the nape of your neck, pulling you into him so that he can kiss you. Up close, your head tips almost all the way back as he lips touch slowly against yours. Brief, disarmingly tender.

And then he pulls back, and he’s staring at you with those big, brown eyes and the freckles on his nose and those forming smile lines. You really can’t take any of the blame for the decisions you make when he’s staring at you like that.

You press forwards and kiss him again, harder than he had kissed you. If it had been anyone else, he might have been knocked back by your enthusiastic kiss, but he isn’t. He’s steady, grabbing your hips and walking back until you’re hitting your front door. Your heart’s beating a million times a minute and you’re willing yourself not to get in your head about this.

He lets you lead him through into your bedroom, your fingers knitted between his as you guide him along. Your buzz wearing off, he feels your confidence starting to falter as his hands are pushing up and under that thin t-shirt.

His voice feels like silk, making you close your eyes and hum eagerly in agreement as he asks if you’ll let him see you. Your experience doesn’t match his, that’s clear, but you don’t feel left behind. Even though it’s far from slow, he keeps you with him, setting the pace and making sure that you can keep up. He pulls you out of the bikini you had worn to the beach, working his warm mouth over each inch of newly uncovered skin.

You’ve had guys go down on you before, this isn’t the first time. You expect it to go as it always does: a few seconds of eager lapping at a spot vaguely close to your clit, and then him to pull back and start pushing down his shorts. As it turns out, you’re not as experienced as you had thought. Not when it comes to the things that Bradley can show you.

He presses two, thick fingers over your core and guides your excitement upwards, working them in slow, methodical circles around your core. God, pilots and their fucking steady hands. You’ve got Bradley moaning into your soaked cunt, his cock straining so hard against his shorts that he thinks for a second he might cum in them like some teenager.

Your thighs bracketing his ears, his fingers pressing hard into the soft flesh of your stomach as he holds you down to the mattress. You’re so sensitive, more fidgety than he’s used to — you can tell that he likes this.

He’s been thinking about this since he saw you laying in the sand, talking to your friends with that pretty little smile on your face. He groans as you jolt against his firm, wet tongue, pressing his fingers into you up to the knuckle. Your slick walls take the two digits perfectly, your back arching away from your sheets, rolling your hips down onto his tongue.

You’ll be embarrassed about that later, when he’s trailing his fingers along your bare stomach and he’s grinning, reminding you how you had chanted his name. It’s something that, with Rooster, you quickly learn not to be embarrassed about. He adores it when you do that.

Bradley sits back on his knees and pops open the button to his shorts, dragging the zipper down slowly, his muscled chest heaving. Kneeling over you like that, just watching you come down from clearly the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had, he’s pleased with himself. And you, so eager and willing, are propping yourself up like you’re ready for more.

He cards a hand gently over the top of your hair, precise in his ability not to catch his fingers or tug at your texture, just caressing the back of your head as you sit up and kiss feverishly across his toned stomach.

You nose at the almost blonde trail of hair below his navel, following him as he pushes the band of his shorts down just enough to let his cock spring free. It sits in front of your chin as you look up at him and swallow.

“Another time.” He decides, giving the nape of your neck a quick squeeze with an amused smile on his lips.

Then, he’s pulling you under him, your hands are in his hair and your legs are hooked around his waist. He’s grinding the tip of his cock back and forth over your overstimulated core, gripping your jaw and sucking at your neck.

You whimper softly when he finally decides to give you what you’ve been begging him for, the tip of his cock pressing into you, his mouth trailing your jaw. The stretch is there, but it’s not a feeling of discomfort— just a brief need for pause — you barely notice it when he’s squeezing at your tits and telling you that you’re taking him so well.

Grabbing onto his thick shoulders, pressing your heel into the small of his back, lifting your head to try to kiss his plush lips.

He fucks you hard from the moment that you’ve eased into it, pounding into you until you’re too dumb to even beg him to keep going. But, he’s so tender about it. Groaning like he’s got some sympathy for how dumb he’s making you, kissing you softly while his hand’s knotted into your hair and tugging at your roots.

And he doesn’t leave right after, either, he kisses your cheeks, your chest until your head finally stops spinning long enough for you to laugh and swat him away.

“So, when am I seeing you again?” He asks, squeezing those big palms of his around your hips, still nestled between your legs even now that he’s back in his boxers. You should be shy, with the wolfish way that his gaze will drop occasionally to rake over your naked body. But you aren’t. You want him to keep looking.

“Mm, I have to meet my dad for something tomorrow,” You give a small shrug and glance behind you to see what you’re lying uncomfortably back against. Bradley’s lips quirk as you tug the stuffed rabbit from behind you and hug it to your chest. “I’m free after seven.”

He leans down, squashing the rabbit between your chest and his to kiss your lips. “How about you come over to my place and I’ll fuck you in a bed without so many guests in it?”

Your cheeks burn at his acknowledgment of the couple of stuffed animals you’ve got dotted around, but you grin and nod anyway.

“You want me to pick you up?” Bradley offers, kneading at the flesh of your thighs with his warm hands, kissing you slowly again.

“Mm, no,” You give a quick shake of your head and press your foot into his thigh, “My dad would probably just interrogate you. I’ll drive.”

Bradley chuckes, handsome in the warm glow of your bedside lamp as he slides his hands down and squeezes at your ankles. “Well, sure. He’s gotta make sure you’re safe.”

“Mhm,” You nod your head slowly, sitting up and hooking your legs over his hips, crawling into his lap. Your arms drape around his thick shoulders. “I don’t think he’d like the thought of me and you together very much.”

Both of you unknowing, Bradley just chuckles and turns his face in towards the crook of your neck to leave you with a kiss.

anyway how long do we think the two of you make it before Maverick finds out?

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #thots night (:

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wingamy24 · 2 months

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a lot of jeff/annie shippers have said that i'm just a no-fun anti that fixates on their age gap and, like, yeah, obviously. that's the main problem. but i also think jeff/annie go against both of the character's development.

annie constantly tries getting her "dream man" because she feels the need to be loved. she needs someone to love her and give her approval. she sees that man as jeff because, in her words, she believes that if she teaches someone like him to love, then she'll be loved forever. i think that jeff/annie could've been used as a way to make annie mature and realize that she doesn't need a 35 year old man's approval or attention and that she can love herself the same way... of course, this doesn't work if you try to make them endgame.

and jeff, well... basically, community finale. jeff sees annie as his youth, the one he desperately wants back. and, also, he feels lonely. he's a cold guy that constantly needs to look cool in front of his friends. he's VERY lonely. he doesn't want annie: same as her, he just wants to be loved. he's not used to loving. he wants to experience it, but as annie said in his weirdass fantasy where she was married to him... "is this what you really want?"*

i don't know, i feel like shipping jeff and annie is the equivalent of throwing their characters through the window of a 13-floor building.

*that's the translation of the spanish subtitles, i can't exactly remember what annie actually said in english.

5/3/24 update (i forgot that i wanted to add this)

in general, it just feels like they both want a completely different relationship with a completely different person, and they're trying to force the other to be that person. im mostly talking about annie here. if your favorite community character is jeff winger, you probably are his #1 hater, like me. annie doesn't deserve jeff. she deserves way better. and im not saying this in a "they are so silly hahaha annie deserves so much better than this silly guy" no, annie would get hurt in a relationship with jeff. she has high expectations for him. she has high expectations in general. my girl is FRESH OUT OF HIGHSCHOOL and the only 2 guys we've seen her canonically date are grownass men she met when she was 18/19. jeff just isn't her guy. can you imagine them actually living together? can you imagine jeff sleeping on a bed full of plushies? can you imagine annie groaning as she saw jeff's magazines of women? (jeff canonically has those, by the way) etc, etc. annie deserves SO MUCH BETTER than jeff. also, she doesn't really... get jeff. i know this is weird, i mean, they're friends. but jeff never really opened up to annie or went to her whenever he had personal issues. i don't think they'd be closer than friends (close friends).

there's also a whole thing in their potential relationship that could be harmful to annie: jeff's addiction to alcohol. i reblogged a post about it a few days ago that you might wanna check out

kk guys it's been like 3 days and i found it it's right here!

#im doing a post on why jeff and britta actually help with each others character development #community #community nbc #nbc community #jeff winger #jeffbritta #annie edison #anti jeffannie #anti jeff x annie #jeffannie anti #anti jannie #wingamy rants

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pedge-stuff · 11 months

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102 degrees (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug. (:

summary: maybe it's the fever talking, but Pedro might finally be ready to go public with your relationship.

————————————————————————

It’s not a whine, per se— more like a thin, whistle-y exhale as the press tents come into view. A noise of quiet resignation; Pedro is exhausted, and the night hasn’t even started.

There is little comfort you can offer. You’ve been careful not to touch his face or hair throughout the ride, per the explicit instructions of Mira. This has left you no option but the back of his neck, between the high collar of his overcoat and the lowest hang of his curls. You thumb rhythmically over the overly-warm, slightly damp skin. Small comforts.

