#i had to i'm so sorry it's too perfect for them and you KNOW it is
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Hello!!! I have a request if that’s okay with you. 💕
Would you maybe write a Spencer x quiet!reader? Where she doesn’t have the courage to talk to him because she’s too shy?
I don’t really have a plot in mind so that’s up to you!! I’m sorry I couldn’t come up with any ideas but hopefully it lets you write whatever you want. Thank you for taking the time to read this. And I read your other stories, you’re so underrated and amazing I love your wording when you write. 🥹🫶🏻🫶🏻
Hi Mary!! Thank you so much for your kind words c:
I did my best c: I hope you like it!
Round Table (Spencer Reid x shy!gn!reader)
Pairing: Spencer Reid x shy!gn!reader (if not gn please let me know, but I'm fairly certain it is!)
Word Count: 1538
Warnings: mentions of anxiety, but besides that none?
A/N: this was so fun c: i am really enjoying challenging myself with your guys' requests. hope you enjoy!!
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You were an incredibly anxious person, which, honestly, was okay. You tried not to let your anxiety hinder your life too much, but like any other human being, sometimes it got in the way. It was frustrating, sure, knowing that a situation would be so much easier if you weren’t so anxious about it, but you reminded yourself often that you weren’t perfect, and neither was anyone else.
Some people were afraid of heights, of the ocean, of needles. Some people had trouble going out into crowds or grew overstimulated in public places.
You? You were painfully shy. There was always an adjustment period to being around new people.
Baristas, the bus driver, pharmacy techs, cashiers at the grocery store - you did just fine. But those were one-time interactions, brief discussions that you could compartmentalize.
They came with a script to follow, with cue cards already queued up in your head as they occurred. You could put on an emotional mask for five minutes while the nurse at the clinic gave you a flu shot. You could smile and speak in your special voice labeled Getting Coffee, an octave higher than you usually spoke, in order to acquire your much-needed beverage. There was a clear goal in mind with each of these dialogues. Sure, you didn’t present as the most confident person in the world, but you always made it through conversations like these without stumbling over your words or being too terribly awkward.
You didn’t succeed as much with deeper connections, with ones that took time to cultivate. You were a guarded person to begin with, with only a handful of people you felt truly close to. Vulnerability had always been difficult for you, but you supposed you were in the majority on that front. It took a while to become comfortable around coworkers, extended family, hell, even your therapist. You had to have time to adjust, to settle in.
A lot of people in your life thought you were just socially awkward or even an agoraphobe, but you didn’t mind being around people. It was the intimacy, the connection, the having to give away little pieces of yourself, that made you anxious. It kept you from participating in conversations most of the time, usually only speaking unless spoken to.
You liked your job as a linguistics and handwriting analyst in the FBI for that very reason. You didn’t have to say much to people unless it was related to a case. With a clear goal in mind, a threat to neutralize, you could turn on that mechanical part of your brain that spouted off facts, information, theories. You didn’t have to tell anyone about your weekend, about your hopes and dreams or your favorite foods.
You were consulting on a case for the Behavioral Analysis Unit - a serial killer who stalked his victims months before their murders, sending handwritten letters and using poetry to taunt them. Your supervisor had asked you to collaborate with the BAU, sending you to the sixth floor on your own.
For the last two days, you’d been working closely with Dr. Spencer Reid - Spencer, he insisted you call him. Just a couple of years older than you, but still very young for his role in the FBI. He was friendly, and very smart, and he rambled on about all kinds of things -
Everything, actually. The Chinese food you’d had for lunch on the first day? He explained the origin of fortune cookies. Did you know their first appearance in the US was in San Francisco in the late 1800s?
Pointing out a Dickinson line in one of the UnSub’s letters? Did you know only ten of Emily Dickinson’s poems were actually published when she was alive and the rest were posthumous?
You often just nodded along and smiled, occasionally throwing in an oh, that’s very interesting to appear as an active listener. And you were an active listener. You did genuinely think he was interesting, and you found his info dumps to be incredibly endearing. But your contributions to the conversation were abysmal in comparison.
Beyond discussing patterns in the UnSub’s letters and what it might mean for each victim, you had no other fascinating information to share. You didn’t do well with small talk, and Spencer didn’t ask you any overtly personal questions.
It wasn’t until close to the end of the second day spent in the conference room of the BAU’s office that Spencer asked you a direct question about yourself.
There were three evidence boards set up, all full of scanned copies of the letters, each one pinned up meticulously by you and Spencer the day before. The large round table in the room had letters stacked out all around it, each one bagged in protective plastic.
Spencer was standing in front of the evidence boards with his arms crossed over his chest, studying the photocopies with his head inclined to the side.
He broke the silence you had been slowly settling into the past two days. “Your supervisor said you had a specialization in poetry?”
You nodded, stepping over to the table and carefully lifting one of the letters up. You liked how he spoke as if you two were in the middle of a conversation, when in fact, it had been totally silent for the past half an hour, save for the soft puttering of the air conditioning vent.
“Studied a lot in undergrad,” you squeaked out, clearing your throat as you held the letter up the fluorescent light above you to examine the stationary.
“What university did you attend?” Spencer asked, and you turned your head to find him inclining his head to the side. He actually wanted to know?
“I went to Bennington College to study poetry,” you said softly, suddenly finding it difficult to focus on the letter in your hand. “But I went to graduate school at Georgetown. Master’s in Linguistics.”
“Really? That’s fascinating,” Spencer commented, which caught you by surprise, especially because he didn’t sound the least bit sarcastic. “That combination of degrees is exceedingly rare. Generally people who major in poetry often either go on to complete as far up as a doctorate in the subject or they stop at a Bachelor’s degree. The latter statistically don’t end up working in a field related to poetry, either, so their degree is basically useless.”
You weren’t sure if you were supposed to be offended by that, so instead you just nodded your head politely. “Okay,” you murmured, biting your lip.
“Can I ask you another question?” Spencer asked, and set the letter in your hand down on the table. You smoothed your hands over the fabric of your shirt and nodded. “Do I… do I make you uncomfortable?”
You shook your head. “No,” you said assuredly, and then, a little more hesitantly, “…why would you ask me that?”
Spencer turned to face you. “You’re just very quiet unless we’re discussing the case. Which is fine, of course, but I just… I don’t know. I thought maybe you were annoyed by me or I said something to offend you.”
You felt guilt spread over you and your cheeks turned pink. The last thing you’d wanted was to make anyone feel bad who didn’t deserve it. And the very kind, helpful, and adorable Dr. Spencer Reid was the furthest from deserving to feel bad.
“I just don’t talk a lot,” you tried to explain. Your hand rubbed the spot where the top of your chest met the skin of your neck, an anxious habit you’d had for years. “I mean, I do with people I know, and that’s not to say I dominate the conversation by any means, but I just…” you realized you were rambling. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you added, your voice just above a whisper.
“Thank you,” Spencer’s lips flickered into a straight-lined smile, one you had seen several times over the past few days, often when unintentional eye contact was made across the table. “For clarifying, I mean, that I didn’t offend you.” He cleared his throat, and leaned against the round table, standing just a few feet from you. Still a very professional and comfortable distance, but closer than he had been before. “So, does that mean that if we got to know each other, you’d talk more?” The corners of his lips spread out and his smile grew.
You tore your eyes away from his to look at the letter in your hand, the protective plastic around it crinkling between your fingers. You weren’t actually looking at the letter, though. You’d just needed somewhere - anywhere - else to look. “That’s generally how it goes,” you murmured, biting your lip.
“So, if I were to, for example, ask you to meet me for dinner sometime, could the getting to know each other happen there?”
Your eyes fluttered over to Spencer’s and you saw him smiling. You could tell by how he looked at you, with his head inclined just slightly to the side, that he was being fully serious. You nodded, unable to control the small smile on your face.
Spencer grinned, and you could tell he couldn’t resist when he spoke again. “So, is that a yes?”
#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#basketonthedoorstepofthefbi#criminal minds spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x gn reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x self insert
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gojo making fun of your other fwb
( smut, a little smthn while i work on my nanami fic <3 ) .
"just put it in, for fucks sake."
gojo chuckles, running his mushroom-shaped tip up and down your folds. every time he reaches your hole, he pushes his cock in just enough to breach your entrance, before pulling out and continuing his ministrations. like a fucking idiot.
"aw, y’want my dick that bad? 'need me to fill you up?" what about matsukawa?"
your expression sours, sending him an annoyed look. this was by far the first time he’s brought up his displeasure for your other friend, especially in bed.
“are you trying to make me dry?" you bark, trying to close your legs - which he immediately stops with a large hand. "if you wanna fuck, stop talking about him and hurry."
gojo rolls his eyes, despising the way you're practically defending the fucker. sure, he's just a friend too - but you were clearly his; you've always been addicted his lips against yours, his hands on your body, his cock against your cervix. now this other shithead thinks he can come and take that away?
he doesn't know how to handle it besides-
"is this how he fucks you?" suddenly, he forces only an inch or two inside you, barely thrusting in and out with a mischievous smile. a hum leaves his lips as your insides squeeze him firmly, but he's stubborn enough to hold back the urge to fill you up properly. "probably can’t reach anything, i bet even my fingers are bigger."
the audacity and immaturity of the man in front of you has you baffled. here you are, ready to be fucked into the mattress by him - and all he can do is joke about some other guy's dick length? you desperately want to scold him, tell him to fuck off - but as expected - the feeling of his fat cock not reaching where you need has your mind going blank in desperation.
"please.. just fuck me, toru."
he smirks, and without giving you any time to adjust, he's mercilessly slamming in the rest of his length so the tip presses right up against your womb. his balls smack against you from below, and you shiver at the feeling of his white pubic hair grazing your pelvis. "so i'm right? hah, what a fuckin' loser. 'course he has a small dick."
you're too busy catching your breath to hear him, and gojo smoothly takes that opportunity to throw your legs over his shoulders and press them against your chest, ensuring his cock hits your g-spot at the perfect angle. just how you like it.
the white-haired bastard can't help but smile, licking his lips at your rolled back eyes and the harmonious ah, ah, ah's that escape your throat with each brutal slam of his hips. "becoming my brainless cocksleeve as usual, so damn cute. only i can rearrange these guts, right?" he demands, bending you even further while getting right in your face.
"say it. say who owns this sloppy," thrust, "fucking," thrust, "pussy," thrust.
“you, only you!” the words tumble out of you before you can stop them.
“who?” he grinds right against your cervix, nearly pressing the tip of his nose against yours.
“sa- satoru!”
he rewards you by lowering a thumb to play with your clit, cerulean eyes staring into your very soul. “damn right. scream it louder.”
suddenly, a quiet ding! comes from your bedside table. gojo glances down to your blissed-out face, cautiously peering over to see a message from none other than the man of of the hour.
matsu: wyd? can i come over?
gojo smiles. typing in a response with one hand while the other keeps your thigh firmly against your chest.
you: yea, be quick daddy ;)
you would definitely kill him after this.
( reblogs & comments r appreciated if u enjoy! had this idea at 2am sorry if it’s bad <\3)
© inmaki on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.
