#my apologies to whoever they cast

[godofdystopia]

Man I'm actually glad people are waking up to the fact this show is going to be a dumpster fire for whoever they cast as Hermione

You know none of them bitches are going to defend her from HP fans being shifty about her being black, or being anti-slavery

[elminster-big-naturals]

you should have just sat there and skipped your turn

[slu7formen]

So I got this from a book but a truth and dare game with Luke where she has to lick whip cream of him. You can do whatever you want with this prompt but like a smut could be nice.

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

this single request itself made me wanna try it, love you <3

warnings: teasing, kissing, s3xual tension, food play, drinking, oral (f receiving), mutual m4sturbation, unprotected s3x, possessive!luke at times, biting, f1ngering, chocking, also this is SO LONG, I’M SORRY

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

₊˚⊹♡

The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the faces gathered around the hidden clearing. You all had managed to sneak away from the watchful eyes of Chiron and Mr. D for a game night in the woods. The air buzzed with the energy of a rebellion and contagious laughter – a night of games for the older campers, fueled by salty and sweet snacks and stolen alcohol —a sweet thank you to the Hermes’ cabin—. Laughter and playful groans punctuated the evening as truth or dare, with a twist, played out. Two decks sat in the center of the circle – red for dares, blue for truth.

Silena patiently waited as Clarisse read a red card out loud. "Whoever you find most handsome, kiss them" the card declared, "or take a shot." A playful smile spread across Silena´s lips, her gaze lingering for a beat too long on Charles Beckendorf. A blush crept up her neck as the others hooted and hollered.

"Come on, Silena" Connor Stoll, Hermes' resident prankster, prodded her with a playful jab. "Don't be shy, show us who the lucky guy is!"

With a playful toss of her hair, she leaned across the circle, her eyes meeting Beckendorf's for a fleeting moment before landing a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. Beckendorf, caught off guard, sputtered and stammered, his face mirroring Silena's blush. The clearing erupted in cheers and teasing whistles.

The teasing went back and forth, fueling the already lively atmosphere. Next, it was Beckendorf's turn. He scanned the circle, eyes falling on a tall and skinny guy sipping on the last drops of his beer.

“Travis” he called. “Truth or dare?”

Travis, ever the clown, leaned back on his elbows, a confident smirk plastered on his face. "Dare" he replied, popping the r out.

Beckendorf announced the dare after picking up a card: "Take off the socks from the person on your right with your teeth, or take two shots." A collective groan rose from the circle. Lee Fletcher happened to be Travis' unfortunate neighbor.

"Come on, Trav" Luke chimed in, a playful look in his eyes. "Those feet are all fresh and sweaty for ya'." The rest of the group roared with laughter, picturing the image of Travis attempting the sock removal with his teeth.

Travis, with a grimace that contorted his face, finally managed to grab Lee's sock with his teeth and yank it free. He held the sweaty trophy aloft, earning another round of cheers and jeers.

Meanwhile, Luke couldn't help but steal glances at you, sitting next to him. The firelight cast your features in a warm glow, highlighting the soft curve of your lips and the way your hair cascaded down your shoulders like a waterfall. The scent of your perfume, a mix of strawberries and something else he couldn't quite place, filled his senses, making his heart pound a little faster. He found himself captivated by your laugh, the way your lips curved into a smile as you spoke, or the way your brow furrowed in concentration when you contemplated a dare. Sitting next to you felt like being next to a goddess, both exhilarating and intimidating, just like the rest of your sisters; girls from cabin ten.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, Travis scanned the circle, his eyes stopping on you. You met his eyes, a playful sparkle in your own, as if daring him to choose you.

“yn, truth or dare?”

You took a swig of your beer, the cold liquid a welcome contrast to the warmth blooming in your cheeks under his scrutiny. "Dare" you replied, your voice laced with a hint of flirtatious defiance.

A surprised whistle escaped his lips. Clearly, he hadn't expected you to choose the more daring option, you´ve been picking truth all night. He reached for a card from the red deck, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The silence grew thick as he scanned the card.

A barely audible chuckle escaped his lips as he read the card. "Alright, pretty girl" he began, drawing out the words for dramatic effect, " 'Lick whipped cream out of the person on your left's neck, or take a shot.'"

A collective gasp rippled through the group, followed by teasing comments towards Luke. "Castellan's lucky tonight!" Connor hollered, patting his back. "Looks like you owe cabin ten a thank you, man."

Luke felt his cheeks burning like rubies. He tried to appear confident, as he always was, a casual slouch to his posture, but the rapid thump of his heart betrayed his cool facade.

You just stared at him for a moment, a nervous yet malicious smirk on your lips. You enjoyed the sight of him suddenly all red and flustered, a stark contrast to his usual cool demeanor. He looked as cute as ever. "Well?" Katie asked, shrugging your shoulder playfully. "Whip cream or a shot?"

And how could you resist the dare? A chance for your lips to brush against the warm skin of Luke's neck in a gesture that was more intimate than any game dared to be? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, a delicious mix of excitement and nervousness. Licking the sweet whipped cream off him, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your lips... it was too tempting to pass up, and the possibilities were simply intoxicating.

Ignoring the teasing catcalls and whispers, you turned to Katie with a sly smile. "Where's the whipped cream?" you asked, knowing full well that Silena had brought a large bag of candy, a can of whipped cream nestled amongst the chocolate bars and sour gummies.

Your question erupted into another wave of cheers and whistles. Luke, meanwhile, felt like his insides were about to explode. He felt like a churning cauldron of emotions – nervousness, excitement, a burning desire dancing in his stomach.

Silena tossed the can to you. You caught it in the air, the coldness of the metal a stark contrast to the heat burning in your cheeks. You met Luke's gaze once more.

"Looks like you're about to get a little messy" you declared, getting on your knees now for a better access. With a sweet but weirdly evil smirk, you shook the can, the hiss of the pressurized cream a prelude to the sweet mess you were about to create.

As Luke held your gaze, a slow smile spread across his face. He knew this was a chance, one he couldn't afford to miss. "Alright" he sighed, chest heaving up and down in one hard and heavy movement, his voice rough with suppressed nervousness but laced with an undercoat of confidence. He tilted his head slightly to the left, offering you a better angle, his final invitation. "Do your thing."

The weight of his words, the vulnerability in his gesture, sent a jolt through you. Luke's neck, bathed in the warm glow of the fire, looked impossibly inviting, the smooth skin a stark contrast to the dark fabric of his shirt.

Taking a slight breath, you placed a few dollops of whipped cream on the side of his neck. The coldness sent a jolt through him, making him flinch and hiss lowly. A wave of whispers rippled through the group, a mixture of nervous anticipation and excited curiosity.

Luke caught a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye. You tossed your hair to the side, the movement exposing completely one of your shoulders. In that moment, under the watchful gaze of the fire and their friends, he felt himself going faintly insane with a mixture of desire and nervousness.

You leaned closer, the sweet scent of your perfume filling his senses. As you both closed your eyes at the same time, the air crackled with electricity. Your tongue, soft and warm, darted out with boldness. Pulling down on the collar of his shirt to avoid a mess, your other hand flew to the back of his neck, holding him gently in place.

The gentle rasp of your tongue against his skin sent shivers down his spine. It was a slow, deliberate movement, almost reverent, seductive, as you savored the sweetness of the whipped cream and the warmth of his skin beneath it.

Your actions were hot enough for his cock to start hardening against his cargo pants, painfully. But he has to thank the gods for luckily sitting in a position in which he was covering it.

He pressed his lips together, and apparently, that made his friends laugh. He could hear the soft gasps of your breath as you worked your way around the whipped cream blob, the sound echoing in his ears like a siren's song.

Luke felt like a live wire, every nerve ending tingling with awareness. He couldn't believe what was happening. The gentle touch of your lips made him feel as if a hundred ants walked down his spine, his heart thundering in his chest. He was trying so hard to hold back a moan.

He tried to imagine something else, literally anything, but whenever he tried, the only thing he could picture was you with him in his room, pouring whipped cream all over his neck and just licking, like a cat, as he tilted his head back and you bit down on his pulse, you whispered in his ear, you moaned loudly, you let him touch you.

He was a dead man.

Finally, with a satisfied sigh, you pulled away.

"There" you said, your voice barely a whisper. "All clean"

Luke opened his eyes, his gaze lingering on your lips, cherry lip-gloss long gone, as you finished licking off the last bit of your sweet treat. You met his gaze. Neither of you spoke.

A loud cough from Connor broke the spell. "Well, that was..." he began, searching for the right words, "intense."

“Yeah” Chris joined in, suddenly grabbing Clarisse’s hand and turning to her. “Can we do it?”

The moment was broken, the playful environment resuming its place. A wave of laughter washed over the group when the night took an unexpected turn. Soon, the whipped cream became a must along your friends.

Travis´ eyes landed on a weak Lee. The following minutes were filled with chaos and laughter as Travis chased Lee around the nearby trees, whipped cream can in hand, finally managing to catch him and plant a sloppy glob of cream on his neck. Lee's retaliatory attempt at tickling Travis only resulted in both of them collapsing in a heap of loud laughs.

The game continued, couples forming and reforming with each dare. Beckendorf and Connor, fueled by a rivalry, ended up smearing whipped cream on each other's faces, resulting in a food fight of sorts. Silena and Katie shared a non-stop giggly mess as they licked cream off each other's cheeks.

Even Clarisse, despite her initial resistance, found herself cornered by Chris.

By the time everyone´s face was sticky, exhaustion had settled in. As the fire crackled down to embers, casting long shadows across the clearing, everyone decided it was time to head back to their cabins.

The walk back was filled with drunken stumbling and whispered jokes. Silena and Clarisse, whose tolerance for alcohol was notoriously low, were stumbling back to their cabins, supported by their patient friends.

You walked behind them, a smile playing on your lips as you watched the scene unfold, bag of leftovers snacks swinging on your wrist.

Behind you, Luke admired your figure bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the trees. Your hips, swaying with each step you took, were basically asking him to be grabbed, to be pulled. So did your hair, bouncing and shining on its on and he wondered what it would feel like to have it wrapped around his hand. His mind couldn't help but flash back to the way your tongue had felt, flat and warm, against his skin. It was a sensation that gave him goosebumps even now, a memory that made his brain feel like melted butter.

He also found no way of getting rid of his boner. His pants were a little baggy, and his friends were drunk, but still, he was just walking around camp, with a boner, and the girl that gave it to him was walking just five feet ahead.

His train of thought was abruptly derailed by a booming voice. "Alright, guys" Beckendorf announced, his voice thick with concern, "I think I'm going to take Silena back to my cabin" he turned his head behind him. “She seems a little too excited, actually” he says, as you all watch Silena´s figure almost falling to the ground as she reaches the Hephaestus cabin.

The others murmured agreement, offering sleepy goodbyes and pats on the back. You joined the chorus, your voice a gentle murmur.

Unlike many of the other campers, whose siblings populated Camp Half-Blood year-round, you were one of the few who stayed all year, along with Silena some months. With the winter season in full swing, your cabin stood empty, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional curious critter.

"You alright?" you heard beside you.

Luke, walking next to you now, seemed to pick up on your quiet contemplation. He cast you a sidelong glance, his face unreadable in the dim light.

You pulled a small smile from the corner of your lips. "Yeah, just-, realizing I have the whole cabin to myself tonight."

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"Well, then" he began, his voice a low rumble, "Want me to walk you there so you don´t go alone?"

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as Luke's offer hung in the air.

"My cabin's not too far away, Luke" you teased, pointing towards a cluster of trees in the distance. A flash of pink peeked through the branches – the lace curtains that adorned the windows. "See? I can practically see it from here. You just really wanna spend more time with me, don't you?"

A faint blush crept up Luke's neck. He wasn't used to being so transparent, especially not around you. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

"Then I guess" he stammered, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. "that my company is not wanted?"

You couldn't help but laugh, a melodic sound that echoed through the stillness of the night and ringed inside Luke´s ears. Deep down, you knew that was the furthest thing from the truth. The dare had awakened something inside you, a flicker of something warm and exciting burning in your belly. Looking at Luke now, bathed in the cool moonlight, you saw him differently. The way his hair tousled in the gentle breeze, the way his dark eyes held a depth you hadn't noticed before – it all made your stomach twist and tighten.

You placed both hands on the back pockets of your jeans. “When did I say that?” you ask.

A slow smile spread across Luke's face, mirroring your own. He couldn't deny the truth in your words. This playful back and forth shattered a barrier, revealing a connection neither of you had anticipated. His gaze drifted down to your lips for a second.

You noticed. Just as you noticed his hardened dick hidden inside his pants.

As you continued walking, a comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. The thought of him, his touch, his nearness, sent a hot wave through your stomach. It wasn't just about his good looks, though you couldn't deny his attractiveness. It was the unexpected intimacy, which was in fact, not so intimate due to your friends’ stares but, it left you with an empty feeling in your chest. It left you wanting more. More about Luke.

And then, it all just made sense.

As you reached the front door of your cabin, you turned around on your feet towards Luke. His eyes were wide and shiny in anticipation, waiting for you to speak. "So," you began, your voice dripping with feigned innocence, "since my company is apparently so delightful, how about you come inside for a bit?"

Luke blinked, surprised by your sudden offer. "Inside?" he echoed.

"You've never even been inside my cabin, have you? Don't you at least a little bit curious about what it looks like?"

You knew your question was a blatant and dirty lie. Luke likely knew the layout of every cabin at Camp Half-Blood, even though it is true that he only took small look from your cabin when the door was open, never fully stepping inside. But it was a way to gauge his interest. You knew how to play.

Luke shifted on his feet, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He wasn't sure if you were serious or just messing with him, but the invitation, whether genuine or not, was tempting. The thought of spending a little more time with you, alone, in the privacy of your cabin, made him think twice.

"Well," he began, his voice rough with well hidden desire, "if you want me to”

The sweet, cloying scent of perfume hit him first, a heady mix of flowers and vanilla that instantly relaxed his nerves. The walls were painted a soft, rosy pink, trimmed with crisp white molding. Pastel blue and green curtains adorned the windows, their gentle hues echoing in the twin beds adorned with pale blue sheets, a stark contrast to the brown bunks of his Hermes cabin.

Instead of the communal sleeping arrangements he was accustomed to, each camper here enjoyed the luxury of their own space. Twin beds stood side-by-side, separated by a blue dresser that boasted a large mirror and neatly organized drawers overflowing with what he could only assume were makeup and beauty products. In the corner, a chest with your name painted in a cheerful font held your personal belongings, and the space above your bed showcased an assortment of pin-ups – Hollywood starts and sultry singers plastered across the wall alongside a few candid photos of your friends, their faces beaming with laughter.

As Luke took in the scene, you walked further into the cabin, the plastic bag of leftover snacks crinkling in your hand. You tossed it onto the bed, rummaging through your chest for a change of clothes.

Suddenly, a small, gushing sound startled you. You looked up to find Luke standing directly in front of your bed, eyes sparkling like a little kid. In his hand, he held the can of leftover whipped cream, a playful white dollop clinging to his finger.

"Really?" you asked, a surprised laugh escaping your lips as you watched him contemplate licking it off. The audacity of the move, the playfulness in his eyes, made your insides twist.

"Don't judge me" he said. "I didn't get to lick it off someone's neck like everyone else did"

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. His words were a playful accusation, but the way he looked at you, the way his gaze lingered on your lips for a beat too long again, it was more than just whipped cream he craved.

You stood up slowly, a smile playing on your lips. Walking towards him, you stopped just out of reach. "Because you didn't want to" you teased, your voice laced with a hint of playing.

Luke met your gaze, his smile fading into a more serious expression. "Honestly, no, I didn't" he admitted, looking down at you from his taller height. "In front of everyone, I mean."

You tilted your head, a knowing smile gracing your features. "Why not?" you pressed, your voice a gentle murmur.

"I was thinking," he began, you immediately catch up on his nervousness, "that maybe... maybe I could do it privately."

A slow smile spread across your face again. “Privately, huh?" you echoed, your voice a teasing murmur. “Who with?"

He scoffed. “Isn´t is obvious?”

A shiver danced down your spine at his words. You couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through you, the delicious anticipation that hung heavy in the air.

With a playful and exaggerated sigh, you sat on your bed, sinking down onto the soft mattress. You look up at him, resting both of your hands behind you, making yourself as comfortable as possible.

He stared down at you, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. He took a second to sit down next to you, the close proximity making your heart beat just a little louder, and the tip of your fingers sweat. The scent of your perfume, a sweet and intoxicating mix, filled his senses.

"Can I?" he asked.

You simply nodded. “Sure” you say. Every fiber of your being was waiting for him to follow in your footsteps, to recreate the intimate touch of your earlier dare.

Bingo.

You were convinced he was going for the same part of your body that you did on his, but instead, you felt a surprising coolness against your skin as he gently pulled down the collar of your tank top, exposing the delicate curve of your collarbone and the top part of your breast.

A gasp escaped your lips as the coolness of the whipped cream hit your skin. Without missing a beat, Luke took the can of whipped cream and, mimicking your earlier action, swiped his tongue across the exposed skin.

The cold sensation of the whipped cream mingled with the warmth of his touch, sending a shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes, savoring the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

His movements were slow and deliberate, his tongue tracing a lazy path across your skin. It was a stark contrast to the playful swipe you'd given him earlier, a wet touch that made both of you, very clearly, what this whole thing was about.

