#midnight blue shirt of whatever it was

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Golden Walkway

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader (Reader is a teacher in Jackson, has long hair.)

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)

Summary: It’s your birthday, Joel takes you out to the Tipsy Bison, kisses (and does more to) you in the rain, and takes you home to give you a gift (it's sex, the gift is sex). Also, the thought of Joel spitting whiskey in someone's mouth happened and I had to write it out. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Warnings: smut, drinking, consent first, degradation second, followed by so much praise, hair pulling, spitting, Joel calls you a slut, fingering against a brick wall, F receiving oral, I watched that doggy style Narcos gif (for research) a lot, unprotected p in v, apocalypse birth control (pulling out), Joel’s canon age, Reader’s in her 30’s.

Words: 4,300

A/N: Hi! Welcome to my first published fic. I'm currently working on a grander scale fic with these two, I hope to have the first chapter out within the next couple of weeks. I just really wanted to get this out there! Thanks for reading and a big thank you to @ohheypedrito for all of her help and also to our phones for not overheating when I send 40 texts at once with ideas for fics. Hope you enjoy, can't even blame the feralness of this on the full moon.

Edit: I posted the Masterlist for Elks, my work these two are included in.

***

“Was turning 21 as fun as they’d show in movies back then?” You’re cuddled in next to Joel on his couch sketching in your notebook while Joel reads a book about Native Americans that you found him. You always do this, a random question or thought to break the comfortable silence.   

“Not for me, bought a 12 pack of Bud Light and split it on my porch with Tommy. Sarah was only a toddler then and I had work in the morning. Didn’t have the money or the time to go to a bar. ‘Course I don’t think a lotta people did anything the way they’d show in the movies.”

“I always wanted to have my 21st birthday at a bar, ya’ know? Wait until the clock strikes midnight and order a weird named shot.”

“Well, I reckon we could do that at the Bison tomorrow night. Might not be your 21st but I’ll get you whatever you want to drink, and the best part is you can drink before midnight.” Joel pulls you in closer and kisses your forehead, “What do you say, let me take you out for your birthday sweetheart.”

“Yes, please,” you sigh into his shoulder, “sounds amazing.”

“Wear that little blue dress I know you have hanging in your closet.”

The drinks flowing through you making you downright giddy, alcohol making you bolder, your body and your inhibitions becoming looser, your hands becoming addicted to touching Joel, first his leg, then his thigh, now his lower stomach, right at his waistband. You haven’t been this tipsy in a long time, your face feeling flushed and red more from your desire than any drink you’ve had tonight.

“You better knock that off before I take you outside in the rain and fuck you against the building, darling,” Joel huffs into your ear. His fiery warning massaging your neck causing your heart rate cooled by your inebriation to pick up. 

“Sooo, keep going?” You slur back. 

“If that’s what you really want,” Joel puts a forceful squeeze on your upper thigh, a layer of your dress laying between his skin and your skin. If you weren’t both sitting at the bar, and maybe in one of the more darker corners of the saloon you’d surely hike your skirt up and let him learn just how bad you want him.

It feels so good to let go with him, to giggle openly at his jokes, stare at his profile as he talks with a friend or two who stop by to say hello, or place your hand on his broad back just because you want to touch his soft blue denim shirt. 

You watch as his tongue darts out and licks the leftover whiskey off his top lip, Joel’s movements becoming a little slower thanks to the amber liquid he’s been drinking all night. Some droplets glisten on his mustache, you fight every urge inside yourself to not lean over and lick them up. 

“It’s what I want,” you respond as you move your hand back and forth across his waistband.

“Jesus Christ, I’m about ready to throw you over my shoulder and run home,” Joel says as he takes your hand into his and pulls it away.

“Not so fast. You told me you’d fuck me in the rain, that’s what I want for my birthday,” you whisper into his ear with a breathy giggle.

“Can’t fuck you out here in public. Small town ‘n all, but I’ll make you feel good,” Joel takes a last swig of his drink, puts the glass down and knocks his fist on the bar to let the bartender know you two are leaving. He leans forward and drawls into your ear, “Now finish your drink if you want me to show you just how happy of a birthday I can give you.” 

You nod and gulp your drink down. You’re so wet, you don’t know if you’ve ever been this turned on before. Joel grabs your arm with the perfect amount of pressure, you’ve never been so happy to get outside into the pouring rain. 

It’s absolutely storming outside, your footsteps sloshing in the puddles on the ground. The rain pelting your’s and Joel’s bodies as you walk through late night Jackson. It feels like you’re the only two people in the whole town as you make your way farther away from the bar. The bulbs of the string lights reflecting off the water gathering on the sidewalks making your path towards Joel’s house golden. You don’t rush, the two of you not scared away by the downpour, the drops cooling your burning skin. Joel turns down the street before his, pulling you behind one of the storage buildings, it’s darker back here, practically pitch black thanks to the rain clouds blocking the moon and the nearest light source being three buildings down. You’re pushed up against the brick, Joel’s hand gently cradling your head to block it from hitting the wall, he’s such a gentleman. 

“Happy birthday baby, I need you to tell me you want this, ‘n you’re okay with this, I have plans for you and I need you to tell me you want it.” Joel instructs you, all you can see is his eyes and the faint lines of his facial hair, the rest of him camouflaged by the darkness surrounding the two of you. 

“I want it, more than anything. Please,” your voice straining as you beg. 

“Tell me you want me to have my way with you,” Joel speaks into your slack mouth as he rubs his arched nose against yours. 

“I want you to have your way with me,” you moan against his wet shirt, “so bad.”

“Good girl, now, m’not gonna fuck you here, because I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop and I need to have you in my bed tonight.” Joel starts to move his hand down your body lifting the hem of your dress. “But, you are going to cum for me right here.” Joel captures your mouth with his. His hand starts to trace the outline of your panties, you mew out a cry as his fingers slip through and begin to pet you right where you ache the most. His hands are so big, his fingers so long and thick, always putting the right amount of pressure, moving the way you need him to move. Joel Miller is a capable man, everyone knows that, but nobody, except for you, knows just how capable he is. 

Joel sticks a finger in you, though his finger is thick and feels so good, you need more to fill you. 

“Another,” you instruct in between fevered kisses. Your pussy clenches as Joel pushes another finger in you. “Yessss,” you moan out against his lips.

“That’s my good girl, gotta get you stretched out f’me.” Joel begins to kiss his way down your chin and neck stopping at your chest, your hard nipples jutting through your wet dress. Joel takes one into his mouth, sucking the fabric and your tit deeper into his mouth. The sloppy wet sounds of Joel’s suctions making you want him more.

“Another finger,” you shudder out. “Three? You really want it tonight, don’t you?” Joel mumbles against your chest as he sticks a third finger in. It burns, it burns in the best way. You’re ready for him, it’s what you’ve been waiting for all night. You bite down on your lip as your legs begin to shake, Joel can tell you’re right on the edge and twists his fingers inside of you as he finger fucks you harder. 

Your orgasm bursts forward your whole body going stiff as you try not to wail out into the night.

“That’s iiiiiit baby,” Joel pulls his fingers out of you and softly pets your pussy from hole to clit.

Joel removes his hand from between your legs and brings it up between the two of you resting his finger tips against your lips, you open your mouth and begin to lick. His tongue meeting yours as you both clean his thick digits covered in you. He takes his hand away leaving just your mouths to taste each other. His kiss turns tender, your kiss turns desperate.

Joel pulls away resting his forehead against yours. “My beautiful birthday girl. Let’s get you home, my gift’s not done.”

Your body practically chills with the promise of what is left to come. Joel grabs your hand and you take it depending on him to lead you to his home. Every step you take you feel your wet core heavy with lust, you’re soaked from the rain and from Joel, if you could drown like this, you would go down with the sinking ship. His house comes into view, your body tingling in anticipation at the site as the both of you speed your footsteps up in perfect agreement. 

Joel throws open his gate, you’re following so close you almost trip on his heels making your way up his walkway and steps. He fumbles for his keys and unlocks his doors, you take the opportunity to run your hands all over his back and sides, rubbing the wet cloth of his shirt as it molds to his body. The door swings open and you both shuffle into his living room gasps escaping your mouths, both out of breath from your dash home and your mutual want for each other. You step out of your wet shoes and shake your hair out. 

“Take your dress off, right now.” Joel huffs out as he tosses his keys on the console table and begins to kick his boots off. 

You strip yourself of your baby blue frock as fast as you can. You’ve never had a reason to wear such a revealing piece of clothing. You don’t know why you held onto it, let alone grabbing it from the communal clothing rack, never thinking anything, or anyone, would be worthy enough for you to dress up for. Joel’s worthy, so worthy. 

“Feel like I’m a little underdressed here…” your words grab Joel’s attention as he moves his hands up to his chest to begin to unbutton his denim shirt. He gets one button taken care of before he rips it open. Shame, it’s your favorite shirt, you'll have to fix it for him later. You watch as a button rolls underneath a table, before you can note where it lands, your attention turns back to Joel to find him stepping out of his jeans and underwear leaving him completely naked. 

What a sight, what a fucking sight. There’s only a lamp on in the room, Joel’s body being cast in amber color and shadow, one side of him on full display glowing in the light, the other more difficult to discern. He moves forward stalking you. “Now I’m the underdressed one here. Take them off for me,” he says as he moves to pick up a bottle of whiskey from his shelf. 

You follow his instructions shucking your underwear down your legs and leaving them pooled at your feet. 

“Good girl,” Joel says as he begins to walk towards you unscrewing the lid off the bottle. He stands in front of you and takes a drink. “Open your mouth,” he orders as he grabs your hair and tips your head back. He takes another pull from the bottle, this time he raises his mouth over your mouth and begins to dribble drips of whiskey down from his mouth into yours. A moan raises from your throat, causing Joel to tighten his hold on your hair and arch your head back even more. He spits the rest of the whiskey straight into your mouth, you happily swallow his spit and liquor down. He unwinds his hands from your hair, takes another drink and kisses you, the whiskey and his tongue spilling into your mouth. Joel pulls back and takes his last swig before resting the bottle on the table. “Get upstairs.”

You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast in your life, tripping over your feet as you rush your way up, Joel’s naked form hunting you like prey up each step.

The sight of Joel’s bed brings a new wave of goosebumps to your skin. 

“Bend over on the bed darlin,” Joel turns on a lamp in the corner and pulls it closer. “Need to lick and fuck you with my tongue.” 

You move over to Joel’s side of the bed and bend forward, your ass sitting high in the air and your face in the sheets, you inhale the smell of Joel on his sheets. You swing your hips in giddy anticipation of what’s about to happen. 

You feel his body lean over yours, his erection laying over your lumbar. ��Okay baby, once again, need you to tell me you’re good with me having my way with your body,” he tempts into your ear. 

“Fuck, y—yes, fuck, of course I am good. So good.”

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s heavy body lifting off of yours as he kneels between your legs. You feel his hot breaths on you where you’re aching for him the most, you widen your stance egging him on to touch you. “Look at you,” Joel licks your thigh, “so fuckin’ wet you’ve spilled out into your thighs.” 

You scream a pleasured yell as Joel’s teeth bite down into the flesh of your thigh and sucks your skin into his mouth. The pain is perfect. He loosens his bite, kissing and licking the spot, the sensation making your body quiver. 

“Okay baby?”

“Y-y-yessss,” you answer.

“Whaddo you need sweetheart?” 

“Lick me,” you beg out, “please.”

“‘Course. Where do you want me to lick you?” Joel questions as he nuzzles his head against your ass cheek, giving it a small bite.

“My pussy. Pleeeaaase,” you’d say you sound pathetic but you couldn’t care less, your lust overshadowing any type of pride.

“Mm, you sound so needy baby, you sound like you really need my tongue on you, huh?” His teasing drawl drives you crazy, your body won’t stop moving, absolutely radiating tensity from your want.

“Please,” you implore, sobbing out. 

“Alright baby,” his hands grab your cheeks and spreads them, widening his view of you. “Prettiest thing I ever seen, love your pussy.”

This act feels so depraved, everything on display for him, legs and cheeks spread wide, your pussy exhibited for him like it’s an art piece.

You literally scream into the bed, biting down on Joel’s comforter as his tongue finally meets your core. This, thiiiiiiis is what you’ve been wanting all night. Joel moans against you, not being able to hold himself back as he tastes you, his fevered licks exploring your cunt, his large tongue mapping every inch of you. He’s absolutely conquering you, the noises of his lips and tongue smacking against your wetness soundtracking his journey. 

He can feel you getting close your hips beginning to cant as your orgasm begins to crest. You knew it wouldn’t take long, between the alcohol buzz and Joel’s tongue lapping up your wetness and cum from earlier, you knew you’d be a goner. 

“Mmf, cum for me,” Joel speaks against you, his mouth full of you, too busy to pull away to clearly speak. You don’t think he can get any closer to you, his tongue working your orgasm up in intensity with each swirl and dash against your clit. You feel it, it’s here. Your legs instantly collapse, thankful that the rest of your body is resting on the bed. Your eyes tightly squeeze shut and then begin to rapidly blink as your orgasm shatters through you. Joel flattens his tongue against your clit as it pulses. You’re too turned on to make a noise, Joel stepping in for you and groaning as your juices seep out of you. 

“Did so good baby,” Joel says leaving one last kiss on your clit before standing up behind you. You want to flip over to look at him, you haven’t seen his face since you laid down on the bed. You have no energy, you’re just a shell of a woman, the only sensations you can feel is the pool of wetness in between your legs and your light inebriation.

Your attention gets pulled to the sound of Joel spitting in his hand, followed by a hiss coming out of his mouth. When you realize exactly what he’s doing, you summon the strength needed to turn over. You flip over, your back thudding on the mattress your legs still spread wide, feet resting on the floor. And there…. there…. THERE he is, standing in the middle of his room, one large hand wrapped around his hard cock softly stroking as he watches you with hooded eyes. You know you just came, but the sight makes your pussy clench with desire. 

Joel jerks himself off as his eyes roam your exhausted form. “Been thinking ‘bout this all day. You all laid out in front of me heaving for air after cummin’ all over my tongue,” slow strokes matching his lazing words. “Just about canceled our night out when you opened your door in that little blue dress, looked like you were wearing the sky, baby.” 

You bite your lip as all of your senses are so overtly overwhelmed by lust. The sight of Joel’s handsome face watching you, the hazel flecks in his eyes twinkling in the golden light of the lamp. The smell of the rain on your skin mixed with the heady scent of your arousal and Joel’s sheets. The taste of Joel’s whiskey tongue still in your mouth. The sound of Joel’s fist pumping along his hard cock. The feel of the aftershocks of your orgasm still quaking your body. It’s so fucking much, you need Joel inside you. The thought of feeling him stretch you causes a whimper.

“Yeah baby? Havin’ a hard time over there?” Joel stops stroking his hard length, his hand pauses on his shaft. “You want me to fuck you now?” 

“Pleeeease,” you keen out. 

“Alright sweetheart.” Joel confidently strides over to you, dick still in hand. He stops right at the edge of your feet. “Turn back around ’n get on all fours in the middle of the bed f’me.” 

You follow his instructions eager to please. The sooner you get this done, the sooner you can feel Joel enter you. 

“Good girl,” he praises as the mattress dips lower with his weight behind you.

Your heart is pounding so loud, your whole body thrumming, you gulp down a breath of air trying to calm your need. You feel Joel’s cock brush against your ass cheek, he’s so close to fucking you.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you real good and hard now. Happy birthday baby.”

And just like that, Joel buries his cock inside of you, you’re absolutely stretched around him. Your clit already worked over by Joel’s tongue, now your hole deliciously stinging while it flutters around his cock. He begins thrusting, tender and slow full strokes. Entering and exiting, swirling the head of his cock right at the entrance before plunging back in because he knows you love the feeling. Joel’s groans and your cries join in song as he begins to pound faster, the sound of your bodies slapping together match the rhythm. 

“Feel so fucking good, always so perfect for me. S’a good girl, always take it so good,” Joel grits out. 

He grabs your hair and wraps it around his fist as he pounds into you. “No one knows how fucking slutty you get for me behind these walls. They think you’re one of those innocent little teachers.” Joel pulls your hair harder causing a scream of ecstasy from you. “You love this, don’t you?”

You do. It’s so rough, so different from how gentle he always is with you. It feels like a luxury to be treated this way by him. 

“Y-y-y-yes, God I love it,” you whimper.

“That’s right. That’s what I like to hear. So pretty so smart. So much smarter than me, now I’m makin’ you stupid with my cock, right baby?” 

Everybody knows Joel Miller as the strong, silent type, a man of few words, somebody who doesn’t do chit chat. But with you in his bed naked and wailing as he slams into you, Joel Miller won’t shut up.

“Doin’ so good for me. So pretty, so perfect f’me. So wet for me.”   

“You made me so wet earlier, I was afraid I was going to leave a mark on the barstool.” Your words coming out as tortured weeps, so lost in your ecstasy you struggle with every word spoken. 

“Fuuuuuck.” That got him good. He pounds you even harder, the bed frame shaking violently against his wall, your body and cunt acting as if it’s the only barrier between Joel knocking a hole in the plaster. “Had I fuckin’ known I would have made you stick your face on that chair and made you lick yourself up as I fuck you against it.”

That’s it, that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. Joel’s deep timbered accent grunting those deviant words as he grabs you and begins to roll his hips into your cunt. Your body is strung so tight and rigid in all places besides your hips and core, pumping and rolling along with Joel’s as he fucks you. You’re close again, your panting breaths letting Joel know. 

“Baby, if you gotta cum, cum,” his grip on your hips pressure into you. 

“Going … going.. going to,” the only words you can say as your third orgasm radiates out of your body, your pussy is the epicenter, tingles firing through your veins, your hands fisting the blankets at your detonation. Slack jawed and fucked senseless you rally the strength to not disintegrate and fall into Joel’s bed. Your world has been shattered by Joel, but your body survives for him, your legs and arms shaking under gravity and your weight as they deal with the fallout. 

“C’mere baby, lemme help you.” Of course he can tell you’re struggling. He reaches his hands around, clutching your stomach and pulling you up against him. Your back up against his chest, his hand seeking out your breast, the other wrapping around your torso and clutching you to him. He holds you as he fucks into you, his nose brushing against your ear as he puffs and grunts against your neck. “Fucking. Love. You. So. Much.” Each word matching a thrust into you. Your hands find his and grip them, you’ve never felt more loved and protected. Joel Miller has got you.

You feel the familiar shudder in Joel’s movements as he edges close to his climax. His labored breaths getting louder and more fevered against your neck. You’re absolutely wrecked, but the angle of Joel’s cock inside of you mixed with the feeling of the shudder in his movements as he edges himself brings forth another orgasm. Words are gone, just sounds, whatever your throat can muster up and out of your mouth. 

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it,” Joel repeats. His hands squeezing yours so tightly, his chest heaving against your back, his strong thighs straddling yours, his nose pressing into your ear. You feel his body tense as he pulls out. His release coating your pussy as his whole body surrounds you. Hot breaths huffing against the side of your face in between featherlight kisses. “Love you,” a whisper in your ear so delicate and sweet as he lets go of your hands. Your body falling forward without his support, your arms catching you before crashing down on the bed. Joel gets up with a groan as you lay yourself down on your stomach, taking the opportunity to stretch your legs out before rolling over on your side to watch Joel. He stands arms akimbo in the middle of the room. He’d look like a Greek statue if his shoulders weren’t rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath. He’s gorgeous and he looks just as wrecked as you feel. 

“Probably shouldn’t have gotten up as quick as I did,” he chuckles. “Damn well feel like I’m standing in the middle of a earthquake.” You love the casual banter he puts forth seconds after being deep inside you, his cum still covering your core. This is love. 

You smile at him, your cheek resting on your hand as a makeshift pillow. You’re exhausted… the whole night and your four orgasms catching up with you. Eyes feeling heavy, matching your limbs you begin to drift off. 

A wet sensation in between your legs jerks you awake. “Sorry baby, just want to clean you up,” a whisper just as light as Joel’s tender attention as he washes you lulls you back to sleep. 

“Baby,” Joel’s low voice gently wakes you up along with a soft kiss to your forehead.

You groan as you stretch your sore muscles under the sheet, opening your eyes to find Joel gazing down lovingly at you. He’s backlit by the filtered morning sunlight shining in through his bedroom windows. What a way to wake up. “Happy birthday sweetheart, I’d let you sleep all day but I need to give you my present.” His face is so bright and cheerful, a boost in your confidence provided by just how happy he looks when he’s with you. 

“Thought you gave me your present already last night,” you yawn. 

“Sweet girl, that was a present for both of us. Now come on, get up.” You grab his offered hand and reluctantly get out of bed. Joel wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, his hands splayed across your back as you nuzzle your face in his warm chest. “Happy birthday.”

A/N: THANK YOU for reading my first ever fic. My inbox is always open. :)

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #elks #joel miller smut #joel miller fic

[frogchiro]

Beauty is in the eye of The Beholder

Author's note: My first kinktober entry!! Yay! We're staring with a new-ish concept so I hope you like it!

Also I apologize for the short story but I was moving into my dorm for uni today and it literally took all day so I apologize in advance :((

Warnings: slight nsfw, reader is female, general creepyness, whatever König is (human or not) isn't explicitly specified but he does some unnerving/possibly uncomfortable stuff like stalking so keep it in mind, mentioned death but nothing explicit.

The almost suffocating warmth coming from behind you is almost too much. Almost. However considering the events of the day you guess that it could be called comfortable to be cuddled and nuzzled by König, your colonel, your superior and...well, mate as he calls it. It can be sometimes tricky to hear him, for a man that size he's unnervingly silent and stealthy and his voice is low and quiet, almost whispery, not to mention that König just doesn't talk much so to hear him rasp that one word, 'mate', in your direction is a feat in itself.

While at first you were terrified of the enormous male due to all the stated reasons something about him was equally unnerving and yet alluring, like an invisible pull towards him.

At first you thought you were going crazy, everywhere you went you saw the tall, lean figure of the colonel doing nothing but just...watching you. His bloodshot eyes stared at you without ever blinking as you laid a USB stick with data you managed to hack with a tremble in your hands, your eyes not daring to meet his. Another such instance was when he almost scared you to death in an empty hallway at night when you just wanted to get a quick midnight snack from the kitchen and just barely held in a scream when you noticed König standing in a dark corner, silent and static like always, his head wasn't even moving under his cowl except for his eyes which followed you as you were scuttling and whispering shaky excuses.

You were KorTac's newest asset, a skilled hacker and yet many soldiers underestimated you; you guess you can't really blame them, you're only in your early twenties and your soft build isn't really military-esque so you suppose you kinda look a little mismatched, but that doesn't excuse what people were whispering behind your back. Not all of them, not even the majority as you were considered friendly and overall harmless, and yet these few whispered sneers cut deep into your self esteem which eventually led you into the moment you were now in.

You were laying under a thick blanket with König plastered against your back, your quiet sniffles the only thing that disturbed the otherwise quiet room. You felt bad that you were taking up König's time, after all as a colonel he surely had better things to do than lay around with his 'mate' and comfort her after some asshole insulted her although a small, selfish part of you was over the moon with happiness that the huge male behind you was cuddling and comforting you so sweetly despite not muttering anything besides the occasional nuzzle and a raspy 'pretty...soft...mine'.

Turning around, you smiled tiredly at the man beside you, his wide blue eyes never blinking as they continued to stare at you with the devotion and love someone may only give their god and yet here you are, loved and cherished by this huge man, a monster many call him, a merciless goliath that kills and destroys everything in his path like a god of war but you know better. König's huge hands ran up and down your soft sides, lightly grazing your belly and finally his large, warm hands slipped under your pajama shirt and up to your breast where he squeezed lightly, pinching at your nipple.

"König...Please I-", your pleading for...whatever were quickly cut short when the long haired male leaned in with a purr deep in his chest and nuzzled his hooked nose against your cheek, scarred lips making tiny movements as if kissing you making you giggle wetly, your former awful mood lifting, instead being replaced by a warm feeling of love and pleasure as the big male above you kept nuzzling and kissing you insistently, his hand working your sensitive breasts and slipping down to your pants to finger at your clit making you moan out.

Unbeknownst to you, König already had a plan in his mind. A plan he started to make the moment his sensitive ears caught your distressed sniffles making a concerned whine come up from his chest and the moment he saw you, he could clearly see right through you. Someone hurt you. S̷̙̭̦̜͚̑͝͝o̷̹̺͓͙̭̍̚ͅͅm̸͕̹͖̩̰͝e̸̤͖̞̯̍̂̋̚͜o̷̝̫͎̬͎̟̲̦̞̍̆̿̀̀͛̐ņ̴̧͉̭̪̣̖͆̉̅̀e̵̜̜̪̯͛͑́͘ ̶͎̣̱͎̹̻͍̥̔́͝h̵̙̰͊̈́̑͛̌̚u̷͉̝̤̾̆͌̂̓̀̏̕r̸̛̞̘͉̦͙͈͎̫̩͒͊͗̓́͝t̶̯̝͎̮͕̩̹̀̍ ̷̧̨͔̮͉͇͊͂̏͌̆̅͠y̸̡̛͕͉̖͈͗̿̅ơ̷̢͖̼͉͚͔͊̍̊̂̈ͅŭ̷̦͔͚̈́̊̚. And now he needed to know who. Ah. It was Gavin huh. That overly confident, cocksure rookie who thought that the military was rainbow and fucking sunshine, shaded glasses, cool uniforms, huge expensive cars and women to fuck left and right.

