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suashii · 4 months

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— 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝓊𝓈𝓉 ౨ৎ

okkotsu yuta x f!reader. 2.1k wc. ﾉ nsfw (mdni) ﾉ characters aged 21+ ﾉ step-brother!yuta ﾉ stepcest ﾉ dubcon (via alcohol) ﾉ hand job ﾉ mentions of blow jobs

when your mother remarries and yuta comes into your life to fill the role of step-brother, you aren’t exactly sure what to expect.

you’ve never had a brother before, no one to threaten boys in an attempt to discourage them from breaking your heart or annoy you when you have friends over for the night. and you anticipate that he’ll fit the mold, fall into the standard that’s been set by your friends. as unfamiliar as you are with siblings of the male variety—you don’t consider yuta’s behavior as brotherly.

he’s kind, and you suppose that’s a trait that can be attached to brothers—but not in the way yuta is nice. there’s something… different about the way he smiles at you, like he’s thinking about things other than what you’re talking about, like there's something else on his mind that you aren’t privy to. it’s a pretty smile, you acknowledge every time you see, but it makes you a bit uneasy.

the things he does for you feel more like acts boyfriends take on—opening doors for you, zipping up your coat, offering to take your makeup off after a long day. it’s hard to turn him away or tell him no, especially when he insists on helping you out. how can you deny him when he wears a pout that’s practically begging for your permission to lend a hand? and, as he says, he’s your brother, after all.

you’re close, but not in the way siblings should be. he tells you a lot, things that he shouldn’t feel comfortable telling his sister, things about his relationships that you have no business knowing, that make your cheeks warm up and your teeth bite down on your lip. he asks about yours, too, curious to know whether or not the boys you bring around are satisfying you, “the way they should be,” he likes to say. you’re never quite sure how to answer him or just why he’s so interested in parts of your life that are meant to be private.

things have gotten even stranger since the two of you moved out of your parent’s home, relocating to live on your own and start lives outside of your family unit. yuta still makes an effort to visit you often, going out of his way to make sure the apartment you end up renting isn't too far from his. you’re sure that if it were up to him, he’d have you living in his spare room.

he’s over your place now with the intention of “catching up” despite seeing you only a week ago. his presence in your home has become a normal one, so much so that you’ve gone out of your way to get him his own pair of slippers and even make sure that your fridge is always stocked with enough food for two.

neither of you has paid the dinner you made much mind, you focusing on your wine and yuta focusing on you. you’ve almost gotten used to being the subject of his dark stare, but you’ll admit that meeting it is a little easier with alcohol in your system. another sip of the beverage is enough for you to find your voice. “so, how’s that girl you’ve been seeing?”

whether it’s because your living room is dimly lit or because you’re starting to feel the effects of the wine, you swear you see yuta deflate with your question. the lighting isn’t tricking you—his shoulders do slump a bit upon hearing your query. he knows he’s forthcoming with information regarding his relationships but he thought he made the fact clear; that all of these girls are simply placeholders for the one he truly wants. you don’t seem to have caught on. “i’m not seeing her anymore.”

you snort, swirling your wine in its glass. “what was it about this one?”

yuta’s turnover rate with girlfriends is something to gawk at—you don’t think you could count the number of women he’s wooed over the years even if you tried… not that you’ve ever found yourself keeping track. it should be a glaring red flag, how quickly he moves on from one to the next without batting an eye, but you merely chalk it up to him being a bit of a player. and that much should mean nothing to you. guys who sleep around aren’t your type and even if you didn’t mind the lifestyle, yuta is off-limits.

not that you’ve ever thought of him in that way.

yuta shrugs. “she just wasn’t right for me.”

“is anyone?” a giggle bubbles up from your chest and it makes yuta’s heart jump, bang against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape and make its way into your hands. he’s met with a sick thought, a little voice in the back of his head whispering that your hands are where his heart belongs. “you know, you’re super picky.”

he grins at your claim. it wouldn’t be untrue to say that he has acquired a specific taste, a fixed hunger, over the past few years. “picky” isn’t quite the right word—he prefers “particular”. “i’m not, i just know what i want.”

you nod, bringing your glass to your lips. “and what’s that?”

“you.”

the little bit of wine that made it into your mouth is sputtered back into the glass as yuta’s confession wafts through the air. you’re too busy trying to compose yourself to see the way the corners of yuta’s mouth twitch at your reaction—how his gaze falls to your lips to watch how you lick them to clean up the mess of wine.

you’ve always thought that he’s treated you like someone other than a sister but you never imagined he’d come right out and say it, and so shamelessly, at that. your cheeks heat up as the single word hangs in the air, the warmth spreading up to the tips of your ears and some other place that you try not to acknowledge.

what’s worse, the admission doesn’t make your stomach churn in disgust. it doesn’t urge you to stand up and kick him out—tell him not to come back and leave you alone for good. because as much as you like to deny it, to push those sickening feelings down into the deepest, darkest depths of you, there’s a piece of you that feels the same.

“you’ve thought about it, too, haven’t you?” yuta’s voice cuts through the thick, suffocating air surrounding you. there’s an edge to his tone that you haven’t heard before that has you dragging your bashful gaze up to his.

“it’s okay. there’s nothing wrong with it,” he reassures you as if he can hear the doubts swimming in your head like angry piranhas. his hand finds yours and you jump at the contact but you don’t pull away. the pad of his thumb runs over your knuckles, calloused skin comforting you in a way it shouldn’t as he continues. “we’re not actually related—only by title.”

“yeah but… what would people think?” it’s taboo, you know that much—it’s why you’ve been so hellbent on suppressing those nagging feelings of attraction throughout the years. though, with his confession now out in the open, those very feelings are trying to crawl their way up from the depths of your chest—they’re surfacing.

“no one has to know.” yuta lightly shakes his head to emphasize his point. the eyes staring you down are glistening with desire, like your question has given the man hope for a long sought-after fantasy. “we can keep it between us… our little secret.”

you chew the inside of your cheek as you ponder over his suggestion. the rational part of you is screaming to snatch your hand away and point him to the door but the part of you led by longing and lust urges you to stay put, to see this through. the two thoughts are like a floating angel and devil on each of your shoulders, both of them whispering in your ear, playing tug-of-war to see which side will win your favor.

the push you need to make a decision comes in the form of yuta himself, the man lifting your hand from your lap to his lips. a light kiss brushes your knuckles before he guides your palm to the tent between his legs. you suck in a surprised gasp at the contact your hand makes with the hard bulge.

“see what you do to me?” yuta breathes out, light and airy, “only you can do this to me.”

a twisted sense of pride sprouts in your chest upon hearing his declaration. yuta has never hidden the fact that you’re special to him but you never imagined just how special that was. the statement gives you the confidence to touch him of your own will, hand tentatively rubbing over his clothed erection.

yuta lets out a shattered breath and the sound has your hand stilling and your gaze darting up to his—like a bunny spooked by unexpected commotion. his free hand makes its way up to cradle the side of your face, thumb running up and down your cheek. “keep going, baby.”

you swallow and nod your head, hand picking up where it left off in its exploration over his jeans. as pretty as the quiet moans yuta releases into the air are, you can’t help but think it would feel better—for the both of you—if there wasn’t a denim barrier between the two of you.

your fingers reluctantly reach for his belt before pausing in their path. you look up at him through your eyelashes. “c-can i?”

yuta didn’t think it was possible for him to get even more turned on—not after your initial acceptance, not after he finally felt your touch, but your questions has his pants growing uncomfortably tighter. you’ve always been cute in his eyes but your asking for permission gives him all the more reason to find you absolutely adorable. “please.”

dark eyes follow your fingers as they fumble to unbuckle the man’s belt. you’re not sure whether your shaky hands are due to nerves or excitement but the trembling doesn’t go unnoticed by yuta and when you get his pants and boxers down his hips, he places a steady hand on your quivering one.

it’s warm and big around yours and you don’t question his action, only let him take your hand, guide it to the cock you’ve just pulled out. you’re no longer afraid to admit that you’ve thought about it before—what yuta’s cock looked like. it’s different seeing the real thing and you find your mouth drying with the sight, lips parted as yuta continues to steer your hand.

both of you gasp when your palm meets his skin, dragging beads of precum down yuta’s shaft with his guidance. beyond your mingled breaths, the lewd squelching that accompanies each assisted stroke of yuta’s cock sounds in the otherwise quiet air.

yuta grunts as he helps you jerk his cock, a pleasure he’s never felt before washing over him. “f-fuck—” he chokes out, “i knew you’d feel this good.”

your hand alone is better than any mouth or pussy he’s been in—it fits like a glove, fingers grazing every vein just right, brushing over his slit, squeezing his shaft. god—if your hand feels this good, yuta can only imagine what it’ll be like to have your lips wrapped around him, to be buried in the warmth of your cunt. he wonders if you know just what effect you have on him, if you’re aware of how much of a mess the mere thought of you turns him into.

the moment you look up at him with those doe-ish eyes of yours, he can’t hold out any longer.

and with a series of strangled moans, yuta comes, ropes of warm cum shooting over your joined hands. you can feel him soften in your hand as you stroke his cock through his high, his musical whimpers meeting your ears.

when he finds his voice, yuta speaks up. “made me come so good.”

his hand finally lifts from yours and you’d complain about the cold, empty feeling if it wasn’t relocated beneath your chin. yuta tips your head up, leaning down to steal a kiss. his lips are pillowy and soft as they dance with yours and you moan into his mouth when his tongue seeks yours. it’s a messy, wet kiss, but one that has you yearning for more—more of his lips, more of his cock, more of him.

you let out a muffled squeal when you feel yourself reclining, yuta’s weight and imposing presence hovering above you as you come to lie back on the couch. you suck in a breath after yuta pulls away. he presses his forehead against yours, meeting your widened gaze.

“let me take care of you, baby.”

heyooo ! this is my first time writing a solo piece for yuta — it was fun! hope you enjoyed and if you did, consider reblogging and offering some feedback :3

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: jujutsu kaisen #yuta x reader #yuuta x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #yuta smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #𐙚 after hours #cw stepcest

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uranometrias · 3 days

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✮ꜜ : ❛ you're still a traitor : criminal minds x fem! reader [ pt. 1 ]

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau! reader (unrequited) | spencer reid x bau! reader | s7 team x bau! reader (platonic)

summary: being in love with your boss was hard. especially when there were so many factors surrounding you that made the possibility of being with him, out of the question. for starters, there was your age gap, and hotch was a stickler with baggage that he couldn't quite disclose to you. hotch was a fantasy, always out of your grasp, that is until emily dies. in the four months that followed emily's death at the hands of ian doyle, you found yourself living a life that you'd only ever dreamed about. hotch was careful, but the proof was right in front of your face as he went out of his way to care for you while you grieved. how stupid of you not to realize something was horribly wrong. but now emily was back, and hotch was back from reassignment in pakistan, and you were all on trial, and absolutely nothing makes sense except for the bitter understanding that you were a pawn in a game that in so few words was "way bigger than you." but at least you had spence.

content warnings: this is literally a barrel of angst. reader breaks the skin of her palms with her nails. mentions of slight! anxiety. follows the plot of "it takes a village" aka the iconic "this is calm, and it's doctor" episode. flashbacks x present day! spencer has been crushing on reader for as long as she's been crushing on hotch. hotch is NOT romantically interested in reader. slight! hotchniss vibes (but that's up to your interpretation. jj x reader angst! reader does not react to emily's return well. mentions of unit transfer / bureau resignation. spencer confesses to reader... open ending making room for a part 2! heartbreak, drinking, crying. best friend! penelope garcia + derek morgan. reader has a sister & niece.

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Your leg shakes violently as you sat just outside the court room, hands balled into tight fists as your nails press deep into the callousing skin of your palms. You couldn't say you were nervous, as far as the previous case was concerned you'd done everything you could to save Declan. You'd take whatever suspension they'd throw your way without batting an eye. You didn't regret the part you played, no, you just regretted the team that you were apart of.

It had been a crazy seven months. You remembered when things turned left, back when Emily started acting weird. She was shorter, snappier, she had less patience with any of you. Long gone were the days of wasting your time with jokes and innuendos. She had a lot on her mind, a lot none of you were privy to, and you remembered how you'd stretched yourself. You'd all tried so hard to show her you were there, to let her know that you could be trusted.

Your face contorts into a scowl, it had become your new resting face in the last few weeks. God, you hated how stupid and naive you'd been back then. Now that everything was out in the open, it was almost too obvious where the deception began. What was the point of taking care of people who had no trouble treating you like some disposable pawn piece to be moved to fit their whims. Damn. You were crying again, you'd been doing that a whole lot too lately.

You scrub furiously at your face, and you hate your teammates a little bit more. JJ had gone first, face devoid of any timidity or uncertainty. Long gone were the days of Jennifer Jareau the Liaison, she was a profiler now, one of you. When she'd come back, you'd been ecstatic. The unit hadn't been the same since she was transferred, you'd missed her so gravely. But now, now the sight of her just reminded you of the secret you'd been holding on the tip of your tongue.

Hotch wasn't the only one who had known about Emily.

You feel a hand moving to rest on the top of your thigh, and you flinch violently. You sniffle audibly, eyes moving to rest on Penelope, your God-given solace. Your best friend. She, Derek, and Spencer were the only ones who wholeheartedly understood what you felt. But even still, Hotch hadn't used their feelings to make them blind, the way he had done with you. He'd played you like a goddamn fiddle, and you'd let him. Because you were weak, stupid, grieving, and in love.

Hotch had never been in the cards for you, not that you weren't beautiful, gorgeous, an amazing agent. You had the stamp of approval of both Agents Gideon and Rossi. Erin Strauss had been (by your request) rejecting every request of transfer any other unit had tried to offer. You were an asset to the bureau, and a major part of this team. You'd been around since the beginning. You'd witnessed doe-eyed Spencer Reid join at age 23, full of facts and anxiety.

You'd seen Derek blossom and break out of his play-boy persona, and become someone that other branches of the law fought to have. You'd been around for so long, you'd witnessed so much, and Hotch knew that. Which you suppose is what you allowed yourself to believe was the reason he'd never shown signs of reciprocating your feelings. He was respecting your future, leaving your options open. But those were the delusional musings of a girl in love with someone she can't have. Hotch wasn't into you, and you knew that.

So why, why, why did you let him convince you of the opposite? For even one measly second? And, yes, of course in the grand scheme of things you understood why he did what he did. But it didn't make it hurt less. In fact knowing his duty to Emily outweighed his duty to anything else just made this whole ordeal feel more like a slap to your face. Penelope gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze, and you're pulled from your running mind. You blink, registering her worry.

"Are you alright?" she asks, and it's the first time anyone's asked you that since the first day. You know they were giving you space to cope, which only seemed to reaffirm your feelings of betrayal and loneliness. "We'll get out of this, alright? And we'll-we'll be able to be a complete family again." she proceeds, and serves you right for believing someone understood what was going on. They'd all misunderstood you. They thought your behavior was fear of the team being dismantled. Some profilers you were surrounded by.

"I'm fine, Garcia." you say, and you can't bite the snippiness if you wanted to. "I just want to get this over with, and get the hell out of here." you add, and you're standing up, Penelope's hand dropping limply as you move your seat. You find a more isolated corner, plopping back into the uncomfortable seat, as the legs squeak slightly. Your leg is back to shaking, only now you've taken to chomping on your bottom lip. You don't imagine Penelope's hurt expression, you know without a doubt that you'll cave. And you can't.

Not this time.

Your phone chirps in your pocket, and you jump once more. Your jumpiness was a new attribute triggered by the amount of sleep you hadn't been getting. Pulling it out you see that it's a call from your big sister, and you curse under your breath. You were supposed to be watching your niece so your sister could pick up an extra shift. None of you had really expected for things to go this far.

"Hey..." you wince, because you can hear the heaviness of your feelings ladled over your words.

"Hey, are you alright? I got a call from Spence." and you're surprised. You look up, searching for the brunette anywhere in the vicinity, and find that he hasn't shown up yet. It's a bit of a shock, especially for someone as punctual as Reid. You did however spot JJ still meandering about, and she's not looking tense at all. Despite your anger towards her, you couldn't deny that she'd quickly fallen into the role of a profiler. It fit her almost like a glove.

"Spencer called you?" you ask, and you hear the tension in your sister's sigh. You imagine that she must be exhausted. Your sister did a lot, and managing a blossoming family was hard. Your niece was five, and she had a new addition to the family on the way. Which was why it was so important for you to be there on the days she needed you to watch your niece.

"Yes, he said something about..." your sister lowers her voice. "Emily." she questions, and you find your head nodding despite the fact she can't see you. "Are you alright?" she asks again, and this time she emphasizes how important it is for her to hear directly from your mouth the state of your wellbeing. Your sister seemed to always see right through you, it was a wonder she wasn't the one in the FBI.

"I'm-" you trail off before you can lie. "I'm sure if they could they'd disband the unit." you whisper, and you look up just as Derek is exiting the court room, Penelope looking terrified as she takes his place. Derek scans the room before he spots you, and his eyes soften. JJ approaches him and the two seem to chat animatedly. Still they look so serious, there was no room for smiles and banter today.

It's not long though before they're looking at you again, and you know that they know. Your self isolation wasn't something you were exactly being subtle about. You immediately look away, focusing in on what your sister was saying. "Bad decisions or not, they're no good without your unit." she says, and pride still manages to swell up inside of you. "You guys do good work. You work because you're together, everyone plays their role." she proceeds, and it's then you shatter.

Play your role. What role exactly did you play? Hotch was the stoic leader that somehow seemed to play the role of pseudo-father so well for every member of the team, with the exception of Rossi and Derek. Derek, was the shoe-in for promotion. The older brother who teased you relentlessly, but would fight til his last breath to protect you, and he always did. JJ, the pretty girl. The one who everyone on the team at some point had been attracted to. But more than that, she was resilient, a subtle glue that kept your unit running.

You quickly slot through everyone else's roles in your head, and huff. What were you except the odd-woman out. The dummy with a crush on your unit chief, and too much knowledge for your own good. You supposed that was why Hotch had to distract you with exaggerated gestures. If you got out of your feelings and really thought about it, you knew that if anyone on the team was going to see through the smoke, and uncover the truth about Emily, it would be you.

So he had to handicap you. What better way than by hanging the possibility of a romance in your face. Still, it was cruel. Just more proof that this was not the family you made them out to be. "Yeah, I'm not so sure." you reply, and you can hear how disgruntled you sound. It smacks you like a ton of bricks, and it's then you truly realize just how hurt you were by everything. Your sister sighs deeply, and it makes you second guess yourself. Were you being irrational? Unfair?

"I know what Hotch did." she begins, "And it was awful to play with your feelings like that." she expresses, and you feel validated. "And nobody's expecting you to just welcome Emily back with open arms after months and months of thinking that she was dead. You were deceived, and I want you to feel however you want, okay?" she says, and you don't respond, mostly because it feels rhetorical. "Just don't do anything rash without thinking it through alright?"

You don't know what she means by that so your eyes roll. "I think we're well past that, if they find us guilty I could lose my job." you remind her, and she chuckles. You don't find it funny, you can't. Your love for the job outweighed a lot of things, so it had been a no-brainer to help Derek seek out Ian Doyle. You wanted his head spinning on a pike, and you weren't planning to take no for an answer.

two weeks prior.

You were sitting across from Derek, steaming mug of coffee in your head that was more french vanilla creamer than anything else. You held the staged photograph of Declan and Louise. Derek's holding an identical photo, a heady sigh escaping him as you both rack your brains for some sort of bullseye. Something that would point you right in the direction of Declan. "Okay, Emily needed to get Declan a new identity." Penelope says as she walks into the office. She sits in the chair right beside you, arm full of stress balls and files. "So she must have used someone that she trusted." she proceeds.

"Alright, well that's a short list, but it's probably not even written down." is Derek's tired reply.

"Even if it was, she's been so many places, with so many different points of contact. " you speak up, and you take a sip from your coffee, praying it kicks in and wakes you up a bit. "It's not gonna be super easy to track and narrow them all down." you say, and you realize your mistake just as Penelope is placing a file in your hands.

"Oh, tell me about it. Two columns, domestic and imports." she says as she passes the other to Derek, who's looking at you with an amused smile stretched across his face. Serves you both right for underestimating the genius of Penelope Garcia. "I accept your apology, cutie." she says, leaning into you as you grin, smacking your lips in a kiss.

"Hey." JJ's at the door of the office, all three of you turning to look her way as she beams brightly. "Have you guys seen, Spence?" she questions, and you remember how you'd offered to bring him a coffee as a respite from the garbage water they served in the bullpen. He'd shut you down politely asking to reschedule as he was going to be spending his day at the Firing Range. You understood the need, he wanted to protect himself, and the team. He had to get better.

"He's at the firing range." you and Penelope speak in unison, making eye contact, as hers narrow. You knew instantly she would have questions about why you of all people knew Spencer's whereabouts.

"Again?" JJ questions as you shrug your shoulders, her eyes flitting towards you.

"Ever since Prentiss died, he..." Penelope speaks your thoughts.

"Right." JJ nods her head. "Uh... did you guys just get a new case?" she questions, hands clasping together in front of her.

"It's just an old one." Derek answers.

"Do you want some fresh eyes?" she asks, and it's painfully clear that she's still figuring out how to feel more like the team again.

"Not just yet." Derek denies, and he's polite, but you knew why he was being this way. You were all for keeping anything related to Doyle under wraps until you were further along.

"Ok. Um, well let me know." she hums, and then she looks back at you. "Y/N, can I..." your eyebrows raise as she trails off. "Can we talk? It'll only take a second." she hopes, and you look to Derek and Penelope for a moment.

"We won't do anything big without you." Derek promises, and you nod, closing the file, and handing it off, before you stand to your feet. You follow JJ out of the office, and down the hallway, stopping just before you reach the heart of the bullpen. You look to her expectantly, a bit confused, but not on edge. You had missed JJ, and in the two months she'd been back, it'd been pretty hard to get some real time with her. You'd hoped a break in the case would help to change that.

"Everything okay, Jaige?" you ask, and you witness how she exhales in relief right in front of you.

"God, it is now." she says, and your eyebrows jump up. She seems to understand the confusion on your face as she lets out a chuckle, dispelling more of her own tension. "You've been calling me Agent Jareau since I got back... not JJ and definitely not Jaige." she explains, as it seems to register for you. "I guess I was just a little worried I'd done something to make you mad at me." she admits, and she's clearly sheepish.

"Oh." you chuckle yourself, and you reach out to hold her shoulder. "No, you've done nothing wrong." you promise. "I've just been a bit in my head these last few weeks, but I'm really glad you're back." JJ beams at your words, and all the remaining tension in her posture dissipates instantly.

present day.

"Hey, everything alright?" you look up, pulled from your thoughts at the presence of Spencer Reid. He's holding a medium cup of a steaming liquid that you can only assume is coffee, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself. "I remember you asked me a few weeks ago about coffee." he holds it out, and you're quick to press your phone to your shoulder, neck craning slightly as you take it.

