#would be cool to get at least one of these done by the end of the year idk

[braindumpbitch]

crying in the walk-in

crying in the walk-in

summary: after a brutal dinner service at The Bear and overall horrible day, you find yourself crying in the walk-in. but not long after, you end up in the back seat of carmy's car.

word count: 3k

content warnings: smut MDNI!!! afab reader, hand stuff (m and f-receiving), oral (f-receiving), PIV, semi-public sex, soft dom carmy(?), mega praise kink

notes: this is my first fic so please be nice. and send any requests! love you all, especially my greatest inspirations @carmenberzattosgf and @saltnsugarbear

---

at your previous jobs, anyone could tell you: when the going gets tough, you cry in the walk-in. but this was The Bear. the most respected, most esteemed place you'd ever worked. The Bear was not the kind of place you felt comfortable crying in the walk-in. definitely not as a stage, and especially not as the newest, greenest one of the bunch. but one particularly miserable tuesday night, you broke your one rule.

it was a very valid meltdown. your car broke down on your way to work in the morning, which made you late. being late meant you had to rush through your prep. rushing through prep meant when you were working with the molten sugar for marcus' white violet dish, you burned yourself. bad. at least a second degree, but you weren't gonna be a fucking baby about it.

you rinsed your hand in cool water for an agonizing minute or two, bandaged yourself up, threw on a glove, and got back to work. at least it was your non-dominant hand. this was The Bear, and you knew the dessert course always came up faster than you expected, so you needed all the time possible to finish prepping. when did people start eating so fucking fast? it feels like the pasta course went out two minutes ago, and now you were suddenly sending out desserts.

to make matters worse, one of the servers was out sick. some stomach flu or something, that motherfucker. that meant front of house was stressed, which in turn meant back of house was stressed, namely carmy. and a stressed carmy is never ever pleasant to be around. he never yelled at you directly--after all, you were a pastry stage, responsible more for prep and wiping plates than actually working through service--but his voice booming throughout the kitchen was giving you a headache.

and here's the kicker: you dropped a fucking plate. and whereas most of the earthenware dishes would break into clean pieces if and when they were dropped, you were serving one of the desserts on delicate glass plates. it shattered into a million pieces, and your heart did too. and jesus christ did carmy yell about it.

by the time you're done with service and cleaning your station, you need a beer. or six. you need a cigarette. or a pack. and you need a good cry. or, rather, an ugly sob. and since your car got towed to the mechanic in the morning, you couldn't just go out to the parking lot and cry in your car like you usually would.

which is how you end up wailing in the walk-in.

you think everyone's gone, aside from carmy meticulously scrubbing surfaces that have already been cleaned at least twice, but you know he's in his own world cleaning, so you're not worried. that is, until the door to the walk-in creaks open.

you're turned away from the door, but you can feel carmy's presence. he approaches you, and you can sense the warmth of his body in contrast to the cold air around you. you try to make yourself presentable, wiping your tears and snot on your sleeve before turning around.

his vibrant blue eyes are calm and kind. neither of you speak for a moment. finally, you feel composed enough to speak.

 "i'm so fucking embarrassed," you say, dabbing at your eyes again with the corner of your sleeve. your voice comes out a squeak, but you continue. "the burn's not even that bad, i'm being such a fucking baby."

"hey," carmy says so gently you could burst into tears again, "you're good."

"i don't wanna be, like, too personal. like, if this is... inappropriate or anything--"

"chef?" carmy says, pulling you out of your spiral. you see him circle his fist over his chest, and you realize he really means it. "you're good."

"thank you, chef," you say, breathing a sigh of relief that you haven't fucked everything up. that the sky's not falling. "it was, like, you know those moments when the world feels so loud that you can't actually hear anything at all?"

there's a small, knowing smile on carmy's face. "yeah, something like that." after a much-needed moment of quiet, he says, "it's late. you ready to head out?"

you nod and follow carmy out of the walk-in. the kitchen is empty, spotless, about a thousand degrees cooler than it gets during service. it's bizarrely calm.

"it's so different when it's empty," you say. "full of, like, possibilities."

carmy holds the back door open for you, and you flip off the lights as you walk out. he locks the door behind you and promptly lights up a cigarette. he takes a drag, then sighs.

"could i--" you begin to ask, and before you even finish the question carmy's handing you the cigarette. you take a couple puffs, then hand it back to him. but after he takes the cigarette back, he takes your hand in his, looking at your fresh injury.

"impressed you made it through service like that. fuck," carmy says lowly. you try to stay calm but your heart flutters the longer he's holding your hand.

"thank you, chef," you say. he squeezes your hand and looks you dead in the eye.

"you don't have to call me that," he tells you firmly, leaning closer into you. he doesn't want to think about work. he doesn't want to be your chef right now. he wants to experience this moment with you, this moment of real human conversation outside the bubble of chaos that was The Bear during service.

you take a step towards him. "thank you, carmy," you say without breaking eye contact. that is, until carmy's eyes go straight to your lips. then you can't help but follow suit and stare at his. they're full and plush and you can just imagine them all over your body. desperate to pull yourself together, you take the dying cigarette from carmy's hand and take a final drag. it emboldens you.

but, before you can make your move, carmy gestures to the parking lot. "how you getting home? you said this morning your car's fucked," he asks. you sigh.

"fuck, i hate taking the L at night," you reply.

"i can drive you," he offers. you're a little stunned. not like it was an insane thing to offer; his place was in the same direction as yours, and although you weren't friends per se, everyone at The Bear looked out for each other. still, he was your boss and not a particularly social guy, and you could tell how exhausted he was just by looking at him. why was he offering this?

"i can call an uber--" you begin, but he cuts you off.

"that's stupid. i'll drive you," he says. he starts walking towards his car, and you follow. but after a moment, you stop, and he stops with you.

"carmy?" you ask, that bubble of sadness and anxiety and rage in your stomach quickly turning into something else entirely. "would it be ok if--"

he cuts you off with a kiss straight to your lips. he's gentle at first, just testing the waters, but when you open your mouth to him, he goes fucking feral. it's all teeth and tongue, one of his hands going to your hip and the other cradling the back of your neck. carmy's lips taste exactly how you expect them to--cigarette smoke and mint gum and unscented chapstick--and it couldn't be more intoxicating. you lean into the kiss, grabbing the soft fabric of that familiar white tee shirt in your fists, trying to hold onto this moment. to hold on to him.

carmy's hand creeps from your waist down to your ass, giving it a playful squeeze. you moan softly, and he does it again, harder, eliciting an even louder groan from you. one of your hands creeps up under his shirt, feeling the firm, chiseled muscles of his stomach. his skin is softer than you expect, and his body is radiating heat. finally, he pulls away from you. you already miss his lips.

"get in the car," he says roughly. as you reach for the passenger door, he shakes his head. "nuh uh, back seat."

you feel your stomach jump to your throat and the heat in your core growing from a flickering spark into a fucking wildfire. you'd been in love with carmy as a chef since you spent an ungodly amount of money to eat at Ever back when you were in culinary school. luxuries for you weren't clothing or perfume: they were meals. meals that made you feel inspired. meals that made you want to be a better chef. and after years following him in magazine interviews, you finally ended up at The Bear, and you realized you weren't just in love with his culinary skill or creative vision: you were in love with the man himself.

you climb into the back seat, and he follows you. as you settle, he leans over, gripping your face sweetly but firmly as his lips crash back into yours. your hands find his abs again, desperate to feel his skin, one hand travelling up to his chest and feeling the muscles there too. sensing what you want from your wandering fingertips, carmy pulls off his shirt. you do the same, leaving him looking like a greek statue and you flushed in your lacy bra. you can't deny it: you started wearing lingerie to work under your kitchen clothes, hoping this moment would come eventually, though you never expected it to actually happen.

one of his hands rushes to knead your breast through the fabric and the other begins to work on unbuttoning your pants. you both moan into each other's mouths, the heat around you rising as the windows begin to fog. with carmy's help, you push your pants down around your ankles, revealing your matching lace underwear already saturated with your wetness. carmy loops his fingers under the elastic of your panties, pulling it and letting it slap back to your skin. the tiny sting sets you on fire.

"please, carmy," you moan desperately, not knowing what exactly you're asking for. all you know is you need it. you need it now.

carmy senses what you want, and you shift your bodies into a different position. "gonna make you feel so good," he says, his voice deep and erotic. you lay your head against the driver's side window, your open legs stretching across the seats. carmy positions himself at your feet, his feet resting in the footwell and his body leaning towards where you need him most.

carmy kisses around the edges of your clothed pussy, nipping at the fabric, teasing you. you don't even try to stifle your moans, letting longing, wanton sounds reverberate in the car. you need more, more, more. once he's finally tortured you long enough, he pulls your underwear down your legs and attaches his mouth directly to your centre. his tongue swirls around your clit and you squeal into your hand.

"not like that, baby, wanna hear you," he says before diving back in. as your moans resume, even louder than before, carmy starts pumping one finger in and out of you, quickly adding another. the stretch around his fingers is agonizingly good. he's obviously dextrous in the kitchen, but you quickly realize his hands may be even more gifted in the bedroom. or, rather, the parking lot.

as his fingers continue to stretch you out, hitting that sensitive spot inside you over and over again, you feel your orgasm building. the bubble of pleasure in your stomach begins spreading through your entire body, and you feel like you're on fire. carmy talks you through it. "so good, just like that, there you go. good girl, show me how well you can take it. you take my fingers so well, baby, fuck." he continues to ramble praises as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, adding a third finger and increasing your pleasure tenfold.

you know you're close, but you try to hold out, to receive as much pleasure as you can before you burst. he's mumbling into your pussy, his words swirling through your fucked-out head. you can barely make out what he's saying until he grabs your hand and looks you in the eye. "you deserve to feel good, baby. gonna give you everything you deserve, my good girl. say it. say you deserve it," he says, staring through your eyes and into your soul.

"i deserve it," you say shakily, but he shakes his head, his hand still moving. you try again. "i deserve it, i deserve it," you repeat with more fire behind it this time.

with that, he sucks directly on your clit, and your orgasm hits you fast and hard. "carmy, i'm cumming," you whine, and he continues sucking and thrusting, working you through your orgasm with skill and enthusiasm.

"that's it, that's it, yes, baby. cum for me, baby, you look so fucking pretty when you cum for me. fucking perfect," he grunts. although your vision is blurry from the strength of your orgasm, you can see he's palming himself through the fabric of his jeans with his unoccupied hand. you see the tent growing in his pants and you want it. you want it bad.

carmy leaves a final, gentle kiss to your pussy before climbing back up and resting his body on top of yours. as he ruts his hips into yours, he roughly shoves his fingers into your mouth. "taste yourself, tastes so fucking good," he says, and the sweet tanginess of your release combined with the feeling of his fingers filling your mouth is so filthy and so. fucking. good.

"carmy please," you whine around his fingers. "please, please, carmy please," you continue, and he begins taking off his belt, quickly followed by his jeans and boxers. his cock, red and throbbing, is a little longer than average, but what astounds you is how fucking thick he is. your mouth salivates with the anticipation of feeling him inside of you. without hesitation, you spit on your good hand and begin pumping his length, pulling a forceful groan from him. "want you to fuck me, carmy, please, fuck me." you're nearly crying with how good his mouth was and how good you know his cock is about to be. "please, ple--"

before you even finish the word, he pushes into you, stretching you wide. you whimper at the stretch, and he makes eye contact with you, concern visible on his face. "ok?" he asks.

"yes, god, yes, it's just been a while," you say, too turned on to be embarrassed.

"then we'll take it nice and slow," he replies into your ear, slowly pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into you slowly but forcefully. you moan louder than before, your eyes flying shut for a moment before you realize you can't look away from his face. you want to memorize it--every line, every freckle, the tiny scar on his cheek, his dilated pupils and bright blue irises, the vein running down his neck, the beads of sweat on his brow. everything.

"more, more, please," you beg, a tear rolling down your cheek. again, you're not sure what you're asking for. harder? faster? deeper?

carmy takes his chances. he gives you all three. as he pounds into you, letting out pornographic moans of his own, you find yourself screaming. you can't tell if it's out loud or inside your head, and you don't care. with that, he shoves his fingers back into your mouth, cutting off your sounds and filling you to the point of almost choking you. it's fucking heavenly. as your eyes roll back in your head, you see that the windows are completely fogged up. the air is thick and dense, the car full of the smell of sex and the sound of skin slapping skin. you're in your own perfect bubble in the middle of that sketchy chicago parking lot. you want to stay like this forever.

as you feel the pleasure building up through your body, carmy can sense you're getting close. his right hand goes from inside your mouth to around your neck--not applying any pressure, but reminding you that he could. his other hand snakes down your body, twisting at your nipple through the lace of your bra, then trailing down between your bodies to rub tiny circles around your clit. "oh, fuck, yes, just like that. fuck, carmy i'm gonna cum," you whine, and he continues thrusting into you, his movements getting progressively more sloppy.

"me too, baby. so fucking close," he forces out through groans of pleasure. "cum for me, wanna feel you cum around my cock." with that, he crashes his lips back to yours, kissing you furiously as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. you're pretty sure you've died, that the pleasure has you literally ascending. as he works you through your orgasm, he hits his peak too, and you can feel the spurts of hot cum deep inside you. "fuck, cumming," he barely makes out through his moans which have gradually gone up in pitch. he continues to fuck you until he's too sensitive to move, after which he collapses on top of you. you're both panting into each other's mouths as you come down from the high. after a few moments, carmy brushes your sweaty bangs off of your forehead, kissing you gently and playfully all over your face.

"gonna take you home now," he says, getting up from his spot on top of you and searching for his clothes. you quickly realize he means he's taking you to his home. that this night is just getting started.

it's in this moment you know you're completely and utterly fucked.

[goomyloid]

im sooo glad to see weird route fanart that doesn't just assume the "player" is doing this. it's a cool idea to think there's an entity making kris do all this for incomprehensible reasons but it makes more sense that kris themself is doing it

eehh am i misunderstanding? im still under the notion that kris doesnt want the weird route to happen and we’re literally forcing their hand… (unless if you’re specifically talking about the perceptions from other characters like dess, which i address later in this response)

there is that one bit of dialogue that suggests kris might have Enjoyed what happened in ch2 weird route but to me it comes off as intrusive thoughts-esque more than anything. and like, assuming this is more so in reference to chapter 4 (since that’s all ive been drawing recently lol) i honestly dont think they did any of That by their own volition. it just doesnt line up with my own reading of kris, at least.

you can have whatever perspective of the weird route you want, but if anything i think i make it especially clear in my work that We are the ones behind this and that kris is pretty miserable the whole time. i decided to pull this from my side twt:

and i would say our motives arent always necessarily incomprehensible. they might be to the characters (or anyone who isnt kris) but at least when it comes to kris, and maybe the knight and gaster and whoever freaking else might be In On All This, a lot of it comes down to just curiosity. we all want to see how bad things can possibly get and see if it will affect the story or ending. gaster would probably understand this, and i think kris would be able to comprehend it even if they’d be ultra super pissed about it

anyway, i unfortunately dont really feel the way you described… i think there’d have to be extremely specific conditions for kris to ever consider doing all that on their own, and the scenario in my head is an AU that involves timeloops so you can imagine how much more complicated things might get. if this ask was spurred on by my recent comic, i thought i made it relatively clear that kris was not all that pleased about what transpired despite the fact that the player isn’t really brought up at all in it. a lot of it is like, kris being able to say “it wasnt really me” doesnt matter anymore, not like it did in chapter 2. so much shit has irreversibly hit the fan that it doesnt matter who did it — it’s done, and noelle is kinda fucked in the head as a result, and kris has to face the consequences of our mess now. dess talks to kris as though everything was voluntary, but that doesn’t mean it actually was; because this dess is basically a pure manifestation of all their guilt, they think they no longer deserved to be comforted by being told “it wasnt really you” and instead ought to be punished in some way for letting it all happen (even though it’s not that simple at all). to be treated as if they were completely responsible. do they Really feel this way? no, they know it was us, of course. but that guilt becomes so strong and illogical that it starts to not matter anymore.

uh anyway sorry my comic suggested that (even though you liked it) i wonder if you’re new to my work, in which case i recommend checking out literally any of my other kriselle comics, where it is abundantly clear that its us fucking everything up, lol.

[thisonehere]

What's Done in the Dark

A Match Made in Hell (Part 7 of 8)

Last Part

A/n: This is a lot later than I meant it. But I'm happy to finally get it out; I'm even more excited now that this is the second-to-last part of this series. I wasn't sure for a long time when or where I would end this series. I'm relieved to finally have a clear idea of how to end this.

I hope you all enjoy it; it definitely feels like I put a lot more effort into this part than I did into the others.

Tags: @maulsgf @sweetpanda18 @thickemadame @posterbunny @strawbisane @fandom-garbage @sleepyfxce @livingdeadgirly

C/w: Danger, Mention of Killing, Fatality, Brutality, Mention of Blood, Violence, Drugging, Kidnapping

"You sure you want to do this, Mate?"

Kano spun his butterfly blade around his finger. Looking his victim up and down. Despite his questioning, Bi-Han could see the eagerness in his eyes.

"The moment my wife sees me like this, she'll take care of me. It'll remind her of her affection for me, and she'll come back to me." The two men stood outside your home, and they hid in the shadows beneath your very window. It was late into the night, the cricket in the trees chirped, and frogs in nearby bushes gave a gratifying croak as a cool breeze passed by and tickled the trees. Bi-Han took a deep breath as the breeze went by; it was a great improvement from the Black Dragons' den. It smelled like you, maybe you had burned some candles recently.

His meeting with Kano had ended early. He had one request: come with him here and bruise him up badly. Bi-Han had seen the actor leave your home, and he was tempted to sneak up behind him and slit his throat. That would wipe that smug little smile off his face. He'd like you to watch too. No, that can wait. You are his main focus.

"And if she doesn't?" Bi-Han glared at the Black Dragon leader, as if the concept itself sickened him. "You don't know her like I do. She is weak. She'll put up a front of indifference, but she'll crumble eventually."

Kano just shrugged, "If you say so, mate. But, if you'd ask me. I'd call it quits and go back to that demon of yours. She sounds scorching." Bi-Han's eyes narrowed at the mention of Sareena in such a way. Already, he was regretting asking for his help.

"It is fortunate that I didn't ask then. Now, hit me. Make it look fatal." Kano's face twisted back into one of sadistic pleasure. He gripped his knife in one hand and balled up his fist in another, making a crackling and popping sound as he did. "Alright then, though I would suggest you brace yourself. This is gonna hurt."

Bi-Han closed his eyes, straightened his posture, and took a deep breath. Soon, he and you and Sareena will be together...One way or another...

...

The night proved to be a sleepless night despite the aid of the tea. "I love you." What were you thinking? Thank the Elder God that you were alone, you'd hate it if Bi-Han Heard you. You tossed and turned all night, haunted by your moment of weakness.

By the time you finally got any sleep, it was at least 2 hours before sunlight broke through the clouds. The light leaked into the room, and the curtains painted the room. You rose from your bed and rubbed your eyes. Your mind was groggy, and a nice hot shower woke you up. You sat yourself down at the kitchen table and enjoyed a nice cup of coffee. Bi-Han hadn't shown his face yet; he must have been still sleeping, a trait that's nothing like him. You thought about checking on him, but you quickly changed your mind. Truly, you cherished the moment alone. A chance to breathe and reassess was just what you needed. Things have been insane as of late that you needed the chance to clear your head and think.

You began to strategise the rest of your day. You need more medical supplies, and you need to reinspect Bi-Han's wounds. On account of it being so late in the night, you were too tired to properly treat his wounds. The last thing you want is Bi-Han to get infected and die from improper treatment. How were you supposed to explain your dead ex-husband being in your home...Well, not unless you grab some trash bags and some bleach. Oh, and there's that buzzsaw outback that Kung Lao has been trying to use. A dead body would also work perfectly as fertiliser for a garden, actually...

You rub your head and try to shake away these insane thoughts you were having. You couldn't possibly consider murdering him...right?

You took another cup of coffee, and it made your head hurt worse. You slam the cup down and rise to your feet. You could go to Madame Bo's, you're sure she wouldn't mind working you this early. The old woman would be elated, truly. With Lao and Raiden being gone, as well as her daughter Sektor strangely going silent. your sure Madame would welcome the company as she tended to her restaurant. You also heard that she would be training some of her students.

On the other hand, you could call Johnny. You knew he had to go to help Liu Kang with the Sorcerers, but you're sure he wouldn't stop by for a minute.

You rush to your room to get dressed. The house was so silent that your footsteps echoed off the walls as you travelled through the hallway to get to your room. Your room was not too far, just a turn right, and there your room was at the back of the hall. As you entered your room, the softly lit room highlighted every important feature you took in mine when moving in. On the dresser was a picture of you and your mother, taken just a few months before leaving her for Bi-Han. You picked up the picture frame and looked at it with care and misery. There she was, your mother in all her glory. She was beautiful, with eyes that oozed with pride and a smile that exuded grace. Gods, you remember this as if it were yesterday. You had taken this photo with her at the festival, and you had a photographer in town at the time for the fair... This was also how you met Bi-Han.

His brothers into each other had dragged him here to partake in the festivities, and you bumped into him while you were grabbing yourself a drink and a snack from the food stand that was selling some really sweet cakes that you always liked to get. The moment you slammed into each other, you drink splashed on both of you. He wasn't mad at you like he usually would be. Instead, he offered to buy you a new one. That was the beginning of it all, and the beginning of the end of your life.

You've had thoughts of reaching out to your mother. How could you possibly face her? After all of this, you couldn't bear to go back to your old life before Bi-Han, just out of pure shame. You set it back down and move on further into your room.

Raiden and Lao didn't have the biggest house, so they couldn't offer a very big room. But you made due, it was big enough at least to supply you with decent moving space.

You reached your bed and sat down. You contemplated getting some more sleep. You lay down for a moment in consideration, resting your eyes, your body as if it were sinking. Fading way into a state of unconsciousness.

That's when you felt your phone buzzing. Eyes snapping open, you sit up slightly and search through the covers to find your phone. It was an invention you weren't very used to. The Lin Kuei had technology thanks to Sektor and her father, but you never used one until now. It was a gift from Johnny, and Raiden helped you set it up. Picking up the small thing, you were still struggling to get used to its shape and its many functions. Opening the phone, you saw who was calling you: Raiden. He called you a few times, it seems, you had multiple missed calls from him all the way from 6 in the morning. You have no idea why you didn't hear it until now.

You are quick to answer, and you straighten yourself up as you take into account the potential weight of the situation. "Hello?'

"Y/n?" you heard Raiden's voice on the other line, it sounded so worried, so...scared. "Thank the Elder Gods, listen, are you home alone?"

"Yes, I'm home alone." You lied, clutching the phone tightly. "Oh, thank the Elder Gods. Listen, you're in danger! Bi-Han--" Before Raiden can finish, he begins to break up. But not in the usual way, his voice sounded distorted, as if some outside force was interfering with the signal. His voice went in and out, making it a struggle to understand him.

