#[inbox] i'm yours to command

[jumjum-crafts]

I here to request one thing... Fluffybird-

Is this of your liking

[contempenitent]

"There you are!"

It had not taken her long to find him—even at several meters' worth of distance, she could recognize his most salient features. Veyle would never forget the face of a friend, and especially not a visage as comforting as his had been.

She ran towards him, thin ankle chains clinking with her every step, and long hair trailing behind her like smoke from a candle. She moved past students, past teachers, past whatever obstacle lay in her path. Then at last, she stopped in front of him, and tilted her head up to look him in the eye. No doubt he would be surprised to see her here. It was only fair, though—she was surprised to find out he had left. A letter was all that indicated his absence. Despite the joyous nature of the occasion, Veyle met him with a frown.

"Mauvier, I read your letter. Why did you leave without saying goodbye?" her tone was not accusing, not angry, though there was a hint of sorrow that colored it dark, "You know it doesn't matter to me if you're strong or not. I've never cared about things like that!"

But she knew his actions went beyond strength-seeking. Guilt, of course, was a burden they both shared. Whatever sins had sullied Mauvier's soul were branded on hers too, perhaps tenfold. But she always thought they would tackle it together, two black sheep taken from the same herd. Veyle reached out to take his hand.

"Please, don't leave me again. Or at least let me know if you will! You're my friend, Mauvier. I'll always be happier having you around."

It's not anything Mavier could have expected, not in a hundred lifetimes, but his Lady's voice rings through the bustling passage of students and their ilk as clear as a bell.

His head turns to her automatically, the way moths are drawn to bright lights in darkness. And there she stands, a head shorter than most of her peers, violet eyes brimming with emotions too big to carry.

Mauvier had steeled himself to expect Lady Veyle's disdain, even her dismissal. But upon her lovely face, there is relief, and also sadness. He put both of those there. He is responsible.

His breath catches as he bows, keeping his head down. But should he look at her? Is he even worthy? "Lady Veyle," he stammers, the words heavy on his tongue. "Forgive me."

There is so much to specify forgiveness for.

"My decision," Mauvier rasps around the obstruction in his throat, "I'm afraid, was a selfish one. You...are too kind to have ever called me weak. And that was the very reason I felt I had to leave."

But her words struggle and flutter in his heart like a long-caged bird. Please, don't leave me again.

This is all his lady has ever asked for, he knows. For someone to stay by her side.

The crowd around them be damned; they're already parting around the two like a river split by a rock. Mauvier falls to his knees. His forehead touches the cobblestone.

"I swear upon the last of my honor, Lady Veyle. I shall watch over you. I shall not leave you, unless you ask it of me."

[commandertartarsmoocher]

*trundles into your askbox* guess who dug through this entire blog! Hellar it makes me so insanely happy to see more people enjoying this cringe phone I've been on this grind for five years now all alone. Some of my older drawings are in here too I used to be stobotnik :} cheggout my BAG

Holy moly guacamole, that is an amazing Commander Tartar ita bag you got there!

I am so in love with the blender-thingamajig... ohhh look at Agent 8 in there with the lil memcakes... And Tartar on top of the blender... It's so creative!

Yep, this is the best thing I've seen in a long time.

Super duper mega awesome stuff, thank you for showing this to me 🫶

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part One) (18+) | SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 5.7K / navigation / inbox

A/N: if you've been on my blog anytime since last year and you've heard me mention 'my big hangman fic', this is it! I've been working on Spring Fling for almost a year now, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm glad so many new people are making their way into our top gun fandom because of twisters and Glen's role in it. Welcome, and enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Phoenix had been the one to give you the final push, and right now you’re glad she did. You’d hemmed and hawed over the booking details for weeks, but when the cruise was only three weeks away, she’d insisted you finalize the paperwork and clinch one of the last available rooms.

“Come on,” She’d given you a knowing look, thin brows raised and lips curled into a smirk, “You need this.”

You do need this. Walking onto the cruise ship feels liberating, like you’re free from the shackles of the U.S Military and living a normal life. You’d been pleasantly surprised to have been granted leave by your commanding officer for the entire week, because Spring Break was a term typically foreign to the Navy. But your squadron's leave fell so perfectly in between late March and early April, so you’ll take the time off and enjoy it.

You’re really going to enjoy it. The cruise you needed oh-so-badly isn’t just an average, run-of-the-mill ship, it’s a program specifically targeted towards those wanting easy hookups. 

A sex cruise.

You’d almost been scared away by the no refunds, no rearrangements notice on the cruise’s website, letting you know that you wouldn’t be offered the courtesy of a swap if your random roommate didn’t work out. After all, the point is to get over your reservations, and have a good time. But, you think, it’s only a week, and none of the people you’re seeing around the ship so far look like anyone you’d refuse to have sex with. Do you feel ashamed for signing up for a sex cruise? Slightly. But you can feel slightly ashamed after getting your back blown out by whoever you’re lucky enough to room with. Right now you just need sex, something hot and heavy and rushed, the fervent slapping of skin-on-skin to release the stress pent up inside of you for months now.

Work is tough. You’re no longer the starry-eyed aviator that you’d been at the beginning of your career. You’re older now, you’re starting to exit the honeymoon phase of your job, and to top it off, you haven’t been able to score in months. 

You used to have no problem picking up a date here and there around the Hard Deck, but all of a sudden, it’s like Penny had shut off the tap of men pouring out into your lap. You can’t fathom why the entirety of San Diego suddenly decided hookup culture wasn’t for them, but you haven't been able to get laid in months, so you need this cruise. You’re partially terrified that word might get around to your squadron about your vacation, and that the slight shame you're feeling might multiply into something you'll never be able to face. Heaven forbid they change your callsign to Cruiser, or Hookup, or some other derogatory indicator that you're about to have the week of your life.

Hangman already teases you for not being able to take anyone home anymore, you can’t imagine what he’d do if he found out you got on a sex boat. You’ve always been able to bicker and banter with Hangman, dishing out as much as you take, but if he gets wind of what you’re doing this week, you might lose your never-ending stream of competitive banter once and for all.

You shove Hangman out of your thoughts; this is to get away from all of that. He’s a pest, the way he lays out teasing remarks with that saccharine grin on his face, like he’s the cheshire cat and he’s told you a particularly hard-to-decipher riddle. He’s a cheap rival at best, always poking and prodding about being number one, and how you’ll have to hike up your big girl panties if you want to be on his level, despite your record being neck-and-neck with his own. He’s never given you something you can’t return in full-force, but it takes effort to fire back the way that you do, and you’re eager to let your guard down this week and relieve your pent-up frustration.

You pass through the archway they’ve opened to the dock, big double doors angled inside over short, stubbly carpeting. It looks like what you’d find in an 80’s bowling alley, all clashing colors and wacky patterns. The railings to the stairs just in front of you are gold, and they spiral downwards elegantly over the 3 floors below you. They extend upwards 11 more, which is a scary thing to think about; being 15 decks high in the middle of the ocean. The carrier ships you’re used to aren’t small by any means, but their decks are mainly tucked away beneath the surface and shut in so that, if you ignore the rolling waves that toss you side to side, you can pretend you’re on land. Several mostly open upper decks are new to you, but if you’re lucky, you’ll stay centralized to your cabin, tucked away neatly on deck eight, getting your world rocked.

You’ve packed light, a single suitcase rolling behind you as your purse tucks over the handle. It’s an easy way to travel, and you thank basic training for the way that your muscles easily support your luggage as you drag it up a flight of the spiral stairs.

There’s noise everywhere, lights everywhere, people everywhere; it’s complete chaos. But it’s thrumming with excitement, with the promise of sex, and lust, and getting laid, and you fight to stop a grin from growing on your cheeks as you approach the registration desk.

There’s a man in front of you that’s arguing with the receptionist, something about incorrectly filed paperwork, which you don’t exactly blame the guy for. There had been about 35 forms to fill out, STD Test Results here and Consent Questionnaires there. You understand why they’re necessary on a sex cruise, and you’re glad they’re keeping their passengers safe, but they were a pain to fill out. 

The receptionist sees you file in line behind the man, looking all too grateful for the distraction.

“If you could just step to the side here,” He gestures, waving the man to the left of his place at the counter, “I’ll call someone down to help you with that, sir.”

The man looks displeased to be put on hold, but you take the opportunity when it comes to you, handing over your printed email confirmation that’s got your room number inked in bold black lettering.

“Ah, 838,” The man smiles, “Your roommate’s already gotten his key. Maybe you’ll meet him down there. But if not, you’re welcome to explore the ship. Here’s a map, we have plenty to do if you’re not quite ready to get started.”

The man hands you both a stiff key card, printed with your name and general information, and a map of the ship. It really is huge, and you marvel at how much there is to do besides sex. Maybe if your roommate doesn’t work out, you can hang out in the piano lounge.

The instrument makes you think of Rooster and his attention-grabbing routine at the Hard Deck, whenever he’s in the mood to go home with someone that night. Ladies love a piano player, and if this cruise doesn’t work out, maybe you’ll pick up the instrument yourself. If it were any other voyage, you’d probably be wishing your fellow aviator was on board to serenade the ship, but you’ll count your blessings that he’s not here to see your desperation.

You decide on the elevator rather than the stairs for the sake of your luggage, not wanting the suitcase to get battered hitting each step on the way up. There’s a crowd formed at the doors to the lifts already, humming with conversation and dripping with sex appeal. Two of the three men there are already shirtless and in swim trunks, and you hope you look half as stunning in the bathing suits you’d chosen to bring with you. One of them catches your eye as you sidle into the elevator and the quick wink he sends you lightens your mood. Even if your roommate doesn’t work out, maybe you can branch out and get Elevator Guy's number.

The ride up is cut off by someone on the sixth floor who manages to squeeze into your elevator. Then someone steps out on the seventh, and finally, you make your departure on the eighth. You mourn the loss of Elevator Guy, but you’re excited to meet your roommate, whoever he is. 

There’s not a long walk from the elevator to your room, but it’s a bit of a maze figuring out which hallway to take. You’re the third door down the corridor furthest left, and you slide your key card into the door with excitement brewing in your stomach.

Will he be handsome? Will he be drop-dead gorgeous? Will he have a six pack? Will he have a dad-bod? Will he have a beard? Will he be a brunette? Will he… be invisible?

He’s most likely not invisible, which means he’s just not in the room. The door swings open to a lovely space, portholes showcasing the dock and a single, queen-sized bed against that wall. There’s a suitcase stacked against one side of the bed, but no passenger to accompany it, and the bathroom light is off, too.

There’s a hat resting on one of the pillows, a blue-and-white patterned thing you recognize as rooting for the Dallas Cowboys. It’s the team Jake won’t shut the fuck up about when the game is on, so you’re well accustomed to seeing the color combo. Jake always accentuates his southern drawl when he talks about the Cowboys, just to remind everyone that he’s a certified Texan, as if anyone might have forgotten in the time it’s been since the last game. You hope that whoever your roommate is isn’t just a fan, but a southerner as well, because Jake’s twang would be ridiculously attractive if it wasn’t coming out of his arrogant mouth. But the hat has no owner in sight, so you can’t analyze their accent, and for that you heave a sigh.

He’s not here.

You’re a little let down - does he not want to meet you? - but you suppose that gives you time to go find the buffet, as well as explore the ship. You’d elected to skip lunch on the way to the port and eat on the ship instead, hoping for a debrief with your roommate before you hit it off tonight. But eating alone isn’t the worst thing in the world, and you can muscle through one meal. You take a moment to admire the room, a bright, clean space that you’re going to love messing up. The sheets are crisp and white, but there’s an imprint of your roommate on one side, like he’d stretched out for a while before heading back out. The dip in the bed looks large, and blossoms of excitement bloom in your stomach: he’s beefy.

You deposit your suitcase in the closet, filling out the hangers with your outfits and setting your lingerie on the shelf. You want easy access; you’re probably not going to look very sexy rooting around in your suitcase on all fours for a bra.

You refrain from changing, already in a weather-appropriate sundress that’s a pretty mix of pink and baby blue. You do a quick check in the mirror: no flyaway hairs, dress laying right on your hips, gloss properly lining your lips. You make sure you don’t need to reapply deodorant, perfume, or any other nice-smelling substance, and then you’re off in search of the buffet, eager to see the soft serve machine they’d advertised on their website.

The ship really is crowded, and you appreciate the unique atmosphere that comes from everyone knowing they’re only there for sex. You’re there to fuck and be fucked, and it means you can ogle the man that emerges soaking wet from the pool, slicking his dripping hair out of his face as he prepares to dive again. A woman eating with who you assume is her roommate gives the hem of your sundress a once-over, catching on your thighs beneath the fabric, and glancing back up to your face to level you with a momentary smirk. Confidence flows through your veins as you make your way out towards the wood-lined deck of the ship, looking out over the bright ocean illuminated by sunlight. 

A gust of wind blows the hem of your sundress to the left, but not enough to raise it, so you don’t bother catching it. The sea is beautiful, and you’re thrilled to have a relaxing time on one; you don’t normally get those on giant carrier ships.

There’s no runway here, no reserve of jet fuel, there’s just sun, fun, and lust.

“You wouldn’t happen to be in, uh, room 624, would you?” A voice pipes up from your right, and you turn to see a slightly younger man, clearly sun-drying from a dip in the pool. His hair hangs past his ears but he runs a hand through it backwards, and it means you get a better view of his face, adorned with an impressive scruffy beard, the same brown shade as his hair. However, there’s a ring of slightly lighter hair around his mouth that you hope is from what you think it’s from. His face is more squarish than long, skin a tone darker than the impressive tan Rooster sports after a day at the beach.

“Ah, no.” You laugh lightly, and the overexaggerated slump of his shoulders hints that he was expecting your answer. You take pride in the fact that he’d wanted to ask anyways, and you flash your key card at him, “838.”

“You mind if I remember that?” He leans against the railing of the deck, and once more you appreciate the open, bold atmosphere of the crowd you’re in, “If my roommate doesn’t mind not being exclusive.”

“I don’t mind at all,” You smile, feeling a slight flush come to your cheeks. This is going to do you a world of good. If your roommate has even half of this guy’s good qualities, his charming smile, his toned arms, his slight southern drawl, you’ll be more than happy to share your week with him.

“Daniel,” He sticks a hand out, fingers thick and rough-looking. You wonder what he does for work; something laborious by the look of his hands. 

“Y/N,” You smile back, turning to shake his hand. He takes you by surprise by raising your knuckles to his lips, and you remind yourself once again that this cruise is geared towards romance. Or, at least lust, but you’re flattered he’s throwing in the extra component. 

You try tamping down your obvious grin as you turn back to the ocean, “You haven’t met your roommate?”

“Nope,” He grabs a shirt from a nearby lounge chair, patterned with a faded band logo that you can’t place, what must be a waterproof watch gleaming in the sunlight that hits his wrist. “I was hoping to get lunch with’er. Hey, have you eaten yet?”

“Actually, I haven’t.” You straighten from where you’re leaning against the railings, “I was waiting for my roommate too.”

“Well,” Daniel holds out an arm, toned and muscular, and you hook yours through it, “Fuck ‘em.”

You laugh at his bold choice of words, still having to remind yourself that you’re in a strictly adult environment. You don’t need to worry about your sailor’s mouth, there’s no kids to overhear, nor parents to get upset.

Daniel’s arm is strong where he leads you to the dining area, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t fixating on the feeling of your bicep locked to his side by his own. The buffet is a little classier than you’d expected; instead of all-you-can-eat french fry stations there’s trays of pastas, stews, and meat for the taking, thin silver utensils laid out neatly over each container.

