#fist time doing a cw bare with me
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IF YOU NEEDED ME !
simon riley/reader – 7.1k words sale of a lifetime mini series !
tags: smut, childhood best friend!simon, virginity for sale trope, unrealized feelings, soft!simon, protective!simon, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader
cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, wet & messy, fingering, creampie, mid-sex love confession, a little arguing but nothing crazy tbh, petnames (love, lovie, sweetheart)
; he remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. he never thought he was deserving of such happiness. but now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you.
or.
he may not have been the first man you picked to give your first time to. but looking back, you realized he was the only right choice in the end.
Meeting some unknown, shady guy out on the street outside of a seedy bar wasn’t the smartest decision you’ve ever made. Nor was it how you actually intended to spend your Friday evening. But it was the only option you had at the moment, so you swallowed your nerves and forced yourself to stay put at the spot the guy had chosen despite the fact that being out on the street made you feel x10 more nervous and vulnerable.
You could hear the loud music and chatter inside the bar every time the door opened to let someone in or out. There was a chill in the air that had you contemplating actually going inside and just telling the guy to meet you in there – you were about to give the bastard your damn virginity, the least he could be was accommodating to your temperature struggles. Plus, you could really use a drink.
A car, expensive by the looks of it, pulling up to the curb had you pausing in that train of thought. You recognized him from his profile picture when he stepped out of the vehicle – Lucas, you recall being his name. Whether that was really his name or not didn’t matter; all that mattered was he brought what he promised.
“You have the money?” you asked when he approached you, giving him a tight-lipped smile as a greeting.
“Yeah, got it in the car. All cash, I hope that’s alright,” he grinned, a sight that made a shiver go down your spine. His tone didn’t match the smile, all transactional and dull despite the glimmer in his eyes.
He wasn’t necessarily unattractive but he certainly wasn’t your type. There was a look in his eyes, one that made your skin crawl because you felt like you were nothing but a piece of raw meat in front of a starving, salivating predator.
“We should get going,” he said, hurrying to open the backseat of his car for you.
You paused, “Aren’t we going to go inside or something?”
He looked confused, grip on the door tightening for a moment before he bursted out laughing. When he saw the shocked look on your face he sobered up, “Sorry, sorry, that was rude of me. Sweetheart, this isn’t a date. I’m just here to get what I paid for.”
“Oh…” you swallowed around the lump in your throat at the condescending tone, humiliation making your cheeks burn, “Right.”
Tears stung the back of your eyes and you quickly averted your gaze so he wouldn’t see how much that stung. Of course, you knew it wasn’t a date. This was a transaction. But you at least thought you’d get to know the guy who was about to take your virginity. You should have known better.
A man who was paying for your virginity wasn’t bound to be someone you could trust to feel comfortable around. You quietly sigh, resigning yourself to this all for the sake of some fucking money.
You settle into the car, heart jumping into your throat when the door slams. It feels as if you’ve just sealed your fate and you can’t deny that you’re scared.
But there’s an envelope next to you that you can see stuffed with bills and you clench your fists, trying to calm your racing heart by closing your eyes and breathing.
You just hope this decision doesn’t cost you your life or something. You’d hate to imagine what that would do to a certain someone.
Suddenly, the car jostles. Your eyes snap open and you see Lucas is jacked up against the side of the car, a very familiar form caging him in. His scarred hands grip the man’s shirt in tight fists. You can’t hear what they’re saying but you can see Lucas is chattering frantically, gesturing wildly with his hands in an attempt to quell the angry man in the skull balaclava.
You curse to yourself, a different kind of terror shocking through your system. Lucas is thrown to the side and you wince at how hard he hits the pavement before the car door is jerked open.
You can’t even say anything before a strong, rough hand wraps around your arm, yanking you out. You stumble once you’re on your feet, falling right into his chest.
You try to pull away but his arm clamps down around you.
Lucas is cursing and screaming his head off, words you don’t even bother to try and decipher because you’re too preoccupied with the masked figure that made his sudden appearance. Nerves make your knees shake and from the look of pure rage in his eyes, you know you’re in deep shit.
Lucas opens the car door and slams it before driving off, tires squealing against the pavement before he vanishes. Along with that wad of cash that was going to be yours in just a short time.
Suddenly you’re angry, shoving your hands against his chest to get him away from you.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Riley?!” you shriek, shooting him the fiercest glare you could muster.
“I should be askin’ you that,” he sneers, “The hell were you doin’ with that prick?”
“I–”
“Don’t answer that,” he snaps, cutting you off swiftly, “I know what you were doin’. If you needed money that badly you should have told me.”
“It’s not your concern, Simon!” you cry, resisting the urge to petulantly stomp your foot.
You’re so pissed.
Simon Riley and you went way back, childhood friends. The two of you had always been in each other's lives. Simon especially was always there when you needed him, a beacon of safety and protection. Your best friend and someone you loved to the ends of the Earth.
But right now, you’re so angry with him that you can’t seem to think straight.
How dare he show up now, when you’re about to do the most humiliating act of your entire life. How could he show his stupid, masked face here when you didn’t even ask for his help in the first place for a reason.
“You are always my concern,” he shoots back, scarred knuckles turning white from how hard he clenches his fists, “I have always taken care of you. You should have come to me for help instead of puttin’ yourself in danger like this. You didn’t know that guy, what the fuck were you thinking?”
Anger makes your skin hot, sweat beading on your forehead, blocking out the chill that once made goosebumps rise. You feel ashamed that you were caught in this situation – that the man you’ve known your entire life knew you were about to sleep with some random asshole for a fat wad of cash. You don’t like that he’s made you feel ashamed and confronted you with it.
“Just fuck off, Simon!” you shriek, the only thing you can think of before turning on your heel and stalking away from him.
You don’t glance over your shoulder to check if he’s following because you know he most likely is – from a safe distance to make sure you make it inside your apartment alright but far enough that you can’t get mad at him for it. Your jaw is clenched so tightly that you feel a headache radiating down your neck.
By the time you reach your apartment, the anger has simmered and all you’re left with is a festering shame that makes tears fill your eyes. You wrap your arms around yourself and quickly shuffle yourself inside, not bothering to check if Simon is out there or not. All you want is to get a hot shower and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend.
You do just that, letting the burning hot water scald your skin until you can’t feel any emotions except exhaustion. And then, you crawl into bed and let sleep overtake you without a second thought.
When you wake up, it’s clear that it’s late into the afternoon. The sun is high in the sky and shining painfully bright through the crack in your curtains. You groan and roll over, slapping the bed to find your phone.
You grab the device and unlock it, taking a moment to scroll through your notifications. There’s some angry messages from the guy from last night – cursing you out for setting him up to be jumped. It makes you roll your eyes before a particular notification catches your eye.
It’s from your bank – alerting you of a deposit.
You sit up straight in your bed, brows furrowed before your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see your bank statement. It’s more than you needed and you know exactly who was responsible.
You jump out of bed, not even bothering to dress out of your pajamas before you’re shoving some slides onto your feet and storming out of your apartment.
You’re so heated that you can’t even remember the walk to Simon’s place, your mind racing a million miles a second. You storm up to the door and slam your fist on it, the hard wood making your hand sting from how hard you pound.
The radiating tingle of pain is quickly forgotten when the door swings open.
Simon stands there, looking down at you expectantly. He leans against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He wears an army-issued t-shirt that’s a bit too tight. The sleeves stretch taunt around his biceps and you can make out the swell of his pecs. It’s not very often that you get to see his tattooed arms, littered with scars since he tends to wear long sleeves most of the time.
He doesn’t look at all surprised to see you, clearly having expected you. The apathetic look in his eyes just solidifies that you were right all along.
“What the hell is your problem?!” you cry without so much as a greeting.
He sighs, broad shoulders rising and falling with it before he opens the door wide and motions you inside. You duck underneath his outstretched arm, turning to watch as he closes the door and locks it.
He wanders into the kitchen and you realize you can smell bacon. He doesn’t seem at all surprised by your outburst nor does he seem interested in acknowledging your question.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, only solidifying how unperturbed he is by your display of anger.
“No!” you snap, “I want to know why you did that, Simon!”
He sighs again, much louder but doesn’t respond. You stand in the doorway to his kitchen, watching him plate his lunch – which is actually just breakfast food. He places the dish on the table and pauses, looking up at you.
“You needed the money, I had it,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I was handling it on my own,” you say, “I-It was my problem to solve.”
“By sellin’ yourself to some prick?” he snarls, the anger he was masking coming out in a flurry.
“I wasn’t selling myself–” you refute but he slams his palms down on the table. His cutlery clatters with the action and you jump.
“I read that post you made,” he hisses, teeth bared, “There’s no fuckin’ reason you should be selling your virginity for some cash when I was right here the whole time!”
Your cheeks burn when he brings up your virginity, crossing your arms over your chest protectively, “I-It’s mine to sell if I want to! I needed that money!”
“And now you have it,” he says with finality.
He takes a seat and you stand there, fuming. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding together as your mind races to find a rebuttal. He begins to eat, taking large, fast bites that just shows how he’s been conditioned to eat quickly by the military.
“That’s not the point, Simon,” you huff, growing less angry and more frustrated by this conversation. You were just going around in circles.
“Then what is the point?” he snaps, snatching his empty plate and angrily tossing it in the sink. He turns to you again, a frown evident on his face, “You got the money you needed safely. That’s all that matters.”
“It’s too much money, Simon!” you cry, “I was selling something in exchange for it!”
“I care about you,” he says, “That doesn’t matter to me. What’s mine is yours, you know that.”
You silently glare at him, wishing that the heated stare would get through to him. He stands unbothered, staring blankly at you with his fists clenched by his sides.
You hang your head, sighing, “I-I can’t take your money, Simon, alright? I’m already in debt and I’m not going to be in debt to you of all people.”
“You feel like you owe me, is that it?” he asks.
You nod your head, heart rate spiking when he stalks towards you. You’re close enough to smell his body wash and aftershave, a painfully familiar scent that you adore. He stares down his nose at you, brown eyes lidded and lazy.
He reaches out suddenly, rough hand gripping your cheeks, smushing them together until your lips pucker, “Then give me a kiss as payment.”
“H-Huh?” you whimper dumbly, eyes wide in shock as his face grows closer and closer.
“It can be payment for a kiss, lovie,” he coos, syrupy sweet and soft, “Will that make up for it, then?”
The air in your lungs suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. This is a man that you’ve known almost your entire life so you’ve obviously thought about him in a romantic sense at some point. Hell, when you were a teenager you even had a crush on him. But he never once looked at you any other way than as a friend so you quickly got over it – or maybe that’s just what you told yourself. Because as you stand there, staring into his eyes, you realize that kissing him would feel like a dream come true.
You find yourself nodding despite the inner turmoil going on in your head. Simon huffs through his nose before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours.
There’s a shock of electricity that goes through you at the contact. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into the kiss, letting him take over. He works his lips expertly against yours, eventually abandoning his hold on your face in favor of wrapping his arm around your waist. You gasp into the kiss when he suddenly yanks you closer, your body pressed close against his.
He’s warm and sturdy against you, a solid form of muscle that makes you feel safe and content – just as he always has. His hands are big and rough as they grip your hips, kneading the soft flesh there as he gets lost in kissing you.
“S-Si,” you find yourself muttering without realizing.
He hums in response, chuckling when you continue to mindlessly kiss him. He pulls back, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, thumbing at your jaw as your eyes slowly focus on him, “What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”
“I-I don’t…” you swallow thickly around the forming lump in your throat, “I don’t know. I just…”
“Show me,” he breathes, softer than you’ve ever heard his voice.
The sweet, tender look in his big, brown eyes is what gives you the courage to grab his wrist, leading it just under the hem of your shirt so he can touch your bare stomach. You give him a shy glance from under your lashes, hoping he’ll get the hint that you want more.
You want him.
Simon, in all his experienced wisdom, understands immediately what it is you’re aching for. His hand travels up further, pausing at your ribs, just under the swell of your breast. Your heart hammers in your chest when your gaze meets his. His eyes are lidded, long lashes obscuring his pupils but still burning into you.
He stares deep into your eyes, waiting for any sign of hesitation as his fingers creep higher and higher. You suck in a breath when he cups your breast in his palm, squeezing lightly to feel their weight.
A large, calloused thumb creeps up, passing ever so softly over your nipple until the bud peaks and hardens under the attention. You sigh at the feeling, new shocks washing over you that you’ve never experienced before.
Sure, you played with yourself plenty – you had a healthy masturbation life, you’d say. But you’d always just been focused on reaching an orgasm, never on the build up. You imagine, however, it would never feel as good by yourself as it does with him.
He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine, lips parting as the sound escapes. Simon takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. Your hands grab his shoulders, desperately clinging to his shirt as you lose yourself in the sloppy kiss.
Drool drips down your chin – it's messy and hot between the two of you. His hand switches to your other breast to give it the same attention as the other. You tremble in his arms, overcome by the insatiable throbbing between your thighs.
You shift on your feet, the fabric of your panties stick uncomfortably to your core. You’re so wet, wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. By the time he pulls back, there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to his.
“You want more?” he asks, voice gravelly as he speaks, as if he’s drunk. You nod your head and he clicks his tongue, “You gotta tell me, sweetheart.”
“I-I want more, Si,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks burn as you admit it.
“Let’s go,” he hums, taking your hand in his as he leads you around the couch towards the hallway.
“Where?” you ask dumbly, hoping that making some kind of conversation would ease the nerves steadily building in your chest.
“The bedroom,” he responds, stroking his thumb over the top of your hand as if he can sense that you’re nervous, “Wouldn’t want to be stripped down in the middle of the living room, I imagine.”
“N-No,” you squeak, cheeks burning even hotter at those words.
You’re going to be naked. In front of another person for the first time. In front of him. Simon.
“There now, lovie,” he whispers as he shuts his bedroom door behind the both of you. He takes your waist in his hands, kneading the soft flesh there, “It’s alright.”
“I-I’m just–”
“Nervous,” he finishes for you, smiling softly when you nod, “I know. We can stop anytime you’d like.”
“I don’t want to,” you rush out, hands coming up to press against his firm chest, “Just…d-don’t be upset when I don’t know what I’m doing.”
The tender way he looks at you sets your heart pounding like a little rabbit. A ghost a smile appears on his lips, “I would never do somethin’ like that.”
“I-I know, I just…” you look down at your feet only for him to catch your chin in his fingers, pulling you to look up at him.
You swallow thickly around the lump in your throat, holding your breath as he descends down. His lips find yours all over again, as exhilarating and mind-melting as the first time.
Just the sweet, deep kiss he gives you has your nerves dissipating a bit – back to normal levels. You no longer feel the desire to flee, you just feel an intense longing and anticipation. You crave more from him.
As if sensing this, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. He slowly starts to pull it up, agonizingly slow. But you’re grateful for it, it gives you time to prepare before you’re bared completely to him. You lift your arms for him, a sign that you’re still okay with this.
He pulls it up over your head and lets the fabric drop to the floor. But he doesn’t look down, he continues looking in your eyes, softly pecking your lips as his hands cup your breasts once more.
When you sigh and lean into his touch, he finally lets himself break the eye contact. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees how pretty your tits sit in his hands. He touches them softly, sweetly brushing over your nipples in admiration.
“Perfect tits, lovie,” he coos, chuckling when you whine in embarrassment.
His head descends, pink lips parting to take one of your nipples in his mouth. It’s hot but his tongue is soft when it circles and flicks at the bud. He sucks, popping off lewdly before switching to the other one.
The sensation makes you squeeze your thighs together, imaging what that would feel like around your clit. Your hole clenches around nothing, drooling messily into your panties. The fabric was so wet by now that it couldn’t soak it up anymore, leaving it to slick up your thighs instead.
Your core ached, a feeling only Simon would be able to soothe.
“Please, Si,” you finally break, whimpering pathetically.
He detaches from your breast, lips wet and swollen from the worship he had been giving your now sore nipples. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing brown and you were sure that yours looked the same.
He stands to his full height, nudging you backwards until your knees hit the bed. They buckled at that, leaving you to fall back against the bed. Simon’s bedding was soft, the scent of detergent and his own body wash filling your senses. You relax at the familiar, comforting scent, sinking into the blankets with a bashful smile on your face.
To Simon, you’re an ethereal beauty. You take the air right out of his lungs with the way you look at him.
He remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. He never thought he was deserving of such happiness. But now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you.
He scooches you up the bed, crawling on after you until he’s on top of you. Though you’re still wearing your pants, you feel so vulnerable beneath his weight. He’s heavy and warm and he smells so good. You can’t focus on anything except for him – he’s all around you and it’s exhilarating.
Feeling bold, you reach up and tug at his shirt. He pulls it off with ease, revealing his toned, scarred upper body. You can’t help but trace over some of the ones you’re familiar with – there’s one from a time he fell out of a tree trying to rescue a cat that you had been crying about. He fell out of the tree on the way down, a jagged branch stabbing into his upper arm and slicing it open. There was another one from when you were teenagers, some other kids jumped him and he took a stab to his shoulder trying to protect you. You kiss that one and he softens, as if he’s remembering it too.
He’s always been there for you, an overwhelming presence that you simply couldn’t live without. The fact you’re here, in this bed, about to give him your virginity is something that you never would have expected.
And to think, you were planning to sell it off to some random loser.
“I’m glad you stopped me,” you find yourself whispering.
He looks confused for a second before he hums, nodding in understanding, “I am too.”
“I-I want it to be you, Si,” you whisper, the confession leaving you embarrassed. It’s true, all this time, you realize, he’s all you’ve ever really wanted. You had just buried it deep down so you no longer felt those sparks towards him.
“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers back, as if the two of you are sharing some secret little moment that no one else can hear about even though it’s just the two of you in this room.
“You always do,” you respond, the words making his dark eyes light up.
He kisses you deeply, moving his lips slowly against yours. When your hands come up to grip the back of his neck, he takes that as his cue to move down to your neck, then your collarbones, down the center of your chest between your breasts, the spot between your breasts, and finally your navel.
You lay back, head in his pillows with your hands on either side of your head. You watch him, breathing labored as you wait for his next move. He pauses in his path, looking up through his lashes at you before his fingers find the hem of your sweats. You swallow thickly, holding your breath when he slowly begins to pull the fabric down. You lift your hips to help him, pulling your legs free while being careful not to kick him by accident.
He keeps his gaze on you until you’re settled back down into the bed and the pants are forgotten on the floor to be collected later. Then, he looks down.
Even though you still have your panties on, you know that the white cotton is soaked through and hides absolutely nothing from his view.
You watch as he licks his lips, as if his mouth is suddenly bone dry. His hands are burning hot when he touches you again, sliding over your thighs to your hips. He leans down, pressing his lips against each of your thighs.
His thumb reaches down, stretches over your pubic bone to touch the sticky fabric. You nearly jump at the sensation – someone’s fingers other than your own touching you there for the first time. Simon’s fingers.
As if he can’t help himself anymore, he tugs the waistband of your panties and yanks them down your thighs. You squeal when you’re jostled under the force.
He holds the material up and you’re mortified to see just how wet they are. He runs his thumbs over the crotch and you whine, drawing his attention from them. He drops them to the floor and returns his hands back to you, gripping underneath your knees, so he can spread you all the way open.
Your hands fly to your face, covering your eyes in embarrassment at how exposed you are. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing a kiss over the top of your hands before moving back down your body.
You peek through your fingers only to find him already staring at you with a sparkle in his eyes. He carefully spreads your slippery folds apart with his thumbs, the movement causing a wet, sticky sound to emanate from between your legs. The little bud of your clit is hard and twitching as it’s exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. When he’s sure you’re looking he leans down, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. You stop breathing as you watch a fat glob of spit roll down the surface of the smooth muscle and splatter right on your clit.
“Si-!” your squeal of his name is cut off when your eyes roll back in his head as that sinful tongue slides right over your bud.
Your whole body twitches at that, hands falling away from your face so you can reach down and grab his hair. It doesn’t even seem like he notices your grip, focused on slurping up that sensitive nub into his hot mouth.
You choke out a moan, tilting your head back into the pillows as your back arches. It feels just as good as you thought it would when he was giving the same, lewd treatment to your nipples.
He continues to suck and lick your clit until your mind is completely blank and all you can think is him. Then, all at once it stops and he pulls back, letting your bud slip from the heavenly clutch of his lips.
“You ever have somethin’ inside you, lovie?” he asks, bringing up one of his fingers to swipe through the folds of your entrance, as if to show you what he intends.
You swallow to moisten your throat before nodding, “J-Just my fingers.”
“How many?” he asks, growing more confident in prodding at the tight little hole.
“T-Two,” you breathe, any embarrassment you felt long dissipated in the face of true pleasure.
“Alright, lovie,” he hums, “Just lay back, I’ll take good care of you, yeah?”
You nod and do as he says, turning utterly boneless against the blankets. The sweat already slicking your skin despite the fact you’ve only just begun makes the fabric stick to you.
He prods at your entrance for only a second longer before finally, he pushes his thick middle digit inside you. Your cunt is so wet and pliant that it hungrily swallows it up to the very last knuckle. You clench around it intentionally, getting used to the feeling of the foreign finger inside of you for the first time.
It feels so different compared to your own, thicker and rougher. The sensation is so strange but you can’t say you don’t like it – in fact, it feels amazing. You already want another, feeling like one just isn’t enough to give you that unknown feeling you’re chasing. It’s like you have an itch that needs to be scratched and only Simon can do it for you.
As if sensing this, ever the reliable one, he carefully introduces a second finger. The stretch is unfamiliar, a burn around your entrance following as he reaches the last knuckle on that one too. His middle and ring finger stuffed snuggly inside your gooey little cunt as you whine and squirm from the feeling.
Once you’ve adjusted, he slowly begins working them in and out of you. You slick up his fingers easily, streaks of creamy white coating his skin and making his mouth water. When he crooks his fingers up suddenly, prodding at that tender little spot inside of you, your entire body twitches and the most beautiful moan rips from your chest.
He can’t resist leaning down and trapping your pulsing little clit under the flat of his tongue. He doesn’t slurp it into his mouth like before, instead, he just licks over it, pressing it down with the muscle. Your eyes are rolled up and your mouth hangs open as you moan and moan, tugging mindlessly at his hair as he works you towards your orgasm.
It grows and grows, the unrelenting pleasure of his fingers fucking deeply into you and his tongue lapping sloppily at your clit like a mutt driving that knot in your belly to tighten. Drool spills out around his tongue, slipping down to meet his fingers where he easily fucks it into you – the added lubrication not needed but so very welcome with how much wetter and messier it makes you.
“S-Simon…” you pant, gasping to catch your breath as the pleasure makes it hard for you to even think.
He glances up at you through his lashes but doesn’t offer any other acknowledgement. There’s a knowing look in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s going to wring this orgasm out of your little cunt whether you like it or not.
And fuck, do you love it.
The orgasms you brought yourself in the deep of the night, little hands stuffed down your panties as you played with your clit and stuffed yourself with your own fingers was nothing like what you were experiencing now. Simon’s thick fingers and hot tongue were torturing your little clit until your entire body started to lock up.
You looked at him desperately, unsure what was even going through your mind besides him and how fucking good you felt right now.
Just as you teetered on the edge of this orgasm, he suddenly changed up and swallowed your twitchy little clit into his mouth. He sucked, sending you flying over the edge with a shrill wail of his name. Your legs kicked and twitched, heels hitting him on the back as you trembled and shook through the orgasm that he eagerly fucked out of you onto his fingers.
He suckled your clit, swirling his tongue around it until it was too sensitive and you were tearily pushing him away. When he finally released you, slipping his fingers from your cunt, you were boneless and twitching on the bed. You didn’t even try to close your legs when he pulled away, giving him the perfect view to watch your cute little pussy clench and messily drool cum in the aftermath of your orgasm.
He popped his fingers in his mouth, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering at the taste of your cum tingling on his taste buds. As you came down, eyes closed and breathing heavy, he began pulling at his belt.
You could hear the metal clinking as he dropped it to the floor, peeking your heavy lids open to see him pull the button of his jeans open. As he slowly pulled them down, his underwear went with and suddenly you were more aware than ever.
His cock was something to behold. Thick and veiny, bobbing in the air where it hung – too heavy to actually stand upright. You’d seen dicks in porn before but none of them prepared you for Simon’s. Precum dribbled from the tip, creating a long, gooey string down towards the floor before it broke.
He wrapped a big hand around himself, giving a few good strokes as he reached down to cup his own heavy balls. The hair wasn’t wild or offensive, but neatly trimmed short.
“All good, lovie?” he asked, stepping out of the pool of his jeans and boxers so he could kneel on the bed again.
“All god-good!” you blushed as he laughed, leaning down over you to balance his weight on his elbows.
“You still want this?” he asks, hushed and sweet,
You glance between your bodies to see that intimidating cock, drooling messily over your skin. You realize, quickly, that you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.
When you voice such, he looks relieved, like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He sits back on his heels and spreads your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest.
“Hold them there,” he orders, which you follow immediately.
Your elbows circle around your knees, holding yourself open for him as he asked. He whistles low in appreciation when your cum-slicked cunt was spread and exposed for him to prod his cockhead against.
He swipes the tip up and down through your folds, humming appreciatively when your little hole tries to suck him in every time he grazes past it. He nudges your clit, the little bud still hard and sensitive from your orgasm but so eager for more. He couldn’t wait to grant your wish and make you cream on his cock.
You watch him with wide eyes as he starts to push into you. Your jaw drops as you feel that burning stretch, an ache settling between your legs as he continues to sink himself into you.
“F-Fuck, wait, Simon!” you squeal and he halts immediately.
He’s only reached just past the head of his cock but he reaches down to pet your clit. The pleasure shoots through you, making your toes curl and your walls relax around him. He keeps his eyes on your face for any sign that you want him to stop as he moves his hips again.
More and more of his cock sinks inside and his thumb keeps working little circles over your clit until his hips are flush with yours. Your voice breaks as you moan when you realize you’ve taken every single inch of him.
He’s heavy and throbbing inside of you and you clench around him intentionally, forcing a moan from his chest.
He leans down, arranging your knees over his shoulders, folding you up and pressing down on you. He’s heavy and it makes it hard to breathe but that makes it even better – the pleasure of being speared on that fat cock and being utterly helpless underneath this man is better than any fantasy you could have made for yourself.
