#these were supposed to be out earlier this month so they could but used as icons but uh.

[vanweezer]

happy halloween! here are some rather... strange... creatures

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 !! ❞

❝ WHEN YOUR EX HUSBAND FINDS OUT YOU'RE DATING AGAIN, HOW DO YOU END UP FUCKING HIM IN YOUR BED ?? ❞

✧ pairing: ex-husband!satoru gojo x f!reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo is the man everyone wants, except you -- well you married him and you wanted him, but when he pushed you away after you had your daughter, you had no choice but to divorce him. so what happens when he comes to pick up your daughter for his weekend, and he finds you ready for a date? and how is it you always end up under him?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, exes to lovers, modern au! (no curses), gojo is a CEO of a company, gojo has a daughter with you, divorced, some angst, switch! gojo, nipple play, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi public sex (near entryway), semi exhibitionism, sex (p in v), creampie, swearing,

✧ wc: 8,271

“You were supposed to be here at 6:00 PM,” 

Satoru Gojo stood in your doorway, as opposed to splashed on the covers of magazines and countless front page articles — you would think it would be business magazines, but you would only be partially correct — he made the covers of business, fashion, health, entertainment, and even a few women’s magazines. 

And what every single one had made apparent in their colorful print was that Satoru Gojo was anyone’s ideal man — the CEO of the wildly successful Six Eyes Corp, a philanthropist in his free time spent mentoring children and teenagers through establishing proper programs, and he was flawlessly beautiful — ocean blue eyes you could drown in, porcelain skin seemingly without a blemish or scar, and pretty lips that were a weapon when curled in a smirk. 

Just as they were now. 

“Well,” he smirks, leaning against your door frame, “I’m sure it’s 6:00 PM somewhere,” 

“Well, I’m not concerned with somewhere else since you daughter exists here, not elsewhere,” your words lacked their usual bite, only tinged with annoyance rather than cutting anger, “but good thing I told you to be here an hour and half earlier than I needed you,” 

Needed him as just as you did before you had divorced — just as you asked him to be. But he only grew more distant by the day — and soon he was already out the door when you had served him with divorce papers. 

And now, you can almost forget how it used to be — your eyes catch sight of the picture on your mantle of the two of you with your daughter, Satoru’s lips pressed to your cheeks as yours were pressed to your little angel — almost. 

He gapes at you as you walk inside, as he follows behind you, the click of the door closing overshadowed by the sound of his voice. 

“How could you lie to me, sweetheart? Thought we had a bond of trust,” you don’t have to look back at him to know he has a pout on his lips that would quickly melt into a grin if you conceded. 

“Bond of trust ended when you showed up two hours late to pick up our daughter,” and he grumbles, cheeks tinged with pink. 

“That was one time! I’m never that late. And it’s only on a Fridays when I have—“ 

“Meetings all day,” you finish with a sigh, “I know, Gojo, I know it’s not on purpose — but I know you’re always late on Fridays so I found a solution,” your lips curl, “anyway, our girl is napping still, so give her a bit before you wake her, but you can stay here until she does,” you’re shrugging off your bathrobe, littered with flecks of makeup, only to have a gorgeous black dress underneath. 

One that he very much hadn’t seen before — and he would know, he’s explored every centimeter very intimately of each one of your dresses, but this is new. His eyes skim down the exposed skin of your thighs — very new, but very familiar. 

He’s running fingers through his hair, not bothering to hide how his gaze rakes over his body, “Special occasion? Don’t tell me your birthday suddenly moved months, or I forgot our anniversary,” 

You scoff, as you pick out earrings from your jewelry box,  “Does an anniversary count when you’re divorced?” you can’t hide the hint of bitterness in your voice, and he’s stepping closer as you look in your vanity to put your earrings on, only to meet his gaze in the mirror, deep blue sucking you in as it always does. 

“But you’ll always be mine,” and you roll your eyes, expecting a cheeky grin, but find genuine longing in his expression, before it's hidden away behind a frown, “but you still haven’t told me where you’re going, sweetheart,” 

A sigh stuck in your throat, ignoring the use of your usual pet name that he had lost the rights when the ink dried on your divorce, as your teeth graze your bottom lip, “I have a date tonight,” 

He tilts his head, “A date?” and you can already hear it in his voice — ice creeping over usually still waters, “who’s the lucky guy? And do I get to meet him?” 

“And have you scare him off?” And he only grins in reply, hands slipping into his pockets. 

“If he’s intimidated by me, isn’t that more on him than me, sweetheart?” His footsteps only grow closer, as you turn to look at him, his hand on the wood of your vanity, nearly caging you in on side, “after all, he may be your date, but I’ll always be your husband, and the father of our daughter,” 

You didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss him or slap him — slapping him was self explanatory, but the want to kiss him was a lingering feeling, one that you couldn’t shed — no matter how much time passed. But that was the thing about Satoru Gojo — it was easy to fall in love with him, but even harder to fall out. 

And a part of you could never admit to yourself that you never did. 

No matter how hard you try.

“You haven’t been my husband for a year and half now, Gojo — a year legally now,” 

And he’s changing tactics, “You still haven’t answered my question, who are you going on a date with?” And you already can feel the beginning of a headache throbbing in your forehead, and you know why no one could say no to Satoru Gojo — because you’re sure he’s never understood it. 

“Why do you need to know?” And he's tilting his head, a small scoff parting his lips. 

“I need to know who you're potentially bringing home, don’t I?” and he’s far too close, and you don’t know why you’re not pulling away — his breath warming your skin, as he drags a finger down your cheek, “The man who might step foot in our home, might meet our daughter,” and his thumb brushes over your lips, “might kiss my wife—“ 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects you. 

You rub at your temples — yup, you definitely have a headache now. You brush past him, heading to the living room to pick up some of the mess, hoping your ex would somehow fall and hit his head on the doorframe and forget this conversation.

“And this dress?” Ah, no such luck, “did you buy it for the date?” 

“Do you keep a catalog of my wardrobe?” you scowl as you pick up the strewn about toys and things to collect into your daughter’s toy bin, and he’s bending down too to pick up your daughter’s things in his hundred thousand yen suit. 

“So you didn’t deny it,” and you sigh again, but grit your teeth all the same, his sharp words finely grating on your nerves. 

“This isn’t a business negotiation, you don’t win just because you use my words against me,” you stand up after picking up the last of the things, “yes it’s a new dress, and yes I bought it for the date since this is my first date in years, happy?” 

“Thrilled,” he says flatly, and you know it’s not the end of the discussion, “remember our first date?” 

And how could you forget? But you decide to humor him, if only for a break from the interrogation. 

“Which one? Because one was a date, and the other—“ 

He raises an eyebrow, “It was a date too, I asked you out—“ 

“You asked me to hang out—“ 

“And we kissed—“ 

“Only because I told you how I felt first—“ and he smirks again and you know you’ve dug yourself into a hole, cheeks burning at his stupidly smug face, “shut up,” 

“And what did you say again?” He slips the things you have in your hands into the toy box, his fingers brushing yours, and his touch is the same as you remember, even the barest brush was enough for your traitorous soul to yearn for more. 

“You know what I said,” his lips curl, the same smile he had given you all those years ago that made you fall for him in the first place, but his raise of his brow tells you he’s not going to let it go until you say it, “I told you that I liked you for a long time, and I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move. Because maybe by then it would be too late,” and his fingers brush against your cheek, featherlight — just as the bunches of butterflies that bloom in your stomach. 

“And you say that wasn’t a date,” and you scoff, biting back the small smile on your lips, “will any other first date compare to that?” 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you know his brow is furrowed without having to look at him, “do you have to call me by my last name—“ 

“I do, because Satoru was my husband, and Gojo is my ex—“ 

“I’m still your husband—“ and you give a bitter chuckle. 

“In what world? We’re divorced, it’s over,“ 

“It doesn’t have to be,” 

“But it does. This isn’t me confessing to you on a movie night curled up on my twin bed. This is my ex-husband asking me to give him another chance far too late,” you slip past him, but he follows behind anyway, as you stand near the entryway to your home,  “it’s time to move on,” and you’re stepping from your bedroom and only reach the doorway when he speaks. 

“How can I move on when I never wanted to?” You still yourself in your tracks, fingers curling into a fist. 

Not this right now. Not now. “Gojo—“ you sigh. 

You’re so tired. You were hoping you wouldn’t have to have this conversation. You never had expected to have this conversation, not when you wanted to only marry one man your entire life was the one to break your heart. 

“It's almost two years too late for this conversation,” you willed your voice not to break — not when your heart was long broken by him, and you wouldn’t allow him to do it again, “you should have had it with me before I filed. When I asked you to spend your time with us, when I asked you to take time off, when I asked you to be present in our lives—“ 

“Sweetheart-“ and you snap. 

“Don’t call me that,” your quiet words hang in the silence, the wedding bells he heard in his head were nothing more than the sounds of bells drowning out the mourners screams, “don’t call me that when you don’t get to anymore,” 

“I’ll always be yours, sweetheart, a few papers don’t change that,” and he’s stepping towards you, but you’re rooted to your spot, and you want to say it’s stubbornness, but you know what it really is —weakness, because Satoru Gojo was your one and only weakness. And even now, walls raised and erected against him came tumbling down with one touch. 

Because he knew exactly where to touch and what to say. 

“Do you think any other man could please you the way I can? I know every place, every sound, every inch of you — inside and out,” he’s nearly against your back now, “are you going to let a stranger do that? Let them learn how to please you, but knowing your husband knows how to do it better,” 

“Ex-husband,” and he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, “we shouldn’t—“ 

“And yet you’re letting me,” his nose brushes against the soft skin of your neck, warm breath sending a shiver down to the tips of your toes, and his words sending a wave of need right to your core, “because you know it’s true,” his hands tentatively brush against your hips and when you don’t resist, he squeezes, drawing a gasp from you, lips curled in a smirk, “more sensitive than usual, Princess? Been too long?” 

“I swear to god—“ he’s cutting you off with a bruising kiss, a rubber band snapping back against your skin, and now it’s taut against you, ensnaring you in its grasp. And yet, his kiss is so sweet, affection dripping from the slide of lips to the caress of his fingers against your cheek, and it reminds you of just why you don’t want to let go. 

“You don’t have to swear yourself to me, but I’d appreciate it, Princess,” and his mouth reminds you of the reason you (and that you don’t). 

“Gojo—“ and he’s placing more kisses along your jaw now. 

“Shouldn’t you at least call me Satoru now that we’ve kissed?” 

“You’re impossible—“ 

“And yet I’m here,” his teeth nibbles at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, tongue flicking over the blooming love bite, “almost forgot how sweet you taste,” he’s humming, as he kisses along your shoulder before he toys with the strap of your dress, “almost,” his large palms slide down your body, skimming your bare thighs as he’s pressing you against the walls, “but your skin isn’t what I want to taste,” 

You gasp, “we can’t—“ but why were you letting him? Irritation overrode by lust, and he knew the spots to make you bend to him, his hands squeezing your hips, “fuck you,” you wonder if his touch are phantoms engraved against your skin and muscles, forced to repeat the same patterns again and again — and a hand slides back up to cup your cheek. 

“That’s what I’m trying to do, sweetheart,” his lips find yours again, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, before slipping inside. His hand is lifting your thigh around his waist, as his lips part from your own, eyes raking over your pretty, bitten red lips, “do you know how much I missed you?” 

“No, I don’t,” and his smile slips from his lips, as he cups your chin, “Satoru—“ 

“Even all the days I was gone, there wasn’t a second I didn’t think of you,” you waver a moment at the sadness rippling through his gaze, “I know I wasn’t there—“ his lips press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Why weren’t you?” 

And that’s when there’s a knock at the door that makes your heads snap over to stare at the door a good four or five feet from you, the shadow of feet visible through the crack at the bottom of the door, and you were sure it was your date. 

“Fuck,” you whsiper under your breath, “you have to go—“ your palms pressed flat against his chest, but Satoru doesn’t budge, “please, I have to get the—“ 

And his hand is slipping up and under your dress, hiking the material higher, “do you really want to go on your date like this, sweetheart?” His fingers graze your soaked panties, a gasp pulled from your lips, lithe fingers rubbing and pinching your clit through the thin fabric, “gonna go see him when you’re this wet?”

“Please—“ and his fingers snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin, drawing a squeal from your mouth, “fuck—“ 

“Any louder, Princess, and he might hear us,” he’s leaning down to press his forehead to yours, forcing your gaze to meet yours, “but maybe I should let him, let him know who’s the only one who can make you feel this good,” his words only make your cunt flutter, as if your body was in agreement, even if your mind was still in denial, “you’re much more honest down here, Princess, but you always were,”

Another knock as your attention is being tugged only for him to yank it back as his finger slips inside you. You’re burying your face in the crook of his neck to stifle your moans — his fingers were so much longer than yours, reaching places you could only have dreamed of — when you had dreamed of him. 

His finger squelches as he fucks you open, walls squeezing around him as your molten insides cling to his touch desperately. Small whines and pants are muffled against your hand as you clamp it over, your phone vibrating uselessly with your date’s messages inside your purse. 

“Please, Satoru let me—“ and he’s ripping your underwear, as he’s forcing your dress higher, “I have to tell him—“ 

“Tell him what?” His eyes are nearly glowing in the dim light of the fluorescents leaking in from the living room, “tell him you’d go on your date with him but you’re too busy being finger fucked by your husband?” And he’s sinking another finger into you, making your head loll back against the wall, “tell him that you’d let him fuck you in our bed, but you’re too busy letting me?” 

“Sa-toru—“ you’re biting back your whines, glancing at the door, but he’s forcing your gaze back to him, his thumb pressed against your chin, “just let me—“ 

And he’s turning you in front of the mirror near the entryway, forcing you to look at yourself — your lips kiss bitten and ruined, your dress hiked up and mussed, and underwear tugged down to your ankles. 

“Do you want him to see you like this?” His breath is hot in your ear, a soft murmur that makes your knees nearly buckle, “want him to see you how much of a mess I’ve made you?” His fingers sink into you again, a third finger with the other two. The lewd squelch of your cunt rings in your ears, your eyes catching sight of your own moans and pants in the mirror, your walls squeezing around them, “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, sweetheart, and now you can watch too,” he’s guiding your gaze back to watch yourself, watching him knuckle deep in your sweet cunt, “gonna make you watch your tight pussy break my fingers,” he spreads his fingers inside you, letting you watch your slice drip down his fingers and wrist and splatter on the floor.

And your head falls back against his shoulder — he’s thrusting into you faster, your walls working deeper and deeper into you — fingers curling against your molten insides, until he’s finding that one spot that has your lips falling open, “I’m so—” your voice is a broken whisper, and he’s pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Please—“ 

“Cum f’me baby,” his thumb rubs at your clit, and you do, walls clamping down as you cum, his fingers relentless as they fuck you through your orgasm, a wordless moan of his name on your lips. He’s holding you up as he does, your body buckling under the pleasure, blood roaring in your ears that slowly ebbs away, as his fingers slow, and you’re shuddering under his touch, “good girl,” and your walls flutter as he pulls out as if they want him to stay, and he’s tilting your gaze, “watch,” your eyes open reluctantly, a small moan on your lips as you watch him carefully each one of his fingers clean, pink tongue darting out to lick at the trails of your juices that had dripped down his palm and wrist, “still the sweetest thing I’ve had, princess,” 

And there’s another knock, as he clicks his tongue, “Doesn’t give up does he?” and he’s pressing a kiss to your neck, “must have really done a number on him and he’s willing to wait this long for you, huh?” he hums, nuzzling the hollow of your throat, “but I can relate. So, should I let him down for you?” 

Your eyes fly open, meeting his cheeky gaze with a glare, “Don’t you fucking dare,” 

“What? You still want to go out with him? Be my guest, but,” and he’s pulling at your ruined underwear until they rip under his touch, “can’t wear these, can you?” you gape at him as he pockets the ruined panties with a shit eating grin, “for later,” and you’re scoffing, and you hear a call of your name through the door. 

And you take a better look at yourself — completely disheveled and marked up along your neck from his kisses and nips, your skin shiny with a sheen of sweat, and your lips obviously bruised and bitten from his treatment. 

“Fuck,” you can’t go out like this — it looks as if you’d spent the morning before getting ravished, panic sets in as you hear his voice through the door. 

“Want me to send him on his way?” Satoru’s hands curl around your waist, “our angel’s still fast asleep, and that means we can spend some time together—“ 

“Fuck off,” you hiss, walking over to the door, “Atsuya, I’m sorry I can’t go out today. I’m not feeling well,” 

“Eh? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” And Satoru steps forward to speak but you cover his mouth with his hand. 

“No, I’m fine, but I have the flu and I’m still contagious, so I don’t want to get you—“ Satoru drags his tongue between your fingers — this fucker, “sick,” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and take care of you?” Satoru’s hands are dragging over your sides, squeezing your far too sensitive hips. 

“Hear that?” Satoru’s whispering to you between the gaps of your fingers, “He wants to take care of you. Should you let him? Maybe he could fuck you better in the home we bought together and in the bed we shared,” 

“No, I’m fine, really, I-I—“ and Satoru’s sucking at your finger, tongue curling around the digit, and you grit your teeth, “I’m going to rest. I’ll text you later, I’m sorry—“ and you don’t get to hear the rest of what he says, as Satoru’s pulling your hand away, and finding your lips in another kiss. 

You hate how good this man is at kissing, his lips and touch must have the ability to leech sense from your brain, and leave lust in its place. 

“What’s wrong with you?” you mumble against his lips, as his lips burn a trail of kisses down your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 

“Nothing’s wrong with me, except that I love you,” he’s pouting again, “you think that guy could please you the way I could?” 

“No, but maybe he would actually be there,” you bite back and his kisses pause, smirk slipping into a frown. 

“I know I’ve made mistakes—“ 

You give a bitter chuckle, “Mistakes? You left us,” 

He opens and closes his mouth, “you’re right I did, and I’m sorry,” his words are slow, but so is the anger building inside you, “but I’m asking for a second chance, begging for one more chance—“ 

You finally turn to face him, and you can only hope the tears welling in your eyes weren’t noticeable, “You don’t get to beg, when I already did,” your voice finally breaks, as your clenched fist shakes, “where were you? After our daughter was born, you were gone. You kept saying you would make time for us, you would be there for us, but you just busier and busier, and the only time I’d see you were the nights you made it home to crawl into bed,” 

“I—“ 

“No, I’m tired, I’m tired of waiting and being upset, I’m so done—“ and he’s pulling you into his arms, and the familiarity of his grasp is nearly enough for your defenses to crumble, but you can’t, “Satoru” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I did wrong. I know I don’t deserve you or our baby, not after all I did,” he’s murmuring, “but it was never because of you or her,” 

Tears spill from your eyes, streaming down your cheeks, “I used to cry, thinking that not only that I wasn’t enough, but your daughter wasn’t enough either—“ 

“You weren’t the ones that wasn’t enough,” he cuts you off, “I am,” the last words come out a whisper, as he runs fingers through his hair, “I’m the one who wasn’t good enough,” 

You stare at him, “What do you mean?” 

He’s scrubbing a hand down his face, “I don’t know how to be a husband, much less a father. I didn’t think I even wanted to be either, until I met you,” his voice softens, “and then I wanted it all if it was with you,” 

“Satoru—“ and he’s shaking his head. 

“I thought I could handle it — but when I saw you two — the two most important people in my life — how much you were counting on me, how much you needed me to not fail — I threw myself into work,” he’s swallowing, “I thought if I could support you both, things would get better. But it only made things worse because I pushed myself away,” 

“Why?”

“Because I thought I’d mess it up — I don’t know how to be a father. I didn’t even know I wanted to be a husband until we got married,” and you swallow, “I thought I never would after watching my dad neglect and abuse me and my mom,” you knit your brow together, “and there were so many nights when you were sleeping, I got so frustrated with our angel. She wouldn’t sleep, she screamed for hours, and I just felt like I had failed her. And I would just fail you too,” he scrubbed a hand down his face, “so—“  

“So you ran away,” you finish, voice caught in your throat. 

He gives a curt nod, “And when you filed, I knew it was coming, but I thought you both would be better off. I thought even if I was miserable, it would be worth it to see you two happy—“ 

“Satoru, do you think I would be happy without my husband?” Your sigh stuck in your throat as your fingers find his cheek, featherlight, but he crumbles and melts against it, as if he was a statue made to wait for your touch, “you’re nothing like your father. I see you with Satomi, I see how much you love her — you dote on her, you know what she likes — she gets a cut and you’re panicking,” you chuckle as he huffs, a cute blush settling over his cheeks, “and you were a good husband, when you talked to me and didn’t run away,” 

“I know,” and the question unspoken hangs in the air, “can I be again? Your husband,” and your instinct is to pull him into your arms, where you wanted him to be, where you always wanted to be, but your instinct is tangled in fear, barbed wire dragging you down and digging into your skin. 

“I want you to be,” his eyes light up, hope flicking across his gaze like a comet tail, until it burns out with your next words, “but I’m scared,” you swallow, arms crossed, hoping if you physically hold yourself maybe you could hold yourself together, “I don’t want to get hurt again,” 

“I won’t, I promise,” he’s cupping your cheek again, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, “every night I only thought of you and Satomi — there’s no one else that matters,” he’s drawing closer again, it makes you want nothing more than his touch again — it had been too long — too long without him. 

And your lips find his again, it’s a chaste kiss at first, a breath shared a centimeter apart, as his eyes find yours, brow furrowed, “We have a lot to talk about,” you murmur, as your lips graze his again, and he’s chasing your lips, “but it’s going to take time,” God, you want to kiss his knowing pout away, as you drag a thumb down his lips, “a lot of making up to me and our angel,” He’s nodding obediently, a complete puppy under your touch, as he shivers as your fingers run through his hair before tugging, “are you ready for that?” 

“Yes, baby,” he’s biting his lip, fingers twitching wanting to touch you. 

Your lips curl, “Good boy.” 

“All that big talk and now look at you, Toru,” Satoru’s white knuckled fingers fisted at the sheets of your shared bed, as your own fingers teased the head of his leaking cock through his boxers, “such a mess for me,” 

You kneel at the foot of your bed, settled between his thighs, and though you were on your knees, you were the one who held the power. Fingers tracing the trigger right within your grasp, his cock twitching against your hand. 

“Please, sweetheart, fuck,” he’s hissing when your lips lean down to press a kiss to his clothes weeping slit, the wet heat of your mouth seeps through, making him twitch against your touch — a spark of need that burns against his skin and boils his blood underneath with need, “please, don’t tease me,” 

“Well that’s not fair,” you hum, as your fingers toy with the elastic of his boxers, snapping the elastic against your skin, sending a shiver up his body along with an ache that reaches his bones — and he wondered how he had let your grip on him grow this deep — and how he had ever let it go when it felt this good, “when you’re being teased I’m supposed to relent, even though you made me cum downstairs in my entryway?” 

And he’s swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing just as anticipatory as the rest of his body, a bow string drawn tight just waiting for you to release it. But you wished to toy with the arrow more. 

“I have half a mind to make you clean my cum off the floor with your tongue,” you click your own tongue as a taunt, but that only makes him squirm, “but maybe I’ll spare you since you’re being so good for me,” you’re dragging your fingers down his boxers, freeing his cock— already far too hard, flushed and dripping with precum as it slaps against his stomach, the flared head nearly begging you to touch it, “tell me what you want,” his cock is far too gorgeous, you thought that from the first time you saw it  — long and curved, and the veins that ran along it were so pretty— just like the man himself. 

And a whimper escapes his lips, “sweetheart, please, touch me—“ 

“With what?” you thumb his tip lightly, smearing the cum down his shaft, “my fingers? Or my mouth,” and your lips lick the pre that clings to your thumb clean, dragging your thumb down the flat of your tongue. 

“Y-Your mouth,” and you’re smiling, your lips curling as his pretty gaze pleads with you, “please,” 

“Imagine your subordinates saw you like this, begging your ex-wife to blow you, nearly ready to blow your load already just from fingering me,” your fingers toy with his balls, while you leans down to trace the tip of his tongue up the bottom of his cock, “what do you think they’d say?” And your lips part to let his engorged tip enter, as his head falls back with a groan, the wet and warm mouth, as you start to bob your head up and down his length. 

“Fuuuuck, pretty,” and you’re pausing as you wait for a reply to your question, his own tongue tying itself in knots, “think I’m down bad for my wife,” he’s grunting, the words ‘my wife’ and his groans sending white hot arousal to your needy cunt, “think I’d let her fuck me anyway she wants and they would be right, sweets. I’d let you use me,” your tongue is wrapped around his length, as his dick sinks deeper into your mouth, nose brushing against his pubes, his hips held taut as he forces himself not to face fuck you. 

And his eyes flutter down to meet yours, only to find your eyes drowning in lust, molten with need that nearly burned him with want, lips sloppy and dripping with a mix of precum and your spit out of the corners of your mouth, and your fingers —buried deep in your cunt as you sucked him off. 

Fuck. 

With the nasty way you slurped at his length, the noise ringing in his ear as your fingers begin to squeeze and stroke his balls, he wasn’t going to last much longer. His hips bucked against your mouth, and he’s muttering apologies but you let him, moaning as his tip hits the back of your throat. 

“I’m close—where—“ and you’re sucking hard, tongue flicking against his slit and when he fucks your mouth once, twice — he’s gone. He’s cumming down your throat, hot spurts of cum painting your lips and mouth, his head falls back, fingers gripping the sheets as his eyes flutter open. And he watches you pull away from his cock, sticky strings of cum and saliva connecting you to his length still, “fuck, sweetheart,” his softening dick already twitching at the sight of you — your pretty tongue darting out to lick his cum from your lips. 

“You taste as good as I remember, Toru — always so sweet,” and you’re pulling your own fingers from inside your tight pussy, and he snaps. 

You’re on your back on the bed now, flopped down against the mattress as his hand closes around your wrist of the hand that was just inside you. Your words are lodged in your throat but come out a shiver when he brings your soaked fingers to his lips, he kisses each one before sucking and licking them clean. 

“Toru—“ and he pulls away from the last finger with a pop, eyes clouded with need, “I—“ 

“And you say I taste good?” he’s humming, as he leans over you, “wait until you taste yourself, Princess,” and his mouth is insistent on giving you an entire course of your taste on his tongue, mapping out a detailed cartography of very crook and crevice of your mouth, “aren’t you so much sweeter?” He’s pulling away from your bitten red lips, spit connecting your lips still, “and that taste is all mine, just like you, wifey,” 

The pet name sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins, stoking the burning need already threatening to consume you both, “Toru—“ and he’s already stripping your dress away, pulled away up and over your head, thrown away like every thought of why this was a bad idea. Your nipples perk in the cool air of your bedroom and under his hot gaze, standing at attention as if they’re begging for his attention. And he’s more than happy to oblige. 

