#have fun reading bimbos

[a-den-of-demons]

A Bimbo Huntress (Open RP; All Muses allowed)

Pyrrha strutted into the seedy club, her dress hiding nothing. A week ago, something had happened to her, and she had woken up in her apartment, all of her curves, tits and her ass having gotten bigger. Something monster related should have concerned her, but all she could think about was massive cocks and pussy.

And as she entered the club, the bimbo looked around, not caring who took her, only that she would have a fun time. (Go wild with her)

@a-fantastic-time @freeusemuses @asexxxualerotica @ask-jaune-npr @sexycitadel @sins-of-warriors

[anetherealpoetess]

empathising with the women who feel forbidden from expressing desire over villains by some imaginary morality clause. villains are so, so sexy. villains transgress all manner of societal norms which is especially appealing to women as we have been confined and restricted all of our lives.

[kind of personally thought woman loving villains who want to burn it all down should make far more sense to everyone than woman identifying with heroes who want to keep everything intact? heroes uphold the status quo. the status quo in our world is patriarchal. there is no catharsis for women in seeing the current state of a world upheld, even if that world is in a galaxy far, far away. but seeing a character played by a handsome actor want to carve up the status quo? yeah. that's sexy. obviously.]

we aren't attracted to villains because we don't understand that they're bad; we like them because they are bad. because in their otherness we find symbolic representation. because in their defiance of societal norms we find catharsis.

[grossdyke]

no but if i have to see the term girl-anything ever again i think i will kill myself

[auroralwriting]

٠ ࣪⭑ mastermind

‎pairing: clark kent x bombshell!reader (part one) (3.0K words)

summary: as one of the daily planet's most popular gossip column writers, clark is surprised to learn you're a genius when it comes to superman. he's also surprised to learn you aren't all heels and makeup

warnings & content: bombshell!reader, female reader, not technically bimbo reader but others assume so, clark is whipped from the start and somehow becomes more whipped, reader double majored in stats and journalism go smart girls go!

٠ ࣪⭑ part two can be found here!

If there were two people who talked the most at the Daily Planet, it would be Cat Grant and yourself.

The two main gossip columnists. You were both brutal. Once, Jimmy was assigned a story with you. He requested to never work with you in the gossip column again after just six hours. Perry agreed. He also never assigned you anything but gossip because the one time he did? You wrote a slam piece on both baseball teams you were assigned to write about. 

Perry realized very early on you were a gossip column writer only. And he was okay with that.

Cat and you were always stunning the offices and newsrooms. Hair, makeup, and pretty outfits every single day, even if you were sick or it was storming out. You always looked good. That was the fun part about the job, and you took it seriously. The fashion, the presence, the image. It wasn’t just for the sake of being seen. It was armor. Lipstick was war paint, heels were your battle cry, and your notes app was a finely-honed blade.

Between you and Cat, there wasn’t a single scandal that went unnoticed or unpublished. You had sources no one else could reach, contacts who owed you favors, and a sixth sense for when something was about to blow up. You weren’t just gossip columnists, you were watchdogs in stilettos.

And Clark? He wasn’t sure what to make of you at first. He’d never met someone who could talk circles around Cat Grant and casually bring up alien migration patterns over lunch. He also didn’t understand how someone could write a piece titled Lex Luthor: Lots of Money, but Hard to Appease? and still manage to interview senators by the end of the week.

You were loud. Smart. A little too clever. But no one could deny it. Every time you walked into the room, the story followed.

And eventually, so did Clark.

“Clark, you gotta hear this, man,” Jimmy’s chair wheeled over beside Clark’s desk. “She’s talking nonsense. Like.. smart nonsense.”

Clark glanced up, already a little wary. “What is it this time?”

Jimmy pointed, discreet but desperate, toward the far end of the bullpen where you and Cat Grant were deep in conversation. “She’s doing something really weird. I walked past her desk and heard numbers. Equations. Graphs. Clark, she’s talking about Superman like he’s a physics dissertation.”

Clark blinked, turning just slightly in his chair to get a better look. You were standing near the coffee station, one hand wrapped around a pink mug that read Panic Then Write, the other animatedly gesturing as you explained something to Cat, who, for her part, looked like she was either being converted into a new religion or trying really hard to figure out whatever you were saying to her.

“—and that’s exactly why his maximum velocity during vertical ascension contradicts the standard gravitational drag equation,” you said brightly. Your hands waved in the air, manicured nails glistening in the light. “Like, there’s no way his flight path over the city last Friday didn’t involve some level of gravitational lensing. Did you see the air pressure ripple? I mean, it wasn’t visible, obviously, but the birds dipped midair. I have a theory, I’m working on it.”

Cat blinked. “You’re telling me you can tell how fast Superman was going based on bird migration patterns?”

“Oh, totally. Well, that and minor wind displacement across a five-block radius. Also, the security cam footage from Ninth and Fulton glitched at the exact time he crossed into frame. It’s like an energy signature thing. I track it in my spreadsheets.” You said it like it was the most simple thing in the world, like anyone else could be doing it.

“Spreadsheets,” Cat repeated, like she wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or afraid.

Clark stared. So did Jimmy. 

“She has spreadsheets,” Jimmy whispered, horrified. It was like every assumption he had previously assumed about you was being thrown out the window.

Clark tried very, very hard not to smile. “About Superman.”

“She’s obsessed, man! She said his cape flutters at a different rate depending on the altitude! She compared it to solar panel kinetics! Who does that?” Jimmy’s exclamation nearly gathered your attention. Jimmy just gave you a small, hesitant nod, making you shrug and continue with your conversation.

“Apparently she does,” Clark murmured, voice a little too fond. He watched your face brighten again as you began explaining something else to Cat.

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You’re into this, aren’t you? You like that she’s a walking Super-statistics manual.”

“I admire her dedication to research,” Clark said simply. Sure, it was the dedication, but this was the first time Clark was actually seeing a whole new side to you.

You were always gorgeous. It was probably the first thing Clark noticed about you. But he knew you had passion, riveting storytelling abilities, incredible grammar and punctuation. Clark knew you were always on time and always listened to people intently whenever they spoke to you. He knew you loved every single color of the rainbow, always greeted everyone in the morning, and made time during your busy day to gossip with Cat. Clark learned a lot about you very quickly.

So, learning you were actually a genius was something he really liked. Really liked. More than your pretty eyes, bright smile, and endearing voice. Especially because you zeroed in on him. Superman. 

“She’s got a color-coded chart titled Flight Patterns vs. Rescue Probability Ratios,” Jimmy hissed, hands flailing around the air. “I saw it with my very own eyes!”

Clark smiled. “That’s actually.. not a bad idea.”

Jimmy groaned. “Oh my god. It’s worse than I thought. We’re gonna find you one day married and buried under pie charts.” No, Clark’s crush was not a secret.

Across the room, you caught Clark’s eye—mid-sentence, mid-rant, mid-explaining the temperature fluctuation when Superman breaks the sound barrier—and grinned at him like you knew he was listening.

Clark gave a small wave.

You waved back.

Clark had always been such a sweetie since day one. He brought you coffee, even if he just went over to the machine to get it for you. Sickeningly sweet, just the way you liked it. You weren’t stupid in any way, shape, or form, so you knew Clark was whipped. Just like how everyone else knew.

He held doors open without making a show of it, remembered how you liked your pens (gel, fine point, purple ink), and always pretended not to notice when you’d start your day with gossip but end it quoting Nietzsche over lunch. He complimented your writing like it was easy—like it was fact. He would even sometimes split his lunch with you if you even briefly commented on how his looked better than yours.

And yeah, sure, he looked like the kind of guy who should be on the cover of GQ: Farmer Edition, all broad shoulders and soft flannels. But he didn’t use that to his advantage. If anything, he blushed too easily and said excuse me even when you bumped into him.

Clark just always had your attention. You loved his silly little jokes, how he would ask you for help with his article even though he really just wanted your opinion, and you especially loved how he looked at you with his bright blue eyes.

And Clark was always there when some new intern or Steve insulted you. You were a total bombshell, yes, but that didn’t mean you were stupid. Clark knew you weren’t stupid, you knew you weren’t stupid, even Steve knew—but he just liked to push your buttons.

Once, Steve had muttered something under his breath about how your lipstick probably took more time than your research. You didn’t even flinch. You were used to it. But before you could reply with something scathing and Pulitzer-worthy, Clark looked up from his desk and said, calm as ever, “She’s written more front pages this quarter than you have in your career, Steve.” Just like that. No raised voice. No dramatics. Steve blinked. Went back to pretending he was important.

You had just smiled sweetly, twirled your pen between perfectly manicured fingers, and softly said, “Thanks, Clark,” like your heart wasn’t thudding in your chest.

He always had your back. When people underestimated you because of the heels or the tight skirts or the fact that you said like and wore rhinestone barrettes, he never did. Not once. And maybe that’s what made your heart twist a little, more than the compliments or the coffee or even the soft way he said your name. The fact that he saw you. No filters, no assumptions. Just you.

Maybe he was your soft spot.

Maybe.

This last fight had been rough for Clark. Millions worth of property damage and a lot of angry people. In his defense, he didn’t mean for the fight to get so out of hand, but to be fair, no one else was fighting that thing. So really, was he fully to blame? Where was The Justice Gang when you needed them?

Talk shows were already speculating if Superman had lost it. The morning news ran slow-motion clips of the destruction on a loop, conveniently skipping the part where he dragged a dozen civilians out of the blast zone with one arm. The word reckless was being thrown around like candy. The city was hard to please. Save them with minimal damage, they’re happy. Save them with anything more, they’re not so happy anymore.

The newsroom was all different conversations about whether Superman was in the right or not. Of course, most of the people Clark surrounded himself were mainly on his side, but they did have opinions.

“I’m just saying, did he need to take down a whole building?” Jimmy asked.

Lois sighed, flipping through her notes without looking up. “It was already empty. Evacuated ten minutes before the hit. Clark wrote that in his piece.”

“Yeah, I know, I read the piece,” Jimmy said, hands up. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”

Steve Lombard chimed in from a few desks down, clearly not playing devil’s advocate. “Maybe if he was smarter about it, we wouldn’t be looking at a six-block reconstruction. Just saying.”

“Maybe if you were smarter about it, we wouldn’t still be running that disastrous opinion column you call journalism.”

Clark looked up to see you walk in. Blue blouse, red skirt, red nails, blue headband. You were fully decked out in Superman’s—his—colors. Clark felt his brain glitch in real time. It felt like a system error and complete crash was actively happening as you walked up to the group, grabbing your chair to swivel up and join the conversation.

Lois looked up from her notepad, one perfectly arched brow raised. “What’s with the patriotism?”

You gave a dazzling smile as you sat, crossing your legs with practiced flair. “Just.. showing a little solidarity.”

“With Superman?” Steve asked, incredulous.

“Obviously with Superman,” you shot back. “You think I’m wearing red and blue for the Meteors?” Clark’s brain continued its slow descent into chaos. You looked like every dream he’d never admitted having. Bright, bold, stunning and fiercely on his side. And you looked really good in blue.

Jimmy leaned in, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You do realize you're basically baiting everyone who’s mad about the damage, right?”

“Good,” you said sweetly, reaching for the coffee Lois had just set down for herself. You took a sip like it was yours. It was the sweetest, maybe even sweeter than yours with all the sugar she dumped into it. “They can be mad and wrong. Multitasking is real.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “You all act like he’s flawless.”

You gave him a look. “Nobody’s flawless, Steve. But Superman was the only one fighting that thing. It’s easy to criticize from behind a keyboard when you’re not the one getting thrown into buildings.”

Clark’s chest warmed. You weren’t just defending him—you were wearing your defense like a battle flag. You turned slightly, catching Clark’s eye. “And for the record, he saved a lot more than he destroyed.” Clark tried to form a response, but his mouth had completely forgotten how to function.

Lois smirked, clearly clocking the interaction. “Alright, Wonder Woman 2.0, let’s hear it. What’s your angle today?”

You leaned back in your chair, legs still crossed, twirling a pen between your fingers. “Same angle as always, Lois. The truth. It’s not about perfection—it’s about intention. Superman cares. That’s more than I can say for some of the people complaining about the cleanup from their luxury apartments uptown.”

Clark looked down at his screen, a dopey grin tugging at his lips. He felt his heart beating a whole new pattern. It might as well have been spelling your name in morse code.

Then, you reached into your bag, pulled out your tablet, and tapped the screen a few times. “By the way,” you added casually, “I ran a breakdown of structural losses versus casualty prevention. Want to guess how many lives he saved by demolishing that building?”

Steve groaned. “Please don’t say spreadsheets.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely saying spreadsheets,” you grinned, flipping the screen around. “I cross-referenced city evacuation timelines, mapped the creature’s path, and ran predictive models based on its movement patterns. Taking out that building redirected the debris zone by a 42.7% margin. It shielded half the block.”

Lois raised her brows. “You’re telling me Superman used a ten-story office complex as a wall?”

“I’m saying,” you replied, “he thought fast, acted faster, and made the smartest call in an impossible situation. And anyone who can’t see that is probably mad he did more damage to their ego than their rent-controlled apartment.”

“Remind me again of how you know all of this?” Steve sighed like it was a chore to listen to your rambles.

You shrugged, “Double majored in Statistics and Journalism. Thought it may come into hand at some point in my career. Though, I did always hope I would just do gossip.”

“I actually did not know this,” Jimmy raised a hand as he interrupted. “I just thought you were some kind of natural genius.”

“Yeah, no. She has never brought this up,” Lois nodded in agreement, also quite perplexed.

Steve just stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “But you.. only write gossip? Why not do an actual column that people read?”

You ignored the comment. Cat punched his shoulder anyways. “Because gossip moves markets, sweetie. You think LuthorCorp’s stocks tanked last month because of their quarterly report? No. It was because I leaked that Luthor skipped the mayor’s fundraiser and was seen at an off-books dinner with a mystery guest. Which, for the record, was his own clone.”

Slowly, Jimmy leaned over to Clark, not taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, man. You were so right for getting a crush on her,” he whispered, slightly shaking his head in disbelief. 

“I—that doesn’t—”

“You’re wrapped around her finger. You’ve got dibs,” Jimmy whispered back, patting Clark’s shoulder, and swiveling back to his desk.

Clark opened and closed his mouth like a Windows error message. “I don’t—dibs isn’t—Jimmy, that’s not how—” He turned halfway in his chair, gesturing vaguely, but Jimmy had already slipped on his headphones and was pretending to work while very obviously still listening.

Clark sighed, dragging a hand over his face, just as you glanced over from your seat, your pen poised dramatically between your fingers. “Something wrong, Clark?” you asked, head tilted, expression effortlessly sweet and soft, the way you always looked at him.

“Oh, no, no,” Clark shook his head. “Just, uh.. amazed. At you..your calculations.”

You blinked, then smiled, soft and warm like sunlight through a window. “Really? You think they’re okay?”

Clark let out a short, almost breathless laugh. “Okay? They’re incredible. I mean, I didn’t even notice half the things you picked up on. The migration patterns? The glitch timing? That’s.. genius.”

You blushed, glancing down at your notes like you needed to double-check them now. “I just.. like looking closely at things, I guess. Patterns make me feel like the world makes more sense.”

He nodded slowly, watching you. You were a goddess walking among men. Which said a lot, coming from the man that was compared to gods. “You make things make more sense.”

You looked up again, surprised, and your smile grew just a little more shy. “Thank you, Clark. Really. That means a lot coming from you.” There was a quiet moment between you—just long enough for the newsroom to blur around the edges—and then you added, voice even softer, “You’ve always been kind to me. Even before I ever proved I was more than the gossip girl. I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you for that.”

Clark’s heart thudded. “You never needed to.”

“I still want to,” you said. “So.. thank you.”

And he swore, right then, that if he wasn’t already hopelessly gone for you, that would’ve been the exact moment he fell.

Lois turned to Jimmy. “Is she whipped for him too?”

“I think we just found her soft spot,” Jimmy muttered, in literal disbelief that, nerd, Clark Kent, somehow was pulling bombshell, you. The unobtainable girl in the newsroom. The one every guy had a secret, small crush on. He exhaled. “You know what? Good for them. I mean, it's confusing and a little terrifying, but good for them.”

Lois smiled knowingly. “Give it a week. One of them’s gonna crack.”

Watching them closely, Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “My money’s on Clark.”

“Please,” Lois scoffed, waving Jimmy off with her hand. “That girl’s gonna fold like a lawn chair the second he says something too soft with those stupid eyes.”

They both turned back to their work, though neither one stopped listening. Not when you giggled. Not when Clark looked at you like you hung the stars. And definitely not when the entire bullpen slowly started to realize:

The gossip columnist and the golden boy were both very off the market.

[konigsblog]

KÖNIG P!LINK MASTERLIST. (🌽)

MASTERLISTS - BEWARE: DARK THEMES BELOW.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. STRICTLY 18+. ALL MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED.

A MASTERLIST OF KÖNIG THEMED VIDEOS COMPILED TOGETHER.

