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strawbeerossi · 8 months

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Sweet Treat

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Penelope gives you aphrodisiac chocolates as a gag gift. Whenever you and Spencer have a movie night, you both don’t realize what sweets you are delving into.

Content/Warnings: Awkward little banter between friends, mutual pining is mentioned, food/eating, aphrodisiacs, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2.4K

Kinktober Day Twenty Three: Aphrodisiacs

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

“Penelope, what the hell is this?” You asked, a laugh leaving your lips as you looked over the container of what looked to be normal chocolate. “Well! I found it online and apparently it’s some of that chocolate that you eat and you just wanna go crazy on the first person you see.” She giggled.

A girls night meant all sorts of things but whenever Penelope pulled out presents, you knew exactly where this was going. You and the girls had met up at her place about an hour ago. After ordering Chinese takeout and having way too much wine, the night had taken a bit of a turn when it came to discussions. Women talk. Sex was a main topic between you and your small friend group.

“So you are giving them to me?! P, I don’t even have a boyfriend.” You laughed. “Who needs a boyfriend whenever you can have fun with anyone in the world. Just keep them.”

And so you did. It was days after the fact whenever you were inviting Spencer over for a marathon of your favorite show. It was going to be fun, you and your best friend from the office watching your favorite show together. He’d offered to pick up food on the way, which he’d stuck with a good Thai place that you both had eaten at numerous times before whenever you got back from a particularly late case.

Spencer was your best friend on the team, the both of you being closer in age compared to the rest of the crew you worked with. Plus you had similar interests when it came to books, movies, among other things. You’d greeted him with a wide smile the minute the door opened. “Hey!” You grinned while moving to hug him. Despite his disdain for hugs or being touched, he’d slowly began to let you in more. He was happy to hug you or have you hold his hand whenever you needed to pull him somewhere else in a crowded room without losing him.

He enjoyed being by your side. Honestly, he was sure he was in love with you because of how caring you were. You listened to his rambles and even asked him further questions. You even laughed at the jokes that were complicated to understand. You were truly a light shining bright on the team. “I hope you have snacks because I didn’t even stop.” Spencer groaned after returning the hug with one arm as his foot kicked the front door shut. “I do. I have a lot in the kitchen.” You assured.

You'd started the new season of your show together and gotten through dinner within a few episodes before Spencer disappeared into the kitchen as you paused the program on tv. “Don’t take too long! I gotta see how this plays out!” You called while leaning back against the couch, pulling the blanket over your body while letting out a soft hum. Spencer had ended up grabbing some chocolate. Which he didn’t read over the label as he grabbed a tab from the container and looked it over. “That’s cute. It’s got little shapes.” He chuckled to himself, breaking one in half as he was moving to take a bite from the rich milk chocolate. It was to die for, so he had to take the other half to you so you could try before you both tore into the bag together.

“Try this. It’s so rich. I actually love it.” He’d commented. You weren’t paying attention to what the chocolate looked like, bringing it up to your nose and smelling it before you were pulling the piece in your mouth. Which it was delicious, your eyebrows raising. “Wow, that really is good.” You laughed, watching as Spencer was sitting down and passing over snacks to you. “We can eat the chocolate later. You know sweet stuff can either send me flying on the walls or I end up feeling bad to do anything.” Fair enough.

It was an hour later when you were on another episode, your body was feeling hot as you shifted uncomfortably on the couch. You wouldn’t like to think that you were attracted to the program, it was a horror series and you were in the middle of a chase scene. So why else were you squirming?

Just as you were going to excuse yourself to take care of the heat in your belly, you noticed Spencer shifting uncomfortably, a pillow resting over his lap. Then you thought about the chocolate, your eyes widening as you were shooting up from the couch and rushing to the kitchen. Spencer watched you, turning slightly on the couch to watch you curiously through the doorway. That’s when you see the box, a soft groan leaving your lips as you lifted up the sex candy while bringing a hand up to rest against your face. ‘

Just great. You knew you should’ve just put it in your room.

“Spencer.” The sound of your voice had him nearly jumping out of his skin as he quickly faced the tv again. “Yeah?” He asked as his hand clutched the pillow harder. Maybe you’d caught him. Even someone who wasn’t a profiler could tell there was something going on, not to mention the growing tension between the both of you.

Mutual pining was normal and you both weren’t exempt from that. Spencer was an awkward rambler but you found it endearing. Just as he found you as equally as endearing even if you were quiet a good majority of the time and relished in his ramblings about whatever was brought up. You both enjoyed each other's presence, the two of you spending time together more often than not.

Those unsaid mutual feelings made this whole situation worse.

You approached the couch again as you slowly sat down beside Spencer again, body leaning back against the couch as you could feel yourself hot, face flushed as you couldn’t sit still to save your life. Spencer had now taken notice, clearing his throat. “I-I uh.. I may need to leave soon. M-mom’s facility called.” A lie but it would be a smooth getaway.

“Oh, yeah. Uh, it might be for the best! I forgot that I have to..” Your eyes glanced around the room. “Reorganize my bookshelf!” Less subtle. “R-right. Uh, This seems weird but can you close your eyes for a minute? I just..” His eyes were glued on the pillow, making you bring your eyes down as well. “O-oh.”

“It’s not because of the show!” He squeaked, face bright red as he was looking back at the screen. “I don’t- I don’t know why but I was looking at you and it just.. I don’t know!” He whined. His awkwardness made it hard for him to admit why there was a pillow on his lap outright, however you had clocked the reasons why.

“You know the chocolate..? Uh, Penelope gave me them the other day as a joke and they are.. They are essentially just sex chocolate.” Your face was hot, chest rising and falling as you were feeling the gush of slick in your panties from the heightened arousal. “Wait. Aphrodisiacs?!” Spencer was looking at you with wide eyes, mouth agape in shock. Well, at least he didn’t feel as bad from getting hard after giving you a few glances. There was a reason behind it.

The both of you stared at one another, faces hot and eyes blown out with lust. “So uh.. How long does this last?” Spencer finally asked, his brain being too clouded over with lust as he stared in your direction. “I-I wouldn’t know.. I never used them.” Your nose crinkled as the both of you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from one another. “I, uh, I lied about my reason to leave.” He stated the obvious while you couldn’t help but let a little laugh escape your lips. “I know..” You admitted, slowly pushing yourself to stand. “I um.. I don’t actually have to reorganize my bookshelf either..” You laughed awkwardly while heading over to stand in front of your best friend, hand moving to gently rest over the pillow. “I don’t want you to go.. Not yet. Can you, um, help me out a little bit? I trust you and you are here.” You rambled on as you put your hands together slowly. Spencer was looking at you with wide eyes as he nodded slowly.

“I’ll help.” You were both a bit awkward at first, the male letting you move the pillow before you were straddling his waist, the show in the background continuing to run as your best friend was blushing nervously. “I gotta admit that I’ve only done this one time before..” He spoke while you offered a smile. “It’s alright.” You whispered as you let your head dip down to connect your lips with his. Your bodies were buzzing with electricity as you were deepening the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair while his hands were gripping your hips.

You never thought you’d be in this position, tongue in your closest friend’s mouth while your hips were grinding down against his. You felt a fire inside of you, your body desperate to be bare and touched. As you pulled out of the kiss much to Spencer’s dismay, you were tugging your shirt over your head before tossing it somewhere else in the room. The sight of your breasts in a white bra had Spencer’s Adams apple bobbing as his eyes were trained on the lace that accentuated your skin. “It’s pretty right? One of my favorites.” You comment while watching his eyes stare at your tits with a new sense of hunger in his eyes.

You took it as a great sign as your hand was reaching behind you, unclasping the top before letting it fall somewhere with your shirt. His hands were quickly coming up to cup your breasts before he was just diving right in, wet kisses being pressed against your skin before his lips were wrapping around your nipple, tongue flicking over the nub as your fingers tangled in his hair. “Fuck.” You cursed while his attention was focused on your chest.

Your body was perfect.

As he had gotten enough though, he was pulling back to examine your chest that was covered in a few hickies and your hardened nipples. “You look so pretty.” It wasn’t akin to being called a whore or a slut but you honestly liked it. The way he complimented your body had your cheeks heating up as you were lifting your hips when he had gained enough confidence to work on your pants. He’d tugged down your pants and panties before working on his own pants.

“Eager?” You commented, a little giggle leaving your lips as Spencer looked at you as if you’d grown another head. “Have you seen yourself?! Of course I’m eager!” He defended himself, causing the both of you to share a laugh. “I hate to rush this but-” He was cut off by a groan as your hand reached between you both to give his leaking cock a few tugs. “I know, me too. You can make up for the lack of foreplay later.” You wiggled your eyebrows as you pressed your lips against his once more, your leaking hole sinking down onto his cock.

The both of you had let out moans muffled in one another’s mouths as your hips rocked slowly, getting adjusted to the man’s thick cock. It was always the awkward nerds who had the best surprises.

Your head was falling on his shoulder as he held your hips with a bruising grip. He wasn’t one to have sex often, not being lucky like Derek in the department of women effortlessly throwing themselves at him. He knew that this scenario was one he never imagined happening, your velvety walls clenching tightly around this bare cock while you essentially used him as a human dildo to get yourself off.

He wasn’t complaining in the slightest, watching your face contort in ecstasy as his hips were thrusting upwards to slam into your leaking cunt, a groan falling from his lips as his head tilted back against the sofa. You were whining and moaning with each thrust that he matched with your movements, eventually pushing the one place you needed most. The impact had your hands clutching tightly to his shoulders as you let your mouth fall open with a soft cry.

“Oh my god, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Your words were slurred, the effects of the aphrodisiacs heightening all of your arousal so you felt like you were going to burst at the seams. Your body was hot, hips surely bruised by Spencer’s rough grip as he slammed into you as well as your legs shaking from their position.

When you did hit your peak, you were tightly grabbing Spencer’s shoulders as your hips slammed down into his lap, ass hitting his thighs at an unsteady rhythm. Spencer however, was quickly flipping you both over, your body sprawled out against your living room couch as he was rolling on top of you.

Taking the opportunity, he wasn’t skipping a beat as his hips slammed into yours, your sensitive cunt contracting around his cock as he was bringing himself to climax. As your moans and whines from overstimulation echoed in the apartment, his own whines of desperation were falling from his lips.

His cock twitched inside of your used pussy, quickly making the effort to pull out of you as he jerked at his leaking cock, a low huff leaving his lips as ropes of cum were now pooling in your stomach, glazing your bare skin as he let out a weak whine. As you lay there covered in his spent, your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as you made the effort to catch your breath.

“I think that chocolate needs to be thrown away to avoid incidents like this again,” his voice pulled you out of your post sex haze as you laughed a little. “Are you kidding? I think we need to do this every time we watch our show together.” You teased, making Spencer shake his head with a smile.

“At least hide it for when you have anyone else over. I don’t think I’ll survive if this mix up happens with someone else.”

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joelscruff · 1 year

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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART SIX

previous chapters | again, thank you so much for all the love on this fic. it's so beyond overwhelming and wonderful to know that people are enjoying this story. i hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave me a tip 💕 chapter summary: it's time for your first official "lesson" with joel. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, fingering, oral (f receiving), lap-sitting, grinding word count: 8.7k ao3

You feel ridiculous.

You stare in your bedroom mirror at yourself with a look of pure mortification, assessing the beige dress you're currently wearing that your mother picked out from her own closet, falling to your ankles and bagging off your hips in the most unflattering way imaginable. It looks like a potato sack with long sleeves, long and floppy and absolutely horrendous.

You slowly shake your head at your reflection as she comes up behind you with attentive eyes, assessing the same trainwreck you are. You can see in her expression that she's similarly disappointed in the way it looks.

"I'm not wearing this," you say quietly, trying not to sound too harsh, "Please, Mom, this doesn't fit me right."

She bites her lip, eyes still scanning you up and down, "You're probably right," she sighs.

She wants you to dress modestly for your first lesson with Joel. You'd settled on Saturdays as your official "lesson" day, a perfect choice in your opinion as you now have an excuse to go to his house on the weekend without having to lie to your parents about where you are. You want to appease them in some way, your mom in particular; you've felt so bad about all the lying you've been doing, you feel you owe her something. And that something is apparently agreeing to let her pick your outfit, a decision you're already regretting immensely.

"The navy blue one was nice," you say, gesturing toward one of the other options she's laid out on your bed - one that's actually from your own closet and not hers, "I know I've grown out of it but it's not that short."

She walks over to your bed and picks up the dress in question with an exasperated sigh, eyeing the clock on your night stand, "I guess it'll have to do, we're running out of time. You don't want to be late," she hands it to you quickly, "You'll have to wear stockings with it though."

You nod - that's a compromise you can deal with.

She gives you some privacy to change, leaving you to fight your way out of the oddly shaped beige atrocity on your own. It crumples into a pile at your feet and you kick it to the side with a little too much aggression. Imagine if she'd actually made you wear that - Joel would never want to touch you again.

The thought of Joel sends a rush of warmth throughout your body as you slip into the other dress, velvet and modest but nowhere near as awful as the previous one. You'd talked to him on the phone last night after he'd finished work, cuddled in bed against an extra pillow in place of him - you'd slept so well on Thursday night when you'd slept in his bed, felt so safe and warm in his arms, you're now doing anything you can to replicate it. You'd wrapped his flannel shirt around it, coating it in his scent.

"I miss you," you'd whispered through the phone, the insecurities from the previous night almost nonexistent as you nuzzled your cheek into the fabric of his shirt, "I know I saw you this morning but I can't help it."

He'd laughed lightly, soft and familiar in your ear, "I miss you too, babygirl. Miss havin' you in my bed."

You'd taken only one deep breath before admitting softly, "I miss your cock."

He'd groaned, low and deep, "I know, darlin'. I know you do."

You'd both had simultaneous orgasms about ten minutes later, your name on his lips as he came into his fist and you buried your face in the pillow you wished was him, fingers scissoring inside you. You walk over to your bed now and pull up the mattress a bit, tugging his shirt out from underneath while you have a spare moment alone. You bring it to your face and inhale deeply, eyes closing and heart fluttering; you're obsessed.

"Ready to go?" your mom calls from downstairs, and you quickly shove the flannel back under the mattress, making sure it's hidden before you dash to your dresser to grab a pair of stockings. They're black and stop at your thigh, the edges hidden beneath the dress; you already know Joel will take them off soon enough.

You immediately notice the grimace on your mother's face when you appear at the bottom of the stairs and you wonder what you've done wrong already. She assesses you again without saying anything, gnawing on her lip and circling you a bit.

"Can I go?" you ask quietly, unsure what she's going to say, "I don't wanna be late."

"Where's your crucifix?" she finally says, tilting her head slightly, "I don't think I've seen you wear it all summer."

Astute observation - you haven't worn it all summer. It's still upstairs in your jewelry box, exactly where you'd left it when you went off to college several years ago. You'd begun to resent everything it represented and no longer felt like parading around with it on your neck like you'd done your whole life. The thought of wearing it now after so many years of forgetting it even existed... well, it certainly doesn't appeal to you whatsoever.

But you are trying to make up for all the lying, even if she doesn't necessarily know it.

You plaster a forced smile on your face, "I'll go get it." She mirrors it and nods as you turn around and head back up to your bedroom. Do it for the lessons, you think to yourself calmly.

Looking in the mirror after clasping the gold cross around your neck is a trip to the say the least. You suddenly feel ten years younger, standing in your bedroom preparing for an early service, Sunday School homework crumpled in your backpack and an immense weight of pressure on your shoulders to be perfect. You stare at the crucifix and feel that familiar sense of guilt begin to creep in, surrounding you in a quiet but palpable void of judgement that you've spent years trying to escape.

Why the fuck are you doing this? Why are you so hellbent on following the rules, after everything you've done? Why does the approval of your parents still mean so much to you? How is any of this even worth it?

You swallow back the pain you feel, the guilt, the anger, the resentment, all of it. Now is not the time to have an existential crisis; you have a "lesson" to go to - something you are not going to feel guilty about, no matter how bad your former Catholic brain may want you to.

As if by some ironic miracle, your phone buzzes and you unlock it to see a sudden surge of text messages in your college group chat:

have fun at your lesson 😘

don't do anything we wouldn't do!!!

pls give us all the details later 🥵

ITS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE TO SUCK DICK ON ACCIDENT JUST FYI

A breathless laugh escapes you, relief flooding your body at the sudden sense of normalcy, the reminder that what you're doing is not wrong. You're so glad you told your friends about what's been going on - you can't imagine keeping this secret all to yourself any longer. Knowing that they're there, that they support you and care about you and want you to have these experiences... it's enough for you to turn from the mirror without a second glance.

It's just a fucking necklace.

You arrive on Joel's doorstep at exactly ten o'clock, smoothing down your dress a bit and taking a deep breath before knocking. You're not sure how he's going to react to you standing there in all your Catholic glory, hair down and parted through the middle, crucifix dangling from your neck, hymn book weighing heavily in your purse. You still feel like that past version of yourself, shifting nervously from right foot to left as you stand there waiting for him to open the door.

The knob finally twists and there he stands, tall and broad in front of you. Your eyes widen when you see him, lips parting in surprise - the exact same reaction he has when he sees you.

He's dressed up. No band t-shirt or jeans to be seen, no bare feet or messy hair or disheveled beard. His grey curls are gelled back, demure and handsome, scruff trimmed up to shape his jaw. He's wearing a grey button down tucked into a pair of black dress pants, shoes that look freshly shined. For all intents and purposes, he looks like he's about to go to a church service.

You both stand there staring at each other without saying anything, both pairs of eyes scanning up and down your bodies with almost no regard for politeness. You're speechless, completely in awe of his sudden transformation, a transformation you certainly had not been expecting.

"I thought, uh-" he chokes out, breaking the silence between the two of you as his hand reaches up to awkwardly touch the back of his neck, "I thought your mother might bring you."

You continue to stare at him, a ball of emotion suddenly growing heavy in your throat, "Y-you wore this in case my mom came with me?"

He slowly nods, suddenly looking a bit sheepish as his eyes scan the road behind you for any onlookers, "I wanted to make a good impression."

With a shaky inhale full of a feeling you can't describe, you take a step toward him, unable to stop yourself from reaching forward to grab his hand, "Joel," you whisper, barely audible and almost alien in your mouth - you're so used to calling him Mr. Miller, "That's... that's..." you don't even know what to say, words completely failing you.

"It's no big deal," he says with a small smile, tugging on your hand and urging you to follow him inside, "C'mere."

As soon as the door closes behind you he's grabbing both your hands and pulling back to look at you again, eyes still awestruck. You can't help but feel embarrassed when his gaze freezes on your crucifix.

"My mom made me dress up," you mumble, "I know, it's a lot."

He nods and clears his throat, taking a long exhale through his mouth as he continues to peer at you, "I'm a bad man." Your brow furrows, confused for a moment before he laughs breathlessly and shakes his head, "I am, I must be, 'cause I shouldn't find you wearin' all this so damn sexy."

A giggle slips past your lips, skin warming as he entwines his fingers with yours and moves forward a bit to tower over you, eyes trailing to your lips.

"I mean it, darlin'," he whispers with a tender smile, "You look... fuck, you look pretty."

"Thank you," you whisper back, tilting your head up a bit more, waiting for him to kiss you - and he does. It's soft and sweet, not the type you'd been expecting after a comment like that. He seems slightly reserved as he kisses you, squeezing your hands in his and pulling away far too quickly, "What is it?" you ask quietly, raising an eyebrow, "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head again with a chuckle, "Nothin' at all, babygirl. I'm just... I'm tryin' to keep at least some of these next two hours focused on learnin' guitar."

You make a face, "Oh. Right."

"Remember what I said the other night?" he looks down at you with a playful smirk.

We'll make it sexy.

A smile spreads slowly across your face, "I remember."

He sits you between his legs on the couch, just like the first time he'd touched you. He noses your shoulder and breathes you in, pulls you close as he carefully places the guitar into your lap. His arms are warm and comforting, thighs strong and safe. You lean back into his touch immediately with a sigh of contentment, closing your eyes.

"Now, how am I supposed to teach you if you've got your eyes shut?" he asks with a laugh. You pout and open your eyes again, turning your face a bit to catch a glimpse of his relaxed expression.

"Sorry, it's just - you're distracting."

He snorts and redirects your attention to the task at hand, reaching down to capture your fingers in his and bring them up to the neck of the guitar. It's already distracting having him so close, but you can feel the shape of his cock against your lower back; it's not even hard -not yet, anyway - and your heart is already pounding.

"I mean it," you mutter softly, "I can't think when you're so close to me. Not after..." you trail off, feeling your cheeks warm at the thought, "Not after what we did the other night."

You feel him smile against your jaw, lips ghosting your skin, "I know, it's overwhelmin' isn't it?" His fingers trace the shape of yours, pressing gently against the guitar, "That's normal, sweetheart. We took a big step."

You can't help but lean back into him as he speaks, head coming to rest gently on his shoulder, forehead brushing his neck, "It felt so good," you whisper, secretive and shy, "When you were on top of me like that. When you had your mouth..."

He hums softly in understanding without you having to finish the thought, turns a bit to nose your hairline, "You want my mouth on you again, huh?"

"Yes."

He kisses your skin softly, lingering for a moment before moving his face downward, "How 'bout this?" he murmurs, pressing another soft kiss to the bare skin at your neck, "How 'bout I teach you three chords? Just three," another kiss, this time to the spot above your collarbone, near your crucifix, "and when you can play them for me without my help, I'll give you a reward."

"What kind of reward?" you breathe, eyes closing again as his lips graze your neck back and forth.

"Somethin' that feels really good," he whispers, and you swear you feel the tip of his tongue flutter against you for a brief moment, warm and wet, "Somethin' new I wanna show you, if you'll let me."

"I'll let you do anything," you admit, voice shaky, "You know that."

He smiles against you, then slowly licks a long stripe up from your neck to your cheek, an act that probably would have disgusted a previous version of yourself but now sends you reeling, skin going hot beneath his mouth. You turn your head toward his and he captures your lips in a searing kiss, the kind you'd expected at the door, full of arousal and sex and the promise of more. You're already wet and throbbing when he pulls back to peer at you.

"I know," he murmurs, hand that's not on the guitar coming up to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger, "You'd do anything I asked, huh?" You nod, eyelashes fluttering as he thumbs your chin and whispers, "Such a good girl."

Your mind is empty as he releases your chin and takes your other hand in his, bringing it down to the strings. You let him move you the way he wants to, adjusting you a bit between his legs so you're pressed more firmly against him, his broad chest tight against your back. You can't help but let out a breathless noise, almost a whimper.

"I know," he repeats, voice calm and soothing as he pushes his groin forward so his clothed cock makes even more contact with your lower back, "I know, babygirl, it's so much, isn't it? Feelin' so many different things," he carefully adjusts your fingers on the neck of the guitar, places them on the correct strings and murmurs, "You can do this, I know you can. And then you'll get your reward, I promise."

His words are smooth as butter and have almost no meaning at this point, thoughts foggy as you press down on the strings and try your best to focus on what he's asking of you. You're suddenly completely pliant under his touch - he could pick you up and bend you over the kitchen counter and you'd let him, wouldn't even have a thought in your mind as he did it.

But he won't - that's not why you're here.

Learning guitar chords with a half-hard cock digging into your back and warm breath at your neck is much easier said than done. You don't know how you manage to get through the fifteen minutes it takes you to learn the C chord, and the ten minutes it takes to learn what you think is the D chord - you can't even remember now, you're so distracted by his body against yours. He's teaching you G when you feel yourself slipping, thighs rubbing together to seek some kind of relief. It's never felt like this before; usually you'd be touching yourself at this point or he'd be touching you. The lack of contact almost hurts, your pussy throbbing around absolutely nothing and dampening your underwear, begging silently to be relieved in some way.

"What's wrong?" he whispers, big fingers still pinning yours to the neck of the guitar, stubble scratching against your skin as he presses a feather-light kiss to your ear, "Tell me, darlin'. Why're you wigglin' around like that, huh?"

He knows why; you can feel the smirk on his face, sense the teasing edge to his voice. He's enjoying this, having you completely under his spell while you try your hardest to learn and remember. His cock is getting harder by the second, the movement of your hips and ass certainly not helping the situation by any means. You know what it looks like now, what it feels like, can picture it in your mind growing stiffer and stiffer, leaking from the tip through his pants.

"Feels f-funny," you manage to whimper, forcing yourself to strum out your first G with shaky results. You try again, pushing your fingers more firmly against the strings with Joel's help, feeling his nose trailing gently across your temple.

"What feels funny, sweetheart?" he murmurs, and part of you wants to rip yourself from between his legs, toss the guitar to the floor, and straddle his lap, grind yourself down on him. You've never done it before but you can suddenly see it in your mind plain as day, an obvious solution to the problem in your panties that's growing worse by the second.

"My pussy," you moan, closing your eyes and tilting your head against his shoulder again, hands loosening on the guitar, "It hurts."

He pulls you in closer, inhales your perfume and releases a low groan, "Poor baby," he murmurs, "I know, honey, you're just achin' to be touched, huh?" He tightens your fingers against the strings again, eyelashes fluttering against your neck, "Come on, sweet girl, you almost got it, you're so close."

You're not sure he intends for that to have a double meaning but it makes you groan nonetheless, a weak sound that makes him chuckle. He removes his fingers from yours and waits for you to show him the chord without help - you can feel his eyes on you as you shakily strum. You wince when it comes out sounding wrong.

"Gotta push down harder," he murmurs, "You almost got it, babygirl, show me."

"I can't," you whimper, shaking your head, "I can't, Mr. Miller, it's too much, please."

"Shhh," he soothes, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck, "You can, darlin'. You're doin' so good." You feel him pull your dress up in the back as he speaks, and then he's suddenly pulling you up and into his lap, sitting you directly on his clothed cock. "You just gotta push a little bit harder." He grinds against you at the word, firm and purposeful, pinning you to the solid length of him.

"Oh my god," you gasp out, awestruck by the feeling of him, so big and thick and warm beneath you. Your pussy continues to pulse and throb and you know you're already starting to soak the nice pair of dress pants he'd worn for you, covering his crotch in your slick.

It's somehow still not enough. You find yourself grinding down onto him, matching his own movements as your hands squeeze the guitar and your thighs push together. You whimper pitifully in his lap, squirming and making a mess but too horny to care about how ridiculous you probably look.

"You feel my cock against your pussy, baby?" he asks, voice low and deep, and all you can do is nod frantically, a moan tearing from your throat, "That feel better? Think you can play now?"

You truly don't think you can, but he's clearly still waiting for you to show him. Your whole body is on fire, hands trembling as you push your fingers against the strings as hard as you can, strumming out the G chord with more success this time. You sigh in relief, loosening your grip on the guitar and leaning back into his touch.

"Now show me all three," he whispers.

"Mr. Miller," you groan, frustration and arousal starting to fully overtake you, "Please."

"Shhh," he repeats, "Shh, baby, it's okay. It's okay, I'll touch you this time. Just play those three chords while I play with your pussy, alright? Can you do that for me?"

You nod again, swallowing tightly as you reposition your fingers on the neck of the guitar and try to remember where they're supposed to go for the C chord. It's impossible to focus as Joel snakes his arm up around your belly, slips his hand down beneath your dress to where you're aching.

"Lemme feel," he murmurs, fingertips tickling over the wet spot of your panties and pressing down gently against you, "Oh, she's throbbin', babygirl." You moan again, borderline hysterical as he uses two fingers to circle your hole through the fabric, callused tips prodding your folds. "Shhh, I know, baby, I know. Keep goin honey, keep playin'."

You don't know how you do it, have absolutely no idea how you manage to actually strum out the chords while he's touching you like this, but you do. You shakily play the C as he slips his index finger inside your panties and places it against your hole, feels how much you're dripping for him and groans into your neck.

"Always so fuckin' wet for me," he murmurs, "Never even had a cock inside you and your pussy's so ready for it every time, babygirl, just beggin' to be filled up."

He pushes both his index and middle fingers inside as you play the D chord, slipping them in with barely any resistance as you grip the guitar and try your hardest to keep going, to not give up - you're so close, in more ways than one. You whimper when the tips of his fingers brush gently against that spongey part inside you that you can't reach yourself.

"That's it," he encourages you softly, slowly beginning to fuck you with them, pulling them out and pushing them back in as he noses your neck and breathes you in as you tremble, "I know, sweetheart, feels so good, doesn't it? One more, baby, one more."

Tears are stinging in your eyes as you strum out the G chord, the last one you need to play in order to get your reward, to end Joel's teasing and finally get what you were promised. You push your fingers down as hard as you can and play it with a finality that makes him smile against your skin.

"All done," he murmurs, taking the guitar from you with one hand and tossing it to the other end of the couch. You moan out a sound of relief and he pulls you in close, holds you firm against his lap and speeds up his fingers, fucking you harder and smiling wider when you cry out in pleasure, "Good girl, angel, good girl."

You can't speak, jaw going lax and eyes hooded as his fingers plunge in and out, his other hand spread on your belly as he pushes you down onto his cock. You turn your head slightly to bury your face in his neck, biting down on your lip and letting the sensations overwhelm you, whimpering when you feel his cock twitch and pulse through the material.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks huskily, "Didn't even wanna learn guitar today, did you? Just wanted to come over and be my good little girl, get fucked by my fingers and grind against my cock, that right?"

You're unable to answer any of his questions, letting your body do all the talking for itself as you become completely loose and pliant under his touch, a ragdoll in his lap as whimpers continue to escape your mouth.

"Wearin' this little dress," he murmurs, "And these fuckin' socks," the hand that's not on your pussy comes down to rest on your thigh, squeezes the bare spot between your dress and your stocking, "Just beggin' to be touched, babygirl."

You should've seen what I had on before I left the house, you think to yourself, remembering the beige potato sack and thanking the heavens that your mother hadn't made you wear it. You watch as Joel pulls up your dress in the front, exposing both of you to the pornographic image of his hand inside your panties, fingers fucking you relentlessly while you drip and soak everything within reach.

"You want your reward now, baby?" he asks you softly, pulling your hair back and pressing a wet kiss to your temple, fingers beginning to slow, "Huh? You wanna try somethin' new?"

"Y-yes," you manage to finally speak, voice faint and weak, "W-want it so bad." And it's true - you don't even know what it is but you're dying for him to do it already, teach you something else that's not just chords on the guitar.

At your words he pulls his fingers out of you and you whine, petulant and frustrated as your hips buck in his lap. Without a word he pulls you off of him and carefully slips off the couch, placing you back against the cushions where he was sitting. You watch with wide eyes as he kneels on the floor in front of you, hands coming up to rest on your knees as he slowly pushes your legs apart.

"W-what are you doing?" you whisper, but a small voice in the back of your mind tells you that you already know, recalling past discussions from your friends that you'd listened to with curiosity. Is he...? Is he really going to?

"Gonna kiss it better, baby," he breathes, hands trailing up to the edges of your stockings and carefully thumbing your bare skin, shuffling closer and looking up at you with those big brown eyes, "Gonna make you feel so good."

"Isn't it..." you feel yourself frowning, thoughts muddled, "Don't guys not like..." you're not sure how to word it, grimacing, "Aren't you supposed to hate doing that?"

His brow furrows, "And where'd you hear that from?"

"My friends at college," you breathe, "They say guys hate doing it. Or... or they don't know how to do it right or something like that."

He surprises you when he smirks, eyes going devilish and sexy in that rugged way you love, "That's 'cause college girls usually sleep with college boys, babygirl," he says softly, "And college boys are dumb as rocks."

You giggle at his words, thinking back to that freshman party you'd attended where the handsome college boy had rejected you, gone for your friend instead. Joel's words are validating, comforting.

He pushes up your dress a bit more, then drags your panties down your legs, completely soaked. He smirks again at the sight of them, squeezes them in his palm before dropping them to the floor and picking your legs up to place them on his shoulders, pulling you toward him. You let out a gasp, eyes going hooded again as he scoots you forward and then dips his head down, presses a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.

"This," he murmurs against your skin, "is one of my favorite things to do in the whole world." He kisses your other thigh, the hint of his tongue just barely flicking out to wet your skin, "And I wanted to do it to you," another kiss, "since the first day," and another, "you showed up on my doorstep."

You're losing your breath again, lips parting as he finally brings his lips to where you're aching for him, soaking the couch with your arousal. He presses a small and tender kiss to one of your outer lips, then the other, then carefully moves his hands up to thumb them apart, holding you open for him. You don't dare make a sound, biting down hard on your lip as you watch him look at you, take you in.

"Prettiest pussy I ever saw," he says quietly, breath fanning out over your wet skin, "I mean it, sweetheart. Ain't never gotten to kiss a pussy like this," he leans forward then and presses a small kiss to your clit, feather light. Your hips buck immediately, an odd sound coming from the back of your throat as you try to keep yourself together, "I know," he murmurs, "Just let go, honey. Don't hold back, want you to come all over my mouth."

And then he's licking a stripe up your folds, just like he'd done to your neck, long and languid and wet. Your eyes roll back, head hitting the back of the couch as he tastes you. The feeling of his mouth on such a sensitive part of you is indescribable; your head is suddenly empty again, no thoughts to be found other than feels so good, feels so good, feels so good. You don't even realize you're saying it out loud until he laughs, mouth vibrating against your pussy in the most perfect way.

"Love this cute little clit," he murmurs, kissing it again and then tugging it into his mouth with his tongue, sucking on it and making you writhe on the couch, fingernails digging into the cushions. He hums around it, pulls off it relatively quickly, then drags his mouth downward and pushes his tongue inside your hole, fucks you with it as your head lolls atop your shoulders.

College boys really are dumb as rocks.

"Your tongue," you moan out, eyes scrunching together as gasps continuously rip from your throat, "Oh fuck, oh my god." He licks inside you, pulls his tongue out to suck your labia, nose bumping against your clit. You shriek, hands coming up to cover your face as you bite down so hard on your lip you fear you might draw blood.

"Tastes so fuckin' sweet, babygirl" he says gruffly, pulling away for only a few seconds to peer up at you, chin glistening with your juices, "Just like I knew you would." He drops back down to suckle on your clit again, the tip of his tongue circling it over and over until you're on the verge of completely falling apart, a fire burning inside your belly that's growing stronger and stronger by the second.