His fingers toy with the buds, rolling between your forefinger and thumb, until he’s bending down to take one in his mouth, and you’re arching into his touch, your fingers finding purchase on his shoulders. 

“Bet Atsuya would love to see you like this, huh?” He’s switching to the other side, teeth dragging against your nipple to draw a gasp from your lips, “Would love to see you such a mess like this, spread out and needy,” and he’s spreading you with warm palms, his half hard cock brushing against your thigh, “Were you gonna let him fuck you on this bed? Our bed?” 

He doesn’t allow you an answer as his fingers spread your dripping walls, “Gonna let him taste you like this?” His lips warm your fluttering pussy, nearly begging for his touch and to swallow you whole, “when I already said this pretty cunt was mine,” he clicks his tongue far too close, making you whine, “g’nna have to answer my question first, Princess,” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” and he presses a chaste kiss to your dripping pussy, making you whimper, your walls spasming around nothing, “Toru,” 

“Remember when we moved into this home?” his lips are teasing your inner thigh, teeth dragging against your hot skin, “we broke the bed in all night long,” he’s looking up through half lidded eyes, “think he could please you like that? Make you moan his name?” 

And you’re growing desperate as his lips draw close to your clit, tongue dragging against it, only to pull away to your thighs again, “no, no, only you, Toru, please—“ 

“Only I what?” oh you know he’s goading you, but your want is drawn taut like a stringed instrument, tweaking your strings when you’re dying for him to play you — “c’mon sweetheart,” 

“Only you make me feel this good — fuck, Toru, I swear to god—“ your head falls back into the pillow as his face buries itself in your cunt, his laugh vibrates against your walls, pleasure rising faster than smoke from a burning building. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you in place now, settled between your legs. 

“You swear to me what?” and you swear his god complex gets worse and worse, and the way you moaned with his head between your legs wasn’t helping, “sorry, Princess, I have my mouth full,” and his tongue as silver as his words were, parting your folds with ease, as his lips slurped at your folds messily. 

Fuck, he was too good at it, and he knew it, smirk on his lips as the wet, nasty noises of his mouth wrapped around your cunt and your bordering pornographic moans filled the silence. Pleasure ribboned up your body, mixing with the sharpness of his fingers pressed against your plush thighs to keep you in place. 

“Gonna make me cum before I even fuck you, Princess,” and you hear the telltale squelch of his hand around his weeping dick — the shudder of your groan making him moan all the same, “taste so fucking good, never gonna go a night without tasting you again,” he murmurs far too reverently with his tongue dipping back into your folds for more of your juices, “you know how many times I fucked my fist to the thought of eating you out again? Never gonna spend a second without burying myself in this cunt,” 

“Toru, I’m close—“ and you are, greedy tongue flitting over your clit, his nose bumping against his folds, and the practiced ease of his touch — he knew just what to do to make you cum. And he did, his mouth closing around your clit, before sucking harshly. 

You cum on his face, swallowing your slick with the thrust of a desert weary man, his eagerness apparent on his soaked face, as you finally came down your high. He doesn’t waste a drop, only pulling away with a pop when your orgasm ebbs away, licking his lips clean of your juices. 

“Still dripping even after I licked you clean?” He clicks his tongue as he watches your slick soak the sheet, “gonna have to find another way, maybe you need something bigger,” he hums in fake contemplation, “what can we use?” 

“I have some sex toys that might do the trick,” and he scoffs, as he kisses up your body, before pressing his hard erection against your thigh. 

“Don’t think any toy you have compares to me,” and you’re gasping as he drags the head of his cock against your puffy clit, “nothing can fill you up like I can,” and he groans as he watches your releases mix, “just for that, g’nna make you beg for it,” 

“Toru,” you’re whining, but he’s only teasing your entrance with the head of his dick, your walls fluttering, already begging for him to sink into you, but he’s waiting for your mouth to do the same, “please, fuck me, I need you inside—“ 

He grins, “Well how can I deny my pretty wife when she asks so nicely?” And he’s splitting you open with his thick cock, balls deep with only a thrust of his hips. Your hands are grasping at him for purchase, needing to hold onto him as his cock stretches your walls out. It’s as if you remember him, walls sliding to accommodate him as they always did, but clinging to him desperately, a grunt parting his lips, as if they never wanted him to leave again. And you didn’t. 

“So fucking tight, Princess,” he’s groaning in your ear, a swallow roll of his hips drawing a chorus of moans from both of you, “don’t have to break my dick off to keep it — I’ll take you anytime you want,” and he’s pressing your thighs forward, slinging one over his shoulder, as he presses himself even deeper. 

A whine leaves the back of your throat, “too deep, Toru,” and his cock twitches inside you at that, “fuck,” and it takes everything in him not to blow his load there and then, 

“You love it when I fuck you like this, Princess, or do I have to remind you?” And he does, beginning to piston in and out, the lewd slaps of skin and moans filling the air of your bedroom, “be careful or our daughter might wake from the sounds of her mommy getting fucked,” he clicks his tongue, “maybe we should give her another sibling?” He’s watching the way your cunt eagerly welcomes his cock, sinking in and out with ease, “fuck another baby into you, hm? Would you like that princess?” 

“Toru, ngh,” your walls flutter at the thought of a kid, of his seed filling you up, “please—more—“ 

He gives a chuckle, “I’ll give you everything, sweetheart — fuck you so full that you’ll be dripping with my seed for days,” he’s grunting, legs trembling as his thrusts grow more sloppy as his orgasm begins to build, “fuck, you feel so good for me, “gonna give you another baby, make sure everyone knows you’re mine, my wife—“ 

“G’nna cum, Toru,” you’re falling back against the mattress, as he bends down to press a messy kiss to your lips, all tongue and teeth, before his fingers reach down to rub at your clit. Your eyes finding his, face flushed a pretty pink, eyes shrouded in a deep lust that was reserved only for you, and as he bucks into you even deeper, he brushes against that spongy spot that has the taut string snapping as you fall apart. 

“Cum on my cock, sweetheart,” he’s grunting, as he grazes teeth along your neck before biting. And you cum hard, toes curling as your mouth falls open with only moans of his name on your lips. The way your walls squeeze around him has him only rutting into you harder, deeper, messier — as he watches the ring of cum pool around the base of his cock, fucking you through your orgasm, “g’nna cum—“ and you’re pulling him into another kiss, legs wrapped around him as he falls over the edge with you. Hot cum spills in ropes inside your walls, his hips rolling as he does, if only to fuck his cum deeper inside you. 

“Toru, s’good, I—“ you’re incoherent nearly under him, soft kisses pressed along your jaw as you both come down from your highs, cock softening inside you only him to pull out, another groan of your name on his lips when he watches his cum drip from inside you, staining your thighs along with the sheets. 

And you whimper when he’s gathering his spilled cum on two fingers only to push it back inside, “can’t let you waste a drop, can we, sweetheart?” 

He’s finally pulling away, his other hand cupping your cheek, as he finds your lips in a lazy but far too sweet kiss, “Toru,” you mumble, “I never stopped loving you, because I don’t think I ever could,” 

His eyes grow glassy, his fingers finding the back of your neck, “I know nothing I’ll do will make up for what I did — to you and Satomi, but,” he presses his forehead to yours, “if you both let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,” 

And tears burn at the corners of your eyes, “Just stay with us, and promise to never leave — that’s enough,” and your lips brush his, “you’re more than enough for us, Satoru,” and he kisses you again and again and again, nearly climbing on top of you again, when you both hear a tiny gasp from the door. 

Your heads both snap over to your baby daughter leaning against the door, badly hidden behind it, as she pokes her head in, “did mommy and daddy make up?” 

Your cheeks burn as you cover your face — you both had checked on Satomi before but she was fast asleep still, and now — you checked the time — 9:30 PM, you were sure she’d be up all night. 

“Yes baby, mommy and daddy had some stuff to talk about,” Satoru grabs your robe for you, handing it over as he pulls his discarded boxers on under the sheets, “come here,” and she squeals as she runs into her daddy’s arms, Satoru scoops her up before pressing kisses all over her face, her giggles and his grin nearly too much for you. 

“Now she’s gonna be up all night,” you murmur to Satoru, and he’s smiling. 

“I can tire her out,” he grins, and then he adds with a whisper, “and then I’ll tire you out,” and you flush, shoving him playfully, “come on, my love, let’s go play for a while and let mama rest,” and he’s sliding out of bed, carrying her out of the bedroom, and you watch him, lying on your side, with a smile on your lips.  

Maybe it wasn’t so bad having a husband — especially when it was Satoru Gojo. 

Satoru lets you and Satomi sleep in the next morning, making a smoothie for himself, as he starts to prepare breakfast. He did tire you both out last night, especially you — and you did some exhausting of your own, his fingers running over the hickies you left all over his neck and collarbone with a slight hum. He tied your apron on himself, only boxers and a sleeveless tee on. 

He started to crack eggs into a bowl with one hand. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again — he meant what he said. He would make it up to you, or at least he would try — and he would spend the rest of his life treasuring you and his kid — and maybe another if you let him have his way, he thought, biting back a grin. 

You had turned him down last night when he asked, 

“Don’t you think it’s time we try for another one?” His arms are winding around you, half hard erection already pressing into you, as the two of you stood right outside your daughter’s doorway, watching the angel sleep, “we did do well with the first one,” 

“Toru, we just got back together, we’re not having another kid,” and he’s already pouting, you know without looking at him, “but that would be nice — for our daughter to have a sibling,” and god, it made him to take right there (which he did), but he couldn’t wait until all three of you were ready. Because he wouldn’t dare to miss a second of it — never again. 

And then a knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts, and his brow furrows. Who could it be this early?

He walks over, checking through the peephole, a grin growing on his lips, oh, perfect timing. Satoru opens the door, leaning against the doorframe, “Yes?” 

Atsuya Kusakabe frowns, jaw nearly dropping as he attempts not to gape at Satoru Gojo standing in his date’s doorway, nearly dropping the bag of medicine and soup he had packed up for you, “Uh, sorry, I was looking for—“ 

“My wife?” He raises a brow, and Kusakabe’s face blanches, as Satoru only smiles with a shrug, “sorry I should say ex-wife, we did get a divorce,” and Kusakabe’s mouth opens and closes, “but you know, she never stopped being mine,” 

Kusakabe clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “where is—“ 

“She’s sleeping still,” Satoru’s lips curl, as he sighs, “she wasn’t feeling well yesterday, but I think I made her feel better last night,” and he’s rubbing the back of his neck, movement drawing his attention to your marks littering his body. 

A flush crawls up his neck and ears and he clears his throat, “I-I see,” he thrusts the bag into Satoru’s hands, “could you please give this to her and let her know—“ and he’s shaking his head, rubbing at his temples, “tell her whatever you want.” 

And he’s gone, door slamming behind him, click of the lock. He holds the bag behind him, only to walk forward to see you peeking from the bedroom, his button up shirt thrown over your head, as you rub your eyes,  “who was it?” 

He only smiles at you, dropping the bag in the trash, “No one important,” and he’s finding his way to your side, arms winding around your waist, “I made us breakfast,” 

“Oh really?” You hum, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing sweet kisses that only makes you sigh contently, “what’s the occasion?” 

“Oh, just the first day of the rest of our lives, nothing too big,” he hums, and you laugh, his favorite noise that only makes him fall deeper in love with you, if that was even possible, “have to treat you right don’t I, wifey?” 

“Yes, you do,” and your lips find his again, “my husband,” and the word sticks in his chest, a missing piece that fits right back into place, and fixes a hole that had been aching for far too long, “should we go wake up our daughter?” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Together.” 

✧ a/n: so i didn't think i'd finish this week with being at my sister's and having a con this weekend but i found the time! i hope you enjoyed this one. this is my reality for gojo i'm living in :) fun fact, satomi and satoru both mean enlightenment! :)

✧ taglist: @jasminelee324 , @forest-hashira , @spider-fan72 ,, @rougebrainsludge , @theshylittleelfgirl , @ririchurl , @johannakhalafalla , @hanlay , @fawnlikelore , @vickkysthings , @dead-kats , @hantaslittlearsonist t , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @augustwinesworld , @forest-fruits-jam , @kirashuu , @catsgomurp , @daddytojji , @notgoodforlife , @hyori2 , @shrimpy109 , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @sunamatic , @rougebrainsludge , @redmangotango , , @psychxbby , @nakariabnrb , @mua-for-now @dazailover1900 , @alwaysfreakingout , @yamaguccitadashi , @equikaz , @gojosatorubrainrot

[ireneispunk]

Duty

Jacaerys Velaryon x female reader smut

After a rough start to your marriage, whispers from the palace cause you and your betrothed to start what you should have done months ago; produce an heir.

w.c: 1487

c.w: SMUT 18+, NO use of Y/N, not exactly enemies but y'all beefing, hate sex (if you squint, but more like dislike sex and its more just sass idfk), mention of pregnancy, breeding kink, afab reader, p in v sex, fingering, overstimulation, pls let me know if i've missed any

a.n: so i recently watched the queen charlotte bridgerton spin off and i absolutely loved it, this is very inspired by charlotte and george's earlier dynamic tee hee.

Four months and 3 days. That is how long it has been since your wedding, and how long you have loathed your husband. The two of you were not exactly close before your betrothal on account of the rapidness of it but the tensions that spread between parts of his family did not help. You both seem to fight every conversation you had thereafter, so it became easier to avoid each other. That was until around 3 months into your betrothal that questions of when you would need your dresses altering had you worried. You were supposed to making heirs but you both exploded whilst in the same room as each other.  You’d visited the prince in his separate room and communicated the issue, he was reading by the fire. You played with your fingers in your hands as he eyed the flaw, thinking intently. He placed his book face down on the table as he petted the bench beside him. You hesitated for a moment, before sitting next to him. “Once a week, we will fulfil our, uh, duty to try and produce an heir. Once you are with child we will stop.” You thought for a moment, before nodding. You couldn’t help but feel your heart sink. This was not what you had wished for in your marriage. Jacaerys was a painfully handsome man, dark curls that framed he chiselled features.

“It is the end of the week today, your grace.” You spoke, not fully considering the implications of the statement. But the quicker your belly was full the better.

He turned to you, hesitated for a moment before moving closer to you and pulled you onto his lap. You were surprised by the sudden closeness of someone, let alone your husband. He looked up from beneath you with a glimmer of what he had on your wedding night, without the naïve hope. His hands slid up from your hips to the bust of your dress, he looked into your eyes before giving the bodice of your dress a quick tug down allowing your breast to spill out. You gasped as his hands cupped over your breasts, massaging them before running a thumb over your nipple. You brought your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt a warmth spread over your body. You didn’t dare look him in the eye, keeping your eyes shut or trained on the ceiling. You felt as one hand left your breast and hike up your dress further up your hips. He sighed to himself slightly, at the sight of your exposed cunt. He could not believe his luck the first time he had saw you. You were quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and unfortunately that did not change the more you both disliked each other. If anything, it grew. Seeing you from across the room at formal engagements, gluing to his side when you needed to seem like the happy couple. It made the frustrations between the two of you even more palpable over the past few months, given the lack of relief. You opened your eyes to see his dark eyes looking up at you. He brought his two first fingers up to your lips, “Open.” His soft tone contradicted the demand and look upon his face. His fingers slid into your mouth, gliding across your tongue as you closed your lips around them. Out of sheer lust you grinded your hips against him, needing to feel some release and gaining small jolt at the feeling of your cunt rubbing against his clothed cock. His free hand shot to your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh. He removed his fingers from your mouth, admiring his spit covered fingers for a moment before they reached between your thighs and lightly grazed across your clit. You jolted, leaning forward to grip the bench behind him.

You could not stop the moan that escaped your mouth as his fingers slowly ran circles across your clit. He smirked as the noises that fell from your lips, knowing how much you couldn’t bare to be around him but fell apart in his arms was a satisfying feeling.  “I did not know you were so needy, dear wife.” The honorific felt like a pin prick. Insincere and laced with sarcasm.

Despite the tightening growing in your stomach, you could not let him have the final word as usual. “You hadn’t been paying close enough attention, your grace.” A flash of frustration flashed upon his face as his hand moved to grip your hair and fingers plunged inside of you. A gasp left you as his fingers thrusted deep inside of your cunt, you had gone from strolling towards an orgasm to being thrown at it. The tips of his fingers curled slightly, deliciously massaging that spot inside your pussy that drove you wild. You jaw fell open, eyes going wide at the loss of contact when he removed his fingers from you. You went to protest before seeing his cock in his hands, brows furrowed as he stroked the length.

You couldn’t hold off any longer before you took a hold of his wrists and pushed his hands away to his sides. You took his cock into your hand giving it a few pumps, watching an expression of lust spread across his face. You leaned over slightly, letting a ball of spit leave your lips and watch as it slid down his cock. He hissed, returning his hands to your hips pulling you closer to him. You took the hint, angling his cock towards your pussy, rubbing the tip over your clit for your own pleasure a few times, before lining him up and sliding down slowly, a large groan left his lips as be bottomed out inside of you. You had forgotten just how big his cock was, and just how good it had felt filling you up. You began to raise your hips up and down, moans leaving your lips as you did. You worked at a steady pace but after being accustomed to his hands began to push up and down with the movements of your hips moving you faster. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders as he pounded into you, no matter how much your stifled your moans, you gave him the satisfaction of them loudly leaving your lips. His hand reached up to yours, removing it from his shoulders and moving your fingers between your legs. You immediately got his instruction, fingers latching onto your clit. You worked tight circles into it as you got filled over and over with Jacaerys’ cock. A familiar tightness returned to your stomach as your head dropped back and numerous illicit words left your lips. Recognising your peak, he pulled you forward by your thighs, almost pressing your bodies against each other as he quickened his pace. Your orgasm cascaded over you, feeling your pussy tighten around Jacaerys’ cock and your body buzz from the overstimulation. You rode out your high atop of him, watching as his eyes screwed shut and his thrusts became sloppier.

You took the opportunity to return your knees to the bench either side of him and bob your hips up and down as fast as you could. His fingers reached the lip of the bench gripping it until his knuckles turned white. “Mmm, my grace,” You moaned out. His eyes shot open, his heart pounding at your remark. “Please fill me with your seed.” You pleaded and moaned, half doing it for a reaction, half because it felt too good. His jaw hung open in shock for a split second before he sputtered a moan from his lips, hips snapping into yours. You felt satisfied as a warmth filled your pussy. Your hips moved slightly, slowly thrusting his cock inside of you still. His hand shot to your hip, mumbling something, before you placed your hand flat across his chest. You bobbed a few more times on his cock, being sure to be as full as possible with his cum. You smirked to yourself seeing his head throne back, lip quivering, veins prominent in his hands gripping your waist, sweaty curls sticking to his neck. You slowly raised yourself off of his cock, standing to your feet and trying to mask your wobbliness as adjusting your dress.

You stole a glance his way, admiring his beauty before he spoke and ruined it. He panted through his mouth, arms outstretched over the sides of the bench. You smirked to yourself, admiring how he too had crumbled for you. The opening of his doorhandle caused him to call your name from behind you. You glanced at him and smiled. “Goodnight your grace, see you in seven eves’.” He opened his mouth to response, but you had already shut the door behind you. You hoped it would be sooner before he fucked you again.

[f1fantasys]

No, because I absolutely love your writing. You write smut so good. So I was think could you write something with Lando where he's reader's sugar daddy and they fuck alot but Lando is down bad for her. (No lando with toher girls, though) With a happy ending, my queen. 🧎‍♀️

Thank you anon, I'm so glad you like my writing! And i hope you enjoy this. Remember, requests are always open.

Whats yours is mine, whats mine is yours

Warnings: heavy smut, swearing, p in v sex, unprotected sex, blowjobs, oral f receiving, fingering, anal.

Lando Norris.

The hot fuckboy you met last year at the Monaco race where you were one of the grid girls. The minute your eyes met before the race started, you knew how the night would end.

It was sweeter because Lando had won the race. He quickly found you as his media duties ended, pulling you into his drivers' room. No words were spoken at first, just intense gazes, both knowing what the other wanted.

What was supposed to be just a one time fuck had turned into 3, 7 and now 12 months of fucking.

You both weren't in the right space for a relationship, so never even mentioned such. You were just finishing uni, starting an internship in Monaco, still trying to make grounds meet, while Lando was in a different city every week, so it made no sense.

You were fine with what you thought was just a one night stand, but you couldn't see yourself fitting into Lando's lavish lifestyle. He tried many times to assure you that he would take care of all your needs, even help you while setting your life up in Monaco. It wasn't until the third time you saw each other that Lando and you made a pact - friends with benefits, though he would continue to help you.

To be honest, you weren't expecting much from him. The sex was incredible, and you'd take it anytime. But he often showered you with lush gifts and expensive items, dropping money into your account without thinking. Normally you'd be opposed to accepting such from people, but the man was an f1 driver, and you were having fun, so you allowed yourself to indulge in everything he had to offer.

You'd text or call here and there whenever he was away, and he'd invited you to a few races as well, so you could use each other as you pleased.

One thing you wouldn't admit to anyone, was how you were falling more and more for Lando each time you saw him recently. You didn't allow your thought or feelings to consume you because you knew he was probably fucking every other girl everywhere he traveled, not so much as even thinking of you.

What you didn't know though was how deep in Lando himself was. The minute he layed eyes on you, he knew he was done for. You were beautiful, had long, lush hair, skin so smooth he always kissed every corner of it, and curves so sexy he'd get hard just thinking of you. He wasn't generous to you because he pity-ed you - no. You deserved everything single beautiful thing on this planet, and he made it his mission to give it all to you. He'd give you the moon if he could. You also didn't know that he hasn't slept with anyone since your first night together. He'd tried, but no one was a good as you, and he found himself comparing them all to you - so before it would get as far as penetrative sex, he would already be walking out or pushing the girl through his door.

Lando wouldn't dare make his feeling known because it would be unfair to expect you to accept his job and his traveling. One year on and you were doing well for yourself - working a full time job, and growing with each step you take. He didn't want to take all of that away from you just for him.

Lando had texted you earlier that he was on the way home from Nice, telling you to go wait for him in his apartment.

While you were waiting for him in his room, you wondered if he'd bring other girls here on the nights you didn't spend together. Would he fuck them senseless as he did you, devour their pussy's like he was a starved man, and moan their name when he came as he did yours?

Your thoughts were interrupted when Lando suddenly walked through the bedroom door. You didn't realize how lost in thought you were that you missed hearing the front door open.

''Hey, you good?'' he asked, seeing your face contorted with confusion. ''Huh? Uh, yeah, sorry, thinking about work'' you lied.

You sat on your knees as he walked up to you and cupped your face, leaning down to lock his lips with yours in a feverish kiss.

His actions had you moaning already, which allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth as he slowly started removing your clothes.

Once you were left in just your panties he pulled back and stripped his own clothes.

You watching in anticipation as he finally took off his boxers, revealing his thick girth, swollen and standing tall.

He smirked, ''Like what you see?'' he asked. You licked your lips, ''So much'' you said, wasting no time in taking him into your hands and pumping him a few times.

It had been a while since you had seen each other so to finally feel your hands on the place he craved you the most, he was twitching uncontrollably in your hands.

''Someones' needy'' you chuckled as your thumb spread the pre-cum all over his tip, watching as his core muscles flexed with every movement.

Lando's breath increased and he couldn't take just your hands anymore. ''Fuck y/n, please'' he begged.

Normally you'd liked to have teased him a bit more, hear him beg a bit more, but honestly, you were just as desperate for him.

You finally leaned forward and took his tip into your mouth, sucking on it harshly as Lando held your head in his hands, guiding your movements.

He slid in as much as you could take, hitting the back of your throat which had you gagging around him.

''So pretty for me, taking me so well'' he whispered as he began to move, fucking himself into your pace at a raw pace.

You held onto his thighs tightly as Lando took full control, using you how he wanted because he knew how much it turned you on.

You already felt your core dripping wet, clenching achingly around nothing, so you crossed your legs and squeezed your thighs together.

The sounds you were making right now were borderline pornographic - Lando was throwing out moans and swear words like crazy, you were moaning and groaning at his relentless movements in and out of your mouth, and then there were the wet, slick and sloshy noises of his dick sliding through your spit which was now running out your mouth and messing your chin.

''Fuck baby, not gonna last long now, where do you want me?'' he asked, as always. When you didn't respond, he knew he was to finish in your mouth.

So he did - Lando's dick was throbbing uncontrollably as he came violently, shooting ropes of warm cum down your throat as his hold on your head tightened. ''Shit, how do you do that, fuck, yes'' he moaned.

''Hmm'' you hummed at the taste of him, slowly working him through his high as he slowly softened second by second.

You pulled off with a pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, breath heavy and lips swollen as you looked at Lando, who's eyes were still shut, his own breathing quick. ''Missed that so much'' he said, genuinely smiling down at you, releasing his tight hold of your head.

He now picked you up and off the bed, headed into the bathroom and placed you on the counter.

You hissed at the coldness as wrapped your legs around him and pulled him closer, kissing him with a sense of urgency and desperation, this time sliding your own tongue into his mouth and pulling at his hair.

Lando lowered his lips to your neck, sucking and biting at your sweet spot as you bit on your lower lip, trying to keep your body from trembling since he had barely touched you yet.

''Hmmm Lando, please'' you begged, not sure what for, though quickly releasing a breath when his mouth landed on your left nipple, tugging and pulling at it, showing it no mercy.

Your nails dug deep into his biceps when he rolled your other nipple between his fingers harshly.

When he pulled back to spread your legs open, your breath hitched at seeing a string of spit still connecting his mouth to your nipple, and he smirked too when he noticed it. It might have been a small thing, but it was so hot, and you couldn't help but pull him closer and kiss him again. You fought each other, teeth clashing and biting one another until he finally pushed you back to lean against the mirror.

''Need to taste you'' he mumbled, spreading your legs open again and licking his lips when he saw your glistening core, dripping down your thighs.

You latched your hands onto Lando's hair as he leaned down and licked your juices that had leaked out of your pussy, letting his mouth travel further to place you were eager for him to devour.