CREDITS: @GLUTT_R, ALL VIDEOS ARE AVAILABLE ON X/🐦

LOSER!KÖNIG

jerking loser!könig off while he plays videogames.

promising to let könig have a little fun...

bimbo!reader giving the poor social recluse a chance.

getting loser!könig off after toying with him all day.

becoming loser!könig's outlet for frustration during gaming.

big-dicked!loser!könig melting at the touch of a woman.

letting loser!virgin!könig record during sex.

bouncing on his cock while he games.

allowing the sick pervert to hump you.

loser!könig who'll humiliate himself for your satisfaction.

NERD!KÖNIG

nerd!könig who's very clearly and visibly inexperienced, but beyond desperate.

getting nerd!könig off as compensation for his helpfulness while studying together.

nerd!reader getting könig off while reading.

nerd!könig x nerd!reader.

overstimulating nerd!könig with your gentle, intimate touch.

nerd!könig who needs some extra entertainment.

tying him up and fucking with his fucked-up, perverted head.

refusing to let könig lose his virginity to you just yet.

könig and his humiliation & exhibition kink..

finally touching nerd!könig for the first time.

CREEP!KÖNIG

könig after gifting you a teddy bear with a camera hidden inside...

könig after gifting you a teddy bear with a camera hidden inside (part two)...

creep!könig secretly recording you during sex.

creep!könig who takes advantage of intoxicated women he finds. (non-con)

kidnapper!könig who abducts young, dumb, and unsuspecting women. (non-con)

creep!könig who manipulates you into consenting. (non-con)

silencing you with threats... and his thick cock.

assaulted in the boot of his truck. (non-con)

public transport with creepy, touchy könig.

PERV!KÖNIG

somnophiliac!könig and his crave for lust and control. (non-con + somnophilia)

“just the tip...” with perverted, overstimulated könig.

getting handsy with high libido!könig.

those panties? he's stuffing them into his pocket for later, mäuschen.

könig's oral fixation.

könig being unable to keep his hands to himself.

könig's inability to keep his mouth off of you.

being awoken with sex by perv!könig.

KONIG (GENERAL)

being your colonel's dumb little sex toy.

könig and his raging size kink.

könig's feral breeding fetish.

the mistake of losing to your virginity to könig...

worshiping his meaty cock.

cockdrunk off his hung and hefty dick.

first time with könig.

hole inspection with könig.

könig's intensifying and worsening breeding kink.

könig and his skillful, tactical fingers.

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 1

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samoyed (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts/personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; dom/sub elements; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Some warnings only apply to future parts!)

☁ ccc; masterlist

Simon remembers telling Price to ‘piss off with that shite’ when the latter had approached him with the brass’ announcement of granting the Lieutenant the rare permission to become the handler of an emotional support hybrid.

There aren’t many officers on base who are allowed to have one, and Simon knows why that is. In his opinion, the whole handler/hybrid deal has all the negative connotations of a toxic and borderline abusive relationship, and Simon simply doesn’t want to be part of that.

Did anyone of those fuckers ever bother to read his file? He bloody well doubts it.

He does respect the official handlers and trainers of the military K9’s on base, though. Whatever bond they share was forged and solidified in battle and goes way beyond that odd and shallow power play that happens between some officers and their so-called “pets”.

So, Simon said no to the offer, firmly and several times at that. He doesn’t care for the bloody permission, no matter how rare it is, no matter how fellow soldiers who’d caught rumour about it had blatantly stated their envy about the possibility of gaining a hybrid pet themselves. Truthfully, Simon becomes sick to his stomach whenever one of the other officers and NCO’s talk about wanting to own a pretty pleasure puppy; something dumb and docile to have fun and unwind with in their time off duty.

Fucking hell. No, Simon doesn’t want to be part of that, let alone be responsible of some freakish hybrid mutt.

Weeks pass, both thoughts and arguments about hybrids and handlers are pushed back and filed away in some nook inside Simon’s mind as he falls back into his daily grind and familiar routine; running drills, paperwork, field trainings, preparing for missions, more paperwork.

Until one fateful day in January.

The UK weather has been more terrible lately; icy rain and howling winds beating down on base while Simon was trying to keep the rookies in line at the shooting range. By the end of the day, his fatigues were drenched and clinging to his broad frame while the chill was seeping through his pale skin, settling into his bones; making his limbs heavy and turning them stiff as if he’d carried a rucksack full of boulders on his back for a week straight.

The moment Simon arrives at the front door to his flat on base, though, the hairs at the back of his neck bristle immediately. The hallway is empty, but–

Something isn’t right. He can practically sense that someone was here, perhaps even inside his place in the worst case.

Halting in his measured steps while his breathing levels out to that eerie shallowness he’s adapted to on missions, his ears perk up under his skull balaclava as he listens for any odd noises coming from inside. Unable to pick up anything unusual, Simon still chooses to rather be safe than sorry as he reaches for his pistol in the holster strapped to his right thigh.

Simon manages to open the front door without any noise before he slips inside effortlessly, living up to his name as a ghost as he stalks through his flat on high alert; checking the small storage room before sneaking down the short, dark hallway leading up to his open living room. He can bloody sense that something is different, that someone has tampered with his safe space; he can smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, and tangy cologne even through his damp balaclava.

The sight that greets him on his old, tattered couch when he eventually flips on the light switch, is unlike anything he expected and Simon’s whole body tenses, eyes widening comically as if he’s met face to face by a firing squad.

But it’s just you, a bloody dog hybrid, curled up on his couch like you belong there–which you don’t.

And Simon slowly lowers his pistol, watches your fluffy white ears appear from under your hair as they perk up before you lift your head, like pristine cotton balls popping open in the sunlight; your body uncurling and stretching slowly while you squint against the bright yellow drop-light.

“What the bloody… fuck,” Simon breathes, chest deflating with a deep sigh as he puts his pistol back into his holster, securing it once more. Dark eyes flicker around the room before he catches a large black suitcase next to what looks like a gift basket.

Simon approaches the basket the way he would a bomb threat while his vigilant eyes keep shifting towards you as if you could attack him any moment, although you’re clearly still waking up, all discombobulated and sleep-drunk.

When Simon catches a clear view at the assortment of goodies and the black folder tucked between them inside the basket, his cold heart stutters and his blood freezes in his veins. At the sight of the pale pink collar with its matching leash, the vein in his temple throbs with a mixture of fury and revulsion.

The sound of your soft, sickly-sweet voice chirping out a greeting nearly makes his wretched soul leave his body. “Hi… Hello.”

Simon takes a step back, needing a protective wall at his back and as much space between himself and you as possible as he tries to assess the situation.

“How the fuck did you get inside my flat?” Simon mutters under his breath, dark eyes widening when he realizes the thumping in his ears doesn’t match his rapid heartbeat but belongs to your fluffy white tail gently wagging against the soft leather of his couch; just as fluffy and white as your ears, like freshly made cotton candy.

“I was brought here and told to wait for my new handler,” you answer as your head tilts to the side curiously, gazing up at the large man with bright doe-eyes. “Are you Simon?”

Simon’s narrowed eyes widen instantly again at the sound of your voice uttering his name so sweetly, so... casually. It makes him sick to his stomach, and he swallows back the sour taste in his mouth as it fills with saliva.

“Who the fuck brought you ‘ere?”

He needs a name, so he knows who to beat to a pulp before he grabs the first poor bastard who crosses his path next.

“Uhm–oh!” Your small, triangle-shaped ears perk up, and the giggle you let out makes Simon grimace underneath his mask. “They had silly names for humans,” you tell him, still giggling softly to yourself before adding: “Gaz and Soap.”

Simon huffs in exasperation and pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, it explains the “special orders” his bloody Sergeants had gotten from Price today; the reason he couldn’t attend today’s training session. And suddenly, it all clicks into place.

“You’re all wet, Simon,” you remark about his appearance; sweet voice laced with a concern so genuine that is has his spine tense and his stomach churn with aversion. “Are you not cold?”

He wants to bark at you to stop calling him by his name, to stop trying to appeal to him just because your bloody stupid nature tells you to, to stop imprinting on your so called “new handler” just because someone told you that you belong to him now. He wants you out of his flat and out of his life before anything terrible and out of his control can take root and blossom behind his ribcage.

“Get up,” he snaps at you before his thoughts can spiral any further and he almost, almost feels bad when you flinch in your seat, ducking your head submissively while your ears flatten against your head. “I’m taking you back. You’re not staying here, lass.”

“W-What?” Your face drops, your fluffy tail stops wagging; eyes glossing over as you begin to tremble and shrink on the spot. The sound of your soft whine only angers Simon more, because it tugs on his heartstring, makes his protective instincts flare.

“You heard me. Get up and grab your fuckin’ suitcase. ’m taking you back to wherever you came from.”

When Simon glances back at you, something mean and violent lodges itself into his chest cavity; twisting and squeezing his rotten heart as soon as he sees the devastated look on your face; ears drooping and shoulders slouching in defeat while another soft whine vibrates in your chest.

“Okay,” you answer eventually, snivelling when fat tear breaches your lower lash line and runs down your supple cheek as you untuck your legs from under yourself to move off the couch. “Okay…”

There’s a shrill ringing in his ears when Simon’s mouth seems to move on its own, making a decision for him. “Wait. Stay–Stay right where you bloody are.”

And you immediately do as you’re told, like the obedient pup you obviously are, settling back and perking up again as you blink dumbly at the brutish man with bright, big eyes and an expectant look that makes Simon groan internally before he reaches into one of his many pockets to retrieve his old smartphone.

He mutters and curses under his breath as the cracked screen lights up, and it doesn’t take long for him to find his Captain’s name in his short contact list. Simon taps the screen with his gloved thumb to call the man, ready to argue tooth and nail to have you picked up by from his flat again, so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

Simon’s jaw is clenched tightly while his sharp gaze keeps flickering back to you, still not quite believing you’re not some stress-induced hallucination, or nightmare.

It takes two rings before Price picks up.

“Ghost–“

Simon inhales deeply. “Price–“

“Getting acquainted with your new companion, son? She’s quite the sweetheart. Easy on the eyes, too, judging by what the lads told me.”

His chest deflates, air rushing from his lungs in a long exhale. That comment alone is enough to make him even more furious. “I don’t want her. Take her back to wherever she came from, Captain.”

There’s a beat of tense silence before Price speaks up again, and Simon can hear the squeak of the old office chair as the other man leans back in it.

“Did you read her file yet?”

“No, should I?” Simon counters gruffly, feeling his patience grow thinner by the second.

“Aye, son, I suggest you should.”

“Gimme the short version, Price. I’m this close to handing her over to the next lucky bloke who passes by my fuckin’ flat.”

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Price says decisively on the other; his gruff voice way too calm for Simon’s liking. “She’s a rescue, Lieutenant. Got rescued from one of those terrible puppy mills.”

That makes Simon shut up as his eyes flicker over to you; softening somewhat when his eyes lock with yours. You keep watching him with the slightest pout, waiting for orders or for him to finally send you away. He’s still considering it, though the revelation of your background makes him hesitate for some odd reason. Empathy.

“Simon?”

Simon squeezes the phone harder in his grip; hard enough he thinks he might break it once and for all. “You better find a new handler for her, Captain.” He bites out through clenched teeth. “It’s not gonna be me.”

Price sighs. “Alright.” There is another pause and Simon can hear it when Price scratches his coarse beard in contemplation before he speaks up again. “Just keep an eye on her for the night, aye? I’ll make the necessary arrangement to have her transferred to someone else.”

“Good. She can stay for one night. One. Night.” Simon growls before hanging up.

The soft sound of your tail thumping against the couch catches his attention again and when he looks back at you, you’re practically beaming at him.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

[psycholuvrgirl]

that's just how i talk

featuring... megumi!

summary: megumi doesn't like that you flirt with everyone you meet, you have to make it up to him

warnings: NSFW content; oral (m!receiving) (all characters are aged up)

a/n: bimbo!reader is just me i fear

“thank you so much sweetheart,” you beam, lashes fluttering at the barista as they hand over your iced drink. “you have the nicest hands. like you could totally be a hand model.”

the barista blinks, then smiles a flustered sort of smile. “oh, thanks!”

you wink. “don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, cute stuff.”

and just like that, megumi is clenching his jaw and nearly breaking through his own cup of coffee.

you turn back to him, all sunshine and lip gloss. you smile when you spot him and make your way back to where he’s waiting stiffly by the wall. you offer him a sip with a grin. “want some, baby?”

“did you just flirt with the barista?”

“what? no.” you look genuinely confused. “i was just being nice.”

“you complimented his hands.”

“they were good hands, baby. did you see ‘em? should i go get him?”

megumi inhales slowly, counting to ten under his breath. you sip your drink, unaware and unbothered by the faint twitch in his jaw.

“being nice is fun. you should try it sometime, gumi.”

“i am nice.”

you look him up and down. “you scowled at a puppy this morning.”

“it bit me.”

“it licked you.”

“same thing.”

you giggle, linking your arm with his as you leave the café. “you’re so dramatic, baby.”

(says the girl in the rhinestone-covered miniskirt and knee-high pink boots.)

megumi sighs. “can you maybe not flirt with everyone who breathes? especially when i’m standing right there.”

your glossy lips part. “you thought i was flirting?”

he gives you a flat look.

“that’s just how i talk,” you insist, laughing. “baby, i call the mailman ‘cutie patootie.’ it doesn’t mean anything.”

“another request: please stop saying ‘cutie patootie.’”

“no promises.”

he shakes his head. “you do it with everyone! waiters, clerks, gojo—”

“oh, come on. i’m not flirting with gojo.”

“you told him his eyelashes were longer than your patience.”

“they are! and i have very little patience, so that’s impressive.”

megumi pinches the bridge of his nose. “that doesn’t even make sense. that’s not impressive if you have a little— whatever. i’m just wondering, do you not see how that sounds?”

you lean in close, voice soft. “aww, baby. are you jealous?”

his ears go pink instantly. “no. i’m annoyed.”

“mmhm.”

you pout at him playfully, tugging on his sleeve. “you know you’re the only one i actually flirt with, right?”

he looks skeptical. “are you sure?”

“duh.” you reach up and tap your finger against his chest. “i don’t say anyone else looks hot when they’re mad.”

“you said that last week when i yelled at that curse.”

“exactly,” you say, bouncing up to smack a glossy kiss on his cheek. “and you’re the only one i cover in my gloss!”

megumi pauses and you smirk. he hates that you have a point.

***

later that evening, you’re curled up in his bed, freshly showered and smelling like vanilla, wearing one of his hoodies that hangs off your shoulder. megumi’s reading, or at least trying to. you’re draped across his chest like a weighted blanket, chin propped on your hands, watching him.

“are you mad at me?” you ask sweetly.

“no.”

“then why do you look like that?”

“like what?”

“like you’re debating whether to kiss me or murder me.”

he closes his book. “i’m just wondering how someone with that much lip gloss gets away with flirting with half the city and calls it ‘being nice.’”

you gasp dramatically. “half the city?! i would never.”

“name three people you didn’t flirt with today.”

you pause to think, a long and painful pause. “yuuji?”

“he wasn’t even with us. doesn’t count if you didn’t even see them today.”

“oh.” you blink. then you gasp and smile. “i didn’t flirt with nanami!”

“you called him a dilf.”

“oh. right.” you slump. “but he didn’t even know what that meant, so it’s not really flirting.”

“yes it is,” he says, rolling his eyes.

you shrug. “well, i flirt with you the most. so that counts for something, right?”

megumi stares at you.

“tell me you don’t love it. go on. lie to my face.”

he opens his mouth, then closes it. you beam.

“it’s just hard sometimes,” he says. “everyone always looks at you and you talk to them like they’re special. it’s like i’m not even standing there.”

you blink. “oh.”

megumi doesn’t look at you.

you sit up on your knees, cupping his jaw with both hands so he has to.

“baby,” you say, voice suddenly quieter, “sure, i talk to them like they’re cute, but i talk to you like you hung the damn moon.”

he blinks.

“and when i flirt with you, i actually mean it.”

“so you admit you flirt with them?” he asks, raising a brow.

you let out a giggle. “sure, if it makes you happy, grumpy-pants.”

he narrows his eyes. “you’re exhausting.”

“you love it,” you say, kissing his cheek.

“i love when you don’t flirt with people.”

“oh, come on,” you whine, rolling your eyes. “i already told you it’s different! i only mean to flirt with you. i love you the most.”

he continues to give you a flat look.

your eyes twinkle with mischief. you push him gently so that he leans back, crawling over to straddle him. you get close to his ear. “need me to prove it?”

his breath hitches the second you say it, eyes flickering up to meet yours like he isn’t sure if you’re serious. but you’re already sliding off his lap.

“wait,” megumi’s voice is a rasp, but your fingers are already hooking in the waistband of his sweats. “you don’t have to—”

“i know.” you look up at him, lips plush and already parting, pupils blown wide with heat and sincerity. “i want to.”

your hands are sure as you tug his pants down enough to free him, fingers grazing the soft skin of his hips as he hisses under his breath. he’s already half-hard, and your eyes gleam at the sight.

“all that brooding,” you murmur, wrapping your hand around the base and giving a slow stroke, “you just need some attention. yeah, baby?”

megumi tips his head back against the pillows, jaw clenched.