The only thought that comes into your mind before you come is how sinful you must look right now, wearing your Sunday best, crucifix around your neck, hymn book strewn to the side as your fifty-six year old neighbor eats your pussy, coaxes noises out of you that you didn't even know you could make. You should feel ashamed, should feel sorry, but you don't. In fact, it's probably the hottest thing you've ever experienced in your life.

You have no time to give him any sort of warning, not that he needs one anyway. With one final suck to your clit you're gone, hips bucking upward as you cry out into Joel's living room pathetically, eyes shut tight as you flail beneath him. He puts his hands on your hips, pins you to the couch so you don't fall off as you come all over his mouth, just like he asked.

You lay there for what feels like a long time, body like jelly as you sink further and further into his couch. He peppers tiny kisses all over your pussy, avoiding your clit as not to cause you too much overstimulation, then very slowly pulls back to look at you, dropping your thighs from his shoulders.

"Good reward?" he asks softly, and all you can do is nod.

You listen as he gets up and busies himself in the kitchen for a moment, running the tap. He returns with a wet cloth and a glass of cold water, handing it to you before dropping back to his knees to wipe you clean. You hiss a bit when he touches your clit, hips stuttering.

"Shh, it's okay," he murmurs, "Just cleanin' you up, sweetheart."

When he's done he scoots in beside you on the couch, lets you curl up against him and lay there for a few quiet moments, breath evening out as you come back down to Earth. He strokes your hair, kisses your forehead, thumbs your cheek.

"That felt really good," you finally whisper softly, eyes hazy as you open them to look at him, "Thank you."

He smiles, charming and gentle, "You're welcome, babygirl."

"What time is it?"

He looks at his watch, "Ten after eleven, still got some time to spare," he brushes his nose against yours, "You wanna keep practicin' or do you wanna relax?"

"Relax," you hum, "Definitely relax."

He chuckles, "I'll put this away then," he extricates himself from you and reaches for the guitar, turning around to lean it back against the wall. He picks up your hymn book and goes to slip it back inside your purse before you sit up, shaking your head.

"I told my mom I loaned that to you," you smile sheepishly, "You should probably, um, keep it for a little bit."

"Ah, so that's my reward," he says with a laugh, thumbing the pages gently, "I'll take good care of it, promise."

Your eyes go wide at his words, "Oh my god."

He raises an eyebrow, puzzled by your reaction, "What?"

"You never came," you sit up on the couch, shaking your head frantically, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, come here, let me help," you reach toward his belt and he just laughs again, taking a step back.

"You don't need to do that, sweetheart," he says softly, kindly, but you're not having it.

"No, I want to, please," you stand up from the couch and step toward him, gripping his belt buckle, "Please let me."

He shakes his head; suddenly he's the one looking sheepish. You halt your movements, staring at him in confusion.

"I came, darlin'," he says with a breathless sort of laugh, smiling at you, "I came in my pants like one of your college boys. Haven't done it in years, actually. I'm surprised I still could." He pulls your hand off his belt and brings it to his lips, presses a kiss to your knuckles, "You're not the only one who learned somethin' new today."

You feel a proud warmth flood your cheeks, smiling softly to yourself as you take his words in.

"That bein' said, I'm gonna need to change," he winces a bit as he adjusts his pants, "I'm a bit of a mess right now." His eyes suddenly light up with some kind of realization, and he quickly puts his finger up before walking over to one of his bookshelves and pulling a little gift bag off the bottom shelf, "Which reminds me," he says with a smile, heading back over to you, "This is for you."

You stare at the bag, confused, "For me?"

"For you."

You take it from him, feeling beyond touched despite not having any idea what's inside. Your heart is beating fast as you reach in the bag, push past the tissue paper and pull out something lightweight, soft under your touch. You stare at it for a few seconds, looking at the pastel pink material and thumbing it gently, brow slowly beginning to furrow.

"You said you needed a new swimsuit," he says softly, "You wanted a bikini, remember? I picked this up for you."

"Yeah, I... I remember," you're still staring at it; it's cute and ruffled, nothing too crazy like the things you'd worried he might get for you. However there's an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach as you look at it, dropping the bag at your feet and holding up the top half in front of your face, staring at it like it could attack you at any second.

It's quiet for a moment, then, "I can take it back if you don't like it, darlin'. No worries."

"No, no, I...I like it," you say quickly, "I just..." you can't really explain how you're feeling, unsure how exactly to word it, "If my parents ever saw me in this..." you suddenly feel like you're going to cry, shaking your head and dropping the top back into the bag, "I'm sorry, I know I told you to get it but... now that I'm actually looking at it... there's no way I can wear this in my pool. Not without my mother having a conniption. I don't know what I was thinking."

You feel his eyes on you as you reach down to pick the bag back up, pushing it back toward him, waiting for him to take it from you - he doesn't.

"It's yours, angel," he says softly, "You don't have to wear it but I want you to have it."

You shake your head, pushing it toward him again, "No, you don't need to waste your money on something I'll never wear."

"I don't care, I want you to have it," he repeats, voice kind yet firm, "I bought it for you, it's a present, and I think you deserve to have somethin' nice for yourself."

"I have plenty of nice things," you snap, letting go of the bag and watching as it cascades to the floor, "I don't need it."

You can't bring yourself to look at him, crossing your arms against your chest and biting down on your lip to keep the tears at bay. He stands there for a few seconds silently, probably waiting for you to say something else, but you don't.

"Well, I'm gonna go change outta these clothes," he says quietly, "I'll meet you out on the back deck, alright? It's real private out there, don't gotta worry about anyone seein' you."

You nod slowly, staring at a spot on the floor. He turns away from you and heads upstairs, leaving you standing there feeling like a complete asshole. What is wrong with you? He just gave you a fucking present, not to mention the best orgasm of your life, and this is how you treat him? You take a deep breath and force the tears away, sighing to yourself and bringing your gaze back to the little bag on the floor.

You hate this. Why does every single thought you have need to be somehow policed by your parents despite them not even being in the room? Why is every decision, every move you make, always influenced by that guilty part of you, the part of you that wants to be their perfect girl, their star student, their obedient God fearing daughter? How has it gotten this deep? Why are they so ingrained in you to the point where something you literally asked for is tainted by thoughts of their disapproval?

You stand there staring at the bag, arms still crossed, thoughts going a mile a minute. Get over yourself. You just had a man's mouth on your pussy and you're suddenly worried about wearing a bikini? You make a grumbling sound in your throat, exhaling and shaking your head. Stop letting them control you. Stop giving them power.

You slip inside the downstairs bathroom, little bag in tow.

The sun is hot against your skin as you step out onto Joel's back patio, clad in your brand new bikini and surprisingly less self conscious than you thought you'd be. He was right; the backyard is very private, shielded by trees and a tall white fence similar to your own. You briefly wonder why he'd choose to play guitar on his front step when he has such a nice atmosphere back here, but the thought fades quickly when you see him sitting there in front of you in a lounge chair, wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else.

You feel your heart pound as you walk forward, shutting the door behind you with eyes glued to the hair on his chest, the sweat clinging to his skin, dipping into his tummy. You're still a bit embarrassed by your initial reaction to your gift but it's seemingly water under Joel's bridge when he turns around at the sound of the door to see you standing there.

He whistles when he sees you, low and cartoonish, "Phew. I think I made a good choice," he looks you up and down as you smile shyly, "Gimme a twirl."

You do as you're told, the thin ruffles tickling the tops of your thighs as you spin on the spot. You giggle when he whistles again.

"I really do like it," you say softly, walking over to him and settling into the other lounge chair, "It suits me. I'm sorry I got all weird."

He smiles at you tenderly, "That's alright, babygirl. I understand," he pauses then, looks thoughtful for a moment before saying, "You know... I know what it feels like to be worried about disappointin' your parents. To always be seekin' approval."

Your brow furrows at his words, "You do?"

He nods, leaning back a bit in the chair and sighing a bit, "I may be new to this neighborhood but I ain't new to Texas, darlin'. Born and raised here, went to church every Sunday just like you, had a curfew and rules and expectations and all those things you have." He closes his eyes against the rays of sun, "Difference is, I'm not an only child. I wasn't dealin' with it alone, thank God. Had my little brother Tommy with me every step of the way."

You smile at that, trying to picture a much younger version of Joel in his childhood, horsing around with another little boy. You'd always thought about what it would have been like to have a sibling, to not be the only one with all the pressure on your shoulders, but your parents had never given you any. Your mom had wanted to have more kids and simply couldn't, another layer of guilt added to your ever increasing pile. Her only daughter - a sinner. You shake the thought away and continue to listen to Joel.

"The thing about havin' a brother, in my experience anyway, is that people will always find ways to compare you. Tommy was always the smart one, the moral one, good head on his shoulders, always did well in school and knew his scripture back to front," he chuckles to himself, "I tried so hard to be like him but I just couldn't do it, wasn't built that way, never have been. I was the angry one, the problem child. Was always good with my hands but my parents never saw much value in that, always ended up askin' me the same shit: Why can't you be more like Tommy? Tommy's got straight A's, why don't you? When are you gonna start actin' more like Tommy?"

You frown, feeling a pang in your heart at the words.

"Was too much pressure to be like Tommy. He was their golden boy, you know? And I just couldn't compare. God knows I tried but..." he reaches over the side of his chair and picks up a bottle of beer you hadn't noticed before, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip, "I started messin' up a lot when I hit my teenage years," he continues, "Drinkin', breakin' curfew, sneakin' out to see girls. I had fun but my parents...phew, my father in particular, he was not happy, let me tell you. And then -" he cuts himself off suddenly, frozen for a moment before taking one last sip of beer and putting it down again.

"Then...?" you ask softly.

He shrugs to himself, hesitating a bit before answering, "Then... I got myself into some trouble. Won't go into it, not right now, but they kicked me out. That was that, didn't wanna have nothin' to do with me after that."

Your stomach twists at his words, "That's horrible."

He shrugs again, finally turning to look at you, "It ain't as bad as it sounds, trust me. I was better off, I didn't need any of their judgement in my life, any of that Catholic guilt. It was like a weight came off my shoulders. Sure, I had some bigger fish to fry after that, had to do a lot of things on my own, but I wouldn't change a thing."

"So, do you still talk?" you can't help but ask, feeling slightly selfish; it's for you, for your own conscious.

"Who, me and my parents?" he laughs lightly, "They're long gone now, sweetheart. But yeah, after my Dad died I spent some more time with my Momma, got to have her in my life again for a bit. That was nice." He ponders to himself for a moment, "I think, as cliché as it sounds, time really does heal most wounds. Nothin's ever perfect, nothin' can ever go back to the way it was, but people change. And while they're changin', you gotta focus on what's right for you, on livin' the life you want, not worryin' about what they'll think."

You nod thoughtfully, taking in his words. "So... this life, the one you're living right now... is it what you want?" you ask softly, brow furrowed, "Are you happy?"

He sighs then, leans further back into the chair and closes his eyes once more, "Now that's a complicated question."

You both lay there in silence for a little while, though it's neither awkward nor uncomfortable. It feels nice, to just sit with somebody with no pressure of making conversation or answering things about yourself. Every time you've interacted with anyone this summer, whether it be your parents or your mom's friends or people you used to know, there's always been an expectation to inform. To prove yourself, to show how good of a person you are, how much you've achieved. With Joel none of that pressure exists; it's so easy to just be with him and not have to be anyone but yourself.

Though he hadn't really answered your question, you have an answer of your own. Before you met Joel, almost two weeks ago now, you hadn't known where you stood in life, what you wanted, who you were. And now you're slowly beginning to realize that there's this whole other person inside of you, dying to get out, to be free. And you like that person, want to be her more than anything, want to live that life.

But just like Joel said - it's complicated.

"Do you ever..." you break the silence, trailing off slightly before continuing, "Do you ever feel like you're just kind of going through the motions? Like... wasting all your time doing things for other people instead of yourself?"

"Honey, you just summed up my whole life," he says with a laugh, deep and smooth, "You think I wanna be out workin' til ten every night, doin' construction and barkin' orders and layin' plans for shit I got no interest in? I'm fifty six, I should be thinkin' about retirin' by now." He winces at his own words and then sits up a bit, giving you an odd look, "Forget I said that."

You raise an eyebrow, confused, "Why?"

He grimaces, "I don't need to be remindin' you how old I am."

You can't help but laugh, smiling to yourself and shaking your head quickly, "I don't mind, Mr. Miller, really."

His expression softens at your words, but then his brow furrows. He's quiet for a moment, the cogs in his head seemingly turning until he finally says softly, "Call me Joel, darlin'."

You're a bit surprised by his words, eyes widening, "Oh, I'm sorry."

He smiles, "Don't be sorry, sweetheart. I... I do like you callin' me Mr. Miller, but you can call me by my name too, if you want. If it feels natural for you."

You nod slowly, "Joel," you say quietly and he chuckles, "Joel," you repeat, smiling to yourself, "Joel."

"Don't wear it out," he admonishes with a grin, reaching down to pick up his bottle of beer again, "Though I do like how you say it."

Your cheeks warm at his words and you settle back into the chair, closing your eyes and inhaling the fresh air. Your time is winding down now - you'd told your mom you'd be home around noon; the sun is almost at the highest point in the sky.

"So what would you be doing?" you ask suddenly, "If you had more freedom for yourself, if you weren't doing the whole contracting thing?"

He thinks to himself for a moment, then shrugs, "Playin' music, I guess. Always wanted to when I was young but my parents didn't like the idea, I'm sure you can imagine." You grimace at his words, understanding completely. "But yeah... doin' some gigs, playin' guitar, singin' a bit here and there... that'd be the dream." He smiles at you then, crinkly eyed and gorgeous, "What about you, darlin'? If you didn't have all these things with your parents to worry about, what would you do?"

You bite your lip, averting your eyes from his as you softly murmur, "I think I'd still be sitting right here with you."

He looks at you for a long time, thoughtful and soft. You can't help but feel shy under his gaze, toying with a ruffle on your bikini and wondering if maybe you've said too much. You've barely known him two weeks, you doubt he's feeling any ounce of the butterflies that have been fluttering in your belly since the day you met him, and yet you can't help but hope that maybe...just maybe... he's starting to.

"You want a beer or anything, sweetheart?" he interrupts your thoughts, standing up from his chair and gesturing toward the house, "I'm goin' in to get another one. I have some lemonade too."

"Lemonade sounds nice," you say with a smile, and he mirrors it, reaching down to push a strand of hair behind your ear.

"One lemonade comin' right up," he murmurs, then leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, sweet and quick. You melt under his touch, eyes closing as he strokes your cheek, realizing you could sit here forever just existing with him, being touched by him, being kissed by him.

Yup. Very complicated.

You arrive home to find your mother sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch; she looks up as soon as she sees you, eyes lighting up, "So? How'd it go?"

You're wearing the dress again, the stockings, the crucifix. The only difference is that the hymn book in your purse has been replaced with the pink bikini, wrapped in tissue paper. You sit down across the table from your mother, feeling a little lighter, like there's a little less weight on your shoulders.

"It was amazing," you tell her, unable to stop the genuine smile that spreads across your face, "I learned so much."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #fic: feelings on fire #*

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wynnyfryd · 6 months

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Trailer park Steve AU part 38

part 1 | part 37 | ao3

"Sure thing."

"Can you go say hey to everyone, too? Please?" he adds. "I need a second."

He expects Eddie to tease him for being bossy, but Eddie just winks and says, "Do you one better than that, sugar," smiling playfully with his tongue out like a dog before he bounds outside and tackles one of the kids into a pile of snow.

Steve uses the distraction to clean himself up; towel the sweat from his face and hair and clean the blood off of his knuckles, and when he steps outside a moment later Eddie's shouting "no wedgies no wedgies!!" while Dustin tries to shove a snowball down the back of his pants.

"Steve!" Eddie calls out when he spots him. "Steve, help!"

"No, help me!" Dustin counters with a strained grunt as Eddie grapples him into a chokehold. Mike yells "Get him, Eddie!" and Lucas rolls his eyes and mutters, "This is what we get for not bringing any girls."

The trip is pure chaos right from the jump, which Steve anticipated the second he suggested packing five dudes into a van for a run to the hardware store (he had to sit through ten minutes of Mike, Dustin, and Lucas arguing over everything from girls to books to whether The Cure objectively sucks or not until Eddie finally hollered "shut the fuck up!" and drowned them all out with 'real music'), but it feels good to be in charge. To have a project to manage, even if he's the reason there's a project in the first place.

He bosses the boys around the aisles when they get to the store, gathering up supplies — tarps and tools and vinyl, a few sheets of plywood to repair the damaged subfloor, disinfectant spray and gloves; safety shit, too, just in case they need it — and it reminds him of that day in the junkyard. Hey, dickheads! How come the only one helping me out is this random girl?

"You talk to Max lately?" he asks Lucas when they get a minute alone.

Lucas dips his head and kicks at the wheel of their shopping cart, looking so much like a kid, even though he's almost taller than Steve now. "No," he says with a frustrated sigh. "I don't— it's like she's there, but she's not there. You know? I don't know how to reach her."

"Mm." Steve gets that. Felt it just this morning. He claps a hand to Lucas' shoulder. "Just give her time," he suggests, bending to grab a sanding block off a shelf and drop it in the cart.

In his periphery, he sees Eddie skipping at the far end of the aisle while Mike and Dustin chase after him. "Is she still with Eddie's friend?"

Lucas glares at the back of Eddie's head at Steve's reminder, voice sullen when he answers, "Shit, man. I don't know."

"Is he being cool to you?"

"Who, Gareth?"

"No, Eddie," Steve clarifies, remembering Erica's threat-request to look out for her brother.

"Oh." Lucas scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, he treats basketball like it's the Dark Side, but-"

He breaks off with a little laugh, and Steve laughs with him. "Yeah. He's kind of dramatic. I'll talk to him about it."

"You will?"

"Sure. Jock solidarity and all that." He gives Lucas a fist bump, and Lucas gives him a long, thoughtful look, chewing his lip.

"So you guys are, like... friends now?"

Steve's heart gives an unhelpful flutter at the question. They are like friends now, he guesses, if friends kiss each other with tongue.

He clears his throat at that thought and looks away to hide his blush; sees Eddie using a cut of PVC pipe as a sword, lunging at Mike in a fencer's pose and shouting 'en garde!' "...Unfortunately, yeah."

—

part 39

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#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #my writing #my fic

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covetyou · 8 months

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my bright future's behind me

joel miller x f!reader

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con (reader is paying a debt), anal sex, rimming, anal douching*, oil as lube, oral (f receiving), mild spanking, masturbation (f), praise kink, brief sex toys mention, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.8k chapter summary: The line between wanting to help your father and wanting to see Joel again blurs, and you find yourself at a familiar door asking for help. You know what's in store for you this time... don't you?

*NO DETAIL reader is given brief instruction on how to do it, and agrees to. no description of the actual event.

A/N: it's lengthier than I intened, but I really enjoyed writing about this in detail okay, let a girl have some fun. Like yeah, our reader is living in a hellish apocalyptic society and is an anal virgin going to a drug dealer to pay a debt with some serious dubcon vibes, but that man is going to be soft and gentle (ish?) af with her butthole and make her enjoy the hell out of it, okay? okay. let's go.

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song: anything but(t) by Hozier dividers: @saradika

Five weeks ago, heavy feet had carried you away from Joel's door in a daze.

You'd spent the first day waiting for your fathers pain medication to kick in. You spent the next getting him up and ready to go find work again. It was like watching a newborn deer finding its first footing; once he was up, a few stumbles and he was off, throwing himself back into work. He'd even picked up his medication himself at the end of the second week - you'd offered to go for him, but he declined. You deserved the rest, he'd said.

He'd come back, pills in hand, proclaiming how much of a "nice man" Joel Miller was. You didn't disagree.

You spent that night, fingers buried in yourself, whispering Joel's name into the dark as you clenched around fingers too small to feel satisfying.

Every night since then you remembered the look of Joel through the haze of the orgasm he'd slapped out of you. The weight of his cock, glistening head leaking precum as he rutted against you, the pressure of being filled over and over. His face, mouth agape, eyes glued to where you joined, mesmerized.

You came every time, whether it was to the thought of the first push of his cock into you, the firm, repetitive slap of his hand against your bare pussy, or his cum spattering across your naked body.

You didn't just grind pillows any more. Not all the time anyway. You bit into them, hard, stifling moans that you didn't dare let echo around the bare confines of your room. You made yourself writhe in sheets on a bed that felt too small, fingers stuffed to the knuckle, unable to reach the depths you craved. You'd even tried spanking yourself, desperate to chase that zinging feeling he'd given your pussy that day.

Weeks had gone by, and you'd spent every one using your own hands to chase the feeling of Joel Miller between your legs.

And now, an opportunity to grab those feelings presented to you all over again and, although your father was in pain, a part of you you'd kept hidden for weeks was glad for it. Five weeks to the day, and you were stood outside of Joel's apartment once again.

You knew what to expect now, you thought. You'd done this before, it was familiar. He was familiar. You knew how he moved, the sound of his voice, the look on his face when he came.

So, arm raised and feeling braver than you had any right to feel, you knock on Joel Miller's door for the second time.

A moment passes. Then another. You hear nothing beyond the door, and think about turning to leave, when there's a sudden click of the latch and the door flies open.

You'd psyched yourself up all day, but standing here you come to the stark realization that you're not ready to see him again at all. You shrink at the expanse of him.

His eyebrows raise as he leans toward the door frame. His dark eyes look you up and down and you stand there like an idiot, staring at him like you've never seen a man before.

"Can't say I expected to see you again so soon," he says, ticking his head to the side, inviting you in.

You walk past him, he doesn't move from the door way again, and you squeeze into his home.

The door snaps shut behind him, his feet thudding on the floor as he walks up behind you. You stay facing into his living room, staring at a deep scratch on the dining table he'd placed his whisky glass on five weeks ago.

"What can I do for you, sweetheart," he says, and you can hear the shit eating grin in his voice. He knew it was a stupid question. There was no other reason why you'd be here.

"My dad. He needs more. He's bad again and we can't..." you trail off, your poverty unspoken but understood.

Your eyes are locked on the table, you're trying not to clench your hands into fists. You weren't nervous this morning when you'd made up your mind, and now, trapped in this room with him your blood hummed with nerves, anticipation, fear, arousal. It was a cocktail you weren't familiar with and it was making you lightheaded.

Joel's footsteps thud again and you hear the nearby open and close of a cupboard door. He rounds back, appearing in front of you holding another familiar packet. He shakes it and you hear the rattle of pills.

"You ain't got any debt to pay off this time, sweetheart. You can take these right now and owe me... or you can pay me off right now."

You were waiting for this, but even so his offer makes your breath stop and your heart pound. You weren't just expecting it, you were wanting it, and you had a feeling he knew and his offer just proved that. He may as well have said do you want me or not. Your answer would be the same.

"What'll it be?" he says, extending the pill packet out with two thick fingers.

You take a deep breath. "I can... I can do right now. I-if that's okay?"

You can practically see the gotcha flash across his eyes.

"S'more than okay, sweetheart," he says, pocketing the pills with a smirk and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"You know the drill - show me."

You begin to undress for him, stripping off your jacket and simple dress you'd worn to accommodate the dwindling summer heat. You'd worn your best underwear this time, the black cotton bra, faded to dark grey over the years, actually lifted you and showed off the valley between your tits. Equally faded black panties sat high over your hips.

He watches you like someone would have watched a boring TV show years ago - almost disinterested, but watching anyway. You remove your bra, freeing your breasts and dropping it to the floor. Hands come to your hips to shimmy your panties down your legs when he suddenly moves toward you. You stop immediately. He walks past you, around you, circling like a vulture, assessing your nearly bare body. He's so close you can feel the heat radiate off of him, but he doesn't lay a finger on you.

He completes another half circle, stopping when he's directly behind you. He can see the way the skant fabric of your panties parts the cleft of your ass.

"Take 'em off," his deep voice comes from behind you, closer than you'd expected.

You bend - perhaps more than you usually would - and pull your panties down your legs, pulling them past your knees and stepping out of them as you rise.

Warm hands smooth down the plush of your hips and to the swell of your ass, gripping and lifting your cheeks briefly before releasing. Both hands smack back onto your ass before he speaks again.

"It's a damn shame I never got to do this last time."

He kneads your ass some more, the feel of his massive hands foreign, all things considered. He'd touched you in ways no one ever had, in ways that had you reeling and dreaming of them still weeks later, and yet he had barely ever really touched you. He touched your thighs and your wet cunt, he'd tasted you and been inside you, but his hands had barely ventured further than that. You were unkissed, relatively untouched, and totally, utterly, fucked.

You steady yourself just as he withdraws, leaving your skin burning for him to touch you again.

"C'mon, bedroom. Got somethin' for you." You hear a smirk in his voice. You don't think the grin has left his face since you got here.

Once in his room, he pulls open a drawer on the large dresser. You peer inside. Colorful shapes fill it - you know these things, you've seen them before, but not in a long time. The last you'd seen being your own as you frantically stuffed underwear into a bag, ready to leave your home during the first evacuation at the end of the world.

The man is a god damned a sex toy collector.

"Why do you have all that?" Fuck. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. If there's anything you shouldn't do, it's question a strange man about his sex toy collection.

He leans toward you, whispering in mock conspiracy, "I use 'em on sweet girls who come to see me when they can't pay."

He pulls out an unfamiliar object. You had seen the other things in the drawer before, but you'd never seen this.

"You know what this is?"

It looks like a fucking mutant turkey baster.

You shake your head.

"It's an anal douche, sweetheart." He trails a finger down your arm, the skin pimpling in its wake.

"You never seen one before, let alone used one, huh?"

You shake your head again. Your body immediately set on fire with the mention of it. He'd ghosted a finger over your asshole last time and promised you that he'd have it next time. Now, here you were. Next time. You'd be lying if you said you didn't get off from those exact words, if you hadn't tried touching yourself in the same way, going further and breaching yourself with a spit slicked finger, stopping barely a fingernail in, embarrassed even by yourself in the dark.

"You're gonna fill that up. Put that nozzle right in your pretty little asshole. Squeeze," he says softly, squeezing your arm. "Hold it in there for a little bit, and then you go push it out. Okay?"

You stare at him in dumbfounded silence - you'd never heard of this before and felt naive. One hand comes up and clasps your jaw, snapping your mouth shut, as he forces your head into a nod. He hands you the douche, and you take it. It's soft, but the nozzle is hard and unyielding.

"Good. Now you're gonna do that till the water runs clear, you got that? Don't want no messes." He moves to your side, looking between your face and your ass. Your face heats as his calloused hand smooths over your ass, giving another light slap to one of your cheeks.

You don't know what makes you do it, but you start talking. Rambling. Maybe panic at the unfamiliar had taken over, the nerves too much to bare, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

"Or we could do the same as last time! I could even -" he cuts you off.

"You'll do this. Don't want anythin' else. Way I see it, I'm the one callin' the shots here. Of course, if you'd like me to do it for you..."

"What?!" you yelp in shock, your embarassement growing threefold. "No, no, please I-"

A dark laugh escapes his lips, he was fucking with you. "Didn't think so. Now, go on. You don't want to make a mess, do you?" You feel your cheeks heat with the preemptive embarrassment of that happening.

"I-I'll do it," you stutter, nodding your head once and looking down at your feet, willing the heat in your face to go away. You wanted what this led to, at least you thought you did. You'd thought about it enough, at least.

A kiss presses into your hair, the unfamiliar action melting your bones, sending you soaring. "Good girl."

A slap to your ass brings you back into the room.

"Get to it then, sweetheart. I'll be waiting outside. I want you clean, so no rushing."

The warmth of him moves away from you, back into the living room. You follow, watching, and he gestures to a partially open door next to his bedroom. You didn't pay attention to it last time, fear and tunnel vision blinding you to most of the details of his home.

You enter, close the door behind you, and take a shaky breath as you lean against the cool door.

You can do this. You just hope to fuck he doesn't hear a thing.

Joel is lounging on his couch reading a worn book when you exit the bathroom 15 minutes later.

"All good?" he says, not bothering to look up.

"Mhm," you nod. You didn't trust yourself with words and honestly, you had no real clue. You'd never done any of this before. You'd had thoughts, sure, but you were not familiar with any of it in practice.

He's up and moving toward you in an instant, the book thrown to his dining table as he passes it. You think you can see a growing hardness in his pants as he walks.

He looms over you, tracing gentle shapes over the bare skin of your upper arm, watching your nipples harden and a shudder run down your spine.

"Let's get you someplace more comfortable," he says with a softness to his voice that doesn't meet his eyes. His eyes are dark and molten.

He leads you back to his room and deposits you at the end of his bed once again. You stand awkwardly, hands and feet flexed in an attempt to push away your nerves. If Joel notices, he doesn't say anything.

"I've never-" you start.

"Oh, I know you've never had anything back here," he says, coming to stroke down your back and over the curve of your backside. "If you did you wouldn'ta jumped away from me last time."

Any humiliation that was bubbling beneath the surface floats away as he strokes gently over your hips and ass. The roughness of his hands against your soft skin makes your pussy thrum. If you were being honest, you'd turned up to his door wet and ready. By this point you were positively dripping.

"Have you ever..." you say breathlessly, closing your eyes. He laughs, it's raspy and deep, the sound of it sending another trickle from your pussy despite the anxious feeling in your belly.

"You ain't even the first I've ass fucked this week, sweetheart."

With that, he wordlessly moves you into place, turning you to face his bed, legs slightly parted. A hand comes between your shoulders to he push you down, making you hinge at the hips to bend over. Joel steps back, leaving you there nude, bent over his bed, and alone.

"Spread yourself for me."

You let out a shaky breath you didn't realised you'd been holding and reach behind you, gripping one plush ass cheek in each hand as you spread yourself for him. He approaches again, only to grip the meat of your ass with his massive hands to spread you wider, exposing both your holes completely to his gaze.

You slam your hands down on the bedsheets to steady yourself, the sound of blood rushing through your ears as you think of how much he's staring and where he's staring. Someone didn't tell your pussy this was meant to be embarrassing though, and you feel your heartbeat in your cunt.

Strong hands knead at you, pulling you apart and pressing you together over and over. You can hear Joel's breath get deeper behind you, enjoying the sight of your ass being manhandled.

Turning, you look around and up at him. His eyes are transfixed, and he's nodding gently, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you in from every possible angle.

"Fuck yeah," he murmurs, looking up at you as he notices your stare. "Beautiful ass, sweetheart. You gonna let me play with it?"

You already want to moan. As if you fucking wouldn't let him play with it now.

You bite your lip and nod at him.

"Ain't I lucky," he grins, before crouching behind you. You feel a nip of his teeth on your ass cheek, then the same on the other. Your breath catches when you feel his tongue dip down into your folds, catching your clit and swiping upwards through the wetness of your pussy, pushing in briefly to taste you. He does it again, and again, and again. You're moaning softly with each swipe, his tongue moving closer to your ass with each lick. You're pouting, trying not to whine, when he pulls away just before he touches your tight ring.

"Someone's enjoying this," he mutters into your ass, soft lips placing another kiss to your cheek as he circles a finger around your dripping cunt.

Fuck yes I am.

You hear him laugh behind you, the puff of air from his nose fluttering across your spread holes. Your eyes go wide, realizing you'd been so lost in it all that you'd said it out loud.

He moves away from you completely, reaching to drag pillows down his bed. A tap to your ass prompts you to move.

"Get comfortable, sweetheart, might be a while."

Draping yourself over his pillows, you get to your knees and rest your forearms on the bed. He's moving around behind you when you duck your head lightly, trying to be discreet as you breathe in the rich scent of him from his pillow. The smell of him fills your lungs, leaving no space for nervousness now.

The bed shifts as Joel climbs on behind you, a hand stroking up your thigh. You can't help but sigh. You were really enjoying this - your dad and your 'reason' for coming here long forgotten.

Hands pull you apart once again, and he's back to kissing across both your cheeks. He returns to where he's spread you, and you feel the scruff on his chin scratch against your ass, another huff of his breath, and then a warm, wet tongue is finally licking over your asshole.

Your toes curl as he licks you in gentle circles, tasting you. You'd never felt anything like it, the sensation strange and not exactly as exhilarating as you were expecting. And then he moans and you finally get it.

"Oh."

He wiggles his tongue gently into your tight hole, not quite breaching you but adding a pressure that has you pushing back into him slightly, willing him on. A broad lick and a kiss to your hole later and he's pulling away again. He keeps pulling away but you're desperate for him to continue.

"Good girl. Stay nice and relaxed just like that for me, okay?"

"Okay," you whisper into his pillow.

"Just a little longer, sweetheart," he says, stroking a finger up and down over your asshole.

There's a small snick behind you, and the finger stroking you pulls your cheek to the side.

A dribble of something cold, thick, and wet trickles over your asshole, and drips down to your cunt. You flinch and wiggle at the feeling, but a hand clamps down around your calf, keeping you in place.

"What's that," you gasp.

Hand on your calf keeping you steady, you hear another snick behind you. A finger traces the trail the substance took, up from your pussy, spreading the slickness of it around as he gets to your tight hole.

"Cooking oil. Ain't no lube in the fuckin' apocalypse and I don't wanna go in dry. Tear my dick straight off, and I quite like you havin' two holes instead of just one."

The tip of his thick finger, slick with oil, pushes into your asshole. You take a deep breath and the pressure gives way, allowing his finger to breach you. The hand on your calf releases, and traces up to your ass, squeezing.

This is as much as you'd ever managed with yourself, but with Joel doing it, it feels so much more. The tip of one of his fingers so much thicker than yours, and the oil easing his way so much better than your spit slicked finger.

He wiggles and swirls the finger just inside your hole, and you whimper, toes clenching. This is nothing like his tongue. Something like this shouldn't feel so good, none of it should, but the embarassment is long gone and all you want is more.

The finger pulls from you before he can give you what you want, and you feel more oil being poured onto you.

You arch your back, hoping he'll go right back to what he was doing, and he does. Finger to your asshole, he circles gently once, before pushing in again, not stopping at one knuckle this time.