As he teased you, taking his time to get there, Lando noticed how your lips were twitching, clenching around nothing, begging for attention. He smirked again, ''I'm home baby, I'm gonna take care of you''

You tried not to think too deep at his words, he probably said that just because of how turned on he was, but something was telling you he meant something deeper, more meaningful.

Though your thoughts were cut off when he finally let his tongue run through your slick folds, slurping up your sticky juices before he found your clit and sucked on it roughly.

''Fuck me Lando'' you said as your legs were starting to close around his head but he stopped your movements by placing his strong hands on them, holding them down and in place.

''Oh I'm gonna fuck you, don't worry'' he said, spit and your wetness already making a mess on his face.

Lando suddenly thrust two fingers through your entrance causing your back to arch from the mirror, gasping for hair as he was already curling them at the right spongy spots, while his tongue still slaughtered your clit.

''Hmmm fuck, not gonna last long Lan'' you managed through your fuzzy brain, pulling at Lando's hair harder than before.

He sped up his movements, edging you on and within minutes you were a shuddering mess above him, releasing your cum straight into his mouth as he moaned at the taste of you, warm and salty.

''Shit Lando'' you said through gritted teeth and he slowed his fingers, eventually pulling them out and licking them clean, eyes darker than usual staring into yours.

It was what he did next though that had you already wet for more. He leaned forward and let your cum drip from his mouth into yours, then kissing you harshly as he lifted your ass off the counter and carried you back to his bedroom.

As he placed you back on the bed, hovering above you, you gave him access to your neck so you could try and catch your breath, get ready for what was to come next.

Your hands roamed his body, memorizing every outline of his muscles, before settling on his girth and sliding it through your folds a few times, lubing it up.

''Gonna be my whore and let me fill you up?'' he whispered, the nickname nothing new for you.

''Please, i need you'' you whined, getting impatient.

''Not gonna be able to walk tomorrow, yeah?''

''Give it to me'' you said, smiling eagerly.

And he did.

Lando slammed into your pussy with a force that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He stayed still for a moment, allowing your body to accept the intrusion, until you nodded your head so he could start moving.

Lando pulled out completely before ramming into you again and again, showing you no mercy, the both of you moaning and on the edge of a high so delicious.

''So fucking tight, taking my big dick so well baby'' he murmured, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth, biting it through his teeth and sending waves of pain and pleasure through your body.

''Lan, please, I'm close''

''I know angel, you can let it out'' he said, because he was trying to hard not to let himself cum before you, though he was shamelessly ready to do so the minute he started fucking you.

''Cum quickly so i can fill you up and fuck a baby into you'' he said, not thinking his words through. Both your eyes widened, but quickly got replaced when your body was suddenly shaking, your orgasm ripping through you violently.

When Lando felt your walls clench painfully around his dick, he went into overdrive, and before he could register what was happening, he was emptying his load into you, ropes of cum milking its way deep into you as it was his turn to be shaking above you.

''Fuck y/n, fuck'' he cooed, both your hearts racing, groaning at the intensity of the situation.

Lando let his weight fall on your body as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, letting him bury his head in your neck.

You shivered as you felt his hot breath fanning over your sweaty sides, the cool air of the night also causing goosebumps along the rest of yours and his body.

You stayed like that for a while, Lando softening still inside of you until he moved and pulled out, both of you hissing at the loss contact. He disappeared into the bathroom to get a towel to clean you up - he always did. Once that was done and you were dressed again you knew it was time to leave even though you didn't want to.

Lando, wearing just his boxers climbed into bed while you sat there awkwardly at the edge of his bed. You wished he'd want you to lie next to him, cuddling each other, but you quickly had to wipe that though out of your head.

''I guess..I'll see you around you said, grabbing your phone off his side table.

''Yeah, I'll call. In town for a bit'' he said, catching your hand and bringing to his lips for a quick kiss.

And with that you smiled and left.

You didn't hear from him for about a week, until the morning he was leaving for Monza.

''How quickly can you get to mine?'' was all he'd texted.

Before you could respond, he sent another one.

''Leaving for Monza in 45, come over for a quick 'un?''

''I'm on my way'' you replied.

He was standing in his foyer, waiting for you, and the minute you walked in he had you pressed against the shut door.

Lando wasted no time in bunching your work dress up and sliding your panties to the side, quickly thrusting two fingers into you as you cupped his face and kissed him roughly.

He bought your orgasm over you quickly, breath harsh on your neck as you trembled in his arms.

You both hadn't even said anything to each other, too lost in getting down to business.

Lando quickly unzipped his jeans and freed his hard cock from its constraints, pumped himself a few times before lining up at you entrance.

He held you by your hips against the door, pushing himself into you quickly, bottoming out, and this time gave you no chance to get used to him - instead he fucked into you hard and fast, the both of you moaning with each thrust as you looked at each other, lost in a wave of ecstasy.

''Lando, uh'' you moaned as you felt him deep within you, your walls clenching around him achingly.

''I know'' he said through breaths, bringing his thumb down to toy with your clit, which in turn sent you into another orgasmic bliss, your liquid gushing on to him like a tidal wave as your body was once again shaking in his arms.

''So good'' you managed to whisper as he increased his movements, chasing his high as he become clumsier and sloppier by the second.

Then he came hard and fast, filling you up with the warm sticky liquid as he chanted your name over and over, leaning down to kiss you, biting on you bottom lip as you both came down from you high.

This time there was no time to clean you up. He kissed you once more before rushing out, leaving you to clean yourself and lock up with the spare key you had, your heart clenching from wanting more.

Your phone buzzed, you saw he'd just put 3000 pounds into your account. That no more excited you though. Money and materialistic things were nothing compared to the life you wanted with all of him. But you still thanked him.

3 weeks later and you knew he was on summer break though he hasn't texted you. You convinced yourself he was probably still out of the country.

Another two weeks had passed with no contact. You missed him so much. You missed the sex, so much. Pleasuring yourself was not remotely close to how Lando made you feel.

Now a whole 5 weeks later and you were so tempted to message him, see where he was. You'd seen on social media that he had in fact been home during these weeks, but you held out because what if he didn't want to see you? What if he was done with you? You don't think you could handle the rejection if you heard the words from his mouth - so rather let it end without any words being spoken.

You'd just finished work and had stopped by a restaurant to get some takeout for dinner. While sitting and waiting for your order you heard his voice. You both looked at each other at the same time, his eyes widening when he saw you. He was with Martin Garrix, who rushed over to you and enveloped you in a big hug as Lando stood there awkwardly before he walked up to you. Martin left to go to the bathroom.

You tried to keep a neutral face, tried to keep the blush off your face. He looked so hot in his tank top and shorts, a necklace gracing his neck, and his lush curls which bounced off in different directions as he ran a hand through his hair.

''Hey'' he said, sliding a hand into his pocket.

You cleared your throat. ''Uh hey, wasn't sure you were back'' you said, pretending you hadn't known his every where-about for the summer.

''Yeah, just been busy'' he said.

It had never been this awkward before, the both of you just staring at each other, not knowing what to say, but a teasy blush on both your cheeks.

Not 10 minutes later and you were riding him in his Mclaren. If someone asked you how you ended up like this, you wouldn't know the answer. All you knew what how good it felt to finally be fucking him again. You were sat on top of him, dress bunched up to your waist, and his shorts half way down his legs as you rode him, hard and fast.

Lando's mouth were stuck on your boobs, showing your nipples no mercy, while you hands ran through his hair multiple times, pulling and tugging at it.

Luckily he was parked in a secluded area, but surely the people walking by could hear the two of you. But you didn't care. Your moans you obscene, while his just sounded sexy as hell, praising you through gritted teeth at how good you were for him, how he missed his slut.

You came at the same time, shuddering and shaking in each others arms as you rode out your highs, Lando finally cupping your face and kissing you like his life depended on it, like he was savoring the moment.

As you stopped moving, you allowed your body to slump forward onto him, trying to catch your breath as he lazily played with your hair.

''Sorry I didn't call sooner'' he said, tucking your hair behind your ears and kissing you gently.

''It's ok. Just don't wait this long. I've needed you, Lando''

''Oh, i can drop you some money now'' he said, moving to get his phone straight away.

It took you a minute to realize what was happening until your brain caught up.

''What?'- No, no, Lando that's now what i meant'' you said quickly.

''No?'' he asked.

You took a breath. ''I mean I've missed you. As in you! Physically'' you said, sending him a wink.

He couldn't keep his own smile in. ''Yeah?''

''Uh huh'' you said, kissing him again.

''Well then, I promise. I'll always tell you when I'm back in town''

''Thank you'' you said, pecking him once more before lifting yourself off him and putting your pantie right again.

Since then, Lando had actually texted you multiple times. He'd even called you. You'd had phone sex too. And as much as you were enjoying all this, you still wished for more.

The next time you saw he showed up unannounced at your house. You'd just been having a lazy Saturday night in, wearing just a robe and nothing else when your door bell rang.

You looked through the peephole and couldn't have opened the door faster. There stood a breathless Lando, eyes dark and intense.

You pulled him in. ''Hey, you okay? Why're you so out of breath? you asked, concern etched on your face.

''Because i ran here. Was forced into going on a date, was halfway through when i realized something''

Your heart clenched at hearing him say he was on a date, but you stood strong.

''What's that?'' you barely whispered.

''I want you. Only you. All of you'' he said, cupping your face, waiting for you to answer him.

''I-What?''

''Dammit it y/n. I want you, all of you. I've wanted all of you since the first day we met''

''Lando'' you said raising your hands to rest on top of his, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes.

''I like you, so much, and I want to do life with you'' he whispered, his breath hot on your face.

''Fuck. I like you too Lando, too much. I-I-''

But before you could finish your sentence he crashed his lips to yours. Urgent and feverish, literally taking your breath away as you pulled him closer and moaned into his mouth.

He picked you up by your ass and carried you to your room, dropping you on the bed before hovering above you.

''You're mine now y/n, for as long as you'll have me'' he said, slowly stripping your robe off, eyes darkening even more when he saw you were wearing nothing underneath.

''Fucking hell'' he mumbled, his large calloused hands squeezes your boobs as his eyes stayed glue to them.

''Lando, more'' you begged, beginning to remove his belt and strip his own clothes off.

''Relax baby, we've got all the time'' he said, smirking at you.

Once he was finally left in just his boxers, you slid your hands past them, taking his thick dick and pumping him as his lips found yours again.

''Gonna make you feel good, yeah?'' he asked.

''Fuck, please. Fuck me''

Lando's fingers slid down and rolled through your folds harshly, pinching your clit, before letting 3 fingers enter you at once.

''Getting you ready for me, open for me'' he said, voice thick with his British accent.

He roughly thrust his fingers in and out of you, while his other hand rolled your left nipple between his fingers.

When he was done with your boobs, he moved his whole body down as his fingers still fucked your cunt, and this time he added his mouth into action.

Violently lapping and sucking at your core as if he was starved, while all you could do was let out a series of filthy moans, pulling at his hair.

''That's it baby, go on'' he said, praising you for how good you were doing for him.

Within minutes you were quivering, your orgasm washing through you as you came all over his face and fingers, not slowing his movements until you eventually came a second time, all but screaming his name.

''Lan'' you said between breaths, trying your best to let your brain catch up to what was happening. ''Fuck, so good. I-I, taste you. Need to taste you'' you said, already trying to get out his grip and onto your knees, through he stopped you.

''Later, need to fuck you first'' he said, sternly.

You didn't argue because you were also desperate to feel him fill you up.

Lando shred his boxers off and ran his cock through your folds a few times.

The action had you pussy trying to clench desperately around something.

Just as he was about to push in, he stopped, looking at you with a smirk.

''Wanna try something new?'' he asked.

''Uh huh'' you were quick to reply.

He got shy for literally a second, then his eyes went dark again.

''Anal?'' he asked softly.

Your breath hitched. It had been something you'd talked about but never got round to actually doing.

When he saw you got quiet, he quickly added ''Shit, we don't have to,'' trying to resume pushing his dick into you.

''What-fuck. Yes, I want to'' you said breathlessly.

''Yeah?

''Please'' you said, already successfully shimmying out of his grasp and turning your body around, taking a hold of the headboard as you stuck your ass in the air.

Lando's hands gently ran all over your ass, squeezing your cheeks and giving you a few gentle slaps, just fun, nothing hectic.

''Gonna stretch you out a bit?''

''Ýeah. Do whatever, I'm yours'' you said, biting your lip in anticipation.

Lando leaned down and gave you a few fluttering kisses and his index finger toyed at your entrance for a bit.

He pulled away and reached it to your mouth, letting you suck it and coat it in your spit before he returned it to your hole and gently started to push in.

You held your breath, shut your eyes, not knowing what to expect.

''That's it baby, tell me if you want me to stop'' he said, pushing in some more.

''No, keep going''

Just as he was about half way in, he quickly popped his middle finger into his own mouth before letting that too slide through and into you.

Feeling both of his rough fingers had you moaning, gasping for air, as Lando started to thrust them in and out of you now.

''You're doing so good. How does it feel?''

''Weird. But so good. Fuck Lando'' you said through heavy breaths.

Not 5 minutes later and your cum was gushing out of you with no warning, your body shaking as you held on tight on to the headboard.

Lando leaned down and licked up everything he good, moaning at how good you tasted.

''Think you're ready for me?'' he asked, unable to keep a smirk off his face.

''Always'' you said, turning around for a quick kiss, also leaning down to give Lando's dick a few quick sucks, leaving as much spit as you could, before settling into position again.

Lando lined himself up, holding onto your waist with one hand as he slowly pushed in.

All air had left your lungs as you held your breath. Feeling him slide through you was unexplainable.

The stretch was sore, so bloody sore, but at the same time, just the though of it being Lando who was filling you up turned you on so much that your brain shut the pain out and replaced it with pleasure.

Once he was fully in, Lando stayed still for a couple of moments, the both of you speechless at the feeling, lost in your own dirty thoughts, until you moved forwards and backwards again.

''Fuck Lando, move, please'' you begged.

''Huh? -Fuck, sorr- sorry. Feels so fucking good i just blanked out for a moment'' he said, voice low and raspy.

He started moving, thrusting in and out of you, while you found you voice again and let out multiple lewd moans.

''Fucking hell, you're so good. So tight. I-I-I''m so lucky'' Lando mumbled.

You felt another orgasm approaching hard and fast, your movements slowing so Lando had to take full control now.

''Uh Lando, gonna cum''

''Go on, let it out, that's it baby'' he said, edging you on.

You bit you lip again as you felt your release, washing through your body which felt like jelly as Lando held you up and adored your whole being, praising you to end.

He pulled out completely and handled your body so you were now laying on your back, legs being spread and pushed up by his strong hands before he was thrusting his dick into you again, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it as your nails dug deep into his back muscles, scratching at him, probably drawing blood.

''That's it baby. I know you have more in you'' he said, movements becoming faster and erratic.

You wrapped your legs around him as tight as you could, the new angle having him hit all the right spots in you as you nibbled on his ear.

Suddenly you were having another orgasm, shaking under him as he slowed his movements for a minute, riding you through the mix of pain and pleasure, and once you'd calmed down bit, he increased his pace again, eagerly hunting his own release now.

''Fuck Lando I can't. Too much'' you said, barely able to talk and keep your eyes open.

''One more baby, one more. Together, yeah?'' he said, knowing that although you were saying that, you probably didn't want him to stop.

''Hmm'' was all you could mumble out as Lando's movements were getting sloppy, his dick twitching against your walls, sending you into another orgasmic bliss, with him following you not long after.

You felt as he shot his cum deep within you, filling you up and painting your walls white and both your bodies were shuddering and shivering, fucked out to the core.

He let his weight fall on you, as he often did after amazing sex, and cuddled you as you held him as tight as you could.

The cool air on your sweaty skin had goosebumps raise on your skin again, your body quivering in his arms as he pulled back and locked lips with yours in a tender and loving kiss. Not rough and fast like most of the time.

''You're freezing, let's get you cleaned up'' he said, making his way to pull out of you.

The loss of contact had Lando groaning, and when you looked down at where you were joined moments ago, you stopped him from walking to the bathroom.

''I-Wait!'' you squealed, pulling him back to you.

''You good?'' he asked.

You didn't answer him though. Instead you leaned down and took his mighty girth into your mouth, letting your tongue swirl all around him, swallowing al the juices that coated his dick, before letting him free again.

''Now I'm good'' you said, smirking at him.

'''Fucking dirty menace'' he said, leaning down to give you one final rough kiss before disappearing into the bathroom.

Once you were all cleaned up and wearing one of Lando's hoodies that he'd left in your house last time, you both curled into bed, your legs thrown over his as your head rested on his chest.

You were talking about everything and nothing.

At one point, Lando looked down at you, smirking.

''So does this mean I'm your boyfriend?'' he cheekily asked.

You couldn't help the blush that formed on your cheeks.

''Yes, my love. My boyfriend.''

''Well, I love you, my girlfriend''

You breath hitched. Hearing the words you've been wanting to hear the day you first met made your heart swell with butterflies.

You leaned on your elbow as you cupped his face. ''I love you too'' you said, before kissing him, pouring every bit of the love you felt for him into it.

He kissed you back with the same passion, and with that you dozed off, excited for what was to come, now that you were finally together.

[a-b-riddle]

Part 9 (unrevised version). Since I've gotten 6 messages and a good bit of asks requesting to view it. Here it is, not in its final form.

You had hoped Monday would have treated you better than the past two days, but walking up to your shop in the pouring rain to already see a body standing outside waiting wasn't a good sign.

Customers who waited outside your shop always made you feel uncomfortable. But when you finally got close enough, you took in the person before you.

"We don't open for another hour." Your voice flat as you fished for your keys.

"I'll wait." Was Kyle's reply.

"Then you'll have to do it outside." You said, the key sliding into the lock. He didn't argue as you shut the door behind you. Didn't even bother knocking when, after thirty minutes, you looked in the window to see that the wind was causing the rain to blow sideways.

You relented. Letting him in thirty minutes earlier. It was a small mercy, even if he was soaked to the bone. You almost felt bad when his chattering teeth were the only thing you could hear.

Almost.

"I take it John told you about our little talk yesterday." You said, going about your business. Engaging in the conversation as if you were talking about the shitty weather that had tried to drown him.

"He did." He gave a sniffle. Running a hand over his beautiful, wet face. Droplets still staking their claim on his skin. "H-he alssso t-t-told us we were on our own in begging for our own f-forgiveness. Ra-ra- rightly s-s-s-so."

You huffed. Guilt beginning to eat at you before you turned, disappearing to the back of the store and coming back with a shirt and a blanket. "You left the shirt here."

He had no shame and wasted no time in taking off his jacket and soaked shirt. His chiseled body exposed to you. It was almost instinct to reach out and touch the soft skin. You luckily possessed some form of self restraint.

"So are you here to promise to make amends as well?" You crossed your arms. You meant it as a sign that you were wanting to create distance, but honestly you didn't trust yourself. It was second nature. Kyle and Johnny were tied when it came to having to always touch you.

Probably why his ghosting sucked so bad.

"I'd like to take you out." You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. It wasn't until Kyle's face fell that you realized, "Oh, you're actually serious."

He opened his mouth, ready to no doubt give you the same exact promises of doing better that John had given you the day before. Fortunately for Kyle, you didn't have the time to entertain a conversation.

"Fine." You immediately relented. No argument. "That Indian place where I asked you to go four months ago. Seven. If you manage to figure out which place, then I'll be meeting you there. Otherwise you'll be eating alone."

Kyle stood still. Unprepared for the fact that you had... agreed. You actually agreed to let him take you out.

"I can pick you up."

"Not sure what time I'll be getting off today. Might go home first. Might just go straight there." You started opening tasks again. "I have to finish setting up. Seven sharp.

"Seven sharp." He repeated, his smile lighting up the room.

It made you feel sick.

It was 6:45 when your phone started ringing. It was Kyle. Confirming that he was at the restaurant you were supposed to go.

7:00. He had gotten the two of you a table. He'll go ahead and order you a drink. They had mango lassi, but wasn't sure if you wanted to stick to just water.

7:15 He tries calling you. When it goes to voicemail, a follow up text is sent asking if you're okay.

At 7:20, while sitting on the couch you text back. Sorry. Something came up. We'll reschedule, I promise.

If you knew giving them a taste of their own medicine felt so good, you would have done it ages ago. You felt no since of shame in sending it. You hated being petty, but you wanted them to know what it felt like.

John had a lot more of verbal outbursts coming his way and if Johnny was hoping for a chance, he would be lucky if you had sex with him again before marriage.

Ten minutes later, on the dot, there was a knocking on your door. Your food had arrived. Blindly, you opened the door. Only instead of the take out you had delivered, Kyle stood there. Yet again soaked to the bone and this time out of breath.

"How did you know I was here?" Was the first thing that had come into your mind. If anything, he would have went by the shop first, but no. He came here. You weren't the type to deviate from a schedule, but christ. Simon at your date and then the club. John at the shop on your day off. Now this. "I swear to fucking god this fucking stalking-"

"Easy now, Love. No one's stalking you." Bullshit.

Absolute bullshit. They were military. Really important and special connections type of military, but this was bullshit. They were keeping tabs on you somehow.

"I know for a fucking fact that place is only ten minutes away. So you didn't have time to check out my store-- where I should be-- before coming here. So I'm going to ask you again, how did you know I was here?"

"Okay," he shrugged. "Stalking. We're stalking you." Kyle was lying. We he nodded like a bobblehead, you knew whatever was coming out of his mouth was bullshit. The first time you confirmed it was after Johnny had volunteered to make haggis. Kyle told him it was good, no doubt hoping to spare his feelings.

"Kyle." You warned, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. He paused as if trying to form another lie, but coming up short. Sighing in defeat, he confessed.

"Blocking us didn't stop you from sharing your location." In that moment, you could have strangled him. They had been still using your location. Something you had given them as a way to find you if you ever needed help. Now those assholes were using it for their own benefit.

"Son of a-" you shut your mouth. "I can't do this with you right now, okay?" You didn't confess that your publisher had asked for a last minute zoom call in the middle of your busiest work hour to see how you felt about doing a few meet and greets, all expenses paid.

Good news, but still... overwhelming. You still felt like an imposter. That you didn't deserve the hype you were getting. Your story wasn't that good. Your characters didn't hold much depth.

"Everything okay?" You didn't want to tell him. Didn't want to give him the chance to offer the reassurance you desperately needed for something he had no idea about.

"Why?" You asked, changing the subject. "I just want to know why? With John I get that the job gets stressful and needing someone to take-"

"No," he finished. "That's not an excuse. It's a reason. Not an excuse." His jaw clenched. "There is no excuse for how any of us treated you."

"Then what was your reason?" you asked. "I'm finding it very hard that someone who quite actively avoided me suddenly wants to get back together."

"I slacked off?" He shrugged. "I figured there were four of us and if I wasn't able to be there, it wouldn't make a difference."

"If you're just going to lie, Kyle, there is no point in continuing this conversation." You go to close the door only for his hand to stop you.

He stands there, looking at the ground. Even from the this angle you can see him take his bottom lip between his teeth.

He's nervous.

You step back. Giving him the option of coming in and saying it is whatever it is he needs to stay. He may be an ass like the rest of them, but this isn't exactly a conversation you want to have in the hallway for your nosey neighbors to hear.

He takes the silent invitation. Walking in and not speaking until you click the door shut. "You want the truth?" His voice is soft, but there is something else behind it. Anger?

"No," you say sardonically. "Please. Lie to me." He sighed, but didn't say anything. You were exhausted. The past few days had been a back-to-back rollercoaster of emotions. You were drained. You didn't have it in you for this right now. "Kyle-"

"I thought you only kept asking because you felt bad for me." He said the words so quickly, it took you a moment to process them. He thought.... you felt bad for him? "Like you were still trying to include me even if you didn't want to."

"Why?" Was the only thing you could come up with. You didn't have the energy to try to come up with your own reasoning for his admission.

"Don't think I don't know how I am compared to the them." He scoffed. You always knew the hierarchy of their work, even if you didn't know all the details. John was at the top. Captain and head bitch in charge. Simon was the lieutenant with Johnny and Kyle as Sergeants. Kyle was the youngest of the group by two years, but still. What was there to compare?

"So you're not a Captain or Lieutenant?" you shrug. "Johnny is the same rank as you. And you are the youngest and I'm sure with time you'll get to a position-"

"Black!" He said. "I'm black. I am the only fucking black guy not only in this relationship. I'm the only black guy in the 141, in the unit."

When it came to Kyle, black was the last thing you thought of. You thought of his soft brown eyes or house his hands felt so smooth against your body. How his smile could light up the room and how beautiful, how head-turning gorgeous he was. "I'm just an after thought in everything else regarding the 141, why would you be any different?"

"Ky," you were going to be sick. Was this how he really felt? With you? With the others? With work? "You know I don't feel that way, right?"

"Do you remember that time we went out? That french place?" How could you forget. The maître d' had asked Kyle to put a card on a tab before the two of you were even seated. At first you thought it was preposterous. Why would you make patrons at a fine dining restaurant do that? This wasn't a pub for Christ sakes. Kyle told you not to worry about it and handed over a card.

The two of you never went back.

"Oh my god." It dawned on you. "When they asked for your card..."

"I..." he sucked in a breath. Trying to keep his composure. "It was fucking humiliating. I was a man dressed to the fucking nines with a gorgeous girl on my arm and before I even got the chance to blow my money, I was treated like I couldn't afford it. It wasn't because of what I was wearing or who I was with. It was because of me. Of who I was. Who I am."

"Kyle," words escaped you. Nothing in that moment to reassure him that it never dawned on you. That it stupidly never dawned on you how there were times that people did look at him different. You wanted to tell him that it didn't matter. That you were just as important and lovable and respectable as the others. That you loved him just as much. Words failed you. All you could say say was, "I'm so sorry."

He swallowed, before taking in harsh breath through his nose. "It's not an excuse. I got wrapped up in my own stupid fucking head about how other people looked at me, I forgot it only mattered how you did."

"And you did." You said, aching to reach out. To touch him. Offer some comfort. Hating that he ever felt like he wasn't enough. Knowing the feeling all too well. Even if he was the one to make you feel it. "You did matter to me."

"I know." He said. You were thankful he said it clearly. Not shrugging his shoulders or nodding his head as he spoke. "I'll do anything to matter to you again." He took your hands in his, even though they had ached to hold you closer. But he knew not to test his luck. "If you want to press restart and let's take it back to the very beginning, I'll do that. I will court you and woo you and make you fall in love with me all over again because I will never fall out with you. I can't."

