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007reid · 6 months

Note

request for reader having dated spencer (early seasons) and then she finds out what happened w lila </3

hi hi hi!! sorry this took a while hun :( you were vague with your req so i just wrote whatever i wanted to write and because of that i meant for this to be a drabble but it didn't work out that way... enjoy!

secrets. spencer reid

part 1 | part 2

pairing: spencer reid x jealous fem!reader, 1.8k

summary: spencer will never be able to escape the effortless wrath of derek morgan, not even when it's the weekends and breaking bad is playing and you're pulling on his hair.

warnings: no smut you filthy animals, though i did intend there to be smut im just in a fluffy mood rn :// tiny angst if you squint, spencer's blushin a LOT, morgan's evil, bickering and just cutesy couple stuff. me when.

spencer’s secret was the last thing that you were, and you know this.

you and spencer have been dating for three months now, not including the two months talking stage because spencer is deadly afraid of commitment, and between all that time, you’d say you’ve gotten to know spencer pretty well. you know him well enough to trust that he knows what’s best, anyway. it’s been three months, and spencer hasn’t uttered a word about you to his team, his family, and you understand why.

really. you do.

“they’ll never let me live in down,” spencer had whined, one person imminent on his mind. derek fucking morgan. spencer dreads just thinking about it, the teasing, the inappropriate jokes, the winks and the whistles. it’s dehumanizing. “when someone ask me or mention something about it, i will tell them. until then…”

the unspoken reason was there. spencer’s a talker, definitely a talker, but he doesn’t spend much time talking about himself. he never reveals a bit of himself unless he’s directly asked it, and he feels uncomfortable sharing otherwise. the team’s too used to spencer being physically and emotionally repellent to the female race to really ask about stuff like you anymore, and spender’s not too eager to share neither. not out of the blue. it’s unlike him. this you understand. 100%. locked safely in the noggin.

you never think much about it anyway. it doesn’t bother you. what bothers you, though, is secrets.

you know spencer has loads of those, tucked behind that carefree and open-hearted smile and attitude of his. you examine him carefully, searching his face for ticks—okay, maybe you were just looking really creepily because he’s pretty and you try to commit every feature into memory but you are, searching for ticks that is.

you know he hides things. somethings not worth bringing up again because it’ll only bring up bad memories. some other things, however, definitely worth mentioning again. you just have to find the right target questions. sometimes it feels like you’re dating a stranger, with how little you know about spencer’s life. sometimes it feels like you’re dating the love of your life. it’s all very relative.

you and spencer are cuddled up on the couch, breaking bad playing on the tv. it’s one of the shows spencer doesn’t like pointing out the scientific inaccuracies of because he’s too fond of the main character to really say that he’s wrong, and sometimes you miss his voice chiming in between all the movie’s dialogues, but you think the reason why he’s quiet today is because he’s not in the mood to talk. the last case’s gotten him pretty shaken up, and he’s still healing, head in your neck every night and when he pulls away your skin is damp with tears.

“you okay spence?” you say, moving your hand to tangle your fingers in his hair. he hums softly, and then you both suddenly hear the vibration from under your asses. spencer shifts around, digging his phone out from where it’s lodged in a random cushion of the sofa.

he groans inwardly, showing you the screen, not having to explain. in big letters, the caller says: bau--derek morgan.

“he usually never calls me on weekends,” spencer frowns, watching the phone vibrate. “you think i should answer?”

“he’s a friend,” you say, tucking a stray strand of hair under his ear. “answer him.”

“okay,” spencer says hesitantly, then swipes the green button on his screen. he clears his throat as the call connects. “you’re on speaker,” he warns, looking at you anxiously and then back to his phone again. morgan’s a wildcard, and spencer would have to hide his face everyday for the next three weeks in front of you if morgan happens to drop something embarrassing about him just out of pocket. spencer isn’t ready.

“not like there’s anyone with you to hear,” morgan scoffs, and didn’t let spencer answer before continuing. “the team’s planning on a bar night tomorrow—“

“the team?” spencer questions, suspicious. morgan sighs loudly.

“garcia and i,” he corrects reluctantly, “are planning for a team bonding night tomorrow. what do you say?”

“no.” spencer says immediately, looking at you and hope you get his unspoken answer. spencer never goes out on weekends, not unless it’s with you. with his highly demanding schedule at the bau, it’s rare that he has any time off at all, and it’s hard to maintain a healthy relationship that way. any time he gets to spend time with you he’d take.

“come on,” morgan says, enthusiastically. “when was the last time you properly went out, huh?”

“last month, when you and garcia planned another of these team bonding bar nights,” spencer says monotonously. he rolls his eyes. “morgan—“

“don’t be rolling your eyes at me now, genius,” morgan warns. you stifle a laugh, and spencer sends you a wounded look. you forget that they’re basically family, like siblings to knows each other to a tee. “listen, have some fun in your life. who knows, maybe we can find you another lila at the bar.” morgan’s tone is suggestive. and now, that got your full, undivided attention.

and spencer, predictably, looks like a deer caught in the headlights, looking at you in horror was you narrow your eyes at his screen. you prod at his leg, prompting him to answer so morgan can elaborate.

lila?

“i don’t think—“ spencer starts, but got immediately cut off.

“don’t lie and say you didn’t like it, lover boy,” morgan whistles and spencer cringes. “now that we’re talking about lila, actually—“ spencer’s mind is screaming, shut up shut up shut up! as morgan proceeds to feed you more information, completely oblivious to his sins. “do you guys still keep in touch? she looked pretty into you. never knew you had it in you til then, man--”

by now spencer’s beet red head to ears to toe and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, but also off of yourself. you’d say you’re a jealous woman. not too jealous but definitely not not jealous.

“morgan,” spencer starts again, voice a little wobbly and embarrassed and morgan laughs.

“seriously though, do you guys still talk? them eyes never lie,” and morgan sounds so casual, so nonchalant while destroying spencer’s life.

it’s not that spencer doesn’t want you to know about lila. he couldn’t careless if lila waltz into his life right now because he knows they would be nothing more than friends—you’re all he’s ever wanted and he would trade you for nothing. it’s just embarrassing, is all, him being exposed like this, and he feels smaller, feels like he’s actually 5’3 with the glare you’re sending him.

“anyway, that don’t matter,” morgan remains completely ignorant and in his own world and still on speaker. oh morgan. “i want to see you at our bar tomorrow. it’s a yes, right? good. i’ll tell garcia you said yes.”

“morgan!” spencer says quickly. “i have a gir—“

morgan hangs up.

spencer dreads looking at you, so he takes his time getting out the app and then clears all of the background apps on his phone. he doesn’t like seeing you mad and he can basically sense it, the fumes blowing out your ears.

“who’s lila?” you say casually and he looks up. he doesn’t mistake your tone for friendliness, your eyes are narrow and suspicious.

“someone on a case a while ago,” spencer responds honestly. because that’s all there was to lila. it’s not like he’s never had his first kiss before her, so she doesn’t even count as his first kiss (she’s his second) and other than that minute-long moment they shared there was nothing else remarkable. she just happens to the only girl the team knows about who’s spencer been involved with and they are encouraging to help him find another ‘lila.’

it’s all very complicated. and humiliating. he should’ve definitely told you the entire backstory beforehand, because it’s not scandalous or weird or anything. it’s innocent and harmless. but now the problem seems to be blown out of proportion.

“just someone?” you press. spencer hesitates. he hates lying, especially when he’s lying to you. his hesitation gives you all the answer you needed.

“we kissed once,” he says, and gawks at you for approval, for forgiveness. “but that was it. i swear.”

something awful bubbles in your stomach. you know spencer’s not lying, and it’s not worth getting upset with him about because it’s all in the past—it’s not like you go talking about your precious conquests to spencer anyway. but you can’t help the envy and jealousy boiling so hotly it makes you dizzy.

spencer feels obliged to fill you in, to patch up the little bump and to get back the sweet atmosphere that was before morgan called. he knew morgan would somehow manage to ruin his life in some kind of way. he knew it before he even accepted his call.

“she was an actress in this case we were working on and she just, i think, really liked me or something and she was in a pool when i came to see her just to ask some questions and she just pulled me—“

his rant got interrupted by you seizing him to a rough kiss, hands coming up to rest behind the nape of his neck and nails unconsciously digging into his skin. spencer remains mostly unresponsive and soft, surprised and don't know how to respond. you keep prying, teeth digging into the soft of his bottom lip and spencer starts nipping at you back, gentle like he always is.

it frustrates you, how hard it is to be frustrated at spencer. you pull away from him and spencer tilts his head curiously, lip shiny and eyes looking at you like he's never seen you before and he just looks so sweet, so innocent and eager, like a precious pup. you roll your eyes, swatting at his chest, annoyance and jealousy and anger evaporating from you like a cloud.

spencer licks his lips and you collapse back into him again, returning to the position you were before morgan so unmindfully interrupted your weekend. breaking bad continues to play on the tv. long limbs wraps around you and spencer presses a kiss in your hair.

"i'm not going tomorrow," he declares.

"you should," you say nonchalantly. you cuddle up closer to him, turning around until the both of your are facing each other, wiggling your way on top. you begin to trace stars on the exposed skin of his shoulder. "and maybe you should bring someone with you. just to act as a guard for future lila's. maybe you can introduce that person too," you flick your hair behind your back and shrugs at spencer's amused smile. "it's just a thought."

"okay," he says quietly, eyes so soft. "okay. who do you suggest i bring?"

"that's for you to figure out, doctor reid," you say flippantly, turning back to the tv. "now shush."

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batterygarden · 4 months

Text

dr. suguru geto & his white-haired med student perform your check up!

cw: 18+ MDNI, afab fem!reader, dead dove do not eat! reader’s a bit naive, medical kink, dubcon because she’s under the impression it’s necessary for doctors to fuck their patients (geto convinces her she has some rare hormone disorder) also she’s kinda pressured to consent to being watched, pussy inspection, nude taking, voyeurism, protected sex, fingering, fondling, size kink with no pain. just. medical exam gone sexual and with gojo stepping in. 1.5k words

a/n: my first time writing a geto OR gojo fic and it is utterly depraved <3 .. also my first time posting a fic in so long, feedback and rbs would be greatly appreciated! xoxo enjoy

Dr. Suguru Geto has been your physician for as long as you can remember—treating injuries, prescribing medicine, performing routine physicals… You’ve come to trust him and only him when it comes to your health. You appreciate the fact that his check-ups are familiar; you’ve been attending them for years and like to think you know his office like the back of your hand. Which is why you’re startled to see someone else in his room today—a med student intending to sit in on your visit, a nice camera set beside him on the supply table.

He greets you from a seated place against the wall when you enter Dr. Geto’s room—a tall, bright-eyed man with white hair and glasses—masked in an N95 but still somehow intimidatingly-handsome. Of course, that'd make your doctor petrifyingly-handsome, the way he smiles so kindly for you, the way his silky hair looks tied behind his head, stray bangs falling loose. The way he fills out his scrubs—they’re almost too small for his muscular arms. You have to shake your head to clear it—your thoughts are veering inappropriate.

Once you’re seated on the exam table, crinkling the wax paper, Dr. Geto snaps on a pair of blue gloves.

“You know the routine, sweetheart,” he says in that unnervingly-soothing voice of his—easily commanding your attention, a desire to please. Sometimes you imagine his voice is hypnotic.

You nod for him—you do have a good grasp of his check up procedure by now, lifting your chin while he checks your eyes and ears and nose. He seems to linger on the inspection of your mouth and throat—making you worry; what if you have some kind of virus! You wonder if something’s wrong when he places two fingers on your tongue to encourage your mouth wider for his gaze, swiping a bead of drool from your lip with his thumb once he’s finished. Fortunately, he deems everything to be in good health—and you thank him, pleased to have such a thoughtful doctor.

Then comes the awkward part—well, awkward because of this new man in attendance.

Dr. Geto has to perform your breast exam.

He does this every time, he’s very thorough—something you appreciate given the unique hormone disorder he says you have. You don’t really understand it, but you trust your physician explicitly—glad that, so long as you’re under his care, you’re staying closely monitored.

You feel your face heat once you strip today, noticing the white-haired man shifting to get a closer look. You wonder what the clipboard on his lap is even for, considering the way he never glances at it. You can feel that his gaze hasn’t left you once—you’re not sure you’ve ever felt this carefully perceived.

You will yourself to ignore it during the breast exam, which, thankfully, also goes well. Geto assures you they’re healthy—perfect he even says while a gloved thumb runs over your nipple, and tingles go up your spine. Your doctor’s approval always feels unbelievably good, you relish in it.

For the sake of your health, what with your hormone disorder and all, Dr. Geto always checks between your legs during your physical, too. Making sure your reproductive organs are healthy and working properly—it’s something you’ve grown used to and more than comfortable with.

Today you can’t help but glance at the medical student against the wall when Dr. Geto asks that you remove your pants though, hesitating under his bright gaze.

Geto gives you a patient smile, glancing to the other man.

“Don’t be shy, sweet thing—it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. Mr. Gojo here is a talented student, in fact he’s a friend of mine—you can trust you’re in good hands.”

You can tell Gojo is smiling under his mask with the way his eyes crinkle, nodding in encouragement.

“Of course! It’s really nice of you to help me meet my training requirements.”

You notice that the student's voice carries a similar weight to your doctor’s—oozing confidence and reassurance.

With a deep breath you nod, ridding yourself of the rest of your clothes. Who are you to obstruct this man’s learning—you decide it’s better to just be respectful.

You’ve got to cum at least once a day, you know—that’s what Dr. Geto recommends to stay healthy—and he always takes care of it for you when you visit. He might as well while he’s performing your check up down there anyways, and it’s useful for him to make sure you can orgasm properly—what with your wacky hormones and all.

The anticipation has you embarrassingly wet when you pull down your underwear though, a string of arousal clinging to the fabric as you tug them off. You feel warm as both men’s eyes follow the mess you’ve made—shy in a way you aren’t usually when it’s just you and Dr. Geto. As polite and respectful as this medical student has been, his eyes intimidate you, as does the previously forgotten camera that accompanies him—replacing the clipboard in his hands.

He notices you glancing at it and, with a gentle, informative tone, explains how it’s important he can refer back to this experience as learning material, he’s still studying in addition to residency—capturing photos of this exam will be quite helpful. And as much as it throws off your usual routine, you figure if it’s for the sake of learning and science you’d be rude to deny him.

Geto’s gloved hand is surprisingly precise and dexterous for its large size, once your feet are in the stirrups he makes light work of you every time.

First there’s the examination, inspecting you with a flashlight and this time a camera, and then he’s gently poking and prodding, spreading and fingering before he focuses on making you cum. It’s embarrassing how messy the latex of his gloves becomes, his blue fingers shiny and sticky once he finally removes them from inside you. His clean hand rubs your thigh reassuringly while you come down, and he smiles at you, telling you you’ve done well. You barely register Mr. Gojo sneaking in to take a photo of your swollen pussy—an after, since you know he captured a few before you came as well.

That type of check-up wasn’t adequate today though, Dr. Geto insists on ensuring you can still cum from cock as well. He’s done this before, and it feels so nice, so you thank him for offering. You watch carefully as he discards messy gloves for clean ones before freeing his hard cock, rolling a condom down its length. It’s large—a breath-halting sight every time you see it.

You wince when a gloved hand is returned to your sensitive folds then, gathering your release to spread over himself as lube. Dr. Geto fucks into you slowly at first, working you open carefully so it isn’t painful, before finding a steady rhythm, hitting a deep spot within you that has you whining, your toes curling up by his sides. You cum on his cock twice before he’s groaning and cumming with you, the warmth of his seed spreading inside you through the thin condom.

By this point you’re overstimulated, wincing when he pulls out, covered in a sheen of sweat, dripping onto the exam table paper.

Still, you let Mr. Gojo fuck you then, too, even though Geto’s finished his check up—docile and easily persuaded. You reason that it makes sense he’d need more hands-on training experience as a doctor-in-training. You’re happy to help, you tell him.

You’re a mess by the time he finishes, he isn’t quite as careful and gentle as your doctor is—pounding into you with little care for your overstimulation. You’re left twitching and mush-brained, barely feeling Dr.Geto’s soothing gloved hands rub over your sore limbs—only somewhat registering the way Gojo holds the camera before he’s even pulled out of you, snapping full body pics before some close ups of your well-abused cunt.

You’ve passed your physical with flying colors, your doctor informs you, once he and his student are composed and dressed. Mr. Gojo thanks you for your training assistance, his voice holding a boyish charisma that has you thanking him as well. He then helps you gather your things before leaving the room so you can dress.

Feeling satisfied, albeit a bit exhausted, you tug back on your clothes, finding that Mr. Gojo’s left his clipboard when you go to grab your bag. You don’t see the harm in peeking a bit, suddenly curious what notes he could have been referring to or taking during your exam. You're surprised when you do, though—there’s only a blank piece of paper attached.

#geto x reader #gojo x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk x reader #gojou satoru x reader #getou x reader #jjk fic #geto suguru smut #gojo smut #jjk smut #🐞 writes #tw.dubcon #tw.medical

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idyllicidols · 4 months

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Caught.

A/N: Tumblr tells me I've been on here for a year already. Time really flies! Just a quick one for Happy self anniversary and Merry Christmas.

***

"Hello?!"

Nayeon calls out as she enters your apartment, closing and locking the front door behind her. There's an eerie silence as she walks through the hall. Your door is slightly open, just a crack. Nayeon gives it a light nudge and pokes her head inside.

"Merry Christm-"

Nayeon drops her duffle bag by the foot of the bed, her breath quick and heavy. Her heart almost stops beating. Her body freezes, rigid with shock.

She hears groaning, coming from a figure laying on your bed in the center of the room. Your cock in your hand, your phone in the other, frozen in place while your best friend looks at you in disbelief.

You can't take your eyes off her, quickly placing your phone back onto the nightstand.

You didn't even think. The content of your phone remaining visible until the screen falls asleep: a photo of her - nothing even scandalous about it, just a photo of her, smiling at the camera with her cute bunny teeth and gummy smile—making a dumb cute little peace sign and acting like a goof. The screen finally goes dark, but the image is burned into her mind. A photo of her. You were jerking off to a photo of her. Your best friend.

Nayeon stumbles forwards, her mouth agape and her brain still failing to comprehend any of the shit that's happening.

It's like an out-of-body experience. Nothing makes sense anymore, everything is wrong. All the air seems to escape from her lungs, and all her thoughts melt out of her ears.

You lay there silently, your cock sitting on your stomach, covered with your own precum. Your heart is about to burst out of your chest, sweat sticks your hair to your forehead, heat emanates from every inch of your body. You should have heard her outside.

"Nayeon, it's not what you think."

"Oh yeah? What is it? Because this seems pretty fucking obvious to me."

"I don't know! I mean, I do, but...shit."

Nayeon fumbles through the photos. More images of her, from different angles, of different clothing, none particularly pornographic or inappropriate. A few shots that highlight the curve of her body, one that is focused on the swell of her firm ass, one from the front where you can see how snug her yoga pants are.

"So this is what you're into then, huh, jerk?"

Nayeon sits down on the bed with a thud. You're at a loss for words, laying next to her awkwardly, cock awkwardly hanging against your stomach. Nayeon doesn't speak at all. You can practically hear her think, processing this information, unsure what it means, uncertain whether she should feel flattered, used, hurt, betrayed, disgusted.

Without another word, or any kind of warning…

Nayeon starts to undress, her shirt thrown behind her. Her basic pink bra cups her petite breasts, a small layer of flesh rises up over the cup, but it's hard to make out. The top half of her torso, from her clavicle to her abdomen, is toned muscle, lithe and defined, feminine and sexy. You can't tear your gaze away from the taut curves of her shoulders, her arms, her hands, which start working on taking her jeans off.

"Keep going jerk. Touch yourself."

You look at her quizzically. Nayeon has never talked to you so harshly, especially about this kind of stuff, and even less while she was slowly stripping out of her clothes in your bed. This is a new side to her, your best friend still has the same looks to her, only now she's half-naked, stern and intense and almost angry as she watches you slowly jacking yourself, holding your member at a gentle but eager pace.

"Is this what you like? Pervert. Thinking about me while you jerk yourself off? Is the real thing better?"

Her barrage of questions makes your head hurt. Or perhaps it's just the amount of blood that seems to be going to your cock, as your mind fills with a haze of lust and desire. This condescending tone. The humiliation. Is this really what you're into?

Your thumb glides over your swollen, sensitive tip, a quiet moan escapes you as Nayeon lays next to you on her side, watching.

"Disgusting. Tch."

With each disparaging comment from her lips, the greater the pit forms in your stomach.

"You wanna see them?" Nayeon teases, letting one of her straps fall down her shoulder.

Your throat is dry. So fucking dry that it's hard to talk. So you nod your head in the most shameful and guilty way imaginable. It's Nayeon. Your Nayeon. There are boundaries that aren't supposed to be crossed and lines that shouldn't be crossed, and here you are, crossing them both.

She lets the other strap slip off her shoulder. Nayeon plays around with you a bit, letting just a hint of tit flesh spill out of the side before sliding the cups up again. After letting your pathetic begging whines linger for a minute, she undoes the hook of her bra in one smooth, single-handed motion and slowly takes it off.

"Well better or worse than what's in that fucked up head of yours?"

"Better..." You groan out, your hand instinctively reaching out towards her chest.

