#but it’s more hands-on work than desk work which i think is more where i want to be work-wise rn

[warmblanketwhump]

after

cw: brief description of illness-related weight loss and a near-death illness experience

“Where’s B?” A hangs their coat on the hook and kicks off their work boots, moving closer to stand by the stove.

“In bed. Wanted to rest before dinner.” C’s bent over the table, a spread of papers and documents covering the surface.

“Let me guess. They tried to do too much today and wore themselves out.”

“What do you think?” C looks up from the desk, glasses perched on their nose. “I found them dead on their feet in the kitchen, blanket wrapped around their shoulders, trying to do the dishes. Had to practically carry them upstairs.”

It’s not a suprise, but it still makes A’s heart squeeze a bit. A few weeks ago, B had caught a bad cold which turned to pneumonia. For two weeks it had been touch and go, and though B had made it through the worst of the illness had passed, it had still left B weak, gaunt, and pale.

They weren’t bedridden any more, but they tired easily. The dark bruises still painted the skin under their eyes, and they were frequently chilled by the drafty winter air. A could tell they were so much thinner than they used to be, and they shuffled around like it hurt to move.

Yet still, B pushed themselves to do things, and A hated it.

“I’ll go up and check on them, see how they are.”

“Be gentle. You know they don’t like it when you tell them what they ought not to be doing,” C warned.

“Then they ought not to do it,” A called over their shoulders as they headed upstairs.

—————

B’s just waking up when they see A gazing at them from the door, a haunted look on their face.

“Don’t look at me like that.” B shrinks into the covers like a turtle retreating to its shell as A enters the bedroom.

“Like what?” A crosses the room to stir the fire in the stove.

“Like I’ll vanish if the breeze blows too hard.”

“B, you’re hardly more than skin and bones—I think I get to be concerned.”

B reflexively wraps their arms around their midsection, trying not to wince at being able to feel each rib. For weeks, they’d been so nauseous and delirious that all they could manage was a few sips of broth at a time. They were already lean to begin with—now, they could count bones they didn’t realize they had. Everything about them felt frail, shaky, insubstantial—so incredibly weak. They could hardly stand to catch glimpses of themselves in the mirror.

B stiffens as a shiver wracks their body—they can’t seem to stop shivering these days, a side effect of having no insulation and the persistent, low-grade fever the doctor said could remain for months afterward.

“Cold?”

B tugs the blanket tighter, willing it to warm their chilled body. “I’ll manage.”

A slowly closes in on B’s bed and takes a seat on the edge, putting a hand on B’s shoulder. B hates the feeling of someone so solid, warm, vital against their own frail body—a reminder of what they’re not. “I know the doctor said not to worry.”

“I’m getting better,” B insists.

“Yes, you are. But the keyword is getting better. And it’s going to take so much longer if you don’t pace yourself.”

B flinches at the words as if A hit them. “I know what I need.”

“I don’t know if you do—“

“See, I knew this would happen.” B’s voice cracks on the words. “You can’t just let me be. You have to tell me what I’m doing wrong, when you don’t know the first thing about what it means to lose your ability to do anything.”

“Because you won’t stop.” A’s voice is tight. “You push yourself and act like nothing happened, like you didn’t almost die—“

“You think I don’t know that?” B’s voice elevates. “You think I don’t feel the effects of what it did to me?”

“You know, but you won’t give yourself the chance to—“

“To hell with what you think you know. It didn’t happen to you—it happened to me!” B jackknifes to a sitting position, unable to hold themselves back.

“And I had to watch it happen!” A’s voice raises a degree, and they shoot off the bed, pacing before whirling back to face B. “You have no idea what it was like to see you half-mad with fever, thrashing about while we held you down and tried to cool you down while you screamed, or to hold you in my arms while you shook and you sobbed because you were so cold, or to hear you fight for every breath and beg the heavens for you to take just one more, all while being terrified you wouldn’t.”

The words hit B square in the chest. They thought you would die. A’s eyes are glassy, and B doesn’t know what to say, how to respond to something like that, and they take a deep breath to center themselves—

—only to be cut off as a coughing fit wracks their frame. They cough so long they see stars, but then they feel it—the warm, solid hand they hate so much on their back, rubbing soothing circles.

They couldn’t shake off the hand if they tried.

After it ends, B slumps back into the nest of pillows, breathing hard, chest aching from the exertion. “I hate this.”

“I know.” A’s whisper is soft. And it should make B mad, A thinking they know anything, but it doesn’t.

They sit in silence for several minutes, the anger fizzling out of both of them.

“Were you really that scared?” B says, when their breath stabilizes enough to speak.

“Yes.” A’s voice is quieter still, and B can catch the glint of the unshed tears in their eyes.

They’re quiet for much longer, and A speaks again.

“I just….I see you, and I just want to make everything okay for you and I can’t,” A says, voice cracking, a tear slipping out that’s quickly wiped away with a sleeve.

“That’s not your job, A. I’m not how I used to be, and I don’t know how to go back or if I even can,” B says, staring at the ceiling. “I can barely catch my breath, I’m always freezing, I look like a skeleton, and I can’t do anything without being exhausted. And it doesn’t make it better when you’re hovering over me, telling me I can’t do things when I already know.”

“I know.” A heaves a sigh. “And I’m sorry. I made it about me and my stuff instead of caring about you and I….I haven’t handled this well. None of it.”

“No, you haven’t.” B can’t stop the snarky retort that sneaks off their lips, and A’s mouth twitches with the faintest of smiles.

“Just…please. Know that we don’t expect you to be up and at it all of a sudden. Or ever. You don’t have to push yourself for our sakes.”

B sighs. “I know. And I’m sorry, scaring you like that.”

A takes in a shaky breath, and for the first time in the dim evening light, B can see that A’s a little rougher around the edges too—sleepless shadows under their eyes, hair that’s mussed and out of place, and a thousand -yard stare that wasn’t there before B got sick.

“Are you okay, A?”

A pauses for a moment. “Sleeping has been…hard. We were up most nights with you, C and I, for a long time, and even when you started getting better…” A shakes their head, as if to clear the cobwebs. “It’s like my body’s always trying to stay alert, in case you…in case something happens.”

B can’t even make a joke about that.

“Sometimes I’ll just…sit at your door and make sure you’re still breathing.”

“Okay, that’s weird.” B chucks a pillow at A, trying to shatter the heaviness around what A just confessed. To their credit, A yelps, and when B laughs, A smiles.

“But also sweet. And a little unhinged. Maybe both.” B says, propping themselves up on their elbows. “So what do you say if we both just give ourselves some time?”

A nods. “Some time.”

“Good.” B slumps down. “Now, that conversation took all the energy reserves I was saving for dinner, so I need another nap. You planning to take one with me, or are you going to watch me in my sleep again?”

“I think I can handle a nap,” A says, allowing themselves to tip over onto the covers.

When dinner time comes, it’s C who finds the pair fast asleep and curled into one another, A’s hand on B’s chest as they breathe the deep, even breaths of sleep.

[genericpuff]

When it comes to a drawing tablet do you recommend a beginner get one with a screen or one without specifically for webcomics?

So what you use the tablet for ultimately doesn't matter. Webcomics, illustration, animation, they're just different expressions of the same overall skillset. I've gone from using desk tablets to screen tablets and then back to desk tablets again. My current setup is a Huion Inspiroy Giano which is a very large desk tablet (no screen) with a Huion Kamvas 22 Plus as my display (screen).

(hi jim lol)

Now this obviously seems INCREDIBLY redundant but the reason why it's like that is because I used to use the Huion Kamvas 22 Plus as my screen tablet... until the pen input stopped working :)""" But it still works perfectly fine as a display! When I was shopping around for new drawing tablets though, I wasn't sure if I wanted to take the financial risk on another screen tablet. The Huions are a lot cheaper than the Wacom models which is great for people looking for inexpensive options, but if it meant I'd have to replace my screen tablets more often than my old Wacom Cintiq, then it wasn't gonna be worth it (but I didn't want to dump $2k on a tablet again LOL)

So I wound up getting a desk tablet instead! I had used Wacom desk tablets a lot prior to screens, and while it had been a few years, I re-adjusted in no time. The Huion Inspiroy Giano is, so far, a very reliable tablet. It just connects with a USB, no crazy 3-in-1 cables like the screen displays. It satisfies my need for a large tablet (seriously, if I can offer any piece of advice in regards to tablets, size does often matter because if a tablet is too small you'll be over-relying on your wrist for motions which isn't good for line integrity or your hand health!!!!) but it didn't break my budget like the Wacom tablets (and didn't feel as risky as buying another Kamvas 22 Plus after what happened the last time).

The only downside to it is that it has a bit of a rough surface to it which I find does a lot of initial wearing down on the nibs. I mean fr look at this thing-

And that will happen after only like, a few hours of use LOL that said, I've been using this nib for like 2 months now and it hasn't worn down more than that, so if you don't mind your nibs having a visible slant to them, it really doesn't cause any other issues.

That said, I've only had this tablet for about half a year now. I also used to sing praises for the Kamvas 22 Plus until it suddenly decided it wasn't going to work anymore without explanation, so... take my review of the Inspiroy Giano with grains of salt. At least though if this thing mysteriously stops working like the Kamvas did, I'll only have to pay $200-$300 to replace it vs. the Kamvas' $700+. It's still not a small amount of money, but it pays itself off quickly (and it's a lot cheaper compared to the equivalent Intuos Pro line from Wacom, which costs upwards of $500+ for a decently sized one).

Screen tablets are definitely helpful to have though, and I wouldn't object to returning to the screen displays once I can justify dropping money on one again. I still use a screen display on the go via my iPad Pro. But I don't think desk tablets should be taken for granted as a perfectly viable tool either, I think the initial learning curve tends to intimidate people a lot, but they're really quite comfortable to use once you adjust to the translation of desk tablet to monitor. You can also adjust the screen settings through the tablet driver anyways, which is what I did for my tablet because it was a little too big in spots where I had to reach really far to get to the color wheel tab on the right... so I just reduced the screen ratio to make up for it :)

I find once you learn how to use both - and learn your foundations in digital art - the desk tablet vs. screen tablet debate just boils down to personal preference rather than any real difference in what they can do for your art. I've drawn stuff like Rekindled on screen displays, desk tablets, iPads, etc. You might try a desk tablet and not like it after a while (though again, with the initial skill ceiling of adjusting to it, give it a few weeks of trying if you can, you will not immediately get used to it overnight!!!) and decide that screen tablets are more up your alley.

It really depends on what you're wanting to pay for a tablet. Though like with any new skillset that you're just getting into, I wouldn't recommend dropping money on the most expensive tool because ultimately the differences between expensive and cheap aren't going to be noticeable to you until you actually learn the skill itself, and it's not uncommon at all for people to pick up a new skill, shell out shitloads to learn it, and then get discouraged when it takes a while and makes the expense feel like a waste. Those higher end tablets are often more suited for professionals, not because they're "only meant for pros", but because pros will be able to fully utilize all their upper-skill features in a way a newbie who's still learning how to use a desk tablet won't.

Thankfully, it's easier than ever to get an affordable tablet that's easy to learn and Wacom is no longer the "only option", so I highly recommend looking into brands like Huion, XP-Pen, and Gaomon, as they offer very inexpensive tablets with a wide array of options from desk tablets to screen displays. Make sure you do your research on them, check out places like reddit for actual human reviews, note that every brand and tablet will come with their pros and cons, so it's really just about weighing out what you feel will work best for you and what you're trying to achieve!

And of course, if you're looking to draw comics specifically, look into Clip Studio Paint! It goes on sale at least twice a year, the PRO version is literally all you need to get started (EX comes with some helpful features like Teamwork, but like those fancy high end tablets, they won't necessarily be useful to someone who's just starting out). The PRO version comes with all the rulers, panel cutters, text tools, etc. that you need to get into making comics, it's a great piece of software !!!

I hope that helps!!! Best of luck!! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

[complexedandfruity]

another day, another phone interview 🤪

[cosmosis]

based on this image from @fr3akingtf0utrn

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - office life

how miguel o’hara slowly makes you fall for him check out my miguel o’hara masterlist here!

Miguel O’Hara doesn’t fall in love with just anyone.

But... every time he sees you around the office, his hands almost inch towards you like a moth would a light. Something ignites in him that he can’t explain, but he can’t help but want so much more of you. 

He likes to give you bagels and coffee during your breaks. (haha) Your work almost seems to magically disappear, and you’re a lot of the time left to finish up the easy stuff. Somehow, he’s even managed to sit with you for lunch, the rest of the spider-people in the cafeteria staring at the two of you while you eat. 

The entire building, all of the spider-people seem to know the happenings between you and Miguel, and they love it. It’s become somewhat a staple gossip within the workplace.  

Anyone bold enough would pass by Miguel in the hallways and say, “We’re rootin for you, boss!” In which Miguel wouldn’t know how to feel, whether it’d be angry or happy. 

As of now, the two of you have been flirting around, evidently more than just coworkers. He’s yours, and you are his. To you, though, he’s the absolute sweetest. He takes work off your plate, he’s kind, and he adores you. 

You’ve noticed Miguel getting a bit touchy lately, which you aren’t necessarily complaining about. Whether it’d be on your arm, a gentle hand on your neck to guide you through a crowd, or just being generally close to you, Miguel has been making his advances on you after Lyla spilled how it should be fine to do. 

His touch makes you shiver a little; he’s extra warm and so very gentle. You almost always lean into his touch, and Miguel loves it too, he just doesn’t admit it upfront. 

“You did great today, Miguel.“ You say. 

Both you and Miguel just headed back to Nueva York from a mission, taking out another stray anomaly that wouldn’t come without a fight.

 Miguel’s stomach flutters a little. Rarely, he ever gets praised by anyone. He’s the boss, the CEO; most of the time, he feels like it’s expected of him to do the best job. But, praise tastes much more sweeter when it comes from you. 

“You did well yourself, sweetie.“

Miguel’s mask dissolves away, leaving behind his pretty face. You don’t think you’d ever get tired of it. He gives you this look of adoration, one that the rest of the office has never, ever seen in person. 

You’re in Miguel’s office, well, more like your shared office. Miguel insisted that you’d move into his office, claiming, “I don’t want to go through the entire building just to find you for something.” which is code for, “I can’t live a day without being near you.” 

So now, you have your own desk and work area. You’re both alone, no one to bother, (except maybe Lyla, but she knows better.)

You’re at your desk, and Miguel steps up behind you. His big hand slithers to your lower back, running his fingers against the curve of your spine. He’s warm, you can still feel the heat radiating off of him from the previous mission. 

You feel him lean in, discreetly nosing his face into the top of your head. You lean in back, bumping your upper back into his chest. 