A soft moan escaped your lips, barely audible but undeniably present. Luke's breath hitched at the sound, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.

Suddenly, you felt a sharp nip on your collarbone. Luke had bitten down slightly, the sensation sending a confusing feeling towards your chest.

"Gods, Luke, that's-" you gasped, the word dying on your lips as a wave of pleasure washed over you when his teeth grazed over it again. You didn't even care to finish your sentence, too lost in the whirlwind of emotions his touch ignited.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. He licked off the last bit of the sweet treat from your skin, mimicking the way you'd cleaned him earlier.

"There" he said, his voice thick with mockery. "All clean."

You stared at him, your eyes glazed over with a desire that mirrored his own. You felt like a wild animal, unleashed and untamed. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your breath coming in ragged gasps from your parted lips. Your collarbone glistened with saliva, a testament to the intimacy you'd just shared.

You couldn't take it anymore.

You smashed your lips against his in a hungry kiss. It was a kiss unlike any you'd ever experienced, raw and desperate, fueled by the tension that had been building between you all night.

Luke, caught off guard for a moment, quickly responded, his kiss turning passionate and possessive. He slipped one hand behind your back, pressing you closer, the other finding its way into your hair, tilting your head for a deeper kiss.

You tangled your fingers in the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you as you fell onto the bed. He followed willingly, his body hovering over yours. That dare. That fucking dare. It had morphed into something far more intense, a stolen moment of passion that threatened to consume you both.

The taste of whipped cream was there, with the heat of his kiss, a bizarre yet strangely intoxicating combination. Your senses were on fire, your body yearning for more. You reached up, your fingers tracing the planes of his face, memorizing the feel of his strong jawline, the slight stubble that brushed against your skin.

As the kiss deepened, his hand found its way under your shirt, sending a fresh wave of shivers down your spine. You gasped, a mixture of surprise and delight at his touch.

Your response was immediate when he started to graze his fingertips down your spine. You arched your back into his touch, a wordless plea for more. When he reached to your lower back, he grabbed your hip and pulled you impossibly closer to his body.

You felt his boner pocking on your inner thigh. You wondered how many hours he just spent with his dick painfully hardened, because you don’t really remember how many hours have passed since you chose dare as an option.

Your hands were quick to start pulling Luke’s shirt over his head. He only stopped kissing you to fully remove it and toss it to the ground, lips slamming against yours once again. He held a tight and possessive grab at your jaw, he didn’t want to let go of you.

The tip of his fingers trailed down your neck, your collarbone, a slow path down your body and over the fabric until his finger hooked your jeans, using a single had to get rid of the button, and quickly making it disappear along with his shirt.

“Why are you wearing this?” his voice had gone lower, his throat dry. He looked perfect like this, lips glistening with your saliva, hair messy and a finger hooked on the side of your light pink laced thong.

You couldn’t help but roam your eyes down his torso. The many years of training gifted him with a toned and well-worked body. His veins popped out with ease, starting on his biceps and getting more and more noticeable on his hands, manly, big and rough hands. You bit down on your lip for a moment, fingers tracing down his abdomen, he hissed at your cold fingers against his heated skin.

“It’s just my underwear, Luke” you explain. “Don’t like it?”

Instead of answering, the hand that was holding onto your tiny peace of underwear started trailing up your torso, flat against your stomach and all the way up to your sternum. He felt the soft fabric of your bra and gave you a lopsided smile. “I’m just hoping that this is matching”

And he got rid of your tank top. And it was, in fact, a matching set.

Luke couldn’t help but think that maybe you planned it all. Your cute lacy matching set, the empty cabin, the game. His mind started to race, circuits inside his brain working like a machine.

He hovered over your body again, trailing kisses around your neck. You moaned at the first one since he immediately found your sweet spot on the right side of it, goosebumps all the way from your skull to the bottom of your spine. “Was this all-, some plan of yours?” he asked, rushed voice and breaths coming out in gasps as he started to suck on your neck.

You giggled. “No, it wasn’t. But I was hoping for it-, oh” you moaned, pulling on his hair when he released his suck on your skin with a bop, but you felt his fingers trail up your inner thigh, knuckles brushing against your heated core.

“How?” he asked, slow and painfully teasing movements against your panties, occasionally focusing too much on your clit, making you gasp a little louder as you gripped on his bicep.

“I might have read all the cards earlier” you begin. “And I might have asked Silena to get me some whip cream with your cabin. Just in case I got to-, to do it with you. That’s why I wanted you to sit next to me”

Luke chuckled lowly, beads from his necklace tickling the skin on the base of your neck. “So it was a plan”

“No” you shrug off, feeling his lips against your neck again, sucking greedily. “I just, I wanted it. But I wasn’t sure it was gonna happen. I didn’t know this was gonna happen either”

Luke enjoyed so much the way you couldn’t even speak without letting out a moan or two in every sentence. He felt the fabric of your underwater getting wetter by the second. He listened to you and replied with little “hm’s” as if it was a casual conversation; a conversation in which you had him in your bed, almost naked, as he left bruises down your neck and you had his fingers teasing your entrance, hips rolling against his touch.

“You’re evil” he says. But it’s not you who’s touching him so boldly. It’s not you who leaves him wanting more, it’s not you who teases. But him.

So you let your hand make its way to his cargo pants, slipping past them and his boxers, directly going for his cock. A strangled moan escaped his lips, followed by his chest heaving up and down, surprised by your sudden movement. It felt hot against your hand, hot and heavy and you knew, that it was the hardest Luke has even been.

Your cupped hid balls just for a moment before you started to slowly ascent, finally reaching for his tip. Your fingers wrapped around his length and your thumb started torturous circles around his sensitive head. He sucked in his stomach constantly as you touched him, momentarily forgetting about your pleasure, but you enjoyed this a lot more.

“You really don’t want me to be evil, Luke” you say. “I could be evil and just stand up and make you walk to your cabin, or not letting you fuck me. But I’m not, ‘cause I really wanna feel you inside me, Luke. I really want you”

He let out a long and shaky breath full of relief when you started to bob your hand up and down, and that encouraged him to pull your thong aside, fingers teasing at your entrance. Your own breath came shaky as well when a single finger entered you.

Luke shook his head. “You’re so fucking wet” he pants. He didn’t even touched you properly and you were soaking his finger, lips glistening in your own arousal and leaving a wet patch on your pink underwear. “I need to taste you, doll. Please”

Your chest shakes when you laugh. You think it’s so cute that even though he has a finger buried inside you, your hand wrapped around his cock as you pump him slowly, he still says please, he still asks.

“Do whatever you want to me, Luke. I’m yours tonight”

That’s all the needed to hear. You let go of your hot grip as he steadies himself on your bed. But his hand reaches for something beside him, next to his calve. He brings the whip cream out again. “Can I try something?” he asks.

And how could you say no to his face?

You hold your breath when he leaves little balls of whip cream down your abdomen. You figure it’s empty now, because Luke throws it carelessly to the ground, a soft thud against the carpet on the side of your bed.

He holds your waist steady when you squirm slightly, as if you were about to run away from him. He glances at you for a second, his eyes, dark and dominant, basically telling you to not move a single inch. The plain sight of him, looking at you like that, while his big hands are gripped on your sides, only made you wetter.

He lowers his head to the first blob, tongue agonizingly slow as he only takes the very tip. You whine, you want him to touch you more, you want him to kiss you everywhere, to lick you everywhere, but he only makes it seems like a torture when he stops his movements.

“The more you complain, the more time I’ll take” he said. You nodded to his words, closing your eyes as you tried your best to patiently wait for him to start again.

Soon, you felt his tongue against your skin. This was so much better than your cleavage, so much hotter. You felt his teeth teasing you, attempting to bite but then pulling again, licking the last bit of whip cream before moving down to the next blob. By the time he reached under your belly button, you let out little gasps as his hands massage your inner thighs, dangerously close to your cunt.

He’s not directly touching you, but you feel the arousal getting ticker, and how close Luke’s breath was now to you, so hot and dry. You felt like dripping, even though you weren’t, but you were surely more than ready for whatever it is that he wanted to do to you.

It feels like heaven to him when he finally gets to taste you. He pushed his own head deeper in between your thighs as he groans, as if what he’s getting is not enough. Your high pitched moans fill his ears when his tongue starts slow, little kitten licks over your clit, too soft to even consider them as licks, but it has you squirming and grinding your hips down onto his face, pulling at his curls and asking him for more.

Oh, your sweet pleas. Your moans. Luke feels like a mad man as he start to gently rut his hips against your mattress. And to this point, he’s completely gone in you, too drunk to even care about how loud you were being, how hard he was eating you out, how if someone even tried to walk past your cabin, they’ll hear.

But maybe this is just what he wanted too. He didn’t know how long has it been since he realized he wanted to fuck your brains out, but he always cared about everything too. Where could it be, in a place where no one could see you, how he’d have to cover your mouth to stop you from moaning and letting the others hear you, how he had to pull his dick out slowly and put it back in at the same speed because he knew that if he did it too hard, he’ll become a mess. But he didn’t give a fuck about those things now. He finally had you as he wanted you, why in the world would he care about all those stupid things now?

In fact, he encouraged you. “Don’t hide those pretty noises from me, baby” he panted. “Let me hear you”

He was drooling. He couldn’t help it. You tasted so deliciously sweet, and not because of the whip cream leftovers on his mouth. Yes, it did change things a bit but, he knew how to distinguish what was artificial and what was you. And he loved you. He loved how you couldn’t stop coating his lips with your juices, how your arousal mixed with his saliva and dripped down your ass and onto the sheets.

He never enjoyed a meal so much.

“Luke, wait” you say, pulling at his curls but he only leaned into you more, nose bumping against your clit as his tongue remains inside you. “Luke, I’m gonna cum, wait”

“Then cum” he lifted his head as fast as possible when he heard your words. “Do it, baby.” He noticed the way your thighs were shaking, soothing them down with the palm of his hands.

You shook your head. “No, no” you whine. “I wanna do it while you fuck me, Luke. Please? It’ll feel so good, please”

Luke was starstruck. Oh, how the tables have turned. And how he turned you around too.

You still laid in bed, faced down onto the mattress. Luke had placed a pillow under your hips, ass in the air as he placed himself over you, one knee on each side of your legs. The shaking on your legs had stopped, but Luke noticed how excited you were, how even though you were so fucked up, how a white and sticky mess covered your inner thighs and how your whole body was glistening with sweat, you still managed to crack a smile to yourself as you bit your thumb.

You were driving him crazy. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to look at another’s girl’s face after you. You had him wrapped around your finger and you knew it, and you were just so mean about it, patiently waiting for him to fuck you as he pumps himself a few times, cock harder than it’ll ever be again and his tip leaking with precum.

He placed himself in your entrance, slowly rubbing it up and down your folds, and pushing himself into you at an agonizing pace. His tip was quickly covered in you, glistening with a mix of his saliva and your juices. He tried his best to not let any drop go to waste, getting absorbed by your sheets.

“You wanted my cock, didn’t you, doll?” he asks, pushing himself into you faster than you expected, a loud gasp scraping from your throat. “Then take it”

Your hands instantly reached for the sheets on your sides due to his fast pace, that took the air out of your lungs and started a racing heartbeat inside you, your knuckles quickly turning white as your nails digging into them, but Luke took them both, pushing your wrists together behind your back and holding them there. He used your hands to push himself deeper every time, rock harder, faster.

You were decent enough to muffle your moans in your sheets, but Luke could still hear them mixing with his owns; low grunts, loud gasps and hitched breaths. He had to close his eyes many times to prevent himself from cumming, because what a sight did he have under him.

Your cunt, shiny and coated with a white creamy consistent was sucking him in even when he pulled out. You were so greedy for him. Your walls tightened around him and wanted him to stay there, still, but the rocking of his hips and the gushing sounds of your pussy as he pounded into you was too good to let it pass.

He loved the sound. He loved how you were much wetter inside, making himself feel as if he was pounding into the tiniest and warmest hole ever, creaming his cock and not wanting for him to ever pull out and leave.

He suddenly lowered his body to yours, one hand letting go off his grip to pull your hair aside. “You say you’re mine tonight” he repeated your words in your ear. Your back arched unconsciously, ass slamming back into his cock. “Nah, baby. You’re mine forever”

He let go of your hands, only to place one hand on your throat, pulling you slightly back to him, his fingers squeezing on your sides. Your moans quickly became quite as you tried your best to breathe, but you loved it so much you didn’t even attempt to remove his hand from you.

“You’re all mine, yn” he panted. “Mine. This body,” he gripped on your waist with his free hand, “this pussy, those lips” a ghost of his thumb brushed your bottom lip, pulling down on it. “Mine. Mine. Mine”

He slammed his hips against you repeatedly. You didn’t know when exactly, but you came, and Luke felt it too when the consistent that ringed around the base of his cock became more and more noticeable. And it didn’t take him long to do the same.

He collapsed over your body as you finally gasped for air. You coughed slightly, tears forming on the corner of your eyes but quickly drying out.

“I’m sorry” he said, sliding off you and laying next to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah-,” you laugh “Yeah, I’m-, wow”

That made him laugh. His arm wrapped around your waist as he placed a tender kiss on your cheek. His hands then started to run down your hair, all the way down to your lower back. You close your eyes at the feeling, only momentarily opening them to see something red in between your clothes, shining carelessly to the moonlight from your window.

You reach down to grab the empty can. “We should get another one of these” you say.

[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.”

[aemondsquill]

Keep Going

Aemond Targaryen × Pregnant!Reader

Synopsis: The Blacks invade King's Landing. Aemond and his wife make a daring escape.

Reader is Daemon's daughter. No physical description except for Targaryen features (violet eyes and white hair)

A/N: thank you guys so much for all your support and love for my last fic!! It's so encouraging to know that y'all enjoyed it and I have about 5 other wips waiting in my drafts that I'm super excited to write!

Anyways, back at it again with the ANGST💅

Warnings: Heavy angst, stabbing, attempted murder, mentions of war, blood, gore, pregnancy loss, death

"Come, little dove, we must hurry!" Aemond whispered into the darkness. Y/N waddled around their darkened chambers, her pregnant belly making mobility slightly difficult. Even during this dire time, Aemond took a moment to admire his bride. The pregnancy gave her the most beautiful glow. Excitement glimmered in his chest at the thought of meeting the babe within her. He was hoping for a little girl with her mother's gentle eyes to dote upon. The only source of light were the fires currently burning through King's Landing. The flames cast a romantic yellow hue over her delicate features and made her silvery hair glow.

The Blacks decided to invade whilst the Red Keep slept. They brought their dragons: Caraxes, Tyraxes, Syrax, and Moondancer. All of which were currently wreaking havoc, circling the sky over the dragon pits waiting for their prey. Hundreds of Black bannermen and foot soldiers stormed the city, pillaging and slaughtering anyone they deemed loyal to the Greens.

Just a week prior, Y/N received a raven from her stepmother, Rhaenyra, urging her to leave the city as soon as possible. The letter promised safe passage to Pentos to wait out the destruction until the babe is born. Rhaenyra always held a certain affection for the girl. She willingly and eagerly took the young one under her wing after marrying Daemon.

Y/N notified Aemond of the letter immediately. He spent days planning their escape; which tunnels they would use, where they would dock the rowboat at the end of the tunnel, and which of the little islands would Vhagar wait for them.

Three days prior to tonight, Aemond stashed their luggage on the island they decided on and Vhagar would fly there early the next morn, ideally undetected.

Shouting could be heard through the large oaken door. The Blacks had infiltrated the Keep.

Anxiety clawed it's way into Aemond's chest. For the first time since he was a mere child he felt powerless.

He clutched Y/N's hand tightly, gently kissing her shivering fingers before pulling her towards the passage hidden within their chambers.

----

Light was sparse in the bowels of the foreboding Keep, but the violet-eyed pair pressed on.

The clinking of metal armor stopped them in their tracks, nerves on high alert. Y/N felt her heart drop into her stomach and her knees felt wobbly as Aemond tucked her into a small alcove, shielding her body with his. Together, they held their breath and waited for the soldier to pass. Whether he was Green or Black did not matter, the couple did not want to risk finding out.

A brief moment of silence hung heavily in the air before Aemond spoke.

"My love, if we run into trouble promise me you will run. I will hold whoever it is off..."

"Aemond, do not speak like this." Y/N's voice wobbled. "You are frightening me."

"I apologize, my love. I just want you to know I will do whatever I can to protect you. Both of you." Her heart quivered at his confession.

"It will not come to that." She spoke sternly, "I have the dagger you gifted me on my last name day and I intend to use it, husband." Aemond chuckled at his fierce little wife.

"I know you will. Come, let us continue. We are almost to Balerion's skull."

Aemond held Y/N's hand tightly in his, leading her deeper and deeper through the winding halls.

Aemond swallowed thickly as he thought of his mother, sister, and brother. He prayed for their safety before they made their escape. Surely, at least Heleana would be spared because of her innocence in this mess and his mother because of her past closeness with Rhaenyra. He knew Aegon would meet the Stanger quickly once the Blacks seized him. His drunken brother was still that, his brother and the thought made his violet eye burn with unshed tears.

Aemond's choice to choose his wife and child over his family did not come lightly to him. This is a thought that he had agonized over ever since Y/N received the raven.

Massive stonework created ominous shadows and ancient wood creaked. The Keep itself seemed to be alive that night.

