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Character Friction: On “Asshole Characters”, or Shitty Little Guys.
A while ago I floated a few thoughts I had about “asshole” characters in the Indy TTRPGs community. I floated these questions because I had been listening to this interview between Klaus von Hohenloe of The Dungeon Newb's Guide and The Panic Table. In particular, Klaus mentions that some games don’t allow for player friction, and in games where this is the case (cough D&D cough), it culminates in a horrible experience for all involved.
To illustrate, I’m going to talk about some experience I’ve had with my own play groups.
Art from Last Fleet, by Vicentius Matthew.
It might be shocking to hear, but I’ve played D&D once or twice. I remember being in a campaign with two players who wanted very different things from that game. Player A wanted to bring their character on a deep emotional journey, while Player B wanted to act as strategically as possible in pursuit of their character’s benefit, often to the detriment of other members of the party. My own character wanted to track down leads to a mystery that mattered to her, but not really to anyone else. This often led to frustrating moments where characters might not communicate as much information to the party as they might have otherwise, and in other cases one character’s actions could pull the entire party’s journey off-course.
The three of us all played together in a completely different game, three years later - Last Fleet. Let me tell you, the character interactions were completely flipped on their heads. Player A got a dramatic emotional arc around an NPC who was integral to the main plot. Player B got to pursue their own agenda, often in ways that worked against the efforts of other PCs. As the GM, I was given tools that actually encouraged both of these moments: both pushing Player A to wrestle with their relationship and implicating Player B as a suspicious person very early on.
A basic move from Last Fleet.
There are a number of reasons this worked in Last Fleet and not in D&D. One, Last Fleet playbooks often encourage players to keep secrets, work against the benefit of the crew, and fuck up their relationships with each-other. Two, Last Fleet has something called the Pressure mechanic. This is both a resource and a time bomb: you can mark Pressure to improve your chances of success, but hit your cap and your character has to do something to relieve their stress - and that choice is usually rather detrimental to the ship.
Finally, Last Fleet’s a different kind of story. You’re not playing heroic adventurers fighting monsters and clearing out dungeons. You’re playing the last desperate strains of humanity, fleeing an alien threat that has the power to infiltrate your fleet and resemble the ones you love most. Last Fleet is all about how a high-stress situation can lead people to making poor decisions, and, should you desire, it can also be about how people are sometimes forced to rely on each-other in order to get through a harrowing situation.
When I compare these situations, I don’t think we had bad players at the table: we just had the wrong kind of game for the story that the players wanted. I suppose I haven’t necessarily played enough D&D to say that it can’t allow for compelling, flawed characters - what I like to call “shitty little guys” - but I certainly don’t think it’s a play culture that accounts for the diversity of player goals.
More to the point, I find myself really drawn to playing flawed characters - both with them and for them. I love my over-perfectionist superhero in MASKS who lashes out when her friends don’t meet her standards. I adore my Thirsty Sword Lesbian who doesn’t know how to flirt or how to process emotions. I’m having so much fun watching play-testers pick up their various monsters in Protect the Child and demonstrate each character’s struggles when it comes to relating to a kid. I think it’s fascinating that in Changeling: the Lost 1e, a Fairest is rewarded with a discount when they use their Contracts of Reflection to spy on people that they love.
Contract of Reflections, Equinox Road Sourcebook, Changeling the Lost 1e.
I’ve personally seen the most leeway for character friction in PbtA games, like Apocalypse World, Urban Shadows, and Apocalypse Keys. When I brought up the question in the Community post, I asked folks for other examples of playing Shitty Little Guys. Their interpretations were really interesting, and far broader than my initial scope.
@nebmia mentioned that by giving your characters “unpleasant” abilities, it will incentivize them to use those abilities in unpleasant ways.
@goblincow has a lot of thoughts about creating little guys who aren’t just horrible, but are also in horrible situations - which gives license for the players to endanger their characters in the pursuit of mischief.
@airkseablade brought up Tenra Bansho Zero, and how it uses something called an “Emotion Matrix” to randomly determine how a player character might reaction to meeting a new person, as well as “Fates”, which are goals that each player is rewarded for playing towards, but mostly based on group consensus.
@willknightauthor talked about Wraith: (The Oblivion?), and how each archetype available to players has a part of themselves that pulls them towards darker choices.
It turns out that we really like playing characters who are mean-spirited, greedy, and struggling to get what they want, and we have a lot of different ways to make that happen. It reminds me of a common piece of advice given to writers when they’re writing a novel - you want a character who’s flawed, because those flaws can be used.
In games like Trilogy or TSL, you might want those flaws because you want to see your character overcome them. In games like Mothership or Cairn, you might want those flaws because then it makes it easier to push your guys through a meat-grinder. In games like Hillfolk or Apocalypse World, you might want those flaws because you want to see just how much well-meaning or desperate characters can fuck each-other up, given the right circumstances.
So what’s the point of all this? What am I trying to get out of this?
When I hear stories about horrible players, the experience I’ve had at my tables makes me want to approach these “trouble” players with a bit of grace. Perhaps these “trouble” players simply want something that is a challenge to provide in a game like D&D, but in Mothership, Urban Shadows, Apocalypse World etc., they might find their choices welcomed and encouraged. And if you've found yourself being accused of being a "trouble" player because you like to a cause drama, perhaps these games might be more up your alley than you think!
Consider playing a game with horrible guys who suck today!
#mint speaks#indie ttrpgs#dnd#tabletop games#sometimes the experience you want is waiting for you#in another game#also thank you luka for embedding the phrase “horrible guys who suck” into my brain
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Soka Takes a Terrorist: Chapter One
The latest fic in Anakin and the Jedi Babies. Three chapters total.
Sokanth Skywalker makes a friend, all on her own! He is in Death Watch. She's going to save him, just you wait!
Read on AO3
About two thirds of this fic were written by hand on the train while in Japan.
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Most planets have their own, smaller ‘nets. Sometimes, they extend to the whole sector, if it makes sense to do so. Sure, there’s the ‘galactic’ holonet, but it really just makes more sense to have a faster, local holonet, too.
Mandalore has been trying to consolidate fragmented ‘nets for ages. Some of that has gone better than… well…
Skyguy’s been helping, at least?
Soka knows some of the issues. Krownest has environmental restrictions regarding the weather, something about constructing infrastructure to withstand low temperatures, which can impact servers and wiring. Concord Dawn is prone to geologic instability, so burying transmission cables isn’t an option given the earthquake risk. Kalevala is getting on okay, making good progress, and so is the moon Concordia; that’s why they’ve been offered up as hosting for the hyper-relays. Manda’yaim itself is stuck trying to decide on the best way to protect transmission lines from sandstorms, which could uncover lines buried at a standard depth, and burying them deeper would make them harder to access for maintenance. It is where a lot of the ‘host’ servers and stuff are going, mostly in their own separate domes a few kilometers out in the desert.
And that’s all before the politics and coding and other non-infrastructure, non-environmental-y bits.
“I don’t understand why you’re even involved,” Ben complains, “you’re a droidhead, not a slicer. Aren’t there other things more in line with your specialties?”
Skyguy gets that look on his face, the one where he’s not sure how to think or feel about one of them referencing, or forgetting, something from the Before.
“Well,” he says, “a lot of the maintenance and repairs are going to be done by droids, and I’ve got a decent experience in weather-proofing to boot, especially in deserts. Besides, I need something to fill the time.”
Because Mereel’s been weird about Skyguy since the Jedi visit.
“Can I help?” Soka pipes up.
“Probably a bit out of your skill range,” he says, a touch apologetic.
“But I want to be involved,” she whines.
(And she is not embarrassed to admit that.)
He laughs, and rubs at her head between the montrals, just like when he ruffles Ben’s hair. “Fine, how about I get you some specs on what we’ve already got hooked in, and you can do some beta-testing?”
“Works for me!” she half-cheers. “Ben, what about you?”
“I’ll pass, thank you very much,” he says, “but let me know if you find you need some help with the diplomacy.”
“Not my department,” Skyguy says, “but sure.”
Continue on AO3
#anakin and the jedi babies#ahsoka tano#anakin skywalker#obi wan kenobi#shmi skywalker#pre vizsla#star wars#the clone wars#jango fett#time travel#sw legends#phoenix files
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Birthright Corrin/Kaze is an achingly beautiful love story if you just free yourself from the thought that it’s cringe to enjoy Birthright’s story.
#my genuine hot take is that birthright is not actually all that poorly written#like does it have flaws? yeah.#is it high brow? no.#but is it trying to be? does it have to be?#and sure I’m never going to recommend it to anyone based on its story#and I’ll never recommend it to anyone for gameplay either if we’re being honest#there are better fire emblems in every manner#but does it have to be a contest?#does everything need to be a comparison or ranked on a tier list?#is it not enough to have enjoyed the game?#I enjoyed it once and I will enjoy it again and I will cry about Corrin and Kaze’s beautiful love story#and I will feel no shame#but I might perhaps pity the people who snub their nose at simple joys in search of high brow enjoyment#I think you will find that if you let go of standards that don’t really matter you may find joy in life a simpler thing#and let’s be real y’all we are fire emblem fans#player phase.txt
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ENOUGH WITH THE REBOOTS AND SPIN OFFS ENOUGGGHHHHH
#first of all why is it always teen shows that they reboot like what for#second of all can anyone name a single reboot that was equally as good and popular as the original#only one I can think of that I would say was as good was 90210 but even that’s up for debate#but the gossip girl reboot? a train wreck from start to finish idk what they were thinking#the pll reboot had slightly more positive reception but even that came and went#compared to the crazy hype the og had. and keep in mind the og was terrible#but I could see the incentive to reboot both of these shows cause people were neither satisfied with the conclusion#of gossip girl nor pretty liars… but one tree hill? why on earth would you reboot one tree hill?#personally I find one tree hill boring but I know for most people that’s like the gold standard of tv#so why would you go and add more to something people were satisfied with#sure you get the hype but you’re also gonna be subject to so much more backlash if it doesn’t meet the originals standards#and one tree hill set the bar PRETTY FUCKING HIGH#if they wanted it to just be about another generation at tree hill high well fine I guess I mean just go and make your own show#do I see the necessity in calling it a reboot? no like just make your own show about two half siblings on a basketball team#but fine let’s call it that. however putting Peyton and Brooke in it means you’re going to basically ruin their character arcs#like there’s no way Lucas and Julian are coming back so you’re already gonna turn a lot of people away#and the elephant in the room is that most people are concerned about the Woke aspect#what I’ve seen in the past is that these reboots start off trying really hard to be politically correct to demonstrate how#it’s a different time now and things have changed#but I think they misunderstand how much modern audiences hate this? and let me make it clear I don’t have a problem with a show being h#socially aware. it’s that the way these reboots handle it is SO heavy handed and unsubtle#there’s just no nuance about it no actual depth it feels… tokenizing?? that’s not the right word#but like they just throw it in there like it’s a box to check before they forget about all of it#but not before you’ve alienated your audience#anyways this will be bad let’s enjoy!
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)
synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break
word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)
contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry
notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak
everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.
they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.
you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.
you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.
when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.
satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.
it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.
he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.
you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.
but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.
“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”
you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.
he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.
he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.
“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”
“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”
“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”
“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.
he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.
“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”
“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”
“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”
“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”
“sure,” he chuckles.
and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.
“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.
he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.
great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.
you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.
“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”
“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”
“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.
with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”
you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.
you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.
you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.
—————
just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.
the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.
this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.
how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.
his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.
instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.
his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.
the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.
“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”
“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.
“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”
it’s way too early for this.
by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.
that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.
maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.
“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”
he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.
that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.
“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”
“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”
“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”
satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.
but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.
his bare chest, in fact.
you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.
“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.
this is…new. very, very new.
“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”
“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.
you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.
“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.
it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.
“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”
“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”
“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”
“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.
and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.
this is going to be a longer break than you thought.
—————
the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.
you grin, reaching over when—
“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”
“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.
“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.
“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.
he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.
it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.
“do you still throw away the ends of these?”
you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”
“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder.
“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”
“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.
“yeah, as if.”
“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.
ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence.
“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.
“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”
yeah. very snobby.
“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.
he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.
“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”
“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”
“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”
“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.
satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”
“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”
“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”
something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.
“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”
“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”
“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”
it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.
“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.
“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”
“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.
“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”
“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”
“i know you’re not talking—”
“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.
but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.
“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”
“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”
“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”
“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”
“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”
“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.
suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.
“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”
you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.
you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.
you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.
and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.
—————
satoru meets you when you’re six.
he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard.
somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.
a magnetizing one, in fact.
it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you.
when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.
the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him?
he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.
so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs.
your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better.
he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop.
“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines.
it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.
“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his.
satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone.
it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction.
“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”
he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru.
“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”
he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower.
fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you.
“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”
and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.
would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.
god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.
he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you.
it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?
——
“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”
“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends.
oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted.
“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”
“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”
“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”
“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”
“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”
satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.
silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.
—————
it’s night four.
satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new.
he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome.
scarily handsome, in fact.
you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend.
maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen.
you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.
you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.
“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”
“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk.
“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”
“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused.
he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”
“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”
“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.
satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle.
“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”
“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.
it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.
“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him.
you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?
he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”
you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it.
“how would you know—”
“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”
“he was hot—”
“yeah? and i’m not?”
he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it.
“satoru, what are you—”
“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”
“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.
it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information.
“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”
and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips.
so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.
your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble.
“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”
“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”
“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone.
no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples.
“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw.
“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.
“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”
“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.
“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb.
“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign.
for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”
“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”
“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”
you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core.
“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”
that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.
it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.
“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”
“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up.
but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you.
“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”
before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal.
you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale.
“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.
“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”
he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face.
satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him.
your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.
suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night.
it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length.
you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.
he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more.
“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”
“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”
so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you.
“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”
“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”
“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”
“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”
“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”
“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”
satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him.
your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans.
the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness.
you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.
“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”
“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”
“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you.
it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.
your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever.
“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”
“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin.
“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”
suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.
fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.
“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”
do not comment about a part 2
but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything
#teepods.writings#fics.#thirstee!#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen smut
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Here is a potentially silly question: how do you feel about birthstones? Do you think they fit the months (by season or astrological sign)? Do you have other stones you'd rather see as birthstones?
Okay, so, birthstones make absolutely no sense.
I mean, look at this mess. We’re doing beryl and corundum twice! I get that they get Special Different Names for their Special Different Colors, but it's just lazy. And why are we giving some months cheap, common gemstones like garnet and amethyst while the poor June birthdays have to shell out tens of thousands of dollars for FREAKING ALEXANDRITE? That’s incredibly unfair! We should be picking birthstones that are all roughly the same price. And why do some months get multiple gemstones? I’ll tell you why: because nobody can agree on an official list and every attempt to standardize this thing has just added MORE birthstones to every month.
So obviously the answer is to standardize it again, by throwing out everything and starting over. Here are our goals:
Fair pricing. You should be paying roughly the same amount regardless of what month you were born in. We’re getting rid of those ridiculous outliers like diamond and alexandrite.
More customization potential! Nobody should be stuck with a stone they hate. We’re picking gemstones that come in multiple colors or varieties, so that everyone can choose a variant they like.
Wearability. Some birthstones are too fragile to be worn as jewelry. We need to replace them with stronger stuff.
No more duplicate gemstones. Every month gets a stone or family of stones with a unique chemical composition.
Now without further ado, I present to you:
The New And Improved List Of Birthstones With No Problems Or Flaws That Everyone Will Definitely Agree On And We Can Start Using Right Now Immediately
JANUARY: GARNET
I've got no problem with garnet. It's a fine, classic birthstone, so January can keep it. But I would like to see a little more garnet diversity. January birthdays shouldn’t be confined to just red. The garnet family of minerals contains a rainbow of different colors, like orange hessonite, green uvarovite, pink rhodolite, yellow grandite, and many more. They’re all garnet, so we should be wearing them all!
FEBRUARY: QUARTZ
The original birthstone of February was amethyst, which is… kinda boring. Super cheap and common and you only get one color? No, we can do better. February gets ALL the quartzes now. Keep wearing amethyst if you want, but also feel free to branch out into clear quartz, citrine, rose quartz, smoky quartz, rutilated quartz, tiger eye… actually, take all the agates too. If it’s quartz, it’s yours!
MARCH: SPODUMENE
March was originally aquamarine, but I’ll be giving all the beryls to May, so we need a different stone here. Let’s stick with that theme of pale pastels and go with spodumene. For an April birthday, bedeck yourself in green hiddenite, pink kunzite, or yellow triphane. Despite its subtle colors, your birthstone has some amazing fluorescence, with really cool pinks and oranges under a UV light.
APRIL: FELDSPAR
Diamond is too pricy for this list, so we’re replacing it with something less expensive and way more interesting. April will now be represented by the feldspar family. We’re talking labradorite, moonstone, amazonite, aventurine, and sunstone. While you don’t have much variety in color, your stones are full of shimmery schiller which glitters and shifts as it catches the light.
MAY: BERYL
May’s original birthstone was emerald, which is great and can stay, but we’re also adding its siblings! May is now represented by all beryls: Emerald, Aquamarine, Morganite, Bixbite, Heliodor, Goshenite, and whatever other varieties I’m forgetting to list. A bright and saturated rainbow of colors is represented here, so everyone born in May is sure to find something they like.
JUNE: ORGANIC GEMSTONES AND FOSSILS
It’s time to address the alexandrite in the room, and obviously we’re getting rid of alexandrite. A stone worth $15,000 to $70,000 a carat does not belong on the same list as friggin amethyst. Instead we’ll look at the other traditional June birthstone, pearl. The problem with pearl is that it’s a clear outlier in this list. An organic gemstone, by some definitions not even a mineral. Should we replace it? NO. We are OWNING it. All organic gemstones now belong to June. Pearl is joined here by jet, amber, coral, ivory, ammolite, petrified wood… in fact, June can have every fossil ever.
JULY: SPINEL
July was originally represented by ruby, which is a fine stone and won’t be kicked off the birthstone list - we’re just shuffling it down to September. Replacing ruby for July is spinel. (See, it’s funny because historically spinel has often been mistakenly identified as ruby! That's a little gemology humor for you.) Available in any hue you could possibly desire, spinel offers some nice color options to a month that previously only featured red. Of course if you want to keep wearing red, red spinel mimics ruby so well that you’ll barely notice the difference.
