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a-aexotic · 1 year

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HEYYYY! So like every other mf on the planet right now I am in my hunger games era!!

Please could you write a Finnick x Reader where she is selected for the quarter quell (Maybe in her games she was lethal and killed like 10+ people?)

And when Katniss shoots the arena in catching fire she gets taken by the capitol (Like Peeta) and they torture her and shit? Then Finnick and her get there reunion she’s all like battered and bruided and it’s dead sad? Not sure if this made sense because i’m half asleep and dyselxic but let me know😭🤣

Maybe he says “It’s okay baby i got you” ??? x

hey of course i can! i hope u enjoy it babe <3 its a tiny bit long! my apologizes

cw's: angst, mentions of killing/dying, typical thg stuff, torture, ptsd, lmk if i missed anything

You were one of the youngest victors alongside Finnick, being only 15 and having won your games. You were also from District 4. You won the 68th Hunger Games, a few years after Finnick.

When you were reaped, Finnick and Mags were your mentors. Finnick came off as self absorbed and arrogant but once you started talking to him, the more you realized that was total bullshit. He wasn't how the Capitol portrayed him, he was much more caring and compassionate. He was very sympathetic to your situation, having gone through the same things.

During your time in the arena, you were one of the most ruthless tributes of all time. In the beginning, you were easily overlooked. The tributes weren't thinking that you were going to be much of a challenge because of your size and the way you carried yourself.

But that was exactly how you wanted to be portrayed. You tricked the Careers into thinking you were some naïve little girl, stabbing them in the back (literally) the first chance you got. The Capitol loved the turn of events, cheering you on.

When you had come back home, you had finally understood the intensity of what you had done. You had killed a whole group of people, ending their lives permanently. Those people had lives and family who loved them, and now they're gone because of you.

You suffered through months and months from never ending nightmares. Even getting consoled by your mother didn't help anymore; she doesn't understand. You didn't even feel worthy of food anymore.

You closed off Mags and Finnick when you had come home, driving yourself into isolation and depression. You rarely went out anymore, eating one meal a day and slept more than 80% of the day. Even sleeping couldn't mend the eternal tiredness you had, the void that filled your body.

Finnick had felt more than responsible for your pain. He gave you time before he realized he was just adding to your pain. Even when you didn't communicate back to him, Finnick visited you every day. He gave you advice and told you what he had went through after the Games as well. Eventually you opened up more to Finnick, and slowly, he had become your best friend.

He had told you that numbing it wasn't going to make it go away. He reminded you that you had him and Mags to help you with this process, and that you weren't alone despite of how you felt.

He helped you regain your sense of purpose again, your self image again. Finnick had singlehandedly helped you rebuilt your sense of self again.

He saw a part of you in him, that scared 14 year old boy who was trying to go back home to his parents. He never wanted anyone to feel that, especially you.

He promised you that he would never let anything bad ever happen to you again.

During your Victor's tour, Snow had suddenly deemed you desirable by the Capitol, wanting to sell you as he did with Finnick. Finnick couldn't risk getting involved, wanting to protect his family.

Every night in the Capitol, you were always consoled by Finnick. Every time you had to do a favor, you remember walking to Finnick's room to sleep, not baring the thought of having to sleep alone in the cold bed. He was always there, holding your hand comfortingly as you both slept.

The Capitol adored you both, nicknaming you the princess and prince of Panem. The more time you spent with Finnick, the more the media had speculated a relationship between the young victors.

You and Finnick had connected in many ways. Both having the same trauma, it was easy to talk to him and for him to understand how hard it was.

You and Finnick eventually got together a few years later, then getting married (in secret, of course) almost right after. You were both deeply in love.

Finnick found solace in the thought of always having you by his side, remembering that no one could tear you apart. That was until the Quarter Quell was announced.

You and Finnick were sitting at the edge of the couch, listening to Caesar's words carefully as he explained that this year's Hunger Games was going to be very different.

When it was announced that there will be only be Victors in this year's games, you heard dropped. You looked over at Finnick and he shared the same terrified look on his face.

When Annie's name had been called, you without any second thought, put up your hand. "I volunteer as tribute."

The crowd gasped and you looked over at Annie and you could tell she was a bit relived but still scared nonetheless. You immediately embraced her tightly, letting her let out a small sob. "It's okay, you're okay."

Mags looked just as terrified and you took her hand. When Finnick's name was called, you felt your stomach drop. Not only were you back in the arena, but you were with Finnick.

You looked over at Finnick and he looked prepared to fight. You both stood up and he grabbed your hand, raising it up in union.

The trainride to the Capitol was pretty uneventful. Finnick had wanted some time to think about the plan and so did you. A part of you knew what he was planning; he kill everyone else in the arena and then eventually himself, all for you.

As you sat on the bed, you felt the sadness and anger turn into numbness. No amount of crying was going to stop the Quater Quell and you had to be smart.

You didn't want to survive without Finnick. You were either winning with him or dying with him. Life would be meaningless without him.

Finnick knocked on your door slightly, before walking in. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile. He took a seat next to and took your hand.

"I have a plan."

"Finnick, I know what you're thinking, and no. You're not killing yourself for me."

Finnick looked defeated. "One of us has to survive, Y/N. For Annie. For Mags."

You look a deep inhale, looking away from Finnick. "I don't want to life without you, everything would lose all it's meaning without you."

Finnick felt his heart burst into two pieces as he squeezed your hand. You felt your eyes watering again and you couldn't help but let out another quiet cry as Finnick pulled your head in, as he embraced you tightly.

"Shh, it's okay. I promise, I won't... I won't leave you."

It had all happened so fast, you couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. One moment, you were with Finnick trying to find Johanna and Katniss and suddenly there was big loud boom. You were relieved for a moment; Plutarch's plan had worked. Until you realized how far away you were from the others.

You were wandering, trying to find anyone until you heard people behind you. You turned and then you saw some unfamiliar faces; suddenly, your vision went black.

Then, you woke up in a white room. You felt like your stomach had dropped out of your body once the realization hit you; the Capitol captured you.

You were strapped down to a bed and you couldn't move or shake it off. The severity of the situation had hit you; even if by some miracle you did escape, where would you go? How would you find your way to 13 and back to Finnick?

You knew how ruthless the Capitol was to everyone who disobeyed them. Your worst fears had come true and there was no getting out of here.

You heard the door open and you saw some Peacekeepers come in and then you saw the person you dreaded to see most; Snow. You felt like your whole had come crashing down, how could this nightmare become any worse?

"Hello, Y/N."

You didn't respond, resorting to stare at the wall in front of you instead.

He tutted disappointedly. "Out of all the tributes, you were the one I expected least to be involved in this mess. You are the Princess of Panem... What a shame."

You still hadn't replied and you hadn't dared to look at Snow. Months and months you spent trying to heal the trauma he had caused you, you were sure if you had to look at him now, you would break.

"I want to take mercy on you, dear Y/N. If you tell me everything you know about the rebellion, I will make sure the Peacekeepers are gentle with you."

You shook your head. "No."

He let out a small chuckle. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you. What?"

"No." You said again, louder.

He hummed in disapproval. "Okay then, you leave me no choice. You are going to regret this."

He nodded to the Peacekeepers and walked out of the room. You were then met with Peacekeepers, loosening the straps then taking you to another room.

If Snow knew one thing about you, it was that being only physical with you wouldn't hurt you enough. He had to hit you were it hurt most.

They threw you in the seemingly vacant room and immediately locking it. You were confused until you heard it.

"Y/N, help me!" Finnick's voice screamed. "Please, help me! Get up and do something, they're killing me! Please."

You looked everywhere in the dark room, trying to find the source. It kept going.

"Y/N, please! Help! What the hell are you doing, just sitting there? You are such a disappointment!" The voice started shouting. "We should've just left you to died in the arena! You are useless!"

Now this was something new. Your body was filled with panic and fear and even though you knew it was fake, you felt like you were going to throw up from all the noise.