You weren't prepared for this. You had prepared to leave Kyle waiting in a restaurant alone. Now your heart ached in your chest at the idea of letting him ever think he wasn't enough because of the color of his skin.

"It doesn't have to be now or tomorrow or next week or next fucking month." He squeezed your hands the same way had John had. With the exact same intensity and promise. "Just let me try again. I won't let you down this time. I'll put in the work."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to work to make this relationship work, Kyle." You protest, wanting to pull your hands away. Free from the spell his touch had seem to be putting you under.

He smiled. Not enough to show off his teeth, but enough where have of his face lifted up. "It's not the type of work with long hours and a shit commute. Loving you is the same kind of work an artist puts into making a masterpiece. Pouring everything into it and getting something beautiful in return."

Before you could comprehend it, your face was wet. "Kyle." Your lips quivered, a sob threatening to come out. "I never felt like I needed to spend time with you, Ky." You sniffled. "I fucking wanted to. I missed you." You were so close. You needed to reel it in. Get it together.

"I just didn't understand how you could." His confession broke any restraint you had. Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to subdue your cries. When Kyle pulled you to his chest, his arms wrapping around you, you allowed yourself to crumble.

Not even for yourself, but for him.

For the kind heart you now knew broke with every sideways glance from passer-byes. For the hateful and prejudice world you lived in and for how they could overlook such a wonderful man just because of something as basic as the color of his skin.

You weren't sure how long you stood crying. You weren't certain if the knock on the door behind him actually happened or something your mind had conjured to try and pull you from your fit.

Eventually you did pull away from him. Your face covered in snot and tears. Seeing that you still were in need of it, Kyle pulled you back to him, only this time your face wasn't buried into his shirt.

You stood there. His arms wrapped around your back while yours found their home around his waist.

"I used to love when you would come back to my place directly from base as soon as you got back from a deployment." You said, breaking the silence. "I would be waiting like a kid on Christmas waiting to see what trinket made you think of me. You made me feel like even though we were so far away, you still thought about me."

"Always." He said, before his lips pressed against the top of your head. "Not a day I didn't miss being here with you."

The two of you eventually settled down on the couch. Both on opposite ends with a hot cup of tea in your hands and the array of take out containers half empty. You had planned for a night of eating your feelings so there was luckily enough food for two.

"I don't want to say no." You admitted. "But I need time. Before I even think about saying yes to all of this again."

"Not all of this," he reminded. "Just me. I'm doing my part in groveling, let the others figure it out. Or at least that's just what Price told us. Although you would be doing all of us a favor if you talked to Johnny?" Your ears perked up. You hadn't seen or heard from Johnny since Friday.

"What's wrong with Johnny?" You asked.

"Lad didn't cope well with you going on your date." Not that you had fucked him and said it was a mistake.... or maybe he kept that tidbit to himsle.f

"It wasn't a-" you started.

"I know," he said. "Simon happened to be nearby." You shot him a look, letting him know you weren't buying that lie, before he continued. "But he didn't. Fuck you're lucky we were able to drag him out of your apartment before you got back and he made an even bigger fool of himself."

"What are you talking about?" You asked. "What do you mean by drag?"

"Johnny called Simon. Told him you were on a date and to bring your ass back. Although you had made it a point to fuck him and leave-- absolutely no judgement, by the way-- he was going to make it a point to never leave your bed."

"My top sheet..." You had come home to your comforters and pillows on the floor. When making up your bed, the top sheet was missing. You had just assumed you didn't put it on or maybe it was in the wash.

"Refused to put his clothes back on. Me and John couldn't risk carrying a naked, screaming Scot through the streets without making a spectical. So we rolled him up and carried him of like a rug. A very heavy, squirmy rug."

"Oh," your hand flew to your chest. "Johnny." He was the bleeding heart of the group so you weren't exactly surprised. He was also the one who blew up shit, so he was definitely one for dramatics. "So that's how Simon figured out about dinner. But the drinks-"

"Whenever Simon is home, he's your shadow. The only time we don't worry about you is when we know he's with you." That made you roll your eyes.

"You act like he's my guard dog."

"He is."

"Is not." You defended, your conversation from Saturday night coming back to you.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be."

"He's not." you said again.

"You're right." Kyle relented, shrugging his fucking shoulders.

"You're saying that like you're just not trying to argue with me." He took a sip of your tea. "Kyle!" He sighed before looking at you as if the last thing he wanted to do was continue on the subject.

"He is." He said. "Your guard dog."

"I mean he protects me, but all of you do." He shakes his head, a huff of air going out of his nose, almost amused.

"Not like Simon." He admits it almost as if he were ashamed. "I want to say something." He said it as if he were preparing you for the next words to come out of his mouth would change the course of the night. "I need to say it because it would make me less of a man and even less of a friend if I didn't. But I don't want you to hate me or yourself for it."

Why would you hate yourself for it?

"Fine." you agreed, giving him permission to continue. "I won't hold it against you."

"You were always the one to coordinate things to do. One-on-one dates. Helping John with paperwork when shit got to crazy and you were the only one the uptight asshole would let touch his files." You gave a small smile remembering how John had barked at a recruit to get the fuck out of his office before peppering you with kisses at your arrival. Giving small pecks of appreciation as he explained what he needed you to do and how to do it.

"Helping me after my shoulder injury and staying on my ass about the physical therapy."

"Well someone had to." You countered.

"This past Christmas when Johnny needed to get his sisters gifts so you made a whole day out of it going to see lights and ice skating." Johnny was the proud owner of a freshly bruised tailbone after landing flat on his ass and swearing off skating for the rest of his life. Feckin' ice.

"Okay?" You asked, not really sure where Kyle was headed for this. He had pointed out what a good girlfriend you were, had been. How you had always tried to be helpful and do whatever needed to help your boys out.

He stopped. He looked at you as if he were debating to tell you what he had warned you about. He looked down at the floor before taking his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"Fuck." He muttered.

"Spit it out, Kyle!" You whined, now clueless to what point he was trying to make by all the examples of what a good girlfriend you had been.

He looked at you with the same solemness that a friend looked at another friend before having to call them out on their shit, knowing that the pill they were about to be given would be a hard one to swallow.

"You never did that with Simon."

[ovaryacted]

HANDSY

PAIRING: Jackson! Joel Miller x afab! reader || WC: 1.2k

SYNOPSIS: Your cycle is ruining your mood, and what better thing to do than get a free massage.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Suggestive content. Titty massage. Slight daddy kink. Established relationship. Joel being a little bastard. Ambiguous age gap (Joel is in his 50s, reader is in their 20s). Mentions of menstrual cycle and female characteristics about the chest. Banter and teasing. No use of y/n.

A/N: Alright, I'm kinda on a Joel Miller streak and I was just thinking about getting my tiddies rubbed by a man with strong & rough hands and this happened. Don't look at me like that okay, this is self indulgent and I just had to alright. Hopefully this is relatable for some of y'all lol. Shout out to everyone who has to deal with periods, you are stronger than the marines. Anyways, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

➣ TLOU was created by a zionist and is based off of the Israeli occupation of Palestine. Please refer to this link to learn how you can help the Palestinian people.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

Another month. Another week of unruly irritation, mood swings, and uncomfortable reactions to anything that breathed too hard or moved too fast. In the hecticness that was your current reality, dealing with the devil’s wrath was supposed to be something that slipped past your mind. Yet, in the efforts of your survival, having a menstrual cycle still took you off guard every time it came punching through your gut.

Tossing and turning in bed, you tried to get in the best position to ease your cramps by curling up in a fetal position. You thought it would make things better, but instead, the discomfort you felt all over your body pissed you off even more. A frustrated grumble filled the bedroom, flinging the sheets away and furrowing your eyebrows at the lack of relief.

Where the fuck is he?

Throwing on a pair of slippers you luckily claimed on a supply run, you shuffled down the creaky stairs of your home and wandered about until you reached the living room. Joel was hunched over his seat on the couch, currently messing with his guitar strings, aware of your presence the moment you hit the base of the stairway.

“Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?” He questioned you as he took in your features and noticed your pout. You were upset; that was obvious when he found you in bed earlier today instead of somewhere else in the house. Simply kissing your forehead and letting you rest as best as he could, he expected you to come down to talk to him eventually when you had the energy to do so.

Joel didn’t say anything as you came closer to him without uttering a word, slipping your legs over his thick thighs and pressing your face into the curve of his neck. He put his guitar to the side and wrapped his strong arms around your waist, hands instinctively digging into your lower back where you felt the most sore. He could tell from the way you clung to him that it was that time of the month, already having gotten used to your changes in demeanor to see the signs.

“Uncomfortable?” Joel asked again, trying to get a better read on your emotions, but he only received an annoyed grunt in response. “Guess we’re just gonna sit here then.”

He ran his fingers up and down your spine, trying his best to lessen the strain you felt. He could snag some herbs to make you tea later if you were in the mood for it, but right now, a massage is what you could handle. His touch made you sigh with alleviation, focusing on the pressure points along your shoulder and backbone. Even with his attempts, the front of your body continued to ache.

“My boobs are fucking killing me.” You declared out loud, a deep rumble of a chuckle escaping from the back of his throat.

“You need me to massage them?” Joel offered, and his intention of doing that was purely to make you feel better. Though, you couldn’t ignore the slight flutter in your belly at the idea of having his hands elsewhere. 

Giving him a nod, you sat straighter on his lap, holding his gaze as he slipped his hands underneath the flannel you wore and made a beeline for your chest. Joel didn’t flinch at the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra, being told once or twice how freeing it was not to have to deal with the constant friction of clothes against your heated skin.

He palmed both of your breasts and squeezed, his grip just strong enough to calm the throbbing of the swelling from your change in hormones. Your eyes closed as you focused on his touch, allowing Joel to do whatever he wanted with you, what he knew best.

“Feelin’ better?” You heard him ask, humming out in reply. He grinned at your reaction, the hum sounding close to a purr as he pawed at your chest.

Taking his hands out from underneath your—his shirt, you whined, a smirk tugging at the corners of Joel’s lips. Lifting the top of the flannel to rest on your collarbone, his attention went back to your breasts, looking at them with a mix of desire and affectionate pity.

“Poor baby. Hormones got my girl all cranky and upset.” He said, placing a soft kiss on the top of each breast before handling your body once more. You don’t know whether or not he was deliberately teasing you when you were the most vulnerable, but just hearing his voice was doing wonders to soothe your nerves.

You’ve always been fascinated with Joel’s hands since you met him, watching how he’d hold the handle of his gun or insert ammo into the magazine before reloading. His palms were rough, and his fingers were rougher, representing a man who’s lived a long life, who’s done unspeakable things to survive and get to this point. To most, they’d dislike the feeling of having so much of a contrast, but to you, the difference of his skin against yours was almost euphoric.

Joel squeezed with more purpose, focusing on tightening his grasp along the sides where the pain was the most prominent. One harsh thumb came to stroke at your sensitive nipple in gentle circles, pulling a breathless moan from between your lips. The smile on his face widened when his ears picked up the sound, moving to do a combination of deliberate squeezes and circles on the exposed nubs.

The warmth of his touch morphed into something else, need coiling in your stomach and clawing up your throat. As discretely as you could, your hips shifted further into his, craving much more than what he was giving you. Joel couldn’t help himself and brought you closer to him, grinding his hips up into yours. That got your attention, looking into his hazel eyes to find his pupils narrowly dilated.

“If you need me to rub somethin’ else, I can.” Despite the years worn on his face, he still had a certain boyish charm that jerked at your heartstrings when he flirted with you. Or, maybe it was just his southern gentleman persona, ever so willing to tend to your needs no matter what they may be.

“You’re annoying.” You mumbled to him, stubbornly refusing to outright beg for his affection, regardless of how badly you craved it.

“And you’re moody.” Joel kissed you tenderly, drawing away and snickering when you leaned forward to chase his lips for another.

“Let daddy make you feel good. Alright, darlin’?” You nodded dumbly at the proposition of getting something more than your tits massaged.

His eyes flashed with lust, making quick work to peel off the flannel and toss it to the ground. Already growing hard at the thought of having his way with you, he tilted towards you, kissing the column of your neck and letting his beard tickle your skin. You released a shaky exhale, fingers running through his graying hair and tipping your head back to grant him more access to your skin.

“Atta girl.”

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[flowersforbucky]

logan howlett x reader

smut, oral, sixty-nining, throat fucking, pet names (sweetheart), language, kind of overstimulation, reader is afab, 18+ only mdni, slightly possessive logan (he really likes seeing you wear his dog tags ok?)

word count: 900 ish

omg i'm sorry if this is your second time seeing this. i posted this a couple days ago and accidentally deleted ☹️

"We really shouldn't be doing this," you moan in a breathy, fucked-out voice.

"We're already doing this, sweetheart," Logan's low chuckle vibrates over your core. You had lost track of time with him nestled between your thighs - drawing more consecutive orgasms from you with his mouth than you thought you were physically capable of having.

"This is a really bad idea, Logan. Our friends are-"

You're cut off by him plunging his index finger inside you. Your back arches off the bed and your fingers instinctively lace through tufts of his hair.

"Our friends are what? Going to hear us?" He pulls his face away from you but adds a second finger, stretching you out with scissoring motions. "Better keep those pretty noises you've been making down, then.”

It's not that you weren't dying to fuck him. It's actually all you have been able to think about for months now. You have imagined what he would taste like, what it would feel like to have his mouth on yours and his hands gripping your thighs. You've pictured the face he’d make when he sheaths himself inside you and the noises that would come from him.

What you didn't imagine was the reaction he'd have to seeing you hang his dog tags around your neck.

You'd found them earlier that day, laying on the countertop of one of the communal bathrooms on the main floor of the X-Mansion. You knew that he wasn't home at the time, so you put them around your neck and tucked them into your t-shirt until you had an opportunity to give them back to him.

“Anyone seen my dog tags?” He bellows as he struts into the kitchen. “Could have sworn that I left them–”

He pauses when he sees you smirking at him from where you stand at the kitchen island, slicing up an apple.

“Oh, do you mean these?” You set down the knife and tug the chain out of the collar of your shirt. The tags settle between your tits.

It just so happens that you weren't wearing a bra. “I found them in the bathroom earlier,” you explain, dropping your gaze back down to the snack you're preparing. “Thought I'd keep them safe for you.”

Fast forward to half an hour later, you're fucking his face and unable to form a coherent thought with how perfectly his tongue feels against your pussy.

“Want you to sit on my face.” He pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling painfully empty at the sudden lack of touch.

Logan crawls out from between your legs, laying down beside you on the mattress. He's still in his boxers, the tip of his cock jutting out of the waistband and glistening with pre-cum.

You position yourself over his body, your knees supporting you as you hover above his face. You’re facing away from the headboard, your position giving you a clear view of the defined planes of his chest and the erection straining against his underwear.

He locks his hands onto your hips, yanking you down the last few inches to his mouth. His lips suction around your clit before he pulls away with an obscene, wet pop and begins to swirl his tongue around your hole. You lean forward, your bare chest rubbing against his as you pull down the fabric of his boxers and free his cock.

Fuck, you really don't know how that is supposed to fit in any part of you.

You start by licking a strip from the base to the tip, trailing your tongue along a thick vein. He groans from beneath you, the new sensation driving him to increase the speed at which he's fucking his tongue inside you. You swirl your own tongue around the head of his cock, collecting the milky liquid dripping out before taking him in your mouth. You've only managed to fit about half of his length when he thrusts his hips upwards, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag.

He brings his hands up to your ass, digging his nails into the flesh just hard to leave crescent-shaped indentations.

You begin to bob your head up and down, using one of your hands to pump the base of his shaft and the other to massage his balls.

He continues to thrust into your mouth, leaving you lightheaded with tears streaming down your cheeks from lack of oxygen.

There's a warmth pooling in your lower belly - a dam on the verge of bursting. You grind down on his face, chasing your release.

The movements from his hips become erratic - you know he's close. You're preparing for him to spill into your mouth when he suddenly lifts you off of him, flipping you so that you're now underneath him on his bed.

He sits back on his knees, stroking himself in his hand as he looks down at you.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know that?” He murmurs, bringing the pad of his thumb to your cheek and wiping away a fat teardrop. His eyes trail downwards, landing on the dog tags that lay between your tits. He grips each of your ankles in his hands, hiking your legs against his chest and over his shoulders. He nuzzles your calf with the scruff of his beard as he plants kisses on your skin.

“I want to see you with my name around your neck when I come inside you.”

----

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are always very appreciated 🖤

my masterlist!!

[seungfl0wer]

*Lee know Calling You Clingy*

Paring: Lee Know x Reader (GN)

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Arguing, Cursing, A sort of happy ending?

This is part of a series find the others here:

Bangchan, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin

-🩵

Cutting up some veggies as you watched your boyfriend cook dinner, he was always so handsome like this so in his zone. As you got done cutting you brought it over to him. Standing by his side as he went to grab something you would hand it to him, He moved you would move. You thought to yourself how sweet this moment was however that’s not exactly what he was thinking. He was getting frustrated cause as much as he really loved when you helped the kitchen was too small for you both to be doing stuff.

“Y/n can you please give me a little bit of space” he said his tone sounding annoyed. You looked up at him feeling bad for bothering him so you slumped back into the chair. “Why don’t you set the table?” He asked seeing your reaction. You nod feeling a bit upset as you did so. You both sat down to eat finishing the delicious food fast before plopping yourselves down on the couch to watch a movie.

You wanted to make it up to him for bothering him while he was in his element so you wrapped your arms around him snuggling up to him. He let out a small sigh as you did so, you looked up to the man who was trying to focus on the movie. His face stern looking still with a hint of that annoyance from earlier. “Hey babe is everything alright? You seem on edge today?” You said softly trying to read his face. “It’s fine” he said blankly still keeping his attention on the tv.

“Love please, talk to me I can tell something’s up. Is it work? Did I do something?” You went on rambling before he cut you off “y/n please. Can we just watch the damn movie.” He hissed his voice harsher than it was supposed to be “can’t you at least tell me what’s wrong?” You said not wanting to drop it, although you probably should have. “For fuck sakes y/n!” He said turning off the tv and getting up “you have been- been so clingy lately. You have been up my ass since we came back from the US. Why can’t I just get a few minutes of just peace. First you won’t leave me alone while I’m cooking and now I can’t even watch a damn movie without fucking 50 questions!” His voice echoed across the room.

Your heart was pounding trying all you had not to cry “I’m fucking sorry I haven’t seen my boyfriend in almost a month, god fucking forbid me for wanting to spend time with him!” You hissed back. You stood up quickly walking to your room, you grabbed a bag and packed some clothes as Minho continued behind you. “It’s one thing to fucking miss me y/n but it feels like you’d want to sit on my lap while I take a fucking shit cause you “miss me so much” you act like we didn’t talk at all which again had me no fucking time to myself!”

You put your bag over your shoulder “Fine you want alone time so fucking bad! Then be alone Minho!” You said storming towards the front door. Your mind raced as you could feel the tears pulling at the corners. No. No crying he doesn’t get to see that. “Good! That’s exactly what I fucking wanted, I’m happy you get the fucking message now!” He said still yelling behind you. You bit your lip his words cutting deeper each time he spoke. You turned around quickly feeling the tears coming “fuck you Minho! I’m- I’m fucking done!” You spat almost running out the door you could hear him before you were out “me fucking too!”

You had gone to a friend’s house to stay she held you close rubbing your back trying to console you. Everything hurt, your head was spinning, your eyes red from crying cheeks stained with tears. “Want me to get some of that cake you like so much and we can sit and eat it while watching horror movies” she said smiling “why horror movies?” You said smiling a bit “cause at least dumb men die in it” she laughed making you laugh too. She was always such a good friend knowing exactly what to say and do to make you feel better.

After Minho calmed down a bit he sat back down on the couch. He turned the movie back on but quickly turned it off “damnit, even when they’re not here they ruin it.” He said throwing the remote back down to the table. He laid back on the couch looking up at the ceiling he felt a heaviness in his chest “no I wanted alone time” he said shaking his head “I wanted this..” his words trailed off. “But why’s it feel so bad.” He said with a deep sigh.

He looked at his phone wanting to text you but not daring too. He knew he was out of line but he didn’t want to be the first to admit. Your words ringing in his head though “I’m done.” What did you mean? Were you ending the relationship? The thought of this made a lump in Minhos throat. Surly you weren’t serious right? .. Right??

Almost a week had passed with radio silence on both ends. It wasn’t like either of you didn’t wanna message the other but neither of you wanted to do it first.

You had thought about things a lot, you decided about going home and just staying in the guest room. You knew Minho wasn’t home at the moment and all though your friend had a great idea “just move out while he’s not home, give him the ultimate alone time he wants” you couldn’t afford that right now. And quite frankly why does he get to keep the place and you move?

You walked into your apartment thinking of what exactly to do. Your head spinning a bit from thoughts “what the fuck am I even gonna say?” You said to yourself “are we even together anymore?” You sighed loudly you stood there for a good minute or two before making your way to the bedroom. You scrounged up most of your things moving it into the guest room you felt yourself wanting to cry again “fuck you” you said softly. You locked the door, put on some music and just curled up into a ball. You had fallen asleep quickly the feeling of being in your home making you sleep easier.

Minho had come home late walking through the door to see your shoes on the floor. His face looked confused before he heard music playing “did she come home?” He said to himself making his way to what was your shared bedroom. He looked over it seeing you had taken stuff he felt his heart sink. He saw the small light coming from under the guest rooms door making the thoughts of you moving disappear. He walked to the door trying to open it realizing it was locked he was about to knock before stopping himself.

He signed a bit walking to the living room, he slumped into the couch all sorts of emotions whirling in his head. He slowly fell asleep only to be woken up by the sounds of you coming out of the room. You quietly tried sneaking to the door your belly rumbling. He quickly turned his head to meet your eyes locking. You both were still for a second before he let out a soft “leaving?”

You shook your head no “7/11” you said trying to keep it short. You made your way to the door putting your shoes on “I- I can make you something.” His voice barely a whisper at this point. “No thank you” you said before leaving out the door. This is how it stayed for about a week. Minho tried talking to you and you just giving him one word answers. He came home from work you’d slink back into your room. He’d come into the kitchen, you’d leave just as quickly.

He started doing small things for you like leaving you breakfast in the morning, or buying your favorite drink to keep in the fridge. He usually did these things always being thoughtful in these sweet kind of actions. It made your heart hurt more. One of the days he made you your favorite lunch, he didn’t do it often because it meant going about an hour away to the restaurant to pick it up but he did. He did in the morning before he had to be at work driving there and back before his already long day.

When you saw it in the morning you started to bawl like a baby. Minho had come back home after realizing he left his phone on the counter. You were curled up on the couch listening to some of his solo music crying into a pillow. He stood there not wanting to bother you but wanting nothing more than to hold you and make things right. He started making his way towards you before you heard him your head shot up eyes meeting his. Your body moved fast tackling him almost knocking you both down.

“Min I’m sorry- I’m so sorry” you choked out tears streaming down your face ugly crying “I’m sorry for being clingy I’m sorry for being a bother- I’ll change I’ll give you more space I’m sorry I just can’t- I can’t do this anymore I miss you- everything hurts-“ you said between sobs and wiping the snot that was running down. Minho couldn’t help but cry at your words, he really had broken you. “No- y/n please don’t change, this all was because of me I’m the asshole I’m the one that should be apologizing.” He said his chest heaving.

“Don’t change please I’m sorry for calling you clingy please- I miss you, cling to me. Hold onto me for dear life please I need you..” he voice getting stuck in his throat. You’ve never seen him like this, he always kept his emotions under control but he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Life has no meaning if I can’t spend it with you, if I can’t have you by my side with that shining smile of yours. The smile that I haven’t seen in how long. I ruined everything. I hurt you I ruined us things won’t ever be the same.”

His voice horse crying even harder than you now “you should hate me, you should want me to jump off a bridge. I don’t know- I don’t understand why you’re apologizing.” He was rambling on. You felt your heart just braking again, he was so defeated and part of you wanted nothing more than to tell him this is exactly what he wanted. And you’d be right, but you just wanted him back, wanted things back to how they were.

You pulled Minho down to the couch both of you sobbing trying to calm yourselves. You both cried for almost a full half hour before you spoke “Things.. things will be different either way.. you.. we gotta build that trust back up” you said softly clearing your throat. “Let’s start off slow ok?” You said lifting his head to make eye contact with you.

“Well start small and work on things hmm?” You said repeating yourself. He nodded “can.. can you come back to our room?” He said whipping his nose “eventually, I will let’s start off with just trying to talk through some things ok?” You said kissing his cheek. “I love you Minho but what you said hurt and will still probably hurt in the future. But I really do love you and would rather work on things and hopefully fix it than just to through it away so easily.” You said pulling him into a hug.

“Anything, I’ll do anything to show you how sorry I am.” He said his words muffled by your shoulder. You nod sitting there in silence both of you trying to gather your thoughts and catch your breath.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

[eldritch-spouse]

You are running naked in the Jungle, searching frantically.

You look and you see another human, the first one you've seen in months and you run towards them.

“Thank God! Listen, we need to get out of here immediately, it's dangerous! Do you know the way out? Back to civilization?”

You feel a tentacle around your ankles

[Months? Couldn't be me, I'd just die. Let's downsize that to a week. Fem reader.]

TW: Reader has a self-loathing inner monologue; Reader is in a bad place mentally; Dubcon to full consent.

It was a stupid idea.

You knew that when you started it. So did everyone that tried to convince you otherwise. But common sense isn't something that could have stopped someone like you, someone who was ill enough to think taking a break from life in the middle of buttfuck nowhere would work out.

You didn't even have any sort of experience in this type of thing. Neither did you seek any kind of useful tips.

You just wanted to escape.

And you did, literally, into a forested nightmare that you got lost in not even hours after your arrival.

You just wish you could find your car, you just wish you could find somewhere warm and comforting to sleep in.

It's been days. Probably a week by now. Your stuff all disappeared, somehow. You swear you're not tripping, it all just vanished! Your phone, your bag, your keys...

Your back hurts, the nights are cold and humid and you're sure you're getting sick by now. Clean water would be a godsend, you've been drinking and cleaning yourself with some questionable-looking sources for a while. Not to mention you can't feed yourself properly, and you certainly don't know how to hunt.

Not that there's much to hunt. Every time you think you hear a peep, there's a brush of foliage and silence dominates seconds later.

