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bunny584 · 2 months

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OBSESSED: SHOKO feat THE BOYS (FINALE)

A/N: Well, well, well. Oh how the tables have turned, dear reader. It’s not so easy — juggling two special grades and their personal physician…is it?

S/N: This is it. The pièce de résistance. I was…this is…NO ONE LOOK AT ME AFTER YOU READ THIS. No idea the word count. Long af, though.

C/W:….the trio is their own content warning lol. Mature. 18+, MDNI.

Part I, Part II.

Is this…a dream?

This must be what it feels like to hear Domain Expansion, Infinite Void.

White static coats Shoko’s brain. She’s breathing underwater. Thinking in molasses.

It’s a miracle her legs are working — they’re currently trailing behind you and the boys, back to her apartment.

Her eyes are working, too — they’re attached to the dress rippling and bouncing off your ass. Your hips are a hypnotic pendulum. Swinging back and forth.

Back and forth.

The tailwind from your strut is a bad actor.

Every so often teasing your cotton panties that won the lottery. Kissing up against your pretty petals. Riding along the plump curve of your mounds. Accentuating the intoxicating swell of your hips.

It’s paralyzing.

You are paralyzing.

Satoru’s hand is curled around the back of your neck. His azure glow is so pristine, so bright it refracts off your gorgeous cheekbones. Dampening his Limitless and intensifying his Six Eyes.

Because the first to taste a meal is usually one’s eyes…right?

Shoko can nearly hear the depravity ringing between Satoru’s ears.

Then there’s Suguru.

An arm is draped around your waist, capturing and releasing the hem of your dress every few seconds. Mindless movements. His sniper-like gaze focused on the apartment door at the end of the hall.

Cool. Calm. Collected.

One would think, if you don’t know Suguru well enough.

His normally, perfectly repressed cursed energy surrounds him. Flickering into the air like campfire embers just waiting for the next gust of wind to erupt. Amethyst and graphite swarm around her best friend — the only indicator of his disintegrating self-control.

20 steps left until she is expected to produce door keys. The only thing standing between everyone and you.

This is it.

This is the moment. The one chance you get at ‘doing it right this time.’

15 steps.

There are no more wishes granted. No more genies stuffed into bottles, or whatever. This is it.

10 steps.

Get your shit together, Ieiri.

Do not squander this on the sidelines.

Shoko wires around the three of you. Stepping ahead to slot the frivolous piece of aluminum standing between her and her wet dream.

The apartment door flies open. Satoru’s hand moves on autopilot — deepening his grip around your neck.

His conscious brain recedes. Triple distilled, unadulterated need moves in like a tropical storm.

Silky strands of your hair plaited in his fingers.

Wide, warm eyes locked into his.

Tiny slit in those pouty, siren lips of yours.

He will dismantle you. Piece by fucking piece.

Until you’re a babbling, sobbing brook beneath his fingers. Apologizing for being such a cocktease.

“Satoru…?”

There’s a change in your voice.

Fear? Nerves?

Prey finally realizing who is next on the menu?

Satoru is staring. Fully aware of how disarming his eyes can be. Born with godlike vision and somehow the only thing he can see in the room is you.

His greed is a threat to National Security. DEFCON Level 1.

His mouth ghosts yours. Barely registering Suguru encasing you from behind. Trailing his palms along your thighs.

“Safe word, princess.” Satoru maps every ridge, every teeth indent on that gorgeous bottom lip.

“For when you need to tap out.” Suguru augments Satoru’s command. Gentle nip at the tip of your ear and you moan. Bitten back and clipped.

“Such pretty sounds,” Shoko’s voice is distant. Breathy. Coated in Cabernet.

“I..don’t—”

Satoru slices your protest in half. Rolling your bottom lip under his teeth. Biting and licking his way across your pout. At the same time Suguru drops his mouth to your pulse point.

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” Suguru murmurs into your neck. A filthy fucking whine escapes your lips and Satoru’s fingers go to your nipple.

Hard. Pert and neglected. Desperate for attention.

Just like you.

The way you’re panting into Satoru’s mouth. Listless and loose, bending into Suguru’s presence behind you.

“He gave you an order, baby.” Suguru’s smile is so tender. Almost torturous against your oversensitive skin.

“Don’t…ah..don’t need a safe word.”

A weak declaration against Satoru’s kiss. Earning yourself a sharp twist of your sensitive buds. And gifting him a kitten squeal that makes his cock twitch.

“Ohhhh Suguru, Shoko. We have a brat on our hands.” He muses, hovering his lips over yours. Satoru pets the steel rod between his legs. Already dewy with his arousal.

You are so beautiful, trying to resist their coordinated touch. The sound of Suguru’s large hand palming your ass reverberates throughout the room.

“I’ll teach her some manners.”

Suguru’s voice trails down your spine. Slow and sickly sweet. Like maple sap dripping down tree bark mid spring. He caresses the hot sting from his spanking.

“I—I have manners.” Voice as small as your frame engulfed between the 6’3 counterparts.

“I won’t ask again, princess.” Satoru tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. And Suguru continues sucking kisses into your neck, marking his territory.

“Uh..mmm..god, S—“ Your eyes flutter closed. An earnest attempt to stay present. And not settle into the fuzzy, warm submission they are baiting you into.

“Safe word, now.”

“B—um. Blue? Blue.” Your resolve is about as rigid as cotton.

“Blue?”

“Well that’s not fair.”

Shoko and Suguru’s incredulous reactions intertwine with Satoru’s smug chuckle. A dusty rose high on your cheeks.

You know why you chose Blue. Everyone else does, too.

“Blue, huh?” Satoru presses a soft kiss on your lips.

“To match me? Noted, baby.”

Shoko melts into her couch. Her heartbeat rattles around her skull. With short, ineffective breaths that taste like full bodied red wine. Wet heat surges around her lace thong.

The way you’re writhing between her best friends’ hands is sinful.

Gazing up at Satoru like he is Vincent Van Gogh and the Starry Night above you is the product of his paintbrush.

Incoherent as if Suguru’s fingers put the Sun to bed. Whimpering his name like a prayer.

Adorable, girl.

God isn’t going to save you here.

The pads of Shoko’s cool fingers nearly sizzle against her puffy pleasure point. Slick coating her with just one, two, three long stripes against her sticky folds.

“God...fuck..bring her to me.” The grit in Shoko’s tone scrapes along her voice box. Matching the aggressive pace of her fingers against her needy cunt.

The boys lock gazes with their third. Cavalier smile tugging against Satoru’s lips. Suguru’s brow touches his hairline.

Ladies, first.

“You heard her.” Satoru snakes your arms around his neck and hoists you around his waist in one fluid motion.

“S—sato—“ He bullies his tongue back into your mouth. No more protesting, gorgeous.

Slow steps towards Shoko, so he can drink from your well. A sweet, delectable spell dripping from your lips. And if Satoru doesn’t wake up tomorrow morning after eating your forbidden fruit, then so be it.

Suguru lets himself watch you from a short distance.

His hand can’t stop rubbing his cock. Shamelessly tugging his heavy rod. Burning your little expressions into his mind’s safe. The way your eyebrows come together at the center whenever Satoru bites your bottom lip. Your desperate grabs for air against his relentless kiss.

“Hi, pretty.” Shoko drawls the moment Satoru settles you down on her lap. Her thigh digs into your soaked, gummy core. Glazing her skin with your drool.

“Hi, Sho.” Still panting from Satoru’s embrace. So fragile. A harsh breeze could shatter you to stardust. And Shoko pulsates around nothing.

One hand is firm on your hip. The other tracing mindless shapes on your chest. Leaving a poetic cascade of goosebumps in her wake.

Reflexively, you go to caress Shoko’s shoulders only to be caught by Satoru’s enormous grip. Whipping both of your wrists behind your back. While his other hand toys with the erection straining against his pants.

“She didn’t give you permission to touch, did she princess?” He drops his tone into the shell of your ear.

“Oh, I—“

“Manners, gorgeous.” A gentle reminder in between smearing kisses along your neck. Shoko hooks her index finger along your neckline. One tug and your mouth-watering tits come into full view.

“Fucking, hell.”

“God, baby.”

“Perfect…fucking perfect.”

Satoru, Suguru and Shoko’s praises crash into one another. God took his time with you. Sculpting a fucking masterpiece.

To be praised.

To be worshipped.

To be taken.

Used.

Filled.

“Shoko. I want to hear her.”

Suguru’s command is guttural. Fist snug around the base of his cock. Shameless about the tears of precum falling down his shaft.

Shoko’s fingers work their way down to your pulsing clit. You preen into her touch. Pretty, tiny gasps against her cheek.

“Let it out, baby.” Shoko coos into your ear. Thumbing little circles around your clit.

You bury your face into her neck. Delicious ache swelling between your legs. Grinding along her slender thigh. Honey seeping around your clothed cunt.

“S—sho, mmnngh..fuck..” Desperation fans Shoko’s neck. Bucking your hips with your hands restrained.

“There she is.”

Suguru’s fist slams to his hilt. Now close enough to cup your perky mound. Rippling and bouncing with every jolt. Feathering his finger over your pebbled bud.

The sudden touch and velvet voice above you drags your gaze upward.

And Suguru nearly cums in his hand right then and there.

Misty eyes, drool covered lips. Breathy pants. Angelic features rewritten by lust.

“Suguru?”

“Such a good girl. Keep fucking her thigh like that, baby.”

Throaty praise in return. Suguru rips his hand away from his angry length. Staving off his finish.

Not yet.

They’re not remotely close to being done with you yet.

“She’s so responsive.” Satoru chimes in. Releasing his grip on your wrists.

Your hands fly to Shoko’s face. Melding your mouth with hers. Leaking precious sounds, from your lips and your sopping wet core. His hand kneads your neglected breast, pinching your nipple every so often.

Satoru and Suguru palming at your tits. Shoko fucking your mouth with her tongue. You humping Shoko’s leg like a dog in heat.

It’s too much.

Wave after wave of pleasure crashes into your groin. You nestle into the crook of her neck. Grasping at her thick, brunette locks.

“S-sho, I’m close, I’m—mmgh..”

“It’s okay pretty,” Shoko husks. Her thumb at a perfect rhythm and pressure.

“You can cum, baby.” Suguru rasps, tugging at your nipple at the same time Satoru smacks the supple flesh he was petting.

“Oh fuck oh fuck—“

The delicious sting from their touches sends you over the edge. And the wire seated deep in your stomach snaps. Hips stuttering to an abrupt stop.

The room stills. Satoru, Suguru and Shoko studying your micro movements through your peak. So quiet that the walls have to lean in to hear you and your lovers breathing.

Six eyes laser into your body. Everyone’s appetite for you simultaneously tripling.

Satoru swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Subconsciously aware of the pool of saliva forming. His manhood mirroring the trail of drool running down his mouth.

He’s always been a fan of dessert.

“I need to taste you.”

“And I need a front row seat.” Shoko nibbles at your cheek.

Satoru lifts and spins you around on Shoko’s lap in a matter of seconds. You, still gummy and compliant from your orgasm spread your legs weakly over Shoko. Earning you a chorus of praise from your lust-drunk lovers.

He drops to his knees. His blushing, weeping tip in hand. Pushing your sodden panties to the side. While Shoko cradles your thigh in her hand, holding you open for her best friend.

Your rose blooms in front of him. Dewy with your slick. Candied scent holding all of Satoru’s senses hostage.

“Look at how pretty, she is.” He breezes against your swollen pearl. Your petals quiver, and his dick leaks.

“S—Satoru..please.”

Satoru’s head is spinning. Entirely drunk off of the sight of you like this. Choking back his own pathetic groans.

His tongue licks a long stripe up your ripe folds. And your taste pollenates his mind for an eternity. An addict with his chosen vice.

Your hands magnet to his snowy halo. The melody you sing from his kisses and licks could sink any ship. Echoing in Satoru’s and Shoko’s groin.

Shoko is in a complete haze. Molesting herself numb at the way you undulate against Satoru’s eager tongue. Pitiful little mewls that are worthy of a platinum record.

“Feeling good, gorgeous?” Shoko eggs you on. Quickly sinking into her own threatened orgasm.

“Y—yes..mmgh so..god..” Paper thin squeals from your lips.

Crystals line your eyes in response to Satoru’s tongue fucking in and out of your pussy. Suckling your clit. Figures of 8, and 8 and 8 again until your mind is mush.

Except Suguru refuses to let you get lost at Satoru’s sea. He grips a handful of your hair, whipping your head in his direction.

Both you and Shoko tilt up to see Suguru’s driveling manhood at your eye level. Veiny, heavy. So clearly abused by his hand. Volcanic eruption in his hooded gaze.

“Hands on my cock, baby.”

Barely above a whisper, but somehow your body recognizes his authority.

And you seem genuinely shocked by your visceral obedience. Immediate acquiescence to Surguru’s will.

An approving grin teases Suguru’s lips. Your hands are comically small wrapped around his length.

God, he could split you in half.

Heavy eyelids from Satoru’s agonizing touch, you’re mystical. Gazing into Suguru’s eyes like his soul is nothing but an appetizer. Yours to swallow, digest, play with.

“Ask nicely.” Suguru grunts, as your eyes rake over his leaky cockhead. Longing for a taste.

Satoru and Shoko come to a hush. Her fingers slow. Satoru forces himself off of your folds. Somehow knowing the next words to roll off your tongue will shift their brain chemistry, permanently.

Palatial lashes fan your utterly fucked-out gaze. Swollen lips millimeters away from Suguru’s blunt tip.

“May I suck your cock, please?”

Filthy-nasty-dirty-fucking-vulgar noises fill the room, while you swirl Suguru’s cum covered head around your tongue.

“Fuck. Your lips baby.” He hisses, his hips piston into your pretty, accepting mouth.

“So messy, princess.” Satoru murmurs into your swollen cunt, slipping his fingers past your tight ringlet.

Beautiful gurgles around Suguru’s shaft. Crystalline streams of spit glazing your puffy tits.

You buck into Satoru at a similar, haphazard pace that he strokes his thick rod. Shoko sinks her teeth into your shoulder.

“G-gonna c..gonna—“ high pitched, broken warnings spill from your lips. Just as a blinding wave of electricity surges down Shoko’s legs — curling her pedicure inward.

“Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

Suguru’s decadent baritone sends both you and Shoko over the hot edge. A cacophony of huffs and whines, coating the walls in your shared ecstasy. Spraying your essence all over Satoru’s face.

He’s slow to stand. Savoring remnants of your peak. He and Suguru exchange sordid glances. Sharing the same thought.

Pretty little doll.

Loose limbed and spent in Shoko’s lap. Hair mused. So deeply entrenched into sub space you’ll need to sleep it off of to come to your senses.

A work of art, you are.

But not quite broken, yet.

“It’s our turn now, little one.” Deep and measured. Thick with want. Suguru lifts you by your arms off of Shoko’s lap.

His back lays flush against the couch. You straddle his muscular lap. Satoru stands directly behind you.

Suguru’s manhood is rigid. You’d have to impale yourself on him to get any closer. Similarly, Satoru’s length makes itself very present along the curve of your spine.

“Look at me.” Satoru’s throaty demand comes from above your head.

Obedience is the only language you can currently speak, so you tilt back. Soaking in the celestial boy behind you. Closer to God than Man, from this vantage point.

“You want to taste yourself, baby?”

A rhetorical question from Satoru, but you still bobble your head in an eager yes.

“Such a desperate little puppy, aren’t you?” Suguru mocks you, taking one of your puffy nipples into his mouth.

“She is.”

Satoru affirms in between spearing your mouth with his warm muscle. Kissing the breath directly from your lungs until you’re air hungry and clawing at his neck. Leaving red streaks on his pale skin.

Shoko has since poured herself another glass of red wine. Settling herself on the long arm of her couch.

‘Far enough to drown into her own spiral. Close enough to register everything they do to you in the the most permanent part of her mind.’

Dèjá Vu.

But this lifetime? This reiteration of events? It’s fucking sublime.

Shoko’s lips curl into a cheshire smile against the rim of her glass. Hedonistic on every single level known to man and she wouldn’t have it any another way.

Her eyes flicker down to where Suguru’s hands are eclipsing your hips. And Satoru’s hands are cradled into the small of your waist. Hovering you over Suguru’s cock. The weapon of mass destruction that it is.

“Suguru…Suguru it won’t…” Beautiful little panic ascending in pitch.

“It won’t, what baby?” He teases. Eyes fixed on you like the apex predator he is.

Crimson erupts from the tip of your nose to the tips of your ears. Fluttering away from his quicksand gaze.