AUGUST: PERIDOT
Nope, we’re not changing this one. Peridot is the ideal gemstone and you ungrateful August whiners can die mad about it. HOW ABOUT YOU LEARN TO APPRECIATE PERFECTION
SEPTEMBER: CORUNDUM
Sapphire is a wonderful, classic stone and it deserves its spot on this list. But the corundum family has been separated for far too long, and we’re finally going to reunite them. Joining sapphire in September is its sister ruby. Between the pinks and reds of ruby and the many, many colors of sapphire, these two stones give September a nice variety of colors.
OCTOBER: TOURMALINE
Look, as gorgeous as opal is and as much as I love it, it is both way too pricy for our list and also TERRIBLE in jewelry. This stone is just too brittle to wear around from day to day and can be ruined just by getting it wet, which makes wearing your birthstone a huge hassle. We’ll kick opal out and hang on to October’s other traditional birthstone, tourmaline. Pink tourmaline may be classic, but this stone comes in plenty of other colors. Whether it’s brown dravite, watermelon elbaite, or the rare and beautiful blue indicolite, you can wear them all!
NOVEMBER: TOPAZ
November can keep topaz, but we’re not confining it to the color yellow. This stone comes in a huge variety of colors, and now they can ALL represent November. No further notes; it’s a nice, classic stone.
DECEMBER: ZIRCON
I dunno, I’ve had to come up with 12 of these, I’m burnt out. Sure, zircon, whatever.
“BUT WAIT,” you say. “Now instead of having a single color assigned to each month, almost every month is represented by almost every color, making it impossible to tell anyone’s birthstones apart and removing what made them special and recognizable as symbols!”
Well CLEARLY you didn’t read the title of this list.
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Listen to your elders
So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.
So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.
But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?
In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.
Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download
Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title:
No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.
Now you’re going to need some materials: 8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife
You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.
Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:
use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.
Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.
Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.
You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.
Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour
In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock
Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)
Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.
Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine
Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.
Voila:
I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.
The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.
If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders.
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Stay Stay Stay Pairing - Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader Summary - Until you met Tyler, you'd only had shitty boyfriends who would leave at the first sign of trouble or when you started to get too attached. Tyler Owens however is there to show you that he's in it for the long run, even when he finds out you're pregnant with his child. Word Count - 4.5k Warnings - Pregnant Reader, but this is just 4k words of pure fluff based on Taylor Swift's Stay Stay Stay ngl.
You woke up feeling miserable. You had barely gotten any sleep, staying up most of the night crying, and all you could think about was how stupid the fight you and Tyler had seemed now. You glanced over at the clock on your bedside table, and shot up when you realized how late it was. Tyler might have already gone, and now you wouldn’t get the chance to say how sorry you were. The fear of that gripping your chest had you rolling out of bed and out the door. What you saw in the hallway however, had you stopping in your tracks.
As soon as you shut the door behind you, Tyler jolted awake from his spot on the floor, rubbing his eyes. He was still in his clothes from last night, the button up and jeans, complete with cowboy boots. “You stayed out here all night?” You asked, emotion tight in your throat.
Tyler looked up at you, brushing his hair back from his face. “Of course I did. Didn’t know if you might need me or not after those nightmares you’ve been having.”
“But - but I threw something-”
“Your phone.” He informed you.
Heat rushed to your face in embarrassment. “-My phone at you.”
“I don’t know if I’d really say ‘at me’. If so, your aim was pretty off for someone who used to play baseball.” He said, and he started to move so he could stand up.
Before he could though, you bent down and scrambled into his lap, wrapping your arms and legs around him as the tears fell down your cheeks.
He let out a surprised grunt, but put his arms around you as well. “To be honest, not the greeting I was expecting this morning.” He said in a strained voice, probably because you were squeezing him so tight.
“I thought you left already, and I didn’t want you to leave mad at me, because if something happened to you out there. . .” You wondered if he could even understand you with the way your tears messed with your breathing, but you had to tell him. The thought of him leaving while the two of you were mad at each other made you feel sick.
“Hey,” Tyler started running a hand through your hair, the comfort of the motion easing into you. “I wasn’t about to leave without talking to you. I told them I’d catch up.” You closed your eyes as you felt his lips against the side of your head. “And you know I can’t leave without my good luck kiss.”
You pulled back so you could look at him when you said this. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I got so mad. I’ve just been all over the place lately, and I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m mad one second, the next I’m sobbing, then I can’t keep my eyes open, and the next second I feel like I’m going to die if I’m not jumping your bones-”
Tyler reached up and brushed your tears away with his thumb. “That one’s my favorite.” He said with a smirk.
You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “I think I’m going crazy.”
“Baby, you chase tornados in your spare time. Pretty sure by most people’s standards you are crazy,” he said, putting some hair behind your ear.
You shook your head, and playfully smacked him in the chest. “I’m serious. I mean I know I get a little crazy around-” the thought hit you like a freight train. “Tyler, what’s today?”
His brow furrowed, his smirk turning into a frown. “Sunday . . .”
“No! I mean what day of the month?” Were the calculations you were doing in your head right? Had the time passed that quickly?
“It’s the 11th. Why?”
Oh god. You gripped his face in your hands. “Ty, I’m late.”
Tyler squinted at you. “Did you have somewhere to go . . . ?”
You shook your head, your eyes wide with panic. “No, Tyler. I’m late.” You grabbed one of his arms and put his hand on your stomach, giving him a significant look.
It was funny, how you could almost see the gears moving in his mind. It was like when he was trying to decide what storm to chase. You could tell the exact moments your words and actions landed. His eyes widened, and he glanced down at your stomach, then you. “You’re late . . . For that?”
You nodded, watching his face for his reaction. It was an accident of course. The two of you tried to be careful, but one night a couple of months ago after an insane chase . . . The adrenaline got the better of both of you. While you had known you could get pregnant, you thought the chances of it happening the one time you didn’t use protection couldn’t be that high. Well, the universe might be proving you wrong. You weren’t sure how you felt about the possibility, but you were damn sure terrified of what Tyler might be thinking.
You didn’t need to be.
A slow grin started to spread on his face, and within seconds you found yourself hoisted over his shoulder and into the air.
Letting out a little shriek, you grabbed a hold of his shirt. “Tyler! Put me down!”
“Can’t! Got to go buy a pregnancy test.” He said, giving you a smack on the ass that made you squeal again.
“We can’t! I’m not wearing pants!”
“You don’t need pants to take a pregnancy test!” He said.
A laugh left your lips at that, but then you smacked his back to get his attention. “Ty, what about the crew? They’re waiting on you. I can take the test, and call you-”
He put you down then, his hands holding your face and making you look at him. “If you think there is anything more important to me right now than this, you’re wrong.”
It almost embarrassed you that you had thought for even a second any different. “I might not be, you know? I could actually be losing my mind.”
Tyler shrugged. “Either way, there’s no place I’d rather be right now than here with you.” He said, sliding his hands down to grab your own, then leaned forward to give you one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever had in your life, all gentle and tender, enough to almost bring tears back to your eyes. “Now, there’s my good luck kiss.” He said once he pulled away.
“And what do you need good luck for, huh Owens?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him.
He smirked at you. “I’ll tell you later.”
And he did. In about five months after he shot fireworks up in a tornado to reveal you were having a boy, just like he wanted.
————————
“Ty! I can pick up potatoes. I’m barely showing.” You said, shaking your head at him as he dived in front of you to get the sack of potatoes before you could.
He put them in the grocery cart, leaning over it and crossing his arms. “See, I know that, but the gentleman in me won’t let the woman carrying my son do something as lowly as pick up potatoes.”
You rolled your eyes. It was sweet, but you knew it was also going to drive you crazy. “If you don’t let me do some things I might murder you in your sleep. I hope you know that.”
Tyler raised his eyebrows at you, pretending to look confused. “Then who would reach all the stuff on the top shelf?” He asked, his expression morphing into a smirk as you crossed your arms over your chest.
“I guess I’ll have to find another tall, handsome cowboy. Shouldn’t be too hard.” You teased, and then grabbed the cart, pushing it past him.
He stopped you, grabbing you around the waist, holding you back against his chest and pressing a kiss against your neck. “Unfortunately, you’ll find I’m very hard to replace.” He murmured against your skin.
You couldn’t help but laugh, elbowing him in the side. “All right cowboy, if you’re going to not let me pick anything up heavier than three pounds, go do me a favor and get the water. Lily said you guys are running low, and the weather conditions for the weekend look rough.”
Tyler pressed another kiss against your neck, and then let you go. “Whatever you say ma’am.”
You watched him walk away, a sight you always enjoyed in those jeans, then hurried up to get as many of your groceries as you could before Tyler came back to not let you do anything again.
“Well, look who it is.”
Oh god, you knew that voice. It was one you hadn’t heard in years now, and one you hoped never to hear again. You almost didn’t want to turn around so you could pretend it wasn’t there, but you knew this person wasn’t going to allow that to happen. It would hurt his ego too much. Turning around, you let out a sigh at the familiar face. “Hey, Charles.”
Your ex was a dick. In fact almost all of your exes were dicks. Until you started dating Tyler, you hadn’t known what it was like to date someone that put you above themselves. Charles was no different. In fact, he was one of the worst, and the way he was looking at you right now made you want to throw up. Or maybe that was the morning sickness . . .
“I’ve got to say,” he looked you up and down. “You’re looking good.”
Nope, it wasn't morning sickness. “Thanks.” You replied, moving your cart so you could go around him. Hopefully you could make a quick escape and pretend this whole interaction had never happened. “It was good seeing you.” Lies.
He grabbed the cart, stopping you in your tracks. “Wait a second. Don’t you think we should catch up some? I mean it’s been-”
“Five years.” You answered, your hands squeezing the handle of the cart.
He smirked. “You kept track?”
You wanted to smack that expression off his face, “to celebrate.”
The nice facade faded upon your words. “You know, I thought maybe you’d changed over the years, but it seems like you’re still a-”
“Got the waters!” You breathed a quick little sigh of relief as Tyler came to a stop beside you, carrying not one, but two packs of water. He placed them in the cart, flipped his baseball cap around backwards, and put his hand on the small of your back. “Who’s this?” Tyler asked with his charming grin.
You took a step closer to Tyler, not because you were scared of Charles, but because you liked the comfort of his presence. Something you never felt with the douche in front of you now. “You remember me telling you about Charles? This is him.”
To Charles, Tyler showed no response to the name, but you felt the hand on your back press a little harder against your skin. Tyler turned to look at you, and there was a little glimmer in his eyes when he spoke. “I don’t actually. Are you sure you’ve mentioned someone named Charles before?”
You had to bite back a smirk once you realized what he was up to. “Yeah, I think so.” You played along.
“Hmmm, I must not have thought it was that important. Anyway, Tyler Owens.” He held out his hand to Charles, and you watched Charles’s face with delight. Not only had Tyler made him feel unimportant, something you knew from experience he couldn’t stand, but Tyler was . . . a big man. At least a foot taller than Charles, and more muscles on him than this guy could ever hope to have. You didn’t however expect the look of disbelief that crossed his face.
“Tyler Owens? The tornado wrangler?” He asked, almost too shocked to shake his hand, but then he collected himself and reached for Tyler’s.
“The very same.” He said. “Though I’ve got to say, I think my favorite title is her future husband.” He said, nodding his head back to you.
Heat flushed straight to your face at the bold statement. Tyler and you hadn’t talked much about marriage. You had thought that might be the logical next step, but you also didn’t want to bring it up if it scared him away. With past boyfriends, including the one in front of you, it always had. You should’ve known by now though that Tyler was nothing like that. You leaned into him more now, smiling as his arm went around you and his hand rested on your stomach.
“Her future-” Charles looked dumbfounded, and you also didn’t miss the wince when Tyler shook his hand probably more roughly than necessary.
“Got to lock her down, you know? Plenty of other idiots have already let her go. I’m not going to make the same mistake.” Tyler replied, giving you a smile full of mischief.
You placed your hand on top of the one he had on your stomach. “Ty, I’m having your baby. I don’t think you have to worry about that.” You assured him, your smile widening as he kissed your cheek.
“You’re - you’re pregnant?”
You’d almost forgotten Charles was there with Tyler’s sudden proclamation, but his words pulled your attention back to him. Turning to the side, you let him see the slight curve to your stomach. “Yep. Four months to go before we meet our baby boy.”
As soon as you said the words, Tyler’s face lit up with genuine excitement like it always did. “I can’t wait.” He turned back to Charles, putting both of his arms around you protectively now. “How do you two know each other again?” Tyler asked, and once again you had to fight back a laugh.
“It doesn’t matter.” You said, looking back up at Tyler with a soft smile. “We need to be getting out of here anyway right babe?”
“Yes ma’am. Well, it was nice to meet you, Chuck.” Tyler said, stepping back from you so he could grab a hold of the cart with one hand, taking your hand in the other.
You couldn’t hold your laughter back anymore at that point, entwining your fingers together as you followed him to the register, leaving Charles standing dumbfounded in your wake.
________________
It was the thing you had been the most scared of happening. You had no one else to blame other than yourself though. You were the one who had insisted that Tyler go on the chase. It was supposed to be a large storm, and you reminded him that it was the last one he’d probably go on for a while since the season was ending, as was your pregnancy. You had faith that he would be careful, knowing that he wouldn’t risk anything that would endanger him from meeting his son.
What you hadn’t expected however, was your water to break three weeks early.
It was safe to say you were panicking when you called your sister to come get you, and by the time they wheeled you back to your room, you were close to a full blown meltdown. “I can’t do this without him.” You told her, holding your stomach as if that could keep him in, tears streaming down your face. “And he’s at least five hours away! What if I don’t have that long?!”
Your sister, who was more calm than you, grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze. “He will make it, I’m sure. You’ve texted him right?”
You bit your lip, and when your sister gave you a look, you blurted. “I didn’t want to ruin his chase! I thought I’d wait to see if the doctor was even going to take me!”
“Oh my god.” She reached into your bag and grabbed your phone. You held out your hand for it, but she was already texting away. “There, done.”
“What did you say?”
But she didn’t answer, instead she waited about ten seconds and said, “he said he’s on his way.”
You nodded, watching as she put your phone back in your purse. God you hoped he was going to make it. The thought of doing this without him was terrifying. You were already scared enough that something was wrong because of how early he was. Having to have this baby without Tyler by your side, reassuring you the whole way, seemed impossible.
A few minutes later, while you were lost in your thoughts, the door to your room opened and a nurse walked in. “Hey, honey, how’re we doing?”
“She’s panicking.” Your sister replied for you.
You glared at her. “My boyfriend, he’s - he’s not going to be able to get here for a few hours, do you think I have that long?”
She gave you a sympathetic smile. “Well that’s according to him I’d say, because I speak from experience when I say babies don’t wait for no one.” She said.
Oh god, he wasn’t going to make it. You just knew it. He wasn’t going to make it in time, and you would have to try and do this without him, and you didn’t think that you could. You needed him. You needed him so badly it added to the pain you were already in, and the worst part was that it was your fault. If you hadn’t forced him to go on that chase -
“I’m here, I’m here!”
To your complete and utter shock, Tyler came sliding into your room, taking his cowboy hat off and hurrying to your side.
“Ty?” Was all you could think to say.
“Did I miss anything?” Tyler asked, taking your hand in his own and looking at your nurse.
“Dad, I assume?” The nurse said with a smile.
Tyler beamed at the use of the word. “About to be.”
“In that case, you haven’t missed a thing yet. We’re about to take some vitals and get this show on the road.” She informed him. “Glad you could make it.” She said, and left your room. Your sister, sensing the two of you needed some alone time, followed close behind.
Once they had both left, your thoughts caught up to your brain, and you squeezed Tyler’s hand. “Tyler Owens, I’ve never been more happy to see you in my entire life, but how the hell did you get here so fast?”
He gave you an affectionate smile, and reached up to wipe away the tears you didn’t even know you’d still been crying. “Yeah, so about that chase . . . I never went.”
“You - you what?”
He started stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. “You were less than a month away from having our son. I knew you’d blame yourself if I didn’t go, but I also knew if something happened while I was away . . . You’d blame yourself too. So I just . . . stayed at a hotel the past couple of nights.”
You couldn’t even be mad. He knew you too well, and the relief you felt that he was here to help you was too much to be upset. “I was so scared you were going to miss it.”
“Not for the largest tornado in the world baby.” Tyler said, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss it. “You ready to do this?” He asked as they started wheeling in the equipment.
Not five minutes ago you were horrified. The effect of Tyler’s presence on your emotions was remarkable. With him by your side, you had no doubts that you could do this. You could have this baby. “Now that you’re here? Definitely.”
Tyler leaned forward to give you the last kiss the two of you would have before you were parents, the smile on his lips unmistakable.
————————
“He looks so much like you it’s like you birthed him.” You said with a tired laugh. It was god knows how many hours later, you had never been more tired in your life, and somehow you and Tyler had squeezed into your tiny hospital bed. You were leaning against his shoulder, eyes glued to the baby he held in his arms that was looking up at you both curiously.
“Not completely. I know that nose anywhere.” He said, gently tapping your son in the nose. Then, for the first time since his son had been placed in his arms, he looked at you, the unmistakable glint of tears in his eyes. “He’s perfect.”
You knew that you were already emotional. You were exhausted, overwhelmed and a million other things at once, but the way Tyler was looking at your son, then at you? Your whole body seemed to light up with warmth. It was love all over his face, pure, intense love, and you didn’t think you’d ever be able to forget what it looked like again. You felt too choked up to speak, so you slipped your arm through his to curl your hand around his bicep, and turned your head to kiss his shoulder.
A smile formed on your face as Tyler looked back at your son, that adoring expression not fading for a second. “This is the best day of my life so far.”
“So far?” You said curiously.
“Well, you haven’t agreed to marry me yet.” He replied, grinning over at you.
Your smile widened, giving his arm a little squeeze. “Ty, you haven’t asked.”
“I haven’t?” Tyler said, pretending to look confused. “It’s a great proposal. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
You rolled your eyes, but the thought of Tyler proposing to you made you feel giddy. “Does it involve fireworks in a tornado?” You teased.