You're going to die.

A horrifying reminder that has your chest pounding painfully and sweat glistening on your forehead.

You don't want to die.

But the modern human wasn't born for the wilderness, and you can only stand being clothed for a little longer before the sensation of being dirty has you clawing the skin off your body.

It was a fucking miracle that you managed to get a small fire going.

Finally.

You can heat up that fish you caught earlier.

If it's still good. Is... This is safe to eat, right?

You lean to sniff at the leaf-wrapped catch.

Eh. You can stomach it...

God, you're starving.

One thing that's been bugging you for a while is how... Deserted this whole place feels.

You're no wildlife expert, but isn't this kind of location supposed to be brimming with animals? Why is it that, everywhere you go, it's mostly just you and insects bumbling around?

Shouldn't there be some mammals here? Some birds? Maybe a squirrel or a snake... Aren't there predators you'd have to worry about in this kind of scenario?

Ironically, being alone makes you feel even more stressed out than if you were constantly surrounded by wild animals.

You huddle closer to the small fire.

Alone.

But always so on edge.

Always getting that tingling feeling crawling up your spine.

The one that screams- Look, look behind you! You're in danger!

The phantom feeling of something hovering behind your neck, goosebumps that hardly fade every time you do turn around to check and find nothing.

Is this a normal amount of paranoia for your situation? Is this your brain trying to cope with the fact that you haven't seen much wildlife so far?

Or is there something watching you from beyond the trees?

Something stalking.

A persistence predator, coming and going, to check on its latest prey.

Oh, and what a catch you are. Big and juicy compared to the things that probably roam this place -Roamed, more like...

Have you wandered into the territory of something that'll inevitably snap its jaws around your neck?

...

Just eat the fucking fish already.

Food.

Focus on the present.

The smell starts to hit your nose. Salt, oh what you wouldn't do for some simple salt. How do people get salt?

You're glad you got some berries along the way too, because this fish is probably going to taste like ass. You're sure they aren't poisonous or anything of the sort. If they are, then you've been eating them for the past few days so honestly you could keel over at any moment.

You'll see.

Once the fish has roasted enough where it's likely safe to consume, you peel it open messily and start munching indiscriminately, ravenous.

It's... Well, it's sustenance.

It's about the most nutritious thing you've eaten since you got here.

This survival thing is harder than the fake actors on TV make it seem.

A sudden crack of a branch has you pausing mid-chew.

You truly feel like a deer when your head snaps up and you stand very still to listen for a follow-up.

Nothing.

Tired eyes strain, trying to make sense of a darkened blob in the distance.

Huh.

What the fuck is that thing?

Tall.

Two legs...

Arms?!

Shit- Could it be?!

That can't be possible, someone else roaming around this maddening forest. Is that a sign that you're somehow getting closer to civilization? That you're making it out by sheer luck? What cosmic force could be on your side this time? Maybe they just live here, like some kind of off-grid retired agent- Okay, you've been watching too many movies.

Without stopping to think twice about frankly important concerns regarding this sudden development, you place the cooked fish down on the leaf it was previously wrapped in and start scooting forward towards the silhouette you saw.

That build can only belong to a man. Well, you assume as much anyway. It's hard to spot more from here, with the foliage covering their form.

" H- Hey... "

You haven't used your voice in a hot minute. Some part of you almost doesn't recognize it. A healthy dose of paranoia stops you from brushing aside the obstacles and facing this person.

But you need to at least try, right?

The worst that can happen is that you really are hallucinating for some reason or another.

With a surge of bravery, but mostly desperation, you push all the branches and greenery away to run towards this person, opening your mouth to greet them, to beg for help, ask for new clothes or just something cooked!

" Hey! Please, I need your... Help? "

Nothing.

There's no one.

But that doesn't make sense, you clearly saw a silhouette, someone was there! You didn't even have to run that far, how could it be that you already lost sight of them? That they could get away so silently?

No. Everything's wrong.

Before you know it, your vision is blurring and your face heats as tears stain your cheeks.

Why... Why would your mind fuck with you like this? Going from a shining shred of hope to complete despair in seconds has you screaming inside.

Why is this happening to you?

Are you really about to die in a stupid fucking patch of nothing just because you can't deal with the stress in your life like a normal person? Just because you made one bad decision when everything was weighing heavy on your conscience? Are you really so incompetent and so pointless as a human that this is how your story ends?

Anger and regret blind you to everything, fingers course through your knotted hair as you sob and tug, having no way to calm yourself and nothing to unleash your tension onto.

The moment you try to stomp your foot in a petulant act, you find it rooted to the ground. It takes a couple more insistent tugs upward for you to realize that something is coiled around it, keeping it firmly planted.

The train wreck of emotions and bile of self-hating thoughts takes a backseat, goosebumps pricking your skin from tip of the head to your very toes. The first thing you think of is some kind of snake, eyes bulging behind digits.

You look down frantically, shaking, but in spite of the sky being clear, all you see is this reddish mass, with neither end nor beginning. What... What the fuck is it?!

The thing tightens around your ankle, starting to slide up the length of your right leg, up to your knee. And immediately, you panic, kicking and shrieking, achieving absolutely nothing and getting promptly tugged to the ground.

Yeah.

Maybe freaking out isn't the best bet for your survival here.

Twigs and dirt get on your face, it takes some coughing and swiping to finally clear your field of view. But honestly...

You almost wish you hadn't.

Curved over your prone figure, staring down, is a creature you have never seen before.

Bipedal and quite large, like the silhouette you had glimpsed before, but so very far from human. The reddish coloration spanning the length of that bizarre body makes him -Because, again, you can only assume that is a male- Look as if he's made of flesh quickly molded together to imitate the figure of a human. What initially made you think he was skinless soon turns into the realization that there was never room for skin anyway.

Because his body is quite literally comprised of what you can only call tentacles. Tendrils and coiling tissue that clings and organizes itself in the vague lie of an organism like yours.

From elbows to fingers and knees to feet, the tendrils become a lot more discernable, coiling and uncoiling while he watches curiously. The thing around your leg is one of said tendrils, coming from the mass forming his own. Along the length of its torso, sharp-toothed mouths form and shift, almost seeming to have a mind of their own as they scent the air and snap at nothing.

That head has got to be the most striking feature. It's an amalgamation of tentacles all wrapped around each other, leaving room for an incredibly sharp golden eye to fix you in place. This thing looks like it crawled out of a sleeping ocean, like the roots and vines of an ancient jungle came together to form a totally new an extension of themselves. He looks like he's been sculped from the guts of others yet also composed in a way your mind could never hope to grasp.

Somewhere between trying to determine if you're dealing with an animal or a person, you reach the conclusion that an animal wouldn't stare you down for this long.

An animal would take a couple of seconds to determine if you're prey or predator and act accordingly. He would have snapped your neck or suffocated you like a boa constrictor with those tentacles by now.

And yet, he just stares.

Like you're the strangest creature to ever grace the woods this thing probably calls a home. You're as freaky to him as he is to you, enough so that he seems out of depth on how to proceed.

You stare back.

This has got to be the monster that you saw back there. Watching you. Now that you think about it, maybe this was the reason you'd always have a tingling sensation reminding you that you're not alone. Because he was there all that time, stalking.

Plenty were the moments he could have dug your grave until now. It's strange that he hasn't. Because surely, he's seen how you're failing to adapt to this location. Every step you take, you're stumbling and getting pricked, hungry, thirsty, afraid, disoriented- You're a fish out of water and he could have ended that misery a long time ago.

Odd.

Neither of you move. It blinks, vertically. You blink too.

And then, it makes this chitter.

Wet, like a gargle, followed by some kind of rumbling as more of those tendrils that form his limbs unwind, explore.

They reach down towards your frame when he squats, and you stifle the urge to scream at the sight of them getting nearer. Because who knows what he's going to do...

They poke and prod, grabbing lightly at parts of you, wet yet not quite. Two coil around your arms, then elbows, then wrists.

Other strays squirm around your sides, unintentionally triggering a squirming reflex as you muffle helpless laughter.

The monster seems intrigued by the noise anyway, making his own vocalizations as if attempting to communicate with you.

Abruptly, there's a blur of movement and you're yanked into the air by the arms, shrieking in fear and pain.

Not for long, because more of his freaky, flowing appendages wind around your middlesection, hips and knees, pulling in different directions.

In seconds, mere moments, this being has you suspended in the air.

Immediately, your panicked mind is going places where it absolutely shouldn't.

He seems more relaxed now that you're restrained, that gaze becomes softer, clouded with curiosity. To be monitoring you this long, you don't doubt he has his own questions and intrigue regarding how you work.

When that hulking red mass walks towards you, anxiety prevents your mouth from staying shut.

" H- Hi? "

A sound not too different from the peep of a skittish bird.

One that causes him to cock his head in a brief pause, processing the noise, and returning it with his own light gurgle. One of the mouths on his figure gets the pitch right down to a T.

Soon, he's lacing a hand through your hair, grabbing it, manipulating the protrusion and stroking your head inquisitively. He squeezes and almost scritches at your scalp, reminding you of the way someone acts when spotting a particularly cute cat. Yes, hair is likely a mystery to this creature, you can kind of understand why it'd linger here.

But that doesn't change the fact that you're being patted like a pet by a strange, unknowable creature- And that's morbidly hilarious.

When your cheeks start to puff with laughter, his attention finally deviates. You can feel the tendrils that form every digit when he splays them across your face, tracing your eyebrows, playing with the tip of your nose and even trying to poke into your ears- Something he halts when you jerk away rapidly each time.

When he starts trying to put a digit in your mouth, he's a lot more careful, aware that you have teeth and can bite, even if yours are quite small and blunt compared to the ones he sports. He succeeds, because your strength is nothing compared to that of a monster of his size and nature. The digit he dips into your mouth rests there placidly for a couple of moments.

You aren't sure what to do. Biting is not a bright idea when you know this creature can probably easily dismember you in this position. He himself looks slightly lost, as if he put his finger in your mouth out of impulse mostly. A false sense of security begets your own curiosity.

Perhaps you're just insane already -That probably says a lot about your overall mental fortitude- But seeing another living being that behaves and looks vaguely like what you might call a person makes you feel calmer than you have since the beginning of all this. You know it's an irrational feeling, that you're not any safer than before, but it's a thread of comfort you desperately cling to.

And it's what allows you to look this thing in the eye while you experimentally lick his bizarre tendril-clump of a finger.

It was only a little flick.

But naturally, he felt it.

The monster rumbles something incomprehensible at you, leaning closer still to cast a shadow upon your front. In this position, he looms between your clothed legs, though seems mostly unaware of the lurid position he's got you in, fixated on your mouth.

The sensation of his digit unfolding into two separate thin tentacles is bizarre. You picture a human finger splitting in two and curse your brain. Said tentacles poke and wriggle, capturing your tongue between themselves.

Yes, that's probably the part of your body that most closely resembles the mass of prehensile tissue composing his own.

The touch has you drooling, saliva trying to break down something probably few to no humans have ever come in contact with. He tastes slimy yet slightly rugged in some areas, not something you'd write home about.

Reflex has your poor muscle squirming to be freed, but that only causes him to tighten the grasp upon it. And, surprisingly, to let out this humid noise that sounds far too much like a groan of delight for you to interpret it as anything else.

There's a pause from your part as you wonder, incredulously, if this thing just got turned on.

There's not much time to ponder, because that digit very quickly slips out, and as he examines the sheen of drool on it, something else steadily approaches your mouth.

Ah, you've graduated from finger to proper tentacle mouthfucking. Commendable.

Making light of the situation is about the least recommended course of action, but after what you've endured so far, you think you deserve to be a little, tiny bit, insane.

Apparently convinced that you won't try to harm him, the crimson monster wiggles that darkened appendage and taps it against your lips, seeming very interested in how this is unfolding.

You should not have opened your mouth.

But you did.

And he visibly brightened up.

The tendril wedges itself in without much hesitation, resting upon your tongue. Much thicker than his digit, your jaw has no choice but to stretch, and your lips wrap around it in a rather phallic, dirty image. You barely realize you're making an effort not to scrape your teeth on the appendage. Perhaps because the sensation of it is a tad spongy and remarkably similar to that of any standard manhood.

And, as if to give reason to your lewd comparison, he shudders at the warmth of your wet mouth, the thing pulsing within you.

While he mostly simply lets the extremity sit there motionlessly, you do explore, trying to lick around it out of morbid curiosity. He watches you avidly, but apparently, what really gets to this bizarre entity is feeling you suck down the saliva that pools in your cheeks, swallowing.

Suction. Because of course he'd enjoy that. What man doesn't?

That begs the question, is the thing in your mouth part of his genitals?

Again, thinking is a privilege you can't afford when that tentacle starts sliding down your throat experimentally. It doesn't take him long to trigger your gag reflex, a violent kick and curve forward from your part causing him to pull back quickly. But he continues to test the waters afterwards, probably seeking the sensation of your stressed throat muscles tightening around him.

Instinct takes over.

Because even if he seems truly out of his depth maneuvering a human body, he's curious and, if you had to guess, attracted to you. Enough to put sensitive things in your mouth, to fetishize that part of you. Hormones make things work, which means he soon realizes he can make repetitive back and forth motions to get friction.

And so, just like that, you're getting fucked in the mouth, inside the woods, by an eldritch abomination of a monster you might find in a cheaply made H. P Lovecraft rip-off.

It should not arouse you.

It should horrify you.

... But it doesn't.

Those reactions are missing, leaving you befuddled at your own enjoyment of the situation. Are you just happy to have someone around? Has it truly been so long since you received this type of attention that you don't mind if it comes from an entity of unknown origin who is clearly not civilized? Are you just a freak actively discovering new sides of your sexuality?

Who knows anymore.

All you know is that there's a wet noise ringing every time he thrusts that slimy thing into your mouth, that he's resorted to gripping your hips hard while making intense eye contact, that he growls and gurgles whenever you have enough control to suck at him. If you had to guess, it's his unwavering, lewd and fascinated observation of your face and lips that has you likely forming a wet spot on your poor pants.

You think your wanton squirming is subtle, but reality proves otherwise when the monster starts getting distracted, one of those pupils shifting to the rhythmic movement of your legs as you shamelessly seek friction. At first, he seems irritated, as if questioning why you'd want to leave when you'd been so docile so far.

Then it appears to click.

You can almost see it in his face, in spite of how inhuman it is, that eureka moment.

And the tendril in your mouth slows down to a crawl.

He starts pawing and pulling at your pants, but not aimlessly. Not at all. He's studied you, he knows what he's looking for, the button and the zipper. You pale a few shades, the only way this thing could know how to take pants off is if it saw you doing it, if it saw you relieving yourself or trying to bathe to avoid infections.

Just how many embarrassing moments did he catch?

Too many, probably.

Still, you're pleasantly surprised to see him so easily remove the garment, fluidly shifting the positions of his tendrils to avoid tangling the fabric in them. Your pants come off without a single blemish, aside from those they sustained previously. Is he removing them so carefully because he thinks you need them to survive or is he just being considerate?

Your underwear is treated the same way, he spares no extra thought to it, and only appears to pause once your pussy is exposed.

Usually, you'd feel self-conscious in this position. There's not a lot you can do to properly groom yourself without the simple privilege of soap and whatnot... But what does it matter here? As far as you know, for this monster, pussy is pussy regardless of it being shaved or bush-heavy, "perfumed" or au naturel.

And a soaked, needy hole is hard for a lonesome monster to ignore.

He looms closer to your womanhood, watching closely, gargling a string of vocalizations you still can't interpret, until another tentacle slithers into scene and slaps against your cunt.

No, literally.

The thing whips from mound to the bottom of your entrance, swiping up and down in a pace that has you seeing stars every time it flicks your clitoris and catches on a clenching entrance. To say your legs kick out occasionally from the intensity of the stimulus is no exaggeration, but he's quick to adapt his hold so you have no way of wiggling aside.

You don't know why it's doing that, but frankly, you don't care much, it just feels good. A racing heart and a heaving chest have you tipping your head back to moan against the thing stuffed in your mouth. You realize, a little belatedly, that he was probably mostly just trying to lube that appendage with your own arousal.

Your plump pussy still tingles when the assault stops on all sides, you strain to watch what he's doing, observing the monster evaluate the sheen now coating that wriggling extremity.

He's less careful than before now, a product of excitement no doubt, parking the somewhat thicker length at your entrance and pushing in tentatively for only a couple of moments before ramming a decent chunk of that tendril into your cunt.

Eyes bulging, you spit out a beastial sound that startles the monster, panting as you try to get used to the sudden stretch. He's reached a depth within you no one else has found before, and the pressure is such so that you've been robbed of the ability to speak.

He shouldn't be that far in you.

You may come from extremely distinct backgrounds, but some things are vastly universal, like the facial expression of pain. Which, credit where credit is due, he picks up on relatively fast. The moment the entity removes a good chunk of its length, you sigh and sag in momentous relief. That's a lot better. You still feel as if you're being stuffed to the brim, but there's no longer that stabbing pain.

He understands what he did wrong after a couple of still moments and some bizarre palping sensation from your insides.

Much like the previous tendril in your mouth, this one too starts to thrust back and forth, with more care now, experimenting with differing speeds and curling in various ways as he gets closer and closer to watch how you react.

You're no researcher, but maybe if the mounting pleasure wasn't swimming to your head and making it very very hard to think coherently right now, you'd be fascinated with the way this monster is being so thorough in his examination of you, wanting to learn what makes you tick in every way, what has you choking out noises and rolling your eyes.

So intense is the heat rushing through your body from his repeated, filthy motions that you hardly notice anything happening until his all-seeing eye is almost glued to your face. The tips of the tentacles that make up his rather disturbing head unfurl and appear to drip downwards, clinging to the sides of your face so he can fix it in place, observe every detail as soon as you part your mouth to moan and gasp and babble nonsense. Each noise you make is eagerly eaten up, he tries to mimic the same motions that make you squeal as if begging for more of them.

There's no time to warn or even shriek about it, your orgasm barrels its way down your body with the intensity of a bullet, curving you in its tentacles, a breathless "oh" being all you can offer as your abdominal muscles contract and you squeeze the life out of the tendril inside you, making a mess that drips to the ground between you two.

It may not have been easy to spot in that pleasured trance, but the monster halted to watch it all unfold, mesmerized. Retracting to test the nature of the new slick now grossly painting you.

By the time you're done riding the high of your climax, you've been shifted again, this time a little lower, and you find the entity staring down to the spot where your core meets something that wasn't there before.

You'll admit you didn't have the time to properly process the full extent of his appearance when he first appeared before your stunned self. Now you're unsure if this monster had some kind of pelvic pouch, or if he merely unfolded two more tendrils out of his mass where one would expect a dick to be.

The two appendages wriggle and roll impatiently, seeking each other before parting in search of heat, of wetness, slapping against your belly and thighs. They may not look like it, but you can only guess those are his cocks. And he's considering something quietly.

It's hard to tell what he's thinking right now, the communication barrier doesn't help. Maybe he worries that the length of them will hurt you. Perhaps he wonders if he can impregnate you this way. It could just be that he thinks perhaps mating with a strange human is not a good idea, but the way those things are spreading a coat of thick precum on your skin says otherwise.

Instead of letting his stall further, a small hand reaches down to feather over the tip of one of those members, immediately getting captured and pulled at in the process. His figure rattles, hips offering a useless piston before his head snaps back up to watch you.

" ... Try putting one in. "

You murmur, knowing damn well it can't understand a single word.

He looks back down, peels back to spread your cuntlips invitingly, then seems to make up his mind, allowing the very tips of both squirming cocks to connect with your entrance. They've found warmth and they're desperate to worm in, stretching and flirting with your walls.

You grin incredulously, already trying to guess what it'll feel like, gasping as soon as he leans forward and allows more exploration. The first hint of a burn arrives as he rumbles in delight-

But a branch snaps in the distance.

And the moment is ruined because he halts immediately, your cry of frustration ignored entirely.

His body twists in an unnatural way so he can glance behind, inhuman eye seeing through greenery and undoubtedly spotting something off.

In the tense quiet that has now settled, even you pick up on the faraway mumbles of what must be people.

Eyes widening, snapping out of this episode, you begin to squirm earnestly now, wanting to see them, to find a way back, to go home!

Finally, people came looking for you!

The monster snaps back around, making you realize how truly fucked you are in these circumstances. Something flashes in that gaze, a hint of contempt, of hurt maybe.

Something too human to fall upon such a nightmarish face.

You can only scream as more tendrils dart in lightening speeds to cocoon you inside them. That single noise being all that escapes before you're forcibly gagged and physically thrown over the monster's shoulder.

His molding body swings from tree to tree in a blur of movement, taking you God knows where...

And leaving your saviors in the dust.

[daycourtofficial]

Come back, be here

Azriel x reader

Summary: It’s the anniversary of your mating bond ceremony and despite his reassurances, Azriel is nowhere to be seen.

Author’s note: this is the end of my 1k celebration and ironically the first fic I finished for this week. I hope you guys enjoyed reading these fics as much as I enjoyed writing them

Word count: 2k

(1k celebration masterlist 🍾)

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Every second you sat in your kitchen felt like an eternity, the fabric of the dress you’re wearing growing heavier with each tick of the clock.

You had bought the clock for your mate for your mating anniversary years ago. A rare antique that you knew he would love - thousands of years old, and you got it for an absurdly low price due to the condition it was in.

You spent months with a restoration expert, cleaning the clock, repairing pieces as you dismantled it. It was a labor of love, one you thought Azriel was deserving of.

The months spent restoring it were nothing compared to the time you’ve been sitting here.

Now you sit, practically taunted by its song. Tonight was supposed to be about the two of you. Objectively five years in a mateship isn’t a long time, a blip in the lives of fae, and yet the both of you were looking forward to the evening.

Despite his intimidating demeanor, Azriel was meticulous about celebrating your anniversaries, oftentimes mentioning an event you didn’t realize he knew the date of. You imagined he had an internal index of the days you two spent together.

“I waited five hundred years to meet you,” he had told you when he wanted to take you out to celebrate the anniversary of your first date, “I want to remember everything we do together. I want to celebrate us every day that I can.”

His words were incredibly sweet, but sitting in the cold kitchen, the tempting aromas of the meal you made long gone, you wonder just how much of it was words.

He waited 500 years for you, and you waited several hours before packing up the dinner you had made for him, tears running down your face as you packaged it all up.

Perhaps his overeager celebration of anniversaries led to the intensity of the sting you feel deep in your chest.

The clock chimes twelve times - he’s four hours late and your anniversary is officially over. You have no indication from the bond what he’s doing, it’s golden hum having gone silent hours ago.

You blow out the candles littering the house, taking off the ridiculous party hat you were wearing and throwing it on the ground.

It feels silly, the brightly colored hat with a pompon on top. It’s bright demeanor heavily contrasting the loneliness you feel inside. You sigh, looking around the downstairs of your home, deciding to leave the rose petals you had scattered so perhaps he’ll feel at least a little guilty when he came home.

Whenever that would be.

Trudging up the stairs, each step growing heavier, you wonder what could have kept him away. Rhys certainly wouldn’t have asked him to go away - Azriel had mentioned earlier in the week he’d be unavailable for a few days to celebrate.

Besides, Rhys knew how anal Azriel was about your anniversaries, and Feyre would chew him out if he forced Azriel to do anything on a day as important as your mating ceremony anniversary.

He had left this morning, promising you he’d be home at 8 because he had some tasks to do. You knew he was going to help one of your neighbors with a fallen tree, something that had to be done as soon as possible.

You move silently, going through your nightly ritual, an early end to the night you didn’t see coming. You pull back the covers on your bed, slipping into its cold grasp, ready to cry yourself to sleep, when you hear the door open downstairs.

You can hear Azriel moving through the house, a swiftness to his step as you hear him climbing the stairs quickly, taking them two at a time.

You make your way to your shared bedroom door, that you had locked upon entering, and lean against it, unsure if you’re ready for his excuses.

He tries the handle, then begins knocking.

“Baby, baby please be awake.” He pauses for a moment, listening. “I’m so sorry, baby please I know you’re awake I can hear you breathing.”

One of his shadows snakes underneath your door, checking you over to see how you are. It lingers on your cheeks, tear tracks still fresh. The shadow doesn’t return to it’s master, instead opting to stay with you, providing you company.

“Please, baby, I lost track of time. I was working on a surprise for you and I fell asleep. Baby I’m-“

You push off the door and turn to crack open the door, taking in the sight of your mate. Despite your annoyance, the bond made it practically impossible to want to avoid him. Every piece of you begged to be near him, to open the door further letting him in.

“You were working on a surprise?” Your voice cracks from all the crying, and he doesn’t mention how his heart cracks in response.

He nods gently, his hair sticking up everywhere from his hands having ran through it, and likely also from the flight home.

You’re still upset, but the frost you feel starts thawing. You can make him grovel a bit, and you’re about to open the door more, when the smell hits you.

Elain.

He showed up late to your date for your mating anniversary with some lame excuse about falling asleep because he had spent the day with Elain.

Elain, who was mated to Lucien, but made her affections for your mate abundantly clear before your mateship. As far as you had known, Azriel had shut down her affections when the bond snapped for you both, but now you’re reconsidering everything that you know.

Had they been sneaking around? Is this the first time? Does Lucien know?

The questions swirl in your mind, and Azriel puts his foot in the door begore you can slam it on him, your emotions swirling inside of his chest.

“Baby-“

“You spent the day with Elain?” You spat, “you were late because of Elain? You reek of her, Az!”

You push against the door, trying to shut him out, but he doesn’t budge, he won’t pull his foot out of the way, no matter how much it hurts.

“Baby, no let me explain-“

You laugh, “what’s there to explain? You are covered in her scent.”

The tears start pouring again, and the shadow starts wiping them up, more of them coming through the door to console you.

He starts panicking. Things with Elain have been great the past few years - her distance from Azriel allowing any lingering feelings of lust or awkwardness to dissipate, allowing the two of them to have a cordial friendship. Despite this, he was aware of how insecure you were around her.

You could never grasp why he’d want to be with you when he could have been with her.

Panic laces his tone as he tells you, “baby, no, I went to Elain’s to bake you a cake! We’ve been working all week on a recipe for you!”

You stop pushing so hard against the door, your movements stilling. An invitation for him to continue talking, but to stay where he was and not try to come in further.

