#she is very impressed by his knowledge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dadsbongos · 7 months

Text

then, and again, and once more

6.9k words

Summary - Yuuji tries to impress you and win your heart, with the help of Sukuna… who seems weirdly knowledgeable about and interested in you.

Warnings - p in v sex, FULL NELSON BABY!!!, yuuji eats pussy :), oh yeah fem reader btw, sukuna is here too (and his cannibalism is mentioned), idiot friends pining for each other, very vague timeline idk but yuuji is aged up

sukuna-centric part 2

There it is again.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

That unbearable thick bass in his chest, banging so tirelessly against his ribs that it threatens to make him nauseous. A quick inhale and yep - scratch that - he’s definitely already nauseous.

Yuuji sinks his sweaty palms deeper into his pants pockets, eyes darting sharply down to his beaten sneakers. The once vibrant ruby shade is now marred by dirt and aging threads - and if he turns his right foot just so, then he can see an old, blackened stain from pizza sauce he spilled while eating out with you. The memory, or more specifically how you’re giggling in his memory, makes him smile.

And in the real world, Megumi is watching his friend grin ear to ear while looking at a black, crusty splotch on the inside curve of his right shoe. After having just wide-eyed stared at you from across the room while you and Nobara heatedly debate where to go for dinner.

He glares at Yuuji, lashes narrowing, “You look insane. Knock it off.”

That snaps the boy from his reminiscing, and it takes him three long seconds before he registers the insult, “I was thinking!”

“Obviously,” Megumi scratches the side of his nose, more to just have something to do with his hands than anything else, “What were you thinking about?”

Humming quietly to himself, Yuuji shrugs, “Oh, the usual.”

“You’re hopeless,” Megumi maintains his efforts to keep his hands busy by scratching the back of his head, “Just tell her already. What’s the worst that happens?”

“She rejects me and avoids me,” Yuuji pouts, “Honestly, ‘gumi, I would’ve thought you’d be more sympathetic - being a standoffish and awkward guy yourself.”

Swatting at his friend’s shoulder, Megumi shakes his head, “The hell is wrong with you? Was that just sitting in your mind?” he shakes his head again, glare growing stronger, “And don’t call me that.”

“I thought you had anxiety or something,” Yuuji shrugs, “Why else would you be so weird in public?”

Any previous concern regarding Yuuji’s well-being immediately flies from Megumi at that. He folds his arms across his chest with murmurs of hatred floating out from his lips. All as he waltzes over to where you and Nobara are seated around your laptop at the chipping hardwood table.

Yuuji has no problem shrugging off Megumi's irritation, but when it comes to the mere idea of your face stretching in disgust at him - God, isn’t that the worst?

“You’re the worst, brat,” comes that rumbling, terrible voice in the back of his head. The nagging used to sound more like him - and when he’s really stressed, it still sometimes does - but now his own voice has faded into the King of Curses’. Now his own voice is sweeter, more prone to praise and positives - in a weird way, Sukuna has made Yuuji better.

But in a lot more ways -

“Oi, don’t ignore me.”

He’s made Yuuji’s life so much worse.

“You like that one, right? I can help.”

You’re sitting back, allowing Megumi to take the reins on shooting down Nobara’s suggestion for sushi. Normally, that demand isn’t a problem, but this would be the fifth night in a row she’s tried roping you all into ordering sushi for her. You lean into Megumi a little, and Yuuji hates the way his chest tightens at the display.

It isn’t even affection. It’s just…

“You want to be the one she’s on, right?”

Yuuji sighs to himself and sneaks out of the kitchen, though it’s hardly a challenge when Nobara raises her voice to defend her long-lasting cravings.

With tense shoulders and a red face, Yuuji glances down each side of the hall to ensure nobody is nearby, “How could you help with this?”

Sukuna’s eye on Yuuji’s cheek has flitted up to stare into Yuuji’s, and that sickly crawl of his skin stretching to accommodate Sukuna’s wide grin makes his stomach turn, “You’re just a child, you don’t know anything about women.”

Yuuji could double over, hands on his knees and breathless in sputters of laughter, but he refrains - unwilling to let anyone hear his schizophrenic ramblings, “And you do?”

Sukuna’s eye rolls and Yuuji hates the way it feels under his cheekbone, nearly retching in response, “Of course.”

And that strings up some different terrible question in Yuuji, “But why would you help me?”

Sukuna has been so unwilling to do anything useful for Yuuji despite the fact he’s allowed to reside in this body - so what could possibly possess him to do this now?

“Do you want my help or not, worm?”

Yuuji sighs through his nose, eyes fluttering shut, thinking hard about the offer. He’d come to the conclusion not too long after swallowing his first finger to simply not question many of Sukuna’s motives, mostly since his goals are: chaos, women, and chaos.

“This better not be some gross pass at my friend,” Yuuji sneers, body electrified on the ready to smack down his own cheek should he hear an answer he doesn’t like.

Sukuna is too quiet for too long, and Yuuji is fully prepared to swipe at the parasite on his face when finally, that deep voice rattles again. It buzzes in his flesh, uncomfortable and itchy and so quiet he barely hears what the curse mumbles into him.

The boy pauses and lets the words melt on his tongue, he turns them between his molars and laves the roof of his mouth with the remaining implications. He wasn’t expecting Sukuna to be honest, not to that degree at least.

And Yuuji smacks Sukuna’s bulbous eye down anyway.

“Fine then,” Yuuji pulls his hand down and curls his fingers into a fist, another great big awful ragged sigh roughing over his tongue like barbed wire, “I’ll listen to you, but if you ruin this for me- “

“Calm down, brat,” the mouth pops back up stubbornly, bitterly spitting out his version of a promise, “I don’t plan on failing.”

Yuuji pushes himself off the wall and spins back into the kitchen unnoticed, hands locking behind his head as he saddles up beside you at the table, “So, what’s for dinner?”

He snorts at how you groan, looking up at him from your seat with tired, low-lidded eyes and gesturing across the table to where Megumi and Nobara are still arguing, “You tell me.”

“Why don’t we just go out?” Yuuji shrugs, grinning broadly despite the way his two friends both twitch their necks over to glare at him, “Come on, it’s not even dark! We can walk around and do a little looking; get some air!”

Nobara’s pitched shoulders drop, pinched expression falling into her usual lax, she looks over at Megumi again with a raised brow. Megumi shrugs, his own eyebrows still scrunched together, “If it’s fine with you two, I don’t care.”

You snicker, standing up against the stiff wood supports of the chair legs, one elbow digging into the table to further help hold you up while your spare fingers dance up to smooth out the crinkled space, “I think it’ll be fun.”

Megumi snatches you by the wrist and tosses your hand to the side while Nobara hops down from her own chair, stretching out her back until it pops obnoxiously. She’s already bouncing out of the kitchen to snag her shoes before shouting back, “Well, come on! We’re on a timer now, people!”

“Jeez,” you slip off the chair pegs, bumping slightly into Yuuji’s side - entirely oblivious to the sparkly fireworks you sweep across your poor friend’s body at the contact, “Should’ve just suggested that from the start, huh?”

Shrugging, Yuuji waits for you to begin walking out of the kitchen before following, “Sometimes you just need fresh eyes on a situation, you know?”

“I guess,” you fold your arms, evidently frustrated, “Just feel like that was something I should’ve seen.”

Yuuji feels that disgusting, familiar thumping in his chest just by looking at you now. Heat radiating from his cheeks to the expanse of his chest, throat swelling with the uncomfortable need to spill his guts - dump every little thought and feeling he’s ever had for you into your ears until you force him to shut up. Like how he can’t even look at Jennifer Lawrence the way he used to simply because she isn’t you.

Maybe then he’d tell you that this hasn’t happened in the six years since he first saw Silver Linings Playbook. Maybe you’d tell him to stop talking, and that you two would never happen.

Maybe then he can move on, when you crush his hope. But he doesn’t really want that.

And he doesn’t really know why he agreed to let Sukuna lend him any advice.

Oh well.

It’s when you’re rushing out the door to keep up with Megumi and Nobara that Sukuna opens his mouth for the first time.

His voice stabs into Yuuji’s ears, but it isn’t exceptionally as cruel as he usually finds it, this, instead, is purely instructional, “When you two are out tonight, tell her about that cat you saw around the garden today.”

Yuuji scratches through his messily filed memories, “I saw a cat?”

“Yes, twit, a black one. Tell her about how its fur changed color in the sun.”

“Okay…?” Yuuji huffs in his daze, finally putting effort into walking alongside you and the others, “Hey! So, I just remembered something.”

“Oh yeah?” you smile at Yuuji, purely encouraging, and he’s disgusted at the way he almost trips over his own feet.

Nobara and Megumi pay the both of you little mind, instead pointing out different potential favorite hotspots they could creep into for the night. Well, Nobara points out, they could even stop at two places if they’re feeling adventurous. And Megumi says they can do whatever the rest of you think is best.

But Yuuji isn’t listening, and you’re hardly lending an ear, he swallows down the rock in his throat and nods, “I saw a cat this morning - a black one! - and it made me think of you,” the gentle warmth spreading through him could either be the way you’re lighting up at him, or Sukuna silently congratulating his good line, “Its fur was all brownish red in the sun, it was…” your eyes are so starry and sweet, solely on him - it makes his tongue tie up in knots, “It was beautiful.”

“Bummer I wasn’t there, then,” you pout a little, “You need to get me for things like that!” he laughs at the way your face has morphed, all stern and strict business, “Seriously!”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, both hands up in playful defense, “I promise to call you if I see another cat.”

“Could’ve at least taken a picture for me,” you histrionically sigh, “And I thought we were friends.”

A sudden thought invades the back of Yuuji’s mind. Some hidden, more primal part of his mind that he doesn’t usually listen to flashes back to a time he doesn’t remember.

We used to be more.

You and him are sitting out in the sun with a fluffy little Bombay cat tucked into your lap. It paws at the buttery dandelions that bloom between you both, his own legs are sprawled out impolitely and your own are crossed to wall around the feline in your hold. His knee knocks against yours whenever he shifts his leg. You lean in, shoulder digging into the meat of his muscled arm and temple resting on his shoulder.

Your body is entirely at ease. His is, too.

Yuuji knows exactly where the thought comes from. And if that dark, creepy place weren’t so infested by evil then maybe he’d feel a little pity for it. But you’re in front of him now, and you’re excited to be here, and your pinky keeps knocking into his as you two walk side-by-side - so there’s no room for pity in his heart.

Your quartet winds up squished into a teal leather booth towards a back corner of Nobara’s selected diner. You and Nobara sit on the interior seats, pressed into the windows, with Yuuji and Megumi caging the both of you in. Megumi having shoved Yuuji down next to you before the boy could even see who was where.

“What were you thinking?” Nobara sits up, jabbing your arm with a manicured finger just to annoy you.

Flicking at her hand, you shrug, focusing on the boards plastered behind the front bar counter for any eye-catching special offers.

Yuuji can feel the tightening of his cheek skin as the eyeball threatens to pop out, it stings when his cheek is forced to split for Sukuna’s eye. His cheek below that parts as well for his lips.

And Sukuna is kind enough this once to be quiet, “Tell her to get the wildfowl bowl,” as if sensing his arising questions, Sukuna continues, “And tell the kitchen worms to make sure the vegetables are soft. Not well, not sturdy,” he sounds disgusted as he says it, “Soft.”

“Hey,” and against everything he’s been told by Gojo, Yuuji puts his entire trust into the curse inside him, “that wildfowl bowl looks good, right?”

You lean closer to Yuuji, arm brushing his as you try to see where he spotted that, “What’s in it? Duck?”

He gives a conformational hum even though he has no idea, “Probably good with soft vegetables.”

Megumi shakes his head, “What does that even mean?”

“When they steam the veggies for longer than usual,” you pat Yuuji’s shoulder while defending him, “I get what you mean, Itadori. Sorry Fushiguro is so judgemental.”

“I was just saying…” Megumi’s voice flutters out of Yuuji’s focus.

Instead, another memory he never made begins to flourish from that black, mushy, rotted back of his brain.

You’re sat in his lap, large thighs perfectly bracketing around your own. A neglected bowl of slim slivers of perfectly browned duck meat sits atop cooling rice, carrots, and green beans. No doubt soft and easy to chew. In your hands is a steaming bowl, larger than the one in your lap, weighed down by thick cuts of juicy meat slabs. Almost like steak, but there’s no outer hide tanned by flame. It’s red, almost raw, and even after trimming the fat - it’s still bathed in pink, fleshy trails.

Grinning so lovingly, you pinch the slabs with your bare fingers and merely giggle when Sukuna’s sharp teeth prick at your skin. His long tongue works to clean your fingers of the excess meat juices as he eats. Two of his hands are on your hips, holding you steady, a third is steadied beside him against the cold bone of his throne, and a fourth resides at the back of your head. Almost big enough to palm the whole of your skull like a children’s ball - he pats and pets and smooths his fingers over the slope of the back of your neck.

Preening under gentle attention, you’re sure to empty Sukuna’s bowl before picking your own back up.

People watch with blood at their feet, none dare to move. Fearful to become the next hot meal in your hand should they disobey Sukuna’s silent command.

As your hands wrap around your cold bowl, a deep grunt reverberates behind you in Sukuna’s broad chest. He tugs the dish from your grasp; plucks the duck meat between his forefinger and thumb and holds it above your nose, forcing you to look up.

He waves it in front of your face, “Open,” and you follow his order, lips parting yet still pitched up in the impression of a pleased smile. And when he flattens the meat to your tongue and you begin chewing - you’re still smiling. That earns another fond stroke down the back of your head, pausing at your shoulder and digging his thumb into the muscle just to hear you sigh, “Good girl.”

Yuuji doesn’t see all of that. He can grasp some vague sense that you two have shared meals he’ll never get to taste, but he never sees the gristle left behind on your fingers or the saliva webbed between your fingers after feeding Sukuna.

That - Sukuna ‘hmph's proudly as he watches you beam at Yuuji over your modern interpretation of your favorite meal - the King of Curses keeps to himself. Selfishly, just as he always has.

That next morning, you sheepishly prattle into the dusty, creaky classroom with only four rusty, barely used desks and slip into the one by Yuuji. You’re toying with the tips of your hair, eyes bouncing from where Yuuji sits on the desktop beside you and the classroom door.

Nobara sits backward at the desk directly in front of you, arms coiled around the back support of her chair as she speaks and Megumi sits normally beside her - attention solely on his book. Yuuji watches you fiddle with the ends of your hair while pretending to listen to Nobara.

And then he sees it. The new cherry shade decorating your lips, and before Sukuna can sprout and tell him to - Yuuji’s leaning down with his best smile, “New lipstick?”

Jumping at the sudden voice, your rigid posture melts under the boy’s gaze, “Yes, actually. You like?”

It could be puke green and Yuuji would still want it smeared across his face from your kisses.

But despite housing Sukuna Ryomen and battling dreadful curses, Yuuji fails to muster the courage to say that to your face, “Yeah! It’s really pretty.”

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

There goes your annoying heart, hammering just from the sound of Yuuji’s overtly positive lilt. It makes your cheeks burn and fingers skittishly tip-tap against the pencil-scratched desk, “You think so?”

But he’d never lie, you know that.

So even though it shouldn’t be a surprise when he doubles down, your annoying heart won’t stop dramatically tossing itself around when Yuuji nods with a determined, boyish grin, “Definitely.”

It’s all so saccharine and perfect, it makes Sukuna nauseous. Which, in turn, makes Yuuji nauseous.

Face paling, Yuuji jumps onto his feet and excuses himself, rushing out of the room (with no Gojo even in sight, by the way) towards the bathroom.

“Is he okay?” Nobara murmurs, stretching her neck to see outside the door frame, “What a weirdo.”

“Yeah,” you sigh dreamily, “He is sometimes, huh?”

Megumi gags at your tone, “Seriously…?”

“What was that?” Yuuji’s question is spikey and venomous while he stares into the cracked, water-spotted mirror - straight at the little eyeball on his cheek.

“You two are disgusting,” Sukuna stares back into the glass, low-lidded and unimpressed, “Get this over with and ask her out, brat.”

“But what if she says no?” Yuuji reaches up and toys with the little pink hairs at the back of his head, eyes suddenly unable to meet Sukuna at all, “It’ll totally ruin everything.”

“Enough whining. She won’t say no.”

He doesn’t know how it took so long to recognize, or maybe he just needed an excuse to display his old, unbroken knowledge of you before your fleshly little weakling friends even knew it. But he’s seen the little bursts of color and stars and sparkles and all that cute mess before.

He’s seen it many times. It was the only way you used to look at Sukuna.

That puppyish, lovesick wonder as you fluttered your pretty eyelashes at him.

Even when he would return to you in blood and sweat and muck and smelling of the death and despair he expertly wrought.

You were always at least five paces ahead of Uraume, hands bunching up in the pretty flowing silks that decorated your body. Excitedly, you’d pounce and he would hold you. Sapping up your energy and feeding off the way you’d press cherry-tasting kisses all along his hardened face. You served yourself up to him on a silver platter, all your heart and soul and mind devoted entirely and without ulterior motives. That’s why you were always his favorite.

Nothing before or after you was ever up to par. And he felt disgruntled at every turn into different worshippers and concubines and lovers - somehow wronged simply by the fact they were not as you were. It was all so disappointing.

And every now and again he’d flash back to you while with others. He imagines it’s how children feel when they remember a lost or broken or tossed-out favorite toy. That ache of times lost and never feeling quite fulfilled again.

Which is why when he saw you again through this brat’s eyes, he could instantly remember those nights with you. Full-bellied and raw-lipped and your pulse between his teeth.

But Yuuji knows nothing of that, and so when he returns to the classroom - neither of you says anything.

It’s only the two of you. Everyone else was cast out in the violent, unwilling acceptance that they had done all they could. With no open wound, there was a horrific list rattled off in Sukuna’s ears. Illnesses and infections that attacked the lungs and nervous system and skin and heart - things that would eat you alive from the inside. And when all could be done about that, you remained in bed.

In and out of consciousness and delusional, proclaiming twisted lights and shadowy creatures trying to rip you from yourself.

Perhaps, one of the women called to care for you shyly spoke up, perhaps she’s just too old.

And that was something he avoided admitting to himself.

But it was time now.

With dew still moist on the blades of grass and morning sunlight streaming through the window beside your bed - the bell tolls. Your fingers are stiff in the sheets, limbs cold and stiff when you’re found. Wide, puppylike eyes gaze up at the ceiling and Sukuna has you buried beneath the tallest, most twisted tree he could find in the surrounding forest. And when Sukuna returns from your grave that night - alone - he crosses into a dark tunnel.

It’s cold and solid beneath his feet, paces echoing back for his ears. He keeps his eyes down to avoid maddening himself over the plainness - the displeasure of even glimpsing this tunnel’s repetitive nature.

Until there’s light, golden, with the shrouded, clumsy shape of twisted branches and lanky trunks coming into view at the far open end.

And faintly, like the sweet singing of a beloved music box, he hears the tune of your voice. A high scoop towards the end.

“Itadori, right?”

Sukuna’s feet move faster before he even fully knows he’s moving.

On the other side is you, a hand jammed out in front of you in a polite wave - as if the both of you are strangers. Then that name creeps back up his spine.

Well, it’s not truly his spine, is it? It’s this new brat’s.

But then there’s your honeyed voice again, “Huh, third eye.”

Right. You wouldn’t remember it, would you?

You wouldn’t remember any of it.

Yuuji shoots up, dark sheets tangled around his ankles and cold sweat beading down his forehead - strings of pink hair matted down to his skin uncomfortably. His wide eyes scramble across the shadows of his room, slowly refamiliarizing himself with the expanse and soothing his pounding heart.

He smoothes back his hair, running through the small kinks and knots, “What the hell was that?”

That slicing pain along his cheek shocks him awake further, but no sore, deep voice follows. The eye sits there, downcast. Sitting inside this body is one of the last things he saw for himself, but to exist beside you again is liquid gold just flowing in a river. A river his new body refuses to swim in.

“She’s still awake.”

Yuuji looks over to the red numbers lighting up from his bedside alarm clock, “It’s midnight.”

Sukuna inhales sharply, irritation scorching a hole in his tongue, but he withholds the many sudden hateful thoughts he has towards Yuuji and simply repeats himself, “She’s still awake.”

“It’s weird how obsessed you are with this,” Yuuji swings his legs over the edge of his bed and slips his feet into the slippers you’d gifted him. They’re cheesy and themed after fire engines and just barely fit, but he wears them at any given opportunity.

The eye sinks back into his skin, lips sealing shut, and a thick sludge boils in Yuuji’s stomach. Quiet King of Curses is an unsettling King of Curses, and Yuuji barely finds himself able to tune out the exhaustive wave of Sukuna’s criticisms. That is much preferred to this buzzing silence.

Creeping down the moaning wooden panels to your room, Yuuji raps his knuckles against your door before immediately shuffling his fists into his gray sweatpants.

Something clatters against hardwood, sheets ruffle, and your footsteps thump, thump, thump up to your bedroom door. Your face peeks out from the sliver of cracked doorway, and there’s no hint of sleep in your gaze. You seem alert, if a little lazily slouched against your doorframe.

“Itadori?”

Oh, right. He was here to say something, wasn’t he?

But he can’t possibly find the strength in his tongue, not when you look at him like that.

With some impossible adoration, like you simply can’t wait to hear whatever stupid bullshit he’s about to spout. He feels so unworthy of it all, and he can’t wait to find out more about you and mold himself to it. To become someone you can’t imagine waking up without. To study and be studied, he’s ready to throw himself into the horrors of being known - if it’s you he’s known by.

The air is punched out of him as he speaks, “Can…” you nod him along, opening your door wider, “Can I kiss you?”

Now that he’s so close to the sugary river, he can’t wait to dive in.

“Seriously?” you laugh in shock at the outburst, but when his face persists, you fling the door open entirely, “Seriously?”

Yuuji winds his hands tighter, to stop himself from desperately clawing his way down your throat, “I like you. I’ve liked you…” he’s unnatural like this, red in the face and dodging your stare, “I don’t even know.”

But you do, you felt it when you first saw him. However, you’re not plagued by the chains of past lives, so the implications are lost. Winding your arms behind your back and grinning at Yuuji with toothy glee, “Me too.”

His eyes nail you with that doughy, desperate plea for attention - the need to be seen as himself. And you’ve always been glad to lend it over in plentiful bounties.

That buzz of silence stabs the both of you.

Until Yuuji can no longer tether himself to his pockets, his big hands gentle as he cups both your cheeks. He molds himself to you, hoping that those troublesome flashes of times he never lived will at least serve his muscle memory now.

Your hands twist into the front of Yuuji’s shirt, nails biting into the black, soft, loose fabric and tugging him closer. Yuuji’s lips are slightly chapped, and you can feel the imprints from where he’s bitten them raw. He hisses when you peek your tongue at the smooth spots.

Wrenching your hands back, you quickly run them under and up his sleep shirt - his skin is warm and he gasps against your lips when your fingertips skim along his sides.

Yuuji pulls back, cheeks flaming, and shoulders his way past your bedroom door, kicking it shut behind him and placing his hands over his shirt - finding yours through the material. He grins, chuckling at how you grope his muscle, squeezing around your hands, “Enjoying yourself?”

“Whatever,” you huff, embarrassed, then ripping your hands out from under his shirt and twisting your fingers between his before - just to prove a point - planting his palms below your own shirt, “You try being normal like this.”

Yuuji’s broad palms are still only burning into the soft flesh of your stomach, but his heart is terribly out of whack.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

“You can go higher,” your voice lilts higher, a mere soft whisper as if anything louder could entirely break the poor boy’s brain, “If you want…”

Of course, he does. He’d trade a thousand years with that Sisyphus guy Megumi mentioned to him just for twelve seconds of his hands sizzling up your body. Maybe even just for the chance.

His hands scope higher, palms glued to the planes of your body like he’s trying to scar himself along your skin. The sudden need to leave some lasting impression that he was there - here with you.

Yuuji does his best not to jump when Sukuna’s voice slithers into his ear, polite enough to whisper so he doesn’t alarm you, “Get her on her back. Tongue her cunt.”

You look at him all sweet and concerned when Yuuji’s nose scrunches, “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

But he has no idea how to tell you that Sukuna’s words make his stomach churn, and by the time he even tries to form the words he’s thinking about it. Imagining himself on his stomach with his head between your thighs, your hands tangled in his hair, and eagerly trying to annoy your friends as much as possible with how loud he can make you. And he feels so, so lightheaded at that.

Yuuji’s eyes are wide, staring into yours with such fire that it almost makes you shy away, “Can I eat you out?”

But you brave his dissecting gaze, heart pounding in your ears.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

And, oh, Yuuji could just about die happy right now.

On his stomach with his head between your thighs, your hands screwed into the twirls of his tousled hair and (hopefully) annoying at least a nosy Nobara should she be listening to your soft moans next door.

Yuuji wiggles his tongue into your weeping hole, nestling his nose against your clit with a wheezy little whine. His eyes flutter up at you through the gaps between your shaking arms.

“Get your hands in there,” Sukuna’s voice is muffled against the thickness of your thigh, “Thumb her clit, don’t rely on your nose.”

Crinkling his brows, Yuuji has to bite back his remarks about how Sukuna could’ve told him that sooner. Snaking his right hand over your leg, Yuuji flattens his large hand against your lower stomach and pins your bucking hips. His thumb taking residence on your swollen clit, the bridge of his nose still saddled beneath it.

Your back arches, hips grinding down into Yuuji’s thumb and tongue. He’s messy with it - head shaking just to tease and feel the wetness of your pussy slip and slather across his chin. He tongue-fucks you in earnest, practically moaning into you as he grinds against the mattress. Swishing his thumb against your clit faster when he can feel you tighten around him, chasing the feeling of you cumming all over his face.

He can hear it despite his desperation - the way your breath hitches and throat cinches out a squeal. Your thighs squish around his head and Yuuji has to force his hips still lest he be submitted to the horrors of cumming in his pants.

And it isn’t even the fear of your reaction - no, he knows better than to think you’re capable of making him feel shame. It’s just-

“Yes,” Sukuna’s voice is husky, tongue lolling out along Yuuji’s cheek to lather up your juice, “Yes!”

Yuuji knows exactly who will be making fun of him instead. He smacks at the unwanted presence and takes it as pure luck when Sukuna actually stays down.

He works his tongue out of you slowly, letting you whine and huff the way off your high naturally before peeking up at you. He’s grinning, eyes wide and hands retreating to dig hungrily into the meat of your thighs.

“Hey, I wanna try something,” Yuuji’s shamelessness in licking at his soaked lips makes heat flush all the way to your forehead, “Just let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

You nod sheepishly, body jittery with the little bugs crawling beneath your sweltering skin. Yuuji bends to the sudden thought he’s sure has something to do with the curse inside him with a mysterious catalog on all things you.

Yuuji slips onto his back beside you, curled against the cold wall corning your bed with his feet flat against the mattress and legs bent. He uses the unnatural well of strength he’s harbored since birth to squeeze at the fat of your sides and lift you atop of him. He can feel the warmth of your cunt on his pelvis and it wracks him with a shiver, you whine helplessly when his right hand immediately welds to your slit. His index and ring fingers part your lips so his middle can swipe coyly over your clit.