“Is this okay?“ Miguel mumbles, serious heat trailing up to his neck and ears. 

You nod. “Yes.”

And it was sealed from there. 

Now, Miguel rubs your back too often. His hand fits into place with your back like a puzzle piece, Miguel always finding some kind of way to lay his hand where it belongs. You love it. 

In the office? Yes.

During lunch? Yes.

Even on missions, he pulls you by your lower back to usher you away from a hit, and you both play around with that. He’s all fun and games when on missions, flirting, teasing, kissing. 

Now, it almost feels wrong when he isn’t touching you. 

. . .

“Hey, girl, look at this!“ 

Lyla pops in, automatically pulling up an internet article on your desk screen. It’s a web article; “The Science Behind Courtship in Male Spiders”

“Lyla, what does this have to do with anything?“ You ask.

Instead, she just scrolls into the article, highlighting a quote; male spiders give “back rubs” to seduce their mates. 

You raise your eyebrow. 

“You wanna know why Miguel’s been rubbing you so much? It’s cause of that!“ Lyla exclaims, as if she’s discovered this new scientific theory. 

“I guess you’re kinda right on that.“ You mutter. But, the more you start to think about it, the more it makes sense.  

Now every time Miguel palms your back, you think about the article. 

© 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔.

[ilsanslut]

꒷♡꒷ STRESS RELIEF!

♰ featuring: wriothesley [genshin impact]

♰ note: i’m in heat and all i can think about is a stressed and tired wriothesley eating out his pretty gf from the back to relieve his tension.

sypnosis: get you a man who will drown in your pussy and call it “stress relief”! wc: 2.6k content/trigger warning(s): 18+. smut. femme/female bodied!reader. messy pussy-eating. dominant/feral!wriothesley. marking. biting. spanking. squirting. cursing. hand-holding. groping. hair pulling. ꒷꒦

It was almost as though Wriothesley was being crushed under the constant pressure of his job as the warden within the shadowy confines of the Fortress of Meropide. The burden of his obligations bore down on him like the merciless force of the sea that imprisoned them all within the stronghold. When a problem arose or strife broke out among the prisoners, he was the one they all turned to for help. Today, on the other hand, appeared to be the day that he would be pushed to his breaking point. There was a mountain of paperwork that was piled high on top of his desk and seemed to never end; the pipes seemed to trickle and leak indefinitely, necessitating constant repair; the elevators are out of commission for maintenance, forcing everyone to use the forgotten, decrepit, and mildew-smelling stairwell; and, to top it all off, there is a 'Credit Coupon' thief swiping people's credits beneath their noses. And, not to mention, he had been so backed up with dealing with everyone else’s problems that he had already missed his afternoon tea.

Anyone near could feel the ominous aura radiating off of the iron doors of his office.

Though, amidst the chaos and tension, one beacon of solace shone through—you. His light in the darkness. The one thing keeping him sane.

Your warm smile and unwavering support were the calming forces that held the key to unlocking his cold heart. He craved the comforting words you spoke, the softness of your touch, and the calm you provided amidst the chaos of everyday life. You turned into a haven for him—a haven from the relentless pressure that felt like it would swallow him.

Which is exactly why you weren’t surprised when a guard came to you while you were aiding Sigewinne with a patient, informing you that the Duke requested your presence in his office immediately. Lunch was usually shared by the two of you, but you expected that he would be too overwhelmed with work to remember to eat, let alone take a break, given everything he has been going through. The two guards outside his office gave you a pitying glance as you got closer, understanding that things were not good. Nevertheless, they let you cross the bridge and into his office. You went in, and the first thing you saw was Wriothesley sitting on the bottom two steps, as if he were waiting for you. You noticed that his tie was unkempt, his jacket was completely abandoned, and his hair had a disheveled tousle that suggested he had either been tugging or running his hands through it for at least a while. That, and it was impossible to ignore the worn-out look in his faded hues.

But as soon as your eyes met, his worn-out expression changed to something strange but familiar—something you had seen on many sultry nights spent by yourself with him in the past. His eyes were fixed on you, freezing you in place with an indisputable lust, a carnal hunger, and a burning desire. Pushing himself up from the steps, he moved toward you with calculated, deliberate steps, each one more heavy than the last, like a beast cornering its prey, his heavy steel boots clinking against the copper floors. Soon, he was towering over you, hands twitching at his sides as though he were refraining from tearing you apart where you stood.

“You look good.” You blurted, swallowing thickly in your throat, as you were cornered against the heavy steel of his office’s door.

He chuckled, throaty and sultry, as his hand met your waist, the other one coming to rest it’s forearm above your head as he caged you between the door and his muscular frame, “Yeah?”

His casual drawl had your knees going weak, threatening to buckle beneath you while his thumb rubbed slow, salacious circles into your hip. “I think I’ve been better.”

You shrugged nonchalantly with an indifferent hum, raising your hands to trail absentminedly over his large chest that bulged through his dress shirt, finally coming to toy with his tie. “Mhm. You missed lunch today, you know.”

“Did I?” His voice was husky—deep, the subtle rumble of his baritone voice going straight to your core causing your thighs to squeeze against one another—an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Wriothesley, who’s palms grew hungry on you, manuvering behind you to grope thick handfuls of your rear shamelessly. “I’ve been so swamped with work that it must’ve slipped my mind. But . . . I’m sure you understand, right, baby?” His arm that was poised above your head lowered, his partially gloved thumb stroking at the supple flesh of your cheek. “Why don’t you let me make it up to you, yeah? . . . I have an idea that will make us both happy.”

You had an idea as to what he was alluding to, but nonetheless, you nodded with a hum of agreement. This made Wriothesley smirk in response, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so that he may lean in and press a kiss to your temple.

“Turn around.”

His dominant undertone left little room for argument as you did what he asked, turning around so that you were facing the metal door of his office. Without another moment's hesitation, you felt yourself pushed against it, your body pinned against Wriothesley's heated form with your cheek smushed against the cold metal face of the door. His body pressed firmly against yours, and you felt something unmistakable grinding into your ass, all the while his sharp canines drug themselves up your neck, a silent warning to stay put.

And you did.

Hot, sloppy kisses trailed themselves down the back of your neck as greedy palms groped and squeezed at your body wherever they could reach—almost as though they were attempting to alleviate tension with every heated touch. Sensing his descent, you eventually heard him drop to his knees behind you, his gloved hands reaching up to lift your skirt and turn it over to expose your plump, pliant rear. A growl, something animalistic and ravenous, came from the back of his throat, and one of those large palms rose for a split second before slapping your right cheek, making you squeal and making Wriothesley laugh.

“Careful, Y/N.” He chided, using his palms to massage the abused flesh as an imprint of his hand—ringed fingers and all—slowly began to appear on your ass. “This door may be thick, but this chamber echos. You don’t want the guards and—Gods know who else—hearing you on the other side, do you~?”

You felt your face heat up against the frigid door’s surface, now acutely aware of the silence on the other side, which meant his guards were now undoubtedly listening. Nonetheless, you nodded, casting a shy glance over your shoulder to your lover, who was already gazing up at you with half-lidded eyes and that salacious smirk on his face that just made your knees go weak and your folds gush with arousal.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that though,” He stated nonchalantly, leaning over to press a soft kiss against your ass as sinful digits reached up to peel your already soaked panties down your thighs until they pooled at your ankles. Wriothesley groaned inwardly, his pupils blown, as he used his thumbs to spread you apart in all your glory, admiring how your folds glistened in the dim lights of the lower floor of his office. “*I can’t promise that I’ll be going easy on you either, baby.”

Without saying another word, his hands reached out and took firm hold of both your cheeks, spreading them wide before plunging straight into your dripping folds. Immediately, your knees were buckling beneath you as a pleasured mewl escaped your lips, your nails dragging against the metal surface in an attempt to find purchase. With his hands leaving your ass to wrap around the front of your thighs, his tongue was unrelenting as it ruthlessly claimed every inch of your pussy to himself, drawing you closer to him so he could continue to devour you. His tongue was hot, heavy, and drooling as it spread you wide open, encircling your clit, and slurping up whatever delicious goodness you had to offer. His nose pressed deep into your wetness, drowning in your depths, but he did not seem to care in the slightest. He wanted more—craved more—and one thing about Wriothesley was that he was a man who got what he wanted.

His tongue and ravenous lips wrapped around your tender nub and sucked away like a starving man enjoying the sweetest nectar of life, leaving you a moaning mess above him and unable to stop your hips from moving on their own as you practically fucked yourself against his face. You didn’t care if the guards—or anyone else, for that matter—heard you. All you could focus on was how his sweltering and deft mouth had you practically creaming onto his selfish brims already.

“Wrio~!” You keened, nearly losing your footing had it not been for Wriothesley keeping you firmly in place by his grip. “I-I can’t! I-It’s too much!” You whimpered just as another cry drew from your lips from a jolt of pleasure from your nethers.

In response, you felt another sharp spank rain down on your ass, and Wriothesley finally withdrew, but only so that he could snarl out, “You can and you will. Fucking take it, Y/N.” He was breathless, panting—truly, a man starved in his most primal state.

He pulled away momentarily, strings of your arousal clinging to the lower half of his face, which was glistening in your translucent juices, to turn to your inner thighs. His jaw widened before clamping down harshly on your once supple flesh, biting and sucking the blood to it’s surface to leave furious marks in his wake.

“Wriothesley!” You wept with delight and surprise at the lewd action that made your folds rub together, and you were unable to ignore the disgustingly lewd squelching sound that came from your cunt.

He repeated the same action, this time on your ass cheek, taking the pliant flesh between his teeth and delivering yet another primal bite to your soft skin, effectively marking you. “Shit, Y/N.” His heated breath wafted over your clit, making you clench around nothing as he huffed and panted like a mutt against your thigh, an action that your attentive lover obviously noticed. “The things you do to me . . .~”

Without saying anything more, he plunged back into you, even more intense than before. With his deft fingers reaching around your front and rubbing quick, merciless circles onto your clit, he was aiming at his sole target, your sopping hole. Pushing his tongue in and out of your wetness, he slurped every last drop of your sweet juices onto his tongue. He was milking you like a machine—using your clit as the trigger to release more and more of your translucent fluids onto his tongue, which he rapaciously gluped down. All the while, your toes curled in your shoes, and as every one of his hot, heavy pants exhaled through his nose, you were able to feel it against your pretty asshole.

“Wrio, wrio, baby, please! R-Right there, I-I’m gonna . .” Your hasty pleas were cut off, your hand reaching back to tangle itself into your boyfriend’s smokey locks, holding him in place as you basically rode his tongue.

You felt him chuckling against your folds before you heard him, unable to stop the sharp cry that escaped you from the sudden vibration. His hand left your clit, however, it was soon replaced with his mouth in favor of meeting your hand with his own. He pried your death grip from his locks, intertwining his fingers with your own as his head shook back and forth between your thighs. His lips suckled away at you in such an unforgiving way that it made your head spin and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Anyone within the immediate vicinity could definitely hear the unabashed slurping and squleching sounds emanating from his efforts as they reverberated through his office's chambers.

He took your hand in his and massaged calming circles around your knuckles until you finally came undone in front of him, unable to contain your overwhelming euphoria. A series of cries and mewls left your lips, leaving you breathless as your juices came flooding out of you, drenching your lover’s face and attire in a torrent, which he happily gulped down. Had it not been for his grip on your frame, you most definitely would’ve collapsed, but he held you firmly against him, even using his face to support your weight at one point like your own personal seat—because it was. After all, he was yours just as much as you were his, and he’d be damned if anything tried to change that.

His hurried movements subsided during your high, his tongue now languidly stroking your folds to carry you through your blissful daze; still, you could not control your hips from lurching each time he touched your tender, pulsating nub. Before long, he began to back off, giving you some leverage and giving himself space to finally breathe. His hot breath wafted against your behind, his chest rising and falling with each breath, finally being kind enough to himself to give him the sweet, sweet oxygen his lungs had been begging for.

Slowly, he rose from behind you, your half-lidded gaze meeting his own through the tears that formed on your lash line, which he wiped away with a swipe of his thumb.

“Y’still with me, pretty?” He whispered in a honeyed drawl, placing a soft kiss against your shoulder as the hand that was holding your own moved to your bicep to rub soothing circles along your arm.

You nodded, albeit weakly, still recovering from the mind-shattering orgasm he had just put you through.

“Y’feel better now, Wrio?”

He responded with a hearty chuckle, rolling his neck in a tantilizing way that exposed his throbbing Adam’s apple and scarred throat. His gaze met your own again, this time with a familiar spark burning behind his dusky hues, “Ahh, a’litte bit.”

He leaned over you once again, his forearm resting above your head as his chest pressed against your back. You gasped, your hips jolting as you felt his rock-hard bulge pressing against you, just barely managing to graze your sopping folds.

“Still feeling a little ‘tense’ here . . . but you’d be willing to help me out,” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. Although you couldn’t see him, you could practically feel the smirk beaming from his stupidly handsome face.

“Right, baby?”

Oh, he was going to be the death of you someday.

ⓒ vampiie 2024 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work to tiktok or any other site.

[luveline]

hotch's sister x spencer where hotch notices she's wearing spencer's clothes?

—You and Spencer get one another in trouble with your older brother. fem!reader, 1k

Your brother, though you’re adopted, has passed down onto you many things. Mostly his frown, but more embarrassingly his high-pitched giggle when something is startlingly funny. 

You laugh like a hyena at something Spencer’s said. He tries to grab you before you walk straight into his desk corner, but he’s too slow. You whack your hip and laugh again, this time in pain, bending over to grab at your wound in defeat. 

“Oh my god,” he says, trying not to laugh loudly, his efforts turning his own laugh into a giggle like yours as he bends down to see you, “are you okay?” He laughs so much he can barely ask. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you squeeze between a laugh, letting him pull you into a standing position. 

“What is it?” he asks, grabbing your hip, which worsens your laughter all over again. “What?” 

“You’re super handsy, Dr. Reid.” 

A sharp clearing of the throat echoes. You tense up, begging Spencer mentally not to give you away, but his hand practically flies back into his chest like you’ve burned him. 

You turn to the office. “Hi, Aaron.” 

Aaron Hotchner stands at the balcony overlooking the bullpen where you and Spencer stand. “Honey. Just give me two minutes and I’ll come down, okay?” 

You give a big smile. “Yes, sir.” 

His eyes move to Spencer. You watch Aaron decide to leave it alone and can’t help laughing for the hundredth time today as your brother turns around to head back into his office.

“He’s ridiculous.” 

“He’s gonna fire me,” Spencer says, though he doesn’t sound serious. 

“And then you can come work with me.” 