You keep it light with only foods you know won’t upset your stomach with the rocking of the boat. That’s the last thing you need, and you manage to find an open table while Daniel waits in line for pizza. You’ve barely had a chance to spread your napkin over your lap, your sundress putting forth a valiant effort to cover your upper thighs, when Daniel sits across from you and smiles through his beard.

“So, where are you from?” He questions, biting off the end of his pizza slice so that you have a chance to reply. 

“I live here,” You attempt to pick up one half of your sandwich, lettuce and tomato making it slick and difficult, “I’m actually, uh- stationed here. With the navy.”

His eyes bulge for a second, and he swallows while nodding, “Wow. Okay, that’s cool. I’m guessing that’s why your arms are practically bigger than mine?”

You try not to spit out your sandwich laughing along with him, grateful for the flimsy paper napkin you’d snagged to hide a smear of tomato juice along your lip. 

“You should see one of the other guys from my squadron,” You think of Jake- Jake who’d famously torn through a t-shirt (albeit, a flimsy one) by just flexing the muscles in his biceps, “I swear his arms are bigger than my neck.”

I’m sure you guys need ‘em,” Daniel muses, sipping at his drink. He’s listening to you with rapt interest, something men don’t usually do when they find out that your job is something traditionally masculine. He’s not boasting about his own job, he’s not rattling off gym stats: “So you’re a sailor?”

“Aviator,” You correct him, used to the misconception, “I fly.”

“I don’t think I knew the Navy had planes,” Daniel admits, crunching a potato chip between his slightly crooked teeth, “I thought that was just the Air Force.”

“Everyone thinks it’s just the Air Force,” You grin, stacking two pickles on the end of your fork that had somehow escaped your sandwich.

“Sorry,” Daniel looks bashful now, his smile sheepish, “I bet you’re tired of correcting people.”

“No! Don’t worry about it,” You’re absolutely tired of correcting people, but you’re not about to tell that to a man who’s mustache has lighter ends than the scruff of his beard against his jaw, “What about you, what do you do?”

“I just work at a post office, I sort mail.” He divulges, and you’re instantly more fond of him; a civil service worker who wears tight little shorts? You’re not quite sure if Daniel has a downside.

“Are you local?”

“I’m in Oceanside. Not too far,” He muses, “I only drove an hour here.”

So, he’s good in bed, he’s good in uniform, and you could easily make weekend visits. You’re starting to lament the fact that you’ll be sleeping with someone else for the week.

“Are you sure you’re not in room 838?” You tease, “Maybe they misprinted your card, or something.”

“Believe me, if I could get it reprinted, I would,” He confesses, setting his fork down to brace his elbows on the table. He leans forwards, his chin propped against his clasped hands, “I know they’re all strict about not changing roommates, but listen, if yours doesn’t work out, I’ll propose an arrangement to mine. And- uh, even if yours does work out,” He stifles a smirk, stuffing a chip into his mouth instead, “-ask him if he wouldn’t mind swapping for a bit.”

You both admire and appreciate his desperation. You’re used to aloof sailors, or men in bars who wish you had less muscle and more tit. Something about the way he’s leading the conversation, not forcing himself on you but begging for a chance, makes your stomach flutter.

“We’ll work something out,” You promise, nudging your foot against his beneath the table, “Coming straight out and asking is working on me, if I’m being honest.”

Daniel laughs, so you elaborate: “So many of the guys I meet try pretending like they don’t care. Or- or maybe they don’t, I guess, but it’s still frustrating. It’s nice that you care.”

“Of course I care,” Daniel blinks incredulously at you, cheeks stuffed as he struggles to swallow before speaking, “You could choke me out with your thighs, babe. I’m not stupid enough to lose that opportunity.”

Your cheeks burn. Evidently you’re still acclimating to the brazen atmosphere of the ship, and you struggle to hide your sheepish smirk as he kicks his foot against yours beneath the table, the same as you’d done to him.

Daniel’s only gaining more popularity in your mind when he takes your plate to the trash, scraping away the remnants of the lettuce and condiments from your sandwich and stacking his own on top of it where they’re about to be washed. He sends you a dazzling smile as he gestures for the doorway, and you’re honestly surprised that he doesn’t say ‘after you’ when he lets you go first.

“Eighth floor?” Daniel verifies when you step through the doors of the elevator, and it’s much less packed than when you’d been there before. You nod, and he presses only 8, not 6 for his own room. You’re almost nervous that he might try to come into your room with you, because you’re not sure whether your roommate is there, and you don’t know how kindly he’ll take to you bringing another man in without meeting him first. But you swallow your nerves as the doors slide shut, leaving you in the elevator with him alone.

You can feel him staring at you, and you meet his gaze with a smile. He smiles back, and you lock eyes for a tense moment, then all of a sudden you’re both lunging forwards, frenzied as something in the air tells you to jump each other. Your hands sling around his neck as his lips press to your own, the scruff of his beard grating against your skin. It stings slightly, but it’s delicious as his lips fit between your own, and your back presses to the cold metal wall of the elevator. You suppose you should be a little ashamed, letting your tongue ghost over his bottom lip, making out with a man you've just met in an elevator, but it appears everyone is either boarding or eating, and no one bothers you on your journey up.

To add yet another thing to Daneil’s list of perfect traits: he’s an excellent kisser. He lets you lead, and when he feels your tongue prod at his lips he groans, gladly licking over your top lip. You open your mouth, seized by the moment, and he ventures inside without hesitation, his tongue hot and wet as it laps over your own.

You’d moan if you could, spout some breathy expletive or test out his name on your drool-coated tongue. But you can’t, he’s a presence, an enigma, and you let him occupy your mouth so much that words won’t.

You’d been on the fourth deck when the doors had shut, and it’s not a long trip to the eighth. When the elevator jolts to a stop you reluctantly push Daniel away, not wanting to expose yourself to the hall of deck eight.

“Uh,” You breathe, wiping at a smear of drool on the side of your mouth, “Fuck, that was-”

“Yeah.” He agrees, similarly breathless as he runs a hand through his hair that you’d tousled slightly, “I’d love to do that again sometime.”

“Me too.” You laugh bashfully, “Uh, maybe not in an elevator, though.”

“Like- like in a bed.” He concludes as the doors slide open, revealing a safely empty hallway. “Or- or just a room, or something, like a- a couch, if you don’t want- not a bed.”

“A bed,” You assure him, endeared by his caution, “I’d love to do it again sometime in a bed, Daniel.”

“Alright,” He grins, reaching out to catch the doors before they can close on you as you depart, “838’s right there. I’d walk you, but,” He points at a door only two down from the one directly in front of you, and you wave him off with a grateful grin.

“No worries.” You laugh, “Thanks, Daniel. Uh- I hope I see you again.”

“Me too,” He smiles, and it might be the most charming sight you’ve ever seen, “Goodbye, Y/N.”

The doors slide shut on him, and you feel like the next appropriate step for you is to go into your room, close the door, and slide down the backside of it. You can’t fathom reacting any differently to the mind-blowing, butterfly-inducing kiss you’d just engaged in, especially with the excitement of doing it in an elevator. The desperation you’d felt and received back was exhilarating, and you’d be happy to get off the boat now and savor the feeling. 

Coincidentally, the ship’s horn sounds, and an announcement comes over the loudspeakers, “Passengers, brace yourselves for some slight rocking,” You hold onto the wall, just in case, “Because we are on our way! We’ve just set sail, and for a day and a half, you’ll be at sea. Then we’ll dock on beautiful white sand beaches by Wednesday morning. I hope you enjoy yourselves, and I wish I was one of you, because I do not get a roommate. Unless- Rick, you feel like- no, no, okay! Okay,” The captain laughs, “My co-captain isn’t interested. Well, folks, enjoy yourselves, and please don’t make messes in the pools.”

You’re feeling generous, a bounce in your step from being kissed stupid in the elevator, so you let out a light chuckle at the captain’s humor. Any other time, you might have found it corny, but you’ve just been made out with, and everything seems better than it would have before. You hear muffled cheers from the rest of the ship, and dig into the pocket of your sundress for your key card. You retrieve the smooth plastic, slot it into the door labeled 838, and take a deep breath.

If he’s anything like Daniel, you’ll have a great time. And if he isn’t, you’ll see Daniel again.

With that, you push down the silver handle, hearing the door click with the motion, and you step inside.

The first thing you see is a pair of socked feet sticking off the end of the bed. The bed is perpendicular to the doorway, and the upper half of it is hidden by the bathroom. You clock the pair of toned, tan, mouth-watering legs that rest on the mattress, a sight you already want to sink your teeth into. You’re shocked that you’re bold enough to think that you wish he didn’t have briefs on, especially considering the sizable bulge in their fabric. You take a step closer, and a similarly toned torso comes into view, impossibly muscled and something that belongs in an art museum. There’s a pair of thick, bulky biceps raised above the man’s head, and when he turns his head to look at you-

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

You freeze in your spot. One foot planted in front of the other, your weight distributed between them equally. Your eyes go wide, your stomach twists awkwardly, and you damn near drop your keycard.

“Hangman.”

Your fellow aviator's face is equally as shocked, but it curves into a familiar cocky grin all too soon, “What do we have here? Y/L/N?”

“No fucking way. Jake?”

“Y/N,” He matches your pattern with a hearty chuckle, “Oh, this is too good.”

“You’re in the wrong room.” You decide, “This is 838.”

“That’s what it said on my key card, darlin’.” Jake snatches the card from the sleeve stuck to the back of his phone, flashing it at you where you can see the clear print of the numbers, “Guess we’re fated or somethin’.”

“Shut up.” You snap, knees easily bending as you fall back against the loveseat opposite the bathroom, “Shut the fuck up, Hangman. There’s no way I’m staying here.”

“No room changes,” He grins, and you want to smother the expression off of his face with a pillow, “And no getting off, either. We just set sail.”

You bury your face in your hands. There’s no way you’re surviving this vacation. Not with Hangman- Hangman who acts like a toddler and pulls your hair whenever it’s not in the regulatory bun. Hangman who snatches food out of your hand if you hold it up for too long without eating it because you’re speaking. Hangman who delights in insulting you over the comms in the air, offering you flying lessons ‘’cause that move was pretty rusty, darlin’.’

There is absolutely no way in hell - which feels like your current location - that you’re taking a sex cruise with Jake Seresin, end of story.

“So, sex cruise, eh?” He muses from his spot on the bed, and you shoot him a glare so vicious you’re surprised he doesn’t drop dead.

“Yeah? You’re on it too, Hangman.”

“Easy,” He holds up a placating hand, “Wasn’t an insult. Just didn’t think you were the type.”

“To fuck?”

“To be desperate.” He shrugs, “Y’know, Y/L/N, if you wanted to have sex with me this bad, you could have just asked.”

“Stop it right now.” You insist, “This was not my doing, and so help me god I’m considering ripping that stupid porthole out of the wall and jumping ship. Clearly I’ve done something to upset the universe, so do not fucking expect me to enjoy this, Hangman.”

“You’re very pissy,” He notes, only making his observation more clear as your scowl deepens, “Relax, Y/L/N. I’ll give you a good time.”

“All you’re capable of giving me is a migraine.” You spit, a headache already brewing behind your eyes, “God, and why are you naked? Have some fucking class.”

“Class?” He repeats incredulously, a chuckle shaking his stupid, exposed chest, “This is a sex cruise! I’m near naked ‘cause I thought we’d fuck!’

“I’m not having sex with you.” You vow, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I’ll cycle through this entire ship twice before I even think about letting you at me, Hangman. Do you understand?”

“I understand’ He salutes, and the tease pisses you off, “Y’know, Y/L/N, I think you should let loose. Live a little, don’t be so uptight the whole time.”

“I’m uptight because you’re sprawled out over my bed without clothes on.” You groan, and then your brain comes late to another earth-shattering conclusion, “Oh, fuck, that’s the only bed!”

Hangman laughs, the sound thick and full of that cockiness you despise, “Damn right it is, darlin’. You gonna snuggle up next to me tonight?”

“No!” You gush, readjusting yourself on the loveseat so that you’re curled up on its cushions, “There, see? This is my bed. I’m sleeping here.”

“Oh, relax,” He scoffs, patting the space beside him. He’s turned towards you now, propped up on his elbow and boring into you with his stare “There’s plenty of room here. I’m just messing around.”

“I’m not.” You insist, “I’m not sleeping with you, Jake. Either way.”

“Well, you called me Jake,” He notes, shrugging his broad shoulders and settling back onto his pillows, “I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’re getting nothing.” You hiss, turning onto your back on the loveseat, “Fuck, what did I do to deserve this?”

“A week on a sex boat with me? Must’a bought a homeless man some groceries, saved a starvin’ puppy, caught a runaway baby stroller, that kinda thing.”

“It must have been the time when I scratched that Tesla and didn’t leave a note,” You groan, “Karma’s a bitch.”

Jake’s never been one to take insults or teasing gracefully. He retaliates with his own, his eyes still burning holes against the side of your face, “So, Y/N. Seen the shops yet?”

“No.” You grumble, “Didn’t know they had any.”

“Oh, yeah. Real nice stuff,” Jake drawls, “Y’know, lingerie, vibrators, sex chocolates, all that stuff.”

Your cheeks blaze and you honestly think you’d rather be back on base than here, “Shut up, Hangman.”

“I’m not lying!” And to his credit, you believe him. But lying isn’t the issue, it’s teasing, and you’re not sure you can handle seven days of it non-stop.

“I wonder if Daniel’s seen the shops,” You grumble, maybe just a little smug that you’d already hit it off with someone, assuming Jake hadn’t had the time to make out with anyone in an elevator yet.

Your brag works, and the muscles in his jaw tighten ever-so-slightly, such a small movement that you wouldn’t have seen it if you hadn’t been studying him.

When he speaks, there’s a familiar tension in his eyes, one you're used to seeing when someone ignites his overinflated sense of competition, “Daniel? That the guy you tongued in the elevator?”

You let out an incredulous cry, as if he’s wrong, “What? What- how did you know that! We didn’t tongue,” You scoff, reminiscing on the heavenly feeling of Daniel’s tongue smoothing over your own.

“Mhm. Sure. That’s why your lips are all swollen and shiny. ‘Cause you two stood six feet apart.”

You feel judged opposite Jake’s narrowed eyes, and you retort, “Okay, fine. We kissed. Is that a bad thing? This is a sex cruise, I’m supposed to get lucky.”

“All I’m sayin’ is you were snappin’ at me to have some class, but I’m not the one who frenched someone in a public facility. Did you even wait for it to be cleared out, or did you just go at it in the crowd?”

“It was empty.” You huff, practically slamming your head back down onto the couch cushions, “Shut up, Hangman.”

“I bet he pushed all the buttons to make it take longer,” Jake snickers, “Or- or did he back you up against ‘em? Smash your back into the panel and light the whole thing up like a Christmas tree?”

“Shut up!” You gush, taking one of the cushions from the couch and jamming it over your head, blocking his irritating voice from your ears.

You’re fucked.

Actually, you’re not fucked, and that’s the problem. You’d rather be just about anywhere else right now, but if you had your pick, you’d be in a different room, with a different roommate. One who wants to spread your legs and feast on what’s between them, one that wants to jam your throat with his cock until you’re begging for air. But you’re here instead, bunched up on a stiff loveseat, an itchy pillow over your face, and enemy number one lounging on the bed you have to share with him tonight.