He shook his head. “Nah, been there, done that. Boone would love it though.” Tyler shifted your son, who cuddled right against his chest. “By the way, the crew’s waiting outside with your sister.”
You sat further up, wincing when you moved too quickly. “Jeez Tyler, how long have they been out there?”
“Since they dropped me off.” He admitted.
“You mean none of them went on the chase either?” You said in shock.
Tyler shook his head again, “They said this was going to be better than any tornado.”
Your throat clogged with emotion again, and you really hoped this crying at the drop of a hat wasn’t going to last long. “Go get them! They deserve to see him!”
He reached up, brushing a tear away from your face. “Are you sure? I know how tired you are, and I can tell them to come back tomorrow.”
“I can sleep when they’re gone. Right now I want them to see what they gave up a chase for.” You said, holding out your arms for the baby.
Tyler leaned forward, giving you a kiss on your forehead and handing your son over as gently as if he was made of glass. You smiled as he snuggled right up to your chest, and knew that there was no better feeling in the world than this right here. When you looked up, Tyler was staring at the two of you as if he was trying to memorize this moment. “I love you.” He said finally.
You felt like you could float at that moment, so light and loved. “We love you too.” You told him, and the softest smile formed on his face. “Go,” you told him before you started crying again. “We’re not going anywhere.” You joked.
“You better not.” He played along, giving you a mock stern look, and then he went outside the door.
Not ten seconds later you heard a cheer from outside your door, and you couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at their enthusiasm. Of course, they were shushed by nurses, and then Tyler brought them all in.
You smiled at them as your sister, Lily, Boone, Dex and Dani’s eyes all went straight to the baby in your arms. Lily, Dani, your sister and Dex rushed forward to get a better look and started cooing over him, the biggest smiles on their faces while Boone hung back, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe the baby was a real thing.
“We got you guys something.” Dex said, holding up some familiar looking material as Tyler got back into the bed with you. He handed him the shirts, and Tyler unfolded them, letting out a laugh before showing them to you. It was similar to the normal shirts, but instead of Tyler’s face, it was a baby with a cowboy hat. That would have been hilarious enough, but instead of saying, “not my first tornadeo” it said, “this is my first babeo.”
“Oh my god, it’s so cheesy. I love it.” You said with a laugh yourself.
“We also got little man . . .” Dani held up a little onesie that said, “mini wrangler” on it with their tornado logo.
You grinned, looking down at the bundle of cuteness in your arms. “It’s perfect.” You said, turning your smile to them. “Thank you guys for bringing Ty by the way, and staying. I would have understood if you all went on the chase.”
“Are you crazy? We weren’t going to miss this.” Lily said, giving your son a little wave.
Your eyes went over to Boone though, still standing back a little ways. The man who had gone into tornados and helped shoot fireworks and rockets up into them was looking at the baby in your arms like it was a bomb. “Hey Boone, you want to hold him?” You asked.
“Oh, I don’t - I wouldn’t even know how-”
But Dani was already pushing him towards you. “It’s all right Boone, you got this.” You reassured him, sitting up a little more to hand him your son.
“Make sure you get the back of his head.” Tyler said, watching with the eyes of a hawk as you gently placed him in Boone’s arms.
“Woah.” Boone said, as he looked down at him.
Tyler wrapped his arm around your shoulder, and now that your arms were free, you curled into his side, resting your head on his chest and wrapping your arm around his stomach.
“T, man! He looks just like you!” Boone said, and you smiled at the excitement in his voice.
“Except for the nose.” Tyler said, and you found your eyes closing as Tyler pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
He was so comfortable, and you were so tired. You felt yourself starting to drift off as his thumb brushed up and down your shoulder. It was hard not to when you felt so safe and loved, surrounded by your family, your new baby and the love of your life.
Tyler could sense it, and he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “You want me to kick them out?”
You shook your head, tightening your grip on him. “They can stay.” You murmured, nuzzling into him. “Make sure Boone doesn’t get too excited and drop our baby.” You joked.
“Yes ma’am.” Tyler responded with a chuckle, pulling you closer. “You go ahead and rest. I'll be here when you wake up.”
“I know.” You mumbled sleepily with a soft smile. “You always stay.”
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Lesson learned
PART 3 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST
Unit Chief!Spencer x BAU!Reader Your boss decides to teach you a lesson when you question the motivations behind a certain case.
Content: (18+) 6k, breath play, fingering, a little case description, BDSM discussion, softdom Spence but borderlines to dom because hello this is breath play and reader being judgy judgy but don’t worry he’s here to teach you a lesson or two a/n: The initial plan was to make him a hard dom but breathplay is already overwhelming so I decided to go the educational route. I am, by all means, not as smart as him, so there might be some inaccuracy
You would think that after joining the BAU for two years, you’d start to understand the twisted logic of a criminal’s mind. But you don’t. Not really. You’ve dissected motives, uncovered patterns, and profiled suspects more times than you can count, and yet this case makes no sense.
Your eyes go over the photographs pinned to the board again. And again. And again. It’s become almost a ritual now, like maybe if you look at it just one more time, the pieces might finally fall into place. But all you find staring back at you are three victims with the same marks on their necks. There was clearly a sign of struggle, but not one of fear. Not one that fits any pattern you know.
“I don’t get it,” you say. “The profile suggests the victims knew their attacker, but this doesn’t look like anything close to rage. Or brutality.”
Spencer shifts beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours as he leans closer to the board. “It might not have been an act of violence,” he observes thoughtfully. “Not in the traditional sense, anyway.”
You furrow your brow. “If it wasn’t violent, then what was it?”
“The bruising pattern is too symmetrical, and there’s no sign of panic or defensive wounds on their hands. I think there’s a chance the victims might have willingly participated.”
“Willingly?” Your eyes snap at him. “What do you mean, ‘willingly participated’? No one willingly gets strangled.”
He meets your eyes for a second before looking back at the board. “I know it sounds unlikely,” he admits, “but not impossible. See how the bruises are evenly spaced? They wrap around in perfect circles. The pressure is distributed just enough to leave a mark but not to crush the windpipe.“
“Spencer, that’s exactly what happened. The windpipe was crushed.”
“Yes, but not immediately. That’s the point.” He turns towards you again. “The intention wasn’t to kill them outright. The unsub wanted to bring them to the point of unconsciousness but not over it. At least, not at first. He was counting on their trust before pushing it too far.”
You let out a huff. “That’s insane.”
“It might seem that way to you, but it’s not unheard of. Sexual asphyxiation is a consensual act for some people. The lack of oxygen when someone’s airflow is restricted can trigger a euphoric sensation which intensifies pleasure."
You stare at him like he’s just spoken a different language. “So, you're saying they get off on... not breathing?”
“More like they find excitement in giving up that control."
You cross your arms and study him, tilting your head with a skeptical frown. “How do you even know this?”
The corner of his mouth twitches in a half-smile. “I read,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“You have a book on sexual asphyxiation?”
“It’s more comprehensive than that. The book covers a wide range of kinks, fetishes, and other forms of sexual exploration which are considered extreme by societal standards.”
"You’re telling me you read up on BDSM practices in your spare time?”
"I think of it as research,” he replies. “It’s part of understanding human behavior. You can’t afford to be ignorant about the complexities of people's desires."
"Huh." Your eyes travel back to the images again. "You know, I still don't understand. I mean, willingly letting someone cut off your breath? That’s not just trust that’s… I don’t know, crazy?”
His eyes narrow towards you as if he's carefully considering how much to say.
“It's not crazy,” he insists carefully. “For people who engage in it, it’s not only about losing control. It’s about reaching a heightened state of awareness, finding excitement in walking that line.”
"But what if that line gets crossed? What then? How could anyone think that sounds… fun?”
“Well, have you ever tried it?”
“Of course not!” you reply quickly, almost laughing at the absurdity. “Why would I?”
“Then you wouldn’t know,” he counters, his tone calm but pointed, like he’s presenting a fact rather than an opinion. “You can’t really understand the mindset until you’ve experienced it. It’s not something you can fully grasp from the outside.”
"I don’t think I could ever trust someone enough to do that to me."
“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person to trust.”
You scoff. “What? Are you offering?”
You laugh at your own joke, and you expected him to do the same. Or perhaps a quick “Of course not”, even some rambling about how he didn’t mean it that way. But when all you’re met with is silence, your laughter dies down, and your eyes dart back to him.
Spencer’s not looking at you, his eyes are fixed on the photographs pinned to the board. He’s studying the bruises, the faces, the details like he always does, but there’s a stillness in his expression, a tension in the set of his jaw that makes you think he’s considering something else entirely. And for a moment, you’re not sure if he’s really thinking about the victims or the case at all.
Maybe you shouldn’t joke about things like that. He is your boss, after all, and even though there isn’t exactly a strict superior-subordinate dynamic between the two of you—he’s always been more of a peer than an authority figure—you wonder if maybe this time you crossed a line.
Spencer’s eyes remain on the photos for a long, agonizing second, and you think maybe he’s not going to respond at all. But then, slowly, he turns his head and looks at you, and the room suddenly feels impossibly small.
“If I were to offer,” he says quietly, “Would you take it?”
His words knock the breath from your lungs, and all you can do is stare back at him. You don’t know what to make of the question. Was it a dare? A test? Or perhaps something more?
There’s a part of you that wants to laugh it off. The conversation was absurd to begin with, so brushing it away like it’s nothing would feel like the safest option. The easy way out. But there’s another part—one you don’t want to acknowledge—that can’t help but wonder what it would mean to say yes.
What if you did? you ponder.
What would it feel like to trust someone like that?
What would it feel like to trust him?
But before you can reply, the door to the meeting room creaks open, the noise echoing through the dimly lit space of the police precinct. A uniformed officer pokes his head inside.
“Dr. Reid, we found a new lead on the vehicle.”
Spencer’s eyes stay locked on yours for just a beat longer as your heart hammers in your chest. Then, without a word, he nods to the officer, and any trace of whatever passed between you dissolves like it never happened at all.
The next few days turn into a blur. The lead on the unsub’s vehicle takes you across town, a chase that ends with the suspect cornered in an abandoned old house. It’s almost anticlimactic how quickly it all happens—sirens blaring, doors kicked in, and in less than an hour, the unsub is in handcuffs. The case is finally closed, and it’s the kind of victory that usually brings a sigh of relief.
But today, you can’t find that peace.
Back at the precinct, the rest of the team has already moved on to debriefing. You’re left cleaning up the mess of photographs and notes scattered across the table. But your movements are slow, distracted, your fingers fumbling over the papers. There’s a prickling awareness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you know exactly why.
It’s because Spencer is watching you. You don’t even need to look to feel the weight of his gaze. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked in his pockets, but there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes track your movements.
You pause, photos in hand, and finally address him. “What?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushes off the wall and starts walking toward you. He stops just short of arm’s length.
“Have you thought about what we discussed the other day?”
You feel a rush of embarrassment, and the awkwardness of the moment makes you shift uncomfortably. Clearing your throat, you turn your attention back to the table, hastily grabbing a stack of photographs and shuffling them into a folder.
“We didn’t discuss anything,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “It was just a joke.”
“Was it? You don’t joke about things like that unless you’ve thought about them at least a little.”
You let out a dry laugh, keeping your eyes firmly on the table. “I wasn’t being serious. We were in the middle of a case, and we were all exhausted. I just said whatever came to mind.”
Spencer tilts his head, the way he does when he’s analyzing something, his eyes flickering over your face as though he’s cataloging every twitch of your expression.
“Maybe,” he concedes, and takes another step forward. “But the offer wasn’t a joke, and you didn’t say no.”
Your fingers freeze over the photographs, the papers crinkling under your touch.
“I didn’t say yes either.”
You mentally wince at how weak that sounds, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. You slowly look up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but all you find are those intense brown eyes staring back at you.
It unnerves you how calm he is, how easily he’s holding this conversation when your mind is spinning in a million directions.
“You do realize what you’re offering?” you start to press, feeling the need to put it out in the open. “What this means?”
Spencer doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break eye contact for a second. “I do.”
“Do you? Because it seems to me like you might be taking this too lightly."
“I’m not taking it lightly. I’m acknowledging that there’s more to it than what you’re seeing on the surface.”
“And what makes you think I want to see beyond the surface?”
He leans in closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, but not enough to cross any boundaries. “I’m offering a perspective, not forcing you to accept it. Understanding doesn’t always come from reading about something. It comes from experience.”
You can’t quite decide if his words make sense or if they’re completely absurd. It’s like he’s challenging your logic, your assumptions, but at the same time, there’s a strange clarity to what he’s saying.
“Why does it matter so much to you?”
Because he’s your boss? Because someone in his position always tries to make sense of everything for everyone else?
“Because shaming people for their interests, for something they might find pleasure in… it isn’t fair, and it isn’t right.”
Now that was something you didn’t expect him to say.
“I wasn’t shaming,” you protest quickly, the words coming out defensive even to your own ears. “I was just…”
“Curious,” he finishes for you. “And curiosity isn’t a flaw. Neither is wanting to understand, and if you’re willing to explore that curiosity, then I’d rather you experience it in a way that’s safe. That you know is controlled.”
“So what?” you snap back. “You want to prove me wrong? Show me I’ve been looking at this the wrong way?”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it’s not playful. It’s gentle, almost thoughtful, as if he’s carefully weighing each word. “No,” he says softly. “I don’t want to prove you wrong. I want to teach you.”
You blink at him. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first, the words tangled somewhere between shock and disbelief. It takes a few seconds until you manage to find your voice.
“You… want to teach me?”
“A lesson, if you will,” he explains, and the way he says it—so calm, so certain—makes your heart stutter. “Not to prove you wrong, but to help you understand. You have your perceptions about… control and trust. I think the only way to really understand is to experience it yourself.”
You don’t know what to say, what to do, and all that comes out is a shaky, barely-there laugh.
“A lesson,” you repeat, trying to make sense of the concept.
He nods, and there’s no pressure in his voice, just an offer. Simple and clear. “But only if it’s what you want.”
You aren’t sure what to feel, much less what to say, and the uncertainty must show on your face. Sensing your hesitation, Spencer takes a step back, giving you space.
“It’s a lot to consider, and I’m not expecting an answer now. But the offer still stands… whenever you’re ready.”
And with that, he gives you one last smile and turns away, leaving you alone with your conflicted thoughts.
You’re pacing in your hotel room, your footsteps muffled by the worn carpet as you make the same path back and forth over and over again. Every time you try to sit down, your leg bounces with restless energy, so you’re back up again, moving without purpose but unable to stop.
You tell yourself it’s just stress. The case, the pressure, the weirdness of being in a small-town motel with creaky walls and awful lighting. But you know better. You know exactly what’s got your mind spinning and your stomach doing flips.
Spencer. And his damn offer.
You scoff to yourself, trying to laugh it off like you always do, but the joke doesn’t land when it’s just you, alone with your thoughts. And, really, what’s the harm in admitting the truth—to yourself, at least? That maybe the whole concept doesn’t seem as insane as it did a few days ago. That maybe you’ve found yourself wondering what it would feel like to trust someone that much.
You stop pacing, staring at your reflection in the mirror across the room. There it is, that nagging curiosity, that flicker of intrigue that Spencer saw before you even knew it was there. You let out a sigh, the weight of the realization hitting you.
God help you, but you’re actually curious.
And that might just be the scariest part of all.
You slip into your shoes and take a deep breath before stepping into the hallway. The motel’s quiet, most of the rooms dark as you walk past, and for a moment you hesitate, wondering if this is a mistake. The team’s staying one more night here, the last bit of downtime before flying back tomorrow. A chance to decompress, to shake off the adrenaline of the case. Yet here you are, anything but relaxed, heading out because you can’t stand one more second of pacing back and forth.
Your footsteps come to a stop outside Spencer’s room, and you stare at the numbers on the plaque for a moment. You could turn around right now. You could pretend you didn’t walk all the way down the corridor with his words echoing in your head. But as much as you try to convince yourself that walking away is the logical choice, your hand moves on its own, and you knock.
Spencer doesn’t look surprised when he opens the door. Without waiting for an invitation, you push past him, barging into the room before you change your mind.
“If we’re going to do this, I have some ground rules,” you blurt out, the words rushing out all at once. “I don’t know what you think this is going to be like, but I need control over some things. Non-negotiable.”
He closes the door with a soft click. “Of course,” he responds calmly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“First,” you say, spinning around to face him. “I’m in control of when this starts and when it stops. If I say no, then we stop. Immediately. No questions, no convincing, none of that.”
“Absolutely.”
“Second, I need to know exactly what we’re doing. No surprises. You explain everything to me before we do anything.”
He quickly nods.
“And third… this doesn’t leave this room. We don’t talk about it to anyone else. Not tomorrow, not next week, not ever.”
He takes a step forward towards you. “This stays between us.”
You let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline settling into a nervous, thrumming pulse beneath your skin. “Okay,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, trying to process the reality of what you’ve just laid out. “Those are my rules.”
Spencer takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faintest trace of him. A mix of something clean and warm, like soap and worn cotton, an understated scent that’s distinctly him.
“Then those are the rules we follow,” he reassures you. “Your terms. Your pace.”
“Thank you.”
He nods his head again. “Is there anything else you want to discuss?”
There is, actually. There’s a question that’s been hovering in the back of your mind. It feels awkward to say out loud, but the uncertainty gnaws at you, and finally, you force the words out.
“Are we… are we going to have sex?”
He holds your gaze. “Do you want to have sex?”
You go quiet again, letting the silence settle around you as you think about what you want, what you came here for. You slowly shake your head. “No,” you reply. “No, I don’t.”
“Then we won’t. There’s more to explore in this than just sex.”
“Right, that’s—good.” You clear your throat. “I have… one more question.”
He gestures for you to continue.
“You’re not going to fire me for this, are you?”
His soft chuckle fills your ear, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile tonight. “No,” he confirms, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I’m not going to fire you. Whatever happens between us won’t affect your work, I promise.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling a little of the weight lift off your shoulders.
“Okay, so… now what?”
“Now,” he says gently, “We take it slow.“
He guides you toward the edge of the bed, and you find yourself moving automatically, sitting down on the mattress. The bed creaks slightly as he settles beside you.