Suddenly, Annie's voice came in as well. Then Johanna's. Then your mother's. There was nonstop noise filled with screams for help, shouting with disapproving messages. Your body couldn't handle it; it was so overwhelmed with fear that you started shaking on the ground, putting your hands on your ears but that did little to nothing.

You wanted it to stop. It was too much, you were trembling. It felt like days, just sitting there in that room listening to all those demeaning voices of your loved ones. You couldn't even think straight anymore.

It was so bad you had started to pound your head on the ground, screaming and crying. You had have enough. And then, it all stopped. Silence was foreign for you; your ears were ringing.

You were sitting on the ground, almost lifeless as the Peacekeepers took you away. Your eyes hurt from the tears, your body sore, your ears ringing and your head was pounding.

But you knew that was just the beginning.

You were asleep in bed and you were awakened by the door opening, you instantly jolted up. You looked over to see a group of masked men in front of you and you had started to tremble again, silent tears rolling down your face, thinking that the Peacekeepers had come again.

"No, no, no." You started to mumble to yourself.

A man came up to your and took your bruised hand slowly, rubbing it gently in silent empathy. That was the first soft touch you'd felt in a few weeks and it almost stung.

"It's okay, you're safe now. You're going to 13 now."

You had to blink a couple times, trying to process what he said. Was this a dream? You went to pinch yourself but it was real life.

He then helped you up but you couldn't help but stumble; your legs were weak, you couldn't remember the last time the Peacekeepers let you walk for this long.

As you got into the hovercraft, you saw Annie. Your eyes widened as you both ran up to each other, embracing each other. She had started to cry a little bit and so did you.

That was when it hit you. You were going to see Finnick. You were going home. You started crying into Annie's shoulder as she held you. "We're safe now, we're safe."

You had seen Johanna as well but she didn't seem too responsive. Neither did Peeta. You fell asleep on Annie's shoulder on the ride back and for the first time, you actually felt yourself drifting off calmly.

There were lots of doctors and nurses looking at you and asking you all sorts of questions and you tried your best to answer them. You were still in shock; you were safe. They couldn't hurt you anymore.

"Y/N?" You turned around to see Finnick. You immediately got up from the examiner's table and ran into his arms, your eyes starting to water up again.

"Finnick," you sighed slowly. You pulled away, putting your hands on his face and touched him as if he wasn't real.

"Are you.. Are you really here?"

"Yes, I'm really here." Finnick looked at you and suddenly his voice transported you back into the dark room. You quickly twisted out of his embrace and his expression changed.

His voice was back and you heard all of the nasty things he had to you. You back away, stumbling into the examiner's table and your breathing became heavy. "No, no, no, please-please go away. No."

You slid down to the floor and you closed your eyes, putting your hands on your ears and rocking back and forth trying to get that voice to stop.

Finnick ran up to you and put his hands on your knees, trying to get you to look at him. His heart broke in half; he didn't know what the Capitol had done to you but now he knows it has something to do with him.

Of course the Capitol would try to ruin him. His eyes started to tear up at the sight of you, in so much pain and panic.

You opened your eyes, Finnick in front of you. You started to cry some more before Finnick slowly went up to you, wrapping his arms around you.

When he had started wrapping your arms around you, your instinct was to push him away but his warmth was welcoming and safe and you started to focus on his touch. The voices slowly drifted away, the sounds of your silent sobs only being heard.

You then gave into Finnick's touch, falling into him and putting your head in his chest as he caressed your back gently, shushing you.

"It's okay baby, I got you. You're safe now, they can't hurt you."

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multific · 10 months

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Black Quill

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: You never liked Umbridge, but who did? The woman was miserable and cruel. Her power in the school grew day after day.

You knew about her pen, you heard the tales from other students long before you entered detention.

Seeing the smirk on her face, the power-hungry bitch handed you a piece of paper.

"Now, Miss Y/L/N, today we are going to learn a really important lesson."

You felt a shiver run down your spine, now you didn't feel so confident.

Earlier that day, you were late for her class, and on top of all of that, you even said that her dress as ugly, detention was a given at that point. But you didn’t care.

However, what she made you write was something way more sinister.

You were prepared for a 'I must not be late' or 'I have to respect my teachers' but not this.

You only felt a tear escape your eyes when you left the room, you weren't ready to give her the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

You headed back to your room, not wanting to see anyone but of course your friends had another idea. You ran into all of them in the corridor. You assumed they have been waiting for you.

"Ah! Y/N! Finished with detention are you?" Asked Theodore as he was the one to first see you. Mattheo, Pansy, Theodore and Draco were all there, just chatting.

"She made you write with that pen?" Pansy asked and you could only nod.

"I cannot believe they are letting her do this! It is torture!" spoke up Draco.

You stood next to your boyfriend who offered you a warm smile, you smiled back but you could tell he was worried. He moved his arm around you as he smoked and you leaned into him, smelling him and just having him there did help you calm your nerves.

Soon, all of you decided to head back to your dorms to sleep but Mattheo followed you into your common room.

"What did she make you write?" he asked and you turned around to look at him, you opened your mouth to say something but couldn't. "I always know when something is off, and you have been hiding your hand. If it was something simple, you wouldn't hide it in front of me and your friends."

You let out a long sigh before moving your sleeve and showing him your hand.

You watched him closely, you watched his face as sadness turned into anger.

Pure rage.

---

"What?" you asked Umbrige, looking at her in disbelief with the quill in your hand you looked up at her..

"You heard me Miss Y/L/N, start writing." she said as she took a seat at her desk.

"But I-I am here because I was late to class, not b-"

"Stop it. Start writing," she said as she started to sip her tea looking at you with a disgusting smile on her face.

---

"I will kill her."

"Mattheo please." you grabbed his arm as he tried to leave, turning him back to look at you, he was angry, you have never seen him this angry before. "I don't want to be alone." you said, voice barely above a whisper and you knew, this would work, he would stay and hug you.

And that is exactly what he did.

You felt so safe in his arms, not even the burning of your skin and the words on your skin could distract you.

'I must not love a Riddle.'

But you did. You loved Mattheo and nothing will change your mind, not the pain, and not Umbridge.

You knew this wasn't the end. You knew Mattheo more than anyone.

After all, when you two started dating almost two years ago, he promised to you and to himself that he will never let his last name be a burden to you.

He will have his revenge.

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~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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arminsumi · 7 months

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Seeing ex!Geto again after years

💗 すぐる

note : srry to make y'all cry 👍 this was written from a raw heart lol

summary : oh god, he still loves you. oh god. all of it comes back to him in the moment he sees you. you say his name and it feels like a gunshot wound to the chest.

warnings : angst, kinda hopeful ending, not proofread

playme : my love mine all mine

In the moment you turn to face the stranger, the world stops. Or at least the world between you and him. You always did "live in your own world" when you were dating, everyone pointed it out.

When Suguru sees you for the first time after not talking to you for... what, a year? He's so stricken. His eyes widen. His pupils dilate a bit. The color drains from his face. He doesn't know what he feels, but it's a snapping shattering breaking ruining feeling.

And when you, so shocked as you are, whisper his name with a chip in your voice "Suguru...?" It's like a gunshot wound to his heart. Bang. It kills him. And god it's only his name, isn't it crazy that the effect is so severe?

It has such a hold on him, you saying his name. He can't move; he's stationary, statue-like just like you in the middle of this cafe. He's paralyzed by your voice. The voice that used to sing him to sleep. The voice that used to talk philosophy with him at 2:32 AM on school nights. The voice that was the only thing that calmed him down during his darkest hours.

He stutters. No words come out of him or you, and yet so much is said. So much is said.

"Hey." he chokes out.

"Hey." you return.

Isn't it funny, he thinks when he gets home and slumps against the door after closing it.

How we used to speak until we ran out of breath, until we exhausted all topics possible. And then stared with pure love at each other in silence...