“Fuck,” he snarls, rolling his hips back before rocking them forward again, heavy balls slapping against you as he does, “Can’t believe you were gonna give this little cunt away to some prick.”
“S-Si,” you whimper, biting your lip at the feeling of him slowly and carefully rocking his hips against yours, “‘M sorry, sh-shoulda been you all this time.”
“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hums, “No one else gets to love you but me, sweetheart.”
“O-Only you!” you agree, nails digging into his shoulders when he hits that spot just right.
He can feel you soaking his cock, drippy cum lathering him up to make every glide of his cock wetter than the last. He sits back up on his knees, adjusting his grip so he can pin your legs wide open, giving him the best view of your greedy cunt swallowing his length up.
He begins to fuck you in earnest, pulling out halfway before sliding home again - nothing like the little movements he gave you to prepare you. He was going to show you exactly why you should only think of giving him this precious pussy for the rest of your life. No one will ever be able to fuck you as good as he can, he’s going to learn your body like the back of your hand and you’re never going to be able to cum as hard as you can with him. You’ll never even want to use your own fingers again when he’s done with you.
You can’t do anything but lay there and take it, take the pleasure and take his cock. He hits so deep, prodding at your cervix in a way that aches but it only feels that much better when it’s mixed with mind-numbing pleasure.
Simon looms above you, panting and groaning as he fucks you like he was made to. He angles his hips just right, blunt nails biting into your thighs where he pins you open, neither of you caring if he happens to break skin while he does. You don’t even register the bite of pain underneath the way his cock prods you g-spot so perfectly.
Your own fingers would have been tired by now, no longer able to work that little spot like you need. Simon’s cock, however, is unrelenting. The pleasure builds and mounts uninterrupted, every stroke of his length sending you higher. His body moves fluidly, rolling his hips tirelessly so he can give you every ounce of pleasure your sweet little cunt needs.
You’re creaming around him, a frothy, milky ring forming around the base every time he sinks in and becoming visible when he pulls back. It’s filthy and messy and makes your cheeks burn but Simon seems to not mind in the slightest.
“So fuckin’ messy, love,” he coos, breathy and slurred, “Look at that, pretty cunt needed some cock, huh?”
“Y-Yours!” you manage to choke out.
“What’s that?” he asks, a crooked, teasing grin on his face.
“Y-Your cock! Only needed your cock, Simon,” you pant, reaching up to grope your own tits, pinching and rolling your nipples meanly. It hurts so good, making you clench around his cock. He moans at the sight, his pretty little virgin tormenting your own nipples.
“That’s right,” he hums, reaching a shaky hand down to thumb at your clit, “Keep pinchin’ those pretty tits, sweetheart. Don’t stop.”
You nod your head, unable to form a vocal response from the new sensation of your clit being played with while he fucks you. It feels so damn good that you could go drunk from it all. Everything in your brain is slow, thoughts of only him and how good you feel are all that’s there. Your entire world, right at this moment, revolves around Simon Riley.
He knows it too, a cocky grin on his face as he works you to your orgasm. You dangle, almost helplessly, staring unblinkingly at his handsome face as he works it out of you.
After what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds, you cum. Hard.
Your head slams back against the pillows, back arching as you cunt clasps tight around him. You cry out in pure, unadulterated pleasure as he fucks you through it. His thumb keeps working your clit as it twitches and pulses under the digit, cumming nice and pretty for him just like he wanted. Just like you deserved.
You cream his cock messily, it drips down his balls and down your ass to the bedding below. So fucking sloppy and wet, a perfect little cunt made to take his cock.
His brows furrow, mouth falling open as his own orgasm mounts and builds. Now that your well-earned orgasm is out of the way, he can finally let go and allow himself to experience it as well.
“Where do you want it?” he grits out, teeth clenched from the ache of holding back.
His balls draw up, heavy and full. He feels ready to positively explode when you gasp, “I-Inside!”
His head falls back, the loudest, most drawn out moan you’d never expected to come from a stoic man like Simon falling from his lips. It’s deep and primal, full of nothing but euphoria as he spills into you. His load is hot and thick, drooling out of the sides of his cock as he slows his thrusts to milk the least bits of pleasure from the orgasm.
When he comes down, he collapses. Your legs lock around his waist and he draws you tightly into his arms, neither of you caring for the way his weight crushes you. All you care about is being wrapped up in his arms where you belong.
He pulls his neck from your chest and kisses your forehead. Then he kisses your nose. Then your lips.
“Pretty,” he breathes, still drunk on the endorphins of the sex so his lips are a little looser than they’d normally be, “Always thought you were pretty.”
“Really?” you prompt, cheeks heating at his confession.
He hums, “Glad you’re finally mine.”
You beam, “No one deserved me as much as you.”
He nods as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world, rolling off of you with a sigh. His cock unplugs your cunt and a gush of your mixed cum comes out, making you whine. He laughs softly, drawing you back into your arms.
You’ve never felt safer and warmer in your life, knowing in that moment that you should have come to Simon all along. There’s no one in the world who would be there for you, more willing and able than he.
this work belongs to rowarn. do not repost to third party websites or use for character ai. reblogs welcome and appreciated!
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#cod x reader#cod smut#ghost x reader#ghost smut
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your first mission with simon ghost riley didn't go very well.
cw: smutty, ghosts a brat
the cell door you had been working to override had slammed in ghost's face, and at his attempt to open it, you could hear him mutter a curse under his breath.
"fuckin' hell."
"what happened?" you walked over to where he was, and once you tried to pull on the same door, you realized. you two were stuck in the cramped, dark and wet jail cell.
"fuck,” you exhaled and pinched the bridge of your nose.
"stop copying me, cunt."
"oh go to hell, ghost."
"no thanks, i'm trying to get as far away as possible from ya, baby."
you groan out in frustration and banged your head against one of the bars, the condensation sticking to your hair, and all ghost could do was chuckle at you.
"you're so fucking dense."
"eat shit," you hissed out as you swung a closed fist at his chest.
once you made contact, you knew that it was very possible it was your last moments before death.
simon crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked down at the floor while shaking his head, "tsk," he took a step towards you, "always gotta be so physical," he shoved you back, causing your body to slam against the brick wall.
and guess what? you shoved him the fuck back.
"if you think for one second," you shoved him again, this time pulling his shoulder strap down so he was at eye level with you, "that I'm gonna let you throw me around just cause you want to, you're fucking hilarious. you've got a lotta nerve to even think about touching me, let alone push me back when I've pushed you first-“
ghost grabbed both of your arms from the front of you and shoved them behind your back, pushing your tits out from your shirt and right below his face. he looked down at your cleavage before bouncing back to your eyes, "y'wanna know what I think?" he spat right down the valley of your breasts and watched his saliva snake down your shirt, "i think you like it."
you squirmed under his weight, under his eyes. "fuck. you."
"you. wish."
ghost wasn't an idiot. he could feel the way you were rubbing your thighs together, how your pupils were dilating by the second and the soft pants coming out of your mouth.
"I'm saying all this, baby 'cause I know, if I were to fuck you right now, you'd probably be the best pussy I'd felt in years. maybe ever. I'd wanna take you home and do it over and over again until you're gasping for a break. I'd feed you well. id take care of you. I would fucking love you until death. but that's not who I am, and that's sure as fuck not who you are."
you watched his eyes gaze down to your lips as he lowered his head to yours.
"why not?" you whispered.
"because, baby, I don't fuck women who don't want to. I like wet pussy, not scared pussy. I want it hard and rough but I don't wanna break you forever. and unfortunately, I'll bet you a million dollars that if I reached down and checked right now, your sweet pussy wouldn't be wet. not even close. right?"
you gulped as his fingers realized one of your wrists and snaked down the side of your thigh, "that's a lot of money."
he slithered his hand back up to your waist band before sneaking a finger inside, "isn't it?" you could barely hear his smirk through his words over the intense volume of your heartbeat. you knew for a fact, that someone just lost a lot of money.
as ghost swiped a finger down the middle of your panties, he groaned, "fuck, I'm gonna be bankrupt aren't I?"
"its a stupid bet to make after spitting on a woman's tits."
#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#cod smut#modern warfare#ghost smut#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley smut#simon riley fluff#ghost imagine#ghost mw2#ghost headcanons#simon riley imagine#simon riley cod#simon riley headcanons#mother circe? yes mommy#circe69notif⋆♡💌⊹°˖➴
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ᡣ𐭩 zayne | scrubs ᡣ𐭩
cw: vaginal fingering, p in v, finger sucking
zayne has an inkling that you have some sort of obsession with his scrubs.
he doesn’t exactly know why, but there’s been too many instances of you ogling him in his scrubs for him to pass as simple coincidences. the first time, he’d just finished up in surgery, the complications making it run longer than most, his body weighed down by exhaustion that he’d simply decided to return to his office, without changing. he hadn’t expected to find waiting for him was you, a cute, little bento box clutched in your hands, wrapped up in a snow-patterned cloth.
he’d been thankful, he always is, what kind of boyfriend would he be otherwise?
but you hadn’t smiled at him that night, instead stared at him blankly with wide eyes and parted lips. he’d tried talking to you, but it was as though your mind was preoccupied, your gaze solely fixated on his scrubs, every flex of his lithe fingers as he’d undone the knot of the cloth. zayne thinks he might’ve heard your breath catch when he sat down in his chair, his thighs spreading slightly to get comfortable, scrubs pulling over his thighs a little.
you’d excused yourself with a flustered air, not without kissing him, however, the movement of your lips a little too desperate for him to consider normal, the scrape of your teeth against his lips enough to have him readjusting his half-hard cock in the privacy of his office.
the next few times it happens, zayne can’t help but be intrigued.
you’re handsy, the desire in your eyes barely concealed, the press of your thighs hard to miss when he spins a pen between his fingers, pretending to think. but it’s not his scrubs only, his glasses seem to have some hold over you too.
like when his glasses slide too low on the slope of his nose and he pushes them up, zayne can spy the way you bite your lip, your hand curling into a fist on your lap. he wishes you’d just act on your urges, but all he gets are eager, little kisses, your hands drifting over his chest for a moment before you pull back with a sweet smile and a kiss to his cheek and say you’ll be waiting for him at home.
he can’t have that. when grayson mentions next month’s observational surgery for medical interns, zayne knows exactly what to do.
one call later to akso hospital’s chief of surgery, with the promise of attending whatever upcoming medical conference is next, he’s managed to get you a front row seat.
zayne hopes it’s enough to make you finally snap.
-
you don’t know how you’ve managed to find yourself here.
you thought observing surgeries was strictly for residents and interns, but apparently the invitation extends to doting girlfriends too. to your mortification, you think zayne might be catching onto your blatant, although extremely appreciative, ogling of him in his scrubs. which is why you’re sitting here now, perched on a metal bench, watching as your boyfriend’s gloves slip on, a mask covering the lower half of face.
aortic aneurysm, grayson had mentioned.
any longer and you may as well have had an aneurysm yourself.
you can hardly sit still, teeth sinking into your lower lip as zayne’s low, commanding voice comes through the speaker, narrating the surgery with precision. you shouldn’t be feeling this way, thighs pressing together under your skirt as you listen to his voice, watching the way he works, completely in his element with such professionalism that has you feeling hot and entirely too bothered.
which is probably why you’re pawing at his broad shoulders and pulling him down with a rough tug, lips pressing against his in a feverish kiss the moment he’s out of the operating theatre.
“sorry,” you whisper against his lips, “you just- you look really good, zayne. really, really handsome and if you don’t fuck me right now, i think i might die.”
zayne huffs out a laugh, his arms wrapping around your waist tightly, kissing the corner of your mouth affectionately.
“yeah, sweetheart? i suppose it would be against my oath to neglect someone so direly in need.”
you nod rapidly, pulling him down for another searing kiss, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the soft strands. zayne smiles against your lips, guiding you towards his desk, your lower back hitting it as he boxes you in against it, his tongue slipping into your mouth.
a soft moan leaves you when he squeezes at your ass, groping at the fat, his breath hot against you as his other hand slips under your skirt, rubbing up against your embarrassingly drenched panties.
“you’re this wet?” zayne asks hoarsely, groaning when he pulls your panties to the side and feels your slick sticking to his fingers stubbornly as he rubs the pads of his fingers against your slippery, puffy folds. “just from watching me perform a surgery?”
“surgery, scrubs,” you mutter absentmindedly, half-lidded and drunken gaze dragging over the length of his arm, pussy clenching at the visible flex of his bicep and the muscles in his forearms, the sinewy skin littered with scars nearly enough to make you cum right and then there. “i think i’m just always wet around you, zayne.”
his smile against your cheek makes your heart flutter, an airy, contented sigh leaving you as he sinks two fingers inside of you, curling them with practised ease.
“it is flattering,” he whispers, pecking your lips gently, his hand pulling your sweater up until your bra is exposed, fingers unclasping your bra quickly. zayne sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, his jaw clenching. “fuck- you’re beautiful, love.”
“thank- ah- thank you.”
you flush under his gaze, head tipping back as he thrusts his fingers into your clenching cunt, the low, hoarse groans he lets out into your ear making you curl your hands into his scrubs, pulling him impossibly closer. the praise he gives you makes everything spin around you, swirling and melding into nothing until all you can hear are his soft whispers.
“good girl… taking my fingers so well, yeah? pretty, pretty fucking baby… all mine… you sound so pretty, sweetheart… i love you…”
you can barely handle it all, mouth opening for his fingers when he slides them inside, sucking dazedly, hips rocking down against his hand, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, gasping when he curls them further and presses his thumb against your swollen, aching clit. when his mouth latches onto your breast, kissing and sucking, tongue flicking at your nipple before he bites down with measured restraint, you know you’re done.
he groans when you pull at his hair, muffling your sounds with a sloppy kiss. zayne’s arm wraps around your waist to hold you up when he feels you shake, licking into your mouth with such fervor that has you whining and whimpering until he pulls back to shush you.
“what- what are you doing?” you ask, voice slurring, shaking your head in a panicked gesture when he tries to pull his scrub top over his head, “don’t do that. the scrubs and glasses stay on.”
“you’re serious,” zayne muses when you stop him again, his fingers lacing with yours. “so, i was right.”
“mhm,” you smile up at him, tongue licking over his lower lip playfully.
he smiles lazily, pushing his glasses to sit higher on the slope of his nose, sitting in his chair, his thighs spreading invitingly, the fabric tight around the hardened bulge that makes your pussy throb.
“c’mere, sweetheart.”
as if you needed an invitation. you’re pulling your skirt and panties off, clambering up onto his lap, his chair creaking as you kiss him, hand slipping between your bodies to free his hard, thick cock that’s smeared with milky beads of pre-cum.
there’s a collective sound of relief leaving both of you when you sink down on his warm length, his hands grasping your waist as you rock your hips down, whining softly into his mouth.
you lean back, rising and falling on his cock, setting a rhythm that has zayne’s eyes fluttering shut, his head tipping back to rest against the back of his chair. the bob of his adam’s apple has you growing wetter, pussy fluttering around his fat cock, zayne’s hand roughly squeezing at your ass.
“that’s it,” he breathes out, hooking his thumb against your teeth to pull you closer, lips pressing against yours. “ride my cock, love. take what you want.”
his collarbone is exposed, peeking through the v of his scrubs, your hands guiding his hand to your throat, whimpering when he squeezes your neck gently. his fingers are pushing back into your mouth before long, the same fingers that were moving so precisely only hours ago; saving someone’s life.
you let your tongue lave between his fingers, head bobbing as you ride his cock, fingers pushing at his scrub top, walls clenching around his cock when zayne bites the hem, holding it between his teeth. he looks good like this, almost as fucked out as you are, a hazy smile spreading across your face as you lean forward, breasts squishing up against his warm chest while you work your hips, bouncing on his cock, your hard nipples brushing against his pecs.
“i love you,” you mumble, voice shy and airy and cheeks flushed, despite the fact that his cock was currently stuffing you full.
“i know,” zayne whispers, hand pressing against your back to keep you flush against him as he picks you up, laying you down on his desk. “i love you too, sweetheart.”
which is why he fucks you like he means it, because he does, guiding your ankles to lock around his back as he leans over you, pounding his cock into your cunt, forcing your pussy to stretch around his thick cock, his hand cradling the back of your head so it doesn’t bang against the desk.
his glasses slip off with a clatter, but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care, too consumed by pleasure and lust, your teeth sinking into his shoulder when he grinds his hips into you, cock buried so deeply inside of you that your thighs are twitching, eyes squeezed shut.
“zayne,” you gasp, “zayne, i- i can’t-”
“gonna cum?” zayne asks, his voice hoarse and trembling from the pleasure, “please, sweetheart? cum on my cock, wanna see you look all pretty and undone, my love.”
the brush of his thumb against your clit is all it takes to send you over the edge, that and the way he drives his cock into you, in one measured, deep thrust that you’re almost sure you can feel his cock in your throat.
“c’mon,” he rasps into your ear, the lewd words accompanied by the sweetest, gentlest kiss to your cheek in encouragement, “c’mon sweetheart, cream my fuckin’ cock.”
you’re crying out, back arching, fingers scrabbling for purchase, wrapping around him, gripping the fabric of his scrubs desperately, your squeal muffled by zayne’s mouth slotting over yours, the heels of your feet pressing against him, trying to keep him stuffed inside of you.
“fuck-” zayne groans, “oh fuck- sweetheart, take it, take my cum.”
he thrusts into you unevenly, grunting as he cums, his body falling over yours, hot cum flooding your pussy as his cock throbs and jerks inside of you. a contented sigh escapes you as you lay limp on his desk, nails scratching at his scalp gently, fingers running through his hair soon after.
zayne smiles at you when he props himself up, his lips brushing across your jaw fleetingly.
“maybe you should exclusively wear scrubs from now on,” you suggest, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes, pecking his lips.
“you’d never let me leave the house,” he whispers against your lips, amusement lacing his words.
“how could i?” you pout, your nose nuzzling against his, “not when you look this good.”
zayne lets out a low laugh, helping you sit up, cleaning you up with a few tissues before he does the same, helping you with your clothes after, his hands smoothing over your ruffled skirt.
you yawn contentedly, pressing yourself against him, rising up onto the tips of your toes to kiss him again, mewling softly when he pets his hands along your waist and hips.
“you did really good today,” you offer when he drags you onto his lap, curling up against his chest. “the surgery, i mean, i don’t know a whole lot about hearts and aortas, but i think you did great, zayne.”
“you don’t know a lot about hearts?” he muses, tipping your chin up with his finger, “that doesn’t sound right.”
“what?” you ask confusedly, brows furrowing as he kisses your forehead. “what do you mean?”
“how could you not?” zayne whispers, his gaze soft and riddled with overwhelmingly love and affection. “how could you not when you’ve completely captured my heart and soul?”
#zayne smut#zayne#zayne x reader#love and deepspace#love and deepspace zayne#lnd zayne#lnd smut#li shen#lads#lads zayne
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Simon and his favourite cam girl
cw: cam girl, fake cock, penetration, male masturbation (This ones kinda long but I'm thinking of doing a part two where Simon is actually present for one of the lives and she fucks him instead of a toy, what do you guys think of that?)
Simon's favourite time of day is when he finally clocks off from his shift and he gets to go home in time for your evening live. Propped up in bed with his cock already chubbed up in his jeans at the sight of your pretty little face filling up his laptop screen, as you sit there in the matching pink lace set Simon had sent to your P.O box recently.
“There’s my favourite viewer.” You sing-song down the microphone with the biggest, brightest smile on your face at the sight of Simon’s account joining the live. Simon can't help but smile a little at the way your demeanor changes when you realise he’s joined, it makes Simon feel as if there's a form of connection between the two of you.
Simon’s quick to send a message into the chat at your acknowledgement of his presence.
“Well don't you look cute, luvie. I’m glad it fits you properly<3”
Simon discovered your account when you were just starting out, barely getting over 50 viewers per live, but Simon joined every single one. Sending tips to support you, typing messages into your live chat throughout the whole session, and when you opened your P.O box Simon would spoil you with gifts every time he received his paycheck, earning him a private message containing a cute little thank you ending with a heart every time.
“It fits perfectly, thank you.” You giggle, giving the camera a little spin making sure to wiggle your ass slightly to show off how well the lace hugs you before facing the front again.
“Anyway, anyway enough messing around.” You chuckle whilst waving your hands, as if brushing away the previous events. “I have a fun new toy for us to try out together.” You say with a smirk on your face as you quickly go off camera, to then reappear with what looks to be a form of silicone cock.
“One of you guys sent me this, and it’s absolutely massive. Look at it.” You remark, as you hold the fake cock up to your face as a comparison. It was massive, bigger than anything Simon’s ever seen you use. But in all honesty from where Simon is sitting it’s not much bigger than his actual dick, that’s currently rock hard and straining against the denim of his jeans as he waits for the real show to begin.
“But we’re gonna give it a go, you’ll just have to be patient as this is much bigger than what I'm used to, okay everyone are we ready?” You exclaim, batting your eyelashes at the camera before giving them your signature smile. The live chat is soon spilling in new messages every second, of everyone expressing their excitement towards today's toy.
Simon’s quick to release his cock from the confinements of his jeans allowing it to spring free and slap against his stomach. His tip is red and throbbing as it leaks with pearls of pre cum twitching in anticipation, as he watches you spit in your palm to start working it onto the fake cock. Laying down onto your back you pull the pretty pink panties to the side allowing the camera to get a clear view of your soaked core, before aligning the fake cock up with your sopping entrance.
“Here we go.” You exclaim, giving the camera one last smile before attempting to push the cock inside of you. It barely moves, with only the tip disappearing inside of you before it won’t go any more. So you start working the tip in and out your tight little entrance coating the silicone in your arousal. And ever so slowly, inch by inch more of the fake cock disappears inside of you until you reach the flared base.
“Ta-da! We got there in the end.” You giggle, as you work the cock in and out of your tight wet pussy. The sight of you fucking yourself has Simon fisting his poor cock wishing it was him stuffing you full, as he pumps his cock.
The lewd sounds of you pussy pulling the fake cock back inside of you fills the room as you ram it deep with every thrust. Your gasps and moans filter out through the laptop speakers, as Simon fists his fat cock. The sound of your sweet sweet noises has him cursing under his breath as he leaks fat glops of pre cum over and over again.
“Oh..fuck, you guys. I’m so fucking full right now.” You moan, your chest panting and you try to catch your breath.
“God! I’m not gonna last much longer, guys.” You say, pumping the cock in and out of yourself.
“Fuck!” You exclaim, as your thighs begin to shake as you clamp down on the fake dick, your body jerking as you gush and squirt around the silicone coating it in your creamy slick. The sight of your release coating the fake cock and the sheets underneath you has Simon spurting thick hot ropes of cum all over his chest.
“Fuck.” You pant, as you lay still on the bed tryna catch your breath.
“Thank you to whoever sent me this, I'll definitely use it again.” You chuckle, sitting yourself up to look at the camera again giving it a smile. Slowly viewers started to trickle out, until only a few remained allowing Simon to finally talk to you.
“That was so fuckin’ hot, you did so good takin’ that cock, you made me cum all over myself, luvie<3”
“Why thank you, it was a challenge.” You confessed.
“Maybe some practice on a proper cock would make next time easier, doll<3”
“Maybe you’re right.” You smirk “Is this you offering?” You question.
#Scoobywrites#cod#call of duty#simon riley#simon ghost riley#cod simon riley#call of duty simon riley#simon riley cod#simon riley call of duty#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#cod ghost#call of duty ghost#ghost#ghost smut#simon riley smut#cod x reader#smut#f reader
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𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩
—in which toji is constantly fucking women and disturbing your peace. your complaints lead to you becoming one of them.

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem! college reader
cw: smut, breeding, daddy kink, size kink, age gap, toji being a cocky prick, unsafe sex, ass slapping, mentions of cervix touching
Ever since you heard about your next door neighbor Mr. Fushiguro going through a divorce, things have been hell. For you.
From the day he first moved into the apartment, constantly arguing on the phone with his ex wife about whose turn it was to watch his son, Megumi.
When Megumi is over, everything’s quiet, and you finally get a chance to rest your head and relax in peace. Doing some studying and cleaning in the quiet atmosphere.
You wished the black haired boy would stay for just a day longer, because Toji is back to his usual self hours later. Bringing in young college girls one after the other. Fucking them hard against his headboard as they let out loud cries of daddy. It was annoying. You could even stay inside anymore to get work done.
At every hour of the day he seemed to be active, fucking through all sorts of women, the shaking of your thin bedroom wall never coming to an end as high pitched moans echoed through.
It was getting to the point where you couldn’t take it. You were so fed up. Didn’t he ever get tired? Tired of promising these young desperate girls to call them back only to throw away their numbers and fuck their friends the next day.
Weeks go by and nothing changes, Megumi coming over for a silent three days then leaving again. Giving his father enough time to fuck any feelings for his ex wife out of his system.
You swore you couldn’t take it, you had barely been able to study, occasionally spending an hour or two in a nearby café between classes. When you noticed your grades slipping, your eyes having prominent bags at the lack of sleep, you groan loudly in frustration. Finding your legs moving before you could even process it.
Your fist raising to knock on the man’s door once, then twice, with no answer. You huffed, going in to knock a third time before the door swung open. A tall, muscular man towering over you with a scowl. “What?”
Your eyes widened as you scanned over his body, his perfectly sculpted face, broad shoulders, defined abs, and the very distinct outline in his sweats.
The man cleared his throat, a smirk gracing his face when he startled you out of your intense drooling. “Now, what do we have here?” he chuckled deeply, tilting his head to the side with crossed arms as he rested against the door’s frame. “Here to get your turn doll?”
You gulped, finding it harder to spit out your words as the Fushiguro man stared you down. “I.. I’m here to ask you to keep the noise down, some people have actual work to do.”
Toji whistled, “Oh? A bold one huh? I like it,” His hand reaching under your chin to make you look fully up at him. “you’re a pretty little thing you know,” he spoke, running his thumb along your bottom lip, “wonder what you’d look like ruined underneath me.”
You ignored the flutter that went off in your pussy, clenching your thighs discreetly as you glared. “Just keep the noise down okay old man? I'm trying to study.”
Toji could feel his cock grow harder, you were just what he needed. “So i’m an old man now? That’s a first, usually girls like you just call me daddy.” he shrugged, “but it’s okay, you’ll get there.”