He suspected that that prick made some unwanted advances towards you and the moment you rejected him it was 180 and he was nitpicking everything you did or even how you looked. König knew he was gonna be a problem from the moment he laid eyes on him and now he though it funny to make his mate cry?

You know what they say: beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Him being the mentioned beholder and König isn't known to be the most benevolent person...If someone doesn't appreciate your beauty of a goddess, why would they need their eyes?

#kin speaks #kin's kinktober #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x reader

[tenelkadjowrites]

Nasty - Seonghwa x Reader (NSFW)

🪟 Summary: Finding comfort in the windows of the apartment building across from yours, your attention is drawn to one housing an attractive new neighbor, Seonghwa, who quickly notices your interest.

🪟 Word count: 7.2k

🪟 Genre & Warnings: one shot smut. neighbors to lovers (kinda). reader is drunk at one point (not in smut scene.) dirty talk. unprotected sex, creampie. oral sex (reader receiving). fingering. choking and hair pulling (hwa receiving). shower sex.

this fic is not meant to represent seonghwa in any way, shape or form.

               You look up from your laptop, yawning and stretching out your legs. It’s almost ten at night and you’ve lost track of time working on your latest project. The beginning of a headache is brewing, signaling that it is now a good place to stop for the night and make something to eat.

               Even so, you linger, propping your chin against the palm of your hand to idly stare out the window of your apartment which looks directly at another building. You’ve come to find comfort in most of the them – the one that always has various plants vying for the sunlight, another that switches between blue and pink hues of colour late at night, even the window that is usually shuttered – all of these have become friends in a way. You may not know a single person in the building across from yours in any real sort of capacity but you are familiar with the residents all the same.

               This familiarity is how you notice a change immediately. One window, usually empty, is now showing light spilling across cardboard boxes and a couch positioned haphazardly in the centre of the room. A new tenant must have moved in. You continue to watch, your mind wandering with all the things you need to do tomorrow when someone enters the space of the window.

               You are so used to seeing snapshots of stranger’s lives in whatever the window shows that the rare occasion an actual person appears, you’re promptly jolted out of your daydreaming.

               A slender man is opening one of the boxes, leaning forward to rummage through it. Multiple necklaces dangle off his neck, which he brushes out of his way impatiently while searching. His hair is swept up in a small ponytail. The man finds whatever he is looking for, straightening up. He’s tall, wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a tight fitting black t-shirt. Then, he’s gone, out of frame.

               You watch curiously for a couple of seconds before losing interest, turning back to your own life, to your own thoughts.

*

               The second time you see the man is a week later when you are tidying up one evening. You happen to look up right when he is crossing the living room. He’s in a sleeveless tank top, well toned arms exposed. His features are blurry due to distance, like looking at something underwater, and then he is gone again.

               Even though it was only a split second, you realize that your heartrate is accelerated. How silly, you chastise, he’s a hazy figure in another building. With a small shake of your head, you turn back to your chores.

*

               Sighing, you turn off the TV, debating just going to bed. Of course, the moment you have some free time from work, you don’t know what to do with yourself. The long list of things to do seems overwhelming but doing anything fun is just as exhausting which results in spending five hours on the couch, watching bad reality shows.

               Now, it is a little after midnight and you cannot help but feel as though the day was wasted. Propping yourself up off the couch, you look out your window, mulling over everything. You aren’t truly paying attention to the collection of windows and that is why you don’t notice him at first.

               In fact, it isn’t until there is a flash of fabric that you sit up a little straighter. The new guy is in the window, yanking his shirt off and tossing it onto the couch. Even though he is far away, and most details are impossible to make out, the distance doesn’t hide how lithe he is nor how in shape. You swallow hard, unable to tear your eyes away for the few seconds he is in frame. I really need to get laid, you think, I’ve been too busy with work and now here I am, gawking at a guy in another apartment building so far away that it looks as if it’s a grainy JPEG.

               Even so, you remain staring at the window, hoping he comes back…and he does, this time with a beer in hand. He’s still shirtless, taking a swig from the drink and turning on the TV. Your eyes rake up along his body, wishing you were just a little closer to make out more of the details. His hair remains in a ponytail, and his pants are tight – they actually look like leather which you can’t imagine wearing.

               At that moment, the man turns to look out the window. Feeling confident in the fact he wouldn’t notice you at this distance, you squint, trying to get a better look at his features.

               That’s when he lifts his hand up and mockingly salutes you.

               With a gasp, you panic and duck back down on the couch out of his view. Immediately after doing so, you curse aloud, wondering why you would do something so foolish. You could have played it off as though you were looking elsewhere and pretended you didn’t even notice him. But to hide like this…well now, this guy knows you were staring at him like a Peeping Tom.

               Mortification sits in as you lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. What now? Well, you’ll have to keep the blinds closed forever, obviously. The chance of ever making eye contact with him again would be so embarrassing that it is time to think of your window being deleted, like an item in The Sims.

               Covering your face with your hands, you groan. Why did you check him out for such an extended period? How long did he know you were doing it to make fun of you like that? Ugh.

               After about twenty minutes of verbally berating yourself, you carefully poke your head out to look at the window. There is no sign of him but he hadn’t closed the blinds either. Quickly, you scamper over and close yours, letting out a small sigh of relief.

               It is definitely time for bed.

*

               Two weeks later, you’re in the grocery store, staring at the various options of oat milk and feeling overwhelmed. This was how you spent most days now – in a state of overwhelm: with work, keeping friendships up, with whatever the concept of being an adult meant.

               “I prefer the one on the top shelf, myself. With the red cap. I think it tastes a little sweeter.”

               It takes your brain a few long seconds to realize someone is speaking to you. Surprised, you look to your side and then promptly make a strangled noise in the back of your throat.

               It’s Hot Window Guy only this time he isn’t a blurry figure but in perfect clarity in front of you. You recognize him by the ponytail and his slender figure. Momentarily frozen, all you can do is stare. He is tall, wearing a baggy black t-shirt that has a faded logo on it. His jeans hang off his hips, ripped at the knees. His fingers are dotted with small tattoos. His brows are immaculate, like something you usually see in YouTube makeup videos, and his facial features look to be made of marble. The bridge of his nose is long, a distinctive part of his face, with full plump lips.

               There is even a striking tattoo on his neck, two black vines curling around his skin, dotted with bright drops of colour on the red roses. Seeing someone so striking against the backdrop of a generic grocery store, under the harsh fluorescents while top forty radio plays, feels jarring.

               “What?” You finally reply. Great, amazing, really killed it with that one.

               Hot Window Guy points to the assortment of oat milks. “That one, with the red cap. It’s the best one here,” When you don’t reply, he explains, “You’ve been standing here for five minutes so I figured I’d help you out.”

               “How do you know I’ve been here for five minutes?”

               “I saw you when I first turned in this direction. I grabbed my items, which takes me roughly five minutes because I get the same stuff almost every time and when I circled back, you’re still standing here.” He frowns. “Actually, it could be longer than five minutes since you were standing here when I entered, now that I think about it.”

               You yank open the door and snatch the oat milk with the red lid off the shelf, unable to look him in the face again. He’s just too attractive. Why is he talking to you? Does he not realize you were gawking at him through the windows a couple weeks ago?

               “Great, well, thank you,” You say quickly, ready to bolt, “Thanks for the help.”

               “You live in the building across from mine, right? I recognize you from through the window.”

               Your face is warm. You’re pretending to rearrange things in your shopping basket even though all you have is oat milk and some coffee. “Yup, yup.”

               There is a hint of amusement in his next sentence. “You’ve kept the blinds closed since I saluted you. You ever gonna open them again?”

               You think about lying, pretending to have no idea what he is talking about. But you know he would see right through it. Instead, you force yourself to look at him. God, he’s hot, you think, trying to wrangle your brain under control.

               “I was embarrassed that you saw me looking and I was worried I looked creepy.”

               “You stare in everyone’s windows like that?”

               “I wasn’t – I was just looking out my own window and you came into view, that’s it. It wasn’t…it’s not like a kink of mine,” Immediately embarrassed at saying the word kink, you keep blathering, “Like, it isn’t a habit. I just…we all have windows. I was looking out mine.”

               “Right, directly into mine. When I was shirtless.”

               You exhale slowly, feeling incredibly flustered. You manage to look at his face although it is like staring at the sun. He is fighting off a smirk, his basket of items pressed against his hip.

               “What’s your name?” He prompts and after you give yours, he says, “I’m Seonghwa.”

               You nod, taking a step back. It isn’t that you don’t want to be around him – it is simply that he is too attractive and you’re too desperate. He’ll notice and that will be even more embarrassing.

               “Alright, nice meeting you. Bye!” You say quickly, shuffling away from the gorgeous man with the neck tattoo and all the overwhelming variations of oat milk.

*

               But your curiosity gets the best of you and later that night, the blinds seem to beckon. It would be so easy to open them again because since Seonghwa teased you about how they are now always closed. Truth be told, you were starting to miss sunlight during the day and the comforting pull of the illuminated windows at night. Admittedly, it is unrealistic to think that you can never open the blinds ever again.

               But it isn’t until almost midnight that you grow the courage to open them. Your eyes immediately check for the usual windows, seeing the familiar sights of multicoloured lights, plants, TVs, and finally Seonghwa’s.

               But it’s dark. He’s either not home or he’s asleep.

               You feel disappointed although you aren’t even sure what you’re expecting. Leaning against the wall, you think back to the exchange in the store. Was he flirting with you? No, you cast that aside. You weren’t the type people flirted with. In your mind, you trace the way the basket rested on his hip, the curve of his neck with his hair swept up, the way his baggy shirt looked on him –

               Phew, you think, knowing that a guy hasn’t impacted you like this in a long time. Your brain is creating an assortment of downright pornographic mental images which forces you to shut the blinds once more, sternly telling yourself to go to bed.

*

               You’re slightly drunk, teetering in your heels after a night out with your friends. The temperature has dropped considerably over the course of the last few hours and your thin sweater is not helping in the slightest. But you’re almost home, having seen your last friend off just down the street.

               It’s easily one in the morning and the city is filled with that energy that only Saturday nights can bring. The relief of blowing off steam, the taste of alcohol burning on the way down, the heat of bodies pressing together in crowded bars – you notice all these things. But, drunk or not, your favourite part is the glow of the city buildings and the sense that no one is ever truly asleep; there is always something going on.

               So, you take your time, soaking in the moment before reality will come crashing in with Sunday morning.

               That’s why you don’t notice Seonghwa.

               But he notices you.

               “Oh, it’s my neighbor,” A voice says while exiting a bar, leading you to stop in your tracks as all the oxygen leaves your lungs. “This is the girl I was telling you about, Hongjoong.”

               You turn to see Seonghwa in an oversized fur coat. His jeans are well worn but he has a black dress shirt on underneath the coat paired with many necklaces and rings on every finger. His hair is slightly messy in the usual ponytail. On anyone else, the outfit would look ridiculous. On Seonghwa, it looks sexy and comfortable.

               His friend is shorter with facial features so delicate you think of glass. His hair is a shock of red, messed up from the night breeze. Wearing a perfectly tailored dark blue blazer with dress pants, he looks like Seonghwa’s complete opposite as though the two men didn’t share the memo on where they would be going that night.

               “Oh, the Peeping Tom?”

               Embarrassed and intoxicated, you make a sputtering noise of protest. Seonghwa nods and moves closer.

               “You going home?” Seonghwa asks.

               You nod and go, “You’re not?”

               “No, we’re just getting started tonight,” Seonghwa lingers on the word and a heat slowly spreads across your body at being so near him combined with the deepness of his voice, “But you still have a bit of a walk back to your place. Want me to take you?”

               “No, no – thank you. I appreciate it. But that won’t – I’m fine.” You’re mostly worried that being drunk around him will lead to embarrassing yourself further.

               You picture wrapping your hands around his neck, covering the tattoo while squeezing. The image is so vivid that your heart skips a beat. Seonghwa has an expression on his face – like he knows what you’re thinking about.

               He shrugs out of his fur coat. “Here, wear this on the walk back.”

               You’re trying to form a coherent sentence but between the booze and how turned on you are, it just comes out as gibberish.

               Seonghwa, misunderstanding you completely, goes, “It’s faux fur.”

               “No, I – won’t you be cold?”

               “Yeah, won’t you be cold?” Hongjoong chimes up mockingly, raising one eyebrow at Seonghwa.

               “If I get cold, you’ll let me wear your blazer,” He replies smoothly.

               Hongjoong looks affronted. “You most certainly will not wear my blazer.”

               But Seonghwa has tuned his friend out, bringing his attention back on you while his hands sweep the coat around your shoulders. It’s comically big on your frame but is incredibly warm. But you’re staring at the motion of his hands as he straightens the coat gently around your neck and shoulders. His rings glitter in the streetlights and he’s wearing a faint cologne that makes your head swim.

               Hongjoong is still complaining but Seonghwa’s face is so close to yours that it is all you can focus on. Your body is practically screaming for him; you wonder how evident it is that you’re desperate to fuck him. You are sure that your breathing is uneven and that you’re staring at his lips.

               “How will I get it back to you?”

               Seonghwa’s voice is soft while replying, “What’s your apartment number?”

               You tell him.

               “I’ll come by tomorrow night for it.”

               You’re too tongue tied to reply, merely nod. Seonghwa straightens up. His shirt fits him perfectly, like a second skin, and you want to peel it off him, run your fingers along his stomach –

               “See you tomorrow.” He says and then just to make fun of you, he gives a small salute before turning and walking away with Hongjoong, leaving you on the sidewalk in his oversized coat among the city lights.

*

               It’s seven in the evening and you’ve been staring at the TV, not registering anything for an hour now. Seonghwa’s coat is in your lap, bunched in between your fingers. He said tomorrow night. Which is tonight. But no stated time. Night would technically indicate before midnight because after midnight, it’s considered morning. But not everyone thinks of it like that. Which would mean maybe the middle of the night. But who just shows up like that in the middle of the night? And why am I jumping to conclusions? He might knock, ask for his coat and leave. Why am I assuming he would stick around?

               Pathetically, though, you do want him to stick around. You want to fuck him, to be blunt about it. You’d settle for making out. Seonghwa makes your head buzz and your thinking muddled. You barely know him but all you can think about is climbing him like a tree.

               This circular thinking occurs for another hour until ten minutes past eight, there is a knock at your door. Jumping up, you catch yourself, count to ten, and then open the door as if you hadn’t been waiting in agony for Seonghwa.

               But there he is, in front of you, in the hallway of your apartment building.

               “Hi,” You say breathlessly.

               Seonghwa wears a pair of dark blue jeans with a thick black belt, a sharp contrast from his golden dress shirt that looks casually tossed on at the last second. The fabric is thin, slightly shiny, and the buttons are fraying. The top of his chest is exposed, the shirt dipping to show off his tanned skin and one silver necklace with a green pendant adorning it. His ponytail is messy, black strands of fine hair framing his pretty face. In the dim lighting of the hallway, you can see the red roses tattooed around his neck with the bright blooms of colour against the vines.

               You sort of feel as though someone has bashed you over the head with a gigantic fish or some other ridiculous object at the sight of him. You were hoping to look casual, as though you’ve given no thought to him coming by, which means you’re wearing just sweatpants and a shirt. Of course, your cutest bra and underwear is on…just in case.

               Seonghwa’s top lip curls slightly, warding off a smirk as he goes, “Hi. It isn’t too late, is it? I had to go out earlier and it was difficult leaving. Hongjoong kept complaining, wanting me to stay.”

               This man could have shown up at four in the morning and you wouldn’t have cared. “No, it’s fine. Would you like to come in?”

               You are hoping he does, worried he will opt just to quickly ask for his coat and leave. To your relief, Seonghwa nods, stepping inside and slipping his shoes off. When he isn’t looking, you exhale slowly in an attempt to wrangle your emotions under control.

               He follows you into the living room where you offer him something to drink and he asks for water. Your place is small, allowing you to see him from the kitchen.

               “Did you come from a party?” You ask, trying to make some sort of conversation.

               “Did the shirt give it away?” He jokes, “I did but we were out so late last night. I didn’t get to bed until almost seven so I left early tonight.”

               “In the morning?” You are shocked – getting home past one last night was late for you.

               Seonghwa gives a small shrug in reply. The shirt is so thin. You’re distracted by the material and how easy it would be to tear it right off him. Returning to the living room, you hand him the glass of water and gingerly sit down on the couch. Seonghwa takes his place next to you.

               You scoop the coat up, handing it to him. He grabs it, his long fingers gripping the fabric. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. You weren’t cold last night?”

               “I wasn’t outside too much. We went to a house party and I didn’t need it there.”

               You get the feeling Seonghwa leads a very different life than yours – one full of parties and who knows what sort of activities.

               “So, you didn’t just move to the city?”

               “No, I’ve lived here my whole life. Just upgrading my place. Although I do need some help decorating it. You should open the blinds again and tell me what you think of the place next time I’m there.”

               You shift nervously, already feeling your cheeks grow warm. He takes a sip of water before resting the glass on the coffee table.

               “Please don’t misunderstand,” You begin to say, “I wasn’t peeping. I just was looking out the window, that’s all. I find it comforting at night. Certain windows become comforting. Like you always know what to expect when you see them. Knowing they are home, hoping they’re having a nice night when they aren’t. Do you know what I mean?”

               Seonghwa tilts his face in your direction. There is an unreadable expression on his face when he replies, “I know what you mean.”

               A quiet moment passes.

               “But you were looking at me. A little longer than you normally would. Weren’t you?”

               “I…” You clear your throat gently. “I was just surprised to see someone half undressed in the window like that.”

               “So, it was just that you were surprised and had nothing to do with me then?”

               You’re torn between throwing yourself at him and hiding under your covers. You get the feeling Seonghwa is good at this, this sort of flirting, this way of wording things and playing coy. You are not especially when the man is as gorgeous as him.

               You make a sort of strange, garbled noise that isn’t actually a word known in any language. Seonghwa grins for a brief moment, shifting slightly so that his knee touches yours. Even though there is no skin to skin contact, it is enough to make your head dizzy.

               “It’s okay,” Seonghwa whispers secretively while tilting his face close to yours, “You can admit it.”

               The tension is so thick that it smothers. Even though you know next to nothing about this man, there is no denying how much you desire him.

               “You’re not usually the type of guy I like,” You mumble.

               He brings his slender fingers, dotted with small tattoos, to your chin, gently bringing your lips ever nearer. His eyes are half lidded, lips barely parting when replying, “What’s your type?”

               “Nice guys.”

               “I’m nice,” Seonghwa replies in that ever deepening voice as the precipice looms.

               His fingers are warm against your chin. His lips are a pretty shade of pink, begging to be kissed. So quietly that you aren’t even sure if he can hear it, you whisper, “I don’t want you to be nice.”

               Seonghwa’s body is shifting in your direction. The coat is forgotten, still in his lap – a paltry excuse to come over and you both knew it. Perhaps the desire to sleep together was always a mutual one. Regardless of when the seed took root, you somehow both knew it would end up right here.

               “What do you want me to be then?” He murmurs, his breath like soft feathers against your lips.

               “I want you to be nasty.” The words land gently in Seonghwa’s lap, a cat laying down for a nap, and the corners of his lips quirk up for a split second in a smile.

               “I can do that,” He replies and kisses you.

               The sensation of his lips overwhelms all your senses. You have no interest in playing coy; your desire for him is too much, too strong. Reaching for his hands, you press them against your body in a silent plea to give you more. Seonghwa obeys, his hands traveling upwards to grope your breasts through your shirt. The kiss deepens and his tongue is in your mouth. You can taste him, crave more of him.

               Your skin is hot and your heart is racing. Your hands grip the front of his shirt, using the last of your self control not to tear the flimsy fabric off his chest. Instead, you bite down on his bottom lip and Seonghwa groans in pleasure. He moves one hand downward to the front of your sweatpants, pressing his palm against your clothed pussy. He rubs it a little, creating enough friction that makes you whimper in his mouth.

               You suck on Seonghwa’s tongue for a couple of seconds which causes him to make a small noise in the back of his throat that does nothing to calm you down. He’s pawing at you now through your clothes and you are gripping his shirt so hard that it is crumpled in your fingers.

               Your underwear is sticking to your pussy from how wet it is and from Seonghwa’s palm pressing there. Thankfully, his hand moves, slipping under the band of your sweatpants. The kisses are growing messy, the urgency at which the two of you want one another threatening to spill over.

               That’s when one of the buttons of his shirt pops off. Surprised, you break the kiss to look down at it in your hand. Seonghwa only laughs as you hastily apologize for ruining his shirt.

               “It’s fine.” He doesn’t seem to care at all, instead his tone indicates amusement. “It’s an old shirt.”

               “Even so, I don’t –” Your sentence is cut off with a moan as Seonghwa brushes his finger across your swollen clit through the front of your underwear.

               “What was that?” He asks.

               Your head is swimming while trying to retrieve the sentence from the haziness of your mind. “I don’t want to ruin your shirt.”

               “You can ruin anything you’d like,” Seonghwa says as his fingers push your underwear to the side. “I don’t mind.”

               Once again, your reply is cut short by Seonghwa deftly rubbing your clit with his index finger. His lips find yours and whatever sentence you could have formed is washed away by how good everything is. He doesn’t stop rubbing your clit, the pace ever increasing, and you realize he is going to make you finish.

               In between kisses, Seonghwa murmurs, “God, you’re fucking soaked.” There is a note of approval in his voice that you instinctively react to, arching your hips slightly.

               Your breathing is uneven as your orgasm draws close. Seonghwa doesn’t stop – to him, it is like making you finish already is just the first step in the night ahead, not the ending event. When you cum, your head rolls back against the couch as he leans down to kiss along your neck, nibbling on your skin.

               Your hips lower back down as you realize he hadn’t removed an inch of clothing to make you climax like that. Seonghwa brings his finger to his lips, licking it clean to taste your pussy. You reach for him, crushing his lips against yours while bringing your hand against the front of his jeans to touch the bulge straining on the denim. Seonghwa inhales sharply. Your impatience is nipping at your heels. You want to feel him inside you; your orgasm did nothing to sate your desire.

               Kicking off your sweatpants, you get in Seonghwa’s lap, tossing the coat to the side. Fiddling with his belt, you grind down on his jeans and he groans again. The belt joins the coat, a small collection of items that are no longer necessary to what is unfolding. It takes only a few extra seconds to free his cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers. Seonghwa shivers at your touch as you grind your pussy against him while hastily unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, exposing his chest.

               He’s in shape, with perfect skin, warm to the touch. The green pendant rests against his skin, cold to the touch when your fingers brush against it. His shirt remains open, hanging off his shoulders. Between all the making out, his hair is messy, the ponytail threatening to come undone.

               Positioning yourself so that the head of his cock is at your entrance with your underwear pushed to the side, you sink down, taking his length easily. Seonghwa is thick, filling your pussy up as you shudder from the intensity. He groans, eyes fluttering for a few seconds as he takes in the sensation of your warm walls around his cock. His hands rest on your hips, waiting for you to get used to him.

               You can’t remember the last time you wanted someone this badly. The fact you know so little about Seonghwa matters not; you are too focused on how sexy he looks and how good it is to have his cock inside your cunt.

               You tentatively rock your hips, enjoying the feeling of being stuffed. Your hand goes down to play with your swollen clit. You’re not even bouncing in his lap, instead marveling at the pleasure of just having him inside you.

               Seonghwa moves one hand upwards to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your lips while he asks in a soft voice, “That feel good, baby?” After nodding, you open your lips slightly, just enough for his thumb to enter.

               You bite down on him gently while still moving your hips. Your tongue presses against his thumb. He is watching you with lust and when he catches a glimpse of your tongue, he pulls his thumb away and growls out, “Come here.”

               He pushes you towards him, driving his cock further inside your pussy while hungrily kissing you. This kiss is sloppy, tongue against tongue. Your hand is on the back of his neck, pulling out the tie in his hair. The black strands fall messily around his face and around your fingers.

               You start bouncing in his lap while kissing. His hands gently rest on your lower back. Both of you are barely undressed; time is of the essence. His spit is in your mouth and you are sure that you’re making a lot of noise but don’t care. It simply feels too good and it has been far too long since you’ve fucked anyone.

               The kiss breaks and with a gasp, Seonghwa requests, “Pull my hair.”

               And you do, giving it a sharp tug while he drives his cock deep into your hole. His cheeks are flushed with a reddish hue and his lips are slightly swollen from all the kissing and biting. You’re staring at Seonghwa’s neck, admiring the way the vines of his tattoo curl around his skin. The bright red of the small roses match the tiny plums of colour on his cheeks.

