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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

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Run Away To Me (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, being hunted/chased, medieval period-esc standards, arranged marriage insinuations, toxic family insinuations, angst, protective Johnny?, etc.

A/N: This series is so Lord Huron coded

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You rush through the low-hanging branches of the reaching pines, their green arms tearing at the once perfect and virginal white dress clothing your body; waves of delicate fabric like bird’s wings. Shredded and torn, you sob in large gasps while the shouting gets louder behind you—the pound of vile hooves along cobblestone.

“After her!” Blood was rushing down a long slice in your palm, dripping to the verdant grass as you traversed the off-trial paths, the roads of animals and bandits—monsters in the night.

Flashes of torchlight had gone out long ago, the rain slamming the ground with ancient purpose as the storm got angrier. Tree trunks slam into your shoulders, the wedding dress ripping away in strips as pine needles pierce the bare skin of your feet. Your shoes had slipped off as soon as you had started this mad dash.

“She went this way! Quickly!” You run faster, shuffling down a long hill as mud gets packed into your flesh; infecting wounds with its slimy make-up.

“Please,” your voice begs lowly, hiccuping out vowels as you drop to your knees at the bottom of a ravine before you sob and grit your teeth. Wading through the stream of chilled water, you dig into the ground and shove yourself up on shaking legs as rain pelts your head. “Please, I can’t go back.”

Even your thin clothes are heavy on you—body weighed down by terror and a desperate plea. Because what you said was true. You can’t go back. Can’t go back to the search party, can’t go back to the ceremony…and you can’t go back to the man you were supposed to marry. No, you’d rather face the woods.

Scaling up the other edge of the ravine, you slam a bloody hand down to the rocks atop, pebbles flying past your face as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminates your field of view. Noises reminiscent of an animal carve their way out of your esophagus, teeth gritted as feet slip and strain.

You heave yourself over and fight the weakness in your arms. Coughing, you pray the storm will wash away any trace of your charge to freedom—the blood and the tracks. With any luck, the hounds won’t be able to pick up your scent even with the strips of your dress left behind in the branches.

Pushing away the water from your forehead, you stumble onwards on unsteady feet that pound with pain. Grasping at your gushing palm, you cry out as the burning pain echoes up your forearm.

“Whatever God is out there,” You speak in gasps, slurring the words as your dry throat grates. It’s all but lost to the wind in its great bouts of staggering attacks through the trucks of the trees. “Please, offer me sanctuary.”

Lightning is the world’s answer, more streaks of light that make your soaked body flinch and shake even more. Yet, in that tiny second of light, there had been something in the far distance—a shadow.

Your eyes peer harder, the calls from the riders suck in the back of your mind as they taper off as the search is re-routed.

What was…?

Wooden sides, three separate rectangular shapes that stand firm in the rampaging elements. Your feet slide over the ground as you limp in the direction you’d seen them, the flesh of your body so cold that you had gone numb in the sheets of rainfall.

A heart fills with senseless hope.

A homestead! With no other option, you take a deep, ragged, breath and continue on as quickly as you’re able; dress hanging off one shoulder. When you reach the front door some ear-ringing minutes later you’re barely standing upright—legs teetering and thighs shaking with dying vigor.

Panting, your first banging to the wood is weak at best, barely a sound above the thunder and the slap of rain. You strangle a sob and wrench your shoulder back, landing three hard hits that act more like punches. Pain blossoms in your hand, but you continue striking the wood.

There’s a loud ruckus from behind the blackened barrier, a yell, and before your knuckles can make themselves bleed from fear-filled adrenaline, the door is whipped open. A dim firelight spills out from a low hearth and you find yourself staring into the narrowed eyes of a man and his exasperated expression.

There’s the beginning of a growl, heavy with an accented voice, “Now who in the hell is—!”

A strong jaw goes slack, brunette stubble stilling. Blue eyes like cobalt instantly peel back to show the whites, words strangled away in a sharp inhale.

The man is in his late twenties, stocky, and clothed in a loose sleep shirt made of thin linen with black pants. His shoulders were near large enough to knock on the frame of the door as he stood in it, built with the strength of a boar and then some. His large, lightly-tanned hand on the door slackens as his eyes speedily dart down your disoriented form. Biceps the size of your skull.

Heart hammering, you stare for a moment longer, rain pelting your back and looking like a wet dog. It’s as if you’ve forgotten to speak beyond gasps for air, but your eyes implore enough for you. The stranger recovers from his surprise at seeing such a beautiful lone woman at his door with a clearing of his throat.

“...Christ, Dearie, you’re soakin’ wet out here.” He shoulders the door open wider without another question. “Inside, now, quickly.”

You wrap your arms around your waist and speed into the shelter of the home, water dripping down to the wood as you shiver and your teeth clatter. Not for a second did you think if this might be safe or not, too scared of the riders and their hounds than anything. You wouldn’t allow them to drag you back to your husband-to-be. Not in a million years.

Your voice is hiccuping as you speak.

“I…I don’t mean to i-intrude, I’m very sorry, Sir.” The man looks around his home before he spots a large bear fur by the messy bed in the corner—he rushes over and grabs it. “I ask forgiveness for w-waking you at such an hour.”

“Jesus, is that what you’re worried about?” Blue eyes crease at you as the heavy fur over your shoulders; your hands snap to catch it, the entire thing swallowing you as gaze up in confusion. The man frowns, staring back as water drips from your nose. “Let’s just focus on gettin’ you dry, yeah? You’ll catch your death like this, Little Lady.”

A wide hand presses to the expanse of your spine, prodding you forward as you squeak at the sudden contact. You’re guided to a small chair in front of the hearth, plopped down and the sides of the fur are hiked up to your neck quickly.

The stranger kneels down in front of you, focused, and his tired eyes alight with worry. He makes sure the fur isn’t going to fall as he blinks over the state of your hands. He pauses, his large grip stalling at the sight of spreading blood.

Your wound—you’d almost forgotten.

“Now what’s this, then?” The brunette's words are quiet, very in-tune with your state as you try to catch your breath and shiver. It was like coaxing a wild animal.

Blinking, you shift your hand farther under the bear's fur, bringing it to your chest.

“I won’t be here long, Sir. I promise,” you try to change the topic, but quickly jerk your nose into the crook of your arm as you sneeze, bending over slightly as mud and blood stain your skin.

Lips tighten along a square face.

“It’s Johnny, Miss.” The world outside rages on, blocked out by the four walls of this nicely sized home of wooden logs and boards. It was well-made with pine and cider, the large hearth in the back wall with inlets near the shuddered windows and various crudely carved pieces of art.

Weapon displays lined the walls, various makes and models hung on pegs. Axes and swords, spears with red-leather shafts set next to halberds of black steel. You blink at them in slight concern, not used to being around weapons.

Johnny, as he calls himself, sees this and quickly explains as he rubs at the back of his head, eyes crinkling.

“Ah, Johnny MacTavish, the blacksmith, that is,” a small, rough chuckle echos out.

You ease at that.

“Mr. MacTavish,” you give your name and offer a kind, yet still anxious, smile. “I give my thanks for allowing me shelter. A-and the fur.”

His gaze slips down to your hidden hand once more, face swirling with an unidentified emotion before studying your torn wedding gown.

“Well, I’m not one to leave a person out on my doorstep in weather like this. Certainly not a Lady.” His brow raises, head tilting. “You going to let me clean that wound a’yours or am I going to have to fish it out myself?”

Your body tenses slowly, bare feet shuffling over the floor. Staring at Johnny, you gaze at the strangely cut hair atop his head and the messy strands that speak to a night of shifting on his bed. His face is honest and open to you, blinking in soft question as his head angles to the side with an easy twitch of his lips.

“It’s really not necessary,” you try to chuckle but it falls flat, eyes red and heart still speeding.

Johnny sighs and glances at the fire, blinking before he shifts to grab another log and toss it in with no concern for the heat of the flame that lap at his fingers. You watch his muscles bunch under his shirt and quickly look at your lap.

“I’m not the greatest doctor out there, Dearie, but I can do good with washin’ out a cut an’ wrapping it.” You study him and nervously tighten your lips. Johnny’s face seems to soften, hands going up and wrists tilting as his knee stays connected to the floor; firelight on his face. A small smile blooms. “C’mon, I’m not that scary of a bastard, am I?”