Of course he’d wake up with the flu on the day of the biggest premiere of his career thus far. “Fucking shit-ass karma,” he’d groaned between dry heaves over the toilet that morning. Three negative covid tests and a house-call IV drip later (celebrity medical care is, you’ve come to realize, very fucking weird), he was semi-functional. But fucking miserable.

This once, you’ll give your grown ass boyfriend a pass for whining.

Though the windows are tinted, you are quick to remove your hand as the car pulls up. He is anxious enough about the evening, without having to worry about people seeing. You know the drill— low profile has basically become your middle name. The only thing worse than having the flu on premiere night, you muse, would probably be Pedro getting outed to the world.

“It’s going to be fine,” you insist softly, squeezing his knee. “Carpet, premiere, talkback, reception. Easy.”

He straightens out of his slump against you, taking a deep breath. “Easy,” Pedro repeated, unconvincingly. He sighs.

“Then a full cap of NyQuil and no alarm tomorrow morning.”

You dare to grip his hand, one last time, as the car slows to a stop. He brings yours to his lips, and presses a (noticeably fever-warm) kiss to the exposed skin of your wrist.

"Only thing getting me through this is the prospect of going back to bed with you tonight."

"Mr. Pascal, are you coming on to me?"

He offers a weak chuckle. "Ask me again when I'm not about to barf in the back of an Uber."

The car slows to a stop. Another deep breath, as Pedro slips an easy mask back into place. "Carpet, premiere, talkback, reception."

— — —

There are layers to the whole thing. You don’t begrudge his hesitancy, to publicly reveal your relationship. The few times a pap has caught you out together, the TMZ byline is something along the lines of “Pedro Pascal Seen Strolling Sunset with SNL Sidekick.” Perks of heteronormativity, you suppose.

It’s all him. You’ve been out for a long, long ass time— frankly, never thought you’d go back in, til suddenly you’re signing an NDA and attaching yourself at the hip to a man whose hand you can’t hold in public.

It’s not that he’s ashamed. (He reassures you of this often.) He’s just private, and unwilling to pop a bubble he’s lived comfortably in for the better part of five decades; sometimes, his perspective on (and fear of) public homophobia speaks volumes to the age gap between you.

So you stand back, under the cover of the press tents, watching Pedro walk the carpet. You’re in good company— Mira and Coco track him beside you with narrowed eyes, vigilantly monitoring him for accidental hair touches or makeup smudges.

He sways on his feet between interviews. Your heart clenches.

The carpet is short, much less elaborate than the ones at awards ceremonies. After a few interviews and a series of photographs, everyone starts slowly making their way into the theater.

You hang back in the lobby, a little unsure of how to proceed. There is guest seating in the mezzanine, mostly for the press reporters and various network reps in attendance. It's not a big venue. The main seating is reserved, obviously, for the people actually associated with the show. And their guests. Which is, technically, you, but... Well.

You maybe should have ironed this out prior to arrival. The whole flu thing kinda took priority.

"Yo!" There is a light shove on your shoulder. Bella, flush with excitement and fresh off the carpet, pulls you in for a quick hug. "Your man is so unwell."

They are laughing, though your heart clenches. Poor baby. "This would only happen to him," you agree. "He come in already?" You'd been scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Like a fan. (A fan that spent the better part of the morning pressing a cold washcloth to his neck, sitting on the bathroom floor.)

Bella cocked an eyebrow. "You guys are so fucking weird about this shit." They are privy to the details, courtesy of Pedro. Apparently it was a hot topic of conversation while killing time on set. You'd received many a FaceTime during long stop-downs between takes; calls you'd assume were your boyfriend, but had Bella cackling on the line after you picked up.

As if on cue, a mass of black fabric appears in your periphery.

"Are you conspiring to put me out of my misery?" Pedro is still wearing his 'everything is fine and I'm doing great' press smile.

"Duh." Bella smooths down the front of their blazer. "I think it's gonna start soon? I gotta find my mom."

They wade back into the dwindling crowd, leaving you and your germy boyfriend in the corner. Pedro's eyes are closed, as he takes measured breaths through his nose.

"Oh babe," you whisper quietly. "I'm sorry this is happening to you."

He softens. "It's okay. I'm okay. Gonna be honest, I'm relieved we're about to sit down for a couple hours."

"Just a few more hours left, that's all. I'll see you at the reception?" Your eyes drift to the door upstairs, behind the velvet rope separating press and attendees.

“Are we not—“ He clears his throat, voice breaking weakly. “Are we not sitting together?”

His eyes are glassy, but lack the same fever-bright quality he’d woken up with. The crease between his eyes deepens as he frowns. This feels like the start of a larger conversation that most definitely will not be happening in the lobby of the Regency Village Theater.

“We can,” you offer cautiously. “If that is what you want.”

A large, slightly trembly hand grasps your shoulder. “Of course that’s what I want, love. ‘M sorry. It’s dark, it’s safe, I just… I’m so tired.” The last part is admitted in a pained whisper. Your heart aches. It takes a concerted effort to not reach out and touch him. (It usually does, in public. He is a tactile aficionado– preens over little touches, forehead kisses, the brush of your hand over his hair. You offer these so frequently in private, that in public, your hand twitches regularly against the impulses.)

Pedro's manager waves from the other side of the room. He musters a small smile, releasing the grip on your shoulder. "Premiere, talkback, reception. Bed."

In the stiff theater seats, he leans so far over the armrest, you know his back will be sore later. But he tucks himself into your side the moment the lights dim, head on your shoulder. The frame of his glasses digs into your neck, and you couldn't care less. Your focus is on the lines he is tracing into your palm, large hand cupping yours in your lap.

The show is fantastic. Of course. The talkback is short, courtesy of Craig, and the reception is informal enough that you are in-and-out. Pedro makes the rounds while you make awkward small talk with Bella's mom (whose name you always forget, dammit, but she's lovely nonetheless). Take two sips of some cocktail called "Look for the Light" and wait for your cue to leave. Though you remain blissfully flu-free, you have been anticipating the conclusion of this evening as strongly as Pedro.

The Uber home has to make an emergency stop, so the star of the evening can puke water and crackers on the side of Mulholland Drive. You tip well.

And then, hours after he stepped onto the carpet, the prophecy is fulfilled. Pedro is tucked into bed, dogs at his feet, empty but blue-tinged medicine cap discarded on the nightstand beside a mug of water and his glasses.

His face is smushed into the pillow. Eyelids at half-mast, as he watches you change out of your simple suit and into a pair of well-loved flannel bottoms.

You don't need a shirt. On cue, your boyfriend octopus-latches as you slide under the covers, head resting on your bare collarbone.

"You did good tonight," you say, through a yawn. Reach up to tug the chain on the bedside lamp. Your other hand cards through Pedro's hair, detangling little clumps of hair spray he was too tired to brush out. "'M so proud of you."

"I mean it," he whispers back. "It's time. I'm sick of not being able to hold your hand."

Your lips brush his temple. 'We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Plenty of time for it," he mumbles, right on the cusp of sleep. "Since we're not leaving this bed."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #the last of us #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal hurt/comfort #bella ramsey

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thedreadvampy · 1 year

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I think there's a huge gap in language when talking about British legislative and social racism bc some of the most overt and unchallenged legislative racism lately is against GRT people and a lot of countries (especially America) do not use the term GRT.

The G in GRT stands for Gypsy (using this bc it's as-self-described, like it's the term the British GRT community uses often) and bc this is for a lot of people exclusively a slur and bc it has a lot of historical weight, people will often object to use of the expanded acronym slash try to correct it to Roma or Rroma.

But the GRT community as a political class and as a group subject to racism includes, but is not synonymous with, Roma, cause it also includes Irish Travelers (who are another large nomadic minority ethnic group, aka Pavee), Scottish, English and Welsh Travelers (a mix of indigenous nomadic groups), and other nomadic peoples in Britain.

In some, but not all, contexts, GRT also includes non-ethnic nomadic communities: New Age Travelers (people living nomadic lifestyles by choice - full-time caravanners or van lifers), Bargees (people living full time in canal boats) and showmen (traveling funfairs and circuses). Not being a specific ethnicity, New Agers and Showmen have a different relationship to racism and marginalisation than Roma and Travelers (a settled Roma or Traveler family are still Roma or Traveler, it's not just a question of lifestyle and community) but obviously anti-Traveler legislation and bias harms everyone living nomadically.

I think (and I'm not GRT and my thoughts should be taken with a truckload of salt, I just feel like it's worth explaining what the terminology actually means) that a lot of the nuance around GRT identity is kind of lost in transnational discourse (particularly with Americans) because. the G bit of GRT has been used as a blanket term for hundreds of years to refer to multiple groups of nomadic peoples in Europe and so there are ethnocultural groups included under that term who aren't Roma but also are GRT and are racialised as GRT.

People racialised within the GRT community (as Roma or Travelers) experience way higher rates of social and economic exclusion than any other ethnogroups in the UK, including if they're settled (living in brick-and-mortar housing, which around 75% of people recorded as GRT do).