               Seonghwa notices that you’re staring and seems to know exactly what you’re thinking because he reaches for your hands, bringing them up to his neck. You squeeze and he groans, eyes closing as he arches his hips to slam his cock upwards inside your cunt.

               His breathing is growing ragged and you know he’s close. “Do it again,” He pleads in a strangled voice and your hands tighten around his neck once more. He looks exquisite as his pleasure reaches the pinnacle. He groans, head rolling back as you release the grip on his slender neck. His hair is splayed out against the back of the couch, his toned chest rising and falling rapidly while his eyes flutter closed.

               Small moans topple out from in between Seonghwa’s pretty pink lips as he climaxes. Filling your cunt with his cum, your hands run down his chest, feeling his muscles underneath your fingertips. When his head begins to clear, Seonghwa opens his eyes, fixating his gaze on you.

               Gently, he shifts positions, sliding you off his lap, tugging up his boxers and moving so that he’s facing you. He tugs off your underwear, tossing them to the floor and spreads your legs apart. Unsure of what he is going to do, you’re surprised when he brings two fingers to your entrance and slips them inside the mess he’s left in you.

               Seonghwa begins to pump his fingers in and out of your hole quickly, bringing his face downwards to wrap his lips around your clit. The entire process only takes a few seconds and the intensity of the pleasure hits you hard. Gasping, your hand finds his hair, gripping onto it while being finger fucked. You can hear the pornographic sounds of Seonghwa’s long fingers plunging in your wetness that is filled with his load. The tip of his tongue rapidly flicks across your clit.

               His shirt is hanging off his shoulders, his jeans loose around his waist. His tongue feels like the best thing in the world, only slightly better than the way his fingers curl upwards inside your cunt. The sound of his tongue lapping at your clit mixed with the squelching of his fingers makes you finish with a loud moan, unable to stop from grinding your hips against his face.         

               Seonghwa stops touching your clit, bringing his tongue to your hole instead to lick up his cum and yours. Your hand releases his hair while trying to catch your breath. Seonghwa looks up then with a devilish look in his eyes that makes your skin warm all over.

               He gets up, making no effort to button up his shirt. “May I use your bathroom?” He indicates the mess on his face, leaving down the small hallway after you tell him where it is.

               You quickly wiggle your underwear and sweatpants back on as your face grows hot. You haven’t ever slept with someone so soon after meeting them. But you’ve also never desired someone as much as Seonghwa before. Now what? You wonder if he’s just going to return and tell you that he needs to go.

               But when he returns, the remaining buttons on his shirt lazily done back up (one is skipped completely in the middle), he plops back down on the couch, looking in your direction.

               “You wanna grab dinner?”

*

               “Showering with someone is never sexy,” You say while shoving the leftovers from the Chinese takeout that was ordered an hour earlier into your fridge, “It sounds sexy in theory but someone is always just out of reach of the shower head and is cold or they don’t like the water temperature or whatever.”

               The conversation about fooling around in the shower had started ten minutes prior when Seonghwa made a flirtatious suggestion. But with only uninspired sexual shower experiences to fall back on, you had demurred until Seonghwa got a confession out of you that it was your belief nothing sexy happened in the shower.

               He’s lounging on the couch, looking completely comfortable, like someone who has been in your apartment a thousand times. His hair is still down and out of the small ponytail, curling against the nape of his neck.

               “I’m different,” Seonghwa protests, clearly shocked someone doesn’t want to shower with him.

               “Not like the other girls?” You joke, sitting back down on the couch.

               “I’m not,” He refutes, “Let me show you. It’ll be fun.”

               “It’ll be awkward.”

               Seonghwa gazes at you steadily with that same mischievous look on his face that he had the night he saluted you through the window. Your heart skips a beat, picturing the hot water rolling down his skin. He seems to know exactly what you’re thinking about once again because he leans forward, close enough to kiss you.

               “No,” He murmurs and you both know that he’s got you in his web, “It’ll be nasty.”

*

               Ten minutes later, you’re pressed against the cold wall of your shower while incredibly hot water runs down your body. Seonghwa’s lips are on yours, his body lithe and warm, angled against your body. His kisses are slow this time, deepening with each one while his hands roam across your body. You can feel him stiff against your thigh.

Seonghwa’s lips are on your neck now, sucking on the skin, while your hand curls around the pendant. It’s warm against your palm, quieting all your nerves in the strange familiarity of it and Seonghwa.

               “See, this isn’t so bad,” He mumbles in that deep voice of his as his hand slinks downward in between your thighs, “Not awkward at all. Maybe it’s just the people you’ve been with.”

               There is no witty retort because his finger touches your clit. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, hard muscles under your hands as he continues to lazily rub your swollen nub.

               “Maybe if you had slept with a neighbor sooner, you wouldn’t have had any awkward shower experiences,” Seonghwa continues conversationally, “I’m just thinking aloud.”

               His finger moves off your clit and dips in between your wet folds. You’re thinking about his dick back inside your cunt, thinking about his hips moving –

               “Well, I guess we should get out now,” Seonghwa says casually, and your eyes snap open.

               “What?” You say, confused.

               “You weren’t really into the idea, right? So, we don’t have to spend long in here.”

               You pull away from him, looking at his face. The confusion is swiped clean at seeing that glint in his eye. “Are you teasing me?” You ask.

               “Now, why would I do that?” Seonghwa replies in mock seriousness. “I’m being considerate. I’m being a nice guy.”

               You’re squirming against his fingers now, which have gone still just outside your hole. “Well, stop.”

               At this, he laughs. “Stop being considerate? What should I do then?” You like the way his wet hair frames his face, jet black against his skin.

               “Fuck me,” You say plaintively.

               Seonghwa adjusts, reaching down for your leg, resting your foot on the small shower shelf. His cock is pressing against your pussy lips and the steam is thickening from how hot the water is. Seonghwa hasn’t complained once about the temperature.

               “You want me to fuck you, baby?” After you nod, he goes, “Then hold onto me.”

               And you do, curling your body close to his with one foot planted firmly on the shower floor and the other on the shelf. Seonghwa’s hands are on your lower back, pressing you tightly against him as he slides his cock inside your wet cunt.

               The sensation of him filling you up from this angle makes you clutch Seonghwa harder. His skin is hot against your hands, your face is buried in his neck as the water makes your bodies slick against each other.

               “Fuck, your cunt is tight,” Seonghwa growls when he is fully inside.

               You’d speak but your mind is wiped clean of any words, lost to the sensation of his big cock buried to the hilt in your hole. He moves his hips slightly, just enough to make you whimper. Your hand is on the back of his neck and you can feel his wet hair on your fingertips.

               His hands move down to your ass, gripping it hard as he starts to pump his hips. The water runs down your bodies as Seonghwa fucks you. His skin is flushed, his lips slightly swollen from all the kissing. He’s making noises that only give you cause to want him more. He holds you so tightly that you aren’t afraid of slipping. Your own grip on him is just as hard, refusing to let him go as if the two of you can become one in that moment.

               The angle is delicious as the tip of his cock brushes against your sweet spot. You bite down on his shoulder from the intensity of the pleasure and Seonghwa groans in approval. His tattoos look brighter somehow in the water and you drag your lips up along the vines that curl around his delicate neck.

               He pants out your name as his movements quicken. Your walls tighten around his length, anticipating his load. Your own climax is approaching as Seonghwa as his thrusts increase in speed. The sound of skin against skin, the shower water striking you, the steam rising and filling the space and the hungry kisses – all of it collides in one moment, overwhelming your senses.

               When you climax, so does Seonghwa. Together, your pleasure crests and breaks. Your pussy milks his cock which spills inside you, leaking out from in between your folds. Seonghwa tilts his face towards you, finding your lips with his and kisses you slowly.

               When he pulls away to study your expression, he goes, “So? How was that?”

               Panting, you reply, “Good. Good shower experience.”

               “Told you,” Seonghwa says smugly. “You know, I fuck even better in a bed.”

               And you smile.

*

               Your phone buzzes late one evening, a week after your night with Seonghwa. Yawning, you look at your phone, half asleep watching TV.

               The text reads, “Cum 2 the window.”

               If it had been sent by anyone else, you would have found the fuckboy style of writing tiresome. But on Seonghwa, you don’t mind it at all. Getting off the couch, you lumber towards the window, looking over at Seonghwa’s.

               He is standing there, shirtless in just a pair of black jeans with his hair up. After the night together, you hadn’t thought you would hear from him again. He seemed like the type to fuck and go; maybe it was his personality, the swagger he had, or a combination of it. You assumed people would throw themselves at him with such regularity that he could go through lovers swiftly.

               But Seonghwa texted you all week, engaging in a mixture of sexting and actual conversations. Neither of you had been quick to jump into bed together again; drawing it out created more pleasure than darting over to each other’s apartments every time the urge struck.

               You type back, “Did you drag me off the couch just to stare at you shirtless?”

               Even from the distance, you can just barely make out his grin. “Maybe.” The expression is familiar; it is the same one he wore after basically fucking you into the mattress after the shower sex. “Wanna cum over?”

               “Too cold,” You reply teasingly, “You’re the one with that ridiculous coat. You come over.”

               Seonghwa cocks his head to one side. You wonder tonight if the pressure will crack and break. His reply pops up a few seconds later. “Alright. I’ll be there in 15.”

               Your heart swoops. You don’t reply, just lift your gaze from the phone to look over at him in his window, your heart swelling.

               And Seonghwa playfully salutes before dipping out of view.

the end.

#seonghwa x reader #ateez fics #seonghwa smut #ateez smut #seonghwa fics #kpop fic #nasty #100 notes #500 notes

[angelcent]

          𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄

starring. satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, toji fushiguro

contains. established relationships, suggestive smut, sexting, guided masturbation, sex toys, oral sex (f. receiving), squirting mentions

note. re-upload + based on an ask: what kind of foreplay do you think the jjk men are into?

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

sexting. photos or text alone, satoru enjoys indulging himself in his favorite girl throughout the day regardless of where he is or who’s around. not only is he ever tired of anything that has to do with you, he’s also a menace who enjoys doing filthy things when he’s meant to act like a proper member of society.

he’ll open dirty photos you’ve sent while in the backseat as ijichi drives, whistling low under his breath. or taking a trip to the bathroom before a meeting—headphones already plugged in to watch a video you sent him, biting back a groan as his blue eyes remain fixed on the vision you are as you desperately ride your lavender dildo. satoru isn't a selfish man; he'll reply with a picture of him pulling down on his boxer briefs as the hem of his shirt is caught between his teeth—giving you a glimpse of his toned abs and line of white hair below his navel; trailing down to a groomed patch of curls at the base of what’s covered with elastic and Calvin Klein. he’s hard and tenting the fabric, and he wants to make sure that you know that.

my naughty girl, he thinks. like he’s not the one who starts it.

then, at that very meeting he’s lazily tapping at his phone with a thumb as he tells you what he wishes he could do to you in that very room, uncaring that it’s brazen and disrespectful to do so. satoru tells you how slowly he’ll work your sweet pussy open for himself until everyone in the room can hear the filthy sounds of your wet cunt. you were moaning and whining so loud for him in your video as you fucked yourself, and while he loves the sounds of his name on your tongue, he’d have to gag you in this room. you’ve gotta be proper and all that, y’know?

but you love that, don’t you? being made out to be a girl who’s so modest and responsible yet is seduced by a powerful man like him; as if it’s satoru who brings it out of you. like it’s all his doing that your tight cunt drools and throbs for him at odd hours of the day. like you just can’t control thinking about his dick pounding into you until you’re undressing in your room and pulling out your toy in the middle of the day.

you love being corrupted by the strongest. and he loves having you as his dirty little secret slut tucked away in his pocket. he almost can't wait to make you his wife.

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

dirty talk. suguru's naturally soft and smooth voice has an effect on you at all times during the day—in the early morning when it's still roughened with sleep while you two talk amongst the soft sheets and slowly rise with the sun. or how it sounds deeper over the phone when he calls you on your lunch breaks. or at night when he greets you home and you feel the rumble of his voice soothing you as he hugs you at the doorway, tucking you under his chin with a kiss to the crown of your head.

but when he’s got you pressed against the nearest surface, large hands hot over your skin, his voice becomes low and dark with need as he tells you just how he wants you. his voice washes over you like midnight waves as your thighs are quivering and spread wide for him. one of his favorite ways to arouse you is guiding you to masturbate in front of him until you’re left flushed and desperate to come. he tells you to spread your cunt for him with your fingers, tease you about needy your pussy looks drooling for him, to show him how bad you want his cock to stretch and split you open—how badly you need him to fill you up until you’re leaking his hot come down your bruised thighs. you nod along eagerly, half listening to him, half going along with whatever he says so he can give you what you want.

suguru is all charming smiles and mild manners to the world—but he can be downright cruel when it comes to teasing you. he guides your fingers into your tight hole, telling you how he can imagine your hot walls tightening over your fingers and how he loves the way your greedy cunt sucks him in. but it’s not enough, is it? your delicate fingers can’t compare to the thick of his throbbing cock pounding into you—you can’t fuck yourself the way he does. it just isn’t the same. he coos into the shell of your ear as tears gather in your sweet eyes. suguru’s pretty voice lowers into a sinister whisper.

poor thing. look at you, crying for me to fuck you. what a slut. why don’t you beg me? sing for me, my sweet canary.

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

toys, edging. you’re the light of kento's life, the morning sun that promises better days ahead. you give him hope after several years of meandering through life. that said, you’re also the one to make him question his own principles. he’s a disciplined and unshakable man who can’t be swayed by the words or opinions of others, except for you. toys are a common occurrence for you during sex—he’s patient and calm as he presses the small vibrator over your twitching clit, eating up your whimpering moans and breathy gasps like nectar. he’s not done until his hands and wrist are wet and messy with your juices and your eyes are rolled to the back of your head as you come down from your high. kento likes to make you come at least once before he even unbuckles his own belt. in the privacy of your bedroom, he enjoys watching you unravel before his eyes alone.

you're his very own angel laying in black silk.

but you’ve got an exhibitionist streak that he finds inappropriate and in need of correction. so for every time you try to seduce him in public, he punishes you in a similar fashion the next morning before work. you sit on the edge of the bed as he kneels before you, soft legs over his shoulders while he works the small toy into you. as bratty as you can be, you’re quick to pout and whine at him for being so mean. kento ignores this, eyeing how wet your cunt is before the day has truly even began. he rubs your thighs soothingly as he explains how the day will go. how he’ll control your pleasure as he sees fit and how he expects you to continue acting properly. you’ll be at work, he doesn’t want anyone else to know just how insatiable and slutty you can be. 

he sits at his desk in his downtime with the app open on his phone, straight faced as always as he alternates the speed and intensity of the vibrations throughout the day. at the end of the day, he comes home and quietly loosens his tie as he watches you writhing on the couch. there’s a few buttons undone from your blouse and you’re rubbing your thighs together while trying to focus on the tv, but you’re not touching yourself. you’ve learned your lesson.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

oral sex. a classic, and he’s fucking good at it. also, he loves eating pussy (when it’s someone he cares about). laying you back against a surface, manhandling you and guiding you to sit your pretty ass against his face where you belong, or flipped around as you work his cock with your small mouth. anyway he can have you, he’s buried in your sweet cunt. toji is a man with many vices, and you’re at the top of them all. 

he’s nasty about eating you out. alternating between his tongue and fingers, quick or painstakingly slow, chasing that unbelievable high of having you squirt all over his thick forearm and making a mess of him. it’s with him that you discover even being able to squirt, and it confused him to see you tearing up with shame as you shakily apologized to him after the first time. why? it’s the sexiest thing he’d ever seen and he coaxes confidence out of you until you realize just how natural it is and how nothing about you will ever deter him. slow and heady like haze, toji shows you just how much pleasure you can attain merely from his mouth. 

toji makes out with your pussy, grunting into the heat of you as he works his tongue up and over your puffy clit. the squelching of your juices fills the room and only makes him strain against his pants. the taste and smell of you alone can set him off—sometimes inhaling deeply before he even begins and relishing in the way it makes you squirm. but don’t get bratty with him; try and tell him to hurry up and you’ll meet the harsh slap of his palm over your sensitive pussy. he’ll give you a few more slaps for good measure too. he doesn’t fuck with brats. (he does, he just loves putting brats in their place).

#starring: satoru gojo #starring: suguru geto #starring: nanami kento #starring: toji fushiguro #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x you #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you

[naffeclipse]

Cold Scales

Naga!Moon x Reader. Sickness.

The first sign of your fever hits you with a pulse of heat. You brushed it aside, believing the sun had been beating on you too long, and the jungle warmth was simmering your blood. Sun leads you to the cave come nightfall. The buzz of mosquitoes fills the air with a menacing hum.

Sun has always been warm to you, even when he told you that you are warmer. His melting yellow and golden jewel tone scales, his cornflower blue eyes, wide and endearing, fit alongside the heavy humidity in the afternoons. The small scarlet markings on his throat and hips are metal-red hot, too. He always kept you warm.

Moon is cool. You’re not sure if that’s due to the cold tones of his scales, gray-blue on his belly and along his arms, and deeper into midnight blue along his back and on top of his hood. He hides in the darkness after sunset. His red eyes, even darker still, only flash once it’s too late for his prey. You’ve seen how fast he strikes—before, when you were acting foolish and trying to escape their aid, and after, when you watched him and Sun hunt a meal.

You slip out of Sun’s embrace. His arms fall away, lethargic from the day you both put your energy into scavenging for berries and nuts and small mammals. A soft hiss leaves his lips. You wait a moment to ensure he doesn’t stir, though his coils unconsciously tense, searching for the little human he was holding.

Sun had mentioned you felt warmer than usual, but you convinced him you were only tired and worn out from the hot day. Still, he frowned when you laid down beside him on the cool cave floor.

The fever pulses deep within you. You feel it burn across your forehead with a ripple of sweat. Staggering out of the cave, what strength you have is quickly sapped by whatever attacks your body. You need less heat. You need to be cold and imagine gulping down icy water to soothe the dryness infecting your throat.

A small trail that’s been trampled by your feet and the width of snake tails leads you through the trees. Even in the dark, under the delirium of a fever, you find the edge of the glinting water reflecting the canopy of thick verdant leaves overhead.

You kneel, almost collapsing forward before you manage to catch yourself with both hands splashing into the pebble-bottom stream. The heavy breaths in your chest heave in and out. You sigh and tell yourself you’re being a baby—one little fever, and you’re struggling to concentrate on the water before you.

In the reflection of the stream, you catch two red eyes glowing above you, leaning out of a tree to survey your feeble attempts to quench your burning thirst. A hood of midnight and diamond yellow stars surround the visage. 

“It’s nothing, Moon,” you whisper to the water. Slowly, you cup your hand and carefully bring it to your lips. The crisp coldness douses your heated lips, filling your mouth with a jolt due to the sharp contrast of cold and fire within you. When you swallow, you shiver.

The softest rustle echoes. A few branches quiver, then, you feel his presence behind you, cool as a tree’s shadow. 

A large, blue-gray hand snakes around your forehead. Knuckles press against your temple, and you sigh in relief at his blissful, fresh touch. 

“Fever,” Moon rasps, carrying the end of the word with a soft hiss of disdain, as if saying it with a curse will make it no longer reality.

“I just need a drink.” You cup your hand in the lazy flow of water again. “I’m fine.”

“Too warm,” he says when you greedily gulp another mouthful. 

Water spills cut down the corners of your mouth. He presses closer to you. His thumb smoothly wipes away the drips falling off of your chin, then he shifts. Your mauve shirt with the sleeves cut off allows his frosty arms to offer a barrier against the next wave of heat crashing against you. He’s never felt so cold before—or have you never felt this feverish before?

“It’ll go away.” 

You try to get to your feet but Moon’s hand on your waistline stops you from rising.

“Come here,” he rasps. “Let me see you, orchid.”

You would have given him a look at the pet name, but you don’t have the strength to muster the effort. He eases you back against his chest. His palms slide and cup your shoulders, his sharp fingertips slipping slightly under the frayed edges of your shirt and resting on the end of your collarbone. Is that a shiver from the elicit touch or sickly chills beginning to take hold?

“You’re flushed,” he hisses softly. A slight slip of his tongue, forked at the end, peeks out of his mouth as he leans closer. You moan unwittingly at his cool, flat cheek pressed against your clammy face.

“It was hot today.”

“You’re sick,” he decides.

This time, you groan out of refusal rather than relief. 

“I’m not sick.” You slowly shift, managing to get to your knees to face him. The fever forces your shoulders down. You bow under the exhaustion taking hold. 

Moon hisses in an amusement yet concerned note. His long tail drapes behind him, cutting across the ground like the connections of a constellation. It’s black in this lowlight, but in the day, when he sleepily shows himself, you’ve caught the iridescent indigo and jeweled blue tones of his beautiful scales. 

“If you keep denying it, I will take drastic actions. Do you want that, orchid?” his tone lowers to a menacing threat, all dark cords and hisses, but you’ve learned to tune your senses to his hands and expression. He looks only at you, a slight frown playing along his wide mouth. His eyes are narrowed, displeased with your condition.

“No,” you shake your head, “You and Sun are so dramatic.”

“Says the stubborn flower,” he touches your cheek. You nearly collapse into his palm. The rasp of his laugh stings your pride as much as it soothes your aching chest. 

“I’m not a flower,” you mutter as you feel his arms lower slightly, coaxing your hands over his shoulders. He rises higher on his tail, lifting your feet off the ground without effort, and you slump over his shoulder, little more than a child being carried to bed. Moon hums a low, hypnotic sound (that you’re sure is part of his allure, his power).

“Of course not,” he gives with amused demean.

You work up a growl at your throat that sounds weak even to your own ears. Moon shushes you with a soft stroke of his claws against your spine. The shudder that follows through your body is both cold and hot, and you hate that he silences you so simply, and that you like how he strikes back against your harshness.

“Easy, easy,” he murmurs as if calming a tiger. You want to snarl at him again but the brief spark is quickly smothered under an internal infernal cooking your core.

No one agitates you and reassures you as much as Moon.

He glides across the ground to his tree—it’s wide and high, thick with strong boughs and leafy but not too leafy. A perfect tree for a naga. Moon tends to lounge up there when he wants to escape the shadows of the cave you usually make your bed in. You wonder how he intends to hold you through the night up in its verdant limbs, but Moon hooks a hand behind your head and lowers you softly to the cool, moist ground at the base of the trunk.

“Moon?” For a piercing moment, you’re afraid. You refuse to let go of his arm as he draws away. Where is he going?

“Hold still,” he gently hisses.

You let go. You wait for him.

Slowly, his coils gather, curving in loops close to you. He draws himself around you, his long body following. The darkness shimmers. He takes you into his arms once more and guides you to his chest where he fully embraces you. The end of his tail drapes across your waist, sealing you within a deliciously cool embrace of the naga’s scales.

“Shush,” he says when you groan, soaking in his invigorating presence. “Sleep, orchid.”

You almost tell him that you can’t, or that you won’t, but the comfortable weight of his body surrounding you, the chill of his arms against your burning skin, and the soft tuck of his chin upon your sweaty head chases away the last of your resistance. You might have pressed back—saying you don’t need his help, but it’s hard to resist the frost-gentle relief of his presence. It’s hard to be stubborn when he feels so good.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs against your hair. “You’ll feel better soon.”

The sweet caresses of his cool touch across your forehead eases your ache. Against your will, your eyelids flutter. He hums low, a lullaby you can’t name, and it soothes you gently into a dreamless sleep, comforted by a cool cradle of scales and songs.

#i'm burning up with a fever as we speak #i wrote this at like 1 am #because of the fever #if there are any mistakes no you don't see them #cold scales #naga au #naga!moon #moon x reader #naff writing #i'll add this to ao3 later #when i have more energy

[kinkandkreep]

𝑫𝒚𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒚: 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 1

♡︎ 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓!𝑴𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝑶'𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

♡︎ 𝑪𝑾: 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆, 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔

♡︎ "__" 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆

♡︎ 𝑻𝒂𝒈 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕: @pinkrose1422 @freeingrebels @lollipoppersposts

♡︎ 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 2 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 3 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 4 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆

He never forgets.

You sighed, tired and frustrated with this cliche ass situation you found yourself in. 

Like every Lifetime movie gone wrong, here you sat in the kitchen of your home, previously lit candles now extinguished, lovingly cooked meal gone cold on the table before you. 

It was you and Miguel’s third anniversary. And, unfortunately, it seemed he had forgotten. 

He’s not here.

Initially, when you realized just how late it was getting, you tried to be sensible about what could possibly have happened. A part of you even started to panic, given that you hadn’t heard from him and when you’d spoken to him last, he’d been preparing to go do his usual patrols and surveillance of the city. 

You worried that perhaps he’d gotten hurt, or worse. 

But then you remembered who you were talking about and that worry quickly diminished. 

Miguel wasn’t invincible but he was damn close, and the usual thugs he encountered were no match for him and his determination backed super strength. 

Sighing a breath of relief, you then contemplated the remaining possibilities. 

‘Maybe it’s a work thing, he’s spent plenty of late nights there or in the lab before.’

Your mind seemed most comfortable with this speculation, and so you released the issue, instead focusing on maintaining a positive attitude for when Miguel eventually arrived. 