She slaps your hand away, pinning your wrist down into the mattress.

"Perv. Fucking touch me and I'll tear off your dick, got it?"

Nayeon said no touching, but she did nothing to stop you from jerking off in front of her. Actually, quite the opposite: Nayeon leans in even closer, her fingers trailing down the sides of her small perky tits. She lifts the small handfuls and gives them a playful shake, grinning at how desperately your mouth hangs open, lust clouding over your eyes, completely entranced. She knows full well she doesn't have a spectacular pair of melons, but in this case, she's fairly confident in them and what they're able to accomplish. And accomplishing a whole lot right now, it seems like.

You're mesmerized and enamored and lost and whatever the fuck else the synonyms for obsessed are. You want her. God do you ever want her, your arousal building more and more as Nayeon trails down the waistband of her underwear. Down, past her soft curving hips, exposing the tight pink slit underneath.

"You're not gonna cum already are you?" Nayeon mocks. "Look into my eyes" she orders, taking her thumb and giving your bottom lip a tug, forcing your drooling face to stare into her smoldering eyes, her tone still berating.

"Focus. Don't you look away, okay?"

A whimper and a nod. "Okay Nayeon." You're willing to do anything at this point, if only she allows you to keep staring at those brown bedroom eyes of hers. You are so fucking screwed.

"Good. Follow my fingers now. But remember, no touching." With that her hand slides down: down to neck, hovering over perfect handful of tits, gently pinching her rock hard nipples, a blissful smile washing over Nayeon as she does. Fingers trace around her navel, delicate and lovingly, teasing your poor erection with an agonizing display of sexuality and intimacy, torturous enough to make you beg for it, but never doing. Your balls feel so tight. Your entire pelvis feels like one massive tight knot.

"Keep watching..." Nayeon notices your blanked out expression, snapping her fingers to draw your attention back to her. Finally, finally! Her hands slither under the waistband of her underwear, and with a devious smirk, finally pulls her panties off and throws them to the floor. Nayeon presses a couple fingers to her nether lips, feeling the wetness, then showing off her slick coated finger to you.

"Wanna sniff?"

You want to so badly. It would only take a moment, it'd be so easy to cross over those inches. Her beautiful eyes. The girl you've known for so many years. Your best friend. You pathetically pant, like a dog who knows he shouldn't be begging his owner, but still hoping against hope to get the treats she has locked away.

Nayeon thrusts out her fingers again, rubbing them directly against your nose—smearing the honey across your upper lip. That heavenly sweet aroma. An explosion of alluring femininity that hits you like a brick, a thick waft of her womanly smell so strong and enticing.

And yet you can't touch, unable to do anything but pathetically touch yourself , like some kind of fugitive prisoner denied everything but the cruelest of tortures. You want to run. Escape from the intoxication and humiliation. To say 'let's just not ever bring this up again, be friends like we always were.'

But that'll never happen, not when Nayeon holds her hand over yours.

"Why don't you cum already eh? I'm waiting to see what a worthless perv like you looks like when he orgasms. Look at your gross, needy face."

If only you weren't so damn excited. A warm, burning sensation coils in your chest, pooling downwards. Nayeon isn't even touching it—there's no skin on skin contact with your cock. Instead she's using your hand like a puppet, pumping faster and faster, bringing yourself right to the brink, watching with wicked glee at the pitiful state you're in.

"Thinking about your best friend. After all we've been through. How the fuck do you even live with yourself? Pathetic."

A shudder goes through your body, as if you are absorbing the verbal abuse she gives you, making you even more aroused than before, feeling ashamed and dirty and alive. It's sick, perverted, and horrible, yet you revel in it, taking pleasure in feeling inferior, seeing her act with superiority and indifference to you and your pleas.

Her hand is over yours, her soft skin so close to your cock, yet so far—forcing your hand up and down, the head throbbing and swelling, unable to hold on any longer. Your entire focus is on Nayeon and her lithe touch. How her tiny tits jiggle ever so slightly when she moves. How her dark locks drift about her frame, flowing past her slim arms.

Before you even know it, you're blowing your load, feeling like a teenager in your own body, humiliated as it happens, almost falling backwards from the force, completely submitting to the control of another, spraying all over yourself, as Nayeon stares at you with disgust and contempt in her eyes. "You already came? God damn, that was even faster than I expected."

You can't stand the fact that you orgasmed within seconds of Nayeon touching you, even if it was over your hand. So easily able to dominate you, you are overtaken by desire, need and lust. By shame and embarrassment, your cock in your hand with jizz all over you.

She picks up her clothes and walks away, leaving you with a mix of shame and indignation, getting dressed while ignoring you.

As she is about to leave she turns back and faces you.

"See you tomorrow, pervert. Coffee. Yea?"

You're left alone, covered in jizz, looking down and watching yourself go soft and your member drip onto your lower belly. Your head is cloudy with afterglow, unhinged and confused feelings settle over you; part guilt, part exhilaration, all humiliation. Your body feels exhausted. The cold December air cools the sticky substance, drying it against you, you feel it, that's your shame, a shame that Nayeon exuded upon you and that you took pleasure in.

#kpop smut #nayeon smut #twice nayeon smut #twice smut

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sad-drake-lyrics · 8 months

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what my 65yo father has to say about antis:

let me preface this by saying, i literally wish i had what just happened on video to go viral on TikTok. i was shook by this conversation down to my bones; and if you could see my father - a loud old Italian man with dramatic hand gestures - say what he had to say, i think this shit would blow up. but as i was obviously not filming him while we were eating, i will have to relay to you the story with my words.

so i'm sitting eating dinner at the coffee table with my father while watching TV, as Americans often do instead of eating at the dinner table, and since the news was on he started telling me this story that had been recently mentioned on TV once again from maybe ten years ago (it was in 2014, you can read about it here) where these two 12-year-old girls killed one of their friends as a sacrifice to the Slender Man. yeah, real thing. fucked up.

and so my father told me about how they interviewed one of the killer's mothers, and when questioned about where her daughter's motive could've come from, she said something along the lines of: you know, when i was a kid, i was into Stephen King and horror - and so when my kid was into that kind of stuff, i didn’t think it was a big deal.

so, of course, my response was "yeah, being into that stuff isn’t a big deal at all - it's normal - but being a sociopath and murdering someone is not normal; it's fucked up. but there's nothing wrong with being into horror stories - they're just stories meant to entertain - it doesn't make you a murderer to enjoy Halloween - but it would if you put on a Michael Myers mask and went out and stabbed people." and, of course, like any sane person, my father agreed with me.

then, continuing this line of conversation, i started talking about the concept of how "fiction isn’t reality," and how a frightening amount of people don't understand that; and i literally started telling him about antis - people on the internet who attack and harass others over "problematic" or "inappropriate" fictional interests.

i used well-known pop culture examples like: if you're into Game of Thrones and like Jaime and Cersei together or wanted Jon and Daenerys to end up together (i didn't think he would process the term "shipping," but clearly by the end of this conversation i think i was wrong), that people (antis) will say things like "you should die," and that you "support inc*st in real life," and that "you're disgusting."

i also used the examples of "toxic relationships" in pop culture, like the Joker and Harley Quinn, or Kylo Ren and Rey, and how if you’re into those kinds of fictional relationships that people (antis) will say that you "support toxic relationships," and that you are "glorifying abuse," and that it all "must be what you really want and believe is right or good."

and my fucking 65-year-old father literally goes: "I don’t understand. It’s a TV show. Don't they know it’s fake?"

queue my jaw dropping to the fucking ground because i'm like. YES. THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT PRO-SHIPPERS ARE TRYING TO SAY AND THESE PEOPLE DON'T GET IT.

he was flabbergasted, my pals. the shock in his eyes was incredible to behold.

and, oh boy, that isn't even the best part, guys.

my father then says, "Don’t tell me it’s like that with anime too?"

and i said, "it's worse with anime."

and i fucking swear to you - no joke, on my life and baby Jesus' cradle - again my 65-year-old father looks at me and says, “It’s a fucken cartoon."

... ... ...

... i can't ...

i can't end this post better than that.

#anti anti #anti harassment #proship #proshipper #proshipping #pro ship #pro fiction #pro shipper #pro shipping #profic #comship #proship safe #comship safe #proship positivity #anti censorship #ship discourse #fiction is not reality #fiction is fiction #ship and let ship

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cixteenyne · 22 days

Note

i nEED more izu content and you are the best of the best so i needed to come to you

personally, the thing that i think gets over looked about midoriya is that

1: he’s strong as fuck??? (gets me so weak in the knees heaven knows)

2: BLACK. WHIP.

jesus christ he’s just!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i think he’s so neat i want him to do things to me

anyways, smutfic about him coming home to reader after she’s been a brat to him all day & him being such a sweet & loving dom but also that type of menacing & powerful hero he is. he loves his s/o to no end, but will not hesitate to put her in her place!!! wow my stomach turns just thinking about it

basically, brat tamer izuku, using blackwhip. i’m so down bad for him it hurts

I remember getting this ask and salivating at it, yet I had no idea how to write and interpret it into a full blown post instead of just a thirst and I just didn’t feel like posting (I meant it when I said I’m barley consistent). SOOO in April 1, no, this isn’t an april fools joke!! I bring you, angry izuku ..

Warning(s): vulgar wording (yk how we do), restraints, mean izuku/passive aggressive, manhandling, inappropriate use of black whip, brat taming, slight intimidation if you squint, Fem reader. Halfway proofread…😒

‘Patient and Gentle’

Izuku had been so sweet to you all day, so caring and soft and understanding- he always had been, so it’s just to say he’s being himself as per usual. But, you. You.

Just so snide today, snappy little thing.

What did he do? He doesn’t know- he doesn’t care to know, he won’t listen to you if you try to explain, well- he will; just won’t let it linger. He’s past that.

You’re past that.

He sighed as he walked into the room, the door shutting softly behind him despite the off energy he had around him.

He doesn’t move from his spot, his hand still resting against the door as his head peers behind him. To you. He just gazes for a while, only a while before- clip! Another snappy remark, it was just ‘clip, clip, clip’ with you today, that’s all he could portray it as.

Something like a… like a-

“oh, that’s weird.”

Or a short ‘clip!’ Of a

“whatever.” In a certain tone a- cadence, if you will.

Why were you speaking this specific way to him. And why was it pissing him off so.. damn.. much…?

He still looking at you, yet at some point he’s turned around a tuned out whatever snide remark you’re sure to have made by now. His eyes keep traversing from one point to another, each point having something to do with you.

A short question of; ‘is there a problem?’

Is there?

“I don’t know.” A shrug from you. And a back fucking turned.

It makes his blood simmer to an 8 on a stove.

His footsteps are light yet foreboding as they advanced toward you, to you standing so.. he can’t even find the words, how does one stand in indifference? That must be it.

He’s in your personal space now, he’s smiling so sweetly at you; the way he always had, so patient and gentle. Yet his words are cracked with the tone, clashing with the way they dance out of his lips.

“Is there a problem..?” Is there? He needs to know, he had asked you a question, he wanted an answer. He didn’t ask for an ‘I don’t know.’ He asked for an explanation. Did you not understand that?- or, were you being a dumb whore on purpose?

You shook your head, not meeting his eyes. There was no problem. so, what the hell is your deal today?

“Speak up, baby..”

“No..”

you shook you head again. It was mumbled out, maybe due to his body smothering yours, but at least it was in words.

“Then what’s wrong, baby? Yr’ you acting like that.. hm?”

He whispered to you, talking you down as if you were a kid experiencing anger for the first time. His faux sad expression was beginning to make you feel silly. Good. That’s was good.

You look away- or you try to, yet his face follows yours, not letting you escape his eyes.

“Don’t- no, you don’t do that. You look at me. ‘K..? I don’t like that.”

He really didn’t. And you knew that. He looked a little disappointed too, shame. What a shame, yet you were shameless.

He sighed, a click of his teeth as he let silence permeate the room.

A cold solid-? A chilly.. rope.. it slid around your neck, slowly and purposefully. It’s grip tightening with no intent to let go. There was a tug on it, forcing you the look up at him.

Black whip. He activated it and was using it as a leash, he thought it was fitting. Act like a bitch, get treated like one. ‘S only fair.

“Izu’s a little mad okay..? And he’s sorry… but- he needs to teach his girl… m’kay..?”

You stood in place, slightly defiant, yet not outright. So he tugged. Hard. And you stumbled out of place.

“C’mon.. T’ the bed.. s’right there..” a slow step forward, then the rest followed suit, she was hoping for a smooth walk over to the bed, but she was pushed so meanly by him.

He didn’t say anything as he bullied her with such a sweet face. Always so patient and gentle. Even when he’s not.

He rolled the black whip in his hands, his quirk tightening around him as he tugged your neck back, getting on top of you. He had pushed you onto your tummy. He even got down low next to your ear to taunt you like a bully.

“Izu has to do this okay..? Keep his girl good. ‘Zuku doesn’t like disobeying whores. He doesn’t like mean girls.”

Being so mean to him all day. Whore. How dare you. But don’t worry, he loves you so much, he’s willing to teach you himself- just how he likes his girls.

He reached around under your hips and undid your button. And a ‘ziiiip!’ Oh, it was foreboding. Your body was heating up, it was like an oven with no limit.

Your pants were being pushed down, and you keened. A whine at being exposed to casually as he shushed you.

“Shhh.. shh, lemme take it off.. all of it.”

Your pants couldn’t hit the floor before his hands were always working off your shirt, as he let black whip go for a while to get it off.

Yet his hands were right back on it. Harsher, no bra. truly a whore.

He filled his palm with your breast, the soft supple flesh making him groan, a grind of his hips into your ass. He was going to fucking ruin you for this.

His breathing was hot and heavy against your neck, making goosebumps rise and quicker across your skin.

His hands began snaking again, from your breast, to your tummy, your hips, the inside of your panties. Your pussy. So, so.. wet already.

And then he was dragging them down your laps and kicking them away. His finger just playing with your pussy for a while, two finger sliding down the crevices, a palm cupping it whole and rubbing, and a single finger on your clit. Slowly rubbing and pinching, tapping.

His lips kissing your neck so sweetly. So patient and gentle.. a suck across your skin. And moan and a whine, it only made him harder.

He stops his playing- his rubbing and you whine again, disappointed, and it makes him smile a little more sweetly, or cruelly, he can’t tell himself at this point, he just knows he loves watching that sweet face of yours contort.

Black while fluctuates and another tendril seeps out and bind your arms, forcing them to your back. Your pussy drips at the strain in your shoulders.

He hadn’t taken anything off yet, and he didn’t plan too! He didn’t need to. He undid his belt, slowly. Letting the ‘clink!’ And the ‘dink!’ Of the metal fill your ears. Letting you anticipate.

His bulge is almost painful, the strain of it is almost good, yet it still annoys him- having it be let free was heavenly.. his green was deep yet still so sweet, a whine in his voice that never quite went away even as it deepened with age..

His cock bobbed up and as it fell back down, heavy under its own weight, the tip tapped your ass, leaving it to ripple. The sight made him keen yet it dipped into a moan as his own hand wrapped around his aching dick. It drooled precum.

Black whip flickered as his mind was muddled with pleasure, yet his control of it was impressive despite the situation. He wasn’t number one for nothing.

“He’s gonna teach you.. ‘kay..? Fuck… look so good baby… if you weren’t such a mean slut today-.. I’d be a little gentle..”

the way he spoke was as if he ran a marathon, and his voice always had the undertones of a whine.

He pushed his hand to his shirt, as if the action took everything in him- and began to unbutton it in a hurry, he felt stuffy in the article of clothing and he needed it off- or atleast open.

He tightened black whip, wrapping his hand in it further to force you into an arch, stroking his cock and lining it up with your pussy, cunt dripping with arousal.

The tip tapped against the entrance, then it pushed in, and in, and stretched, each inch was fucking delicious. Your eyes rolled and you bit your lip, and he heard it- he didn’t like it, if that angry tug of black whip was anything to go by.

He couldn’t help but slam the rest of it in, making you yelp. His grunts are uncontrollable and he doesn’t care. he whines behind you as his tip just leaks and leaks inside of you, yet he hadn’t cum yet.

Just made it more slippery and the sounds -god, the sounds- the sloppy and wet sounds of his cock driving into you cunt wasn’t drowned out by your combined moans.

He kept it tugged in your little leash as he keeps thrusting, his voice raw with pleasure and still a bit of irritation.

You still had upset him earlier, he had every right to take it out on you. You’re his girl.

He hips sped up, this thrusts got harder and your legs would have given out if his hips weren’t keeping you in place. Fucking his anger into you, and yours out of you.

He pulled your leash up and forced you to your feet, your back flush against his chest as she kept fucking you, going and going and fucking going, you couldn’t barley think- let alone stand. Fucking you like a rag doll was all he planned on doing.

His hand went to your front, and began to play with your clit, rolling it under his finger, making you dizzy, you moans increasing and you felt yourself tremble. You were about to cum, he knew it.

You always came first, that wouldn’t change, even if you were mean, and he was angry, he was going to take care of his girl, let her cum all she wants.

And you did, you came around him and squeezed his cock like it was a lifeline. Her pussy fluttering around him.

But he wouldn’t stop until he was finished too. Your body was pushed back onto the bed, the black whip disintegrating as he took his own hands and used them to restrain you instead. He pushed his hips deep into yours in slow yet aggressive thrusts. He was going to cum, fill you, he was going to teach you just what your place was and to never forget it.

“Fuck..! Fuck!”

And two deep thrusts was all he had left before he burst with thick ropes of cum into your pussy. Your tummy being filled with warmth and your eyes tilting into your head as they closed in exhaustion.

He stilled and let him empty itself before smiling so sweetly at you.

“Does my baby feel better..?”

He asked, just as sweetly as he always has. Maybe you’d learn something this time around.

“M..hm.”

He mumbled into your ear as he settled his chest against your back;

“Good.. don’t forget what ‘Zuku taught you today.. ‘Kay..?”

So patient and gentle.

(Don’t copy my stuff pookie, bitches with juicy pussy DONT copy works.. but you can still reblog… daddy appreciates those.)

#smut #mha smut #my hero academia smut #izuku midoryia smut #deku x reader smut #izuku midoria x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku smut #deku smut #mha x reader #mha x reader smut #asks #answered asks

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halemerry · 8 months

Note

hii first of all, i absolutely love your metas on GO s2! your breakdown of the last few minutes of ep6 was really insightful and i love you for your meta about aziraphale and his role as a protector - it is a very astute look into his character and motivations which not a lot of people acknowledge in their theories/speculation after s2.

more to the point of this ask: this is something i've been mulling over and is the only thing that still doesn't make sense to me in ep6. why is crowley so nonchalant, or at least not noticeably worried, about the metatron showing up to the bookshop (a space he is very protective of) and taking aziraphala away for a talk after aziraphale has already been threatened by micheal? throughout the whole season crowley has been extremely protective over aziraphale and is very much aware of the real danger he is in (re: the book of life). this is also right after crowley has returned from heaven and has learned what the metatron was willing to do to gabriel to ensure 'institutional integrity' and that much bigger plans were afoot. i find it hard to wrap my head around his calm demeanor when the metatron enters the scene and takes aziraphale away, even if it's supposedly for a harmless talk. i wonder if you have any thoughts/speculation about this?

(opps this got too long and rambling). i would love to hear your thought but ofc please don't feel pressured to answer :) love your posts about the season and i look forward to reading more from you. have a lovely day!

Hi!! Thank you so much! This ask has had me by the throat basically since you sent it. It sort of touches on some things I already wanted to write about so forgive me if this spirals a bit.

So in a lot of ways I think this is a question that can have a one word answer. But since I do wanna talk about the way the show gives us this answer I actually want to start with Nina. Specifically I want to start with the thing she tells Crowley as Aziraphale’s off with the Metatron.

“You’re the hard bitten one that can’t trust anyone ever again and Mr. Wherever He Is is the soft one that still believes in magic people being basically good and all that."

I’ve talked a little bit about this line before in my meta about the build up to the Confession here because I think it’s important to view from the perspective of how it preps Crowley for the following conversation he’s about to have. But, aside from that, I think it's really important because it's wrong. Nina is describing herself here, not Crowley. She’s projecting her own issues onto him and Aziraphale in the way that she perceives herself relating to them. Crowley himself is actually the one that calls out her trust issues for what they are explicitly.

Nina doesn’t trust and she sees herself in Crowley far more than Aziraphale both in demeanor and aesthetic so she assumes he doesn’t trust either. But she has it backwards. Because Crowley isn’t hard bitten as much as someone who tries very hard to be perceived as such. And, most importantly in this specific context, Crowley actually trusts quite a bit.

And he nearly always has. Even as far as back as the Starmaker.

Just look at the way that the Starmaker and Aziraphale both talk about interacting with God. Aziraphale is nervous, anxious and pretty much immediately clocks that what the angel that would become Crowley is saying is going to get him into trouble. But the Starmaker? Even upset about the information he’s been given, he remains confident in the fact that it can’t hurt to ask a few questions. He trusts there to be no consequence for expressing an objection. He trusts that his opinion is valued. Even if he ends up wrong here there’s no inclination at all that he thinks his words will be taken inappropriately. And even the Fall itself doesn’t burn this out of him.