"Nnngh," you moan, as his finger settles deep into you.

"All the way in all in one, good fuckin' girl."

He pulls out half way before pushing back in, fingering your ass with his index finger and holding you open with the other hand so he can get a clear look at your ass taking his finger.

There's no stretch, just a fullness, and goosebumps prickling over you as he moves in and out. You settle into it after a few more pumps, skin calming as you do.

"How's that feel?" he says. He must have seen you relax back down into his pillows, or felt it as his finger moved inside you more easily.

"S'good," you mumble into his pillow.

"You like my finger in your ass?"

"Mm," you moan, as he picks up the pace, fucking you a little harder with his thick digit.

"Let's get another in you, huh? Sweet pussy would like that too, I can see her twitchin'."

He begins to curl his finger, swirling it around and stretching against your hole. Your skin prickles again and you let out a whine, the fullness and added stretch feeling so good.

The finger retreats again but it's quickly replaced with the feeling of two pushing into your ass, one slipping in just before the second starts to spread your hole further than ever.

You groan deep and low, the sound being pulled from your chest without warning. When he's down to the knuckles of his fist, he holds there, twisting and scissoring them deep in you.

You're breathing heavy, whimpering, as Joel plays with your asshole. At one point you hear the snick of the bottle again and feel his fingers withdraw half way before spreading, creating a valley between them and spreading your asshole open for him, when a drizzle of oil is poured onto them. His spread fingers funnel the oil into your ass, and he pushes them back deep into your needy hole.

Over and over, he pulls his fingers completely from you before punching them in quickly, giving you no time to recover as he watches your hole barely wink closed each time.

"Nice and oiled up now, sweetheart. Just a little more. Wanna see somethin'."

His voice is thick and heavy, loving watching the way your ass is taking his fingers, listening to the whimpers and moans you try to hold back.

He's not touched himself, but you can tell he's rock solid and desperate just from touching you. You lick your lips at the thought of his cock, remembering the faint taste of him he'd smeared on your mouth weeks ago, and you feel more slick drip from you.

It was funny, if you thought about it. The attention to your cunt last time such a stark contrast to the neglect it was receiving now. You didn't mind.

Slicked fingers speed up in your asshole, really fucking you now, your ass jiggling with each thrust of his hand. You let out a high pitched whine, and he fucks you through it, before burying his two digits deep in your ass. He keeps pushing against you, never ending pressure making him feel deeper and deeper than he is. As if reading your mind, his other hand comes down to swipe drips of oil across your clit, using the tips of his fingers to rub in soft circles.

He keeps the pressure in your ass, releasing and pushing rhythmically so it feels like he's fucking you impossibly deep. Another wave of goosebumps cascades over you, and you feel your neglected cunt tremble.

"Joel I - fuck - I'm gonna come. Please, I-" you gasp, holding onto the pillow tighter with one hand but scrambling frantically with the other, not knowing what to do. The pressure is so deep, so foreign, but so incredible. You've never felt like this.

"Fuuuck yeah," he grunts from behind you, pushing his fingers deep in you again. Instead of releasing them, he starts shaking his fist, fingers still buried in your tight asshole. His other hand swipes over your clit in tandem, and you feel it.

The crashing wave of it comes for you, and there's no running. You're consumed by him; nothing but the scent of him in your lungs, and his fingers deep inside you. Moans that only he has ever pulled from you. Nothing else exists. The world falling to shit, caring for your ailing father, the years of loneliness at the end of the world. Gone - chewed up and spit out and gone, all at the hands of Joel Miller.

Before you know it, your thighs and cunt are twitching as an orgasm batters into you, knocking the air out of you with a scream you can't give sound to.

"Comin' from bein' ass fucked, thatta girl. Filthy fuckin' girl," he pulls his fingers from your ass as you still twitch, riding through your orgasm totally empty. A slicked up hand slaps your buttcheek, sending another aftershock through you.

Joel rises to his knees and you hear the tell tale clatter of his buckle through the white noise in your head - you'd long forgotten you were nude and he was not.

You look around to see him stroking his thick cock with an oily hand. You whine, you could come again just from watching. Every nerve in your body is on absolute fire.

He slides his slick hard length up your ass, rutting himself against your crack.

"I'm fucking one of your holes today, sweetheart. Don't have to be this one though, but I'd like it to be."

"I want it," you moan without hesitation.

"That's a good girl," he says, sliding his cock between your cheeks a little quicker. "You give me what I want, and I give you what you want."

His solid cock pulls away from you, and he rests a hand on your lower back, pushing down on you gently to hold you still. You feel the tip of his cock drag down through the slick of your pussy before he swipes back upward toward your ass.

Knuckles drag across your ass as he pushes his hips forward, the tip of his cock in line with your hole. A firm press of his thumb to the tip of his cock, and your asshole gives way, letting him slip in.

"Would you look at that," he says, before pulling his thick tip out of your ass. You immediately feel more oil drizzle into your hole, still opened from his slicked head breaching you.

He pushes back in, even easier than before. The stretch of it sends the most ferocious wave of goosebumps over you yet, drawing a babbling moan out of you.

"Jus' look at that," he groans, eyes locked on his cock fucking into your asshole. He fucks his tip in and out of you for a moment, your moans dying down as you adjust to the feeling, before his hips push forward again.

"Fuck, I could just slip all the way in sweetheart," he says, pushing deeper into you. "All the way in." As he says it, he slips his cock further into you with ease, sliding down impossibly far in one smooth thrust.

He stills. You feel so full, so stretched, but you don't feel the weight of his balls against you, or the heat of his warm belly. There must be more to go, but this is already so much. You whimper, almost begging him to pull out, when a hand slips around between your legs and starts lightly caressing your pussy.

"If you want more you're gonna have to ask for it."

"P-please, Joel. I want more."

Finally, he pushes all the way in, his entire dick encased in your oiled heat. He throws his head back with a groan, drowning out your whimpers as he bottoms out, grabbing both of your hips to steady himself.

"Fuuuck."

There's so much of him in you, you try to wiggle forward to relieve the pressure, even with both his hands clamped on your hips.

"Hold still," he shushes you. "Hold still and take it."

You'd do anything he told you right now. You quieten and let him push into you more, his dick twitching in your ass sending a jolt through you. You can feel his balls on your cunt, slicked up from your pussy and the oil covering you.

"Hold that slutty little hole open for me," he growls.

There is no hesitation in you as you reach back with both hands to spread your cheeks for him. Your grip is hindered by the oil, but you hold firmly and pull, spreading yourself and allowing him even deeper into your ass. He was quickly making being spread for him your favorite thing in the world.

He pulls out, leaving just the tip in you once again, before fucking all the way back in in one motion, pushing the air out of you when his pelvis meets your thighs.

Somehow you still hold yourself open, moaning and rocking your hips, and he fucks into you, his large hands on you pulling you toward his cock with each thrust.

Joel's breathing is heavy as he fucks into your ass, grunting softly every so often. He shuffles his legs as they slip away, unable to get purchase on his sheets in the constraints of his jeans.

They slip again and he slams into you, hard, with a growl.

"Fuck," he grunts in frustration and you hear the frantic shuffle of fabric as he pulls his pants down his thighs, his dick still buried in your ass. His belt clatters again, and he quickly pulls out of you. The bed rocks as he moves to discard his jeans, before he climbs back behind you, placing his feet either side of your knees. You try to look around in confusion, but then he lifts your hips, lines himself up, and in one smooth move, he's pushing his entire cock down into you.

"Oh, fuck," you whine, high pitched and desperate.

You let out a keening high pitched scream as he pulls out and slams into you again, and then he's fucking you in earnest.

He's like an animal, grunting as he ruts into you, fucking his cock down deep into you so far you swear you can feel your organs shift.

"That's it, she's likin' it now, huh. She's fuckin' likin' it now," he snarls.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chant with each gasping breath.

Your hands slap down onto the bed, white knuckle gripping the sheets as he pounds into your asshole from above.

"Ohhhh, yes - fuck - yeeaaahhhh," you groan. You can't tell if you're coming, it feels so good that you could be but it doesn't feel the same. You have definitely never felt this before.

"Takin' it so - fuck - fuckin' well, sweetheart," he gasps. "So. fuckin'. well."

He speeds up, pounding faster and faster, his balls smacking against the meat of your ass.

"Gonna come in this fuckin' asshole. Gonna get my cum all up in you."

"Please," you don't know what you're begging for, but his thrusts accelerate and that might just be it. You're screaming around him, his hips stutter, slamming into you. Joel's thighs quiver with the force of his orgasm, rattling the entire bed as he shakes and unloads deep into your ass.

You've deafened yourself. You've maybe came, you can't tell. All you know is your body is on fire and your mouth is dry. You could sob and you don't know anything, you just know it feels so good and so much.

Not knowing what to do with yourself, you lie there, face down, in a daze.

Joel lowers his shaking knees to the bed, still buried in your ass. His grip on your hips relaxes, fingers unconciously soothing you in gentle circles. His breath is heavy, and for a moment you feel him lean over your spent body to press a kiss to your back, before he retreats, pulling out of you and leaving your asshole still full of him.

You don't know how long you're there, ass still in the air, head floating through a million different universes, too fucked out to care you're still naked on Joel's bed.

"C'mon, sweetheart," says Joel, his voice gruff from heavy breathing. "Gotta get you home." You feel his oily hand softly pat you on the thigh, bringing you back to reality.

There's a thump as your clothes hit the bed, and you look around to see him for the first time since he put his dick in your ass. He's fully dressed again already, running a hand through his graying hair, sweat patches blooming on his t-shirt.

You nod at him and sit up - the floaty feeling has escaped your head and is buzzing all through your veins, creating a distance between you and your body. You mindlessly dress yourself, and he watches.

When you stand, your legs are somehow steadier than last time, and you don't even stumble as you pull your panties up the rest of the way.

Joel guides you out of his home, no offer of a hand or a touch to steady you. You slide your feet into abandoned shoes when he unlatches the door and pulls it open. Fishing around in his jean pocket, he pulls out the packet of pills, holding it out for you to take.

You thank him, taking the pills and walking from his apartment. You don't turn, intending to walk away from him before he can close the door on you again.

"I'll make you a deal," he calls out to you. You stop in your tracks. "You keep comin' to collect for your daddy and I'll give you those pills for free."

You frown and turn to look at him. He's standing in the doorway with his arms crossed like you'd just arrived. "That's not free. I won't whore myself for pills."

He lets out a wry laugh, "You already are, sweetheart."

Shaking his head, he closes the door on you once again, leaving you alone in the hallway.

And he still hasn't kissed you.

next part

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller #fic: SWAT #coveted fics

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softpascalito · 6 months

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Christmas Baking for Three - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You're tired, pregnant, angry and you mess up the cookies meant for Joel. He gets a full blast of your hormones - and still manages to surprise you.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader WC: 1800 Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Baking, Christmas Cookies, Christmas, Pregnancy, Female Reader, No use of y/n, Fights, Mention of normal pregnancy struggles, Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Nicknames, Kissing, Crying, Joel Miller in an apron Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: another lil calendar piece that is also dedicated to steph's winter writing challenge (@toomanystoriessolittletime) with the trope baking <3 i also wanted to mention a very short but very lovely pregnancy piece by SwiggitySwagNightmareStag with peña that i found really inspiring in regards to p characters and how they handle pregnancy. you can read it here! <3

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

You swore under your breath as you opened the oven door, only to be met with a gush of heat and the smell of burnt dough. The cookies that you had so carefully prepared, cut out in the shapes of christmas trees and hearts, had taken on a dark brown color, the furthest row from you already smoking slightly.

“Fuck-” With a quick move, you maneuvered the try of burnt cookies onto the sink to let them cool off. Looking at them in broad daylight, it was clear that they were barely edible and in no way as enjoyable as they should be.

You ignored the surge of anger inside of yourself, anger at the oven for being so damn unreliable, at the timer that you’d meant to replace ages ago, at yourself. You’d been too distracted with cleaning up, then being forced to take a quick trip to the bathroom upstairs and getting sidetracked with laundry.

A groan left you at the realization. The laundry was still soaking in the bathtub, abandoned the second you’d caught a glimpse of the clock and realized how long the cookies had been baking for.

Angry tears shot into your eyes. It felt like a never-ending battle between you and your ever-growing list of things to do, to prepare, to keep track of. And this had been the one thing you’d wanted to do for him, to thank him for taking over so many of said things now that you were in your third trimester. Maybe you could start over, hide the failed cookies, to spare your another embarrassment in front of-

As if summoned by your thoughts, the door of the small mudroom bordering the kitchen opened with a creak. Merely a second later and clearly alarmed by the smell, he was hurrying into the room, eyes raking through the kitchen until they landed on you. His shoulders slumped slightly as he took in your form, checking you from top to bottom.

“Are you okay?” Joel's voice was soft, despite him being a little out of breath. You could see the basket filled with firewood behind him. Another task that used to be yours before your stomach had grown too big.

He watched your reaction, carefully making his way around the counter, glancing at the burnt cookies in passing. It was enough to make the tears finally spill from your eyes, rolling down your face and landing on the shirt that was already stained with flour. And the anger inside of you? It had finally found an outlet.

The poor man didn't even have time to brace himself before you started yelling.

“You arent supposed to be home, what the fuck are you doing here?!” He looked taken aback, but only for a moment. Then his face seemed to relax. You didn't want him to relax. You wanted him to be as angry as you were and in as much pain and misery. You knew it was a horrible, horrible thought, but you couldn't help it. You wanted him to have to run to the toilet upwards of twenty times a day, to have him woken up by a human kicking inside of him at the most ungodly hours.

“You said you'd be at work until five! You're not-” Another sob escaped you as the knot in your chest seemed to grow exponentially, “You're not supposed to be here yet and-”

You couldn't find a single trace of anger on his face. Not in the crease between his brows, not in the corners of his mouth, not even in his eyes. All you could find was concern.

“Hey-” Joel whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks. They were cold but you leaned into the touch regardless, “What's going on, darlin? Talk to me, please.”

You hiccuped slightly as you tried to speak, the words fighting hard to not get outside. As far as your body was concerned, there was no point in telling him, in making him a bigger part of your currently miserable experience than he already had to be.

“Burned- I burned the cookies-” You mumbled, “I wanted- wanted to surprise you.”

Your arms finally wrapped around him, your body fitting snug against his, even with your baby bump between you. Joel pulled you closer, one hand supporting your back while the other gently stroked your hair, “Shhh, it's okay. You're okay.”

He held you like that for a while, occasionally whispering words of gentle encouragement into your ear until the sobs had stopped. Then, he nudged you towards the living room, guiding you to sit down on one of the armchairs next to the window. He stayed by your side, kneeling down in front of you as he kept his hands on your legs, gently rubbing your thigh.

“There we are,” Joel mumbled softly, producing a handkerchief from nearby and wiping the last of your tears from your cheeks. He gave you a few more moments of silence before he spoke.

“Wanna talk about it?” You opened your mouth to decline, to push him away and deal with it yourself. It's what you would have done a few months ago. But, as he kept reminding you, you were a team now. No, not just a team. Parents. Soon-to-be-parents. He-was-once-before-but-you-were-new-to-all-this-parents.

“It's just been a lot,” you mumbled, watching as Joel nodded along, soft brown eyes radiating understanding. “And I'm already putting so much work on you on top of your normal duties so I thought- I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Joel hummed quietly, his thumb pressing into your thigh a little, “You do nice things for me all the time, darlin’.”

“I don't. Not with-” You helplessly gestured to your stomach. You could practically see Joel's expression getting a little more serious at that, “Baby, I promise you do. You're here when I come home, right? You fall asleep next to me. You kiss me when you wake up in the morning. Don't need more than that, baby.”

Almost instantly, the tears were back. A thick one rolled down your cheek and Joel reached up just in time to catch it.

“I appreciate you wanting to bake for me, godda-” He stopped himself from cursing, a habit he’d picked up in the last few weeks, with the due date coming ever closer and him insisting that you should at least try to bring up a civilized child. You had a feeling it had less to do with your child and more with the amount of curse words Ellie dropped on a daily basis, but if it made Joel happy, you wouldn't argue against it.

He sighed, “I really do appreciate it. And you know I think your cookin’ is nothing short of magic,” he mumbled quietly. Then he shook his head, his hand wandering to gently rest on your round stomach, “But it's not why I'm with you.”

“Besides, you're already doin’ a whole lot of baking in here,” he added with a small smile, gently patting your stomach and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

“I wouldn't exactly call it baking.”

Joel raised a brow, “No, ‘m pretty sure it is. I made a real nice dough, put it right in here, turned up the heat and now I just gotta wait for it to be done.”

“You're such an idiot, Miller,” you offered weakly as you leaned down towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He smirked against your lips, “If being an idiot gets you to stop crying, I'll do it more often.”

The kiss barely had time to get more heated before you gently pushed back against Joel's chest, “Gotta finish the laundry upstairs.” A small frown built on his face, “We agreed I'd do that. Ain't good for your back, baby.”

“I told you, I've been-” He actually cut you off this time, squeezing your thigh a little to make you fall silent, “Remember what I said? When you told me you were pregnant?”

You raised a brow, “Before or after you almost fainted?” Joel sent you a playful glare at that, causing you to sigh, “You said we were in this together. That you- that you'd be here for it all.”

“That's right,” he mused softly, his thumb still absent-mindedly caressing your thigh.

“Now, let me go take care of the laundry and you take a nap, yeah? You look-” He paused for a moment, clearly trying to find a nice way to say it, “You look real tired, darlin’.”

You drifted off to the sound of clothes being washed in the bathtub in the next room and to Joel's soft humming of a lullaby he’d been practicing. If this works just half as good on our baby, you thought right before falling asleep, we’re not going to half a single sleepless night.

When you wake up, the rays of afternoon sun are filtering through the windows, giving the house the warm glow you like it so much for. Stumbling into the kitchen, you're met with a sight that you've never seen before.

Joel Miller, an apron tied around his front, kneading away on a piece of dough. Your small laughter alerts him to your presence and you swear you can spot the faintest blush on his cheeks as you practically skip towards him.

“If you wanted an excuse to wear that, you could've just said so,” you tease, leaning against the counter as you watch him. Joel grumbles softly but the small smile on his face isn't lost on you, “ ‘bout time you wake up. Wanna help?”

You frown slightly- and then you realize what he’s doing. Baking bread is something you do often, but this isn't that. The cookie recipe you'd been using earlier is placed next to him, the dough looks exactly the same yours had before you’d burned it.

“Figured we both like cookies. Plus it doubles as a Christmas activity and, well.”

You kiss him. Once, twice, only stopping when he forces you to. He's perfect.

You bake together this time, with you showing him how to get the cut-outs just right, him sneaking a few pieces of the dough into his mouth when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s cozy and relaxing and for the first time in weeks, you seem to forget all about the struggles of being a pregnant woman.

You both sit in front of the oven afterwards, you in Joels lap, your bodies intertwined, both watching eagerly as the cookies slowly turn golden. He kisses your head, his nose nuzzling your hair a few times.

“Next time you’re overwhelmed like that?” He mumbles quietly, “Just let me know, yeah? You know I'm here. For you and the little one”

You nod softly, resting your head against his chest, “I know.”

notes: as always, thank you for reading. i adore each and every one of you. if you enjoyed this, feel free to give me an early christmas present by leaving a comment or reblogging <3

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itsgrimeytime · 3 months

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drunk on you (part one) || Rick Grimes (TWD) × gn!reader (no apocalypse!AU)

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Summary: You'd known Rick forever, as far back as freshman year. He was a guy you (if you were honest) had a crush on; there was just something in his stance and the low drawl of his voice. You'd say that feeling only got worse from there. Before you could blink, he was married and had a kid; and suddenly, despite your best efforts, you felt very out of place. You faded out of his life, and he yours. So when Rick shows up at your door (drunk out of his mind) about 5 years after the last time you spoke to him, you have a lot of questions.

TWs: mentioned infidelity (Shane and Lori), strained relationships, loss of friendship, mentioned pregnancy (Judith), divorce, alcohol, mention of gunshot wounds, and shameless flirting.

[[A/N: y'all remember when he was drunk that one time? this is built off of that. also no apocalypse, just normal life. Enjoy :))]]

A long time ago, you met Rick Grimes.

He wasn't the kind of teen that was awkward, like maybe his arms were too long for his body -no. Rick Grimes was broad-shouldered and built like he was on the football team -even though you weren't exactly sure he was. Shane Walsh, his best friend, was the same -both unbelievably picturesque. You were a human then, so you'd had a thing for Rick, but then again, every single person in that school did.

And one day, he approached you with a grin, "Apparently you're really good at this?"

You tutored him, and your friendship just spiraled from there. The two of them became a trio, and despite insistent Shane's flirting (not that he meant any of it), your heart stayed consistent.

Even throughout college (or the police academy for them), they would come onto your campus for lunch -always stealing bits and pieces of yours. You could clearly remember meeting Rick's eyes over the table and your heart flipping in your chest; before he could notice though, you'd flick a piece of your lunch at him. He'd laugh then, and you'd move on.

They were there with you through life, boyfriends (who they often threatened to 'take care of'), heartbreaks, and failures.

You weren't there when he met Lori, but you were there when he introduced her to the group. She was picturesque beauty, just like him and Shane were picturesque handsome -they suited each other really well.

That day, you'd been strained and Shane could tell -he kicked up the flirting to a hundred, and you spent the whole time pushing him off and cussing him out. You didn't tell him, not verbally, but you knew he knew. And you trusted him not to tell.

Even when they got married, your lips stayed sealed. You were at the wedding actually, it had been a day you couldn't decide on. Half the day you were happy for your friend, and the other half, you felt like your heart had been stomped into the ground. You cried in the bathroom a few times, and Shane hovered close by.

He seemed to understand your pain a little too much, but you never got the courage to ask.

You were still trying, though, and had honestly become friends with Lori but you still felt your grasp on the group loosen. They were leaps ahead of you, both Shane and Rick in stable jobs -making their way up, and Rick and Lori married-

You just weren't there yet. And you didn't know how long it would take. Especially since all you could see in your head about the future was Rick. And that wasn't fair to Lori and you knew that but you couldn't stop-

And then, Lori was pregnant.

That was probably the last straw for you.

It wasn't that you stopped showing up, not really. You still came to the baby shower with cute, little baby booties and a bet on a boy. You even met Carl, and he helped. You could distract yourself with him, and every time you visited, you did just that. Lori and Rick would talk to Shane, and you would be lost in playing with Carl.

You stayed until he was three.

Rick had suddenly got the notion -you always knew he was attentive, but you'd never dreamed of this.

"I can tell somethin' is wrong with ya," he had said, hands sturdily on your arms, "-I'm 'ere if ya need me, you know that, right?"

You stopped being as vocal when you met up -trying to hide it all away, all it did was make Rick watch you more. So, you started leaving early and being busy -working yourself to the bone.

As time passed, naturally, they stopped inviting you. Your life shifted, and you moved out of town for your dream job -a fresh start. None of them knew that, and even though you could've said something, you were eager for a do-over.

Maybe this time you wouldn't fall in love with a married man, you thought to yourself.

And even though it was a joke, it hurt. You weren't sure that it ever wouldn't.

That brings you to now, at your apartment in a different city -eating some food you randomly pulled out of your pantry. It was late, and realistically, you should've been sleeping but the show that was on actually caught your attention. You'd let it slide and probably hate yourself in the morning.

Just as another revelation made its way onto your screen (might've been someone cheating on someone else? you weren't really following), you heard a noise.

You stiffened, raising an eyebrow -what the hell?

Patiently waiting, you heard it again -more incessant.

Knocks, you realize, someone was knocking at your door.

Flashing the time on your phone, 1:06 am, you frowned. There was no way anyone you knew was at your door at this hour; it was probably just some weirdo-

The knock came back and this time it was much louder, a pounding even.

You startled for a minute, before standing and making your way to the door -slowly, and keeping a foot propped against it, just in case. You lived in the city, this could really be anybody.

Instead, when you opened the door, you were met with a familiar face -your neighbor a few doors down. She was an older lady, sweet, but she certainly did not look sweet then.

"Do you know him?"

You hadn't even noticed at first, but her fist was clutching hard against the white t-shirt of someone -you shifted slightly to try and see them better.

And when you did...

"Rick?" You asked with disbelief layered in your tone -this could not be real.

"So, you do," she exhaled, letting him go.

He promptly turned to you, and you could just immediately tell he was wasted. He had that flush on his face, and the gleam in his eye you'd seen before at college parties.

Rick's blue eyes fell on you and he grinned real bright, mumbling out, "Y/N! 'S good to see you. I was lookin' for ya-"

"He's been knocking on every door on this floor for 30 minutes," she all but seethed, "-apparently, I'm the only one who answered."

With a breath, your mind spinning -you grabbed Rick's shoulder and pulled him inside.

"Thank you, Beatrice, really," you smiled, apologeticly, "-I'm so sorry he woke you up."

She waved you off, disappearing down the hall.

At that, you locked the door behind you and spun on your heel -determined to make sure this was real. That Rick Grimes was in your living room.

Sure enough, he stood by your couch -a little wobbly. He actually nearly fell but caught himself on the back of the couch.

"Alright, cowboy," you sighed, rushing over to move him to sit, "-Let's get you settled, yeah?"

Rick was putty in your hands as you pulled him onto the couch -body moving only when you forced it to. He smiled at you, big and beautiful, when you stepped back -and you hate to say it made your heart flutter. It was all coming back now, you needed to focus-

"Where 'ave you been?" He asked, and it was slurred, "-Haven't seen you in forever, ya know?"

"Rick, hey," you sat across from him on the coffee table, "-Why are you here? How do you even know where I live?"

"Shane told me," he hiccups, whole body jolting, "-told me ta come find ya. And I-"

He paused for a second, like he couldn't remember.

"I came to see you," he answered, before flashing another smile. He was always a happy drunk.

"Right," you said -not buying it. Had Shane just ditched him in the city? If so, why were they here?

And why did he ditch him in the first place?

You huffed out a breath and pulled out your phone -darting through your contacts. Your finger hovered over it for a second (just a moment of doubt), and pressed it.

It rang for a few minutes, before just going to voicemail.

Frowning, you scrolled back up, skimming again for a different name: Lori. You hoped she would answer, and she should. Her husband has gone missing, assumedly? Yeah, she should be concerned.

And again, it rang for a few minutes and then went to voicemail. ('Hey, this is Lori. Sorry I'm busy right now, but I'll get back to you.')

You huffed out a breath, what the hell?

You knew it was late, but her husband had just shown up at your door -blackout drunk. Did she even know he was out? Was Shane even the one who brought him here?

Rick leaned forward and you placed a hand to keep him upright instinctively. You pursed your lips, debating on how exactly to handle this.

"Rick?" He perked up at your voice, "-Where are Lori and Carl? Are they close?"

He frowned for a moment, before throwing himself back against the couch -you made sure he stayed sat up, "Carl goes wit' Lori on the weekends."

"Goes?" You questioned, you knew you hadn't been present for five years, but it seemed like his whole life had changed -you didn't dare assume, "Rick, are you and Lori not married anymore?"

"No," he scoffed, almost in defense, "-broke up a long time ago. You didn't kno' 'at?"

You swallowed, some sort of mix of shock and disbelief brewed up your throat: so her drunk ex-husband showed up at your door.

There was something in your chest, a little flame in your heart. You were ridiculous, happy about a divorce between some of your previously close friends? God, you were reaching new lows.

Well, wasn't like you could do anything else, so you stood up -grabbing a cup from your kitchen and filling it with water. Rick, thankfully, stayed in his spot on the couch -eyes following you as you walked back over to him.

"You're pretty," he slurred, "-always thought 'at, never said it."

Your heart jumped in your throat, focus, Y/N. He's drunk.

You shook your head, and found your place on the coffee table again, holding out the cup. When his hand extended, he wobbled a bit more and you let out a long sigh.

"Okay, fine," you muttered, scooting closer, "-open up."

He was still surprisingly obedient, sipping the water as you held it to his lips. His eyes, though, stayed focused on you -blue eyes barely blinking. It made you want to fidget in your seat, but you decidedly ignored it. Focus, focus.

With half the glass gone, you were satisfied. Pulling the cup back and sitting it beside you, his eyes did not waver -you were starting to get a little flustered now. Standing to go get a blanket and container (for any... accidents), you were stalled in place.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist -calloused and long, your brain short circuited a bit.

"Rick, why-"

"Even prettier now," he laughed out, grinning, "-thought ya was pretty th'n, but you're even prettier now! How did ya do 'at?"

Swallowing the skip of your heart, you pulled your hand out of his grasp and continued your walk. Shaking out your hands and exhaling a big breath, you stepped out of the closet with the goods and back toward the couch.

"Look," you started, shaking the container in your hand, "-this is where you throw up, okay? Not on my floor."

"Aye, aye," he grinned.

You rolled your eyes, but something you had missed him -even just as a friend. You'd lost him as a friend too, and that probably hurt more than anything. He was your rock and then, he was gone.

Blinking back the fog of your eyes, you set him up in the recliner -pulling his feet up and throwing the blanket over him. It was your extra one, a soft throw blanket, and wasn't long enough to cover his feet. Which, now that you noticed still had his shoes on them.

You let out another long sigh, before beginning to untie the laces.

"Shane told me 'at ya loved me," he said suddenly as if it was a realization and you stilled where you sat. Your breath stuttering in your chest, you focused on the laces for a moment.

"Why did he tell you that?"

Rick sighed, tilting his chin up to look at the ceiling, "Asked 'im 'bout ya, why ya left. If he knew anythin'."

You flinched, something in your chest sinking. He would've been sober then, that wasn't something you just brought up drunk. But, why were they even talking about you? Did they still do that? After all these years?

Feeling guilty, you stayed silent.

Rick didn't say anything else, oddly quiet, and when you looked up, you saw him fast asleep. Eyes fallen shut and head tilted all the way to the left, he looked like quite the picture. You laughed, a tiny one just to yourself.

Maybe, if he woke up and left tomorrow without saying a word -this visual could hold you over for a while. It reminded you of when you guys were the closest, before you started... drifting away.

You swallowed, tears burning the backs of your eyes -not letting them fall. You'd cried over this too many times.

Taking a deep breath in and one last look at Rick, you disappeared to your room. The comfort and familiarity of it made you feel a lot better, but if you focused you could hear the gentle hum of Rick's breathing. A reminder that he was there, that this wasn't all some bizarre dream.

Changing into pajamas, your eyes flickered over some old photos up on your walls -your friends, all smiling and happy. You, Rick, and Shane -sometimes even Lori. It was filled with other things like your diploma and degree, family photos, little souvenirs, and just pictures you'd taken of places you'd been.

Rick looked the same as then, just a little more built. A little sturdier, and more confident in himself; kind of like he knew his place or had found it.

He didn't need you.

You shook the thought from your head and headed to bed -flicking out the lamp on your nightstand and forcing everything within you to sleep.

Waking up the next morning, you realized you forgot to get the Tylenol out for Rick. So with reluctance (it was your day off), you pulled yourself out and dug through your drawers to find it. It was quiet, so you assumed, he was still asleep. You would be if you could've.

Instead, however, when you roamed to your bedroom door -you were stalled still. Rick was up, silently looking at your wall with intense focus. Those pictures were of you, some with new work friends, with your family, with just pretty sights you'd seen; it was all you. He was staring a bit like he was in an art museum and your photos were the most fascinating piece he'd ever seen.

Your heart sped up in your chest.

Clearing your throat, he spun to you and you for a second forgot how to speak because those eyes were very clearly aware -skipping all over you like he couldn't believe you were real. You were a little embarrassed you were in your pajamas, suddenly.

Blinking and clearing your head, you spoke -a little awkwardly, "I got you some medicine to help with the... the headache."

Rick pushed his lips together, almost like he wasn't sure what to do -hands grabbing at each other, and rocking a little on his feet. It was like he wanted to say something or do something, but he just couldn't find the words or maybe the will.

He laughed, a little nervously, "Thanks, I... I'm not sure what to say."

You swallowed, before deciding to say, "You don't have to say anything, I get it. You were stranded, you were drunk out of your mind. I'm glad to help. Really."

"Stranded?" He questioned, and you wordlessly handed him the medicine -hands brushing against his. You ignored it.

"Well, yeah," you said, now a little uncertain, "-I can't imagine your visit was planned. I... You said Shane told you to come here, so I assumed he ditched you somewhere. Because he would, if given the chance."

Rick laughed a little at the private knowledge of your friend but there was something strained there -hidden. You weren't sure if you should ask.

"Look," you exhaled, "-I'm not going to poke and prod. I know I've... missed somethings but that's nobody's fault but mine. So-"

Rick seemed to look at you a type of way then, and your mind chimed that 'he knew'.

"I'm not going to ask you anything," you finished, wringing your hands -keeping them busy, "-you don't... you don't have to tell me anything either. I... Yeah."

"Why not?" He offered, and you could tell somehow he was a little disheartened -it made guilt curl up in your stomach.

"It's been five years," you laughed, incredulously, "-I kind of stopped talking to you, Shane, and Lori without warning."

He seemed to flinch slightly at the names, and you had another worried thought -trying to read him ever-so-slightly, "I didn't reach out to ya either."

"That's not-"

"In fact, I remember we stopped invitin' ya," Rick clarified, stepping closer.

"Only because I wasn't showing up," you countered, "-or I was leaving early, or wasn't really... there."

He hummed a little, and you could tell he was processing it all.

"I just, I'm sorry," you finally said, "-I had a lot going on then, and I felt like... That doesn't matter, I'm just sorry for everything."

Something passed through his eyes then, and you thought maybe it was understanding. He knew of your... thing, and he wasn't stupid. You knew he could connect the dots, you just hoped he wouldn't say anything about them. You couldn't handle that.

"It matters," he responded, slowly, "-Ya know, I tried... I tried to see you after we stopped invitin' ya, and your place was up for rent. Door was locked, but I asked the neighbors and they said you'd been gone for months."

You didn't think that he would come looking for you, any of them really. Your paths in life had just diverted and you thought it was a clean break, but... it wasn't. Rick was worrying about you through it all.