“If we’re going to do this,” he starts, turning slightly to face you. “I want you to be comfortable. And that means talking. You can start by telling me what you’re thinking. ”
“That’s… it? We’re just going to talk?”
Spencer’s mouth lifts into a soft smile. “Yes,” he confirms, “If that’s what you want. There’s no pressure to do anything else.”
The idea of just talking feels safe, but there’s also a flicker of curiosity that you can’t quite shake. You shift on the bed.
“What if I want to do something more?”
Spencer’s eyes search yours, and he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t do anything that could make the moment feel rushed. “If you want to, then we can. Something simple to start.”
Your fingers trace the fabric of the bedspread. “Like what?”
“Something small. It could be as simple as letting me guide your breathing. A way to practice trust without anything overwhelming.”
You swallow, the idea feeling both intimidating and oddly… reassuring. There’s comfort in the way he talks about it, the lack of pressure, and the way he makes it feel like there’s nothing to fear.
“Okay,” you agree softly. “Let’s try that.”
He moves a little closer to you. “We’ll take it slow,” he promises. “Try to focus on your breathing and follow my lead.”
You close your eyes, feeling your breath shallow and quick, your heart racing as you try to find a steady rhythm.
“Take a deep breath,” he instructs softly. You inhale deeply, feeling the air fill your lungs, and when you open your eyes for a moment, you find his face inches from yours.
“Good. Now let it out… slowly.”
You follow his lead, exhaling, and you can’t help but notice he’s mirroring your breathing—his chest rising and falling in time with yours. It’s oddly comforting, and a little unnerving, like he's syncing with the rhythm of your pulse.
“Again,” he guides. “Deep breath in… hold for a count of three… then let it go.”
You do as he says, feeling your nerves steady slightly with each breath. In, hold, out.
“You’re doing really well,” he murmurs, leaning just a fraction closer. His lips are so close that you can feel his breath brushing your skin. “I’m going to ask you something, but I need you to know you can say no. At any point.”
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.
“Can I touch you?” he asks gently, his words so soft they almost melt into the air around you. “Just on your shoulder, or your hand. I want to see how you feel about being touched while you focus on your breathing.”
Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, but you manage another nod. His hand moves carefully to rest on your shoulder, but even with the light pressure, you feel your body stiffen. Spencer notices immediately.
“You’re tense,” he observes, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder.
You let out a small laugh, one that comes out more like a nervous exhale than anything close to amusement. “It’s kind of hard not to be,” you admit. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“That’s okay. It’s completely normal to feel nervous.” He pauses for a second before continuing, his tone thoughtful, like he’s considering what might actually help. "There are a few things that can help when you’re feeling this way. One of them is focusing on your breathing, which we’re already doing. But there’s also physical touch."
"Physical touch?”
"Kissing, for example," he explains, “can actually help regulate your nervous system. It releases oxytocin, lowers cortisol levels. Basically, it signals your body to relax."
Your eyes fall on his lips. "Really?"
A flicker of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, but it’s only helpful if it’s something you feel comfortable with.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Would you like to try?”
You meet his gaze again and, before you can overthink it, find yourself nodding, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. “Yeah… okay. We can try.”
Before you even finish the sentence, Spencer leans in, his lips brushing yours with the kind of gentleness that catches you off guard. It's soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, and you can feel the slight hesitation in his movements as if he’s making sure you’re comfortable. It’s sweet, almost too sweet, and for a second, you wonder if this is how he kisses—gentle, thoughtful, deliberate.
But as the kiss deepens, you feel the warmth of him pulling you in. Your heart’s doing this erratic thing where it skips every other beat, and your mind’s racing to catch up with what your body’s already starting to enjoy. And sure, maybe the science behind this kiss makes sense after all, because there’s a part of you that’s actually relaxing, even with the buzz of nerves still humming beneath the surface.
Then he pulls back, just enough for your lips to barely part, his breath warm against your skin. “How are you feeling?”
It takes three heartbeats to find your voice. “Uh... yeah, good,” you manage, a little breathless, a little more flustered than you’d like to admit.
“Do you want to keep going?”
You pause, thinking it over, and despite the swarm of nerves in your chest, curiosity wins out again. You nod, maybe a little too quickly. The moment you do, Spencer leans in again, and this time his kiss is deeper, more intent. The softness is still there, but there’s a quiet intensity in the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand lightly cups the back of your neck.
Then his tongue brushes lightly against your lower lip, and a ripple of goosebumps spreads across your skin. You part your lips for him, and the sensation of his tongue slipping past m has you gripping the fabric of his shirt a little tighter.
Just when you think you’re getting used to it, his hand shifts, sliding up to wrap gently around the front of your neck. Not tight, not restricting—just enough to make you aware of it. The warmth of his palm against your throat sends a jolt of something sharp right through you. He seems to notice instantly, and without pulling his hand away, he breaks the kiss.
“Are you okay?” His thumb gently strokes the side of your neck. “I don’t want to push you, if it’s too much—”
But before he can finish, you shake your head quickly, surprising even yourself with how fast the words leave your mouth. “No, I… trust you.”
His eyes soften at your words, and his grip on your neck stays gentle, almost protective. “Would it be okay if I touched you more?”
Your pulse beats rapidly beneath his fingers, a rhythm you’re sure he can feel, as if your heart is answering for you. “…yes.”
“Do you want to lie down? Would that be more comfortable?”
You feel the heat travel along your veins. “I think… that would be good.”
Spencer nods as he helps you shift back onto the pillow. He stays close but doesn’t crowd you, his hand returning to rest lightly on your neck, that same soft pressure that keeps your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.
“Remember, focus on your breathing,” he reminds you. “The way your body responds is tied to how much you let yourself feel. Trust that.”
His other hand begins to move. His hand trails up toward your shoulder, then lightly brushes over your breast. It’s barely a touch at first, like he’s testing the boundaries, waiting for your body to tell him how far to go. Your breath catches for a second, but when you don’t tense up, he takes that as a sign to continue.
“Is this alright?”
“Yeah,” you manage to whisper, your voice a little breathless than you expected. And, God, you mean it. It’s more than okay—it’s… unexpectedly good in a way that feels almost too intimate to think about.
His hand moves lower now, tracing a path down your side, before sliding gently across your leg. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you feel his fingers brush against the inside of your thigh.
“How about this?”
You nod, biting your lip as you meet his gaze.
Spencer’s lips curls into the faintest smile. His hand inches higher, moving up your thigh with excruciating slowness until his fingers finally reach the heat between your legs.
Oh. Oh.
Your hips instinctively tilt toward him, your body responding before your mind can even catch up. The heat pooling low in your belly intensifies as his fingers press lightly against you.
“Still with me?”
You nod, but internally, your mind is spinning. He begins to move in slow, circular motions, his fingers dragging against the fabric in a way that makes you bite back a moan. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and you can feel your arousal sticking uncomfortably to your panties. It doesn’t shock you—you know understand how being touched like this will make you wet—but what surprises you is how much more intense it feels when his grip around your neck tightens.
Your breath hitches, and before you can stop yourself, a moan escapes your lips.
He pauses for a moment, his grip relaxing just enough for you to catch your breath. “I want you to feel the difference,” he explains. “The pressure changes everything. It makes you more aware of every sensation, more focused on how your body responds. But if it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”
You nod, your breath still coming in uneven gasps. “I’m good.”
His thumb traces the outline of your jaw. “Do you want me to continue?”
“…yeah.”
His hand travels towards your hips, fingers toying with the waistband of your pants. “Should we get rid of these?”
You don’t have to think about it for long. The answer is already there.
“You can take them off.”
Spencer’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants before tugging it down. But as the fabric pools around your ankles, you hesitate for a second before your hand instinctively reaches for your shirt. You fumble with the hem, glancing at him as you pull it halfway up, your breath coming out in a small, awkward laugh.
“I mean, it’d feel weird to be naked from the waist down and still… you know, fully dressed on top.”
His eyes linger on you, and his reaction is subtly amusing. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Without thinking too much about it, you tug the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. Your bra follows, quickly joined by your panties, and before you know it, you’re lying naked on your boss’s bed.
Or, technically, the bed he’s been sleeping on these past couple of days.
Spencer’s eyes move over you slowly, lingering on the curve of your perky breasts, your smooth skin, and the unmistakable wetness between your thighs. His gaze is careful, appreciative but never lingering too long in one place, like he’s taking you in while still giving you space to breathe.
“You’re so pretty.”
Pretty? The word feels almost quaint given the situation, but the way he says it makes it feel like it’s more than that. Like he’s seeing all of you, the parts you don’t often reveal, and he still thinks you’re beautiful.
And somehow, that simple compliment leaves you more exposed than the fact that you’re lying naked in front of him.
“I can’t believe we're doing this,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
His hand brushes along your arm. “You don’t have to overthink it. You’re in control here. We can stop whenever you want.”
“I know.”
He tilts your head with his hand. “Is this okay so far?”
You offer him a smile. “It’s okay.”
His other hand lands on your knee. “Can you spread your legs for me?”
You feel the nerves buzzing beneath your skin, but there’s also a warmth, a curiosity, a pull toward him. You inhale deeply, letting the breath steady your nerves, and then, without letting your mind spiral any further, you slowly part your legs.
His palm glides along your inner thigh, and then he touches you again, only this time, there’s no barrier between you. You can feel the rough pad of his fingertips as they gently caress your folds that it pulls a sharp breath from your lips.
“Does this feel good?”
You nod. It’s more than just good—it’s everything. The way he’s paying attention to every inch of your body is overwhelming in the best way. His fingers trace a slow path along your skin, finally pausing as they brush against you between your folds. Without hesitation, Spencer slides a finger inside you. The sudden stretch pulls a gasp from your lips.
The slick wetness between your thighs coats his fingers almost instantly, and you feel yourself responding to him, opening up in ways you didn’t even know you could. He studies the way his finger moves in and out of your cunt, and the more he touches you, the more your hips begin to move on their own.
He takes your response as a sign to continue.
"I'm going to wrap my hand around your neck again," he tells you, without waiting for more than a slight nod of your head, his fingers curl around your throat.
"The pressure here," he begins, his thumb lightly pressing at the side of your neck. "Isn't just about cutting off your air, it also means restricting blood flow to your brain.”
He pushes another finger inside you, and the increased fullness draws a sharp intake of breath from you.
“By limiting the blood flow like this,” he continues, applying a bit more pressure around your throat. "It triggers your body to release adrenaline and dopamine. That rush you’re feeling? It’s your body chasing euphoria."
Euphoria. You never really thought about it like this before, how something so controlled could unlock a part of your body that felt so overwhelming. The feeling isn’t just pleasure, it’s a raw intensity that borders on something deeper as your cunt clenches around him. Your breath stutters, caught in a sharp contrast between the slow burn in your throat and the urgent heat flaring between your legs.
He’s unraveling you, pulling you apart thread by thread, yet leaving you desperate for the moment he puts you back together again.
You need more.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs soothingly. The words send a new wave of heat rushing through your body. Your hips move restlessly, and you can hear the soft whine escaping your throat, growing louder with each thrust.
Spencer notices immediately, his fingers slowing just for a moment. “Too much?”
You quickly shake your head, almost frantic, the last thing you want is for him to stop. The moment you do, his grip on your throat tightens slightly and your eyes flutter closed as a wave of euphoria washes over you. Head falling back against the pillows, your vision starts to blur. You feel the air restrict in your throat.
“I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart.” His thumb strokes lightly against your neck. “The more you control your breathing, the better it’ll feel.”
That word alone almost undoes you. It rolls off his tongue like it’s meant to be soft and soothing, but instead, it sends a bolt of pleasure straight through you. Your chest rises and falls as you do exactly what he says, because apparently, being called sweetheart with his fingers wrapped around your neck makes you want to obey him, more than you’d care to admit.
"That’s it, keep focusing on your breathing."
You force your eyes open, but everything feels hazy, unfocused. You’re not sure if it's from the lack of air or the way he’s looking at you, but you can feel yourself losing control. Your eyes flutter half-closed again, lips parting in a breathless moan, and before you realize it, your tongue slips out, barely grazing your lower lip.
Spencer knows you’re close. His thumb presses just a little harder against your throat, not enough to stop you from breathing, but enough for your inner walls to grip his fingers tightly.
“I know, I know, I've got you,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just let go whenever you’re ready."
You can’t decide if the sound of his voice is making it easier or harder to hold on. There’s a brief moment where you think you might hold it together, but then your body betrays you. Your muscles tense, your breath catches in your throat, and all the control you had slips away in an instant. It’s as if your brain is giving in to exactly what he said it would—a surge of chemicals that makes your limbs feel heavy and light all at once.
Your orgasm slams right into you, the most intense thing you’ve ever felt. It floods your senses so completely that your lungs struggle to catch up. The tremors rack your body, and it’s only when your legs give a final, uncontrollable shake that he finally releases your neck, allowing the air to rush back into your lungs in a dizzying, breathless moment of relief.
Before you can fully recover, his lips are on yours in an instant. He moves against your neck, kissing the very spot where his hand had held you. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”
When you manage to catch your breath and blink through the lingering haze, he lies down on the bed and pulls you into his arms. It takes a whole minute before your breathing fully steadies, his hand stroking your hair the entire time.
“How are you feeling?”
You don’t know what to make of it all, so you laugh breathlessly instead, the only response you can muster.
“Like I’m about to pass out.”
“What?” He looks at you in alarm. “You are?”
You shake your head quickly, offering him a small smile. “No, no, I’m fine. It’s just… it was really intense.” But the worry doesn’t completely leave his face, so you try again, placing your hand on his chest. “Good intense. I’m okay, I promise.”
He lets out a slow breath and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “So I take it you liked it?”
A flush of embarrassment washes over you, and you can’t quite meet his eyes as you nod. “Yeah… I did,” you admit, your voice soft, almost sheepish. “Go ahead, you can gloat. Tell me I was wrong.”
Instead of taking the bait, he gently traces his fingers along your neck. “It was never about proving you wrong. The judgment you made that day, about not getting why someone would like this… it’s hard to fully grasp until you feel it yourself.”
“I wasn’t judging,” you murmur, feeling a need to defend yourself.
“Maybe not intentionally,” he says thoughtfully. “When it comes to BDSM, there’s a lot of misunderstanding or assumptions people make from the outside, it’s really more than just control or pain. There’s trust, communication, boundaries. And I think, in a way, that’s what happened tonight. You trusted me enough to let go.”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing what he’s saying. “Are you suggesting I could be into all of this?”
“Not necessarily,” he replies carefully. “But I think it’s possible that there’s more to it than you realize. You trusted me tonight, and that’s the most important part. That’s where it all starts.”
You chew on his words for a second. It’s not something you’d ever considered before, but now that he’s brought it up, you can’t deny that the thought has sparked something.
“So you think I might want to explore this further?”
His lips curl into a soft smile. “It’s not about what I think. It’s about what you want. If you’re curious, then we can explore it together.” He leans in slightly. “Is that you want?”
The spark you felt moments ago? It flickers stronger now. The idea is both thrilling and terrifying, but with him, it feels… possible. Safe, even.
You feel a tightness in your chest.
“I think… maybe, yeah.”
His smile deepens just a fraction. “We’ll take our time,” he reassures you, his thumb brushing lightly over your throat. “We can talk about this when we get back. You need to rest for now.”
You shift closer to him, feeling the rustle of his clothes against your bare skin. “Can I stay here tonight?”
His chin lands on top of your head. “You can stay with me as long as you want.”
What a dangerous offer, you think as you sink further into his arms. But not as dangerous as the way your heart flutters at the thought.
#kinktober 2024#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid fic#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x female reader#spencer reid x fem!reader smut#spencer reid fanfiction
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pairing: alpha!soulmate!jeno x afab!omega!reader
words: 2.9k+
summary: your first meeting with the notorious lee jeno sends you spiraling into heat.
genre: smut
warnings: a/b/o dynamics, knotting, breeding kink, cunnilingus, degradation, mating, some public sex
“You’re coming with me to the Governor’s Ball tonight.”
Your eyebrow raises at Hyewon, who is eagerly sitting across from you, practically jumping out of her seat. The Beta in her is naturally timid, so she must be extremely excited to be acting this way.
“And why would I do that?” You ask, displaying no interest in the event. “It’s just going to be a room filled with rowdy Alphas.”
“That’s why we’re going, duh,” Hyewon says as if you’ve lost a few brain cells. “It won’t just be an event with any regular Alpha — these Alphas will be the most handsome and richest of all!”
Hyewon comes from an affluent family that has an expectation of her to marry wealthy. You know she has been trying for years to pair with any man who has millions in his bank account, yet none of them can match her standards.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about finding an Alpha to mate with. You’ve always envisioned yourself with a calmer Beta, someone who had realistic goals and expectations and wasn’t driven by the feral nature of their genetics. Alphas are known for being possessive and dominant, and it just doesn’t seem like an ideal relationship for you.
“Hyewon, I really don’t think that’s my scene.”
“Come on,” she pouts at you. “Do you know how lucky you are to be an Omega? I would kill to present like you and have every Alpha bend to my whim.”
The statement is slightly exaggerated but not entirely untrue. As an Omega, you do recognize that you have more of a leverage with Alphas as your scent is naturally more alluring to them than a Beta’s. However, you have always opposed the idea that Omegas are solely born to satisfy Alphas. They see you as nothing but a hole to fill and a neck to be marked.
Hyewon clutches to your wrist and pleads loudly, drawing looks from other students lingering in the cafe.
“Please, please, please-“
“Okay!” You huff, withdrawing your hand and looking down bashfully. “Fine, I’ll go with you.”
She throws her arms up and cheers happily.
—
Hyewon wraps you in a stuffy, form fitting dress which is covered head to toe in expensive crystals. She insists you have to shine at the event in order to stand out from all the other Omegas in attendance tonight. Despite your indifference, you let her play dress up as she wants.
She tugs you into the lavish Governor’s Ball, where most of the political leaders of your town are gathered. Hyewon’s eyes lock into the Lee family, the most influential household in werewolf existence.