“and you think i’m the dramatic one,” he mutters, breathless.

you just giggle, then lean in and press an open-mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock. it’s featherlight and sweet, tongue flicking just enough to make his thighs tense. his fingers dig into the blanket.

you look up through your lashes, voice syrupy and soft. “let me take care of you, baby.”

he doesn’t answer. just nods once.

you wrap your lips around him slowly, sinking down inch by inch, feeling him twitch against your tongue as he curses under his breath.

he always forgets just how good your mouth feels until it’s back on him. he knows it’s good, but imagining it never lives up to you doing the real thing.

you’re not just soft, but you’re eager. like you love having him in your mouth, like it’s your favorite thing in the world.

and maybe it is.

you moan a little around him, just enough to make his hips jerk. one of his hands finds your hair, gentle at first, fingers threading through the strands as you take him deeper.

you pull back with a wet pop, spit glistening on your lips. “you always get like this when i flirt with other people,” you tease, stroking him slowly. “so serious. so jealous. it’s kinda hot.”

“not jealous,” he growls, eyes hazy. “just hate sharing.”

“mmm.” you lean in again, dragging your tongue up the underside of his cock. “you’re not sharing. you have me.”

and then you take him in again. deeper this time, one hand stroking what you can’t fit, the other gripping his thigh as you hollow your cheeks and suck hard.

megumi curses softly, raggedly and lets his head fall back.

“fuck, baby.”

you hum around him, letting the vibration roll through your throat. his hips buck. the hand in your hair tightens instinctively.

you bob your head, setting a rhythm fast enough to make his breathing hitch, slow enough to make it last. you love watching him like this. love how wild he looks when he loses control. the way his eyes fliutter shut, the muscles in his stomach tightening.

this isn’t about teasing anymore. this is about proving your point.

you don’t flirt with anyone like this. you don’t kneel for anyone like this. only him. always him.

you pull back again, spit dripping from your lips as you catch your breath, eyes sparkling. “still think i don’t mean it?”

megumi stares down at you, flushed and panting. “you’re ridiculous.”

“say you like it.”

“i love it.”

you grin, then sink down again, this time taking him all the way until your nose brushes the base. he groans, deep and guttural, both hands gripping your hair now, eyes wide like he still can’t believe how good your mouth feels.

you gag once, then pull back just enough to breathe, your lips swollen and slick.

“you gonna cum for me?” you whisper, stroking him faster now, tongue flicking over the tip. “wanna taste it, baby. wanna know you believe me.”

“jesus—” megumi’s voice cracks, hips jerking once before he gasps, “fuck, i’m—”

it’s hot and sudden on your tongue, thick and heavy as his whole body shudders beneath you. you take it all, swallowing around him as he comes down in sharp breaths, body twitching with every aftershock. you stay there for a second, resting your cheek against his thigh, letting him catch his breath.

he looks dazed. completely destroyed.

“still mad at me?” you ask sweetly.

he drags a hand over his face without responding. you giggle, crawling back up to kiss him. it’s slow, open-mouthed, and filthy. 

when you pull back, your eyes sparkle again.

“i’m still gonna flirt with the barista tomorrow.”

megumi groans.

[dearlenore]

POPULAR • S.REID

SUMMARY: when college students begin to go missing at a near by campus, the Bau are immediately called to investigate, finding you at the center of it all. The problem? You were incredibly popular and insisted you were on good terms with everyone….

PAIRING: fem!bimbo!reader x spencer

tags: reader is hyper feminine, season10!spencer, reader wears makeup, reader is a little dumb but smart academically, reader is Glinda inspired

a/n: editor is busy for the foreseeable future, can you tell I’m obsessed with season 10 Spencer…not all bimbos are dumb they’re just ditzy please 😔

w/c: 1.2k

part 2. vote for bimbo reader here

THE INTERROGATION ROOM was sterile, the air heavy with the unspoken tension between you and the agents watching from behind the two-way mirror. The Bureau had questions, and you—apparently the most beloved person on campus—had answers. Or so they hoped.

“So, can you think of any reason someone might… not like you, ma’am?”

Agent Hotchner’s voice was even, professional, but you could hear the underlying exhaustion. You’d seen that look before—men in suits who thought they had you all figured out. You almost scoffed at the absurdity of the question, placing a delicate hand over your chest as if offended by the mere suggestion.

“Oh, goodness, no! Everyone likes me.”

The confidence in your voice was unwavering, your smile effortlessly charming as you tossed your hair over your shoulder without even touching it. Years of perfect posture, social graces, and careful presentation had trained you well.

Hotch barely suppressed a sigh. He had profiled people like you before—charismatic, effortlessly likable, the kind of person who floated through life with adoring fans but very few true friends. You weren’t withholding information out of malice; you simply couldn’t fathom the idea of being disliked.

“I’m sure that’s true, ma’am, but try to think.” He flipped through the case file, scanning notes on your social life, your connections to the missing students.

You pursed your lips, brow scrunching in genuine thought. Seconds passed. Then a full minute.

“Nope. Nothing comes to mind.” You shook your head with finality, hands resting neatly in your lap.

Hotch inhaled sharply through his nose before rising from his chair. “Thanks for the help, ma’am.” He exited the room without another word.

You sat there, slightly bewildered. Was that it? We’re you free to go?

The door swung open again before you could ponder further, revealing a much taller man with brown hair, sharp features, and a sweater vest that screamed I read for fun. He moved with a nervous sort of confidence, setting a folder on the table before settling across from you.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Doctor Spencer Reid.”

Your head tilted slightly, considering him.

“Oh, I feel just fine, thank you.” You beamed, waving off his title dismissively.

He chuckled, the sound soft but genuine. “Not that kind of doctor—I have multiple doctorate degrees.”

“Ohhh, that makes sense.” You nodded as if you absolutely should have known that. “Gosh, forgive me, Doctor.”

“It’s just Spencer, actually.”

You smiled, something about him disarming you just enough to relax—only slightly, of course.

“Alright, Just Spencer. What can I do for you?”

“I think you’re looking at this all wrong,” he started, fingers absentmindedly tapping against the file. “You’re assuming that if someone doesn’t like you, it must be personal. But what if it’s not? What if someone resents what you represent rather than who you are?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I… I don’t follow.”

He leaned forward slightly, keen eyes studying your microexpressions. “You’re popular. You’re well-liked, effortlessly charismatic. Maybe you’ve never had to worry about how people perceive you because it’s always been positive. But popularity breeds resentment. Even the nicest person in the world has enemies.”

Something in your stomach twisted, and you didn’t like it.

“That’s ridiculous,” you laughed, but it lacked the earlier ease.

Spencer tilted his head, a small smile forming. “Is it?”

Spencer sat across from you, fingers threading together in contemplation. The sterile glow of the interrogation room made everything feel much more serious than you liked, but he was different from the others. He wasn’t pressuring you. He wasn’t pushing. He was simply… waiting.

“Do you mean like people that are jealous of me?” you questioned, thinking harder now.

Spencer paused for a moment, considering his response before nodding. “Something like that, yeah.” He let out a quiet chuckle, something so natural and effortless that you almost forgot where you were.

That was his trick, wasn’t it? He made you feel comfortable. Like you weren’t being interrogated but rather having a friendly conversation.

You giggled, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against your chin. “Oh, then you’d have an easier time if I just listed the people who aren’t lime-green jello of me.”

A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of Spencer’s lips. “I assume that list is rather short?”

“Oh, tragically short. Practically microscopic.” You sighed dramatically, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “But can you blame them? Some people just have… it. And others don’t.”

Spencer let out another soft laugh, shaking his head as if he found you entirely fascinating. “That’s an interesting perspective. But don’t you think jealousy can lead to resentment? Maybe even aggression?”

You frowned slightly, mulling that over. “I suppose so… but no one’s ever really acted on it. I mean, sure, I’ve had some rumors spread about me, but that’s just part of the charm, isn’t it? A little scandal keeps things interesting.”

Spencer nodded, studying you intently. “And what about the missing students? Did any of them ever have issues with you? Even small ones?”

You sighed, finally showing a flicker of exasperation. “No, Spencer. I told you, I was on good terms with everyone. I make it my business to know people, to get along with them. It’s part of why I’m so well-liked.”

The way you said his name caught him off guard. He blinked, adjusting his seating slightly.

“You’re very confident in that,” he mused.

You smirked. “Confidence is key, darling. If you act like everyone loves you, they have no choice but to play along.”

Spencer tilted his head, considering your words. He had met people like you before—magnetic, effortlessly charming, floating through life in a bubble of admiration. But there was something deeper here, something underneath the carefully curated confidence.

You were almost convincing yourself.

He decided to change tactics.

“You know, I read a study once about social perception,” he started, leaning back slightly in his chair. “People who are widely adored often assume that admiration equates to genuine affection. But popularity and true friendship aren’t always the same thing.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Oh? And what’s the difference?”

Spencer smiled, slow and knowing. “Well, popularity is when people want to be around you. True friendship is when people care what happens when you’re not there.”

For the first time since sitting down, your smile faltered—just for a fraction of a second. And Spencer caught it.

You recovered quickly, rolling your eyes with a light laugh. “You really are a doctor, aren’t you? That sounded suspiciously like therapy.”

Spencer grinned. “Just an observation.”

You tapped your fingers against the table, sighing. “Fine, fine. There’s this one girl, Claire. She was always a little… bitter. But it was nothing serious.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up slightly. “Claire? Can you tell me more about her?”

“Oh, if you insist.” You smirked, feeling oddly at ease as Spencer coaxed more information from you. He made it feel natural, like it wasn’t an interrogation but rather a conversation you wanted to have.

Behind the glass, the rest of the team watched, impressed. You were laughing, joking, gossiping, talking about books.

“I gotta hand it to him,” Emily murmured. “I don’t think she’s even realized she’s being interviewed anymore.”

“That’s Reid for you,” Morgan added. “Guy could probably charm the truth out of a con artist if he wanted to.”

As the questioning wrapped up, Spencer closed the file in front of him and looked at you with a warm, genuine expression.

“Thank you for your help. You’ve been… surprisingly insightful.”

You grinned. “Well, I do love a good chat. Especially with charming company.”

Spencer hesitated for just a second before clearing his throat. “Speaking of company… would you want to get dinner sometime?”

Your eyes widened in amusement. “Doctor Reid… are you asking me out?”

He adjusted his sweater vest, suddenly looking a bit shy. “I—uh—well, I just thought, you know, since we had such an engaging conversation…”

You leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand with a slow smile. “How could I possibly say no?”

[ninisdollie]

soft pink love - lee heeseung❤︎⊹.

𓏲˚ ۪ ❤︎⊹

“In which reader is just a girl, and his boyfriend barely has patience, but he loves her so much anyway”

Content: +18MDNI fem! reader x heeseung, bimbo! reader, established relationship, fluff, crack, suggestive but not so smutty

notes: i love bimbo reader x member sm i think i will do one for every enha member lmao <3

From the beginning, Heeseung had known you weren’t like anyone else. There was something about you, something sweet, glittery, just a little bit dizzy, that pulled him in like gravity.

You weren’t dumb. He knew that. But your mind floated through life like a butterfly, fluttering from thought to thought with a soft smile and a pink-glossed pout. You mixed up common sayings, asked if dolphins were just really smart fish, and once said you didn’t know how to tell if spaghetti was done, so you just “guessed by the vibes.”

And yet, none of it annoyed him. Not even close.

Because you also remembered every little thing about him. You knew what kind of ramen he liked on bad days. You always made sure his hoodie sleeves were pulled down if his hands got cold. You cried when his favorite song came on during a bad week and whispered, “It’s like it knows you, baby.”

People didn’t always get you. They giggled when you said something a little off, raised their brows when you showed up in head-to-toe sparkles at casual dinners. But Heeseung? He’d just reach for your hand and kiss your cheek and think, God, I love her so much it’s insane.

You were soft in a way the world wasn’t. And he loved that softness. Loved that when life was rough and sharp and exhausting, he could come home to you humming to yourself in the kitchen, lip gloss smudged and trying to figure out if water boiled faster if you stared at it.

For example, the first time you got your car.

It all started with a key, pink, bedazzled, and dangling from a charm shaped like a little heart-shaped purse. You shoved it in front of Heeseung’s face the moment he stepped outside your building, grinning from ear to ear, soft pink lipgloss on your plump lips.

“Surprise!” you chirped, your voice full of excitement and not a single shred of awareness for the chaos that was about to unfold. “Look what I got!”

Your boyfriend was standing there, black jeans, white t-shirt and an exasperated look as if he was already exhausted of something that hadn’t even started. But he looked so good too, as always.

Heeseung blinked, staring at the keychain.

“Baby, what… is this.”

You jumped on your feet, wide smile on your face.

“My new car! Dad got it for me. It’s so cute, Hee. I named her Glitter.”

He just stared at you, for a few seconds, his mouth twitching as if he was suppressing a smirk, he rolled his eyes with tenderness and his brows furrowed.

“You named your car.”

“Duh,” you said, already tugging at his sleeve. “Come see her. She’s, like, the prettiest thing ever.”

He followed you reluctantly into the parking lot, dragging his feet with the wariness of a man who already sensed the oncoming disaster. And there it was, parked diagonally across two spaces, shining obnoxiously in the afternoon sun. The car was pink. Not soft pink. Not classy pastel pink. It was full Barbie Dreamhouse pink, with glitter detailing along the side and a custom plate that read BBG.

Heeseung just… stared.

“She’s cute, right?” you asked, bouncing on your heels. “And guess what — I’m gonna drive you home!”

His mouth opened. Closed. That was like life-threatening.

“Wait, you’re driving?”

“Yup! I haven’t taken her out yet and I really wanna try. It’ll be fun!”

“…Have you driven since your test?” Test that, just so you know, was paid by your parents.

“Um,” you tilted your head. “Well, like, not officially. But I remember stuff!”

Heeseung looked at you, then at the car, then back at you. Slowly. Like he was calculating the risk of death. Considering the fact that you barely passed your test and that this was your first car ever, he could’ve said no. But then you would pout and sob and tell him that he was being mean, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings, he could never do that. So he said yes.

“Okay,” he said finally, resigned. “But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

You beamed. “Yay!”

The moment you slid into the driver’s seat, he regretted every life choice that led him to this moment. Your seat was too far back, your heels were still on, and instead of adjusting your mirrors, you were trying to connect your phone to Bluetooth so you could play your “Girlypop” playlist.

Heeseung sat down in the passenger seat and fastened his seatbelt immediately.

“Two hands on the wheel, babygirl” he muttered.

“Mhm!” you said, giving a thumbs up with one hand and tapping your phone screen with the other. “Just let me fix the music real quick.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deep.

“Baby. Please. Both hands. You can play music later.”

You finally looked up, gave a pout, but nodded. “Okay, okay. Grumpy.”

You pulled out of the lot, too fast. The tires screeched slightly, and Heeseung braced a hand against the dash.

“Oops,” you giggled. “She’s touchy.”

“She’s a car,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

You were absolutely glowing with joy, completely unbothered.

“Isn’t she fun though? It’s like go-karts!”

Heeseung pressed his head back against the seat, jaw clenched, pantience starting to blur.

“This is not like go-karts.”

You hit the gas again, a little too hard, and the car jerked forward. He shot a hand to the side handle and glared at you.

“You’re going fifteen over the speed limit.”

“I am?” you looked genuinely surprised, squinting at the dash. “Oh, wow. She’s fast. I didn’t even feel it.”

Heeseung exhaled slowly, counting to five in his head.

You turned up the music, bouncing in your seat and singing along to some bubblegum pop song that had your name written all over it. The windows down, the breeze on your hair, the soft sun of the afternoon illuminating the streets of LA.

He didn’t even have the energy to argue, didn’t want to, honestly, you looked so pretty. You were always pretty. And he loved you so much.

But then — then you took your hand off the wheel to point at the sky.

“Look, Hee! That cloud looks like a bunny! See it? Over there?”

“Eyes on the road,” he barked, gripping the edge of his seat like it was a life raft. “Jesus—do not point at clouds while you’re driving.”

You gasped, immediately straightening up. “Oopsie! Sorry. Glitter is kinda wobbly, huh?”

“She’s not wobbly,” Heeseung groaned. “You’re swerving. Keep both hands on the wheel.”

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, returning your hands to ten and two with exaggerated care. “So bossy today…”

He pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Because I’m trying not to die, princess.”

You giggled, reaching over to squeeze his arm — which made the car veer again.

“Don’t be dramatic. You’re gonna survive. We’re almost there!”

Somehow, against all odds and the laws of physics, you did make it to his apartment. You pulled into his complex with a wide turn, then attempted to park, but ended up diagonally over the line, inches from the curb.

Heeseung didn’t say anything for a full five seconds.

You turned to him with the proudest smile on your face.

“We made it! I’m like, the best driver ever”

He looked at you. At your sparkly nails on the wheel. Your lip gloss catching the sun. The soft blush on your cheeks. Your hair slightly messy because of the breeze. The proud sparkle in your eyes like you’d just landed a plane instead of nearly crashing a car.

And then he leaned over and kissed you, rough, desperate, relieved. Heeseung always kissed you like this, soft, sweet but also deep and strong, as if he was trying to claim you by devouring your lips. And it always took your breath away.

“Next time,” he said firmly, breath warm against your lips, “I’m driving.”

You blinked up at him. “Okay! But I still get to play DJ, right?”

He groaned, grabbing your face and kissing your forehead. “Yeah, baby. You can play whatever you want.”

Some other times, he just enjoyed spending time with you like this.