“Hah,” you watch his ring finger abandon its post to join the rude teasing, “Yuuji…”

“I know,” Yuuji sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes glued to where your wetness drips onto his skin, his hard cock peeking up between your legs, “I know, I’m sorry,” but he doesn’t sound very sorry. Especially when he’s continuing to tease you while pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Okay, serious now,” but he dips his fingers lower and prods at your hole, “Serious.”

You giggle, hot-faced, at his focused gaze, “Yuuji!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he spreads your lips again just to stare from over your shoulder, voice hoars when he finally speaks up, “Alright. Serious now.”

Reaching between your legs, Yuuji grabs hold of his cock - hissing at the contact - and is internally grateful when you raise your hips to meet his head. He presses his forehead against your shoulder when his tip pushes inside you. You feel the hot puffs of air he sends against your back as you continue lowering yourself. He whimpers, the hand at his base flying across your abdomen and gripping your breast. He squeezes and pinches and tries suffocating the embarrassing little noises escaping his lips when you rock your hips down on his pelvis.

“Okay down there?” you twist your head to look back at Yuuji and you’re so glad you did.

He’s flushed down to his chest and his lashes are kissing his cheeks to keep himself together, when he finally opens his eyes fully and looks up at you. His bottom lip is red and puffy from how hard he’d been biting it, “Now I’m gonna do something new.”

This wasn’t new?

Yuuji’s arms stretch under the backs of your knees and come over your shoulders before winding behind your neck, pressing his palms flat against the back of your head. Your arms dangle uselessly at your sides, hands stretching out to graze his ribs and legs bouncing limply as he manhandles you.

His cock bullies itself in your cunt, hips jerking up into the fat of your ass.

Yuuji tries to suffocate down his groans in favor of your sweet moans being punched up from your gut every time he sweeps deep inside you. His lips press tightly just as your own pop open for adorable “ah, ah ah!”s - fighting to maintain his pace despite how badly he wants to pin you to his body and wallow through the wetness sucking him back in for every thrust. Feel your sweaty skin slide and stick against his and whine at the pulling sensation when you peel apart.

Another sudden idea pops into his brain and it’s almost instinctual how he follows it. Besides, it isn’t like he’s going to complain about being brain-blasted with memories that aren’t his if it means not having to hear Sukuna’s voice while fucking you.

Hips never falter in their snaps up into you, Yuuji cranes his neck to teeth at the meat of your nape. He bites possessively and grunts in response to your immediate pitchy moan. Then licking over the marks apologetically.

You try to smother down your breathless moans as Yuuji bullies his cock repeatedly into that spongy spot shooting stars behind your eyes. With an angle and drive and care you’re sure would be lost on any man other than Yuuji - and you’re dumbly struck by the hope that maybe this hard work is only because he’s here with you. And that coherent thought is fucked out of you with Yuuji’s next whimpered request.

“Don’t do that,” he gasps when you tighten around him after a particularly rough thrust, “Please don’t keep it down- wanna…” he moans and the sound flutters straight to your tightening gut, “Wanna hear you so bad, pretty girl.”

Unlatching your teeth from the plush of your bottom lip, flames lap through the wiry twists of your veins - burning through the stretch of your skin and scarring Yuuji. And he eats it up and greedily begs at your feet for more. It shames Sukuna just as much as it excites him to taste the salt on your skin through his vessel’s tongue and watch the way your legs shake and bounce under his vessel’s iron hold. His favorite way to have you and your favorite way to take him.

Yuuji unwinds one of his arms from behind your neck, lowering half your body slightly to swipe his fingers between the junction of your thighs. Right over the slippery spot where you’re creaming on his cock and taking the soaked fingers to your clit. His canines and soft lips battle for a monopoly of your neck and shoulder, swiftly circling your clit with his middle and ring fingers as his hips continue fucking you stubbornly.

“Hng, Yuu…!” you gasp, head throwing back and narrowly missing his - the coil winding tighter and tighter and your walls milking Yuuji tighter and tighter, “Yuuji!”

“I know, baby,” he kisses up your bent neck and presses his flaming cheek against yours, “God, please, cum for me. Cum for me,” his hips stutter, and his breath hitches and oh, he’s so close, “I wanna feel you cum on me, baby- I need it. Need it so bad.”

“Oh, Yuuji,” you dig your face closer to his as if trying to meld yourselves into one body, “‘m cumming,” you clench and he’s damn near wheezing, the knot in his lower belly popping as he feels you cum and drips down his balls, “‘m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming…!”

And just to avoid embarrassing himself from admitting he’s in love with you while spitting his own cum in your warm, wet walls, Yuuji strangles down his own final cries with a coppery, abusive bite to his bottom lip.

It starts to hurt, how he overstimulates himself through his slowing thrusts - letting you slip down onto his thrumming, sticky chest. Your legs sprawled across his sides, Yuuji slipping his softening cock from your hole.

You lazily roll off of Yuuji, landing face-first into your sheets at his side.

Yuuji can hear it again, that terrible, grating voice telling him, “Clean her, brat.”

And what’s the most terrible is he knows Sukuna’s command is entirely warranted. Flopping a hand onto your back, Yuuji traces heart shapes into the skin as he talks, “I’ll be right back.”

And when Yuuji’s wetting a soft, clean cloth he braved the hallway (nude) to retrieve from his room, he hears that voice again. It echoes in your bathroom.

“I want a turn when she’s awake,” a pause, “Fully awake.”

“Aren’t you charitable?” Yuuji rolls his eyes.

And that same utterance from hours before rings through Yuuji’s ears once again. Why Sukuna cared so much about petty crushes. Why Sukuna bothered himself by actually giving genuine, helpful points. Why Sukuna was fascinated by you.

“She was my most devoted and favorite lover in her past life.”

The way he says it inspires no respect for Yuuji - underlined in his thriving desire to be worshiped, as he imagines he deserves. Yuuji wouldn’t dare uphold you to that.

When he tenderly presses his thumbs into stiff muscles with a red flush and warm smile, Yuuji knows that for sure.

“Can I stay the night?” he whispers, folding his discarded towels and lazily tucking them by your bedpost on the floor. He feels that same hurried ache in his chest, awaiting for your impatience.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

You hum, lifting your head off the pillow and snickering, your drowsy face pinched to look at him like he’s stupid, “Duh.”

Giddy, Yuuji slips under the blankets he’d slid over you after cleaning the mess from between your thighs, and slots himself right next to you.

Rolling again, you twist into an open space against Yuuji’s chest and under his thick arm. Warmth drapes across your shoulders when he rests that arm over you. He circles his other arm around you and squeezes, grinning so hard he can feel it burning in the balls of his cheeks. Your ear rests against Yuuji’s chest, and you soothe yourself to slumber on the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Blissfully unaware of the fact that when your bones are rotten and six feet deep, two more people will be curled into each other’s arms. With your same starry eyes that some pink-haired kid falls in love with every time they’re on him.

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #yuuji x reader #yuuji smut #yuuji fluff #yuji x reader #yuji itadori #yuji itadori x reader #yuji itadori smut #yuji itadori fluff #and sukuna too i guess

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ivymarquis · 1 month

Text

The Neighbor

Hello friends I fucked off for a month but I’m back and I bring Price smut as an apology for my absence. @sky-is-the-limit’s “Im here to do what your boyfriend cant” prompt has lived in my brain rent free ecer since I read it and while I didn’t follow it verbatim, I did keep in spirit with the theme :)

Also womp I was gone for the Price challenge by @glitterypirateduck but this actually checks off a couple of the prompt options (first time being intimate, a confession/secret is discovered/revealed) so I’m submitting it.

There are a lot of tags. Make sure you read them.

Pairing| John Price x Reader Rating| M Word Count| 4.8k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Accidental voyuerism by virtue of living in an apartment, the reader has a dogshit boyfriend at the beginning of the fic (there is no cheating), slut shaming (from the dogshit boyfriend), these two idiots are down bad for each other, sex toys, oral (F!receiving), unprotected PiV, gratuitous squirting because I’m me, not really heavy on BDSM elements but mentions of the following: bondage/restraints (John uses his hands, nothing crazy), something akin to subspace from how good the nut is, aftercare, John is a prick to the now-ex, very brief angst due to a quick misunderstanding, very vaguely implied somnophilia, rampant abuse of italics. Lemme know if I missed anything.

His neighbor is clearly used to Price being deployed.

She’s a sweet thing, really, and on the whole isn’t that disagreeable of a neighbor.

He just has one problem with her (not even her, really) that is a thorn in his fucking side- her boyfriend.

The boyfriend was not an issue when they first met- wasn’t in the picture at all.

And no John most assuredly hasn’t had it out for the guy since Day 1. The fact that John had gathered himself up to ask his pretty neighbor out when he came back from his latest mission, only to find out about the new boyfriend, does not color his impression of the other man. He’s grown and this is not the first time his advances have been turned away for whatever reason.

But there are, to his knowledge, no true redeeming qualities about the man and he is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

He catches bits and pieces through the walls. The boyfriend is not attentive, caring, or sweet to her. She is treated as a guest in her own home, and twice he’s heard bellowing shouts that had Price at the door with his fist banging against it- both to shut him up and make it exceptionally well known that if the boyfriend thinks intimidating a woman is going to fly, that Price will not hesitate to kick the door in.

The most appalling part of it all is that John has a front row seat to just how atrocious he is in bed.

For the life of him John does not understand. It’s not even like the lad’s a good lay.

He’s heard many stories of women tolerating absolutely atrocious behavior from the muppets they were with because he knew how to make them see stars.

That is exceptionally not the case here. And John is rapidly finding his patience wearing thin at continually being subjugated to his pathetic performance.

So what the hell is it about the boyfriend that keeps his neighbor so enamored with him?

John stares at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan turn as he tries to tune out the thumping of the headboard against the wall.

He thinks that if the man was just a bad lay and completely incapable of getting her anywhere, that would be one thing and John would continue to be frustrated but ultimately understand. But it’s the way he seems to actively ruin it anytime she has the audacity to enjoy having sex with him that truly grates on John’s nerves.

It’s not often, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then. The thumping of the headboard is accompanied by her sweet voice moaning lowly in short staccato notes as the boyfriend appears to finally be doing something right.

The thumping comes to a halt, and John groans in frustration.

“Why’d you stop?” He can hear his pretty neighbor lament through the thin walls.

“Why the fuck are you being so loud? Trying to give the neighbor a show?”

John squints his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The fucking muppet can’t do anything right.

If the neighbor was his, John wouldn’t give a fuck who heard. Let all the neighbors know that he could fuck the sense clear out of her pretty little head. John could show the muppet what loud is.

“No! I’m not trying to do anything- it just felt good,” she defends herself.

“Well, be quieter about it, no one needs to hear that. You sound like a whore,” the muppet snaps at her irritably, and John is nearly at his fucking limit when the god damn headboard starts to thump against the wall again.

“Get out.”

Oh.

John is impressed- pleasure and pride coursing through him as his sweet neighbor stands up for herself rather than letting that ungrateful swine continue to berate her.

Good fucking girl.

“What did you just say?” The thumping stops.

“You don’t get to call me names. Get off of me and get out.”

For all his sins, it seems even the muppet has a line he’s not willing to cross.

There’s a shifting as he presumably pulls out and gets off the bed- the words are muffled but the tone is clear. The muppet isn’t above laying into her verbally though consent is (smartly) a line he won’t toe.

And good thinking on his part- John would probably tear through the drywall and turn him into a chew toy had that conversation gone in any other direction.

The door slams loudly, announcing the boyfriend’s departure.

John can’t help but keep his attention on his neighbor to see what her reaction is going to be. It is taking every ounce of self control he has to not follow the boyfriend and wring his neck in the parking lot.

There’s no conventional guide for how to address this situation with your neighbor. ‘Hello, I’ve fancied you for quite some time and that ungrateful prick somehow swept you up before I got the nerve to ask you out. I've had to hear you have the most lackluster sex ever for the past several months, and equal parts want to check in on how you’re doing emotionally after his latest stunt, and also want to bend you over and pin you to the mattress until you’re squealing. May I come in?’

He can’t say he is too surprised to hear things slamming about in the apartment- his pretty neighbor sounding more pissed off than upset, catching snippets of “Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that” and “Motherfucker couldn’t find my clit with a map and a headlamp but can find the audacity to call me names-”

Okay, John has to fight back the urge to laugh at that last one lest she hear him. She’s quite the viper when (finally) provoked, and it just endears her more to him.

She doesn’t appear particularly distraught, the slamming and huffing and muttering concluding with her tossing herself on the bed.

It’s a very common occurrence that after the neighbor’s rendezvous with her lazy boyfriend, John is treated to a show where she finishes herself off with her toys.

The boyfriend, like many inadequate men, is threatened by them and John has heard the snide remarks.

Hilarious, he finds it, that a man incapable of getting her off is so adamant that she gets rid of them.

She hasn’t listened, clearly, as the low sound of her vibrator can be heard through the wall.

John is soon graced with the sound of her panting moans. His cock stiffens in interest at her voice, which is a frequent occurrence. She makes such pretty noises, mewling and whimpering as she works herself up.

Tonight is a whirlwind of emotions for his pretty neighbor, and at the end of the day her no-good boyfriend left her high and dry.

John will gladly enjoy the consequences of the boyfriend’s actions, one hand wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke in time with her whines.

What he wouldn’t give for a chance to make her see stars. He’d be so good to her.

The reality of his job makes dating a logistical nightmare, part of what stayed his hand for so long.

He’s not blind. His neighbor is kind and sweet with a killer smile and wandering eyes. He’s caught her more than once ogling him when he’s returned home in uniform, or more nondescript tactical clothing.

Feeling her gaze on him always makes him puff up with pride, enjoying holding her attention no matter how fleeting. If he takes his time after a run and makes a point to pull the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow where she can see it, that’s his business.

So John thinks he’s dreaming when he hears that lovely voice whimper his name from the other side of the wall.

He stiffens, quietly waiting to see if he hears it again.

“John- Oh, fuck- please,” is all he needs to hear before he’s well and truly lost any semblance of patience.

Only having the presence of mind to dress himself enough to not warrant any errant looks from the other neighbors, he is at her door in a second.

It’s only after he knocks that he realizes he may well have killed whatever momentum she’s built for herself- given her muttering as she approaches the door- but he fully intends to make up for the stolen release.

She opens the door without looking through the peephole, obviously expecting it to be the ex based on the vitriol poised to spill at John’s chest, approximately eye level with where the (hopefully ex) boyfriend would be.

Once again he has to stifle a laugh, finding her a comical vision when the anger on her face melts away as her eyes flick up to his face with the realization that it is him at the door and not the object of her ire.

“What are you doing here, John?” Christ, he’s always been a sucker for pretty doe eyes. If he held even an ounce less of restraint he’d be mounting her right here for everyone to see.

“I’m here to do what your sorry excuse of a boyfriend can’t.”

Even as he reaches out to pull her in for a kiss, he’s watching her body language- gauging if she stiffens or shifts away.

She doesn’t.

In fact, her arms loop behind him and pull him closer, tugging on his hair and his shirt.

John’s not wasting any more time than he already has, walking her backwards into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before reaching back to lock it- he’s got no desire for any interruptions from wayward former boyfriends.

They separate for a moment as she paws at the hem of his shirt, clearly wanting it off of him. John is all too happy to oblige, preening under her attention. He’s always had the stockier build of a man who’s fitness came from utility in the field, opposed to the hard defined abs of someone who spends most of their time in the gym.

It’s cute, the way she has to pry her eyes up to his face- clearly liking what she sees and flustered by the fact that John can see her staring.

“I broke up with him,” she clarifies.

“Good,” is his simplistic response, although if John’s being honest with himself he doesn’t really care about the finer details. The little prick never deserved to have her and John finally has his chance to prove himself worthy.

“The bedroom’s this way,” she prompts between kisses.

Their clothes are peeled off in turns as they stumble towards the room. The layout is inverted to John’s own flat nextdoor, so despite having never stepped foot inside before he guides her to keep her from crashing into something behind her.

By the time they are collapsing against her bed, they’re stripped of everything except a scant thong on her and his own boxers.

She’s just so delightfully soft in his grip, John can’t keep his hands or his mouth off of her.

The feeling is reciprocated as she pushes up off the bed to grind against him. As much as he’s relishing in them dry humping and making out like teenagers, he’s wanted her for so long and now that she’s finally willing and pliant underneath him, he’s itching for a taste of her.

Kissing his way down her body- starting at her jaw, the column of her neck, across her collar bone, down her sternum; latching onto each nipple and teasing them to hardened peaks before continuing his path down.

He’s compelled by the urge to turn her into a chew toy as he reaches her belly, although he stifles that urge and keeps his teeth to himself.

He can’t quite resist giving a small nip as she squirms, clearly excited by the implication of where he’s heading.

There’s a damp spot on her underwear already as he kisses along the waistband while his hands tease with the elastic on either side of her hips.

The sound of her breath hitching in anticipation makes him smirk, attention drifting further south.

The fabric is in his way as he presses a kiss against her clothed cunt, gripping handfuls of her hips to keep her still as she bucks in his grasp.

“Easy, sweetheart- we’ve got all night,” he soothes before moving his attention up one thigh to the backside of her knee.

Those sweet thighs are splayed open for him, giving John unfettered access as he continues to tease.

“When’s this sweet cunt been eaten last, hm?”

He knows he’s heard her give that undeserving muppet head, but can’t recall any reciprocation occuring. There’s not much that can shock John at this point in his life, and he’s willing to roll the dice by dragging up her now-ex because he knows this poor thing hasn’t been eaten until she’s begging him off in ages.

“I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” she answers breathlessly, anticipating having her thighs twitching in his hold.

Out of the corner of his eye, John spies a torn condom wrapper that didn’t quite make it into the bin. Well that keeps him from having to ask two questions, then. Smart girl.

“What a shame,” he tsks lightly, peppering kisses back up and down her thigh.

Deciding that she’s waited long enough and he’s had his fun being a tease, John is quick to remove the scant lace and pull it off of her legs before tossing it to who-knows-where.

The sounds she makes as he makes a meal out of her is music to his ears. Each hitched moan and breathy whimper makes him stiffen in interest.

His attention shifts to focus on her clit, tongue circling the sensitive nub as his hands hold her hips in place.

As focused as he is on what’s right in front of him, it takes a moment for John to realize that she’s stifling her noises. One hand is fisting the sheets beneath her while the other is clamped across her lips.

Well. That simply won’t do.

The ex may have trained and shamed her into silence, but John didn’t make it as a military captain without learning how to break someone else’s bad habits.

He ignores her whimper of protest as he stops, one hand abandoning the softness of her hip in favor of grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from her mouth.

“None of that,” he admonishes gently, pressing a kiss to one thigh. “Let me hear you.”

“I-I’m too loud,” she protests and for a split second John sees red.

To his credit, he does not leave her wet and leaking on the bed to go bludgeon her ex to death with a blunt object.

“No such thing, sweetheart,” he soothes before having a thought to tease her. “Who are you worried is going to hear you?” He asks kindly, a shit eating grin as he speaks again, “the neighbor?”

Her wide eyed expression is thoroughly scandalized and John can’t fight the chuckle that escapes him.

He hasn’t released her wrist yet, deciding that it’s time to get back to his meal. If she abandons gripping the sheet with her free hand to cover her mouth again, he simply plans to hold both of her wrists.

It’s tentative at first, still not entirely trusting John at his word that he wants to hear her.

But John is all for positive reinforcement as a motivator, crooking his fingers to stroke that one spot that makes her see stars to encourage more from her.

She’s a quick study, although when she releases the sheet John is watching her like a hawk.

Rather than clasping over her mouth again, John is pleased when her fingers end up burying in his hair.

More than happy to let her guide him, John takes his cues from how she pulls at his hair. The feel of her thighs twitching as she breathes in staccato breaths is all the reward he needs.

“You’re getting close,” he says against her cunt, pointing out the obvious before getting back to work. She’s anxious, he thinks, the closer she gets to her climax. Poor girl doesn’t know what to do with herself with an orgasm she hasn’t had to put all the work into.

“D-don’t stop,” she stammers, rewarded immediately with John redoubling his efforts.

He’s not going to stop. Pretty thing like her deserves nothing less than laying on her back and enjoying getting her cunt eaten out.

“O-oh fuck,” is his only warning before she’s gushing on his face and John is like a kid on Christmas morning.

He doesn’t even know if she realizes she’s squirted, too caught up in the pleasure of her high.

He’s always thought it was hot- now that he knows his pretty neighbor is a squirter he is more than willing to get on his knees and pray to whoever is listening that this isn’t a one time event. He’ll do anything to get her to keep him.

Even as her high fades he doesn’t let up on her, continuing to work his middle and ring finger inside of her. All he wants is to see her cum- wants to see those eyes roll as she squeezes them shut in anticipation.

Despite pulling his face away from her wet pussy, he doesn’t leave her clit unattended for long before his thumb is gently circling in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

Kissing his way back up her body, John can’t help but be pleased as she pulls him in to make out with him. Snatched gasps and bucks of her hips grace his ears as he works her from orgasm to the next, the wet sound of his palm slapping against her.

“John Im gonna cum again,” she whimpers in warning.

He feels like a god with the way she stares up at him reverently, eyes wide and desperate for another climax.

“Come on,” he goads, “Show me- let me see your face when you cum.”

Christ if her leg twitches any harder it’s going to start vibrating, serving to only encourage him.

“O-oh,” she mewls, “God- don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t-“ she’s pleading with him like he wouldn’t sit at her feet if she asked him to.

The bewildered look on her face is darling, and John nearly finishes untouched; he's so wound up it’s not going to take much.

A few choice thoughts keep his own eminent climax at bay and buys him enough breathing room. She bucks and trembles in his hold, a high pitched squeal escaping her as he proves not only can he make her cum twice, but he can make her squirt like a faucet twice.

As soon as she’s starting to come down from her high she’s pulling at him, drawing up her knees to spread her legs in invitation.

“Greedy girl,” he teases as he kisses her- wet fingers abandoning her cunt in favor of manhandling her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he positions himself.

“Please, please, please-“ she begs so prettily for him, pleading for him to do exactly what he’s been fantasizing about for months.

He’s not a small man and mindful of that fact, but she’s well prepped and takes him easily. The desperate whimper that escapes her sears into John’s memory.

The buildup of everything finally gets to him as he wastes no time setting a steady pace.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Let me hear you,” he encourages as she cants her hips in time with his, whines of pleasure escaping her on each thrust.

“John, please,” she begs, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as she watches where they’re joined.

“Eyes up here,” he instructs and Christ he almost loses it when her gaze flicks from between their bodies up to his face.

His hands find hers, fingers lacing together as he lowers his torso in order to kiss the ethereal creature underneath him.

She whimpers into his mouth, her sounds only encouraging John.

Everything about her is warm and inviting, from her soft skin to her warm cunt and the way she sings for him at every thrust.

Maneuvering them so he can grip both her wrists with one of his hands, the other immediately dives between their bodies to find her clit again.

His pretty neighbor has spent months not having an orgasm she didn’t give herself, and John is determined to prove to her that he can give her as many as she can handle.

“John I can’t cum again,” she pleads even as her thighs shake on either side of him.

“Yes you can,” he assures her. “One more time for me, yeah?”

Now, should she insist she’s done and satisfied then John would leave her clit alone and finish up their fun. As it is, though, she nods in acquiescence before the trembling in her thighs increases.

“Good girl,” he praises, fingers continuing their steady pace around her clit as she creeps closer to the edge.

She’s babbling in his ear as he presses a kiss to her temple and he knows she’s almost there.

“Good girl,” he praises again, a cocksure grin pulling at the corners of his lips at her immediate response.

“My good girl,” he ups the ante, testing her response to John staking a claim on her. And God did it ever work. That last little bit is all it takes to finally tip her over.

She clenches down on him like a vice and John immediately loses it, groaning low as the haze of his orgasm washes over him.

It’s everything he wants- she’s everything he wants as he recovers enough from his climax to finally notice that the bed is an utter mess beneath them.

It’s not his immediate concern however, more interested in soothing her through the come down of her high. She’s shivering underneath him, eyes glossy from the intensity of her last orgasm.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Just breathe for me.”

He gathers her up in his arms, listening as her heartbeat relaxes in time with his own.

Eventually when enough time passes she’s more alert and happily snuggling against his chest. After giving her a chance to rest he herds her along to the bathroom so she doesn’t give herself a UTI. She tries to brush him off but her legs are taking their sweet time cooperating again.

Of course, she’s not exactly a recruit taking a piss test so he gives her her privacy and she’s able to return on her own albeit on shaky legs.

John pets at her head idly, attention drifting in post coital bliss as his hand strokes down along her back.

“I can’t believe you’re actually in my bed,” she giggles deliriously after a stretch of quiet.

“Only reason I wasn’t here sooner was because of that muppet,” he assures her. He doesn’t want her thinking that this is a one time thing for him. He’s wanted her for so long he can’t possibly be expected to turn her loose at the end of the night.

“I only dated him because I didn’t think you liked me,” she scoffs at herself.

“Oh, it was nearly the first moment I laid eyes on you. But with my work I kept talking myself out of doing anything,” he tells her. “Kept telling myself you deserve better. And then you brought the muppet home and kept him around,” John grouses good naturedly at her. “Think they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

“I plead temporary insanity,” she jokes, snuggling closer against his chest. “But I got rid of him. And you finally made your move.”

He hums in agreement, sleep pulling at him now that he has her tucked up against his side.

John doesn’t remember falling asleep but he wakes with a jolt to the sound of pounding on her door.

He’s only been out for an hour or so when he checks the clock on the nightstand, his neighbor sprawled out next to him.

Well, now he knows she snores. The sound is light enough to have never heard it through the wall, but curled up next to him she’s like a cat purring loudly in his ear.

And he’s exceptionally pissed right off at the fact someone has woken him up. Especially considering he has one guess who it is.

He fully debates answering the door buck ass naked to teach the prick a lesson about banging on doors after midnight but settles on tossing his joggers on.

Much like when she opened the door for John, the ex is automatically trained at where her head would be rather than looking at John’s face.

“My eyes are here,” he quips sarcastically. “Why the fuck are you banging on the door this late.”

“Why th-“ the ex starts to parrot back before cutting himself off. “Why the fuck are you in her apartment? Why isn’t she answering?”

“She’s asleep,” John answers simply. There’s no obligation to explain the why and how he ended up in her apartment.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s asleep? How is she asleep after she just dumped me? And why the fuck are you here?”

The boyfriend (the ex boyfriend, he thinks with glee) is either oblivious or…

Well. The ex boyfriend is oblivious. Let’s just keep it at that.

“I’m here because you can’t do your job right. She’s asleep because I can. What part of that is confusing?”

“That stupid slag’s been fucking you behind my back-“

“No.” John is somewhat mindful of not giving a full on “screaming at recruits” bellow, but his voice booms into the corridor outside the apartment anyway. “You watch your fucking mouth. This” John gestures vaguely at his own presence in her flat, “just happened after she dumped you. You don’t get to hurl insults.”

“She hopped off of my cock and straight to yours- what the fuck else is it?”

“You couldn’t get her off,” John hisses in annoyance. “I’ve had front row seats to your shitty little performance more than once. Not 5 minutes after you leave and she’s having to handle it herself.”