You spare a tiny chuckle, shoulders jumping as rainwater slips down your chin. Your shivering was still going on, and would until you got a change of clothes, but the warmth from the fire was helping tremendously. Already feeling was returning to your limbs.

“Ah,” the blacksmith huffs a laugh, “there’s a smile. Now, let's have a little look-see shall we?”

Under the fur, your hand lightly shifts, coming back into view, slit palm and all. Johnny’s eyes darken, face going serious behind his stubble. Brown brows turn in.

“Now where in the hell did you get a—” Just as his gigantic hands were about to circle around yours, there was a violent knock at the door.

You shoot up in an instant, jerking away from the blacksmith as he snaps his head to the front, eyes lighting. He stands up slowly as you back up a few paces, eyes frantically darting back and forth. The knocking starts up again and thunder peels from outside.

Your form flinches.

“You can’t let them take me back,” you say quickly, breathing catching up in speed again. Fear burns your lungs and suddenly you’re ten times colder than before. “Mr. MacTavish, please, I can’t go back.”

Another round of knocking shakes the barrier. Blues eyes stare at you blankly, half-turned face pulled in visible confusion as Johnny’s jaw clenches.

A voice echoes from under the door as the blacksmith once more lets his eyes linger down your battered frame; taking in cuts and the limp you carry. Muddy feet and water stained red. His hands twitch at his sides.

“These are the guards of Lord Wilkin, would anyone in this home come to make him or herself known? It is of the utmost urgency!” You grow more fearful, head darting to find any other exit in this home but you land on nothing besides the windows. Your fingers shake with panic.

No, no, no.

Confusion gives way to deep concern.

A hand grasps your upper arm and you’re being hurried to the corner wall by the front door with fast feet and a firm, iron, grip. An accented voice mumbles quietly by your ear, “Keep quiet for me, Dearie. It’s alright, you let me take care of it.”

He stands you there and takes one last look at you, blinking, before grabbing the bear fur and pulling it above your head in a swift motion. There’s a quiet chuckle as you tense and slam a hand up to the brown material instinctually before Johnny darts around the corner and opens the door. You hold your breath and listen.

“Well, steamin’ Jesus, you bastards have any idea what time it is?! And in this damning weather, you show up at my door reamin’ on the wood like you’re the one who has to keep it anchored to the frame.” There’s a fast conversation of apologies and explanations that you can't catch above the yell of the rain.

“Does it look like I give a shite about a lost bride? Not my fuckin’ place to keep ‘er…I’ve seen nothing besides you…anyone out in this storm is as good as lost…” You listen and stay completely still, holding your breath as if it’s a prisoner in your lungs.

You can hardly believe it. Why was this man…lying for you? A wounded stranger that had shown up at his doorstep in nothing but a tattered gown and babbling through tears. Anyone else would have turned you over—especially to your betrothed, Lord Wilkin. He owned these lands and held fiefs by all who lived here. Not a man to mess with, if your slit palm was anything to go by.

“Go on!” Johnny calls loudly, and the door closes a second later, the latch locking. There’s a moment of nothing, before the clearing of a throat and a soft call. “Well, they won’t be back, least.”

He pops around the corner and smiles comfortingly.

“Sorry about the yellin'.” You part your lips in innocent awe and you take a deep breath before speaking slowly.

“Why would you do that?” His expression tightens, crossing his arms over his chest. Under him, his large hips shift.

“Ya asked, didn’t you?” Your blank expression only serves to make him chuckle heartily, head shaking. Johnny hums, “I won’t press you about it all tonight, though I well should. You’re in no shape for it.” Cobalt eyes glance at the food before looking back up. “But I’m guessin’ you have a good enough reason to sneak off as I hear you did.”

The very blood in your body heats with warmth.

You’re waved back over to the chair by the hearth. “Let’s get that injury looked at and I‘ll get you a change of clothes. You can take my place for the night,” eyes twinkle, “there’s no bed bugs in it, Dearie, knight’s honor.”

“What about iron shavings?” You call back softly, lips jerking up momentarily. The man’s actions had given you a large amount of trust in him. Johnny blinks in surprise at your joke, but a large grin grows moments later as you walk over delicately.

“Can’t say for certain, but I promise there’ll be no weapons under the covers. If anyone breaks in they’ll find my fists to be the first iron they get a touch of.”

Your laugh bounces off the walls, hand coming up to cover your mouth in the picture of a cultured upbringing. Johnny chuckles in turn, looking smug. He liked your laugh, it seems.

“That was detestable, Mr. MacTavish.” You sit down, and Johnny kneels where he had been before—his hand outstretched where you carefully place your wounded limb.

Immediately you feel the scrape of old burns and calluses, hands hardened by long hours of labor and intensive demands. You’re certain these are the hardest hands that have ever touched your skin, but it astounds you by how gently you’re being caressed and turned. People with far fairer flesh have never handled you like this. As if you would break apart with the barest of pressures.

Your breath stills as the blacksmith, with all the care of a butterfly, tilts your cut into the light and studies it, thumb absentmindedly brushing up and down your wrist. You hold back a shiver.

“Ah,” he grumbles, still smiling yet more focused on your injury now. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You hum under your breath and try not to flinch when he wipes away a stain of mud near your wound. The blacksmith grunts to himself, gentle pressure at your flesh like the scuff of tree bark. But it wasn’t unpleasant. No, you thought, not at all.

The two of you fall into a hole of soft silence, Johnny leaving for a moment to grab a bucket of water and bandages, saying in a mutter that he had plenty of the former to go around.

“Have a habit of burnin’ myself on my bad days, y’see,” he shimmies past, pausing before pulling back up the bear fur from where it had slightly slipped down your neck. “Comes with the job.”

Your face burns as he grabs what he needs, eyes stuck on your lap. You were astounded by the man’s ability to put away his obvious confusion for your care, how he was content to wait for answers until you were rested. It was honorable of him.

Thinking back to Lord Wilkin’s guards at the door, your thighs shift over the chair. They’d be looking for you until they found you—be that days or months, it didn’t matter. The Lord wasn’t someone to let what he wanted get away from him. Like senseless beasts, your family would undoubtedly help. Your chest is stiff with worry. How would you get away with this?

The scene you’d made at the wedding wasn’t exactly subtle.

Johnny comes back carrying a small bucket of fresh water, ladled from the wash basin, and a bundle of clean white cloth.

“Alright,” he huffs, “let’s get this sorted, eh, Dearie?” The wound was very obviously a slice from a knife, anyone could see it.

Johnny takes your hand once more and holds it in his palm, glancing up at you before dipping one of the cloths into the water and beginning to clean the cut.

“Is it…bad, Mr. MacTavish?” You ask, worried about the likelihood of scarring. That would be the last thing you would want. The blacksmith looks up from where he pats the edges, the fabric already going red.

“Just Johnny, if it pleases you,” he smiles, hulking form seemingly all a facade to hide a cheeky and loyal Scot. “And…no, not bad. If you’re worried about a mark, don’t be—it’s deep but only at the beginning. A slight discoloration, no more.” His brows pull back, teasing, “You’ll not end up like me, at any rate.” Your shoulders ease back, and you let him work with a thankful comment and a giggle.

You watch and take in the way his jaw clenches and loosens as he works, completely focused as if he was fashioning an axe and not helping a complete stranger.

“There’s no harm in scars,” you settle on saying, thinking over his last comment. Blues lock with your eyes, head tilting like a hound. Your face gains a slight heat to it and you stutter, “It’s just this one I’d rather not carry, Johnny.” Smiling warmly, you see the man’s lips part, his motions stalling for a moment as he looks up at you and blinks. “But yours suit you if…I’m allowed to say.”

It’s then that you realize that a slight flush has come to his cheeks, starting from under his stubble and leaking out to his cheeks like a red blaze—his gaze burrows deep with hidden fire that rivals the dancing shadows from the hearth.

Noticing, your own face burns all the hotter as the blacksmith quickly clears his throat, snapping his eyes away. Fingers once more cleaning your cut, he grunts out, neck now shifting to a blush of crimson, “...Thank you, Miss.”