#inmaki#jjk headcanons#gojo headcanons#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojou satoru x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen drabbles#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk x female reader#jjk smut#jujutsu gojo#gojo fluff#jjk gojo#gojo x you#gojo satoru#jjk fics#satoru x reader#satoru smut#jjk x you#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen satoru#jjk x y/n#jjk fluff
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Idk how you would turn this smutty. But I guess it doesn’t have to be. But how would the jjk boys deal w their girl being depressed or just not really liking herself
JJK Men: When You’re Feeling Depressed/Anxious/Down
Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU),
Word Count: 4,090
Warnings: Mentions of low self-worth, depression, self-negativity, anxiety, fluff!
A/N: A fix for those of us who have those bad days and need a little pick me up.
Gojo Satoru:
Gojo noticed something was wrong from the exasperated sigh from the bedroom. Popping his head in, he watched as you threw a top down on the ground, joining the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Your face was comforting between frustration and anger before you laid down on the bed, face down; your scream muffled into the mattress.
Seeing you like this, distraught and in distress, had Satoru padding across the floor, plopping down on the bed next to you. His large, warm hand gently rubbed up and down your back in soothing strokes. Only stopping when you slowly pulled back to look up at him.
“What's bothering you, sweet pea?”
“I just,” you sighed heavily, “nothing looks good on me. I feel dumpy, and I hate how I look.”
The harshness of your words had Satoru moving as if you had slapped him. “I'm sorry?” His hands cupped your face, squeezing it. “It just sounded like someone was insulting my girlfriend.” you tried pulling away from him, groaning as your hands pushed at him.
“Toru, stop!”
“No, you stop.” His tone left no room for arguments. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen: your face, personality, even this perfect body. Everything about you is perfect.” he was pleased when you didn't argue with him, “You don't like your clothes? You don't like how the clothes look? Come on.” he yanked you up, tossing you one of his shirts.
“Huh? What?”
“I said, come on.”
While wallowing in yourself, pity sounded like a beautiful idea. You knew your boyfriend. He wouldn't stop at nothing until you listened. So you reluctantly got up, dressed in one of his expensive shirts, before he dragged you out of the apartment.
Knowing Satoru, he would take you to some sweets shop and get you whatever you wanted. That was something you expected when it came to him. What you hadn't been expecting was for him to pull you into a boutique, the boutique you'd always fantasized about shopping at.
“W-Why are we here?” you asked, eyes wide as Satoru sat in a plush chair.
“You don't like any of your clothes, so I’m going to buy you a whole new wardrobe.” he leaned back, giving you a dazzling smile. “You shop to your heart's content, sweetheart.”
Your eyes moved around the shop, taking in the clothes you'd dreamt of wearing. “I-I can't, Toru, it's too expensive.” Satoru sighed dramatically, leaning his head back.
“I’m the head of the Gojo clan, a single child, and the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. Money is not a problem. I could buy out the entire store, and that's pocket change.” You twiddle your fingers, still feeling hesitant. “Sweetie,” you lifted your eyes, “have fun, you’ll feel so much better.”
Part of you didn't want to do this, to spend his money. It felt like he was a Sugar-Daddy when he presented you with extravagant gifts, but at the same time, he liked spoiling you. With a pout, you began thumbing through racks and pulling out tops and pants you liked before handing them to an awaiting clerk.
You glanced and grazed, pulling stuff off racks that looked good. Before you knew it, you stood in the dressing room surrounded by what seemed like dozens of articles of clothing. Would any of these even look good? Or would you still feel dumpy? The only way you would know was if you tried them on, which you had been dreading.
You pulled on a pair of jeans, a blouse, and some shoes before walking out. Satoru perked up, jaw-dropping as you stood in front of the mirrors. You looked—amazing. Your face mirrored his. You looked so pretty. The clothes fit you perfectly and complement the curves of your body along with your skin tone. For the first time all day, you felt good about yourself.
“Wow, just wow.” Satoru was a beaming ball of sunshine. “You looked beautiful earlier, but the confidence radiating off you is blinding! Strongest sorcerer in the world and luckiest boyfriend in the world!” You watched him pump his fist in the mirror.
“I feel perfect about this one.” you did a little twirl, looking at your backside.
“Me too! Go on, try on the next outfit! I wanna see everything.”
You felt as though you were in a movie. Going through a montage of outfits, all of which Satoru excited. He proudly announced to one of the attendants that you were his stunning girlfriend and looked terrific in everything. Ultimately, Satoru bought you ten new outfits, six dresses, ten pairs of shoes, and some jewelry.
You walked out in one of your new sun dresses, grabbing onto your white-haired boyfriend's arm. With a glance down at you, Satoru signed contentedly, squeezing your hand. You had a smile that could light up a million stages. His hand gently squeezed yours; your head tilted to stare at him.
“Feel better?” Satoru asked, giving you a wide smile.
“A million times better. Thank you, you didn't have to do that—” Having him spend that money on you left a bad taste in your mouth. Satoru could see how you avoided his gaze, how your hand tightened.
“I know.” The gentleness of his tone had your nerves relaxing. “But you were down, and I wanted to make you feel better. And from that adorable smile. I'd say I did a pretty damn good job.”
“You're so full of yourself.” Satoru swung your conjoined hands back and forth. “But that doesn't mean that you're wrong. You did an excellent job, Satoru; thank you again.”
“Anthrung to brighten your day, sweetheart. Now, let's grab some lunch! I wanna be the guy to take the hottest woman in the world to lunch!”
Geto Suguru:
Suguru could see it in your grin at work. It was a soft smile, one that screamed to others that you were okay. Everything was perfect in your life. But he could see the way that smile fell when everyone looked away. You weren't your perky, bubbly self, and that worried him.
Suguru waited until after the last of the students to leave before he walked up behind you, resting his chin on the top of your head, his arms wrapping around your waist. For a brief moment, he feared that you might pull away, that you needed space. He held a bated breath until you relaxed against his chest, allowing yourself to be engulfed by his larger frame.
He stayed like that, holding you tight for a long moment and not moving until you shifted from one leg to another. It was a signal that told him you wanted to move without outwardly saying it. So he released you, arms falling to his sides, hands sliding into his pockets as you stepped to collect your bag off the desk.
“Are you okay?”
You swallowed hard, nodding your head instead of answering him. You knew if you were to open your mouth to confess that you weren't as okay as you claimed, you would end up crying. You knew Suguru could see you weren't OK, but he wasn't the type to pry. So he just wrapped his arm around you and ushered you out of the classroom to head back home.
When you arrived, you took off your shoes and jacket and began heading to the kitchen to prepare something for dinner. Suguru was faster than you, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the living room, where he forced you to sit on the couch. He was lightning fast, sitting behind you, his hands gently rubbing at your tense shoulders, making you melt.
His fingers rubbed and kneaded the stiff muscles in your shoulders and upper back. His touch back in the classroom had been a comfort, but having him rub out the tension had you moaning as you leaned forward. Your soft mewls had him grinning, his fingers and hands continuing to move over your back.
“So,” he began, “will you tell me what's wrong? Or would you prefer to savor the moment?”
With a soft sigh, your body arched, leaning into his touch. “I just haven't been feeling like myself. I wake up a ball of stress, and I haven't been sleeping well.” A lump began to form in your throat as you struggled to find the words. “Works been a lot; I've been working twelve-hour days, that's not even including missions.” the tears you had been holding back this entire time finally escaped. “And I feel like I could do more for everyone and you. I don’t feel like I’m putting enough effort into everything.” The kneading of Suguru’s hands ceased; they remained still, gently squeezing your shoulders.
He took a moment to process your words, to filter through the pain and the stress that seeped through them. It was painfully clear to him that you were far more stressed than he had imagined. Situations like this called for more than just a back massage.
”I’m sorry that you have so much on your plate right now. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.” The couch shifted as your boyfriend stood up, scooping you into his arms and carrying you toward the bathroom. “I think you might need to take a day off for yourself and stop worrying so much about helping everyone else out.”
Suguru sat you on the bathroom counter before unzipping his uniform jacket. “But I wan—“ He placed his forefinger gently over your lips, silencing the protests and excuses he knew you were going to make.
”I know you want to help. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to help out your co-workers and partner when a lot is going on. But you must also remember to care for the most important person.”
”Whose that?”
”You.” His words left your cheeks burning as you watched him draw a bath. “You want to help, but you can’t do that when you’re grinding yourself to the bone. For tonight, don’t worry about work, me, or what we're going to have for dinner. I want you to focus on you.”
As much as you hated to admit it, Suguru was right, and you had been working yourself to the brink of death. A hiccup was the only sound Suguru needed to hear to know that his words had struck home. Turning his head, bangs flowing, he shut his eyes as he gave you the warmest smile. You sat on the counter, wiping at your tired eyes, sniffling like a child as your boyfriends strode forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a tight hug.
”Let’s take the night to focus on you.”
Suguru ordered dinner, and as you both waited for it to be delivered, you soaked in the bath together. The aroma of your favorite bubble bath mix and candles calmed you down. Your eyes were heavy as you pressed yourself back against Suguru’s bare chest, humming contently as he held you close. For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself slip into a deep slumber in the flickering glow of the candlelight. Your deep breathing and relaxed features left Suguru’s heart feeling light. Taking care of you was one of the greatest pleasures of the world.
Nanami Kento:
Nanami straightened his tie as he looked over himself in the mirror. With a heavy sigh, he stepped out of the bathroom and into your room, where you were nowhere to be found. The bed was unmade, so that you couldn't have gone far.
After grabbing his keys and wallet, Nanami went to the kitchen, where you were. Cocking an eyebrow, he began searching the apartment for you. The living room was empty, as well as the other bathroom. He was getting ready to pull out his phone to call you when a soft sniffle caught his attention.
The sound resonated from the office, where, upon looking inside, he found you sitting on the floor. You were surrounded by a pile of laundry in the basket, a list of groceries you needed to pick up, and you were reading over a report. He was watched for a long moment; tears ran down your cheeks as you sniffled, your eyes darting around items.
It was painfully evident you were in the midst of a depressive episode. When you suffered through these episodes, simple tasks you usually completed with ease were overwhelming to the point you held off on them until you could no longer ignore them. Seeing you so overwhelmed and drowning in your emotions had Nanami’s mind reeling on ways that he could help.
For now, the two of you need to get to work. With a gentle tap of his knuckles against the door, Nanami watched you regain your composure. You were taking several deep breaths, wiping at your eyes before you stood up, grabbing a boom to make it look as if you hadn't just been having an episode.
“Hey, are you ready to go?” Your fiance asked, watching as you hurriedly passed him with your head down. “If we leave now, we’ll have time to stop for coffee.”
“Yeah, I’m ready!” Nanami listened to your voice fade before he stepped inside, grabbing the grocery list off the floor and sliding it into his pocket.
“Alright, let’s head out.”
The day went by too fast for you as you sat in the morgue looking over the folders you still needed to file. All the deaths had been bringing up memories of Haibara and the young lives that had been lost in your line of work. You needed a break to escape the death that constantly seemed to follow you in your work.
On top of all the work that had you drowning in sorrow, you had been neglecting the housework. You had fully intended on doing it before Nanami got home from his latest mission, but to your horror, he got home earlier than you thought. Meaning he saw how neglectful you had been, and that made you feel even worse about yourself.