Spencer doesn’t want to work at your new job, that much is clear from his expression, but he has enough social wits to realise you’re flirting. “That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” he says.

Spencer leans back against his desk, hair curled just under his ears, his hand reaching for you though he doesn’t touch. You sit down in his seat, the backs of your thighs sticking to warm leather. You aren’t working today, hence your social visit, and Spencer had distracted you on the way to Aaron’s office (through no fault of his own, you’d just wanted to see him again) with a shy wave. Like you hadn’t spent yesterday night together walking through fountains. 

You didn’t mean to fall in. Spencer helped you up onto the round basin of the fountain and you’d held hands, walking in circles so he’d have an excuse to keep rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. Seconds turned to minutes, the conversation unhurried, and one wrong move had you slipping. You fell calf deep into cold water, but his laughter had been worth it. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. 

You cross one leg over the other, your jean leg riding up your shin. “I’m thinking about what Aaron’s gonna buy me for lunch.” 

“What do you want?”

“I have no idea. It’s so hot out I barely wanna eat.” 

“Well, too bad, you have to.” He picks up a file from his outgoings and fans it at you nicely. When he talks again, his voice is lowered. “I was thinking, if you’re not busy, they have a movie playing in a couple of days at the independent, I think it’s in Portuguese, and I really think you’d like it.” 

“Yeah?” you ask, lavishing in the cold kiss of his manufactured breeze and the idea of another date. 

“About a little girl that turns into a star. They have popcorn bigger than anywhere else I’ve seen, too. Enough for three people in one bucket.” 

You try not to act too shy. “Well, hopefully it’s just me and you.” 

Spencer smiles at you between waves of his fan. “Is your hip okay?” he asks. 

“Spencer.” 

“Are you ready?” Aaron asks. 

You spin in Spencer’s chair toward your brother, shocked he’s there. He’s been funny since you and Spencer met, never controlling or cruel, yet clearly having a tough time coming to grips with the connection you’ve formed with his smartest employee. 

When you told him Spencer had given you his number, his eye twitched ever so slightly, and he excused himself for a glass of water. You’re not sure what is about the situation that irks him: he loves you, he loves Spencer in his way, he’d do anything for both of you, except acknowledge your burgeoning relationship. 

You nod but don’t stand. Your hip aches weirdly and the sitting is nice. Plus, it’s a sisterly duty to wind up her brother, even if you love him more than anybody on planet earth. 

“Spencer was just telling me about your accident in Scottsdale.” 

“He was,” Hotch says. He looks at you, and his eyes follow down the line of your leg to your shoes, where they stay. 

You glance down. 

“I’m trying something new,” you say, sitting up quickly. Scottsdale doesn’t seem so funny. 

“I can see that.” 

You’re wearing Spencer’s socks, odd ones sticking up past his borrowed converse. “It’s summer,” you say, standing up. 

“Mm.” He gestures for you to stand in front of him, his hand on your shoulder kind but firm as he steers you away. “And the odd socks, that’s a conscious choice?” 

“Don’t be mean.” 

“I’m not.” 

You glance back at Spencer and grin at him as you’re shepherded away. Hopefully he’ll call you later, but for now he looks like he’d like to dig himself a shallow grave.

“We went for a walk last night and I ruined my shoes,” you explain, turning your gaze to Aaron and his reluctant smile. “They were still wet this morning.” 

“What about those loafers I got you for your birthday?” he asks. 

“Well, I didn’t have them with me.” 

Aaron nods. There’s a certain impassiveness to his expression that you’re familiar with, even if it signifies disappointment. That you’re not so used to. 

“I thought you liked Spencer?” you ask. 

“I do. But I love you, and he’s…” 

“He’s what?” 

“At risk.” 

“You’ll just have to keep him safe for me,” you say, smiling at him breezily. 

Aaron seems to agree silently. You’re almost to the elevators when he says, “Please, wear your own socks. I know you know how to do your laundry, I’m the one who taught you how to do it.” 

[stevenose]

body to flame (18+)

summary: steve’s insists he only needs twenty minutes to make you cum.

contains: reader with a vagina; ‘good girl’ and ‘pretty girl’ used for reader; no pronouns for reader; fingering (reader receiving); banter; bitchy!steve; sort of mean!steve but it’s all in good fun

this is hardly proofread so apologies 💔

“All I need is twenty minutes.”

You scoff and look over your shoulder at Steve, who hasn’t even bothered looking up from the tapes he’s reorganizing.

“Twenty minutes?” you repeat. “That’s not even a whole lunch break.”

“I’ve done it quicker.”

“Bullshit, Steve.”

“You’re scared, huh?” he asks.

“Of you making me cum? Yes.”

Now he scoffs, looking up at you, placing his hands on his hips. Bitchy. “You really don’t believe me?”

“I absolutely do not.”

“Huh.” He stares at you, narrows his eyes at the back of your head. “Give me a chance, won’t ya?”

“A chance?”

“Let me try it on you.”

You whip around, hurling an empty VHS box at him, which he somehow dodges in the nick of time. “No way!”

“What? Don’t wanna be proven wrong?”

“You ever think that maybe I don’t want you to touch me?”

He laughs, much to your shock.

“Steve,” you sigh. “Get a grip.”

It’s silent for a while. You go back to inputting returns and Steve moves around, replacing them. Then he comes back to the check out desk, leaning on it with his forearms. Crowds your space, makes you back up, your cheeks heating up.

“My paycheck.”

You falter. “What about it?”

“I’ll give you my entire paycheck if I can’t make you cum in twenty or less.”

Your eyes roll, but he can see right through you.

“Are you making fifteen dollars more than me an hour or something?”

“I got overtime twice last week!” he defends. “Should be a couple hundred.”

You lick your lips, eyes moving back to the computer as if you’re interested in it more than him. “And if you do? You want my paycheck?”

“When I do, then you’ll let me have another hour with you.”

“To do what? Torture me?”

Steve just smiles.

You narrow your eyes. “Where would this even happen?”

“Uh, on break?” he says, like you’re dense. “Put up a ‘be back in twenty’ sign. Or maybe I should just close up shop?”

The entire thing is so scandalous that it has your face burning up, almost suffocatingly. And he won’t stop looking at you with those dumb puppy dog eyes. A little pout tugging his lips downward.

“You’re gonna beg me?” you snark.

“Couple hundred would go a long way, wouldn’t it?”

You’re so sure you can win at this. Even if he’s good, twenty minutes isn’t that long. And that’s how you end up on his lap on the dilapidated couch in the back room, a “be back in twenty :)” sign slapped onto the front door. Your pants are off and in a heap on the floor below you, underwear still on - you made Steve swear he’d work around them.

No cock, either. “This isn’t just an excuse to get your dick wet, is it?”

Hands thrown up in surrender, he’d said, “Fine, fine. Fingers only:”

“You’re gonna be so broke,” you insist, but it’s already getting difficult. He’s hard underneath you and apparently neither of you will bring it up. Steve looks so pleased with himself, and the confidence makes your stomach flip.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” His eyes are glinting, full of mischief. “You’re gonna be spending an hour in the Harrington Torture Chamber.”

You laugh boisterously. “And what’s that entail?”

He glares playfully, hands moving up your thighs, settling where they meet your ass. “You’ll just have to see.”

His fingers glide underneath the material, hands first grabbing your ass. You gasp a little as he kneads. “You let me know when to start.”

You twist around to look at the clock behind you. 5:37 pm. Jesus, you’re doing this before it’s even dark out. You look back at him, annoyingly handsome below you, little highlights playing in his curls.

“Now seems fine,” you finally say.

Steve looks over your shoulder. “What do you say we stop at an even six o’clock?”

“Now, Steve.”

There’s really no fanfare. He doesn’t take much time with you, moving his hands around to the front to cup your cunt over your underwear. His thumb finds your clit immediately and you let out an embarrassingly easy whine.

“Right there?” he coos. “Always been good at findin’ it.”

“Bullshit,” you breathe, resting your hands on his shoulders. “Prob- you probably just found out about the clit.”

“Y’know, you better learn to use that mouth for somethin’ a little better than insulting me.”

You’re incredibly, incredibly thankful his fingers weren’t inside of you when he said that. You clench down, pleasure coursing from your stomach to your clit while he rubs gentle circles into it.

“That shut you up,” he muses. “Like being told what to do, huh?”

“Fuck off.”

His thumb presses a little harder. Still delicious - more so, in fact. You bite your cheek hard and stare at his forehead. His eyes are too intense for you.

“Can’t even look at me,” he tsks. “This is a lot for you, huh? It’s only been two minutes.”

You’re thankful for the reminder. You push your thoughts away, starting to think of the new releases coming up, the new cash reconciliation process. But it only works for about three minutes, until Steve gets bored with your non-reaction and slips his fingers under your underwear.

“Jesus,” he moans, “you’re so wet.” He licks his lips. “This all for me? Or are you wet from when Keith came in earlier?”

“Shut up!”

“It’s gotta be one of them, huh?” he presses, rubbing bigger, stronger circles into your clit while his other fingers press into your entrance just a bit. You gasp and clench again, and Steve smirks. “It was Keith, wasn’t it? Can’t wait to tell our friends how horny you get for him.”

“Not Keith,” you pant.

“Oh, then me?”

“Shut up!”

“No way.” His middle finger rubs against your hole. “This is too easy, babe. Got twelve minutes left with you and you’re already creamin’.”

You choose to ignore him, taking deep breaths, squeezing his shoulders. When you least expect it, Steve slides his finger inside of you.

“O-oh -!”

“Feels good, doesn’t it.” Looks at you like he’s really pitying you. “I give you another two minutes.”

“Just - I - just -“ You feel insane, so hot from his attention, pleasure building wickedly fast in your lower stomach. “I need - give me a break.”

“Uh-uh,” he says, wrapping his free arm tight around you and fucking his finger nice and slow in and out of you. Your jaw clenches, squirming to get away from the pleasure, but his arm keeps you planted in place. “Didn’t say twenty minutes with breaks, did I? Not gonna let you cheat.”

Steve’s fingers working in tandem, your mind begins fogging over. You continue squirming - away from or towards him, you’re not exactly sure.

“Didn’t think you’d last this long,” he mumbles. “You’re easy, though.”

“It’s too much,” you whine. Six minutes left. He doesn’t even seem phased.

“I know,” he coos. “Overwhelming, huh? Can’t act like a big girl now, can you?”

You hate the way that’s fueled your fire. Desperate to hold on, you lean forward, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Fingernails dig into his skin through his shirt and vest and he smiles at your reaction.

“Go ahead and hide, baby, but I better see your face when you cum.”

You take a shaky breath and bite down onto his shoulder. Steve groans, fingers picking up their pace, and now you’re really, truly fucked.

You try to think of anything else. Car payment. Potholes on Main Street. Library fines. Keith.

But Steve’s whispering in your ear, saccharine, his voice a velvety deep tenor that makes your chest vibrate. “There we go, good girl. You’re gonna cum so hard for me, huh? You’re so easy. Give it up so good, don’t you? Just for a few extra bucks? Or did you really want played with? Starting to think it’s the latter, babe.”

“Steve,” you cry, thighs shaking and clenching. Steve surely has no feeling in his hand but he keeps up his work, anyway. Three minutes to go.

“Uh-huh, I know, so hard, isn’t it? Just love being fucked on my fingers so much. When I get that extra hour I’m gonna see how many you can take. You’re so tight, gonna take a whole fist to get you ready for my cock.”

You’re seriously shocked. And you’re so desperate for it that your clit tenses up, ready to burst, ready for your vision to go black and for you to moan embarrassingly loud right on Steve’s lap. You reach down for his wrist, gripping it tight, shaking your head and scrunching your face.

“Go on,” he praises, smiling wide, working just a little faster. “Cum for me, give it up, pretty girl.”

You squeal and bury your head into Steve’s shoulder again while you cum, your hips grinding against his hand, making it drip. Steve laughs, moves his arm so he’s rubbing your back instead of pinning you down. “Oh, that felt so good, didn’t it? Feels so good being bitched out on my lap, huh?”

And that’s it. You cum again. Clenching down, shouting into his skin, teeth piercing it open. Steve gasps and groans, lets you ride his hand until your hips still and you’re panting, jaw unclenching from his flesh.

“What did I tell you?” he asks, still rubbing your back. “That was two with two minutes to spare, sweetheart. Want me to put another sign up? You might be busy for a while.”

[reiderwriter]

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

[rillian4e]

Bad girls get punished or?

ft& Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Alhaitham, Scaramouche, Jing Yuan, IL Dan Heng

cw: nsfw, fem!reader, rough sex, pet names, praise kink, foul language, spanking, chocking, thigh riding, marking, breeding, degradation, teasing etc...

summary: you've been feeling neglected, and acting bratty towards your boyfriend which lead to him putting you in your place.

Neuvillette: riding, spanking, pet names

Neuvillette was fed up with your behaviour, he was trying to work, but you just had to sit and grind onto his lap, he had already told you to stay quiet while he finished some paperwork, and he would reward you but you didn't have any patience for that, instead giving into your desires which resulted in punishment.

Having you bent over his desk as he spanked your cute little butt, "Ow..! That hurts... Be more gentle!" you whined, feeling his big hand slap at your skin once again, there would be red marks for days surely, despite how it felt painful—you secretly enjoyed it, feeling more aroused than ever to have him punish you like this. Neuvillette could tell you were enjoying it, making him sigh, he was too forgiving at times like these, placing you to then ride his lap, wiping your tears away, "You're such a bad girl, cherié, I won't punish you any more, instead you'll have to ride me."

He muttered, looking at you before placing a gentle kiss on your cheek, "If you end up not needing my help, then I'll reward you by fucking you nice and full, what do you think, hm?"

You smiled delighted when you heard his words, he really was too forgiving towards you, but you knew that he would be the opposite when you get your reward, always making sure you're satisfied.

Wriothesley: cockwarming, rough sex, manhandling

While you were needy and horny, your lover was busy, having to handle some affair within the Fortress of Meropide. It didn't help that you wanted him so badly, you went ahead and visited him, only to find him buried with paperwork as he sipped his favorite tea. Wriothesley was used to your neediness, often indulging your desired as he missed the warmth of your cunt enveloping him as much as you too did, but he could just abandon all of his work, it was the busiest around this time period for the duke.

Even as you wore your pretty little skirt and top, he didn't give in to your pleas instead having you cockwarm him, "Mm...stay still, love. Just a few more hours, and I'll give you what you want."

you felt better when you heard his words but "a few more hours", was he crazy?! No way would you be able to wait that long, not when his cock was buried so deep inside your aching core—it was so hard to resist the temptation of rolling your hips and fucking yourself on his shaft. you tried your best to stay good, nuzzling his neck, but when you felt his hand rub your thigh up and down... you couldn't do it. instead lifting yourself up and then sinking onto his cock, the sensation making you moan, albeit it was a quick relief as Wriothesley then pulled you off his lap, clearly that was his last straw.

