#and he's WILDLY UNCOMFORTABLE the ENTIRE TIME | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yandere-daydreams · 4 months ago

Text

Title: Short Leash.

A continuation of Good Dog.

Pairing: Yandere!SatoSugu x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 7.5k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Pet Play, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Semi-Public Humiliation, Blood, Controlling Behavior, and Dehumanization. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You woke up the next morning groggier than you’d ever been before, praying that you’d open your eyes and miraculously find yourself in your own apartment, piled into your own bed, with a hangover painful enough to block out the strange, hyper-realistic dream you’d endured the night before. Predictably, you didn’t.

Less predictably, you found yourself in Satoru’s villa, piled onto Suguru’s bed, and entirely alone.

They must’ve untied you at some point, most likely shorty after you’d passed out with Suguru’s cock lodged deeply enough down your throat to cut off your airflow. The black cord hung limp from its post, and the sharp pain in your wrists had dulled into a red, angry throbbing. The rest of your body wasn’t so quick to recover. Your legs felt like tree roots, too heavy to lift and connected to you only by calcified tendons too stubborn to break. Your back and sides were bruised where Satoru had pawed and bitten, and you could feel the indents of Suguru’s fingertips around your throat, the weight of his palm against the back of your head. Your muzzle hung limp around your neck, which you were thankful for. You were sure it wasn’t as uncomfortable as Satoru’s, but already, you knew you wouldn’t be able to wear it for more than a couple minutes at a time. Whether or not you’d be forced to was something you didn’t want to think about, right now.

With no small amount of effort, you picked yourself up and swung your legs over the side of the mattress. You’d only just started to test the sole of your foot against the carpeting when something clambered against the bedroom door, knocking against the wood clumsily before shouldering it open and stepping inside.

It was Satoru. That wasn’t surprising on its own, but the fact that he was wearing clothes – real, non-puppy themed clothes – was. Just a pair of grey sweatpants and an oversized white shirt, sure, but clothes.

That, and the absence of his muzzle. Come to think of it, this was probably the first time you’d seen anything below his eyes.

Even if you’d thought to, you never would’ve pictured him wearing the expression he currently was. A big, lopsided grin stretched across his lips, a toothbrush hanging haphazardly from one side. In the light of day, it was hard to tell he was the same person who’d done the unspeakable to you last night – his eyes not quite as prying, his posture less rigid, his demeanor more akin to a kid at a sleepover who’d been waiting the better part of a morning for their guest to wake up. You might’ve been able to convince yourself last night was some sort of mix-up, that he and Suguru would apologize and offer some neatly wrapped, bow-topped excuse to explain it all away, if he hadn’t chosen that moment to open his mouth.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” he started, wiping foam off of his lips with the back of his hand. “Good thing Suguru’s already gone. He kept me locked up for days, the first time I took off my muzzle without permission.”

You blinked at him, a blank slate. Then, because the visual seemed to loop in your mind like some gruesome, prophetic vision, you asked, “…he’s going to lock me in a cage?”

Satoru’s smile turned sympathetic. The toothbrush was abandoned on the corner of a dresser as he closed the distance between you, hooking an arm around yours. “C’mon – we should get you cleaned up. See if we can wash off the shock.” He pulled you onto your feet, bracing you against his side. “Think you can walk on your own?”

You tried to take a step and crumpled immediately, collapsing into a heap of limbs and stupor and embarrassment. Satoru didn’t wait for you to push yourself up, looping an arm under your knees, another around back, and pulling you into his chest. The muzzle suddenly seemed like a mercy. Without it, his delight at your helplessness shone through clearly.

You could remember passing at least half a dozen bathrooms last night, but Satoru didn’t seem to be in a rush to put you down. With his fingertips burrowed into your skin and an ever-tightening grip, he wandered through the villa, taking you back to the first floor and into another wing entirely. Eventually, he seemed to find what he was looking for – a large, traditional bathing room almost entirely taken up by an in-ground stone basin. You were placed on a wooden stool while Satoru fussed with the facets, scalding-hot water slowly beginning to trickle into the tub.

As reluctant as you were to give Satoru credit, the heat and steam were sobering. Your eyes flickered from wall to wall, looking for weapons, escape routes, signs that you were supposed to be doing more than sitting here and letting this happen. You didn’t find any unattended razors, but there was a screen door near the basin – no lock visibly from where you currently sat. Dappled sunlight beat against the thin, yellowed paper, but knowing there was a way outside only raised more questions. Namely: If leaving was so easy, why was Satoru still here?

You turned to him. He was sitting on the tiled ledge, fingertips skimming the surface of the steadily rising water. More concerningly, he was already looking at you, blue eyes wide and aware. You wondered if you’d ever adjust to that – his eyes, the way he stared, how jarringly bright they seemed. It seemed impossible to imagine yourself getting used to having two twin floodlights constantly pointed in your direction.

“Afraid of a little water?” It took you a second to put together what he meant, that your lasting terror must’ve been apparently. You didn’t respond, but still, Satoru laughed. “That’s alright. That’s perfect. Just goes to show that you were always meant to be our little kitten.”

Sure. Whatever. The pet-talk was already turning into white noise – washing over you more ambivalently than it should’ve. You soldiered on, newly eager for a change of subject. “You keep trying to make it sound like you know me.”

Satoru hummed. “We do, baby. Wouldn’t have brought you home without doing our research.”

“How long?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

You crossed your arms, suddenly aware of your own state of undress. “How long were you watching me?”

You weren’t sure you which you would’ve preferred – a quick answer, concise and telling in its reflexivity, or something more delayed, leaving room to doubt just how well they’d thought this through. He seemed to think, but not for very long, robbing you of the satisfaction of either. “Do you remember a few months ago, when your building got condemned?”

You nodded. You’d been told it was a maintenance issue; black mold, or faulty wiring, or something along those lines. It’d been sudden, but there were signs. You could still remember how tired you’d felt to the months leading up to your hasty eviction, the dark shroud of misery that’d seemed to spread itself over you and the other residents and, ironically, only start to lift the day you’d all been told to pack up and get out. That was over a year ago, now. Closer to two, really.

“Suguru stopped by with a few acolytes the night before, since places like that tend to be a breeding ground for cursed spirits. After a little fighting, he ended up in your apartment, and—” Satoru paused, grinning as he shook his head. “It was something about the way you looked, all pathetic and curled up. He says he thought about killing you for a while, but never got around to it. He told me about you a few weeks later.”

It might’ve been a kindness that you only understood half of what he said, your mind catching on words like acolyte and cursed spirit without the ability to assign a meaning to the phrase. But, even through your confusion, you could get to the bottom line. They’d been stalking you for years. Mostly Suguru, but Satoru had been in on it, too. And, to make it that much more nightmarish, you’d never noticed either one of them – not until they decided you were allowed to, at least. It was enough to leave you cold and unsteady, fighting not to shake where you sat. It was enough to leave you wondering why you’d ever thought a hot, normal guy would be interested in you, in the first place.

The water reached the basin’s rim, and without glancing down to check, Satoru cut it off. It took you a second to find your voice. The humidity in the air abruptly seemed overbearing, choking. “When do I get to go home?”

It was a deliberately pointed question – meant to counter his delusional affection with cold, jutting reality. Satoru only sighed, nodding to the screen door. “No one’s in your way.”

His tone was resigned, a little bored, but the sentiment gave you more hope than it should’ve. If there was hope— any hope at all – that Satoru was brought into this the same way you were, that he was on your side, then that increased your chances of getting out of here ten-fold. Suguru seemed to put a lot of trust in his lapdog, but there might’ve been a chance that you wouldn’t be bitten for stepping out of line.

Slowly, you staggered to your feet and struggled to the door, relying on anything within arm’s reach for support. It looked like someone had taken a knife to the barred handle, but you couldn’t make out what they might’ve been trying to carve – only a series of nonsensical kanji and outlandish symbols. You spared a glance back to Satoru, who nodded encouragingly. Like that helped.

Bracing yourself, you wrapped a fist around the handle a tried to pull.

…

You woke up minutes later, colder than you’d ever been before and cradled in Satoru’s arms. His lips were pressed into your temple, his nose buried in your hair. You could feel his breath fanning over your scalp. Absentmindedly, you realized he was smelling you.

They didn’t live in the villa. Suguru let that slip quickly, somewhere around the fourth time he found you hiding in one of the many unfurnished rooms. It’d been an anniversary present – although, from who and the anniversary of what, he never specified. They used it as a retreat, or in your case, a training facility. You’d be allowed to see their actual home once you’d proven you could be a good kitty.

You hated thinking about yourself in their terms – a captive, a kitten, a pet – but it would’ve been impossible not to. Satoru was capable of a sort of pseudo-normalcy when Suguru was out, wearing clothes and talking to you like something resembling a human being, but when Suguru was home, he conformed to his allotted role happily. The puppy gear was more of a uniform than your realized – the specific parts exchangeable, but each component necessary. He donned them pridefully, happily. You were expected to do the same.

You didn’t often meet Suguru’s expectations.

Satoru whined as you were pulled off of the living room floor (because animals weren’t allowed on the furniture without permission) and into Suguru’s lap. Your latest offense had been your most frequently repeated. The leather muzzle bit into the bridge of your nose and cut into the underside of your jaw, and your faux ears always seemed to be pricking at some part of your scalp, and yet, the collar always seemed to be what you gravitated towards, what you picked at, what your body wanted removed before anything else. Suguru clicked his tongue as he traced the jagged, red lines you’d raked into your throat, only dulled slightly by the fact that you’d been scratching through fabric. Trying to get it off would’ve been futile, with or without your hands trapped in paw-shaped mittens, but you couldn’t help it. There was something deep and primal inside of you that wanted it gone, and despite your better judgement, your conscious mind agreed.

“I’ve got half a mind to have you declawed.” The threat was dulled by an airy laugh, but his underlying agitation was clear. In his own, twisted way, you guessed that Suguru considered himself a good owner. Hence why evidence as to the contrary was usually so poorly received. “Care to explain yourself, princess?”

You swallowed back your nerves. “I honestly didn’t realize what I was doing, I’m just not used to—”

“Ah,” he cut in, hand falling to your thigh and squeezing. “That’s not right, either. Can you tell me the first thing pets aren’t supposed to do?”

You opened your mouth, but closed it just as quickly. Right. You were having time remembering that one.

Pets weren’t supposed to speak. Not without permission.

You hung your head silently, and Suguru took that as answer enough. “Good girl.” And then, his eyes falling back to your throat, “What do you think we should do with the poor thing, ‘toru?”

Satoru let out a keening bark, still on his knees at the foot of the couch. Suguru softened immediately. “Speak.”

“She’s been thinking too much, again. You should show her how to stop.”

Even behind the muzzle, you could hear his grin. Suguru mirrored the expression. “And how do you think I should make that happen?”

Another bark, shriller than the first, followed by the heady sounds of feigned panting. You sent Satoru a venomous look, and Suguru hummed. “You’re right.” He paused, lowering his voice, creating a pantomime of privacy between the two of you. “He thinks that, since you’re so intent on making yourself uncomfortable, we should do the same.”

Cold, sharp dread cut through your chest, accompanying a flood of memories of Satoru’s body on top of yours, the animal force of his hips against your ass as he did his best to make up for a natural canine breeding drive. They’d been surprisingly conservative with sex after that first night, limiting your exposure to a few minutes of unwanted touching during baths and having to hear the two of them go at it from halfway across the villa. You assumed it was a nicety, a means of letting you adjust. Suddenly, you were confronted with the idea that they’d only been waiting for a reason to blame you for your own violation.

It was almost a relief when Satoru didn’t pounce, when Suguru didn’t move to kiss you. Instead, he took you by the shoulder and forced you down, until your body was splayed awkwardly across his lap, your stomach pressed into his thighs. One hand rested on the small of your back whine the other fell to your ass, kneading shamelessly. Your face burnt with embarrassment and righteous anger. You couldn’t imagine how Satoru handled it – being treated less like a person, prideful and independent and deserving of respect, and more like an animal, happy to be touched in any ways its owner was willing to. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so terrible if, like Satoru, you’d never had any pride to begin with.

“We’ll start with twenty-five, since it’s your first real punishment. Count yourself lucky – Satoru’s first warning was a broken finger.” His tone was fond, distant, as if he was recalling a cherished memory. “I’ll need you to count for me. If you can’t, we’ll have to start over.”

You tempted to protest, to stiffen, to refuse to participate in your own degradation, but this was, admittedly, the preferred alternative to what you’d imagined. You could handle this. Even if it took every part of you not to react, you could handle this.

Or, that was what you thought, at least. Then, you heard metal clink against metal, felt leather crack against the unprotected skin of your ass, and immediately realized you’d been wrong. You couldn’t handle anything.

The noise that escaped you was wordless, base, instinctual; something between a scream and a gasp. The pain was surprisingly cutting, the blunt force of it relatively dull compared to the sharp, piercing sting. The belt came down again, deliberately angled towards space just below its previous target, and you managed to force something out. “Two!”

Suguru clicked his tongue. “Not just yet, sweetheart. Don’t you remember what I told you?”

You heard Satoru lumber closer, positioning himself below where your head laid. “You’re being too mean, Suguru.”

“I’m being strict. There’s a difference. That’s why so many kittens end up so poorly behaved.” He sighed, rubbing a few small, shallow circles into the column of your spine. “You’re going to have to keep me honest. We’re still on one.”

You dug your teeth into your bottom lip. You hated him. More than anything else, more than anyone else, you hated Geto Suguru. It was all you could think, all you could feel, and yet, when his belt came down on your ass, you whimpered out an obedient “O—One.”

By the fifth, you were sniffling.

By the fifteenth, you sobbed unabashedly into the couch cushions, your mechanical counting barely audible.

By the last strike, you’d gone limp and still across Suguru’s lap. Every part of your ass ached. If the bruising wasn’t already visible, it would be within the hour, long before the next time you’d have a chance to dress yourself. You could only hope Suguru would have the mercy not to rub salt in the wound.

Already, you knew that he wouldn’t.

“Ah, there she is – my perfect little kitten.” Suguru hooked a hand under your arm, pulling you upright and letting you straddle his lap. Immediately, you collapsed into his chest, eager to hide your face. He didn’t seem to mind. “You were so good. Satoru called me such ugly names, the first time his behavior had to be corrected.”

Satoru whined in mock hurt, and Suguru chuckled fondly. “How ‘bout we get you somewhere nice and cozy? I think you’ve earned a little rest.”

You opened your mouth, but closed it just as quickly. Silently, you nodded into his shoulder, and Suguru rewarded you with a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

You were taken to Suguru’s room, but rather than his bed, you were placed in Satoru’s – low-walled and velvet-lined, more fit for a dog than a person. Satoru crawled in after you, curling around your crumpled form. The last thing you felt before you shut your eyes was the warm, slick sensation of a tongue running over your cheek, lapping up the last of your drying tears.

As it turned out, Suguru wasn’t an animal trainer. Admittedly, you’d figured that out pretty early on – as soon as you realized the only real animal in his life was Satoru.

Still, ‘cult leader’ probably wouldn’t have been your second guess.

You sat in the furthest corner of the sanctuary, a small crowd filling the limited space. Some were wearing street clothes, their expressions bored but unquestioning, as If Suguru’s sermon was only a prelude to something more engaging. Others, most, were more invested – positioned on their knees, hands at their sides, their eyes focused intently on Suguru where he was reclined on his dais. Both he and Satoru – sitting alert and watchful at his side – were dressed for their roles, drenched in tradition garb from an era long-dead. The only anachronism was Satoru’s mask. It was the same shape as his muzzle, but the metal frame was barred, the edges sloped downward into something sharper, something more defined. Even from the other side of the room, you could see the set of his jaw, the thin line of his scowl. The association had to be intentional. You doubted there was anyone in the world who could look at Satoru and see anything but a guard dog.

You were aware of the intentionality of your seating, too. Across the room, separated from the mass of bodies, placed so temptingly close to the sanctuary door and so directly in Suguru’s line of sight. Occasionally, you’d catch a piece of his lecture, make out something about ‘taking pity on lesser beings’ and ‘practicing divinity through extermination’ before tuning him back you. What little Satoru had told you about invisible monsters and hyper-specific supernatural abilities lingered in the back of your mind, but at a distance – information you knew to be true, but just couldn’t bring yourself genuinely believe. It made sense, in a twisted kind of way. You weren’t sure how you’d ever looked at Suguru and recognized him as fully human.

You drummed your fingers against your knee. Running was tempting, but a bad idea. Even if Suguru was miraculously distracted, Satoru would notice, and you wouldn’t get more than a few steps past the door before he caught you. Still, they’d dressed you for the occasion, and even a single silken layer of your too-complex-for-comfort get-up would be more than enough to pay for cab fare back to the city, back to your apartment, back to friends and resources and the police. That was, if you still had an apartment. You’d already missed at least three months’ worth of rent, and you doubted your landlord would have much sympathy for—

“He’s always been so fucking full of himself.”

You straightened and shot to the side, immediately pulled back into reality. You hadn’t heard him sit down, but suddenly, there was a man at your side – blonde hair slicked back, his black suit tailored immaculately, his posture confident in a careless sort of way. It was hard to tell if he was well-groomed early 40s or a particularly rough late 20s, but either way, the lines carved deep into the grooves of his scowl and the dark circles under his muted eyes spoke to an age-old exhaustion. One directed at Suguru, no less.

“Should’ve seen him in high school. The god complex is new, but the rest of it comes naturally.” You shifted slightly, unsure whether or not you should respond. He didn’t seem to care. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he reached for something in his front pocket – a pack of cigarettes, maybe, or another cheap vice – before thinking better of it and checking his watch. “I’d say Gojo’s a saint for putting up with it, but—”

“He’s worse,” you finished, under your breath. “At home, at least.”

The stranger glanced at you, wearily. As if he’d only expected to talk to himself. “You’re the new addition.”

It wasn’t a question, but after a beat, you nodded. He slumped against the wall. “And you’re here against your will.”

A longer delay, this time, a more hesitant nod. He let out a prolonged breath and directed his attention towards the dais.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally. “That’s unfair.”

You felt something tighten in the back of your throat. Your collar, hidden well underneath the layers of your ensemble, seemed just a little heavier. “Yeah.” And then, when you could manage it, “I know.”

Suguru gave his final statement, and there was a muted ripple of activity through the crowd – some bowing, some muttering prayers, some wordlessly moving to the side to wait for an undetermined encore. Satoru made it to you first; dropping to his knees and hauling you into his chest. His face was buried in the crook of your neck in a matter of seconds, and you did your best not to care that the blonde stranger’s gaze was still very much boring into you.

Satoru held onto you until, moving at only his own pace, Suguru found his way across the sanctuary. He helped you to your feet and nodded to the stranger by way of greeting. “Bring the kids home in one piece, Kento?”

“Nanami,” he corrected. “Yuuji, Nobara and the twins are in the courtyard now. Megumi left a few minutes ago – his sister tends to worry.”

Suguru hummed. As they exchanged logistics, Satoru propped his chin on your shoulder. “Our latest batch of students,” he explained, keeping his voice low and airy. You wondered if he was allowed to speak in public, how firmly Suguru held onto his rules. You wondered if there’d ever be another time when you didn’t have to think before opening your mouth. “And Suguru’s daughters. You’ll meet them eventually. Kento’s on babysitting duty, in the meantime.”

You couldn’t say you were looking forward to the prospect.

As their conversation began to taper, Kento’s eyes skirted in your direction, and Suguru followed his gaze. Kento’s features were indecipherable, all but entirely blank, but Suguru wasn’t so difficult to read. Anger flashed hot and fast across his expression, quickly settling into something more restrained, something more amused. With a note of levity, he called to you. “Why don’t you join us, dear?”

Immediately, Satoru pulled away, and you were left completely and entirely alone. It took more time than it should’ve to remember how to move your legs, even longer to actually find the will to step forward, but Suguru waited patiently, keeping his hands tucked into his sleeves until you were close enough to take hold of. With an arm wrapped tightly around your waist, he slotted your back against his chest, forcing you to face Kento. “You were quite friendly with my acolytes during the sermon.” You tried to close your eyes, to bow your head, but he caught your chin – keeping you upright an on exhibition. “Kento, here, especially.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“You misunderstand - it’s a good thing. The last thing I’d want is for you to feel out of place among our little family.” He paused, humming as he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth. “In fact, you really ought to show Kento how happy you are to meet him.”

Suguru dug his fingers into your waist. Kento reset his jaw. Satoru smiled widely from behind the bars of his muzzle.

“You should purr for him, love.”

Heat rose to your cheeks – equal parts fury and embarrassment. Kento, for his part, kept his poker face in-tact, nonreactive save for the slightest possible quirk of his lips. His nonchalance provided little comfort, though. An unwilling audience was still an audience. At least, at home, you were given the mercy of a private dehumanization.

“I…” You swallowed, dryly. “I don’t know if I can do that. Like, physically.”

Suguru’s grin broadened. “Try for me.”

The ‘or else’ was left implied.

And the worst part was, you listened. You tried to find it in your throat, first, to flex a muscle you’d never thought to use, but the most you could manage was a low, droning hum – nothing close to a rumble. Kento looked away, humiliated on your behalf, and you opened your mouth, prepared to reiterate that even if you’d wanted to embarrass yourself in front of half his congregation, your body wouldn’t let you. Suguru’s thumb was in your mouth as soon as your lips parted, though, pressing into the flat of your tongue and pinning it to the bottom of your mouth. “You can do better than that, love. For my sake.”

You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to, but Suguru’s hand curled tighter around your jaw and saliva pooled at the corners of your lips and you forced out a pitchy, half-strangled whine. It wasn’t anything like a purr, not really, but it seemed to satisfy Suguru. His hand had fallen to your hip in the blink of an eye, the edge in his voice softened back down to a cool, smooth timbre. “Ah, I suppose you do need more practice. We’ll have to work on it at home.” He looked to Kento. “Thank you for your unwavering dedication. I trust you’ll be in touch?”

Kento nodded, curtly. “Of course.”

And just like that, you were being ushered out of the sanctuary and into a more seclusive part of the temple, Satoru following close behind you. You tried to look over your shoulder, to see if Kento’s eyes were still following you, but Suguru’s hand found its way to the back of your neck, wordlessly warning you away from something so needlessly masochistic. You didn’t mind, though.

You could still feel his eyes burning into you, the sensation a touch warmer than it’d been a few minutes ago.

“Don’t you hate it?”

Satoru hummed, kneading absent-mindedly at your chest. Currently, the two of you were home alone, and he was engaging in his favorite leisure activity – laying on Suguru’s bed with you pinned to his chest, a human (or, human-ish, at least) body pillow to be squeezed at and cuddled as he faded in and out of sleep. His touch was probing, shifting constantly between your tits, stomach, and thighs, but not necessarily invasive. Despite everything, it was still difficult to see Satoru as anything more than an extension of Suguru, something only dangerous when ordered to be. It was hard to be wary of a weapon when not in the hands of the person who’d used it to hurt you, especially when that weapon was all you had in the way of company.

“What am I supposed to hate, now?”

“Having to share his attention. I mean, it was his idea to kidnap me, right? You don’t have to pretend you’re happy about it, if you’re not. I know you’re—” You recalled the sounds of stifled moaning through thin walls, the feeling of a mattress dipping under the weight of two bodies while you pretended to sleep, and swallowed down your nausea. “I know you two are pretty close.”

Satoru let out a breath of a laugh. “We love each other, princess, Like we both love you.”

“But you don’t.” Admittedly, your tactics were crude. Search until you found a sore spot. Skirt around the edges until it’d gone tender. Make him want to get rid of you. Satoru wouldn’t hurt you, not without Suguru’s permission, but you needed to make him want you gone. There had to be something you could say, something you could do, to give him a reason to carve you a way out and look the other way while you escaped. “Suguru just told you to put up with me. He gave you a new toy, and you’re not even really allowed to play with it – isn’t that unfair?”

“I promise, he didn’t have to tell me to do—”

“And aren’t you scared?”You cut in, feigning distress. “I don’t want to be here, Satoru. And, god forbid, he ever decides he likes me more—”

Satoru didn’t let you finish. His teeth dug into the crook of your neck, turning anything you might’ve gone on to say into an abrupt, high-pitched squeak. The bite was shallow, but it still stung as he pulled away, resting his forehead against the apex of your spine. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just—I know what you’re doing. And it hurts, y’know?”

“…it does?”

“Mhm.” He slotted himself against you, his hand falling from your chest to the hem of your borrowed shirt. “You’re nervous.” And then, his thumb slipping under the waistband of your panties, “You think we’ll get tired of you.”

A new fear, hot and visceral, struck through your chest, lodging itself somewhere between your lungs and your rib cage. While you fought for your ability to breathe, Satoru went on. “Suguru hasn’t told you about the day he let me meet you, has he? That figures. He always hated getting sentimental like that, ‘specially if it makes him look sappy.”

Your panties were tugged downward, to the plush of your thighs. Satoru nestled into your back as he traced over your slit with the pad of his thumb, his touch still heavy with that kind of lazy, pawing affection. You squirmed, and when that failed, did your best to speak through grit teeth. “I—I don’t think you’re supposed to be touching me without—”

“Suguru can find a way to live with it. He’s always liked having an excuse to punish me.” His thumb caught on your clit, pushing slow circles into the sensitive bud. “That’s what I thought he was trying to do, the first time he mentioned bringing you home. He’s always hated non-sorcerers, even after I got him to be a little nicer about it. Honey over vinegar n’ all.” Satoru paused, laughed. “Don’t take it personally, but it was a little like your boyfriend threatening to bring home one of those inflatable sex dolls. Just because of the whole ‘This is what I think you could be replaced with’ thing.”

His hand drew back, but only far enough to cup your sex properly. The heel of his palm ground against your clit as two of his fingers gathered the slick traitorously accumulating between your thighs. “He wouldn’t take me to your apartment, probably thought I’d try to suffocate you in your sleep. Wouldn’t stop bothering him about it, though, so we settled on something more public.”