“I can’t be expected to compete with a fucking vibrator!”

“Well I sure as shit didn’t need one to get the job done. Poor girl could barely get her legs to work to go to the loo and not give herself a UTI. Your skill issues are what started all of this.”

“You know what? Fucking have her. I don’t need this shit.”

Ah yes, because John needs the ex’s permission to date a newly single woman. Absolutely. That’s entirely how that works.

“Never needed your blessing. Now fuck off. I’m trying to sleep.”

The ex responds with a two finger salute as he spins on his heel and storms off.

John is almost tempted to grab him by the back of his neck and turn him into a chew toy. Given his military career, his patience for muppets giving him attitude is virtually nonexistent.

But the siren call of his pretty neighbor is a stronger pull than the muppet can ever hope to achieve. John’s succeeded in his mission to run the prick off, and he’s going to try to get a few more hours of sleep before seeing if she’s interested in another romp in the morning when she wakes up.

The bedroom is dark and poorly lit but John immediately picks up on the silence.

Rather than being sprawled out and snoring like when he left her, she’s quiet and curled into a ball.

She’s awake.

“Sweetheart?” He calls softly.

She jolts, fabric rustling from the sheets falling off her as she sits up.

“You’re still here,” the surprise in her tone cuts, although he knows she didn’t mean for it to.

She seems to realize how that comes across and clarifies further, “I- I heard the door shut.”

It falls into place for him then- she woke up to the sound of the door and John nowhere to be found. She thought he’d left.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he consoles, making his way back to the bed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he assures her while gathering her back into his arms.

Sleep comes back readily once the two of them are situated back in the bed.

Come morning, John’s got the patience and the presence of mind to throw a towel on the bed. He finds out for himself that his neighbor makes the prettiest noises with her arse propped up in the air and her face still buried in her pillow.

He can’t help but laugh later when she texts him that one of the neighbors made a noise complaint.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

#ocaptainchallenge #john price x reader #captain john price #price x reader #cod x reader #x reader #implied plus size reader #take a shot every time john calls the reader pretty #but dont or youll get alcohol poisoning #also I used ‘turn into a chew toy’ 3 times and I dont care :)#my writing

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reidmotif · 8 months

Text

"Technically" Not A Student

Summary: Reader is Alex Blake’s TA, and after a guest lecture, Spencer seems to take a liking to her .

Prompt:You’re Alex Blake’s TA when a Dr. Reid comes to guest lecture. Things get heated quickly when you're alone.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: Reader POV, guestlecturer!Spencer , age gap (roughly 10 years), car sex, heavy making out, unprotected sex, slight female masturbation, Spencer is smart and that's HOT, heavy sexual tension

Word Count: 5.1k

Being asked to be Alex Blake’s TA was the opportunity of a lifetime, and when it was presented to me as a first-year graduate student at Georgetown, I took it eagerly and never looked back.

She had personally approached me after I’d finished a semester in her forensic linguistics class as a freshman, and commended me on my dedication to the material and my general work ethic, and then inquired if I’d ever consider filling out an application as her teaching assistant starting the next semester.

I immediately agreed. It was a no-brainer. Blake was a seasoned professional in the career field I wished to enter, not to mention she’d been one of the best professors I’d had whilst taking classes at Georgetown. Knowing I’d be working so closely with her absolutely thrilled me. It provided opportunities I'd have never gotten otherwise.

For example, getting to sit in on the class the famed Spencer Reid would be lecturing on.

She usually kept me quite busy, having me develop assignments and quizzes for her class when she had other responsibilities to attend to. I’d heard horror stories from other TA’s in which their supervisors would delegate ninety-nine percent of the work to their juniors, having them essentially teach the class for minimal recognition or pay. Blake wasn’t like that, and I was thankful. This time around though, she had very different instructions for me.

“You don’t need to prepare any material this time around.” Blake explained to me, and I nodded, listening diligently. “I’d just like you to sit in, and possibly take notes, as you see fit.” She added, and I flashed a polite smile, nodding.

“No problem whatsoever. I’ll sit in the back so as to not bother any students as I do.” I replied, offering her as much convenience as I could within my actions.

Secretly, I did want to catch more than a glimpse from the back of the room. I wanted to experience the esteemed colleague Blake had often spoken of with incredible fondness. I was aware he was slightly older than I was, and a bit socially inept from the way she described him in his stories, but I was also aware the man was a goddamn genius. She’d describe in precision the way Reid would pick up on patterns and leads faster than anyone else on the team, and his immense knowledge in multiple fields beyond criminal profiling. When she’d told me he had three pHDs, I had to hold back a gasp. I hadn’t even started my own doctorate, but the idea only exhausted me- and he had three?! Color me impressed.

Blake, being as brilliant as she did, could sense the hidden enthusiasm in my eyes in meeting this man.

“Honestly, I’d rather you sit in the front. If you’re taking notes for any student unable to attend, it’s more imperative that you know the contents of the lecture, rather than anyone else.” She said, smiling kindly.

“That’s absolutely alright with me.” I say, even quicker than before, nodding, thoughtfully. In reality, the only thing I was thinking about was how close I’d be near the man. I had no idea what he looked like, what he sounded like, but something about him made my stomach flutter.

“I’m sure Dr. Reid would be interested in meeting you, as well. He takes special interest in anyone pursuing our line of work.” Blake added. She didn’t mean for it to happen, but the words made my cheeks light up with a hint of embarrassment.

I don’t know why, but he intimidated the hell out of me. The idea of him taking interest in a conversation with me made my heart beat slightly faster, and I nodded. I tried to convince myself that my nerves came from a purely professional standpoint, but regardless of my intentions, I was absolutely exhilarated by our imminent meeting.

While I knew there'd be initial awkwardness when I'd meet him, given my idolization of the man, I didn’t account for how terrible it’d actually be when I realized how fucking attractive he was. It was almost unfair. I was already tripping over the words I planned on saying in my head, and now he looked like that?

It was cruel.

The soft, doe eyes paired with sharp cheekbones. The slope of his nose, and the mess of brown curls atop his head. Every word out of his mouth was made even prettier by the soft curve and pinkness of his lips, and I found myself wanting to lunge over the table and kiss the hell out of him.

Needless to say, not the right thoughts to have about your professor’s (older) coworker.

While I was initially going to introduce myself to Dr. Reid before his lecture, hopefully establishing myself as a serious individual regarding my studies and eventual career, I shied away, opting for Blake to introduce me instead, nodding politely when he made eye contact with me, exchanging a quiet “hello” and taking my seat in the front.

That was it. And probably how it should be, considering I genuinely couldn’t think straight around him. Students began filtering in, and I took my spot at the front of the room, crossing my legs and beginning to outline his lecture as he began to speak.

He was a brilliant lecturer, and it was honestly criminal he didn’t do this for a living. He gesticulated wildly throughout the whole of it, but every word of his was punctuated with a genuine passion that even some of the best professors on campus lacked. I did my best to diligently keep up with every point he brought up, but with how fast he spoke, it was difficult. Still, an effort was made.

If that wasn’t enough to deal with, I swear the man kept making eye contact with me for the duration of his lecture. At first I believed I was imagining it, that his eyes kept drifting to mine by coincidence, but by the third time, I’d realized that everytime my eyes left his figure to scribble something, I’d look up to see his dark eyes boring into my soul, almost as if he was trying to solve me with a glance. It was intense and made my stomach turn in a way which wasn’t entirely unpleasurable, but I forced myself to remain professional.

Blake did not need to see me absolutely lusting after her coworker, even if he was utterly fit.

Anyway, he was probably only making eye contact considering I was in the front, and probably in an optimal spot for his eyes to focus on whilst addressing the whole of the class. Still, the way his gaze was trained on mine, reaching the deepest parts of my soul didn’t help the growing heat between my legs.

I forced myself to focus on the board, my notes, anything but those godforsaken eyes for the rest of the lecture. Anytime we made eye contact afterwards, I’d quickly look down, like I’d been caught doing something terrible.

Was anyone else seeing this? Was I insane and made delusional by my unexpected attraction to this man? Was he seriously making me wet just by looking at me?

Yes.

Sooner than anyone wanted, the lecture period had completed and Dr. Reid was finishing up. The students were absolutely enamored, especially the girls, as expected. Of course it wouldn’t be just me who’d noticed that in addition to being accomplished in his intelligence, he was also ridiculously easy on the eyes.

Blake stood in the corner, watching her students vacate the space, while some held back to talk to Dr. Reid as he packed his things. He seemed a bit shy at all the attention, but didn’t hesitate in explaining concepts to seemingly eager students, giving them all a soft, shy smile.

God help me, he was adorable. How was I falling for a man I’d never even spoken a word to?

I’d never left the classroom before Blake did, so as she stayed, I did as well, until the three of us were the only ones left in the room. Blake smiled, walking up to Dr. Reid with her hands in her pocket.

“You worked up quite the fanbase, Reid.” Blake said, a little playful.

Reid replied somewhat bashfully. “You have a great bunch of students.” He flashed a small smile at her as they spoke, still packing up his things.

The dynamic between my superior and the man was obviously sweet. They almost looked familial, which made sense. Blake had commented here and there that she managed to spend more time with the BAU with her actual family. I’m sure the latter was the same for Spencer. He probably had a doting girlfriend at home, ready to welcome him in her arms and I mentally kicked myself again for being so attracted to him.

He was nearly ten years older, for god’s sake! Enough! I screamed at myself.

I was brought out quite suddenly from my thoughts when Blake spoke in my direction. “This is (Y/N), my teaching assistant.” Reid came in my direction as I got up and approached him, offering a hand to me. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. Blake told me who you were, but we weren’t properly introduced.”

I gave a firm shake to his hand, which I noticed was calloused and smooth at the same time. God, even his hands were pretty. He had long, slender fingers with short-kept nails. They were veiny, and looked strong. I couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel like inside of me, buried in the heat of my core as I begged him for more.. more..

I forced the thought out of my head, only nodding again at the handsome man. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.” I say, forcing myself to be professional.

Stop thinking about fucking him!

“Spencer works just fine.” He says, imparting a kind smile that nearly made my knees weak. Did he have any idea the embarrassing effect he was having on me?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blake looking at the two of us with a bit of a strange expression on her face. I let go of his hand and took a step back. Oh god. Could she tell? If she could, she said nothing. She gave us both a kind smile, before grabbing her own things.

“(Y/N)?” She called out, starting to walk to the door. “Mind locking up for me tonight?” She said, already throwing her keys to me.

“That’s fine by me.” I say, grabbing her keys mid-air. I was used to this. Blake often wanted to leave a bit quicker than I did, and I was more than happy to assist in any way possible. What I didn’t realize, was that this left me and Spencer in the room alone, something I wanted to avoid, considering how fucking awkward this man was rendering me with so much as a glance at me.

I heard Blake leave, and as she quietly closed the door behind her, I leaned against a desk, keeping my eyes down as Spencer continued to pack his own things. I tried to not let my gaze drift to him, as I waited for him to finish up.

I let my thoughts wander to the lecture, and couldn’t shake the feeling he’d evoked in me when he looked at me like that. This was honestly ridiculous. The man had barely spoken ten words to me, and here I was, absolutely mooning over him. It was a new low for me, but in my defense being a graduate student meant I didn’t have much time to get my .. needs fulfilled.

“That’s why” I convinced myself. I just hadn’t gotten laid in a really long time. Nothing more, nothing less.

“So, you’re a criminology student?” Spencer says, suddenly, breaking me out of my trance.

I looked up, nodding. I responded on pure habit and instinct. ‘Yes, I’m in the process of getting my Masters in Criminology.” I said, nearly robotic.

“That must be interesting.” Spencer replied, flashing me a sweet smile that caused an entirely new slew of butterflies to erupt in my stomach. “I never studied criminology specifically, but the classes I took interested me.”

“Blake told me you had three pHDs.” I acknowledged, trying to return his smile, but in all honesty, I probably looked like an idiot. I was nervous as hell, and hoped he couldn’t tell. It wasn’t my fault. He was awe-causing. A sight to behold, if you will, in intelligence and appearance.

He laughed good naturedly, “Yeah. Three.” He must’ve noticed the stars in my eyes, because he continues. “As well as a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology and Sociology. And I’m working on another in Philosophy.” He finishes with a smug, boyish type of smile.

What was previously stars in my eyes, was now full blown shock all over my face. “Wow, Spencer.” I said, a little dumb-struck. “That’s.. a lot.” I add, a little stupidly, giving him a little laugh.

He sweetly scratched his neck, revealing his self-consciousness. “Yeah? You think?” He says, a small smirk in his voice, and I laughed again. “You think I should stop after Philosophy?”

“Totally. Save some knowledge for us.” I teased. It was comfortable. He was surprisingly easy to get used to. He was affable, despite how daunting his knowledge was.

“Hey, you try graduating before you’re a teenager.” He defends himself, playfully. “Not much to do, really.”

I laugh. “I don’t know.” I say, throwing my hands up a little. “Play ball? Run around?” I joke, and he makes a face at that, scrunching up his nose.

“Not my thing.” He replies, smoothly, and I laugh.

“Alright, fine. Keep your degrees doctor man.” And he laughs at my joke. Like, a real laugh. I didn’t even find my own rhetoric particularly humorous, but knowing that I’d gotten him to react like that made my cheeks glow.

He finished packing the last of his things and slung his satchel bag over himself, starting to walk over to the door. I made sure to gather all my things, and walked to the door with him. He held it open for me, and I nodded my head in thanks, and he let it shut behind us. I turned around to lock it, using Blake’s keys and placing them in my bag securely, before looking at him.

“Well, Spencer. It was nice meeting you, thank you for the lecture it was-” I start, but he interrupts me.

“Can I walk you to your car?” He interjected, looking a little shy as he did. I smiled a little confusedly, wondering why he’d want to do so, but I gave him my answer, nonetheless.

“I don’t have a car. I usually take the bus back to my apartment.” I explained, smiling softly.

“The bus?” He says, quirking his mouth to the side. “Isn’t it a bit late for that?” He replies, a hint of concern in his voice.

I gave a little sigh, “I mean, it’s fine.” I say, trying to laugh a little. “I’ve done it before.” I add, attempting to ease the worry out of his voice. “It’s not that late.” I say, but he simply shakes his head.

“No way.” He says, still adamant on this. “I.. I can drive you home, if you’d like?” He says, his words going slightly on the higher pitch as he rolled out his proposal, and I gave a small grin at that.

“Really? If it’s a hassle I can seriously just take the bus. I wouldn’t want you to keep anyone waiting at home or-”

He interjects again. “No hassle. I promise. I want to.” He pauses, before adding, “No one at home. You’re probably going to be the last person I see today.” He seems to blush at his final admission, and my eyes widen in interest. No girlfriend? Score.

“Alright, Spencer.” I say, smiling again. “Lead the way.”

He led me to his car, an old-fashioned Volvo and I couldn’t help myself from gawking at it.

“God, you have a cool car too? Is there anything about you that isn’t interesting?” I say, aware I was probably stroking his ego a bit, but honestly I wanted to. The man was just so damn intriguing, and every new bit of information I learned about him only made me want to unravel the whole of him. To truly know him, in and out.

He laughed, using his keys to manually unlock the door. “Oh, trust me. I’m plenty boring. The car is probably my only saving grace.” He joked, and I laughed again as I got into the car.

“Oh, I highly doubt that, but if you say so.” I say, sweetly, and adding a light tone of flirtatiousness in my tone. He seems to blush at this again, and I begin to think about the events of day. The stares in class, the perpetual rosy tint on his cheeks that had been there since we began our conversation, the way he joked and laughed at my (admittedly, unfunny) jokes.

Oh god. Did he like me?

Only one way to find out.

As Spencer got in the car and began driving onto the main road, I looked at him, trying to put on my best, innocent smile. “So, you said you’re not going home to anyone?” I say, a softness to my tone, but an undeniable hunger in it as well.

“Uh.” He responds, that damned blush coming on, strong. “Yes.” He replies, nodding as he keeps his eyes on the road.

“So, you don’t have a girlfriend?” I ask, a bit forwardly.

Now he’s really blushing, stuttering a bit. “Oh, no. No girlfriend. Not much time, given the BAU and our schedule.” He said, almost clinically, and I nodded.

“I mean, Blake has a husband.” I point out, a little smugly.

“I guess.” He says, sighing a bit. “But, you know.” He says. He vaguely gestures to himself, and I look at him a little confused, tilting my head at him.

“Spencer, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.” I say, with a little giggle. “But trust me, you’re absolutely gorgeous.” I continue, before I can stop myself.

He looks at me, giving me a soft smirk, and a raise of his eyebrows. He didn’t look uncomfortable, and honestly looked just as thrilled as I did, and I knew that this night had a good chance of going the way I wanted it too.

“Ah, you’re sweet.” Spencer replies, “But no. I just mean, I’m.. me. You know?” He says, trying to explain his (non-existent) shortcomings, but I just shake my head.

“You don’t give yourself much credit, you know?” I attempt to say with that amorous tone from before, but it was more overcome with genuine respect and admiration. “You’re smart, funny and nice to be around, I mean.” I pause. “Did you not see the absolute crowd of girls around you after the lecture? Trust me, Spencer. I bet you’re more than easy to be with, even easier to like.” The words rush out of me, and I watch him tentatively for his reaction to my words.

Instead of the sweet side smile he’d been offering me all night, he finally looked at me. The car had come to a stop at a red light, and his face was dangerously sexy as it was illuminated by the colored glow around us.

“And what do you think?” Spencer says, in a low tone, making direct eye contact with me.

I feel my stomach turn at the sudden directness in his words, his gaze nearly devouring me whole. I felt my mouth go dry and I swallow, trying to keep my tone steady.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice having a slight shake to it.

“I mean, what do you think about me? Do you.. like me?” He says, licking his lips slightly, and the action causes the previous heat between my legs to come by in full force.

“Oh, I mean.” I say, my previous confidence dissipating in an instant. “Well, yes, Dr. Reid. Everyone liked you today.” I say, trying to give more of a conservative answer now.

The man had a way of making me feel totally comfortable around him, and then flipping the switches, rendering me dumb and stuttering. Like I was now.

“Oh, so I’m Doctor Reid now.” He says, clicking his tongue and saying the words with an air of lighthearted teasing, but I only bit my lip, hurriedly trying to explain myself.

“I mean, it's your title.” I say, quickly, trying to justify myself. “I mean, you said it yourself- three pHDs. It’d be pretty shitty to just discard the years taken to achieve that. Um. Well. You’re a genius so probably not as long, but still! Calling you doctor is a sign of respect for your accomplishments and-”

“You're cute.” He interrupts, and I look back at him to see his eyes back on the road, a cocky smile plastered on his face.

The light around us turned green, and he started the car. I picked at my nails slightly, trying not to display any more signs of nervousness around him. I wanted to do something with him, at least, and that couldn't happen if I was a bumbling mess.

We drove in relative silence for the next few minutes, as I tried to gather my thoughts and possibly continue what we’d been building up to these past few hours, but a quick glance at the windows and the road we were on caused me to furrow my brows.

“Oh, this isn’t the way to my apartment.” I remark absentmindedly, looking at the window beside me, then in front. “I live near the train station, off east?” I offer, expecting him to fully make a turn back towards the direction I’d prompted him towards, but he didn’t even flinch, continuing on the more secluded road we’d entered.

“I know.” He said, glancing at me once more, actually applying more pressure to the gas pedal, causing us to go faster down the terrain.

Okay, fuck. He was an FBI agent, so I didn’t have to worry about him murdering me, right? Wait, no, that’s stupid. He could probably get away with it. No! He’s Blake’s friend. Her coworker. For the goddamn FBI. He wouldn’t murder me. What the fuck was going on?

I watched as Spencer pulled off to the side of the road, darkness surrounding us entirely. There weren't any other cars around, and it was silent in the car before I bit my lip, and started to speak.

“Did I.. offend you?” I ask, cautiously. No reply. I try again. “Why did we stop?” I add, trying to test the waters with him to see what he was thinking at that moment.

“I thought I could wait before we got to your place, but I need to know now.” He replied, a sudden urgency in his voice. He turned towards me, watching me with a dark, intense gaze, similar to the one he'd given me in class that day. “Do you want me? Am I reading this wrong with you? Because if I am, we can completely forget it and I can drop you home but (Y/N)..” He paused. He made direct eye contact with me and once again I found myself wanting to swim in those dark eyes of his. “I want you.” He said, his voice low and raspy.

I didn't give it much thought as I gave into my urges and surged towards his lips the best I could in the car. He responded immediately, bringing me closer with his hands and placing them on either side of my face, moving his lips against mine in a perfected rhythm. I used my fingers to quickly undo my belt, before climbing over the console to sit in his lap, getting closer without our lips disconnected once. He understood my actions and intentions immediately, pulling the seat back so I could rest more comfortably in his lap as we continued to kiss.

I knotted my hands in his hair, giving an experimental tug which elicited a low moan from his mouth. I grinned against his lips and his hands moved from my face to his hips, bringing my clothed core to rest right against his growing bulge, which I immediately moved against. He let out a sharp breath as I did and broke the kiss.

“Oh god. I’m sorry.” He said, breathlessly, hands on my hips. “I don’t know what came over me and-”

He looked almost frantic, and incredibly guilty, so I quickly leaned in for a peck, stopping him mid sentence. I brought my hands to his shoulders to rub them soothingly, and he seemed to relax in my touch.

“Spencer, calm down.” I say, nearly purring. “I want this.” I continue, rubbing patterns into his arms now. “Please.”

“You’re Blake’s student.” He murmurs, using one of his hands to run through already messy brown curls. “What am I doing?” He says, almost to himself, looking ready to stop our tryst.

I realize he was attempting to backtrack from this, and before he could continue his train of thought, I quickly leaned in from my position on his lap to start kissing his neck, trailing wet hot kisses down the column before whispering. “I’m not her student.”

He pulls away to look at me, biting his lip. “What?”

“I was her student last semester. I’m her teaching assistant now.” I smirk a little, licking my lips. “Technically not a student of hers.”

He seemed to take in my words for a moment, and then something in him shifted, and he lunged at me again, kissing me with even more ferocity. He absolutely devoured me, his hands everywhere at this point. Caressing my sides, in my hair, on the small of my back. He brought me closer to him in any way he could, pressing our bodies against each other in a frenzied manner that caused the wetness between my legs to increase tenfold.

“Wanted you.. as soon as I saw you.” He murmurs against my lips as we caught our breath in between kisses. “Knew it was wrong but..”

I nodded. I understood. I was the same.

“Fuck.” I moaned, as I felt the bulge resting below me get even harder. “Spencer, please. Don’t make me wait.”

“Impatient.” He remarked, smirking, now beginning his own line of kisses down my neck, making me moan in pleasure.

“Please.” I breathed out, my words being reduced to a squeak as he bit my neck gently, and my eyes fluttered shut. I was melting right in his damn hands, just like he wanted.

His hands started to work at the buttons on my jeans, and I sighed in relief, lifting up my hips to allow them to be tugged off, leaving me in my underwear. His slender fingers traced the seam, leaving me shuddering with pleasure for the man in front of me. I tried once more, breathlessly murmuring at him.

“Please. Please.”

“Use your words, baby.” He whispered, a devilish smirk on his face. I was too far-gone to care about what I looked like. I needed him so badly.

“I need you to fuck me, now.” I say, clearer. “I need it, Spencer.”

Something about me using his name, nearly moaning for the man when he’d barely touched me stirred something in him, and he started to undo his own slacks, freeing his cock from the confines of his briefs. I watched in fascination as it sprung out, and took in a sharp breath of air. I licked my lips before making eye contact with him, begging for us to get on with it at this point. He nodded, understanding my desperation and I smiled dumbly, beginning to lift my hips. He guided his cock to my heat and placed his free hand on the small of my back, slowly guiding me down his member.

I moaned softly as I felt him enter me, providing me with the most delicious stretch. I threw my head back in pleasure as he brought both his hands to my hips urging me down.

“That’s it. God, fuck. You feel so good.” He moaned, which only made me want to take more of him. I lowered myself down a bit faster, and he released a heavy groan as his hips met mine. I whimpered slightly, his length filling me up perfectly. A thin sheen of sweat had gathered on my brow and I leaned my forehead, adjusting to his size.

“You good?” He breathed out, using his hand to brush a piece of hair that had stuck itself on my brow, and I nodded.

“Yeah, just.” I took a deep breath, before licking my lips, looking up before nodding.

I slowly lifted myself off, letting the head of his arousal nestle in me before I slammed back down, eliciting moans from both of us. He began to match my movements in tandem, thrusting up into me wildly. I held onto his shoulders, burying myself in his neck as we went faster. I could feel his tip hitting my cervix every time, causing me to cry out with pleasure every single time.

I felt my orgasm rapidly approach, and Spencer seemed to sense this as well, considering the involuntary clenches I was giving around his cock. He let his hand slip down to where our bodies met and rubbed tight, fast circles around my clit, encouraging my release.

“Come on, pretty girl. Come all over my cock. You can do it.” He breathed out, watching my every move with a hunger I'd never experienced before.

It took a few more thrusts from him, combined with the insistent fingers at my bundle of nerves before my thighs began shaking, and I let out a chorus of moans, most of them sounding like strangled versions of his name as I coated his cock in my wetness, spurring him on to go faster inside me, bucking into me like a man possessed.

He continued to jut into me wildly, until I felt him finish inside me, coating my walls with his release. He breathed shakily, holding me close to him as I slumped over his shoulder, my chest heaving up and down as I came down from the intensity of the previous moment.

He affectionately removed me from his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, the tenderness and gentleness in his actions contrary to what we had just done. I pulled back with a dazed smile, taking in how pretty he looked.

“If it’s alright, I’d love to take you out for coffee sometime.” He said, still a bit breathless, and a shy smile appeared on his face.

I giggled. He was literally still inside me, and was asking me out on a date with a boyish nervousness that made him even harder to resist.

“For you Dr Reid? Anything.”

ahh! writing this was a beast, and i imagined it to be longer but i got what i wanted in less words haha. i hope you guys liked this. any reblogs, comments, likes are so so appreciated i know it sounds totally stupid, but your guys' support means a lot lot lot!! thank you!!! <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #smut #spencer reid prompt #writing prompt

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punksocks · 4 months

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Lilith & His Femme Fatale (18+ Only)

**I tried to make this general but it’s about seduction, I couldn’t pull it lol (fr minors dni!)

*Just based on my observations, only take what resonates

Often Lilith in a man’s birth chart gives less information on him and more information on the type of woman that’s his femme fatale. The type of femme that gives this complex dynamic to the relationship. I would say, similarly to Plutonian influences, this sort of connection charged with such intensity tends to elicit the extreme reaction of either repelling him or making him at least a bit obsessed with finding a way to “obtain” the Lilith person in the relationship.

I think this is always related to Lilith’s folklore of being the untamable wife. He loves her because he can’t control her. But he still wants to try (not always but often imo). Not being able to control her and her seeming so wild and free is one of the many reasons the Lilith person usually brings out the shadow side of the masc person in their connection.