"Thanks, Spence." you mumble, and you can practically hear your sister's smirk from the other line. "Could you just give me one second, I'm talking to my sister?" you question, and Spencer nods his head, eyes widening in understanding. You smile politely, and he beams back at you, pretty eyes seemingly brightening before he's making his way over to Derek who's smirking like the nuisance he is.

"Hey." you mumble once he's gone, and your sister is snickering. For some odd reason she'd been dropping hints that maybe the guy on the team you should be setting your sights on was Spencer. To your defense, it wasn't like he wasn't attractive. You'd be an idiot to deny his boyish charm and good looks, but after he'd sat you down and admitted he had a crush on JJ, back during his second year, you'd sort of blocked any potential attraction towards him out of your head.

Now he was just Spence.

"Hey, I should go. I just wanted to check in, Spence made me aware of everything so I've got everything figured out on this end." she promises you, and you nod once more despite yourself. "Just think about what I said, alright? It'd be a shame for you to leave behind such a good job." she finishes, and you don't know how to respond to that, so you don't. "Call me later?" she questions, though you know she's telling you more than asking.

"I will." you reply, and she sounds pleased as she exhales.

"I'll talk to you soon." and then the phone is clicking. You adjust your grip on your coffee, using your free hand to grab your phone, and place it down on your lap. The coffee smelled good, it was from that cute shoppe that sold different pastries and always smelled like cinnamon. You'd been there with Spencer and Penelope a handful of times, and they always made your coffee exactly how you liked it. Still, Spencer had never ordered for you so you await a mishap.

The first sip warms you up instantly, and you're knocked flat on your ass by how on point the drink was. Your eyes snap upwards, looking across the lobby towards Spencer, who's awkwardly sitting in a seat, Derek beside him. JJ was gone now, but you figured she was probably with Hotch and Emily, the three of them had been attached at the hip since the team was "back together". You're certain them being gone was what led you to standing to your feet.

You walk towards Derek and Spencer quietly, slipping into a seat next to Spencer as Derek leaned up against the wall. "I didn't know that you knew my coffee order." you whisper, and Spencer turns to look at you. He offers a half smile, you were certain you'd be passing a lot of those back and forth until the court proceedings were done with.

"Of course I do." he shrugs his shoulders. "I pay attention when you talk." he promises, and you wonder why he had to like JJ, and why you had to like Hotch. On paper, and off paper Spencer Reid was the perfect candidate for boyfriend, plus he never pretended to be into you to keep you from finding out the truth. You both fall into silence, there's not much else to say, but you let his words repeat in your head. I pay attention when you talk. It makes your stomach twist.

"You alright over there, pretty girl?" Derek's voice barely reaches over a whispered volume. It seemed you all were feeling the dreary aftershocks of an ordeal like the one you'd found yourselves in. You look up at Derek tiredly, and you don't understand why he's asking you this, not until you feel the scalding heat of hot coffee singing your skin. Two sets of worried eyes are drawn to your cup, it's squished in your palm, brown liquid streaming everywhere.

"Shit." you hiss, and the cup falls to the floor, you're quick to clutch your burnt hand. God, you were really torn up over this.

"I'll get this cleaned up." Derek promises, and he looks at Spencer as if he was communicating something he didn't want you privy to. Spencer falters, only for a second before he's reaching out for your forearm, and guiding you to your feet. You trail after him, walking down the long corridor, listening out for the telltale sign that Penelope was done, and they'd be calling you next. On your route you pass JJ who looks concerned as she looks between the two of you.

"Spence, Y/N?" she says, and you avert your gaze, you're not sure if you're more angry or embarrassed.

"Sh-she spilled some coffee." Spencer explains, but he doesn't stop walking. "Shouldn't be more than a first degree burn, if she soaks her hand for five minutes, everything should be fine." he is passive as he speaks, eyes never quite meeting hers as he continues to lead you.

"Let me take her." JJ offers, and both you and Spencer are quick to offer denials. She looks hurt but masks it quickly. "It's not like you can go into the girl's bathroom with her, right?" she says and it's then you both realize you've got no other choice. He looks to you, trying to gauge how you'd feel about it, and you sigh. Maybe this was for the best, you could finally get things off your chest with JJ. It was only fair. He seems to clock the instant you've decided, and concedes.

"I'll be right out here." he promises, and you nod slowly. He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn't get the chance to.

"Spence." JJ says his name a bit more sternly, and he resists the urge to cut his eyes in her direction. He ignores her long enough to take in your ailed hand, he saw the way the skin began to redden and swell. He seems cross as he passes you off to JJ, and you feel a bit silly being fussed over for something as minute as a coffee burn. JJ's earnest in the way she takes you to the nearest women's restroom. You hiss the second the cold water comes in contact with your skin.

You don't say anything to JJ though, losing your nerve the second the two of you were alone. She looks like she's waiting for you to say something though, eyes brimming with some sort of unease. She was reading you, using her new skills to profile you. You suppose that's exactly what pushes you to finally speak. "We said we'd never profile one another." you remind her crossly, and she's sheepish. "Just because you're doing it in your head doesn't make it any less invasive." you keep your wrist in place, hissing silently.

"If you would just talk to me I wouldn't have to go that far." she counters, and you blink. Fair, but you had every right to keep your distance from her. Just because the rest of the team was still more or less unaware of JJ's role in harboring the secret of Emily, you'd read right through her.

"What's there to talk about exactly?" you ask. "None of us want to be here dealing with this." and you take the route of the naive girl.

"I'm not talking about with the trial... and the senators." she shakes her head, and she's almost pleading as she tries to catch your eyes in the mirror. "I'm talking about Emily." she deadpans. "Everything that happened?" she proceeds. "You've hardly said a word to her since she came back." she doesn't want to come off like she's scolding you, and so she takes in a breath before her tone can become defensive.

"I don't speak to ghosts." and it's a quiet little dig that she hears all the same. It forces a tense silence to wash over the restroom, the only sound slicing through the awkwardness is the water rushing from the spout. JJ clears her throat, blinking a few times as she adjusts your wrist, allowing the water to evenly coat your burn. Only a few more minutes of this and you could make your grand escape.

"That's not fair." she finally voices her thoughts with a deep sigh.

"Isn't it?" you snap. "Seven months we thought she was dead." and you suppose that was a mistake of hers, getting you started. "Pretty lucky that you were off at the Pentagon, right?" you ask sourly. "Or was it lucky that you were in on the whole scam? I mean you were at the funeral, but you didn't have to cry, you didn't have to grieve." you accuse, and JJ's jaw slackens, clearly surprised at your outburst.

"I lost my friend too, okay?" she counters and you scoff.

"Did you?" you argue. "All those nights I called you crying, all those texts, those check ins... how long did you know Emily was still alive?" you demand, and JJ's feeling cornered, and her heart rate is picking up. She knew there'd be mixed feelings about this, but she'd never expected to ever be at odds with you. You, Spencer, and JJ rounded out the younger crowd on the team, it was your job to stick together. "Answer me." you insist, and you sound so crushed as you speak.

"I knew the whole time." she answers, and you nod your head, because of course you already knew.

"Exactly." you sneer. "You're a liar." you hate how angry this whole thing makes you, but you can't deny it. They'd played with your feelings, all of them, and now you were meant to behave like nothing was wrong. "Did you know about Hotch?" you ask, and JJ flinches. She doesn't answer for a while, and the water seems to rush even louder in your ears.

"I told him it wasn't smart." she finally answers. "But we needed to ensure that Emily wasn't at risk, it was harmless... just some flirting to keep you from getting too close to the truth." and JJ is speaking as if this wasn't some major breach of your position as coworkers and alleged friends. "He'd never cross the line." she reminds you, and the reminder that yeah, Hotch would never be with you makes you wince.

"And he didn't." she says this like she knows for certain. "It was flirting, Y/N. it didn't mean anything, we just needed you to..." and she trails off when she sees how destroyed you look at her admission. "Y/N..." she trails off, and you inhale sharply.

"Don't." you exhale, and you snatch your hand from her grasp. The cool air of the bathroom immediately attacks the welts blooming on your hand. You don't have time to pay them any mind.

"We just wanted to protect you... and keep Emily safe in the process. The more of us that knew Emily was alive, the more of a liability we'd be while Doyle was still on the run." she says, and you suppose in the grand scheme you understand. As profilers, as special agents working for the FBI they'd done great work. As your friends, as people you'd considered family for years... they'd betrayed you.

Plain and simple.

"Congratulations, you did exactly what you meant to." you say dully, and you sniffle, though no tears are set to come. Instead you feel more anger blossoming in the pit of your gut. "I hope it was worth it." and it's dramatic, but you deserve the dramatics, sidestepping the blonde and leaving her behind just as Emily is stepping inside. She looks at you wide-eyed, before she sees JJ standing there seemingly frazzled.

"Is everything okay?" she questions, and you don't offer her an answer, instead leaving the restroom as your earlier words ring in your head. I don't talk to ghosts. And you don't, and despite your history you'd never allow yourself to. You find your way back to the seats that led to the courtroom, Derek was gone, the only person still there was Spencer. He stands up as soon as he hears your shoes.

"Where's Derek?" you ask quietly.

"He left with Garcia." he answers quietly. "I guess they're dismissed for now. They're in with Dave now." he explains, and your eyes shift to the door. More than likely you or Spencer would be next.

You sit down, and Spencer follows you, sinking back into his seat as his legs just barely brush against yours. "Are you scared?" you ask, and Spencer's head shakes.

"Are you?" he shoots back, and you look away from the door.

"Not of this." you admit. "But of what comes after." you add and Spencer's pretty brown eyes are swimming with confusion. "Can we really all bounce back from something like this?" you ask, and it's rhetorical, but he answers you all the same.

"We've come back from worse." he reminds you, and that faint smile is worming back onto your face.

"Sure we have." you agree numbly. Spencer's eyes drop to your hand.

"How does it feel?" he asks, and you follow his gaze with a shrug of your shoulders. He doesn't look pleased by this approach, and it makes you sigh.

"Just feels like I ran some water over it." you admit, and Spencer chuckles. "A bit anticlimactic if I'm honest with you, Doctor." and you're partly teasing, mostly because it's so easy.

"You'll need some sort of petroleum jelly... there's some pretty good products that aren't at all carcinogenic like the leading brands." he begins on a tangent, and it makes you smile a bit bigger. "That with some gauze is the perfect remedy for such a mild burn." he proceeds and you look down at it. There's a moment of silence between you, before he's talking again. "Can I ask what happened?" he whispers.

You hum, almost like you're pretending you can't hear him.

"With the coffee? Was it not good? I tried to follow your order exactly." he says and you squeeze your eyes closed.

"It wasn't you or the coffee, Spence." you promise him, and without thinking you reach out, small hand resting on his shoulder. "The coffee was perfect." you insist, and he relaxes, but not enough. "I guess I'm just thrown about all of this." you proceed. "No matter how much I try to remind myself that they did this to protect Emily... that their deception was for a good reason, it just makes me angrier. Why is it that I have to rationalize being angry?" you question.

"I have to reign my feelings in for the sake of the team." you're careful not to grow loud. Spencer's eyebrows are pressed inwardly, head shaking.

"You don't." he denies you quickly. "You shouldn't." he corrects.

"You're right." you agree, and your silent for only a second. "I wish everyone could be like you, Spence." you say, and your words surprise him. He feels this familiar wave of adoration that always seems to swallow him whole whenever he was around you.

"Really?" he knows it might be pathetic, to be hopeful for something like this. The chance to hear what popped in your head whenever you thought of him.

"Yeah." you say firmly, and he tries not to look too eager. "You're so smart." you tell him, and he knows this, but it still feels nice hearing it from you. "And you're always nice to me." you add with a quiet laugh. "And you'd never lie to me would you?" you ask, and in truth, it's not a fair question. Spencer wasn't in the position the others were in.

"What do you mean?" he asks, and he fears it may be the wrong response. You don't even react, at least not that he can tell.

"Nothing." you settle on, head shaking from side to side. "Forget I mentioned it." and he doesn't really want to remind you that his memory quite literally makes that impossible. "I heard that you weren't fighting the suspension." you say conversationally, and he's surprised, mostly because the only person he'd told about that was Derek. Which meant you had been talking about him when he wasn't around.

"I guess I just stand by everything we did." he tells you, and your hand still hurts a bit, but it's definitely a problem for a later version of you.

"Me too. I'm glad we got Doyle, and Declan's safe." you exhale, and despite your anguish towards the team, you meant every word.

"And the team's back together." Spencer himself doesn't sound so convinced. You look over at him at this, your own unconvinced expression slowly cracking through his attempt at a cool facade.

"Is it?" you ask, and Spencer's face softens, a small little frown taking over his otherwise usually content face. He couldn't admit it now, mostly because it didn't feel like the right time, but he paid attention to you. He knew all about your complicated feelings for Hotch "I don't want to be on a team with people who purposely keep me in the dark about things." you ask, and Spencer pauses.

"I'm sure they wouldn't if they had another choice." he offers, and it's not how he feels at all, but it's what you need to hear.

"You don't believe that." you deny, and Spencer can't fight his chuckle. "Or maybe you do, you've always been good at seeing the best in people."

"Oh, do you think so?" it's a bit of a surprise. With your job description it would've made more sense for you to tell him that he saw the worst in people. He felt it was a fair thing to say that he was exceptionally good at his job, but it's then he recognizes what it is you're truly saying, or at least alluding to. It makes his face heat up immediately, cheeks blossoming a rosy red that makes him want to roll his eyes.

"Of course." you promise, and then you're looking at him again. Your face is one of the prettiest he's ever seen, and it's not even subtle. You seem a bit uncertain of your own allure though, which to him is a major shock. "You're like the best person ever." you add, and he expects you to snicker or show some sign that you were joking, but you don't. Bad for him, because his deluded mind full of fantasies starring you would take words like those the wrong way.

"I think you're the best person ever..." he's whispered this, but you hear it all the same, and he's lucky enough to witness the way your entire face morphs. Despite the bleariness in your eyes, you beam brightly. He hates though, that you start to cry. It starts with one tear slipping down your cheek and dripping into your lap. The onslaught comes right after, and before you know it, you're choking on sobs.

"God..." he hears the bitter tang of self-loathing that attaches and weaves itself into your otherwise honey-filled tone. "You're making this so hard, Spencer." you huff, and you scrub at your face harshly. He doesn't understand, but he's too frozen in place to ask you what you mean. Lucky him, you seem to know that you've got explain a bit, so you do. "I'm gonna resign." you say this quietly, sniffling as more tears fall. Spencer feels like he's misheard you.

He wants to have misheard you. He flounders a bit, and he's mentally scolding himself, because he has to hurry the fuck up and say something. "You can't!" and he's scolding himself again for sounding too eager. You jump a bit at the outburst, and he winces right along with you. "We just got everyone back." he reminds you, and you exhale, head nodding in understanding.

"I know." you promise him. "Why do you think this is so hard. You think I want to be the asshole that turns the unit on its head?" you ask. "But I can't stay here and pretend that everything's fine... or act like I don't feel thrown about all of this." you proceed, and of course, Spencer understands, he's upset he was lied too as well.

"I understand." he admits with a sigh, and you let out a quiet noise of relief, almost like you were worried he'd be upset with you. He assumes this is just him being delusional again. You look like you have something sitting on the tip of your tongue, so he stays silent to give you the room to say all that you need to.

"Have you ever had feelings for someone?" you ask. You chuckle at the look he shoots you, "Not just for a second, Spence." you proceed. "I mean like... take your breath away, kind of almost-in-love feelings." you indulge, and Spencer's keen to shut his mouth. Yes, is the loud and resounding answer that rings in his head, because foolishly he'd allows you to captivate him like the siren you were almost three years prior. He'd be a dummy to tell you such now though.

"I-" he blinks harshly, eyes feeling too dry. "I can't say I have." he lies, and he remembers your words from earlier, how you'd praised him for being someone who would never lie to you. You don't seem to notice his deception though, and if you do, you're too in your own head to comment on it.

"Good." you say with a shuddered breath. "They're nothing but a headache, especially when the person doesn't want you back." you exhale the words, and it's like a dagger is being lunged into his chest. How dense could you possibly be with all your super smarts?

"Did something happen with Hotch?" he asks, and now it's your turn to be embarrassed, face pinching up as you choke on a breath. "I don't mean to pry, if it's personal... it's just that-" he trails off, seemingly waiting for you to berate him or tell him to back off. You don't, instead your nose twitches, and you begin to look at your shoes. "Y/N?" he nudges you with his elbow, and it's light.

"No." you finally say, head shaking. "I thought maybe..." you trail off, more embarrassment slicing at you as you cringe. "But it was all a ruse, just a way to keep me from getting too close, and figuring out everything about Emily before they wanted us to know." you say and Spencer's eyebrows furrow.

"They?" he pries, and you look at him like he's silly.

"Hotch and JJ." you answer plainly, and it takes Spencer a second. JJ who he'd went to for comfort for ten weeks? He blinks at you, and you shrug. "So you see... anyone that could take my feelings and use them to manipulate me... are they really worth sticking around for?" you ask, and Spencer doesn't want to validate you in this way. He wants to be selfish, he wants you to stay on the team.

He thinks about how devasted everyone would be. How devasted he would be to walk into the bullpen and find that your desk was empty.

"I don't want you to go..." he admits, and it's quite pitiful, the sadness that soaks the words like gasoline. You find yourself chomping on your lip again, nails pressing into the cuts of your palms, and Spencer's catching your bad habits in real time.

It's a bit invasive, the way his hand surges out, and stops you in your tracks. "Please don't do this." and you're not sure if he's talking about leaving the unit, or if he's referring to the gashes littering your hands. When he holds your palm out flat, and rubs his thumb across the bleeding indentations, you find that you understand quickly.

Every few seconds it's ebbing with more droplets of blood, and he's quick to wipe them away like they offend him. Just as he's moving to say something else, the doors to the courtroom are opening, and Dave Rossi is exiting, his eyes immediately on you and Spencer. You must look foolish, hands intertwined as you stare wide-eyed at the team's senior agent. It's probably why Spencer is dropping your hand as you're snatching it away from his grasp.

You still find that your eyes are quick to appraise one another. He's looking at you, and you're staring back, mouths parted as if you'd been caught. Had you been caught? Had there really been anything to catch? You don't have time to answer, because you're being called next. You frown at Spencer, standing to your feet as he feels his pulse threaten to leap to disrespectful speeds.

"Y/N..." he calls after you, and you stop for a second. Eager eyes fall back on him, and he's trailing off, because the look in your eyes says it all. If you got out of this without being fired, you could imagine a world where quitting the FBI no longer made you sick to your stomach. Silence befalls the space, and he shakes his head after a beat. You look disappointed but not surprised, inhaling deep and audibly as you march towards the court room.

Spencer doesn't know what you're going to say, but he hopes recalling all you'd been through in the last few weeks will be enough to make you stay. At least until he has the courage to ensure that you leaving the team doesn't equate to losing you entirely and completely.

503 notes · View notes

bahablastplz · 3 days

Text

Make it hurt: Seungmin x Reader x Jeongin

Your best friend is a menace. A stupid, kinky menace that drags you along to a BDSM event with her when your curiosity gets the best of you. What will happen when a strangely attractive man asks you if you want to do your first scene with him and his friend? Content: smut smut smut smut smut Warnings: Talks of BDSM, use of ‘sir,’ traffic light system, dom/sub dynamics (dom Seungmin, dom Jeongin, sub reader), sensory deprivation, sensory play, fingering, choking, spanking (with a paddle), hair pulling, p in v sex, protected sex, edging, slight overstimulation, little bit of praise, little bit of degradation if you squint, lots of aftercare WC: 5900 (this is the longest smut I've ever written byeee)

Your friend is a menace. Well, that is a given. You’ve always known Lily, your best friend and roommate, to be somewhat unhinged. But now, given the circumstances you’re currently in… it was more apparent than usual.

She was involved in the BDSM community. It was something that she had started getting involved in with her boyfriend and so you were privy to hearing about some of her more… intimate experiences. She talked about what it was like being a submissive in a relationship, relinquishing any and all control to that of her dominant, coupled with sensory play, pain play, you name it.

When you expressed some interest in learning more about the BDSM community she was thrilled.

Let’s just say some of your past sexual experiences were… vanilla, for lack of a better term. While you’ve encouraged some of your previous partners to take charge or to be a little bit rougher in the bedroom, they would indulge but they never truly seemed into it. The one time a hookup agreed to choke you, however, you came harder than you ever had in your life.

When you told this to Lily, she told you that you just had to come to an event with her and her boyfriend. You weren’t too sure how you felt about this at first. Wouldn’t you just be third wheeling? She assured you that these BDSM events were a safespace for everybody of all experience levels to enjoy kink and that you would be fine to go off on your own if you needed to.

That’s how you ended up here. Just as you predicted, Lily and her boyfriend disappear the second you enter the venue, leaving you alone. Upon entry, you are given a pink wristband to show others that you’re new to the BDSM community and ‘open to learning more.’ You also pick out pins to display on your shirt, so you choose one that that says ‘submissive,’ and ‘pain slut.’ The latter you had grabbed just because you thought it was funny, but hey, if you’re here to learn more about kink then that’s what you’re going to do.

The event has a lot of different seminars to sit in on as well as vendors that sell a variety of sex toys or items for BDSM. You look at some of the silk ties and ropes they have for bondage and rope play, body-safe wax for temperature play, paddles and floggers for impact play, and even some lubes and sex toys that you have never seen before. You don’t buy anything, but you grab a lot of flyers and giveaway items that you put in a small bag to take home with you.

You also attend a seminar about kink for beginners and what green flags to look for in a dom/sub. Overall it is a very education-filled evening and you find yourself a little intimidated but also a little aroused. You know for sure by the end of the evening that this community is something that you want to continue to explore.

Sitting down at a table by yourself, you let out a loud sigh. You riffle through some of your pamphlets and check your phone to see if Lily texted you. "We're going to set up a scene in one of the play rooms!! Talk to you later! Xoxo.” She sent that text message 15 minutes ago, which means you would probably be stuck here a while longer. You let out a loud sigh again.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” You look up and your heart skips a beat when you see one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

He has shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair, shaggy but perfectly placed as it frames the front of his face. You notice his plump pink lips and sculpted face before you meet his dark eyes that give him an appearance not unlike that of a fox. Beautiful.

You realize that you haven’t responded to the man before you shake the thoughts out of your head and give him a smile.

“Yes! I mean, no no, it’s not taken. Feel free to sit!” You laugh at your own awkwardness and gesture to the chair to your left. Scanning over the man’s frame once again, you notice he’s wearing a denim coat over a nice white dress-shirt. He also has a pin on that says ‘dominant.’ Interesting.

“Are you okay?” He questions, tilting his head to the side inquisitively after sitting down.

“Huh?”