It wouldn’t have been so agonizing if he’d just gone a little faster, moved with a little more urgency. Instead, he seemed to savor the way your restlessness slowly turned to blatant thrashing, how deeply you dug your nails into his forearm when you reflexively lashed out to try and pry his hand away. Suguru would’ve put you over his knee for that, if not worse. Satoru was different. In a way, Satoru was more sincere. Satoru knew that, even when a housecat bared its claws, the worst it could do was break the skin.

“Remember that florist gig you had, for a while? Just a couple of months – to give you a little extra funding for the sudden move. Not that you needed it. Suguru and I were always ready to take care of you.” He prodded two fingers inside of you and spread them apart. Miserably, you whined into the sheets. “He talked me into it – sitting at the café across the street, watching work for the better part of the day. I spent most of it imagining how to get rid of you without him noticing, but towards the end—”

Satoru cut himself off abruptly with a chiming laugh. You felt his fingers curl inside of you as he re-settled against you. “Suguru did this—this thing. He started touching me under the table, a little like how I’m touching you, and asked how I would feel about having something that couldn’t be taken away from me.”

There was another laugh, softer than the first, then a lingering kiss to the curve of you your shoulder. You made one last unabashed attempt to struggle, to kick, to get away from him, but Satoru only held you that much tighter, forcing another finger into your stuffed cunt.

“He probably meant it as a sex thing – thought I’d like bringing home someone I could be in-charge of. I don’t see it that way, though.”

He nuzzled into the nape of your neck. His breath was first, warm and stifling where it fanned over you, then his tongue – lapping over your back in short, slow swipes. If you’d been any less disgusted, you might’ve found it comforting.

“I think we were always supposed to share you,” he finished, his saliva still drying on your skin. “I think you made to be ours.”

His palm rocked against your clit, his fingers grinding against the sensitive walls of your pussy. It’d only take a few more seconds for you to cum, and a few more minutes for Suguru to come home and find Satoru with his head buried between your thighs and tears running down your cheeks. For your punishment, Satoru would have his arm broken (an injury that, as you’d learned quickly, he could walk off as quickly as the average person would a paper cut) and you’d have to spend bouncing on Suguru’s cock, thanking him for each climax he was generous enough to milk out of you.

Getting the collar off was trickier than you’d expected. The nail clippers, pilfered from a bathroom drawer while Satoru dragged you through his half-conscious morning routine, only dented the leather, and neither of them seemed to feel at-home enough in the villa to leave things as mundane as scissors or box-cutters laying around. In the end, you had to steal a knife from the block left unattended in well-stocked, but sparingly used kitchen – pressing the spine into your throat while sawing through your collar with the blade. It wasn’t the safest option, but it got the job done, and you managed to keep the damage limited to a small nick on the underside of your chin. You left the remains of your collar on the mat in front of the villa’s main door and waited.

Suguru wasn’t ecstatic, to say the least.

He found you in the living room, sprawled across the largest sofa you could find, wearing a hoodie that Satoru had made you promise to take off before he and Suguru got home. Satoru trailed behind him – a shadow with an inverted color palette. They must’ve come straight from the temple, or something to do with Suguru’s cult, at least. They were both still in their traditional get-ups, and Suguru was wearing the easy, narrow-eyed smile he only seemed to make use of during his sermons.

You had to hand it to him. Had it not been for how tightly his fist was curled around the strip of ruined leather in his hand, you wouldn’t have known he was angry at all.

“’toru,” he started, his tone light and melodic. “On the floor. Stomach-down. By the time I come back.”

He turned on his heel, slipping into another part of the villa, but Satoru lingered. He stared at you from the doorway for a second, then another, his eyes blank and his face unnaturally pale.

Then, you moved to stand, making a pitifully clumsy attempt to run, and he was on top of you.

It was strange – to see Satoru so quiet. He kept his lips sealed and his jaw locked as he pinned you to the floor, straddling your lower back and forcing your wrists against the tender spot between your shoulder blades. You could’ve tried to get away, but you didn’t. There was no world wherein you could overpower Satoru, and he knew that as well as you did.

Suguru took his time. Full minutes later, he returned, having replaced your collar with a pair of rusted-out pliers. It seemed wrong to see him carrying such a crude tool, like violist showing up to their recital with a sledgehammer rather than an instrument. You weren’t really in a place to comment, though.

“Princess.” He crouched in front of you, letting his head lull to the side. He cupped your chin, thumb running over the hairline scrape you’d inflicted onto yourself, before pulling away. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

You swallowed, thickly. “I didn’t want to, I just—I couldn’t wear it, anymore. It hurt my neck, and I couldn’t breathe, and—” Pausing, stiffening, digging your nails into your palms. “—and I’m not your fucking cat, you sociopath.”

Suguru sighed, his smile falling. He exchanged a glance with Satoru, expression unchanging, before looking back to you.

“I’ll be nice,” he said, finally. “Bad kittens can either get declawed, or defanged. Since you seem so unhappy with your current level of autonomy, I’ll let you choose.”

You balked. “I’m not playing your—”

“Satoru.” Apparently, you’d already run his patience thin. “Choose.”

You couldn’t decide whether it’d be better or worse, had his answer not been so deafeningly automatic. “Declawed. And just the index finger.”

“And why is that, puppy?”

“Because she doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’ll be more careful after she’s learned her lesson.”

Suguru hummed, his posture taking on a slacker note. After a beat, he nodded. “Give me a hand, then.”

This time, you did fight it – albeit, not very effectively. You did your best to wrench your arms from Satoru’s grip, and when that failed, to jerk away as he curled a hand around your left wrist and pressed it into the floor. Suguru moved to take your hand, but stopped barely a hair’s width short, his eyes flickering back to Satoru. “Sorry,” Satoru mumbled. There was a nearly imperceptible shift in the atmosphere – a change in the air pressure, a drop in the temperature – before he went on. “It’s a reflex.”

Suguru didn’t waste time. He spread his hand under yours, interlocking your fingers and holding you steady as he brought his pliers up to your fingertips. The nose of the lower hinge worked underneath your nail while the ribbed underside of its upper counterpart scratched against it, the texture alone enough to make you cringe. You shut your eyes and tried to distract yourself, but nothing you could’ve dredged up would’ve dulled the feeling of blunt metal digging into your nail-bed, of the jaws clenching around something so thin, something so suddenly fragile. There was a light pull, testing for grip, then the pain.

Burning, throbbing, blinding. The soreness of it was almost worse than the sting, your body protesting the jarring absence of something it hadn’t known to imagine life without. You’d expected the pain to be limited, isolated, but it spread quickly – infecting everything below your elbow with phantom pains and sympathy aches. You’d told yourself you’d stay quiet, that you couldn’t cry, but a scream tore past your lips involuntarily, the tears following shortly after. That was fine. That was good, actually. They should know that they’d hurt you. They should know why you’d never, ever be able to love them back.

Hot blood pooled in the space your nail had once filled, dripping down your finger and spilling onto Suguru’s skin. Rather than let you go, he pulled you closer, bringing your hand to his face and taking your mutilated finger into his mouth. His tongue ran over the empty nail-bed, enlightening you to a brand new type of agony. You were sobbing unabashedly by the time he pulled away, the crimson of your blood dotting the corner of his lips.

“Take her to the cellar.” He was talking to Satoru, not you. That was fair. You weren’t in a state to listen to much of anything, right now. “It seems like we all need a little time to think.”

There was no protest from Satoru, no resistance from you. It was all you could do to cradle your wounded hand against your chest as he gathered you up and held you against his chest. With no great sense of urgency, he navigated through empty rooms and endless hallways, up the natural incline of rustic architecture and down, down, down into a lightless, concrete abyss. Despite the size of the basement, it’d been left deliberately void, with only a bare mattress and a few thin sheets to fill the desolation. Two lengths of thick chain hung limp from the wall above it, each one punctuated by a metal shackle, but you didn’t have the strength to acknowledge them.

Satoru set you on the edge of the mattress. Rather than curl into yourself, you clung to him – refusing to let go even as he tried to pull away. “Please,” you begged, the sound of your own desperation catching you off-guard. “Please, I’ll be good, and I’ll wear my collar, and I’ll purr, and—”

His arms were wrapped around you, keeping you pressed against him. But, despite the gentle warmth of his embrace, his voice was cold as ice.

“Pets don’t talk.”

You’d wanted Suguru’s, but Satoru had been the one to hold you down, to carry you, to let you cling to him for just a few seconds longer than he should’ve. Calling the police was a non-option, a fantasy you’d been childish to indulge. You’d seen more than a few officers at Suguru’s sermons, and asking anyone you knew, anyone you trusted for help would just be inviting lambs to the slaughter. You didn’t want to be the reason Satoru had fresh meat to tear from the bone.

You let out a keening, miserable sob. Satoru didn’t crack, but he softened, sighing as he kissed the top of your head. The next time he drew back, you let him – falling onto your side and curling into the smallest possible ball. You stayed that way as you listened to him climb the cellar stairs, as the heaviest lock you’d ever heard slid into place. It was only when you were completely, entirely sure he was gone that you sat up and, after wiping away your tears as best you could, fished his phone out of your hoodie’s pocket – still warm from where it’d been trapped between your body and his. You’d clear the history and hide it underneath the staircase later, as if it’d fallen between the steps. So long as Satoru found it before Suguru, you shouldn’t get in trouble.

It took you three minutes to guess his passcode (your birthday) and four more to find the name you were looking for in his contacts. The phone only rang twice, but he offered no greeting, leaving you to break the silence, your voice more unsteady than you would’ve liked.

“…Kento?”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x reader #yandere geto suguru #gojo satoru x reader #yandere gojo satoru

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ellewritesx · 8 days ago

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please me slowly

(part three of the teach me slowly series)

Summary: Before he teaches you how to take him, he teaches you how to taste him.

Warnings: early stages of a relationship, age gap, lots of talk about virginity and sex, handjob, oral (m!receiving), brief accidental facefucking, gagging, praise kink, size kink

Based on: this ask!

A/N: part three is here who else cheered!!! lmk if you like this one, i get so happy when i hear from you guys :) also is this a safe space to say i used the my policeman bj scene for my descriptions..? omg who said that! enjoy lovelies x

Word Count: 4,633

...

Your breathing is finally beginning to level out, though your chest still rises and falls a little faster than usual. The air in the bedroom is warm and hushed, the only sound the soft whirr of the fan in the corner and the faint rustling of sheets as Harry shifts beside you.

One of his hands is resting on your back, rubbing lazy circles above the waistband of your shorts, his other arm curled beneath his head. He's quiet. So are you. It's not an uncomfortable silence, but it's loaded. Heavy with something unspoken.

You glance over at him, but he's already looking at you.

His eyes seem darker in the dim light, half-lidded and a little glazed over. His lips are pink and parted, and he looks utterly undone, his curls sticking out at odd angles, jaw shadowed with stubble, a flush blooming across his cheekbones. And yet, he's watching you like you're the most breathtaking thing he's ever seen.

That's when he says it.

''I think I'm in love with you.''

It's quiet. Barely more than a whisper, but the words hit you like a collision anyway, like falling into deep water. You don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. You feel the air between you tighten, like the universe itself is waiting for your reply.

He doesn't take it back. Doesn't panic or fill the space with anything else. He just stays silent, his thumb grazing your hip, waiting.

Your entire body goes still at the weight of those words, heart thudding wildly. The tenderness of them. How they sound in his voice, low and scratchy and still heavy with pleasure. You don't know what to say. You hadn't expected it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But as you lay there, staring at him, at his furrowed brows and the nervous twitch of his lips, you realize you've felt it for a while, too, your love for him blossoming with every day spent together.

You felt it the night he walked you home after your first date and respectfully kissed the corner of your mouth before stepping away, cheeks pink like he'd been psyching himself up for this moment since you left the botanical garden, hands shyly intertwined.

You felt it the time he picked you up for dinner, the sleeves of his blouse pushed up to his elbows and his hair a mess, like he'd brushed his hands through it too many times before knocking on your door. He handed you a bouquet of tulips and smiled nervously, dimples exposed; ''You said you liked the tulips in the garden on our first date.'' You blushed the entire drive to the restaurant.

You felt it the day you got sick out of nowhere, body aching, head spinning, tears on your cheeks from how miserable you felt. You'd called Harry to cancel your date, voice hoarse, nose stuffy, words interrupted by a constant stream of sniffles and sneezes.

He didn't hesitate.

He drove across the city with two bags of medication and your favourite snacks and let himself into your place with the spare key hidden under the doormat. When he stepped into your bedroom and saw your form tucked under the blankets, empty boxes of tissues surrounding you, he took a seat on your bed and brushed the sweaty hair from your forehead, startling you from your light slumber.

''Is this a fever dream?'' you'd asked timidly when you recognized his figure, making him snort softly. You scooted over on the mattress, and he pulled you into his chest. He picked up the book you had left on your nightstand and read to you until you fell asleep mid-sentence. You woke up hours later with his hand still stroking your hair.

You feel it in the little things. The way he presses a kiss to your temple when he slings his arm around your shoulders, making a soft 'mwah' sound every time. The way he puts his hand on the small of your back in crowded places because he knows they make you anxious.

The way he notices when you're quiet and asks questions, but never presses when you don't want to talk about it. The way he remembers how you take your coffee, the lyrics to all your favourite songs, the stories you tell when nobody seems to be listening.

But he always is.

You love him.

You're not even sure when it happened. It's like the tide, it snuck in slowly, pulling at your ankles, your knees, your ribs. And now it's pulling you under, and you can't do anything but drown in it.

Your voice wobbles when you speak, barely a whisper against his skin. ''I think I'm in love with you, too.''

His chest lifts under you. You feel it before you see it, the relief, the joy, the way his breath finally rushes out of him like he's been holding it since the moment he spoke. You lift your head, meet his eyes in the dim light. They're wide and hopeful. Happy.

''Yeah?'' he asks softly, grinning.

''Yeah. I really do.''

His lips brush yours, once, twice, before settling in, and you hum into it, curling your fingers against his collarbone. He kisses you, not with urgency, not with hunger, but with adoration. It's not just a kiss, it's a promise. A seal on something you both just admitted out loud.

You curl into him again, feeling the shift like sunlight through a window. This love is still new, still blooming, but it's real. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, smiling to yourself.

But now that your love has been laid bare between you, something else simmers beneath the warmth. You can feel the tension still in his body: how his breathing hasn't quite returned to normal, how his arm flexes just a little when you curl further into him. You're still basking in the lingering euphoria of your first orgasm, your limbs heavy and your skin tingling where he touched you.

It's only when you shift slightly against his body that you feel it, feel him. Hard against the soft cotton of his sweatpants, thick and hot, the outline unmistakable even under the fabric.

He spent tonight making sure you felt good, and he hadn't asked for anything in return. Hadn't even hinted.

You move your hand just enough to curiously brush across the outline of him. He tenses, not sharply, but noticeably, and when you glance up at him, his eyes have fluttered closed. He huffs a small breath out through his nose, like he's trying to collect himself, but there's still that same softness lingering in his expression.

"You're still…" you trail off, suddenly shy, like acknowledging it out loud makes it taboo somehow. Your palm stays right where it is, hovering close. His eyes open slowly.

"Still hard?" he supplies, voice low and amused, but not mocking. His thumb brushes lightly over the back of your hand. "I know, baby."

The words go straight to your stomach. You swallow, gathering the nerve, the question sitting heavy on your tongue.

''Does that make you uncomfortable? Sorry,'' he murmurs, brushing his lips over your temple. ''I've been trying to will it away, but...''

Your heart skips. The fact that he's still turned on after everything, still aching like that, makes something twist low in your belly, and as the haze of pleasure settles and the emotional weight of the night begins to anchor you back into your body, the thought forms, clear and certain. You want to make him feel good, too.

''Harry?''

He hums, the sound low in his chest. ''Mm?''

Your fingers trace a faint line along the waistband of his sweats, not quite bold enough to dip beneath it. ''Can I… I mean, would you teach me how to…?'' you trail off, unsure how to phrase it without sounding ridiculous. You huff out a soft laugh, flustered. ''I want to make you feel good. I just don't really know how.''

His eyes sharpen at that. He pushes himself up on one elbow, his hand moving to cup your cheek quickly.

"Hey, no, no, no. You don't have to do that, love," he rushes, and the tenderness in his voice is so immediate, so sincere, it almost makes you want to cry. "Not tonight. It's been an intense couple of hours."

You shake your head, leaning into his touch. "I know I don't have to, Harry. I want to. I want to learn. I want you to teach me."

He watches you for a long moment, searching your face for any sign of doubt, any trace of unease. But you hold his gaze. You know you want this. Want him. You've never felt more sure.

Harry exhales hard, eyes closing for a moment like he's trying to keep himself in check. When they open again, they're darker than before, lust pooling in his irises, but his tone stays gentle.

''You have no idea how badly I want to say yes right now,'' he assures you, voice strained. ''But only if you're certain.''

You nod shyly. His thumb traces the edge of your lip, and for a second, he just stares at you.

''Promise me something,'' he says.

You blink. ''Okay.''

''If you ever feel uncomfortable, or like you're doing it just because you think you have to… I want you to stop. Just tell me. I'll listen.''

Your heart squeezes. ''I promise.''

He smiles softly. ''God, you're perfect,'' he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Then his voice drops. ''Fuck, I can't lie to you, baby. I've been dreaming about this. About your hands on me. Your mouth. Do you know how many cold showers I've had to take since meeting you? My water bill's gone through the roof,'' he groans.

You snort. ''You're ridiculous.''

''I'm serious!'' he insists, chuckling. ''You really don't know what you do to me, do you?''

You laugh again, your face heating, but something in about his honesty disarms you, makes you feel a little bolder. You shift closer, resting your hand gently on his bare chest, over the tattooed swallows and the nervous thud of his heart.

''Then maybe you should teach me,'' you say softly, looking up at him through your lashes. ''So I can help you the next time you've got... a problem, hm? Save some water.''

Harry groans again, dramatically, and rolls halfway onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow. ''You'll be the death of me.''

But when he looks at you again, there's something tender in his eyes. Adoration. Pride. And just a flicker of hunger that makes your stomach flutter in anticipation.

''Alright,'' he says, voice a little rough. ''I'll teach you.''

You nod, anticipation humming low in your belly as he leans in and kisses you, soft and slow, soothing your nerves. Your breath is already shallow when Harry gets comfortable against the pillows, the soft cotton of his sweatpants stretched, tented, and you can see now just how hard he is, thick, long, and straining beneath the fabric.

You glance at his face, and he's watching you. Patiently, eyes half-lidded but full of warmth. ''C'mere,'' he encourages quietly, and reaches for your hand, guiding it to rest over him again.

You tilt your head questioningly, and he nods briefly. ''Just here,'' he instructs, his voice scratchy with restraint. ''You feel me?''

You nod, lips parted in awe. You do feel him, all of him, heavy and hard under the soft cotton. Your fingers twitch slightly, instinctively curling, and the quiet, shaky breath that leaves him is nothing short of ruined. His eyes flutter closed for a second.

''Start slow,'' he whispers, tilting his head to look down until his forehead brushes your temple. ''Just… cup me. Like that, yeah.''

You do as he says, more confident now that his hand stays with yours. Your fingers adjust and you cradle him through the fabric, the shape of him unmistakable now. You don't know what you expected, but this is… a lot. He's so warm even through the clothes, and so hard that it makes your stomach flutter in ways you've never felt before.

''Good girl,'' he says absentmindedly, and a shiver runs down your spine at the praise, but if Harry notices, he doesn't comment on it. ''Slow, baby. Light pressure. Move your hand like this.''

His hand moves yours, showing you a rhythm, the kind of touch that makes his jaw clench and his hips twitch upward. Your body is laid sideways next to his, and when you glance up at him, his lips are parted and his chest is rising and falling faster, tattoos stretching with every breath. You feel your cheeks heat. You've never made anyone feel like this before. You've never had this kind of power.

''Does that feel okay?'' you ask softly.

His breath hitches. ''More than okay,'' he rasps. ''Fucking incredible.''

The way he says it makes you press your thighs together instinctively. You keep stroking him the way he taught you, watching the way his eyes darken, how the crease between his brows deepens, the way his mouth tugs downward in that desperate kind of pleasure.

You feel pride bloom in your chest. Maybe you don't know exactly what you're doing, but he seems to be falling apart anyway.

It's your hand, but it barely feels like yours with how new this is, how electrifying. You cup him gently, and he exhales hard through his nose. The heat of him seeps through the layers, pulsing, and your fingers twitch, trying to figure out what he reacts to best.

''Shit,'' he breathes, hips tipping up just a little. ''That feel okay for you, baby?''

You nod, too breathless to speak.

It's intoxicating, the way his cock twitches under your palm, responding to the smallest movement, the way his muscles go taut beneath the surface of his skin. You drag your hand along the ridge of him, slow and curious, and it pulls another sound from his chest, a low, breathy groan that settles deep in your spine.

And then his hand slips back over yours, guiding you over the fabric. ''Try this,'' he murmurs. ''Not too hard, yeah? Just enough to tease.''

You do as he says, moving a little slower now, more deliberately. He twitches in your hand again and curses under his breath. ''That's it. You're doin' so good, baby.''

His praise makes you feel warmer than anything else. You hadn't realized how badly you wanted to be good at this until now. You want to be good for him. The idea that you can make him feel this way, that you're the one unraveling him, it's heady, addictive.

He watches you for another beat. Then, gently, he brings your hand to the waistband of his sweatpants.

''Can I…?'' he asks.

You swallow hard. ''Yeah. Okay.''

He nods once, giving you a reassuring smile, and then carefully slides your hand underneath. The moment your fingers brush hot skin, your breath catches. There's no fabric separating you now, just burning heat and firm skin beneath your palm. He groans, biting down on his bottom lip like he's trying to keep it together, but his hips stutter and rise to meet your touch anyway, like he can't help it.

''Oh my god,'' you whisper.

When you finally wrap your fingers around him, skin to skin, it feels like the air leaves both your lungs at once. He lets out a moan, low and guttural, his head tipping back against the pillow. ''Fuck, baby…'' His chest heaves, muscles flexing. His lips part around a soft moan and then he throws his arm over his face, overwhelmed.

It's the sexiest thing you've ever seen.

''You're doing so good,'' he mumbles into the crook of his elbow. ''So fucking good for me.''

The praise hits you hard. You keep your strokes slow and steady, adjusting your hand the way he guides you, your movements growing more natural, more confident with every second. He's warm and heavy in your palm, and you can feel every subtle pulse, every twitch under your touch. He's so responsive to you. It's intoxicating. You can't help but wonder what he looks like underneath the fabric.

His arm slips away from his face, and he looks at you again, searching to make sure you're still okay. But when he just sees curiosity burning in your eyes, he chuckles softly. ''Want me to take them off, love?''

You nod bashfully.

Slowly, he shifts his hips, hooking his thumbs into his waistband, and pulls his sweatpants down just far enough to free himself. You freeze.

Your mouth goes dry. ''Jesus,'' you whisper, stunned. ''How is that supposed to fit inside of me?''

That gets a huff of laughter from him, but when you glance up, he's biting down on the inside of his cheek, like he's trying not to smirk.

''Thanks, baby. Y'alright? We can stop if this makes you uneasy, love,'' he says with an amused smile.

''No! No,'' you say quickly, though your face is still burning. ''I'm just… surprised, is all. And maybe a little intimidated. You're...'' you trail off pointedly, biting your lip in embarrassment.

Harry's face splits into a grin so smug it borders on cocky, and his chest puffs out slightly. You see it, the pride, but he reins it in immediately, choosing instead to cup your cheek.

''We'll figure it out together when we get there,'' he promises, his voice velvet and reassuring. ''We've got time. No rush.''

You nod, eyes wide as you look down again. His hand returns to yours, helping you find the right rhythm again, the right amount of pressure. He's a mess for you in seconds, breath stuttering, eyes squeezed shut. His fingers flex in the sheets beside him.

''Fuck, baby,'' he groans. ''Don't stop. You're doing so fucking good. Look at you.''

You can't look away from his face, his flushed cheeks, the shine on his collarbone, the way his Adam's apple bobs with every desperate breath. He's beautiful like this. Raw. Real.

And the fact that you're the one making him fall apart makes something fierce bloom in your chest.

You look down. He's so much bigger than you expected. Thick and long and hot in your hand, silky-soft skin over rock-hard muscle, and the size of him alone has your brain reeling. You blink a few times, watching your hand slowly move over him. It's almost hypnotic.

He notices your gaze and strains to lift his head, a choked moan escaping his parted lips at the sight below him. His brows pinch together as he watches the way you please him. When you speed up slightly, he presses a quick, appreciative kiss to your temple before dropping back into the pillows with a loud groan.

''That's good, baby,'' he breathes. ''So good. Keep goin' like that, just—yeah, there.''

He's a mess already, sweating lightly, those gorgeous tattoos of his rising and falling with every breath. His abs contract every time you stroke a little tighter, a little faster.

''God, you've got no idea what you do to me,'' he curses.

You glance up, heart stuttering at the sight of him. His head is tipped back, exposing his sharp jawline, one hand resting on his chest, the other gripping the bedsheets, knuckles white. His breath is ragged, little hitches in his throat every time you stroke down to the base. You can't stop looking at him. He's everything at once: powerful and undone, masculine and gentle, controlled and unraveling.

All because of you. And that knowledge makes you bolder.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. His breath catches, then spills out in a broken ''Jesus.''

You smile against his skin.

He drops one hand to your wrist, not to stop you, just to slow you down, to anchor himself. His eyes open again, and when they find yours, there's something unspoken there. Gratitude. Awe. Maybe a little disbelief, too, like he still can't believe you're real and not a fantasy he's made up in his mind on a lonely night.

''Just... just need to catch my breath. You okay?'' he asks carefully, barely above a whisper.

You nod, biting your lip, fingers still moving steadily. ''You?''

''On the edge,'' he says with a chuckle that bleeds into a moan when you squeeze him gently. ''Shit. I'm close. I don't want to... I don't want this to be over yet. Wanna stay in this moment forever,'' he rambles.