(I think everyone, men/women/enbys/etc, all tend to act out of feminine and masculine energies. The energies of giving and receiving. Action and reaction. Lilith usually throws some upheaval into this because as an untraditional feminine she embodies it all. She dominates whilst not taking any action. Lilith’s sort of chaotic energy throws a wrench in the binary imo. She’s feminine but the effect she has on and within others often puts her outside of the spectrum. I’m speaking about the effect on masculine folks because I believe Lilith pushes them into a power struggle mindset due to her effects and due to our society -and Lilith’s origins- being very patriarchal. With traditional feminine energies there is also a power struggle effect but it’s more like rooted in the feminine power. Like women usually have a default role of using subservience to their advantage- as much as they can- under patriarchy. So the tension with people embodying Lilith manifests in this tension of trying to make the Lilith people conform or outcasting them. There can be underlying s*xual dynamics to this but it usually works out differently/less directly than it does with masc folks.)

Anyway that’s why I believe men/masc people react in such a charged/obsessed way to Lilith energy and why I think it tends to result in this sort of femme fatale dynamic. Now let’s get into it !

-Lilith in Aries: For Lilith in Aries, he’d love an unstoppable woman. Like I noted before (in credit to @zeldasnotes ) this is a strong indicator of a man being a feminist (we love to see it). So this could also indicate a strong attraction to someone that’s in their power, that holds their own, and that is very independent and strong in their own right. He may find himself pushing back on this type of femme, but being impressed and compelled by her when she does take the lead (his mars could show how this dynamic would play out). (You may find yourselves vying for dominance in the connection)

-Lilith in Taurus: A hyperfeminine woman. Obviously, femininity looks different across cultures, but some traits that could show up here would be: a woman with curves, a killer hourglass figure that turns heads; a woman that seems luxurious and well dressed; a woman that feels soft and smells great. Essentially being a Venusian sign, Taurus in Lilith would be absolutely smitten by a beautiful woman that embodied all that soft feminine energy (and took his money lol) (speaking of which, could be a s*x worker or trophy wife type- someone that needs a lot of money/luxury to keep around)

-Lilith in Gemini: A thinker, a woman that outwits you. Someone that keeps you mentally stimulated by challenged your knowledge. Someone that will always make you guess. Very book smart, may be curious about the taboo. Someone that gets their kicks from debating you and testing your textbook knowledge. May also be smitten by dirty talk, talking about the taboo in their intimate time together.

-Lilith in Cancer: A nostalgic nurturer that makes you feel at ease. May embody the bad traits that make you feel especially vulnerable (like familiar toxic behavior). Lilith’ archetype is often an antithesis of cancer’s traditional influence of being the emotional nurturer, so we’d have to assume a bit of corruption here. Just as easily as you could be fueling toxic behavior I’d assume you’d just as easily receive it. So mascs can project onto you and desire to leech off of your nurturing energy.

-Lilith in Leo: A diva. The one that’s in the spotlight without trying at all. Like a burlesque dancer, beautiful and radiant and practically untouchable. Speaking of which they may be smitten with a femme known for her s*x appeal. Whether that’s from having a lot of past partners or being a model or being in s*x work depends on the situation. The Leo person would likely want exclusive access to you after they get their hands on you though (fixed placements can be very possessive, it’s a whole thing)

-Lilith in Virgo: someone with their life together. (I said what I said 👀). A sort of that girl as the kids say :0. She has a meal plan and a routine and a 5 year plan. I’d also wager that this placement is the most likely to have a thing for someone that has their shit so together that it makes the native feel less than. Someone that could shame them and make them feel flawed and insignificant at the drop of a hat (a hat? The hat? Ok). Also likely to be someone that is really subtle but quietly freaky. A good candidate for workplace affairs 🤷🏾‍♀️

-Lilith in Libra: a bombshell babe, a true beauty. Someone who embodies very classy energy. A popular girl, one that you sort of have to work to get the attention of. (A gorgeous femme that distracts others with how beautiful and effortless she is. Pinup material and just as untouchable. Trophy wife vibes but not as intense as Lilith in Taurus (unless this is a 2nd house placement 👀). Also someone that brings a lot of balance and beauty to their surroundings. (She may attract envy due to her looks as well)

-Lilith in Scorpio: S*x personified. Someone with that intense vibe (one of the most likely placements to attract Lilith heavy femmes). Someone that has a presence that holds a lot of power. And a lot of intimate experience or at least a fearless attitude about those taboos. Someone that makes him want to explore those fantasies as a knee jerk reaction (within reason ofc). Someone that can see right through him. Someone that they struggle to gain power over. (Also pretty likely to have a power imbalance or some sort of taboo attached to the dynamic)

-Lilith in Sagittarius: A traveler, a girl struck with wanderlust. Someone you get attached to even though she’s always out of reach. Someone who loves debating and adventure. A philosopher that never stops learning and daring you to broaden your horizons. May be someone from outside of your culture as well. Or someone with a religious background you find socially taboo.

-Lilith in Capricorn: Boss babe all the way. Someone that intimidates others easily and that works very hard. A social climber. A person that knows exactly what they’re after, in that go getter sort of way. Someone mature. Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets. Another possibly of meeting at work, or at least after some sort of public interaction. Another connection where both people are likely vying for dominance. Likely to have themes of restriction show up as well.

-Lilith in Aquarius: manic👏🏾 pixie 👏🏾dream👏🏾 girl👏🏾 (I’m dead*ss). The quirky girl that stands out from the crowd. One of kind in a rebellious way. The other side of fae energy, which is to say that she would be a detached trickster of sorts. Hard to predict, philosophically outside of your comfort zone, impossible to pin down, etc. Someone that forces you to think outside of the box- whether you like it or not. Could bring out the k*nkier side of you. Also pretty likely to bring out the nerdier side of you, for some reason. (Aquarius intelligence ??)

-Lilith in Pisces: fae bae, full stop. A girl like a daydream. Esoteric and ethereal. A person that may be a bit spacey but they’re off floating in space somewhere. Someone creative and subconsciously addictive. Someone that tends to appear in their dreams and tends to be on their minds a lot.

Further Notes:

-Air is most impressed upon by intelligence and uniqueness; water by an emotionally immersive and passionate connection; fire by passion and being dazzled by the person; earth by their material luxury, ambition, and physicality

-water and fire tend to become obsessive over s*xual connections the fastest imo, but it can really mentally affect air and earth placements (it’s that I’m not obsessed but they’re thinking about them all the time and doing god knows what about that 👀)

-fixed Lilith placements can make a masc person a bit more obsessive and possessive over the Lilith energy (especially if they have a fixed Venus/mars)

-Cardinal Lilith placements tend to like to be challenged over taking the lead/dominance in the connection, if underdeveloped they can be rather controlling to their partners as well

-When Lilith is close to a masc’s personal planets I’d say that he may have some sort of archetype/karmic lesson around Lilith heavy femmes (just a significant impact on his life and attitude)

-Houses can show how these energies connect (I wrote this up but the draft deleted itself and I just couldn’t lol 🙃)

#astro notes #spicy astrology #love astrology #lilith culture #lilith aspects #Lilith #lilith astrology #astroblr #astro blog #astrology #astroloji #astro observations #astro community

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porryc · 6 months

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Reverse Emilie Agreste didn’t die from a broken miraculous she clearly murdered by Superme

Gabriel mentions that he used to work for Superme's court but stole the miraculous of butterfly and peacock for what he wanted most

What he wanted the most is of course ; create Adrien

However the miraculous in Emilie's hand in the Gabriel’s song is not broken

Even if it was already broken it is very likely that this person who also gave Toxinelle and Griffe Noir their miraculous is Master Fu which is the evil antagonist of that universe and we all know he have the knowledge to fix a broken miraculous

Also there blood details around Emilie's hand in the image

There is a huge Superme logo behind Gabriel who is crying hysterically and holding Emilie's dead body

This entire image which looks like a murder scene gives the impression that Superme killed Gabriel's wife Emilie in revenge for stealing peacock and butterly miraculous

At the end of the generic we see Gabriel who fights with Superme to avenge his wife and wants to bring peace to the Dystopia he lives in

Also that means Griffe Noir working for his mom’s killer without knowing when he wanted to bring her back to life so badly

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bi-writes · 25 days

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the lamb experiment

a body is given. and it cannot be taken back.

pairing: ghost (+ tf141) x curvy!fem!reader word count: 6.3k summary: the 141 are not known for their pliancy. in an effort to take back control, they send a lamb to slaughter.

cw: (18+) mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!tf141, military criticism, unhealthy power dynamics, graphic descriptions of violence + gore + torture + murder, themes of dubcon (but reader is consenting), piv, cumplay, fear play, size kink, praise kink, curvy!reader with hair long enough to hold

You don't think you've ever been the object of anyone's affections, not really. Although you are blessed with many gifts, even physically, you do not see yourself that way when you look in the mirror. How you feel inside betrays you when you look in one, and instead of staring too long, you always turn away.

This time, you stare. Because her ass looks nice, and her skin looks soft, and her face isn't disagreeable.

This reflection almost terrifies you. In front of you lies a woman you do not know.

She looks good. Your clothes are a size too snug, and it squeezes all the parts of you that normally you attempt to hide. Your thighs, the cinch of your waist, every curve you cover up with your uniform normally is on display, and instead of your hair in a standard bun, it lays free. You are anything but the soldier you always see, and just when you think about running, there is a knock at the bathroom door.

You open it, straightening out your outfit, and you look down shyly when you see the face on the other side of the door.

"It's...a little tight," you say, tugging at the waistband of your pants, but the woman tuts, crossing her arms over her chest as she steps back to look you up and down.

"It's as it should be," she responds, very matter-of-fact. "Now follow me. Need to debrief before your flight."

Her name is Laswell. You have not been graced with any other name, and you suspect it is because she wants you to call her Laswell and nothing else. She is blunt and intelligent, and there is no room for anything but the truth with her. If you answer her with a lie, she waits until she hears what she knows is expected.

When you sit, she spreads a few files out in front of you. Four manila folders, three packed with documents and pictures, one with documents only. You reach for one, eyeing the labeled name.

MacTavish.

You open it, and you're overwhelmed with the information. You see a man with pretty blue eyes and a military history that would put your old squadron to shame. Flicking through the pages, there are numerous confirmed kills, no small list of disarmed explosives, reports written by others and himself that even at a quick glance exude something impressive, utmost intelligence and extensive knowledge. You take note of his unique hairstyle; shaved sides of his head and tuffs of dark waves that run down the middle. You acknowledge how much you like when it gets a little long, falling in curls over his forehead.

The next file is equally as large. You flip it over, and you tilt your head to the side when you see a picture of him. He isn't posing, but his stature is one of confidence, and he's gorgeous. A strong facial structure, dark eyes. He keeps his hair short, and his skin is dark, and as your eyes roam lower, you notice the strong muscles of his forearms as he grips a rifle. His skill sheet is no less impressive than his sergeant counterpart. He has been in so many dangerous situations, and he comes out with nothing but scratches; and he seems to be deadlier with nothing but his hands than any small firearm could be.

Kyle. It's fitting.

You look away from his pretty face to their commanding officer. There is a picture of him with the other two sergeants, and you notice how he stands taller than them, but just as broad, and you think military fatigues suit him well. He wears his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and you can see the expanse of his strong arms and his large hands, and you take note of his carefully sculpted beard and the hat he wears. When you flip through the history, you are overwhelmed with the amount of ops he carries under his belt. This man is a war machine. You suspect there is a number on his head somewhere, in some distant country, and it makes you shift in your seat when you realize this isn't someone easy to kill.

He does the killing. And that's all that matters to the Crown.

John. That is the one that has to matter most.

"He's the one who calls the shots." Laswell's voice cuts through your heavy thoughts. She takes the last folder and opens it for you, and immediately you notice the lack of photos here. "But this is the glue."

Ghost. That is the name that sits on the official documents, but there is a dirty sticky note pasted next to it with Laswell's chicken scratch.

Simon Riley.

"His name is redacted," she says simply. "And so is his face."

"He has no face?" You ask, and when you realize how you worded it, you think it a stupid sentence, but Laswell only stares.

"Not one that matters," she responds. You look back down at the documents. He is tall, and you observe that he's most skilled with a sniper rifle, although he doesn't lack confidence or efficacy in any other form of combat. Hand-to-hand, smaller firearms, rifles, he uses them all with a terrifying accuracy, and you pull the papers closer to you as you read more.

"The glue," you murmur, not quite understanding. "And what am I supposed to be?"

"The solvent. The hammer. Whatever the fuck I need you to be."

The thing that breaks it apart. The thing that tears. The thing that makes them bleed.

And so you lie. It is what you do, what you are taught. Laswell is good at it, and you are a fish to water with it. You lie until it comes as easy as breathing, you learn to pretend until it is all you know, and when you create your second life, it is easy because it is the only one Laswell tells you to know.

You are a soldier, and you do as you're told. When your orders are to forget who you were and become something else, you do it, because that is how it works. And you know what you are in Laswell's eyes--you are a weapon, and you gave your body to the state, and she can do what she pleases with it.

And you know, really, what she expects you to do.

It isn't spoken of. She never says it out loud. But when you study the files she gives you, you notice there are more details that what is necessary. You learn more about them, in ways that feel intimate, that feel secret.

That John's favorite color is red. That MacTavish likes a traditional meal. That Kyle has a sweet tooth and likes jazz. That Ghost downs two fingers of Kentucky bourbon to unwind.

They are things to help make them agreeable, you think, but agreeable in what way is up to you.

But red looks good in lace. You've been told the stomach is the way to the heart. Chocolate is supposed to be an aphrodisiac. And alcohol is the perfect enabler--and armed with this information, you will divide and conquer.

Break and tear apart. Separate. Sever the bond. That is your mission, that is what you've been told to do, and you will do it because that is what a good soldier does, and this is all you are.

Laswell's pet. Her pretty little soldier. The hammer to her nail, the bone for her dogs, the string that will mend the ones snapped by her own puppets.

She wants control, and she isn't stupid, and neither are you. When you look in the mirror again, you understand why she picked you. No matter how far her men stray, they cannot change what they are at their core.

Men.

And men are fickle.

You suspect, you hope, even these ones are. They are not gentle, and Laswell makes sure that you learn well why it is they need supervision. She shows you pictures, videos, eyewitness statements of their spiral into violence.

It's not that they weren't war criminals before, but they were her war criminals. Unsanctioned ops, sure, but they toed a line that was drawn for them. But then the red tape became too much, even if there wasn't very much of it for them.

They began to ignore orders. When they were told to stay put, a sergeant would slip off, and under the guise of protecting them, all four would end up in a firefight. And when this became a frequent excuse, they stopped coming up with them. They simply showed up in manila folders like the ones you held, enemy casualties sometimes in the hundreds, and they did not appear even when required.

Debriefing? Their connection was bad. A hearing in front of their superiors? They're on a mark, and they cannot move. And then it was just silence. The occasional response to real crisis, and then back underground, until all Laswell could get from them were limbs taken off the enemies they weren't allowed to kill just yet.

They knew how to disappear. They knew how to hide. They knew how to stay put, come back up overground, and then scurry back underneath where no one would find them.

But that wouldn't do. Not for the CIA, not for SAS, not for either of their governments who soon realized they had let loose a group of soldiers-turned-mercenaries who hold valuable secrets that could put their politicians at the forefront of Congressional hearings, NATO violations, and then in the right mess of breaking off relations with a numerous amount of countries they already held fragile relationships with.

The 141 is a liability. They need to be the ones pulling the reigns again, no matter the cost--and they tell Laswell to do it, and to spare no expense and to pull back the curtain on what she believes might be crossing even the lines she has drawn before, to go beyond it.

She draws this line around you. A circle, a fence, wrapping around you as she molds you into what she needs you to be. She is honest. Not always kind, but honest, and because she is, you want to succeed.

Finally, you can be of use. Finally, there is something that will give you purpose. Even if it hurts, even if it kills you, you want to give her what she needs, because it isn't fair.

You have already given them everything, and you have nothing to show for it. So you paint your face, and you zip up the tight pants, you lie and you learn and you listen, and when she tells you that they will not be gentle, all you reply is, "I won't be either."

Men are fickle. And they fucking deserve this.

You are wearing red when John sees you for the first time. It is in your hair, a bright red scarf that keeps it out of your face, and you know he looks right at you and not through you when your eyes meet.

When he eyes the open door of your room later that evening, you pretend not to notice his gaze when he drinks in the sight of you in red lingerie.

It is the first morning you are with them that Johnny wakes to the smell of something in the rec room. You stand there, at the stove, stirring a wooden spoon in a warm pot, and when he steps in, you turn to see him, and you smile. You exchange no words, but when you hold a tasting spoon out to him with a soft potato and a spoonful of wonderful broth, he can't help the way he closes his eyes. There's a beautiful woman cooking stovies in the rec room, and when he opens his eyes, you are looking right back at him.

And then it's the music that plays in the evening that catches Kyle's attention. They are trailing back to their rooms after drills, and he catches sight of you in your room, and he can hear Ella Fitzgerald, and when you look over your shoulder, he is there, and he doesn't shy away.

And then--fuck--it is so easy.

Wherever you go, they follow. Unconsciously, you suspect, but they do, and you live the lie, and it feels fucking euphoric. You know you've won when you run your knuckles down John's cheek for the first time, and he keens, nuzzling the side of his face into your hand and chasing after your touch.

They are animals. You watch them when you join them on ops, rifle in front of you as you follow them, and you keep a neutral face as you observe them wreak havoc. They kill and they maim, and they sleep like the dead at night, as if the heinous ways they kill do not bother them at all. John points, and Kyle pulls the trigger. John nods his head, and Johnny detonates, nothing but a dull reflection in those blue eyes. John clicks his teeth, and Ghost sweeps.

He sweeps, and he kills, and if it wasn't so fucking terrifying, you would have admired the way he did it. The elegance that he took on an entire room of moving targets, how he never let himself be pinned down in one spot. Whenever someone gets too close, he goes hand-to-hand, and it's fucking brutal the way he finishes them off. He keeps throwing knives in his boot, and they sink into eye sockets as if running through tender meat. He puts blades through their mouths and doesn't let them go until the light leaves their eyes.

You hate that it makes you warm. That there is something deep in your belly, that twists there, that tells you that you like it. When he turns around and meets your eyes, wringing the blade out of someone's neck and letting them drop on the floor at your feet, you don't flinch. You simply kick them to the side and step over them, and Ghost watches as you lick over your teeth as you pass by him.

Insatiable. Fucking hungry. He eyes the sway of your hips, and when he finds his next target, he uses his hands again just because he needs to feel flesh under his gloved hands, needs to tear it apart. And when he feels you watching him again, he grunts as he stands to his full height. He's a fucking bear, and you leave him with a hint of a smile before you turn the corner.

You are not sure if you are pretending that day.

They ravage, and then they go back to their beds, and they wash the blood from their clothes with ease--and the worst part of it all is that you do it, too. You come out of the same places that they do, and your face is splattered with their targets. Your jeans have flecks of brain matter, your hands are dirty with someone's singed flesh. When you finally stand in the light back at their base, all John does is sit you in front of the bathroom mirror and wipe at your face with a warm towel.

He tells you how good you've done. How special you are. How he has never seen a woman keep up with them so easily, fit into their pack like she was meant to be.

He says that you belong, but he doesn't say to who. You wonder, for a second, if he means that you belong to them all.

When you report back to Laswell, you tell her this. What you don't tell her is what you've had to do to gain this status. You don't tell her about the blood you spill. You don't tell her about the bodies you see or the men that lose their faces or how worked up the boys get after an op and how it takes them hours between your legs to lose the adrenaline.

You don't tell her this because this is for you. It's all for you.

They tell you things you aren't supposed to know. When you're in their beds, they talk, and you listen. Kyle tells you about the man they are keeping in the cellar. That he's been there for 29 days, and he hasn't said a word, but that Ghost will be next to speak to him, and he will talk then.

Kyle tells you that it is a mercy that Ghost hasn't visited him yet, but they are done playing nice. When he says this, you have the image of Ghost standing over a man who pulled a gun on you in your head, and you remember watching him with a sickening relief as he pressed his thumbs into the man's eye sockets and pushed they were nothing but squished matter. You squeeze your legs together; and this time, you don't feel bad about it.

Johnny begs for you, his bonnie lass, to keep close to him on the next op because you strayed too far today. He fucks you to make you say yes, his lips on your ear as he tells you to promise him that you'll do as he says, and that if you promise, he'll let you come. So you promise, and he fucks you boneless, and the next day, you are glued to his hip when you raid a foreign embassy for nothing but answers.

You know they know. They don't say it out loud, but you know that they all know where you go at night. One night, you are kneeling under John's desk, kissing the pearly tip of him before taking him down your throat for what feels like hours. The next, you are letting Kyle bend you over his desk, rattling it against the wall as he tells you how pretty you are. And in the morning, you are pressed against the shower wall, Johnny holding your wide hips in his hands as he fucks into you, begging you, bonnie, please--give it to me, tha's it, right there, ye can do it, good girl--

Good girl. That's what you are. You're a good girl, and you do as you're told. You smile, and you keen, and you give them big, soft eyes, and you let them have the illusion of control. Maybe they think they're pressuring you. Maybe they think they scare you. Maybe they think this is why you get on your knees for them or let them pool your pants at your ankles or allow them to have you whenever they want, but the reality is that you want it, and you need it, and this is working.

They don't even realize you've fucked them into submission because they're too busy showing off.

A domino effect. You expect them all to fall once you have the captain, but there is one chess piece that does not move willingly.

Ghost.

He is an unmovable object. He stands still and rigid, and he is a statue that refuses to be pushed or pulled in any direction but one he deems. Even in the middle of the nights, when you notice he is awake, he never joins you when you drink his favorite bourbon outside. He doesn't ask for a cigarette when you smoke one, even though you never actually take a puff of it. He passes by you, and he doesn't look at you, and you are invisible.

You want to be content with what you've accomplished, but it isn't enough.

This is the glue. He is the glue, and without him, everything falls apart, and you cannot fail. There isn't room for it. And maybe you feel bad for preying on the parts of Ghost that you think he prefers to keep hidden, but you need to catch him before he gets too far away.

A kitchen accident. A knife that plunges too deep, that draws blood and makes you cry. You are in the bathroom, tears coming down your face, blood in the sink, and your hands are shaking as you try and patch yourself up. You are loud enough to draw the attention of the lieutenant whose door is only just across the hall, and when he sees you there, he doesn't leave you.

One moment there is nothing, and the next, he is behind you, a pervasive warmth at your back, and you whimper when a gloved hand wraps around your injured hand. Wordlessly, he turns the faucet on, running your hand under the water, and you hiccup, looking away and breathing deeply.

He wraps your hand in his room. You sit on his bed, and he works to cover the wound, and you know he has done this before. Soothed another's tears, quieted soft cries, covered up cuts and bruises and things that will scar.

He kneels in front of you, and when he stands to his full height, you tip your head back to look up at him. You think you will meet a soft gaze, but he glares, and he seems angry. When you open your mouth to speak, he tsks, and your tip trembles as you close it.

"Y'can fool the others," he says lowly, finally. "But not me."

You frown, confused. When you sniffle, he snarls.

"I know why y'r here," he murmurs. "Isn't the first time Laswell has sent one of her little...toys."

You clench your jaw. For a moment, something envious rattles you. You aren't like anyone else. You are certain no one has accomplished what you have, that no one has gotten this close to rock the fucking boat or pet the beast. He doesn't get to demean the progress you've made like this, even if he's figured you out, because you aren't going anywhere.

Not until you get everything you need.

"Excuse me?"

"Y'r a spy. You're CIA's whore, and I don't like y'here, puttin' y'r bloody nose where it don't belong," he kneels, his voice low and gruff, and he reaches over and grips your chin hard. "Y'may have fooled them. In their fuckin' beds...in their heads--" He draws you closer, and you swallow. "But y'r not in mine."

You meet his eyes. They are dark, and they are meant to scare you, but the feeling that runs through you isn't one that terrifies you. He is a magnet--and you can feel the field of his presence, and it has you. This is supposed to be your show. They are men, and they are stupid, and you hate them, and Ghost should be eating out of the palm of your fucking manicured hand, but there he is, spitting against his mask, and it is you that aches to see what is underneath the cotton.

"So, little lamb..." Ghost rumbles, and it is with his entire chest that he speaks. "Wot is it you're here to do, eh?"

You shake your head, "N-Nothing. She...all she told me was that this was a joint operation...CIA and SAS--"

"Y'r on the piss, I know that," he hisses, clicking his teeth. "Joint operation," he laughs, but it is without humor. "Is that we're calling this now? Being barracks bunny for the 141?"

"Fuck you," you snap, shoving his hand off. "You're a fucking bastard, and if you think--"

"If I think wot, eh?" He stands, and you choke as he grips you by your throat, lifting you off of his bed and forcing you against the wall. You grip his wrist, but it is useless, because he's a brute, and you are nothing to him. He holds you there on your toes, and you grip him tighter, but he doesn't budge. Even digging your nails into him doesn't make him flinch. If anything, he seems amused. "Wot kind of trainin' she make y'do, eh? Did ya have to practice? Who'd y'shag to get y'r stripes?"

"Eat shit," you spit, and he snickers. There is fire in your eyes, venom on your tongue, you are a fighter, and when the world is so quiet, fighting feels good, and he knows this feeling well. He understands what it means to be nothing and then something, what it means to worthless and then useful in the eyes of government and government alone.

Because you are useful, but only to Laswell, and only as this, whatever this is. Whatever you are. Pet, prize, toy--it doesn't matter what the name is today, but it will stick tomorrow, and you wonder, sickeningly, if that is your destiny.

To be unknown. To be used. To be the property of what you do not know. To be given, to be taken, to not know and to be content with not knowing.

To accept it because it is still better than whatever you were before.

He sees this. He looks into your eyes, he breathes in, and he hums, and when his grip loosens just enough, you put your toes on the ground, and you lean in, and there you are.

One and the same. Bitten, chewed, spit out, two people who are products of their suffering and the culmination of their sheer fucking will to live, even if the living is miserable.

Maybe that is what it is. Maybe it's what's broken that will put you together. Ghost is the glue, you are the solvent, and you will make it so.

Because I can't fail, I can't do it, I won't go back, I can't go back--

"I'm here for me," you whisper. "I'm here for me, and no one else--" You gasp, and it isn't a lie, not really. You are here for you, this is for you, even if it is at the downfall of someone else. If you need to step on necks to get ahead, you will.

Ghost is the last piece. The last one you need to move. He is stuck, but now you know what it is you need to do, you know how to set the game into motion.

"Ghost," you breathe, and it's soft, it's quiet. You meet his eyes, and you lean close, and he feels your breath on the front of his mask. "It's not what you think."

"You're a lamb."

"I don't wanna be a lamb."

"It doesn't matter what y'want, y'are a lamb," he growls, and you whine, and he hums, and you can see the crinkle of his eyes, and you know he must be smiling. "Tha's wot y'are, and y'can't run away from tha'."

You blink, and he stares, and there is understanding. You are prey, and you belong, but you don't know where. But then you remember you are a soldier, and it isn't your job to know. Your job is to lie still and let them have you.

And to not tell my handler how much I like it.

"It's what they made me," you whisper, and when there are tears in the corner of your eyes, he is gentle. He smooths his hand down your throat, rubbing a thumb over your trembling lip, and you know that he understands you. "It's not what I wanted."