"Get ou--f there!"

"Not safe!"

"Madame Bo--protect you!"

"Beware--Bi-Han's going t--"

Before you can say anything, the call is disconnected, leaving you alone to piece together the broken pieces of dialogue. It sounded like a warning, and Bi-Han was somehow involved. But you failed to see how he could possibly be a threat? He's injured. What is he going to do, bleed on you? He was alone too, the Lin Kuei Bi-Han were with a doubt murdered during whatever happened with Black Dragon.

Perhaps it was also your stubbornness that made you feel justified in staying; you refused to let Bi-Han make you feel threatened in your own home. You stayed, not caring that you might regret this decision later on.

*THUMP*

You jump as you hear a sound outside your door. You drop your phone back onto the bed and set the picture frame of your mother down on its face as you walked by.

Entering the kitchen, there you see him: Bi-Han picking up fallen pots and pans from the floor. "Who put them in like this? They did a horrible job." He muttered under his breath as he attempted to fix the pots.

"What are you doing? You're supposed to be resting?" You bark as you march up to him. Crossing your arms as you impatently tapped your foot against the floor. "Must you be so malicious?" Bi-Han rolled his eyes, growling in pain at his bandages. "If you must know, I merely hoped to prepare a meal for you, to show my appreciation for your help."

At this, you arched your brow as you looked him up and down, as if this were a stranger in your home. "You, showing appreciation." Bi-Han gives you a look as well, but not like you're a stranger, but more like you said something foolish. "Y/n, we were married for some time. Surely you know by now that I can show such a thing as gratitude," he continued to glare at you, and you glared at him. It was like a competition for you.

"What exactly are you going to cook?" You walked towards him. Bi-Han gestured toward the counter where various ingredients were already sitting there ready. You immediately recognised them and what they were for, it's ingredients to make your favourite dish. You don't dare to show any emotion; you simply can't. You merely grab the right pot necessary for this to be cooked. "Well, I might as well help you. If you reopen your wounds, then what? I won't be restitching you."

...

"Elder Gods damn it!" Raiden wasn't used to rage, and yet he was tempted to throw his phone.

Raiden passed across the floor. Things were going horribly wrong, and Raiden didn't know what to do. It was only a few hours ago, at the first light of dawn, did Tomas got to the Wu Shi, and Raiden was in a state of terror ever since. Tomas told them everything: Bi-Han's betrayal and treachery, his deals with literal devils, his alliance with individuals like Shang Tsung and Quan Chi, even his affair with Sareena.

That part baffled Raiden the most. How could Bi-Han possibly cheat on you? Never mind, that's beside the point. What matters is that Bi-Han is a threat and you are in danger.

Tomas revealed that he initially escaped and headed for the Wu Shi, but he was surprised to find that he was being followed. Apparently, Sektor saw Tomas turn to smoke and escape. She quickly jumped into action and pursued him, using a device to shake Tomas's concentration, causing him to revert to his human form. She immediately attempted to kill him, but by sheer luck, he managed to beat her and get to the Wu Shi.

If not dead, Sektor no doubt makes her way back to the Artika, where Kuai has been captured and is tortured...or worse.

Tomas was resting now. Monks were attending to him and his wounds. Sektor left some pretty nasty marks. Nothing that the monks can't be healed, it will just take time. But they didn't have time. From what Tomas had said, Bi-Han was coming for you. For what, he didn't know. He could come to kill you in a crime a passion, "If I can't have you, no one can." Or perhaps, Raiden wanted to hope, Bi-Han was just coming to make amends. Get closure so that he can move on. Raiden knew better, but that didn't stop him from hoping for the best outcome. His stomach was in knots as he thought of you.

Raiden has been trying to reach you, and the one time he managed to hear his voice, the connection was cut. Raiden wished Liu Kang were here, but he was nowhere to be found. Lao had raced out in search of the God, and he had yet to come back.

Raiden thought about teleporting and getting you to safety. He knew that, despite his warnings, you would be too stubborn to leave, especially if it had something to do with Bi-Han. But he was still getting used to his powers, and he was struggling to hover off the ground. He tried and she tried, but he could only seem to get himself to teleport a few feet of miles.

Quickly dialling again, Raiden tapped his foot impatiently and had the phone begin to find it again. "Please pick up, please pick up." He prayed silently.

"Raiden?" Madame Bo's sweet and familiar voice appeared after the silence. "Madame Bo? You have no idea how happy I am to hear from you!" He felt some of his nerves settle as he found himself. Raiden didn't know Bo's comforting voice was exactly what he needed. He melted onto a bench inside the temple, but still maintained a sense of alertness.

"I don't have much time, it's about Y/n, she's in danger."

At once, though he could see her, Raiden could feel Bo's entire demeanour change. She no doubt stiffened, her smile dropping, and an uncomfortable silence then happened. Only the staff in the background working could be heard. "Is she with you?"

"No...No, she's not. I'll get her at once!" Raiden heard Bo's footsteps on the other end as she quickly sprang to action to hang up the phone.

"Be careful. It's Bi-Han, he's betrayed us." Raiden quickly said, causing the old woman to halt. "Bi-Han...? No, he couldn't have-Oh-What did that stupid boy do now?" The distress in Bo's voice was palpable. Raiden knew this next bit of information would hurt the poor woman's soul, but he didn't know what other way to tell. "He's allied with Shang Tsung, Quan Chi, General Shao, all of them. Tomas told us. The entire Lin Kuai backs him; Kuai has been captured. Bi-Han going after Y/n now."

He couldn't see it, but Madame Bo placed a hand over her heart. "Bi-Han..." She murmured under her breath. "Why...? How could you..." She immediately cleared her throat and straightened her posture. "I won't let him get Y/n. He's already taken my daughter, I won't let him take Y/n either."

Raiden was about to say goodbye and hang up the phone. But then a thought came to him. He bit his lip and considered saying it. "What is it, Raiden?"

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"I know you, boy, I can tell even from across here that there's something else. What is it? I can take it."

Raiden took another deep breath; this news somehow felt even worse than the first. "I don't mean to be a gossip, but...Bi-Han cheated on Y/n."

"WHAT!" The woman's yell was so loud that it echoed across the Wu Shi temple even from the phone.

"With who?"

...

Where are you? Sareena thought as she paced the floor of your old marriage chamber. It was exactly the same as when you left, except for all the furniture she had taken to barricade the door. Kuai Liang's capture wasn't as quiet as Sektor had hoped. He had caused quite the stir as he fought back against them, smartly taking the fight to a place where more people could see them violently beat them to a pulp.

Seeing their beloved Scorpion being brutally beaten caused quite an uproar from the Lin Kuei. First, the Grandmaster's wife leaves him. Now his own brother gets brutalised in their very temple? What is happening? Many didn't know what Bi-Han was doing; all they knew was that he would leave and then come back with resources. Many began to put two and two together at the true nature of all this. Cyrax was one of them.

Figuring things out much quicker than anticipated. She led a coup of sorts. Many Lin Kuei stood up with her to fight, and many took Sektor's side. By the time Sareen returned, war had broken out among the clan. Many weren't already fond of Sareena, so many made an attempt to attack her. Sareena was a demon of hell; she could fight them, she could revert to her true form and kill everyone here if she really pressed herself. But she wouldn't, she couldn't. This was Bi-Han's clan. They might've meant nothing to her, but they were everything to him. So she restrained herself, locking herself in this room to avoid further conflict.

Sektor acted quickly, rallying enough troops to stand their ground and defend themselves. And, being loyal to Bi-Han, she set up a barrier of sorts around your home in Feng Jian, making it so that only Bi-Han could communicate.

After that, she sprang into battle. When Sareena arrived, Sektor had attempted to kill her. Hoping that she could lie to Bi-Han and say that Sareena was murdered by the rebelling Lin Kuei during the conflict. Sareena had known for a long time that Sektor wanted Bi-Habn; she was elated when you left, and now all that was left in her way was Sareena. She no doubt planned to console the heartbroken Grandmaster and take advantage of his grief.

That's what Sareena guessed anyway, as she locked herself into the room. Sareena's ears picked up screaming, shouting, the sound of blade meeting blade, blade meeting flesh, explosions, the lot that comes with a rebellion.

Some men hoping to bag themselves a demon head found the boldness to come to her door and break in and kill her. But she managed to scare them away by merely barking and roaring like a demon. They were immediately killed afterwards. Sraeena could hear one of them scream as their stomach was cut out, and the other was attempting to cry out before his head was lopped off. Sareena covered her ears at the carnage, though she is a Demon, that doesn't mean she has to enjoy the sound of violence.

Where is Bi-Han? Sareena began to ponder, but she stopped quickly. She already knew the answer. With you.

With a huff, Sareena plopped face down onto the bed. She understood that you were his wife, and she knew that there was still feeling there. But that didn't stop Sareena from feeling contempt at this. She missed him, but was he even thinking about her? No. He was so worried about you. As a denizen of the NetherRealm, there were many things about the humans of Earthrealm that confused Sareena.

Most mortals across the realms did, but especially in Earthrealm. Demons had their complications and complexities, but they were still demons; they still had a simplicity to them. Mortal, on the other hand, nothing is simple with them. They have to make everything more difficult than it needs to be.

Perhaps...Perhaps that's why Ashrah did it. She always did seem infatuated with humans. Sareena remembered how, when they were younger, Ashrah would love to hear stories of the other worlds. She could listen all day about stories of lands with buildings made of glass and smoke, humans that cut and sew their own bodies to make new forms, about people who could shoot fire using tools known as "guns" These stories sounded dreadful to Sareena, Khia, and Jataaka, but Ashrah was amazed by them. Sareena couldn't fathom why Ashrah would want any of this.

Sareena had thought, had hoped, that this "Subzero" was different. He seemed so strange and yet so wonderful. The beauty about him was that he was simple, straightforward with what he thought and what he wanted. It was refreshing compared to other humans; he let you know where you stood with him. There were no secret intentions and no hidden grudges. He was bold and loud, and Sareena loved it.

He had mentioned he had a wife very briefly, but not a lot. It was as if you were but a mere footnote, nothing to really think about. The only reason he went further into talking about you was because she insisted. Perhaps Sareena should've taken that as a sign not to continue this affair with him, but she just couldn't help herself. So she stayed with him, left with him for Earthrealm, and now she's here: reduced to a captive in what feels like another woman's room because she didn't want to defend herself for a man that's not even here for her.

Sareena looked over to the side of her, too, to the nightstand where your flowers lay. Without Bi-Han, the ice had melted. It was wilting now. Sareena tried to save it, but she didn't know the first thing about life, nor how to preserve it. Rising up and making her way to the stand, Sareena takes the nearly dead flower and cups it gently in her hands. This was a symbol of everything. Things seemed so beautiful at first, but got uglier and uglier as time went on. She doubted that she could stay here much longer. perhaps...Perhaps coming up here was a mistake. Maybe staying in Hell would've done her more good.

But then she'd be stuck without her sisters. No, she had made the right decision in coming to Earthrealm...but it wasn't for the right reason.

"Ashrah..." The Demoness said under her breath, her voice like steam coming from under the lid of a pot. She rose from the bed and laid down the flower. She went to Bi-Han's desk, which was at the other side of the room, opposite to where your vanity once stood before being used as to barricade the door. She took a piece of paper and a pencil and began to write something down. When she finished, she softly kissed the paper, leaving the dark mark of her lipstick.

*BAM*

Sareena's head swung over to the door. Someone was attempting to break in, and they somehow found something that gave them enough power to. Maybe it would be more than one using their combined strength or something. Either way, it didn't matter to Sareena. She was already leaving.

As whoever was on the other side was beginning to break through, Sareena calmly walked herself over to the Balcony. Finally, the door swung open, and there was Kuai Liang and his Lin Kuei, a fiery look in his eyes. Cyrax had freed him from captivity, and cuts and bruises from torture peppered his body. Getting rid of Sareena was at the top of his list. "Sareena, face me!" He called.

But he would need to. For by the time his eyes fully scanned the room, Sareena had jumped off the Balcony. Kuai rushed to the balcony and looked below, trying to see where her body had landed. But there was nothing. She had escaped.

...

"Hm, well, it's not too bad."

You swish the food around in your mouth for a moment as you take in the flavour. It was indeed not that bad. Bi-Han rolled his eyes as he shifted his fork about his plate. "It pleases me that you find delight in it." Bi-Han scoffed, sarcasm heavy in his gruff voice. He stayed silent for most of the time, only speaking if it was a response to your remarks. Had it not been for the sound of utensils clanking against plates, the room would've been dead with silence. It was later in the morning now. You and Bi-Han had spent most of the morning putting everything together for this breakfast. You were pleased that Raiden and Kung Lao had everything, though some of it was just a few days of going bad. You wrote a mental note to clean the refrigerator out later.

Strangely enough, it felt...good to cook with Bi-Han. In the sense of nostalgia. Perhaps this is what you needed, one final thing to do with him for closure. You had attempted to move on so fast that you hadn't allowed yourself a chance to truly process and deal with what happened. You felt a strange atmosphere of peace around you as you finished and turned off the pot.

You felt stronger now. The moment you could contact Artika and send Bi-Han back, then you wouldn't bring yourself to care about Bi-Han again. You only hoped that Bi-Han would do the same for you.

"We need to talk." Bi-Han interrupted the silence with his voice. "About you and me."

"What about it?" You sigh, shoving a nice portion of food into your mouth.

"I think you should reconsider returning."

"I won't." You quickly say, hoping to shut him down.

"You should." Bi-Han pressed forward.

"I can't." You set your fork down.

"You must," Bi-Han said with an unnatural tone of desperation.

"No."

You didn't raise your voice, yet it had enough firmness and conviction in it that it immediately shut Bi-Han up. He stared at you for some time; perhaps it was finally registering to him that you were over him. He slumped back into his chair, his eyes falling to his plate, still untouched.

You couldn't bring yourself you take another bite. The moment, just like your appetite, was ruined. Bi-Han looked pathetic as he sat in his chair, staring down at the table. Perhaps the first time you've ever seen him like this. It took all in you to not feel guilt for him. With an in, deep breath, you thought carefully of your next words.

"I'm sorry." The words hurt your pride as they came out, but you didn't know anything else to say. "I love you..." Those words hurt even worse to say because of how true they were. "I always will. But I will never come back to you." Bi-Han's eyes squinted and twitched at this. Can it be...tears? "Not after your betrayal. Not after everything. I don't think I can ever forgive you."

You finished, and the room felt both lighter and heavier at the same time. Bi-Han didn't raise his eyes from the table. Reaching from across the table, you take Bi-Han's hand. Your hands touch, he takes your hand and finally looks up at you. In his eyes are regret, remorse, guilt, love, and anger, all at the same time.

"I'm sorry too, Y/n."

At that moment, you felt a sting as something dug into your arm. Your eyes shot down to see a needle in Bi-Han's hand as it pumped the mysterious liquid into your arm.

"BASTARD!" You scream as you rip your arm free. Flinging it carelessly, your hand collided with his face and backhanding him in the process. Despite being slapped, Bi-Han barely flinches; his eyes stay. There's a strange bit of madness in his eyes as he rises from his seat. You stumble back away from him, your head feels like it's melting as your sight begins to fail you.

"I love you too, Y/n." Bi-Han's voice is cool as he calmly walks to you. "And I won't be leaving this place without you."

You turn and rush out of the kitchen, you race to the door and practically rip it open and bolt out. Despite you turning, Bi-Han keeps his calm pace.

You run, and you run, and you run. Down the porch, through the front yard, to the road. Your eyes begin to fail you as you run. Your movement becomes less coordinated as you run. You get slower and slower, and things are getting dark.

You scream for help for someone, anyone, you don't care. You scream for Madame Bo, Raiden, Kung Loa, Johnny.

And then the ground collides with your head.

...

Johnny scrolled through his phone. Checking messages, scrolling through social media apps, just about anything to keep him entertained. He was waiting in the living room for the portal to open, the one that would take him to the Wu Shi Academy. His bags were already packed as he waited near the door. So Johnny found himself doomscrolling to pass the time.

But Johnny didn't just seek to distract him from boredom; he also wanted to distract himself from you.

The way he left you left him slightly unnerved. Why would you want to speak with Liu Kang was at the top of his thoughts. He joked to himself that you wanted a messy divorce where you took everything and left Bi-Han with nothing except a box filled with that one outfit he's always wearing.

But what scared him the most was the idea that you were going to try and reconcile with Bi-Han. He knew that you two weren't a thing, but he hated the idea that you'd ever get back together.

Oh, and that kiss. That had his mind in circles. Was it personal? Or was it just one of those traditional kisses old people make when they're saying goodbye? He was glad he was going on this mission with Kenshia nd the others. He needed something to take his mind off everything.

Johnny continued to scroll through his phone when he got a call from Raiden. Gingerly, Johnny answered. "Rai-Dude, how's it going? Oh, is this about the movie? I already got the perfect roll for you, it's-"

But Raiden's voice quickly interrupted Johnny. "Johnny, please, this is a most dire situation!" Raiden spoke in a pained voice, as if he were in a state of panic. Johnny felt his heart skip a beat. "Something wrong? What happened?"

"I've just got off the phone with Madame Bo. She visited our house, and what she found...Elder Gods preserve us!" At this point, Raiden was scaring Johnny; he gripped his couch, and he felt sick to his stomach.

"Whao, Whao, Whao, Raiden! What's happening?!?!" Johnny rose from the couch; his head felt lightheaded.

"It's Y/n." Raiden finally said. "She's been kidnapped."

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[as-dreamers-do]

.

[lowrisemiller]

ᴄʜᴀʀɪᴛʏ ᴄᴀꜱᴇ

pedro pascal x younger!fem!reader one-shot

insta smau

or just being pedro’s secret controversially young gf . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

a chance raffle win leads to unexpected texts, slow-burning chemistry, and stolen moments with pedro pascal. she’s younger, balancing school and real life. he’s careful, charming, and maybe a little too into her for his own good. what starts off light turns tender, and one cozy night might just change everything.

masterlist | 9k words | all fiction, pedro is 45-50 and fem!reader is 23 (I don't rlly gaf if you're annoyed with age-gaps if you don't like it fucking scroll), flirting, YEARNING (you’ll never stop me), kissing, celebrity things like that paparazzi, fingering, oral f!recieving, pussy job, unprotected piv sexxx

You hadn’t even meant to enter.

Your best friend, Kelsey, had texted you in the middle of a script revision meltdown with a link and three question marks.

“A Pedro Pascal charity meet & greet raffle. $25 to enter. Winner gets a private lunch.”

It was for some children’s literacy nonprofit, and you’d clicked it half-delirious, half-joking, adding one entry just to say you did.

Two weeks later, you got the email.

You thought it was a scam. Then your phone rang—an actual event coordinator from the organization, confirming details, verifying your ID, telling you a car service would be provided, that Pedro’s team had already cleared the date.

You stared at your phone long after the call ended. You were twenty-three, in college for a degree in screenwriting, juggling a bookstore job and unpaid pitch work. Pedro Pascal had been your comfort actor since your late teens—long before the mainstream hype. You’d watched his indie films, not just the blockbusters. You knew lines of dialogue he probably didn’t even remember.

Now you were going to sit across from him. At lunch. For an hour.

You didn't even have anything to wear that didn't look like it came off a Goodwill clearance rack.

The restaurant was tucked away in Laurel Canyon, low lighting, all exposed brick and polished glass.

You checked your reflection four times in the car window. A blouse that didn't cling too tight. Mascara you applied with shaking hands. You told yourself he probably did dozens of these. He wouldn’t even remember your name.

When you arrived at the restaurant the host said, “Right this way,” and there he was.

Pedro Pascal. In a dark blue button-up, sleeves rolled to the forearms. Sunglasses pushed up in his hair. Beard trimmed. Brown eyes soft.

He stood when you walked up.

“Hey, you must be the donor,” he said warmly. “Thanks for donating.”

You managed a smile. “Thanks for being the prize.”

He laughed. A real one.

You thought it would be awkward. Stilted. But he was funny, sharp, easy to talk to. You ended up rambling about how much his performance in The Bubble meant to you—how you watched it on your laptop in your dark bedroom during a bad depressive episode, how it got you through that awful year.

He looked surprised. Touched.

“I forget anyone actually saw that movie,” he said with a lopsided smile.

“I watched it five times. At least.”

He blinked. “Wait, are you messing with me?”

“Nope.” You grinned. “I even wrote a paper on it for a class on satire. You play a man who's aware he’s a fraud but keeps smiling through it—like, that’s the whole metaphor.”

Pedro blinked again—then gave you a slow, stunned laugh, mouth slightly open.

You weren’t flirting. You were just being honest. And maybe that’s what caught him off guard.

He walked you out after. His hand hovered at the small of your back but never touched.

“Seriously,” he said, “this was the best version of one of these I’ve ever done. I usually feel like a trained monkey. This felt like…” he paused. “A real conversation.”

You tried to play it cool. “That’s the goal. I’m supposed to be a screenwriter, right?”

He smiled, wider this time. “If you ever finish something, I’d love to read it.”

You stared at him, then snorted. “That sounded like a line.”

You were standing on the curb with him now, your rideshare still a few minutes out.

Pedro leaned against the building’s side wall, sunglasses back on, arms folded. The California sun caught the edges of his hair, bringing out the warm gray in his curls. You tried not to stare.

 You were failing.

“Do you ever get tired of people telling you they’ve been obsessed with you since they were sixteen?” you asked, mostly teasing.

He laughed under his breath. “Depends on how they say it.”

You glanced up at him. “And how did I say it?”

His mouth curled. “Like someone who isn’t obsessed anymore. Just curious.”

That made you blush, which only made it worse. “Right. I’m too grown for fangirling.”

He tilted his head a little. “How grown are we talking?”

You gave him a look. “Grown enough to know that question is a trap.”

He grinned. “Smart.”

The pause that followed wasn’t awkward—it was warm, almost private. Like something unsaid had passed between you, and he was waiting to see if you’d name it.

You didn’t. You weren’t that bold. But you did say, “So, are you always this charming at these things? Or did I just catch you on a good hair day?”

He chuckled, then looked at you fully, one eyebrow raised. “Can I be honest?”

“Please.”

“I thought this would be fifteen minutes of smiling, nodding, and trying to avoid weird questions about The Mandalorian. I didn’t expect to actually…” He stopped, glanced away for a second, then back at you. “...like someone.”

Your stomach fluttered. “Someone?”

“You,” he said plainly.

Oh.

You blinked. “I—um. Okay. That’s… wow.”

Pedro rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry. That might’ve been too much.”

“No—no, it’s okay,” you said quickly, too quickly. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

He smiled again, softer now. “That’s fair.”

Then, casually—almost like it was nothing—he said, “Would it be weird if I asked for your number?”

You stared at him. “Wait—seriously?”

He shrugged, smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re comfortable. If not, that’s okay. I just—” he hesitated, then said, “I think I’d like to talk to you again. Not in front of cameras. Or PR people.”

You swallowed. He was looking at you like he meant it. Like he wasn’t in a rush, like he could wait forever.

“…Okay,” you said. “Yeah. I’ll give it to you.”