You sprawled across Heeseung’s bed, legs dangling off the side and head nestled in his lap as you scrolled through your phone with frantic fingers.

“Oh my God, babe—listen to this,” you gasped dramatically, eyes wide as you turned your phone toward him. “So apparently, Chaewon unfollowed Yunjin right after Yunjin soft-launched her situationship with Jay, who was, like, totally flirting with Chaewon just three weeks ago. And then Yunjin posted this story that was clearly about Chaewon like the caption literally said, ‘stay in your lane, sister.’ Like… HELLO?”

Heeseung blinked, staring at the screen as if it were written in another language.

“Uh… yeah. Totally. That’s… wild.”

You didn’t even notice how confused he looked—too wrapped up in the juicy chaos to clock the fact that he had no clue who any of these people were. But he didn’t mind. Not one bit.

Instead, he gently scooted down the bed so your head was cradled between his thighs and reached for the hairbrush on his nightstand. With careful fingers, he started combing through your hair, brushing it back in smooth, slow motions. You sighed happily, like a cat being petted.

Heeseung loved to take care of you, he always cuddled you and pampered you, he loved braiding your hair and leaving little kisses on your neck and shoulders. Other times he would even help you paint your toe nails.

“So anyway,” you continued, your voice slightly muffled by the pillow, “Chaewon liked Jay’s cousin’s reel the other day, which some people think means she’s being petty, but I feel like she’s just reclaiming her power, you know?”

“Mmm,” Heeseung murmured, fingers parting a section of your hair. “Reclaiming her power. Got it.”

He started braiding slowly, tugging just gently enough to ground you as you babbled. He honestly had no idea who Chaewon or Jay were—he didn’t even know if Jay was a first name or last—but he loved the way your voice got high and breathy when you got excited. The way your hand gestured lazily in the air as you spoke. The way you smelled like strawberries and vanilla from the new conditioner you bought because the bottle was pink and “gave good vibes.”

“You’re not even listening, are you?” you teased after a moment, turning your head just enough to pout up at him.

Heeseung smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Nope. Not a single clue what you’re talking about.”

You gasped in mock offense.

“Heeseung! This is important!”

“I’m sure it is, baby,” he said sweetly, returning to your braid. “You’re doing such a good job explaining it, too. I’m just dumb, remember?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes.

“You’re not dumb, you just have a boy brain.”

“True,” he nodded solemnly, securing the end of your braid with a scrunchie from your wrist. “Boy brain. Can’t process Jay’s cousin’s reel drama.”

You turned around, folding yourself into his lap now, arms wrapping around his waist as he rubbed slow circles into your back.

“You still love me even though I’m obsessed with dumb stuff, right?” you mumbled into his hoodie.

Heeseung chuckled softly, kissing the top of your head.

“Are you kidding? You talking about dumb stuff is the best part of my day.”

You giggled, heart warm as you buried your face deeper into his chest.

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I really am.”

Now, you were probably the most annoying person to have sex with—and Heeseung was completely obsessed with it.

You whined a lot. You made dramatic faces on purpose. You giggled halfway through foreplay just to see him roll his eyes, or paused mid-makeout to ask if your lashes were still on. You asked for lip gloss touch-ups between rounds, and sometimes demanded a water break after ten minutes. You clung to him like a koala when he was trying to reposition, refused to let go of his hand even when it made things awkward, and constantly said things like “do I look pretty like this?” while he was literally buried inside you.

And somehow… he loved it.

You were needy, endearingly, dangerously so. You wanted praise, you wanted cuddles, you wanted him to talk you through it in that sweet, filthy voice of his. You loved being spoiled in bed the same way you loved it outside of it. “More,” “slower,” “don’t stop,” “touch me here”, you gave him constant instructions in that breathy, sugar-sweet voice, and he never complained. In fact, he thrived on it.

You liked teasing him, too, pouting when he went too fast, whimpering “you don’t love meee” just to hear him growl back “say that again and I’ll make you cry.” You knew exactly how to push his buttons, just enough to make him snap, flip you over, and remind you exactly who was in control.

But the moment he touched you, the moment he whispered “good girl” or stroked your cheek with those big hands, you melted. Every single time. You were clingy and whiny and sensitive and all over him, always. You told him he was pretty with your mouth full, told him you loved him while you were still catching your breath, and buried your face in his neck afterward like you couldn’t breathe unless you were wrapped around him.

Heeseung used to say you were a handful. Now, he said you were his heaven.

There was one time when you broke your nail mid-sex, it was something like this.

Your body rocked beneath him, the sheets tangled at your hips, Heeseung’s name spilling from your lips in messy little whimpers. His thrusts were slow but deep, dragging against your walls in that way that always made your back arch and your lashes flutter. He was everywhere, his hands on your hips, his breath on your neck, his voice in your ear.

“Look at you,” he whispered, panting as he kissed your cheek. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

You were just about to respond,something equally breathless and needy, when your hand slipped against his shoulder. A sharp, sudden sting shot through your finger.

You gasped. Froze. Eyes wide.

“Hee!” you cried, smacking his chest with a palm that was more dramatic than angry. “Stop—wait!”

His whole body stiffened.

“What? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“My nail,” you whined, holding up your left hand with a devastated look. “My My Melody nail broke. The one with the little charm—I literally just got this set!”

He blinked, chest heaving, still buried inside you.

“…Are you serious right now?”

“It hurts! And it looks ugly!” you pouted, waving your chipped acrylic in the air like it was a crime scene.

Heeseung sat back on his heels, hands resting on your thighs as he stared down at you with a kind of exasperated adoration only someone truly in love could manage.

“Baby,” he said slowly, “we are literally in the middle of me blowing your back out.”

“I know, and I was loving it,” you said with a tragic little sniff, “but then I looked down and saw my nail and it just… killed the vibe.”

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, counted to three, and leaned down to kiss your lips.

“We’ll get it fixed tomorrow, okay? I’ll take you. Pinky promise.” he said, voice desperate because he was just so, so close.

“Even the expensive salon?” you asked, peeking up at him with your lips still in a pout.

“Even the one with the snacks and the massage chairs,” he said, grinning now.

You stared at him for a second longer, then sighed dramatically and looped your arms around his neck.

“Okay. Fine. But I swear if they can’t fix it—”

“I’ll buy you a whole new set and a Hello Kitty steering wheel cover.”

That made you giggle. “You’re so obsessed with me.”

“Obviously,” he muttered, pressing kisses down your neck as he pushed back in with one smooth thrust. “Now can we go back to the part where I was making you come?”

Your breath hitched immediately, head falling back as your legs curled tighter around his waist.

“Y-Yeah… yeah, okay…”

Heeseung chuckled against your skin, voice low and full of heat.

“Good girl.”

And just like that, the mood returned, your little crisis soothed, his patience rewarded, and the rest of the night filled with broken moans, tangled sheets, and a boy who worshipped you even when your My Melody charm went flying mid-thrust.

Other times it was just so, so messy with you.

Like one time you were straddling Heeseung’s lap in your cutest little pajama set, barely-there shorts, cropped baby tee, lip gloss still shiny from reapplication, you beamed down at him like you’d just invented sliced bread.

“I have a surprise,” you said, sing-song and smug.

Heeseung leaned back against the pillows, shirtless and comfortable, one arm tucked behind his head.

“Should I be scared?”

“No,” you grinned, “but you should definitely be excited.”

You revealed the fuzzy pink handcuffs like a magician revealing a bunny from a hat.

“Ta-da!”

He stared.

You wiggled them with a giggle.

“I got them online. Two-day shipping.”

Heeseung let out a slow, measured breath.

“You are the most dangerous person I’ve ever met.”

You giggled and grabbed his wrist.

“Give me your hands, handsome.”

With an amused roll of his eyes, he obeyed, letting you click one cuff around his wrist. You giggled again, why was he so pretty? You got distracted just staring at his fingers for a second.

Then you threaded the chain through the headboard bars and locked the other cuff into place, standing up proudly once it clicked shut.

“There! How do I look?”

“Like someone who has no idea what they’re doing but is very sexy about it.”

You winked.

“Exactly the vibe I was going for.”

Heeseung tugged gently on the cuffs, testing them, metal clinking against the headboard.

“They better not break.”

“They’re from a reputable Etsy shop,” you said, hands on hips. “Only five-star reviews. No one got stuck or sued.”

“Good to know,” he muttered. “So what now, Miss Seduction?”

You reached into your purse to grab the key, but paused. Blinked. Then blinked again.

“Hm.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t say ‘hm.’”

“I just… thought the key was in here.”

“You thought?”

You began digging deeper. Then you crawled onto the floor and flipped your purse upside down. Lip glosses, fake lashes, a tiny perfume bottle, a half-melted lollipop, but no key.

“Maybe it’s in the bathroom,” you mumbled, scampering out.

Heeseung sat patiently for thirty seconds. Then a full minute. Then two.

You returned with wide eyes and a nervous laugh.

“…Sooo. Funny story.”

His head dropped back against the pillow with a groan.

“You lost the key.”

“I didn’t lose it!” you argued. “I just—misplaced it. Maybe it’s in my makeup drawer. Or like… in my jewelry box. I was trying to be organized.”

He tugged once on the cuffs. They jangled.

“You handcuffed me to the bed. And lost the key.”

“It’s not lost!” you cried, flopping down beside him dramatically. “It’s just… hiding. Temporarily. Being silly.”

He looked over at you slowly, expression blank.

“You are so lucky you’re cute.”

You made a small, embarrassed noise and buried your face into his shoulder.

“I was trying to be sexy,” you whispered.

“You were,” he said instantly. “You are. I’m wildly turned on. I’m just also restrained, and not in the fun way.”

You groaned into his chest.

“Should I call Jake?”

“Don’t you dare.” His voice dropped an octave. “I swear, if Jake sees me like this—naked, handcuffed, and blue-balled—I’ll never recover.”

You laughed so hard you nearly cried, face pressed into his collarbone as he sighed dramatically and kissed your head.

“Only you,” he murmured. “Only you would handcuff me in an attempt to be seductive and forget where the key went.”

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled, pouting. “I really wanted to be a sexy evil genius.”

“You’re a sexy dumbass,” he corrected, smiling.

You glared up at him playfully.

“You love me.”

“I do,” he said, soft and real now. “So much that I’m letting this slide.”

Ten minutes later, after retracing your steps and crawling through your closet, you triumphantly returned to the bedroom with the tiny key pinched between your fingers.

“Found it!”

Heeseung lifted his head and glared.

“Where was it.”

“…In my bra.”

But even if some people considered you dumb, ditzy, scattered, too caught up in your sparkly little world—and even if, yes, you regularly tested the limits of his patience with your glitter-trail messes and wild ideas that made no logical sense…

Heeseung loved you.

He loved you with a kind of stubborn, endless affection that couldn’t be reasoned with. It wasn’t about whether you remembered where you put your keys, or if you knew how to pronounce the menu at fancy restaurants, or that you once asked him if pickles grew on trees. He loved how your eyes lit up when you had an idea, no matter how chaotic it was. He loved how your thoughts moved faster than your words sometimes, leaving half-finished sentences he’d learned to finish for you. He loved how you got so excited about the little things, lip gloss names, your new shoes, an episode of some trashy reality show you made him watch while you braided his hair.

And yeah, sometimes you made him want to scream into a pillow. Sometimes you made him count to ten just to keep from bursting out laughing or sighing in disbelief.

But most of the time?

He just wanted to kiss you.

Hold you close.

Protect your heart and spoil you with every ounce of love he had.

Because no one made him feel the way you did. No one could frustrate him and enchant him in the same breath. No one made him laugh harder, smile bigger, or feel more like himself than you.

To the world, maybe you were a little much. A little messy. A little too loud or soft or lost in your own glitter-drenched daydreams.

But to Heeseung?

You were perfect.

You were soft hands and glossed lips, perfume on his hoodie, sleepy good morning kisses and dramatic late-night rants about celebrity gossip he didn’t understand but always listened to anyway.

You were love, wrapped in chaos.

Kindness, dressed in pink.

Everything he never knew he needed.

And no matter how many keys you lost or how many times you forgot where you parked the car, Heeseung knew one thing for sure:

You’d always have his.

[riveredmoon]

wanna check out some of my favorites?

body paint by @spearofheaven

honestly i want to say every fic of hers, but let me calm down. this one is possibly one of my favorite suguru fics ever — i come back to it often. and it lowkey inspired me to even start writing for our sugurito!! daya has a ton of other suguru fics (and now a toji series) that are literally gold!

high and horny by @caffine-exe

ciggy writes poly satoru and suguru perfectly!!! this flowed so beautifully and the smut was literally perfect perfect perfect. ciggy’s pegging world domination!!!!!!

get on that train, baby by @shotosjupiter

literally so beautifully written. i have quotes in my google docs from this that i just go back to read over because it was that beautiful! jupiter is also just incredibly lovely and i love them <3

psychic lover by @bluukive

honestly, one of the most creative things i’ve read! the premise is different and the flow between toji and reader was fun to read!!! luu also makes the funniest jjk smaus!!!

shiu drabble by @dog-bimbo

literally come back to this like thrice a week.

unscripted by @karvokr

no words, honestly. the emotions, the smut, the dramaaaaa!!! i love karvo soooo much and they write absolutely beautifully. i will read this everyday over and over again.

how to seduce a neanderthal for dummies by @lily-bisque

sigh, where do i begin! bisque writes sukuna sooooooo marvelously, i get scared even creating anything for sukuna because i know it wont compare. this specific one shot kick started my sukuna brainrot! it was fun and the dynamics between the two just meant so much and ummmm, SUBKUNA!!!!! i love bisque and you’ll love her too!

bleach by @junuru

i am going to eat up husband!nanami content everytime. this was sweet and just so homey, i come back to it often. i love ivy and i love the way she writes nanami <3

satoru drabble by @sixeyesonathiel

i randomly found this and read it four times in a row. that is all i can say about this. I loved it soooo much.

growing old (pt 1) by @prosypepper

not kidding when i say this is one of my favorite kento fics ever. it was incredibly sweet and just so deserving for our kento bean. my pepper writes nanami with so much love that you could feel it through the screen. i adore this and her so much!

fcking with your ex is iconic by @letteremi

this had me at a restaurant during a family lunch giggling and smiling and GOD!!! so good, i love boyfriend kuna so much. emi is the sweetest AND writes such beautiful gojo stories, she encapsulates childhood crushes so well i feel like i am back in high school

wifeguy!nanami by @eraserbread

when i had a burner account to just read, i found elly’s page and literally spent hours just reading. her love for nanami is displayed so beautifully in the words she puts out. i adore all of these little pockets of marriage life we get with him. it makes my chest all fuzzy.

deprived by @starmapz

HUSBAND!KUNA (i just yelled)! he is a big baby in this and i just think about it often. trish creates these little worlds for sukuna that just flow and make soooo much sense. you could basically feel how much she adores writing for this guy!

gimme some sugar (mama) by @satorus-princess

hazel….. oh hazel….. this was soooo good! it was funny and smutty and it just flowed so well and like of course satoru would be a sugar baby!

soak operas by @aquasoftware

househusband!!!!!!suguru!!!!!geto!!!!!!!!! this ran in my mind for a week. my girl koi writes smut so well, i be in my room squealing LOL. i love her and her writing sooo much. if you ever need a laugh her jjk smaus are some of my favorites!

birds of a feather by @sukunahs

recently read this and honestly…. still thinking about it. i wasn’t much of a greek mythology kid growing up but this made me watch an essay video about it afterwards LOL!

baby i’m forever in love by @fayerie

bartender!geto… that’s all. but honestly faye did a beautiful job mixing angst with smut and it made me feel something. i also adore her so there’s that too!

in dreams by @hiraethwrote

this drabble stood with me for a couple hours after. it was written sooooo elegantly. truly something special!

*this would be updated as time goes by*

[mariasont]

Need a bimbo assistant reader x hotch fic where the team is making fun of hotch for having no sense of humour until we say smth like "what are you talking about? Hotch is hilarious!" And everyone just turns to hotch like "wtf??" To which he immediately changes the subject. But surprise surprise he's only trying to be funny around us to be charming 😛

The Funny Thing About Him - A.H

a/n: obsessed with this request bc this is so canon, i just know mans is saving ever stupid pun he sees on his blackberry to tell bimbo reader lololo

but thank you so much for the request lovely!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, flirtiness galore, hotch being whipped and not knowing it yet, the team being a menace and lowkey bullying hotch, unintentional simping, bimbo!reader glazing hotch's sense of humor

wc: 1.9k

It was a rare thing for the team to spend time together outside of work, and even rarer to do so in a place like this. A dive bar that looked like it hadn't seen a deep clean since the Bush administration. But Garcia had insisted — no, demanded —that they all check out what she had referred to as her second office. 

So here you were, crammed into a tiny booth with the team, surrounded by mismatched furniture, sticky tabletops, and walls that had somehow absorbed the faint tang of stale beer as if it were part of their structural integrity. But after a round of drinks, then appetizers, then more drinks, it had become kind of charming in a deeply questionable way.

Everyone had seemed to have loosened up. Hotch, naturally, was the exception. Seated at the edge of the booth, he looked almost hilariously out of place, like someone had photoshopped him into the scene. His posture was straight as ever, his suit jacket neatly draped on the back of his chair, and fingers loosely curled around a glass of whiskey. 