You don’t know much about the Lee family despite their powerful presence, but Hyewon is quick to fill in the gaps. “That’s Lee Taeyong,” she whispers to you as she points to the stoic man standing across the room. “He’s the oldest, and he’s actually nicer than he looks. The one next to him is the middle child, Lee Mark.” The man she points to has a similar bored expression painting his face, slowly swirling his champagne glass to find a source of amusement. You can tell from the lilt in Hyewon’s voice that he is the Alpha she has her sights set on for the night. “And that guy is the youngest, Lee Jeno. Don’t even try with him, he’s a waste of time.”
Your eyebrows furrow at the Alpha, who appears angrier than any other male in this ballroom. You can practically feel his disdain coursing through your veins.
“Why is he so… grumpy?”
She laughs at your question. “I told you, he’s a waste of time. He’s always pissed off at these events for no reason and hates it when any Beta or Omega tries to make conversation with him. He’s the worst Lee brother to mate with.”
Hyewon soon leaves you to your own devices, heading off to try and win Mark over. You awkwardly make conversation with a few other Omegas around you, but they seem more interested in gathering the attention of the Lee brothers than actually engaging with you.
Midway through the event, you head to the bathroom down the corridor to freshen up. You gasp when you turn the corner and suddenly ram straight into someone’s chest. Your champagne glass falls to the floor and shatters across the marble, but that is the last thing you’re concerned about.
Your body suddenly starts to feel like it’s on fire, heat spreading through your core rapidly. You choke and clutch your stomach, glancing up to see the reason behind your misery.
Jeno stands in front of you, eyes blooming red as he drinks you in. You pant and take a step back from him, recognizing the signs of your approaching heat.
But that can’t be possible — your heat isn’t due to come for another few weeks.
“W-What did y-you do-“ You wheeze, embarrassed by the slick dampening your panties.
“Omega,” Jeno says, stern glare painting his face as he reaches for you. “Calm down.”
His fingers brush by your mating gland and you gasp. His touch feels like someone rubbed a match and lit a fire against your skin. You turn and run as fast as you can, reentering the ballroom and darting straight for Hyewon’s figure. Every Alpha’s head turns at the scent of your growing heat, baring their teeth at your lewd display.
“Hyewon,” you beg, clutching her arm. “You need to take me home.”
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
As a Beta, Hyewon can’t smell your growing arousal or detect the signs of you going into your heat. All she sees is her friend with a desperate look on her face. Mark, who is standing across from her, shifts his predatory gaze to you. Hyewon notices the change in him and she quickly pulls you behind her.
“A-Are you going into heat?” She asks quietly.
You nod and whimper. She asks no further questions, wrenching your figure close to hers and locating the nearest exit. She shoves you into the first limousine in the parking lot and shuts the door behind her, shouting your address at the driver.
You grasp her elbow and cry. “Hyewon, this is a strong one-“
A wave of arousal shoots down your spine, causing you to fall deeper and deeper into your subspace. If Hyewon doesn’t lock you in your bedroom soon, you’re afraid you might offer yourself to the first Alpha you see.
“Why didn’t you say you were about to go into heat?” She chastises, grabbing a tissue to dab at your sweltering forehead. “Let me call Jaemin.”
You stop her from taking her phone out of her purse. “N-No, don’t call him. I don’t want him.”
“What? You always use Jaemin for your heats.”
“No,” you shake your head, still unsure of why you’re denying her. She’s right — since your first heat, you have always asked Na Jaemin to come over and take care of you. He was a family friend and never took advantage of you at your worst. However, there’s a sinking feeling in your gut that’s telling you Jaemin is the last Alpha you want to see right now. “Just get me home.”
You barely register Hyewon helping you into your apartment, faintly remembering her guiding you to your bed.
“W-What should I-“
“Please leave,” you say, writhing and desperately pulling at the zipper of your dress to get it off you. “Trust me, you don’t want to see me like this.”
She frowns, her voice filled with concern. “But-“
“Please, Hyewon,” you plead. “Thank you for getting me here but you need to leave.”
You hear the front door close just as you fling your dress to the floor, quickly locating your vibrator in your nightstand. You pull your panties to the side and sigh in relief when you sink the toy into your heat. It only quenches your pain slightly, but it’s enough to simmer down the fire in your belly.
You’re unaware of how much time has passed when there’s another knock at your door. You’re writhing on the bed sheets, begging for another orgasm as your hand has grown tired of lazily pushing your vibrator in and out of your dripping pussy. Your fingers circle your clit slowly as you plead for the moon to end your misery.
You miss the sound of your door rattling off its hinges, mind overtaken by a cloud of fuzziness. Loud stomping echoes throughout your apartment and a large figure invades your room, growling when he sees the sight of you hopelessly twisting your hips to gain any sort of comfort.
A hand wraps around your throat and squeezes, forcing another gush of arousal to leak down your thighs.
“What do you think you’re doing, Omega?” His voice scarily questions, nearly spitting in your face. “How dare you touch what’s mine?”
They used to spread stories of true mates when you were in high school — stories of how when an Alpha meets the destined Omega they were born to be mated with, it would immediately send the Alpha and Omega into their corresponding ruts and heats. You always thought it was some odd wolf propaganda created centuries ago to carry on the belief that true mates still existed. However, as you look at Jeno hovering above you, there is no doubt in your mind that he is your true mate.
The fuzzy parts of your brain start to clear. “J-Jeno?”
He grins, leaning down to lick at the shell of your ear. “That’s Alpha to you. Present yourself.”
You scramble to follow his order, shoving your head into the pillow and arching your ass up in the air. He clicks his tongue mockingly.
“A pretty, submissive Omega. You know, I always wondered what cute little thing I was destined to end up with. I never thought the moon would grant me a beautiful mate like you,” he hums, digits collecting the remnants of your orgasm across your thighs. He groans as he licks the taste of you off his fingers. “You want your Alpha’s knot, baby?”
You nearly unravel at the thought of him filling you deep with his cum, giving you so much of it that it spills out of your tiny pussy.
“A-Alpha,” you whine. “Please Alpha, please knot me.”
You hear the clink of his belt buckle and your body thrums in excitement. He plants his knees down on the mattress, shrugging off his slacks and throwing his stuffy blazer to the side. He ducks his head to lick a stripe up your folds.
You shudder, bunching the sheets in your fists and practically sobbing at the need to have his cock inside of you. You’ve never felt this hopeless during your heat before, never craved another Alpha’s cock like this.
Jeno’s hands tighten around your hips as he laps at your cunt, groaning at the sweetness of your taste. It only takes a few seconds for you to gush into his waiting mouth, the sounds of him eagerly swallowing your release filling the room.
Your body slumps on the mattress at the weight of your orgasm. You barely have time to recover when you feel his tip prodding your entrance.
He growls. “Beg for my cock, Omega whore.”
“Please, Alpha, please fuck me. I want your knot to fill my pretty pussy, want you to mark me and make me yours-“
The thought of you being mated to him is what sends Jeno feral. He pushes his cock inside your waiting hole, slick dripping down your thighs and giving him easy access to slide in. You sigh in relief when he’s finally deep inside you, quelling the fire in your stomach that was pleading for him.
He doesn’t waste time — ramming into you at an inhuman speed, hands angrily digging into your sides and slapping your ass until his palm is imprinted on your backside. Your head lolls to the side, officially giving Jeno complete control to use you as you wish.
Just like with your other heats, your body throws you into climax after climax until the pleasure molds itself into your skin. Jeno is still spitting the most filthy, degrading words at you as his knot slowly approaches.
“Look at you, silly Omega. Offering yourself up to the first Alpha you see. Would you have given this cunt to someone else, hm? Let them take what’s rightfully mine?” At the shake of your head, he smirks. “That’s right. Pretty Omega’s pussy is made only for me. Designed for my knot, designed to breed for my future pups.”
The thought of him impregnating you with the future of the respected Lee line prompts you over the edge again. Jeno hisses and grabs the back of your neck, hoisting you up easily to his chest as you hear the sound of his balls slapping against your cunt forcefully.
“Gonna keep cumming around your Alpha’s cock? Never had a heat like this one before, have you, baby? That’s because the moon has finally brought you to your true mate, and you never have to spend another heat without me again.”
You cry in pleasure at the thought of being able to spend every heat with Jeno. You never minded Jaemin being your heat partner, but this satisfaction and connection is something you’ve never felt with anyone else. You genuinely think you’ll die if you go through another heat without Jeno beside you.
“A-Alpha,” you whimper, steadily holding onto his arm that’s securely wrapped around your middle. “Please knot me, Alpha. You’re the only one who can.”
“Yeah?” He groans at how desperate you sound for him. “Want your Alpha’s big knot? Want to be bred like a good little Omega?”
You nearly sob. “Y-Yes! Yes, please!”
He tilts your head and exposes your neck. His fingers carefully run over your mating gland, causing a shiver to run down your spine.
“And this? Is this for me to mark, Omega?”
You frantically nod. “Yes, Alpha. Only for you.”
You know it’s a big step, a permanent marking that would tie Jeno’s Alpha to your Omega forever. Your mind screams at you to reconsider this decision when you have a clearer head, but your heart tells you that there’s nothing to mull over — Jeno is your Alpha and you need the whole world to know.
As his knot begins to swell inside you, his teeth sink into your mating gland, uniting your souls into one. Every feeling Jeno’s ever had courses through your veins, multiplying your pleasure tenfold. Your thighs begin to shake at the amount of gratification flowing through your body.
You almost pass out from the overwhelming sensation, and your body goes slack in Jeno’s hold. His cum shoots deep into your womb, filling you and marking you as his until his release is leaking down your thighs.
You both collapse on the mattress, with Jeno pulling you close to ensure his knot stays rooted deep inside you.
Your head starts to free from your subspace temporarily, and you carefully scan your room as he licks at the wound on your neck to clean you up.
“Did you- Did you break my door?”
Indeed, you can see your front door laying flat in the hallway, nearly shattered. Jeno hums softly.
“It was in my way.”
You think about how your apartment floor must’ve had to evacuate from the profound smell of your scent mixed with Jeno’s. You would feel guilty about it but considering Jeno has no shame over it, his emotions overpower yours.
“Want to fuck you again, Omega,” he hisses against your skin. “Love being mated to you.”
His honest confession forces another wave of arousal to spill from your pussy, leaking around his knot.
“Yeah, Alpha?”
He grunts and starts thrusting into you again, only being able to move a few inches as his knot is still plugging his cum into you. You gasp and pull him down to kiss you.
“My friend-“ you murmur in between moans. “My friend told me you hate Betas and Omegas.”
“Of course I do,” he hisses, propping your leg over his hip so he can push in deeper. “I hate every Beta and Omega who thinks they have a shot at being my mate.”
“You looked so grumpy when I first saw you.”
“I am grumpy,” he mumbles, hands darting to knead your breasts. “Grumpy for everyone except you.”
He grins when you squirt around his knot, your cunt sensitive from the constant rounds of fucking. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at your unexpected orgasm, body twitching in your Alpha’s hold.
Jeno fucks you until the sun rises to indicate the start of a new day. You two barely sleep, exploring various positions throughout your apartment and even the hallway of your complex, ushering more and more residents on the lower floors to evacuate from your scents. Their dirty looks are quickly changed when they see the notorious Lee brother claiming his new mate for all to see.
His cock doesn’t allow your pussy to rest until he’s sure you’ve been impregnated.
When you finally come to, you’re sprawled on your living room floor with a mix of your slick and Jeno’s cum surrounding you. He continues to lick at your skin as if he’ll die without fully receiving his taste of you.
It’s odd since despite only knowing him for less than a day, you feel like you’ve known him your whole life.
“I want-“ you pant, trying to regain your breath. “I want to fuck you forever.”
He chuckles. “Is that so, Omega?” He raises his head to see you, a predatory gaze lingering in his eyes. You wonder if you have it in you to go another few rounds.
“Lucky for you, we’re mated for life. I’m not going anywhere.”
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ACOTAR MEN X READER, SITTING ON THEIR LAP
✩ summary: different scenarios where you find yourself sitting on them
✩ warnings: nsfw, 18+, mentions of sex, mentions of self-doubt, kissing, begging, gossiping, fluff, smut, crack, fun times and soft Eris😭💗
✩ amara’s note: the original cassian hc was so long that i had to stop myself bc i was thirsting and it turned into a regular oneshot lmaooo😭 anyways enjoy babes!!!!💗💗💗
reblogs are really appreciated! :D
RHYSAND
No matter how angry you and Rhys get or how petty the fight is, you two always end up holding hands, even while yelling at each other.
Sitting in his lap while you two argue about random, non important stuff is a standard
You guys just don’t do the whole “no touching” thing
Today, the argument was over who cooks better, both of you bickering pettily.
“Listen, I love you a lot, but the kitchen isn’t your best friend. It's crazy how you can burn an empty pot.”
“Maybe you’re crazy,” you retort, arms crossed over your chest as you step closer to him, leaning against his desk in his office.
He keeps arguing with you, going back and forth, while pushing his chair back from the desk to make room for you.
“Whatever, Rhys. I don’t even need to cook when I can summon anything. It’s stupid, and you’re being unfair,” you mutter as you put your hands on his shoulders and plop down in his lap, subconsciously warming at the way he holds your waist and places one hand on your back to keep you steady.
He suppresses a smile, scratching the back of his head as he looks up at your pouting self. “You’re absolutely right, sweetheart. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course, you’re an amazing chef,” he concedes, his tone laced with affection.
“Awww, come with me while I make you something,” you say, flashing him an oblivious smile.
“Oh! Um, you sure we shouldn't order something or..?” he asks nervously, his voice getting higher as he kisses you.
You slip out of his lap and hurry downstairs to plan his meal, assuring him not to worry about ordering anything and to just come down for his favorite meal.
“Dear Gods,” he whispers as he gets up, a mix of worry and fear in his voice.
ERIS
Eris had been stressed out for a few weeks now. Nothing you said seemed to make a difference.
He was dealing with his father’s death, ruling a new court as the heir, and inheriting the High Lord powers. Your heart ached for him. You wanted to be there for him, giving him hugs and words of encouragement, but you were not on that level yet
Today had been the most stressful day yet, resulting in him shutting down and locking himself up in his bedroom.
“Eris, are you okay? Can I please come in?” you knock gently on the wooden door, voice hushed and gentle.
After a few moments of silence, you hear him shuffling behind the door until he opens it very slightly.
He is shirtless, only in a pair of pants. You manage to catch a glimpse of his tired, amber eyes before he turns around to lie in his bed.
The room looks clinically clean, the only disturbance being Eris’s rugged appearance.
Without saying a word, you walk over to him and give him a hug. It’s a long, warm hug that tells him everything he doesn’t allow himself to hear: you’re there for him.
It takes a few moments for him to hug you back, but when he does, he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, bringing you into his lap.
Only after an hour of silence does he speak
“I feel like i’m stuck. These powers are killing me, the board is fucking annoying, the folk believe i’m wicked and cruel and i have no idea what to do about anything.”
He looks up at you with desperate eyes, “Do you believe I’m truly wicked?”
You shake your head in honesty. “No, honey. I have not met anyone as smart, kindhearted and brave as you. Others do not know you like I do but they should,” you whisper, hands going through his tussled hair. “You’ve been hiding behind your mask for too long, Eris. Let people see the real you.”
The room goes quiet, the only sound being the beating of your hearts.
Slowly his lips meet yours in a new and experimental kiss. He stares up at you with his pupils blown but before you can apologize and get off his lap, he kisses you again and locks his arm around you
“Thank you,” he whispers between heating kisses, “Thank you, beautiful.”
CASSIAN
“Hi there sugar, what can I do for you?” Cassian asks sweetly as he flicks your nose with his finger, happy that you ran into his office and immediately plopped down on his lap
“Can you fuck me?” you ask, frustrated with the lack of dick lately.
His eyes widen slightly at your words, then he slowly cracks a handsome smile. “Gods. How inappropriate of you,” he teases, the amusement clear in his voice.
His teasing almost makes you sob. This was totally NOT the time. You almost roll your eyes before realizing he will so not give in if you give him that
“Cassian, i’m begging you. I want, no- need to be fucked. Please, i’m losing hearing in my left ear,” you beg as you get closer and sit in his lap, rubbing your hands all over his chest
He looked incredibly good, almost unfairly so. Cassian’s jaw and chin had grown scruffy in a ruggedly masculine way that made him look older and even more attractive.
A week without seeing him had only heightened your weakness for his body, making you throb.
“Losing hearing? You must be really dying for me, huh? Alright then. I’ll let you ride,” he smirks at you while unbuckling his belt.
He finally fucking let’s you fuck, hitting spots that makes you go fuzzy brained.
You make him promise to never be gone again before going for another ride, satisfied when he breathlessly promises.
LUCIEN
There is not a bigger shit-talking couple in Prythian than you two
One look between you two is enough.
Someone��s being annoying? You share an annoyed glance. Someone’s being rude? You share a baffled glance. Something’s juicy’s happening? You share a glance that says you will so talk about it when you get home.
“— and he has the audacity to two-time her? He’s lucky to find even one person willing to date him,” you gossip, lounging in Lucien’s lap, your voice dripping with disbelief.
“You’re not going to believe this, but this isn’t his first time. He did that to Tamlin’s cousin too,” Lucien adds, his tone filled with incredulity.
“No way,” you gasp in disbelief, shaking your head as the gossip sinks in.
“Yeah, apparently this guy fucks around in all courts and cheats on anyone willing to stomach. What a fucking loser, honestly,” Lucien nods in agreement, disdain evident in his voice. “The sick bastard gets off on it.”
“That reminds me, guess what I heard about Rhys in Rita’s yeaterday,” Lucien prompts, leaning in with a sly grin, clearly ready to share some gossip.
“Some males and females were talking about Rhys, saying he's replaced Feyre with a clone,” Lucien whispers, his tone laced with disdain. “And get this— they think her transformation from human to fae is fake and that there is no way she could possibly be the mother of Nyx.”
“A clone? They’ll say anything these days,” you exclaim, raising an eyebrow incredulously.
“That's exactly what I'm saying! They're probably just making shit up out of thin air,” Lucien replies, nodding in agreement.
“I wouldn't put it past them,” you say, shaking your head as you reach for a biscuit, happy to be sitting and gossiping with your love.
AZRIEL
Azriel loves when you sit on his lap.
It makes him feel safe and relaxed knowing you're close to him.
It's something he does every day when he comes home - having you in his lap. Sometimes you both sit quietly, other times you talk or fuck or cuddle, depending on how you’re feeling.