Pedro handed you his phone. No hesitation.

You typed it in, heart pounding a little harder than it should’ve. Saved ___(from lunch) and handed it back.

He glanced down at it, then nodded. “I’ll text you. So you have mine.”

“Cool.” You tried to act normal. “Cool, cool, cool.”

Pedro smirked. “You’re very cool, yeah.”

Your rideshare pulled up just then. Saved by the bell. He opened the car door for you, gentlemanly as ever.

Before you got in, he said, voice low: “I’m really glad it was you.”

You didn’t even know what to say to that. So you smiled, and got in the car, and tried not to immediately check your phone.

But when it buzzed two minutes later, your breath caught.

Unknown Number: Glad I made it through lunch without embarrassing myself. – Pedro

You didn’t text back right away.

Mostly because you didn’t want to seem eager. But also because you were still staring at your phone like it had just whispered your name out loud.

You waited ten minutes.

Then typed:

You: I think we both made it out with our dignity intact.

But that’s a pending review once I replay the whole thing in my head at 2am.

The dots appeared instantly.

Pedro: Damn, you’re already funnier over text. I’m scared. Should I be worried about my performance?

You smiled, flopping back on your bed.

You: You were decent. You only said “like” twelve times in that one story about Oscar Isaac. Pedro: You counted?? You: I’m a writer. I observe. Pedro: Dangerous. Pedro: Remind me never to lie to you.

He kept texting over the next few days. Nothing crazy. Nothing that could get him in trouble.

But his messages were always right there—close enough to be curious. Casual enough to deny.

Sometimes it was jokes about his press schedule. Sometimes questions about your scripts. One night, it was a photo of an old movie on his TV.

Pedro: I think this director peaked with this one. Tell me I’m wrong. [screenshot from Days of Heaven] You: You want discourse at midnight? Pedro: I want you to talk to me at midnight.

You stared at that one for too long.

Typed. Erased. Typed again.

You: That sounds dangerously flirty for a man with a whole IMDb page. Pedro: That sounds dangerously flirty for a girl who called me “decent.” Pedro: …But I’m not taking it back.

By the end of the week, he was sending you voice memos.

Low, rough-voiced ones. Mostly teasing. Sometimes just quiet thoughts he didn’t want to type.

“You know, I reread your screenplay sample. You weren’t kidding when you said it was dark. That final scene? Fuck me. Also, I think I’m obsessed with the way your dialogue sounds.”

Another night:

“Couldn’t sleep. Thought about texting you something sexy but decided on this instead: Do you think people fall for potential, or do they fall for the version of themselves they think the other person sees?”

That one stayed in your phone for days.

You didn’t answer it. Not directly.

But your next message said:

You: If you’re ever back in L.A. and bored, I know a dive bar that makes the best nachos in the city.

We could talk about your IMDb shame pile.

Pedro: You tryna seduce me with nachos? You: Maybe. Pedro: Tell me when. And don’t wear that blouse again. Or do…

Four Weeks Later

The texts don’t come every day anymore.

He warned you. Said work was picking up again—press junkets, travel, long days on set. You said it was fine. You meant it. You’d gone in expecting one hour of his time, not a month of flirty messages and midnight voice memos.

But still, you missed it. The tiny buzz of your phone. His name lighting up your screen.

You missed the way he made you feel like he actually saw you—like you weren’t just some girl who lucked into a celebrity lunch but someone with ideas, talent, nerve.

The last message had been five days ago:

Pedro: Sitting in a hotel bar in Berlin. Bartender looks like he’s judging my wine choice.

You responded. He didn’t reply.

You told yourself he got busy. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.

Still, you reread the thread more than once.

He kept opening your chat. Typing. Erasing.

He didn’t know why you stuck in his head. Why you’d gotten under his skin like a song he couldn’t stop humming. You were so much younger, so new, but you had a sharpness he envied. You made him want to say shit he hadn’t thought to say to anyone in years.

And you hadn’t even done anything, really.

You were just... honest. No agenda. No sucking up. You looked him in the eye like he wasn’t on a billboard but sitting across from you at a tiny table, halfway real.

And now you were quiet.

Maybe you’d gotten bored. Moved on. Maybe it was better that way.

But when his plane landed in L.A., jet-lagged and strung out, the first thing he wanted—before coffee, before sleep—was to see if you were still around.

You’re watching a terrible dating show in your apartment, sipping flat wine, wearing the same hoodie three days in a row when your phone buzzes.

Pedro: Back in town. That nacho place still open?

You stare at it.

Then:

You: It closes at 2am. So yeah. Still time for questionable choices. Pedro: Are we talking about food or me? You: Don’t make me say it. Pedro: Say it in person.

Then:

Pedro: Tomorrow night?

Your stomach flips.

It’s been weeks. You thought he forgot. You thought maybe you dreamed the whole thing.

You wait ten seconds.

Then:

You: Tomorrow night.

The bar is dim and humming when you walk in. Wood-paneled walls, strings of yellow bulbs, and that warm, greasy smell that hits just right after 9 p.m.

You spot him instantly.

Pedro’s in the far booth—back against the wall, baseball cap low, beer bottle sweating in front of him. He’s dressed down: jeans and a hoodie, that you recognize from one of his press photos. 

He looks up and sees you. Smiles.

Not the friendly kind. The fuck-I-missed-you kind.

“Hey,” you say as you slide into the booth opposite him.

“Hey yourself,” he murmurs, eyes not leaving yours.

You settle your bag beside you. Try to ignore the way your heart’s fluttering like it’s your first date in high school.

He leans forward slightly. “You look…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Tired?”

He laughs. “No. Just better than I remembered.”

You smirk. “You say that to all the raffle girls?”

Pedro grins and takes a sip of his beer. “You think I’m doing a lot of raffle lunches lately?”

You don’t answer. You just meet his eyes—and hold them a second too long.

The first drink goes fast. So does the second.

Conversation’s easy again—teasing, snappy, laced with innuendos but grounded in that same curiosity he showed the first time.

“You’ve got that look again,” you say at one point.

He tips his head. “What look?”

“Like you’re thinking too much.”

Pedro taps his fingers on the table. “I am.”

“About what?”

“You.”

That shuts you up. For a beat.

“Okay,” you say carefully. “You’re officially flirting.”

“Only officially now?”

You glance at him. “Are we pretending we haven’t been doing that for weeks?”

He leans in a little, voice lower. “I haven’t been pretending, cariño.”

That word—cariño—drops right down your spine.

You sip your drink just to buy time.

Half an hour later, the nachos are cold and forgotten.

He’s shifted to your side of the booth. Close enough that his thigh brushes yours when he moves.

You can feel the heat of him—slow and steady, like a stove left on low.

“You’re braver than I thought,” he murmurs, voice near your ear.

You turn your head, pulse thrumming. “Why?”

He’s looking at your mouth when he says, “Because I think you know exactly what this is.”

You swallow.

“You think it’s a game?” you whisper.

“No.” His eyes lift to meet yours again. “I think it’s trouble.”

You let the silence stretch. Then, quietly:

“I think I want it anyway.”

Pedro exhales, almost like relief.

His hand finds your knee under the table, gentle at first—like he’s asking.

You don’t stop him.

Back at your place — 1:07 a.m.

He doesn’t kiss you right away.

He stands just inside your apartment, glancing around like he needs to ground himself. Like he’s cataloging every detail in case it’s the only time he sees it.

“Cute place,” he says.

You shrug. “It’s fine. It has a couch, at least.”

Pedro gives you a look. “So subtle.”

You smirk, toeing off your shoes. “I’m not trying to seduce you. I’m trying to sit down without my feet throbbing.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” he says, trailing behind you into the living room. “Because when you leaned over the jukebox earlier, I swear I saw—”

“—Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm. “I was picking a song.”

“You were bending the laws of nature, muneca.”

You plop onto the couch and toss a pillow at him.

He catches it easily, eyes dancing.

And then he sits.

Close. Closer than necessary.

Your knees touch.

And for a moment, neither of you say anything.

His hand brushes yours.

Once.

Twice.

Then it stays.

“I keep telling myself not to do this,” he murmurs, thumb tracing the back of your knuckles.

You tilt your head. “Then don’t.”

Pedro looks at you.

Long. Direct. Hungry.

And then he kisses you.

It starts slow.

His lips soft, searching. No rush. No agenda.

But your hand slides into his hair and his body shifts, just a little, and suddenly—

His other hand is on your thigh, gripping it.

You gasp into his mouth, and it makes him groan. A low, broken sound, like he’s been trying not to make it for weeks.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You started it,” you whisper, breathless.

His tongue traces your bottom lip. “Don’t remind me.”

He pushes you back into the couch cushions, one knee slipping between yours, just enough weight to make you feel it.

You arch beneath him. Hips rising—seeking.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

Your hair’s messy, lips kiss-swollen, pupils blown.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he says, voice low. “You know that?”

You blink up at him, dazed. “You’re not bad either, old man.”

He huffed a laugh—and kissed you harder.

You end up straddling him, your hands under his shirt, his teeth grazing your neck. You whisper something shameless into his ear and he freezes, groaning into your shoulder like you just ruined his life.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice thick. “You’re dangerous.”

“You like it,” you say, biting back a smile.

“Too much.”

It doesn’t go any further.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

Not because you don’t.

But because there’s something delicious about stopping here. Something about the ache. The tease.

 1:41 a.m. your apartment

You don’t get off his lap.

Even after the kissing slows. Even after his hand stills on your thigh and his breath evens out against your collarbone.

You just lean into him, cheek resting against the warm curve of his neck, and say:

“So what’s your comfort movie?”

Pedro chuckles, a low, content sound. His hands stay on you—one lightly tracing your waist, the other cradling your knee.

“You want comfort?” he murmurs. “I watched Paddington 2 three times in a row on a flight once. I cried. Full grown man. Tears.”

You sit up just enough to look at him. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

You grin, brushing your nose against his. “Mine’s Coraline. I know it’s for kids. Don’t care.”

“Oh, I respect that,” he says, nodding solemnly. “Creepy doll button eyes? That’s some formative trauma.”

You laugh into his shoulder. “Exactly.”

The conversation drifts.

From movies to music, then weird dreams, then the worst job he ever had (you make him promise never to do commercials for adult diapers), and the story of your first kiss (in a movie theater during a Marvel sequel, popcorn still in your braces).

You fall asleep like that for a while.

Wrapped around him. The TV is still on. His hoodie swallowing your frame.

It’s not a sleepover. But it’s the kind of night you only have when the flirting has already cracked open into something more dangerous—something real.

5:07 a.m. 

He kisses you again on the sidewalk, slow and tired and a little reluctant.

The Uber’s headlights bounce off the curb.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your hip.

You raise your brows. “You’d behave?”

“No.”

“Then go home.”

Pedro grins, teeth sharp in the early morning haze. “I hate that you’re right.”

“You love that I’m right.”

He kisses your forehead. “Text me when you wake up, cariño.”

Then he climbs into the car and disappears into the fading dark.

Later

You you looked like a mess when you left was kind of hot

Pedro don’t start i walked into my kitchen like a teenager head against the fridge door. dramatic sigh.

You “what is she doing to meee…”

Pedro don’t mock the broken man

You it’s cute I kinda like breaking you

Pedro yeah i could tell you were smiling while you ruined me

You and you didn’t stop me

Pedro never would

Pedro (real talk though… i haven’t kissed someone like that in years) what are we doing?

You no idea but i don’t really want to stop

Pedro good i’d be pissed if you did

You also i’m watching Paddington 2 tonight thought you should know

Pedro you’re trying to make me fall in love with you

You Trying?

A Few days Later

Pedro okay serious question what’s your go-to coffee order i’m at a café and there are too many words on the menu

You iced oat latte. extra cinnamon. no reason. just vibes. why?

Pedro just wondering what i’ll need to remember when i see you again it’s been a minute you free soon?

You maybe. depends. is this a brunch date disguised as a “casual hang”?

Pedro yes. and i might wear a hat and sunglasses like a criminal

You hot I’ll see you Sunday then

Two Weeks Later

Outside a café, 2:12 p.m.

You’re holding iced coffees, your oversized hoodie tucked into the waistband of biker shorts, and Pedro’s walking beside you—cap pulled low, hoodie up, sunglasses on.

You look like…friends.

Which is the goal.

Except his hand keeps brushing yours.

And when you laugh too hard at something he says about a failed audition back in ‘99, he looks at you like he feels it. Like he wants to bottle it.

You don’t even notice the guy on the opposite sidewalk.

Phone angled low.

The shutter click barely audible.

Another car slows down. Just a beat.

Pedro notices first.

His body tenses next to yours.

You follow his gaze. A pair of figures across the street. Hoodies. Big lenses. Moving fast.

Click click click.

You suck in a breath. “Shit.”

He doesn’t grab your hand.

He can’t.

Instead, he leans in like he’s just whispering something dumb.

“Just keep walking,” he mutters. “Act like you’re annoyed with me.”

You glance up at him. “That’s not hard.”

He grins, tight-lipped. “Atta girl.”

You duck into a bookstore.He buys a random novel and keeps the receipt.

You pretend to browse while your stomach spins.

He brushes his hand against your back briefly as you walk toward the back exit.

“Your face was covered,” he says quietly. “You’re fine.”

But he doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

You slip your sunglasses on, exhaling.

“I knew this might happen,” you mutter. “Still sucks.”

Pedro looks at you for a second too long. Then, under his breath:

“If anything ever actually comes out…I’ll handle it.”

You nod.

But it hangs there. Heavy.

You’re still you. Still just 23. Still not used to this world he lives in.

But the part that makes your pulse spike isn’t fear.

It’s the way his voice dipped when he said “I’ll handle it.”

Like he already decided he would.

Like you weren’t just a girl from a raffle anymore.

Pedro they didn’t get anything you’re safe

You you sure?

Pedro i’ve done this a long time if they had something good it’d be online already trust me

You i do just didn’t expect it to feel that...real

Pedro it is real at least for me

You i know. me too.

Pedro next time no public sidewalks just you my place pizza and zero danger

You and maybe another dramatic sigh against your fridge?

Pedro oh i’m already practicing i’ll be thinking about you all week

You good maybe i’ll make you wait again

Pedro maybe i’ll let you

Few More Days Later

You i just bombed my stats exam tell my family i died doing what i hated

Pedro nooooo not stats not you :(

You i’m so tired i might actually cry in the campus parking lot like a teen drama character

Pedro you want company or silence? or pizza? or a forehead kiss?

You omg

You that last one just made my brain short circuit is that allowed???

Pedro it is if you want it to be offer still stands come over i’ll put on something dumb and hold you until your brain restarts

You you’re dangerous give me an hour

That night — 8:13 p.m. 

Pedro’s apartment.

The kitchen smells like garlic and fresh basil.

Pedro’s in front of the stove in a worn tee and joggers, barefoot, stirring pasta like this is just…normal. Like you always do this. Like he wasn’t in a galaxy far, far away a few months ago while you were still writing essays in the library, humming through AirPods.

“You ever cook for girls like this?” you tease lightly, watching from the counter stool.

Pedro smirks without turning around. “Not girls who make me nervous.”

You blink.

He glances back at you. “Just being honest.”

You open your mouth—then close it again.

Your throat’s warm. So is your chest. Your fingertips tingle against the glass of red wine in your hand.

The rest of the night unfurls gently. Like a held breath being let out.

He makes a simple pasta with veggies. You help slice strawberries for a little balsamic-glazed dessert (“This is so extra,” you laugh, and he just shrugs—“You deserve extra”).

You eat on the couch with the coffee table dragged closer, your knees brushing under the bowls.

Music plays low. Something acoustic and nostalgic.

His hand rests on your leg, casual but firm.

Yours finds his thigh a little later.

You’re sitting sideways in his lap again, back to his chest, your cheek against his jaw. He smells like citrus body wash and red wine and something inherently him.

His hands haven’t left you all night.

Thumb tracing slow lines into the top of your thigh. Fingertips under your hoodie hem.

He kisses your shoulder. Then your jaw.

You hum softly, turning your face toward his. He doesn’t hesitate.

The kiss starts easy. Then deeper.

And deeper.

You straddle him this time, your knees pressing into the couch cushions, your hands in his hair. His grip tightens around your hips—then softens again, like he’s reminding himself to slow down.

There’s heat. So much heat.

You shift against him, just slightly—and feel him underneath you.

He breathes hard into your mouth, breaking the kiss. “Wait—wait.”

Your foreheads press together.

You blink. “Did I do something—?”

Pedro shakes his head fast. “No, no. God, no. You’re perfect.”

You’re quiet. His thumb brushes your cheek.

“I just…” he swallows, “don’t want this to be fast. I want it to be right.”

You exhale, your nose brushing his. “Okay.”

He looks at you—tender, serious. “You trust me?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You trust me?”

Pedro leans forward and kisses you again, slower this time. His hands stay on your waist. Yours trail up the back of his neck.

Then he says the most dangerous thing of all:

“Stay tonight.”

You borrow one of his tees and wash your face in his sink with the cleanser he shyly offers you.

The bed’s big and warm. You climb in beside him, and he pulls you close, one arm under your shoulders, the other across your waist.

Neither of you says much.

But when you whisper, “You smell like something familiar,” he smiles into your hair.

And when he murmurs, “I like having you here,” you smile too.

You fall asleep curled up against him. No more nerves. No more pretending this is just for fun.

It’s not the night everything happened.

But it’s the night everything changed.

The Next Morning — 9:12 a.m.

You wake up warm.

Pressed against a solid chest, one of Pedro’s hands heavy over your waist, his breath slow and deep against the back of your neck.

It takes you a second to remember where you are.

The smell of his sheets. The weight of his arm. The stretch of your legs tangled with his.

Then it hits you.

Last night. Dinner. That kiss. Him asking you to stay.

You shift slightly, careful not to wake him.

But you feel him stir behind you.

His voice is a slow, rough murmur in your ear. “Morning.”

You twist in his arms to face him. His hair’s messy. His eyes are sleepy, half-lidded. There’s a small smile on his mouth that makes your heart kick like a rabbit.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He leans in and kisses you—soft at first. Barely there.

But then he kisses you again, firmer this time. Longer.

And it doesn’t feel sleepy anymore.

It feels like wanting.

Pedro’s hand moves under your shirt, smoothing up your back, dragging his fingers up your spine. You sigh into his mouth as you press your chest against his, your body already buzzing.

He rolls gently onto his back, bringing you with him so you’re straddling his hips. His hands settle on your thighs, his thumbs tracing slow circles just beneath the hem of your borrowed sleep shirt.

“You okay?” he murmurs, looking up at you.

You nod. “Yeah.”

His eyes search yours. “We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you say, clear and certain. “I really want to.”

That’s all he needs.

He sits up, kisses you again—this time with intent. His hands slip under your shirt fully now, dragging it up over your head and off.

Pedro pauses when he sees you.

Like he’s trying to remember every inch.

“God,” he breathes, hands sliding up your waist to cup your chest. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You shiver as his thumbs graze your nipples. You shift forward, rolling your hips against his just a little, and feel him hard underneath you.

He groans, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” you whisper, tugging his shirt off too.

It’s slow. He treats your body like something worth learning.

Mouth on your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone, tongue dipping below your breasts.

He lays you back and kisses down your stomach, looking up at you the whole time like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

You don’t.

You arch for him, tug his hand between your thighs.

Pedro groans when he finds you wet.

“So ready for me,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “Jesus, baby…”

He touches you slowly, gently, working you open with his fingers until you're panting, until you're grabbing at his hair and whispering his name like it's the only word that matters.

Then he comes back up and kisses you again—deep, messy, tongue pushing into your mouth as his fingers stay between your legs, stroking you through every soft sound you make.

“You like that?” he breathes.

You nod, nails digging into his shoulder. “Yeah. God, Pedro—”

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You smile shakily. “I’ll tell you if it’s not enough.”

When he finally pushes inside you, it’s slow.

Painfully slow.

Like he wants you to feel every inch of it. Like he wants to feel you—wrapped around him, holding him, trusting him.

You gasp. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple.

“You okay?”

You nod, hand fisting the sheets. “Keep going. Please.”

Pedro groans, deeper this time, and begins to move.

It’s not fast. It’s not rough.

But it’s intense.

Every roll of his hips is deliberate, slow and deep, the kind of rhythm that builds unbearable heat between your legs. He stays close, his chest brushing yours, one hand cradling your head, the other gripping your hip like he needs to anchor himself there.

You moan into his mouth. “Pedro—oh my god—”

“I know,” he pants. “I know, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, tilting your hips to take him deeper. The change makes you gasp—your whole body tightening around him.

He curses, thrusts harder once, then slows again, like he’s fighting to stay in control.

“Not gonna last,” he groans into your neck. “You’re too good—fuck—”

You cling to him, mouth at his ear. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

He fucks you through it—slow, patient, like he’s memorizing you.

Until you come with a cry, back arching, legs trembling.

And then he lets go.

Buried deep inside you, his arms locked tight around your body, he shudders with a groan that sounds almost broken.

Pedro lies beside you, one hand still tracing circles over your bare back.

You’re tucked into his side, head on his chest, your body boneless and warm and aching in all the right ways.

He kisses the top of your head.

You murmur, “So…”

“So?” he echoes softly.

“I don’t want to leave.”

He smiles. “Then don’t.”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze.

“Okay.”

10:36 a.m.

The bedroom’s quiet, dim with late morning light.

Pedro’s hand is still on your back, fingers idly tracing slow, lazy shapes like he doesn’t want to break the silence. You’re sprawled across his chest with your leg slung over his hip, still tangled in sheets and sleep and warmth.

You murmur, “My thighs hurt.”

Pedro laughs softly under you. “That’s a good sign, right?”

You pinch his side gently, but you’re smiling. “You’re annoying.”

He kisses your hair. “You’re glowing.”

“I’m sweaty.”

“Same thing.”

You hum, turning your face into his neck. “We should get up.”

“We don’t have to.”

“We will eventually.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. But I’m making coffee and putting on music and not wearing pants, so. Prepare yourself.”

You brush your teeth side-by-side in front of the mirror, barefoot and rumpled. He’s wearing plaid pajama pants slung low on his hips. You’re in one of his big, soft shirts that barely covers your ass.

Pedro spits, then wipes his mouth and gestures toward your reflection. “You’re doing the ‘walk of shame’ all wrong.”

“Oh yeah?”

He steps behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, kisses your shoulder. “Yeah. You’re supposed to sneak out. Look flustered. Not stand here looking like a smug little goddess.”

You lean back into him. “I can sneak if you want.”

He brushes your hair over your shoulder, mouth at your ear. “Don’t you dare.”

You perch on the counter while Pedro makes eggs and toasts thick slices of sourdough. Coffee gurgles in the French press. Music hums low from a Bluetooth speaker—Fleetwood Mac, or maybe The Rolling Stones, something vintage and cozy and a little flirtatious.

He hands you a piece of toast like it’s a peace offering.

“You’re spoiling me,” you murmur between bites.

He shrugs. “You stayed the night. That earns you toast rights.”

“What else does it earn me?”