“We spent the day baking you a cake. I laid down on her couch, and you know how damning that thing is. Lucien was there all day. I fell asleep waiting for the cake to cool so I could frost it. They must have left because-“

He pauses, his words rushing from his mouth, afraid you’d shut him out before they made their way to you. “I-they had me promise not to tell anyone, but Elain’s pregnant and they left for an appointment with Madja. They got back not too long ago, waking me up. I came straight here, forgetting the cake and your gifts.”

You lift your eyes to look at him for the first time and you know he’s telling you the truth.

“Gifts? Plural?”

A laugh breaks out from him, your obvious attempt to diffuse the situation. He pushes his hair back with a hand, and you finally take in how messy it was. He clearly had rushed over here, if it’s wind-blown look was anything to go off of. “I got you these incredible books that I spent ages tracking down. I was in Day earlier this week to pick them up.”

You perk up at that, “but you hate going to Day alone because Helion begs you to-“

“Then I had to stop by the jeweler’s.”

You perk up at that, your love of jewelry rivaling Amren’s.

“The jeweler’s?”

He smiles faintly, hoping he’s slowly convincing you to let him in.

“I had Winston take part of one of my siphons to make you a necklace.”

You still at that.

“Your- your siphon?”

He smiles softly, “yeah, I’ve been talking with him for years on how to best remove a piece to make you a matching necklace.”

You narrow your eyes, “years?”

“Yes, my love. We’ve gone through probably dozens of unused syphons to figure out the best method, he finally figured it out a few months ago.”

His hand taps his chest, where one of his siphons usually sits.

“I had a bit chiseled off of the one that stays on my chest.”

Your resolve crumbles, seinging open the door and launching yourself into his arms. He holds you tightly, and the two of you just stand there, enjoying the embrace.

The clock chines downstairs, but this time it’s tune is one of love, not dread.

You smelled him again, and as prominent as Elain’s scent was, you also picked up strong hints of Lucien and a soft, delicate scent.

“So nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened. And nothing ever will happen.”

Your eyes are lined with tears, pulling back from him, you place your hands on his face, bringing his face level with yours.

“If anything did happen, or ever happens, I’ll skin you alive.”

“My love, I think if I were to ever do anything to break your heart, Nesta would put my heart on a platter.”

You giggle, and he hums out, “actually I’m not sure who’d get to me first - Cassian or Nesta.”

Your soft giggles soothe the erratic beating of Azriel’s heart, “Gwyn and Emerie might take a chunk out too.”

He pushes the strands of hair away from your face, guiding the two of you further into the toom so he can shut the door.

“Let’s assume that if I did anything to hurt you, there would be a long line of fae coming to hunt me down.”

He kisses you, quickly pecking your lips several times as he guided you backwards until your knees hit your bed.

“However I did leave my mate all alone on our anniversary.”

He crawls on top of you, kissing your neck as you close your eyes at the contact, “and I am very good at groveling.”

[nxuvillette]

“WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE JUST FRIENDS!”

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS HCS W/ BLLK MEN

synopsis: it’s just a situationship. those usually don’t lead to much, right?

❥- including : michael kaiser, oliver aiku, sae itoshi

❥- note : first bllk post !! i’m slowly getting back into it, so i hope you all enjoy <3 ! reblogs are appreciated !!

content warnings : nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, rough sex (kaiser), some degradation (kaiser), spanking (kaiser), car sex (sae), birthday sex (oliver), mentions of food (sae), use of pet names (baby , princess , good girl), creampie (all), friends with benefits, mentions of hookups, mentions of alcohol (oliver + kaiser), dacryphilia (kaiser), praising.

♡ MICHAEL KAISER

your little friends with benefits with kaiser had begun over six months ago. you and him were both at a party on new years and one thing led to another, and you ended up head first into his mattress with his cock deep inside you. you both promised it would be a one time thing, but one time turned to two, three, and eventually four times.

he was the one who proposed the idea of having a little “thing.” he said you could both call it off at any time and you weren’t exclusive to each other. it didn’t sound like such a bad idea anyway. it was just mindless fun with pleasure mixed within, right?

kaiser was so fucking great in bed. whenever you two would link up, he would make sure you were shaking by the time he was done. he loved seeing the reactions your body had whenever he did something to it. you were so addictive. there were even a few times he would skip practice so he could go and fuck your brains out. if anything, you were the best workout he could ever ask for. your sweaty bodies clinging to each other afterwards was better than any drug he could ever try. he wondered where the hell you had been hiding all of this time.

tonight was a bit different, though. 

kaiser had hit you up later on in the evening. it was a bit odd since you recalled him telling you that he had a game earlier in the day. you shrugged it off, but that changed when you stepped into his nice apartment and noticed how his demeanor was different. he seemed pissed off. you could just tell from his facial expressions and how he carried himself around. 

when you both reached the bed, kaiser was a lot rougher than he usually was. your face was shoved into the pillow and your ass was sore from the amount of times he had spanked you. his pace was set quite quick as well. his balls smacked your puffy clit with every thrust, and he seemed to be taking whatever was wrong out on you. 

“fuck.. yeah, that’s right, take my fuckin’ cock..” he grunted, his fingertips dragging up your spine. “stupid fucks saying i can’t score.. wait till they see what i’m scoring every night..”

you whimpered when kaiser’s palm made contact with your ass cheeks again. a harsh slap filled your ears, making your pussy clench slightly around his cock. “k-kaiser..” your fingers curled on the sheets below you. 

he smirked, taking a fistful of your hair to yank you upwards towards him. “yeah..? you like when i fuck you like a good little slut?” he questioned. “you’re so fucking beautiful.. god, i’m gonna make you cum so hard..”

kaiser then took hold of your hips, slamming his cock into your aching hole. he could feel your pussy twitching around him, signaling you were close to your climax. he wanted to make you a fucking mess. he was the only guy that could make you see stars whenever you finally came. that’s how he knew he was good enough for you. 

“kaiser, kaiser! i’m gonna cum!” you cried, tears forming at your lash line from how intense the pleasure was.

he clenched his teeth when your cunt spasmed around his dick. you squeezed him so tightly that he hit his orgasm as well. his cum leaked into your walls, filling your womb nicely. 

kaiser then flipped you over so you were now laying on your back. sweat trickled down his body and along the blue rose tattoo that covered his neck. “wanna go for round two..? i got a lot more i wanna do to you, baby.” he grinned.

♡ OLIVER AIKU

you started seeing oliver right after your birthday party which was at one of the clubs in your city. your friends surprised you with a fun evening of drinks and dancing. it was what you needed. 

your friend caught oliver staring at you the entire night. his dual colored eyes never left your body and the way it swayed on the dance floor to the music that vibrated around the club. he was with two other guys and he didn’t seem to have a single care about what they were talking about. he was solely focused on you and your friends were trying their best to make you talk to him. you denied it a few times because you thought a guy as hot as him was probably looking at someone else, but you were wrong.

after a few drinks, you gained the confidence to walk over to him when he was by himself. he introduced himself and he seemed a little surprised to see that you came over yourself. he almost thought for a moment that he would have to be the one to get up and make a move, but he thought it was hot of you to come to him.

you two both ended up going into one of the back rooms inside of the club. oliver’s cock was bullying your walls and he had your legs over his shoulders. your pussy hugged him perfectly, and he knew damn well he was gonna like you. there was just something so alluring about you that he couldn’t get enough of. you had to be his dream girl because there was no way that you didn’t come to him for a reason.

oliver kissed you sloppily. he tugged on your lower lip with his teeth and smirked when you moaned into the kiss. “fuck.. you like that, angel? look at you.. the pretty birthday girl getting fucked by me..” he grunted while he felt your cunt clench slightly around him.

your arms were snaked around his neck. his back was covered in scratch marks that irritated his skin, but he paid no mind to them. all he could focus on was you. “y-yes! yes! fuck! ‘so good, oliver!” you threw your head back as he kissed at your g-spot.

he toyed with your puffy clit, drawing you closer to your orgasm. hearing his name come from your lips sent him into a focus that he could hardly pull away from. you were so gorgeous. you took him so fucking well. “come on, baby, cum on this dick.. i wanna see it messy.” he cooed, kissing your lips. “be a good girl for me.. yeah?”

you nodded eagerly and your thighs began to tremble when your high finally crashed over you. oliver couldn’t help but groan when your pussy clamped around his cock, milking him of what was left in his balls. his head went backwards when he felt his orgasm hitting him like a truck. he had such a tight grip on your thighs that it surely would leave a mark the next day. 

oliver sighed, chuckling at how fucked out you looked compared to an hour ago. “i wanna see you again.. maybe i’ll give you another gift for your birthday.. yeah?” he winked.

♡ SAE ITOSHI

you and sae had been hooking up for several months. the two of you met at a restaurant you were serving at, and he had slipped his number onto the receipt he used to tip you. you were a bit shocked at such an action, but nonetheless was he a hot guy you wanted to know more about.

sae was rich and he was very charming. he would make your cheeks burn whenever he flirted with you, and he got you anything you wanted. there were times you would be randomly surprised with flowers or small chocolates. your roommate thought you had a secret admirer, but you knew full well who was behind that. it was cute and you honestly loved it. sae made you happy and you were very attracted to him.

he suggested hookups because neither of you were sure about serious relationships at that moment. you were fine with that and so was he. sae did so many amazing things to your body. he would drive you crazy. there were even a few instances where you sent him videos and photos of yourself in skimpy lingerie or a nice audio where you’re moaning his name. sae fucking loved it.

sae had been away playing soccer for the past month. he finally returned home and you were so excited to see him. the second he pulled up to your building, you ran out and climbed into his car without a single thought. smelling his familiar cologne and seeing that red hair you loved so much brought back so many memories for you.

eventually, you both went to an empty parking lot and escaped to the backseat of his sleek car. you were sitting on his lap with his cock pumping into you at a quick pace. your tits bounced in his face and his hands squeezed the fat of your ass while you rode his cock. he missed you so fucking much. he hated the idea of jerking off because you weren’t there to make him cum as well. seeing you again was like a breath of fresh air. 

“sae..! right there!” your nails dug into the skin of his shoulder blades. 

he let go of your nipple with a sudden ‘pop’ sound. he loved hearing your pretty voice call out for him. “yeah..? shit, look at you..” he groaned, watching as your pussy gripped his cock. 

you pressed your forehead against his, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. his palm came to cup your cheek, feeling how warm it was. he was so close to getting to his climax. you always made him so weak. there was something in the air whenever you came around, and it was drawing sae in. this was unlike any little “thing” he had before. 

his pace rapidly shifted and became very fast. skin slapped against another and your vision went white every time sae reached that button inside of you. “sae! i’m gonna c-cum!” you cried.

sae wrapped his arms around your waist, bouncing you on his cock. “f-fuck.. me too..” he groaned, throwing his head back onto the headrest. he couldn’t help but slam your hips onto his cock to push you deeper into him. you were so cute and perfect.

you inhaled a sharp gasp when that knot in your belly snapped. a creamy white ring circled sae’s cock, making noises come from your dripping cunt. his cock twitched at how much cum came out of him from just that one orgasm. he had to lay back for a moment to catch his breath. 

you slumped against his chest, panting. you felt so tired, but you didn’t want to move. “can we stay like this..?” you titled your head to look at him.

he nodded, smiling softly at you. “of course..”

© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[girlgenius1111]

hard launch

mapi x ingrid x reader. after they confirm their relationship, the public's response makes you feel like maybe you don't belong with ingrid and mapi. an international break complicates the matter, until you're barely speaking to them, and they have to figure out what's wrong; until they have to try to pick up the pieces.

-----

“We don’t like to hide you, amor. We want everyone to know you’re ours. Please?” 

The hope in Mapi’s eyes was too hard to resist, quickly transforming into joy when you nodded your head. Next to you, Ingrid whispered a promise into your ear, that everything would be okay, everything would go perfectly. You weren’t so sure. They didn’t seem to understand your hesitation. Of course they didn’t. They were them. Ingrid and Mapi. They were widely adored, together and separately. 

Your girlfriends could do no wrong. 

Except choose you, apparently. 

It was easy to believe them, that no one would care, when you were safely tucked away in bed with them. Feeling Ingrid’s arms wrapped around your waist and Mapi’s lips press into your forehead. They made you believe them; when they told you that while some may have a negative reaction, the majority of the public would just be happy if they were happy. 

You shouldn’t have believed them. Shouldn’t have trusted them, shouldn’t have given in when they asked you. A small, very hurt part of you wondered if it had been on purpose; a way for them to show you they were too good for you without actually having to say the words. Logical you knew that was ridiculous, but it was hard to use logic when you were scrolling through comment after comment about how awful you were. 

Upon reflection, both of your girlfriend’s would realize the mistake of letting your relationship go public just a few days before you and Ingrid were set to go on national duty. It was a few simple posts, photos that would have previously just included Ingrid and Mapi now including you. You, asleep on Mapi’s shoulder on the plane. You and Ingrid, hand in hand as you walked through the darkened streets of the city. The posts confirmed rumors that had been simmering for months. You remembered so clearly hitting the post button at the same time your girlfriends did. 

They’d smiled at you, dropping their phones onto the table without another thought. Yours was heavy in your hand, though, and it felt like every comment that slid through made it weigh more and more. The comments were worse under your post, of course they were. It was more confusion on your girlfriend’s pages than anything, but mostly vile insults on yours. 

You shouldn’t have read them in the first place, but you were only human. You couldn’t help but scroll through the comments section late at night when you were supposed to be sleeping, search your name on twitter just to see what your new insecurity of the day would be. It was self destructive, yet you couldn’t stop. It ate at you for three days before you left. 

The worst was that they didn’t even notice. Long used to ignoring comments on social media, neither of them saw what was happening, and what it was doing to you. In fact, it may have even been bearable if they’d noticed. If they’d been there to dispel your worries. Instead, they’d remained oblivious, and then you’d all split up for a week. You to England, Ingrid to Norway, Mapi staying at home in Spain. 

You always got a bit anxious before it was time for camp, and any odd behavior on your part was attributed to that, both by your girlfriends, and by you. Because while your brain was screaming for you to show them everything that was being said and beg for them to tell you none of it was true, you refused to be that pathetic. They wanted this so badly, a relationship that wasn’t a secret, and you couldn’t ruin that. 

Maybe, though, you’d already ruined everything anyway. Each of them felt the odd and unusual tension when they kissed you goodbye earlier that afternoon, but neither of them were there to see the tears that fell once you were on the plane, leaving Barcelona. 

If the past 3 days had been almost unbearable, and you’d been with them, you couldn’t imagine what a week of not seeing them would do to you. You weren’t sure you could survive it. 

—

It took Ingrid an embarrassingly long time to realize you were avoiding speaking to her. Mapi, less so. It was the 3rd day of a 7 day break, and the three of you had only facetimed once. Which, in and of itself, wasn’t odd. What was odd, though, was the fact that you’d barely been texting them. You hadn’t spoken to either of your girlfriends unless they’d called you, hadn’t reached out at all. It was unlike you, but even then, both of them just assumed it had been a busy break. 

At least, until Ingrid got a text from Keira. The midfielder was wondering what was going on with you, if the three of you had been in some kind of fight or something, because you were acting completely weird. Barely socializing, looking exhausted no matter how much time you spent alone in your room. It was concerning enough that multiple of your teammates had noticed, and tried to talk to you about it, only to be shut down. 

You were fine, you told them. Nothing was wrong, you were just a bit more stressed than usual. 

None of them believed you, but your answer as to what was wrong remained the same. Finally, Leah instructed Keira to just text one of your girlfriends, and see if they knew anything. If they did, perhaps they could give Keira some answers on how to help you. And if they didn’t… well, there was clearly something very, very wrong. 

The phone call that followed Keira’s text wasn’t very fun for you, or for either of your girlfriends. Mapi had to ring you three times before you picked up, and even then, your face was only half in view of the screen. After you’d exchanged hello’s, you fell silent. It was a heavy silence, one that told both your girlfriend’s very clearly that you weren’t okay. They didn’t know why, but they were going to figure it out if it was the last thing they did. 

After a few more seconds of total silence where they waited for you to say something, Mapi gave in. 

“Amor? How are you?” Mapi wondered. 

“Fine.” You told her. Short answers, make up an excuse for why you have to go in a minute. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. They don’t need to deal with your emotions, just like how they probably don’t want to deal with you. 

“Really? Because Keira told us you’ve been acting kind of weird.” Ingrid said gently. You forced yourself to look away from her wide, concerned eyes. 

Fuck, this was hard. But you couldn’t break down. They didn’t need that. They didn’t need you. 

“Yep. I’m fine.” You replied shortly, shifting again so the camera only showed half your face. 

“Can you let me see you, then?” Ingrid asked. “If nothing is wrong, look at us.” 

With a very forced roll of your eyes, you tilted the screen so that your face was visible. You looked exhausted, which they’d known you would, but they weren’t expecting the completely empty look in your eyes. 

“Amor, are you sure you’re-”

“María, I said I’m fine,” you snapped, digging your nails into the skin of your thigh at the hurt look on your girlfriend’s face. Guilt was all you could feel, suffocating, maddening guilt. 

“Don’t be like that.” Ingrid said sharply. “We’re worried, and we want to help,” 

“I don’t need help. Everything is fine. God, can’t you both just leave me alone? You’re hovering and you’re suffocating me and I’m over it. I’ll talk to you later, I have to go.” 

You hung up before either of them could get a word out, throwing your phone across the room once you’d done so. 

Everyone was right. You weren’t good for them. You weren't good. 

The text you received afterwards only reinforced that. Your phone screen was cracked from the force of your throw, but you could still see what Ingrid had written. 

I don’t know what the issue is, but if you’re upset about something, you need to stop being immature and tell us what’s wrong. We can’t read your mind. You owe me and María an apology.

Mapi hadn’t even bothered to text. 

It was easier than you expected to push them away, which really just reinforced what you’d been convinced of over the past several days. They were better off without you. You tried to convey that in your reply. 

I’m sorry to both of you. You deserve better. Don’t worry about me, please. I’m fine.

You were pretty sure you’d never been less fine in your life. 

—

Neither of your girlfriends liked the sound of your last text. It was self deprecating, and it just didn’t sound like the you they knew. Their frustration began to fall back into worry, and that worry only grew with every day that passed. 

You wouldn’t answer their calls or their texts. None of your teammates could get a single word out of you. 

Mapi almost flew out to you when Keira told her that Sarina was benching you for the friendly you had. The only reason she didn’t was because you were coming home the following day. 

Keira said you weren’t sleeping and barely eating. The coaches and physios and captains had tried to talk to you, but you just kept saying you were fine. 

Neither Mapi nor Ingrid were very sure what they were going to get when you came home to them the next day. No matter how much either of them thought about it, they couldn’t put the pieces together. You’d been fine before you left. Maybe a little weird, but nothing compared to how you were now. 

Ingrid had barely played in her own match, too stressed over you to really focus on training. It was a friendly for her, too, and she’d never cared less about a match in her life. Never wanted something to be over more in her life. 

Mapi was laying on the couch when she figured it out. Snuggling with Bagheera, maybe wearing one of your shirts, and definitely not stalking your instagram. 

She clicked on the comments by accident, but the absolute vitriol caught her eye immediately. She read one comment. Then another. 

She read them until she was crying, herself. Until she finally had to close the app before she broke her phone by throwing it or something, and called Ingrid. 

—

Mapi was always more active on social media over the international break. She must have been really bored to be looking through your instagram, but that was the only explanation for the text you received with only a day to go until you headed back to Barcelona.  

Amor, I think I understand why you’ve been so distant recently. I don’t know how to fix this so far away from you, especially when you won’t answer the phone, but I love you so much. None of those people know you or us. We want you, and that is all that matters. Please don’t be too unkind to yourself. Call me if you can.

Ingrid’s text followed shortly after. 

I talked to María, and I went through the comments. I’m so sorry we didn't notice before now, and I’m so sorry you’ve been dealing with this by yourself. I understand why you’ve been distant, but I wish you’d answer the phone. I love you, so so much. More than you know. 

They still cared, and you didn’t understand why. 

You were nothing, and they were everything, but that’s not how they were acting.

It was incomprehensible, so you didn’t try to comprehend it. You ignored their texts, and knew that once you arrived home tomorrow, there wouldn’t be any more avoidance, for better or for worse. 

—

Your hand shook as you tried to unlock the door, eventually just dropping the keys all together onto the door mat. Swearing under your breath, you set your bag down to grab them, but the door swung open of its own accord. There Mapi stood, her phone in hand like she’d been tracking your location. Just the sight of her had emotion splitting your chest open, tears instantly filling your eyes. 

“Corazón,” she murmured, tugging you in through the door as her free hand grabbed your bag. 

“Hi,” you said meekly, shutting your eyes as Mapi’s hands came up to cup your cheeks, her eyes studying your face closely. The whole time you’d been gone, you hadn’t let yourself cry. Not one tear, no matter how much you’d wanted to. You’d done everything you could to push every emotion away, focus on numbness rather than everything swirling around inside your head. As soon as you saw Mapi, though, that was over. 

You sunk in on yourself, your head dropping until your chin hit your chest, and all you could see was your shoes on the hardwood floor. Tears clouded your vision, and you couldn’t help the quiet sob that slipped past your lips. 

It was a testament to how poor your state of mind had gotten in the last week that as soon as Mapi kissed your cheek, you broke completely, a part of you genuinely shocked that she still cared for you. Still wanted you. She drew you in closer, dropping your bag to the ground and kicking the door shut as she did so. You pressed your face into her shoulder, hands fisting themselves in the fabric of her sweatshirt. 

“I’ve got you, amor. I’m right here.” 

And she was. She was right there. Even though everything seemed to tell you that it should be otherwise, she was still there. She still loved you. The comments she’d evidently discovered hadn’t lifted some veil from her eyes, making her realize how much she despised you, how much better she could do. She touched you in the same gentle way, held you so carefully. She still loved you. She loved you. 

Somehow you found yourself being half carried over to the couch, still cradled close to Mapi’s chest. Once she had you comfortably resting with your head in her lap, you tried to speak. 

“I’m sorry,” you cried, looking up with wide eyes at your girlfriend, desperate that she understand that you knew this was your fault, and your fault alone. 

Mapi just shook her head. “No, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t realize what was going on sooner, and I’m sorry there has ever been any doubt in your head that I love you.” 

And though it still didn’t make any sense, you turned and buried your face in the fabric of Mapi’s, of your, shirt, and let every feeling that had been trying to strangle you for the last week out.   

Mapi was there through it all, her hands stroking your hair and rubbing your back. Wiping away your tears as she murmured soft, sweet reassurances to you. 

It was still incomprehensible, but you were tired of trying to understand why they loved you still. Why they loved you at all. You were too tired of everything, honestly, and all you seemed to be capable of was sniffling into your girlfriend’s lap, and drifting off into the best sleep you’d had in 7 days. 

—

When Ingrid walked in through the front door, it was completely silent, save for an occasional sniffle. It had been radio silence from Mapi since the time you were due to arrive home, around two hours before her own plane landed. She had no idea what to expect upon her arrival, and the unknown made her stomach twist with anxiety. 

 She leaned down to pet Bagheera quickly, before making her way into the living room. If she thought she was going to find you to be the source of the quiet crying, she was wrong. 

Instead, you were curled up in Mapi’s lap, your head resting on her thigh, as you dozed peacefully. The Spaniard was playing with your hair in one hand, the other reaching up to wipe away her tears. If there was anything Ingrid hated, it was seeing either of you upset; she would get this itching feeling to fix it, no matter what it took. Within a second, Ingrid was crossing the room and sliding onto the sofa next to Mapi, her hand cupping the older woman’s cheek. Mapi inhaled shakily, trying to muster a smile for the Norwegian, but it was a weak attempt. 

“Hi my love.” Ingrid whispered, placing a gentle kiss on Mapi’s slightly damp cheek. 

“Hi.” Mapi whispered back, her voice thick with emotion. 

“Tell me why you’re crying.” Ingrid was pretty sure she had a good idea, but she wanted to hear it from Mapi. 

“She’s… she’s in so much pain, Ingrid. She believes everything everyone is saying about her. I can’t imagine what the last week has been like and I didn’t do anything about it-”

The Norwegian cut her girlfriend off. “Neither of us did. She didn’t tell us. We should have checked in and we should have realized something was off before we left, but she didn’t tell us, María. She didn’t want us to know.” 

Mapi nodded slowly, and Ingrid knew that the Spaniard still blamed herself. Honestly, Ingrid blamed herself, too, and no rational words could fix that. Not when you were laid in front of her, the effects of the past week clear on your face. 

Knowing that there wasn’t anything else she could say, Ingrid wrapped an arm around Mapi’s shoulder, pulling the defender into her. With María’s head on her shoulder, and you sleeping in her lap, Ingrid could almost pretend that everything was fine. 

In the silence, she could pretend that you hadn’t been subjected to astoundingly hateful comments that had made you doubt the entirety of your relationship with them. If she tried really hard, she could pretend everything was fine. 

When the first tear slid down her cheek, though, she knew she wasn’t really convincing herself. Not with Mapi crying on her shoulder, not with you, exhausted, heart battered and bruised next to her. Nothing could erase what had happened, but Ingrid hoped, with everything in her, that it could be repaired. 

—

When you woke, you thought you found yourself just as you’d been when you’d fallen asleep, with the environment around you slightly different. It was lighter, in the apartment, with the smell of something cooking wafting in from the kitchen. You shifted, realizing you weren’t lying on Mapi, anymore. Your head was resting on a pillow, two throw blankets tucked around you meticulously. 

Low voices were audible from the kitchen, and you rose shakily, feeling weak and exhausted from your breakdown, even as you’d just woken. A part of you wanted to just head for the door. Running away would be the easiest option, because you were quite sure that going into that kitchen would bring about conversations you didn’t want to have. If you could have done anything, you would have gone back in time to two weeks ago, when no one knew about the three of you, and no one had anything to say. Back when Mapi and Ingrid had no reason to question your mental health and your very negative view of yourself. It had felt like they were fixing that, slowly but surely. The response to your relationship had destroyed what self confidence you had built back up, and it was so fragile now, you knew you wouldn’t be able to successfully convince them that you were okay. 

But there was love waiting for you in the kitchen, love you didn’t understand but love you craved all the same. And if you walked out the door, you weren’t sure you’d ever find anything like it ever again. 

When you walked into the kitchen, it was to find both of your girlfriends sitting at the counter, both looking at something on Ingrid’s computer. 