You’d rather be fucked.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[thetrasha]

Hello again 👋 since you did such a stellar job last time, i'm here to request another Ace, Doffy, Law and Zoro story, this time about their first kiss x reader! Tysm and i hope you feel better soon ❤️

Thank you so much, anon. I feel much better, just suffering from a stuffy nose and a bit of a cough now 🫂(❁´◡`❁) It's actually so sweet to have recurring faces in my inbox~ And thank you so much for this request! I was super enthusiastic about writing this and poured everything I had into this 🫡Hope you enjoy it just as much!

PS. I'm so sorry for abusing your request like this, but I wanted to address another anon in my ask box 👀You requested a certain Corazon and hehe, yes I've just reached that part of Dressrosa! I just don't feel confident enough to portray him just yet so your request will be pushed a bit into the future, hope that's okay with you ♥ So excited to write about this man though ╰(*°▽°*)╯

PPS. I cooked. Again!!

First Kiss

feat. ACE, DOFLAMINGO, LAW, ZORO

ACE

Your first kiss was… sweet.

For quite some time, Ace and you have been inseparable. You’ve become fast friends after hitting it off, deciding to even go on missions together. Most of the others have caught onto you by now, silently offering their blessings, but you two were completely oblivious to the budding romance between you. It was perfectly normal to go up to Vista and give him a hug – why would it be different when Ace twirled you around after you returned from your little scout session on an unexplored island? Nobody blinked twice after you spent an evening playing cards with Marco in his room, but low whistles and wiggling eyebrows would follow you when Ace wanted to show you some random trinket he caught with his fishing rod. Additionally, everybody aw-ed and cooed when Whitebeard patted your hair and smiled down at you, but if Ace ever went as far as touch your shoulder out on the open deck, some other commander was always near to berate him on ‘how to treat a lady properly’.

You haven’t been around as long as most of the others, so… maybe this is just how the crew decided to affectionately tease Ace since he was the youngest commander around?

However, Ace was very much aware of the others’ constant meddling and why they were so keen on making his life miserable.

He’d told Marco to back off once – just once! – because the doctor had been acting too familiar with you when Ace was the one who was madly in love with you. That single sentence spread like wildfire amongst the crew and now he cannot even do best-friend-esque things with you without someone else trying to ruin the moment.

It was totally normal to develop a huge crush on your best friend. You are gorgeous, so loving and you care so much – maybe too much.

It was also perfectly fine and not unusual to stare at them for moments at a time, trying to muster up the courage to ask you out on a da-

“ACE!!! YOU’RE SETTING THE BED ON FIRE. OUT WITH YOU!”

Marco’s scream rang across the entire Moby Dick, alerting everyone with ears that Ace had just embarrassed himself again. Originally, he went in to see Marco because of ...certain problems, but he couldn’t quite tell him that you were constantly in his head and making his heart leap into his throat every single time he thought about your smile or how nice you smelled today and how cute you looked in the outfit you showed him…

Sigh.

Luckily for him, you were just within earshot to hear Marco’s crazy rant… that still ran its course in the background, and you immediately sought Ace out to help him.

You had your own hammock with you and let him follow you wordlessly into his room. This time, nobody was even there to interrupt.

You started talking about what you were up to before you heard Marco’s alarm bells ringing in the med bay. Of course, you were a natural at taking care of Ace… but that was very much part of the problem!!

He couldn’t help but steal glances at you with so much longing in his eyes that it would have made anyone blush. You were his missing piece, better half – whatever they want to call it.

You’ve seen him through it all, but you weren’t tired of him. You didn’t mind his quieter moments and you always offered your shoulder to him – just to lean on and cry if necessary.

Of course, you wouldn’t think much of sleeping next to him. Your actions were platonic in nature and Ace would actually quit the crew if he made you uncomfortable in any way… but he almost got pulled back into reality when you innocently pointed at his own hammock, not knowing that he was lost in thought.

“Or do you wanna cuddle?”, you questioned innocently.

...And Ace choked on his own saliva. He just knew that his cheeks were crimson red and boiling. This was humiliating… he unusually had excellent control over his powers, but you rendered him completely powerless against you and you didn’t even know it!

…That being said, of course he wants to cuddle.

He lied down next to you and wrapped his arms around your torso, feeling just how warm you were and how your steady breathing immediately calmed him down. It was like a magical remedy, but he could feel his eyes flutter –

– and that’s when his eyes locked onto yours. You wore a precious smile and you seemed to glow next to him. That’s how happy you looked… absolutely stunning.

But he did almost faint when you leaned in to briefly peck his lips to tell him that you love him, too.

WAIT.

“TOO?!”

DOFLAMINGO

Your first kiss was… dangerous.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me! You cannot push me around, Doflamingo!”

You spit words of venom at him just after you realised that you were now working… directly under his command, just like he threatened.

Doflamingo, meanwhile, could only grin in amusement. Of course you thought he was bluffing, thinking of you as nothing more than a little plaything. Oh, how utterly wrong you were. He saw right through you – you were probably testing him, just like how he tested your loyalty. You wanted him to take the bait and push you away, just so you’d have a reason to close yourself off again and go solo. He knew those tactics by heart, sweetheart.

No, he wasn’t kidding when he said that you should be working for him. If you wanted to work, that is. You could just enter the family business, love, after all… you might as well be family at this point. Heh.

He’d entertain your need for independence for as long as you want him to, though. This is how he took notice of you after all.

So what if he stole you right out of another underground broker’s filthy pawns? They weren’t fit to stand next to you anyway. You outshone everybody… especially your former employer. Doflamingo’s been watching you for longer than you may have realised, just to find a flaw within you… but when he found none, the obsession swung in the opposite direction: He was no longer pettily snappish towards you for going after his clients to boost your boss’s image, sweetheart no… you were suddenly a woman worthy of his own calibre. No mistakes, no fear and… one glaringly obvious flaw turned asset – you trusted absolutely nobody.

And just like him, your desire for unmitigated loyalty was like a noose around your pretty neck.

You’d no longer have to deal with these rats who waste your talent away for arms deals that amount to nothing, you were meant to shape the new world order alongside yours truly.

You were just waiting for him.

“Say something!”

Doflamingo smirked before he walked up to you, grabbing your jaw with such speed that you barely had the time to react. It was laughable how he didn’t even have to activate his Devil Fruit powers to restrain you. His freakish height didn’t just give him the opportunity to loom over you, it also came with unimaginable strength. He could almost feel your jawbone crack under the pressure, but you would be caught dead before you uttered a single complaint.

“We crave the same thing, you and I. Letting you rot away pointlessly… might as well break my heart.”

A chuckle echoed through the otherwise empty room, but you weren’t amused at all. You rolled your eyes and clenched your jaw. He could feel the muscles beneath his fingers contract and his pupils dilated at the sight and the sensation.

“How dramatic. Almost brought me to tears.”

Your sarcasm earned yourself a laugh. He let go of you, but you could very much feel a string attach itself to your hand. Doflamingo knew better than to turn you into his puppet, but he very much wanted to remind you of what he was capable of. You were above everybody else, but still beneath him. You don’t have to submit, but you should know when to behave.

“You’re the only one to speak to me like that.”, he noted nonchalantly, “And after we’ve been on a bunch of dates, too. Tragic. Woe is me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, sighing in defeat. You knew that he was right.

Yeah, he might have… pulled some strings to get you to agree to meeting him away from glamorous galas and dangerous deals, but he got to know you and your innermost desire. You wanted to trust someone wholeheartedly.

Well, Doflamingo happened to know just the guy.

“Dates where you’ve tried to kill yourself or me.”, you added just as coolly, voice monotone and face neutral. Totally befitting for a Queen.

“And you kept us both safe, my love.”

He licked his lips before breaking out in a dark chuckle that turned maniacal for just a moment. Oh, he was ecstatic that you’ve proven your loyalty towards him. You were everything he’s ever wanted.

“Now it’s my turn to protect you.”, he vowed before he kissed your hand, looking into your eyes while doing so.

Your pupils were blown out.

Bingo.

“Lean down.”, you calmly ordered.

And it’s one of the only commands he’s ever taken from someone else.

You gingerly kissed him, not even letting him taste a drop of your essence before you pulled away, smirking at him with self-satisfaction.

He turned his head with a smile until you blew him another kiss, turning heel and then walking to your new room.

Damn.

He just let go of the string holding onto you.

LAW

Your first kiss was… an accident.

Law had been pretty nervous about this.

He’s always been a profoundly reserved man who kept matters of the heart private, but he couldn’t deny that he was actually quite excited to take your relationship to the next level. He really, really trusted you – and now that he has you, he’s not going to let go. You’re his forever love now. After all, despite seeming like he couldn’t care less, he was a romantic deep down… and terribly inexperienced. It didn’t matter to him whether you were in the same boat or not, he couldn’t actually care less about that part; he was just insecure about making a decision on whether… he was ready at all to open up like that and offer his heart to you.

Law was very much self-aware and intelligent enough to recognise the signs: He wasn’t just in love with you; he truly loved you.

This bond ran deep.

And although he trusted you completely and wholeheartedly, he wasn’t sure if you wouldn’t be put off by that constant contradiction in his behaviour… most others judged it quite harshly, after all.

He didn’t reciprocate much, aside from talking. Yes, he held you in the privacy of his room and nuzzled his head against your neck, but if you wanted something like that, you could just pick up any stray cat from the streets.

He knew! He knew that it wasn’t enough, damn it. But it was just so hard to keep his composure whenever you placed a gentle kiss against his cheek and lovingly patted his spotted hat before placing those warm hands on his shoulders. You always squeezed him with so much affection and care that he just froze in shock.

The man who couldn’t even hold your hand in public loved you so purely that he wanted to kiss you? How ludicrous.

Most of the people who knew about your relationship probably thought that he was doing you a favour and entertaining the idea of a relationship without actual commitment, but… they had no idea. Absolutely no idea.

Even if he had trouble showing it, Law was proud to call himself your boyfriend. The thought alone made him bashful, though. His breath hitched, those tattooed fingers twitched very briefly before he closed his hand into a loose fist, rubbing his sweaty palms with his fingertips and he could hear his own heartbeat echo in his ear canals.

“I brought you tea, Law. You’re working so hard… don’t push yourself too far.”

…Yeah, he didn’t have the heart to tell you that he didn’t get any work done today; his head was just in the clouds since he’s been too caught up in his own thoughts…about you. These maps weren’t studied at all – all he did was study how soft your lips would feel against his-

“Thank you, (Y/N)-ya.”, he tried to play it off smoothly, but he had to clear his throat after saying your name. His longing for you made his voice a lot softer, a lot more… vulnerable. He didn’t want to scare you off with his sudden change in behaviour, which meant that he had to keep his voice monotone at all cost.

Today, you put your hands on his shoulders first, causing Law to tense up immediately. He turned his head to hide his pathetic blush from you – immediately butting heads with you.

And-

Oh my God.

He tore his lips away from yours. That was so sloppy and clumsy, he-

Law is devastated. If you look closely, you could actually watch his soul leave this plane-

He looked at you, noting how your eyes swam around looking anywhere but him and that you couldn’t contain your smile. The corners of your mouth trembled before curling up into a sweet grin that had him melt on the spot.

“I’m sorry, Law, I didn’t mean to-”

Law couldn’t help but cut you off with a kiss that surprised the both of you. It wasn’t a good one; he was too nervous, too tense, his face was stiff and he couldn’t quite close his eyes, looking at you to burn this image into his mind instead.

You didn’t have to apologise. He didn’t want to make you feel like you had to feel sorry for anything – especially not something as meaningful as this.

Besides, the fact that you enjoyed it just as much and went lax in his arms was… everything.

ZORO

Your first kiss was… powerful.

“Again!”

“…”

“Again!”

“…”

“One more!”

“…Zoro.”

“Just once.”

“Zoro,” you sighed, “You need a break. You’ve been at it for hours now.”

Zoro knew that. God, did he know it. Frustrated with himself, he grunted lowly before lowering his swords. His jaw was already hurting from biting down on the blade’s handle for so long, but he couldn’t help himself.

He’s been living inside the crow’s nest for the past two days at this point.

Two days ago, you got hurt. It shouldn’t affect him this bad… Luffy got hurt, too, as did Usopp, but you were… his partner. Your injuries might as well have been cuts into his heart – he saw you fall into Franky’s arms with a nasty gnash right across your thigh. You were bleeding so much and that scream… it will haunt him now.

Someone thought that you were an easier target than Brook or Franky, who were standing firmly by your side as you bought time for Nami to set sail, protecting the Sunny from any assault raining down on you guys. Zoro could barely watch from the sidelines, too engrossed in fighting his own opponent as Luffy and Sanji took on their captain right next to him. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that the Straw Hats could defeat any enemy with enough time and focus as everyone had their unique skill set and purpose, yet as soon as Zoro’s blades clashed against the fellow swordsman’s rapier, he heard your blood-curdling scream. It must have hurt so bad – he knew what deep cuts felt like and just how badly they burnt when saltwater got into the fresh wound, but he’d been training himself to deal with any bit of pain. You were never meant to be the recipient of an injury at the hands of another, because Zoro had sworn to himself that they’d have to go through him first.

But there were you – crying and hyperventilating as Franky tried applying pressure onto your seeping wound while Brook had to unsheathe his sword and cut down those enemies all by himself now…

Well, until Zoro zoomed across the battlefield with unprecedented fury, pushing himself to his very own limits.

Usually, the crew promised to minimise casualties. In a matter of life and death, of capture or kill, Luffy would always choose capture – he knew that some things had to be done, some sins had to be committed, but overall, you were all quite peaceful…

Until that scream.

“We can ask Sanji for a drink, you know… I bet he’d even make you a snack.”, you mused happily.

Zoro’s eyes snapped up and he calmly took a deep breath in, disguising it as an annoyed huff. You were fine. Well, as fine as you could be. Your leg was swollen and the blood has soaked through the bandages on your thigh, leaving a bit of red residue that perfectly mimicked the shape of your wound. Otherwise, you were okay. You had to redress that cut with fresh bandages every night because of the humid climate, but everything was okay.

Logically, your green-haired friend knew that there was nothing to worry about, but he couldn’t help but feel like a failure.

You were important to him! You… weren’t protected when you needed it the most.

You needed him and he wasn’t there.

You were damn good at what you do. That’s why Zoro often chose to hang off of you, following you around. It was so easy to be around you. Most often, you’d even talk to him… you knew very well that your swordsman wasn’t actually fast asleep, he was just preserving energy if it came down to the worst.

Ugh, it did come down to it and he wasn’t there.

Fucking-

“This isn’t about getting stronger, is it, Zoro?” Your hands grasped at his bulging forearms, strained from swinging his swords at the objects you threw all day, and you affectionately caressed his scarred flesh. You were even kind enough to offer him a sad smile.

“I… You… I… You’re important to me.”, he confessed through gritted teeth, averting his gaze. He tried to fight being obvious about it, but you could feel goosebumps rise beneath your warm hands even though he’d just finished a workout and was drenched in sweat.

“Zoro… You’re important to me, too. That’s why you shouldn’t beat yourself up over this. You were there, in the end, as you always are. I know I can rely on you.”

He shook his head in disapproval but leaned in to press his lips against yours. It was a measured kiss, just long enough to get you to briefly feel his plush lips and get especially close to him while your hands still held onto his arms.

And when you smiled, Zoro knew that… yes, you could rely on him. Forever.

[cherry-coffees]

Caitlyn x jealous!reader ♡

cw: 1.7K words | jealousy, best friends to lovers, social media references, a few suggestive comments but nothing crazy

You shouldn't be jealous. You know you shouldn't be jealous. Caitlyn is your best friend — has been for years — but, despite your massive crush on her, nothing had ever happened between the two of you. As despairing as it is, you have no claim over her.