We see him trust Aziraphale, the cherub who was supposed to be guarding Eden from things like him, not to smite him on sight. And trusts him enough to not only have a conversation but express his own worries about his own actions. He then approaches Aziraphale like a friend at the Flood and makes no attempt to censor his horror at what is happening there.

Job is the first time we see Crowley act in a way that implies mistrust between them. This is the first time they’ve met since the Flood which I suspect is contributing to his reluctance to be honest with Aziraphale here. They fall into their roles and then very rapidly fall out of them. The fact Azriaphale reaches out to Crowley here is important. As is the moment where Crowley asks Aziraphale if he’s sure. After Aziraphale more or less agrees to be all in something changes. Crowley is surprisingly honest about his view on the world, mostly trusting Aziraphale not to use it against him. He places himself in front of a host of angels, trusting that Aziraphale would not expose him. And then later he’s even more honest, admitting to Aziraphale he’s lonely in an attempt to show solidarity.

The entire Arrangement could not exist without them trusting each other. Crowley’s pushing at Aziraphale’s boundaries is a constant exercise in trusting that Aziraphale will come around eventually - or that he at the very least isn’t about to weaponize the treacherous things Crowley is saying against him. As early as 1601 we see Aziraphale voicing active concern for Crowley's well being. We then see Crowley actively trust Aziraphale with both their safeties in 1941 - whether it’s trusting Azriaphale to save them from the bomb about to drop on them or trusting Aziraphale’s trust in him to not accidentally discorporate him during the bullet catch. They even explicitly talk about their mutual trust in this year during their shades of gray conversation.

During Armageddon Crowley shows up trusting that Aziraphale will help him fix this and once Aziraphale agrees never once seems to consider the idea that Aziraphale would hide anything from him (even when Aziraphale is actively doing so).

He also critically knows that Aziraphale tried to reach God and got himself discorporated as a consequence. And likely specifically knows that Aziraphale talked to the Metatron and came away from that conversation realizing that Heaven would not help him. It's worth noting whether Crowley knows this bit or not that in this conversation Aziraphale not only explicitly questions the Metatron's authority but also uses the conversation to extract information from the Metatron.

Aziraphale leaves this conversation with an active lie to the Metatron and attempts to call Crowley to tell him everything he knew. He then continually chooses Crowley over Heaven. They pick their own side and help stop the world from ending.

And then, all season, Aziraphale keeps proving that the trust Crowley has always had in him is well earned. Aziraphale, even more than Crowley himself, brings up ideas of 'us' and 'our side' and 'our car'.

Aziraphale openly talks negatively of Heaven. Not only does he agree with Crowley's disbelief that Heaven managed to stay in charge sending people like Muriel down, but he even goes a step further, implying that they perhaps never had control over earth in that way.

He also, most critically, immediately and without hesitation, tries to turn down the Metatron's offer to even have a conversation. Aziraphale, who has also just brought a group of archangels to order, reaffirms his lack of interest in Heaven right then and there in front of Crowley. Right when the Metatron has reaffirmed the threat of the Book of Life is out of play.

Crowley trusts Aziraphale. He always has. And more than ever lately Aziraphale has given him proof that he doesn't have to worry about where he allegiances lay.

But. It's also worth noting. I don't think Crowley is as chill as he maybe seems like he is. Yes, he's sprawled out and speaking casually here, but to some degree this is a bit of posturing. He's playing it cool and also not encroaching on the control Aziraphale has managed to wrangle on this situation. But he also doesn't just let them wander off either. As soon as they hit the door, Crowley is out of the chair and walking to the front of the shop to watch them leave through the window. He's keeping tabs as they walk away.

He then banishes Muriel and promptly starts to clean. Now I'm always a little wary to mix Book and Show canon, but I do think his cleaning of the bookshop (as well as him carrying around stacks of books while babysitting Jim) are manifestations of Book!Crowley's tendency to want to stress clean. He's keeping himself busy and gets done too quickly then promptly glances at his watch before throwing himself into the chair with a frustrated noise. He's anxious and stressed the entire time Aziraphale is out of his line of sight.

In other words, Crowley's not actually as calm as he's presenting himself to be. He's trying to take that nervous energy out in a way that doesn't conflict with giving Aziraphale agency. Because he trusts his angel. And that in part is why it hits him so hard when it all blows up in his face.

#good omens #crowley #good omens meta #good omens spoilers #gos2 spoilers #good omens season 2 #answers #oh yeah this got waaaay long #oops

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saetoru · 2 years

Text

#𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐒

☰ SYNOPSIS ⋮ it’s not suguru’s fault satoru doesn’t treat you right, and it’s not his fault he can treat you better

— pairing ⋮ geto x reader (x gojo)

— tags ⋮ nsfw 18+, fem! reader, toxic! gojo, gojo x reader in the beginning, college! au, cheating (you on gojo), lovesick geto, toxic relationships, mentions of alcohol and drinking, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, slight exhibitionism (he fucks you against a window), disclaimer this is purely fiction

— word count ⋮ 6.8k

— notes ⋮ ty ris and kitty cat for beta reading and micheth and boy scout and viva my love for looking over bits and helping me as i sobbed dbdhjfggf love you all tons

the party should be boring—it should be a bit of a slow one since it’s date night for you and gojo. geto figures if he’s not going to be occupied by his best friend, then he might as well occupy himself with a stranger for the night. it’s a bit of a routine, really, fishing out girls with eyes as close to yours as he can find, and a smile as sweet as he can get. it’s never enough, but he supposes it’s better than nothing.

he smiles at a few girls, watches the way their eyes brighten and their lashes bat and their smiles are so sincere, and then he can’t help but imagine what your smile would look like if you looked at him like that.

he’s broken from his thoughts when he sees a pair of very familiar eyes—ones that are all too close to yours, and then he furrows his brows. it can’t be you—can it? you’re not supposed to be here, you’re supposed to be enjoying the night with his best friend (although, the thought does make his blood boil, so he can’t really say he’s complaining if you’re not.)

but he’s not mistaken, and there you are, walking in clung to gojo’s arm and pressed into his side (as always) as he saunters up to geto, and there’s a slight glumness on your face that geto can’t help but notice. he offers you a gentle smile, one you just barely reciprocate, one that even as fleeting and half-hearted as it is, makes his heart pound in his chest. he lets gojo clap his shoulder in greeting as he offers a nod in response, eyes still trained on you as you stare down at your feet.

you look perfect.

you’re all dolled up and god, you’re wearing that red lipstick that drives him insane. geto knows he shouldn’t, he knows this is wrong and that he should be ashamed—it’s wildly inappropriate to fantasize about someone else’s girlfriend, especially your friend’s no less—but for a fleeting moment, he lets himself imagine the way your lipstick might look smeared across his own lips. he can’t help but wonder why gojo would miss out on an opportunity to have you to himself, to have your lips on his (or maybe even other regions) in favor of being here at a party with cheap alcohol and outdated music blaring through the speakers.

“thought it was date night?” geto asks, raising his brow, “don’t tell me you flaked on your girl to bring her to this boring—”

“nah,” gojo grins, interrupting geto and reaching to pinch your cheek in affection. geto wants to scoff at the faux display, and he wants to roll his eyes at how you seem to lean in just a little to savor it. “she doesn’t mind. love these ol’ parties, don’t you baby?”

“mhm,” you nod, offering gojo a soft smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

liar, geto wants to say. he wants to shake you by the shoulders and scream that you’re a liar, that you could score so much better, that anyone would fight tooth and nail for a chance to do all the things a certain snow-haired asshole doesn’t. but gojo seems to be happy with your response, and you seem to get just the slightest bit hopeful at his reaction.

geto swears he can taste bile.

“see? she’s cool with it. we can still have fun here, the two of us,” gojo grins.

it’s times like these that geto wants to punch his best friend square on the jaw, the bubbling rage almost overwhelming as he watches you let yourself be taken for granted. he could treat you so much better—could make your smile reach your eyes and let the sun kiss your skin instead of tacky neon party lights. but you lean your cheek against gojo’s arm, fingers lacing with his, and geto looks away just in time as gojo presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

at one point, gojo satoru was completely obsessed with you—lovesick and smitten and seemingly devoted. at one point, he took you on extravagant dates and pulled out chairs and opened car doors. at one point, he answered your texts immediately and skipped things like this to give you a moment of his time.

he was so sweet, so picture perfect, and almost too good to be true. and perhaps he is—because now, little by little, glimpses of a different gojo are surfacing, and it’s a little too late for you to see the sharp fangs that slowly start to reveal themselves as sweet words from the serpent’s tongue are whispered into your ear. gojo satoru is good at getting what he wants—it’s not as though he’s used to being told no, and geto figures if his best friend’s been able to get his way for this long, he must have his strings to pull.

geto suguru thinks it’s rather unfair. you’re perfect—smart, funny, witty, hot. you’re everything he thinks he wants in a person if he had to make a list. but there’s just one small, teensy setback that he thinks is a little too complicated to ignore.

you’re clearly dating his best friend.

and there’s no mistake, geto is a loyal friend. he prides himself in being the one friend that gojo satoru has kept around since grade school, he prides himself in practically being an unofficial son to gojo’s parents, he prides himself in being in a family photo or two, and he prides himself in being the one person gojo seems to trust with anything. but then he sees you, and he sees your doe eyes and the innocent tilt of your head as you stare up at gojo—and he breaks.

he breaks from his loyalty as soon as his heart races and pants tighten and his skin turns hot…and he just can’t get you out of his head until he’s in the bathroom, splashing cool water on his face as he breathes heavily to calm himself down. you’re perfect, and gojo just doesn’t see it—and if he does, he just doesn’t give a damn.

and geto suguru thinks it’s rather unfair.

he sees the way you cling to gojo’s arm in an attempt to get your boyfriend’s attention, he sees the way you try to pry gojo’s eyes from ogling at girls clad in attire that’s practically next to nothing, he sees the slight puffiness in your face from what he’s certain were tears when you both show up late to outings, he sees the way you don’t seem to talk to anyone again as soon as gojo’s eyes send them a sharp glare through burning jealousy, and he sees the way you just seem lonely—like you’re dating his best friend without really dating him, and he wonders why you stick around when someone else could treat you so much better.

someone like himself.

“satoru,” you start, and geto doesn’t miss the way gojo’s eyes almost roll, “do you want to—”

“hold that thought. i’ll be right back, baby,” gojo cuts you off, flashing a charming little grin at you as he pulls his arm from your grasp, “gonna go get us some drinks.” gojo is so good at being charming, so good at making you soften as you seem to stare at him with starry eyes that tell geto you're touched by the action.

but geto knows better. he knows exactly what’s happening as gojo shoots him a look, one that screams thank god that he’s finally pulled away from you, and geto can’t help but clench his fists. but then your face turns sour as soon as gojo is out of earshot, and geto’s eyes furrow in slight confusion.

“well, he’s off,” you mumble, sighing to yourself in defeat. okay, so you’re more aware than he initially thought. geto looks at you with sympathy—a look you’ve come to hate after dating gojo for as long as you have—as he nods.

“probably won’t be back for a bit,” he adds, and under the ruse of a playful jab at his friend’s expense, he offers you an opening, a chance to talk. he stares at you carefully to see if you’ll take his invitation to open up.

because geto suguru wants to be there for you, he wants to wipe your tears and make you smile (though he’d prefer there weren’t any tears to begin with), and he wants to offer you solace in a way no one else has—just so maybe, one day, you’ll see how sweet he can be, how dedicated and loyal and caring he is. just so maybe, one day, you’ll see how you might have picked the wrong guy, and that the right one is closer than you think.

he wants you to see he’s everything gojo satoru is not. and he thinks it’s about time you see that it’s a good thing—and a good thing for you.

“it’ll be a miracle if he and i leave this party together,” you mutter, “he’ll probably get too drunk to drive me home.”

“he drives like he’s drunk even when he’s sober,” he raises a brow with a grin. you laugh, a sweet and melodic thing, and if he had a tail, he thinks it might be wagging.

“true,” you giggle, “i’d fear for my life either way.”

“how’s he never got a speeding ticket,” geto mutters, shaking his head in slightly amused fondness. you snort, inspecting your nails as you crack a fond smile yourself.

“he’s always been a sweet talker. i’m sure he’s been pulled over at least once.”

“probably cried his way out,” geto adds.

“probably sported a snotty nose for the full effect,” you joke, and then you both laugh, forgetting for a moment that your boyfriend discreetly abandoned you in favor of doing god knows what.

it’s comfortable, the silence. not the usual tense with gojo. you sigh softly, and he watches as a few people all but dry hump each other to the music in the distance as they “dance.”

“i can drive you, by the way,” geto offers after some time, making you give him a grateful smile. he’s almost embarrassed to admit how much that little smile of yours makes his heart hammer, how much it makes his breath hitch and palms sweat and world spin. he thinks it’s rather pathetic that a smile is enough to validate him as much as it does—but he can’t help but wonder, how long has it been since you’ve smiled at gojo like that?

it has to have been a long time, especially when the asshole hasn’t really cared to try and make your lips curl in such a sweet way as of late.

“thank you, suguru,” you smile warmly, and the sound of his name on your tongue is too saccharine for him to handle—his first name (he silently thanks gojo for doing one good thing in his life and getting you both on first-name basis). “i appreciate it. you’re a sweet guy, satoru always tells me about you.”

now that—that’s a bit of a wound in his heart. geto certainly hates the way gojo treats you, he hates the way gojo’s arms hold everything he wants in the world without even taking a moment to realize the weight of your worth, he hates the way your face isn’t as happy and gleeful as it should be when you’re around his best friend—but still, he loves his best friend. geto might hate the things gojo does, but he could never hate him.

but he also loves you, and he feels guilt flood his conscience that he wants you to speak poorly of gojo right now. here he is, fantasizing about taking something away from his friend, hoping and damn near praying for you to realize that gojo is a mistake. he wants you to see gojo for what he is—a horrible boyfriend, and geto needs you to see him for who he is—the one that could be an infinitely better one.

“does he?” geto asks smoothly, raising a brow and feigning indifference, “i didn’t think satoru mentioned me much. probably all embarrassing things, he’s always been a bastard like that.” bastard doesn’t even begin to describe gojo satoru.

you giggle again, and he almost feels nauseated at how perfect you sound.

“of course, he mentions you, silly,” you huff, “and it’s always good things. he likes you, you know.”

“we’ve been friends our whole lives, i would pray he does,” geto chuckles lowly, staring at you amused.

“you know what i mean,” you roll your eyes, reaching to playfully shove at his shoulder. he thinks he might be sick, thinks he might have to pull the same asshole move as gojo and leave you stranded if this is what you’ll do to him. his breath stills at the slight touch—you feel so warm, and he has to fight himself to not grab your retreating hand. “you’re probably the only friend he really likes,” you hum, “he doesn’t seem genuinely fond of the rest.”

“he’s not the most genuine guy to most, yeah,” geto snorts, shaking his head fondly. “actually, i think he might just hate everyone.”

“not you though,” you laugh.

“or you,” he adds, and then your eyes falter, and so does his smile.

fuck, he thinks, mind running a mile a minute. he’s probably ruined your mood, probably hurt your feelings, probably made you feel bad about your relationship, possibly even made you want to be left alone. what if you cry? or want to go home? or—

“well, i dont know about that one,” you say bitterly. “satoru could fool me if he’s trying to act like he cares.”

“what do you mean?” he asks, voice strained. as if you don’t know, he spits at himself in his head, as if you don’t see it yourself.

you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“he flirts with other girls, gets mad at me for talking to any guy that’s not him, cancels every plan we ever make, and all we ever do is argue anymore,” you rant, and you must be fed up to be listing all these things to your boyfriend’s best friend, the same guy who could repeat everything right back to gojo in a heartbeat (not that geto would ever do that to you—your secrets could send him right to his grave and he’d lay himself down with a smile on his face.)

and truth be told, geto is fed up too. he’s fed up with watching gojo slowly break you down and not doing anything about it, and he’s fed up with being selfless and hurting while gojo is selfish and uncaring.

maybe it’s time he’s a little selfish too.

“sounds hellish,” he says quietly.

“you have no idea,” you grumble. he wants to say he has a better idea than you think—but the words get caught in his throat.

“so why are you still with him?” he blurts instead, and to his dismay—and slight heartache too—your eyes suddenly soften. you pause, biting your lip, and suddenly, you don’t seem mad anymore. you seem apologetic. like you’re sorry for talking ill about your boyfriend in his absence, like you’re sorry you dared to see a flaw in him, like you’re sorry you ever opened your damn mouth at all.

your mouth parts to speak, and he knows instantly that it’s going to be some bullshit excuse on gojo’s behalf, and he grits his teeth.

“well, he’s never been in a serious relationship, you know? this is his first, and i don’t want to be too harsh on him—”

“are you serious?” geto interrupts, scowling as he stares at you in disbelief. you almost look offended, your face crinkling unhappily at his tone.

“well, yeah. he tries his best. it’s just, sometimes he just doesn’t realize he’s being a little—”

“that’s what you’re gonna call it? trying his best?” geto offers you an unamused chuckle, and you scowl, crossing your arms at him with raised brows.

“what would you know? you’re the single one here, last i checked. what are you, the relationship expert now?”

“doesn’t take an expert to know you’re letting him get away with shit you shouldn’t, sweetheart,” geto shoots back, and your eyes take on a dangerous glint. “and trust me, i’ve known satoru since childhood, shared a bed with him way before you have. he’s anything but unaware.”

he should stop—he should shut up and back off and save face so you don’t hate him, but geto can’t. he can’t understand why you’re not seeing it, why you’re not seeing him, why you’re not seeing how this could all be so much better if you realized you chose the wrong best friend and walked out of gojo’s arms to be in his.

“he’s your best friend, suguru. why are you so against him? what, you don’t wanna see him happy?” you challenge.

“well, are you happy?” he challenges back, and he’s just the slightest bit satisfied that you’re caught off-guard. he stares at the way your mouth opens to speak, but nothing seems to come out as you fumble for words to string into a response. he crosses his arms, staring at you knowingly—almost just a bit smugly—and he can tell you hate it.

but he knows you hate even more that he’s right.

“why don’t you back off? this is none of your business, geto.”

that makes him stiffen.

geto. geto? the sound of his surname rolling off your tongue so venomously makes him see red. for a moment, he almost sees gojo in you. he sees narrowed eyes that stare into him like he’s your prey, like he’s the mouse and you’re the snake waiting to sink your teeth into him, and he stares at you with wide eyes.

and then something in him snaps, something angry and bitter and hurt and so incredibly tired. it’s not fair. it’s not fair that gojo gets to treat you like a burden, or an afterthought, or someone that’s just there, while geto wants to make you feel like the sun is at the reach of your fingertips—and what’s worse is that in the end, gojo gets to be satoru (sometimes even just toru) and he’s reduced down to geto instead of suguru.

and geto suguru thinks it’s rather unfair, and he’s sick and tired of pretending like he can shove it down and watch this go on for any longer than it already has.

“yeah? fine then,” he mutters, grabbing your arm and pulling you along, making you gasp as you struggle in his hold. he makes sure not to hurt you—because really, he could never—but he doesn’t give you any room to escape. you stumble as he weaves you both through the crowd, ignoring the stares and the pauses and the worried glances, ignoring the way people whisper and point as you struggle and yell for geto to let go while he only grits his teeth and pulls you along faster.

–

it’s not until he finds an empty room does he let go of your wrist—a room that he rather harshly told a couple to leave from (after he lied about it being his). you stare at him bewildered, eyes boring into his as he looks at you with something akin to rage. but there’s something else in his gaze, something close to hurt, you think, but that can’t be it…can it?

“what is your issue tonight—” but geto cuts you off before you can finish asking.

“my issue is that you’re with the wrong fucking guy,” he spits, watching as your eyes widen in shock (and confusion), “satoru is a jackass and he doesn’t fucking love you. not like me,” he digs his own finger into his chest to gesture to himself. your eyes have never widened as much as they have, and geto clenches his shirt in his fist.

“wha—suguru, you…what about…,” you trail off, unsure of what to say—because really, what can you? letting out a shaky sigh, you shake your head, “no, you can’t. you can’t feel this way about—”

“well, i do,” he says firmly, eyes staring into yours desperately. “you and i both know i’d never be like him,” he adds softly.

stop talking, suguru, he thinks, stop making things worse. you’re going too far—but then the words keep spilling, worse than the last.

“satoru doesn’t know that you hate parties, or that you don’t even like that stupid fucking grape soda he always gets you. i’d get you orange cause it’s your favorite—cause i know that stuff. me.” you open your mouth to protest, likely to claim that you do in fact like grape soda when he cuts you off before you can. “and he rolls his fucking eyes when you call him,” he adds, “see it with my own eyes whenever we hang out.”

that’s a low one, he has to admit, a dirty card to use, but his brain can’t keep up with his tongue.

“n-no he doesn’t,” you say quietly, lip wobbling as tears spring in your eyes. “you’re just saying that b-because…because you want me to—”

“he puts his phone on do not disturb when you text him, he lies about where he is, he flirts with waitresses at restaurants, he’s a fucking asshole,” geto continues.

that’s enough, she’ll never speak to you again if you don’t stop, his mind screams.

“suguru,” you warn weakly, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even take a breath.

“he treats you like a puppet, don’t you fucking see it? makes you do things you don’t want, controls things, makes you apologize when you didn’t do shit—”

“suguru!” you repeat louder, voice a shrill and desperate scream, and he wonders if it’s to shut him up or to run away from the truth. there are tears streaming down your face by now, a steady stream, rolling down your puffy cheeks one by one.