“Oh, I was just curious if you’re okay. I noticed that you were sitting alone and you were sighing, so I just wanted to make sure–”

“Oh! That’s so sweet of you! My friend kind of dragged me along with her when I told her that I was interested but um… yeah, she kind of ditched me as soon as we got here.” You run a hand through your hair and let out a breath that you had been holding. “I mean, I’m having a good time and all! But I just didn’t want my first time here to be alone, you know?”

“I’m sorry your friend ditched you,” he says sympathetically. “If it’s any consolation, it’s my first time here, too!” He holds up his wrist to show you a matching pink wristband. The action makes you smile.

“Are you here alone?” You question. “I’m just curious, you know, if this is something that a lot of beginners usually attend by themselves or if most people come here with a friend.”

“Oh no no,” he laughs. You think that his smile is cute and you can’t help it when you feel yourself warm up and get more comfortable just by his presence. “I’m here with my friend. He is a lot more experienced in being a dom, he’s been involved in the community for a few years and he told me he would show me around,” he explains.

“I see! Are you… Do you like it so far?” You try not to get shy, but to be fair this man is so unbelievably attractive.

“I do! It’s very educational. I can see myself trying to get more involved, hopefully. What about you? You’re not uncomfortable, are you? I know it must be a lot to be here by yourself since your friend left you here.” You think it’s so sweet that this guy is checking in on you so thoroughly.

“Oh, I’m fine!” You say with a big grin. “It’s been so cool so far! I definitely think I want to get more involved too. While it’s a little intimidating… it’s like… it makes me want to try it, you know? I definitely don’t want to go back to plain old vanilla sex after this, I think.” He laughs with you in understanding.

“My name’s Jeongin, by the way,” he says. “You are…”

“Y/N,” you provide.

He repeats your name, committing it to memory. “Listen, I know we’re both new at this, so don’t feel pressured at all… but would you be interested in setting up a scene with me and my friend? His name is Seungmin, he’ll be here in a few minutes if you’d like to meet him. But, he told me he would be there for my first scene, to walk me through it and make sure that everything goes right… And I don’t know if that would make you more comfortable for your first time to also have someone that is experienced… Shit, I don’t even know if you’re interested at all, and it doesn’t even have to happen right away or anything, and, um, he would be better at explaining it, but we could talk about boundaries and–”

“It’s okay, Jeongin,” you say. “I think I’m interested, actually.” He seems to perk up, as if surprised at your words. “Really?”

“Yeah! I think so. I’m a little nervous, admittedly. But… Do you think I could meet your friend first? Maybe if we talk it over a little more, I’ll feel better.”

“Of course!” He smiles, pulling out his phone. “He’ll be here in one minute.”

You don’t know why you’re surprised, but his friend Seungmin is also ridiculously attractive. He has long black hair, slightly shorter than Jeongin’s that falls around chin-length. He has bright eyes and a wide smile, almost innocently so, and he doesn’t strike you right away as someone that is an experienced dom that has been in the community for a while. He’s clear and concise when he speaks, though, setting clear boundaries with a politeness that makes you want to trust him implicitly.

The three of you talk for almost thirty minutes, surprisingly. Seungmin provides you and Jeongin with little kink surveys, which you think is almost endearing, but it helps you determine your sexual compatibility and any hard limits you have for the scene. He also talks you through protection, safewords, and the traffic light system, which you all determine will be your preferred method of communicating any hard or soft limits for the night.

You even spill the fact that you’ve been completely dissatisfied with previous partners, none of them pleasing you sexually and allowing you to completely let go the way you’ve been wanting. They nod along and you feel very comfortable sharing your experiences with them which you think is probably a green flag.

“Am I going to be having sex with the both of you?” You ask. You let out a nervous chuckle with the question, avoiding eye contact slightly but not trying to appear uncomfortable or shy about the topic.

“Do you want to?” Seungmin asks, turning the question back to you. “You need to let us know whatever you’re comfortable with, Y/N.”

“I think I want to.”

“Well, consent can be revoked at any point. If you decide you want to now but change your mind during the scene, that’s fine! You just need to communicate with us,” he explains. “Because this is your first scene, you should know that we don’t even have to have sex at all. Not all scenes have to involve sex. There’s plenty of other ways for everyone to have pleasure.” Something about the way he talks like he knows exactly what he’s talking about, so educated on the topic but also cautious to establish boundaries and make the whole process safe is so attractive to you. You hide a blush and look him in the eyes this time.

“I understand that we don’t have to. But… if you both are okay with it, I think I would like sex to be a part of the scene. Definitely with Jeongin,” you say. “But also with you, Seungmin, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“You’re doing a great job using your words!” He praises. This time you don’t conceal your blush. He takes note of that. “I think we’re pretty much set for now. Let us know if you have any questions!”

And with that, you set up a time and a place for the scene and exchange contact information before you all part ways. You find yourself exhilarated that this has just happened, but mostly you’re giddy. You’re going to do a scene. And with everything you talked about and communicated that you’re looking for, you have a feeling that it definitely won’t be a boring sexual experience.

When Lily and her boyfriend finally find you upstairs you’re more than ready to go home. She wants to grill you about everything that happened, but seeing as you’re a little annoyed that she left you to your own devices you decide not to tell her everything right away. You at least wait until you get home to let her know that you actually found a dominant that was interested in setting up a scene with you.

Before she can get the chance to lecture you about being safe, you explain to her about all of the boundaries and safe words that you set. You’re not sure how much detail you want to get into about it, but you at least promise to share your location with her during the scene so she can keep an eye on you for peace of mind.

The scene would take place in one week. Next Saturday.

In the meantime, you communicate somewhat frequently with Jeongin and Seungmin in a shared group chat. Seungmin shares articles for both you and Jeongin to read up on, and occasionally you would ask a few questions.

Saturday comes by faster than you know it.

Y/N: Should I wear anything special?

Seungmin: Innie says to wear something pink. And bring a change of clothes, something comfortable.

Seungmin: Don’t be late.

God, there are butterflies in your stomach. Is that the right terminology for this anxious yet giddy anticipatory feeling building up? You’re not sure, but when you knock on the door to Seungmin’s front door at 6:03 p.m., the feeling rises up again and again.

He leads you to his bedroom, where Jeongin is sitting on the bed. You sit in a gaming chair that accompanies a desk in the corner of his room, turning back and forth.

“Jeongin,” Seungmin says. “Do you remember the checklist?”

“Yeah,” he says to his friend. He turns to you. “How are you feeling today? Any hesitation on your end?”

“Nope,” you reply. “A little nervous, but excited.”

“Great. Remember our safe word?”

“Yeah! Traffic light system. Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for ‘God, yes, keep going.’”

“Amazing. So, Seungmin and I are going to go through and show you some of what we had planned for today, just to get you familiar with some of our toys and what not. As we talked about last week, we’re looking to do some pain/impact play, and maybe some sensory play. We’re okay with edging and overstimulation. You were interested in potentially having protected sex with penetration, maybe with both of us. If you feel uncomfortable at any time or want to stop, please let us know. Does that sound good?” You nod your head and smile sweetly.

“Words,” Jeongin and Seungmin both say at the same time. You let out a light chuckle at the action.

“Yes. Yes, that sounds good, thank you,” you answer.

Jeongin shoots Seungmin a look. “Did I miss anything?”

“Nope, you covered it all! You’re off to a great start. I did want to point out that your friend was three minutes late, however, when I explicitly instructed her to be on time. Now, I want you to be in charge of this scene, since it’s your first time, but that would definitely warrant a punishment if it were me.” You blanch at his words. You didn’t think that being late by three minutes would cause an issue but the promise of a punishment has you squeezing your thighs together in anticipation.

“Oh?” Jeongin says, shooting you a sinister grin. “Look at her rubbing her thighs together, she’s already wanting to be touched. I bet she did it on purpose, hmm? Did you come here late on purpose so you could get punished?” He stalks across the room to where you’re sat, tilting your head up to make eye contact with him. His gaze is dark yet firm, and you almost find it unbelievable that this is his first scene. Already you’re finding yourself willing to submit, to follow his every command and to please him.

“No,” you stutter. “Sorry, was an accident.” You don’t break eye contact but your face heats up rapidly.

“Do you remember what you said you wanted to call me tonight? You didn’t forget, right?”

“No… no, sir. Sorry,” you say. The both of you shudder at the term. You can tell it has the desired effect on Jeongin, who grips your chin tighter before letting you go, causing your head to fall down from lack of support.

“On the bed,” he instructs. “Take off your shirt and your pants and wait for Seungmin and I to get our materials ready. If you’re wearing a bra and underwear, keep them on.”

You nod your head at him before standing up then remember to use your words. “Yes, sir.”

“Color?” He asks. His face softens for a second and you let out a shaky breath.

“Green.”

Seungmin reaches to the top of his dresser and pulls out a long box. He walks you through various items, showing you paddles and floggers, restraints, and vibrators and dildos and other various sex toys. It’s reminiscent of the BDSM event you went to the other day, you think, as he explains each item and its purpose. Eventually he pulls out a red silk blindfold and instructs Jeongin to put it on you. You feel your body start to buzz in anticipation, already excited for what is to come as his long, delicate fingers wrap the blindfold around your head.

“Cross your hands and put them above your head. Keep them there or I’ll tie them.”

You let out a breathy sigh. “Yes sir,” you say, and it’s barely a whisper.

“Jeongin, I’m going to let you take the lead here. Let me know if you have any questions,” Seungmin says. It feels like you are waiting forever, and you know your breathing speeds up when you hear someone rustling through the box. When the bed dips next to you you find yourself pressing your thighs together to get some pressure and relieve some of the tension. The feeling of Jeongin’s hands on your thigh startles you, and he kneads the flesh gently, urging you to spread your legs for him. You do so immediately.

Something soft prickles at your skin and your breath hitches. What you can only assume is a feather starts at your chest, barely touching your skin but drawing light lines. You feel hot already from the small actions, breathing when the feather draws circles on your neck. Even more so, you have to stop yourself from pressing your thighs back together when he barely touches your nipples over the fabric of your bralette.

“Oh,” you say. “That feels good.”

“Yeah?” Jeongin breathes, the ghost of a smirk evident in his voice. He sounds almost as wrecked as you do and that makes you smile.

You aren’t expecting it when he grazes your clit. You think it’s with his finger, as you can still feel the feather circling your nipple, but the action makes you whimper.

“I’m going to finger this pretty pussy,” he says. “What’s your color?”

“Green,” you answer. “So green.” His fingers slip into the waistband of your panties, lingering for a second and teasing you until you lift your hips, allowing him to remove the fabric from your body.

One finger dips shallowly into your entrance, gathering just a little bit of your wetness.

“You’re soaked,” he comments. “And I’ve barely touched you.” You nod your head at him in agreement, because you know it’s true. You’re unsure if you’ve ever been this aroused in your life.

Using your arousal coating his finger, he works small circles outside of your clit, occasionally grazing it. Each time he does your breath catches in your throat, and if you could see him you would know he has a shit-eating grin on his face, working you up so easily from teasing you.

You barely register when another body dips into the bed next to you, though Seungmin helps raise your body into a sitting position. He grabs your arms and guides them behind your back, leaning you up against him.

“I’m gonna take this off,” he whispers, fingers sliding underneath your bralette. “You did such a good job wearing pink for us, just like we asked. You’ll just do anything we tell you, won’t you? You’ll be a good girl for us and listen to what we say?” He lifts the bralette over your head, discarding it.

You feel his breath on your neck, warm. You nod and tilt your head back, leaning yourself completely into the man.

A hand wraps expertly around your exposed throat. You feel it, finger by finger curling around and pressing into your skin. It’s at this moment that Jeongin decides to thrust a finger into you, hitting deep inside. You let out a cry at both actions, sounding utterly debauched.

“This will be your last reminder to answer us when spoken to,” Seungmin says, fingers wrapping tighter around your throat. “Do you understand?”

“Yes… fuck, yes sir.”

His hand remains unmoving, keeping you in place as Jeongin stimulates you. You notice that he’s not even thrusting his finger, but rhythmically curling it inside you. You try to rock your hips into him to get more stimulation but you're kept in place by the man behind you.

“M close,” you warn. A series of whimpers and moans leave your mouth, sounds that you’re sure your body has never made before. You know you’re babbling at this point, sounding something like, “Close, so close, oh my God, please, please, I’m going to, please–”

And when a hand reaches and pinches a nipple, hard, you cum. Jeongin’s pace never changes as he helps you ride it through, and you think you’ve never had an orgasm last this long. It feels like a solid minute passes as you cry and spasm in their hold, legs shaking but remaining open. As you start to come down, you feel a hand in your hair, soothing you.

You let out a heavy breath as Jeongin finally removes his finger, slumping forward. At the same time the blindfold is removed from your head and you’re exposed to the brightness of the room again, blinking as your vision refocuses. You’re just in time to see Jeongin stick his finger into his mouth, moaning as he licks your release from his appendage.

“Color?” Seungmin asks from behind you.

“Green,” you answer, still trying to catch your breath. “That was intense. I’ve never cum that hard in my life,” you admit.

“You did so good,” Jeongin praises. “We’re going to keep going, okay? We gotta give you your punishment for being late.”

“Yes, sir.”

The next thing you see him pull out is a paddle, long and wooden with a rounded end. It looks smooth to the touch but also expensive, as if he invested a good amount of money to pick out one that suited his needs. Not that you would be able to tell the difference between this one and any other paddle, since it was your first time getting spanked in any sense of the manner.

“Bend over for me, ass in the air, okay?”

You do as you're told, burying your face in the sheets as you stick your ass up in the air. Seungmin still sits on the bed, watching.

“Gonna do ten hits, okay baby?” The pet name makes your head spin.

“Okay, sir,” you answer, remembering to use your words.

“Want you to count them for me.” And with that, he hits your ass with an experimental tap of the paddle, just a little force behind it. It stings just a bit but doesn’t necessarily hurt.

“One,” you say.

“You can do it a little harder,” Seungmin encourages.

On the same cheek follows a harder hit, one that most definitely will be red. It’s loud enough to make a distinct clapping sound echo through the room.

“Two.”

“That was better, but you can still do it harder. Don’t be afraid to put some force into it, she can tell you if it’s too much.”

Now to your other cheek comes the hardest hit yet. This one is enough for your breath to hitch in your throat, your voice shaking as you say, “Three.”

“Can I show you?” Seungmin asks, standing. Jeongin nods his head behind you and hands off the paddle to Seungmin, standing to the side. You tilt your head to the side, trying to look and see if you can anticipate the blow, but you’re not fast enough.

Seungmin reels his hand back. This time you can hear the whiff of the paddle in the air a second before it comes, and this hit causes you to cry out. You lurch forward, running away from it slightly. “Like this,” he explains. “She wants it to hurt. If you look close enough, you can see her pretty little cunt clenching. It’s going to be red, and it might bruise a little bit, but she can take it.”

Seungmin delivers a second hit just as hard as the first, and this time you moan. He’s right–you clench around nothing at the action. You didn’t realize just how much the action would turn you on. His hand comes down to soothe where he hit you, the cold from his palm soothing the skin.

“Remember to use your words baby,” he chides. “Are you supposed to be counting?”

“Yes, sir,” you stutter. “Four and five.”

“Normally, I would start over if they forget to count,” Seungmin explains to Jeongin. “But since it’s both of your first times, we can go easy on her today.” He passes the paddle back to Jeongin and stands back, arms crossed and observing.

When Jeongin delivers the next hit it’s with much more precision and force than previously. You let out a much louder moan this time.

“Six,” you breathe.

“You should see her face,” Seungmin says. “She looks pretty fucked out.”

“God, that’s so hot,” Jeongin says softly. You can feel him grab your ass and knead it in your hand and you wince, sensitive from the contact of the paddle against your skin. “You’re soaking, baby, I can see your pretty pussy glistening. So fucking dirty for us. Just a few more, okay?”

“Mhmm, okay sir.” You take the rest of your punishment well and you can tell that you’re red and sore without even looking. You start to slump forward before you feel Jeongin’s hands on your hips, grabbing you to keep you in place.

He slides a finger up and down your entrance, gathering your slick. You’re so wet you can hear it and the sound is filthy on its own. But at the little bit of contact where you’re already pulsing in need, you let out a needy sound.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says. “What’s your color?”

You let out a strangled sound before answering. “M Green.”

You hear him open the condom and you crane your head, trying to get a good look at his length. His cock is long but skinny, red and leaking already from arousal. With one hand bruising your hip he guides himself to you and you can feel him at your entrance, his tip prodding at your hole. Your breath catches in your throat and in response he rubs his cock up and down, teasing your clit.

“Fuckkk, fuck please,” you say, rocking your hips back to try to push him inside of you. When he catches at your entrance you let out a whine, only increasing in volume when he pushes into you at an agonizingly slow pace. He bottoms out and stills, and for a second the only thing you can hear in the room is your breathing. With that same strong grip on his hips he pulls out, leaving just the tip in before he slams back into you. You lurch forward at the contact, not expecting him to be so forceful. He repeats the action, setting a brutal and relentless pace. All you can think is yes, yes, yes, this is exactly what I wanted.

And so when a hand comes up and grabs a fistful of your hair, pulls you back and yanks it hard, you let out a loud sound that you know can only be described as pornographic. He uses his grip to give himself momentum, pulling you on and off of his cock and digging his nails into your hips. You wonder if you’ll have red and purple crescent-shaped indents in your skin tomorrow, and you hope the answer is yes.

Each thrust is hard enough that you let out an “ah, ah, ah,” sound. You no longer worry about sounding dumb, succumbing to the blinding pressure instead.

Steadily, he works you up to your high. You can feel yourself getting close and faster than you ever have before. You’re a babbling incoherent mess once again, trying to warn them of your approaching release. “Close, close, I’m gonna, fuck, please–”

“Edge her on your cock,” Seungmin says, interrupting you. He comes to sit on the bed, face to face with your messy appearance.

Before you can beg or plead any more, Jeongin stills inside you. Your orgasm fizzles and dissipates and you let out a strangled cry in protest. You try to rock back into him, but to no avail. Instead his hand grips tighter in your hair, pulling you up and guiding your face to Seungmin even closer. You try to look away.

Seungmin tilts your head to meet his eyes, thumbing away a tear that you hadn’t realized escaped. “You wanted to see what it’s like to be a sub, let somebody else take over? You wanted to see what it’s like to lose control? This is it, baby.” You whine for a second and he shushes you, pushing two fingers past your lips and into your mouth.

“Keep going,” Seungmin says, still looking at you. You can feel Jeongin start to rock back into you, slower now but you can still feel him pressing deep inside you. It doesn’t take long for him to work you up again, your orgasm approaching much faster than the last. You moan around Seungmin’s fingers, trying to let him know.

“You gonna cum for Innie?” Blinking up at him, you nod with your vision hazy from tears. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and you groan, catching your breath. “Look at me while you cum on his cock.”

And you do. Clenching around him tight, Jeongin works you right through your orgasm. Seungmin’s gaze never leaves yours, though through your immense pleasure you watch his eyes darken. It doesn’t take long before Jeongin finds his own release, spilling into the condom.

When he pulls out and releases his grip from your hair you surge forward, wrapping your arms around Seungmin.

“You’re doing so good,” he coos, a hand coming to graze up and down your spine that leaves shivers on your skin. “What’s your color?”

“G-green.”

“You want to keep going? Think you can take me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re doing so good, so good baby.” He comes undone from your embrace, a hand coming up to soothe your aching scalp for a second. He positions himself behind you, contemplating before flipping you over to face him. You watch your own chest rise and fall from your heavy breathing and you will it to slow, watching the blank expression on his face. He reaches behind his neck to pull his shirt off, revealing his slightly toned figure.

He pushes his jeans down his legs and frees his cock which looks painfully hard. He’s not as long as Jeongin but he’s thicker, and you don’t even have time to think about how he’s going to feel before he’s sliding the condom on and pushing in, slightly stretching you out in the process.

“Shit, sensitive,” you warn.

“You can take it,” he says. “If you need to use your color system you can.” You nod at him in confirmation, wincing from the sensitivity as he starts fucking into you. You can’t help how hard you’re squeezing around him already. When Jeongin settles behind you, cradling your head in his lap, you can’t help but look up at him with wide eyes. Seungmin sets a steady pace, pounding into you deep but not as hard as Jeongin had. After a few consistent thrusts he’s lifting your legs up, pushing them towards your chest.

“Keep these here,” he tells you. With shaky hands you hold yourself in place, presenting yourself for him. This new angle allows him to reach impossibly deeper and you can feel the wet slap of his hips against the back of your thighs with every thrust. “Fuck, so good for us,” he grunts. “Such a perfect little slut for us, yeah? God, Jeongin, touch her clit, I’m already fucking close.”

Jeongin does as instructed, reaching down to circle your sensitive bundle of nerves with expertly skilled hands. His other hand reaches to thumb at your nipple, causing you to close your eyes and tilt your head back.

Your thighs are trembling and before you can even say anything your orgasm is ripped out of you, blinding you with how suddenly it came on.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hear as Seungmin snaps his hips into two more times before you feel him twitch, filling up the inside of the condom.

You finally catch your breath as he stills, pulling out of you. He stands up to discard the condom and you almost don’t catch the whine that leaves your mouth.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m right here. Neither of us are going anywhere,” Jeongin says, his words soothing the discomfort that had started to bubble in your chest. You’ve never felt so clingy before after sex but you feel at ease when Jeongin wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you further into his lap.

When Seungmin returns he slides into a pair of sweats and joins you on the bed. They both dote on you for several minutes, comforting you and soothing the areas of your skin that had received more harsh treatment.

Seungmin finally speaks, “That was intense, but you did so good for your first time. Do you feel okay? Is there anything that you didn’t like?”

You shake your head at him. “That was like, everything I’d ever dreamed of, honestly.” They both let out a soft chuckle at that.

“I liked it too,” Jeongin said. “You looked so… God I loved making you look like that. That was a lot of fun.” You had almost forgotten that it was his first scene, too. You weren’t sure what you were expecting going into everything but you were more than happy with the outcome, moreso with the amount of open communication that they had had with you. You smile happily and nuzzle your head against the bed, almost dozing off.

“Hey hey, I’m gonna run you a shower, okay?”

“Don’t want to leave you,” you mumble.

“Innie can join you in the shower and then we can take a small nap if you’d like, yeah? I have to change my sheets and you need to get cleaned up.” You hear the shower running in the other room and barely register it when Jeongin scoops you up and brings you to the shower. He holds you steady as you rock back and forth under the warm stream of water, even going as far as scrubbing your skin and toweling you dry.

When you get under the covers you hum as you feel a warm pair of arms wrap around your frame, pulling you close. Another body lays to your other side, running a hand through your hair.

“I want to do this again,” you say, your brain still in a deep-fried haze. You smile at the sound of laughter.