You stay in silence for the rest of the delicate process; the air heated and rolling with something. Electricity sparks when Johnny’s hands rub across yours, large enough to break you in an instant but acting like moss over a stone. You find yourself falling into a sort of comforted state you hadn’t felt in a long time—the fur over your shoulders and the tingle of skin-on-skin contact that expects nothing but offers all.

“There,” Johnny says at last, and a part of you wants to cry when he pulls back, standing slowly. A firm but malleable wrapping is over your palm, a tiny knot tied in the middle to keep it from falling off.

You bring it to your abdomen and blink, the other hand going to run over the material.

“Thank you, Johnny. Truly. If I hadn’t found your homestead, I would have been lost.” The man rubs at the back of his neck, tunic bunched up by his elbows.

“Gah,” after a second of bruising off the comment, he waves a hand while his wide chest puffs with pride. “It’s no trouble, really. Keeps me on my toes.”

Outside the storm continues to beat the walls, and the blacksmith can’t help but feel his eyes drawn to your dwarfed form under the large fur, the dripping water, and the weight of your gown. Based on the information from the guard, he had a decent story already forming in his head.

A runaway bride and an angry Lord. By his own role as the fiefdom’s accomplished blacksmith, he should be turning you over. But your eyes had been flooded with tears when you’d pounded on his door; soaked in rain and mud—blood. No shoes. Freezing.

You had looked so afraid, his heart had hurt for you, a strong need to shelter you stuck like a knife into his ribs. Johnny had seen much in his life, war, and death, but your desperation had stuck a cord in him.

He’d keep you here with no charge, offer food and shelter, and do what he can to understand your situation. If not for simply hospitality sake, then because he had heard your laugh and had found it to be like a bird’s call in the wake of a dew-coated morning. Your soft skin like the wisps of fire from his forges. Your voice like a rippling spring. There was no way to describe the way he wanted to help besides to admit to himself that he was a good man.

And, while cocky, the blacksmith had never once been self-absorbed.

He watches you rub at your damp cheek and starts out of whatever trance he had been sucked into.

“I’ll…” Johnny rubs at his neck again, “I’ll get you that change of clothes, Bonnie. You just wait right here.”

You stare at his back as he strides over, the fatigue washing back over you now that the adrenaline leaves in its stupendous sweep of heavy heartbeats. Anyone else would have given you up. Your face softens, seeing the quick dig of hands into the stack of clothes in the dresser.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man huffs, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dearie, all I’ve got are my tunics and pants.” Black and pale cream linen is held up on display.

“Oh,” you mutter, “I don’t mind,” your chuckle makes his lips twitch with care. “I would just prefer to be out of this…thing.” Your eyes glare down at the tattered gown, breathing softly. “Anything is perfect.”

“Well, then I hope you don’t mind the smell of fire,” Johnny hums. “Here you are.” As much as his insides twist to understand the story, making sure you don’t run a cold was more important.

Your legs push you up and you walk over softly, gliding over the wooden floor to take up the articles and dig your fingers into the warm and easy texture, thin stitching, and cuffed wrists. There was a cut down the neck with a tied cord looped through, making up an ‘x’ pattern.

“I would say thank you again,” you begin, “but I think you’ll be getting annoyed with how many times I’ve already said it.”

Johnny laughs, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his feet.

“Ah, perhaps only a little.” Silence laps into a minute, and you study him with slow puzzlement, tilting your head. For a moment, the man wonders what he’s done. The blacksmith’s dark brows furrow, lips moving back. He looks down at the clothes again and starts with a wild blinking of his lids.

“Oh! Hell’s bells, right,” Johnny walks to the other side of the room and swiftly turns his back to you with respect and a burning neck. He cringes. “Christ.”

You laugh brightly, letting the fur fall to the floor as you undress and shimmy into the borrowed clothes. Your nose takes in the scents of metal and fire—fatty linseed oil used to protect a blade against corrosion. With the crackling fire, you slip the large tunic above your head and find that it falls heavily over you; far thicker than it seemed and very comfortable, ending at your lower thigh.

But those scents make your head spin, rolling up the cuffs as you bring your nose to the collar and once more take it in with a slow breath. You hum and move, throwing the bear fur back atop your shoulders and grabbing your ruined garments from the floor before calling out to the rod-straight figure.

“Johnny?” His arms lightly jerk, as if he’d been unfocused, but he doesn’t turn around. “Where would you like me to throw these?”

The blacksmith delicately tilts his head to the side and utters with his eyes stuck to the side wall. “Bin by the door is just fine.” You look to the container holding scraps and other garbage to be taken out and drop the gown in before rubbing your cheek.

Wide cobalt eyes stare at the clothes you wear heavily, jaw loose before he re-set it and averts his gaze. Johnny chuckles to ease himself and loops his thumbs into his waistband, embarrassed.

“Do you need anything else, then?” Your eyes blink with fatigue.

“No, I…I don’t think so.” Gazing at the home, your lips thin. Your family would have a heart attack if you even mentioned that you were staying the night at a complete stranger’s homestead. No protection, no way to beat off a blacksmith beyond a well-placed punch, and running from your betrothed. To say that you’d cause anything less than a heart attack would be generous. But Johnny felt different. Firmer in his emotions and intentions. Far more than the Lord.

That was really all that matted.

“Are you really sure this is okay,” you still ask hesitantly, gargantuan clothes atop your frame. Johnny is already nodding firmly.

“It’s my pleasure. I won’t be turnin’ you back out to the woods in a storm like this.” For whatever reason, the next words fall from his lips like an oath. “There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.”

Your hand burns with the memory of his gentle grip and your heart skips beats. You feel as if a great weight is lifted, even if only for a night.

“Alright,” your words barely make it to air, and you grip the bear fur harder to stop yourself from kissing this man’s cheek, wanting to take him into a tight hug.

Johnny takes a blanket from the bottom of his bed and shuffles over to the inlet below the shuddered window, sitting down while you slowly walk forward.

“But, Little Lady,” you rest on the edge of the bed and look up to find him watching you intently, leaning back with a hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. The fire still crackles, the storm still dances outside, and the room is still tight with something you can’t put a name to. Like you’re caught in a trap of soft pillows and the scent of metal, you listen to the blacksmith with bated breath. “I’ll be needin’ answers…you hear?”

Licking your lips, you nod tersely. “Tomorrow,” you agree.

Johnny gazes off into your eyes, the runaway bride that had shown up on his doorstep and captured his attention like a bird made of a white wedding gown and panicked breath. He sneaks a peek down at your wrapped hand as you settle on his bed, burrowing into his furs and his covers—wearing his clothes.

For some unknown reason, the smallest of blood stains makes his chest roll with bright anger.

“Tomorrow,” he grunts through a tight jaw before he fights to turn his head away from you. It’s a long while before he sees any type of sleep, listening to the sound of your soft breath and the crackle of the fire.

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sweetestspence · 11 months

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" and then there were two "

summary: the bau recruits a new agent whose credentials arguably match their very own boy wonder’s pairing: s1!spencer reid x f!reader genre: fluff wc : 2.5k

part of the holy ground series.

“Did you hear? About the new agent?” Elle enters the bullpen with Derek, slinging an arm around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer. She keeps her voice just loud enough for him to hear, but it catches the attention of the agents that walk past them. Whispers of a new BAU team member had been lingering around the office for the past few days, especially one of this particular agent’s caliber.

“You heard too- What do you have over there Reid?” Derek’s train of thought had been cut of thought had been cut off the second the pair reached Spencer’s desk, the young man’s attention transfixed on a smooth stone between his fingers.

Spencer looks up, but keeps the pebble in his palm. “I picked it up from the beach a couple of days ago, I thought it looked nice so-”

“That pebble has been within a few feet of a dead body and you still picked it up?” Elle teases, cutting him off and taking the stone for him palm, bringing it up to her eye-level to ‘examine’. “It’s a strange shape though, I’ll give you that.”

Elle returns the rock back to Spencer which he places atop his desk. “You two were talking about the new agent… What- what do you think they’re like?”

Derek shrugs his shoulders. “I didn’t hear anything from Hotch or JJ, other than she’s coming in today.”

“Thank god another woman around, I was worried that we’d always be outnumbered by you four.” Elle breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief before continuing, “All I heard was the agent graduated early and worked in law for a bit.”