You rolled your eyes as you walked away from him, annoyance written all over your face to mask the arousal swirling in your stomach. He’d probably fucked the entire neighborhood by now, including the campus, so you weren’t gonna fall for his sick charms. You just hoped he complied and kept the place quiet, you didn’t need that usual noise the day before your big test.
Toji had surprisingly did as you asked, and you sighed in content as you read through the pages of your notes. Your pen in your hand finding itself in between your teeth as you bit down softly. You got what you wanted, so why was your mind running wild with thoughts of the Fushiguro man’s hands on your body as he fucked you like all of those other girls.
You shifted in your seat, one leg over the other to bring stimulation to your needy clit making you whimper softly. You couldn’t let yourself give in.
Another week passed and you once again found yourself in the same noisy predicament. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the man more than twice your age. Way too old for you yet just so.. hot. Toji Fushiguro had become your fantasy.
And it was unbearable.
Hearing all these moans day and night. Hearing Toji’s loud grunts and groans as he no doubt left them with the best fuck of their lives.
It was Thursday, and Megumi would be coming tomorrow per routine, so you’d finally get a break then. But, you couldn’t deny the fact that you wanted an excuse to go over there. Your face serious as you banged on his door.
You waited a minute, a shirtless Toji emerging into the door frame as it flew open. Toji smirked, “Ah, you again.” His sweatpants hung dangerously low beneath the start of his v line, black hair messy as his tongue darted out to swipe across his lips. “Finally came to your senses?”
His last fuck had left right before you came, coincidentally of course.
“N-no.” you objected sternly. “I’m here to ask you again to just be.. what are yo-“
You swallowed hard when he began stalking towards you, a sinister grin on his face as you were backed up against a wall. His breath fanned your head as he bent his neck. Hands on the walls near each side of your face. “Your face says otherwise, doll.”
“No it d-doesn’t.. you’re just a cocky old man preventing me from getting things done.”
Toji’s brow raised with a deep hearty chuckle, “Back to that nickname i see,” His hand grabbing hold of your cheeks and squeezing them together. “Gonna have to clean that mouth of yours, teach you how to be a good girl.”
You whimpered lowly, feeling wetness pool between your legs as you looked up through your lashes. Toji’s eyes trailing to your glossy lips as he inhaled sharply. “Don’t worry, this dirty old man’s lips are clean”
Pressing his lips roughly to yours, your eyes widening as you gripped the edge of your skirt with a moan. Toji smirked against your lips, his hands hooking beneath your legs as he lifted you up. Your frame so much smaller in comparison to his larger one.
Toji was quick to bring you inside. And you found yourself sitting on the man’s lap, your skirt bunched up at your hips as he hammered up into your wet cunt with brute force. His hands kneading into the flesh of your ass each time you ground your hips onto him.
You let out a loud mewl, his thick cock stretching you out and grazing against your gummy walls as he fucked you deep. Feeling him within your stomach when you cried out. “Fushiguro-san— ah, so- ngh g-ood.”
“That’s not my name doll, try again.” he growled deeply, landing his palm onto your ass in a hard slap. And you whimpered tearfully at the sting. “T-toji—” Another harsh smack burning through your flesh making you let out a cry. “Last chance.”
You moaned loudly, your back arching as Toji slammed into you. “D-daddy, ahh daddy, o-oh fuckk—,”
Toji hummed in satisfaction, “Look at you, thought i was a dirty old man hmm?” His teeth biting softly at the delicate skin of your neck, his pelvis hitting your red puffy folds relentlessly. “Moaning for me like a little slut, so fucking pretty.”
You let out a shaky cry, “Haah— F-fushiguro-san,” Your pussy clenched down on his girth, his rough hand making its way around your throat, squeezing the sides and forcing you to look at him. “Not gonna fucking tell you again.”
You mewled, “‘M sorry— nngh,” Your back arching when Toji bullied his cock deeper into you.
“Still waiting doll.” he grunted, eyes dark as his grip on your throat tightened, your moans and whimpers loud as his thighs noisily met your sticky cunt. “D-addy— ahh- so good,” you cried, feeling his angry tip forcing its way to your cervix, kissing the entrance with each harsh thrust.
“Good fucking girl, you’re getting there” he grinned with a groan. A creamy ring formed around the base of his cock, your pussy gushing messily onto him as loud squelching sounds filled the room. “Pussy’s so fucking tight— better be on the pill cause i’m botta cum in that pretty pussy, shit.”
“Ah— nngh daddy, ‘m close- gonna cum.” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back and your lips parting in a string of incoherent babbles, Toji’s thrusts sloppy as he groaned.
“Gonna cum on this old man’s dick yeah?” He teased cockily, “Had so much talk for someone who’s falling apart on my cock.” Toji grunted, “Bet ya sat there listening like a lil perv, your hand down your panties hmm?”
You shook your head no with a cry, “Uh uh- ahh— wasn’t.”
“Sure about that? Sure you didn’t sit there and fantasize about me fucking you like a little slut?” His hand reached down to rub at your clit, a loud moan escaping your mouth.
Your breathing sped up as you felt a coil buildup in your stomach. Your body shaking with pure ecstasy. You let out a high pitched scream, the stimulation to your g spot making your head go fuzzy. Vision turning white as you clenched down tightly on Toji’s cock.
“O-oh fuck— ‘m cumming— ah, cumming daddy.” Toji’s hand pressed down harder on your throat, the pressure restricting your air flow making you let out a choked mewl. Tears welling in your eyes as his heavy balls smacked against your ass.
“Nngh—” The ring of white thickened at his base as you let out whiny cries. Toji’s hand working small circles on the sensitive bud before he brought his lips to your ear. His voice deep and gruff as he groaned. “Fuck doll- squeezing me so tight, come on and scream for me.” He breathed, “make a mess on my cock.”
Toji’s mean pace became too much, a tight pull in your stomach as your mouth fell open, legs trembling with loud cries as an unfamiliar feeling washed over you.
It was heavenly, your brain going dumb and your pupils disappearing behind heavy lids as you screamed loudly, head falling back and nails digging into his shoulders as you fell off the edge.
Toji never slowing the movement of his hips, still hammering up into you despite the mess you were making on his thighs. Your pussy spraying streams after streams of clear liquid as you arched your hips, grinding back and forth to ride out your squirting orgasm.
“Even fucking louder than any of my previous fucks.” he laughed, “Wonder what the neighbors would say, went from being a whiny little bitch to being the same thing you complained about.”
You let out a whine, Toji flipping you abruptly onto your back, his hand still around your neck as the position allowing him to hit even deeper. “Fuck,” he grunted, his words in between each thrust. “gonna fucking breed that pussy so deep.” Letting out a low groan at the last thrust, his lips meeting yours in a sloppy kiss as he bottomed out.
A whimper fell past your lips into his when you felt him fill you up, his cum shooting in hot thick spurts along the walls of your cunt.
He smirked as he pulled away, watching you pant heavily. “Would make such a good breeding bunny.” Dipping his fingers past your lips and resting them on the back of your tongue. “Might have to keep you around, can’t be disturbed if you’re the one making the noise now can you?”
You shook your head tiredly, forcing your eyes to stay open as Toji pulled out of you. His sticky cum seeping out of your fluttering pussy slowly. Your brain was still so clouded, blinking in and out of blurry vision.
Toji hid the smile threatening to creep up onto his face, his face neutral as he plopped down onto the couch next to you. “Rest if you need to, then leave.” He said nonchalantly, trying to seem like his usual self despite the fact that he had not kicked you out yet. Which was something he never did, let a girl stay any longer than a second after sex.
The man would never admit it, but there was just something about you.
He wanted to make you his pretty little doll.
#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk#jjk x reader smut#toji x reader smut#toji smut#toji x reader#toji fushiguro#toji x you#jujutsu toji#jjk toji#toji fushigro x reader#toji fushiguro smut
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𐔌 、sasuke ノ you find yourself paired with sasuke, whose sharingan flares uncontrollably around you 𓈒 ◟
cw: sexual tension ノ mutual pining ノ Sasuke being emotionally repressed but physically reactive ノexplicit content ノdark themes ϑϱ

He noticed you before you noticed him.
The new girl—quiet, polite, always scribbling notes like the world would fall apart if you missed a single word. You sat near the back, tucked into a desk that creaked when you shifted, always careful not to take up space. You apologized when someone bumped into you. Bowed your head when spoken to.
But Sasuke had seen you.
Not just with his eyes. Not just as one more civilian girl stuck in a shinobi class. No—his body reacted first. Subtle. Wrong.
The first time you were paired together for a sparring demo, he didn’t think much of it. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his fingers, prepared to disarm and pin you like he would anyone else.
You, standing across the mat, looked like you didn’t belong. Your stance was careful but timid, knees bent, hands curled in soft fists like you weren’t sure if you should hit him even if ordered to.
And still—still—
The moment your eyes met his—
Click.
Sharingan.
He felt it burn behind his lashes. The heat curled up his spine, sharp and visceral, like his blood recognized you before his brain did. His muscles tensed, his breath hitched. He blinked once, hard, trying to suppress the activation, but the red glow remained. Spinning. Steady.
“Sasuke,” Kakashi said from the sidelines, arms crossed, voice firm. “Stand down. Eyes off.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Sasuke muttered.
He hadn’t. That was the worst part.
You hadn’t even touched him yet.
And you—gods, your eyes were wide, full of worry, not fear. “Are you okay?” you whispered, stepping back instead of forward. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He blinked.
You were worried about him?
The match was called off early.
He didn’t say a word as you bowed and shuffled back to your seat, clutching your sleeves. He didn’t even look up when Naruto made some dumb comment about “getting turned on in a fight.” He just sat in stunned silence.
Because his Sharingan had never reacted like that before.
And the second time?
It was even worse.
You were assigned to sit next to him for a paired scroll analysis—nothing physical, nothing strenuous, just reading and translating seal logic from a captured scroll. You barely said a word. You just leaned in, close, your shoulder brushing his, your hair smelling faintly of chamomile.
And again—
Click.
That soft pulse of chakra behind his eyes. The pull of it.
He swore under his breath and pressed two fingers to his temple.
“You okay?” you asked again, voice smaller than last time. “You keep… looking at me like something’s wrong.”
He looked down at you—really looked—and his chest tightened.
Because no, nothing was wrong. Nothing had ever felt so vividly right.
Too right.
He was on edge the whole time, and you noticed. You chewed your lip as you worked. Tilted your head and asked if he needed a break. Every time you leaned in to whisper something, every time your hand brushed his arm, his Sharingan flared.
He lied and said it was fatigue.
But it wasn’t.
It was you.
Kakashi cornered him after class.
“Sasuke.”
“Hm.”
“You’re too reactive.”
“I know.”
“Your Sharingan’s not just reading danger. It’s reading something else.”
Sasuke said nothing.
Kakashi's gaze sharpened. “Be careful with her.”
Sasuke didn’t argue.
Because he had been. Every time. Every class, every spar, every moment he felt you getting closer. He kept his hands to himself. He didn't say the things he wanted to say—like how the way you curled your hands in your sleeves made him ache, or how he dreamed once of your voice in his ear and woke up panting, half-hard, eyes glowing red in the dark.
He didn’t understand it. Not fully.
But his body knew.
And when you looked up at him across the classroom the next morning, lip caught between your teeth, eyes hopeful and unsure, he had to look away before the glow gave him away again.
You started noticing things, too. How Sasuke always seemed too still around you. How his hands flexed when you got too close. How his eyes flashed that eerie, beautiful red even when there was no threat, no danger—just you handing him a brush, just you brushing his sleeve by accident in the hallway, just you whispering his name when you didn’t understand something.
It happened in the training field first. You’d been partnered for drills again. The kind where one person runs through a jutsu and the other disarms. Easy enough.
Except nothing was easy with him anymore.
Because the moment he caught your wrist—just your wrist—his eyes snapped red. And you felt it like a wave, like heat straight through your gut, like a pressure point between your legs that didn’t belong to any nerve textbook.
You gasped. His grip tightened. Then he let go like you’d burned him. He turned away, silent.
But you couldn’t stop looking.
“Why does it always happen around me?” you asked him, the words tumbling out, half breathless, half desperate. “Your Sharingan. It never turns off when we’re close.”
He looked at you then, like he’d been waiting for you to ask. Like he wanted to answer.
“You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like this,” he said.
And that’s how you ended up here.
In his apartment. On his bed. Stripped to your thighs, your skirt pushed up, your breath stuttering against his mouth while he laid you out beneath him like a secret he’d been aching to touch.
His eyes glowed red above you.
Spinning. Ravenous.
You moaned just looking at them.
“Does it scare you?” he murmured, his voice low, brushing against your lips.
You shook your head. “No.”
“I see everything with these,” he whispered. “Every twitch. Every tremble. Every time your body begs.”
You whimpered.
He kissed you hard.
Then he dragged his hands down your sides—calloused, reverent—until they slid under your thighs and pushed them apart. You trembled beneath him, naked from the waist down now, your panties discarded somewhere on the floor, your cunt slick and throbbing in the open air.
Sasuke looked down at you like he was starving.
The Sharingan spun faster.
“You’re so wet.”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
“No,” he snapped. “Look at me.”
You obeyed. Eyes wide. Cheeks burning. You were already breathing too fast.
“I want to see you when you cum,” he said, voice like gravel and thunder. “I need to.”
And then he thrust inside you.
You screamed—a raw, broken sound, pleasure burning hot and deep, your walls stretching around him with sweet, aching pressure. He filled you completely, his cock thick, hot, veined, dragging against every tender place inside you that you didn’t know existed.
He growled against your neck. “So tight. So perfect.”
You clung to him, shaking. “Sasuke—fuck—it’s too much—”
“No,” he rasped, dragging his hips back and slamming in again. “It’s not enough. I’ve waited too long.”
He set a rhythm, brutal and precise—his hips snapping forward, again and again, driving into you while you sobbed his name against his jaw. His hands gripped your thighs, pinning you open. You felt exposed. Owned. The Sharingan flared brighter, and he groaned like it was feeding off you, off your pleasure, off the way your body clenched around him.
“I can see every fucking twitch,” he groaned, pounding harder. “Every time you get close. You want to cum already?”
You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks.
“Then cum.”
You shattered.
Your body locked up, your cunt spasming around him so hard it knocked the breath from your lungs. You screamed his name again—“Sasuke!”—while your orgasm ripped through you, pulsing hot and endless.
But he didn’t stop.
He kept fucking you, harder now, chasing his own release.
“I’m gonna fill you up,” he snarled, voice raw. “Gonna cum so deep you feel it for days.”
“Do it,” you begged. “Please—please cum—”
His hips slammed forward one last time—and he groaned loud and low as he came, cock twitching deep in your soaked, spasming cunt, hot cum spilling inside you, leaking down your thighs. His Sharingan flickered, glowing blinding for a moment as he groaned your name like it was a prayer.
And then he collapsed over you, breathing ragged.
You were still shaking. Still full.
Still glowing from the inside out.
And when he finally lifted his head, his eyes were dark again.
But he was still watching you like he’d never seen anything more dangerous—or more precious—in his life.
#✦⁺⸝⸝ @smut#⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀#sasuke x you#sasuke x reader#sasuke#sasuke naruto x reader#sasuke uchihasmut#naruto x reader#sasuke uchiha x reader#naruto smut#sasuke smut#uchiha smut#anime smut#anime x reader#anime x fem!reader#fem!reader#smut x reader
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Yandere Perfect Student head-cannons
cw: yandere traits, mentioned sex, reader is a loser and a FREAK!!
disclaimer: I want to emphasize that I do not endorse or support this type of behaviour. This content is purely for entertainment purposes.
New oc based off this post
yandere ! perfect student, who’s always been at the top of everything—grades, charm, reputation, sex appeal (though he never cashes in on it).
yan ! perfect student, who prides himself on being untouchable. Who treats crushes like minor inconveniences. Who ghosted the student body president and his own debate partner and got away with it.
yan ! perfect student, who’s never once noticed you—until you laughed during a lecture. Alone. No one else was talking.
yan ! perfect student, whose eyes flick to the back of the room and find you, smiling faintly at your own desk like you're in on some secret joke.
yan ! perfect student, who thinks What the fuck? And means it in the worst way.
yan ! perfect student, who hears the rumours. That you're weird. Unsettling. That you doodle eldritch things in your planner and mutter in Latin during group projects. That you once got caught sniffing a book in the library. That you're probably failing three classes and yet always there, haunting the corners of lecture halls like a stray thought.
yan ! perfect student, who smiles when you finally bump into each other outside the cafeteria. You’re looking at a vending machine like it insulted your ancestors. He says your name, slow and deliberate. You look up, eyes bleary, and go, “Oh. Are you the guy with the stupidly linear eyebrows?” He chokes on air. For the first time in his life.
yan ! perfect student, who laughs it off. Who plays the long game. Who starts sitting beside you in class, offering gum, correcting your notes, and making casual conversation. He expects resistance. You, meanwhile, hand him a heart-shaped paperclip and go, “It looked like your vibe.”
yan ! perfect student, who thinks, what the fuck is wrong with this guy.
yan ! perfect student, who thinks, Why do I want to press him against a wall and see how fast he breaks?
yan ! perfect student, who learns that you barely eat lunch unless someone reminds you. That you’re always cold, even in summer. That you keep giving him small, weird gifts—stickers, cursed keychains, a CD labelled “sex dungeon ambience for wizards.”
yan ! perfect student, who starts wondering where you are when he can’t see you. Who starts glaring at people who laugh too hard at your expense. He doesn't mean to get possessive. You’re just… his. Obviously. Even if you don’t know it yet.
yan ! perfect student, who finally sees the shift in you—when you catch him staring. When your lips curve just so. When you lean in and whisper, “You always look like you’re trying not to eat me alive. You’d be a terrible liar in bed, huh?”
yan ! perfect student, who swears under his breath. He goes home that night and can’t sleep. Not with the image of your fingers tugging at your hoodie strings while you ask him if he’s “ever tried breathplay with someone who talks in their sleep.”
yan ! perfect student, who should have run the other way. But you smile like a predator dressed as prey. And now he's the one following you.
yan ! perfect student, who corners you after class, fists clenched in his pockets, and says, “You think you're funny, don't you?” And you? You tilt your head, grin all teeth, and murmur, “I think you want me to shut up. With your mouth.”
yan ! perfect student, who doesn’t know if he wants to ruin you or be ruined.
yan ! perfect student, who realises—far too late—that whatever game he started, he’s not the one in control anymore.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and I take genuine effort to do them.
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-Thighriding with Joel-
cw: thighriding, dry humping, hinting at sex, joel being a brooding mess, spicy time with grumpy joel basically
a/n: just a short drabble bc joel makes me feel funny things 😋
Joel had been in his brooding, lonely self for the past few days now. Stiff posture, arms folded, that look in his eye like the world had personally pissed him off. He hadn’t said much all day — barely a grunt during patrol, less than that when you tried to joke around.
You knew that look. He was chewing on something he wouldn’t spit out.
So you decided to make it worse.
You walked right up to him in the quiet of his living room, hands cold from the snow, cheeks flushed from the wind. He didn’t even look at you when you walked in. Just kept staring at the fire like it had offended him somehow. You kicked the door shut behind you, boots thudding on the floor, and leaned against the wall, watching him.
“Long day?” you asked lightly.
No answer.
You moved closer, slow. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t move. Just clenched his jaw tighter. You’d seen him like this before — wound up so tight he could snap steel in half. The only difference was now… he wasn’t pushing you away.
So you pushed first.
You stepped between his legs, palms on his thighs, and leaned down until your mouth brushed his ear. “You gonna keep sulking like a damn ghost, or are you gonna do something about the way you’ve been looking at me all week?”
That got his attention.
Joel’s hand shot up, gripping your hip like it was instinct. Not rough, but final — like now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go.
“You got a mouth on you,” he muttered, voice low and gritty.
You smiled against his jaw. “You’ve been ignoring me for three days. Figured I’d give it something to talk about.”
He finally looked at you — really looked. And the heat in that gaze made your stomach flip. His pupils were blown, breathing shallow, hands twitching like he was holding back something brutal.
“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he said, more warning than protest.
You straddled his lap in one smooth motion, letting your weight sink into him. You felt the shift in his body — his breath hitch, his thigh tense under you, the sharp exhale against your neck. “Yeah, I do.”
Joel’s hands slid up your thighs, rough palms dragging slow, deliberate. “You come in here, wearin’ that little smirk... sittin’ on me like you fuckin’ own me…”
“Maybe I do,” you whispered, grinding against him. “Maybe you’ve been mine since the first time I caught you starin’ when I bent over that fence.”
He growled — an actual, low growl that rumbled in his chest. His hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back, just enough to make your breath catch.
“You don’t get to talk like that and walk away.”
“Then stop me,” you dared.
Joel surged up, mouth crashing into yours — all teeth and heat and frustration finally breaking through. He kissed you like a punishment, like a promise, like he’d been starving for it and hated himself for wanting it.
You ground down harder, and he groaned — deep, almost pained.
Your hips moved on instinct now, chasing every ounce of pressure, every twitch of his thigh, every time his grip shifted to hold you down tighter, rougher.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Fuckin’ take it.”
You were so close it hurt. And Joel knew it — knew every breath that caught in your throat, every tremble in your thighs. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper.
“C’mon, baby. Make a fuckin’ mess.”
That was all it took.
You came with a shudder and a whimper, fingers fisting the front of his shirt. Joel held you through it, breathing hard, eyes locked on you like he was watching something sacred — or maybe something sinful.
“You needy little thing,” he muttered, pulling your hips harder against his. “Could’ve had this days ago if you’d just said the word.”
You bit his lip. “Where’s the fun in that?”
His grip on you tightened. “You got five seconds to decide if you want this soft or if you want it the way I’ve been thinkin’ about since you showed up in this town.”
You didn’t hesitate.
“Ruin me.”
Joel’s eyes darkened — like something inside him snapped free. And just before he dragged you down again, before his hands shoved under your shirt like he couldn’t stand another second of distance, he said—
“You fuckin’ asked for it, sweetheart.”
And you were so glad you did.
#joel x reader#joel and ellie#joel tlou#joel the last of us#joel miller x reader#joel miller#the last of us 2#the last of us season two#tlou s2#tlou 2x01#joel miller x oc#joel miller the last of us#joel miller smut#joel miller tlou#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#tlou#tlou hbo#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x original character#pedro pascal#pedrohub#pedropascaledit#pedro pascal fandom#pedrito#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x y/n#smut#joel miller fluff
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don’t tempt me.
fuckboy!simon x nerdy!reader
cw: mentions of sex, no actual smut, angst, fever, mean girls, lowkey mean!simon at the beginning, swearing, roommate!simon
wc: 1.6k

The walls were too thin.
That was the first thing you learned about living with Simon Riley. That, and the fact that he was the human equivalent of a red flag dipped in cologne and ego. A nightmare wrapped in gray sweatpants and a jawline you could bleed on.
And somehow, impossibly, you ended up sharing rent with him. College rent to be exact.
Simon was loud, smug, and gorgeous in the kind of way that didn’t feel fair. You hated how casually he carried himself, how the air shifted when he walked into a room — like gravity bent a little in his favor. You hated the girls he brought home even more.
You never learned their names. Just the sound of their heels on hardwood, their laughter that never reached their eyes, and the wet, rhythmic thud of headboard against drywall that made you curl tighter under your blanket and wish you could disappear.
Tonight was no different.
Except you were sick.
Bone-deep, fever-slick, throat-on-fire sick.
You’d spent the last two days buried in blankets, lungs rattling with every breath, body aching like you’d been hit by a car and then set on fire for good measure. Your room, small and dim and yours, had become a cocoon of cough drops, half-empty mugs of tea, and tissues stuffed in your hoodie sleeves like some pathetic cartoon character.
You hadn’t spoken to Simon in days. Not that you ever really spoke to him. Not like he wanted to talk to you.
Ever.
He was all sideways glances and muttered “move”s in the kitchen, barely civil even on his best days. You were background noise in his life — the nerdy roommate with oversized glasses and earbuds always in, like maybe music or audiobooks could shield you from being seen.
They didn’t.
Simon saw you.
He just didn’t look at you. Not like a person. Not like someone who mattered.
You were halfway through a coughing fit when you heard it — the familiar pattern of footsteps, giggling, and the telltale creak of the front door closing behind them.
Tonight’s girl had a sharp voice. Sharp everything, really.
The sex was loud.
You pressed your fist to your mouth and coughed harder, trying to keep it down, swallowing tears because your whole body was sore and tired and you just wanted quiet. Just a little peace.
And then—
Your door opened.
Just like that. No knock. No warning.
The girl stood in your doorway like she owned the place, one manicured hand on the frame, nose wrinkled in disgust. Her hair was perfect, curled into glossy waves, and her bra strap was still slipping off her shoulder.
You tried to sit up straighter, panic thudding under your skin.
“Are you kidding me?” she snapped, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been hacking like a dying dog for the past twenty minutes.”
Your mouth opened, but your voice didn’t come. Just a small, broken cough.
“Some of us are trying to have a good time,” she went on, stepping fully into your room like it wasn’t yours. “Like, is it really that hard to shut up for one night? Jesus.”
“I— I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, save it,” she rolled her eyes. “God, I’d kill myself if I had to live like this. What even is this? Your room smells like cough syrup and sadness.”
You flinched, eyes stinging. Your face burned, and not just from the fever.
And she wasn’t done.
“Does Simon seriously let you live here like this? What are you even— his weird little cousin or something? Gross.”
Him letting you live here, you thought. He hadn’t paid his share of rent in months. You’d be skipping meals so you didn’t have to go face-to-face with him and discuss the fact you're drowning.
You couldn’t breathe. Not properly. Not with the tightness in your chest, or the way her words kept cutting through your skin like glass.
And then—
“The fuck are you doing?”
Simon’s voice.
Low. Cold.
She turned, startled. “Babe—”
He didn’t look at her.
He was staring at you.
You, small and sick and folded into yourself in the corner of your bed.
Tears in your eyes. Mucus drying on your lip. A blanket wrapped around your shoulders like armor made of cotton and shame.
Simon blinked once. Twice. His face didn’t change, but something in the room shifted.
“You yelling at her?” he asked, voice too calm.
“She was coughing,” the girl whined. “It’s disgusting. I can’t even concentrate—”
“Out.”