----

Alas! Y/N spotted the mouth of the tunnel in the distance. Excitement made her fingers tingle as she sped up her steps.

Closer and closer they came to the end, the blackened sea coming into view along with the trusty little rowboat. Y/N could smell the briny spray from her location in the tunnel.

Freedom was within their grasp! Seeing the rowboat 'neath the moonlight spurred them on. Just a few more-

"Escaping into the night with your treasonous husband, daughter?"

Y/N felt her blood freeze.

Daemon stepped out from the shadows, along with him his bloodthirsty hounds he calls the Queensguard, surrounding the couple.

"Father, please. Let us pass. We have no fight with you." Daemon chuckled, but the humor did not reach his cold eyes. Aemond gripped his sword beneath his cloak, praying Y/N would heed his words for once. 'Run! You must run now, you insolent little girl!' He thought.

"Rhaenyra promised us safe passage. Please."

"Who's idea do you think that was, my dear?"

Y/N could nearly feel her soul shudder at the betrayal. This was intended. It was a test to see if Y/N would abuse the Queen's mercy by smuggling her husband out as well. And she fell for it so easily. Such pretty words on parchment had swayed her tender heart, filling her with hope. Hope that was so easily stifled with a penetrating stare from her father.

Aemond unsheathed his sword, immediately swinging at an unsuspecting guard, killing him.

"No! Wait!" Y/N begged her husband. Drawing blood would allow them no mercy from Daemon.

'Use this distraction run!' Aemond thought, frustrated.

She unsheathed her own dagger and moved so her back was against her husband's, giving the two full view of the guards circled around them.

"You've opened your legs for my cunt of a nephew and now his spawn resides within you. You will get no mercy from me daughter."

"Father, you pushed for this marriage! Do not forget you wanted to forge an alliance with them!" Y/N shouted, "you are solely responsible for this."

"A decision I regret deeply, Y/N. It is clear whose side you chose and you are no daughter of mine. Sieze them."

The clash of swords rang out behind her and she heard Aemond's grunts of exertion. She swiped at the neck of the guard in front of her and hot sticky blood sprayed on her face.

Aemond's scream in pain stilled her heart. She turned and saw him kneeling, the back of his calf split open, tendons and muscle severed. Still, he swung his sword in vain.

The brief distraction allowed two guards to roughly seize her arms, their bruising grip forcing a yelp from her lips.

Three men wrangled Aemond's arms behind them, he still snarled and squirmed in their grip.

Aemond's eye met Y/N's tortured gaze. A stone sunk in her stomach when she fully realized the gravity of their position.

"You will pay for betraying your Queen, but who will I take first? My traitor daughter and the Green bastard inside her or my nephew, the Kinslayer?" Daemon's tone had a sickening teasing lilt to it, as if he was entertaining a child.

"Well the decision is easy." Daemon stalked over to his prey, dagger drawn and glinting eerily in the moonlight.

"Father, wait, please, don't do this, WAIT! NO WA-" the air was forced from Y/N's lungs as the blade plunged into her gut. And again. And again. And again.

Aemond let out an anguished cry that shook the granite walls behind them. Tears of rage and grief poured out of his eyes, a haunting sight as the sapphire glimmered within his socket.

Y/N could not take a breath as she felt the white hot pain erupt over her swollen abdomen.

The guards released her and she fell limply to the ground.

Then Daemon turned to Aemond, who was choking on his tears and sobs.

"Kill him. When you are done, meet me in the Keep."

A Queensguard brandished a blade in front of Aemond and proceeded to bury to it multiple times in his guts.

Aemond was dropped to the ground as he gasped for breath, the Queensguard retreating into the tunnel.

Aemond crawled to his wife, each drag of his body agony as the rough shoreline tormented his wounds.

He grasped her hand. Shock jolted him as he realized she was alive, but only just.

Together, they propped themselves against the large boulder behind them. Aemond wrapped his arm around his little wife. A sweet and gently embrace that would ease their passage to the Stanger.

"It hurts, Aemond" Y/N whimpered.

"I know, my love." It was all Aemond could say. He failed her. He failed his duty as a husband and a father.

Together they shivered as the life continued to drip from them slowly.

Aemond thought back to their wedding, a day he longed to return to at this hour. If he closed his eye tightly and prayed hard enough, perhaps he would find himself standing in front of her, her eyes shining with love and a small cut adorning her luscious lower lip. Intermingling of their blood gave birth to their marriage. It was fitting that it would see the end of it, too.

"We were so close. We were nearly free." Aemond whispered. Y/N's gasping breaths, while not terribly loud, echoed in his ears. He knew she was not long for this earthly realm.

He held her tightly until he felt her head gently lay on his shoulder. He let out a shuddering breath and he knew.

His throat burned as he spoke, "come, my love, this is no place to die."

With a final surge of energy he stood, shakily. The gash across his calf rendered his left leg useless. Still, he stumbled and groaned through each step. He brought her to the rowboat and gently set her down in it, bundling up his cloak so her head could lay comfortably, his beautiful wife. He gently stroked her now-cold cheeks, chilled by the Stranger's kiss.

---

Each stroke of the oar set fire to Aemond's stomach, the grave wounds stretching uncomfortably as he rowed.

"VHAGAR" he shouted into the void. He called for her, again and again. He begged for his dragon until his throat was scratchy and raw.

The sound of powerful wings flapping could be heard in the distance.

The great she-dragon hovered over the boat as Aemond nestled himself next to his bride. The surge had dampened immensely. His tired eye gazed up at his beast.

"Vha...Vhagar" his spirit was dwindling as his eye fluttered heavily.

"Dracarys." It was all he could muster before slipping into the darkness to join his wife again, his little dove.

A pillar of flame reduced the boat to nothing, the ashes swirling togerther in their black watery grave.

[simp4konig]

König jealous of your dog headcannons

Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: Definitely more than 2😎 🗿Honest to God i have no idea whay the word count is 🤦🏼‍♀️These were mewnt to be short headcannons yet as PER USUAL i got carried away 🤡🤡not abt to copynpaste every single paragraph individually into a word counter

*Slow burn

*Established relationship with König

*⚠️Google Translate German!!⚠️ (sorry guys ...💔)

*Not requested 😋😋 just something that's been on my mind.

*Pls dont worru about rqs guys!!😨 Writing two of tjem atm but I jus wanted to post this first (so my profile isnt as barren as the Sahara desert🏜️while i work at a pace that is slower than that of a turtle 🐢)! :)

*Also how tf do people make their bullet points look so good??? is it a formatting thing or sum cuz im ACTUALLT crippled 😰😰

...

König really didn't want to be jealous of your dog. He didn't.

He hadn't anticipated he would ever feel that way, especially towards a dog, of all things.

Despite not being the type to be jealous — at least, not from his perspective; he was only looking out for his darling! — his eyes would narrow whenever a soldier would approach you, being far too handsy with a stranger. His partner. It made his blood boil.

Sure, König would always stare down whoever made the mistake of flirting with you or introducing themselves with playful banter while behind you. Clearing his throat, a tense hand was placed gently yet firmly on your shoulder.

"Hör auf, mit meinem Schatz zu reden, sonst breche ich dir das Genick."

Not understanding a word of what he said, they would cower in fear nonetheless, getting the message with how he'd had spat that sentence and the venom in his voice. Glancing at their wrist despite wearing no watch, they'd insist that they were running out of time and literally run away.

When you'd look up at him in confusion, König looked back down at you innocently, paraphrasing that he had simply said you were taken.

A facepalm from you. "God, König..." you'd groan, unable to stop the silly smirk from stretching itself on your face. "You nearly made that guy shit himself. Please don't do that again."

König would likewise always straighten himself to his full height and cast a menacing shadow at the dummkopf who dared speak poorly of you.

Once they'd mumble rushed apologies and speed-walk away, you'd see him glowing with an adoring expression in his eyes, a complete 180° to the death stare he shot at the recruit and the hand gesture he made at his throat seconds before.

König would always rest a large hand on your lower back to guide you in crowds, keeping you close beside him to further drive in the point that you were strictly off limits.

Really though, he wasn't jealous. Not in the slightest!

He rationalised his behaviour as looking out for you. In no way was he being overbearing or overly territorial; if anything, people were pushing your already established boundaries and he was reminding people of them! He wasn't jealous at all, no.

Behind closed doors, however, he'd be quieter than usual and have a vulnerable look in his eyes, desperate for your reassurance and to hear you say that you loved him.

Deep down, he was insecure.

That good-looking man didn't make you swoon, did he? Why were you laughing so hard at his joke? He wanted to have made you laugh like that. You still loved him, though, didn't you? You wouldn't want to be with anyone else, right? Right?

It wasn't that König didn't trust you. Although this Colonel looked fierce in front of his collegues and used his booming voice to command others with a harsh tone he found it difficult to project at a large crowd, he had always been sensitive in secret. Being bullied in childhood could certainly do that to a person.

You were the only one he trusted to see his insecurities, and would always shower him with love and affection in private, reassuring him that yes, he was still your sweet and handsome König, and yes, of course you still loved him — that guy that got a laugh out of you was only one out of pity, as he gave you the ick anyways.

One afternoon while you two were eating dinner, König had out of the blue been the one to suggest the idea of a pet; a strong, big, intimidating dog that would protect you while he himself couldn't.

In all actuality, he had been thinking this over since the day you two started dating.

After all, as much as he'd had liked to clone himself and have one part of him fighting when duty called while the other part stayed with you to protect you at home, obviously that wasn't achievable. That afternoon seemed most appropriate to bring it up, as he was assigned for a mission in two weeks' time and was already worried sick over you despite still yet to be around you at all times for twelve more days.

You laughed, surprised by his sudden suggestion. In a way, you had already had a guard dog all along, you told him, yet König shook his head vehemently, insistent. "Nein! Was ist, wenn du verletzt bist? What if you get hurt while I am away? I won't allow it!"

Shaking your head in defeat as an amused smile was tugging at your lips, you couldn't really blame your boyfriend for being so paranoid. In a sense, he was justified in thinking so, and you couldn't fault him, him being a soldier — a Colonel — and all.

König himself came to the conclusion that you should have a German-Shepherd — "A big, strong, and intelligent dog" — smiling proudly as he said so. Laughing at his need to prove himself to you and his evident enthusiasm that proved he was deadly serious, you shook your head again with a sincere smile on your face and gave his forehead a kiss. Really, his concern over you was endearing, and you loved him so much.

On the day before the mission of his, he surprised you by leading in a fully-grown German Shepherd into your shared home as he carried a large dufflebag over his shoulder. Although you had wanted to have a puppy, König insisted a trained canine used in the police force and military operations would keep you safe, and he was firm, not budging even when you mustered the best puppy-dog eyes you could. He knew best, and he needed to relieve the anxiety that plagued him when you weren't around immediately. Finally having use for the connections he had made in his position, he was able to bring home on of Kortac's own German-Shepherds.

Standing with a self-assured manner, the dog didn't hesistate in showering you with love once the lead came off, lapping and licking at your face in excitement at seeing his new owner's face.

You laughed out loud when you saw a tactical dog collar around his neck, the same khaki colour that matched König's cargo pants. Another piece of König to remind you of him.

Still standing, König watched with his arms crossed and a huge smile across his face as he saw how happy you were. He was beginning to breathe easy with the knowledge that nothing would come to harm you while he was away.

Tongue out while panting, the dog waited expectantly under you for an order.

You looked up at König, eyes sparkling in child-like excitement. "Can he do tricks?"

Smiling, König's eyes crinkled in his love for you. "Schatz, it can do more than just tricks. It can protect you. And it will."

You looked down at the giant yet sweet dog, and raised your voice slightly.

"Sit." He did so without hesitation.

"Handshake," you prompted, and he offered his paw to you obediently.

"Stay..." you began, a finger in front of his snout, "stay..."

"Good boy!" you squealed, and fed him a dog treat from the one of the XXL bags König had bought for the occasion, along with a mountain of dog toys, and even a bed.

"What are clever boy you are, aren't you? Yes you are! You are!"

König crouched, and pet the top of the dog's head a couple of times, his eyes on you. "What do you want to call it, meine Liebe?"

Pausing, all at once it occured to you. With joyful satisfaction, you exclaimed: "Prince!" You giggled, barely able to contain your happiness. "Our Prince to my sweet, handsome King," you cooed, not failing to notice the way König looked away, his cheeks under the eye holes of his hood reddening at your comment.

While away from you for weeks, even months at a time, he could rest easier knowing that you weren't all alone at home. Although he still worried for you excessively, biting his nails when in his room as he thought over how you could be doing and what you were doing at any given time, at least he wouldn't toss and turn at night thinking over what could happen to you. He'd smile in satisfaction, pleased that his presence would still linger even when he wasn't physically there, finding comfort in the fact that a part of him still remained with you when he was hundreds of miles away.

You, on the other hand, were so happy! Obviously you were overwhelmed with the responsibility — quite frankly, you had never had a dog before, much less one this big — so you struggled to take care of it in the beginning. Knowing what food to feed it, how to keep it entertained, going so often outside you'd flop on a chair in exhaustion was physically and mentally demanding, as you wanted your canine companion to love you unconditionally and not be a bad owner to it at all.

However, it all quickly became routine to you: walking your guard dog as his ears were perked up in alertness, head darting around from side to side; playing with it in the park, and spoiling it with treats when you'd get home; and grooming his soft, dark fur and taking him to vet checkups almost made you wonder how you had managed to live this long without ever owning a pet.

Whenever you'd make yourself some food, you filled his bowl with dog food too. Whenever you had just stepped out of the shower, it would be your dog's turn to be cleaned in the bathtub. Whenever you would lazily lay on the sofa or sprawl yourself on the bed, your dog was cuddled up to you.

It was all fun and games, though, until he'd damn near suffocate you with his sheer mass and make you sneeze from the fur that tickled your nostrils, but you slowly grew used to it, using your German Shepherd as a weighted blanket and hugging it like it was your own child.

Somehow, this furry friend filled a void that König would leave behind, and you practically were both attached by the hip — well, by the ankle and hind leg, actually, but that's beside the point. You two were inseparable, and if König knew that then he'd be surely overjoyed.

When König finally had some precious minutes to himself, the first thing he'd do was call you, wanting to hear your voice and make sure you were alright. He'd nearly trip over his own two feet as he scrambled for his phone to dial your number, nearly knocking over a lamp and falling over some furniture in the process.

You'd pick up on the second ring and would nearly go deaf upon hearing the loud accented voice on the receiver. "Liebling! How are you, my sweet? I have been missing you!"

You two would exchange these sorts of questions and proclamations of love back and forth, so lovey-dovey that some of the more daring operators in König's faction made gagging noises on the other side of the door, while the more serious operators scolded them and reminded them that they were yet to feel the touch of another man/woman.

As König would listen to your ramblings about how happy you were and your lovely German Shepard, however, his ears perked up and he listened more closely.

"Prince is so lovely! He's my sweet baby and I love him so so so much! He's definitely my best friend right now, 100%. Everyone back home is getting pissy with me when I don't answer their calls because I spend more time with him than I do with them but can you really blame me when I have this beautiful prince? I mean, he's so sweet! Whenever I don't wake up at the same time in the morning he's jumping into bed and licking my face and oh my God I cannot cope with this cuteness! He's such a good boy! The very best boy! The best boy of all the boys!"

Meanwhile, König stood there, his mouth agape.

...What did you mean he was your sweet baby? Your beautiful prince? Your good boy?

Why would you call him the — not the best, but the very best — boy, the best of all boys? You couldn't have been serious.

It was just a dog. Why were you so attached to it?

It wasn't like König didn't grasp the concept of strong bonds between humans and animals — in fact, he had always been a strong believer of the "dogs being a man's best friend" common knowledge — but... this? You were coddling the thing, for God's sake! It was supposed to be fierce and threatening, not cute and cuddly. How was it supposed to protect you when all you'd do was hug it and give it compliments?

He felt his jaws tighten when you panned the camera down to show the dog peacefully laying beside you on the bed, you stroking his ears. On. The. Bed. On his and your bed. The bed the two of you would sleep on.

König couldn't believe this; he, a grown man, a disciplined soldier that moved up the ranks to be a Colonel, a 6'10 brutal killing machine who l... wanted you to be calling him those things, wanted you to run your fingers through his hair like that. Not some mutt. You were giving it star treatment and pampering it way too much than you should have.

He laughed at himself for thinking so irrationally and for being so immature. I mean, it was a dog. There was no competition to be won, nothing to prove — his rational thought repeated to him that you still loved him regardless — yet the ultimate prize would be you and your attention.

He chuckled disingenuously as you rambled on about something, and the smile under his hood didn't quite reach his eyes.

When he finally returned after grueling months away from you, those pale blue eyes still crinkled up in happiness whenever they saw you, still picked you up and spun you in the air as you'd shriek like a banshee while your legs kicked freely, still gave you a loving kiss on your lips before showering your face with wet kisses. He'd pull away, a boyish grin on his face, his face flushed, your eyes locked with his in an intimate moment...

...And then his mood would sour as your dog leaped up towards you, not wanting to be left out in the reunion.

You'd fail to notice his hands clenched into fists as your dog took the oh so comfortable spot on your lap, where he should have been laying, how below his mask a scowl was aimed at the dog you'd shower with kisses that should have been for him, how the dog would slobber your face and leave it dripping in drool, almost as if it was proving some point to him and being totally smug about it.