“You two definitely heard a lot more than I did.” Spencer’s brows furrow, his mind filled with questions of the new addition to their team. He didn’t even know they were looking for recruits, his eyes scan around the bullpen, drifting from Elle and Derek as he searched for an unfamiliar face.

And he finds one. Standing by the doorway. You looked nervous. You’re biting the inside of cheek, your eyes scanning around the bullpen in search of a familiar figure. Possibly Hotch. You keep to yourself, as if you’re afraid of taking too much space. But it feels like a front, you’re just in an unfamiliar environment. It isn’t until Derek snaps his fingers in front of his face that he drops his train of thought. If you were the newest addition to the team, he probably shouldn’t be profiling you.

“Did pretty boy find himself a pretty girl?” Derek laughs, following Spencer’s gaze.

“She just looks new that’s all.” Spencer quickly averts his eyes to the rock on his desk, but it’s too late. Elle had caught on and managed to see you waiting by the door as well.

She crosses her arms and quickly looks at you before looking back at Spencer. “Looks like you found our new agent.”

You take a couple of deep breaths before fully committing to entering the bullpen. Three people had just looked at you before returning to their conversation. You know you should probably find your unit chief first, and he’d be the one to make introductions for you. But it wouldn’t hurt to introduce yourself… right? You couldn’t ponder on the question for too long as your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, moving in the direction of Spencer’s desk where he, Derek, and Elle are.

“Hi!” You smiled, reaching a hand out for them to shake. “I’m Y/n, I’m supposed to be starting in the BAU today.”

Spencer raises a brow. You didn’t introduce yourself as an agent, only your first name. He shares a look with Elle who only shakes her head at him, as if telling him not to read into it too much.

Derek shakes your hand. “Derek Morgan.”

“Elle Greenaway. Really nice to meet you, Y/n. I apologize we were not being subtle at all.” Elle laughs.

“Don’t worry-” You wave off her apology with a small smile, but before you could continue speaking, Derek cuts you off.

“Used to being stared at from across a room? You don’t seem like the type who buys her own drinks at the bar.” He smirks, exaggeratedly checking you out to prove his point.

Elle rolls her eyes and gently shoves his side. “Cool it, Morgan. She’s new.”

“It’s fine.” You nod your head towards the person directly in front of you, turning your attention turns towards the only one who hasn’t introduced himself.

Instead of offering his hand to shake, Spencer simply offers you a sheepish smile. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Doctor. Cool.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise and Spencer searches for any sign of derision or contempt in your tone and expression. He’s used to getting such anytime he’s introduced himself to anyone older, even more so around people his age; which you seemed to be.

But you seemed to be genuinely impressed. Instead of asking a follow up question on how someone as young as him could possibly have the title of doctor attached to his name, you nod towards the small rock on his desk.

“Most people decorate their desks with pictures, or maybe even little figurines. May I?”

Spencer gestures that you go ahead and you take the rock from his desk, examining it in a similar way that Elle had a few minutes prior.

“Anyone who would willingly want to work at the BAU isn’t going to be like most people.” Derek quips. “If it’s colorful things you’re after I’m more than willing to take you on a little field trip to our technical analyst’s office.”

“I think it’s neat though.” You move to return the pebble back, but Spencer holds a hand up, effectively stopping you in your tracks.

“You can have it if you want. You can, um,” he pauses before pushing your hand back towards you, his skin not actually touching yours, “consider it a welcome gift. Besides I think I picked up a couple more.”

“You know, male penguins offer rocks as a gift to woo female penguins… So if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.” You attempt to sound nonchalant, but there’s a hint of a teasing tone that laced your words. “On my very first day too.”

Spencer’s lips part, at a loss for words. He scratches the back of his head, trying to look at everything but you. “I, um- no, I wasn’t- I just thought-”

You chuckle at his cheeks turning the slightest shade of pink, but decide to quell his embarrassment. “Relax, Dr. Reid. I was kidding.”

“So male penguins don’t do that?” Elle asks, turning to you.

“Well they do, actually.” Spencer answers the question for you, chiming in without a second thought. “The female penguins often use the rocks to build a kind of nest.”

Derek’s gaze quickly travels between you and Spencer. “How do either of you even know about that?”

“I read about it.” Spencer shrugs.

“Yeah, that checks out.” Derek mumbles, but his words are clear enough that it makes Elle chuckle and shake her head. He turns to you, “And Y/n?”

“I couldn’t sleep one night and a nature documentary was the only thing remotely interesting on.”

Elle leans closer towards Derek and turns away from you and Spencer, speaking in a low enough voice that only he could hear. “Oh god, looks like we have two of them now.”

Before you could even ask about it, Hotchner has already managed to walk towards your little group. “Briefing room. You can continue your introductions there. JJ’s got a case for us.”

All four of you know better than to do anything that isn’t following Hotch to the briefing room. JJ had already set up an extra chair for you, and you wait for everyone to take their seats before you take the available space between Morgan and Elle.

“Agent L/n.” Hotch bring’s everyone’s attention towards you as soon as he’s noticed you settle in your seat. “I believe you’ve met agents Morgan, Greenaway and doctor Reid. This is SSA Jason Gideon. JJ, our liaison. And Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst.”

“I’m excited to work with everyone. Thank you for having me.” You greet, sitting-up a little straighter, a tight-lipped smile spreading across your face.

“Oh don’t be so nervous, sweetheart. Your work’s impressive-”

“Garcia, you already looked her up?” Derek asks, but there isn’t a single ounce of shock in his voice or expression.

“Honey, whispers of a new agent? Of course, I looked her up.” Penelope responds, twirling her sparkly pen around. “Not only did cutie over here graduate early every single time, she did a double degree for her undergrad. Also got a near perfect score on the LSAT, passed the bar in the top ten, and currently trying to get a doctorate in sociology.”

You blink back at her, you weren’t even planning to go into detail about your background to the team. Before you could even ask her how she was able to find out, Gideon speaks up from across the table.

“A lawyer? Prosecutor?”

You nod. “Didn’t even last a full year. I always felt like I could be doing more, you know? Applied to join the FBI, worked in the field for a bit, and now here I am.”

Nobody misses the flash of recognition in Hotch’s eyes. After all, it’s a familiar story. But no one presses further.

“Garcia, when you said near-perfect score…” JJ trails off, her eyes trained on Penelope.

“Very near.” Penelope turns to you with a smile, seemingly proud despite just having met you. “179.”

“It’s not really something I go around telling people.” You avoid eye contact with the rest of the team and look down at your lap, fiddling with your thumbs from underneath the table. Despite this, you could still feel everyone’s gaze on you.

“You should. Hell, I would.” Derek jokes before looking between you and Spencer. “Trying to get a doctorate too. We’ve got a matching set of boy wonder and girl wonder over here.”

“We’ll be introducing you as Dr. L/n pretty soon, huh?” Elle leans closer towards you, gently hitting your shoulder and causing you to look up at her.

You smile sheepishly at the rest of the team. “I wouldn’t know about soon. I’ve actually been struggling to finish my dissertation.”

Spencer’s lips part. He feels the need to say something, perhaps some words of encouragement. Maybe he could even offer to help you with your work. Especially considering he had also gone through the process of getting a doctorate. Thrice, in fact. But before he could get a single word out, Hotch’s voice is already filling the briefing room.

“I’m sure we’ll get to know more about agent L/n in the coming days. For now, we have a case to get to.”

___

“This one is yours.” JJ leads you to your desk in the bullpen. Despite it being apparently unoccupied, there's a few piles of folders and loose pieces of paper strewn around. “If you need anything, just let me or Hotch- or the rest of the team really- know. I’ll let you settle in, but remember wheels up in thirty.”

“Got it. Thanks JJ.”

“No problem.”

You take out a couple of things you know you’d want on your desk from your bag; a couple of cute pen holders, some post-its, a couple of pictures. You feel around your bag and take out a book you were reading. You were wondering why you felt like your bag was unusually heavy. Then again, you were zooming around your apartment earlier in the day as you had slept through your alarm. As a result, you pretty much grabbed the first bag you saw and haphazardly stuffed your things inside.

“Neil Gaiman?”

You hear someone ask from beside you.

“Huh?”