Both Roma and Traveler kids are systemically excluded from education (Gypsy/Roma kids are 6x more likely to be suspended from school and 7x as likely to be expelled than the national average, and Traveler kids aren't much better off (4x more likely than average to be suspended and 5x as likely to be expelled)). GRT people face systemic employment discrimination, being 6x more likely than average to be long term unemployed and 1/4 as likely to be offered high-level or management positions. GRT folk have the worst health outcomes of any ethnic group, and consistently report high levels of medical discrimination and trouble accessing healthcare. As a result, GRT infant mortality and maternal death is way higher than average, and GRT life expectancy is 10+ years shorter than average. GRT communities are disproportionately criminalised, settled GRT families have spoken often about having been treated as inherently suspicious on the basis of their ethnicity.

A lot of people write these issues off as being, like, a product of a nomadic/no-fixed-address lifestyle, but a) it's a problem with the system if our social care systems don't account for the fact that some people are nomadic, itinerant or have no fixed address. there is no reason why nomadic life needs to be more dangerous or excluded than settled. but also b) as stated a majority of GRT people included in these figures do have fixed addresses. it is just racism.

Homelessness is also a huge problem in the community, with many landowners refusing to rent land to Travellers, residential camping berths being oversubscribed by something like 10,000%, and significant difficulty accessing affordable housing. The land which is available to Traveling communities is increasingly ringfenced, often specifically with the intention of discouraging nomadic communities.

given that it is. racism. with an exceptionally long and brutal history of genocide, criminalisation and systemic social exclusion. it is also striking how often open, sometimes genocidal, racism against GRT people is handwaved or accepted as normal. anti-GRT legislation is explicitly passed on the regular. people are incredibly comfortable referring to all GRT people as thieves, scroungers, criminals and frauds. I have had literal circular mailings offering to "remove vermin, pests and Gypsies from your land." and yet calling this racism is often treated as an overstatement. Even though it's explicitly ethnically-driven bias, and has deeply entrenched social impacts affecting everyone racialised as GRT regardless of cultural behaviour or lifestyle.

anyway that's what GRT means, it stands for Gypsy/Roma/Traveller and it's an extremely underserved and marginalised racialised group in the UK and Europe. It includes Romani ethnic groups, but also includes non-Roma ethnic groups (like the Pavee) and Roma subgroups (like Sinti). They're united by a common experience of anti-nomadic racism, criminalisation and social exclusion and, as an aggregate group, are consistently among the most directly disadvantaged racial groups in the UK.

#red said #this is my understanding as someone who's not grt but has read up on it a lot #which is to say i may be talking shite #please correct me if you are from a GRT background and I'm fucking up

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year

Note

congrats on the 3,000 followers! I'm so excited for this!

My request is Rick Grimes x plus size reader "she fell first, he fell harder" + “That’s it, keep going. Such a good girl.”

Mafia au? If you do that sort of thing.

Belonging

Mob!Rick Grimes x plus size reader

He’s older, he’s dangerous and he’s all yours

Warnings: age-gap relationship (reader is implied to be in her mid-20s while Rick is 50), daddy kink, unprotected sex, smut, small references to Rick’s kids, some cockwarming

WC: 1.6k

Minors DNI

3000 Follower Celebration

Falling in love with your boss was never a good idea, especially when he was the leader of the most powerful mob in the south and a man that was almost double your age who had two kids, one of which was barely ten years younger than you. But when he would smile at you first thing in the morning as you delivered his coffee or when his blue eyes sparkled as you told him a dumb joke to brighten his day, you fell even deeper for him.

“Mr Grimes?” You knocked gently on the door jamb to his office, unconsciously pressing your plump thighs together as you took in the sight of his unruly grey curls that had been loosened from his usual slicked back style through the day. His eyes met yours, his pink lips turning up into a smooth smile beneath his well-groomed beard.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes darlin’.” He cooed, leaning back from his desk so he could give you his full attention. “And I thought I told you ta call me Rick or daddy.” He winked. You rolled your eyes and strutted into the office, shutting the door behind you, mindful to lock it.

“And I thought I told you to keep it professional during work hours.” His eyes followed you as you moved to the other end of the office. You poured a glass of his very expensive brandy into a crystal tumbler, his heavy gaze burning into your back. “I’m still your secretary Mr Grimes.” You glanced back at him.

He clenched his jaw in annoyance but his eyes were still alight with amusement. “Well, you refused to let me give you a better position Mrs Grimes.” You scoffed and turned on the balls of your feet so you could lean against his drinks cabinet, taking a sip of the golden liquid.

“You offered me the job when your dick was down my throat, I don’t think that’s a brilliant qualifier. And I’m not Mrs Grimes yet, I don’t see a ring on either of our fingers.” You pointed out, tapping your empty ring finger against the glass.

“And how is that my fault? I’ve asked ya ta marry me bout 50 times now.” The high-back leather seat rolled back from his desk, allowing Rick to stand to his full height. His black suit is now wrinkled from sitting at his desk all day but still gives him an air of power. You knew how dangerous he was but that made it all the more exciting. “If it had been up ta me, we would be married and with a couple of tykes around ya feet by now.”

You smiled and took another sip. “But no. Ya had ta say it was ‘too soon’.” He said with a mocking tone, slowly working his way over to you. Your gaze dropped down and caught sight of the tightness in his slacks around his growing bulge.

“You proposed on our second date AFTER I had to beg you for the first one.” His huge palm cupped the swell of your hip as he plucked the glass from your hand, downing the rest of the brandy in one gulp. You were hypnotised by the way his Adam's apple bobbed and the urge to bite his deliciously thick throat became almost overwhelming.

“I am sorry bout that darlin. Ya see, I couldn’t believe such a sweet, plump, sexy little thang like you would want an old dangerous man like me.” That made you mad. Your fingers curled around his dark tie and yanked the mobster closer to you.

“Then you are a fool, Mr Grimes, to not see how much I utterly adore you.” You pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth in a delicate peck but when he whined, obviously wanting more, you kissed him properly.

Rick’s arms wound around your thick waist as you held his jaw in your hands. Heat raced through you as he pulled you away from the wooden cabinet and towards the huge sofa in the corner of the room. “Guess you’ll hafta prove it ta me then.” He groaned against your lips, his fingers searching for the zipper to your skirt at the same time.

“And how do you suppose I do that daddy?” You swore his knees buckled as you cooed into his ear. As the back of Rick’s legs hit the edge of the couch, he tumbled back, pulling you down on top of him. Your thick thighs were forced apart over his lap and your bare centre pushed against him. Wetness quickly soaked through the rough fabric of his pants.

A moan slipped through your throat as your clit brushed up on the metallic zipper. Rick smirked. “How bout you give me a ride darlin, show me with your purty little pussy.” He lifts your skirt just enough to expose your soaked folds to him.

You chased his lips as you rocked forward onto your knees, your fingers fumbling with the clasp to his pants. Your tongues tangled in a lewd dance, your teeth clacking together as you become more desperate for him. Rick’s musky cologne washed over your senses, consuming your whole being.

Finally, his trousers came undone and your hands flew into them, desperate for your prize. Rick hissed as you pulled him out. He was painfully hard and throbbing in your soft palm, his head now a deep purple, eager for release. “Is this all for me daddy?” You cooed, giving him a tentative pump and watching as a bead of pre-cum gathered at his tip.

His thin hips bucked into your hand. “Ya know it is. All yours darlin.” You kissed him again, this time it was sweeter as you tried to convey all your feelings for the older man with a single brush of your lips. As he kissed you back, his hands held your hips tightly, guiding you up so you could position him at your weeping entrance.

“And I’m all yours.” You sunk down onto him slowly, his thick length prying you apart with a pleasurable burn. “F-fuck daddy. So big.” You moaned and dropped down another inch. His grip on you got even tighter, forcing you down so he was buried to the hilt. Your body struggled to take him, your walls rippling around him.

Rick stopped breathing in a vain attempt to keep himself still. He wanted you to take what you needed from him in your own time, no matter how wild it drove him to have you wrapped so tightly around him and so wet that it was dripping onto his heavy balls.

Your body sagged as you finally relaxed enough for the stretch to lessen. “There ya go darlin. Doin so good.” He stroked the small of your back lovingly with his thumbs, encouraging you to take your time with him, even if it was borderline torture for the mobster.

Deciding to put him out of his misery, you rolled your hips in a figure-8 motion, your clit grinding against the sparse patch of hair at the base of his pelvis with each pass. But all-too soon, you realised it wasn’t enough. So planting your knees into the cousins, you started to bounce on top of your lover.

His reaction was immediate.

Rick's eyes rolled back into his head as he bit his lip to prevent loud groans from escaping. The air was forced from your lungs every time your ass met his thighs

“That’s it, keep going. Such a good girl.” Your thighs began to burn with the strain of riding him but the pleasure was too great to stop. With each downward roll of your hips, the crown of his cock perfectly hitting the bundle of nerves deep inside of you that had you seeing stars.