“oh c’mon! he’s practically only nice to you when he wants to fuck you! how is that love?” he spits, and your breath hitches, making him pause.

you stare at him, eyes wide and mouth parted and body frozen in shock, and geto pants as he stares at you pleadingly—like he’s begging you to see that he’s been waiting this whole time to be noticed. but then he notices your face, the extent of your tears, the way your eyes are almost pleading with him to take it all back, and his heart clenches as his own eyes widen.

he falters, unsure how he’s let himself go this far. you’re crying…and geto promised himself that he’d never be the reason you’d cry—but then again…is this really his doing? is it really him if he’s just listing all the things gojo has done?

“hey,” he whispers, taking slow steps to reach you, hand slowly reaching for your face. if you could’ve willed yourself to meet his gaze, then maybe you’d have seen the slight hurt that paints over his features when you take a small step back—but it doesn’t stop him. geto is going to give you an apology—even if it’s the last thing he does. “hey, i’m sorry. i went too far,” he whispers, “please don’t cry, sweetheart.”

his voice is a soft coo, all while his thumbs are reaching for your cheeks and wiping your tears. it’s soothing, the drag of his thumb, gentle and so careful—like you’re fragile and worth being cautious for. gojo has never stopped to wipe your tears like this…and then you realize he’s never stopped to apologize like this either—even when you know he knows he’s wrong.

it makes your heart beat a little faster, and even if you shouldn’t, you find yourself craving just a little more of geto’s touch.

“but he said,” you sniffle, “he…he said he wants me,” your voice cracks, “said i make him happy.”

you don’t know if you’re insisting to geto or yourself at this point.

“i know,” he murmurs, and in a moment, your cheek is pressed against a sturdy chest, two muscled arms wrapping tightly around you and shielding you from everything that can hurt you—even if that’s geto himself. but then you wonder…is it geto who’s hurting you, or the truth in his words? “but he doesn’t act like it,” he reminds you gently, and geto is being patient with you, you realize. something else gojo never is.

“but satoru…he…he loves me, he’s just—”

“and i love you,” he argues. you’re not supposed to feel your heart start to race just a little, and you’re certainly not supposed to feel just a tad bit relieved at a confession like that—but geto is sweet. he’s gentle and delicate and just a little fragile, and he’s everything gojo isn’t. you’re tired of fighting for a spot in gojo’s life—and even more tired of having everyone watch you do it. “but i’d love you right. let me show you what it feels like when it’s right. can i show you? please, sweetheart?”

and he begs—he’s begging you to let him love you, to show you what your boyfriend can’t, to treat you like you deserve. all reason leaves your mind as soon as his hands lightly grasp at your waist, and then his lips hover over yours, almost like he’s asking for permission, almost like he’s just waiting for the push.

suddenly, you don’t care about gojo anymore. you don’t even think about him when you nod slowly and stare into geto’s eyes.

“okay,” you whisper, “i–yeah…okay,” you nod.

it happens all too fast—all before you can comprehend that this is wrong and before you can change your mind. the light that breaks over geto’s face at your words makes your heart flutter in a way gojo hasn’t in a really long time, so long that you throw away all reason. just the brush of his lips against yours makes you gasp, body leaning into his as quickly as possible, lips pressing firmly against his and drinking him in.

he sighs softly against your mouth, hands cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking your warm skin. it’s so gentle—it’s so careful, so meaningful and soft and loving and everything you’ve been missing out on. and if satoru is the sun, you think suguru is pouring rain, each drop seeping into every crevice and every crack of your soul and filling you up, soothing over and placating the aching burns and stinging heat that satoru leaves behind.

“i love you,” he murmurs against your mouth, pecking all over your face slowly, taking his time to map every inch of your skin and explore the dips of your features with his lips. “love you, love you, love you—so much more than he does. so much more than he can.”

“suguru—”

“let me show you, please. need to show you,” he mumbles, “that i love you. that you’re perfect. that satoru was a mistake. i’ll show you real love.”

“show me, suguru,” you say breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you cling to his body, “want you to love me,” you murmur.

“fuck,” he grunts, the taste of your lips—and that fucking red lipstick he loves—is better than he imagined. and then it happens all too quickly. you’re shoved against the nearest window, his hands are tugging off clothes, yours slipping his shirt over his arms, and his lips wander over to your neck, sucking on the skin and leaving marks in their wake. “been wanting to do this for so long. you have any idea what you do to me? no pussy’s like yours,” he mumbles.

geto presses kisses across your cheeks, nibbles gently on the flesh affectionately in a way that almost feels more intimate than sex itself, in a way that makes you let out a soft giggle. you can’t remember the last time you giggled while gojo fucked you.

“you haven't even felt it yet, weirdo,” you say through soft gasps, your hands finding their way to his hair and tugging on the strands as his lips move to press against the sweet spot under your ear, leaving a small mark for you to remember him by.

“oh yeah?” he chuckles, smiling against your skin, “i don’t need to,” he mumbles. his cock is throbbing as it strains against his pants, and he grinds himself over your clothed cunt. he smirks to himself just a little when he notices how wet you are even through the fabric. “nobody’s as perfect as you. satoru’s a fucking lunatic,” he breathes, “you got this pretty little face,” he leaves a trail of kisses across both your cheeks, “pretty little lips,” he plants a soft peck on them, “pretty little tits,” his hands unclasp your bra and send it flying across the room behind him as he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently as his hand reaches to pinch and roll the other.

“su-suguru,” you gasp, fingers tangling into his dark locks, pulling them until his bun loosens into a messy one with stray strands sticking out. he groans slightly at the feeling, moving his lips to attach to your other tit as his hand moves down to slip past your waistband, tugging down your pants and underwear in one go. you whine as he pulls away, pouting at the loss of his tongue rolling over your pebbled nipple.

“what? satoru never does that?” he smirks, “you seem like you enjoyed that.”

“no, but he does that,” you huff, lips curling into a pout, “you act as cocky as him.”

“well, we are best friends,” geto murmurs, hand cupping your cheek as he leans just barely over your lips, pulling away slightly when you try to close the gap, huffing out a breathy laugh when you glare at him. “we’ve got some things in common.”

cute—you’re so cute, and he wonders how gojo has you wrapped around his finger and not the other way around.

“hopefully there are some things you don’t,” you whisper, and then his lips are on yours, pressed hard against you as he all but pours himself into you. kissing satoru is like giving up the oxygen in your lungs to get just one more moment, but kissing suguru is like a breath of fresh air—like you have all the time in the world and no one to take it away.

“well, for one, i think i have better hair,” he says in between kisses, making you giggle again as his thumb rubs circles into your hips before his hand wanders until his finger is dragging along your slick folds. you let out a tiny gasp, eyes fluttering closed and leaning your head back against the glass of the window as his fingers inch past you, until he’s knuckles deep and you’re squirming for him to move.

“suguru, do something,” you whine, and he grins down at you, pearly whites flashing as he takes in how pretty you look just for him.

“gotta take my time with you,” he hums, “be patient, sweetheart.”

true to his word, he takes his time, angling his fingers as he thrusts in and out of you slowly, almost curling into your sweetest spots in slow motion as your mouth hangs open and wanton moans spill from your swollen lips. he watches, lets himself savor the sight—because he deserves it, he deserves to give himself a show after being so patient this whole time. he thinks how it’s your turn for patience.

“p-please,” you sob, trying to roll your hips and pick up his pace, “faster…f-faster, suguru—” you cut yourself off with a whimper when his thumb rolls over your clit—and even that seems to be deliberately slow. geto seems to fuck you on his fingers for his own pleasure, like he wants to—not like it’s something he has to do so you’re ready for the real thing.

your mind is too consumed by the steady ache building between your legs, too focused on the way his touch ignites your skin and leaves you flushed to even think about how much better this is than when your own boyfriend does it.

“okay, sweetheart,” he coos, chuckling when you stare up at him through wide, watery eyes, “you know i’d never say no to you,” he leans down and kisses your jaw, letting your arms wrap around his neck and tug him closer, “look so pretty like this. for me.”

finally, finally, his fingers pick up their pace, wet sounds ringing through the room as he bullies his digits into you, fingers coated in your slick as his palm rolls over your clit. your voice lilts higher in pitch when he curls into a certain spot, making your arms wrap tighter around him as you clutch onto his body. your thighs quiver and your chest heaves and you can barely stand upright—and then you cum. hard. the pleasure burns through your spine as your hips buck against his hand and your mouth parts with a silent scream, walls spasming around his fingers as he slowly rides you through your orgasm.

“suguru—fuck suguru ‘m cumming,” you whine, eyes squeezed shut as he watches you in awe. his hand squeezing your cheeks together makes your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze.

“nuh uh, pretty. keep your eyes on me,” he commands, and you stare right into his eyes as the last waves of your orgasm crash over you, drinking in the way he watches you like you’re something ethereal—and you suppose to geto, you are, however foreign that feeling might be.

his lips are instantly on yours, a mess of teeth and tongue clashing, desperate and needy as he hungrily drinks in your gasps and pours in groans of his own. his tongue explores your mouth, and he lets out a soft moan when your hands travel down to his crotch, hand slowly palming him through his pants.

his breath goes ragged as you slip his length out past the waistband, smirking slightly to himself when he watches you marvel at his girth. your hand slowly pumps him a few times, gliding your thumb through the slit and smearing pre cum over the velvety skin of his reddened tip. geto hisses as he fights back a needy moan, inhaling sharply when your hand slowly pulls away.

“what if satoru comes looking for us,” you finally whisper, breaking him away from the short moment he takes to stare at your figure. his eyes darken, and then he’s sliding out of his jeans, watching as your gaze falls to his cock as your eyes rake over it now that it’s out in the open fully.

“still thinking of him when you’ve got me?” he sneers, hands grabbing both of yours and pinning them over your head, making your eyes widen, “i’ll fuck his name right out your system. fuck you so stupid you only remember one name—mine,” he growls, and you almost come undone at the possessiveness laced in his tone.

gojo has always been possessive—but it’s always been to cage you. geto makes you feel like there’s only one place you’re meant to belong, and it’s always going to be with him.

you lean in, a surge of confidence washing over you as you grin, leaning in until your lips hover over his and he can feel your warm breath fan across his face. you almost miss the slight hitch of his breath, your lips curling up at the edges in even more smugness.

“then what are you waiting for?” you hum, “satoru would have me pressed against this window by now—”

“you talk too much, sweetheart,” geto grunts as he interrupts you, and instantly, your cheek is pressed against the window as he turns your body, your palms lying flat against the glass to brace yourself as geto grabs your hips and just barely slides his tip to rub up and down your entrance. you whimper, pressing back to try and get more, and he tuts, gripping your hips tighter to keep you in place. “don’t be greedy now,” he says smugly, “you were the one talking about another man.”

he must bring in the inner brat in you, you think—and it’s partly because he’s already spoiling you and partly because he just pays such close attention, but you huff as you glance at him over your shoulder.

“technically you’re the other man,” you remind him. gritting his teeth, he slips his length past your folds instantly, bottoming out as his tip kisses your sweet spot. he all but pulls out completely before slamming into you again, and you gasp, moaning with a high-pitched squeal as he groans lowly from your walls clamping down on him.

“then we’ll just have to change that,” he spits, “we’ll make sure i’m the only man.”

his cock drills into your cunt, skin slapping against skin as his tip slams deep into you, making your hips try and match his rhythm as you fuck into him and meet his thrusts. you choke on gasps, mewling when his hand reaches over you to toy with your clit, rubbing circles as he groans into your neck.

“suguru,” you cry, “l-like that. please.” his forehead falls to the crook of your neck, heavy pants and low moans meeting your ears, making the ache between your legs build more at the sound of him as he breathes your name.

“so fuckin’ tight,” he rasps, “told you there’s no pussy like yours,” he moans, and his words would have made you flush, but you’re too busy grinding onto his length and chasing your high to fully register what he says. his hand trails from your hip to loosely wrap around your tit, resting there as he squeezes and pinches your nipple with his fingers. his other hand is still playing with your clit, and you feel your legs shake as your second orgasm quickly approaches you.

“wish i l-let you fuck me sooner,” you stutter, gasping as you feel his veins drag along your walls and his tip slams into your sweet spot, making your back arch against his chest as he keeps you standing upright. your palms are sweaty against the glass, and you should be worried that anyone who looks up from the front lawn could easily see you—but it only excites you more, making your walls flutter around him.

“so wet for me,” he coos, “you ever get this wet for satoru? does he even fuck you right? can’t be if you’re falling apart so easily,” he smiles slyly into your neck as he sucks on the skin, leaving marks that he hopes to god gojo will see. “well? does he, sweetheart?”

“n-no—only you, suguru,” you wail.

“that’s right,” he says breathily, “‘m not letting you cum for anyone but me from now on,” he growls, and you feel the coil in your belly start to unravel, feeling the familiar sensation of your orgasm creeping up on you. you know geto is close too from the way his pants are almost whiny, his pace turning sloppy as he ruts his hips desperately into you.

you feel his cock twitch, and with a few more thrusts of his hips and glides of his thumb on your clit, you cum again, walls spasming around his cock as your mouth hangs open in a shrill wail. he lets out a breathy moan—lilting at the end to a soft whine as he spills into you with thick, hot spurts of cum.

“f-fuck, fuck you’re so perfect,” he groans, “so good, so sweet—all mine. want you to be mine…i could treat you so well, could love you so well,” he babbles, sloppy thrusts of his hips riding you both through your highs.

“p-please, suguru,” you whimper as you ride out the last few waves of your orgasm, “want you. only you,” your voice is so endearing, so precious—geto swears he falls in love all over again. you think you can get used to this, and for a moment, you bask in geto’s soft affection as his thumb slowly rubs circles into your hip.

not even for a second does gojo cross your mind—not even an ounce of guilt. you don’t worry about if he’s searching for you, how he’ll react if he finds out, or even about the simple fact that you've cheated.

geto is too intoxicating—too warm and comforting and close that it makes your mind blank.

and it’s unexpected, really—gojo doesn’t know how else to react except let his eyes widen in horror when he comes to the front lawn to look for you and geto. he stands there in shock, looking up to the window and watching as you cum on his best friend’s cock. bright blue eyes meet dark obsidian ones, and gojo swears there’s pure smugness on geto’s face when he watches him press a kiss to your cheek.

rip gojo even tho u deserved it pal. again disclaimer: i don’t think of any of the characters to be toxic in this manner this is purely fiction

PLEASE REFRAIN FROM ASKING FOR PART 2

6K notes · View notes

aevallare · 3 months

Text

excuses

light plot. heavy smut. mind the warnings. you can read on ao3 here

pairing: astarion/f!tav

word count: 4424

warnings: Aphrodisiacs, Semi-Public Sex, Squirting, Gags, Vaginal Fingering, Soft Dom Astarion, Wall Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Creampie, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Biting, Hand Kink, Inappropriate Use of Tadpole | Illithid Parasite Powers, Established Relationship, Rough Sex, Hair-pulling

preview:

“Go.” Auri's voice is hoarse. “This isn't your problem.”

Astarion's eyes narrow. “If you really think that I'm going to leave you here by yourself–”

“Astarion, please.” Again, Auri begs. “Something was wrong with that meat I ate. It feels infernal. Everything’s so warm. I can't–”

enjoy!!

-----

The orthon’s dead and his stronghold is now their camp for the evening. It’s a nice change from the usual; after barricading the entrance, they won’t even have to take watches. It’s well-fortified and Auri’s reasonably confident that they’ve wiped out anything in the immediate area that might want to kill them.

So spirits are light.

When Wyll jokingly tells her to lick the spider, Auri rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t be stupid. We’ll take it back to camp and cook it.”

Astarion won’t partake regardless, but he does afford her two raised eyebrows in response. Shadowheart grimaces and Wyll barks out a laugh that fades when Auri doesn’t join him.

“You’re joking,” Wyll says weakly. Auri sets her mouth in a line.

“There isn’t much else to eat down here.”

“Unless you’re Astarion,” Shadowheart snorts. It’s true enough, though it makes Auri blush. The marks on her neck are testament to that.

Wyll stares at Auri as she harvests meat from the spider with a dagger she pulls from her belt, and he says, “I’ll stick with what rations we have, I think.”

Auri shrugs. She ate worse when she was on the street. Her knife cuts into the spider’s corpse with a sickening crack through the exoskeleton before Astarion asks, “What are you doing?”

Auri looks up at him. “I told you I wasn’t going to let it go to waste.”

“No, that’s not–” Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose and crouches down next to her. “Move. You’re mutilating it.”

Auri’s barely started and he’s criticizing her. When he shoos her to the side with a flick of his wrist, Auri lets herself be dismissed. She stands, and behind them, Wyll and Shadowheart get to work setting up camp.

They’ve all long shed their armor. Astarion’s careful to push up the sleeves of his shirt before pulling a dagger of his own from his boot. The veins of his forearms thread down into his hands, thick and protruding, and as Auri watches, he gets to work.

“Did you moonlight as a butcher while you were a magistrate?” Auri asks.

Astarion exhales a laugh. “No, but as you might have guessed, taking things apart was an oft-used skill of mine after my time as a magistrate.”

The joke is dark, but Astarion doesn’t seem upset. In fact, he continues, “Are you really going to eat spider meat?”

“I put vampire in my mouth all the time and you never seem to complain about that.”

“True. Your exotic appetite is one of my favorite things about you.”

His dagger filets with grace; no movement is wasted. When he’s finally picked the spider clean, he looks up at her. The dagger’s still in his hand and he toys with it absently.

Auri’s always been enamored of his hands. Her own are calloused, roughened by years of playing every instrument she could get her hands on. They’re a lyrist’s hands. There’s nothing wrong with them; they’re nothing but tools.

His, though.

Astarion’s hands have never made music as far as Auri knows, but they make the world sing at his discretion anyway. Flesh and skin bow and warble at his fingers’ mercy, and gods know that her body’s sung under his touch more times than she can count.

Her hands are tools. His are art.

Astarion’s thumb brushes over the hilt of his dagger a final time before he stows it once more. Auri’s mouth is dry and it occurs to her that she’s staring. Astarion’s eyes catch hers and he smirks.

“See something you like, darling?”

His hand drifts up to push his hair out of his eyes. Auri’s gaze follows the movement like it’s a compulsion.

“Always,” she manages, and Astarion laughs for real then, a soft, secret thing that she’d never be graced with if Shadowheart or Wyll were nearby.

“Be careful staring like that. I might get the wrong idea.”

Auri blinks at him, finally pulled from the single-minded fixation she’s had on his hands. “What do you mean? We had sex just a couple of days ago–”

“Details.”

Auri gathers the meat in her hands and walks to the campfire. No one bothers her as she stokes the flames before skewering the meat on a sharpened stick and setting it to roast on the fire.

Shadowheart settles in next to her, and when she does, she wrinkles her nose. “That smells awful.”

“Everything down here smells awful–”

Astarion’s taken a seat and cracked open a book, but without looking up, he says, “You’re both right. This place absolutely reeks and that filth you’re cooking is making it worse.”

Wyll laughs. Auri frowns. Shadowheart huffs.

When the meat, for all intents and purposes, appears cooked, Auri pulls it from the fire. “You two are sure you don’t want any?” She looks at Wyll and Shadowheart in turn.

Wyll, at least, says, “No, thank you.”

Shadowheart just scoffs. “I’d rather starve.”

Auri shrugs. Her teeth tear through the spider meat, and if Auri doesn’t chew, it doesn’t taste so bad. Shadowheart’s grimace grows more and more disgusted, but Auri’s got a full stomach, so she doesn’t particularly care.

-----

There’s been little time to be unfocused in the Gauntlet of Shar. Everything is a potential or actual threat, and though he’s more or less convinced of their safety in this fortified pocket of ground that the orthon carved out for himself, Astarion still trances with a dagger in arm’s reach.

Still, his trance is light, and it’s been less than a day since he’s fed. He’s so much more when his senses are thrumming with Auri’s blood–

And it’s the sound of Auri that wakes him.

It’s a stifled, strangled, choking noise that pulls Astarion from his trance. It’s not close by, but he’d recognize Auri anywhere. It doesn’t sound like she’s in danger, exactly–

But Astarion slinks out from his tent anyway. Wyll and Shadowheart are nowhere to be seen; if he focuses, he can hear them both, breathing heavy with sleep in their tents. It’s hard to do that, though, when Auri’s gasping grows more and more labored.

So he follows it. And he finds her. And the reason she’s so far from camp isn’t hard to deduce once he does.

Auri’s slouched against a crumbling stone pillar. She’s managed to find a place free from bloodshed and gore, and her mind is entirely elsewhere (though she almost certainly wouldn’t have noticed Astarion anyway). From this angle it’s difficult to make much out, but Astarion doesn’t need to be able to see her in order to know what she’s doing.

Even from here, he can hear her ragged whimpering. He can smell the heat between her legs.

There’s something in Auri’s mouth, but when she slumps further down the pillar with a moan that dances on the line between relief and frustration, there’s no mistaking what she’s doing. She’s just made herself come, and she’s unsatisfied with the result.

She pulls the cloth from her mouth and whines, “Fuck.” Her body heaves and she fists both hands in her hair, leggings loose around her hips.