Spencer is standing by your desk, eyes trained on the book in your hand. He tilts his head over across the small aisle that separated yours and his desks and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Mine is just over there. It’s hard to miss, people don’t usually bring non case related things to read.”

“Oh, right I actually forgot this was here… I was going to join this book club and I was really excited about it too. But I just found out their meetings coincide with work hours, so now I’ve read this nearly 500 page fantasy novel and no one to talk to about it.”

A beat passes. Then another. A small surge of nervousness goes through your veins. It almost feels like you were oversharing. You were just introduced to the team, they probably didn’t need to know much about what you do outside of work.

“You can discuss it with me, if you’d like.” He briefly looks down at his feet, almost as if he’s carefully picking his next words. And he was. You were new, but you seemed nice enough. And he didn't mind the idea of taking a breather from discussing cases to discussing books, without said books having to do with a case. He didn't exactly want to come off too strong. “I like to read too. Have you finished?”

“Almost.” You click your tongue, considering his offer. Spencer shifts his weight from side to side, anticipating a response. The corners of your mouth twitches upwards at his earnestness. “That would be nice actually… how much time do you need to finish it? A couple of days or…?”

Spencer takes the book from your desk, flipping through the pages, considering the font size, the writing style. He even raises a brow when he notices the highlights and notes you’ve made across the margins. He hands it back to you with a small smile. “Give or take fifteen minutes.”

“You’re kidding.” You don’t even bother to hide the shock that’s plastered on your face. He’s a profiler, he would have noticed anyway. You flip through the pages yourself, trying to figure out if he was referring to a different book.

“I’m not.” Spencer shrugs his shoulders. “I mean I would have to buy a copy of my own first, which would have to wait until after the case.”

“Wow.” You let out a low whistle, more impressed than you had been earlier. “I guess it’s settled then. Let me know when you’ve eventually used up those fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, I will.”

“I look forward to it, Dr. Reid.”

“I do too, Agent L/n.”

Penelope Garcia and Derek Morgan watch the interaction from across the bullpen. Derek’s gaze follows Reid as he makes the short walk back to his desk. Spencer scratches the back of his head before quickly looking back across the aisle to where you were sitting. But of course, you were too busy getting your things in order to notice.

Derek keeps his voice low as he leans closer towards Penelope, crossing his arms across his chest. “Fifty bucks says pretty boy and girl wonder are going to get it on. He confesses first.”

Penelope notices you taking what looks to be a pebble from your pocket and place it by your pen holder, a soft smile spreading across your face as you looked towards Spencer. “Alright. I’ll take that action.”

taglist. @vader-is-hot @akimoons @taygrls <3

a/n. s1 spencer holds a soft spot in my heart goshh anyways- hii! i hope you enjoyed reading this- you know, despite it being mostly introductions >_< thank you for checking it out, and i hope u all have a good day :)

#filed : holy ground.#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds series

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swiftlysilver · 2 years

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Beaches (And Sunsets)

#photography #beach #sunset #driftwood #beach waves #sea walk #pebbles #pretty rocks #original photography #ocean

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sabersandsnipers · 7 months

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Drabbles: Just One Bed (part ii)

Featuring: Astarion, Halsin, Gale, Raphael

A/N: I love that you are all as obsessed with the one bed trope as I am lol. Inspiration courtesy of @creativepromptsforwriting

Astarion

You can’t explain the pleasure that courses through your veins every time Astarion feeds from you. The delicious waves of heat that writhe in your lower abdomen. The light feeling that envelopes you as your blood is slowly drained from your vessels.

This current feeding session isn’t any different. Slight moans leave your lips at the delicious feeling floating through you. Astarion cradles your head for easier access to your neck, his other hand grips your thigh, holding you in place.

Just when the edges of your vision begin to blur, his fangs part from your skin. You let out a breath, heat flushing through you. His tongue licks the remaining blood off your neck. The hot feeling of his tongue gliding along your skin earns a shiver from deep within you.

“Thank you,” he sighs, hovering over you. “I was feeling so weak.”

You simply nod, your mind so mushy you can’t even form a coherent sentence. Your limbs feel like jelly. Your breaths come out in heavy bursts, as if you just were running uphill.

Astarion notices your state, taking in the paleness of your skin, and the slight shake in your hands. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?” It’s the least he could do after taking so much from you.

You look at him, an incredulous look on your face. He’s never invited you to stay with him before. Not that the invitation isn’t tempting. The last thing you want to do right now is drag yourself to your own tent. Besides, you find Astarion’s presence comforting, despite his history.

“Sure,” you respond, your body relaxing a bit.

Sleep is quick to find you. After a few hours of dreaming, you wake to find yourself in Astarion’s arms. His face is buried in your neck. Your body is flush against his, and you can feel the firmness of his body.

You smile to yourself, happy to help find comfort in any form.

Halsin

The grass beneath you tickles your skin. The hardness of the ground presses into your back uncomfortably. You always admired Halsin’s connection to nature. But did he have to be so connected he had to insist on sleeping in the woods?

Traveling with Halsin alone meant “using the forest as your resting place”, as he had said too excitedly. You couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. He was absolutely giddy at the prospect of a sleepover with you under the stars.

But now, with twigs digging in your back and rocks up your ass, it’s hard to see the bright side of the situation. You toss and turn, trying to find any sort of comfortable position.

“Are you alright?” You hear Halsin’s deep voice ask.

You squirm against the ground again. “I’m alright. I just…feel a little exposed is all.”

He chuckles. “Understandable, seeing as it’s your first time sleeping in the forest.”

You hear him shuffle closer to you. The heat of him is quick to reach you. “Come here,” he says, reaching for you.

You allow him to pull you onto his bare chest. The firmness of his body is somehow more comfortable than the hardness of the ground. He wraps his arms around you, securing you in place .

Every inch of you is acutely aware of his proximity. He seems unbothered by your positioning though. You will admit, laying on top of him is much better than the cold, hard ground.

His thumbs trace circles along your exposed skin, and your arms wrap themselves around his neck as you find the most comfortable position you can.

“Better?” He asks. His voice vibrates through you.

“Much,” you tell him, and he lets out a contented sigh.

Gale

Your group was lucky to reach an inn before the storm began raging. The dark clouds stirring above you gave evidence of the snow about to fall. Goosebumps pebbled your skin as the temperature dropped.

You’re grateful to have an actual bed for the night as well. Not so grateful you have to share with someone else. But if you had to share with someone, Gale isn’t a bad choice. He’s one of the few members that’s actually considerate, even selfless.

The bed is pretty small, and even with the fireplace going, you find yourself growing cold. You pull the blanket around yourself as tightly as you can, careful to not take too much cover away from Gale. You can feel warmth radiating from him, though, and your body craves it.

Your teeth chatter suddenly, and you clamp them in an attempt to smother the noise.

“You’re cold aren’t you?” Gale suddenly asks. You turn to face him, a slight flush heating your cheeks as you notice he’s sleeping shirtless.

“I’m fine,” you lie, not wanting to complain.

He sighs, motioning you over. “Just come here. We’ll stay warm if we’re close.”

You know you should deny him. Snuggling with a companion is a risky game. But you trust Gale.

You scooch over into his embrace, sighing at the warmth of him. He wraps his arms around you as you rest your head against his chest. Your fingers are freezing, so you place them against his torso.

He hisses. “Your hands are freezing.”

You giggle. “Sorry. I hope you don’t mind.”

You feel his mouth move against your hair. “Not at all.”

His skin nearly feels like fire against the cold, but it’s also a welcome feeling. You admire how he holds you so tightly. You breathe in his scent, noticing how it comforts you.

It doesn’t take long for his heat to seep into you, and eventually, a deep sleep overtakes you.

Raphael

It’s either sleep in his bed with him, or sleep in your cell. He says you should call him merciful for giving you a choice, but it doesn’t feel like mercy. He’s so pleased with himself when you huff with frustration at his offer.

Sleep with a devil, or sleep behind bars. You’re not sure which one is worse. In the end, you choose the option with the bed. Knowing Raphael, it will be one of the most comfortable beds you’ve ever slept on.

He doesn’t hesitate to instantly invade your personal space when you crawl under the sheets. You feel his presence at your back, and you know his eyes are raking over you, taking in every detail he can. Searching for every button he can push.