“Sure, baby. We can talk about it when we wake up.” *** Part 3/4 of the threesome series!! Ahhh this one took me forever to write but I hope y'all enjoy!! (TBH I have absolutely no experience with this kind of thing IRL but I tried my best and I did some research lol) Masterlist Recs Taglist: @lolareadsimagines @elizalabs3/ let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series

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slaygentford · 1 month

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Armand's podcast chiarobscuro on obscure art history is just him speaking in a monotone for 1 hour about 1 page of 1 illuminated manuscript nd it's coincidentally number 1 trending on pods because people use it as a sleep aid. but then sometimes in the middle of it he'll say something incredibly disturbing and a cult (haha.) following starts claiming there are hidden subliminals in it which are allegations Armand never acknowledges and which people on twitter roast but reality shifters on tik tok get increasingly into. Daniels podcast by/line is beat out consistently by pod save America which is totally fine and not contributing to his alcoholism or his divorce or his psychosexual obsession with armand. he won't listen to armands podcast as a point of principle except for when he puts it on to fall asleep and then gets weirdly turned on and then pavlovs himself into arousal every time he hears armands voice. one sided psychological torture. Armand's cult (haha.) following continues to grow until lestat's podcast lestat (self-titled) filed in culture & the arts blows up and usurps him even though its an hour and a half one-man monologue about quite genuinely nothing at all, though worryingly often, his mother. and Louis? well Louis isnt privy to any of this because he has a child to raise and zones out whenever lestat starts talking about renting out a bigger recording studio for his podcast so that he can have guests on and invest in sound equipment FOR CLAUDIAS FUTURE, OF COURSE. her college fund Louis! the dividends will go toward her college fund. ahaha. what is the definition of this: dividends. Louis gets curious and listens to lestats podcast but gets distracted by recommended for you: chiarobscuro, finds it interesting enough that he doesn't fall asleep, and mentions it offhandedly to lestat after telling him lestat (self-titled) is cute. lestat is distracted by the high of being told Louis likes his podcast but wakes up in the middle of the night sitting straight up in bed when he remembers Louis said "chiarobscuro" in passing at precisely 7:46am this morning. lestat who has armand in his phone represented by the 🕴🏼emoji from college (Louis doesnt know he knows him, lestat has never once mentioned him) calls him from the bathroom at 4am and demands he immediately end his podcasting career. armand who of course answered at 4am counters that they meet in a neutral location to discuss terms. at 5am lestat and armand meet at a park. lestat rages, scaring off several sunrise joggers and their dogs. armand allows this to happen in silence and then says look across the pond. at which point lestat does and sees a bedraggled 50 year old white man plodding along with bodega coffee. you needn't worry about your Louis, says armand. I have a different project. I have been implanting subliminal messages in my podcasts in order to lure Molloy into my thrall. lestat, grudgingly impressed, concedes and stops to get coffee for the family before going back home. Louis and claudia are delighted by the impromptu breakfast and lestat is offered a special shower time reward. before disrobing, and working quickly, he hacks Louis' phone (passcode claudia's birthday) and in a fit of true selfless sacrifice deletes not just Louis' subscription to chiarobscuro, but his podcast app as a whole--damning his own podcast to never again be heard by Louis but removing armand permanently from their lives forever. he joins Louis in the shower, stunned by his own genius. perhaps he will have that worm molloy on his show in order to thwart armands plans. lestat 2 armand 0. it's almost enough to ease the burn of armand telling lestat in their audio production class in college that he's too dumb to start a podcast

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eldritch-spouse · 4 months

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One of your stronger demon oc’s: hey babe you interested in trying a new kind of foreplay? It’s called demonic possession

Their match: *looking confused* you already possess me though?

[Already talked about Livius with this, so why not good old Santi? Fem reader.]

The incubus laughs.

It's that same old rich, deep noise that had your knees weak the first time you heard it, and still manages to make you warm up briefly. Santi gives you a calm, lidded and loving look, it feels just the tiniest bit patronizing.

" Mm, that I do. "

He swirls his glass of sangria idly. You know he's not going to drink, its only purpose is to match your own set of cutlery, to make it feel as if Santi is having dinner with you, when he's really just keeping you company as you fulfill your basic human needs. You can't really complain about this though, the demon goes out of his way to order excellent dishes for you, and he never fails any of the "human meals in a day", as he put it.

" However- " The world rolls off his mischievous tongue. " I was using the word in a literal sense, love. "

You choke on the steak. " E- Excuse me? "

His head tilts, some sort of realization coming over that pale face when he studies your reaction. " No no, excuse me- I should have explained this to you better. "

Santi steeples his fingers for a moment, pauses, then plays with the glass some more, tracing its golden rim.

" You're familiar with the concept of demonic possession, right? " He starts, tone slightly more serious.

A shiver crawls up your spine, not exactly the most pleasant kind. " Y... Yes. Isn't it something horrific though? It's supposed to hurt! And deform someone's body! It can kill me! Why would you- "

" Easy. " Santi calls, watching your rambling get out of hand.

" Santi, that's insanity! You want to make me crawl the walls and start chanting things?! That arouses you? I don't think my body can- "

" Love. "

The more forceful tone silences you, but by no means is your apprehension quelled. Your appetite seems to fade in the face of possible danger.

There's a sigh from the monster in front of you.

" And this is why your silly little horror movies keep causing a divide in our society... "

That catches your attention.

A less inviting frown sits on Santi's face. " Possession gets an incredibly harmful reputation from your precious Exorcist movies. Each one more ludicrous than the last. "

It's your turn to frown. " Don't sit there and tell me that those things don't happen, Santi! Possession is done for all sorts of things and I'm not stupid enough to buy a lie that it's all sunshine and rainbows... "

You expect him to get even more upset, but instead, the incubus shakes his head, setting the glass down to look you in the eyes. " But it doesn't have to be that way, love. "

He continues when all you do is cross your arms.

" You've seen a hundred movies about demons with ill intent tarnishing the bodies of surfacers... But you've never seen a movie about a demon possessing the person they love, have you? "

Silence. He lets those words splay onto the table like a winning hand in a tense game of cards.

And, truth be told, you have nothing to counter that with. Because he's right. You have never heard of such a thing as possession between lovers.

" ... That's real? "

" More than real. " The high-ranker responds softly. " It's one of the most intimate thing you can do with an infernal partner. " Some of that earlier playfulness shines again. " And it can be so fun. "

You gulp, looking to the side. " It's dangerous. "

" Not if done properly. " Santi's quick to cut in. " A calm, willing vessel and a strong emotional connection will make it a much smoother process than the painful spasms you're privy to in your Halloween hits... "

It seems he has an answer for everything.

" Not to mention, as the bearer of my mark, you already have a little bit of me in you. It wouldn't be your body's first contact with my essence. " He's back to tracing the rim of the bottle, smelling it briefly, sharp pupils watching the berries in it sway before studying you once more.

" Why... Why do you want to do this? " It still sounds strange to you.

The dark fiend is silent for a few seconds, then leans forward on the table, glass set back down so his chin can rest on the palms of his hands. A grin with more teeth than lips threatens to cleave his face.

" Because it gets me really hard. "

... Can't fault him for lack of honesty.

Clearing your throat, you take a sip of your drink so you can think of what to say next. You need to pick your words right or this conversation will escalate to Santi playing with himself at the table.

" I could guess as much. "

" You're still hesitant. " He points out, piercings jingling as he tilts his head.

" I guess... What I'm more worried about is, how long it'll last. What you're going to do. What... What're the terms? "

His brows raise. " Treating this like a deal? How clever of you! Alright, here are my terms. "

Santi straightens, and although his smile is endlessly lascivious and wanton, he speaks clearly and slowly.

" I want to possess your delicious body for three days and three nights. During that time, you can hear, see, smell and feel everything that happens. You can talk to me and you will be given periodic control to perform certain tasks. "

He starts.

" I want to use it for both our pleasure, and I will be having sex with people I determine can service us well. I will not disclose to these people that you are possessed. " There's a beat of silence, before he adds something in forethought. " Although it may look as if some acts will be painful, you have my word that only pleasure will reach you. "

The meaning is not lost on you. " So you want to make me sleep with huge monsters? "

Santi winks, amused to be caught.

" That's relative, isn't it? What monster isn't huge compared to a human? Why I'm fairly huge to you. "

Your eyes roll. " What a charming non-answer. "

The incubus' jovial laugh is almost infectious.

" Come now, we'll see. "

It's your turn to make a move. Wide, blinking puppy eyes are cast towards the handsome demon. " Can't you even give me a pointer, it's my body after all... "

" Is that an agreement I hear? " He hums.

" Answer the question. "

Santi makes a quiet chuckle. " Very well. " Dark knuckles crack, he stares off for a moment, licking his chops. It's the signature look of a pervert looking forward to the near future.

" I have an idea as to who our first bedwarmer can be- "

" Of course you do. "

" I really do. " He snorts, the suave look breaking entirely for half a second where his amusement is so great he cannot help it. Santi waves for you to keep eating, waiting until you have a bite to continue.

" So, there's this bakery close enough, I've been meaning to take you there for a while now because I hear stuff there is divine. Anyhow, the guy in charge of it is really interesting. You know mindflayers? "

The very same bite you just took flies out your mouth, back onto the plate. The incubus stares at it for a second, then wheezes quietly. " Taking that as a yes. "

" Aren't mindflayers... Kind of reclusive? And evil? "

" Well, typically, yes- "

" And this one runs a bakery? "

" That's what I said- "

" What is he selling, brain croissants?! "

Santi barks out a laugh that nearly sends spittle across the table, having to look away from you, clutching his midsection and cackling like a madman.

" That's the thing- " The incubus clears his throat, nearly losing his composure again. " This one is very interesting. He's uhm- I'm not sure what the process is called, but he's a loner. Swore off people brains, or so he says. Trying to make an honest living! "

Slowly, you try once more to finish your meal. " And you want to fuck with him. "

" No... " The way his lips wobble at your deadpan is enough of a tell. " I want you to fuck him."

You make a face at the idea of laying with a mindflayer.

" Mhm, don't look at me like that. " Santi purrs.

Beneath the table, you feel his tail gently loop around your ankle, squeezing.

" Have you never thought about it? What can a lover with such long tentacles do to a cute little thing like you? How will he take advantage of your weak, simple-minded nature to do whatever he wants? "

When you gulp, it's not just because you need to swallow your current mouthful.

" Let me paint the scene, love. "

The incubus seems to be getting short of breath, the thrill of his own lurid fantasy forcing him to bite his lip and trace his own horn piercings with restless fingers.

" You're hardly dressed, the peaks of your nipples poking out a sad excuse of a top and your skirt so short the smallest brush might bare your cuntlips. You're hungry, we're hungry, so you walk into this cozy looking bakery to get yourself something sweet. Oh and many are the treats in that glass display, but the most appetizing of them all is the big man carrying a hot tray from the kitchen. He's tall, a peculiar mindflayer with a strange skintone and unusually thick build, his tendrils cascading longer than you'd expect. The look on his face is one of complete focus as his boots thump softly on the ground. Until he sees you, that is- "

Your attention to this little tale he's spinning is more rapt than you'd care to admit. Not that you need to, Santi can tell.

" His latest client. A human girl with this cute little smile and doe eyes. Mister Roland, you ask so sweetly, I've been told such wonderful things about your talent and pastries. You're oh so charming, so enticing, the poor baker can't deny the thoughts that course through his perverted mind. He wants to bend you over his counter, wants to spread you out before him and force your legs apart with his long nimble appendages. You'd make such a fine stress-reliever to rut into during breaks, wouldn't you? And you'd love getting stuffed full of illithid cock, right? You're begging for it after all... "

" God, Santi- " You mutter under your breath.

" Hm... Maybe all it takes is some simple conversation, letting those fantasies foment in his mind, building into a desire so pungent it would make even me crawl the walls. You tilt your head, kick your legs, lid your eyes and invite him away. He wouldn't mind a little interruption, surely. And then, oh then- With a little bit of my help, you'd turn him into a drooling beast. A species thought so impervious to all sorts of manipulations, all but barely able to think of anything except the taste of your pussy, the hug of it around his cock- He's lonely, lonelier than he's ever been now that he's on his own. You're probably the first thing he's going to fuck in a small eternity. Ideally, we get him here. Want to know why? "

Santi points to the bedroom, where a large mirror resides.

" I want to see him hold you up in those practiced hands and pound you into a pulp with his tendrils wrapped all around you, neck tits thighs, flicking your dirty little clit- Oh he may not eat your brain, but he's certainly going to fuck it out of you. "

" Holy shit, Santi- " You nearly yell.

" Fun, right? I told you. You just have to start believing in me a little more. " He's back to weirdly smelling the sangria.

The silence that follows is thick and heady, he lets you process the canvas he painted for you with a soft rumble of anticipation. You dare not look into Santi's eyes, because the depravity you'll find there will doubtlessly steal your will.

Fork and knife neatly arranged, you push the plate forward.

" I... I want a safeword. "

The way he lights up like a Christmas tree is impossible to miss.

" Of course, love. " The incubus sighs dreamily. " We can pick one tomorrow. Now, if you're done eating, let's get you to bed. "

" Because, after all, you're going to have a long couple of days ahead of you. "

#Santi oc #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster boyfriend #terato tag #monsterfucker #monster x reader #not sfw

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threadbaresweater · 22 days

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one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan x reader

Arthur doesn't think you're interested in him any more than you're interested in fishing, which ain't much. You hope he shares even an inkling of the feelings you have for him. It's no surprise to anyone else in camp that there's something between the two of you, and they make sure you get a chance to show each other how you really feel.

The details: 3.9k words. Female reader with a backstory that isn't really elaborated upon in this fic but might be at a later date if I have the spoons; several gang members act as side-characters/wingmen (and women); alcohol and cigarette use; sex (pretty vanilla, but a little rough and intense). NSFW. This is also my first fic for a new fandom, so please be gentle with me. It's been a while.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grab at each other like it's the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you want more than what the other of you is able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

#arthur morgan x you #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader

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courtofparrots · 2 months

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Luis Serra and his use of false bravado

I'm writing a fic right now that requires a pretty in-depth character analysis of Luis, and I wanted to talk about one of my favorite things about him, which is his use of false bravado to get out of sticky situations, and the expressiveness he displays in the moments in between.

We talk a lot about Leon's micro-expressions when he's trying to hide his feelings, which don't get me wrong, I LOVE to analyze, but Luis has such telling expressions as well, and we should talk about it! (I also saw some gifs of Luis's expressions being modded onto Leon and THAT got attention but... neither here nor there).

To me, it always looks like he's using an almost silly amount of swagger when he interacts with others to portray his confidence, and he barely ever lets that wall down. Unlike Leon and Ada, he's a civilian, but he jokes around and flirts every time he's in front of them, despite being in situations where he really should be behaving more like Ashley, like when he narrowly avoided being tortured to death and he's just like "nice, cigs"

We as the audience are only privy to his mask slips in 3 different types of situations, as far as I can tell:

When he feels like his luck is about to run out: he goes from acting confident to suddenly displaying a lot of fear on his face, while he wildly casts around for something to say to help him out. In both of these instances, he completely regains his bravado once he thinks he's safe again, i.e. when Ada saves him from the torturers, or when he realizes Ada knows who Leon is. This is also just kind of adorable. Watch the way his face falls when he realizes Ada is mad, and then the way he flounders when she points her gun at him.

2. When no one else is looking: This one stood out to me from the very beginning because he's actually still speaking with confidence as he explains that the plaga can be removed, but Leon and Ashley can't see his face, where he's clearly showing his trepidation, his guilt about them being infected, etc. and then notice how he goes right back to smiling and confident when he turns around to face them again.

3. When he feels concern for others: Luis is an extremely caring person, and one of the most common moments where he lets his mask slip is when someone else is in danger. Obviously the first thing that comes to mind is his reaction to the medicine being destroyed, but I also want to draw attention to the look on his face when Ada is in danger and she tells him to leave her. And I know I included him looking away from Leon and Mendez in a previous post but here's a higher quality gif so you can really get your heart broken by how scared he looks:

Anyways, I just love the little things that make up characters in this game. I also have analyses about Ada and Ashley that you'll probably get whether you want it or not because I love them, and their characterizations are so interesting.

#luis serra #resident evil #re4 remake #ada wong #leon s kennedy

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captain-camille · 2 months

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_𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞_

‣ Jack Sparrow x f!reader

‣ As a young woman of noble blood, society is a golden cage. There is no mention of you unless the subject is marriage or manners while your trip to Port Royal has become a rescue maneuver. One faithful night aboard the Dauntless you finally snap. And meet the captive Captain Jack Sparrow...

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 18+ language, old society rules, emotional chaos, very light angst ‣ 3,4k words

Your dress weighed heavy on your shoulders, the corset strangled your lungs to a delicate point where you began to feel dizzy.

Silver cutlery laid untouched next to your empty plate. The hunger had long passed.

Either way was it impossible to properly eat with this torture device crushing your ribs. You would fetch a banana later.

“Miss Sheffield“ Lord Somerset hardly drew your attention while he adjusted his white wig “I find myself greatly invested in the many stories of your brother. They're indeed impressive, are they not?“.

It took nerves to hinder your eyes from rolling.

Instead, you gave him an appreciative but short nod. There was bitter sarcasm within the subtlety of your gesture.

Another man's head, adorned with a teal hat with feathers, turned towards you. Father.

“They are, clearly“. You verbally lend weight to your faux-assent as your father's stern gaze fixed on your face.

You suspected him pleased now.

However, his interest in you promptly vanished and a song of praise of someone else continued to fall from his pale lips.

Sweet, boisterous praise for your great brother, of course.

You were sick of it but with time had begun to see it as an opportunity to reign over your own life as freely as possible.

For as long as possible.

Every eye and word was on your brother while you, the sister of the new Governor of Nassau and member of the Privy Council, were neigh invisible.

And still you could never leave the shiny prison that was the English noble society. Like living in a nightmare that had occasional sunlight in it but was full of madness anyway.

As the men's triumphant laughter echoed across the room, you pictured how Davy Jones' Locker would be a better place to bide your time.

Or maybe you should run away and live a seamstress' life. Alternatively, a barmaid.

In the corner of your vision you saw Norrington slightly leaning over to you. The new Commodore stationed in Port Royal, as he was.

“You look fabulous tonight, Miss“ he cooed, voice low.

His blue gaze rested on the glittering necklace you wore. A collective of silver, sapphires and pearls Lord Somerset had gifted you upon boarding the Dauntless.

Or perhaps Norrington's gaze laid on your cleavage but if so, he concealed it well.

He had to. Hell would come upon him.

You flashed him a polite smile and a demure “Thank you, Commodore“ before your eyes wandered off to the sea that was painted in the colors of a tropical sunset.

The windows were small but still incapable to diminish the glimmer. It went straight to your heart...

“Since you are a young woman, too-“ the man continued, hoisting a chalice to his lips. Beneath the table, your hand balled in a fist.

It did little to soothe your nerves, though.

“-I wondered whether you would think Elizabeth liked such jewelry as, um, a wedding gift?“ his smooth voice asked but the hesitant tone betrayed him.

You had long seen it in his eyes that Norrington's desires to marry Swann's daughter weren't as honest as he tried to make it seem.

Just as Elizabeth struggled to let go of the young blacksmith Will Turner she was currently trying to rescue.

Just fellow souls lost in this noble dilemma, you almost chuckled to yourself.

Luckily, you were quick enough to bridle any inner jests and looked back in Norrington's eyes.

“I’m most certain she would be delighted. However, it occurred to me that Miss Swann prefers silver to gold.“ you advised him before he got dragged back into a naval discussion with the men.

Not even thanks were left for your input.

Once again your brother's name was thrown around like a cricket ball.

The urge to just leave this charade of a dinner grew stronger while darkness began to fall upon the majestic Dauntless.

Candle light reflected in the men’s white and grey wigs like it would in the feathers of doltish pigeons.

Nearly scoffing, the focus of your eyes blurred.

Thoughts wandered off to the small bits of information you had grasped throughout the last two days; a business trip to Port Royal had turned into quite an amusing rescue maneuver as Norrington spotted the smoke signal Elizabeth was sending from a lonely island.

She was brought onto the ship along with a mysterious pirate who turned out to be none other than the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow.

Lord, he seemed so different to the men you were used to. So interesting…

“Yn, the Lord's question was, would you be his companion on a visit to your brother?“ The raspy voice of your father suddenly cut through your thoughts like a sharp knife.

You cleared your throat, hiding a muttered “god, no“ along the cough.

No, you simply couldn’t do this any longer tonight.

Tomorrow morning the misery would begin anew and the nights were too short anyway.

Dinner was over for you, you decided and shot up, heading towards the door.

“Young Miss, where do you think you are going?“ your father called across the room, causing you to spin and face him along with everyone else seated on the grand table.

An unreadable expression settled on your face, lips moving on behalf of your temper.

“Father, I do believe you won’t miss me much while conversing solely about my brother“.

Norrington let out a shaky breath, his head turning to expect your father’s answer. Obviously, he was used to Elizabeth's docile manners.

The grey wig beneath Lord Sheffield's hat shifted slightly as he cocked his head.

He looked ridiculous.

“Then go, yn. I do not have the time nor the patience for your behavior right now“ he sighed, waving his hand in an enervated gesture of dismissal “Check on Miss Swann when you pass by“.

The stingy sensation of the corset fighting your big breaths vexed you, along with your father's aloof attitude.

Nevertheless, he granted you exactly what you wanted; to leave and mind your own business.

A business that had preferably sparsely to do with these men.

“Thank you, sir. I will“ you curled your lips, forcing a hasty smile before your knees bent in a curtsy. “Lord Somerset, thank you again for the generous gift. Commodore“.

The Lord stood up with his chest puffed, trying to address you. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Sheffield. I wish you a good-“

But the rest of his irrelevant set-phrase was cut off by the door closing behind your back. It snapped shut with a soft rock of the Dauntless.

As if she felt sorry for you.

Taking a big breath of the fresh sea breeze your tongue finally spoke some truth. “Damn you, Somerset“.

It felt good, even if it did little to improve your situation.

You knew you had to get away from the cabins or else your words of pent-up frustration would eventually find them.

Maybe you would find solace on the quarterdeck instead?

As you marched up the stairs with a grimace on your face from how impractical the heavy dress was, a young maid brushed past you with filled wineglasses on a silver tray.

She smiled with respect, but could barely hide her excited look at the luxurious necklace.

Her soft lips parted when she spoke up in awe “If I may, Baron Somerset really is doting upon you, Miss“.

At her comment, the matching earrings with the similarly cut sapphires began to itch.

“So it seems“ you answered flatly, still trying your best not to let it all out on the innocent girl.

“I happen to have overheard him talking about how beautiful your children would be“ she added with enthusiasm, unaware of your aversion to said nobleman.

You felt your gut twist and tighten at the vision alone.

Children with this man? No.

On the brink of screaming or crying, your hand flew up to grab one of the glasses.

“Did he now?“ You hoisted it and bathed your upper lip in the sweet taste of Portuguese wine “Golden me“.

Hearing her colleague call for her, the maid quickly curtsied and made her way down to the main cabin.

You sighed heavily, taking another sip.