He was listening, though, as he always did, dark eyes flicking to whoever was speaking, his small nods he only thing that gave him away.

You, however, were hyper-aware of Hotch for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with professionalism. The small booth had left you wedged between him and Garcia, and you couldn't decide if it was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it meant you were close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, smell the woodsy, expensive cologne he always wore, and notice the little ways his expression softened just a hair every time you caught him glancing your way.

On the other hand, well, all those things were very distracting. 

Like, very distracting.

Garcia was mid-story — something dramatic about a terrible date, an allergic reaction, and a wig — but you weren't really listening. You were trying, of course, but your mind seemed too busy cataloging the way your elbow accidentally brushed against Hotch's every time you shifted, or how your knees kept grazing under the table.

Each time, you'd mutter a quick, oops, sorry, and each time, you absolutely did not mean it.

You liked testing the boundaries with him, liked noticing his reactions. In fact, you liked being able to notice most things about him, the little details no one else seemed to catch.

Like how he had this funny way of pressing his lips together when he was reading something particularly dense, like he was silently judging whoever wrote it. Or how he always seemed to have a spare hair tie ready in his desk drawer because yours snapped at the worst possible moments, and somehow, he always had it ready right when you needed it, like he'd been waiting for you to ask. 

Or how, right now, he kept subtly hovering a hand behind your head every time you leaned back in laughter, like he was ready to stop you from accidentally smacking the back of your head against the hard wood of the booth.

It made you feel warm and fizzy, like you’d downed one too many sugary cocktails. Which, honestly, you might have.

"Hotch," Garcia suddenly blurted, dragging you out of your thoughts. "Back me up here, there's no way this is the worst first day you've ever heard of."

He blinked, seemingly caught off guard. "I... I suppose it's up there."

Morgan grinned and shook his head. "Hotch, your definition of worst first date is probably someone not knowing how to file their taxes. You’ve got zero imagination for this stuff."

You glanced at Hotch, who just shrugged, not even bothering to defend himself.

No imagination, Morgan had said, and for some reason, you couldn’t help but try to picture it, Hotch on a date.

At first, the idea felt completely out of place, like imagining a celebrity shopping for milk. But then, the image started to take shape — he’d show up early, wearing one of those perfectly tailored suits that made him look like he belonged on the cover of GQ. 

He’d pull out your chair, open every door, and probably order something practical, like steak or chicken. And even if the conversation started stiffly, he’d listen so intently, like every word you said mattered. By the end of the night, you’d be completely smitten.

Not that you’d thought about it or anything.

“I think you’re underselling him,” JJ said with a knowing smile, glancing at Hotch. “He might not have the most obvious imagination, but he has a way of surprising people.”

Emily snorted. “Yeah, right. Hotch probably schedules his surprises. Like, plan to laugh sometime between 8:00 and 8:15 PM.”

Morgan grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Hotch doesn’t laugh. He probably just stares at people mid-joke, makes them uncomfortable, and calls it a win.”

Hotch arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware my sense of humor was under scrutiny tonight.”

“Oh, come on,” Morgan said, his grin widening. “You’ve gotta admit, Hotch, you’re not exactly cracking jokes left and right. Your idea of funny is telling someone they’re late for work when they’re actually on time.”

“That was funny,” Hotch deadpanned.

The table erupted into laughter, and even Emily shook her head, biting back a grin. “You’re proving his point, you know.”

“What are you guys talking about? Hotch is hilarious.”

The table fell silent. Every single person turned to look at you like you’d just claimed the sky was green. Even Hotch stiffened beside you, his glass halfway to his lips.

Morgan’s head tilted, his grin fading into something more incredulous. “What did you just say?”

“Hotch?” Emily asked, her face the picture of astonishment. “Did you… did you bribe her to say that?”

“No!” you said quickly, holding up your hands like you were defending yourself. “I mean it! He’s, like, really funny!”

“Hotch?” Garcia repeated, looking at you like you’d sprouted a second head. “Our Hotch?”

“How can you guys not think he’s funny? I laugh at his jokes all the time.”

Hotch, who up until this point had been composed despite the teasing, suddenly looked… well, less composed. His lips parted like he was going to say something, but then he clamped them shut, the faintest tinge of pink creeping up his neck and settling across his cheeks.

Emily smirked, glancing between you and Hotch. “Okay, now I have to hear these so-called jokes you think are hilarious.”

You turned back to them, still looking baffled. “Well, I can’t just, like, repeat  them! It’s all in the timing. Hotch just… he has a vibe. You wouldn’t get it.”

The team erupted into laughter, but you just sighed dramatically, crossing your arms and turning back to Hotch. “Seriously, Aaron, tell them.”

Hotch cleared his throat, setting his glass down a little too forcefully.

 “So, Garcia,” he said quickly, his voice normal but his ears tinged red, “about this terrible first date —”

Hotch shot you a quick, almost panicked glance, but you pretended not to notice. Either way, you popped the fry into your mouth and smiled at him like you hadn’t just completely upended his reputation in front of the entire team.

Eventually the bar had mostly emptied out, including your team, the once-loud chatter replaced by the occasional creak of chairs and muffled laughter from the remaining patrons. You stood by the door, fiddling with the zipper of your jacket as another rush of cold air blew in when someone left. The chill bit at your cheeks. It wasn't the warmest coat in the world, but it was adorable, which you felt was more important.

Before you could even complain, however, Hotch stepped forward, placing himself squarely between you and the wind.

"Did you have fun tonight?"

You beamed at him, fingers idly playing with the end of your scarf. You took a small step closer, partly to escape the wind, partly for reasons you didn't feel you needed to disclose.

"Always," you said, tilting your head to examine him closely. "Did you?"

He nodded. "I did."

You blinked up at him. "Really? Even with everyone giving you such a hard time? I mean, they were relentless tonight.”

“They can’t help themselves." He huffed out a soft laugh, his breath misting in the cold air. Then, with a dry edge, he added, “And to be fair, I think I handled it better than you handled the fries Garcia stole from your plate.”

You giggled, covering your mouth with one hand.

“Hey! That was a crime! I had every right to be upset!” Hotch chukled softly, shaking his head. “See?” you said, poking him in the arm. “You’re funny! You are! Why aren’t you like that around everyone else?”

Hotch glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. “I think I just… read the room.”

Hotch’s vague answer left you with more questions than clarity, but you didn’t push him. The more you thought about it, the more certain you became —he was different with you.

Hotch didn’t crack jokes in the bullpen — not unless you were there. He didn’t tell silly stories during late-night case reviews — not unless it was just the two of you staying behind in the office, sorting through files. Like that time he told you about his college roommate, you’d laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe, and he’d chuckled softly, shaking his head like he hadn’t expected you to find it so funny.

Or the way he’d once walked by your desk and dropped a note on it that said, if it gets any colder in here, we’ll be solving frostbite cases next. You still had it tucked away in your drawer.

The thought made you feel a bit warmer, like you’d just downed a champagne flute in one gulp. Your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out.

“You know, you’re the best boss ever. Have I told you that before?”

Hotch turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised. “What do you want?” 

“Nothing!” you said quickly, your grin widening. “I’m just being honest!”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. "I hope you remember that next time you're twenty minutes late to a meeting because there was a sale at Bloomingdale’s."

You gave him your sweetest, most innocent smile.

“Well, maybe if you came with me to the sale, you wouldn’t have to wait twenty minutes for me to show up.” You leaned a little closer, your voice dropping into a teasing sing-song. “And I bet you’d look so cute holding my shopping bags.”

Hotch rolled his eyes, his expression impossibly dry. “I think I’ll leave the shopping bag modeling to Reid. He’s probably got the legs for it.”

You burst into a fit of giggles, covering your mouth with your gloved hands. “Okay, now you’re just messing with me!”

He exhaled a small laugh, finally relenting. “Alright, let’s go before you freeze.”

Still laughing, you looped your arm back through his and gave it a little squeeze as the two of you walked through the door. 

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @jungchloe @she-wont-miss @duchesz @may-machin99

join my taglist here!

[junuru]

COLLEGE COMMONS

1k follower collab

SYN. — explore the endless possibilities of campus life!! pick any college based troupe and pair it with any jjk character in a campus setting

EX. — tutor!Nanami, RA!Gojo, stoner!choso, the possibilities are endless be creative!!!

RULES — use #: college commons, must take place in a campus environment, any genre is welcome (smut, angst, fluff, slowburn +), word count is flexible, tag accordingly ^,^ no solid due date lol, if youre unsure about anything im happy to clarify or answer any questions

ENTRY — send me a message with the title, troupe, and a description and i’ll add you to the list!! theres no cap as of now

NOTES — thank u guys so so so much for 1k in like a month and a half of me having this blog i am so grateful and its so surreal to me <3 this is in honor of me hitting 1k and starting uni super soon so thank u so much for reading what i write and enjoying it if no one joins pretend this never happened heh

LECTURE 001 : cross your mind

tutor!nerdjo x dancer!reader written by me!!

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LECTURE 002 : tba

TA!nanami x teachers pet!reader written by @dearsnow

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LECTURE 003 : tba

athlete!gojo x tutor!reader written by @besidesjustmyamour

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LECTURE 004 : tba

bsfs brother/photography major!geto x reader written by @spearofheaven

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LECTURE 005 : dirty rush

FratPledge!sukuna x SororityPledge!reader written by @seellove

after rushing, you receive a bid to a sorority you love and are looking forward to all the fun that comes with it… especially the multitude of frat related events. your first mixer however ends up entwining you with a fellow first year frat pledge that everyone already predicts will be the next legendary fratstar…aka a degenerate fuckboy. un(fortunately) for him, your presence derails everything until the only rushing he’ll be doing is to get between you and every other guy who looks your way.

LECTURE 006 : tba

tbd written by @shurikitten

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LECTURE 007 : tba

tba written by @callme-naomi

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LECTURE 008 : tba

nerd!gojo x bimbo!reader written by @riveredmoon

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LECTURE 009 : tba

tba written by @nanamisbbygirl

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LECTURE 010 : tba

finance major!nanami x reader written by @bistrocatxx

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LECTURE 011 : tba

football player!sukuna x mascot!reader written by @lily-bisque

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LECTURE 012 :tba

dance rival!utahime x reader written by @mierins

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LECTURE 013 :tba

fratboy!choso x cheerleader!reader written by @nialovessatoru

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LECTURE 014 :tba

failing student!sukuna x tutor!reader written by @sukunahs

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LECTURE 015 :tba

childhood bsf!gojo x reader written by @letteremi

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LECTURE 016 : extra credit

TA!sukuna x rival!reader written by @bxnfire

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divider by @thecutestgrotto

[eternalguk]

Pink Hearts & Black Clouds || jjk. — 02

Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.

But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, angst, fluff & smut

↠ Word count : 7K

↠ Warnings : swearing, explicit sexual content, riding, oral (f receiving), breast play, intense makeout, multiple orgasms, pet names, dom!guk x sub!reader, praise kink, both of them have a very filthy mouth …

↠ A/n : Hi there ; here is chapter 2! It’s been so long so I both thank you for your patience and apologise for the delay. Chapter 2 takes more of a fun ride and gives you the perfect insight to how chaotic life is for our doll and Bakugo~ There is a scene that is inspired by the voting scene from Gossip Girl. I just felt that it really worked for the two of them :) Your feedback / comments are always appreciated. Thank you for giving my story a chance & happy reading 🦢.

↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G

❧ Chapter 02 : lace & chains

prev. || next  || masterlist

Three days before voting day

You burst into Jungkook’s apartment like a whirlwind, carrying an armful of colourful flyers that threaten to spill onto the floor. Your oversized tote bag clinks as you toss it onto his couch, the sound of perfume samples and random trinkets filling the silence.

Jungkook, seated cross-legged on the couch in his usual black hoodie and shorts, barely glances up from his phone. His dark hair falls messily over his eyes, and his lip ring catches the dim light as he scrolls through his FYP on TikTok.

“I’ve decided,” you announce dramatically, your voice ringing through his apartment. “I’m running for president.”

The statement hangs in the air like a firework that hasn’t yet exploded. Jungkook’s eyes rise slowly from his magazine, his brow arching in disbelief.

“President of what?” he deadpans, leaning back into the cushions.

“Student president!” you exclaim, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You drop your flyers onto the coffee table with a flourish, scattering glitter and pastel-colored paper everywhere.

“Ms. Choi mentioned it today? Were you not listening?” You roll your eyes, taking off your cream bowknot coat.

Jungkook picks up one of the flyers, his tattooed fingers smudging the edge as he squints at it. The text is scrawled in a glittery font so loud it’s practically yelling: Vote for Me, Because I’m Cute! Beneath it is a selfie of you holding a puppy, your face framed by glitter stickers and cartoon hearts.

Whose puppy is that?

“These look like ads for a bake sale,” he says flatly, turning the flyer sideways like it might reveal a hidden agenda.

“They’re campaign flyers,” you correct, hands on your hips.

He gives you a pointed look, holding the flyer up. “It says, ‘Vote for me because I’m cute and I’ll listen to your problems.’”

“Exactly!” you chirp, sitting beside him and crossing your legs. “Who wouldn’t want a cute president?”

Jungkook stares at you, his expression unreadable. “So, you’re running to lead the entire cohort because you’re… cute?”

“And I’m kind,” you add, smiling sweetly.

Jungkook exhales, setting the flyer down like it’s too much for him to process. “You do realise this isn’t just a popularity contest, right? There’s actual work involved.”

“I know that,” you reply with a wave of your hand. “That’s why I have a plan. And guess what? You’re gonna be my campaign manager!”

His laugh is instant and sharp, the kind that makes your pout deepen. “Yeah, no. There’s no way I’m getting involved in this mess.”

“Why not?” you whine, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Because,” he says, shaking his head, “this is doomed from the start. And when it crashes and burns, I don’t want my name attached to it.”

You gasp dramatically, playing with your pearl necklace like he’s insulted your very soul. “I can’t believe you! You’re supposed to support me, not tear me down!”

“I’m trying to save you from yourself,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

But your determination is unshakable. “You’ll see, Koo. I’m going to win, and when I do, you’ll regret not being by my side from the start.”

“You genuinely serious about this?”

“I am! I already told Taehyung and Jimin, and they’re helping me with posters tomorrow!”

That makes him pause. “Taehyung and Jimin?”

“Yes.”

“They’re helping you run for student president?”

“Of course!”

“I regret making you all meet.” Jungkook gulps, rubbing his hands over his face. “This is just going to be a complete train wreck.”

“No, it’s not!” you argue, stomping your foot for emphasis. “I’m going to win, and then you’ll see. Everyone will love me as their president!”

“They already love you,” he says, exasperated.

“Exactly!” You beam, missing the sarcasm in his tone. “So you’re on board?”

He groans, now running his hand through his hair. “Fine. But only so I can stop you from embarrassing yourself too much.”

“Yay!” You jump onto the couch and throw your arms around him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, though his lips twitch into the faintest smile. “Now come here.���

Two days before voting day

The next day, Jungkook regrets everything.

You’re standing in the middle of campus with Taehyung and Jimin, holding up your new-and-improved campaign posters.

Well, “improved” is a stretch - Jungkook still thinks they look like ads for a daycare. Or was it a bake sale?

He stands stiffly in the middle of campus, hands stuffed into his black cargo pants as you, Taehyung, and Jimin flit around him like chaotic birds.

Taehyung is holding a stack of your revamped posters, and Jimin’s busy tying pink ribbons to the railings of the quad. And you? You’re smiling as though you’re the happiest person in the universe right now.

“Vote for Y/N: She’s cute, and she loves puppies!” Jimin reads aloud, snickering. “This is gold!”

“I do love puppies,” you say proudly, twirling a strand of hair.

Jungkook groans. “This is embarrassing.”

“Don’t be so grumpy, Koo,” Taehyung teases, snapping a picture of you holding up a sign. “You’re dating the future president. Show some pride.”

“Pride,” Jungkook repeats flatly, eyeing the glitter stuck to his hand. “Right.”

You tug on his arm, your lace-trimmed beige cardigan brushing against his tattooed sleeve. “Stop sulking and hand out some flyers!”

He doesn’t move. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because you love me,” you say with a wink.

Jungkook groans but walks over anyway, taking a stack of flyers from your hands. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Believe it, Daddy,” Taehyung teases, earning a glare from Jungkook.

“Shut up.”

Taehyung just laughs, holding up his phone to take more pictures of you posing with your flyers.

“Make sure you get my good side!” you call out, striking a pose.

“They’re all your good side,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, though no one hears him.

“Okay, next we need to practice my speech,” you say, clapping your hands together.

“Speech?” Jungkook repeats, already dreading it.

“Yeah, for the debate,” you explain, but not without sending a glare Jungkook’s way.

Obviously there was going to be a speech!

Jimin’s eyes light up. “Oh, now this I’ve gotta see.”

That Same Evening

Later that evening, you’re sprawled out on Jungkook’s couch, surrounded by ribbons and glitter glue as you design yet another poster.

Your lace-trimmed socks dangle off the edge of the couch, while Jungkook sits on the floor, leaning against the coffee table with his laptop. His silver chain necklace gleams under the dim light, a sharp contrast to the pastel chaos surrounding him.

Jungkook is drained.