Your nails dug painfully into his strong shoulders, almost slicing through his shirt. Rick’s hips bucked with the pain, sending him even deeper inside yourself. You gasped as he bashed against your cervix, inadvertently sending you higher and higher. The knot deep inside you began to tighten quickly and by the way Rick’s head had fallen into the crook of your neck, his lips desperately kissing and suckling your skin, he was getting close too.

“Daddy please. Need more.” You whined. His strong right hand skirted down your front, leaving goosebumps in its wake. For a moment he paused at the area around your hips, pressing his fingers to the soft flesh of your stomach almost reverently before continuing to the apex of your thighs.

Calloused fingertips rubbed tight circles against your clit and you exploded. Colours burst behind your eyes as your jaw dropped open in a silent scream. His cock throbbed deep inside you and Rick gave two, three forceful thrusts up before holding you down and cumming inside you.

The office was silent save for the sounds of your breathing. Your body trembled with the force of your orgasm and you slumped into your partner. Rick chuckled breathlessly, holding you to his chest. “Guess ya really do love me.” He murmured into your hair.

“Yeah so deal with it Grimes.” You replied sleepily, exhaustion suddenly overcoming you. Rick just smiled and traced down the length of your spine as you fell asleep on top of him, his cock softening inside of you.

“Rick, we need ya down at the docks. Negan is causin some issues.” Daryl’s tentative voice called from outside the office door. Rick sighed.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Gently, he laid you down on the couch and pulled out. There was a rush of his release as it spilled from you. With a practised ease, he grabbed the small box of tissues from the side table to wipe away the last of his seed. You never even stirred as he laid his jacket over you and placed a kiss on your head. “Be good for me darlin. I’ll be back soon.”

And hopefully you wouldn’t take off the huge diamond ring he had delicately placed on your finger before he was able to beg you to keep it on.

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winniethewife · 3 months

Text

I made you my temple, my mural, my sky (Johnathan Levy x reader)

Warnings: Implied Age gap, angst ending in fluff.

Words: 738

They were fighting again. She was tired of the fighting. It felt unfair, he had so much more experience, He having been married and divorced, this being her first serious relationship. He wasn’t even sure why they were fighting, what started the fight, was he just used to fighting? Is this what he thought love looked like? She gave up and left the room in tears. He takes a moment, has a cigarette break before going to join her in the other room.

“I sit and watch you, I notice everything you do or don't do, I feel like I’m analyzing your every move, waiting for some inevitable betrayal.” He says softly as he leans on the doorway. She’s looking out the window as she sits on the couch, her chin in her hands.

“I don’t know what you’re looking for…You're so much older and wiser and I…I don’t know what I’m doing…” She looks over at him, she can see the tears in his eyes. She feels guilty, maybe the fights are pointless, maybe she’s just missing something. She lets out a soft sigh and moves over so he can come sit with her. He doesn’t move. He runs his hand over his beard and tilts his head to the side.

“If it's all in my head tell me now, That, I’m looking for something that isn’t happening. Tell me I've got it wrong somehow.” He says, the slightest bit of fight still in his voice, but most of it was heartbreak and assumptions. She runs her hand along her arm and shakes her head slightly.

“You can’t be more wrong Jon. I don’t think I could leave, even If I wanted to. Every day I wait by the door like I'm just a kid, for you to come home. Everything I do, I do it for you, I feel like my every waking hour is in dedication to you.” She looks up at the celling. “But none of it is enough is it?”

“Honey I…god I’m an idiot.” He half laughs, half sighs in exasperation. “You do some much for me and I act like it’s nothing. You lay the table with the fancy shit, polish plates until they gleam and glisten, Take care of Ava, you do everything… While you were out building other worlds, where was I?” He shakes his head before walking over sitting down next to her, leaning over, putting his head in his hands. She puts a hand on his shoulder and softly squeezes him.

“Jonathan, you know I love you. I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to be begging for footnotes in the story of your life. I just…I feel like I’m taking up too much space or time.” She says softly. He sits up and looks at her. A soft sad simile on his face.

“How can you stand to be around me? I’m always assuming the worst about us, like I expect it all to go up in flames at any time. As if everything is just a time bomb, I just assume it will go to shit…” He leans back resting his head on her shoulder, She instinctively nuzzles into his mess of curls finding comfort in his scent.

“You’ve spent a long time thinking everything was okay and wonderful and great to have the worst happen. I don’t blame you for thinking that way.” She says as they curl up together on the couch.

“I always thought you assume I'm fine, when I’m so obviously not.” He grumbles softly. She rubs circles in his back as she holds him close

“What would you do if I told you that, I think the same way? That I’m just…damaged goods to you.” She asks. He takes her hand in his.

“My love, if you’re damaged goods then, I am far beyond repair.” He chuckles softly. She takes his chin in her hand and turns his head to look into his dark eyes with a loving look on her face.

“Just a couple of broken toys no one wants to play with…” She leans into kiss him, her soft lips against his as he scoffs slightly at her remarks.

“Likely story.” He mutters against her lips.

“Would you rather I try to fix you? Believe me, I could do it…I think…I know how.” She moves her kisses from his lips down his neck….

“That…Just might work.”

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lesbian-dp · 2 years

Text

Yes, Professor

Kinktober 2022

Day Four

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,068

Warnings: Professor, spanking, slight age gap, professor/student relationship (duh), slightly older reader, strap on, begging

Request: Nope.

Summary: Yourself and your red-headed student share an "extra credit" session in your office

Ko-Fi

Commissions

(Not my pics)

18+ ONLY

---

"Does anybody have any questions?"

A large blonde man rose his arm into the air, along with a few of his peers.

"Yes, Mr-" You glanced down at the paper which held the names of all your students. "-Odinson."

"Are you old enough to be teaching here?"

You gave a soft chuckle at his clueless question.

"I get that. I graduated early from university myself. Just transferred here, been teaching for five years," you gave the same answer you had in your past two classes, "Now. Does anybody have any questions about the lesson?"

A few hands rose back into the air.

"Miss... Romanoff?"

The red-head blinked slowly, lowering her arm back down, as she threw an almost invisible smile at you.

"Do you have any options for extra credit?"

"Stay behind after class, and we'll talk about it privately."

"Yes, professor."

That was how it all started.

Five months later, and your student would still hang back after every one of your lessons for her "extra credit" sessions.

And also do whatever she had to, to rile you up. Which was normally to question you in the middle of your lessons.

"Are you sure that's right, professor?"

"Yes, Miss Romanoff, I am more than positive."

"Okay." The red-head smirked at you, loving how much she was teasing you at the moment.

"Anyway, as I was saying-"

The shrill bell interrupted you, making you suck your lips in agitation, forcing a tight smile.

"-Or apparently, I wasn't. We'll pick up next lesson."

Once the room was emptied of all other students, Natasha made her way down to where you were cleaning up your desk, with your back turned to her.

You sighed, dropping your head as soon as you felt the red-head's hands on your back, rubbing along your clothed skin before passing across your ribs. Chest hovering against your back. You were still mid-sigh as you turned to face the woman who was, very obviously, checking you out. Her hands now upon your midriff, caressing you through your shirt, as she slowly blinked up at you.

"Do you really have to do that in front of the whole class?"

"Do what?" Natasha asked, faux cluelessly.

"Oh, you're really acting like you don't know?"

She shook her head steadily, "I don't know?"

Na"Oh, okay. So, how about you trying to say that I'm wrong in front of the whole class when you know that I'm right. Or, how about the fact that you're wearing a skirt this short, and every time you were in my line of vision, you would do something that makes you have to open your legs, only for me to see how fucking wet your bare pussy is?"

Natasha hummed, smirking as she looked you up and down, before replying with her seductive husky voice, "Which are you more pissed about?"

You gripped her hips, tugging her into your body until her arms wrapped around you and fingers curled into your shirt.

"What do you think?"

"I think you want to fuck me on your desk."

"I think you're projecting."

"Oh, I'm not." She shook her head, leaning closer to your face, to whisper, "I just don't think you have the ability."

"What? To fuck you?" you chuckled, "I think we both know that I can, with our past "extra credit" sessions."

"You gave me orgasms. You didn't fuck me. You can't fuck me. You can't make my brain stop functioning, just with your dick. You don't have the skill."

"Okay," you muttered in slight humour.

Looking away from the red-head, you raised your hand and moved to grip her soft hair, taking a thick bunch and pulling her head back.

"You wanna say that shit to me again? Or are ya' gonna be a good girl?"

"I'll be good if you prove me wrong."

You let go of her hair, allowing Natasha to straighten up, the red-head looking at you with slight anxiety at your calm demeanour. Worried that she may have actually angered you.

"I have another class to teach. Go to my office, strip, bend over my desk, and wait for me," you told her, tone leaving no room for argument.

Natasha's eyes lit up with excitement, small grin taking up place on her face. A static energy coming from her.

"What are you waiting for? Get going." You punctuated your point by giving her a swift slap to her plump ass.

She smirked over her shoulder at you as she walked to exit the room, just as your next class was beginning to pour through the doors.

You were gonna have so much fun once this lesson was over.

You couldn't wait.

---

Natasha had been waiting for over an hour, undressed and bent over your desk, scattered with leatherbound books and papers.