And yet...

Feelings of envy can't help but develop in your chest, coiling around your heart to squeeze it painfully.

Caitlyn spends most of her days tucked away in her office, dealing with all sorts of important things that keep Piltover up and running. And her downtime? It's all spent with you, getting brunch at cute cafes or going out to bars some nights. During the few times she goes out to shop or get her mind off things, you're the one who has to drag her outside of the Kiramman manor, claiming that fresh air is healthy and whatnot.

You shouldn't care about the girls that swarm like bees to a honeypot whenever she goes out. You shouldn't care about the way they giggle, batting their lashes at her as they ask for help reaching something on a tall shelf. They fawn over her height, her position as Commander of Piltover, and wow, I bet she'd be so good in bed.

Not that you can blame them, really. Caitlyn's eyes are a weapon: one flash of blue would have any girl on her knees. It's just—

You're the one who Caitlyn calls in the middle of the night, who gets the privilege of being her best friend and, consequently, smothered in affection. Her fangirls don't have her love, not like you do.

You're curled up at your desk one afternoon, a blanket strewn across your lap and your face illuminated by the glow of your laptop. Oh, how much better it would be if you were in Caitlyn's lap right now. But she's out, gone to some event that had requested her presence. Normally, you'd have gone with her, but the idea of getting out of bed this morning had seemed so unappealing at the time. Caitlyn, wanting you to be rested, had excused it with a wave of her hand and an "I'll see you tomorrow for dinner."

You exhale, chin resting on your palm as you scroll through the various emails in your inbox. As much as you didn't want to leave the house, you miss her. Your sweet, lovely best friend who you've been hopelessly pining after for ages now. You can't help but wonder what she's doing right now.

Thus, the fastest way to find out is through social media.

Caitlyn's social media is dry, containing only a few posts of very practical things. One of her training routine, a few of events she'd been to recently, and another of a meal she was particularly proud of cooking a few weeks ago. To no surprise, there's no updates to be found. You roll your eyes, navigating to her tagged photos. Surely someone had to have posted about her being at the event today.

Your heart sinks at the first one.

It's a recent post: uploaded only a few minutes ago. The location tagged is the same event Caitlyn's at, and sure enough, Caitlyn is front and center, smiling politely at the camera. The girl next to her is beaming, almost glued to Caitlyn's side. When you swipe to the second photo, it shows the same girl hugging her. Caitlyn looks respectful, like she's just greeting someone, but the girl's hand placement draws your eyes. Her arms are wrapped around Caitlyn, her hands finding her waist and completely pressing up against her.

And the caption?

Finally met my wife!!

Oh, fuck no.

You grit your teeth, blinded by seething hot rage. Who is this girl? Or, more accurately, who does she think she is? She has no right to be hanging off Caitlyn's arm like she's flaunting her.

You can't help but click on the girl's account, scrolling through her story posts. She's recently posted a few more photos of Caitlyn, one flooded with comments like:

omg i can't believe i'm meeting Caitlyn Kiramman

she's so hot nghh need her in my bed

she could bend me over and i'd take it

You have no claim over Caitlyn. You know this. She's perfectly capable of flirting with whoever she wants, being with whoever she wants. But that small, ugly feeling in your chest tugs on your heartstrings, whispering possessive thoughts that cloud your mind.

That's your Caitlyn. Yours.

Suddenly, you're feeling a lot less tired than you were this morning. Jaw clenched and irritation coursing through your body, you barely pause to yank on a dress and grab your keys on the way out.

Maybe you should go to that event after all.

|------» ~~~ «------| 

Caitlyn's the picture of elegance at the event: dressed to match in navy blue and tipping her bubbling champagne glass to a few Noxian aristocrats in greeting. She doesn't like formalities, never has. She'd much rather be at the sharpshooting range, her trusted rifle in hand, running through the trees like a bird glides through air. These events were her mother's thing — not hers.

She waves politely at an Ionian ambassador from across the room, a forced smile drawn across her pretty features, when she feels a tap on her shoulder. Eyebrows contorting in surprise, Caitlyn turns, expecting to find another noble or fangirl of hers. The former, she hopes.

Much to her confused amusement, it's you.

You stand with your arms crossed, fierce gaze meeting her shocked stare. You're wearing the nearest formal attire you could find in your closet: a fitted, crimson red dress that falls to the tops of your knees. Your hair is slightly tousled from your (admittedly fast) walk over to the event location. You don't acknowledge it. Instead, you blink up at her, your expression completely blank. "Hi."

"Oh," Caitlyn's breath catches in her throat. Despite your slightly rushed appearance, you're a vision in her eyes. Always have been — not that you'd ever know it. "You—? You came."

"Of course I came," you shrug, dragging the toe of your shoe along the polished, wooden floors of the room. "I can't leave my best friend alone in a place like this."

"But—" Caitlyn pauses, crinkling her nose like she does when she's trying to figure something out. Cute. "But how did you know where the event was?"

Shit. That plan went out the window.

"Um," you hesitate, mind working to come up with some excuse as to how you knew her location. Caitlyn hadn't told you before, and at this point, your only option is to come clean.

Sort of.

"I got it off a social media post," you wave a hand airily, like a nonchalant response you hope she buys. Plenty of people in Piltover had posted about the event; there's no need for her to guess which one you saw specifically.

"Really?" Caitlyn tilts her head, taken aback that anyone would care where she is. As smart as she is, she's oblivious to people's interest in her: Piltover's Commander. Her gaze moves up from your face, darting around the room before she settles on pulling you into a more private corner. "I didn't think people cared much about what I do."

You scoff, unable to stop your eyes from rolling. She can be so dense. Caitlyn knows she's hot, but she fails to recognize that every girl from Piltover is waiting for a chance to swoop in and snatch her up for themselves. And tonight, you just can't keep your comments to yourself.

"You haven't seen all your fangirls' videos yet."

"My fangirls—?" Caitlyn pauses, her hand coming up to rub the side of her face as if mulling the idea over. Then her eyes land back on your face, and the realization hits her like a brick.

Your hardened stare, your slightly pursed lips, and your fidgeting hands all convey one emotion. One that Caitlyn's seen you wear only a few times: once when she went on a random date with a girl from a bar, and another time when she had been venting to you about her ex, and—

Oh.

"You're jealous."

The words fall from Caitlyn's lips before she can stop them. But she's certain: she knows you well enough to figure out your body language. Benefits of being childhood friends, she supposes. Although now—

You freeze, eyes wide and muscles tense like a deer in headlights. "I— well, I don't think it's jealousy exactly."

"Then what is it?" Caitlyn raises an eyebrow. She's competitive in nature, and she's not about to let you dismiss her. Nuh-uh, no way. Not when she knows she's right.

You fumble a few more seconds, glancing around the room helplessly as if something could save you. Nothing does. Damn it.

"Fine," you admit, gritting your teeth in annoyance. "I'm jealous."

Caitlyn hums, a small, smug smile spreading across her face. "There we go, darling," she muses, and you have to fight the flush that threatens to color your cheeks at the nickname. "If only you'd admitted that ages ago."

"Oh." Your breathing stutters, caught off guard by her insinuation. Surely she can't mean—?

"There's no need to be jealous," Caitlyn steps forward, her hands smoothing the hair that frames your face. You hadn't realized she was so close to you before. "I only have eyes for one girl."

You hesitate, mind whirling with possibility. It can't be that girl from earlier. With all the pet names and explicit comments she had made online, it sure seemed like it. At least, that's what the possessive feelings inside your chest are telling you. It can't be her, can it?

It's Caitlyn's turn to sigh at your oblivious head, her hands moving up to take gentle hold of your forearms. She tugs you forward until your chest is against hers and her arms slip around your waist.

"In case you don't understand—" she murmurs into your ear. Her tone is low, almost causing your heart rate to speed up from the way it sends shivers down your spine. Caitlyn would know this if she leaned down a little lower, pressed her lips to your neck to feel your quickened pulse. You almost hope she does.

"—you are the only girl I have eyes for."

totally not self projecting, nope nope nope

hope you enjoyed lovelies <3 wherever you are in the world, stay safe!

~Cherry 🍒

[emisluvr]

HIHIHI EMI ♡︎ how are u my love!

i’m terrorizing your inbox w my thoughts and i give you possessive!02z and mirror sex in which they force you to to look at yourself getting all messy for them— and only them! would love to hear ur sweet thoughts hehe (๑>◡<๑)

HIII LIEN BABY i'm doing soso good how are youuu?? ♡ and omg i love this thought.. YOU HAVE THE BEST IDEAS ISTG 😖 i think i had a little too much fun writing this.. considering it took me less than an hour (｡>﹏<) yes this is what i do to procrastinate.

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), possessiveness, mirror sex, mild degradation, rough sex, dirty talk

⤷ jay is the most possessive and rough one out of them all. he bends you over the sink, slightly tugging your hair so you come up just enough to see how he's wrecking you in the mirror. his thrusts are fast-paced, and oh, rough. here and there, his hand delivers a sharp slap to your ass to remind you to keep looking at yourself while his cock is brutally hitting your g-spot every second. your wetness starts seeping out of your pussy, falling on the tiled floor.

"look at yourself, baby," he murmurs, voice low and deep against your ear, "look how messy you get for me."

when your eyes flutter shut, too overwhelmed to keep watching your corrupted reflection, his fingers dig into your waist, tightening his grip just enough to make you whimper.

"don't get shy now. this is all for me, yeah? my pretty girl, taking it so well."

⤷ jake is the kind of possessive that leaves you breathless. he has you in front of the bedroom mirror, down on all fours, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know you’ll see the bruises tomorrow. the mirror captures everything—the way your face is pressed into the pillows, tears brimming in your eyes from how deep he’s fucking you, and the way his cock is relentlessly disappearing into your dripping pussy.

"don't look away, baby," he growls, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine. "want you to see how dirty you get f'me.."

each thrust is deliberate, dragging along your walls, making you gasp and whimper. the sight of your reflection, all fucked-out and ruined, only fuels him more. when you try to squeeze your eyes shut, his hand slides up to tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to keep your head up.

"eyes on the mirror," he commands, a dark glint in his gaze. "let me see my pretty girl take it like she was made for me."

and gosh, you can't help but obey.

⤷ sunghoon makes you ride him in front of the mirror, his back pressed against the headboard while you straddle his lap, legs trembling as you try to keep up with his relentless pace. with your body facing the mirror, he has a perfect view of your ass, watching the way it recoils with every thrust. his large hands grip your waist, guiding your every movement, making sure you feel every inch of him stretching you open. the mirror reflects everything—the sight of your flushed face, the way your body bounces on his cock, and the pure dominance in his darkened gaze.

"look how pathetic you look," he growls, voice low and dripping with condescension. the words hit you harder with each thrust, sending heat straight to your core.

"so desperate for me."

he tightens his grip, nails digging into your skin as he forces your hips down harder. when your eyes flicker away, too shy to face your own reflection, his fingers curl around your jaw, turning your head back.

"nah, baby," he tuts, a wicked smirk curling at his lips. "you wanted this, so watch yourself."

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[reiderwriter]

🔫 Oh, Captain, My Captain 🔫

Pairing: Unit Chief!Spencer Reid x Fem BAU!Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Requested: Unit Cheif!Spencer who uses gun training as an excuse to rub up on the new member🤭

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI Gun kink, dubcon, dry humping, pictures/photos, age gap, Pervert! Spencer, unprotected sex, implied cream pie, semi-public sex, boss x employee dynamic, spanking, masturbation, slight cum play, degradation (slut, whore etc), praise kink if you squint (good girl).

A/N: This is my first entry for the CM Kink Bingo challenge 2024~! I chose a lot of the prompts based on some of the smut requests in my inbox and let my TELL you I was SO EXCITED to write Unit Chief + gun kink!!! I'm so excited for this entire challenge tbh, it reminds me of the good old days on past years' Kinktober 😂🥰

Masterlist || Bingo Board

When Spencer Reid was made the interim Unit Chief for the BAU, he agreed with the reasoning. At the time, he really couldn't argue that he was aptly experienced, responsible enough to make big decisions, and reliable. And whilst he had been through a lot in the last two decades with the FBI, he still did value his own sense of morality. 

He accepted the job and then was assigned you as an intern, and suddenly, he didn't agree with any previous assessment of him. 

Experienced, yes, but he was still stammering and rambling when discussing simple things like the weather. He certainly wasn't responsible enough to keep his eyes off you, and he probably couldn't be relied on in the field to focus instead of thinking about your pretty, plump lips and how they would feel wrapped around his cock. 

All morality had gone out of the window after a week of working with you when he closed his office blinds, popped his pants open and took his cock in hand, relieving himself while staring at your newly printed ID card. 

He had a lot of power, during the few months Emily was away, and he was trying desperately not to use it. 

Unfortunately, with great power comes a great amount of orders to give, and since you reported directly to Unit Chief Reid, you'd become his de facto shadow for the first few weeks. You bought him coffees when you got your own, asked him for quick run downs of past cases so you could take notes and remember relevant details for later, asked him for help writing reports. 

Which caused the blinds to be drawn at least once a day as he desperately tried to keep his hands off you. 

Emily had joked when leaving him behind that she'd usually give the new boss the “don't shit where you eat” speech, especially with people in your chain of command, but it really wasn't necessary with him. Of all people. 

It didn't help that you were so damn clumsy in the office. You were usually pretty calm and collected, but since starting at the BAU, the pressure was getting to you a bit. 

You made small mistakes, you double, and triple checked your work, and you were constantly in Spencer's office asking him for opinions on topics, for background information, and for, well, reassurance. 

And you dropped stuff. A lot of stuff. 

Your analytical Monday have been perfectly suited to the BAU, but somewhere between your head and your hands, all your body parts refused to function adeptly. You'd dropped things constantly, tripped on your own feet, and constantly bumped into people even while they stood still. 

Not to mention the time your dropped your (thankfully, iced) coffee all over Spencer's lap when you'd brought him his own. 

“Oh my- Oh my god, Doctor Reid, I am so so sorry,” you scrambled, immediately grabbing tissues as he jumped up from the desk. 

“Please let me help you, god, I'm so stupid, I'm so sorry-” you said, patting away as his lap as he stood frozen in front of you. You dropped to your knees to mop up the traces of coffee still running down his thighs, as he stammered. 

“Y/N, please, you don't need to, I have a spare pair I can-” 

“I'll have them dry cleaned, I promise,” you begged, just as a knock sounded and the door to his office swung back open for JJ to enter through. 

“Spencer, the files for the- woah! Okay, I'm not jumping to conclusions, but I'm still backing out of this room right now.” 

She laughed her way out of the room, which was when your brain finally caught up to your hands and realized the stupid position you'd put yourself in. 

You'd practically pushed your boss up against the wall, kneeled before him, and begged to touch him. 

You'd squeaked out an apology and quickly left the office, much to Spencer's relief, because even after an ice bath and semi-public humiliation, he was hard and horny and his IQ had been knocked to roughly 7. 

How he'd wanted to keep you pinned in place, to stroke your cheek as he made sure you took each inch of him down your throat slowly, filling you up so you couldn't escape. 

How he'd wanted to keep his job as well, something he'd probably not get to do if JJ had decided to walk back in, or - god forbid - bring other witnesses to his debauchery. 

You were clumsy, and he was desperately horny, and you were both complete and total messes.

“I don't see how I can help you, Y/N,” Tara held up her hands in defeat as you begged for her help. 

“I'm competent with a gun, but it's not something I can teach you. I wouldn't know where to start.” 