Ingrid turned to look at the sound of your footsteps padding into the room, and any fear you had that she was still upset with you melted away at the look on her face. She got up, practically crashing into you with the force of her hug. One arm around your back, the other pressing your face into her shoulder, she held you so tightly, she hoped it would convey to you that she was never letting you go. 

“My love.” She sighed, feeling you sink into her. It was such a relief to have you back in her arms, to know that you were okay and safe, relatively speaking. Ingrid had thought the worry and concern would fade a little at the sight of you, but it didn’t. If anything, it grew. Because you so clearly weren't okay, and she wasn’t quite sure how she’d missed all of this. 

Ingrid and Mapi had discussed it while you were asleep; that for your response to the hatred being spewed your way to be this severe, there had to be some foundation to it already in place. For you to so readily believe that you weren’t worthy of them, that you were destroying their relationship, that you were an awful person, you must have had those thoughts before. They hadn’t known that, hadn’t ever known you to be anything but energetic and smiley and happy and loving. 

You felt arms snake their way around your abdomen, Mapi’s face come to settle against the back of your head. It was a relief to you, too, to keep being reminded that they wanted you, regardless of what the little voice in your head was trying to convince you of. 

They held you like that for a while. Until Ingrid’s arms started to go numb and Mapi’s began to ache from holding you so tightly. Only when you shifted uncomfortably in between them did they finally let go, allowing you to step away from them and rub harshly at your eyes. 

It was just hitting you now, the full force of what you’d put them through. And now that you were with them, again, you felt a little silly for how you’d acted. You were younger than both of them, not by much, but that immaturity was clear in your actions over the past week, and you hated that. You hated that you’d made things worse for them when you’d only been trying to make everything better.  

“I’m so sorry.” You croaked, desperate for them to know that your intention hadn’t been to hurt them, that you were just reacting in the way you best knew how. They both began speaking at the same time, trying to tell you that you didn’t need to be sorry, but you didn’t let them get very far. “No, I am. I put you guys through hell and that wasn’t fair of me. I should have just talked to you, I know that. I just- I don’t… I’m not-”

Ingrid interrupted you, reaching forward to grab your hand in hers, an almost painfully sympathetic look on her face. “It’s okay. We both understand that you were struggling, and that your first instinct was to shut down. I don’t really understand why, if we’ve made you feel like you can’t come to us with things that are upsetting you-” 

At this, you shook your head rapidly back and forth. This wasn’t their fault, they had to know that.

“-we want to talk more, but we want to show you something first.” Ingrid finished, tugging on your hand until you followed her over to her computer. There was a document pulled up, one they had clearly been pouring over when you’d walked in. Both of them stood behind you anxiously as you read, not sure if their idea was going to make this worse or better. 

When you turned to them with tears once again pooling in your eyes, they feared they’d made it worse. 

When you flung your arms around both of them, a soft thank you falling from your lips, they knew they’d made it better. 

It had been Mapi’s idea to craft a statement, one that she’d checked with her agent and the club’s PR people about. Everyone had been on board, so she’d got to writing, as soon as she’d gotten the okay from Ingrid as well. She’d never post it without your consent, but she hoped that it would alleviate some of your worries. 

It was quick and to the point, and you could see where Ingrid had vetoed some of Mapi’s run-on sentences. The two of them expressed their disgust with the way people had been treating you in the past week. They had really only ever been on the receiving end of love from the fans, and this was not what they had been anticipating. You were an important part of their relationship, of their lives. You deserved respect, and they wouldn’t tolerate anything else. Their priority was each other, and you. It should have all been things you already knew, but you were crying like you hadn’t known how important you were to them. 

They let everything sink in, let you calm down for almost 20 minutes before they started the conversation you’d been dreading. They watched carefully as you settled yourself in the armchair in the living room, leaving the couch for both of them. The distance you were creating made them nervous, and Ingrid couldn’t help but lean forward and rest her hand on your knee. You seemed to relax a little, even giving the Norwegian a tiny smile in response. 

Mapi was, again, the one to break the silence. “Amor, I don’t really understand. Why didn’t you come to us with this? We would have stopped it as soon as we knew.” 

It felt oddly like a therapy session, with both of them staring at you from the couch, the spotlight very clearly fixated on you as you began to speak. 

“At first, I didn’t want to be dramatic. And then the comments started to get to me and I was afraid that if I brought it up…”

“What?” Ingrid asked softly, bracing herself for whatever you were about to say. 

You looked away from them, chewing on your lip. “I was afraid you’d agree with the comments and break up with me. I was afraid you were just with me because you didn’t know how to end it. I was just really scared you wouldn’t love me anymore.” 

You kept your eyes fixed on the rug underneath you, even when Ingrid grabbed your hand and pulled on it, eventually pulling so hard you gave in and got up, settling in between the two of them on the sofa. Gentle fingers grabbed your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to look at Mapi. 

“How could we not love you?” She asked incredulously. Her disbelief settled something in you, and you wanted nothing more than to bury your face in her shirt and let yourself relax, but you knew you had to help them understand. 

“I’m not good enough for either of you. I’ve never understood why you want me, and-” 

“Stop.” Ingrid cut in, shifting so that she could look you in the eye. “How long have you been feeling like this? Longer than just since the comments?” 

You nodded slowly, feeling your cheeks heat up. You knew they didn’t like you keeping things from them, and this was something rather important. “Since the beginning. I love you both, but I’ve never understood why you love me.” 

Both of them were completely silent for a moment, long enough for you to get nervous. “It’s okay, really. I’ve always been like this.” 

“Unkind to yourself?” Mapi asked quietly. 

You turned your attention back to her. “Realistic.” 

She scoffed, taking a few calming deep breaths. “That is not realistic. Not at all. We tell you we love you and you don’t believe us?”

“No, María, I believed you, I just didn’t get why. It never made sense to me because you are both so perfect.” 

Ingrid squeezed your hand, pulling your attention back to her. You wished they’d sit in front of you or something, so you didn’t have to turn back and forth like you were watching a tennis match. 

“The way you think about yourself is ridiculous. If we are perfect, so are you.” Ingrid said, her hand cupping your face, thumb tracing over your cheekbone. “You aren’t tricking us into loving you. We just love you. We aren’t going to change our minds about that.” 

She kissed your lips gently, and you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed her kisses, her touch, until that moment. Mapi’s voice in your ear stopped you from leaning forward and capturing Ingrid in another kiss. 

“I know this isn’t something you can change overnight, how you think about yourself. But I want you to try, okay? I want you to really try for me.” 

You nodded, shutting your eyes tightly. You could try. For them, even if you weren’t sure you deserved it. 

“I will.” You promised. “If you both promise that you won’t stay with me if you stop loving me. That if I’m not what you want anymore, you’ll-”

“We won’t ever stop loving you. There is no we without you, love. There is just us.” Ingrid told you, her green eyes boring into yours, making it hard to come up with a response. 

“We choose what’s best for us. And we choose you. You are good enough, mi amor.” Mapi promised. Her whisper in your ear sent a shiver down your spine, the words filling you with the sensation of being loved. So much love, you weren’t sure what to do with it all.

“You are good.” Ingrid emphasized, her lips pressing repeated kisses onto your temple. “You are good, and we love you so much.” 

It didn’t feel as incomprehensible anymore. 

“We want you to love you too. Whatever it takes to convince you that you are good and loved, amor, we’ll do it. Okay?” 

You nodded, turning to press a kiss to Mapi’s lips. Ingrid buried her face in your neck, and you wondered how you’d ever considered walking out the door. You belonged here, with them. They chose you, and that was all that mattered. 

—

i have no confidence that this is good BUT🤞 i hope you all like this one. it was a labor of love... i think i like it?? who knows.

normally bailey builds up my confidence before i post a fic but she's on a very well deserved fun super cool trip and i don't want to interrupt her so please tell me this doesn't suck! lie if you must!

love to you all 🥰🫶🏻

[also as always, tell me if you find any typos 😇]

[sleepynoons]

Underneath the Surface

As an attendant for the first Harbinger, Il Capitano, you work to maintain his household in Snezhnaya, though you can still only admire him from afar. But that distant reverence changes completely when you are offered another role that goes beyond your day-to-day and allows you to share a bond with him that no one else knows the true nature of. This is a dream come true, of course, but what happens when the dream ends? When will it end? And what will you do after it ends?

ooc!capitano x afab!f!reader, nsfw, 18+

word count: ~4,600

cw: power imbalance + unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, sadism/masochism, pain kink, knife kink, praise kink, predator/prey, ownership + master, use of other sharp objects (claws), temperature play, graphic descriptions of blood/injuries/bruises/pain/etc., sensory deprivation (blindfold), mentions of death + murder

notes: ok i know everyone is head over heels for capitano because big looming man + the mask and cape stay on during sex ikik i get it, but what if our captain had... a dark, serious, + slightly twisted personality? bc i imagine, in canon, for someone so committed to his work and the tsaritsa, his sense of justice and overpowering physical strength could prevent him from making rash decisions like being in a relationship with another... anyway, my take on capitano! tysssssm to @staraxiaa for beta-reading and letting me yap away in our discord <33 lena, could not have churned this out any earlier if it were not for your enthusiasm and hypnosis. ily queen. anyway, hope y'all enjoy!

THE HALLS are still, silent aside from the occasional clanking of metal weaponry. All of the soldiers and attendants are holding their breaths, anticipating for what is to come. You, too, wait, immobile, on the edge of your chair in front of the vanity. You avoid your reflection in the mirror, but appearances are of utmost importance, so you busy yourself by repeatedly smoothing the pleats of your silk nightgown. 

It has been two long months since you have fallen back into this routine: waking before sunrise, dressing with your finest gowns and lingerie, and awaiting his instruction throughout the day. Of course, you still behave in an appropriate manner befitting of his grace when he is not around, but there is no need to impress. Not many are aware of the nature of your agreement with him, anyway.  

A soldier’s call can be heard from outside your window, a signal of his grace’s arrival from the accompanying blare of a horn. You suck in a sharp breath, pursing your lips as you hold, before exhaling completely. You have half an hour.

Making your way around his chamber, you go about your final checks. He has always been particular with the way things should be, his sense of justice and discipline underlying and interweaving with every aspect of his own life. You blow away specks of dust from his bookshelves, tie the chiffon of the bed canopy curtains to their posts, and return your makeup on the vanity back to a pouch, not before dabbing on a bit more powder and curling your eyelashes once more.

The half hour passes quickly, and you rush to stand by the door as you hear the heavy thuds of his boots approach. You bow your head and curtsy as he steps in. It is important that you do not look at him until he permits. He does not greet you, simply strides over to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, heading to his closet farther beyond.

You sigh with relief. He did not take you immediately.

The next step of the routine is to wait for him to change. Beyond the door, you hear the faint rustle of heavy fabric hitting the floor, silver and bronze embossings clicking against sharp nails, and the occasional low grunt. You would assist him if you could, but no one has seen him without his fur coat and mask. You consider yourself lucky to have seen him without his cloak, but you, too, have never witnessed his visage. It is strange, though. As per your contract, you are supposed to help him with such tasks. Shrugging, you figure there is no need to hypothesize. You would never dare to act like you understand his grace and how he thinks and acts.

If he still does not speak to you when he returns, the burden falls on you to initiate.

You watch as the door handle twists before the door swings open. Instinctively, you lower your gaze and nod your head once in greeting. Pausing a beat, you give him a chance to speak if he wants. But he does not.

“Your grace,” you say.

He walks over to you, standing in front of where you sit on the edge of his bed. A gloved hand rests on the crown of your head – firm, cold. It traces the shape of your skull, sliding down to your ear, sharp metal claws scraping against the cartilage and the tender skin of your neck. He continues along the path of your jawline before holding your chin between his index finger and thumb. You are still looking downwards, only able to see up to his clothed forearm. Holding you steady, he appraises you and the effort you put into yourself. You try to relax under his gaze, not as an act of defiance or resistance but rather as a demonstration of your trust and loyalty in him. His grace knows best, after all. His criticism is guidance, only out of best interest for you, his praise gospel, miraculous stories to pass down for generations.

He hums. It is a deep, satisfied rumble.

“Well done,” he praises, releasing his hold. “I am relieved to be back.”

It is not often that his grace is content. He is rarely appeased with his own efforts. Naturally, you feel a sense of giddiness, a shiver of delight threatening to shake up your still frame. You even notice an urge of want for him, hoping that he would pay just a little more attention to the way you did your hair or the new perfume you are wearing or how the color of the night gown compliments the curves and rolls of your body. A stroke of luck, you think, to keep your dangerous emotions at bay. You must reflect on tonight and emulate what went well going forward.

Before you can relay your gratitude to your captain, he continues to speak. “I would like to try something different tonight.”

He pulls a wide silk scarf out from his pocket and wraps the navy fabric around your head, thereby obscuring your vision. The lack of light in the room, along with the dark shade of the blindfold, make it impossible for you to see anything beyond the faint silhouette of your hands as you stretch them out in front of you to test the opacity of the silk. But this is nothing out of the ordinary.

You startle as he splays his palm on your back and slides an arm underneath your legs. He picks you up, as if you are but a mere feather, and repositions you so that you are lying down on the bed.

“It will hurt. Will you be able to take it?” he asks. Void of his usual assertiveness, he is shedding his role of a Harbinger, melting into a simple person who wants his desires fulfilled. He is speaking to you with caution and respect, fulfilling his end of his contract, as your master, your owner, to ensure that tonight’s experience will be pleasurable for you as well. However, you know the power and strength he holds beyond the walls of his bedroom will never fully escape your conscience. It is your obligation to protect yourself from dire harm, but you cannot deny him the opportunity to experiment, in fear of retaliation and punishment.

You reply, “How painful?”

The bed dips beside your hip, and you feel the leather of his glove rub into your thigh.

“I will use my gloves and a knife.”

Scared or excited, you cannot tell. At his words, you become acutely sensitive towards the feel of his gloved hand as he continues to glide it up and down your leg. You can almost taste the steely, icy sting of his claws digging into the fat of your thigh, breaking the skin just enough for beaded crimson to trickle, not enough to scar permanently.

“Your grace, is this a punishment?”

“Not at all.” His hand travels farther up and pushes the lace trim of your nightgown aside to reveal your underwear underneath. He pulls at the ribbons at the side, slowly untying the thong, as he chuckles, “It is a reward, for your effort and time.”

The praise is doing wonders to you. You feel dizzy, light, and hot in the head, and the pulsing in your core intensifies, your hole fluttering and throbbing in tandem with the escalating rate of your heartbeat. Even though you cannot see, you can almost sense him smiling, perhaps at the wetness that is spotting your underwear or possibly even the state of your whole being, showing his understanding of and command over your body.

The latter seems likely as he presses his claws into your skin, as if to counter and neutralize your raging internal inferno. The cold shocks the nerves at the juncture where your hip connects to your leg, where the ribbon of your panties used to be tied at.

“I will start easy,” he explains. To demonstrate, he curls his fingers and pushes, channeling all of the pressure into the tips of his claws and persists until they shallowly latch into your skin. You squirm, jump, and whimper at the pain. It hurts more than you had expected, though you really had no point of comparison in the first place. You continue to shudder as he holds his fingers in place, probably gauging your reaction.

“Th-that is alright,” you manage to stammer. The pinch may be harsh, but it does not draw blood or bring tears to your eyes, simply a scraping of the surface of your skin. You can withstand a little more, you reassure yourself. This is your reward. Without a word, he moves his hands back down to your thighs and scratches your right.

The motion is fast, clean. In fact, your body and mind do not react to the two long, slanted cuts he leaves, the blood only spilling milliseconds after the damage has been done. The pain comes even later. At first, you feel nothing, and even the thin streams of blood flowing out of the wounds only leave a wet sensation on your otherwise untainted legs. But then, the stinging comes, akin to that of an unexpected paper cut. Except, with each passing second, it gets worse, as if the paper cut is being pulled along and extended, and your leg strains against his hold to move, to distract itself from the harm inflicted. Crimson is sure to be leaking from the full length of the cuts, and at the back of your throat, you can almost taste the coppery scent of oxidizing iron.

When he moves to repeat the same onto your other leg, you bite the inside of your cheek to prepare for the incoming pain. Part of your role is to adapt quickly, and in this case, you have to sense and react to his grace’s next steps immediately. The chiseled points of his nails cut through your skin like a large kitchen knife slicing through even the toughest of ingredients – precise, swift, ignorant of any and all resistance.

You have never gone this long with just pain, let alone be deprived of one of your senses. Nights with his grace are inevitably bound to be painful, but in his own way, he softens the blows and plows of his roughness and aggression by pleasuring your body.

Your first morning after, you woke up unable to feel anything past your waist. Throughout the night, to show you just exactly what you were getting yourself into, he forced you to reach peak after peak after peak as a test of your endurance, stamina, loyalty. Though, you were more shocked to see the purpling bruises encircling your ankles and wrists, as if his grace had used cuffs on you. But he had not. Those bruises were entirely inflicted by his tight hold on you, shackling you down as you thrashed and kicked and instinctively attempted to escape, serving the same purpose in chaining your life and mercy to his will.

One’s ideals – justice – will always come at the cost of another’s freedom – autonomy.

But you are not opposed to such limitations. Out of all of the Harbingers, you are endlessly grateful that it is his grace who is your leader. Even though he may not be your direct master beyond the clauses of your contract, he is dutiful and considerate towards those who swear an oath to his name. You come from a family of Fatui soldiers, some of the best and the brightest, many trained under the watchful supervision of his grace, so from birth, you have been taught to idolize him. But to have your idol recognize you? Speak to you? Bed you? Unheard of, and to this day, you are not sure why he chooses you, time and time again. You cannot even fathom how he knows of you – a simple, one-of-several attendants who maintain his mansion of a home under the instruction of the head butler.

The nature of your contract with him is simple. (His grace often comments how he much prefers the dealings of the Liyuen people, how quick they are to draw up agreements and negotiations, compared to the conniving nature of some of his colleagues.) Whenever he returns, you shall take care of his personal desires and wants, as he will with yours. You are to fully commit yourself to him, trust in his intuition to know how to treat you accordingly, and he expects you to reciprocate, to satisfy him to the best of your abilities.

Your role is not as physically taxing as it is mentally laborious. His grace is rarely home – you recently heard he has a surge of dealings in Natlan that require his attention –, so your body is not under constant stress. However, when you are with him, you behave as if every night together is a performance review, a test of your memory, if you remember how to overcome your instincts to hold your body still enough in place, if you remember the way he gravitates towards elegant silk dresses and kimonos, if you remember that he will never apologize but will wrap gauze around your wounds when you are asleep.

You know you are expendable. As soon as you fail to satisfy him, he could – will – discard and replace you. While he has never outright pressured you, you know his grace is assessing you as well. But you cannot help but wonder – hope – that there is something about you – something so intrinsic and bespoke about you – that explains why, even in your failings, he will not let you go. You are sure there are faults that lie in you that you cannot see, that he will see. Yet, because you have not been let go, you wonder if he is alright with slight imperfections because it is no one other than you.

Regardless, you must not be too full of yourself. That is a cardinal sin with respect to his grace’s values. The strong become the weak as soon as they overestimate themselves, he would often preach.

You are brought back by a building pressure at your ankles. You raise your head to look down, to no avail. But you can feel his gloves, now slightly warm from being in contact with your body, wrapping themselves around your protruding bones, tighter and tighter, the chains locking with finality. There is a buzz in your toes from the constriction of circulation, and you bite on your lower lip to prevent yourself from whining at the bruising grip he has on you. You count beats in your head, seconds not true to time, muddled by the exhilarated racing of your heart, foolishly trying to distract yourself by examining his grace’s behavior instead. How long will he hold for? How long does it take to leave stubborn bruises that will remain for at least three days? Is it supposed to hurt this much?

But all of those questions and concerns do not matter anymore as soon as he speaks. “I was right in choosing you.”

As if his affirmation was not enough, he releases your legs and moves up the bed to embrace you. Winding his arms around you, he lifts you a margin off the bed so that your chests touch, your silk against his thick black wool. One of his hands then comes up to cradle the back of your head, gently brushing and patting you, almost like he is lulling you to sleep. You melt, and you have never felt such a strong urge to wrap him in your own arms.

Perhaps you can be a bit greedy tonight? Throwing caution to the wind, you mumble, “Y-your grace, may I…?”

His approving hum makes your heart trill with joy. To avoid any mishaps, you place your hands on his arms, following their sturdy build until you reach his shoulders. From here, your fingertips can brush against his flowing black hair. It is coarse and thick, and you muster all of your willpower to resist the urge to run your hands through the locks.

As if reading your mind, he says, “You can touch my hair, if you so wish.”

“That was not my intention,” you reply, fighting the smile threatening to bloom on your face. 

He insists by leaning closer to you, so that you are forced to feel the front, shorter strands of his hair poke at your exposed clavicles. You can even argue that you can feel his breath from here, but then again, does his grace breathe? Is he man or monster? (Benefactor or foe?)

“I shall resume.” And he proceeds to grab you at the waist, gripping you as tightly as he did to your ankles, and you feel the same pressure building within you. But you can hold on longer, after all. This is a reward.

He pushes the silk dress all the way up to your neck and exposes your upper body. As your body tenses in response to the cold, he pokes at the goosebumps appearing on your skin, as well as uses the tip of a nail to trace your areolae, centimeters away from your perked nipples. He circles them for two eight-counts, slow and drawling, before suddenly pinching and tugging at them. You yelp – an unintended mistake – and arch your back. He is still clothed, and the metal buttons and chains of his blazer dig into your skin for the briefest of moments, eliciting another wave of shudders from you.

And the worst of the pain comes. He gives one last pinch to your nipples before moving his hands to your sides where your rib cage lies right underneath. He rubs his thumbs over the bump of each bone, gliding his fingers back and forth, perpendicular to the way your bones curve inwards to protect your insides. You do not know this, but he is searching, identifying where he will lay his wreckage next, between which ribs to leave his trace. Then, he curls his claws into you, a bone or two below your breasts, and sinks them into you, slowly wounding you parallel to the slanted direction of your cage.

It is unbearable. There is no way to prevent yourself from screaming and sobbing. Tears drench the blindfold within seconds, and you can only distract yourself by tightening your embrace around his neck and digging your own nails into your forearms to somehow transfer the pain elsewhere, overwhelm your brain so that it cannot perceive the full extent of the damage being done to your chest. Otherwise, you can only hope that his grace is understanding and allows you to wail at the gashes he is leaving.

And what about appearances? Surely, your body will be marred from tonight and may not ever fully erase the signs of tonight’s activities.

You freeze. Your blood chills. Physical pain dims and recedes to the back of your mind.

Appearances… do matter. If you dared to come up with any reason as to why his grace has chosen you, it would only be sensible to conclude that it is because of the way you look, no? Prior to your first night together, you had never interacted with him before – he did not even present the contract for this partnership to you – the head butler did! Therefore, there is no possibility that his grace knows you well, aside from direct reports from the head butler and, perhaps, passing comments from your family. And he would definitely not choose you for your talents, as you have none.

In fact, the only reason you are in the castle is quite simple. Though you are not disowned by your family, you are not treated as one of them. You were sickly throughout childhood, meaning you could not start training early enough. Even if you had enrolled later on, you would have never been sufficient enough in your capabilities to reach the high official ranks that your family has held onto for decades. Lacking the combat prowess your other siblings, parents, and ancestors have, you will never be able to fulfill your lineage’s mission to the Tsaritsa. Therefore, you had to find other ways to serve the Fatui, and your search led you to his grace’s household.

There is nothing to your person besides a family crest that does not want to claim you and a corporeal weak to the natural winds and storms of Snezhnaya. And, truly, the only thing you have all to yourself is this body of yours, something you can willingly choose to offer as long as it cooperates with you.

Is this it? After he scars and carves and rips you open, not even this anatomy of yours will be yours ever again. Is he to leave his mark on you forever, only to end this arrangement soon after?

Your wails are no longer because of your flesh being torn apart by cold, ruthless hands, hands that know the feel and taste and rotting warmth of blood. Instead, these wails are ones afraid of a future without these hands, these nails that are now also stained with your blood and skin and tears. When he cleans these gloves later, you can only hope the alcohol does not eradicate all of your traces.

He does not stop until the gashes reach the ends of your rib cage. 

Taking deep breaths from your mouth, you gasp for air as he pulls away and sits back on his heels to examine your state – spent, covered in spit and blood and cold sweat, many things but your usual demureness.

You are incapable of keeping up such a ruse. You are too exhausted and tortured to even feign obedience. Though, if his grace asked, you would try for him, despite knowing you would barely be able to put on a show. Because for him, you would, without a beat of doubt or hesitation, take on any role if he asked you of it, as long as you can share a private bond with him, one that no else knows the intimate details of. 

You hear shuffling, a pocket being pulled open – good, blood stains thread quite stubbornly –, and a quick flick of something clicking into place.

“This will be the last thing I do to you tonight. Raise your arm.”

You do as he says, barely feeling your forearms and beyond. He catches your hand and turns it over so that your palm is facing the ceiling.

The smooth, cool surface is recognizable, even to someone who has not fought in years. He places the flat side of the blade against your skin, letting it soak and adjust to your broiling heat. Once it is warm enough, he makes quick work, making short cuts in various directions around your wrist, over the spot where you take your pulse. As he works, he turns your wrist around as needed. The cuts always sting a bit at first before the sensation of the next being made takes over. You miserably think how you will never be able to marry with the way his grace is etching himself into you.

It does not take long, given how skilled he is.

But the routine has been disrupted, and when he sets your arm down, you are not sure what to do next. Usually, you would be unconscious by now. But you are wide awake, body thrumming and pulsing, sending signals to all the places where your nerves are exposed.

Again, you think back to the same question. Is this supposed to be my reward?

“You will now rest.” His grace’s voice commands, leaving no space for argument.

So you ask, instead of objecting. “And my body?”

“We will leave it as is. I need them to mark.” He enunciates with finality. You are unable to probe further, unable to even get a glimpse of what he means beyond his statements.

You manage to croak, “My apologies, your grace, for failing to restrain myself this evening.”

He only places his hand on the crown of your head, soft smooths and pats, like at the very beginning of tonight, before everything that has since occurred. 

Perhaps, what you long for, whether that be his touch or his coldness or his grace himself, is salvation. Someone who can bestow you with a responsibility so you can make yourself useful, find value in your being beyond a last name and damaged flesh. Despite tonight, you still want his grace to be with you, even if that means he devours you whole by the morning. Because you are already indebted to him for your employment. And you now owe him more than ever for permitting you to invade the confines of his space, to be surrounded by everything that is his, to feel him. To be something special is what you deeply, most greedily covet, and you are fearful that, in the near future, you will not be the only person who can say they have seen the captain without his coat on. Because without his grace, what will you become? Who are you? What are you?