She laughed. Thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
“I said get the fuck out.”
“But—”
Simon looked at her then. Really looked. And whatever he let her see in his eyes — it worked.
She huffed, stormed out with a muttered, “You’ve got issues,” and slammed the door behind her.
Silence.
Then Simon stepped inside your room and shut your door, gently this time.
You couldn’t look at him.
“I’m fine,” you whispered, even though you weren’t.
You didn’t want his pity.
“Didn’t ask,” he said. But his voice was quieter now.
You tried to get up, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else. “I’ll just— I’ll clean the couch or something, I know I sound disgusting, I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
“Sit down.”
You did. Too dizzy not to.
He crossed the room, grabbed the mug from your nightstand, and disappeared. The silence was off-putting. You blinked at the space he’d been standing in like you’d hallucinated him.
Then he came back. Refilled it. Sat on the edge of your bed.
Offered it to you without looking directly at you.
You stared at the steam curling from the mug. Then at his hand.
“…Thanks.”
He didn’t say anything. Just stayed there, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had answers.
“Why did you kick her out?” you asked finally, voice small.
He shrugged. “Didn’t like the way she spoke to you.”
You stared. “You don’t even like me.”
Simon snorted. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let someone treat you like shit.”
You laughed, a bitter, rasping sound. “You treat me like shit.”
His jaw flexed. “I know.”
Silence again.
You sniffled. Tried to wipe your nose discreetly. Simon sighed, pulled the sleeve of his hoodie over his hand, and gently nudged your chin up. Wiped your nose for you without a word.
You wanted to die. You wanted to cry. You wanted him to do it again.
“Why are you being nice now?”
He sat back, rubbing a hand down his face. “Because you look like you’re about to pass out. And I’m not a complete dick.”
You blinked slowly. “Could’ve fooled me.”
That made him grin. A real one.
“Alright, nerd.”
You smiled. Tired. Sore. But it was real, too.
Simon leaned back against your headboard like he’d been invited, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You hungry?” he asked after a minute.
“No.”
“You should eat.”
“You cook?”
“No.” He smirked. “But I order like a fuckin’ pro.”
You laughed. Coughed. Groaned.
He looked at you. A little too long. A little too close.
“You shouldn’t be alone like this,” he said, almost to himself.
“You gonna nurse me back to health?” you teased.
His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then back to your eyes.
“Don’t tempt me.”
You flushed, looking away.
For the first time, you realized just how quiet the apartment was without his usual noise — without a girl’s laugh echoing off the walls, or music pounding through the floor.
It was just you.
And him.
And this strange, heavy calm that settled between you like something that didn’t want to leave.
You didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe too loud.
You were afraid it might break.
part 2
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HOSTAGE──★
when you’re suddenly taken from them, they do everything to take you back to their side.
cw: gen. neutral reader, kidnapping, violence, slight yandere but i’ll tag it anyways, written on my phone, kremnoan and ohkeman beef, PHAINON LEAK/THEORY SPOILERS!!!!!
hi guys i’m back, in honor of mydei’s banner, im on a posting spree rn

mydei
being the newest chrysos heir was already no easy job. but being from the rival kingdom of kastrum kremnos made it even harder.
mydei had been walking a narrow path from the moment he claimed his place—too much loyalty to one side, and the other would brand him a traitor. too little loyalty to either, and he risked being swallowed whole by both.
you, of course, stayed by his side; there ever since the journey to slaughter eurypon—a grim memory neither of you spoke of often. you remembered the blood, the screams, the bodies that littered the path behind you. the way mydei had barely slept those nights, keeping one hand curled in a fist and the other on your arm—like letting go of you would mean death.
when the others had died — one by one, torn apart by the horrors that clung to eurypon’s shadow — you had been the only one who survived with him.
it felt like a thread of fate held you two together.
mydei had grown possessive since then—never far from your side, always finding some reason to justify it. you could see the tension coil in his shoulders whenever you spoke to others. the way his eyes lingered too long when someone stood too close.
so when a lowly gang in okhema seen you as his weakness, he was in shambles.
they didn’t know who they were dealing with—not at the time. they thought they’d found an easy target; new to okhema and gullible. mydei’s trusted companion, the one who’d stayed with him through blood and war. the one who knew too much, saw too much.
and most importantly, the one he couldn’t replace.
the gang moved fast. faster than you expected. one minute you were weaving through the crowded streets of okhema, and the next a rough hand yanked you into a shadowed alley.
you fought—hard—elbow driving into someone’s ribs, a sharp kick catching another in the shin. but there were too many. ropes bit into your wrists, a grimy cloth stuffed into your mouth before you could shout.
“kremnoan’s should never get too comfortable somewhere they don’t belong.”
one of them sneered, dragging you deeper into the slums. “think he’ll hand over half his kingdom just to get ‘em back?”
he. they meant mydei.
you struggled harder. you knew what he was capable of.
you managed to spit out the cloth in your mouth, “let me go! you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!” you tried to plead with them.
this was so frustrating!
being in okhema was supposed to be a fresh start, especially for mydei. the people were nice, and both aglaea and tribbie seemed wonderful.
aglaea even gifted you a new wardrobe with your exact measurements—you weren’t going to question how, but you had your suspicions mydei had something to do with it.
mydei’s rage was a slow burn and once it was ignited, nothing could stop it.
now, mydei was bound to harbor anger in the people of okhema if you didn’t find a way to get out fast enough, before he got here.
you thought back to your old companions, ones who fought so dominantly on the battlefield.
you had to wait for the right moment, for these men to be distracted.
when the chance came, you were quick to rub the rope around your wrists against the hard pavement under you until eventually, it snapped.
wasting no time, you jolted up and ran.
the dim light of the alley barely illuminates your path as you stagger onto the cold cobblestones. every sound is amplified in the silence: your own rapid breathing, the distant hum of the city, and the echo of your footsteps bouncing off crumbling walls.
you can still hear the angry shouts from the gang behind you, their curses fading into the night. but there’s something else. a heavy, anticipatory silence that suggests a reckoning is coming. you know mydei’s fury is inevitable.
your heart pounds in your ears as you press yourself against a rough wall, scanning the darkened corners for an escape route. you realize that you have only minutes—maybe even seconds—to vanish into the maze of alleys, to slip away before his vengeance becomes all too real.
with one last look over your shoulder, you take a deep breath and push forward into the uncertain night, every step a desperate bid to outrun the impending tempest of mydei’s retribution.
with a quick turn around the corner, you were taken off guard by the chest you ran into.
the impact knocks the breath from you. you stumble, barely catching yourself as a pair of intense eyes lock onto yours. mydei stands before you, his presence impossible to ignore—fury and concern mingling in his gaze.
for a moment, the world slows: the pounding of your heart, the ragged rhythm of his breath, and the distant echoes of chaos outside. his hand, strong and sure, grips your shoulder, steadying you. there’s no time for explanations, no room for hesitation.
“i’m here,” he growls, voice low and dangerous, as if every syllable is meant to ward off an unseen threat.
you stood there, struggling to catch your breath and mydei simply observed.
there was no anger; there was just nothing.
which was even worse.
"mydei..!" he continued to just stare at you, looking you over. the only sign of a reaction was the slight twitch of his brow and pointer finger.
he walked away, going towards the way you came.
mydei was going to make sure his position as a chrysos heir was not one to be messed with.
phainon
phainon stared in absolute horror as the flame reaver emerged from the darkness.
he was prepared for another battle with strong being, but he wasn't prepared for it to lunge at you.
it all happened quickly; all it took was one slip-up, one miscalculation, and you were no longer there with him.
when you finally regained consciousness, it felt as if you were floating within time itself; just an endless abyss.
but he was there, you could feel it.
your eyes adjusted to the dark space, the only light coming from what appeared to be stars.
he spoke before you, "i... am not weak this time."
his words carried weight, reverberating through the void like a vow only the cosmos could witness. a hand—his hand—reached toward you, hesitant yet determined.
"every other time, i've failed." you squinted as its hand brought itself up to its masked face, promptly removing the mask.
the familiar blue eyes were staring at you. though, they looked way more clouded and dead. "now, you're here with me, and i don't... i can't let you leave, [name]."
"p-phainon? what..?" you brought your hand up tp your head, feeling nauseous.
he took a step closer, the eerie quiet of the space only broken by the heavy thrum of his breath. "i’ve waited too long, [name]. every failure, every mistake—it’s been for this. i can't lose you again."
his voice was hoarse, raw, like it hadn't been used for years.
your heart raced, and despite the ache in your head, you managed to focus on him, on the way his eyes flickered between desperation and something darker. something desperate.
"you're the flame reaver? i... i don’t understand," you murmured, your voice barely rising above the void's haunting silence.
"you don't have to," phainon whispered, his gaze never leaving yours. "just know, i won’t let you go. not this time."
you could feel his hand trembling slightly as it reached out, brushing the tips of your fingers, as if afraid you might vanish if he held too tightly.
your entire body felt heavy, like something was weighing you down, keeping you trapped in this endless abyss. phainon’s presence was the only solid thing anchoring you, yet even that felt… wrong. his touch was cold, unsteady, as if he wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or let you slip through his fingers.
"phainon..." your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. "where are we?"
his grip on you tightened ever so slightly. "a place between," he murmured. "a space where time bends, where the past and present blur together." his gaze darkened. "where i lost you before."
his words sent a shiver down your spine. the way he looked at you—it wasn’t just desperation. it was grief, old and worn, like he'd lived through this moment before.
"lost me…?" your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his coat. "but i’m right here."
he let out a quiet, bitter chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "you always say that."
the stars around you pulsed, and for a moment, the darkness shifted. flashes of something flickered in the void—visions of a battle, a figure reaching out, a violent burst of flames. the echoes of distant screams rang in your ears, but they weren’t your own.
they were his.
your breath hitched. "phainon… what did you do?"
his expression twisted, and for the first time since you awoke, you saw it—fear. not of you, but of your reaction. of your realization.
"i tried," he whispered, his voice barely holding together. "again and again, i tried. but no matter what i did, no matter how strong i became—" he clenched his jaw, his fingers trembling as they curled into fists. "you still died."
his words settled deep in your chest, a weight heavier than the abyss itself.
"but this time…" he exhaled sharply, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him from completely unraveling. "this time, i brought you here first. before fate could take you away again."
your stomach dropped. "phainon, you—"
"i won’t lose you," he interrupted, shaking his head. "not again. not ever."
the void around you seemed to pulse in response to his words, the stars flickering like they, too, were holding their breath.
and in that moment, you understood.
this wasn’t just a place between time.
this was where phainon had kept every version of you that had ever been lost.
anaxa
irritating. everything about this was extremely irritating.
for that woman to send okhema's soldiers to take you away took a lot of nerve.
anaxa sat in his quarters, fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair, the rhythmic tapping the only sound in the otherwise silent room. his jaw tightened as he recalled the way they had come for you—swift, efficient, as if they had every right to tear you away from him.
as if he would just sit back and allow it.
he let out a slow breath, willing himself to think. acting recklessly would get him nowhere, but the longer he sat here, the worse the irritation festered.
his patience had already worn thin.
he stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed away from it. his coat billowed behind him as he strode toward the door, purpose in every step.
if aglaea thought she could take you from him without consequence, she was about to be sorely mistaken.
the halls of his residence were empty, the air thick with the quiet tension of something about to break. anaxa had no need for guards; no one would dare to step in his way. yet tonight, the silence felt suffocating. suffocating because you weren’t here.
his fingers twitched at his sides. this wasn’t just irritation anymore. this was anger, slow-burning but ready to consume.
he knew where they had taken you.
it wouldn’t be difficult to reach you—not for him. the real question was how much destruction he was willing to cause in the process.
he sighed, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop. what an annoyance. what a hassle.
but it didn’t matter.
they had taken you from him.
he would take you back.
anaxa didn't care if they needed you at okhema, you were his personal assistant. whatever they needed could have been asked through him
(he ignores them, hence why aglaea sought after you).
by the time he stepped into okhema, the air was thick with the scent of the city—metal, incense, and something faintly electric crackling beneath the surface. okhema’s soldiers weren’t subtle; they never were. it wasn’t difficult to track their route, and anaxa wasted no time cutting through the winding paths that led to the hero's bath outer quarters.
then he saw them.
a squad of soldiers, stationed outside a secured chamber, their stance rigid, their hands hovering over their weapons. they were expecting trouble.
good.
anaxa didn’t slow his stride.
"halt," one of them commanded, stepping forward with a hand raised. "by order of the—"
anaxa didn’t let him finish.
with a flick of his wrist, anaxa held his gun pointed to the soldier's head, his other hand materializing his orb.
"move," he said flatly.
one of them made the mistake of reaching for a communication device.
annoying.
with a simple flick of his fingers, a sharp wave of energy lashed out, slicing through the device before the soldier could utter a word. their breath hitched as the realization sank in.
they weren’t winning this fight.
anaxa stepped closer, his patience nonexistent. "last chance."
the soldiers shared a look before making the smartest decision of their lives. they turned and ran.
cowards.
he continued onward, reaching a secluded room in the bathhouse.
he paused for a moment, his hand on the handle, taking a deep breath. he didn’t know what state you’d be in, but that didn’t matter now.
what mattered was that you were still here.
the door swung open with a smooth motion.
“[name],” he spoke your name like a command, his voice low but steady, holding an edge of urgency.
you looked up, eyes wide, disoriented. but when your gaze met his, something clicked. the tension that had been suffocating him finally lifted.
he stepped inside without hesitation, his eyes locked onto yours. “we’re leaving. now.”
#honkai star rail x reader#ariichives#hsr#honkai star rail x you#honkai star rail#hsr x reader#mydei x reader#amphoreus#anaxa x reader#honkai star rail mydei#yandere anaxa x reader#yandere anaxa#phainon x reader#phainon x you#hsr leaks#honkai star rail spoilers#flame reaver#yandere honkai star rail#yandere hsr
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— Grayson's Girl - Dick Grayson & Wally West
Pairing: Dick Grayson x f! reader (has a pussy + she/her pronouns) x Wally West
Genre: smut/nsfw, angst
Word Count: 11.8k
Summary: Wally swears he’s fine with you and Dick’s new relationship… and if he says it enough times, maybe he'll actually believe that
CW: established relationship (Dick x reader), fem reader, wally is the flash here, plot w porn, jealousy/insecurity, masturbation, sex fantasies, fear toxin, yearning, mutual pining, threesome (mmf), fingering, oral (m! receiving), p in v, cuckolding, outdoor/semi-public sex, unprotected sex, eiffel tower (kinda), aftercare!!
the longest thing ive ever posted on tumblr, by far the most detailed/complicated...and it was the dick/wally sandwich of all things that brought this on. also HUGE thanks to my fellow gotham pothead for helping me brainstorm + for listening to me yap about this for days. anywaysss enjoy!! (banner stolen from Nightwing #90 (Tom Taylor) title may or not be a rick springfield reference (im so corny) yes my nerd ass made special dividers for this
“Wally, help me!” You shout, playfully hitting your fists on Dick’s back. “Dick, put me down!”
The former Robin ignores your pleas, continuing his path straight to the pool. You squirm on his shoulders, kicking your legs frantically, but he’s simply too strong.
Wally watches, suppressing a sigh. He’s not jealous—how could he be jealous? His best friend is dating his other best friend, and he’s in love with both of them. What’s there to be jealous about?
You look at him with sparkling eyes and a glittering grin, the sun on your face. You’re gorgeous, practically ethereal, and you always have been in Wally’s eyes. And Dick? Years of training with the Bat and being a vigilante have left him looking like a Greek god. It doesn’t help that the summer heat has him rocking a glowing tan.
Wally can’t help but think back to that night a little over a month ago. When you and Dick had showed up to his apartment for your weekly game night, and broke the news. You seemed so happy together, and it’s not like either of you knew about Wally’s feelings. All the boy could do was smile and nod and congratulate the two of you, no matter how bitter the word tasted on his tongue.
“Dick!” You slap his shoulder, “come on! If you throw me in there, I’m not swimming back up! Enjoy your homicide charge!”
Wally laughs at your stupid joke. “Don’t worry, Rob. I’ll help you hide the body.”
You put on a fake hurt face and flip him the finger before erupting into giggles. Wally returns your gesture, grinning back at you. Dick makes it to the edge of the pool and tosses you in, giving you a half-assed salute as you fall.
Of course, Wally can’t let this stand. He’s on his feet in a microsecond, dashing towards the two of you at the edge of the water. He shoves Dick into the water, tugging his phone out of his pocket before he falls in. Wally manages to grab you just before you hit the surface of the water, lifting you into his arms.
He stands still and watches his best friend surface, the water droplets on his tanned skin making him look even more god-like.
“I’ll get you back for that, Wally.” Dick threatens, but with the grin on his face and his sopping wet hair, it’s hard to take him seriously.
You hate to admit it, but you secretly enjoy the feeling of Wally’s warm skin on yours. His bare abs and strong arms glisten with sweat and banana scented sunscreen—you swallow hard and force yourself to look away.
“Thanks for the save,” you flash a grin at him and hop out of his arms.
“It was worth it,” he shrugs. He looks down at the melted rubber of his flip flops and sighs, “good thing these were only $3.”
Dick hoists himself out of the pool, his biceps dripping wet and glowing in the sunlight. He grabs his towel off of his foldout chair, towel drying his hair. The ends curl where it’s started to dry, and you want to tug on the strands with your fingers.
Wally retreats back to the chair he was laying on. “That’s enough sun for me for the day,” he jokes. “One more minute and my skin would’ve matched my suit.”
“You and your delicate ginger skin,” you smirk. “Poor, delicate Wally.”
He rolls his eyes at you. “I’d watch it, unless you want a swim in the pool.”
“Okay, okay, I surrender.”
Dick comes up behind you, pressing his wet body to your warm back. You shiver and attempt to shove him off but he clings onto you.
“What?” He pouts, “you don’t want me, baby?”
Wally scrunches up his nose without meaning to. He wishes he was either one of you right now, in the middle of you two. Anything but this.
Dick spins you around, keeping his hands on your waist, and pulls you in for a kiss. The water from his hair drops onto the top of your head and runs down your temples but you don’t care. You’re too focused on tasting him, his familiar flavour muddied with the taste of chlorine and lemonade.
It takes a minute for either of you to notice that Wally’s gathered his things and left.
You frown. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”
“He’s had a long week.”
Dick offers you a half-hearted smile but you can’t help but look beyond that to the steely look in his eyes. The same one he gets when he knows more than he’s letting on.
—
Wally’s scorching by the time he gets home from the pool. Running mile after mile in the blazing summer heat is not for the faint of heart—especially for someone who already runs hot.
The heat is only made worse by the ache in his groin. He’s never felt more relieved in his life than the relief he feels at dropping his swim shorts and letting his cock spring free.
He spits in his palm, smearing it up his shaft along with his precum. A shiver runs up his spine. God, he needed this.
He squeezes his eyes shut and falls into an easy rhythm. Up and down, up and down. And then the images of you and Dick come flashing through his mind and he knows it's wrong and he knows he should stop—but he doesn’t.
He thinks of your mouth, how warm and wet it would be. Lips wrapped around his cock, pretty eyes looking up at him. He thinks of how Dick would be by your side, a hand in your hair to guide you and the other hand petting Wally’s thigh.
He could make you feel so good, he could make both of you so happy. Why didn’t either of you think of him, why didn’t either of you want him?
The frustration gets to him, his fist clenching his cock tighter. He imagines his hand fisting Dick’s cock while you ride him, soft moans slipping from your lips with every bounce. With his eyes closed, he swears he can almost feel your pussy around him.
It’s wrong, it’s so wrong, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to look either of you in the eyes after this. But he keeps going, imagining it going further while his cock twitches in his hand.
The heat consumes him and his hand only moves faster. He can’t help but think of how you’d squirm beneath him, how you’d whine about it being too much. He pictures Dick being beneath you, his cock stilled in your walls, talking you through it while Wally fucks you so good.
A gasp slips from his throat, his mouth dry with the heat of the day. He needs you so bad, and for one torturous second, he contemplates calling you. Throwing caution to the wind and confessing to you and Dick.
And then he’s finishing, hot ribbons of cum bringing him back to reality. It coats his abs, his thighs and his hands—but he wishes so badly it was you instead.
He hasn’t even had a chance to wipe up his fluids when his phone is buzzing and your contact is popping up. Even the sight of your smiling photo in his phone has his face burning in guilt.
He lets it go to voicemail, and the reality of his situation washes over him.
He can’t help but stare at himself in the mirror while he washes his hands. A million thoughts race through his mind but more than anything: what can Dick give you that he can’t?
He’s tall, he has abs, and he’s funny, or at least, you laugh at all his jokes. So why don’t you like him?
And though Wally puts up such a confident front, he crumbles before himself in the mirror. He’s all that, and maybe more, but one thing he will never be is Dick. He’ll never be that confident, trustworthy leader that you’d follow anywhere.
While Dick is a hero through and through, Wally can’t help but think he’s a cheap copy that could never compare.
-
Dick stills inside of you, the hand he had between your shoulder blades relaxing. Your walls clench around him in need but the vigilante remains still as stone.
“What—“ You swallow, your voice breathy with unspoken moans. “What’s wrong?”
His voice is raspy with sex. “You’re distracted.”
You open your mouth to protest but suddenly his hands are on your hips and he’s manhandling you onto your back. A giggle slips from your lips, your knees automatically folding into your chest.
Dick watches you with a smirk and resists the urge to make a joke about how well-trained you are. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”
“I’m worried about Wally.”
Dick rolls his hips into yours. Whether he’s satiating his need or yours, you’re not sure.
“Why’s that?”
You reach up and tangle a hand in his curls, a frown forming on your face. “He’s been distant lately. I-I don’t know. I’m worried.”
He offers you a few lazy thrusts, tilting his head into your chest so you can knead your hands deeper into his scalp. The head of his cock bullies its way through your walls and forces a gasp from your lips.
“He’s been busy.” Dick plants a kiss to your collarbone, “but if you’re really worried, why don’t you give him a call?”
“I don’t want to pry.”
“Don’t get shy now.”
For emphasis, he snaps his hips into yours again and an embarrassingly loud moan rips its way from your throat. Heat rushes to your head and you find yourself burying your face in your hands.
“Okay, okay,” you concede, and reach for your phone on Dick’s nightstand. “I’m calling him, so pipe down.”
“With my cock still inside of you? That’s bold.”
You playfully slap his arm before shushing him, pressing dial on Wally’s contact. It rings once, twice, three times, and then you’re greeted by his voicemail.
‘Hey, you’ve reached Wally. I’m probably busy right now, so shoot me a text and I’ll get back to you in a Flash.’
You purse your lips and drop your phone in frustration. You look at Dick seriously, “do you really think he’s fine?”
“Wally might bite down his feelings sometimes, but when he wants to talk, he’ll talk. Just let him come to you.”
You sigh. He has a point. Wally may seem confident and brazen, but you know that beneath that suave surface, there’s an entire undertow of emotions waiting to be uncovered.
“You’ll see him for game night this week, anyway.”
“I know, I know. You’re right, I’ll leave it alone.”
“Now,” Dick grins and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “can I fuck you, or what?”
You tangle your fingers on the back of his neck and tug him into you, letting his taste distract you from your concern.
-
Dick’s away helping family by the time game night rolls around, leaving you no choice but to change it to a movie night instead.
Wally tries to protest that Catan is totally playable with two players but after some light pushing, agrees to come over and watch movies for the weekend. On the condition he gets to choose the movies, of course.
“You’re gonna love this one,” he says through a mouth full of popcorn. “It’s like Groundhog Day if it was a horror movie.”
Wally plops onto the couch next to you, slinging an arm across the back of the cushions. He doesn’t even think about how close he is or how there’s only inches between you two. You’re best friends, you’ve been best friends for years—this is totally normal, right? The memories of his evening after the pool flash through his mind as if to say no.
You press play on the remote before reaching across Wally’s lap to set it on the side table. Your arm brushes his chest and you swear you see him blush but suddenly the movie is starting and your attention is carried away. You settle back into your spot next to him, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body.
Wally tries to keep his cool and focus on the movie but his attention keeps drifting back to you. You’re gorgeous, he can’t help it. And it doesn’t help that you’re so reactive to the movie—jumping into his side, gasping at the gory parts, laughing at the jokes.
Every time you move, it’s like a stitch in his side. You’re so close to him that he could just wrap his arms around you and pull you into his lap. It takes everything in him not to.
At some point, you rest your head on his shoulder, the soft skin of your cheek brushing the spot where his tanktop meets his skin. He swallows hard, taking shallow breaths like he’s afraid you’ll move away.
“Is it—” He scratches the back of his neck, “is it hot in here?”
You sit up and Wally bites back his disappointment. “I can turn the air conditioning on if you want. I know you run hot.”
He nods, fanning his face to keep his ears from glowing red. When you pull your legs out from under yourself and stand, Wally can’t help but miss the feeling of you against him.
No, he berates himself. She’s not yours.
Wally forces himself to his feet, following the familiar path to your bathroom. He only feels like he can breathe again when he locks himself inside. He runs the tap on cold, splashing the frigid water over his face and into his hair.
Through the water on his lashes, Wally makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. For the first time since your day at the pool, he lets his thoughts wander to a place he’s been refusing to go. What does Dick have that he doesn’t?
He wonders what would’ve happened if he’d asked you out first, or if he’d been open to either one of you about his feelings. Maybe things would’ve been weird as he’d always feared—but that what if in the back of his mind wonders if it could’ve turned out better than he could possibly imagine.
He dabs his face dry with a nearby towel and hates the way he can recognize your scent on it. He hates even more the way it has heat rushing to his groin, his cock shifting awkwardly in his boxers. Calm the fuck down, man.
When he settles back down on the couch, concern riddles your features. “Are you okay?”
“Just hot,” he lies. “Speedster genes and all.”
You squint at him and though you don’t believe him for a second—especially given it’s a brisk 18 degrees celsius in the apartment—you nod slowly. Wally presses play on the remote and forces himself to focus on the movie.
You can’t focus, though. Your mind runs laps, thinking of his odd demeanour at the pool, his distance this week and now his sudden jumpiness today. You glance at Wally, who’s keeping a generous six inches of space between you two, and frown.
“Are you sure everything is okay?”