Of course, he didn't seem the least bit bothered to you — he wouldn't let his behaviour show. This was utter childishness, completely ridiculous, and absolutely absurd, yet somehow König couldn't control the jealousy that would stew inside of him hours after you'd fall asleep, glaring at the dog laying in between you when all he had wanted all day was to cuddle up to you and hold you close.

Somehow, his plan to keep you safe backfired, because the dog took his job as your body guard too seriously and would not let him be affectionate with you. He was beginning to despise the creature.

When you'd be walking the dog together and shower it with praise, König's hands clenched into tight fists. When you'd stroke the dog's head gently, running your fingers through his thick fur as his front paws were tucked neatly underneath him, König's nails dug into his biceps as he kept his arms firmly crossed, hating what he was seeing through his peripheral vision. When you'd glance at him as your dog was nestled between your legs, he'd turn his head, hiding the furrowed eyebrows and the clear pout on his face of an annoyed child, behaving like an annoyed child.

• In conclusion: give your König a hug. :( A kiss right on the lips and tell him that he's your sweet baby! Your beautiful prince! Your good boy! Your favourite person in the entire world and the best of the best!

• Reserve that precious spot on your lap *just* for him, and allow him to be putty in your hands!

• Run your fingers through his hair just like you would with your dog, and scratch that sensitive spot on his scalp with your fingernails!

• Don't make him regret ever getting the dog for you :'( As time goes on, it will eventually become the "father that didn't want the pet is now best friends with it and the pet is most affectionate with him" kind of dynamic.

• Just because muscular men and army-hardened soldiers like König were disciplined to be stoic and strong, sometimes they want nothing more than affection and words of affirmation from their lover from time to time. <3

So, you'd now lounge on the couch, content with your two guard dogs on either side of you; your Prince laying to your right, and your King in between your thighs, stroking the top of his head as his chest rose and fell at a steady rhythm.

...

Note: Gonna kms 🤡🔫 i have ro to go back to school tmr fucjing WHY i hate everyoje there 😭So yeah less frequent updates sorry guys 💔💔still going to be writing my long-ass fanfictions but itll take more time and ill probs have like 10 mentsl breakfowns daily 🤪 literallt cannot wait 🥰

My writing process is so incomprehensible tho 😭i jump from the first fic im writing to the second one im writing WAYY too often 🗿but ig its good because in a way im not TECHNICALLY procrastinating and beinf productive with 2 projects at once,, tho idk i guess tbats just a major cope if im beinf honest🤷🏼‍♀️

THANKS FOR 1000+ LIKES AND NEARLY 80 FOLLOWERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥳🥳🥳🥳🎉🎉🎉🎉🎊🎊💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕 LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF U AND WISH YOU NOTHING BUT HAPPINESS IN LIFE 🥹🥹🥹❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[angelltheninth]

Genshin Men Being Jealous

Pairing: Kaeaya, Diluc, Childe, Dottore, Pantalone, Itto, Zhongli x Reader

Tags: fluff, hugs, possessiveness (Dottore, Itto and Zhongli), scratches, hickies, kissing, slightly suggestive content

A/N: I love all of them but Dottore and Itto are really doing things to my mind.

Kaeya isn't normally the jealous one. He's always the guy others are jealous of so to be on the other end of it is odd for him. He would try not to let it show too much though, can't let it crack his suave image after all. What he would do is put his hand on your lower back, casually rubbing soothing circles and looking at you with the most dreamy look, just a bit of mischief gleaming there before he fixes his icy gaze at whoever was chatting you up.

Diluc is a little insecure about his relationship in the beginning so he used to get jealous a lot. He would hate when he would let it show a lot, an embarrassed blush spreading across his face whenever he would take you by the hand and guide you somewhere hidden away from view to kiss you breathless and leave you panting. He'd hug you close and apologize for his behavior, not expecting you to kiss him back and telling him he has nothing to be sorry for, you like this more forward side of him, but in the future he's welcome to talk if there's something bothering him.

Childe never expected to get jealous over anything other than someone being stronger than him. But when he saw so many people openly flirting with you, right in front of him no less, his blood definitely boiled for a fight. Yet he decided against it, he could prove his worth of you in a slightly different way. He would come up behind you and lean in close, his lips tickling your ear, telling you how beautiful you look that night and it'd be a shame if someone were to ruin your outfit. The blush on your face would rival the color of his mask you you drag him away from the others, Childe not missing the opportunity to smirk triumphantly at the group that was talking to you.

Dottore isn't good with jealousy, he firmly believes you're his and his alone. When he's jealous you know someone's gonna get hurt. Not you of course, but the person or people he happens to be jealous of. You however will get a very... thorough reminder of who you belong to. He will make sure every inch of you is covered with the proof of his claim on you. Of course over the course of it he's gonna make you say that you're his, he wants to hear you say it over and over to make sure you unerstand.

Pantalone is a little more subtle with his jealousy. He'll stare at you for a while from across the room before approaching you slowly. He'd wrap his arms around your shoulders and kiss the top your head, your ears and your neck. He doesn't make of those spicy, merely teasing you and making sure to keep you close for the rest of the night. He doesn't glare at anyone, nor does he threaten anyone. Just keeps his arms around you at all times, giving you kisses here and there. But what you don't know is that he also makes sure to make eye contact with who ever was flirting with you every time he kisses you.

Itto gets very pouty when he sees someone touching in a flirty way or making flirty remarks at you. He'd somewhat angerly stomp his way over to you and pull you in close, almost growling at the person who was flirting with you. You blush very hard whenever you hear him growl and you hide your face in his muscular chest as you ask him to take you home. While you walk you always loop your arm with his and he can't help but smirk at you. As soon as you sit on the bed he'd pull you into his lap and kiss you, lightly nibbling onto your bottom lip as he murmurs his love and appreciation for you.

Zhongli tries to maintain his stoic expression a lot and most of the time he's successful at doing so. There are times when he slips though, rare times but they can happen. During such times he will sort of hover around you, casting you not so subtle glances and touching your lower back as he passes by. When you're alone he'd press you against the door and lower his head onto your shoulder, his breath causing goosebumps to appear all over your skin. The gasp you let out when his fangs and claws come into play and he leaves you panting and scratched up is exhilarating to him, not that he will admit it most of the time but he is quite territorial, especially with you, his greatest treasure.

[adrunkskeletonsduck]

Tʜᴇ Wᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴏғ Yᴏᴜʀ Wᴏʀᴅs | Pᴀʀᴛ 3

➜ Pairing: Aonung x fem!sully!reader

➜ Warnings: kissing, fluff, not properly proof read.

➜ Word Count: 0.9k

➜ Notes: Thank you for 300??? Like this is honestly insane, I appreciate all the love I’ve received for this mini series, y’all are amazing! Please tell me if I forgot any warnings, and a reminder that my inbox is always open for asks!

Also I feel like this is kinda bad...anyways enjoy <3

Pᴀʀᴛ 1 | Pᴀʀᴛ 2 | Pᴀʀᴛ 3

Aᴠᴀᴛᴀʀ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

Aonung watched from afar as you handed the necklace to Tsireya, a shy smile on your face as she took it from you and examined it happily. She pulled you into a hug with a bright smile, thanking you profusely and complementing your work before tying it around her neck.  

A sense of jealousy bubbled within the boy as he watched the friendly exchange. Since when had you been friends? Let alone friends close enough to gift each other things.  

It wasn’t fair, he thought, that you were gifting things to a practical stranger while shoving him - someone who you knew and had showed very obvious romantic interest in you, or at least to his standards - was being shoved aside.  

He turned away, unable to watch as Tsireya ran her fingers across the finely woven thread and handpicked stones that sat on her neck and walked away.  

Aonung made many more little check-ins on you in the next few days, often times his time was cut short by his own jealousy or sorrow. He was following you around like a lost puppy and although he would never admit it, in the short time you had stopped speaking to him, he had actually come to miss you. You’d been on his mind constantly as he tried to figure out how to fix his actions and make up for his harsh words from the other night.  

“Hey are you even listening?” Rotxo asked as he stopped, planting his feet in the sand and looking at Aonung. 

“What- Yeah of course I am!” Aonung responded, lying straight to his teeth to his bestfriend. He'd only been half listening to Rotxo as he talked about his latest village ‘adventures’. Rotxo opened his mouth to argue that he really hadn't been, when they were interrupted by a body colliding with Aonung. Aonung looked down, a glare set on his face as he got ready to spit venom at whoever had just bumped into him, only for the words to hitch in his throat as he saw who it was.  

That was the other thing, ever since your argument with Aonung, he had been on edge, tense and extra mean. He’d begun picking on your brothers even more, waving off his friends and getting angry over the smallest of things. The boy just didn’t know how to handle losing someone over his own stupidity, and it was eating at him.  

“i’m sorr-” you began to apologize, looking up but you cut yourself off as you saw it was him. Your face fell, jerking your hands back from his torso like he’d burned you and glaring at him. He just stared down at you blankly, unsure of what to say or do – he always felt unsure around you. Suddenly the air felt thick as the two of you stared at each other. Rotxo was quick to pick up on the tension that now surrounded the two of you like an aura, mumbling something about needing to go help his father and running off.  

“Y/N...” Aonung started, and immediately you were pushing past him, refusing to waste your time on another of his bullshit apologies. He grabbed your arm, preventing you from running of and forcing you took look at his pleading gaze and your resolve crumbled. No matter how mad you were at him, your heart still seemed to be in the palm of his hands.  

“What?” you seethed, yanking your arm out of his grasp, “Are you here to tell me how ridiculous I’m being again?” he shook his head, casting his gaze to the ground and swallowing his pride as he prepared himself to be transparent with you.  

“I just – I just really miss you.” He looked guilty and regretful as he spoke, he even sounded genuine. For a moment you wanted to put it all behind you and forgive him because you’d missed him too. You blinked, snapping yourself out of your thoughts and steeling yourself. He didn’t deserve forgiveness after what he’d done. 

“Aonung I already told yo-” he sighed in frustration, mumbling curses to himself. Reaching out, he grabbed you by your forearm and pulled you into him. You stumbled forward, hands placing themselves on his chest, you opened your mouth to ask what the hell he was doing and looking up only to be cut off as he captured your lips with his. Your eyes widened in surprise as he kissed you, your brain short circuiting as you froze.  

Only when you began to feel him pull away did you come back to your sense, slipping your eyes shut and moving a hand to cup his face and pull him back down to kiss him back. He smiled into the kiss, placing his hands onto your waist as he kissed you. Hips molding against yours in a slow flurry of passion, each kiss hotter than the last until he was biting at your bottom lip gently, and then letting it go with a wet ‘pop’ as you pulled away with a small smile.

Pressing his forehead against yours, Aonung spoke,  

“You still mad at me?” he asked, and you nodded with a hum,  

“Very.”  

“I’m really sorry, I just didn’t know how to show you I liked you so I picked on you and I just took it to far, and I have no idea what you're going through but whatever it is I want to be there for you,” he said with a sigh, sincerity evident in his voice as he poured his heart out to you.  

“You could have just told me like a normal person,” you snipped in amusement.  

“Yeah...” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple, “I’ll make it up to you though. I swear.” You nodded in agreement, placing a hungry kiss against his lips as you mumbled,  

“Let’s finish this first.”  

@oomietopia@iam-mentally-unstable@yeosxxx@heartueheartue@lola-bunn1@eywas-heir@sseleniaa@shebeast7121scared@a-romantic-twst

[chronicbeans]

Wally and a Puppeteer Reader (part 2)

My brain won't shut up about this, I like it, and others seem to like it as well. I'm so happy people seem to like my stuff!

TW: Obsessive Behaviors, Stalking, Idol Worship, Scopophobia/Eye Imagery

🎥Today was the day! Apparently, Welcome Home has become beloved enough that someone has decided to interview some of the producers, directors, and cast. Cast including the puppeteers, which means you.

🎥 To be honest, you never really liked being on camera. That isn't to say you didn't like being a puppeteer! No, no, no! You LOVE your job. You love Wally, Home, every character in the neighborhood. You would just rather be behind the scenes. So, this interview is a little daunting.

🎥 When everything is all prepared, you look around the room. Every other puppeteer is sitting with their puppets, just like you are with Wally. Currently, you are all just waiting for the interviewer to finish up with the producers and camera crew. There's been punch laid out and everything for them. It seems like the boss really wanted to make a good first impression with whoever has come in.

🎥 Home is right next to you, with your chair positioned right beside it. It's pretty big, simply because there has to be a couple different versions of it. Ones that fit hand puppets perfectly through the front door and ones that fit the walk around puppets. The larger of the two versions of Home is next to you, with the smaller Home on a table near the title card set.

🎥 Everyone is chatting about their memories making the show, from funny trips that Eddie's puppeteer has made to the improve comedy that Barnaby's puppeteer has come up with for his skits. Everyone is having a jolly good time, except for you. You have this odd feeling like something is going on. Like something is wrong.

🎥 You look down to the little puppet of Wally, which you have nearly sat upon your lap. Ever since the odd incident with storing him away, you have been a bit more protective of him. You don't want him to be messed up. Improperly storing him could result in him being misshapen, so finding out that someone messed with him was alarming.

🎥 Worse yet, though, is that ever since that little incident... you have been feeling like someone is watching you during work. Then there's the colorful letters and drawings you have been getting. Every single one of them has been found on your desk in the storage area for props related to Wally. The language used in the letters are childish and cutesy, such as saying "If you were an apple, you would be the most sparkly and red one, because you are the most!" Every drawing is drawn entirely in crayon, with paint splatters here and there...

🎥 The interviewer comes in, saving you from your own anxious thoughts, as he waves to everyone. He introduces himself, fixing his black suit as he speaks in a formal manner. "Good evening, everyone. I apologize for the delay. Your boss was so excited to tell us about the plans and passion behind this show, I couldn't help but ask him many questions. Now, lets begin."

🎥 It takes a while, but soon, the interviewer gets to you. He asks you simple questions, such as what inspired you to become a puppeteer and what drew you into working on Welcome Home. You give the best answers you could provide, before he asks one that really intrigues you.

🎥"I have heard from some of the production and directing crew that you care a lot about Wally as a character, as well as puppet care. What exactly is it about Wally that you like? What made you want to play him?"

🎥 You couldn't help but grin, explaining everything you loved about Wally as a character. You talk about how he interacts with the audience, small quirks he has and how they are displayed on the show, and even pick him up to go over his character design.

🎥 One sentence you say suddenly makes your brain click in an odd way. The second you let the words "Wally lives to draw art for the viewer of the viewer, due to having a deep appreciation for their kindness" leave your lips, you can't help but remember all of the weird drawings of you you have been finding on your desk recently. You keep talking, though, in the hopes that the memory will just go away for now.

🎥 The drawings can wait. The letters can wait. All that you really want to talk and think about right now is how much this show means to you, as well as how proud of your coworkers you are for helping everyone make Welcome Home as popular as is it. Maybe this interview isn't going as bad as you thought it would?

🎥 You are so invested in talking and answering questions, in fact, that you neglect to notice how Wally seems to subtly curl into your touch. Then again, no one else seems to, either.

[cheollipop]

I have a drabble request for the sleepover, if I may?👀

I literally cannot stop thinking about dom mommy!seonghwa. It's consuming me I wish I was joking. Like the thought of him finding it so amusing how you are immediately putty in his hands as soon as the word mommy slips from his lips uGH. And don't even get me started on reader being in a poly relationship with seonghwa and hongjoong like oK PARENTSSS (apologies, my bias line is showing lmao)

Truly the mother and father of kpop😔

2𝙠 𝙎𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩

why hello there~ I'm not gonna lie, I'm actually not the biggest fan of mommy!idol, but it's you. and it's seonghwa. so of course a scenario popped into my head as soon as I read your ask skjrgsk the nickname is used sparingly, and more of a tool reader uses to get her way, but hopefully it'll have the same effect on whoever's reading lmao. hope you enjoy~

pairing: park seonghwa x fem!reader x kim hongjoong

w.c.: 1.2k

tags: smut, mommy kink, unprotected sex (👎), mentioned edging, creampie kink, hongjoong likes to watch ^^, and instruct ^^, and is a pervert!!!, seonghwa's whipped, fr can't resist reader so... hehe

nsfw under cut—minors dni!

“Fuck, Hwa. I’m so close,” you dug your chin into the duvet under you, fingers wrapping around the edge of the bed where Seonghwa kept jolting you towards. But then the cock pounding into you slipped out, leaving you empty and leaking once again, bucking your hips back into open air. “No. No, Hwa, please-”

“You know the rules, princess,” the deep baritone rumbled in your ear, plush lips leaving a trail of kisses from your cheekbone to your temples. “Not until he tells you to.”

Grabbing your jaw, Seonghwa angled your head towards the man sitting on the cushioned armchair across from you, his crossed legs failing at concealing the prominent bulge at his crotch. Hongjoong peered back at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched your face fall, another orgasm dwindling away and leaving your pussy throbbing with need. The way in which he cast his eyes over you—lidded and brimming with desire—made you realize that no begging would allow you the reprieve you desperately sought out, that he was in the mood to watch you reach the brink of delirium before any instruction favourable to you would leave his parted lips.

So you turned to the person who would, craning your neck to search his face for any minor twitch indicating his surrender, but he remained stern, watching you lose hope and wondering how much longer it’ll take you to succumb to their wicked form of torture.