Up on the spacious quarterdeck you wasted no time, set the glass down on a random barrel and began to take off your earrings.

They were burning on your skin now.

Anger, chagrin and despair rioted in your veins like a hurricane.

So untamed, you didn’t even notice the man at the helm observing your actions through curious eyes.

“To hell-“ you shouted, kicking your right foot so that your shoe flew overboard in a wide arc “with you, father“ the other shoe followed suit.

“And Somerset“ you tossed one earring into the black sea, holding the other one while you unhooked the expensive necklace.

You didn’t hesitate a second to proceed with this macabre yet somehow weirdly freeing act of rebellion.

With your right arm outstretched, jewelry in your hands, you stood at the ship’s railing, wind in your face.

“And to the depths with this society of hypocrites and it's stupid rules“ your now hoarse voice exclaimed bitterly before your tossing arm got stopped mid way.

What?

Twisting on your stocking feet, you ended up only inches away from Jack Sparrow’s face who was grinning at you with a pleased sparkle in his dark eyes.

You didn't dare to breathe, mouth agape.

He was still holding onto your arm even though you had lowered it in a mixture of shock and awe.

“Not good. Ye wouldn't wanna be doin' that, lassie“ the pirate purred, gold teeth adding to the captivating shine of his eyes.

Since the Navy took him prisoner, you had never spoken to him. Only eves-dropped when he had persuaded Norrington as if it was easy.

And now you could feel his breath fan across your face, the scent of the sea and rum intoxicating your brain.

Slowly, he unwrapped and lifted his fingers off your arm. One by one like a fan.

“Why not? You cannot stop me“ you eventually found your courage again and yanked your arm away.

The man scrunched his brows, lips closing. The many trinkets in his dreadlocks clinked as Sparrow cocked his head.

Your eyes were slaves to his eccentric mimic for a little while before you finally got to step back.

His presence somehow calmed you down, brought your nerves to a halt. All the way to the point where you remembered your manners.

“My apologies, Mister Sparrow. I didn’t mean to-“ you began to apologize for the snappy behavior but he interjected with a finger pointing at you.

“Never be sorry for disobeying rules that aren't worth following, luv“.

Irritated by the unexpectedly wise words, you found yourself at a loss for an answer.

This man was a real pirate after all. The closest thing to an anarchical life there was.

Your heart pumped awe through your veins that began to pacify the storm within.

Features dropping from trained, polite distance to honest distress, your gaze darted down to the jewelry in your hand. It was worth at least as much as your entire collection of summer gowns.

The blue stones seemed somewhat black tonight.

As grim as your future. With Somerset. Or any other noble, dim-witted aristocrat.

The pirate just stood and watched the tragic poem being written all over your beautiful face. His silence allowed the gears in your mind to shift.

Then, you seemed put.

“What even are you doing at the helm, Sparrow?“ You asked to avoid any potential questions when you mindlessly chucked the bundle of jewelry to him.

He grinned again as an audible clink and clatter signaled you that he had caught it.

You were sure that Sparrow had a better use for it than you did. Whatever it may be.

Admittedly, you would have just thrown it overboard or locked it away in a random jewel casket for eternity.

A husky gravel met your ears when he cleared his throat after sinking the necklace deep into the inside pocket of his brown jacket.

It was as if he knew you didn't have any expectation of thanks or desire for inquiring about your deed.

“Isla de la Muerta can only be found by those who already know where it is-“.

Slow steps of heavy boots on wooden tiles neared you from your left.

“And rumors have it me, meself and I have a heading Norrington doesn’t, savvy?“ Sparrow slurred, snapping open a compass as he leaned his back against the railing next to you.

With your eyes raking over the dusk ocean, you couldn’t help but risk a peak over to his hands.

You grimaced. The compass obviously didn’t point north.

Was he tricking the Commodore?

Suddenly, Jack chuckled, clearly having seen your expression.

“Nah... tale for another night“ he simply stated closing the small, brown box again.

His intense gaze crawled all over your side profile and pinned updo. “Tell me somethin’ about ye, Missy. Plagued by those wig-suckers, eh?“

You gave a snort of laughter, enjoying his unfiltered way of addressing the men you were used to calling 'Lord', 'Governor' or 'Commodore'.

“You know exactly who I am. Do not call me Missy“ you snapped, biting down a playful smile no one had ever elicited as easily as the foreign pirate did.

Perhaps it should worry you but it didn’t in the slightest.

Jack arched his figure to lean back more and study your edged expression from the front. You tried to shoot him an unfazed look but the pirate saw right through it and smiled widely.

How he could read you so emphatically was far beyond what you were used to from men. It confused you.

Just as it puzzled Jack that your behaviour was so devoid of any of the hospitality and judgement he had come to expect from your class.

It only drew the both of you deeper into whatever this conversation would become.

“Apologies, me bad. Miss Sheffield“ his deep voice cooed, finally cracking your surface and putting a soft blush on your cheeks.

“It never occurred to me that Pirates can be this charming“ you snickered with a hint of irony, eyes resting on Sparrow’s unique features for a moment.

His tanned skin was reflecting the flickering light of oil lamps. Sparrow was a handsome man, you realized.

Effortlessly and in tune with the ship's rocking, the man pushed off the railing to trail behind you.

“I always expected Pirates to be more- rogue, I suppose“ you mused, more to yourself.

Sparrow tsk'ed but he didn't seem hurt.

Your head cocked when you felt his hot breath close to the nape of your neck.

“A Shilling that I can alter your outlook on Pirates all by me onesies, eh?“ His comment was nonchalant and smug but in a swinging way.

This man had nerves.

“Didn't I just give you a collier worth far more than one Shilling?“ you asked rhetorically, amplifying the perky tone.

The pirate hummed, as if contemplating. “Alright, then. Consider your debt paid“.

It was utterly refreshing to converse so freely without any rules or boundaries. You grew fond of it with every passing second.

When Sparrow didn’t re-appear on your other side, you turned around to spot him chugging down the wine you had abandoned in your rage.

“Sorry, it’s no rum but-“

“-good. That’s good“ he complimented the red liquid, analyzing the ornate chalice through narrowed eyes before he sat it back down.

Carefully, with his pinky stretched out with decorum.

You caught yourself giggling but promptly covered your mouth with a palm. Habits.

“So, Miss Sheffield...“ the pirate urged you, swaggering closer until he stood by your side again. His elbows were quickly propped on the reddish railing.

“Pray tell“.

You sighed. However, the will to empty your heart was unbreakable.

It was easier when your gaze found shelter in the darkness of the Caribbean night but Sparrow’s stare lingered on you nonetheless.

“I- I feel like- No, I am trapped. Trapped in a golden cage with only dull bumbles who want to possess women of standing as if they were accessories for their prevalence-striven plans“ you began to complain, your words gaining speed and intensity throughout the sentence.

Honest pity flashed behind the pirate's charcoal outlined eyes.

The man had never thought he was capable of pitying those who were born with a silver spoon in their mouths.

And still, there he stood, stricken by the pain in your melodic voice.

You gasped for air, your mind wanting to go on but your throat began to burn on the verge of crying.

“I must behave according to the rules of society, no matter what it is I truly desire. All the poisoned praise goes to my brother while I am only of importance when the subject of my marriage is discussed“.

“Ye brother be the new Governor of Nassau?“ Sparrow eventually asked, his gaze sliding down to where your nails were nervously scratching lines into the wooden railing.

You couldn’t help but scoff in annoyance of his title. “Yes, that be him“.

The man next to you shrugged his shoulders, the trinkets and charms once again clinking. You would love to find out where he got each of them from.

“I could, in fact, sack Nassau port for ye as soon as I rip me Pearl from Barbossa’s slimy, old hands“ a tad of disgust infused his bold words at the foreign name.

“Jus' a humble offer. What ye say, lassie?“.

Sparrow was trying to cheer you up.

A small smile began to reign over your lips again, toes curling. “That would only get you killed, fierce pirate“ you noted, trying to sound as judicious and rational as possible.

Instead, he grinned even broader and spread his arms in an eccentric, self-presenting pose. “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, luv“ he declared as if it was self-explanatory.

For the first time in a while the sea breeze caught and carried your sincere laughter.

Sparrow’s braided goatee twitched as he found himself biting his lip at the pretty sound and look.

You were a stunning woman in noble clothes with noble blood in your veins but with a spirit as wild and ravenous as his own.

You enthralled him.

“Bring this to my daughter. She shall eat, at least. The Commodore risks too much by rescuing young Turner, he cannot afford to see his fiancé unwell“ Governor Swann’s order suddenly boomed across the main deck, followed by hasty steps of a maid.

Instinctively, Sparrow snaked his hand around your shoulder, across your chest and pulled you back with him.

Out of sight.

His rough hand on your mouth muffled a shrill cry just enough.

“They thinkin’ yer asleep, eh, Miss Sheffield?“ His voice was lowered, almost just a husk and yet it was filled with this mischievous, flirtatious tone.

God, this man sent shivers down your spine like no other.

But he was still a lawless pirate.

A prisoner, even.

Suddenly, whyever, the gravity of your situation and the futility of tonight's zeal made you feel how cold and wet the floor was without shoes.

Brown dreadlocks pressed against the back of your head irrevocably disheveled your updo.

“Asleep, as I should be...“ you muttered, infused with a hint of re-surfacing anger and despair.

You wriggled yourself out of his protective grasp. The pirate's brow was raised, eyes narrowed on your face.

There was a haze of danger and waywardness about Jack Sparrow that made you question your own courage and spirit.

“Why did I even tell you all that in the first place?“ you exclaimed, hands thrown up. Slowly stepping away from him, you felt all the emotions crushing your mind.

“You most likely do not care, neither do I profit by wailing. It doesn’t bear contemplating...“.

Sparrow wrapped his right hand back around the handle of the helm, looking rather unfazed by the confusion that was spreading in your system like the Portuguese wine in his own.

Heavy silence and the occasional laughter from the men in the Captain’s cabin mingled with the soft splash of sea water.

Your feelings were now as erratic as the rhythm of the crashing waves.

“Look 'ere, luv“.

Your gaze was just about to turn from pleading to the usual bored emptiness as you saw his free hand wander down to his leather belt.

A smirk adorned his bearded face when skilled fingers rapidly detached the compass and threw it over to you.

Stumbling slightly as the ship rocked, you caught the brown box before it could hit the ground.

You heard Sparrow mutter a muted “Thank god“ that made you want to snap at him but the gesture was too interesting not to query.

Why would he think you needed a compass?

Fluster painted your features when you met his weirdly satisfied expression.

“Aren’t you Captain Jack Sparrow? Don’t you need a compass for... that?“ You asked with less challenge in your tone than initially planned.

He chuckled beautifully, shaking his head with eyes closed.

“What?“ You probed when his dark gaze began to rise up from the floor, along your figure.

“I may be without me compass but not without heading and a plan“ the pirate finally explained, taking another step closer to the helm “You, contrastingly and tragically, lack both“.

Your arms came up and crossed defensively in front of your chest.

But his words and the tight corset made you drop them again rather quickly.

He was right. You had been lamenting about your situation barely three minutes ago.

“So? What exactly is your compass going to change about that, Sparrow?“.

You peered down at the inconspicuous looking box.

“Everythin'.“ Sparrow stated with a touch of mystery. “Listen what ye heart wants and the compass is gonna give ye a heading, savvy?“.

A big part of you wanted to believe what this infuriatingly interesting man promised while another voice was whispering to you how it was literal magic he was implying.

Magic.

With a hesitant gesture of offering it back to him, you hoped to find out which voice to listen to.

“But you would want it back, right? It is yours after all“ you commented your action with genuine concern and a small smile.

Plus, the fear that Norrington would kill Jack if he couldn’t find the Isla without his compass.

Captured by the pirate for one last time, you watched his gold teeth flash in a wide grin, his tattooed hand spreading on his chest as a sign of integrity.

He was being honest, you felt it.

“I will be gettin’ it back, luv. Don't ye worry“.

Before you creeped down the stairs and eventually headed for your cabin to ponder on your heart's desires, the last you saw of Captain Jack Sparrow was a charming wink.

The last for now, at least.

♡ thank you so much for reading my very first POTC fic ever ♡

𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐲𝐨 𝐡𝐨

@mochie85 @holdmytesseract @socksracoon10 @goldencherriess @chronicallybubbly @kcd15 @always-on-hiatus

#jack sparrow x reader #captain jack sparrow #potc x reader #potc #jack sparrow fic #fanfiction #jack sparrow x y/n #pirates of the caribbean #jack sparrow #Pirates of the Caribbean fanfic #captain jack sparrow x yn #jack sparrow x f!reader #language

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year

Note

For your Yoongi drabbles - reader has a crush and talks about “him” constantly, but Yoongi doesn’t know it’s him until someone else spills readers secret.

this was so cute, thank you for requesting! sorry for the giant meme, but it is literally the exact vibe of this so i had to use it.

loose lips

pairing: yoongi x f. reader genre: friends to lovers, miscommunication (??), fluff warnings: swearing, drinking, namjoon namjooning, unedited rating: e for everyone! there's nothing bad in here wordcount: 1k

it's bee's birthday! send me yoongi requests and/or fic recs!

Min Yoongi is a lot of things.

He’s meticulous and prone to overwork and also lazy and uninspired. He’s chronically over-caffeinated and always half-asleep. He’s the first to blow off plans and the first to pout when he no longer gets invited. He’s brusque and a bit of a bastard but also pleased to be fussed over and taken care of. The kind of person who needs to be wrangled into physical affection, because he just can’t seem to verbalize his desire for it.

Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but he is not, under any circumstances, prone to gossip.

Jung Hoseok, on the other hand, has no such hangups.

Which presents Yoongi with an interesting dilemma. He has to piss, but he has to pass the kitchen to get to the bathroom. And Yoongi is a lot of things and not one of them is prone to gossiping or eavesdropping, but it’s hard to push aside the intrigue of you and Hoseok speaking in hushed whispers in his own kitchen, heads pressed together like conjoined twins.

It looks like a whole lot of conspiring is going on. He refuses to pout.

“You seriously haven’t told him yet?” Hoseok says, and Yoongi can just make it out, but he’s known Hoseok long enough to register the exasperation in his voice. God knows he’s been on the receiving end of it more often than not.

You groan. Probably shoot Hoseok an exasperated look of your own that Yoongi isn’t privy to. “It’s not that easy.”

“It absolutely is that easy. How hard is it to say—”

“Can you shut up?” you whisper-shriek. “You are so annoying—”

“—Hey, I have feelings for you. Would you wanna grab coffee?”

Yoongi is pouting before he even realizes his face has contorted. Sure, he can be jealous. Someone will always be a better musician, have more money, live in a nicer apartment and drive a nicer car and wear nicer clothes. Now, though… someone out there can have you, and that thought tastes sour in his mouth.

It’d been Jimin’s idea to come to Itaewon.

At least they’re at the bar with the good whisky, because Yoongi will max out his credit cards to escape the hell in which he’s found himself. It’d been bad enough with Hoseok, but now he has to deal with it from Taehyung and Jimin, too.

Do you think she’ll ever tell him? This is getting painful.

I don’t know. Hey, are you going to eat the rest of your fries?

Are you fucking serious? Of course I am, I bought them for me—

It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, because everyone seems to be in on a secret he isn’t, but he looks across the bar and finds it hard to care. There you are, laughing wildly as Hoseok twirls you around on the dancefloor. All the lights in this place combined can’t outshine you—not on your worst day, but especially not when you’re like this.

So. Yoongi’s pouting again, plush bottom lip jutting out far enough to brush against his glass of whisky. He’d finally given up and splurged on something top shelf. Figured it’d get him to where he needs to go faster than anything else, because Yoongi is a lot of things and a dancer isn’t one of them, so he’s doomed to spend the night at this table, sandwiched between Taehyung and Jimin.

Listening to them drone on and on about the guy you’re interested in.

He wonders what he’s like. How the two of you met. He pointedly does not think about whether or not this guy’s a dancer, a musician, if he can always afford top-shelf whisky. He wonders if you’re gonna make Yoongi meet him. If he’s gonna have to play nice and pretend to think this guy is cool and interesting. He can pretend, he thinks.

If it’s important to you, Yoongi can do anything.

Namjoon will know what to do, because Namjoon never actually knows what to do about anything and still somehow always arrives at the correct answer.

“Why am I here, hyung?”

Yoongi clears his throat. Spears another piece of beef and puts it on Namjoon’s plate like a peace offering. Orders another round of beers even though he hasn’t touched his first. “Uh,” comes his eloquent response. “Well—”

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon mutters, face-planting onto the table. “This is worse than I thought.”

Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but if he’s worse than Namjoon thought, he’s in deep shit.

“Um—”

Namjoon picks his head up. Studies Yoongi for a minute, clearly looking for something, before he pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “It’s you, hyung. She’s hung up on you. And I shouldn’t even be telling you this, because we all just assumed both of you would eventually remove your heads from your asses and get it together, but fuck, this is painful. I can’t do this anymore, you know? I’m not your feelings friend. Jimin is your feelings friend, but he said you just sulked the entire night at the bar—”

“I didn’t sulk,” Yoongi argues, but the words are spoken around a pout.

All he receives in return is A Look. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

Yoongi is a lot of things.

Today, he’s a coward, which is new.

He’s not usually a coward, it’s just… he knows how to be jealous and how to sulk and pout and not get what he wants. Those things are easy. But he has no idea how to deal with the bomb Namjoon had dropped on him. He’s not even sure it’s the truth. What if Namjoon was just fucking with him to get him to stop sulking? That’s absolutely something Namjoon would do because he’s done it before.

He sighs. Stops to catch his breath because you live on the sixth floor in a building with no working elevator and he doesn’t work out, so he’s really going to be pissed if Namjoon lied.

“Yoongi? What’re you doing here?”

His heart really does stop this time, because there you are, fresh-faced and smiling and a little confused, and Yoongi knows his face is splotchy and red and that his hairline is sweaty. “Yeah, hi,” he says, and it comes out like an immensely displeased grunt. Doesn’t sound at all like he’s happy to see you, and—oh. Yeah. He can understand now why you might’ve been hesitant to say something.

“Sorry, I just—these steps, you know?”

“Yeah, they said the elevator’s finally getting fixed next week.”

“Thank fuck.”

Your brows knit together. “You planning on coming by more often?”

Yoongi is a lot of things, but right now he’s impatient. So he closes the distance between you in record time and says, “Yeah. Listen, Namjoon told me this guy you and Hobi have been talking about is actually me—”

“That duplicitous snake—”

“—and I’ve kind of been losing my mind over it, because I feel the same way, so if it’s true I’d really like to kiss you, but I’m not entirely sure Namjoon wasn’t just fucking with me—”

“Oh, like that time he told you he’d seen your rejection letter from SNU just so you’d stop stressing over whether or not you got in and that you’d be even more excited once you did, in fact, get in?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Namjoon is a bastard. You should kiss me, though.”

Min Yoongi is a lot of things.

As he presses his lips to yours—soft, soft, soft—more than anything else, he’s happy.

#beeday drabbles #jewel answers #jewel writes #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fluff #yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagine #yoongi drabble #yoongi fanfic #bts imagines #bts x reader

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cherryslyce · 1 year

Text

Holding Hands With Shadows | Tom Riddle

Synopsis: Being the Minister of Magic was not easy for Tom, but you are always there to keep chaos from erupting. OR, you are Tom's assistant and the babysitter of the group and Tom finally confesses.

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant (sane!Tom, no Voldemort), Abraxas keeps insulting orphans, Y/N is tired (Knights of Walpurgis? More like Kids of Walpurgis)

You could almost feel the grey hairs sprouting from your head, and not even in a fun, attractive way either. It was a wonder you hadn't even thought about drafting up your letter of resignation until right now.

"Abraxas, you may not buy out that land to raise your peacocks. The Department of Care for Magical Children plan to use it for future projects."

Tom shoots you an amused look from across the room, lips quirked up into a smirk at your exasperated tone. The infuriating man was leaning back in his armchair, far too at ease, as you tried to restrain yourself from slamming your head through the table.

"Frankly, that just seems like a waste of good resources. I mean why do they need it so bad? Could they not just simply find another plot? After all, these children grew up in austere conditions, so they won't even miss it."

"Abraxas."

"Yes?"

"Get out."

"Excuse--"

"Now. Please."

The man looks over to his best friend for help, but Tom simply shrugs as if conceding that you were the one in charge.

"Fine. However, this conversation is far from over. I will see you both tonight, yes?"

"Of course. Safe travels, and please send Lady Malfoy my regards."

The man sends you a pleased nod before twirling on his heels, his cloak billowing dramatically. The door clicks shut behind him just as you drop your face into your hands.

"Stressed, darling?"

You huff and rub your forehead before answering with more bite than intended, "Perfectly fine".

The insufferable man, as unbothered as always, lets out a noise of amusement before slowly striding towards your desk. You slowly raise your head as his shadow falls over you, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah, fire off your best hex at me and put me out of my misery."

"Abraxas‘ dramatics has rubbed off on you, my love."

The pet name sends a shiver down your spine and you try your hardest to school your expression. You had grown up with Tom at the orphanage, which basically made you his closest confidant, friend, and ally. At times it felt like you were a breathing, judgmental diary to him.

You were privy to all that was bad and ugly in his life, so it was only right that you were by his side when he rose to power and suddenly had access to all the material goods in the world.

And to him--whatever he had, you had by extension.

Of course, you fought tooth and nail to get to where you were now, rebuking any effort Tom made to give you preferential treatment.

Everything would be fine if it weren't for your affections toward him. Growing up, he never expressed interest in pursuing a romantic relationship, he had only ever wanted to subvert the stereotypes and malice aimed at the both of you during your years at Hogwarts.

The closest thing to romance that you could associate Tom with was when he wooed Druella Rosier in sixth year with his signature smile and a kiss to her hand in order to siphon information about her father from her.

The poor girl was an inconsolable lump of misery after Tom got what he needed and tossed her aside like a used handkerchief.

Tom's always been romantically inept like that.

Your spiral of reminiscing didn't cease, not even when you and Tom showed up to Malfoy Manor for their annual ball later that night.

When would it be socially acceptable to turn tail and run?

"Assistant L/N! What a pleasure it is! Is the minister trekking about nearby?"

You spin from looking out the window and come face to face with an older man who you recognized from around the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

His vest hugged him tightly and only served to accentuate his red, puffy face.

Was he about to hit on you or try and kiss your ass so he could get acquainted with Tom?

Merlin. Did you have enough in your savings to retire yet?

"Good evening. I believe Tom is busy discussing foreign deals with Lord Greengrass."

"Ah yes, Cyrus Greengrass is quite ingenious. You and Minister Riddle were friends with him during school, yes?"

Your lip twitched at how casual he was addressing Cyrus. Cyrus would be disconcerted by the man's informality, but Abraxas would surely become vexed on his friend's behalf if he heard.

"Yes. We are childhood friends I suppose."