...and yet when you encountered each other in public by chance again, nothing but "hey"? He used to tell you that he was gonna spend his whole life with you. He used to call you baby. He used to cradle you in his arms. He used to love you vehemently. He used to kiss you until he gasped for air and laughed. He used to smile into those kisses. He used to swear he was yours, all yours. He etched your name into his skin, not figuratively; when you were teenagers you were fucking insane and giggled over the idea of etching your names into each other.

Sad. So sad. He feels his whole chest weighted, gravity pulls on his heart like it's pulling him into a grave.

While in bed, he stares at your phone number in his contacts. He blocks and unblocks. He types and deletes. He calls and ends calls. He nibbles his lip and sighs and gives up.

What would I even say...?

The image of a memory from September 21st 2019 flashes in his eyes. Your smiling face. Okinawa.

He snaps. And calls you. And it rings, rings rings rings rings rings —

"...hello? Whose number is this?" you ask, voice sending a shiver down his spine.

Fuck, that voice. That voice... is capable of murder. You kill me, baby. You kill me with your voice alone.

He makes a strangled noise. Tears roll off his cheeks. There's so many tears in fact. So many. Endless. It hurts him to shed every single one. And all his tears are for you.

"...Suguru, is that you?"

How could she know?

He chokes up and stutters, and says the quietest "hey" after clearing his throat.

It's 1:30 AM.

"You're still a night owl?"

There's tense silence............................................then you chuckle and it fucking breaks him. Devastates him. Tortures him so deliciously. Oh he missed that. Oh god he missed that. That laugh. That laugh is so beautiful to him. It's so brief and yet it nourishes his whole soul just to hear your laugh again. Oh god your laugh. Oh god... your voice.

Oh god, you.

"I am, yeah." you respond. "But you're awake too, aren't you?"

I want to hear her say my name again.

"I am..."

Please say my name again.

"You are."

Baby say my name. Say my name. Say my name.

There's silence. He knows, and you know, that the both of you are feeling flashbacks of memories crashing over the two of you like tidal waves. Memories of you and him.

Us.

"...did you ever think of me?" you ask.

"...I thought of you every day from the moment we parted."

You choke up. You laugh to cope with his revelation.

"How dramatic..." he can hear your voice grow hoarse, like you're in pain but trying to be funny. Because... it is funny, isn't it? This insanity we call reality?

"Sorry..."

"I've got to sleep... got work tomorrow."

"Me too."

"Okay..."

"Yeah."

"Hey?"

"Yeah?"

He holds his breath.

"Suguru."

His whole world... god, it's... he just... he...

"Y/n."

The two of you hang up.

A few minutes pass. Then the two of you call each other again. It's you calling him. His heart thumps hard. His chest is so tight.

"...hey."

And then... well, it's... it's just like the old days. But different. But still... that old feeling engulfs you and him during this phone call.

A phone call that starts at 1 AM and ends at 5 AM.

Dawn comes. When birds chirp.

And the two of you pass out while talking, the phone call still going. You wake up and see that he never ended the call after saying he would once you fell asleep.

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silkscream · 19 days

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pure smile snake venom

ੈ✩ suguru geto x reader

ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni, ageless + blank blogs will be blocked), unprotected sex, dom!suguru, emotional manipulation, fingering, dubcon, blood, yandere behavior, edging, multiple orgasms, choking, loss of virginity, religious imagery

ੈ✩ wc: 5.1k

ੈ✩ a/n: oooo i am soo normal about cult leader suguru. art by @/wonowono__3 on twitter

He finds you unconscious.

He feels you before he sees you – your cursed energy permeates the air with dread. He can feel it in his throat, as if the hand of his past self materialized to strangle him, reminding him of desperation. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, not anymore.

It also felt like death.

When he finds you, your body would have easily been looked over, small as you were compared to the vastness of the forest around you. Insignificant, left to rot.

When he’d looked at your face, there was recognition in his chest despite not seeing you before. He hadn’t been drawn to anyone in a while. He barely had anyone that wasn’t at arm's length to him, even his closest devouts, yet something about the delicateness of your face enticed him. A predator finding lost prey.

He finds it mildly sacrilegious to touch you when you’re in this state, but your shirt was saturated with so much blood that it took him a bit to realize that the color of the fabric was supposed to be white and not merlot-red. He lifts your shirt, grimacing at its dampness, and finds a wound that looks fatal.

He looks at it and feels the residuals of a nasty curse. By the time he tracks it down, he tortures it with all of the energy inside of him.

You wake up on a futon you don’t recognize. You don’t remember a thing.

You wince as you attempt to rise, clutching your side. You’re topless, clothed only by gauze covering your chest and ribs.

You exhale, closing your eyes. In the darkness behind your eyelids, you see a face with a vacant smile. You are met with that very smile when you open your eyes again.

“Welcome back.”

You blink. He must be the stranger that saved you from — well, what did he save you from? You were used to spirits, took years to adjust to that fact, and have even killed a few yourself. But when you feel the pain in your side, nothing comes to mind.

“You… saved me?”

“I suppose so. It was pure luck that I happened to stumble upon you.”

“Where — where am I?”

He tells you it’s his temple, then he tells you his name. When he asks for yours, you’re reluctant. Eventually, you tell him. If he was luring you into his trap, you suppose you had fallen into it against your will by pure chance. It was probably better than bleeding out in the middle of nowhere.

“Do you have anyone who will miss you?”

You don’t say anything. You think of the dingy studio apartment you’ve been subletting for a few months. You try to conjure up a narrative of belonging in your head that would give you any reason for you to leave. Nothing comes.

You shake your head.

Geto Suguru is the first person to tell you that you’re magic.

You knew that, in some way, ever since you were a child. Your intuition made you a strange child, always slightly cryptic with a sense of maturity that made you seem like a vessel for a sad ghost. Your visions would only get stronger – small bursts of light whiplashing through your mind into images, rapid like a supercut. The things you saw would come true.

This is what makes you a good weapon. Ironically, you had always thought of yourself as weak.

He was captivating the way a cult leader should be, and you had fallen under his spell. It was his robes and the regal way he carried himself, maybe. You don’t think he’s bad — he’s made you important, and you’ve never felt wanted before. You were a recluse before Suguru found you. Barely the shape of anything, so he found it appropriate to mold you into something to call his.

Suguru doesn’t tell you much. You know that he probably lies to you.

He holds too much power for you to question it. His cursed technique is daunting and his grace is enviable, but he’s mostly kind. You help him when he finds curses, usually the more powerful ones that could threaten him. Able to see into the near future, you can sense their next move each time. It makes it easy to subdue them to Suguru’s advantage.

You also find that he is regarded as something of a saint to non-sorcerers. Something twists in your gut when you watch his exorcisms, seeing the immediate relief in the faces of his followers. They look at him with so much adoration that it makes you self-conscious that you share the same disposition.

He tells you you’re his favorite and the feeling dissipates.

You like how ritualistic living in the temple is. Breakfast at the same time each day. Tea in the garden. Rolling in the gross with bruised knuckles.

You take a liking to his girls. They remind you of yourself, but they lack the meekness you had as a teenager. The twins adore you almost as much as they adore Suguru. They are endlessly fickle, as most teenage girls are, but their devotion is worn candidly in the way they carry themselves. You wonder how they can be so obedient, but you realize that they have known nothing else.

It’s a quiet luxury. You like to pretend that you’re some sort of priestess, sometimes. You had never been as reverent as your mother, but you think that there is peace in serving a God. If not Suguru, then some higher power must’ve granted you another chance at life, even if your new life meant mundane piety.

You liked routine – it fit you. You did your part in the temple and Suguru would reward you with gentle praises. You were only one of few sorcerers in his current entourage, so you felt special.

Despite this, something felt messing. You often wish Suguru could cast out the malaise inside of you, but you’ve carried it in the pit of yourself for as long as you could remember. Even in your pious bliss, you start wondering if the curse that nearly killed you left a part of itself within you. Each day is the same until you wear thin.

When the string finally breaks, you find him with blood on his hands in the temple’s omoya.