And you?

You were purposefully taking your sweet-ass time.

Meandering down the halls, past other professors and the random students, as you pulled the tie around your neck loose. Mind filled with the beautiful red-head awaiting you in your office, and if you would have to punish her or not, if she complied with your demands.

To your surprise. She did.

Well... mostly.

At the sound of your heavy wooden door opening and closing, Natasha turned her head to find you watching her with a smirk, leaning your shoulder against the door.

"Looks like you do know how to follow directions. Although I did mean for you to be naked and not in your underwear. But I'm fair and accepting, so I'll let you off... this time." Her eyes followed you as you came further into the room.

Fully removing your tie, you flung it somewhere across the room, shrugging off the jacket you wore, dropping it onto where Natasha had left her clothes upon the leather sofa within your office, neatly folded.

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?" she sassed back.

She was right.

But you weren't about to let her know that.

You had a smile across your face as you passed behind her, tips of your fingers grazing across the waistband of her black panties. Her ass practically hung out of the lace material, which was perfect for you. The underwear gave you the perfect vantage point to smack at her bare skin without having to move anything about her "outfit".

Natasha jolted with a yelp at the sudden spank. Fingers flexed against the mahogany wood of your desk, glancing over her shoulder to see you undoing the first few buttons of your shirt as you rubbed at the offending area of the red-head's plump backside.

"You wanna keep talking back to me, or are you gonna be good for me, baby?"

The soft skin of her ass rubbed against the palm of your hand as she wiggled it teasingly at you.

"Or what?"

A deep hum sounded through your throat, slightly humoured and angered, while you leaned over her back to husk into her hair.

"My patience is wearing thin with you, Natasha. This is your last chance. Apologise and tell me that you'll be a good girl."

It only took two words for that thin thread of patience you once had to snap into nothingness.

"Make me."

Raising up to your full height with a hum. Rubbing your hands into her soft flesh, referencing the calm before the storm. Before scattered smacks were brought down her backside, sending the red-head into a tailspin of the perfect mixture of pain and pleasure that only you could bring.

She was whimpering before you were done, plump bottom a rosy pink, soon to deepen into reds, blues, and purples. Natasha was more than fine with the knowledge that she would have a hard time sitting for the next week. You could even say she was happy. She had always loved remembering your shared time together, even when you weren't around her.

"Are you ready to be good now, or do I gotta keep going?"

Natasha whined into the wood, twisting with her built-up arousal.

Passing your hands around her hips so that you gripped her upper thighs, using your position to hastily pull her into you whilst also jutting your hips into her ass. Or rather, what you had hidden under your smart pants, causing the red-head to moan out loudly.

"Answer me, baby." A roll into her wet core. "Or you won't get my special treat."

That got her.

Natasha's head popped up at that begged words flowing from her plump lips.

"Please. Please, Y/N. I swear I'll be good. I want you to make me feel good."

You pressed a firm kiss into the middle of her shoulder blades, easing down her black lace panties, causing the girl to hiss when the flower-patterned material passed over her red-raw skin. Making you take note to rub some aloe into her ass once your "study session" was over.

"I'm sorry, honey," you muttered into her ear, "But I'll make you feel better so soon." A pattern of soft kisses around her ear. "So, so, soon."

"Please."

Softly tapping the side of her thigh, you spoke, "Take your bra off for me."

Doing as told, the girl rose up, swiftly unclipping her bra and throwing the thing off to join your discarded tie.

Your eyes trailed down her chest, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips at the sight of her round breasts, pink nipples pert and hard. With a mysterious glint in your eye, you leaned down to blow sharp, cold air against the sensitive skin. Instantly watching the red-head's reacting. Watching as she jumped and shivered, rolling her shoulders at the pleasurable action.

"I love how you're so responsive," you smiled, moving her back against the desk. Red backside connecting with the wood, making Natasha jump at the sudden pain. However, you were quick to push her to lay upon the surface once more, this time upon her back, her ass hanging from the table, as not to cause her more pain.

Her legs spread, allowing you to slot yourself in between them, fingertips grazing her soft thighs. Chest panting up at you, core wet and waiting.

"You ready, baby?" you asked as she pushed herself up on her elbows.

Natasha's red hair bounced as she nodded vigorously, hips rolling as your hands travelled to unbuckle your belt, just wanting you to hurry up and fuck her already.

"You still think that I can't fuck you?"

Her eyebrow ticked, "I'm still waiting for you to prove it."

Your face turned hard at that, hands gripping the red-head's thighs, spreading them further apart, and burying your strap deep within her in one fluid, well-practised motion.

The moan that tore from Natasha was loud and sudden. Her head thrown back, showing her tight neck. Falling back from where she held herself up on her forearms, as her back arched in pleasure.

You took that as your opportune moment, taking her waist between your hands, pulling her further onto your strap, holding her as you began your deep thrusts.

Cries continued to fill the book-lined room, along with the sound of skin slapping skin and Natasha's wet centre.

With an intense effort, she managed to manoeuvre herself up, wrapping an arm around your neck, her free hand pushed against your chest, making you fall back into your leather office chair.

Your mouth dropped open as you watched the red-head begin to ride you with vigour. Scattering a few more smacks against her reddened ass, eyes intent on the way her wet cunt sucked the faux cock deep inside her.

Natasha's blissful pants turned into high-pitched cries, hips moving randomly, grinding against you now, as you held her hips. Knowing she was close, you started lifting her up on your strap, canting your hips up as you did.

Soon after, she flooded around you, her wetness trailing down your thighs and onto your chair below.

She flopped against your body once her orgasm subsided. Arms around your shoulders, face pressed into your neck, as she tried to regain her breath.

In soft strokes, your hands ran up and down her back, soothing Natasha, as she still twitched randomly with aftershocks.

With a soft kiss to her temple, you muttered,

"How's that for fucking you?"

You felt her smirk before she spoke, "I did most of the work."

She was so in for it now.

---

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 17 days

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat/747358492889858048/sugurus-route-sounds-interesting-i-know-a-lot-of?source=share

is it just me, but if reader and suguru are in their twenties, i don't see the four year age gap being a big deal? and later on, it becomes even less of a big deal.

i get that there may be some moral deliberation on suguru's part with the growing up aspect, but for them to keep their relationship a secret forever? really? that's kinda weird imo and making a big fuss out of nothing

if they're like 24 and 28, why the hell do they have to hide? i literally don't get it at all. they're not doing anything immoral. and reader is not a child by any means, and it's not like they have some cognitive gap or anything. i just don't get it. maybe it's a cultural thing, and for you it's a bigger deal than it is for me.

obviously fourteen x eighteen is super fucked up and wrong, but we're not talking about that, my god

aaa and !!! as for riko !!!! kairo COOKED w the shoko thing.

i think... that this pairing makes a lot of sense! i think it makes more sense than riko x reader, tbh

i just... i don't see the need of turning every best friend friendship into a romance

like irl i don't want to fuck my friends (pardon me for being crude) and i will never want to fuck them, and that's okay. i'm perfectly satisfied with our friendships staying friendships, and the transition to a romance is not necessarily a signification of a 'higher-level' relationship

at the end of the day though, as others have said, it's your stories so you get to do whatever the hell you want to do with it

…. anon i talked abt this a bit in another ask but maybe you missed it so i’ll say it again :’3

(this got very long i’m sorry in advance 😔)

the gap itself isn’t the problem, it’s not a big deal in their twenties. the issue here is the way their dynamic started. satoru always viewed reader like a younger sibling, and it was the same with suguru. don’t you think that would be awkward for them at all? 😭 i think you’re focusing on the present point of their relationship which is fine, but their history as a whole is important too!! if you grew up with a younger kid who was crushing on you, while you viewed them as a sibling, wouldn’t you also feel weird about developing feelings for them later down the line? i definitely would!!

the important part is the shift in their dynamic, not the age gap (but i mention the gap bc it’s so central to their prior dynamic). satoru can’t bring himself to shift his view on reader, bc he still sees them as someone younger that he needs to protect. there’s a kind of power dynamic there that’s important to remember, and it was established when they first met. he’s older, he’s known you since you were a little kid, he’s spent all those years making sure not to give you the impression that he’s leading you on at all. satoru doesn’t want to break that pattern, and he views that choice as important.

so don’t you think he’d be kind of pissed if he found out suguru had gotten together with you? if he found out suguru had made a choice to break that pattern, when he was so adamant on not doing so? there would definitely be a lot of tension there. satoru literally spends the fic talking about how he thinks reader should be with someone better, someone closer to their own age, someone who they didn’t meet from such a young age — and then he finds out they’re with suguru??

like . there’s no way there wouldn’t be a fight there. i’m not saying it’d be the end of the world or their friendship or anything, but satoru would absolutely be upset with suguru. especially since he places him on such a high pedastal. it’s less about morality and more about convictions. there’s nothing immoral about them being together, but it goes against the convictions satoru’s found himself sticking to.

so!!! that’s the reason i think they would keep their relationship secret. to avoid that tension. i can’t see it being anything other than a sneaky summer romance. maybe in the future they could tell everyone, but i also just don’t see suguru/reader as an actual endgame couple in this au… i didn’t specify this in the fic but the two of them aren’t nearly as close as reader is with riko and satoru, since they only met when suguru was hanging out at the gojo household.

anyway!! that’s my take on that. again, the gap isn’t the issue, it’s everything surrounding their dynamic, and the history of it. bottom line is that stsg grew up viewing reader as a sibling of sorts, so of course any kind of shift from that pattern would feel strange. if you meet someone when they’re fourteen and you’re eighteen, i’d argue that it’s a lot weirder to not consider that part of your dynamic important when thinking of them as a potential romantic interest in the future.

like, imagine someone asking you and your partner for your age, and you tell them you’re 27 while your partner is 23. not a big deal, obviously!! but then they ask what age you were when you met and you have to say you were eighteen and they were fourteen. even if you quickly explain that you didn’t get together until you were both adults, don’t you think that would earn you some weird stares? it’s not immoral but it’s a delicate situation, and i think satoru would get angry at suguru for not handling it delicately enough from his pov. remember that satoru himself can only see it as totally normal like. a decade into the future LMAO. his view doesn’t have to be the same as yours or mine, but it’s satoru’s own view that’s important here.