“Please fuck me,” you whispered, pushing your ass back onto his crotch and watching his eyelids flutter at the friction. “I’ve been good, mommy.”

You stopped the corners of your lips from curling at the obvious signs of victory. Hongjoong flinched in your peripherals, your eyes and his fixed on the man behind you, the heavy, slick length of his cock throbbing eminently where it sat snug between your cheeks. A single nickname rendering Seonghwa speechless, consuming him with burning want, erasing the dominant figure trying to catch his attention from the other side of the room and focusing solely on you.

Blown-out pupils and a line of drool drying over your skin, Seonghwa counted three stunted inhales before sinking back into your welcoming heat, watching you flop back onto the bed before digging his nails into your hips. Flicking his eyes upwards, he met with dark irises staring right back at him, as though in some kind of warning.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong cautioned.

“She’s right, Joong. She’s been good,” leaning over your body, Seonghwa pressed his cheek to your temple, sliding his hand under your chin to hold your face up for the younger man, squishing your cheeks together to muffle your pathetic moans. “So fucking good for mommy,” he nuzzled his nose into your heated skin, “mommy wants to give his pretty girl a reward for being so patient.”

“Is that all it takes? She calls you mommy once and you lose all composure?” He taunted, propping an elbow onto the armrest to tap his forehead with his pointer. “So desperate to have her come on your cock already?”

Seonghwa’s eyebrow flinched, a snarky retort about to roll off his tongue, but a whimpered “mommy, please” sounded from below, and it blew away the very last fuck he gave about Hongjoong’s little game.

Straightening up and rolling his head back, he drove his cock into you, the sound of skin-on-skin reverberating between the four walls, and the dense scent of sex bordered on suffocating. Realising that Seonghwa would no longer listen to him, Hongjoong’s eyes locked on yours, not breaking contact even while he undid his belt, and unbuttoned the luxury pants. He made sure you watched his every move as he slowly began fucking up into his fist, leaking cock making a mess of his clothes, translucent drops of precum painting the expensive Balmain, and you took in the pretty shade of rose spreading down his neck to the sliver of chest peeking at you through the undone buttons of his blouse. Even when pleasure pulled your eyelids shut, high-pitched moans dampened by the drool-soaked duvet, Hongjoong’s eyes never moved off you, taking in how your body convulsed when skilled fingers found your clit, Seonghwa’s body enveloping yours once again.

“My good girl, c’mon, say it. Ask mommy nicely,” he panted, cock twitching uncontrollably while he fucked into you, angling his thrusts towards your g-spot and groaning into your ear whenever your walls clenched around him.

“Please, please, mommy, ‘wanna come so bad,” you begged, rutting back to meet his thrusts halfway.

You glanced over at the man running his fingers over his cock to the scene unfolding before him—his two partners fucking like animals in heat, disregarding his presence while they panted and groaned, leaking slick and precum all over the expensive sheets. But you noticed the way his cock jumped at your words, the way the red tinting his skin deepened, and his breath shallowed. Because underneath the designer clothing and high-end makeup, Kim Hongjoong was a pervert. A man who loved filth.

As you neared the edge of your orgasm, Seonghwa’s rhythm faltered, growing sloppy as your heat overwhelmed him and drove him to the brink of madness. And despite the pleasure burning through your veins, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the man getting off on the vulgar show you were acting out for him. Sweat-coated skin reflecting the warm light filtering through the lampshades, Seonghwa’s airy moans masking over the lewd squelch of your used pussy, a stream of your arousal and the cum he began pumping into you beginning to ooze out, further drenching the linen under you. Even while Seonghwa slobbered all over your neck, mumbling raspy words of praise into your damp skin, your attention fixed on the man sat across from you, now covered in ropes of his own cum. His hand continued to squeeze around his softening base, and you could see the subtle twitches in his defined thighs as he overstimulated himself.

Slowly, you sat yourself up with shaky thighs, possessive arms wrapping around your middle to support you. Noting how Hongjoong’s eyes glided down your body to watch the thick surge of cum cascading down your inner thighs, your cunt still squeezing around Seonghwa’s thick cock, you relaxed back against the firm chest behind you. It took the other man a few seconds to snap his eyes back to your face, relaxing his grip around his twitching length when he noticed the two pairs of eyes following the movement. You giggled breathily, amused by his sudden change in demeanour, knowing just how much he enjoyed observing Seonghwa while he stuffed you full, following the stream of hot cum seeping out of you before fucking it back into your stretched hole, raw and dirty, until your belly bulged with their combined seed.

Strong hands grabbed the backs of your knees, sliding you legs out from under you until you laid bare and open in front of Hongjoong. Your head rested on Seonghwa’s thigh, legs on either side of you body, and your cunt—gaping and spitting out dribbles of his cum—presented in front of the seated man. You wondered why he was the one who seemed to be timid in this situation, but it brought a smile to your face, your voice honeyed and playful when you spoke as next words,

“Does Joongie ‘wanna make a mess out of his good girl too?”

[sanest-bsd-delegate]

Hi ! can you make a chuuya x reader. Reader is studying late at night cramping for her exam which is in the morning and chuuya is at work and accidently calls the reader instead of his worker because the worker did something wrong and some other men reported it to chuuya and when reader picks it up she hears chuuya scoulding and then she tells he dialed the wrong no. And chuuya apologizes and asks why she is late awake and she tells the reasons and while chuuya is talking to her he tells his men to go out because he doesn't want to be seen all soft in front of them and then tells reader to not stay awake late and she should be asleep when he comes home .Sorry for any grammatical mistake.thanks and have a good day/night!

Sleep or Study -Chuuya Nakahara

Oneshot: Where Chuuya accidently dials you in the middle of the night. Genre: Fluff A/N: OML SUCH A GOOD IDEA 10/10 LOVED IT!! →Masterlist

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a desk lamp, casting long shadows across the pages of textbooks and notes sprawled out in front of you.You were very tired and weary, studying late into the night, cramping for an exam that was scheduled for the early hours of the morning. Outside, the world was quiet, save for the occasional passing car and the distant hum of the city.

Unexpectedly, your phone's ringtone was heard across the room which statled you a little, before you shove the piles of paper and notes here and there to find your phone.

It was Chuuya calling you. You recieve the phone before putting up on speaker, the dim litted room silient at night.

Chuuya's voice crackled through the phone, sharp and scolding. "I told you idiots to be careful! Do I have to do everything myself?" His frustration was evident, and you couldn't help but feel a sympathy for whoever was suppose to be on the other end of the line.

Just as he launched into another verbal attack, you interrupted, trying to keep your voice steady despite being taken off guard. "Uh, Chuuya? I think you dialed the wrong number."

There was a brief pause before you hear Chuuya's sharp inhale. "Ah, damn it. Sorry about that," he muttered, his tone softening slightly. "I'm dealing with some work issues. What are you doing up so late?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you glanced at your textbooks scattered across the table. "I have an exam tomorrow, well today um……and I'm trying to cram as much as I can. I'll be honest; it's not going well."

Chuuya's voice softened even more, a rare gentleness spread through his usual hothead personality. "You shouldn't be up this late, especially with an exam tomorrow. You need rest," he scolded, concern lacing his words.

You could hear muffled voices and footsteps in the background, and Chuuya, realizing he was still on duty, barked at his men, eying each one of them, "Get out, all of you. I don't need an audience for this."

After a few moments of shuffling and grumbling, the background noise faded away, leaving just Chuuya's voice and a sense of privacy. "Look, I know exams are important, but your health matters too. Promise me you'll get some rest after this call. I don't want you falling asleep over your books."

His caring words warmed your heart, and you couldn't help but smile, even though he couldn't see it. "I promise, Chuuya. I'll go to bed soon. You should come home soon you know? Its late for you too. But you should get back to your work now. I don't want to distract you."

There was a soft huff on the other end of the line. "Don't worry about me. I can handle my idiots here. Just take care of yourself, okay? I'll be home as soon as I can."

You nodded, though he couldn't see it. "I will. Good luck with your work, Chuuya. And thanks for caring."

A rare, genuine chuckle escaped him. "Someone has to make sure you're taking care of yourself, right? Now, get some rest. I'll talk to you soon."

After a moment of silence, Chuuya spoke again, his voice filled with genuine care. "Goodnight. Sleep well love, I'll see you soon."

"Goodnight," you said, hanging up the phone and feeling a sense of comfort wash over yourself. Chuuya's unexpected call had momentarily lifted your spirits, and you couldnt help but smile at the conversation you had with him in the past minute.

You looked at your books before a debating question filled your mind, should you sleep or study?

Taglist: @averagehisoilluenjoyer, @high-on-dazai @ruru-kiss Join or remove your user here.

[orobaxis]

Hiiiii! You just served my simping Ass some really good fics about Ominis thank you <3 If you have time and Do requests i have one in mind. So like the scene where you learn the crucio curse and reader wants to take it but Ominis obviously doesnt want Sebastian or anyone Else to hurt her? Just something like that? Amazing work thank you <3

a little unsteady

ominis gaunt x f!reader (hogwarts legacy)

the scriptorium requires the use of unforgivables because salazar slytherin believes they are not to be feared. when the new fifth-year casts the cruciatus curse on you, ominis starts to regret the decision to enter the scriptorium.

reader is not hogwarts legacy mc

word count: 3312 (so far my longest one!)

warnings: use of crucio; hogwarts legacy mc bashing!; manipulation

“sebastian is up to something.”

ominis has been a lot more concerned about sebastian lately. he had brought up some questionable things whenever you three are together, talking about dark arts and salazar slytherin, despite ominis' insistence that the dark arts are dangerous. sebastian would keep talking about how it could be the key to finding out what happened to anne, and while you do want anne to be better and have her curse lifted, you wonder if this is the right way to do it.

“did...did he say something to you again?”

“yes, talking about how we all couldn't avoid the dark arts altogether, and that we may as well be prepared for it,” ominis has a frown on his face, clearly not happy with this encounter with sebastian. “he kept asking about the entrance to the scriptorium.”

you are both in the dungeons, voices quiet so as not to give away the topic of your conversation. “well, knowing slytherin, he'd probably put it somewhere in the dungeons, huh?” you say jokingly.

when ominis doesn't say anything, you sigh and reach for his hand. “we'll talk some sense into sebastian. what he should be doing is spend more time with his sister, not go around on some wild goose chase seeking the dark arts.”

ominis seems soothed at your remark, smiling as he squeezes your hand in comfort. shortly, he stiffens, “i hear footsteps,” and gently faces whoever approaches, partially blocking you out of sight protectively. his frown deepens when the new fifth-year walks behind sebastian. “what are you doing here?”

“hello ominis,” the new student greets after giving you an acknowledging nod, “do you have a moment?” meaning to get you out of the picture.

you move to leave, but ominis' hand grips you, "y/n stays here." you sense that ominis is beginning to feel quite stressed about this encounter, somehow knowing that the new student is going to talk to him about something. your hand squeezes his own in reassurance, as well as to prevent him from pacing anxiously.

“what is it? what have you and sebastian been up to now?” he asks suspiciously.

from behind the wall not far from you, you see sebastian, who is very clearly eavesdropping. you try to catch his gaze, but almost like he notices your staring, he disappears behind the wall once more.

“i owe you an apology,” they started, “i wasn't honest with you before about the undercroft. sebastian did show it to me.”

to say that ominis was upset when you both caught the new student leave the undercroft is an understatement. it is quite suspicious for someone who just arrived to just “accidentally” stumble upon the place, and the fact that they lied about it to ominis’ face is even worse. the undercroft is supposed to be yours. it is your sanctuary, where you, ominis, and the twins would spend some time together playing gobstones, studying (trying to, anyway), resting, and just where you would enjoy each other's presence. it is, was, your comfort knowing that there is a place only for you and your friends. ominis feels understandably betrayed when sebastian just decided to show the place to someone they barely know.

“he wanted me to have a safe place to practice some spells,” the new student continued, “to try and catch up to the other fifth-years. he didn't think you'd mind.”

“we would have appreciated it if you had let us know first, seb,” you say softly knowing that the sallow boy could hear you, and you almost see sebastian deflate at your words, “you must understand why we feel betrayed about this.”

ominis, however, seems to be placated by the apology. he sighs, “i suppose that makes sense. it's just...sebastian's been pestering me lately about something and i'm frustrated with him.”

the new fifth-year chirps, “don't tell me he's still going on about...what was it? a 'scriptorium'?”

you turn to them, "he told you about that?" you see ominis' shoulders sag in disappointment. it seems you both are wondering how and why your old friend has taken to this new fifth-year so easily, not even second guessing before he shares best kept secrets with them. secrets you promised would only be known by the four of you.

"he did," they answer, "we were talking about hogwarts founders and he mentioned it. he wouldn't say much more, though."

"yes, well...he seems to think it contains the answer to saving anne. i think it's likely full of dark magic that is better left untouched."

"wait, you've never been inside?" the new student seems surprised.

"of course not!” even the thought of it sends shivers down ominis’ spine. “i only know about it because of my favourite aunt, noctua. she thought like i do. she didn't agree with the family on the use of dark magic."

you sigh, raising a hand to run it up and down ominis’ back in comfort. "noctua has hoped to convince ominis' faily that there was more to salazar slytherin than worshipping pure-blood status."

"she'd heard of this 'scriptorium' and thought its contents might shed some light on him,” ominis adds, “she even found the secret entrance - in this very corridor.”

you stop from rubbing ominis’ back, looking at the new student cautiously. you can see the sparkle behind their eyes, now fully interested in what ominis has to say.

"she wrote regularly to my father about her efforts to gain access, and then she simply vanished. no one else ever tried to enter."

“i'm sorry about your aunt,” the words are devoid of empathy, “don't you want to find out what happened to her?”

ominis sighs, shaking his head, “aunt noctua went down this path with good intentions and lost her life. i don't want the same to happen again.”

“you don't know that history will repeat itself. besides, you said your aunt thought like you. this could honour her memory—”

“stop it!” you exclaim, “ominis already said no!”

the new student barely hears you, not even giving you as much as a glance before continuing, “--get you answers about slytherin, and sebastian answers for anne. your aunt pursued this alone, but we could do it together.”

"hmm, i see what you've done here," ominis replies, "and, i confess, you've convinced me. i didn't think it possible."

you sag beside ominis. you don’t have a good feeling about all this. it really seems like the new student came to speak to ominis to somehow convince (or manipulate?) him into revealing the location of the scriptorium.

the mirth in the new student’s face is not lost on you.

“very well. i shall tell you what i know,” ominis tells them. “fetch sebastian. we'll wait.”

"let's hope we don't regret this," you tell them before they walk away. "ominis, i don't think this is a very good idea," you turn to ominis cautiously as the new student goes back to get sebastian. all throughout the conversation, you could sense how they are slowly trying to use whatever ominis is saying against him, trying to justify it by mentioning how it will honour noctua grant's memory.

"i...must say i am apprehensive as well. but i need to know what happened to aunt noctua. to see if there’s any way to change my family’s views. salazar slytherin couldn’t have been all bad. y/n, you don't have to come,” his hand leaves yours and flies to touch your cheek in comfort, “i would rather you stay here.”

"i'm not leaving you and seb in there alone," you protest, "i would rather be in there with you than lose my mind out here wondering if you're safe."

"i knew that you would refuse," he tells you with a small smile. "but i promise you that no harm will come to you."

“i promise to protect you too,” you tell him, smiling as you rest your forehead against his, and hear his relaxed sigh, “you and seb.”

when sebastian arrives, he gives you a small and almost sorry smile. you two haven’t spent as much time as before, with him being busy running around with the new student.

"these braziers grant access to the scriptorium." ominis tells them.

sebastian scoffs, "oh now you'll share? you wouldn't tell me when i practically begged."

"seb," you admonish him.

“it wasn't you who told me what i needed to hear,” ominis replies with a shrug. “opening the entrance has something to do with threes.”

“well, three, or four heads are better than one,” sebastian jokes.

"it's two heads are better than one."

“and by that logic, three is better than two. simple mathematics, ominis.”

you roll your eyes at the sarcastic remarks exchanged by the two friends, watching as the new student lights three braziers. then, an intricate door seemingly gets carved out of the wall beside ominis. the door gives way and you see a winding staircase descending.

"there it is," you tell him, "the scriptorium."

"i hope we're ready for this," ominis says apprehensively.

you start descending, using lumos to light up the way. "dark, ominous corridors. my favourite," sebastian remarks sarcastically.

"no comment," ominis notes.

"come on, that was a good one!" sebastian elbows you gently, "right y/n? dark...ominis...huh?"

you roll your nothing but smile at the joke, reaching over to tangle your hand with ominis’. he calms down somewhat, at the touch.

"look, here's a journal entry. signed by noctua grant." the new student remarks.

you watch them cast reparo on the rubble, and it reforms against the wall. "it's a relief of a person facing a snake," you tell ominis.

"that must be the voice i hear. it's ancient, sinister."

"you hear a voice?" the new student asks him.

"it started when you repaired that relief. i hear a whisper saying, 'speak to me'.

i'm a parselmouth - i can hear and speak to snakes,” ominis explains. “nearly all known parselmouths are descended from salazar slytherin."

"i'd like to be able to talk to snakes," the new student says cheerfully. you and ominis both frown at that.

"you might not want the ability to speak parseltongue. it's often associated with dark wizards."