You press your forehead lightly to his shoulder, overwhelmed in the best way. You never thought giving could feel like this.

You've slowed down your movements at his instruction, your hand loose and wet around him, dragging in slow strokes that let him breathe again, let him hold on just a little longer.

One of his arms is slung across his face, mouth open with a shaky breath, and every now and then, when you hit a rhythm or twist your wrist the way he likes, a curse slips from his lips.

You watch him like he's art, tattoos shifting over his skin with every inhale, that crease between his brows digging in deeper. He's beautiful like this, and you don't want it to end either.

But curiosity burns through your chest like a forest fire, and he had told you that you could ask him anything you wanted to know. You shift closer, eyes flicking up to his face. ''Harry?''

His arm slides off his face immediately, revealing flushed cheeks and soft, concerned eyes. ''Yeah, baby?''

You hesitate. ''Does it… feel good when someone uses their mouth?''

The question makes his eyebrows jump, and for a second he just blinks at you, dazed. ''You mean a blowjob?''

You nod shyly, heart pounding.

''Yeah,'' he says slowly, cautiously. ''Yeah, they can feel really good. Why do you ask?''

''I've seen it in movies. Guys always seem to really like it.'' You glance at him, cheeks warm in the dim light. ''Do you?''

He exhales slowly, gaze drifting upward to the ceiling, as though considering how to answer honestly without overwhelming you. ''Yeah. It's… it's really nice.''

''I wanna try,'' you admit, barely above a whisper. ''Will you teach me?''

Harry sits up straighter, instantly more alert. ''Love. You don't have to. Seriously.'' His hand finds your wrist, and gently stills it. ''You've already done so much tonight. We don't have to rush anything.''

''I know,'' you tell him, and you do. ''But I want to. I just… I keep thinking about it. I want to know what it's like.''

He watches you for a long beat, breathing hard, like he's trying to gauge if this is really what you want or if you're just trying to be generous. ''You sure?''

You nod. ''I trust you.''

That makes something flicker in his expression.

Still, he hesitates. ''Alright, but we're going to take it slow. You tell me if anything feels wrong or uncomfortable, yeah? Just squeeze my thigh, or say you want to stop, and I'll back off.''

''Okay,'' you whisper, shifting onto your knees, your palms braced beside his thighs.

''Can I hold your hair back?' he asks for your permission. ''Just to keep it out of your face, baby.''

You nod again, and he reaches forward to delicately gather it into a loose ponytail in his hand. It's surprisingly tender, the way he gathers your strands, thumb brushing the back of your neck. It makes your stomach flip, nerves flaring.

''Start with your hand again,'' he instructs softly. ''Nice and easy, like before.''

You wrap your hand around him again, fingers trembling a little, but he's already twitching against your palm. You glance up at him for reassurance, and he gives you the softest smile, nodding once.

''Just lick the tip first,'' he tells you, voice gone hoarse.

You close the gap and drag your lips along the underside in a soft, feather-light kiss at first. Your cheeks are warm with nerves, but Harry's encouraging grunt makes your confidence grow.

''That's it… good girl.''

The words hit something in your chest. You lean back in, tongue flicking experimentally over the head of him, tasting salt and skin and something deeper. It's strange, but not bad. He groans, hips shifting subtly beneath you, and you feel the tremor run through his thighs. You keep going, tentative licks and kisses, building your confidence as he murmurs encouragements, his voice wrecked and reverent.

''You're doing so good,'' he breathes. ''Feels fucking incredible, angel.''

You wrap your lips around him slowly, taking him shallow at first, cheeks hollowed. It's more than you expected, thick and heavy on your tongue, but you take your time, getting used to the new sensation. Harry's breathing gets rougher, his hand tightening ever so slightly in your hair. He's not pushing, not guiding, just grounding himself. You like knowing you have that kind of effect on him.

But then, as you grow bolder and take him a little deeper, his hips buck at the sudden pleasure. You gag, eyes watering instantly as you pull back with a surprised sound, coughing lightly.

''Fuck! Fuck, I'm sorry,” Harry blurts, immediately sitting up and reaching for you, his face filled with panic. ''I didn't mean to. I swear, baby. Are you okay?''

You nod, eyes still watering, hand on your chest as you catch your breath. He's already brushing your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead, his whole body practically vibrating with guilt.

''That was too much,'' he says, clearly shaken. ''Let's stop. You've done enough for today.''

But you grab his wrist. ''No,'' you say, voice soft but steady. ''I want to keep going. Let me try again.''

He stares at you suspicious, brows lifting. ''You sure?''

''Mhm. Just maybe don't shove it down my throat this time?'' you joke, trying to lift the mood.

A beat of silence, then a laugh slips out of him. ''Duly noted.''

You grin, leaning back in, and this time it's smoother. You find a rhythm, guided by the whimpered moans and muttered praises leaving his lips. His hand stays in your hair, occasionally brushing the back of your neck or guiding you just a little. You feel powerful, beautiful, despite how new it all is.

At one point, his free hand covers his eyes again, and his stomach flexes so hard you have a feeling he'll be sore tomorrow morning. He mutters your name like a prayer, hips subtly rocking into your mouth. ''So good,'' he pants. ''Fuck, darlin', you're so good at this. Can't believe this is your first time. You're a natural, love.''

You hum around him, and the vibration from the sound makes him curse under his breath.

He's breathing hard, thighs tense under your hands, and then he gasps. ''Gonna come, baby, get off if you don't wanna—''

But you don't move. You look up at him with wide, determined eyes, and keep going.

''Shit,'' he curses under his breath when you look up at him through your lashes. ''You're so fucking stubborn—''

He breaks with a sound that wrecks you, long and guttural. His hand tightens in your hair, his whole body shuddering as he spills into your mouth, and you do your best, swallowing carefully, surprised by the heat and taste. You pull off when he hisses from the overstimulation, and he falls back against the pillows like he's been hit by lightning, chest rising and falling in deep, ragged breaths.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and crawl up next to him, shy again, suddenly unsure. ''Was that… okay?''

''Baby, I think I saw heaven.''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices @fangirl509east @sstylezzz @hontpwk @lichi-dunkera @prettygurl-2009 @violinheartxx @gotthecinema @ghstyles @triski73

teach me slowly series tag list

@maddiesalvatore1839 @mleestiles @imaginexxharry @litlmisss @billweasleyswife @rockmelikeahurricaneee @nikkihs

...

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bodybaggage · 10 months ago

Text

Monthly Phantom Check Up

Frostbite, Danny’s overly enthusiastic yeti doctor, shows up at the Watchtower for a surprise check-up, and things get awkward fast.

———

The Watchtower was in chaos. It wasn’t a typical day of chaos—no alien invasions or time-traveling villains—but something far more uncomfortable. Frostbite, Danny Phantom’s towering Yeti doctor and self-proclaimed “Master of Ghost Medicine,” had arrived unannounced. His massive, fur-covered frame loomed in the main meeting room as he carefully unpacked a series of glowing, intimidating medical instruments.

Superman leaned over to Wonder Woman, voice low. “Is this... normal?”

Wonder Woman’s brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t think this falls under the usual protocol for supernatural beings.”

Across the room, Danny Phantom stood in all his half-dead glory—or rather, slouched in defeat, wearing a hoodie that seemed far too large for his ghostly frame. He was clearly trying to shrink away from the entire situation, one pale hand covering his face in mortification.

“Frostbite,” Danny hissed in a hushed whisper, “you couldn’t have waited until we got back to the Ghost Zone?”

Frostbite beamed, oblivious to Danny’s pleading. “Nonsense, Great One! Your health is of utmost importance, and I detected a slight imbalance in your ectoplasmic core. It must be addressed immediately!”

Batman stood against the wall, eyes narrowing as he watched the scene unfold. “Ectoplasmic core?”

Frostbite nodded solemnly as he began to prepare an absurdly long, glowing probe. “Indeed, Batman. The Great One is half-ghost, and thus, his core requires regular maintenance. There are many nuances to his biology that need tending to.”

Danny groaned. “Oh, Ancients, kill me now…”

The Justice League—gathered for what they thought was going to be a strategy meeting—could only look on in awkward silence. Aquaman coughed and pretended to adjust his trident. Green Lantern pulled up a holographic projection of the solar system, which he stared at intensely despite not needing to. Flash, of course, was barely containing his laughter, lips twitching every time Frostbite said something ridiculous.

“Now,” Frostbite continued, holding up a glowing vial of something green and gooey, “the first concern is the ectoplasm imbalance. Too much exposure to the Ghost Zone can cause buildup, which leads to... ah, let’s say, irregularities.”

Superman cleared his throat. “Irregularities?”

Frostbite nodded gravely. “Yes. In the human digestive system, it might be compared to... indigestion. But in ghosts, it manifests as random phasing, ectoplasmic leakage, and occasional transformation into a much more terrifying version of oneself.”

Superman blinked. “That sounds... worse than indigestion.”

“Oh, much worse!” Frostbite said brightly, not catching the sarcasm. “Especially during ghost puberty. It’s when the ghost’s core is developing at its most volatile stage.”

Danny’s entire face turned bright red. “Frostbite! Seriously?!”

“Ghost... puberty?” Batman echoed, voice laced with what could only be described as grim fascination.

“Indeed!” Frostbite said, now fully in doctor mode. “The Great One is well past that stage, but it’s important to note that ghost puberty can last several decades for some. Phantom’s transformations would have been wildly unpredictable for years, often triggered by emotional stress or large quantities of fast food.”

Flash actually lost it at that, letting out a snort and quickly covering his mouth. “Sorry, sorry! Just—did you say fast food?”

Danny rubbed his temples. “Yes. I went through my ‘ghost puberty’ eating burgers and stressing about math tests. Can we move on?”

Frostbite chuckled warmly. “Ah, yes. The human world does have its unique challenges for the Great One. Now, the next matter—”

“There’s more?” Danny wailed, half considering flying straight through the floor and never coming back.

“Oh, yes!” Frostbite said with far too much enthusiasm. He turned to the League. “His dual nature also means his ghost half sometimes conflicts with his human immune system. It’s a fascinating process! For example, Danny can phase through objects, but if he catches a human cold, it throws his phasing abilities off and he might accidentally phase into a wall and get stuck.”

The room went silent.

Batman stared at Danny. “You’ve... phased into a wall?”

Danny gritted his teeth, wishing for the sweet release of invisibility. “I was twelve, okay? And yes, I got stuck. It was fine.”

“Mostly fine,” Frostbite corrected, waving around a spectral thermometer. “There was that one time we had to extract you from a particularly thick brick wall in Amity Park. Took several hours.”

Wonder Woman, who had remained silent up until this point, exchanged a concerned glance with Superman. “Is this something we should... prepare for?”

Danny shot them both an exasperated look. “No. I’m not going to phase into the Watchtower’s walls. Probably.”

“Unless his ectoplasmic levels are low,” Frostbite added cheerfully. “Which is why this check-up is vital!”

As Frostbite pulled out what looked suspiciously like a ghost-themed blood pressure cuff, Danny gave up. “I’m going to die—again.”

Flash wiped away a tear of laughter, his shoulders still shaking. “This is the best day of my life. I didn’t know ghost puberty was a thing.”

“I’ll send you my research papers,” Frostbite said kindly. “There’s a great deal of fascinating biology involved!”

Danny, ignoring everyone, shot a glare at Batman, who was watching all this with far too much interest. “Don’t even think about adding this to my file.”

Batman didn’t respond, though his fingers twitched ever so slightly toward his utility belt.

Frostbite, oblivious to the ongoing awkwardness, finished prepping his tools. “Now, Great One, if you could just sit still. This next part involves extracting ectoplasmic residue from your pores—”

“I’m phasing through the floor,” Danny muttered, promptly sinking halfway through the Watchtower’s pristine floor, only his head remaining visible. “See you guys never.”

The Justice League stood in stunned silence as Frostbite packed away his tools with a serene smile.

“Very well,” Frostbite said. “I’ll schedule the next check-up for next month. Goodbye, Justice League!”

And with that, the massive Yeti doctor vanished through a portal, leaving the League standing there, trying to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

Superman finally turned to Danny, whose head was still poking out of the floor.

“Danny... you okay?”

Danny didn’t respond, choosing instead to fully disappear beneath the floor.

Flash wheezed. “I love that kid.”

#dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #danny phantom #justice league #dpxdc #flash is a lil shit #older danny au

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wendichester · 4 months ago

Note

Can I ask for a small imagine/oneshot/drabble of Dean listening to his autistic s/o ramble about their special interest in animals and his s/o genuinely gets so excited that Dean is actually listening to her because in the past her ex-boyfriends always dismissed her rambled or told her to stop because it annoyed them :(

ೀ⋆｡˚ funfact,

summary. dean could listen to you talk for hours. literally

pairing. dean winchester x autistic!reader

wordcount. 427

notes. thank you so much for requesting this lovie! hope you like it 🩷

Dean never thought listening could feel like a privilege.

But then, there’s you. Sitting cross-legged on the motel bed, eyes shining, hands moving wildly as you talk about animal behaviors like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. To you, it is the most fascinating thing in the world. And to Dean—well, watching you light up like this is becoming one of his favorite things.

"And did you know octopuses can change color not just for camouflage but to express emotions? Like, scientists think they might use it as a form of language!" You pause just long enough to catch your breath before diving right back in. "And crows? Crows are insane! They can recognize human faces, solve puzzles, and even hold grudges! Imagine pissing off a crow and having an entire murder after you for life. That’s so cool."

Dean grins, chin resting on his hand as he watches you. "You got a hit list of crows somewhere I should know about?"

You giggle, rocking slightly as you continue. "Not yet, but if I did, you’d be safe. Probably."

He chuckles, shaking his head. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t zone out. He just listens. And you notice.

Somewhere between explaining the difference between jaguar and leopard rosettes, it hits you—he’s still looking at you. Still engaged. Actually listening. Not faking it. Not zoning out. Not shifting uncomfortably like he’s waiting for you to shut up.

Your voice falters. "You... you’re not bored?"

Dean frowns like the thought is ridiculous. "What? No. Why would I be bored?"

You hesitate, fingers twisting in the blanket. "Most people don’t... like it when I ramble. My exes used to tell me to stop. Said it was annoying."

Dean’s expression darkens, jaw tightening. "Yeah? Well, your exes sound like idiots."

Your breath hitches.

He softens immediately, reaching for your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. "Sweetheart, you get so excited about this stuff. It’s adorable. And, I mean, you actually know your shit. I’ve learned more about animals in the last ten minutes than I have my whole damn life."

Your face warms. "Really?"

Dean squeezes your hand. "Really. Now, tell me more about those killer crows. Kinda feel like we should be watching our backs."

A beaming smile spreads across your face, and you dive right back in—because he wants to hear. Because he listens. Because for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like you’re too much.

And Dean? Dean just leans back, watching you, thinking he’d listen to you talk forever if you’d let him.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @bejeweledinterludes ( continues in the comments )

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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rotapathetic · 3 months ago

Text

⧼⠀𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 .ᐟ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐄 ┆𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𖥟

awkward flusteredness ะ mild creep behavior ะ worried inner monologue ะ pathetic.ᐟrafe introduction ะ

your friend shoved your arm for the third time, you rolling your eyes, turning to look at her, “would you stop?” your friend only chuckled in return, “did you hear me? look at him, is he asleep? in public?” she laughed.

you scrunched your brows, looking to where her eyes were focused. the boy did look to be asleep. hunched over, head low. but you saw the fidgeting of his fingers on the table top. why was he alone?

“you should go talk to him. bet he’s fun to chat with,” your friend joked. you looked over to her, upset, “you’re seriously rude. i’m going over and i’m not coming back,” you stood from your chair, making your away across the floor to where the guy sat.

you twiddled your fingers, not knowing what to say since he didn’t notice you yet. you let out a little, “ahem,” his head snapping up at the sound. gosh, he was cute. why hide that face? the boy startled, staring at you for a few seconds, before looking behind you. you furrowed a brow. was he looking for someone who was recording the interaction?

you ignored the thought, instead greeting him, “hi. it’s probably weird to say i was watching you, but i saw you hunched and wanted to say that’s probably uncomfortable and ask if you wanted someone to talk to?”

he was a quiet one. he fiddled with the sleeves of his long sleeve, rubbing the back of his neck. he placed his hands back on the table when he thought that was a weird thing to do with his hands. he made fists then un scrunched them, lying his palms flat on the table, all while staring ahead at nothing. to you, this was all happening in silence. to him, his brain was so loud, he would be surprised you couldn’t hear.

pretty girl. don’t do that with your hands. ask her if she wants to sit. why would she sit with me? i don’t think it’s a joke. she’s really pretty. does she have a boyfriend? where is he?

“or not . . sorry, i’ll go . . ” you were a step away when rafe spoke up, “please don’t,” and it was enough to make you quickly turn back around, not wanting to leave him either, “i mean . . you can sit if you want.”

her outfit is really pretty. is that her favorite color? what else does she like? does she like the way i look? does she want me to change anything?

rafe ran a hand over his head at the thought. you introduced yourself, asking for his name. when he spoke too low, you asked him to repeat it, “rafe,” he said a little louder, sliding lower in his seat when he thought he was too loud. you slightly smiled, “rafe . . i like that name. are you here with anyone, rafe?”

what he wouldn’t do to hear you say his name over and over. how could he get you to stay so you can keep saying it? he was too busy thinking to respond to your question, quickly remembering you asked something, “um . . no. i was supposed to meet with someone, but it’s been an hour and i thought maybe they’ll still show up, and i probably shouldn’t be saying this, that’s super embarrassing,” he dropped his head, burying his head in his hands.

you frowned, “only super embarrassing for whoever that person is. they’re missing out on getting to know a great guy. a pretty cute guy . . ” rafe was great at hiding his emotions, but they flared up wildly inside of him at the compliment.

you thought he was cute, that meant you liked him, right? did you want him to be your boyfriend? he should compliment you back. how pretty your guys’ eye colors are together, which is a sign of a pretty couple. how incomparable you look to the moon shining behind you. how pretty you would look chained to his side so you wouldn’t leave.

he was silent the entire time while thinking, finally remembering to respond, blurting out a response, “you’re pretty too,” you smiled shyly, “thanks . . so i guess it would also be pretty cool to get your number, maybe?” you felt awkward too, but not as much as rafe.

he quickly pulled out his phone, handing you the device. it was a older model, something you haven’t seen in a few years. you smiled at how him it was, entering your number, “okay. i’m heading home now . . i’ll text you later,” you waved timidly, leaving the table, not before turning to look back once more. rafe was still staring intensely at you.

you didn’t need to know rafe quickly went to his place after you, gripping his phone on the way back, then waiting patiently in his room by his phone for your text.

#▍❙ pathetic ✟͏ 🦷 rafe ㅤ⁝ㅤ is online ⌕ .. ༝#rafe cameron x y/n #rafe blurb #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron

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sturnioz · 4 months ago

Text

─────── ꒰ THE FRAT WEDDING SERIES ꒱ 4, final.

the aftermath of the frat wedding event between shy!reader and fratboy!chris.

꒰ part one ꒱ ꒰ part two ꒱ ꒰ part three ꒱

"it's okay. i'm fine now," you reassure softly, even though your voice still wavers slightly. sniffling, you let out a small, shaky breath as kitty and bee continue to fuss over you; bee gently gabbing your eyes with a tissue, careful not to smudge what's left of your makeup, while kitty works on reapplying it.

you're seated in a garden chair far from the chaos of the main event, tucked away in a quieter part of the garden. the muffle sounds of drunk people and overplayed music echo faintly in the background, and from where you sit, you can still see the mess unfolding.

the crowd is a lot more rowdier now—people stumbling around, drinks sloshing out of their cups and staining clothes, the unmistakable smell of weed lingering in the air and other substances are seen being passed around.

you try your best to tune it all out, but it's difficult.

for the first time, you're desperately wishing that everyone here gets fucked up enough to the point that they'll forget what happened... although the words from before replay in your mind on a cruel loop, and the thought of those phones—how everyone was recording everything—makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

you swallow the heavy lump in your throat, forcing yourself to keep it together.

a gentle nudge against your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts, and you glance up to see matt beside you, holding out a glass of water. his expression is calm but kind, and you offer him a grateful smile as you take the glass from his hands and sip.

nick sits on your other side, his face stoic, his gazed fixed ahead at the ongoing party. he hasn't said much, which is strange to you. beside him, nate sits with his leg bouncing rapidly, his teeth gnawing anxiously at his nails, seemingly deep in thought.

just as kitty and bee finish touching up your makeup, you flinch slightly as nate suddenly pushing himself up from his chair with so much force that it topples over behind him, the sound making everyone turn their heads toward him.

"alright. i gotta confess—fuck," nate blurts out, his hands flying to his hair as he yanks off the ridiculous pink flamingo glasses he's been wearing all night. his movements are frantic, and he begins to pace, rubbing his hands together like he's trying to calm himself down.

everyone watches him, and you furrow your eyebrows, frowning at his words. but you stay quiet, waiting for him to confess whatever he needed.

"shit, okay, look," he continues, his voice shaky as he talks. "this entire wedding event shit? it was rigged from the start. but hear me out, 'kay? 'cos i feel fuckin' terrible right now. my hearts racin' 'n shit, i feel like i'm about to pass out or somethin'."

your frown deepens, confusion swirling in your chest as you try to piece together what he's saying.

"me 'n a few of the other frat brothers," he gestures wildly with his hands as he speaks. "we only put chris' name in one of the hats—like, only his name a bunch of times. 'cos we thought it'd be funny if he got picked, y'know? sometimes it's funny gettin' him all riled up 'n shit."

you blink at him, his words slowly starting to sink in.

"there... then there's the other hat. the one for the girls," he mutters quietly, licking at his lips nervously. "we thought about puttin' your name in a bunch of times, just so you'd definitely get picked too for some fun. but i felt bad 'cos i know you don't like attention or being in the spotlight or whatever, i didn't want to do that to you."

nate has to pause for a moment to inhale deeply, losing air from talking to fast as he tries his best to explain everything to you.

"so, we only put your name in once—just once... but you still got picked."

you stare at him, your mind racing to process everything he's said. a part of you wants to say something—to ask him why they all thought any of this was a good idea... but the words get stuck in your throat.

"i just..." nate sighs heavily, dragging a hand down his face before letting it fall limp at his side. "i just feel like this is all my fault, y'know? maybe if i wasn't so adamant on only puttin' chris' name in the hat for laughs, or maybe if i didn't put your name in at all, this whole shit wouldn't have happened. none of this would've happened."

he stops pacing now, standing still for the first time since he started talking. his shoulders slump, and his gaze drops to the ground as he mutters.

"i'm sorry, bun. i really fuckin' am."

you're not sure how to respond—not yet, not while everything nate's said is still settling in your mind. the confession feels like a little jab to the gut, sharp and unexpected, leaving a slight ache behind.

you glance at the others, somewhat hoping someone will say something first, but no one speaks right away.

kitty's lips are pressed into a thin line, while matt's rubbing at tense jaw. nick remains stoic, his face unreadable, and bee shifts, her gaze flicking between you and nate, like she doesn't know what to say or do.

"i knew," nick suddenly speaks up, breaking the silence. his voice is quiet, laced with guilt and frustration (mostly at himself). "i knew it was rigged, but i didn't say anything. i should've, but i didn't, because i was hoping it'd be something fun for all of us. but i know chris, so i should've known he'd pull some dumb fucking shit like that. i'm sorry too, bun."

before you can respond, matt speaks up, his voice steady but low. "i also knew," he admits, and your eyes widen slightly in surprise even as kitty nods beside him, admitting she knew too. "like nick said, i thought this would be a fun lil' thing for all of us. but i know chris too. i know the shit he does, so i should've known better... should've known he'd say what he said. i'm sorry."

your eyes slowly flit over to bee, waiting for her to confess something—anything. and for a moment, she hesitates, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

"i didn't know..." she finally says, shaking her head, her voice soft and sorrowful. "i didn't know it was rigged. if i did, i would've said something..."

you remain silent, letting their confessions hang over you. one by one, their voices linger in your mind, each apology adding to the weight that's pressing down harshly against your chest. you can see how sorry they are—how much they regret letting this happen—and despite everything, you know their intentions weren't malicious.

after a long pause, you finally breath, your fingers gripping the edge of your chair as you process your thoughts.

"i'm... not mad at you," you say softly, glancing up at them, your eyes flicking from one face to another. "any of you. i'm not mad at any of you."

they seem to slightly ease up at your words, but the tension doesn't disappear entirely.

"i'm just..." you pause, swallowing hard as that lump in your throat returns. "i'm embarrassed, that's all. i'm embarrassed about what chris said. he didn't have to make it so... public. it's so humiliating, it wasn't funny at all, it—" you stop yourself, shaking your head as your hands curl into fists as the emotions run through you. "it made me feel so awful."

the group falls silent, the weight of your words now settling over them. you wonder if they can see the way your chest tightens, the way the memory of chris' words still make your stomach churn with embarrassment.

nate swears under his breath, pacing back and forth again as if he can't sit still with the guilt eating away at him while bee squeezes herself into the chair beside you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight embrace as she murmurs soft apologies into your ear.

you feel yourself relax, just a little, leaning into her as you rest your cheek against her shoulder. you're not mad at them, but the fact that the majority of them knew about how the event had been rigged and didn't tell you? that stings a little.

you do understand why they didn't though. they wanted to have a good event—well, hoped to have a good event... but at the same time, you can't help but think they should've reconsidered, especially knowing how chris is.

it's a little past midnight when you decide you've had enough, and you find yourself in chris' room, toeing off your shoes and placing them neatly to the side.

you don't really want to say here tonight. if you're honest, you want nothing more than to go home, curl up in your own bed, and forget this entire night ever happened. completely block it out of your memory. but with no way of getting back to your apartment and with nick already gone, you don't have much of a choice.

you should've left with nick. why didn't you?

you shake your head at your stupidity, pushing the thought away as you pad over to the dresser. you pull open the top drawer and begin to rummage through it for your pyjamas, keeping yourself busy to avoid thinking too much.

but the sound of the door opening makes you freeze, and that familiar scent of cologne fills the room. you don't even have to look to know it's chris.

you don't speak, keeping your eyes focussed on the drawer as you pull out a shirt. it's easier to pretend you don't notice him, easier to keep yourself occupied rather than facing him.