Pedro leans on the counter next to you, pretending to think. “More coffee. Back rubs. The good chocolate from the top shelf. Maybe a foot rub if you beg.”

You laugh.

But he watches you for a second, quiet, eyes soft.

Then, a little more serious, he says, “You’re okay? With last night?”

You nod right away. “Of course I am.”

“You don’t feel—like it was too fast?”

You pause. “No. Do you?”

He looks away for a second. Then back at you.

“No. I just… I don't want to mess this up.”

Your heart thumps.

“You’re not,” you say, and it’s true. “I like being here. With you.”

Pedro steps closer. Kisses you on the forehead.

“You make me feel lucky,” he murmurs. “Like… really lucky.”

You hide your face in his shoulder, smiling into his shirt. “Sappy.”

“You love it.”

“I kinda do.”

You end up back in bed with the window open and your coffee cups half-full on the nightstand.

You scroll through your phone lazily while Pedro reads a book beside you, one hand resting on your thigh like he just needs to be touching you, even when he’s distracted.

Eventually, he sets the book down and watches you instead.

“Next time,” he says quietly, “let me take you out properly. Like a real date.”

You glance up. “Like…in public?”

He nods, hesitating. “If you want. I can be careful. Private table. Back entrance.”

You study him for a beat.

Then smile.

“Okay.”

He exhales, slow and relieved. Pulls you toward him.

And it hits you—how easy this could be. How dangerous. How close you already feel to something you shouldn’t want this badly.

But you let him kiss you again.

Because right now?

You just want more.

Pedro 🍯 Friday night okay for our scandalous outing?

You depends will there be food? and you opening doors for me like a gentleman?

Pedro 🍯 I’d open every door in LA for you even the ones I’m not supposed to

You that’s hot okay I’m in what’s the dress code? do I need to look famous?

Pedro 🍯 You are famous. In my phone. In my bed. In my head. But no—look like yourself. That’s what I like.

You you’re lucky you’re cute I’ll give you flirty and effortless

Pedro 🍯 It’s a look that destroys me every time

 Friday Night – 8:04 PM

Private restaurant in West Hollywood

The hostess barely glances at you as she leads you down a narrow hallway to the back, where the lights are low and the table is tucked away in a cozy, dim corner.

Pedro’s already there, standing when he sees you. Black dress shirt, a little open at the collar. Trim beard. That soft smile that’s reserved for you now.

He says, “Wow,” under his breath when he sees you.

You grin. “That’s what you were waiting for?”

“No,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “But it’s a damn good bonus.”

He pulls your chair out for you, brushes his fingers down your arm as you sit. The tension’s quiet but buzzing. This isn’t like being at his apartment in sweats and bare legs. This is real.

The waiter arrives quickly—Pedro’s arranged everything. Wine’s already poured. A cheese plate. You’re grateful, because you’re nervous.

“Not what you expected?” he asks, eyes warm.

“It’s nice,” you say. “Just… kinda crazy. We’re really out.”

He leans in, voice low. “We don’t have to stay long.”

“No,” you say quickly, surprising yourself. “I want to.”

You talk about movies. About food. He asks about your classes. You ask about scripts he’s reading. It’s easy, even with the candlelight and clinking glasses and murmurs behind you.

But at one point, you feel someone glance toward the corner—just a shift, a flick of someone’s head.

You both go still.

Pedro reaches across the table and touches your hand, thumb brushing the back of your fingers.

“Don’t look,” he says gently. “They won’t get anything.”

You nod, swallowing.

“I’m okay,” you whisper.

His grip tightens slightly.

“So am I.”

Outside the restaurant

Pedro’s car pulls around to the back entrance just like he’d asked. You both slip out quietly, sunglasses on—even though it’s dark—and hoods up. The manager gave him a discreet nod on the way out, like this wasn’t his first time protecting someone.

Once you’re in the car, doors shut, windows up, and seat belts clicked… he finally exhales.

You laugh a little, heart still racing. “That was weird.”

“It was,” he agrees, starting the engine. “But not terrible, right?”

You glance at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been watched while eating cheese.”

Pedro grins. “To be fair, you looked very hot doing it.”

You nudge his arm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

You do.

 10:05 PM – His Apartment

He lets you in first. The lights are soft. The space smells like bergamot and whatever cologne still clings to his jacket.

You take your shoes off by the door without thinking. He shrugs out of his coat, throws it on the back of the couch. His shirt’s still half-unbuttoned.

“Wine?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Just water.”

Pedro nods and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it from the fridge. You trail behind him, watching the lines of his back move beneath the dark cotton of his shirt.

When he turns, you’re sitting on top of the counter, arms crossed.

“You’re quiet,” he says gently, handing you the glass.

You take a sip. “Just thinking.”

He nods. Waits.

You hesitate. Then, “Do you worry? About people knowing?”

He pauses. Then crosses to stand in front of you, leaning back on the opposite counter, arms loosely folded.

“I do,” he says honestly. “Not because I’m ashamed. I just… I know how people talk. And I don’t want them to get it wrong.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He watches you.

“I also don’t want to stop seeing you,” he adds softly. “So I guess I’ll figure it out.”

That makes your stomach flip.

“You don’t think it’s a bad idea?” you ask. “This?”

He tilts his head, thoughtful. Then he shook it.

“No. Not when you look at me like that.”

You blink. “Like what?”

Pedro smiles a little. “Like I’m not just some actor you had a crush on once. Like I’m… real.”

You don’t say anything, but you take a step forward. So does he.

Your hand lands gently on his chest.

“I like the real you,” you say. “Even when you’re dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic.”

“You literally made an escape plan for dinner.”

He chuckles in a low tone. “Fair.”

Your fingers hook at the collar of his shirt.

“Can I stay again?”

Pedro leans down and presses his forehead to yours.

“Please do.”

Pedro steps between your legs, his palms firm against your thighs, slowly sliding up under the hem of your dress. The fabric bunches at your hips, but neither of you cares. You’ve kissed him before, but not like this—not when everything feels like it might break open if you dare to go a little further.

“You’re killin’ me,” he mutters, lips brushing just below your ear as his hands roam.

Your breath catches. “I haven’t even done anything.”

Pedro pulls back just enough to look at you. “You wore that dress.”

You tilt your head. “You told me to.”

He smirks. “Yeah. My own damn fault.”

His mouth is on yours again—hot, unrelenting. The kiss turns hungrier. You moan into it when he presses closer, the hard line of him slotting between your thighs.

His hands are greedy now, tracing the backs of your thighs, then cupping your ass, pulling you forward against him. Your hips grind instinctively. He groans into your mouth, like he’s trying to hold back but failing.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel—Jesus—”

One of his hands slips around to your front, dragging his fingers between your legs over your panties. He feels how warm you are, how soaked the fabric is. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and full of heat.

“This all for me, baby?”

You nod, lips parted. “Been like that since dinner.”

He lets out a low, guttural sound and presses the heel of his hand right where you’re throbbing. You roll your hips against it, helpless. Your legs tighten around his waist as your back arches into him.

Pedro leans in, his voice ragged. “You want me to touch you?”

You barely manage a breathy, “Yes.”

His fingers hook into your panties, dragging them to the side. And then he touches you—slowly, carefully—like he’s trying to memorize every reaction. The pad of his middle finger slides through your slick folds, circling your clit just once.

You jerk slightly, gasping.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, watching your face. “You’re so wet already.”

You try to kiss him again, but he teases you, keeping his lips just out of reach. His fingers move lower, pressing gently at your entrance. He slips one inside, slow but sure.

Your head falls back. “Pedro—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, adding a second finger, curling them just right. “You feel fuckin’ incredible.”

You rock your hips in time with his rhythm, your moans filling the quiet kitchen. The counter is cool beneath your thighs, but you’re burning everywhere else—chest flushed, heart racing.

Pedro leans in and kisses the underside of your jaw, then your neck, his voice hot and gravelly against your skin. “I wanna see you come like this. Just like this.”

You grip his shoulders, legs trembling slightly as the pressure builds. He keeps his thumb on your clit, circling it in time with every curl of his fingers.

“Fuck—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

“I won’t, baby. I’ve got you. Let go for me.”

It hits fast. Your hips stutter, mouth falling open in a whimper as you come around his fingers, clenching tight while he keeps working you through it. He watches every second of it, like he’s completely wrecked by the sight of you falling apart in his hands.

When it’s too much, you grab his wrist, panting. “Okay. Okay—”

He kisses you then, deep and messy and full of hunger. You taste yourself on his tongue, and somehow that just makes it hotter.

“Next time,” he murmurs against your lips, voice full of promise, “it’s gonna be in bed. And I’m not gonna stop until you beg.”

You smile, still breathless. “Who says I won’t beg right here?”

He laughs softly, tucks your hair behind your ear, and leans his forehead against yours. “You’re trouble.”

“You like it.”

Pedro hums, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “I really do.”

Pedro kisses you again—more urgently this time, like he’s chasing the taste of your moan. You’re still coming down from your high, but he’s nowhere near finished. His hand strokes down your thigh, then back up slowly, deliberately. His lips drag down your neck to your collarbone, tongue flicking over the skin as he murmurs, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby.”

You squirm in his grip, panting softly. “Pedro…”

He groans when you say his name like that, like a plea. His hands slip under your thighs, and in one swift, effortless movement, he lifts you from the counter and carries you into the living room. He lays you out gently on the couch, kneeling between your legs, spreading them with his hands.

Your dress is still bunched around your hips. Your panties are crooked, barely hanging on.

Pedro looks down at you—lips swollen, legs open for him, pupils blown wide. “You want more?”

You nod, voice shaky. “I—I want your mouth.”

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He leans in, dragging your panties down your legs slowly, deliberately. You watch him with wide eyes, chest rising and falling. He kisses the inside of your thigh first—soft, reverent—then bites, just a little, enough to make you whimper.

And then he licks you.

It starts slow—his tongue parting your folds, gentle strokes that make you arch your back. But he doesn’t stay soft for long. He groans into you like he’s starving, hands gripping your thighs as he locks you in place and sucks hard on your clit. Your hips jerk up, and he just tightens his grip, flattening his tongue and dragging it slowly up and down before circling your entrance.

You’re already close again.

“Pedro, fuck—oh my God—”

He looks up at you, mouth shiny, eyes wild. “Come again for me. Just like this.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, anchoring yourself while he devours you. He slides one finger back inside you, then another, curling them just right as his tongue works your clit. You fall apart again—loud, shaking, hips grinding against his mouth as you come harder than before.

You feel him groan when you clench around his fingers. He fucking likes how wrecked you are.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless and trembling. He kisses your inner thigh one more time before leaning over you, lips slick with you, eyes blown wide.

You reach for him, cupping him through his sweats. He’s rock hard and twitching under your palm. “Your turn.”

He swears under his breath, grinding into your hand. “I’ve been dying since you walked in.”

You tug the waistband of his slacks down. He helps, finally freeing himself—and your mouth waters at the sight of him. He’s thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.

Pedro watches your face as you stroke him slowly, teasing him the way he teased you.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” you ask, sweet and soft.

He groans low. “Not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.”

But he lets you guide him on top of you, your thighs still slick and spread. You rub his tip against your folds, not letting him in—just grinding, coating him in your arousal. You both moan at the contact.

He leans down, forehead pressed to yours, hips moving in slow, desperate circles.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he mutters.

You wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, your voice a whisper against his jaw. “Next time, you’re gonna fuck me for real.”

Pedro pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “This isn’t even close to done, sweetheart.”

He ruts against you again, both of you panting now, bodies slick and sticky. He kisses you—deep and messy—as he comes against your stomach with a groan, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

You lie there together, tangled and panting, the whole room humming with the tension that still lingers.

Pedro finally exhales a breathy laugh. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

You grin, heart racing. “Big, big trouble.”

He kisses your shoulder and smiles into your skin. “Worth it.”

You’re curled up in Pedro’s bed again, half-asleep with your cheek against his chest, his hand absentmindedly tracing lazy circles on your back.

He shifts a little beneath you, reaches over with a yawn to grab his phone from the nightstand, squinting at the screen as it lights up.

Then he goes still.

You feel it before you hear it—his body tensing just enough to draw your attention.

You peek up at him. “Everything okay?”

Pedro doesn’t answer right away. He swipes through something on his phone with a sharp breath through his nose, then hands it to you silently.

Your stomach flips.

It’s Twitter.

A photo. Grainy, long-lens, obviously taken from across the street.

Pedro Pascal on a late-night coffee date?He’s walking beside you on the sidewalk. His hood is up, and yours is too. Your face is angled down, half-covered by your oversized scarf. But it’s undeniably him.

His hand is on the small of your back. Gentle. Familiar.

The photo already has over 80k likes.

“Shit,” you whisper, sitting up a little.

Pedro watches you carefully. “Your face isn’t in it. You’re okay.”

“I mean… yeah, but people are gonna figure it out, aren’t they?” You hand him the phone, heart thudding.

There are already hundreds of quote tweets. Gossip accounts, stan edits, comments like:

“whoever she is… I fear I’m her now” “idk who she is but I know she smells like vanilla and reads poetry” “Pedro Pascal out on a date???? Real man hours” “y’all think this is PR? 😭”

You fall back into the pillows, groaning into the sheets. “I literally had exams yesterday. I was studying in a hoodie like twelve hours ago.”

Pedro chuckles softly. “And now you’re an anonymous femme fatale. Wild.”

You glance over at him. “This doesn’t freak you out?”

“Not really.” He reaches out, brushing your hair back. “I’ve been through worse. You okay, though?”

“I mean…” You sit up, wrapping the sheet around yourself. “I didn’t think this was gonna get real like that. That fast.”

Pedro watches you quietly for a moment. Then he reaches for your hand.

“We don’t have to rush anything. If you want to pull back, stay private, disappear for a bit, we can do that. But I also—” He pauses, thumb brushing your knuckles. “I like this. You and me. I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

You soften. “I don’t want that either.”

“Then we play it smart.” He smiles a little. “Let them talk. They don’t know anything.”

You squeeze his hand. “Okay. But if I get doxxed by a thirteen-year-old running a fan cam account…”

“I’ll delete the internet for you.”

You laugh, and he leans over to kiss your temple.

Just like that, the tension fades a little. Not gone, not really, but tucked away beside the coffee cups and slow mornings and quiet confessions in bed.

You wake up later to the smell of butter and fresh coffee.

The space in bed beside you is empty, but warm. Sunlight spills through the curtains in long strips, cutting across the crumpled sheets and your bare legs. You stretch slowly, sore in the sweetest way, your body still humming from the night before.

You find Pedro in the kitchen, barefoot in his plaid pajama pants, the ones with a little rip near the pocket. He’s focused on the skillet in front of him, brows furrowed, spatula in hand like he’s trying to win an award for best boyfriend breakfast.

You linger in the doorway, quietly watching him like you’re afraid saying his name will break the spell.

He turns at just the right moment, catching you with a sleepy smile.

“Well, good morning, mystery girl.”

You grin. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? You are a mystery.” He gestures to the open laptop on the kitchen counter. “You’re trending.”

Your stomach dips. “So it wasn’t just a bad dream?”

Pedro nods. “Hashtag 'Pedro Pascal Date Night' has entered the chat.”

You groan and pad into the room, barefoot in his T-shirt, curling your arms around his waist from behind. “This is so surreal.”

He leans back into you just enough to kiss your knuckles. “You’re still you. I’m still me. Nothing changes that.”

You rest your cheek against his back. “I know, it’s just… I wasn’t expecting it to feel this big.”

Pedro turns gently in your arms and cups your face with those warm, capable hands. “Then let’s keep it small. Just you and me in this kitchen. My bad pancakes. Your bedhead. The rest can wait.”

You nod. Let him kiss you. Let him hold you like that.

A few minutes later, you’re sitting at the little dining table while he plates the eggs, toast, and strawberries in a way that’s oddly charming and not very symmetrical. He brings you your coffee just the way you like it—too much cream, not enough sugar.

“God,” you say, taking a sip. “This is dangerously domestic.”

Pedro raises an eyebrow, settling across from you. “Dangerous?”

You smirk. “You’re lucky I’m into it.”

He lets out a low laugh. “You have no idea how into you I am.”

You pause, caught off guard by how easily he says it. How it doesn’t scare you the way you thought it would.

After a beat, you lean across the table and whisper, “So what happens next?”

Pedro reaches for your hand, his thumb brushing the back of it like it’s second nature.

“Whatever you want,” he says. “We will figure it out. Together.”

And there it is again—that quiet thrum of something honest. Something with roots.

Hope.

divider by @/cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @xodilfluvr @annulmaelae @millersdoll @inbred-eater @thezatannaprint @stvrl1ghtt123 @umadirectioner @aj0elap0l0gist @heather81 @subconsciouscollapse @catch1ngmoths @littlemillersbaby @lizziesfirstwife @amyispxnk

[butchlifeguard]

primrose's ch3 is GOOD btw

[bunnis-monsters]

Becoming the Queen

Bee hybrids x Fem!Reader

warning: oviposition, orgy, breeding, oral

WK: 5k

A/N: I hope this is alright for a Valentine’s Day special… this is a commission, hehe. The lovely members on kofi got to see this 2 weeks early ><

It was early, the grass you trudged through to get to work still wet with the morning dew. You never truly enjoyed waking up before the sun rose, but you loved what you did and could never give it up.

You were a florist, owning the only flower shop in the county. People from all over would come to buy a bouquet, and you were up to your head in flower arrangements by the late afternoon.

Some customers were kind, tipping you well and making sure their flowers were well taken care of. Others got on your very last nerve, daring to say your flowers seemed old or wilted.

It took everything in you not to leap over the counters. You could take people insulting you, but no one could insinuate that your flowers weren’t perfect. You grew them yourself, preening and watering them to perfection.

As you neared your flower shop, you noticed there were more customers than usual waiting outside. Usually most of your sales happened after 10 am, not so early in the day.

But as you took out your keys and looked up, you realized that not all of them were there for flowers.

One of your windows was broken, shards of glass covering the floor and a bit of blood staining the windowsill. Something has smashed through the glass!

And from taking one look into your shop, you realized that they hadn’t just broken your window.

Bouquets lay strewn across the cool tiles, petals blowing in the wind as you opened the door. Someone or something had been in your shop and had ruined your carefully arranged bouquets.

A shard of one of your potted plants crunched under your foot as you took in all the damage that had been done. It would set you back several weeks.

“Damn it…”

Although it frustrated you to no end, you brushed off your skirt and set off to the back, grabbing a broom and getting to work.

After getting the mess up and opening up the shop, you tried your best not to think about what destroyed your inventory. You focused on your work instead. It was always easy to lose yourself in a good book while waiting on your next customer, but today your mind kept wandering back to potential culprits.

There were a group of teenagers that vandalized a restaurant a block away last week. At the local boba place, someone had been stealing the boba and straws. It wasn’t unthinkable that the other incidents may be related to what happened earlier that morning.

You closed the shop for the night, sighing as you zipped up your hoodie. It was way too cold, you’d have to bring your coat tomorrow if you planned on being out this late.

It couldn’t be helped, you had to stay after closing to contact clients and refer them to other florists that could get their arrangements done now that the ones you prepared were ruined.

Thankfully, most of your clients were kind enough to overlook it, but you received a few earfuls that you couldn’t complain about. At least they weren’t leaving a bad review…

The night air made you shiver. You rubbed your arms and continued on home, dreading tomorrow. There was so much work you’d have to redo, and money you would lose out on.

‘I hope there’s going to be enough money left over for me to pay my bills this month…’

You were stirred from your thoughts when you felt a chill go down your spine. For a moment you just assumed it was the frigid temperatures making you feel this way, but something was off.

The world around you was quiet. The way home had sparse light, and before that night you had never been afraid of the dark. It comforted you, in fact.

But as you froze in the middle of the path, your heart thumping against your chest, you realized that there was a sound that drowned out everything else. You hadn’t noticed it at first, and now it was almost unbearably loud.

A buzzing filled the air, and you quickly had to cover your ears as it only increased in volume.

You picked up something else, the smell of honey. Slowly, you opened your eyes.

It took a moment to fully comprehend what was before you. There were several humanoid silhouettes surrounding you, and their outlines were… fluffy?

“Is this really her?”

“Yes, I told you she was soft!”

“And she makes the flowers bloom?”

“Yes, yes!”

A hand reached out to tilt your chin up, and you were face to face with some kind of insect-like creature. It was taller than any man you had ever seen, with big black eyes and yellow… fluff? Fuzz? You weren’t sure, but these things didn’t have normal human skin.

“Ah, she’s just as pretty as you said.”

The other creatures let out a satisfied buzz, encircling you. They all seemed rather curious and excited, lifting up parts of your clothing and examining you.

“H-hey!”

When you yelped, they all backed off, seeming confused and a little hurt. “Wh… what the hell are you… things? Why are you following me!?”

The leader stepped forward again, a bit sheepish but understanding. “Sorry… we saw how upset you were about the mess we made and-“

“You all caused that mess!?”

They all let out whines and upset buzzes as you groaned. The entire day had been a nightmare you’d wake up from soon. It had to be.

“I’m going to bed…”

You moved past the group, but they followed after you, seeming concerned and nervous.

“But you’re coming with u-“

His mouth was covered by another’s hand. “We’re sorry for the mess. Please, we’ll help repay you tomorrow. So… don’t be too angry.”

It was hard to stay too angry with them, they sounded genuinely remorseful and a touch sad. “… alright, but you’ll need to be here early tomorrow.”

You went to bed, figuring that this would all be over once you had a good night of sleep. There were no strange bee-like creatures in your front yard, no difficult messes to deal with, just a bad dream.

Unfortunately you were very wrong.

Walking outside with your hot coffee and sporting your pajamas, you were met with several expectant faces.

“You’re awake!”

You stood there for a moment, blinking sluggishly before staring down at your coffee. After blinking a few times, you breathed in and out.

“So… you are real then.”

The creatures were bee hybrids, a species you heard about before. Hybrids weren’t exactly uncommon, but it was rare for insect based hybrids to leave their hives or nests to interact with humans.

They did keep their promise and help you prepare bouquets the entire day, pollinating your flowers and following after you baby ducklings with their mother.

Unbeknownst to you, the bees had been watching you for a while.

It started when they lost their queen.

For months she had been bedridden, and no eggs were laid. Of course, the bee hybrids were much more concerned about their beloved queen than eggs, but she was beside herself with worry.

“Who will take care of you when I’m gone?”

The queen knew she was well past her egg bearing years and was going to die soon. After all, what purpose did a queen have when she couldn’t expand the hive?

“Don’t say things like that, your majesty. You won’t leave us…”

They were stricken with grief after her passing, nearly a year went by before they even considered a new queen.

Their last one had been a bee hybrid born in that very hive. Wanting to keep the tradition of raising a new queen wasn’t possible since she had only ever birthed sons.

Not wanting to take the chance of foreign bee hives trying to spy on them by giving them a female, the bee hybrids looked elsewhere for their next queen.

You happened to be a perfect match.

Not only were you beautiful and plump as a good queen should be, your kind nature and gentle heart told them you would be an amazing mother to the little ones.