"You're not getting out of this, sweetheart. You know, I adore when you're being a brat, but it's time to punish you a little, turn around." ah...you fucked up.

you gulped before doing as told, without waiting any longer, Wriothesley pushed his cock inside your cunt, immediately picking up a relentless pace without giving you a moment to catch your breath.

Wriothesley made sure to fuck his seed deep into you, hopefully that would satiate you for some time, you had to leave his office with his cum dripping out of you cunt, you were praying that it wouldn't drip down your legs.

Alhaitham: soft Alhaitham, praise, pet names, comfort

The scribe was not pleased with your behaviour, he was trying to read his book in peace when you came, all flustered and begging Alhaitham to fuck you in the House of Daena, where plenty of other scholars are, yeah, he of course refused, it was a risk, and he wanted to read his book. you couldn't get yourself off, it's been far too long since you last had any Intimacy with Alhaitham due to how busy he'd gotten, and in his little free time, he always reads books which doesn't help that he isn't spending time with you. You were rambling on and on, but no use, Alhaitham wasn't budging.

You didn't understand why he was being eo mean, so cold, he didn't didn't wanna give you a kiss, you didn't even realize that you were crying when Alhaitham pulled you into a hug, a large hand patting your back in comforting circles, "Hush, don't cry, princess... I was being too harsh on you, it's just that I've been overwhelmed and stressed, but that's not an excuse, c'mere." Quickly he placed you to straddle his lap, stroking your cheek tenderly, "I'm very sorry, my love, please forgive me."

He resorted on making it up to you, bringing you home, and making the whole night about you two, his fat cock stretching your cunt as he peppered kisses all over your face and neck, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, a contrast to the way he was slamming desperately into your hole, he only then realized how much he had missed you.

"Such a good girl... My sweet, sweet girl, taking me so well, I'm proud of you..." He'd whisper into your ear, his hand rubbing tight circles on your clit, his sweet words only fueling your desires to be fucked dumb by him which he fulfilled.

Scaramouche: manhandling, foul language, use of pet names

Punishment is his favorite when you're being a brat, this was no exception. Who did you think you were, trying to make him jealous by flirting with other men? The moment you were home, Scaramouche had you in mating press—his length filling your womb to the brim, he knew you wanted this to happen, your gummy walls only clenching more around him at his harsh and degrading words.

"Did you think you successed, hm? Trying to make me jealous by giving other men your attention? Look at you, acting like a bitch in heat." he muttered, one of his hands squeezing your throat, putting firm pressure, enough for it to feel uncomfortable.

His rough pace only continuing till you cannot take it anymore, your legs trembling from the overwhelming pleasure and stimulation, Scaramouche feels no mercy for you, focusing on his pleasure and teaching you a lesson. "Did you seriously think anyone other than me could fuck you this good?" He asked, looking down at you, his eyes betraying no emotion, only gazing at you as if you're some pathetic worm.

"Answer me, slut." his grip on your throat tightened, you cried out, shaking your head, "N-No...only you! Only you...can f-fuck me this good..!" was the best you could speak out, hoping it was enough for him to forgive you.

Jing Yuan: thigh riding, praise, pet names

He was busy with paperwork, being a general wasn't easy, it meant that he would be busy most of the time which you understood when you became his lover, but that didn't mean you weren't desperate for his affection. Jing Yuan would only tell you to wait and be patient, pressing kisses on your head, it didn't help that you were horny for him. He didn't like the way you were trying to dry hump him, wanting to feel that much needed friction against your dripping core. "What did I tell you, sweetheart? To wait, did I not?"

He sighed as you tried your best to give him puppy eyes to make him cave in, when he saw you disobey his words once again, he gripped your waist,

"Mm...you're being a very needy thing today, I won't be giving in today, though."

he exclaimed, giving you a kiss on the lips before he had you rub yourself on his thigh, having to get yourself off alone, it frustrated you but it was better than nothing. You did like riding his thigh, but you wished he would just fuck you or at least let you ride his cock—you so badly needed his thick length inside your hole, the more you rubbed your clothed cunt against his thigh, the more you wished he'd help you, a small wet patch was already growing on your underwear.

Jing Yuan wrapped his hand around your waist, supporting you while his other scribbled on his paperwork. You were getting desperate to cum, moans escaping you as you rode his thigh with the desire to reach your climax.

"Close, my love? You're ruining my pants, such a messy girl." a low chuckle escaped his lips, taking his eyes off his paperwork to give you a little of his attention. His hands gripped your thighs as he lifted you up and down hard on his thigh.

Even though he only let you ride his thigh, it would suffice as long as he was the one helping you, it was a whole another feeling when he helped you.

IL Dan Heng: vaginal sex, edging, teasing, mean Dan Heng

You have been trying to tease your lover for the past few hours, playing with his sensitive horns which you knew was the easiest way to get his attention. Rubbing the ridges with gentle motions before pressing kisses on both of his horns, Dan Heng loved when you gave attention to his horns, but he was trying to read his book, not have you make him aroused. His attempts at making you stop failed, though. After having enough of you being a brat, his tail wrapped around your waist, eliciting a reaction out of you—was he finally gonna give in?

"You're too greedy, love. I was busy, and I would have made time for you, but not if you keep acting like a brat."

You thought he would give in, he always did after all, and he did. His cock was inside you, hitting all the right spots, it had you seeing stars. Dan Heng really is too kind is what you thought before he told you that you can't cum.

"I'm not giving you permission to cum, princess. That's your punishment, besides isn't this what you wanted, for me to fuck you stupid?"

Was he being for real? you were so close, yes, you did want him to fuck you, he was right about that but you wanted to cum, not have to be edged when you were so desperate to have an orgasm. nevertheless you did as you were told, having him cum inside you made you feel slightly better, albeit you wanted to come too.

You knew you were at fault and that this was your punishment for not listening, he did mention letting you cum if you were good enough, maybe he will feel sorry for you and let you, who knows.

[servicpop]

✶ ﹑ㅤi only have eyes for you ﹏

NOW STARRING : CEO (Vallen Carter) x jealous sub male reader

「ㅤNSFWㅤ」ㅤVallen's assistant is hot and reader can't help but feel jealous!

✙ warnings — reader is kinda insecure, office handjob (reading recieving), getting caught

notes ,, finally wrote about vallen.. not proofread!

"Your assistant, would you ever date her?"

You were currently sat on the plush couch Vallen had in his office behind his desk. Sometimes, you would invade his workplace and lounge in his office when you were bored and wanted to simply be in his presence. At your time here you've noticed a few things, one being Vallen's super hot assistant. To say she was just pretty was an understatement. She was refined, spoke smoothly and elegantly, always dressed proper, and was smart on top of all of that. Anyone would fall for someone like her, including Vallen.

Typing away on his keyboard, Vallen had his back facing you. "Why would I date her when I have you?" He replied, his voice as husky as it always was and carried little emotion in it. You huffed, turning around to face him— his back, as you took a moment to think about your next words, "Because she's really hot and— she gets to see you more often, and she's so elegant," you mumble, your words were quiet from the slight embarrassment you felt in admitting this.

You see Vallen pause in his typing, his body stilling before he let out an exhale that visibly made his shoulders fall to a more relaxed position, "Is that really what you're worried about?" His statement was firm, almost scolding. You couldn't help but keep quiet. The room was silent — besides Vallen's keyboard tapping or mouse clicking — before he decided to speak up, "Come here," he said, his tone on the boundary of stern and soft; it was always hard to tell which one he was leaning more towards. Of course you oblige, getting up from the couch and walking over to where his chair was.

"If you're that worried about my assistant, there can be a few arrangements made," He hummed, loosening his tie slightly before looking up at you. You stand there like a child getting scolded — that was usually the case when you were with Vallen, he was just so overwhelmingly mature it surprised you that he was only a few years older than you — as you fumble with your fingers, your gaze casted down to your feet. Yeah you were jealous but she undoubtedly did her job well and you didn't want to burden Vallen from a stupid little feeling.

He seemed to pick up on your discomfort, letting out a heavy huff from his chest as he leaned back in his chair, earning a small squeak in return. "Seems like you are simply too sweet to do that," He chuckled softly, patting his thigh firmly before his eyes met yours. You take the iniative to sit on his lap, settling yourself ontop of him as you wrap your arms around his waist in a small hug with your face squished in the crook of Vallen's neck. You seemed to melt in his embrace as he hooked one arm around your back and slid the chair forward so he could continue working.

The familiar sound of keyboard tapping resumed, and you rested ontop of Vallen with your eyes closed, relaxing in his company. After awhile, Vallen's hand made its way to your thigh; his large hand squeezing it firmly before sliding further up your leg. This draws your attention back down to the present as you look down, "What are you doing?" You ask. Vallen doesn't respond with words, he responds with a hand cupping your pants instead, rubbing you through your pants with his knuckles. A small groan slips out between your lips as you find yourself grinding against his palm. Wasn't your fault Vallen had such warm hands.

"I just want to prove how much I love you, and that I would never leave you for anyone," Vallen replied, his voice becoming raspy as his lips meet your earlobe. His slender fingers tug at the waistband of your pants and your boxers, slipping his hand underneath the fabric. You flinch upon feeling the warmth of his lips press against your ear and your body jerks when his hand unexpectedly grabs your now hardening cock. His hands are like magic, the way that they make you feel like you're about to implode with butterflies is honestly impressive.

Vallen pushes the fabric of your clothes down more so he could have better access to your body, letting a deep chuckle out as he stared at the way your cock practically weeps for attention in his hands. Like the good man he is, he gives you that attention. His thumb glides over your blushed tip, teasing your slit as his other hand grips your waist, keeping you stable on his lap. "You're already twitching," he comments with a small smirk on his face. Vallen deems that your poor, red tip has been tortured enough and decides to move his hand to the base of your cock, squeezing lightly before working his way back up to your tip before sliding back down to the base. He repeats this action almost painfully slow, watching your face intently to catch any facial expressions you'd make.

It was embarassing how needy you felt in this moment. Your back arched with every movement of Vallen's hand and your hips stuttered as you tried to grind into the pleasure. Your small whimpers and gasps filled the office, accompanied by the lewd, wet noises of Vallen jerking you off, "I'd deal with you in a more— proper way if I wasn't in the office right now." You could tell he was enjoying this as much as you did; it was evident by the bulge in his pants poking you. However, you knew Vallen was far too disciplined to want to partake in such activities in his workplace, but that was his personal preference, he loved seeing you crumble during work.

You couldn't help but gasp out his name, your fingers curled around his wrists, trying to stop the movement but it just felt so good. Your body was leaned back and your head tilted down, watching Vallen's slender, veins hands rub your body like he was sculpting a delicate clay figure. A hand gripped your trembling legs, holding you still as Vallen focused on pleasuring you. He knew you were close by how vocal you were getting now.

The soft click of the door opening fell deaf to your ears, your brain fogged with lust and Vallen's hands. His assistant had entered. You picked up that something was wrong from the slight twitching of Vallen's eyes as he rose his head to look at whoever interrupted his session with you. Nonetheless he didn't stop, he kept moving his wrist up and down, curving his palm more at the head before returning down to grip the base of your cock, using your precum as lube.

"Vallen, who—" you tried to speak but Vallen's fingers shoved past your lips and into your mouth unexpectedly. The foreign feeling of his fingers pressing against your tongue for some reason sent shiver down your spine and to your dick. "What better way of proving I wouldn't leave you than to start with getting rid of the root cause?" Vallen cooed in your ear, glaring at his assistant before speeding up his hand. You tried to protest but your words were blocked by Vallen's long fingers shoved deeply into your throat, bits of saliva dripped down your chin and he took the courtesy to wipe it off with his thumb. What a gentleman— obviously despite his indecency by jerking you off infront of his assistant.

It was getting to that familiar point where your hips began to chase your release and your legs felt numb. You were oblivious to the fact that Vallen's assistant was forced to watch him push you over the edge in pleasure. Vallen groaned quietly as his fingers were enveloped in warmth from your mouth, oh how he wished he could fuck you over the desk right now but he couldn't bring himself to embarass you like that. Your eyes rolled back as you felt yourself finally cum; white sticky liquid painted Vallen's hands.

Heavy breathing — from you — filled the awkward tension in the room before you finally turned around to see what was happening behind your back.

"You were watching the whole time?!"

"Unfortunately."

notes ,, not too happy with this one but I wanted to get something out to you guys. Also, I'm kinda liking the assistant, maybe she'll be like a side character in the future (not as a love interest, im planning for her to be a girl kisser)

[rafeandonlyrafe]

executive orders

words: 3.8k

warnings: 18+ only, ceo!rafe, assistant!reader, mean!rafe but equally mean!reader lol, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pretend marriage (like fake dating but fake marriage hehe)

“so…” the woman says, heels clicking down the pristine hallway as you quickly follow. “as you were told in the interview process, mr. cameron is a very particular man. as his personal assistant, your focus is more on his well-being than the business.”

“okay, i understand.” you nod. you find the whole thing odd. the interview process where you didn't actually meet the man you'd be the personal assistant to. his semi nondescript job. ceo. of some company named after him, but you don't know the specifics on what his role actually includes.

“just know…” she pauses outside of the large door leading into the room. “this isn't going to be an easy job. it's why you're making a lot of money.”

“okay.” you say again. the more you learn, the more concerned you are, but you're willing to try, even if just for one day.

“and you're paid for through the cfo. mr. cameron does not have firing rights no matter what he says.”

you're not sure what she means, but it becomes very apparent when the moment you step through the door, the man you presume to be mr. cameron let's out a growl.

“serena, i told you i don't need a fucking babysitter!” you turn around, but the door has already been shut behind you. you can hear serenas heels clicking quickly down the hallway. you had completely forgotten her name in the stress of your first day, but you commit it to memory before turning to the ceo.

“hello, sir.” you say quietly. “im y/n.”

“i don't need you.” he grunts out before focusing on his computer, typing rather angry and aggressively. you stand frozen, waiting.

“i said i don't need you. leave. you're fired.” mr. cameron says.

“i um… i don't think you can fire me. sorry, sir.”

his fingers pause as he looks up at you, seeming to finally really see you as his eyes move down then back up your body. you weren't sure what to wear so you're dressed in a black work dress with long sleeves and a pair of flats. under his watchful eye, you wish you would have worn something less form fitting.

“i hate being called sir.” he says.

“okay, mr. cameron then.” you take a few shuffling steps forward.