Azriel especially likes the fuck part.
He loves the part where you sit on his lap while he works. If you’re good, he’ll bend you over his desk and fuck you. If not, he still fucks you but he does it with no mercy
He makes you sit on his dick and tells you not to move and inch or you will be edged for hours, not being allowed to cum once
Fucking torture is what it is honestly
“Stop moving around so much, i can’t focus.”
“Do you blame me? You’ve buried your dick in me, of course i’m moving. Maybe do something about that.”
He raises his eyebrows at your snarky comment. If it’s something he didn’t need today it was sass.
His day was quite shitty and all he needed was his sweet mate who would kiss away his problems and take his dick perfectly
Azriel smiled slightly as he put his pen down. He would take out his frustrations on you today.
“You want to be fucked? Let’s fuck,” he says in a low tone
In the end, all his papers are scattered, all pens on the floor.
He is relaxed and all smiley while you’re on death’s door💗
#talkswithamara#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#acotar x reader#acotar imagine#azriel#rhysand#eris vanserra#azriel fluff#azriel fic#azriel imagine#azriel fanfic#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#high lord rhysand#rhysand acotar#rhysand a court of thorns and roses#rhys x reader#rhysand x reader#cassian#cassian x reader#cassian acotar#lucien vanserra x reader#lucien vanserra#lucien x reader#lucien acotar#eris vanserra acotar#eris vanserra fic#eris vanserra x reader#eris acotar
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morality: a character creation guide
creating and understanding your oc’s personal moral code! no, i cannot tell you whether they’re gonna come out good or bad or grey; that part is up to you.
anyway, let’s rock.
i. politics
politics are a good way to indicate things your character values, especially when it comes to large-scale concepts such as government, community, and humanity as a whole.
say what you will about either image; i’d argue for the unintiated, the right image is a good introduction to some lesser discussed ideologies… some of which your oc may or may not fall under.
either way, taking a good look at your character’s values on the economic + social side of things is a good place to start, as politics are something that, well… we all have ‘em, you can’t avoid ‘em.
clearly, this will have to be adjusted for settings that utilize other schools of thought (such as fantasy + historical fiction and the divine right of kings), but again, economic/social scale plotting will be a good start for most.
ii. religion + philosophy
is your oc religious? do they believe in a form of higher power? do they follow some sort of philosophy?
are they devout? yes, this applies to non-religious theist and atheist characters as well; in the former’s case… is their belief in a higher power something that guides many of their actions or is their belief in a higher power something that only informs a few of their actions? for the atheists; do they militant anti-theists who believe atheism is the only way and that religion is harmful? or do they not care about religion, so long as it’s thrust upon them?
for the religious: what is your oc’s relationship with the higher power in question? are they very progressive by their religion’s standards or more orthodox? how well informed of their own religion are they?
does your oc follow a particular school of philosophical thought? how does that interact with their religious identification?
iii. values
by taking their political stance and their religious + philosophical stance, you have a fairly good grasp on the things your character values.
is there anything they value - due to backstory, or what they do, or what they love - that isn’t explained by political stance and religious and/or philosophical identification? some big players here will likely be your oc’s culture and past.
of everything you’ve determined they value, what do they value the most?
iv. “the line”
everyone draws it somewhere. we all have a line we won’t cross, no matter the lengths we go for what we believe is a noble cause. where does your character draw it? how far will they go for something they truly believe is a noble cause? as discussed in part iii of my tips for morally grey characters,
would they lie? cheat? steal? manipulate? maim? what about commit acts of vandalism? arson? would they kill?
but even when we have a line, sometimes we make exceptions for a variety of reasons. additionally, there are limits to some of the lengths we’d go to.
find your character’s line, their limits and their exceptions.
v. objectivism/relativism
objectivism, as defined by the merriam-webster dictionary, is “an ethical theory that moral good is objectively real or that moral precepts are objectively valid.”
relativism, as defined by the merriam-webster dictionary, is “a view that ethical truths depend on the individuals and groups holding them.”
what take on morality, as a concept, does your character have? is morality objective? is morality subjective?
we could really delve deep into this one, but this post is long enough that i don’t think we need to get into philosophical rambling… so this is a good starting point.
either way, exploring morality as a concept and how your character views it will allow for better application of their personal moral code.
vi. application
so, now you know what they believe and have a deep understanding of your character’s moral code, all that’s left is to apply it and understand how it informs their actions while taking their personality into account.
and interesting thing to note is that we are all hypocrites; you don’t have to do this, but it might be fun to play around with the concept of their moral code and add a little bit of hypocrisy to their actions as a treat.
either way, how do your character’s various beliefs interact? how does it make them interact with the world? with others? with their friends, family, and community? with their government? with their employment? with their studies? with the earth and environment itself?
in conclusion:
there’s a lot of things that inform one’s moral compass and i will never be able to touch on them all; however, this should hopefully serve as at least a basic guide.
#ldknightshade.txt#writing#writing tips#creative writing#writing ideas#writing inspiration#writing advice#writing help#how to write#writing tumblr#writeblr
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on second thought | jww
(where your roommate, wonwoo, has an interesting solution to all your bad dates. nothing can go wrong with two friends crossing a line, can it?)
pairing: wonwoo x f.reader genre: roommates/friends to fwb to?? | smut, tiny bit of angst if you squint rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni word count: 6.5k warnings: there's some plot here but it's mostly smut, multiple sex scenes (some quickly referenced), roommates who enter a fwb agreement, kissing, fingering, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, use of actual lube, some scratching, after care, mentions: masturbation, kitchen sex, teasing, overstimulation, edging, i think that's it.
authors note: happy birthday to my bby @wongyuseokie! i'm thankful to have met you through nets. i hope you like some wonwoo to celebrate. thank you to @wonwussy for helping me with a title, you're a savior. this is unedited because i only started it yesterday so sorry in advance. also tagging: @aaniag @gyuminusone
Another disappointing date. Another man who couldn’t even seem to let you finish a sentence. Was so intent on proving how well he could provide for you that he forgot to treat you like a person. So intent on establishing his dominance that he tried to order for you at the overpriced restaurant with too-small portions. So irritated that he paid for your dinner and drinks only for you to leave separately from him and refuse his offer to drive you home. There was no way you were letting that man know where you lived. Is it really asking too much just to have a decent date? You aren’t going to let anyone try to tell you that your standards are too high. You’re really just asking for the bare minimum.
That’s why you’re sitting on the counter in the kitchen of your shared apartment, spilling your guts to your sympathetic roommate. His hair is messy, sticking up at odd angles in some places because he’s been playing video games for hours. Probably streaming at some point. You admire that he’s able to do something he loves to fill up most of his days. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and you try not to find it so endearing. But, you fail at that. He really is impossibly cute sometimes.
“Do you want a bite of this?” you ask instead, holding out the instant ramen you made as soon as you got home.
“No, I ate earlier,” he answers.
“An actual meal or a Wonwoo meal?” you challenge and he rolls his eyes.
“I ate real food. Go back to bitching about your date,” Wonwoo says.
“I don’t know, maybe I was being too harsh,” you say.
“He sounds like a fucking nightmare,” he disagrees.
“Ugh, maybe I just need to redownload one of those apps,” you whine. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t look at me like that. I hate fucking on the first date, but I’m so pent up that I need to release it somehow. I’m going insane.”
This makes him laugh, at least. It releases a little bit of the tension, too. You’ve lived with Wonwoo nearly three years and were friends for years before that. Nothing is secret between the two of you. Not anymore. The first time you realized he caught you getting off in your room because you didn’t think he was home was mortifying. Even if he didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. After you got over it, things settled. And in the time since, you’ve both heard the other doing a lot of things. Some of your friends think it’s weird, but you just chalk it up to the comfort of living with someone. After all, you would tell your female friends all about your sex life. Why was that weird to share with Wonwoo?
“Toys not doing it for you?” he throws out. You only fix him with a glare. It’s more proof that you’re entirely too comfortable.
“Our walls are thin, what do you think?” you answer.
Wonwoo snorts a little before seeming to consider something. “Why don’t we just fuck? Get it out of your system.”
The sip of water you’re taking when he suggests that comes bursting out of your mouth. A real life spit take. Thankfully, he’s out of the blast zone. He looks unamused at water coming out of your mouth, but he doesn’t look like he was kidding. It can be so hard to tell with him. You think that you know his face well after all these years. But, you never thought you’d hear that coming out of his mouth, so you’re not sure.
“Please give me some indication if that was a joke or not,” you say.
“It wasn’t a joke,” he says.
“Pretty clear indicator,” you mumble.
“Is it that crazy? You think I’m hot…” Wonwoo starts. If you were still drinking, you’d spit out your water again.
“Uh, what?” you ask.
“You think I’m hot. Hao told me,” he says as if it’s no big deal. You’re mentally running through what the appropriate payback is for this breach of trust. “It’s fine. He told me because I was saying I also think you’re hot.”
“I mean, thanks,” you laugh, still considering how you’re going to torture Minghao. “But, we can’t have sex.”
“Why not?” Wonwoo presses.
“Because we’re roommates?” you ask like it’s obvious.
“So I can hear you fuck yourself with a toy or hear you fake an orgasm with another bad date, but us fucking each other is the line?” Wonwoo asks.
“I don’t fake that many orgasms,” you scoff to buy time.
“Yes, you do,” he argues. “I can hear the difference. And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be faking it with me.”
There’s a little bit of cockiness in the statement that shouldn’t be doing anything for you. But, it is. There’s also the very real possibility that Wonwoo does know the difference in the sounds you make. It’s not like you’ve bothered being that quiet since the first conversation where he heard you. What’s the point? The walls are pretty thin and you’re both adults. It’s not like you’re going to kick him out every time you bring a date home. And you’re definitely not going to only get off in the shower because it drives up the water bill.
Beyond any of it, there’s also a little curiosity. Wonwoo is insanely attractive. Someone would have to be blind to miss that. He’s got that whole nerdy thing going on for him on initial inspection with the glasses and gaming. Or there’s the fact that he’s content to just hang out around the house, even with company over, wearing his pimple patches. But then, there’s this whole other side to him. It comes out when you’re both out with friends and he leaves the glasses behind. Swapping out graphic tees or hoodies for form fitting clothing and leather jackets. Casually leaning against a bar and whispering honey into some nameless, faceless stranger’s ear.
And that leads you to the reason you’re actually curious. Sure, he’s heard you having sex with people you’ve been dating or just someone you brought home for the night. But, you’ve heard him too. If any of your orgasms sound faked, the ones he coaxes from the pretty girls in his bed sound anything but. There’s nearly always an incoherent string of praises. That thought alone has you considering his proposition. It has you shifting a little on the counter.
“Let’s pretend for a second that I’m considering this,” you start and he smiles.
“Pretend, sure,” he echoes.
“We’d need ground rules, right? Like we don’t want this to get awkward,” you say.
“It’s not gonna be awkward. But, we can set whatever makes you feel comfortable,” he says nonchalantly.
A very strong, very hard to ignore voice in the back of your head argues against setting rules at all. Actually urges you to just drag him into your bedroom. Or his bedroom? Maybe you do need some ground rules.
So, you talk. You don’t say that it’s only going to happen once because you never know what needs might pop up. The most important thing that you agree to is that nothing can change between the two of you. If either of you feels like it’s going to, then you have to talk about it because preserving the friendship is most important. It doesn’t matter what bed you have sex in as long as the other helps clean anything up. You’re not planning on this being a regular thing, so you don’t need to negotiate any kinks or anything like that. If it does become more of a thing, then you can revisit the kinks. There won’t be any weirdness about dating or talking to other people. This is just a solution between two friends that are both going through dating dry spells.
Once the rules are set out, Wonwoo brings you into his room. Even though you’ve been in here more times than you could ever count, it feels different now. He tells you to make yourself comfortable on his bed. When he turns around to take his shirt off and toss it aside, your eyes map out his back. And, yeah, you’ve seen Wonwoo shirtless before, but never given yourself permission to so openly appreciate his body. His shoulders are impossibly wide and he’s in deceptively good shape for someone that hides under baggier clothes.
“Should I take a picture for you?” he asks. It’s only then that you realize that he’s facing you.
“Funny,” you say with an eye roll.
Wonwoo crosses the space to his bed and settles next to you. The way he reaches out to pull your face into his own is so smooth. His lips are on yours before your brain has a chance to catch up. You gasp a little and pull back.
“What are you doing?” you ask.
“Uh, didn’t we just go over this?” he asks.
“No, I mean, we’re kissing?” you ask.
“What am I supposed to do, sweetheart, just get right down to fucking you without foreplay?” he asks.
You feel a little stupid for asking that because of course you don’t want to skip the foreplay. It’s just that you don’t want to force it, either.
“Just let me take care of you,” Wonwoo says to keep you from overthinking anything.
It’s not something that you expected to be doing. Giving up control to Wonwoo. But, it’s surprisingly easy when he starts kissing you again. Any thoughts that this might be weird fly right out of your head as soon as he deepens the kiss. Instead, your focus is on what a good kisser he is. The way his lips mold effortlessly to yours. The way his tongue licks into your mouth. The way his hands roam your body as if they’re trying to memorize every curve.
You’re breathless by the time Wonwoo pulls back from you to pull your shirt over your head. When you changed after the date from hell, you hadn’t considered putting anything nice on. Hadn’t bothered to keep your bra on. What was the point when you were just going to be going to bed after having something to eat? Now, you’re wondering about that decision. Because your very hot roommate is drinking in the sight of you. It’s making you a little self-conscious, the way his eyes move over your body.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he utters.
It’s a little too intimate for you to respond to. It doesn’t seem to matter, anyway. Wonwoo starts kissing down your neck and working his way to your breasts. He spreads his kisses between them, rolling your nipple between his fingers when his mouth is on your other breast. There’s something so consuming about the way he kisses your body, like he’s worshiping you. Like this is a lot more than roommates helping each other out.
He works his way further down your body, kissing along your stomach, stopping at the waist band to your shorts. Thankfully, he doesn’t give you the chance to overthink here either before he pulls the shorts and underwear down your legs. Tosses them off to the side for good measure. You’re totally naked in front of someone you find you do actually trust. And someone that, yeah, maybe you’ve thought about fucking before. There was no reality where you thought it would happen, though. Even if it does make a lot of sense. Every part of you truly does feel safe with him. He knows you better than most people in your life. Which clearly translates to this part of you.
Since you’re so comfortable, you’re finding it easier to not be embarrassed at the way he’s got you squirming under the barest touch. The way he ghosts his breath across your center makes you let out a whine. It’s unfair, the way that he wants to take his time like this. It’s also unfair that he’s the first person to ever make your mind go this blank during sex. Nothing exists to you outside of this moment and this man.
Wonwoo moves back to where you need him the most, blows gently against your center. The sensation sends a shiver down your body. You barely hear him mumble out a “so pretty” before he flattens his tongue and licks a stripe up your core. There’s just enough time to think this slow pace might actually be the death of you before he goes back in. Using his fingers to spread you apart, he starts tonguing your pussy. A mix of slow and deliberate movements with faster ones. His thumb circles your clit before his mouth moves up there to give it the attention it needs.
With his mouth on your clit, he presses one finger into your pussy. You’ve never really thought much about his hands and now you’re wondering how you missed them. His long finger pumps in and out of you quickly. It seems that he’s reading your body and can tell that you don’t want something too slow. There’s so much pent up in you.
“Fuck, please, Wonwoo. I need another finger,” you whine.
“Anything you want,” he mumbles into your pussy.
He slides another finger inside of you and it makes you clench around him. That only seems to make him move faster. His mouth continues to work along with his fingers and your hands grip whatever they can reach. You’re a babbling mess and you suddenly understand what you overheard from Wonwoo’s room. There’s something so hot about knowing he’s this good with his mouth and his hands. It’s got you coming hard on his face. Harder than you can remember coming before.
“That’s my girl,” he praises as soon as you’re coming down from your high. Your hazy brain doesn’t latch onto it the way it clearly should.
He presses a gentle kiss to your inner thing and then pulls himself up to lie next to you. His fingers trace patterns into your skin while he’s waiting for your breathing to come back to normal.
“Jesus, I guess I know why I always heard so much praise through the wall,” you mutter.
“None as pretty as the sounds you just made,” he says quietly. It’s so gentle, so intimate. There’s a lot of love between you and one of your closest friends, so you don’t dwell too much on it.
You turn your head to face him. His eyes are still dark with desire, fingers still keeping contact with your body. There’s like some kind of bubble around the two of you where nothing else exists. It’s a comfortable feeling, even in the quiet. Something pulls you in closer to him and you can feel his erection brush against your leg.
“Oh,” you say quietly. “You know, I’m still a bit pent up…”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“What? I’m gonna come on your face but we can’t actually fuck like we meant to?” you joke, a little braver than you feel.
“This was about you, not about me,” he says simply.
“It can be about both of us,” you say, hand running down his stomach. He tenses a bit under your touch and it’s unfair. He’s got perfect abs and you kind of hate it. Kind of hate that it’s so hot to you, too.
You run your hand over the outline of his dick threw his shorts, enjoy the sharp intake of breath at the contact. It feels like a sign for you to keep going. But, he grabs your hand and pins it above your head. Kisses you hard and desperate. All of his restraint from before seems to be gone now.
“Don’t play with me, sweetheart,” he warns.
“Then show me how good you can fuck me. You were so sure earlier,” you press back.
Wonwoo rolls over and pulls his shorts and boxers off. Casts them off to the side with your clothing. He reaches into his nightstand and pulls a condom out. He rolls back over to position himself between your legs.
“One final time, are you sure?” he asks. It’s the first time since you came into his room that you’ve seen him look unsure.
“As long as you’re sure too, yes. I need this Nu, please,” you say, a little breathy with desire.
“I love it when you call me that,” he admits.
With your go ahead, he slides his tip along your entrance. You know you’re still wet from his hard work, but he still reaches into the dresser again. He pulls out some lube and runs it along his cock. Once he’s done that, he puts the cap back on and tosses it aside. He presses his tip against you again and this time slides in, slowly. Gives you a chance to adjust.
You’re completely at Wonwoo’s mercy like this, with his arms on either side of you like he’s caging you in. Instead of wanting to get out, you can only think that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Your hands find their way to his arms, gripping him tightly as he bottoms out in you.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he hisses.