Rather than relieve your body of strain through arousal and pleasure, tonight, he provides tepid comfort through the slow tempo of his hand against your head, an intangible poultice against your physical wounds. Inside, you realize that, all along, the reward has been his grace’s direct kindness and generosity towards you. And you tell yourself to enjoy these last remnants of his undivided attention, and fall asleep. 

In the morning, you do as planned. Wake early. Bathe in scorching hot water even though it could rot your untended wounds. Dress in a burgundy long-sleeved gown. Prepare your hair and makeup. Pray that this dawn is not the last sunrise you will share with him.

Before you leave the bedroom to greet his grace, who is no doubt already working in his office, you sigh, filled with a deep sense of shame, disappointment, and mourning, though these words are futile in fully grasping all that festers within you.

But the walls of this bedroom know something you do not. And they think you ought to know, as they watch you leave with palpable dejection.

They have seen their owner evolve and age over time. Yet, they have only seen him exhilarated barely a few times – and rarely excited and riled up by the same thing more than twice.

The walls see, hear, smell everything about their owner.

Last night, amidst your cries, his grace was huffing with exertion, pouring effort and energy into your body. His eyes widened, pupils dilated, at the way your body struggled under his hold, yet you only held him closer. Mouth gaped in awe at how you screeched from the pain yet did not fight back even as an animalistic instinct to survive. He was practically leaking bloodlust, or more specifically, a strong urge to claim, overwhelm, overpower you. And he did so, purposely not leaving you bandages on the night table as always so that the wounds would stay intact. These cuts and gashes and tears shall never disappear from your body, and you will never forget the pain he has inflicted upon you. He has engraved himself into you because, while his righteousness and loyalty to the Tsaritsa come first, he will still return to you when he can. And he does not want you to forget that, even if this reminder comes in the form of garish wounds and the delicate traces of a bracelet in your skin.

The walls know why his grace chooses you. What you really should know is how much of an abnormality you really are. And his grace adores that about you.

[incognit0slut]

Since hearing Streets by Doja cat (silhouette remix) I always thought if I ever had the chance to striptease for someone, that would definitely need to be the song playing in the background, the rhythm is so sensual. So can I request a smut with Spencer centered around this song?

Love your blog and tiktok edits, and congrats for reaching 3k! You deserve it!

tysm lovely hope you enjoy this🫶 (wc) 3.1k!

warnings: (MINORS DNI!) Reader is a stripper, lap dance, pantyjob, a lot of grinding lol

Play our fantasies

The FBI agent visiting your workplace wants more from you than answers to his questions.

…we play our fantasies out in real life ways…

"THE FBI IS WAITING FOR YOU," your boss said the moment you stepped down from the stage, his voice a low murmur amidst the pulsating beats of the club. Your clients varied from politicians to well-known celebrities, but you never had the chance to entertain an authority before.

Your boss rolled his eyes as he gripped your arm, navigating you to the VIP lounge. "He's not here for that."

"Oh?"

"He's here to ask some questions," Teddy explained as he released his hold, motioning you to follow him. "Said he wanted to know about one of your regulars."

"My regulars? Who?"

He gave you a sideway glance as you both strode to the back area of the club. "Dennis."

You raised an eyebrow. "Dennis Meade?" You asked. "That lawyer? He hasn't even been here for over a month."

Your boss shrugged. "Maybe that's why the FBI is looking for him, only god knows where he is."

"It's always those quiet ones, huh?" You jested, your heels clacking on the marble floor. You stopped for a moment when you passed a wall that was covered with mirrors, fixing your hair through the reflection. When your boss noticed he was walking alone, he turned around and gave you a disapproved look.

"He's only here to ask you questions."

"I know." You smiled, delicately smearing off the subtle lipstick mark that had smudged over your lip line from the dance routine you performed on the pole earlier. Satisfied with how you looked, you made your way back to Teddy.

"Is he cute?" You asked playfully.

"Y/n."

"I thought we weren't supposed to use our real names on the clock."

He sighed, the ambient lighting casting a soft glow on his exasperated expression as you both continued to walk down the hallway, the distant thump of music reverberating through the walls.

"Angel," he pressed sarcastically, emphasizing your stage name. "Doctor Spencer Reid is keeping his identity discreet, so don't attract any attention to him."

"Doctor?" You mused. "Thought he was a cop."

"FBI agent," he corrected.

"Tomato, Tomahto." You finally stopped at the entrance of the VIP area, a line of doors covered in drapes separating each private space. "Which one is he in?"

"Corner left at the end." He gave you a pointed look. "It's better to stay with him according to your usual private session, lessen any suspicion."

You smirked. Spending half an hour in a room with an authority sounded intriguing. Teddy rolled his eyes as he saw the look you gave him. "No funny business, Angel."

"Of course not, Teddy," you assured him, giving him the most innocent smile you could muster.

He shook his head and took a step back. "You're trouble."

With a playful wink, you pushed open the door to the VIP area and stepped into the dimly lit space. The ambiance shifted from the bustling energy of the club to a more intimate setting. The smell of burning wax filled your nose in the form of vanilla-scented candles as you made your way to the corner suite.

A man stood in the middle of the room, his scrutinizing eyes scanning the small platform in the corner with a pole planted on top of it, but as he heard your footsteps, he turned around and met your gaze.

Your eyes slowly assessed him. His features were sharp, his gaze piercing, and an air of confidence surrounded him. There was something magnetic about his presence, an unexpected allure that contradicted the stereotypical image of an FBI agent. You were never this close to an FBI agent before, but were they supposed to be this attractive?

As the door closed behind you, the muffled sounds of the club outside were replaced by a peculiar intimacy. Especially when his eyes roamed your body, taking in the lingerie top barely covering your breasts and the thin silk panties you chose to wear today.

"You must be Angel," he greeted, watching you intently. The dim light accentuated the subtle nuances of his expression.

"And you must be Doctor Spencer Reid," you replied, injecting a subtle hint of playfulness into your tone. "What brings the FBI to our humble abode?"

"Spencer, please." His lips then curved into a faint smile. "I'm here on official business. There's a matter I'd like to discuss with you."

"About Dennis Meade, I presume?"

His eyebrows raised slightly, acknowledging your astuteness. "You're well-informed."

"It's part of the job," you responded with a casual shrug. You took a moment to assess the situation before nodding towards the plush seating. "You should take a seat, Dr. Reid."

He did as he was told, but his eyes went wide when he noticed you stepping onto the platform instead of following him. "What are you doing?"

"I was told you didn't want your identity to be known," you said as you gripped the pole. "There are cameras everywhere; I'd say it would seem suspicious for the security to see I'm only talking when I should be working."

He watched as you started to move around the pole, your movements deliberate and gracefully controlled. The ambient lighting cast a subtle glow, creating a surreal atmosphere within the room. The pulsating music from the club outside, its tune slow and seductive, provided an unexpected rhythm in the closed space.

"This way, it seems like just another part of the show," you continued as you swayed your hips seductively. "Now, what did you want to discuss about Dennis?"

Spencer's gaze followed your every move and you watched as his tongue flickered along his bottom lips. "We believe he might be involved in something that requires our attention."

You leaned back, arching your back in a sultry pose. "Dennis hasn't been around here for a while. Why the sudden interest?"

"It's not the first time he's come under our radar," Spencer explained, his tone measured. "We're trying to locate him to gather more information."

"I can't say I know much about him," you replied. "There wasn't anything particularly noteworthy about him, at least not that I'm aware of."

Spencer absorbed the information, his expression thoughtful. But it was hard to keep his mind on the case he was supposed to be investigating when your moves became more daring as you leaned down, actuating your luscious hips that were barely covered with that thin string of fabric covering your sex. Then his mouth dried up as you turned around in front of him and fully bent over, exposing the delicious curve of your ass.

He tried to steady his breathing. "Any peculiar behavior… conversations, or associations you might recall might help."

You twirled around the pole again, a moment of contemplation before you spoke. "He kept to himself mostly. No unusual conversations that stood out. As for associations, he didn't seem to have any close ties with the regulars here. Just a quiet guy who enjoyed the performances."

"Especially yours?"

"Well, who wouldn't?" you teased, your gaze locking with his. "I do put on quite a show."

You threw your head back as you moved again and god, it was criminally sensual, the way you danced, unlike anything Spencer had ever seen before. He couldn't put into words the allure you possessed. When you ran a hand over your skin, dipping into every curve, he was unable to hold back any longer, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. 

"It seems that way," he murmured, his voice dangerously low as he leaned back in his seat.

His jaw then slacked open, heavy breaths being ragged out as he got a better look at you when you started to approach him. Your hair shone under the lights, red-painted lips ghosting upon your lips as you straddled his lap. You leaned into him, placing a knee on each side of his thigh to press into the thick, leather chair. 

"Is this also part of the show?" he softly asked.

You chuckled, the sound low and sultry, matching the tempo of the music. "Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't." The palm of your hands slid over his arms, sending warmth along his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. "Depends on what you want it to be, Dr. Reid."

You swore you could see his muscles tense when your fingers glided over his shoulder, and with a sharp inhale, his head fell against the seating. He was even more handsome up close. He had soft skin, a sharp jaw covered with a soft stubble, and brown-colored eyes that shone underneath the fluorescent lights.

His breath caught as you moved in closer, the distance between you diminishing rapidly. The proximity between you two grew more intense, and his initial purpose of discussing the case became a distant memory. 

Your lips hovered close to his ear as you whispered, "Do you want me to continue?"

Spencer's mind raced as he struggled to maintain composure. The unexpected turn of events left him breathless, his professional facade gradually giving way to your seduction. It was as if his fantasies were playing out right before his eyes. Having you perched on his lap, the intimate proximity, the charged atmosphere—all of it seemed to align with his imagination.

Then a low, almost invisible, "Yes," escaped his lips.

The single word carried a weight that hung in the air as if the room itself was holding its breath. It was enough of an answer as you slowly lowered your hips. Your thighs parted for him, and you pressed your center against him, letting out a low gasp when you felt how hard he already was.

It shouldn't have surprised you, after all, it was the usual reaction to every man you had to entertain. Maybe it was the unfamiliar setting that had you growing hot; to be on someone's lap who was a high authority, someone who was here for work, someone who wasn't even paying for your time. Yet you couldn't help it, especially when his hands found your hips, urging you to move.

You obeyed, beginning to press your aching cunt against his bulge, rocking your hips softly back and forth. As you do, your silk panties slid over his pants, earning a hiss from his parted lips. You couldn't help but smirk as your palms pressed to his shoulders, offering stability as your hips rolled against his body.

You felt the warmth flooding between your thighs as you grind your folds against him, earning a few twitches of his hips in return. You would normally call in security if any of your clients touched you inappropriately. The club patrons could touch, but there was a policy of grabbing, holding, or leaving marks. 

And what Spencer was doing surpassed all the rules. One, he wasn't even a client, and two, you would be in trouble if you were caught enjoying this. Your job was to entertain people, not be entertained. Yet you were far too gone to think of the consequences. The fear of getting caught still weighed on your mind, but with your throbbing clit pressing to him as you rode him, the worries diminished faster than they could build.

You couldn’t deny the bliss that filled your body. Grinding against him had you lost in the moment, legs beginning to quiver as his fingers pressed into your hips harder, head falling back, curses pouring from his lips. His nails began to press to your flesh and it should have inflicted you pain, but instead, you were even more drawn to him that you reached for his belt.

"May I?" You whispered, eyes locking with his. He wasn't sure it was the wisest idea to submit to whatever plan you had in mind, but he found himself nodding, and a few moments later you were already busy undoing his pants.

Your fingers hook into the band of his briefs next, urging the fabric down with assistance from him as his hardened cock spring free. He bit down on his bottom lip, anticipating your every move a second before your fingers wrapped around his girth. Slipping your grip to his swollen, reddened tip, a hiss spilled from his parted lips, and then your palm slid back down his length as his hips pushed forward into your grasp.

"That—" He struggled to say, too focused on the way you dragged your palm up and down his length. "That feels good."

This earned you a smile. He felt thick and warm in your grip and your eyes instantly took in the sight; of his hard cock pulsing in your hand, of his brow creasing as you continued your movements. You watched as his tongue swiped over his lips again when your other hand reached for your panties, slipping the silk to the side, enough to ease his cock between your folds before adjusting the fabric back in its place.

You both let out a gasp at the feeling of him pressed to your flesh, trapped by the tight fabric holding him in place. You nearly lost your mind just as he did the moment you began to rock your hips once again. Juices dripping from your center made it effortless to slip back and forth over his cock, and with your arousal coating his flesh on the underside, and your silk panties caressing him on the other, he couldn't hold back any longer.

He held you in place as his hips met yours frantically. God, you were such a dream; Spencer couldn't believe this was happening. You were such a fantasy. Every moan escaping your lips seemed to cast a spell that held him captive. It was wrong of him to fully enjoy this, yet he couldn't help but be mesmerized by you.

The way you moved along his throbbing cock was such a sight to see. Or the way your head fell back as you satisfied yourself, your jaw slacking as you looked at him through hooded eyes. Your soft whimpers begin to flood his ears, and it urged him to give you more as he told you how fucking good you felt, how fucking wet you were, and how fucking beautiful you looked, even with your hair sticking onto your face from all the sweat.

Fingers brushed loose strands of hair from your eyes and it took so much of your self-control not to kiss him. Kissing your clients was another one of the policies, and it was something you shouldn't even consider of breaking, so instead you focused on the growing heat that stretched along your core.

Your hips increased their pace, rolling against him to offer the both of you relief, your clit swelling with a need for release as you felt his cock pulsing between your wet folds.

Your thighs began to shake around him, giving him the courage to pump his hips a few times, catching you off guard. Gasping, you arched your back, continuing to move your hips over his, using him to find release as his cock rested between your folds and the fabric of your silk panties. You felt yourself growing hot, needy, aroused, dripping along his length, making the sensation all the more electrifying.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your entire body trembling. “I-I’m gonna come.” 

“Come,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “Come on my cock, Angel. Let me feel you.” 

His words sent a rush of electricity through your body, out to every tingling limb and curled toe, and there was nothing you could do but lose the last shred of control you were holding onto. Your moans poured from your lips louder than before, but you had a hard time caring as the bliss swelled within you. 

You called out his name, again and again between desperate whimpers and gasps, thighs tightening around him as you rode out your orgasm, not slowing your pace until the wave washed over you.

When you relaxed against him, he took hold of your body, wrapping his arms around you as he began to thrust from below, fucking himself between your soaked folds and silk panties. After a few moments, you grew completely weak, allowing him to take control, allowing him to hold onto you, allowing him to use you to get off until the moment a sharp inhale filled your ears.

Thick ropes of white spilled from the hem of your panties, soaking through the fabric and coating your flesh. His breath stalled for a moment before he released another exhale, head falling back as his hips attempted to keep thrusting, yet he lost all momentum as the pleasure took hold of him.

You sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, surprised by the way his hands brush delicately over your hips, skimming across your lower back in a soothing motion. "What time do you get off tonight?"

You met his gaze. "Late, as usual," you replied, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "Why do you ask?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment before answering, his hands still tracing soothing patterns on your back. 

"I was thinking... maybe we could continue this later," he admitted, his voice a low murmur. "In a more private setting."

You raised your eyebrows. "Is that part of the investigation, Dr. Reid?"

"It could be," A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Or maybe I'm far from done with you."

“Oh?” Thoroughly amused, you hummed. "Is that so?"

He nodded and looked at you through half-lidded eyes. "Tell me what time you get off."

It wasn't a question anymore; it was a demand, and a shiver ran down your spine. 

God, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to taste him, no, you needed to taste him. You had never craved someone as much as you did now. Maybe it was the unmistakable glint in his eye or the way he spoke to you then that had you caving in, or maybe it was the thought of his cock buried deep inside your cunt that your answer slipped off your tongue without much thought. 

It was too easy for you to tell him what time your shift ended when all you wanted was for him to fuck you senselessly.

"I finish at two," you quickly responded. 

Spencer's half-lidded eyes seemed to darken, his features betraying a hunger that mirrored your own desires. "Meet me at the back exit at two, then."

A coy smile played on your lips as you met his intense gaze. Honestly, you would let him fuck you right there and then, but you had to be patient. Time couldn't move faster than you wished. 

[hearts4renaa]

YOU'RE LOSING ME.

summary: how the love began to die out between you and them. featuring kamisato ayato, alhaitham, diluc, and zhongli. gn! reader (see a/n below) pt. 2 here w/c: 2.1k words in total a/n: inspired by the new vault track from midnights by taylor swift. meant to be a gender neutral reader but one of the lyrics i reference uses "her". otherwise, no pronouns used.

And I wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser, who only wanted you to see her.

“I’ll be entering an arranged marriage to the daughter of another clan.” Ayato said matter of factly, as if it was as casual as discussing the weather. Today was the off day Ayato had free. He’s been so busy the past month that he barely has time for you. You can’t even remember the last time the two of you woke up together. He always slept late and woke up earlier than you. The affection was rarely there too; The usual loving kisses and cuddles were reduced to pecks on the cheek and pats on the arm. This was one of the rare times you were actually able to sit down with him. 

The air was tense, almost impossible to breathe in. What was supposed to be a romantic dinner quickly turned sour the moment Ayato announced a piece of news you never wanted to hear. “I’ll be meeting her in two weeks. I’m expecting the marriage ceremony to take place within the next three months or so.” He wasn’t looking at you, instead more focused on the food in front of him. Your chopsticks fall from your hands, the clatter piercing the silence between you two. Ayato looks at you, completely deadpanned. You take the moment to really, truly look at him. His expression was standoffish, and his eyes were dispassionate. Just where did that loving gaze go? “What?” He asks.

“Ayato, you can’t just expect me to be happy about this.” You huff in frustration, picking up your chopsticks and setting them down in a proper manner. “When you accepted the proposal, did you just forget about our relationship? About me?” 

Ayato rolled his eyes and sighed. “You’re acting like I declared undying love for her. I’m simply doing what’s best for the clan, and for Inazuma as a whole.” He puts down his chopsticks as well, clearly not focused on eating anymore. “It’s not like I’m ending things with you. Marrying her opens many opportunities I can’t pass on.”

“You’re not ending things with me, but you’re just gonna go off and marry some girl?” Your heart broke a little more with every word. If someone were to listen closely, they could probably hear each individual crack. “Ayato, our relationship has already been wavering a little…you’re so busy. It’s like you just can’t fit me into your schedule.” Your eyes start to become glossy, and you need to swallow back your tears to fight against them falling. “How can I expect us to stay together when you need to make room for two spouses now? I thought love meant more to you than business did.” Your voice cracked with every syllable that fell from your lips.

Ayato stood up from his seat on the floor, adjusting his sleeves and beginning to make his way to the door. He slides it open before stopping in place. “Marrying her has a lot to offer.” He speaks, but he isn’t even looking at you.

“And I don’t?” You ask. You didn’t even know if you wanted the answer to that. Luckily for you, he didn’t answer at all. He looked back at you from over his shoulder. He takes a breath, and you feel as if he’s stealing the air straight out of your lungs. He turns his head back and sighs. He steps forward, leaving the room. 

The door shuts, and you are left in silence.

And I’m fading, thinking: Do something babe, say something.

With Alhaitham being appointed as Acting Grand Sage, it’s only natural that his workload for the Akademiya would increase. However, if there’s one thing that Alhaitham truly hates, it’s when unnecessary work piles up and begins to leak into his personal life, like a bucket overflowing with water. A work-life balance can only go so far before work begins to completely tilt the scale in its favor. Naturally, this takes away from time the two of you could spend together.

Normally, that would be completely fine with you. You knew Alhaitham was a busy man with a busy lifestyle. It’s completely reasonable for him to not throw aside his work just for you. Alhaitham always tries to make time for you, to show you his affection in small ways that don’t take up too much time. Either with tea he makes for you before he leaves for work, small trinkets that begin to appear on your bedside table, or a hushed declaration of love when he accidentally wakes you up when he rises early. But recently, his efforts have been slowly dwindling. You no longer wake up to the smell of tea. You no longer reach over to your nightstand in a sleepy haze, only to feel an object that was not there before. You no longer hear an “I love you” amongst the sound of your bedsheets ruffling in the early hours of the morning.

Of course, you noticed. So you took it amongst yourself to try and do something to express your love. You usually go to sleep before him, but here you are in the living room, waiting for him to return. It’s already quite late, and you fight back a yawn every twenty minutes or so, but you’re determined to stay awake to greet him. The smell of his favorite food wafts in from the kitchen, and you smile while thinking of his reaction. You might not be a Michelin star chef, but you pour love into everything you make him.

Finally, the door opens, and there he is. His eyes are tired, and an annoyed expression is etched onto his face. “Hey, honey.” You shoot up from your seat to greet him at the door. His head snaps in your direction slightly, not expecting you to still be awake. He lets out a little grunt as a response. You can tell he’s in a bad mood, but you keep pushing. “You’re home late.” You state before realizing how you pointed out the painfully obvious.

“I always am.” His voice is monotone, cold. He walks straight past you, barely even sparing you a glance.

Your hope begins to falter, but you try again. “Are you hungry? I made you dinner.” You reach your hand out to lightly touch his. He pulls his hand away with no hesitation. You feel the familiar sting deep in your stomach, and you try your best to ignore it. You clear your throat as if to rid the moment of his past action before speaking again. “Then, maybe we could eat together-”

He groans aloud. “Can you just be quiet?” He snaps. His voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t filled with love or hate. It was indifference, and in all honesty, that hurt so much more. “I’m exhausted. The last thing I need today is you nagging me.” 

You falter, as if you were shrinking away in a desperate attempt to try and disappear. “Right.” Your voice is quiet, meek. “Of course.” You turn away to walk into the kitchen, and you hear your shared bedroom door slam shut. You sit at the dinner table, gazing at the untouched meals on the opposite ends. Your hand moves to touch the spoon and stir it around in the food, but any outsider could tell that you have no intention of eating a single bite. 

For the rest of the night, you sit there alone as the food goes cold.

Lose something babe, risk something. (You’re losing me.)

If there’s one thing Diluc strives to do, it’s protect you. He lost his father already, he can’t risk losing you too. It brings him peace to know that you’re safe at Dawn Winery, away from things that can bring you harm. But even though he is protective, it’s not as though he keeps you locked inside the house. He knows of your adventurous spirit and he would never want to hurt you. However, he has a habit of being a little paranoid. The people of Mondstadt are aware of your relationship, but he rarely lets the two of you be seen together. He prefers things quite private, but you’re starting to get a little sick of it.

You just returned from a small commission; it’s been ages since you’ve done one. It felt so refreshing to wield your weapon and go on a mini adventure! Even if it was just a few slimes near Windrise, the experience was one you haven’t had in far too long. You end up with a small cut on your hand, but you look at it in pride as you walk back to the winery. You open the heavy door, and you’re met with the face of your lover.

“Y/N, where were you?” Diluc’s question is loud, his voice laced in concern. A second barely passes, and he’s already by your side. He catches sight of your hand and cages it in his larger ones. “Why is your hand hurt?”

You shake him off lightly, heading to the couch to set your things down. “I took a small commission.” You explain. “Just a little group of slimes. My hand got cut, but I’m okay. Don’t worry about it!” You attempt to reassure him, but the crease in his eyebrows doesn't go away.

“Y/N, how many times have I told you?” Diluc scolded. He folds his arms over his chest. “You don’t need to take commissions. I provide for us enough already.”

Your eyes roll before you can stop them. You can feel your frustration rise inside you. “I didn’t take the commission for the money, Diluc.” You huff at him. “I wanted an adventure, even if it was a small one. It’s the experience I wanted.”

Diluc scoffs. “Oh, so getting hurt is an enjoyable experience for you?” Diluc never had the most friendly tone, but you’d have to be truly clueless to miss the sarcasm weaved into his words.

“By the Seven, Diluc, it was a cut!” You exclaim. “All of this over a cut?”

He looks you in the eyes. “You know I just want you to be safe.”

Your eyes softened slightly, biting your lip. “But Diluc, you play it too safe sometimes.” You grab your weapons and bag again, adjusting your jacket before heading towards the door. Despite just getting home, you felt the need to get away, to cool off. Maybe to kill some other monsters, you weren’t sure.

“Where are you going?” He asks.

“Out.” You respond curtly. You weren’t sure of your destination, but you didn’t care. You just needed to be away from him.

“Y/N-“ He called out. You cut him off by slamming the heavy winery doors.

Choose something babe, I’ve got nothing to believe, unless you’re choosing me.

“I love you.” Zhongli murmured, knuckles turning white with how hard he was gripping his pole arm. He towered over you, who was on the ground in a pool of blood. The metallic smell was hard to ignore. “I love you, I truly do. And I always will.”

You laugh bitterly. “You love me, and you caused my injury.” You use your hand to weakly gesture towards your torso. “Some love you have…”

Zhongli grips his weapon even harder. He digs the heels of his feet into the group as an effort to ground himself. He knew that if he were to take a single step, he’d run to you, and he’s not sure if he can stop himself. He takes a breath to calm himself, and every breath of air he breathes makes him wish he could breathe that same life into you instead. “It’s for my nation.” He says as calmly as he can. Oh, how he wished he could run to you, kiss you, and heal you. He continues with bated breath. “You know I cherish my nation.”

You cough, blood splattering out. “More than you cherish me?” You ask weakly. “More than you cherish us?”

Zhongli’s eyes soften with sadness. “Yes…more than I cherish you, my love.”

You sigh, suddenly feeling the fatigue hit you like a truck. You’re so tired. So, so tired. You voice out your thoughts. “I’m exhausted, Zhongli.” Your voice is weak, along with your body.

“I’m sorry.” He says before facing away from you. He can’t bear to look at you in this state. He can’t bear to see what he’s done to you. He takes slow steps away, using all his willpower to not turn around and run to your side.

“I love you, Zhongli.” You call out.

He takes one final look. “I love you too, dearest.”

A sad, soft smile etches itself onto your face. Your eyelids droop, and eventually, they flutter closed. Zhongli stares at you sadly. His weapon drops to the ground, making a loud clatter. The silence is deafening. He peers at your lifeless body before closing his eyes. “You’ll always be my favorite story.” He whispers.

A single tear falls from his eyes.