"you haven't spoken parseltongue in ages," you remind ominis.

"yes, but i'd wager if i speak it now, the door will open."

"i'm hoping you're having second thoughts," you turn to the new fifth-year.

"not really." they shrug nonchalantly. your frown deepens. they can clearly see how uncomfortable ominis is about all this, do they not care?

“it's ironic,” ominis sighs. “when i left home, i vowed to leave the dark arts behind. and yet, here i am. stand back."

he extends his arm in front of you protectively, making you stand behind him. "i can't believe i'm doing this," he mutters, seemingly to himself.

"ominis, don't do this if you don't want to," you tell him, "please, we can just go back up."

"we're here, aren't we?" the new student chimes in. "we might as well go in."

you watch worriedly as ominis begins speaking parseltongue, the language coarse, ragged and so unlike ominis. the door before you opens, and you hear the new student excitedly raving about it, "it worked! ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed!"

"i don't like the look of this," you tell ominis as you watch sebastian and the new student delve deeper into the maze-like hallways. "we really should turn back."

"i need to know what happened to my aunt...but if they don't solve the puzzle and get us out of this maze, we'll go back up," ominis promises you, "i don't like spending time down here."

-

much to your chagrin, the new student figures out the maze and leads you down an ever more unsettling hallway. the door has disappeared behind you completely, leaving you trapped in this hall.

"ominis," they call out, "a skeleton. and noctua's last journal entry. she mentions being trapped here - blocked by an unforgivable curse."

"oh ominis, i'm so sorry." you turn to him, seeing the distress and grief in his face.

"this...is where she died. this is where we'll all die," ominis laments, panic evident in his voice, "i shouldn't have listened to either of you." he turns to you, sorrow in his face, "you were right, y/n. we never should have gone...i'm so sorry, i should have listened to you."

"ominis, i'm truly sorry about your aunt," sebastian says, although once again, you notice the lack of sincerity in his voice, "but i know what to do. it's going to be difficult."

"sebastian, stop it," you beg.

he ignores your comment, "tortured faces on the door and crucio is etched into the stone. my guess is if we cast the cruciatus curse, the door will open."

"seb, do you hear yourself?!"

"no y/n, listen! that is why noctua died. she had no one to cast the curse on. ominis has the most experience with this. he should cast it." turning to ominis, he starts, "ominis, i know this is the last thing you want to do--"

"yes, it is!" ominis wails, anguish in his voice at the thought of being trapped here, of dying, of not listening to you earlier, of being forced to cast the spell again. "i thought you knew me better!" once again, he feels coerced, like when he was younger. he thought he had gotten away from all of it.

"but this is different!" sebastian rationalizes. "whoever you cast it upon will have agreed to it first. it wouldn't be an innocent 'victim'. we have to open the door."

"the spell won't work unless you mean it." ominis shakes his head. "that's true of all unforgivables. if it must be done, then one of you must cast it."

"we cannot cast it on you," you overhear sebastian tell the new student, "you have to solve these puzzles. if there are more of those ahead, we need you in the right state to solve them."

"then should i cast it on you?" they ask.

you are both horrified and resolute at the thought of using or receiving the cruciatus curse. you know you can't have ominis cast it, not after he had sworn off it for what he had been through. you also cannot fathom the idea of having one of your best friends, sebastian, who you think of as a brother, on the receiving end of it. and it seems like it cannot, or should not, be casted on the new student, who sebastian needs to be in good condition to face whatever's ahead. the choice is clear, you think, but that doesn't mean you like it.

"cast it on me." you tell them.

instantly, ominis stops his fretting, and sebastian turns his head so fast that you wonder if he will get whiplash from it.

"y/n..." sebastian starts.

"absolutely not!" ominis exclaims, anger now in his voice at the very thought. "it's my fault for bringing you into this mess, y/n, i will not have you do this."

"there's no one else, ominis," you try to reason with him, holding his hands in your own to stop him from pacing. you can hear his breath picking up, and it breaks your heart that there's no other choice, "it has to be me. i can't have you or sebastian be on that receiving end."

"no..." he whispers, "no, i'll do it."

"y/n," sebastian chimes, "i can take it, don't worry. you don't have to."

you ignore him, now turning to the new student. you give them a nod, which they returned, looking at you resolutely.

it is quiet at first, and ominis thinks for a second that you don't have to do it after all. then, he hears your screams.

muffled, gritty, like salt to his wounds. it feels the same, almost like it was him who is being tortured when he hears your screams. it is clear that you are trying not to scream out in pain, so as not to alarm him or sebastian--he has done that too in the past. suddenly, he’s transported back home to when he was younger, watching as his family hunts and tortures muggles for fun. but instead of them, it was him pointing his wand and casting the torture curse. at you.

ominis snaps out of it, and almost like reflex, his wand is out and he is yelling at the new student, "stop! stop it right now!"

the new student looks surprised, eyeing ominis’ wand apprehensively and drops their wand. you crumple on the floor, breathing heavily as you try not to cry from the pain. the new student turns around to see the door has opened, and they are talking to ominis gently, almost comforting him, as ominis still has his wand pointed at them.

"y/n?!" he calls out, his wand still brandished. sebastian moves to help you, but stops when ominis points the wand to him, "stay back!"

"i just want to check up on y/n--"

"you've done enough," ominis hisses.

sebastian looks hurt at ominis’ remark, but says nothing as the latter kneels down to you, calling your name softly.

he hadn’t meant for you to be involved in all this. the one person he has tried to keep it all away from, is the one that is currently hurt from the cruciatus curse.

“please, y/n…” he grasps your shoulders, wanting you to be alright.

you finally gather yourself, looking up at him and seeing his eyes filling with tears. you raise your hands shakily to his face, “i’m alright, ominis. i promise.”

ominis says nothing at first, exhaling in relief as he leans forward to lean his forehead against yours. “we have to find a way out now,” ominis states, helping you get up and wrapping his arms around you protectively. he keeps you close as you navigate the scriptorium and ushers you to the exit. “we need to go to the hospital wing—”

“ominis, no,” you breathe, “they’ll know we’ve been using unforgivables. we’ll get stuck in detention, if not expelled.”

“but—”

“just stay with me,” you plead, “i’ll be fine…i just need you here with me.”

he nods, his arms tight around you. he rests his lips on your temple, savouring the feeling of you next to him, of you being here. “i won’t leave,” he promises you, “i’ll stay here with you.”

-

back at the undercroft, you find yourself cuddled next to ominis in a loveseat he had conjured. he’s quiet, eyes unfocused and unlooking straight ahead as your play with his hair.

“what’s going on?”

“i failed you,” he turns his head to your direction, his face streaked with tears, voice cracking in sorrow. “i promised myself that i would keep you away from all this, but i hurt you and i failed.”

“my love,” you sit up from his lap, trapping his face between your hands, “it was my decision to do it. you didn’t fail. please…ominis, i need you to understand that.”

“it will take me some time to forgive myself,” he tells you, “but as long as i know you’re safe now, i’ll feel better. and i promise that you will never experience that again. as long as i'm alive.”

you nod against his forehead, whispering, “okay,” feeling ominis’ hand on the back of your neck.

“i love you,” he whispers, “please forgive me.”

“there’s nothing to forgive," you reassure him, "i love you too."

ominis sighs, nodding once, and presses his lips to yours. it’s salty, from his tears, but also soft, and you kiss him back. his hands fly to your hips, squeezing gently, before pulling away.

you grin at each other, noses touching and rubbing together, before he closes the distance again.

-

my tooth hurts so bad 😖 i hope i get it removed tomorrow!!

tysm everyone!! <3 ily all!

[undercoverpena]

rips in perfection

francisco morales x f!reader | frankie morales masterlist

summary: you just shine your light with determination through the cracks he allowed you to see. lips blowing away cobwebs, fingers wrapping around door handles inside of him that you throw open and step through without fear.  you make my days better, morales. 

word count: 2.7k warnings: angst, but with happy ending. mention of wound on reader (head and palm). mention (blink and you miss) nod to prev. drug use and ptsd. sad boy frankie not thinking he deserves the girl. jo wrote this because she's twisty inside. an: as the warning states, i angst'd close to the sun. but it ends happy because i'm incapable of not doing so.

He knows it means something that you called him—that you allow him through your front door.

Frankie’s eyes immediately catch sight of your wound—spotting the clotting scarlet and dried cerise. The rip in otherwise perfection that you attempt to hide with a kitchen towel around your palm. 

It’s tugged from you, shutting your front door with his heel as he tries to eye the deepness of the cut. The one which has, at one stage, made tears track down your cheeks—creating a road of pain in your skin.  

You, as to be expected, pretend to feign indifference that he’s here. Forcing it up, all a front. 

He knows he’s the one making you do it.

Your ego-bruised, now matching the hurt that blooms under your skin and around your eye. It’s the sole reason he doesn’t push, just follows when you turn on your heel. Forcing him to watch helplessly as you try, struggle and fail to jump onto your centre island. Frankie only dares step forward when you shoot him a glare—it’s a toxic cocktail of warning and pleading. 

If he has to choose a battle, he knows which one he’d rather be maimed by. Choosing to be burnt by your stare, then risk a further onslaught of a blizzard cast his way as he helps lift you. Turning gentle when you accept his invitation to see, sliding fingers around your wrist, index finger over skin—wanting to whisper an apology when you wince. 

But he swallows it, letting it join the other unspoken words that sit in the depths of him. The ones decaying and rotting. All swallowed back. 

Frankie tells himself you’d think they were empty anyway—bitterness simmering like a broth inside you. Plus, he’s sure it wouldn’t have sounded right from him. Words had never been his forte, his expertise. Least of all when it came to you. 

They always balled up, messily clumping, falling all out of order between loose fingers and delivered with carelessness. Even when he plans them out, mentally shoving doubts and insecurities aside to say something comforting.

It doesn’t matter now. There are no soft eyes or clumped words. Instead, wave-like worry is crashing against him. Taking in your appearance, how you look unsteady. Weak. Dizzy. 

“Ay. ¿Estás bien?” 

He braces for your tongue. 

The brilliant way it manages to both burn, mark and leave people cold when you spit words at whoever has upset you. 

It’s the first thing that made him smile when it came to you. 

Even with Benny stuck to your side, Santiago just behind you, you still have the man hitting on you in the bar embarrassingly storming away—before switching back into a softer, less sharp-edged version of yourself to reply to Benny’s earlier question. 

Now he’s experiencing that same sharpness. You’re frustrated, annoyed—cross, and livid. A sea of synonyms, but none quite hit the mark. 

You don’t snap at him, though, just let four words crack through the silence, all shaky, and trembling: “Me duele la cabeza….”

It’s like you command him, the way his eyes flick up. Your eyes all soft, the harshness ebbed away by the situation—the edges of your aura more welcoming than it’s been for weeks. 

Frankie had spotted the swelling when he arrived, knowing every inch of you like you’re moulded in his mind—painted on the back of his eyelids, seeing you even when he blinks. 

It's easy to slide his hand up, pads gliding over your neck, feeling you swallow as he brushes over your jaw, cheek—turning you to look over the swelling, how it’s rounding out, beginning to change. 

He’s soft when he whispers that you need stitches in your hand, ice for your head, blinking at him. Letting his words hang before forcing yourself to nod—pointing to a box on the counter, the one you’d likely gotten out the moment he told you he was on his way. 

Your voice all hoarse, words catching on teeth as you tell him about the stuff inside the green box, the kit you’d pulled together—the sharp needle and thread, alcohol wipes and bandages.

Only as he rummages, casting a quick glance at you, does he see the veil fall. Spots how your face twists in pain, lashes furiously blinking back tears, your thumb pushing at the skin on your palm—leaving half-moon marks, like a trail around the split skin. 

“Thought you’d have called Pope.” 

Your eyes fall, land on a spot on the ground—living there, fixated as you bite the inside of your cheek. Letting it stew and seethe. 

“I did. Didn’t answer.” 

It’s cold, lacking emotion. But it lands with a punch all the same.

He hates how his heart plummets. Becomes more determined to rummage for nothing forcibly—just so he can choose to keep his head bent, the beak of his hat hiding the discomfort undoubtedly stitched into his face. 

Because it’s his fault, the reason the two of you keep taking chunks out of one another. The dance the two of you have done, the closeness he’s allowed to bridge. 

One minute good friends, next moment wrestling with feelings he's too afraid to say. Then he overcompensates, egging you on to flirt with a man at the bar, with the next second wanting to throttle anyone who looked at you.  

It’s hard to unknot when it changed—when he found it difficult to rip his eyes from you, and you had rooted yourself in his life. 

It could have been somewhere over beers or under the fairy lights at the Miller house—eyes shimmering, smile growing. It also could have been when the stars were too pretty on that camping trip, when you’d moved your sleeping bag closer to him, sleeping under rustling leaves and blinking stars—the two of you waking curled up together, realising for the rocks and sticks in his spine, he’s never slept better. 

It was sealed, all the same, when he’d tugged you down the alleyway, beer tasting on your lips as brick cuts into his hand, his other hand gripping you close—almost bruising. Lost in feeling heaven collide, his world shifting, your mouth moving with his under the flickering bar light, kissing you as though to tell you that you're all he needs.

That’s when it all slid into one, a hot pot of things he can’t discern—a collection of emotions too complex to ascertain. 

You didn’t try to be what he needed, just tried to show kindness—all-second nature, undeserving of a fuck up like him. 

“You gonna stitch me or kiss me, Francisco?” 

Your voice cuts through his thoughts, slicing and ripping memories in two. There’s an edge to it, your words—one that makes him snort—shaking his head as he returns to you, taking your hand gently but leaving no room to fight him. 

Frankie doesn’t ask if you want him to stay. He just stays. 

Once stitched, he helps you off the counter, tells you to change—that he’ll begin cleaning up your accident.

Between the third and fourth stitch, you’d told him how a vegetable caused you to slip, pot and glass shards shattering in the chaos. 

He brushes each of them until he’s sure no piece could ever find your bare foot, then he wipes the crimson from your grout. Only as he lifts his head to stand does he see the edge of the counter, the one at fault for the growing swelling along your brow line. 

An additional reason for the silence your usually acidic tongue fills. It taking a rest, likely as you will your brain to stop thumping. 

He runs his knuckles along it, gritting his jaw, letting his feelings throb in his chest. The ones he’s felt for so long, they’re harder to control—fighting, desperately, to get out and greet your ear. 

Even though he convinces himself you deserve better, there's no one else for him.

What he wants and what you deserve a conflicting push and pull inside of him that have forced awkwardness and silence to take up space in between you.

You deserve someone more whole, without failure and a record to go with it. 

Even if Frankie knows it would be easy to love you—just like it is to breathe. It's part of him, his affection for you. Steadily threaded through his muscles and bones.

But he can’t even meet his own eyes in the mirror when he dresses, never mind hold yours. He’s forever greeted by the parts of him forever changed by the things he’s seen—the things he’s done. The parts altered and desperate for rest—the entire reason white powder greeted his nostrils, to begin with. 

He was, and is, broken and ruined. All poisoned by memories of orders and decisions, pouring down rain and the sound of Benny shouting for Tom. 

Not that you see it. 

You just shine your light with determination through the cracks he allowed you to see. Lips blowing away cobwebs, fingers wrapping around door handles inside of him that you throw open and step through without fear. 

You make my days better, Morales. 

Those words had fallen with ease as you grasped his wrist in your hand, leaving him with a smile that lingered like smoke until it faded in the loud bar. The key to the lock, the thing which melted the chains and made him suggest taking you home, stealing a moment where he could live a fairytale of being able to enjoy you.  

He supposes it’s why he came—rushed, in fact. 

You’re so deeply woven in him, have been for so long, he’s not sure how to ever untangle you from him. For as long as he’s known you, you’ve held him together without even knowing. Sometimes, more than he wanted you to. 

A friend of a friend, a girl who joined the group one night and never left. Etching your name amongst the friends in a way not too dissimilar to how you’d carved your initials into his heart. 

It’s why he tries to rip out his feelings. Attempted to burn them, bury them. 

Endeavoured to be reborn coated in the failings and vermillion he’s been painted in so many times. Let the voices mount, allow the illusions win—that the shadowed parts of his mind create. 

You clear your throat, looking at him, hovering in the doorway in an oversized tee he recognises as his and a pair of fluffy socks. You’re fidgeting, pupils having swallowed all and any colour—no hope or pain living there. 

You’re good at concealing, able to shift and perfectly apply an expression that shields him from your thoughts or feelings, as though attempting to convince him you’re fine. 

You’re not. 

It thrums in the air and needles him. 

Has been doing so since he listened to you try not to shatter when he left that day. Even if he wanted nothing more than to turn back around, marry his lips back to yours, and feel your breaths against his neck. 

You didn’t ask him to stay. He didn’t ask to either. 

Standing there in a robe, fragile and questioning what it is you'd done wrong, not knowing (because he never explained it) that all you were at fault for was falling for him. That you'd bonded yourself to ruin and rubble somehow still shaped like a person.

If you've figured it out, you don't acknowledge it. You're smart, though. Aware.

Your teeth biting the inside of your cheek as the two of you allow awkwardness to bubble, the silence plucking the tension until it thickens and becomes suffocated. 

All because he accepted your invitation that night, instead of declining when he dropped you home. 