“Nu, fuck, please move,” you beg.
“Give me a second, sweetheart, I’m trying to adjust so it doesn’t end too fast,” he says, voice so impossibly deep.
“Please,” you beg again.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
It finally does get him to move though, barely pulling out at all and fucking slowly into you, so deep. He’s filling you up in the most perfect way. Your nails dig into his arms, but you can’t help it. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it spurs him on. Makes him pull nearly all the way out of you before snapping hard into you again. He repositions one of your legs so that he can reach a different angle. With each hard thrust, his dick hits exactly where you need him to be. The rhythm is fast, which is really everything you need for how stressed you’ve been feeling. Each thrust uncoils more of the tension in your body. Each moan seems to spur him on more.
When he leans down to kiss you, it’s messy. A clash of tongues and lips and teeth and need, so much need. Your hands find purchase anywhere on his body they can, even as his own arms seem to be a little shaky. So, you pull him down on top of you, bodies pressed tight as he continues fucking you. You’re still so sensitive from the first orgasm that you’re building up entirely too quickly. Even though you wanted it fast like this, you’re a little sorry to think it might be almost over.
Wonwoo must feel that you’re close by the way you’re clenching around him and begging for him to give you everything. He pushes himself up a little, just creates the tiniest amount of space between your bodies, and you miss it a little. Miss the feeling of skin on skin. But, he’s only doing it so that he can circle your clit. He just wants to take care of all that tension. You give control over to him completely. Let him set the pace. An embarrassingly short time later, you’re coming for the second time. He removes his hand but still fucks you through the high.
When your body stops shaking, you realize that he’s stilled inside you. He’s barely even moving as he looks down at you.
“It’s okay, Nu, I’m not that sensitive yet,” you assure him
“Thank fuck,” he whispers.
His pace is fast and you reach up to run your nails down his back. That seems to get him like nothing else does. When you do it a second time, he hisses out and you know he likes it. Each time your nails find a new part of his skin, his thrusts stutter. You clench your pussy around his cock and that’s all he can handle. He’s coming undone.
You return the favor through his high, lightly keeping the rhythm going and helping him settle his weight on top of you. His breathing is still heavy when he meets your eyes and gives you the gentlest kiss. Slowly, he slides out of you and rolls over. The next second, he’s up to dispose of the condom. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a wet washcloth a few moments later, sitting on the edge of the bed to help you.
“Well, I guess I learned one thing,” you say when he gets up to take the washcloth back to the bathroom.
“What’s that?” he calls over his shoulder.
“All that confidence was definitely warranted,” you say through a light laugh.
You can just feel him rolling his eyes. “And here I thought you’d have less to say after a good fuck.”
“Nope, chatty as ever. No more tension, though,” you say.
“I’m glad,” he says, but it looks like he actually means it.
You move to get out of the bed and look at the sheets. Probably in need of a change. “Hey, do you wanna throw these in the hamper and just sleep in my bed tonight?”
“Are you sure that doesn’t break any rules?” he asks.
“No, we’ve done it…are you teasing me?” Your question morphs in the middle when you catch sight of his face. He can be such a shit for someone who acts like he’s chill all the time.
“I would never tease you,” he says, faux seriousness lacing his voice.
“That’s a shame, I like being teased,” you toss back.
“I’ll remember that for next time,” he shrugs.
“Next time?” you wonder.
“Just go get in your bed, I’ll be there in a minute,” he says.
It wasn’t like you agreed for sex with Wonwoo to be a one time thing. That felt like putting too many rules in place. Still, you’re not expecting it to happen again quite so quickly. You also genuinely didn’t realize he was home when you pulled out your vibrator. But, he was home and he barged into your room without knocking, pulled you to the edge of your bed, and fucked you hard. Made you wonder why you’d ever even consider using your vibe in the first place.
The next time comes after another failed date. It kind of seemed like that was the recipe. Something goes wrong or you’re pent up and he’s there to let you use him. Although, he’s really using you just as much. You like to let him be a little rough with you. There’s something satisfying in the way he doesn’t treat you like he’s going to break you. It’s unquestionably the best sex you’ve ever had, but that’s your business. You don’t need to share that with the class. You do figure that it might be time to talk about some kinks and boundaries, though. It would be good to be on the same page.
That seems to be how it goes for a while, at least. It’s mostly you needing something, Wonwoo being able to sense that, and helping you out. It doesn’t seem to ever start from him being the one to need something. He doesn’t even seem to be going out and bringing people home so much anymore. Not that you’re keeping track, you just can’t remember the last time he did. Or maybe he’s trying to only bring someone home when you’re not around.
He definitely holds true to his promise to tease you. One night, after a really long week at work with a lot of little things going wrong, he asks if he can take his time with you. In hindsight, you should have known it meant that it was going to mean teasing. But, you agreed anyway, and let him set the pace. Instead of hard and fast, he takes everything slow. He brings you right to the edge over and over again without letting you have your release. It’s insane how well he seems to read your signs. It seems like he can tell you’re close before you can. That night, it feels like it goes on for hours before he finally lets you come. It’s the biggest mess you’ve ever made. A fact that you would be embarrassed about if Wonwoo hadn’t looked so proud. Still, it feels like you’re the one always working something out.
Until it doesn’t.
One night, you come back from a night out with friends and are rummaging through the cabinets looking for a snack. This is the thing you hate about living with Wonwoo. He’s taller than you and doesn’t think twice about using the higher cabinets. You, on the other hand, can’t reach them so easily. You’re on your tiptoes trying to reach something when you feel him press into your back. His hand comes up and grabs the box you were reaching for with ease. You press further back into him when your heels hit the floor again.
“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he mumbles into your hair. His hands find a place on your hips, holding you against him. This feels different from how every other time has started.
“What do you mean?” you ask quietly into the silence of the apartment.
He lets one hand slide down, quickly meeting the bare skin of your thigh. You know your skirt is a little shorter than normal, but the night seemed to call for it. “This. Did you go out hoping to bring someone home?”
“Maybe,” you say, shivering a little at the way his breath tickles your ear.
“Are you trying to tease me?” he asks. It comes across almost like a demand.
You wiggle your ass against him a little before you answer. “I would never.”
“Of course not,” he says.
Everything that happens after that feels different. It’s never started like this. It’s been passionate, but it’s never been driven by so much raw desire. It’s never been the kind of sex where Wonwoo pushes your skirt up around your hips and pulls your underwear down to your ankles. Never been the kind of sex where he buries his face in your pussy while you grip the counter for support. Never been so desperate and needy and rushed.
He makes you come twice on his tongue with your knees going so weak that you can barely stand before he even moves onto actually fucking you. You’re so weak by the time you finish that he has to help you to the bathroom to clean up before he tucks you into your bed. You’re so tired that you don’t even realize how intimate it is when you ask him to get into bed with you.
The disappointment that sets in when you wake up to get some water in the early hours of the morning hits you hard. Entirely too hard for something that’s supposed to be free of feelings. Your bed feels a little empty without him taking up space. Which is really stupid because it’s not like that’s been something you’ve been doing all of the time. It’s not something you’re used to. But, there’s an unexpected comfort in him. Something that catches you completely off guard. As you drift back off to sleep, you resolve to deal with your feelings in the morning.
That’s how you find yourself sitting on Minghao’s couch as he makes you both a cup of tea. He hasn’t asked about your roommate yet, but you know that it’s coming. He just wants to have everything he thinks you’ll need first. A few minutes later, he sets two cups of tea down next to the plate of snacks he threw together. If you weren’t in such a crisis, you’d have time to be envious over how pretty the presentation looked.
“So things with Wonwoo have gotten awkward?” he asks without preamble.
“Jesus, Hao, let me take a sip first, at least,” you groan.
“I don’t want to say that I told you this was a bad idea…” he starts.
“You were the one who spilled the beans that I thought he was hot. This is your fault too,” you point out.
“I told him that he wasn’t alone in thinking his roommate was hot. I didn’t tell you both to start fucking without realizing it was bound to blow up,” he says.
“I know,” you sigh.
“So, what’s going on?” he asks.
Minghao is a lot of things. He can be a bit of an art snob. He’s that kind of impeccably dressed where he looks like he just stepped off a runway. He can appear a bit detached. But, he’s also one of the most thoughtful people you know. He’s complex and he cares for his friends more than he cares for himself most times. Both you and Wonwoo are among those he counts as his closest friends. So, he just listens as you lay out everything that’s happened since the first time you had sex. He doesn’t judge or interrupt. Patiently, he just waits as you get it all off your chest, including how you felt after last night.
None of that really comes as a surprise. You know that he’s going to give you shit and be there for you at the same time. What does come as a surprise is what he says when you’re done laying out your issues.
“I haven’t wanted to set you up because I wasn’t sure you were in the right place for it, but I actually have a friend that I think you might hit it off with,” he says. “He’d definitely get you out of this whole Wonwoo funk you’re in so things can go back to normal.”
“You wanna set me up?” you ask, surprised.
“Yeah, I think it’d be good for you,” he says.
“Okay, tell me about him,” you agree.
“He’s really kind. Kind of talks in a permanent pout, but it’s endearing somehow. He’s a giant softie at heart and he’s so incredibly loyal. He’s been talking about how he’s looking for something a little more serious. I think you’d like him,” Minghao says.
“What’s his name, Hao?” you ask skeptically.
“Mingyu,” he answers and your eyes go wide.
“Mingyu? As in that hot model you’re friends with?” you ask.
“Yeah,” Minghao says evenly.
“Okay, you can see if he’s interested,” you agree.
It’s been a couple days since Minghao threw out the suggestion of setting you up with Mingyu. The two of you have exchanged a few messages and he does actually seem really nice. He’s also funnier than you expected him to be. When he asks if you want to get dinner the upcoming weekend, you find you’re a little bit excited.
There’s only one issue. You feel like you need to tell Wonwoo. You know that he’s not going to care, but it still feels weird when you’ve been fucking around. Maybe Minghao was right and the whole thing was a terrible idea after all. It’s hard for you to tell him when you seem to keep missing each other, though. Lately, he’s been playing video games over at Vernon’s place more than normal. Even if they’re streaming, something feels weird.
“Hey,” he calls out from the front door, snapping you from your thoughts.
“Oh hey,” you answer, looking up at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he moves to head back to his room. “Everything okay?”
He stops to look at you when you ask that question and his eyes still look a bit distant. “Yeah, fine. Why?”
“I don’t know, you’re being short with me,” you say.
He just shrugs. “I don’t have anything to say.”
“Okay,” you say, drawing out the first syllable. “Well, I just wanted to tell you that Minghao set me up with his friend Mingyu and I was thinking I’d go out with him.”
“You don’t have to tell me about your dates,” he says evenly.
“I just thought…” you start.
“We agreed,” he interjects. “Enjoy your date whenever you go.”
“Thanks,” you say quietly to his retreating figure.
The whole point of agreeing to go out with Mingyu was to get things back to normal with Wonwoo. It was clear that you had gotten in over your head. Now, you’re wondering if things are going to be able to go back to normal at all. This isn’t your normal dynamic. You always shared stories about dates, hook-ups, anything and everything under the sun. Your other friends always said it was weird for the two of you and you just ignored them. Now, you feel like you’re in it alone. Maybe they’re right and it is weird.
Since it’s a little on the later side anyway, you decide to grab something from the kitchen and just head into your room. You can go to bed early and forget that whole conversation even happened. That’s probably for the best. It’ll be easier to get back to normal once you’re going on dates again. Once you stop fucking your roommate like you could have ever done that without forming some kind of feelings.
It’s the middle of the night when you feel someone slide into bed around you. A familiar scent slips into your consciousness as an arm slides around your center. You nestle back into the chest and know for sure that it’s your roommate. The same man you’re trying hard to get over.
“What are you doing, Wonwoo?” you mumble in sleepiness.
“Don’t go on the date with Mingyu,” he says. He sounds completely awake.
“What?” you ask. Your brain is still foggy from sleep.
“Don’t go out with anyone else,” he says.
That makes you open your eyes as the words bounce around in your brain. You turn over to your other side so that you’re facing him. His hair is messy and all he’s wearing is a plain white t-shirt, but your heart still constricts a bit at the sight of him.
“What do you want, Wonwoo?” you ask, voice thick with mental exhaustion.
“Exactly what I told you. I want you to turn Mingyu down,” he says.
“Why should I?” you challenge.
“Because, well, we’ve got this…” he starts and fumbles over his words.
“We haven’t got anything. You’ve been avoiding me for days,” you point out. “Hell, I asked you to stay in bed with me after you fucked me in the kitchen and you couldn’t even make it til morning.”
“I know, but I was scared that night because I realized I was starting to feel something,” he says. “And then Hao texted me to tell me he’d finally given your number to Mingyu…”
“Finally? What do you mean?” you asked.
“He’s been asking for your number for months,” Wonwoo says through somewhat gritted teeth. “So Minghao told me you’d agreed to be set up and I don’t know, I guess I just decided…”
“To avoid me?” you supply.
“I didn’t know what to do. And I didn’t know how to process you not telling me,” he admits.
“You weren’t around for me to tell you,” you point out. “We’ve been fucking. I wasn’t just gonna be like oh by the way, I’m going on a date.”
“Please don’t go on a date with him,” Wonwoo asks again.
“I will consider not going if you can actually talk to me,” you say.
“About what?” he asks.
“Everything you’re feeling and why this whole let’s just be roommates that fuck was stupid,” you say.
“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says immediately.
You sigh, realizing that you’re not going to be able to go back to sleep, and send Wonwoo to the kitchen to get you something to drink. By the time he’s back, you’re sitting up in bed and ready to have an actual conversation.
You stay up entirely too late talking about everything between the two of you. It’s a little hard to believe Wonwoo is so open with admitting how he feels. It’s harder to believe that Wonwoo knew he felt something for you before the very first time you had sex. In his mind, it was clear that he wasn’t just offering because the two of you were friends. He offered it as a way to gauge your own feelings. But, after that first time, he kind of figured it was just sex and tried to detach himself from it. That was when you started to feel something for him.
When he’s done admitting his own mistakes and feelings, you figure that it’s time for you to own up to your own. It was really silly to just make up his side of the conversation about why he didn’t stay in bed with you that night. After all, the one thing you both stressed before sleeping together the first time was that you had to be honest in your communication. That’s what friends did and you were friends before anything else. As it turns out, you’re both way more on the same page than either of you realized.
“You’re wrong about one thing, though,” you admit.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“It was never just sex for me. I was totally done the first time you kissed me,” you share, picking at a thread on your comforter to avoid looking at him.
“I kissed you before we even had sex,” he points out, incredulous.
“Yeah, turns out I’m not so good at the just friends who fuck thing,” you say with a shrug.
“If I’d have known that was all it took, I’d have kissed you months ago,” Wonwoo grumbles.
That brings you up short. “Nu, just how long have you liked me?”
“I don’t know, a while,” he says.
You just shake your head at him before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Just talk to me next time.”
“Can we go back to having sex now? I miss the feel of you,” he whines out. “And the taste.”
“We literally fucked less than a week ago,” you point out to try and avoid the way it makes heat pool.
“I could taste you every day and never get sick of it,” he says without any embarrassment.
“Are we really giving this a try?” you ask.
“Unless you don’t want to,” Wonwoo says.
“I do, I’m just scared. What if we try a relationship and it doesn’t work?” you ask. “You’re one of my best friends. I don’t wanna lose that.”
Wonwoo reaches out to tilt your head up. “We’ll just promise to be honest with each other. We can figure this out together.”
“Okay,” you agree.
“So, we’re doing this?” he confirms.
“Yeah, we’re doing this.”
Just like that, you agree to take a leap with the only person that you’ve always trusted to catch you every time you fall. It feels scary, but also completely natural.
i hope you enjoyed it! 💕
#wonwoo smut#seventeen smut#svt smut#wonwoo x reader#seventeen x reader#svt x reader#wonwoo fanfic#wonwoo x you#wonwoo scenarios#wonwoo imagines#svt fanfic#seventeen fanfic#svt x you#seventeen x you#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#svt imagines#svt scenarios#svthub#kvanity#ksmutsociety
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Dress rehearsal: Jason Todd x reader
Summary/request: @ladychibirae and @animegirlfromvietnam decided to not let me function normally requesting Jason being a witness to his fiance triyng on wedding dresses. And then those two just went on, making Jason all flustered, generous and horny at the same time. So - here's that XD
Spicy, but not explicit ;)
****
It was all so … white.
Like a freaking hospital.
And it made him flinch, involuntarily diving back into the stream of bad memories involving injuries, hurt, pain and –
“Look at all those dresses!”
Oh, right, back to reality.
No pain, no fear, just the incoming future.
With Y/N.
His wonderful, beautiful, perfect Y/N.
His future bride. His future wife.
But even the sweetness of her presence and the smile forming on her face couldn’t have bellied the overwhelming feeling of being – well - overwhelmed. He was just supposed to drop off Y/N, Kori and Babs and the boutique and excuse himself under any false pretense he could produce and the rattling and pipsqueak and three girls making a commotion worth six or so people only fueled that resolve.
And then Y/N picked some random dress, putting it to herself and giving him a look, with a silent question what was he thinking and suddenly his plans did a full 180.
Like hell he was going anywhere.
He was going to watch his fiancée change and dress up and give a little show of the whole parade of wedding dresses, enjoying it deeply, though not admitting openly.
“What’s with your face?” Y/N teased, reading right through him. “ thought you were supposed to meet Dick for your boys’ stuff?”
“Really? Was I? Can’t remember. I’d rather stay here. Make sure you don’t get locked up here after hours.”
“Well if that’s your only concern-“
“Y/N, come on, really?” Babs chimed in “He shouldn’t be here, it’s against the tradition for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”
“Well the tradition doesn’t mention anything about seeing each other a few months before the wedding, does it?”
“It’s –“
“Don’t say it.” Jason cut her off, probably harsher than it was necessary. It was Barbara after all, but he was slowly losing patience. No one was going to keep him away from his girl. Not Barbara, not Kori, no silly beliefs and certainly not some outdated tradition.
“I think you should listen to Barbara.” Obviously Kori had to add her three cents. “Though I find your earthly customs amusing.”