"It's never what we want," he murmurs. "Never."

You hold your breath when he cups your face with a big gloved hand. Dark eyes on soft ones, and you wonder what it would be like to have him. He doesn't keen the way John does, doesn't kneel the way Johnny kneels, doesn't follow and listen without objection the way that Kyle does. No, he's a brick wall, and you need to be what knocks him over. You need to shake the foundation, split it in two.

You need to sever the fucking bond and do your fucking job.

"So when can I have what I want?" You ask him softly. "When...when is it my turn?"

He tilts his head to the side, curious, and you slide your hands up his forearms, over the muscle of his biceps. He is everything you cannot have.

And he is everything that you suddenly realize you want.

Forbidden. Unrelenting. The oxygen to a raging fire. He isn't the glue, he's the catalyst to whatever the fuck you bring to the experiment, and even though you know this will be disaster, you want it. You want it so badly.

Destruction tastes so good. Control is victory. Sex is power, and you want him, you want this, you want him to have you, to own you, to make you see what he sees, because it will be familiar because you are the same.

"Y'r a soldier," he says lowly. "Not about what we want. 's about what they want."

"Fuck what they want," you groan, looking away, and then a few tears slip down your face. "Fuck what they do with us. If I die for them, they only tick some fucking statistic. It means nothing. So why can't I do what I want with the time I get before...before I'm just...before I'm nothing again?"

And there it is. The mirror you hold up. The common ground. The level playing field. The two paths that cross, this is it, I have it, I have it, I fucking have it, I have him, he's mine--

He kisses you. You don't get to see his face, but his lips are there, a precious amount of skin that you're blessed with seeing until your eyes are closing.

His bed is warm. He fills it well, the breadth of him almost too much for its size, but it doesn't matter because he fucks so well. He eats your cunt because he's hungry, your thighs on his shoulders shaking as he laps at your wet folds.

He does this different. John is soft and slow, Kyle takes his time, and Johnny is always eager and sloppy. But Ghost watches. He slides his tongue in soft motions, watching, and when your thighs twitch and shake, he does the motion again. He flattens his tongue and drags it, and when you whine and arch your back, he revels in the way you move. He drinks what you spill, he fucks you with his tongue, and this is different because this isn't just attraction.

There is something about him. Something underneath the layers he covers himself with, under the mask, something that you can see that others cannot even though he doesn't take those layers off.

You know this is true when he's inside of you. His mask hasn't come off, but his mouth is on your ear, and he groans, and he talks, and you feel like he spoils you this way. Ghost never talks. You wonder often if maybe he has a limited amount of words, and he never says more than he has to lest he runs out of them. His eyes speak, and it's more than enough, but now, he talks, and it is a gift, and now you know.

He cradles your head as he fucks you, and he kisses you until you can't breathe, and then when he talks, it takes everything in you not to beg for more.

"Such a nice cunt...'s so nice..."

"Fuck--y'feel me, luv? Right there--" And he presses his palm down on your stomach, and you cry when he grabs your face and forces you to look at him, because he's cruel and he's mean, but his cock feels so good--

And you think it can't get better, and you think he can't go any deeper, and then your thighs are wrapped around his waist, and he's leaning over you, and you think you're forgetting your name.

You forget yourself. You forget the reason you're here. It's so hard to think when you're not yourself, when your mind is in the stars, when everything feels far away and so close all at the same time. There is a place for him inside of you now, and you know that even though he will ruin you, even though he already has, you will never be rid of him.

You've severed the bond. You've made your own.

When he kisses you again, and when he grinds his hips down so nice that your clit aches, you know suddenly what it feels like to have real control. The feeling that Laswell chases, the feeling she wants so fucking badly that she's made your body a weapon, your cunt a tool, your brain the hivemind that will make her every wish come true, you understand now.

You will make the sky blue, the birds sing, but you did not realize the power you held until you had Simon "Ghost" Riley buried so deep in you, that you aren't sure you're even really here anymore.

You gnaw on his arm, your tongue tracing the tattoos there. You taste sweat, and you swallow it, and you go numb thinking about having more of him inside of you. You want to bite and eat and take as much of him that he will let you--no.

You will bite and eat and take as much of him that you want, because he's yours, and you get whatever you want.

Your fingers grasp the cotton of his mask, and your grip is enough to pull his lips off of you, and when your eyes meet, the gaze is different. He's desperate. For once, there is something disorderly there, and he pants, and he wants something from you, and finally you have something to give him.

You fuck it out of him. You lay him on his back and let him look at you, and you fuck him because it feels good, because you want it, too, because it's all that matters. You cry into his mouth, sob, "please--! please, please, please--"

And he tugs on your hair in response, guiding your hips as he loses his composure, "'ve got you...y'r mine...'s olright, yeah--nggghhh, fuck, luv, th's it..."

You do want it. You do need it. You need them, but you want Ghost the most, because he is the piece that does not move. He is not willing to do anything except for the sake of his pack. Ghost is impenetrable, even your pretty cunt isn't enough to change his mind, but that isn't what this is.

This is mercy. Ghost, he is the product of all of his misery. You, you are the result of every man to ever betray you, the outcome of your unwavering desire for revenge. You are the same, somehow, and he knows this, and that is why can't help himself. That is why Ghost is underneath you, that is why he bares his mouth to you and lets you lick into it and allows you to taste the forbidden fruit.

Because he thinks you are him, and he thinks you think so, too, and all he's ever wanted in his life is just for someone to see him the way he saw himself.

When he comes, he paints your cunt and fills you, and you collapse, your body on fire as you come down from a high that takes your breath away. His big hands cradle you against his chest, and you don't move, too afraid to let go, and he kisses your face when you whimper. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and when he pulls out, you gather it up on your fingers and suck. He groans, and he kisses you, and then he sinks back to his knees because he doesn't hear the ringing in his ears when his mouth is on your pretty pussy.

You're just a lamb, it's all you are. Handpicked by Laswell to head into the lion's den, a scarred animal that has no one to protect her, straight to slaughter.

He knows what it feels like. He knows what it feels like to be used and forgotten, to have nowhere to go, to be backed into a corner with no way out, and he pities you.

Ghost pities you because there is nothing behind your eyes except fear. But it's a lie. You're so good at it now. It's a lie, and you tell it so well, and you're warm inside. Not from taking the last moving piece, but from the satisfaction of knowing you have done what others cannot. What others never could.

It's late when you finally settle beside him. He leaves you when you ask for something to eat. You watch him slip clothes on haphazardly and leave, the door swinging shut behind him as he shuffles to get what you need.

To provide. To protect. To shield. Ghost is good at those things, you knew he would be. A man does not nurse a brother back to health without it, does not protect his mother and defy his father without being good at being a dog.

He's a good guard dog. And when he goes, and the door is closed, you smile because the dog is mine, all fucking mine--

You reach for your phone, and you pull up the only contact in it. You type a simple message, and then you send it, and for good measure, you shut the device off, tossing it into the pile of your discarded clothes.

>> we have joy.

You are good at pretending. You can tell a lie without blinking. You have been taught to be this thing, and you do it well, because you are a soldier, and this is your mission, and you cannot fail, and you didn't fail.

When you see Laswell again, many weeks later, she is not surprised to see you covering up with long sleeves and keeping your hair down. One tug on the collar of your shirt, and she gets glimpses of the love bites that have marked bruises all across your skin. She lets you go, tells you to sit, and she smirks.

You smile back this time.

Men are fickle. And they fucking deserve this.

"Good girl," she takes out another manila folder, but it's different this time. When you open it, you have schedules of upcoming ops, intel the boys are working, evidence of their reckless abandonment of order in favor of the chaotic success of getting the job done. You have seen this first hand, you know what they do and how they do it. But now there is another factor, another subject, right in the middle of it all. It is you.

Laswell takes a seat, spreading out the papers, and you meet her eyes. This time it's different. This is the truth, and you want to feel bad for your betrayal, but you don't. The fact of the matter is that you and Laswell, together in this room, have more power at your feet than you know what to do with.

A lamb to slaughter, and yet you sleep with the wolves.

"Alright," she says. "Now let's get to fucking work."

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!simon #dark!soap

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vrisrezis · 1 year

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Gaang having a crush (bcuz I miss atla) also warning ? Me trying my hardest not to curse in these and making it kid friendly LOL

Aang is kinda obvious, given how young you guys are it makes sense though. It’s definitely his first time having a crush, but he comes to the realization he likes you more than friends rather quickly. After all, he has so many friends, he’d know the difference even if he never liked somebody like that before. While aang is generally speaking a nice guy, I see him doing extra nice gestures for you that he wouldn’t really think of doing for other people. He’s made you a “friendship” bracelet and a necklace as well. Boy or not, there’s nothing wrong with a boy wearing a necklace or bracelet anyway! He blushes around you a lot, this is typically when you are in close proximity to him. And while aang has no problem being physically affectionate around friends, he shy’s away from doing it with you. However, if you’re physically affectionate with him he will very awkwardly reciprocate. His shyness might do him more harm than good if he accidentally hurts your feelings by not being very physically affectionate with you in comparison to the rest of the gaang. Aang is very clumsy around you, and that’s not just falling on his face, he tends to mess up his words around you due to nervousness. However despite his lack of physical affection, he’s a very clingy dude with you and always loves to spend his time with you, and literally laughs at all your jokes no matter how bad they are. In turn, he also always makes jokes and tries to make you laugh literally all the time. Aang is also extremely patient with you, he’d have to be in a very bad mood to ever get angry with you, lol. (The only time I could think of is while aang lost appa, like literally the only time I think he’d be driven to the point of yelling and being angry with you). Even if he was mad at you for other reasons, I can’t see him yelling at you or even being mad for long. He also tends to be very protective, especially if you can’t bend or can’t bend very well. However, because of how caring and overbearing he can be, he may make you feel like you’re weak sometimes. So you two tend to have a lot of conversations about him not being so overly protective when it comes to danger. He can’t help it sometimes, especially when he gets nightmares about you getting hurt. He loves being goofy and dumb around you, and totally tries to impress you with his bending LOL. If there’s something you don’t know or understand, he tries to impress you with his 100 years of knowledge, lol.

Katara can be a bit of a mom when it comes to you at times, only because she worries for you. She’ll be darned if she lets anyone hurt the person she loves the most, she is protecting you through and through. Strong or not, she sees you as somebody worth protecting. She’s not as bad as aang is, but she definitely blushes quite a bit around you. She often tries to get your approval on things, whether that’s taking her side whenever she has an argument with toph or getting your approval on her new clothes. Or perhaps even her hair but .. shrug. She also loves teasing you, kinda like how she teases zuko honestly but she won’t get on your case as much and it’s all in good fun. She’s not funny, but still tries to make you laugh. She may end up embarrassing herself most of the time, but it’s worth it if she gets a little giggle out of you. If you’re a water bender, she’s more than happy to teach you. Probably doesn’t want you learning about blood bending though, so she doesn’t really mention it to you lol. It’s not like she doesn’t trust you, she just can’t imagine somebody she adores doing knowing how to bend in such a frightening way. She keeps you far away from it, as a means to protect you and your innocence. Because boy, she sees you as somebody that could do no wrong. Seriously, it’s kinda annoying to the rest of the gaang if you were ever in the wrong about something because she will defend you to heck and back. Although her crush is obvious, most of the gaang find her crush on you to be sweet (most of the time). She does not tolerate anyone yelling at you, or even being angry at you. She never gets angry at you as well, because again, in her eyes you could do no wrong. Maybeee have a talk with her about the fact you’re not a completely innocent goody two shoes, or not… up to you. Katara is surprisingly forward with you, often going out her way to hug you, to hold your hand, and when you accomplish something amazing, she gives you a kiss on the cheek. You’d have to be really dense to not notice her affections towards you.

Sokka is very obvious, he’s never been the type to hide his feelings so he really doesn’t even bother. However, how he approaches your relationship really depends on how long he’s known you. If you’ve only just met and are starting to become friends he tries to be extremely forward with you about his feelings, and flirts with you. Albeit, very poorly. He’s not as suave as he likes to act like he is. In reality he’s a big dork with a stupid crush. However, if you two have known eachother for years and have been friends for a long period of time, he wouldn’t even know how to approach the situation. Normally, he may try to act cool, like he doesn’t care about you. But in a situation like this, he can’t just do that. It hurts him to even think about pretending not to care about you. He struggles for awhile on how to approach these feelings once they’re realized, but honestly if you’ve been friends for YEARS he’s probably figured it out by now and treats you like always but there’s some slight changes. He’s always been protective but you’ll find that with you it’s to the max, he’s not even this protective of his own sister. Hes even more paranoid around newcomers when you’re apart of the equation. Always says something along the lines of “y/n! Step back! They could be dangerous!” and the others just make fun of him for it lol. He’s always trying to find ways to impress you, with his fighting skills and all. Happy to teach you to ;) but if you’re a bender he finds himself trying extra hard to show you just how cool he can be. He doesn’t blush nearly as much as katara and aang would, but it happens on occasion. This is typically if you said something along the lines of “sokka! Thank you for saving me :))) you’re so strong and amazing and blah blah” or if you were being extremely flirtatious LOL. Low key very clingy and follows you around a lot, but tries to act like he’s just bored and your the best option he has to cure the boredom lol he ain’t as slick as he thinks he is. Is the kinda guy who chooses to always sit next to you, fight alongside you, etc. gets angry whenever there’s a avatar plan and he isn’t with you/separated from you lol. Also suki loves you and thinks you’re great for sokka, if only man’s could just confess already.

Toph is not used to having crushes, she’s never had one. However, that doesn’t mean she’s stupid. She realizes her emotions very well but she does not know what to do with them. She’s not used to having a soft spot for anyone, either. She shows her affection by constantly punching you in the arm. However, if you happen to be very affectionate, she doesn’t pull away. So feel free to grab her hand, hug her, etc. you’ll find she has no qualms with you wanting to be there and helping her, either. Even if it can be a sore subject at times to accept help, wanting to be tough all the time, she appreciates that you don’t see her as a weak blind girl and as a strong person that can take care of herself if needed. She appreciates any reminders you want to help not because you think she’s weak but rather because you care for her. Toph shows she cares, though it’s rare and often is not shown through words. She shows it by protecting you. However she is not overly protective, knowing how bad she feels when people are overly protective of her. She loves to tease you, often being her form of affection. She even likes to train and spar with you. If your often physically affectionate, she expects you to stay that way and may think somethings wrong if you aren’t. In which case, she threatens to beat up whoever wronged you. If it’s not a someone, well, she’s always willing to listen. She’s good at doing that anyway. Because she would be used to your affections she would also start to initiate them. She blushes a bit around you, and you’ll even find she’s brave enough to kiss you on the cheek if you were to save her life or protect her. When toph is sleepy, she likes to lean on you and use you as her head rest. She always likes when you go on about random stuff, and she can just fall asleep to the sound of your voice. She is also kinda obvious sometimes about her crush. Normally, you wouldn’t have any idea, but she has small moments where she makes it obvious. A slip of the tongue gives herself away more often than not. “Nobody cares about my weird toy collection!” “I care… I mean! Psh! Yeah why would anyone care about t something so stupid anyway.” she has her moments.

Zuko is just .. painful. All of the gaang get second hand embarrassment from how awfully obvious he is about his crush. From the constant red cheeks to the nervous stuttering over his words to accidentally fire bending just because he’s so nervous around you.. it’s hard to believe he’s even trying to hide it. He doesn’t even know how obvious he’s being until sokka says something to him about being cooler about you. “Wait.. if you think I’m obvious do you think they know?” “Nah.. they’re totally oblivious.” “Oh… that’s… good…” “what do you mean good?!” but in all seriousness, he acts completely different around you in comparison to everyone else. Even if we’re talking book 1 and 2 zuko, he’s a lot more patient with you (not saying much though cuz boy still has a big temper). He tries really hard to be nice, forced awkward smile and all. He is told that it makes him more … approachable. Though if you’re childhood friends (or have been friends for a long time) he kinda drops that rather quickly. If not though, he tries to actually keep it up. However you’ll find he’s quick to apologize if he blows up on you. Unless it’s in an especially bad mood (by that I mean sadder, rather than madder) but he will come around when he’s feeling better. Gets embarrassed easily around you, like if you tease him his entire face goes red. He just cannot deal lol. Pretty protective, but isn’t overly protective… unless azula is involved because bro will be worse than sokka if she’s involved at all LOL. Is willing to do anything with you, which says a lot. Not a fan typically of “fun” events such as festivals or parties but is willing to go with you without much fuss, he can deal if you’re having a fun time. He gets very jealous though, even when you two aren’t dating. He just doesn’t know how to handle the idea of somebody else liking you, or even worse, you ending up with them. He doesn’t handle jealousy very well, very willing to fight the individual as a means to “protect” you, or whatever excuse he can come up with. Out of all of the gaang, he’s the least ready the confess his feelings. He fears rejection, he fears ruining what you two have together.

Suki doesn’t like to mess around, no bulls, so she’s very bold and very open about the fact she likes you. It’s up to you to take your relationship to the next level if that’s what you desire. She does not hesitate to kiss you on the cheek before a tough battle, a battle she isn’t sure she’d come back from, or one she isn’t sure you’d come back from. If you asked, she’d tell you “it’s cause I like you, silly.” It’s up to you to take it further with her if it’s what you desire. However; she has no qualms with you wanting to be friends for awhile first before anything else. She understands that sometimes people need more time and more trust before building a proper relationship. As a result, suki is very understanding of you as well as your boundaries and never holds these things against you and furthermore doesn’t take this as something she should feel bad about either. For the most part, even she can’t help insecurities. So long as you have good communication, she will not feel as though she’s gross or not good enough for you or something along the lines. She may help you train, if your not a good fighter and just need to learn some basics. She doesn’t mind being the one to protect you, but she’d like you to know how to at least defend yourself even if it’s the bare minimum. She knows fighting helps with her self confidence so she wants you to be able to have that for yourself too. Though I will say, she already treats you like her s/o, even if you aren’t a couple. What can I say? She’s just straight forward and doesn’t like to play around. Suki is very trusting of you, so I can’t say that even when you two do start dating she’s the jealous type, but she can be protective. She likes being the one to keep you safe. She loves to tease and poke fun at you a lot, in a purely affectionate way. You’ll also find she thinks the world of you and finds you, no matter what, to be endearing and special to her. For a strong Kyoshi warrior she has quite the soft spot for you and treats you like an angel from the heavens. She likes grabbing your hand a lot in random moments, almost like a sign to other people that maybeeeee are interested in you, that you’re taken. She may flirt with you from time to time, and it’s rare but you can make her blush:0 all you have to do is beat her in a training match, or be very forward with her and flirt. However it will only work if you’re not normally forward, lol.

#zuko x reader #sokka x reader #aang x reader #toph x reader #katara x reader #suki x reader #atla x reader #avatar the last airbender x reader

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afterglowsainz · 1 day

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i'mgonnagetyouback | max verstappen

summary: after you and max broke up you released an album about it and when you go on tour, you didn't expected max to be there front row after being dragged by his new girlfriend's daughter

warnings: none

word count: 877

a/n: this is kinda told in max's pov (?, also heavily inspired on taylor's eras tour and i slightly changed the lyrics of the song to relate it a bit more to max

the tortured athletes department series

the lights were out in the stadium but there was barely any darkness. the lights of flashes from phones and twinkling colored light bracelets illuminated the allegiance stadium in las vegas, every person there waiting for the one and only y/n y/l/n.

if you would’ve told max months ago that he was gonna be at her ex-girlfriend’s sold out concert the same weekend he was racing in vegas, he would’ve laughed in your face. but here he was, waiting with the other 69,000 people for her to show up on stage and sing all her hit songs, including the ones that she wrote about him after their breakup.

he had to remind himself that the only reason he was doing this was because of his new girlfriend's daughter, who begged them for weeks to take her to y/n’s concert or she would simply die. she was y/n’s biggest fan because, of course, karma had to do that to max. so there he was, in the vip section of the stadium without y/n’s knowledge, next to his new girlfriend and her daughter.

the lights on the bracelets turned off and the stadium went a bit darker than before, announcing the start of the show. when a huge clock on the stage came up and it reached the number zero, y/n came out singing the first song of the concert and the crowd went wild. max was immediately mesmerized by her. she hadn’t changed much since they broke up, that much he noticed, and she was as beautiful as ever.

he had to control himself not to sing along to her songs to not give his girlfriend a bad impression, even though her daughter was singing all her songs by heart. he just nodded and move along with the rhythm, avoiding the gaze of his girlfriend who was very well aware of her boyfriends history with the singer on stage.

y/n was singing her most famous songs and a few that were more lowkey, and when they reached the acoustic set of the concert, she was carrying a wide smile while playing a few keys on the piano. max smiled at the sight of her.

“hello, vegas!” she shouted at the microphone, making the whole stadium scream. “welcome to the acoustic set.” she smiled. “i’ve been meaning to sing different surprise songs every night, some that i haven’t played in a while, some others brand new. this one particularly is from my new album, i hope you enjoy it.”

max stopped breathing for a second. it was very well known with the public that y/n’s new album was about their breakup and she hadn’t sung any of those songs until tonight. he didn’t know what to do with himself or how to behave, so he simply crossed his arms and stood a bit further into the vip section. in the location he was he had a perfect view of her, but she hadn’t seen him all night.

soon enough y/n start singing one of the songs from the new album that max new for a fact was about him. he hadn’t listen to the whole album because he just didn’t want to relieve the breakup. in his defense he did try to give it a listen, but it was just to overwhelming for him so he had to stop listening mid-album, but this one he knew.

Lilac short skirt / The one that fits me like skin

max submerged himself in the lyrics and y/n’s incredibly familiar voice. only now she wasn’t singing just for him, but for thousands of people.

Whether I'm gonna be your wife or / Gonna smash up your car, I / Haven't decided yet / But I'm gonna get you back

a rebel smile appeared on his face, incapable of hiding how much she meant to him, how much he had missed her. seeing her there, singing her heart out on stage for a crowd of people who were crazy about her, god, how could he lost her?

I can feel it comin', hummin' in the way you move / Push the reset button, we're becoming something new / Say you got somebody, I'll say, "I got someone too" / Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leaving here with you

the smile on her face while singing the song she wrote made his smile even greater. he didn’t know the song fully like his girlfriend’s daughter, but he knew; he lived it, just as much as she did. in that moment in time, he felt connected to her in a level that no one in the stadium was.

I hear the whispers in your eyes / I'll make you wanna think twice / You'll find that you were never not mine / I'm gonna get you back

when the song finished, the multitude exploited in praise and y/n’s smile grew on her face. max completely forgot about everyone else and joined the crowd, screaming for her and applauding. y/n stood up from the piano and did a small bow before leaving the stage for her next set of songs.

it was as clear as day for max and it struck him like lightning. he was gonna get her back.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen angst #f1 x reader #f1 #formula one #formula one x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #mv33 #mv1 #the tortured athletes department #i'mgonnagetyouback #i'm gonna get you back

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s-brant · 1 year

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Teacher’s Pet

Anakin and Y/N’s relationship has always remained professional. Despite her obvious feelings for him, he never let himself entertain thoughts of reciprocating them…until now.

10k (18+)

Warnings: smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex, cockwarming, exhibitionism, choking, strong language, inappropriate relationships, she’s his padawan but they’re both of age and he didn’t know her for that long, and hints of possible yandere anakin.

She knows it's wrong.

Every time he offers a mere glance in her direction in front of the others or rests a hand on her shoulder in a silent gesture to calm her in moments of particular anger, typically directed at the council, she feels as though she will burn alive from the sin she cannot stop committing. Not only is it against the Jedi code to form attachments, but for there to be an intimate attachment between Padawan and Master is an affront to everything they know. That being said, Anakin has never been the type to allow the rules to keep him from indulging the impulsive yearnings of his heart.

It wasn't intentional.

After all, he tried to keep himself under control since Y/N was given to him as his first apprentice. It seemed fitting at the time. Most of those in training were discovered and brought to the Jedi temple as younglings, yet Y/N was not. Hers was a path that was far more unconventional than most. He himself was an unconventional Jedi Master, so it only made sense to him that the council chose to place her with him. She was brought to them when she was a young teen, when Anakin himself was still learning under Obi-Wan, and she didn't see much of him for years.

There were always moments in which they would pass one another in corridors or end up in the same room, but they scarcely found reason to interact much with one another due to their respective responsibilities. Being older than most, Anakin included, when they were brought to the Jedi Order, she had to learn such basic knowledge at a rate others her age were given years to accomplish.

This impressed Anakin from a distance, however, he was too wrapped up in his own dealings at the time to concern himself with what someone four years his junior was doing at the time. It wasn't until after he passed his trials and became a Jedi Knight that their lives became intertwined.

It started with her.

When she first began training under him, she was much like an annoying young puppy, always nipping at his heels and following as his shadow with every step he took. It was clear for everyone to see that Anakin resented the fact that he had to deal with someone as hard-headed, relentless, and precocious as she, but all Obi-Wan could do was laugh at how blind Anakin was to miss the glaring similarities between him and his apprentice.

And where Anakin became annoyed with her, she became enamored with him. It was the classic case of the schoolgirl becoming infatuated with her teacher, which was part of what fueled his annoyance with her. He could feel it. When she was distracted or too comfortable, forgetting to shield her thoughts or emotions from him, he felt it. She might as well have been shouting her feelings out loud to him, and he prayed, on the rare occasions when it would happen in close proximity to others, that neither Obi-Wan nor any of the others picked up on them.

Mercifully, the images he saw coming from her mind were mostly innocent in nature during that first year they spent together. It never escalated past what was appropriate for a young woman of her age to fantasize about, and she never took it too far out of fear that he could, in fact, sense the direction of her thoughts. Later on, she became better at keeping those feelings and thoughts to herself, but, still, some managed to slip through the cracks.

It was months ago.

Now that three years had passed since he first took her on as his apprentice, she'd become a woman right before his very eyes. Of course, she was only a few years off from officially entering adulthood when they were first assigned together, but he always saw her as a child until the past year or so. Until he saw an image from her mind that changed things.

She was late to their agreed-upon meeting time in the morning, so he took it upon himself to seek her out for an explanation. Within him, he felt the anger bubbling up, poised to explode the second he found her doing whatever it was she felt was more important than their duties for the day, but the moment he got to the door of her private quarters, he halted in place. A strange sound came from within. He couldn't tell through the walls if it was a cry of pain or sorrow, but the sound of her crying worried him nonetheless. It sprung him into action, reaching out with his mind to see if he could feel her there, but what he found when he reached her wasn't what he expected.

Anakin is nothing if not protective and possessive over those he cares for, and his Padawan, whether he found her annoying at times or not, is someone of great importance to him. And, in all fairness to her, she hadn't been annoying to him for months. Slowly, the frequency of the images and feelings she practically shoved into his mind began to dwindle, and after years by his side, she no longer followed him around incessantly. In fact, he found himself searching for her wherever she wandered off to be by herself quite frequently and realized, underneath the cold exterior he put on to keep her at a distance, that he missed having her nipping at his heels all the time.

So, being as protective as he is toward those he cares for, he thought someone or something must have hurt her, whether it be emotionally or physically, to make her cry and didn't waste a second before trying to intervene. But there was no emotional or physical hurt to be found on the other side of that door. There was only pleasure.