The only problem was getting you to the hive.

“She’s so pretty, I love her…” said one of the bee hybrids, his wings fluttering as he watched you remove the thorns from some roses.

“She is. I want to stuff her full of my e-“

The others turned red and buzzed at the horny bee. “H-hey, don’t talk about the queen like that!”

“But that’s what everyone’s thinking…”

The worker bees pouted, flying around you and offering pollen or honey. The guards watched from afar.

Most of the bee hybrids were not what you would call… intelligent. But there were some that ran the show and made all of the important decisions.

“We’ll take her soon. Our hive needs a queen, and if we don’t get one soon, everyone will go mad. We need a queen to mate and protect, it’s what keeps us calm,” said one of the guards, his stinger twitching and ready to attack.

“But she loves working with the flowers. What if we put a strain on her mind? If she is unwell, our hive will suffer with her.”

That was true, the bee hybrids’ productivity and mental well being depended on you. If you were depressed, they would be as well. Not only that, they’d be constantly trying to cheer you up and become worse if you remained in that state for too long.

“I think I know what we can do to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

~

You had never felt so tired in your entire life. The day hadn’t been so tough, but as you closed your eyes to go to bed, suddenly your body felt so heavy that you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to get up.

Sleep took you, and when you woke up everything seemed… different.

Your usually stiff bed felt incredibly soft, your body melting into the plush material.

“Ugh…”

The moment you let out a groan, you heard the sound of buzzing and frantic voices.

“The queen is awake!”

“Oh, my queen are you alright?”

“Hurry, prepare her breakfast and bring the towels for the bath!”

You rubbed your eyes as you listened to the bustling around you. When your vision was no longer blurry, you could hardly believe what you were seeing.

No longer were you in your small bedroom in your modest home by the forest. The walls of your room were shaped like a honeycomb… no, they were a honeycomb. You could even see the amber colored liquid pooling at the bottom as some bee hybrids scooped it up.

You were laid out on a king sized bed, with thick blankets and plush pillows surrounding you like some kind of nest.

Surrounding you was a swarm of bee hybrids. Some were teeming with excitement and giddy energy, while others peeked around their fellow hybrids with curiosity. The ones closest to you, though, seemed a mix of concerned and nervous, fretting over you.

“Oh, what if she isn’t feeling well? Should we give her some honey?”

“Breakfast first, she can have honey on toast or biscuits.”

“Humans really eat honey in that way?”

While you struggled to get your bearings, they continued to flit about the room doing various things to acclimate you.

“Where… am I?”

Every single one of the bee hybrids paused, their attention solely on you. Several whispered among themselves as their gaze stayed on your plump figure.

“You’re home, my queen.”

A taller, less fluffy bee hybrid walked forward, his expression neutral. He kneeled before you, taking your hand and raising it to his mouth for a kiss.

“Q-queen? What do you-“

All at once they all rushed forward to dote on you. Your body was covered in kisses, and you could feel their soft fluff almost everywhere.

“My queen, we’re so happy!”

“We promise you’ll have a good life here, no more stress or worry!”

Gentle nips and bites were pressed into your sensitive neck and thighs, hands moving to caress and grope all of your body.

You were still groggy, and immediately began to warm up when one hand found its way to your inner thigh. When you let out a startled moan, the bees on the bed began to buzz and focus on that spot.

“Our queen is sensitive!”

A few of them pried your thighs open, inspecting your bare cunt and giving it a few experimental touches and licks. Had they undressed you beforehand?

Their tongues were long and thin, delicate against your slowly hardening clit. You could tell they were all excited by the way their buzzing increased and their bodies shook.

Your scent filled the air, attracting more bee hybrids from the hall. The ones on the bed touched and fondled your sleepy body as the others watched from the sidelines.

Your face heated up when you realized they were stroking their cocks, their eyes glued on your body and the way it was being played with by their peers.

There was no chance to react or cry out in protest, you were being too overwhelmed by pleasure. One of their tongues entered your cunt, making your eyes widen and your fists clench the silk bed sheet underneath you.

“She likes that, don’t stop.”

You felt one of them latch onto your breasts, their long tongue swirling around your nipple. Their antennae tickled your face, and you felt completely overstimulated.

Every touch made you twist and buck your hips, it was hard to control yourself. Never before had you felt such intense pleasure, and it was making you see stars.

‘This has to be some sort of wet dream…’ you thought to yourself, squishing your plush thighs together. ‘Might as well enjoy it…’

“Is she ready yet?” one of them cooed, nuzzling their fluffy face against your neck.

“Not for eggs, but…”

The others backed off, and a smaller, more feminine looking bee hybrid climbed on top of you. He was still at least half a foot taller than you, but tiny compared to the others.

“H-hello, my queen…” he chirped shyly, giving your cheek an affectionate nuzzle. “I’ll be the one to mate with you first…”

He was even fluffier than the others, and his cock was already twitching against your thigh. It was more long than thick, and had a pinkish, orange color.

You reached out to touch it, your fingers wrapping around his length. This made the smaller bee hybrid gasp, his hips bucking wildly in surprise.

The other hybrids stepped closer, buzzing with both excitement and jealousy. Already, the single male was receiving all of your attention… they all wanted a turn!

Fortunately for you, they had been ordered to give you space. This would be your first time with a bee hybrid, and if they weren’t careful, they could end up hurting their precious queen.

Your health and well being meant more to them than anything else.

“M-my queen, ahh!”

His eyes glistened with flustered tears as you stroked his cock, honey colored precum seeping out of the tip. You couldn’t remember the last time you had pleasured yourself.

If this was a dream, you were going to have fun.

You laid on your back, pulling the hybrid in by his hips. It was clear out of the two of you, he was the one lacking experience.

“Oh, you’re so pretty my queen-“ he blubbered out, his hips rutting against yours as his cock settled between your pussy lips. You could feel his tip kissing your clit, and it was enough to have you both let out a shuddering moan.

“Mmph…”

You kissed him, letting his long tongue slip down your throat as you moved your hand to guide his cock towards your entrance.

The moan he let out in your mouth as he sunk into your fat cunt was sinful, and out of the corner of your eye you noticed several of the bees were fucking their fists to the sight of you being fucked by one of their own.

“T-too good! I’m gonna-“

His cum spurted into your womb, he was finishing before he could even properly thrust in and out of you. You were going to whine about it, but something caused you to pause your complaints.

While his cock twitched inside of you, it swelled up, and before you could question what was happening, eggs began to pool into your womb along with his cum.

The feeling of them being fucked into you, stretching your pussy out as the eggs were laid inside of you made your head spin.

Your pussy clenched around the eggs, and before you knew it you were cumming harder than you ever had before. You arched your back, tears running down your cheeks as you rode out your high.

By the end of it, you were a mess. Cum from both you and the bee hybrid pooled around your thighs, soaking into the expensive feeling sheets.

“This… isn’t a dream, is it?”

The hybrid gathered around you, some cooing over your spent, naked body while others were desperate to have their hands on you.

“It’s no dream, my queen!”

“We all love you!”

“Let’s get you to the bath, you deserve to relax!”

You let out a tired sigh as you were carried away. The tub was nearly as big as your bedroom back home, and several of the bees joined you in the warm, pleasantly scented water.

You could smell fresh flowers and honey, and you let out a sigh of relief when several pairs of hands went to work massaging your sore muscles. A pair of two slipped between your thighs, toying with your sensitive clit and feeling around to make sure all of the eggs were safe and sound inside of you.

“Is the water warm enough, my queen?”

Hands cupped your breasts, giving them a playful squeeze before rubbing honey scented soap into them. “Mmph, yes, it’s good…”

You glanced down at your belly, noticing it poked out slightly. The memory of how the eggs felt being pushed inside of you made your cheeks heat up.

This was all a lot to process. If this wasn’t a dream like you had originally assumed, then that meant you had been taken away to a bee hybrid hive and made into a queen.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions…” another bee said, giving you a sympathetic look. “But you don’t have to worry, we’ll cater to your every want and need. You’ll never want for anything.”

Deciding a fight wasn’t worth it, you sunk back into the warm water, letting yourself be pampered and taken care of for now.

“… I want to talk to whoever is in charge here.”

The two hybrid bathing you shared a look before speaking.

“That would be you, my queen.”

You placed a hand on your temple, rubbing it before replying. “I mean, who decided that I would be queen? Surely someone here has been making decisions regarding the hive while there was no queen.”

A silence fell over the room, the only sound being the water droplets falling from your skin.

“Well… I guess that would be the council. Are you requesting a meeting with the council, my queen?”

You nodded, and the two stood before getting you dried off and dressed. They were obedient, doing exactly as you asked. “Are you sure, my queen? You still need your breakfast and-“

“I’m sure, take me to the council.”

The walls of the hive were made of honeycomb, unsurprisingly. Each section contained a bee hybrid that was hard at work, making honey while chattering amongst themselves.

“Haven’t you heard, Bumble? There’s a new queen, and she’s a pretty one too!”

“Yeah, she’s already had her first batch of eggs too!”

“That’s not fair, I wanted to give the queen my eggs first!”

You avoided making eye contact with them, your cheeks hot with embarrassment again. It flustered you to know their words were causing your panties to grow wet.

Hiding was useless, though. The scent of your arousal caused the bee hybrids near you to react. Their antennas twitched while their cocks hardened the second your scent reached them. It was an immediate reaction that had you hiding within the safety of your guards as you were escorted to the council.

“My queen, what brings you here?”

You stood before the council, looking up at their pleasantly surprised faces. There were around 30 of them, all sitting in a half circle. Papers were piled next to each bee, and even while their full attention was on you, their hands still moved to work on the papers in front of them.

‘Busy and a bee’ was a phrase you heard a lot growing up, and as you watched them flit about the room, writing and shouting orders all while keeping their eyes on you, it finally dawned on you how accurate it was.

“I came here with questions. My first one is why am I here?”

They paused their work for a moment, and some shooed away any bees that weren’t in the council before shutting the doors.

“… as you may know, bee hybrid hives consist mainly of males,” one of the council members began, standing and walking towards you.

“Female bees are not born often, meaning that we cannot run a hive without… taking a female on as our queen,” another finished, setting aside a stack of finished papers.

“It’s also a great way to diversify the hive and prevent… inbreeding.”

You raised an eyebrow as the bee hybrid stood in front of you. He was nearly 10 feet tall, and crouched down in front of you, taking your hand before kissing the back of it.

When he looked into your eyes, they sparkled with devotion. “Our undercover agents have been watching you for months. You’re kind, and you love nature. You must know that without a queen, our hive will die out within a year.”

It was hard to look away from his dark orbs. The way he looked at you made your heart race.

“I know that we took you away without asking, but we cannot let you go. Please know that you will be treated with the utmost care, and you will be pampered beyond belief.”

For a moment you stayed quiet, your expression softening. “… what would be expected of me as queen?”

The entire council perked up, some leaping out of their seats in excitement without warning. They quickly returned to their work when the leader gave them a warning glance.

“You only have a handful of responsibilities each day. You greet the public, bond with the children, attend diplomatic meetings, and… breed with your loyal subjects to create your children.”

Your face heated up at the memory of your morning session with the pretty bee hybrid.

“And… I do these every day?”

They nodded. “Diplomatic meetings are less frequent, but everything else is daily.”

Daily… you’d get fucked like that daily?

‘Am I really going to abandon the life I’ve been living for the past few years just to get a good fuck and some pampering?’

Yes. Yes you were.

“Alright… I’m in. Not like I have much of a choice in the matter anyways…”

The bees surrounding you let out happy whines and buzzes. You were surrounded once again, being nuzzled and pulled into fluffy chests. They were all scenting you, obviously happy you were going to be their queen of your own free will.

“Then let’s get you some breakfast, my queen. You have much to do!”

Breakfast was filled with lots of chattering among your current attendants. They were fluffy, jealous things that lounged about in your quarters, burying their faces into your soft body and gossiping amongst themselves.

Once you were done eating, you were escorted to your first duty as queen.

“I hope your royal attendants behaved well. They are just excited to have a queen to dote on again. If you have any sexual needs or desires, they will perform them for you. And do not worry, they cannot produce eggs, so they exist purely for your pleasure and entertainment.”

It seemed strange, but your attendants seemed quite happy and spoiled, so you continued to follow the councilman in charge or guiding you.

“This is the nursery.”

The walls had the same honeycombs as the rest of the hive, but in each one was a crib and a sleeping babe. On the carpeted floor, toddlers waddled and crawled about, playing with toys as they got in their daily exercise.

Almost like a switch had been flipped, their tiny heads turned towards you. The closest baby bee tears up, their tiny, chubby legs struggling to carry them forward as they toddled their way over.

“M-mama!”

Every child within hearing range made their way over, clinging to your legs and fussing as they attempted to crawl up. They held onto your clothing, suckling on any bare skin they could find in an attempt to nurse.

“H-hey, I’m not your-“

The bee hybrid next to you sighed softly. “They won’t listen. You have the scent of their mother now, they want you to hold and feed them.”

Their little eyes were getting red and puffy from crying, they couldn’t understand why their mama wasn’t holding or feeding them.

It was really tugging at your heartstrings. They were just so little, you couldn’t imagine having a baby and how their innocent minds would try to process your death.

“Hey… it’s okay, mama is right here.”

You sat down, letting them climb into your lap and arms. A team of bee hybrids joined you, helping to bottle feed and soothe them.

“Once the eggs in you begin to grow, you’ll start lactating and will be able to feed hordes of the baby bees,” the councilman said, watching how the young ones bonded with you instantly.

“For now, though… you just need to give them your attention and care. They need it.”

As the little ones were laid down for a nap, you were able to sneak out and leave for your next appointment.

“The entire hive knows there is a new queen, gossip gets out fast,” the councilman said as you ate some lunch. Your attendants were playing with your clit, all cooing over how sensitive and hard it was getting under their touch.

There seemed to be no shame with them. You were sitting in the middle of the cafeteria and no one batted an eye as your fat pussy lips were pulled apart so they could lick and fuck your hole with their long tongues.

“However, you’ll still need to make an official appearance in front of the hive… that, and we’ll need to start the breeding ceremony.”

You were having trouble focusing, your fingers tugging on the hair of the bee between your legs. “C-ceremony?”

“Yes, my queen. It is customary for every bee hybrid to take a few days off of work to come and greet the queen. They all get their turns to mate and fill you with some of their own eggs.”

The ceremony began later in the evening. You were brought out before your loyal subjects, dressed in lacy lingerie and placed on a bed.

You felt less like a beloved ruler, and more like a breeding cow being brought out to be sold to the highest bidder.

Every bee bowed before you, dropping to one knee as they waited for you to speak.

“My loyal subjects…”

Just the sound of your voice sent a shiver of excitement through the crowd. You could see them shaking, few already hard and struggling to keep their hands off their pink, throbbing cocks.

“You have all been gathered here for the… breeding ceremony. As thanks for working as hard as you do, you all get a turn to…”

Again, your cheeks began to warm up. You couldn’t believe you were saying this. “… you all get a turn to breed me, your queen. I will take your eggs and incubate them, ensuring your bloodline will continue.”

With that, you laid down. The councilmen ushered forward a group of bee hybrids, and the breeding commenced.

They didn’t want to hurt you, that much was for sure.

Most of the bee hybrids were several feet taller than you, though some stopped at only a few inches above your head. No matter how much they towered over you, their touch was still gentle and hesitant.

None of them had ever touched a human before, much less mated with one. Your body was so sensitive, responding to every nudge and movement of their hands.

One of them sunk their fingers into your cunt, another offering you their cock. You took it into your mouth, causing them to buck their hips.

Your pussy gushed around their fingers.

“S-she’s getting all wet… my queen, is this good for you?”

“Yes, that means she’s excited! You can mate with her now!”

Each cock that entered you was different. Some were short and thick, others thin and long, but a few were both so girthy and long that you felt like you were being split in two.

At one point you were being fucked while jerking off two other bee hybrid and blowing another, trying to please as many as your subjects at once as possible.

The first creampie was almost soothing, the feeling of eggs filling your needy cunt was… mind blowing. You felt so fulfilled, you wanted to be fucked like this forever.

After the tenth bee hybrid though… you were so stuffed full you could barely think. Your tummy was stretched out, looking just about ready to burst.

“Oh, so pretty…” a bee chittered, rubbing your distended belly. “Our queen is doing so well…”

After another five bees had their way with you, the councilmen stepped forward. “That's enough for now, she needs her rest.”

Your attendants were quick to descend upon the bed, buzzing threateningly at every other hybrid that dared to even look at their exhausted queen.

“You truly did do well…” one of them cooed, kissing your temple after they bathed you then tucked you into bed.

“Sleep, you’ll need your rest. Tomorrow will bring even more eggs.”

As you laid down, curled up with a bee hybrid cuddle pile, you couldn’t help but look forward to tomorrow.

You were already becoming an amazing queen… and it had only been a day.

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog

[grugruel]

Stop me if it hurts.

Pairings: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: A supply run goes south, and Joel has to save you. The damage done brings you closer.

At the end of the day, you're belly up on the bathroom floor with joel on top of you, sweaty and panting.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: soft!joel, pinv sex, oral sex (f recieving), fingering, creampie, "I love you", cum eating ish, pet names (sweetheart, baby, girl), slight overstimulation.

AN: I've laboured guys. I might have cooked. The end is sloppy in more ways than one😼 I'll fix it up, though. I've still got to proofread. But until then, ENJOY.

Reliable arms carry her far. Bloodied and torn, but she's still alive. By his virtue alone.

He'll glance down at her from time to time, whenever he can spare vigilance from their surroundings. There's worry sharpening his eyes. Yet, the edges dull when their eyes connect and he finds hers glinting with gratitude.

Disconnected by shock, but safe in his embrace. Fatigue from the day's horrifying events take over, and the girl doesn't reflect before caressing his neck.

Joel smiles, it's quick and sweet. But it falls as reality floods the pair, drowning them in consequences. The softness she values disappear from his eyes, seamingly reminded of the dire situation they find themselves in.

She shouldn't have, she knows it. His divided reaction lurches in her stumach while the question festers in her mind. Which situation was it? Emotional or physical–Infected or her father. One wedging between them while the other forces them closer.

Her thoughts become muddled, she doesn't know. The girl's adrenaline drops and she struggles to keep her eyes open as her subconscious is assured of safety in his embrace.

Worry furrows his brow once again. Snow crunches underfoot as his pace picks up, desperate to get you to safety.

The bright blue sky and light snowfall encapsules the determination in his features. Her eyes are drawn to his strong stubbled chin as fingers sink into her skin.

Then it goes black.

—

Her father's worried face and relief washing it clean as he catches sight of his girl. He knows she's in good hands, he knows she needs to be taken care of. She gets snippets of their conversation while swaying in and out of consciousness. "Take care of her, Joel." And "Get her warm." Among a few. In the back of her mind is an image, her father's eyes relenting to a friend. Admitting that his grown daughter would rather have Joel's help in such a delicate situation. Then, his parting words comes rushing back. "I trust you."

—

Coarse fabric strokes her face, stinging shallow wounds. Wincing at a particularly nasty cut, she opens her eyes to find Joel's face inches from her own. "It was the best I could find," he murmurs, a damp towel in hand.

She sighs in with relief, happy to see his face again and the girl gets a sudden urge to stroke the grey strands at his temples. "At least it's clean."

Joel smiles, the dent between his eyebrows loosening. He's relieved by her light mood. It's a good sign. "Not anymore," he jokes.

The girl blinks, noting that the brownish red towel had once been white. It doesn't worry her, the cuts she can feel are mild. It's the pain she cant see that alarms her, a dull ache haunting her muscles. She tries to move, but a blinding pain shoots through her and she groans. "Mggh-- Fuck. Is it bad?"

"I dont know, I'd have to see for myself." He sits back, eyes searching her body. "Your face took the worst of it. I can't find any blood apart from the cuts on your face." Joel rubs the towel over her forehead, his thumb soothing the skin as he moves along. "But, I expect there'll be a lot of bruising."

"Will they scar?"

Joel's gaze flick between the wounds, assessing them. He doesn't say it, but he's apologetic.

She nods, putting on a facade of indifference. "Cool, cool." She feels her face. The skin on her forehead, chin and cheek have split. A few scars are little to trade for her life, but it sucks either way.

"You're not gonna like it, but we need to get you walking–figure out where it hurts."

The girl nods again. She takes a moment to catch her breath, then sighs, "let's get it over with."

Joel ditches the towel and kneels beside her, circling an arm around her back to get a steady grip on her body. "Ready?"

She puts an arm around his shoulders and braces a hand against the back of her chair. "Ready," she exhales.

It hurts less with his help, but the side of her abdomen wails in protest. "Oof-" Worn floorboards creak as the girl takes a few steps without a limp. That's good news. "Mhh-- Its my side," she huffs. The room seems to warp around her, blurring her vision. "Feels like my waist 's gonna snap in half."

"Alright, alright," he exhales, relieved by the miraculous steps as she is. "We'll have to take a look, got a bath running upstairs," he begins, bending down to slip an arm beneath her legs. He smells of leather and pine.

The girl stops him. "I can walk, Joel." Pushing him away by the chest. "Promise," she says, but the dizzy spell lingers and the force from her own arms make her stumble.

Joel hauls her into his arms, shooting her independece down. "Now's not the time to be stubborn," he chuckles.

She wants to protest further, but there's immediate relief along her midriff as he takes the weight off the damaged area. She didn't realise how her body strained, but once gone, a relieved tear rolls down her cheek. "Thank you," she whispers.

Glancing down, Joel has to swallow unwelcome emotions. The tear has streaked dialuted remains of blood. She's strong, but hurting. Three words want to slip by his lips, but he swallows them too. He doesn't dare answer at all.

They journey the rest of the way in silence. Once arrived, Joel nudges the door open with his shoulder and steam swarms the pair. Gently, he sets her down on the tiled floor.

It's dark as little light seeps in from the hallway. But it's the heat that presses her mind, making it hard to focus on anything else. She's overdressed, sweat already coating her skin. Unzipping her jacket, she strains to pull it off. Hissing as she's forced to move her side.

"Gently," Joel calms her, stepping in to help and slides it down her arms. Without another word, he sinks to his knees and starts untying her shoes. Joel looks up, there's devotion in his eyes. Kind and unyielding. He cares for her like she cares for him, but this isn't news. It's hazardous however.

With their eyes locked, the girl carefully bends forward to brace a hand against his shoulder, aiding Joel in the removal of her shoes. He slides a hand behind her calf while the other grab the heel of her boot, pulling it off. It pains her, and he notices. "Just one more," Joel reassures her as he switches legs, making quick work of the second to spare her the pain. "Well done, sweetheart."

The pain affects her less than his words. Joel straightens out and looks her over. "Still need any help with that?" He nods to her hoodie, hands on his hips.

"Please." She's never enjoyed the feeling of helplessness, but if someone has to save her–she'll ways choose Joel.