….. hopefully that made it all a bit more clear 😭 sorry for rambling so much anon!! hopefully you’re still with me :’3 obviously you’re free to root for whichever couple you want, but i don’t see myself changing my stance on these two. it’s a fun what-if bonus ending and i think that’s more than enough!! nothing that’s meant to be angsty or whatever, just suguru and reader sneaking around a bit because they know riko and satoru will be angry.

AH ALSO one more thing !! :’3 i’d argue that there is a cognitive gap between reader and suguru. reader is 22-23 in the fic, suguru is 27. it’s not a big gap but the human brain doesn’t finish developing completely until your mid/late twenties!!

i just... i don't see the need of turning every best friend friendship into a romance like irl i don't want to fuck my friends (pardon me for being crude) and i will never want to fuck them, and that's okay. i'm perfectly satisfied with our friendships staying friendships, and the transition to a romance is not necessarily a signification of a 'higher-level' relationship

wait nevermind i also wanna talk abt this 💔 a bit more rambling incoming.

overall!! you don’t have to like riko/reader anon. that’s totally understandable!! a part of me also prefers them staying as friends and nothing else, and i’ve always hated the idea that romantic love is seen as stronger as platonic love bc it just . isn’t. platonic love can be and often is just as powerful!! canonically reader and riko are best friends, nothing else, but i still think they’d be cute in a what-if scenario, that’s all :3 if it’s not your cup of tea then that’s totally fine, none of the endings are canon anyway.

as for the sexual aspect 😭 i just wanted to point this out bc i never write any of my character dynamics with a sexual aspect in mind, even the romantic ones. sex doesn’t have to be a part of romance!! maybe you were just joking so i’m sorry if i’m reading too much into it, just wanted to mention it bc i do see it as important :’3 being lovers doesn’t equal to having sex!!

#phew ok i’m done 😭😭#sorry if any of this comes off as rude anon!! i just want to be as firm as possible with my own takes so there’s no confusion #at the end of the day you can like and dislike whatever ideas you want!! we don’t have to agree on them all :3 #that makes it more fun anyway!!#but i hope you’ll enjoy reading the endings whenever i post them >:3 still haven’t fully decided on some things but #i do have three endings in mind hehe #ask tag ✩

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arielstruggles · 8 months

Text

SUMMER SIZZLE

Pairing: pre-outbreak Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You and your husband Joel had an argument a couple of days ago and you need to get laid asap.

Word Count: 1.1K

Warning: SMUT, slight age gap (10ish), teasing, established relationship duh!, idk what else i can add to be honest

A/n: this is sort of like a drabble-one shot, it was something i thought on a road trip, so is doesn't have a great back story. I'm trying to improve myself so bare with me if you're reading this. And also, i apologize for grammar mistakes or mistakes in general, in advance. Hope you enjoy!

You and your husband Joel are on your way to your vacation, Sarah sits in the back seat while you sit silently in passenger’s seat. The song on the car radio plays and Sarah joins the song to, at at least slightly break the ice between you and Joel, you smile at her but apart from that there is not a single sound. You and Joel had an argument a couple of days ago and you still don’t talk to each other. You throw glances towards his thick long fingers on the steering Wheel, trying to contain your thoughts but can’t stop. Because of that silly argument you had, you couldn’t get laid properly for three days. He also throws glances on her legs, your dress is short and reveals your thighs, in a normal day he’d be caressing your thigh. He missed fucking you dumb, he missed overstimulating you. You drive in silence for three hours and you arrive your summer house. You give Sarah her luggage and ask her to organize her stuff, then you go to your bedroom to do the same.

While you put your clothes to the drawer Joel comes from the bathroom, wraps his arms around your waist. You make a huff noise, trying to play it cool. “Leave me alone Joel, i’m still mad at you.” “I know that much darlin’. But you should apologize, it was your mistake” He caress your pussy through your dress, sending a shiver down on your spine “I’m not doing that, you are gonna apologize.” “You can’t deny that this pussy needs me. I don’t think you can resist too much.” He laughs, he is right obviously but telling him is not even an option. “Yeah, right.” You mutter in a sarcastic manner. He nestles on your neck, starts kissing it lightly. His cock is up against your ass. As if it knows its place, sits in between your ass cheeks. Her breath picks up with the feeling of his semi hard cock. “Joel leave me alone, i have things to do. And you better apologize.” “This is my way of apologizing dear, you better find a way to apologize as well.” He mutters and slightly bites your neck. You whimper with the feeling that washes over you. He doesn’t do anything just rubs his cock to her ass which is enough for you to get soaked. You feels ecstatic. He doesn’t even do anything, just rubs himself against you. One of his large hands find its place on your tit, lightly squeezing, playing with it. You throw your head back, rest your head against his chest. “Joel” you whine. “Joel, i need more.” You whine, “I didn’t hear an apology darlin’.” You press yourself against him to get a little bit of a pressure which makes Joel moan in return. You can feel his cock is throbbing against you. “Say the words honey, say Joel i’m sorry, I've been a brat, please forgive me and I'll bend you over this drawer. Hm?” His words intoxicating but you’re way too stubborn for it. “N-not… mhmm gonna… happen.” Though the thought of apologizing crossed your mind you’re not giving in right away. “Hmm, is that so? then why forming a coherent sentence take your ten minutes.” He chuckles. “Fuck you Joel.” You reply back, a little bit frustrated by the situation that you’re in. The slight pressure of his erected cock up against your cheeks drives you both insane. “It’s gonna happen darlin’ just say the words.” “You know that i will not.” “Oh, you will my pretty princess, you just need a little pressure.” You decide to play it back and start rubbing yourself up against him he growls in your ear while sucking your neck. His warm tongue sliding up and down on your neck, he’s humming against your skin. “Such a stubborn brat, maybe i should punish you? Hm?” you’re startled with his words, his words excites you. He has never done that before, your cheeks warm with the thoughts that you images in your head. He smirks. “Is that what you wanted baby? Was that the reason, you wanted a punishment?” “No, but it does not sound so bad.” You laugh, he laughs as well. He pulls your dress and exposes your panties, and slips them down as well. You are relieved that he doesn’t tease you anymore, but he does. He presses himself you more when his fingers toy with your clit. He is fully clothed and your bare ass is exposed.

“Joel stop it, just give me what i want already.” “No” he says sternly, it is not his usual tone. You are surprised but also turned on by it. “Oh, come on. It is not that deep also, i didn’t do anything wrong, you did. So, you should apologize.” “Darlin’ you know that is not true.” At this point you both don’t know who is to blame, it seems ridiculous. But you’re both being stubborn. When the pressure he applies gets too much to handle you decide to give up, you don’t even care. “I’m sorry.” You mutter, “What was that sweetheart?” he chuckles. “Oh shut up old man! You heard me.” You reply grumpily. Soft chuckles from him fills the room. He unbuckles his belt, you’re finally getting what you’ve waited for. He frees his cock, the tip slightly touches your ass, he growls. He is as eager as you are. You both were waiting to get laid for three days because of this stupid argument which you don’t even remember at the moment. He slowly pushes the tip, you gasp with the familiar feeling. You want him to feel you up. “Gonna put a baby inside you.” He whispers in your ear while wrapping one of his arms around your waist again. You take his hand from your waist and suck his index and middle finger. He shudders with the feeling, readies himself to push more into you.