"what is it?" his voice startles you, sharp and blunt, and you glance over your shoulder to see him standing by his bed, untying his tie with that familiar annoyed expression on his face. his eyes are fixed on you, and when you don't respond, he pushes further. "huh? what is it?"

you blink, your fingers curling tightly around the fabric of the shirt in your hands. "what are you..."

"you've been weird with me all night, kid," he cuts you off as he yanks the tie off and tosses it carelessly onto the bed. "think i didn't notice you pullin' some runaway bride bullshit?"

you swallow thickly as you turn back to toward the dresser, "you're not funny." you mutter under your breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

"m'not tryin' to be," chris scoffs, his fingers moving to unbutton his shirt. "you gonna tell me what the fuck is goin' on? or you just gonna keep sulkin' all night?"

the word sulking makes your throat tight, and you take a deep breathing, trying to keep your emotions in check. but the humiliation from earlier comes rushing back like a tidal wave.

you can feel the warmth rising in your face, and the tightness in your chest makes it harder to breathe.

you don't want to do this—not right now, not tonight—but chris is standing there, waiting for an answer.

turning slowly, you face him, your fingers still clutching the shirt in your hands as his gaze locks onto yours, and you feel yourself waver under the weight of it.

"you really don't know?" you say finally, your voice quieter than you intended it to be.

chris raises his brow at you, "know what?"

"forget it," you murmur, turning back around. you don't trust yourself to explain it without your voice breaking, and the last thing you want it to spill tears in front of him.

"nah, don't pull that shit," he says, his tone sharper now. "if you've got a problem, just fuckin' say it."

"okay," you find yourself surprisingly snapping, despite your voice trembling slightly. "you... you humiliated me, chris. in front of everyone, you made me look like—like some joke..."

chris doesn't respond right away, his expression unreadable as he stares at you.

"i—i get it, okay?" you continue, unable to stop your rambling. "this whole thing was supposed to be stupid and fun, and i know you hated doing it, but you didn't have to say all that stuff... you didn't have to make it so public and so embarrassing for me," you take a shaky breath, your voice turning softer now. "it wasn't funny. it just... it made me feel awful."

chris exhales through his nose, "you're takin' this way too personally, kid. everyone knows the fuckin' shit we do, yeah? everyone knows we're hooking up so i dunno why you're makin' it such a big deal. it's not that deep."

"you don't get it," you whisper, shaking your head. "i.. i know that people know. i'm not stupid. but it doesn't mean—you can't just—we—"

you stop yourself, your words faltering under the weight of his stare. his head tilts slightly, his brow arching like he's waiting for you to finish.

so, you take another breath, trying to steady yourself before continuing, "you can't just talk about me like that in front of everyone... even if they already know, even if they assume stuff.. it's still humiliating to hear you say it in front of them."

chris is just watching you now, his expression unreadable with his hands shoved into his pockets like he's waiting for you to stop talking so he can continue with the night.

the silence stretches between you, and the longer it lasts, the warmer your face feels with embarrassment. you bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry again and make a fool out of yourself.

and then, chris exhales deeply, tilting his head back slightly, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. for a moment, you think he's just going to brush it off again—shrug it away with some dismissive remark about you being too sensitive or dramatic.

but then, he speaks.

"i..." his voice is low, hesitant, like he's testing the word before fully committing to you. it comes out slow, uneven. "i'm... i'm sorry, 'kay?"

the words sound awkward, almost foreign coming from him, and you can't help but stare at him with wide eyes.

chris glances at you, his gaze meeting yours for just a second before flicking away again. his jaw tightens, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. his eyebrows furrow slightly, and his hands twitch at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them.

it's obviously clear he's uncomfortable—like this apology is something he's struggling with, something unspoken clawing at his mind but never quite making it out.

"i didn't mean..." he trails off, his words faltering as he shifts in place. his shoulders tense up, and you can see the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard. but instead, he huffs, his lips pressing into a thin line. "didn't mean t'make you embarrassed, s'all."

he doesn't look at you this time. his eyes are fixed on the wall, his expression unreadable. you can tell he's struggling a lot as apologises don't come easy to chris—not like this anyway. you know he's not the type to open up and be vulnerable with his words, and it's obvious he's already pushed himself further than he's comfortable with.

still, there's something in his voice, in the stiffness of his frame, that tells you this is as close to genuine as it gets from him. it's blunt, awkward, and faaaar from perfect. but it's chris, and you're aware how hard it must've been for him to even say this much.

"thank you for apologising..." you murmur to him softly, and chris lets out a low grunt as his hand moves to rub at his jaw, the tension still evident in his movements.

he doesn’t wait to hear if you’ll accept his apology or not as he turns away, his shoulders stiff, and he starts to unbutton the rest of his shirt. the fabric is tossed carelessly onto his desk chair, and he works at his belt next, his focus fixed on the task like it's an excuse to avoid looking at you.

when he's finally down to his boxers, he slumps into bed without another word—just the faint creak of the mattress as he settles in, his back turned to you.

you can see the way his shoulders remain tense even as he lies there. he looks like he's trying to retreat, to bury himself in the quiet and force himself to go to sleep, and you can't help but begin to wonder if the apology took more out of him that he'd ever admit.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

#©sturnioz #☆ fratboy!chris #☆ shy!reader #꒰ fratboy!chris x shy!reader prompt ꒱

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cipheress-to-k-pop · 15 days ago

Text

beauty and the beast pt.2 (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: Alternative Title - Mattheo Riddle in the Great Kitten Adventure

A/N: This was just wildly self indulgent and a compilation of all the deleted scenes from the first part tbh

Part 1

The room was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that made you uncomfortable, wanting to fill the silence with meaningless babble. The silence that didn't make you overthink but instead lulled you into a white tranquil.

The fire had burned low in the hearth, casting soft gold across the green-and-silver sheets tangled around your legs. Rain tapped gently on the windows now, the storm long since passed. And in the warm silence of the Slytherin dorm, you lay curled against Mattheo’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

His hand traced slow, absent-minded circles across your back, like he couldn’t stop touching you—even now, even after everything. Like he was still convincing himself you were real. That you were here. That he hadn’t lost you for good.

Your fingers danced lightly over the edge of his collarbone, and you felt him shift slightly beneath you. One eye cracked open, heavy-lidded and warm with sleep.

“You’re staring.” He murmured, voice thick with the kind of softness he rarely let anyone see.

“You’re beautiful.” You whispered back.

That made him blink—really blink, like he was trying to reset his brain. His mouth twitched at the corner, caught between a smile and something more fragile. Something unsure.

You’d been apart for a month. Thirty-one days. Seven-hundred-forty-four hours.

And even now, tangled in each other again like nothing had ever come between you, something heavy hung in the space between your ribs. Unspoken. Unsettled. You could feel it waiting, coiled like a question in his chest.

It came as soon as his fingers stilled on your back.

“…Can I ask you something?”

You swallowed, “Yeah.”

His voice was quiet. Careful. “Why did you break up with me?”

Your entire body tensed before you could stop it.

He noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed.

“I’m not mad,” He added quickly, “I swear I’m not. I just…”

He exhaled, shaky, “I’ve been thinking about it every night since it happened. Wondering if I did something. If the guys said something. If I said something. If I—if I made you feel like you weren’t enough. Like you weren’t what I wanted. And I hate that I don’t know.”

You sat up slowly, wrapping the sheets around yourself, suddenly chilled despite the fire. His eyes searched yours in the dim light, wide and unguarded in a way that made your heart ache.

“I overheard something,” You said softly, the words tasting like old shame, “Some girls. I don’t even know their names.”

He went still.

“They were talking about how I couldn’t keep up with you. That it was only a matter of time. That I was just your… corruption kink. That I couldn’t give you what you really wanted.”

The room went dead quiet.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

Mattheo hadn’t said anything. Not yet. He just stared at you, his jaw clenched so tight you thought he might actually snap. His fists were tangled in the sheets now, white-knuckled, like they were the only thing keeping him from flying out of the bed and straight into the dungeons to track them down.

“…I’m gonna kill them.”

Your breath hitched, “Matty—”

“No, I’m serious.” His voice shook with rage, but it was still soft, like he didn’t want to startle you, “Who was it? Just give me one name. I’ll unhinge their jaws since their mouths are of no fucking use.”

You looked down, eyes stinging, “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.”

His head snapped toward you, “Baby, don’t do that.”

He sat up, voice rising—frustrated, not at you, but for you.

“Don’t do that. Don’t protect them. Don’t let them get away with making you feel like you weren’t enough. These bitches ruined my life for a month. They made you cry. They made you leave. I am entitled to some revenge.”

You gave a soft, tearful laugh, but it faded quickly.

“Matty, really…”

Your fingers twisted in the sheets.

“It wouldn’t have bothered me so much if… if it didn’t feel true,” You admitted, “That’s the worst part. It felt true. I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I don’t know the things other girls do. I haven’t—”

You broke off, biting your lip hard, “They weren’t wrong, were they? I can’t give you what you’re used to.”

The silence that followed was thick and painful.

Then Mattheo moved.

He sat up slowly, scooting closer, his hand reaching out to gently tilt your chin up. His eyes locked with yours, warm and dark and burning with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re right,” He said softly, “You can’t give me what I’m used to.”

You blinked, breath catching in your throat.

“You can’t give me what I’m used to,” He repeated, “Because what I’m used to is shit.”

His voice shook. His hands were gentle, but his words burned.

“What I’m used to are fake girls who only want me for my name. Hookups that mean nothing. Kisses that leave me cold. Sex that makes me feel empty. I’m used to waking up and feeling like there’s a hole in my chest.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours.

“And then you happened,” He whispered, in awe of you, “And for the first time in my fucking life, I didn’t feel empty.”

You were crying now. Quiet, steady tears slipping down your cheeks. He brushed each of them away with his thumbs.

“You’re the most—fuck, I love you,” He murmured, voice low and raspy as he tried to gather his thoughts. Then he kissed you, soft and slow, his lips trembling just a little.

When he pulled back, he looked at you like you were made of something sacred.

“Words can’t describe how much I love you, (Y/N). How much enough you are for me. How much more you are than I ever prayed for.”

His voice cracked, but he kept going.

“I love when you blush when I say certain things. When you still get nervous when we kiss too long. I love how kind you are. How real. When I’m with you, I—fuck—I love you, (Y/N). You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re everything to me. Don’t ever forget that.”

And then he kissed you again.

Slow and deep and full of every word he hadn’t said, every tear he hadn’t shed, every second he’d spent aching for you.

When you finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours again, breathing you in.

You stayed like that for a long time—just holding each other. Letting the rain fall. Letting the hurt melt between kisses and whispered promises.

And for the first time in thirty-one days, your heart felt full again.

***

You weren’t sure how you got here.

Your hands were numb. Your robes were soaked through. Every step across the cold stone floor squelched beneath your feet. Your pants and fingers were stained with dirt. You didn’t belong in the Slytherin common room—not like this, dripping wet and trembling—but somehow, your feet had brought you here anyway. Straight to him.

Mattheo Riddle looked up from the fire the moment the door swung open. His eyes locked onto you, and every muscle in his body froze.

For a heartbeat, the room held its breath. The only sounds were the soft crackle of the dying fire and the distant rumble of thunder echoing through the walls. Then Mattheo rose so quickly the book in his lap slipped to the floor.

“(Y/N)?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even blink. You just stared at him, as if speaking the words aloud would make everything more real. Your lower lip trembled. Your hands curled tightly inside your sleeves. You took a tentative step forward—and then you broke.

Tears spilled over, big and hot against your freezing skin.

Mattheo was in front of you in an instant.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was sharp, dangerous—far louder than before. It sliced through the stunned silence, turning every head in the room.

You flinched—not from fear, but from the raw pain in his voice. His hands hovered uncertainly, unsure where to touch first—your cheeks, your arms, your soaked hair. You shivered, not just from cold, and he pulled you tightly into his chest as you began to sob. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other gripped your waist, grounding you in his strength.

“Who hurt you?” He asked again, his voice low but burning with intensity, “Tell me who it was. I’ll make them choke on their own blood.”

You shook your head, voice breaking, “It’s not… it’s not me.”

He frowned, confused.

“I’m not hurt,” You said quickly, meeting his eyes—wide, watery, and raw, “Someone destroyed the kitten shelter.”

You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your soaked sleeve, but it did nothing to stop the tears.

“I went to check on it after dinner, to bring them in because the storm was getting worse… and it was gone, Mattheo. Torn apart. Scattered like garbage. Like it never mattered. I searched for hours, in the rain. I thought I’d find them, but… I couldn’t. They’re just… gone.”

His eyes darkened, a storm gathering behind them—but he didn’t interrupt. He didn’t even breathe.

“They’re just babies,” You whispered, “They don’t know where to go. It’s so cold… I don’t know if they’ll—”

Your voice caught and broke. You dropped your head, shoulders trembling with the sob you couldn’t hold back any longer.

For a long moment, that was all you could do—stand there in his arms and cry.

Then he pulled back just enough to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, and the look in his eyes shifted—softness replaced by fierce determination.

“I’m going to find them.”

You blinked up at him, “You—you are?”

“Of course I am,” He said without hesitation, “I’ll search the whole forest if I have to.”

“I’ll come with you.” You said immediately, wiping your runny nose with your sleeve.

But he was already shaking his head.

“No.” He peeled off his jumper and tugged it around your shoulders, “It’ll be easier if I don’t have to worry about you getting pneumonia. You’re soaked and freezing. Go upstairs. There’s dry clothes in my trunk. Change. Lie down. Rest for a bit. By the time you wake, the kittens will be safe.”

“I don’t want you to be alone.” You whispered, voice thick with worry.

Mattheo turned slightly, and you followed his gaze, "Will I be?"

His friends were watching, expressions a mix of surprise and petulance. None of them wanted to spend the rest of the night slogging through mud in the rain to search for a litter of kittens.

Just as one of them opened his mouth to complain, you turned to them. Your cheeks flushed, tears still shimmering in your eyes—making them look like tiny diamonds catching the firelight.

Your expression softened, tilting into the most pleading, vulnerable look they’d ever seen.

“You’ll… look for the kittens?” You asked, voice barely more than a breath.

In that moment, they understood.

Why so many had lovingly dubbed you the Hufflepuff sweetheart.

That look—wide eyes, trembling mouth, silent plea written in every line of your face—made them feel like if they didn’t find the kittens, they’d be worse sinners than Voldemort himself.

Mattheo glanced back at you, tugging you gently toward the stairs.

Then, cupping your face one last time, he whispered, “We’ve got this, love. Go get warm. We’ll bring them home.”

“Promise?” You asked, voice cracking one final time.

He smiled faintly.

“Promise.”

***

It had been just over an hour.

You’d done what Mattheo asked—well, sort of. You’d changed into one of his oversized sweaters, warm and smelling faintly of mint and smoke. You’d curled up in his bed, tucked beneath one of the Slytherin-green blankets. But there’d been no nap. Just you, lying there, wrapped in his scent, haunted by the images you couldn’t shake.

You couldn’t stop picturing them—tiny, soaked, trembling. Fur matted. Mewls swallowed by the storm. Eyes wide with fear, not understanding why their warm little home was suddenly gone. Why the world felt so big. So cruel.

You’d cried again. Twice. Maybe three times. You weren’t keeping count.

Your cheeks were raw from wiping them too much. Your eyes ached. Your chest ached. And just as the heaviness began to lull you into something like sleep, the dorm door creaked open.

You bolted upright, every muscle tight with hope and fear. And there he was.

Mattheo Riddle stood in the doorway, boots caked with mud, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends from the rain. In his arms—wrapped carefully in a towel—was a bundle that meowed.

You nearly sobbed.

He met your gaze and smiled, soft and tired. “Hi there, princess,” He said, voice quieter than usual, “We’ve got something for you.”

You scrambled off the bed so fast you nearly tripped on the blanket, “Really?”

“They’re all here,” He said, stepping inside and gently lowering the bundle onto the bed, “Cold. Scared. Probably traumatized—but alive.”

You dropped to your knees beside the bed, hands hovering as the towel shifted—and one tiny, damp paw peeked out. Then another. Then a soft, broken mewl.

“Oh—” You gasped, hands flying to your mouth, “You’re okay. Oh my god, you’re okay.”

Mattheo crouched beside you, brushing a piece of your rain-frizzed hair behind your ear, “They got separated, poor things. But your amazing, heroic, stupidly handsome boyfriend—who absolutely deserves a bunch of kisses—found them all for his one true love.”

You let out a watery laugh and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek—

But the dorm door slammed open, bouncing off the wall.

In trudged Theo and Enzo, soaked to the bone but looking victorious, each holding a mewling kitten like they’d just won the Triwizard Tournament. Blaise followed behind them—somehow the least wet, but easily the smuggest—and last came Draco, looking like a disgruntled ghost. He was wrapped in a blanket charmed for warmth, dripping rainwater with every irritated step.

“Oh come off it, you bloody plonker,” Draco muttered, glaring at Mattheo, “I was the one who fell into the damn lake.”

You laughed—sudden, bright, and trembling with relief.

Everyone paused at the sound.

Even Draco, mid-rant, stopped and turned. And when he saw the tears still clinging to your lashes, the shake in your smile, the way you cradled that moment like a lifeline—they all softened. Just for a second.

Then came the grins. Small. Sweet. Real.

“This little one ran straight to me,” Enzo said proudly, holding his kitten to his chest like a medal. It let out a happy little meep and burrowed deeper into his jacket, “I wanna keep it. His name is now Lorenzo Purrkshire the Second.”

You snorted through your tears, “I think that’s animal abuse.”

Lorenzo gasped, scandalized, “Excuse me?”

Mattheo let out a surprised laugh beside you.

“You corrupted her,” Lorenzo said, turning to Mattheo in mock accusation, “She makes fun of people now. This is your doing.”

“You love it.” You muttered with a grin, wiping at your cheeks. The tears were still drying, but your chest felt lighter. Warmer.

You reached down and gently picked up the smallest kitten from the pile. It was still shivering, but very much alive—and the moment it felt your warmth, it curled against your chest with a soft, sleepy sigh. Like it had been waiting for you.

You pressed a kiss to its damp little head.

“I don’t know how to thank you.” You whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Mattheo glanced around at the others—muddy, dripping, thoroughly disheveled—and then back at you, “You don’t have to.”

“But I—”

“Sunshine,” He murmured, cutting you off with a kiss to your cheek. A few raindrops from his hair landed gently on your skin, cool and soft, “It was our pleasure.”

“Oh, please,” Draco muttered from across the room, still wrapped in his soggy blanket like the world’s grumpiest ghost, “Speak for yourself. I hate these damn furballs.”

A soft mewl came from inside his arms.

Everyone turned.

Draco stiffened, “...That was my stomach.”

The moment shattered into laughter.

Even Draco cracked a smile—though he tried to hide it behind his scowl.

“You guys are amazing.” You whispered, blinking quickly as tears threatened again.

Mattheo reached for you, cupping the back of your neck, and pulled you into a slow, lingering kiss—soft, warm, and steady. A kiss that said home. A kiss that said you’re safe.

You melted into it, arms curled around the kitten, heart finally beginning to mend.

Outside, thunder still rolled—distant now, low and fading.

But inside Mattheo’s dorm, surrounded by love and laughter, by muddy footprints and tired boys and soft little mewls, the storm inside you had finally quieted.

***

Sunlight spilled through the enchanted ceiling in soft golden streaks, casting a warm glow over the long rows of tables. You sat at the Slytherin table, nestled comfortably beside Mattheo, a steaming cup of tea in your hands and a sleepy little kitten curled up in your lap beneath the table. Its tiny body rose and fell with slow, contented breaths, the gentle purring almost meditative.

The boys were in various states of half-awake.

Mattheo was buttering toast one-handed, his other arm lazily slung across the back of your bench. Enzo was attempting to eat while Lorenzo Purrkshire II repeatedly tried to climb into his oatmeal. Theo, meanwhile, was barely pretending to listen to Blaise’s opinion on The Daily Prophet—because he was too busy glancing at the Hufflepuff table out of the corner of his eye.

Or rather, at one particular Hufflepuff. And judging by the way he suddenly straightened up, trying his best to appear nonchalant (even though everyone around him could see he was pathetically chalant), you knew exactly who had caught his attention.

You’d barely taken a bite of your scone when the unmistakable sing-song voice of Daisy drifted across the hall.

“Well, well, well,” She chirped, positively smug, “Look who’s alive.”

You looked up just in time to see your four dormmates approaching the Slytherin table like a pack of hyenas. Imari led the way, arms folded and smirking like she’d just caught you red-handed. Daisy, Lila, and Evangeline flanked her like backup dancers, eyes glittering with nosy-girl intent.

“Oh no.” You muttered.

“Oh yes.” Imari said, stopping just in front of you, “Care to explain why you didn’t come back to our dorm last night?”

Lila leaned in, dramatic, “Because someone spent the night in their boyfriend’s bed…”

Draco immediately choked on his pumpkin juice.

Mattheo didn’t even blink—words not even registering—as he took another bite of toast, voice maddeningly casual, “She wasn’t exactly sleeping, if we’re being honest.”

You smacked his thigh under the table, hard, “Mattheo!”

Daisy’s mouth dropped open, “Oh my god. You didn’t!”

Your face lit up like a furnace, “No! It’s not what you think! We—we found the kittens!”

The girls gasped in unison, instantly switching from scandal to squealing.

“Seriously?!” Lila gushed, “We looked for hours yesterday and couldn’t find them! Honestly, I thought you were about to cry yourself into the hospital wing.”

You nodded quickly, “Mattheo found them. All of them. I stayed behind to help bathe them, feed them, make sure they were okay—wait.” You ducked under the table and gently lifted one sleepy kitten into view, “See?”

The girls practically melted on sight.

Evangeline sat down beside you uninvited, her expression softening as she reached out to stroke the kitten’s ears. Across the table, Theo sat a little straighter, trying and failing to look effortlessly cool.

“Hey,” Theo said, clearing his throat, “Not to interrupt or anything, but—uh—I also helped rescue the kittens last night. Just saying. Like… a lot.”

He lifted a kitten like a trophy, holding it up one-handed with a flourish, “This one personally leapt into my arms from a burning bush.”

You blinked, “There was no fire. It was sopping wet.”

“Well, not literal fire,” Theo amended quickly, “More like… metaphorical danger. Life-threatening stuff. You had to be there.”

Evangeline raised a brow, reaching for the kitten, which happily abandoned Theo in favor of curling up in her arms. She began scratching under its chin with practiced ease.

There was no way Theo could’ve known this was her favorite of the litter. Right?

She looked at him, face unreadable, “Wow. A real hero.”

Theo lit up, “Right? I mean—I wouldn’t say that, but if you want to, I won’t stop you.”

Evangeline blinked slowly, voice deadpan, “Uh-huh. Nice.”

Blaise coughed into his napkin to cover a laugh, while Enzo snorted outright, nearly inhaling his eggs.

“Leave him alone,” You said around a grin, nudging Evangeline gently, “He did get scratched a lot.”

“That kitten launched itself into my shirt,” Theo protested, affronted, “Claws out. I have battle scars.”

“Stop whining, you prat,” Enzo muttered, wiping oatmeal off Lorenzo II’s nose, “I was chosen by destiny.”

“You should go to the hospital wing for those scratches, Theodore,” Evangeline said, not looking up from her kitten. She smiled softly as it began pawing at her tie, “I’ll treat you to a butterbeer next weekend to apologize for my baby’s actions.”

You paused, sharing a look with Mattheo, who smirked, amused. Looked like you wouldn’t be the only couple in the group for much longer.

Mattheo leaned over, resting his chin on your shoulder with a sleepy sigh, “I love you.”

You didn’t kiss him—mainly because your entire dorm was still standing there, staring at you like you were a live soap opera—but you did reach under the table and squeeze his hand, your heart warm and full.

“I love you too.” You whispered back.

***

The Slytherin common room was unusually calm when you stepped inside—low golden firelight, boys draped across the couches in various states of lazy sprawl, and Mattheo sitting in the corner, absently twirling his wand between his fingers while Blaise rambled about something Theo clearly wasn’t listening to.

As soon as Mattheo spotted you, his face softened, the corner of his mouth lifting into that crooked little smirk that always made your stomach flip.

And then you saw him.

“Lorenzo, my baby!!”

A delighted squeal escaped your lips as you dashed across the room.

Theo’s mouth dropped open.

Mattheo’s entire posture shifted—one second relaxed, the next, tense and coiled like a predator. His eyes narrowed sharply.

Enzo looked like he’d just been told his death was imminent. “Oh Merlin,” He muttered, “Don’t kill me, mate, I swear I didn’t do anything—”

Draco muttered, utterly horrified, “Are we sure that’s her? Could be Polyjuice.”

“Or Imperius,” Blaise added, suspicious.

“Or maybe we’re all dead and this is the afterlife,” Theo offered.

Mattheo’s jaw clenched so hard it could’ve cracked diamonds.

He sat up straighter, brows low, eyes already locked onto Enzo, hand curling around his wand.

“Why the hell is she running at you like that?”

But before anyone could answer, you skidded to a stop in front of Enzo’s chair—not even sparing him a glance...

…and scooped up Lorenzo Purrkshire II, who was curled up on the carpet in a sunbeam like a spoiled prince.

“There you are, angel!” You cooed, lifting him to your chest and peppering his fuzzy little face with kisses, “Look at your little feet! You’ve grown so much! Who’s my handsome boy?! You are! You are!”

The kitten meowed once in reply, very pleased with himself.

Dead silence followed.

Enzo dropped his head into his hands, “Oh thank God.”

“We need to change the damn cat’s name.” Mattheo grumbled, slumping back in his seat with a scowl.