He pauses the movie, drawing in his legs to sit criss-crossed on your couch. He opens and closes his mouth, the gears turning behind his green eyes. He doesn’t know what to say to you. He knows he can’t keep lying and avoiding his feelings, but what the hell else is he supposed to do?
“You’ve been…off lately.” You pick at your cuticles. “You didn’t even say goodbye at the pool and honestly, it felt like you were trying to blow me off this week. Did I—did I do something wrong?”
Wally’s heart cracks inside his chest. He wants to hug you and kiss you and tell you that you couldn’t possibly do anything wrong in his eyes, but he doesn’t. He sits on the couch like a fucking statue, his mouth falling open in shock.
He’d considered that Dick might’ve noticed something was off—the insightful bastard—but never for a second did he think you would notice. It was stupid, really. You’ve been friends for years, and he knows you can read him just as well as he can read you.
His voice cracks when he speaks. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You sit in silence, waiting for him to elaborate. Every feature on your face, every movement of your body tells Wally you’re listening. Waiting.
It’s a trap, every bone in his body screams. Don’t do it.
“I just—” He swallows, knowing the dam is going to break and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “You guys started dating and I-I feel so awkward. We hang out and I watch you be so happy together and I wanna—I wanna be happy too. I know I could be happy with you guys if you just gave me a fucking chance and—”
He stops himself before he can take it any further. The blood rushes to his ears and for a minute he questions if he really just said all of that out loud. The stunned look on your face tells him all he needs to know—he fucked up.
“Wally…”
He shakes his head, messy red strands bouncing off his temples. He shuts his eyes, hoping if he hides long enough, this whole mess will go away.
“Sorry, I should go.”
He goes to stand but you catch his wrist tightly in yours, beckoning him to stay. He turns on his heel, watching you with careful eyes. The adrenaline barrels through him, your fingers on his skin only edging it along.
“Stay. Please.”
The words send electricity up his spine like a bolt of lighting. Blood roars in his ears and suddenly he’s a man possessed. He’s dropping to his knees in front of you on the couch, hands cupping yours. And then his hands are wandering, trailing higher.
They brush up your arms, to your shoulders and linger on your neck before cupping your cheeks. You don’t dare breathe, don’t dare make a sound. And then he’s leaning in and his lips are crashing against yours and you’re stuck there in shock.
He squeezes his eyes shut and with your soft lips against his, he can almost pretend like this is normal. Like this is something he’s allowed to do and not something he’s taking.
Reality hits him like a brick wall. He forces himself away from you, arms falling flat at his sides. He looks at you, his mouth fallen open in shock.
You stare at him, his green eyes darkened. You’re not sure what to say, what to do. Your heart hammers against your ribs. What the fuck just happened?
“Wally—”
He’s running out the door before you finish saying his name, a trail of lightning in his wake.
-
It takes an hour from when Wally kisses you for you to call Dick.
“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is hushed and it’s only now that you realize he’s probably on patrol with one of his brothers.
“Wally,” your voice shakes, “Wally kissed me.”
There’s silence on Dick’s side and you brace yourself. You just shared a worryingly passionate kiss with your mutual best friend, and even though Dick rarely gets jealous, you expect the worst.
There’s an amused undertone to his voice. “How was it?”
You blink. “How was it? How was it?” You can’t help but laugh—what the fuck is he going on about? “You’re not seriously asking me that.”
“At least you know now why he’s been distant.”
He says it so casually that it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You think back to that day at the pool and that look in his eyes. You knew there was more than he was letting on.
“Did you know?” Your voice is quiet, “did you know he had feelings for me—us?”
“I suspected it.”
He’s using that annoyingly calm voice that makes you want to throw your phone at the wall. Your heart races with barely suppressed frustration. He knows, and he’s possibly known this whole time, and he hasn’t said a damn thing?
“And you said nothing?”
“I knew he’d say something eventually. It wasn’t my place.”
You swallow back tears of frustration. Wally’s been hurting this whole time, hurting because of you, and Dick didn’t say anything. He let you continue on being happy knowing Wally was miserable—knowing you could do something about it.
“How could you?”
“Y/n,” the phone crackles with his sigh. “It’s not like that.”
“I don’t—I can’t hear it tonight, Dick. I’ll talk to you later.”
You hang up before he can protest.
Your apartment is impossibly quiet when your phone call ends. Conflict lines every cell in your body—frustration with Dick and sympathy for Wally battling it out. Even after you curl up back on the couch and start the movie from where you left off, silence seems to blanket the apartment.
You don’t even realize you’re dialling Wally’s number until it goes straight to his voicemail.
‘Hey, you’ve reached Wally. I’m probably busy right now, so shoot me a text and I’ll get back to you in a Flash.’
You can’t remember the last time you heard his voicemail, and yet you’ve heard it too much this week. Wally always, always answers your calls. The sound of his prerecorded voice is only a monument to how fucked up things have gotten.
With nothing else to do, you turn off your phone and watch the rest of the movie.
-
Wally’s never felt guilt like this before. It weighs on him, hangs over his head like storm clouds. The sight of your shocked face—all swollen lips and wide eyes—stays burned in his mind. The fantasies he’d once had about you have faded away and all he can feel is your shock and sadness when he’d pushed his lips onto yours.
He’d called you the second he’d got back to his apartment only to hang up before the first ring. He’d done the same to Dick, only to realize there was no one he could talk to about his. At least, no one he wanted to talk to about it. With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, Wally suited up and hit the city, hoping to burn off some energy. Unfortunately for him, it’s a horribly slow night in Keystone city.
After running a dozen laps around the city, he settles down on the tallest building he can find and opens his phone. He stares at his lock screen—a photo of the three of you at the beach from last summer—and sighs. He considers calling you again, or calling Dick.
Then his phone lights up with your contact and panic swells in his chest. He slams his finger on the decline button. He can’t bear to face you right now.
While any other day he’d be grateful for such a slow night, the evening passes achingly slow, and he can’t help but be grateful when the burglary alarm sounds at a nearby bank.
Finally, something he can’t fuck up tonight.
-
Your week passes agonizingly slow.
On a good week, your evenings are spent with either Dick or Wally or both. Your apartment is filled with laughter and stupid jokes, and your fridge is found emptied of its contents more often than not.
It’s not a good week, though.
Dick calls you almost every day. It’s typical of him to try and fix things before they’re ready to be fixed. He’s always forcing the pieces back into place before the glue has had time to set.
Wally also calls you. Only once and you declined the call as soon as you saw his contact. Regret filled you the second your finger had touched the decline button but that stubborn side of you couldn’t bring itself to let go and allow you to call him back.
So you sit in silence every night, wondering if when Friday comes Dick will show up with board games and Wally with pizza.
When Friday does roll around, your group chat is a ghost town. You type out a message on your lunch break, just a quick ‘hey, we still on for tonight?’ before immediately deleting it. No matter how bad you want to, you can’t bring yourself to send it.
You buy yourself takeout after work and settle in at your apartment for a quiet night. You queue up Wally’s other choice of movie despite the bitter taste it leaves in your mouth.
A part of you still wants to call him back and ask him if he really meant what he said. If he really meant to kiss you that night. Another part of you is too scared to hear the answer—scared he’ll say it was nothing.
And that part scares the hell out of you.
You think about calling Dick, too. You want to ask him where you go from here, why he was so okay with another man—his best friend of all people—kissing you. Still, you don’t, because you’re not ready to hear Dick’s answer, either.
You’re only part way through the movie when your front door is slamming open so hard dry wall rains from the wall where it impacts. You cringe—your landlord is not going to be happy. You rise to your feet and grab the heftiest book off your coffee table, ready to face your intruder.
The Flash stands in your living room, his chest rising and falling so fast you’re worried he’ll go into cardiac arrest. Nightwing is draped over his shoulder, half limp and breathing just as fast. You freeze at the sight of them, the book clattering from your hand onto the floor.
Dick’s hair is matted to his forehead with blood, a trail of it leading down to his mask. His muscles are tense and twitching, and his pupils are almost entirely blown out. You take a step towards them only for him to flinch, cowering in Wally’s arms.
“What the hell happened?”
You glance from the costumed men to your broken door, unsure of what you should tend to first. Wally rips off his cowl, taking a deep gasping breath. His cheeks are nearly as red as his suit, his hair coated in sweat and his pupils nearly as big as Dick’s.
They can’t be seen like this, you decide, and make your way to the door. The deadbolt is broken and the door makes a horrible screeching noise when you force it back into the frame, but at least it closes. You frown and make a mental note to have them fix it when there’s not a crisis on hand.
Wally coughs, muscles twitching in pain. “Got ambushed with—” He’s cut off through another coughing fit, adjusting his grip around Dick. “Fear gas.”
Your eyes shoot wide. Though you’d never had any run-ins with the substance, you knew just how volatile it could be. The last time Dick had encountered it, his nightmares had lasted over twelve hours and it took him days to recover. You can only pray this dose wasn’t that potent.
You rush to Dick’s other side, wrapping his arm around you to help Wally bear his weight. He trembles against you and you can feel his heart hammering in his chest. At this rate, he’s going to faint.
With Wally’s help, you manage to get him to your couch. Dick weakly protests as you lay him among your plush blankets and throw pillows but in this state, there’s not much he can do to fight back.
Wally stands on shaky legs by Dick’s side and you can’t help but notice he’s still hanging onto Dick’s hand. Though he’s better off than Dick, it’s not by much. You see the way he cringes at the shadows on the wall cast by passing cars, the way fresh guilt floods his eyes.
You frown at the thought of him running all this way here with Dick. His enhanced metabolism is enough to fight off the worst of the effects but not fast enough to keep the nightmares from setting in.
You nod to the couch. “You too, Red.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.” You rest a hand on his shoulder, your other hand cupping his to gently coax him onto the couch, “just sit down for a minute while I bring you water, yeah?”
Wally’s too tired to protest, something you’re secretly thankful for. While you fill up two glasses with water, you can’t keep yourself from wondering what he’s seeing right now. You know that in the past Dick’s nightmares have ranged from horrible monsters to the zombified corpses of his loved ones.
You only hope that with some rest, Wally will at least be up and running again soon.
Wally greets you with a weak smile when you hand him his water. His hands shake as he takes it from you and greedily gulps the entire cup in one go. You can’t help but stare at the wetness around his mouth and the bob of his throat as he swallows.
It’s terrible, really, to stare like that. He’s your best friend and he’s hurting and your boyfriend is right there—but clearly the kiss has left you with some unresolved feelings.
“Something wrong?”
You snap back to reality to find Wally staring at you with a lopsided grin. He knows you’re staring. Shaking your head, you gesture towards Dick. “Are you feeling up to helping me give him water?”
Immediately, you feel guilty for asking because you know he’d never say no to you or Dick. Wally nods and rises to his feet slowly, following you to Dick’s side. He stands next to him, cupping the back of his neck to raise his head just enough so he won’t choke.
You raise the glass of water to his lips and gently pour in a couple millilitres. His eyes snap open and fear lines his features. The usual blue of his eyes has been almost completely washed out by black, a heart-wrenching sight.
His arms thrash out to fight you off but the toxin has made him sluggish and Wally catches his wrists before he can touch you. “Dick,” he says seriously. “Dick, it’s just us. We’re trying to help you.”
He only fights for a few more seconds before his arms relax and his eyes flutter closed. With Wally still holding him, you slowly peel his mask from his face and set it on the side table along with his glass of water.
You’re tempted to grab a cloth and try to wipe the blood off but you know it’ll only cause him to fight harder. Besides, Wally needs rest almost as much as Dick does and it would be unfair to ask him to wrestle his best friend again.
“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Do you need anything? More water?”
“I can get it.”
You level him with a serious look. Sweat still beads his temples and though his breathing has slowed, it’s still not at his normal rate. “You need rest. I’ll grab it just…hang tight for a sec.”
You can feel Wally’s eyes on you the whole way to the sink. Even when you turn around to fill up his empty glass, you feel him watching. A shiver runs up your spine, your hand clenching the cup tighter.
“Y/n, watch out!” He shouts.
You spin around, expecting Scarecrow himself to be behind you. In your panic, you drop the glass of water. You don’t even finish your turn before Wally’s arms are around you and suddenly you’re in the corner of your living room.
Your heart is frantic in your chest and your eyes dart to the place you’d just been standing only to find…nothing. Wally clutches you tighter to his chest, defending you from unseen monsters.
“Jesus, Walls.” You press a hand to your chest as if that will slow your rapid heart rate. “You scared the hell out of me.”
His grip around you loosens slightly. “Sorry, I—I thought I saw something.”
It’s his tone that really grips you. Relief. True, genuine relief. Like he really thought someone was about to hurt you, to rip you right out from under him, and he’d gotten to you in the knick of time.
You rest a sympathetic hand over his and it’s only now that it dons on you how close he is. His body heat feels so nice against your skin and you can smell his deodorant with just a hint of sweat, and—God, has he always been this tall?
“You really should rest, Wally.”
In spite of your words, you make no move to leave his arms. It’s comforting and warm and familiar, and though he’s hugged and carried you before, it’s never been quite like this. Wally makes no move to let you go, either.
“I’m fine like this.”
You’re not sure how long you stand with Wally pressed behind you, his arms around your waist. It feels like only seconds but based on the waning darkness outside, you know it’s been much longer.
“You guys are cute,” Dick rasps out.
You swear Wally flinches behind you. He drops his arms from your waist and you force your face to remain neutral despite your disappointment.
You tear yourself away from him and immediately miss his warmth. “How’re you feeling?”
Dick’s eyes are open now, most of the blue having returned. His breathing’s returned to normal, too. Shit, how long were you guys standing there?
Dick ignores your question. “Would’ve been so cute to see you guys kiss.”
Scratch that—he’s clearly not back to normal yet.
Wally goes white as a sheet, green eyes darting between you and Dick. “Shit, you told him? You know?”
“Of course I told him. I tell him everything.”
A million emotions flash across his face. Confusion, guilt, betrayal. You reach for him but he shuffles back, his gaze suddenly steely. You see him glance at the door and realize he’s planning his escape route again.
“I‘m not mad,” Dick mumbles. “I’ve kissed her too.”
If you weren’t so concerned, you’d probably laugh at that. Instead, you step directly in front of Wally, sizing him up. “Don’t leave again.”
Wally’s not sure what prompts him to stay—whether it’s the sad look in your eyes or his sick best friend—but he does. When you reach a hand to guide him to the couch, he has no choice but to take it.
Your apartment falls into silence once more. Not the comfortable silence you’d grown used to this week. No, this silence is thick and awkward and threatens to choke you at every turn.
Dick just sits there, staring ahead and processing how he got to your apartment. Wally taps his feet like he always does when he’s uncomfortable or has too much energy. You play with your hands, trying to think of anything to break the ice.
It’s not you who gets the first word in, though. It’s not even Wally.
It’s Dick who speaks first. “She’s a good kisser, right?”
You laugh, if only in shock and embarrassment. “Okay, that’s enough for me for the night.”
You glance at Wally whose face has turned an impossible shade of red. His brows furrow at your statement, his mouth falling open as if to speak but no words come out.
“You two should get some rest. Come and get me in about 8 hours, okay?”
“But—” Dick protests, stopping in his tracks when you shoot him a serious look. “Okay, goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Wally parrots.
“Goodnight,” you say. “No one die in my apartment, please.”
-
You’re thoroughly unsurprised when you wake up sandwiched in the middle of your bed. Sweat coats the back of your neck, heat seeping into every pore.
Dick lays on your left, having traded his sweaty Nightwing suit for a pair of old sweatpants you’d stolen from him months ago. There’s a gash on his forehead and the skin along his torso is lined with bruises but the blood is gone. He must have showered. Wally lays on your other side in nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein boxers. He has an arm slung over your waist, his freckly skin glowing in the early morning light streaming through your window. There’s a massive, purpling bruise on his side that makes you wonder what, or rather who, had been able to hit him that hard.
You can’t help but lightly trail your fingers over it, as if your touch alone could heal him. Goosebumps raise across his skin where you touch him and suddenly his eyes are opening, the sight like grass on a foggy morning.
You withdraw your hand before he can notice, pressing it tightly to your side. Wally blinks a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light, before he notices his arm draped over you. Pink dusts his cheeks.
Wally takes in slow, deep breaths. At one time he had dreamed about this—being in bed with you and Dick. But now that he’s actually here, he’s exhausted and his heart is beating way too fast, and man, do you have to wear that to bed?
“Sorry,” he mumbles, and pulls his arm back.
“It’s okay, I’m just gonna—” You keep your voice a whisper as you untangle yourself from the mess of sheets and limbs. You gasp in relief when the cold morning air hits your skin. “I’m gonna go sleep on the couch.”
It’s too much. Between the heat of their bodies against yours and the events that’ve transpired this week, it’s enough to leave you dizzy and confused.
You shimmy your way out of the bed, stopping only when Wally rests a hand on your shoulder.
“I can go,” he says. “I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.”
You risk a glance down at his bruised abs. “No, you’re hurt. I’m not gonna make you run all the way home.”
“And I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.”
“Then neither of you go anywhere.”
Both your attention snaps to Dick laying perfectly still with his eyes still closed. There’s a knowing smirk on his face and the morning light gives him an ethereal glow.
Wally narrows his eyes. “Have you been awake this whole time?”
“What can I say, I’m a light sleeper.”
Wally watches you nod slowly in agreement. He feels dizzy with whiplash, thinking of all the nights he’s spent alone in his bed, thinking about a moment just like this. He lets himself fall back into the plush sheets of your bed, fighting the rising blood rushing to his face.
You stay sitting up, staring at the window just behind Dick’s head. “I’m too hot.”
Without another word, Dick reaches over and blindly feels around for the latch to your window. It takes a few tries but then he’s clicking it open and the room is flooded with fresh air.
“No excuses to leave now,” he says.
You press your lips into a line, knowing he’s right. You’re hesitant to lay between them again, as comfortable and safe as you felt. Something about it feels off, like you’re doing something you’re not supposed to.
You’re torn between pretending to use the bathroom and just going back to sleep when Dick wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you back into the bed. You hit the pillows with a soft thud, shifting on top of the sheets until you’re comfortable.
Well, that settles that.
-
Wally is gone before you wake up, Dick following suit not much later. At least the latter kissed you goodbye—Wally couldn’t even be bothered to send a text. You hate how much the thought upsets you.
You go about your Saturday morning the way you normally would. Coffee and breakfast somewhat soothes your racing mind from the confusing, dizzying blur that was your Friday night. Still, the events from last night echo in your mind.
For a moment, in the fog of the early morning, waking up between Wally and Dick just felt right. There was no uncertainty, no shame—just you and two men you love resting after a considerably long night.
And then the weight of your thoughts hits you and your stomach drops because you love Wally, in the same way you love Dick. You remember the way your heart hammered in your chest when he kissed you, the butterflies in your stomach when he held you. God, what have you gotten into?
You force yourself into the shower before you can think about it anymore. Your skin still smells like Wally’s cologne and Dick’s sweat. The water runs across your skin, washing away their scents and the associated feelings that flood and threaten to drown you.
You stand under the water much longer than you mean to, only getting out when your phone starts buzzing enough to send it tumbling off the counter.
Shit, you’re quick to rinse off and hop out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor on the way to your discarded phone. You grab it, your wet palm smearing water all over the screen, and squint at it through water logged eyes.
Batboyfriend: Pool day? 👀 Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: OMG YES. It’s hotter than me out here and that’s saying something.
Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: dibs on throwing her in the pool this time
Batboyfriend: what? you literally saved her last time
Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: and? I contain multitudes bro.
Batboyfriend: y/n? you in? I swear I won’t let him drown you
You can’t help but smile as you flip through the messages. After a week of silence, the normalcy feels good—even if you are still worried about Wally.
You: sure, why not
Batboyfriend: great, see you in an hour?
Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: YAY!! 💪😎 👊🤠✋
Batboyfriend: what??
You: what??
Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: ⬆️ that’s literally me rn
With your afternoon spoken for, you go to get ready.
-
You’re nervous when you pull up to Dick’s, wringing your shirt in your hands. You’ve been here a thousand times, swam at the pool more times than you can count, but still your heart flutters in your ribcage.
You thought you were ready to face them again but then the memories of Wally’s hair messy and glowing in the early morning light come bleeding back. Dick’s voice echoes in your ears with every step you take: She’s a good kisser, right?
You’re tempted to duck away, to go back home and pretend like you got caught up in something. And then Wally is calling your name and Dick is coming skipping down the parking lot.
You swallow at the sight of them—this pool day is going to be the death of you. Wally is shirtless and wearing only a pair of green swim trunks and cheap flip flops. Sweat glistens across his bare chest, highlighting the dark bruise on his side.
Dick offers you a wave, tan skin peaking out from under his tank top. A pair of aviators sits on top of his head and holds back his mess of dark curls. Your heart wrenches at the gash on his head.
Wally grins at you from behind his sunglasses. “Took you long enough.”
Dick comes right up to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and kissing the side of your head. You glance at Wally nervously but the redhead looks completely unbothered.
“How long have you guys been here?”
Wally checks an imaginary watch. “Pretty much since Dick texted.”
You glance at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows who only nods to confirm. Despite their lighthearted attitudes, you can’t help but feel hesitant. Suspicious, even.
“You guys aren’t actually planning on drowning me,” you glance between the two, “right?”
“No,” Dick says.
“Only if you deserve it.”
You roll your eyes only for sweet relief to hit you when Dick unlocks the gate and gestures you into the poolyard. The water catches your eye, sparkling as if to say hello.
Dick and Wally have already set up the tanning chairs, the cooler, and laid out towels for each of you. You smile at the sight, shimmying out of Dick’s reach to sprint towards your favorite chair.
“You guys have been busy.”
“Duh, we’ve been waiting for you.”
You settle in on the chair, dropping your stuff and claiming your territory. It’s already warm from being in the sun—prime tanning real estate, as you always called it. You sprawl out across the chair and bask in the afternoon sunlight with no intention of getting up anytime soon.
“Straight to the chair as always,” Dick laughs. “There’s drinks in the cooler. I got your favorite.”
“Ugh, you’re speaking my language right now.”
You slowly strip out of your shorts and t-shirt, letting the sun rays wash over your almost naked figure. You try to ignore the way Wally looks at you, instead focusing on Dick digging through the cooler to grab you a drink.
-
“What’s the point of going to the pool if you don’t go swimming?” Wally teases.
“I’m tanning.” You glance at his pasty figure, “you should try it sometime.”
“Hey, you know I burn easily!”
“Poor, delicate Wally.” You tease.
“That’s it,” he says, and suddenly he’s grabbing you from the chair and tossing you over his shoulder. “You’re going in.”
“No, wait, Wally!”
“Nope, bad girls get thrown in the pool.”
You hate the way that phrase has heat pooling in your core. You glance to Dick, currently floating on his back in the water, for help.
“Don’t look at me,” he shrugs. “He literally told you ahead of time this would happen.”
Some help he is.
You look at Wally pleadingly. “I concede. I apologize. I surrender. Just—please, do not throw me in.”
It must be the way you’re looking at him or the desperation in your voice, but Wally actually puts you down. Relief floods you when your bare feet meet the concrete lining the pool. You’re inches away from him, you can see every bead of sweat, feel the heat radiating off of him, see the burn forming across his neck and shoulders.
“You and your delicate skin,” you say quietly, reaching out to touch the bruise along his ribs. You stop yourself from touching him.
Wally just stares at you. No retort, no threat to throw you in the pool. Just pure unabashed staring. You shrink beneath his gaze, pulling your hand back to your side.
“You guys gonna kiss again?”
The sound of Dick’s voice has you realizing you’re standing entirely too close to him. You risk a glance only to see him smiling wickedly in your direction. Oh god, you know what that smile means. He’s planning something.
You take a step back only for Wally to catch your hand in his. “Don’t,” he breathes.
You look at Dick once more, though you’re not sure why. Are you waiting for him to rescue you, to tell you what to do? To give you permission? You shy away from the thought.
Dick takes a sip of his drink. “Well?”
He’s looking at you expectantly, like he somehow thinks you’re going to kiss Wally right here in front of him. The very idea has your face going hot—and not from the sun. You try to meet his eyes from here and it’s only then that you find he’s not staring at you at all.
He’s looking directly at Wally.
You snap your head up only to find the redhead blushing, his mouth set in a hard line. Your gaze follows the length of his arm—his skin turning pink in the sun—all the way down to where his hand rests on yours.
You’re entirely too hot, now.
“Don’t you remember what we talked about?” You look at Dick again as he speaks.
What we talked about? You frown, suddenly feeling vindicated at your hesitancy earlier. Something isn’t right here.
Your voice cracks when you go to speak. “Am I about to be drowned?”
Your attempt to lighten the mood falls on deaf ears. Dick smirks, looking at Wally with raised eyebrows, while Wally’s eyes are entirely focused on you. Oh god.
“We had a deal.” Dick prompts, and that undertone in his voice sounds eerily similar to the one he uses when he’s commanding the Titans. An order—not a request.
“Fuck it,” Wally mumbles under his breath, and suddenly he’s tugging you into him, closing the gap by gripping the back of your neck.
All of the breath leaves your body as you collide with him, the warm skin of his palm beckoning you closer. His other hand wraps around your waist and before you can even think to question him, his lips are slamming against yours.
There’s no hesitancy, no soft shyness. You can’t feel guilt and anger radiating off of him the way you could last time. There’s passion, now. Intent.
You fall into him, letting all of your own confusion and fear melt away. Your hands trail up his spine like they have a mind of their own. They run up against his bare skin, flickering like lightning until they meet at the back of his neck, tangling up in his hair and tugging him closer to you.
Wally gasps, his hand on your waist tightening until his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise. The sting of it all doesn’t phase you, it only drives you to want more.
And then there’s a different hand on your back and you’re brought back to reality. You pull away, lips swollen and eyes wide, dizzy with lust. You look behind you and meet Dick’s eyes and your vertiginous new reality falls over you.
“I—”
Dick’s hand trails down to the small of your back, rubbing circles on your bare skin. “How was it?”
“How was it?” You repeat, your voice barely a mumble.
You press a hand to your chest. The world is too hot, your heart beating too fast. If it weren’t for their hands on you, you’re sure you would’ve passed out by now.
“Good.” Wally takes the words right out of your mouth. “You were right.”
It’s the way he says it that catches your attention. His words are void of bitterness, just pure breathless curiosity.