Before you could voice anything more, he continued, "They didn't even know where ya went."

I looked for you went unsaid. Your stomach tossed with guilt, a heavy feeling in your gut. It was for the best, but he didn't quite know that.

Well, he did actually. He knew exactly why you had disappeared, so why was he talking about this? Did he want to... Did he want to hear it from you? Confirm it?

Did he not believe it?

You sighed, clearing your throat, "I just needed a fresh start. I was... I was struggling there, and needed someplace new."

"Why didn't ya talk to me?"

God, you were getting into this now. You really, really did not want to. Maybe you could just-

"I would've," he started, slow, and something in him read as guilty, "-I would've done what I could to help."

"Rick," you exhaled, "-I know that. But what was happening then... couldn't be helped. It was something I had to navigate on my own."

"But-"

"Look, Rick," you cleared your throat, "-that was a long time ago, and I feel like all we're doing is dredging up old feelings. That I really..."

You trailed off, eyes getting foggy, before centering yourself and clearing your throat, "Just know, I had a reason, a good reason to leave you guys. I maybe didn't do it right, but I did it how I had to."

Rick was looking at you like you were a shining gem, precious; like the world was a storm and he wanted to shelter you, protect you from it. You weren't sure how to process that, so you just decided not to then.

He seemed to pause for a moment, before asking, gently, "What exactly did I tell ya last night?"

"Only a little," you clarified, "-uh, Shane told you to come here, and that you and Lori... um, aren't together anymore."

"Nothing else?"

You sighed, voice catching in your throat, "I really don't want to do this, Rick."

"Do what?" He asked, brow quirked.

"I've already-" you clenched your fingernails into your palms, "Okay, I know what Shane said to you. You told me last night, okay? We don't have to talk about it."

"I want to," he spoke, stepping closer.

You groaned, "Why? Why does it matter?"

"I just want to know-"

"If it's true?" You interrupted, before letting out a long intake of breath, voice shaking -no time better than now, "-Because if that's what you want to know, I can answer it. Yes. Yes, it's true."

Rick seemed to pause for a moment, something smoothing through his eyes.

"I left because of it," you clarified, as well, answering all the questions he could ask, "-and I wasn't... I wasn't ever going to tell you."

The silence was overwhelming then, as you sucked in a breath and kept your eyes trained on the floor. Your heart beating so fast in your chest, it made your head go fuzzy -your legs felt a little weak. You must've wobbled a little, because-

"Woah," he rushed to your side, one hand holding your waist, "-c'mon, let's sit you down, sweetheart."

It was instinctual, the name, and it wasn't like it was the first time you'd heard it from him. But even so, it just confused you. Everything about Rick Grimes calmed you down, but everything about your feelings made you lose it. The balance was strung so tight, you didn't know how to react.

Now, he sat across from you on the coffee table, long legs bumping into your knees -one hand sturdily on your shoulder, trying to meet your eyes. He just wanted to see if you were okay.

"I'm fine," you breathed out -meeting his eyes, "-just. I'm fine."

Rick nodded, and hesitantly pulled his hand back -you could still feel the warmth sprouted there. It made your head swirl, and part of you wanted to scream your lungs out; you can't still feel it now, that's not fair.

"Can I tell ya something?"

"What is..." you pursued, "-something?"

"A story," he clarified, hands fidgeting, "-I told you 'bout me and Lori, I want to be more specific."

"Rick, you don't have to-"

He laid a hand on your knee, ever so slightly touching -it cut the words from your lips, "I want to."

You didn't say a word.

"Few years, after you left," he started, "-I got hurt on the job. Ended up in pursuit unprepared, and the guy got my shoulder."

His hand seemed to move to the shoulder on instinct, though the scar was hidden under the shirt. You wondered for a moment what it would look like, before washing the idea of his skin out of your brain.

"Shane still your partner? Or-" you rambled a little, "-I know you guys planned it like that."

"Yeah," he smiled, "-Shane was there, kept me awake. But I... I ended up in the hospital for about a year. Half in a coma, and the other half making sure I wouldn't go back into one-"

"Jesus Christ," you muttered out, instinctually.

"And that last day," he started, something in his voice tightening, and on instinct, your hand shot to his leg -comforting. His eyes lingered on it a bit too long, before he slowly placed his palm on top of your skin and gently flipped your hand over. Calloused fingertips wrapped around your hand, and suddenly, they were intertwined -out of his own volition.

You swallowed back the flutter of butterflies in your stomach, you're just comforting him, focus.

"Lori was pregnant," Rick sighed out, big and long -something in him hurt, but something far bigger past it. You could tell, he had processed a lot of this.

"But you were-"

Rick just looked at you then, thumb rhythmically rubbing the skin on the back of your hand.

Oh.

"Shane...?" You offered slowly, carefully.

He exhaled, shakily, and you squeezed his palm -his eyes lingering on it far too long again, "They'd been together for a while. Didn't tell me how long, but I could guess."

You frowned.

"I felt so... so betrayed, and alone-" he started, and there was something heavy in his voice then, "-all I could think about was you."

"Rick," you nearly cooed.

"If," he swallowed, looking up to stop the tears from coming out (you had the thought they weren't for the infidelity, not anymore), "-If you felt like this, and 'at's why you left. I just felt so..."

"That's not fair to yourself," you explained, "-you were going through something so different. I-"

"Was I?" He offered, "-Really? 'Cause I think it was the same sort of feelin'-"

"No, no," you responded, "-very different, Rick. You... You hadn't been kicked out of your own will, I... I was. I can't imagine what you went through."

"You kinda can," he hummed out, and you got the impression he was talking about your feelings. Sure, you'd been heartbroken for years but that was nothing compared to the betrayal he'd experienced.

"Rick, we never-" you cleared your throat before starting again, "-I never said anything. There was nothing built up like you were with Lori, the walls didn't crumble. It was just... me."

He seemed like he wanted to say something in particular to you then, but he seemed to swipe it out of his head. Like maybe he was waiting.

"They're gettin' married," he exhaled, and your heart froze, "-'s why I was 'ere. Shane's bachelor party."

"Jesus Christ, Rick, what the hell-"

"Don't worry 'bout me," he looked at you, straight in the eyes, "-I'm past it, really. Just... brings up a lot."

"I know, but still-" you hissed out, a little frustrated, "-maybe I can show up uninvited and spill wine on her dress. Ooh, or stomp on Shane's toes-"

Rick laughed then, and you felt something in your gut warm at the noise, even more, when you saw the smile slip across his lips. There was something in his eyes that was twinkling and warm, you couldn't quite name it but had seen it before.

"Shane told me a few years back," he suddenly spoke, eyes focused on you -you wanted to squirm a little in your seat.

"Told you what? About him and Lori?"

"No, that you..." he clarified, words stuttering to a stop. Something in your gut snapped, and words just started coming out.

"Look, Rick," you echoed, a little distantly, but meaning all the same, "-you don't have to pity me. I know it's been a long fucking time, since we were kids, but-"

His face seemed to slow, something in his mind, "Since we were kids?"

Shit.

"Forget that I said that," you cleared your throat, mind running a mile a minute and feeling the fluster crawl up your throat (you tried to pull away your hand but he kept it tight), "-please. This is embarrassing enough."

"It's not," he spoke, comforting, "-don't be embarrassed. I'm just... I'm shocked. I never knew 'at... as far as high school?"

You sighed, succumbing, "Before I even met you. I was a member of the school population, about 80 percent of those people were into you so-"

"Yeah, sure," he hummed, a little in disbelief, "-but you?"

You didn't know exactly what that meant or what to say to that. It almost seemed like he was saying that you were leagues above him which was... unbelievable to say the least.

"I didn't know you were an option," he mumbled out, "-at all. I thought..."

"You really can't be this surprised."

"I am!" He offered in response, and you absent-mindedly noticed that he was still holding your hand. You tugged at it but he still didn't let up.

"There were other tutors, ya know," Rick mumbled out, slow and in a barely-there whisper.

"Of course," you laughed, "-it's high school."

"I didn't," he started, fidgeting with your hand, grip still solid but he was playing with your fingers, "-I didn't actually need the tutoring."

"Why would you-"

"'Thought ya were cute," he offered, and you swallowed heavily -trying again to pull your hand away. Focus. What could you even focus on anymore?

"Rick, don't-" your voice shook, and you pulled your hand back finally, "-don't do that."

"Do what?" He questioned, big blue eyes and your stomach was twisted in knots. You couldn't do this, not now.

"There's no," you echoed out, standing up and taking steps away from him, "-there was no us, and it's been five years. You don't even know me anymore."

"I want to," he stood, matching your eyes -something in him nearly pleading, "-I really want to."

You took a shaky breath in, taking some more steps back, "Rick, your mind is not clear. Your ex-wife is marrying the man she had an affair with, you are just lonely. And I will not be wanted because... because you just want to feel loved."

"I'm not," he breathed, desperately like the oxygen was being sucked out of his lungs, "-Y/N, I'm not-"

"I won't," you repeated, your eyes getting foggy and voice shaky, "-I won't, Rick. That's not fair."

"Look at me, sweetheart," he was soft and gentle, stepping forward and tilting your face up with his hands, "-I'm not."

"You-"

"I've had years to... to process me and Lori," he explained, slow and patient, "-and a few months after 'at Shane told me. I've had years to... to process you."

"I don't-" you exhaled.

"'S all new to me, but-" He dropped his hands to yours -wrapping his around them, "-I know I feel somethin'. Felt somethin' even then, I just didn't... know it."

"Rick, please," you hummed out, "-I can't do this. I really can't. It's been years-"

"I came lookin' for ya for a reason," he continued, moving his head to match your eyes, "-Shane didn't just drop me off. I got drunk for courage, and I don't think either of us knew just how much."

"You were here for me? I thought you said-"

"'Is bachelor party was a few cities over," he explained, "-Shane recognized the city name, and we got a cab."

"That is so stupid," you chastised, "-is Shane still out there? You guys could've-"

"He called Lori," he quickly interrupted, trying to soothe you, "-Think she picked 'im up."

"You think?"

"No, okay, she did," he reassured, his hands coming to rest on your arms, "-I know I wouldn't 'ave left if she didn't."

"Good," your breaths slowed, "-okay."

"Y/N," he started again, and you just couldn't.

"No, don't-" you began, but then you looked at him. Really looked at him. He was looking at you so carefully, like if he said a wrong word, you'd disappear. Or maybe like he could hardly believe you were standing in front of him.

Maybe he really-

You pursed your lips, letting out a long sigh, "Okay, look. I'll make you a deal."

Rick raised an eyebrow but still seemed so very eager. Excited even, you bit back a smile.

"When's the wedding?" You asked, gears turning in your head.

"A few months from now," he answered, and you could tell he was a little confused -the furrow of his brow and quirk of his lip. He was still so much the same.

"If you," you held his hands between the two of you, "-if you still feel the same then, we'll talk."

"'At's-" he opened his mouth.

"Your best friend and ex-wife are getting married, Rick," you reiterated, "-you do not have a clear mind, I can't believe it. But if you, by some miraculous reason, do, your feelings shouldn't change."

He pursed his lips, something shadowing over his face, sighing, "Okay."

"Don't make that face," you groaned, "-what I'm saying is completely sensible."

"It is," he agreed before his features fell into something else, "-just didn't wanna wait anymore, I guess."

"You're not going to guilt me, Grimes."

His eyes twinkled -mischievously, settling into a blinding smile and throwing your hands down in defeat, "'S worth a try."

"Plus," you added, "-we can catch up on what we missed. Might be nice."

"Ya don't 'ave to convince me anymore," he laughed, "-I'm doin' it."

You smiled at that, and his only got brighter because of it. You schooled your racing heart back into place.

"Friends?" You offered your hand for a shake -expectantly.

He smiled then, it reached his eyes and was all crinkly, "Friends."

#its griming time #rick grimes #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #drunk on you #rick grimes oneshot #rick grimes twd

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httpskuzuu · 9 months

Text

Softer

hola :D fyodor is alive - fyodor esta vivo I was thinking about making a masterlist or something like that, I don't know if when I upload this I will have it published or how I will do it

anyway, I really liked this and enjoyed writing it, it's longer than I usually post but Idk, by the way, I hated translating this, it was a pain in the ass, but that's what I get for joining a mostly English community ññññññññññññ-- well, this is mostly inspired by Sinner by TheBloodySadist, you can find it in Ao3 if you want to read it, I had an obsession with it a few months xd

jaja this has gone on too long, well, adiós adiós :p

Yandere!Fyodor x Reader

English is not my mother tongue, sorry for the mistakes

sumary: You tried to escape and now you have to take the consequences, but you make something change in Fyodor... (juju, mistery >:p) Pt.2

tw: yandere behavior, kidnapping, failed escape attempt, explicit punishment, explicit violence, blood, broken bones, humiliation¿, manipulation, brainwashing, stockholm syndrome, reader needs therapy, stabbing, nudity, sedative, Fyodor is a fucking tw

You tremble under the weight of the boot on your ribs, you swear that at some point you hear them cracking along with an agonizing pain throughout your body.

The pressure on your body makes it impossible for you to breathe properly, which is a serious problem considering you are hyperventilating. Every breath burns your exhausted lungs and aggravates the pain.

You'd ask Fyodor to kill you already if it weren't for the fact that your throat is in a terrible condition from so much screaming and pleading.

"Well, I see I can't trust you, can I?" Despite the situation, Fyodor's tone provokes you inner anger, sounding so sarcastic. Something deep inside you tells you it's not sarcasm, it's concern, but you can't believe it, especially not coming from Fyodor.

You imagine that, if you had the strength at this moment, you would kill him with your own hands. You know well you wouldn't be able to, but it's pleasant to think about it.

"I do everything for you, and still you try to escape." He puts more pressure against your ribs and you've never felt as much pain as you do now. "You spoiled brat." He growls and his Russian accent becomes much thicker.

He removes his foot from your body and you can breathe. Relief courses through your veins and, out of pure instinct, you thank him for that act of kindness. He could have stretched it out longer, put more pressure on you and broken your ribs more, but he was merciful and gave you a break…. A break, you know that your punishment is not yet over.

You don't know yourself and your thoughts. One thing you have to hand it to Fyodor is that his training is really effective, but you're tougher than that, or at least you like to think so. Realistically, right now, you just want to curl up against him.

A kick in the side snaps you out of your thoughts, you moan and cry from the pain, your throat burning with fire. You never want to utter a sound again in your life after this.

"Aw, you poor thing… Does it hurt? Now you know how I feel every time you leave me." He's lying, you know that, but that doesn't take away the guilt that settles in your head free-form.

You shouldn't have run away, Fyodor isn't even that bad if you behaved: no gratuitous physical harm and he takes better care of you than you could ask of a kidnapper. You were an idiot, you deserved all this for not appreciating your life with Fyodor properly. God… Why did you try to escape in the first place? The Russian would always would catch you, you were just causing trouble.

Ignoring your destroyed throat, you decide to speak. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't try to escape again. Please give me another chance, I'll be good…"

Fyodor kneels down next to your agonized body. He puts his hand against your tear-stained cheek, at first you flinch, thinking he was going to hurt you more, but then you lean almost automatically against his cold hand.

You cry harder as you feel Fyodor's gentle touch, you don't quite understand what's wrong with you, you just know that you want to melt against his hand. You close your eyes and tremble. You want a hug from him, you know you shouldn't want that, that it's disgusting, he kidnapped you and hurt you, but at a time like this, when you've been disobedient, he's still showing you affection….

"Shh, it's okay, милый." He catches the falling tears with his thumb. "I know you're sorry, but your punishment isn't over yet." You automatically tense up and slowly open your eyes to look at the man in front of you, there is a smirk of superiority painted on his face, observing your pathetic appearance.

You don't dare open your mouth to complain because deep down you know very well that you deserve it, you deserve the pain for being so bratty and causing inconvenience to Fyodor. You accept what lies ahead of you and let Fyodor pull his hand away from you.

With his grip firmly on your hip, he guides you to turn around. You keep the cheek that was previously receiving the loving touch against the ground a thousand times colder than Fyodor.

You concentrate exclusively on the Russian's hands, it's just an idiotic attempt to ignore the pain all over your body. He pulls up your shirt, leaving your back bare against the cold, why is everything so cold all of a sudden? Fyodor is too, in a way he brings you peace of mind, it's like he's everywhere, even in the air…. What the hell are you thinking? You firmly believe you're delusional at this point, these are not your real thoughts, it's clear to you, he put all these idiotic ideas in your head and now you can't get them out. It's agonizing in a certain way.

The only thing you hear is your irregular breathing, if it wasn't for Fyodor's hand clamped on your hip, you would think you were alone right now, and you don't know if you would like that more or less.

Something sharpening presses against your upper back. Everything breaks down in a moment as Fyodor makes a straight cut across your entire back. It hurts horrendously, especially as the blood starts to spurt out. You start to feel dizzy and for a few moments you convince yourself you're going to pass out, but no, your body is still holding on, focused solely on Fyodor's hand.

"Breathe, моя любовь. It's just a cut." You repeat Fyodor's last sentence in your head like a mantra: it's just a cut, it's just a cut. He could have done it much worse to you, you were fine, just a cut.

You take comfort in closing your eyes hard and imagining that you are once again a child at the doctor's office, that you are simply having blood drawn for a blood test because you have not been feeling very well lately. You make a fist with your hand and clench it, digging your fingernails deep into your palm, it's as if you are clutching the hand of one of your parents for comfort. There is no more pain, it's okay, it's all right-

Another cut, this time horizontal, creates a cross on your back. You don't care, you're at the hospital, and you're safe, nothing will happen to you. It's just a cut.

Fyodor stabs the weapon into your side. You open your eyes wide as a torn scream comes out of your mouth.

Fuck it all, do you really deserve this? Have you been so horrible? You assume that Fyodor simply hates you, that he wants to torture you.

Fyodor pulls the weapon out of your body, you look out of the corner of your eye and the wound doesn't seem to be that bad, you thought it was deeper because of the pain, but no, it was something apparently superficial. You didn't want to know how much it would hurt if he had really stabbed you deeper.

Fyodor's voice right next to your ear startles you. "Sorry, was that too much? Did I hurt my little one too much?" That mocking tone again, but you hear a hint of love and concern, or so you assume. No, it's impossible for Fyodor to hate you, if he hated you there wasn't that hint of love, was there? If he hated you, he wouldn't say to you like that: my little one, his little one.

"I can't take it anymore! Please, Fyodor!" He leaves a chaste kiss on the back of your neck, and you cry disconsolately, you don't know why, but you do know it's not because of the pain, the pain doesn't matter anymore.

"You can." Fyodor's voice is the ultimate authority right now, and if he says you can take it, it's because you can. "You don't want to disappoint me, do you?"

After those words you instantly panic, you desperately shake your head, of course you don't want to disappoint him! You have to accept your punishment, it was your fault in the first place.

"Brace yourself, dear." Fyodor leaves a trail of kisses from the nape of your neck all the way down your back, above the vertical cut. You assume he's filled his lips with blood and hate yourself at the thought of how attractive he'd look like that.

A new cut interrupts your hatred. You scream, but nothing more, you can take it, for Fyodor….

It's just one cut.

You don't know how many cuts there are next, you are not able to count them. You don't feel your throat anymore, but miraculously it still works, your screams are still coming out of it, you are relieved because you still want to keep your voice to talk to Fyodor, to ask him to hold you.

Fyodor removes your shirt completely and lays it aside on the floor. He holds you firmly and helps you sit up, any movement is hell for your ribs, but you endure it by concentrating on your kidnapper, on his loving but steadfast touch.

You look at him dizzy, teary-eyed and shattered. He is smiling, you have not disappointed him. Your head hurts as you cry disconsolately against his chest again.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying now? Your punishment is over, I won't hurt you anymore."

"You…" You're unable to speak, it's too much at once, the pain and your thoughts coming together in a ball of discomfort. You shake your head and hug him tightly.

"Are you afraid?" You weakly shake your head. It's true that Fyodor scares you, especially on these occasions when he punishes you, but you're not crying about it now.

Funny, you don't know why you're crying, but you do know what you're not crying about.

Fyodor is silent, thinking about why you're crying. "Is it about the pain?" You deny again.

Fyodor hums thoughtfully. "If you don't tell me what it is, I can't help you." You ponder on that: does he want to help you? Is he serious?

You make the feeble attempt to gather your thoughts and speak. "It's just- I don't know" Your voice comes out shakier than you wish it would. "When you touch me… It feels so good, I don't deserve it, I don't-"

"Oh, I see… Aren't you crying because of something bad? Is it because it feels good?" You nod quickly, yes, that's as close as you feel. You're happy when it touches you, when it's good to you. Were you crying out of happiness? Well, you guess so, although it feels more depressing.

"It's okay, relax." He leaves a kiss in front, and it breaks you inside. "You've taken the punishment very well, come on, you deserve to be taken care of."

The process of getting up from the floor is horrible, not only because of the pain all over your body and your numb legs, but because your mind doesn't stop spinning around Fyodor's last sentence. It feels horrible and so good at the same time that your mind is only around one specific person.

He helps you up and you let him lean your useless body against his. He guides you through the house, being patient with your slow pace. He's mostly silent, except when he tells you how well you're doing or that not long to go. Since when did Fyodor know how to talk so pleasantly?

You reach the bathroom, he sits you on the toilet and turns on the bathtub faucet. While it is filling, Fyodor takes some pills out of a drawer that you have always found locked. You don't know what the pills are or what they're for, but he hands you one and you take it without question.

You let your head fall against Fyodor's stomach, even though he is standing upright he doesn't move an inch and lets you be comfortable, he strokes your hair and you sigh lovingly. You don't deserve it, but you need more of this Fyodor, the soft Fyodor who takes care of you and makes you feel good, what did you have to do in the future to keep it in this shape? If you need to be damaged for that, well, you are willing to do it.

"The tub is full." He warns and moves a little away from you, causing you to raise your head. You miss a little that he's touching you, even though he's only been separated of you for three seconds. He holds you under your armpits and helps you up. "I need you to stand up on your own, can you, дорогой?"

You try not to focus so much on Fyodor asking you if you could do it instead of just sending you the order, and focus on standing on your own.

The Russian undresses you completely, his hands are soft, and you feel them all over your body. They are so cold, and you are so cold too now that you are naked. You are vulnerable, now more than ever, and Fyodor's fixed gaze on you disturbs you. You are simply an easy prey to hunt, his prey.

He doesn't look like a hunter now, as much as his gaze is like knives stabbing through every spot he focuses on, you think he's not doing it on purpose. Fyodor doesn't know how to be nice, he never has. He knows how to be neutral: he can keep you alive and give you necessities, but he can't kiss you and keep you warm.

But there's something wrong with all this, he's being warm because since when are his hands so soft against your battered body? You need him, you need him so much it hurts, is this his way of being nice? Okay, fine, you accept it without complaint.

When he puts you in the tub you want to die, the cuts on your back burn at the contact of the water. You don't dare say a word at that or ask Fyodor to pull you out, you're afraid you'll upset him, that he'll get tired of you being so weak and whiny and stop being gentle. Fyodor could have left you lying on the cold floor, bleeding, but he didn't. You can't be an unbearable child to him.

The Russian starts washing your body, putting special emphasis on your cuts and the wound on your side. You look at his serious face with need, why were you only now realizing how handsome he was? Mmmh, you must have been blind before. He notices obviously your shy look on his lips and he smiles, that smile indicating that he was superior to you and despite that, he was still keeping you alive and forgiving of everything you did.

He approaches you and gives you the only thing you needed to be satisfied for today: a kiss. It reminds you of all the good things, strangely enough in those memories Fyodor also appears and disturbs you minimally.

You question yourself that, maybe, Fyodor does know how to be gentle.

This is the proof you need to know that now this was a new version, right? He kissed you. You feel a warmth spreading throughout your body, now it is warm, and his hands are warm too. There is a big change in temperature and it feels like heaven.

After that, Fyodor continued to wash you with special care, ignoring how your face might explode from how red it was.

The only thing that could crush the heat was tiredness, you almost fell asleep a couple of times, but you didn't want to fall asleep because it would be like wasting time with this soft Fyodor, what if tomorrow he returned to his serious and impassive face? You can't waste this time or you would regret it.

"Go to sleep, take it easy. I'll take you to bed when I'm finished." You looked at him as the most merciful being in the world. He cared about you…

You hold back your sobs for these acts of kindness, you don't want to cry anymore, not only to avoid possible discomfort in Fyodor, but for yourself, the headache is unbearable.

You let yourself fall asleep, with your head supported on your knees and Fyodor's soothing touch.

You had a nightmare which you don't remember, or don't want to remember. You wake up with your body held in Fyodor's arms, warm and gentle.

Since when did everything become so homey? Homey? Would that be the right word? Describing any situation involving Fyodor with that word doesn't feel natural to you.

You find it hard to feel your body, and your thoughts don't flow as quickly and aggressively as they used to. It's like being enveloped in a cloud, full of comfort and calmness.

You just feel something on your side, at the site of the shallow stab wound. You think maybe it's some bandage, but your limbs are asleep and too comfortable against Fyodor to move them to check. Otherwise, you feel nothing, only someone else's hand on your lower belly, it's extremely intimate in your perspective.

You turn your sleepy head and glance sideways at Fyodor. He seems calm, looking at you, his face is emotionless again and it scares you. You come to convince yourself that he is still the soft Fyodor, if he wasn't his hand wouldn't be on you, he still hasn't changed, you repeat that to yourself until you believe it.

"… Fyodor, do you know what?" Your voice comes out weak and hoarse, you wonder how soon your throat will heal. You're thankful you can't feel it well, so there's no pain anymore.

"Mmmh?"

"I think I love you."

"Do you?" There is a change, minuscule, but a change.

You nod and look away from his face, you can't stand it, no. There has been a change, you don't know in what. There's been a change, a change! Is it good or bad? You want to think it's a nice thing.

"You're different."

"I am? In what way?"

"You're softer, something nice."

"You're drugged, you don't talk sense."

"But you're different! Seriously, you never take care of me."

Silence rules the room and it hurts. Why did you talk? What idiocy, it's your fault everything that happens now, all your fault.

"You cried with happiness when I helped you sit up." Your gaze returns to the other.

"I know, so what? You want me to cry again?" There are no bad intentions behind your comment, there really aren't. You feel your brain empty, and you can't quite interpret the situation, what is Fyodor trying to tell you? Is he angry? Is he going to punish you again? It's exhausting to use your brain in this state, so you just give up and go with the flow.

"No, I don't want that." The silence stretches a little longer and, for just a few seconds, Fyodor looks away. He looks away. "I just… I thought maybe you'd be happier if I treated you good."

"Ah…" He wanted you to be happy? Really?

"I know I hurt you, but you know I only do it when you deserve it, don't you?" You nod and the cuts on your back burn for a few seconds. "Good. I really want you to be happy, with me."

You feel like at any moment the old Fyodor will appear through the door and say something like it was all a test, and then punish you for failing it. It's a horrible feeling, but you come to believe that it will seriously pass.

"So… Are you still going to be soft?"

"Yes, only if you are obedient in return."

Yes, yes, yes. He's going to keep being gentle. For some reason your chest hurts, and you sob, Fyodor has a few drops of surprise in his expression. You hide from his gaze and just focus on the yes, it's like releasing a horrible burden out of your body. You weren't afraid he was lying, something told you he wasn't, his expression maybe, or his voice, or….

"Are you crying with happiness now too?"

"I like the soft Fyodor…"

"Mmmh, that's good, isn't it?" He pulls you a little closer to his face and leaves a soft kiss on your forehead. You'd like to kiss him in return, but you can't move. "I'll keep being soft then."

I swear all I could think about while writing this was to to send it all to hell and make these two fuck

maybe I will make a second part

#bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd fyodor #fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor x reader #fyodor x y/n #fyodor x you #yandere fyodor #yandere bsd #yandere bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd

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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year

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Rigor Mortis (prologue)

College roommate Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 1

summary: Relationships end. People die. You move on, and Miguel does too. (roommate! Miguel O'Hara x reader, college-ish au).

warnings: no warnings, just angsty asf

a/n: this is the culmination of lots and lots of planning and me writing non-stop for a good few weeks. the next part will be much longer, and updates will be wednesdays until further notice. thank you for all your support! If you'd like to be tagged, see this post.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys :D

Join my taglists here <3

wc: 1.1k

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rigor mortis,

You're sitting at a diner, the one on 57th. At almost 11pm, it's… quiet. The gentle bustle of a waitress behind the counter, coffee mugs and sizzling pans. To your side, a little old woman tucked into the booth. Bright red lipstick and bold eyeliner against tan skin, wrists heavy with bangles against the counter. It's animated: feather boa, green leather jacket - and you think you spy the padding of some slippers from underneath the table. She clinks and clanks, and it makes you smile in spite of yourself. Peeling walls, cramped booths. Warm. Steady. Pam's Diner, on the corner, but you've got to use the side entrance, 'cuz the front's been bolted shut since the 50s. Don't ask questions.

"Mags, honey… I just want to… can you get your mom for me?" She's squinting into her phone now, nose pressed to the screen. You can only imagine the view from there; a facetime call with a smudge of eyebrow taking up most of the little box.

It's odd, but you like to sit near the door. Some pancakes, a milkshake, or a bitter cup of coffee now that you're older: people watching, as you've always called it. Okay, maybe it's more than odd . Maybe even serial killer adjacent - people-watching, like the night stalkers in cheesy slashers. But it's fun, looking for a story in everyone that walks in.

In your hometown, you had your first date in a booth just like this one. Back pressed against once-bright cushions, tight skirt digging into your back, and at 15 you had sat and waited with wide eyes. Waited, and watched. The woman with a blue hair-tie at the counter: a new mom, definitely. She looks tired, a mystery stain on the cotton of her joggers and deep rims around her eyes. A jitter in her hands, and she's probably got a piece of shit boyfriend on the couch; wringing his hands at looking after the little one, at being a fucking dad, for once, and… oh. The bell of the front entrance rings, and another woman walks in, and catches the eye of Blue Hair Tie. A warm smile, a tight arm around her waist. You watch as she takes up the other's jittery hand in her own. Partner? Fling? You know now; it doesn't matter, not really. Hands still, the shaking slows, and they are loved.

Your date had been late, of course. But what had been your first in a line of disappointing men is long forgotten in the haze of adulthood.

"I know, sweetheart-" the older woman in the booth next to you almost shouts, making you jump. "...those are very pretty shoes… but, could you… Hand the phone over to mom, okay?“

Someone answers with cooing and soft babbling, and then there's raspy laughter from the woman near you. It rings off the tiles: sonorous and full-bodied, wraps around you like a warm hug. It makes you feel a little less lonely, for now.

As of exactly 9.42pm, you are single. A four year relationship, over in the space of less than 20 minutes. A cup of watery decaf, and it's all over before you can finish it. I'll stay at my sister's, and you move out by the end of the month. No theatrics, not a trace of tears. You had wanted to cry, to kick and scream and beg, but more than anything, you were numb. Crystalline and still with shock, at how clinical it all felt. Sitting in your favourite diner, the humdrum of the city just past the glass; it still felt… lonely. And when he left; placed money on the counter, took his copy of keys off the table, and didn't look back ; it was cold.

You remember what he had said so many nights ago, God, years back, when he was studying for undergrad, and would crack open anatomy textbooks on the little desk in your dorm. He'd trace the lines of your arm, poke the flesh as you'd giggle and recite his notes into your skin.

that… tickles! what are y-you… ohh my God-

Stay still! This is.. important…

… I swear, I'll start screaming if you-

Pallidity, cooling, stiffness-

that's it, I'm screaming… I'm gonna do it-

It's not gonna learn itself, baby. Pallor, algor…

and rigor, right?

…

I listen. Sometimes.

…rigor, livor mortis and decay. The stages of death.

I thought you wanted to be a surgeon, baby, not the grim reaper.

Very funny. It's still important to know about these things, no?

I guess? But if you're gonna be saving lives…

That's not how it works. I'm not God. I make mistakes, people die. I do everything right-

People die.

Right. Above all, I'm in the business of people. Whilst they're alive and when they're gone, what they leave behind…

…but that's not really your job, is it? And don't give me all that, it's a vocation crap-

I don't know what to tell you. It is. It's bigger than me.

…it's long and hard and killing you slowly.

…

Shit. Jamie, I didn't mean to-

Rigor mortis. Post-mortem 'stiffness' or rigidity, which occurs one to two hours after death.

I'm sorry, I wasn't th-

The summation of unraveling: a temporary stasis, which could be described as 'frozen' in time or place, often mirroring the cause of death-

Jesus, I'm not trying to fight-

..where a body becomes a dead body. Colloquially, referred to as Alius Mortem, or; another death.

The phrase stuck, acting as a cruel count for the eventual decay of your relationship. Resentment, on both ends, had burned out that flame long before the breakup. Jamie was cruel, in some ways. You were cruel in others.

"Alice! Just wanted to say hi, cupcake; missed your voice… oh yeah… mhmm… she's just like you, can talk for the trees…" With the rasp of laughter in the booth next to you, it spreads the kind of warmth that stings.

There's a spark of self awareness at the back of your throat; the bitter taste of realisation. It's not meant to feel like this, is it? The end of almost a half-decade of your life, an era, the culmination of decisions good and bad and gray that have led you up to this moment. There should be… passion. Fighting, maybe. Tears. Instead of a supernova, you find yourself floating in the empty vacuum of space: an acrid taste left in your mouth.

"Oh God, have you and the girls been eating well? Let me come over tomorrow, drop you off some stuff…I don't trust half the crap in that cupboard of yours-" There is love and light in her voice, despite groans from the tinny speakers of her phone. Your chest is hot; something leaden and heavy that sits in the crook of ribcage. Bittersweet, like rotting fruit in the cradle of a tree trunk.