“Absolutely not,” Enzo said immediately, clutching the air dramatically, “He is my son. My legacy. The blood of my blood. Lorenzo Purrkshire II will NOT be stripped of his title like some street rat.”

The kitten yawned, completely oblivious.

***

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—again.

It was just bad luck. Or maybe terrible timing. You’d only come around the corner to return a library book one of the boys had left in the common room. But the moment you heard your name—followed by the unmistakable lilt of a familiar voice—you froze.

“...Honestly, I didn’t think the whole roof would collapse.” She said, laughter dancing in her words.

You paused.

This time, you recognized it. That voice from the hallway weeks ago—the one that had twisted its way into your mind and nearly torn everything apart. Now it had a face. Three, actually. Ravenclaw girls. The ones who always bumped into you with sugar-sweet apologies and empty smiles that never raised suspicion.

The same girls who’d smiled as they lit a match behind your back.

“I told you not to use that spell,” Another voice hissed—half-amused, half-annoyed, “I said a mild hex. Not… whatever the hell that was.”

“Whatever,” The third scoffed, her tone dripping with venom—the same venom that had claimed you weren’t enough to keep Mattheo happy, “She’s so dramatic about everything. Like, I get it—you found a couple of scraggly kittens. Congrats on being a hero or whatever.”

A sharp laugh followed.

“And now everyone thinks she’s this soft little saint. It’s revolting how she stomps around acting like she’s queen of Slytherin.”

You stiffened.

Heart thudding. World tilting.

They’d done it.

They were the ones who destroyed the shelter.

Your body went still—cold at the core, then suddenly, violently hot. Your hands prickled. Something shifted under your skin like the crackle of a storm. You didn’t even realize your wand was in your hand until you felt the pulse of magic thrumming through it.

You’d once asked Mattheo why he got into so many fights—why he couldn’t just be the bigger person and walk away.

And he’d told you the truth.

There were moments, he said, when he couldn’t think. Not after someone insulted him or jabbed at a wound that was already bleeding on the inside. Something would snap. A fire would rise up in him—rage, pure and primal—blinding, paralyzing, consuming. It was like his body was no longer his. All he could think about in those moments was tearing them apart.

At the time, you’d just kissed his cheek and placed one of your favorite stress squishies in his hand—an adorable little elephant with wobbly ears and a face that made him snort in spite of himself.

So you have something else to crush instead of bones, you’d told him.

You hadn’t understood.

But now you did.

Because standing just behind that tapestry, their voices slicing through the air like knives, you felt it—that same fire. That storm. That ache in your bones that made you tremble—not with fear, but with want.

To curse.

To hex.

To make them bleed.

Your magic surged like a tidal wave, crashing through your veins, rushing to your fingertips. Your breath came sharp. The blood roared in your ears. Your grip on your wand tightened.

You took a breath.

Then another.

And a third.

The voices were still laughing as they walked away.

You didn’t stop them.

You didn’t hex them. Didn’t scream. Didn’t demand justice, or revenge, or even an answer.

Maybe you had less courage than Mattheo.

Or maybe—

Maybe you just had more patience.

***

It was an unusually quiet morning in the Great Hall.

You were squeezed between Mattheo and Enzo, toast untouched, eyes slightly glazed over as the boys bickered about something or other. Across from you, Theo leaned over to steal a bite of your fruit, Blaise was humming a Celestina Warbeck tune under his breath, and Draco looked one wrong word away from snapping his quill clean in half.

To your right, your dormmates—Imari, Evangeline, Daisy, and Lila—were deep in a whispered debate about whether Professor Flitwick’s socks were charmed or just a tragic choice. Their laughter drifted toward you like warm honey.

Then it happened.

A flurry of owls swooped into the Great Hall, wings rustling as they delivered scrolls and parcels with their usual morning chaos. Most students barely glanced up—until three particularly sleek tawny owls dropped letters directly into the laps of the very same girls who had whispered you into heartbreak just weeks ago.

The change was instant.

At first, they just blinked at the parchment. Then, as if on cue, their expressions shifted—eyes widening, hands trembling.

And then the sobbing began.

Loud, dramatic, mascara-streaking-down-their-faces sobbing.

One clutched the letter to her chest like it had personally betrayed her. Another dropped hers entirely, gasping like she couldn’t breathe, while the third let out a high-pitched shriek of, “I’m grounded until I’m married!”

They burst into hysterics right there at the Ravenclaw table, drawing confused stares from every direction in the Hall.

And then they bolted—darting past the Slytherin table in a disheveled storm of ruined eyeliner, exposed secrets, and absolute despair.

The entire Great Hall went still.

“…What the hell was that?” Theo asked.

“Did someone die?” Blaise blinked.

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, tracking the path they’d disappeared through.

You took a long sip of your tea. Shrugged. “Who knows?”

Silence.

Every head at your table turned toward you immediately.

Blaise dropped his fork with a clatter.

“…Okay,” Evangeline said slowly, eyes narrowing, “That was suspicious.”

“You didn’t even flinch.” Imari murmured.

“Not even a ‘poor thing.’” Enzo added.

“You didn’t offer a tissue,” Theo whispered, scandalized, “You always offer tissues.”

Mattheo shifted beside you, one arm slung lazily along the back of your chair, the other hand resting on your thigh beneath the table. He studied your face like he was trying to decode an ancient spell, “Sweetheart. What did you do?”

You tilted your head, all syrupy innocence, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Liar.” Daisy said flatly from further down the table, eyeing you like a cat about to pounce.

“She’s definitely lying.” Lila agreed, leaning closer, smirking.

“I’m not lying,” You said sweetly, “I just… maybe might’ve told their professor they were cheating on last week’s exam.”

Jaws dropped.

“And maybe,” You went on, picking at your toast, “I let their boyfriends know they were also… cheating on them.”

Imari slapped a hand over her mouth, “Oh my god. You didn’t.”

You took another sip of tea, entirely unbothered.

“And one of them had a pregnancy scare a few weeks ago… and I may have mentioned it in passing to her parents. Who apparently didn’t know she was seeing anyone.”

Theo looked like he’d glimpsed death itself, “What the fuck is happening right now?”

“I simply suggested the benefits of homeschooling,” You said cheerfully, “For peace of mind. Safety. Parental bonding.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then—

“Uh huh, princess,” Mattheo drawled slowly, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. Something in his chest fluttered—something dark and infatuated. Merlin help him, he was clearly not right in the head. Your fault, obviously. Why did you have to look so beautiful while ruining people’s lives?

“And is there any particular reason you decided to have blood for breakfast this morning?”

“Well, I got mad!” You snapped, eyes flashing.

Enzo yelped, flinching so hard he spilled tea all over Draco’s notes.

“Bloody hell—” Draco hissed, shaking parchment off his robes.

“They were the ones who destroyed the kitten shelter,” You gritted out, voice trembling with barely contained fury, “I overheard them laughing about it.”

“Uh huh, right… but perhaps did we escalate too much?” Daisy asked gently, already knowing the answer. You always got like this when animals were involved.

“We did not,” You replied haughtily, “Really, I can forgive breaking me and Mattheo up. But nearly killing innocent creatures? That makes me want to burn them alive.”

The table froze.

Everyone’s gaze flicked to Mattheo, fully expecting him to leap over the bench and go full Death Eater.

You stiffened too, suddenly remembering just how… intense his reactions could be. How angry he’d been when he first found out why you’d broken things off.

But Mattheo didn’t move.

He just looked at you like you’d hung the stars, the sun, and the moon in the sky just for him.

“Every day,” He said softly, “I can’t believe I fall more and more in love with you.”

You blinked.

Then giggled, “So you’re not mad?”

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Oh, I’m furious,” He said sweetly, “By the end of the day, all their belongings will be turned to coal. They’ll be coughing up slugs and covered in hives for the rest of the month.”

You gave him a nervous smile. There was no changing his mind.

“Oh,” He added like it was an afterthought, “And I’m gonna fight their ugly boyfriends.”

He paused.

“Or… ex-boyfriends now.” He corrected, eyes gleaming, grin wicked.

“Oh, Salazar, there are two of them.” Draco whispered, horrified.

***

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urhoneycombwitch · 1 year ago

Text

mean mouth

sub!Eddie Munson x Reader Eddie likes when you talk a lil' mean to him. game over once you figure it out.

foreword: n e ways. just a little exploration of that boy's early-day sub tendencies. I generally write Eddie as older but since this takes place in some nebulous time before s4 u can think whatever u want +18. ‘unnamed freak’ is Jacob. punk band name was not thought of by me but isn’t it great <3

cw: gn!reader w/breasts + V, oral (R receiving), unprotected PiV, soft!dom(ish) R, Eddie subbing from the top 😎, gotta-be-quiet-when-we-fuck trope my beloved

wc: 3.7k

____

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

Eddie’s a blur of motion in the little trailer kitchen, knocking against your knees where you’re propped up on the counter (not entirely helpful but, in his words, ‘much-needed eye candy for the chef’), closing cupboards with a bang and talking animatedly over the hiss of onions cooking.

Your boy is loud, always has been, and tonight is no different- he’s crowing and cackling, recounting a particularly genius foible that he’d orchestrated during last night’s campaign, wooden spoon dipping in and out of heated pots over the stove like some crazed frizzy-haired potions master.

“And then.” He punctuates with a jab of the spoon towards you, a long drip of spaghetti sauce narrowly missing your leg- you flinch and squeak in alarm, but Eddie just grins wildly, eager to get to the punchline. “Red rolls a natural. Fucking. Twenty.”

“Holy shit!” Your smile is wide, natural and easy for him- Eddie’s excitement is infectious.

“I know!” Eddie spins back to the stove, plunking the wooden spoon back into the simmering sauce before opening the oven. Heat from the broiler rises in a mouth-watering cloud of herby smell, and Eddie reaches for the metal sheet of garlic bread, still talking. “Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. And then I- shit!”

You don’t put the pieces together until Eddie’s spinning away from the open oven, whole body moving with the force of his hand being shaken in the air- he’d touched the roiling-hot metal with his bare hand.

“Oh, shit, babe-” Sliding from the counter, you nudge the oven door closed with a foot, reaching out to assess the damage- but Eddie’s a whirlwind, jumping up and down, swinging his injured hand around in jerky movements, howling in pain.

It’s kind of freaking you out, ‘cuz you can’t tell if he’s playing up or if he’s actually got a third-degree burn. The voice that comes out of you is commanding, one that you rarely use, firm and louder than his hollering.

“Eddie, for fuck’s sake- stand up and let me see it.”

That seems to do the trick. Eddie’s eyes snap to you, pausing mid-hop, and you take advantage of his semi-stillness to snatch his wrist and drag him towards the sink. The water runs cool and you turn his palm over in both of yours, breathing a sigh of relief when the pink welt across the bridge of his hand doesn’t have any blisters.

“Under the water,” you instruct, pushing at his silver-link braceleted wrist until he gets the memo, letting the flow from the tap ease the burn.

Eddie hisses through his teeth, and then goes quiet for the first time in ages.

There’s a few moments of this strained silence as you watch his hand carefully, color leaching back into his palm until you notice Eddie’s looking at you sideways.

Your shoulders hunch in a bit, arms crossed over your chest as you take a step back, misinterpreting his look as wounded. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just-”

“Hey, whoa, no-” Eddie’s hand automatically reaches for you, dripping water on the floor until he remembers his injury with a wince and plunges it back under the tap. “You don’t have to apologize for that. At all. Um.”

His left hand, the uninjured one, braces against the linoleum, ringed knuckles creaking as he shifts his stance. He sounds uncomfortable, and you’re about to start apologizing again until he lifts his head, eyes twinkling- “You were so bossy. It was totally hot.”

A shocked laugh burbles out of you, unsure if he’s joking or not- when he shifts his weight again, your gaze flickers down to the zipper of his dark jeans- he’s fully hard.

“Oh my god.” Split between amusement and mortification, adrenaline from seeing him get hurt fizzing through your veins, you laugh again- this time, sardonic, into your hands, shaking your head. “Jesus christ, Eddie.”

“Can’t help it.” He’s close to whining, hips pressing flush into the cabinet, partly to relieve the ache in his groin and partly to toy with you. “Goddamn. Sound so sexy when you tell me what to do-”

There’s a teatowel hanging from a nearby rack; you snatch it up and whip it at Eddie’s shoulder, playful and irritated as you snap, “Shut up.”

“Oh, yeah, just like that, baby-” Eddie’s fake sultry voice earns him another towel-whip, this time at his neck- he squawks, ducking to avoid another blow while still keeping his hand under the water.

“Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous,” you announce with finality, slinging the towel over your shoulder and turning on your heel. “I’m gonna get the burn cream. Try not to cum or die while I’m gone.”

His bright laughter follows you all the way down the hall.

___

The next time it happens, it’s sort-of on purpose.

Eddie’s glowing with a post-show rush- a local business convention meant Corroded Coffin got to play for a nearly-packed room. Nevermind the fact that their Bruce Springsteen cover was the one bringing in the most applause; Eddie’s always been able to feed off the energy of a crowd, and tonight was a riotous success.

The Hideout is loud but your boy is louder, as per usual. There’s sweat curling the baby hairs at his temples, bright spots of flushed pink in his cheeks from the round of whiskey you’d bought the band as a congrats.

He’s making a toast to his laughing bandmates, to beautiful you, to any nearby drunk who will listen, proclaiming his lust for life with one boot on the well-worn table in noble pose.

“And to Bev, the best of us-” Eddie tips his half-empty glass towards the nearby bar, shouting over the din of the jukebox and lively chatter, “-may your sharp-tongued wit live on!”

Bev pauses service to flip him off, and Eddie collapses back into the comfort of your arm over the booth’s top, grinning when the band trio of Jeff, Gareth, and Jacob nearly fall out of their chairs with laughter.

It’s always hot to see Eddie in his element, and tonight’s not an exception. He turns to lean into you, looking down the slope of his pretty nose like he knows why you’re staring.

A charming wink precedes, “Come here often?” but his flirting is interrupted when Jeff gets up for another round and bumps the table- whiskey sloshes over the side of Eddie’s cup and coats his hand in stickiness.

He swears viciously, yanking out his bandanna to wipe at the mess while you laugh over the rim of your own glass at him. “Real smooth, babe. Good thing you killed it on stage, otherwise I might not take you home.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, inhaling for another cheesy line to wow you with when his gaze flicks past you and his face falls.

Across the table, Jacob mutters, “Oh, shit,” and Gareth glowers.

Following their eyelines, you look over your shoulder to see Nico Hawley, frontrunner of Hawkin’s own punk band (the Scumshots), enter through the front door in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

When you turn back to Eddie, he’s already twisting the damp bandanna around his rings. The usual softness of his doe-brown eyes are now flint-sharp, and with a rush of panic, you remember the last time Eddie and Nico ran into each other; the night had ended with you back at the trailer, holding a cold pack to Eddie’s split lip, which he’d received from engaging in what he referred to as “friendly fisticuffs”.

There was nothing friendly about the way Eddie stood, then, to his full height, dark and imposing with his big mane of hair and leather jacket. The other Corroded boys won’t start any shit themselves, but will absolutely back Eddie up (fearless leader, resident shit-starter, instigator extraordinaire).

Time’s running out for you to get a handle on the situation, Eddie already moving to slide past you out of the booth when you snag his left jacket sleeve in a tight grip.

The first yank you give stops him in his tracks; the second, more intentional tug gets his face level with yours, Eddie’s hardened stare giving way to confusion as you pull him into your space.

In that same authoritative tone, you pin Eddie in place with a fistful of leather and command, low, right in his ear to be heard above the bar noise, “Don’t. Sit down and be good.”

At first, you’re not sure it worked, because Eddie’s just staring at you- slightly slack-jawed, pretty pink o mouth as his gaze flickers to your lips, back up to lock in your gaze again.

And then, by some miracle, Eddie obeys. Like a well-trained, marvelously-behaved dog. He’s back in his seat with a jolt to the booth, hand curling around his whiskey again.

Curls spill and shift around jacketed shoulders as he shoots the rest of the glass, adam’s apple bobbing, other hand slipping to cup your thigh hidden from view. “It’s not worth it,” he announces to the rest of the group, sounding strained, staring at the bottom of his empty glass, knuckles white with force.

Jake sighs, relieved, but Gareth scoffs, tipping the neck of his beer across the table to point, goading Eddie with “Since when have you been the one to take orders?”

“Shut up,” Eddie shoots back, blood returning and redistributing enough from where it had all rushed south, enough to defend you and himself against his drunk bandmate. “We’re already on Hop’s shit list, asshole, can’t be catching any more charges for stupid fuckin’ bar fights.”

Nico had disappeared into the throng of people at the bar while your group has been arguing- probably for the best that he’s out of eyesight. Unperturbed by Gareth’s comment (he likes you fine, he’s just grumpy from the alcohol and itching for a fight), you sip your drink and give him a shameless wink.

Underneath the tabletop, Eddie’s palm flattens over your jeans, fingers dipping to toy with the denim seam hugging the fatty plush part of your inner thigh. You shift your hips, subtly, feeling flush with heat and power. Just a couple of words and you have him eating out of your goddamn hand.

Jeff returns, setting a handful of beers in the middle of the table. “Saw that shitstain Hawley at the bar. What’d I miss here?”

Gareth swoops in with accusatory explanation, seizing another bottle out of Jeff’s hands. “What you missed is Eddie’s balls on a leash-”

“Jealous you don’t have someone at home to tie you up, Emerson?” Eddie’s dig comes swiftly, lips quirked in a smile around the rim of his drink.

There’s a raucous burst of laughter, Gareth’s curly mop of hair gets ruffled playfully, and everyone eases back into celebration, all while Eddie’s thumb edges closer and closer to the apex of your thighs.

___

The next time, though? Totally on purpose.

There’s a sliver of gold from the hallway light spilling under Eddie’s closed door, left on in case Jeff or Gareth needed to use the bathroom during the night.

And despite the fact that two of his bandmates are passed out on the couch and floor just a short walk away, Eddie’s hands are exploring the length of your body under the sheets like he’s got plans to map you with his tongue.

“We- ah- can’t.” Your whispering scold is interrupted with a sharp gasp when Eddie nips at your neck. “No fooling around. Not when we have guests.”

His left hand drips over the swell of your breast, squeezing and kneading, your nipples perking to attention (traitors) underneath the bra you haven’t yet had the chance to take off.

Eddie adopts your quiet tone as he speaks between kisses that trail further down your body, not outright ignoring your weak protests but not doing much to combat them, either. “Mmm. Got me so worked up. Been driving me crazy since the bar, y’know that? ‘S cruel, baby, can’t just talk mean and expect me not to act on it.”

“Wasn’t mean,” you counter, hands shifting automatically to wind through the soft locks of hair tickling at your stomach as Eddie continues his path downwards. “Didn’t wanna have to patch up a split lip. Had to make you behave somehow.”

The vibrating groan Eddie gives against the soft skin of your stomach tickles; when you squirm, shushing him again, his hands slide to your hips, pinning you in place.

Nose to your navel, warm breath fanning across the strip of skin just above the band of your panties, Eddie sounds strung-out already, close to begging. “Please, baby. I’ll be good. Make it so good for you. I’ll be quiet-”

His head snaps up at your sudden gasping laugh, chin perched on your tummy as he scoffs. “What, you don’t think I can keep quiet?”

“Eddie Munson, you couldn’t be quiet to save your life.” Your hands migrate to his cheeks, squishing them together fondly as he grins around your touch, his thumbs working circles at your bare hips.

“Ye of little faith.” In the dim light of the room, Eddie’s teeth are a flash of white before his mouth dips to press against the wet patch at your underwear.

“Fucking… shit-!” The expletives fly out harshly, only because you weren’t expecting the wet stripe of his tongue against your clothed folds. Head dropping back to the comfort of your pillow, you get one hand in Eddie’s hair again, the other finding its way to twist at the sheets.

You can feel his smile, equal parts smug and sympathetic as he coos saccharine to your inner thigh- “Now, now, angel. Gotta be quiet.”

Not willing to lose the fight, you focus on clamping your mouth shut, eyes closed in concentration- even as Eddie slides your underwear down and off, a quick flash of blue fabric before it’s swallowed by the floor’s darkness. Even as he seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard like he’s been deprived of your taste for too long.

When his tongue breaches your entrance, a soft gasp escapes, one that has your head turning sideways to grab some pillow with your teeth.

Eddie brings the wetness from your entrance up again, spreading it over your pulsing clit, nerve endings fizzing bright and hot in your stomach from the attention.

On instinct, your right leg kicks out, jolting with the spasm of pleasure- Eddie’s quick, though, taking advantage of the movement to find a new hold at the back of your thigh; rings biting cold, he pushes until you bend for him, your knee now pressed towards your chest.

“Gonna make it so good for you.” Eddie’s mumbling pussy-drunk rambles into your cunt that’s now on display, dragging his nose through the slick that weeps out of you, all for him- “So wet for me, angel. Fuck’s sake. This all for me?”

As if he doesn’t know. The hand that isn’t busy holding you open trails up your thigh, middle finger teasing at your entrance before slipping inside, no resistance thanks to the river of slick that rushes to greet it.

There’s a soft squelching noise as Eddie adds a second, curling them up, stroking against that tender gummy spot that always skyrockets your pulse.

The noise is almost enough to give you pause; feeling wild and flush with heat, your hand tightens in the crown of Eddie’s hair, eyes popping open as you prop yourself up on an elbow to give a strangled hiss of warning through your teeth.

Eddie senses your unease, pulls his fingers and mouth out and off (a travesty), softening the blow by giving a placating kiss to the top of your mound. “Shhh, sweetheart. S’okay. You hear that?”

Past the noise of nighttime crickets from the nearby cracked window, past the hum of the kitchen, you hear it as Eddie crawls back up- distant, tandem snores from the boys in the living room.

“They sleep like the dead. Like rocks,” Eddie promises, settling his weight into his hands planted on either side of your head, hair creating a curtain around your faces as he leans in. “So we can get our rocks off.”

“That was awful.” You kiss him anyways. He tastes like you, earthy and warm and wet, saliva mixed with your arousal as the kiss turns sloppy.

Eddie rocks his hips forwards, the friction from the fabric of his boxers making you both gasp into each other’s mouths. He’s achingly hard, cock leaking and smearing precum through the cotton; there’s a hurried, manic shift as you both work to strip the last pieces of clothing from yourselves, his boxers and your bra following your underwear from earlier into the dark of the room.

And then Eddie is sliding his cock through the folds of your pussy, slicking up the sizable length as much as he can before the tip nudges at your entrance; Eddie’s arms tremble with effort as yours wrap around his shoulders, soothing with a kiss to his cheek- “Lotta talk about keeping quiet, Munson. That’s all it was? Just talk?”

Now that his mouth isn’t intent on making you fall apart anymore, you’ve got some breathing room to tease. To be the one to work him up. Tucking a curly lock of hair behind his ear, your fingers trace adoringly over his temple before sliding to grip the back of his neck. “Gonna prove me wrong, hotshot?”

With this new proximity, you can see Eddie’s eyes- fixed intently on yours, black pupils nearly eclipsing the soft amber of his irises. He looks slightly feral, sweat sticking his bangs in place, lips parted, spots of pink staining his cheeks.

As if he doesn’t trust himself to speak, Eddie’s near-silent as he slides himself in to the hilt, jaw dropping as the warmth from your walls encompasses him completely.

The chained guitar pick around his neck tickles between the valley of your breasts. He pants, chest heaving, not daring to move yet; your breath stutters. You can feel him in your throat.

“So big,” you murmur, an honest reaction but one that has Eddie’s brows drawing together, a little whine escaping as his hips jerk forward, reflexive to your words.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.”

Eddie’s voice, strained though it may be, is on its way to regular volume. At the back of his neck, your hand flexes, a warning as he begins to rock steadily into your tight heat.

“Gotta be good.” Biting back your own groan, you sling your leg over his waist. At this angle, you can press your heel to the dip of his lower back. “Be good and quiet for me and I’ll let you come in my p-”

His hips snap forward, audibly, subsequent wet noise obscene, filling the room. Eddie moans into the curve of your neck before your sentence is even fully formed- “Jesus, baby. Oh my god. Can’t say stuff like that, gonna come too quick-”

His cock fits along the contours of your cunt like you were made for him, ridged tip dragging against that same sensitive spot of your front wall with each pull and thrust.

Eddie’s forehead thunks into yours as he rolls it back and forth, mindlessly. All the tease has melted out of his voice: it’s been replaced with a lust-filled rasp, rock-salt and deep.

Your voice, however, is all tease, still hushed but laced with mischief despite your mounting pleasure. “Yeah? Gonna come in my pussy?”

It’s almost not fair and you almost feel bad, seeing the way Eddie fights to make his gasp silent as the channels of your cunt clench in answer to his fucked-out expression. With his next thrust, Eddie loses the battle- a hoarse, blissful moan much too loud spills over and out into the quiet room.

Moving quick, your hand slips from the back of Eddie’s neck to his mouth, palm flat over the plush of his lips.. The commanding tone comes easy this time (with practice, you’ll surely be a natural).

“Eddie. Be. Quiet.”

Usually, Eddie’s got stamina enough to prioritize your pleasure, making sure you’re taken care of at least twice before he even thinks of himself. Tonight, though, he’s already been straining in his jeans for hours, unbearably turned on from your earlier sharp words, pushing the limits of desperation.

Your words, once again, do the trick. Eddie’s cock pulses, and he comes hard, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your hand, chorus of whimpers successfully dampened. His dark brows knit together, eyes pinched shut, nostrils flaring with each stilted breath.

He’s so fucking hot when he comes, hair a riot around stormcloud eyes that open to take you in. Even prettier when he’s coming down, leaning into your hand for support before you take it away, guiding and encouraging him to lay down.

Eddie collapses, carefully enough that it doesn’t jostle you, but still with his full weight. The crown of his head radiates heat against your chin.

His arms wrap solidly around your middle as he whispers (he’s learning) in croaky fragments, “Jesus fucking H. I think you just broke my brain. Smashed it into a million little pieces. Never come so hard in my life. I’m in love with you.”