There were positively lewd images coming to life in his apprentice's mind, but what stunned him most of all was that they were of him. No, them.

Anakin is no hypocrite. He would not admonish her for feeling sexual desire seeing that it wasn't directly against the Jedi code. Although he was sure Master Yoda and Obi-Wan would not approve, he had indulged in such desires before. As long as he did not form any attachments, there was nothing saying he couldn't, so he did. What she was doing, though...that was different.

He thought that it wouldn't have messed with his head so much if it weren't him she pictured pinning her to the mattress, thrusting into her with his ungloved prosthetic hand squeezing the sides of her throat, but that foolish idea quickly vanished. Once his mind actually wandered to the thought of someone else being the object of her desires, he became crazed with jealousy. No, he decided, he would never be okay with that. Even though he already had sex with others in the past, he couldn't stand the idea of her in the arms of another. It was always there, lingering beneath the surface, but even if it wasn't, he realized at that moment that he wanted her to himself.

That was when things changed between them.

Y/N had never known him to linger so much. He began to spend more time with her outside of their necessary training and missions they went on together, which meant the only time they spent apart was the hours that they slept at night. Then came the touching—his hand brushing the back of hers "accidentally" beneath the table as they ate, his arm thrown over her shoulder, and his hand on the small of her back to guide her in the right direction whenever she gets turned around. It appeared to her that he seized every opportunity he could to get his hands on her, but she didn't know what to do about it.

Wanting him had been one thing, but the possibility of Anakin wanting her back was another thing entirely. She felt safe in her assumption that nothing would ever happen between them, but everything changed last week.

He took her out soon after everyone was due to retire for the night and walked with her, shielded by their hoods, through the streets of Coruscant. Not wanting to be recognized in their Jedi robes, he came already wearing a rather unassuming, common cloak over a plain pair of pants and tunic. She changed out of her robes in the adjoining bathroom while he stood watch and waited, then came out with a nervous smile plastered on her face.

He said, "Come along," and turned toward the door to her rooms.

As they traversed the streets without as many people turning their heads to look at them as usual, she couldn't help but feel a weight come off her shoulders. Her hand twitched with the urge to reach for him, then, a second later, Anakin draped his arm over her shoulders and didn't protest when she reached up to entwine their fingers. It was strange, but she didn't dare to question it out of fear of losing the dreamlike moment too soon. She feared that if she spoke of it aloud, he'd realize his mistake and rectify it immediately. But she was wrong. Earlier that day when he saw her laughing with Obi-Wan, something within him snapped, and once he decided his fantasies of her weren't enough, there was nothing that could stop him from taking what was rightfully his short of her refusal to partake.

She held on tight to his hand as they entered a seedy-looking bar in the bowels of the city, eyes turning wide at how those surrounding them indulged in drinking, dancing, and even kissing out in the open without shame. Sending her feeling of surprise, he found his assumptions about his Padawan to be true—she had never gone out and entertained her fantasies as he had during his training.

He didn't let her drink, even though he noticed how she eyed up the people sitting at the bar with great interest.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, standing alongside him with her back to the wall.

"I've sheltered you. When I was in training, I figured these things out for myself. I know Obi-Wan wouldn't have encouraged it."

"Master?" she asked with a quizzical expression.

Anakin said nothing. His face was unreadable, a mask of calm that gave her no clues as to what emotions lurked beneath, and when she tried to sense his mood through the force, he was able to resist her. Being as advanced of a Jedi as him, it's harder for her to reach for his mind than it is with her fellow Padawans. Rather than explain his meaning, he turned and made his way to the back hallway, but not without taking her by the hand to guide her. The leather of his glove was cold on the bare palm of her hand. She could feel the hard material of his metal hand through the fabric as it gripped hers.

In a room at the end of the hall, a series of couches and chairs were laid out across the open space and occupied by scantily clad workers engaged in intimate relations with customers.

He spoke, slowing down to allow her to step in front of him, "I used to come here. When I found myself wanting to act on the types of urges that lead to attachments."

Her brows furrowed, though, deep down, she suspected where the night may lead them. No, where he was leading them.

"Is that why we're here?" she asked, breathless, then looked over at a woman who was on her knees before a man in front of them.

There was a wide-eyed, almost excited, curiosity to her gaze that set Anakin's body aflame. Yet, at the same time, it was nothing she had ever seen or engaged in before, so it caused her to take a step back into where he stood at her back. Her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his arm slipping around her waist, pulling her back until there was no space left between their bodies. Then, he crouched down to bring his face to her neck and delighted in how easily her head turned to make space for him. The hand flattened against her belly could sense that she was holding her breath in anticipation.

"Go on," Anakin said, his hot exhales clouding against the sensitive skin of her neck, "Choose one. I know you've been curious."

And while she had already stopped breathing, the last thing he said made her entire body go still. He knew. Somehow, he knew. When his metal hand came up to grab the base of her neck and squeeze it gently, she knew he was answering the question she unknowingly asked him.

In answer, she ground the curve of her ass against the presence of his growing erection and said, "I don't want any of them."

What happened afterward left her in a frazzled state of disarray for days. All of her friends noticed the change in behavior, yet she waved it off as not having gotten enough sleep lately and pretended not to be thinking of how Anakin had fucked her in front of all those people at that bar. Granted, everyone in that room was accustomed to it, but, to her, it was the most scandalous thing imaginable.

Anakin, on the other hand, made a fair attempt at hiding how he felt about it. Even when Obi-Wan asked him if Y/N was okay, saying that she'd been acting off, he kept his cool and said he had everything taken care of with his apprentice. It wasn't the first time he spoke to Obi-Wan about her behavior. When he first took her on and began training her, he sought his master out for advice on how to handle the—at the time—one-sided crush she had on him. And, for a while, Anakin followed the guidance provided to him by his mentor. He tried. He really tried, but, in the end, he couldn't help himself.

The past few days, however, have been an exercise in discretion on both of their parts.

They've been trapped inside of a ship with Obi-Wan all day, battered and exhausted from a battle which they hardly escaped from unscathed, on the journey back to Coruscant.

She sits on her own, trying to busy herself with inspecting the superficial wound she sustained on her outer thigh amidst the scuffle, while Anakin pilots the ship with Obi-Wan sitting beside him in the cockpit. It isn't deep enough to require attention beyond basic cleaning and bandaging, so she decides to leave it be until they return to the Jedi Temple where she can properly wash it. It won't be long now if what she overheard moments ago was true. Apparently, they're due to land in Coruscant in a matter of moments, and she couldn't be any happier to hear it.

It's been difficult these past few days. Not only due to their efforts to stop Dooku's attempt to kidnap Chancellor Palpatine, but because of what happened between them last week. Because of everything that has been left unsaid. It's not as if she can blame him for it. There are far too many eyes on them at all times of day for there to be an opportunity to talk about it, and once they caught wind of Dooku's plans, it was no longer a priority.

Anakin can feel her staring.

In fact, he's felt her eyes on him for the whole duration of the trip. His knuckles tightened on the controls of the ship as he resisted the urge to turn to catch a glimpse of his pretty apprentice. Thankfully, she had the foresight to keep her thoughts as innocent as possible to prevent Obi-Wan from picking up on any of it. He may be able to tense the tension surrounding them, but that could be easily written off as a consequence of their mission. He knows how much Anakin cares for her, and seeing her injured at the hands of the enemy sent him into a frenzy, keeping Dooku constantly on the defensive until he managed to escape. Obi-Wan watched as Anakin rushed over and demanded to see where she'd been hurt, on guard for any potential threat while the two of them assessed her minor injury.

It isn't until he feels Obi-Wan's hand on his shoulder and yet he realizes he landed the ship, having operated on instinct as he became lost in his thoughts of her.

"You did well," he says, then his face softens, "She's strong. She'll be fine. Don't blame yourself for it."

Anakin nods.

"I know. It wasn't anyone's fault. She was to learn how to handle losing and getting hurt somehow, doesn't she?"

This response seems to please him.

"Yes. Now, you can escort her to a medic. I'll brief the council on what happened with Dooku."

With that, Obi-Wan turns to walk away and disappears past his line of sight. Before he leaves the ship, he offers a few words of praise to Y/N on his way past. And after days of being forced to ignore what happened between them, they're finally alone. The energy in the room shifts the second Obi-Wan is gone. They can feel the tension in the air sizzling like a current of electricity between them. It's palpable. Through the force, they can feel each other's emotions flaring up into something uncontrollable after days of keeping themselves on tight leashes.

She hangs her head low as he comes to a stop in front of her.

"I'm sorry, master. I'll be better next time," she says softly.

In lieu of a verbal response, he outstretches his flesh hand to her in a silent command.

Her voice is hushed when she asks, "Anakin?" and he thinks his heart may beat out of his chest at the sound of her saying his name. The last time he heard his name fall from her lips, he was buried inside of her with one hand wrapped in her hair and the other gripping her hip for leverage to thrust into her.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he says before she drives herself mad with guilt over how the fight unfolded. "Come on, let's get you fixed up."

His hand is warm. It's larger, closing tightly around hers and using that unrelenting strength of his to tug her to her feet. Seeing that he held an arm around her waist on the way back to the ship before they departed—just in case she walked with a limp, he doesn't let go of her. He simply moves his hand to grab hold of her arm instead to keep the contact from looking too intimate when they enter the Jedi Temple together. Holding hands would look odd to any passerby, but no one would think twice about him holding her arm for support with a visible blood stain on her pant leg.

Actually, most people try to stop and ask if she's alright, but all it takes is a polite, "I'm fine," from her to get them to back off. In truth, she is fine. The skin is sliced open from the end of Dooku's lightsaber barely grazing her thigh in the midst of the fighting. She anticipated his next move and made sure to dodge, but it was a second too late. All Anakin saw was her groaning from the pain and stumbling back a few steps with her hand on her thigh before he rushed forward to defend her.

It's not a severe cut, but, of course, Anakin must make a fuss about helping her walk. She soon notices that he isn't guiding her to the medic's room, they're walking in the direction of his private rooms. They're on the opposite side across from hers, males separated from females, and he can feel her squeezing him tighter in reaction to it. He also senses her excitement. It lights up her face as she looks at him, analyzing every minute movement and twitch in his expression in hopes that she may yield something from it. He doesn't appear to be as paranoid as she is about someone seeing them go into his room together. When she turns her head from one side to the other to keep a lookout, he stares ahead and keeps pulling her down the hallway.

It isn't until the door is shut and locked behind them that she can finally let out the breath she's been holding since she realized where he was taking them. Before she can say a single word to him, he grabs her by the face and rushes forward to kiss her.

Y/N melts into the warmth of the hard, muscular body pressing into hers and reaches out to brace her hands on his biceps as she stumbles back a step from the impact of him crashing into her. Amidst the sudden arousal sparked by kissing him, their parted lips press hard into one another's in a dance for dominance that leaves them both breathless.

As soon as they pull apart, she's reaching for the band of his pants hidden beneath his robes, but he doesn't let her. Her hand is stopped short in its tracks and held in an invisible hand that keeps her from palming his cock through his pants as she planned on doing. Their lips part with the wet smacking sound, and he shakes his head against hers.

"You're bleeding," Anakin says as an explanation for the abrupt rejection that leaves her chasing after his lips as he withdraws from her.

She shakes her head and looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"It doesn't hurt."

A lie, of course, and not one she pretends to think fooled him in any capacity.

Playing along, he furrows his brows and allows the side of his mouth to upturn in a smirk. "Oh, it doesn't hurt?" he asks, reaching down to gently squeeze her injured thigh.

The sudden pain that pulses through her leg makes her body jerk against him, drawing a stifled grunt from her lips. As soon as he lets go, she's already smacking him on the arm and calling him every bad name in the book for pulling that little stunt.

"That was mean!" she whines and tries to twist her way out of his grasp, but he holds on tightly to her.

He says through a soft chuckle, "Well if you just behave and let me help you, I won't have to be mean."

At first, she huffs in annoyance, prepared to roll her eyes at him as she's grown accustomed to doing whenever he teases her now that she's grown out of wanting to please him all the time. Then, she takes note of how the cut, already cauterized from the weapon that made it, stings since he put pressure on it. There's a fresh spot of blood blooming on her pant leg, and she can't find it in herself to refuse his help.

Ever the obedient apprentice, Y/N says, "Yes, master," and walks past him in pursuit of the bedroom that is visible from where they stand.

It's difficult for Anakin to repress the noise that longs to escape him at the sound of her calling him that. She may not know the extent of what it does to him yet, but on some level, she must know that it turns him on. As wrong as it may be, he hasn't been able to withstand her calling him that for months. The shame he felt every time his cock twitched in his pants at the sound of it was too great to measure, but it wasn't enough to keep him from arousal.

He takes his time in gathering what he needs before meeting her in his bedroom.

Everything is stowed away in a designated cupboard for instances where he returns to his rooms with a scrape or cut, but he can sense that she's seconds from bursting with anticipation, so he draws it out for the sake of allowing her to suffer for a moment.

When he walks in, he takes one glance at her and simply says, "In here," then disappears into the adjoining bathroom she had yet to notice.

She smiles to herself and follows along right away. Through the opening in the door, she can see him at the counter, laying down the supplies he gathered and pretending like he's not paying attention to her even though they both know he is. The light in the small room is warm. The orange-yellow tone of it brings out the lighter undertones of his hair, and she can't help but reach up to brush it back from his face.

Anakin goes still for a split-second, then leans into where her hand makes contact with the side of his head in a movement so slight, she questions whether or not she actually saw it.

His gloved cybernetic hand pats the open counter space once.

"Up," he commands.

Obviously, he doesn't expect her to do it herself with the cut running up the side of her thigh, so once she puts her hands on the countertop for support, he takes it upon himself to grab her on the underside of her thighs, careful to stay away from her wound, and hoist her up onto the counter.

The silence is overwhelming on its own, but with the natural tension that always spikes whenever they're alone together added to it, she can hardly breathe. He makes quick work of her pants and shimmies them down her hips with little effort. The contact of the fabric brushing against the open, bloody skin causes her to wince, but he's quick to murmur an apology. Other than what he did in his bedroom to test the honesty of her claim, he'd never do anything to hurt her. At least, not on purpose.

She watches him dampen a washcloth with warm, soapy water and kneel down in front of her, then braces herself for when it'll make contact with the laceration. To give credit where it's due, she only flinches a tiny bit as he wipes down the length of her thigh.

After another moment of this, she finally summons the courage to ask the burning question she's had since the night they spent in the city together.

"Are we ever going to talk about what we did?"

This halts his movements for a second. The hand using holding the soapy rag moves from her leg to toss it into the sink, then picks up another soaked in water to rinse the soap from her skin. At first, he doesn't answer her question. He just squeezes the water out of the cloth and allows it to wash the mixture of blood and soap from her thigh. It takes a few seconds of hesitation for him to acknowledge what she said.

He looks up at her, and, suddenly, every fear she had that it was a one-time thing, that he used his power over her for sexual gratification, is blown away like dust in the wind. His eyes are soft when looking at her. So unlike the cruel, steely-eyed glare she watched him give Dooku when she was hit by his lightsaber.

Anakin tosses the soiled cloth into the sink alongside the first one and reaches for the gauze pads he unwrapped before she came in.

"You're ready to talk about it?" he asks with an undercurrent of skepticism.

What he doesn't say—what she can feel through the force as well as the powerful connection they've developed—is that if she is ready to have that conversation, there's no going back. He kept himself at bay for far too long, and if she wants him the way he wants her, he's prepared to risk everything for it. That's the thing about Anakin. He lives in extremes, and now that she has become the target of his fixations, there's nothing he wouldn't do for her.

She nods.

In the silence that follows, she's left to assume that he's offering her the chance to speak first lest his assumption as to where this is headed ends up being wrong. He busies himself for the time being by pressing the gauze pads down onto her wound with harsh pressure to keep her from bleeding anymore, and reaches for the medical tape to secure them in place.

"I liked it..." Y/N says softly. "But"—his chest stops moving up and down at the use of the word—"what if they find out? We've been taught that attachments are bad, but, every time I'm with you, I can't help but wonder how it could be so inherently bad if it feels so right."

Her thigh is lifted from the countertop under guidance from his gloved hand as the other wraps her wound, packed with gauze, with a bandage to keep everything in place. Still, he has yet to look at her again. His eyes are fixed on her injured thigh with an intensity that would frighten many, but not her. Never her. Without a second to spare, he finishes wrapping her thigh and looks up at her from between her legs.

He shakes his head, the sharp motion of it toeing the line of being neurotic, and he slides his flesh hand up the length of her unharmed thigh. It comes to a stop at her hip, teasing the edge of her undergarments.

"You know, they're not always right about everything," Anakin says. His pointer finger slides until it reaches the band of the thin fabric separating his touch from where she wants it most. During this, his gaze never leaves her face. "They'll never need to know about us. We're alone together all the time and nobody questions it because it's for the sake of your training. The council doesn't think anything of it." His mouth curves up at the end again in one of those terribly charming half-smiles that weakens her knees. The tone of his voice turns soft, yet deadly serious when he says, "I'll protect you if it comes to that."

Not missing a beat, she counters, "I don't need your protection."

He huffs a laugh at this.

"I know that. You're powerful. That's why they put us together." He reaches up with his gloved hand to take hold of the opposite side of her underwear, a signal for her to lift her hips off the counter. A signal she complies with without thought. "I just meant that, together, they can't stop us from doing what we want." His eyes soften as he slips the garment off around her ankles. "From being with who we want." A beat of silence. His soft lips press into the inside of her thigh, inching up and up and up all while he keeps eye contact..."They can try but they won't take you from me."

At last, when his head is nudging her thighs further apart and his lips brush the pulsing heat that lies between them, he senses her surrender.

Y/N's head tips back, mouth falling open with a quiet moan, when he licks into her. The arousal is sticky where it coats his lips and chin, and he can't help but hum in approval of the distinct scent and taste of her that overwhelms his senses. This was something he didn't get the chance to do in that questionable back room at the bar. It wasn't as if he didn't prepare her for it, he warmed her up with his fingers, but it wasn't exactly the kind of place he wanted to do this at. He didn't want anyone else to see her undressed. Seeing that her robes covered her the whole time, he didn't have to worry about it that night.

It starts out as gentle, tentative licks that circle her clit without giving it as much attention as she wants. He works her up to it slowly, as if to taunt her, and it isn't until her fingers begin to tug at the strands of his overgrown hair that he gives in. Her hips jerk forward against his face instinctively when he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks hard for the sake of drawing a noise out of her. Of course, he gets what he wants. The heavenly sound she makes has his cock straining against the confines of his pants, and there's nothing he can do to satisfy it unless he resorts to rutting up against the cabinets beneath the sink.

Every breath she exhales becomes shakier as the seconds pass with his head buried between her thighs.

"M-Master," she whines, unsure of whether or not it's appropriate to use his name yet. She's only ever called him by his first name when the situation at hand causes her to forget her place. Considering that he's currently going down on her, he'd say that they're well past the point of such formalities, but he also likes that there's still a touch of obedience left in her. "That feels so good..."

His lips leave her clit for a second to allow him to dip his tongue into her entrance to get a better taste of her. Both of his hands are now gripping her hips to keep them in place as he ruins his apprentice with little regret or guilt left to flow through him. Past the point of no return, he no longer clings to his last scraps of morality in regard to his strange relationship with her. In the days following their secret tryst, he was trapped in a strange internal debate. He was torn between duty and love, caught between unstable moods that caused him to become hot and cold with her depending on whose company they were in. Whenever Obi-Wan was near, he couldn't allow himself to interact with her as he typically does. He didn't know if he could control himself.

The hand wrapped up in his honey-hued hair tugs on it once, and he just assumes it's because of what he's doing to her. A second later, she's pulling again, but it's harder, as though she's trying to get his attention. When he pulls his mouth away from her and looks up, her other hand reaches down to cradle his face. It guides him up and up and up until they're face to face again, and she kisses him once before speaking into the small space left between them.

"I want you," she whispers with her forehead pressed to his.

Anakin smiles and nudges her nose with his.

"You have me."

When they kiss again, she moans at the taste of herself covering the lips pressed to hers as well as the tongue that gently licks into her mouth. The fingers twirling the loose curls of hair at the back of his neck use their position to keep him trapped in the hot, open-mouthed kiss with her. There are no objections on his end, of course. If it weren't for their duties as Jedi, he would want to take her far away where no one could ever find them and spend the rest of his days this way.

She says the second she gets the chance, "You know what I mean," in regards to what was said before he distracted her.

To this, he sighs, and it isn't a frustrated sound, nor is it a tired one. It's the way a person sighs when they're placed before something in life that they know is bigger than themselves, resigning themselves to their fate not with reluctance but with acceptance.

"Mmm," he hums, then says, "I know. I just have one condition."

She nods.

"Use my name when we're alone," he whispers.

The request sends her mind reeling as he picks her up from the bathroom counter with her legs clinging around his hips and carries her off into his bedroom. Her arms are flung around his neck in a frantic bid to keep herself from falling, yet all he can do is laugh at her sudden panic. As if he would ever let her fall. His lips press a tender kiss to the warm curve of her neck on the short walk into the room, and that small action makes a world of a difference to her. Every insecurity or fear she had after their first time is assuaged by his honesty and the care he shows for her in everything he does tonight.

Although the door is locked and she knows that Obi-Wan and the others are meeting to discuss what occurred on their mission, he still feels the need to close the door to his room before setting her down on her feet before the end of his bed. All that's left to cover her is her utility belt and tunic, which is already torn at the shoulder leading down to her elbow from the fight that later caused the injury to her thigh.

She stands still and allows him to unfasten the belt from around her waist, although, the contact of his hands brushing her body makes it difficult for her to breathe as calmly and deeply as usual. Despite how familiar they already are with one another in terms of physical intimacy, her face flushes with heat at the idea of him seeing her fully undressed.

With her tunic then lifted from her body and tossed aside, she stands in front of him without anything left to shield herself from his intense gaze. His eyes look her up and down, then come back to settle on her face with an appreciation that causes her stomach to flutter with nerves. The air is cold against her nipples, which harden from both the exposure and the undivided attention being given to her.

He reaches across the space between them to brush his fingertips against her skin, but just when he's about to make contact, she stops him. She grabs his wrist and looks up at him through her lashes defiantly, then smirks at him.

"It's my turn."

He does her the courtesy of undoing the greaves guarding his shins and kicking off his shoes, but, after that, she begins with his utility belt.

It comes loose from his lean waist and is tossed aside onto the floor where he discarded hers in a matter of seconds, but, after that, every move she makes is deliberately slower than the last. She can sense how eager he is. The energy coming off of him practically rattles the room with its commanding presence, and it worsens with every second she draws this torment out. With the belt out of the way, it's easy for her to slip the tabard off of his shoulders. All of the layers would typically frustrate her when taking her clothes off to bathe herself, but it's different now. When undressing Anakin, the tedious nature of it makes everything feel more sensual to her.

Finally, once his overtunic and undertunic are pulled from his torso, she is met with the sight of him bare before her. Well, partly. The dying daylight illuminates him for her, allowing her to admire what she was not able to the first time.

The tips of her fingers graze his skin with a feathery-light touch as she drags them down from the base of his neck down to his abdomen. Beneath them, hard, taut muscle pushes back against the gentle pressure they exert. And she finds, as she allows herself to inspect him further as though he's a miraculous species wholly unknown to her, that she quite enjoys the way his stomach flinches inward in anticipation when she reaches the waistband of his loose-fitting pants.

As her right hand works at undoing his pants, the left reaches for the glove covering his cybernetic arm. Finger by finger, she tugs it away until she's able to slip it off of him and let it fall to the floor with the rest of his clothes. When she looks up from where the fake hand rests at his side, she finds him staring at her as though he's trying to analyze every thought that crosses her mind now that he's the one put in a position of vulnerability.

Y/N's hands brace against his shoulders now, and she stares right back at him without fear. The hand that just slipped his glove off of his arm creeps up his neck until it's cupping the side of his head. All the while, he's still watching her. Even as she runs her thumb along the length of the scar that cuts through his eyebrow down to the top of his right cheekbone.

Their lips are a hair's breadth apart now, so close that they can feel the heat of one another's exhales hitting their faces, and when Anakin dips his head down to kiss her again for the first time in what feels like (two minutes) an eternity, she's quick to jerk her head back enough to keep it from happening.

"I'm not done yet," she whispers, their lips brushing with every word. "You had your fun, now let me have mine."

His head shakes. Just once.

Anakin murmurs, "I need you," and there's a small part of him that knows how pathetic he must appear to her right now, clinging onto her by the curve of her waist and desperately trying to connect their mouths in a kiss, but he doesn't care. There's a rosy blush spread across his face extending to his ears, yes, but there's something about her that sets him at ease. He may feel shy about it, but it doesn't stop him from using his grip on her waist to press her body closer to his and say softly, "Please."

Oh, the things that hearing him beg does to her...

At this point, she can't help herself. There's nothing she can do to stop her from pouncing on him as she does the second she hears him utter that word, tossing her arms around his broad shoulders and jumping to wrap her legs around his hip. He intercepts her unexpected actions with a grace very few others could have, but, with their connection, he has a way of anticipating what she says and does before it happens.

He grabs hold of her thighs without thinking of the injury she sustained battling Dooku, then immediately murmurs an apology once he senses her pain and hears her wince into his mouth as he walks her back toward the bed.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he whispers, kissing her once, twice, three times. "Are you okay?"

Where her face is pressed up against his, he feels her nod and takes that as his cue to set her down atop the sheets that he left unmade and twisted upon waking in the early hours of the morning the day they left. The sun, the light that had illuminated his half-naked body to her a moment ago, is beginning to slip partway below the horizon and washes the sky gold in its absence. That fading light shines in through the windows and creates a hazy glow around her, and, for a second, he thinks she might be an angel.

Both of their hands frantically scramble to push his undone pants down, along with his undergarments, as he climbs onto the bed after her. They're kicked from where they fall around his ankles before he settles himself between her eagerly spread thighs. Neither of them can bear to wait any longer, so the second he gets within arm's reach of her, she grabs him by his biceps and tries to pull him up to meet her faster.

The soft palm of her hand grazes down the length of his chest once again, but, this time, there's nothing left to prevent her from touching him. Her forehead is pressed to his, her chin tilted down, and she watches her hand wrap around his thick cock to guide him to her entrance. She pumps her closed fist around him a few times with her thumb brushing over his leaking tip just for the sake of hearing his breath hitch in his throat from it.

There's no need to get it over with quickly seeing that Obi-Wan reporting to the council about their mission will likely take up to an hour, but, the thing is, they both know they don't have the patience to make it last. They're both too rash and antsy when it comes to one another after days of avoidance, and she thinks she may die if she doesn't have him right now. Everything with Anakin feels natural. It feels like this is where she's meant to be and exactly what they're meant to be doing together. She may not have known it until recently but there has always been that thread connecting them. From the beginning, it was there. It was only a matter of time before one of them tugged on it.

She can hardly string together a sentence once she feels the broad tip of him pushing into her, "Oh"—her nails dig into his arms hard enough to break the skin and continue to apply more pressure as he sinks into her—"Anakin..."