Before those self-destructive thoughts could overtake you, the door to the morgue opened. What you had assumed was Shoko turned out to be your fiancè. What time was it?! Was he already picking you up? You snatched the clock off your desk and felt your stomach drop into your ass. It was six thirty. Six-fucking-thirty, you still had to go to the store, do laundry, and make dinner on top of everything else.
“I was beginning to wonder if you planned on sleeping here tonight.”
“N-No, sorry, I just—” Nanami tilted his head, “I lost track of time.”
“Right, well come on, let's go.”
On the walk back to the apartment, your mind was jumping back between the unfinished files at work and everything that needed to be done at home. All of it was important, you knew that. All you wanted to do was crawl under the blankets and sleep. This suffocating sadness had its grip around your neck, choking the life out of you and rendering you exhausted beyond all means.
There would be time to cry yourself to sleep once your chores were taken care of. Thinking about the pile of laundry awaiting you had your skin crawling as you entered the apartment. The same apartment that had been messy this morning was now tidy and smelt like the cleaning products you used. Your head darted to the number on the door. Did you walk into the wrong apartment?
The pictures on the walls of you and Nanami confirmed that you were, in fact, inside the correct apartment. Which only confused you more as you stepped further inside, taking off your shoes. You speed walked to the office to finish the laundry. But the basket was gone? Okay, so groceries.
You searched for the list you had made, looking under some books, the desk, and your recliner before Nanami cleared his throat from behind you. “If you’re looking for the list, I took it.” Wooden floorboards creaked under his weight before he held a bouquet of your favorite flowers towards you.
“W-What’a this for?” you questioned, your fingers grazing over his as you took the flowers from him.
“I noticed you were looking down and stressed this morning, so I figured you needed a little pick-me-up.”
The sweet floral smell flooded your senses as you inhaled deeply. “Oh Kento, these are beautiful, thank you.” His large hand cupped your cheek, caressing your skin.
“I also cleaned, finished the laundry, and picked up the groceries. So all you need to do tonight is relax.”
“K-Ken—” Words couldn't describe the relief that washed over you, “you didn't have to do that.”
“I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to.” You were gently pulled in, his lips pressing against your forehead. “You’re my partner, my future wife. There aren't set duties that you solely need to do. We're a team; I can easily help.” Fat tears rolled down your cheeks just as you threw yourself into his arms, bawling into his chest.
Your future husband smiled sadly, wrapping his big, strong arms around you. His hands soothingly rubbed up and down your back in gentle strokes, making you cry even harder. Kento was the best thing that had ever happened to you. Compassionate, loving, and gentle, what more could you ask for a partner?
You cried for what seemed like hours in Kento’s arms. Never once did he get annoyed or urge you to hurry up. Once you felt incapable of crying anymore, you pulled back, hiccuping.
“Feel better?” Kento asked, gently cupping your face in both hands. A nod was all he received back as a response. “Good. Now let's eat dinner, bathe, and relax.” That is precisely what you did, snuggled up next to him, dozing off as he stroked your head. His eyes raked over the page of his newest book. All the worries faded as you drifted to sleep, engulfed in the warmth of his body.
Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU)
“I-Is it gonna hurt?” The young eighteen-year-old girl asked as Sukuna held her lip with sterile forceps.
“If I said yes, would it make you feel better?” Sukuna snickered, holding up a large needle.
“N-No?”
“Then let me do my job.”
With a stab, yelp, and one ring later, Sukuna watched the girl wiping tears away as she checked out. He was snickering as he sterilized his workstation. There is a fifty-fifty chance she'll keep it or not. But he got to get one hundred percent of the tip regardless. So he couldn't complain.
“Sukuna,” Geto called from outside his room, holding the shop's phone. “It’s for you.”
With a glance at the clock, Sukuna could make a couple of guesses as to who would be calling him at work at two-thirty on a Thursday afternoon. Either one of his little brothers got into a fight, and the school was calling, or it was one of his clients calling to reschedule with him. Hoping for the second possibility, he huffed an annoyed sigh, taking the phone from his co-worker.
”This is Sukuna.” The line was silent, almost too quiet. “Hello?” He asked, tapping his fingers against the client's chair. “Look, I got important stuff to do, so if no one is bleeding or needs my attention, I’m hanging up.”
A whimper stopped him from pressing the red phone icon on the phone. He knew that voice all too well. It belonged to you, his girlfriend of two months. Why the fuck were you crying? Panic settled in his chest as he stood up, his chair rolling away as he held the phone flush against his ear with his shoulder.
”Babe?” He asked, getting another whimper in response. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Geto and the others had all gathered around, exchanging worried glances with each other as Sukuna rushed to grab his jacket and helmet from his locker. “Hey, I need you to tell me what’s happening.”
”I-I’m sorry —“ Soft sobs sounded from the line, “I had a terrible anxiety attack, and work sent me home, and I just feel so out of it. I know you’re at work, but I need you.”
“Do ya’ really think I give a fuck about work when you feel like this?” His voice came out a bit harsher than he wanted. “I’m on my way. Where are you?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—-“
Fuck, he knew better than to snap when you were in the midst of an attack like this. “No, you’re okay. I need you to tell me where I need to go.” Sukuna held his breath, waiting for you to respond.
”M-My apartment.”
”Unlock the door; I’ll be there in ten.” A soft sob between understanding and goodbye sounded from the other line just as he hung up. “Geto—“
His co-worker was typing on his phone. “I’m texting Satoru now; he’ll pick up Yuuji and Choso. I’ll call and rebook your other appointments. Get out of here.” Sukuna gave him a thumbs up and a sharp ‘thanks’ before he bolted out of the shop.
Just like he had promised you, he made it to your apartment in less than ten minutes, bolting up the stairs and turning a sharp corner before throwing open your door. He locked the door, threw off his shoes, and hurried to the one place he knew you’d be at. Sure enough, he found you under the sheets in bed, curled in a fetal position.
Your body shook with sobs, ones that made Sukuna feel like someone was twisting a knife into his stomach. He truly hated your anxiety attacks just as much as you did. Not because he had to help you through the tremors and tears. But because he hated seeing how much they wrecked you.
You were amid a choked sob when the bed sheets lifted, and your boyfriend's musky amber scent flooded your senses. His smell alone had your grip on the sheets loosening as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His body was so far, his hands gentle as you buried your face into his side, crying roughly, your tears soaking his shirt.
”Shh, it’s alright, brat, let it out. I got you; you’re going to be just fine.”
The sadness that clutched you tightly began to fade as he continued whispering into your ear. His soft words and gentle praises had you curling closer into him. Your boyfriend was the best at bringing you back into reality. He was your life preserver, holding you afloat in the sea of melancholy that would have drowned you by now.
This was the reason he was the one person you called in situations like this. Where the sadness was too much for you to carry or when your anxiety felt like it had possessed you, Sukuna was there to ground you and bring you back to your senses. Days like these were when you thanked whoever spun the bottle the night you played Seven Minutes in Heaven.
”You good?” Sukuna asked as he felt your trembles die out.
”Yeah, I’m just sorry I called you at work. For something so miniscule over an anxiety attack.”
Sukuna hummed and flicked your forehead with a painful—thump before he pulled your body closer to his own. “I gave you the phone number for the shop for a reason, brat.” His finger ran through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. “I care about you; I want you to call me when you're feeling down or if you need me.” There was a particular hint of shyness to his tone before he cleared his throat. “So what happened?”
“Do I have to talk about it?” You questioned with a sigh. “I just want to lay here and relax with you.”
“Babe,” pulled you tighter against him. “We can do whatever you want. No questions asked.”
You got what you wanted, and that was him by your side, grounding you. He made instances like this easier to deal with. Just his presence alone was enough to make you feel like everything was going to be okay. All because Sukuna was by your side.
#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk#jjk y/n#jjk reader insert#jjk men#jjk gojo#jjk angst#jjk geto#jjk nanami#jjk sukuna#gojo imagine#geto imagines#nanami imagine#sukuna imagine#sukuna au#jjk gojo x reader#jjk geto x reader#jjk nanami x reader#jjk sukuna x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#reader x nanami#sukuna x reader#gojo x reader angst#geto x reader angst#nanami x reader angst#sukuna x reader angst#gojo x reader fluff#geto x reader fluff
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SSR Ruggie Bucchi - Platinum Jacket Vignette
"Happy 100th Anniversary"
[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]
Ruggie: Can't believe I'm here bein' a supporter for some museum like this. Guess ya never know what life's got in store for ya.
Ruggie: I mean, I totally wouldn't've ever paid to see paintings that I can't even fill my belly with…
Ruggie: But I guess it's okay if I don't gotta pay. I wonder if they got paintings I've seen in my textbooks.
???: This painting… These are the hyenas from the King of Beast's legends. When the three of them are lined up like this it's kind of intimidating…
Ruggie: Well, yeah, they were out there patrollin' lava quarries 'n goin' out on scoutin' missions, so.
Trey: You sure know your stuff, Ruggie. I guess that would make sense for a hyena beastman to know.
Trey: But still… Both patrolling and scouting seems like painstaking work.
Ruggie: Oh, yeah. From the stories I've heard, they had some pretty tight scrapes…
Ruggie: Like there's one where while they were out chasin' some stubborn foe, they ended up runnin' off a cliff tryin' to catch 'em…
Ruggie: Which had 'em endin' up flyin' into some real prickly thickets.
Trey: If it were me, I'd probably hesitate, worried about getting hurt. Guess the hyenas who worked under the King of Beasts were just that brave.
Ruggie: Brave? Then I guess I'll take that compliment, too. 'Cause I've jumped into thorny thickets like that a buncha times!
Trey: You've jumped into the thorny thickets…? A bunch of times!? Why would you do that…?
Ruggie: Actually, did you know? In the Sunset Savanna, there's this real steep cliff that's become a bit of a tourist attraction.
Ruggie: It's the perfect place to catch the settin' sun, so a ton of tourists go up there to snap a pic, leanin' over the fences 'n everything.
Ruggie: And like, sometimes there's folk that'll get so focused on settin' up the shot, or that'll bump into others that they'll drop and lose stuff.
Trey: I'd expect they'd have to let their stuff go if they dropped it off the cliff… But how does this all tie into you talking about the thorny thickets??
Ruggie: Sheeheehee. So actually, at the bottom of that cliff, there's a huge bramble of thorny thickets.
Ruggie: It's off-limits, and it's pretty dangerous, so no one really heads down there.
Ruggie: So, that's why I'd sneak down in the dead of night, and pick up all the lost items!
Ruggie: Sometimes I'd find little wrapped pieces of candy, watches 'n accessories, and even wallets!
Ruggie: Well, it kinda depended week to week what dropped, but… That was a great way to make some quick cash.
Trey: B-But if you had gotten injured, would all that have been worth it?
Ruggie: Yeah, true. Back when I was just a kid, I could slip in 'n out pretty easily, but I had to stop when I started getting' bigger.
Ruggie: Not only was I makin' big bucks, but the cliff's environment was getting' kept clean. Felt like a win-win deal to me.
[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]
Ruggie: Oh, this one… It's a painting of the thunder god and his son.