But you hear footsteps, Joel gets out of you hastily and tries to hide his hardened cock behind a pillow that he grabs from the bed and leaves you feeling empty. And you try to fix your posture, pull your dress down when Sarah knocks on the door. “Hey dad, i was looking for you everywhere, i need your help for something.” She says behind the door. “Okay babygirl, i’ll be with you in a minute.” He says and sarah leaves the room. He whisper’s your ear. “Don’t even think about doing something without me. We’ll continue when she’s asleep. Also, don’t think i accepted your half ass apology.” Then gives a squeeze to ass before leaving you all alone in their bedroom. You stand still with the achy emptiness.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller hbo #pedro pascal #pre outbreak!joel #tlou hbo #joel miller x y/n

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leantailean · 7 months

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I really love Toko, but i feel like its often constrained, largely due to the age gap. Like stories will often either be set in post-canon, or the characters will be aged up. Do you feel like that holds true and if yes do you feel like there's a dynamic that i'm missing. And post-canon is fun to explore, but i feel like the most interesting story telling is generally set while the war is ongoing. Conversely i feel like aging up Zuko would be fairly disruptive to his journey. Not that i think those are bad things, i'm really liking Third Time's the Charm that plays with the latter, and arranged marriage which to feels like a very natural trope for them, and obviously i love your art. They say for a reason that constraints inspire creativity. I'm just curious about your thoughts about that.

Hi! Thanks for the ask and sorry for the late reply (sickness prevented me from replying)

I have a lot to say about this, so let’s begin (it’s a loooooong answer).

Age gap is the most common argument against toko I’ve heard. And, to be honest, I find it really strange. You see, Aang and Zuko have the same age gap, and almost the same have Sokka and Toph, and nevertheless Tokka and Zukaang are quite widespread and supported ships, and no one cares for the age gap. That’s why I don’t really see why people believe that age gap as an issue in Toko.

And this argument sounds strange also because If relationship, even romantic one that are originates from friendship are starting to built it doesn’t mean they immediately become sexual. Kataang is canon and beautiful, but in reality several years should pass for them before they step into that kind of relationship. I’m even uncomfortable to think about Maiko having sexual activity in the canon, when they both are around 16.

Besides, it is difficult to imagine Zuko anything but aro/ace to me.

Toko's relationship originates from similar life experiences and mutual support for each other. This is not a love at first sight, but a gradually developing "friends-lovers" relationship. Which, by the way, completely similar with other canonical pairs, such as kataang.

Also I think that this argument originates from extremely wrong, primitive fanon interpretation of Zuko and Toph. Usually Zuko is depicted super mature and super experienced dude (all that dadko bullshit, omg), and they prefer to see Toph as some tomboy-ish brat (here in Russia people call such girls “the guy from the next yard”), rude, not serious and childish. Nothing can be farer from the truth.

In fact, Zuko is emotionally underdeveloped, traumatised and rather infantile due to the abuse he experienced. He Is a teenager with serious anger issues and bad social skills.

Toph is, otherwise, one of the most mature gaang members. She is able to understand and listen to other people , and she never demand anything back (“Yes, thank you Toph”. Indeed it woul be very nice of Sokka and Suki to thank her for saving their lives). Despite her guarding her boundaries carefully she is always open to other people and she is in good contact with her own emotions (which is what Zuko lacks). So in their relationship, at least that the very beginning Toph would be the most mature side (although it’s fair for every possible Zuko’s partner, such as Maiko, Zukka or Zukaang).

So I don’t think that Toko is having any problems in that sense.

On the one hand, I agree that it’s the most interesting when the relationship somehow develops during canonical events, and not in the post-canon. But in this case, this applies to absolutely any couples, except of maiko, kataang and sukka, since they are the only ones developing during the war. Any possible other relationships, such as Tokka, or Zukka, or Zukaang, can exist only in post-canon if canonical couples break up for some reason. Again, Toko is no exception in this case.

Zuko and Toph's relationship (doesn’t matter friendly or romantic) did not get the development they deserve in the third season. In fact, their relationship was just thrown under the bus because of the sloppy writing of the entire third season (to give Zuko one episode with each member of gaang just to check the box, like "mission accomplished" and give almost not developing of his relationship with each of them outside of these episodes. And Toph was robbed even of this). But despite this, toko still has more then any other fanon ships (although “Boiling Rock” is definitely a very Zukka episode). We see that Toph was the first one who believed Zuko, and not just believed - she actively defended him in front of the others and made an attempt to have a chat with him herself. It is important: the fact that Zuko's relationship with Toph is radically different from any other ones with the rest of the gaang member, since she was not with them when Zuko actively hunted the Avatar, and their first close interaction was after his redemption, when he became the best version of himself. Toph has no personal negative experience with him, and Zuko does not feel guilty towards her, and with her he doesn’t need to make up for anything, and this is very important.

Strangely enough, but, one of the most Toko moments of the show is the moment in which Zuko and Toph do not interact personally: the meeting of Iroh and Toph. She is also the first from gaang who met and even, one might say, became friends with Iroh. Iroh, who has always been Zuko's father figure is talking to Toph about real Zuko. Not about the imperialist prince cruelly pursuing the last hope of the world - the way Sokka, Katara and Aang knew him - but about just a boy only Iroh, his closes person, knew. In addition, Iroh, who knows and loves Zuko, says how much he and Toph have in common (Iroh is the first and main Toko shipper, and I will die on this hill). Narratively and dramatically, this is an amazing moment, and I will fight with anyone who says that Toko has little canonical content: any other Zuko ships can only dream about such a moment.

It is also interesting that it is with Toph that Zuko has the most sincere conversation about his guilt towards his uncle. He talked about it with Sokka and with Katara, but it was Toph who was able to tell him the right words that really comforted him and make him smile (seriously, this is the best smile Zuko has ever seen, and it happens during his conversation with Toph!)

We see that they feel extremely comfortable and open with each other, even though they barely know each other.

Toph is the only girl in the canon made Zuko to blush, just a fact. And Toph, in her turn, openly talks to Zuko her feelings for him (I'm not saying that her feelings were already romantic at that time ). "This is how I show affection" is just the best moment.

We can talk about many other canonical points that are important for toko: the similarity of characters and life experience - both Zuko and Toph are from the upper class, both grew up in abusive families and both know what it is to feel unloved by their own parents. The Blue Spirit/Blind Bandit is one of the most interesting and direct parallels of Toph and Zuko - an alter ego that they needes to get away from theirs social roles (a prince and a young lady from an aristocratic families). This is the same direct parallel as the canonical pair has: The Painted Lady/Kuzon. Just as Aang and Katara need alter egos to help others people which is the core of their characters and unites them,Toph and Zuko need alter ego in order to satisfy their own desire for freedom, which they cannot satisfy in any other way.

They are both disabled, forced to deal with the fact that people judge them by their disability and appearance, forced to prove every day what they are more than their disability. Again: neither Zuko nor Toph share such an experience with anyone else, only with each other.

So canonically, toko has a lot of support - certainly no less than any other fanon ship.

After all, they look amazing together.

Also, I just love the moment with kissing doves. Seriously, ATLA rarely show us such a perspective, why they needed to place such a scene in the same shot with Toph and Zuko as if it were foreshadowing their future relationship? God, I love it!

I really like to explore the post-canon, especially since I don’t consider comics and LOK to be canon, although it doesn't even matter - nothing in them contradicts the idea that Toph and Zuko could be together at least at some point in their lives.

To explore alternative universes for toko, such as the arranged marriage plot, is also a very interesting, and it would be great to talk about it another time.

Thank you for the question, I think my thoughts turned out to be a little messy, but I hope it could be interesting to you.

________

Let's talk about TOKO!

#zuko #toph #toko #avatar the last airbender #kataang #i think?#atla #atla fandom discourse #long post #zutoph #ask #we need to talk about toko

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just-a-torn-up-masterpiece · 2 years

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okay, i can’t stop thinking about the idea of reader nearly dying in the upside down, causing joyce to absolutely rail the shit out of her when they’re finally home and safe. like, she just has to take the opportunity to show the reader how overjoyed she is that she’s alright. any chance you could write something like that? your joyce pieces are wonderfully done!

masterlist

safe and sound

Pairing - Joyce Byers x Reader

18+ :injury and blood mention, implied age gap/secret relationship (r is 19+) smut; slight dom/sub vibes, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), fingersucking ig

Word count - 2262

A/N - i really hope this is okay, i'm not completely happy with how it turned out but i think i like it enough

Joyce hurried over to the Wheeler’s front door from her car, not even bothering to lock it behind her in her rush. Her knuckles rapped against the wood as soon as she neared it, hearing heels approaching straight away before it swung open to reveal Karen Wheeler herself.

“Where are they?” She rushed out, panicked, as Karen stepped aside to let her in.

“They’re just through there.” She responded, pointing towards the living room where you and the others were gathered after the more than eventful evening in the upside down. Joyce was quick to pull both Will and Jonathan into a hug once she’d checked them over for injuries though she couldn’t see you within the crowded room.

Karen had called her saying you were all there and that you were hurt, she didn’t have time to say much else before the line had clicked and Joyce was racing to her car. She was assured that her sons were fine but it didn’t stop the anxious nausea rising in her throat at the thought of you being hurt - how bad was it? Were you going to die? Were you in the hospital?

There’d been enough death, enough pain caused by the upside down, she couldn’t bear anymore.

She glanced over to where she could now see you when she pulled away from the embrace, Steve, Robin and Nancy all hovering near you; she could only see a peek of your shoe from where you were perched on the dining table.