You, on the other hand, are still buzzing with excitement as you recap your “successful” campaign efforts on the walk home.

“Everyone was so nice!” you gush. “They all said they’d vote for me!”

“Mhm,” Jungkook says, not pointing out that most of those people were just being polite. And because they wanted a homemade brownie…

“And did you see how cute that dog was? I can’t believe I got to pet it!”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“Obviously. Oh, and Jimin said he’d help me edit my speech later tonight!”

Jungkook groans. “Why do I feel like this is going to end in disaster?”

“It won’t,” you insist, grabbing his arm and flashing him a confident smile. “You’ll see, Koo. I’m going to be the best president ever!”

Jungkook sighs. He really doesn’t have the heart to tell you otherwise.

“Why do you want to do this, Doll?” he asks, glancing at you over the rim of his glasses.

“Because it’s fun, Bakugo” you reply, your voice muffled by the pen cap you’re holding in your mouth. “And because I’m going to win.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, though there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips. Your confidence deserved to be applauded.

You lean over, poking his cheek with a glittery finger. “You love it.”

He catches your wrist, his grip firm but gentle, and pulls your hand away. “I do love you. This? Not so much.”

Your eyes soften at his words, the teasing grin fading into something quieter. “You really do, don’t you?”

Just a few months ago, you couldn’t have imagined Jungkook looking you in the eyes and saying “I love you” with such steady, unshakable certainty.

He sighs, setting his laptop aside to look at you properly. “Yeah, I do. Even when you’re driving me insane with this campaign nonsense.”

You grin, leaning closer until your nose almost brushes his. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re the best campaign manager ever.”

“I’m not your campaign manager,” he grumbles, but his lips twitch into a smile when you kiss the corner of his mouth.

“You are! We need a team name,” you chirp, gazing off as you try and think of something. “Doll and Bakugo!”

The lace of your cardigan brushes against Jungkook’s heavy chain as you pull back, and for a moment, everything feels like it fits - your softness, his edge, the chaos you bring into his carefully ordered life.

“Lace and chains,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head, not exactly catching what Jungkook had said.

“Nothing.”

But the way he looks at you, with a mixture of exasperation and affection, says everything he can’t.

Voting Day Eve

The campus is filled with students, curiously walking around the hall examining the posters of all the class president candidates. Your station is right at the end, hard to miss due to all the pink.

You’re holding the poster in both hands, eyes wide with determination as you stand in front of Jungkook. “I can’t believe I’m actually running for president!”

Days later, the statement still hangs in the air like an uninvited guest. Jungkook stares at you, unblinking, while Taehyung and Jimin - because, of course, they’re here - exchange looks before bursting into laughter.

No one could believe this was actually happening.

“President? Of what?” Jungkook sarcastically asks, deadpan, voice full of that grunge skepticism that could level buildings.

“Of the whole class, obviously!” you announce, puffing out your chest like you’ve already won. “I’ve even got a - what’s it called - a manifesto!”

Taehyung’s practically chokes on his laughter. “You don’t even know what a manifesto is.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes Tae, I do! It’s, like, when you tell everyone what snacks you’ll bring to meetings and stuff.”

Jimin’s doubled over now, wheezing. “Snacks?!”

Jungkook’s still standing there, arms crossed, watching you like you’re an alien that just crash-landed in his life. “I still don’t get why you’re-. You can barely-” He stops himself, probably realising that anything he says will sound meaner than it’s meant to be.

“I can barely what?” You narrow your eyes at him, ready for a fight.

Jungkook sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can barely decide what to eat for breakfast without flipping a coin.”

“That’s called strategy,” you argue, pointing at him with your infamous glittery pink gel pen. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t benefit from me being in charge. I’d be the people’s president. Free parking for everyone!”

Taehyung raises his hand like a student in class. “There’s no paid parking on campus.”

“Then I’ll invent it! And then make it free again!” you declare triumphantly.

Jungkook groans, running a hand through his messy hair. “You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore.”

But your enthusiasm is unwavering. “Just you wait! I’m going to get elected and change this school forever.”

“What’s your slogan?” Jimin asks, still snickering.

You hold up your poster proudly. On it, in hot pink marker surrounded by glitter stickers, is your face in an unevenly drawn heart. Below it, the words: ‘She’s cute, so vote for her!’

Jungkook stares at the poster for a long moment, then looks back at you. “This is a joke, right?”

“It’s not a joke! Cute presidents are more approachable,” you explain, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what happens if you don’t win?” Taehyung teases.

You gasp, horrified. “I have to win. I’ve already planned my victory speech.”

“Let me guess,” Jungkook says flatly. “It’s just you saying, ‘Thank you for voting for me because I’m cute.’”

You blink at him, offended. “You think I’d be that shallow?”

“Yes,” all three of them say in unison.

You ignore them, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “Whatever. When I win, you’ll all be begging me for favours.”

“I can’t wait to see how this turns out,” Taehyung mutters, already texting someone.

Jungkook grabs the glitter-covered poster from your hands, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably presidential,” you correct, snatching it back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a campaign to run.”

Jungkook watches as you march off, shoulders square, your sparkly pen tucked behind your ear like a weapon. He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “I can’t believe I’m dating this lunatic.”

“Hey,” Jimin says, leaning closer. “Admit it. You’d vote for her.”

Jungkook scoffs. “I’ve never voted for anyone. A day like that is a day off for me.”

However, later that afternoon, when you’re texting him about poster designs and debate outfits, he replies:

‘You’re an idiot.’

But when he sees your reply - selfie of you holding a new poster that reads ‘Vote for me because my boyfriend’s hot!’ - he can’t help but laugh.

Okay, maybe voting wouldn’t hurt after all.

That Same Evening

You’re walking through the campus courtyard with Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin, your campaign flyers clutched in your hands. The sun has started to dip, and you’re all finally heading home after another long day of plastering your posters everywhere you could think of.

Nearby, a group of students sits in a semi-circle on the grass, casually chatting. At first, you’re too busy laughing at something Jimin said to pay attention, but their conversation drifts over, loud enough for all of you to hear.

“As cute and nice as Y/N is,” one of the students says, their tone hesitant, “I just feel like we need someone serious for student president. Someone who’ll actually get things done.”

Hearing your name, you slow your steps, glancing over curiously.

Another student chimes in, nodding. “Yeah, I mean, she’s sweet and all, but this isn’t just a popularity contest, right? We need someone with a real plan.”

Around them, a couple of others murmur their agreement.

Before you can fully process what’s being said, Jimin throws his arm around your shoulders, tugging you close with a grin. “Y/N! You know what we need to do? Get you a campaign mascot. Like a dog! Or a tiger. You’d look great standing next to a tiger. So fierce!”

You blink up at him, momentarily distracted. “A tiger? Where am I supposed to get a tiger, Jimin?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got connections,” he says, waving his hand dramatically. “Just trust me.”

While you’re occupied with Jimin’s theatrics, Taehyung leans closer to Jungkook, lowering his voice. “You heard that, right? I’ve been hearing stuff like that all day. A lot of people aren’t planning to vote for her. She’ll be crushed.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens as he glances back at the group of students. For a moment, his expression is unreadable. Then he lets out a low breath, shrugging. “Honestly, it might be for the best.”

Taehyung looks at him sharply. “What?”

“She doesn’t realise how much work this is going to be,” Jungkook says, his tone steady, almost detached. “She’s always in her own little world. I don’t think she understands what she’s getting into.”

Taehyung frowns but doesn’t argue. He knows Jungkook too well to push when he’s in one of his gruff moods. “Maybe,” he mutters, glancing back at you.

And there you are, smiling up at Jimin as he spins some absurd story about how he once met someone who owned a pet tiger. Your laughter rings out, light and carefree, completely oblivious to the conversation happening just feet away.

Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you for a moment too long. The corners of his mouth twitch, and something flickers in his eyes - an idea taking shape.

“Actually,” he begins, tone softening ever so slightly, “wait, never mind.”

Taehyung tilts his head, studying him. “You say somet, bro?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He’s already turning away, hands shoved into his pockets, a hint of determination in his stride.

Voting Day

The auditorium buzzes with anticipation as the student body crowds into the seats, the chatter growing louder with every passing second. You’re seated near the front, sandwiched between Jimin and Taehyung, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. Jungkook sits at the end of the row, his arms crossed as he leans back in his seat, his usual stoic expression betraying nothing.

The student council advisor steps up to the podium, clearing her throat as the microphone squeals. The noise quiets instantly, the crowd leaning forward in anticipation.

“Thank you all for joining us,” she begins, scanning the room. “After a record-breaking number of votes this year, it’s time to announce your new student president.”

You suck in a sharp breath, clutching Jimin’s arm in a death grip. “Oh my God, oh my God,” you whisper, your voice high-pitched and shaky.

“You’ve got this,” Jimin whispers back, patting your hand reassuringly. Taehyung gives you a thumbs-up, though his grin is teasing.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. He’s staring straight ahead, his jaw tight, his fingers drumming against his armrest.

The advisor opens an envelope, the sound of ripping paper echoing through the silent room. “And the winner, with a significant margin, is…” She pauses, glancing at the paper before smiling broadly. “Y/L/N Y/N!”

For a moment, the words don’t register. The room erupts into applause, some laughter, and you sit frozen, your mouth slightly open as your brain scrambles to catch up.

“Wait… what?” you squeak, turning to Jimin.

“You won, dummy!” Jimin yells over the cheers, shaking your shoulders excitedly.

“I… I won?” you repeat, still stunned.

Taehyung laughs, shoving you out of your seat. “Go! Get up there before they think you passed out!”

Your legs feel like jelly as you make your way to the stage, your heart pounding in your chest. The applause grows louder, and you spot a few familiar faces cheering for you from the crowd.

The cheers from the crowd fill the air, and the stage is lit with bright light. You stand confidently beaming as you clap along with everyone else, your heart racing in disbelief. Flowers are handed to you by random students, and your smile could light up the entire quad.

This is it - the moment you’ve worked so hard for - even though you didn’t expect it to actually happen. But now, standing on the stage in front of all your classmates, your heart is a mix of excitement and pure shock. You don’t know how it happened, but here you are. You’ve won.

The advisor hands you the microphone, her smile encouraging. You glance out at the sea of faces, your eyes wide and slightly panicked.

“Erm… hi?” you say nervously, your voice echoing through the room.

The crowd laughs, and you relax slightly, your trademark grin breaking through. “I honestly don’t know what to say. I didn’t think I’d win - like, at all. But, um, thank you? Thank you so much for believing in me. I promise to make this the most fun year ever!”

More cheers erupt, and you can’t help but laugh, the sound bright and genuine. You feel like you’re on top of the world.

From his seat, Jungkook watches you, his expression softening as you beam at the crowd. Taehyung leans closer to him, nudging him with his elbow.

“You didn’t think she’d pull it off, huh?”

Jungkook smirks faintly, his gaze never leaving you. “Guess I underestimated her.”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow, but before he can respond, Jimin pipes up from Jungkook’s other side. “You’re proud of her, aren’t you?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but the hint of a smile remains. “Shut up.”

On stage, you clutch the microphone tightly, your confidence growing with every second. “And to everyone who didn’t think I could do this - haha! Joke’s on you!”

The crowd laughs and claps, your infectious energy impossible to resist. As you step back from the podium, your eyes scan the audience until they land on Jungkook.

He’s sitting back, his expression calm but his eyes warm, the faintest tilt of his head acknowledging you. And for a brief moment, everything else fades away.

You grin at him, your heart swelling with joy.

As you wave to the crowd and enjoy the praise, you feel like the luckiest person on earth. You’re so focused on taking it all in that you don’t even notice Jungkook leaving his seat to stand off to the side, leaning against a pillar and watching you from a distance, arms crossed.

Jimin and Taehyung join him, but are engaged in their own conversation as Jungkook busies himself with his phone.

Taehyung leans over to Jimin, grinning like the little troublemaker he is. “Dude, I don’t get it. How the hell did she win? I thought she was just being her usual bubbly self, handing out flyers and acting cute… But look at her now.”

Jimin laughs, nodding. “Yeah, man, what’s up with that? I mean, she’s sweet, and all, but… I didn’t think people would actually vote for her.”

The two of them glance over at Jungkook, who’s still standing quietly, his face unreadable. Taehyung smirks, nudging him lightly. “What do you think, Kook? How did she even win? Who’s voting for her, really?”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, not bothering to look at them, but there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He stands there, arms crossed, silently watching you, who’s now trying to juggle the flowers while still looking out at the crowd with that infectious grin of yours.

Jimin tilts his head, eyeing him suspiciously. “Come on, Jungkook. You know you have some sort of opinion. Tell us, who voted for her?”

Taehyung adds, “We can’t be the only ones. Did she really have this big of a following?”

Jungkook finally speaks, his voice calm, as he looks at Taehyung and Jimin, not making any effort to hide the slight amusement in his eyes. “Me,” he says, his gaze still fixed on you, who’s now blowing kisses to the crowd.

Jimin blinks, confused. “Well duh, but what was that going to do?”

Taehyung on the other hand scoffs, failing to believe Jungkook actually voted. “Bro, did you seriously vote? That’s a first.”

Jungkook glances at him, his lips curling into a small but knowing smile. “Yeah, about 120 times.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, as Jimin and Taehyung exchange wide-eyed looks.

“Wait,” Taehyung starts, his tone of disbelief almost comical. “You really voted for her that many times? Dude, you’re joking.”

“No,” Jungkook responds, his voice laced with casual indifference. “Why would I fucking joke?”

Jimin can’t help but chuckle, looking over at Taehyung, who’s still in shock. “Wow, we had no idea. You’re soft for her, aren’t you?”

Jungkook shrugs nonchalantly. “She deserves it.”

The two of them fall silent for a moment, digesting what he’s just said.

Jungkook, the grungy, distant guy who typically didn’t care much for things like this, voted for you - his ditsy, but incredibly endearing girl - 120 times.

“She won because of you?” Taehyung asks, his voice almost in awe.

Jungkook finally shifts his gaze away from you and looks at the two of them. There’s still a quiet smirk on his face, but his tone is serious when he speaks again. “She’s the best choice. They need her.”

Jimin looks back at you on stage, a soft smile forming on his face. “Damn. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Jungkook’s eyes flick back to you as well, a subtle warmth in them that he doesn’t bother to hide this time. “Come on hyung, get over it.”

The two of them stand there, silently processing Jungkook’s revelation, while you continue to beam up at the crowd, completely oblivious to the conversation happening just a short distance away.

Your joy is contagious, and for the first time in a long while, Jungkook feels like he’s part of something bigger than himself. You make him feel that way, without even trying.

“Should we go congratulate her?” Taehyung asks with a grin, nudging Jimin, who looks lost in thought. “I mean, she’s our president now, right?”

Jimin laughs, shaking his head, still processing the revelation about Jungkook. “Yeah. Let’s go before she starts thanking everyone except us.”

As the two of them start to walk toward you, Jungkook stays behind, watching them for a second before his gaze drifts back to you.

When you finally make your way off the stage and into the crowd of friends and classmates congratulating you, your eyes lock with Jungkook’s. You smile at him, that soft, bright smile that always catches him off guard, and you laugh, still holding the flowers in your hands.

You’re quick to thrust your bouquets into the arms of Taehyung and Jimin, who both lean in to try and hug you, but you’re off and throwing yourself into your Bakugo’s arms.

“Jungkook, I don’t even know how I won! I don’t know what happened!” you exclaim with a cute laugh, clearly overwhelmed by everything happening around you.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you, his eyes softening with something unreadable. Finally, he pulls you in, engulfing you in his bulky arms.

Home.

“It was your daily speeches doll,” he whispers quietly, almost to himself. “You’re special.”

You beam back at him, your joy too big to contain. “Thanks, Koo! I couldn’t have done it without you!”

Jungkook says nothing, but the way he looks down at you, with the faintest smile on his lips, says it all.

For once, it’s clear: he’s always believed in you, even when you didn’t know it.

Later that evening, after the excitement has settled and the crowd has dispersed, you find yourself in Jungkook’s apartment again, sprawled on the couch with your victory flowers placed haphazardly on the coffee table.

Jungkook sits beside you, shirtless and looking hot as fuck as he flips through his phone.

You nudge his side with your elbow, catching his attention. “So, Kookie…” you start, drawing out the syllables in a singsong tone.

He raises a brow but doesn’t look away from his phone. “What now?”

“I won student president,” you remind him, grinning as you scoot closer.

“Did you? I didn’t notice,” he says dryly, still scrolling.

Back to his usual self it seems…

You pout, tugging on his sleeve. “That’s a big deal, you know.”

“Sure is.”

You lean in even closer, practically draping yourself over him. “Big enough for a reward, don’t you think?”

At that, he finally looks at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “A reward?”

You nod enthusiastically, your smile turning mischievous. “Yep. I worked so hard, and I think I deserve something for all my efforts.”

Jungkook smirks, his tongue running over his bottom lip in that way that always makes your stomach flip. “Oh, you think so?”

“I know so,” you declare, sitting up straighter and crossing your arms. “I handed out flyers, made speeches, posed for pictures. It was exhausting!”

You pout, knowing it will help you win your case.

He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. “And what kind of reward are you looking for, Miss President?”