"Raise your arms," he instructs, and gathers the fabric into his palms. She wears a t-shirt beneath, and as he begins to pull, it catches on the hoodie and hikes above her abdomen. Joel gets an involuntary glance of her exposed skin, and duty catches him in the act. He's quick to grab the shirt and pull it down as he slips the hoodie over her head. "Alright," he clears his throat and discards the hoodie. "Want to sit down for this?"

She shakes her head.

"Stop me if I hurt you."

She nods.

"Hey, look at me."

Doe-eyed, she faces him.

"Say it."

The girl's gaze flick between his eyes. Stubborn versus stubborn. He desires to strengthen her autonomy–by doing as he tells her. It's contrasting. And the thought of his hands on her body was a remedy of its own. Yet, she relents. "I'll stop you. . . If it hurts."

There's the beginnings of a smile, proud in it's curve as he hitches the t-shirt on his thumb and lifts it enough to inspect her side. A tall bruise stretches up her midriff, darkening her waist and ribs. He plants his hands around her ribcage to feel for breakage, and her breath hitches as he gets to the bruise. Joel lock eyes with her, ready to stop. But the 'stop' never comes.

The girl rolls her eyes. "You're not hurting me," she reassures him.

Joel nods slowly, inspecting the purple skin. "Nothing seems broken," he says, softly tracing the length of her ribs. And his thoughts take him elsewhere.

It was supposed to be a supply run. Ordinary and well-practiced. She wasn't supposed to come, but Joel had allowed it. She wanted to, he tells himself. But deep down, it was because of his own slefishness. He wanted her by his side, unsupervised by her father for few hours. Just the two of them.

He strokes the purple skin, transfixed by it's blotchy pattern. He was the cause of her pain. "I'll wait downstairs," he breathes. Prepared to give her space. Yet, he doesn't move.

"I might need your help," she offers, giving him a reason to stay. But there's protest brewing in his features. She continues, "just turn around, Joel. It's not that serious."

His arms are crossed as he gages her. One would think it's the look of a man firm in his decision. But Joel sighs, and a moment later his back is turned, leaning against the doorframe.

He eyes the floor out of respect, but the day has taken it's toll. He's worn, and look up to stretch his neck. Too late does he remember the small mirror above the sink. Inside it's fogged up frame is the girl, half-naked and glistening from sweat. And Joel's consience fails.

She releases pained grunts pulling on the back of her shirt, hoping to avoid extra strain. "Oh for fu-- Joel?" She pants. The fabric had slipped from her grip, and the girl can't bother doing it all again. "Joel?" The girl repeats. Turning her head sideways, she catches his eye in the mirror. "Think 'm gonna need that help after all." She doesn't question why he's looking at her or why he hasn't refrained. She knows.

The girl turns around and lifts her shirt, revealing the small of her back. Joel moves closer until his lips are inches from her neck, their breaths come heavy and his hands slide beneath the fabric. All rational sense vaporize along with the steam as he pulls it off. "Want me to continue?" He asks, whispering over her shoulder.

The girl shivers. "Yes."

Rusty fingers unclasp her bra, snapping it open. Gently, he slides the straps down her arms. Thebra hits the floor, Joel grasps her biceps and rests his forehead between her shoulderbaldes. "Tell me to stop, baby." Lips brush against her spine.

She furrow her brows as the words cut through her. "I won't." She knows it's hard for him, how he wishes to be free of these feelings. But it's hard for her aswell–being told of his wish to stop.

Joel moves closer, pressing his chest against her bare back. His hands find the buttons on her jeans, undoing them one by one. Then, he sinks his knees once more, and their gazes meet over her shoulder. Joel focuses on her eyes as he hooks his thumbs into the denim waistline and pulls it down. From their restriction, her panties follow. And she steps out of them both before Joel stands back up and looks away, grabbing her waist. He helps her step into the bath without a glance in her direction. Duty outways lust.

The girl adores his display of respect. She always has. Sitting on the edge of the tub, his fingers sink deep into her untouched side. He holds her weight with one arm, enabling Joel to spare her bruised side. Her eyes light up. She adores how considerate he is. There are a hundred qualities most men lack, which all come natural to Joel.

Sinking into the water, her aching body sighs. It loosens the tension that constricts her muscles and allows the girl to move without much pain.

"Im always thanking you."

"You never have to," he says, then moves to leave. He has done his duty, lingering would be a breech of it.

But she grabs his hand. "I want to thank you properly."

He shakes his head, refusing to look at her. "Im not trading you for a few minutes of pleasure."

"Joel." The girl places his hand over her heart, coarse fingertips soaking up waterdroplets that glisten on her skin. "I'm right here," she whispers, leaning closer to cup his face, gaining no response. "Inches away, wanting you . . . Loving you."

That gets his attention. Finally, he looks at her. The gravity of their situation opening his eyes.

"You mean the world to me," she murmurs and slip his hand beneath the surface, guiding it atop her breast.

Joel inhales, fingers itching to move. To squeeze and massage. To give her everything she needs.

"I love my father, but he doesn't get to decide who else I give those words to." She beckons him closer. There's no force. Only slight pressure dimpling his cheek as she retracts her hand. It's the simple threat of her touch slipping away that makes Joel follow.

Their noses brush. "Tell me you love me too," she whimpers, squeezing for him, making his calloused fingertips dig into her breast.

Joel groans, chin jerking in chase of her lips. But he uses all the willpower he can muster to halt his urges, closing his eyes to focus.

"Tell me, Joel." She pecks the corner of his mouth, stubble prickling her lips. "Tell me. . ." Her hand squeezes harder around his.

"Fuck, girl," he groans, clenching his free hand. Joel tries to shake his fingers loose of restlessness, but it doesn't work. Enough is enough, he thinks. And puts them to use instead.

Joel rolls his shirtleeve up before softly grabbing her jaw. Slowly, his hand leaves her breast and dives beneath the surface. He leans closer, when an inch away he whispers, "I love you." Their lips connect as his hand slides down her abdomen. The kiss is considerate, and they're hungry. But this moment will weigh heavy in their memories, it would be a shame to rush.

Fingers slip behind her neck for purchase as Joel deepens the kiss. Yet, keeping the thumb on her jaw he applies a soff caress to preserve it's innocence.

The girl has never felt love this strongly before.

His hand sends shivers up her spine as jt dives between her thighs, cupping her mound.

She gasps and pulls away by reflex. Their eyes connect. Joel hesitates, his fingers pausing just as they reach her clit.

She shakes her head. "Dont stop, Joel. Dont stop." She had been entranced by the kiss, the sudden pressure caught her of guard. But her hand slips from his cheek to pull him closer by the shirt. "Please," she breathes, brushing her lips against his before inching back. Teasing him into action.

Luckily for her, it works. He slides two fingers between her folds before sinking into her core. She moans, eyebrows furrowing from the sudden pleasure shooting through her. "Yes . . ."

But as she leans in to kiss him, Joel pulls back. "Let me look at you, sweetheart."

The girl smirks and rests her cheek on the bathtubs edge, cushioned by the back of her hand.

Combing through her damp hair, he tenderly pulls it away from her face and gathers it in his fist. Joel simultaneously picks up the pace. He rubs his hand against her mound while thrusting his fingers, long fingers curling against her insides as his palm rubs against her clit.

He has experience, but that's to be expected. The girl was just in tatters by the raw talent he possesses. The knot tightens in her stumache, uterus roiling from the stimulation of her walls. She can only try to convey the pleasure he gives her. Her panting picks up, nonsense words falling from her lips.

"You're so beautiful," he says and strokes her temple. Gazing at eachother, his expanded pupils betray his thoughts.

The girl smiles, but the sweet moment passes as his fingers curl and her teeth sinks into her lip. "You-- Mhhg . . . You'll make me blush . . . Joel."

He smiles back, teeth and all. Those are rare. "You already are."

She can imagine. Rosy and satisfied by his hand. Her lungs strain as breaths expell in moans, high in pitch to signal her approaching climax.

"Jesus- 'm close," she cries, eyebrows creasing painfully. "You're s' fuckin good . . . Wanna be good, too." Her hand falls to his jeans, attempting to undo the buttons while she navigates through blinding pleasure, stars filling her vision.

"Let's focus on you, baby." The words push her over the edge and the pressure bursts like a dam, washing over- and filling her with ecstacy. "You're doing so good," he murmurs and levels his head with hers. The girl's fingers curl reflexively, sinking them into his thigh. Joel hisses, brushing his lips over hers. "Thats it . . . Good job, sweetheart."

"Kiss me," she whimpers and Joel obides without question–for once. Their lips meet again, comforting and soft. Joel's and leave her sex to move both into cupping her face, and the restrained her falls around her face. He pulls her closer

Tracing a nail up his thigh, she loops a finger through a belt hoop and tugs. "Need you . . . "

He disconnects their lips and sits back. Hand dripping of water and foam, he leaves wet stains on the fabric of his shirt as he undoes it's buttons. "Im yours."

—

The girl blinks and the next thing she knows–she finds herself on the floor. A rug pulled beneath her back and a large palm beneath her head, he lays her down.

Even though the air is warm and clingy, goosebumps cover her skin as cold tile stick to her ass.

Leather groans as he pulls the belt loose of it's constraints and denim rustles as his pants hit the floor. Then, Joel kneels before her.

The girl cant take her eyes off him, it's a sight she can never tire of. She's seen him shirtless before, but the circumstances were different. He looks different now–in the pale light, removing his clothes with intimate intention. Perhaps it's her view of him that's changed. He looks softer, somehow. She's noticed glints of it before, when they talk and in the way he looks at her. But it never lasts long. She imagines this version of him prominent before the outbreak. His default setting. But now, for the first time in a long time, his guard is completely lowered.

"Ready?" He asks and kisses her forehead, tip prodding at her entrence.

She nods eagerly, the need for him pent up and ready to release in tears unless she can have him soon. "Im ready." Her voice breaks.

Deleting the space between them, Joel drives forward and enters her. They gasp, then smile. Eyes connected as they explore the shape of one another. He's big, but the girl takes him perfectly. "Fuck," she moans.

"Stop me if i hurt you," he tells her again, always conscious of her well-being. But she realises late that it was more of a warning. Because Joel pulls out, pauses and thrusts back into her. He laces their hands together, move them above her head and then strike into her again.

"Holy shi-" she cries out in surprise and sinks her nails sink into the back of his hands.

Targeting her neck, he kisses the soft spot above her collarbone. " 'M sorry . . . Need you so bad." Laboured breaths and deep moans hit her ear. They're finally close in the way she always dreamed of.

His thrusts are deep and strong, but never forceful. Dull twists of pain go through her side with each thrust, but the warm water has limbered her up. They're barely noticeable. Besides, she would never let anything pull this man out of her. Joel had been so diligent at prioritising her that she never registered his own needs. "No It- 's ok." The stuttering of their bodies puts pause between her words. " 'S good, feels so good."

Sinking teeth into her neck, he leaves love bites that will let everybody know who she belongs to.

She nuzzles his profile and kisses his ear, attempting to grab his attention as her hands do little good. "Let me touch you, Joel . . . Please." She rocks her hips to meet his thrusts, it's all she can do.

His member twitches inside her, the actions getting to him. "Bad idea, baby," he grunts, then lowers his body what little there's left and uses his weight to thrust deeper, simultaneously pinning her hips to the tile.

Frustration bubble up as her walls clench around him. "Please, please," she whimpers.

Joel staggers, hands reflexively squeezing her as he push them hard into the tiles. "Cant . . . I won't last long enough for you." He gathers himself and trails kisses up her neck–soft and expertly–until he reaches her lips.

"Joel." His name is barely audible as it falls from her lips, her panting and pitched tone make words difficult to convey. "C- mmh, cum inside me for all I care." Her teeth sink into his bottom lip. "Just let me get you there."

He relents with a breathy groan, taking some weight off her hips as his hands slip to her wrists. He gives them a final squeeze of dissatisfaction before realeasing and caging her in with his forearms.

"Thank you," she smiles and pecks his lips. But she has a goal in mind. The girl puts her hips in motion then wrap her legs around the snall of his back, pushing him deeper still. She wraps a hand around his neck to pull him in for a kiss, while the other finds his back to claw.

"Fuck." Joel's thrusts falter as he pushes into her hard. "Feels so nice, girl . . . 'M- mhh, gonna cum."

She smiles against his lips, tongues dancing around eachother. "Good."

"Want me inside?"

"Please."

Joel's pace stutters and he slams his fist into the floor as he spills into her core. The pleasure overwhelming him. "So fucking good, I love you, sweetheart," he pants.

Satisfaction floods her chest, heart beating thrice as quick by his words alone.

"I love you," he continues, placing kisses down her throat. Hands slide down her sides, grabbing her ribs as his lips attach to her breast.

She gasps. "Shit-- Joel, it's alright. I dont have to-"

He sucks the plush flesh inte his mouth while kneading the other. Not taking no for an answer.

The girl moans, back arching. "Now isn't the time to be stubborn," she teases, using his own words against him.

He smiles around her nipple, biting it softly before he travels south. His fingers dimple her thighs as he hooks them over his shoulders and the pair lock eyes. Smug, he smirks.

She rolls her eyes and smiles back. "Go on, then. Big guy." One would think the girl has learned to control her tongue around Joel, because getting smart with him always end with a valuable lesson.

"Smart mouth," he exhales, damp breath fanning over her cunt. The girl swallows, and then he dives in.

She has no idea how many women he's been with, even though hes aware of her short history with one or two at Jackson. No matter how long it's been, Joel's tongue has kept its experience.

Lapping and sucking, he attacks her clit. Licking a stripe trough her folds just to tease her while paying no mind to the seed spilling out of her core. He might spit it out or use it as lube. She cant tell, because its all too much.

She topples over the edge quicker than expected. But he doesn't stop. He has a lesson to teach and she to learn. Tears roll down her cheeks as stars cover her eyes. "Fuck, Joel," she mewls. "I get it, I get it."

He let's out a throaty chuckle and slips his tongue out of her core. "Good."

Catching her breath, she heaves herself up as he crawls onto her. Joel braces his knuckles into the tile, keeping his arms straight to level his head with hers. Leaning in, they smile in unified satisfaction as their lips connect. He tastes of salt, a mix of their juices.

"I love you, too."

[just-a-space-duck]

So About That Armor…

I regret to inform myself that I like it.

If you haven't seen it:

I'll give you time to take it in. This is a static, (hopefully) eternal text post, so take your time.

Ok so before I go further, you are allowed to have any and all opinions about the armor. Do not listen to me; I am a stranger on the internet who attaches himself to fictional murder cyborgs and treats them like kitty cats.

So first of all, it's weird. And I like it for that. Even if I found it to be the most infuriating piece of costume design ever, I still wouldn't be able to help but respect it for how strange it is.

When it comes to fanworks, adaptations, new installments in a franchise, or even just different takes on the same trope, I love it when creators take things in an unconventional or even seemingly unrelated direction that upon closer inspection still relates to the base or original concept. To get what I mean, think goth interpretations of Rarity or Cosmopoliturtle's Pokémon redesigns. The TV series armor sits alongside these for me, because this was the thought process of the designer, Tommy Arnold:

First of all, it is so funny that The Company would just brand their armor and by extension their secunits, their combat/security products, like Louis Vuitton bags. Also, the logo of The Company strikes a nice balance between being simple enough to be easily reproducible and recognizable, but complex enough to read as a logo and not just a simple shape or pattern. Plus, The Company logo being mostly just concentric Cs, clever there.

But there's also some worldbuilding and character expression in this design.

The Corporation Rim is just capitalism but more. A company slathering everything and everyone they create and own in mountains of logos, even when it's potentially impractical, showcases just how extensive corporatism is in this setting. Additionally, this design could be something of a status marker. Secunits are high end additions and/or alternatives to other security measures. Much like how logos on purses, tennis shoes, and cars serve to tell observers, "I have the fancy, expensive version of [insert category of thing here] ergo I am a very wealthy/powerful/cool person", a secunit covered in corporate logos communicates the high status and access of the client(s).

Now what was one of the first things we learned about Murderbot in the books? It disabled its governor module, the thing preventing it from defying orders and having any level of freedom, but instead of doing what it could to leave The Company, Murderbot just stayed with it and kept doing its intended function. For over four years. What else do we learn in the first book? That it feels most comfortable in the armor because this prevents humans from seeing its face, from treating it more like a person or human rather than a tool or bot. This makes the armor being composed of the logo of the group that both created and hurt Murderbot very symbolic.

Murderbot has internalized the message that it is a dangerous weapon and not a person deserving of care to the point that, at least at the beginning of the series, it shies away from anything that insists that it deserves the same kindness that humans do. It's only ever been taught what the company built it to do, so it doesn't know what to do next once it's obtained some semblance of freedom for itself by disabling its mental shock collar and so keeps doing what it's always done, even though it very much would rather not be in such a situation. Even by the most recent book, System Collapse, Murderbot is still wrestling with the idea that it matters beyond how it can assist others. Murderbot finding comfort hiding behind the very thing that will not let you forget the company that enslaves it, is just juicy theming.

Also, the helmet looking so weird works well with how many humans don't know what secunits look like, with some not even thinking they have human-like faces. If you had no context for this image, you might very well assume this is a fully robot character or even a statue.

I have my own gripes and worries and hopes concerning the upcoming show, but I just couldn’t get this fun bit of character design analysis out of my head. Shouldn’t have watched so much TB Skyen.

[crest-of-gautier]

2 hour session of pq today!!! went from 38% -> 89% done with the third floor of the 2nd labryinth! (i just need to open the door that was locked...)

today was a short session but i really enjoyed it! (some screenshots of transcriptions of my related favorite events under the cut)

i think the highlight of what i saw today was aigis :) the way she responds to things is very humorous to me. she doesn't always realize how her words come across but thats ok i still love her regardless. i just think the way that aigis has a continual work in progress of her understanding of the world is nice :3

there was also a thing about a love potion and rei goes:

Rei: Wait, they don't exist!? But it comes up in so many stories!

and i am!! once again!! reiterating my tags from my previous pq posting.

like all of the stuff i said here still stands... i think her line about the love potion just cements to me that rei is.. so very young. she's like a twelve year old to me. maybe younger. i don't know how old she is and i don't want to know until the game tells me what's bonking with zen and rei's identity...

i think in a previous pq post i had... some kind of spitballing about zen and rei with respect to the mechanics of persona q and subpersonas... it was mostly me wondering if their skillsets alluded to anything, but... lately i've been thinking about how rei takes up the bottom part of the 3ds screen in the same manner a subpersona does... and i'm like... trying to look at that and think about what that implies.

so you have me asking questions to myself, including, but not limited to: would this make rei a persona? how is she in that state? what caused that to happen? and if so where/how did she acquire abilities that are reminiscent of a subpersona? is it tied to whatever zen is?

there's definitely a part of me that leans into zen specifically being an entity of sorts, in the same vein of ryoji and marie- idk something about his skillset just makes me lean into this idea of him being a fragment of a powerful deity. god knows who what that deity's name is. but anyway. maybe if we operate under the assumption that zen is in an amnesiac state of an deity/entity whatever, this could mean that rei having abilities like a subpersona is because of him??

i dont fucking know man!! i'm spitballing based on what the game has offered and similar threads/themes i've seen from the persona games i've played/watched. groans. i'm fucking insane and it's going to take me forever to get answers because i'm a small little worm who's inching through this game and probably won't finish it until next year.

anyway. good game session. zen and rei make me crazy with conjecture (i would like to say that i can reach the boss of the group date cafe soon bc i want to see what zen and rei have to say about it post-boss fight so that i can spitball even more nonsense. but it'll probably take at least two sessions...? these floors sometimes take awhile). and i really enjoy how certain characters are highlighted through this game's interactions (aigis for today specifically). i love persona :D

[inmaki]

number one sorcerer (and virgin) .

synopsis: req! in which your boyfriend — notorious for boasting about how good he is in bed — turns out to be all bark and no bite (until you give him some guidance, at least).

pairing: virgin!switch!gojo x f!reader

wc: est. 6k?

incl: unprotected sex, pull-out method, lots of dirty talk, a bit of teaching gojo, petnames, manhandling, size kink, clit play, praise kink, edging (himself), teasing, mocking, fingering, oral (f + slight m), cum swallowing

a/n: ty for awakening smtn in me anon it was nice to be writing a full fic again!! hope im not too rusty,, this is straight up filth tho so mdni

back when satoru and you were just friends, he liked to make it very clear to your circle of peers that he wasn’t just good at sex.

no, according to himself, he was some kind of sex god — to match his power level in sorcery, of course.

and obviously, who was anyone to think otherwise? the great gojo satoru; such a cocky and confident demeanour paired with angelic white hair, piercing blue eyes, and a tall sculpted body that other guys at the gym double-take at. him..? a virgin? hah! good one.

satoru believes that he’s done a rather spectacular job at keeping his reputation sky-high.

the only problem was.. now he had a girlfriend with high expectations to please.

since the day you’d gotten together — going multiple months strong — satoru was starting to sweat more and more knowing that his rather crucial fabrication was bound to be brought up sooner or later. you had your needs just like him, and satoru wouldn’t blame you if you were a bit worried about why he hasn’t initiated anything; y’know, since he was supposedly eros in human form and all that.

little did you know your boyfriend felt equally frustrated. for slightly different reasons.

“bro, it’d be hot if she was a virgin, but me?!” flopping back against the armrest, gojo lets out a theatrical groan while his best friend — the only other person to know of his dark secret — snickers against the cushions nearby.

“everything’d be fine if you didn’t pretend to be some incubus that makes girls cum with a snap of his finger,” geto quips unhelpfully.

satoru lifts his head, sneering when he realizes that the raven-haired man was much too busy scrolling on his phone to notice how he’s resting a pair of dirty shoes on his white couch. “that would be pretty cool..” when he only receives a disgusted glance, he huffs, suddenly feeling a bit vulnerable as his thoughts wander further. “how’m i even gonna tell her? what if she doesn’t trust me anymore?”

at last, suguru looks up with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “you know y/n isn’t like that. just.. wait for her to initiate something and go with the flow,” he advises, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“you find a way to be good at everything, anyway, toru. she’ll be begging for you in no time.”

as usual, geto knows him too well, because those last few words have gojo shooting up from the sofa with a grin. “ya think so?”

“hell yeah, man.” the two idiots end the discussion by dapping each other up, a confident gleam in both of their eyes.

only a couple days later, satoru discovers that going with the flow isn’t as easy as suguru advised. with your plush lips sucking his bottom one through occasional moans, along with a delicate pair of nails scratching perfectly at his undercut, he already felt himself getting breathless and aroused like a teenager.

perhaps you’ve put him under a spell; how is it that he lasts through prolonged battles while barely breaking a sweat, but having your cute hand move to rub up on his abs and pecs send his nerves into overdrive? it wasn’t like making out wasn’t uncommon for the two of you, this time it just felt so passionate with the way your hips moved to straddle his, tongue practically begging for entrance while the movie on screen was left long forgotten.

gojo can’t help but groan as your muscle explores his mouth, core ever so smoothly grinding on his bulge and igniting heat through his entire body. even as you pull away to take a breath, his grip on your waist remains stable as if you’d disappear at any moment— growing even tighter with the way you bore into his eyes hungrily. “satoru..”

your unusually seductive voice makes him audibly gulp. “y— yeah?” he whispers, glancing to the hand thats now moving down over his grey sweats. shit, this was too much, was he dreaming? he should do something, pinch himself before—

“touch me, please?” as you voice your request, you squeeze his dick so nicely that satoru swears he nearly explodes in his boxers.

he swallows, words getting lost in his throat. “i— i uh...”

for the first time in history, satoru has been rendered speechless, and you visibly panic at this realization. yet when you try to carefully maneuver off his lap and give him space, the clutch on your waist intensifies. “what— are you okay? what’s wrong?” you murmur, brows creasing with concern.

though you never brought it up, satoru’s worry about your confusion was correct; you’d been expecting him to jump your bones a week into your relationship, but seeing how he never forced anything and remained respectful was cute.. at first. after a month of rejection and being pushed away whenever things got too heated, insecurities were bound to start brewing inside you.

he better have a damn good explanation.