“I just need someone to show me how to hold it properly. There's a trick to it, right? There has to be a trick to it?” 

“Ah yes, the old aim and shoot trick, I forgot about that one,” Rossi laughed, shaking his head at your office antics. 

You'd been interning for a few weeks, and the latest in a line of ability tests was shooting. You'd pretty much aced the physical fitness test, but you'd never even held a gun before joining the FBI, and you were struggling. 

“I've put in 10 hours at the shooting range in the last week, and the closest I've got to an accurate shot was hitting the next lane's paper. Don't ask.”

Your coworkers shared a sympathetic look as you sat down at the round table, ready to hear the next case details. 

“I'm relegated to office work until I pass this certificate, and I was not made for sitting at a desk for 7 hours.” 

“Well, why don't you ask Reid for help?” JJ said helpfully, bringing her coffee to her lips to hide the meddling smile plastered there. 

“Reid?” 

“He had some issues shooting when he was a rookie as well, but he put in some hours at the range, and now he's the best shot on the team.” 

“Easy there, blondie, I'm nothing to sniff at with a gun myself,” Rossi smiled, patting himself on the back. 

“I'm sure he'd enjoy helping you,” JJ continued. 

“Who would enjoy what?” Spencer said, finally joining the team in the meeting room and pulling out the case files as everyone opened up their tablets. 

“Y/N was just saying she's having some trouble shooting, and I suggested she ask for your help?” 

He froze momentarily and stared down at you as you looked up at him, hopefully, a shy smile on your face. 

He tried to keep his eyes on yours, but from this height, he had the perfect view down your shirt, your perfect-sized breasts pressing together as you leaned towards him, giving him a generous eyeful. 

He looked away quickly and nodded his agreement, sitting himself down and attaching his eyes to the files instead so he could get his mind off of  your body, and your lips, and the begging that surely would've come out of your mouth had he not accepted earlier. His brain was tormenting him with images of you underneath him, under his desk even, his cock in your mouth as you paid for his precious time training you. He blinked away the thoughts and, for once in his life, actually had to put effort into reading and understanding each word on a page as he ignored the raging fire of his lust. 

A few hours later, the two of you were at the shooting range. 

“My main problem is shooting. The instructors said my form isn't great either and that I looked like a child playing with toys whenever I hold a gun, so if you could help with that…?” You said, putting on the goggles and turning back to look at your boss. 

“Doctor Reid?” You asked. 

“Oh, yeah. Yes, they said something similar when I was training. First, let's see what you can do.” 

You smiled at him as he watched you bounce up to the lane and pick up the gun. You calmed your breathing and got ready to take the safety off when you felt a hard hand clamp over your own and pull the gun from your hand. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, staring down at you with wide eyes. 

“You said to show you-”

“You're not wearing a vest.” 

You cursed quickly as he pulled you back over to the side of the room. The place was practically deserted, as it was past the official closing hours of the range, but Spencer had been forced to pull some strings with his new title and had managed to keep it open (and somehow unmanned) until now. 

He quickly grabbed the first vest he saw and pulled it over your head, taking the side straps and tightening them until the vest was comfortably protecting all your major organs. His hands lingered for a second, and you stared shocked up at him, somehow enjoying the way he pushed you around. 

You were a grown woman, and you could do this all by yourself, but there was something about a man roughly a decade and a half older than you controlling your movements that were entirely too dangerous. You quickly stepped away and back to the podium, whispering a quick thanks under your breath as you tried to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. 

You stretched out your neck a little as you felt him walk back behind you again, keeping his distance as he watched you shoot your first clip at the targets. 

Out of six bullets, you'd missed the target five times and had grazed just below the targets arm once, a brilliant display of your natural lack of talent. 

“Your form is wrong. You're holding yourself too rigid, which means the recoil has a higher chance to hurt you. Loosen your arms slightly.”

His advice was actually good  and you followed his instructions closely, listening clearly as he walked you through each tip. 

“Like this?” 

“A little more… here, let me.” 

You had no chance to react before his body was pressed behind yours and his hands were wrapped around your own, moving g each finger by a fraction to improve your grip, trailing up your arms slowly, leaving a field of goosebumps wherever his fingers grazed. He repositioned your elbows before moving forward his hands down to your hips, turning them slightly as he widened your stance. 

“Try now.” 

Breathless, you could only nod as he stepped back, unaware if he'd even said anything since his hands had landed on you. 

You forced yourself to breathe again and took one shot.

"Oh my god, it hit. Spencer, it hit!” 

“Do it again and we can celebrate.” 

Another five shots later, and you'd managed a small cluster of hits around the arms and one shot. 

“You're definitely veering left, so let's try and over correct by aiming to the right.”

He pushed up against you again and held the gun, moving it to the right a fraction, taking complete control of your body. 

If your breath was scarce before, it was totally gone now as you felt his crotch press up against your ass. Considering the bulletproof vests put an extra inch around your chests, he was absolutely doing it on purpose, and you were shocked to realize you were too. 

You'd pushed your ass back into him, grinding slowly on his hardening cock as he hooked his head over your shoulder, looked down the sight with you, and fired the gun. 

Straight into the center of the target. 

“Good girl,” he whispered before pulling away.  

He moved two meters away from you, and maintained the distance for the rest of the night, and even though you were both aware of his hard cock tightening his pants, neither of you said a word. 

“Same time tomorrow,” he said and grabbed his jacket to leave. It was the first thing he'd said as your Unit Chief that even vaguely sounded like a command and not an enthusiastic suggestion, and you were suddenly very excited for the rest of the week. 

“Before we start,” he said the next day, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows neatly. “Show me your posture again.” 

He gestured towards one of the dummy guns at the side of the range, the style you recognised from mission training that held small layers instead of bullets - same weight, same mechanism, no lethality. 

You'd spent the day and night worked up from the last time you'd been here with him, and a small part of you felt disappointed you were starting with the kiddy gun. Not one to miss an opportunity, though. You bent over to pick it up, making sure to bend at the waist right in front of him to show off your ass. 

Maybe you'd gone crazy, but the memory of his touch was burning you from the inside out and you needed to feel it again to make sure you weren't crazy. 

He maintained his distance, though. It was hard for him to keep his hands off you in all honesty, arms crossed to keep himself from crossing any more lines. That and he was sure that you'd be able to tell he'd spurted cum all over them in his office the night before despite him scrubbing them thoroughly multiple times, the weight of his guilt eating into him like a parasite.

“Arms up, point straight. Good.” You tried to keep still as he assessed your form, but his eyes prowled over you thoroughly, and you had to suppress a shudder. 

“You need to control your breathing, Y/N, you can't be afraid of pulling the trigger if you need to.” 

“I'm not-” 

“Shoulders back,” he said, moving to your side as he again began slightly correcting your form. 

Unlike the day before, though, this time, there were no bullets. And no bullets meant no bulletproof vest. 

That's why when his exploring hands came to your chest, he could feel your hardening nipples through the flimsy material of your dress. He could feel you pressing forward into his touch as his hands cupped your breast.

“Calm your heartbeat, Y/N. You need to stay calm so you can shoot straight, right?” 

The words sounded alien, even to him. His gaze was locked on the top of your shirt, looking down it to the slope of your chest, disappearing into your dress. He so wanted to let his hands disappear right along with them, to pull you back into his aching cock and play with your nipples until you cried out for mercy. 

He let his touch fall and played off his molestation as correction, even as your underwear grew slick with desire. 

“Grab your vest. Let's try again.” 

A week of late night training later, and you weren't sure if you were improving at all. The guns were the last thing on your mind when Spencer's hands were on you, his voice in your ear telling you how good you were for him, such a good subordinate. 

Both of you had yet to acknowledge that you were spending the majority of the session just rubbing up on each other, like teens at prom, desperate for whatever friction you could get without having to name the game you were playing. 

“Doctor Reid, if I hit the target this time, can you do something for me?” You chanced on the Friday, needing something else to tide you over for the weekend. 

“What do you need?” 

“No, no, nothing specific, just like a…a reward?"

He'd done his best to keep his hands off of you, which meant that he'd failed miserably, and he knew exactly what he'd like to treat you to as a reward. Keeping his hands of you in daytime hours had become harder and harder as the week flew by, and he felt like a randy school boy the amount of times he'd needed to excuse himself to either kill his bones or abuse his cock with his hand.

“Oh,” he said, growing quiet. You took his hesitation for rejection, and immediately began to back pedal. 

“Y-You don't have to, sir. It was really quite conceited on my part to demand a reward from y-” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“If you shoot six bullets that hit either the chest or the head, you'll get a reward.”

You smiled brightly at him, suddenly feeling very hopeful. 

“But if you miss, you'll get the opposite.” 

The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about what they meant. Just hearing the words made him want to visibly cringe and write himself up for office misconduct. But your smile didn't fade one bit. 

“Yes, sir. I won't let you down.” 

Turning away from him, you loaded your weapon again, and he watched you put yourself into the correct position. Despite his middling efforts to actually teach you, you had seemed to have improved over the last few days. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted that outcome. 

Just as you stepped up to take your first shot, he stepped closer to you, wrapped his hands around your waist, and pushed up against you. 

Your first shot veered left, completely missing the target as you gasped. Spencer had popped open the front button of your pants and was unzipping them, letting his hand wonder down to your panties. 

“Look straight. There will be distractions out in the field, you can do this, right?” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl.” 

You tried to steady your breathing g and your hands again as he began rubbing slow circles into your underwear, your body alight with lust as you let him. 

Your second shot hit the paper. Your third didn't. 

“You can do better than that, Y/N.” 

You took another deep breath and picked up your gun again, shooting just as he shoved your underwear to one side and dipped his fingers into you. 

Your mouth opened in a silent moan as you quickly shot your last three bullets, not caring where they went so much as where his fingers went. 

“Y/N, I expected better,” you could hear the smile in his voice as he took the gun from your hands with his spare. “You can't even handle a weapon like this.” 

He kept his fingers pumping shallowly inside you, as he inspected the gun again. 

“Maybe you'd learn better under duress. I did, too. It's easy to learn when there's a gun pointed yo your head, right?” 

He quickly turned the gun on you  pushing it to your temple as his other hand shoved your pants down. He angled you forward with a press of his hips as his fingers returned to your cunt and slipped deeper inside. 

“S-Spencer, fuck-” 

“You missed all six bullets, so punishment it is.” His fingers gained speed as you stood, flushed and spreading your legs for him. You wanted to bury your head in your arms and scream out your moans, but the gun to your head kept you quiet and in place. 

“You may not be able to shoot a gun, Y/N, but that doesn't mean you're not enjoying them. You're so wet for me.” 

Tears sprung to your eyes as you felt your climax build and build, chasing the high you'd been searching for with every unprotected touch. 

You were letting your boss touch you, letting a man almost old enough to be your father hold a gun to your head, and you were going to squirt all over his fingers very soon. 

“Spencer, Spencer, please- please….”

“Shhh, it’s okay. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. You just needed some more help learning. You can cum now, princess. It's okay, let go.” 

You tried your best to hold back, but your body had a mind of its own as your orgasm hit you, the cold metal of the gun finally moving away from your head. 

With one hand around your waist, pinning you to the side so you stayed upright, Spencer carefully placed the gun back down before dragging your pants back up your legs. 

Taking your elbow in his hand, he walked you to the door as you blinked out the daze in your eyes. 

“We're going to my office now. To talk about your recent performance.” 

You couldn't have cared less what he'd said as long as his hands were on you, stretching your head back so it rested on his chest and pushing up until your lips could connect with the bare skin at his neck. 

“Hands off. We're going to walk all the way back to my office, and you're not going to let anyone know what just happened, okay? Not with your words, or your expressions or body language, okay?” 

You nodded, but he kept a hand on your elbow, gesturing yourself forward. 

You weren't sure how you were even able to walk after what had to have been the most intense orgasm of your life, but the promise of more likely carried you all the way up the stairs until you were comfortably enclosed in Spencer's  office. 

Like he'd found himself doing multiple times a day this month, Spencer closed the blinds, pulling you down to the sofa with him as he sat. 

“When I was your age,” he started, making sure your ass was facing up as he pushed your head into the cushions gently. 

“When I was your age, I couldn't shoot well. My Unit Chief had to kick some sense into me. I think you need that as well, right, Y/N? You need someone to beat some sense into you?” 

You nodded as he stroked your hair, and he thanked you for being so open to him. 

He made quick work of your pants and underwear, and in a quick hot burst, his hand came down on your ass. 

“Fuck, more. Please more!” 

He did it again and again as you squirmed in his lap and moaned, begging him to keep brutalizing you. 

“That's it, show me how pathetic you are, show me how much you're craving my attention.” 

He pushed your legs off of his lap until you were kneeling on the floor underneath him. He pulled up your arms and pulled your shirt over your head, similarly discarding your tank top and bra until you were totally bare on the floor in front of him. 

Instead of stripping himself yet, he pulled out his phone, palming himself through his pants. 

“Show yourself off,” he said, pointing the camera at you. 

You followed his directions quickly, hands flying to your tits to fondle them while he took pictures of your fucked our face. 

With his foot he gently nudged you down onto all yours, letting you know to turn around so he could flash a picture or two of your sloppy cunt as well. 

Your hips rocked back and forth in the air, unconsciously searching for something to rub against, some relief from your frustrations. 

He kept snapping pictures. 

Deciding that you needed his attention and stat, you let your chest fall to the floor, face flat too as your hips lifted higher in the air. Your hands found your ass cheeks, and you spread them slightly, giving Spencer an even better view of how much you needed him. 

He took one last photo, and then he knelt behind you faster than you could expect. 

In a heartbeat, his pants were down, in two his cock was buried deep inside of you. 

“So…tight, shit. You're such a precious little slut, you kept this little pussy nice and fresh just for me, right?” 

It was all you could do not to cum right there, and when he started moving you were a goner. It had always been easier for you to cum a second time than it was for you to cum a first time, and considering how quick he'd made it happen earlier, you really should've been expecting it. 

Your body convulsed around his cock as you screamed into the floor, hands still spreading yourself wide for him as he rutted into you. 

“That's it, milk my cock, Y/N. Milk your bosses cock, let me blow my load inside you.” 

Your nipples rubbed painfully against the carpet, only adding to the storm of stimulation you were experiencing. 

His hips faltered as he collapsed over your body, holding tight as his muscles locked him into place with his orgasm. He came inside you with a grunt, and he felt your cunt still clenching around him, making sure to take every last drop. 

“That- was much - preferable,” you said, gasping for breath. “To shooting - any gun.” 

He rolled off of you as you laughed, body satiated now for the first time in what felt like forever. 

“You still need to work on your gun skills,” he said after you'd detangled yourself, but before either if you had worked up the courage to leave the floor and get dressed. 

“Why?” You said, turning your head to look at him  lying on the floor next to you. 

“It seems I can fire pretty accurately already,” you said, as your hand snaked down to his cock one more time. 

[mariasont]

RAINY WITH A CHANCE OF HOTCH - A.H

a/n: hi wow it's been a hot minute!

firstly, i just want to say i am so incredibly grateful for everyone who has reached out <3 i love you all and once i am not as overwhelmed i promise i'll go through my messages and inbox. you all are amazing and im kissing you all through the screen.

secondly, this summer was the hottest messiest express that could have been is the short n sweet explanation to my disappearance (sabrina reference, sorry i had to) but i just struggled hard core with my mental health and needed a detox from social media.

thirdly, but i'm back and i love you all and here is a short like fic featuring everyone's fav miss bimbo reader <3

masterlist

parings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: just some cuties being cute

wc: 0.6k

Hotch hesitated to acknowledge the fact that he found himself often gazing out of his office window, discreetly observing your arrival in the parking lot each morning. He attempted to justify this behavior by reasoning that, as the unit chief, it was within his responsibilities to monitor the welfare of his team.