The laugh you give him is quiet but golden, the rise and fall of your chest causing his head to bounce a bit (but Eddie could die happy between your breasts so he doesn’t mind). “See? It’s worth it to listen to me, sometimes.”

“You’re so smart. Gonna do whatever you say, forever and ever. Cart-blank.” And then he’s pushing up onto his elbows, keeping his face level with your left breast so he can suck your nipple into his mouth, gently worrying his teeth over the peaked bud.

Previously tangled in the sheets, your hand flies up to grab his shoulder, nails digging in. “Fuck. Fuck, Eddie. That’s good. And- ah- it’s ‘carte blanche’.”

He leaves the comfort of your breast with a sigh. “Whatever you say, princess. Gonna let me fuck you some more? Your turn to be the loud one.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut

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lurochar · 1 year ago

Text

The Buck Stops Here

His shadow must be punished. You find out Alastor did not put his shadow up to your little play date.

Warnings: Reader's name game sucks

18+ MDNI

Part 1 + Part 3

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

“Oh, dear.”

It hit him in more than just one way as soon as he entered your shared room. He had used his shadow travel to simply slip in the hotel without bothering to talk to the others, wanting to greet you first to bring up his mood.

It had been an irritating day, dealing with territorial disputes and all.

He hadn’t bothered to knock and just bypassed the door, emerging from the floor and expecting a cheerful greeting from you when his senses were seemingly all bombarded all at once.

The room smelled almost entirely of you – of your sweat, of your tears, of your cum.

He almost found himself thanking some unknown deity he had not called upon his shadow earlier that day, otherwise, he would have been put in a highly uncomfortable situation where he would have no other choice but to slaughter any and all witnesses.

His shadow was a part of him after all – it felt what he felt and vice versa.

Though it sometimes did go rogue.

Alastor knew his blasted shadow liked to watch and never really thought much of it, but he never imagined it would take the visuals as knowledge and actually use it against you.

“I believe I told you to behave, didn’t I?” Alastor finally spoke, watching with a tight smile as his shadow’s ears perked up – as if it was only just realizing he was standing in the room – and its head lazily lifted from its position between your legs.

You were passed out.

He vaguely wondered how long his shadow had you going for if the scent of you was this strong and taking another inhale, Alastor could feel drool drip down his fangs and his antlers growing.

His shadow had the nerve to lick the slick from its lips before it chattered at him, resting its head back on your thigh and licking the skin there. You shivered unconsciously, letting out a sigh and the shadow cooed at your sleeping form.

“What. Did. You. Just. Say?” A screech of static escaped him before Alastor could help it and he quickly looked over to see if it woke you. Luckily, it did not and he felt his eye twitching in annoyance. “You do know this is the opposite of ‘behaving’, don’t you?”

The shadow actually seemed to huff at him, snuggling deeper against you while its ears twitched wildly as if to mock him. It let out a series of chirps and titters before settling down again.

Alastor felt his own ears twitch. “Cute? She thought it was ‘cute’?” He murmured, his expression scrunching with bewilderment.

Would a moment of bliss be worth it in exchange for the humiliation? Of you stroking his ears for a bleat? Sex was the only time he could not control the damned little noises and so, he had been very careful in not allowing you to touch that part of him during.

His shadow chittered again from its place and Alastor did not give it a response. Instead, he snapped his fingers a few times, regretfully clearing the room of your heavenly scent.

The bed and sheets were cleaned next and you didn’t even stir when Alastor cleansed you of your bodily fluids. The shadow snickered when Alastor eyed him for a moment and the snicker instantly turned into a whimper with his next words.

“Since you couldn’t behave, I won’t allow you to watch for the next week.”

(So harsh, Master!)

–

“Tell me, Darling.”

You try to talk, you really do, but how are you supposed to, with a tentacle shoved in your mouth? All you can do is let out muffled moans and heaving sobs when you feel Alastor’s fingers trail up and down your thigh.

What are you supposed to tell him?

“You have been a naughty little brat, my dearest Doe.” Alastor purred, grinning wide as more tentacles appeared from the shadows, wrapping around you and restricting any and all movement. “And brats must be punished, don’t they?”

What are you supposed to tell him!?

Alastor spreads your legs, before throwing them over his broad shoulders. “What do you want? I want to hear it from you.” He teased, just barely rubbing at your folds as you tried to bite down on the tentacle gagging you. “What would a fitting punishment be? Should I leave you wanting, needy and begging for more?”

You could feel his thumb swipe over your clit, beginning to rub the bundle of nerves in tight little circles and you clenched your eyes shut, feeling that familiar warmth heat up in your belly. You tried to arch up into his touch, but the tentacles allowed no movement.

“Open your eyes.” Alastor commanded, his thumb leaving your clit and you whimpered, quickly complying as his fingers went to stroke your cheek, smearing your slick across your heated skin, “Keep your eyes on me, dearest.”

You gasped as the appendage from your mouth retracted, drool trailing down your lips as tears began to form in the corner of your eyes, “A-Alastor.” You choked, “W-what am I… I supposed to..?” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he cut you off.

“Should I fuck you with my fingers? My tongue? Are you greedy tonight, Darling? Do you want my cock?” Alastor smirked as you gaped at him, before throwing your head back and letting out a wail when a tentacle slid up into your dripping cunt. “Where have your words gone?”

You see stars when the tentacle jams up against that spot in your pussy and your toes curl almost painfully. “F-fu–” You panted as another appendage toyed with your clit, knowing you’re on the edge and about to fall over any second now.

“Language, Darling, language.” Alastor sighed in mock disappointment, ceasing all movement and you almost sob at your broken orgasm. Should he ask while you’re incoherent? It seemed a little more entertaining that way, certainly. “What did that damn shadow of mine tell you?”

Huh?

What?

Your brain isn’t exactly completely in the realm of reality when you feel the tentacle slowly slip out of you, wriggling against your wet walls and leaving you clenching nothing but air. “S-shadow?” Ah, that’s right – you haven’t seen Alastor’s shadow in a day or two. “W-where is… where is Shadowy?”

Shadowy?

‘Shadowy’?

You gave it a name?

(And one as simple as that!?)

“As a result of misbehaviour,” Alastor’s grin widened, fangs gritting in irritation. He shuffled his position, “it must be disciplined. Deprivation of you – an entire week’s worth – should be sufficient in teaching it a lesson.” He gripped your hips, fucking his cock into your slippery hole. “Must you think of my shadow when I am right here, my dearest Doe?”

“H-hah!” Your eyes rolled back, feeling your arms strain as they were still restrained above your head by Alastor’s tentacles. “I-I…” It felt good, your mind felt like mush, but Alastor wanted something out of you, didn’t he? “I thought… you put Shadowy up to it.”

Alastor gradually unravelled the appendages from your restrained arms, watching as his drool dripped down into your face while he deepened his thrusts, each deeper, harder, and faster. “You believe I would reveal such a… humiliating secret about myself?”

Your glazed over eyes seemed to gain coherency with his words. “Your shadow is a part of you, right?” Your arms trembled. “Maybe, maybe you did? I would never make fun of you, Alastor. I love you.”

Alastor tensed, but wrapped his hands around your wrists, slowly bringing your arms up to his head. Your hands shook and his ears flattened against his skull. “Well? I would like to get this over with.” His grin seemed to wobble.

You squeezed his ears and jumped, watching in awe as Alastor’s eyes instantly shut and he quivered. “Harder, dearest.” Your warm wet walls were starting to flutter around him and he felt the sound get caught up in his throat. “Fuck!”

Once more, another squeeze.

And you finally shattered.

“A-Ala–!” You whimpered, feeling Alastor bury his face in the crook of your neck and you clamped down on his cock, just barely hearing that same sound you had heard with his shadow even through your bliss. “Alastor.” You hesitantly stroked his ears, becoming more assured when he relaxed against you.

“Fuck.” Alastor twitched inside you, shuddering after his own pleasure. He kept humping into you, trying to fuck his cum deeper in you until you whined in clear overstimulation. “Oh hush now.”

He hoped you didn’t hear it.

That sad little bleat.

“I… I like it.” You finally said after long yet comfortable silence. Alastor seemed to let out a huff and you did too. “I mean it! It’s… ‘en-deering’!”

“Please Darling, no.”

----

Taglist:

@cosmiccandydreamer

#alastor x reader #x reader #alastor smut #alastor's shadow x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

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literaila · 4 months ago

Note

gojo accidentally calling reader his girlfriend/wife in front of other people

(u don’t have to do this they r just infiltrating my mind rn)

accidentally is really a strong word, isn’t it?

satoru gojo doesn’t make “mistakes.” that one time he forgot to make lunch for both of the kids? well, that was a test of their survival skills. when he let a cursed spirit get away because he saw a new bakery down the street and had to try it? that was just for fun—he likes a little chase.

satoru doesn’t do things on accident, of course, because he lacks basically all faults—but he’s only human, okay?

there’s only so long one man can go sleeping next to the same person every night—suffocating said person with the entire weight of his body and being lulled to sleep by a strong heartbeat—before he accidentally gets a little bit confused.

and so, you’re standing in an aisle at a grocery store, staring at a collection of snacks and trying to discern what, exactly, tsumiki meant by “the blue sweet things.”

you’ve been there for about three minutes—satoru having gone to hide some impulse purchases, probably, or annoy a poor stock person—when a gentleman taps you on the shoulder.

you look lost, he says, but kindly—and oh, he’s got a name tag, the stores logo embedded on the front of his hat—how can he help?

so you reluctantly launch into a story about your nine-year-old daughter, and your daughter’s friend, who introduced her to some snack, which, apparently, until tsumiki can have again, she won’t be able to eat anything else.

she’s not being picky, you quote, just particular.

and it’s right when you’re laughing with this man, telling him about tsumiki’s puppy dog eyes and completely unhelpful descriptions, that satoru rounds the corner.

he’s already focused in on you, as always, so his eyes don’t have to do a lot of seeking. it takes one breath, a clarification of what he already knew, and he’s walking towards the both of you.

(though, having the strongest sorcerer of the modern age, blessed since birth, trained since a child, heading directly for you—target in mind—can’t really be classified as walking. running, maybe. teleporting ten meters in a matter of seconds. what bounds does satoru gojo know, after all?)

“there you are,” he says, in some sweet version of a strange man who’s been stalking you. which, honestly, he has. “i’ve been looking all over.”

satoru announces this basically into the back of your head, because he’s not even a step behind you.

he’s just appeared, suddenly, and you don’t even have the time to be shocked about it. no time to flinch, or tell him to stop scaring you like that.

and satoru has no regard for personal space, or respecting other people’s bubbles, but this is excessively close, even for him.

so immediately, you’re suspicious. but when aren’t you, around your curse of a co-parent?

“you ran away from me,” you say, trying to push him back with your elbow, giving him a side eye you hope he can feel.

“i get lost. who’s this?”

the man opens his mouth, already looking wildly uncomfortable. it is a bit bewildering to have a tall, strange blindfolded man stare at you like you’re a threat, you guess.

satoru really must be taking intimidation lessons from megumi.

you breathe out, nudging him again. “he was trying to help me find the treat tsumiki wanted.”

“oh, was he?” satoru says this completely pleasantly, but he’s not grinning. and, by this point, he’s made a wet spot on the back of your neck from breathing too hard.

he’s entirely too warm and far too strong to push away. honestly, satoru is a playbook for abusing one’s power.

at least you’re not completely, totally disgusted by him. at least.

you refrain from rolling your eyes. “yup. i think we narrowed it down to three or four options.”

the man smiles, taking a not-so-subtle step back. “there’s a popular brand that i—“

“i already know what tsumiki wants.”

you turn, irritation spiking. “what? no, you don’t, satoru, you already told—“

“thanks for trying to help my wife, though. we’ve got it.”

both of his hands come to rest on your shoulders, basically holding you to him while satoru probably places a hex on this poor man with his glare.

and you would laugh, honestly. you would cackle in satoru’s face and grab the attendant by the arm, leaving your fake husband—and his lies—behind without a second thought.

but you can’t. maybe you’ve lost your mind. maybe satoru’s just a little bit too close in this very moment—for thinking rational thoughts, at least.

“o-of course, have a…” the man begins to say, but he doesn’t even attempt to finish his sentence before he’s turning around, quickly exiting the isle before satoru can say anything else completely idiotic.

you shake his hands off, turning. “what are you doing?”

it’s like a switch has flipped because satoru immediately grins, looking as clueless and irritating as ever. “what? i’m just trying to shop.”

“you just scared that man off for no reason. and now i don’t even know which ones to get.”

“i’ll find them.”

“he could’ve found them if you weren’t glaring at him like an animal.”

satoru begins to trifle through the packages on the display, oh so oblivious. “we should just get one of each. tsumiki can share with her friends.”

“she doesn’t want all of them, satoru.”

“then i’ll eat the rest.”

“hey,” you say, pulling at his sleeve. “you called me your wife.”

satoru looks at you, tapping his chin. “oh, did i?”

“i told you to quit it with that.”

“oops,” he shrugs. “i must’ve gotten confused.”

“satoru.”

“what? sometimes my words get mixed up.”

“this is the sixth time this month.”

he sighs, tilting his head back in a display of agony. “working hard puts such a strain on my head.”

“you haven’t had work in a week.”

“a big strain. ginormous. lasts for years.”

“im serious,” you say, pulling at the hair sticking up from his blindfold. “i don’t want you to call me that.”

satoru’s mouth turns. “why not?”

“because it’s not true.”

he waves a hand, turning away once again. “a little white lie never hurt anyone.”

“i’ll hurt you if you keep doing that.”

“ooh,” he mock shivers. “that was scary. say it again.”

“satoru.”

“he was looking at you weird,” he relents, tapping on your head like you’re a small child he needs to console. satoru pouts, looking down at you. “and you had that little wrinkle on your face. i wanted to make sure he wasn’t bothering you.”

he says this so pathetically, faking a sort of sympathy he has obviously never felt. satoru then takes his thumb to smooth out the so-called wrinkle.

you slap his hand away. “you walked up from behind me,” you point out, incredulous, “and he wasn’t even looking at me. he was looking at the wall so he could help.”

satoru blinks at you. he whispers, very dryly, “you were laughing.”

“i was telling him what tsumiki said.”

“he was probably gathering information so he could follow you home. i saved you. you’re welcome.”

“are you kidding me?”

satoru grins. “don’t worry. i’d never let that happen.”

“he was like eighty years old. i don’t even think he could follow me out of this isle without needing to stop and catch his breath.”

“better safe than sorry,” he runs that very same thumb—the one you pushed away—down the side of your cheek. just to watch you shiver.

you take a breath in and will yourself not to react. “better go find someone to help us before i kick you.”

he just laughs. “okay, wifey. whatever you say.”

you scowl. “stop calling me that!”

“it was an accident,” satoru looks away, grinning. “jeez, i can’t even make one mistake with you.”

#a typical family #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo x y/n

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stevie-petey · 8 months ago

Text

episode six: the dive

“You do realize Skull Rock is a super popular make out spot? It wasn’t popular until I made it popular, alright? I practically invented it.” The words slip from Steve’s mouth before he can really understand the consequences behind them. He stops dead in his tracks and stares at you, eyes wide in fear. “Nice one, Steve.” You pat his chest sarcastically, sharing a disgusted look with Dustin.

Summary: dustin rejects the pity pringles you offer, eddie is straight up not having a good time, nancy does some investigative journalism about you and steve (gossips with robin), and steve suddenly decides he wants to take up scuba diving. for some reason. but hey ! title drop time !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, cursing, mentions of death and violence

Words: 7.4k

Before you swing in: HI !!!! HAPPY ONE YEAR OF COME HOME !!! weve reached the scene everyone has so patiently waited for ;) can yall believe it took a full year before we finally reached the fated title drop ??? i can ! anyways, pls enjoy. i love this chapter and you guys so so so much :')))

–

“Want some?”

Dustin smacks the pringle that Steve dangles away from his face. “Get that away from me.”

“But you love Pringles,” your hand waves in front of his face, holding yet another chip. You’re sitting in Nancy’s trunk with Steve, eating leftover pringles from the supply run from this morning for Eddie. Dustin sits in the middle, squished between Max and Lucas. “Here, take one as a peace offering.”

“I’d rather be stuck between Lucas and Max than you and Steve, Y/N.” Dustin huffs, though he does eventually take the chip that you offer him.

Steve chews another chip. “Totally harsh, dude.”

The car turns and you’re suddenly pressed against your boyfriend, knee bending at an uncomfortable angle. “Cozy car, Nance.” You quip, repositioning yourself so your ribcage is no longer in your lungs.

“Sorry, guys.” She glances back at you. “I know this isn’t ideal, but Eddie is almost definitely low on food and he’ll want to hear what we found.”

“Not to be a wimp, but can I sit in the car for this visit?” Robin asks from the passenger seat. “‘Cause this is gonna totally and royally suck.”

You toss a chip into your mouth. “I agree. Especially after his weird broadcast yesterday.”

Dustin whips his head to look at you. “Eddie contacted Cerebro?”

“Did I not tell you?”

“No!”

“Shit, sorry.” Yesterday was a blur. After the lights exploded in Victor Creel’s attic, you’d all driven silently back to Nancy’s. Hardly anyone spoke afterwards. You all had gone to bed quiet, reeling from the implications of what you’d found. “It was weird. I couldn’t really understand him, the signal was weak.”

Dustin gestures wildly at you. “Okay, but what did he say?”

“Something about Jason? And holes in a boat?” You’d been recovering from your panic attack when Eddie’s voice came through the radio. The details were fuzzy.

“A boat? Why the hell would Eddie need a boat?”

You shrug. “No clue, but I feel bad for the guy.”

The entire situation is grim. Eddie has been accused of murdering at least two Hawkins students, he apparently runs a cult, and now the only way of clearing his name involves El and the Upside Down. Both of which are currently out of reach.

While you can barely tolerate the guy, it’s a shame that he doesn’t stand a chance.

“It’ll be fine.” Nancy insists, but Robin shakes her head.

“I can’t stand to see those doe eyes of Eddie’s break again. I really, really can’t.”

“‘Doe eyes’ is a little much.” You scrunch your nose in displeasure. Steve snorts and Dustin glares at you. “Just saying.”

“At least he can drink himself into feeling better.” Steve offers, picking up the six-pack of beer and waving it around.

Max looks out the window. “That’s what my mom does.”

Lucas catches your eye. No one catches what Max has said besides you two. He looks upset, but you shake your head at him. Now isn’t the time. If he says anything to her, Max will close back in on herself.

Robin and Nancy return to their conversation while you sit quietly in the back. Steve notices your change in demeanor and frowns. Unsure what’s caused it, he holds up a pringle and winks at you. “Bet you can’t catch this with your mouth.”

It’s a welcomed distraction. You sit up, eyes alight. “You’re on, Harrington.”

And the game is on. Steve tosses a chip into the air and you duck your head, angling your mouth so that you catch it just before it lands. Eyes wide, you throw your arms in the air and cheer. “I did it!”

Steve claps, whooping. “That’s my girl!”

Reaching for the bag of pringles, you grab one and don’t even give Steve a warning before you’re throwing it at him. He yelps, surprised, but with ease he catches it. He cheers again and chews triumphantly. “And you tried to cheat!”

You roll your eyes. “Technically it wasn’t cheating, I just didn’t warn you.”

Steve pokes you side, eliciting a giggle from you. “I’ll get you for that, Henderson.”

“I’d like to see you try–” The sight of a police car stops you.

Nancy sees it, too. “Oh, shit.”

You’re just outside of the boathouse Eddie is hiding out in. There are cars everywhere, cops walking along the perimeter, controlling a crowd that has formed. A news station van blocks your vision, but you get a sickening sense of deja-vu anyways.

This is exactly how it’d been when Fred’s body was found.

Nancy ushers everyone to the side of the van, ducking down so you aren’t seen. Officer Powell is giving a speech to the press. He stands before the frightened audience, voice stern, but also tired. You can’t imagine what it must be like, being chief of police without having any idea of the horrors that Hawkins hides.

“The Roane County line received a call a little after midnight, reporting a homicide here on the lake.”

Everyone freezes. Another body has been found.

“That’s three deaths in three days.” You can’t breathe. This is all happening too fast. Faster than anything you’ve ever had to deal with before.

Chief Powell continues. “It was here that we found the body of the victim, an eighteen year old senior from Hawkins High, Patrick McKinney.”

Lucas stiffens next to you. Patrick had been his teammate. His friend. Numb, you rub his back, offering whatever ounce of comfort you can give him.

“We have also identified a person of interest.” The chief holds up a photo of Eddie, showing it to the broadcasters before him. “Eddie Munson.”

You suck in a breath. The only thing Eddie had going for him was that no one knew he was the main person of interest. His identity had still been concealed, buying him a little more time while you tried to find answers for him.

But now it’s too late.

“This is not good,” Steve mumbles as officer Powell encourages the town to come forward with any information they may have about Eddie. “This is really not good.”

“He’s fucked.” You whisper. The crowd standing before Powell is large. Nearly half the town leans into his every word. They’re angry. All of them. Another one of their own has been taken. Another child.

And they’d do anything to save Hawkins’ children.

The manhunt has begun.

“Dustin, can you hear me? Hendersons?” Eddie’s voice cackles through the walkie.

Everyone scurries around your brother while he fumbles with his bag, anxious to respond. When he finally finds his walkie, he breathes out a sigh of relief. “Eddie. Holy shit. Are you okay?”

“Nah, man.” He sounds exhausted, seconds away from completely breaking down. Something within your chest tightens. No one deserves this. “I’m pretty goddamn far from okay.”

Robin prods Dustin to ask where Eddie is. No one wants him to be alone right now. Not when he’s become Hawkins’ most wanted.

“I’m at Skull Rock. Do you know it?”

Dustin nods eagerly. “Uh, yeah. That’s near Cornwallis and–”

“Garrett, yeah.” Steve is already running towards Nancy’s car. “I know where that is.”

You grab Dustin’s shirt. “Tell Eddie we’ll be there soon, alright?”

“Yeah-yeah I will.” The urgence in your voice scares him a little. He knows you’d do whatever to protect someone, but he never thought you’d extend this protectiveness to Eddie. Bringing the walkie to his lips, Dustin delivers your message. “Hold tight. We’re coming.”

The walkie clicks off.

All you can do is hope that you make it to Skull Rock in time.

–

The last time you trekked through Hawkins woods, you had to endure Steve and Dustin constantly arguing as you all threw down chunks of meat onto the train tracks.

Now, over a year later, they’re still arguing.

At least this time there isn’t the stench of raw meat.

“I’m telling you, we’re going the wrong way.” Dustin nags Steve, holding his compass in one hand and a map of Hawkins in the other. “Skull Rock is in the other direction. You’re totally wrong.”

Steve shoves him, causing the teen to trip over a tree root. “What’s up with you always thinking I’m wrong these days?”

“Because you’re always wrong.”

You flick the brim of Dustin’s hat. “Steve has had a few good ideas from time to time. He’s taking us the right way.”

“No, he’s not. It’s north.” Dustin points behind him. Steve rolls his eyes in disbelief. “I’m positive. I checked the map.”

“Nice one, Steve.” You pat his chest sarcastically, sharing a disgusted look with Dustin.

“Okay, I didn’t mean it like that.” Steve trips over his words, nearly falling flat on his face as he struggles to keep up with you. “I mean, I did kiss a lot of girls there, but-but that was before I enjoyed kissing you!”

Your brother gags. “Real catch there, Y/N.”

“I’m ignoring you both,” you tell the boys, continuing down the path Steve pointed out earlier. The gaps in the trees start to become familiar. The rugged terrain smooths over from excessive use, creating an unmarked trail that you’ve walked before. “More importantly, I think we’re getting close to Skull Rock.”

“See? I told you, little Henderson–” Steve starts to cheer, happy to be right. Then the joy on his face quickly dissipates. He’s realized something. “Wait, how… how do you know where Skull Rock is, Y/N?”

A twig snaps beneath your shoe. “Used to go there all the time with Jonathan.”

“What?” Steve and Dustin balk at you, nearly toppling over the other in shock.

Quickly you realize the horrific implications of your words. “Jesus, not like that! We would only go there to read together and listen to music!”

It was your way of escaping life together. Just the two of you, early mornings before the rest of Hawkins woke up. The dew would still be on the grass. Everything was easier, then.

You miss those days more than anything.

Dustin’s suspicious eyes linger on you, though he seems content enough with your explanation. Steve, however, still looks uncertain and utterly mortified. His distrust makes you sigh in annoyance.

“I have never once kissed Jonathan.”

“Right!” Steve snaps back to himself, coughing and wiping his hands on his pants. “Yeah. Totally already knew that. For sure.”

Dustin hits his shoulder. “Dude. Learn when to shut up.”

“Working on it.” Steve mumbles bitterly, trying to catch your eye, but you ignore him.

Behind you, Nancy and Robin walk silently together. They’d been the odd ones out in the group. You had paired off with Dustin and Steve to try and quell their arguing while Max and Lucas wandered off alone.

Neither girl speaks. There’s not a lot to say between them. When you come across a fallen log, they watch silently as Steve extends his arm to you, helping you jump over it. His grip is delicate on your arm, though firm enough to guide you. After you’ve jumped, his eyes instinctively go to your ankle, the same one you sprained years ago, to make sure you aren’t limping.

It’s a subtle, easy to overlook action. But Nancy and Robin see it, and they both understand how painstakingly sincere it is. Your ankle never quite healed right. Some days it bothers you, particularly after walking long distances or jumping too much on it.

And Steve knows your body well enough to understand this.

“Ugh,” Robin’s scoff breaks the silence, happy to voice what she knows Nancy is thinking. “They’re so adorable. I just wanna squeeze ‘em, ya know?”

Nancy smiles at her, although it’s strained. “Steve is very… sweet. With Y/N.”

“‘Sweet’? More like tooth-rotting, Nance.”