“Mom, we’re good, we’re fine. Y/N was the only one hurt.” Will spoke, nodding over to where you were, leading her over to check how you were.

Robin was sitting next to you, rambling on about something Joyce couldn’t understand though it made her smile when you huffed a laugh at something she’d said. Nancy looked on in concern while Steve wiped over your face with a cloth, standing much too close to you for her liking, his face too close to yours for what he was doing. One of your hands was holding you up, the other was pressing a bag of frozen peas to the side of your head.

“Y/N, are you okay?” She questioned, gasping slightly when she could finally see your face when Steve pulled away. “God, what the hell happened?”

“She saved our asses is what happened.” Robin grinned, nudging you with her elbow.

“Mhm, our total hero.” Steve added, squeezing your knee which did not go unnoticed by Joyce.

“Upside down monsters and whatnot - the usual - anyway, they were gonna win for sure. Like these big things.” Robin rushed out, gesturing wildly with her hands. “Slimy looking creepy things, right? And they just kept coming and Y/N, she just like whacked ‘em. Like, pow pow.” She continued, miming your actions of using a random plank of wood you’d found as a makeshift weapon. “And we were all running and they were just coming after us - I was sure it was gonna be the end - just a bunch of gross bones and Steve’s quiff just left behind on the ground-“

“Hey.” He interrupted whilst everyone else laughed at her explanation.

“And then we were almost fine but obviously Steve spoke too soon, he was all like ‘guys we made it’ and then Y/N was like knocked down. It was crazy, and we all were shouting and panicking like - what the fuck do you do when your friend is pinned down and about to be eaten by some kind of ugly alien thing? Well, anyway, it was like watching a wrestling match but somehow she grabbed some kind of branch thing and just stabbed it - which was gross by the way. And now, here we are.”

“Wow, you could’ve made me sound more like a hero Robin.” You huffed with a roll of your eyes.

“Sounds pretty heroic to me.” Joyce smiled, nudging Steve out of the way to take a look at your face herself. Her hand brushed yours as she moved the frozen peas from your grasp to see a bruise forming on your cheekbone, dried blood from a cut. Your other cheek had a cut across it that would only need a bandage and she carefully wiped dried blood from your skin, her touch was so gentle and you could feel your cheeks heat up at her closeness; what the two of you wouldn’t give to be able to share a kiss right there. You’d both been terrified, you just wanted some comfort.

“Ow.” You murmured with a wince when she cleaned the wound beside your bruise.

“Sorry.” She whispered, her breath warm against your skin from how close she was as she concentrated. “Are you boys staying here?” She asked, multitasking as she placed a small bandage over your cheek.

“Yeah, after tonight we thought we’d crash here and just stay together.”

“Okay. I can take Y/N home, I’m sure her parents must be worried.”

—

“Y’know when I say ‘stay safe’ that’s a command and not just something you can decide not to listen to right?” Joyce spoke as soon as you shut the passenger side door behind you.

“It wasn’t so much of a choice, more like I was tackled by a slimer wannabe.” You returned with a laugh, she smiled at the sound, poking you with a shake of her head whilst she started the car. As soon as she drove in the opposite direction your house was in, you got an idea of the kind of night you were in for.

“I’m serious though. You need to be more careful. I thought you were seriously hurt - that maybe you were dead.” Her voice cracked while her hand rested on your thigh, fingers linking with yours when you held onto her. “Ugh and that Steve.” She groaned.

“What about him?” You giggled.

“He has a crush on you, he was standing so close to you - way too close. And his hand was on your leg, where only my hand should be.”

“Uh oh, is someone jealous?” You teased but fuck did jealousy look so good on her.

“No.” She answered, sliding her hand further up your thigh with a squeeze. “To be jealous of him there’d have to be some kind of fear that he could have you and, trust me, I’m not worried about that. You’d never give me up for him.”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe that’s what I’m into these days, maybe his boyish charm has swept me off my feet.” You teased, knowing he’d described himself as having ‘boyish charm’ to you at least twice.

“Sweetheart, I think we know that’s far from true. You’re mine and I know you like being mine.” She responded, not taking her eyes off the road as her fingertips pushed against your clothed centre and the way you yelped at the action just confirmed what she’d said.

As soon as she’d shut it behind you both with a click, Joyce had your back flush against the front door, desperate kisses to your lips; careful kisses over your cheeks and jaw, soft and soothing over your injured skin.

Your hands pulled her hips into yours and the smell of her spiced perfume was just the comfort you’d needed, you shivered at the way her fingers stroked over the bare skin of your waist beneath your shirt before she pulled away to look at you. Her dark eyes locked with yours as she cupped your cheek in her palm.

“I was so scared when I found out you were hurt.” She spoke, moving into you, her nose grazing the skin of your neck when she placed a kiss beneath your ear before whispering with a rasp. “Let me show you how happy I am that you’re okay.”

She linked her hands with yours, walking backwards as she guided you both to her bedroom, both of you clumsily kicking your shoes off on the way.

She pulled your shirt over your head and watched intently as you unbuttoned your jeans, licking her lips in anticipation at the sight of your underwear clad form. She nudged you onto the bed and you watched propped up on your elbows as she undressed before you; teasingly making a show of it. Unbuttoning her shirt painfully slowly and removing her jeans at the same pace, smirking at your growing impatience as you admired her body.

She crawled towards you with a predatory stare, she was so desperate to taste you, to make you feel just how much she cares for you - how terrified she’d been of losing you. She couldn’t wait much longer, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra and throwing it behind her haphazardly, immediately biting into the pillowy flesh of your breast with a kiss.

You pulled her face back to yours and she was quick to control the kiss, bruising and lustful, her tongue swiped at your bottom lip, licking into your mouth with the taste of old peppermint gum still lingering.

She pinched your nipple between her finger and thumb and clasped her other hand around yours, slotting her fingers between yours and pushing the joined hands into the mattress beside you. You sighed at the sensation of her teeth biting into your neck with a suck, torso twitching slightly when her fingernails dragged over your skin and only stopped at the waistband of your underwear.

You bucked your hips upwards into her lingering hand and she mockingly laughed against your skin, lifting her face above yours to watch your face when she suddenly pushed two fingers inside you. She revelled in the parting of your lips and the breath that passed them, the sound of the small whimper at the back of your throat when her thumb began to rub over your clit was music to her ears.

“Oh sweetheart, you look so pretty.” She cooed, keeping her eyes trained on yours in a way that let you know you were to keep them open, even when she was fucking her fingers into you in such a magnificent way.

“Fuck, Joyce.” You breathed out, she always knows how to get what she wants and right now she wants to hear you, any sound she can pull from you that lets her know you're falling apart at her touch. She can’t control all the bad things that could happen but she could control this, if she wanted a reaction she knew how to get it. So she quickened her movements and curled her fingers, smirking at the perfect whine you let out as you bit your lip.

From your shuddering breaths and the way your body twitched with each thrust of her fingers, she knew you were close; she sucked your nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the hardened bud. Your hand got lost in her hair, pulling at her scalp when it closed into a fist as you came with a choked moan onto her fingers.

She felt you clench around her, your heartbeat in your chest could be felt from where she kissed you as you panted for breath. She sat up on her knees straddled over you, observing the blissed glaze over your eyes and the obedient way you instantly parted your lips when her wet fingers poked at them. Your tongue licked at them, tasting yourself with a hum of fascination, a strand of saliva glistening in the light when she pulled them out.

She looked up at you through her lashes when she kissed over your stomach, pulling your underwear down your legs without missing a beat, dancing her lips over the sensitive skin of your thighs.

The kiss she landed on your still sensitive clit sent a shiver through your spine and the hum of pleasure she let out against it only made it stronger.

“I love the way you taste.” She muttered against you, tentatively licking her tongue over your aching bud, dragging it through your wet slit with the taste of you just making her more eager. An unrivalled suck to your clit had your back beginning to arch off the bed with a moan of her name, the urgency of her lapping at you was heating your skin up, a layer of sweat surely building.

When your thighs threatened to clamp around her head she wrapped her arms around them to keep them firmly in place, her nails digging into your flesh with a sublime blend of pleasure and pain.

Your hand slapped over your mouth, biting into it with the stream of moans falling from your lips, the other aimlessly grabbed at the sheets, bunching them up in your grasp. Your hips mindlessly rocked against Joyce’s face, fucking yourself on her flattened tongue until you couldn’t hold back any longer. Your orgasm flooded over you with an astonishing wave of pleasure, seeing stars, mind fuzzy and blank in awe at Joyce’s talents.

She pulled away with her lips dripping wet with your arousal, a proud smirk tugging at them when she spied your chest rising and falling in search of oxygen, staring at the ceiling to ground yourself. She licked your juices from her lips, swearing to herself that she could never get tired of your taste.

She claimed your lips with hers again, soft and gentle pecks whilst her thumb swiped over your cheek, making sure to cause you no pain. You smiled at one another with dreamy expressions, basking in the closeness.

“Don’t get hurt again, I won’t go so easy on you next time.”

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