Except that nine became ten, ten became eleven, eleven became midnight and you realized with a heavy heart that your husband had indeed forgotten your anniversary. 

Glancing at the clock, and seeing that it read 12:22, you stood from the dining room table, beginning the process of cleaning up and packing away the leftover food and needlessly dirtied dishes. 

You would wash them later on in the day. 

Once that was finished, you began making your way to your bedroom, removing your jewelry and heels along the way. Entering the room, you put everything back in its proper place, slipping out of your dress and putting on a more comfortable pajama set. 

You momentarily considered putting on one of Miguel’s shirts for comfort, but rather quickly abandoned the idea. 

You were preparing to slip under the covers when you heard the telltale beeping from the front door. It opened a little more noisily than was probably appropriate given the time of night it was, but it closed much more softly. 

You didn’t immediately hear any footsteps sound, which struck you as a little odd, so against your better judgement, you called out a soft, “Gigi?”

Almost immediately after, you could hear rustling and the beginning of steps up the stairs. After a few seconds, your bedroom door began to creep open, and a dull red eye peeked through the gap. 

For whatever reason, Miguel stayed that way for some moments, and it was beginning to creep you out. Thankfully, he eventually eased the door open the rest of the way, and slipped into the room. 

You could see he held a large bouquet of many different kinds of flowers. From what you could make out, there were blue hyacinths, Lily of the Valley, pink roses and white orchids. 

All different flowers meant to convey the same message. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Miguel’s voice was low, and a tad raspier than it normally was. You couldn’t tell if it was because he was tired or what, but alarm bells sounded in your brain nevertheless. 

Which was…strange. 

Miguel wouldn’t make eye contact with you, instead staring down at the flowers he appeared to be subconsciously clutching tightly against his chest. 

“I know, Miguel. So am I.”

His head shot up at that, and he leveled you with a quizzical stare. 

“What?”

You lifted a hand, gesturing for the flowers and to your en suite. 

“You’re sorry you forgot and so am I. Now please, it’s late, I’m very tired and I would appreciate it if you would just get cleaned up so we could go to bed.” 

He continued to stare at you confusedly, even as he inched forward to offer you the flowers. Standing still momentarily, he placed a tentative kiss on your forehead, missing the way you rolled your eyes. 

Pulling away, he turns and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself. You hear some rustling, and a few moments later, you hear the water begin to run. 

Sighing, you take a seat on the bed, throat tightening as you feel tears threaten to spill. Though it’s only been a short time, and though you’ll never cease to feel silly for it, you’ve come to a conclusion. 

‘Miguel’s having an affair.’

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

It takes around 30 minutes, but by the time Miguel’s finished, you’ve already drifted off into an uneasy, dreamless slumber. 

Miguel emerges from the bathroom clad in only a towel that hangs loosely around his waist. Upon noticing that you’re apparently asleep, he tries to be more quiet as he maneuvers around your bedroom, opening and closing drawers much more softly than he normally would. 

As he moves, his mind reels. 

‘She seemed pissed. And worse than that, she seemed fed up. Could-...does she know?’

Almost immediately, Miguel shakes the thought from his mind. 

‘No, she doesn’t. She can’t.’

Miguel refuses to think about the possibility anymore, and refuses to acknowledge the thoughts as they race through his mind all the way up until he falls asleep. 

And that includes pointedly ignoring the dried tear streaks decorating your cheeks. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

When you awake, you’re surprised to find Miguel still in bed with you. 

A quick glance at the clock tells you that it’s almost 10:30, much later than either of you would normally ever stay in bed, but especially your husband, who’s been an early riser for as long as you’ve known him. 

You look over to him, and watch the slow, steady rise and fall of his bare chest as he continues sleeping. 

Even as exhausted as you are, you can’t deny that your husband is gorgeous. From his chiseled cheeks and sharp jaw, to the tussle of chestnut hair sitting atop his head and his plump, perpetually pouting lips, you couldn’t help but stare in awe at the beauty of the man before you. 

You wonder what’s got him so tired. 

‘Probably entertaining that bitch.’

The bitter thought sears a jagged line through your consciousness, causing your face to unwittingly curl up into an angry snarl. 

You have half a mind to suffocate the sleeping bastard with your pillow, but the thought is interrupted as he begins stirring awake. 

Miguel is mumbling something unintelligible as he smacks his lips, grimacing as he begins to stretch and yawn. The popping sound his back makes is sharp, and he sighs, relaxing back into the bed.

Finally, he opens his eyes, red orbs searching around the room until they land on you. 

A pleasant smile lifts the corners of his mouth upward, and he opens his mouth to greet you. 

“Buenos dias, mi corazón. Did you sleep well?”

You’re unable to stop the scoffing noise that makes its way out of your throat. He has quite the gall, lilting such pleasantries after he forgot about your anniversary and tried to apologize with a shitty bouquet of flowers. Now he wants to pretend that everything is just alright?

You’re becoming so angry you’ve started to shake, and upon noticing this and your expression, which has morphed into a searing glare, Miguel frowns, sitting up quickly and moving to put a hand on your thigh, which you quickly swat away. 

“Cariño? What’s the matter?”

You continue to glare at your husband for a few seconds more, before silently standing from the bed and quickly making your way downstairs. 

“__!” Miguel calls after you, but you refuse to answer. 

You can soon hear him shuffling out of the bed and making his way down the stairs after you, but you don’t care. Sure, you’ve got your speculations about what could possibly have caused your husband to forget your anniversary, but you want more solid proof before you lash out.

Taking a couple deep breaths, you brace yourself on the kitchen counter, turning just in time to see Miguel reach the bottom step. 

He watches you with a worried expression, lips pouted and soft eyes wide. 

“__? Are you ok? You were shaking a minute ago.”

He approaches you tentatively, almost as if he can sense the inner turmoil within you and knows that it’s because of him. 

You simply watch him as he comes closer, trying to keep your breathing and your mouth in check. 

“Baby?”

Taking one last deep breath, you push yourself up from the counter, moving over to the refrigerator and opening its door, absently rummaging through its contents to find something to eat.

Behind you, you can hear Miguel sigh, and after a moment you feel his presence beside you. 

“__, if something’s wrong, you know you can tell me right? I’m right here for you.”

On reflex, you slam the refrigerator door shut, a pitcher of orange juice clutched tightly in your hand. You speedily sit it on the countertop, trying again to get your breathing in check.

“__, this isn’t funny. The silent treat-...”

“Where were you last night, Miguel?”

You spin quickly, now facing your husband, who appears stunned. His eyes are wide, but this time you can find a trace of desperation and something that looks suspiciously like fear lurking within their bloodred depths. 

“W-...I-I was at the lab.”

“And where else?”

You’re slightly surprised by how firm your voice sounds. You’re also able to maintain steady eye contact with your husband, who looks increasingly uncomfortable by the second. 

“Doing patrols. Got into a scuffle with a couple criminals. Look __, if…if this is about me missing our anniversary I’m really-”

“You’re sorry, I know Miguel.” Your smile is sardonic, and you once again turn your back to your husband, beginning to pour yourself a glass of juice and taking a small sip. 

“You could have at least called.” You speak, and you can see Miguel perk up out of your periphery, but then deflate again at your words. 

“You’re right. I-...I’m sorry.”

It’s silent between you for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the birds chirping and your quiet sips can be heard. 

Your glass is finished by the time either of you speaks again, and you work to pour yourself another. 

“Tell me Gigi.” The man really brightens at the sound of his special nickname. It’s short lived however, because of the words that follow. 

“If you had to choose between saving me, and saving everyone else, which would you choose?” You manage to keep your expression flat, and the air around you both seemingly stills as Miguel’s breath audibly hitches.  

“I-...” His mouth opens then closes, and he seems to flounder for a satisfactory answer. 

“I would…would save you both, of course.” You’ve never really known your husband to stutter so much before. 

“That isn’t one of the options I gave you. I said you had to choose between us. So, choose.”

The silence returns, much heavier this time. It lingers for many seconds, and by the tenth you know he’s already chosen his answer. 

“You know I can’t do that __.”

The glass you're holding cracks as it hits the marble of your countertop. 

“Why the fuck not Miguel?! Why can’t you choose me over everything else for fucking once?!” You’ve spun around to face him once more, one hand perched on your hip. Your eyes have widened with anger, brows deeply furrowed and breath heavy.

Miguel sighs, shaking his head. 

“We’ve had this conversation before, __. I have a responsibility. You said you understood!” You can sense Miguel becoming angry himself, which only serves to make you more livid. 

“I am your wife, Miguel. The supposed “love of your life,” remember. There ought not be this turmoil about prioritising me. You couldn’t even be there for our anniversary. I don’t ask for much from you, ever. Never have. I just ask that when the time comes, you would show up, like you promised.”

Now you’ve gotten up in his face, expression still severe. He watches you with pinched brows, jaw set tight. 

“I was there, Miguel. All those nights, patching you up and scolding you for being a reckless idiot. I was there, comforting you when you failed to save someone, reassuring you when you were losing hope. I’m not saying you ought to choose me out of obligation, but out of love. The same love that I’ve given you unconditionally, the same love that I want returned.”

You stare each other down for nearly a minute, you searching Miguel’s eyes for any sense of understanding. 

You find little. 

“You’re right, __. You were right there, all those times I made mistakes and had to rectify them. You were my backbone, my support when I had none. But you were also there when I explained how serious this responsibility is to me, and not just to me, but for everyone. You know how selfish I used to be, and I refuse to let my selfishness cost people their lives.”

You scoff out a laugh at his words, unbelieving in the moment that he’s actually being serious. 

“So let me get this straight Miguel. You want me to understand that if it came down to it, you would sacrifice me for innumerable other random people, all because it’s your “responsibility”?” You use air quotes, your expression slightly mocking as you stare up at the larger man. 

He frowns, breathing once heavily through his nose. 

“I want you to be less selfish, __. I thought you understood that when the time came, I would do what needed to be done.”

“Of course I don’t fucking understand that! You said you loved me! I’m supposed to believe you would give up someone you love for a bunch of people you don’t?!” You’re exasperated now, and can feel the tears beginning to build up in your eyes. 

Why can’t Miguel seem to look past his “duty” and see what’s right in front of him? Is he…is he trying to push you away?

‘He’s pushing you away so he can feel less bad about pursuing that tramp.’

The thought leaves a shiver down your spine, and you can feel red hot anger bloom as heat all over your body.

“That’s precisely what it means to be a hero, __!” The color in Miguel’s eyes has begun to swirl with his building anger. 

“No, Miguel. Sacrificing the people you love for people who wouldn’t even know to appreciate the gesture isn’t heroism.” You look him in the eyes, leaning up close until your noses nearly brush. “It’s foolishness. And it seems you’re the biggest fool of them all.”

Miguel’s eyes widen, the crimson of them shooting scarlet. His breathing immediately picks up, and his hands begin rhythmically clenching by his sides. 

“Y-...you-...”

Without finishing his sentence, Miguel turns on his heel and storms up the stairs to the second floor, slamming your bedroom door. 

You wait a few moments, before collapsing into a dining chair, hands in your face as you quietly sob. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

You’ve since stopped crying and began making lunch when you hear Miguel stomping down to the first floor. You turn to watch him, who has since become fully clothed, as he heads to the entryway, slipping on his jacket. 

“Where are you going,” you call out, averting your eyes for just a moment from the sizzling pan in front of you. 

“To the lab,” your husband replies without looking up from slipping on his shoes. 

“Why? It’s,” you glance up at the clock, “12 o’clock and you haven’t eaten.”

“It’s fine, I’ll find something myself.” Miguel’s words are curt, his tone clipped. 

You contemplate pressing the matter, but decide against it, figuring if Miguel wants to run away like a petty child, then that’s exactly what you’ll let him do. 

You hear the door slam, and it makes you only slightly flinch.

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

You don’t see Miguel for the rest of the day. 

You’ve cooked, ate, straightened up, showered and spent the majority of the day passing time scrolling through social media and catching up on shows and movies you’ve wanted to see. 

It’s 9:30, and you’re in the middle of a yawn when the first message comes. 

It’s from an unknown sender, and it’s a zip file. 

You’re very hesitant to open it at first, becoming immediately afraid that someone is on some weird shit. 

But then, an actual text message follows. 

And your hand shakes as you read it. 

‘You could never understand, __, not like I do.’

Heart pounding, you’ve now been given the motivation you need to open the compressed file. 

You very quickly wish you hadn’t. 

Inside are dozens of photos, all of Miguel and another woman in…compromising positions, to say the absolute least. 

They’re in different states of undress in each photo, the last few even featuring them in what appears to be post coital bliss. 

You can’t tear your eyes away from the screen, your absolute worst fears having been realized. 

Finally, you reach the end of the content in the file, and to your further horror, it’s a short 10 second clip. 

Against your better judgement, you click it.

Immediately, your ears are assaulted with the high pitched moans of the woman in the photos, Miguel’s much deeper swears and grunts audible in the background. It seems the camera’s been positioned at an odd angle, almost as if it’s meant to be hidden. 

From wherever it is, you can see both the woman and Miguel in all their naked glory, bodies moving rhythmically against each other.

You only realize you’re crying because your view of the screen becomes blurry. 

Your mouth is agape, and you're finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. 

Before you can throw the phone away, one last message comes in. 

It’s a screenshot of messages appearing to have been sent between Miguel and the woman. 

You can’t read much of it, your stomach won’t allow you, but from what little you are able to read, Miguel appears to be complaining about you to the other woman, who agrees and encourages everything he says. 

You’ve had enough, and you click your phone off, leaning back on the couch to process all you’ve just witnessed. 

‘Miguel is cheating on me. Miguel slept with another woman. Miguel thinks I’m a nuisance. Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…’

You pause, clicking off the television and standing slowly, grabbing your phone and making your way upstairs to the bathroom. 

Without a single utterance of sound, you shower and run through your oral hygiene routine, picking out a fresh set of pajamas and climbing into bed. 

You find yourself unable to sleep, so afraid you are that your dreams will be filled with visions of your husband’s infidelity. 

He doesn’t come home that night.

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

Buy me a Kofi?

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spider man 2099 #cheater miguel o'hara #cheater miguel o'hara x reader #tw: cheating #cw cheating

[lokisgoodgirl]

Third Date [Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: We all know what happens on the third date. (w/c 2.4k) Warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI. Smut. Language. Health and safety violations.

“Try this,” Loki commanded quietly.

All you could feel was each heavy breath as you tried not to wilt beneath his stare. He was a panther, toying with its meal.

Operatic melodies rose and fell all around, bouncing between terracotta arches from an ageing record player in the corner. It was beautiful, whatever it was. Perfect, even. Loki grinned, as the aria began to build.

“E lucevan le stelle,” he murmured knowingly, tilting his head. “Now...try this.”

The gleam of his eyes swam in the candlelight, chin dipped. He had scooped a not unsubstantial blob of his desert to a fingertip and was holding it aloft. You licked your bottom lip, staring at him almost as intensely as he was staring at you. It looked delicious. Stiff and pale and decadent. Not unlike its principal devourer for the evening.

You leant forward, pushing against the checked tablecloth as Loki gracefully extended his hand, the long finger poised. His gaze tracked from your eyes to your lips. Red, and parted. Without breaking your stare, you felt his finger come to rest on your tongue. He had really outdone himself tonight. The private restaurant, the ambiance, the green suit that wore him like ripples on a midnight sea. Conversation had been sparkling, as usual. But now, you suspected the time for conversation was over. His hair was smoothed back at the temples, drawing attention to sharp lines on his face that sank deeper with each glimmer of flame. Candlewax had begun to drip on the tablecloth, spreading in spite of itself. You knew how it felt.

Your lips sucked against his finger, deep to the second knuckle. Panacotta like you had never tasted swished at your cheeks. Rich, thick, and entirely delicious. It found its way across the spread of your tongue, sliding with a swallow down your throat. Your eyes fluttered shut as a muffled moan of pleasure grew and released. Loki’s finger curled, rubbing the roof of your mouth ever so gently.

If his elusive cock wasn’t hard as hard as marble right now, you’d eat your hat. “I think you got it all, darling” he purred. You opened your eyes, met with the sight of a man bristling with arousal. It coursed across his skin like electricity as you sucked backwards, shallow breaths making his shirt buttons strain. The blue of his irises had been consumed by darkness. The tip of his finger rested on your bottom lip. “Delicious,” you smiled. Loki shivered, readjusting himself. “What say we get out of here?” he growled, retracting his finger reluctantly from your lip. “I’ll call the car around.” He lifted the hand with one glistening finger in the air, ready to summon the solitary maître d' hiding somewhere in the back. Seeing his resplendent profile was the final straw. That proud brow, that haughty raise of his chin, those cheekbones. Enough was enough.

“Wait-” you gasped quietly.

Loki’s head swivelled. His brow twitched, interest piqued and momentarily sobered from his lust. A close-lipped smile began to flirt against your cheeks. You pressed your lips together, raising your eyebrows as a finger traced down your cleavage. The god’s eyes followed it. “Really?” Loki hummed with no attempt to contain his amusement. “Bad girl, aren’t you?” There was a loud scrape as he pushed his chair backwards against the tile. The table’s edge obscured your view, but you could tell his hips had widened. His thighs, spread.

“I’m game if you are,” he smirked with a devilish click of his tongue. One hand rested on the crease of his hip, fingertips digging into supple muscle. The other was hidden, but from the movement of one shoulder you suspected he was rubbing his thigh. Eager. Straining against the onslaught of erotic mischief about to be unleashed. Your stomach was fizzing as your mind dangled on the precipice of consequence.

“What about the staff?” you postured coyly. Loki chuckled. “Don’t worry about them,” he said, “do not forget whom it is you are about to fuck.” You bit your lip, feeling heat rise in your face. “Oh, I’m sorry...” Loki started, feigning concern. How he managed to sound seductive and sanctimonious would never fail to amaze. And arouse. He shrugged off his suit jacket, whipping his arms out with practised grace. The cotton sleeves of a crisp fitted shirt clung to the muscles. The subtle bulges cut in deep valleys against the cotton. “Am I being presumptuous in my assumption that you wish to immediately sink yourself onto my cock within this very restaurant?”

Casually, he undid a button on his wrist; proceeding to fold the cuff and roll the fabric sluttishly up his forearm. He repeated the action at the other side, completely un-phased that you had been rendered mute. “Was that not your intent? Or do I take liberties?”

Silently, you stood, letting the napkin in your lap fall to the floor. Loki smirked, resting smugly against the back of the chair. His gaze ran down the length of your body as you walked around the table, pausing to let him enjoy the view. You had chosen this dress with the heat of his breath on your neck in mind as he unzipped the back. All the way. Perhaps he would have kissed down the curve of your shoulder. Perhaps he would have slid his hands beneath the open fabric, around your waist, before it fell to his bedroom floor.

Perhaps, this would be even better.

“I couldn’t take the risk of you being overcome by your gentlemanly nature when we got back to your apartment. Not again,” you purred. The click of your heels twice on the terracotta tile made Loki straighten. He let out a strained chuckle, barely audible over the operatic crescendo playing somewhere on vinyl.

God, he was gorgeous.

You could now see the outline of his ferociously hard cock against the suit trousers. It stretched to his hip, thick and ready to fuck. “Give me a little credit, darling” he chirped innocently, inhaling as you curled your fingers around his shoulder. “Last week was our second date – I was respecting your Midgardian traditions, as inane as they may be.” He looked up, smirking. But his forehead quivered. His brows, slanted ever-so. He was desperate.

You stood between his spread thighs, taking a moment to appreciate the lines of creased fabric thick against his legs. Curves of muscle were visible, twitching. He stared up at you with unbearable hungry. There was a flash of his tongue as he wet his lips, large palms sliding up the sides of your bare legs.

Up they went, pushing the hem of your tight dress higher. Loki groaned, feeling the lace tops of your garters. His brow furrowed as he travelled higher, discovering the taut suspender lines. You had come prepared. Fingertips sank into the flesh, the mild pain making you clench. “You’ll end me, darling,” he breathed, hands settling around your hips. “I can tell.”

Loki guided you onto his lap, pulling you into a devastating kiss. It was a mess of tongue and teeth and desperate desire, hands winding in hair and filthy moans filling the space between you. The god’s fingers slipped between your splayed thighs, tracing the tips over your swollen pussy. The fabric separating his skin from yours was sodden. It tingled. Your breath hitched, moaning Loki’s name into his open mouth. He smiled against the kiss, pausing to mutter in your ear like the sweetest demon. “How ambrosial it is to hear my name on your lips with such...enthusiasm” he growled.

You began to thrust against his touch, cursing the care he was taking. Fingers pulsed in waves on your clit. “Loki, please…” you whined, throwing your head back. Your lover’s kisses traced down your neck, sucking against the skin. “As you wish,” he muttered against your shoulder, free hand flying to his belt.

You looked down between your bodies. The sight of his upturned wrist, veins straining while he orchestrated the blossoming orgasm between your legs made you dizzy. Loki fluidly unbuckled himself, unbuttoning with a flick followed by the zippers hum. The god’s pants were nasal, concentration knitting his brow as he pulled his cock out in a fist. It was as beautiful as you’d hoped it would be. The perfect length. The perfect girth; turgid veins decorating flawlessly velvet, alabaster skin. A bead of pre-cum settled on the tip as Loki squeezed his foreskin upwards, meeting your eyes with what almost looked like nervousness. He pumped the fist down, meeting the base with a dirty groan from the back of his throat. You rubbed a thumb over the leaking tip, before drawing it to your lips. Loki watched, jaw slack, as you sucked it clean. His mouth formed the softest O, lines in his forehead deepening as he pulled your panties to the side. He rolled his knuckles through your folds, his breathing quick.

“So wet,” he murmured in quiet awe as you wrapped your fingers around his cock. “All for you, Loki” you gasped, squeezing the head inside.

The god’s face changed, a shock of pleasure contorting his features. His jaw clenched, upper body rigid as you sank onto his length. An almighty grunt of pure animalism ripped the air. Loki’s chin pointed to the ceiling, lost in the feeling of your little cunt snug around his manhood. Hands found their way to your hips, beginning to rock you back and forth. Each rotation was solid. Covetous, as he edged you all the way down. “Yes..gods, yes; f-fuck,” he groaned, head snapping back up with a burning lust in his eyes. Your blood froze. Never had someone looked at you like this. So raw. So full of base hunger. In that moment, in this place, in all his many ages; there was only you.

You began to bounce, bucking forward against the root of his cock with every turn. “Norns, f-fristelse-” he choked, long fingers spread against your ass. Tightening. Arousal squelched with every slam of your pussy down his length, his restrained thrusts massaging the deepest parts of you.

He pulled you flush to him, his face burying between your breasts. Wet groans sounded against the skin as his thighs pumped upwards; a maddening rhythm of sexual gluttony. More. More.

“More-” Loki gasped open-mouthed against your throat. Your hands were tangled in his hair, long strands wound and bound through your fingers. You tugged it back.

With a hiss, his jaw clenched; teeth bared like an animal in a trap. You squeezed your walls around him, bobbing slowly up and down. Every ridge and vein seemed to drag against the tightness, each inch punctuated by his scratching groans. It felt like you’d known him like this for a thousand years. It was so natural- inevitable. And who knew these days. Maybe you had. He fought against the pull of your fist in his curls, deep lines creased in his forehead. Loki’s eyes blazed, swirling galaxies bursting from smouldering greens and blues. “More,” he repeated darkly. And before you had registered the quick slip of his hands from your ass to your waist, it was over. Loki lifted you into the air, sliding you with a pop from his length and spinning your body. Your palms landed flat on the table, sliding forward to brace yourself. Without thinking, your fingers curled around the loosened tablecloth. They tugged. The howl that escaped your throat as he pushed himself back inside the warmth of your heat was inhuman.

Loki curled against your back. His torso pressed against your spine, the caress of his breath against the shell of your ear making you push your hips back to the base of his cock. Loki snarled filthy curses lapping your neck. “Uhh...y-you...will be – g-gods, f-fuck,” he moaned, sloppy thrusts making your feet spread wider; “-the en-nd of me,” he gasped. A tight smack of his hand landed on the curve of your ass. Your fingers grasped around the tablecloth, pulling as orgasm bubbled and coiled in your belly. “More, Loki-” you cried, not caring as a bottle of olive oil crashed to the floor, smashing. The wine glasses teetered, quickly following. Chiming shards bounced on terracotta.

Loki’s balls slapped with each smack of his skin against yours. Deeper, filthier. The moans slipping from your throat, the crunch of your brow, the dirty wildness. It was everything. Right now, he was everything. “Oh, darling…” he sneered, tightening his grip of your hips, “you want me to fill you, hmm? Want my seed to drip down those pretty thighs all the way home?” You nodded feverishly, tufts of rogue curls from the carefully constructed up-do now falling around your face. Fucked out. That’s what you were. Almost. Loki slipped a finger beneath on of your suspenders, pulling it back. It stung against soft flesh with a filthy thwack. The god growled.