He presses himself against you, wrapping an arm around your torso to hold you. A tingly feeling builds in your lower abdomen. You scold yourself. This creature simply wants to tease you.

And tease you he does. He traces those claws of his along your thighs. He lets his soft breaths linger at the back of your neck. He never reaches for an intimate part of you though, but will get close before backing off again. It leaves you feeling empty, and it drives you mad.

“I won’t be sleeping tonight, will I?” you ask him, a small shake in your voice.

“Not a wink, little mouse.” You can hear the smug smile in his voice.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion imagine #astarion x reader #halsin #halsin x reader #halsin imagine #gale imagine #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep #raphael x reader #raphael imagine #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3

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biscuitsngravie · 2 months

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Dancing with the Devil

True Form Sukuna x Reader

Summary: Sukuna's had a shit morning, and what better way to take it out than on you.

Content and Trigger Warnings: free use, no prep (on Sukuna's end, reader preps), creampie, reader is cumdump, reader is a cumslut, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, cunnilingus from the back, vaginal fingering, piv, double penetration, anal sex, angry sex, rough sex, deep penetration, paraphilia regarding voyeuristic sadism, sadisomasochism?, degradation, orgasm control (edging & forced orgasm), multiple orgasms, monsterfuckery is a tag in itself, mating press, doggy style, pussy slapping, choking, size difference, biting, hematophagy/blood letting, blood kink, light possessiveness, spit play/spit as lube, some nipple play/nipple sucking, grinding (kinda), hair pulling, full Nelson (kinda), fear play, cowgirl, overstimulation, scratching, squirting, dacryphilia, fellatio, throat fucking, cum swallowing, slapping, lotus, belly bulge, breeding kink

Word Count: 4.8k

an: this is my first time writing sukuna, pls be kind!! 😣

MDNI 18+

His yelling doesn't disturb you. If anything, it acts as a lullaby, snarls and grunts being the hands rocking your cradle. The crashing of furniture serves as not much more than the ease of nearby waves. The bloodcurdling screams accenting his actions like the songs of cicadas in the wind.

It's a hurried and desperate banging against the door that finally stirs you. Pleads of mercy often go unheard to him, including yours. But the gall to beg his personal toy (a nicer word on a good day) in an attempt to escape his fury? Audacity once flowed as easily as the offender's blood, now adding to a mosaic of evidence that is Ryoumen Sukuna.

The satin slides against your skin as you shift, the flows of fabric slipping across your skin and pooling at your waist as you sit up. It's one of the niceties he's granted you since your... promotion of sorts. Your nipples pebble at the coolness in the air, its temperature challenged by the white hot heat emanating from the worshipped himself.

What's set him off today? A line out of turn? A newfound betrayal? His breakfast not cooked to his liking? These anxieties used to run across your mind, bouncing against the walls of your cranium just to press together into a headache. Though nowadays, despite being directly on the receiving end of his emotions, your job proves rather simple:

When he wants it.

How he wants it.

Wherever he wants it.

Even in your first few minutes of your waking hours does arousal prickle your skin, rippling goosebumps along with the cool, morning air. It warms every part of you, cascading from the center of your chest down your arms, pooling into your core and wetting your inner thighs. The next course of events can only be described as a manifestation of your inner perversion; whether offset by your newfound position or an expression of germinating seeds finally fertilized and enriched by their twisted environment. Anyone who would seem to care to do the research has most likely begun pushing daisies of their own.

But here you are, nipples pebbling the air as your body warms. Deft fingers push aside the satin fabric sitting at your hips to play with your slit, a welcome satisfaction when your fingers are met with a slickness. Your clit aches and begs for your attention with insistent throbbing, but you tease yourself much in the way he would. Using your other hand, you play with your nipple, pinching and squeezing the bud, moaning as a bolt of electricity shoots straight back down to your leaking cunt. You think to yourself about how much he loves watching your chest as you ride him, his satisfied smirk as you bounce on his cocks.

“Fuck…”

The flashback brings you to full on fingering yourself, slipping two in with ease, but ultimately missing the burning feeling of him stretching you out. With the flat of your palm pressed against your clit, you throw your head back, groaning as you think of him. Every scream fuels you. Every desperate cry for help before it's mangled into a jumbled gurgle as he rips people to oblivion. You can't help but fall back and roll over, nearly humping your hand as you try to grind into it.

"Please! I didn't-"

You grab the tororo-jiru — yams grated down to a slick — on your nightstand and begin prepping your other hole. The pressure isn't the same as when you're stuffed full, but it'll have to do for now.

"I-I can help you! Please li-"

You buck your hips at every shriek, heat emanating from your body and building a sheen of sweat over you. The sheets cling to your damp skin wherever it touches. More. More.

"My children! I have children, please!"

You cry out in tune with his next victim. Though on opposite ends of the spectrum, your shared agony is caused by the same figure. Your lower belly tightens at the thought as you pulsate around your fingers. You squeeze them as you lament that you can't have more. More.

That coil comes in on itself, tightening as it hurdles you towards the edge. "Hah… mmmph!"

You bite your lip and move your hips even faster, humping your hand like a damned dog in heat.

"Horny little bitch."

The cause of Sukuna's distress this morning? Maybe it was the duck - undercooked and underdressed, naked on a plate without a medley of vegetables for his taste. Maybe that would've been permissible if they hadn't put too much wheat in his hishio, leaving it dry and all too crumbly. If that one troglodyte brought him the sake like he ordered asked, there wouldn't have been an issue. Even the raging boners he was afflicted with weren't bothering him all that much - your chambers were near enough.

Possibly the worst solution of irritancies, undealt with arousal, and mostly likely hanger brought him to summon cleave on the next servant who brought him a dining platter. The grating screams of horror that usually played melodically in his ears only fueled his growing impatience and unamusement. Something that was amusing though?

Your scrambles for deceny (why?) and slew of apologies pull him out of his momentary stupor. You cling to the satin sheets, uncaring or unaware of the splotches of dampness, a mixture of your wetness and the lubrication. Even so, you hold the crimson fabric to yourself and gaze up at him. He watches the rapid rise and fall of your chest, sure your heart is beating so fast it’ll break your ribs and lay splayed on the floor. He can smell a familiar scent, one that intoxicates him when he begins his tireades, infiltrating his nostrils like stray fern spores. Or at least he thinks he does. Fear, is it not? But as he traces your form, unnecessarily wrapped in flimsy threads, he picks up on the small notes that change the chemistry of it all.

“Are you… embarrassed?”

If you weren’t before, you for certain are now. The draw of your knees up to your chest, and the subtle quiver of your lip answer long before you do. “I-I… did you need comforting, my Lord?”

Sukuna squats down to your level. While the room is known as “your” chambers, the term is used as a marker of where you should be, rather than what “yours.” You sleep on a futon elevated not much more than a foot and a half off the ground beside a heighted California King sized bed. The material and stuffing is changed regularly, though considering the activities that perspire in this room, it’d be a crime if it weren’t.

The bed itself is preserved for Sukuna for the occasion that he does decide to sleep here. Even though you’re his favorite, he often sleeps alone since four arms, along with other appendages, get rather hot — especially after he’s done with you. Two years since you’ve offered yourself up for him, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He sneers at you, baring his fangs in what he considers in resemblance to a “smile.” Balanced on his haunches with two arms resting on thighs thick as logs, he reaches out with his upper left hand to snatch away your covering. He swallows his comment on how damp and limp the fabric is when he spreads your legs with his upper right. You fight for only a fraction of a second before letting yourself be laid bare.

He lets out a low whistle and begins reaching right towards your heat. The chuckle he has can be felt through the vibration in his fingertips as he runs his fingers through your folds. This is normal. This is just another day, but today…

“My Lord—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The lightest of thumb presses to your clit has you whimpering. This is normal. He’s seen you naked more times than you’d ever care to count. He’s come to you, teasing and playing with your sensibilities and rationalities after a rampage many, many times before. But this…

Are you… embarrassed?

Though you’re one of many for him, he’s the only one for you. Many years from now, a dictionary will be drafted, and your name will be cited for “insatiable slut.” Between his visits you often find yourself craving even the slightest hint of acknowledgement from him. A brief glance from just one of his eyes would have you trembling with your hands between your thighs for hours. So of course when he’s on his tantrums you beg above for his warpath to lead to your room, but he’s never caught you like this.