Her bottom lip is bitten between her teeth at the feeling of him buried inside of her, so deep that she can feel the bony prominence of his hip bones pressing into the soft flesh of her thighs. And she knows it's affecting him just as much from how his metal hand squeezed her hip hard enough to leave finger-shaped indents behind on her skin. Although she's ready for him to move, she can tell that he's waiting for himself to be ready. His eyes are fluttered shut, forehead pressed to hers, and she can tell he's trying not to let himself be overcome by how good it feels.

What he said to her days ago at the bar wasn't a lie, he has done this multiple times before, but it's never too often. It was only a means to an end, a way to satisfy the urge he felt guilt and shame for having in the first place. This is different than those other times for him. Seeing that it's her he's doing this with, he can hardly control himself and refrain from spending in her in the span of a moment much like he did the first time he had sex.

After a moment has passed and his breathing has turned deep and even, she whispers, nudging his nose with hers, "Look at me."

The second she says it, he obeys, and she didn't expect to find him being to her will to be so...alluring. As her master, he's the one who typically commands. She is the one who listens, who serves, who obeys, but, right now, everything is backward. Anakin looks down at her for guidance with the same hunger and desire as before but softened around the edges.

His hair is soft to the touch when her fingers play with it, and she uses her grip on his scalp to pull his lips down to hers.

"Fuck me," she murmurs into his mouth as they engage in a lazy kiss. Her hips press up into his in a silent urging for him to move that he listens to immediately with a tentative thrust.

His arms cage her in on either side of her head as he licks into her mouth with his tongue and starts to fuck into her at a relaxed pace. Still, even with how slow and tender it may be, she feels him so deep inside of her, she wonders if she could feel him there if she pressed her palm flat against the bottom of her stomach. The languid undulations of his hips guiding his cock in and out of her builds on the pleasure he had given her earlier.

Last time, it had been painful when he first entered her, but, this time, there was only a slight sense of pressure, if being overwhelmed, that gave way to the pleasant feeling she found toward the end of their first intimate encounter. Even when she found it somewhat uncomfortable at the beginning, she still wanted it for the sake of being close to him. Of being the one to make him feel good. And now that it feels good almost straight away, she is overwhelmed with how badly she wants him. Nothing is ever going to be enough for her, is it? Even as they're kissing and fucking and grabbing at one another in a frenzy of need, she still wants more of him.

One of her hands slides down the length of his body and grabs his hip to guide him into a faster pace with every thrust.

"Just like that," she says between panting breaths.

The words of praise cause his face to flush for what feels like the tenth time since they retreated to the privacy of his rooms, and it doesn't go unnoticed by her. Despite the fact that he holds power over her as her master, she senses his desire for her to take control and take care of him. To treat him with the reverence and praise he is so scarcely granted anywhere else in his life. So, she takes control. He may have the physical advantage with his considerable strength and position on top of her, but only a fool would think he's the one in power here. The second she told him to look at her, he willingly gave it up.

Her other hand, the one that isn't holding onto his hip, comes up to card through the long tufts of hair on the back of his head. She pulls it taut from his scalp to maneuver his face away, creating a short distance that allows them to stare into each other's eyes as they're both overcome with the sensation of it all. His brows pinch together a little at the feeling of her tight walls squeezing down around him on the upstroke of his thrusts as though she's trying to push him closer to the precipice he refuses to fall from without bringing her along with him. It doesn't feel like he's the experienced one here even though he's been doing this much longer than her. It almost makes him scoff. He should've known that she'd take to this quickly just as she does with everything else. His smart girl.

"Fuck," Anakin curses under his breath and truly starts to throw himself into it now. "You feel"—his sentence starts and stops before he can string it together, so he abandons it altogether in favor of spewing the first, most vulnerable thought that springs to mind—"Promise you'll never leave me."

If she's being honest, the unrestrained honesty in his request addles her brain far more than the sex itself. However, it doesn't scare her away as he fears it will. Maybe it's a little sick, but she likes how desperate he is for her. How could she not enjoy the simple truth that she is the only one who can bring the great Anakin Skywalker to his knees? It's a beautiful thing to see him in such a state of mindless bliss.

Her arms twine around his waist in a tight embrace to bring their bodies closer than they already are somehow, and when she opens her mouth to speak, she's interrupted by a moan that leaves her suddenly at the feeling of him hitting a sweet spot inside of her. When she pulled him down onto her until their bodies were flush, it adjusts the angle of his thrust and puts delightful pressure on her clit with his pubic bone. After taking a second to relish in the sensation, she looks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes and lifts her head up from the mattress to kiss him.

She murmurs into his open mouth, "I won't." The next thrust he makes into her is significantly harder than the rest have been in reaction. "I'll never leave you, Ani. I promise."

The sound he makes in response almost pushes her over the edge. It's somewhere caught between a moan and a whine, a thrilling noise that makes her tense around him once more and writhe beneath the weight of his body pinning her to the bed. A familiar tension stirs in the pit of her abdomen now. It crescendos into territory where the stimulation almost becomes unbearable, begging to explode as it did the last time in an earth-shattering climax that left her limp and incoherent in his arms.

Since he can sense how close she's getting, he doesn't change anything. He pulls back as much as he can without shifting the position and watches her in utter fascination. It's the little things that get him—how her nose scrunches a little when it starts to get to be too much, the way she looks up at him like she's in a daze, and how his name sounds coming from her pretty, kiss-swollen lips. They shine in the dim light from a mixture of their saliva, and he can't resist the urge to lean down to connect them with his again.

And this makes her smile. Everything about it makes her radiate joy, an emotion he can feel her projecting onto him without trying to shield it. Like him, she adores the little things—how his hair tickles her forehead the whole time, the sound of his moans, and how he never eases his grip on her as though he's afraid she'll disappear in the event that he lets go. On top of that, she likes how warm he is. She's come to realize over the past week that Anakin is the human embodiment of a furnace. Every time he pulls her near, she takes comfort in the heat that comes from his body, and, as of the current moment, she loves it.

His skin is hot to the touch where it meets hers, covered in a thin sheen of perspiration that greets her tongue with a salty taste when she dips her face into his neck to kiss him there. Her teeth nip at his skin and leave a faint mark behind that they both know will be hidden by his clothes later. With her nearing climax, she can't do much other than claw at his upper back and try to stifle the sounds she's making in case anyone is nearby.

Her lips stop moving against his neck, not because she'd ever want to stop kissing him, but because she can't function beyond the mindless bucking of their hips and the slack-jawed sounds she lets out. Her head thumps back onto the bed without a sound, back arching up against him, and her legs constrict around his hips to prevent him from going anywhere but closer.

As for Anakin, nothing could rile him up the way she does. Every stroke inside of her collapses any shred of sense and logic left in him, leaving behind just the primal urges that currently guide him.

Knowing how close she is, Y/N asks with her face pressed to his, leaning into the role he inadvertently pushed her into, "Are gonna be good for me?"

Even through the hazy state of mind he's in, he finds a way to nod when she asks him this. He's so far gone that he isn't sure he can form the words to verbally respond to her. All he knows is that she's here. She's here, and she's caring for him, and she promised she'd never leave. That's the sole thing occupying his mind as she offers him a sweet smile and plays with his hair the way she knows he likes.

"That's right," she says softly, then pauses for a second to stifle a moan. His frantic pursuit of their respective orgasms leaves them both trembling in each other's arms while she tries to maintain enough composure to speak to him through it. Every time he slams his hips down into hers, sheathing his cock in her sodden cunt and hitting that sweet spot without fail, she can almost feel the relief that's soon to find her. "I don't know what you would've done if you weren't my master"—his cybernetic hand grips her throat with enough pressure to use it as leverage but not to prevent her from speaking—"How long have you been waiting for me, Ani?"

Despite his previous assumption that he no longer had the ability to speak, he responds instantly between his panting breaths, "My whole life—"

His words are cut off by the downright pornographic display that is her orgasm. It comes on suddenly, without a warning for him to prepare himself, and he groans at how tight she becomes through the intense peaks that reduce her to a tensing, shaking mess beneath him. It is somehow twice as intense as the one given to her in that seedy bar he escorted her to last week. It wouldn't surprise her if she makes him bleed with how harshly her nails dig into his flesh, but that's far beneath her at this point. The pleasure wipes her mind clean of everything but him. In her head, she hears it like a prayer over and over and over again—Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.

Her master—who is now pounding into her and keeping her pinned to his mattress with his body weight throughout her climax. He fucks her through every second of it, prolonging the all-consuming pleasure far longer than it ever lasts when she touches herself.

Then, something new happens.

Just at the end of her climax as she begins to feel it recede as it always does, she thinks she feels another coming on. This has never happened to her before in her limited experience. Most of the time, touching herself is a quick affair before she fell asleep that felt good, but it wasn't anything like this. She can sense that it surprises him too when he feels her tight walls spasming around his cock for the second time in a row, and this is all it takes to push him over the edge.

Anakin clings to her as though she is the only thing tethering him to this planet, stilling inside of her with a low moan as she watches him come apart for her. She already thought he was beautiful before, but, fuck, he's utterly divine like this. He has always been above the others in her eyes, not only as a Jedi but as a person—a deity for her to worship and learn from as his Padawan. But, now that worship is intensified by what she sees, hears, and feels when he comes. The hand around her neck squeezes hard enough to keep her from taking in air.

Her head is tilted back against the mattress, her jaw slack, and her back arches up, pressing her bare breasts against the toned musculature of his chest that clenches throughout his orgasm. She can feel him throbbing inside her with every spurt of his release that floods and spills out of her at the base of his cock.

Even after half a moment passes, they both remain like this without moving despite how the sensitivity causes them to tremble. Her chest falls when his rises in a push and pull much like that of the tides as they pant for air. He keeps his face buried in her neck the entire time and doesn't retreat from the hiding spot until he feels her hand tracing up and down the length of his spine absentmindedly. It wakes him from the post-orgasmic haze and forces him to remember that, although they have some time to themselves, they have to meet with Obi-Wan shortly after he's finished reporting to the council.

Still, he doesn't pull out of her yet.

He asks instead, not wanting it to end, "Can we stay like this for a minute?" and sighs in relief when she mutters back a quick word of approval.

She keeps her arms wrapped around his chest to trap him in her embrace and continues to rub up and down his sweat-slick back in a soothing pattern. It almost causes his eyes to close and submit to the alluring gravitational pull of sleep that longs to drag him under. With the clarity of her thoughts returning, she can't ignore the worries that come to mind in regard to how they'll manage to hide this from the others.

Without her even having to voice these worries aloud, Anakin pulls his face from her neck and brushes her hair from her face with his flesh hand, looking down upon her with a tender gaze.

"It'll be okay," he says softly, and, for a second, she thinks she believes him. She thinks she'd believe anything he says for the next few moments. "They'll never know. Even if they end up suspecting it, there won't be a way to prove it."

She asks, face twisted with concern, "Are you sure?" and, suddenly, they're pushed back into their natural roles with her looking to him, someone she considers far wiser, for guidance and reassurance.

Though there's a slight smile, though the adoration for her remains present in his expression, there's a flicker of darkness in his gaze, and his arms tighten around her waist seemingly in response to it. As he had when they were writhing together in pleasure not long ago, he holds onto her as though someone or something will come along to take her from his possession the second he eases his hold on her. Those pretty blue eyes never once stray from hers.

Anakin keeps the side of her head cupped in one of his hands and says, "Nothing will ever take you from me."

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #star wars #fanfiction

3K notes · View notes

mariasont · 22 days

Note

Okay , so a smutty Spencer x reader fic where is very alternative with tattoos and piercings. Maybe she works with the team as an entomologist or something idk BUT she always wears her contacts and one day she comes in thick black frame glasses. Spencer goes feral, he's never seen her in glasses before and he just kinda drags her into a hall closet and just "keep the glasses on" there's a lot of fanfics about the reader going feral seeing Spencer in glasses for the first time but what if it was reversed.

Framed Fascination

A/N: omggggg i loved writing this, you just know spencer would sooo be a sucker for a woman with tats and piercings, so canon

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING xoxo

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x alt!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, glasses kink, praise, p in v, dirty talk, degrading sort of, office sex

wc: 2k

When you began dating Spencer, it raised a few eyebrows. Spencer Reid--reserved, a bit awkward, and endlessly knowledgeable--had ended up with someone who they thought was his complete opposite. And to that he would always say, "while the prevailing research suggests similarity is more common in relationships, there's an interesting phenomenon where sometimes, the very things that differ between two people can create a complementary dynamic, much like how two puzzle pieces with different notches fit."

At times, you would point out your differences solely to prompt this response. But, in truth, aside from your outward styles, you shared more similarities than not. Your tattoos and piercings were the first details Spencer noticed and quickly became his favorite as you strode into the morgue on a particularly demanding case. You were immersed in explaining how arsenic disrupted the body's functions, but Spencer was lost in the visual narrative of your ink, his gaze lingering on every etched symbol and shaded figure. From that moment, he was wholly engrossed, and vowed to eventually explore all the unseen tattoos that your clothes kept from view.

Spencer may have had the whole 'nerdy boy-next-door' aesthetic down to a science, but you? You took pride in being called 'intimidating', knowing it was just a first impression. You knew that beneath that surface lay as Spencer would say, 'a cinnamon roll'. Spencer seemed to see through it from the beginning, which is why he didn't hesitate to ask you out as soon as the case closed.

In the span of eight months, your life had been transformed into its healthiest chapter with Spencer as the culprit. He filled every day with thoughtful gesture--surprise art museum dates, breakfast in bed, flowers that would mysteriously find their way to your desk, notes you'd find tucked inside your coat pockets. In fact, if you had seen it in a cheesy rom-com, he probably had done it. You had been tackling each day with a little spring in your step.

Just like today--you bounded into your office humming—you were humming as you went over paperwork. Tasked with consulting for the consumer safety department, your focus was zeroed in on the pervasive issue of phthalates creeping into beauty products. You adjusted the unfamiliar weight of the thick black frames perched on your nose--an odd sensation since you habitually opted for contacts--as your eyes dragged over the papers.

The hum of the fax machine broke the silence, and you swiveled in your chair, a smile dawning as you recognized the documents from last week's BAU case--giving you a chance to steal a moment with your boyfriend.

Paperwork in hand, you made your way to the BAU office, the click of your heels on marble floors keeping time with your quickening pulse. The bullpen was a whirlwind of activity as you greeted Morgan and Prentiss with a nod and smile, your gaze sweeping through the room until it landed on him.

"Hi there, handsome," you greeted with a playful lilt in your voice, your fingers rapping gently against the wood of his desk.

"Hi, sweetheart--," he began, but his words trailed off as his eyes met yours. There was a pause, a momentary lapse in his ever-flowing stream of thoughts, as he took in the sight of you.

Glasses? He couldn't recall you ever wearing glasses, yet there they were, and the effect was undeniable. The sight sent a wave of unexpected thrill through him--a visceral reaction that left him speechless, his lips parting in awe.

Spencer's throat cleared, a subtle sound amid the bullpen's activity. His gaze flickered around the room, a silent plea that his colleagues were too engrossed in their work to notice the way he practically undressed you with his eyes. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

"Since I nearly scratched my eye out trying to get my contacts in this morning," you said with a laugh, though the action of straightening your glasses was more of a nervous tic.

His stare was unyielding--intense and almost piercing. It unsettled you slightly as you studied his expression, your head tilting inquisitively as he said nothing else.

"Well, uh, anyway I have to drop this off to Hotch," you murmured, your voice trailing off as you felt the weight of Spencer's penetrating gaze.

You lingered for a heartbeat too long, hoping for a word, a smile--anything. But nothing came. With a shaky breath, you turned away, hands trembling ever so slightly as you handed the paperwork to Hotch. You whisked yourself back to the comfort of your office. The was weird, right? I mean, sure, Spencer had never been one for being overly affectionate in public, but he at least had more to say than that.

You pushed the nagging doubts to the back of your mind, focusing on the monotony data and figures that sprawled across your reports. He was probably just having a bad day, too maybe theoretical thoughts brewing in the beautiful mind of his.

The hours crawled by, each minute punctuated by the drone of the office--uninteresting reports, pesky coworkers, and the persistent buzz of thoughts circling back to Spencer. When it was an appropriate time to take your lunch, you pushed your laptop aside with a little too much eagerness, hands diving into your bag for your food.

But before you could do that, a soft interruption at the door caught your attention. Your head snapped up, meeting Spencer's gaze as he leaned causally against the frame of the door.

He stood there, watching as you glanced up at him, the rims of your glasses framing your eyes in a way that made an involuntary shiver down his spine, his gaze lingering on your face. You appeared tired, yes, but the image of you like this had been imprinted on his mind all day, rendering his work secondary to the thought of seeing you again.

"Spence, hi," you greeted, a sweet smile blooming on your lips as you peered up at him. Your brows knit together slightly; his visits were rare unless case-related. "I was just about to take my lunch, wanna join?"

"No," he replied with a swift shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. "Could I borrow you for a second?"

Your gaze returned to the lunch that lay before you, untouched and suddenly unappealing. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded. "Sure," you replied, still trying to piece together Spencer's odd behavior today.

He tilted his head back subtly, a silent cue for you to follow him. You obliged without hesitation, following after him, your steps echoing his through the hallway. Your confusion mounted, etched into the deepening furrow of your brows with each corner turned.

"Spencer," you said, a giggle escaping your lips. "I trust you're not taking me down some ominous hallway to meet my untimely end?"

"Actually, it is an interesting fact that the majority people meet their 'untimely end' at the hands of someone they love."

"Great, thank you for that, I think that's my cue," you joked, pivoting away in an attempt to make a dramatic exit. But Spencer's reflexes were quick, his grasp secure on your wrist as he steered you into the nearest supply closet. The small space muffled your surprised oomph as you nearly collided with a stack of supplies.

You stumbled into the warmth of his chest, your glasses skewing comically as you steadied them with a fingertip. "Spencer! What has gotten into you?"

"You," came his growl, rough and urgent, while his hands frantically sought your legs, pinning you against the wall.

A soft moan slipped through the surprise of parted lips as his lips found yours. Your fingers tangled in the soft locks of his hair, pulling him closer, your mouth meeting his with the same intensity.

Your laughter mingles with the kiss as you pull back, lips brushing. "Not that I'm complaining, Agent Reid, but someone is definitely going to catch us."

His eyes meet yours, equally amused as he pins your hands over your head. He makes quick work of open-mouthed kisses on your neck, your body instantly melting into his as his teeth scrape along your sweet spot. "Don't care."

His lips trailed back to yours, his fingers fumbling to push your skirt up to your stomach. You let out a surprised gasp into his mouth, finding the sudden intensity of him incredibly hot. He pressed his thumb into your clit as you dug your fingers into the nape of his neck, your head lolling back as you all but thrusted into his hand. The room swirled with heat, your glasses misting up. You reached for the pesky frames, but his fingers intercepted, pining them against your chest.

"Those stay on, sweetheart." The words tickled your ear, intimate and close, as his fingers traced through your slick folds, coaxing a contented pant from you.

"That's what's got you all worked up, Spence?" You moaned out as his fingers glided over your skin, now slick, drawing a line of warmth up your body.

He settled his thumb on your tongue, shutting you up as he grabbed a handful of your ass. You wrapped your lips around it, savoring the taste as your eyes locked with his over the foggy veil of your glasses. His gaze held a quiet pride as he smirked.

"Drove me crazy seeing you like that this morning." He said as he ground his body into yours, his erection settling on your stomach. "Makes you look so fuckable. Couldn't focus on anything else."

Your mouth vibrated softly around his thumb, muffled as he drew it away with pop. He makes quick work of undoing his belt, shoving down his pants and boxers just enough to release his length.

Your mouth watered at the sight, your body instinctively lowering to your knees, but his hand was there stopping you with a firm, "No time."

He pinned your shoulders to the wall with his body, his mouth crashing with yours with desperate need. Your mouth fell open into his as you felt his length press into your opening, his fingers holding your panties aside.

"You feel so good, sweetheart."

You don't think you would ever get over the feeling of him inside you, the way he stretched you out just right. You let out an unrestrained moan as he proceeded to pump inside you, his movements ruthless.

His palm sealed over your lips, a sudden barrier that sent warmth spreading across your face, glasses clouding rapidly, obscuring your view. "Quiet, baby. You want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me? Letting me fuck you in the office?"

You all but sobbed against his palm, your hands fisting the material of his sweater as he continued to abuse your pussy with deep strokes.

"Sp-Spence, please baby," you managed to breathe out as he released his hold on your mouth, grinding against him in an attempt at friction with your sensitive clit.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" He questioned, almost condescendingly as his fingers traced your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the way he pounded into you. "Need me to take care of you?"

"Please," you choked out.

"You're so good for me, baby." He said, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as he pressed his thumb to the part of you that ached most. You let out a sob of relief as you ground against his movements, the familiar coil in your stomach beginning to wind up as you clutched at Spencer's face.

"Spencer, shit, 'm so close," you babbled, tears welling in your eyes as each of his thrusts seemed to urge the ache.

"Go ahead, baby." He moaned as his you felt his thighs twitch against you. "Come on my cock, sweet girl."

His words were all you needed to push you off the edge, your back arching against the wall as your legs shook, threatening to collapse as a wave of pleasure washed over you. He came shortly after you, his form yielding to gravity as his head nestled into the crook of your shoulder, both of you panting softly as you tried to catch your breath.

After savoring a few heartbeats of content, he gently disentangled himself from you. His fingers deftly rearranging your skirt, with a touch so soft, so different from his demeanor two minutes ago.

"Guess I need to wear the glasses more often, huh?"

A soft laughter bubbled up from him, his fingers lightly grazing under your eyes, brushing away the stray smudges of makeup. "Please do."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x you #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fanfic

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violet-eng · 6 months

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Neuvillette and his arranged marriage with fem!reader - NSFW

Summary: so... Furina is such a gossipy and she's kinda boring so she wants Neuvillette to marry to some random girl that can be a challenge for him... would he like this traveler?

TW: smut. Has a plot. Kinda angst? p i v. Breeding kink, praising. Unprotected sex with this daddy judge. I think that's all... MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE JUST KEEP SCROLLING.

🎨: @zlidbhypy/@zljdbhypy

💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦

The judge had lived long enough to be carried away by appearances, his image in society was expected of a man with his profession, with his knowledge and his stature. However, in the eyes of Lady Furina, as much a lover of spectacle and scandal as possible, the great judge needed a slightly more modern image to present to the citizens of Fontaine-and perhaps to bring a little gossip as well.

The idea had consumed her so much that at the moment she met you she could think of nothing else but arranging an engagement with Monsieur Neuvillette. You were the living image of what she was looking for: a young woman of society, a foreigner with a wide knowledge of the vast continent and above all, ambitious.

There was a flash that Lady Furina highlighted in you, a furious soul difficult to tame, a challenge for the great judge. How fun it would be to see that: the distinguished gentleman try to control the disdain of his future wife, lover of saucers with spicy mixes, so friendly to those with vision Pyro... almost as contrary to him.

You met Neuvillette a day before the wedding, when Lady Furina had given him the wonderful news that he would marry you. He could not refuse, not the Archon, and she was aware of that-that made the matter more fun.

Neuvillette looked serene during the announcement, did not give the Archon the joy of a grimace of disgust... of course not, he was not like that...

On the wedding day rain fell so much as to drown the neighboring nations, tormenting those present of the ceremony. Monsieur Neuvillette was outside the compound, admiring the horizon, yearning for the freedom he possessed years before. To this had its existence been reduced? To be a puppet for the entertainment of the Archon? To tie himself for life to a woman he didn’t even know? If only he could return to his old form... spread his wings and get out of that place...

"The rain is wonderful," you exclaimed beside him, tearing from his chest an impression he managed to hide. "I hope the tears of the Hydro dragon are of happiness for the wedding and not of misery".

"They’re just legends, stories for children," he said, though an inch of him, deep down, was delighted by the idea that unlike the rest of Fontaine’s inhabitants, you didn’t dislike the rain... the one he was provoking...

"All legends have some truth in them," you whispered, giving him a sincere smile.

The ceremony had been short because of the rain, yet your happiness was overflowing. Your dress was drenched, your hair was alike... Everything was ruined, Lady Furina kept saying it, and yet you seemed to be living the best day of your life. Neuvillette could not look away from you at any moment, you had bewitched him, a single phrase had sufficed to achieve that...

The room was spacious, exquisitely decorated, illuminated to depth, the details and finishes seemed measured with hard effort... very much like the great judge. You had been unwise to ask if you had separate rooms, that had upset him for a moment... You certainly didn’t seem to have the same scruples as him.

You opened the window of the room, resting your elbows on the frame and sucking the dew that the rain brought with it. Neuvillette stood still in his place, looking at your figure, analyzing every detail of your silhouette, trying to perceive your essence, your energy... There was definitely something special about you.

"Can I come out?" you asked, were you asking permission?

"You must not ask for my consent to be free in the place" actually, he did not think it proper from you to ask permission for something… he perceived you from the first instant as a free being in tune with nature.

"It’s my way of asking you to go out with me to enjoy the rain," you said, approaching him and extending your hand.

The thick drops of water hit the roofs, the fountain of the courtyard was about to overflow with water, the surface covered of the leaves that the wind had brought with it. You got rid of your coat and your shoes, went into the fountain and sat in the middle, above the water level, your legs dipping, you picked up the dress on your knees. The fabric was thin, almost transparent now that you were soaked and uncovered. Neuvillette scanned the surroundings, hoping no one would look at you, you were his wife... was he jealous? No, it was a simple sense of duty now that he was a married man...

"Come closer" you said from your position, pointing your finger at the place in front of you. Neuvillette, almost hypnotized by your loud attitude, dragged his feet towards your spot, sitting across from you, likewise, his legs underwater. The familiarity of the rain on the current that had formed under his feet was pleasant, almost satisfactory, so much so that it incited him to move his hands on the surface of the water, forming figures that allowed his hydro vision. You smiled at the small spectacle he displayed for you, admiring the sublime movement of his hands, the way his fingers flexed on the leaves and the drops of water ran down his hands.

You leaned toward him, taking him by surprise, joining your lips with his. He did not turn away, but, on the contrary, he dropped his hand against your neck, drawing you closer to him, tasting the nectar of your lips and your tongue.

"I want something to be clear" you dictated separating yourself from him, "we’ll have children... not because the charlatan Archon wants it for her entertainment, no... we will have children because we both want it, it was clear?".

For all the Archons... those words coming out of your mouth, pure poison, so hostile to the Archon, calling her in a way that he could never, with your face framed by your soaked locks and your lips swollen by the kiss... There was nothing he could want but a woman like you.

The matter of your affinity for the falling flood, added to your folly of calling the archon such a derogatory name... you were an interesting, exceptional creature whose behavior went beyond his control and knowledge. You were a challenge... his challenge... and his enthusiasm grew in his chest as well as in his pants.

You had both returned to the room in sultry form, between kisses and gasps, getting rid of your clothes on the way. He cornered you on the wall of the entrance, his hand in fist resting above your head, his forehead against yours, the other hand holding your chin, joining his eyes. Neuvillette’s chest rose strongly, seeking air, bewildered by the growing ecstasy, the desire among you that was born.

Taking you by the waist, he turned you against the wall, your face crashing against the cold marble and your palms resting at your sides. You felt his breathing on your neck, his chest against your back, his hands sliding over your curves, right to your hips, over your panties. You let out a soft moan as you felt the fabric slip under your legs and fall to your ankles.