“rafe.” he shakes his head. “just rafe. mr. cameron is my fucking dad and he's dead.”

your instinct is to say sorry for his loss, but you can't find the words, which ultimately seems to be the right thing as rafe hums then turns back to his computer screen.

you watch him work for a few minutes, occasionally looking around the sparsely decorated office. you swear every time you look away, rafes eyes move up to look at you, but by the time your gaze travels back to him, he's back typing on his computer.

“goddamn it.” he groans out. “don't just stand there all day. if you're gonna be here and i can't fire you, you might as well sit down.”

“oh!” it takes you a minute to realize he's talking to you as his eyes don't stray away from the screen, but then you're quickly moving to sit on the chair positioned on the other side of his desk.

you sit again, watching rafe, watching the clock, watching the view out the window. “what would you like for lunch, si-rafe?”

“whatever.” he waves his hand. “it's not your job to get it. someone will bring lunch to us.”

“oh.” you nod, becoming increasingly more aware that you're not really sure what your job is.

just like rafe said, someone brings in lunch at exactly 12:30, one tray for you and one for rafe.

when he closes his computer, you think that now will finally be the time to talk, but he eats in silence. “so-”

“no small talk.” rafe says. “i hate that shit.”

“well, what is it you'd like me to do then? just sit here? at least give me a task.”

“fine.” rafe grunts out. “when you're finished eating you can read through this report.” he tosses a thick three ringed binder onto the desk in front of you.

“fine.” you argue back, quickly scarfing down your food before grabbing the binder. 

you read through the report. you have no clue what the numbers mean, but you do find a couple punctuation mistakes and highlight them. rafe seems surprised you have any notes at all, his eyebrows raising when you grab the marker from his desk.

“there.” you place the binder down once you reach the last page. its tedious work, but at least it's something other than utter silence.

“great.” rafe takes the binder and tosses it into the trash can. 

“hey!”

“those were numbers from four years ago.” you can see the smirk on rafes features, his amusement at getting you to do something completely pointless.

“you're a real dick, you know?” you say, blurting the words out before you can think of the consequences, it's not like you want to keep the job anyways.

rafe sits silently, but his eyes are on you, hands frozen as you continue on.

“you should hear the way people talk about you. everyone is afraid of you, which you may think makes you a macho boss, but it just makes you a shitty guy to work for. no wonder you have to pay everyone two times more than any other company around here, they need that for putting up with your rudeness.” you rant, suddenly sucking in air as your words come to an end.

“it's 5pm. done for the day. ill walk you out.” rafe stands, but you move quicker, pushing the doors open and leaving him to walk behind.

you stop when you see serena and the cfo quietly chatting. you open your mouth to say you quit when rafe speaks from behind you.

“i like this one. make sure she's here tomorrow by 9am.”

you turn and look to him, but he's already walking away.

--

you weren't planning on showing back up, but serena is a convincing woman.

“good morning, rafe.” you place a drink carrier down onto the corner of his desk, plucking out your mocha before schooching the rest towards him. “i didn't know what you like. i got a hot black coffee, a caramel frappe and the a cappuccino.”

rafe stares at the drinks before picking up the frappe. you smile, you should have predicted that despite his hard exterior, rafe liked a sweet drink.

serena gave you the company card, saying to use it for any and all expenses, even grocery's or home decor, she didn't care, as long as you entered the building by 9 am tomorrow.

“i know you hate small talk, but you'll have to get over it. what does this company even do?” you take a sip of your mocha, the taste chocolatey on your tongue.

“we are a development company. real estate all across the world. we also manage construction.”

“oh.” you frown. “that's more boring than i thought.”

rafe let's out a soft chuckle, pleasant sounding to your ears.

“everything just seems so secretive.” you shrug.

“i think they didn't want you to know a lot in case you turned down the job. you're the longest an assistant has lasted.”

“and what…” you lean in, ignoring that it's only your second day. “exactly am i supposed to do?”

“just… keep me in check.” rafe shrugs. “i have a tendency to get angry. bad news will get passed through you. you're here to be a sounding board, where i can vent and bounce ideas off of.”

“i make 100k a year for that?” you scoff.

“i think 50 of that is just for dealing with me.” 

you laugh along with rafe. maybe you'll end up lasting an entire week.

-- two months later --

“are you free this weekend?” rafe asks.

“uh, yeah, why?” you question. you've learned rafe likes when you stand up to him, speak your mind and not let him push you around like he does everyone else. he's come to respect you for it, and it's made work much easier.

“im needed in new york city. id like for you to come with me. as my assistant.”

“sure, ill start looking for hotels.” you open up your laptop.

“spare no cost. i want somewhere nice.”

you roll your eyes dramatically. “of course you do.”

you already knew to look only at 5 star hotels, the most expensive of the lot. despite the short notice, you find two connecting suites that will work for you and rafe.

“and how are we getting there?” you ask. “want me to talk to jeffery about taking the private jet?”

“yup, i want to fly into laguardia, not jfk.”

“got it.” you nod, finding the correct number in your phone before stepping out to talk. you confirm all the details, jotting down times in the notes app on your phone.

you stop by after the phone call to update serena of your plans, learning she's a secretary of sort for the whole company, really the number two right behind rafe.

“hey girl.” you smile. “heading to nyc with mr. cameron for the weekend.”

“oh, good.” she sighs happily. “he's been needing to go out there.”

“yeah.” you shrug. “if you say so!” you keep yourself firmly out of the business side, just like she told you your first day here.

“make sure you do something fun while you're there too. while he's in meetings you could see times square, or check out central park.”

“i definitely will! i want to see the cherry blossoms if they're still in bloom.”

“sounds fun.” serena nods before her desk phone begins to read. “sorry, gotta get this.”

“see ya.” you wave as you walk back to rafes office.

“all good?” he questions.

“laguardia, just as you want.” you smile, sitting back at your upgraded chair.

“don't know what id do without ya.” rafe says.

“don't be nice to me.” you scrunch your name up. “it's weird.”

--

“how were the cherry blossoms?” rafe asks.

“most of them still in bloom, actually.” you say with a soft smile. you ended up taking a lot of pictures along with exploring the rest of the park.

“nice.” he hums. “did you bring an evening dress?”

“no. and you didn't tell me i was supposed to.” you say.

“well… i would appreciate it if you joined me at dinner tonight. it's with a very important client who um… may be under the impression that im traveling with my wife.”

“your- your wife?” your eyes widen. “you want me to lie about being your wife?”

“just for tonight. id really appreciate it.” rafe looks at you with a softness in his eyes. “please.”

“okay… but i don't have an evening gown… or anything fancy.” 

“let me take you shopping then.” rafe pulls out his phone. “there's got to be a nice store near us.”

you place your hand on top of rafes phone. “ill find a place.”

you end up finding a formal store only a couple blocks away. you decide to walk, rafe keeping close to you, glaring at anyone who even glances at you for too long.

you make it to the store without any interruptions, and rafe quickly points out the kinds of dresses that will fit the restaurant before standing back to let you choose.

“you wanna watch me try them on, husband?” you ask rafe, following the associate with an armful of dresses back towards the private changing rooms.

“of course.” rafe follows behind you, eyes glancing down your figure. he can't wait to see you in a gorgeous fitted dress.

when you step out in the first dress, rafe swears he feels his heart skip a beat. “you're getting that one.”

“you sure?” you look in the mirror, twirling around to look at the dropped back. “i don't know if this color looks good on me.”

“it looks good on you.” rafe says. “but by all means, try on more. ill buy you multiple.”

rafe ends up buying you every single dress you try on except for one that's too loose and doesn't fit well. you insist you only need one, but you're not going to argue with your boss wanting to spend money on you.

you end up choosing the first one you tried on to go to the dinner with rafe. your hands shake slightly, not sure what to expect. rafe sees it, hesitating before wrapping your hand in his.

“it'll be fine. you can just… just be quiet for the most part. ill do all the talking.”

“okay.” you squeeze his hand back, not used to the physical contact with rafe, but finding it surprisingly comfortable.

you follow him into the restaurant, everyone else dressed to the nines, perfect hair and makeup on the women, the men with the shiniest shoes. “it's really beautiful in here.” you whisper.

“wait till you taste the food… wifey.” rafe says, making you both laugh.

“ah, mr. and mrs. cameron.” the man says in a slightly accented voice as you both shake his hand, as well as the associate next to him. “so glad to meet the both of you. we appreciate getting into business with a true family man.”

“of course.” you smile, putting on your best acting performance. “we are so excited to start our family soon.”

“we must see the wedding photos. my wife-” the man puts a proud hand on his chest. “is a wedding dress designer.”

“oh.” you frown. “i would love to show you, but we haven't gotten them back yet.” you smile at rafe. “we’re newlyweds.”

“ah, cheers to the beginning of a lovely marriage then.” he raises his glass to clink with the others at the table.

“please, kiss! you must after a toast.” the associate says.

you turn to rafe, glancing down to look at his lips. it would totally give you away to refuse, so you take a deep breath and lean into in, pressing your lips together in a quick kiss. it lasts only a moment, but you swear you feel a spark, a tug to continue kissing him.

rafe doesn't bring it up until later, as your riding the elevator back up to your hotel room. “you did great. im sorry about the kiss.”

“it wasn't bad.” you giggle softly, slightly drunk on the wine that was served.

“im glad you think that.” rafe smiles softly. “you'll make a wonderful wife to a very lucky man someday.”

“maybe we could…” you swallow harshly, the alcohol encouraging your words you know you shouldn't say. “maybe we could keep pretending. just for tonight. and then when we get back to the office things can be back to normal.”

“and what does continuing to pretend to be husband and wife entail?” rafe questions, taking a step closer to you.

“more kissing. more… more.”

rafes lips are against yours suddenly, ignoring the elevator doors sliding open in favor of his mouth pushing against yours, lips gliding harshly over each others. the kiss is the exact opposite of the restaurant, whereas it was quick and innocent, this kiss is full of fire and passion.

the elevators slide shut and begin to head back down to the lobby. “shit.” rafe groans against your lips, jamming the button towards your floor. “sorry baby.”

“just… keep kissing me until someone gets in.” rafe listens to your pleas, kissing you until the elevator comes to a halt. even then, he doesn't move far away, keeping himself stood possessively over you, your back against the elevator wall.

you smile awkwardly at the three men who enter before turning your face into rafes chest, focused on the hand that has slipped around your waist. 

the elevator stops and the three men get off. the second it's moving again, rafe is back kissing you, stumbling out when your doors open as to not make the same mistake as last time.

“shit.” rafe groans, having to fumble in his pocket to get the key card for the door.

you let out a soft giggle, pressing kisses to his neck and jaw until the door swings open and you're able to step in the room.

“are you sure?” rafe asks, closing and locking the door behind you.

“im sure.” you nod. “this is just… pretend. let's do what husbands and wives do.”

rafe moves you towards the bed, backing you up until you sit down on the plush spread, decorated exactly like yours in the connecting room, but this bedding still smells like rafe from the night before.

he sinks to his knees, such a strong, dominant man on the floor for you as he takes off your heels, carefully slipping them off your soles before setting them to the side.

“thank you.” you say softly. rafe looks up at you before leaning forward, pushing the slit of your dress open to press kisses to your knees, and then thighs, moving up until the dress no longer allows him to.

“i need you to take this off.” he says roughly.

you nod, shifting yourself to stand as rafe also rises. you turn your back to him, his hands moving to your waist before moving up until he's cupping your chest over the shiny material.

“rafe-” you gasp out as he squeezes, his large palms enveloping your entire breast.

rafe holds his hands there for a moment longer before moving them to your back, unzipping your dress and watching it fall to the floor. you're in just a small pair of lingerie, having bought it for yourself yesterday in a boutique.

“shit.” rafe curses again. “you're… you're so beautiful.”

you turn around to kiss him again, his hands now against your bare skin as he explores, moving all along your sides and back.

your own hands get busy as well, fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt until you can push it off his shoulders. you pull away to see his muscles, hints of which you've seen when he's rolled up his sleeves or wore a tighter than normal shirt, but now you can finally really see and appreciate them.

“lay down, please.” rafe says.

you move to lay on his bed, head resting against the pillows as rafe crawls over your body. his mouth finds yours again as his hand delves under your back to unhook your bra. he pulls it away from your body as his lips leave yours.

he's only off your skin for a moment before his mouth is wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling around in circles as his hand holds your other breast.

“oh, shit.” it's your turn to curse as your eyes squeeze closed, hand coming to the back of rafes head, feeling his short hair as he sucks on your nipple before kissing all over the swell of your breast. he switches sides, wanting to taste all of you.

you lift your hips when his hand grabs onto your underwear, allowing him to pull it all the way down until you kick it off the bed. rafe pulls away to look between your legs, letting out a soft moan when you part your thighs and he can see how wet you already are.

“beautiful.” he says, eyes closing like it's too much to look at you as his hand skirts down your stomach before finding your wetness, finger circling around your entrance before gently pushing in.

“kiss me, please.” you take rafes face in your hands, guiding your mouths back together as his finger carefully thrusts in and out. he slowly increases the speed until you're whining against his lips for more.

rafe twists his hand so his thumb can rub over your clit as you let out a moan, hips pressing up, seeking more.

“i need you.” rafe pulls his hand away. “i need you so bad.”

you nod quickly, giving him one more quick kiss before he pulls away to take off his pants and underwear. you bite your lip once hes completely nude, his cock standing tall and hard away from his body. you want to taste him, want to see what it feels like to have his cock sit heavy on your tongue, but you need him inside of you more.

“i have a condom somewhere…” he looks around.

“you don't need to wear one. I'm on birth control.” you can feel your cheeks blush just at the suggestion. “it's… it's not what a husband and wife would do.”

“okay.” rafe doesn't need any more convincing, crawling back over your body. “do you want me like this?”

you flip over quickly so you're on top, rafes back now pressed into the mattress. you grab onto his cock, giving him a few quick strokes before you line him up with your cunt, sinking down with a synchronous moan.

you keep your eyes on rafes face as you begin to move, hips grinding up and then back, your hands sat firmly on his chest to help you move.

you're able to grind your clit down against his skin every time you sink fully down, just adding to the pleasure. he's stretching you out in the most pleasurable way, just enough to feel it without being painful.

“so fucking beautiful.” rafe says, reaching up to hold onto your tits as they bounce with your body.

you put all your energy into riding him, knowing this might be your only chance to, but hoping it's not, hoping you can feel him inside of you again.

“i- baby.” rafe grunts out, hands moving down to your hips. he helps you move as your legs quickly tire, not used to this position.

“you feel so good.” you whine out eyes sliding shut as rafes hips begin to push up, lifting you with every thrust, spearing his cock even further into you.