His thrusts slowed, a hand on the base of your spine lowering you gently; flat on the table. “You’re close, I can feel it” he hummed, “give in to me... sweet little thing. Let me show you what it is to be mine.” With each punishingly sensual roll of his hips, Loki pressed the meat of his cock upwards. This undiscovered place, an untouched feeling. A pandora’s box of eroticism only he could open, never to be closed again. Ruined for other men. Stars began to burst behind your eyelids, shattering white light and deep burgundy pulsing. Every muscle in your body tensed to the beat of his rhythm, as you came undone. Unmade.

Your hands gripped the opposite edge of the table, pulling against it with all the force you could muster as climax ripped through your nerve endings. Loki’s gentle thrusts stroked you to completion, the flat of his palm sliding down your back. “Oh,” he gasped quietly, “I...I-” A smouldering roar filled the air, drowning out the opera still playing somewhere beyond. From the sound, you could tell his teeth were clenched, his head likely thrown back in the ties of ecstasy. Loki’s hips tensed as he came, the shuddering and jolting of muscled thighs against the soft flesh your own.

His strangled sighs dwindled as he collapsed against your back, panting heavily. Wet lips pressed to your cheekbone. You tilted your head, meeting his mouth in a winding kiss.

He pulled himself from you with a muted groan, the squelch of your mingled cum sucking on the departure. He raked a hand through his hair before quickly tucking himself back into his trousers; silently watching you pull the sides of your dress down with a smirk curling one side of his mouth.

“That was-” he started, before you pressed a finger to his lips. “-A good start,” you finished.

You slid your hands over his broad shoulders, enjoying the heat of sex wafting from the open collar. Tracing your cheek to his, you sucked his earlobe gently; releasing it with a licentious moan. Loki shivered. “Shall we bring the car around, now?” you whispered. Loki nodded.

Tags (cont in comments) @liminalpebble @pineappleandro @praq123 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @sebstanwhore @mandywholock1980 @sinsandguilt @toozmanykids @km-ffluv @goddessofwonderland @kj-rivia @pics-and-fanfics @chibijusstuff @chantsdemarins @k-writer17 @xorpsbane @jotunqueenneith @lovingchoices14 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lizmaximoff @goblingirlsarah @gruftiela @litaloni @fire-in-her-veinz @literatureatthebowofnails @cultofcarter @fandxmslxt69 @wintersldr @november-rayne @buttercupcookies-blog @anukulee @lotsoflokilove23 @skymoonandstardust @girlwthecurls @presidentlokis-hornyhelmet @donaweasley @litaloni @hollyiswritinglokiagain @cakesandtom @lokischambermaid @icytrickster17

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #lokismut #loki x yn #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #loki laufeyson smut #loki laufesyon x reader #loki odinson #loki marvel #marvel smut #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki oneshot

[chlerc]

times it mattered ; charles leclerc

— summary; 5 times where Charles showed you what it’s like to be on the receiving end of love with his actions and words.

pairing — charles leclerc x art-student!f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 1899.

content — 5 times you realised that being in an arranged marriage with Charles Leclerc wasn’t that bad. Actions speak louder than words, but what if he has a mix of both?

NAVIGATION + author’s note: i awfully love this one because i’m soooo an acts of service girl and this is exactly what i want in life but no one gets what they want.

— 1.

THE SOUND OF THE television drains out with her head in her hands, the table with an array of paint and colour pencils. The sketch, she thought wasn’t good enough, had been staring at her for the past twenty minutes. Under the sky of midnight velvet, she had been in this very exact position since the morning blues.

It was only when the sound of the door slammed shut that broke her out of her trance, she didn’t need to turn to know that it was Charles. “Hey, bella.” He greets, sitting on the couch behind her and she turns to give him a small smile. He knew that smile even though she had hardly smiled at him, the same exact smile when she can’t get a sketch right.

“I bought you these, it was on the way home.” Charles holds out the bouquet of baby breaths in front of her, scratching at his nape and a small grin on his face that displays his dimples. “Thanks, you didn’t have to though.” Her eyes creased into crescents, taking in the sight of the bouquet. “I know I don’t have to but I wanted to, let me do my thing as your husband yeah?”

Husband on paper but not really her husband though, doesn’t matter as long as things are working out and thank god it’s going well between them. It was an occasional thing where Charles would always arrive home with a bouquet of flowers in his hands, saying it’s on the way home and that it would be a waste if the florist didn’t sell them out.

The smile on her face probably said everything there was left unsaid and god it left Charles weak in his knees. “I’ll go and take a shower, long day today and I probably smell bad. The sketch is looking good, hope your projects are going well.” He ruffled her hair before jogging away into the master bedroom but the smell of his Creed perfume remains behind.

— 2.

Mornings had never been her favourite thing, not when she knew lectures were awaiting her the whole day or projects piling up on her load. Golden rays of the morning sun came as invitations to the day, yet she only felt dread in leaving the duvet that kept her warm and acted as a protective layer from the world beyond.

The house is empty and quiet as always, leaving her to savour the hours of mornings in freedom and solitude, not that Charles had ever been bothersome to her morning routine. The only sign of Charles that was left behind was the scent of his Dior Sauvage cologne that she had gotten him, adding to his growing collections of perfumes.

Her door left ajar when she finally untangled herself from the comfort of her sheets, dragging herself towards the kitchen where she would always find an avocado bowl and a cup of tea ready for her. There’d always be a message on her phone accompanying Charles’ gesture although she thinks of it as bothersome for him to prepare breakfast for her if he never has some of it.

It started off as a one time thing where it subsequently happened everyday after she bought him a belt in return for his actions. Everything then just happened naturally as it became a habit for her to buy him things and he’d prepare her breakfast. She’d like to think that Charles liked her taste in whatever she bought him, perfumes, jeans and dress shirts.

That one time where she caught Charles pouring a cup of tea only and putting the kettle back in place, then she only realised he never drank tea. He’d always say “It’s okay I drink some of it too so I made more and we can share.” but he never drank some of it, all of it was for her because he had a cup of cappuccino daily.

— 3.

“Bella today’s my day off, let’s go somewhere should we?” Charles pokes his head around the corner of the living room as she glances up from her sketch to catch his small grin. “I have 2 more sketches to complete but we can go. Where are we going, have you thought of it?” There had rarely been days where they ever went out together, their schedules not complying with each other.

There’s excitement in his eyes as they glint in the light, a deep happiness in the well of his dimples where she found home within, a spark that would always lead her to thrive once more. “Of course, I planned it beforehand and even if you were going to disagree, I would have come up with some other plan to drag you out.”

A giggle left her lips as Charles walked forward, hands outstretched for her to hold onto when standing up. “There’s a desk in your room, why do you always wanna make your back suffer by sitting on the floor with nothing to lean against and hunching over the coffee table.” His voice laced with concern knowing how often she had complained of a backache from the long hours sitting down.

“I just like it there, you can’t stop me because you’re not home mostly.” It wasn’t supposed to hurt but it had been like a jab towards him that made him realised his tight schedule. The least he could do to make up for the time loss was bringing her out when he was home, preparing her breakfast, tucking her into the duvets before he left or came home.

Truthfully they both knew that they never wanted to end up in an arranged marriage but what could he do except to make the most out of it? Especially when someone as gorgeous and beautiful as her, he wasn’t letting the chance slip through. “Where are we going?” She pivots on her heels to face him, her brows cocked up while looking at him. “Art Museum.”

“But you said you didn’t understand art and paintings the last time we went.” Charles only shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly before walking to his bedroom. “You’re there, you can explain everything to me. My art student for a reason, aren’t you?

— 4.

Leaving everything on the coffee table was something she always did with her colour pencils, brushes and paints all over the table. Charles had been used to that though, that’s why he had always been the one cleaning after her mess. “Leave it, I'll clear it up later.” Yet she’d always return to an organised coffee table, the packed dinner he brought back or those he cooked when he was free were already on the table.

“I’m home with dinner, go wash your hands and we can eat together.” The shuffling of Charles’ footsteps can be heard from the living room while she makes her way towards the bathroom, washing her hands of different colours and doodles. The rustling of plastic bags were heard, the sound of her colour pencils being kept away.

Yet when she rounded the corner of the living room, Charles sat there with her sketchbook in hand, flipping through where his eyes were enlarged at every sketch he flipped through. “Charles, are you snooping through my sketches?” Her eyebrows cocked up with her lips slightly lifted at the ends.

“Nooo, not at all. I was just, what do you call that? Interested but openly looking, not snooping.” He shuts the sketchbook close at her voice, pushing it to the far end of the couch and raising his hands in surrender. “Leave it there, we can look through it and I’ll explain it to you later. The projects, the drawings and everything else.”

He had eyes that spoke of all things newborn in the spring, glimmering with the small hint of excitement that hid behind the windows of a soul. “Really? You’d tell me all about it? Everything in between too?” Her smile grows of its own accord and she can either let him see what he ignited or hide it, either way, he's the most fun and adorable thing in her world.

“I would if you finish your dinner first and take a shower after, then we can go through everything you said and everything in between.” The glasses that sat on the arch of his nose only worsened the palpitations within her heart, every nook and crevice filled with adoration for him. “Then what are you waiting for? Come here, have a seat and start digging in!”

— 5.

Nothing on earth beats the atmosphere of a concert, aside from a race where Charles wins, nothing comes as close to this feeling. The crowd has a life of its own, the vibrant clothes shine in the track lights and the people move like enchanting shoals of fish.

Charles stood by her side, hands on the small of her back where he occasionally tugged her closer from the crowd. Being here, at The 1975 concert, with Charles was definitely not something she had expected since they ever got married. The back of her heels hurt from the bite of her shoes she had horribly chosen.

“You okay? I’ll get us out of here soon, my car’s parked far though, it might be quite a bit of a walk.” Charles peers down at her, oblivious to her pain and watches her face scrunch with her eyes wincing while nodding in response to him. “Are you sure you’re okay, are you tired?” And he only gets a meek smile in return, not quite like the same person he had been with during the concert. “Your feet hurts, don't they?”

She acts like it’s nothing she couldn’t handle, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly when they walked out of the concert venue. He stops his tracks along as she does by the bench nearby, then bending over to remove his Jordans and pushing her gently to sit on the bench. “What are you doing, Charles?”

He whistled to the song he had heard in the concert earlier instead of replying, kneeling by her to slip off her shoes and fit them in with his Jordan’s instead. He then turns around, patting his back as a signal for her to hop on. “C’mon, let’s go and it’s late.” But she only stared at him with her jaws hung open, processing what he had just done. “Hey come on, I don’t have all the time in the world.”

And when she finally relaxed herself onto his back and the comfort within her arms around his neck, his left hand carried her shoes whilst continuing his whistle and walking towards the car with only his socks. “Why are you doing this Charles, doesn’t your foot hurt with only the socks?”

“Doesn’t really matter as long as you’re okay, besides the walk to the car isn’t that far so I can handle it.” Her fingers meddled with the necklaces he wore, mostly from his sponsored brand. “Sleep with me tonight.” His abrupt remark had caused a gasp to leave her mouth, throwing him a soft punch on the shoulder.

“Isn’t that a little too straightforward?” Charles shook his head and chuckled, swaying her from side to side. “I meant together in my room, like moving into the master bedroom.” She only hummed in reply, teasing him with her short and unclear response which left him desperate. “Sure.”

#chlerc #charles #charles leclerc #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #cl16 #f1 #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 ferrari #f1 fiction #leclerc 16 #charles leclerc social media au #f1 social media au

[growingfunwithaimain]

Amidst the rainbow of sweets, Lily hesitated over a single candy. Its shell shimmered with a mysterious blue hue, calling to her like a siren's song. With a flick of her wrist, she snatched it off the shelf and brought it to her lips. The instant she bit down, her senses were assaulted by a burst of flavor.

But the surprise didn't end there. As she savored the delight, her skin began to transform. Starting from her fingertips, a wash of indigo washed over her limbs, spreading like ink through water. By the time she finished the last crumb, her entire being had been dyed a rich shade of midnight blue.

Yet, the crowd within the candy shop carried on as though nothing had changed. Their laughter echoed against the glass cases, their voices mere background noise to the surreal tableau unfolding before them.

Just when Lily thought things couldn’t get any more interesting, her hips decided to join the party. They began to widen, expanding like a balloon filled with joy. Soon, they were rounder than ever before, hugging her frame with a confidence that matched her newfound color scheme.

Meanwhile, her thighs grew thicker, like two ripe melons ready for plucking. The denim of her jeans clung to her legs, emphasizing every muscle and curve. Even the most stoic customer couldn’t resist the urge to ogle her backside.

In the midst of all this, Lily found herself reveling in her new form. She twirled around, watching the reactions of those who dared to look. Some turned away in shock, while others openly admired her figure. For Lily, it was a moment of pure euphoria, a celebration of her own beauty.

And so, she stood tall, proudly displaying her metamorphosis to anyone brave enough to catch a glimpse. After all, what better place to showcase one's newfound glory than inside a candy store?

With each passing minute, Lily grew taller, stretching towards the ceiling like a beanstalk reaching for the sky. Her abdominal muscles flexed beneath her skin, creating ripples that would make even the strongest gym rat jealous. And just when she thought she couldn’t possibly expand anymore, her shirt gave out, exploding in a shower of confetti.

Beneath the rubble lay her bare bosom, nipples standing at attention like sentinels guarding her treasure trove. The sheer audacity of her outfit malfunction drew stares from every corner of the shop. But Lily wasn’t fazed—she knew exactly how powerful she looked.

Her gaze locked onto a young man who had been eyeing her since the beginning. He blushed furiously, his cheeks turning redder than the cherry lollipops he held. Without saying a word, Lily extended her hand, beckoning him closer. With a nod of consent, he approached, his steps hesitant yet eager.

Together, they left the candy store, arm in arm, heading toward whatever adventure awaited beyond its doors. As they walked down the street, Lily felt invincible, knowing that wherever they went, they would turn heads and start conversations. Because sometimes, the best kind of candy isn’t something you eat; it’s someone you can take home.

Another request for @realmofgoddesses! I think this has been my favorite request to work on so far! It was a lot of fun and took a long time to get it the way i wanted it but that's why im taking requests! to learn more and improve!

#breast expansion #expansion kink #breast growth #giant breasts #growth #ai art #ai girl #artificial intelligence #ai #giantess

[hotchnisslvr]

drunk dial

pairing: platonic aaron hotchner/reader

rating: t

word count: 8.1k

tags: implied sexual assault, referenced sexual assault

summary: when you drunk dial your boss in need of rescuing from a night club, aaron hotchner doesn’t hesitate to respond. the only problem? you thought you’d called emily. hotch insists on you letting him take care of you for the night as you’re in no state to be on your own. as the night progresses, you find that you’re finally able to disclose a trauma you’d kept buried for years.

“Hotchner,” he answers groggily.

A harsh sob echoes through the receiver and he sits up, bringing the phone down to view the caller ID. The dark slash of his brow furrows as he views your name and photo.

There’s concern in his voice as he says your name, but you don’t seem to hear it.

You heave another sob through the phone. “My friend left with some guy. And now this one, he won’t—” Your voice suddenly sounds far away the music pounding in the background overtakes your words. He’s missing information as your voice becomes clear once more. “He wants more than I’m willing to give Emily and I just want to go home.” Your words are slurred. “I just,” another choked sob, “I need he—” The line disconnects.

“Hello?” Hotch questions and tries your name again. He redials your number and curses as it goes to voicemail. Throwing back the sheets, he climbs out of bed and dials Prentiss’ number as he pulls a hoodie over his t-shirt.

She laughs as she answers, “Hotch, it’s past midnight. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

He cuts her off and curtly explains the call he’d just received. “Where is she?”

“Oh, um, The 930 Club. She’s—”

“Thanks, Prentiss.” He hangs up and shoves his phone in his pocket. He grabs his raincoat and keys and swiftly exits his apartment.

The club isn’t far from his complex, but with Saturday night traffic in the heart of DC combined with the summer storm raging on, it seems to take ages. He lays on the horn as someone cuts him off and curses as he slams on his brakes. Briefly, he considers throwing the red and blue lights on, but thinks better of it. He’s not far now and after making it through the next red light, the club comes into view. Disregarding the no parking signs out front, Hotch pulls up alongside the curb and throws the SUV into park.

Despite the rain, a line stretches out the door. Couples and groups of friends clad in leather, satin, high heels, and sleek accessories huddle under wide umbrellas to protect themselves from the storm. Hotch approaches the door and a bouncer stretches his arm across the way.

“There’s a line, old man.” The bouncer inclines his head toward the line of anxiously waiting club goers. “Get to the back before I put you there myself.”

Hotch is unfazed by the bouncer and the sense of power his job provides him. Standing toe to toe with the man, he stares him down, his eyes hard. He reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves his badge. With two fingers, he flips it open and pushes into the bouncer’s face. “Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner,” he states flatly. “I’ve got an agent in trouble in there, so get the hell out of my way before I have you in handcuffs.” He’s bluffing, obviously, the bouncer has done nothing wrong. He doesn’t know that though, given how wide his eyes open in fear. He says nothing and steps aside, granting him entry.

“Thank you.” For good measure, Hotch drives his shoulder into the bouncer as he shoves his way into the noisy nightclub. His eyes dart around, scanning the scene. There are two long bars on opposite walls, a DJ against the short wall where dozens of people bump and grind against one another on the dance floor, and two levels of tall tables and booths for people to crowd around or sneak into to get away from the music.

On the phone, you’d sounded distressed. Your words were slurred and he could only hope and pray that you’d not been drugged by whatever “he” was with you at the time of the call. God, he could only hope that you were even still here. If he knew creeps as well as his job had accustomed him to, if a man was trying to procure a woman under the influence, he’d either leave immediately and attack her in a secondary location or he’d take her somewhere more private within the environment.

Pushing through the crowd, he shouldered past couples who shot dagger sharp glances at him and took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor. The music still pounded over the speakers up here, but this was clearly where people went to escape the bustle of the crowded dance floor and get away to drink or order food or conversate more

privately. He calls your name and begins scanning tables. Patrons dining or trying to steal a romantic moment glare at him. Some curse and tell him to fuck off. He pays them no mind. As he winds around tables, he begins losing hope despite there being much more of the club to explore. He has half a mind to shut the whole place down and call in the team, but that would be a gross overreaction. There is no evidence that you’re actually in danger or missing aside from a drunk misdial. Still though, his heart pounds erratically as he calls your name over the music.

He reaches the end of the second floor and at first doesn’t see that there are people in the booth they’re that far tucked into it. The man’s hulking frame blocks the girl from view and he knows it’s you.

“Hey!” he barks over the baseline.

“We don’t need anything,” the man says without looking back.

Fury floods his veins. Without a second thought, Hotch reaches for the man and grabs him by the back of the neck. He reels back, pulling the man to his feet. Catching his balance, the man pulls his fist back. As he aims to deliver a punch, Hotch ducks and sends his fist into the man’s gut. As the air vacates his lungs and he doubles over, Hotch fists his hands into his shirt and slams him back into the table. With the man immobilized, he looks up at you. A strap on your dress falls over one shoulder and your hair hangs limply, having fallen free of whatever style it had been in. You look at him from half hooded eyes, blinking slowly. The scene is spinning and your temples are throbbing.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks. His knuckles blaze white as the man struggles beneath his grip.

“Stop moving!” he barks.

“Can somebody help me?” the man calls.

Someone is saying your name, asking if you’re ok. The music is loud and your ears feel like they’re plugged with cotton. Things seem to move quickly and slowly all at once. Where are you? You’ve not left the club yet, but where did Mariah go? There’s your name again. God, you’re really out of it. Mariah left, you remember. She left with Andrew’s friend and Andrew, God, he wouldn’t leave you alone. When was Emily going to get here? There’s your name again. You blink hard and try to get your bearings. Though things are hazy and tilted through your alcohol laden senses, a picture starts to form in front of you. Aaron Hotchner, your boss, has Andrew pinned against the table in front of you.

“Sir?” you question, though the word feels far away and unfamiliar on your tongue.

Hotch raises his eyes from Andrew, concern reflecting back at you in them. Your eyes widen as you take in Andrew’s form beneath him. You glance down at yourself and see your dress straps pulled down, exposing the lace of your bra. What the fuck had he been trying to do before Hotch got here?

Two bouncers approach as a crowd begins to gather, people are always hungry for drama after all.

“Is there a problem here?” the first bouncer asks. He’s tall, built, and wears sunglasses despite it being dark inside. His ginger beard is bushy and his brow is pierced. He looks pissed as all hell that he has to be up here breaking up a fight. Hotch recognizes the other bouncer from the door. When they make eye contact, his eyes widen.

“Yo, Liam, that’s that FBI agent I was telling you about.”

Liam arches a brow, but his expression softens. “What’s going on, officer? Or should I call you Agent?”

Hotch ignores him and pulls Andrew to his feet, pushing him toward the bouncers. “Get this guy out of here,” he orders. He looks toward you again, his eyes searching for signs of further harm. He turns his attention back to Andrew.

“Did you slip her something?”

Andrew’s face screws. “What? No!”

Hotch steps forward, his face inches from his, and repeats the question louder, “Did you give her something?”

Andrew flinches. “No! I don’t do that shit, man. She took a bunch of shots with her friend. Guys were buying them drinks all night. I just—”

“You just what?” Hotch questions, his voice low and dangerous. “Wait for a woman that can hardly stand, take her upstairs, hide away, and see just how far you can take it?”

“Hey, she was into it!”

Hotch grabs him by the jaw. “Look at her!” he says. “She can barely keep her eyes open! That’s not consent, idiot!”

Andrew swallows and he looks like he might wet himself.

“Hotch,” you say and try your best to sit up, the world spinning as you do so.

Hotch releases him, but first leans in close to his ear. “If you ever, and I mean ever try this again, with anyone. I will have you arrested and will personally make sure you never see the light of day ever again. I was a federal prosecutor, so I know how to make charges stick. Do I make myself clear?”

Andrew nods vigorously and a tear slips from his eyes. “Not so confident now, huh?” Hotch whispers, disdain dripping from his lips. “Get him out of here.”

He watches as the bouncers lead Andrew down the steps. Hotch immediately turns his attention on you. He slides into the booth beside you. “Did he hurt you?” he asks.

Your brow furrows as you try to make sense of what’s happening. The music is so loud. Hotch looks around and then back at you. “Let’s get you out of here, come on.” He stretches his hand out to you and you take it, letting him pull you out of the booth. When you find your feet, you stumble and he catches you, his arm bracing around your lower back.

“It’s raining,” Hotch says as he shrugs out of his jacket. “Take this.” He drapes it over your shoulders, his little finger curling under the strap of your dress and pulling it back into place as he does so. The smell of cedar and teakwood reaches your nose, a severe contrast to the club’s overarching scent of vodka, sweat, and the amalgamation of various perfumes and colognes sprayed in earnest.

The second you exit the club your head feels a fraction clearer. The air is muggy, the humidity amping up with the cold rain coming down after a week of intensely high temperatures.

Aaron reaches into his pocket and fishes out his car keys. He clicks the unlock button and the car beeps in response. He opens the door and helps you inside, his eyes lingering on you for a moment as you clumsily buckle your seatbelt to make sure you can get it on alright. Once secure, he gently shuts the door and jogs around to the driver’s side.

He slides into the driver’s seat and twists the key in the ignition. He places his hands on the wheel, but before shifting the car into gear, he looks at you, intensely. When he says your name, it’s gentle. It’s not the tone he uses in the office when he’s calling the team for a briefing or to review something you’d written in a report. There’s a warmth in his voice, and there’s real concern there too. “You don’t have to tell me,” he starts. “Just know that you can.”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as the world tilts on its axis. Your stomach roils and for a moment you’re afraid you might be sick. You take a deep breath and manage to hold it down. Hotch tilts his head, regarding you. “Is there anyone at home that can take care of you?”

“No,” you answer and this time you don’t shake your head to avoid aggravating the nausea. “My roommate is out of town visiting her family,” you speak slowly but your words still come out slurred.

Hotch nods and shifts the car into gear. “You can stay with me then, tonight.”

“No, sir I can’t let you do that. You’ve got Jack and—”

A smile cracks his stern visage as he pulls out into traffic. If you had your wits about you, you would’ve taken a mental snapshot as you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a genuine expression of mirth cross his face. “Jack is at his aunt’s. I wouldn’t have exactly been able to come out like this if he wasn’t. Beth has an event for work this weekend, which is why I’ve stayed back in DC. It’s no trouble at all.”

You sink back into the seat, a part of you unable to believe that this is happening while the other part of you is still trying to fully process what all had transpired in the last fifteen minutes.

“Hotch, how did you know—”

His eyes are on the road as he speaks. “You thought you’d called Emily. You called me.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, drawing out the last letter. A scarlett heat creeps into your cheeks and you cover your face with your hands. “So you heard—Jesus Christ. Oh my God.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hotch says, his words genuine. “I’m glad I can help.”

The rest of the ride passes in silence. It’s not long by any stretch of the imagination, but the constant stop and go traffic of late night DC has your stomach doing somersaults. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head against the cool glass of the window hoping it’ll quell the churning in your belly.