He looks at Dick, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Can I—can I do it again?”
“It’s not me you need to be asking.”
His eyes fall on you and you swear your heart hits terminal velocity. You look at him through your lashes, the whole world bright and dreamlike.
“Can I?” He swallows, “please?”
It’s the sheer need in his voice that makes you nod, not trusting your voice to be any sort of stable right now. Wally doesn’t waste a second to pull you against him and press his lips against yours. It’s less desperate this time, but just as needy, just as passionate.
For a second, it almost feels like the world is shaking. Like the ground beneath your feet is vibrating at the exact frequency you are. And then Wally rips himself away from you to take a deep breath and you realize the world wasn’t vibrating—he was.
“Fuck,” he says through a laugh.
“Easy, Wally.” Dick lays a hand on his shoulder, clasping tight until the speedster slows down. “You alright?”
He blinks a few times before offering a weak thumbs up, his hand still shaking. It’s only now that you realize what a number you’ve done on him. His red hair is tangled and messy, his cheeks and ears a shade of vermillion you’ve never seen before. It would be laughable if you didn’t feel equally as frazzled.
“And how are you feeling?” Dick asks.
“I just kissed Wally,” you say slowly. “Twice.”
“And?”
“And you watched.”
Dick just laughs. “It was definitely a sight, I’ll give you that.”
You’re not even sure what to say to that. Dick’s never been considerably possessive but you never pegged him as the kind of man to share. You think back to that first night Wally had kissed you and the initial worry you’d felt while waiting for Dick to pick up the phone.
You never expected it to turn into this.
“Was that really okay?” Wally’s tone is serious in a way you’ve rarely heard before.
“We had a deal,” Dick repeats.
The statement has your eyebrows raising. You open your mouth in question, ready to ask your boyfriend what the actual fuck is going on, but stop dead in your tracks.
You blink a few times, making sure the sight isn’t just a heat-driven mirage. But no, what you’re seeing is entirely correct. Wally West is kissing your boyfriend, and Dick’s kissing him back.
You watch in surprise, your jaw hitting the floor. Is this how Dick felt when you kissed Wally? Are you supposed to feel this turned on by it? It feels like the world around you is on fire and you’re caught right in the middle of it all.
Dick pulls away entirely unphased and wholly unaware of the state he’s left Wally in. Meanwhile, Wally looks like he’s about to faint. And though you’ve done such a good job holding in your incredulous laughter up to this point, Wally’s messy state finally drives you over the edge.
“What the actual fuck is going on?” You cackle, “what are we even doing?”
“We’re helping Wally.”
Dick states it like it’s the simplest thing in the world and it’s enough to have you doubting your own overcomplicated thoughts. You glance at Wally, hoping for some insight.
“Do you not want this?” He asks.
You’re not even sure what “this” is but something in the way he asks it has you saying you do. It’s Dick and it’s Wally and they’ve always taken care of you, so why wouldn’t you trust them now?
“Good,” he says and then he’s closing the gap between you, his fingers finding their way to the nape of your neck as if they have a thousand times before. “Because I do too.”
Then Wally’s lips are on yours again and you swear the world falls away from your feet. Your knees shake and your body threatens to tumble forward but then Wally’s holding you, bracing you against the perfectly strewn muscles of his body.
You gasp into his mouth when you feel Dick press himself against your back, his lips attaching to the side of your neck. One of his hands rests over Wally’s on your hip, the other trailing up your spine to fiddle with the string of your bathing suit top.
It’s almost too much, being between them this way. You’ve never felt so contained, you’ve never felt so free. Wally’s tongue slips into your mouth at the same time Dick unties your top. You barely have time to cover your chest before the useless garment falls limply to the ground.
You pull away gasping, an unbearable heat in the pit of your stomach. “Dick.”
For a moment, both men just stare at you like deer in headlights. You tighten your arms around your chest, awkwardly shifting to cover your bare tits from their prying eyes.
Dick finally hums in acknowledgement.
“You took my top off.”
“I know.”
You look over your shoulder at Dick, and then to Wally, and you’re not quite sure who’s staring harder. All you know is that Wally’s shorts suddenly look tighter and you’re now a little too curious about what he’s packing beneath them.
Dick rubs himself against you, the bulge in his shorts catching on your skin. You take a deep breath and brace yourself.
His mouth brushes against your ear. “Why don’t you move your hands, hm? Let Wally take a look.”
He’s using that damn voice again. The ‘I’m not asking, I’m ordering’ voice that he uses when you’re being a brat. You don’t even think twice before you force your arms away from your skin, letting them fall limply at your sides.
Wally coughs like there’s something stuck in his throat, reaching a hand down to adjust his shorts. His mouth falls open, a hand reaching out and stopping midway as if he’s about to ask permission.
Dick rests a hand under each nipple, cupping your boobs like he’s putting them on display. “Well?”
“Hot,” he breathes. “Fuck—gorgeous, I mean. Pretty.” He cracks a smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m gonna stop talking now.”
Your heart flutters at his praise like you ever thought he’d say otherwise. He reaches out again, more confident this time, and brushes a hand across your nipple. You shiver, backing up into Dick without meaning to.
Your boyfriend holds you still, planting soft kisses on your shoulder to keep you calm while Wally’s hands explore your chest. Goosebumps raise in every place he touches, the heat of the day soothing them down almost as quickly as they form. It’s a tantalizing cycle.
Heat pools in your centre and you’re grateful that you’re wearing something waterproof. You clench your legs together without meaning to, hoping for some friction. Dick knows what you need before you even ask for it, dropping a hand down to rub slow circles on your clothed clit.
Wally dips his head in, flicking his eyes up to silently ask for permission—met with a curt nod—before attaching his lips to your skin. His hot mouth leaves a trail of marks wherever he kisses you, your skin turning shiny with his spit.
“How’re you feeling, baby?” Dick asks while he slips his hand into the front of your bathing suit bottoms.
“G-good.”
Wally laughs against your skin and for the first time in a while, you see sunshine behind his eyes. His happiness almost feels better than the combined pleasure they’re giving you.
A whine slips from your lips when Dick’s fingers meet your bare pussy. Wally’s quicker than that, though. He presses his mouth against yours and greedily swallows up your moans.
Dick crouches behind you to get better access and pulls your bottoms down to your knees. You stumble slightly but Wally catches you, his mouth moving away from your lips down to your jaw. He kisses lower and lower, sucking dark marks against your neck, your shoulders, your chest.
It’s his way of claiming you, you think. You may not be his girlfriend and he may not be your boyfriend, but it’s his small way of saying Wally was here.
Dick slips a finger inside of you, pushing it up to the hilt, and another moan is ripping through you. You grip at Wally’s shoulder, trying to keep yourself stable while the two men ravage you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to focus on the moment—on the way Dick’s finger curls inside of you, the way Wally’s teeth graze your nipple, the way you can feel your juices running down your thighs.
He dips another finger inside of you, pumping them deeper. You press your body fully against Wally’s, his cock pressing against your stomach through his shorts. If it wasn’t for him, you’d probably be tumbling to your knees by now.
You run your fingers across his abs as a way to distract yourself from Dick’s fingers inside of you. You dip your hand lower and lower with each pass until you’re just barely grazing the top of his swimshorts.
Wally gulps and that’s the only reaction you need before you’re sliding your hand into his pants to grab his mostly hard cock. He’s solid in your hand, a little longer than Dick but not any thicker. You give his cock a playful squeeze before collecting the precum from his tip and using it as lube to glide along his shaft.
“F-fuck,” Wally gasps. He glances at Dick kneeled down behind you, “she’s good.”
Dick nuzzles his face between your thighs, drinking up the slick that drips from his fingers. “You haven’t even tasted her yet.”
The way they talk about you like you’re not even there just turns you on more, that pressure in your lower stomach building with every thrust of Dick’s fingers. You tighten your grip around Wally’s cock, trying to match Dick’s pace inside of you.
Wally brushes a finger under your chin, tilting your head up so he can kiss you again. His lips slam against yours and you part yours to welcome him. His tongue dips into your mouth and suddenly his taste is everywhere.
A familiar heatwave hits you and suddenly you’re finishing all over Dick’s fingers, your orgasm washing over you in waves. You squirm, your knees shaking and your pussy fluttering around his fingers. Dick pulls his face out from your achy, needy pussy, watching you with hearts in his eyes as you cum all over his hand.
Wally pulls away from you too, watching the spectacle you’ve become. His hand reaches for yours, stroking his thumb along your knuckles in a way he hopes is soothing. It only takes a few seconds before you come back to yourself, panting and messy and hot.
“God, that’s a sight I’d pay to see.” Wally laughs.
Dick rubs a hand up and down your thigh before rising to his feet. “Good thing you don’t have to.”
He wraps an arm around Wally and tugs him in for a kiss. You watch them through bleary eyes, your ears perking up when Wally moans at the taste of your pussy on Dick’s lips. Then Dick is turning to you, beckoning you in and pressing his lips to yours. You swear you can taste Wally on him, too.
“Let’s get you over to your chair, hm?” Dick mumbles against your lips.
You don’t even think, you just obey. You shuffle over to your chair on shaky legs, laying on your back. “Like this?”
The two men follow you over, Dick settling on the chair next to yours while Wally shuffles over to you. You watch him through half-closed eyes while he shimmies out of his swim trunks, letting his cock spring free.
He’s rock hard, his tip glistening with precum. You trace his body from his muscly thighs to his throbbing cock to his kinda-but-not-really groomed hair. It’s almost exactly what you were expecting, and so incredibly Wally.
He gives himself a few strokes before kneeling on the chair with you, testing his weight. “Man, I hope this thing doesn’t break.”
You gently hit his arm. “Don’t say that, now I’m gonna be paranoid.”
“Don’t worry, baby.” He tests out the nickname, watching you for a reaction. “I’ll protect you.”
He grabs your legs, hooking them around his waist on either side. You take a deep breath and brace yourself, your eyes finding Dick’s for a glimpse of comfort.
He smiles at you reassuringly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, sweetheart.”
“I-I want to.”
“Then let us take care of you.”
Wally hums in agreement, rutting his cock through your folds. The head of his dick catches on your clit, eliciting a gasp from your lips that brings a smile to his. You shift lower in your chair, trying to close the gap between his tip and your entrance.
He leans into you, bracing a hand on the chair behind your head. His lips ghost over yours, “you ready for me?”
You mumble a quick yes and then his lips are pressing against yours, his hand guiding his cock inside of you. A moan falls from your lips the minute his length splits you open. You squirm beneath him but Wally’s other hand presses into your hip, holding you against the chair.
He’s surprisingly slow to bottom out, like he’s savouring every inch he pushes into you, every second he gets to be inside of you. He moans shakily once he’s all the way in, the warmth and wetness of your walls almost has him finishing then and there.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and draw him in closer as he starts to thrust. His hips move out painfully slowly before snapping back in, forcing his length into you all at once. The breath leaves your body, his motions leave you gasping for more.
He falls into a steady rhythm, his movements fast and to the point. His head moves away from your lips to nuzzle into the crook of your shoulder, his breathy moans directly in your ears.
You can’t help but dig your nails into his skin, marking him the same way he marked you earlier. Your eyes flutter open, glancing over to Dick only to see him staring straight at you guys and stroking his cock. You clench at the sight, reaching out a shaky hand to beckon him closer.
He shakes his head, holding up a finger as if to say “give me a minute.” You nod weakly in acknowledgement, letting your head lull back and eyes close again. The pressure in your stomach only builds with every thrust, Wally’s hand only adding to it.
“Is he watching?” Wally rasps.
A cross between a moan and a yes is all that you manage, but Wally seems to get the picture. He snaps his hips harder into yours, each thrust punctuated with a sort of showiness that only Wally himself could pull off. You cling to him tighter, holding on for dear life.
And then there’s a tap at your shoulder and Dick’s cock is next to your face. You don’t even think to question it, only opening your mouth to give him access.
He’s gentle to start, slowly pushing his length into your mouth and letting you get used to it. You hollow your cheeks, letting the saliva build up in your mouth as you bob your head up and down his length. Dick’s thumb rubs the area beneath your lips and brushes away any of the drool leaking out.
Wally shifts his grip on you, his hand almost completely resting on your tummy now. The sudden change has you crying out, arching your hips into his which only drives his cock deeper. You whimper onto Dick’s length, looking up at him through your lashes.
“Doing so well,” he says breathlessly. “Taking such good care of us.”
His praise is what keeps you going, clearing your fuzzy head just enough to keep bobbing on his cock. His salty, somewhat chlorinated taste keeps your tastebuds on their toes, each inch you take of him driving you further and further.
Wally’s thrusts start to get slower and sloppier and your pussy aches with your impending orgasm. Wally pushes a little harder—whether on purpose or not, you’re not sure—and then you’re coming undone beneath him. Wave after scorching wave of pleasure rolls over you, your pussy spasming around him.
Wally is hard pressed to pull out but somehow manages to tear himself away from you, cumming in spurts on your pussy and tummy. He watches you writhe beneath him, your mouth still full of Dick’s cock, and thinks he can cum again from the sight alone.
You pop your mouth off of his cock and finally catch your breath, opting to jerk him off instead. You only get a few strokes in before his hand is covering yours.
He looks at Wally. “Mind switching places?”
Even though he phrases it like a question, you all know he really isn’t asking. Wally’s up on shaky legs and taking Dick’s place at your head before you can even process what’s happening. And then Dick is crouching between your legs and sliding his cocks into your slick, overstimulated folds.
It’s hot and you ache, but Dick feels too good inside of you to stop now. He leans closer to you, pressing his lips against yours while he thrusts lazily inside of you. While Wally felt amazing, Dick just feels right.
The speedster stands beside you, mesmerised by the sight of you two. He can’t help but rub at his half-hard cock while he watches—the two of you are just too sexy.
It doesn’t take long before Dick’s finishing, only pulling out enough to have his cum pooling at your entrance. He dips his sweaty forehead into your chest while he finishes, mumbling curses against your warm skin.
“Fuck,” is all he says.
“Fuck,” Wally agrees.
Dick takes his sweet time getting off of you but when he does, Wally is waiting next to you with a towel. You smile and thank him, sitting up and wiping his drying cum off your stomach the best you can.
Dick, dressed back in his swim shorts, grabs fresh water out of the cooler and sits at the end of the chair. “Here,” he passes it to you. “You’re dehydrated.”
You nod in agreement. Two orgasms in the summer sun would leave anyone dehydrated. You gulp down half the bottle in one go, surprised to see Wally waiting for you with your discarded bathing suit.
You frown at the sight of it. The thought of putting on something so restricting right now is enough to overstimulate you.
“You can wear my t-shirt if you’d prefer,” Wally offers when he sees your face. “Might be comfier.”
“I—” Your voice cracks. Yep, definitely dehydrated. “I’d like that, thanks.”
Dick rubs soothing circles on your back. “Do you need anything else?”
You shake your head. Honestly, what you need more than anything right now is some clarity on what just happened and some time to process.
You wait until Wally is out of earshot, rooting through his messy pile of stuff to find you his t-shirt, before you speak. “What happens now?”
“What do you want to happen?” Dick mimics your quiet tone.
“I want Wally.”
You don’t need to clarify any more—Dick knows exactly what you mean. He laces his fingers with yours just as Wally comes back with an old band t-shirt.
You expect him to hand it to you but instead he gestures for you to put your arms up, helping you tug it over your head. The cotton feels amazing on your feverish skin.
“So, uh,” he says awkwardly. “Should I go?”
You grab his wrist. “Stay, please.”
He offers you a half smile before turning his attention to Dick. The two lock eyes, partaking in one of their silent conversations that you’re not privy to.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay.”
You fight the urge to celebrate, instead springing to your feet and wrapping your arms around him. Wally’s shocked, for just a second, and then he’s pulling you closer to him, holding you the way he did in your living room.
He rests his chin on your head. “Not to ruin the moment or anything but,” he looks at Dick over your head, “do you guys wanna get something to eat? I’m starving.”
(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !! thanks for reading & have a great day <3)
@4-ann1e since u wanted to be tagged >⩊<
masterlist | dc masterlist
#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x you#nightwing x reader#nightwing x you#wally west x reader#wally west x you#kid flash x reader#kid flash x you#young justice x reader#young justice x you#dick grayson x reader x wally west
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JJK Men with a GF with a Fat Ass (NSFW-ISH)





…I’m taking a small break from drawing and I missed doing HCs. Shaddap.
Ft. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Choso
Black ! Fem Reader in Mind
CW: Twt Links!, mentions of sex, men are a bit OOC
Gojo
Gojo definitely does this to you anytime you lay on his lap. And if he finds out you’re not wearing any panties under it…welp..all plans are now cancelled
He’s a pervert and it’s your fault.
He’s never really seen women of your stature often so when you both were younger he was so BLUNT with his thoughts about your body.
“You have a very voluptuous—“
“Imma stop you right there….VO-WHO?”
“You don’t know what the word vo—-“
“No, I know. I’m confused as to why you are using that word when talking about my ass.”
Gojo is 6’6-7” , he’s a big nigga, but can he handle a big behind?
No.
No he cannot.
He constantly uses his blindfolded eyes to shamelessly watch the way your walk across the room in public. His poker face is actually impressive, but if you couldn’t see how tight his fist were in his pockets it’d prove otherwise.
He’s so got damn childish he does this shit sometimes because he thinks your ass is perfect for playing on
“CAN YOU STOP.”
“Whhhyyyyuuuhhhhhh.”
When you wear moomoo’s or a big shirt it is his favorite
Yup.
Moomoo.
Your ass is free to move and shake to its desire and he just watches in awe. He loves you bad.
Another thing he loves doing is napping on your butt, he doesn’t sleep often, unfortunately, but he can attest that the best nap he has ever taken was in between your plush thighs and ass.
He blames his pretty little girlfriend as to why he is now an ass man when he initially was a boob guy.
Geto
He takes these kinda pictures with you which sometimes leads to him pulling down your underpants and massaging it with his bare hands to then licking or kissing it to then…eating…you…out…while you’re standing.
He loves watching you put on clothes.
Having to shake, jump, and wiggle yourself into some pants is actually so sexy to him.
If your butt is anything like mine and is HEAVY. He LOVES it even more , watching the way the movement in your butt and thighs to match is something Geto finds so so mesmerizing.
One thing about Geto he’s very sneaky, he’ll come up behind you to help pull up your bottoms you clearly need no help putting on, and everytime he does you can feel a slight pressure on your ass that is a verrrryyy familiar feel to a bulge.
He can’t help it, your ass is so pretty.
Sitting on his lap is a must, whether he is talking with someone in public or doing some work he needs to feel your weight on him.
The first time you sat on his lap you swore you heard a groan. When you turned to ask him if he was okay, his cheeks were very pink.
He denies it to this day, but even if he did it’s your fault because why does your ass feel so good against his pelvis?
Showers with Geto are so insufferable in the best way because once you finish cleaning yourself your long haired boyfriend can’t wait to practically grind and hump against you into the cool shower wall.
He definitely loves hugging you from behind, swaying you back and forth. To others it’s a cute gesture seeing such a big man hold you so close, practically dwarfing you , only you and him know the real intention behind it was just him whispering how good you look in that dress and how badly he wants you.
Geto is such a sensual person next to nanami. Even after sex and you’re laying with him in a bliss he finds his way to continue his love by kissing and licking you down and praises of how beautiful and sexy you are even after such activities. He calls it “Cleaning you up”…little perv.
“‘Was wrong?… Embarrassed?”
“YES.”
“Good, now c’mere.”
Toji
Ass eater.🫵🏾
That’s an ass eater he eat ass🫵🏾.
Toji “Ass Eater” Fushiguro
You thought gojo was shameless? Toji is WORSE
As an ass connoisseur he prides himself on always reminding you how fine you are to him.
“You like my dress?”
“Hell yes, mama. Turn around for me.”
SWAT to the ass just to see it recoil
He definitely slaps and GRABS. It’s kinda hot though because he’ll do it anytime anywhere
For example you went with him to some horse racing game for him to make bets and got hungry so you headed to grab a few drinks and snacks. Before walking past him, his legs were spread, tooth pick in his mouth and just like clock work you feel a firm hit to your Jean covered behind.
“OOWWUH!”
“Sssh, Baby im watchin the game….what? Your ass was all in my face what else could I do?”
Whether you are a chunky girl or a skinny girl with a larger butt he don’t care he quite actually is your biggest fan.
Toji is your new seat btw.
Not just his pretty face but his lap too.
He’s a big strong man so don’t EVER think or assume you’re too heavy for him. It ACTUALLY wounds his ego more than you think.
Of course Toji being the ass eater he is almost every other night is spent just like this or sitting on his face. He never seen himself as a pleasure dom kinda guy. With his one night stands he only had sex for himself, but with you of course being the first woman he finally got to love after MamaGuro he takes his time with you. It’s a slutty sight but he knows it’s exactly what can get you off before him
Nanami
This man here.
A KING.
Freaky king but a king none the less.
He loves every part of you.
Which is what he does say and prove everytime you both are together but he does have a small little quirk about him that you aren’t sure whether or not to point it out in fear he may stop out of embarrassment or awareness.
Most men guide their woman by putting their hand on their lower back
Nanami however does this
ESPECIALLY on date night.
Just like Geto he loves to watch you dress, but also dresses you himself
“Wear this, yes? It compliments your skin beautifully.”
“You sure it’s not, because it’s a bit tighter below the waist?”
And now hes blushing.
He’ll admit. Whenever you come and visit him during lunch to feed him a home cooked meal he hates to see you go but LOVES to watch you leave.
Especially with that sundress you wear during the spring.
Nanami definitely is another man that will practically BEG for you to sit on his face.
“It’s okay, baby, honest. Use my face.”
“Kentoooo—!??”
One of his favorite ways to eat you out is like this. It was actually so embarrassing for you at first only because of his SLUTTY MOANS. Which was something you wouldn’t expect from a man like him, but you wasn’t complaining!He whined and whimpered so shamelessly inside you, you couldn’t even make eyes contact after cumming on his tongue.
Choso
Lord bless him.
He is very….confused to say the least.
He never understood the attraction of women’s parts.
Of course he found YOU attractive, but that was all over until he seen your shape.
“Oh.”
“…oh?”
“You—“
You usually wore baggy clothing like him. You decided to change really quickly at his new apartment and he was watching you.
Who knew you had a BODY LIKE THAT under all of those clothes!
“You’re sex—cute…”
Choso isn’t necessarily a shy man, but more hesitant when it comes to touching and complimenting you…
You’ve told him time and time again he is free to touch you when he wants but you sometimes have to guide him.
Usually when he wants to grab your ass he walks DANGEROUSLY close behind you.
So a few times you take his hand and place it on your cheek. For a moment he just rubs his hand across the soft skin and then SQUEEZE.
Choso loves to kneed and rub on your ass while he licks you so usually it’s 69 or you laid to your side.
Another things he actually loves seeing you in are sweats with a small top. Your lower body being heavier than the top is so attractive and you look so squeezable he can’t help but to hug you from behind
Please. Please PUH LEASE wear thigh high socks around him the ones that go RIGHT UNDER the cup of your ass and shake it JUST A LIL in front of him.
Moans at the sight everytime
No like literally MOANS by just looking at your ass jiggle.
He doesn’t think he’s a pervert but from how he grinds and hump against your ass while you sleep says otherwise.
If yall are wondering why I didn’t really speak on backshots it js because ALL OF THEM GO FERAL DOING IT.
#black reader#gojo#gojo satoru#jjk#jjk gojo#jujutsu gojo#jjk headcanons#gojo saturo#geto#gojo x reader#jjk smut#gojo x black reader#jjk x black reader#jjk toji#gojo x y/n#toji#nanami headcanons#nanami smut#choso headcanons#Choso smut#jjk x black y/n#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu geto#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk x chubby reader#gojo smut#toji smut#geto smut#toji fushiguro#gojo x you
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𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭.
a case involving female students being murdered in their dormitories brings the team to stanford university. You have more of a connection to it than you originally realise.
s8!cold!reader ❅ 8.4k ❅ series masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.
CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against women, detail of murder and injury, abuse of power, student-professor relationships, miscarriage and abortion, character death, manipulation, cynicism
“Three women, all doctorate students of Stanford University, have all been killed inside their dorm rooms in the last two weeks,” There’s a click of a button, and then three images flash up on the screen, headshots of the girls. “All three were found with their stomachs cut open and their reproductive organs removed,”
What a lovely way to start a Monday morning.
“So much for the best University in California,” Morgan nudges your arm with his elbow, and your roll your eyes.
“What was the medical knowledge of the unsub?”
“You tell me,” JJ clicks another button on her remote, and the smiling photos of the victims are replaced with their crime scene photos.
Hands and feet tied to their beds, a large incision at the pelvic bone that had been stretched open to leave the internal organs bare, and the uterus cut out of the body. The surface knowledge was there, but the execution was not. Messy lines and uneven incisions that left the gap left in the victims more blood and tissue than actual hole.
“So we’re not looking for a professional then,” Morgan points out the obvious with a cross of his arms, leaning back in his chair.
“They clearly know something about it though,” Spencer leans forward as Morgan leans back, squinting his eyes like it’s going to make the images clearer. “There’s several different ways to perform a hysterectomy, but for a complete hysterectomy like our unsub is doing, the most common method is to start with an incision just above the pelvic bone,”
We’ll discuss the details of hysterectomies whilst we’re on the plane,” Hotch taps both of his hands on the table as he stands. “Gather your things, wheels up in thirty,”
There’s a chorus of “Yes Sir,”s as you all follow him out of the conference room to return to your respective desks and gather your belongings for the flight, an air of fatigue still surrounding the group even through the graphic imagery you were presented with.
“Going back to your alma mater, how do you feel?” Morgan clasps his right hand into a fist and holds it out to you like an invisible microphone.
You push it away without much thought as you pack your laptop into your bag, rolling your eyes at him for what feels like the tenth time since you’d walked through the door an hour ago. “It’s been almost— no, it has been ten years since I graduated, what’s there to ‘feel’?”
“Okay robot face, damn, no lingering love for the College that gave you your career?” Morgan’s taunt is laced with that familiar air of light-heartedness that’s there to remind you that he really is just poking fun, but you’ve never been very receptive to his humour.
“No.”
He lets out a sharp laugh in a mix of amusement and surprise, opening his mouth to make another comment, but the expression on your face tells him you’re definitely done talking about the topic.