It’s not the blood of a curse, either. It’s dark crimson, such as the same blood that is inside of you, and on the tatami mat lies the lifeless body of a servant.

Shin, his name was. He wasn’t much younger than you, but he had the spirit of a boy, always able to make you laugh before he served you breakfast. He had arrived only a few months after you had, citing suicidal ideation as a catalyst to seeking Suguru’s services. Once treated, he had felt larger than life.

And now, his face is frozen in time – the look of sheer fear.

“Useless monkey,” Suguru tuts, wiping the blood off his face. You’ve seen that look on his face before — when he’s cruel and callous in battle. When he snaps the neck of a special grade curse before he eats it.

You run to the bathroom to vomit.

When you emerge, one of the twins looks at you curiously. Mimiko. She smiles at you serenely, her eyes flickering with taunt.

“Is everything alright, Y/N-san?”

“Y-yes,” you nod. “Just a bit under the weather.”

“Are you feeling sick?” Her eyes light up for a second. “Oh, could you be pregnant? Nanako and I really wish there was another kid around—“

“No, no, I’m not pregnant,” you cut her off, shocked. Did she think you and Suguru were… together? Did she think you were his concubine?

“Ah. I can get the servants to prepare some ginger tea for you.”

“No need, Mimiko,” you shake your head, smiling sheepishly. “I just… need to get some air.”

She leaves you alone as you walk towards the pagoda. You feel another wave of nausea when you remember Shin’s lifeless eyes. The blood on his throat.

You stare at the sunset. It’s been a long time since you’ve left the temple of your own volition. Suguru keeps a tight leash on you nowadays, blaming the unpredictability of your power. Bitterly, you realize that you’re only ever in town alongside him.

Sometimes, you miss being a stray.

His presence is immediate. When you turn, his long hair sways in the breeze as he flashes you a cat-like smile.

“Thought you were trying to run away from me,” he murmurs, walking towards you. “But you’d never do that, would you?”

“Just… enjoying the view.”

He looks at you, amused. It feels belittling.

“I apologize. I thought Nanako had locked the door.”

Your blood stills. He saw you.

“I thought you only killed curses,” you stammer. For the first time, his presence makes you feel unsafe.

“I never said that, sweet girl,” he chuckles. He plays with a loose strand of your hair. “Humans are beneath us, you know that. Humans are the reason curses are created. Curses just like the one that nearly killed you.”

You don’t have it in you to protest. He’s gotten closer to you now. A hand on your waist. His lips kissing your hairline in a way that makes you feel like a child again.

“I— I liked him,” you stutter.

“Mm,” he hums. “He liked you, too. A bit too much if you ask me.”

You stay silent. Only the sound of cicadas fill the air.

“It’s not your fault,” he grins. “You charm anyone you meet by default, you know. But sometimes, these followers… they want to threaten our mission. Sometimes, they’re paid off by sorcerers who are targeting me to gather intel. And darling, when there’s a target on my back, there’s a target on yours.”

You pull away from him with wide eyes. His face is neutral. So naive, you are. He was only doing you a favor, but a sheltered girl like you trusts too easily.

“Just remember. I will be the only one to protect you.”

He finds you in the garden.

You’re surrounded by wildflowers, your yukata loose enough on you that it falls off your shoulder when you sit up to greet him. The sight of your bare skin tokes the fire in his stomach. He’s dressed more casually tonight, in a plain kimono as opposed to his usual gojo-gesa.

“Enjoying the fireflies?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He notices the dark circles under your eyes. Your smile is tired now. You stare blankly as if you’re in a trance.

“You’ve been a bit off lately,” he muses. “Something on your mind?”

You blink at him in surprise, almost regretting it once you make eye contact. The hint of a lazy smile is there while his eyes scrutinize you. It always feels like he can see right through you, observing you just before he eats you whole.

“No, Geto-sama,” you shake your head.

He laughs, rubbing your shoulder. “So formal with me.”

“Shouldn’t I be?” you knit your brows. You had been at the temple for less than a year. You weren’t intimate with him enough to warrant that. You weren’t intimate with him in the way your heart longed for.

“Not with me. Never with me.”

“Suguru.” You mull over the taste of his name on your tongue. The shape of it in your mouth. “I’m okay, Suguru.”

You feel pathetic under his gaze. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something, sensing the apprehension in your voice. The slight quiver of your bottom lip as you avoid his face.

“I’m just… recovering. From my technique, that’s all,” you say hoarsely.

It’s not a complete lie — the intensive training with Suguru led you to discover that you could bend time and space to your will in small aspects. Teleporting short distances became a new tool for your arsenal. It was still difficult to manage and exhausting to exert. The other day, your nose had bled so much that you almost thought your membranes would burst completely.

“You’re exhausting yourself,” he says gently, rubbing a hand to the small of your back. “But you’re improving rapidly. I’m proud of you.”

Warmth floods your body at his praise. It was too easy for him to wrap you around his finger, and you were starting to hate it.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

“Do you feel powerful?”

You take a moment of reprieve when he asks this. Powerful? Despite being a sorcerer and wielding the ability to exorcise the monstrous manifestations of human suffering, you did not feel powerful at all. You never have. If anything, you only felt useful.

“Not really.”

“You should,” he smiles. “You’re getting stronger. We’re untouchable together, you and me.”

You and me echoes loud in your brain. Stitches itself into every crevice unwittingly.

“Ge– Suguru,” you swallow thickly. “Is that why you saved me? Because you wanted me to get strong?”

“Yes,” he nods without hesitation. “I saw potential in you.”

“Is that all I am? Potential? I’m just– just a vehicle for you?”

He leans over to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His own hair is down, for once, and you can smell his white tea shampoo as his shoulder touches yours. It almost soothes you.

“You aren’t just a tool to me, you know that,” he sighs, looking at you with intent. “I like taking care of you.”

You nod slowly as you look towards the sky. His words aren’t enough to fill the emptiness inside you. His proximity to you makes your chest constrict in the slightest bit, creaking the floorboards of your ribs inside a haunted house body.

You shiver when he pulls down your yukata and presses a chaste kiss to your collarbone. It must feel the same as when humans get their curses exorcised by him. Lightness in their being instead of dead weight. Blessed by a god.

“Come inside,” he purrs. “You’re getting cold, yeah? I can see your goosebumps.”

No. His hands were just colder than you expected.

He gathers his hair into a half-up bun before he brings you to his room for the first time. It’s rather bare, save for the kotatsu across from his futon and the talismans that are hanging above it. The calligraphy is messy, unintelligible, as if the text was written manically.

He sits you down at the kotatsu and pours you bergamot tea. You cough nervously in anticipation.

“Suguru.”

“Yes?”

“Um.. how long do you intend on keeping me here?”

He raises a brow. Looks at you like you’ve asked something stupid.

“You have somewhere else to go?” he asks sarcastically.

You triple-blink at his bluntness. He isn’t taking you seriously.

“Well, I have a friend or two in my hometown. I was thinking about—”

Your breath hitches when he grabs your chin. His gaze bores into your face, his lips in a hard line.

“You’re unhappy,” he says plainly.

“No, I’m just not sure if I can completely fulfill the purpose that you—”

“Do you think anyone else will take you in?” he spits. “You told me yourself. You have no family. You were barely scraping by when you lived alone. With the amount of cursed energy you possess, you think you’ll be able to protect your friends from all the curses you’ll attract?”

You sink into yourself. As if a switch is flipped, his expression changes completely. There’s that familiar softness in his eyes again. God, the tea was making you feel so warm, too. One look from him and you find yourself melting. Even the Devil would swoon.

“Don’t you think fate brought us together?” he whispers. “Don’t you know how valuable you are to me?”

He almost sounds like he means it. Your rabbit heart speeds up when he strokes your collarbone with his thumb. A heady feeling consumes you and you force yourself to tear your gaze away.

“Look at me,” he demands, grabbing your chin again. He crowds your space, not leaving you any room to breathe. Your gut aches from sudden heat.