Maybe it's the coffee. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. Over the past few years, a thousand cuts. And now, in the yellow lights of the little diner on the corner of 57th; another death.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

@teacoffeeflavored @chuuyara@qiapia@rotten-zombi3@bonbyon @tianyhi @noelsilly @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @peachsteven @thesquidni@fatenpara @verr-uckt @kurakasabe @kamiko32 @mushy-mushroom04@izzys-hawttea@theandromedastar @wicked-futures @truthuntolddd @prettygirlpattinson @hellokittylover202 @angel-eyes05 @lacedinweb22 @starguiders @buggiecrawls @eugeab @tarjapearce @whoreloll @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @ancientbeing10 @shartythefarty@royalhearts

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #angst #eventual smut #kat_writes😼

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aspirationalpeony · 6 months

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Quit Playin' Games (With My Heart)

Summary: While you're trying to puzzle out the mysterious Ms. Schemmenti, Janine invites you to a dinner party--at Melissa's house. Board games, bonding, and lasagna... What could go wrong? (See author's note at the end for prompt credit.) Content Warnings: A brief paragraph discussing homophobia. AO3 Link

Does Melissa Schemmenti like you?

You've got everyone else figured out. Janine would befriend an electrical pole if it had a smiley face stapled to it; Jacob befriends anyone Janine befriends. Gregory stays a little aloof, but he's been warming up the more you show him your LEGO sets. Barbara--well, she sees you as another one of the kids, you think, but you know she appreciates your self-sufficiency, tolerates you with a smile when you're in the conversation. And Ava is... Ava.

Melissa? Who knows? She called you by the wrong name the first month you were at Abbott, knowingly, watching your face with a wry twist to her mouth, waiting for you to take the bait. When you didn't, you earned your name back. She started making dry comments to you, like "You got enough glitter glue there, Martha Stewart?" as you passed her in the hall, arms full of art supplies. She saw you struggling with the copy machine one day and said, "Here," giving it a swift kick that brought it wheezing to life, but followed up with, "Thought your generation was good with tech. What do we keep you around for, huh?"

After those backhands you'd be in a spin, wondering and confused; then later that day or the day after she'd say something else, like, "Hey, not bad, shortstop," when you got something off a high shelf for her (why shortstop when you’re taller than her? Reverse psychology?), or "Good job on lunch duty. They didn't kill ya," and you'd go warm all over and your confusion would deepen and all you would think was: does she like me or not?

You’re just not sure. So you try not to listen the day they’re all in the break room, talking about a party at Melissa’s house. You can’t help but overhear snatches—Janine insisting she’ll bring lasagna, Jacob saying he’ll do dessert, Melissa saying “oh, brother” and Barbara assuring her gently, a smile in her voice, “And I’ll bring the wine”—but you keep your head down over your lunch and turn the page of your lesson plan and ignore them until Janine realizes, suddenly, that the room isn’t empty, that you’re at the table just next to them, and burbles, “Hey, you should come, too!”

Your eyes go to Melissa right away. She glances up over her cat-eye glasses and her look is inscrutable.

“Oh,” you say, “um, I don’t know. I have, like, a thing—“

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Janine says. “We’ll eat some amazing food—“ she flicks a curl over her shoulder, playing at an Ava-like preen—“we’ll play board games, we’ll bond…”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding!” Janine looks imploringly at her friends. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Melissa says at last, still looking at you. Your heart thumps. “You should come.”

And that’s how you end up here: Melissa’s house. You crossed the welcome mat reading GO AWAY, a cheesecake in your hands, and tried not to make it obvious how badly you wanted to stare around yourself, scrutinize every photo and every piece of furniture, trying to get a window onto this woman you can’t figure out. Everyone’s piled onto the couch or onto chairs, plastic creaking under them as they lean forward to the table to swipe a snack or their glass of wine, and there’s an open box, a few stacks of cards.

“I found this amazing get-to-know-you game,” Janine declares, sliding down to sit on Mel’s carpeted floor. “So, you spin the spinner, right, and whatever it lands on, you take a card with the same color, and then you ask the question that’s on it, and everybody answers, and—“

“How do you win?” Melissa says. She’s holding a glass of wine, its rim printed with her pink lipstick. She’s got her hair in a ponytail that leaves lots of little curls hanging everywhere. She’s wearing a tank top. These details feel incredibly important; you try not to think about them.

“Oh, uh…” Janine frowns at the instruction booklet. “I don’t think you win.”

“What’s the point of a game if nobody wins?” Melissa leans over to the coffee table, grabs a grape off a serving plate, pops it into her mouth. She glances over at Barbara, who’s perched very straight-backed in a plastic-covered armchair, nursing a little bit of wine.

“I, for one,” Jacob says, “think competition is over-valued in our society. American individualism—"

“Just spin it, Janine,” Barbara says.

Beaming at the approval of her mentor, Janine spins. She plucks a blue card: “What’s your favorite sexual—“ her eyes widen. “Uh.”

“Oh, this just got interestin’,” Melissa says, and sits up straighter.

“Let me take another one.” Janine puts that card aside. “Have you ever had a threes—okay, no. Are they all like this?”

Gregory, a silent presence sitting stiffly alongside Janine, turns over a card from the green and red piles. He reads one: “How do you like your partner to style their pubic hair?” Then, the red: “Confess to a sexual fantasy you’ve had about… A member of the group.” The questions sound even more bizarre in his level voice, although his lifted eyebrows and widened eyes telegraph his discomfort. His gaze darts to Janine, then away.

“Janine, what’s the name of this game, please,” Barbara says, looking as though she’s one syllable from combustion.

Janine lifts the lid of the box. “Adult Dinner Party. But I thought, you know, adult dinner party, a classy kind of—oh.”

Jacob picks up a blue card gingerly and turns it over. “Have you ever had sex in a public place?”

“I have,” you say. Every face in the room turns toward you. Your cheeks heat. Your eyes flicker between each incredulous look. “What? We’re supposed to answer them, aren’t we?”

“This just got interestin’,” Melissa repeats. There’s a strange look on her face, not quite amusement; you wonder if it’s respect. “Me, too.”

“Melissa!” Barbara gasps.

“What? You never got fingered in a dark ride at an amusement park?”

Barbara stands up with her wine and walks out of the room, muttering to herself. Glances pass between the rest of you. The corner of Melissa’s mouth curves up. “Spin again,” she says.

The next few questions are mercifully tamer: do you think French kissing is overrated, what’s one thing you’ll never do for a partner? More wine is poured, Melissa going around and topping off each glass, saying to Gregory and Janine, “Lighten up a little, will you?” Eventually she comes to sit on the floor with everyone else, four people around the coffee table. She’s picked a spot right at your side, your knees bumping, thighs aligned.

“Is Barbara okay?” you ask. You can smell her perfume; it’s spicy and floral and it makes you feel tipsier than you are.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Melissa says. “You don’t wanna know how many of my parties she’s walked out of. Hey, Barb!” She bellows it close to your ear, making you wince; it’s followed by a twinge of peculiar affection that so much volume can come from one little woman. “Check the lasagna, will ya!”

There’s an indistinct answer from the other room, full of barely-contained irritation. Melissa slugs back another swallow of wine as Jacob flicks the spinner.

He draws a card and reads, “Have you ever kissed a member of the same sex? Oh, well—obviously.”

Gregory and Janine shake their heads.

Melissa says, “Listen, what happens in cheer squad stays in cheer squad, alright,” to scandalized gasps from her audience. She looks at you. “How about you? No girls, huh?”

You’re arrested by her green gaze so close, the wine on her breath, the question itself. You start to tell her, yes, plenty of girls, but you’re blushing again, embarrassed, all your bravado from earlier draining away into the floorboards.

“Here,” she says, and leans in. You register the thought Holy shit in the moment before her lips touch yours. Her nose brushes your cheek. Her mouth is very soft and a hot breath puffs over you in the instant before she delicately parts her lips and you feel the sweet flick of her tongue. She leans back again. “Now you’ve kissed a girl.”

“Melissa!” Janine says, outraged, bewildered.

“I bet Ava would have come, if she’d known it was this kind of party,” Jacob mumbles to the bowl of pretzels in front of him.

“I’m going to go check on Barbara,” Gregory says, his shellshocked eyes firmly on the ground as he gets up.

“Hey, I’ll come with you,” Janine says, all nerves, “maybe the lasagna needs more parm,” and scrambles up after him.

Melissa’s pouring herself the last of the wine. She’s smiling to herself. You don’t get it: what was that for? Was it bait, like your name, like the ribbing comments, trying to get a rise out of you? Or maybe just out of the people around you—trying to be the most shocking in the room? You stare, trying to read the look of satisfaction on her face.

"I'll--the bathroom," you say, and get to your feet. "'Scuse me."

You've got kind of an idea where it is. The problem, you realize, is that you have to cut through the kitchen to get there. It's savory-smelling, rich with tomato scent, and full of furious whispering that dies instantly as you cross the threshold; Janine, intently grating parmigiano into a bowl, gives you a guilty look as Gregory quickly parts from her side. Barbara is at the island counter, maybe only half-participating, but she looks at you, too, and you know they've told her.

You feel it all over again: these are people who've had years to get to know each other. Who are you to them? Not really a friend, just a colleague, half-acquaintance. You're the new invitee, the odd one out, and even though it was Melissa that kissed you, you'll be the one who gets the blame for the ruined party, the awkwardness now swamping Mel's rowhouse. Your gut clenches. "Excuse me," you repeat and dart past them to the bathroom.

You run cold water from the tap and stick your wrists underneath the faucet, like you've got heatstroke. You wet your hands and press them to your cheeks, your neck, your nape, trying to quiet your thumping heart. You look in the mirror: there's a glazed look in your eye; you're conscious your lips are tingling. Why'd she do that?

You've been played with by straight women before. Not always out of conscious cruelty: some women, you've realized, are hungry for a kind of attraction that doesn't have fear and imbalance, and they can't always have that with men. They want to be wanted by someone they think won't hurt them, and they pick you--never thinking about what it does to your heart; never imagining that desire for a woman can be real, that it can mean anything to anyone.

Is that Melissa? She said that thing about the cheer squad. If she likes women, too, why would she mess with you? If she thinks you're straight, is she just trying to shock, the way she did Barb with that dirty answer about fingering, needling at what she thinks are your reservations and limitations? Because that's what she does, what she's been doing. Poking and poking, trying to get a rise. Should you have shouted? Should you have cried? What would satisfy her?

"Melissa Ann Schemmenti," you hear Barb say from the kitchen, muffled on the other side of the door. You freeze a moment, heart pounding all over again, then turn the water down to a trickle and inch toward the door, leaning closer. All you can hear are bits and pieces of what must be a thunderous lecture: "That girl... Well, I won't... You know that... Sweet, but... Learn to behave."

There's a sulky rumble in Mel's voice in answer.

You're going to have to go out there eventually. You listen a few more seconds, but if there's footsteps of people dispersing, or more conversation as they linger, you can't hear it. You resign yourself, turn off the water, dry off your hands. You give your cheeks a last press with your cold fingers, trying to ground yourself. You'll go out there and pretend it didn't happen. You'll make it through the night and see what happens tomorrow. That's all you can do.

Of course, you go out into the kitchen, and everyone else is gone, and Melissa's there.

She's frowning deeply and scrupulously wrapping the parmigiano in plastic. She says something under her breath; you catch a Sicilian curse and a "kids don't know..." When she hears the bathroom door click, her head goes up, and there's a moment, her eyes meeting yours, where she looks as nervous as you feel. She looks back down at the cheese, tightly sealing and wrapping its edges, then crosses to the big stainless fridge to put it away.

"Guess I scared you back there," she says. There's a challenge in her voice. Suddenly, your fear and loneliness uncoil; they spool out into anger. It's one thing to mess with you in words. You could call that friendliness, call it teasing. It's not fair to mess with you like this.

"You didn't scare me," you say. Your voice is stronger than you expected. Not loud, but sure. "I've kissed more girls than a cheer squad."

"Huh, look at you," Melissa says, "big player."

"What is your problem with me?"

The question catches her in the act of moving to the oven. She looks sharply at you--then away. There's something strangely un-Melissa about the act. She fiddles with the oven dial, then leans her hip against the counter and folds her arms over her chest. "Hon, if I had a problem with you, you'd know."

"Then what the hell was that?" You catch yourself starting to cross your arms, to mirror her, and lower them to your sides, where your hands clench tightly.

"I kissed ya." She lifts her chin and looks at you. "What, you didn't like it?"

Your anger wobbles; the question stumps you. "It--that doesn't--look, you've been doing this all year. Pushing me around. I don't get it. I didn't do anything to you. Maybe you think I'm annoying, or stupid, or--"

"Pushing you around?" Mel moves closer. Her voice gets a little tighter, a little louder. Her eyes glitter with challenge. "I invited you to my house."

"Yeah, you invited Jacob and Janine to your house, too."

"I don't like them the way I like you," she says, and freezes. You have a sense she's blurted something she didn't mean to say. It's stopped her right in the tracks of what she might have made an argument, draining the confidence out of her posture.

Your heart is thundering in your ears again. You replay that delicate, barely-there kiss: her face leaning toward yours, spicy scent of her perfume, wine on her breath, her green eyes, her soft, hot mouth. Her tongue. "What?" you say.

Her mouth twists. There's something faintly absurd about it, how it turns a grown woman toddleresque, and you get another pang of that strange affection from before, when she yelled right in your ear. It's strong enough to filter through your anger.

She shifts from foot to foot. With her shoes off in her own home, she suddenly looks half her usual height. Fondness washes against you. "Look," she says, "I'm forget-about-it years older'n you and I don't have time to play games, so--"

"This isn't playing games?"

She ducks her chin toward her chest. It's another gesture that's strangely unlike her. You hear Barbara's voice in your head: Melissa Ann Schemmenti... Learn to behave.

You move closer again. Her eyes flick up to yours and there's a sulky defiance in them, even when they drop briefly to your lips.

"Is this..." You don't know how to ask it. How do you ask Melissa Schemmenti do you want me in her own kitchen? "Melissa, what do you want?"

"C'mere," she says. She takes your chin in her grasp and brings you closer and kisses you again.

Wine, perfume, her skin. This time, it's not some playful schoolgirl thing. You can feel intention behind the slow press of her lips against yours. She lets it linger for a second, two, then leans back, looking into your eyes.

Whatever she sees has her turning you, your back against the counter, a hard line of granite. This time, you lean forward into her kiss. Her body presses into yours, all hips, soft belly, breasts. Her hands bracket your body against the edge of the countertop. Her way of deepening the kiss is to nip your lower lip and make you gasp, so that her tongue can flick into your mouth, brushing against yours and sending tingling ripples through your whole body.

You cup her jaw. She’s so, so warm. You slide a hand back and brush some of those loose, careless locks of red hair behind her ear. You kiss her and kiss her; when your tongue teases against hers, deliberately now, she makes a sound like a whimper that you feel head to toe, like a current of lightning passing through you, dispersing into the ground.

“So,” she says, with you securely pinned, flushed, breathing hard, “what do you think?”

What do you think? You go back in for another kiss. She chuckles against your mouth and can barely kiss you back for her smug smile. This time, it’s your kiss, not hers, and you explore exactly how you want to: sucking and nibbling her lower lip, licking into her mouth, your hands dropping to her waist, pulling her against you. She melts into you, and there’s a thunderous sense of power and desire in you, tied to how her arms come up to loop around your neck, how her spine softens and her body sways into yours.

When you’ve got your breath back, you ask her, “Should we go back out there?” You know you have to, but you don’t know how you’ll manage it. You’re sure you have this moment written all over your face, glassy-eyed and out of breath. Melissa does, too: her lipstick is smeared. “Maybe in a few minutes?”

“I think,” she says, “I should kick all of ‘em outta here, and you’n’me keep the game and the lasagna, and we have some fun.” Her hand drops, intervening between your body and the counter so she can firmly grab your ass. You squeak. “Huh?”

“I—I think that would be pretty rude.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” she says, though she doesn’t let go of your ass. “And they planned this whole thing for us, so…”

“Wait—” you lean back a little to get a clear picture of her face. “What?”

“Janine’s idea,” she says. “I found out after they invited you. They knew I thought you were cute—“

“You told them that?”

“Course I didn’t,” Melissa says, “I look like somebody who goes splashin’ their business everywhere? ‘Specially where Janine can hear it? I’ll tell you about what she did to me’n my sister some time. They figured it out on their own. I mighta been lookin’ at your ass at work.” She gives it a pinch.

“So the board game…” You frown.

“I think that was an accident for real.” Her face pinches in a frown. “‘Magine Janine tryin’ to get us to talk dirty to each other out there?” The frown vanishes and the leer she gives you makes you feel very, very naked. “We could talk dirty in here, if you wanna.”

“Okay,” you say, “I think we have to go serve dinner.” If you let her keep going, you don’t know if you’ll have the will to stop her. You hear the next thought in her voice: What? You never got fingered in a kitchen with all your coworkers right outside? “Wait—“ your brow creases. “Did Barbara seriously go along with this?”

Melissa clears her throat. “She didn’t know at first—and then, I wanted her here, y’know, in case, uh…”

“Things went badly?” you supply. Melissa pinks. You smile at the sweet strangeness of it. “Were you guys going to drink a bottle of wine so you could… Mope about me?”

“I wasn’t gonna mope about ya,” Mel says, “because I knew you weren’t gonna turn me down, and you’d be an idiot if you did, so.”

“I would,” you agree, and have to go back in for another kiss, two, three. “I would be an idiot,” you murmur against her.

“Okay,” she says when you can finally stop kissing her, “okay.” She gives your ass a slap that makes you gasp. Her eyes narrow, cataloguing that response, and her smirk, of course, resurfaces. “You take the lasagna out of the oven. I gotta fix my lipstick.” She steps away, and pauses. “You might wanna…” She gestures to her mouth.

You rub your tingling lips and your fingers come away with the pink of her lipstick. Your face heats.

“Or keep it,” Melissa says, “looks good on you,” and she gives a preening toss of her high ponytail as she turns away to the bathroom.

You watch her go, her hips swaying as she moves. You have a sense of the world tilted on its axis: all that teasing and game-playing—because she likes you? More than likes you—wants you? Janine inviting you, Jacob and Gregory playing along—because they really do care? Barbara scolding Melissa in this kitchen—because she wants her best friend to treat you right?

You find a napkin and scrub the lipstick off your mouth. Each step you take across the kitchen feels like levitation, an inch or two above the floor. You check the lasagna. There’s two: one big lasagna, and another small, plain one for Gregory. You lift each casserole dish out of the oven, and they smell better than ever in a house full of friends.

You cross to the doorway and peek out into the living room. “Lasagna’s ready,” you say to the four faces that turn to yours, and you know you’re smiling like an idiot, but you can’t help it.

Janine bounces up. “I can’t wait for you to tryyyy itttttt,” she sing-songs. “I learned from the best!”

Barbara passes you to find plates and ready the table. She gives your arm a little pat as she goes—the first time she’s ever touched you. You feel a Janine-like burst of effervescence at the thought that Melissa’s best friend approves.

Melissa reappears. She picks up a cutter for each lasagna, an armful of cloth napkins, another bottle of wine. Jacob and Gregory gather the glasses from the coffee table. You stick your hands back into the oven mitts to carry each dish in.

As everybody gets settled in, pulling out chairs, Janine proudly adding her bowl of grated parmigiano to the table (“just in case!” she burbles), you catch Melissa’s eye. She’s looking at you, a soft fondness in the gaze; the tender creases at the corners of her eyes make your chest squeeze around your heart, which feels three, four times as large as it was before.

“What do you think?” you ask the table. “Should we bring over the cards?”

Your friends laugh. Barbara shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Melissa Schemmenti, looking at you, smiles.

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

Author's Note:

My next fic was intended to be a sadder hurt/comfort fic, but I received the following prompt from @morgana-larkin:

I love your first fic and I wanted to know if you could do one more on the fun side. Where the whole group goes to either Melissa or reader’s place for game night and they all end up playing truth or dare while drunk and someone dares one of them to kiss the other. Then after everyone leaves the two of them end up admitting their feelings. Thank you!

I did make some tweaks to the premise to suit my storytelling style, which I hope is okay. I did my best to honor this fun and lovely prompt. Thank you so much!

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader

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lupinmoonlight · 7 months

Note

Heyyy i love ur writing girl it is amazing.

So I wanted to request smth. Well I thougth about smth like she's in her last year and she sees him for the first time and directly falls in love with him? After a poison lesson she has to serve detention and prof snape isn't there so remus takes over and they flirt and make out or smth???

Masterlist AO3 Kind of part 2?

Detention?

Summary - Your detention takes an unexpected turn. You end up candidly sharing stories and chocolate with Professor Lupin, perched on a desk side by side, work completely forgotten. Tension builds up and fluff ensues (1,462 words).

Warnings - professor/student relationship, age gap, kissing, fluff, some touching, very light smut if you squint, flirting, my grammar (english is my second language), not proof-read.

Notes - Thank you for your request anon! Sorry for taking so long. University is kicking my butt! Thank you to everyone for sending requests! Don't worry, I am slowly going through them. Thank you for your patience :)

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for another evening under the oppressive gaze of Professor Snape. The cold, damp air of the dungeons made your skin crawl and it clung to you in a way that made you shiver. Each step felt heavier than the last, and the weight of yet another unfair, unjustified, stupid detention settled in the pit of your stomach.

When you opened the door, however, instead of the dark, brooding presence of the dungeon bat, you were met with the soft, gentle gaze of Professor Lupin. You both stopped in your tracks, taken aback by the unexpected meeting. A beat of awkward silence filled the room, but Lupin was the first to break it.

"Y/N," he began, the slight hint of a smile on his lips, "It seems there's been a change of plans. Professor Snape had to attend an emergency and asked me to oversee your detention."

You nodded, trying to mask the relief and thrill that washed over you. "I…understand, Professor."

Lupin held up a piece of parchment, clearing his throat slightly before reading in a tone that was slightly mocking the one of Snape's, "Detention assigned to Miss L/N for assisting another student during class." He raised an eyebrow, looking rather incredulous. "Your punishment is to hand wash every potion instrument."

Lupin rolled his eyes and, with a swift flick of his wand, every beaker, flask, and cauldron gleamed, spotless clean. You watched in astonishment, your voice suddenly caught in your throat.

Lupin grinned. "I think making a student wash instruments for a good deed is rather absurd. Consider your detention…modified. You're free to leave, or you can stay here and keep me company while I grade these essays," he said, motioning to the large pile on his desk, a hint of hope in his tone.

A part of you knew you should leave, but another part- the part that longed for his company- compelled you to stay. The allure of spending time alone with him was too tempting to pass up. "I think I'll stay, if that's alright with you, Professor. I have some studying to do and could use the quiet space."

He nodded and smiled, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer than necessary. "Suit yourself."

The room settled into a comfortable silence. The only sound was the occasional rustling of papers and the scratch of quills. But beneath the calm, there was an underlying tension, something that made your heart flutter and your cheeks burn up slightly.

You found yourself losing focus on your book. Every time you tried to concentrate, your eyes would drift towards Lupin. You'd steal glances, noting the way his brow would furrow in concentration, the soft sigh he'd let out reading a particularly difficult essay, the way the quill looked so small held between his long fingers. Your mind wandered, thinking about what his fingers would feel like gripping your thigh, around your neck, under your skirt…You forced yourself to snap out of it before the way you started to squirm betrayed your dirty mind.

Lupin wasn't oblivious either. He'd occasionally glance up, catching your gaze, making you flustered. The blush that crept up your cheeks did not go unnoticed, and it only fueled the Professor's smitten glances.

Clearing your throat, you tried to break the tension. "Professor, may I ask a question?"

"Of course," he replied, setting down an essay.

"Why did you really offer me to stay?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Lupin paused, searching for the right words. "I believe in fostering a space for students where they feel safe and…understood. And, well, perhaps I enjoy your company."

As the night wore on, the stack of essays lay forgotten. What began as a quiet study session slowly morphed into something more intimate, a shared space of laughter and stories. You had both abandoned your work, now perched side by side on a desk, a half-eaten chocolate bar between you.

The closeness was new for you. Your knees occasionally brushed, sending little jolts of electricity through you. Your usual shyness melted away bit by bit, replaced by a comfortable ease you hadn't known you could feel around a professor.

"So, Professor," you started, a curious tone in your voice, "what was your time like at Hogwarts? Any wild adventures?"

"Oh, plenty," Lupin reminisced with a soft laugh. "My friends and I…we were quite the handful. Always exploring, getting into trouble."

"Trouble?" you echoed, your interest piqued. "You don't seem the type."

"There's a lot beneath the surface, Miss L/N," he replied, a hint of mystery in his voice. "I wasn't always the…composed professor you see now."

Feeling an unexpected surge of courage, you decided to push the limits a little bit, inching closer, "Oh? Show me then, Professor," you said teasingly.

To your surprise, Lupin didn't retreat. Instead, he stood up, placing his hands on either side of you on the desk. He leaned in, close enough that you could see the faintest lines of laughter around his eyes.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your cheeks burning. You'd never been this close to him- or anyone- like this.

"You know," he said softly, "when I was your age, I thought I had the whole world figured out. But life…it has a way of surprising you."

You swallowed hard, your gaze fixed on his. "Like how?"

"Like finding yourself in a dungeon, sharing a chocolate bar with a remarkable student," he replied, how voice low.

You laughed nervously, "And what else has life taught you, Professor?"

His eyes twinkled. "That sometimes, the things we want most are the ones we least expect. And often, they're right in front of us."

You breath hitched. The air between you was charged, stifling, intoxicating.

"Professor, I-" you began but faltered, unsure of what you were about to confess.

Lupin tilted his head, his expression softening, leaning in so close that your breaths mingled. His proximity was overwhelming, rendering you speechless.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "It's okay, Y/N," he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper.

Before you could gather your thoughts, he brushed his lips against yours, so softly it was like a whisper of a touch, as if he knew if he allowed himself more he wouldn't be able to hold back. It was a tentative kiss, a test of boundaries. The faint taste of chocolate lingered from the bar you'd shared, blending with the unique essence of him, creating a flavor that was intoxicatingly him.

His hands, which had been respectfully resting on the desk, now traveled with a newfound boldness, moving from the nape of your neck down to your waist, drawing you infinitesimally closer. His touch was possessive yet gentle, strong yet incredibly tender, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Everything around you blurred into insignificance, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of forbidden desires and burgeoning feelings. You found yourself cataloguing everything- his scent, his warmth, the roughness of his scruff in contrast to the softness of his lips- committing each little detail to memory. You wanted more, craved more, wanted him to pour his soul into you, becoming one.

As he pulled back, there was a teasing glint in his eyes. He studied your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your lips, tracing the curve gently, the contact going straight to your core. His gaze was intense, hungry, searching, as if trying to read every thought that raced through your mind.

"The end of the year is approaching. You'll graduate, and then…" He trailed off, the implication hanging heavily in the air.

He smiled, his eyes locked on yours. "There's a nice little place in Hogsmeade. I've always thought it would be nice to visit it with someone…special."

The word hung between you, its meaning crystal clear. It wasn't just an invitation; it was a promise of something more, something that stretched beyond the walls of Hogwarts and the constraints of your dynamic.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'd like that," you managed to say, your voice steadier than you felt.

Lupin smiled. A smile of pure joy. One that reached his eyes and seemed to light up the entire room, your entire world. "Then it's a date," he said, the words sealing a promise of future moments.

He stepped back, allowing you to slide off the desk, your knees weak.

"Let me walk you to your dorm, it's getting late."

"Thank you, Professor."

With that, you left the dungeons, your heart racing and your mind replaying every moment of the night, the memory of the kiss lingering on your lips.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #professor lupin #professor lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #hp

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blushweddinggowns · 8 months

Note

Would love to see your take on 23 or 28 good potential for fluff or angst or maybe both?

I am such a fluffy bitch! I can't help myself. If I get another one of these I will do angst because I need to work on that. But for now fluffy bullshit is my safe place <3

But I will say this tickled my uh not sfw brain, so watch out for a possible ao3 E addition the other prompt. Maybe! (Probably. the potenial of "Come and get your fix" is insane) But this is "Was it worth it?"

Honestly? You'd think Steve would be used to this by now. He was just not the guy that anyone wanted to be with. First there was Nancy, the worst heartbreak he ever had. Then there was Robin, which was better but still kind of sucked. Until Steve realized that oh, wow, this girl is literally my long lost sister. So with that, he had to admit that he was pretty grateful that she was gay as hell. The alternative would have been an absolute disaster. But even before all of that, girls just didn't like being with him. Or at least staying with him.

He was too much of a hopeless romantic, too clingy, too weird. He always fell beneath expectations. People expected him to be cool, suave, to actually match the whole "King Steve" label and be the high school dream boat that he should be. But...Steve just wasn't like that. He wanted too much too fast, always opening up and sharing shit that made people uncomfortable. That made them pull away and find someone less annoying. So he'd retreat back into the popular boy thing, be charming and a little dickish, find a new girlfriend, and start the process all over again.

People just... didn't like going there with him. Not when there were better options. It felt like the only one who could really handle him was Robin. And lately... Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson who was currently in the middle of crushing all of his feelings into the dust.

He thought...Steve wasn't sure what he thought. But it felt like over the past year they had been moving somewhere, to something more. They were friends by circumstance, from all the Upside Down shit and then with Steve being Dustin's chauffer to the hospital for visits. It had all been so simple at first. They would all talk as a group, it would be fun, and then they'd be on there way until Dustin called him up next. Until one day Steve just went by himself. He wasn't quite sure why he did, but the bright smile that lit up Eddie's face when he saw him made sure that he'd keep doing it.

And they would talk for a long time. For a stupid amount of time honestly, all the way until the nurses kicked him out for getting Eddie too rowdy and excited. But it didn't stop when he got out of the hospital. Steve just started going to house, helping him and his uncle out as they got to know each other more. It's not like he had anything else going on. He just never expected Eddie Munson of all people to slowly become the center of his life.

They just... clicked. In a way that no one had expected, least of all them. They were so different, but they also weren't. Not in the ways that mattered. Besides, Steve liked all the play fights and debates they would have over music and movies. He liked ribbing each other over their taste in clothes and their mutual inability to get girls. He loved it even more when Eddie came out to him in the silliest possible way.

"I can't get girls because I'm gay as fuck and they can sense it. You can't get girls because every straight woman that lives here is apparently stupid. Can being too hot ruin your dating life?"

At the time it had made Steve laugh. It also stirred... something in his chest. Something warm and nice that he didn't have time to examine, not when he was too busy reassuring Eddie that yes, he's okay with it. But no, girls couldn't smell it on him. Not that Eddie cared but Steve actually had 0 clue on why no one was interested in him. Just because he was gay didn't mean the girls of Hawkins high knew that. Why weren't they fawning over him? He was so freaking pretty, and creative and fun and...and that's how Steve realized he wasn't as straight as he thought he was.

And because Steve was Steve that meant that he had to make things weird. He started doing stupid shit, like staring at Eddie's perfect mouth all the time, wearing his clothes with permission, just to smell him throughout the day. They started giving each other little nick names, stupid shit that was so close to being romantic. Like sunshine and angel. They started sleeping in the same bed together, spending more nights with each other than apart. Steve would wake up with Eddie wrapped around him, clinging to him like...like they were something more.

And it felt good. Comfortable and safe. And Steve really thought that this had been different. That whatever was going on with him had to be going on with Eddie too.

But now here he was, standing shell-shocked in his kitchen while his very good friend was trying to talk to him about his crush. His crush that had nothing to do with Steve. It wasn't exactly shocking that Steve had made all of that flirtation up in his head. It wouldn't be the first time, he was just delusional like that.

But that didn't stop his heart from breaking when Eddie said, "So...there's this guy whose like, insanely hot? And I think he might be into me. But... I don't really know what to do about it."

Steve really did not want to hear about this. He didn't like it, the horrifying thought of Eddie getting a boyfriend. Because what partner would be cool with them cuddling up together in bed? Who would be down to have their boyfriend's creepy buddy hanging around them all the time? Calling them stupid shit like sunshine? It wasn't going to happen. And acknowledging that hurt...so much more than Steve had expected.

But Steve was a good friend. That was probably the only thing he had going for him. He'd get past it. He always did. He was just going to have to completely restructure the life he had built around Eddie. That's all.

He shoved his feelings back, smiling despite the fact that he felt like he was dying a little inside, "Oh yeah? Tell me about him."

Steve wasn't sure why he asked that. And the dreamy smiled on Eddie's face when he started talking wasn't helping, "He is just awesome dude. Total catch, an absolute sweetheart. And he just fits with me y'know? And, um, I think he feels the same way. But I'm not sure. I'm too much of a bitch to even ask if he's into dudes. I don't know if telling him is worth the risk."

Part of Steve wanted to be a real piece of shit with that. To tell him that yeah, it's not a good idea. He's probably straight and definitely wouldn't be good for him. They wouldn't love him like Steve could. But that didn't exactly count as being a good friend, did it?

Steve kept it all back, his smile tight when he said, "I think that sometimes the risk can be worth it. Do you think he's worth it?"

Eddie laughed, like Steve said something funny instead of trying to be sincere. But he was smiling, staring down at the counter as he fiddled with his rings, "If it worked out, it would probably be the best thing that ever happened to me."

Steve really really did not need to hear that. He could feel his eyes getting wet. He needed to wrap this shit up and send Eddie on his way to mystery man's house before he started crying, "If that's how you feel then go for it man. He'd be lucky to have you."

Steve's voice broke on the last word, something he tried to hide behind a cough. He just wanted this to be over already.

"I think I'd be lucky to have him," Eddie said with a shrug, "But... do you really think I should? Just go for it?"

"Yeah dude, why not tonight even? If he's not doing anything else you can just hop right over," Steve was willing to sign up for anything that got him out of here faster.

Eddie laughed again, completely out of place. He was circling the counter, coming to a stop in front of Steve with a nervous little smile, "You really think so?"

Why did he have to look at him like that? With this big doe eyes, filled with hope. It was silly, what Steve thought didn't even matter, this had nothing to do with him. But that little fact wasn't helping to clear the lump in his throat.

Steve nodded, not trusting himself with words. He expected Eddie to grin, thank him, and head out into the night to profess his love for some other dude. But that's not what happened.

Instead Eddie settled his hands on Steve's shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze. He looked nervous, but excited, his eyes boring right into Steve's. He took a deep breath before blurting, "I'm in love with you. Like full-blown. A-And it's probably way to early to be saying that but it's true Steve. It's been driving me fucking insane, because I like want you man. In very non-friendship ways."