A quiet groan escapes your lips as Hotch pulls into his designated parking spot at The Langham. It stopped raining. As soon as he shifts the car into park, your stomach feels as though it’s just been bounced around like. ping pong ball. “Oh god,” you moan and fumble with the door handle. Somehow you manage to undo the lock and fling open the door. As soon as your feet hit the pavement, you rush over to the nearest bush, the vomit you’d staved off finally forcing its way up and out of your body. It’s vile, the way the alcohol and stomach acid burns your throat.

Footsteps rapidly approach and there’s a hand at your neck, gathering your hair. “Alright, ok,” Hotch says soothingly, his other hand rubbing up and down your back. “Get it all out, oh yeah, yep. There you go.”

When your body stops purging itself, you gulp down a fresh breath of air before spitting the acrid taste of bile from your lips. You stay like that, hands on your knees, and take a few deep breaths. “Do you have your gun?”

Hotch releases your hair as you stand, but keeps a steadying hand on your arm. His expression is puzzled, his brow arched. “No, why?”

You roll your eyes and turn toward the sidewalk leading toward the front entrance to his building. “To kill me now so I don’t have to live with the embarrassment of knowing my boss just saw that happen.”

Something between a laugh and scoff escapes Hotch’s lips as he catches up to you in two long strides. Him and his long ass legs, you drunkenly muse.

The lights hurt your eyes and your temples continue to throb as you let Hotch navigate your way through his complex. The walk feels excessively long and you wonder if all apartment complexes are this maze-like. As he fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door to his apartment you realize you’re actually at Aaron Hotchner’s apartment. You’ve never been to his apartment. You’ve been to Emily’s, Penelope’s, and Spencer’s apartments; Rossi and JJ’s houses, but Hotch? Definitely not. Suddenly you feel like you are about to encroach upon the shadowy place Mufasa warns Simba about in The Lion King.

You blink and that clears the weird image forming of Hotch as a cartoonish fatherly lion from your mind. You stumble through the threshold as he pushes the door open and curse as he catches you again. “These fucking heels,” you grumble. As you reach down to work out the straps your stomach flips and you groan.

Hotch’s eyes flare slightly. “Why don’t you stay up there?” he cautions. “Let me help you.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” you respond, voice tight as your stomach threatens revolution once more.

He bends down on one knee and begins to undo the straps from around your ankles. He holds the back of your calf as he pulls the heel off and places it against the wall. You have to catch yourself on his shoulder to keep from falling but as soon as your foot falls flat on the floor, a languid moan leaves your lips.

“Good God, that feels so much better.”

He helps you slide out of the other high heeled shoe and stands. Without the heels on, he has a decent amount of height on you. You have to look up to meet his eyes, those eyes still shining with concern.

“Let me take the coat,” he says, lifting his hands toward you. You turn and shrug out of it, your limbs feeling awkward and heavy as you do so. He hangs it on a hook on the back of the door and gestures down the length of the hallway.

“It’s just the one bedroom,” he explains as he leads the way toward the main room. “You can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch.”

“No!” you blurt. “No, no, no you don’t have to do any of that oh my God.”

Hotch chuckles in response. “I think you’ll thank me in the morning if you do.” Wordlessly, you follow as he leads the way to the aforementioned bedroom. He flicks the light switch on and the lamp on his bedside table illuminates the room. It’s simply decorated with store bought abstract paintings and dark blue linens on the queen sized bed. A framed photo of Jack sits on the nightstand, angled toward the bed. The idea of Hotch lying there looking at the image of his son tugs your heartstrings. You move past Hotch and plop down on the bedspread before reaching for the photo. You smile as you look at Jack’s crooked smile.

“He’s so precious,” you muse and poke Jack’s nose through the flat plane of glass. You look up at Hotch from where he stands in the doorway. “He’s lucky to have a dad like you, sir.”

Hotch smiles softly and crosses the distance to sit beside you, the mattress sinking beneath your combined weight. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll be honest, it's hard to feel like a good dad some days with our job.”

You bump him with your shoulder, or at least that’s your intention.You more or less use your entire arm to nudge him just barely. “You give him all the time you’re able, we all see that. If we do, Jack definitely does.”

You pass him the picture frame and smile. Hotch smiles in turn, his lips together. “Thank you,” he says as he places it back on the nightstand. “I hope he grows into a good man.”

“With you as his father, there’s no doubt. There ought to be more dads like you out there to teach their sons how to be men.” Your smile falters and your voice grows small. “Maybe then they wouldn’t try to see just how far they can push the envelope.”

Tears spring to your eyes and you use the back of your hand to clumsily wipe them away. Turn off the waterworks, you chide yourself. Your temples already throb from how much the alcohol, first round of tears, and vomiting dehydrated you, no need to compound it now with more tears.

Hotch says your name quietly. “You can talk to me, you know.” He pats your hand that rests atop the bedsheets. “I’m not your boss right now, I’m your friend.”

Your lip quivers as you stare blankly at the wall ahead. “If I talk about it, that means I let it happen. I’m a fucking FBI agent, Hotch. I should know better than to drink that much. I should—”

Hotch’s brow pinches. “Woah, woah, woah,” he starts, “where is this coming from? You know better than anyone that how much you drink doesn’t matter, that doesn’t entitle anyone else to you or your body. And fuck if you’re an agent, you’re allowed to go and enjoy drinks and a night out without worrying if some asshole is going to try and take advantage of you. I think I scared him within an inch of his life, too. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

But it’s not about Andrew. It’s not about tonight anymore. Tears slip over your lash line.They’re hot and fat and you hate how they have little minds of their own, dropping freely down your cheeks. You know what he says is true. Hell, you preach it to everyone, especially when you teach self defense at the local university. What you wear is never an excuse for someone to touch you. How you dance isn’t an excuse for someone to grope you. How much you drink isn’t an excuse for someone to lay claim to your flesh. The only thing that means yes is explicit, enthusiastic consent. You know this. You teach this.

But right now, it’s so hard to believe because that’s what you had to fight so hard to teach yourself when you first had to learn what happened wasn’t your fault.

You drop your head into your hands and stifle a sob. “God, it was nearly ten fucking years ago.”

“What was ten years ago?” Hotch asks, his voice soft and kind.

Oh God. You’d said that out loud.

You scrub your hands over your face and curse as you smear mascara into your eye. “Fuck!” you exclaim as your hand flies to your eye instinctively.

“I’ve got something I think can help,” Hotch says as he rises from the bed and darts out of the room. From your point of view, you can’t see anything but you hear bottles rummaging around from where you imagine is the bathroom out in the hall. When he returns he carries a small green package in his hand. He crouches in front of you and peels back the plastic film on the container. With two fingers he extracts a wipe and folds it in half. As he reaches for your face he hesitates, wipe paused in mid air above your cheek. “Is this alright?” he asks.

Sniffling, you nod. With one hand, Hotch gingerly wraps his fingers around your wrist. As he pulls it away, he uses his other hand to place the cool moist towelette against your eye. He holds it there for a moment before he begins to wipe and blot at the black swirls of mascara that had dried in tear stained patterns around your eyes and cheeks and whatever vestiges of eyeshadow remained. Once that wipe is fully soiled, he retrieves a fresh one; repeating the gesture on the other eye before moving on and clearing away what remained of your face and lip makeup. You don’t speak while he does this, and you don’t have to. You needed it. You needed that. You needed someone. You needed him. A friend. Someone that would ask no questions and just show up for you when you needed them most. No questions asked. And when he did ask questions, when Hotch did, there was no expectation to answer. But right now, in this strange moment, in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment, in his bed no less, you felt like you could finally tell someone.

“I was a teenager,” you say as he takes one final swipe at your cheek.

His hand freezes along your jawline and his eyes lock on yours. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently, lowering his hand.

“If I don’t say it now on what courage the alcohol left in my system is giving me, I’m afraid I never will.”

Hotch sits back on his heels. “Alright.”

“I was dating an older guy at the time. I was a freshman in college. He was a senior; vice president of his fraternity. He came from a wealthy family, too. I was naive and so excited to be dating someone like that, someone with status. I grew up comfortably, but not that well off. He took me to nice dinners and bought me expensive gifts. We had a physical relationship, and it started out fine enough.” You pause and take a deep breath. “But we started fighting. He wouldn’t,” you pause. “I couldn’t get him to talk to me or communicate in any way that led to resolution when we did. He’d just keep apologizing and told me that he’d do better next time. He’d start kissing me to interrupt and then his hands would be in my pants and I just,” you stop and shake your head. “I thought if I could just deal with what he did physically, that things would be fine again if I just pretended I liked what was happening and got it over with. I thought that we’d go back to the fun, happy go lucky couple everyone knew us as. Until it happened again, and again, and again. When he graduated I finally felt safe enough to break things off once there was distance between us. I knew something had felt off about those experiences. It never occurred to me that that was assault.”

“You suffered through numerous unwanted physical advances because he emotionally manipulated you through stonewalling.” Hotch says quietly. It’s not an explanation, but validation of your experience.

A choked laugh escapes your lips. “I know that now. At the time, I thought assault was like what you see on TV. That it’s some stranger in an alley that blitz attacks you. I never thought it could be someone you knew, let alone someone you were in what you believed was a loving and committed relationship.” You shake your head again, a wry smile playing on your lips. “Imagine my surprise when I learned that the perpetrators were almost alway statistically someone the victim knows.”

A warm hand slips into yours. You look up and Hotch is looking at you intently. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” He says, squeezing your hand.

You lick your chapped lips and drop your eyes, nodding. “It took a long time for me to learn that.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been,” Hotch says. “To have gone through that alone,” he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” you reply, because what else was there to say? “I wasn’t completely alone. I did go to counseling throughout the remainder of my time in school, they had services for the students. There was a support group, too; one for people who’d experienced sexual violence. It was there I really learned that things weren’t my fault. Other people had experienced similar things. Without that, I don’t think I’d have made it through honestly. I definitely wouldn’t be here.”

His hand squeezes around yours once more. “I’m glad that you are.” He smiles and a dimple forms in his cheek. “I know I'm a better man for having known you. The team, hell, the impact you have on the lives of those going through the worst possible moments of their lives in these cases we work…you have touched so many lives for the better. Please never, ever forget that.”

You smile crookedly and it feels somewhat genuine. “What do you think gets me through the day?”

The throbbing in your temples intensifies suddenly and you screw your eyes shut, your hands moving instinctively to rub them. “God, I’m going to be so hungover in the morning.”

Hotch claps his hands together. “Let’s see if we can’t get ahead of that.”

He leaves the room and when he returns he has a glass of water. “Here,” he says and passes you the cup.

You graciously accept it and take a long drink, the cool water soothing your throat, raw from crying and vomiting. “Thank you,” you murmur.

“It would probably help if you got some sleep. Do you feel up to taking a shower?”

You scoff, “Ok, Hotch. I threw up and it helped a little bit, but I’m not that sober.”

He chuckles and puts his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. Let me at least get you some clothes. I know sleeping in a cocktail dress won’t be too comfortable.”

“Do you know?” you tease.

He presses his lips together. “Let me go see what I can find.”

You exhale a short laugh as he disappears from view and you fall back onto the mattress, a dull thud echoing as your body hits the sheets. You heave out a big sigh and stare at the ceiling. “This is a weird fucking night.”

You close your eyes and behind closed lids, it feels like you’re spinning. Yep, definitely not sober. You open your eyes and lazily reach up to start pulling bobby pins from your hair.

“Alright, I’ve got a pair of sweats and an old academy hoodie that should fit you.”

At the sound of Hotch’s voice, you let your head loll to the side. “You look absurdly tall from this angle,” you muse.

Hotch chuckles, “Spoken like someone desperately in need of sleep.” He steps into the room and drops the clothes onto the bed.

“Hotch?” you question, ignoring his last comment.

You roll onto your side and push yourself back into a sitting position. He arches an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Why is it you’ve got makeup wipes in your apartment?” You inhale sharply. “Ooo, are you secretly a drag performer?”

Hotch laughs. “I am not a drag performer, though I do think Anderson does drag brunch on Saturday mornings if I remember right.”

You blink twice. “I’m sorry, and you’re only telling me this now?”

Hotch shrugs. “I’m surprised you don’t know about it. Garcia does.”

Your jaw drops. “Garcia knows?? Oh, when I get my hands on her—”

“To answer your question though,” Hotch butts in, an amused glint shining in his eyes. “They’re Beth’s.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “Beth keeps things at your apartment? What are we talking, like, a couple of things on the counter? A drawer?”

Hotch’s eyes drop to the floor as a scarlet blush creeps up his neck and spreads across his cheeks.

“Oh my God, this is serious isn’t it?” You feel the apples of your cheeks as your smile widens. “Spill, Hotch! Should I be looking at outfits for the wedding?”

To that, Hotch raises his hands as a smile splits his lips. “Calm down,” he laughs. “We’re not quite at wedding bells, but we do see each other almost every weekend. With the commute on the train, it is easy to have a drawer or two at one another’s apartments.”

You feel like kicking your feet, you’re so happy. If anyone deserved this kind of joy and love in their life, it was Hotchner. God knows he deserved it after all the hell he’d been through, all the trauma he survived.

“I’m really happy for you,” you say. “Beth is a remarkable woman”.

Hotch nods, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “She is.”

You reach over and pull the clothes onto your lap. “Thanks, again, Hotch.” You toy with the sleeve of the hoodie in hand. “As horrified as I was when I realized I’d called you instead of Emily, I’m glad you came. I’m glad it was you.”

“We’re a team. We’re family,” Hotch replies. He leans against the doorframe. “Hell, I’m old enough to be your father. Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt a bit more protective of you, anyway. So, when I heard your voice on the line, there was no hesitation. I’d like to think if I had a daughter and she were in trouble, that someone in her life would do the same.”

You spring off of the bed, a little uncoordinated due to alcohol still gently buzzing in your veins at this point, and throw your arms around him. You bury your face in his neck and though, muffled, you say, “Thank you, Aaron. Thank you so much, for everything.” You don’t need to say what for, he knows. Your gratitude extends far beyond just rescuing you from the night club.

His arms snake around you, his palms pressed flat against the middle of your back as he squeezes you tightly.

“You’re so welcome,” he says into your hair. “I’m so proud of you, you know. Don’t ever forget that.” He pulls away just so and presses a fatherly kiss to your hairline, “I’ll be on the couch if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

You nod and brush away a stubborn tear. God, you’d think you’d have nothing left in the tank at this point. You stifle a yawn as you close the door. The clothes Hotch left you fit well enough; the warmth and coziness of the fleece lined fabrics acting as security blanket as you tuck yourself in between the sheets. You barely remember to flick off the lamp on the bedside table before crashing onto the pillows where the heaviness of sleep finally drags you under to the sweet realm of nothingness.

Three things are incredibly clear the second you wake up: one, it’s too bright and you have to squint against the white rays of sunlight cutting through the slats in the blinds; two, your mouth feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton balls, you swallow but there’s not even an inkling of saliva to wet your dry throat; and three, it feels like someone has been slamming on a timpani inside of your skull.

You exude a long, slow groan into the pillow before rolling onto your side to get a glimpse of the alarm clock on Hotch’s nightstand. The red numbers blink back 10:23AM. There’s a fresh glass of water on the nightstand alongside two tablets and a folded piece of paper.

Your brow furrows as you prop yourself onto your elbow and reach for the note. You unfold it with one hand and in Hotch’s tight, neat scrawl it reads:

Ran out to grab a few things. I left some aspirin there on the table. You should probably take them.

-Hotch

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you mutter as you toss the paper onto the bed.

You try not to gag as the pills start dissolving on your tongue and quickly chase it with the glass of water. After washing them down, you make a rather unattractive display of gulping down the remaining water. You drink it so quickly that some spills over the glass and you have to use the sleeve of your sweater, well Hotch’s sweater oops, to wipe off your face.

It doesn’t sound like anyone else is home. Pushing back the sheets, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand and for the first time, the room isn’t spinning. Even though Hotch is out, you still walk on the balls of your feet as if you need to be quiet. It feels strange to be stepping out into the hallways and walking into his bathroom. Sure, you’d swung by his apartment a few times to drop off a file or other work necessities. You’d never been in his house though.

Walking in and using his bathroom feels so strange, like an invasion of privacy. Like his bedroom, it’s simply decorated. A shower curtain decorated with blue and green swirls lines one wall. Plush bath mats of a similar blue line the area in front of the shower and sink. His very few toiletries sit in a neat row to the left of the faucet on the sink. He’s a Gillette guy, interesting. You’d always taken him for an Old Spice sort of man. You hear the front door and stop profiling his bathroom, instead, quickly using it for its intended purposes. You can’t help yourself though as you dry off your hands. You pull open the two drawers beneath the sink and smile to yourself. The one holds all of Hotch’s things: razor, comb, toothpaste, the usual; the other is clearly Beth’s: makeup, hair elastics, and the green makeup wipes sit neatly inside among other items. You bump the drawers closed with your hips before making your way back out into the hallway.

“Hey, Hotch,” you say, “Thanks again so much for—” Words fail you as you look up and see JJ and Prentiss in his living room.

Wide smiles spread across their faces. JJ spreads her fingers and holds her hands in the air, “Surprise!”

Brow furrowed, you cross the room and let them pull you into quick hugs.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you all, but what’s going on? Where’s Hotch?”

Emily’s perfectly manicured eyebrows arc toward her hairline as she tilts her head, “He thought you could use a pick me up.”

“So, he called you guys?”

JJ nods. “We’ve all had rough nights, followed by even rougher mornings.” She inclines her head toward Emily. “Remember the morning Hotch ran that triathlon?”

Emily cringes. “God, don’t remind me!”

“Where is Hotch, anyway?” you ask, craning your neck around Emily and JJ.

“Oh,” Emily says, her lips forming the shape of the word. “He should be right behind us he—”

Just then, the front door swings open and it’s not Hotch.

“There she is!” exclaims Penelope. She waltzes into the apartment, adjusting the massive purse on her shoulder as she does so. Her knee length pink skirt swishes around her legs as she crosses the room to pull you into an embrace. The smell of jasmine clings to you as your face is buried in her chest and neck. She pulls away after a long moment, though her hands don’t drop from your shoulders. Her eyes scan your face. “Oh, sweetheart, look at you. Do not fret! Penelope is here to help get you feeling refreshed and revitalized!”

You look to JJ and Emily for help. “I look like shit, don’t I? Be honest.”

JJ shakes her head. “Noooo.”

Emily presses her lips together and tilts her head back and forth, “Well—”

JJ slaps a hand against her stomach and Emily winces. “What?!”

“Drink this,” Penelope says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bottle of yellow liquid. You take it and turn to read the label, Crisp Lemon Berry Pedialyte. “It’s got electrolytes. You need those!”

“Yes ma’am,” you say agreeably and crack open the bottle. The label makes it seem like it’ll be better than it is, but the taste is bearable. You need as much hydration as you can get at the moment, so you don’t complain.

“Sorry I took so long!” Hotch’s voice fills the room as he enters carrying a drink tray of coffees and an extra one in his free hand. “Line at the cafe was nearly out the door.”

“Oh my God, is that coffee?” you ask, salivating at the thought.

Penelope points a purple polished finger at you. “Finish that, then you can have coffee.”

He sets a cup down on the kitchen table before approaching them in the living room. “Non-fat, vanilla latte for you,” Hotch says, passing a cup to JJ. “London fog for Emily, can’t quite shake England there, can you?” he teases as Emily accepts the cup, not before flicking him off though with a cheeky grin playing on her berry red lips. Iced matcha green tea latte—”

“With soy?” Penelope questions, eyeing the cup suspiciously.

“With soy,” Hotch confirms and she accepts it happily.

“Last but not least, almond milk mocha for you.” He holds the cup out and smiles warmly. You hold his gaze for a moment, the exchange carrying more than a simple ‘thank you’ would allow for. He dips his chin just slightly in acknowledgment. As you reach for the cup, Penelope’s hand shoots out to intercept, her bangles jangling against her wrist.

“I’ll take that!” she chirps before taking a long sip of her own drink.

“Hey!” you whine.

Penelope gestures toward the Pedialyte with your coffee. “Finish!”

You roll your eyes and reluctantly chug the remaining liquid. “There,” you say and shake the empty bottle. “Happy?”

“Very!” pipes Penelope. “Oh! Here!” she reaches into her bag and withdraws a drawstring bag. Did she own the Mary Poppins bag? How did all of this fit inside of her purse? “I stopped by your apartment and grabbed a few things. Toothbrush, deodorant, change of clothes, the works.”

“Oh, Penelope Garcia, you are my angel!” You gratefully take the bag into your hands and disappear down the hall into the restroom.

The aspirin has started to kick in alongside what attempts you’ve made to rehydrate and the throbbing in your skull has dwindled to a soft drumming. Searching through the contents of the bag, you praise Garcia’s name as you find your skincare and toothbrush.

It takes all of ten minutes for you to brush your teeth, wash your face, and style your hair up and out of your face. Garcia had packed you two different styles of underwear, (leave it to her to give you the choice of thong or bikini styled undergarments. She’s probably also one of the only people you’d feel comfortable rummaging through your underwear drawer if you’re being honest) a pair of leggings, and a cropped Fleetwood Mac t-shirt. You change quickly and fold the sweats and sweater Hotch had lent you. You throw all of your toiletries into the bag and shrug it over shoulder before scooping Hotch’s clothes into your arms.

Hotch and the girls are sitting around the coffee table on the couch and recliner, enjoying their beverages. Penelope smiles widely when you emerge.

“There she is!” she exclaims. “I brought your Birkenstocks too. They’re by the door. Hotch said you’d worn heels out and I knew you definitely wouldn’t want to be in those.”

“Good call,” you say and take your coffee from Penelope. You take a slow sip of the warm mocha and moan.

Everyone laughs. Emily checks her watch and shoots up. “We better get going if we’re going to catch Anderson’s performance.”

Your eyes widen at that. “Wait.”

Emily smiles and nods. “Yep. He comes on in about an hour. We figured you’d need a nice greasy brunch after last night. The place he performs at makes a mean breakfast sandwich.”

“And potatoes with sausage gravy!” Penelope adds. “Though I’m more partial to mushroom gravy because precious baby piggies should not be slaughtered for my breakfast.”

“Okayyy, Penelope,” JJ teases as she loops an arm around her shoulders. “I’m pretty sure they added veggie sausage to their menu just for you.”

“Yeah,” Emily agrees. “They were probably afraid she’d hack their system and mess with their food shipments otherwise.”

Penelope looks over her shoulder as JJ guides her to the door. “I could do that!”

“Gonna pretend I didn’t hear that!” Hotch calls after them as JJ and Penelope leave the apartment.

“I wonder if they remember I’m the one with the car keys,” Emily says, her lips drawn into a warm smile. “Meet you downstairs?”

You nod. “Yes, I’ll be there in a second.”

Emily nods and leaves. You cross the living room toward the door where Hotch stands, one arm holding it open.

“Hotch I—

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“No, Hotch. I’m serious. What you did for me last night, I can’t even begin to thank you.”

“And you don’t have to,” he says, his tone firm. You look up and meet his unwavering gaze. “I would do it again without question. Like I said last night, we’re not just a team, we’re family. We look out for each other. We pull each other up when we’re at our lowest. In fact, I should be the one thanking you.”

You can’t help the quizzical expression that pinches your features. “For what? All I did was wake you up in the middle of the night, throw up in your bushes, and kick you out of your own bed on a Friday night.”

Hotch laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, well when you say it like that, it definitely doesn’t look good. What I was going to say though, is thank you for trusting me. I know that I wasn’t who you expected last night, but I’m glad I could be the one to help you when you needed it. Furthermore, I’m incredibly grateful that you felt as though you could trust me to tell me about your past. I know that can’t have been easy. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I hope it’s clear now that you’ll always have a listening ear with me.”

A surge of emotion courses through you in that moment and you can’t help but launch yourself at him. You loop an arm around his neck and awkwardly attempt to hug him with the other arm that stills holds his clothes, the bundle of fabric creating an odd wedge between your bodies. Hotch is taken aback by the gesture, but his arms comfortably fold around your back and he squeezes you gently.

“I could’ve used someone like you, you know.” You say after a moment. “I didn’t really have any older male figures I could talk to at the time it happened.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he assures you. “And I’m not going anywhere. That is, until Strauss gets sick of me.”

You pull back and scoff. “Yeah, like that’ll happen any time soon.” You hold the clothes out to him. “Here! Before I walk out with them.”

“It’s actually a bit breezy out there,” Hotch says as he takes the bundle and passes you back the sweater. “Why don’t you take this?”

You reach out and accept it, pulling it back into your chest. “I’ll bring it with me to the office on Monday.”

“Sounds good,” he says with a smile. “Oh! And you’ll probably want these.” He walks away and while he’s off grabbing whatever it is he’s talking about, you scoop your heels up off the floor and slide into your Birkenstocks.

Hotch returns with a pair of black Ray Bans. “If I know one thing about hangovers,” he says as he passes them to you. “It’s how horrible a sunny day can be on the eyes.”