“What’s the matter, pretty? Don’t tell me you think you can’t handle—“

“I can handle it—I can…handle it.” You cut Satoru’s taunt down, convincing absolutely no one in the room— including yourself.

But the shred of pride you have left comes forward. Bracing your hands on Suguru’s flexed shoulders. Digging little crescent moons into his olive skin.

He can barely bite back the groan in his throat when your wet heat drags along his cockhead.

Twitching around your opening.

Feigning for entry.

“Go ahead, little one.”

“You can do it, baby.”

“Oh FUCK..GOD.” Your volume is nothing in comparison to the fire incinerating your plush walls. Stretching your womanhood in a way that’s ungodly.

Suguru is blinding.

Flashing lights. Black spots in the visual field. Floaters everywhere kind of blinding. The prior encouragement from your lovers did nothing to soften his blow.

Knowing this would be the result of you trying to work his inhuman length inside yourself, Suguru buries himself in one side of your neck. Satoru mirrors his action on the other side.

Gentle adoration. Tender kisses. Light caresses to dull the pain.

“Such a good girl.”

“I knew you could take it, princess.”

“You’re doing so well for me, pretty girl.”

Suguru rocks his hips in a slow, dreamy pace. Back and forth. Encouraging your body to reset around him. And the pressure. The delicious fucking fullness from his cock is mind numbing.

“R—ready.”

Barely loud enough to register. But Suguru could hear your red blood cells colliding with one another in your veins if you keep him next to you long enough.

“Eyes on me when I’m inside you, sweetheart.”

“Yes sir.”

The smile on his lips is no where near as tantalizing as the smile in his crushed velvet eyes.

And for a moment that is going to be on cinematic repeat in everyone’s mind — Suguru thrusts into you like a man trying to repopulate earth. Never once letting you break his eye-contact.

Melodic sounds of bodies smacking together ring throughout the room. Beautiful ripples of flesh, like soft waves during low tide. Your wet sex colliding with his. Him locking you into place because nothing else exists at this moment.

Both Satoru and Shoko’s jaws are slack. Satoru can’t even bring himself to stroke his length thrashing wildly in his hands.

This is hypnotizing.

A motion picture worthy of an Oscar.

You can feel Suguru recreating the shape of your soul. With each thrust. Deliberate. Deep. Ensuring that he will be a part of you, permanently.

“God, ngh Su—fuck..purple..” unintelligible words, incoherent sounds. You’re grasping at rescue from this pleasure.

“Hah..” Suguru’s serrated breaths kiss your lips. “Try again.”

“Suguru, please. I’m cu—I’m pink..pink.”

“Wrong color, princess.” Satoru’s husks above you. Tears of his thick cum streaming steady down his shaft.

Suguru’s bucks into you relentlessly now. Chasing the high you both are riding. Shredding what consciousness you have left. Not that you wanted it, not that you needed it.

“Fuck.”

Suguru’s hips come to a screeching halt. Floating over Shoko’s cushion. Painting your warm walls with his seed. With you filling his lap with your dew. Delirious, choppy intakes of air between your lips and his.

Momentarily forgetting your audience, you instinctively fall into his chest. Every single muscle in your body, suddenly without tone.

Satoru’s mouth is ajar.

Still not completely comprehending the fact that he just came — hands free — watching his best friend rail the conscious mind out of you.

“Blanket, Satoru.” Shoko quietly nudges from her position on the couch.

She can’t blame him for being stunned in place. Her mind is still reeling at the dessert her eyes just feasted on.

“Come here, baby.” Suguru murmurs. Working himself out of you, while Satoru drapes you in Shoko’s throw.

“Thank you.” A tiny chuckle escapes your lips. Cozying into Suguru’s arms. They should be proud of your manners.

And as if you said your cheeky thought out loud, your three lovers break into soft laughter.

“Wait here.” Satoru presses a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. Disappearing into Shoko’s bathroom a moment after.

A small sigh of relief tumbles out of her when she hears the familiar sound of bath water running.

Satoru must’ve done this before. Once or twice.

Suguru, too.

Judging by the way he’s whispering sweet affirmations in your ear. Lulling you to sleep. In his warm, safe embrace.

She’s never seen her friend like this.

“Girls! Bath time!” Satoru beckons from the bathroom.

His voice rustles you out of your post coital daze. Nestling deeper into the crook of Suguru’s neck. Shoko watches the way his eyes rest on your flushed face; stroking his hand along your arm. Intermittently pressing kisses along your hairline.

An enchanting, glass doll they were so eager to shatter just a moment ago.

“Ready, baby?”

Suguru murmurs into your ear. And Shoko just knows he’s hoping for a no. Silently praying for more time with you, pliant in his arms like this.

“Mmhm.” Your puffy lips curl up into a sleepy smile. Glossy-eyed, when you finally pull your heavy lids open.

Suguru’s breath catches in his throat.

Shoko’s heart rattles around its bony cage.

How do you do this?

How do you make it so easy to trip and fall so hopelessly in love with you with a bat of an eyelash?

“…I get it guys, but the water will get cold. And that would be a shame. Because this bath is, perfect.”

Satoru teases from the bedroom doorway. Startling Shoko and Suguru out of the trance you unintentionally put them in.

“You don’t have to carry me!” A half-protest bubbles from your lips when Suguru stands with you wrapped up in Shoko’s favorite blanket.

“Shhh, let me do this sweet girl.” He coos, for your ears only. Navigating around Satoru’s lean stature.

Shoko follows closely behind him, itching for her alone time with you.

“You’re going to let her feet touch the ground, Suguru?!”

Her sarcasm is followed by light-hearted laughter settling around your bodies.

The four of you in tandem like a world class orchestra. Shoko is already lamenting waking up from this dream.

“Not if I can help it.” Suguru sets you down on the kitchen sink. Nudging enough space for his muscular hips between your legs.

He cradles your chin in his hand. Taking as many butterfly kisses as you’ll allow.

“Mmm, goodnight, Suguru.”

His name rolls sweet and soft off of your tongue. Like a dark chocolate truffle, and suddenly Shoko wishes her name was Suguru.

Satoru does too. Judging by the way he yanks his counterpart away from you. His eyes caress your face before his hand does.

“How are you feeling, princess?”

Hushed and saccharine. Doting. As if a decibel too loud is akin to Hollow Purple. Circling his fingers around your thighs.

How foreign.

Shoko can almost taste Satoru’s concern. Attentive in a way that’s inconceivable.

From her vantage point, she watches you ensnare Satoru in those big, helpless doe eyes. Tempting him to fuck the living daylight out of you (again) but also handle you like a butterfly with a broken wing.

“Just a bit worn out, pretty boy.” Said with a dreamy little laugh. And Satoru would chase your voice into the clouds if he could.

He drapes your arms around his neck and you’re putty in his hands.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby.” He grazes the corner of your lips with his. A dull, insistent ache welling between Shoko’s legs.

You’re irresistible like this.

“Unless you want us to wear you out, again.”

“Satoru!” Your tiny, ineffectual fists slam against Satoru’s pecs. Making the trio even more fond of you.

Their muse.

“Alright boys, I can take it from here.”

Unhurried but finite, Shoko shoos her best friends out of the bathroom. Not before Satoru can steal one last kiss from your swollen lips.

In a matter of minutes Shoko is settled in a sea of warm, eucalyptus bubbles. The light sheen of essential oil grazing her skin, still glimmering with remnants of love-making.

Her eyes ride the dips and swells of your alluring lines.

Balmy skin decorated with lust-drunk imprints from Satoru, Suguru and herself. Hand prints. Tiny crescent moons from fingernails. Ellipses of bite marks. A kaleidoscope of red, blue, deep purple. Living, breathing residue of the desperation — the need — you so easily draw from them.

“Such a pretty girl.”

You flush under Shoko’s praise. Newly stroked desire bubbling in the back of her throat. You’re so full of averted gazes and warmed cheeks. Twiddling your thumbs. Tentatively shifting a few paces away from the bathtub.

So shy, now. It’s adorable.

“Come here, baby.” Shoko curls her fingers inward.

“Okay.” Your response high and thin. Feet moving without resistance.

Obedient little doll.

Shoko’s wet dreams couldn’t even come up with a vision this decadent. You’re an oil painting. Soft on the hands, even softer on the eyes.

You nestle in the warm waters between Shokos legs. Her nipples pebble against your supple flesh. Resting the back of your head on her chest. A lock-in-key fit.

Comfortable, serene quiet sheaths the room around you. And Shoko is soaring.

“I like you like this.” She presses a small kiss against your temple.

“Like what?” You whisper.

Shoko’s hands travel up your navel, cupping your sensitive tits. You arch into her touch. Kitten mewls escape you. So responsive.

“Soft.” Your nipples stiffen between her thumb and index finger.

“Vulnerable…a little broken.” Shoko continues. Catching your needy gaze. Pupils blown to full moons. She hovers her lips over yours. Already parted, hanging open. Ready to receive.

“Shoko.”

Such a beautiful, pitiful little whine. Tilting your chin up, chasing Shoko’s lips. But she maintains the minimal distance. Instead, kneading your mounds. Drawing a gorgeous melody of whimpers; squirming beneath her ministrations.

“I like being the one to put your pieces back together,” Shoko teases, dropping her tone. And you draw her in like a moth to flame.

Shoko’s lips slot into yours with ease. Puzzle pieces meant to fit. She swipes her tongue over yours. Nibbles along your puffy bottom lip.

You’re delicious.

And panting, when Shoko finally pulls away. Aurora borealis in your eyes. Sparkling. Expansive.

And even though you are putty in her hands right now. Docile and pliant, hanging on every brush of a finger, every kiss. Shoko is falling.

Free falling.

Without a safety stop in sight.

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 27 days

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Talia found Yasmin's hide out only two days after the bomb.

It wasn't easy. Yasmin had hidden herself well - her monthly reports had never mentioned an acquaintanceship with Vladimir Masters, the absolute gall of that girl - in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin. She bypassed the few security measures with ease, eventually finding her daughter sitting at a kitchen table, hyperventilating.

"What happened?" Talia's voice was cold and demanding.

"The-" Yasmin gasped before stealing herself. "The Fentons are dead."

"I know the Fentons are dead." Talia circled the girl. "One split navel to throat, the other strangled. What. Happened?"

"The Fentons discovered their son was a Meta. Specifically, they thought he had been replaced with the extradimentional species they study." She took a deep breath. "By the time I had discovered their actions, Daniel was... dissected on a table."

Talia closed her eyes. She knew from Yasmin's reports that she'd been acting as the Fenton child's primary caretaker since her adoption and a fondness had developed. "Yasmin-"

"Don't, Mother." She snapped. "Don't act like this is anything less than a tragedy."

"I know-"

"He was a child-"

"Everything's been taken care of," Talia said. "As far as the authorities are concerned, Jasmine Fenton died in that explosion you caused. You need to return now-"

"No!" Yasmin bolted to her feet, glaring at Talia. "He's dead, Mother! An innocent child, the child I raised as my own, is dead because I couldn't protect him! Don't you dare try to sweep this under the rug like... like Danny was something shameful! I'm not leaving! I have to-"

Time Out.

Yasmin shut her mouth mid-sentence, giving Talia time to convince her off her self-destructive path.

"What happened to Daniel is a tragedy, Yasmin. But wallowing in grief and what-ifs only leads to further pain." Talia sighed. "The Fentons and the research you were so fascinated with are gone now. You made sure of that. It's time for you to return home and put that knowledge to use."

Yasmin stared down at her hands. Odd that Talia hadn't noticed, but Yasmin's hands cradled a small, dark blue jewel, polished into a smooth, oblong oval. It glittered under the candlelight, like stars in the sky.

Yasmin swallowed the rock and spoke, refusing to acknowledge what she'd just done. "You are right, Mother. The time of Jasmine Fenton is gone now." She stared straight at Talia, no trace of fear in her gaze. For a moment, Talia wondered where her child had gone. Yasmin never met her eyes unless prompted to when she was growing up. Now she was met with a younger version of herself with cheap dyed-red hair, with the same level of determination that made Talia the Right Hand of the Demon Head. "I will mourn for Danny... on my own time. For now, what is my mission?"

Talia studied her daughter. There was a reason why she'd hidden the girl so far out of the way of her Father and her son. Yasmin was a strong fighter, but had her father's heart, despite her willingness to kill. She'd always reminded Talia of a bodyguard rather than an assassin, but Yasmin wanted to go her own way, wanted to study everything. For years, Talia had indulged her daughter, but now it was time for her to return to the fold.

"For the next month, you will be training to remove any weakness the Fentons may have left in you. After that, you will be guarding an ally for me."

"Which ally?"

"A boy a few years older than you, a son of the Bat." Yasmin didn't react to the mention of her father. Good. "His mind is infirm, but by the time you finish your training, he will be ready to strike a blow against Gotham. You will act as his guard during his training and act as my spy while he's in Gotham. Do you understand?"

For a moment, Yasmin's hand brushed her stomach before she forced her fists to her sides. "Yes, Mother. I will do as you ask."

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #jasmine al ghul #yasmin al ghul #c: talia al ghul #c: clockwork #c: danny fenton #reincarnated danny fenton #Or re-grown might be the better term #danny needs to regrow his human body after the Fentons killed him #danny could have been reincarnated properly; it would have taken a few years maybe decades but it would have happened #clockwork gives Jazz/Yasmin the choice to raise Danny as her own son from her own blood #and when Jazz compares her life as an assassin/spy to that as Danny's (sweet loving Danny who adored her) caretaker #she knows which life she can't live without #also Yasmin does know Damian exists but has never met him #she knows there's a heir and knows its her full-blooded brother but that's it - no emotional connection so she doesn't care #I can see this ending up Anger Management with a side of pre-reveal Red Hood Jason thinking he's the baby daddy #with Jazz violently disagreeing with that assumption

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unluckilyimnot · 24 days

Note

hiiiii, can I please request bonten hc after they found out someone disrespected their gf!!

Bonten when their gf is disrespect

Character: Ran, Rindou, Koko, Sanzu, Mikey

m.list | rules

Note: I wrote that last night I forgot about the "find out" so there's both sorry 😞 thank you sm for your request 🤍

Ran

I hope for the poor guy that it's not in front of him or he can pray for his life and it's gonna be useless

Spoiler it is

It's not written on Ran's face that he's going to kill him, but everyone in the room tensed up at his "excuse me ?"

Your jaw is clenched but you feel so angry and ashamed, you really don't want to help this guy rn

As he started to stammer some useless excuse, Ran shush him instantly

"Come again ? I'm not sure i heard you right"

He's a sadistic, he wants his skin ripped of his body

He lied, not repeating at all his words

Not knowing it's gonna be worse

"So you lie to me now on top of insulting my lover?"

The second he stand up you know it's the end for him

He take one hit, then another, and another

Ran probably exposed a full bottle of alcohol on top of his head to end it

"Never again, do you hear me ?" He said, bend down to his level

Hoping that he made it clear to everyone in the room that disrespecting you it's worse than disrespecting him

Rindou

He got angry and doesn't wait to stand up

They don't even get to finish their sentence that their face is somehow already hitting the table

Doesn't matter where you are, he's never gonna let that slide

"Hey you think you're more important than her to speak shit like that ?"

He hits him until he answers, grabbing his face fiercely, letting the blood of his nose and mouth run down his fingers

"I didn't hear you ?"

If he's already knock down, he call the security to leave him in the street

He excuses himself to you all night even if you tell him it's not his fault, he thinks it is

He's suppose to make sure that all his subordinates respect you

Koko

"What ??"

You tell him what happened tear his eyes off his computer

He's in disbelief, this can't be true

He frown ad you go on with your story, walking in circles in front of his desk

He has to get up and catches you for you to stop but he can tell how upset you are

He will ask for their name again, and calm you down, smoothing your back

kindly whipping the frustration tears that show up in your eyes

He would probably take you out on a nice dinner to clear your head

You won't hear about it for a few days

But one day you'll wake up to see that their company went bankrupt and that they were found dead in their appartement, seemly suicide

If you ask Koko, he'll say he doesn't know about it but deep down you know he did it

Sanzu

He's mad to say the least

He wants to end them himself

You're tough, he knows you can handle your business alone but he just can't stand it

He'll find him himself to make him understand that that's not something you said to someone on of the higher-ups of Bonten loves

If there's one thing Sanzu put at the same place as Mikey, it's you

It's like disrespecting his boss, he can't let it unpunished

He'll probably step into their place and shot them down if there's no-one important

If they happen to be, he'll just make sure to make things complicated for them until they beg for help/found

Mikey

You're so precious he can't even picture someone talking you badly

But on top of that, you're the Bonten's boss gf, they really don't know what they're doing

But he won't handle it himself

He's too busy making sure you know your worth and make it up for you

He just make sure they suffer for good while he's having a good time with you

If it happened in front of him though, they're shot down without thinking

He can always find someone better, he doesn't need someone that don't respect him, and by that he means disrespecting you as well

It's been a while ! I hope you liked it ♡

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bruciemilf · 3 months

Text

It’s been exactly fifteen years, two days, 4 minutes, and 33.5 seconds since the Wayne murder. Bruce can feel time crawling under his skin, like filth under fingernail, like it’s a breathing, screaming thing.