And Robin’s right. The way Steve is around you, there almost isn’t a word for it. Nancy has never really seen the two of you together. By the time Steve finally asked you out, it’d been only a week before Joyce told Jonathan they were moving.

Steve had stepped back after that. He allowed you and Nancy to spend as much time as physically possible with Jonathan before he moved. He recognized the strained history between him and Jonathan; he hadn’t wanted to spoil the little time you had left together.

When summer ended and senior year began, Steve had already graduated and Nancy had thrown herself into the school paper by then.

Now, after spending the last few days around you and Steve nonstop, Nancy can’t help but notice all the nuanced ways the two of you are together. She’s picked up the small cues between you, the quirks in your relationship. And she feels a strange sense of curiosity about it.

“Steve and Y/N,” Nancy pauses, unsure how to phrase her question. She doesn’t want to sound intrusive or rude. “How, um. Serious are they?”

Robin is slightly surprised by her question, but the flush of Nancy’s cheeks tells her that it’d been hard for her to even ask it. “Oh, they’re very serious. Like starting a life together serious.”

“A life together?” Nancy doesn’t believe it. She doesn’t understand how the two of you could already be at the point in your relationship. You’ve been together less than a year.

A lot less longer than Nancy has been with Jonathan.

“Yeah, Steve has this crazy idea of following Y/N to NYU.” Robin almost doesn’t think she should be telling her this, but Nancy seems to be hurting and she feels bad for her. Nancy wouldn’t be asking about this if there wasn’t a reason to. “His heart is like, totally set on it. It’s crazy and all, but it’s sweet in his own Steve-ish way.”

“It is sweet.” Nancy affirms, a far off look in her eyes. The same far off look in her eyes from the other day in the library. Robin had asked about Jonathan and suddenly Nancy’s entire demeanor shifted.

Robin clears her throat. “I’m guessing you and Jonathan haven’t figured out the whole life thing yet?”

“That isn’t any of your business.” Nancy responds coldly.

“Well, you did start this entire conversation asking about Steve and Y/N’s relationship.” Robin points out, though not unkindly. “All I’m saying is that someone in a happy relationship wouldn’t ask about another person’s relationship and look totally depressed while doing so.”

Nancy shakes her head incredulously. “Jonathan and I are fine.”

“Okay.” Robin says, but it’s obvious to them both that she doesn’t believe her.

“We’re good.” Nancy tries again, but not even she believes her own words. Defeated, she turns away from Robin and sighs heavily. “It’s just, he was supposed to be here for the break and then he backed out at the last minute for some vague, mumbly Jonathan reason.”

She doesn’t know why she’s confiding in Robin about this. They’re barely friends, Nancy has never spoken to her outside of party related stuff. But Robin remains quiet, listening, Her attention is all it takes before the dam in Nancy’s chest collapses.

“And, to be honest, I’m not that surprised because I’ve been feeling him pulling away lately.” All the hurt and anxiety and insecurity Nancy has pent away finally unravels as she speaks. She can’t stop. “And I don’t know if it’s because we’re 2,000 miles away or if he met someone new or-or if Y/N–”

Nancy stops herself, aware that Robin is your friend. Not hers. Looking away, she hopes Robin didn’t hear her slip. “And now I can’t find out why because apparently he’s blown up his family’s house phone or something, so yeah. If the mention of his name caused a slight muscle spasm or curiosity over another person’s relationship, that’s probably why.”

She swallows down tears. Her chest feels lighter, emptier. The frustration is gone, though the bitterness remains.

Robin is quiet for a moment. The resentment Nancy has been exhibiting makes sense now. While Steve would follow you anywhere, Jonathan doesn’t seem to want to follow Nancy. “Feels like a perfectly reasonable reason to flinch or be nosey.”

Nancy smiles at her, eternally grateful. “Does you accepting my nosiness officially make us friends?”

Robin immediately agrees, albeit in her own shy way, and Nancy laughs alongside her. It’s a nice moment, one Nancy hadn’t known that she needed. Your friendship with the girl doesn’t seem so strange now.

Steve’s distant cheer alerts the others that he’s found Skull Rock.

“Oh, boom!” He crouches beneath a shrub and swats away a spider web. He’s too excited to gloat that he doesn’t even care that there could be spiders in his hair yet again. “In your face, little Henderson. In your stupid, cocky little face!”

“Who’s the fifteen year old here?” You ask your boyfriend, looking at him pointedly.

Dustin looks down at his compass and frowns. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“You hearing him, Y/N?” Steve waves his hands in front of the giant boulder. “Even with it staring him right in the face, the kid can’t even admit that he’s wrong! And you’re saying I’m the immature one? He’s such a little butthead.”

“Sure, because every nineteen year old says butthead as an insult-fuck!” A body lands next to you with petrifying force. You fall back in panic, heart pounding in your chest.

“I concur,” Eddie smiles at you wickedly. “Your brother, Dustin Henderson, is a total butthead.”

Dustin is hugging Eddie before you’ve even caught your breath. The relief on his face is evident. “Jesus, we thought you were a goner.”

“Yeah, me too.” Eddie clutches your brother tightly, the weight of the last few days bearing their toll on him. Still, the glint in his eyes hasn’t left yet. Winking at you, Eddie’s mischievous smile is back. “Never thought I’d see precious Hawkins’ sweetheart at Skull Rock. Sorry for the fright, by the way.”

You glare at him. “I hate you.”

Eddie pulls away from Dustin and nudges you with his shoulder. “To be fair, you were kinda useless when I needed you yesterday. Isn’t your whole shtick helping people?”

Sheepish, you duck your head. “In my defense, the signal was shitty. You kept breaking up, I couldn’t really do anything about holes in boats.”

“It’s okay, you’ll just donate your liver to me the next time I need one.” Eddie nudges your shoulder again, eliciting a begrudging laugh, breaking any remaining tension between you two.

Steve stands next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist in a protective manner. His eyes never leave Eddie, distrustful. “You’re not taking Y/N’s liver.”

“No one’s taking my liver,” you roll your eyes at him fondly before turning to Eddie. “But I can bake you something as compensation.”

Eddie clicks his teeth. “Even better.”

Nancy hands the bag of food over to him and he takes it eagerly. He rifts through its contents while everyone else gathers around him. You all allow him time to adjust, to breathe for a moment.

But eventually the overwhelming need to know outweighs the guilt. Nancy, always the one to get straight to the point, finally breaks the silence. “What happened yesterday?”

Eddie’s face darkens. “Jason and his goddamn goons. They were at the lake house and I was cornered. Didn’t know what to do. The fuckers were angry.”

Your eyes wander his face, noting the lack of bruises and cuts on it. A fight hadn’t broken out, which means Eddie escaped somehow. “And when they found you?”

Eddie takes a swig from his flask. He winces at the taste, but it seems to settle his nerves. “Turns out, the boat didn’t have holes.”

“So Patrick’s body, was it…?” Nancy can’t bring herself to finish the question.

“Found in the lake? Sure was.” Eddie smiles venomously. “He tried swimming after me, so did Jason. Only one of them made it back to shore.”

Lucas looks away, grief clouding his expression. You mumble an apology to him. You hate that there isn’t anything else you can do to help him. He’s lost so much already.

“It was the exact same thing that happened to Chrissy. Patrick’s body shot out of the water like a fucking rocketlauncher.” Eddie says bitterly. His teeth are clenched, the memories from last night are gruesome to recount. “Then his bones started snapping and Jason lost his mind. He thought I was the one doing it.”

Dustin paces next to you. He’s mumbling to himself, every detail Eddie reveals only worries him more. Vecna has made his third kill. You and Max are next. There’s something that he’s missing. He just doesn’t know what.

“I ended up falling into the water and swimming to shore. I tried calling, but my walkie was busted, man. Drenched.” Eddie drinks again. He shakes his head curtly, scoffs to himself. “So I, uh. Did the thing that I now, apparently. I ran.”

The condescension in his voice, the cold laugh, upsets you. He’s disappointed in himself, he hates what he’s done, but no one blames him. There was no saving Patrick. Anyone who witnessed such a cruel death also would’ve run away. “You had no choice, Eddie.”

He ignores your comfort and instead answers Nancy’s question of what time the attack took place. “Yeah, I know exactly what time it was.” Eddie unclasps his watch and holds it up. “My walkie wasn’t the only thing that got soaked.”

Nancy catches the watch he throws her at and quickly reads the time on it. “9:27.”

You and Robin look at each other in surprise. She raises her eyebrows, thinking what you are. “That’s the same time our flashlights went kablooey.”

“That’s one hell of a coincidence.” You mutter to yourself, but Steve hears you anyways and squeezes your side.

“That surge of energy had to be Vecna attacking Patrick.” Nancy pieces together, tossing Eddie his watch back.

It isn’t a comforting realization, but at least it’s information you can use. You now know where, how, and when he Vecna attacks. The only piece missing is what to do with the information you have.

Dustin continues to pace back and forth. He’s hunched over, and when you look closer, you realize he’s scowling at his compass as if it personally offended him.

“So now we just need to sneak into his lair in the Upside Down and drive a stake through his heart.” Max says, as if it’s the most casual sentence in the world.

You look at her like she’s crazy. “We’re not going to the Upside Down!”

But no one is listening to you. Instead Steve, Robin, and Max begin a philosophical debate about whether or not Vecna has a heart or if he’s a vampire.

“It was a metaphor.” Max informs Steve, slight disappointment in her voice.

“A bullet should work on him, right?” Eddie asks the group.

You shake your head at him. “Bullets never work.”

He stares at you, somewhat terrified. “How… how do you already know that?”

“We’ve had a lot of practice.”

“That’s actually even more upsetting to hear.”

Lucas and the others start spewing creative ways to kill Vecna. They’re graphic and violent, but you already know that none of it will work. You’ve fought creatures from the Upside Down before; they’re notoriously difficult to kill, oftentimes requiring fire, bullets, knives, and bear traps.

None of which you currently have.

Nancy knows this, too. “We can’t do any of that until we find a way into the Upside Down.”

“Why are we all suddenly okay with going there?” You ask incredulously. They’re all suggesting the Upside Down as if it’s fucking Disneyland. “I mean, haven’t we been trying to cut any connection to that goddamn place for the last four years?”

“What other option do we have, Y/N?” Nancy pushes. “You know there’s no other way to stop this.”

Max sighs in exasperation. “What we need is for El to get her powers back.”

“I miss her.” You sigh as well. You’re worried that there’s something wrong. You’ve called the Byers’ home a million times now, but no one is answering. Despite the weirdness between you and Jonathan, you still want him to be okay. He’s never gone this long without talking to you.

And with Jonathan’s silence comes silence from El and Will, too. You hope they’re okay as well, especially knowing that Mike is supposed to be with them this week. You figured by now that Will would’ve called you to complain about Mike’s obsession with El.

Instead all there’s been is silence, and their silence unnerves you.

Steve voices that he also misses El, turning to Eddie to explain how she has powers, but Eddie isn’t paying attention to him.

“Hey, Henderson’s not cursed, is he?” His eyes follow Dustin’s pacing figure, nervous.

“No, but I am.”

Eddie chokes on his spit and Steve snaps his finger at you. “That’s so not funny, Y/N. You’re in danger.”

“My point exactly. I feel that I’ve earned the right to joke about my demise.” You say, though you do grab his hand and squeeze it softly to voice your unsaid apology. As much as his concern warms you, you wish he didn’t have any at all for you. Worry has never been kind to Steve. Trying to brighten the mood, you turn to Eddie. “Don’t you agree?”

Eddie raises his hands. “I’m not a part of this.”

“Boom!” Dustin’s loud screech causes everyone to jump. He points his finger at you, a manic glint in his eyes. “Bada… bada… boom!”

You shove his finger out of your face. “Are you done yet?”

“I was right.” Dustin is smug, the mania in his eyes has yet to settle. “Skull Rock was north.”

You want to strangle your brother. You love him, you really do, but he can be very egotistical sometimes. He’s spent the entire conversation obsessively searching for a way to be right, rather than figure out what to do next about Vecna.

He’s insane.

Steve throws his head back in annoyance, equally as fed up with Dustin as you are. “You’re serious? This is Skull Rock!” He points at the giant boulder behind him. “You’re totally, absolutely, 100% wrong. Right now!”

“There’s literally nowhere else Skull Rock could be, Dustin.” You back Steve up.

Dustin smiles. “Yes… and no.”

Steve has to step away, and you can’t blame him. You’re also seconds away from bashing your head against a tree. You’re in a forest. There are plenty to choose from.

“This worked correctly when we left the Wheelers’.” Dustin holds up his compass. “It was correct when we got in the car on Kerley, but it started to slip the further east we went. Now it’s way off. When I was leading us here, I wasn’t wrong. The compass was.”

Steve insists that the compass is merely faulty equipment and that it still makes Dustin wrong, but you start to remember another time a compass started acting up. How it almost caused the party to split apart.

El had been the one controlling the compass, leading them in circles because she hadn’t wanted them near Hawkins Lab.

Which would mean…

“It isn’t a faulty compass.” You look up at Dustin, now understanding.

His face splits into a proud grin. “Correct. Lucas, do you remember what can affect a compass?”

The teen is startled by the question. Lucas’ face is masked with confusion, but suddenly everything clicks. “An electromagnetic field.”

Robin questions what any of this means, prompting Dustin to explain what Mr. Clark told you at Will’s funeral. He explains the electromagnetic theory and how the presence of a stronger field can make a compass stop working. “So either there’s a super big magnet around here, or…”

“There’s a gate.” You finish, ice washing over you. The idea terrifies you, but somehow it makes perfect sense. “Maybe even multiple gates.”

Everyone looks uncomfortable with this new information, but Dustin cuts through the tension. “It’d have to be smaller, way less powerful.”

“A snack-sized gate.” Robin adds, and you appreciate that she’s trying to make you laugh.

Steve asks how multiple gates can even be possible, and all Dustin can do is shrug. He doesn’t know, but it’s the furthest you’ve gotten to any semblance of an explanation. “The last time we’ve seen anything like it, it was a gate. And I hope it is, because then we’d have a way to Vecna. And a shot at freeing Y/N and Max from this curse.”

It’s the most hopeful you’ve seen Dustin all week. He’s optimistic, endlessly proud of himself for figuring out the missing piece of the equation.

“Okay, but there’s still the Eddie problem. What do we do about him?” You remind your brother.

Steve nods. “Yeah, he’s still a wanted man. We can’t just go hike the woods.”

Dustin is already several feet away, eager to start following the compass. He’s so close to finally lifting the curse. He’s going to save you. He will. “This little capsule might be the key to saving all three of them! Max, Y/N, and Eddie.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that even if you do find a way to kill Vecna, it’d be almost impossible to clear Eddie’s name. No one else knows about the Upside Down. Legally speaking, you aren’t even allowed to know about the Upside Down.

But Dustin bows to Eddie and pretends to tip his hat. “What say you, Eddie the Banished?”

Everyone turns to the older teen. It’s a lot to ask of him. This entire time he’s been hiding, fearful of shadows and people. You wouldn’t think any less of him if he declined. And yet, Eddie surprises you. “I say you’re asking me to follow you into Mordor, which if I’m totally straight with you, I think is a really bad idea, but the Shire… the Shire is burning.”

Dustin bounces up and down in anticipation. You cross your arms, rolling your eyes at him, but his childish glee makes you smile anyways. It’s cute, as much as it pains you to admit.

Eddie stands up. “So Mordor it is.”

He marches towards Dustin, no ounce of hesitation within his movements. He has complete and total trust in your brother. He’s following him into what could very well be Hell, and yet Eddie does so with a brave face. They really are close.

And Eddie has chosen to join, not run away.

“No more running?” You catch his arm.

Eddie smiles at you. “No more running.”

“What the hell is Mordor?” Steve cuts in, lost.

You giggle at him and grab his hand. “C’mon, Harrington. To Mordor we go.”

–

Dustin’s compass leads you back to Lover’s Lake.

You and Steve walk quietly behind the others. Your fondest memories together are at the lake. It’s where Steve finally asked you to be his. That night, underneath the stars, you kissed for hours and felt as if you were the only two people in the world.

As if reading your mind, Steve brings your hand to his lips and kisses it softly.

The small moment between you is ruined when Dustin suddenly starts to speed up, practically running away from the group. Eddie shouts at him to slow down and the thought of your brother alone in the woods frightens you. Pulling away from Steve, you run after him.

“I think we’re getting close!” Dustin calls over his shoulder, not seeing the water in front of him.

Eddie grabs the back of his hoodie and saves him before he can fall in. “Watch your step, big guy.”

“This is confounding,” Dustin is breathless, utterly in awe.

“There’s a gate in Lover’s Lake?” Max is skeptical.

You hum, thinking. “Unless there’s somehow another reason for Dustin’s compass going haywire, I’d say there’s a gate here.”

“Whenever the Demogorgon attacked, it always left an opening.” Nancy slowly says, her eyes scanning the water as she studies it. “Maybe Vecna’s the same way.”

Dipping the tip of your muddied mary janes into the water, you look down at it thoughtfully. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

You hate the Upside Down and all that it’s taken from you. Hopper, Will’s childhood, Max’s brother, El’s life. You hate all the violence and pain it brought into your life. The scars that litter your skin and the nightmares that will never leave.

But Max comes first. You have to save her. It doesn’t matter what it’ll cost you as long as she’s safe.

Eddie guides everyone to the boat he used to escape from Jason. Though its engine doesn’t work, he reassures the group that it’ll be fine. At the very least, it’ll get you deep into the water. Steve helps him push it to the shore’s edge.

Robin steps onto the boat first, using Steve and Eddie’s heads for balance as they hold the boat steady. They scoff at her, but she doesn’t care. Eddie goes next, then Nancy. When you go to step inside, Dustin pulls you back.

“Have you lost your mind?” His hand doesn’t leave your arm. “In case you’ve somehow forgotten, you’re also marked. You’re not going anywhere near a goddamn gate.”

His voice shakes with fear for you. Your heart twists. “Dustin, I haven’t had any visions yet. Just the headaches. I even have my walkman on me. I promise I’ll be fine.”

“I’m coming with you.” Dustin juts his chin out, trying to appear brave before you.

But you see through him anyways. “You’re not. I need you to stay with Max and Lucas for me, okay?” Before he can argue with you some more, you kiss the top of his head. “I love you.”

Just as Dustin can’t stand the idea of losing you, you can’t stand the idea of losing him, either.

Dustin snatches your walkman from your pocket. You lunge at him, but he’s fast. In a heartbeat he’s at his backpack, grabbing an old plastic bag, before he starts frantically wrapping your walkman within it. He ties the plastic tight around it, making it airtight.

“I hate what you’re doing,” Dustin gives the walkman back to you with contempt in his voice. “But I’m not losing you to a waterlogged walkman.”

The pressure of tears builds behind your eyelids. You love your brother endlessly. Kissing his head again, you pull him into a bone crushing hug. “You’re never losing me.”

“I better not.” He mumbles, sinking into your embrace. “And I love you too, by the way.”

You laugh wetly, and Eddie takes it as his cue to finally speak. “Not to ruin this tender sibling moment, but this boat only holds like three people tops. Dustin wouldn’t be able to come anyways.”

Dustin sticks his tongue out at him and Nancy extends her arm. “Compass?”

Reluctantly, your brother hands her his compass. After he’s given it to her, Steve finally turns to Dustin. He lowers his voice, trying to give him some privacy. “Listen, I’ll keep Y/N safe, alright?”

Though he doesn’t want to, Dustin nods. Steve is the only person that he trusts your life with. If it were anyone else, Dustin would’ve thrown himself onto the boat and demanded he be next to you. But you’re with Steve and your walkman is safe. That’s all he can ask for now.

“You better.” Dustin warns, but his heart isn’t really in it.

Steve claps his shoulder and kicks off the shore’s edge, sending the boat into the water. It’s a small boat, Steve has to wrap his arms around you to fit. You’re pressed tight against his chest while Eddie, Nancy, and Robin are squished on the other side of the boat.

“Bedtime at nine, kiddos!” Robin shouts as the boat floats away, giggling.

You hit her shoulder. “Be nice, they’re worried about us.”

She shrugs, indifferent, and starts helping Eddie steer the boat. Nancy guides them with the compass while you and Steve hold up the flashlights. It’s eerily quiet on the lake. The only sound that infiltrates the night is the soft crash of the waves against the shore.

About halfway into the lake, Nancy orders Eddie and Robin to stop rowing. “Woah, woah, woah. Slow down.”

The boat comes to a stop. You shine your flashlight over the compass and watch as it spins wildly. It can’t seem to decide on a direction to point in. “Definitely not just faulty equipment.”

Nancy nods, her face grim.

“Guys, what’s going on? Talk to me.” Dustin’s voice crackles through the walkie. He must’ve seen the boat stop.

“Your compass has gone from wonky to wonky with a capital ‘aah!’” Robin tells him, eyes narrowed at the instrument.

You take the walkie from her. “I think we found the gate.”

“Steve, what are you doing?” Nancy’s concerned voice causes you to turn.

Steve has taken his shoes off and he’s already stripping his socks by the time you process what the hell he’s doing. “Steve Harrington I will drown you before I let you close to any goddamn gate.”

“Somebody’s gotta go down and check this out, angel.” He says hastily, taking his other sock off. “Unless one of you can top being a Hawkins High swim co-captain and a certified lifeguard for three years.”

“What, did the swim team train you in dimension hunting?” You grab his arms, struggling against his strength to stop him. He fights back, overpowering you easily. You’re starting to panic now. “I-I’m not letting you down there!”

“It’s gotta be me.” He’s speaking to you in a hushed, understanding tone. Steve’s eyes find yours, and he pleads with you to listen. “Let it be me.”

Let me save you.

“I…” You don’t want Steve to go; you’re scared you’ll lose him if you do.

“Y/N, please.”

Don’t make me beg for your life again.

Last summer Steve had been torn away from you by Russians. You watched as they took him from you, pried him from your grasp. The fear, the overwhelming sense of despair you’d felt back then had almost strangled you.

You’ve already almost lost him once.

It would kill you if it happened again. You know it would. He’s your lifeline. Steve is the air you breathe and the flesh on your skin. He’s your constant, your home.

“Come home to me, okay?”

They’re the same words you screamed to him the last time he was taken from you. It’d been the only thing you could think of, the only way to encompass all that he is to you. But Steve hadn’t been able to swear his oath to you. Time had run out.

But not tonight.

“Always,” Steve promises.

Then, ignoring everyone around you, Steve pulls you into a bruising kiss. His kiss, his promise, they breathe life back into you. The assurance that he’ll come back to you fills honey into your bloodstream. The taste of his lips coats your tongue in dandelion oil.

Someone clears their throat aggressively, not so subtly reminding you and Steve that you’re still on a boat surrounded by three other people.

Breaking apart, your cheeks burn when you see Eddie’s kissy face. “Romantic.”

“Shut up.”

You help Steve undress. It’s intimate, tender. You would do anything for him. Pulling his sweater gently over his head, you kiss him again. “Good luck, honey. I love you.”

Steve rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in for the final time. His hands cup your face, warm and rough. “I love you too, angel.”

Eddie hands him a flashlight wrapped in a plastic bag. “Hey. What Y/N said. I mean, without the love confession. Um. Good luck.”

Taking the flashlight, Steve thanks him. Robin grabs your hand, both of you needing the other for comfort. She’s terrified, Steve is her best friend. Nancy looks at him with a look in her eyes that you can’t quite decipher.

“Be careful.” She finally tells him.

Steve nods, looking back at you one last time, before taking a deep breath and diving into the dark water.

The seconds drag on like hours. The moment Steve dives in, you feel every second he’s under the water like a knife cutting into your lungs. Your legs shake, Robin’s grip on you is so tight that it threatens to cut off circulation, but you don’t let go of her.

“Where we at, Wheeler?” Robin asks after what feels like a decade.

“Closing in on a minute.” She sees your shaking body and rests a kind hand against your shoulder. “Steve can handle it. I know he can. He’s strong.”

You bite your nails anxiously. Blood fills your mouth. You know Nancy is trying to comfort you, but her words only make you feel worse. Steve is strong, but he’s still only human.

A horrifying thought crosses your mind: you’ve dreamt of this before, only it’d been Billy drowning you in the pool. Your body goes numb. Tonight can’t end that way.

Almost another minute drags on before Steve’s head miraculously resurfaces. He inhales sharply, splashing water all over you, but you don’t care. You’re leaning over the boat’s edge the second his hands reach the surface.

You can finally breathe again.

“Steve!” You kiss his soaked hair, grateful to feel his skin against your lips again.

“I found it,” he gasps out, spitting water out of his mouth. He reaches for your hand, anxious as well to feel your touch. “I-I found it.”

Robin cheers, quickly alerting Dustin that he’d been right about the gates. You go to help Steve back into the boat, but he waves you away and goes back to holding your hand. He doesn’t want you getting wet, it’s cold out and you could get sick.

“It was wild.” Steve rubs his finger over the back of your hand. He’s smiling, adrenaline coursing through him. “It’s more a snack-sized gate than the mama gate, but still, it’s pretty damn big–”

Suddenly he’s back underneath the water, pulled so deep below that he almost drags you down with him. You scream, shrill and terrified. Nancy and Robin rush to your side, holding you back so that you don’t fall into the water as well.

Steve resurfaces again, but he must sense that this isn’t the end, because he rips your hand from his. He does it to save you, to ensure you don’t get taken with him. But you fight against it, you don’t understand why he wants you to let go of him.

Steve pries your hand away. “Y/N–”

And then he’s gone.

Everyone screams as Steve’s body disappears into the water.

“Steve!” You’re dizzy with blind fear. He had protected you. He had spent his final seconds making sure that you wouldn’t get hurt, and now he’s gone.

Robin’s arms are around you, holding you back as you scream. She knows what you’re about to do. “Y/N, you can’t–”

“Let go!” You throw your shoulder back, prying your arm away. She screams at you, Nancy and Eddie do as well, but you’re already tearing your sweater off.

You’re going in. You don’t care. Steve needs you.

He needs you.