“I’m staying.” Jason repeated sternly
“He’s staying.” Y/N echoed at the same time. “I want him here. Luck or not, he’s my fiancé. The rest can go to hell.”
Barbara and Kori looked at her with a little bit of surprise. This definitely was not the standard behavior of their friend, but clearly Jason brought some dominant instincts in her. If her changing was going to be kept in such pace, the second after the wedding she would turn into a full-blown Red hood’s girl. Maybe even running the streets, shooting and beating the shit out of people alongside him without a care in the world.
Jason though had a look of pure admiration on his face. Of course she wanted him here. Of course the rest could go to hell. If anyone had the right to see her picking a dress, it was him.
Conceitedly and ostentatiously he took a spot on the sofa, leaning back on the soft furniture like he owned the place and almost daring Kori and Babs to oppose his presence.
“Shall we begin then?” Y/N grabbed a dress from the hanger, twirling around in the cloud of lace and satin, disappearing in the changing room.
***
Three dresses later, he had to deal not only with Babs and Kori but also with five more people. Somehow (it might have had something to do with Kori sending group messages of photos of Y/N) the rest of the batkids decided to join the fun.
Therefore, instead of being left alone with the love of his life, Jason found himself squeezed on the couch, between Dick and Stephanie, who just happened to be around. Forced to listen to the sighs of delight and exclamations of Cass and nodding of approval of Tim.
Fucking approval!
That freaking bunch though they could just comment on how his Y/N looked. That they were allowed to watch her spin and twirl and watch herself in the mirror, tilting head in that way, see her smile when she liked something or frown when she did not.
Bastards.
He was the only one allowed here and was hanging on the edge of the seat to just tell them all to piss off and throw them on the street.
He did not.
Mostly because every time she walked out, clad in another white outfit all the mean, harsh words intended at his sibling were stuck in the back of his throat and he was turning into a mewling-inside-little-cat-who-just-wanted-to-be-around-its-owner.
Y/N.
Standing in the middle of the boutique clad in the simple yet elegant wedding dress, accentuating all her curves and making her look like a princess. Literally. All she was missing was some sort of crown on her head, but Jason was going to make sure she would wear one during their entire life together. For she was going to be not only a princess, but his queen.
And he was speechless.
So quiet and unable to say any teasing comment or snarky remark it was slowly becoming suspicious.
“Um… Jace?” her voice reached his ears as if through a fog.
“Huh?” he was immediately thrown out from his reverie. “That’s my name, yeah.”
Everyone looked at him like he just grew a third arm (though in this family this probably wouldn’t be that shocking after all.)
“Are you okay?’ Dick asked with a smirk
“I’m fine!”
“You are quiet.” Stephanie slurped on her slushie, loudly and annoyingly.
“What a bright observation” he mocked.
“Aaaaaand he’s back.”
“Piss off!”
“Y/N asked you a question!”
“I know! I heard!”
“She had to call your names three times before you reacted!”
“Maybe I just like her saying my name!”
“You are blushing!”
“I am not blushing!”
“Enough!”
Y/N finally stepped in, deciding to cut off this family bantering and save Jason, thrown at the mercy of the wolves of his siblings. Of course they used the very rare moment of his sensitivity showing to tease him mercilessly and her poor fiancé did not deserve it.
“Oh, saved by the bell.” Damian smirked “if she will have to step up for you during your whole marriage then- OUCH!”
“I said enough. That includes you, Damian.” Perfectly aimed, though not that strong slap on the head made the youngest of the Wayne shut up. “Everyone out.”
“What?!”
“Y/n!”
“Come on, don’t be like that! You still got some dresses to try on!”
“I said: out. All of you. Now.”
With whines and groans of disappointment everyone moved to the exit.
Everyone, including Jason.
Y/N cleared her throat.
He turned around, looking at her questioningly.
“Not you.”
“No?”
“No. Of course not, you idiot. In case you missed something, you are the only person I wanted here from the start.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t be shy with me now. Better tell me how you like this dress.” She turned towards the mirror, looking at her reflection and playing with the layers of lace on the outfit.
“I think it would look better if-“
“Don’t finish that sentence!”
“You asked for my opinion!”
“Exactly! Opinion! Not your dirty thoughts and sinful desires.”
“Those are very strong words you are using here, sunshine…” he muttered, stepping behind her, wrapping arms on her waist and kissing the back of her neck “but you are not wrong…” one hand slipped to the zipper of her dress.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to buy it either way…”
“What? Why? You look so pretty in it!”
“Got your answer.” She teased, revealing how she played him.
“ha-ha! Very funny princess. Why don’t you want to buy it?” his grip on her hips tightened a little. “Look at us, look how we fit…” his chin rested on her shoulder as they watched themselves in the reflection.
“We do…” her voice was a soft whisper of affection and amusement, eyes flicked with love and hope for the future. “We do…” she snuggled a little further in his embrace, hoping for the love of god that he would not take it as an invitation and get any ideas.”
“Don’t you like the dress?” he asked softly, rubbing her sides affectionately.
“I do. But it’s expensive—”
“Wait. What? That’s your reasoning of let’s-not-buy-it? Really? Here.” He reached into his pocket, handing her his credit card. “Take this one. And that ivory one, I liked how it brought out your eyes. And you can also take something for the wedding reception. And preferably a little something for the wedding night?” he winked.
“I believe we’re in the wrong shop for the last one-“
“Then we’ll go to the right shop.”
“But Jason-“
“Don’t Jason me. Money is not the problem. In fact – keep my card.”
“What?”
“Shut up and take my money.”
“Jason!”
“Hm?”
“You’re impossible.”
“Better get used to it, sunshine. I intend to keep you amused for the rest of our lives.”
“That would indicate you are not planning to leave me at the altar.”
“Leave you? Never. No promises on letting you walk the aisle though. Cause I might just snatch you away from everyone and make sure that pretty dress you are buying ends up on the floor before even exchanging out vows…”
“I’m starting to regret casting your family out. At least you were behaving with them around.”
“But still – you like when I misbehave…”
His hands sneaked under the dress, traveling up her leg, spinning her around so she was now facing him, fingers inching higher and higher on the inside of her thigh-
“Jason…”
“hmmmm…”
“Are you really going to-?”
“I would love nothing more.” He whispered in her ear, getting bolder by a second. Having her in her wedding dress, then and there was doing so many things to him.
“Just so you know, I only got one dress like that! Limited edition! If you ruin it now, there’s no chance for you to wear the same on the wedding day!”
The saleswoman’s voice cut right into their ragged breaths and quickened heartbeats making them jump away from each other immediately.
“Wanna buy this and go home?” he smirked.
‘For what? Dress rehearsal?”
“Mh! You make me fall in love with you all over again.” His smirk grew wider.
It took them literally three minutes to buy the dress and rush home. And for the purposes of that night, there was no need for any clothes shopping.
#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#jason todd x you#red hood x you#jason todd x y/n#red hood x y/n#jason todd fluff#red hood fluff#jason todd smut
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Your writing is so good whaaatt!! Could you do another comfort fic with the lad boys? Maybe like they come home and the reader is crying for whatever reason and so onnn. I love comfort fics 🤧🤧
thank you very much! here you are. i’m in a bit of a writing slump honestly 🥲, but i tried. also, some of you are requesting, which i’m very grateful for! if I don’t respond immediately it’s because i’m working on something else at the moment.
prompt~ they come home to you crying.
𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴
Zayne
You were so exhausted. You woke up with a horrible headache and did badly in training today because of that. Captain Jenna snapped at you over your simple errors, which made you feel worse.
You wordlessly picked a mug out of the cupboard and filled it with water. You brought it to your lips and drank, each gulp sounding against the metronomic headache that wouldn’t let you rest. A trickle of blood dripped down your philtrum, making a small splash in your cup. Sniffing, you wiped your nose.
Each drop of blood that ran from your nose overwhelmed you more and more until you were scrubbing your nose with your sweater sleeve, the wool fibers catching the liquid. You pulled your arm away and it looked like a surgeon’s rags.
Speaking of surgeons, your boyfriend chose that unaesthetic moment of you messily wiping your nose to walk into the kitchen. You put your arm by your side and tried to act normal as he fixed himself a cup of juice.
You kept your back turned to him as he asked, “How was training today?”
“Training was pretty standard. Tara told me she’s thinking of getting a tattoo.”
“Really? Did she tell you what kind of tattoo?”
“A pair of cherries.” You were just making stuff up, trying to find an exit from the conversation so you could clean up. “I’m going to go change into pajamas.” You quickly walked up the stairs before he could say anything.
Lip quivering, you picked out a set of pajamas and put it on the bed. You stripped out of your sweater, and the red patch on the sleeve caught your eye. Shit. Why did you wipe your nose on it? It would definitely stain. You really liked this sweater, too.
You felt your eyes burn, a fun contrast to the other sensations of your throbbing head and leaky nose. Tears slipped from your eyes, and you held back the sobs for a few beats before giving up and muffling your face in the already stained sweater.
You must have been like that for a while, because Zayne meandered upstairs without you hearing and peeked inside the bedroom door. “You’ve been up here for a while. What are you-,” he stopped, eyes widening. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”
He quickly walked over and put a hand on your back, peering down at you. “Is that blood?”
You wiped your face on the sweater before letting it plop to the floor. “Yeah,” you said tearily.
“Why are you bleeding? And why are you crying?” Came his calm response.
“I had a bloody nose, and… I don’t know.” You dissolved into sobs again. He looked at you sadly, his hazel eyes big and worried. He pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly for a few minutes until you calmed down. He rubbed your bare back, feeling the goosebumps and pulling your pajama shirt over your head.
“You don’t have to run away. From me, or your feelings,” he whispered.
𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖
Sylus
The air was too heavy. There was too much to dwell on, too many morbid and sickening atrocities that made you feel sour. You couldn’t comprehend how the world was still spinning with so many terrible people weighing it down. You certainly felt like you had been kicked off your axis.
It was more than anyone could take. One too many cases of something horrible on the news, and your stomach was churning. The reporter had described the event so plainly, with a grim resignation. The world was so advanced, and yet….
You didn’t feel the remote slip from your hand. You didn’t hear it clatter on the floor. You didn’t feel the tears swim down your face. You only registered that you were crying when your throat produced a strangled sound, and you finally clapped your hands to your eyes and just bawled.
You cried until you were dehydrated and numb and the garage door opened with a muted whirring. Your large boyfriend entered a few moments later, and you heard a quiet gasp as he took in the sight of you sobbing on the couch.
Sylus seemed less like a fiend and more like a fairy with the way he flitted around you, uncharacteristically lacking composure while trying to figure out what was wrong. By that point, the news had changed to some other story, and he looked confusedly at the TV.
“Darling, are you crying about inflation?”
That didn’t even get a smile from you, so he just picked you up from under the armpits and rocked you slowly, like a baby. You continued to cry softly as he shushed you and whispered comforting words in your ear.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asked gently.
“There are so many bad people in the world,” you managed to say through weak hiccups.
“I know. You’re dating one of them.”
“You’re different,” you mumbled. “
“Oh? How am I different?”
“You’re an evil bastard, but I love you.”
He laughed throatily at that, and you felt a little better.
𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝
Rafayel
You were in a nice hotel, lying amidst silky duvets and plush, fat pillows. The moonlight snuck through the gaps between the ivory curtains and created beautiful spectral patterns on the walls.
Your darling fiancé was sleeping with his arm wrapped around you, so why were your shoulders shaking? Why were soft, choked sobs escaping your lips? Why the hell were you crying on vacation?
You didn’t know. All you did know was that Rafayel was stirring, surely awoken by your movement.
“Are you crying?” He murmured sleepily, propping himself up.
You willed yourself to stop shaking, stop being weak and just shut up. But it wasn’t working. The misery and self pity was eating you alive.
“Oh, sweetie,” he said, gently turning you around and cupping your head, kissing your wet cheek. “Don’t cry. You’ll get dehydrated.”
More tears ran down your face, and he continued to brush them away with soft fingers. “What’s wrong, my gorgeous girl?”
“I don’t know,” you choked out. “I just feel bad.”
“Oh, my love….” Rafayel kissed you again with sweetness and compassion. He combed through your hair with his fingers and rubbed your cheek with his thumb. He didn’t know how to soothe you, so he did the only thing he could think to do. He distracted you.
He brought his lips to yours and gently showed you his love for you. Whatever you were feeling, he would overpower it with all his heart.
✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰
Xavier
The clash of metal exploded in the air as your swords collided yet again, and you dodged another attack. Your eyes were burning. There was absolutely no way you were about to cry while sparring with Xavier.
But the next time your swords collided and you met Xavier’s soft, focused gaze, you failed to hold it back. You stared intently into his eyes as both of you struggled, and while straining against his sword, tears began falling from your eyes. His own eyes widened, and he stepped back, pulling his mask down.
“Are you injured?” He asked worriedly. “Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head, lip trembling. You let out a shaky sob, and that was enough to concern him further.
“__….” He was at a loss for words. He had never seen you cry, and now….
“What happened?” He bent down, trying to assess your expression. You were trying not to let the tears win, but they definitely were. You finally gave up trying to hold it in and let your sword drop to the floor with a soft clink, now crying openly.
Xavier reached out hesitantly and pulled you into his embrace. Both of you were hot and stinky from sparring, but that didn’t matter. Not while you were crying.
You let out muffled sobs into his neck, letting him hold you as the two of you sank to the floor. Your tears mingled with the sweat on his shoulder, and he rubbed your back soothingly as you cried. He held you like that for a while.
“I’m sorry,” you said once the sobs had died down.
“It’s okay. I just want to know where this came from,” he replied in that sweet, soft voice.
“I’m tired,” came your plain response. He didn’t question you further, and gently patted your head.
He helped you pick up your things and walked you to the locker room, and you stopped to take a drink at the water fountain. His gaze was fixed on you as you drank, eyes tracing the curvature of your lips. He was so engrossed in watching you drink that you couldn’t help but feel shy.
You finished drinking and said bye to Xavier, still thinking about the interaction. He was always soft spoken, but you didn’t know he could be this gentle. Maybe you should talk to him more outside of sparring.
#love and deepspace x reader#lads#love and deepspace#lads x reader#lads x you#zayne x reader#rafayel x reader#rafayel x mc#sylus x reader#reqs open#xavier x reader#lads x mc#lads scenarios
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I generally watch LPs of horror games bc I'm too anxious to actually play them but a lot of them have FANTASTIC stories, so sometimes I just binge-watch KrinxTV for background noise. Been watching a lot of playthroughs of Still Wakes The Deep because it's such a delight to hear Scottish voice actors get work and I thought I'd address some questions I keep seeing Let's Players ask:
--Adair is a member of the National Front as you can find out from posters in his cabin, a Neo-Fascist British political party that’s been going since the sixties. While it often preaches British ethnic unity, in practice that often means “everybody in the UK should be exactly like East End Londerners” and features plentiful disdain for Scottish, Irish, and Welsh folk, alongside those perceived as “not British”. No wonder the wanker eats alone in the canteen.
--Neeps and Tatties=turnips and potatoes, mashed, drenched in butter or sauce. Fills your belly, keeps you warm, probably makes you sink like a stone because it’s so heavy.
--Cranachan=a dessert made of raspberries, honey, cream and oats, absolutely delicious
--Rennick calls Caz a “wee ned prick”. Ned is apocryphally said to stand for “non-educated delinquent” and is basically just a way of calling someone an uneducated, lower-class criminal
--A lot of things said by and about Roy indicate that he’s a teetotaller who went through AA and specifically became Catholic and is making an effort at converting Caz.
--I think it’s entertaining how Scottish nicknames often follow a pattern of shortening/rejiggering that I also see a lot with Australian nicknames—Cameron becomes Caz, Rafferty becomes Raffs, etc. Trots is an unusual one but is almost certainly a reference to him being a communist, presumably a Trotskyist. Gibbo is also an unusual one in that it’s just very silly. There’s a kind of indignity implied in being killed by a guy called Gibbo.
--A few times on the radio you hear the Shipping Forecast, a type of weather report aimed at specifically reporting weather conditions out on the ocean, and is also famous for the report being read in such a calm, soothing tone that some folk use it as a sleep aid.
--All the yellow paint for interactable things is very video gamey, yes, but is also in line with old British health and safety standards, and yellow paint on things like emergency ladders or on the edges of stairs that are trip hazards is a thing ou can still see in some older buildings.
--Caz keeps saying he’s “good with the leccy”; leccy=electricity. Caz is implied to be quite a wee guy who can get through a lot of tight spaces, and my uncle swears blind that electricians used to refuse to take on apprentices over a certain size because they only wanted to train wee guys who could get up into the tight spaces that a lot of older buildings are full of. On that note, “wee man” is a term of endearment, generally, and isn’t exclusively applied to short guys.
--Finlay saying of Gibbo that “he’s no right” is INCREDIBLY OMINOUS. It sounds mild but “he’s no right, that boy” is what older folk say about a child who’s been found disembowelling cats for fun or someone they strongly suspect is a pedophile. It’s not something you’d say about a friend who’s just acting a bit unusually.
– “Great minds united over a Buckie”--Buckfast, or Buckie, is a caffienated tonic wine that’s cheap, widely accessible, and is a bit like rocket fuel for bad decisions.
– “Ya roaster” tbh I don’t really know where it comes from, calling someone a roaster, but I’ve always felt like it has a vibe of telling them they’re huffing their own farts.
--Scunnert/scunnered--buggered, screwed, utterly fucked, etc
– “You’re the jammiest bastart on this rig” Someone who is jammy is someone who has incredible luck that is implied to be related to their sheer confidence or willingness to engage in risky behaviour. Walking along the street and finding a pound coin isn’t jammy; crossing the road confident that the cars won’t hit you and stopping in the middle to pick up a pound coin before making it unscathed to the other side is jammy as all hell.
--Barlinnie is the biggest prison in Scotland, and largely hosts violent offenders—it’s where Caz would definitely go for hospitalizing a man.
--Weans are children (contraction of wee yins/wee ones). I thought this one was contextually obvious but apparently not.
SPOILERS BELOW
--”One spark and the whole thing’ll go up”—this is referring to the wee spark of flame in the lighter used to blow up the rig, but is also kind of a pun because electricians are often called sparks or sparkies, and in the end it’s Caz who blows up the rig.
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