It’s an endless, infinite supply. And yet, he feels like he’s running out of it.

The details are carved deep; Alfred’s cologne lingering on both his mother’s Stefano Cabbana fur coat, Snow White and fluffy, and his father’s sharp-looking leather jacket.

The gunsmoke. The pearls bleeding on the pavement.

“Your mother wore Armani, actually.”

The Waynes are known to cheat Death, but this is getting ridiculous.

“You’re not here.”

The Riddler, — Edward. His name is Edward Nashton, 29-years-old, forsenic accountant, Bruce’s former classmate at Gotham University.

He’s just a man, not a monster, — gasps, wide eyes confused, “Who are you talking to?”

Thomas watches Bruce’s, — Batman’s hands tighten around the swamp green jacket with mildly tamed amusement. Almost like Bruce is an infant again, shaking on his first steps.

“Pretty sure I am, chum. Also, you might wanna move Eddie here to a coffee table. That shit looks sturdy. YOU were made on one, I think,—“

He cringes, but does as he’s told. Edward’s coffee screeches when Batman slams him across it like loose change, “I’d rather not think about that.”

“Honey, it’s a very romantic story, and I resent Alfred for not talking to you about it. Now go grab a drill and some duct tape. Oh, don’t make that face, — His adrenaline levels are higher than a fucking drop head.”

Bruce doesn’t want to do it. Something just compels him to. Thomas scoffs but Bruce is too focused on the drill biting through bone to notice. Edward doesn’t feel any pain. He’s just under the illusion of it, which seems much crueler.

“You would’ve KNOWN that if you stayed in school. “

“Why are you here?”

“Now that,” His father’s smile is a serpentine, alluring and full thoothed and stained with Maverick cigarettes. His hair is slicked, crowned by red lensed sunglasses.

He looked for a dead man. “Is a smart guy question.”

—

He doesn’t sleep. He can’t.

“Your father was a hundred different things, “ Alfred sighs at him, stitching up his wounds in a tight, secure pattern. Thomas’. The ghost of the hour. “And I never understood any of them.”

Bruce is about to ask more, expand a stream of curiosity, when footsteps bang against the cave’s massive interior.

He knows each child by foot, by volume, by rhythm.

He’d know Jason dead or alive.

He’s about to greet him, choosing to ignore his father’s ghost flirting with an unsuspecting Alfred, when his baby bird beats him to it.

“Why the fuck is your dead mom following me?”

#girls after they watch fight club:#Thomas is supposed to be revenge and Martha is supposed to be redemption btw!!!#love that for them. smiley face #bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #text #batman #text post #thomas wayne #battinson #writing #ficlet #jason todd #batdad #batfamily

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sexlapis · 5 months

Note

i know requests are closed and im sorry but i need this so i dont forget 💖 actor!toji looking at edits on live and hes like “so yall see me like this” and the fans go wild

actor!toji on live!

okay i’ll make an exception once.

𝜗𝜚 actor!toji (x implied gn!reader)

sfw, crack, tiktok (bc that’s it’s own warning), suggestive, horny toji fans, toji has reading glasses, petnames (‘kid’) he’s a little rude but when is he not :), old man toji <3

〆(・∀・) : me after not writing abt actor toji for like a month 😊🤗

masterlists

actor toji masterlist

“hey, everybody,” toji said, waving to camera as if he didn’t fumble and struggle in front of his fans for the past ten minutes trying to get his phone to stand up securely. he looks cute, dressed in a navy blue hoodie with nothing underneath and his dark hair was a messy mop atop his head.

now he just sits in his chair at his dining room table, watching the viewer count rise and rise to absolutely ridiculous numbers.

“fourty thousan-fifty thou-sixty thousand?! didn’t know i had so many fans..jesus christ…”

honestly, toji had no idea what he was doing and he was a tiny bit nervous. this was his first ever “live” (something that he did not know even existed until you told him) and he had no idea how to entertain his fans or what they really wanted. but they seem pleased with him just staring at the camera in confusion and admiring his handsome face.

toji proceeds to read some of the comments in the rapid moving chat of chaos. here, starts the beginning of his own demise.

many comments are sweet, kind, praising him for his talent and acting skills, some were just spamming their country flags and names, a rare male fan is asking to see his guns collection, others asking about his upcoming projects but the majority of them are…not exactly PG in the slightest.

toji’s eyes could bulge out of damn skull at some of the explicitly and complete shamelessness of his fans. he knew they found him attractive, but this was a whole other level of depravity.

“what the fuck…” toji whispers in awe, mouth agape as his eyes scan through the chat, his eyes being fed with the most desperate and thirsty comments he has even read, “you guys are sumthin’ else…”

his one sentence just pours fuel on the, already blazing and large, fire, the chat moving so fast that is starts to lag.

“why’d i even speak..”

he actually takes time to read each comment that he can see (and stomach) and one of them catches his eye.

“watch your edits on tiktok? i have edits? what’s an edit?”

the chat blows up even more, commenters begging and begging him to watch these…edits.

“alright, alright, i’ll watch these “edits”,” toji says to the camera, before pulling out another phone, one that is clearly quite old, jagged edges and a cracked camera, a raggedy phone case and just overall not in the best condition it could be in.

“‘what is that ancient ass device’ eh? this is my main phone,” he replies to a comment, showing his phone to the camera to his fans can see, “‘s fine, works perfectly. and it’s not “ancient”. it’s actually a nokia. pft, dumbass kids.”

toji can feel himself being flamed in the chat. even more so when he pulls out his reading glasses.

“yeah, ‘m fuckin’ old. jesus.”

he squints, scrolling on his beaten up phone with his index finger, “y’know, ion even really use tiktok, i only got it so _____ can send me videos of whatever the fuck. i swear, that kid sends me a million videos per day..” toji sighs, smiling at the thought of you, “ahh, they’re just so dumb.”

toji, after a long time of searching through trial and error and directions from his fans, eventually finds the search page of tiktok.

“alright, what’d i type in then? just ‘toji’? ‘toji fushiguro’?” he looks for answers in the chat, but find himself getting frustrated at the lack of actual responses to his question. he tuts, “i’m just gonna search ‘toji fushiguro edits’ and see what happens.”

he does just that and the results are…very interesting.

right in front of his very eyes are miles and miles of edits of himself, created by his fans, their depravity exposed for him to see, some of who were probably watching him at this very moment.

“jeeeeesus christ. ‘dunno what i even expected, honestly,” he scrolls through them, audios changing constantly as he does so, his eyes wide and wondering, “i’m actually impressed…”

toji pressed on one, and he watches it, the edit flashing in the reflection of his glasses as he watches. his open mouth slowly turns into a smirk of amusement and all out disbelief, the audio of the video being something about… ‘needing someone older’?

“so you guys see me like this?” he asked, expression incredulous and he breathes out a small chuckle, “buncha little fuckin’ freaks.”

the chat seems to like that. a lot.

his chat is once again flooded with comments from hell…hell for people driven purely by lust, that is.

toji huffs, “how old is this person anyway?”

he seemingly clicks on the account and reads their username. well, almost.

“‘tojis little cu-woah!” he almost drops his phone out of his hand, jaw on the floor, “how old are you! sixteen?! toji looks to the camera, eyebrows furrowed before slamming his phone on the table and pointing at his fans through the screen, “go do your homework! and be in bed by nine. actually, no scratch that, eight! christ…sixteen years old, oh my god…”

he continues to mutter to himself, completely baffled at how some of his fans are so young and just so…out of their minds. his skin crawls at the thought of a sixteen year old liking him in such a way.

toji shivers, “god, where are your parents?” he questions and continues to search through the edits, before finding one that looks safe, innocent and PG.

he was proven wrong however, when the audio was a woman rapping about being put in full nelsons-

“okay, that’s enough!” he slams his phone down again on the table, “i’ve seen enough,” and then he reaches for the camera, not even caring about his viewers. he mutters a, “crazy fuckin’ kids” before abruptly ending his “live” and going to take a nap.

the next day, you have sent him over ten videos on tiktok, all of them being edits of him from the day of the live, most of them containing the clip of when he called his fans, quote, a “buncha little fuckin’ freaks” unquote.

toji sighs at them, secretly entertained that you must be watching these deviant edits of him too.

〆(・∀・) : no i have not forgotten abt actor toji

#actor!toji #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji x self insert #toji fluff #toji crack #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x self insert #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro fluff #toji zenin x reader #toji zenin x you #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

the girl next door 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“Mom, we should get going,” you say as you check your bag.

Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.

You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.

“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.

She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.

You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.

Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”

You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.

You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.

You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.

You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.

As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.

You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.

You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”

“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”

“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”

You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.

You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.

Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.

The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.

🏠

Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.

She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.

You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.

“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.

You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.

You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.

“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.

“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”

“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.

You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.

“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”

You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.

The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.

His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.

Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.

She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.

You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.

“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.

#dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the girl next door #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

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enchantedbarnes · 1 year

Text

Uncle Buck

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Single Aunt!Reader

Summary: You take your nephew to a Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson Q&A event. The mischievous 8-year-old asks if he can get in line to ask a question. Against your better judgement you agree and let him go up by himself.

Word Count: 626

A/N: I had no intention to write anything on this account but here we are. Excuse the mess.

A young boy - 8 years old, dark hair and eyes full of mischief - walks up to the microphone.

"Hi, I have a question for Bucky..." He asks shyly.

The moderator nods, "What's your question for him, little man?"

The boy looks over at the seats nearby behind him and smirks, turning back to the stage with some more confidence this time.

"Will you marry my Aunt?"

The crowd let's out collective gasps, giggles, and awws. There's some cheering and a loud "OW OWWWW."

You inhale quickly and choke on your own air supply, trying to compose yourself. "BENJAMIN!!!"

You're horrified and shrink down in your seat while pulling your hood up over your head for added cover.

While you contemplate the fastest way to snatch the little traitor and get out of there as swiftly as possible you hear Sam's loud laugh echo through the room.

"I assume that was your Aunt and you're Benjamin?" Bucky asks while smirking.

Tiny traitor nods while grinning ear to ear. "I'm Benji, Auntie's name is Y/n and she thinks you're sooo handsome," he exaggerates with an eye roll, "and she's super fun and pretty and you'd be the coolest unc--"

Exit plan secured you jump out of your seat and rush over to cover his mouth and pull him back from the mic. Your hood still up and head ducked down.

"You said you were asking about the mechanics of his arm, you tiny little punk," you mutter at him but the microphone still picks up what you said.

While you have him secured in a headlock you quickly speak into the mic, avoiding all eye contact. "I apologize, I've never met this child before... I'm going to return him to the proper authorities immediately."

Picking your nephew up as quickly as you can, you toss him over your shoulder. His fit of giggles exploding while he tries yelling out again, "But he hasn't answered yet!"

"He's free later tonight, Aunt Y/n!" Sam shouts while you retreat to the back of the conference room towards the exit. "Your future family seems nice," he jokes while nudging Bucky's arm.

Benji tries to shout back across the room, "SHE IS FREE TOO!! EVERY NIGHT!!"

You shove the exit door open, "You're so dead. On my pick up days for school I will be blasting every embarrassing song I can find with the windows down. I'm going to start saving now and I will be buying every ad space available in your future yearbooks and I will be plastering them with your baby photos. And not the cute ones." Like this kid ever took a photo that wasn't cute.

***

The two of you walk around a food truck area set up outside the conference space. Benji is happily eating a pretzel you only bought so your sister wouldn't kill you for neglecting her child. You grab a seat at a small table to people-watch while he finishes up his undeserved treat.

You let your hood down, setting your vibrant and wild hair free. The color is easy to pick out in a crowd.

Benji is explaining in great detail the plot to a video game he has been playing with his friends and how one level keeps tripping them up.

The chair next to you slides back, "Is this seat open?" A deep voice asks.

Benji grins, "Yes!"

You already know who it is, but you're still startled when you look over and see none other than Bucky Barnes sitting with you and the small trouble matchmaker.

"So... is the potential cool Uncle position still available?" He smirks, hand on his chin looking over at both of you.

This little punk might be getting free pretzels and ice cream for life.

Alright folks! By popular demand, here is part 2!

Uncle Buck Returns

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #uncle buck fic

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enwoso · 17 days

Text

CRUSHED! — alessia russo

bit of a longer one for you all<3 this will probably turn into a mini series (about 3-4 parts)

navigation

manchester united women v arsenal women.

an important fixture for you and the rest of the manchester united squad as this would ensure the teams lead in the table, in the race for champions league football next season. something you and the rest of the girls longed to play especially having just missed out by a margin the season before.

you were determined to ensure that you and the team got into europe — having dreamt of playing the high level of football since you were little.

something even more exciting for you is that you were in, incredible form at the moment scoring goals left right and centre or as some of the news reporters would phrase it as saying you couldn't stop scoring!

confidence was flowing through every inch of your body and rightly so, you had six goals in the last four games one of them goals even helping man united progress further into the fa cup.

everything was going to way you wanted, you were playing excellent football at the moment who can was hopefully going to secure your place in the england team for the upcoming world cup in the summer. your relationship with alessia was only growing stronger as you were about to hit your two year anniversary.

you could happily say that you were in a good place, quite literally physically but also mentally.

"how long do we have till kick off?" you asked turning to your girlfriend who was finishing re-lacing her bright orange boots. "um about 15 minutes why?" less said looking up to the walling seeing the clock was about to reach the hour 7.

"just wondering" you shrugged, loosening yourself up and scooting closer to the blonde leaning your head on her shoulder. as she sat back up her arm stretching togo across your shoulder as the familiar smell of vanilla taking over your senses.

the two of you sat in each others company, not talking just watching as the rest of the team talked among themselves. just as marching came in to give his usual team talk and to help lift any spirits even more before it was time to walk out.

"-just go out and bring home them 3 points!" marc finished as the changing room filled with a cheer as everyone took off their warmup jumpers as it was time to walk.

"i love you" you smiled pecking alessia on the lips, a tradition they did before every match, "i love you too" alessia responded as the two of you did your little hand shake you'd both came up with one night while being in a hotel room before the blonde pulled you for one last quick but tight hug.

alessia wondered off up towards the front of the line taking her place in between millie and nikita as you strayed towards the back. taking your place as always just behind tooney.

"you ready baller?" ella smiled turning around to your direction, you rolling your eyes playfully at the new nickname ella had began to call you over the past few weeks.

"always." you whispered, patting ella on the back to signal to her to begin moving in order to keep up with the rest of the team who were now walking through the tunnel and out onto the pitch.

the teams walked out, hand in hand with the mascots as the teams lined up, arsenal on the right and man united on the left. once all the photos were done, shaking hands with the arsenal players before going off into the half that they would be starting.

"let's play our best girls!" katie said as you all done the usually team huddle, putting your hands in the middle and cheering before everyone went to their starting positions.

you were thankfully playing your usual and much preferred position of the left wing, with alessia in the middle leading the line and parris on the right wing.

the referee blowing the whistle and the game was under way.

3' BLOCK! chances at both ends for both teams. walti lets fly from a distance but zelem put in a strong block. at the other end, y/n is nearly played through by parris but zinsberger rushes off her line to clear into touch.

6' WIDE! russo with her first shot of the game! y/n scampers down the wing and while walti dispossesses the cutback to zelem, the loose ball is able to fall to the lionesses striker. russo let's fly first but it's wayward — she had more time to shoot then she thought.

the game so far is going the way you wanted it too, manchester united in the opening minutes were playing better, were playing better football. you'd even had a few chances to get to the box unfortunately non of them able to get the shot in due to arsenals tight defence playing their part.

manchester united back on the attack again, the ball building from the back passed to zelem from blundell, arsenals midfield covering zelem as she sells you a short pass up to the wing.

loosing the ball momentarily to maanum as you overstretch a move you must have done a million times before in hopes of getting the ball across to alessia as she was in a big space with nobody covering her and had the opportunity to open the score line.

however the overstretch left you feeling a pop, following a sharp pain in your knee. the ball had already been hit forwards, not seeing if it reached your girlfriend you fell to the ground knee in clutch.

face planting into the grass as you waved your hand in the air, tears bubbling in your eyes at the sudden pain you were feeling. .