You pretend to think for a moment, tapping your chin with your finger. “Hmm… Something meaningful. Something memorable. Something…” You trail off, leaning closer until your face is just inches from his. “Fun.”

Jungkook’s smirk widens, and he sets his phone down, finally giving you his full attention. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably deserving of a reward,” you correct, grinning shamelessly.

He shakes his head, his hair falling into his eyes as he leans back against the couch. “Alright, Miss President. What do you want?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you slide onto his lap, straddling him, your hands resting on his shoulders. His hands instinctively settle on your hips, and his brows shoot up in surprise.

“This,” you say, your voice dropping to a softer, more playful tone. “This is my reward.”

You grind down on Jungkook, moving forward to rest your nose against his cheek.

Jungkook chuckles, low and warm, his grip tightening slightly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning in until your lips are a breath away from his. “But you like it.”

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, Jungkook closes the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss that sends shivers down your spine.

When you finally pull back, a satisfied smile on your face, you whisper, “Best reward ever.”

“But I’m not satisfied,” Jungkook says in a husky tone, playing with the hem of your short, silk nightgown. “I think I deserve a reward too.”

As Jungkook’s fingers continue to trace lazy patterns on your thigh, his voice drops further, laced with that teasing, husky tone that always makes your cheeks warm.

His lips brush slightly against your ear.

You pull back and blink up at your man, your glossy lips parting slightly in confusion. “Huh? But you’re not the class president, silly. I am!”

Jungkook pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes narrowing like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. And then he laughs - deep and low, the sound rumbling from his chest and vibrating against you.

A sound you’re not quite used to, but is your saving grace.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, shaking his head, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying his exasperation.

You pout, your perfectly glossed lips sticking out just enough to tempt him further. “I’m not wrong though,” you argue, tilting your head innocently.

“Mhm.” His grip on your waist tightens slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin as he leans closer, the warmth of his breath fanning against your cheek. “Still think I deserve something… presidential, don’t you think. You know, for being the best campaign manager?”

You stare at him for a second, trying to piece together what he meant before your face lights up. “Ohhh! You mean, like, a sticker or something? I think I have some in my bag! Wait here!”

Jungkook groans softly, the sound half-amused, half-defeated, as you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. But he wasn’t going to let you go anywhere.

“Forget the sticker, doll,” he mutters, tugging you closer and pressing his lips firmly against yours once again.

Jungkook laughs softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your waist. “You’re lucky you’re- never mind.”

“You’re lucky I’m your president,” you quip, earning an eye roll and another kiss that leaves you both grinning like fools.

Jungkook pulls your closer, groaning. A deep, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Why don’t you remind me how lucky I am?”

Your fingers trail down his buff chest, teasingly slow, until they reach the waistband of his jeans. You toy with the button, glancing up at him through your lashes. “I think you already know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But if you need me to spell it out…”

Before you can finish, his hand shoots up, gripping your chin gently but firmly. “You’re such a tease,” he mutters, his gaze locked on yours. “Always pushing buttons, seeing how far you can go.”

A thrill runs through you at his words, your body responding instinctively as you nod, your lips parting slightly.

“Yes,” you breath, the single word laden with meaning.

That was all the encouragement he needed. In one swift motion, Jungkook flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him as his mouth crashed into yours.

The kiss is hungry, desperate, his tongue claiming yours as his hands roamed over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You moan into his mouth, arching into his touch, your hands fisting in his hair to pull him closer.

When he finally breaks the kiss, both of you are breathless, your chests rising and falling rapidly.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, lips trailing down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. “Class president. Always so perfect, aren’t you?”

Your head falls back against the couch cushions, a whimper escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

“Only for you,” you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Jungkook chuckles darkly, his hands sliding under your skirt to grip your thighs. “Is that so?” he asks, voice laced with amusement. “Then let’s see how much of a good girl you can be for me tonight.”

With that, he shifts lower, his lips following the path of his hands as he kisses along your inner thighs.

You squirm beneath him, the anticipation building as he teases you mercilessly, his breath hot against your skin. When his tongue finally finds its target, your back arches off the couch as a cry tears from your lips.

“J-Jungkook!” you moan, your hands clutching at the cushions as waves of pleasure wash over you.

“My love, I’ve missed this” Jungkook murmurs, voice thick with lust, his breath ghosting over your slick heat. “Missed my mouth all over this filthy cunt.”

Your fingers tangle in his dark hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp as you tighten your grip, hips arching in desperate search of contact. The need is maddening, your body trembling with want.

“Please… Koo,” you whine, your voice barely more than a whimper, every syllable laced with urgency. “Please, I need you.”

He hums against your thigh, the sound sending a jolt straight through your core. His gaze flickers up to you, hungry and impossibly tender. “I need you too,” he admits softly. “Need to taste you. Need to be inside you. Need to ruin you.”

Then, with infuriating patience, he drags the tip of his tongue along your folds - a featherlight stroke that leaves you shuddering. You writhe beneath him, chasing more, the teasing making your heart pound.

Jungkook groans low in his throat, clearly affected by the sight of you already in bliss.

“Baby, please… need more,” you whine, voice high and trembling, your body begging louder than words ever could.

And that is all it takes.

“Koo’s teased you long enough, hmm, doll?” he taunts, cupping your thighs and settling in deeper. “If it’s too much, you’ll tell me.”

Jungkook licks a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit, savouring every drop of you. His tongue lingers, his lips sealing around your cunt as he begins to truly devour you … hungry, reverent, insatiable.

He moans into you, the vibration making your toes curl. His mouth is everywhere - sucking, kissing, lapping - and when his tongue flicks over your swollen clit, you cry out his name like a prayer.

You rock your hips against his face, seeking more, always more, as he flattens his tongue against you and groans at the taste he’s been craving. His hands roam upward, brushing over your chest, thumbs circling your hardened nipples, sending sparks of sensation through your already trembling frame.

“Oh my god, Baby—please! I-I can’t—” You gasp, the first orgasm crashing into you hard and fast, your thighs clamping around his head.

But Jungkook doesn’t stop.

He already knows.

“Baby wants more?” he teases against your heat, voice muffled but devilish.

And despite the pressure, you find yourself nodding.

Jungkook is then licking you again… up and down, over and over… shameless, worshipful and like he’s starved for you.

You can barely breathe, pleasure building again far too soon, and all you can do is hold on as he pulls another climax from your trembling body, whispering your name between every lick like it’s the only word that’s ever mattered.

You whine, tears spilling from your eyes as you reach for your Koo to hold you.

“Not yet,” he says, voice rough with lust and desire. “We’re not done.”

Before you could protest, Jungkook is kissing you again, his hands roaming over your body as he guides you to sit up.

“Ride me,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You obey without hesitation, positioning yourself over him as he unbuckles his jeans, freeing his hard length.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, moaning at the sensation of being filled so completely. All while the tears continue to spill.

You love… you adore… you could die for the way this man fucks you.

Jungkook’s hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you begin to ride him, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

“That’s it,” he growls, his eyes locked on yours. “Take what you want, baby. Show me how much you’ve earned this.”

You whimper, pace increasing as the heat between you builds to an unbearable level. Jungkook’s hands move to your breasts, kneading and teasing as you grind down on him, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his voice guttural and raw. “Riding me like you own me.” His words send a thrill through you, spurring you on as you pick up the pace, grinding down onto him with increasing urgency.

“You’re- you’re mine,” you manage to utter, grip tightening on Jungkook’s shoulders as you reach down to kiss him.

Jungkook, however, seems occupied with your urgency. And being his usual determined self, he cannot let you win.

His hands grab hold of your hips again, guiding your movements as he thrust up into you harshly, meeting you stroke for stroke.

The pleasure builds rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your core with each thrust. You feel it building, that sweet pressure threatening to break you apart, but you hold on, determined to make your handsome man come undone first.

“Koo, I—” you whine, your voice breaking as you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

You clench around him, drawing a strangled groan from his lips as his rhythm falters.

Leaning forward, you capture his mouth in a messy, passionate kiss, your tongues battling for dominance as you ride him harder, faster, chasing that peak together.

“Come for me,” he demands, tone firm but gentle. “Fall apart on my dick.”

It was all the permission you required.

With a cry, you come undone, your body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

Jungkook groans, the feeling of your sticky cum decorating him consuming him.

And before he can continue his usual post-orgasm shenanigans, you cut him off with a sharp roll of your hips, driving him over the edge.

His release hits him like a tidal wave, his body tensing as he spills inside you. He holds you through it, his groans muffling against your skin.

The sight of him cumming inside you, the feel of him pulsing within you, is all it takes to send you spiraling once again.

Another orgasm crashes over you, waves of ecstasy washing through your body as you clench around him, milking every last drop of pleasure Jungkook has to offer.

Both of you breathe heavily as you try to regain your senses. Jungkook’s arms immediately wrap tighter around you, holding you close as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice filled with satisfaction and pride. “You did so well, my princess.”

You smile faintly, your body still tingling from the second orgasm. “Does this mean I get a reward every time I win something?”

Jungkook chuckles, his grip on you tightening slightly. “If this is how you plan to collect, then maybe we should make more bets.”

You laugh softly, leaning into your boyfriend as the TV continues to flicker in the background, forgotten by both of you.

For now, all that matters is being lost in the heat of the moment and Jungkook’s promise of more nights like this.

—

And done! Hope you enjoyed 🫶🏻 I would appreciate feedback :)

[nemesyaaa]

little playdoll // rafe cameron x reader

summary : rafe's finding some kind of fun with your slutty twin braids.

warnings : +18. minors dni. smut. oral (f&m r.). hair pulling/playing. choking kink. dumbification/dollification. p in v. dirty talk. etablished relationship. be aware of the warnings before reading.

author's note : none.

“you know what that means…” he whispered as he slipped a hand on the pink choker that decorated your neck, passing a finger under it to pull you towards him.

you had slid onto his lap and placed your hands on the sheets, letting Rafe pull you into a passionate kiss. you could feel how eager he was in the way his tongue played with yours, his mouth was always so good at devouring yours, deep crushing against your lips. at the moment, your little head was nothing but empty, waiting for your boyfriend to give you something to think about.

he loved admiring your face after a kiss, your luscious lips parting in a stream of drool as you were looking at him with small stupid eyes. your breath was so short, literally serving as an excuse for him to make fun of you.

rafe always dreamed of having a pretty little doll at his disposal. maybe, it was due to the sexual frustration he felt after being a virgin for so long. but now he had you and not only were you his, but he owned you completely.

you were his type, the kind of bimbo who never got on his nerves because your only desire was to please and satisfy him. you were the kind of doll who had a brain between her thighs. it was the only thing Rafe asked you to use and nothing else. but you had so many other charms. after all, you were a fucking doll. you were multifunctional.

you had a fantastic mouth. not only did she say everything your boyfriend wanted but on top of that, she took and swallowed everything he gave you. you had amazing lips but they were even more amazing when they were around his cock and started giving him the blowjob of his life. oh yes, and damn, you knew how to make him a happy man.

he was in love with the way your mouth moved over his dick, the way your throat tightened every time he buried himself deep inside you. while you were losing yourself in tears, he gained inches between your lips until he completely invaded your space. you were short of air, your eyes were rolled back and your back and forth came louder and faster. your sobs were diminished by guttural sounds, by the pumping noises of your opened mouth on his length.

he was so hard, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, no matter how much you gag, no matter how much saliva dripped from your lips. you were full, and all you wanted was for him to change holes. your pussy was wet, waiting to be fucked, to be used until it was ruined.

rafe looked at you with eyes full of lust, you consumed him with your lips. everything was sloppy except your two long braids which were still intact. he couldn't afford to damage his work after spending an hour on it.

your tongue lapped at his cock, making him tremble with every stroke of your muscle. your mouth was useful, working intensely on his length, doing the job nice, wet and clean.

when he felt it coming, he pushed you back against the mattress. he didn't want to cum in your mouth, he wanted to save all his loads for your pussy. he placed himself between your legs, lifting them so easily with his arms and his head disappeared between your thighs.

he wasn't going to waste his time. while he sucked on your clit, teasing the bud, and making it throb softly, he pushed fingers into you starting with gentle and pleasurable thrusts at first before following a faster and harder rhythm.

he was insane when it came to making you feel good. his fingers were thick, and you felt like they were even bigger between your walls. he was making sure you were going to be able to take it.

his lips alternated between your quivering clit to your wet folds. his tongue licked from one spot to another while his fingers were pushed far into your pussy, forcing sometimes the tiny hole to stretch, before fingering you raw.

your pussy was soft, and he was latching at your taste. his tongue was fat and sticky against you. your poor sensitive clit being bullied by the rough muscle but it was nothing compared to the fingersfucking your cunt was living.

you were such a little mess, whimpering and screaming like you were a helpless prey. you were trying so hard to stay still but it was difficult with your boyfriend eating you deep.

when he decided that you were finally fuckable, he placed you on all fours while he stood behind you, his dick already in hand. “ gonna make you very pretty…”

without warning, he had pushed his cock into your wet hole already coating the glistening tip. his eyes glued to the stretch of your lips as he entered on your insides. your pussy was so tight he was sure you felt every inch he added to your sticky walls, every depth he reached. “ come on, take it for me babe…yes…just like that…look at you being such a big girl, taking it all….can you feel it growing inside you… ” it seemed so slow until you finally felt that wave of pleasure when he started to move. “ r…rafe !! mmph…” you cried out bursting tears. “ i promise, you do such a good job…” he praised you. “ baby, you're literally owning that dick. ”

you said something muffled and his voice came deep and raspy against your ears. “ look at you soaking yourself on my cock and drenching your cheeks with tears…such a wet baby, making a mess everywhere…"

you swallowed hard, giving him a small whimper in response while his length bullied your cervix, giving you the insane strokes your needy cunt needed. your sweet core was dripping, wetting the size of his big dick to the point you could only hear the spongy sounds of your juices brushing every of his moves.

his hips were snapping at your ass while he pounded at your core with powerful thrusts. the room was loud with your breathless pathetic cries. “ ‘s too much…” you plead out, your tongue was out, panting over your chin like a pup, a stream of saliva spurting out of your mouth every time he was hammering you hard. “ come on, baby. it's not even close to what i can really give you…quit acting before i show you what's really too much. ” he was over you, the sweat brightening every part of his toned body, his mouth fucking grunts at you as a smile slowly floating on his lips. “ huh huh, suddenly, you're much quiet…should i give you something to cry about….”

his dick was huge, taking all the space of your pussy and making a home everywhere. with both of his strong hands, he grabbed each of your braids, wrapping them tightly around his wrists to put pressure on your useless doll head, forcing your neck to back a little while your eyes rolled hard under his breakful thrusts. he started playing with your hair, making the twin braids bounce above your body, driving your body with his hands and pushing you to arch every time he pulled on them to drive you.

you complained with a small gulp. and he answered you. “can't i have fun with my doll after making her all pretty? ”

you couldn't even answer that he had already continued his game with your hair. you felt the strength in his hands in the way your pigtails were pulled back hard as you were restricted in your movements due to the pressure on your head when his cock always running heavy to your hitted spot. “ such a good pussy, taking my dick so well. she's understanding what she made it for. "

your hair was pretty, decorated with bows that shakened through your braids when his thrusts were too sharp. your clit was pulsating, as legs were trembling and your fists curling the sheets under your fingers.

he had figured out how to be controlling without even talking to you, just by pulling each of your braids, but above all how to make you fuck yourself on his cock without having to give you orders until you were finally the only one moving your hair in his hands.

Rafe was addicted, your body bouncing in sync with the movement of your braids who were slapping your own back. you were perfect.

“give me a kiss.” he commanded, and you complied. “ such an obedient girl. you really want to make me proud…”

your body was mixed with so many feelings. the pleasure was intense, so stimulating that you were overflowing with wetness on all sides. your flesh was sweating and you were suffocating. you kissed him, locking your lips on his. “ good doll. ” he commented, brushing the side of your left cheek with his mouth while some of his fingers came between your lips. understanding quickly what he wanted, you immediately started to suck on it, drenched them with the saliva leaking from you. you were messily pumping, the loud gagging sounds from your little throat echoing around the majority of his digits. the way he was caressing your skin with his lips was a rare part of softness during the moment. your cunt still busily fucked by his rawed dick while your stuffed mouth was foaming.

“ do you understand it, babydoll ? ” you tried to reply but some short panting escaped your lips, leaving you whimpering at the front of his mouth. "this pussy is nothing when i'm not inside it."he said with the venom of his tongue, as he had laid you back against the mattress, resuming his initial rhythm inside of your cunt. “ say it. ”

“ this pussy…is n-nothing…when you're not inside it. ” you repeated softly, tears running down your cheeks.

“ good you have such a pretty pussy because it's not that stupid brain that would get you anywhere. ”

he grabbed your braids and crossed them across your neck before pulling back like a leash. At first, you didn't feel the lack of air until his hips slapped your ass evily, and his thrusts became more powerful. you had started to feel the itch, the terrible suffocation, breathing becoming slow and weak like your moans.

you couldn't say anything because Rafe was your boyfriend. he knew better than anyone what was good for you. so if he did it, you took it even if it hurt. your eyes were filled with salty tears. and the worst part of it all was that he was right. you had nothing in your head at the moment, neither the capacity to think nor the capacity to act and he took that to his advantage.

he had left you unconscious for a few seconds before letting you breathe again. the feeling was terrible but so exciting. it was as if you had come back to life without ever having left it. your pussy was still fucked dirty, your body overstimulated. the seconds seemed long to you but they were actually quick.

he couldn't let you die. you were the only doll he liked to play with, he couldn't damage you that quickly.

your pussy had clenched so tightly around his cock when he choked you that he had cum inside your core. “ brain so empty but pussy so full…such a dumb baby.” you could be sure he had redone the walls of your hole with all the sperm that had spurted out of his tip.