He mentally recited the same mantra repeatedly as he moved towards the exit, an umbrella tapping persistently against his side. Hotch found himself calling out your name before he realized it, his hand shielding his face from the unrelenting raindrops as he took in your appearance.

"Stay there," he borderline commanded, moving towards you as you clung to the driver’s side door.

You looked as pretty as ever, with your hair swept back from your face and curls framing your doe eyes. It made you that much more alluring and, consequently, even more distracting.

When you first joined as his assistant, he discreetly suggested to whoever was in charge of the hires back then that he was less than pleased with the arrangement. He found it hard to focus, his eyes constantly drawn to you. He wanted to claim it was involuntary, but he knew there was intention behind his constant search for you.

"Well, hi there, boss man," you chirped, your disposition utterly unaffected by the water that had dampened your outfit. 

He considered himself a noble man, honorable even, or so he told himself as he resisted the urge to glance down at your blouse that was now nearly see-through.

He quickly unfurled the umbrella, taking the liberty of shielding your perfect face from the onslaught of raindrops. You smiled up at him in a way that was so carefree it made his heart clench in his chest.

He cleared his throat. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here.”

“Good thing you’re here to prevent that.”

Aaron’s face was now wet, rivulets of rain tracing paths from his hair to his chin. He struggled to prevent a smile at your words, tucking his chin into his chest to conceal it.

He let you take hold of his arm, your purse occasionally tapping into his leg as he closed your car door and started towards the entrance. You leaned in closer, earning a knowing look from him.

You smiled into your coffee, pink lipstick staining the travel cup. “What? I wasn’t all the way under the umbrella.”

He knew that was a lie because he wasn’t all the way under the umbrella, ensuring you were fully covered.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“Your eyes are very expressive, Mr.”

“Then you should know I’m thinking we need to get you inside and dry." He looked at you knowingly, his grip on the umbrella tightening as you both reached the entrance.

“Dry? Around you?” you questioned, smiling innocently towards Hotch as he closed the umbrella and opened the front door. “Wishful thinking, sir.”

“Do I need to remind you we’re at work?”

Hotch combed his semi-damp hair with his fingers, flicking some water in your direction. You squealed, hands flying to shield your face, a stream of giggles following. The smile on his face was now inevitable.

“Sorry, can’t help myself,” you managed to say through the laughter.

He kissed your cheek softly, then started to walk to his office. Glancing back, he adds, “You’ll be sorry when we get home.”

That shut you up.

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[lucy-literates]

Can you do inncent Y/n staying with her bff (Arthur Leclerc ) for the summer and one night she heard Arthur groan and do stuff with an oane night stand and she start to touch herself every night till Arthur catches her and she tries to deny and they and up in bed (smut pleeeeeeease and if you like you can make Arthur a little dark like he knows what yn does and wants to have her only for himself )

A/N: I was so confused when I first saw this, I thought you said bf not bff and then the one night stand part. I was tripping so hard until I read it again. This was really fun, thank you!! I'm sorry it took so long!!!! Inbox is open 🫶🏻

Only Mine

You weren’t supposed to hear it.

It was well past midnight in Arthur’s apartment, where you were crashing for the summer. The air was warm and sticky despite the fan humming by your bed. You rolled onto your side in the guest room, eyes fluttering shut.

And then you heard it.

A low, masculine groan. Soft at first, then deeper. Louder.

You froze.

Arthur.

There was a girl. A high-pitched gasp, a whimper. Skin against skin. The creak of his mattress, the wet slap of—

Oh.

You swallowed, pulse racing.

Your thighs pressed together under the thin blanket. You tried to block it out—tried to be a good friend, not a pervert—but the sounds were addicting. Her moans. His growls. The roughness of it.

And his voice. Deep. Commanding. Filthy.

“Stay still. You wanted this, didn’t you?” “Fuck—so tight—take it.”

You bit your knuckle, shaking.

That night, and every night after, you found yourself remembering it.

Touching yourself quietly, shamefully, in Arthur’s house.

You never came from touching before. You didn’t even really try before. But now, with Arthur’s voice playing in your head—growling commands to some girl who wasn’t you—you couldn’t not.

You thought you were discreet.

But Arthur saw everything.

He noticed the changes.

The way your breath hitched around him. How your eyes flitted away whenever he touched your lower back. How you jumped when he said your name in that dark, deep tone.

But more than that?

He heard you.

Late at night, under your covers. He’d pass by your door, bare-chested and silent, and hear the soft whines, the helpless moans muffled into your pillow. You’d try so hard to stay quiet—but Arthur had sharp ears.

He also noticed your scent changed. Subtle. Sweet. Addictive.

You were fucking glowing with it. Need.

And you had no idea that he knew everything.

It all snapped one week later.

You’d just showered, wrapped in a towel and stumbling into your room when you turned—and screamed.

Arthur stood in your doorway. Watching you.

His eyes were dark, jaw tight.

“Jesus, Arthur, I—can you knock?” you gasped, flustered, clutching the towel tighter.

He stepped in. Calm. Slow.

Your heart jumped. Something was off.

“Could’ve sworn I heard something,” he said casually. “Thought you were in trouble.”

“I wasn’t,” you whispered.

He tilted his head, gaze dropping to your legs, water still trickling down them. You swallowed hard.

“Really?” His voice dropped. “Then why do you sound like you’re moaning my name every night?”

Your mouth opened. Closed.

Arthur smiled, and it was not friendly.

“You think I can’t hear you, chérie? You think I haven’t seen your hands under the sheets?” “Do you imagine it’s me touching you?”

You backed up. “Arthur, I—no—I don’t—”

He stalked toward you. One step. Then another.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You hit the edge of the bed, towel slipping slightly. Your breath caught as his hand reached out, curling around your jaw—not rough, but possessive.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked quietly. “Say the word.”

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you nodded—tiny. Shaky.

Arthur’s eyes darkened. And then he pounced.

Your towel hit the floor.

You gasped as he pushed you onto the bed, hands roaming down your thighs, spreading you open as he settled between them like he belonged there.

“So pretty,” he muttered, dragging a finger through your folds. “And so fucking wet.”

You whined, covering your face, but Arthur growled.

“No hiding. You touch yourself every night thinking about me, and you’re shy now?”

His mouth descended.

Tongue everywhere—slow licks, soft suckles on your clit, then plunging inside you until your hips bucked. He groaned like he’d been starving for you.

“Taste sweeter than I imagined,” he said into you. “You were made for this.”

You sobbed his name, fingers tugging at his curls, legs trembling.

He didn’t stop. Not when you came once. Not even after the second. His mouth worshipped your cunt until you were shaking, tears in your eyes.

Then he finally moved up, breath hot against your lips.

“Think you can take me now?” he whispered.

“Y-yes,” you breathed.

He smirked, unbuckling his jeans with practiced ease. Your eyes widened.

“You sure?”

“I’ve never—” you paused, cheeks flaming. “But I want it with you.”

Arthur’s pupils blown. Wild.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “You’re mine.”

He kissed you like he meant to ruin you. Like he already had. His cock pressed against your entrance, and he paused, letting you adjust as he slid in—inch by thick inch.

You clawed at his back, whimpering.

“So tight. So fucking perfect,” he gritted. “All mine, yeah? No one else touches you.”

You nodded, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

He snapped his hips.

You screamed.

Over and over, he fucked you into the mattress, filthy words spilling between gritted teeth.

“Been waiting for this.” “Touching yourself every night for me, chérie.” “Gonna fill you so full, you’ll never think of anyone else.”

You couldn’t even speak—just feel. His body, his voice, his cock splitting you open, dragging you into pleasure you’d never known.

And when he came, groaning your name into your neck, you realized something terrifying and beautiful at once:

You’d never not wanted this.

When it was over, he stayed inside you, still hard.

“You’re staying in my bed now,” he murmured, brushing your hair back.

You blinked. “But the guest room—”

“No.” He kissed you. “Only mine.”

You sighed, exhausted, curling into him as Roscoe barked outside the door.

“Wrong roommate, bud,” Arthur smirked. “She’s not yours.”

He looked down at you, dark eyes softening for the first time all night.

“She’s mine.”

[nhmkhnh]

money talks.

pairings: sugar mommy!cassandra x fem!reader

preface: she spoils you like a vice, kisses like a promise, and loves you like you were always meant to be hers.

author's note: GOOOOOOO BRRRR I'M BACK WITH A NEW PIECE!! CASSANDRA. OH. SO HOT. PLS DON'T JUDGE ME I JUST CAN'T STAY NONCHALANT AFTER SEEING HER EDIT.

wrn: lowercase.

navigation.

cassandra first sees you at a charity gala—alone, underdressed, overwhelmed. you’re not supposed to be there. you snuck in on a friend’s plus-one who bailed last second.

she notices you long before you realize she’s watching.

you're sipping champagne like it’s water, standing awkwardly by a marble column, tugging on the hem of your too-short dress.

then a voice—low, velvety, precise: "you look uncomfortable, darling. care to join me somewhere quieter?"

you blink up. cassandra kiramman, in a tailored black suit that hugs her curves like sin, offers her hand with all the confidence of someone who never hears “no.”

you follow. of course you follow.

she doesn’t flirt. she invests. orders your favorite dessert before you even speak. tells you you're "enchanting" without blinking. tucks your hair behind your ear with fingers cold from her wineglass.

and when she leans in to murmur: "how old are you, sweetheart?" and you answer, “twenty…”

that smile she gives you is indulgent. dangerous. "good girl."

later that night, she sends her driver to pick you up. your inbox? flooded with high-end boutiques, spa appointments, and a hotel keycard number.

you message her: “why are you doing this for me?” she replies instantly: “because you’re mine now. and i like taking care of what’s mine.”

it starts with her inviting you to lunch. not a café, not a bistro. no—the rooftop restaurant at piltover’s most exclusive hotel. velvet chairs, panoramic skyline view, and waiters that call her “councilwoman.”

you show up in a dress she had delivered to your apartment that morning. your first instinct is to fidget. to feel small.

but she takes one look at you—eyes lingering, lips parting like she’s about to say something utterly sinful— “you wear what i give you so well, sweetheart.” —and just like that, you feel like you belong there.

she orders for both of you. the most expensive wine on the menu. imported truffle pasta. she never asks if you can afford it. because she knows. she doesn’t care.

halfway through the meal, you reach for your little clutch when the server brings the check.

bad idea.

her hand lands on yours—soft, but firm. commanding.

“darling.” a pause. her fingers slide down your wrist, lazy. “that’s not your job. that’s mine.” you stammer, “i was just trying to—” “to what?” she cuts in, voice like warm honey laced with warning. “impress me? pay for lunch?” she leans in, her breath brushing your lips. “let me make one thing clear. when you’re with me, you don’t lift a finger unless i ask you to. understood?”

you nod. quietly. a little breathless.

she smiles, then waves the waiter over without even looking. “put it on my account. and bring dessert. she looks like she needs something sweet in her mouth.”

you nearly choke on your wine.

later, she helps you into her private car, the scent of her perfume still clinging to your neck. before the door closes, she murmurs:

“next time, don’t bring a wallet. you won’t need it with me.”

cassandra’s idea of a casual day out is taking you to piltover’s most exclusive boutique. the kind with a security guard at the door. the kind that doesn’t display price tags.

you’re wide-eyed, fingers grazing a silk slip dress on a mannequin. she notices. she always does.

“you like that one?” she asks from behind you, voice dipped in velvet. you open your mouth to protest—“it’s too expensive,” “i was just looking,” “maybe some other day”—but she raises a brow. one perfectly sculpted brow that shuts you up instantly.

“go try it on.” it’s not a suggestion. it never is.

you disappear into the dressing room, heart hammering. the dress feels like water slipping over your skin—luxurious, barely-there. you’re admiring yourself in the mirror when a knock sounds at the door.

“may i?” she asks, but she’s already walking in.

you blink, stammering. “i—uh—it’s not zipped all the way—” she steps behind you, hands ghosting over your back as she pulls the zipper up slowly. “there,” she murmurs, breath brushing your ear. “perfect.”

you meet her eyes in the mirror. she’s not looking at the dress. she’s looking at you.

“take it off,” she says.

you gape. “what—why—?”

“because we’re buying it,” she replies smoothly, turning away. “and i’m not letting you leave without half the store.”

you blink. “half the—?!”

she pauses, glancing over her shoulder with that smirk of hers. “darling, you’re twenty. you get to look gorgeous. i’m forty. i get to fund it.” then, coolly: “try on the red one next. i want to see your thighs in it.”

you barely recover by the time she’s tipping the salesgirl an amount that makes the poor thing stammer—and you leave the store with five bags, two boxes of heels, and a lingering kiss to your cheek as she whispers:

“my girl should never settle for less.”

it’s late.

you’ve had the worst day—class deadlines, part-time shift from hell, and a rude customer who made you cry in the bathroom. you don’t tell cassandra. you try to act normal, keep it together.

but she knows. of course she knows.

she watches you fumble with the buttons on your cardigan. watches how your eyes keep flicking down, shoulders tense, lower lip trembling. she doesn’t say a word—just tilts her head slightly, and opens her arms from where she’s sitting in her massive leather armchair.

“come here.”

you hesitate for a second. she says it again, firmer: “come sit on my lap, darling.”

and like always, you listen.

you crawl into her lap, knees bracketing her thighs, arms clinging around her neck. she lets you cling. lets you bury your face into her shoulder.

one hand smooths up and down your back. the other strokes your hair. she smells like white jasmine and power. like safety.

“talk to me,” she murmurs, calm and low. “what happened?”

you finally tell her. every little thing.

she doesn’t interrupt. doesn’t scold. just listens, nodding slowly, her fingers never stopping. then—“that man who made you cry. what’s his name?” you blink. “why?” she smiles, brushing your tears with her thumb. “so i can buy out the business he works at and fire him myself. no one gets to treat my girl like that.”

you choke on a laugh. “you’re insane.” “i’m rich,” she corrects with a wink. “same difference.”

then her tone shifts. gentle, but commanding: “you work too hard. from now on, you’re cutting back your hours. i’ll handle the rest.”

you try to protest. she shuts you up with a kiss to your temple. “no arguments. you’re mine, and i take care of what’s mine. now let me draw you a bath.”

and she does.

with rose petals. and your favorite wine. and a playlist labeled “for my baby.”

you cry again—but this time it’s from being held like you’ve never been held before.

she brings you to a piltover elite gala. you thought it would be boring. rich old people and overpriced wine.

but no. not when you're on her arm.

cassandra arrives in a custom-fitted satin gown—navy blue, slit high up her thigh. you’re in silver. matching jewelry. she picked the whole ensemble for you and told you: “i want their eyes on you. i want them to know.”

and they do.

people stare. whisper. murmur: “is that her girlfriend?” cassandra just smiles. proud. calm. possessive.

she keeps you close. fingers at the small of your back. wineglass in one hand, your waist in the other.

but then some idiot—some greasy little heir of a trade empire—decides to get brave.

he walks up while cassandra’s across the room in conversation. he leans in, touches your elbow, sleazy smile on his face. “hey. bet someone like you doesn't belong with her. how 'bout i show you a real—”

you don’t even get to answer.

because cassandra is already there.

she doesn’t raise her voice. doesn’t need to. just steps in—heels clicking, expression glacial.