Spent the evening and morning showing you what he’s felt for months, a year. Feeling it given back to him, hearing it in the way you pleaded for more and dug your heels into his spine. Please, Frankie. Please. All enthralled in fantasy that was ruined by morning light that illuminated that look in your eyes.

The one you're wearing now. All bewitched and full of adoration because you love him, likely the same as he loves you.

It hurt him, too, to walk away. So much so it irks him on good days and frustrates him on bad ones. It merges with his annoyance at your stubbornness, the ones he’s forced you to have. 

You blink, try to hide from him. Conceal yourself. Try to survive in the watery current of feelings you won’t spill to him again. Opting instead to drown in their storm—the story you told yourself that isn’t anything close to the fable it should have been. 

It tugs at him as he moves closer—the air-tight, constricting around the two of you. His eyes take in every inch of your features—awaiting the micro-expressions, the ones you try to keep back from him.

He shouldn’t curl into your touch, but he does so all the same when light, fairy touches brush his cheek. When you shuffle closer, leaving a gap of barely anything between the two of you. 

It would be easy, less complicated, to kiss you. To surrender, lay down his objections and give in. 

He doesn’t.

The vinyl playing in his head, the one swirling with lyrics about what you deserve, the life you truly want, the type of man who could give it to you. The harmony sang by Santi, the backing whispered by his doubts. 

“Francisco…” 

The way you say his name undoes something.

Each syllable given a chance to stand on its own as it slips into the air with such ease, like an instrumental sound that hopes to compete with the music in his head. 

“You don’t love me?” 

He sighs, soft—barely discernible. “You know I do.” 

You snort, tinged in annoyance and pain different from the one in your hand and head. “Still believe I deserve better?” 

“No lo creo, lo sé.”

Something flickers, trips over your face. Akin to sorrow and disappointment—heartache. 

“Saying it in Spanish doesn’t lessen that you’re choosing for me, Morales.” 

He knows. 

Realises it’s unfair, cruel and an injustice. 

He wants nothing more than to choose you, to let you in. A carnal need rising almost to do so, born from continuous want and grown in worry. Images still present on the back of his lids with each blink, the way your voice had sounded on the phone, the way you’d looked at him when he arrived—the way your expression contorted when he dug the needle in. It all nicked him, tiny slices through him he’d bear for a while.

“…Frankie.” 

Silence.

He lets it bloom. 

Your veil is almost translucent as you stare, pecking at him, pushing him without touching or speaking. 

You’re too good, too kind—it is almost brutish that the world stuck an arrow in you with his name on it. 

“You really call Pope?” 

You swallow, telling him without speaking, before you shake your head. 

He snorts. Takes the words in, chews them—lets it dilute and inflate his heart as it thumps, and thumps. 

“I should have asked you to stay,” you murmur. 

He swallows. “I should have asked to stay.” 

It’s that reason alone why he takes off his cap, throws it on the counter before he turns to look at you. His mask gone, ridden. Yours falling, landing somewhere at your feet. 

Frankie pulls you to his lips, somewhat soft but more intentional. It’s needy, but reserved, awaiting you to melt into him so he knows he can slide the tip of his tongue across your bottom lip and earn himself a whimper. Begin healing the parts he’s self-inflicted by choosing avoidance over acceptance. 

But before he can do that, he wants to heal you. Kiss each edge of you that bore pain from his faux indifference and cold shoulder; each muscle that remained taut because of his excuse that now sounded weak, as the vinyl in his mind came to a stop, vanishing from the player as though it never existed. 

Because with you, like this—albeit without a swollen temple and a stitched palm—things make sense.

You make sense. 

Just like you always have. 

AN: some call it range going from joyous to angst, i call it ✨ sad girl jo

everyone say a huge thanks to @guyfieriii for once again letting me blurt pain at her, and she not only drinks it up, but urges me to make it hurt more. thank you for always collecting my tears and then handing me them back so i can sprinkle them over my work.

[sanjoongie]

Bouncy~ Topaz's Version

A/N: Flurry @flurrys-creativity had two ideas, we divided and conquered. This is hers: Bouncy

Pairings: Kim Hongjoong x Reader (f)

Genre: pwp, smut, MINORS DNI

Au: Idol Au, Stylist au

Trope: established situationship

Word Count: 1,275

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Warnings: angry!hongjoong, mean dom! hongjoong, bratty sub! reader, crotch rubbing, fingering (f receiving), pussy slapping, edging, orgasm denial, degradation kink, katoptronophilia (mirror sex), choking (f receiving), spitting (f receiving)

Dedication: @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland my beta readers extraordinaire

Hongjoong held an electronic personal fan towards his face as he reviewed his performance of their first stage of bouncy. Everything seemed fine to his critical eye, until his part of the chorus. It was painfully obvious that his dick was on full view for everyone in the audience--and whoever watched the performance online or on tv--and he felt his anger rise. 

Hongjoong shoved his fan at San, ripped his hat off and began to purposely stride towards the changing rooms. San called after his hyung but Hongjoong was single minded in his purpose. Mingi was in the middle of dutifully returning the chains around his neck before Hongjoong slammed the door open with a loud crack. He barked for Mingi to leave you two. Mingi’s eyes widened, he cast a cautious glance towards you but ultimately left after gauging the fury on Hongjoong’s face.

“Was it your plan to let everyone and their grandma see the imprint of my dick on national television or are you just that horny you couldn't wait to see it after the show?” Hongjoong spat out, eyes burning with anger.

“Ho-hong-ju-joong!” You stuttered, unable to piece your words together. 

You should be rising to his anger. You should be apologizing. But all you can see is the glory which is angry Hongjoong. You’re not scared--you’re turned on.

“What is it then? You planned to humiliate me? Or you needed my dick? Because I can certainly provide that for you right now,” Hongjoong continued his haughty tirade. 

You found yourself dropping to your knees immediately. Suddenly the apologies were coming. “I’m sorry. The pants and jacket were a combo. I must have been so focused on sewing your vest to the jacket that I--”

Hongjoong gripped your cheeks harshly between his thumb and hands, effectively shutting you up. “No excuses.”

“Hongjoong,” You whimpered and you could feel the goosebumps that covered your body now. 

The moment of change hung in the air. You could feel the intensity. Either you promised to do better or…

“I can make it up to you,” spilled out of your mouth before your brain could catch up. You grabbed two handfuls of his pants, silently promising to steam them later with the creases you made.

“Oh, you can make it up to me, can you?” Hongjoong’s dangerous, kitty cat smile pulled the corner of his lips upwards. 

Your eyebrows furrowed prettily for him and he knew he had you hook line and sinker. “Open your mouth for me, kitten,” He purred.

You dutifully did so and he gathered some spit in his mouth and let it drop slowly to your waiting tongue. You swallowed it and stuck your tongue out again to prove it. 

“Good girl,” Hongjoong purred again, making you shiver.

His eyes took on a hard edge again and you whined. “I think your little mishap deserves a punishment, don’t you think?”

“Hongjoong, please,” You resorted to begging immediately, “I--”

“I should walk right out of this room and leave you wanting more,” Hongjoong said with hooded eyes.

“No,” You whined. You’d pout if the grip Hongjoong had on you would let you.

Hongjoong’s grip on you adjusted from holding your jaw to gripping the back or your head. He pushed your face against his cock, the imprint he was so angry about getting harder from the adrenaline after performing and also the adrenaline from this confrontation. "Is this what you wanted, kitten? That desperate for some dick shoved in your face that you'd stage a tiny act of rebellion to drool over the imprint of my dick on tv?"

When Hongjoong stopped rubbing your face into his crotch, you took the opportunity to gently mouth said imprint. Fuck the repercussions of spoiling the pants, you were too far into the current headspace to care. With your lips covering your teeth, you put pressure on the head of his dick, eyes big and looking to be called a good girl again.

Hongjoong felt his heart melting at the complete submissive attitude you were taking with him but he wasn't satisfied with simply letting you get away with making him a performing eye candy on tv. So he used his grip to raise you off your knees. He turned your body around so that the two of you were looking into a full length mirror. With a cold expression, Hongjoong had no trouble undoing your pants and shoving his hand unceremoniously beneath your underwear. When the pad of his fingers skimmed over your throbbing clit and found how wet you were, a fierce expression replaced the cold one. 

“Kitten, are you getting wet from all my anger or all the degradation?”

You watched your reflection lick your lips nervously. “Please be mean to me,” You dared to whisper. 

And so Hongjoong followed your instructions to the letter. He fingered you without intent or a goal in mind. He simply tortured you with pleasure that would not come to an end. Your whimpers and whines were like music to his ears. His middle finger eventually found your hole but only went a knuckle deep but his thumb continued to strum at your clit. 

Even after he instructed you to strip off your pants and underwear, your eager face fell when you realized he just wanted to be even more mean to you. Hongjoong held one of your legs up to spread yourself but it was simply to slap your swollen clit and degrade you further with sharp insults. 

“Such. A. Greedy. Slut.” Hongjoong slapped your pussy after each utterance of his words. And yet your hips bucked to receive the stimulation. 

“I’m such a greedy slut for you, Hongjoong,” You found yourself moaning, “I wanted to see your dick on stage. I wanted everyone to see it but know that no one else could touch it. That’s my dick!”

“Your dick, hmmm?” Hongjoong hummed into your ear. He began to diligently suck on the slope of your shoulder and up your neck, making hickies that you would never successfully cover with simple makeup. Others would know you had hooked up inside the dressing room but you were in no position to stop it. 

“It’s mine!” You whined brattily.

“Do you think you deserve this dick, kitten?” Hongjoong cooed. 

His fingers cupped your neck, fingers skimming the delicate skin there. He could feel you swallowing against his palm. A quick nod from you was all that it took, before he was putting pressure around your throat. The small noises you made as Hongjoong began to finger your aching cunt while choking you pleased him immensely. You were so desperate for him, he couldn't blame you, honestly. 

When he let go and you gasped for breath, he removed his hands, but not before giving your pussy one more generous slap. “I think I’ve punished you enough, Kitten.”

You whined when he let go of your leg, and even more so when he took a step away from your body. “Hongjoong?!” You said his name in distress.

Hongjoong folded his arms over his general chest. “Yes?”

“That’s it?” You couldn't help but wonder. 

“I don’t think you deserve this dick quite yet,” Hongjoong announced. “Now clean yourself up and help me change into my casual clothes.”

You went about the motions but mentally you were still staring at yourself in the mirror as Hongjoong abused your pussy. Perhaps you could message him later about fucking you in front of a mirror, roughly so, with the choking. You wanted to squeeze his dick while he squeezed your throat. 

You just wanted to be a good girl for your Hongjoong.

Taglist: @hijirikaww @mingsolo @flowerboykun @stardragongalaxy @starillusion13 @flurrys-creativity

honorary suffer with me braincell tag: @thelargefrye

[eoieopda]

meet me at the bar: epilogue

pairing: kim seokjin x reader type: drabble — meet me at the bar’s epilogue au: law school/bar exam, est. relationship word count: 1.2k rating: pg13 genre: fluff summary: as it turns out, there is life after the bar exam. a/n: i suppose this does make sense outside the context of the one-shot, but i def recommend reading that first ✨ like the OG, this epilogue is dedicated to mj (@yoongiphoria), who army (get it? 👀) crawled through the ringer and lived to tell the tale! so excited to eventually welcome you to the profession, bb 💕 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Seokjin sits at a small cafe table. In front of him sit two things: one he’s sure of and one he’s not.

“This is barbaric,” you mutter under your breath. 

You hit the refresh button on your browser again, the same way you have — on a second-by-second basis — since you both sat down. Crazed, your eyes flick up to Seokjin. You repeat yourself emphatically, “Barbarism, Seokjin. Do you hear me?”

He tries his best to keep a straight face, so he pulls his coffee mug to his lips and hides his smile behind the rim. You look back down again before you can even see him nod in agreement. Of course, you go right back to assaulting the touchpad of your laptop.

You’re not wrong, not in the slightest. The Office of Bar Admissions just put you through the most treacherous experience of your academic and professional lives, and it wasn’t done fucking with you. Now that you’d survived the exam itself, you had to sit and wait — not just for your results, but for potential public humiliation.

Everyone who has a stake in this exam — test takers and prospective employers — and anyone who doesn’t — friends, relatives, professors, underclassmen, sundry assholes, etc. — can log onto this extremely public, government website at eight o’clock this morning. If they do, they’ll see a list of names: every single person that passed this exam and would be admitted to the practice of law.

Likewise, anyone can easily find out whose names are missing. Broadcasted at lightning speed, your business becomes everyone else’s. Whether you want to or not, you have to share your greatest success — or biggest disappointment — with whoever the fuck might want to look for it.

Scrubbing your anxious hands over your face, you sigh, “I think I’d rather stand naked in the middle of Lotte World. I mean it; that would be infinitely less horrifying than this.”

“For you, maybe.” 

Seokjin grins, sets his mug down, and nudges your untouched plate closer to you. On any other morning, you would’ve inhaled that breakfast sandwich by now. Today, however, you’re on a self-imposed hunger strike until you have answers.

“For the unsuspecting onlookers, I think that would be a criminal offense.”

You roll your eyes, but when you reset them, you’re looking straight at him.

It’s the way anyone would dream of being looked at, he thinks. Like every annoying thing about him is still somehow endearing, worth loving — and that little smile of yours is all for him. Just like that, he’s blushing in the middle of a café, not giving a shit who sees.

Crashing through his thoughts, the alarm you set goes off with a wail, like you’re being summoned to an air-raid shelter rather than notified of the time. You scurry to grab it. Fumbling to turn that siren off, you cast panicked glances around the room to find anyone you might owe an apology for startling. As usual, it’s just the two of you.

You spit it all out so fast that Seokjin can hardly keep up.

“Will you still love me if I shit myself in the café? Because I fucking might, and I need to know if a break-up is going to be added to my list of rejections this morning.” 

There are nervous talkers, and then there’s you. You worry in X-Games mode like it’s nobody’s business — and honestly, it’s kind of impressive.

“My whole family is going to know before I can even disclose failure myself and I —”

Seokjin doesn’t know if anything he might say would comfort you, but he’s at least slightly worried that you’ll anxiety-barf onto your laptop. To minimize the collateral damage, he reaches across the table, picks it up, and pulls it over to his side. 

As if he just pulled the plug on your life-support machines, you slump down into your chair. There, your head droops against the metal back with a small thud. You then stare up at the ceiling like you’re actively watching your soul leave your body.

“No matter what happens, we’ll be okay.” He assures you while refreshing the browser. “I promise.”

Funnily enough, trying to keep you calm has made him feel the most stable he ever has. One of you has to keep your collective shit together; and it’s clearly not going to be you, so he’s committed to remaining zipped on your behalf. His fingers don’t even shake as he scrolls down that godforsaken list, scanning with narrowed eyes.

“Well?” You urge.

After a few seconds of listening to your knee bouncing underneath the table, Seokjin closes your laptop and sets it down slowly. He takes a deep, measured breath before he finally looks back up at you. With how unabashedly freaked out you are, it’s a miracle that he can’t feel your pulse from the other side of the table.

“So, I have bad news —” He starts with a sigh.

You freeze.

“— We can’t add esquire to our email signatures until after we’re sworn in, which will apparently be two weeks from now.”

The last thought Seokjin has before being tackled to the ground is that he’s thankful nobody else came in for coffee this morning. 

The first thought he has when he reopens his eyes, now flat on his back, and sees that insane look on your face — a mix of terror, annoyance, disbelief, and excitement — is that he was right when he decided never to doubt you. More importantly, he was right that you truly are capable of anything.

Up to and including public displays of aggression.

Damn does he love you.

You sit back on your heels but you don’t make any moves to get off of him. With a shaky laugh, you say, “I think I have to kill you for that.”

“Understandable,” he demurs, shrugging. Then, he reaches up to swipe a tear off your cheek with the pad of his thumb, smiling sweetly. “Just don’t represent yourself at trial over it, okay?”

Playfully, you swat at his chest before clambering off of him. Once you make it steadily to your feet, the same hand that smacked him is held out to help him up. He takes it without hesitation.

Back at his full height, he accepts the arms you lace around his neck, swoons just a little when you push up on tiptoe. You kiss him softly, but it hits hard. That gentle brush of your lips makes his knees so weak that he fears he’ll end up on the ground again. 

You pull away breathy. Though your eyes are a little bit misty, you grin like you can’t help it. For the record, he can’t, either. You sigh, “I genuinely cannot believe that I survived this bullshit.”

“Really?” Seokjin asks, eyebrows raised.

His arms wrap around your waist to hold you closer, allowing you to nestle your face into his sweatshirt. He means it, so he says it with his whole chest and hopes you hear it: “I was sure you would.”

“Don’t think I would’ve been able to do it without you,” you mumble into the fabric.

“You could have,” he murmurs. Leaning down, he kisses the top of your head before continuing, “But you didn’t have to.”

The two of you stand like that for a while — wholly entangled in the middle of a café, in broad ass daylight — without speaking. It helps him try to wrap his brain around it all. After all, the landscape is different now than it was an hour ago; and unless he’s fully lost it, Seokjin swears that the grass really is greener.

For the first time ever, he doesn’t feel the weight of the dreaded unknown pushing down on his shoulders. He just feels you leaning against him and an unfamiliar sense of peace. All of that gratification he’s delayed his whole life, too, as it falls right into his hands.

But Seokjin’s not great with that whole thoughtful silence thing, so he smirks, “Gonna call me counselor in bed now, jagi?”