"y/n!" you hear ella as she comes rushing over, the midfielder being more worried for her teammate then whatever was happening higher up the pitch. the manchurian ushering the medics on the sidelines to come on and help you — the game however was still in play. "are you okay?"

12' problems for manchester united, y/n is down and looks to be in real pain. the red devils can't afford for their star girl to be injured at the moment. the lioness looks close to tears — this could be a serious problem ahead of the world cup.

the whistle finally blown as the referee stops the game waving over for the medics to come over, alessia is quick to rush over. panic setting in for the blonde seeing her girl down for so long without moving comfortably.

"what happened love?" alessia asked quickly as the medics began to assess you over trying to find the extent of the injury.

you shrugged, "dunno but it's my knee" dragging your hands over your face fighting back the tears which were bubbling in your eyes out of shear pain but also annoyance that either way it was an injury and that meant a setback.

"can i continue?" you asked knowing exactly what the answer was going to be, but their could have been a small chance you could have however with the pain you were in it was definitely not a good idea for you to even if she was allowed.

"i think it's gonna be best for you to be subbed and then the medical team can properly check you out" one of the medics told you as you nodded slowly, the feeling of a hand moving your loose hairs out of your face, turning to see who it was only to be met with a sad smile from your girlfriend.

"it's okay, your gonna be fine" alessia whispers as she took a place next to you holding your hand to try and comfort you and try and help take some of the pain away.

14' the stretcher is out, it's not looking good for the forward. this could be serious. the replay shows there is no contact to y/n on the right knee but she did go down holding it.

"no! no, i'll walk off!" you protested at the sight of the bright orange stretcher being brought towards you, alessia giving you a stern look as if to say 'do what the medics are telling you'

but both of you knowing that they would only ever have the players best interest at heart but alessia also knew you like the back of hand and how stubborn you were and to know if you say you are doing something then that's would be exactly what was happening.

"are you sure your able to?" the medic asked, you nodding as the team along with alessia all helped to get you to your feet.

alessia's arms wrapped around the small of your back as you clung onto the side of the blonde limping off the pitch, a medic at your other side as the stadium erupted into cheer and applause for you.

you were handed over to another member of the medical team, leaving the blonde's arms but as you began to slowly move towards the tunnel you notice your girlfriend beginning to follow you. "less, what are you doing? you need to carry on playing!" you choked out.

"that can wait.." the blonde whispered grabbing your hand in hers.

"no? you need to play less!" you let go of alessia's hand placing your hand on her cheek pulling her closer and pecking her lips quickly, "now go and score for me, my love!" you whispered as your lips lingered near the blondes, a small smile appearing on her face, alessia nodded and with a little bit of hesitation headed back out towards the pitch.

the medic team taking you slowly deeper into the stadium, as you limped towards the medical room. you finding yourself lying on the bed as they began their assessment to determine the extent of your injury.

25 minutes felt like hours to you as you watched the senior medic write down on a clip board as they compared the injured knee to your normal knee. the injured knee a lot more swelled and puffy than your normal knee.

the soft sound of the crowd above you was able to be heard as they cheered and chanted for the teams playing. wishing you were up there instead of lying hopelessly on a bed.

the only helpful thing you could do was answer the medics questions like "on a scale of one to ten, one being the worst, what is the pain right now?"

"okay, so i've ran all the assessments i'm able to do here with the equipment i have and i'm sorry to tell you but you have indeed ruptured your anterior cruciate ligament or as you may know it as your ACL" the medic told you

your chest suddenly felt heavy as you let out a breathe that you didn't even know that you were holding in. your eyes closing trying not to let the tears fall as your head hit the back of the bed you were currently lying on.

taking another deep breathe as the news settled, your mind racing that this isn't the minor injury she initially expected it to be.

"how- how long am i out for then?" you asked, those seven words not being used frequently in your footballing career.

the longest you had ever been out from football was two weeks for a concussion after going to header the ball into the back of the net but while doing so also crashing into another player at the same time and that was when you were 16.

"um your probably looking at 9-12 months, i'm afraid" the medic placed the clipboard down as you nodded slowly — this was going to be the most challenging thing you ever going to face.

"oh" was the only words you were able to find.

"as for right now the only thing i can do is bandage it just to keep the knee straight and i would also suggest that you don't put any unnecessary pressure on it, ice it to help with swelling and then when your able to see a doctor tomorrow they'll go through the next stages with you" they explained as you whispered a small 'okay'

the realisation of the injury was really beginning to set in as you watched the medic bandage the knee. your dreams of being at a world cup were slowly slipping away with each wrap of the bandage.

the medic began to run through your notes and everything they had looked at but if you were being honest it all just went in one ear and out the other.

the medic gave you some crutches, encouraging you to use them to avoid putting any weight on it before helping you to your feet and up back towards the field to enjoy the match — well what was left of it on the sidelines.

as the medic helped you back towards the pitch you found it was full time, stopping just outside the man united changing room, the team all being on their way back to the locker room to get showered.

you were met with lots of sorry looks and sympathy from both the man united girls but also the arsenal girls, lots of them being your teammates at england, as you stood back pressed to wall letting them all go past considering they were all going to be a lot faster than you were.

seeing afar alessia rushing, her eyes set on what was in front of her as she walked beside ella as she chatted the blondes ear off. the blonde about to walk straight past you as you grabbed the side of her shirt pulling alessia to the side as best as she could without loosing her balance.

"wh- oh! hi love, how bad?" alessia asked her facial features softened at the sight of her girlfriend, a guess to the answer of her question as she stared down at the crutches that were currently holding you up.

"bad."

the strikers face formed a pout as she pulled you in for a side hug, a few sniffles beginning to come from you. alessia hushing you softly, as she brushed your hair back out of your face.

"shh, it's going to be okay baby" alessia cooed as she placed gentle kisses onto your forehead. "we'll get through this together, okay" alessia pulled you closer to her rubbing her arm up and down your back.

"what was the score?" you asked as you lifted your head to rest on the blondes chest, chocking back on the tears which were flowing down your flushed cheeks.

a small smile appearing on alessia's face as she shook her head in disbelief that you'd gone off injured and what you were most worried about was what the full time score was?

"it's 2 - 0 to us" alessia whispered as a big sigh came from you as you nodded for the blonde to carry on wanting to know who had scored, "oh um keets and me scored"

"that's my girl!" you mumbled placing a small kiss to her cheek before letting go of the blonde as you steadied yourself.

“you coming?” alessia asked as she pointed towards the changing room, you have a small smile as you began to turn on the crutches, a little wobbly as you were still getting used to hoping on one leg.

"love, i'll get on my back and i’ll give you a piggy back" alessia began as she was back right by your side, you stopping dead still looking towards the blonde.

“baby, i love and appreciate you but you have two left feet i really don’t fancy having a broken arm!” you laughed a little the blonde gasping a little at your bluntness but never the less taking one of your crutches in your hand.

“i won’t drop you, i promise!” she pleaded, as you gave into her, the blonde giving you a piggy back into the changing room. as you praying to the lord above that she wouldn’t drop you.

getting into the changing room most girls were buzzing off the win, some were in the showers and others were just looking forward to go to sleep. alessia sitting you down on the bench next to both yours and her little cubby, pecking you on the lips as she hurried to get into the showers not wanting to keep you waiting for ages.

you watched on as people walked past you as you sat feeling pretty much helpless. watching on with envy as everyone else moved around the room freely while you couldn’t even move from the bench properly without being in a large amount of pain.

you couldn’t get up and join in with the silly antics of ella and mary as they danced around the room just like every win the team had, you couldn’t tie your shoe laces which had come undone and you couldn’t even bend down to pick up your bag from under the bench.

you felt useless.

“love? tesoro?” alessia said softly but there was no reply from you as you stared off into the distance, tears building up in your eyes for not the first time today.

“gorgeous? are you okay?” alessia repeated herself this time waving a hand across your face, finally getting your attention as you blinked head shaking to pull you out of your trance.

you noticed that the changing room was empty now, it was just you and less left. you looked to your girlfriend humming, you had no idea what she had said.

“are you okay?” she asked once again as you hummed nodding your head, a clear indication to the blonde that you were far from. alessia sighed moving your crutches which were slumped next to you onto the floor.

“what’s bothering that pretty mind of yours” she asked as you slumped your head against her, your cheeks feeling wet as the tears fell.

“just watchin’ everyone. i feel so useless. i can’t even pick my bag up for fuck sake!” you choked out in a whisper, maybe this was the anger that you had kept in the past hour. the reality of your injury really hitting you.

“oh baby” alessia whispered moving your face to face hers as she cupped your face, wiping your tears away with her thumb. “your the strongest person i know, you’ll get through this and you’ll come back from it better than ever” alessia reassured you, wiping another tear that rolled down your cheek before it hit your chin.

“what if i can’t?” you whispered your bottom lip wobbling. you were scared for the next few months, how different it was going to be.

“you will! and i’ll be here for you every step of the way, okay?” alessia gave you a small smile as you nodded a little.

“i love you”

“i love you too” she kissed your forehead as you rested your head on her chest listening to her heartbeat.

it was going to be a long nine months.

liked by alessiarusso and 942,135 others

manutdwomen we can now confirm that y/n l/n has suffered a ruptured anterior cruciate ligament against arsenal on wednesday night.

y/n was substituted in the first half of the game at leigh sports village and underwent further assessment on thursday to determine the extent of the injury.

y/n will now begin a period of rehabilitation and is set for an extended spell on the sidelines. she will undergo surgery in due course. everyone at manchester united will be supporting y/n closely throughout the long journey ahead and we would ask that her privacy is respected at this time.

comments —

arsenalwfc we are gutted for you y/n — wishing you all the best with your recovery❤️

3h 210 likes reply

ellatoone the baller will be back before we know it!

2h 245 likes reply

lionesses we are with you, y/n! ❤️❤️

2h 136 likes reply

alessiarusso she’ll be back stronger ❤️

1h 195 likes reply

leahwilliamson wishing all the best with her recovery❤️

1h 174 likes reply

#alessia russo #alessia russo x y/n #alessia russo x reader #woso community #woso #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso x reader #arsenal women #awfc #arsenal wfc #awfc imagine #awfc x reader #ella toone #enwoso

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songbirdseung · 4 months

Text

you again? / park jongseong

synopsis: fate loves bringing you and jay together, specifically in an airport with same flights and destinations.

pairing: idol!jay x non-idol!yn

first encounter / 8 years old

"honey, help your dad with the bags." it was that time again, your biannual family trip. Summer was here and it was time to unwind and relax.

you hopped out of the car holding your little black cat plushie and ran to the carts near the airport entrance then brought it back to your father. "thank you sweetie" he pats your head and starts unloading the trunk.

as you went through the airport check in, security, and duty free you greeted everyone with a wave and hello, your mom holding your free hand with a smile on her face as she looked at you. "you little sunshine, you really like making friends?" she asked as you reached your gate; you nod enthusiastically.

your eyes still scan the airport with the same glimmer of curiosity and excitement, even if you've been to that airport more than your little fingers could count. you take in the summer decorations and in the midst of that, your eyes land on a boy who you think is the same age as you. taking in his features and glance down at your cat plushie, picking it up so it could be at the same level as the boy's face. you smile and see a resemblance. "mommy, look that boy looks like my kitty cat." she agrees and teases you about your little crush. "i didn't say that" you whine and pout. "oh yeah, if you don't have a crush on him, go talk to him" she chuckles and nudges her husband as they both watch you walk over to the boy.

"hi, im yn. what's your name?" you say as you sit next to him. he pays you no attention as he continues to play with his nintendo ds. his dad notices your presence and gives you a warm smile, he then removes the gadget out of his son's hands. before he could say anything, his dad points in your direction. finally, his eyes meet yours. "she asked you for your name, son" poor boy is so confused and wonders how long you have been sitting next to him. "im..jay"

second encounter / 9 years old

here you were again, at the airport getting ready to go. you were sitting at the airport's many food courts with your parents when you saw him again. even your own parents were shocked when they realized you still remember the boy you met last year, a boy you only talked to for 25 minutes. placing your hot chocolate which would now be forgotten as you ran 4 tables down to where he was.

"jay? my black cat jay? that's you right?" you were met with another warm smile from his parents and a confused stare from jay. "i met you last year and you probably don't remember me but that doesn't matter, it's nice to see you again. you ramble and tug at his long sleeve in excitement. his dad offers you a chair and helps you get up. "i'm sorry about her" your mom says from behind you. only to be reassured that it was fine and they love the interactions.

after jay's parents offered your parents to sit with them and let the two children have fun. (more like you bothering jay for the time being). there was a good 30 minutes that went by when the airport was announcing your flight was boarding. you all bid your goodbyes and as you were leaving, you noticed a plushie next to jay, it was your black cat plush you gave him last year.

third encounter / 9 years old

it wasn't a long wait to see him again, because in a few months. you met him again. this time, he wasn't so reluctant to see or talk to you. this time, he was actually having a great time playing games with you. so much fun that his parents were filming the two of you so later on the plane his parents would tease him and say he has a crush on you. oh, and your parents would do the same.

"isn't it funny how we only see each other at the airport and never anywhere else?"

"yeah, but we meet every year, so i'm not worried to not see you and having fun"

you two innocent souls did not know what would be happening next.

fourth encounter / 18 years old

you sighed for the nth time because you were sitting in the same uncomfortable airport benches. your friend decided it was better to arrive at the airport 4 hours earlier than boarding time. your apartment in seoul was only 20 minutes away from the airport, but for some reason you were here at the airport earlier than you wanted.

to kill time, you were walking around the airport's duty free. distracting yourself from the excruciating time wait. while you were doing so, you noticed a bunch of cameras when you reached back to your gate. you said whatever and walked past to explore the airport you have already been in.

"why can't we go back to our gate, we are definitely not going to have any seats left" your best friend whined as she tried to drag you back to the gate. "who else is going to arrive when our flight is in 3 hours?"

after a few minutes of bickering, you decided to sit down and give your legs and feet a break from all that walking. going back to the gate, you scanned the camera crew and what they were filming, you took notice of seven good looking guys, assuming they were actors or singers. you shrugged and minded your own business and sat back in the seat you and your best friend sat earlier.

putting your headphones on and opening your laptop to watch a movie to kill time. what you failed to notice was one of those seven boys looking at you. jay, noticed you ever since you walked past them the first time. in his eyes and mind, you looked very familiar, despite not seeing each other in 9 years, he remembered you.

debating whether or not to approach you or not, was it okay? did you even remember him. it has been 9 years and you both grown up so much. shortly after, you sensed a person sitting next to you. typically, your younger self would have greeted them but now that you were a young adult, you realized and found out that not all people are nice. so, you sat there in silence, still scrolling on your phone with your headphones in. only for that peace and serenity to be taken away from you when the person next to you took one of your headphones off. "you're not even going to say hi?" it was jay, your black cat.

fifth encounter / 20 years old

today was a little weird. you always found it easy to get through the airport with no problems. but today, you had time to find parking, to get through a crowd that usually was never there. upon reaching the entrance, you noticed so many girls holding up their phones and waiting on someone. you shrug your shoulders, thinking it's just another celebrity going overseas for a work schedule.

either way, you got to your gate and sat at the waiting area near your gate. sipping on your coffee as you replied back to the "safe travels" text you got from your family and friends. as you were watching tiktoks, you stumbled upon a video of jay and his group. it's been two years since the last time you saw him and both of you didn't even think of getting each other's numbers or social medias. but then again you did not want to distract him or get him in trouble if ever.

for some reason, you kind of wished that fate would bring you together again, since it loves to only let you meet him in the airport. so, you were looking out for him.

right on cue, he walks through the airport with his crew. then something hits you, what if you see him and he sees you then he doesn't remember you because he does meet to many people a day and what if you wave at him and thinks you're a fan? so many what if fill you mind that when he finally sees you, you're not looking.

but luckily, you again, have the same flight to germany. he splits from the group and decides to sit next to you despite the manager calling out to him. "you look like you're deep in thought yn" you whip your head, and he chuckles at your shocked expression. "oh, c'mon we always meet at the airport, why you still shocked i'm here?" you nudge him in the shoulder and explain your side.

it felt nice talking to jay, even though you two were both yappers, your dynamic somehow fit together like pieces of a puzzle. "do you still have that cat i gave you when we were 8?"

"you shouldn't be worried of me not remembering you, because that plushie sleeps next to me on my bed."