Steve stared at him, his mouth hanging open like an idiot. He didn't-wait-huh? What? That can't be right. Eddie couldn't have been talking about him because he didn't-he wasn't-but... now that Steve thought about it, who the fuck else would he be talking about? How would he even have a chance to meet someone else when they were attached at the hip?

He felt so stupid. And so relived. He didn't even know what to do with himself, besides stare at Eddie like a moron. And his silence wasn't helping anything.

"I-um, thought that you might feel the same way since, y'know. Everything. And I know you're not gay-"

It was true, Steve wasn't gay. Not entirely but, "I can be gay for you. I'm so gay for you. I might as well be an Eddie-sexual at this point-"

Steve didn't have time to finish his cringy spiel, not when Eddie was pulling him closer and smashing their mouths together. Steve would thank him later for it, but for now he was too busy melting into his arms.

He felt weirdly good when they finally pulled away, almost like he was high. Just from one little kiss.

Eddie was grinning at him, looking at Steve like he was the best thing that ever happened to him. And what an insane thought that was huh? But Steve would take it.

Steve smiled up at him, taking the time to wrap his arms around Eddie's neck, "So...was it worth it? The risk?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, his hands wandering downward to rest on Steve's hips. And then Eddie was actually lifting him into the air and onto the counter, settling between his legs like the gesture didn't just send Steve into a tailspin. Why was that so hot? When did his nerdy friend (boyfriend?) become so smooth?

Eddie chuckled before leaning back in. He pressed a light kiss to the side of Steve's lips, sweet enough for him to know it would be burned into his memory until the end of time, "Like you have to ask."

#steddie ficlet #steddie #steddie fic #silly steddie #asks #eddie: i love you #Steve: I'm so gay for you bro #Romance comes in all shapes and forms #lol #I will do an angsty one at some point #or maybe just add some angst in general?#im so fluffy #maybe we need some spice #but also im a crybaby so maybe not #a lil late but she's here~#oblivious steve #dumbass boy #he's trying

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personne-writes · 9 days

Text

A ROTTMNT contribution to the Turtles Together zine

Alternate realities

----- I'm very proud to present to you my poem for the @turtlestogetherzine! The physical copies have already all been sold in leftover sales, but you can still buy the digital bundle here if you'd like. I'd recommand reading it on AO3, but if you'd rather stay here, be my guest! -----

Four brothers hang out under the clouded moon, Basking in New York City’s noises and light. They talk and they laugh on a roof out of sight; It’s too late for duty – and for sleep, too soon. They may be teenagers but at their center Lay powers and forces that never tire, Sparks of energy, everlasting fire – Often at the service of quips and banter. The Blue one gushes about a job well done, The smile of the Red one is nothing but proud, The Orange one wonders silly things out loud Of which Purple knows much, yet kindly says none. “If everything changed,” Orange suddenly asks, “In another life, or place, or world, or time Would we keep our colors? Would we still wear masks? Would we still be ninja turtles fighting crime?” Red and Blue whistle and start theorizing Orange happily helps their ideas fuse But Purple falls silent. His pulse is rising. Science is calling. Who is he to refuse?

Between dearest walls, he retreats with his tools In one hand a pen, in the other a cup Both needed for work – he doesn't make the rules. Hours become days, still the math won't add up. As he struggles hard to make equations fit Something starts nudging at the back of his mind. He is close – to what? He cannot quite name it Then, in a split second, dimensions unbind.

It feels like his thoughts Are now being shared. He tries to reach out. Perhaps, if he dared –

Contact. Confusion. New realities. Alternate versions. Other families.

He sees things that he doesn't remember Unknown memories blending together.

Echoes of voices, Tales ancient and new All of them are his; All of them are true.

His instincts kick in The gears start to spin Narrowing on – There! The thing they all share –

Struggle. Everywhere. Missions, miseries Mortal ennemies Pressure and anger Menace and danger

Every version of him Every version of them They all stand. They all bite. They all dread and they all fight.

And Purple flinches. Can this be their essence? Responsability over insouciance Honor and duty against opposition Sacrifice for all without recognition?

No. That can't be it. This isn't who they are, Their fate can't be written with tears shed so far. In his heart, he knows there must be something more; With a switch, e feels it, pulising at the core.

The bad and the good things flow from the same source And he shifts and pushes to swim up its course. It all comes from a place of fondness and care The urge to take risks, to protect and repair The sense of justice and the dedication All boundless affection in demonstration.

The feeling is strong. As he follows its trace, The fragments of truth at once click into place. There, clear as day, is the universal law: Accross dimensions, the Turtles don't withdraw.

Lightheaded, Purple comes back to his senses. His lab feels too small; he needs wider spaces. He goes to the kitchen – the pizza smells nice Watches his brothers fight over the last slice Leans in the doorway and finds himself staring. His soul is catching up; his heart is flaring.

The familiar shouts of loss and victory Help him se the fabric of reality. No matter the world, no matter the plots twists In every timeline, his family exists.

The rift between their universes is crossed; Everywhere, there are green heroes in the night There are masks and colors even when all's lost There are sparks and fire ever shining bright

Faith stronger than doubt, Trust louder than fear Hope warmer than drought Love closer than near.

------

Thanks for reading! This was my first experience being in a fanzine and I must say it was quite the first time. I'm still astonished at the sheer quality of each and every contribution, but also at the professionalism and efficiency of the mods, not to mention everyone's enthusiasm through the whole project! All my thanks again to the Turtles Together zine team for letting me in and my regards to all my fellow contributors out there, keep being awesome guys <3

#turtles together zine #tt zine #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #my writing #writing #poem #original content

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juiceinpanties · 2 years

Text

A Proper S'more

Pairing: Eddie Munson/afab!reader

Rating(s): E

Words: ~3k

Tags: smut!, humping, nipple play, semi-public sexual activity, drug use (just some pot), flirting through food, friends to lovers, established friendship

Summary: Your best friend Eddie Munson invites you camping, and while you're reluctant at first, you realize this might be just the chance you need to finally show him how you feel.

Notes: I was rage-inspired by the TERRIBLE take on s'mores they recently featured on Great British Bake-Off. Pretty sure this is the first time the British have inspired hot, sexy smut. Thanks as always to @tonybourdain for her invaluable help as beta, idea bouncer-off-ofer, and just all around wonderful and amazing human.

This is meant as a one-shot, but if y'all want I can add more.

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated and PLEASE reblog if you can! It's how posts spread around here; likes are appreciated, but they do nothing to boost interaction. :)

part 1 | part 2

In case you wanna read on Ao3 instead

“Camping?” You blink at him, confused. “Eddie, you hate camping.”

He scowls and kicks at the ground. “Yeah, I do, but Henderson and his friends wanna go, but their parents want some older kids to go to make sure they don’t set the woods on fire or something.”

You lift a brow, struggling not to grin. “And they nominated you?”

He smirks a little. “Dustin’s mom loves me.”

“Uh huh, I bet.” He's weirdly popular with moms, even your own. You'd think the whole metalhead thing would be a turn off, but they seem to like it.

It works for you, so maybe you shouldn't be that surprised.

“Look, Nancy and Steve are going, but I don’t wanna third wheel it. They’ll be makin’ goo goo eyes at each other all night.” He rolls his own eyes, then gives you puppy face. “Pllleaaase? I’ll be your best friend!”

“You’re already my best friend, doofus.” You sigh. “But fine. I’ll go. Anything to get out of a weekend with my parents’ passive-aggressive bullshit.”

“Fuck yeah!” He lifts your hand so he can high five you (you’re known to leave him hanging) and spends a few seconds jumping around before he comes back to you. “Okay, so, Saturday morning we’re meeting at the lake and then hiking to the campsite. It’s not too far, but far enough to feel like the wilderness. Should I pick you up?”

“Sure,” you say, amused by his excitement. “Anything special I should bring? Besides the obvious.”

“Junk food.”

“You don’t have that covered?”

He shrugs. “I’ll bring some stuff, but I like the way your mind works, snack-wise. That snack mix you brought at Christmas? Blew my fucking mind.”

“My aunt makes that, so I won’t be bringing it, but I’ll come with something good. Now we both have class, and you can’t cut again. I’ll see you after for Hellfire.” You say your goodbyes and head to class.

Maybe camping with Eddie Munson and a band of young miscreants isn't a great idea. The kids you're not worried about, but Eddie? Alone in the dark woods with Eddie? Okay, not alone, but...

What if Nancy and Steve decide to share a tent? Will you be sharing with Eddie? Maybe it's a sign: this is the time to finally make your move. You can roll over in your little shared tent and kiss him and slide your hand down his shorts and—okay, whoa, you're at school. Save thoughts like that for tonight, in bed, by yourself.

Today, math class. Saturday, possibly finally making a move on your best friend.

Eddie picks you up bright and early Saturday morning, and he's more or less dressed for hiking: that is, boots instead of his usual Reeboks, and his long hair is pulled back with one of his many bandanas. He also left his bigger rings at home, which makes him look almost naked.

"Hey!" he says. "Lookin' good, Camper Bob!"

You roll your eyes. "Such a dweeb," you say, but with affection. You're wearing a t shirt and jean shorts, plus hiking boots and a jean jacket. It'll be much cooler tonight, but for now it's warm, and hiking in jeans is always a mistake.

He helps you stow your pack in the back, then you hop in and you're off.

Everyone's already at the lake when you get there, and it's chaos. How can so few people make so much noise?! You give Eddie a Look, and he wades in.

"Alright, alright! Pay attention! Boy Scout Steve is leading this dog and pony show, so listen to him and don't be little shits! We're here to enjoy nature, and you can't do that if you can't keep the volume below a dull roar. So shut the fuck up for 5 minutes and look around!"

You muffle a giggle behind your hand and share a grin with Nancy. Steve is rolling his eyes and grimacing, but he loves this shit. He takes his place at the front of the group and gets everyone organized for the hike. Finally, after what feels like forever, you set off into the woods.

You hike until mid-afternoon, and by the time you stop everyone's tired and cranky. Steve gets people setting up tents and digging pits for fires while you, Eddie, and Nancy organize the food. There are enough hot dogs to feed an army, plenty of chips, baked beans (gross), and...

"Fuck yeah, s'mores!" Eddie says.

"Thought you'd like that," you say. You add another bag of marshmallows to the pile and his grin widens.

"You know, that'll go perfectly with this," he says and pulls a baggie from his jacket pocket.

Nancy's eyes widen a little. "We can't give that to the kids!"

Eddie makes a face. "I don't give kids drugs, Nance. It's for us! The more-or-less grownups."

"I'm in," you say with a shrug. "I need it after today."

"Knew I could count on you, pumpkin patch."

The two of you have this old running joke in your friendship: you are firm in your belief that he's actually a human Muppet, and nickname him accordingly. As a sort of payback (he has a rep to maintain, and "human Muppet" is not it) he comes up with the weirdest, most random shit he can think of to call you. This is a new one.

"What does that mean?" you say.

He shrugs and stuffs the bag away. "I dunno. It's fall. Pumpkins. It made sense in my head!"

"Weird things make sense in your head, Grove."

"That's the truth," he says with an unbothered grin. "Lemme go help Steve with the fire."

It's dark. Everyone's fed. The kids are around the fire telling scary stories. Eddie gives you a subtle nod and the four of you wander off to sample his product.

"This is probably a terrible idea," Steve says as he puffs and coughs, then passes the joint to Nancy. "We're responsible for these kids!"

"They're 14, Steve, not 6," Nancy says. She takes a delicate puff before handing it to you.

"They seem pretty good at handling themselves," Eddie says. The night's turned chilly, especially away from the fire, and he has his arm thrown around you in easy camaraderie. He's gained a little weight recently; still skinny, but not a rail; and it looks good on him. Feels good too, you note as you lean into him.

He takes the joint from you and inhales deeply before handing it off to Steve. He nuzzles your hair. It smells like wood smoke and leaves and under that, your usual shampoo. He tries to keep his eyes off your bare legs, but it's a struggle. "Not so bad, huh? Camping?"

You look up at him with a little smile. "I could learn to like it. Maybe."

You continue passing the joint around until it's nearly gone. Eddie carefully puts it out and adds it to the Sucrets tin he carries, then you head back toward the group. He grabs your hand and pulls you close. "C'mon, it's s'mores time," he says.

"Oh god I could murder a s'more!"

"Did someone say s'mores?" Dustin says.

"Grab sticks," Steve tells them. "It's time for marshmallows!"

He tosses the bags to Nancy and they all scatter to find roasting sticks. Soon you're back, stick in hand, eager for a roasted marshmallow-and-chocolate treat.

Nancy hands you a couple of marshmallows and you drop down onto a rock next to Eddie. "Burnt or bust," you tell him, and thrust your marshmallow-laden stick into the fire.

He laughs and does the same. Your marshmallows catch fire at the same time and you quickly pull yours out to blow out the flame. It's black and brown on the outside, oozy on the inside, and when you smash it between the chocolate and graham cracker, it goes everywhere.

"Oop!" You hastily lick trailing bits of marshmallow off your fingers and down your wrist, and when you look up Eddie's eyeing you, his own stick forgotten in his hand. "What?" you say.

"Nothing." He dips his head back to assembling his s'more. "Nope, nothing at all."

You lift a brow. That was...interesting. You aren't blind: you know Eddie checks you out from time to time. Or at least you hope so, but sometimes you think it's just wishful thinking. That clearly wasn't. Apparently sucking sticky sweet mess off your fingers is the way to his heart. Or at least his boner.

You squish your s'more together and take a bite, and of course chocolate smears on your lips and all over your fingers. You make a little noise of protest and start to suck your fingers clean again, and when you look over Eddie once again can't take his eyes off of you.

"Munson," you say with a little grin. "Are you going to stare or help?"

"Help?" he says, his voice breaking a little. "Help with what?"

"The mess I'm making. And look!" You point at his little marshmallow sandwich. Chocolate is dripping onto the back of his hand. "Silly," you say. You lean in and carefully lick the chocolate off his skin.

He freezes. You licked him. With your tongue. Now you're sucking more chocolate and marshmallow of your hands and fingers, all while looking right at him. Marshmallow. Long, melted strings of white that ooze just like—

No! Nope. No. He is NOT going to think of you and come in the same sentence. Your little pink tongue darting out over your full pink lips, licking the white off with a happy noise that he feels right in the cock.

He carefully sets his own uneaten s'more aside and grabs you. "C'mere," he says, voice rough.

"Eddie—!"

He pulls you into the woods, away from the noise of the kids and the heat of the fire, and pushes you against a tree. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and he looks down with a frown of concentration between his brows.

"You're kinda evil," he says.

"What the hell are you doing?" you breathe. Your heart is pounding, your cheeks flushed, and you still have marshmallow and chocolate on your fingers.

As though reading your mind, he grabs one of your hands and carefully sucks a finger into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it, licking and sucking every bit of sweet off your skin, and you feel your knees go weak. You let out a soft moan and lean against the tree to support you.

He does the same thing to each finger and even your thumb, and by the time he's through you're panting and squirming. He rubs his thumb across your lower lip, tugging it a bit, and smiles at you. "Maybe I should get you back to camp," he murmurs. "You look a little...out of it."

"Oh shut up," you breathe. You grab his shirt and pull him in for a kiss.

His hand slips around to the small of your back while the other grips your bare thigh below your shorts. Your arms go around his neck and you're biting and sucking his full, gorgeous lips. "Eddie," you breathe. "Is this why you brought me camping?"

"What, to make out in the woods?" He shrugs a little. "No, but it's a really nice bonus."

You laugh as he kisses you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth and swirling against yours. He presses his hips into you and you slide your knee up against his thighs.

"Mmmm what's that?" you whisper. "A roasting stick in your pocket?"

"Not exactly," he says. He rocks against you just right, so that the bulge of his erection rubs you through all your layers of clothing. You bite down on your lip to muffle a whimper and he kisses you again, harder. "Goddamn I've wanted you forever, baby. To touch you and taste you and make you moan my name."

He rubs his thumb over your lip again. You're looking up at him with big, dazed eyes, pupils blown and mouth soft and swollen. He slowly reaches down to unzip your shorts. "You can stop me," he says.

You shake your head. "Don't stop, Eddie," you breathe. "I've wanted you too. I never—I was afraid to say anything, but—please?"

He kisses you hard and shoves your shorts down to your ankles. You kick them away as he drops to his knees and kisses your thighs. He bites. Sucks. You bury both hands in his hair and try to keep breathing.

He kisses his way up your body, completely ignoring your panties, and pushes your shirt up. He tugs the cups of your bra down and spends ages licking and sucking your nipples. He switches back and forth between them until they're both swollen and aching and you're wiggling against the tree.

"Eddie, please!"

"Please what, princess?" he murmurs, lashing his tongue back and forth across your nipple while he squeezes your tits with both hands. "Tell me what you want."

"My pussy! Please!" you gasp. "I'm so wet! I need you!"

"Fuck!" he rasps. He kisses your tummy. "Whatever you need, baby." He grips your hips and kisses just above your panties. Your head falls back on a quiet moan, but the tree's closer than you thought.

"Ow!" you say, sharply.

"Babe?" He jumps to his feet, but it's too fast. He reaches out to grab you, but you're a little dizzy from smacking your head, and you both end up tumbling to the forest floor.

You lie there a moment sprawled out on top of him, shorts off, tits out, and then you start to giggle. He barks out a laugh and soon you're both laughing so hard you can barely breathe. You move a little, your legs falling to either side of his hips so that you're straddling him, and you're both still laughing and gasping.

You rock your hips, and the next breath he sucks in is entirely different. "Babe—"

"Shhh. I can feel you, Eddie. Mmmmm you're so hard for me!"

He gets over his surprise quickly and grabs your hips again, this time to guide you as you move. "Yeah, princess. All for you. I swear to god every erection I've had for the last two years has been for you." He laughs. "And there've been a lot of 'em."

"Mmmm bad boy," you breathe. You rest your hands on his chest and grind against his erection. The rough material of his jeans makes your panties slip and slide along your dripping slit just right.

"Fuck, baby, that feels so fucking good! Don't stop!"

You lean down to kiss him, changing the angle just right, and he rubs his hands over your ass. You love the feel of his guitar callouses, how soft his palms are. "Eddie!" you gasp against his mouth. "God, Eddie, I'm so wet!"

He groans. "For me, princess? Is that all for me?"

"Uh huh, every drop! Fuck, I need—!" You rock faster, grind against him harder. You can't believe you're just out in the woods humping Eddie Munson's erection through his jeans. You feel wanton and incredible and you know you're close.

"Take what you need, angel," he breathes. "Anything you need. You gonna come, baby?"

"Uh huh!" you whimper. "Oh god Eddie oh fuck!"

"Good girl, fuck, that's so hot, you're so fuckin' hot! Take it, baby, come for me!" he mumbles in your ear, his breath hot and his words slurred by his own need for you.

"Eddie!!" you cry, a little louder than you intended, and the orgasm takes you. He holds you down against him while he bucks his hips to drive you higher and higher.

"Good girl," he says, almost a moan. "Good girl!"

You finally start to come down from it and fall against his chest. He kisses your temple, runs his hands through your hair. You lift your head to give him a long, easy kiss. "Your turn," you murmur.

"Fuck!" he gasps, and you're just starting to work your way down when you hear a familiar voice echoing through the woods.

Calling your name. Then, "Eddie!"

Your eyes widen. "Oh fuck!" You scramble to your feet and cast around for your shorts. Your panties are soaked and sticking to you, but there's not much you can do about it.

Eddie jumps up as the voice gets closer and helps you fix your bra and top, tug your shorts on and zip them up. You're barely decent when the flashlights bob into view and Steve and Dustin appear in the little clearing.

"Shit, there you are," Steve says. "We thought you got lost."

"Nope!" you say. You run both hands through your mussed hair. "No, just ate a bit too much. Needed some fresh air away from the fire."

"Dude!" Dustin says. He has his light trained on Eddie's crotch. Luckily his erection has gone down, but... "Did you piss yourself?!" he says around barely-contained laughter.

"What?!" He glances down and sees the big wet spot you left on his jeans. You feel your face catch fire.

"You did! You pissed yourself! I gotta tell everybody!"

"I didn't piss myself, Henderson!" Eddie says. "I spilled my flask."

Dustin shines the light in Eddie's face, and he winces away from it. "You brought alcohol and drugs on a camping trip with minors? Edward Munson!"

"How did you know about the drugs?!" Eddie says.

Dustin shrugs. "I've got a nose, dude."

"Okay, okay," Steve says. "Let's get back. You feeling better?" he says to you.

You glance at Eddie. "Much!" you say. "Eddie?"

"Feelin' great," he mumbles. "Hate that I spilled my flask."

Dustin just rolls his eyes and turns back toward camp. You fall in next to him while Steve and Eddie bring up the rear.

Steve nudges him. "You really spill your flask?" he mutters.

"Left my flask at home," Eddie says. "But I had to think of somethin'!"

"Uh huh." Steve's trying not to laugh. "That you or her?"

Eddie doesn't say anything, just looks away with a shrug. "I don't kiss and tell, man. But." He frowns and carefully adjusts himself. "It ain't me."

Steve muffles a bark of laughter in the crook of his elbow. "Okay then. Nancy owes me ten bucks."

"What?!"

"We had a bet that you two would hook up on this trip. I said yeah, she said no. I knew I'd win."

"Jesus," Eddie says, but he's struggling not to grin. He got the girl! For once in his life. You glance back at him with a soft, pretty smile, and his grin breaks through.

Yeah, he thinks he could probably get used to camping too.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #meg wrote this #stfic #emfic

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covetyou · 6 months

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pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dual narrative, masturbation (m), voyuerism, drug reference (our boy is sober but struggling), subby Dieter, slight humiliation kink, very brief mentions of other sex acts (anal play, PIV, cum play), reader talks Dieter through a very nervy wank. word count: 3.7k summary: The Academy Awards, the most well known, well planned, film award ceremony in the world. So why is the host missing?

A/N: @agentjackdaniels happy holidays from your space sisters secret santa! sorry if this is a bit early for you - it's the 20th in my time zone, I promise! I went the route of award show!Dieter with a twist. Welcome to the Oscars, with your eccentric host - Dieter Bravo.

the suits mentioned are from SNL (blue, we're ignoring the yellow pants), the late late show (pink) and the tonight show (green).

dividers by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

"Bravo, you're up."

You rap your knuckles against the door again, hoping against hope that he just hasn't heard you and he isn't coked up out of his mind.

"Bravo!" you shout, knocking harder this time, as a voice blares through your in-ear. Fifteen minutes until showtime and the host is still nowhere to be seen. And it is your fault. You'd drawn the short straw and had been tasked with being his handler for the night, keeping him out of mischief and on time. Currently, it looked like you were failing at both.

"Right, I'm coming in!" You cannot be dealing with this shit. You're not paid enough.

You open the door, poking your head around to see if he's inside the dressing room, like he should be, only to find it completely empty. Stepping inside and closing the door behind you, you take in a deep breath and put your hands on your hips. Fuck. Whoever's idea to put Dieter-fucking-Bravo as the host for this years Oscars really needed a kick up the ass, and you'd be first in line to do it.

The room looks tidier than you expected. There's not an obvious illicit substance in sight. Sparkling water sits on the vanity, along with make up and haircare products. You didn't even know where his stylist is, but it was nice to know she'd at least been here. His clothes are still neatly lined on a rail - the first hanger is empty and you assume that's a good sign. It's got to be, right?

Except, Dieter Bravo is still nowhere to be found, and you've ran out of places to look for him.

The only conundrum is all the lights are still on. He'd left the room in such a hurry that he hadn't bothered to switch them off, and yet no one had reported him frantically dashing out in a drug fueled mania.

Even the bathroom light is on. And the door is ajar. You think it won't hurt to check inside, or at least turn the light off. A place like this burned through electricity like nobodies business, but your compulsion to turn off unused lights wins out and you're heading toward the bathroom on auto-pilot.

You only hear the whimper when you're already pushing the door open, and by then it's too late to stop.

That's how you find yourself stood in the doorway, watching as Dieter Bravo furiously jerks his cock with his eyes slammed closed and his head thrown back. You could back out, you should, but instead you stare transfixed as his fist moves over himself, so lost in it all that you don't even think he's noticed you standing there. You really should go before he notices.

Making a quiet retreat you -

"Stay."

Your eyes snap to his. He's looking at you now. His hand has stilled, squeezing himself tight, and you frown. You shouldn't. You shouldn't have even come in, and you definitely should not be seeing this, and you even more certainly must not be considering his offer.

"If you want. Please."

The nod of your head is so small it's practically imperceptible, but he sees it and groans deeply, resuming his strokes on his cock. It's framed in vibrant blue, and you're reminded how he wouldn't even be here if he didn't have that suit. One of the conditions he'd made on hosting was he would get to have a "more exciting" wardrobe, and the green, pink, and blue you'd seen wheeled in on his rail earlier today certainly lived up to that.

It looks good on him. He looks good. Fuck. You really should go, why did you nod your head.

You watch him swipe pre-cum from his head and draw it down his cock. He looks painfully stiff, and you wonder how long he's been at it, if this is the first time today or if he's been jerking himself every opportunity. Either way, you're mesmerized, watching as his large fist draws up and back down his length. You should do something - go, say something, tell him to stop, join in.

Instead, you just stand there, gaping at it like a fucking idiot. Why is your mouth watering.

"Please I-"

"You don't have long," you interrupt.

"I know, I know, I just - I can't -" he pants, looking at you with desperation.

"You can't what?"

"Come. I can't come."

You hold back a laugh. From what you'd heard about Dieter Bravo, that was not a problem he seemed to have very often. You don't hold it back well enough though, and a small sound escapes you, triggering a shudder that you watch run down his back.

"Oh god."

"Did you -?" like me laughing at you, you cut yourself off.

You lean against the doorframe, attempting nonchalance as Dieter tugs on his cock, watching you as you watch him.

You dismissed him earlier, regarding him with indifference and not ever really looking at him. But, appearances alone tell you he's changed. No longer is there a sunken look to his face from too many nights spent out of his mind. He looks healthy, healthier than you've ever seen him, but he looks scared. Frightened, borderline terrified even. You know the only thing standing between him and pure panic is his stiff cock in his hand.

It's probably why he can't come, but is equally desperate to. And if he liked you laughing, well, maybe you could give him a hand without actually giving him a hand.

"If you don't come soon, they're gonna catch you."

He groans, and his strokes slow, becoming more deliberate and focussed as you talk to him.

"Do you want that? Do you want to be caught with your dick in your hand?"

"F-no. No, I don't."

"Then you've gotta be quick and come."

He nods his head frantically, then looks down at his cock here it lays heavy in his hand. He spits, gliding the saliva across his length.

"If you're not careful you're gonna make a mess all over yourself."

"Fuck, don't stop. Please don't stop."

Five minutes - has anyone got eyes on Bravo.

The stage managers voice blares through your in-ear so loudly that you know Dieter has heard it. You purposefully hold the button on your mic as you watch him, making him pinch his lips shut to hold back his moan.

"I've found him," you say into your headset, releasing the button. Let it be known you are not bad at your job, and if anyone was going to find him first it would be you.

"Didn't say you could stop. You still need to come."

"I do, I do, I need to - "

You're holding down the button on your headset again, and he audibly groans this time.

"He's in the bathroom."

When you release the button for the final time, you raise an eyebrow at him. His breaths are coming in ragged and heavy, his eyebrows pinched together as his eyes threaten to flutter closed. You're no expert, but you can tell he's close, and by the movement of his hand you can tell he's still struggling to get there.

"Look at me."

Dieter looks up, pleading with his sad, pathetic eyes. You'd be lying if you said all of this wasn't turning you on. If it hadn't turned your legs to jelly and you weren't grateful for the sturdy doorframe propping you up. If your panties weren't soaked through and your core wasn't throbbing just from watching and speaking. If you weren't desperate to take him in your hand, bend yourself over the sink in front of him, anything.

But there was no time.

With four minutes to go, you do the only thing you can.

"Come, Dieter."

He's due on stage soon. He knows he is. That very thing is the reason why he shouldn't be doing this, but the very same reason why he's doing it in the first place. He needs it, something, anything, to take his mind off of it all and to take the edge off. Six months of sobriety and too many people to keep him accountable meant he couldn't - wouldn't - turn to his usual vices, so this would have to do.

He's struggling. Any other day and he would've come already, maybe to the thought of some gloriously plush tits, painting golden tan lines with his cum. Or a tongue swirling expertly around his asshole. Or the grip of something warm and wet and hot around his cock that wasn't his own fist. But today, nothing is working.

The bang on his dressing room door startles him, not only making his whole body twitch, but his dick too.

And then comes your voice, muffled but so obviously you even through two doors.

"Bravo, you're up."

Shit. He's gotta finish fast, he can't go out here like this, and he can't go out there with nothing to relieve the panic coursing through his veins. And then his mind flicks back to earlier in the day, meeting you and shaking your hand. Your hands had been soft, and you'd smelled fresh and clean. It calmed him. But then you'd listed off everything you needed him to do and told him and his team to get to it with a sharp click of your fingers before stalking off. His cock twitches again, and suddenly he has exactly the fuel he needs to get himself off.

He begins moving his hand again, stroking his balls gently in the other. You've probably gone away, stalked off with your ass jiggling in your pants just like earlier. He grunts, closing his eyes to savor the image. You'd looked good. He can remember the clip of your sensible heels on the floor now. Fuck, he'd let you step on him with those shoes given the chance.

"Bravo!" Another knock on the door and another sigh. If you stay there knocking long enough, it'll get him off. He just knows it.

"Right, I'm coming in."

He knows he should panic. Knows he should stop, tuck his cock away, pretend he was just using the bathroom and washing his hands. But he doesn't. The threat of being caught, by you, spurs him on. If only he could get closer and just fucking come already.

The door of his dressing room opens, and Dieter has to bite back a moan. When the door closes again, he has to fight back disappointment until he hears your footsteps just outside the bathroom. He never fully closed the door, and there's no time to shut it now. He's so close.

"Oh fuck," he whispers, looking down at his weeping cock where it's gripped in his hand. It's rock solid, flushed tip oozing pre-cum that trickles from his slit and coats his fingers with every jerk of his fist.

Time drags on as he hears you walk around, looking for him. And then your footsteps approach the door and he can't help but whimper at the idea of you catching him with his cock in his hand.

His eyes slam shut, his head tilting back as he bites back a louder moan. He doesn't hear the door open, but feels the air shift, blowing a cool breeze over him that makes his dick throb in his hand. If the blood wasn't pounding out of his head so hard he would have heard your small intake of breath as you took him in.

He really should stop. But he doesn't.

And when you go to leave, he really should let you go, but he doesn't do that either.

"Stay."

You're beautiful, in a way that you wouldn't even recognize in yourself, but fuck are you beautiful. Even when you frown at him, eyebrows pinching together, you're beautiful.

"If you want. Please."

Dieter Bravo is not a begging man. Outside of the bedroom. Or the bathroom. Or anywhere else where his dick can get involved really. He didn't beg for this job, they'd approached him. He tried to make himself into such a diva that they'd retract their offer, but his agent was determined for him to take it and for once get some good PR under his belt. The promise of good PR did nothing to stop his nerves.

When your head does the tiniest of nods he feels like he could cry. Knowing that you're watching him - and, fuck, how attentively you're watching him - his balls draw tight, threatening to spill themselves before backing off. It's still not enough. Why the fuck is it still not enough.

"Please I-"

"You don't have long."

Your voice. It's like it's just been drizzled over his brain and is melting him from the inside out, turning his body to goo.

"I know, I know, I just - I can't -" he pants, looking at you with desperation. He doesn't want to admit it, but he knows it's painfully obvious that he can't come if his life depended on it. And it practically does - if he didn't come and get out there as soon as possible, his career would very likely be over. He can see the headlines now - BRAVO ABANDONS OSCARS IN COKE FUELED FRENZY. If he still did coke, he wouldn't be having this problem.

"You can't what?"

"Come. I can't come."

He knows you try not to, but he hears your laugh. It's small, but coming from you, directed at him, it does things to him he didn't expect. He lurches forward as his whole body shudders.

"Oh god."

He squeezes his eyes shut again, hoping that this'll finally be it, finally be the thing that sends him over the edge.

"Did you -?"

He didn't come, that much should be obvious, he thinks. But then he's looking at you again and gets lost in your eyes as you watch him with such nonchalance that it makes him ache down to his bones.

"If you don't come soon, they're gonna catch you."

He groans, desperate strokes becoming slow and more deliberate as he listens to your voice. If you just keep talking to him he'll get there, and this will all be over and he can get out there and do his damn job.

"Do you want that? Do you want to be caught with your dick in your hand?"

"F-no. No, I don't." Liar.

"Then you've gotta be quick and come."

He nods his head frantically, and spits down onto his cock, watching as his hand glides up and down. He imagines it's your hand for a moment, smaller more delicate fingers pulling at his cock, smoothly moving back and forth in an attempt to get him off.

"If you're not careful you're gonna make a mess all over yourself."

Dieter doesn't give a shit about that right now. Just a little longer and he'll be there, he knows it. He just needs you to keep going.

"Fuck, don't stop. Please don't stop."

Five minutes - has anyone got eyes on Bravo.

It's muffled, but he can hear the words clear as day through your in-ear. The stage manager sounds pissed, and the devilish look in your eye as you reach to press the button to respond has him biting back a moan and stilling his hand on his cock.

"I've found him."

He lets out a shaky breath when you finally release the button again, his cock feeling red hot and angry in his hand.

"Didn't say you could stop. You still need to come."

Looking to you, he starts jerking his cock again and nods. "I do, I do, I need to - "

And then you're pressing down the button to speak into your headset again and he's groaning before you even speak.

"He's in the bathroom."

He doesn't give a shit if they heard. His knees feel weak and his eyes are ready to clamp closed, but he can't resist staring at you and that cocky look on your face as you release the button again. Your eyebrow quirks at him and he knows in that moment he'd get on his knees and beg you for something, anything, if only he had the time.

"Look at me."

Dieter looks up, feeling the desperation roll off himself in waves. He wonders if you can feel it, and if any of this is having any affect on you at all. Fuck, he hopes it is. He's going to come. He's really, actually, going to come.