“im-im close.” you admit with a gasp, his cock hitting your sweet spot every time.

“cum for me baby, please.” rafe moves one of his hands to your lower stomach, thumb reaching down to rub over your clit.

you cry out, back arching as you instantly cum, not needing any more stimulation as your body shakes before flopping forward, falling against rafes chest.

he gives you a minute, as long as he can hold back before flipping you onto your back. it takes him only a few thrusts to cum inside of you, filling you up to the brim.

rafe flops down next to you, both breathing heavily, skin sheened in sweat.

you wait for a moment. to see if he's going to say anything. when he doesn't, you scooch closer to him, placing your hand on his cheek and bringing him in for a kiss, not yet done pretending.

-- four years later --

“you remember the first time we came here?” rafe asks, stepping into the restaurant with his hand wrapped around yours. it's redecorated some, but is still familiar.

“how could i forget.” you smile at him. “where i first pretended to be your wife.”

“well, at least you don't have to pretend anymore,” rafe says, swiping his thumb over the diamond ring on your finger “mrs. cameron.”

[theostrophywife]

chicken noodle soup.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

song inspiration: is it really so strange? by the smiths

author's note: just a soft fluffy comfort fic cause i've been thinking about matty lately and i needed cheering up after the end of kwaf. let's all laugh at the fact that i set a 1k limit on this fic only to fail miserably lmao 😭

Mattheo Riddle was not a fan of Mondays. 

Most of the time, Mattheo spent the first day of the week nursing a hangover and getting higher than a hippogriff at the Astronomy Tower with his friends to achieve equilibrium. The only thing he looked forward to every week was the prospect of riling you up in class. To be fair, it didn’t take much to get under your skin. Being himself seemed to do the trick. 

As he walked through the castle halls, Mattheo smiled to himself as he plotted out all the different ways he could provoke you on this dreadful day. For some sick and twisted reason, he reveled in the fact that only he could manage to rouse such a violent reaction out of you. There was something satisfying about the way your eyes blazed, your rosy cheeks tinged with heat as you told him off.

Maybe he'd flirt with you today. Tell you how good you looked in your short little skirt. Watch as you turned as red as the tie around your neck. His pretty little Gryffindor good girl. In Mattheo's mind, you were his to tease and taunt.

With his usual swagger, Mattheo sauntered into Advanced Transfiguration fully prepared to test out his new tactics on his nemesis, but you were nowhere to be found. 

At first, he figured that you were just running late. Throughout the duration of your rivalry, Mattheo had never once witnessed you skip class. He would’ve bet his entire cigarette supply that you’ve had perfect attendance since first year. When Professor McGonagall started the lesson and you were still missing in action, Mattheo was understandably concerned. 

The uneasy feeling in his stomach didn’t mean that he was worried about you though. This was purely about mutual benefit. Mattheo couldn’t very well have his Transfigurations partner skipping out on lessons. Even though he regularly did so himself. But still, that was different. Everyone knew he was a delinquent. You, on the other hand, were anything but. Until today, you’ve probably never missed a class in your life. 

Mattheo waited. Surprisingly, the two of you had the majority of your classes together. All of which dragged more than usual since you weren’t there to yell at him for dicking around. When you still hadn't turned up for Charms or Herbology, he became convinced that something was horribly wrong. Missing one lesson was alarming, but three in a row? That was entirely out of character for you. 

When Professor Sprout finally dismissed the class, Mattheo sauntered over to Granger’s desk. As always, she was surrounded by her two dimwit friends who immediately tensed the second he loomed near. Potter and Weasley shot him matching menacing glares, but Mattheo ignored them entirely. 

“Granger,” he drawled, leaning against the wooden desk. “Care to tell me where my partner’s been all day?” 

The Gryffindor girl appeared a bit perturbed by the question. “Why do you want to know where Y/N is?” 

Mattheo sighed in exasperation and produced the set of notes he’d taken during class. A first for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually listened to an entire lesson, let alone take notes, but he knew that you would have a million questions for him when you returned. The notes were his way of saving himself from your relentless interrogation. 

“Figured the little know-it-all would want my notes.” 

“Y/N is feeling a bit under the weather,” Hermione said cautiously. “I can take the notes to her if you’d like.” 

“No.” Mattheo declared rather suddenly. He cleared his throat and attempted to smooth over the sharp response. “No, McGonagall tasked me with it. I don’t want her docking points from my house when she finds out that you did my dirty work for me.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Sure.” The quirk of her mouth told Mattheo that she wasn’t convinced by his excuse. “Well, Y/N is resting up in the tower if you fancy a visit.” 

After a quick detour to the kitchens, Mattheo made his way over to Gryffindor tower. It was surprisingly easy to gain access to the lion’s den. He simply threatened a third year to let him in and got on with it. They truly needed to upgrade their security measures. One glare was all it took for Creevey to crumble and cave. 

With a satisfied smirk, Mattheo walked past the gaudy common room. For Salazar's sake, hadn't the Gryffindors ever heard of subtlety? The decor consisted solely of crimson and gold and the furnishings looked like something out of that muggle show his nan loved to watch—Antiques Roadshow. Antique was right. The worn out couch that he passed looked older than him.

Merlin, now he was starting to sound like Malfoy. Mattheo hurried along before he caught the urge to fold origami notes and chuck it at Potter's head. Fortunately for him, the place was devoid of the Chosen One or anyone for that matter.

By now, his fellow classmates were all in the Great Hall eating dinner, which he was thankful for. It was no secret that Mattheo’s presence wouldn’t be welcome here and he wasn’t really in the mood to fight his way through the Gryffindors just to deliver a note from the kindness of his black heart. Thank Salazar that there wasn’t a single soul in the tower to bicker with. Until he reached your dorm, of course. 

The relationship between the two of you was volatile to say the least. Despite Mattheo’s reputation, you weren’t shy about telling him off. When you were first assigned as partners, Mattheo had fully intended to let you do all the work while he skipped class to smoke, but he quickly realized that this would not be the case. You hunted him down at his hideout in the Astronomy Tower and discovered him blissfully sharing some premium grade mirthroot with Theo and Draco. When you found him, you were so angry that you dragged him by the ear all the way to the library, much to the amusement of his friends. Needless to say, Mattheo never missed a study session again. 

In a way, Mattheo admired you for it. Aside from his friends, everyone in the castle feared him. It was sort of refreshing to have someone call him out on his shit. Especially if that someone was a funny, feisty, ferocious Gryffindor who he enjoyed pestering every chance that he got. Mattheo always did have a penchant for girls with an attitude problem. 

Even as he knocked on your door, the Slytherin boy couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when he heard you grumbling from the other side. 

“Oh, for Godric’s fucking sake, what is it now?” 

The door swung open, revealing a very pissed off Y/N. Clad in striped pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers, you placed a hand on your hip and frowned. Even in the throes of sickness, you still somehow managed to inject venom in your glare. Mattheo grinned like an idiot. 

“Nice slippers, princess.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Riddle?” 

“To make sure my partner doesn’t slack.” He waved his set of notes around. “Don’t think your sickness excuses you from studying.”

“This is payback for making you revise with me after you fell off your broom and broke your arm, isn’t it?” 

Mattheo cringed as he recalled the quidditch accident that sent him to the infirmary for a week. In true Y/N fashion, you were sitting by his bedside with a stack of books in your lap the second he woke up. Madam Pomfrey hadn't even put his arm in a sling yet before you were drilling him on proper spell enunciation and wand movements.

“You terrorized the infirmary with your mnemonics,” Mattheo said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s my turn now. This is sweet revenge, Y/N.” 

You squinted at his barely legible handwriting. “I’m just surprised you took your head out of your arse long enough to take notes.” 

“Glad to see that illness hasn’t lessened your bite. If anything, those teeth seem a little sharper than usual.” He leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at you. “Feeling a bit feral, princess?” 

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?” you quipped, baring your teeth at the aggravating boy. 

The gesture appeared intimidating for a full second until you sniffled and launched into a coughing fit, which made Mattheo frown. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Of course I am. I regularly cough my lungs out on nosy Slytherins whose sole purpose of existence is to make my life a living hell.”

He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. The way his brow furrowed strangely resembled concern. Mattheo trained his chocolate brown eyes on you, examining the rosiness of your cheeks and the slight pinch of discomfort in your features.

"You're burning up." Mattheo's hand dropped from your forehead to the side of your neck. He pressed his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the erratic beating of your heart underneath his touch. It was strangely intimate. "You have an elevated heart rate."

You flushed and swatted his hand away. "Well, yes. That usually happens when one is ill."

"Come on, you should sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do, Riddle."

Mattheo rolled his eyes before dragging you by the elbow. Your protests fell on deaf ears as he barged his way into your dorm and walked you over to the bed. You watched as he pulled up a chair next to you before rifling through the contents of his backpack. Out of the sordid mess of his belongings, Mattheo produced a small container of soup. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a spoon. 

“Here, have some of this. It should help.”

As soon as he pried the lid open, the heavenly smell of chicken noodle soup filled your senses. Mattheo scooped up an equal amount of soup and noodle and blew on it to cool it down before tilting it towards you. The sight of him offering you food like you were some helpless toddler was only slightly insulting. You swore to Godric that if Mattheo started making airplane sounds, you’d strangle the bloody twat.

 “I can feed myself, you know.” 

“Just eat the damn soup, Y/N.” 

You rolled your eyes in return, but obliged nonetheless. Despite the source, you could never resist comfort food.

“Chicken noodle soup?” 

As soon as you tasted it, you knew that it wasn’t just soup. It was your favorite soup. The very same one that Winky made every third Wednesday of the month. You knew because you looked forward to it every time. It was even marked on your calendar. That’s how much you liked it. 

Mattheo nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know it’s your favorite so I bribed Winky to make some.” 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “How do you know it’s my favorite?” 

For once in his life, Mattheo looked utterly uncomfortable. He averted his gaze and busied himself by stirring through the carrots and celery. “You, uh, mentioned it in class once.” 

You couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it was the fever talking, but you thought that was sweet. “You remembered that?” 

Mattheo looked up, a stray curl kissing the tops of his cheekbones as he met your gaze. The shy smile on his face was alarmingly endearing. Sometimes when you looked at those angelic curls and stupid big, brown eyes, you forgot that you were supposed to loathe him. “Of course. It’s my favorite too.” 

You chuckled, sniffling a little. “It’s like a hug in a cup, right?” 

The curly headed boy nodded. “It totally is.” 

After you finished the soup, you expected Mattheo to take his leave. Instead, he inspected the vials of potions laying out on your night stand. He read through every label, frowning a little. 

“You should really have some pepperup potion in here.” Mattheo remarked as he arranged the vials one by one. “Are you sure this dose is potent enough? Maybe you should ask them to brew something stronger.” 

“Pomfrey prescribed them herself. No offense, but I think I’ll take her years of healing experience over your expert opinion.” Mattheo gasped rather dramatically, which made you chuckle. “As much as I appreciate the notes and the soup, I don't think it's wise for you to stick around. I’m feeling a bit better, but I might still be contagious.” 

Mattheo shrugged. “It’s alright, I’m not scared of a little cold. Besides, I still have to go over the Transfiguration assignment with you.” 

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll get you sick?” 

“Not really,” he said, waving off your concern. “I know you’re going to pester me about everything you missed in class, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.” 

To your surprise, Mattheo’s notes were extremely detailed.  It was a bit hard to read given his boyish scrawl, but with a little help in translation, you were making great progress in becoming fluent in Riddle. The more Mattheo explained the concepts and ideas that were discussed in each class, the more baffled you were. You've always known that he was smarter than he let on, but this was borderline impressive.

“How do you know all of that?” 

“I asked.”

“You asked?” Mattheo stared blankly at your surprised expression. “You never ask questions in class.” 

“I never had to since you're always there interrogating the professor like the little know-it-all that you are. Thanks to your absence, I had to fill your role in class today.”

You grinned. It grew wider and wider, spreading until your cheeks hurt. Mattheo glared at your joyous expression. “What? What’s that shit eating little grin for?” 

“You missed me.”

Color flooded Mattheo’s cheeks. You were surprised to find how well crimson suited him. It was almost the exact shade of your house colors. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Riddle, you asked questions in class. You took notes for me. You brought me chicken noodle soup." Mattheo flushed as you pointed out the obvious. "You totally missed me.” 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll hex you.” 

“Admit it, Mattheo. Your day was utterly dull without me.” 

Mattheo rolled his eyes, sighing in defeat. “Fine, you’ve got me. I was bored out of my mind without you around. How else am I supposed to pass the time if you’re not there for me to argue with?” 

“There’s plenty of other people in the castle that you could bicker with.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you.” 

He seemed a little shocked by his own statement, but he didn't try to retract it. In fact, Mattheo almost seemed resigned to it.

“Careful, Riddle. It almost sounds like you have a crush on me.” 

“I’d have to be a bloody idiot to fall for a girl who absolutely despises me.” 

“That wasn’t a denial, you know.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose like the very idea of it vexed him, but you caught the little smile he hid beneath his fingers. Mattheo snatched the notes from your hands. “Focus on the lesson, will you?” He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. “I can’t believe I’ve just said that. Look at what you’re doing to me, Y/N.” 

“You’ll live, Riddle.” You poked a section of his notes that you hadn’t quite deciphered. “Now what in the bloody hell is the Gobstopper Ruffian?” 

“The Goblin Rebellion. Merlin, my handwriting isn't that bad.” 

“Are you kidding? A kindergartner writes more legibly than this.” 

The hours passed while you bickered and bantered. You hated to admit it, but you missed arguing with him too. Laying in bed all day had you positively bored, but yet time passed within the blink of an eye as you went back and forth with Mattheo. Somewhere between discussing the possibility of Longbottom running an underground exotic plant ring and arguing over the best Smiths song, the sun had set over the horizon. Mattheo rubbed his eyes and yawned. 

“You look knackered, Riddle,” you teased, patting the spot beside you. “Do you want to lie down for a bit?”

Chocolate brown eyes widened at you. “Lie down? With you? On your bed?” 

“Yes, that’s typically how people do it.” You smirked as he shot you an apprehensive look. “Unless you’re too scared.”’

Never one to back down from a challenge, Mattheo lifted the covers and gestured for you to make room. “Scoot over, then.” 

The jest seemed to have backfired on you because now Mattheo was crawling into bed and making himself completely at home. All the apprehension from earlier melted as he pulled you against him, his chest pressed against your back as he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. You stifled a giggle as Mattheo released a satisfied little sigh. 