Your head snaps back so quickly, you could’ve decapitated yourself. Incredulous, your eyes narrow as your mouth pops open. Instantly, the look on your face pulls that windshield wiper laugh out of him; so, he slaps his hand over his mouth to keep quiet.

You challenge him with eyebrows raised sky-high. “Gonna make me file a cease and desist letter?”

[lindsey-laufeyson]

Distractions- Chapter 5

Distractions Masterlist

Pairing: Reader x FWB!Tom Hiddleston

Series Warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, friends with benefits

You woke to your phone ringing.

“Who the hell is calling you this early?” Tom grumbled sleepily. 

You sat up and grabbed your phone. “Sorry,” you quickly apologized before answering the call. It was the assistant to the director with whom you were supposed to meet the night before for a consultation. They had hired someone else. “I completely understand. Thank you for the opportunity,” you said before hanging up.

Tom rolled over towards you and opened his eyes. “Everything alright?”

You cleared your throat, trying your best to hide your disappointment. “Yeah! No worries.” 

“You sure?” he asked, concerned. “You sounded a lot like I do when a casting director tells me they’re ‘going in a different direction.’”  

“That’s essentially what it was,” you told him, laying back down on your side to face him and propping yourself up on your elbow. “But it’s kind of to be expected when you skip out on the audition.” You chuckled, but Tom just frowned.

“Shit,” he said in realization. “Was that the meeting you were supposed to go to yesterday? I thought you said you rescheduled.”

You shrugged. “I guess they met with someone else who was available to fill the last minute opening and they decided to go with them for the film.” 

“Who’s the director?” he asked. “Depending on who it is, I might be able to pull a few strings…”

You smiled and shook your head. “That’s sweet of you, but I’m sure whoever they hired deserved it. Besides, I want my success in my career to be because of what I do, not who I know, especially if I’ve slept with them.” 

He nodded in agreement, but the concern didn’t leave his face. “I still feel bad that you missed it because of my moping,” he said, absentmindedly running the back of his index finger up and down the forearm you were using to prop your head up.

“Nonsense,” you insisted. “You’re my friend and you were feeling down. I wanted to be here for you. Plus, I got quite a few orgasms out of it, so don’t feel too sorry for me.” You smiled and winked at him.

“Well then,” he began, inching his face closer to yours as he slipped his hand between your thighs. “Perhaps you ought to have one or two more this morning, just to show my appreciation.” 

“I mean, if you insist,” you replied playfully, spreading your legs for him as his lips met yours in a sensual kiss. You sighed into his mouth as you felt his fingers glide through your folds. As the kiss intensified, you crept your hand down his abs until your touch was met with his hot, hard length. You stroked your fingertips lightly along the shaft, but just when you were about to wrap your hand around it, your alarm went off on your phone.

“No,” he quickly protested against your lips. You took your hand away from his expectant hard-on to reach for your phone. “No, no, no,” he continued to protest, still refusing to release your lips from his own. Despite this, you hesitantly pulled your lips away in order to silence the alarm, but Tom simply moved his kisses to your neck, and began lightly drawing circles on your clit. 

“Fuck,” you huffed, trying your best to keep a clear head. “I have to go.” He responded by sucking at the spot under your ear and adding more pressure to your clit, causing you to gasp and let out an involuntary moan. Your body was betraying you. “I’m–mmmm– I’m s-serious, Tom.” 

“Then tell me to stop,” he whispered in your ear. He had you there. You weren’t going to tell him to stop. You couldn’t, and he knew it. 

“Bastard,” you breathed out. He snickered into the crook of your neck, before giving it a little nip and licking over the teeth marks. He quickened his pace on your clit and you tossed your phone aside and found his cock again. You wasted no time as you grabbed it firmly and began pumping it with long, deliberate strokes. The faster he rubbed your clit, the faster you stroked his cock, as if it was some sort of competition. You began to lose your rhythm, however, as you came closer and closer to your peak. Your moans became louder and more high pitched until you finally fell over the edge, squeezing his throbbing length as you came. He lifted his head to watch you come undone while he bucked his hips, thrusting into your hand in order to chase his own release. Soon enough, just as you were coming down from your high, he buried his face in your neck once again and groaned as you felt his dick pulse in your hand, cum spurting onto your belly, your arm, and the bed sheets. 

You both laid there for a moment, breathing heavily in one another’s ears. Then he looked down between your bodies. “Sorry for the mess, love,” he chuckled as he got up to get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. He came back to the bed to find you licking the cum off of your forearm. You giggled when you caught him staring, clearly enjoying the sight. 

“Unfortunately, I’m not flexible enough to reach my stomach,” you teased him, reaching out for the washcloth. He ignored your outstretched hand and climbed back into bed and began cleaning you up himself. While he did so, you looked over at the clock on his bedside table. “Shit! I’m gonna be late!” You frantically searched for your phone, and when you found it, you called Kaitlyn immediately. 

“What’s up, boss?” she answered, cheerfully as always.

“Hey! I’m running a bit late,” you told her.

“Are you actually running? You sound a bit winded,”  she asked, a bit concerned. It was then that you realized you were still breathing kind of heavily. Tom, who was being overly thorough, and annoyingly sensual with the washcloth, must have been able to hear her because he unsuccessfully bit back a chortle. You shoved his shoulder and put your finger to your lips to tell him to be quiet. 

“Are you able to set up on your own?” you asked. “I promise I’ll get there before Mr. Hiddleston arrives!” You saw a smirk creep across Tom’s face when you said this.

“Absolutely!” she replied enthusiastically, undoubtedly excited for the chance to show you she could handle more responsibility. “Not a problem at all!”

“Thank you so much. I’ll see you–” You were cut off momentarily by the sensation of Tom rubbing the cold, damp cloth over your overstimulated pussy. “--shortly,” you finished in a slightly higher pitch than intended. After you hung up the phone, you shot him a disapproving look. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“I saw an opportunity and I took it,” he quipped, twirling the cloth around on his finger and then slinging it over his shoulder, a smug smile playing on his lips. 

“Careful, Tommy boy,” you warned, getting out of bed and walking toward the bathroom. “You might find that retribution tends to hit harder than the original transgression.” You shot him a playfully sinister look over your shoulder before closing the door behind you.

Once in the bathroom, you spotted yourself in the mirror and noticed the bite mark Tom had left on your neck. “Shit!” 

“What’s wrong?” you heard him ask from the other side of the door. 

You flung the door open and pointed at the bruise. “I don’t have time to cover this up!” He pressed his lips together, clearly attempting to fight a smile. “It’s not funny,” you told him, despite the slight giggle in your voice. “Will you please just go get my bag?”

“Of course,” he replied, smiling to himself. He quickly pulled on a pair of boxers and went to go get your bag, which you had dropped as soon as he had hastily pulled you in the door the night before. That morning you were especially grateful to yourself for making a habit of keeping a toothbrush, some extra clothes, and some basic makeup supplies in your work bag, not long after that first night you spent at Tom’s place.

As soon as he handed you your bag, you began getting ready as quickly as you could. You were in the middle of applying your makeup when Tom appeared in the doorway, fully dressed and ready. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but I’m supposed to be at the studio in 20 minutes, so I really need to go.” he told you apologetically.

“Oh no you don’t, Hiddleston,” you scolded him, briefly pausing your mascara to shoot him a stern look. “I promised Kaitlyn I would get there before you, so if I’m late, you’re late.”

“I can’t be late, darling. I’m never late.”

“You’re the one who made me late!” you argued.

“But won’t it look a bit odd if the first time I’m ever late just happens to be on a day when you also happen to be late?” he countered. You thought about this for a second, and realizing he was right, you rolled your eyes and let out a conceding huff as you quickly packed up your bag. “If it’s any consolation,” he added as you stomped past him and he followed you out of the bedroom. “You look amazing as always.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered while you gathered your various clothing items from last night, precariously strewn about the foyer and lounge. “Where the fuck are my panties!”

Tom cleared his throat loudly, and you looked up to see him leaning casually against the wall by the front door with a smirk on his face, your black lace thong dangling from the tip of his index finger.

“Thanks,” you said bluntly as you grabbed them and shoved them in your bag and stalked out the door.

…

As soon as you parked, you ran to your trailer. “I’m so sorry, Kaitlyn,” you managed to get out between panting breaths as you walked through the door.

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved you off. “Are you okay?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just a crazy morning.” 

“Good morning, ladies,” Tom’s voice came from behind you.

“Morning,” you and Kaitlyn responded in unison, though Kaitlyn’s tone was much cheerier than your own. 

Tom sat down in the chair and you and Kaitlyn went straight to work.

Looking around, you were impressed with how well everything was prepped, just the way you liked it. “Nice job setting up, Kait!”

“Not bad for my first solo prep, huh?” she boasted.

Tom raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Solo?”

“Yep,” you played along. “I was running late this morning and she stepped up and covered for me.”

“Really?” he replied. “Well done, Kaitlyn!”

“Thank you,” she beamed at him. Then she turned to you with a knowing look on her face. “By the way, does that hickey on your neck have anything to do with why you were late?”

You kept your focus on what you were doing, but out of the corner of your eye you could see Tom in the mirror, bringing his hand to his mouth and casually running his fingers over his lips. You knew it was to hide his expression. “I’d rather not say…”

Kaitlyn’s face lit up. “It is, isn’t it! You got some! Who’s the lucky guy or gal?”

You shook your head and chuckled awkwardly. “I don’t think Tom wants to hear us talk about my sex life right now.”

“Oh I don’t mind,” he interjected. “I’m a little curious myself, actually.” 

So he wants to play? you thought. Then let’s play.

“You two are so nosy,” you scolded them. “Anyway, you wouldn’t know him, and I don’t know if I’d sleep with him again.” You glanced briefly at Tom through the mirror. He shifted slightly in his seat but he had a calculated expression of only mild interest. 

“Was he that bad?” Kaitlyn asked with a slight cringe. 

“Oh no, he’s quite good,” you clarified, noticing the corner of Tom’s mouth twitch slightly. “But I don't know if I should continue sleeping with someone who is going to distract me and make me late for work.”

Kaitlyn shrugged. “I mean, if he’s that good though…”

“Forgive me,” Tom interjected yet again. “But is it possible this guy finds you so physically irresistible that he had to have you the moment he woke up? In which case, you might want to keep someone like that around.” You and Kaitlyn both looked at him and he threw his hands up defensively. “I’m only playing devil’s advocate.”

Kaitlyn nodded her head in agreement. “He has a point.”

“It’s possible,” you answered thoughtfully. “But I think it’s more likely that he let his morning wood get the better of him and I mistakenly let him. And I don’t have time for that.”

“So you’d give up mind-blowing sex just because you were late to work?” Kaitlyn asked skeptically. Tom looked at you expectantly, unable to hide his smug smile.

“I never said it was ‘mind-blowing,’” you asserted. Tom’s smile faded. “And I’m a workaholic! It just doesn’t seem worth it.”

“Alright, alright,” Kaitlyn conceded. “If you say so.” She didn’t look convinced. Meanwhile, Tom got suspiciously quiet, and remained so until you finished with his hair and makeup. That is until he texted you later during a break in shooting.

That night after work, you went home and immediately got in the shower, with the intention of then drying your hair, putting on some mascara, and slipping on some sexy lingerie before Tom arrived. However, you were only halfway through your shower when you heard his voice and it made you jump.

“Why hello, gorgeous,” he said from the doorway of your bathroom, eyeing your naked figure through the steamy shower door. 

“Fuck, Tom!” you exclaimed, peaking your head out from behind the foggy glass. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry, darling,” he began to apologize as he started to unbutton his shirt. “Actually, I’m not sorry at all, given the view I walked in on.” He walked toward you. “You did say to come over whenever.”

“I also said I needed time to freshen up, and I assumed you’d give me more than 10 minutes,” you responded as you went back to lathering yourself up with your loofah. 

“Then I guess you’ll just have to be more specific next time,” he said above the sound of his belt buckle hitting the tile floor. “Or perhaps you were secretly hoping I would walk in on you in the shower.” His voice was in your ear at that point and you felt his arms snake around your waist from behind. 

You leaned your head back against his shoulder. “I wasn’t, truthfully, but now that you’re here, would you be a dear and get my back?” You handed him the loofah and he obliged with a small chuckle. He softly scrubbed your back, then replaced the loofah with his hands, running them over your back, then down your sides, following the curves of your waist and hips where he stopped. He pressed his fingertips firmly into your hips and pulled you back into him. He began kissing your neck and you felt his erection twitch against your ass, so you rolled your hips, grinding against him and ushering a soft moan from his lips. One of his hands slid down to the apex of your thighs and began slowly and gently stroking your pussy, while his other hand came up to massage your tit. You sighed as you reached back and softly stroked your fingers over the back of his neck, silently telling him to keep going. He did just that. He ran his middle finger along your slit, never actually entering you, then spread your arousal to your clit and rubbed circles into it, harder and harder until he could tell you were close, and then he went back to your slit and lazily traced it up and down. You whined as your climax evaded you, but he just snickered in your ear and repeated his actions, building you up to your peak and then stopping just before you reached it. Another whimper escaped your throat. You were getting frustrated, but you thought perhaps he would follow the rule of three, so you let him do it again. This time he brought you so close, you almost started to cum, but then he took his hand away completely.

“Ugh! You bloody tosser!” you growled, whipping around to face him. Before you could tell him off however, he captured your lips with his and pinned you against the shower wall with such a force that it briefly knocked the wind out of you. Then he grabbed your thighs, hoisted your legs up and over his hips, and quickly lined his cock up with your entrance before slamming into you. “Jesus FUCK,” you cried out. He immediately began pounding into you, grunting and panting heavily in your ear. Your loud, high pitched moans echoed off the tiled walls as his pubic bone rubbed against your throbbing clit, and his cock, like a hot steel rod, hit you over and over in just the right spot. You were rapidly approaching the climax you’d been denied thrice prior, and when you finally reached it, your vision became blurry and you were seeing stars. You screamed as Tom fucked you through it, never letting up on his pace, even as you started to come down from your high. Tears formed in your eyes from overstimulation, but then, without warning, you were hit with another earth-shattering orgasm. You squeezed your legs around him and raked your nails across his back, causing him to hiss and groan, while his name erupted from your lungs. 

Once you felt your body begin to relax again, you let your head fall forward onto Tom’s shoulder, whimpering slightly from once again feeling over stimulated. That’s when he finally let up, pulling his still rock-hard length out of you and putting your legs back down for you to stand. Much to your surprise, however, he swiftly turned you around to face the wall and pulled your hips back, entering you from behind. You gasped and leaned forward to brace yourself against the wall, spreading your legs as wide as you could. He started thrusting into you once again, just as fast and hard as he did before, as if there had been no interruption. This new position gave your raw, swollen clit a much needed break, while also creating a delicious new angle for his dick to reach your A-spot. 

Despite your better judgement, you begged him to fuck you harder, and somehow he did. The bathroom was filled with both of your moans, as well as the sounds of wet skin slapping skin as his pelvis smacked against your ass over and over under the running water. Soon your legs began to shake violently as you edged closer to another orgasm. 

“Oooooohh my GOD!” you cried, your back arching and your cunt spasming around his girth. You were sure your legs would have given out from under you had Tom not been holding your hips so tightly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!!” He gave a hard thrust with each word before finally stilling his hips, cumming hard along with you.

When he was finished, he loosened his grip on your hips, but as soon as he did so, your legs wobbled so he quickly grasped you firmly again, gently pulled his spent cock out of you, and carefully lowered you to your knees so you could then move to sit on the shower floor, resting your back and head against the wall. Then he turned off the now cold water, threw away the condom he must have slipped on before he got in the shower with you, and then sat next to you on the floor, both of you out of breath. 

Still using the wall to support your head, you turned it slightly to look at him. “What the actual fuck was that?” you breathed out.

“You liked it?” he asked with a drunken looking smile. 

You let out a breathy chuckle. “What gave that away?”

He laughed. “Mind-blowing?” he asked, recalling Kaitlyn’s words from that morning. 

“You could say that, I suppose,” you teased, nodding your head. 

A wide grin spread across his face as he looked up at the ceiling, still panting. “I’ll take it!”

You leaned your head on his shoulder while the two of you caught your breaths. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you realized something. “One problem though.”

“What’s that?” he replied.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to get up off of this floor anytime soon,” you told him. You both burst into a laughing fit, leaning against one another for support. 

When the two of you were finally able to gather some composure, Tom scooped you up and carried you to your bed. He gently laid you down, then flopped down next to you, propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at you, clearly trying and failing to hide a proud smirk. 

“What’s that look for?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. “I just don’t think I’ve ever actually fucked anyone to the point where they literally couldn’t walk!”

You chuckled and shook your head, and then you looked down and noticed that his cock was hard. “How the hell are you hard again already after all that?”

“You just look so sexy laying there like that, looking all flustered and fucked out,” he said, leaning down and bringing his face close to yours with a blushing smile.

“Really? Because I could have sworn it was just your own ego, knowing you fucked me so well,” you teased, before your lips met in a slow and sensual kiss. At a natural breaking point you pulled away to look at him. “So, I don’t think my pussy can take any more tonight, but I’d still be happy to help you get off in other ways.” You lifted your eyebrows at him in exaggerated insinuation. “I mean, I got three incredible orgasms; you could at least get two…”

Tom’s face lit up like a child on Christmas.