Trey: Yeah, according to the legends, he came to the human world just after being born, and was raised by adoptive parents.
Ruggie: Basically, that means he was raised apart from his actual dad, right? Amazin' they actually look like they get along good.
Trey: Haha… I wonder. Do you get along with your dad, Ruggie?
Ruggie: Nah, I don't got one.
Ruggie: He left back when I was a kid, so I don't remember anythin' about him, 'n I don't know what he's up to now.
Trey: Oh… Is that so? Sorry, I didn't mean to overstep my bounds.
Ruggie: Huh, that reaction's pretty different than what I'm used to.
Ruggie: Back home, there's a ton of kids just like me, so usually they'd just shrug and go, "Oh, okay" and move on.
Trey: And I guess it doesn't sound like they're saying that just to be considerate.
Ruggie: Obviously. Because the bigger problem is not havin' the money to buy food!
Ruggie: Granny'd take care of me, but there wasn't much we could do 'bout our empty bellies…
Ruggie: When I was big enough, I'd start working together with all the kids in my little neighborhood to scrounge up some food.
Trey: Kids running around trying to gather food on their own… That's hard for me to imagine.
Ruggie: There's a buncha ways to gather up food. We'd go into town and ask for alms, or drop a line in the river.
Ruggie: We were always pretty hungry, so we'd pretty much do anything… Oh, like we had a great time once digging for potatoes.
Trey: Is digging up potatoes that exciting?
Ruggie: WELL, YEAH!
Ruggie: There's actually a type of potato that grows in my country that can get as large as 20 kilos…
Ruggie: Around the time the potato harvestin' was finishin' up, we all snuck into the fields at night…
Ruggie: And we'd pick up some stunted potatoes that were left behind, as well as dug up some other forgotten potatoes.
Ruggie: We were all up in arms to pick every single one before the sun rose!
Trey: Why'd you go at mid… Never mind, I'm not going to ask.
Ruggie: And then, this one year when I was diggin', I hit the jackpot!
Ruggie: It was a potato so huge I wouldn't've even been able to carry it with both arms! It had't've been heavier than 20 kilos～
Ruggie: Didn't think there'd be any potatoes left that huge… Maan, I really lucked out then.
Trey: 20 kilograms, huh… With something that big, I don't think there'd be much to worry about eating for a while.
Ruggie: Don'tcha think?
Ruggie: I was thinkin', like, we could dry whatever was leftover and turn it to powder to make it last a bit longer…
Ruggie: But then Granny ended up boilin' 'em, fryin' 'em, and basically makin' a ton of dishes. It was a potato party extravaganza!
Ruggie: Me and the other street kiddos were just packin' 'em away, and little by little it started to disappear…
Ruggie: In the end, I couldn't make anything to save it for later.
Trey: Ah… That's rough.
Ruggie: And I never saw a potato that huge ever again. Guess good luck like that only ever hits once in a while.
[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]
Trey: Woah… This painting has a real powerful presence.
Ruggie: So, this is a painting of when the Thorn Fairy transformed into a dragon to fight, huh.
Trey: She looks way stronger than what her stories say. I bet I would be no match for her.
Ruggie: Eh!? Trey-san, you lookin' to pick a fight with the Thorn Fairy? It'd be waaay better to try 'n flatter her instead
Trey: Oho, but that might be the scarier route, don't you think? You might end up in deep trouble if you were to offend the Thorn Fairy instead.
Ruggie: Sheeheehee. Oh, but I'm pretty good with that kinda stuff.
Trey: Haha, well, I guess I have to admire that pluck.
Ruggie: But man, she's really something. She's the one that caused all that lightning too, right?
Ruggie: They say it was always thunderin' and lightnin' outside her castle as a way to keep intruders out… That's a huge undertakin', huh.
Ruggie: But with all those lightning strikes, I bet the bread prices were super cheap near the Thorn Fairy's castle.
Trey: Bread? …Ohh, right! Because when lightning strikes, certain particles are released in the air that helps plants grow.
Ruggie: Huh? Wait, are ya sayin' there's actually a whole science behind the whole "bread gets cheaper whenever it thunders"!?
Trey: Oh, isn't that what you meant?
Ruggie: I was just sayin' what Granny would always say…
Ruggie: Wait, so does that sayin' mean that 'cause more wheat gets harvested, more bread can get made, and that's why it's cheaper?
Trey: Yeah. Although, with how much we've developed our fertilizers nowadays, I don't know how much lightning strikes actually play a part anymore.
Ruggie: Cooool, I had no idea. Guess you Science Club folk know your stuff.
Ruggie: I bet Granny didn't really know the meanin' behind it like you did…
Ruggie: But I bet she saw with her own eyes the change in bread prices whenever there were tons of thunder and lightning.
Ruggie: But still… Kinda weird, huh. Sheeheehee.
Trey: Weird? What is?
Ruggie: Back when I was a kid, I only ever cared 'bout food, so there's no way I woulda been interested in learnin' why the bread was cheaper.
Ruggie: But now, I heard your whole spiel, and my reaction was to think it was pretty cool. Guess I'm maturin'.
Trey: Well… Maybe it's just that you can actually afford to take the time to listen now?
Ruggie: Maybe, maybe not. 'Cause my wallet's still pretty empty…
Ruggie: Oh hey, maybe this is just me bein' able to relax my stresses away, huh!? …Maybe not, heh.
Trey: Could be, if you're enjoying your time here, at least. Oops… Look at the time.
Trey: I think I'll head out to go check on how my dormmates are doing. See you, Ruggie.
Ruggie: 'Kaay, see ya. I'm gonna keep lookin' around this area a bit longer.
Ruggie: Hm? This painting… A lion cub's just lollygaggin' with a warthog 'n a meerkat.
Ruggie: I'm wonderin' if they even know all the scary things that can happen to animals that step outta their territory, hm?
Requested by Anonymous.
#twisted wonderland#twst#ruggie bucchi#trey clover#twst ruggie#twst trey#twst translation#twst birthday
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I’m a massively hopeless romantic and hopelessly in love with our short paranoid chaotic duck loving king and the THINGS I WOULD DO TO THIS MAN JUST BECAUSE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH.
Anyway thoughts about he’d react to constant affection because my love is physical affection and maybe sometimes giving him handmade gifts because nothing beats time wasted on handmade shit. I LOVE THIS MAN SM ITS TOO MUCH 😭😭😭
I WANNA CONSTANTLY SHOWER HIM WITH KISSES AND PRAISES PLS.
Basically requesting a fluff with all of the above 💀💀
I also love your writing style sm, hope you’re having a great day/night
buckle up cause this is gonna be SWEET!
Thanks for the appreciation on my writing, I'm still working on it 😭💖 love this sm. This is for the physical affection ppl 🫶🏻
a/n:.. added some acts of service love language too I'm so sorry 😭
NOT PROFFRED.
PROOFREA. PROOFREWD. I can't spell.
NOT PROOFREAD.
(I managed)
divider by @al-of-the-stars. NOT MINE!!
It's not a surprise Lucifer's a sucker for physical attention. Not in a sexual way, just hugs and holding hands in the most unusual times.
At first you started off with 'baby steps', occasionally giving him a kiss on his cheek or lips, holding his hand or playing with his suit when he didn't expect it, just to see how he'd react.
He would get flustered, turn into a blushing mess and pretty much feel like his knees would give oit at any minute. He would never admit what an impact you had on him, though.
When the showers of affection got more frequent and he realised what you were doing, every chance he'd get he would basically invite you to do those things for him. He loved tricking you into thinking he didn't know what your love language was and , even if he still got all flustered and was still surprised because he, obviously, didn't know what to expect (a kiss or a hug), he convinced himself he was just acting so flustered to trick you, again.
Of course Lucifer's love for you gets more and more powerful with every kiss.
His wife left him, after all, so he needs all the affection you can offer. He really loves you.
Even though you noticed he still wears his wedding ring sometimes, you know how hard it is to let go, and you showering him with affection actually helps him get through it!
"Good morning, handsome!" You shower his sleepy face with kisses as he slowly wakes up, watching his grumpy face turn into a weak, tired smile.
"Morning" He smiles and cuos your cheek as you pull away, pushing you back in for a kiss.
He notices you're all dressed already and raises an eyebrow, sitting up. "Where are you going?"
"Well, Your Majesty-" He smiles at you, loving how intimate it sounds when you call him that, "-It's Monday. Meaning I have work to get done."
He frowns and you laugh. "Bummer."
"I made you breakfast, so you might as well get changed." You ruffle his hair as he struggles to put it back in place, even if it was tangled already and playfully huffs at you, lecturing you on how his hair must always be perfect as you leave the room.
When he joins you in the kitchen, you gasp in awe, like every morning. You go up to him and praise him for being so good looking, pestering his face with kisses and telling him how you're falling in love over and over again.
He lovea it truly, holding your waist as you praise him. He looks at you with lovesick eyes and a goofy smile and only let's go when hinger takes the best of him. He praises you back, too, for being such a good cook (or not burning the kitchen down.. in certain people's cases aka me).
Before you leave, he makes sure to leave one of his ducks in your bag , knowing that by now you have millions if them in your office, as you leave one of your handmade gifts, drawings, or sweets in your shared room.
He almost never wants to let you go to work, turning the radio on to twirl you around in the kitchen and kiss your face or hands until it gets so late you either have to run to work or make him open up a portal for you.
It's not his fault he just loves the way you love him.
Ive never written something so fast in my entire life. THE THINGS LUCI DOES TO ME OMG.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin#hazbin hotel lucifer x reader#hazbin spoilers#hazbin hotel fandom#lucifer morningstar#lucifer x reader
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Your Ride, Best Trip
Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time
Word Count: 9,001
Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader
Rating: 18+ Explicit
Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing
Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3
A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time
Marcus Pike is perfect.
He’s your dream man.
He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.
He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place.
He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees.
He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally.
See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit.
How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own.
So you asked him what was up, and he told you.
Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it.
You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.
After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.
You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too.
And then he finally kissed you.
It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight.
You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things.
But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.
You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him.
It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt.
You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing.
His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow.
When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore.
You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training.
“Sweetheart—”
His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager.
“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated.
But it’s fine. He’s so worth it.
You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed.
“What do you want?”
His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in.
“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.”
But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine.
“You’re lying.”
You sigh and close your eyes.
“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.”
You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty.
“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers.
It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—
“I have a small dick.”
His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.
He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment.
“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?”
He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction.
“Marcus…”
“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—“
“Marcus.”
You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.
“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?”
He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little.
“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs.
You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation.
Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not.
“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him.
He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his.
“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”
“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?”
He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead.
“Everyone?”
You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you.
He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up.
“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”
He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at.
“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?
All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”
He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you?
“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.”
There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze.
“Really?”
You scoff.
“Really really.”
A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth.
“Why?”
“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”
His face flushes, but he lets you continue.
“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”
“Me too,” he whispers.
“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”
You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine.
“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah… For one, your hands.”
“My hands?”
He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment.
“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”
He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back.
“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”
He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.
“And I love to give head.”
“Jesus.”
“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.”