Time's ticking, he knows it is, and his balls are getting tight and tighter again, he can feel them pulling up but he still can't -

"Come, Dieter."

And his vision goes white as he explodes in his palm.

You're staring at him. He can't believe he just did that and you can't believe you stayed to watch. And you talked him through it.

More specifically, you're staring at the cum splashed all over his shirt and how it's slowly but steadily trickling down the fabric. He's lucky he opened his jacket before pulling his cock out, or the whole outfit would be ruined. Dieter is so blissed out that he doesn't even notice, softening cock still in his hand and eyes still closed.

Until rapidly cooling cum drips onto the back of his hand and he's opening his eyes, looking down to the crime scene splattered across his shirt.

"Fuck."

The panic in his voice is obvious. People will be bursting in to collect him any moment, and there's one hell of a mess to clean up. But, you're a problem solver by nature, it's why you're so good at your job.

"Take it off!" you tell him, snapping out of your cock induced trance and gesturing to the ruined shirt.

"What? I didn't think there was time to-"

"I'm not fucking you right now," you hiss. "You've got two minutes, take it off, I'll grab another. You've got other outfits, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah the shirt with the pink suit should work. My stylist is gonna fucking kill me - wait did you say right now - "

He's alone in the bathroom, tucking his dick away, throwing his jacket aside and peeling the soiled shirt from his shoulders before you can answer. Usually he hides the evidence, but there's not time to stash the extra shirt anywhere when there's another sudden knock on the door. The best he can do is throw his jacket back on over his bare shoulders so at least he's not seen to be topless and alone with you as he steps into his dressing room.

The door swings open just as you reach for the hanger of the pink suit, stopping you in your tracks.

"Dee. They're looking for you," his stylist walks in, looking at her phone. She spots you first, before flicking her eyes to Dieter and pointing in confusion. "Oh, hi. Where's your shirt?"

He shrugs, shoulders rising high as you stare at the exposed section of his chest now on full display beneath his jacket. "Changed my mind about it. Looks good enough like this, right?" He checks himself out in the mirror and adjusts his hair a fraction as if nothing untoward had just happened.

You're starting to understand how he won his own Oscar all those years ago.

His stylist seems to be just as eccentric as he is, and is thrilled by the choice to go shirtless. You're not sure your boss will be, but before you can offer a different shirt, Dieter is being whisked away by the production crew, all with confused looks on their faces as they take in his outfit. Dieter takes one last look back at you, mouthing a quick thank you as he's dragged off to begin the show.

The 96th Academy Awards go off without a hitch. You're already hearing reports from online that Dieter Bravo is a hit, his opening outfit being lauded as unique and a breath of fresh air for a sometimes stuffy and overly serious award ceremony. You watch him out of the corner of your eye through two costume changes - both times watching as he leaves wearing a shirt under each of his bold colored jackets.

It's a chaotic, well oiled machine, and by the time all is said and done and after parties are in full swing, you're winding down and saying thank yous and goodnight to the crew who made it all happen. One last sweep of the dressing rooms and you'll be on your way home too.

Empty, empty, empty. And then you're opening the door to Dieter's dressing room, ready to flick the light off and put the building to bed.

Except, Dieter Bravo is there, a vision in deep emerald green, holding the messed shirt from earlier in the evening in one hand and scribbling a note onto the back of a small card with the other. He sees you enter, and looks as stunned to see you as you are to see him.

"No after party?"

He looks sheepish, almost embarrassed when he answers.

"Not any more."

Admittedly, it was perhaps a stupid question to ask a recovering addict. "Oh."

You both awkwardly stand for a moment, Dieter keeping his eyes locked on the card in his hand before he's walking toward you and shoving it in front of you. You take it just as he edges past you out of the dressing room.

There's a note addressed to you and a number, scribbled hastily in Dieter's messy handwriting.

"I didn't want to be too forward, I know these things are..." he trails off with a wave of his hand. "Was just gonna leave that here and leave it up to you."

I owe you my life. Let me take you for coffee. Call me? D x

Looking up from the note, you can see him hesitantly make an exit. Calling after him, he stops in his tracks, spinning on his heel to look at you with more hope than you expect he intended.

"I'm just about to close up, if you wanted to go grab that coffee?"

And so, at 11pm on the night of the 96th Academy Awards, you find yourself in an empty diner, drinking bad coffee with Dieter-fucking-Bravo.

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lostfracturess · 4 months

Text

【 ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ 】 8

x PAIRING gojo satoru x fem!reader (main); megumi fushiguro x fem!reader x WORD COUNT 10.2 k x SUMMARY you never wanted to become part of the world of jujutsu sorcerers, yet fate had other plans when the one and only satoru gojo took you under his wing at jujutsu high. as the lines between student and teacher begin to blur, hidden powers surge to life, and a deadly target is set on your head. x WARNINGS + NOTES this story contains partly abusive and possessive behavior, explicit content, graphic depictions of violence, injury, combat and angst. you can also read it on wattpad or ao3. pls like or repost if you enjoyed ♡

➸ ch 1; ch 2; ch 3; ch 4; ch 5; ch 6; ch 7

𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈.

You barely raised your blade in time, the impact of Satoru's iron fist nearly jolting it from your grasp. You did your best to stand your ground. But that's easier said than done against the strongest jujutsu sorcerer.

Sweat trickled down your forehead, stinging your eyes. You and Satoru had been at this for what seemed like an eternity. Your arms ached. Your lungs burned. But you wanted it that way. You told him not to stop unless you told him to.

You had sparred before. But today was different—there was an intensity in his eyes you hadn't seen before. It made you wonder if he'd always held back when he was training you.

In a blur, Satoru seized your wrist—a sharp yank, and your katana clattered away. He kicked it aside, eyes locked on yours. Then came a low, sweeping strike, targeting your legs. You jumped back, barely evading the strike, pain shooting through your ankle. But you forced yourself to stay upright.

"You think too much," Satoru said. "Clear your mind. Feel the flow of my cursed energy. Concentrate on me. Not my attacks."

"It's a bit hard when you're trying to kill me," you shot back.

"You wanted this," he reminded you.

Okay, you did tell him not to hold back, but for God's sake, you've lost count of how many times you've been hit today. And he seems to be enjoying this a bit too much.

Without warning, Satoru lunged forward again. Your body reacted on instinct. You dodged to the side just as his hand sliced through the space where your head had been moments earlier. The rush of air against your cheek the only reminder of how close you'd come to a direct hit.

"Too slow," he scolded.

Satoru reset his stance, poised for the next strike. He was merciless. You gritted your teeth. You barely managed to block and dodge his attacks, feeling the rush of air as his strikes narrowly missed your skin. Your own counterattacks always a split second too slow. The sand beneath your feet shifted with each movement, challenging your balance.

"Come on, focus," he urged.

Your heart pounded in your chest. Gradually, you found yourself driven back, each step taking you closer to the water's edge. The waves lapped at your feet, their cold touch startling against your heated skin. Your breathing grew heavier, each inhale torturous. Your muscles ached.

Suddenly, Satoru feinted to the left but struck from the right, catching you off-guard. You stumbled backwards, lost your balance and fell onto the wet sand.

Before you could straighten up, Satoru stood towering over you. His silhouette etched against the sky. "You need a break?"

You lay there for a moment longer, chest heaving, grains of sand clinging to your skin. "No," you managed to gasp out.

"Then stand," he commanded.

You rolled onto your side, struggling to stand up. You wanted to vomit.

"You're reacting based on what you see," his eyes narrowed. "That won't give you control in a fight. You need to sense my next moves, anticipate my attacks."

"Easier said than done when you have the six eyes," you retorted, finally standing upright.

"You don't need the six eyes to do that."

"And how the fuck am I supposed to 'feel' your attacks?"

"You just—" Satoru made a vague, sweeping gesture with his hands in the air. "—feel it, like—"

"Satoru, has anyone ever told you you're a terrible teacher?"

"Ouch," he shook his head with a smirk. "Let's try something different then."

He stepped closer, his hand delving into the pocket of his training pants, searching for something. "You trust me?" he asked.

"Depends."

He moved behind you, his breath hot against your neck. "Why so cautious, love?"

Darkness enveloped your world as he placed his blindfold over your eyes, securing it with a firm tug that drew an involuntary gasp from you.

"Don't tell me I don't know exactly what you need," his words brushed against your ear. He pulled at the blindfold, tilting your head back, his lips grazing the side of your neck ever so slightly. "—know exactly where to put the right amount of pressure."

Your heartbeat quickened. But no—not now.

"Satoru, are we training or are you trying to fuck me?"

He gave a soft chuff, his lips curling into a smile, "Depends."

He released his grip on the blindfold. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. The cool breeze from the sea gently brushed your face, carrying with it the faint scent of salt as you stood still, waiting for him to continue.

"Focus," he said, his presence circling around you. "Let your other senses lead you." Gently, he lifted your hand and pressed it against his chest. His heart beats steady underneath your palm. "Feel my cursed energy," he pressed your hand even tighter against his chest. "You don't need to see me. I want you to feel me."

You bit your bottom lip in concentration. The sensation of his cursed energy was like a pulsating force, a rhythm you could almost grasp. You vaguely understood what he was trying to teach you. You focused, trying to attune yourself to its flow, to understand its movements and intentions without the aid of sight.

"Good girl," he brought your hand to his lips, placing a quick kiss on your knuckles. Then he stepped back, and suddenly the air around him shifted.

"I won't hold back," he declared.

"Alri—"

Before you could finish, Satoru launched into action. His fist hurtled towards your face with lightning speed. You pivoted, narrowly dodging. But he was quick to follow up. Another attack came from the right, catching you off-guard. It sent you stumbling backward, coughing from the impact. The taste of iron filled your mouth.

He was serious.

He gave you no time to think, only to react. You felt another strike, pushing you even further back. You barely managed to avoid his next move. You held your breath. Dropping to the ground, you dodged a high kick. It was a close call.

Fuck.

He was dead serious.

You tried to focus on the rustle of his clothes, the shifting sand beneath his feet, and the pulsing flow of his cursed energy. But he was so fucking fast. He unleashed a flurry of strikes. You managed to block the first few. Then they started landing, each more painful than the last.

"Focus," he paused for a second. Then lunged at you once more.

You blocked his fist, feeling a brief sense of achievement. But it was fleeting. In a swift move, he seized your ankle. Suddenly, you were airborne. You crashed into the ocean, the sudden biting cold shocking you to the core.

You gasped for air, struggling against the crushing waves. In an instant, Satoru was upon you, pressing you down under the water, his hand tight around your throat. His fist drew back, then shot forward. You jerked your head aside at the last moment. His fist slammed into the sand, inches from your face.

He was for real trying to kill you.

Another wave crashed over you, stealing your breath. Water filled your lungs. In desperation, you slammed your knee up into his midsection. He released his grip and staggered backward. You surfaced, gasping sharply for air.

You struggled to get up, your clothes drenched and heavy. Your left side hurt awfully. Probably a broken rib—a slow heal without Shoko's aid. Blood dripped from the corner of your mouth. You wiped it away and stepped out of the water onto the beach.

You could feel his presence, circling around you like a predator around its prey. You had to pivot constantly, tracking his every move. You could hear the faint sound of his breathing, the light touch of his feet on the sand, feel the movement of his cursed energy. Guiding you—turning you to face him each time.

With a quick movement, you ducked under his next attack, feeling the air shift as his arm swept overhead. You struck back, his cursed energy guiding your arm. Your hand grazed fabric, a near miss, but it was progress. A small smile tugged at your lips.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he cautioned. Then his cursed energy flared.

It was a warning.

He launched a punch, his fists burning with the blue hue of his cursed energy. You twisted away just in time, the heat of his cursed energy rushing past you.

Is he for real—Is he for real using fucking cursed energy now?

You cursed under your breath. Then, you spotted your katana, a faint trace of your own cursed energy subtly marking its location. It laid a few feet away—behind Satoru.

You lunged towards him, even as he charged towards you. Satoru swiped his leg up, aiming to knock you down. You ducked and rolled under his leg, emerging on the other side. Your hand closed around the katana's hilt, lifting it just in time to counter his next assault. You channeled your own cursed energy into the blade, pushing back against his force.

"Stop holding back!" Satoru yelled. "Fight like you mean it!"

He moved again, his movements a blur. In an instant, he was upon you. His fist jabbed towards your chest. You sidestepped, feeling the air shift as his strike missed. Your katana arced through the air, aiming straight for his head.

Satoru reacted instantly. He spun, dodging your blade. The katana sliced only air. He pivoted, launching a kick. You barely blocked it with your right forearm. The impact sent pain shooting up your arms, but you stood firm.

"Fuck, Satoru, what are you trying to do here?" you gasped, your defenses wavering.

"I'm teaching you a lesson," he replied.

Satoru kept up the pressure, each move sharp and forceful. You were constantly on the defensive, retreating step by step. The soft sand of the beach gave way to the firmer ground as you neared the house.

You backed onto the driveway, but there was no break in his onslaught. Each parry and dodge took all your effort. Suddenly, with a powerful kick, Satoru sent you hurtling backwards against his parked car. The windows shattered instantly upon impact.

The cold metal frame bore into your back. Slumped against the car's hood, you gasped for air, spitting blood. Your vision blurred. But then, something within you shifted. Your senses sharpened, adjusting to Satoru's every move. You felt the energy pulsating from him. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Now, even blindfolded, you could sense him closing in—could sense what he was about to do.

The air around Satoru seemed to thrum with cursed energy. He didn't hesitate. You barely had time to raise your katana in defense, the blade glinting in the fading light. But it was in vain for what was to come.

He aimed at you and unleashed a Black Flash. The surrounding air twisted, his cursed energy darkening to an inky black. The world seemed to slow down.

Your katana collided with Satoru's attack, unleashing a shockwave. It tore through you like lightning, reverberating through every bone. The force pushed you brutally into the car. The metal creaked under the immense pressure until it broke. The ground underneath fractured, stones splitting. You clenched your teeth, fighting against the onslaught.

Was that still part of the training?

Or had he gone mad?

He might just fire a purple hollow at you for good measure.

His fist bore down on the blade, pushing relentlessly even as his flesh sliced through the blade. Another sharp pain shot through you—perhaps a second rib had succumbed to his force. Satoru's eyes burned, never leaving your gaze.

"Fight!" he commanded.

That was the breaking point, the thin thread of control snapping. Your instincts took over. Harnessing your own cursed technique, you reached out to the coursing energy of his attack. You had reversed it once; you could do it again. His cursed energy writhed and twisted, resisting your control, but you held firm.

Then, with a defiant cry, you redirected the Black Flash back at Satoru, pushing the blade against him. His eyes widened in shock. The reversed attack struck him with a force he hadn't anticipated, forcing him backwards.

His feet dragged through the sand, leaving deep trails as he fought for balance. But it was in vain. He crashed into a nearby tree with such force that it splintered instantly upon impact.

Seizing the moment, you leapt into action. Your body moved on pure instinct. Spotting an opening, you feigned a move to the left, then swiftly struck to the right with your katana. The blade found its mark, slicing into Satoru's shoulder—sending a surge of cursed energy through him. He stumbled back, a rare look of surprise flashing across his face.

For a brief moment, everything was still. The only sounds were the heavy breathing of you both and the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore.

You tore the blindfold from your eyes, your gaze immediately found Satoru. Blood oozed from his shoulder. Panic rushed through you. Quickly, you withdrew your katana, the blade slick with blood.

Why didn't he use his infinity?

"I'm so sorry, Satoru, I didn't mean—" Your apology was cut short. In an instant, Satoru closed the distance between you. His hand gripped your neck, pulling you into a sudden, violent kiss. His lips set your skin immediately on fire. Burning away the fatigue and pain that had you felt seconds ago. Making you forget the cold of your drenched clothes.

"Satoru, wait—" you tried to speak, your eyes catching a glimpse of the still-bleeding wound on his shoulder.

"Shut up," he breathed against your lips. "I need you—now."

His hands grasped your waist. In one swift motion, he lifted you up, not once breaking the kiss. You wrapped your legs around him as he moved towards the house. Your fingers weaved through his hair, drawing him even closer, responding to each of his intense kisses with equal fervor. A hunger for more, a need to feel every inch of him, skin against skin, overwhelmed you.

He pushed the door open and kicked it shut behind you. In an instant, he had you pinned against the wall beside the door. Your mouths collided again, taking the breath straight out of your lungs. You didn't care. You didn't need it anyway. All you needed was him.

His fingers worked hastily, peeling away layers of clothing. With his bare chest now exposed, you could see the wound on his shoulder slowly closing. Oh, how you wished you could use reverse cursed technique yourself.

He spun you around, your chest pressed against the wall. His hand found your throat and gripped tightly, a gasp escaping your lips. His other arm stretched above you, palm against the wall, enclosing you in his embrace. You could feel his arousal through his pants pressing against you. You arched into him, rubbing up and down against his bulge. A low moan escaped his lips.

"I swear to God, you could make me come with just that," he murmured before his mouth trailed down your neck, sucking and biting, his breath hot and wet against your throat. Heat floods your body in an addictive rush, setting every inch of skin on fire as you felt how hard he was for you.

"Fuck, I need you so bad," he breathed out. Effortlessly, he lifted you and carried you to the couch, throwing you down. Quickly, he removed both your pants and his.

Leaning over you, he speared his fingers through your hair, forcing your head back. "Open your mouth," he commanded and you complied, your tongue instinctively responding. Spit escaped his lips and fell against your tongue. Then his tongue plunged into your mouth again, sliding against your tongue to mingle his spit with yours.

You moaned into his mouth, hands roaming over his back, fingers digging into his skin, feeling the play of muscles beneath, all your pain suddenly gone. Now there was only desire. He closed the gap, pressing his bare chest against yours.

He groaned your name against your lips, sliding his hand between your thighs. He slid the fabric of your underwear across your clit, expertly using it for friction. Your body responded instinctively, arching into his touch, yearning for more. "Fuck, Satoru," you gasped, your voice laced with longing. You could feel him smirking against your lips.

He pushed your legs further apart to have better access. Satoru hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, smoothly pulling them down. Without a second wasted, he slid two fingers inside you. Deep. Slow. Painfully slow.

Your eyes fluttered shut, a choked gasp escaping your lips as he plunged deeper, his fingers skillfully finding and hitting your core. You clenched involuntarily around him. He smiled, pleased with the reaction he had on you. "God, you're already dripping," he said. "I barely did anything."

"Shut up," you managed to say, stifling another moan. The feeling of his fingers moving deeply within you was overwhelming. He swirled them, pressing against your inner walls. Your need for him grew intense, a craving for more—faster—harder.

You tried to push your hips down to pump his fingers in and out of you, but he stopped you before you could move an inch. A groan of frustration escaped you. "Stop playing around, Satoru," you said breathlessly, staring at him with pleading eyes that sent all the remaining blood in his brain south.

"Oh love, I haven't even started yet," he whispered before his head also went south. His cock already painfully straining against his boxers, but he wanted to devour you whole before he had his pleasure. He lifted your leg over his shoulder, planting kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Then, he grasped your hips, adjusting you for a better angle. He pressed his mouth to your clit, his tongue alternating between gentle licks and intense, drawn-out pulls. The sensation was overwhelming. Your hand found its way into his hair, gripping tightly as he pushed two fingers inside you once more. His movements of fingers and tongue in perfect sync. A tight coil of tension built rapidly in your core, teetering on the edge of release.

He forced himself to maintain a slow pace, drawing out each of your cries and moans before gradually increasing the pace and intensity until your arousal dripped down his hand. "God, you taste so fucking good," he murmured, his voice vibrating against you.

Then, replacing his fingers with his tongue, he delved deeper, his hand pressing on your lower stomach. The sensation of his tongue moving inside you was intoxicating, causing you to squirm beneath him. "I'm so close," you whimpered, feeling the tension building relentlessly.

"I know," he said, his warm breath against your clit drawing another moan from you. You almost teared up, crying out his name in pleasure. "Come for me, love," he encouraged. You tried to stifle your loud moans with your fist, gripping the fabric beneath you with your other hand. Then, as the tension finally broke, your body shook around him, waves of your climax making you shudder uncontrollably.

Breathless, you tried to regain your composure as Satoru continued to gently lick and tease your clit, making your legs twitch. "You get so fucking tight when you come," he said, then meticulously licked you all up.

Satoru wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, savoring the taste of you. His blood pounded with arousal, visible in the strained fabric of his underwear.

"What the fuck did you do to me," he said, pulling you towards him and onto his lap. You slowly began to grind against the hard bulge beneath, feeling his desire palpable against you. His hands found your hips, guiding your movements. He tilted his head back, moans escaping his throat—fuck, he was so hot when he moaned.

"I won't last long if you keep doing that," he warned breathlessly.

"You don't have to," you whispered, trailing kisses along his neck.

"Oh, I do," he groaned in response, his words punctuated by moans. "I want you to fucking feel it, every second of it." He pulled down his boxers, his erection springing free, thick and visibly pulsing with need, pre-cum glistening at the tip.

You wanted him, all of him, inside you—an overwhelming need that eclipsed everything else.

He lifted you by your waist, positioning you right above his tip, holding you there. Your arms rested against the couch, finding support as you subtly moved your hips back and forth over him. A soft wince escaped him, his eyes fluttering shut before his mouth found yours again. The taste of you still lingered on his tongue, blending with the flavor you had come to crave.

Yearning to feel him all inside of you, you tried to lower yourself onto him. But his hold remained steadfast. "Fuck, Satoru," you exhaled, "—just fuck me already."

"Where's the fun with that, love?" he teased, his lips brushing against yours. He then allowed you to sink down just slightly, just enough to feel him at your entrance. It was alluring and frustrating all at once. You moaned, feeling him stretch you just a bit. You craved more, needed more.

"Just the tip," he whispered close to your ear, making your mind reel. He controlled your movements with precision, guiding you up and down in a torturous rhythm that allowed only the tip to slip in and out.

His lips found solace against the curve of your neck, trying to stifle his own cries of pleasure. His breath, heavy and ragged, synchronized with yours, reflecting a shared desperation. You couldn't take it any longer. "Fuck, Satoru, who's torturing who now?"

"Ha, you're right." In one swift motion, he pushed you down entirely onto him. The sudden fullness made you gasp, clawing at his neck. His pace was slow, maddening, each thrust deep and consuming, hitting just the right spots to make you moan uncontrollably against his neck.

"That's it," he moaned. "Take every inch, just like that. You take me so good." His words were punctuated by his deep, hard thrusts, each one driving you closer to the edge. You cried out, your mind emptied of all thoughts except the sensation of his cock pounding into you.

He pushed you back onto the couch, your back arched under him. Satoru's fingers dug into your throat, applying just enough pressure to intensify the sensation between your legs as he continued his hard thrusts.

Your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the growing tension within you, but they snapped open as he tugged sharply at your hair, tilting your head back. "Open your eyes," he commanded. "I want you to look at me while you come."

His grip on your throat tightened, his fingers fitting perfectly around your neck, terrifyingly perfect. "I want you to see exactly who's making you feel this way."

He quickly lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle—making it even better. Your skin grew hotter as he increased his pace, thrusting into you with such force that you would have slid up the couch if not for his firm grip on your throat.

Suddenly, your second orgasm overwhelmed you. Your back arched into him, nails digging into the skin of his back as your body tightened around him. "God, you're tightening—so—fucking—much on—me," he gasped, struggling to get the words out under the intensity of the sensation.

At that moment, Satoru reached his own climax, spilling inside you with a sharp hiss of pain. His eyes remained locked with yours, allowing you to witness every detail of his expression—the furrowing of his brows, his mouth agape, his hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead.

Satoru remained motionless for a moment, both of you catching your breath. Breaking the silence, he leaned in for another kiss, gentle and soft. Gradually, he lowered his head to your chest, his breath warm against your skin. He adorned your skin with soft kisses and licks, savoring the salty taste of your skin.

"You did so good," he said as he pulled out, his cum dripping down your legs. His gentle voice was at complete odds with the feral way he'd fucked you. Satoru glanced up at you, his eyes smiling at you, his satisfaction written all over his face. He continued to gently caress you until your breathing returned to normal.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"A bit late for that question, isn't it?" you raised an eyebrow.

His mouth twitched with amusement, though his eyes remained heavy-lidded with desire. He then stepped back, beginning to collect the clothes scattered around the room.

"Did I hurt you?" you asked, propping yourself up on an elbow, your eyes tracing the faint line on his shoulder where your blade had made its mark.

"It's fine," he replied nonchalantly, tossing your clothes in your direction. "But it's strange, my reverse cursed technique doesn't heal me from your attacks as fast. Might be something about your cursed technique."

"Then why'd you lower your infinity earlier?" you asked, catching the clothes.

"Lower it?" He let out a light chuckle. "Not when you're coming at me like that."

"What?"

"You pierced through it. Wasn't that on purpose?"

"No, I—I mean, I wasn't really thinking about it."

Pulling on his pants, Satoru paused. His jaw might just hit the ground.

"You—What? You just redirected my Black Flash, intensified its power, found a flaw in my defense, broke through my infinity and outpaced me—all without even realizing it? I couldn't even track your move with my six eyes, and you're telling me it was just instinct?"

"Yeah, it all just kind of happened."

Satoru started to laugh. He walked over to you and gently cupped your face in his hands. "God, you've become so strong," he said, his voice soft with admiration. His lips met yours in a tender, loving kiss. "I fucking love you so much."

"But you need to learn to control it, not just rely on instinct," he added.

"Is that why you tried to kill me?" You tone suddenly cold.

Satoru flinched slightly at your words. "You know as well as I do, it's the only way to really push your limits. You wouldn't have attacked me like that if I hadn't done it first."

Yeah, what to answer to that.

But it was him. The Satoru you fell in love with. He probably did not know any other way to train you—just brute force or nothing.

He was so different from Megumi.

"When will I be able to face Mahito?" you asked.

He considered for a moment. "You've likely already surpassed Kugisaki and Itadori, maybe even Fushiguro. But you can become even better. You just need more time."

More time. The very thing you did not want to spend. You didn't want to hide, to bide your time. Your gaze drifted away.

"Hey, look at me," Satoru said, guiding your chin back towards him with his hand. "You're strong, you can beat him. Training, taking your time—it's not a weakness."

His piercing blue eyes held yours, almost overwhelming in their intensity. "Okay," you simply said.

"Good girl," he stood up. "Want some coffee?"

"No, I'm good," you replied, rising to dress yourself.

Slowly, the adrenaline wore off, leaving you painfully aware of the injuries the fight had left you with. Everything hurt so awful. You walked over to the glass front of the living room and peered out. Each step painful. It was already getting dark outside.

Carefully, you touched the side of your ribs, assessing the damage. Even the slightest pressure sent a sharp pain through your body. Satoru moved to your side, his gaze lingering on you.

"Does it hurt?"

"It's fine," you said, trying to downplay the pain. But a sharp flinch as you probed your abdomen betrayed you.

"Let me," he said, carefully lifting you onto the countertop of the kitchen. Despite your elevated position, he still stood taller. His hands moved gently over your skin, searching for injuries. As he found each bruise and cut, his movements grew more urgent, his brows furrowing.

"Fuck," he hissed under his breath, as if he only now fully grasped how deeply he had hurt you. The sight of your pain struck him deeper than any physical wound ever could.

Frantically, he rummaged through a drawer and returned with disinfectant and bandages. Opening the package with a quick tear of his teeth, he carefully began tending to your wounds. Each touch was gentle, but his hands trembled. You winced as the antiseptic stung the cuts.

Suddenly, Satoru's composure cracked, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "If only I could use my reversed cursed technique to heal you—or fuck at least teach it to you—,"

He wiped the back of his hand hastily across his eyes. "Fuck, I'm so sorry," he repeated.

Your blood ran cold at his sudden vulnerability, seeing the man who always seemed untouchable, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, now laying bare before you. He looked so young right in this moment. So broken.

"Satoru," you said softly, but he didn't really hear you.

Silence followed. The soft rustle of clothing and the distant lapping of the ocean waves the only sound. Satoru's touch was painstakingly gentle as he wrapped bandages around your abdomen, as if he feared causing you even more pain. He avoided meeting your eyes.

"Satoru, it's okay," you repeated. He did not answer.

"Satoru—," you said again, this time reaching out to grasp his arm, halting his movements. He blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and looked up, revealing his red-rimmed eyes—a sight you had never seen before. It nearly made you cry. You never wanted to see him so broken ever again.

"It's okay," you said, holding his gaze. "That's what we do. We fight."

Your words were meant to comfort, but you saw the subtle tension in his jaw, the catch in his throat that betrayed his inner turmoil.

"I hurt you," he said, as if he couldn't really believe it himself.

"You did, and it hurt," you said, cupping his face between your hands to calm his trembling. "But I asked for it. I told you not to hold back, because I need you to train me. It was my choice."

His eyes, usually so bright and playful, were so dark and unfamiliar. "I should have been more careful. I should be the one protecting you, not hurting you. I should—"

"Stop. Satoru, stop. You've always protected me, more than anyone ever has," you insisted, trying to ease his guilt.

He swallowed hard, the tension in his jawline still evident. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"I'm fine, Satoru. You could never hurt me. No matter what you do to me."

His gaze lingered on you, searching for the lie in your eyes. He nodded after a second, but the worry didn't fully leave his face.

"And now get me some damn morphine, or I'll pass out,'" you added.

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He rummaged through the drawers once more, his movements more composed now. Finding what he was looking for, he handed you a pill and a glass of water. "This should help."

As you took the medication, he resumed tending to your wounds, his touch more confident now.

"I think I may need a new car," he quipped, plucking a small shard of glass from your skin.

"Yeah, that's totally done," you said with a chuckle, but immediately regretted it as you felt a sharp pain again. You winced slightly.

"Easy, love," Satoru said, planting a tender kiss on your forehead before returning to tend to your wounds.

A comfortable silence enveloped the room. You turned slightly and gazed out the window, watching the waves crashing gently against the shore. "It's so beautiful."

Satoru looked at you. "Yes, it is."

"You know we could stay here," he eventually said.

You turned to face him. "What are you talking about?"

"No one knows we're here. We could leave it all behind. Forget the chaos." You could see the pain in his eyes. How much he wanted it. Just to be. Nothing more. Here in this house. As a couple. Away from all danger. It broke your heart to say it.

"That's not us, Satoru. We're sorcerers. We know nothing more than the fray, we deserve nothing more than that. That's our reality."

"I'd give it all up for you."

"No, you wouldn't, Satoru. I know that as well as you do. You thrive in the midst of sorcery, in the thrill of battle. It's as much a part of you as it is of me."

"Doesn't that scare you?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

"Does it scare you?" you echoed back.

"You're insane," he muttered.

"Perhaps," you said with a wicked smile. "But I wouldn't want to marry someone who didn't find sheer pleasure in killing curses."

His eyes widened a fraction. "Is that—are you saying yes?"

"Maybe," your lips curved into a smile. "But first, kiss me."

No sooner had the words left your lips than he was upon you, his mouth pressing fervently against yours, moving in perfect harmony. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, lifting you in a whirl of excitement. "Ahh, Satoru, that hurts," you winced, and he immediately set you down with care. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized quickly.

"I fucking love you," he said as he showered your face with kisses, repeating "I—love—you," with each gentle press of his lips.

You allowed yourself to be enveloped in his affection, savoring each kiss, knowing that whatever was to come was far from easy—far from pretty—far from safe. Dread lingered within you, the feeling that your time together was running out.

You should tell him. Tell him what you're going to do, but—

No.

You didn't want to destroy this moment. You wanted to hold onto this sweet haze a bit longer.

"I love you too, Satoru."

You meant it, more than anything.

****

𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫.

Megumi, Yuji and Nobara sat around a table in the bustling cafeteria of jujutsu high. Yuji was animatedly describing some absurd encounter he had earlier, flapping his arms for emphasis.

"And then," Yuji said, "the cat just—"

"Hi," a familiar voice from behind cut him off mid-sentence.

An immediate hush fell over the cafeteria. Every head turned in your direction. Satoru stood one step behind you.

Your friends were momentarily stunned, their conversation forgotten. Nobara's eyes widened as she leaped up from her seat, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug. "You're back!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing in the suddenly quiet room.

Yuji's face broke into a wide smile. "No way! How long has it been?"

"I can't believe it, you're really back," Nobara stepped back, her eyes scanning you up and down. "But seriously, what are you wearing?"

"Satoru had it custom-made for me," you said, giving a slight twirl to showcase the sleek, black uniform that clung neatly to your form. The material, lightweight yet impressively durable, shimmered subtly under the cafeteria lights.

Nobara's eyes suddenly darted to your hand. "No way!" she shrieked, her voice climbing octaves in sheer thrill. "No way!"

She seized your hand, her eyes fixed on the gleaming ring on your finger. The sunlight caught the jewel, making it dance with a spectrum of colors.

You leaned back into Satoru's presence, your smile widening. "You can call me Mrs. Gojo now."

Nobara's face lit up. Her eyes reflected the delicate sparkle of your ring.

"Seriously? This is huge!" Yuji joined in as he wrapped you both in a tight hug.

"Congratulations," Megumi said as you locked eyes with him over Nobara's shoulders. He smiled. Weakly, but he smiled. And you had never been so happy to see his smile.

Nobara, still holding your hand in hers, lifted her eyes to Satoru. "You better take good care of her, Gojo, or you'll have to deal with all of us."

Satoru smiled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Tell us everything," Nobara urged, dragging you back to the table.

Satoru pulled Megumi aside, his grip on his arm tight. "Megumi, I need a word with you."

Megumi's brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to keep an eye on her." Satoru glanced at you, observing your chatter with Nobara and Yuji. "Something's off. She's hiding something from me."

Megumi followed Satoru's gaze. "You think she's in danger?"

"She's planning something stupid, I know it." Satoru's face hardened slightly. "I trust you, Megumi. Please, just watch out for her for me."

Megumi nodded. "You have my word."

With a nod, Satoru returned to the table, masking his worries with a practiced smile. As he approached, he leaned down to place a tender kiss on your cheek. You responded instinctively, your hand finding his cheek in a gentle caress. Then Satoru took a seat beside you.