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you until you were covered in the scent of amber, cinnamon, and leather. You never expected to unearth the fact that Mattheo Riddle was a great cuddler, but yet here you were, reaping the benefits of this newfound revelation. He slipped his fingers through yours and nuzzled closer. 

"Who would've known that Mattheo Riddle was such a great cuddler?"

"If you tell anyone—"

"You'll hex me. Put a curse on my family. Set my possessions on fire. Yes, I know, Riddle. You keep threatening me, but you never follow through. I'm starting to think that you're losing your touch."

Mattheo squeezed your hip before twining your legs together. "I wouldn't test me, Y/N. You're in a very vulnerable position right now."

You chuckled as he scooted even closer. "Maybe, but you won't do anything."

"Why's that, princess?"

"You like me too much," you retorted, chuckling as Mattheo buried his face in your hair. "One day without me and you're already a needy mess."

"You infuriate me," Mattheo whispered against your ear. "But you're also the best part of my day. I couldn't imagine fighting with anyone else but you, my dear nemesis."

"I totally loathe you, Mattheo Riddle."

He chuckled as you snuggled into him. "I loathe you too, Y/N Y/L/N."

The irony of the statement contrasted with how tangled up you were wasn't lost on you. For two people who supposedly hated each other, cuddling with your enemy had never felt so right. The steady beat of Mattheo's heart lulled you towards sleep. You were slowly succumbing to its hypnotic lullaby until Mattheo's voice broke through the silence.

“Y/N?” He murmured against your hair.

You shifted, your eyes feeling heavy as his warmth enveloped you. “Hmm?” 

Mattheo’s voice was low and gravelly, flowing like honey in your ears. “This is nice.” 

You smiled against the pillow, staring at your intertwined fingers. “Better than chicken noodle soup?” 

You felt him grin against your skin before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on your temple. “Way better than soup.” 

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @bubybubsters @criesinlies @niktwazny303 @therealallisonspear @athenalikethegoddess @clairesjointshurt @vixzwrites @elle4404

[xiaowhore]

hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry!

premise. in which you manage to make neuvillette feel better at the expense of your dignity. (a fair trade, really.)

word count. 1.5k

note. do umbrellas exist at teyvat. i really don't know.

You've never taken Monsieur Neuvillette as the type to dramatically brood in the rain when he gets sad, but to be fair, you don't know much about him at all.

You clutch onto your umbrella, contemplating. So, uh... Are you supposed to approach him now? Shield him from the rain with your umbrella? That doesn't sound too bad, actually. But then what? Ask him if his pet fish died and now he's mourning his loss? That's hardly appropriate to say to the Chief of Justice... But it would be creepier to just stand there without saying anything, right?

You could leave and pretend you didn't see anything. Of course, that's an option too. It's possible he prefers to be left alone when he's unhappy.

But sulking while standing in the rain just gives “I want someone's attention” vibes, doesn't it?!

With a fit of reckless courage and a “fuck it” mindset, you advance your way forward to where he stands.

Regretting something as soon as you do it is on-brand for you, you realize as you soon come to learn you have to be on the tip of your toes to have the umbrella barely raising over his head instead of hanging from him. You must make a pathetic sight, attempting to shield both yourself and this hulking tower of a man from the rain with a tiny umbrella.

“...What are you doing?” Neuvillette turns around, taken aback when you're in much closer proximity than he expected. Panic flares in his eyes, and like the gentleman that he is, he steps back to create some distance. His head presses against the edge of the umbrella.

“Hey, you shouldn't move away!” You follow his movements, closing the gap. His head is now safely within the umbrella's reach, but you're an inch away from being pressed up against his chest. “I miscalculated. This thing's too small for us.”

When the initial shock wears off, his shoulders slump, a sign of him lowering his guard. “If you know that much, you should use it for yourself and go home.”

That doesn't sound like a bad idea. Appealing, even. You've never felt so silly in your entire life and the option to run away is looking more enticing with each second that ticks by.

Still.

“It's dangerous to walk alone at this hour. Won't you accompany me, sir?”

...Not the best excuse you could've come up with, but your mouth runs faster than your brain. Neuvillette, being the considerate person he is, actually takes some time to think about it, and you hurry to say, “If you leave me alone now, you could have another disappearance case in your hands tomorrow. Would you really like more work on your desk rather than some company tonight?”

He gives you a long, suffering stare that looks suspiciously like the one he gives to Lady Furina when she disappoints him, but he doesn't say no. His hand wraps around the umbrella handle, overlapping with your fingers. It takes another two seconds of that stare before you get the message and you let go, finally able to rest the balls of your feet on the ground as you stand on normal footing.

“I hope you don't make a hobby of coercion,” he hums as you walk together, your shoulders brushing every so often. “Or else I'd see you as a criminal suspect tomorrow instead of a victim.”

“I see that jokes aren't your strong suit, Monsieur Neuvillette.” You laugh awkwardly, your nervousness spiking to an all-time high throughout your entire interaction with him. It's been barely ten minutes.

Silence ensues.

“Do you like showers, sir?”

You should've just kept your mouth shut, damn it.

“I like them the same amount as the average person, I suppose.” The ridiculous question doesn't phase him, and you don't know how he's able to keep a straight face while saying that.

You decide to push your luck. “...Do you prefer bathing with cold or hot water?”

Finally, you draw out a light chuckle from him, the sound deep and pleased. It almost makes playing the fool worth it. “I've been told I'm not the best with small talk, but you seem to be worse than I am.”

Your head snaps up to look at him, affronted. “It wasn't a bad question!”

“Certainly not as bad as talking about the weather. Do you want me to praise you?”

Was the Chief Justice always this sassy? “You're making fun of me,” you point out the obvious, turning away and crossing your arms. “I asked about showers because you were standing in the rain.”

“You thought I liked showers because I was in the rain?”

“Well, I didn't know for sure. That's why I asked.” Even you can tell you're sounding more and more ridiculous by the minute. Was your house always this far? You can't wait to dive to your bed and pretend this encounter never happened. “I think I'll just shut up now.”

“Really, now?”

“Every time I open my mouth around you, I embarrass myself further. I think it's for the best.”

You hear another chuckle as heat crawls up to your cheeks, spreading to your ears. “For what it's worth, you did put me out of my terrible mood. You're quite funny.”

“That's a nice way to say you think I'm being strange.” You hide your face with your hands, peeking at Neuvillette's expression between your fingers. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, he looks straight out of a painting, even with wet hair and drenched clothes.

You've never seen him up close, never even dreamed of standing next to him. Now, you're exchanging jabs at each other like it's the most normal thing in the world, like you weren't just thinking he was someone out of reach when you watched his court trial in amazement. Now, he's so close that you can almost feel the heat from his body, so much more tangible than just a figure you admired from afar.

“But I do have your strangeness to thank,” he admits, looking off into the distance. The stars shine bright in his eyes. “Had it not been for you squeezing me under your umbrella and forcing me to walk you home, I'd surely still be under the rain.”

“...Couldn't you have phrased that better?”

“In court, I only state facts.”

You laugh dryly. “You could spare me some dignity by embellishing the story a bit... Oh, we're here.” You were so occupied defending yourself from his witty comments that you didn't realize you had already arrived home until your door was right at your face. You glance at Neuvillette, who then nods towards the door. If he's disappointed to have the stroll cut short, he doesn't show it.

“Go in. It is rather late.” He closes the umbrella and offers it back to you, a gentle smile on his face. The sight is almost like a reward for your efforts; the small upturn of the corners of his lips makes all the difference, his sharp, cold gaze softening into something more affectionate. The rainbow after the storm. The gratitude for a small kindness.

“You have to get home, too,” you utter, pushing it back to him.

“The rain stopped a few minutes ago,” he insists, gesturing behind him. You blink owlishly, observing the still pools of rainwater. You didn't even notice. Why didn't he say so? You didn't have to squeeze together under such a tiny umbrella, then.

“You should still keep it.”

He raises an eyebrow, inquisitive. “Why?”

You unlock your door, stepping inside, but still not closing it shut. “Well, it gives you an incentive to see me again.” You grin at him mischievously, like you thought of a genius plan. “I work at the cafe in the main street. I'm sure we have some tea that will strike your fancy. Make sure you're not moping next time we meet, yeah?”

Not for the first time, he seems taken aback. But his gaze softens once more, his expression molding into something pleased. “Very well.”

And so, he leaves with a small umbrella in his hand, a smile on his lips, and the clear skies over his head.

The next time you see Neuvillette, the sun is high in the sky. Compared to that night, you can see him a little better now.

That's how you notice he looks unusually shy with a bouquet of flowers in his arms and a pink blush high on his cheeks. “...Good afternoon,” he starts, his lips curving to a beginning of a smile. “The weather is great today, isn't it?”

You stare. You stare some more. And when the sight finally processes in your mind, your twinkling laughter rings in the air, as sweet as the aroma of freshly baked muffins. “And who stooped so low to talk about the weather this time, huh?”

Neuvillette can't even pretend to feel bad about it, not when you're jumping off the seat in the counter to show him a table for two. “Your silliness is infectious, it seems.”

“Hey!”

(You've never taken Monsieur Neuvillette as the type to be smart-mouthed, the type to be indulgent to your whims, the type to be romantic towards the person he's interested in—

But now you have all the time in the world to get to know him better.)

[pearlywritings]

The scent of being mine

synopsis: lately your husband has been staying deep in his thoughts as if bothered by something. It's only natural you want to figure it out and help.

pairing and characters: Neuvillette x fem!reader

tw: established relationship (marriage), tiny hurt/comfort, draconian features (scenting, growling, implied sharp nails)

word count: 3k+ words

“Beloved, you are brooding. More than you usually are.”

Your comment snaps Neuvillette from his thoughts, long lashes fluttering in surprise. He blinks, primordially beautiful eyes finally focus on the document in front of him, and the man makes a frustrating discovery - he’s been staring at one single line of text for who knows how long.

“Beloved?” Your sweet voice soothes the momentary disappointment, and Iudex’s undivided attention is on you in a second. 

“Yes, my dear? My apologies, I didn’t quite catch what you said. Could you be so kind and repeat, please?”

You lower the book onto your lap, and the man can’t help but relish in the sight of you comfortably lounging on the sofa in his office at the Palais Mermonia, with your shoes neatly put near one of its legs and your legs hidden under the light embroidered plaid. Your back and side sink into multiple pillows, half of which he fetched for you previously from the second sofa, and you look pleasantly relaxed within the walls of his work space, knowing very well that he has no meetings scheduled for the day, and the only people who can enter his office are the melusines with document delivery. And who would be uncomfortable in the presence of their own ‘daughters’?

“I was saying that you are brooding. And It won't be superfluous to note your sour mood too,” you nod in the window’s direction, where the sky is cloudy and gloomy. It has been this way for a couple of days already. “I wasn’t bringing it up since I thought you were simply a bit stressed, but after observing you for some time, I am sure there’s something on your mind that’s been bothering you immensely.”

Neuvillette exhales deeply. How could he ever hide anything from the woman he’s been married to for so long? Not that he ever tried, but subconsciously he sometimes tends to push his own worries aside not to make you fret. Besides, usually it’s not something of a big deal…

Watching the thoughts overtaking his mind again, you grab the bookmark from the armrest and soon the closed book takes its place, at the same time as you push the plaid off. Not caring to put the shoes on, you make a quick way to the grand doors to turn the key left in the hole from the inside. But changing your mind a little, you take a hold of a handle instead and crack the door slightly open, enough for the melusine at the reception to hear you.

“Sedene, sweety, Monsieur Neuvillette is taking a small break.”

You can’t quite see her perking up in her booth, but you know she is aware of what that means.

“Thank you for informing me, Madame. Would you like anything to drink or eat? I could send someone to put an order in whatever restaurant you’d like.”

“Much appreciated, but we’ll be fine.”

You hear her hum in understanding and only then close the door and lock it, turning the key two times.

“Now…” glancing back at your husband, you slowly walk back to your previous place of resting, but making it past the sofa and then around the desk, stopping right at his side. Neuvillette lifts his head, looking at you, and immediately pushes the chair back to make room. Gloved hands take a hold of your waist when you step closer and help you settle down onto his lap. One stays gingerly on your hip, the other is placed upon your knees, as you adjust your position, turning half-around to face him. Mesmerizing eyes with slitted irises stare at you with hardly-veiled adoration, and for a moment it almost fools you into thinking that nothing is wrong. Until he inhales and white eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Neuvi, what’s going on? Is it something I can assist you with?”

The man leans forward, pressing his face to your neck, silky locks of his fringe tickling you when he releases a breath. Your fingers find the back of his head, softly scratching the scalp, making him groan in satisfaction. His own digits flex, and you think you feel the claws digging slightly into your flesh through the dark material of his gloves and the skirt of your own clothes, and you let the dragon be a tiny bit greedy in expressing his affections.

“It’s not something I thought would bother me,” you hear him murmur into your neck. Instead of rushing to ask him to elaborate, you encourage him to take his time with a soft touch, gently following the pointy shape of his ear with your fingertip. The man shivers, but quickly relaxes, leaning into your body a bit more.

“Why logically I understand I’m in the wrong, but on an instinct level it doesn’t give me rest. Remember the celebration Lady Furina threw three days ago?”

Ah, of course you remember. It was a nice little feast the Archon organized to mark another successful staging of hers, to which your husband and you were obviously invited. You can’t, however, recall anything particular that could upset Neuvillette. He wasn’t offered anything to taste he didn't enjoy - had his own supply of fresh water even; he had no cases to worry about, having finished everything rather important beforehand, and he was not engaged in any interactions he could potentially be uncomfortable with. Maybe it was something related to you? However, you can’t think of anything: most of the time you spent conversing with Furina, discussing her next outstanding and grand performance, or dancing with your beloved, happily twirling in his embrace. Sure, other people approached you too, but…oh. Wait, there was something.

“Do you mean the celebration during which that opera performer from Li Yue was flirting with me?”

Immediately his body tenses and a low sound, kind of sounding like a growl, escapes his strained throat. He quickly composes himself though, once you drop your hand from his head to his back, drawing circles there.

“...I apologize for that.”

“Please don’t, I don’t mind a bit of jealousy,” you assure him, and the man finally leans back, looking at you with those fairytale eyes.

“You think it was jealousy?”

“Well, maybe right now it was just a bit of frustration, but back then I think it was jealousy,” Neuvilette hums, lowering his gaze, processing the information. You meanwhile decide to ask more. “But what sparked it? You know I am yours and that no human will ever be able to steal me from you.”

“Ah, my love, I am fully aware of that,” gloved palm leaves your knee and cups your cheek instead. “I know all that, but…but what I felt is hard to explain in words.”

“Try,” you encourage, turning your head and kissing his palm, “I’ll get it.”