“Sweetheart—”
“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”
He says your name again, this time with a warning tone.
You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted.
“You’re not lying.”
His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again.
“Fuck.”
It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs.
“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.”
That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth.
His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you.
You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction.
You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long.
Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs.
You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt.
Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking.
But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved.
He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice.
“I think about you, too. All the time.”
You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest.
“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?”
Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter.
“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”
Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod.
He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience.
His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt.
“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?”
The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss.
“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”
You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head.
He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you.
He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before.
“Marcus—”
“I know, I know.”
His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers.
“Can I?”
You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch.
“Oh, are you that sensitive?”
His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck.
“It’s just you.”
And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief.
And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans.
“So sweet, huh?”
You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess.
He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips.
“That’s all for me?”
There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.
But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again.
He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip.
“Can I take these off, sweetheart?”
The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you.
“Yes, please.”
He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes.
Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs.
You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face.
It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control.
“You sure you’re ready?”
You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.
“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”
He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him.
The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest.
He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels.
His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.
“You’re soaked.”
His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest.
The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure.
Oh, he’s fucking good at this.
There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else.
You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding.
“That feel good, sweetheart?”
Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers.
“You have no idea.”
He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face.
“I think I do,” he mumbles.
He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side.
You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles.
All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself.
You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together.
Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing.
But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids.
You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours.
“That’s it. This what you needed?”
A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.
He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder.
“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?”
You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs.
You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction.
He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants.
“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.”
You huff.
You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it.
Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours.
“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe.
He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.
He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs.
He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out.
All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation.
The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again.
Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you.
All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold.
Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs.
A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever.
His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep.
“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.”
You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust.
His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there.
It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake.
“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.”
To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping.
All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue.
As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him.
His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him.
He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach.
Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers.
His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that.
And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is.
You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him.
Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat.
“So… How’d it compare?”
Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question.
“Pardon?”
But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them.
“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?”
You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up.
“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are.
He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs.
You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs.
“Better,” you whisper.
You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back.
And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver.
You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips.
You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants.
He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension.
His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.
So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little.
But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard.
But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up.
“Will you let me suck it?”
All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods.
“Please.”
It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction.
He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants.
You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough.
So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go.
Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you.
You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel.
He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock.
His little cock.
It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess.
And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing.
You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.
When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this.
You’ll make him look, one way or another.
For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention.
He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head.
And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth.
It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him.
You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show.
You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to.
Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens.
“Fuck, sweetheart.”
Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more.
You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool.
It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere.
You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock.
“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”
Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself.
He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds.
He says your name.
You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls.
He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked.
“Sweetheart, stop, please.”
You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face.
“Are you okay?”
He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face.
“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”
“Marcus.”
His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.
“Do you want to fuck me?”
You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question.
“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”
He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face.
“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”
His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe.
“Yeah? You still want it?”
His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek.
“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.”
You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away.
“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?”
You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later.
For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.
The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body.
He’s so hot.
It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation.
“Please,” you whisper.
He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed.
“Perfect, sweetheart.”
He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit.
“Are you ready?”
You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling.
You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time.
You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.
“Oh fuck.”
You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense.
“Fuck, Marcus, please.”
You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you.
He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him.
But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles.
And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm.
“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out.
Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh.
“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”
A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it.
“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”
You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display.
“Yes ma’am.”
Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up.
He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist.
His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you.
But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them.
His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.
Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.
“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?”
Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit.
“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”
His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight.
Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy.
There’s screaming.
You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts.
“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”
“In me.”
Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene.
His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks.
He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps.
His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair.
“Jesus,” he says.
Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again.
“Huh?”
God, how are you ever going to move again?
“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”
Christ, why is he using such big words?
“What are you talking about?”
He clears his throat.
“You like— You squirted?”
You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly.
“I what?”
You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright.
“Yeah, like, a lot.”
He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out.
You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.
“What?”
“Why do you seem so surprised?”
His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver.
“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”
He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees.
He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you.
You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body.
He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body.
“Hi,” he whispers.
You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.
It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high.
Both of your breathing seems even, when you part.
“That was—”
“It’s never—”
You both chuckle.
“Ladies first.”
You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach.
“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”
You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do.
“It’s never been that good.”
A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest.
It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?
You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth.
“When can we go again?”
#Pedro pascal#Pedro pascal x reader#Pedro pascal smut#Pedro pascal fanfiction#Pedro pascal characters#x reader#marcus pike#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike smut#the mentalist
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Hi no your world building idea on the financial implications/restrictions of the purge are making me chew through steel actually. Because sure it keeps getting higher and higher financially, but that means that people (who don't just succumb to illegal means) start to develop weird cultures around it.
Like people who decide young that they would rather just make themselves as likeable as possible in hopes of getting a yandere for themselves the same way some people hope to become house spouses. Obsessing over looking and behaving perfect to the point of not knowing who they actually are outside of performing this role 24/7 (because who knows when their potential meal ticket might be watching? Where they put cameras? You can never risk breaking character. You have to be the character and hope they never find out the truth)
Celebrities in interviews talking about how they wanted to be famous in part to have resources to find the best darling and then keep them. People trying to become a celebrity's darling just so they can try and network their own career.
People add keeping their darlings on the list of lottery winning fantasies. Talking about the way they'd decorate their rooms and the things they'd give for mental and emotional enrichment.
Purge sympathizers who argue its an honor for you to be chosen as a darling since it means an easy life for a year. Darlings being financially taken care of, sure, but dealing with people taking them even less seriously as individuals because of the ""privilege"" to the point that then asking for basic rights or ammendments becomes a war against them being framed as greedy or demanding. (They already financially support you, and now you're insisting that they let you outside too??? What's even the point of kidnapping you then?? So what if it's for medical and dental care, that just means people who aren't your yanderes touching you, examining you, not a chance).
I'm just having so many thoughts and it's your fault (affectionate)
FROTHING AT THE MOUTH
Incredible ideas. The culture around the Purge is so interesting.
Like imagine a Yandere who’s dreamed of having a Darling their whole life, only for a bigger and badder yandere to show up and kidnap them? Anyone can kill and be killed. Darling, Yandere, and Normal aren't permanent labels.
There would be Darling seminars, where people could learn how to catch the attention of a high-value yandere. Or Yandere seminars, on how to maintain passive income and keep the darling reliant on you once the captivity period ends.
And maybe early in post-Purge captivity, there are mandatory and voluntary workshops for Yans and Darlings to learn how to coexist together in accordance with the law.
I actually love your ideas. Lottery winning fantasies? Kids dreaming about their future Darlings instead of weddings?
It's easy to map out the laws in a world like this, but culture is so multi-faceted and intricate. I'm actually barking at some of these ideas
Sorry this took so long to respond to haha. Your ideas were so good that i had to think for a while about how to add to them.
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bucktommy + "To be fair, that wasn't the stupidest thing I could've done"
"To be fair, that wasn't the stupidest thing I could've done," Buck pants as he leans against the cool, brick wall. He pulls off his helmet and runs his fingers through his hair, knowing he's likely smeared soot all over his face. The building is still smouldering behind them, but Eddie and Ravi both have the hoses directed towards the flames. It's under control.
Tommy looks like he could explode. His boyfriend is usually very calm and level headed, perfect traits for a first responder, but right now he looks set to rip Buck's head off.
"Wasn't the stupidest - you could have - Evan, are you fucking kidding me?"
Eddie and Ravi's heads turn towards the outburst and Buck winces, not wanting their first proper fight as a couple to be on full display for all their coworkers to witness. He grabs Tommy's arm and pulls him around the side of the building, away from any flapping ears.
"Tommy, it's okay, I'm fine. She's fine. We're fine," he reassures Tommy as he reaches into the pocket of his turnout and pulls out the reason behind his sudden expedition into a burning building without a second's thought.
The kitten is tiny in his hands, her fur rumpled and soot smudges over the beautiful, white coat. When the little girl he and Tommy had pulled from the building had said her kitten was still stuck inside the inferno, Buck hadn't hesitated before sprinting back into the building, not even with Bobby, Tommy and Eddie all yelling at him. He just hadn't anticipated Tommy to follow him back in.
"Yeah but you could have been not fine! I agreed to help this shift as a favour to Bobby, not so I could get a front row seat to my boyfriend burning alive!"
Buck swallows thickly and transfers the kitten into one hand so he can reach out to cup Tommy's face with the other. Tommy doesn't meet his eye, instead looking resolutely behind Buck. His jaw ticks as Buck strokes along his cheekbone with his thumb.
"Tommy, I-I'm not going to burn alive. I was just gonna get her and come right back," he explains. Tommy's got to understand, right? Buck's a professional, he'd never do anything to put himself in any real danger. If he thought he couldn't get to the kitten before the building collapsed or got too hot then he would never have set foot in it.
Tommy finally meets Buck's eyes then, and Buck is alarmed to see that his eyes are swimming behind a film of tears. Fuck, he's really fucked up here hasn't he?
"Tommy, I-"
"I can't lose you, Evan," Tommy cuts in, circling a hand around Buck's wrist and lowering his hand from Tommy's jaw. "Not like that."
Buck swallows again, and he must tighten his grip on the kitten because she lets out a pitiful meow, her tiny tongue rasping against his glove as she licks at him.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, hanging his head as the gravity of the situation washes over him. Tommy thought he was going to lose Buck. Tommy thought Buck was going to die. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Tommy curls his fingers under Buck's chin and lifts his head, forcing eye contact.
"I know you didn't, I just - baby, you mean so much to me," Tommy says, his voice raw and choked with emotion as he searches Buck's face, his eyes drinking in every inch of Buck as if he's worried it's the last time he'll be able to see him again. "Please, please don't ever do that again."
"I won't, Tommy, I swear I won't," Buck promises, and he leans forwards to kiss Tommy softly.
Tommy responds instantly, wrapping his arm around Buck's waist and pulling him close. Their lips move in tandem with one another, Tommy running his tongue along the seam of Buck's lips until he opens, and Buck licking back in apology.
"Hey," Buck says as they pull away, resting their foreheads together. "I love you."
Tommy huffs out a small laugh and kisses Buck again, lighter this time but no less emotionally charged.
"I love you too."
Send me a ship and a sentence and I'll finish it!
(once again tagging @theotherbuckley)
#james answers things#james writes#this could have gone many different ways#but I chose Feels#bucktommy#bucktommy ficlet#911 abc#evan buckley#tommy kinard#tevan#kinkley#tommybuck#buck x tommy#tuck#911 ficlet
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Would a prompt for Tubbo to show up at Fit an Pac's doorstep absolutely fuming work? Like maybe it isn't Tubbo in control it's Tommy here to give the 2 an ear full because Tubbo has been a mess, months of miscommunication building to thinking they have been left behind, months of Tommy hoping he was right not to jump in cause it meant his husband paid attention to him. But Tubbo's a wreck heartbroken it can't be ignored anymore, how could they just drop him like that weren't they steps away from all 3 of them dating? Was that not worth fighting for?