"Wonderful! Well I was coming to you because I'm sure you're aware that the rules for Quidditch are being tossed into the air. The Ministro di Magia in Italy is trying to--"

You started tuning him out and looked around the room for one of your friends, starting to sweat in the formal wear you had on.

Luckily, Tom caught your eye. Unfortunately, he had somehow rounded up all of your friends and they were all looking quite entertained at your expense.

"Sorry sir. If you'll excuse me, it seems that the Minister is in need of me."

Without waiting for a response, you chugged what was left in your champagne flute before practically stomping over to the circle of men.

As you neared, Tom stepped out to welcome you, encircling a hand around your waist like it was the most casual thing in the world.

"Good evening boys. Thank you for throwing me out to the wolves."

"Y/N! So I assume this would be a bad time to try and renegotiate the land you're throwing away to those orphans."

Bloody hell, he was forgetting that he was saying that in front of two orphans.

Without answering Abraxas, you turned to Tom and let out a sigh, "I'm handing in my letter of resignation tomorrow, I promise it".

The hand around your waist tightened ever so slightly and you ignored the amused looks your friends sent each other, having picked up on your little school girl crush on Tom eons ago.

Damn them.

"Now, now, don't make hasty decisions. I could simply smite Abraxas‘ peacocks and the problem would be solved."

Abraxas let out an undignified noise while Parkinson and Bulstrode snorted into their drinks. Cyrus patted Abraxas‘ shoulder in feign pity, but he knew that Tom would likely make good on his threat if you asked him to.

"I hate you all. How is it that even after all these years, I still feel like an underpaid, underappreciated nanny."

Abraxas looked offended at your words and quickly reassured you, "We love you though. Underpaid, yes. Underappreciated? Never."

Your banter with the group went on for a while longer and as the night started coming to a close, Tom steered you away from peering eyes and towards a vacant balcony.

"Are you alright, darling?"

You only nodded tiredly to the man, leaning your elbows on the railing. You rubbed your eyes as you could sense the man behind you shifting in uncertainty (which was so uncharacteristic of him that you had half the mind to pull out your wand and threaten him to tell you where the real Tom was).

A few beats of peaceful silence pass before you're jumping up at the feeling of hands coming to hug your waist, a hard chest pressing against your back.

"Tom--?"

His chin gently rested atop of your shoulder, loosening his grip slightly to give you the opportunity to push him away.

"Are you unusually more clueless nowadays or are you purposely torturing me?"

"You're going to have to elaborate. Did you accidentally kill someone or do something I would disapprove of? This affection is quite sudden."

"But you don't hate it. Quite the contrary."

"That confidence of yours is going to get you into trouble one day."

"If it's you, I don't mind the trouble."

You don't bother responding, but your silence was satisfactory enough for him.

Clearing your throat, you awkwardly move your hands to rest atop of his, patting them gently.

It felt like the world spun on its head and was reborn anew before Tom spoke again, "Marry me."

His words threw you for a loop and you sputtered a choked, "What?"

"Marry me. I mean we're practically married anyway. You flounder around and make sure the boys are okay, and I rein them in so they don't blow up the country and make me lose face."

"Yes. We are a true dynamic duo."

Your dry response has his chest rumbling in contained laughter, tilting his head and gently knocking it against your cheek.

"We're the parents of the group, haven't you noticed? Abraxas asked me a few days ago if we would end their suffering and ours by just wedding each other."

"I was not aware we were even dating."

"Dating--being partners-- would not even come close to what we are. Don't you feel the same? We are in sync in everything we do. Even hundreds of miles apart, I breathe as you breathe, my heart beats in rhythm with yours, my mind does not simply revolve around you--it is completely infused with your every essence. It is a wonder we aren't already married with three cats."

"Three cats," Tom despised cats, "But...yes, I feel the same. You know I do. I thought that...well, I thought you weren't interested in romance."

"I am interested in pursuing anything and everything with you. Only you. If you'll have me, of course."

Your laughter comes out wet and heavy, filled with relief and disbelief. You turn your gaze upward and watch as the stars blink down on you, permeated across the sky the same way love begins to flow through your veins.

"It was always you, Tom. Thank you for telling me."

Tom pulls back briefly before gently turning you around to face him.

He leans down and nuzzles his nose against yours, eyes conveying a tender emotion that you've never seen until now. But now you knew, every time in the past when his eyes flickered across your face and softened, it was out of love.

"Tell me you'll marry me."

You don't give him a verbal response, but as you press your lips to his, he knows that domesticity together is all the both of you have ever needed.

"Tom...does this mean we have to make Abraxas the best man now?"

"Don't be silly, he'll give us no choice in the matter."

(And give them no choice, he did)

masterlist

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle imagine #harry potter #harry potter series #harry potter imagine #tom riddle fluff #knights of walpurgis #pureblood society #abraxas malfoy

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harmonysanreads · 29 days

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I'm not sure if requests are still open since it's early in the morning where I'm from and idk how our timezones work, please delete this if it isn't orz. If it isn't too much trouble, a dainsleif fic mayhaps 🙏😔? I miss him so much and he didn't come home this patch, can be a short drabble ^^.

Not sure if it's leaning on your "things in consideration" list, but the prompt can be:

You've been under his radar for years but now that he's tracked you down, an unknown child who mirrors his blue Khaenriahn eyes guards you with his small and very fragile life. Those eyes... They're eerily familiar.

(side note: Dain isn't the type who thinks children automatically have a heart of gold lolol. He's kinda a hater when it comes to children cept for Yaoyao /jjjj, maybe that's some extra spice to add for the reason why reader is so terrified and left as soon as she had the opportunity?)

Reconteur

yandere!dainsleif x reader

cw(s) : yandere, implied female reader (the narrative is not gender specific but the word 'mother' has been used once)

wc : 1.7 k

this was an interesting challenge for me because this is one theme i've not done before, with a character i've also never written for! i'm extremely sorry for the wait as i got distracted by hsr :') and thank you so much for requesting<3

a delightful illustration by the loveliest person <3 (spoiler alert!)

Stories are truly spectacular.

They're capable of preserving bygone memories ; changing, adapting and sometimes, becoming far too distant from reality. Like saplings of the tree which extends its roots throughout Teyvat and, their seeds are welcomed by the flighty wind, soon to be cultivated by the torrents of time. The present will one day become history and that history will be archived for posterity to learn and criticize. One such story inspires much intrigue, dressed in charming rhetoric and is thus cataloged among fairy tales : a bittersweet tale of a Knight and an Angel.

And in classic format it goes — once upon a time, a defiled Knight cried out to the heavens, for he could not win against the temptation of seeing the forbidden pearl. This blatant defiance earned him but a curse of eternal agony and soon, he begged the skies for salvation. The clouds softened and sent him a little Angel, who quelled the fires of his pain bit by bit, until it became an infinitesimal dot in the Knight's soul. Brimming with gratitude, the Knight offered his very being to the Angel's service and of course, they lived happily ever after.

Now suppose, fundamentally speaking, if fairy tales are but stories and the retelling of history follows the same pattern — who are the storytellers?

The victors, of course.

The dull thud of pages colliding shut assuages Dainsleif, for the story which now finds itself beside children's bedside tables serves no other purpose than to instigate dulcet fantasies, losing credence before the trials of history. It brews a litany of feelings in his numbed heart until they intertwine and transform into a yarn of befuddling human emotions ; echoing in his ears that this is what his past has become.

Albeit, this hardly astonishes the Bough Keeper. When a war ends and the winners hoist their flags, they'd obviously be privy to recounting their glories — none of them would ever write that the Knight in the story had never begged the heavens for forgiveness and no such Angel was sent. Instead, he'd seen fit to snatch the Messenger that'd implored him to return to his right mind and one would think that Celestia had taken great offense in this act, but no one batted an eye.

That is because the Messenger, too, was forsaken by their home, a fallen angel with no wings and no divinity left. Whose existence became synonymous to that of a firefly and the Knight, became the darkness that allowed it to glow. When two broken individuals unite, they either complete their flaws or destroy one another and sadly, in his case, it was the latter.

But is it such a sin to wish for a normal life? Dainsleif muses as he passes by giggling groups of unassuming humans, desperate vendors trying to sell their wares and many more individuals who might carve their places in the next epics of Teyvat. Often is it said, you only learn to value things after they leave your grasp and while his memory does erode day by day, he'll forever remember that Angel's — your countenance, how the corners of your lips used to curve before they did no longer, how every word of yours bewitched his decaying mind and built it anew.

He was an ant chasing after the fragrance of sugar, a mindless bug blinded by a speck of light, an apophyte clinging desperately to the bough, a sinner. And sinners do not deserve luxuries called normalcy, love or a home. The aftereffects of the Cataclysm that befell his homeland drove uncountable masses to nihility, some embraced their hatred while others rotted in corners of this world. It is testament to Dainsleif's willpower that he'd not been conquered by insanity yet. Indeed, he's always practiced rationale and patience ; which have also aided him in his prolonged search for you.

He investigated till every rock of this wretched world became his acquaintance and he kept on hanging to the last traces of your existence. But, as every expedition led to a dead end, he was forced to accept a lamentable realization, that he missed you. He missed you so much. He'd vowed to never kneel before those who took everything from him, at this point in his life though, he found himself one breath away from begging that floating island — if only it'd bring you back to his side.

Rain. It'd rained before that catastrophic day and on the eve you trespassed in his life as well. Would you laugh if you saw him in this state? Or, would you coax him up from his knees and shield him from the rain? A hoarse chuckle leaves his lips, how shameless does one need to be to still expect comfort from the being they hurt repeatedly? He'd rather not hear the answer.

“Mister?”

The sky growled at his misery but he could not differentiate it from a mocking sneer. He blinked upon feeling the absence of raindrops falling on his person and raised his head to stare.

It is as though the stars gazed at him back, “Why are you kneeling on the ground on a rainy day, mister?”

Dainsleif stared owlishly, his mind momentarily ceased to comprehend the present. The boy that'd reach his knees at most if Dainsleif had been standing returned his gaze in equal interest. Though the man failed to decipher those familiar eyes, it seemed that the boy had reached a conclusion.

“Oh, you must be in pain! Here, take one of my apples.”

The Bough Keeper jolted at the fruit that was shoved to his hand, in the blur of his confusion he'd not taken note of the bag full of apples clutched by the boy's other hand.

“My mother said that an apple a day would keep the pain away—ah, or was it the doctor? Anyway, please take it and don't look so sad. I should really be returning now…!”

Dainsleif opened his mouth (To protest, to question or to thank? He didn't know.) as the boy dashed away, the pitter-patters of the rain lulled his footsteps and left the man a great deal dumbfounded. He looked at the apple, now glistening with rainwater and recalled the boy's words. On normal occasions, he'd be tempted to immediately evacuate the vicinity after that mildly embarrassing encounter but, the memory of the starry gaze that rendered him speechless implored him to follow the boy's tracks.

At this point, his mind was operating on instinct, tracing the footprints of an unknown child without purpose would be the farthest thing he'd put on his agenda in his current state. The dense forest swallowed his form until it finally gifted him with a clearing, a small source of light peeked past a half open window and enticed him closer.

“...re…were…y…?”

The man only came to his senses after hearing muffled voices, standing before what he assumed was the door to the thatched cottage. For a second, he debated whether to continue this rendezvous but resigning that he'd come too far, he decided to take a peek through the window.

The rain lulled just enough to not be an outright nuisance, succinct yet unforgettable — there you were, separated by but a weak wooden structure and Dainsleif's stupefied mind. You are there. Are you really there? Right before his eyes, emerging out of nowhere after he turned Teyvat upside down just to find some reassurance that you're still alive? Your eyes narrowed in that familiar frown and rubbing a towel through a boy's hair—

Wait, what?

Fine strands of blonde clung to Dainsleif's forehead, a few drops of water dripping down to join the small puddle under his feet. He gaped like a fish at the scene and at the boy who led him to this epiphany, completely forgetting vigilance.

“Did you talk to anyone, son?”

Flowers bloomed in his heart at the sound of that familiar lilt and his breath hitched as he processed the contents you uttered. Son. You called that boy son. In the light of your humble abode, he noticed the boy's golden locks of hair that he'd previously foregone and a conclusion crawled its way to his mind. He has a child. He has a child? Dainsleif knew you have a knack for unpredictability but this level of surprise was not what he was expecting upon your first appearance after all these years. He dwelled on the question of how it was even possible for a while, he recalled the boy's eyes ; those characteristic star-shaped pupils would never lie. Voices reached his ear again and he decided to cast aside these questions for a later time.

“I did, but the man looked so sad all alone in the rain! So, I gave him one of the apples because I didn't know what else to do. I promise I didn't talk too much!”

You paused for a while, a cautious query followed, “What did he look like?”

The boy copied your silence this time, finding great interest in your nails before exclaiming, “Pretty ordinary!”

Dainsleif didn't know why but that gave a sting to his heart, he looked back to you to see the unreadable expression on your face slowly shift to a soft smile. You affectionately ruffled the boy—his boy's hair, the action somehow softened the ache in his soul. Until he remembered that he was ignorant of his own son's name. He was one who preferred to form his opinion of everyone from a neutral point of view and while he's not one to excuse children's behavior just because of their age, seeing his own son speak half-truths at this stage raised many more concerns to be dropped in the pile.

You're not someone who'd preach dishonesty to a child but considering the situation you are currently in and the things this child must've seen, he found himself understanding. The skies rumbled and Dainsleif barely pushed back the urge to kick down the door and take his family to where they belonged. But seeing the smile that he'd yearned for so many years, he hesitated. You'd fought hard to earn this little happiness and acting on his impulses now, however justified they might be, would be dishonoring your efforts. And judging by your reactions, he can already sense that you won't just sit idly by for him to pounce on.

So, he'll be patient for bit longer and when the time is right, it'll seem as though his family returned to his arms out of their own volition.

#requests: batch two #answered #beloved-brynn #yandere dainsleif #yandere dainsleif x reader #dainsleif x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #something in my heart tells me that dain gives off girl-dad vibes #buuuut since you mentioned it #tbh dain is so real for that opinion like.. have you seen children these days 💀

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tartilli · 1 month

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wrio, neuvi, nd haitham w a gn!reader who has like the most angelic awooga voice and looks ever but has such an unhinged personality that it removes from the prior facts🧍. this is not a rq this is a demand

G/N!Reader x Wriothesley / Neuvillette / Alhaitham

can be read as platonic or romantic, whichever you prefer, really :)

a/n: HELLO HI MILLIE i'm so sorry this took so long(i've been taking my finals) but i finally finished it!!!

this is my first time answering a request so i hope this is to your liking, there's mild swearing so proceed with caution if that isn't your thing

also i had no idea how to write any of the characters you mentioned so i had to study their characters and read fics centered around them

i wasn't entirely sure what format you wanted(bullet headcanons form or fic form) so i kind of went for a mix of both, if that's okay

WRIOTHESLEY(i learned how to spell his name right just for this)

when he first hears your voice, he is, to put it simply, taken a back.

if he's being honest, you're pretty good looking, but not exceptionally so(and it certainly doesn't help that you're in fontaine of all places).

so it comes as a surprise when you open your mouth, and the most heavenly sound wriothesley's ever heard, emerges from it.

it takes him several seconds to process it.

when he finally regains his composure, he shakes it off as just another new interesting thing in his life.

it soon becomes apparent, though, that the archons themselves unleashed you onto teyvat with the intent of bringing chaos to the land.

the two of you are playing tgc in his office, everything is going great(he's mostly winning) until you put down your deck, a serious expression on your face.

"wriothesley, i swear to the archons, if you win another game, i will shit on my first born."

okay what. just, what the actual fuck-

NEUVILETTE

being known as the aloof and serious ludex of fontaine, neuvilette has never been one for idle chat(really, it's moreso the fact that he's poor at it rather than any actual distaste for the thing).

so when he hears your voice for the first time, he thinks it notable, but decides not to comment.

however, as the two of you begin to spend more and more time together, he muses that hmm maybe he should mention it. so he does.

he doesn't want you thinking that he doesn't like your voice because he does! really, he does.

it soothes him, reminding him of the the soft gurgling sounds made by the waters of a river as waves rush past or the melodic sound of dewdrops falling off a leaf the morning after he finishes crying.

in short: neuvilette really likes your voice

but he's also incredibly concerned for its owner

the two of you will be walking around fontaine, enjoying eachother's company and discussing a confidential topic that neuvillette is privy to information concerning, you'll turn to him and say with the most casual expression on your face:

"if you tell me, i promise to give you each of my toes."

just when neuvillette thinks that he's beginning to understand humanity, he's proven wrong.

when he relays this to you, you only laugh.

privately, he's already compiled a list of all the best therapists in teyvat.

ALHAITHAM

"you have a unique voice."

that's the first thing he says upon meeting you.

well, at least he cut to the chase?

it's a secret to no one that alhaitham finds your voice amusing.

he'll often introduce you to new people just to see the shock on their faces when you make, what he likes to call, one of your statements.

he, himself, was a victim of one.

he'd been reading a book about the mortal body and its parts- fascinating stuff, really, when you walked up to him.

with the straightest face in all of teyvat, in your silky, angel-like voice, you uttered the sentence:

"only cool people don't have reproductive organs."

you proceeded to skip away as if you'd said nothing to him at all.

alhaitham was left bewildered(and a bit impressed).

AAAA it's done

if it's bad it's probably because i was too tired to proofread 😞 but hopefully this isn't too ooc

i don't really like this one as it doesn't really display my personal writing style distinctively enough, i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless, though!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #cil writes #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #neuvilette #neuvilette x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader

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thechekhov · 3 months

Text

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts

CH. 34 Cockatrice

He's doing his best.

L...Laios no..... LaioS NO

I respect Kui-san so much for the work she puts into not only the Senshi pantyshots but also affirming the fact that Marcille and Laios are in no way sexually interested in one another whatever.

I suppose it itches BECAUSE it's healing but also.... w...why does it look infected?

...did.... did Senshi consent to being a test subject? He looks a bit nervous 😂

FIRMLY GRASP IT.

(Marcille has no time for your internalized homophobia)

Oh??? Is there old-party drama that we're about to be privy to? I'm listening reading.

In a storytelling sense, this is very clever. Chillchuck is clearly drawing parallels (unknowingly, I assume?) between Laios and Kirby(?). That guy is.... In Control of his party in a sense, and clearly has earned their trust as a leader. But he trusts himself a little bit too much for it to result in an unhealthy feedback loop of 'I'm always right, these other people think so too!'

Meanwhile, although Laios isn't actively trying to steer the group, they DO trust him to care about their safety, to an extent, and retain their own goals and judgements about certain other things. In fact, it's arguably BECAUSE they all trust each other to be better judges of character that they keep one another in check, so to speak.

The tea is SIZZLING. The girls are fighiiiing

So. Natural energy points. You're basically using energy of unknown origin to fuel spells instead of tapping into what is available readily.

But that sounds like maybe you'd have some. Hm. Questionable side effects? From adding ingredients into the mix which you can neither understand nor fully control.

......of course............of course it was.

👁👁

it's got business to attend do, presumably. Also, which floor are you guys on? Are you still in that ancient city?

IS THAT A THING?????

Maybe that would have been good to.... lead with.......

.........IS THIS WHAT FALIN IS CAPABLE OF?? IS THIS WHAT SHE USES TO COMMUNICATE WITH SPIRITS? Maybe they ARE both talented, but Laios just never bothered to tap into this.

I'm sure it's fine. Hang on, didn't they fight this before once already?

AH right, that was the basilisk. My bad.

I don't. So this'll be a double surprise for me!

I aLmost thought this was it!!! Marcille don't fuck with me like this!

"I'M MARCILLE AND I DON'T LOOK AT THE EXPLOSIONS I, MYSELF, CREATE!!"

You can't not love her.

NOOOO ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!

This is NOT the time to be a zombie movie deuteragonist

wh--i THOUGHT THIS WAS GOING TO BE A CHANCE FOR HIM TO DO MORE HEALING MAGIC

.........I guess that's. a good point but. Laios. Buddy.

I have nothing to say here. This is peak DnD behavior.

...hang on they never took her out of the pot? 😂

..how proud you are of them?

....................yeah alright I guess that works too.

For a second there I thought maybe her petrified hair was gonna snap off and she'd get a haircut.

#dungeon meshi #chekhov reads dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi liveblog #delicious in dungeon

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love-toxin · 1 year

Note

Okay but miscommunication trope is only super yummy when there’s a happy ending. Liiiike reader thinking they’re getting kicked out of their relationship in the fruity four, they’re not wanted anymore, maybe even bring replaced (ie with someone like Chrissy), and so every little sarcastic quip or ignoring is seen by them as the others not loving them anymore 🥺. Until one day it all comes crumbling down and I can’t decide with is more angsty, you breaking down telling the others they don’t love you anymore, or you trying to be brave by announcing you’re leaving and the fours hearts just dropping as they try to scramble to convince you to stay and why?! Why are you leaving!?!?! Please! But of course, happy ending when everything’s properly explained and angel is reassured they could never all fall out of love with them ❤️

oh.......miscommunication trope, you say? >:)

(cws: fruity four, gn!angelface, jealousy, post-s4, PTSD, huge miscommunication trope, domestic arguing, you have a tattoo + kinda shitty parents + bad home life, chrissy's a jealousy target, breakups, jopper appearance, you're childhood friends with jonathan, mentions of grief, an almost car crash, very mild head trauma, crying, angst with a happy ending--stick with me angels!)

Sometimes you wish Chrissy would just disappear. Just--poof--and she'd be gone.

It's awful of you to think, but you can't help it. She's just always around, ever since her breakup with Jason she's been by the house much more frequently. You were happy for her at first, because you liked her up until then, and she's always been nice to you. Plus, your partners saved her life back when all that crazy stuff with the Upside Down happened, an event you weren't privy to until after the fact, when you started dating them.

But she's always on Eddie, always chatting him up, always giggling at his attempts to cheer her up, and now she's attracted the attention of your other partners too. They're good friends, and that's good, but....why can you not shake this feeling that there's something more going on? That the arm touches over his jacket and the inside jokes aren't as friendly and harmless as they want you to think?

It's worse than that, though. The honeymoon phase is clearly over--cause all four of them just brush off your concerns, insisting that you're overreacting or just not addressing them at all. So you haven't been piping up when a joke hurts your feelings, and you've bitten your tongue when one of them has to reschedule something you've planned, and it's gotten to the point that they've wondered why you're so quiet all of a sudden. Why would they care? You think with a sour feeling in the back of your throat, rubbing the tattoo on your arm that Eddie gave you and wondering if that was just practice for someone else. You're not oblivious to the way Chrissy is slowly being invited into gatherings and dinners with everyone.....just like you were in the beginning. And after an especially heated fight with both Eddie and Robin, the worst one you've ever gotten into in your entire relationship, he got so pissed off that he just told you not to come to the dinner they had planned, and they'd take someone who actually wanted to go.