“God made you for me. Don’t you know that?”

Your mind goes blank as you nod slowly. He looks at you like he’s starved. No one’s ever looked at you like that before. No one has ever really looked at you before him.

“I’m— I’m sorry, Suguru,” you whisper.

He caresses your cheek, his breath tickling your jaw as he leans in.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand what it’s like to feel a little stir-crazy. I’ll take you out more often, yeah?”

“O-okay.”

He grins and it comes off as sardonic.

“Such a spoiled girl. Only the very best for my girl, hm? I clothe her, feed her, make her stronger. And what do I get in return?” he scolds, thumb swiping over your quivering bottom lip. “She tries to run away from me.”

“I’m not,” you pout.

“You’re not?” he scoffs.

You don’t know what to do other than apologize. You were weak like that.

“You’re so good,” he sighs. “And you want to keep being good, is that right?”

“Yes,” you mumble.

You shiver again when he runs his fingers through your hair, his other hand undoing the ties of your yukata. You sharply inhale at the cool air hitting in your nipples, the rest of you trembling at the prospect of being so bare in front of him. God or prophet, you didn’t know. All that you know now is that there was no coming back from this.

“My good girl,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. “My best girl.”

You whimper when you feel his tongue on your jaw. His kisses are tantalizingly slow. Teasing. He marvels at the flutter of your lashes in response to his touch.

He had tried to deny those feelings in the beginning, but he couldn’t help it anymore. He feels as though he’s created you. He liked you delicate, lace winged. A butterfly caught in a jar.

Suguru thinks this is fair. He has always believed in fairness, and although one might argue that his philosophy is a direct contradiction to that, he could beg to differ. Different people had different values, that was all. You just happened to have an advantage in the hierarchy he holds in his head. A precious thing, his treasure.

When he turned his back on Jujutsu society by becoming a curse user, he would avenge the suffering of the sorcerers around him. Years of adapting to the taste of shit and vomit would eventually earn him something that made it all worth it. He’s convinced that something was you.

He was your savior, therefore you were his blessing. It was only fair that he could take you the way he wanted. You were meant to be found by him. You were meant to be kept.

You barely put up a fight.

You whimper when he parts your legs with his hands and finds you embarrassingly wet. Every stroke of his hands on your inner thigh has you twitching involuntarily.

“Oh,” he coos. “Look at that.”

You look away in shame, trying to close your legs, but he forces them open with a bruising grip. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“What’s wrong, baby? You want to be good for me, right?”

You nod without a word, trying to control your breathing. Your brain is telling you that you want this — you’d wanted to be his from the moment you saw him. Your body tells you the same, but dread creeps up your spine.

You gasp when he grazes your clit with his fingers. He plays with it, stares at your cunt through your underwear like it’s a prize.

“Let me see you,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid. I’m the only person in this world you can trust.”

He slips your panties off easily and you wince at the sound of your wetness sticking to the fabric. He applies more pressure to your bud, distracting you with his mouth on yours. You mewl into his mouth without realizing and he grins against your lips, slipping his tongue inside.

When you feel a finger push into your walls, you convulse in surprise, though you don’t pull away like he expects. You merely clutch him harder, your hands wrinkling the sleeve of his haori.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he rasps. “No one’s been here before, is that right? Just me?”

He groans when you look at him with innocent eyes and nod meekly. Of course he would be your first. You were nothing but a wounded dog when he found you, barely had a life of your own before he took you. You were pure and the world was keeping you for him. It was meant to be.

“S-Suguru…” you breathe. He’s pulled you into his lap now, your cunt getting his kimono wet. The slick of your cunt around his finger is enough to make blood rush to his cock.

“So pretty,” he mumbles. In one fell swoop, he takes you in his arms and carries you to the futon. You squeak in surprise at being lifted off the floor so quickly and so easily.

He takes the pause in his actions to undress himself, slipping off his robes, and when you see the thickness of his length prodding against his toned stomach, your mouth goes dry.

“C’mere,” he beckons. You obey.

He kisses you sweetly on your mouth and then down your jaw, squeezing your breasts. Your breath hitches as he takes the time to rub his thumb over your nipples. Suddenly, his teeth graze your chest. Biting, tasting. Forbidden fruit.

You let out a quiet moan and he chuckles. “So sensitive.”

Without a warning, he plunges two fingers into your cunt and you nearly cry out. There’s a choked noise, something in between pleasure and resignation. It’s all too much. When he adds a third finger and feels much less resistance, he laughs.

“Taking me so well. You’re doing so good,” he encourages before lapping at your chest again. When his fingers curl at just the right angle, your vision starts to get fuzzy. His thumb on your clit only intensifies the feeling.

“I c-can’t—”

“Hm? Use your words.”

“I’m… I’m gonna…”

His movements still and you nearly scream. He pulls back to see tears brimming your eyes and he kisses them away gently despite his cruel smirk.

“Nonono, please—”

“Please what?” He feigns innocence.

You bite your lip, your face too hot to feel comfortable expressing what you want. You feel the ghost of your curse wrap around your throat again. Once again, you find that the ticket to salvation has silky black hair and snake eyes. The artillery of a fallen angel disguised as something pure.

He can tell you’re frustrated but too afraid to voice it. You’re as pliable as he knew you would be. Endlessly easy to coax a reaction from.

“Do you expect everything to be handed to you? Just because you’re mine?” he taunts.

His. His. His.

You shake your head, whimpering.

“Then ask nicely, baby.”

Your cunt is on fire even though he isn’t touching you. When he strokes your lip and pushes his thumb into your mouth, you let him. Your tongue tickles his fingertip.

“Ah, so you still have a tongue. You can still speak.”

He laughs when you pout.

“Please touch me,” you say, your voice as quiet as a breeze.

“What was that?” He grins even wider.

“Pleasetouchme,” you whimper, your voice light as air.“Please… please make me cum.”

“Good girl,” he chuckles, licking into your mouth. His fingers fuck you in earnest now. You feel so full that your eyes roll back. It’s cute.

Poor thing. Suguru is a patient man, but he’s not sure if he has it in him to wait. He could make you cum three more times so that you’re truly ready for him, but he doesn’t want to. He supposes that if he breaks you, you’ll thank him anyway. No one else wants you more than him, you had to understand that.

His cock throbs at the sight of you coming undone. It’s nearly animalistic, like provoking violence from weak prey. Cataclysmic like a falling star. He’s consumed with it, with the fact that he can do this to you and no one else can.

He fingers you through the aftershocks, too, until you sob loud enough that his other hand has to cover your mouth. You squirm underneath him, shaking your head in desperation.

He admires the slick of sweat on your chest, your glowing figure. When he releases you, he thinks briefly that you’re on the verge of passing out. But you tremble, rapidly breathing, eyes unfocused as your lashes flutter.

Suguru licks you off of his fingers and you stare in horror, returning to yourself. It makes him giddy, how even your spirit is infinitesimal.

“You taste so sweet,” he purrs. He kisses you roughly, tongue prying your mouth open and making you moan. “See? Sweet. You’re perfect.”

He likes seeing you all flushed. Glaze on your cheekbones. He thinks he should make you his wife, memorialize your fucked out form with a commissioned painting and hang it above his bed. A good luck charm among the talismans. You look too good to ruin with his cock, but he knows he’d already taken all of you anyway.

He’ll put you back together after. Pamper you with yuzu slices in a hot bath. Play the part of a boyfriend instead of a master.

He pins you down even though he doesn’t need to. You let him settle in between your thighs, his aching cock slapping against your stomach.

“So cute when you’re scared,” he chuckles at the look on your face.

“It’s… big,” you say meekly.

“It’ll fit. It won’t be so bad, yeah? I changed my mind about punishing you for trying to run away.”

Panic paints your features.

“I wasn’t trying to run away! I promise.” Your lip quivers again. Maybe he should make you beg.

“Is that right?” He leans in, precum spreading on the skin above your cunt, tip grazing your clit just slightly. You bite your tongue so you don’t moan from the sensitivity.