Sorry if it's too detailed prompts are not my specialty it seems 9 w 9;;
I thought maybe a prompt of how left out Tubbo felt would be nice something that gave Fit and Pac pause to see that the hostility Tubbo shows at times to their relationship was because of that but also thought Tubbo would never say it or open up to anyone but I know you also subscribe to Tommy possessing his husband sometimes... I'm going to flee now I'm rambling too much ...
Have a lovely day!
it's been a while but you have a lovely day!
Tommy was mad. Tommy was furious.
Tubbo was in the back of the mind they were currently sharing, sulking. He was so upset and it made Tommy furious. So he took over. Grabbed the reins of Tubbo's body and took control.
Tommy stomped their body right over to Pac and Fit's house while Tubbo was too busy keeping his tears at bay to protest.
“Hey!”
Pac looked confused when he opened the door. “Ola?”
Tommy huffed, crossing his arms firmly. “Listen to me, man.”
Fit appeared behind him with a cautious look. “Hey, Tubbo. What's up?”
“Listen to me!” Tommy repeated. “You guys are assholes. He's not perfect, okay? He pulls away from affection and he's a little bitch half the time. But he's my best friend. He's an amazing person and he would rather choke than say it but he fucking loves you two. He's been moping in our fucking mind for ages. He won't stop crying and as soon as he figures out I'm saying this he's gonna take over this vessel and I won't be able to tell you. So fucking listen.”
They both stared at him with wide eyes as he drove his finger forward to drive them further back into their own house.
“He loves you both. Not the deep platonic bond he has with me. Because trust me,” Tommy scoffed. “What I have with him will last beyond your lifetimes. Completely and utterly. But he fucking loves you guys. I mean the way he talks about you two. The way he thinks about you two. God. It's so fucking annoying. He's mentally collapsing over how attractive he thinks you two are. It's so ridiculous.”
Tommy took a deep breath. Pac tried to cut in but he made sure he couldn't.
“No. Let me finish. Right now he's starting to stir in our consciousness. When he takes over I need you to kiss him and make up. Fuck, it's gonna be disgusting and I'm going to hate it but its better then having to see… the most important fucking person in my fucking life… having to be hurt over and over again by people he loves. So do your cringe ass lovey dovey shit and make sure he feels loved. For the love of-”
He was cut off. Snapped back into the back of Tubbo's mind. Fuck, he swore to himself. Please let those idiots understand me.
Through Tubbo's eyes he watched. Watched as Pac took Tubbo's face as soon as his own words slipped out of his lips and kissed him. Murmured the sappiest shit he had ever heard in his ears while Fit hesitantly took him by the hand.
And Tommy was right. It was gross and he hated it. But the joy that flooded through Tubbo's body was undeniable and calmed his spirit. He could finally rest.
#my writing#fanfiction#q!tommy#q!tubbo#q!pac#q!fit#poly morning crew#fitpacbo#eeee lets go!!!!#fic requests
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Friends, lovers… and an orange | Chapter 4
Previous chapter | Next chapter (coming out on Tuesday)
Masterlist
"It was so weird, mum... Like, the moment I mentioned his agency, he went all serious and then avoided my question. And before that, he didn't smile like he usually does."
"Since when do you pay attention to the way Mason smiles?" Elizabeth chuckled.
"That's a really good question" Adele thought. "Anyway, do you think... Could an agency do that? Call the paps on one of their clients as some kind of revenge?"
After the chaos at the airport, she and Mason had talked about who could have tipped off the photographers. The only people who knew they were flying that day were their brothers, Jourdan and his agency, and the first three would never say anything. The others...
"That's too twisted" Elizabeth said. "But I know they've called them without letting their client know because it made the photos look more natural, like actual candids."
"Did that ever happen to you and dad?"
"Never. We were stalked, followed everywhere, harassed... But my agency always protected me."
Adele's parents hadn't had it easy. Her father was the heir of a very important family in the US and was considered one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, and when the press had found out that they were dating, they had gone crazy. Both had been followed everywhere they went, their faces being on all the magazines. The supermodel and the heir, most headlines would say. And his family didn't like it.
They considered Elizabeth not enough for their son, and had done everything in their power to make them break up. When they got engaged after years of dating, his family hadn't met her yet, and when Adele's dad took Elizabeth's last name instead of being the other way around, they even threatened him with disinheriting him. But they fought for their love despite everything and everyone, and they still were together, happier than ever.
"So you don't think Mason's agency could have done it?"
"I don't, no" Elizabeth said. "But less talking about pretty boys and annoying paparazzis, and more about this!" she said, gesturing towards their car's window.
Between Jourdan, Mason and her mum constantly sending her photos of their old trips together, Adele had finally said yes to going to Paris. She would be joining her backstage at the couple of shows she was walking, attending one as a guest with her, and a couple of parties too. Would she end up regretting it? Probably.
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"I am so glad you accepted our invitation, Adele" said Maria Grazia Chiuri, Dior's creative director, when she met them for their fitting.
"Thank you for inviting me" she smiled.
"I myself have picked some looks for you that I think will be perfect."
"Oh, wow. That's so kind."
"Anything for you, girls."
━━━━━━❃━━━━━━
"Red or black?" Elizabeth asked while looking at herself in the mirror.
"Black" Adele and Maria Grazia said at the same time.
"Black it is."
"Adele, now that I have you here, I have to ask again. Are you sure you wouldn't like to join your mum for our mother's day campaign? It would be just a one time thing."
"I'm sorry, Maria Grazia. But being in front of the camera isn't my thing."
"Then what about behind the camera?"
"What?" Adele said.
"Oh, that's an amazing idea! You could take my photos!" Elizabeth said while getting changed.
"Mum, I'm not a professional photographer. There are better people for that than me."
"It wouldn't be as special, tho. And a daughter taking photos of her mother would also work for our campaign" Maria Grazia said.
"I don't think it is a good idea. What would the photographer you hired say?"
"If I explain it to him, he'll understand. Why don't I ask someone from my team to send you the mood board for the campaign so you can get an idea of what we want?"
"And Addie could send your photographer some of her photos so you know what she can do" Elizabeth added.
"Perfect!" Maria Grazia said, not allowing Adele to protest.
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"I think someone fancies you."
"What?" Adele said. She and Elizabeth had been in Paris for a few days already, everything going pretty well keeping in mind what had been going on back home and in New York. Paparazzis bothered them the usual during fashion week, and all the headlines were about her and her mum, their outfits, and how much they were loving that they were finally doing fashion stuff together.
That night, they were attending a Vogue party where they were joined by people she only saw on Instagram. Models, musicians, actors... Even a couple of football players too.
"That cute guy over there" Elizabeth said, nodding towards her left. "He can't stop looking at you."
"Who... What..." she said, slowly turning around to look at him. When they eyes met, he smiled at her, and Adele heard herself giggling. He had a dimple on his left cheek, just like Mason did. Mason...
"Go talk to him."
"What?"
"C'mon" her mum said, pushing her towards him.
"But I don't know who he is.”
"An actor from one of those superhero movies. Now go."
"But..."
"Hello there" the cute guy said, his dimple showing in all its glory once again.
"Hi."
"You are Adele Turlington, right?"
"Yep. And you are... Sorry, I'm really bad with names" she smiled, hoping her lie would work.
"Nico Evans."
"Nico, yes, of course! I was thinking about your character's name and I didn't want to say something stupid."
"Nah, it's ok. I'm used to it" he smiled again. God, he was cute. "Would you like to grab a drink?"
"I would love that."
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"What time is it?" Adele yawned.
"Too early. Go back to sleep" Nico whispered.
"Then why are you leaving?"
"Because I am attending a show in an hour, and I haven't showered or got changed" he chuckled.
"Oh..."
"Would you like to meet again?" Nico said after finishing tying up his shoes. "Maybe for lunch? I'm leaving tonight."
"I... I can't. My mum and I are meeting some friends of hers that we haven't seen in ages and..."
"Oh, it's ok. Don't worry" Nico smiled, that dimple he shared with Mason showing up again. Why was she thinking about him again? "Maybe another time."
"Yeah, maybe."
"Thank you for last night, Adele. That was... That was amazing. Definitely a highlight of my fashion week" he smirked.
"You're welcome" she giggled, feeling her cheeks get warm.
"Good bye, Miss Turlington. See you soon" he said, giving her a peck.
"Good bye, Mr. Evans" she replied.
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I know ppl are yapping at you abt Dungeon Meshi so sorry but I’m joining in. Who in the Gaang (or Gaang-adjacent) do you think would enjoy the dungeon most and least? Sokka would be having a grand time, eating cool food and rescuing sisters and learning about biology and doing puzzles. I can imagine Aang on the other hand having a very bad time; even the plants are animalistic so he would feel weird about eating them. He would appreciate Senshi’s care for the ecosystem though.
idk why ppl keep saying that sokka would be laios.... like laios does say that he wishes he could take falin's place and clearly means it, but he also has the mental fortitude to step back and look at the situation more rationally when he needs to. he clearly loves falin a lot, but he's also able to pace himself and acknowledges not to push himself beyond his own limits, so that he can make grand sacrifices when the time calls for it (and even then, he pretty much knew that losing his leg wasn't gonna be permanent). like, my point is, if katara got fucking eaten by a dragon, sokka would not even bother going back up to the surface to the regroup. he would not be able to approach the situation rationally whatsoever. laios wants to take falin's place because he doesn't want to see her in pain (and also because i'm sure there's a part of him that just wishes that he could be a really cool monster too, lol), but sokka would want to take her place because he fundamentally believes that his role in life is to sacrifice himself for her?? and he would feel like he had failed in some grand, existential way if she sacrificed herself for him (but also, falin is not katara, and so katara wouldn't make those same sacrifices either). if sokka was in laios's shoes, he would be acting far more like toshiro, and we know this because "the boiling rock" exists. sokka is someone who is easily motivated by guilt, and feels guilty about basically everything. there's no way he would be enjoying his time in the dungeon if he felt that he had failed the one person he valued most in the world. he barely enjoys doing anything as it is.
that said, if he was simply in the dungeon for work and katara was there with him or safely on the surface or otherwise healthy and intact, yeah he'd probably like the hunting and puzzle solving and the learning about ecosystems. and since magic is something that can be taught, i'm sure he'd also be fascinated by the science behind it and learn as much magic as he can. aang would be fine food-wise because he'd simply pack enough food in advance, which is what most people do anyway. katara would love it because she loves going on any sort of quest-like adventure, and she loves getting to be the hero. she and aang are the resident healers, naturally. toph enjoys it because she likes hanging out with her friends and getting into weird little situations. suki is slashing up monsters with her katana but mainly she's just vibing. zuko is having a bad time unless he has a fixed goal, just like, in general, so he's only going in the dungeon (or anywhere) if he has a very specific reason. people see azula, mai, and ty lee in the dungeon and they're like "that party is way too small they won't last a day" and then they work as such a perfect and efficient team that everyone is just like "okay. i stand corrected." but anyway. if anyone is falin, it's yue.
#catgirl-behavioral-therapy#asks#synthesis#they would be nothing like laios's party lmfao they would maybe eat the chicken part of a basilisk and that's it
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Helpless part 40, It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us
"Neeks, you awake?"
"What time is it?" The Hades child mumbled, pushing his hair out of his face.
"11:24."