That was a couple days ago, and the air in the house has been strained for nobody else but you. You're equally as hurt by Eddie yelling at you as Robin silently going along with it, even though you slammed your bedroom door in her face when she tried to follow you, and waited until Eddie tugged her along to leave before you allowed yourself to cry. You're sick of the feeling that none of them really care for you, that you've been demoted to a piece of furniture in the house, because they've clearly lost interest. And they don't care when your things start disappearing from the house, when the clothes in your closet start dwindling, leaving behind nothing but the ones they've bought for you--no, they'd rather moon over Chrissy fucking Cunningham, and you've just taken all you think your heart can handle.

"I'm going out!" You call into the house from the front door, without any of their four voices responding. When you sigh, turn, and step out to turn the corner of the house, though, you bump right into one of them.

"Oh! Hey, baby." Steve steps back and readjusts the paper bag full of groceries he's got his arm around, keys halfway tucked into his pocket. "Where you off to?"

"Um....just, uh, gonna go visit my parents." You weren't really expecting him to pry, with how in your head you've been lately. But you're not gonna relent just cause one of the people who promised he'd love you forever, yet somehow can't be fucked enough to find the time to even watch a movie with you, asked you a question that remotely shows an ounce of concern.

"Your parents?" He blinks, shifting again to rest the bag on his hip. "You sure?"

That tone is so irritating. You used to love that almost parental sense of duty, the desire of his to know every detail of every problem so he can solve it. But now, you just feel suffocated, even though you're more distant from all of them now than you've ever been. "What, I'm not allowed to see my family?"

"Hey, that's not what I said! hold on," He moves to put the groceries inside, but you wave him off and start walking past him, your tone clearly frustrated as you encourage him to just forget it. But, in a tizzy, Steve hurriedly sets the bag down on the ground and runs to catch up with you, his hand descending on your arm only to be swatted away--but not for long, when he grabs it again and grips it tighter as he turns you to face him. "Jesus, wait! What's the big fuss? Did I do something?"

"Let me go, Steve." You refuse to look him in the eyes, but you can't break his grip. Why can't he just let it go, so it's less painful? "I don't wanna drag this out."

"Drag what out?" Finally, it dawns on him as his eyes dart from the keys clenched in your hand to the windows of your car parked in the driveway, boxes clearly piled up in the trunk and in the backseat that none of them seemed to notice you moving.

".....So that's it? You're breaking up with us?" Steve says it with disbelief, like he's expecting you to say something or anything different. It's almost a little satisfying when you respond in the way he never could have expected, even though he should've by now. Even though it feels bitter on your tongue as soon as it comes up.

"You know what? Yes. That's exactly it." You finally wrench your arm out of his grip, and each of those words sting as they come out, but you won't cry, you refuse to cry in front of Steve today. "I'm leaving tonight, and I'm never coming back to Hawkins again."

"Why?"

"Ask your new girlfriend."

"Who? Wait--Chrissy?" He shakes his head, and what comes out next is more cruel than you wanted to be--but he just won't get it, it won't happen unless you make them realize why they don't want you anymore.

"Wow, the jock has a brain! Well done, Stevie." He grimaces at once, and god, you wish it would all stuff itself back into your throat.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you being such a-"

"I know you're in love with her, Steve! For fuck's sakes, I'm not as stupid as you think I am!" You shout into the broken silence of the front lawn, wishing from the deepest reaches of your heart that this could all just be a horrible nightmare. Not reality. You don't want to be facing those big, soft eyes of Steve staring back at you in shock and pain, so you just turn your head and hope he doesn't see how much you're shaking.

"I get it, okay?! She's prettier than me, and nicer, and she doesn't have my fucking issues--and you guys clearly like her. It's like I don't even exist when she's around." You move aside to gesture towards your car, keys clutched in your hand so they won't fall or get taken from you, because you know Steve is reckless when he's upset. "None of you even noticed I was packing. Nancy fucking helped me put a box in yesterday."

Just then, both your heads turn at the sound of a car approaching--and just in time, you realize it's Eddie, his van's tires crunching the gravel of the long driveway as he pulls up to a stop beside your car. And lo and behold, sitting in the front seat with a smile on her face is her. Chrissy waves to you through the window, and as if your heart isn't in the process of shattering into shards that dig into your lungs, you raise your hand to acknowledge her back. You turn back to look at Steve one last time. Memorizing his face, because you know you won't ever see him again, as you take a few steps backward and hand him your parting words.

"Don't break her heart, Steve. It sucks."

With that, and with nothing but confliction reflecting back at you on his face, you turn on your heels and make your way around your car, bidding Eddie and Chrissy a stiff goodbye as they get out of the van and you get into your car. You reverse, roll back out of the driveway, and shift gears to start puttering down the road. And as soon as the house is out of your rearview mirror, that's when you feel those tears spilling out that won't stop until well after you pass the Leaving Hawkins sign on the side of the road.

A week into your new start in the city, you haven't gotten any more closure than when you left.

Living with your aunt isn't great, but it's something. The apartment is small, and you still haven't found a new job--you did call the Palace to inform them that you were quitting, though, to which you were greeted with nothing but indifference as you left a message on the answering machine. Figures that nobody in that town would miss me, you think, but you can't dwell on it for too long, because then you'll start thinking of them and it'll have you sobbing into your pillow again. Even worse is that you can't even fully express your pain to your family, your aunt, anybody--because they'll all think you're a freak, and it won't be surprising that your "relationship" ended so badly. You don't even really speak to your parents or your family in the first place, so you can't expect them to show you any sympathy. In fact, if they said anything to you, it would probably be that you should be glad it's over so you can live a normal life.

You don't want normal. You want your Robin talking your ear off about something gross for hours, you want Eddie burping into your ear and laughing, you want Nancy falling asleep on top of you and drooling on your chest, and Steve--you want Steve to come over while you're both on your breaks, talking with his mouth full and stealing bits of your lunch while kissing you in between each bite. You want that love back, you want it so badly it hurts, it hurts your heart every time something reminds you of them.

Maybe that's the worst part. That they don't want that anymore, they want someone that can share those memories with of that terrible tragedy, who knows how they feel and relates to those nightmares that wake them up in a cold sweat, who they can compare scars with and laugh with now that it's all over. They want someone scarred but beautiful, someone perfect, and you can never be that way no matter how hard you try. It explains why you haven't gotten a single phone call, or a letter, or anything since you left, and that treatment extends into your second week in Indy and right into the third. But it doesn't get any less painful, even when you get a job at a convenience store around the corner to busy yourself and help with the rent. Nor when you try going on a date or two, just to spend the whole dinner staring off into space as they talk and wondering what the people you loved are doing right now.

While you're behind the counter at work, your thoughts often drift back to that house by Maple Drive. The path around the back that leads into the woods, where Eddie would take you out for a smoke and to watch the stars for awhile--always with a walkie on hand, just in case, as Steve used to say. The pool that often sits empty, and sometimes you'd look out the window to see Nancy lifting up the cover on it to peek underneath, before breathing a visible sigh of relief and briskly walking away. Sometimes even in the middle of the night, creeping out the sliding glass door in her pajamas. And you remember that bed you often shared with Robin, who gets so clingy when she sleeps....and you wonder if she's sharing it with Chrissy now, if the cheerleader you always thought was such a nice girl is occupying the spot you thought would be yours forever.

Your brow furrows as you stock Camels on the shelf behind the counter, sliding each one into the perfect spot but feeling an itch of irritation when they don't line up. Is Eddie holding her right now? Is he coming up behind her every morning, and nuzzling his nose into her cheek as she stirs milk into her coffee? Is Nancy cuddling her and chatting her up about whatever project she has going on right now? Is Steve picking up her bag, and insisting she let her boyfriend hold the heavy stuff while she sits and looks pretty? They probably are. And they're probably much happier doing it with her, than they ever were with you.

Something thuds on the counter behind you, and you sigh without a sound as the gruff voice at your back asks for a pack while you're at it. Your fist squeezes around the box you've got in hand, and when you turn on your heels to toss it on to the tabletop and reach for the scanner, your eyes widen, and so do the ones on the moustached man that's towering in front of you with a petite woman at his side.

"Hop?"

You breathe out the name, trying to regain yourself as quick as you can--you're pretty used to keeping your tears back now, adjusted to having a straight face so nobody will pry or prod for your feelings. The former sheriff of your hometown that you used to duck out of sight from, laughing and hiding your goods with Eddie right behind you, is standing at your counter with a shocked expression, along with Joyce Byers who seems just as surprised to see you here. And with little else you can think of, you clear your throat and try to crack that tense silence.

"Uh...so, you two on vacation, or someth-"

"Are you fucking with me?"

Hopper cuts you off, hands bracing the edge of the counter as he looks you up and down, the two glass bottles of Coke getting shoved aside by him to fall over and roll across the counter as he reaches across the barrier to grab your arm. Without much struggle, because you have no clue what's going on, you allow the older man to yank your wrist up and turn it over, Joyce hurriedly pushing up your sleeve with her gaze pinned to your skin, like she's desperately searching for something that has nothing to do with your confused questions spilling out on top of each other.

When they've finally uncovered that patch of skin they were looking for, the two of them share a look between themselves, before finally looking back up to acknowledge how baffled and worried you are. It isn't until you scan down to see what they found that the pieces start coming together, the black ink of the tattoo Eddie gave you when you first started dating peeking out at you. It's just a thin, mid-sized black circle on your inner forearm, with five points reaching outward like a sun. But the detail of it has always enchanted you, Eddie's diligent stare as he inked it into your skin burned into your mind. You've considered getting it covered since then, but....you can't bring yourself to do it yet.

"I'll call it in," Hopper says cryptically, stepping back and turning away to bring out the walkie from his belt and start mumbling into it. In the meanwhile, you're left with his partner, and the lady you've practically grown up with since she babysat you a long time ago. You often forget that time, when you and Jonathan would run around her backyard with sticks and rocks to try and build your own castle, while his baby brother watched from the stairs and giggled at your antics. You were so young, and so carefree, it seemed....but it was a happy time, one of few before you met those four.

"Honey, you're alright?" Joyce's voice quivers, anxious for the answer, but you nod as soon as her question registers because you hate to see her like this.

"Ye...Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" She circles round the counter, coming right in for a hug that you return without question. The squeeze is tight, like a mother's embrace upon returning home from a long time away, and you instantly feel a pinch of guilt for neglecting to include her in your plan to leave Hawkins. Now that you think about it, you really didn't tell anyone, except....

"-Kid, relax, we're coming there. No, do not get in your car, sit your ass down so you're there when we get back! Jesus," Hop gets more animated as he talks over the channel, and your hug splits as your head swivels towards the sound of a familiar voice through the static. Steve.

"Are they there? Let me talk to them! Please, Hopper, let me hear their voice-"

It's so frantic, desperate. The first time you've heard one of their voices in what feels like your whole life, and you have to struggle not to cave, bringing a shaky hand up over your mouth as you whisper a "What's going on?" to Joyce. And with your ears perked up, you can distinguish the background noise in the transmission--there are three other distinct voices, talking just as fearfully amongst themselves as they also try to get through to Hop. Nancy, Eddie, and Robin, each with as much indignation as Steve, who must be holding the other walkie.

"We're coming down right now, kid. Just try to calm down in the meantime." With that, Hopper shuts the antenna and gestures for you to follow him, the sweet woman at your side holding your arm as you obey him, like she's afraid you'll vanish if she lets go. You're led out of the light of the fluorescent bulbs overhead to Hop's truck parked by the curb--you at least have the sense to fumble with your keys and lock the front door before you leave--you let him open the door and sit yourself in the backseat, and shakily buckle yourself in as they get in front with promises to explain everything. Still struck dumb with shock to the point that it hasn't really registered that you just left work in the middle of your shift.

But you get an idea of what's happening when you turn your head, and catch a glimpse of a scattered stack of papers on the seat beside you out of your peripheral. Tentatively, as Hop starts up the ignition, your fingers brush over one of the nearest pages--and when you lift it up to survey it closer, the two of them notice you and share another sobering look between them. What's staring back at you is undeniably, unmistakably, a missing person's ad. And the picture is one you recognize immediately, because it's yours. Your photo, details of your last sighting, a description of your tattoo, a list of things for people to look out for....

"You really worried everyone back home, kid."

Suddenly, a bitterness rises up inside you, and the paper crumples slightly as you realize what's really happening. "I'm fine. I just...decided to get out of Hawkins."

"Yeah, well, maybe tell your roommates that, first."

"Hop-"

"They didn't care! I told Steve anyways, so what's the big fucking deal?" Even though Joyce flinches at you raising your voice, you can't be quiet right now. Anger is something you've been almost too numb to endure these last few weeks, but now you could just put your fist straight through Hopper's window--they put up such a fuss for what? To drag you back to that shitty inbred town in the sticks, just to make sure they didn't want you in the first place? It's bullshit.

"They sure as shit care!" Hop shouts right back, casting his signature scowl over his shoulder as he drives through semi-empty streets. It's so late, and so dark, it's unlikely there'll even be many pedestrians. "Do you realize how many times Nancy Wheeler has shown up on my doorstep, begging me to go on another search and rescue for you?! They're worried sick!"

"Why?"

There's silence for awhile, very tense silence, before you repeat your question that says much more than just that one word.

"....Because they thought you were gone. They thought you were there."

There. That's what he means--the other world, the Upside Down. The place you've never seen, only heard horror stories about and snatches of descriptions of when you comforted one of them during a night terror. The missing people, the murders, the experiments....they're all so hard to believe, but then again, you can't deny Will's remarkable return from the dead or Barbara Holland's coverup death, both of which you've been close enough to to know that there's no way they're just elaborate lies.

So they were worried you had died. That your disappearance wasn't of your own volition. They're going to be in for an unfortunate surprise, but by the tightly shut locks on Hopper's truck doors, you know there's no getting out of this until he brings you right back to drop you in their laps.

"We came here to look for you. Your mom finally told us you had an aunt in the city." Joyce offers you another piece to the puzzle, but your mind is still stuck on the fact that your ex-partners seemed so desperate over the walkie. They....they wouldn't want you to die, but that doesn't mean they want you. Figures that your parents would make it more difficult for two of the only people that even remotely have any concern for you too, they're probably profiting off all that glorious attention of having a missing child.

"I have a life here, now. I don't want to go back." Lies. You know it's all lies.

"Listen, kid, whatever happened with your friends, I promise it's not worth throwing in the towel. You've gotta see things through." Clearly it's not worth an argument, you'd rather save your energy at this point. You're gonna need plenty to face that hard conversation you know is coming, when you're gonna have to confirm to them directly that you're moving on. No more running away, or hiding from the problem. You have to face it.

"You don't know anything about me, or them."

The already long drive drags on even longer in the silence that follows, and you make a mental note to call your aunt when they get you back to Hawkins, so she doesn't freak out when she comes home to an empty apartment. You can imagine your manager's gonna call and cuss you out before firing you for leaving the store unattended, too, and you groan and let your head hit the seat behind you. Now you're gonna have to find another job, gonna have to explain to your aunt what you did....or maybe she won't even notice your absence, not until someone makes a fuss about it.

Your mind is left racing with so many thoughts and worries that the scenery passes by without note, the moon barely shining any light on the landscape, like it's all one huge plain with little dots for buildings and trees. Like one big hellscape, but it's numb and frozen over with nothing left but a mocking echo of the world that's no longer here. You don't even really recognize your surroundings until a couple hours have passed, and the Welcome To Hawkins sign zips by and has you sitting up in your seat. Just as you pass it, though, you think you see the glimmer of another set of headlights, a rarity on these quiet streets--and then your whole world shifts violently.

"Shit!" Hop curses as he swerves suddenly, and Joyce shrieks as you all nearly careen off the road and into the ditch, your head cracking against the window and bouncing off for you to clutch at it in pain. A groan is all you can get out when he calls back to you, the dizzy feeling making you a little sick, but as you lift your head and the truck rolls to a stop, you spot the culprit of that downright suicidal speed driving that nearly caused a head-on collision.

Your heart is pierced with a deep chill immediately. You'd recognize that van anywhere, and that curly mane of hair as the driver stumbles out his door even moreso. He's not hurt, just dazed--and for the moment, your brain doesn't immediately go to the question of why you should even care. As he stands there in the road, in the dark, Eddie's form is lit up by the headlights still shining without a flicker, but he doesn't flinch even when it must be glaring directly into his eyes, just holds a hand up to block it out. And when they meet yours as you lean over the console to see him, he doesn't wait a second, hurrying around the passenger's side of the truck to fumble for the handle of your door. With a click, and the light above you switching on as a beeping starts to emit from the vehicle, Eddie's suddenly cramming himself into the backseat with you--and there's tears already wetting his cheeks as he grabs you in a hug, gasping in a shaky lungful of breath like he's shocked he's really touching you. Crying and mumbling into your hair, Eddie buckles when you squeeze him back, falling victim to that desire in the deepest part of your soul that just wanted to hold him again.

"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it baby, I didn't--everything I said, I swear, I was being such a fucking moron-" He starts babbling from nowhere, and his voice itself is a comfort, having not heard it next to your ear for so long that it aches now.

"Eddie-"

"You're mine, okay?! You're my everything!" He cries, burying his face even deeper into your neck and inhaling whatever scent he can get. You're stunned into staying limp, letting his hands grab and squeeze at you wherever they land--his curly hair tickles your cheek and sticks to it, and that sensation alone drags tears up to the surface, only allowing them to spill when you hear him whispering those croaked pleas of "I love you, I love you, I love you" until you're crying right along with him. It's been so long since you heard it, you'd started believing it was never really true.

It takes minutes that feel like hours for you to both calm down enough to look at each other, your face cradled in Eddie's rough hands as he sniffles and murmurs a "You're so beautiful" so innocently sincere, that it instantly makes you wish you had never left. He smiles, and the world that seems so dark grows a little brighter around you. You're not even privy to the looks Joyce and Hopper are giving each other in the front seat, clearly a little surprised at the passion you two share that nobody else has ever seen. But they know. And when Eddie starts pulling you out of your seat with the promise to take you back, Hop only reminds him to drive safely before he allows you two to shut the truck's door and circle round the vehicle with Eddie's arm clinging to your waist. The air hits you, cool and dry, just like it always is in Hawkins. And when he opens your door for you and waits for you to clamber in, before getting in on the other side and fumbling contently with his keys, you're not sure you really know what to expect. He briefly elaborates that he'd gotten worried, and that he's just glad he spotted Hop's truck before he'd sped all the way out of Hawkins and missed you--but it doesn't last, because soon he's grabbing your thigh and sighing out a breath of relief.

"We'll talk about everything when we get home. For now, I just want to hold you." Eddie offers his hand to you, giving it a grateful squeeze when you slip yours into it and interlace your fingers together.

They'll all hate me for real, this time.

That's exactly how the drive goes, Eddie's shoulders relaxed even as he steers with one hand, and navigates while stealing glances over at you with relief written all over his face, and brings your hands up to kiss your knuckles every so often. But he's just one. The other three....your heart sinks as you run over that last conversation you had with Steve, the way you'd ignored Robin completely, and how you pretended everything was absolutely fine with Nancy up until the moment you left. And it somehow dawns on you only then--they thought you were gone, that you had been taken to the Upside Down, and your heart sinks as you watch the trees pass by in clusters while that dread creeps closer down the road that's so familiar.

Not even the comforting warmth of Eddie's hand could drive that thought out of your mind, even less so when he turns and you hit that patch of gravel that leads up the driveway. He'll stop soon, and you'll be facing the music....and when Eddie shifts into park, you sort of float from your seat to the walkway where you threw your feelings back into Steve's face, and up towards the front door that Eddie opens for you before you cross the threshold into the house. It does feel like home, and you don't want to lose it right on the welcome mat, so you blink away any tears that threaten to spill before you quietly follow him into the living room.

Three heads turn to look your way, too inundated in conversation around the coffee table to hear the door opening, but that stops the second their eyes land on you. Steve and Robin are the ones sitting closest to where you stand, but Nancy's the one that makes her way to you first, her lower lip already quivering enough to break into a sob as she crosses the patch of carpet to throw her arms around you. She's strong enough to grip you tight enough to hurt, but too weak to keep herself on her feet, and you end up sinking to the floor with her as your name floods out of her lungs on repeat, getting louder and louder and louder until she's wailing. You could swear the walls rattle with the volume she cries at, completely coming apart in your arms like you've never seen her do before.

"Don't you ever do that to me again!" She shouts, yet her voice is like a child's, wobbling and whiny and so miserably pitiful that it pains you even to listen to it, especially when she's clutching you so close to her body--so afraid that you won't be there when she pulls away, so she refuses to. You don't have any right to cry when she's so distraught, but with your head over her shoulder, the other two watch your lips curve downwards and your eyes screw shut into a flood of tears that won't stop easily.

"I'm sorry, Nancy. I'm okay." You whimper, burying your face into her curls until your lips brush her jawline, and she shudders into each gentle, praiseworthy kiss that you press there. Up until her sobs subside, and she breaths a sigh of relief that you can feel from her chest against yours, each one sinking and rising into each other as you breathe along with her. "I thought you didn't want me anymore."

She shakes her head, and finally pulls herself back to look at you, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her cheeks when she gets a good look at you. Nancy touches your face, thumbs away your own tears--and you know she's not just looking at you, but the girl she lost so long ago, whose smile she sees in yours on those days she misses her the most dearly. "I never wanted you more when I thought you weren't coming back," She whispers back. "How could I not want you? I love you."

The kiss she lays upon your lips is breathtaking, shaking and sweet and just....everything. Everything you missed and craved like air and water and life.

You're already halfway into her embrace when she laughs out that half-hearted joke, walking back with you a couple steps when you throw yourself into it. And she squeezes you so tight, so hard, the kisses a flurry of needy, fluttering touches all over your face until she somehow finds your lips--and when she does, she makes that last one a kiss you won't shake off for days, the feeling tingling your lips even when she pulls away. Still rubbing that spot on your back that she knows is sensitive, Robin grips you in an even harder hug that nearly cracks your spine, and whispers into your ear: "I'm so happy you're here with me." before she kisses you one last time, last one, she swears, fingers crossed behind your back. But then, she takes notice to the man standing just a foot away--and she lets you go to turn you around, her fingertips grazing your arms as you finally face him.

"Yeah, she, uh....she cried, like, every night," Even as Robin says it and breaks the quiet, she herself is rubbing tears from her cheeks, trying to keep that smile going as you stand and Nancy loosens her hold. She moves aside for Eddie to lay his hands on her shoulders from behind, and keep her steady on her feet. "So did Steve. I told you he cries when we watch Princess Bride!"

"I-I....I didn't mean it, Steve. I never...I've never thought you were dumb." Your voice comes out as a whimper, fingers fiddling with each other as you endure that big, brown, wide-eyed stare.

"I know." He breathes, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He wants to move, he's antsy, but he won't take another step. "I know, baby."

"Can I hug you?" Steve just nods, but his lip quivers and his features gain that pathetic, sad puppy look, because he was hoping and praying you would say those very words. Your heart soars as he meets your step forward and flings his strong arms tight around your body, crushing you with his huge stature but never loosening up. He instantly brings his hand up to cradle your head against his chest, kissing the crown of it with so much firmness that you know he's reaffirming you're really standing in front of him again.