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #engene #enha #enhypen x reader #park jongseong #jay park #park jay #jay enhypen #park jay x you #jake #jongseong #park jongseong scenarios #jongseong fluff #jongseong x reader #jongseong park #jongseong imagines

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pinkiceee-prose · 10 months

Text

Summertime Service

Summary: Reader throws the BAU team a summer barbeque feast. Spencer is so moved by her hard work that he feels there's only one way to truly show her his gratitude.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut (18+, minors DNI)

Content Warnings: coworker relationship, descriptions of food, mutual pining, heavy kissing, praise, worship, begging, leg and feet massages, use of a gendered nickname ("pretty girl"), fingering, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, reader wears a sundress. please let me know if I missed any!

Author's Notes: This is the first fic I've written and published in a very long time, so please let me know if you enjoyed it and would like more! Huge thank you to the lovely @fortheloveofwonderland for reading over this for me 💗 Also, this was written as a part of @imagining-in-the-margins's Summer Sunshine Challenge!☀️

Word Count: 6.1k

As you stepped out onto Rossi’s patio, the summer sun beat down on the skin of your exposed shoulders. The different, yet still prevalent heat radiating from the large serving dish of meat you carried also played a role in the ever-present sweat gathering on your upper body, but you trekked through the grass with a smile, attempting to appear unaffected.

Tara and Luke rushed to help relieve you of the burden in your arms, but you insisted they refrain.

“Ah, nope! This barbeque is all about you guys, okay—no helping!” You said to their many protests. Lightheartedly dejected they sat back down, offering their thanks as they helped themselves to the food.

You set down the tray amongst a swarm of arms crossing, reaching for utensils in bowls of potato salad and plates of freshly grilled vegetables. You took a moment to admire the feast occurring before you, then turned on your heel to fetch more.

You and Penelope had made this plan weeks ago, just as summer was beginning to heat up and just around the time you’d joined the BAU team as Emily’s personal assistant. After a series of difficult and depressing cases, Penelope suggested that a family get-together was in order, and she enlisted your help to plan it. She, with Rossi’s help, secured the tables and canopies for the event, while you handled the menu and the serving.

You weren’t much of a gourmet chef, but you had a few tried-and-true summer recipes in your back pocket for times like these. From years of family barbeques of your own, you’d honed techniques for preparing brisket and grilling chicken, and you’d also learned a thing or two about making macaroni and cheese and fruit salad.

Under the shade of your sundress, nerves wracked your steps. Despite the bubbly facade and easy-going assurances to the team that you didn’t need any assistance, tremors radiated through your body with each dish that was carried to the outdoor tables. The shaking wasn’t due to their weight or your lack of strength; it could all be attributed to anxiety and stress and upcoming exhaustion.

This was the first time you were attending a BAU “family” event — let alone orchestrating one — so you had put a lot of pressure on yourself to impress the team.

They saved lives and solved crimes across the country while you did mostly clerical work — filed papers and answered phone calls. The division of labor was definitely lopsided, and you felt a certain level of gratitude was in order for the team. For those who did impactful work.

Just as you’d returned to Rossi’s kitchen to retrieve another dish for the table, Spencer appeared behind you. His subtle cologne filled the air; despite summer raging on outside, he smelled of autumn with his cinnamon and coffee scent. The heat of his arm rose goosebumps up your body, but he shifted to stand next to you before anyone could notice the proximity.

“Let me help, please,” He whispered, prolonging the physical contact that was typically out of character for him. As if all the heat of summer wasn’t enough, the pool of warmth he summoned inside you lit aflame with his pleas. When you finally met his eye, that fire reached your cheeks before you could do much to hide it.

Something that you’d once brushed off as a workplace crush blossomed between you and Spencer. Although you weren’t together, there was no denying the tension felt between you two when your hands brushed at the coffee counter in the office, or when you lingered over his shoulder for just a second more than necessary when passing out case files.

Lately, it had been a lot more difficult to will the thoughts away with how the heat of the season forced Spencer to shed his typical layers of clothing. Even now, he stood beside you in a simple polo shirt that clung to his chest. You could almost feel the buttons between your fingers, sliding through the fabric as your eyes grazed over him — but the oven alarm began to blare, dragging you away from the fantasy.

“Spencer,” You took a few steps away from him, pulling a few dishes from the oven and placing them on the counter. You failed to hide the smirk his presence pulled out of you. “You know this is supposed to be about appreciating the team’s hard work. You should be relaxing!”

He rolled his eyes at your insistence, then glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one had yet to notice his absence. Luckily, they were still all consumed by the fruits of your labor — literally and metaphorically.

“Your hard work should be recognized too. You’re going to overexert yourself,” His pleas felt like music and dissonance in your ears. On one hand, the attention he paid you made your knees weak, and it was obvious by the heavy breath in your chest that you enjoyed his company. But on the other hand, you felt resolute in the objective to purely serve the team tonight. The desire to praise them for their work — the desire to feel accepted by them — triumphed over the crush you’d developed on Spencer, at least for now.

“I’ll be fine. Now go back and enjoy before someone else thinks I’m accepting helpers,” You responded, flashing a tender smile as Spencer stayed in hesitation. A flash of something crossed over his eyes — irritation, desire, annoyance, or pity, you couldn’t quite tell. All you could recognize was the way his feet dragged in defeat, leaving you to your serving duties quite slowly.

Although not a profiler, you could’ve sworn he seemed spurred on, like he had to hold himself back from acting on an urge to advance on you. You brushed the thoughts away as best you could for now, returning your focus to the task at hand.

♡ ♡ ♡

The next few hours were a flash of food and drinks and summer heat. Jack, Henry, Michael, Hank, and all of Matt’s kids ran around the tables with their popsicles, definitely giving the ants in Rossi’s yard a feast of their own. Everything from cucumber salad to watermelon slices, to vegetable kebabs made their rounds down each table, visiting each BAU member.

The scent of lavender, peppermint, and citrus candles mingled in the air in an attempt to keep bugs at bay. But a symphony of crickets and cicadas still played as a soundtrack to the feast, and you watched as Emily and JJ were vigilant against flies that threatened to join the party, swatting around the food every few minutes.

You spent most of the event rushing around, finding places for each dish to reside while the rest of the team balanced between repose and indulgence. Tara, Emily, JJ, and Penelope raved about the veggies, while Morgan and Rossi praised the beefier selections you’d prepared. The team showered you with compliments, but you continued to deny their requests to help.

Food acted as an avenue for both nourishment and gratitude that you felt was desperately underserved to your new family, and accepting their help seemed to cheapen that sentiment.

Maybe it was all the incredible ways in which they brought peace to people or all the times that they helped you feel at peace with their work; regardless, you felt they were owed some home cooking and summer relaxation, and you wanted to be the one to give it to them.

“If I had known you could cook like this, I would’ve suggested this barbeque months ago,” Rossi quipped over his clean plate. It must’ve been nice for him to not be the head chef for the team for a change.

“Yeah, I haven’t eaten this good in years,” Emily chimed in, with agreements made by Matt and Morgan. Their wives nodded with them in earnest agreement.

As the sun began to set, a wash of pinks and purples created the perfect backdrop to the barbeque. Penelope had the idea to set up tiki torches, which you lit with Hotch’s help. Their gentle glow kept the brightness at a dim level while still ensuring sight to guide you as you continued your service.

Although the energy level had died down quite a bit thanks to the heat of the day and the abundance of food everyone had, the team was still rapt in lively discussions as you served dessert.

Blueberry pie with a lattice-style crust, chocolate cake with matching frosting, and homemade vanilla bean ice cream graced the tables. You weren't usually one to brag, but even you had to admit the delicious sweets were a perfect final touch to the event.

Even at dusk, the ice cream sweat and started melting almost as soon as it found its place on their plates. The sickly-sweet aroma from the pie carried on long after its trip in the oven, mingling with the already present floral aromas that seemed elevated due to the heat. You were surprised the barbeque hadn’t summoned neighbors, or at least more bugs.

Residual summer heat could be so damning yet comforting all at the same time.

With dessert served, you finally allowed yourself to sit and join the team. The aches in your feet and back that had gone unnoticed during the hours of cooking and service finally surfaced as your weight shifted, encouraging a painful rest to overtake your limbs. Without realizing it, you’d slumped over in your chair for quite a while, staring out into space as the party continued around you.

That was until Spencer detected your quietness and waved a hand in front of your eyes, commanding attention.

“Are you okay, y/n?” His voice was barely audible over the discussions happening around you. But, you still nodded, straightened your back, and reached for a slice of pie.

“Yep, just got distracted,” You gave him a small smile, but you could see that he didn’t quite believe your performance. The fatigue in your body was incredibly apparent, and the look behind your eyes was one of exhaustion. However, Spencer hesitated to react to his observations.

You weren’t sure what you expected him to say or do about it, but you watched as he pursed his lips together in contemplation — planning something.

Whatever he was scheming, it was set in motion as Matt and his family departed. Following him were JJ and her loved ones, plus Emily and Tara. They all offered repeated praises to you, Penelope, and Rossi as they crossed the threshold into the blackness of summer night.

Before you could completely gather your things, suddenly Spencer pulled you aside and insisted on coming over to his apartment tonight. His usual dismissive, demur demeanor had changed, and he loomed over you with a sort of persuasive aura that radiated from his request. It was as if he was protecting you from something, or rather, preparing you for something. Either way, anticipation dripped from his words as you stared back, silent, in response.

“I-If that makes you uncomfortable, by all means, ignore me,” he spoke in hushed tones. “But I really think you’ll enjoy it if you come.”

If you hadn’t been so exhausted, the absolute shock from his blatant flirtation would have caused your breath to catch in your throat before you could ever eloquently reply. However, with the fatigue wracking you, all you could do was scan his face for any sign of sarcasm.

He seemed to be genuine, and your body instinctually gravitated toward him with the offer. It went without saying that this invitation felt incredibly forward, but the sleep that threatened to overtake you also kept you from worrying too much about the obvious blush that spread across your face at the thought of what leaving with Spencer would look like to the rest of the team.

Objectively, though, Spencer’s apartment was closer than yours, and you weren't sure if you could handle the lull of a drive this late at night. You justified to yourself that accepting his offer was out of a precautionary notion — but in all honesty, the seductive implications of Spencer’s plan were what really captivated you, and pulled an ‘okay’ from your lips.

You’d spent all night denying requests, and you didn’t want to forgo this one.

In the passenger seat of Spencer’s rarely-driven car, your body pulsed with fatigue at every stop. You wondered if he could sense it radiating through you or if he was just burnt out on masking his flirtation towards you all day, as you caught him glancing at your body at every red light. Each push and pull brought on by inertia briefly relieved the pain, then rushed it back in, but his gaze did give you another sense of relief.

Thankfully, the drive was short, and the walk up to Spencer’s door was aided by his hand on your lower back. With drowsiness prevalent in every step, you took a moment to check your surroundings and ask yourself if this was truly happening. The flirtation, the lingering physicality between you two, and the blushes that damned every innocent conversation you’d had together seemed to rise to the top of your brain at that moment as you recognized the reality you’d found yourself in.

Aided by his unabashed touch on your back, your awareness of reality fed your deep desire that he truly led you here for scandalous reasons, but the rational side of your brain that was just barely awake triggered anxiety to flare. Fear of unknowns, of rejection, or maybe both floated up your spine and burned in the impression of his fingers upon you.

But, then his door swung open. Almost instantly after you walked inside and he shut the door, Spencer knelt on his knees before you. The swift change in position made you stumble backward, and confusion spread across your face.

“What are you doing?” The question bubbled out of you fast, but you hadn’t meant to sound disinterested. It was alarming, for sure, to abruptly feel the heat of his body so close to your aching legs, but that didn’t mean the view wasn’t incredibly alluring.

“I’m taking care of you,” Spencer responded, his voice was quiet but poignant as if this was standard procedure.

You stood frozen as he slid the strap of your sandal down the back of your heel, and his fingers brushed against the veins of your feet.

“You took care of us all day. Now it’s your turn to relax.”

Taken aback by his sudden servitude, no verbal response came from your mouth. Instead, you melted under his fingertips as he slowly removed the other shoe, then traveled up your calves to pull down your sheer stockings. The gesture was so intimate, so quiet, so tender. Paired with the exhaustion and excitement and bewilderment, the elegance of his touch brought tears to your eyes.

Spencer stood back up slowly, his lips ghosting over your arm on his ascent. Your eyes met in the dim light of his apartment for the first time, both sets deepened with a near primal sense of surprised attraction. Your body felt as if on fire, vibrating, or possibly both with how electric your nerves were with your closeness and the threat of his impending adoration.

Just as the summer sun had earlier shone on your exposed shoulders, the richness of Spencer’s deep brown eyes was now affixed to them. His index finger wrapped around the thin strap of your sundress, pulling it over the curve of your shoulder at an agonizingly slow pace. It was so soft yet so tense — neither one of you had made a sound in what felt like minutes — a whimper threatened to fall from your lips just as Spencer’s eyes flickered back to meet yours.

“You overexerted yourself,” Spencer echoed what he’d warned you against earlier in the evening, breaking the silence. You couldn’t help but wearily smile at the re-use of his own words.

“I think I’ll accept a helper now,” You replied hushed, voice wavering so much you thought it might shatter if any more than a heavy breath was expelled from your throat. The twitch of a smile spread across Spencer’s face just as you had the thought — as if he’d read your mind.

But the silence resumed, and Spencer’s hand sent the top of your sundress cascading down your forearm. The fabric halted at your wrist, and as Spencer coaxed the other strap down the opposite side, he slowly exposed your chest to the cold air of his apartment.

After a day in the sun, his air conditioning felt arctic, and despite the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach thanks to his mannerisms, the tips of Spencer’s fingers iced over the skin of your décolletage.

Whether he noticed your shivering, or if this was all a part of his grander plan, you did not know. But just as the weight of the sundress carried itself passed your hips to pool at your ankles, Spencer clasped your hands together and led you toward his bedroom.

Again, anxiety pulled you from your lustful daze. Was this really happening? Had you been ignorant all along to Spencer’s advances, or was this just as spontaneous for him? It’s not like you didn’t want this — more so, you were just in a state of disbelief at the way the day’s events had transpired.

Disregarding the chorus of cicadas permeating his bedroom window, Spencer guided you to sit on the edge of his bed in otherwise complete silence. He knelt in front of you, mimicking your positions from the foyer. The arousal that sprung from you at his sudden movement made your cheeks blush a shade of red deeper than any summertime sunburn could create.

At the same time, you couldn’t help but become aware of the obvious disparity in modesty between the two of you now, but he caught your wrists before you could shift to cover your body.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He spoke up with a sobering tone. The wistfulness and tension were briefly broken, and you smiled at the notion that he still checked for consent despite all that you’d done so far.

“Not just okay. I want it, Spence. I want you,” Your voice, a little bolder now, seemed to boom in his most private room. Without another word, he guided your hands to the buttons on his shirt, before releasing your wrists in favor of splaying his hands across your thighs.

You inhaled sharply, shuddering at the contact. But it did make your hands move faster, pulling his buttons apart in a quite similar fashion to the eager way you’d daydreamed about doing so earlier.

Just as you’d completed the task and pulled the fabric of his shirt over his head, you felt the pads of his fingers reconnect with your legs and dig into the supple flesh of your thighs. A deep sigh left your lips almost instantly as he worked the worn muscles, firmly pressing into them. You felt the stress shift and dissipate, and your body reacted automatically to his ministrations.

It wasn’t until his massage traveled to your calves that more salacious noises fell from your lips. You knew that this kind of attention wasn’t strictly sexual, but the relief Spencer brought to you, to the tenderness in your legs and feet, demanded a vocal response.

At first, mewls and faint sighs responded to his help, but they deepened in tandem with his strength. The kneading of his fingers across the width of your legs, the pressure he placed upon your Achilles' tendons, and the force he pushed into the worn arches of your feet all played roles in the escalation of your noises into pure, wanton moans.

“You are so beautiful,” Spencer spoke into the landscape of sounds you were creating for him. “Not just like this, but all the time. The way you laugh, the work you do, in all the things you did for us tonight — you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”

His impromptu speech stunned you for a moment, and you did your best to keep your interjections to heavy sighs to truly listen to him. But his praise wasn’t something you were used to, and although you’d been complimented all night at the barbeque, something about Spencer’s tone inspired a unique bashfulness.

“Stop,” You half-heartedly chuckled, unsure of how to respond to such an admission other than to dismiss it.

“I’m serious, y/n,” He continued, unfazed. “Ever since you walked through the doors at the office I felt…saved. I’m not religious but — I mean, you’ve literally got me on my knees here.”

Your face burned with the worship, and his joke inspired a smile, but you also did your best to relax your reactions and just take his confession.