“i’m fine,” he reassures, “it’s just— i should probably tell you something..” refusing to meet your eyes, the sorcerer resorts to drawing shapes against the skin under your t-shirt. in other situations, this would feel soothing, relaxing even — but currently, his lacking and lingering touch made you want to rip the hairs off your head.

all you wanted was to finally get a taste of your steaming hot boyfriend. what could he possibly need to say right now? you ponder, hasn’t he been dying to finally show off how amazing he is in bed?

“yes..?”

“it’s actually a funny story, ahaha..” he stalls, chuckling nervously as you turn his jaw to make eye contact. a feeling of impatience and neediness pulls through you, but you contain yourself with a deep breath.

“spit it out, satoru.”

there was no going back now, right? “so.. i’ve uh— i’ve never actually done this before.”

you blink.

“you’re a virgin?”

it was difficult to believe your own words; it sounded wrong no matter how hard you tried to wrap your head around it. satoru being inexperienced? the satoru with a rock hard 6 pack? the satoru with biceps that bulge out of his shirts and a face sharp enough to be sculpted by aphrodite herself? your satoru?

it sounded ridiculous, but the ugly pout rising across his lips tells you that it wasn’t a prank after all. “hey, don’t call me that, now it sounds way worse!”

a sigh escapes your lips, arms folded across your chest. “so all those never have i ever games and stories you told about one night stands were— mph!" before you know it, a large hand is covering your mouth.

“listen, how about we talk about this after having some fun?” a surprisingly determined gleam shines in your boyfriend’s icy blue eyes, making your thighs clench together in excitement.

who were you to say no to that?

—

next thing you know, pillows support your back as a shirtless satoru lies directly in front of your clothed crotch, hot breath making you wiggle around impatiently.

“jus— just take it off me, toru. so damn slow—“

“baby,” he scolds, looking genuinely upset, “this is my first time seeing a pussy in real life and you’re ruining it with your lack of patience.”

you can only roll your eyes and groan, head flopping back against the cushions in boredom. there was no way to predict how satoru’s first time would go, but you never expected it’d be this agonizing on your end — nor that he’d be so bossy.

though luckily, after another deep breath, your panties are gently tugged down your legs, and satoru can only inhale as he watches your poor hole clench around nothing. it only made sense that after all that dry humping and making out that your neediness increased, and it didn’t help that you could clearly see the way satoru was not only rock hard, but much bigger than average through his grey sweats.

“ooh.. oh shit..” like the invasive pervert he is, satoru moves even closer to the point where your thighs rest on his muscular shoulders before taking two fingers to spread your lips apart. this way, he has a clear view of the place that needs him most, and it makes a furious blush blossom on your cheeks.

“s— satoru.. what are you doing?” now you felt like the virgin, desperately attempting to shut your legs with no avail. damn this big idiot and his strength.

suddenly, his piercing eyes snap up to you, a feral look in his gaze. “shit, how’m i gonna fit in this little hole?”

you can’t deny the way his dirty words does something to you — not that you’d ever admit it. “that’s why you gotta prep me, toru. y’know..” you gulp, “fingering, or like.. eating me out.”

in response, you get a cheshire grin. “sounds fun. show me how you do it, sweets.”

“w-what?”

satoru leans back, attemping to hold in a mischievous smile. “how else am i gonna learn?”

even masturbating alone makes you flush in slight embarassment, so doing it in front of someone else — your cheeky, shamleess boyfriend no less — had you drowning in nerves. the bigger problem was that his words held a strong point; you’re supposed to be teaching him for his first time and ensuring it’s as enjoyable as possible.

these reminders make you mumble out a gentle fine, breath stuttering as you spread your legs further for the man in front of you.

satoru is now resting his weight on the palms of his hands, looking laid back and relaxed, but evidently still focused at the way your fingers move to unclasp your bra with skill. “damn..” as your tits are freed, he finds himself needing to adjust his sweatpants and nearly letting out a pathetic noise you would definitely tease him for.

you gulp, trying to ignore his blatant gawking. “it’s good to.. y’know, tease a bit before getting straight to it. makes it feel better — for me, at least,” you explain while massaging your chest, hiding surprise at the way he sternly nods in understanding.

now that you think about it, something tells you this is the most focused satoru has ever been in a learning environment.

after a bit more pinching and fondling, your hands slide down to your stomach and thighs, trying to get your breathing to relax. having gojo watch you do something so private was.. surreal, but you know for a fact you’ve never been this wet before, if that meant anything.

once you finally move down to your most intimate part, satoru takes a deep breath. he watches as you use your fingers to reveal a small bundle of nerves, pulsing and desperate for attention. “this is the clit, toru. s’very important.”

his eyes light up. “oh, i know that one!” he announces proudly, “i remember suguru saying i have to.. uh, worship it or something.”

you snicker at the thought of geto giving out sex pointers. “mhm, sometimes penetration isn’t enough, so you need to give it attention or i can’t really finish.”

gently, you start massaging the bud in circles, humming at the feeling of finally getting some type of relief. you move down to your hole to collect some of your wetness before bringing it back up, letting out a moan in satisfaction.

the way satoru licks his lips as you finally plunge a finger into your wetness has you shivering, but you remind yourself that for now, this was simply a demonstration and that you’d get a taste of him later.

after adding another, you attempt to reach your sweet spot by curling upwards, but it seems that even your hopelessly inexperienced boyfriend could tell that it was getting nowhere.

“aw,” he pouts teasingly, “lil’ fingers can’t reach anything, huh?”

“shut— shut up, satoru.”

before you know it, he’s moved onto his stomach again, face to face with your pussy and gripping your now soaked fingers. “you use these pathetic things when y’masturbate, huh? imagining my dick while having such tiny fingers up your cunt? kinda offended, babe..”

you feel your tummy flip, where did he learn to talk like that?

“do you have to be so vulg—“ you’re cut off by a choking gasp as a warm, wet muscle licks a stripe from your hole all the way to your clit.

“thanks for the lesson. ‘think i got it from here,” is all satoru says before he’s diving in, slurping up as much of your essence as possible before latching his plush lips right onto your poor little clit.

you can’t help but wiggle around at the jump in stimulation, but that only lasts about five seconds before a muscular arm presses you firmly against the mattress, rendering you trapped and unable to escape to his ministrations.

“hey, slow down!” your words are coincidentally yelped out right as he wiggles a much bigger finger into you. it explores your insides eagerly, caressing and feeling up what satoru believes will be his new favourite place.

“wow..” sluuurp, “so warm n’ soft in here..” he happily mumbles against your pussy. the vibrations of his now deeper voice shoot through you like electricity, eliciting another choked whine from your throat.

it felt like he was just toying with you; looking way too content drinking up everything you offered, fluid rushing down his chin and nose pushed firmly against your pelvis to inhale your scent.

suddenly, he’s jabbing his fingertip right into that pocket of sunshine that makes your eyes roll back, a loud whimper leaving your throat before you could stop it. “satoru, right there!” he swiftly seperates from your clit just to mumble out a here? in confirmation, prodding your sweet spot over and over in record breaking speed.

when you nod, he grins smugly, now adding another finger to stretch you further. “mmmph, this is pretty fun. could lie here all night.”

luckily, you barely process his words, much too busy enjoying the best finger-fuck of your life — and this was only his first time, you remember, what will the bastard do to you once he’s got some practice in?

a shaking hand tumbles into his snowy locks, attempting to pull him back weakly. “wait, m’gonna cum, toru—“

gojo growls almost animalistically, tugging your hand back onto the sheets. “then fuckin’ do it,” he demands. “c’mon, i’ve earned it, right?” then, he sucks even harder, fingers slamming and curling and making the loudest squelch you’ve ever heard.

“see?” he continues, “lil’ cunt wants to cum so bad for me. knows who 'er owner is already.” his filthy words definitely take part in the way your orgasm hits like a train, body shaking and toes curling as you let the feeling of bliss take over you. you flinch at how swiftly his tongue licks up everything you give him, the fingers in his hair tugging harder in overstimulation.

“toruuuuu..”

he simpers, tasting his cum-covered lips. “yeeees?”

“this— this is your first time, i should be making you feel good.”

slowly but surely, your eyes reopen, meeting your boyfriend’s relaxed gaze as he rubs your thigh affectionately. “dunno what you’re talking about, i felt pretty good just now.” when you only pout further, he snickers, pushing some of his bangs back smoothly. “c’mon, there’s lots of time for you to get me off later. m’ too excited for the main event..”

at last, he reaches for his sweatpants, more than excited to tug them down and finally give his aching cock some freedom. satoru doesn’t think he’s ever had a more painful boner in his life, but it was all worth seeing you release all over his tongue and fingers.

right as he finishes untying the knot, pale fingers drifting up to the waistband, you’re smacking him away to make room for your own hands. he watches with an open mouth as you pull his boxers down along with his pants, leaky, hard cock springing free and nearly hitting you in the face.

shit, of course his dick is perfect too. with a bit of white hair at the base, bulging veins adorned the entirety of his massive length, and the tip — shit, the tip was even bigger than the rest, mushroom shaped and angry red. his balls looked equally agitated and full — the epitome of breeder balls, and you gulped at the thought of him filling you up with everything they had.

now his question from earlier made sense, and he seems to be enjoying the realization on your face from his spot kneeling on the bed. “like what’cha see?” he coos, one big hand lowering to relieve the aching in his balls.

“toru, i don’t know if you’ll even fit. why— why do you have to be so big?” it’s annoying, you want to say — but the white-haired man has already laid back and manhandled you onto his chiseled stomach, a yelp escaping you at his suddenness.

he’s smiling so hard at your little dilemma that it’s almost sick, hands resting behind his head cockily. “tell me more while you ride me, baby.”

after processing that all you’ve been doing is feeding his size kink and inflating his already massive ego, you frown. “i’m serious, toru!”

“what!? i’m serious too!” the man defends with fake innocence, blue eyes shining in glee. “you’re the expert here, remember? ‘supposed to be teaching me how it’s done.”

all you do is grumble whilst moving down to sit between the sorcerer’s thighs, lightly prepping him with your fist and a dribble of spit from your mouth that has the white-haired male biting his lip. “fuck..” satoru can’t recall how many times he’s masturbated to the mental image of this exact moment, but now that it was finally happening, he promised himself to savor it as much as possible.

when you move to finally straddle him, hole hovering just above his length, he begins bucking his hips up desperately. “hurryyy…”

“are you in heat or something?” you snort, giving him a dirty glare as if you weren’t about to let him inside you.

“for you? yeah.” satoru offers you a cheesy wink and grin that dissipates the second your warmth encloses his aching tip. his hands slowly move up to grip your waist, jaw clenching in an attempt to not slam you down to his balls right then.

“ngh… fuuuck, baby,” he groans as you ever so carefully move down another inch. “jesus.. you’re sooo damn tight. dunno’ how you’re even taking me..”

you squeeze your eyes shut in attempt to bare the discomfort for him, a slight crease growing between your brows. “satoru, fuck— hurts..” he immediately reopens his eyes in worry, searching for a way to take your pain away.

yes, he could already tell that he enjoyed being meaner with you in bed — but it’s never fun if you don’t feel good as well. though he luckily recalls your lesson from earlier, moving a soft thumb down to massage your clit in tight circles.

when you jolt and nearly faceplant into his neck, he only grins proudly, now using one veiny hand to help push you further onto him. “theeere we go.. aw, feel better?”

“mhm, feels full..” you mumble back, looking down to see that you — unbelievably — still had a couple inches to go.

satoru feels like he’s about to burst on the other hand, thriving in pure ecstasy at the feeling of your walls massaging him just perfectly. he can’t help but thrust up and force his last inches inside you, an echoing smack! of skin against skin singing through the room and eliciting a startled yelp from your throat.

“toru!” despite your scolding, you can’t deny the perfection in which his tip kissed your g-spot effortlessly. his hands felt ever so soothing, comfortingly running up and down as you sat impaled on his cock, wiggling around to get comfortable and ruining him in the process.

just as you start to adjust, you feel yourself being lifted up. “m’ sorry sweets..” gojo suddenly voices, “i can’t..”

“huh? what do you m—ah!” you’re flipped onto your back before you know it, knees resting on the shoulders of your boyfriend who has a gleam in his pupils that you’ve quite frankly never seen before; he looked feral.

satoru carefully pulls out until only his tip is encased in your warmth, and everything is calm for a moment. you both take a deep breath, and he smiles down at your already fucked-out face with pride. “satoru—“

then he’s pushing back in with all the strength his massive hips can produce, and you think if it weren’t for his hands wrapped around your thighs, you would’ve got pushed off the bed entirely. you unintentionally let out the loudest sound of the night, and this sets him off.

now he was getting brutal, bullying your cunt with hit after hit against the spot that has drool dripping down your cheek and eyes crossing. you can’t even stop the pathetic noises and symphonies of right there! that leave your lips, no matter how hot your cheeks flush in embarrassment. it felt as though every time his dick jabbed back in he was right up in your tummy, veins pulsing and ensuring your pussy is molded to the perfect sleeve for him.

“toru, shit— nghh, faster, please! feels s’good!”

“nghh, toru, faster! ahaha..” he mocks you — of course he does, but picks up the pace nonetheless — now holding your lower body up so that your knees dangle higher over his shoulders and each stroke is angled exactly where you want him. “so cute when you’re gettin’ stuffed full, baby.”

he leers as you send him the harshest expression you can manage, reaching down for your clit and giggling as you start squirming in an attempt to escape the overwhelming pleasure. this bastard is having way too much fun, you realize, moans being forced out of you almost tauntingly.

tonight you discover that satoru’s way of fucking is rather animalistic, frantic, thrilling, and with the sole purpose of making you both feel as good as possible. if you want him to go slow or make love to you, you’d probably have to ask beforehand — or perhaps tie him up so you could have your fun in peace.

if your insides weren’t being rearranged, you’d grin at the thought of your boyfriend restrained and at your mercy. another night, you promise yourself.

“tightest pussy ever f’my first time baby.. haah.. can’t believe i’ve been missin’ out on this.” for once, something praising comes out of his big mouth, breathes getting cut short every time you involuntarily squeeze him harder. he swears there’s no better feeling then what you were giving him right now, not even singlehandedly resurrecting himself using the reversed curse technique.

and while no injuries have ever left a scar on gojo satoru, he decides that the claw marks you’re ruthlessly digging into his back will stay as long as his body allows — why should he hide how good he’s made you feel despite being a virgin an hour prior?

maybe if he’s in the mood to brag, he’ll show them to suguru later.

“feels good toru, fuckin’ me so good,” you feel the way his whole body reacts to your praises, a deep growl melting from his lips as the sounds of skin slapping increasingly grows in volume.

“babyyy,” he pants, legs being held higher while he digs deeper into your guts, “m’gonna cum.. need you to cum with me.“ the twitching of his length inside you gave away the fact that gojo has practically been on the edge ever since he pushed into you — and while he knows it’s completely normal to cum prematurely on your first time, when has he ever not gone above expectations?

in a split second you’re flipped onto your hands and knees, veiny hands pushing you into a deep arch while your boyfriend gives his body a moment to relax, pinching his base (a rather perverted method he’s learned by edging himself while masturbating) between his thumb and pointer.

when you needily wiggle your hips in an attempt to find his cock again, he grins boyishly. “lookin’ for this?” he sings the words right before plunging his entire length back into you, abusing your g-spot while a lanky finger impressively finds the bud between your legs right away (a skill that most ‘experienced’ men you’ve previously been with fail to achieve), circling and pinching in a frantic attempt to make your orgasms arrive in sync.

“fucking hell.." you whine, the new angle making his tip bump against spots that have never been rubbed before. “can feel you so deep..”

“oh yeah?” his bicep pulls you up so your head rests on his broad shoulder, now victim to the filth being whispered directly into your ear. “m’ i doing good? fuckin’ this lil’ pussy nice and deep like she needs?”

when you nod, he beams like a maniac, seemingly encouraged to pound you even harder as his hips pick up the pace. “damn, ‘think i’m already a pro at this, huh?”

for the sake of your sanity, you ignore his bragging. “toru, don’t stop. i’m— i’m gonna..”

“you’re gonnaaa?” he derides, kissing the corner of your lip sweetly. “tell me, baby.”

“gonna cum for you, please.” satoru almost decides to fill you up at those words, but his self control is just a bit stronger. he feels the way your cunt is pulsing, body practically shaking as you get closer and closer to release, and he’s determined to help you reach it.

his thrusts get a bit sloppier, and you’re too busy basking in your own pleasure to see the eye-candy that is gojo biting his swollen lips, sweat dripping down his temples all the way to his solid abs, snowy bangs a tad bit moist against his forehead. he looked like the definition of temptation; straight out of a wet dream with stamina that seemingly never declined.

“me too, baby. c’mon, cum on this dick. s’all yours to ruin.”

you moan as you allow yourself to let go, toes curling and nails digging into his toned forearms ecstatically. “thaaat’s it, good girl.. ahah.. such a good girl f’me.” he talks you through it as if he’s done so a million times, both of you looking down to watch your release coat his dick and the crumpled sheets below.

at his praise, you squeeze him just a bit tighter, making his lips curl up in interest. “my girl likes being praised, huh? yeah.. doing so good makin’ a mess on me..”

he pulls out, carefully lowering you to the mattress before tugging on his dick in hopes of reaching his own peak. satoru forces himself to open his eyes just enough to admire the view of you fucked out below him, body shaking slightly as you recover from the intense waves of your orgasm.

“y/n,” he abruptly whines, patting your shoulder with a subtle urgency in his voice.

“..mhmm?”

“where can i cum? quick baby— please, i’ve been holding this for way too long—“ this has your body moving, eyes popping open as you swiftly bend down so your mouth hovers directly in front of him.

you replace his fist with yours as soft lips move to suckle harsly on his leaking tip, and now it’s gojo who has his eyes rolling back; whimpers flying out of his throat every time your tongue massages the delicate underside, sending visible shocks through his body. “fuck!” he can only curse and run his fingers through your hair for support while you pump him dry. “just like that, good.. haah.. good fuckin’ girl, shiiit.”

you’ve never seen your boyfriend — the strongest — look so pathetic and desperate, but it only spurs you on further, enjoying the way he continues to blabber about how pretty you are and how he’s gonna fill your mouth like he would your pussy. in response, you greedily hum around him, licking through his slit as if you were pleading the little hole to give you what you deserved.

and only moments later, satoru’s words become reality; though he attempts to keep revelling in the feeling of your warm lips and hands, his body stills in place instinctively, one last warning tumbling out of his throat as your mouth is flooded with rope after rope of bitterly sweet fluid.

it seems like your accusations about his breeder balls were correct, because once it starts it seemingly never ends; cum now overflowing from the corners of your lips as you struggle to swallow frequently enough to not choke on how much he deposits.

meanwhile, gojo feels like he is quite literally ascending, everything becoming unimportant next to you and the feeling of pleasure being forced through him like an overwhelming earthquake, pulse after pulse as you suck him for all he’s worth.

“thas’ right.. take every damn drop, baby.” when satoru looks down and earns a glimpse of the white fluid trickling down your chin, his dick twitches in your mouth. “god, you’re so sexy..”

once he was done, you both flop onto the bed in exhaustion, and while the vulnerable moment has utmost potential to become something cute and memorable, a certain blue-eyed bastard decides to open his mouth once again.

“what’re you huffin’ and puffin’ for?” he sasses, shamelessly eyeing the way your tits rose and fell with every breath you took. “all you did was lie there while i had a full body workout!”

you take a very deep breath. “i just let you put your dick inside me. shut the fuck up.”

at your reminder of what’d just occurred, he grins like an idiot. “you’re right, thank you.” they’re soft, but he ensures his words are as audible and genuine as he can make them.

satoru isn’t exactly the best with words, but he knows damn well that — despite all the bullshit he'd spouted at those parties — you’re the only person he wanted to have his first time with, and the fact that you allowed his wish to become reality is something he’ll forever be grateful for.

“i love you..” you soften. “even if you’re a pillow princess.” you stiffen again.

nothing could stay lovey-dovey with him for too long.

a fake cry is pulled from his lips as you rudely smack his shoulder. “i tried to ride you but you flipped me over after ten seconds!”

“it’s not my fault you're as slow as a fuckin' snail!”

somehow, you both make it to the washroom despite all the banter. just as you bend over in hopes of starting the shower up, a mean spank is delivered to your ass.

when you turn to meet the culprit, he only narrows his eyes at you playfully. “round two, m’lady?” it’s almost like his voice lowers on purpose, dirty words rumbling in his throat, knowing what it did to your body.

you do your best to send him a disappointed glance anyway. “day one of not being a virgin and you’re already the horniest man i know.”

after following you inside, his fluffy hair flattens from the steamy water before nudging you back, encasing you between him and the solid wall.