"Monsieur..." you whispered trembling as the cold pouring through the room brushed your thighs and bare ass.

"You don’t look as bold as you did a few minutes ago," he whispered... low, almost growling, you swore he was smiling, you sensed it in his voice.

"It’s... just... ah~" you cut the phrase in half when you felt him slip into you, separating your folds, forcing you to suck it. Your hands in fist, your hips rising, trying to avoid its passage inside you, your shoulders gathering at the sensation that flooded your center, your sex.

"Monsieur~" you moaned, your forehead wet against the marble, your hands scratching the wall looking for something to soothe the burning between your legs, the feeling of its length between your damp walls.

You didn’t think the judge would be so vocal. When he slipped into you, he grunted, so pleasantly your legs seemed to melt. You felt the breath of his groan in your ear, your name coming from his lips.

"So soft" he whispered, resting his hands on yours, his forehead on your shoulder, "so tight..." continued advancing, rising to the bottom, "so mine"...

Neuvillette fucked you against that wall as if he was in heat-and perhaps he was-as if you were going to escape at any time from his grip, though you couldn’t.

The moans and gasps were embarrassing, thanks to the rain they did not cross the walls, the sound of wet skin crashing during each penetration was burning, lustful. The words that came out of the judge’s mouth every time you girded your limb were a sea of incongruities, just as the phrases that your mouth dropped when he caressed your clitoris, that little lump had become his favorite toy.

The onslaught was strong, your breasts pounding against the wall every time he burst into you, rubbing against your delicate interior, which seemed made for him.

"You take me so well," he groaned, as he continued his beat against you, your breasts rising and falling down the wall. You were trapped between the wall and the monster of pleasure the judge had become.

"I will fill you with my seed, I swear..." he gasped again, his voice raspy, with flashes of hunger and lust.

"Neuvillette~" you let out a high-pitched moan, had touched your point, that felt so fucking good, the way he arched to hit that gummy dot on your cervix. He kept going, and kept going, you didn’t want him to stop. Fuck, he was so good at it, who’d say a gentleman of his countenance could be taking you like an animal in heat.

He kept hitting that delicious spot inside you, stroking your sensitive organ, one, two... three times, you suddenly felt a knot forming in your belly.

"Oh my~... don’t stop Neuvillette~..." you begged, eyes closed, lips separated by groans. The sound of his gasps flooding your eardrum... you both were close…

His onslaught lost rhythm, the intensity was almost unbearable, he came out one last time to get into you, fucking you so hard that you felt your orgasm burst and you let out a scream. He would not take long to reach his climax similarly, unloading all his seed inside you

The bed was warm, you needed it after what happened... Neuvillette lay beside you, caressing your cheek, watching the way you fell asleep.

He looked out the window, the rain had stopped. He was completely happy... so long ago that he did not feel the fullness he had at the time...

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, curling your head in his chest, feeling the warmth of your gentle breathing. He closed his eyes, falling asleep beside you, yearning to tell you one day about his identity... someday…

#genshin smut #genshin #genshin impact #neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette smut #genshin impact smut #smut

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slytherinslut0 · 6 months

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Four-Info:you and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, Dirty Talk, ANGST ANGST ANGST, Kissing, Childhood Trauma, Slight!GunPlay(very slight), More Angst, Sadism, Slight Emotional Manipulation.

Find the rest of the chapters HERE.

Your fingers glided gently across the pages of your open book, tracing the lines of text as if seeking to absorb the knowledge directly into your skin. The ambient hush of the library enveloped you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional murmur of voices in the distance. It was a haven of tranquility, a sanctuary where you could finally turn your thoughts off and allow yourself to get lost within the words of the text.

In this cocoon of silence, you immersed yourself, your eyes traversing the lines on the page with a voracious hunger for understanding. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of old parchment and the subtle aroma of polished wood, creating a sensory symphony that enhanced your focus. But amidst this serenity, an abrupt disruption shattered your concentration. The creak of a chair being pulled out and the faint sound of footsteps approached, heralding an unexpected presence.

Startled, your eyes lifted from the text to find Mattheo seated across from you--his dark, penetrating gaze drilled into yours, his eyes narrowed with a glaring suspicion as he analyzed your features, slowly and cautiously--not daring to speak. The sudden intrusion in such a public setting caught you off guard; a mix of surprise and unease filling your lungs as you blinked, glancing around the room to ensure no attention had been drawn.

It had been two days since the events in the bathroom, two whole days where the conversations were as bland as a piece of raw fucking chicken, and yet, here he was. Without warning. You had no fucking clue what he was doing here, but the look in his eyes told you it wasn't for any particularly pleasant reason.

"When were you planning on informing me about your little friend's new companion, hm?" His voice sliced through the air like a blade, his eyes narrowing with sadism. "I mean...I just happened to stumble upon her leaving my brother's dorm, and I'd highly fucking doubt she was there for a casual browse through his book collection, wouldn't you agree?"

Your eyes widened in shock, nerves flooding through you like an icy tide, freezing your words in your throat. You had been meaning to tell him, but since the two of you had hardly been speaking, it seemingly slipped your mind.

You glanced around the room, as if searching for an escape from the intensity of his gaze, before finally managing to whisper, "Are you fucking serious right now? Why is that any bloody concern of yours?"

"I just find it utterly fascinating," he sneered, his voice dripping with dangerous intent as he leaned over the table, scuffing his chair toward you. "...the intricate web of secrets you weave, Raven...not very Ravenclaw of you, now is it?"

"How is that a secret?" you hissed, your voice laced with both irritation and trepidation. "And why would I care about Emily getting with Tom? I never had any feelings for-"

"Not talking about that," he interrupted, his tone sharp as he cut through your words. "I'm talking about everything, in a far more broad context...all of the willing little lies and deceit...all the ways you've used me, just as much, if not more, than I've used you...you even managed to outwit Tom, which is one hell of an impressive accomplishment all on its own, I'll give you that."

The oxygen in the room vanished, leaving you nearly gasping for breath. "I...outwit Tom?"

"Well, it was only thanks to his blaring review that you landed this mentorship, was it fucking not?..." he scanned your features, his brows pinching in focus. "Every calculated step you've taken, every deceptive move you've made, all orchestrated to extract what you wanted for your bloody career...it truly makes a man wonder..."

His words struck like a cold breeze, sending a chill down your spine as you struggled to process the weight of his insinuations--you were beyond startled by the pace of this conversation, each syllable from his lips landing like a punch to the gut, rendering your mouth mute.

"I..." his words had you reeling, your voice catching in your throat, your confidence shattered by his unsettling revelation. "What the hell are you implying, Mattheo?"

Your throat tightened as you struggled to maintain composure. Swallowing hard, you tried to play it off, squinting at him in an attempt to mask your anxiety. But his penetrating gaze saw through your facades, leaving you defenseless against his piercing scrutiny. Mattheo's movements were deliberate, each shift in his chair calculated to exude an air of intimidation and control. His eyes, sharp and predatory, followed your every reaction as if he were studying his prey before a calculated strike.

"I did some digging on you last night...on your background...what your parents do...since, you know, you clearly had no interest in telling me yourself..." a sinister smile played on his lips, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic satisfaction. His voice lowered to a barely audible murmur, laced with a sense of superiority. "After the night at the lake, after that little spat we had...I just...I just couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to you than met the eye...and boy was I ever fucking right.”

Letting his words sink in, he leaned back in his chair, that sickening grin still plastered across his face. As the realization of his words settled like a heavy stone in your chest, you grew increasingly uncomfortable, acutely aware of the other students nearby. Their presence, though not directly involved, added a layer of unease to the situation.

Leaning across the table, you whispered urgently, "Do you have to do this here?" The words escaped your lips in a hushed plea, your voice strained with the need for privacy and a shred of dignity. "Like at least-"

Mattheo's response was chillingly calm, his grin widening with malicious delight.

"Oh, princess, come on," he purred, his tone a twisted mockery of sweetness. "Why continue to hide the truth? Let them hear what kind of person you really are..."

Your anger surged, the intensity of your emotions making your fingers grip the book tightly as you leaned in closer to him.

"You're a despicable asshole, you know that?" you spat out, your voice edged with pure disdain. "What's your bloody angle here?"

"Never claimed otherwise, did I?" His tone was flat, devoid of any remorse; meeting your words with an infuriating calmness. "Unlike you, I don't pretend to be something I'm not."

Your eyes rolled so forcefully it felt like you were glimpsing the inside of your skull, a groan of frustration clawing at your throat. Of course, he chose this moment--a place where you had to hold back your torrent of emotions, where you couldn't unleash the full force of your anger upon him. He knew exactly what he was bloody doing here, and it was fucking infuriating.

"Enough with the games, Riddle," you snapped, the words escaping through clenched teeth, your patience stretched to its limit. "Stop being a bloody arse and spit it out already."

"Your family history," he said, leaning in so close that your eyes locked in a battle of wills, each glance a dagger threatening to pierce the other's resolve. "It isn't as pristine as one might think...in fact, I'd almost be inclined to say it's the complete fucking opposite."

Your entire body tensed, coiling like a tightly wound spring. There was a pause as you studied his face, trying to decipher exactly what he knew before responding.

"Careful, Mattheo," you retorted, your voice laced with a sharp edge. "Just because you've unearthed a few skeletons doesn't mean you've cleared the whole closet."

"Honestly, Raven, I'm just curious," his grin stretched wider, the atmosphere around him growing denser with an almost palpable tension. "How did you manage to play the part for so long? You certainly had me fooled...even managed to trick the sorting hat into believing your little fucking charade...it's quite impressive, truthfully..."

A knot tightened in the pit of your stomach, every nerve inside you screaming in turmoil. "I...I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Don't even bother," Mattheo's words cut through your feeble denial, and he tilted his head, his intensity thickening the air around you. "I see right fucking through you, now, princess...that innocent act won't work on me anymore..."

His eyes, like burning coals, seared into your skin as if trying to uncover hidden truths. The room seemed to close in around you, amplifying the weight of his accusation.

"Generation after generation of Pureblood fucking Slytherins..." he continued, his voice low and laced with feign exasperation. "And yet, here you are...apparently as Ravenclaw as they come...you've managed to make yourself so damn-near invisible that no one even fucking noticed..."

Your breath hitched, caught in the vice grip of his merciless scrutiny. The truth of his words hung heavily in the air, a damning revelation that sent a shiver down your spine. Your carefully constructed facade, your shield against the world, was crumbling, and Mattheo had managed to find the cracks, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in his piercing gaze.

"I'll admit, I feel rather idiotic for not piecing it together sooner..." he sneered, his tone cutting through the tension like a knife, hands curling into fists atop of the desk. "I guess I was too entranced by your starry-eyed facade to see the cunning Slytherin hiding beneath, even though it was right in front of my face this whole time...your biting sarcasm, your unrelenting ambition, and your overly-eager knack for deceit--classic fucking Slytherin traits, aren't they, Raven?"

Your entire being blazed with a searing heat, a tempest of conflicting emotions threatening to consume you. The urge to throttle him until he fell silent warred with a fierce desire to pull him close and lose yourself in a breathless kiss. How infuriating it was to witness his sharp wit, a talent he wielded effortlessly, yet one he seemed unwilling to apply to his fucking studies.

At your silence, he huffed, glimpsing your lips again. "Not even the stars can change the essence of who you are, princess." He whispered, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Maybe it's about time you were honest with yourself."

Your anger surged like a tidal wave, crashing against the shores of your restraint. In that charged moment, you leaned in closer, as close as you possibly could, your body practically vibrating with intensity. How dare he sit there, smug and superior, acting like he had unraveled the very fabric of your being just because he had dug up a few skeletons from your family's closet?

Sure, your parents weren't paragons of virtue, but their actions don't define you--and that was the very the essence of all this. Every choice you've made, every hardship you've endured, has been a deliberate effort to distance yourself from their toxic legacy. His derisive remarks only fueled the fire, and you practically hurled the words at him, your voice laden with disdain.

"You don't know a single fucking thing about me," you seethed, "all you fucking know is what the inside of my body feels like...don't you dare sit there and act like you've got me all figured out."

Your steps were purposeful as you pushed up and away from the table, leaving him sitting there, his words lingering in the air like a bitter aftertaste. You moved back into the library, the familiar scent of old books surrounding you like a protective barrier, but you knew it wouldn't shield you from the storm that was Mattheo bloody Riddle for long. No, that would be far too fucking easy.

And nothing about your situation with that boy was easy.

As you put your book back on the shelf, you felt his presence behind you, a suffocating weight pressing down on your shoulders as you reluctantly spun back around to face him.

"Why'd you do it, huh?" Mattheo's voice cut through the air like a razor, his narrowed eyes fixed on you as he backed you up against the shelf, his presence overwhelming. "Are you truly that ashamed of who you fucking are?"

"Mattheo," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, the frustration boiling inside you. "Please, don't push it...if I wanted to tell you about that, I would have..."

"Yeah, you're ashamed," he sneered, dismissing your words with a cynical laugh, confirming his original point. "You're ashamed of where you come from...fuck, I always knew we were alike, but I never knew it'd be this much-"

"What the fuck is this? Some type of elaborate power-play move? Some type of big intimidation act to get me to tell you about my life?..." you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. "If you wanted to know, why didn't you just ask me? Instead of fucking me every chance you got why didn't you try having a real conversation with me? Try actually opening up to me for once?"

"Even if I did..." he said, dropping his tone into a low whisper. "Would you have told me? You said it yourself that you don't fucking trust me..."

"What do you want to know, Riddle? Huh? You want me to tell you how I grew up in a mansion full of emptiness? How my parents were never around and I was left with my cold, reserved grandmother, who cared more about her fucking butler than me?...or maybe you want to know about how I was raised in a world of expectations, forced to be perfect in every way imaginable, while my parents only bothered to acknowledge my existence when it served their social ambitions..."

You paused, frowning at him, your features a near scowl. "You're sure quick to call me a rich little princess...and sure, maybe you're right, maybe I had all the material things one could ever desire...but it was never enough, could never be enough. Something was always missing, like a void inside me that nothing would ever fucking fill."

Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you continued, the weight of your past bearing down on you. "When my grandmother got sick, it was the only time she actually fucking spoke to me. She told me to be different, to break free from the mold that had plagued my family for decades. I was there with her in her final moments, the first and only fucking time she ever said she loved me. And where were my parents? Absent, as always. They didn't even show up until days after her death, showering me with gifts, as if their mere presence could make up for years of neglect..."

In an unrelenting torrent, words cascaded from your lips, each syllable carrying the burden of years' worth of pent-up emotions. Mattheo's unwavering gaze never strayed, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts, absorbing every uttered syllable as though he never anticipated such revelations.

"Sure, maybe I was handed whatever I wanted on a silver fucking platter--but I was always alone, and truthfully, that's how I fucking preferred it. I never believed in destiny, Mattheo...the stars never whispered my name, my future...I had to shape my own path, I had to become something of my own...once my grandma passed, I was left with the butler. My parents didn't care about what I did as long as my grades were to their standards. They had no idea I wasn't in Slytherin until my third fucking year..."

You paused, your eyes catching Mattheo's parted lips, a reflection of sheer astonishment. Despite fighting to maintain composure, your voice softened with each breath, your heart pounding in your throat.

"I had to grab my own fate with two hungry hands, pulling and pushing and molding my life into something I could be fucking proud of...and then you came along, with your smart mouth and your fucking effortless charm...and you just...you forced your way right into my bloody heart, tore down my walls like you fucking belonged there." The bitterness in your voice hung in the air, the pain of your past etched into every word, your chest heaving with emotion as Mattheo stood in front of you, speechless. "Yes, I've made mistakes, but they belong entirely to me...and thats precisely what sets us apart, you went through some shit and let it possess you...I chose to fight back."

Trembling fingers betrayed the turmoil within, your entire body quivering in the aftermath of the verbal storm you'd just unleashed upon Mattheo. Only when the deafening silence enveloped you did the weight of your words become palpable.

Unable to endure the silence any longer, you broke eye contact, running a trembling hand through your hair. "I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to trauma dump on you like that, I just-"

"No," he declared, "don't you dare apologize to me...I should be the one apologizing to you."

Mattheo's interruption sliced through the charged air, his voice emerging rasped and strained, as though he had withheld words for years. Swallowing, you met his intense gaze, attempting to decipher the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within his eyes.

"Don't pity me, Mattheo...I'm well past needing that," you whispered, your figure leaning subtly against the bookshelf, a tangible weariness emanating from your being. "Everything you've ever said was right...two sides of the same coin, the masks, the fact that we're each haunted by our own ghosts. You've always been fucking right. The only misstep was when you claimed you'd be my ruin."

Mattheo arched an eyebrow, bridging the distance between you with a measured step. "And why is that?"

"Because, little did you know, I was already in ruins," you murmured, reaching out to loop your fingers around his belt, pulling him closer. "If anything, you've been my bloody salvation...you did something I wasn't sure I was capable of anymore--you made me feel."

A tangible tension hung in the air as Mattheo's hands gripped your hips with a silent urgency, a fervent plea for your presence.

"As if you're going to fucking say that," he countered, his grip conveying unspoken desires. "As if that's not precisely what you did to me."

"Yeah?" you smirked, your voice a sultry whisper. "And what do I make you feel?"

"Everything, Raven," he cooed, lips grazing sensually over your jawline. "Hate, desire, anger, lust...among other things."

Your breath hitched, suspended in the charged exchange. "Among other--"

Before you could finish, Mattheo cut you off, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing kiss, a palpable surge of desire that eclipsed the need for spoken words. He pressed you against the bookshelf, the wooden solidity of the shelves meeting your back. His hands, with a journey of their own, glided up your sides, their warmth leaving a trail of anticipation. They found their destination on your face, gently cupping it with a possessiveness that made your heart flutter, and you sighed into his mouth, letting your hands rest at his sides.

"Everything about you is so fucking addictive..." Mattheo's confession hung in the air, a declaration punctuated by the heat of his lips tracing a fervent path along your jaw. His hand, a serpentine caress, slithered down your arm, leaving a tingling trail of warmth in its wake. "You are both hellfire and holy water...soft yet strong...and every bloody time I touch you I feel a little less war-torn, like your chaos balances out mine...I just...I have no idea what peace feels like Raven, but I have to imagine it feels a lot like you..."

"Mm...fuck, I've missed you..." a soft sigh escaped your lips as his kisses descended, exploring the landscape of your neck. Your fingers instinctively tightened their grip on his shirt. "Whatever happened to that break you said you wanted..."

"Fuck the break," he growled, desire lacing his voice. His hand ventured boldly behind your head, the other finding a home on your hip, possessive and hungry. "I want you so fucking bad...I want to fuck you right here...right against this fucking shelf...cover your filthy little mouth so no one can hear you fucking moaning for me..."

"Shit..." you mewled, gasping slightly as his hand slid around to grip your ass. "Maybe...if two people can't seem to stay the fuck away from eachother, they aren't meant to be apart, hm?"

"Maybe you're right..." Mattheo purred, nipping at your earlobe as he pressed you back against the shelf. "I've always been a strong man, Raven...but you break me without effort...you are my weakness, the chink in my fucking armour..."

"Your undoing?" you murmured, your fingers tracing over his belt.

He hummed. "Precisely."

"When are you going to open up to me, Mattheo?" You whispered, your voice a fragile murmur as though you were afraid of the answer, slipping your fingers under his belt now, gliding along its path. "Tell me all the bad things you've done...tell me what made you into the weapon you are...you don't need to be afraid...I saw your darkness from the very beginning and I'm still fucking here, aren't I?..."

"Why?" His grip tightened, breath hitching. "Why didn't you run?"

Your lids fluttered, slowly losing yourself in the warmth of his breath against your neck. His scent enveloped you; a familiar, soothing balm to the ache he'd caused with his recent request for a break. The answer formed easily in your heart, though voicing it required vulnerability, more than you'd ever expected to give.

"Because...it was a reflection of mine."

Mattheo's only response was a deep growl that rumbled through the charged space, a primal sound that resonated with desire. Without hesitation, he pulled you back into a hungry kiss, his body pulsating with pent-up energy seeking release. The intensity of the kiss mirrored the raw hunger between you, a magnetic force that defied all notions of any further separation.

As your fingers continued their exploration along his belt, tracing the contours with a teasing caress, you encountered an unexpected sensation--cold, unyielding metal tucked between the leather and his abdomen, its texture rough, and harsh. A chill ran down your spine as confusion slowly crept over you, your eyes fluttering open in slow, tentative blinks, fingers seemingly frozen in place.

Mattheo, lost in the heat of the moment, seemed oblivious to your sudden unease. The kiss deepened, his hunger transferring into the fervency of the embrace. But your focus had shifted, and your trembling fingers tentatively confirmed the nature of the cold object--something metallic, something that should not be there. You gently pulled away from the kiss, your eyes wide with realization, fixated on the metal object now halfway exposed. Dread tightened your chest as your brows pinched, flicking back up to meet his eyes.

"Mattheo," you whispered, the name carrying a weight of urgency, "what is this?"

Mattheo's swallow echoed in the charged silence, his gaze dropping to your hand, his chest still heaving from the passionate kiss. His eyes widened as the weight of your question settled in, a realization dawning on him, as if he had momentarily forgotten about the object concealed within his belt.

"Raven, I-"

He began, but you interrupted, yanking your hand back. "No-what the fuck-"

"Stop," Mattheo commanded, his tone abruptly taking on a harsh edge. With deliberate movements, he pulled up his shirt slightly, revealing more of the mysterious object nestled between his belt. The revelation hung in the air, and Mattheo, eyes now serious, asked a question that carried the weight of the moment: "Do you trust me, Raven?"

Your eyes squinted as a realization crashed over you, the rhythm of your heart shifting into a turbulent drumbeat within your chest. There was absolutely no denying it--that sleek, ominous silhouette spoke volumes. That was a fucking gun.

Frozen in a surreal disbelief, your ability to think, blink, or move was momentarily hijacked. Mattheo's hand surged upward with a suddenness that matched the shock in your eyes, seizing your jaw with a commanding force. His fingers, both firm and urgent, redirected your gaze, forcing you back to the depth of his eyes, which were now darker than the midnight sky.

"Answer me," he demanded, the intensity of his words amplified by the gravity of the situation. "Do you fucking trust me?"

The weight of the question echoed in the charged air. Your mind spun, grappling with the incredulity of the scene unfolding before you. Firearms had been a distant memory, relegated to hunting trips with a Muggle friend back in middle school. Yet, the stark reality of Mattheo possessing a fucking handgun in the heart of Hogwarts shattered any remnants of normalcy, the shockwaves reverberating through your very core.

"I-I-" you stammered.

Mattheo jostled your head in his grip, pulling you closer. "Yes or no question, Raven."

Blinking, you found yourself caught in a tempest of conflicting emotions. The tendrils of trust warred with the unsettling presence of the gun, a contradiction that defied all reason. In the throbbing silence, Mattheo's growl of frustration pierced the air. Relinquishing his grip on your jaw, he seized your wrist, directing it back toward the ominous weapon.

"Take it out," he commanded, his eyes fixed on yours. "Right now, Raven. Take it."

A whimper escaped you, your fingers trembling as they tentatively wrapped around the cold metal. With visible reluctance, you extended it out, pointing the gun down at the floor. Mattheo's grip on your wrist persisted, unyielding, anchoring you in the unsettling reality of the moment.

"I'll ask you one more fucking time," he whispered harshly, the words slicing through the charged air like a razor. His breath, warm against your face, carried an unsettling contrast to the gravity of his demand. "Do you trust me?"

Another desperate whimper slipped past your lips, the nodding of your head an almost frantic plea. "Yes! Please, I trust you. Just take it back-"

Mattheo's reply erupted as a snarl, a guttural growl that echoed with a feral intensity. His features, twisted by a crazed possession, accentuated the mad determination in his eyes as he tightened his grip on your wrist. With an unhinged sense of purpose, he directed it upward, the cold barrel now pressing menacingly against his own temple.

"Pull it," he said stoically, the eerie calmness chilling against the tension. "Pull the trigger."

Your jaw dropped, the brimming tears reflecting the disbelief that swirled in your eyes. "No! What the fu-"

"Do it," he repeated, the calmness persisting. "Go on, baby, pull it."

Sickened and paralyzed by the surreal horror of the moment, you hesitated, the sheer shock of what Mattheo was asking you to do anchoring you in a moment of profound disbelief. Your mind swarmed with recollections of the crazy things you'd done for him before, but this--this was unlike anything you had ever fucking imagined. The weight of the gun in your hand, the gravity of the situation, left your brain reeling as the stark realization of the moment seized hold of your senses.

His frustration, palpable and charged, manifested in another growl. With a menacing determination, he shifted his hand to envelop yours, forcing your finger down, the pressure on the trigger unrelenting.

You heard the click, you felt the click--and yet, nothing happened.

"Fuck..." you choked out, a turbulent blend of relief and confusion seizing your senses in a tumultuous embrace. "What the fuck..."

He blinked, his dark eyes tracing over your lips as he clicked it again. And again. The ensuing silence, pregnant with the surreal gravity of the situation, echoed through the seemingly empty library. Each breath you exhaled became a struggle, the air tinged with the weight of the inexplicable moment, your senses teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

Then, like a tidal wave crashing over you, the realization struck with breathtaking force. "It's enchanted..."

"About fucking time you caught on." Mattheo nodded, his acknowledgement cutting through the charged air with terse confirmation. He released the hold on your hand, pulling the gun away and casually slipping it back under his belt. "This gun only serves one purpose Raven, and it's never to kill, only to protect..."

Your heart leapt. "Protect what?"

"Doesn't matter," he said, a gentle hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes. “You can trust me, Raven…you can always fucking trust me…”

You exhaled, a long, exasperated breath. “I know, Mattheo…”

“Good girl,” he cooed, a smirk playing on his lips as he stoically reached into his back pocket, as if on a quest for something. "Has Nott popped the question yet?"

Your cheeks flushed. "Yes.."

"Good," he replied, his other hand securing your wrist before he withdrew his busy one, placing a handful of Galleons in your outstretched palm. "Go treat yourself to a dress. Something red, something tight."

As he withdrew his hand, he leaned in, placing a hot, wet kiss on your cheek, smirking from ear to ear as he said. "I've got something I have to do tonight, so I can't stay...but I look forward to respectfully ripping off whichever lovely dress you decide on."

"Respectfully?" you quipped, a playful glint in your eyes. "I'll make sure to pick a dress that demands nothing less than the most dignified removal, then."

"Oh, Raven...I can promise you it'll be the furthest thing from dignified." He snickered, wetting his lips as he took a few steps back, slowly beginning to make his retreat. "See you then."

As he spun around, making his exit, your mind followed suit, a whirlwind of emotions from this entire encounter. Only Mattheo Riddle could master the art of rendering you utterly anxious, furious, emotional, aroused, terrified, and, finally, relieved--all within the span of under an hour. You'd never encountered a man who expertly navigated every one of your buttons and boundaries like he did, yet you couldn't deny the potent influence he held over you.

You couldn't deny that as soon as he left, an insatiable longing for his presence consumed you, an undeniable yearning for his return.

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Chapter 25->

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