“You’re smart, you’re sweet, you’re compassionate and caring, and I just feel like you deserve the world…I don’t know if you—if you’ve ever thought of me like this, but, I really do adore you. And I want to serve you like you did me tonight.”

With his previous, dominant stance seemingly shaken, you took the opportunity to run your hands up his arms and into his hair. He closed his eyes at the feeling, leaning into the touch and basking in it. Leaning in close, your lips met in a soft, slow kiss.

As you gently pushed against one another, your more primal drives slowly regenerated, and you pulled his hair tenderly to just barely create a separation. His eyes shot open, struggling to focus on anything else but your lips. With another gentle tug, you wound him back up to the previous tension you two had.

“Show me how much you adore me,” The command rumbled in your chest before you even truly processed it.

But that was enough for Spencer. With the ending of the last syllable, his eyes fell half-lidded, and he quickly pushed your lips back together.

The steady and slow pace you’d honed since arriving at his apartment was suddenly nowhere to be found. Desperation laced your every move as you traveled up his bed; Spencer towering over you, never disconnecting in your endeavor. You felt the weight of his body settle between your legs. Not only was his skin sweltering with heat, but you could feel how achingly hard he was through his slacks.

You kissed with the desperation of a couple saying goodbye. It was as if both of you were grasping at each other, fearful of any distance that may find its way into your embrace. As your eager hands traversed down his bare chest and stomach, Spencer rushed to match your near nakedness through a rather clumsy removal of his pants.

While the sweet and savory scents of summer seemed distant now, everpresent was the smell of Spencer. Coffee and cinnamon filled your nose once again as his hair cascaded over your face, sweeping behind his trail of kisses down your chest.

He paused on the journey, motioning for you to lean upwards where his lips found yours in another fit of passionate kissing. He reached around you, unclasping your bra and gently guiding the fabric down your arms. Another shiver wracked through you as your breasts were finally exposed, but it was quickly remedied by the warmth of Spencer’s palms.

He cupped them softly at first, dragging mewls from your mouth that he used to slide his tongue between your lips. It wasn’t until he felt the shake of your muscles that he realized how uncomfortable the position must’ve been, leading him to push you back onto the mattress, palms still full of your tits.

With your mouths freshly separated, Spencer let a string of saliva fall from his mouth, coating the valley on your chest in a way that caught every moonbeam in the room. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the plush swell of your breast, setting your skin aflame. You moaned shamelessly at the delicious pressure, earning a satisfied smile from the man between your legs.

You hopelessly clawed at his shoulders in an attempt to feel the press of his whole body against you once more, but he continued his descent toward your center.

Painstakingly slow, he dragged your underwear down your legs, watching your face for any sign of disapproval. When he couldn’t find any, he discarded them before guiding your legs up off the bed and resting them over his shoulders. You watched, enraptured, as he lay prone in front of you and met your eyes one more time before pressing a sloppy kiss on your inner thigh.

Shivers rolled down your spine, and you shook in response to what would be the most innocent of touches from this point on. Spencer seemed encouraged by the heavy heave of your chest, and he taunted you with breathy sighs hitting your folds.

His breath was hot, but it still inspired your body to shake as if freezing. He studied you in an almost delirious state of bliss as he controlled you with just his breath, before slowly licking a devilish stripe up your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue like the sweetest summer dessert.

A pained moan escaped your throat, wholly miserable with how much he seemed to be holding back. You did your best to avoid clamping down on his head too harshly, but you couldn’t help the instinct you felt to pull him closer.

Then, he finally dove in. His tongue worked expertly — dragging and pressing and pulling around your bundle of nerves, and even circling your entrance. The lewd sounds coming from his mouth sparked your own in response, and soon you had your own debaucherous melody echoing in his bedroom.

He flattened his tongue, pressed it against your clit, and wrapped his arms around your thighs, giving himself leverage to apply the pressure to your most sensitive spot that he could tell you were desperate for.

You felt his tongue flip and twirl around you, drinking in your essence as if he hadn’t already gorged himself on a feast of yours tonight. Dipping a little lower, his muscle plunged inside of you, inspiring an entirely different kind of pressure that tightened your core and commanded your body off the bed.

Moving his tongue back up to your clit, he lapped at it as he began edging a finger into you, causing you to grip his duvet in a misguided attempt to relieve the incredible tension building in your stomach.

“S-spencer,” You choked out, doing your best to keep your eyes open as the sight in front of you was one of angelic beauty — Spencer’s hair was completely disheveled, and although the room was only lit by moonlight, you could see the wild gaze his eyes held as he worked so hard to please you. You let out a feather-light moan.

But all you got in response was his dark eyes, filled with a fervor that you’d never seen from Spencer before. You laced your fingers in his hair just as he pushed his finger inside you, eliciting a new, loud groan from your chest.

Latching onto your nub, Spencer rolled his tongue over it with gentle suction in tandem with fast, shallow thrusts of his finger. He moaned against you, sending ripples of stimulation through your body, radiating from his mouth. He watched you the entire time, eyes trained on your face as it scrunched up in pleasure.

He feasted on you, and for the second time tonight, you relished in the fact that you had nourished Spencer so graciously.

With a tug of his hair, you finally felt the tension in your stomach snap. A string of moans bounced off the walls of his bedroom, but Spencer didn’t give in to distraction. He pulled off of you only slightly with a deep inhale but kept his finger moving to fuck you through your orgasm.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” He cooed, bringing his other hand up to splay against your stomach, feeling the muscles spasming beneath his palm in time with the waves of pleasure washing over you.

He slowed his finger as your pleasure faded; the tension leaving your abdomen and a look of bliss covering your face, signaling your comedown. He withdrew his finger slowly before resuming his towering position over you, peppering your cheeks and neck with kisses.

Once some sense had returned to your endorphin-flooded brain, your hands roamed over the span of Spencer’s back. You resumed the choreography that neither of you had practiced, even though it felt so natural to you. Your lips found his once more, and eagerness leaked from his saliva as it mixed with the taste of you on his tongue. A low, rumbling moan echoed into your mouth as he gripped your waist and the nape of your neck roughly.

Your hearts were back up to racing, and you tugged at the tight waistband of Spencer’s boxers.

“Please,” Spencer spoke into your mouth, barely disconnecting your lips as he begged. “Please, let me fuck you.”

If the praise wasn’t enough to win you over, the absolutely distraught look on his face would’ve done the job. One part of you couldn’t believe that Spencer could be so commanding and servile at the same time, while another part of you knew this must be the purest form of Spencer that anyone had ever seen before. Apart from his previous partners, you felt as if you were the only observer of him in such a state of subservience. He felt totally and uniquely seen by you, and that’s all he ever wanted.

You nodded and mewled at his request, harshly removing his last remaining barrier before wrapping your legs around his waist. Your movements brought his dick closer to your heat, and you couldn’t hold back the tremors that overwhelmed your senses at the sensation. Kissing you once more, Spencer aligned himself at your entrance, mimicking the shivering of your body on such a hot summer night.

He pushed into you at a listless pace, wanting to give you all the time and space to get comfortable around him despite the instincts that begged him to act faster. His finger had done little to prepare you for his true size, and although you gasped sharply at the intrusion, your body was quick to relax and pull him further inside you.

You shared moans and whimpers on the slow endeavor, kissing each other wherever available — cheek, arm, neck, chest — until he was fully flush with your body.

“Thank you,” Spencer breathed out, so softly that you almost missed it. “Thank you, thank you,” He kept worshiping as you felt his hips stutter and his cock twitch inside you. The size of him, his breath on your neck, and the everpresent smell of sex all tethered together in your mind at once, sparking an almost insatiable desire to demand that he move. You knew the worship was all a part of his plan to repay you for the barbeque, but you echoed the sentiment back nonetheless in favor of a less sweet command.

But Spencer was no stranger to that desire. With gratitude filling the room, he couldn’t hold back any longer, and he began rocking into you just enough to pull moans from your lips. He caged his arms around your head, wrapping one palm around the back of your neck to hold you in place, while the other found itself upon your cheek once again. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, watching as you moved against and around him with a delicious tightness.

He quickened his pace and relished in the way the pleasure presented upon your face. Your eyes screwed shut, mouth hung open in a string of moans. He mirrored your expressions, his bottom lip jutted out from his face, brushing yours with each harsh thrust forward. The pressure of him inside you was already swelling the knot in your stomach, and the stimulation melted all fatigue from the day away from your muscles.

Clawing at his back and arms, you opened your eyes to find him once more. The hand on your neck kept your gaze steady despite his rough movements that threatened your composure. There was a charm, a tenderness that you’d felt lingering between you two all night—hell, ever since your first day. From the moment you introduced yourself in the dawn of summer, to the moment he dropped to his knees and begged for you, an intensity magnetized the two of you together.

Before you could get too lost in the beautiful thoughts of your attraction, Spencer adjusted the angle of your hips, reaching even deeper into you. You couldn’t hold back the scream that left your body, and you felt yourself tighten around him as he drove into you at an incredible rate.

Spencer was already close — you could tell by the way whimpers fell over your neck with his every thrust, and he blinked rapidly as if it would stave off his impending release. He called your name as a warning, implicitly asking for your guidance.

Now, it was your turn to beg.

“Please,” You pled, eyes half-lidded yet glued to Spencers. “Please, come inside me.”

He could barely hold back after your words, his hips even faltering for a moment. But he kept his pace, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly as your release teetered on the edge of his relentless pace.

“Fuck,” You felt Spencer groan into your hair as his hips slammed flush with yours. Warmth flooded inside you, and the sensation triggered your release soon after. Both of you clung to each other, panting and brainless with bliss, as Spencer slowly continued to fuck you through your climaxes.

As the tension and heat dissipated over your body, you and Spencer reluctantly pulled away from each other. It was the first time since you’d arrived at his apartment that either one of you had given into distance. He was gentle with the motions, watching the way your body shook with each rogue wave of pleasure as he pulled out of you.

When he was fully removed, though, you found yourself alone, laid out across his bed. As the heaving in your chest subsided, Spencer returned with a towel, cleaning you up with the utmost tenderness.

“Here, I can help,” You peeled your upper body from his duvet despite all the resistance in your overexerted muscles, reaching for the cloth only for Spencer to catch your hand before you could make it.

“I’m still serving you, okay? Lay down,” He chuckled at your attempt, finishing up with the towel and discarding it back in his bathroom. When he returned, he continued to refuse your help, pulling the duvet out from under you to tuck you in.

He joined you on the other side of the bed, brushing hair from your face as he settled under the comforter too. You laid facing each other, eyes grazing over each other's bodies in a much more romantic sense than you two had a few moments prior.

“Why did you do all that?” You posed the question quietly, watching his face intently for a reaction. Although anxiety may not be the best word for it, you did feel a bit unsure about what this night meant for your relationship. Was this a summer fling, a coworker crush, or something more real? Something that would permeate the seasons or something that you’d recall late at night in future solitude?

“Well, for one, because I like you,” Spencer said, laughing slightly through the ends of a few words. “But also because of all you did for us tonight. You worked so hard and you deserved to be spoiled too.”

The praise again brought a flush to your cheeks, and you looked away as you tried not to discount the way Spencer was feeling. Even if you were unsure of your deserving of praise, you had to admit it felt nice to be adored by Spencer, and it felt good to know that this meant more to him than something casual.

Despite the summer heat, you found yourself fully engulfed in his embrace. The cicadas’ chorus began to lull sleep into your heavy eyes, even though you weren’t quite ready to let go and close your eyes, which would mean missing out on Spencer’s reverent gaze.

“I like you too,” You finally spoke up, finding his hand in the darkness of his bedroom, and lacing your fingers together. “Thank you for spoiling me.”

“Hey—no more ‘thank yous.’ You deserved it,” Spencer replied, placing a kiss on your knuckles before shuffling further into the bed. You turned over, relaxing into Spencer’s warm body as his arm wound around your stomach, still holding your hand.

Summer heat can be more comforting than once thought, after all.

♡ ♡ ♡

thank you for reading! 💗

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #fem!reader #bau team

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eraenaa · 5 months

Text

A Bastard's Bride, A Dragon's Desire

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen Princess Reader

Synopsis: They have betrothed you to Jacaerys as a way of securing a line to the throne if they fail in usurping your half-sister’s crown. Your older brother Aemond was livid at the decision.

Warnings: Targcest, Mature, 18+, Submissive Aemond (kinda), Oral Sex (M receiving), Boobjob, P in V Sex, Jealousy, Possessive, not proofread

Word Count: 4,327

“This cannot go! You dare betrothed my sister to a bastard!?” Aemond screamed at your grandfather and mother. Never have you seen him so angry and agitated. His lilac eye was wide in fury, his frame rigid in rage. You did not wish for the betrothal, but you did not have the same anger that Aemond showed. Screaming and spewing foul words as if he was the one being sent as a bride for the plain prince. “My prince— you will learn to hold your tongue.” Your grandfather warned. “We understand your qualms upon the match; believe it or not, we do not wish for it. But it is a marriage that must be made.” Your grandfather sighed, his eyes going to you, who had your head downcast, ready to silently meet your fate.

You peeked a look at Aemond, heart swelling at how protective your brother was. How he would defend and voice out the concerns and fears because you did not have the courage to. You tried to reach for his hand under the table; your touch always seemed to calm him, but he was in a state of utter anger— rage at a level he had never reached before. His vision was white hot at the injustice he believed to be presented— injustice greater than when his eye was taken. For how could they be so cruel to betroth you, his sweet, smart, and enchanting little sister, to a plain and weak bastard of House Strong? “I will not stand by this union,” Aemond seethed and stood from his chair. “With all due respect, my prince, you have no say nor sway upon the marriage— complain and rage as you would; you will not change the plans made. You swallowed thickly as Aemond marched out of the chambers of the council, your mother heavily sighing at the reaction of your older brother—his reaction to your betrothal confirmed her suspicions.

You walked to your chambers and were slightly startled to see your older brother there. Staring intently at the fire, waiting for you. “They cannot do this— they cannot be allowed to dict—“ You sighed and shook your head, sitting upon a settee and bringing a pillow to your lap. “They have the power to— I have no choice but to do as they wish,” You answered. You knew of this— you always knew you were to be played like a pawn, sold like a sheep in order for them to have a greater claim to the throne. You’ve expected this for years— you have made your peace with it.

Aemond turned to you, his eye dark and terrifying. “Why are you not angered? Why do you only obey without even a question?” He asked, threading closer to you. “Tell me, sister… do you wish to marry Jacaerys? Is that why you said no word when they made their plans known? Hm? Are you ecstatic at the thought of being a bastard’s bride?” Your lips agape at his words— at his anger that he now pointed towards you.

“Grandfather was right— you must learn to hold your tongue.” You whispered. “You dare insult me, brother? You dare try to dress my quiet contempt as ecstasy in being a lamb for slaughter so they can continue on with their plans,” You whispered harshly as his face threaded closer to yours. His lilac eye softened and started to fill with remorse, but you shook your head, disheartened by the words he uttered. “Get out,” You said and stood, not wanting to face him any longer. Growing hurt at your brother for thinking as such. “Sister, I—“ he tried to get hold of your arm, but you stepped away. “Leave— I wish to be alone,” You muttered, hearing him sigh before doing as you asked.

The following day, you confined yourself to your rooms. Ignoring the knocks of your maids, sister, mother, Aegon, and Aemond, who was the most persistent of them all. Trying to bribe you with sweets freshly made from the kitchen and then the promise of jewels and dresses that your heart was completely bemused with. You ignored all their calls and focused on the betrothal made. Trying hard to have a better outlook upon it— trying to find the little positives so you would not be so completely miserable with the marriage. “Ñuha hāedar, you must eat— please.” (My little sister) You hear Aemond call; it is time for supper, and you have not consumed a meal the entire day. He called your name once more, but you ignored it, simply staring out of the window to the starry night sky.

“I swear to the gods I will break down this door!” Aemond gritted out— trying a new tactic because his pleading got him no reaction. The prince sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, growing tired of your stubbornness. He regretted raising his voice at you— wrongfully pointing his anger at you, who was simply a victim of their desire to ensure a line of power. He could not bear it— he could not have another thing taken from him by the Strongs. He already lost his eye to Lucerys— he’d rather burn the entire Kingdom than have to lose you to Jacaerys.

Aemond sighed in relief as he heard you unbar the door, slowly opening it to reveal your sullen self. “The cake,” Was all you said through the little gap. Aemond bit his lip and handed you the platter that held your favorite sweet. He was to speak once more, offer his apologies but you were quick to shut the door and bar it again.