“you have three seconds to remove your hand.” the guy blinks. smirks. “what, jealous?”

and that’s when she does it—reaches for you, pulls you flush against her chest, and kisses you.

long. intimate. claiming.

when she pulls away, her voice is sharp silk: “jealous? no. i just don’t like insects crawling on my property.”

the man stammers an apology and retreats like a coward.

you stand there, dazed, heart pounding.

she brushes a thumb over your lip—smirking now, voice like wine and danger: “now the whole room knows you’re mine, sweetheart. exactly how it should be.”

you thought you were being cute.

cassandra had a late council meeting—four hours long. you were bored. so you got a little bold. a flirty text. then a pic. nothing too explicit, but enough.

you: “miss me yet?”you: [picture of you in her shirt. just her shirt.]you: “if you come home early, i might still be wearing this.”

she didn’t reply. you assumed she was too busy.

you were wrong.

when she walks into the apartment, it’s quiet. you’re in the kitchen, pretending to snack, still in her button-down. you greet her with a grin, teasing, “how was the meeting, councilwoman?”

she doesn’t answer.

instead, she sets her coat down slowly. heels click once, twice—then silence as she stops behind you.

a hand curls around your throat. gentle. commanding.

“you think teasing me is funny?” she whispers, breath hot against your ear. “while i’m in front of the entire council?”

you go still.

“you were begging for attention, weren’t you, baby?”

you nod. barely.

she hums. steps in front of you. “take it off.”

you obey. the shirt slips to the floor.

she sits on the edge of the bed and crosses her legs—slowly, deliberately. eyes dark.

“kneel.”

you hesitate—heartbeat hammering. but only for a second.

you sink to your knees between her thighs.

cassandra tilts your chin up with two fingers, inspecting you like a queen surveying her favorite offering.

“good girl.” a pause. then, silk turning to steel: “you don’t get to play games with me, sweetheart. you want attention?”

she leans in, voice dropping to a whisper: “you earn it.”

the rest of the night is her proving that lesson—with praise, control, and a kind of overwhelming devotion that makes your knees shake long after it ends.

it’s supposed to be just another brunch with your friends.

you sit across from them in a sunny little café, sipping overpriced lattes. everything's normal—until someone asks:

“soooo, you and that insanely hot councilwoman—are you, like, dating-dating?”

you laugh, blush, and say, without thinking: “technically… fiancée.”

the table explodes. “what?” “when?” “show us the ring—wait, do you have a ring?!”

you freeze. realize what just came out of your mouth. you hadn't meant to say it. it wasn’t even official yet.

you don’t have a ring.

but that night, when you get home—cassandra’s already there.

she greets you with a kiss, sees the flush in your cheeks, and asks: “something on your mind, sweetheart?”

you fidget. mumbling. “i might’ve… told them i was your fiancée.”

she pauses.

then, calmly, like she’s discussing which wine to pair with dinner: “do you want to be?”

you blink. stammer. “i—i mean—”

she stands. walks over. takes your hands in hers.

“darling,” she says softly, “i was going to wait. plan something extravagant. paris, maybe. but if you’re already calling yourself mine…”

she pulls out a small velvet box from her coat. “then let’s make it true.”

you open it. inside is the most elegant, most cassandra ring imaginable—platinum, understated, powerful.

your knees give out. her hand catches your waist. “well?” she murmurs, amused. “will you make me the happiest woman in piltover?”

you say yes through tears and kisses.

the next brunch?

you show up with a diamond and a glow.

another gala. another glass of wine in your hand. another moment of cassandra guiding you through a room full of power players like you’re the only thing in color.

you don’t know why you ever thought you could keep up. these people are sharks.

but you’re trying.

so you smile politely. nod when spoken to. try not to fidget when cassandra’s called away by an ambassador.

and that’s when it happens.

some smug, older councilman—twice your age, at least—sidles up beside you. drunk. loud. drenched in cheap cologne and entitlement.

“i see cassandra’s taste is still as… fresh as ever,” he slurs, looking you up and down like you’re on display. you recoil, clearly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t back off. “tell me, sweetheart, what exactly are you bringing to the table? other than a pretty little mouth.”

you open your mouth to speak—but a colder voice cuts in first.

“i suggest you stop talking.”

everyone around freezes.

cassandra is behind him, expression unreadable. not angry. not loud. just ice.

“councilor,” she says, and her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, “if you want to remain a member of this council—if you value your reputation, your seat, or your teeth—you will walk away. now.”

he scoffs, sputters. “i was just—”

“now.” her voice sharpens like glass cracking.

he stumbles off. you’re shaking.

cassandra turns to you immediately, hands gentle, voice low again: “are you alright, darling?”

you nod. barely.

she exhales, cupping your jaw. “i should’ve never left your side.”

later that night, in the car, you whisper: “you didn’t have to defend me like that…”

she leans in, kisses your shoulder, and murmurs: “no one disrespects what's mine. ever.”

you mention it casually.

over breakfast, hair still wet from the shower, wearing one of her oversized silk shirts, spooning cereal into your mouth like it’s no big deal: “i was thinking of picking up a second job. just a small one. i could help with the wedding expenses, y’know?”

you expect her to hum. maybe nod. maybe smile proudly at your initiative.

instead?

the air stills. cassandra folds her newspaper with slow, deliberate care.

“excuse me?”

you look up. blink. “what?”

she sets the paper down. places her spoon beside her plate. looks you dead in the eyes.

“darling. do you truly believe you need to help pay for our wedding?”

you laugh nervously. “well, i mean—i want to contribute, y’know? even just a little—”

she leans forward, voice soft but sharp: “let me make something very clear.”“you do not work a second job.”“you do not stress over money.”“you do not lift a finger to pay for anything that has my name on it.”

you try to interrupt. “but i just thought maybe—”

she cuts you off with a kiss to your knuckles, then pulls out her phone.

“what are you—?”

“sending my assistant instructions.”

you blink. “instructions for what?”

she looks up, calm as the sea before a storm. “to begin the paperwork on an apartment i just bought for you. you’ll need a space to call your own when you need quiet. fully furnished. waterfront view. five minutes from my office.”

you stare. “are you serious?”

she tilts her head, feigning confusion. “did you think i wasn’t?”

you’re too stunned to speak. she stands, circles the table, cups your cheek in one perfectly manicured hand.

“let me provide, baby.”“that’s my job. yours is to let me.”

you’re exhausted.

back from a business trip she arranged for your internship. the city was loud, the hotel too cold, and no one smiled like she does when you walk into the room.

you barely manage to get your coat off when you step inside the penthouse.

and then—you hear her heels.

click. click. click.

she rounds the corner in that silk robe she only wears when she misses you. hair up. glass of wine in one hand. eyes only for you.

you try to smile. try to say “hey, i’m back.” but it comes out cracked. your voice is dry. shoulders tense. heart a little too tired.

cassandra doesn’t speak.

she just walks over, slow, purposeful, and pulls you into her arms.

you collapse into her like she’s gravity.

she smells like warm jasmine and wine. feels like wealth and softness and control, all wrapped around your aching soul.

one hand slides up your back. the other cradles your jaw like she’s holding something precious. her voice? barely a whisper: “you’re home now, my love.”

you clutch her tighter. “i missed you.”

she kisses your temple. “i know. i missed you more.” a beat. “you’re not leaving my side tonight. not even for a second.”

she draws you toward the couch. sits. pulls you gently onto her lap. strokes your hair while your cheek rests against her collarbone.

“did they treat you well?” you nod. “was the room warm enough?” you shake your head. she sighs. “i’ll make sure next time it’s perfect. or there won’t be a next time.”

you laugh softly. she tilts your face up and kisses you. slow. unhurried. like there’s no time in the world except now.

later, when you doze off in her arms, she whispers against your ear—words only you ever hear:

“you’re everything i never let myself want. and now that i have you, i’ll never let you go.”

[contempenitent]

♡ :)

(I hoped to see you grow old enough to escape one day. I am not content to tell myself that you died an honorable death, because you should still be here. You were always going to have blood in your teeth. You should have had someone to watch over you. Forgive me.)

| ATTRACTION ○○○○○ | AFFECTION ●●●●○ | INTEREST ●●●●○ | LOYALTY ●●●●● | TRUST ●●●●○

[m00nlight-ramblings]

Eat Your Young

Astarion and Tav take advantage of the rainy weather in camp. Pure smut, no plot.

Pairings: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: smut, p in v sex, swearing. 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Listen, usually I like a lil plot but Astarion sometimes deserves just some good ole smut, right?! Also inspired by the Hozier song, "Eat Your Young"

REMINDER: my inbox is open for requests!

Astarion's hand roughly ran down your neck, the candles in his tent casting shadows over the space. He hissed in pleasure as his fingers gracefully found your collarbone, his nails tickling the skin around your neck. You groaned, your eyes fluttering closed.

"This is not what I came in here for." You said, even though you knew that was a lie.

Well, partly.

Basically since the beginning of your adventure with the companions, you and Astarion had found yourselves drawn to each other. First as friends, but then quickly into a sexual situation. A way to satiate yourselves, and to have a bit of shining light in the darkness that was all the doom and gloom and battle and blood.

"Oh?" Astarion asked, his mouth dangerously close to your neck, "And what did you actually come in here for?" His voice was melodic, almost a purr. You felt his fangs lightly drag across your neck - enough to leave a scratch, but not enough to break skin. You gasped.

"F-for the book," You were able to choke out, one of your hands finding his hair. You ran your fingers through his locks, earning a quick moan from Astarion, "The book I lent you last week. I know you're done reading it, so-"

"You came all the way across camp in a rain storm for a book you could easily get from me tomorrow?" He pulled away, his eyes twinkling. It was bullshit, and he knew it. "Is that why both of our clothes are off, and were discarded on the floor within 45 seconds of you coming into my tent, my pet?"

"Um..." You bit your lip and both of you smiled, "I'm easily distracted." You tried to argue, but Astarion's lips were on you again, his tongue quickly finding yours. You moaned into his mouth as he pressed his body on yours, his erection pressing into your stomach. Thunder clapped outside, causing you to jump, which caused Astarion to wrap his arm around your back tighter, bringing you closer.

"What do you want, my darling? Tell me," He pulled away from your mouth, but his lips were still touching yours. Your heart pounded in your chest from his breath on your face, "Tell me what you want." His voice was velvet smooth, causing your stomach to clench. You groaned, unable to stop yourself - how did this fucking man know exactly what to say, and exactly what to do to get you going?

"I want your cock in my mouth," You said quickly, it coming out as one breath. His eyebrows raised and he smirked, wordlessly pushing himself to the edge of the bed to give you space. Looking down at his erection, you felt a wave of heat rush to your clit, unable to contain yourself.

Before he could even lay down, your mouth was on his cock hungrily. He moaned in surprise, his voice echoing off the tent walls. Immediately your mouth filled with spit as you worked on his thick member, using your tongue the exact way you knew he loved. His hands found their way into your hair and pulled, causing you to grip the blankets underneath your hands.

"Hells, you're so fucking good," Astarion grumbled, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, "Deeper." He commanded.

You made your way fully down on his member, causing his hips to buck in your mouth. You felt your eyes water a bit, and pulled up, taking your mouth completely off of his cock. "Does that feel good?" You toyed, pumping him in your hand. He moved his head back to look at you, his eyes a deep red. You watched the end of his mouth turn up in the shadow of a smile.

Suddenly, the rain started to beat harder against the tent walls.

In one swift movement, Astarion's hand grabbed your chin, pull you on top of him. His member, slick with your spit and precum, slid against your body, causing you to gasp. He looked between your eyes before hungrily crashing his lips against yours again, this time pulling your hair roughly.

"Not as good as it'll feel when I'm inside of you." He said in your ear, before biting your lobe. You moaned loudly, the noise getting lost in the rain.

"Then fuck me."

"Say please."

"Please, Astarion! I need you."

"You need me to what?"

"To fuck me. I need your dick inside of me." You reached down to his cock and started to pump him again, causing Astarion to erupt a small moan from his lips. He looked into your eyes one final time before he flipped you below him.

"On your stomach." He said, waiting patiently. He was sitting high up on his knees, looking down on you. Now, his cock was in his own hand and he stroked it slowly, taking the full length of his member in his palm. He didn't break eye contact as you got on your belly. Soon, you felt him spread your legs gently, and his body weight pressed on top of you.

"I'm going to fuck you so good, you'll be screaming to the gods by the end of it." He murmured in your ear. You shuddered at his voice, and soon you felt him lining himself up at your entrance.

"Oh, Astarion..." You breathe, your thoughts becoming a jumbled mess. You heard him chuckle before he continued on.

"Are you ready?" He asked. You felt like you couldn't speak, your stomach was so clenched in anticipation. You nodded, and almost instantly his cock was deep inside of you, sending ripples of pleasure throughout your body. You called out, lifting your head. As you lifted your head, Astarion took hold of your hair and pulled.

"Gods, you are so fucking tight." He groaned, every word accentuated by a thrust inside of you. You clapped you hand over your mouth so you wouldn't cry out, but he pulled it away, "Don't. I want everyone to hear."

"Fuck, Astarion!" You called out, his hands finding your hips for better leverage. You felt a heat start to rise within you, causing you to breath harder. "Don't stop! Right there-"

"Right there?" He purred, his voice teasing, "Right there and I'm going to make my good girl come?"

"Yes!" You moaned, his voice ripping through you, "Yes right there and I'm going to come. Don't stop!"

The sound of his cock pounding into you filled the tent as your mind became foggy. The pleasure started to soften the sides of your vision as Astarion gripped your hips, definitely leaving marks for tomorrow. As your words turned into incoherent noises, you felt Astarion thrust into you harder, making sure you felt filled.

"Show me you're a good girl," He murmured, his voice steady; in control. As Astarion often was - in control. It drove you crazy, usually the catalyst in tipping you over the edge. "Be my good girl and come for me."

Finally, you felt yourself spill over him as you cried out his name - the heat rose completely in you and for a moment, Astarion stopped thrusting in you, taking his hands and wrapping them around your waist, so that he could feel your orgasm completely. With your head so close to his, he whispered words of praise in your ear - "Good girl. That's it - come for me. Let me feel it. Give me all of it."

You panted, your thoughts finally starting to align again. As you regained control of your body, Astarion gently flipped you over. Spreading your legs open, he entered you again slowly, earning a whimper from you. Two thrusts in and he caused you to throw your head back, crying his name.

"That's it - that's my girl," He hissed, speeding his thrusts up slowly, "Let me see that pretty face, darling. Your pretty face is going to make me come."

"Astarion, FUCK. You feel so good!" You couldn't help yourself as he started again, one of his hands finding it's way to your erect nipples. He pinched and palmed your tits as they bounced with every thrust - the sight of your body bouncing, and your face calling his name, he wasn't far behind you with an orgasm. But, he wanted it to last...

He wanted to wear you out.

It was always so sexy seeing you struggle in the following days, knowing that he alone was the cause.

"Your cock...feels so good..." You panted, your hands finding their way to his shoulder blades. Thunder clapped again, drowning out the scream you cried as Astarion hit your spot. Once he realized how crazy he was driving you, he smiled.

"All for you," He grunted, "This cock is all for you." Sweat beaded at his temples as he stared into your eyes. They were dark, hungry - he started to get the glint in his eyes that he would before he was sent over the edge.

Astarion pounded into so hard that the bed groaned under the pressure. You could feel Astarion's body start to tense above you, so you gripped Astarion's ass, pushing him deeper into you.

The extra effort made you start to see stars, and Astarion was on the same page; "I'm close," He grunted, touching his forehead to yours, "Hells, you're going to make me come."