“Alright,” with a sigh he lets his fingertips outline the contour of your jaw and travel down the side of your neck, sending a pleasurable sensation down your back. “I suppose I should start with what happened before, when we were still back home. You looked so ravishing and regal - a true gem to an eye, - and I just couldn’t help but let some of my scent linger on you.”

Which is absolutely fine, you love doing the same for him.

“Keeping that in mind I felt all those strange emotions wringing my heart, as he was giving you compliments, especially about the scent, not realizing it’s mine. And then more and more.”

As he doesn’t find what more to say, you stare at him, trying to analyze the information. After a couple of minutes of silence, during which you absent-mindedly braided a little braid out of his straight lock, you decide to summarize.

“So… If I understood you correctly, it felt upsetting that, basically, he caught the whiff of you on me, yet didn’t stop his attempts to hit on me. Am I right?”

“Exactly,” a small smile graces his pale lips, and Iudex presses a delicate kiss to your shoulder. “I could not have worded it better.”

“Hmm… Now I see why you are torn. It is annoying for sure, but it’s not like an ordinary human could know of draconian peculiar properties.”

He nods, thumbing at the pulse point on your neck, staring a little bit past you. His state is saddening, really, even though a tiny slither of pride infiltrates your heart - knowing your husband wants the world to know you are his as much as you want to claim the same about him… Would’ve made you purr if you were a feline.

You shiver when Neuvillette brings his face close again, soft lips pressing to the side of your neck.

“You are so dear to me, my love…” he breathes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat, voice full of unbridled devotion, something not many can hear from this stoic man throughout their whole life. “There are days when I can’t bear the thought of you not being close to me, I overcome with desire to be in your presence, to hold you in my arms, to listen to your divine voice… When you call my name, I want to bring everything I have to your feet.”

“But you already do so,” you cup his cheeks, kissing his forehead. “You don’t have to say all of it - you sound like you are apologizing, like you are trying to excuse your natural behavior. Don’t do it, please. You are so precious to me, I’d be damned if I ever felt unnerved by something like this.”

“I apologize if it sounded like this,” he sighs, long lashes flattering close, when you proceed to kiss over his eyelids. “I just meant to express how thankful I am that you chose me.”

“Oh, Neuvi,” you chuckle, kissing the bridge of his nose and when the tip of it. “I adore when you are so affectionate in private. As for the public display, if we return to the topic of scent… I think I could figure something out for the both of us. If you trust my judgment, that is.”

“How can I not?” Those eyes are staring back at you, bottomless pools swirling with wonder and elation. “Only if you truly want this.”

“I do,” your lips hover dangerously close to his. “And I will find the way.”

Soft thuds rhythmically yet quite leisurely cut through the lofty noises of the Court of Fountaine, catching the attention of the passersby. One hit of an elegant cane against the pavement equals two steps of yours, as you and your husband walk through the main square of the city. Your appearance - no matter together or by yourself - always gathers attention, and you could bet that if Fontaine didn’t have a law prohibiting photography of executives without their permission, your picture would’ve adorned tomorrow’s copy of The Steambird.

And you are a sight to behold - your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, gloves matching perfectly his today’s cravat of choice, jewelry specifically picked to mirror the beauty of their wearer’s partner, clothes tailored to clearly be a ‘couple outfit’... It is pretty evident that this outing is planned, if the Iudex’s absence from the Palais Mermonia didn’t serve as a clue.

You hold no conversation, rather relishing in the warm rays of sunlight (you did though tease Neuvillette upon stepping outside that his mood seemed to improve). Despite looking like it’s you who is clutching onto the man and him leading you somewhere, it’s completely vice versa. Your beloved has absolutely no idea what kind of ‘surprise’ he is soon to experience, but your previous words keep his mind at rest - you found a solution for his concern.

As a result, his high spirits are pretty apparent to the people who know him well. Or the melusines, if one is being accurate, who approach you two along the way with warm words of greetings and cute waves of their hands, which brightens Neuvillette’s features more evidently.

“I think we should soon visit the Merusea Village,” you suggest after bidding goodbye to Tristane. “And do a little gathering for our girls who work here, in the city. I am sure they have many stories to share with us.”

“I would really like that,” Neuvillette's smile is a heart-warming sight. You can only hope that you’ll get to see it more after today. “How about we start planning tomorrow after work?”

“That would be wonderful! I can’t wait to write an invitation to every single one. And to the village too.”

“Then it’s on you as always,” he agrees without objection, leaning a little to subtly kiss your temple when you turn the corner. Letting out a soft chuckle, you give him a fond look, and then focusing back on the street.

It’s barely a couple of minutes later when your partner sees you perk up. Trying to pinpoint what caught your eye, the man scans the signboards of the shops and boutiques lining up at both sides of yours. Jewelry? No, he doesn’t think so - you adorn each other with fine gemstones regularly. Clothes? Doubtful, given you’ve just received a couple of new outfits a week before. Maybe it’s-

You disturb these wandering thoughts, tugging on his elbow to catch his attention. Looking at you and then following the direction of your raised hand, Neuvillette lifts his eyes to read the signboard above the shop you’ve stopped in front of.

“Palais des parfums”

“So,” you start when he gives you a questioning look, “it’s a perfumery, yes. And my suggestion is the following - let’s choose a scent we could wear together. Before you get concerned about it becoming too popular, because we will use it, this shop has an option of creating something personal. We can just pay a little more to make it exclusive.”

“The same…scent?” Your husband hums, touching his chin in thought. This actually sounds quite good - created by a human master, it is to be perceived by humans, and by utilizing one fragrance on you both it will be made clear that the two of you are spouses. Not to mention the newspaper that will spread the fact for others to know. “My dear, that’s a marvelous idea.”

“Really?” A wide smile lifts the corners of your lips.

“Really. I like it a lot,” he assures you with a smile of his own. “And I do favor the possibility of making perfume specifically for us. How did you know though, my love?”

“Have done my research. And already spoke to the vendor before. Furthermore, I think we can order the creation of two perfumes. One for every day, and one for grand events where our presence is required.”

“I see you’ve done your research indeed,” his words are soft and gaze is full of admiration. It’s so hard to resist and not kiss him right in the middle of the street, yet let your fingertips gently scratch his forearm.

“I promised my husband a solution, didn’t I? Couldn’t disappoint you.”

“You can never disappoint me, if anything you astonish me every single day of our lives. Shall we get inside?”

“We shall. Just please, beware, there are a lot of fragrances mixed in the air. I am afraid your nose will be assaulted just like mine was.”

“I can bear with it, beloved. I would be a coward of a husband, if I turned back after the amazing work my wife did,” your cheeks heat up at his praise and you lightly dig your covered nails into his arm.

“Oh, stop it, no need to be so sweet, I already understood your appreciation for this,” your eyes motion to his hand resting on the hilt of the cane and fingers joyfully tapping against the wood. With a barely audible chuckle, the man unhooks your arms, wrapping his around your waist, and steps forward, reaching for the handle.

A soft chime caresses his ears, as the maddening mix of scents hits him right in the nose. Glancing to the side to check on you, he notices how you instantly switch to breathing through your mouth and follows your example. It, thankfully, gets better.

The shop owner is not hard to find, a sweet lady in her late 50’s welcomes you with a glint in her eyes upon recognizing you, which soon is replaced by the look of surprise when she sees your companion.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur, Madame, how can I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs Deschamps,” you greet her with a smile, “I came by two days ago, remember?”

“Yes, yes, how could I forget our dear Madame? You were curious about my perfumes and if I do personal orders.”

“Right! This is my husband,” you motion to the man still courteously holding your waist, who bows in greeting.

“Pleasure to be meeting you.”

“O-oh! How could I not know you and your husband? Your wedding was the event of the century!”

“Haha, you flatter us,” you chuckle merrily, covering your mouth. “We are here to put in an order. We’d love to buy a newly crafted perfume. However, we have a couple of conditions…”

It’s almost evening when the doorbells chime again, marking your departure. Once again walking side by side and with arms linked, Neuvillette feels an almost primordial satisfaction. These hours spent in that stuffy, smelly box of a shop will be absolutely worth it when your order is complete. While he does feel the inevitable approach of a runny nose after test-smelling way too many fragrances, and it doesn’t feel like he left work today at all, as he was handling legal documents relied to the exclusivity of the product, he doesn’t regret a single mora spent and to be spent in the future for this.

Soft thuds once again cut through the sounds of the city, and they are gently lulling your mind. Maybe your head hurts just a little bit, but it pales in comparison to the invested state of your husband and how much evident fun he had in meticulously choosing the right aromatic notes to your future shared scent.

You can’t wait to help him apply it every single morning to come and get the same treatment in return. This is going to be a new, hopefully a long-staying option to your usual scenting routine.

taglist: @meimeimeirin

[radiance1]

"Old fuck!" Said Dan as he kicked down the wall to Vlad's office. Vlad only let out a sigh, apologizing for the noise and then ending the meeting right then and there. He glanced over at Dan and wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Do you truly have no concept of a door?"

"It's more fun this way," He mentioned offhandedly as he stomped his way over the Vlad's desk and slammed his hands down on it. "Do something for me!"

Vlad, silently, moured the loss of another table and those three glorious months of peace. He looked Dan in the eyes and raised an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, do you want me to do for you?"

"So you know Superman-"

"No."

Dan reared back like he'd been slapped. "The fuck!? You didn't even hear me out yet!"

"I don't need to." Vlad calmly sipped at his tea that wasn't there a second ago, and then let out another sigh. "And do stop screaming obscenities at me, it is horribly low-class and you're better than that."

"You're only saying that because I'm a fusion of you." Dan pointed out with a deadpan expression. Vlad snorted. "Obviously."

"Hear me out and I'll think about it."

Vlad sighed again, crunching away at a cookie -seriously where is he getting all of this??- before waving a hand in Dan's direction that basically said "Go on."

"Alright so Superman, you know the guy and you most certainly know his weakness." He swipped a cookie, then continued at Vlad's nod. "Kryptonite, nasty stuff yea. You know who uses Kryptonite the most out of basically everyone?"

"Lex Luthor."

"Lex fucking Luthor."

Vlad placed his teacup onto the desk, threading his fingers together and resting his chin on them as he stared the fusion down. "You know, if you wanted me to... complicate, his gathering of Kryptonite. You could have just led with that."

"Would it have worked?" Dan genuinely asked.

"I would have thought it over a bit more before my refusal." Vlad answered and Dan growled. "Just accept already you old-timer."

"Now, now. If I didn't know any better, I would think that you were perhaps, worried about the Man of Steel himself?" At that, Vlad's eyes turned red as a playful smirk graced his lips.

Dan's eyes narrowed as he lifted a finger towards Vlad acusingly. "Don't you dare try your mind control bullshit on me."

Vlad chuckled. "Oh I would not dream of it, I was merely..." Vlad's eyes shined with mirth as he deliberately paused. "Stating an assumption."

Dan hissed, translating his sheer annoyance through ghost speak while Vlad respond back with a purr. More than throuoghly pleased.

Usually, it was the other way around.

"You can go to hell with your assumptions." He leaned over the desk, destroying it even further as he his claws dug into it. "Either you deal with him or I'll do it myself."

Vlad stared him down for a good few moments, the room falling silent as they stared each other down. Vlad sighed. "Fine, I don't need your little temper tantrum leaving me with such a giant mess to clean up." He tapped a button under his desk -mercifully safe from the destruction- and waved Dan away. "Now if you will excuse yourself, I have a few calls to make, a desk to replace, you know the works."

Dan nodded and over to the giant hole in the wall before pausing. He reached out with ghost speak, sending out a violent threat through intent if he did not follow through.

Vlad simply responded with nonchalance, exasperation, and even a bit of annoyance.

A few weeks later

Lex Luthor is livid.

Someone has been buying up all of the Kryptonite before he could get to it, which should be impossible in itself. But no, then they proceeded to mess with the shipments he managed to get his hands on, interrupt deals to acquire them and even outright destroyed a few.

He has his own stockpile for emergencies, yes. But it's very noticeably dwindling.

Meanwhile with Vlad

"Now what exactly am I supposed to do with all of this?" Vlad asked himself, staring at the large pit of Kryptonite capable of filling multiple warehouses.

Honestly, it was utterly useless to him.

[shmalk]

141 is filled with alphas, not a single omega in sight. there are a few betas, but they're either low-ranking or transfers that were never going to last.

like you! (beta!reader) who works at reception and takes calls, scans badges and is the first point of contact for the task force.

none of them know your name, none of them even speak to you - maybe price, when you transfer a call to him, he'll mumble a thank you. or even laswell, when you bring her a coffee.

it's nothing, really, you don't mind.

only, one day, a totally normal friday, you've done the exact same style in your hair you always have, and you're wearing more clothes than you were yesterday.

price wants a coffee, sure- you make it, just the way he likes, and head towards his office. you knock, and wait a few seconds until you hear 'come in.'

the office is silent, it usually is - but this time there's more than just price inside.

they're finishing up just as you enter, soap and gaz sitting in front of the desk whilst ghost leant against the back wall.

"my apologies, captain." your voice isn't exactly quiet - why should it be, you've done nothing wrong, but its still respectful. price just nods as you place the cup down on his desk.

"thanks, that's all." he dismisses everyone in the room, and you wait for the boys to file out before you do, soap and gaz both giving you a cheeky smile.

ghost is the one to hold open the door, standing just adjacent to the doorway with his arm sprawled against it. its a heavy door, and you swallow as you pass him.

"thank you," you all but mumble out as you rush past him - straight into the break room.

you can't help but rant about the situation to your roommate whilst you're packing up your things, your phone tucked between your jaw and shoulder.

"i mean- he held the door open for me and i couldn't even look him in the eye to say thank you!" you stress, throwing your bag into your passenger seat before leaning back against your car. "god, all i wan't right now is a plate of sushi and some boba."

"too bad its pizza night, dweeb."

"thats not fair! i could loose my job, i should be allowed to eat my comfort food when im stressed out."

you stress about it over the whole weekend, and when you return back to work on monday you try to act as casual as possible. of course, you don't see ghost - price doesn't order a coffee, and youre break time comes around quicker than you expected.

you had brought- oh, theres- your favourite sushi, and a boba drink sitting where your food was supposed to be. in somewhat messy hand writing, on a small piece of paper, theres your name.

signed ' s. riley. '

i am a sucker for sweet lil moments like this !!

in my head i think that simon would like a beta, or an alpha, but in this lil snippet (which is CERTAINLY getting turned into a fic) he's big and broad and gets worried when he's with alphas because they can't think straight, he tells them what to do and he does it.

but you? you dont react to his scent or chase him down to get him to court you - so, of fource, he courts you. <3