“Yes. I want to stay.”

“And why’s that?” he jeers.

“Because— because you’ve given me everything.”

He waits for you to elaborate.

“Because I’m yours. I’m… your good girl,” you slur through tears, voice above a whisper.

“Poor baby,” he hums. “Of course you are. Always will be.” Whether you like it or not.

You moan at the same time he prods his tip inside. When he sinks in even further, right to the hilt, he becomes delirious with need. It takes everything in him to not pound into you recklessly.

“Pretty fucking cunt,” he groans. “So warm.”

More hot tears, but your dread is replaced with rapture. He fills you up, already poking at the most sensitive spot inside of you. Your body ripples with pleasure as he moves and digs into your guts, an ocean of tender heat.

It’s a branding. You don’t exist if it isn’t for him.

“Suguru,” you moan.

He kisses your neck, teeth hard on your flesh. Pulling it taut while his tongue rolls in it and leaves mouth-shaped blessings.

His hips drive into you with more force, cock reaching places that your fingers could never reach. You shut your eyes and phosphenes float through the static of blackness. They linger when you open them again, Suguru’s face illuminating in grainy color.

It takes you a bit to realize his mutters, the way he’s babbling through moans.

Good fucking girl. All mine forever. I’ll die with you.

You let out a pitched moan as Suguru wraps his fingers around your throat. Every part of your body feels like it’s bursting. You cum like that, your walls outstretched by his thickness carving you out in the shape of him.

“Take it,” he grunts. “Take my cock. Fuck, I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

He’ll probably obsess over your cunt for ages. The face you make when you’re being used. Your ragdoll body.

His bun had come undone. Even if his cock wasn’t in you, your stomach would ache from how beautiful he looked. Eyes focused on you, nearly deranged at the way he was blistering you raw. The cascade of tears down your cheeks. It made him impossibly hard.

He pulls out quickly to flip you onto your stomach so he can rut into you from behind. The angle makes it so that his cock is even deeper.

“Oh, Suguru—”

“Yeah, baby? Gonna cum again?”

You whine, all high-pitched and girlish.

“Tell me you’re mine. That you’ll never leave me,” he grunts.

“I’m yours,” you hiccup. “I’ll n-never leave you.”

Your cunt was starting to burn, even with how wet you were. Suguru cums with a rough thrust at your words, nose buried in between the lovebirds littering your shoulder. You’re full of him. He doesn’t stop, his dick still hard inside you.

“Shit,” he hisses, looking down to see his cum oozing out of your pussy, all mixed up in your arousal. “How are you still so fucking tight?”

He grits his teeth when he feels you squeeze around him. You can barely form words now, crying as you can feel yourself about to cum again.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Cum for me, princess. Cum on that cock for me.”

You’re twitchier this time. Your moan tapers off into squeals as you bury your tear-stained face into the pillow. He follows after you with a gasp, his large body covering you like a cocoon.

He kisses the nape of your neck. Between your shoulder blades. His cock stills inside you, but he doesn’t pull out until he softens completely. When you stop shaking, he turns you over.

“There’s my angel,” he says fondly. “Thought you passed out on me.”

You shake your head. He smiles lazily, leaning to kiss you all over your face.

Your bones feel like jelly, but you still switch your positions with intent, and to your surprise, he lets you. Naked and breathing heavily above him, you examine him with his hair spread out on the pillow, cheeks flushed and cherubic. He almost looks innocent.

He groans at the way your leaking cunt grinds on his crotch, prompting him to get half-hard already. He grabs your hips at the same time you grab the base of his throat. He laughs.

“Do you feel powerful?”

You blink twice and your eyes glaze over.

In your vision, you see Suguru’s face flashing you his usual grin, this time showing all his teeth as blood drips from his chin. When you look down at your hands, they’re saturated in the same red. He kisses you despite it all and you understand.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I do.”

#geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru smut #geto smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut

552 notes · View notes

stairain · 1 month

Text

Double-Edged Sword

The only way Spencer is allowed to fuck you is to wear a strap-on.

Warnings: Sub Spencer, strap-on (he’s wearing it!), vibrator, riding, crying, slapping, erectile dysfunction, female orgasm, male orgasm, degradation, self-doubt.

WC: 1.6K

The poor man was already in tears by the time you had buckled him into the harness. Weak pleads for you to show some semblance of mercy as you pull the dark leather tight against his trembling thighs.

“Please, please ‘m sorry.”

Spencer cries out as he shamefully looks down at the strap-on that’s replaced his own aching cock. He’d been bad, of course, but this was pure cruelty.

Ignoring his pleads, you wrap your lips around the head of the fake cock, the cold silicone shining against the wet buds of your tongue.

His eyebrows furrow in envy, wishing to replace the toy instead of the vice versa he's found himself in.

"Please, it's not fair.."

Spencer's voice trails off as you shamelessly stroke the dildo as if it were real. Using your circled fist, you wet the toy with a droplet of your spit and jerk it off.

And despite his envy, he wishes so desperately that he could get hard. You’d locked his poor cock in a wretched metal cage, the cold silver bars preventing him from reaching even half mast.

His thighs tremble from around your head, and you coo pitifully at him, your hand still torturously wrapped around the strap.

“Poor thing, sit down, will you?”

Your voice beckons to him, raising your chin a bit as you gently push him back until his legs hit the bed frame.

With a frustrated huff, he sits down against the soft comforter as you climbs atop him. His eyes shine with tears and pleas for you to stop whatever this punishment is.

The pupils reading apologies and lines of ‘I learned my lesson’ that you had no interest in.

Pulling your panties to the side, you rub the sensitive bud of your clit over the artificial head of the cock that was everything but him.

“Can you feel how wet I am?”

You taunt, looking Spencer right in those sad eyes filled with betrayal and jealousy. With your lips parted in soft sighs, you reach past him to retrieve the box that had contained the strap-on.

Your hand rustles in the cardboard for a moment, before you pull out a small controller no larger than your palm. Spencer swallowed thickly and tried to reason with you one last time.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to.. Please just—“

A loud buzzing cuts him off, and his words plummet into a strained whine. Throwing his head back, a few tears run down his temples.

As you grind your soaked folds against the tip, the double-sided toy was pressed right against the thin bars of his chastity cage.

Spencer’s thighs squeezed together as the pain of not being able to get hard and the constant whirring of the vibrator quickly overwhelmed him.

He lets out a slacked-jaw moan as the metal against his shaft shakes as frantically as his body. And you relish in the sight as you sink down onto thick, hard silicone.

You lean into the crook of his neck and press wet kisses against the sweaty skin, beginning to lift yourself up and down in his lap.

“You feel so good, Spence.”

You whisper in his ear, and he’s quick to turn his head away from you in the same kind of bratty manner that got him into this situation in the first place.

He’s breathing heavily out of his nose, trying his hardest not to make any more noises. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing how badly he wished it was him you were riding so fervently.

You hadn’t fucked him like this in a while, his chest ached slightly at the thought. Your drenched cunt greedily swallowing the whole toy in ways that he couldn’t help but tear up in envy over.

He missed when it was his cock that was being coated in that slick layer of white that you so easily granted to a stupid toy.

The brunet was snapped out of his jealous fantasy when you’re turning up the vibration on his toy. His eyes involuntarily roll into the back of his skull and his mouth can’t help but unhinge to let out a loud whimper.

The fake cock was hitting that spongy spot inside of you that only Spencer was allowed to find, and you grin evilly as you grab his loose jaw and force him to look at you.

You’re just as sweaty as he is, but your eyes aren’t filled with remorse like his are.

“See what happens when you act out?”

You rhetorically ask before you slap him across his already red cheeks. His head quickly turns with the force, and he lets out a quiet gasp.

Grabbing his jaw again, you’re quick to reprimand him once more.

“Thinking you can misbehave and still get what you want.”

You slap his face in the opposite direction and feel the tracks of tears that coat his face.