The next day, you were finally forced out of your chambers. Your mother was persistent in readying you to meet your future betrothed. Having you fitted for new dresses as if you were a doll. You used to love that— you used to love spending hours discussing your visions and specificity for your dresses. You did not mind having to stand for hours whilst they took your measurements— you would even volunteer to embroider your own dress, but now the task seemed heavy.

Aemond watched you as you were being spoken to about the plans they had made when your bastard kin was to come. He watched your sullen eyes, your deflated shoulders, your pouted lips. The rage in him started to return; he hated witnessing you be in such a state. He believed that you do not deserve to be given such a cruel fate. He believed that you deserve someone better—someone who was not a plain bastard. You deserved someone honorable and were of high standing. You deserved someone who would adore you, dote on you, spoil you, love you— you deserved to be with someone like him. Aemond clenched his jaw as you sighed heavily; your mother had ignored his wishes and pleas.

His mind was made long before. He knew he loved you more than the love a brother and sister shared. He loved you in the way of your house, in the way of a dragon— queer it must be in the eyes of the others, but he did not care; he loved you as a man would love his woman. But he was silent with his love, fearing you would not return it. Yes, he felt that you loved him, but he believed it only to be a familial kind— that it was not the same as the burning passion he had in his heart.

Aemond lay on his bed, mind swimming in thoughts on how to save you. On how to make you his. It did occur to him that to make you his, he would have to admit the deep feelings he had and was certain of ever since he was but nine. That he would have to confess his devotion to you, his sweet little sister. He hears a small knock on his door, and he immediately knows it is you. The prince did not even stand, simply muttering for you to enter. No word was uttered as you closed the door and walked to him, who lay on his bed. Your brother was to sit up, but you moved to lay atop his chest— just like you often did in childhood. You wanted comfort, and your brother Aemond is always and you believe will forever be your greatest comfort.

Aemond froze as you placed yourself atop him, letting your body press against his, your arms wrapping around his neck. You two did this often in childhood; whenever you felt glum or melancholic, you would place yourself atop him, and he would wrap his arms tightly around you. But as the both of you blossomed and grew into man and woman, you stopped doing such actions— growing weary and aware of your bodies.

Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist. You were so warm and soft and plush. Your frame fitted perfectly against his— just like it always has. “I do not wish to marry him,” You mumble against his letter-clad chest, taking a deep breath to smell his scent: leather and citrus. “I know,” He mumbled against the top of your head. Aemond taking a deep breath of you— lavender and lilac invading him.

“Perhaps I should flee…” you mused after a stretch of silence. “And go where?” Aemond asked. “I do not know… maybe Essos? I’ve always wanted to see YiTi, or I could go and find Old Valyria? Anywhere but here.” You sighed as Aemond ran his hand through your hair. Your body tingled with every stroke his hand made. “You would leave me?” He asked, and you shook your head. “No, you would come with me, of course.” Aemond smiled at your words. “Of course,” He agreed and placed a kiss atop your pretty head. You stayed in Aemond’s arms for hours— drifting off to slumber. Aemond stayed awake, wanting to savor the feeling of having you in his arms, indulging himself with the thought that you were his.

However, as time went on and you were starting to wake, Aemond’s heart clenched at the thought of letting you go. Right then and there, he had decided. He decided to do what he never had the courage to do… he had to claim you and make it known to everyone that you were his and his alone.

The scowl never left Aemond’s face as he and Helaena were tasked to escort you and Jacaerys. Having to watch you grow familiar with the boy they intend for you to marry made his heart wrench in jealousy— his stomach pitting in fear as he saw a small smile on your lips. Aemond resisted the urge to throw a dagger at his eldest bastard nephew when he dared take your hand to escort you down the steps of the courtyard. “You’re growing too obvious, brother,” Helaena muttered as she watched you acclimate yourself to the presence of the Strong Prince. “I do not care— let them know my intentions,” Aemond answered, holding tightly at the railing as he saw the enchantment in Jacaerys’ eyes as he spoke with you, body daring thread closer to yours. “I’m afraid there is not much you could do… they are to be bounded by blood,” Aemond shook his head, stubborn and unaccepting of their fates.

When evening came, and supper was held for the whole of the family, Aemond stewed in anger as your place next to him was removed— moving your place to sit with your soon-to-be-announced betrothed. You took in a breath as Jacaerys took hold of your hand, a smile on his lips. But you could not focus on the joy he showed because you saw clearly the scowl on your brother’s. His hand tightly clenched around a dinner knife, his eye steady on you.

“This is torture for you, isn’t it,” Aegon muttered to his younger brother. His eye held a spark of amusement at Aemond’s ire— but there was a tinge of concern at the uncertain look in your eyes as Jacaerys kept his hold on your hand. “Return to your seat,” Aemond gritted but Aegon kept still at his spot. “You’ve waited too long, brother… you must take matters into your own hands before it truly is all too late,” He advised. Aemond closed his eye at the temptation his brother’s words presented. “As much as I like to watch you suffer… control yourself and painfully deny yourself of pleasure— I’d rather have our little sister here with you than be with a bastard in Dragonstone.”

Aemond gritted his jaw. “Enough, Aegon— what you suggest will not only dishonor me but our sister as well. You a—“ Aegon sighed and shook his head. “There is an opportunity for you, brother, to gain something you’ve wanted since we were children— lower your damned pride and self-righteousness and make her your own. Either that or watch her be married to Jacaerys; it’s your choice, Aemond.” Aegon warned and finally returned to his seat, leaving his younger brother silent, confused, and torn.

You were in your chambers after the supper— you dismissed your handmaids, wanting to be left alone. You readied yourself, removing the pins in your hair as you stared at yourself in the mirror, your eyes admiring the dress made especially for the occasion. You sighed that such a pretty dress was made for the sole purpose of pleasing your future groom, whom you had no love nor fondness for. You stared at yourself in the mirror until you jumped in shock as you caught a glimpse of your older brother standing behind you. “You scared me,” You said as your eyes locked, you returning to remove the pins in your hair.

You tried not to grow conscious at how he was in your chambers after dark, at how your dress was partly unlaced and the sleeves were starting to drape off, and you especially tried not to notice the dark look in Aemond’s eye that you could not read or process. “I have a gift for you,” Aemond said lowly, walking closer to you, who still faced the mirror, your eyes never leaving his as he approached. You took in a breath as you felt him behind you, a few inches away, but you still felt the heat that radiated from his body; you still smelt his familiar scent.

“What is it?” You asked. Aemond wanted to smile as he saw the clear excitement in your eyes. You were always bemused by gifts and shiny things. “Close your eyes,” He dipped down and whispered. There was a hint of hesitancy in you, your skin growing with gooseflesh at the way he whispered in the shell of your ear and how his lips grazed your skin. You licked your lips as you were certain that you would recall this moment as you lay in your bed and pleasured yourself with the thought of Aemond. You were shameless to do such an act— seeking pleasure with the thought of your brother in mind.

Aemond watched as you obeyed him and closed your eyes. His own wye flying to your lips, shiny and pink. How magnificent it must be to kiss them, he thought. Aemond is distracted as he stares at you, memorizing each part of your face. “What’s your gift?” You asked impatiently. Aemond made no answer. You froze as you felt something cold touch your bare upper chest. You peeled your eyes open, the orbs growing wide as you Aemond clasped a sapphire necklace around your neck. “Aemond…” You called in shock at the beautiful gift. Aemond took in a breath and let his fingers graze the soft skin of your shoulders, letting himself indulge and touch you in such a way.

You finally turned to your brother, a somewhat satisfied look in his eye as you marveled at his gift. There was another emotion in his eye, something that was always present but you could never decipher. “Thank you,” You sincerely said. “Anything for you, ñuha perzys,” (my fire)

He had never called you that before. He had never addressed you with such a primal and almost possessive tone. You did not know what possessed you— why you did it. Too muddled in excitement and silent wanting perhaps, but you stood at the tip of your toes as kissed his lips. A kiss that was never meant for brother and sister— a kiss that was meant for the intimacy of man and wife. Aemond took in a harsh breath as he felt plump and soft lips against his— him tasting cherry wine and feeling a delicate frame against his. When the uncertainty left Aemond, he tried to move his arms to wrap around you— to flush you tight against him, but sensibilities returned, and you backed away. Fear trickles inside you as you realize what you have done.

“I… I’m sorry… I should not have do—“ You could not word out the finality of your sentence as Aemond pulled you to him and smashed your lips. Holding you tight to him even though you tried to push him away, keeping your lips locked even though they should have never met. “Aemond,” You called as both of you gasped for air; his hold on you was tight and secure— painful even, but pain disguised itself as pleasure as you felt yourself grow in need with each passing moment you were in your brother’s arms.

“You will never be his… you’re only mine.” He stated—a promise in his eye. You gasped as you felt him tear away your dress. “You want me, yes? Say it, my fire,” He whispered, tone desperate for you. “I want you… I need you,” You muttered and sighed as his lips met with yours again. “Say that you’re mine,” Aemond ordered, as his lips flew to your neck decorated with his gift. His hands planted on your shift-covered waist, not daring to move until you uttered that you were his as much as he was yours. “All yours, Aemond— never his, only yours,” You distractedly uttered as your mind clouded with the feel of his lips on your neck. That was the assurance Aemond needed to let his hands travel your frame.

One of his strong hands gripped the flesh of your behind; the other went to your chest. Heaving and soft, the bud calling for his touch. He would have to admit, ever since womanhood struck you, he had grown tempted more than once by your tits. Especially when you have grown a fondness of wearing dresses with a lower cut, going against your mother’s orders, and proudly fashioning a neckline that exposed a tease of your bosom. A breathy moan escaped your lips as Aemond picked the bud, rolling it between his callused fingers. You’ve wanted to feel his touch for years now— deeply desired him that it started to make you grow crazed. And now to finally have him? You felt like you could come by just how his hand played with your tit and how his lips peppered kisses on your neck.

“Tell me what you want, my fire,” He whispered in the shell of your ear as he noticed you closed your legs and whines leaving your lips. “You— I want you.” You said decisively. You watch his eye grow dark, his lips twitching. “Then you shall have me,” Aemond answered. You bit your lip as another wave of need washed over you. “Tell me how you want me,” Aemond said, giving you control. Your cheeks heat at his words, “I… I want you to lie on the bed,” You said quietly, making Aemond smirk. He dipped down and quickly kissed your lips before doing as you meekly ordered.

You blushed even more as Aemond expectantly lay on your bed; you were uncertain about what you should do; you had a faint idea of what you wanted, but you lacked the courage to proceed. You gazed at him, though the most evident thing in his lilac eye was lust; you saw his encouragement through it. You swallowed your doubts and bit your lip, moving to remove your shift before him. Aemond turned rigged as you stripped the last of your clothing for him. Leaving you bare and completely exposed. You had not touched him yet, but he could not help but let out a groan of pleasure as he saw your body. You were truly carved by the gods themselves.

You kept your bite on your lip as you threaded closer to him, bare and moving to straddle him. You hear him take a breath, his eye scanning your body. “Take off your eye patch,” You said, willing your voice to sound stronger. Aemond froze, hesitant to do so. You waited for him; the silence wanted you to take back what you said. Aemond mustered his own courage and let himself be exposed to you. You were taken aback as you saw him fully, as you realized why he chose to give you a sapphire necklace. No word was uttered as you kissed him again. Kissed him until both of you grew dazed. Your hands moved to remove his tunic and unbuckle his belt. Your lips grew downward from his lips to his jaw, then to his neck, to his chest, until finally, your lips hovered over the wanting bulge in his trousers.

Aemond felt himself grow cold in anticipation; a moan slipped his lips as you placed a light kiss on the cloth-covered bulge. You gazed up at him, eyes locking, both desperate for more— you decided to end both of your torments. You pulled down his trousers and revealed his hard length, needing and seeking for your touch. You licked your lips and placed a loud kiss on the tip of his cock; already releasing a clear bead of liquid. You were satisfied as Aemond let out another moan— he was usually so quiet… you would think he’d be quiet when in pleasure as well.

Aemond shuddered as you took the tip of him in your warm mouth, your tongue circling his cock. You were barely doing anything, and he already felt the urge to release. You took in a deep breath and moved your head to take as much of his long and thick cock, your eyes watering as you could not physically fit the whole of him in your mouth. You were breathing heavily as his cock slipped out your lips, your hands moving up and down his length, coating it with wetness.

Aemond marveled at every movement you made, every flutter of your eyes, every flick of your wrist. He was certain that he was in heaven as you positioned yourself, taking his cock in between your heavy and heaving tits. Your name slipped lips, lost in utter pleasure as you fucked him with your tits. His large cock fits nicely between your ample bosom. Aemond fisted the silk sheets of your bed, his toes curling in utter pleasure as your movements fastened and as you moaned as your nipples grazed along his skin. You clenched your legs together, feeling the tightening coil of release even though it was you who was pleasuring him.

Aemond felt himself ready for release but he could not have that— not yet. You gasped as you were yanked off, Aemond switching your positions. Now, you were the one to lay beneath him. You feel him coat himself with your wetness, his cock teasing your folds. “Make me yours,” You whispered.

Aemond groaned as his cock pushed inside your— your walls already clenched and painfully wrapped around him. You feel the prickle of tears as he tore his way through you, the blood from having your maidenhead taken mixing with the wanting essence of your cunt. You let out a shuddered breath as you feel him fill you— fully inside you and the tip of his cock hitting a place that made you forget about the pain of taking him fully.

Aemond let out pleasured breaths as he tucked his head in your neck, deeply inhaling your scent and savoring the way you moaned his name and how you clung to him. Your fingernails scratching along his back, your hips moving to meet his thrusts. “I thought you innocent, sister— but look at you… you act like such a whore,” Aemond nipped your neck, leaving a mark for all to see. “Just for you… only for you,” You managed to say in between moans. Aemond let out a groan at how you declared yourself his— only his.

Aemond’s thrust grew faster; your moans grew louder as both of you sought release. Aemond removed his head from your neck and admired the whole of you under him. Your tits bounced with each and every thrust, your lips parted, and your eyes rolled back in pleasure—the sapphire necklace he gave shining from the light of the moon. Aemond let out a groan through gritted teeth as he realized your hand moved to draw circles upon your needing bud, shameless as you pleasured yourself whilst he pleasured you. “Aemond… I’m— I’m,” You instead moaned, the words not coming to you as you felt yourself ready to release.

“Scream my name when you come— let them know who you belong to,” Aemond ordered with one last thrust, you doing as he said. His name leaving your lips with the tone of nothing but sheer pleasure. Aemond gave a deep final thrust before filling you with his seed— making certain that all part of you will be his.

That night, you and Aemond slept peacefully and satisfied in each other’s arms. Waiting for morning to come for all to see that the only one you belong to— that the only one you wanted bound to you was your brother.

#targcest #aemond targaryen x female reader #smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond smut #aemond x reader #prince aemond #hotd aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond fic #aemond targaryen smut #Targaryen princess

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houserautha · 2 months

Text

These Destined Ends

Part 4

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: a striptease?, female masturbation, hints at incest/sexual abuse, mentions of killing, he fingers you at the dinner table, public humiliation aplenty

A/N: I made it exactly *checks clipboard* three parts without smut

The garment bag is composed of the finest fabric you’ve ever seen. Your pulse hammers at the thought of whatever might lay within — what could Feyd-Rautha have possibly chosen for you? You eye his usual all black garb.

Zipper cool to the touch, you glide it open, pushing aside the garment bag to reveal your present. Bile rises to your throat at the same time you feel a familiar swoop of desire in your stomach, a summation of your relationship with Feyd-Rautha so far.

The dress — if it could even be called that — shimmers seductively, black, and somehow inlaid with thousands of glittering beads. Two slim straps keep it secured, dangling, from the hanger. And there’s remarkably not much else to comment on: the straps descend daringly low, barely enough to cover your decency.

A belt encircles the middle of the dress loosely, and you can only imagine how it would withstand even the slightest of breezes without exposing you. You swallow, deliberating.

“Where is the rest?”

Feyd-Rautha reclines back in the chair. “Wife, why would I disguise your beauty with useless fabric? It would only pale in comparison.”

“I hardly believe this is acceptable dinner attire,” you point out, surprised at the coolness in your tone.

“It’s rude to refuse a gift,” Feyd-Rautha says. “Will you deny me the pleasures of gifting my wife for the first time?”

You bite your tongue to keep from lashing out. Fine, if that’s how he wanted to play.

Clearly this was his retaliation for your bold behavior, you just hadn’t expected it to come so swiftly after his arrival, or in the form of public humiliation. Normally you wouldn’t dare wear such an affront to fashion, or your sensibilities.

“Very well. I would be remiss to…deny you.” You look to Asha, who has presided over the entire interaction with wide eyes. With a smile, you say, “I would like you to undress me now.”