"Come for me," You breathed, placing a sloppy, rough kiss on his lips, "Come for me."

Suddenly, Astarion called out your name, and you felt him spill into you. The tension in his body reached his climax and gradually released, his body laying completely on top of you.

The only noise in the tent - besides the pounding rain - was your and Astarion's breathing. The shallow, quick breaths turned into deeper, heftier breaths and you regained your composure, the heating slowly leaving your body.

"Gods, you're beautiful." Astarion murmured, brushing your sweaty hair behind your ear gently. He delicately placed a kiss on your lips as he slid down to your side, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you tight. You sighed contently, running a hand over his side and snuggling your head closer into his shoulder. A moment of silence passed before you spoke.

"I did actually come here for that book, you know." You teased, causing him to chuckle.

"Oh? Would you like me to go get it for you then?" He asked, pretending to get out of bed. You giggled and gently pushed him back down.

"Shut up," You playfully scolded him, "I just wanted to let you know that I didn't just come here to seduce you."

"But darling, it's so much fun getting seduced by you." He looked at you and smirked, his eyes sparkling. You rolled your eyes and placed a kiss on his mouth.

"Well...I guess I'll have to let you borrow my books more often, then."

------

My first time doing smut with no plot - I'm gonna be honest, I don't know how I feel about it yet! What did you all think?

Just a reminder: my inbox is open for requestions!

[reborn-readings]

What does your mind need from you at this moment?

Tip Jar | Masterlist | Personal Readings

Hello everyone! This is gonna be my first Pick a Pile, I'm so excited! I hope it brings you joy and healing 💜

This is a group reading, so take what resonates and leave the rest. Don't force anything if it does not fit. Remember that the future is not set in stone and that other potential paths exist depending on your movement through the course of time.

Pile 1 (Left)

Death | Rx Four of Cups | Eight of Coins - Ganesha | Ace of Wands | Ten of Autumn | Cycles | Metamorphosis | Culmination – Completion and Renewal

Pile 1, you are spiraling through a lopsided sequence of events right now. It feels like things are building, like trying to contain a windstorm completely out of our control. Change is happening, that much is for sure, but while change is life’s only constant, there are moments that make you ask “Is all this really necessary? Can’t we slow down a bit?” The answer is no, you can’t—the universe is so eager to put new opportunities in your hands that they feel like hurled curses. 

In this chaos, what your mind needs is not a sense of relief or control, but the assurance that you are not powerless in the face of it. Life is giving you a wave—are you going to let it roll over you and send you careening head over heels, or are you going to ride it? Change is a good thing—we often forget that in order to build upon our foundations, we must change and grow. You are a caterpillar ready to weave your cocoon, and only you know the potential you have. Who knows what you’ll emerge as? 

Your mind asks you to consider an opportunity that comes to you and to not guilt yourself for rejecting what you know is not helpful. Follow your intuition on that; don’t close every door that opens, even if it opened by the wind knocking it down. Consistent work will get you where you’re going. Fall back on your previous experience and build on it to bring it to fruition. There is an upcoming end to a material concern or success in a material goal, and it will bring opportunity for a new object of passion with it. You will create something wonderful out of this chaos—I feel the recognition as something making your chest feel full. The chaos may not subside, but with a new understanding of it, you will know how to harness and weather it. 

Other messages - Out of chaos comes creation. Change is beautiful. Satisfaction with financial savings. Bring your all to whatever projects you decide to take on. Having gathered what was needed. Inbox never empty. Kudos for a job well done. 

Symbols - Thick forests. Poured-out vessels. Circles. Insects or other bugs. Perches.

Pile 2 (Middle)

Two of Pentacles | Rx High Priestess | Ace of Wands – Ra and Kokopelli | Rx Hermit | Prince of Winter | Snowflake Obsidian | Dignity | Independence – Carving Your Own Path

Oh, Pile 2, I see the winter in you. Others might look at you and see the throttling of the edges of autumn and spring. You are more than that, but it becomes difficult to tell when everyone just wishes that winter would be over already. 

Perhaps you are someone young, or someone young in spirit. You have depended on others to help you make the right decisions, but when people tell you that they’ll help you make the right decisions, you often suspect that they want you to make whichever decision will be better for them. Masculine and feminine, withdrawn and social, intuitive or logical—these dualities have plagued you, proponents from each side calling for you to cast away the other. In particular, I see an overbearing masculine presence or ideal that interferes with your thoughts when you try to think about how to move forward. 

Your mind needs to be its own. The reality is, you are a lot bigger and stronger than the people around you. You have a commanding presence that’s a little intimidating, and thus, the people around you want to know that you’re on their side. You should feel honored! But at the end of the day, you can’t leave everyone satisfied, and besides, what’s the point if you yourself are never satisfied? 

I see you really benefiting from taking some time for yourself and your own pursuits. You have been wanting to study something or take a deeper look at something—your mind yearns to be enriched. It also yearns to use that information to take action. It wants you to have faith in yourself and your own decisions, and above all else, to finally make a decision. It may be daunting, but afterwards, you will be a sense of security and stability like never before. I have faith in you. Practice having faith in yourself 

Other messages - A strong foundation will keep you safe. Take pride in yourself. Take honor in your choices, achievements, and actions. Stay focused. Sudden or unexpected changes brought about by you. Head into the vault and stay for a bit. Have some fun in the snow. 

Symbols - Screen doors. Long tails. Something hanging from the ceiling? Searing cold and blistering hot at the same time. Roots in the air and branches in the ground.  Blue sparks/light.

Pile 3 (Right)

King of Swords | Rx Nine of Swords | Awakening of Wands – Eros | Rx Two of Pentacles | Prince of Spring | Howlite | Partnership | Miracle – Making a Difference

Pile 3, you are the master of the mind…aren’t you? Or is the mind a master of you? 

Keep on reading—it might seem unbearable to think that you do not have a cap on your emotions, your passions, your place in the world—but at this moment, your mind needs you to trust it. Think about it! When you’re using a computer or other piece of technology, you’re not the one going in and individually flipping each bit and byte to its correct position. It is the same with your mind—let it handle the secrets of itself, trust that it knows what to do to keep you being that same, wonderful you. 

Has Cupid’s arrow struck you? Do you find yourself longing to be that perfect romantic that always gets the girl? Now you’ve got even more of a problem! How are you supposed to keep tabs on two minds?! It feels like everything’s going wrong, burning down, targeting you. To get past this, you must learn to see your mind not as an enemy, but as a friend that knows you better than you know yourself. Go ahead and follow your mind, just for one tiny, unimportant decision or impulse, and see how it turns out. If it doesn’t end up good, then oh well, but if it does, see where it takes you. 

The world is a wonderful place when you open yourself up to its many possibilities, even if they don’t all seem perfect or ideal. Challenge yourself to take action and allow yourself to have reaction. You are a talented individual, and, if you let them, others will see you for that and want to be with you. Allow the rainbow of life to soak you in every hue and you just might find a matching color, someone so seamless and natural that you’ll wonder how you ever lived life without them by your side, that you’ll forget what it was like without them. And allow your mind to forget some things. It’ll just open you up to experience new wonders. 

Other messages - Shed the old to embrace the new. Close your eyes to see more clearly. Work together. Touch each other’s hearts. A challenge that you can successfully manage. Recognition.  Eternal work in progress (have fun working on it!) Love yourself. 

Symbols - Song. Walk with flowers lining the path. Obstacles falling away. Clear skies. Meditation. Pink.

If this was helpful, please consider donating 💜

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

dbf!jake x innocent!reader (maybe who's still a virgin) and finding out he has a corruption kink i can't ...

i let this sit in my inbox untouched for so long because i couldn't decide whether or not i'm into it - but currently i'm experiencing something of a writer's block, soooo. i've decided to give it a try lmao

tw: dbf!jake has a corruption kink, reader is VERY innocent, it's not explicitly stated she's a virgin but it's very much implied, dom!jake, this is less smut and more talk actually but anyway, mentions of oral sex, also good girl

top gun masterlist | top gun blurbs

You pull back from Jake with wide eyes, panting - embarrassingly so - and clutching at his shirt, angling yourself away. He's turned on, you can feel it, can feel him, pressing into you, pressing against his jeans. And you're wet, you're soaked, you can feel that, too.

It hadn't even been supposed to go this far. It had been a kiss, just one, all sweet and intimate while you'd watched tv. And then there had been a second one. And a third. And somehow, you'd ended up in his lap, pulling at his hair and whining into his mouth. But the moment you rock against him and feel his bulge... You have to pull back.

"There's no rush, darling", he mutters, trailing his fingertips down your cheek and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "I won't do anything you don't-"

"What if I do?", you breathe, clenching your hands into his shirt to keep them from trembling. You don't even know just why they're trembling - maybe because you're so nervous, or maybe because you're so turned on.

"You do?", Jake asks with raised eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

You bite down on your lip and nod.

"Are you really sure?", he asks again. "Because if you're not-"

"Fuck me, Jake", you breathe, your cheeks heating up, your breath quickening. God, had you really just said that? Had you- Holy shit, you'd really just said that. You'd never said anything like that. Never. You'd barely even come close to thinking it.

Jake's eyes widen. Then his hands tighten around your waist, so hard that you gasp out a breath.

"What did you say?", he mutters, dragging his fingers down to your hips. You chew on your lip and stare at the air next to his head. Anywhere else but at him. Anywhere else but at his eyes. There's no way you can repeat yourself. No fucking way. You can hardly believe you said it in the first place.

"I asked you a question, darling", Jake repeats, and even though you try your best not to look at him, not to see that grin tugging at his lips, you can hear it in his voice. "What did you say?"

"I-", you start, stop, and then take a deep breath. No, there's no way. Absolutely no way.

"Come on, speak up", he urges, his hands trailing lower and lower until his fingers circle against the bare skin of your thigh. His thumbs draw below the hem of your dress, then away again. "I know you can."

You dig your teeth into your lip and let your eyes flutter shut, trying to forget absolutely everything at all - the way his fingers feel, how hard he is, how wet you are - to ignore that this is really and truly happening. Pretending it's your imagination makes it a tad easier. A lot easier, if you're completely honest.

"Fuck me, Jake", you whisper, your breath catching.

His fingertips trail up, up, up your thighs-

"And now look at me", he says, his voice so low he's basically growling, not an ask, not even close, but a command, an order. If this is how he sounds at work, barking instructions left and right... "Look at me while you're asking me to fuck you."

"Jake-", you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut even harder. You can feel yourself growing wetter by the second. Fuck, his tone is sinful. And the way he's ordering you- But you just can't, you can't do it.

"Look at me", he repeats as he hooks his thumbs into your panties and tears another little gasp from your lips. Goddamn, you're so sweet. And there's something about your embarrassment, something about how you're unknowingly, unwillingly rocking your hips into his, something about how hard you're trying to not show your desperation, something about how at the very same time, you've already asked him to fuck you twice now.

You need him. It's obvious. And it's so fucking cute, it's adorable, how you both want and don't want to act on it. You're so unsure. And still-

Still, even despite all of your nervousness, you blink open your eyes and look at him, parted lips and flushed cheeks and all, your hands fisting his shirt. Because he's given you an order. And you follow his orders.

"Fuck me", you whisper, so quietly that he can just pick up on it.

His grin widens.

"Good girl", he rasps.

A moan tears from your tongue. Good girl. Holy shit. You'd only ever imagined hearing that, you'd never thought you'd actually get to. Which is why you never could have prepared for how hard it hits you - your legs clamping around his thighs, your eyes fluttering shut again, your hips bucking against his. Fuck.

Jake grunts as you rock so openly against him, his thumbs circling the bare skin below your panties, staggering into the inappropriate. It'd take him less than a moment to find out that you'd shaved this morning.

"Fuck me", you repeat, a little more confident now, and something about it steals his breath. "Please, Jake."

It takes eating you out and teaching you how to suck him off for him to understand just what about you affects him so much. He admits it in between desperate kisses a minute later - you deserve to know, to decide for yourself whether or not you've got a problem with it. You don't, of course, and he finds out a second later as you rock back against his hard-on and whine into his mouth. No, you certainly don't have a problem with it in the slightest.

[shadowmaat]

Drink Caf and Know Things (or not)

Rex sat in the tiny caf shop, nursing a caf long gone cold. His head was too full for the rowdiness of 79's, and alcohol wouldn't mix well with his emotions anyway, even if Skywalker had given them all vouchers. Fives was dead, and they only had this last night to mourn him before they shipped out again in the morning.

The bell above the door jingled and Rex looked up. A familiar face slouched in, nodded at him, and headed for the register. His hands tightened around his mug. Naturally Fox would find him here. The bastard had eyes everywhere.

At least Fox was in his civvies; a ratty, oversized hoodie advertising Mercy's Garage, a pair of equally ratty jeans, and boots he'd probably confiscated from a natborn officer.

Steaming caf in hand, Fox made his way over to Rex's table and sat.

"Captain," he said, sipping his drink and sighing in appreciation.

"Commander," Rex replied, wary.

"Thanks for submitting that report," Fox said. "I know it isn't easy when it's one of your own that turns."

"Yeah." Rex grimaced, then grimaced again as he took a sip of his own stone-cold caf. "First Cody's man, Slick, and now this." He took another sip.

"I'll forward you my own report once I've got everything analyzed."

And that was Fox to a T: meticulous attention to detail, bordering on obsessive, at times. It had only gotten worse on Coruscant, where bureaucracy was the lifeblood of the upper echelons of power.

"Appreciate it." Rex abandoned his mug and rubbed his temples. "I just wish I could understand why. He was a good soldier until this. A little annoying at times, but who isn't?"

Fox snorted. "That way lies madness, Cap. Everyone has a cracking point, and with the way this war is dragging on..." He shrugged.

Anger washed through him, along with the pulsing mantra of Why Fives? that had been a constant in his head since this shitshow had begun.

"And that thing about us having chips in our head." He let out a huff of frustration, and glanced up to see Fox watching him with sharp-eyed attention that immediately disappeared under a veneer of indifference.

"Anything to that?" Fox took another swig of coffee.

Rex frowned at him, not allowing himself to be distracted by the faint whiff of vanilla coming from Fox's mug.

"No," he said, watching the Commander closely. "I had Kix look through all his records. Plenty of scans showing plenty of brain trauma, a couple cases of parasites I don't want to think about, and one trooper who got a piece of shrapnel embedded in his skull, but nothing that looked like a chip."

There was a brief flash of disappointment, there and gone so fast Rex wondered if he imagined it. Fox nodded.

"Right. Well, if you hear any more, my inbox is always open." He stood, gulping down the rest of his vanilla latte and setting the mug on the table. "I'll let you get back to your brooding."

Rex scowled up at him. "I'm not brooding!"

He wasn't. There was a difference between brooding and thinking deeply on something important.

"Whatever you say, Captain Broody."

Rex threw a sugar packet at him as he headed for the door, but the bastard actually caught it.

"Oh, and Rex?" Fox turned back to look at him, all hint of amusement gone. "I am sorry. It's never easy having to put down one of our own."

Rex shrugged, the grief heavy in his chest. "He tried to kill the Chancellor. You had your orders."

"Yeah, I did." The bell jingled as Fox opened the door. "Doesn't mean it was right."

He was gone before Rex could think of a response.

Taking both mugs back to the counter, Rex puzzled over Fox's behavior. Was the Commander acting weird or was he just imagining things? Like Fives had been imagining things. Ugh.

He got a fresh caf, a vanilla latte this time, and headed back to his table to broo- to think. Was this the end of it, or just the beginning?