“i might be willing to overlook the fact that you know other horny men if you agree to some very loving, extremely intimate making out,” he requests with a smirk, sleek nose poking yours in a much gentler way than expected.

you still send him a distrusting raise of your brow. “only making out, huh?”

the dirty smirk he sends you is all you need to know, along with his hardened dick pressing against your thigh as he moves in to kiss you.

what have you gotten yourself into?

mlist! gojo showing off his back scratches! <- if you enjoy silly virgin gojo pls lmk in the reblogs, comments, or asks <3

© inmaki on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

tags: @gojoallmine @allofffmypeaches @haitaniholic @pandoraium

[sleepyjuice]

toxic!rafe will blow your phone up the second you post something on instagram that he’s ‘iffy’ about.

you posted a photo dump which consisted of some random photos of the beach, some of your friends, one of you and rafe of course, but the one that had rafe seeing red was the last slide, which was you in a bikini. he texted you several times at first, and while you were literally typing your response, he called you. your fingers were typing so fast to respond to him that you accidentally declined the call, and he did not like that. you immediately went to call him back, but another text from rafe rolled in, saying ‘fuck you don’t talk to me we’re done’ you sighed loudly, knowing damn well he was talking out of his ass right now, so you sat back and waited for the inevitable next string of texts to roll in. which they did, only seconds later.

rafe <3: do you get off on making me mad or something

rafe <3: like i’m racking my brain trying to understand why you do the things you do and that’s all i can come up with

rafe <3: and i see at least 4 guys have already liked your post like that’s crazy to me?? thought i told you to block all the guys that followed you?? of course you didn’t

rafe <3: also who even took that pic of you??? bc i know damn well it wasn’t me so who the fuck you posing for with your fucking ass and tits out? WHAT THE FUCK

rafe <3: DO NOT PUT YOUR SHIT ON DO NOT DISTURB answer me rn.

rafe <3: nah it’s cool actually i’m gonna go hit up my other gfs so you have a good night.

you rolled your eyes at that last text, deciding to fully turn your phone off. you knew he would likely try to text or call you again very soon but you didn’t want to deal with it right now. this wasn’t your first rodeo, you knew nothing you could say to him right now would calm him down, so letting him freak out on his own was the best method to his madness.

three hours had passed since you turned your phone off. you had caught up on some reading and turned on your current favorite show, but found yourself interrupted by a knock at your front door. you expected it to be rafe, but instead it was a large bouquet of your favorite flowers and a gift bag. you glanced around to see if rafe was lurking around, but saw nothing. when he freaked out over text and was able to reread his actions, he usually waited a bit longer to show his face as opposed to a verbal argument.

you brought the flowers inside and set them on the counter before grabbing the card attached to the side of the bouquet.

sorry we argued. you are so beautiful and i love you so much. got you a little gift and sent you some money for food and i set your appointment with your nail girl for tomorrow at 10. love you forever baby -rafe

you couldn’t help but smile just a little. the flowers were beautiful and the note was pretty sweet, so you chose to ignore the part where he said ‘we argued.’ you didn’t get a word in, but you let it slide. especially after you opened the gift bag to see the new dior bag you had been wanting.

you hurried to turn on your phone, immediately seeing a $500 apple payment from rafe as well as a new text from a few minutes ago.

rafe <3: hope you like the flowers and bag baby. love you! :)

you: i love them. thanks rafe, love you too

rafe <3: good to hear. lmk what you end up getting for dinner and i’ll pick you up tomorrow to take you to your nail apt. can’t wait to see you baby

you would order yourself dinner that was obviously way less than $500, but you would send rafe a picture and thank him again. you’d facetime him before bed and conversation flowed like nothing had even happened just hours before. he’d ask you what color nails you were getting, tell you funny stories about the old men at the country club and excitedly plan what you two were going to do the next day. the cycle seemed like it would never end, but you often forgot about the bad when he was talking so sweetly to you and all you could think about was how excited you were to see him tomorrow.

[gghostwriter]

How Three Became One

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 1 || Part 3 Summary: In the aftermath of your failed make-up anniversary dinner, the third person in the relationship reaches out to you Trope: Angst w.c: 1.6k a/n: There is JJ slander in this (doing it for the plot and to hurt you all, like how I hurt myself in writing this.) I’m mostly writing follow ups now of my one shots and this is part of a part three series, i swear once i get all these follow ups done I’m going to hibernate for a bit to focus on my crime series. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The somber air inside the coffee shop threatens to stifle your already critical heart. Its’ clear window clouded from the cold. Dull shades of gray creeping from every corner of the room, draining life as it went, no matter the strain of each lighted lamp on the tables.

Your fingers pulled the sleeves lower, wanting to cover any sliver of skin, trying to fight off the chill, as if it doesn’t come from within. Why did you agree to this, you wondered for the nth time, what good would confronting your nemesis, the root of the problem—Spencer’s Achilles heel, bring?

Comfort? 

Not at all.

The truth? 

Maybe.

Closure?

Closure from what exactly?

The failed relationship still stuck in limbo, dreadfully waiting for its free fall or flight from the precipice it’s balancing on?

Spencer had given you space, an act you weren’t sure to be grateful for. Yes, it spoke about his gentleman sensibilities and respect to not hound you to talk but on the other hand, his presence in reminding you how much he cared was sorely missed. Couldn’t he have at least left you one voicemail, voice pleading and coated with sadness, to repeat over and over again? Or a singular flower tucked to your doorstep, wilting slowly each day for your eyes to lay on?

You wanted nothing but you wanted something.

It was a conundrum.

Late into the night, when the phone rang and when your steps hastened against the wooden floor, you almost wished it was him. Eyes unfocused, the name unregistered, you surely wished it was him, instead of Her. 

Her voice, blended with a slight static, was hesitant and soft as if she had encountered a wounded animal in need of her saving, tore through the paper-thin shield you’ve built around your bleeding, bruised heart. 

You wanted to lash out, to be quiet, and to agree to anything she asked for—anything to end the call immediately, but when she suggested to meet in this quaint hidden coffee shop, describing it’s freshly brewed coffee and tasteful pastries, a sob rose and lodged itself in your throat.

It was your spot.

A secret place in your neighborhood you discovered and happily shared with Spencer.

This once vibrant store, the backdrop of so many rose-tinted memories, turned ordinary—tainted with the truth that it was no longer just yours and his. It was also Hers. 

“Hi,” JJ softly greeted, occupying the seat in front of you. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Clearing your throat, the shred of what little courage you mustered leaving your body. “Yeah, uh, hi.”

Her blue eyes documented the lemon ginger tea in front of you, cooled and untouched. “I haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?”

“Fine, been doing good,” the darkness under your dull eyes painted a different picture, something that registered as her feminine shoulders drooped.

Lips pressed tightly together, she shifted in her leather worn bench, allowing the silence to further the divide between you both—the two female protagonists featured in Spencer Reid’s story.

“You don’t have to lie—”

“Right. A profiler, as if I could ever forget.”

“—Spence also isn’t doing well—”

You flinched, the sound of his name uttered out loud feeling like a thousand pounds dropping on your chest.

“—and just know that I’m here for the both of you, to clear up any misunderstandings. Let me help, ask me anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s why we’re here after all.”

Your eyes examined how her golden hair fell perfectly around her, creating a halo of perfection you have never felt once before. You were always the kid who worked hard to seem put together—a stack of paper stick achievements built to hide how ordinary you turned out to be. A woman made of dismantled almosts. 

“Can you tell me—” clearing your throat “—about you and him. Anything, as team members, friends, your first date—just anything I need to know. He’d always quickly summarize the context of you as his best friend, defender, confidant. Never letting anything beyond that.”

She nodded with a slight smile on her lips. “He’s always been a little brother. I, like everyone else in the team, wanted to protect and guide him. Joining the BAU at such a young age and enduring hardships that come with it—the kidnapping, the Dilaudid, his parent’s involvement in a cold case, losing Maeve, and prison—is too much for anybody to bear all on their own. We’ve always been close, being exposed to the darkness that comes with our job will do that for you but I’ve never seen him like that with you. He was so light and happy, almost as if the younger version of Spence came back to life—” she laughed before the brightness wiped away from her face. “—and now, like this with you, he looks afraid, like he might lose it all, lose you. I’ve seen him sad when we weren’t able to save Maeve but this time, this sadness that comes from the thought of you leaving, seems too deep to come out from. I’m afraid that he won’t make it and for that, I feel responsible.” 

The deep red nail polish on your fingers were leaving chipped specks all over the white table, like blood on a pure white snow. The cage around your devotion and love threatens to topple down, releasing you from indecision. It seemed unfair to persecute a man of Spencer’s caliber for his past and for your fear of never being enough. 

A shadow of a smile peeked from behind your curtain of self-preservation. Maybe all could be salvaged with a deep talk between one another and a schedule to a therapist—solo and couple. You loved him strongly enough to tackle those doubts and reverently wish to see the relationship through, forever if time allowed it to.

But the small voice in the back of your head echoed above the chimes of change and courage, it’s deep tone trying to pull you back to stagnancy and reality. What did she mean by that? Why would she feel that way?

“Responsible?” you whispered, heart beating loudly against your chest. Its’ sound parroting on your ear. “Why would you feel responsible?” 

“During the last case, being held at gun point—” the bewilderment in your eyes causing her to gasp. “—he never told you, did he?” 

The anticipation, anger, and dread enveloped you, as if you were about to combust at the drop off a hat. If you looked down to any piece of you, you’d think you were doused with gasoline and a small flicker of fire started at the tips of your shoes. “Tell me what? JJ, tell me what?”

She took a deep breath, trying to delay the inevitable truth. “During that time, the unsub wanted us to admit, confess a secret no one knew and wanted nobody to know and I—”

You raised your hands, trembling from realization, to unsuccessfully block the truth from spilling into the world. You didn’t want to hear it—needed to never hear it. “Stop. Please, stop.” 

Droplets of sadness mixed with the specs of chipped nail polish on the table, your tears creating tracks on your ashen cheeks. This was enough to break you—the shaky mirage of your strong self was nowhere to be found as sobs freely escaped from the depths of your ribs. 

You came here, filled with indecision which turned into hope before rapidly decaying to death.

The final nail in the coffin.

“You’re married, JJ. You have kids, how could—” you pressed your fingers tightly to your lips, nails digging into the soft flesh. “—I guess I always knew, huh. I may not be a profiler but my woman intuition has never steered me wrong. Not even once.”

She hung her head, the locks of halo you once considered pure and perfect shrouded around her like a thick veil of shame.

“So what now? What about Will and I? Does he even know?”

Her watery blue eyes, pleading with yours. “No, nothing changes. I love Will and my kids and it’s just a secret I want to take to my grave.”

A vicious hollow laugh bled out of you. “Are you even inlove with him? Your husband?” 

The lack of response was very telling. Her love for her chosen partner was shallow compared to the other. You briefly wondered if there was no kids in the picture, would she have even stayed? 

The thought was dashed repeatedly in your head. It wasn’t your problem to speculate. Mind made up, you refuse to be part of this convoluted love story any longer.

“That’s cruel of you. I wouldn’t even wish that on my worst enemy,” you slowly gathered your things and any strength that could take you home. The only place you’d allow yourself to unravel. “I think, I should go.”

“But—”

You mustered a small smile. “Thank you for being honest, JJ. I wish you the best with all of this. Tell Spencer, I’m sorry and please take care of him for me, will you?”

Quickly turning away from the mess that shredded your love life into bits no longer salvageable, the dull shades of gray once crawling from every corner of the store followed your trail. 

Another dismantled almost to add to your ever growing collection.

The colorful world you and Spencer built with the thought of forever turned to ash. 

Burnt from the truth.

The remains charred to multitudes of gray that signified the end. 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[catt-crossing]

I enjoyed the ending of fionna and cake thoguh i wish we had more episodes

okay i was originally like wow i have no thoughts rn and I said that in the tags and immediately after i had a few thoughts so there they are lol

[mssorceressupreme]

Truth or Dare | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: Fred realises his true feelings for you once you are dared to french kiss George during a round of truth or dare. Draco then forces you to kiss him instead, which only results in a brawl. You then take Fred back to the common room and help clean his wounds.

Warnings/tags: violence/fighting, jealous!fred, kissing, non-con touch, Draco being a git (sorry malfoy lovers 😭), cleaning wounds after a fight trope, reader isn't in a specified house here, spicy ending (if u squint)

———

The Ravenclaw common room had never seen a gathering quite like this. The enchanted blue flames flickered in the fireplace, casting a radiant glow over the room, which today, was packed with students from all four houses.

Luna had invited everyone over, claiming that a “spontaneous social gathering” would be a great way to pass the time and forget about your studies for a while.

The usual gryffindor group, Cedric and some hufflepuffs, the slytherin trio and Cho, all decided to partake in this gathering.

And so, there you all were, sitting in a large, chaotic circle on the floor, playing a game of truth or dare that had long spiralled out of control.

The rules were simple: if you refused a dare or a truth, you had to take Veritaserum and spill your deepest, darkest secret in front of everyone. No one wanted to risk that.

So far, Harry had been dared to kiss the prettiest girl in the room, which led to him—rather sheepishly—kissing Ginny, earning a gag from Ron. But moments later, Ron found himself a stuttering mess when Hermione had been dared to sit on his lap for two rounds, her face burning red while he struggled to keep his cool.

Neville, poor thing, had been forced to recount an embarrassing moment where he tripped down an entire staircase in front of his crush, which turned out alright anyway because they went to Madam Pomfrey together and spent the whole day chatting.

And now, it was your turn.

Draco, who sat beside you, leaned in with a smug grin. “Alright Y/N, let’s make this interesting,” he drawled. “I dare you to French kiss the person sitting across from you.”

You turned your head, your stomach flipping.

And there sat George Weasley, grinning at you like he had already won.

The room erupted into cheers, and George wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “Well, Y/N, I won’t say no,” he teased, leaning back on his hands.

Your heart sank a little—not because George was a bad choice, but because you wished it was his twin instead.

Still, rules were rules.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up and took slow tentative steps across the large circle, kneeling in front of George. “Alright Georgie, just get it over with,” you muttered, cheeks burning.

George chuckled. “Hey! At least pretend to be excited.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling lightly, before leaning in, pressing your lips to his. He kissed you back easily, bringing a hand to your neck, letting it linger a moment longer than necessary before you pulled away, flustered.

George gave you a grin then winked, and you smiled back. He was one of your closest friends, after all; teasing you came naturally to him.

"Okay that's done!" Flustered, you rose up and hurried back to your spot next to Draco.

"You guys are adorable." Cho, who was sitting on the other side of you, nudged you gently, and you laughed nervously.

Sure, George was handsome, humorous, and kind, but he wasn't Fred. To most people, they were pretty much the same person, two halves of a whole, but to you, it was different. There was something about Fred that you saw differently.

Speaking of Fred, you shot a quick glance in his direction, curious as to his whole reaction regarding the scene that just unfolded.

Fred hadn’t said a word.

He sat stiffly, arms crossed, his jaw tight as he glared at his twin. Something in his chest twisted when he saw George’s smug grin.

But it wasn't entirely George's fault. You see, no one knew of Fred's secret crush on you. Would you call it a crush? Man, feelings were a complicated mystery to Fred, he never bothered going down that lane, it was foreign to him. Best avoid all that sappy stuff, y'know.

Draco, however, was unimpressed. “That was pathetic,” he scoffed, leaning closer to you. “You call that a French kiss? It had to be longer.”

You folded your arms, tilting your head to the side. “You didn’t even say how long.”

Draco smirked. “Fine, then, two minutes. You can do it on me instead. Save you the hassle of walking over there again."

The room let out a collective “ooooh,” and your stomach churned.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Crabbe, Goyle and Dean chanted.

"Wha—I already did the dare!" You countered, raising your hands in defence.

"Hmm now that Draco mentioned it, it was a bit of a short kiss, barely a French kiss, more like a Portuguese kiss." Lee agreed, resting his hand on his chin.

"Portuguese kiss? That's not even a thing you git." Angelina chortled, throwing her head back.

Before you could react, Draco leaned in slightly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers barely grazed your cheek, but it was enough to make you shift uncomfortably. He patted your head, smiling like he was doing you some kind of favour.

You didn’t like it.

But Draco was your friend, and this was supposed to be fun, so you ignored it. You didn't want to ruin the mood for everyone so you forced yourself to tolerate it.

Fred, however, wasn’t ignoring it.

His hand was clenched into a tight fist in his lap, and his usually mischievous eyes were laced with something entirely different.

Draco leaned in again, wrapping one arm around you. “Come on, then,” he murmured, his smirk widening. “Or do you want the Veritaserum?”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You didn’t want to kiss him. But you definitely didn’t want to take the serum, either.

Draco took your hesitation as an invitation. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re scared.”

The crowd cheered again, urging you on.

Draco removed his arm then ruffled your hair slightly, "Don't be a wuss, I'll make it enjoyable for ya."

"Don't be scared Y/N, it's only a kiss!" Seamus encouraged, hoping to make you feel better, but it only made you feel worse.

Only a kiss? You wanted to save french kissing for someone special, not some ridiculous dare.

Draco leaned closer, nuzzling his nose into your neck. His hand brushed against your arm, he was so close that you could now smell his fresh scent. You leaned back instinctively, smiling awkwardly while brushing your arm.

Everyone was so caught up encouraging the two of you to kiss that no one paid attention to the speed at which Fred stood up from the floor and bolted to Draco, tackling him harshly.

A collective gasp echoed through the room as the two of them crashed onto the floor. Draco barely had time to react before Fred punched him, his face twisted in pure rage. The two of them were now in a brawl, wrestling each other on the ground. It was clear that no one was going easy on each other.

“Keep your hands off her,” Fred snapped, his voice low and furious.

Draco, stunned for only a second, sneered up at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

"Fred! Oi! Stop, it's just a game!" Lee's attempt at stopping Fred with his words was useless.

Fred wasn’t listening. His fists clenched, his breathing heavy as he pinned Draco down, gripping his shirt harshly.

Draco’s smirk returned. “Merlin, are you jealous Weasley?”

Fred loosened his grip, blinking slowly, "I..."

"Called it. Bet you wished it was you getting to french kiss Y/N then. Why don't you let me finish my dare with her so I can show you how it's done eh?" Draco remarked, all too obnoxiously for Fred's liking.

Fred's eyes grew darker, laced with furiousness.

He lunged again, and in a matter of seconds, they were full-on fighting.

Gasps and shouts filled the room as they tumbled, fists flying, knocking over a pile of books and scattering cards from an abandoned wizarding chess game. The flood thudded heavily, as they continued their wrestling.

“Fred! Draco! Stop!” Voices pleaded, but they were drowned out as Fred was blinded by rage. How dare Draco force himself onto you like that?!

No one listened.

You watched them in pure horror as they fought; you joined the others in yelling at them to stop, but none of them listened.

Hermione immediately went to comfort you, placing a comforting hand on your arm and sending you an apologetic look. Was this all because of you? You felt like shit for causing this, bloody hell, you should've just french kissed Draco.

“Merlin’s beard, Fred, stop!” George tried pulling his twin back, but Fred shook him off, shoving him away.

Cedric attempted to pull Draco off Fred, but Draco pushed him aside, scoffing, "Not now Diggory!"

Draco, despite being an arrogant prat, was also a decent fighter, and he managed to shove Fred back, wiping a bit of blood from his lip.

“What the hell?!” you finally yelled, eyes darting from Fred to Draco.

Fred froze.

His furious gaze met yours, his chest rising and falling heavily, as he wiped some blood off his lips.

He swallowed hard. Then, without a word, he turned and stormed out of the common room.

You hesitated only a second before running after him.

—

You found him on the astronomy tower balcony, leaning against the railing, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white.

The night air was cold, but Fred’s skin was burning.

You took a deep breath. “Fred—”

“Why don’t you go check on Draco?” he cut in sharply. “Or George. Your boyfriends.”

Your brows furrowed. “They’re not my boyfriends. You're being ridiculous now.”

Fred let out a short, humourless laugh. “Really? You were getting pretty cozy with George back there.”

You sighed. “It was a dare, Fred.”

“Oh, and Draco just happened to be all over you?” He turned to face you, and that’s when you saw it—his bruised lip, the cut on his cheekbone, the faint traces of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Come on, I know we're friends but I can handle myself." You assumed he was being protective as a friend, so you attempted comforting him, but failed miserably at doing so.

"Yeah, friends." He pressed his lips together.

You took a step closer wanting to reach up, but Fred’s eyes flickered elsewhere. “Don’t.”

You froze.

“I don’t need you feeling bad for me,” he muttered, turning back to the railing. His grip tightened. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Fred,” you said softly.

Silence stretched between you. The wind howled through the tower, whipping his hair slightly, but Fred didn’t move.

Your gaze drifted to his hands. His knuckles were raw, bruised from the fight.

Without thinking, you reached out, gently prying one of his fists open. He held his breath, glancing down at you.

Your fingers traced the swelling on his knuckles, your touch featherlight. “We need to clean this up.”

Fred didn’t protest. He just stood there, his jaw clenched, watching you. He released his breath, silently agreeing.

Wordlessly, you pulled his hand in yours, leading him down the spiral staircase, away from the cold, away from the fight, away from everyone else.

—

The fire crackled softly in the Gryffindor common room, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The common room was empty—everyone was either asleep or still in the Ravenclaw tower, talking about what had happened.

Fred sat on the couch, his arms resting on his knees, his head tilted slightly downward. He hadn’t said much since you dragged him back.

You returned from the bathroom with a damp cloth and knelt in front of him.

“Hold still,” you murmured, gently dabbing at the dried blood on his lip.

Fred flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. He just watched you, his hazel eyes unreadable, though there was a glimmer of something, awe, perhaps. His eyes studied yours, the way your eyebrows furrowed as you focused on cleaning his wounds. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, you were the epitome of beauty in his eyes, a darling angel.

You focused on cleaning him up, biting your lip. The silence between you was begging to be broken, heavy with something left unsaid. But you chose to ignore it, shifting your focus to getting Fred cleaned up. You see, it was the way you were always so caring towards everyone, so kind, always selflessly giving your time away to help those who needed it. That was part of the reason Fred had fallen for you in the first place, your kindness.

Fred exhaled sharply as you pressed on his wound.

"Sorry..." you mutter, but he gently removed your arm, and rested it on his knee.

“I don’t know how to stop this,” he said suddenly.

You paused, looking up at him. “Stop what?”

He let out a cheerless laugh. “This. You. Making me feel like a complete idiot.”

Your heart pace increased. “I—”

“Do you know what it’s like?” His voice was raw, unfiltered, a slight rasp as he spoke softly. “Watching you? Seeing every guy in that room touch you? Kiss you?” He shook his head. “I nearly lost my mind.”

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away.

“Never thought I'd admit it, but I’ve wanted you,” his voice low, almost trembling. “For so long, and I—” He broke off, exhaling harshly. “And then tonight, I had to sit there and watch it. Merlin, it drove me so bloody mad.”

Your hands were shaking. Was this it? The Fred you never thought would ever return your feelings, about to spew the words right out?

Fred’s eyes locked onto yours, something desperate behind this gaze.

“I hate that you don’t see it,” he muttered.

“See what?” you breathed.

His lips parted, and for a second, he hesitated.

“That I love you.”

Your breath caught, inhaling as you paused.

Fred let out a rough laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Godric, I love you. I don’t just like you, I love you. And it kills me because I know you don’t feel the same way so I just thought I'd keep it to myself but here we are."

Your heartbeat felt as though it was pounding loud enough to wake up the whole dorm.

“You idiot,” you whispered.

Fred blinked. “What?”

“You idiot,” you repeated, your voice shaking. Then, before he could react, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his with all the emotion you've held back, the words you've been dying to say to him.

It was nothing like the kiss with George.

This was everything.

Fred let out a soft, startled sound before his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, as if he had been waiting for this moment forever. His lips moved against yours, desperate, breathless. He kissed you like he had something to prove, like he needed you to know how much he meant it.

And you did.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, getting up from kneeling and he pulled you onto his lap, now straddling him in the common room, to which you were thankful that no one was around.

A soft moan escaped you, as he sucked on your lower lip, your hands tangled themselves in his fluffy hair, tugging lightly.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, you whispered, “I love you too.”

Fred let out a quiet, shaky laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “You better.” He teased.

You rolled your eyes, and he grinned.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, kissing him again as if there was no tomorrow. He smiled into the kiss, desperately needing a round two with you, his Y/N.