He reaches for the door knob and pulls it open for you. “Enjoy your weekend. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

As you slide his sunglasses up the bridge of your nose, you curse. “Shit! The report on the McPherson case. I was going to work on it today. I’ll email it to you first thing tomorrow.”

“It’s already taken care of,” Hotch explains. “Emily and JJ took care of it for you before coming over this morning.” He’d orchestrated everything with them as soon as he’d woken up to make sure you had nothing to worry about today except for fighting your hangover. He’d not told them everything of course, he’d never betray your trust like that. Some things the team didn’t need to know, and that was okay. If you were ever ready to tell them, he knew you would in time. For now, he just told them that you’d had a tough night and would need some TLC from the girl gang. They hadn’t even bothered with follow up questions. The three girls were ready to drop what they were doing and change their plans to be able to bring comfort and fun to your Saturday morning. He’d have done the same thing for any of them if they’d been in your shoes.

Your lips quirk into a small smile knowing further words weren’t necessary to convey your gratitude and appreciation for all he’d done and continues to do. “I’ll see you, Monday.”

He smiles in turn, “See you, Monday.”

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #f!reader #aaron hotchner comfort #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #hotch #aaron hotchner x female reader

[icanhearcolors]

Close Encounter

Summary: A conversation between my Tav and Astarion inspired me to write a short one-shot (I lied it's a series) reader insert about what I think would happen if they met before they were taken by the mind flayers

pt 2 | pt 3

This is pretty much my first attempt at reader insert so be nice to me pls ;-;

Lemme know if I made any grammar or spelling errors

Word count: 2.9k

---------------

“I’ll take the most you can give me of whatever has the most alcohol in it” 

You announce, slapping some gold coins down on the scuffed wooden bar. The barkeep who probably hasn’t had any business for the past hour startles out of his daydream and glances at you in surprise. He’s a dwarf, with a braided beard and kind eyes, and if it weren’t for the creaky wooden step stool he climbs up on to take orders he would barely be able to see over the bar top.

“Bit early in the night for that wouldn’t you say?” He asks as he climbs a ladder to retrieve a glass from the shelf above his head. You glance out the window as the last few rays of the setting sun color the night a deep reddish purple before it fades into a comforting black. 

You slide another gold coin across the bar. The barkeep smiles,

“Perfect time for some chultun fireswill if I say so myself miss.” He winks, slides the hefty glass full of orange liquid your way, and swipes up the coins before turning to another customer making their way into the tavern. You hold the glass up to your nose and sniff its contents. The fumes coming off the heavily spiced spirit has your nose burning and your eyes watering- perfect. 

You tap the glass on the counter and knock it back. You manage to get a few swallows in before your brain catches up to you and the fireswill burns a searing path from your throat into your stomach, settling there and warming you from the inside out. You slam the glass down and cover your mouth with your hand, trying and failing to hold in a fit of coughs. 

“Easy now.”

A cold hand lands on your shoulder, cooling your heated skin, and you turn, bleary eyed, unprepared for what you find.

He’s an elf, a very very pale elf- but not sickly pale. He just looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in a century or two. His hair catches your eye, a shocking shade of pure white that makes his skin seem tan in comparison. It’s shorter than most elves keep their hair, and it curls in every direction, framing his face beautifully. Once you recover from your initial dazed attraction to him you attempt to level him with your meanest glare that you hope says piss off. He raises his hands in playful surrender and smiles disarmingly at you.

“Rough day?” He asks in a drawling voice. You take him in. He’s wearing a clean white shirt under a set of padded leather armor, and spotless black leather boots. He looks every bit a spoiled noble that has never seen a day of work in his life, but his hands are calloused, and his eyes look haunted. Speaking of his eyes, they’re quite an alluring shade of red. What an odd color for an elf-

His eyes narrow perceptively, as if he’s reading your thoughts as they flit across your face. He turns away, gesturing at your drink and turning your gaze away from his unique appearance.

“Most Baldurians don’t even touch that stuff until well past midnight, are we celebrating or forgetting?”

You turn your body away from the charming elf and stare into the last few sips of your drink. 

“We aren’t doing anything. I’m here to drink, not to talk.”

“Forgetting it is then. Excellent.”

From the corner of his eye you see him grin roguishly, the flash of his white teeth sending a curious spark of adrenaline through your system. Before you can discern why you suddenly went from warm and buzzed to fight or flight, he turns away, tossing a blue coin purse onto the bar and calling for the barkeep, allowing the alcohol to calm your frazzled nerves once more.

“Excuse me Lydon, I’d like to buy our grumpy friend here a drink that won’t burn a hole through her stomach,” He leans over the bar and drops his voice to a low murmur as if he were sharing a secret, “got anything good for me?” he practically purrs.

The dwarf, Lydon, flushes a deep red and grins coyly at the mysterious patron, “Maybe. But I don’t have enough for everyone Astarion, what if someone comes asking me how she got the good stuff and all I’m willing to sell them is stale ale and swill?”

Astarion’s answering grin is downright lethal. 

“It’ll be our little secret,” He winks. “I’ll take it to my grave.”

Lydon blushes even darker if that were possible and mumbles something about having a type before trodding off toward the old wooden door behind the bar. You’d never related to anything more. Astarion turns toward you and raises an expectant eyebrow.

“Waiting for a thank you?” You ask, wrestling with the instinct ingrained in you to be polite. Your tendency to people please is what landed you in this run down tavern in the first place. You don’t know this elf, and you don’t owe him anything.

“Well I wouldn’t say no to a little gratitude darling- especially not from you” his eyes trace a path from the top of your head to your scuffed leather boots and back up again, stopping at the blush on your cheeks, he smirks, and meets your eyes again. He steps closer to bump your shoulder with his teasingly, and stays there, close enough that your arm brushes his.

“But no my dear, I’m not waiting for a thank you. I’m waiting for a story.” 

“Oh yeah? Keep waiting.” You growl, and he tosses his head back, a genuine laugh bursting out of him. The sound of it is contagious, and you fight the urge to grin yourself. You nearly manage it, save for a slight twitch of your lips that he of course notices.

He tsks, shaking his head at you “I saw that. No use hiding that smile from me, love. The damage is already done.” 

You glare, this time with much less hostility. 

“Who are you? I’m morose and drunk on purpose, elf, and I will not let you wrestle me from it.”

“My name is Astarion” he says with a wink and a mock bow before he leans in, so close you can feel his breath on your skin, “and I’ll wager you’ll let me do a lot worse than that before the end of the night.”

Your breath catches, your pulse picks up, and you’re about to lose yourself in those strange eyes of his when a loud creeeeeaaak and a crash causes both of you to leap away from one another. The dwarven barkeep’s old step stool seems to have finally given in. He lay sprawled on the floor behind the bar, his foot caught in between the split wood.

“GODS DAMMIT” He howls, kicking off the stool. He sighs and hobbles up to you and your new… companion. You can see nothing but his angry eyes and the flushed red tips of his ears as he pours your drink and reaches up to hand it to you. When you grab for it he pulls it out of your grasp and stares at you with a threat in his eyes.

“You didn’t see that.” He snarls at both of you.

“See what?” Astarion feigns ignorance, looking around the room dramatically for whatever the dwarf could possibly be talking about. The barkeep rolls his eyes and hands the drink to you before limping off to find a chair to stand on.

You breathe slowly through your nose.

In.

Out.

In.

You will not laugh.

You have self control.

You take one glance at the pinched “I’m trying not to laugh” look on Astarions face, one that probably mirrors your own, and you explode in a fit of giggles so intense they make your stomach ache.

Astarion can’t hold it in either and slaps the table in his silent gasping laughter, the two of you making quite a scene, but somehow you really don’t care. 

You wipe tears from your eyes and sigh once your laughing fit subsides, your sour mood a distant memory despite your best efforts to cling to it.

“How dare you,” You whine half-heartedly. “I was so committed to my bad mood and you had to go and ruin it.”

Astarion’s eyebrows lower in confused amusement.

“Awww you poor sad little thing. I’d apologize, really I would, but unfortunately for you I’m not sorry.”

You take a swig of the drink he bought for you. It tastes of cherry and currant, and you have never had something so delicious from such a tiny little tavern.

“You should be” you murmur, hanging your head, the humor fading as you’re reminded of why you’re here in the first place.

Astarion notices your shift in demeanor and reaches down, lifting your chin with a cool finger and bringing your gaze to his.

“About that story,” He smiles encouragingly, and you give in.

The alcohol must really be getting to you now, there was no other explanation for the warm, safe feeling that hummed under your skin. Astarion was sweet, and attractive. His attention felt good, and before you could even make the decision to trust him you were already talking. You told him how you were a magistrate in the lower city, complained how the court system was broken and corrupt, and how the judge only appoints magistrates that unthinkingly obey his preferences, never allowing them to make their own judgements. You had tried for months to get on his good side but you think all you did was obliterate any meager scrap of respect he did have for you, and now every interaction you have with him he barks orders at you like you’re his dog and then dismisses you. You were thinking of finding a new profession altogether, but the lower city was plagued with crime, good people died every day because of it, and you had the power to help at least a little if only your boss wasn’t such an asshole. To your embarrassment you began to tear up as you finished your story.

Astarion for his part never interrupts you. He listens with rapt attention to your woeful tale, an indiscernible look on his handsome face. You try to turn your head away as a tear escapes your eye but his grip on your chin tightens, forcing you to stay right where you are. He wipes it away with his other hand and stares at you for a moment, seemingly deciding something.

He reaches up and drags a hand through his hair, releases a held breath, and plucks the glass from your hand, drinking what was left of its contents in two gulps. He brings the glass back down to the counter, a drop of the crimson wine dripping down his chin. The image gives you an odd feeling, like you’re missing a revelation that is only just out of your grasp. He glances behind you, and you turn and follow his gaze to another rather pale looking elf, this one with darker hair but similarly colored eyes watching the two of you with rapt attention. Goosebumps rise on your skin and that fight or flight instinct is back in full force. Your heart begins to pound against your chest, understanding the danger that you’re in even if you do not. 

“Smart girl” Astarion murmurs, and you whip back around to face him.

He wipes his face with his sleeve and grabs you by the hand, pulling you off the bar stool.

“W-what are you-” He places a hand on your lower back and begins deftly guiding you through the raucous crowd of drunk Baldurians. One stumbling wizard in the crowd pats his pockets down and cries,

“Has anyone seen my coin purse? It’s blue!”

“Walk faster” Astarion says into your ear, his warm breath whispering across your neck. You do as he says.

After what feels like a lifetime of dodging drunk elbows and slipping through temporary openings in the crowd you reach the exit, and Astarion rushes you soberingly into the cold night air. 

“You stole that guy's money didn’t you?” You accuse.

He doesn’t even have the decency to deny it,

“What are you going to do darling? Arrest me?” is his reply.

He doesn’t slow down for a single second, ushering you into a dark alley near the tavern.

“Astarion what are we doing? You can’t just wander into abandoned alleyways at night! This is how people get kidnapped.”

His startled gaze clashes with yours in the dim light for a moment before he laughs. Not an amused genuine laugh, but a pained, choked sound that claws its way out of his throat involuntarily. He runs a hand through his hair once again and then turns away from you, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“It is indeed, darling,” He whispers so quietly you have to lean towards him to hear it. 

“You have no idea.”

You don’t have time to react, the alcohol slowing your reflexes, before his hand is around your throat and your back is against the brick wall of whatever building is behind you. You reach up and grab his wrist, eyes widening in panic. For a flash you see in your mind your body lying asphyxiated in the revealing light of morning, another victim to the merciless city of Baldur’s gate, and you prepare to fight like hell, when Astarion lunges for you and…

Kisses you?

Your brain short circuits, all thoughts drifting away with the sensation of Astarion’s mouth on yours. His hand around your throat gentles, his long fingers drifting over your skin until they press into your pulse point, feeling your racing heartbeat. 

You fist his shirt sleeve in your hand. Maybe it's because you’re smashed, maybe it’s because you can’t remember the last time someone kissed you, maybe it’s because you know no one that’s ever kissed you has been as good at it as this man- whatever the reason may be, you kiss him back. 

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, stepping closer until his body is pressed against yours. You reach up to do what you’ve been dying to do since you first saw him and feel the soft strands of his hair.

He leans into your touch and it emboldens you to kiss him deeper, your tongue scraping against something… sharp?

He gasps and pulls back, just a few inches, staring into your eyes. He seems to be searching for something, almost desperately.

You stare back, equal parts terrified of and enraptured by this beautiful stranger.

Finally, he drops his hand from your neck and steps back, the cold air assaulting you once more as you crash back down to reality. You gaze at Astarion, confusion written all over your features.

“I can’t do this” He laughs. It sounds just as pained as the last one.

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t bring you to him”

His head snaps up to the sky, studying the stars.

“I still have time to find another. Petras saw me with you, he’ll tell Cazador if I come back with someone else. But I can lie. I can say you knew what I was, escaped before I could lure you back. Maybe he won't question it. I’d spend a few weeks in the kennels but it could be worse. I can’t tell him I changed my mind, I can’t spend another year in that tomb.” He’s rambling now, not to you but to himself. 

He rubs his face in his hands and takes another stumbling step back.

“Go” Is all he says.

“Go? Go where?” You mumble, feeling cold and strangely a little hurt by his retreat into the shadows.

You don’t have dark vision, in the dim torch light much of his face is now hidden from you, but his eerily red eyes seem to glow like a cat’s now in the dark. The sight fills you with dread. Pieces begin to connect, the hundreds of unsolved missing person cases, the handful of eyewitness accounts claiming they saw the missing leave with someone. The descriptions varied, but a few details remained constant. The unknown person was always charming, flirtatious even, they tried to get their victims intoxicated in some way, and they always had a pallid complexion, red eyes, and sharp canines. Sifting sluggishly through your muddled memories you can even recall a couple of accounts of victims leaving taverns on the arm of a white haired pale elven man.

Astarion was a vampire.

“Go back to the courts,” He begins, “and never apologize to Judge Eruien. Stand up to him when he’s being an ass, he’ll never respect you otherwise. Go back home and lock your doors safely behind you. Never invite anyone in unless you trust them implicitly. Go back to your life in the sun, make Baldur’s gate a little better just by being in it, and if you ever-” He leans toward you, his face inches from yours once more. Now that you know what to look for, you catch glimpses of his uncomfortably long canines with every word that he speaks. 

“See anyone with eyes like mine again… run.”

With that he steps back into the shadows. They seem to swallow him whole, and you do run, a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you never told Astarion the name of that judge you were lamenting about.

In the years that follow you take his advice, and your work life drastically improves. Enough so that you feel comfortable asking the old elven judge about his former magistrates, a tear dripping down your cheek as he tells you what he can recall about a white haired elf with golden eyes and a promising future that was ripped away when he was murdered almost two centuries ago by a gang of Gur that didn’t appreciate his final ruling.

A month later you wake up in a nautiloid.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #angst #oneshot #baldurs gate astarion

[lovrily]

hi :) could you do steve x shy reader at like a party or something and steve is her boyfriend who is super flirty but she's never had a boyfriend before so she's nervous bc he's being flirty?? i hope this makes sense 😭 thank you!!

it makes so much sense! i hope this is good! fem!reader | 2000 words | suggestive but no smut

"we should leave."

you look up from the fire, a marshmallow melting on the metal skewer you're holding. "really? why?"

steve shrugs. "let's do it."

"why?" you laugh. you're not disappointed; you wouldn't mind going back to his place and getting in pajamas, where it's quiet and familiar. but it had taken a lot of convincing on steve's part to get you to come to the bonfire in the first place, so you're surprised he would want to leave so early. he'd even convinced you to wear your bathing suit, although you'd worn his shirt over it for most of the night.

he hasn't answered.

"are you upset?" you ask quietly.

"no, it's not that." he smiles at you, a little crookedly. "sorry, babe."

"it's okay," you laugh. when you flip your skewer around and bite into the marshmallow, he inhales- bending down to pick up your purse. when you bite the rest of it off the tip of your thumb, his nostrils flare.

your eyes flash wide. "what?"

"nothing. you wanna go? we don't have to."

"yeah, but-"

"i got you, then. my car's out front. did you know that?"

he's murmuring and grinning like a fool. yeah, he jokes again, this time in your ear. let me take you home. you can't help but laugh.

there's a small chorus of friendly but mostly unfamiliar girls around the fire who whine various lines like, no, don't take her yet! or, leave her with us! and while you're flattered that so many people have taken a liking to you in one night, you're perfectly relieved to go home.

steve puts his hand on your back while you weave through the small crowd. his friends holler at him, trying to say goodbye, and he waves back at them, every gesture noncommittal. the sky is a murky, midnight blue, the sun completely gone. you're gawking at him by the time you've hiked back to the empty section of the field where you parked, a handful of other empty cars around you.

"are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"wrong?" he scoffs. "no, nothing's wrong."

"you're scaring me."

he opens the passenger's door and leans on it, smiling. "you're ridiculous."

"what!"

once you're inside, he shuts the door and hauls around to the driver's seat, shutting it and locking it behind him. the breadth of his shoulders blocks the moon, his hair fluffy and dark, mostly towel-dried after swimming. you lean away and he's watching you- so you're tempted to lean back over and just let him do whatever it is he's planning to do. but you're genuinely rather confused, so you hold your ground against the seat. it's cold against your back, even in the dead of summer.

"your hair is still wet," steve murmurs.

"i know. sorry, i'm getting it on your seats."

he reaches over and takes a section of your hair in his fingers. "babe, you know i don't care."

"i know."

he's still smiling.

"what is your problem?" you nearly shriek.

then you're laughing, and he's laughing even harder, and then he kisses you, and you're very, very quiet.

he's still grinning. his fingertips rake against the back of your neck, at your hairline, careful not to yank at the wet strands there. his thumb skids over your cheek, your face still slightly damp, your skin too-clean and sensitive and a little cold.

"are you cold?" he says suddenly.

"no," you breathe. not now.

you pull away, dizzy. he breathes hard, beaming at you, but he doesn't look nervous. he's steve. he doesn't get nervous doing stuff like this. especially not with you.

why would he, with you? he's your first boyfriend. he doesn't have to impress you, if he doesn't want to. maybe you're not very impressive, either. every time he kisses you, you feel like you're going to pass out. that's not very cool girl of you.

now is not the time to be feeling insecure, but the feeling has already set in- even after he wraps his right arm around your waist and hauls you over to the driver's seat. you squeal as he sits you on his lap, grabbing his keys from the console and putting them in the ignition behind you. the heat comes on in a dull wave.

he's about to kiss you again, and then he stops, pulling wet, knotted strands of hair away from your eyes as you loom over him, not fully settled.

"you okay?" he asks.

"yeah," you try to say confidently. it's more of a wheeze.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

he smirks, and it might look a little evil if he wasn't so sweet.

"can i kiss you?"

it's the stupidest question you've ever heard. he's practically gloating.

"again?"

he gawks at you, laughing. "again, yeah."

"you want to?"

you're not even sure why you say it. but you do, and at first, steve just snickers quietly. then his smile goes a little crooked and his brows knit together. and he says-

"of course i do."

you swallow. "okay." be cool. "do it."

that was not cool in the slightest.

steve watches you, leaning back a little bit, like you're something to examine. you fight the urge to wrench your eyes shut. one of his hands lands softly on your hip, and the other comes up to rub your arm, warm over the thin tan sleeve of his waffle shirt.

"are you okay?" he asks. this time, he really means it.

"yeah," you nod. "i'm okay."

"but you're hovering."

"i'm what?"

"sweetheart," steve laughs softly, letting go of you for a moment. you droop a bit, and realize he's right. "you're not sitting."

"you can't just ask a girl to sit on you, harrington."

he looks like he might laugh, but he doesn't- his expression oddly serious for the night. "did i do something?"

"no!"

you finally lock eyes with him, and he looks so worried that guilt blooms in your gut. just be honest.

"i don't know, sometimes...i just get nervous. when we're together."

your words seem to wound him, but he's listening intently. "okay."

he brings his hand back to your arm, tracing lines on your skin over the fabric of his shirt.

"i...haven't had a boyfriend before," you say. it's not a shock- he knows. "you're my first. for everything."

he nods. "my luck is crazy."

"sure," you scoff, but his face is gravely serious. "i just worry sometimes that you're going to realize i'm not worth it. sometimes, when you...when you kiss me, or...touch me, i just get scared you're going to realize i'm not what you want. you could have someone who's less nervous. or who's been with other people before."

someone who isn't me.

you're a little horrified once you've said all of it. steve just watches you, crickets chirping outside the car, the heater blowing by your waist and over your elbows. his hands go still, and his face crumples, like he'd cut himself on something sharp. his mouth falls open a little bit.

"honey," he laments.

"i know. sorry-"

steve leans forward and wraps his arms around you, pinning your biceps to your sides at first, not weaving your limbs with his. you both inhale. he squeezes you, your head drooping onto his shoulder, and then he pulls you away and loops his hands through your sides; where you finally sit on his lap, thighs brushing against the console and the door. he holds you around your stomach and puts one hand on the back of your head, holding you to his neck. the scent of sunscreen and bug spray laundry detergent make it more real; his hands warm and dry from swimming, his neck tan from being in the sun. the entanglement of you both is a heavy weight on the seat.

you breath in again and exhale. he's real, and he loves you, even when it's hard to believe it.

"are you kidding me, sweetheart? are you joking?"

"no," you laugh, voice muffled at his neck, but he doesn't in return.

"you should have told me that before. i feel like i'm gonna be sick."

"steve!"

he squeezes you once more and plants a kiss to the top of your head, then one on your forehead. his palms meet your cheeks and he tilts your head back, your arms wrapped around his neck.

"i don't want anyone but you," he says earnestly. "there is no one i want to be with but you. it doesn't even cross my mind. it's not an option."

you might cry. he wipes his thumb over your cheek, now hot as an iron.

"you're it for me," he says plainly. "okay?"

"okay."

"do you believe me?"

"yes," you nod, embarrassed.

he shakes his head at you, expression still pained. it's almost comedic how awful he feels, but you feel even worse for bringing it up.

"i'm sorry."

"don't," he retorts. "no. don't be. c'mere."

you lean forward and kiss him this time, and he's happy about it; the palms on your cheeks sliding back into your hair and over your ears, drowning out the sounds of the field like a fishbowl. all you hear is him. all you feel is him.

"i love you," he murmurs, kissing your lips- and then the tip of your nose, and then your chin and the crook of your neck. "you're my girl. i love you. there's no one else."

you melt like ice cream, slumped in his hands. what else can you do?

"steve..." you whisper.

"mhm?"

"let's go home."

his response is delayed. he kisses the crook of your neck again, then closer to your collarbone. when you inhale sharply, he leans back, screwing his eyes shut.

"but we have to drive all the way there."

"you're the one who wanted to go home in the first place!" you beam, amused at his grimace.

"home is far," steve utters. "you're here. right now."

you're going to die if he keeps talking like that. so you climb off of him and drop ungracefully into the passenger's seat, clicking your seatbelt into place. steve groans.

"oh, that's evil."

"take me home, harrington."

he sits there for a second, and then shakes his head; running his hands over his eyes and his hair, black against the night. his laughter is a quiet rumble.

"you're killing me. you don't even get it."

"what'd i do?"

his head is still in his hands. "you don't even have to do anything. you're just sitting there, and you're driving me insane. it's embarrassing. it's bad for my reputation."

"take me home, steve."

you're trying to be firm, but you're smiling. it's impossible not to. steve sighs once, then sits up, putting the car in reverse.

"you need to watch for cops, at this point, sweetheart, because i'm going to go fifty over until we get home."

you consider saying something snide in return, but honestly, you'd be perfectly happy if he did.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader

[chosopie]

I love the conquer Sukana but imagine this. You baby brother Yuji, met Sukana on a walk last night after sneaking out and 'befriend' him so y/b obviously is worried cause who this Sukana so she goes with Yuji and meets Sukana herself. Sukana falls in love and rizz her up successfully so technically Yuji Unknownly set Sukana and Y/n up

MISSION: LOVE - RYOMEN SUKUNA

It was night time—the forbidden hours. Yuji mustered up the courage to bring himself outside without asking you for permission. You were sound asleep, without a single worry in your head as your mind wandered into the land of dreams. He felt guilty for going behind your back, especially since all you ever did was take care of him and try to keep him safe from the dangers of the world.

Yuji was already 15, and he was very much capable of taking a night stroll. Except it wasn’t really night anymore, it was midnight, 12:34 A.M. to be exact. You were going to kill him for going out this late, but he knew it was going to be worth it as long as his plan works.

You have been single for quite a while and Yuji thought it was time for you to meet someone. It was his way of giving back after everything you did for him. He wanted you to have someone else in your life. Your routine was pitiful to look at, for it was an endless cycle of work-cook-clean-attend to Yuji. He felt guilty for being your responsibility at all times, since your parents were no longer there to do that job.

“She must be so miserable,” Yuji sighed.

The cold breeze blew his face, and he smiled in delight, taking in the serenity and freedom the midnight had offered him. He raked his hair with his fingers as he continued to walk towards the nearby convenience store. There had to be someone there who could be a perfect candidate. He pondered, his mind replaying the exact words you told him when he asked you what your type was.