Her mouth opens, then snaps closed.

The upper level of the antechamber positions you higher than Feyd-Rautha, whose dark eyes have taken on the delighted glint of someone encountering a worthy opponent in the arena. Asha nervously obeys your command as you hold your arms out to your sides, allowing her to undo the difficult laces of your dress. The only sound in the room is the sound of it pooling at your feet.

“I hardly think my husband’s generous gift will allow for underclothes,” you laugh. Asha then begins removing your thin chemise from over your head. She tugs it up over her arms and your breasts slip from the fabric, leaving you entirely naked in the glow of the black sun.

Desire unfurls between your legs. You don’t even have to glance at Feyd-Rautha to know that he is fully captivated by your performance, at the sight of your naked form. In any other situation you might’ve been ashamed of your nudity; the curves you found unseemly, or the dimples of cellulite in the soft flesh of your thighs and ass.

But, beholden by the na-Baron, you were resplendent.

“The dress now, please,” you order Asha, voice breezy and carefree.

Feyd-Rautha’s gaze bores into you, sears your skin like its own personal brand. You loathe to admit that you’re actually enjoying this. Your thighs are slick with revel in your own cleverness, in wresting the control from the man determined to wield it over you.

Asha covers you with the dress, laying it gently over you — nipples hardened and skin flushed with self-admiration, in satisfaction of capturing Feyd-Rautha’s attention so wholly.

Asha moves to fasten the belt next but is interrupted. “Let me,” the na-Baron orders.

Which unspoken, is understood as: leave us. Your friend ducks her head and disappears from the antechamber. You silently thank her for closing the door behind her.

Feyd-Rautha approaches you slowly, measured in his movements. A predator reconsidering its prey.

So then why are you so eager for him to devour you?

He stands infuriatingly close to you without actually touching you, absurdly concerned with the so-called belt hanging at your waist. It vexes you that he refuses to meet your eyes, refuses to give you what you so ardently seek.

“I should strip this from you. Tear this dress from you with my teeth and bind your wrists,” he says, tugging at the belt, agonizingly composed, his breath fanning your face. “Show you exactly what you deserve for pulling a stunt like that.”

His fingers are deft as they fasten the belt. He doesn’t touch you once.

“Did you not like it?” You ask, breathless.

His proximity intoxicates you, takes you by the hand and leads you into a fathomless darkness. And yet he won’t look at you, won’t touch you, just turns simply on his heel of his boot and says over his shoulder, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

The smoldering shower water blasts between the blades of your shoulders, sluices over you and scathes your aching flesh. But it’s not enough, not a fit replacement for touch, for his touch.

Your fingers slip between your thighs and find your pleading cunt. A breathy noise escapes you, and you begin pumping your hand, no time for the attention you usually afford yourself — you’re desperate to rid yourself of this feeling, wash it away in the drain and pretend it never existed. Your release comes fast, insipid, and once your legs have stopped shaking with the effort of your touch, you wrench off the water.

And there you stand, cold and wet, cunt swollen and certainly not satisfied, but at least you can direct your thoughts from —

You slam your fist against the shower wall. Pain, leftover from Feyd-Rautha’s boot, quivers through you like a bow across the string of an instrument. How dare you let yourself become so entangled in him, in his game, in his inescapable command. You are a fool.

Quickly you towel yourself off and step back into the sorry excuse for a dress, warding off any traitorous thoughts belonging to Feyd-Rautha. You have no clue when dinner actually is but you won’t be caught shivering and spent. You apply a simple, dark makeup and leave your hair untouched, determined to set yourself separate from the rest of the Harkonnens in attendance.

And when the scents of food and the clatter of guests float through the antechamber, you take it upon yourself to join the others. You follow the din of a party, a sound you are accustomed to from your time on Caladan, and traipse into the Great Hall to find it already engaged.

The long table usually void of company is brimming with noblemen and women dressed in various shades of blacks and whites, and every single one of them turns and stares at your entrance.

Not even the strictest training can prevent the flood of embarrassment through you. It’s so prominent and all-encompassing that your entire body goes rigid with fear.

“Ah, the Lady Y/N,” a booming voice calls. “How lovely of you to join us at last.”

At the opposite end of the impossibly long Hall, the Baron lifts from the table on his suspensors and effectively stamps out any fleeting hope you had of going quietly into the night. Or perhaps dying on the spot. He hadn’t given you enough time to decide which.

“Come, take your place at my side so that you might meet your court and feast with them on this splendid occasion,” the Baron says.

Surprisingly, your limbs do work, and you somehow carry yourself past the leering eyes in your scanty dress and sit upon the only empty chair at the table. If you weren’t so completely mortified, you might’ve taken the time to glare daggers at the man beside you; Feyd-Rautha lounged regally at the right hand of the Baron. To your utter displeasure, he looked disgustingly wonderful in a dark tunic and pants, his lips reddened by the wine.

It looked a lot like blood.

“I apologize, your Baron, I had no intentions of causing a scene or demeaning your gracious invitation.”

The Baron eats in a ferocious manner best likened to a savage beast, wild and without abandon. Repulsion churns in your belly as you are forced to watch, doing your best to mask your horror as he gulps down his food in large, greedy mouthfuls. A smudge of sauce graces the corner of his unsightly mouth.

“There is no need for apologies, Lady Y/N, as long as it does not happen twice. No court is ever won over by a careless Baroness,” he says icily.

“Where were you?” Rabban asks next.

Rabban sits to the left of the Baron and across from you, fixing you with a glowering look. It’s not lost on you that he is already tormented by this, demoted to the less favorable side of the table in favor for his wicked brother, who replicates Rabban’s probing glare, no traces of awareness that he had been the exact reason for your tardiness.

“We met initially in the salon to give you time to appear. Tell us, where were you, wife? What demands did you have grander than this celebration of our upcoming union?”

Your molars might grind into dust by the end of the evening, if you survive it. You smile sweetly at him. “I suppose I was preoccupied with preparations, na-Baron. Your…gift is not easy to slip into alone.”

“However taxing, you look splendid,” the Baron says. He drains the rest of his goblet. One massive hand descends on Feyd-Rautha’s thigh, strangely intimate. “Nephew, will you fetch me more wine?”

Feyd-Rautha’s face storms over. “We have servants for that, Uncle. Besides, have Rabban do it for you. This banquet is for my benefit, after all, I should be allowed to enjoy it.”

The Baron studies him critically then, more sober than you thought possible. “Very well. Rabban?”

The mountainous man snatches the goblet from his uncle and vanishes to find a servant. You’re prompted to heap some of the food on your plate then, disconcerted by the lingering hand of the Baron and Feyd-Rautha’s obvious resentment.

Dinner passes without a hitch, your tardiness smoothed over by your status as the future Baroness. A small grace for such a tremendous burden.

You entertain the guests with stories of Arrakis and spice production, fielding their endless questions with as much charm and elegance as you can muster. And, frankly, it’s not as horribly daunting or tedious as you feared it to be.

The last course is coming to an end when a man strides up to the Baron with an expression of self-importance. He’s dressed similarly to the other Harkonnen guards but there’s something different about him — where the Harkonnens you know are arrogant about their strength, he hides it well. You immediately start to eavesdrop.

“The Emperor needs you for an urgent matter,” the strange man whispers into the Baron’s ear.

The Baron nods as if he’s been expecting this, and then without a word abandons his feast and glides after the man.

Feyd-Rautha had been surveying the party when you ask him, “What urgent matter?”

He sips his wine. “I don’t know.”

Ha, you think, he had been eavesdropping too. You frown. “He didn’t tell you?”

“My uncle does not tell me everything,” Feyd-Rautha replies. There’s a trace of anger in his voice, but it’s difficult to tell whether it’s pointed at you or the Baron.

Either way, this irritates you. You decide to provoke the beast. “What, like you don’t tell me when our engagement dinner is?”

Feyd-Rautha’s gaze cuts to you. “You’re upset.”

“Yes I’m upset,” you hiss. “I thought I warned you not to humiliate me again. Tonight was inexcusable, you filthy —”

“Ah, careful, wife. You must mind your words before our court. And my oafish brother.” He indicates Rabban with a slight incline of his head. You spot the older Harkonnen approaching with quite the entourage and you scowl. “Don’t make that face. Remember, this is a joyous occasion.”

“How could I forget?” You mutter miserably.

At your side, Feyd-Rautha is a study in beauty. Not in the classical sense, of course, but that of something devastatingly cruel and dangerous, the glint of a newly sharpened blade or the ocean during a storm. Breathtaking, in both senses. Unwittingly, you trace the slope of his brow, his handsome nose, the cushion of his plush lips, and you feel the familiar flicker of attraction.

“Where were you?” Feyd-Rautha asks without looking at you, still watching the party.

“Hm?” Did he know you were studying him? “What did you say?”

“I asked where you were. Before.”

“Oh.” There’s something in his voice that suggests that he knows exactly what you were doing. Your moment in the shower emerges unbidden in your mind, of your hand between your legs and his name in your mouth. You answer as flippant as possible, “I was waiting for you.”

Feyd-Rautha finally sets down his goblet. Rabban is taking his time returning, regaling his entourage with an undoubtedly riveting story, so the na-Baron must feel secure in your privacy.

“You forget that those are my quarters too, wife, and the walls are very thin.”

Shame creeps up your throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, is that right?” Feyd-Rautha grabs the bottom of your chair and pulls you closer to him. Any outside observer would simply think you’re having a regular conversation, which you suppose is the point, but there’s nothing regular about the way he slides his hand across your thigh and dips down to your heat. “Then I didn’t hear you touching yourself, whimpering and pleading for me? For my fingers? My cock?”

“I thought I was —”

“Alone?” He clicks his tongue. “If you didn’t intend for me to hear, then should I not give you exactly what you were begging for?”

It’s only too easy for him to nudge your dress aside and acquaint himself with your cunt, slide his fingers along your swollen lips and tease your entrance. You inhale sharply, without permission. He takes that as an invitation to delve a finger into your slick cunt.

“Feyd —”

“Tell me you don’t want it.”

You swallow, throat working. Rabban is finishing his story, evident by his boisterous laugh and then beckoning his entourage to the table. Feyd-Rautha keeps one finger inside you, unmoving, a sensation unfolding within you that you certainly won’t be able to ignore.

The rest of his hand cups between your thighs, a reminder to you, as long as you yield to him.

“Just say the words, and I won’t,” Feyd-Rautha says, his lips on the shell of your ear.

You’re frozen in indecision. When Rabban rejoins you, you’re sure that Feyd-Rautha will revoke his teasing hand. But instead he rocks his palm against you and drives his finger, then another, deeper inside you with dizzying ferocity.

You grip the edges of the chair, the force of his fingers cleaving through you, invoking a wave of pleasure that ripples throughout your body. It takes everything in you not to cry out.

“Brother, you remember my friends,” Rabban says. His cheeks are reddened by the spice-laden alcohol and he is oblivious to what’s occurring underneath the table. “Uriens and Ze’ev.”

Feyd-Rautha says smoothly, “Of course.”

“Uriens, Ze’ev, this is the Lady Y/N,” Rabban introduces you. He indicates each friend in turn — Uriens, a man of notable stature but a blank gaze, and Ze’ev, slightly smaller and sporting a sneer.

You dip your head and hope it’s enough to count as a greeting. You don’t trust your voice, not with Feyd-Rautha’s ministrations. Your cunt pulses with each one, clamping down on him, even the slightest of withdrawals enough to ruin you. Fortunately for you, or not, Feyd-Rautha shows no interest in stopping, curling his fingers in and out of you with agonizing precision.

“We wanted to speak to you about tomorrow, actually,” Uriens says.

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes narrow. “What about it?”

“What —oh! What’s tomorrow?” You ask. As soon as you speak, Feyd-Rautha pushes another finger in to join the others, spurring your body to jerk in response. You suppress a shudder.

Uriens, Ze’ev, and Rabban look too intent to notice your falter. Uriens explains, albeit with less enthusiasm, “We want to partake.”

Feyd-Rautha’s jaw flexes. His pace slows as he considers this request, and it’s almost more torturous than his persistent thrusts.

“No,” he finally says.

Rabban’s face darkens with anger. “Why not?”

“Traditionally those who partake do so because they are interested in the hand of the wife.” His tone veers dangerously close to a growl. “Are you telling me that you wish to take her from me?”

Uriens eyes widen. “No, na-Baron, we —”

“We understand the ceremony is purely customary. We ask only for a chance to partake in the revelry,” Ze’ev cuts in.

“There is no killing,” Feyd-Rautha says.

Uriens and Ze’ev nod. “Yes, na-Baron.”

“Then I don’t see why you shouldn’t partake.”

You bite back a moan as Feyd-Rautha then resumes his ministrations. You ask, “What’s tomorrow?”

You’re impressed that you manage to keep your voice even.

The Harkonnens exchange glances as if they’re reluctant to answer you. The slight one, Ze’ev, says, “Dessid aperr. The Crucible.”

“It doesn’t concern you,” Feyd-Rautha says.

Your indignation overcomes your pleasure, and you glare at him. “It does if my hand in marriage is being fought over.”

“The Crucible is a ceremony dating back to Emperor Shakkad the Wise,” Uriens eagerly says, jumping to please you. “When a Harkonnnen of noble standing is to be wed, they will engage in a battle against the other noblemen for the hand of the bride. To ensure that the strongest bonds are forged.”

Feyd-Rautha pumps his hand violently against you, and you feel your orgasm building. You grip the chair even harder. “I would like to partake.”

“The brides are not permitted to watch,” Uriens says. Rabban and Ze’ev both glare at him.

“I don’t want to watch. I want to fight.”

“Absolutely not,” Feyd-Rautha rasps.

“Why not?” You ask. You hope the breathy sound of your voice comes across as petulant and not aroused.

Rabban answers, “That’s how it’s always been.”

Feyd-Rautha glances at you. He must know that you’re close, can feel it in the way that you clamp around him. “Wife, is that what you want? Tell me.”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer.

He says, “Tell me that you want it.”

“I want it,” you breathe out, both of you aware of what he’s actually referencing.

More words form on your tongue but you’re unable to say it — your pleasure mounts as Feyd-Rautha buries his fingers inside you with swift finality and your orgasm seizes you. It’s white-hot and dazzling as it tears through you, walls contracting, his fingers stroking you to the end. A shudder racks through you.

Pulse hammering and your thighs trembling, Feyd-Rautha withdraws his fingers. He rises abruptly to his feet. Horror dawns on you as he then pushes his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean. Without so much as glancing back at you, Feyd-Rautha says, “Very well. Don’t be late this time.”

You stare after him. The aftershocks of your orgasm rumble through you — you can’t believe that he just did that then left you to deal with the aftermath. Uriens and Ze’ev stare at you in equal parts confusion and shock, while Rabban sneers at you, seemingly more aware than you thought.

You clear your throat. “Well, that’s been settled.”

“Something has been settled,” Rabban replies. His expression is nearly impossible to read, but the comment makes your cheeks heat up.

“You hold considerable sway over the na-Baron,” Ze’ev says.

You stand, smoothing down your dress and trying to maintain some semblance of composure. It’s difficult when your thighs are still slick, the memory of his fingers imprinted in your mind.

“I will be the na-Baroness,” you remind Ze’ev. “I hold considerable sway over everyone here.”

And with that you leave without excusing yourself, feeling the burn of their gazes on your back. It’s suddenly too warm in the Great Hall for you, the sweaty, lingering bodies suffocating. You’re not quite sure where you’re going. Certainly not after Feyd-Rautha. Though you can’t stop the way that your heart skips hopefully when you feel a hand grab your arm.

“What are you doing?” Asha hisses, spinning you around. “The party isn’t over.”

Post-orgasm clarity is eluding you. You shake your head. “I know, but —”

“Also, what was that shit earlier?” Asha asks. She adjusts her hold on a tray laden with champagne glasses. “There was some weird tension in that room. Don’t involve me in your weird — whatever, with the na-Baron again. Do you hear me?”

You nod stupidly, although you’re not entirely sure it’s a promise you can make.

Asha studies you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “But I’m going to retire to my quarters. Can you cover for me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Asha says, obviously not convinced.

You huff out a breath. “I’m going to need the rest if I’m participating in the Crucible tomorrow.”

Asha nearly drops the serving tray. “The what?”

“I’ve been invited,” you say, which is also a lie.

“What?” Asha presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. “What is wrong with you, Y/N?”

To avoid her gaze, you take to scanning the party. You know perfectly well what’s wrong with you and you’re searching for his face even now, despite the fact that he’s the last person you want to see. You sigh. “I wish I could tell you.”

Part 5

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