He’s never caught you knuckles deep at the presumption that he’d be finding comfort in you today. He’s never seen you masturbate in search of self-fulfilling pleasure. It’s always been a show of sorts for him: fascinating and occasionally grating as you both waited for you to be “ready.”

So yeah, of course you’re fucking embarrassed.

He touches you differently now: curiosity leads him through your heat and up to your clit, pressing against it again. He focuses the eyes on his second face on yours, while his others stay trained on the small shudder that starts from your thighs and dances to your pert nipples. He catches the way your hand starts to grip onto the fabric under you and presses again, harder.

Your hips buck into his hand in tandem with a moan that dies as quickly as it comes when you remember his command. You bite your lip to kill any other sounds that dare to escape you, throwing your head back to sniffle as he begins circling it with his thumb.

His bottom eyes catch the way your toes begin to curl and he chuckles again. The vibration goes straight to your clit, and your legs fly to wrap around his forearm. “Ah ah ah…” he finally puts his bottom arms to use to hold your legs open. “Bet you like that shit, huh?” He drops the blanket he held in his upper left arm to run two fingers over your heat, glistening as his thumb speeds up. “All of ya are always playin’ with this even with my cocks in you. Feel good?”

You sniffle and nod weakly. You swear your back is going to break with how hard you’re arching off the futon. Your breathing becomes erratic as you try to hold yourself. He’s touching you. Like, actually touching you.

“‘Please?’ Please what?”

“Please… here,” you began leading his hand towards your center, "I wanna come…”

“Don’t forget your place. Do that shit yourself.”

Since that time early on, you’d learn to keep your pleas of desperate yearning to yourself. You played with your own nipples, toyed with your clit yourself, and paved your way to your orgasms. If you came that day, good for you. If you didn’t, all parties failed to see how that was his problem. But today…

The way he holds you, the way his fingers dig into your heat, exploring the warmth that’s so frequently wrapped around one or both of his cocks. The hum of inquisitiveness when he presses against a spongy surface inside you is too much to handle. It’s all overwhelming, the way your body becomes feverish with every stroke, thick fingers stretching you out the way your own never could. The euphoria leaves you lightheaded. Your breaths shallow as it takes everything out of you to stay grounded on cloud nine.

“Hey!” Sukuna moves his thumb away from your clit to slap your sopping cunt. “Answer the question.” The action itself isn’t too rough, but your sensitivity has you jolting. You whine and squirm under him, fighting the hold on your legs in futility. Before you can snap up to register what’s happening, a grip around your throat brings you back up to face him. All four eyes focus on you. Though not necessarily peeved, irritance makes its presence known on his faces.

“Answer.”

The lone word has you clenching around his fingers. Your breath quickens under the scrutiny of his gaze, hitching in your throat when he puts pressure on the sides. You will your eyes to remain forward to meet his and not roll into the back of your skull. With an uneven voice you whimper, “I d-do… my Lord.”

“Hmm,” he hums again, lazily scissoring you as he thinks. Torturously slow strokes keep your orgasm at bay as he ponders to himself. Continuing with his upper left hand, he reaches for the spot he found earlier and relishes in the pathetic mewl it pulls from you. He removes his fingers to inspect the newfound slick that’s gathered around them down to the knuckle. “Hmph.”

You look off to the side in shame, unable to turn your head away with his hold. His scent wafts up your nose, sneaking up into your senses and settling in the back of your throat. The slight metallic tinge from previous bloodshed mixes with the bourbon undertone that emanates from his skin. Oils and perfumes that have long since settled fuzzy your senses, though you’re still present enough to reach down and cover yourself. The everpresent vulnerability cuts through the surface, urging you once again for unneeded modesty.

Yet another smirk paints his lips. He takes the hand covered in your wetness and grabs your wrists in one motion. He lets go of your throat so that he can raise your arms over your head, laying you down on your back. Adjusting his hands on your thighs, he spreads you open to a with your knees pressed against your chest. The stretch isn’t unfamiliar, but it still has you holding your breath.

Inching closer and closer, he wraps his hand around your throat again, arching over you. He loves the way you feel beneath him: the fragility of your form despite the way you crave him. Need him. He loves that your body gives way to his greed, taking every touch as a godsend. Though you both know heaven is far from where he’s from. He can’t get the enough of how you—

Sukuna breaks out of his own musings to refocus himself, tucking his face into your neck. Embarrassment and shame greet him again, dancing across his olfactory palette and swelling both his cocks. “Listen here, you bitch,” he husks against the column of your throat, tracing your pulse point with his fangs, “don’t you dare cover what’s mine.”

His bottom arms make quick work of his kimono. He lets you go for a moment to free himself completely. Despite the staining on his garments, he was sure to at least wash his hands, wary of the “burning” you wouldn’t shut the fuck up about a few weeks ago. He doesn’t know if he would’ve cared so much if it hadn’t spread to him and the others, causing a discomfort he would not live through again.

You barely get a chance to observe his physique — taut muscles that proudly sport the tattoos banding across his chest — before the world goes dark as he leans over you again. He forces his faces into your neck, the rough skin of his second face nuzzling into the suppleness of your own. His bottom arms angle your legs outward to keep his pussy on display. When he catches the hint of a whine, his upper right hand covers your mouth to save himself of your pathetic squalling. His left begins to occupy itself with your nipple, pinching and twisting it between rough fingertips.

Pain and pleasure intertwine again, concocting a cocktail of endorphins that goes straight from your brain right back down to your cunt. That’s when you notice it:

The heat you feel is not just your own, but his second mouth panting there. The lips are barely close enough to brush against your own. Sukuna pulls back to watch your face, already twisting in pleasure, but morphing into something else completely as his tongue envelopes you. The ridges of his taste buds are hot against your his pussy, rubbing against your clit as his tongue darts out to lick you again. You whine and throb on the muscle as it encases your vulva, helplessly rutting to the best of your ability. “Mmmph!”

He hooks your legs into his elbows on his bottom arms this time, pressing his second face into you even moreso. Hot pants wet your skin as he feels his own arousal growing. Every vibration against his palm fuels his cocks. It makes it harder and harder not to reach down to relieve the ache that’s becoming unbearable. Sucking on the skin of your neck, he continues to work his second mouth, lapping up the slick as it gathers there. “Fuck, didn’t know you tasted this good. Shoulda done this a long time ago,” he says gruffly, moving his hand from over your mouth to your shoulder to mitigate your squirming.

You shudder at the almost compliment. Everything is electrifying, making you feel weak all over. The only strength you have is in your hands and in your thighs, your fingers digging crescents into your palms. Sukuna, as many times as you two have engaged, has never cared to even pay an ounce of attention to your pleasure if it wasn’t self-serving. His exploration via his newfound curiosity, though still centered on his own inquisitiveness, makes it easier to delude yourself into thinking you’re a priority. “J-just f’you, m-my Lord.”

A low rumble vibrates throughout the two of you, an audible marker indicative of his amusement. The cry you let out from him pulling at your nipple has him bucking his hips into your futon. “Fuckin’ better be.”

Before you can affirm your allegiance, a burning in your thigh has you gasping. You wince as a sharp pain travels from there to the tip of your toes, all of your nerves standing on end as you register what’s happened to you. Squinting your eyes to look down, you see that one of his fangs from his lower mouth has sunk into the flesh there. It just barely pierces the skin, but the suddenness amplifies the pain before subsiding to a dull throb. He releases you to lick the small trickle of blood that begins to stain his lips.

“Looks like all of you tastes good,” he laughs before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, tasting the slight saltiness in the iron notes that fill his senses. He watches his handiwork mark your skin, traveling down to the similarly colored fabric beneath you. The urge to lap it up is pushed aside for an admiration of your state of being.

It feels strange. He’s not new to your fidgety nature, to your addiction to him. Yet the state you’re in, the way your body undulates with every probe — it ignites something new within him. With the taste of you still fresh on his tongue, he finds himself chasing a new kind of high.