"How the fuck am I still tired?"
"Because you still need to catch up on sleep and you're off drugs medical and others after a while so you're still adjusting."
"I'll be honest I didn't process half of that." Will rolled his eyes teasingly, walking over to mess up his hair more than it already was. Will started to look through some files he'd brought in with himself as Nico started to get ready,
"Can I braid your hair?"
"You know how to braid?"
"Not very well, but Kayla made me learn a few years ago before she had to let Aussi cut her hair on a dare."
"I can imagine how well that went, but sure." Will sat next to him, brushing out and parting his hair before starting to do a french braid. "Do you have the second volume of Heartstopper?" Will laughed, quickly kissing Nico on the cheek.
"I can't believe I thought you were straight but yes, I have all the books."
"I can't believe I thought you were straight."
"Think you were the only one Neeks."
"Oh shut up Solace."
"Don't think I will di Angelo."
"Gods save me."
"What do you want to eat?"
"Nothing." He answered almost instantly,
"Not an option."
"I'm not hungry." He promptly ignored him and pulled out three ceral bars from his pocket,
"Pick one."
"Leave me alone."
"Do you feel sick?"
"I- I- just... can't, drop it William."
"I'll leave them here, just eat when you can, alright?" He said, half hugging him.
"Fine."
"Nico, have you considered talking to someone? Maybe keeping a journal as well?"
"Only if you'll also get help." He couldn't think of something he wanted to do less but Will needed help, desperately.
"It's not your job to worry about me."
"Will, I'm your boyfriend, it really is."
"Are you comfortable with the idea of talking to someone?" He was fine, he knew he was worthless what's the point of lying to himself.
"N-no." Fuck, this wasn't going the way he hoped.
"Nico, you don't need to do anything that you aren't comfortable with, that won't help. Also... I'm sorry about last night.. I- it's- yeah I'm just sorry."
"Will, no one's perfect, you need help, please, just try to."
"Neeks, I'm fine, really. I was just shocked last night and yeah, there have been a lot of people in the infirmary because of the war normally it's just less hectic." Lying through his teeth, he hated himself for it but that's fine, just another thing to add to the endless list. He wasn't Nico's responsibility, he doesn't need anything else on his mind.
"Just, take a break every now and then, I swear you're always working."
"Actually Kayla's ban me from working for the rest of the week soooooo."
"Good, you need it. Wait does that mean I don't get to see you for a week?"
"Nope, you can't get rid of me that easily. Apparently I'm too much of a simp for that, but I have a feeling she's timing it to make sure I don't spend the whole day here."
"I can see that happening, but you need a break so she is completely right."
"I really hate you sometimes di Anglo."
"I know." He whispers, blowing the son of Apollo a kiss.
"Solace, times up!"
"Better go Sunshine, also... I'll try journaling, I don't know if it'll help but I'll try."
"I'm proud of you Neeks," He ruffled his hair before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, he kissed him back, wrapping his hands around his neck."I'll see you soon."
***
#percy jackson#percy jackson and the olympians#percy jackson fandom#nico di angelo#pjo#fanfic#will solace#solangelo#annabeth chase#fanfiction#percy jackson fanfic#percy jackson fan fiction#percy jackson fic#percy jackson fanfiction#percyjackson#fan fic writing#fan fic#fan fiction#solangelo fic#my fic#fic writing#solangelo fanfic#solangelo fanfiction#gay#leo valdez#reyna avila ramirez arellano#jason grace#piper mclean#frank zhang#hazel levesque
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Can you do sub Beomgyu smut?
[cuz I'm a female dom, and I absolutely fucking love hove bratty he is and his whines make me- well, wet]
uk those fics where the reader, teases them in public and they punish xer/xim in the bathrooms/public???
can you do that with sub beomgyu, and rough and dom reader[any gender is fine, preferrably female]?
only if you're comfortable though...
ALL MINE - C. BEOMGYU
-> pairing : brat sub!beomgyu x fem dom!reader
-> words count : 1.6k
-> genre : smut
-> warnings : dom/sub dynamic, teasing, dirty talk, praising, semi-public sex, face slapping, cock slapping, gagging, humiliation, bondage, choking, use of 'good boy', 'whore', 'slut' and 'miss', handjob, cum eating
+ the way i'm depicting beomgyu does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction.
-> 18+ content bellow, minors dni
-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language
-> author's note : i fucking love to write subby men, and beomgyu and his bratty attitude gives me the perfect opportunity to do so. as you said, he gives out that vibe so much ! it was so fun to write this, thank you anonie, hope you'll enjoy this !
-> masterlist | txt masterlist
Going out with your friends had always been an activity that you liked, the feeling of joy when you reunited with them couldn’t be compared to anything else. But now that you were taking Beomgyu with you, it was even more fun. Why ? Because he wanted to impress your friends so badly, he wanted to make a good impression on them. That’s why he kept trying to present himself in a good light, and acting as if he was the one leading your relationship when you both knew that behind closed doors, you had him on his knees for you.
Despite that being well established, and your rules being really strict, Beomgyu had been not so subtly touching you the whole night : putting his hand on your thigh, leaning in to whisper some dirty things in your ears, and even taking your own hand to bring it closer to his crotch under the restaurant table. Not that you particularly minded playing this type of game in public, but it wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had made it clear to him before going out - that he will get his reward for having been good all week if he did one last thing for you, which simply consisted in behaving and not teasing you during this dinner out.
After spending two years together, you thought that you would have finally succeeded in taming his bratty attitude. But no. It was coming out every now and then, and always when you were the most frustrated and had the least patience left. It was almost as if Beomgyu had a second sense that allowed him to know when to mess with you just so he could get punished harshly. Well, truth be told, maybe it was exactly why he was doing this - because he knew that the way you were going to torture him will be delicious.
“- Haven’t I made it clear, baby ? Keep your hands off me tonight and you’ll get what you want, okay ?”
Beomgyu threw his best pleading eyes at you, still not listening to your orders as you felt his fingers creep up higher underneath your dress. You let out an exasperated sigh, pushing his hand away from you. Under the guise of getting closer to you, your boyfriend nuzzled his head in your neck, whining in your ears.
“- But I need you so bad, I’ve been good, just let me touch you, I’ll be quick.
- You know what, you wanna be a slut and a brat ? You’re gonna get punished instead. Go to the bathroom and wait for me.”
For once, Beomgyu listened, getting up from the table and excusing himself. You let some minutes go by, and when you felt like he had been marinating for long enough, you got to the bathroom too, saying that you were going to see if your boyfriend was doing good.
“- You’re not even able to not touch yourself for ten minutes ? You’re a fucking whore Beomgyu.
- Y-Yes but only for you.”
His cocky smile despite his shake voice and his hands stroking his clothed boner made you want to break him, to wipe the smug look in his eyes. You entered fully in the small cabin of the bathroom, pushing him to sit down on the toilets. You locked the door behind you and detached the ribbon you put in your hair before going out.
“- Give me your hands.
- No.”
The loud sound your hand produced when you slapped him echoed in the bathroom along with the moan he let out. You grabbed his hair roughly, tugging on them to get him to look at you. His once confident look was now completely gone, his eyes glassy and he was almost ready to drop on his knees. But he loved to test your patience even more. So he still didn’t give you his hands, and moaned again when you slapped his other cheek.
“- You’re getting on my fucking nerves Beomgyu, if you wanna cum you better give me your hands.”
Without saying a word, he did it and you tied them together with your little pink ribbon. It was quite funny how you were always dressed so cute, with cute little make-up and cute little hairpins, but once you were alone with him, you turned into the nastiest little demon. And Beomgyu loved this contrast, loved to know how people could never suspect the real dynamic of your couple.
“- See ? You know how to be good so behave.
- But I don’t wanna.
- You will when I’ll make you cry. All it takes is for me to touch your small dick and you’re begging for me to let you cum, right ?”
Beomgyu wanted to protest, to say something, but you were already squeezing his hard cock through his clothes, stroking him at a quick pace, that had him squirming in place and whimpering out loud. Your other hand came up to his throat, getting a firm hold of it, enough to shut him up a little.
“- Y/N… Baby, baby…
- What ? You’re complaining now ? You’ve got what you wanted though, or is it still not enough for you, fucking slut ?”
Your boyfriend nodded as he tried to free his hands from the ribbons, but you had grown too used to tying him up because he was constantly acting up. It felt good to be completely at your mercy, but he also wanted to touch you, wanted to feel and lick your skin, wanted to grip on the flesh of your ass while you bounced on his cock and milked him dry.
“- You’re so greedy. You’re gonna take what I give if you wanna cum, understood ?
- A-And if I don’t want t-to ?”
A sinister smile spread on your lips, your hand squeezing his throat harder, making him choke on his own words.
“- Then you don’t cum at all.”
You let go of his cock, going as far as taking a step back and Beomgyu’s eyes opened wider. He tried to reach your hand and pull you back to him, but his tied wrists wouldn’t allow it and he let out a desperate whine.
“- No, no, no, I need to cum !
- Beg for it.”
He shook his head and earned himself another slap, his cheeks starting to get red, and not only because of the unbearable heat of his body. But he loved how much it stinged everytime you hit him again. Beomgyu let out another loud moan when you slapped his cock over his clothes this time, and you shoved two fingers inside his mouth, smirking at the way he gagged around them, and at how quickly his eyes welled up with tears.
“- I said, beg for it. Are you ready to be good now ?”
You slapped his hard on once more, staring at his face when a tear rolled down his left cheek, saliva starting to drip down his chin and neck. When you pulled your fingers out, he was a mess, and you knew you had finally ruined him for the day.
“- Please, please miss I’ll be your good boy now, I’ll do everything you want, just let me cum please, please !
- There we go baby, was it so difficult, uh ?”
When you slipped your hand in his boxer to touch him for real after having been deprived from the skin to skin contact for such a long time made him cry out so loud you had to shut him up with your fingers again, fearing that someone would hear him.
“- You want everyone to hear you, is that it ? Screaming like the slut you are because you love the attention ?”
Beomgyu tried to protest, tried to say that he only wanted to be good for you, that he made all these noises because he knew you loved it when he was loud, but the pleasure was already overtaking his body and all his senses. The rush of adrenaline this situation was giving him made him feel so overwhelmed he felt like he could cum right now. He grabbed the only thing he could reach - the fabric of your dress - to catch your attention, his muffled noises giving away how close he was to his release.
“- What is it baby ? You’re close already ?”
You chuckled when he vigorously nodded his head, closing his eyes to focus on him and trying to delay his orgasm because you hadn’t given him permission to cum.
“- I’ll let you cum then, but on one condition baby. You’re gonna stain your pretty pants with your cum, and then we’re gonna leave. And if you follow my rules for once, I’ll reward you once we get home. Did you understand ?”
He nodded once again, his hips jerking into your hand as if they had a mind on their own.
“- Then go on baby, cum all over yourself, be my good boy.”
The last praise that you whispered in his ear did it for him. He came all over your hand and himself, a wet patch quickly forming on his blue jeans as he whined around your fingers, his own hands tugging on the material of your dress to pull you closer to him. Before he could even register what you were doing, you showed him your hand covered in his cum, and Beomgyu didn’t need you to ask him before he started cleaning you off, eating his own release from your skin. Once you were satisfied, you finally detached his hands, letting him pull you into a hug and bury his head against your stomach while you threaded your fingers through his hair.