“you should do that hairstyle every day. "

“anything you want..." you said.

“fuck. you're gonna regret those words, babydoll. ”

[angelluvsrafe]

how sheriff!rafe and babydoll!reader met

based in 60’s/ 70’s

this might be a series but i’m not promising anything!

warnings: age gap; reader is early twenties and rafe is late twenties and flirting but that’s about it!

you were on your way to the hair salon, you were already running late and there was so much traffic— you decide to try a different route.

you see the stop sign last second, too late. you curse yourself for not looking properly and continue.

you need to be there on time.

you hear the sirens of a cop car and glance in your rear view.

you’re being pulled over.

you let out a frustrated huff and pull into the side of the road, the cop car following and parking a few feet back.

your manicured hands grip the steering wheel nervously, you flip the sun visor down and check your lipstick. you look pretty cute.

there’s a knock on on your window and you roll the window down.

as you turn your head to look up at the officer— does eyes activated, he leans an arm on the roof of your car and ducks his head down to see you clearly.

“afternoon, ma’am” he greets with a strong southern drawl.

“afternoon, officer” you blink up at him, fluttering your lashes just like the magazine you read had taught you.

“can i see your licence and registration please, sweetheart?” he asks sternly, his eyes flickering down to your rather tight top.

“yes sir” you smile and reach into your glove box, grabbing the things he asked for and handing them to him.

his hand brushes yours and your stomach fills with butterflies.

as he’s checking over your license and registration, you take the opportunity to look the officer up and down.

he’s the definition of a hunk.

he looks back over at you and you smile softly, looking up at him through your lashes.

“that’s all good” he hands back your things and then looks out onto the road, then back to you. “so why’d you run that stop sign?” he smirks.

“uh- i’m late for something…” you mumble, realising how stupid of an excuse it is.

he scoffs softly and shakes his head.

“late for what, miss?” he urges, his lips still curled into a smirk.

“a hair appointment…”

“oh! a hair appointment! then i must let you go right now” he taunts, throwing his hands up.

“really?” you smile, hands already returning to the wheel.

“no.” he deadpans.

“oh…”

“are you drunk or are you just a bimbo?” he chuckles, shaking his head yet again.

you frown slightly, a small crease forming between your eyebrows and your bottom lip poking out slightly.

“i’m kidding, sweetheart…” he reassures you before pulling out his notebook.

“unfortunately, this isn’t your first offence. so i’ll have to fine you.” he breaks the news in a surprisingly soft tone.

“what?” you whine. “please, officer… is there anything else i can do?”

he pauses for a second, before his smirk stretches a little wider.

he looks over at his car, at the quiet road and then back at you.

“uh- you think i could get your number?” he asks confidently with that charming smile still lingering.

“of course!” you smile and tell him it.

he writes it down and then nods, winking at you.

“thanks, doll” he slips the piece of paper into his pocket and takes a step back.

“i’ll call you when i get off” he tells you, he can’t wipe the damn smirk off his face.

“great…” you giggle and watch him walk back to his car.

you’re free from any consequences and you now have a new guy to obsess over. life is fun sometimes.

- request a fic

[illusioninfnty]

"i'll do anything!" ↠ day 23 ; virginity loss

↠ bo sinclair x reader

fandom: house of wax word count: 2.8k warnings: nsfw 18+, bimbo!reader, reader has shitty friends, coercion, corruption, dubconish, fingering, blowjob, cum swallowing, dirty talk, kind of semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pervy!Bo, allusion to murder, the plot is like a bad porno but i promise this is good guys

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

“God, did you forget to fill the tank again?”

You lean over from the backseat to take a look at the fuel gauge, and see the arrow is nearing empty. You furrow your eyebrows. “I was sure it filled up all the way,” you murmur. You try to recall when you all last stopped at a gas station, and how your friends delegated you to fill up the car while they went into the shop and bought snacks.

“Well it obviously didn’t, you idiot!” Your friend jerks the wheel and pulls over on the side of the desolate road. “This is why we never like to go anywhere with you.” 

You bite your lip, holding back tears. It wasn’t your fault that you were so forgetful sometimes, always getting distracted and lost in your thoughts.

This was supposed to be a fun road trip with your three closest friends, celebrating your college graduation nearing. But after a car karaoke session that went on for too long made you guys miss an exit, you’d been stranded on empty roads with nothing but trees surrounding you for quite a few miles now.

Your friend sitting in the backseat with you turns to face you, her arms crossed against her chest. “You should be the one to go find a gas station,” she protests. “It’s your fault we got stuck out here anyway.”

Your two friends in the front row look back at you and then at each other before nodding in agreement.

You crane your neck to look at the journey that would be ahead of you. It looked as though it continued to stretch for miles and miles with no end in sight, only the empty road and dying trees.

“By myself?” you ask hesitantly.

All three nod in unison.

You huff in defeat, unbuckling your seatbelt and stepping out of the vehicle.

“I’ll try to be back—”

They slam the door in your face before you can answer.

“—Soon,” you finish before sighing and starting the long walk, hoping to find some destination before it got too dark.

~

Bo was not expecting to see a pretty little thing like you around Ambrose when it was nearing dusk, especially all alone. You had your arms wrapped around your bare midsection, and even from his spot inside the gas station he could see that you were shivering from the cool air as the sun set. You were looking around frantically, and he could tell immediately that you were lost and looking for help.

He smirks. Oh, he’d help you, alright. Bo took that as his cue to reveal himself to you. He wipes his hands with a dirty rag and tosses it aside, exiting the station.

You hear the ringing of the bell as Bo opens the door, and you turn your head towards the source of the sound. You scurry on over, seeing Bo in his mechanic’s uniform.

“Sir! Hi!” you start, fumbling over your words. “You work here, right? Do you have some gas? My car—well, it’s my friend’s—but it’s, like, miles back there and we ran out.” 

Your eyes then shift to the side and he could tell you were embarrassed. “It’s kind of my fault.”

Hmm. Sir. He liked hearing that come from your pouty lips.

Bo gives you a toothy grin. “Don’t gotta worry your head ‘bout it, sweetheart. I’ll get ya all settled. Come with me.” He slides his hand across your lower back, just barely grazing your ass. You gasp under your breath at the feeling, and Bo can’t help it when his cock stirs at the sound.

As you walk into the gas station, Bo scans you up and down. He notices that you have nothing on your person but your clothes, and even then it’s just little scraps of a skimpy top and skirt—which means you must’ve forgotten a wallet, too. His grin widens even more.

Reaching behind him without you noticing, he cranks the thermostat down. The air gets cooler within seconds, and Bo revels in seeing your nipples harden as they poke through your top.

He goes to find a can of gas, rolling up his sleeves as he plucks it from a top shelf. He notices when you gulp and stare at his muscles as he flexes them subtly.

You were such a cute little doll. He was going to have fun with you.

He plops the can on the counter. You go to reach for it, but he holds a hand out. “Ten bucks, little lady.”

Your eyes bulge almost comically and it takes all of Bo’s strength not to laugh at your expression.

“Wow, that’s a lot more than I thought it would be,” you say nervously, shifting on the balls of your feet.

Bo exaggerates a sigh. “Times are tough out here, owning a small business like this. We don’t get many customers out here.” He opens his hands to motion to you the desolate town of Ambrose.

You completely buy into his bullshit excuse, nodding your head in complete understanding. “Oh my god, that sucks, like, a lot.” Patting down your lame excuse for a shirt, you look up at Bo with wide eyes, jaw dropped in surprise. “I forgot to bring my wallet!”

You were such a dumb little thing. What were your sorry excuses of friends thinking, sending you off all alone?

“I’m so sorry, sir!” You clasp your hands in front of you in a pleading manner, looking up at him with big, watery eyes. Bo holds back a groan. Jesus, those eyes could make a man cream his pants if he wasn’t too careful. “Please, is there anything I can do to pay you back? I’ll do anything!”

Bo pretends as if he’s thinking long and hard. Oh, he knew exactly what you were going to do as payment.

“You know, I get lonely sometimes,” Bo starts, a mock frown on his face. “A cute lady like you could really help a man like me out.” He shuffles up to you, and palms your ass under that sorry excuse for a skirt.

“Oh!” You gasp, grabbing onto his arm. “That’s really sad, sir.” You look lost in thought for a moment before continuing. “I don’t know if I can do that for you though.” You bite your lip, looking unsure of yourself.

“Aw, you gotta be kidding,” Bo clicks his tongue, rubbing his hand around the plumpness of your behind. “I bet you’ve helped lotsa guys out, huh?”

“A-actually,” you look down in shame. “I’m a—” you lower your voice to barely over a whisper, “—virgin.”

Bo blinks. That wasn’t a response he was expecting from you. So the slutty clothes were just for show, was it?

“Oh really?”

You nod, blatant regret all over your face. “I don’t think it’ll be good for you, ya’know, since I haven’t really had any practice and all that.”

He puts a smile back on, laughing gleefully and patting you on the shoulder, rubbing a thumb between the groove of your collarbone. “Well, that’s no problem for me, sweetheart. I can teach ya!”

Your eyes lighten up. “You can?”

“Sure I can!” He starts to undo his belt, throwing it aside on the counter. “Just need you to get on your knees for me and I can show you what to do.”

His cock jumps in anticipation, looking forward to seeing your juicy, plump lips wrapped around—

“Wait a minute!” you cry out, interrupting his fantasies.

Bo pauses in his movements, his jaw ticking at your interruption. “Yes?” he askes, concealing his frustration.

“What’s your name? I don’t wanna do this without knowing it.”

He sighs and points to the nametag on his jacket. “I’m Bo.”

You slap a palm across your forehead and nervously giggle. “Oh jeez, I should’ve known to look first!”

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Bo mutters through his teeth impatiently. “Now lemme help you out, alright?” “Oh! Yeah, sorry!” You—finally—drop to your knees in front of him. “What do I need to do?”

The sight of you in front of him like that, so eager and pliant, had his cock jumping in his pants.

Bo lowers his jeans and boxers, his hard cock now revealed to you. He wraps a hand around the base stroking his full length as it puts it on display for you.

“That’s…big,” you murmur. You look up at him, concern plastered across your features. “I dunno if it’s gonna fit.” Your eyebrows crease together and those damn pouty lips of yours come out again.

Bo bites his cheek to conceal his smirk. This was gonna be a lot more fun than he thought. “I told you, that’s what I’m helping you with, ain’t I?”

You nod.

“Great. Now open those pretty lips up for me.”

You open your mouth as wide as you can, giving Bo a perfect hole to stick his cock into. He guides himself inside you, hissing as the warmth of your mouth envelops his length.

“Good girl,” he praises. He begins to thrust his hips slowly, your lips latching onto him as he does so. “You gotta let me move, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” you mumble around him, and he groans at the vibrations that travel up his cock.

Your lips loosen and you start to suck on his cock, the suction of your lips making shivers of pleasure run down his spine. He grips the back of your head, controlling the pace of his thrusts.

“Fuck, look at you,” Bo hisses. You look so pretty and innocent with his cock stuffed down your throat, gags escaping your lips. “You’re a natural. Sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I told you—!”

Bo slaps your cheek, shushing you. “Stop talking.”

You nod obediently, the action making him pulse inside of your mouth. His grip on your hair tightens as his thrusts become harder, more primal. He fucks your mouth with vigor, ignoring your gags and the way your nails dig into the skin of his thighs.

He cums faster than he’s ever had before, groaning as his hot release coats the back of your throat. You cough around his cock, spurts of liquid splashing against your cheeks.

“Swallow it,” Bo commands.

You gulp harshly, your lips still secured around his cock. The extra pressure has him bucking his hips and like a good girl you swallow all of his cum. He pulls his cock out of your mouth, and you begin to cough and sputter as you regain your breath.

“Is that it?” you question him.

“Baby, I still gotta get rid of that virginity of yours.”

“Oh.” You giggle behind your hand. “Right.” You start to strip, only taking a couple of seconds since you’re practically naked already. “What do I do now?”

Bo’s cock hardens back to life at your nude form in front of him. Your nipples are hard, attached to your perky breasts that bounce up and down right in front of his eyes. He stares lecherously, licking his lips. “Now that you got my cock all wet,” Bo rubs his length, now slick with his cum and your saliva, “I can stick it in your pussy.” You bite the inside of your cheek and nod, your eyes flicking between his face and his cock. “I know I asked before,” you begin, and Bo moves to place your hand over his cock, “but will it really fit?”

Lord, he was really starting to understand why your friends let you go alone.

“Yeah, I told you, I’ll make it fit.” He lifts you from the back of your legs and places you on top of the counter. He brings his thick fingers to your pussy, sticking a fingertip inside.

You gasp and arch your body into him, throwing your arms around his broad back. Your bare breasts brush up against his chest and he relishes in the contact. 

“That feels really good, Bo!” you cry out. He adds a second finger inside of you, pushing the digits in deeper. He can feel how wet you are and the way you clench around him so desperately. Your hips jerk into him unsteadily, chasing the pleasure his fingers bring you.

He chuckles. “It’ll feel even better when I stick my cock in you.”

Bo removes his fingers, basking in the way you whine as he pulls them out, leaving you pulsing and desperate to be around him. He lines his throbbing cock with your entrance and pushes himself in without hesitation.

“Bo!” You scream, nails digging into his back. Little gasps leave your mouth as he begins to thrust in and out of you. Your pussy grips him like a vice, and it’s difficult for him to move inside you with you so needy for him.

He shushes you, gripping your cheeks and watching as tears leave your eyes.

“It hurts,” you whine to him. Your nails grip onto him as if your life depended on it.

He shoves his face into the crevice of your neck, placing kisses upon it. “Gotta relax a bit for me, okay?” he coos into your ear. “Or it won’t feel good for you.”

“You promise?” you ask through glassy eyes.

He nods, and feels as you unclench just a tad around him. Bo is able to rut himself into you harder now, and he can’t help but be more forceful with his thrusts as it causes your breasts to bounce right in front of him.

“Look at that.” He motions towards where the two of you are connected, his cock pulsing at the way your blood and juices coat the base. “Look at how we're connected now.”

Oh wow,” you gasp in awe. “That’s kinda romantic, huh?”

Bo doesn’t respond. If you wanted to put it that way, he wouldn’t stop you. He ignores the way his heart stutters in his chest.

His hips continue to pound into you, your body bouncing along with the power of his thrusts. The whines that come out of your mouth sound so angelic, and Bo has to fight the urge to kiss you.

“I—I think I’m gonna cum,” you moan out, your head thrown back and your eyes are scrunched up in pleasure.

Bo didn’t need you to tell him that. Your pussy goes back to clenching down on him, your walls tightening around his cock, fitting themselves to the shape of him. He curses quietly into your neck. He never wanted to leave the warmth of your pussy.

“That’s it, baby,” Bo coaxes you. He moves a finger to your clit, enjoying the way you jolt at the newfound sensation as he rubs circles on the bead. “Cum around my cock.”

“Cumming!” Your voice is squeaky as your legs come up to wrap around his backside, and you finally reach your peak. Your pussy tightens around Bo even more, and he can’t help it when he cums for a second time as you squeeze every last drop out of him.

You pant heavily as you come down from your orgasm, sweat rolling down your temples despite the cold air of the station that surrounds the two of you.

Bo’s own breathing is heavy, something he’s not used to much. You squirm out from beneath him as you drop from the counter, legs still shaking from the aftermath of your orgasm. You bend down to gather your scraps of clothing, and Bo has to take all of his strength to conceal his groan as he watches his cum slowly leak out of your pussy.

“Leaving so soon?” Bo didn’t know what compelled him to say that. You were just some cute college kid passing through that was a chance to get his dick wet. Yet there was something about you that drew him to you, like a moth to a flame.

You shimmy back into your clothing, and he notices how you ignore the trail of his cum that runs down your thigh. “My friends’ll be mad at me if I take too long getting back.” You pause in your movements. “I can take the gas now, right?”

Bo’s heart drops in his stomach. He realizes quickly that no, he wasn’t going to let you take the gas. In fact, he wasn’t going to let you leave at all. He wanted you—needed you—here with him. He couldn’t let a pretty little thing like you just pass by him like that.

He glances outside quickly. The sky's already turned to a pitch black hue, and he knows there’s no streetlights on your way back to where your friends wait for you. He turns back to you as you stand awaiting his answer.

“It’s pretty dark out there, little lady.” You peek over his shoulder, and your eyes widen as you realize just how late it had gotten. “It ain’t safe for you ta’ be out walkin’ all alone. Why don’t you stay over at my place for the night?”

“B-but what about my friends?” A pout overtakes your face and you look up at Bo with puzzled eyes.

Bo smirks, holding you close to his chest and running a hand over your hair. “Don’t need ta’ worry about them, sweetheart. My brother’ll come an’ fetch ‘em.”