The idea of just watching her is appealing, but as Astarion looks on, tears prick at Auri’s eyes. He can see her bite the inside of her cheek in the way that she does when she feels that things are hopeless, and when he says, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, love, but you’ve looked better,” Auri doesn’t even startle. That’s when Astarion knows that something is truly wrong. He’d guessed, of course – there’s a feverish sweat beading on her brow and it’s unusual for her to wander off alone – but when she greets him without her usual bright smile, there’s no room left for doubt.

“Go back to camp. Please.”

There’s desperation in her voice. Astarion tilts his head to the side. “Darling–”

The pet name barely leaves his mouth before he feels her parasite push into his mind. It doesn't ask permission before it enters; Auri's lost control entirely. Astarion grunts in shock and then the assault of her tadpole on his comes into focus.

What afflicts her is lust incarnate.

“Please.” Auri struggles to form words but she tries anyway. “I'm not… myself. I can take care of this on my own. I swear.”

She's whimpering, filled with so much desire that it's causing her physical pain. When Auri tells him to leave, it's not for her own benefit. He can tell because of what the tadpole pushes into his mind, Auri's will be damned.

I could think about his hands forever. If he was the only one to touch me for the rest of my life, I'd be satisfied.

Astarion doesn't recognize what magic this is exactly, but her lust is unnaturally strong. “Not that I'm not flattered, but–”

There's a stone slab that was probably used as a table. I'm bent over it. Astarion's behind me and neither of us has bothered getting undressed. His cock pushes into me and when it does, there's finally some sense of relief. If it weren't for the gag, I'd scream loud enough to attract every enemy from here to the Underdark when he thrusts.

Astarion, suddenly, is also finding it difficult to form coherent thought.

“Go.” Auri's voice is hoarse. “This isn't your problem.”

Astarion's eyes narrow. “If you really think that I'm going to leave you here by yourself–”

“Astarion, please.” Again, Auri begs. “Something was wrong with that meat I ate. It feels infernal. Everything’s so warm. I can't–”

Auri lets out a muted moan. When Astarion steps forward, she does her best to shrink away, but the pillar she'd been using for support stops her. She doesn’t want to ask. She doesn’t want to put him in a position where he’d have to say yes or no.

He puts his palm on stone in the space next to her head.

“Would you feel better if I touched you?” Astarion asks.

Auri’s fingers shake. Her eyes flit between the hand that he isn’t using to support himself and his face.

“I don’t know,” she says. Her pulse throbs in her throat. “You don’t have to–”

He interrupts her, ignoring the latter half of her words. “Would you like to try?”

A sob wrenches itself from her body. “It’s the only thing I can think about.”

And at last, he won’t be the one at the mercy of her kindness. Maybe he’d feel used if it were someone else. But it isn’t. It’s her.

Astarion dips down to kiss her, and again, Auri’s lust pours into him. She bites at his lip greedily, hips bucking forward gracelessly into his.

When he pulls away, hand sliding beneath her waistband, Auri says, “The gag.”

Somehow, Astarion had forgotten about that. “The gag?”

Auri nods her head, a moment from falling apart without him even having touched any of the places she likes best. “The others– I don’t want the others to hear.”

When a finger slides inside her, Auri’s eyes roll to the back of her head. She’s warmer than usual, but other than that and the desire rolling off of her body, she doesn’t seem to be in any danger.

Yes. He can take care of this.

Astarion’s palm pushes up against her clit as his finger gets to work, and with his other hand, he pulls Auri’s makeshift gag up from around her neck. “What is this?”

“I stole a clean bandage from Shadowheart’s things. Another finger, please. It’s not enough–”

The Auri he’s used to is a tender thing, though she’s more than capable of playing rough. He punctuates the second finger that she asked for by stuffing the cloth bandage into her mouth. She was wet already; when the gag’s back in place, she clenches around his fingers.

“Do you want to talk or do you want me to take care of you?” he asks.

There’s fire in her eyes. Auri can’t speak, but the images she pushes into him are obscene. Astarion doesn’t even have time to process them all before he says, “Well, we can certainly try a few.”

Astarion feels the tension inside her play up with each touch. Her leggings have fallen to her ankles and the hand that’s not buried in her cunt massages her breast. He gives her nipple a delicate twist, and the strangled moan that escapes her is more than worth his trouble. The other breast falls prey to his mouth instead, and when he bites at the soft flesh there, Auri’s knees buckle.

“We can’t have that, love,” he says, and he heaves her leg up, the crook of her knee in his hand. She’s still technically wearing her leggings; they’re just in a pool around the leg still holding her to the ground. Auri’s eyes go wide at the new angle, but there’s no complaint. From here, Astarion can touch her easily, freely, and as his pace quickens, so too does her heart rate.

Please, Astarion– please–

The gag’s occupied her mouth, but she’s still able to beg through the parasite.

“I do love how you look when you come for me,” he says, and with his fingers hitched inside her, Auri shatters. It’s different from usual but no less entrancing, and for the briefest moment as Auri squirts into his hand, she almost looks like herself.

Her eyes are wide. Gods.

“That’s new,” he says, and Auri would probably laugh if the gag wasn’t still in her mouth. “Feel better?”

His cock’s hard, but that’s hardly the point of this venture.

Auri pauses before nodding, and maybe Astarion would believe it if her body language wasn’t completely at odds with her mind flooding him with the image of him spilling himself inside her as she's bent over the slab of stone that he can see from the corner of his eye. Astarion smirks, feathering his thumb over her hypersensitive clit as he pulls his fingers out from inside her. She whimpers for him, and he whispers in her ear, “Liar.”

This isn’t your problem, she says again.

Astarion licks the evidence of her orgasm from his hand. Her eyes lock onto the motion, and when he’s done, he lifts her into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Unfortunately, without you around, my meal ticket disappears. So you are indeed my problem.”

She’s bare from the waist down. Auri’s slick enough that Astarion can feel it through his clothes. His cock’s already straining against his trousers.

She’s his problem in more ways than one.

When he lays her down on her back, he’s careful to make sure her shirt’s pulled down. The slab’s rough, unfinished, but she doesn’t seem to care. She sits up, pulling the gag from her mouth, and she says, “Let me.”

Auri reaches for the laces that will free his erection, but Astarion takes a step back so that he’s out of reach. He plucks the gag from her hand, and says, “I asked before. Do you want to talk or do you want me to take care of you?”

A shiver runs up her body and she doesn’t answer.

And that's answer enough, really. Well. That and the picture of him pulling her to the edge of the slab, bottoming out inside her, her breasts bare.

With painstaking restraint, Astarion exhales through his nose. “Oh, darling,” he says through gritted teeth. “Lie back for me, would you?”

If pressed, he’d admit it’s not the most graceful way he’s ever pulled out his cock, but it’s difficult to care when Auri is quite literally dripping in front of him. Her throat quivers and her fingers twitch; she’s doing everything she can not to touch herself, though Astarion’s not quite sure why.

He strokes himself thoughtlessly, like it’s the only natural course of action, but he won’t leave her wanting. This isn’t a night for games, although they’ve both been having fun despite her condition if the state of her thoughts is any indicator. When he dips down and presses a kiss between her legs, Auri cries out.

The gag’s still in his hand.

He fills her mouth with it in the same moment that he fills her cunt with his cock.

To distill Auri down into one word is impossible, but when he’s inside her, Astarion would struggle to name any adjective but warm. She’s a billion things, of course, not least of all naive, gullible, and foolhardy, but more than anything, she’s the essence of the sun made flesh. She’s made warmer still by whatever it is that’s afflicting her, but her body always leaves him in awe anyway.

A marvel of mortality.

When he thrusts into her, the gag swallows up a squeal that Astarion would frankly have liked to hear in its entirety. Auri’s hand reaches up behind her, nails scrabbling for purchase against unrelenting stone. When she turns her head to the side, saliva pools under her cheek, her eyes half-lidded. The underside of her breast teases him from beneath her shirt, and it’s like she was made for him–

Rip the shirt. I don’t care.

Somehow, even through her addled haze, she’s still thinking about his enjoyment. He could wonder at it, but he’d rather spend the time doing as she says. Astarion fists a hand in the front of her shirt and pulls her close. Auri’s head lolls backward before she regains the wherewithal to support herself, and before Astarion can second-guess himself, his fangs tear into her shirt enough that his hands can do the rest.

He takes a breast in his hand and squeezes as he pushes her down onto her back again, but not before he lifts her legs up onto either of his shoulders. Auri folds almost in half for him, his hips grinding against her clit as he buries himself fully inside her.

Frantic need and desire ripple through her, and if Astarion isn't careful, he'll lose control himself. The new position's made her tighter, and she's close. Astarion can feel it in the way her hips match his rhythm and from the desperate want in her eyes as her walls clench around him.

“My beautiful, depraved thing,” Astarion says, thrusting deep. It's impossible to keep his voice unaffected, but it doesn't matter. It has its intended effect anyway. “Look at you, those pretty tits bouncing as you take my cock. What would the others think if they saw you like this?”

Astarion–

“Their pretty little leader with her shirt torn open, bare on her back, coming for me again? It's a sight beyond compare.”

He won't spend himself inside her yet, though the temptation is certainly there. She's been pouring images of him fucking her into his head since they started, and this time, he returns the favor. When Auri sees herself as Astarion sees her, pupils blown out, blotchy all over, gag soaked through, she unravels. The parasite explodes with her orgasm; Astarion feels it rip through her like it's his own even as she spasms around him.

His own eyes roll back as Auri’s scream fights against the gag, but he doesn't come, and even as the climax is still rolling over her, Astarion hears her.

More– I'm sorry; I need–

She never asks for what she wants – not like this. Auri's always thinking of what he needs.

And she'd shown him before what she wanted.

“You need my cum, don't you? You want me to fuck you until I empty myself inside you?”

Whatever other thoughts she might have had go mute. Her eyes lock with his.

And this really isn't about him, but it occurs to Astarion that that's exactly what he wants, too.

He pulls his cock out from her and misses her warmth immediately, but it's a necessary evil. The beautiful thing about the tadpole and all the time that they’ve spent together is that they’re always a little bit in each other’s heads. The thought is terrifying if Astarion considers it too long, but it’s convenient that they’re on the same page about her scrambling off of the slab. Before she can readjust, Astarion presses his lips to her neck. That, too, makes her moan, and the echoes of her affection rattle along their connection.

I adore you, Auri says, and they could have done all this without Auri’s feverish state as an excuse, but it does remove an element of vulnerability that makes things much easier for Astarion.

The feeling’s mutual, though voicing it still makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t have the vocabulary for it anyway.

His fingers trail up her jawline. Auri’s eyes shine. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs instead, and when she reaches down between his legs to take him in her hand, his nostrils flare.

She’s still the sun compared to him. Warmth radiates from her. His judgment’s impaired by his personal desire and the feeling of Auri’s hand on his cock, still slick from being inside her. Astarion’s eyes flutter shut.

Briefly, he registers that she isn't quite as warm as she was before, but there's no room for the thought.

Show me what to do, Auri says, as if she doesn't already know. It's the opposite of how this started, when she didn't want to put him in a position where he'd feel obligated to please her.

Auri's tadpole brushes up against his, and he'd known anyway, but it becomes crystal-clear.

Take what you want.

She makes him so fucking hungry.

In the fastest motion he can manage, Astarion pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the slab. The least he can do is make sure that it doesn’t mangle her.

Auri bites her lip as she releases him from her grasp, and Astarion wouldn’t say he’s being rough, but he certainly isn’t gentle when he turns her so her back’s flush with his chest. A thrill thrums through her, and then Auri’s bent over, upper body splayed across the stone.

When Astarion sheaths himself inside her again, it’s home. There’s no resistance. Auri’s body takes him like it’s what she was made to do.

There’s no patience left in him. Every time his hips meet the curve of her ass, he’s another moment closer to his own release. Auri whimpers and whines, and each sound that escapes the gag increases his pace. The freckles on her back are a constellation he’s rarely afforded the privilege of seeing while buried inside her, and his thrusts grow shallower, undisciplined–

Hells, Auri manages, half-coherent this time as he fucks her. Her singular word spurs something carnal in his gut, and he leans down, fisting a hand in her hair and pulling her face up and away from the slab.

When he does, she looks up at him from the corner of her eye. Her walls clench and his cock twitches as her gaze meets his, and she can’t really smile around the gag, but devilish pleasure is evident in her face.

He’s close. They’ve been in this position for barely a moment, but everything leading up to this moment has left Astarion close to undone as is. His grip on her hair tightens, and when she says, I can take whatever you give, Astarion’s last bit of self-control gives way.

He pulls her up, hand never releasing her hair, and when his other hand grips at her thigh, Auri knows what he wants. With only a little help from him, his cock never leaving her cunt, she kneels on the slab. Astarion exposes her neck and kisses the spot that’s his, the place he’s marked a hundred times over, and Auri shivers. Drink while you come in me– she starts, but his fingers interrupt her when they brush against her clit. Auri inhales sharply against the gag, airflow made more difficult by Astarion’s unloosened grip in her hair.

“Come for me again,” Astarion says. It’s almost a command but not quite, and Auri makes every desperate, needy sound all at once. His fingers rub at her clit, slow, deliberate, like he isn’t a hair’s breadth from shattering himself. “You taste better when you come.”

His touch quickens as he speaks, and he could lose himself in her. He already has.

Auri’s back arches, her ass pushing into him and her neck craning up until her head nearly rests on his shoulder. The artery in her neck sings its siren song, and Astarion’s not in the habit of denying himself what Auri’s body offers him.

This time when his lips meet her neck it’s a different kind of kiss, though it has Auri gasping anyway. Her saliva’s dripping down her neck in the same way her cunt drips cum around his cock. Auri’s blood pounds down Astarion’s throat as he fucks up into her, her climax pushing him to his own end. His teeth tear at her skin as he spills himself inside her, and Auri’s parasite radiates what he can only call unparalleled ecstasy.

Astarion doesn’t even want to think about what she can hear through his tadpole.

Auri shakes in his arms; her knees barely seem capable of supporting her. It’s always the hardest thing that Astarion’s ever done to pull his fangs from Auri’s flesh, and it’s made doubly difficult when he pulls his cock from her warmth at the same time.

“Alright, darling?” he asks, releasing her hair from his grasp. It’s a silly question. Astarion doesn’t know why he asks it.

Auri pulls the gag from her mouth and regards it with a look of disgust, dropping it to the ground. “When we do this again, can we get something a little more, erm–” Auri wrinkles her nose, but she hardly seems unhappy. “Dignified?”

“When we do this again?” Astarion teases, relacing his breeches. “Planning on eating more of that spider meat?”

When Auri turns to face him, she lets herself drop into a kneeling position. The adoration’s never faded from her eyes.

“If it gets you to fuck me like that, I’ll do just about anything.”

So, yes. She seems to be perfectly alright. Almost too alright.

Astarion’s eyes narrow.

“Whatever that was– it lost its grip on you after you came for me that second time, didn’t it?”

Auri smiles at him shamelessly. She’s made no move whatsoever to get dressed, entirely content to be here with him in a state that’s wholly vulnerable.

“We were having fun, weren’t we?” she asks.

Astarion laughs, soft and low.

“Yes. We were.”

#astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #tav x astarion #bg3 fic #bg3 tav #bg3 smut #astarion smut #astarion ancunin

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astyrial · 3 months

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ogling over onigiri osamu miya x fem!reader (fluff) synopsis: osamu is short staffed and luckily for him, atsumu knows someone who can cook word count: 1.4k warnings: mentions of food and cooking masterlist | requests are open

"this is my kitchen, and i don't know her. so unless you have some magical thing that'll convince me to let her work in my kitchen, then no," osamu throws a hand towel over his shoulder, hands moving to rest on his hips.

atsumu leans against the entrance of onigiri miya's kitchen, arms crossed. the kitchen is practically empty due to half of the people calling out sick. people are lining up outside due to a tweet that atsumu regrettably sent out advertising a new dish and his appearance. however, none of that happens to be the magic thing that'll convince osamu to let someone into his kitchen on an early saturday morning.

atsumu looks back at the curtained windows, all of the legs behind it. despite his squabbles with his brother, he doesn't want to be the one who helps tank his business. "well, i know someone who used to be a sous chef. she cooked for the team some meal plans sometimes. i think she could have the day off-"

"you're going to call some woman on her day off and ask her to cook for my business? you can't just do that!"

"she loves to cook, really, she'll be here in no time. trust me, she's the best chef out there right now. plus you need another cook, and i don't think you want me helping," atsumu stands up straight, reaching for his phone in his back jean pocket.

osamu purses his lips while rolling his eyes. of course he needs the help, he has the past few days. but to request someone to come work on such a busy day feels wrong, inappropriate. "just tell her that she absolutely doesn't need to, and we're okay if she doesn't want to. i don't want you pressuring anyone," osamu was always stubborn, but even more so when he's affecting someone he hardly knows.

before a sudden realization that this is completely wrong and he shouldn't be doing this, his brother is already in the other room on the phone with you. osamu certainly can't hear your end of the phone call. however, he can hear the 'thank you's' leaving atsumu's lips. meaning that some random chef that he has never met likely took atsumu up on his offer.

"she's getting ready now, you have twenty more minutes til you open. so, i'll let her through the back door while you work," atsumu stuffs his phone back into his pocket, looking over at his brother.

it's hard for the two to get along, usually they'd be fighting tooth and nail right now. however, there's something in the air causing a civil conversation. the two immediately start getting the kitchen prepped (which means atsumu cracking jokes while osamu has one of the cashier workers help).

osamu starts up some rice on a zojirushi machine, washing and cutting up some vegetables. time was ticking down as atsumu gave you the address, telling you that the shop would open in five minutes. he looks back at atsumu, not knowing what he would do if you couldn't make it. a part of him feels bad for taking you away from your day off, but the rest of him is just happy to have a helping hand.

luckily for him, this helping hand knocked on the back door, the sound feeling like music to osamu's ears. "i got it!" atsumu announces over the noise of people entering the front of the shop.

the sound of someone opening the back door and saying hello to atsumu brings his head up. he sets his knife down, hands on the prepping station. you come walking into the kitchen, atsumu quickly following behind. his eyes meet yours and for a second the world stops. every ounce of anxiety from the day washes away as you give him a soft smile.

"you must be osamu? well miya, if you're more comfortable with that. my name is l/n y/n, if atsumu hasn't told you already," you reach out your hand to shake his, only to move it back quickly once you realize that you need to wash your hands.

osamu's mouth hangs slightly open, just so that you could see the bottom of his top row of teeth. he's mesmerized, even if he won't admit it himself, "he hasn't- and osamu's fine. it's nice to meet you l/n, i'm sorry for pulling you out here on your day off. it's completely unacceptable and if i could repay somehow with dinner or something-"

you shake your head, looking around the room for a second before finding the sink. as you're turned around, making sure that you're ready to make food, atsumu is slapping his brother's shoulder. he raises his eyebrows a couple times, giving him a quick wink. before you could turn around, atsumu whispers something about dinner.

"did you say something?" you ponder, turning your attention to the brothers as you dry your hands.

"he was just asking if you knew how to make certain types of onigiri, because of your experience," osamu gives his brother a glare, trying to hide it as he looks back at you.

you grab an apron off of his wall and begin tying it around yourself. "yes, known since i was ten. i used to make them for the team with brown rice and miso beef, because of the digestive health benefits. however, white or jasmine are always preferable," an even warming smile spreads across your lips, making your way over to the workstation beside osamu.

before either of you could say anything else, the first order has come through. it's oyakodon, a rice meal with chicken and egg. you've made it hundreds of times as a sous chef and it's a fairly easy process once you get the hang of it. a screen displays the food choice in front of you, leaving you to look over at osamu, a little nervous.

"i assume you store your chicken in the fridge?"

"yeah- sorry, usually people are stationed in different areas to work on certain things but with everyone out-"

"it's fine, i've worked in stickier situations before," you take a look around the room and start off towards the fridge, eyes peering for the stovetop next.

osamu looks off at you, heart beating quickly. he takes in a deep breath and watches as the next order comes through. it's an onigiri, salmon in the middle, a rather simple recipe. despite his wandering eyes to where you're prepping your food, he attempts to keep his mind set on the food in front of him.

the first few orders were rather simple for osamu, mostly onigiri and sushi. your oyakodon being the most complicated thing of that morning. it's clear your good at what you do, even if your working in a completely different environment.

he peaks over at you as you let out a slight hum in your voice to the music playing over the speakers. you're swaying a little as you add part of the egg mixture to the pan. if it weren't for the circumstances, a part of osamu knows that he'd ask about dinner again. he'd lean against some counter and cross his arms in front of his chest, give you a soft smile that you can't say no to.

"osamu, you almost done with that?"

he looks up from you, over to one of the cashiers staring him down, "yeah, finishing up now!"

after that, he begins to focus more on his work. only looking over at you as he waits for another order to come in. sometimes you'll inquire about something, where something may be or what spices to add. you're a harder worker than he could've expected from someone he's never met (especially someone that atsumu is so close with). the way you get things accomplished making him even more attracted.

"l/n, you're doing great, thanks for helping today," osamu mentions as the lunch rush dies down to just a few people, atsumu's influence having ended.

you look over at him, wiping your hands against the apron, a soft smile lining your lips. even after working hours in a hot, stuffy kitchen, there's a beauty to you that osamu's never seen. "well, if i'm calling you osamu, then it's only fair you call me y/n. plus, i'd love dinner if your request was genuine," you place on hand on your hip, eyebrows raised.

osamu nods, "well- y/n, it most definitely was genuine. what do you feel like eating?"