"So, how long are you staying?" Nobara asked.

Your smile waned. "Not long. I came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Nobara echoed, her brows knitting. "What do you mean?"

"I'm here to kill Mahito."

The table fell silent.

"Kill Mahito?" Yuji repeated. His eyes flicked back and forth between you and Satoru, seeking some kind of explanation.

Satoru leaned back in his chair. "That has always been the plan."

"Then we're with you. You're not doing this alone," Nobara said.

You shook your head. "No, Nobara. This is something I must do on my own. Mahito is my responsibility."

"But—" Megumi interjected.

"I'm not weak anymore," you stated firmly, locking eyes with Megumi.

Yuji leaned in, his hands clenched tightly on the table's edge. "You can't expect us to sit back and do nothing."

"I need you to trust me," you insisted. "It's all settled anyway."

Megumi and Yuji exchanged uneasy glances. "What do you mean by that?"

"We left Mahito a message. He knows when and where to find me."

"Are you insane?" Megumi couldn't hide his alarm.

You shrugged. "No more than usual."

"I'm kinda getting scared. You sure this will work?" Yuji asked.

Satoru leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. His gaze fixed on you.

"I'm sure," your lips curved into a cruel smile. "Besides, I'm not the hunted anymore."

"It's them."

****

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐠𝐨.

"You and I."

"You and I," he repeated. "—against the world."

Satoru's blue eyes held yours in a gaze so intense it felt like falling into an ocean. His hand rose to your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin in a tender touch. He looked at you, as if seeing you, truly seeing you, for the first time. As if he had just realized what love truly is.

Yuta's voice broke the silence. "Now, by the power vested in me by... well, let's say by the spirit of this unique moment, I pronounce you married. You may kiss now."

Then, as if drawn together by a force greater than yourselves, you and Satoru leaned in for a kiss. His lips met yours in a tender and gentle kiss. Yet filled with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. It was a kiss that sealed your vows.

A promise of forever.

The world seemed to stand still as you kissed. The only reality that mattered in that moment was the feeling of Satoru's lips on yours, the warmth of his embrace and the unspoken promise of a lifetime together.

"I love you," he breathed against your lips.

"I love you too," you said.

Satoru's hand found its place on your back. Holding you in his embrace, he tilted you back. His lips found yours again in a deeper, more passionate kiss. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entry, and you eagerly granted it. You felt him smile against your lips.

Then Satoru gently lifted you back upright without breaking the kiss. He held you close to his chest, his heartbeat echoing the rhythm of your own. As your lips finally parted, you were left breathless.

You didn't have to turn your head to see that Yuta's face was red all over.

****

"I love you."

Satoru pushed you back through the door of the house. He began to hastily shrug his suit jacket off his shoulders as his tongue explored your mouth. Satoru's kiss was maddening, a clash of lips and tongues that spoke of a longing he had only for you.

You struggled to catch your breath between kisses. Still, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, letting him steal your every breath.

"I love you too," you said breathlessly. "But wasn't it a bit rude to kick Yuta out so quickly?"

"Yeah, we owe him an apology," his grin widened. "But that can wait for now."

Your pulse quickened. Satoru's hands moved under the fabric of your dress, running his fingers up over your hips, touching your bare skin, pressing you close against him. You hastily loosened his black tie and started to unbutton his shirt.

You bit your bottom lip as he skillfully found that most sensitive spot between your legs, sending a thrill through you. Your breath hitched. You grasped his hair, pulling so hard it must've hurt.

Satoru's strong arms enveloped you, lifting you with ease as he carried you into the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed and hovered over you. He paused for a second, taking his time to look at you, intense yet caring, as he brushed a loose hair from your face. You reached out, your hand gently cupping his cheek as you held his gaze.

"I'm all yours," you whispered.

"And I'm all yours," he repeated.

Then he kissed you again, hard and demanding. His lips left yours, tracing a path down your jawline, leaving a trail of searing kisses in their wake. He nibbled at your skin, his teeth grazing your neck. Every inch of you marked by him as his.

Because you were his.

Forever.

****

"What's on your mind, love?"

You tore your gaze away from the window and met his eyes. "Nothing."

His fingers traced lazy circles over the exposed skin of your back as you lay side by side on the bed. The room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the open window, and a gentle early summer breeze from the ocean rustled the curtains.

Satoru propped himself up on his elbow. "Don't lie to me."

You hesitated for a moment. "I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"That you'll stop loving me."

"What do you mean?"

"What if I do something that makes you hate me?"

Satoru hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours. "You could never do anything to make me hate you."

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

Satoru gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his gaze unwavering. "You can't choose which parts to love and which to leave out," he began, his voice a soothing murmur, "—even in all the dark moments. You're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. You are not perfect, but neither am I. Still, I choose you."

You bit your lip. It started to bleed.

"Hey, look at me," he urged gently, cradling your face between his hands. His eyes glistened in the moonlight. "We're in this together."

You wished you could believe it with all your heart.

He leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath caressing your skin. "My life is all yours. It was always yours to begin with," he whispered.

"And my life will always be yours," you repeated.

But the fear still whispered in the recesses of your mind. In that fragile moment, all you could do was cling to him, savoring the precious time you shared, clinging to the hope that love against all odds would be enough.

****

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭.

Somehow I believe that the greatest pain one will ever know is to wake up one day and realize that time has run out.

"You nervous?"

Satoru's gaze met yours. He had barely slept the night before, his weary eyes accentuated by dark circles. His cursed energy seemed to charge the very air with tension. Uncontrolled. Still, his senses were on high alert.

You didn't sleep either. Your mind raced. But it didn't matter anyway. It would either work or you'd be dead. So you remained outwardly calm, perhaps too calm for what was to come.

"No," you replied after a moment's pause. "Are you?"

Satoru smiled. "Nah, I trust you."

Silence fell again as you both waited—waited for the inevitable confrontation.

Ruins surrounded you. Remnants of the Christmas Eve battle. The city was so destroyed that the government had not even bothered to rebuild it. Buildings stood like skeletons. The streets were eerily deserted, their emptiness broken only by the whisper of wind stirring the debris.

It looked like a graveyard.

"They'll be here soon," Satoru said.

Your fingers instinctively curled around the hilt of your katana, reassuring yourself that it was still securely at your side. "Yeah, I can feel it."

He turned toward you, closing the distance between you. His hands gently cradled your face, lifting your eyes to meet his. "Don't do anything stupid," he implored, his concern etched in his gaze.

Your stomach tightened. "I won't."

Satoru's gaze lingered on your face for a moment longer, as if he wanted to remember every detail, as if this moment could be the last.

"What is it?" you asked, searching his eyes for any hint of what he might be thinking.

"You're so beautiful," he said softly, "—even when you lie to me."

The air suddenly grew colder.

"They're here," he finally whispered, his hands still gently holding your face.

"They are," you affirmed.

You didn't need to look to know. Their cursed energy was impossible to miss. You could almost sense the malice in their grins. And there he was, among them, just as you had expected.

"He's mine," Satoru declared.

"Mahito's mine," you countered.

A smile flickered across his lips.

"Kiss me, Satoru."

He obliged without hesitation. His lips met yours with a tenderness that betrayed the dire situation you were about to face. The kiss was soft, almost chaste, yet it carried the familiar fever you always felt with him.

Heat spread over your skin as his kiss deepened, and the world around you momentarily faded into a blur. Then, with a final, lingering kiss, he pulled away and placed a tender kiss on the crown of your head.

"I love you. Stay safe," he whispered, his breath warm against your hair. His eyes locked onto yours one last time before you both turned to face them.

Mahito stood in the center. His cruel smile seemed to burn itself into your memory. He looked at you like a predator eyeing his next meal. How foolish.

"Go," you said.

Without wasting a moment, Satoru burst into action. With lightning-fast speed, he charged towards them. His eyes locked on Kenjaku.

Satoru's attack sent Kenjaku spiraling backwards with a force that smashed him into one building and then another, causing the structures to collapse under the sheer impact.

This left Mahito alone in the midst of the battlefield.

"Finally, we meet! I've been so excited about this," Mahito taunted, his hand clawing at his face. His expression twisted into a grimace that seemed barely human. "You done hiding?"

"You're the one who should hide."

His response was a derisive laugh. Then, he advanced.

You didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, you surged forward, katana in hand. Mahito twisted grotesquely to dodge. But you were already pivoting, blade slicing through the air. With a surge of cursed energy, you unleashed a strike that sliced through everything in its path towards Mahito.

The ground shattered beneath you, a violent crack opening a gaping chasm. Mahito narrowly avoided it, losing his arm in the process. He tilted his head back. His manic laughter filled the air. "You've really gotten strong!"

"Nah, you're just weak," you wiped his blood off your katana onto your sleeve.

Mahito's laughter died in his throat. His face twisting into a mask of fury.

Your gaze locked onto his shifting form. He was a blur, constantly moving. He was everywhere, nowhere. He lunged, morphing into a grotesque, colossal figure. His massive punch came hurtling down from above.

You raised your katana just in time, blocking the blow. He shifted again, his arms morphing into bladed weapons. He slashed at you from both sides. You leapt, dodging the first attack, but he followed swiftly.

A second strike sent you flying backwards into the remains of a building.

Dust and debris swirled around you. You rose from the rubble despite the pain coursing through your body. You narrowed your eyes, focusing on Mahito's every move. You raised your blade when Mahito came at you again.

You parried his relentless attacks, each strike faster and fiercer. Suddenly, he morphed his arm into a massive, hurtling mass.

The blow connected, pushing you back and skimming the edge of the building. In the last seconds, you slammed your katana into the brick wall. You halted your fall.

Climbing up, you were met with Mahito's grotesque visage. He hovered above you. His foul breath was overwhelming. You had no time to react.

His next blow struck hard, sending you crashing to the unforgiving ground below. Pain seared through your body, leaving you gasping for breath. Your eyes darted around, searching for any sign of Mahito's presence.

Then, rising from the ashes like a devil, Mahito lunged at you once more. With a swift motion, you slashed your katana through the air, intercepting his attack before it could land. Mahito was hurled backwards and crashed into the ground.

Seizing the moment, you leapt into action. You swept your leg up, sending him reeling and slamming into a nearby wall. He crumpled to the ground, his grotesque form momentarily subdued.

In the blink of an eye, you were upon him. Your foot pinned him down, your katana poised, gleaming like a deadly arc of silver. With a swift stroke, you severed his arms, ensuring that he couldn't touch you. He gasped, his breath wheezing from his lungs.

"Where are the fingers?" you pressed, your voice cold.

Mahito's eyes widened. "Ha?"

"Where. Are. Sukuna's. Fingers."

Mahito seemed to consider your question for a moment, then he erupted into a shrill, mocking laugh. "Are you insane?"

You pressed your foot down harder. "You have them with you, don't you?"

His expression twisted into a sneer. "You talk like you want to use them, bitch."

"Save your breath," you snapped. "Just tell me where they are."

"You'd have to kill me first," he cackled, as if the idea amused him.

"You say that as if it's a hard thing to do."

Mahito's eyes turned pitch black. In an instant, his body began to transform, swelling grotesquely in size. Before you could react, you found yourself engulfed by his monstrous form, trapped within his flesh.

Darkness closed in around you, a suffocating void where you could no longer sense any cursed energy. Not even Satoru's.

Panic surged as you scanned the oppressive darkness that surrounded you.

You were trapped. The air grew thin.

You struck out with your katana, slicing through Mahito's flesh. But it held firm.

Shit.

Suddenly, a surge of energy rippled through the darkness. Light flashed. A face appeared, one you knew all too well.

"Yuji!" you exclaimed as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you free from Mahito's grotesque form. Together you tumbled to the ground, rolling through the dust until you crashed into a wall.

You coughed, dust filling your lungs. "What are you doing here?"

Yuji, pushing himself to his knees, looked up at you. "Mahito's here. I had to come."

You smiled. "Should have expected that from you."

He chuckled.

"Watch out!" another familiar voice shouted. You looked up just in time to see Mahito lunging towards you. Suddenly, you were being yanked backwards, barely avoiding where Mahito's fist slammed into the ground.

"Megumi??" you gasped.

"Long time no see," he replied, a wry smile on his lips.

Your hands hastily found Megumi's shoulders. "You shouldn't be here—not you. You have to leave," you urged.

Megumi's eyes widened. "What are you saying?"

"Bad time for a reunion," Mahito sneered, his grotesque form lunging at you. But Yuji was faster. His kick sent Mahito spiraling sideways.

"Don't lose focus, guys!" Yuji shouted. You quickly turned to see Mahito rising from the dust. His shrill laughter reverberating through the desolate space. At the same time, your gaze shifted to a bright blue light in the sky—it was Satoru.

"Kenjaku's here too," you informed them.

"Kenjaku? Really?" Megumi exclaimed.

"Yeah, Satoru's handling him," you said. You turned back to face Mahito as he closed the distance with large, menacing strides.

Yuji and Megumi positioned themselves beside you, fists raised.

Shit.

Time for a change of plans.

Mahito split into three separate entities, each advancing towards you with frightening speed. You drew your katana, meeting Mahito's initial strike head-on.

The battle had escalated into a chaotic melee, with Yuji and Megumi grappling with their own versions of Mahito.

Mahito's relentless attack pushed you back, or perhaps you let yourself be pushed back. Who really knows.

"You're the original, right?" you asked, a sly grin on your face.

He sneered. "Eager for Sukuna's fingers, aren't you?"

"Just very interested."

You shoved him away with your blade. Mahito transformed again, his body becoming an arsenal of blades. He slashed through the air, each miss sending shockwaves that shattered the remains of nearby windows.

The shards flew like a deadly rain, cutting through air and skin.

You clenched your teeth against the pain. You moved through the storm of glass and steel towards him. Then, you saw your chance.

You made your move. Time seemed to slow down, each second stretching out as you calculated your attack. Mahito's eyes widened in shock, realization dawning upon him too late.

His vulnerability exposed.

Your katana sliced through the air, aiming at his exposed flank. The blade struck with deadly accuracy, cutting through his flesh. Cursed energy collided with cursed energy. In that fleeting instant, time seemed to freeze. Mahito was immobilized.

"Ahh, there they are." You could feel the distinct cursed energy of Sukuna's fingers within Mahito's flesh. He must have hidden them in his stomach.

"You're insane," Mahito yelled.

He struggled against your attack, trying to morph and escape your grasp. But he couldn't.

You used your cursed technique to pin him down, preventing him from transforming. Why did you never understand this before—if you could manipulate cursed energy, you could also suppress it. So simple.

"Heard that a few times today."

You sliced open his stomach while he was powerless. Inside, wrapped in cloth, were the fingers. You pulled them out and stepped back. You watched as Mahito's form collapsed into a grotesque mess.

Black liquid oozed from his wounds. He stumbled, clutching at the gaping wound in his stomach, trying in vain to reform.

"Yeah, that's going to take a while. My cursed technique stops the flow of your cursed energy," you explained nonchalantly, examining the fingers in your hand.

Mahito was left writhing and powerless. His usual ability to regenerate and morph was crippled by your technique.

"What are you?" Mahito gasped, collapsing back onto the ground.

You turned towards him, taking deliberate, slow steps. You towered over him. "The wife of Satoru Gojo. What did you expect?"

Shock etched Mahito's face. "You don't know what you're doing."

"Yeah, whatever."

Without a moment's hesitation, you ended him. Your blade sliced through his flesh effortlessly. Maybe you should feel something. Relief. Shook. Anything. But you felt nothing as the light in his eyes faded.

Perhaps it was the influence of all the malevolent cursed energy you had been manipulating in training for the past few moths. You were so used to it that you believed it had already become a part of you.

The remaining Mahito duplicates, linked to the original, crumbled as well.

You secured the fingers in a side pocket on your belt.

Focus.

No room for mistakes now.

Satoru would soon notice what had happened.

Scanning the area, Yuji and Megumi weren't immediately visible. You moved toward the last spot you had seen Yuji.

"You did it!" Yuji exclaimed as he spotted you. His appearance was battered, but nothing seemed critical. Megumi, seen from the corner of your eye, looked similarly worn.

Yuji's eyes sparkled. You hated what you had to do.

"I'm sorry, Yuji," you whispered as you lifted your katana.

Megumi's voice attempted to reach you. But it was lost. It was drowned out by a high-pitched ringing in your ears. Your vision tunneled, focusing solely on Yuji's frightened face in front of you.

You hated yourself so much in this moment.

Then, out of nowhere, a sudden, brutal impact from your left.

A car, hurled as if from the hands of a giant, slammed into you, sending you careening to the side. For a disorienting moment, you were airborne, uncertain if you were still flying or had met your end.

You hit the ground hard. You reeled over and over until your body crashed violently into a building. Your head struck the cold stone. A sharp pain shot through your skull. You were momentarily disoriented. Lost.

With a groan, you pushed the car off you, your legs straining against its weight.

You struggled to stand. Your fingers slipped against the blood-stained wall, unable to find a grip. Your skull throbbed merciless. Your vision blurred. You couldn't see properly, couldn't make out where you were.

You coughed, a spatter of blood staining the ground.

"What do you think you're doing?" Satoru's voice cut through the chaos. You lifted your head, fighting to focus as you met his gaze.

"Did you just throw a fucking car at me?"

"I told you not to do anything stupid," Satoru hissed.

"You don't understand," you struggled to your feet, meeting his gaze. He looked so sad under all that fury. "I'm here to end this once and for all."

"It's over!" Satoru shouted. "Mahito's dead. Kenjaku's dead. It's done! Can't you see that?"

"It'll never be over as long as he's alive!" Blood spilled from your mouth as you screamed.

Silence.

"Don't make me hurt you," Satoru warned.

"Try it."

In a blink, Satoru was upon you. His leg swept towards your face. Your eyes widened, time seemed to crawl. You twisted your arm, drawing the katana to block. Flesh met steel. Pain shot through your arms. You gasped, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth.

Cursed energy crackled along your blade as you pushed Satoru back. He staggered but quickly regained his footing. He launched another attack. You managed to block it, then countered.

Satoru's leg came up in a swift kick to your ribs, hitting a recently healed, now likely re-broken, spot. He knew your weakness all too well. You stumbled back, pain flaring in your side.

That bastard.

"Why not use your cursed energy, Satoru?" you taunted, clutching at your side. Blood seeped through your fingers.

"I would be stupid to do so," Satoru replied with a wry smile.

He was on you again in an instant. A sharp blow grazed your cheek, sending a jolt of pain through your face. The taste of blood filled your mouth. You recoiled, slashing your katana through the air and striking the ground.

The impact created a chasm, splitting the earth so wide that Satoru was caught off-guard and fell into the void. You leapt back just in time to avoid the same fate.

Scanning the area for Yuji, you began to move towards him. You bit down on the pain that tore through your body.

But suddenly something grasped your ankle, yanking you back and sending you hurtling towards a building. At the last moment, you twisted and absorbed the impact with your feet. You heard the audible crack of a bone breaking.

Satoru quickly caught up. He lunged at you, a flurry of blows and counters followed. Sparks flew as steel met flesh. With a precise blow, you pushed him back.

He crashed into the ruins, a cloud of dust and debris momentarily hiding him from sight.

Your legs barely held you up. Pain shot through them with every movement.

Suddenly, you felt the wind caress your face and whip your hair behind you. Then, a bright red light erupted from the clouds of dust, hurtling straight towards you. The heat of Satoru's cursed energy burned your cheeks.

In the last moment before impact, you raised your katana, intercepting Satoru's attack. You struggled against it. The sheer power nearly escaped your control, but then you deflected it. The force annihilated everything to your side.

You collapsed, the world spinning as you lay there. You coughed. Blackness was everywhere. You moved your hand beneath your chest, biting down on the scream of pain as you pushed upward.

You felt the thud of Satoru's steps approaching.

Get yourself together. You're so close.

Then, Satoru stood before you.

"I didn't expect our marriage to be like this."

"As if we could ever have a normal married life," you replied, looking up at him. The words felt sharp in your throat, like knives cutting through your heart.

Satoru kneeled down in front of you, his hand gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze. You forgot how to breathe as his intense blue eyes bore into yours. He looked at you as if there was still something in you worth seeing, worth loving, despite everything you had done.

"We could have that, if you would just let it happen. But you think you deserve nothing, so you ruin it. But listen to me, love. I want you, all of you-your flaws, your mistakes, your imperfections. I want you and only you. Despite everything you've done, I still love you with all that I am." His voice nearly broke. "It's not too late."

"This is greater than us, Satoru. Someone has to do it," you said, the words coming out choked and pained.

"You think I care about anything but you?" he countered firmly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped your eye. "I could happily watch the world crumble to ashes, as long as you were there, standing beside me."

"You should hate me, it would be easier if you just—" you started, but he cut you off.

He silenced you with a kiss—a kiss so deep and consuming that it blurred the lines between where you ended and he began.

"I'm all yours," he whispered against your lips.

"And I'm all yours," you breathed back.

Pain.

Satoru's eyes widened in shock as he felt the pain.

He gasped, his body trembling, but he didn't fight it. His eyes remained fixed on yours. Tears streamed down your face as you held his gaze, your hand still clutching the dagger buried in his side, effectively stopping all cursed energy within him.

You stabbed him deep enough to make him unable to fight for a few seconds, but not deep enough to kill him.

That was it.

The End.

You had done what you believed needed to be done, even if it meant hurting the person you loved most.

You wished you had no heart.

➸ continue reading chapter nine (last one)

a/n: thanks you so much for reading and have a lovely day or night! ♡

#gojo saturo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fushiguro #satoru gojo angst

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lemonsrosesandlavender · 14 days

Note

Rolan being a service sub.

That's it.

That's the ask.

“That’s it, that’s the ask.” Thank you prompter… I did not exactly match your short and sweet energy. In fact, this turned out quite long - but I hope you enjoy! (I think I'll also put this up on AO3 as a Rolan x Reader fic, title TBC. If you're on AO3 and want to off-anon yourself, I'll happily mark it as a gift - but no worries if you'd rather not!)

tags - sub Rolan, D/s, brief bloodplay mention, collars, rimming, overstimulation. 2392 words.

Sometimes, Rolan gets in a strange mood. Helping you almost insistently, begging you to take it easy. It’s often when you’ve been out, defending Baldur’s Gate from some new menace - an adventurer’s work is never done - but just as often it seems to accompany him staying up late, as if he fears having neglected you.

Coming back from an exhausting day of fighting ghouls, you find him waiting behind the counter of the closed-up Sundries, ostensibly taking inventory. The moment he sees you, he drops the scroll he’s holding and Misty Steps to your side, before kneeling at your feet.

‘Ah… Rolan?’ you ask, smiling. ‘How about a welcome home kiss?’

Not that he doesn’t look nice like that, you’re just surprised. Even more so when, instead of rising to give you a kiss, he throws his head between your legs, kissing your thigh.

‘You must be tired,’ he says hastily. ‘Allow me to take off your boots. Please.’

There’s a twinge of something so desperate, so needy in that last word, that you feel the heat stir inside you.

‘Well,’ you murmur, stroking his hair. Pulling it a little, until he gasps and the softest whine escapes. ‘Be quick about it. I want a bath.’

Rolan’s breath catches, and he stands up, an anxious frown on his face.

‘I will heat one for you -’

Snatching his wrist in the nick of time - interrupting the beginning of another Misty Step incantation - you pull him close, cupping his face in your hand. His jaw relaxes a little beneath your fingers, but he still looks tense.

‘Is everything alright?’

‘Of course,’ he snaps, and then bites his tongue. ‘I thought you liked me like this,’ he murmurs, looking a little unsure.

‘I do,’ you tell him, stroking his cheek softly. ‘Very much. It’s just… unusual for you. Obeying me without putting up an argument about it.’

‘Must I always be myself?’

It’s asked with a rake of one pointed canine over his lip, his expression tired. Frustrated even - but not at you.

‘Rolan,’ you murmur. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply - I know there’s more to you than that.’

You kiss him gently, lips brushing his, letting the soft pressure of his lips part yours. His are closed, but as your tongue flickers over their surface he tilts his mouth into yours, asking for more.

‘I was just worried. That you felt you had to earn something from me.’

He shakes his head, eyes closed, and frantically seeks another kiss. Your tongue presses deep into him this time, fingers curling in the soft twists of his hair.

When at last you break apart, you keep hold of him there, guiding his head down.

‘Boots first. And then a bath.’

'Of course.’

Sinking to the floor, he begins his deft work on your laces, elegant fingers dancing across the eyelets. When both of them are loose, you put your foot on his thigh and wait for him to tug each one off in succession, watching his brow furrow as if this is the most important task in the world. Perhaps you should sink into that feeling too. Why should he be doing anything else in this moment than worshipping you, serving you, adoring you? You deserve this.

Your heel digs in a little on his thigh, and he whimpers.

‘You’re beautiful,’ you tell him.

His eyes flick up to you, widening into oceans of gilded brilliance.

‘You are beautiful. I am -’

Kicking your other boot off, you bend down, seizing his jaw.

‘- not allowed to refuse a compliment,’ you warn him, finishing his sentence. The cold, silvery blade in your voice does its job. Rolan nods, taking a deep, shivering breath.

'What should I do next?'

'Pour me a bath. A hot one. I'll be down in a moment.'

Heading to your room, you strip off the last of your combat clothes and rummage in a drawer full of trinkets from your travels. There it is. A beautiful collar you found in the Underdark, glowing with Draconic ruins. Admittedly, it might have been intended for a dog; but it looks big enough for Rolan's neck. And he would look so pretty in it.

Scents both woody and floral swirl through the air, rising from the bath tub steam, enveloping you in their heady grasp as you slip through one of the Tower's many magic portals into the cool stone of the Vault bathroom.

Rolan hastens over, eyes downcast.

'I have prepared it for you. Should I -'

'Rolan,' you interrupt. 'Look at me.'

He does. How obedient of him... although before his eyes meet yours, they brush over your naked form, and he subdues an eager flicker in his tail.

'Strip,' you command him.

'Is that collar for me?'

You slip your fingers back into his hair, about to remind him to follow your orders; but you don't get as far as pulling it. He's already rushing to rip off his robes, yanking with an uncharacteristic lack of care at the collar buttons.

'Good,' you whisper, letting him go.

In a moment, his clothes are discarded in a red-and-blue linen pool at his feet, his sharp toenails curling into the ground. Naked, he looks anxiously at you for direction - or approval?

'I told you,' you say, stroking his cheek. 'You're beautiful. Every part of you.'

Your hand slips down, wandering his ridged chest, tracing a lingering trail over the star of his stomach until at last you reach his thickness, his beautiful length already inflamed with so much lust he whines when you touch it.

'Sorry,' he gasps. 'My apologies - I'll be quiet, I promise.'

Your grip tightens, and he sobs.

'Don't be quiet.'

Rolan nods.

'No. I said don't be quiet.' Your fingers squeeze tighter yet, and he chokes out a groan.

'Of course - I'm sorry - anything you say.'

'Good.' You toy with his cock a little more, more tenderly this time, enjoying the pinch between his brows and the arch of his lip that tells you how much he likes it, how easily you could finish him already. Desire leaks from his tip as you thumb it.

'Should I put this collar on you? Would you like that? Would you like to feel owned?'

He shudders. 'Yes - please - yes -'

'Hmmm. The Master of Ramazith's Tower, collared. Perhaps you should wear this beneath your robes.' You tug the collar snugly, buckling it. Rolan's cock twitches.

'Ah - I believe it locks,' he mutters. 'With an incantation.'

'How do you know?' you tease him, forgetting, for a moment, your icily dominant mood.

'I, ah, was organising the drawers and... found it rather interesting.'

'You fucking whore.'

'Nnnnnh!'

He sobs, buckling against you. 'Gods, please, call me that again!'

'No. I'm getting in the bath.'

'No!' he protests, before he remembers himself. 'I mean - of course - whatever you say -'

'Mhhm. That's right. Now get me a glass of wine.'

The bath is deliciously hot, the water velvet with perfumed oils. Rolan has settled into the luxury of the Tower very enthusiastically, though only Ramazith himself knows how old those perfume bottles are. They might be collecting a little dust, but the smell is so intoxicating, you can't tell they've aged a bit. If you closed your eyes, you could picture yourself in a rose garden at sunset, caressing their silken petals and wrapping Rolan's fingers around the thorns, pressing down just a little until you could lick the blood from his pricked fingers.

Your hand slips down, palming at your groin.

Rolan stops dead as he comes back through the portal, clutching the glass and bottle in his hands tight. His cock throbs at the sight of you.

'Don't come without me,' he begs. 'Please. I want to please you - my body is yours -'

You beckon him closer, plucking the full glass from his fingers.

'Fetch that cushion,' you murmur, gesturing to the chair in the corner.

'As you wish.'

He pads over to get it, the tight curl of his tail tip betraying his arousal even from behind. And what a behind. You feel positively lecherous, drinking in the sight of his beautiful back, his wings and ridges and ass, lust written in the twist of your tongue and the arch of your back.

As Rolan returns to your side, you take a sip of wine, revelling in its rich taste.

'Put that on the floor, and kneel on it.'

His chest rises and falls with each of your instructions, no matter how small. Abruptly, you twist over the side, sloshing water all over him, taking a long look at his pretty cock. It looks even better, slicked with oil and water, glistening at the tip and burgundy-veined along its length.

Rolan's lips fall open, his breath racing. He tilts his hips a little, offering his cock for your gaze.

Well, since you've been invited. You lean further still over the tub's metal rim, pressing your fingers into his open mouth.

'Mmmmmf -'

His hips buck as you stroke his tongue.

'Touch yourself,' you murmur, sinking back into the bath with your fingers still wrapped in their wet, adoring embrace.

'Mmmm - '

Rolan frowns, protesting that commandment in particular; though he keeps sucking your fingers with an assiduous eagerness. Worship, even.

'Touch. Yourself,' you repeat more sharply.

He frowns again, the lines cutting deeper into his face.

'Nnnnn -'

You drag your fingers out of his mouth, and shrug, taking another draft of your wine.

'As you wish. If you won't behave, then you don't get to suck my fingers.'

'No, please,' he gasps. 'I will come - the moment I touch myself - you don't understand how desperate I am -'

'You won't come. Because I told you not to.'

'Ahhhh - I will try - please, just put your fingers back in my mouth - oh!'

Catching his collar in your fingers, you tug him closer.

'Hand on your cock. Now.'

Rolan hesitates, taking a deep breath; then, with an anxious grimace, he reaches slowly down between his legs, wincing as he touches it.

'You're so good, my love. Open your mouth.'

Before you slip your fingers back into him, you soak them in your wine, letting the shining ruby drops slip down their length onto his lips. He whimpers as you explore deeper, fingers pushing back into his throat, testing how well he can take you. Very well. After all, you do punish his argumentative mouth with something much larger, when he's in one of his brattier moods, and though he loves to gag and choke and protest he loves taking you. Today, though his throat hitches and his eyes water, he caresses you quietly, adoringly, bobbing gently on your fingers.

'Put this down,' you tell him, passing the half-finished glass to his free hand. Then, you lean once more over the side, pulling his forehead to your chest, stroking his horns and hair and ears. 'You're so perfect, Rolan. Gods. You're so good at serving me. You're so good at it. I'm going to spoil you for being so good - no, don't come, you can hold on -'

'Nnnnngh!'

He writhes, and suddenly a hot, wet tear splashes down on the back of your hand.

'Oh, Rolan. Does it hurt? Do you want to come that badly?'

More tears.

'Mmmm!'

His breaths are ragged, piercing the air with desperation; but they only make your blood run hotter.

'Fight it for me.'

'Mmmm! Nnnnngh - ah - fuck!'

He pulls back suddenly, and then slumps onto the floor, whimpering softly.

Jumping out of the bath, you kneel beside him, brushing the hair from his face.

'Breathe,' you whisper, and he nods.

Three squeezes of his hand, firm and deliberate. Three come right back. A smile creeps back onto your lips. He's alright. Deliciously close to the border of too-much - but just on the right side. You stroke his hair a moment longer, holding his hand over his chest; feeling his breath steady to mere fever, instead of delirium.

'I love you,' you murmur. 'Do you want to please me now?'

He nods, and the runes on his collar dance.

Gently, you tug him upright, and he takes his place back on the cushion. The veins on his cock are livid and straining, pretty ruby rivers of want; the temptation to stroke them is strong, but you resist.

Instead, you slip in front of him, putting one knee up on the bath rim. You brace your hands on the bath too, and then cant your hips back until your ass is right in his face.

'Well,' you tease him. 'Go on then.'

He dives in. Hands on your ass, spreading it so that his eager tongue can press in, first flickering and then circling and then pressing in, indecent in his haste to be inside you.

'Fuck, Rolan,' you groan, reaching between your legs again. 'Fuck! You're - so - good - don't - stop!'

If only you could enjoy the heat of his tongue longer, the feeling of it stroking you, caressing you - but you want to come so badly already, so wildly you don't want to wait. Rolan moans and whimpers into your asshole. You can't wait, not when you can feel the soft brush of his sounds on your skin, the squeeze of his fingers as he enjoys you, serving you so firmly his tongue must be aching, but he keeps his touch constant and eager, pressing into you over and over again -

'Fuck!' you shout, coming so hard you almost lurch into the bath. 'Fuck! Oh Gods -'

Twisting round, you drag Rolan to his feet, seizing him tight, and although the words 'come for me' are on your lips, they're already too late, because the moment Rolan's cock presses into your skin he shouts and sobs and claws you, spurting his load across both of your stomachs.

For a moment, you just stand, cradling him in your arms, kissing his exhausted face until he comes back to life with a hazy smile.

'Bath?' you ask him softly.

'Did I - did you -?' he asks hesitantly.

'Like it?' You laugh softly. 'Of course I liked it. Gods, Rolan. I loved it. And I love you.'

'I love you too,' he murmurs, and then groans. 'Gods. Yes. A bath.'

Before he gets in, his fingers reach for his throat. 'Do you mind if I keep this on? For now?'

#cabbage answers #rolan #service sub rolan #smut #cabbage trash #rolan x reader #gn reader #i stayed up outrageously late writing this lol #hope you like it anon! <3

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