The water is cold. It shocks your system. Eyes burning, you struggle to make out where Steve is. Faintly, in the dark water, you see his body being dragged down. There’s something twisted around his ankle, pulling him towards a red light. You can hear his muffled screams. His arms flail, bubbles escape his mouth as he struggles against it, as he’s pulled through the red haze.

Lungs burning, you will your legs to kick as hard as they can. You’re both running out of time.

The closer you get to the red haze, the colder the water becomes. Your ears pop at the depth. As the murky water settles, you realize that the red that illuminates is a crack in the earth’s surface. Vines encase its edges.

Breaking through it, air hits your body as you fall to the ground. Your back scrapes against the rough ground beneath you, leaving you gasping for breath. You barely have time to gather your bearings before you hear Steve’s pained screams.

You stumble onto your feet, desperately searching for him.

What you find is Steve’s body on the ground, vines choking him as he writhes in agony, demonic bats gorging on his stomach.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #bdyr #m's writing #HAPPY ONE YEAR !!!!#WHAT A WILD JOURNEY LMAO

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fyrewalkwithmee · 11 months ago

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Temptations Pt.1

Early seasons Spencer x roommate reader. NSFW MDNI 18 +++

Part 2

Basically Reid and reader are roommates and are both pining over each other but don't know. Reader catches Reid getting off and kindaaa joins in🤭? Idk just read it.

Warnings: Perv!Spencer, Sub!Spencer, Perv!reader, voyeurism, mutual masturbation (but Spencer doesn't know), descriptions of masturbation both male and female. MOMMY KINK

1.1k words

I'm such a slut for subby, mommy kink early seasons Reid I'm sorry.😫

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Spencer Reid was a good roommate. That’s what he liked to tell himself when he let his temptations get the better of him. When his throbbing cock was gripped tight in his hand, his head thrown back in pleasure as he pumped himself desperately in order to reach a long-awaited release.

He found it difficult to get himself off while away on a case, always having to share a room with Hotch or Morgan and his mind being too distracted by whatever sick unsub they were trying to catch. When he would return home he would be left with a week's worth of sexual frustration that was only amplified by seeing you, his roommate, his friend and his biggest sexual muse.

He felt terrible for sexualising you when all you'd ever been was kind and supportive towards him. But he just couldn't help it, he was attracted to everything about you. Your outgoing personality, your kindness and understanding, your smile, your body… god your body drove him crazy. He had lost count of all the times you would ask him for his opinion on an outfit before going clubbing with your friends only for him to rub himself raw at the memory of your curves once you had left. Or during movie nights when you would slowly doze off and use his shoulder as a pillow, the scent of your shampoo suffocating him in the best way and making him uncomfortably hard. He would have to excuse himself and go to the bathroom, a pair of your panties in his hand as he wildly stroked his cock while trying to conceal his whimpers and moans. He always felt extreme guilt as soon as he would finish and it only worsened when you would apologise for falling asleep on him knowing that he had a problem with germs and touching.

He tried to stop himself but it was no use, he knew that like everyone else in his life, you saw him as this awkward, lanky, sexually inexperienced boy and you could never be attracted to someone like that. So he continued fantasying about you because it was the closest he'd ever come to ever being with you or experiencing your non-platonic love.

Readers Pov

Spencer Reid was a little perv… and so were you.

That's what you discovered last week when you came home late after seeing some friends, being extra quiet to make sure you didn't wake your roommate Spencer who must've been exhausted after flying home from a weeklong case. You turned off all the lights and slowly made your way past the kitchen towards your room, trying your best to navigate the pitch-black apartment.

You were almost in the clear when you heard a strange sound escape the slightly ajar door of your roomates room. You stopped in your tracks thinking he might be having one of his nightmares and inched closer to his door to further investigate. It was then that you heard it, a strange sound like something wet being moved around quickly followed by breathy whimpers. It took a second for it to click before you realised what you were hearing.

Spencer Reid your sweet, awkward, innocent roommate was masturbating. Your eyes widened in the darkness as you stood there frozen in place. Your mind was screaming for you to move but something else deep inside you wouldn't allow it, you knew you were attracted to Spencer but didn't think he would ever like you back. You weren't an intellectual like him, you were a loud, outspoken party girl who couldn't even finish a degree before getting bored and swapping to something new. It was entirely perverted but this could be your only chance to witness Spencer being sexual, even if it was with his hand and not you.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a loud desperate whine that sent sparks of arousal shooting right down to your core. You instinctively clenched your thighs to relieve some of the tension and closed your eyes so you could zone in on Spencer's movements and sounds. His breathing was erratic matching the impossible quick strokes of his hand around his cock. You could tell he was getting close by the way he began to whimper, the high-pitched sound had you cupping your pussy through your panties and you began to rub your palm back and forth. It was then that Spencer began to call out,

“F-fuck. Feels so good baby please.” You could hear him squirming around in his sheets as he edged himself, the dirty sounds of his slickness becoming impossibly loud. You imagined how he would look with his sweaty hair stuck to his forehead, cheeks flushed and red matching the tip of his angry, throbbing tip. That thought alone was enough to have your wetness begin to soak into the soft cotton of your panties which you pulled aside to insert a finger. You clenched around yourself as your finger moved in and out, adding another one and having to use the door frame to keep you upright.

You couldn't believe you were about to make yourself cum while creeping on your roommate, but the sensation of your own pleasure mixed with spencers sounds of desperation were too good to pass up. You heard Spencer's movements increase once again, his sweet moans filling your ears as you matched his frantic pace with your own. You were both so close to release, just needing that one last push to be thrown off the edge.

And then Spencer’s whines and curses were joined by something new,

“Oh fuck y/n. Y/n please mommy. Please mommy let me cum, let me cum.”

You had no time to be shocked as both you and Spencer’s bodies were flung into your own intense climaxes. Spencer let out the most delicious whimpers as ropes of cum spurted all over his torso and you clung frantically to the doorframe, one palm over your mouth and the other working hard to ride out your orgasm to its completion. Once you had both come down all you could hear were Spencer’s laboured breaths and your own heart pounding in your ears.

You stood frozen for a moment longer before quietly slipping into your room and collapsing onto your bed trying to process all that had just happened. A new and stronger sensation of want for the boy overcame you as you relived his cries for you and the way he submitted to you in his fantasies.

You couldn't believe that this was what he'd been thinking about doing with you all this time...

and you couldn't wait to make him admit it.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader

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mihyasliebendermann · 3 months ago

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𝙋𝙇𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙏𝙏𝙔 𝘾𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙍! ᴺᵉˢˢ ˣ ᶠᵉᵐ!ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

Thinking about Ness needily bucking his hips closer to yours while repeatedly whining "please" all over again without a single thought in his head as you lovingly caress his face and call him sweet nicknames, a mix of pure devotion and helplessness radiating from his body. His palms grasping your thighs tightly, leaving gentle finger imprints, beseeching silently for permission, his warm breath tickling your skin as he leans in for another kiss, eyes closed in fervent anticipation.

His body arches, spasm-like movements echoing down the length of his back, trembling beneath the soft caress of the sheets as you lovingly stroke his skin, his skin a gentle canvas of rippling muscles. Every delicate curve of his body testifies to the animalistic yet endearing nature of his anguish, making your palms tingle as you gently smudge away the tears threatening to fall.

But it's in the chaos of your sweaty session together when, suddenly, he cries. Whimpers really. Full-on sobbing and whimpering as he buries his face in your neck while you bounce on his length. Tears stream down his cheeks, dripping onto the creased sheets below. And yet his entire body stiffens, veins bulging beneath the surface of his skin. It's apparent that here and now, all rational thought is useless. His raw emotion reduces the room to just two. His body seems a synchronized machine in perfect sync with yours, as you go at a gentle rolling pace, and it threatens to spiral rapidly out of control.

His head jerks, crashing it unforgivingly against the nearest wall, the jarring motion making him cry out sharply with pleasure, the unadulterated release igniting an intense surge in the atmosphere of your bedroom. Red-faced from exertion, his eyes, tear-stained magenta, stare at you adoringly, overflowing with gratitude. The brief impact and heavy breathing makes his chest rise high, emphasizing the vulnerability of his position. You brush a piece of straying hair from his forehead and guide his arms, hands wrapped tightly around your waist, as they steadily make their way up your back to finally wrap around your shoulder blades.

Ness's voice muffled into chest while grunting, the normally lithe body thrashing wildly now cramps tightly against the bed frame, hands digging uncomfortably into your skin.

Overwhelming and full-on relief at being so close to the moment, to which you tell him to cum at the same time as you do, it is almost punishment for he doesn't know how much longer he can keep himself from cumming, and the fact that he's been begging you for the past few minutes.

The room momentarily suspends time while both of you succumb to primal urges.

Finally, after what would seem like an eternity, an intense release is satisfied by the two of you falling into a gentle yet intense, convulsive. Your chest and his simultaneously spattered with a mix of satisfaction, your skin sticky with mixed bodily fluids, both you, after your bodies finish thrashing around uncontrollably, end up reaching an incredible level calm. Exhausted and weary, they eventually collapsed, weighed down heavily on whatever surface was nearest.

After lying quietly a moment, Ness weakly began to wipe away the sticky trails of his own spent tears. Confined tears constricting free movement around his almond-shaped eyes, a shy smile blooming quietly. For the briefest instant, thoughts poured through his fragile mind - though seemingly, only one thought echoes his heart, and his sensitive and uncertain voice, tinged with the simplest hint of fear.

"D-Did I make you proud…?"

#alexis ness #ness #ness alexis #blue lock #blue lock ness #ness smut #blue lock smut #smut #mdni #i need my german boytoy #MEN WHO WHIMPER>>>

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incognit0slut · 2 years ago

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Dance with the devil

Spencer reassures Reader that sex toys are his ally rather than his enemy. Based on:

warning: 18+ explicit content—toys, edging, overstimulation, dacryphilia, and unprotected sex; words: 3.7k

a/n: fun fact, had this prompt for more than a month but I finished it in one day. Kind of rushed, so I don't know if it's any good, to be honest

MASTERLIST

“…you picked a dance with the devil and you lucked out…”

SPENCER WAS A GOOD BOY—she meant that in the most innocent, non-sexual way possible. Her boyfriend was the epitome of manners, a gentleman in every sense of the word. He was kind and considerate, and even when he might not be in the greatest mood, he still had a way of being thoughtful and respectful to his peers.

Yet beneath his angelic, good-boy behavior, she was certain there was a part of him possessed by the devil.

Like now, for instance, there was nothing angelic about the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. It was a smile she had never seen before, a smile that seemed to hold a deeper meaning as if he had a certain agenda waiting to be carried out at the back of his head. His smile was so cunning that it was starting to unsettle her, and the more she stared at him, the more it looked eerie.

And the worst thing of it all, she was the reason he was acting this way. She was the reason why he abruptly stopped what he was about to say the moment he stepped into their shared bedroom. She was the reason why he was now standing by the door looking like he was about to commit something sinister.

Because right under the dim light of the room, his eyes were trained between her legs.

So this was what it felt like being caught red-handed doing something no one was supposed to see. Y/n had always made sure nobody knew this side of her, especially not her long-term and committed boyfriend who knew nothing of what she often did when he was traveling for work. He didn't know what went on each time she was alone without him, what she had to do to keep herself satisfied when he wasn't around.

Sudden waves of nerves coursed through her body as she felt her heart pounding wildly in her chest. It felt as if she was caught cheating. Well, if having a pink silicone vibrator nestled between her thighs was actually considered cheating. Maybe it was. Maybe not. But whatever it might be, the look on his face did not seem good.

"I-I can explain." She slowly sat up, her hand letting go of her precious toy while the other hand grabbed onto her shirt, fixing it slightly as it ruffled around her waist.

Her nervousness intensified as he slowly approached her. His steps were deliberate, and measured, but there was something disconcerting about the way he moved. A faint smile played upon his lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry, as he drew closer, and the sinister undertone of his expression became more clear. Her heart hammered in her chest, not knowing whether to interpret his smile as a friendly gesture or a warning sign. The room seemed to close in around them and the atmosphere grew thick with tension as he slowly climbed onto the bed, the bed sinking beneath his weight.

"Spence?"

He simply looked up at her but remained silent. His smile remained unchanged, a mask that concealed his true intentions. She desperately wished he would at least speak. She fidgeted uncomfortably, her nerves fraying at the edges as she waited for him to break the silence.

And then suddenly, and deliberately slow, she saw him picking up her vibrator which had laid forgotten by her feet. She could feel the warmth spreading along her cheeks as he examined it, turning it over his hand as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his entire life.

The tension in the room was almost unbearable as he finally broke the silence. She braced herself for his words, her pulse quickening, her nerves on edge. But what he said was far from what she had expected.

With an unsettling calmness, he uttered, "You know, I've always wondered what they looked like."

His unexpected words hung in the air. While she wasn't sure of his true intentions, it appeared that he wasn't expressing anger or displeasure, which was entirely different than how she had imagined him to react. "W-wait, you're not mad?"

"Because you use this? No," he admitted, still examining the long, pink device, intrigued by its shape as he studied the curved end. "But I am disappointed that you had to keep it a secret from me."

Her mind raced, searching for the right words to respond. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings." When he simply flashed a confused look, she explained, "Some men don't like it when their partner gets off using something else that isn't them."

"Let me guess. What you meant by some men, you meant your exes."

"A few of them, yes."

He smiled again. "Well, it's a good thing I'm not one of them then."

Her eyes glazed over him with uncertainty, her words coming out in a hesitant whisper. "So... you're not mad?"

His smile remained, though it seemed to shift subtly as he shook his head slowly. "No, not at all," he replied, his tone still calm and measured. "I'm more curious, actually."

Her brow furrowed in response. "Curious?"

"Mh-hmm." Then his eyes went back to the device, discovering a small button on the bottom. Curiosity got the better of him and he pressed it, his eyes widening slightly as it vibrated in his hand. He clicked on the upper button, his brows shooting upwards when the vibration intensified. "I didn't know it has a lot of settings."

Her cheeks burned with a deep flush. What was happening? Was he really finding her vibrator interesting? And when she thought things couldn't get worse, her stomach flipped when he turned it over again, the evidence of her arousal coating the end of her toy glistening under the light.

Dear god, couldn't the floor just open up and swallow her whole?

He then surprised her with his next words.

"Lay down for me."

His unexpected request took her completely off guard. Her eyes widened, her heart raced even faster, and her embarrassment transformed into sheer bewilderment.

"Lay down," he repeated, his voice sounding more firm and commanding.

His tone left her with little room for hesitation. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest, and she slowly lowered herself to the bed, her apprehension mounting with each passing moment.

Above her, Spencer fumbled with the buttons again, figuring out the mechanics of what they do, and when he was done figuring out how the toy worked, he powered it on to the lowest setting and looked at her expectantly. The tension in the room intensified to an almost unbearable level as she watched him push her knees apart.

"W-What are you doing?" She gasped, the cold air hitting her exposed skin.

"Continuing where you left off."

Then suddenly, and without warning, he pressed the vibrator directly to her clit. Her eyes rolled back in both shock and pleasure as a humiliatingly high-pitched squeal escaped out of her slack-jawed mouth.

It was set to the lowest vibration option, but she had been playing with herself before this. And now with Spencer doing the work, pressing her toy right against her already wet folds, she was already squirming beneath him. The buzzing became higher in pitch as he went up one set, and the sensation became too much to handle.

"This is fun," he whispered. His thumb briefly brushed over her clit, causing her to gasp, and he breathed out a quiet laugh before pressing the vibrator against her once more. The pleasure was starting to increase every time he moved the toy around her, rubbing it back and forth vertically in quick motions.

"You know what would be more fun?" He answered his own question by moving the toy above her clit, and with one swift motion, not one, but two of his fingers plunged into her. Her back arched at the double sensation, mouth hanging open as he curled his fingers inside her while the vibrator pressed against her clit.

Her legs shook violently to the simulation and Spencer saw the way her body trembled, noticing the sign of her climax coming in close. Seeing her thighs quiver set off a hunger in him, a desire for her to surrender completely to his command. He wanted to see her melt into nothingness. He wanted to see her lose herself in pleasure.

Grunting, he adjusted his fingers inside her, containing their thrusts as his other hand turned the vibration higher. The vibration heightened her senses. It was becoming harder to suppress her mewls as the pressure became more intense as she closed her eyes, throwing her head back, feeling the intensity grow.

She was so close he could feel her clenching around his fingers, and with a devious grin, he increased the vibrations once more. She cried out his name as the pressure kept building. Her mind was spinning. Her body was at its breaking point.

"I-I'm gonna—"

He turned off the toy and pulled his fingers out. Her eyes snapped open.

"Wha..." she looked at him with half-lidded eyes, her chest heaving frantically. "W-Why did you stop?"

He smiled at the sight before him. Her skin was sweltering against her shirt, sweat damped on her forehead and neck, her thighs were apart, and a vibrator stuck between her legs, sleek with her arousal. "We're just getting started."

And then he grabbed onto her last piece of clothing and helped her pull it over her head. Her taught nipples greeted him and his skin brushed against them, his wide hands softly squeezing her breasts as his thumb circled around the nub.

"So beautiful," he praised, his eyes traveling down her body, legs spread open for him to enjoy. Her sex was throbbing from his teasing, and it took him a lot of self-control not to bury himself deep inside her right at that moment. Instead, he leaned back and unbuttoned his dress shirt, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly slipped off his clothes.

His pants were next, then came off his briefs, and then there he was again, back in between her legs wearing nothing but a smirk on his lips as her eyes focused on his hard length resting against his thighs. He hummed in satisfaction at the look she was giving him, and because she looked so damn irresistible, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his in a slow, lazy kiss.

He tasted every inch of her, his tongue colliding against hers hungrily, getting lost in the sweet taste of her before pulling away, a string of saliva stretching between their parted lips. Her chest heaved as she watched him grab onto her vibrator again, and with that cunning smile curled at the corner of his lips, he placed the toy against her mouth.

"Suck," he commanded.

She looked at him hesitantly, but beneath his penetrating gaze, she slowly wrapped her lips around the pink silicone. Her tongue danced around it, tasting the initial burst of her own arousal. Her eyes looked up to him as her cheeks hollowed slightly with each gentle suck before he pulled it out of her mouth.

"Good girl," he grunted, sliding the toy down her body, leaving a wet trail along her skin. "Never knew you can take orders so well." His other hand then gently brushed her inner thighs. "Let's continue again, shall we?"

His fingers pressed against her sex before spreading her lips apart, leaning down to spit directly in between them. She felt his saliva make contact down her body, and her back arched just in time for him to push the toy into her, sliding it so effortlessly between her swollen lips.

It vibrated inside her as he clicked the button, the sensation traveling along her body as her fingers gripped onto the sheets. Spencer watched as she squirmed beneath him. He watched as the device disappeared inside her, her arousal pooling down her thighs, drenching the bed underneath them.

"You're making such a mess," he mused between his constant teasing, thrusting the vibrator into her. "Are you always this wet while using this?"

She shook her head helplessly. "N-No," her voice came out as a needy whine while his fingers slid around the toy, pulling her lips apart to get a better view.

"This is all for me then?" He pushed in deeper, satisfied with the way her body was reacting. "How did I get so lucky?"

The noises her body was making were so lewd. The way he was thrusting the toy inside her had her gasping for air, her head turning side to side against the pillow as the coil in her stomach tightened. Her eyes glanced between them, and the sight of her swollen sex being teased to the point she wondered if this was torture. The lines between pleasure and pain were starting blur.

"You're close again, aren't you?" She wasn't sure how she managed to respond to him, but she did, bobbing her head up and down. "Too bad I'm not going to let you."

He pulled out the vibrator from her and she whined at the sudden emptiness. "Please," she whispered, her voice almost a breath, a prayer, and a plea all in one.

"Oh, you're begging now?" He gazed down at her, his eyes mirroring the hunger that had consumed her. "You are desperate." He watched as she bucked her hips against nothing, desperately searching for friction. "Be a good girl for me and hold it."

He then pressed the vibrator against her clit with its highest speed, circling over it ever so slightly, before sinking it back inside her almost roughly.

"Oh my god," she gasped. "Baby, I-I can't."

"Hold it," he ordered. "Don't come until I give you my permission."

Her breath quickened as she tried to focus on controlling her body, but it was too much, too fucking much that she found her eyes watering from her restrain. He noticed the small teardrops had now welled up and spilled over, streaming over her cheeks. Her thick, delicate lashes stuck together as she tried to bat the tears away.

"You're crying now?" He muttered, fascinated at her reaction.

He shouldn't have felt good about this, it was such a disgusting thought to actually take pleasure in seeing the tears run down her face. But she was gorgeous when she cried, almost angelic. Her glassed irises and furrowed brows bring about an innocence to her that she didn't always show. It was hard to feel bad for when she looked this fucking pretty while she sobbed.

"Spencer, please," she pleaded, her voice sounding more like a strangle than a moan.

"Hold it. You're going to come when I tell you to come."

"N-No," she cried, her body convulsing as the pleasure took her body. There was nothing left to feel than the urge to embrace her long-awaited release. "Please, please, please."

"Shhh," he whispered, his other free hand wiping away the tear escaping from the corner of her eye. "Just a little longer."

"Spence, I-I don't think I can."

He also didn't think he could hold any longer. But he be damned if he didn't wait another few seconds when she looked so good writhing underneath him, gasping his name desperately like a prayer on her lips.

"Tell me what you need." When she didn't respond, too busy focusing on controlling her breath and the sensation building up in her stomach, he urged on, "Come on, beg for it."

A strangled whimper ripped through her body.

"Please, please," her words come out muffled as she trembled from the way he was pressing the toy deeper into her. It felt good, so fucking good, but she wanted to feel him. She needed to feel his skin against hers so badly. "I need you inside me, please."

He groaned and pulled the toy out of her before lining up his cock between her slit, gasping in pleasure when he slowly pushed himself into her. Her vision blurred until she couldn't distinguish her surroundings. His hand fell to her stomach, where he could, undoubtedly, feel the head of his cock nudging one of her internal organs. She felt extremely full as she endured the pressure of him inside her.

"Fuck, baby," she breathed out. "Please."

He took no time to move, leaning forward and prompting himself with his arms on either side of her head. His hips began thrusting into her wildly, desperately, deranged in his need. Everything was all-consuming for her as her whole body burned from the way his cock slammed into her, each thrust filling her walls until she was nothing but a whining mess, begging for release.

Her whines seemed to push him further, praise falling from his lips as her hips trembled beneath his relentless pace. Her walls spasmed around him, clinging tightly to his shaft as the coil in her snapped. Then he moved forward and that particular move earned a yelp from her. He pushed forward with deep, powerful strokes, circling and angling down to hit that fleshy, soft patch buried too far for his fingers or her toy could reach.

He gasped when he felt her walls clenching around him hard. She was panting, looking at him with desperate need and it was then he finally decided to give her what she had been begging for.

"Go on, come for me, sweet girl," he groaned as she devolved into incoherent sounds.

She finally came with a cry—loud, intense, and desperate. She came while her body shook, her legs trembling, and her lips hanging open in ecstasy as the sensation overwhelmed her over and over again. And when she thought she was done, he never slowed down his movements. Instead, he thrust faster into her, the wet sound of skin hitting against skin filling the room.

She wasn't capable of controlling herself anymore now, wanting to touch something but she was too weak from all the pleasure, so weak she could barely move her limbs, let alone make an intentional, concerted effort to grab onto a part of him.

So her mouth, hanging open in a heavy pant, was the next best option. She turned her head and leaned into his forearms, bracing him and holding him up above her. Giving him that leverage that let him thrust into her so deeply. And then her brain went blurry. Empty, save for the pleasure burning in her body and the humming of his name repeating over and over like a mantra.

She pressed her open mouth against his skin, breathing raggedly in some form of relief, her tongue gliding over his sweat-salted skin as she felt the muscle contract underneath. She dragged her lips side to side, drooling almost as he thrust deep into her. She groaned against his arm as her eyes rolled deep back into her head.

"You're still coming, aren't you?" Spencer asked above her, humor evident in his voice although she was beyond the point of comprehension.

But she managed to nod her head absently, lips mashing against his skin, and heard his laughter in her ears. "That's it. You're doing so well."

The sounds uncontrollably coming out of her were lewd and disgusting, mostly incoherent, but she didn't feel any shame anymore. All she cared about was the feeling of him so deep inside, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. She was such a mess, she knew that. All sweat and tears, all desperate and eager.

"You're so tight," he grunted, his movements growing sloppy as he began to feel the tightness in his stomach. "Fuck, I'm gonna come."

And then he leaned down and hovered above her, his lips brushing against hers but not quite kissing her. "Please," he mumbled against her open mouth, and she couldn't tell if he was begging for forgiveness or for permission.

Spencer couldn't think anymore. Nothing coherent, at least. His senses were drowning in everything that was her. Her scent, her skin, her breath. He then hit that spot inside her, so incredibly warm around him, and he clasped his eyes tightly as his pleasure faded into a glowing heat spreading inside her body. He grunted into her open mouth, giving her everything he could offer while she accepted everything she could take.

He finally collapsed on top of her as he breezed through his release, endorphins surging through his veins. Y/n pressed a hand to his cheek and his eyes fluttered open, slightly pushing himself up to stare into her eyes.

"Was I too much?" He barely whispered.

"...no," she managed to gasp out, still trying to calm her pulse.

"Good."

Then he sat back up and moved his hips back before thrusting forward again. She looked at him in bewilderment as she watched him grab her toy, pressing it back between their still joint bodies.

She was dumbfounded. Stunned. Astonished. There were not enough synonyms in the dictionary to describe how flabbergasted she was now. And suddenly she thought of all the good traits he had, all the good words and praises people had always described him to be.

He's so smart and kind.

He's the most thoughtful person.

He can be such an angel.

She wanted to laugh. It was more likely that she was dancing with the devil now.

"What?" He whispered, that cunning smile of his creeping back on his face. "Did you think I was done?"

Her body started to squirm again. Spencer had always been a good boy—just not for tonight.

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