He does have some self restraint.
—
Stepping out of the San Jose International Airport almost felt like going into a time machine, spitting you right back out where you’d left that decade ago just 18 miles from your old campus.
It felt even more surreal actually reaching Stanford’s main site, walking around the place you’d dedicated four years of your life to. Not much had changed since you’d left, not that you really expected it to, but it felt almost foreign to you to walk around the campus as you were now, a properly matured adult compared to the almost naive teenager you started as.
You began where you always did, at the most recent crime scene, a college dorm room on the south-east side of the campus.
It was pretty standard, a bedroom big enough for a double bed and a desk, a built in wardrobe, and a private bathroom; Decorated how you would expect from a girl in her early twenties, covered in memories and interests that gave it a personality outside of the off-white paint on the walls.
Of course, it was mildly ruined by the fact the previously pink bedsheets were stained in a pool of oxidised blood that dripped down onto the rug adorned floor and ledger small spatters on the skirting boards, but what can you really expect when the girl had been cut open whilst she was still alive and most definitely struggling against it.
“There’s no signs of forced entry,” All Morgan could do was shrug as he examined the fire door that acted as the room’s only entrance. “The inside lock was unfastened and there’s no marks indicating it was forced open, or that it even could be without heavy grade tools,”
“So our unsub had his own key then?”
“Or,” Emily’s suggestion was side-stepped by Spencer, “He was let in,”
There’s a small hum from Hotch as he stands beside you, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. “Alright,” He turns his eyes onto you with a small nod, “Take Prentiss to the Mortuary and check the autopsy. Morgan, Reid, get Garcia to find a list of professors the victims shared and go and speak with them, they might’ve noticed a change in the girls’ behaviours before their deaths.”
“Will do,”
“Got it,”
There’s a series of shared nods between you as you spilt up, leaving Hotch, Rossi and JJ at the crime scene in search of any more information they could utilise.
—
Trying to catch a Professor when they’re not busy is harder than most people would think. So hard in fact that Spencer and Morgan had been left with standing inside one of the lecture rooms to endure the last twenty minutes of a forensic psychology lesson so they could get the professor between classes.
“Professor Callahan?”
“For any personal feedback on your essay please send me an email,” The professor doesn’t so much as look up from the papers he collects and organises on his desk, seemingly already in a rush even after barely two minutes of the lecture ending.
Morgan and Spencer share a glance.
“My name’s Dr Spencer Reid, and this is Agent Morgan, we’re from the FBI,”
Callahan looks up this time, rectangle glasses reflecting the two back to each other through the overhead lighting.
“We were hoping we could ask you a few questions, Sir,”
Spencer watches the Professor’s eyebrows knit in confusion before his eyes spark with a hint of realisation, and then understanding.
“Yes, of course,” He nods, collecting the pile of papers in his right arm. “Please, follow me into my office,”
His office is filled with bookshelves stacked with psychology texts and framed accolades lining the walls. Small busts of philosophers in the mpty spaces. His desk is littered with small rememberences of his former students, and lining the opposite wall is another, a small plaque reading Dr. Wittchen at it’s forefront.
“Did you notice any changes in the girls’ behaviour, or anything unusual leading up to their deaths?” Spencer’s question is cautious, if not a little bit emotionally insensitive.
Callahan’s expression shifts to one of concern. “Honestly, I hadn’t noticed anything alarming. They were all such high achievers, incredibly driven. The stress of their programs sometimes affected them, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
Spencer nods, then glances toward the accompanying desk. “What about Professor Wittchen? Does he interact with the students much?”
Callahan hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly. “Robert is highly respected, very dedicated to his work. He can be a little tough on their grades, but more often than not he’s sat in here doing one-on-one tutoring in his spare time,”
Spencer hums softly at Callahan’s assessment. “Do you know if he turoed any of the girls? He might have a better insight into any changes in their mannerisms,”
“I’m not sure I’m afraid,” Callahan shakes his head, “I leave him to his teachings most of the ime, but I can let him know you’ve asked,”
As they speak, Morgan’s gaze drifts to a nearby display shelf adorned with photographs of past students on the far wall, each one framed and labeled with a name and a date.
Etched into the wood of the shelf itself an engraving reading, “Shelf of Stars.” stood front and centre, and as Morgan’s eyes wandered the pictures, a certain label caught his attention.
Front and centre, there you sat, “2006 PhD” followed by your name, a picture of you and your Professors in what’s presuambly your first year.
“No way,” Morgan breathes out a laugh. “Reid come look at this,”
“What? What’s wrong?” Spencer and Callahan’s expressions mirror each other as they glance over at Morgan in concern, only for him to quash any need for worry as he holds up the frame in their direction.
“Look how different she looks! What happened, did she get hit by a truck when she turned 20 or what?”
There’s a flicker of recognition in Spencer’s eyes, one that almost turns to fondness as he takes in the bright smile printed behind the glass. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you smile like that since you’ve been with the team.
“You know her?” Callahan raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah, yeah, she’s on our team,” Morgan nods with a chuckle as he places the picture back where he found it, pulling out his phone to snap a photo, probably to make fun of you later.
“Really?” Professor Callahan looks more than a little surprised at the revelation. “I knew she was destined for great things, but the FBI, wow,” He breathes out a short sigh, nodding. “Robert’ll have a field day when he finds out she chose forensics over clinical,”
Spencer gives what’s almost a laugh, clearing his throat. “Well, Professor, thank you for speaking with us, we’ll contact you if we find any more information,”
“No problem at all, my door is always open,” Callahan follows Spencer and Morgan over to the office door, holding it open for them as they leave.
“Oh, Agents?” He stops them before they get too far. “If you have any time in or after your investigation, ask her to pay us a visit? It’d be nice to catch up,”
“We’ll let her know,”
—
“From what I can tell, the removal of the uterus was done antemortem, and the victims cause of death was the blood loss that resulted from it,” The Coroner lifts the muscle torn by the initial incision to give you and Emily a proper look at the damage.
“The nature of the incisions tells that they were most likely done with proper surgical instruments, a scalpel most likely, but their nature is unpracticed, see here for example,”
She points towards the left side of the victims pelvis, where the muscle had been separated from the uteral lining. “In a professional hysterectomy, this tissue here would also be removed, but in this case it’s been left attached to the surrounding tissues, and the same can be said for the others,”
“So our unsub knows the basics, is that something that would require medical training?” Emily furrows her eyebrows at the sight, and you’re much the same.
The sight is almost enough to make you feel nauseous, but you don’t need sickly thoughts clouding your judgement right now.
“Possibly, although with how the internet is, it’s possible they read an article or watched a documentary on how the procedure is done,” The coroner sways her head side to side, “I’d say that whoever did this has had some training, but not necessarily in the field,”
Emily hums, turning her gaze from the victim towards you. “Medical student maybe?”
You hum absently, eyes trained on the gaping hole left in the girl’s stomach. “Maybe, probably won’t still be a student though,”
It affects you more than it should, you think, a malingering nagging in the back of your head that won’t leave you alone but also won’t tell you why it’s there in the first place.
You sigh, “We should look at biologists too, clinical fields,”
Emily gives you an agreeing nod. “I’ll call Garcia,” She pats your shoulder deftly as she leaves the room.
“Was there anything else strange about the body?” You tear your eyes away from the girl to look up at the coroner, who only gives you a small shake of her head.
“Not that I can see,” Her gaze, though objective, flickers with small amounts of uncertainty. “It’s so upsetting, things like this, what spurs someone to do something so… primally horrific?”
“A rejection probably, a denial of a sexual relationship or children that’s projected onto other women because he can’t get to the person he really wants to hurt,” You shrug out an exhale. “More common than you’d think,”
She frowns. “it’s awful,”
“Yeah,” You purse your lips together. “But it is what it is,”
—
“Did the three girls have any clear connections?”
Garcia taps away on her keyboard, and the jingling of her earrings over the reciever suggests that she’s shaking her head. “Apart from being Stanford students, not really. Julie was doing an MsC in Pediatric Therapy, Ophelia doing an MA in History of Medicine, and Marie doing a PhD in Psychology.” She sighs. “None of them had any classes together, no mutual friends, I don’t even think they knew the others existed,”
“There has to be some overlap,” Morgan groans exasperatedly, glancing over at the mostly bare profile board that him and Spencer were trying to put together. They’d spoken to most of the girls’ professors by now, and apart from offhanded comments about stress and pressure, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
It was frustrating, really frustrating, and for all they knew, the team was on a time limit before another girl suffered the same fate. They needed a break in the case, sooner rather than later.
“What about the students Emily asked you to look into? Spencer bends almost awkardly towards Morgan’s phone, trying to raise his voice into the speaker whilst still writing against the whiteboard.
“Nada, I’m afraid, no one who had connections to all three girls, past or present, I’ve hit a wall,”
“No kidding,” Morgan exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding his phone. “Thanks anyway, sweetness,”
“Of course my love, I’ll hit you back if I find anything, Penny G out,” —
“So we’ve got three dead girls, no connections, and no signature to help us track down this guy, lovely,” Emily sips on her coffee, leaning back into her chair with a sigh.
“Isn’t this like every other case we’ve ever had?” You raise an eyebrow is disinterest, stretching you arms above your head and almost hitting Morgan in the face as he and Spencer reenter the room from their lunch break.
The Psychology department had been kind enough to loan you one of their staff rooms during your investigation, and comments had already been made about Hotch’s demeanour as he walked around you like he was keeping an eye on a group of toddlers.
“There’s something we’re missing here,” Rossi pours over the whiteboard with a disgruntled sigh, his palm dragging down the side of his face. “There’s always something,”
Reid nods, tapping his pen against his notebook as he takes a seat. “Even perfectionists leave traces. It’s just a matter of understanding their logic—how they justify their actions.”
“Change of subject quickly,” Morgan holds up a hand as he walks around the table, his other hand landing on your shoulder. “Talking of leaving traces, who was going to tell us that you actually knew how to smile?”
You shrug his hand off of you with a furrow of your eyebrows. “What?”
“I’m talking little nineteen year old you beaming like you were trying to compete with the sun,” He digs his phone from his pocket, holding the screen out to face the group. “I mean look at this, look at you, its weird,”
You snatch the phone from him as soon as you recognise the picture. “Why do you have that picture?”
“We took a trip to see one of your old Professors,” Morgan wrestles the device back out of your hands before you have a chance to what he assumes will be deleting the evidence of your past sunniness. “He asked to see you at some point by the way, wants to ‘catch up’,”
“Delete that photo, Morgan.” You cross one leg over the other with a huff.
“No way, Ice Queen, I’m gonna make fun of you with this forever,”
“I hate you,”
”I love you too,” He blows an air kiss in your direction.
The shrill ring of the door opening cuts through the room, snapping everyone to attention. A mildly out of breath PD officer leaning against the doorframe.
“There’s been another one,” she says, her voice tight.
The room erupts into motion.
—
When you arrive, the scene is eerily similar to the others. The victim, a young woman in her early twenties, lies in the middle of her dorm room, fully clothed and carefully positioned. Her face is serene, as though she’s simply sleeping. The blood pooling out of her lower abdomen tells you that she’s not.
“Victim’s name is Natalie Yu. Twenty-one, Psychology major. She fits the profile—academic, driven, top of her class.” JJ fills you in easily.
You step closer, your heart sinking as you take in the meticulous staging. The unsub’s reverence for his victims is apparent in every detail. No signs of a struggle. No personal belongings out of place.
Reid crouches near the body, his eyes narrowing. “Same as the others. No physical trauma that would suggest a cause of death other than bloodloss. Removal of reproductive organs.”
Morgan stands by the door, his jaw clenched. “This guy’s escalating. Three murders in three weeks, and now this. He’s not slowing down.”
Something catches Prentiss’s eye. She kneels beside the victim and carefully lifts the edge of her blouse. Tucked neatly into the waistband of her jeans is a folded piece of paper.
“What’s this?” she murmurs, pulling on gloves before unfolding the note. The room goes still as she reads aloud:
“It was meant to be you.”
You lean over Emily’s shoulder to get a glance at the writing yourself. And then you immediately regret doing so. The handwriting is unmistakable—sharp, angular strokes that you’d recognise anywhere.
But you can’t say that. Not yet.
“‘It was meant to be you’?” Rossi repeats, stepping closer. “What the hell does that mean?”
Reid frowns. “It’s personal. Direct. He’s targeting someone specific now.”
“It could be a taunt,” JJ offers. “A way to throw us off or instill fear in the team.”
Morgan shakes his head, his expression grim. “No. This is different. This isn’t just about control anymore—this is about sending a message,”
“It’s personal,” Reid says again, his gaze sweeping the room. For a brief moment, his eyes land on you, and you feel like he can see right through you.
“Excuse me,” you manage, your voice steady despite the panic clawing at your chest.
You step outside, the crisp air hitting you like a jolt. Your hands shake as you pull out your phone, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The note wasn’t just a taunt—it was a reminder. He knew you were here. He’d known the moment you stepped onto campus.
It was meant to be you.
The words echo in your mind, a sinister promise that leaves no room for doubt.
—
“This is different from the previous victims,” Spencer says, “The note changes everything. If we assume the unsub has been fixated on someone specific all along, the other victims could have been surrogates—stand-ins for the real target.”
Prentiss looks at him sharply. “You think the unsub is escalating because the real target is now within reach?”
He nods. “Exactly. The murders were practice, perfecting the method. But now that the target is accessible, he’s shifting focus.”
“Great,” Morgan mutters. “Wonderful.”
JJ gestures to the note. “We need to figure out who he’s targeting—and fast.”
You stand by the door, your stomach twisting. You can’t let them figure it out, not like this.
“I’ll follow up on the note,” you say, forcing a calm you don’t feel. “Maybe there’s something about the phrasing or handwriting we can use to narrow down suspects.”
Morgan eyes you, his brow furrowed. “You sure you’re good? You’ve been quiet since we got here.”
You nod quickly, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.
—
You barricade yourself in the staff room, spreading out the case files across the table. You stare at the note, the handwriting glaring up at you like a brand.
“It was meant to be you.”
You were just a kid, desperate to prove yourself. He saw that. He used it.
You grip the edge of the table, your knuckles white. You can’t let him win. Not again.
A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. It’s Spencer, holding a cup of coffee.
“Thought you could use this,” he says, setting it down in front of you.
“Thank you.” You manage a display of gratitude, but his gaze lingers, sharp and questioning.
“You’ve been off since we got here,” he says softly. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”
Your heart skips a beat. Reid is too perceptive for his own good, and you know he won’t let this go.
“I’m fine,” you lie. “Just tired.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, stepping back. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”
As he leaves, you let out a shaky breath. The walls are closing in, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this to yourself. Not if you don’t want anyone else to die because of it.
—
Spencer stands near the board, absentmindedly tapping his pen against his palm. Morgan is leaning against a table, arms crossed, while Prentiss and JJ exchange quiet remarks by the coffee pot. Rossi, as always, is seated with his chair tipped back, his eyes fixed on the board.
But it’s Hotch who breaks the silence. “This unsub’s timeline is escalating, and the note makes it clear they’re getting bolder. If we don’t figure out their connection to Stanford soon, someone else is going to die.”
Morgan sighs. “We’ve gone through the victim profiles a dozen times. There’s no overlap other than the school. No shared clubs, professors, dorms, nothing. It’s like this guy’s picking them at random.”
“Not random,” Spencer interjects, his voice sharp. “The victims are stand-ins for someone else. I’m sure of it. The note confirmed it—‘It was meant to be you.’ The unsub isn’t just killing; they’re trying to send a message to someone.”
Rossi tilts his head. “None of them bear any significant physical relation to each other,”
Reid nods. “It doesn’t have to be physical. It’s an ideal, there’s something specific that ties all of the victims together, something linked to whoever the unsub is actually after,”
JJ frowns. “But who is it? If it’s not one of the victims, how do we figure out who the unsub is fixated on?”
You tense in your chair, your hands curling into fists under the table. You can feel their eyes shifting to you, their collective attention like a spotlight burning against your skin.
Morgan raises an eyebrow. “You did go here. Maybe there’s something you’d recognise—something we’ve missed.”
You meet their gazes with forced calm, willing your voice to remain steady. “Just because I went to Stanford doesn’t mean this case has anything to do with me.”
Prentiss leans forward slightly, her tone gentle but insistent. “No one’s saying it does, but if there’s even a chance—”
“There’s not.” you cut her off, sharper than you intended. The words hang in the air, and you immediately regret your tone. It doesn’t change anything though. “We’re here because of the victims, not because I graduated from here a decade ago.”
The room falls quiet, and the tension thickens. Hotch watches you carefully, his unreadable gaze a weight you can’t escape.
“I need some air,” you say abruptly, standing before anyone can argue. “I’ll be back in a few.”
You leave the room before anyone can stop you, the sound of your boots echoing down the sterile hall.
—
Stanford’s campus feels both foreign and familiar as you wander its paths. The sprawling quads and ivy-covered buildings haven’t changed much in the years since you left, but the memories they stir feel sharp and raw.
You stop at a bench near the Psychology department, the cool breeze doing little to calm the storm inside you. Your arms wrap around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together.
“You’re not fine.”
The voice startles you, but you don’t turn around. You’d recognise that soft, observant tone anywhere. Spencer.
He sits beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you, his lanky frame folding awkwardly on the bench. “You’ve been different since we got here,” he says after a moment. “Quiet. Hesitant. That’s not like you,”
You don’t respond, staring out at the students passing by, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the weight in your chest.
“I know it’s not just the case,” he continues, his voice gentle but unyielding. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling us.”
Your jaw tightens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,”
His certainty grates on your already frayed nerves, and you finally turn to him, your eyes flashing. “What are you trying to say, Reid? Spit it out.”
He hesitates, his brow furrowing as he chooses his words carefully. “I think you know who the unsub is. Or at least… you suspect,”
You laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. “That’s a hell of an accusation.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says quickly. “I’m worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself, and the way you reacted to that note…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It was different. You looked like you’d seen a ghost,”
“Maybe I’m just tired,” you snap, the defensive edge in your voice sharper than you intend.
He doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s more than that. I can see it. You’re scared,”
The word hits you like a slap, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. He’s right, of course. You are scared. Terrified, even. But admitting that feels like surrendering, like letting him win.
“Stop it,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Spencer leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “I think I do. I think this unsub has a connection to you. And I think that’s why you’ve been avoiding us—because you don’t want us to figure it out.”
Your hands curl into fists at your sides, and you glare at him, your composure threatening to crack. “You don’t know what he did to me.”
The words slip out before you can stop them, and the moment they do, you see the understanding dawn in his eyes. “Who?” Spencer presses gently. “Who are we talking about?”
Your chest heaves as you fight back the tears threatening to spill. “One of my Professors.”
“Did he…” Spencer hesitates in pressing the subject, a mix of his usual timidness when it comes to you and the fear that he’s broaching on a very concerning topic.
“It was consensual.”
Spencer watches you closely, his eyes searching your face for a sign, some clue, as if trying to understand the puzzle that is your inner workings.
He doesn’t push, but the silence between you both is suffocating. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks again, but it still cuts through the heavy air between you.
"You were just a kid," Spencer murmurs, his words soft but no less sharp. "He took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, when you were still figuring things out. That’s manipulation."
You flinch at the truth of it, at the way he so easily sees the pieces of your life you've tried so hard to bury. You didn’t want to think about him anymore, didn’t want to remember how he twisted every gesture, every word, until it was all about him, all about what he wanted.
You can still feel the weight of his hands, the way he made you feel like you didn’t have a choice, that this was all part of the price you had to pay to succeed, to be seen as worthy of your place in academia.
Spencer shifts slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “He used his power over you. You were just a kid, and he was a professor. Someone you trusted.” His words are steady, but they cut deep. "You were in a position where you thought you had to do what he wanted. But it wasn’t your fault,”
“It was consensual.” you say again, more firmly this time, though it feels like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than him, the words raw and drenched in a cold calmness you didn’t really feel.
“Was it?” Spencer asks gently, his voice low. “If you were 19 and you thought you had to do it to get ahead, was it really? Was it truly your choice?”
You feel the air leave your lungs, and you want to scream at him, to deny everything, to make him stop asking these questions, because the answers are too painful, too complicated.
But he’s right. You were a child—so young, so desperate to succeed, to make a name for yourself in a field dominated by people like him. You thought you were lucky when he took you under his wing, when he offered you guidance, extra attention, time. But you weren’t.
“I had an abortion,” you finally confess, the words coming out in a broken whisper.
Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he’s silent, processing your admission. His lips part as though he wants to say something, but nothing comes. He doesn’t push, though, just watches you, his expression a mix of sympathy and concern, but there's no judgment in it. Not like you expected.
“In my shitty college dorm room,” Your voice catches, and you blink rapidly, trying to stop the sting in your eyes. “I thought I was dying. The amount of blood—” You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling in your lap. “I didn't know how to make it stop.Sometimes I wish it didn’t.”
“Don’t say that.”
Spencer leans in a little, his gaze intense, but gentle. “You were just a kid,” he says softly, his words like a balm, soothing yet cutting through the guilt. “He took advantage of you. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that.”
You want to believe him. You want so badly to hear those words and let them erase the shame that has clung to you for so long. But the voices of doubt are louder in your head. The fear that somehow, deep down, it was your fault. That maybe you could’ve said no, maybe you could’ve gotten away before it went too far.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” you say, your voice low, almost ashamed of the vulnerability. “I couldn’t tell my parents or my friends… or anyone. It was like everything I worked for, everything I had, was tied to him. If I said something, everything would’ve been ruined.”
Spencer’s brows furrow, and he lets out a soft exhale. “No one should ever have to carry that weight alone, especially not at your age.” His voice is steady, but there’s something deeply empathetic in his tone. “It’s not a burden you should’ve had to bear by yourself.”
“I lied to him too,” you whisper, the confession hanging heavily in the air. “I told him I miscarried. He was devastated. He wasn’t even angry—just sad. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything.”
“You…” Spencer starts, hesitating to make sure he words his response correctly. “Being in a state of shock is normal after a traumatic event,”
You shake your head. “I know what shock feels like. I was just numb. I murdered my own child and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.”
Spencer’s jaw tightens slightly, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes, but it’s not directed at you. It’s directed at him, at the man who should’ve protected you, not preyed on you. His voice is tight, but he keeps it calm.
“You did what you had to do. That’s not your fault.”
“It was alive. Seventeen weeks. I flushed it down the fucking toilet,” You drag your palm down your face, leaning forward until your elbows are resting on your knees.
“I didn’t even want to graduate after that,” you admit, your voice raw. “I couldn’t face him. I just wanted to disappear, but I was not going to put myself through hell without getting something out of it.”
Spencer is quiet for a long moment, taking in everything you’ve said. His gaze never wavers from yours, like he’s trying to understand every piece of you, trying to reach that place where you’re still hiding, still locked away from the rest of the world.
“You don’t owe anyone an explanation for what happened. You did what you needed to survive. And you are surviving. But you don’t have to do it alone.”
You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. The storm inside you hasn’t calmed, but for the first time in a long while, it feels like it’s not threatening to swallow you whole. The walls you’ve built around yourself feel just a little more porous, itching to crumble.
“I’m scared,” you say, the vulnerability you’ve been holding back creeping into your voice. “He’s murdering people because of me.”
Spencer doesn’t hesitate. He sits up straighter, his expression serious. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll help you, and we’ll make sure that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”
“You can’t tell anyone what I just told you.”
He lets out a sigh of your name.
“Promise me, Spencer.”
“Okay,” He nods solemnly. “I promise.”
—
The moment you walk through the doors of the empty lecture hall, you feel it—that same nauseating mix of dread and anticipation curling in your stomach. The air is stale, thick with the weight of memories you spent years trying to forget.
He’s already there, standing at the podium like he belongs there, like nothing has changed. Like he hasn’t left a trail of bodies behind him.
“Ah,” Professor Wittchen exhales as if relieved. “There you are,”
Your fingers twitch at your sides. “I should’ve known you’d pick this place.”
His lips curve into a small smile, a smile that used to make you feel seen. Now, it makes your skin crawl. “It’s fitting, don’t you think? This is where it all began,”
He watches you with the same unwavering gaze he always had, the one that used to make you feel special—chosen. Now, it just feels predatory.
“I missed you,” he says simply, stepping closer.
You don’t move.
“You should’ve visited,” he continues, his voice warm, inviting, like this is a casual conversation and not a confrontation between a killer and his last loose end. “You were my brightest student,”
“I was your victim.” you correct, voice sharp.
His expression doesn’t falter. If anything, he looks pleased. “Victim?” he echoes, like he’s rolling the word around in his mouth, testing its weight. “That’s not how I remember it.”
You swallow hard, jaw clenched. You knew this was how he would react. Knew he would twist things, make them blurry, like he always had.
He tilts his head, studying you. “I heard you became a profiler. That’s impressive. Though I always thought you were more inclined to be a Psychiatrist.”
“You shouldn't be surprised,” you say flatly. “I learned from the best manipulators.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Now, that’s not fair,”
Your nails dig into your palms. “I know it’s you,” you say, cutting through the act. “You murdered four innocent women because you couldn’t move on.”
He exhales, almost disappointed. “That’s not quite right.”
You don’t let him continue. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”
His gaze darkens, and for the first time since you stepped into this room, the warmth fades from his expression. “It’s been ten years since you left me,” he says simply. “You never even had the decency to say goodbye. I tried to find a substitute, but they weren’t like you. No body is. You’re special.”
A shiver runs down your spine, but you force yourself to hold his stare. “I didn’t owe you anything.”
Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve disappointed him. “That’s not true. I shaped you. I made you.”
A bitter laugh escapes you. “You ruined my life.”
His eyes flicker with something unreadable, and then—slowly—he steps down from the podium, closing the distance between you. “You don’t believe that.”
Your breath catches, but you don’t move.
He stops inches from you, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I see it in your eyes. You still need me.”
You know what he’s doing. You know how his mind works, how he bends reality to his will, how he rewrites history to suit his narrative.
And for the first time, you don’t fall for it.
“You’re pathetic,” you whisper. “You think killing people will make me what? Love you? Miss you?” You shake your head. “You mean nothing to me.”
Something in his expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you catch it. The crack in his mask. The first glimpse of the monster beneath.
His fingers twitch at his sides.
There it is. The control slipping.