“- You did so good for me baby, such a good boy.”
He hummed in agreement, his hands sliding from your lower back to your ass, giving them a squeeze.
“- Does this mean I earned my reward ?
- Don’t get too confident now, you still have to make it up to me for ruining my night out with my friends.”
And Beomgyu agreed with you, because that meant he would spend the next two hours with his head buried between your thighs - his favorite way to apologize.
-> i don't allow any copies, translations or reposts of my works.
txt taglist (fill in this to be added) :
@bbgnyx @hann1bee @iraisswiftie @lichyuu @foxinnie8
#txt#txt fics#txt x reader#txt smut#beomgyu#choi beomgyu#beomgyu x reader#choi beomgyu x reader#beomgyu smut#choi beomgyu smut#eli's anonie#eli answering your questions
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could i kindly ask for a blind date? For afab reader, but can be any pronouns, brown hair, average height, curvy figure. A person who is a dependable, responsible and though on the outside when needed to be, like work, or when others need help but in their downtime are really childish and likes watching cartoons and are pretty innocent at heart. Hobbies include pottery, learning languages, travelling, cooking or baking and basically trying out each activity at least once. Highly disliking conflicts, will avoid them at all costs, even at their own cost. Hate loud and bright places due to easily being easily overwhelmed. Love the concept of parallel play dates or doing some kind of activity together dates as I am really nervous to open up to people if my hands and mind is not busy with doing something. Idk if i look for something specific, maybe for them to just be patient with me as I have a difficult relationship with a feeling called love. I am sorry if that is to much too, then please ignore this request
JJK Blind Date
Thank you for the submission! I pair you with Gojo!
Gojo is someone who loves sweets, so he would definitely love your baking
Gojo is someone who can be very playful at times, especially with his loved ones. But despite his playfulness actions, he is also very responsible
Gojo also really likes Digimon (fun fact) so he most definitely watches cartoons
The perfect date I can see you both on is a baking date!
--------------
Gojo had shown up at your house with full bags and held them up, "I was thinking we could have a date night."
You were surprised and confused but you let hi in, then asked him what the bags were for. Gojo didn't say anything but took out what looked like ingredients.
Gojo then held up a big bag of flour before plopping it down right on the counter, "Okay! Let's make a cake."
You started to put the ingredients in the bowl but Gojo stood idly by while watching you explain how to actually make a cake. You didn't know why he wasn't actually doing anything until you asked him if something was wrong. Gojo just shook his head, "Nothing's wrong, I just like seeing you do the things you love." he smiled, "That, and I'm also hungry."
#satoru gojo#jujutsu gojo#jjk gojo#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo saturo#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo headcanons#gojo hcs#jjk x you#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#blind date#my asks#send me asks
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Whatever It Takes (CH-3)
“Master Bruce, in quite a lot of cases, you have not been ready for something yet, you took it on beautifully. Some mistakes did happen, but your imperfection is a part of you. I believe you'll know what to do with Damian and how to do it. You both are more similar than you think.”
“I'm not just talking about Damian, Alfred. That girl, Mariam. My daughter.” He said, gesturing towards the blank screen off the Batcomputer.
“I meant it in both cases, Master Bruce.”
Bruce sighed.
“It will be better in the morning.” Alfred said, gently directing Bruce out of the Batcave.
“Good night, Alfred.”
“You too, Master Bruce.” Alfred replied, gently turning off the main lights of the Batcave, leaving the softly humming machines in partial darkness.
Bruce shifted on his pillow his hand reaching out blindly to shut off the alarm clock. Soon the annoying ringing stopped and his muscles started losing the tension in them. Normally, Alfred would come and knock on the door, effectively waking Bruce up. But last night, before he went to bed, he set up the alarm purposefully so that he could have some time to actually process all that happened last night.
Okay. Bruce thought. I apparently have two kids. Their mother is Talia. They have grown up in the League of Assassins. That gir-Mariam most probably treated as horribly as Talia had been by Ra's Al Ghul, and Damian must have been treated like me when I was in that demon’s good books as his potential heir. Okay, Lot to unpack. I can't even decide how to treat them because I don't know if this assumption is true. Well, Bruce thought, getting out of bed. The only way to find out is to actually talk to him.
He went about dressing up for the day with a turtleneck sweater and some slacks. He called up his secretary, (If there are any gods up there, bless that guy who put up with him) and told him that he won't be able to make it today.
He got out of his room and was walking down the corridor towards Damian's guest room. He made a mental note to make sure he has an actual room if he is going to stay here. He turned around the corner to see Alfred about to knock Damian's door in order to get him up.
“Alfred!” He whisper-yelled.
The man in question turned around and raised an eyebrow.
“I was thinking I could get him up.” Bruce said as soon as he came within normal hearing range of Alfred.
“Good morning to you too, Master Bruce.”
“Sorry- Good morning, Alfred.”
Alfred just gave him a smile. “You see, Master Bruce? I told you that you would do what's best.” He turned around towards Tim and Dick’s rooms. “Be sure to come down with the Young Master in 20 minutes for breakfast.”
Bruce hummed in response and slowly opened the door. He saw that the boy had thrown off his sheets and was curled up in the bed.
“Damian?” Bruce hesitantly asked.
The lump on the bed shot up the dagger in front of him in perfect stance. Bruce put his hands up. They both stayed still in that position for 10 seconds before Damian lowered the dagger. “Sorry, Father.”
“No-no, it's all right. Good morning. How did you sleep?”
“I slept well.”
“Good. How about you change and we go down for breakfast?”
“Very well.”
Bruce smiled and turned around. Damian saw him hesitating for a second before Bruce gave him a soft smile and walked out of the room.
Damien scanned his surroundings before slouching back into the bed. I am at my father's house. I am safe here. I am at my father's house. I am safe here. I am at my father's house. I am safe here. He chanted back to himself willing his heart to slow down. He looked out of the window to see the Manor gardens. Mother had always claimed that those were quite pretty, maintained by his father's dear friend who was also his Butler.
He got out of the bed, and walked over to the closet, which had one pair of clothes in every size. Hmm. He thought. That is actually a practical way. He picked up the pair, which he thought would fit him best, walked into the bathroom, scanned for bugs and then changed. As soon as he opened his bedroom door, he saw Grayson who was comfortably leaning against the wall. As soon as he saw him, he stood up straight and gave him a smile. “Hey, Damian. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Grayson.” Damien replied back.
Dick shot him an amused look. “You can call me Dick.”
“No.” Damian said. “I'm not going to use degrading terms in reference to you. My sister did tell me to play nice, didn't she?”
“Actually, Dick is short for Richard.”
“Still is a derogatory term. However appropriate you may decide it to be in your case.”
They both turned around at the sound of laughing. Tim was laughing and desperately trying to make sure that his coffee didn't spill over. “I–” He said to Damian trying to catch his breath, “I like you.”
“Oh my!” Dick exclaimed dramatically. “Betrayed by my own teammate.”
“Come on, let's go, drama queen.” Tim said, shaking his head. “You're going to make the guy think you're actually a dick.”
After breakfast everyone headed down to the cave to find where Mariam could have gone. Well, at least Bruce and Tim were trying to find out where Mariam had gone. Dick and Damian were sparing after Damian refused to join in the search for his sister stating that it was a useless cause since ‘She has been trained. She knows how to protect herself. And the best thing about her is that she knows how to pick her battles.’
While this display of was enough for Dick and Alfred, Bruce and Tim still insisted on trying to find her. They were all interrupted by the soft rumbling of a car as it pulled into the parking lot of the bat cave. The Three resident bats, feeling a sense of Deja vu, slipped on their domino masks. Dick stood in front of Damian, blocking him from the view of the car by his lean frame. A female figure stepped out from the driver's seat. She stepped ahead and the light revealed her to be Talia.
“Are they here?” She asked, her eyes scanning The Cave.
Dick stood aside and Damian started walking towards his mother. Both mother and son met midway and hugged each other.
Talia whispered into Damian's hair, “You're safe. Oh, thank God–whoever is up there, you're safe.”
After she released Damian, she looked up around. “Where is Mariam?”
Bruce stepped forward towards them. “She took off as soon as she dropped Damian.”
“WHAT?!” Talia screamed. “SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO STAY HERE. WHERE IS SHE?”
Bruce hesitantly began, “We couldn't find her. We're scanning through security cameras. We tried to match number plates. Nothing came up.”
“She wasn't supposed to leave?” Damian asked. His head turned up facing his mother.
“No. This is all wrong. She was supposed to stay here, with you.”
“She left a letter.” Tim said waving the piece of paper in question around.
“Huh?” Talia said.
“Yeah, she left me one too.” Damien piped in.
“Show me.” Talia said while getting up.
Tim handed her the envelope. She slowly opened it up and began to read. The letter was in Arabic.
Dear mother,
#maribat#miraculous lb#bruce wayne#dick grayson#alfred pennyworth#miraculous ladybug#miraculous fanworks#damian and marinette#marinette dupain cheng#damian wayne#tim drake#bio dad bruce wayne
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As an ex swiftie that has reconciled with the fact she’s not a good person and now all her music just leaves a bad taste, it’s very easy to see Taylor measures her value on romantic relationships. She seeks validation out of men. She cannot be alone. And one thing I keep getting proven is that she bases her personality on the man she’s dating. In 2019 I genuinely thought the backlash plus the thing with her masters made her be more genuine and grounded and I was happy she seemed to be making steps to use her platform but all of that was just Joe’s influence on her. It wasn’t real for her but was just a reflection of Joe. Folklore and Evermore being her most mature and complex albums isn’t even funny when you know Joe was in it during the whole creative process. Folklore being an album where I felt this was her most authentic self. All of that has been erased the moment she broke up with him. She went problematic again just like Matty and now she’s playing NFL wife and promoting that disgusting association. She finally found a man arrogant enough to match her own narcissism.
Here's the thing: I think we are all influenced by our partners, and they can either make us worse or better people. However, I just find it weird that Swifties say we shouldn't define her by the men she dates when she's literally defining herself that way. Regardless of the fact that TTPS was, on the whole, more about Matty, it's obvious she knew most people would think it was about Joe, especially because of the WhatsApp group, and she marketed it as such. It's a big part of her brand. Same with All Too Well, the 10-minute version, she cast someone who looks a hell of a lot like Jake on purpose. She clearly defines herself by the men she dates.
I agree. I think Folklore was the way that it was because she was influenced by the music Joe liked. That doesn't mean I'm taking away from her achievement with this album. Folklore and Evermore have some of my favourite music from her. However, I think the tone and the maturity of that album leds me to believe Joe heavily influenced it. TTPS is a major step back in terms of those things. There are about six or seven songs I adore. However, if you look at the TC songs, they are immature; they are so high school (sorry, I couldn't resist). The thing is, during the Folklore, Evermore, and even Lover era (and I might even extend that to Midnights...) she had self-awareness - she was saying neither of them are perfect people. TTPS is a return to her "it's all your fault" era. It's a regression IMO.
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