As you circle your hips and ride the strap even faster, all it takes is one look and he knows you’re close. He shakes his head and tries to speak, but he just can’t.

He doesn’t want a toy to make you finish, that should be him. It should be his cock that you’re grinding so hard on, his length that you should be tightening around, and his tip that should be stamping into your spot.

But instead, he’s forced to watch with a flaccid cock and heavy balls as you throw your head back and cum around slickened silicone.

Your release leaks around the dildo and onto his thighs, and that’s the only semblance of your pleasure he’s been allowed to feel. As your slick drips down his skin, tears stream down his face.

And that stupid vibrator underneath his cock is unrelenting, he’s so turned on but can’t do a thing about it.

With a heaving chest and lowered eyelids, you lift yourself up off his lap.

The toy bobs with the freedom from your cunt and dribbles with the pleasure of your orgasm.

Spencer’s absolutely breathless as you lower yourself onto your knees in front of him. Strands of his hair stick to his face, and he can barely muster up the courage to look you in the eye.

Your face is a blur to him as you lick up your release from the fake cock, wrapping your wet lips around the shaft and swallowing your own slick.

With a whimper, he closes his eyes and prays for this to be over. You’ve made your point, he’s easily replaceable, he needs to get his shit together.

But you’re not nearly done with him, not as you’re undoing the straps of leather as you suck off his replacement.

You release the harness from his body and let it drop to the floor. The incessant buzzing from the toy still ringing in the air, taunting him.

The dual purpose toy had given everything to you, and he’d gotten nothing out of it. He was nothing without you, and you could have everything without him.

Spencer’s head is clouded with sexual frustration and self disgust alike as you make quick work of fetching the key to his dear chastity cage.

Twisting the small key into the lock, the cage becomes undone and you pull it off of him.

But even as you discard the contraption, his soft cock lay before you in a pathetic display of uselessness.

With gentle hands, you reach out to cup his small bulge. There’s a sick smile on your face as you pour up at him.

“Look at you.. How could you have ever made me feel as good as that toy did?”

He huffs and tries his best to reason with you. He was certain he was better than that toy, he just couldn’t prove it.

“I can.”

He says matter of factly, but as you nestle his lack of erection, he’s proven himself inferior. There’s an excuse dying on the tip of his tongue the moment he gets distracted by the soft caresses you deal to his flaccid length.

It feels so good, but he simply couldn’t get hard. The cage had rendered him useless for your pleasures.

“It’s okay, Spence. We can just use the strap from now on..”

You softly murmur as you run your thumb against the soft head of his cock. The pathetic little thing leaks a drop of sticky precum, and you swirl it around as you can physically feel his refusal to your suggestion.

“N-No. I’m better than that thing, please..”

He whines gently, having been broken down by whatever mind games you’ve played with him.

Maybe the toy was better than him. At least it stayed hard, and at least it wasn’t about to cum from just a few soft touches.

There’s a dull ache in the pit of his stomach, and a tingling in his pathetic little cock that he simply can’t ignore.

Spencer tries his absolute hardest to hold out, but before you’ve even got a chance to rebuttal his pleads, a shaky moan forces its way from his throat as he spills over your thumb and pointer finger.

As hot droplets of cum coat your fingers, you sigh almost disappointingly and watch as his release covers his soft length.

“‘M sorry, I’m sorry.”

He pitifully whispers as his entire body trembles with the aftershocks of a sorry excuse for an orgasm.

The toy that resides the role of his rival mocks him. Vibrating gently against the wooden floors that his sticky ribbons drip onto.

You stand up slowly and press a kiss against his tear stained cheek, knowing that he’d be on his best behavior from here on out.

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #sub spencer reid #sub spencer x reader #sub!spencer #sub spencer reid x reader #sub spencer #sub spencer reid smut #sub spencer reid x reader smut

532 notes · View notes

punkshort · 2 months

Note

i’m the anon who asked about the request! if you decide to do it, i’d absolutely wait forever😂 it’s very angsty tho, so the idea was for outbreak joel who doesn’t get the happy ending. reader who was head over heels in love coping with his death, maybe flashbacks to show the moments of reader seeing him die? idkidk the idea is very vague, sorry if it’s too sad!! if so maybe reader seeing him die was just a terrible nightmare & he’s there waking them up & helping them through a meltdown?

i’ve been craving for some emotional torture for wtv reason😭😭 thank you for even considering requests!🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Thank you for this request! It's my first one, so I hope you enjoy it. Also, I had to take the out you gave me and make this a nightmare because I am a big ol' softie and I won't apologize for it, but I will apologize for taking so long to write it 😂

I hate when you're right

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After a heated argument with Joel, you finally convince him into leaving Jackson so you could explore a store for new clothes, and what happens could change your life forever.

Warnings: major character (Joel) death - but it is just a nightmare - don't read if you think that will still upset you, angst, language, violence, descriptions of blood/gore/death scene

WC: 2.5K

dividers by the one and only @saradika-graphics

You knew it was childish. You knew it wasn't essential. But you also desperately wanted to feel more comfortable, and was that really such a crime? To want to feel like yourself again? To want to wear clothes that you liked? That fit you properly? Jackson was well stocked with essentials, clothes included, but the clothes the men picked up on patrol were... utilitarian, to say the least. They grabbed the biggest and the warmest clothes so that it afforded more people the opportunity to use them, but you were beginning to grow tired of tucking men's oversized shirts into your pants, the material bunching up at your waist and twisting around as you walked, constantly trying and failing to feel comfortable in your own skin.

You thought Joel would be more open to the idea of heading outside the walls on your day off. You even teased him with the promise of picking up some new underwear, but he didn't fall for it. He fought you tooth and nail the whole evening, his voice lifting over yours angrily to explain how there's been an influx of raiders the past few weeks, that everyone agreed to lay low until they passed through, not wanting to draw attention or pick any unwanted fights. But you persisted. You always did, and you eventually wore him down when you threatened to leave without him.

Why was it such a crime to want to feel comfortable? It was just two people, you could lay low and go unseen, no problem. You've done it countless times before.

You had hoped he would have gotten over it by morning, but you were wrong. He hardly made eye contact with you during breakfast, skirting expertly around you in your kitchen, mumbling under his breath as he sipped his coffee and only shooting you angry looks when your back was turned.

The air was crisp and the woods were peaceful. You thought that would surely turn his mood around. He always appreciated being out with nature, living off the land. As much as he loved living in Jackson, he couldn't deny that part of himself that felt useful, that felt a sense of accomplishment by surviving out in the wild.

"C'mon, are you really gonna act like this all day?" you teased as you held up another shirt against your body before determining it was the right size and then tossed it in a pile with the others.

He was standing at the storefront window with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. "Don't know what you mean."

You rolled your eyes and looked around the store, spotting a table of underwear with a grin. You lightly skipped over and tossed to the side the pairs that looked far too dusty so you could look at the ones underneath. Clearing your throat, you held up a pair of bright red stain underwear. He turned around and you saw it: it was fast, he hid it well, but you still saw it. That all too familiar excited look in his eye.

"Don't you like them?" you asked with a playful pout. He furrowed his brow at you like he was annoyed, and maybe he was, but you still saw the heat beginning to crawl up his neck.

"They ain't practical."

You gave him a defeated sigh and strolled over to your pile of clothes, your fingertips daintily holding the undergarment out to him. "No? Then what are they?"

His eyes shifted from yours to the red material in your hand and you saw his throat work as he swallowed.

"Useless," he croaked, and you narrowed your eyes at him. You got a little closer, letting the soft fabric glide against the back of his hand when you dropped your arm to your side.

"Oh, yeah?" you said breathily, and you watched his eyelids flutter at your tone. "Then I guess it wouldn't matter if I brought them home and let you rip them off me."

He stepped forward, a growl emitting from his chest, low and deep, when at the exact same time, you both heard shouting outside the store. Swiveling both your heads towards the glass storefront, your blood ran cold when you saw six heavily armed men advancing towards you.