“Someone strong, capable, tall, and intimidating. I kind of like the bad boys, you know?” Those were the exact words you said.

Yuji kept repeating your words in his head like a mantra while he walked towards he glass doors. He pushed them open, and his eyes got to work, scanning every person in the room. His eyes landed on the cashier guy. He was quite short and nerdy-looking. He has a nice nose but he just seemed too uptight.

Nope. Next.

There was this tall man in a blue shirt who was checking the fruits. He looked like a foreigner. He had blonde hair, a tall and muscular stature, but he also seemed like some goody two shoes type of guy.

Next.

“Woah,” Yuji gasped as he stared at the big and tall man who was checking the beers in the refrigerator. He had pink hair, tattoos, and an ear piercing. He had this grumpy and intimidating aura. “He’s perfect.”

He quickly walked up to him, but suddenly got shy and scared. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked up at the guy. “Excuse me… are you single?”

The big stranger grimaced. “Fuck off, will you? Aren’t you a teenager? Plus, I ain’t into that gay shit.”

“No,” Yuji squeaked, clearly embarrassed and regretting his choice of words now. “You might be interested in my older sister.”

The man thought about it, then looked back at Yuji. “Is she hot?”

“I don’t know how to answer that…”

“Alright, whatever. Give me her number.”

“I’ll just tell her to come here,” Yuji took his phone out and dialed in your number. “Uh, what’s your name, sir?”

“Sukuna.”

-

“What the fuck?” You groaned and rubbed your eyes. Your phone loudly rang and vibrated.

“Yuji” the contact name was displayed on your screen, causing you to panic. You quickly tapped on the button to accept his call.

“Oh my god, where are you? What happened?” You frantically asked him.

“It’s my new friend Sukuna. Convenience store. Now.” Yuji quickly dropped the call before you could ask more questions.

“Who on earth is Sukuna?” You groaned and rummaged your closet for some clothes, preparing yourself for whatever mess Yuji had gotten himself into. The frustration was getting to you, not only because you were tired and sleepy, but also because Yuji had decided to venture off at night all alone without your permission. What was he even thinking? Of course, you were more worried than mad, especially when you heard the name of another man. A million scenarios raced around your head, your mind trying to pick the most probable situation.

-

“Yuj!” You pushed the door open and searched all the aisles until you reached the alcohol section where Yuji stood with a stranger. “Who is this?”

Yuji deviously smile, mischief glinting in his eyes. “What’cha think about him? He’s your type, right?”

“Are you kidding me, Yuji?”

Now you were really angry. All that trouble because Yuji was trying to set you up with someone? What if he met someone dangerous? You shook away your frustrations, your attention now on the mad that stood before you. Shit, he is handsome. You hated to admit but Yuji succeeded.

“Yeah, he is,” you quietly mumbled, and you felt your face grow hot.

“What’s that?” Sukuna pointed behind you.

You quickly turned around, and found nothing. “Huh?” When you turned back to face them, you felt a finger poke your cheek.

“What a fucking dumbass,” Sukuna laughed.

“I wouldn’t fall for that if we were friends, but you’re just a stranger,” you protested. Your face was now as pink as his hair.

“Let’s change that, dumb woman.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine, I’ll stop, only because you’re pretty…” Sukuna sighed.

“Good,” you beamed.

“…Pretty dumb.” He added, his big hand ruffling your hair. Ignoring his corny remark, you couldn’t help but smile at the oddly sweet gesture.

Yuji triumphantly smirked, his arms crossed while he watched the two of you. “I’m way too good at this.”

#rev.writes #fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader

[sentientcave]

Fuck-ass Mohawk

Contains: Alcohol, smoking (cigarettes and cannabis), Soap being Soap, Ghost being Ghost, uninvited touching, tall fem reader

Short little thing about Johnny liking it a bit when you're a bitch to him (And Ghost likes it too)

868 Words ~ MDNI

You’d rather stay home and play board games, but Laurie had convinced everyone that it was a good night for clubbing. You hated clubs— The noise, the crowds, the smell of sweat and alcohol and hormones— and spent the better part of club nights standing outside chain-smoking, or crammed into a dirty bathroom stall holding back a friend’s hair as she threw up blue curacao because she didn’t listen to you when you told her to eat dinner before going out. Tonight didn’t look like it was going to end up with anyone puking their guts up, at least. Laurie’s flirting with a gorgeous hunk with a devastating smile, and Alex and Hannah are dancing, so you go out the side door into the alley for some fresh air. Or air, anyway, since the alley’s where folks go to smoke. You light a joint, because at least that will dull the effect that the sound is having on your head. It’s getting close to midnight, which at least means the night is almost over, so long as someone doesn’t drag you along to some weirdo’s house. “Hey, wha’s a bonnie thing like ye doin’ out here all alone?” A voice purrs in your ear. You jump, surprised that he could get so close with out you noticing him, especially once you turn and really look at him. He’s huge, not that tall, probably your height when you’re not wearing boots (You have about an inch and a half on him in your shit-kickers), but broad and way more muscled than anyone has any reason to be, wrapped in a too-tight shirt, and smiling at you, bright blue eyes fixed on yours with unnerving intensity. He pats your shoulder. “Didnae mean to scare ye, lass, just wanted to say hello.” You take a big step to the side, establishing a new bubble of personal space without him in it. “Well, hello,” you say dismissively. “Goodbye.” There’s a snort from a few meters away, a big fellow with a kn95 mask dangling on one ear, his hand up in front of his face, a cigarette clamped between his fingers. “Och, dinnae be like tha’, hen.” “Don’t like it?” you ask, glaring at him. “Go away. Plenty of girls in there’ll go for whatever all this is.” A sweeping, unimpressed glance from his boots and ripped jeans up to his stupid mohawk would usually do the trick, but it only made this fellow smile wider. “No’ enough fer ya? I can sweeten tha deal some. The big fella doesnae mind sharin’ a sweet lass with me noo and again. There’s plenty of ye ta go around.” “Johnny,” the big fellow in question says sternly. His mask is back in place, covering the lower half of his face. “Dun’t look like she’s interested.”

“Tha’s where you’re wrong, LT. She just doesna want to admit it. Hen’s got pride. Wants to make me work for it, right lass?” He winks at you. “No. Don’t like your fuck-ass mohawk.” You puff on your joint, keeping your face still while he splutters, indignant. “Fuck-ass mohawk?” he asks. “What do ye mean by tha’?” “I mean it looks like you have a contentious relationship with your father,” you say. Maybe you’re being a bit mean, but it’s always fun to take a cocky fucker down a peg or two. “I don’t fuck with men with daddy issues. Most of ‘em are cops or military lads.” The big guy— LT?— laughs aloud at that while Johnny’s still looking at you with his mouth hanging open. The side door opens, and your friends pile out, Laurie arm in arm with her hunk, and Hannah and Alex clinging to handsome fellows of their own. “There you are,” Laurie says. “We’re going back to Hannah’s. Are you coming?” “Uh. I guess.” Laurie beams at you, and looks up at her hunk. “Kyle, do you need to find your friends?” “Nah. These lads right here.” He gestures at Johnny and LT. with a grin. “Knew Ghost would be out here, and Soap’s always followin’ him around like the big puppy he is.” “Ah’m no’!” You fall into step at the rear of the group. You’ll probably head home rather than join them, but Hannah’s flat is on the way to your own. Johnny and his handler flank you, matching your stride when you slow down or speed up. Annoying. “So what, is the big guy your replacement daddy?” you ask. “Wha— No!” Johnny says hotly. “He’s just my lieutenant.” “Could be your daddy, if you like,” Ghost says, putting a heavy hand on the back of your neck. “Got a thing for caustic little cunts.” “Oh fuck off,” you say, trying to shove his hand off. His grip squeezes a little tighter, and you try to ignore the way that core clenches around nothing. You channel the heat into anger, and dig your nails into his wrist hard. “Don’t fucking touch me.” He grunts, but doesn’t seem all that affected by your claws. “Look at you, ‘issin’ and spittin’ like a puffed up alley cat. S’cute. But save it for later, eh? Don’t want you to tire yourself out too early.”

#cave writing #Ghoap x reader #x reader #MW fic #just a short thing but I'm not sure I'll get around to writing more so I'm posting as is #Maybe someday I will write the second half of this where reader gets sandwiched between two hot military men and has a really good time #But yanno how it is

[sugrhigh]

NEW HIGHS - ( m.s )

REQUESTED**

summary- you and matt are best friends, and though you tell him almost everything, you can’t bring yourself to talk about your love life (or lack thereof). but you get a little too high after a sesh at your place and admit that you’ve never been with anyone before, so matt takes matters into his own hands

warnings- smut ahead people!!, swearing, drug use, oral (fem receiving), fingering, u know the drill

bff!matt x fem!reader

a/n: SECOND REQ WOOOOO i tried to do it justice, thank you @l1ttlefreakk for the idea!! as always, my inbox is open 💆🏼‍♀️✨ and feedback is always appreciated ILY

you watch the vapor curl up toward the sky, reveling in the light of the almost full moon as you sit in one of the worn folding chairs. it’s cooler out tonight; you can smell the last hints of summer in the air as you sit on your balcony.

matt is beside you, of course. he takes one last drag before handing the freshly-lit joint back to you, trying to avoid getting any ash on his shirt. you take it from him and suck in a big hit, holding the smoke in your throat as he watches.

“jesus, someone’s eager tonight.” he teases, though he does look a little concerned.

you cough a bit as you exhale, trying to ignore the burning in your throat. you know you kept that in for way too long.

“just need a brain break, i think.” you keep your reply vague, even though you know he probably sees through this.

after all, you’ve been friends for over two years now, attached at the hip since you met him and his brothers through a mutual friend.

and he isn’t wrong to call you out. you’ve been frustrated and upset since being ghosted after a first date with a guy you had been talking to. it’s hard to fight the insecurity that’s been weighing you down when you don’t even know what you did.

so you take another hit, desperate to drown out the thoughts that have been plaguing you for days.

“something on your mind?” matt asks as you pass the j back to him, and you shake your head no a little bit too quickly.

“not really.” you lie.

he’s silent for a minute as he puts the filter between his lips to inhale.

“come on, i’m not stupid.” he accuses once he’s finished, and smoke pours out of his mouth as he speaks.

“i promise i’m fine. just leave it.” your voice comes out a bit harsher than intended, and you immediately feel bad for snapping.

he rolls his eyes. “spoken like somebody who’s definitely telling the truth.”

“whatever, give that back to me you dork.”

you pluck the joint from his hand before he can protest, taking a long drag as he frowns at you.

“fine. i’ll get it out of you eventually.” matt shrugs, leaning back in his seat so he can look out at the stars.

you do the same, puffing out clouds that swirl through the air every thirty seconds. you’re a sputtering mess by the time you rotate it back to him, and though it was stupid to pull that many hits in a row, you can already feel the high creeping over your body.

“how was work, though? is your co-worker still a bitch?” he asks before taking a drag.

you laugh softly and shake your head. “work was fine, and yeah, she still sucks.”

“not surprising.”

“tell me about it.”

it’s silent for a bit as you finish the joint, passing it back and forth hit for hit. a few minutes later, he finally reaches over to the little table sitting between you two and snubs it out on your ashtray. you’re already beyond faded, eyes drooping slightly as you stand up.

“midnight gospel time?” matt looks up at you through his lashes, still sitting down.

you extend your hand to him and nod. “midnight gospel time, indeed.”

“hell yeah.” he takes it and you help him up so that you can head back inside.

matt opens the sliding door for the both of you, making a grand gesture indicating that you should go first. he’s grinning all goofy, which makes your own lips part in a smile.

he looks just as high as you feel, blue eyes tinged red as he gazes at you, backlit by the lights of your living room. he’s like an angel, like he’s leading you to heaven. there’s something behind that look too, an emotion you don’t recognize.

“so gracious.” you joke, stepping inside carefully since you can feel yourself wobbling a bit as you move.

“only for you, nerd.”

he closes the door behind you, even flipping off the overhead lights so you guys can get the full effect. you’re already fumbling to type in the show in as he sits down next to you, immediately snuggling up against your shoulder.

“you’re so clingy.” you nudge him slightly with a grin.

“don’t pretend like you love it.” he replies, and he’s right as usual, so you stay silent.

you’ve just put the episode on when matt shifts a little against you and speaks again. “you still haven’t told me what’s wrong.”

your heart is beating out of control, though your body also somehow feels minutes behind your brain. you wish you could just shrink into the couch and disappear, sucking in a breath as you stare at the animation on the tv.

this isn’t what you want to talk about.

“it’s really okay, i’m alright. i’m being stupid.” you say, which immediately makes you feel like an even bigger idiot.

you gave him too much information, and now you can feel him looking at you. it’s impossible to look back.

“come on, since when are you scared to talk to me?” he asks, and you swallow the lump in your throat before finally turning to meet his eyes.

“that’s the whole thing, though. i’m scared.” you admit with a weak shrug.

he tilts his head a little bit, clearly confused. “of what?”

“i don’t know. i’m scared i’m not good enough i guess. that something is like…wrong with me.” you manage to get it all out, even though you hate admitting it.

it just makes you feel pathetic, that you care so much what other people think.

“what do you even mean by that? there’s nothing wrong with you.” matt says softly, and you look down at your hands.

“that’s easy for you to say. i’m old enough to live in my own apartment yet i can’t get a date without it going horribly wrong. i’ve never had a boyfriend, i mean, nobody’s even seen me naked before.”

you’re word vomiting because you’re high as a kite, and even though you trust matt so much, you really wish you could take it all back. it’s even more embarrassing because you know he’s hooked up with girls before, and that he at least has experience.

his fingers sweep up a stray strand of your hair gently before he tucks it behind your ear. the feeling nearly makes you shiver.

“look at me.”

its like a command, as if you can’t do anything but listen. so you turn to him, to those pretty eyes, praying to god he doesn’t make fun of you.

“there’s nothing wrong with you. i hate to say it, but most guys are assholes, and if they’re not obsessed with you it just means they’re not the right one. you are…you’re perfect, i promise.” he gets quiet at the end, letting out a little breath as his eyes dart to your mouth.

he can’t help it. sure, you’re one of his best friends. but you also look so beautiful in the colorful light coming from the tv, with those big red eyes and pouty lips, and he wonders how nobody has ever worshiped you like they should.

“it’s just hard. i don’t want to wait around anymore.” you mumble, low eyes studying his own mouth.

you wonder if he’s a good kisser, which is absolutely not something you should be thinking about right now.

“i can show you.” matt offers, and you swear he got closer without you noticing.

maybe you’re just too faded, but you blinked and now he’s right there, breath fanning over your face.

“would you…do you want to?” you stumble over your words, but it doesn’t phase him.

he leans in slowly, pressing his lips to your jaw, right by your ear. the feeling of his tongue traveling down to your throat makes you gasp softly.

“more than anything.” he answers against your neck before biting down softly on the skin and sucking.

“matt—” you barely choke it out, and his hand goes to your hip, slipping under your shirt.

his fingers slide under the waist of your tiny little biker shorts as his lips work their way back up your jaw, to your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

matt pulls away slightly, nose hovering by yours, waiting for confirmation. you’re the one who ends up leaning in to kiss him, trying to show him how much you want this as opposed to saying it.

you can feel him smiling against your mouth as you move in sync, and you can’t believe you're making out with him right now. his lips are so soft, and your tongues begin to mesh together perfectly as you realize he is indeed a very good kisser.

he draws back again, tracing small circles into your hip with his thumb. his touch is driving you crazy, and there’s a fire building in the pit of your stomach.

“i wanna make you feel good.” matt whispers against your lips, placing one more fleeting kiss to your mouth.

“i want that too.”

he’s pulling you up off of the couch almost instantly after you speak, dragging you toward your room like he’s on a mission.

“somebody’s eager.” you callback the same joke from earlier, trying to quell your nerves, and he chuckles lightly.

“you have no idea.”

he leads you through the door over to your bed, spinning you slightly so the back of your legs hit the frame. they buckle, causing you to fall down so your spine presses against the mattress.

matt spreads your legs open with his own knee so he can stand between them as he stares down at you. “you trust me, right?”

“of course.”

“if anything i’m doing gets too uncomfortable, tell me to stop and we can be done. sound okay?” he double checks, and it’s sweet that he’s so concerned.

you hook one of your one of your calves around the back of his own so he’s forced to lean down, hands flat against the bed on either side of your skull, almost like he’s trapping you in.

“show me, matt.” you breathe, and the sound of your smooth voice pleading for more as you gaze up at him with that innocent look sends him into a spiral.

he presses his mouth to yours, peppering kisses across your face and down your neck, on the opposite side as before.

one of his cold hands finds its way underneath your shirt again, traveling to bunch the material up underneath your arms. you help him the rest of the way, and he tosses it to your floor without a second thought.

you’re left in your lacey white bra, and he can see your hardened nipples through the sheer fabric. he’s growing more aroused by the second just looking at you.

“you’re so fucking gorgeous, you know that?” matt asks, lifting you up slightly so he can undo the hooks in the back.

he tears it from your body, and the air that hits your exposed chest brings goosebumps to your skin. his pupils are blown out as he studies your body, bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

you loop a finger under his chain and pull him back to you gently, kissing his redden lips because you can’t stand not feeling him in some way.

after a moment his mouth begins to wander again, along your throat to your collarbone, nipping at the skin a bit more roughly now. selfishly, matt is leaving little marks all over you, just so he can tell people they came from him.

he kisses down the valley between your breasts, an unfamiliar sensation that makes your core tingle. then he presses his tongue flat against one of your perky nipples, flicking it back and forth tantalizingly.

“shit—” you let out an involuntary moan, arching slightly against his mouth as he shifts to focus his attention on the other.

you’re already squirming, and he massages your tits as he moves lower, tongue gliding along your stomach until he reaches the band of your pants.

matt looks up at you, so pretty between your legs as his fingers move to tug at the spandex. “is this okay?”

you nod in response, lifting your hips so he can pull them off for you. this is the most vulnerable you’ve ever been, fully revealed now as he slides your matching white panties off with the shorts.

you can feel how desperate you are already, and as much as you want to close your legs you can’t, because matt has already knelt down in between them once more. he wraps both of his arms around your thighs, fingers digging into the supple flesh as he guides them over his shoulders.

“so pretty, so wet for me.” he praises, mouth skimming the inside of your thigh as he moves towards where you need him most.

you can feel the hints of his beard scraping against you skin, admiring the way his tattoos look as his muscles clench around your leg. matt blows against your heat softly, and it makes you shiver in anticipation.

“can’t believe i’m the first one to get to see you all spread out like this.” he mutters, licking his lips before he presses a kiss right to your center.

his tongue works its way between your lips, licking a long stripe up the middle of your cunt at a slow pace. you buck your hips slightly as his mouth reaches a delicate area, hands moving to tangle in his feathery hair.

“y’taste just as good as you look.” his voice vibrates against your core as he buries his face again, and even though his words are so dirty he sounds so fucking sweet.

you’re not even sure exactly what it is that he’s doing, but then he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flirting with the sensitive bud, and you’re suddenly a groaning mess.

“fuck, matt.” you pant, grinding against his face as he continues eating you out.

he lets go of one leg so he can bring his hand around to tease your entrance. the pressure feels good, too good, and he finally slips a finger inside of you fully. it makes you whimper as he pumps it in and out, mouth still working its magic simultaneously.

your back arches as you tug at his hair, earning a groan out of him. he’s always loved it when people pull on it, but knowing it’s you makes it way more enjoyable. matt can feel himself straining against his sweats now, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re the only thing on his mind.

“more, oh my god, please.” you’re begging now, completely at his disposal, and he loves it.

he listens, sliding another finger inside, curling them just right. you cry out as he finds the perfect spot, and your legs begin to shake against his shoulders.

the delightful combination of his mouth around your clit and his fingers driving in and out of your pussy is bringing you closer to the edge. you can feel your abs seizing up as you begin to shudder, really gripping at his roots now.

“right there, matt, i’m so close.” you whine, which just makes him pick up his pace.

the pleasure is overwhelming, so much so that your eyes screw shut as you arch your back against the mattress, hips moving in tune with his mouth. you feel his fingers collide with that magical spot again and you swear you’re in outer space.

“shit, i’m—”

“come on, pretty girl. come all over my face.” he grumbles into your cunt, pausing for just a second before his tongue flicks against you harder.

you’ve only ever felt this sensation from your own two hands, but holy shit is it way better coming from matt. you finally allow yourself to come undone, a string of moans falling from your lips as he holds your trembling leg steady.

you feel him press one last kiss to your overstimulated clit as you ride out this new kind of high, savoring the fact that he’s the one and only person that’s made you finish.

he stays kneeling between your legs even after you let go of his hair, sucking the taste of you off of his fingers before he wipes at his face with his shirt.

“how was it?” he asks with a smirk, hands trailing up and down your thighs lazily, admiring the small hickeys that have formed along your body.

“i think i just saw god.” you tease, still trying to catch your breath as you prop yourself up on your elbows.

“that good, huh?”

the cockiness is clear in his voice, but you don’t mind it at all. after that display, he can be as arrogant as he wants.

“keep in mind i don’t have anything to compare it to.” you warn him playfully.

“we should keep it that way.”

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #smut #female reader #first time #fanfic #oneshot #sturniolo triplets smut

[dwntwn-strnlo]

IDIOT matt sturniolo

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎, dwntwn-strnlo.

↳ 𝐀/𝐍. i love spider man

↳ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. spider-man!matthew sturniolo x reader

↳ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. cleaning spider-man's cuts 🫡

↳ 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃? no!

↳ 𝐂𝐖! mentions of blood/wounds, language, ig kind of angsty?

"this is so fucking idiotic, matt. the day you get your head screwed on right and no longer do this bullshit is the day heaven rains down on earth."

hearing a knock on your window, you're more unfazed then you should be considering the fact that you live on the ninth floor. a few months ago you would've freaked out, but not so much anymore.

placing your book down, you stand up and walk over to the window. quietly sliding the curtains to the side to find your distressed boyfriend, clutching his hand tightly to his torso.

mumbling a string of profanities under your breath, you lift the glass, opening it so the cold midnight wind pours into your bedroom. "fuck, matt." you murmur, helping him climb inside.

blood drips from his skin, his suit ripped open in three long streaks. you frown, pulling him over to your bed. reminding him to stay quiet just in case someone's still awake.

he plops down on your bed, pulling his mask off to reveal the heap of chocolate hair on top of his head, staring apologetically into your eyes. tears and guilt swirling over the light blue you've learned to love so much. "i'm sorry," he whispers, reaching out to take your hands in his. "i know i promised you that i'd be careful, and i tried. i tried so hard but today was different i guess."

you look away, dropping his hands before walking into your bathroom without a word. stepping back into your room, you have a series of things you want to scream at the boy, but you refrain and tone it down.

"this is so fucking idiotic, matt." you huff, sitting down in front of him on the bed. "the day you get your head screwed on right and no longer do this bullshit is the day heaven rains down on earth."

he stays silent, closing his eyes for several long seconds before meeting yours once more. not finding the words, he just lightly nods.

"this is gonna sting," you mumble, taking a cotton swab soaked in rubbing alcohol to his torso. doing your best to rub away the dried blood without hurting him.

unto to your surprise, he flinches under your touch. biting down on his lower lip to keep a long list of harsh words locked away on his tongue.

setting down the cotton swab, you stand up, grabbing a pair of sweats and a t-shirt of his that he's been meaning to get back for a while now. tossing them in front of him. "put these on and then i'll wrap that up."

he nods, standing up as you step into your bathroom. looking into your mirror, you run your hands down your face. basically on the brink from steaming at the ears. you're so unbelievably pissed at matt right now, but you know no matter how much you beg him to throw the suit away, he's going to resist and ignore you.

matt walks into the bathroom, wrapping his arms around you and dropping his nose to your shoulder. "i'm sorry, i really am." he whispers.

you turn around, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "i know you are, honey. i'm sorry for snapping at you."

he shakes his head, "please don't apologize. its my fault." he pleads. "there was this little girl who was about to-" his breath catches, "it almost got her and i couldn't stand to watch it and so i left the family i was tending to and so i got in the way and i-"

pressing your lips against his, you temporarily shut him up. "its okay, matt." you hushed, running your hands gently through his coffee-colored hair. "you don't have to explain yourself."

releasing a tight breath of air, he nods before looking down at his feet.

gently taking his hand in yours, you drag him back to your bed to wrap the gauze around his waist. letting him tell you all about what happened tonight and how heroic he felt after stopping whatever villain was out there this time.

letting him hug you tighter, you mumble a sweet goodnight before he falls into a soft slumber in your arms.

TAGLIST

@thetriplets3 @stxrniqlo @ifilwtmfc @iha8you @oneirophobic @20nugs @gracietaylorsversions @fenoy7 @mlimmm @prettysturniolo @ssturniolo @gabbylovesreading @oh-toseewithoutmy-eyes @matthewmurdockswife @jellybeanbby @slaysturniolo @iheartshifting @mxqdii @luvsturniolo @lvrsparadise

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo blurb #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo angst #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #spider man #spiderman #spiderman au