"I shouldn't have let you leave. I should've slashed your damn tires." He chuckles along with you at the lighthearted crack at breaking the tension, until he chokes up again into a sob. "Nobody could ever replace you. And I swear, I'll never break your heart again."

Steve holds you for a long time, squeezing you and kissing you and brushing strands of hair from your eyes to just look at you, surveying the face of the love he feared he'd never get to cherish again. It's a long time coming, and when he's done, there are three other warm bodies in the room that need attention from the sweet thing they've been killing themselves over these last few weeks.

From there, they catch you up with what had happened in your absence. Steve had walked off to clear his head after you left, and hadn't returned until late in the day--burst through the front door during an unusually quiet dinner and sent them all into a panic, when he realized you really had left and you weren't coming back. The four of them had jumped into action to split up and look for you, Nancy contacted your parents and other family while Steve and Robin tried to find some hint of your whereabouts in the house, cracking open your drawers and notes and realizing how much of your stuff was missing. Meanwhile, Eddie had driven in circles round Hawkins and the outer city limits, trying to find any trace of your car in the dark with the help of passing streetlights.

When those attempts had failed after stretching out into the next day to mid-afternoon, and with your very unhelpful parents insisting they had no idea where you could've gone, that's when your partners had started printing out missing person's flyers and put in an official report with the sheriff's office. And, seemingly having forgotten that you were really the only one who ever checked the voicemail at work, your message tendering your resignation had been errantly erased by your manager--worrying them even further when they questioned him, because if you were really planning on moving away like you said, how could you not tell your employer? It wasn't like you. Their fears had only gotten stronger from there.

The worst had yet to come, though. Because when your car had been found on the side of the road way out in the middle of nowhere, miles and miles away from Hawkins and completely destroyed, the four of them had reached the point of no return. The plates had been torn off, but it was your exact make and model of car, and what were they supposed to believe? That it was just coincidence? That's what Hopper had tried to reassure them with, tried to insist that plenty of cars get found gutted out in the bush, but they couldn't be convinced that it was just some freak happenstance and delude themselves to think that you were fine and dandy somewhere else. The same thing had happened to Max's stepbrother, and they all knew how that had ended.

So started the search parties, the nights spent staying up and studying maps by lamplight, the microwave meals in place of home cooking and sleeping in shifts by the phone, waiting and hoping for some kind of clue to your whereabouts to appear. Finding you had become more important than eating, proper sleep, showering, or attention paid to anything aside from looking towards the horizon to see if you would magically walk back into their lives.

And all that time, you had believed nothing but that they couldn't care less where you were, or what you were doing. When in reality, they could think of nothing but you. That was what had led Eddie to nearly crash into you as you re-entered Hawkins, having been pacing the living room for those long hours after Hop's call until he just couldn't take it anymore--despite the other three trying to stop him, he had dashed out to his van and peeled out of the driveway like a lunatic, just for the slightest chance that he might be there when you needed help. It was so stupid, so reckless, and you'll remember that moment he came rushing around the side of the truck to get to you forever.

Despite them reassuring you about Chrissy, too, when the tears have dried--promising you she's nothing but a friend, and they would have no problems limiting her interaction with all of you from now on--you wave it away, smiling off your stupidity and letting them know that it's fine. You were just being dumb, acting crazy, but you're fine now. And Eddie's eyes narrow at that.

"You're not crazy." He murmurs absentmindedly, and says nothing more until he can slip away from your reunion, and reach the phone in the kitchen. While you're busy dealing with your other partner's crippling absence of affection, he taps his blunt nails into each button, numbly dialing the number he's memorized until the ringing starts and stops.

"Hey, Chris. Angel's back home."

"Oh, that's great! Oh...Eddie, I'm so happy for you. You must be relieved-"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. Listen, no hard feelings, but....you're my friend, so I'm just gonna be straight. Don't come by the house anymore."

"I--what? Really? I....Eddie, I'm sorry, if I did something to upset you-"

"No, no, nothing you did. Well, not really. But I know how you feel, Chris, and I can't really ignore it anymore." He swallows deeply, and sucks on his teeth as he tries to think of some better way to say it. "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I don't feel the same. I never have, and I'm sorry if I made you feel like that might change."

"......So that's it?"

"That's it. We can still be friends, but we need space for awhile first, and I'm not gonna ignore you flirting with me anymore. I'm in love and it's not gonna change. Sorry."

"Can we at least talk about it, Eddie? Please? I'd rather talk this out in person."

"No. Bye, Chrissy."

He thuds the phone back on the receiver just a little too hard, and brings his hand up to rub at his neck and try and get the ache out. That didn't feel good, having to confront one of his very few friends with a truth he just wanted to ignore--but the sick feeling he has now can't even compare to how he felt when you were away, and it's an easy decision to make in that regard. He'd take you over her any day. It's a bit of a guilty feeling, but he knows it's the truth even if it hurts Chrissy's feelings, and he's happy even so.

"....Yeah, I missed you real bad, sweetheart. Don't you ever think I wouldn't....or else you are crazy."

"Eddie?" You call out from the living room, and following that sweet voice to its source, he feels himself light up at the sight of you settled back into the couch. Legs tucked up in Robin's lap, halfway into Steve and Nancy's, looking so comfortable and cute as you look up at him. You're where you belong. He's so distracted by the glee and relief of having you home, he didn't even realize how quiet it had been between you all until he came right back from his task. You say nothing more, just hold your arms out to him--and when he gets close enough, you capture him with those pretty eyes of yours, and melt away any ill feeling as you pull him into your chest.

#fruity four #fruity four x reader #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve harrington x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #eddie munson x reader #robin buckley x reader #jim hopper #joyce byers #st 4 #stranger things #eddie's angelface #ellie writes #anons

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arabaka · 10 months

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ CONTENT WARNINGS: CANON? WHAT 'DAT? SHE/HER PRONOUNS USED. READER IS AN EXOTIC DANCER. READER WEARS MASCARA. UNPROTECTED SEX. ANAL (AND MINOR DEPICTION OF PAIN FROM IT). SPANKING. SPIT ROASTING. GETO'S A JERK. GOJO'S GOT MONEY.

PET NAMES USED: LITTLE THING (NOT REFLECTIVE OF BODY TYPE, USED AS DEGRADATION), BABY, SWEETS, BEAUTIFUL. ゜・。.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ WORD COUNT: 3.4K. ゜・。.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wanna emphasize first that not all exotic dancers have sex for pay and it's common for clubs to forbid it so PLEASE read this as just silly smut and not as a reference for the REAL heroes (jokes aside, exotic workers deserve respect and MONEY!!!) ゜・。.

“Hey, where is she?”

“With a client. Dunno when she’ll be done. The guy she walked with looked like he had money to spend. Might keep her dancing for ours.” At this the manager chuckles, thumb in his pocket smoothing over a fresh stack of bills from another dancer: his cut, of course.

“Cool, thanks.” He says with a knowing sneer; he’ll make up for your dues. He always does.

Women clamor for the john’s attention the second he pivots on his heel to make a beeline for the hall of neverending private rooms but he doesn’t pay them any mind; his trademark glasses, black and circled are low enough for the dancers to see that he has no interest in paying for their attention.

Yours, however… Seems to just get more and more expensive. Your rate’s stayed the same, it’s him that empties his pocket for you every time. Call it an addiction and he’ll fess up to it. Unashamedly even. “She takes care of me.” Is an excuse he often doles out, to anyone privy to his lascivious, proliferating habit.

But he should have watched his tongue more, guarded you more, because he’s run his mouth to the wrong people– well, the wrong person.

His best friend. Geto Suguru.

And Gojo Satoru just knows it’ll be his face he sees when the curtains are split. Prepares for it even, his fist already balled up with his knuckles drained of any color.

They share everything. Everything but you, and that’s by design. Gojo, he’s… Fond of you. Too fond for the relationship you two share.

He treks down the hall, pace methodically slowing down the closer he gets. No, the rooms aren’t notated by dancer; that’d be stupid. No, because Gojo doesn’t need signage to know where you are. He can track you as well as any sniffer dog, infinitely better when he uses his genetic abilities for sin rather than any selfless endeavors.

When he finally gets to the right room, velvet curtains glowing under the low light, he hesitates. The others may not hear your stifled moans, struggled breaths you’re so good at masking but you know as well as him: you can’t hide from Gojo Satoru.

So when the cloak of privacy is ripped away, it doesn’t surprise Gojo to see you in your preferred position- seated on a Geto’s fat cock, your knees pushed up to the ceiling with your feet bouncing haphazardly to the raven-haired sorcerer’s rhythm, which is anything but kind and intimate. He fucks you like he feels nothing for you and that’s because he does– you knew as well as Geto that this was nothing more than a paid relationship, and one built on a sickening revenge play.

Those pretty eyelashes of yours part, eyes shiny with diamond tears, when you hear the familiar slide of the curtains and you should be worried, should be on edge of someone catching you (after all, having sex with a paying customer is not in your job description) but when you see it’s Gojo, there isn’t much you can do.

Especially not when Geto seems to cut through the tension like it isn’t even there, pumping your cunt full of his cock until fluids spittle and splash from the velocity. He’s so much thicker than Gojo, foreskin so packed it really does feel like he’s making a new home for himself inches into your pussy, your walls spasming around him when the bulbous tip of his member seems to bump and grind against your most sensitive collection of nerves.

You whimper and whine but Geto doesn’t miss a beat, swollen balls beating into your folds, squelches and the stench of sex undeniable even as Gojo stands by the entrance still.

His nostrils flare. His breath quickens. His chest tightens. His pants, so fitting before, now feel like a prison for the budding erection you are certainly nursing without even touching him.

“Gotta say, Satoru – hngh – you picked a good one. She’s an obedient little thing isn’t she?” Geto grunts out, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he keeps your pussy and ass on full display for his friend to see. Geto wants him to see you plugged up with no room for anything else– anyone else.

“Sa– Sa— Sator–uu—uu– ah, ah, right there, right there, sir.” You started off so innocent, bottom lip jutted out and puffy from kissing Geto all night, but your voice is immediately corrupted and on purpose as Geto mercilessly spears you on his cock, bottoming out every thrust and stretching your cunt to its limits.

“I got her all night.” Geto says with a growl in between, your hot and gummy walls squeezing the base of his shaft so tight his vision blurs for a moment.

But Gojo seems to ignore Geto’s prodding, his attempts at getting a rise out of the man with irises that seem to never leave yours. Gojo drinks in your expression, lets the way your eyes seem to gravitate towards the back of your skull, your legs shaking not just from the degrading position Geto’s cramped you in but from the waves of pleasure to start with, drown the annoyance of finding you with his friend.

After all, you aren’t his… Even if he pays you like you are.

“Aw,” Gojo coos, zeroing in on his fucked dumb benefactor as he starts a path towards you, “Cryin’ just all over, aren’t you?” His tone is sickly sweet, with a twinge of something dark hanging just off his words. “Pretty baby probably can’t even see straight, huh?”

He looks for an answer. You can’t give him any. Your tongue won’t let anything roll off its drool ridden muscle but the sweet, sweet sounds of debauchery.

So he makes you, Gojo’s spine curving towards you as he grips your chin forcefully, makes you keep your eyes on him. Makes you fess up.

“Mmhmf– mmhmm—” He wants a response but with your cheeks hallowed by his finger and thumb’s pinching, all you can muster are muffled groans from Geto’s quickening pace, his brutal assault on your trembling pussy as he dares to carve his name deep inside you.

Gojo playfully pats your cheek just then, his hand falling from you entirely, just like the shadowed look over his normally jovial attitude. He starts on his belt, metal clanking away with the noise quickly forgotten to your moans and the club’s blistering beats.

He doesn’t miss Geto’s furrowed brows in irritation as he does so. Nor does he care.

Because he saw you first. He found you first.

So he’s going to remind you why he’s the best. With or without Geto.

“You don’t think she needs something more?” Gojo croons, overconfident in his talents as he starts to go pap, pap, pap with his cock over your distended tummy, taking note of where Geto’s cock starts and ends by the look of his bulge outlining your skin.

You squirm, belly overstimulated with Gojo’s patting and Geto’s cock no doubt ravaging your guts. You try to keep your eyes on Gojo but you’re losing control, of yourself and of the situation. But you give in all the same, pussy quivering and spilling your juices until they’re dripping down Geto’s sac. “Y-Yes, yes.” You’re finally able to sing, lips still trembling when you beg, “P-Please, wan’ both of you.”

You don’t know what you’re asking for. Hell, you don’t know the two men’s relationship with one another. It’s not like either have divulged to you the extent of their history; you’ve only been left to assume ever since Gojo stepped in, and that’s been minimal because well…

Your whole body is screaming for Geto to take you over the edge, bring to you a nirvana that’s all his own. But you won’t oppose Gojo’s own entrance to your pleasure, now his cock completely out and dragging the reddened tip over your lips until they’re glossed with his pre-cum. You instinctively lick it away, only for Gojo to praise you with–

“Good girl. That’s my girl.” Gojo seems to say louder than usual, “Gonna cum over his cock? Gonna let go? Let go for me, baby. Wanna see you cum.”

“S-Satoru–”

Geto bites your ear just then, canines digging into the conch of your ear with little care for the yelp that shoots out your throat. “Who’s fucking you right now, huh? Who’s pounding this wet and sloppy pussy? Forget Satoru. Say my name or you’re not cumming.”

And you really can’t be sure who is the reason for the pleasure that overtakes you just then, from the top of your head to the curl your toes take as Geto fucks you through your orgasm. It could’ve been anything.

It could’ve been everything.

“That’s it, pet.” Geto hushes your babbling, a stark contrast to the rhythm at which his cock penetrates your weeping pussy. He’s fucking you like you’re a toy to him.

And he spills his cum into you, forsaking a condom because– “That’s not how Satoru fucks you.”

So when Geto pulls out, the opaque globs of his release start to trickle out, your hole absolutely stuffed full of the stuff that it overflows, running down in rivets from your thighs to your ass.

Your legs start feeling like they’re running on pins and needles, your whole body suddenly realizing the tight, unbearable full nelson position Geto fucked you in for… You can’t even track the time.

But if you thought you were getting a reprieve, you were solely mistaken.

Geto still cradling you in the obscene position, Gojo leans forward, on the side his own face currently rests and murmurs, “How much to take that tight asshole of yours?” You watch his eyes dart to the cum still following the curve of your ass. “We have the lube for it.” He mutters so closely to your ear that Geto can hear it, can feel his friend’s hot breath crest his jawline.

You bite your lip, gasping at its sensitivity while you mull over the idea. But Gojo has something different in mind, kissing you hard to distract you from the logic possibly creeping in your head over the depravity.

And that’s how he gets you, kisses you until your mouth is equal parts your spit and his, hands smoothly easing your transition from the cage Geto’s wrangled you into. You follow him, intoxication bubbling in your brain and clouding your better judgment.

“How much more, baby?” Gojo’s voice brings you back to reality, lifting the haze just enough for you to feel one of his fingers teasing your taut rim with circling strokes as you pose for him on your hands and knees, perky ass lifted high and your spine curved low. All the while, Gojo spreads the cum Geto’s left in his wake until your hole is sloppy wet. “Hm? C’mon, he couldn’t have fucked you that good.”

“Satoru.” Geto’s voice stops you from responding, his tone low and dark but all Gojo can do is laugh and the bark sends shivers up your back.

You can’t help but admit the tension is exhilarating. It’s dizzying, so much going on and so many things tickling your senses. There’s Gojo now with his index finger crooked inside your asshole, already working on a second, while Geto walks over to your front with his dick still out and half-hard. You can see the foreskin glisten with your juices and his and you know what he wants you to do the moment he positions his twitching cock in front of that appetizing gap between your lips.

“Clean it up.” Geto orders you, admitting defeat in that Gojo will do what he wants, when he wants and the most he can do is take what’s left.

He can’t be too bothered. He got what he wanted. You will no doubt crave more, plead for Geto’s cock. He can hear that voice of yours now, pleading with half a brain, “P-Please sir, more sir! Can’t get enough!”

And that’s how you end up tasting yourself and Geto, your tongue rolling around his shaft as you work towards taking him whole, your throat spasming at the intrusion to come. Your tight rim does the same when Gojo works his way up to another finger, honestly losing himself to the unfathomable pressure.

“Shit– think you’re ready for me, baby? Tell me. Make him feel how much you want me.”

You don’t belong to Gojo but you sure act like it, following his order so dutifully as you gargle on Geto’s cock, saliva leaking out the corners of your mouth down your chin as you struggle to moan with Geto’s fat cock stretching your lips more apart than they’ve ever been.

It hurts. It aches.

“Good, good girl.” Goosebumps prickle your skin at Gojo’s words, your body buzzing with the pleasure of satisfying your longtime client because let’s face it… You have a soft spot for him too.

You gasp and inevitably choke on Geto’s member when Gojo’s fingers pull out swiftly and unexpectedly from your asshole. Geto’s hand shoots out just then, pressing himself so deep down your throat you’re weeping with your nose scrunched up against his pelvis.

And he’s smirking at you, so proud to be in attendance for your ruination. It makes your pussy flutter around nothing, your entrance already missing the merciless, reckless way Geto pistoned his fat dick inside and out of you. He got what he wanted– you already needing his affection.

Gojo can see the way you look at Geto, the pools of color in your eyes locked on his twisted features, and it irks him. More than it should. So you’ll have to forgive him for the stinging swat that comes for your ass, both sides to even it out. “Gotta make sure you’re ready, sweets. Want you to feel me take this cute hole of yours for the first time.”

And fuck, no amount of preparation could ever hope to mimic the denseness of Gojo’s cock, how the tip of his cock smears pre-cum over the rim before making that hole open for him. But it burns. It hurts in a way you have never felt before and you instinctively try to inch away, knees buckling forward with your hands desperately pawing at Geto’s abdomen for relief but you will find none there.

Because Geto’s all but ignored your pleading, choosing instead to start a brutal pace into your mouth, goading more slobber to coat his shaft while your tongue presses to the underside.

And Gojo? He’s got both hands locked on your hips, so cruelly dragging you back to him. “Don’t run from me. It’s gonna feel good baby, I promise.” He talks to you so sweetly but his body language is mean. His nails dig moon-shaped lines into your skin, the other hand once again aiming for your hole with a fist firmly grasping his girth as he prods your asshole to open nice and wide for him.

“Shit, Satoru. She’s gonna drown in cock and spit at this point.” Geto snorts, taking pride in the way your cheeks are streaked with mascara, how your lips bloom with a pretty color and shine with your own drool. His chest rumbles with a groan as he starts bringing your head to meet his thrusting halfway.

You can only sit and take it, take it from both ends as the men, the friends, share in the pleasures of your body.

Gojo’s at least taking it easy, letting your body acclimate to his cock as he starts with a light pumping. Just enough to squeeze his cockhead in a few inches, then back, but never completely out of you. He’s not that mean.

The drag of his cock inching deeper inside you with the passing seconds, you start to relish in the way he fills you up like never before. You can feel your stretched out hole convulse and clamp down on Gojo’s length, every time squeezing a sweet, sweet throaty groan from the man. You’re feeling sensations there you didn’t think were possible, nirvana settling in amongst the fog in your eyes as you feel pleasure running like lightning all the way to your fucked out little brain.

“Fuck, beautiful.” Gojo huffs with his hips slowly closing the distance between him and the curve of your ass, eyes mesmerized at your pretty hole being so spread out by the thickness of his shaft, the way it seems to swallow him whole until he’s nothing but a cage rattling with moans.

You’ve never heard him sound like that. There’s a bestial growl in his words with a grip on your body akin to a predator having his first meal. He’s fucking you like he’s starved.

As if he wasn’t just there with you the other night.

You can feel your shoulders start to buckle, elbows worn from keeping your body up to satisfy both Gojo and Geto, the latter either unknowing or uncaring of your slight discomfort. From your short dialog with the man, you’re guessing it’s the second option.

“Hope you’re good at swallowing.” Geto grunts with the hand at your neck now groping your breasts, struggling to find a hold with Gojo starting up a pace that’s making you bob and weave, bob and weave.

Your nipples are so sensitive, just the brushing of Geto’s hand makes you whine all around him, your voice drowned out by the barrel of his cock. “Just – hmmph, fuck – like that.” He chokes out, opening his eyes when you start to mewl, an attempt at rushing the orgasm because now it’s becoming all too much.

Gojo’s cock running deep into your asshole, Geto’s member throbbing incessantly the more noisy you become… Your brain might as well be in the clouds, Cloud Nine because even if it’s overstimulating you from the inside out…

It feels so damn good. You don’t realize it then but it’s because their temperaments are so different. Gojo pounding into you, getting a little more rough with his touch and rhythm but still rounding his spine to whisper how good you’re being, how he knew you could take it in your ear until the skin is burning hot and all your nerves are tingling with euphoria. He’s so close, you feel the ridges of his hardened abs cresting your skin, both parties sticky with sweat. And Geto, so crude in the way he pinches your perky nipples, so mean in how he grabs you by the throat just to make your mouth around him shiver.

“Mmmf– Mmm–” You start to cry, sobs held back when Gojo’s fingers finally play with your clit, rounding the swollen bud just the way you like.

It’s that last round of whining that sends Geto over the edge, his cock spurting out more cum than you expect while the engorged head twitches against the roof of your mouth; it’s so much so fast that it makes you recoil and bump your ass right into Gojo, setting off a chain reaction that couldn’t have unfolded any better.

Your grinding all the way to the base of Gojo’s cock makes him pant openly and grunt straight from his chest. His fingers strum your clit so eagerly, you feel his desperation on the tips. He wants you to cum with him.

An easy feat, because his cock, so far inside you, perfectly stimulates the erotic center in your pussy and makes you see white. Your slick is already seeping out your neglected hole, dripping onto the couch, down your thighs that seem to endlessly shake from Gojo��s thrusting.

Geto does you a favor, sliding his cock out your mouth and slapping it on both your cheeks, staining your skin with his cum and your spit. You’re thankful, because now you can…

“F-Fuckfuckfuck, feels s’good, Satoru.” Your words are slurred, your mind dumb with how Gojo is able to rip the orgasm right out of you, your pussy quivering around nothing while your ass clenches tight around his dick. His cock vibrates with every hot burst of cum inside you, making your ass wriggle and skin ripple as he unloads every last drop inside you.

He’s gasping for air, moaning throughout as he rocks his cock until he’s finished cumming. Your chest pressed to the cushion, you also try to get a hold on a stable breath, lips wet with drool and sweat.

Geto has long left you two, choosing to start dressing now that he’s finally had his fill of you.

So he doesn’t notice, doesn’t even see when Gojo adds another stack of bills to your collection. Not for him, but for–

“See? What did I tell you? I knew you could take two.”

#gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto x you #gojo x you #gojo x reader #geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for gojo. ꒱#.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for geto. ꒱

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