The hand that plays with your nipple redirects to fondling your breast. The shock of the pain from the bite is easily overshadowed by this action, causing you to lean off the futon into his touch. Your moans flow freely into the air, as you writhe in pleasure. Between his hands and tongue, your body itself seems unable to decide where to find its bliss. It’s a sight Sukuna is beginning to find rather gratifying. You reach for your left nipple with your free hand, but it’s quickly slapped away with his right. “Always so fucking greedy.”

He finally rises to his knees again. His figure looks entirely too large on your futon. Part of you wonders if the structure can even support his weight, much less what’s about to take place. But the feeling of emptiness, the longing for him to fill you with something again, anything, overrides any and all of your worries.

All eyes focus on you, divided between your shiny cunt saturated in his saliva and your puffy nipple reddened under his abuse. His own cocks gleam with precum and the drool dripping from his lower mouth.

Sukuna pulls you closer, replacing his bottom right arm with the top one to stroke his second cock. He hisses at the relief, watching that needy little hole of yours clench around nothing. “Look at you,” he says breathily before spitting on your cunt with his second mouth, “no matter how many times I fill you up, you’re still such a needy little bitch.”

He lines himself to slam into you, his top cock slapping against your abdomen. “Ahh! Fuck yes… please please please…”

Your eyes cross with a flashing behind your lids. Jerking at the sudden stretch, you reach out to his forearm with a grip that has your nails digging into muscle. A sniffle accompanies a trail of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. The abrupt intrusion has your gummy walls gripping his cock tight, pulsating around him.

“Fuck! Geez bitch, let up!” he half smirks with the way your pussy chokes his cock. “Gonna break it off, shit. Ay!” He slaps at your clit to catch your attention. It snaps you back to listen to his words. “Let up, damn.”

When you catch a whiff of irritation laden within his voice, you start the process of self-regulation. Breathe… Breathe… Breathe…

“There ya go…” He slowly pulls back and half-heartedly snorts at the way you’ve already saturated his length. He stops right at the tip and gleams at how your body desperately tries to suck him back in.

“My L-”

Redirecting his hand on your breast back to your throat, you take the hint and purse your lips together. Besides a low sniffle and the tiniest of bucks from your hips, your pleas for more die within you.

“Since you’re such a fucking slut…” He lines his bottom cock at your entrance. Its slightly thicker mushroom tip prods gently at first, teasing at the sliver of space.

“I…” A whimper catches your voice in your throat as you helplessly tremble beneath him. Chills run through you as the revelation sobers your pleasure-drunk brain. “I can’t. Ah!”

Sukuna tries not to chuckle in amusement as his cockhead bullies its way into your leaking cunt. “Yeah you can. I saw one of ya put an arm in there. Quit your whining. Fuck…” Your walls clamp down on him once he gets the tip in, and he just as tightly takes his lip between his teeth. He slowly sinks into you, feeling the way your body stretches and quivers as it accommodates the intrusion. Once his bottom cock is securely seated, he hooks your legs back into the elbows of his lower arms, his upper right occupying itself with your nipple.

It hurts. It hurts. It… It…

The searing pain folds in on itself, condensing from the shockwave that racked you initially and focusing in on your core. It…

Your gummy walls spasm around him uncontrollably, as you latch onto him, your nails tearing into flesh and marking him as he does you so often. You don’t even hear his comments as your body tries to process what’s happening. It…

With more saliva coating the space between you from the mouth on his stomach, it makes the first few movements of his hips near comprehensible before a quick snap forces you back into reality.

It’s bliss.

The pressure, the fullness. The way they press into grind against your g-spot with every thrust. It’s…

“S-so much!” Your brain melts and melds with the burning in your cunt as he speeds up. Each plunge into you kisses at your cervix, accentuated by the echoing squelches you two make. Your toes are curled so hard you swear it feels like they’re going to break. Just like the skin under his bottom hands, already bruising from the grips they have on your hips.

“Don’t fuckin’ run from it. This is what you wanted, so take it.” His pace stutters when you clamp down him, but he quickly recovers and reaches down between you with a hold on your waist with his upper left arm. “That’s right, keep it tight for me.”

Everything washes over you in waves: the pain from his hands on your hips; the pleasure from the one on your nipple; the mix of them both as he pounds into you relentlessly with reckless abandon. His grunts work further to feed the arousal leaking from your cunt, while that same cunt milks both of his cocks at every turn.

That’s why you can’t help but scream in frustration when he slows down to nearly a halt. “S-Sukuna please!” It happens so quick it takes you seconds after to process it, the stinging and reorientation of your gaze the only indicators of what’s happened. You hold your face at where he struck you. Know your place. “M-my… my Lord,” you say quietly, sniffling more from the denied orgasm rather than the strike itself, “I need—”

“Look.” All four eyes point downward and you follow their lines of vision. He’s nearly all the way out, only the tips of his cocks holding their place. He briefly glances up with one eye to ensure you’re paying attention right before he pushes back into you. He places your hand right over your abdomen as he does, and you both feel and watch the way your body molds around him, pushing against your skin and almost frighteningly bursting at the seams.

“Nnnngh…” You sniffle as he repeats the action over and over, incrementally increasing the pace. The coil inside you tightens as you follow the rise and fall of your abdomen. Every time he impales you, your wanton moans become choked, almost as if he’s fucking your throat right through the pussy. Your nails carve chasms into his skin as you will yourself to stay tethered. Each grunt in your ear has you clamping around him, causing a stutter in his hips before driving into with more fervor.

Sukuna pulls away a bit to take the sight in with his lower eyes. The frothing at the bases of his cocks is dizzying and has him swearing to himself. “That’s right, take it. Only thing a slut like you was made for. Nothing but a fucking pocket pussy—”

“Augh!” You cry out when your orgasm crashes over you, your thighs shaking in his hold. Sukuna hisses at the way your walls choke him, halting as you weakly grind on him to ride out. Your chest burns with each heave, and your breath catches in your throat when you feel Sukuna slide out without much care at all. It’s then that you notice the slight chill in the air again, goosebumps pimpling your skin with the newfound sheen of sweat that covers you.

He lets out a slow whistle with the brief comment of “Wow,” his eyes raving over every inch of you. He’s never paid much attention before, but seeing the way your eyes fall heavy and limp, much like the rest of you, this is something he might be able to get used to. His cocks twitch at the view, leaking precum and dripping in your combined wetness. It all drips down to his balls, aching, heavy, and full. “Get up.”

You try catching your breath, but moving your arms is as easy as lifting a tractor. Lead fills your limbs and renders you immobile as you continue to spasm around the ghost of his lengths that once filled you. Trembling lips move with difficulty as you try to form thoughts with the mush that’s replaced your brain. “I-I…” The dryness of your throat cracks your voice when you try again. “I c-can’t.”

With a roll of his eyes and a click of his tongue, he picks you up and leans back against the wall, situated at the head of your futon. He presses your back flush to his chest, spreading your legs open with his bottom arms while holding your throat with his upper left.

“My Lord?” Your quizzical tone goes unnoticed, or rather, ignored as he positions your body to his liking. Despite your eagerness to please normally making the process easy, the wake of your climax makes you even more pliable.

He grabs your breast with your right, palming it briefly before forming a mouth, sucking and flicking your nipple with his new tongue. The pleasure almost stings with your newfound sensitivity, but he presses his hand firmly every time you try to squirm. The lips latch on, tugging occasionally tugging and nipping at the bud caught between them. The graze of fangs sends a shudder throughout your chest and has you whimpering beneath his touch. It’s all overwhelming again when you feel a tongue prod at your entrance, the tip of of it flicking against your core from the mouth on his stomach.

“I didn’t say we were done.”

~~~~~~~~~~

an: hope you enjoyed! This is just the first part, but all the tags will remain on this one so to give ppl a heads up for the overall vibes. Looking forward to giving y'all the next part when it's ready!

Taglist: @yasminessims @ryomens-vixen @littlemochabunni @honeeslust @blkkizzat @arlerts-angel @halobuns @gojos-thot-patrol-main @connorsui @screampied-main @lem-hhn @sugarbarbie-main

Pls lmk if you wanna be tagged/if I forgot to tag you!

#jordussy speaks #jordussy #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna #true form sukuna #true form sukuna x reader #true form sukuna smut #monster fucker #jjk smut

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