"i think onigiri would be delicious for dinner."

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfic #osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya #miya osamu #chef au

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pandoraslxna · 5 months

Text

Sweet like Cherry – Chapter 4

Miles Quaritch x female human reader

Words: 6.2k

Summary: Miles has a secret admirer and apparently, she has a thing for photography.

Warnings: explicit smut, Miles pov, conflicted emotions, dirty talk, praise & degradation, rough oral (m receiving), thigh fucking, begging, virgin reader, obsession, authority kink, power play, corruption kink, brief mentions of blood from biting, (angst?)

Notes: this took me forever and idek if I like it or not🧍🏻‍♀️

Good has always pined for evil.

Ironic, because Quaritch knows what being good meant. Or, what being a good soldier meant. He couldn't tell when exactly this happened, but the knowledge came and stayed. He killed people. Of course, when there's an attack you fight back. He killed people on command, too. Sure, there are superiors who sit higher and see farther and they get the whole picture, so no command is mindless or unjustified.

Being a good soldier meant turning your common sense the fuck off, and following commands not doubting it for a second. Not thinking about why you attack instead of fighting back, or what is the reasoning behind missions involving sudden and bloody invasions. At one point, he also became said superior himself. Gave the commands to kill. Had blood on his hands without staining them, because those weren’t actually his hands that did it.

A good soldier is a thoughtless machine, and there is some fucked up irony in not using actual machines instead of human sources in military, he thinks. They want you to be a robot, but they need you to be a human. Or whatever is close to a human. Funny, now that he thinks about it.

He didn't think that working for Ardmore was much better or more sensible than being in the U.S. Army, or even working for Parker. The only difference was wielding more information. Not that he was sure that she shared everything she knew.

So in the end, he’s a good soldier, but that ultimately makes him a bad person. Not if you would ask him, no, there’s not even a spark of regret inside him. But to people like you, to you he must’ve been the devil himself.

And you know how that saying goes? Opposite attracts. And now Quaritch wonders, what does that make you? His antithesis in every way? Yes and no.

Because, turns out, sweet Cherry is everything Miles parents had tried to condition him to want in a person when he was young. A good person.

You’re driven to succeed, he thinks, every time he so coincidentally walks past the labs and you’re there, always working, day and night it seems, not so different from himself. You’re clean, he muses whenever he sees you in ironed clothes, seams sharp and not a hair out of place. You’re polite, he's reminded every time you drop "sir" and "ma'am" like it's second nature to you. You’re overly respectful, he realizes, always watching the way your spine straightens and gaze drops to your shoes whenever a person of authority steps into your space. And you’re pure, he knows it, innocent enough that his strictly christian mother would’ve approved of you, and yet, behind that façade, you’re not so innocent as it seems. So much so, that his father would’ve given him a proud clasp on the shoulder, murmuring something inappropriate while handing him a beer that would remind him why he’s never bought any women home to meet his parents. You care for others, for your environment. You’re empathic. And you’re good, in any way that matters.

And he hates it.

He hates the fact you’re everything he wants in a person, when he really shouldn’t. Because Miles fucking Quaritch, fifthy years of age, should not fool around with such a young little thing in her twenties, fragile like porcelain and pure like a flower that grew under a glass dome. Too naïve to even realize what you’re getting yourself into. It’s not like Miles has ever cared about the wrongs and rights in life, let alone what’s morally correct. But there’s something about you that makes him… hesitate.

In the grand scale of how much things in his life had changed recently, the Polaroids were just a detail. But he found himself attached to them like he’s never been attached to anything. Found himself holding the comically small photos in his big, blue hands every night like they’re a treasure.

It still shocks him to think that this is the same woman that he had met around a month ago. Pure little cherry. He scoffs because the thought of your shaking frame, big innocent eyes not able to meet his gaze, while nervously fiddling with your lab coat, is the same one he’s looking at right now on said Polaroids. It’s ridiculous.

Shocks him more that he likes this version of you way more than he would ever openly admit. That he wishes you would’ve captured your rosy cheeks on those photos, the way you blush and tremble and shy away. How you stutter when he makes you nervous. How your breath hitches. Wishes you would include videos next time, of you begging, calling him sir, saying please, please, please may I come? So sweet, it makes his teeth rot.

He wants to watch these soft lips moving as they say all those filthy words, with that tone in your voice like it’s the first time you’ve ever said them out loud.

Staring at those plush thighs as their spread wide open on your bed, Miles realizes he never wanted to dig his teeth into something more. There’s this desire to bite you, to mark you. Somewhere, it didn’t matter, just as long as he could see it. He wants to nip at your inner thigh, or maybe your bottom lip, your throat, your cute little ass. Wants to bite and suck and kiss until it bleeds and then gently, lovingly lick away the blood, simply because he knows you would allow him to do this. Because he likes the taste of you. Because he knows it would undoubtedly make you more wet. Because it would cause your snug little pussy to hug him even tighter.

Lately, these thoughts have become a vicious circle he can’t seem to break out of. Because no matter the scenario that plays in his head, all his thoughts ultimately lead to the image of him sinking his cock into your tight little hole. Something he doubts is even physically possible, starting from the difference in size between you and him. And there’s also this tiny issue, the fact that you’ve never actually done it before. That no one has ever popped your little cherry.

But it’s an ache he has, to pin you down and make you scream his name from the top of your lungs, let all of bridgehead hear who’s pounding your cute human pussy.

And that’s really the problem, isn’t it? You’re a human. Small, tiny, fragile human. And he’s not– not anymore. What a fucked up joke from the universe, huh? Not the price he expected to pay when he signed up for the phoenix program, when he decided to direct his whole life to becoming a damn good soldier.

But there were things that did help to numb that ache, besides staring at your Polaroids, receiving new ones every couple of days to which he jerked off until his cock felt raw and hypersensitive.

Quaritch was working: doing his job, going on missions, working overtime, crawling into Ardmores ass to exchange informations, forcing his mind to block out every other thought, occupy it with what others would describe as an obsession with finding Sully. But also going to the gym and exercising with the Squad until black spots blocked his view.

Though no matter how hard he tried, that ache never really disappeared. So he decided that it was time to finally do something about this, even if it was just a temporary relief that didn’t include his own hands. Not when yours could work perfectly fine, too.

It’s been a while since he had last seen you, Quaritch realizes as he walks past the labs to find them empty.

Considering the time, it’s not unusual to find them empty, so he goes straight to your room. He doesn’t even know why, doesn’t know why it bothers him so much that you’re not opening the door, that he can’t find you in the cafeteria either, why he doesn’t just take a cold shower and go to bed, why he couldn’t sleep even if he tried. Miles doesn’t know why. It’s not like he can just bend you over and truly ruin you, stain your purity forever once he’s found you. Fuck you long and hard and good and let that fire inside him cool off for a good while.

He wants to, yeah sure, but he can’t. And he doesn’t know why it drives him so insane.

Apart from the whole logistics of being almost three times the size of you, Miles has never been one to fuck around with women like you. Women, that don’t know what they’re doing. He doesn’t know why it makes him feel the way it does when you act all shy, trembling limbs and teary eyes when he touches you, greedily asking for more because it feels new and good so you just can’t help but beg for it– for him.

He’s not a teacher for fucks sake, he just wants to fuck. Release some stress. He wants to feel good, get a pretty girl on her knees after a long day at work and then make her ride him like she’s good for nothing else. Miles doesn’t want to show you how it’s done, to waste his time teaching you what most freshly eighteen year olds already know. Not his fault you’re such a social butterfly, sticking your nose into books and studying weird plants and what not, rather than to go out, get drunk and get laid. Fucking hell, who even are you to put such a pressure on him?

But god damn, don’t you look like a tasty little treat, running on that treadmill, with that absolute peach of an ass stuffed into a pair of sport tights that hug your curves just right.

Quaritch can’t help but watch once he’s finally found you. And he has a phenomenal view, leaning against the door frame of the common gym, arms crossed over his chest while his eyes scan you up and down.

Instead of cursing you for not spreading your legs for any other guy to spare him of the misery he was now trapped in, he dedicated his mindspace to mapping out all of the dips and curves of your body. The way your breasts bounced with every step, chest heaving, the flex of your thighs and the sweat beading at your temples.

The distant sound of music reached his ear, as he stood there in the doorway. Your headphones ensuring that no thoughts had any chance to form in your head, drowning out the silence of the gym at night.

With a scoff, Quaritch then finally decides to walk over to you. There’s a prickling feeling under his skin as he approaches you, still oblivious that you weren’t alone anymore, up until to the point where he pulls on the cords of your headphones and the music suddenly stops.

"Didn’t count you as a little gym bunny", he says, grinning. His fangs poke out from under his lip as he watches your eyes widen, immediately hitting the stop button to make the treadmill come to an halt.

"Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me", you pant, clutching your chest. A little overdramatic, he thinks, raising one of his brows at the curse words falling so easily from your lips. He tilts his head slightly, looking directly at you, and you don’t even bother trying not to squirm under his gaze.

"Sorry, sir", you mumble and Quaritch doesn’t know if his eyes were just playing tricks on him, but it almost looked like you were rolling your eyes at him.

"You shouldn’t work out with your music on full blast when you’re all alone", he tells you, his eyes boring into yours like he had any right to tell you what to do. At least it felt like he did. "If I were less than a man, I could’ve taken advantage of that."

His grin widens for a brief second, but then you exhale a dry laugh, and now he’s almost certain you just rolled your eyes at him.

"Sure, I’ll keep that in mind for next time."

Feisty, he remarks, licking his lips. There’s something up with you, you’ve made that much clear. And maybe you’re not so much different from him than he originally thought. You and him, you might as well just be two sides of the same coin.

"What are you doing here in the middle of the night, kid?", Quaritch asks. If you want to act like one, might as well treat you like one. He straightens up, towering over you with his arms crossing over his chest like you owe him an explanation.

"Oh, I usually don’t work out, not like, like you guys. You look like you live here." You cross and uncross your own arms, failing to mimic his confidence stance, instead tugging at the hem of your shirt. "I couldn’t sleep, so i thought i could somehow tire me out." You shrug.

"Tire yourself out, huh?" Now that piques his interest, a half smirk tugging on his lips. "You know, I came here looking for you for the exact same reason."

The way you bite your lip and advert your gaze tells him more than words ever could. His tail sways in anticipation, feeling like a cat that just trapped a helpless little mouse. Miles leans forward slightly, lips close to your ear now before he whispers lowly, "You look pretty fucking good in these gym thighs, cherry."

Quaritch has definitely been fucked with to some degree, but your response freaks him out more than straight-up mockery would, somehow.

"Aha." Oh?

His brows rise. It’s not even a response, it’s just a noise you make. But that little noise holds so much attitude, so many emotions. Quaritch can’t help but scoff. He had to give you that, you really had some nerves for someone who normally couldn’t even get a coherent sentence out when he’s around. And that newly found boldness makes him want to dig his fingers into your hips, make your little cherry tattoo turn into a bruised plump, spin you around and bend you over his knee just how you deserve for that.

"Alright", he exhales, trying to calm his nerves, "you got a lot of pent up frustration for such a little thing, so what’s with that attitude today, huh?"

You look at him like a lost puppy and now he’s the one who wants to roll his eyes, wondering why he even keeps up with this childish bullshit. If you were any other person, Quaritch would’ve loved to show you just how far that disrespectful tone gets you with him. But you’re not just any other person.

"You didn’t…" The words hadn’t even fully left you, and your eyes were already adverting to your shoes and your lips pursed into a thin line. Before you could finish however, Quaritch lets out a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance, already knowing what’s about to come. "Listen, kid", he starts and if you were any close to Na‘vi, avatar, recom or whatever, your ears would’ve pinned back against your head. Instead, your shoulders slump, your whole body language suggesting that you were mentally preparing yourself to get lectured, because you knew the answer to this already.

"I don’t know what you were hoping you would get out of this, but if you’re looking for someone to be your first, that ain’t gon' be me."

His voice had grown a tad louder, accent heavier, and he halfway expected you to flinch or even tear up. Instead, you straighten up. Your hands may be trembling, but you hide it by balling your fists. Pushing out your chest, you gather all confidence that was left in you to snap back, "Why not?"

"Why not?", Quaritch laughs. He laughs because it’s funny, really. Because he can’t believe it, can’t help but wonder where all that is suddenly coming from. He laughs because if he wouldn’t, he would make you regret this. "I already told you. It’s not going to fit."

"What if I—"

"Cherry." It comes out as a warning. Your stance falters for a second, those big, puppy eyes returning to your face where just seconds before was such a fierce expression that it undoubtedly made him want to push you further, see how feisty you could actually get. But at the same time, Miles had just discovered just how easily you could get on his last nerves like this.

"I‘ll prove it. I can take it, just let me—"

A hand grabs at your lower face, thumb pressing into your cheek and four fingers digging into the other side, with his palm closing tight over your mouth and nose, keeping it shut. Quaritch yanks you forward, forces you on your very tiptoes to get your full attention.

"Will you stop acting like a desperate little brat, jesus christ." They were harsh, bitter words, drenched with equal parts lust and anger. They were meant to scare you off, yet you looked anything but scared. You looked aroused. Tempted.

To his surprise, words were muffled against his palm, refusing to keep quiet even with a big, blue hand halfway covering your face.

Rolling his eyes, he allows you to swat his hand away.

"You… You said you also came here to tire yourself out", you say, panting slightly once you’re able to speak and breathe freely. "I‘ll help you."

There it is. That side of you that’s so hidden from the rest of the world, it’s hard to believe it’s coming from the same person.

You see, Miles figured he loves the feeling of two opposites coming together. It causes friction.

His kiss is ravenous, the force of it tilting your body to bend backwards once he had dragged you into the communal showers at the gym. He feels your legs go weak, so his arm around your middle flexes, effectively supporting your weight as he pushes you against the tiled wall. His lips coax yours open with little effort as you're hardly putting up any resistance. The flavor of whatever gum you must’ve chewed a while ago is still rich on your tongue, sweet as ever and he groans into the kiss.

Quaritch explores your mouth determinedly, taking what he believes to be his, and he doesn’t even realize that this is the first time he had put his lips against yours. Long strokes of his tongue against yours, teeth catching your lips in bites, groans and moans caught in one another's mouth and swallowed up. His thumb runs up and down your jaw, occasionally applying pressure to adjust the tilt of your head as he changes the angle of the kiss, feels your hair tickle his forehead. Noses bump and brush, he inhales your scent, groans when it’s just as sweet as you taste.

His kiss is powerful. It commands. Look at me. Touch me. Feel me. Only me. It leads you, your movements, the pace. But yours is soft, pleading and submissive. Obedient.

It drives him to near madness, teetering him on the brink of sanity.

He presses himself harder against you, towers over you like a mountain. Your hands are small, and they claw at his arms, his biceps, his neck. They pull and pull, yet he doesn’t budge, doesn’t move unless he wants to. You make a whiny sort of noise in protest and he grins. His forearm rests against the wall, tiles cool against his burning skin as he watches you with half lidded eyes.

The same red that paints his new favorite fruit taints your cheeks crimson, as you hesitantly lower yourself to your knees.

A pleased rumble left him, and his smirk curled further, hints of too-sharp teeth peeking from behind his lips, "You did that before?" He wonders out loud. There’s a suffocating tightness underneath his briefs that only gets worse once you answer him with a quick shake of your head. No, of course not. He scoffs, equally amused as he is excited.

With trembling fingers and unsteady breath, you move your hands around to unbuckle his belt. Letting it hang open, you move to the button and zipper on the fatigues, a little clumsy as you tried once, twice, three times to get the damned thing open. Miles couldn’t help but chuckle.

You looked even smaller on your knees in front of him, pulling on the waistband of his pants to get his cock out. He could just stand there and watch, torture the little thing by letting her struggle, but his impatience has grown rapidly in those past few minutes so he swats your hands away and pulls his pants down just enough.

You hold your breath, waiting. Watching. The nervous tension makes a shudder run up your spine and he smirks, once you finally catch sight of his cock.

The way your eyes widen makes him remember the first time he had stared at himself in the mirror. The first time he was alone with this new body of his, the mirrored image of what he despised most. Alien, that’s what he looked like. What he must’ve looked like to you. Blue skin and faint purple tip, small bumps and ridges around the crown, littered in those glowing freckles that made him look like a damn toy, was what he had first thought when he saw himself. And there was also his size. The root of this whole situation, the reason neither of you could get what you so desperately wanted.

It’s a lot to take in, literally, and he enjoys the fact that not even a polite woman like you could stop herself from staring at him.

A shaky exhale of air then brushes over his tip, your throat bobbing as you swallow thickly and Quaritch tilts his head and chuckles. "What’s wrong? Where did all that attitude go, hm? I thought you wanted to help me out."

Your hands are still firmly planted on your own thighs, but he sees the subconscious little twitch of your fingertips. They want to move, but you don’t dare just yet.

"It’s- no it’s just, I’m, I—"

"You didn’t thought I was lyin‘, did you? I told you it’s—"

"I know", you cut him off, your cheeks blushing, "I- I know. And I still want to…"

The grin that tugs on his lips his dangerous and his tongue darts out to lick over his pointy canine, while he gives himself a slow tug. A small drop of clear, sticky pre-cum beads at his tip.

"Then what are you waiting for? Go on", he purrs lowly, "Touch me."

You’re hesitant at first, taking his length into your delicate hands. They’re warm and soft and he hums at the touch. You can’t even close your fingers entirely around his girth, but you try your best to give him an experimental stroke, feeling his weight and the texture of his skin.

"C‘mon, Cherry", he tells you, his hand brushing through your hair at the back of your head, before giving you a guiding little push. "Use your mouth. Get it wet for me."

Not so bold now, he thinks to himself as he watches you lick your lips and shuffle a little closer on your knees. Like this, it almost looks like you’re worshiping him. It gets him even harder than he already was before, makes his cock throb, feeds his god complex in just the right way. But then you place your lips against the mushroom-like head of his cock, plants a kiss right there on its slit almost tenderly, and Miles can’t stop the groan from escaping him.

Your big doe eyes are staring up at him, piercing right through his soul, before you give a little kitten lick to his length.

"I said use your mouth, not just your tongue", he says, albeit a little breathlessly. He ain’t got time for any of this practice shit today. You offered to suck his cock, might as well do it right then.

His hips buck forward, the head of his cock nudging against your kiss swollen lips and you part them dutifully. The tip is an easy fit, tight but manageable.

You’re timid at first, barely moving further down, but your tongue is practically dancing against him, so it's not all that bad. "There you go", Quaritch groans, the hand on the back of your head holding you still, makes you take him a little deeper. A little more. Your nostrils flare wide as you struggle to breathe and you close your eyes for a brief moment. Your cheeks hollow inward as you suck him. Just a few inches, and he can already feel some resistance on the back of your throat. It’s tight and you tear up, instinctively pulling away.

He clicks his tongue, but you’re quick to put him back into your mouth, warm wetness enveloping not even half of his throbbing cock once again.

Miles fingers have formed into claws, digging them into his own palm as one arm rests against the wall, the other fisted into your hair. It takes every fiber of will within him not to grab you and just force you down onto his cock, to make you choke on it while he thrusts deep into your throat. He’s filled with the sudden, perverse desire to break you, to stain you, make you as filthy as himself. It’s only fortunate that you can’t see the way his features have twisted through the tears in your eyes, from lazy pleasure into something animalistic.

Your mouth moves slowly over his cock, sloppy and uncoordinated. Barely enough of him fits inside your mouth to bring him pleasure, more than just a teasing swirl of your tongue. There’s drool running down your chin, your jaw opened as wide as possible as you sucked and slurped on his length. But he needed more if you planned to get him off properly, needed you to take him deeper.

The hand that had been brushing through your hair grips tighter, and then he slowly moves your head up and down on his cock, using your throat like you’re his personal little fleshlight. Just a couple of thrusts, merely a few inches more, already have him in the back of your throat, and he feels your muscles constrict around him. Helpless little gags fill his ears, followed by tears running down your cheeks.

The hands that had been clawing at his thighs like he was your lifeline had began to tug on his pants, while you whimpered and whined around his length, signaling him that you needed to come up for air.

"C‘mon Cherry, how are you supposed to take all of me when you can’t even suck me off properly?" His voice is taunting, a low growl as he pulls you off of him with a wet pop. You gasp for air, panting, chest heaving and he allows you a moment to catch your breath, before he pushes you back down. He’s careful not to actually hurt you in the process, but he’s also determined to get more of him inside your mouth.  Either you didn’t hear him, or your were pointedly ignoring him. Regardless, the result is the same. You’re struggling, gagging and whining and he knows you’re trying, but it’s been fifteen minutes and you’re not making any process.

Quaritch tsks, "Yeah, no, that’s not going to work. Get up here."

You make a small sound of protest when he pulls you off of him again, and then yelp in surprise when he grabs your arm and yanks you up to your feet. Miles stares at you for a moment, breathing heavily. Takes notice of your lips, swollen, gleaming with saliva and pre-cum. You look so utterly vulnerable. And that's exactly how he wants you.