"Shit," he muttered, his arm pulling your shoulder down just in time to avoid the cascade of bullets that rained down upon you. You laid face down on the rough carpet, covering the back of your head with your eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the shooting to stop. Joel tugged on your arm and you opened your eyes in a panic.

"Follow me!" he shouted, army crawling towards the registers, and you dutifully followed behind, your heart racing wildly in your chest.

Once you made it, the counter offering some, but not much, safety, the both of you pulled out your guns and double checked your ammo.

"Alright, when they stop to reload-"

"I know," you said, cutting him off. You've both been in this situation before. You knew what to do.

Holding your rifle upright and against your chest, you breathed deep, trying to steady your hands until the bullets slowed and you heard more shouting. Joel nodded to you and you both sprung up from the floor, pulling your rifles against your bodies in sync and lining up your targets.

Patience is a virtue. The amount of ammunition they wasted on the two of you was laughable when you each caught one of them between the eyes, leaving four against two.

You thought you would be able to get another shot off but Joel tugged your arm and you slinked back to the floor as a shower of bullets rained over you once again.

"You good?" he asked, and you nodded, gasping for air. Your hands began to stabilize when the shock wore off. You were in the zone.

Pressing both your backs against the small counter, you remained calm and waited out your attackers. Glass shards tinkled and scattered behind you. Bullets pinged against the metal shelving, ricocheting into the drywall.

"Assault rifles for two people? Really?" you muttered, more so to yourself, but Joel heard you.

"Told you this was a bad fuckin' idea," he said angrily.

When there was another brief pause, he looked to you again and nodded. At the same time, you rose up and took aim, firing on your attackers once again. Joel made his shot, you didn't. Three down, three to go.

"Fuck," you grumbled, reloading your rifle even though you still had rounds left.

"Focus," he scolded.

The men sounded like they were getting closer. Their voices were louder. Clearer. The shots were deafening. You prayed they weren't inside the store, because you hadn't planned an exit strategy. Without warning, Joel stood up and fired a shot. You heard a man scream and then a loud thud. It sounded like the man was just on the other side of the counter.

"That's not the plan," you seethed at him when he dropped back down next to you.

"Didn't have a choice, he was 'bout to jump us," he sneered.

Two against two.

When the shots slowed down, you held your breath, looking at Joel from the corner of your eye. He held his palm up to you silently, signaling for you to stay where you were. You heard boots crunching slowly against glass and your heart leapt into your throat. They were in the store.

You shot Joel a panicked look but he just shook his head, focusing on their footsteps, calculating how far away they were.

"Come out now and no one gets hurt," a man's deep voice called out. He was close.

Joel clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. You knew that look. It was the look of a man who was about to do something stupid. But before you could stop him, before you could reach out to him and hold him back, he stood up and took aim.

One shot. That was all you heard when Joel slumped to the floor next to you, clutching his stomach as dark red blood poured from the wound. Your eyes went wide and you saw red. Without thinking, you stood up and shot, taking one of the two men down with a yelp. The remaining raider ducked behind a display, and you dropped your rifle in favor of your handgun. Crouching low to the ground, you inched forward, careful of any broken glass that would give your position away. When you were on the other side of the display, you heard the man's labored breaths. He was scared. He was out of his element. And you had him right where you wanted him.

Silently tucking the gun in the back of your pants, you slid your hunting knife out from your ankle holster. You took a deep breath and lunged forward, driving the knife deep into the man's chest.

He dropped his gun and clutched weakly at your hands, but it was no use. His blood poured from the wound when you yanked your knife out with a grunt, and you watched as his hands slowly slid back down to his sides, his eyes still wide open and staring up at the ceiling.

You smirked, feeling victorious for only a moment before you remembered Joel. Dropping your knife, you rushed back to his side, only to find his face pale and his hands stained dark red.

"Joel!" you cried out, pressing your palms against the wound, hoping to slow the bleeding. His eyes drifted towards you, softening when he saw you were alive and unharmed. That you were going to make it.

Panic consumed you. Your heart was slamming against your ribs as you fumbled with your backpack, trying to find your first aid kit through the tears.

"I love you," he whispered, and you shook your head.

"Don't start with that, you're gonna be fine."

"Baby," he said weakly, and you choked back a sob.

"Hold on," you told him, still searching in your pack.

"Look at me," he said, and your hands stilled for a moment before you dragged your eyes back to him, your lower lip trembling as you took in his deteriorating state.

"I need to-" you began, but stopped to take in a shaky breath. "I need to patch you up and get you to the horses."

"No, you don't," he said softly, and more tears spilled from your eyes.

"Yes, I do. I gotta-"

"I ain't gonna make it, sweetheart," he slurred, and you could see by the amount of blood he was losing that he was right. But still, you pressed your palms against the gunshot wound, your fingers slipping through his thick and sticky blood.

"Don't say that. I can't do this without you," you whimpered, and closed your eyes for a brief moment. You felt his fingertips weakly grip your chin and you forced your eyes back open.

"Yes, you can," he said as firmly as he could. He was so pale and weak and it was making your stomach turn.

You shook your head, about to argue with him, but he stopped you.

"You keep goin', you hear me?" he said, and still, you shook your head from side to side, small sobs slipping past your lips. "Don't let this world win. You... go on and keep fightin'. Please. Be happy, baby. For me."

"No!" you cried out, spittle dripping from your lips now, mixing with your tears. "I won't! I-I can't!"

"You can," he repeated, and gave you a weak smile. "I'm ready, baby. It'll be okay."

You squeezed your eyes shut tight, the tears leaking out, hot and angry on your cheeks as you sobbed over him, clutching his hand in yours so tightly, like if you squeezed hard enough, you could give him your lifeforce. Give him your breath. But moments later, his grip weakened and when you opened your eyes, his head slumped to the side and his lifeless eyes stared off into the distance.

"Joel!" you screamed, sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat with tears still streaming down your face. You looked to your side, where he normally slept, but he wasn't there. Panic squeezed your throat, your chest fucking hurt, but you flung the blankets off you and ran towards the door. Still not hearing any sounds, you raced down the stairs, almost tripping in the process but you had a grip on the railing to keep you steady.

When your eyes finally landed on his familiar form stretched out on the couch, his back to you, you allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Reality came back to you now. You had your fight about leaving Jackson, but he won and you slept apart. You never left. He never got shot. It was all just a horrible dream.

You stumbled over to the couch, your tears unstoppable, the nightmare too vivid, too real. Your trembling hands clutched his shoulder as you fell to your knees on the floor, shaking him awake.

"What?" he grumbled, clearly still pissed off about your fight.

"I'm sorry!" you sobbed loudly, and when he realized something was wrong, he whipped around to face you.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

"I-I had-" you began, then you hiccupped, cutting yourself off. His face was etched with concern as he forced himself up and cupped your face.

"C'mon, talk to me," he urged, the fear in his eyes reflecting back to you as you looked at him, still not sure what was real and what wasn't.

"I had a nightmare," you finally managed to get out. "About our fight. That we... we went out like I wanted and-and-" you collapsed into another fit of sobs, your shoulders shaking violently.

"Hey, it's alright," he soothed, pulling you up and into his lap and rubbing your back. You pressed your tear stained face into his neck, inhaling deeply, grounding yourself. He was alive. He was here. Everything was fine.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, your throat still tight but your tears were slowing down. "I'm sorry we fought. I don't wanna go out anymore. I don't need new clothes, it was stupid, I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay," he said, pulling you tightly against his chest, "I'm sorry we fought, too. I just wanna keep us safe."

"I know, you're right," you said, pulling back a bit and wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "Will you come back to bed?"

"Yeah," he replied with half a smirk. "'Course I'll come back to bed, baby. Don't cry, it's alright."

You let him lead you up the stairs and to your bedroom, your side of the bed still damp with sweat but it didn't bother you. Joel was safe and sound and in your arms and you didn't care if you had to wear a potato sack for the rest of your life, as long as you had Joel, nothing else mattered.

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