Good.
You see the flash of something dark behind his eyes—anger, frustration, maybe even desperation. He knows he’s losing control, and for a man like him, that’s unbearable.
You take a step forward. Not away, but closer.
“I hate you.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.
Wittchen’s lips barely twitch, but you see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he thinks you’re still playing a game with him. Like this is another debate, another test of wills.
“No, you don’t,” he murmurs. “Not really.”
Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”
He sighs, tilting his head like you’re disappointing him. “I did anything you didn’t ask for,” he says, like it’s a fact. “You wanted me.”
Rage burns through you, hot and all-consuming. “I was nineteen,” you spit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You took advantage of me.”
Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that,”
“It was exactly like that,” you snap, stepping closer. “And do you want to know the worst part? I spent years telling myself it wasn’t. That maybe I did love you, that maybe I wanted to be with you. But I didn’t.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.
“I don’t regret leaving you,” you continue, voice trembling with fury. “I don’t regret moving on, or never looking back. But do you know what I do regret?”
He doesn’t answer, just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting for the killing blow.
“I regret ever letting you touch me. I regret every second I spent thinking you were something special, that you cared about me. You didn’t. You only cared about what I could give you.”
Something shifts in his expression—subtle, but enough. His fingers twitch again.
You steel yourself and drive the dagger deeper.
“You think I miscarried?” you ask, voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s what I told you, right? That I lost the baby?”
His face remains eerily blank.
“I lied,” you whisper. “I had an abortion.”
His entire body stiffens.
“Because the thought of being tied to you for the rest of my life made me sick. And I would’ve rather died from sepsis than deal with you.”
The silence that follows is suffocating.
For a moment, Wittchen doesn’t react. Doesn’t breathe.
Then, without warning, he moves.
His hand goes for his waistband, and in a split second, you see the glint of a gun.
But you’re faster.
Your own weapon is already in your hands before he can fully draw his, aimed directly at his chest.
“Don’t.” you warn, your voice steel.
Wittchen hesitates, his gun halfway raised, his eyes locked onto yours.
For the first time, there’s something close to uncertainty in his expression.
—
The team is listening.
They hear every word.
Spencer’s grip on his gun is tight, knuckles white, jaw clenched so hard it aches. The rest of the team stands tense beside him, ears trained on the conversation happening just beyond the door.
They could go in. They should go in.
But they don’t.
Not yet.
Because this isn’t their battle.
Still, when they hear the shift in the conversation, the moment Wittchen reaches for his gun, every muscle in Spencer’s body tenses, ready to move.
And then—
Silence.
A long, stretching silence.
Then a single gunshot.
—
“You’re lying,” Wittchen snaps, his voice rising as his fingers curl tighter around the revolver’s grip. He pulls back the hammer with a metallic click, the sound loud in the charged silence of the lecture hall.
His arm is steady, the barrel aimed at your chest, but you don't flinch. “You miscarried. You were sick. That’s the truth. I took care of you. I was there when you needed me.”
Your lips curl into a bitter smile.
“The baby was fine,” you say, voice cold and firm. “I just didn’t want it.”
The words hang between you, heavy and raw.
For a split second, something akin to disbelief flickers in his eyes. But he recovers quickly, his jaw tightening as his grip on the gun tightens. The cold, calculating look is back.
The man who used his power over you is right here, still trying to control the situation. But he’s unraveling, and you can see it now—the cracks in his façade.
“You think you can just walk away from all this?” Wittchen growls, his voice a low threat. His eyes dart between you and the gun in your hand, calculating the distance, the time it would take to react.
“You’re going to watch me.” you reply, your voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside you. You take a step forward, gun lowered in favour of a pair of handcuffs.
He lets out a sharp breath, taking a step backwards, his arm still outstretched, but his expression is one of rage and something else—desperation.
“I gave you everything,” Wittchen sneers. “I could’ve given you more. You were a star, you were going places. But you threw it all away.”
“I didn’t throw away anything.” you say, voice sharp, anger curling in your gut. “I made my life what I wanted it to be.”
You take another step toward him. Your hand grips your gun tighter, its cold weight a reminder of how far you’ve come, how much you’ve survived.
“I was a kid,” you say, quieter now, more dangerous. “A kid who wanted to make something of herself. But you? You made sure I’d always be tied to you, that I’d never escape your reach. You took that from me. And now?”
Now, you’re not just angry. Now, you’re done.
“I don’t need you anymore,” you continue, voice quiet but lethal. “And I don’t need to live in fear of you. Not anymore. Just give up.”
Wittchen’s face hardens. His finger moves closer to the trigger, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. His eyes are cold, calculating—he’s trying to force you to back down, to make you fear him again. But you don’t. Not anymore.
And he knows it.
The silence stretches out, suffocating. And then, without another word, he turns the gun away from you and towards himself.
For a moment, the world is frozen.
The sharp scent of gunpowder lingers in the air.
You don’t flinch.
You don’t move.
Wittchen stares at you, almost smiling.
A slow, dark red stain spreads across his chest. His gun falls from his hand, clattering uselessly to the floor.
Then, his knees buckle.
He collapses.
The impact is dull, almost anticlimactic.
His breath comes in shallow gasps, and for the first time since you walked into this room, he looks small.
Weak.
The man who once held so much power over you is nothing more than a dying, pathetic heap on the floor.
And somehow, there’s no satisfaction in it.
You watch as the light fades from his eyes, as the last breath leaves his lips.
And then—
It’s over.
—
The gunshot sends the team into action.
Spencer is the first through the door, gun raised, eyes scanning the room for threats.
But all he finds is you—standing still, gun loose in one hand, handcuffs in the other, staring blankly ahead.
Wittchen is on the floor, unmoving. Blood pools around him.
For a second, no one speaks.
Then you move.
Without looking at any of them, you turn away from the corpse.
And then, numbly, silently, you walk past them.
You don’t stop when Spencer calls your name.
You don’t stop when JJ reaches for you.
You just keep walking.
Because it’s finally over.
And yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.
—
The air outside the lecture hall is thick with tension.
Your gun feels heavy in your hands, and at some point, you register someone gently taking it from you. You don’t resist.
The hallways of Stanford feel different now. The ghosts you tried so hard to forget have been exorcised, but their shadows still linger.
You reach the nearest exit and step outside, inhaling sharply as the crisp night air hits you. You brace your hands on your knees, grounding yourself.
Then you hear footsteps behind you.
You know it’s them.
You straighten, forcing yourself to meet their gazes.
Hotch stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his presence steady. JJ and Emily exchange a look, worry etched into their features. Rossi, as always, watches with quiet understanding.
Then there’s Morgan.
He looks… shaken.
Guilt lingers in his eyes, and when he steps forward, his voice is lower, softer than you’ve ever heard it.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
You blink, caught off guard.
“For what?” Your voice is hoarse, raw.
Morgan exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw with his eyes full of regret. “I didn’t know.”
You swallow hard. You don’t want to talk about it. But there’s something in his voice, in the way his usually confident demeanor falters, that makes you nod stiffly.
“I know.”
It’s the closest thing to forgiveness you can offer right now.
Morgan nods, accepting it.
Spencer is the last to approach.
He doesn’t say anything at first—just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes, though, say everything.
You hold his gaze for a moment before sighing. “What?”
“I don’t know what to say,” he admits. His voice is careful, but there’s an edge of something else—frustration, sadness, maybe even anger. Not at you. Never at you. But at what happened. At what Wittchen took from you.
“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur.
—
The hum of the jet is steady and low, a constant presence that fills the silence between breaths.
You sit by the window, staring out at the clouds, your reflection barely visible against the dark glass.
You should be exhausted.
You are exhausted.
But sleep won’t come.
Your mind won’t let it.
The seat next to you shifts slightly, and you glance over to see Spencer settling beside you.
He doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t ask if you’re okay, because he already knows you’re not.
Doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances.
He just sits.
And somehow, that’s reassurance enough.
Sleep comes a little easier after that.
#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#mgg#spencer reid angst#criminal minds angst
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৻ꪆ caught in the act.
cw. smut nsfw. fem!reader. older gf!cait universe. age gap (10 or more years). both reader and cait are consenting adults. moder au. ceo!caitlyn. pillow humping. dom!cait if you squint. allusion to further smut.
your hips ferociously rock along the satin of caitlyn’s pillowcase, tainting it with your slick. fisting the material in your hands, gripping it so tight your knuckles turn stark white. thoughts and images of your girlfriend flooding your mind, the only thing that's been on your mind all day. wishing it was her you were grinding on, it should be her, you think.
cursing her for being so dutiful, so responsible for taking time out of her weekend, the weekend she's supposed to be sharing with you, to attend some important matters at her office that only she could take care of apparently.
you also curse her for putting a spell on you, some super secret spell she probably cast over you on one of the many nights you've fallen asleep next her. one that makes it so incredibly hard to cum when she's not around. it's pathetic. rubbing your swollen bud against the silky material for who knows how long, you're so close to your release yet so far. no amount of tweaking your erect nipples or stuffing your face in the shirt you once had on, one of her’s that smelt like her, does the trick to make the coil in your tummy snap.
huffing you release the pillow from your grasp, placing your hands on your tits to knead at them.
“cait—” you mewl, shutting your eyes tight, once again imagine that it’s cait’s skillful hands kneading at your soft flesh.
“missed me?”
you almost missed the sound of caitlyn’s voice, thinking you're just lost within your own imagination, so high on delusion that you can almost hear her voice.
“darling?”
the nickname rings alarm bells off within your head. the desperate grind of your hips stop, hands releasing your tits and falling into your lap, you reluctantly peel open your eyes, turning your head towards the door. gasping, you blink hard. lo’ and behold your girlfriend stands tall against the doorframe, leaning against it with her arms crossed. you stare wide at her, feeling much like a deer caught in headlights, understanding the bright intrusion of lights on them, but instead it’s caitlyn’s hard gaze on you, suddenly feeling very shy.
“you're home!” you enthuse, trying your best to seem as normal as you can be in this predicament. "everything went okay at the office?"
“didn’t have much to help finish up with,” she lifts herself from off the doorframe, arms uncrossing to swing at her side as she walks over to you. “like i told you before i left.” her tone laced with dissatisfaction.
“how— how long were you standing there for?” you quiz, craning your neck to look behind you where cait now stands.
she looks at you for a second before turning her attention back to observing over your bare body. “just a few minutes,” you flush at her answer, turning your head back around, bowing it to your hands in your lap. your index fingers picking at your thumbs, anticipating whatever caitlyn is going to do. shivering at the feel of a cold slender finger tracing down your spine, just to swiftly come from your skin as it nears your tailbone. “was going to watch longer, see if you could make yourself cum. but, that was silly of me to assume you could get off on your own, we both know you can't cum when i’m not around.”
oh, that stung. you accepted it's true, but heat still rushes through you from embarrassment.
“cait—”
“is that my pillow?” she cuts you off, inspected the cushion your sitting on.
“i can explain—”
“tsk.” she cuts you off again, corking her head to the side, shaking her head. “naughty, naughty girl.”
there's a shift behind you, turning your head back around to watch as within a few short clicks of her heels cait now towers in front of you, leaning down face to face. her hands balancing her weight onto your spread thighs. “and what do naughty girls get?” there's a fiery swirl in her icy eyes, similar to when a predator has caught its prey in a vulnerable position.
“punishments.”
#𓊆 𝓐 writes. 𓊇#caitlynྀི txt.#older gf!caitlyn.#arcane#arcane fanfic#arcane x reader#caitlyn kiramman#caitlyn arcane#caitlyn kiramman smut#caitlyn kiramman x reader#caitlyn kiramman x you#lesbian#wlw
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you want me to take care of you, don’t you?
warning 18+
dad’s best friend!toji x f!reader
cw : dollification, lingerie modeling, mirror posing, soft-spoken rot, full-body praise, and messy public jerking off in your bedroom, age!gap
when your parents leave town, toji, your dad’s best friend, offers to check in on you just to make sure you’re safe. but his gaze lingers too long, his compliments too specific
your parents had left that morning. the kind of sudden, half-baked trip they planned when things were getting stale. anniversary weekend. three days. two nights. barely packed. barely explained. your mom kissed your cheek like everything was fine, like she wasn’t already mentally sunbathing on some resort balcony far from here, and smiled like her words weren’t soaked in something careless when she said, don’t worry. toji said he’d check in on you.
as if he hadn’t already been doing that for years.
as if he hadn’t already slid into the cracks your father left behind, showing up after piano recitals, walking the dog when your dad forgot, lifting your chin when you cried on the front steps without saying a word. as if he didn’t already move like he belonged in this house, like he knew where everything was without needing to ask.
and now?
you were alone.
and he was sitting on the edge of your bed like he owned it.
wide-legged in your desk chair, relaxed in that way that always made your stomach twist, as if he had nowhere else to be. his eyes moved slow over your room, lingering on the posters you hadn’t changed since high school, the untouched textbooks, the lotion on your nightstand. and then they landed on you.
“figured we’d get you something nice,” he said, gesturing to the three pastel shopping bags resting beside him on your comforter, like they hadn’t just returned from the mall, like you hadn’t followed two steps behind him the entire time trying not to shake.
he smiled lazily, a hand resting low on his thigh.
“can’t let your parents come home to find you in those ratty sweatpants again, right?”
your face went warm. your fingers curled tighter around the soft handles of the bags.
“you want me to try them on?” your voice was small, already sinking into itself.
he didn’t even blink. just tipped his chin up slightly, voice velveted, quiet, dangerous.
“go ahead, sweetheart. show me what we got you.”
you stood frozen for a second, head tilted down, heart clawing inside your chest. then your feet moved. toward the bag. toward the clothes. toward him.
he didn’t move. didn’t blink. didn’t even pretend to be polite.
your fingers trembled as you opened the first bag, tugging the tissue paper back to reveal the first outfit a thin, soft baby pink top. the fabric clung to your fingers as you pulled it out, almost sheer in the light, the neckline scooped so low it looked unfinished. underneath it sat matching panties, the kind you only ever saw on girls with smaller waists and braver bodies. lace-trimmed. translucent. delicate enough to tear if you pulled too hard.
you swallowed hard. pulled your hoodie over your head. turned slightly away.
but not enough.
you could feel his eyes. the slow hitch in his breath. the stillness that settled into the room like dust.
he exhaled through his nose. quiet. restrained.
your stomach twisted.
you bent down to step into the panties, the lace brushing over your ankles, sliding up soft over the thickness of your thighs. and that’s when you heard it.
that awful, wet sound. slow, rhythmic. unmistakable.
you blinked once. glanced at the mirror beside your closet.
his cock was already out.
thick. flushed. angry-looking in his fist. precum glistening at the tip, his hand wrapped around the shaft like he’d done this before. like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second he first met you. like this was always going to happen.
he stroked slow. patient. deliberate.
“keep going,” he said quietly, voice rasped and ruined like he’d already been touching himself long before you noticed.
“slower, sweetheart.”
you pulled the panties up the rest of the way, fabric sliding into the soft heat between your legs, clinging to the dampness already leaking there.
you hadn’t even put the shirt on yet.
your nipples peaked, flushed and aching, the air thick and cold against your bare chest. you tried not to look at him, but you saw it anyway his hand stroking faster now, precum slicking his palm as his eyes dragged over every inch of your trembling skin.
“put the shirt on, baby. i wanna see the whole thing.”
you obeyed, lifting the thin top, your hands shaking as you slipped it down over your chest. it stopped just above your navel. the fabric stuck to your curves, the lace waistband of your panties peeking above your hips.
when you turned around, he groaned loud, broken, guttural.
“jesus fucking christ,” he muttered, hand tightening around his cock.
“look at that.”
his gaze crawled lower, to your stomach, your thighs, the soft slope of your hips.
“look at that belly, baby. soft little thing. god, i could fuckin’ bite you.”
you gasped, heat searing through you. your legs locked. his voice twisted around your spine like wire.
he pointed at the mirror.
“go stand in front of it.”
you moved.
“pull the shirt up. just a little.”
your fingers trembled. you lifted the hem.
“higher,” he said, already breathing heavier.
you lifted until the underside of your tits showed, the fabric bunching against your chest, the curve of your belly on full display. your skin glowed. soft. flushed. real.
he groaned again, fisting himself tighter.
“turn around. slow.”
you spun.
“arch your back.”
you arched. ass jutting out. the lace hugging the fat curve of your cheeks, sheer and strained and almost see-through now, a thread away from slipping.
he slapped the head of his cock with his palm and moaned, low and filthy.
“again. spin again. slower this time.”
you turned again. your skin prickled under his stare.
“spread your legs.”
your knees moved without thinking. your thighs trembled as you shifted your stance wider.
“pull the panties aside. let me see that pretty little cunt, baby.”
your fingers slipped into the waistband, trembling, and pulled the lace to the side. you were soaked. slick glistened on your folds, dripping down the crease of your thigh. he saw all of it. didn’t even blink.
“fuck,” he growled, voice splitting at the end. “look at that. look how wet you are..”
you swallowed a whimper, chest heaving, nipples aching under the cotton.
“you like this, don’t you?”
you nodded fast, shame curling hot around your stomach.
“you like being daddy’s friend’s dirty little dress-up doll?”
your voice cracked, a single whisper floating from your throat.
“i do.”
his jaw clenched. his thighs tensed. and then he came hard.
his cock jerked in his hand as thick ropes painted his stomach, spilling over his hoodie, hitting the floor with a wet splatter. his breath punched out of his lungs, chest heaving as his hand kept moving, slow and rhythmic, dragging it out. dragging it out as he kept staring at you.
you stood there shaking. your panties still pulled aside. your cunt still dripping.
he didn’t stop looking at you. didn’t even try to hide it.
his voice dropped low again, soft and slow, honeyed rot curling at the edges.
“next outfit, baby,” he murmured, palm still lazily stroking over his twitching cock.
“we’re not done yet.”
you didn’t speak. didn’t breathe. didn’t even move for a second, still standing in front of the mirror with your panties pulled aside and your whole body trembling. your throat was dry. your chest burned. your thighs were sticky. his cum was still dripping onto your floor.
he was still watching you.
“don’t just stand there, baby,” he murmured, voice rough but low now, smooth like velvet dragging over a wound. “go on. next one’s in the second bag. top left.”
you turned without speaking, knees wobbling slightly. you bent to grab the next pastel pink bag, fingers brushing over the tissue paper. and you felt his stare again. like teeth against your spine. like he was memorizing the way your back curved when you bent. the way your ass jiggled, just a little, in the strained lace.
you pulled the second outfit out slowly.
red.
dark red.
a tiny silk bralette trimmed with black ribbon, the cups so small they barely held anything. a matching thong that looked more like string than fabric. and stockings. sheer, thigh-high, with delicate lace bands. there were clips attached to the bralette straps lingerie modeling stuff, clearly. a full fucking set. his idea of cute.
your breath hitched.
he’d bought you lingerie.
not just clothes.
not just cute outfits.
this wasn’t about you looking presentable.
this was about you looking fuckable.
“put it on,” he said. still calm. still quiet. but his voice was deeper now. more serious. more dangerous.
you stepped out of the pink panties slowly, toes curling against the floor. your skin prickled. your thighs were wet. your stomach twisted with something between shame and heat.
you slid the thong up first. slow. cautious. the silk clung to your folds, slipping between them, barely there. you could already feel it soaking through.
then the bra. the cups hugged your breasts tight, the black ribbon pressing into your skin. your nipples peeked out the top hard, flushed, aching. it didn’t cover you. it framed you.
you sat on the edge of the bed to pull the stockings on. he leaned forward slightly in the chair when you did, elbows on his knees now, eyes never leaving you. you could feel your heartbeat in your neck. your wrists. your cunt. everything pulsing.
you stood slowly, smoothing the silk over your body. the stockings hugged your thighs tight, digging into the soft flesh. the thong cut into your hips. your tits bounced slightly in the bralette, the little ribbons swaying with every breath.
you were shaking.
he was already hard again.
“mirror,” he said simply.
you moved without thinking. stepped in front of the mirror again.
“look at you,” he breathed. “just fucking look at you, baby.”
your eyes met your own in the glass. wide. glassy. ruined. your lips were swollen. your chest was heaving. your skin was flushed and dewy and trembling.
“tell me what you see.”
your mouth opened.
nothing came out.
“come on, sweetheart,” he said softly, voice almost cooing. “say it. say what you see.”
“i… i look” you swallowed. your voice cracked.
“you look like my doll,” he finished for you, stroking himself again, slow and filthy. “you look like something made to be touched. look at that little body. soft tummy. perfect tits spilling out of that ribbon. those thighs. fuck, those thighs could suffocate me.”
you whimpered.
he kept going.
“that belly,” he growled, hand tightening. “look at that fuckin’ belly, baby. soft and warm and perfect. made to be held down. made to be kissed. made to be filled.”
your knees buckled.
“turn around. show me that ass.”
you spun slowly, arms slightly raised, thighs shaking.
“arch.”
you arched.
“more.”
your back bent deeper, ass pushed out, the thong wedged tight between your cheeks.
“fuck, look at that. look how sweet you look. soft little thing. made to be bent over.”
you whimpered again, heat spreading everywhere, your thighs trembling as he jerked himself slow behind you.
“touch yourself.”
you froze.
he smiled, soft. too soft.
“go on, baby. show me how much you like it.”
you reached down with one shaking hand, fingertips brushing the silk where it disappeared between your folds. your breath hitched. your clit throbbed. your knees threatened to give.
“take it off,” he said suddenly.
you hesitated.
“the thong, sweetheart. take it off. i wanna see that pussy while you play with it.”
your hands moved without thinking. you tugged the soaked fabric down, letting it fall to your ankles. he moaned behind you.
“now spread your legs. real wide this time.”
you obeyed. your legs parted. your cunt glistened in the mirror. swollen. flushed. dripping.
“fuck,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “look at her. so pretty. so needy.”
you slid your fingers over your folds, breath stuttering, hips jerking. your middle finger found your clit and pressed down, slow circles, your jaw dropping, eyes fluttering shut.
“no. keep them open. i wanna see your face.”
you whimpered, eyes open again, locked on your reflection. your own shameful, pretty little face, your mouth parted, your lashes wet.
“you’re such a good girl,” he rasped, still pumping his cock. “look how sweet you are for me. showing me everything. touching yourselfl.”
your fingers moved faster.
“don’t cum yet,” he warned. you froze, gasping.
he stood up.
you saw him in the mirror towering behind you, cock still in hand, chest rising and falling.
he walked up slowly.
“stay just like that,” he murmured.
you didn’t dare move.
his cock slid between your thighs from behind, heavy and slick, rubbing against your bare pussy.
you sobbed.
“this is what you want, isn’t it?”
you nodded, eyes still locked on the mirror.
“you want me to take care of you.”
he rubbed his cock up and down your cunt, never pushing in. just dragging the thick head over your clit, your folds, your hole.
“you want me to ruin you.”
you nodded faster.
“say it.”
“i want you to ruin me,” you whispered.
his hand clamped over your throat, his cock sliding faster, harder, wetter, your slick soaking his length.
“good girl,” he growled. “then be still, baby. i’m gonna make a fuckin’ mess on that sweet little back.”
and you braced yourself against the mirror, fingers digging into the glass, as he started jerking faster, rutting his cock between your thighs, breath heavy and broken, voice barely human as he moaned just like that.
and you didn’t dare close your eyes.
because he told you to watch.
and you always listened.
i wrote this with the lights off and something sweet rotting in my chest. it’s quiet, obsessive, and a little too tender in the wrong places. take care reading.
onlypinkslut
#jjk fanfic#jjk men#jjk smut#jjk toji#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen toji#smut#toji#toji smut#cw kink#cw praising kink#cw degradation#tw smut#tw age gap#tw age difference#tw kink#praise kink go brrrr#k!nk content#k!nk tag#toji fushiguro smut#toji x y/n#toji x you#jujutsu toji#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#toji zenin#jjk x reader#tw dubcon#cw cnc mention#cw dubcon
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Paizuri ♡ Isagi yoichi
cw: smut mdni, titty fucking

⸝⸝♡⸝⸝♡
He’s tense—jaw clenched, hair messy from tugging at it after a brutal practice. You catch him in your shared room, sprawled on the bed, shirt riding up his toned abs, frustration in every line of his body.
“Yoichi,” you hum, crawling between his legs with a soft smile. “Wanna help you unwind.”
He raises a brow confused at first until you pull your shirt off and slide your bra straps down, letting your breasts bounce free.
His breath hitches.
“…What are you up to?”
You don’t answer. Just push him back gently, settle between his thighs, and let your soft tits press against his already hard cock through his sweats.
“Just relax,” you whisper, tugging his waistband down and freeing his length, thick, already twitching with need. “Let me take care of you.”
You press your breasts around him—soft and warm, his cock nestled between the pillowy flesh and slowly start to move them up and down, your tongue teasing the tip each time it peeks out.
“F-Fuck,” he mutters, eyes wide, watching your every move. “That’s… fuuuck, that’s good—”
You pick up the pace a little, moaning softly as his cock glides through the slick valley of your chest, precum smearing across your skin.
“Like this, Yoichi?” you breathe. “You’re so big—it barely fits between them…”
“Don’t say shit like that—” he growls, breath stuttering. “I’ll cum too fast.”
“Good,” you purr, flicking your tongue against his leaking tip again. “I want you to.”
He groans; hands fisting the sheets, hips twitching as you squeeze your breasts tighter around him, moving faster, messier, precum drooling down your cleavage.
“Gonna cum for me, baby?” you whisper, licking your lips.
He loses it.
“Shit—baby—fuck, I’m..”
He cums hard—hot and thick and messy, spilling all over your tits and chin, some streaking across your face as you moan from how filthy it is.
He stares at you, chest heaving, cock twitching against your still-slick skin.
“…You’re unreal,” he mutters, pulling you up to kiss you like he’s addicted.
TL: @samm1e13 @demiitria @syleepy @chaoslibra @bontenxo @pinkymangacaps @riinniies @samthesimp1 @sapphireluv @s4turnx1 @nevvynev @cookiesandcreammy @rinniebinniebay @ravenbc @kamelika @luvsymai @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @silverwings920 @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @yanderebluelockfan @valexqpt @bigclownshoes @rinniewinnie787 @satorella @mihyas-dieehefrau
A/n: was thinking about this last night and omfg
ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.
[Masterlist]
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