His hand still holds your upper arm firmly, and he spins you around so sudden that you had to brace yourself against the wall in order not to fall. There’s a split second in which he ponders if ripping your leggings would be a good idea, considering that he didn’t know if you had any spare clothes with you in the gym. He decides against it, barely able to think logically with all the blood rushing from his head to his cock.

Hooking his thumbs underneath the tight waistband, he drags your pants down quickly, and your underwear with them. A pleasant hum leaves his lips when he finds you soaking wet, tiny hole clenching around nothing, all too eager to be filled. Miles gives a firm slap to your ass that makes you try and fail to stifle a gasp.

"P-Please", you mutter quietly, arching your back some more.

"Don’t get too excited", he leans in to whisper against the shell of your ear, chuckling. "Close your legs." Glancing at him from over your shoulder, there’s a look of utter confusion, mixed with disappointment on your face, yet you comply to his orders without a complain. And the feeling of knowing you would do anything he says, follow every one of his orders despite what you wanted, is simply indescribable to him.

Quaritch doesn’t take it slow now that he has you like this. His cock is still lubed with spit so it’s an easy glide as he positions himself behind you and pushes forward between the soft flesh of your thighs. You gasp, feeling the smooth length of his cock drag against your sensitive folds.

"That’s much better", Miles groans lowly into your ear as he begins to thrust back and forth.

It felt heavenly— the warmth of your skin enveloping his length in the same way a tight pussy would. He could feel your slick covered lips pressed against him, your arousal smearing between your thighs and his cock adding further to the impression of being inside you.

With an increasing pace, he begins to actually fuck the space between your legs. His cock bumps against your clit over and over again, which causes you to moan along to the filthy sound of flesh against flesh.

"Fuuckin‘ hell, that’s it." His hands on your hips had began to pull you back against his thrusts, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise, as he used your body for his own pleasure. More arousal oozes out of you and both of you make a pleasant sound of acknowledgment at that. "Hmm, can feel you dripping all over my cock, cherry. You like it that much when I fuck your thighs, huh?"

"Y-Yes, f-fuck, yes!" His ears perked at the sweet little whine that trickled out of you when he snapped against the back of your thighs just a little harder. There grows a force behind his thrusts, one that makes it hard for you to stay still and let him use you, he can tell. Your legs are trembling, wanton little pleas falling from your parted lips. "Please, I- I need more! Miles, c‘mon…" You push back against, rising to your tip toes in an attempt to catch his tip against your entrance. "Please!"

He could come so easily like that, rocking back and forth, his cock trapped between the plush of your soft thighs, your slickness lubing his length enough to make his movements more fluid. Yet you were nowhere near close to your own release. His touch was just barely enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to get you anywhere. Poor little thing, Miles thinks to himself with a grin he doesn’t even bother to hide.

The sound of his cock sliding between your wet thighs was downright obscene and he could practically feel your neglected clit aching for attention, warmth slowly pooling into the pit of his stomach. And with that, he angles his hips to put more force behind his trusts, his length gliding through your folds, the tip of it pressed snugly against your clit, bumping against the little nub with every stroke.

Pleading mewls soon turn into desperate moans the harder he fucks your thighs. "Mmnh– need you, need you in- inside", you begin to brabble, staring up at him from over your shoulder. "Please, Mil– sir!"

"Christ, cherry", he curses against your neck, letting the heady vibrations of his rumbling growl pierce through your neck, letting you feel his words in the most primal way. Your thighs press together. "Do you ever shut up?"

Miles feels you press back against him weakly, nowhere near strong enough to get him anywhere. "I– I can do it, just let me…"

His annoyed groan is quick to cut you off. Whatever complain bubbled up your throat was shushes with a hand clasped over your mouth before it could even come past your lips. You make a muffled sound against his palm, your eyes continue to plead for him, but he’s determined to keep you just like this.

"Don’t be so goddamn stubborn", he grits out, teeth grazing the lobe of your ear and he feels the way your whole body tense as he bites down on it. "You got a lot of learning to do if you want to be good for your Colonel."

The smack of his hips against your backside makes punched out little huffs of air escape through your nose, and it’s almost adorable.

Meanwhile you could barely form a thought over the constant throbbing between your thighs, the slaps of skin hitting skin, the whining of your body being squeezed under an intense force and hands gripping your hips and keeping your mouth shut. You couldn’t even hear the heavy grunts of the gruff man behind you as he bit the shell of your ear, whispering sweet nothings of how good you felt around him.

Fingers dug deeper into your cheeks and hips, his cock almost rubbing you raw with how fast he fucked your thighs. The cock that still rutted between your silky legs was drenched in slick and Miles felt the way you tried to angle your hips and squeezed your legs to put more pressure on your clit.

Fuck, he was so close he could hardly hold himself back.

"You want to come?", he whispers into your ear. A pleasant shiver runs up your spine that even he could feel. Your response comes as nothing more than a muffled "Mhm! Mhm!" against his palm.

"Will you be a good girl for me now? Stop with all that whining bullshit and be a little grateful for what I do to you?"

"Mhm, mhm!" Your frantic nodding makes him thrust against you harder, and he relishes in the needy sounds you make.

"There you go, sweetheart", he chuckles, "That wasn’t so hard now, was it?"

The heat from his chest begins to pool in the pit of his stomach, coiling together in a painful knot that could only mean one thing. Miles groans against your shoulder, biting particularly hard as his hips start to stutter, the grip on your waist tightening once more, leaving definite blue bruises that wouldn’t leave any time soon.

He then shoves his fingers between your thighs, tips pushing and rubbing against the twitching little nub between your folds so hard it felt like he shifted it from its original position. You wailed against his palm like a banshee as you finally came, the sudden spark of pleasure aimed just at the right place sending you over the edge as tears spilt down your cheeks, rolling over the hand that’s still pressed against your mouth.

Your legs clamped shut tighter than before, squeezing his cock that was still thrusting in and out between your soft, wet flesh.

"Jesus, fuck", he grunts, breathing heavily, "good girl, good fuckin‘ girl."

Quaritch soon comes after you, biting again, until he left a giant bruise on your shoulder. He was drinking up every sweet little moan and gasp he elicited out of you like this, groaning and lapping his tongue against your skin while he pumped his seed through the space of your legs as it spurted from his throbbing cock.

Your eyes were still heavy with tears as you blinked to clear your vision, the bruising grip he had on your hips slowly loosening as he comes down from the high of his orgasm, but then tightening again, for just a split second that makes you tense up and flinch.

Miles is almost certain that that piercing pain he suddenly felt in his chest was some sort of cramp, some fucked up symptom of ptsd or his psyche struggling to adjust to this body that still wasn’t entirely his. But then that picture perfect doll face glances up at him from over your shoulder. Your eyebrows are pinched together, hair sticking to your forehead, cheeks flushed red and glistening in a thin layer of sweat, lips all swollen red and bitten raw.

And now he’s not so sure anymore where that piercing pain in his chest really comes from…

#miles quaritch #miles quaritch smut #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x reader smut #miles smut #avatar miles quaritch #colonel miles quaritch #recom miles quaritch #atwow quaritch #avatar quaritch #colonel quaritch #colonel quaritch x reader smut #quaritch smut #quaritch x reader #recom quaritch #Avatar #atwow #avatar the way of water

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weasleykisses · 4 months

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You’re So Pretty II (Remus Lupin x Reader)

(GIF not mine)

A/N: friends to lovers, fem!reader, jealous!remus, remus loves you but he’s so terribly scared of a relationship, Hogsmeade bookstore dates

Warning: very short (like three sentences) mention of sexual thoughts.

Word count: 4.1k

________

Y/N smiled as the snow sizzled under her feet. Her and Remus walked side by side behind the rest of the gang, heading over to Hogsmeade Saturday afternoon to get a well deserved break from classes and studying.

She hid her face behind her thick scarf, her gloved hands buried deep in her winter coat pockets, protecting herself from the chilly breeze. She wanted to reach over and hold his hand, to feel the warmth from his skin against her. She didn’t try though, too afraid to be so forward with him.

“Lily said she’d be at Honeydukes today so I’m probably going to hang around there until I run into her,” James told everyone. Y/N rolled her eyes. Even when they were out as friends, he was still falling head over heels for that girl. Lily was one of her best friends, sometimes it just got annoying hearing her friend talk about her constantly all day.

“Oh, I thought we were gonna go to the Three Broomsticks?” Y/N asked, tilting her head a bit to the side with a frown etched on her lips.

James shook his head, waving off to his friends. “Maybe I’ll catch you guys later, yeah?” He walked in the opposite direction of the little restaurant they were headed to. She just shook her head. Typical of that loverboy to leave. She was grateful that Remus never had anyone else to go to, any other girls he wanted to follow around. She was used to Sirius and James doing so, not so much Peter though. He was always quite unpopular with the ladies.

The Three Broomsticks was quite loud, as you would expect on a busy Saturday with all the Hogwarts kids coming to hang out and get drinks. Y/N decided on a hot butterbeer and salty chips, finding herself awfully hungry from the walk over to the little village.

She was tucked into the booth, closest to the inner wall with Remus to her right and Sirius and Peter across the table facing them. Her thigh, only covered by thin black tights under her short corduroy skirt pressed to Remus’ corduroy slacks, and a chill ran down her spine at the thought of being so close. He didn’t seem to mind that their thighs touched, and his arm rested against hers. Nor did he notice the way he could turn his head and be mere centimeters away from kissing her, if he wanted.

Y/N wanted to be kissed. Whether it be in front of the boys or in private, she wished every night before she went to sleep that the dirty blond would kiss her silly. That he would cradle her cheeks in the palms of his hands, tilting her head up to meet his. That he would press his soft lips to hers and run far away with her heart. She wanted to drown in him, if he would just let her.

But she refrained. She kept her eyes trained forward on Sirius, listening as he went on about some problem he had in transfigurations with Professor McGonagall.

Remus couldn’t help but wish she would stop looking at Sirius like that, like he was the most interesting person in the world. He wanted her to look at him that way. Instead she always shied away, ducking her head or looking off beyond his shoulder. Did she hate looking at him? Was he that unattractive? Thoughts rushed through his mind, he barely noticed Sirius was talking at all.

He was conscious of her leg pressed to his, practically sitting in his lap at this point. His eyes ran quickly over the hem of her skirt which rode up a bit when she slid down the booth. What would her thighs feel like in his hands, or pressed to the sides of his head. If it was anything like the mere feeling of her pressed to him in the booth, he might as well explode.

Remus, honest to Merlin, didn’t want to think about her in that way. He really didn’t. It was inappropriate and wrong. Still, her face flashed through his mind, what it would look like if he was hovering over her, and the sounds she would make as he eased in and out of her. He was filthy, a pervert. He knew that. He just couldn’t brush the thoughts from his mind.

It didn’t matter what he thought anyway. Y/N wanted to fuck his best mate, Sirius. He had no chance.

He reached over and took one of her chips, hoping it would distract him as she laughed quietly at a joke Sirius told. He chuckled too, but only to seem like he was paying attention.

“Rem, what do you think?” she asked, and he had to snap back into the conversation quickly.

“Think about what?” He cringed. So much for pretending he was listening before.

“About spending the holiday at the Potters’? Guess you were daydreaming again?” she replied, poking him in the shoulder jokingly.

If only you knew, love.

He shrugged. “Sure. They know how to throw a good party. Is James okay with it?”

“Yep. Not to mention Sirius lives there too so it’s kinda his house as well,” she laughed. “It’ll be like a week-long sleepover.”

The thought definitely interested him. Spending nearly a week with her in the same house. It would give them time away from school to chill out without the looming threat of homework over their shoulders. He knew how worried she got about her classes, considering she never did too well in them.

Just as she was about to say something else, a flustered James rushed through the doors and up to the booth. “Sirius, Pete, you gotta come with me. I need back up.”

“Back up for what?”

“Lily, obviously. She’s here with Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary. I need you two to distract the other girls while I sweep my darling Lily off her feet,” he said, a bit rushed. It was obvious he was under some sort of time crunch. Maybe they were getting ready to leave Honeydukes already.

Y/N quirked a brow. “What about Remus and I?”

“Figured you wouldn’t want to spend your day following me around.”

“And you assumed I would?” Sirius piped up, although he was already sliding out of the booth to do as his friend asked.

“You nerds can go to the bookstore or something. Or Brood and Peck?” James suggested. He peered out the window across the table and spotted Marlene and Lily walking into Honeydukes, that familiar wash of red hair flowing behind her. “Gotta go, sweetheart.”

“See you later, angel, moony” Sirius winked, and with that they were off. Remus tensed at her nickname, as he usually did. It wasn’t abnormal for Sirius to flirt with her, to call her endearing names and send suggestive looks in her direction. He saw the way her eyes pleaded with him to stay, to not leave her behind with plain ol’ Remus.

She waved goodbye to the boys walking out the door before turning to stare down at the plate in front of her. “Sooo, what do you want to do for the rest of the day?” she asked, feeling a bit awkward now that they were completely alone again. She liked hanging out with the boy, it was just hard to maintain her cool when they were alone. She liked when Sirius was around to relieve some of the tension she felt around Remus. “The bookstore is a good choice, or maybe the botanical shop? Whatever you want to do is fine.”

He took a sip from his warm cup of butterbeer and sighed. If only he had the guts to consider this a date. There were dozens of times in which they hung out around Hogsmeade, just the two of them, enjoying the other’s company the best they could. She was willing to go to any of the stores around, she wasn’t very picky. It always felt like they were dating, but he never addressed it. It made him anxious, the thought of confronting her about their friendship.

He chose to ignore it. If anyone brought it up, he just brushed them off like they were wrong and being silly. It was the only way he could cope with his hidden feelings.

“Let’s go to the bookstore. I’ve been meaning to find more Shakespeare. Maybe you’ve got some recommendations,” he told her, knowing that her eyes would light up at the mention of the muggle playwright. He smiled when he noticed the familiar sparkle in her eyes, peering over the rim of his mug.

She clapped her hands together. “Perfect! I have a lot of recommendations, not just Shakespeare either. There are so many classics you might enjoy, if we can find them.” Thankfully the bookstore in Hogsmeade carried quite a few muggle books along with the traditional magical novels written by wizards. “Let me just finish my chips and drink so we can go,” she said, taking another bite of a now room-temperature potato.

She went on to talk about her classes as he sat, his cheek in his palm, watching her silently. He observed the way she perked up at certain topics, and frowned when they moved onto something she disliked. When she found herself drifting off to a discussion about her grades, especially those in Transfigurations and DADA, she grimaced. They were never very easy for her, and he knew that better than anyone as her tutor.

When she was finally finished with her food, she pushed away her empty glass and straightened up in the seat. She pulled a couple coins from her jacket pocket and left them to sit on the table to pay for her snacks, plus his butterbeer which he had been sipping on slowly for the past half-hour or so. He could have listened to her talk for longer, finding it relaxing to hear her voice so at ease, but they had more things to do than just sit around the tavern.

She wrapped herself up in her scarf and hat, buttoning up her jacket to the top notch, knowing it was going to be chilly when she stepped outside. The hearth warmed the little restaurant perfectly, she almost forgot it was winter outside and the snow was piling on the pathways.

As they walked through the crowds, heading to the bookstore, he kept his hand hovering just above the small of her back, careful to touch her gently and not break any boundaries. He wanted to keep her close so as to not lose her in the crowd of students walking by. She didn’t seem to mind the touch either, trekking ahead through the snow.

They entered the bookstore and a little chime rang out above them from the copper bell hanging. She waved to the store owner before heading up the tiny staircase to her favorite second. Muggle Studies and Famous Works.

“So, Remus, what were you thinking of this time? Something funny? Romantic? Tense?”

“Just pick out something you’d think I’d like. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it either way,” he told her, his fingers sliding down the spines of the old hardcovers, reading the titles under his breath. She nodded and started her search for the perfect novel to give her best friend to read. He was an avid reader so she was sure he would like mostly anything she suggested.

She grabbed a Shakespeare comedy, followed by a couple other classics such as A Portrait of Dorian Gray, which always reminded her of Sirius a bit, and Pride and Prejudice which reminded her quite a bit of some of the romances she had seen occur at Hogwarts. She climbed down from the ladder she stood on to reach the books and handed the pile off to her friend, who was still just wandering aimlessly around the second floor of the store.

“Find some good ones?” he asked.

She nodded, handing him the three books. “These should last you a while. I picked a couple different genres in case you didn’t like one of them you could move onto the next,” she told him. He peered down at the covers and nodded. If she suggested them, she didn’t have to worry about him not liking them. He would read anything she suggested and enjoy it, because those books made her happy and in turn, that kept him engrossed as he flipped the pages.

He paid for the books, since she paid for his drink earlier. They were ready to head to another shop, only to pause the second she opened the door to the outside. Quickly, she shut the door with a yelp. “Godric, did it drop ten degrees in the time we’ve been in here? I’m going to freeze to death out there,” she exclaimed. In reality, the wind had picked up and whipped at anyone daring to go outside with icy air.

She shivered, rubbing up and down her arms with her mittens to try and warm herself up a bit.

“Do you want my sweater?” Remus offered, already shrugging off his thick winter coat so he could lift his pullover jumper over his head. He didn’t really think to wait for her reply, automatically ready to give up one of his layers for her.

“Remus, really, you don’t need to do that-” Y/N tried to stop him, but he was already out of his brown tweed jumper before she could do anything about it. She took off her winter coat and slipped on the added layer over her thin sweater. It was warm from him wearing it so close to his body, and it smelled just like him. She felt like she was enveloped in a big hug, and it was wonderful.

“Fits perfectly,” he joked, seeing as the sleeves were a bit too long and the hem went down to mid thigh. It obviously wasn’t made for her, but instead incredibly tall, lanky boys.

They both put their jackets back on, and she adjusted her hat and scarf once again. “Thank you, Rem.”

“No problem. I tend to run hot anyway,” he replied, carrying the books he had just bought under his arm, using his free hand to push open the door and enter the harsh winter streets. When he wasn’t looking, she dipped her head down and pressed the hem of his sleeve to her face, taking in the smell, hypnotized by that reminder of him lingering on his clothes.

He smelled like parchment and ink, like dark chocolate and mint; it was hypnotizing. She had read plenty of books in which the boy gives his jacket to the girl, sparking a bit of romance between the two. She didn’t think Remus meant anything by the kind gesture, however. She was nearly confident that Sirius or James would do the same for her, absent romantic intent. Remus was just so kind and thoughtful. Surely that was the reason he gave her his sweater.

“Did you want to stop anywhere else?”

“Do you want to go pick up those seeds I need from the botanical shop?” she asked. “Professor Sprout said I could grow them for extra credit, and I’m not doing too well in that class right now.”

Remus nodded, turning on his heel to head in the direction of the seed shop, with a chipper girl following closely behind him.

________

He never asked for his sweater back, not even when the group of friends reconvened in the common room after their outing, and she stood in plain sight with his sweater hanging loose from her shoulders. Instead, she sat on the couch beside Sirius, his arm on the couch behind her, his fingers just barely grazing her shoulder. He never meant anything by it really, she and Sirius just had a close friendship. Sirius knew she would never fall in love with him, not like some of the other girls they hung out with. Y/N knew that he just liked to hook up, and he wasn’t about to pull any moves on her. Not when he knew about the crush she had on his best friend, Remus.

Remus didn’t know that though. He only saw his crush, his girl, wrapped up so closely to Sirius at any given opportunity, and he hated it. He hated that Sirius was so confident in himself that he would flirt with anyone. He hated that the other boy was so attractive and charming that all the girls fell for him at some point or another.

He couldn’t stand the jealousy he felt. It made him depressed, sad any time he saw them together. At first, he had only been angry with the situation, but over time he found himself falling apart, unable to fight it any longer. He was just hopeless and lonely.

Y/N glanced over at Remus standing behind the armchair Lily sat in, his arms crossed over his chest with his forearms on display, having rolled up the sleeves on his white shirt.

She was brave. She was in Gryffindor, for fuck’s sake. She could talk to the boy she liked.

The girl stood from her place on the couch, waving to Sirius and Marlene as she did so, walking over to where Remus stood. He eyed her down, his cheeks flushing red at the sight of her bare shoulder hanging out of his jumper. “Y/N?”

“Rem, do you have any chocolate by chance? I’ve got a sweet tooth coming on,” she asked, knowing that he always had some of the sweet treats in stock somewhere on his person or in his room. It was his cure for nearly every ailment imaginable.

He nodded. “In my dorm, yeah. You want some?”

“If you don’t mind,” Y/N hummed, nudging her head in the direction of the four boys’ dorm room just up the stairs. “Let’s go.” She extended her arm, her hand held open for him to take, which he did even if her touch caused a shiver to run down his spine. It was times like this, where she was affectionate with him, that he really felt nervous. Nervous that he would make a mistake.

He felt his hand starting to clam up and he cringed. He didn’t want her holding his warm and sweaty hand. Fortunately, the walk up the stairs to the room was brief and she dropped his hand the second she walked through the doorway. Happily, she walked over to his bed and jumped on it, pressing her face into his pillows with a sigh. She cuddled into the sweater wrapped around her, inhaling the scent of her wolfish friend swallowing her up.

“So, you’re feeling chocolate?” He asked, walking over to his bedside table and opening a drawer. He pulled a couple bars from the drawer, one of them filled with caramel, a treat he knew she liked quite a bit. He tossed it over to her, landing on the bed beside her head.

“Thank you!” She chirped happily, unwrapping the candy bar and taking a bite, smiling as she munched. He took a seat on the bed and leaned against his headboard, sitting up as he broke off a piece of a dark chocolate bar for himself. She rolled onto her side and faced him, propped up on her elbow. “Today was quite fun, don’t you think?”

“Definitely. I’m excited to read the books you recommended.”

“Yeah,” she yawned, “it’ll be fun to discuss when you’re done.”

They laid there for a while talking about books and the next day’s events, including a quidditch match their friends were going to be competing in. He loved just talking to her. No one else entertained him the way she did, with those bright eyes and her round cheeks filled with happiness. No one understood his love of poetic justice in literature as well as she did. He never wanted their conversations to end really, even if they always came to a close one way or another.

After a while, she found herself growing more and more tired, covering her mouth with her hand as she yawned more deeply than before, eyes grown heavy by now. He’d sunk down to lay beside her, their heads sharing a single fluffy pillow. His eyes were trailed up to the canopy above the bed while she watched his profile, every little move of his lips as he spoke and the way his eyes flickered when something caught his gaze.

He felt anxious when she pressed herself into his side, sighing at the warmth coming off his body in waves. He wasn’t opposed to her being so close; he enjoyed it, actually. He just felt sick to his stomach knowing that this wasn’t forever. That she would get up soon to venture back to her own room, leaving him cold and alone on his bed, hanging onto his moment until he was graced with the next one.

“You’re so warm, Remus,” she mumbled in her sleepy haze.

Her voice sent shivers down his spine. “I think you’re just cold.”

“Maybe,” she hummed.

It was only a matter of time before she stopped replying to him about whatever they were talking about and her breaths became soft and slow, signaling that she had fallen asleep in his bed. It wasn’t the first time, but usually he was sitting in Peter or James’ bed and not lying right beside her. Her arm was wrapped loosely around his, the other curled up against her chest.

“Y/N?” He asked quietly, only to be met with the same quiet breaths.

He wanted to lay beside her. He wanted to let her cuddle him all night long as she slept, and wake up beside him in the morning. He wanted to be met with her bright smile when he opened his eyes the next day. God, he wanted to stay the way they were, just like this.

Only, he couldn’t do it. He was afraid. She didn’t deserve to be tied down to him. She was so wonderful and beautiful and kind. She was everything he loved, and he was a monster. He could hurt her if she got any further involved with him and his problems.

He lifted her arm gently, making sure not to wake her up as he rolled off his side of the twin sized mattress. He lifted his heavy quilt to cover her body, making sure she wouldn’t freeze in her sleep when he left her. He didn’t want her to wake up now and explain why he was going to leave her all alone. He certainly wasn’t going to wake her up and kick her out to her own room either.

He would find somewhere else to sleep for the night. Make up a lie in the morning about how he got up and went to the common room, fell asleep by accident on the couch.

He left the room that night with a grimace, regret pooling in his heart at the thought of leaving her behind. He waved to his friends who still hung out in the common room, but their numbers were beginning to dwindle. Marlene and Dorcas had gone to bed and Lily was about to go back to her dorm as well.

He fell asleep that night on the couch and woke up to the sound of early risers getting ready for breakfast. Meanwhile, Y/N woke up in a room that was not hers in a bed that was emptier than she remembered. James snored loudly to her right while Peter’s snores came out more of a light whistling. Sirius sat by his mirror, running a comb through his hair.

“Where’s Remus?” She asked.

“Slept on the couch downstairs.”

All she could do was sigh, a small “oh” leaving her lips. Sirius sent her a sympathetic look, as if he understood how she was feeling. She just fell back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling, wondering why her friend was so persistent on this constant space between them even when they seemed to be growing so close. He was a confusing guy, clearly conflicted with emotions running through that she didn’t understand.

Still, it broke her heart to wake up alone, cold under the blanket he’d left for her, surrounded by friends. So many friends, just not the one she wanted to be there.

Part Three out.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter x reader #marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #hp fanfic #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin x you #marauders era x reader

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everythingne · 5 months

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marketing ploy ln4 - ch 6

Austria goes to shit. Great Britain follows.

piastri!oc x lando norris, bestfriends brother/fake dating

warnings/notes: inappropriate comments, lando being overprotective, arguments/cursing, mildly severe car accidents (guys its an f1 fic what we were expecting. gotta do the cliche for my first fic), vague descriptions of injury, a few sexual comments, this is SO LONG. like 5k-6k words?

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01 JULY, AUSTRIA.

I woke up with a bad feeling in my chest and an odd headache. My lone hotel room, to give Oscar and Lily some space since she was finally able to tag along again this season, felt so enclosing. Slowly pulling myself out of bed, I groaned and immediately went to get ready when I noticed the time. Luckily, it was only qualifiers today, so I didn't have much to do other than hide in my office and make sure no one's car was going to explode.

But god, on my worst day, everything has to go wrong.

First, Max's tires never got warmed. Something was broken, and I had to do so much boring bullshit paperwork. Then, Checo's brakes got sticky and we had to have him DNF. Then for some reason, half the fucking sensors hadn't even recorded anything so I couldn't even tell why they had gotten sticky. But I did feel a bit better (not at all) knowing it had also happened to a few other drivers so it wasn’t just us.

So I was having the greatest time, sarcasm fully intended. And then I completely missed seeing Oscar and Lily for lunch because I was in an emergency meeting. And by the time I got out of Red Bull's garage, it was nearing five at night and I hadn't had anything to eat or anything to drink after one water bottle and my headache still had gotten worse because of it.

And then got immediately swamped by reporters.

Luckily, I saved some class and patience and was able to make it through fine but by the time I got to McLaren's garage, I was about ready to snap at someone.

"Ollie!"

Thank god.

"Oscar." I hum as he wraps an arm around my shoulder, and then he makes a face as he notices just how exhausted I am.

"You guys had it rough today." He says and I just nod, rubbing at my jaw and rolling my neck as he steps back, leans over, and hands me a packet of some sort of assorted chocolates.

"I love you so much." I sigh as I open the packet and he laughs, dragging me further into the garage where everyone else is settled and just relaxing. McLaren had a really good day, both Lando and Oscar in Q1 and I can see everyone laughing and celebrating. A completely different feel from the tense garage at Red Bull. Lily gives me a tight hug when she sees me and urges me to come sit with her so we can catch up, we end up in a bit further and in a corner so we can have a bit of privacy. All is fine, and Lily is very quickly improving my mood as we giggle and share stories (and I happily answer all her questions about Lando and me) before we're approached by a guy I don't recognize.

"You guys need water?" He asks innocently, and though it's not extremely hot in Austria, I take one from his hands. Lily denies it, showing off the water bottle she's still drinking, and the guy seemingly just blips out.

"Weird." I hum, cracking open the water bottle and taking a sip of the cool liquid, "Never seen him before. Maybe he's new?"

"Or a volunteer?" Lily suggests and I shrug in response, eventually, Oscar comes over and wraps an arm around Lily's waist and she grins, popping a kiss on his cheek. Finally, the two of them were actually looking like a couple in public. Which, is probably what happens when two introverts start dating. I swear they didn't hold hands for months.

"Lando's being interviewed if you wanna wait for him for the media shit." Oscar pokes my hand and I pretend to flick the water bottle at him. The two of us make faces for a few seconds before I nod, taking another sip of my water bottle.

"Yeah, he and I are going out to eat again tonight. Andrea's idea." I sigh, looking over my shoulder where I can see Lando sitting with some people with a microphone in hand. I notice though it's not Sky, but rather ESPN, and I hum before turning back to Oscar and Lily and wishing them on their way. I pull out my phone, answering a few texts before someone walks up beside me. And it's the same guy from earlier.

"Oh. Hi." I say softly as he smiles at me, looking a little flustered for a second before he starts talking.

"Just wanted to say hello, I'm one of the mid-season hires. I'm an engineering assistant, Jordan." He held out his hand and I grinned, shaking his hand firmly.

"Olivia Piastri, Oscar's younger sister. I'm Red Bull's head analyst." I let go of his hand and Jordan nods, he wrings his hands before he continues talking and I feel the confidence he's trying to exhume here.

"Ah, I've seen a bit about you. Kinda hard to miss such a pretty face." Jordan grins, running a hand through his hair and tilting his head with a tiny grin.

Is he flirting with me? Is this guy daft?

"Well, thank you. But uhm--" I look around the garage, hoping to maybe signal another person in the garage to come over and get me out of this just terribly awkward situation. Lando's wrapping up his interview, handing back his microphone and laughing softly as he shakes hands with the reporters.

"Seriously, you're by far one of the most gorgeous girls I've seen." Jordan steps a bit closer and leans on the wall beside me with his body covering my view of the majority of the garage, "are you free tonight? I'd like to get to know you better."

I step back, putting myself back into the view of the garage as I try to keep my patience and shake my head no. I'd never had this issue before, how exactly does one stop unwanted advances? I'd never had to, I was never alone when these sorts of things happened to me.

So, I stammer, "Ah, I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend and.."

"Ay, is he here? Because I don't see anyone staking their claim on you." Jordan grins and I tighten my grip on the water bottle and click my tongue against my teeth. Okay, if he was gonna be like that I could be bitchy too. I glance back across the room one final time, making eye contact with Jon who gives me a sharp nod, but I don't see Lando anymore. Which... could be good or bad.

"He works for McLaren, and is a part of your team, so you might wanna... not... flirt with me?" I turn back to Jordan, make an uncomfortable grimace at him, and end up tightly crossing my arms over my uniform shirt, "So..."

"Yeah, who's your boyfriend then?" Jordan hums, looking over, "Jon?"

"Me," A hand slides across my waist, fingers digging into my skin harsh enough to likely leave bruises as I'm tugged back into Lando's chest. With one hand still firm on my waist, his other hand comes to my jaw so he can turn me to press a soft kiss to my lips before he leans back and whispers, "Hi, baby."

"Hi, Nori." I smile, turning back to Jordan who raises an eyebrow. And I can already tell this is going to be terrible because he hasn't exactly backed down. I see a reporter tilt their camera at us, and I grip Lando's wrist to tell him to back off. But Lando stays close, and my cheeks tint red as Jordan starts to speak.

"Got yourself a good-lookin' girl there, Lando." Jordan grins, winking at me and making my skin crawl. Lando's hands tighten on my waist, pulling me into him a bit more if that's even possible, and now I'm not even mad that he's doing this anymore. I wanted to be doing anything else than being here.

"Mhm. Olivia's my girl, don't you know? She's been my girlfriend for a while, so why dont'cha step back?" Lando smiles, but his threat is not hidden very well.

"Ay, it's all good Lando, I don't like to share my meals."

"Oh-kay!" I shout but Lando takes over, stepping around me to point at Jordan and get in his face. I see half the McLaren garage turn, and someone shouts to send the media out of the garage as the cameras scramble to try and take photos and videos of the altercation.

"If you know what's good for you--" Lando grits, eyes narrowing as Jordan smirks in his face. His confidence was a far cry from the scrawny guy who had walked up to me prior, Lando continues through his teeth, "You won't say anything like that again or I'll make sure you can't speak anymore."

"Sorry, man. Didn't realize this would piss you off so much," Jordan takes a step back, his smile making it known his apology was fake, and my tight grip on Lando's wrist makes it so he won't follow.

"Bye, Jordan," I say, voice soft but level. A sort of period to the end of whatever conversation Lando and Jordan had silently through their eyes before Jordan backed off and slipped into the crowd of McLaren officers off to the side. I keep my iron grip on Lando's wrist and he slowly turns around to look at me. At this point, my exhaustion and anger from the whole day is bubbling just under my skin. Unlike my twin, I was never good at completely holding myself back when I got like this.

"Lando." My tone comes out much colder than I'm expecting, and I grab his wrist again and forcefully tug him to my side as I hiss, "What the fuck was that?!"

"Did you hear what he said?"

"Yes! But was that worth threatening him?"

"What did you want me to do?" He said and when I peeked over his shoulder and saw everyone watching, I grabbed Lando by the collar and pulled him into Andrea's vacant office, slamming the door shut and pointing at him.

"I had it handled, okay?" I snap, "He was just being a jackass, you didn't have to threaten to make him unable to speak--Lando! Who the fuck says that?!"

"Did you have it handled? That was you having it handled?" Lando asks, incredulously, sitting on the edge of Andrea's desk as I stay at the door, using my heel to keep it closed just in case someone tried to push it open at any point since I knew the door didn't lock.

"You don't need to protect me like that, Lando, it's not your job!"

"It's not, I'm your boyfriend--" And the rest of what Lando says fizzles out in my head. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. The word that had been taunting me for weeks. Lando Norris, my boyfriend for the media. The boy who could never be mine. And something in my chest breaks, I can feel the tether finally snap, and I shout.

"No, you are not!" My volume surprises me, and I know McLaren can probably hear us immediately after saying it, so I drop my voice down to a hard snapping tone, "You aren't my boyfriend, Lando. You aren't! You can't be, no matter how much I love you, or you love me, or if we fall in love after all of this is over--you are not my boyfriend and you will never be because we can't be in love, Lando!"

"We can't? Who said that?!" He snaps back, "Do you think I've been doing all of this for media? For a fucking paycheck? God, no Ollie. I fell in love with you the first time Oscar brought you around! Do you think I agreed with this for a check? No, I agreed to that stupid contract because it's you! If it was anyone else I would've just walked the fuck out of that office, it's you I want, only you, only you, Olivia."

"But you know you can't have me, so why string me along like this? We can't be together, no matter what we want, we're gonna have to break up at some point! So why should we even try?"

"Who cares what they say? Zak, Andrea, Christian? You're gonna let them run your life?" Lando steps closer to me, taking my jaw into his gentle hold, voice so soft I feel my heart drum against my lungs, "We do what they say, sure, but once we've completed that contractual obligation... can they tell us we can't ever be this again? Be... us, again?"

"I can't do this Lando," I whisper, bringing my hands to my chest and he steps back. The space between us suddenly felt so vast, and something in me clicked and I knew something irreversible was going to be said. That maybe I had started the downfall here, and Lando's hurt expression tells me I have.

He can only whisper, "Why?"

"I just..." I stammer, making a vague gesture to the room. There's no way for me to express the thousands of thoughts that race through my head, a constant loop of some F1 circuit of emotional mess slamming into every reasonable thought and fizzling out reason.

"Because you're scared of being loved? You're scared of what will happen if you fall in love?" Lando accuses and I can't answer those questions, because I am. I'm so scared. But not because of Lando. Because of media. So I shout the next best option.

"I never wanted the attention! I didn't become a driver because I can't handle the media like you all can! And yet I end up here, and--" I go to keep talking and Lando holds up a hand, shouting over me,

"Okay, then back out! You clearly want nothing to do with me, or this, or everything that's happening, so go tell Christian you're done!"

Silence. I swallow thickly because no. I don't want to be done. I want to fight tooth and nail for everything in this relationship, but also, was this what was best? Should I back out now, before everything we've done catches up to us? A hubris that needs to be checked? I knew from the beginning I was going to burn, but not like this. Never did I think it would be like this.

"Olivia..." Lando whispers, and I feel something roll down my cheeks. I'm crying I realize. The world is blurry, my throat is dry, and I'm crying over a relationship I can now see we both want but... at least to me, we can never have.

Do I ask Christian..?

"No, Lando." I sigh, doting under my teary eyes, "This is why. This is why. We will end up here one day, and I can't do that. I... I'll talk to you later."

"Ollie, wait!"

I turn, leaving the office in a hurry. I shove through the McLaren workers who try to stop me and once I'm in the clear, I run. The Red Bull paddock isn't far and once I get there I can't breathe, shoving through people who now wear the same uniform as me. My office doesn't even feel safe, the flowers on my desk mocking me, and I grab them and in a fit of rage, I throw them across the room. It doesn't make the pain in my chest leave.

“Olivia!” Someone shouts and I turn, Christian just barely in the doorway. I shout, without thinking, without even pausing.

“I’m backing out! I’m done with that media stunt—!” And a hiccup breaks my sentence, “Get me out of it!”

“I—“

“—Now, Christian!”

The garage is silent after my scream, and poor Christian looks horrified as he nods, and shuts the door to my office. I let a shaky breath out as I realize what I’ve done is irreversible, but there’s so much pain in my whole heart I can’t tell if that’s what’s hurting me. I sink to my knees on the floor, a hand on my chest, a hand on the carpet, and I sob.

I don’t even know why I’m crying.

An arm is around my shoulder, a set of hands resting on my elbows as someone whispers to me. I don't even know who the people are when I look up, and the sight of both Max and Checo kneeling in front of me makes the tears double. At some point, Checo leaves, once I've calmed enough for Max to convince me to lay down with his jacket covering my legs as I hiccupped and slowed down my breathing with Max's hand applying solid pressure to my chest.

Charles and Daniel come back with Checo, who then leaves the room entirely, and I end up with my weird little mixed driver support group on the floor in my office.

Something so odd, something that should not be happening in any way, but yet here we are.

Somehow, one relationship shattering had made the other relationships in my life more clear. Relationships that had started casually and professionally, and ended up with me now having twenty or so brothers at this point.

Brothers.

Just like Oscar.

Max drops me at Oscar's hotel room a few hours later when he returns from his date with Lily. She ends up going off on her own, with a few of the other WAGs, to give Oscar and me privacy. I settle on the couch, sipping a water bottle as Oscar looks out the window. I hadn't told anyone else what Lando and I had argued about, Max had kinda picked up on it as had Charles, but they had given me a berth. A space to explain. When I didn't take the invitation, they didn't try and pull me in to say anything. Which I appreciated beyond words.

"What happened?" Comes the soft voice of my twin. I knew Oscar wouldn't have been like them though.

“I backed out,” I say, rubbing a hand along the fabric beneath me.

"What?" Oscar turns to face me, "You backed out?"

"Of the shit with Lando, I can't do it anymore. I can't have my emotions being toyed with like this anymore. And we both like each other but one day they're gonna come along and tell us we need to break up and we have to listen to them." I find a stray string in the couch stitching and begin picking it. My nails dig into them, making a slightly bigger hole. It feels like the way I'd ripped a hole into my own heart earlier.

"I had a feeling this was gonna happen." Oscar walks across the room to sit on the arm of the couch, looking over at me, "what happened?"

"I just had a shit day, and... and when this guy at McLaren started flirting excessively with me he got super overprotective and threatened the guy. Which... isn't the worst but he could've handled it better." I wave my hands, "But I had such a shit day I just blew up at him over it, and we fought, and he told me to back out if I couldn't handle it... and when I got back to Red Bull I just did it. I didn't even think and now I think I made a huge fuckin' mistake but I can't go back on it now."

"Could you talk to Christian? Ask him to wait?" Oscar hums, his hand coming up to card through my hair again and I melt into his touch as per usual.

"I dunno." I murmured, closing my eyes, "I just wanna sleep the rest of the day off."

"We can talk about it tomorrow after the race, okay?" He says, looking down at me before turning to look at his phone as it buzzes on the table. I look up at him and see his jaw tense, hand pausing on my head as he makes a face.

"Oh, Christ." He whispers, turning his phone to me. I climb up to sit next to him, eyes widening as I look over the post he shares and my stomach falls to my chest.

"This is not what Christian told me would happen," I whisper, Oscar's hand squeezing my upper arm in some sort of semblance of support. Of course, getting out of this mess with Lando wouldn't be easy.

Now I needed to talk to Christian. As soon as possible.

01 JULY, TWITTER ↴

written by Julia Sine, 01 July, 2024.

Cars aren't the only thing racing down the track in Austria this weekend, so are some hearts! In an exclusive interview after the qualifier today, multiple McLaren and Red Bull workers spoke with reporter Julia Sine about what might become the next 'it couple' after Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift.

"Lando and I first spoke about it in Bahrain. He said the two of them have been close since Oscar's rookie season last year and he was worried Olivia's job would be at stake if their relationship ever leaked to the public," Steve Atkins, McLaren's Head of Communications explained while standing in the paddock with Chief Executive Officer Zak Brown and Team Principal Andrea Stella, "I went and spoke with Christian Horner, the Team Principal of [Oracle Red Bull Racing] and we agreed that since they were on separate teams, and Olivia was an analyst and not an engineer, there was no conflict of interest. Olivia did sign an NDA, just to make sure she wasn't leaking race information to Lando but it was never brought to our attention if Olivia and Lando ended up dating."

"If the two of them are dating, which again I've had nothing clarified to me if they are or aren't, I'd imagine they've been keeping it private due to concerns with the media and fans."

"Olivia and Lando have a very unique connection, and we here at McLaren are all supportive of relations between teams. All our drivers are friends at the end of the day and we support [Lando and Oscar] being friends with any of the drivers outside of racing. However, I will say we have seen some tensions growing between our drivers and Red Bull." Andrea spoke with me and Zak right before leaving for a meeting, Zak agreed with Andrea, and he further stated, "A lot of the tension we've been seeing with Max and Lando on the track stems from this, in my opinion."

When I made my way to Red Bull to ask some more questions about the situation, I was only able to briefly speak with Alice McLoughlin, Red Bull's Head of Communications who said, "The relationships our staff members get into is not any of our business as long as it's not a conflict of interest or damaging to the staff member themselves. I have not been told if there is for certain a relationship, but if there is I wish both of them well but we will be waiting for their announcement before we decide anything.